Dr. Campbell is ordered to appear at Durbar—Lamas called to
council—Threats—Searcity of food—Arrival of Dewan—Our jailer,
Thoba-sing—Temperature, etc., at Tumloong—Services of Goompas—Lepcha
girl—Jew’s-harp—Terror of servants—Ilam-sing’s family—Interview with
Dewan—Remonstrances—Dewan feigns sickness—Lord Dalhousie’s letter to
Rajah—Treatment of Indo-Chinese—Concourse of Lamas—Visit of Tchebu
Lama—Close confinement—Dr. Campbell’s illness—Conference with
Amlah—Relaxation of confinement—Pemiongchi Lama’s intercession—Escape
of Nimbo—Presents from Rajah, Ranee and people—Protestations of
friendship—Mr. Lushington sent to Dorjiling—Leave Tumloong—Cordial
farewell—Dewan’s merchandise—Gangtok Kajee—Dewan’s
pomp—Governor-General’s letter—Dikkeeling—Suspicion of poison—Dinner
and pills—Tobacco—Bhotanese colony—Katong-ghat on Teesta—Wild
lemons—Sepoys’ insolence—Dewan alarmed—View of Dorjiling—Threats of a
rescue—Fears of our escape—Tibet flutes—Negotiate our release—Arrival
at Dorjiling—Dr. Thomson joins me—Movement of troops at
Dorjiling—Seizure of Rajah’s Terai property.
Since his confinement, Dr. Campbell had been desired to attend the
Durbar for the purpose of transacting business, but had refused to go,
except by compulsion, considering that in the excited state of the
authorities, amongst whom there was not one person of responsibility or
judgment, his presence would not only be useless, but he might be
exposed to further insult or possibly violence.
On the 15th of November we were informed that the Dewan was on his way
from Tibet: of this we were glad, for knave as he was, we had hitherto
considered him to possess sense and understanding. His agents were
beginning to find out their mistake, and summoned to council the
principal Lamas and Kajees of the country, who, to a man, repudiated
the proceedings, and refused to attend. Our captors were extremely
anxious to induce us to write letters to Dorjiling, and sent spies of
all kinds to offer us facilities for secret correspondence. The
simplicity and clumsiness with which these artifices were attempted
would have been ludicrous under other circumstances; while the threat
of murdering Campbell only alarmed us, inasmuch as it came from people
too stupid to be trusted. We made out that all Sikkim people were
excluded from Dorjiling, and the Amlah consequently could not conceal
their anxiety to know what had befallen their letters to government.
Meanwhile we were but scantily fed, and our imprisoned coolies got
nothing at all. Our guards, were supplied with a handful of rice or
meal as the day’s allowance; they were consequently grumbling,[319] and
were daily reduced in number. The supplies of rice from the Terai,
beyond Dorjiling, were cut off by the interruption of communication,
and the authorities evidently could not hold us long at this rate: we
sent up complaints, but of course received no answer.
[319] The Rajah has no standing army; not even a body-guard, and these
men were summoned to Tumloong before our arrival: they had no arms and
received no pay, but were fed when called out on duty. There is no
store for grain, no bazaar or market, in any part of the country, each
family growing little enough for its own wants and no more;
consequently Sikkim could not stand on the defensive for a week. The
Rajah receives his supply of grain in annual contributions from the
peasantry, who thus pay a rent in kind, which varies from little to
nothing, according to the year, etc. He had also property of his own
in the Terai, but the slender proceeds only enabled him to trade with
Tibet for tea, etc.
The Dewan arrived in the afternoon in great state; carried in an
English chair given him by Campbell some years before, habited in a
blue silk cloak lined with lambskin, and wearing an enormous straw hat
with a red tassel, and black velvet butterflies on the flapping brim.
He was accompanied by a household of women, who were laden with
ornaments, and wore boots, and sat astride on ponies; many Lamas were
also with him, one of whom wore a broad Chinese-like hat covered with
polished copper foil. Half a dozen Sepoys with matchlocks preceded him,
and on approaching Tumloong, bawled out his titles, dignities, etc., as
was formerly the custom in England.
[Illustration: Rajah’s residence, and the hut assigned to us. Arrival
of the Dewan.]
At Dorjiling our seizure was still unknown: our letters were brought to
us, but we were not allowed to answer them. Now that the Dewan had
arrived, we hoped to come to a speedy explanation with him, but he
shammed sickness, and sent no answer to our messages; if indeed he
received them. Our guards were reduced to one Sepoy with a knife, who
was friendly; and a dirty, cross-eyed fellow named Thoba-sing, who,
with the exception of Tchebu Lama, was the only Bhoteea about the
Durbar who could speak Hindostanee, and who did it very imperfectly: he
was our attendant and spy, the most barefaced liar I ever met with,
even in the east; and as cringing and obsequious when alone with us, as
he was to his masters on other occasions, when he never failed to show
off his authority over us in an offensive manner. Though he was the
most disagreeable fellow we were ever thrown in contact with, I do not
think that he was therefore selected, but solely from his possessing a
few words of Hindostanee, and his presumed capability of playing the
spy.
The weather was generally drizzling or rainy, and we were getting very
tired of our captivity; but I beguiled the time by carefully keeping my
meteorological register,[320] and by reducing many of my previous
observations. Each morning we were awakened at daybreak by the
prolonged echos of the conchs, trumpets, and cymbals, beaten by the
priests before the many temples in the valley: wild and pleasing
sounds, often followed by their choral chants. After dark we sat over
the fire, generally in company with a little Lepcha girl, who was
appointed to keep us in fire-wood, and who sat watching our movements
with childish curiosity. Dolly, as we christened her, was a quick child
and a kind one, intolerably dirty, but very entertaining from her
powers of mimicry. She was fond of hearing me whistle airs, and
procured me a Tibetan Jews’-harp,[321] with which, and coarse tobacco,
which I smoked out of a Tibetan brass pipe, I wiled away the dark
evenings, whilst my cheerful companion amused himself with an old
harmonicon, to the enchantment of Dolly and our guards and neighbours.
[320] During the thirty days spent at Tumloong, the temperature was
mild and equable, with much cloud and drizzle, but little hard rain;
and we experienced violent thunder-storms, followed by transient
sunshine. Unlike 1848, the rains did not cease this year before the
middle of December; nor had there been one fine month since April. The
mean temperature, computed from 150 observations, was 50·2°, and from
the maximum and minimum thermometer 49·6°, which is a fair
approximation to the theoretical temperature calculated for the
elevation and month, and allows a fall of 1° for 320 feet of ascent.
The temperature during the spring (from 50 observations) varied during
the day from 2·4° to 5·8° higher than that of the air, the greatest
differences occurring morning and evening. The barometric tide
amounted to 0·091 between 9.50 a.m. and 4 p.m., which is less than at
the level of the plains of India, and more than at any greater
elevation than Tumloong. The air was always damp, nearly saturated at
night, and the mean amount of humidity for ninety-eight observations
taken during the day was only 0·850, corresponding to a dew-point of
49·6°, or 5·2° below that of the air.
[321] This instrument (which is common in Tibet) is identical with the
European, except that the tongue is produced behind the bow, in a
strong steel spike, by which the instrument is held firmer to the
mouth.
[Illustration: Tibet pipe, and tinder-pouch with steel, attached.]
The messengers from Dorjiling were kept in utter ignorance of our
confinement till their arrival at Tumloong, when they were
cross-questioned, and finally sent to us. They gradually became too
numerous, there being only one apartment for ourselves, and such of our
servants as were not imprisoned elsewhere. Some of them were frightened
out of their senses, and the state of abject fear and trembling in
which one Limboo arrived, and continued for nearly a week, was quite
distressing[322] to every one except Dolly, who mimicked him in a
manner that was irresistibly ludicrous. Whether he had been beaten or
threatened we could not make out, nor whether he had heard of some dark
fate impending over ourselves—a suspicion which would force itself on
our minds; especially as Thoba-sing had coolly suggested to the Amlah
the dispatching of Campbell, as the shortest way of getting out of the
scrape! We were also ignorant whether any steps were being taken at
Dorjiling for our release, which we felt satisfied must follow any
active measures against these bullying cowards, though they themselves
frequently warned us that we should be thrown into the Teesta if any
such were pursued.
[322] It amounted to a complete prostration of bodily and mental
powers: the man trembled and started when spoken to, or at any noise,
a cold sweat constantly bedewed his forehead, and he continued in this
state for eight days. No kindness on Campbell’s part could rouse him
to give any intelligible account of his fears or their cause. His
companions said he had lost his goroo, _i.e.,_ his charm, which the
priest gives him while yet a child, and which he renews or gets
re-sanctified as occasion requires. To us the circumstance was
extremely painful.
So long as our money lasted, we bought food, for the Durbar had none to
give; and latterly my ever charitable companion fed our guards,
including Dolly and Thoba-sing, in pity to their pinched condition.
Several families sent us small presents, especially that of the late
estimable Dewan, Ilam-sing, whose widow and daughters lived close by,
and never failed to express in secret their sympathy and good feeling.
Tchebu Lama’s and Meepo’s families were equally forward in their desire
to serve us; but they were marked men, and could only communicate by
stealth.
Our coolies were released on the 18th, more than half starved, but the
Sirdars were still kept in chains or the stocks: some were sent back to
Dorjiling, and the British subjects billetted off amongst the
villagers, and variously employed by the Dewan: my lad, Cheytoong, was
set to collect the long leaves of a _Tupistra,_ called “Purphiok,”
which yield a sweet juice, and were chopped up and mixed with tobacco
for the Dewan’s hookah.
_November 20th._—The Dewan, we heard this day, ignored all the late
proceedings, professing to be enraged with his brother and the Amlah,
and refusing to meddle in the matter. This was no doubt a pretence: we
had sent repeatedly for an explanation with himself or the Rajah, from
which he excused himself on the plea of ill-health, till this day, when
he apprized us that he would meet Campbell, and a cotton tent was
pitched for the purpose.
We went about noon, and were received with great politeness and shaking
of hands by the Dewan, the young Gangtok Kajee, and the old monk who
had been present at my examination at Phadong. Tchebu Lama’s brother
was also there, as a member of the Amlah, lately taken into favour;
while Tchebu himself acted as interpreter, the Dewan speaking only
Tibetan. They all sat cross-legged on a bamboo bench on one side, and
we on chairs opposite them: walnuts and sweetmeats were brought us, and
a small present in the Rajah’s name, consisting of rice, flour, and
butter.
The Dewan opened the conversation both in this and another conference,
which took place on the 22nd, by requesting Campbell to state his
reasons for having desired these interviews. Neither he nor the Amlah
seemed to have the smallest idea of the nature and consequences of the
acts they had committed, and they therefore anxiously sought
information as to the view that would be taken of them by the British
Government. They could not see why Campbell should not transact
business with them in his present condition, and wanted him to be the
medium of communication between themselves and Calcutta. The latter
confined himself to pointing out his own views of the following
subjects:—1. The seizing and imprisoning of the agent of a friendly
power, travelling unarmed and without escort, under the formal
protection of the Rajah, and with the authority of his own government.
2. The aggravation of this act of the Amlah, by our present detention
under the Dewan’s authority. 3. The chance of collision, and the
disastrous consequences of a war, for which they had no preparation of
any kind. 4. The impossibility of the supreme government paying any
attention to their letters so long as we were illegally detained.
All this sank deep into the Dewan’s heart: he answered, “You have
spoken truth, and I will submit it all to the Rajah;” but at the same
time he urged that there was nothing dishonourable in the imprisonment,
and that the original violence being all a mistake, it should be
overlooked by both parties. We parted on good terms, and heard shortly
after the second conference that our release was promised and arranged:
when a communication[323] from Dorjiling changed their plans, the Dewan
conveniently fell sick on the spot, and we were thrown back again.
[323] I need scarcely say that every step was taken at Dorjiling for
our release, that the most anxious solicitude for our safety could
suggest. But the first communication to the Rajah, though it pointed
out the heinous nature of his offence, was, through a natural fear of
exasperating our captors, couched in very moderate language. The
particulars of our seizure, and the reasons for it, and for our
further detention, were unknown at Dorjiling, or a very different line
of policy would have been pursued.
In the meantime, however, we were allowed to write to our friends, and
to receive money and food, of which we stood in great need. I
transmitted a private account of the whole affair to the
Governor-General, who was unfortunately at Bombay, but to whose prompt
and vigorous measures we were finally indebted for our release. His
lordship expedited a despatch to the Rajah, such as the latter was
accustomed to receive from Nepal, Bhotan, or Lhassa, and such as alone
commands attention from these half-civilized Indo-Chinese, who measure
power by the firmness of the tone adopted towards them; and who,
whether in Sikkim, Birmah, Siam, Bhotan, or China, have too long been
accustomed to see every article of our treaties contravened, with no
worse consequences than a protest or a threat, which is never carried
into execution till some fatal step calls forth the dormant power of
the British Government.[324]
[324] We forget that all our concessions to these people are
interpreted into weakness; that they who cannot live on an amicable
equality with one another, cannot be expected to do so with us; that
all our talk of power and resources are mere boasts to habitual
bullies, so long as we do not exert ourselves in the correction of
premeditated insults. No Government can be more tolerant, more
sincerely desirous of peace, and more anxious to confine its sway
within its own limits than that of India, but it can only continue at
peace by demanding respect, and the punctilious enforcement of even
the most trifling terms in the treaties it makes with Indo-Chinese.
The end of the month arrived without bringing any prospect of our
release, whilst we were harassed by false reports of all kinds. The
Dewan went on the 25th to a hot bath, a few hundred feet down the hill;
he was led past our hut, his burly frame tottering as if in great
weakness, but a more transparent fraud could not have been practised:
he was, in fact, lying on his oars, pending further negotiations. The
Amlah proposed that Campbell should sign a bond, granting immunity for
all past offences on their part, whilst they were to withdraw the
letter of grievances against him. The Lamas cast horoscopes for the
future, little presents continually arrived for us, and the Ranee sent
me some tobacco, and to Campbell brown sugar and Murwa beer. The
blacksmiths, who had been ostentatiously making long knives at the
forge hard by, were dismissed; troops were said to be arriving at
Dorjiling, and a letter sternly demanding our release bad been
received.
The Lamas of Pemiongchi, Changachelling, Tassiding, etc., and the
Dewan’s enemies, and Tchebu Lama’s friends, began to flock from all
quarters to Tumloong, demanding audience of the Rajah, and our instant
liberation. The Dewan’s game was evidently up; but the timidity of his
opponents, his own craft, and the habitual dilatoriness of all,
contributed to cause endless delays. The young Gangtok Kajee tried to
curry favour with us, sending word that he was urging our release, and
adding that he had some capital ponies for us to see on our way to
Dorjiling! Many similar trifles showed that these people had not a
conception of the nature of their position, or of that of an officer of
the British Government.
The Tchebu Lama visited us only once, and then under surveillance; he
renewed his professions of good faith, and we had every reason to know
that he had suffered severely for his adherence to us, and consistent
repudiation of the Amlah’s conduct; he was in great favour with his
brother Lamas, but was not allowed to see the Rajah, who was said to
trust to him alone of all his counsellors. He told us that peremptory
orders had arrived from Calcutta for our release, but that the Amlah
had replied that they would not acknowledge the despatch, from its not
bearing the Governor-General’s great seal! The country-people refusing
to be saddled with the keep of our coolies, they were sent to Dorjiling
in small parties, charged to say that we were free, and following them.
The weather continued rainy and bad, with occasionally a few hours of
sunshine, which, however, always rendered the ditch before our door
offensive: we were still prevented leaving the hot, but as a great
annual festival was going on, we were less disagreeably watched.
Campbell was very unwell, and we had no medicine; and as the Dewan,
accustomed to such duplicity himself, naturally took this for a _ruse,_
and refused to allow us to send to Dorjiling for any, we were more than
ever convinced that his own sickness was simulated.
On the 2nd and 3rd December we had further conferences with the Dewan,
who said that we were to be taken to Dorjiling in six days, with two
Vakeels from the Rajah. The Pemiongchi Lama, as the oldest and most
venerated in Sikkim, attended, and addressed Campbell in a speech of
great feeling and truth. Having heard, he said, of these unfortunate
circumstances a few days ago, he had come on feeble limbs, and though
upwards of seventy winters old, as the representative of his holy
brotherhood, to tender advice to his Rajah, which he hoped would be
followed: Since Sikkim had been connected with the British rule, it had
experienced continued peace and protection; whereas before they were in
constant dread of their lives and properties, which, as well as their
most sacred temples, were violated by the Nepalese and Bhotanese. He
then dwelt upon Campbell’s invariable kindness and good feeling, and
his exertions for the benefit of their country, and for the cementing
of friendship, and hoped he would not let these untoward events induce
an opposite course in future but that he would continue to exert his
influence with the Governor-General in their favour.
The Dewan listened attentively; he was anxious and perplexed, and
evidently losing his presence of mind: he talked to us of Lhassa and
its gaieties, dromedaries, Lamas, and everything Tibetan; offered to
sell us ponies cheap, and altogether behaved in a most, undignified
manner; ever and anon calling attention to his pretended sick leg,
which he nursed on his knee. He gave us the acceptable news that the
government at Calcutta had sent up an officer to carry on Campbell’s
duties, which had alarmed him exceedingly. The Rajah, we were told, was
very angry at our seizure and detention; he had no fault to find with
the Governor-General’s agent, and hoped he would be continued as such.
In fact, all the blame was thrown on the brothers of the Dewan, and of
the Gangtok Kajee, and more irresponsible stupid boors could not have
been found on whom to lay it, or who would have felt less inclined to
commit such folly if it had not been put on them by the Dewan. On
leaving, white silk scarfs were thrown over our shoulders, and we went
away, still doubtful, after so many disappointments, whether we should
really be set at liberty at the stated period.
Although there was so much talk about our leaving, our confinement
continued as rigorous as ever. The Dewan curried favour in every other
way, sending us Tibetan wares for purchase, with absurd prices
attached, he being an arrant pedlar. All the principal families waited
on us, desiring peace and friendship. The coolies who had not been
dismissed were allowed to run away, except my Bhotan Sirdar, Nimbo,
against whom the Dewan was inveterate;[325] he, however, managed soon
afterwards to break a great chain with which his legs were shackled,
and marching at night, eluded a hot pursuit, and proceeded to the
Teesta, swam the river, and reached Dorjiling in eight days; arriving
with a large iron ring on each leg, and a link of several pounds weight
attached to one.
[325] The Sikkim people are always at issue with the Bhotanese. Nimbo
was a runaway slave of the latter country, who had been received into
Sikkim, and retained there until he took up his quarters at Dorjiling.
Parting presents arrived from the Rajah on the 7th, consisting of
ponies, cloths, silks, woollens, immense squares of butter, tea, and
the usual et ceteras, to the utter impoverishment of his stores: these
he offered to the two Sahibs, “in token of his amity with the British
government, his desire for peace, and deprecation of angry
discussions.” The Ranee sent silk purses, fans, and such Tibetan
paraphernalia, with an equally amicable message, that “she was most
anxious to avert the consequences of whatever complaints had gone forth
against Dr. Campbell, who might depend on her strenuous exertions to
persuade the Rajah to do whatever he wished!” These friendly messages
were probably evoked by the information that an English regiment, with
three guns, was on its way to Sikkim, and that 300 of the Bhaugulpore
Rangers had already arrived there. The government of Bengal sending
another agent[326] to Dorjiling, was also a contingency they had not
anticipated, having fully expected to get rid of any such obstacle to
direct communication with the Governor-General.
[326] Mr. Lushington, the gentleman sent to conduct Sikkim affairs
during Dr. Campbell’s detention: to whom I shall ever feel grateful
for his activity in our cause, and his unremitting attention to every
little arrangement that could alleviate the discomforts and anxieties
of our position.
A present from the whole population followed that of the Ranee, coupled
with earnest entreaties that Campbell would resume his position at
Dorjiling; and on the following day forty coolies mustered to arrange
the baggage. Before we left, the Ranee sent three rupees to buy a yard
of chalé and some gloves, accompanying them with a present of white
silk, etc., for Mrs. Campbell, to whom the commission was intrusted: a
singular instance of the _insouciant_ simplicity of these odd people.
The 9th of December was a splendid and hot day, one of the very few we
had had during our captivity. We left at noon, descending the hill
through an enormous crowd of people, who brought farewell presents, all
wishing us well. We were still under escort as prisoners of the Dewan,
who was coolly marching a troop of forty unloaded mules and ponies, and
double that number of men’s loads of merchandize, purchased during the
summer in Tibet, to trade with at Dorjiling and the Titalya fair! His
impudence or stupidity was thus quite inexplicable; treating us as
prisoners, ignoring every demand of the authorities at Dorjiling, of
the Supreme Council of Calcutta, and of the Governor-General himself;
and at the same time acting as if he were to enter the British
territories on the most friendly and advantageous footing for himself
and his property, and incurring so great an expense in all this as to
prove that he was in earnest in thinking so.
Tchebu Lama accompanied us, but we were not allowed to converse with
him. We halted at the bottom of the valley, where the Dewan invited us
to partake of tea; from this place he gave us mules[327] or ponies to
ride, and we ascended to Yankoong, a village 3,867 feet above the sea.
On the following day we crossed a high ridge from the Ryott valley to
that of the Rungmi; where we camped at Tikbotang (alt. 3,763 feet),
and, on the 11th at Gangtok Sampoo, a few miles lower down the same
valley.
[327] The Tibet mules are often as fine as the Spanish: I rode one
which had performed a journey from Choombi to Lhassa in fifteen days,
with a man and load.
We were now in the Soubahship of the Gangtok Kajee; a member of the
oldest and most wealthy family in Sikkim; he had from the first
repudiated the late acts of the Amlah, in which his brother had taken
part, and had always been hostile to the Dewan. The latter conducted
himself with disagreeable familiarity towards us, and _hauteur_ towards
the people; he was preceded by immense kettle-drums, carried on men’s
backs, and great hand-bells, which were beaten and rung on approaching
villages; on which occasions he changed his dress of sky-blue for
yellow silk robes worked with Chinese dragons, to the indignation of
Tchebu Lama, an amber robe in polite Tibetan society being sacred to
royalty and the Lamas. We everywhere perceived unequivocal symptoms of
the dislike with which he was regarded. Cattle were driven away,
villages deserted, and no one came to pay respects, or bring presents,
except the Kajees, who were ordered to attend, and his elder brother,
for whom he had usurped an estate near Gangtok.
On the 13th, he marched us a few miles, and then halted for a day at
Serriomsa (alt. 2,820 feet), at the bottom of a hot valley full of
irrigated rice-crops and plantain and orange-groves. Here the Gangtok
Kajee waited on us with a handsome present, and informed us privately
of his cordial hatred of the “upstart Dewan,” and hopes for his
overthrow; a demonstration of which we took no notice.[328] The Dewan’s
brother (one of the Amlah) also sent a large present, but was ashamed
to appear. Another letter reached the Dewan here, directed to the
Rajah; it was from the Governor-General at Bombay, and had been sent
across the country by special messengers: it demanded our instant
release, or his Raj would be forfeited; and declared that if a hair of
our heads were touched, his life should be the penalty.
[328] Nothing would have been easier than for the Gangtok Kajee, or
any other respectable man in Sikkim, to have overthrown the Dewan and
his party; but these people are intolerably apathetic, and prefer
being tyrannized over to the trouble of shaking off the yoke.
The Rajah was also incessantly urging the Dewan to hasten us onwards as
free men to Dorjiling, but the latter took all remonstrances with
assumed coolness, exercised his ponies, played at bow and arrow,
intruded on us at mealtimes to be invited to partake, and loitered on
the road, changing garments and hats, which he pestered us to buy.
Nevertheless, be was evidently becoming daily more nervous and
agitated.
From the Rungmi valley we crossed on the 14th southward to that of
Runniok, and descended to Dikkeeling, a large village of Dhurma
Bhoteeas (Bhotanese), which is much the most populous, industrious, and
at the same time turbulent, in Sikkim. It is 4,950 feet above the sea,
and occupies many broad cultivated spurs facing the south. This
district once belonged to Bhotan, and was ceded to the Sikkim Rajah by
the Paro Pilo,[329] in consideration of some military services,
rendered by the former in driving off the Tibetans, who had usurped it
for the authorities of Lhassa. Since then the Sikkim and Bhotan people
have repeatedly fallen out, and Dikkeeling has become a refuge for
runaway Bhotanese, and kidnapping is constantly practised on this
frontier.
[329] The temporal sovereign, in contra-distinction to the Dhurma
Rajah, or spiritual sovereign of Bhotan.
The Dewan halted us here for three days, for no assigned cause. On the
16th, letters arrived, including a most kind and encouraging one from
Mr. Lushington, who had taken charge of Campbell’s office at Dorjiling.
Immediately after arriving, the messenger was seized with violent
vomitings and gripings: we could not help suspecting poison, especially
as we were now amongst adherents of the Dewan, and the Bhotanese are
notorious for this crime. Only one means suggested itself for proving
this, and with Campbell’s permission I sent my compliments to the
Dewan, with a request for one of his hunting dogs to eat the vomit. It
was sent at once, and performed its duty without any ill effects. I
must confess to having felt a malicious pleasure in the opportunity
thus afforded of showing our jailor how little we trusted him; feeling
indignant at the idea that he should suppose he was making any way in
our good opinion by his familiarities, which we were not in
circumstances to resist.
The crafty fellow, however, outwitted me by inviting us to dine with
him the same day, and putting our stomachs and noses to a severe test.
Our dinner was served in Chinese fashion, but most of the luxuries,
such as _béche-de-mer,_ were very old and bad. We ate, sometimes with
chop-sticks, and at others with Tibetan spoons, knives, and two-pronged
forks. After the usual amount of messes served in oil and salt water,
sweets were brought, and a strong spirit. Thoba-sing, our filthy,
cross-eyed spy, was waiter, and brought in every little dish with both
hands, and raised it to his greasy forehead, making a sort of half bow
previous to depositing it before us. Sometimes he undertook to praise
its contents, always adding, that in Tibet none but very great men
indeed partook of such sumptuous fare. Thus he tried to please both us
and the Dewan, who conducted himself with pompous hospitality, showing
off what he considered his elegant manners and graces. Our blood boiled
within us at being so patronised by the squinting ruffian, whose
insolence and ill-will had sorely aggravated the discomforts of our
imprisonment.
Not content with giving us what he considered a magnificent dinner (and
it had cost him some trouble), the Dewan produced a little bag from a
double-locked escritoire, and took out three dinner-pills, which he had
received as a great favour from the Rimbochay Lama, and which were a
sovereign remedy for indigestion and all other ailments; he handed one
to each of us, reserving the third for himself. Campbell refused his;
but there appeared no help for me, after my groundless suspicion of
poison, and so I swallowed the pill with the best grace I could. But in
truth, it was not poison I dreaded in its contents, so much as being
compounded of some very questionable materials, such as the Rimbochay
Lama blesses and dispenses far and wide. To swallow such is a
sanctifying work, according to Boodhist superstition, and I believe
there was nothing in the world, save his ponies, to which the Dewan
attached a greater value.
To wind up the feast, we had pipes of excellent mild yellow Chinese
tobacco called “Tseang,” made from _Nicotiana rustica,_ which is
cultivated in East Tibet, and in West China according to MM. Huc and
Gabet. It resembles in flavour the finest Syrian tobacco, and is most
agreeable when the smoke is passed through the nose. The common tobacco
of India (_Nicotiana Tabacum_) is much imported into Tibet, where it is
called “Tamma,” (probably a corruption of the Persian “Toombac,”) and
is said to fetch the enormous price of 30_s._ per lb. at Lhassa, which
is sixty times its value in India. Rice at Lhassa, when cheap, sells at
2_s._ for 5 lbs.; it is, as I have elsewhere said, all bought up for
rations for the Chinese soldiery.
The Bhotanese are more industrious than the Lepchas, and better
husbandmen; besides having superior crops of all ordinary grains, they
grow cotton, hemp, and flax. The cotton is cleansed here as elsewhere,
with a simple gin. The Lepchas use no spinning wheel, but a spindle and
distaff; their loom, which is Tibetan is a very complicated one framed
of bamboo; it is worked by hand, without beam treddle, or shuttle.
On the 18th we were marched, three miles only, to Singdong (alt. 2,116
feet), and on the following day five miles farther, to Katong Ghat
(alt. 750 feet), on the Teesta river, which we crossed with rafts, and
camped on the opposite bank, a few miles above the junction of this
river with the Great Rungeet. The water, which is sea-green in colour,
had a temperature of 53·5° at 4 p.m., and 51·7° the following morning;
its current was very powerful. The rocks, since leaving Tunlloong, had
been generally micaceous, striking north-west, and dipping north-east.
The climate was hot, and the vegetation on the banks tropical; on the
hills around, lemon-bushes (“Kucheala,” Lepcha) were abundant, growing
apparently wild.
The Dewan was now getting into a very nervous and depressed state; he
was determined to keep up appearances before his followers, but was
himself almost servile to us; he caused his men to make a parade of
their arms, as if to intimidate us, and in descending narrow gullies we
had several times the disagreeable surprise of finding some of his men
at a sudden turn, with drawn bows and arrows pointed towards us. Others
gesticulated with their long knives, and made fell swoops at soft
plantain-stems; but these artifices were all as shallow as they were
contemptible, and a smile at such demonstrations was generally answered
with another from the actors.
From Katong we ascended the steep east flank of Tendong or Mount
Ararat, through forests of Sal and long-leaved pine, to Namten (alt.
4,483 feet), where we again halted two days. The Dingpun Tinli lived
near and waited on us with a present, which, with all others that had
been brought, Campbell received officially, and transferred to the
authorities at Dorjiling.
The Dewan was thoroughly alarmed at the news here brought in, that the
Rajah’s present of yaks, ponies, etc., which had been sent forward, had
been refused at Dorjiling; and equally so at the clamorous messages
which reached him from all quarters, demanding our liberation; and at
the desertion of some of his followers, on hearing that large bodies of
troops were assembling at Dorjiling. Repudiated by his Rajah and
countrymen, and paralysed between his dignity and his ponies, which he
now perceived would not be welcomed at the station, and which were
daily losing flesh, looks, and value in these hot valleys, where there
is no grass pasture, he knew not what olive-branch to hold out to our
government, except ourselves, whom he therefore clung to as hostages.
On the 22nd of December he marched us eight miles further, to Cheadam,
on a bold spur 4,653 feet high, overlooking the Great Rungeet, and
facing Dorjiling, from which it was only twenty miles distant. The
white bungalows of our friends gladdened our eyes, while the new
barracks erecting for the daily arriving troops struck terror into the
Dewan’s heart. The six Sepoys[330] who had marched valiantly beside us
for twenty days, carrying the muskets given to the Rajah the year
before by the Governor-General, now lowered their arms, and vowed that
if a red coat crossed the Great Rungeet, they would throw down their
guns and run away. News arrived that the Bhotan inhabitants of
Dorjiling headed by my bold Sirdar Nimbo, had arranged a night attack
for our release; an enterprise to which they were quite equal, and in
which they have had plenty of practice in their own misgoverned
country. Watch-fires gleamed amongst the bushes, we were thrust into a
doubly-guarded house, and bows and arrows were ostentatiously levelled
so as to rake the doorway, should we attempt to escape. Some of the
ponies were sent back to Dikkeeling, though the Dewan still clung to
his merchandise and the feeble hope of traffic. The confusion increased
daily, but though Tchebu Lama looked brisk and confident, we were
extremely anxious; scouts were hourly arriving from the road to the
Great Rungeet, and if our troops had advanced, the Dewan might have
made away with us from pure fear.
[330] These Sepoys, besides the loose red jacket and striped Lepcha
kirtle, wore a very curious national black hat of felt, with broad
flaps turned up all round: this is represented in the right-hand
figure. A somewhat similar bat is worn by some classes of Nepal
soldiery.
[Illustration: Lepcha sepoys. Tibetan sepoys in the back-ground.]
In the forenoon he paid us a long visit, and brought some flutes, of
which he gave me two very common ones of apricot wood from Lhassa,
producing at the same time a beautiful one, which I believe he intended
for Campbell, but his avarice got the better, and he commuted his gift
into the offer of a tune, and pitching it in a high key, he went
through a Tibetan air that almost deafened us by its screech. He tried
bravely to maintain his equanimity, but as we preserved a frigid
civility and only spoke when addressed, the tears would start from his
eyes in the pauses of conversation. In the evening he came again; he
was excessively agitated and covered with perspiration, and thrust
himself unceremoniously between us on the bench we occupied. As his
familiarity increased, he put his arm round my neck, and as he was
armed with a small dagger, I felt rather uneasy about his intentions,
but he ended by forcing on my acceptance a coin, value threepence, for
he was in fact beside himself with terror.
Next morning Campbell received a hint that this was a good opportunity
for a vigorous remonstrance. The Dewan came with Tchebu Lama, his own
younger brother (who was his pony driver), and the Lassoo Kajee. The
latter had for two months placed himself in an attitude of hostility
opposite Dorjiling, with a ragged company of followers, but he now
sought peace and friendship as much as the Dewan; the latter told us he
was waiting for a reply to a letter addressed to Mr. Lushington, after
which he would set us free. Campbell said: “As you appear to have made
up your mind, why not dismiss us at once?” He answered that we should
go the next day at all events: Here I came in, and on hearing from
Campbell what had passed, I added, that he had better for his own sake
let us go at once; that the next day was our great and only annual
Poojah (religious festival) of Christmas, when we all met; whereas he
and his countrymen had dozens in the year. As for me, he knew I had no
wife, nor children, nor any relation, within thousands of miles, and it
mattered little where I was, he was only bringing ruin on himself by
his conduct to me as the Governor-General’s friend; but as regarded
Campbell, the case was different; his home was at Dorjiling, which was
swarming with English soldiers, all in a state of exasperation, and if
he did not let us depart before Christmas, he would find Dorjiling too
hot to hold him, let him offer what reparation he might for the
injuries he had done us. I added: “We are all ready to go—dismiss us.”
The Dewan again turned to Campbell, who said, “I am quite ready; order
us ponies at once, and send our luggage after us.” He then ordered the
ponies, and three men, including Meepo, to attend us; whereupon we
walked out, mounted, and made off with all speed.
We arrived at the cane bridge over the Great Rungeet at 4 p.m., and to
our chagrin found it in the possession of a posse of ragged Bhoteeas,
though there were thirty armed Sepoys of our own at the guard-house
above. At Meepo’s order they cut the network of fine canes by which
they had rendered the bridge impassable, and we crossed. The Sepoys at
the guard-house turned out with their clashing arms and bright
accoutrements, and saluted to the sound of bugles; scaring our three
companions, who ran back as fast as they could go. We rode up that
night to Dorjiling, and I arrived at 8 p.m. at Hodgson’s house, where I
was taken for a ghost, and received with shouts of welcome by my kind
friend and his guest Dr. Thomson, who had been awaiting my arrival for
upwards of a month.
Thus terminated our Sikkim captivity, and my last Himalayan exploring
journey, which in a geographical point of view had answered my purposes
beyond my most sanguine expectations, though my collections had been in
a great measure destroyed by so many untoward events. It enabled me to
survey the whole country, and to execute a map of it, and Campbell had
further gained that knowledge of its resources which the British
government should all along have possessed, as the protector of the
Rajah and his territories.
It remains to say a few words of the events that succeeded our release,
in so far as they relate to my connection with them. The Dewan moved
from Cheadam to Namtchi, immediately opposite Dorjiling, where he
remained throughout the winter. The supreme government of Bengal
demanded of the Rajah that he should deliver up the most notorious
offenders, and come himself to Dorjiling, on pain of an army marching
to Tumloong to enforce the demand; a step which would have been easy,
as there were neither troops, arms, ammunition, nor other means of
resistance, even had there been the inclination to stop us, which was
not the case. The Rajah would in all probability have delivered himself
up at Tumloong, throwing himself on our mercy, and the army would have
sought the culprits in vain, both the spirit and the power to capture
them being wanting on the part of the people and their ruler.
The Rajah expressed his willingness, but pleaded his inability to
fulfil the demand, whereupon the threat was repeated, and additional
reinforcements were moved on to Dorjiling. The general officer in
command at Dinapore was ordered to Dorjiling to conduct operations: his
skill and bravery had been proved during the progress of the Nepal war
so long ago as 1815. From the appearance of the country about
Dorjiling, he was led to consider Sikkim to be impracticable for a
British army. This was partly owing to the forest-clad mountains, and
partly to the fear of Tibetan troops coming to the Rajah’s aid, and the
Nepalese[331] taking the opportunity to attack us. With the latter we
were in profound peace, and we had a resident at their court; and I
have elsewhere shown the impossibility of a Tibet invasion, even if the
Chinese or Lhassan authorities were inclined to interfere in the
affairs of Sikkim, which they long ago formally declined doing in the
case of aggressions of the Nepalese and Bhotanese, the Sikkim Rajah
being under British protection.[332]
[331] Jung Bahadoor was at this time planning his visit to England,
and to his honour I must say, that on hearing of our imprisonment he
offered to the government at Calcutta to release us with a handful of
men. This he would no doubt have easily effected, but his offer was
wisely declined, for the Nepalese (as I have elsewhere stated) want
Sikkim and Bhotan too, and we had undertaken the protection of the
former country, mainly to keep the Nepalese out of it.
[332] The general officer considered that our troops would have been
cut to pieces if they entered the country; and the late General Sir
Charles Napier has since given evidence to the same effect. Having
been officially asked at the time whether I would guide a party into
the country, and having drawn up (at the request of the general
officer) plans for the purpose, and having given it as my opinion that
it would not only have been feasible but easy to have marched a force
in peace and safety to Tumloong, I feel it incumbent on me here to
remark, that I think General Napier, who never was in Sikkim, and
wrote from many hundred miles’ distance, must have misapprehended the
state of the case. Whether an invasion of Sikkim was either advisable
or called for, was a matter in which I had no concern: nor do I offer
an opinion as to the impregnability of the country if it were defended
by natives otherwise a match for a British force, and having the
advantage of position. I was not consulted with reference to any
difference of opinion between the civil and military powers, such as
seems to have called for the expression of Sir Charles Napier’s
opinion on this matter, and which appears to be considerably overrated
in his evidence.
The general officer honoured me with his friendship at Dorjiling,
and to Mr. Lushington, I am, as I have elsewhere stated, under
great obligations for his personal consideration and kindness, and
vigorous measures during my detention. On my release and return to
Dorjiling, any interference on my part would have been meddling
with what was not my concern. I never saw, nor wished to see, a
public document connected with the affair, and have only given as
many of the leading features of the case as I can vouch for, and as
were accessible to any other bystander.
There were not wanting offers of leading a company of soldiers to
Tumloong, rather than that the threat should have twice been made, and
then withdrawn; but they were not accepted. A large body of troops was
however, marched from Dorjiling, and encamped on the north bank of the
Great Rungeet for some weeks: but after that period they were recalled,
without any further demonstration; the Dewan remaining encamped the
while on the Namtchi hill, not three hours’ march above them. The
simple Lepchas daily brought our soldiers milk, fowls, and eggs, and
would have continued to do so had they proceeded to Tumloong, for I
believe both Rajah and people would have rejoiced at our occupation of
the country.
After the withdrawal of the troops, the threat was modified into a
seizure of the Terai lands, which the Rajah had originally received as
a free gift from the British, and which were the only lucrative or
fertile estates he possessed. This was effected by four policemen
taking possession of the treasury (which contained exactly twelve
shillings, I believe), and announcing to the villagers the confiscation
of the territory to the British government, in which they gladly
acquiesced. At the same time there was annexed to it the whole southern
part of Sikkim, between the Great Rungeet and the plains of India, and
from Nepal on the west to the Bhotan frontier and the Teesta river on
the east; thus confining the Rajah to his mountains, and cutting off
all access to the plains, except through the British territories. To
the inhabitants (about 5000 souls) this was a matter of congratulation,
for it only involved the payment of a small fixed tax in money to the
treasury at Dorjiling, instead of a fluctuating one in kind, with
service to the Rajah, besides exempting them from further annoyance by
the Dewan. At the present time the revenues of the tract thus acquired
have doubled, and will very soon be quadrupled: every expense of our
detention and of the moving of troops, etc., has been already repaid by
it, and for the future all will be clear profit; and I am given to
understand that this last year it has realized upwards of 30,000 rupees
(£3000).
Dr. Campbell resumed his duties immediately afterwards, and the
newly-acquired districts were placed under his jurisdiction. The Rajah
still begs hard for the renewal of old friendship, and the restoration
of his Terai land, or the annual grant of £300 a year which he formerly
received. He has forbidden the culprits his court, but can do no more.
The Dewan, disgraced and turned out of office, is reduced to poverty,
and is deterred from entering Tibet by the threat of being dragged to
Lhassa with a rope round his neck. Considering, however, his energy, a
rare quality in these countries, I should not be surprised at his yet
cutting a figure in Bhotan, if not in Sikkim itself: especially if, at
the Rajah’s death, the British government should refuse to take the
country under its protection. The Singtam Soubah and the other culprits
live disgraced at their homes. Tchebu Lama has received a handsome
reward, and a grant of land at Dorjiling, where he resides, and whence
he sends me his salaams by every opportunity.