A few days later came the news that the pillar which Mr. White had

erected on the Jelap-la had been demolished by the Tibetans, and the

stoneware slab on which the number of the pillar had been inscribed had

been removed by them. And on June 11 Mr. White telegraphed that the

pillar he had erected on the Donchuk-la had been wilfully damaged, and

as this was an unfrequented pass he considered the outrage must be

deliberate. He subsequently stated that the numbered slab here also had

been taken away, and that the destruction of the pillar was most

probably the work of three Lamas sent from Lhasa to watch the

proceedings of the Tibetan Commissioners at Yatung.

This was brought to the notice of the Chinese Resident by the Viceroy,

and a reply was received that the Council of State had sent no orders

for the destruction of the pillar, and that he had given orders that a

strict examination should be made into the affair, and the people who

stole the slab from the pillar be severely punished. At the same time,

the Amban suggested that the work of delimiting the frontier should be

postponed “until after the expiry of the free period when the treaty was

to be revised.”

When informed of this proposal, our Minister at Peking stated his

opinion that it would be best to be firm in the refusal of a

postponement, and he solicited the Viceroy’s authority to repeat to the

Chinese Government what he had previously informed them, that, if

obliged, the British Commissioner would proceed alone.

The Bengal Government also urged that Mr. White “should be authorized to

proceed with his own men alone to lay down the boundary and set up

pillars on the passes along the eastern frontier where no dispute was

known to exist.” But the Lieutenant-Governor was informed that the

Government of India were not prepared to insist upon the early

demarcation of the frontier, and directed that Mr. White should return

to Gantok forthwith, or, at any, rate withdraw at once from the

immediate neighbourhood of the border.

* * * * *

The Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Charles Elliott, acknowledged that it was

difficult for Mr. White to remain indefinitely in his camp on the

frontier, but declared that it was impossible to disguise the fact that

a return to Gantok practically meant the abandonment of the demarcation.

He believed that the authorities in Peking were anxious that the

delimitation should continue without delay, but it was plain that the

Amban at Lhasa was unable to give effect to the wishes of his Government

in consequence of the opposition manifested by the Lamas, who exercised

the real authority in Tibet. The contemplated withdrawal of Mr. White to

Gantok would undoubtedly, he thought—and events proved him to be

absolutely right—cause a loss of prestige, would be looked upon by the

Tibetans as a rebuff to British authority, and would encourage them in

high-handed acts and demands, and possibly outrages. He had no doubt

that if the British Government had only to deal with Tibet, the wisest

policy would be to give them warning that unless they at once made

arrangements to co-operate in the work of delimitation it would be done

without them, and that unless they appointed a ruler on their side who

could protect the pillars set up, the British Government would march in

and hold the Chumbi Valley in pawn, either temporarily or permanently.

Such a brusque and high-handed line of conduct, added the

Lieutenant-Governor, was the only one that frontier tribes who have

reached the stage of civilization of the Tibetans could understand. But

the affair, he allowed, was complicated by the relations of Government

with China, and our desire to uphold the weak and tottering authority of

the Chinese in Lhasa, the result of which was that the people who were

in real power were not those we dealt with, and that the people we dealt

with had no power to carry out their engagements with us. In the

circumstances, Sir Charles Elliott advocated such negotiations with the

Chinese Government as would leave the British Government free to march

in and hold the Chumbi Valley, with their consent, and without any

detriment to the Chinese suzerainty, but with the object of assisting

them to establish their authority more firmly at Lhasa. At any rate, we

ought, he considered, to intimate in a firm and friendly way to the

Peking Government that either they must get their orders carried out or

we must. He reminded the Government of India that nothing had been

exacted as the result of the British victories at Lengtu and on the

Jelap-la—not even compensation for the cost of the campaign—and he urged

that we should now insist that we would protect our own interests if

China could not carry out her engagements.[8]

* * * * *

These, in the light of future events, appear reasonable and sensible

proposals; but the Government of India, in pursuance of their policy of

forbearance and moderation, would not accept them. They ordered Mr.

White definitely to return to Gantok. They noticed that the returns of

trade between British territory and Tibet showed a marked increase, and

they hoped that the continued exercise of moderation and patience would

gradually remove Tibetan suspicions as to our aims and policy.

A few months after this was written, in November of 1895, Mr. Nolan, the

Commissioner of Darjiling, an officer who had for many years been

conversant with the Tibetan question, and who held civil charge of that

division of Bengal which adjoins Sikkim and Bhutan, and who supervised

our relations with those two States as well as our trade with Tibet,

visited Yatung, and had conversations with Chinese and Tibetan local

officials. His report of the state of affairs there is one of the most

interesting published.[9] He found that the imposition of the 10 per

cent. duty at Phari was no new exaction, but had existed for a long

time. He found, also, that the reason the Tibetans did not meet Mr.

White in the previous summer to delimit the boundary was that they

wished the general line of the frontier should be agreed upon, in the

first instance, with reference to maps, and the ground visited only

after this was done. But he found, too, that the Tibetans repudiated the

treaty. The “Chief Steward,” the sole Commissioner on the part of the

Tibetan Government for reporting on the frontier matter, “made the

important statement that the Tibetans did not consider themselves bound

by the Convention with China, as they were not a party to it.” He

reported further, that the Tibetans had prevented the formation of a

mart by building a wall across the valley on the farther side of Yatung,

by efficiently guarding this and by prohibiting their traders from

passing through. Mr. Korb, a wool merchant from Bengal, had come to

Yatung to purchase wool from some of his correspondents on the Tibetan

side, who had invited him thither; but the Tibetans prevented his

correspondents from coming to do business with him. Tibetan merchants

were similarly prevented from seeing Mr. Nolan.

Mr. Nolan’s conclusion was that, even though the duty which was

collected at Phari was neither special nor newly imposed, yet exaction

was inconsistent with the treaty provision that trade with India should

be exempt from taxation; and also that the first clause in the Trade

Regulations, providing that “a trade-mart shall be established at

Yatung,” which “shall be open to all British subjects for the purposes

of trade,” had not been carried into effect.

The failure to carry out the treaty he attributed entirely to the

Tibetans. He was quite satisfied that the Chinese officials in Tibet,

whatever might have been their prepossessions in favour of the policy of

seclusion, then sincerely desired to see the Convention carried out,

being afraid that they would be disgraced by their own Government if it

were not. The Tibetans were the real as well as the ostensible

opponents. And Mr. Nolan believed their true motives in opposing the

treaty were correctly expressed by a monk, who said that if the English

entered Tibet, his bowl would be broken, meaning that the influence of

his Order would be destroyed, and its wealth, typified by the collection

of food made from door to door in bowls, would be lost. And this

opposition on the part of the Lamas the Chinese had not the means of

overcoming. They certainly had an acknowledged social superiority, and

they were feared to a certain extent on account of their power to send

an army through the Himalayas, as they had done on several occasions

with surprising success. On the other hand, their present forces in

Tibet were ridiculously small, and from Yatung to Gyantse they only had

140 soldiers, and at Lhasa only a few hundreds, while the monks at Lhasa

numbered 19,100, of whom 16,500 were concentrated in three great

monasteries, and they were vigorous and formidable in a riot, having

attacked the Chinese in 1810 and 1844 and the Nepalese in 1883.

* * * * *

Mr. Nolan, with his long experience on this frontier, had, as

events have shown, most accurately gauged the situation. The

Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Charles Elliott, considered that his

report showed that the improvement hoped for from conciliation and

forbearance had not taken place in the two seasons during which

the mart had nominally been opened, and by the systematic

obstruction of the Tibetans the object of the treaty with China

had been frustrated. He therefore renewed his recommendation that

a diplomatic reference should be made to China, pointing out how

completely the Tibetans had violated the spirit of the treaty and

Trade Regulations, and had refused to be bound by their terms.

But the Government of India again replied that they wished to pursue a

policy of conciliation, and did not wish to make any serious

representations to the Chinese Government. They repeated that trade had

increased, and as regards demarcation of the frontier, they understood

from a further report of Mr. Nolan’s that the Tibetans claimed a strip

of territory near Giagong, in the north of Sikkim, and these claims the

Government of India considered it would not only be impolitic but

inequitable to ignore. The Viceroy therefore wrote to the Chinese

Resident, suggesting that Chinese and Tibetan delegates should be sent

to Gantok, the capital of Sikkim, to meet Mr. White there, and proceed

with him to Giagong to make a local inquiry, but that no actual

demarcation should take place until the reports of the results of the

inquiry had taken place.

And so the game rolled on, and nothing whatever resulted. The Chinese

Resident was superseded, and the Chinese asked that action should be

deferred till the new one arrived. The new Resident came, and wrote that

the Tibetans are "naturally doltish, and prone to doubts and

misgivings," and it would be best therefore that they should “personally

inspect the line of demarcation mentioned in the treaty,” though a

Tibetan representative had been with the Chinese Amban when the

Convention was made, and had ample opportunity during the years that

agreement took in negotiating to inspect and to give the views of his

Government upon it. And so it resulted that when, at the conclusion of

five years from the signing of the Trade Regulations, the Secretary of

State asked the Government of India for “a full report, both on the

progress made since the date of that agreement towards the settlement of

the frontier, and on the extent to which the trade stipulations of the

treaty and Convention had been operative,” the Bengal Government had to

reply[10] that the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet, as laid down in

Article I. of the Convention, had not yet been demarcated, owing to the

refusal of the Tibetans to abide by the terms of the Convention, and to

their claiming a tract of land to the north of Donkya-la, Giagong, and

the Lonakh Valley; and that the trade stipulations contained in the

Regulations, had been inoperative. The Tibetans had prevented Yatung

becoming a real trade-mart; absolutely no business was transacted there,

and it was merely a registering post for goods passing between Tibet and

India, and the proclamation of the place as a mart had in no way

influenced the trade between the two countries, for what small increase

there was appeared to be mainly due to, and might have been expected

from, the restoration of peace between the British Government and Tibet.

This was the net result of the policy of conciliation and forbearance

towards the Tibetans and of reliance on the Chinese Central Government,

which had been pursued from 1873.

-----

Footnote 6:

Blue-book, p. 24.

Footnote 7:

Blue-book, p. 31.

Footnote 8:

Blue-book, p. 44.

Footnote 9:

_Ibid._, p. 54.

Footnote 10:

Blue-book, p. 92.

-----

------------------

CHAPTER VI

SECURING THE TREATY RIGHTS

Now that five years had elapsed since the Trade Regulations were

concluded, and they were, according to their provisions, subject to

revision, the Government of India began to consider any practical

measures for securing fuller facilities for trade. The Convention of

1890 and the Trade Regulations of 1893 were intended to provide these

facilities, but so far none had been obtained; and the Indian Government

thought that, as the Tibetans attached great importance to retaining the

Giagong piece of territory in Northern Sikkim, and as we had no real

desire to hold it, there might be advantage in conceding that point if

the Tibetans would, on their side, make some equivalent concession. They

might, it was thought, concede to us the point for which we had

contended when negotiating the Trade Regulations, and recognize Phari as

the trade-mart in place of the quite useless Yatung. Lord Salisbury[11]

agreed that some action was necessary, but it seemed to him that, as

during recent years Chinese advisory authority in Tibet had been little

more than nominal, and the correspondence of the Government of India

even seemed to show that it was practically nonexistent, it would be

preferable to open direct communication between the Government of India

and the Tibetan authorities.

Lord Curzon therefore commenced, in the autumn of 1899, a series of

attempts to open up direct communication with them. Ugyen Kázi, the

Bhutanese Agent in Darjiling, who was accustomed to visit Tibet for

trade purposes, was first employed to write a letter on his own behalf

to the Dalai Lama, suggesting, in general terms, that a high Tibetan

official should be sent to discuss the frontier and trade questions.

This letter met with an unfavourable response. Captain Kennion, the

Assistant to the Resident in Kashmir, who annually visits Leh and the

Western Tibet frontier, was then charged with a letter from the Viceroy

to the Dalai Lama, which he was to give to the Tibetan officials in

Gartok; but six months after this was returned to Captain Kennion, with

the intimation that the officials had not dared, in the face of the

regulations against the intrusion of foreigners into Tibet, to send it

to Lhasa. These two methods having failed, Ugyen Kázi was entrusted with

another letter from the Viceroy to the Dalai Lama, which he was himself

to present at Lhasa. In August, 1901, he returned from Lhasa, reporting

that the Dalai Lama declined to reply to it, stating as his reason that

the matter was not one for him to settle, but must be discussed fully in

Council with the Amban, the Ministers, and the Lamas, and the letter was

brought back with the seal intact.

* * * * *

A factor of determining importance now suddenly thrust itself into the

situation. At the very time when the Viceroy was making these fruitless

efforts to enter into direct communication with the Dalai Lama came the

information that this exclusive personage had been sending an Envoy to

the Czar. Our Ambassador at St. Petersburg forwarded to the Foreign

Office an announcement in the official column of the _Journal de Saint

Petersbourg_ of October 2 (15), 1900, announcing the reception by His

Majesty the Emperor of a certain Dorjieff, who was described as first

Tsanit Hamba to the Dalai Lama of Tibet. And, some months later, our

Consul-General at Odessa forwarded to the Foreign Office an extract from

the _Odessa Novosti_ of June 12 (25), 1901, stating that Odessa would

welcome that day an Extraordinary Mission from the Dalai Lama of Tibet,

which was proceeding to St. Petersburg with diplomatic instructions of

importance. At the head of the mission was the Lama, Dorzhievy

(Dorjieff), and its chief object was a rapprochement and the

strengthening of good relations with Russia. It was said to have been

equipped by the Dalai Lama, and despatched with autograph letters and

presents from him to His Imperial Majesty. And, among other things, it

was to raise the question of the establishment in St. Petersburg of a

permanent Tibetan Mission for the maintenance of good relations with

Russia.

This Dorjieff, it appeared from an article in the _Novoe Vremya_ of June

18 (July 1), 1901, was a Russian subject, who had grown up and received

his education on Russian soil. He was by birth a Buriat of Chovinskaia

(in the province of Verchnyudinsk, in Trans-Baikalia, Eastern Siberia),

and was brought up in the province of Azochozki. He had settled in Tibet

twenty years before his present visit to Russia. “This reappearance of

the Tibet Mission in Russia proved,” said the _Novoe Vremya_, “that the

favourable impressions carried back by Dorjieff to his home from his

previous mission have confirmed the Dalai Lama in his intention of

contracting the friendliest relations with Russia.... A rapprochement

with Russia must seem to him [the Dalai Lama] the most natural step, as

Russia is the only Power able to frustrate the intrigues of Great

Britain.”

Count Lamsdorff, however, in conversation with the British

Ambassador[12] on July 3, 1901, characterized “as ridiculous and utterly

unfounded the conclusion drawn in certain organs of the Russian press,

that these Tibetan visitors were charged with any diplomatic mission.”

He said Dorjieff was a Mongolian Buriat of Russian origin, who came

occasionally to Russia with the object, he believed, of making money

collections for his Order from the numerous Buddhists in the Russian

Empire. Count Lamsdorff added that on the occasion of Dorjieff’s visit

in the previous autumn to Yalta, the Emperor had received him, and he

himself had had an opportunity of learning some interesting details from

him of life in Tibet; the Russian Geographical Society also took an

interest in his visit, which had, however, no official character

whatever, although he was accompanied on this visit by other Tibetans.

But, in spite of this declaimer, Dorjieff was still styled an Envoy

Extraordinary, and the _Messager Officiel_ of June 25 (July 8, 1901) had

the announcement that his Majesty the Emperor had received on June 23,

in the Grand Palace at Peterhof, the Envoy Extraordinary from the Dalai

Lama of Tibet. And as the Russian press announced that the Envoys had

paid visits to Count Lamsdorff and M. Witte, Sir Charles Scott, the

British Ambassador, took an opportunity at an interview with Count

Lamsdorff of ascertaining some further particulars.[13] The latter said

that, although the Tibetan visitors had been described as Envoys

Extraordinary of the Dalai Lama, their mission could not be regarded as

having any political or diplomatic character. The mission was of the

same character as those sent by the Pope to the faithful in foreign

lands. Dorjieff had some post of confidence in the Dalai Lama’s service,

but Count Lamsdorff believed that he still maintained his original

Russian nationality. He had brought the Count an autograph letter from

the Dalai Lama, but this letter merely expressed a hope that Count

Lamsdorff was in the enjoyment of good health and was prosperous, and

informed him that the Dalai was able to say that he himself enjoyed

excellent health.

These proceedings naturally enough attracted the attention of the

Secretary of State for India, who on July 25 pointed out to the Foreign

Office[14] that the Dalai Lama had recently refused to receive the

communications addressed to him by the Viceroy, and that while the

Viceroy was thus treated with discourtesy a mission was publicly sent to

Russia, and the publicity given to the Tibetan Mission which had

recently arrived in St. Petersburg could not fail to engender some

disquietude in the minds of the Indian Government as to the object and

result of any negotiations which might ensue. The Secretary of State for

India suggested, therefore, that our Ambassador should be instructed to

inform Count Lamsdorff we had received his assurance with satisfaction,

as any proceedings that might have a tendency to alter or disturb the

existing status of Tibet, would be a movement in which His Majesty’s

Government could not acquiesce. This suggestion was adopted, and on

September 2, 1901, our Ambassador informed Count Lamsdorff that His

Majesty’s Government would naturally not regard with indifference any

proceedings that might have a tendency to alter or disturb the existing

status in Tibet. The Russian Minister repeated his assertion that “the

mission was chiefly concerned with matters of religion, and had no

political or diplomatic object or character.”

* * * * *

For the time being the Government of India itself took no action in

regard to this new factor, though in concluding a despatch to the

Secretary of State on February 13 of the following year (1902) they

declared that it was desirable that the unsatisfactory situation in

Tibet should be brought to an end with as little delay and commotion as

possible, since there were factors in the case which, at a later date,

might invest the breakdown of the unnatural barriers of Tibetan

isolation with a wider and more serious significance.

They continued to plod steadily along at the settlement of the frontier,

and corresponded with the Secretary of State and the Bengal Chamber of

Commerce about the introduction of tea to Tibet now that the five years,

during which it was to be excluded had expired. But they acted with much

more decision than previously, and instead of waiting year after year

for the arrival of Chinese or Tibetan deputies to meet our

representatives, they sent Mr. White, in the summer of 1902, to Giagong,

to reassert British rights to the tract of country which the Tibetans

had been occupying in contravention of the treaty of 1890, and, if

necessary, to expel them from the British side of the frontier. Mr.

White had suggested that an effective and simple way would be to occupy

the Chumbi Valley, but the Government of India, though they considered

grounds for strong action were far from lacking, were not for the time

in favour of such a proposal. And another alternative of stopping all

Tibetan trade they thought would be hard on our own traders, and might

drive trade permanently away to Nepal and Bhutan. They accordingly

adopted the above-mentioned course.

Mr. White went to Giagong on June 26, 1902, with 200 men, and camped

half a mile from the Tibetan wall, where the Khamba Jongpen and 40 men

were stationed. He gave them twenty-four hours’ notice in which to move

to the other side of the boundary. On the following morning, after some

protests, the Tibetans removed across the boundary. On July 4 a number

of Tibetan officials visited him, and said they had come under

instructions from the Tashi Lama to show him the Giagong boundary. Mr.

White told them that his orders were to lay down the boundary as shown

in the Convention of 1890, which had been signed by the Chinese Amban on

behalf of the Tibetans. To which they replied that they had heard of the

treaty, but that it was invalid, as it had not been signed by any

Tibetan. The Tibetans, however, asked for a copy of the treaty and for

the names of the passes, and Mr. White told them they could see for

themselves if the water ran into the Sikkim Valley or into Tibet, and

where the water parted into Sikkim and Tibet was the boundary. He found

on the tract 6,270 sheep, 737 yaks, out of which only 1,143 sheep and 80

yaks belonged to the Sikkimese, and the remainder were Tibetan. Near the

top of the Naku La he found a Tibetan wall running across the valley,

with a blockhouse on the east.

The immediate consequence of this action was, that at the end of July

the Viceroy received a letter from the Chinese Resident at Lhasa, asking

for an explanation of the object and reasons of Mr. White’s proceedings,

and saying that he had appointed Mr. Ho Kuang-Hsi to proceed to Giagong,

and had further arranged with the Dalai Lama for the despatch of a

Tibetan official to act conjointly with Mr. Ho in any discussion with

Mr. White which should arise.

The Viceroy, in reply, wrote to say that the object of the journey from

which Mr. White had recently returned was to inspect the boundary as

laid down in the Convention of 1890, and to compel the withdrawal from

Sikkim territory of any troops which the Tibetans might have established

in violation of that Convention. He reminded the Chinese Resident that

he had offered to make concessions with respect to these frontier lands,

on the understanding that matters as to trade would be put on a proper

footing. But Lord Curzon pointed out that the negotiations for the

improvement of trade relations between India and Tibet had made no real

progress during the past twelve years. In these circumstances, he had no

alternative but to compel the observance of the boundary as prescribed

by the Convention; and until matters as to trade had been placed on a

satisfactory footing, he must continue to insist on the boundary being

observed, though any proposals which the Chinese Resident would make for

the improvement of trade relations would receive careful consideration,

and Mr. White had been instructed to discuss with the Commissioners

appointed by the Amban any suggestions which they might put forward.

As a fact, the Commissioner never did meet Mr. White. Mr. Ho was

prevented by “ill-health” from proceeding to Gantok. Then he was

recalled to Lhasa. Then the Chinese Resident himself was to be replaced,

and the new one would not reach Lhasa till the following summer. And so

on, with the usual and unfailing excellent reasons for doing nothing.

* * * * *

But, in the meanwhile, the new factor in the situation was assuming

significant proportions and causing the Government of India anxiety. I

have already related how the Dalai Lama was sending missions to the

Czar, with autograph letters to the Russian Chancellor, at the very

moment when he was declining all communications from the Viceroy of

India. And now, from a totally different quarter, came rumours that

China was making a secret agreement with Russia in regard to Tibet.

Our Minister at Peking, on August 2, 1902, telegraphed[15] to Lord

Lansdowne that there had been going the rounds of the press an agreement

in regard to Tibet, alleged to have been secretly made between Russia

and China. In return for a promise to uphold the integrity of China, the

entire interest of China in Tibet was to be relinquished to Russia. This

rumour, said our Minister, seemed to have originated in a Chinese paper

published in Satow. Fuller information was sent by letter. According to

this, among other things, Russia would establish Government officers in

Tibet to control Tibetan affairs.

On Sir Ernest Satow making, in accordance with Lord Lansdowne’s

instructions, a representation to the Chinese Foreign Board about this,

the President of the Board strongly denied that there was any such

agreement, and declared that no such arrangement had ever formed a

subject of discussion between the Chinese and Russian Governments. But

the rumour seems to have had a wide prevalence and to have been regarded

seriously, for our Ambassador at St. Petersburg reported in October that

the Chinese Minister there had told him that several of his colleagues

had been making inquiries from him respecting this pretended agreement,

which had appeared in several Continental as well as Russian newspapers,

and which he, the Chinese Minister, had first seen in the Chinese

newspapers. The Government of India, also, reported to the Secretary of

State that circumstantial evidence, derived from a variety of quarters,

all pointed in the same direction, and tended to show the existence of

an arrangement of some sort between Russia and Tibet.

* * * * *

It may be asked—and, indeed, it was asked—why the Government of India

should have been so nervous about Russian action in Tibet. The Russian

Government had said that the mission which the Dalai Lama had sent to

St. Petersburg was of a “religious” nature, and the Chinese Foreign

Board had said there was no agreement with Russia about Tibet. Why not,

then, have disregarded these idle rumours? Such lofty disregard is easy

for irresponsible persons at a comfortable distance in England to

display. But the responsible Government in India cannot dismiss such

rumours with so light a heart. Russia might not have had any agreement

about Tibet, and the Tibetan Mission might have been purely religious;

but that she was extremely interested in Tibet was unquestionable. She

had for years been sending semi-official, semi-scientific expeditions

into the country. These had always reported on the richness of Tibet in

regard to gold, and the desirability of getting concessions there. There

was at the very moment one of these expeditions with an armed escort in

Tibet. Apart from this, the interest of Russia in Tibet was thoroughly

natural. The Dalai Lama was regarded with superstitious reverence by

many thousands of Russian Asiatic subjects. Moreover, at that time it

was generally looked upon as inevitable that Russia would shortly absorb

Mongolia, and all Mongols look upon the Dalai Lama as a god. It was,

indeed, because of his immense influence over the Mongols that the

Chinese had for centuries, and at great cost to themselves, secured and

maintained a dominant influence in Lhasa. It is easy to understand,

therefore, that the Russians would be glad enough of any opportunity of

gaining an influence with the Dalai Lama. The mission of the latter to

the Czar might, as the Russian Chancellor said, be mainly religious, and

similar to missions which the Pope sends out. But even in Europe it is

often difficult to distinguish between religion and politics, and in

Asia the two are almost indistinguishable. A religious understanding

between the Dalai Lama and the Czar might by the former be regarded as a

political agreement. And whatever might have been the intentions of the

Russian Government at the time, they might on some subsequent occasion

have sent a mission to Lhasa, as they had sent a mission to Kabul in

1879 and caused an Afghan War.

Even so, why should we trouble? What possible harm could a few Russians

do in Lhasa? Russia might invade India through Afghanistan, but she

could never invade India across Tibet and over the Himalayas. Why, then,

should we be so touchy about her action there? Why not let her send as

many missions and officers as she liked? This also seems a broad-minded

attitude, such as a platform orator in the heart of England might safely

take up. But, again, it was not so easy for those away on the frontier

of the Empire, with immediate responsibilities on their shoulders, to

feel so complacent. If Russia had been the friend she is now, and if our

influence in Lhasa had been unmistakable, it would have been easier to

take such a view, and it is, indeed, in my opinion, the right view now

to take. But in 1902 she was still on the crest of a great advancing

wave of expansion. She had not yet been checked by Japan. She had spread

over Manchuria with startling rapidity. Where, at the time of my journey

there with Sir Evan James, no Russian had ever been seen, there were now

Russian railways and Russian cantonments. She had expanded in Western

Turkestan and annexed the Pamirs, and it was generally looked upon only

as a matter of time before she would absorb Chinese Turkestan and

Mongolia. If, then, we complacently, and without a protest, allowed her

to establish herself in Tibet, we could hardly expect those States

dependent on us and bordering Tibet to think otherwise than that this

was the real Power in Asia, and this, therefore, the Power to look up

to.

A full-dress Russian invasion of India, through Tibet, no responsible

person ever dreamed possible. But, without a real invasion, Russia

established in Lhasa, while we were unrepresented there, could cause

Government a great deal of anxiety. In practical detail it would mean

the increase of our army on the North-East frontier by several thousand

men.

It was obviously prudent, therefore, to prevent her acquiring a more

predominant influence than our own in Tibet. While it was quite natural

that she should be glad to have an influence at Lhasa, it was still more

natural that we should be jealous of her having more influence than we

had. For, while our border was contiguous with Tibet for 1,000 miles,

from Kashmir nearly to Burma, the Russian border nowhere touched or even

approached Tibet. The whole breadth of Chinese Turkestan lay in between

the Russian frontier and the nearest frontier of Tibet, and Lhasa itself

was 1,000 miles distant from the nearest point on the Russian frontier.

To appreciate the position, let the reader draw out the map at the end

of this volume.

The Government of India, accordingly, recommended prompt action. The

attempts to negotiate an understanding with the Tibetans through the

Chinese had proved a failure. It had been found impossible to open up

direct communications with the Tibetans. The result of the exclusion of

the Tibetans from the pasture lands at Giagong, though it had materially

improved our position on the border, was not in effect more than a

timely assertion of British authority upon the spot. These different

rumours from such varied sources tending, in the opinion of the

Government of India, to indicate the existence of some kind of an

arrangement between Russia and Tibet, necessitated dealing with the

situation far more drastically and decisively than it had ever been

dealt with before. Continuously since 1873 the Government of India had

been trying by every correct and reasonable method to regularize their

intercourse with Tibet. Their patience was now exhausted, and, instead

of trifling about on the frontier with petty Chinese or Tibetan

officials, they proposed, in the very important despatch of January 8,

1903,[16] to send a mission, with an armed escort, to Lhasa itself,

there to settle our future relations with Tibet, and to permanently

establish a British representative.

This proposal, when it reached England, seems to have caused

considerable surprise. But Warren Hastings, a century before, had meant

to do this very thing; and the Russians had a Consular representative in

Chinese Turkestan alongside their frontier, so there seemed no

particular reason why we should not have had a similar representative in

Tibet alongside our frontier. The risk had to be considered, it is true,

but why the case of Cavagnari’s murder at Kabul should be everlastingly

brought up as an argument against sending an officer outside our

frontier it is difficult to understand. It is ignoble to the last degree

to be scared for all time by what happened then. Cavagnari was murdered.

What then? I agree with my old chief and first master in Central Asian

politics, Sir Charles Macgregor, that if our agent A was murdered we

should have sent up B, and if B was murdered we should have sent up C.

Our whole Afghan policy for thirty years past has been frightfully

ignominious, and the day will come where we shall bitterly regret not

having had an agent at the capital of a country for whose foreign policy

we are responsible. At any rate, the fact of barbarian Afghans murdering

our representative at Kabul in 1879 was no adequate reason for not

sending a representative to Lhasa in 1903.

These, however, are merely my own views. The contention of the

Government of India was that, in suggesting a mission to Lhasa, they

were merely reviving a proposal which had been supported as far back as

1874 by Sir T. Wade, then British Minister at Peking, and which was

almost taking definite shape in 1885–86, when the importance of a

Burmese settlement appears to have so impressed itself upon all parties

that the Lhasa Mission was sacrificed in order that the signature of the

Chinese Government to the Burmese Convention might be obtained. The

Government of India considered it a grave misfortune that they should

have been diverted from a project of unquestionable importance by the

exigencies of political considerations that had not the remotest

connection with Tibet. They recommended, therefore, the revival of this

precedent, and the firm pursuance of the policy which was then

abandoned.

The Government of India regarded the so-called suzerainty of China over

Tibet as a constitutional fiction. China was always ready to break down

the barriers of ignorance and obstruction and to open Tibet to the

civilizing influence of trade, but her pious wishes were defeated by the

short-sighted stupidity of the Lamas. In the same way Tibet was only too

anxious to meet our advances, but she was prevented from doing so by the

despotic veto of the suzerain. The Government of India wished to put an

end to this “solemn farce,” and would have preferred to deal with Tibet

alone. But they recognized that China could not be entirely disregarded,

and only asked that, if the Home Government trusted to the interposition

of China, this might be accompanied by a resolute refusal to be defeated

by the time-honoured procedure, and that if and when a new treaty was

concluded, it should not be signed by the British and Chinese alone, but

by a direct representative of the Tibetan Government also.

At the same time, said the Government of India, the most emphatic

assurances might be given to the Chinese and Tibetan Governments that

the mission was of an exclusively commercial character, that we

repudiated all designs of a political nature upon Tibet, that we had no

desire either to declare a protectorate or permanently to occupy any

portion of the country, but that our intentions were confined to

removing the embargo that then rested upon all trade between Tibet and

India, and to establishing those amicable relations and means of

communication that ought to subsist between adjacent and friendly

Powers.

These proposals the Government of India commended to the favourable

consideration of His Majesty’s Government, in the firm conviction that

if some such step were not taken, “a serious danger would grow up in

Tibet, which might one day, and perhaps at no very distant date, attain

to menacing dimensions.” They regarded the situation, as it seriously

affected the frontiers which they were called upon to defend with Indian

resources, as one in which their opinion was entitled to carry weight

with His Majesty’s Government; and they entertained a sincere alarm

that, if nothing was done and matters were allowed to slide, they might

before long have occasion gravely to regret that action was not taken

while it was still relatively free from difficulty.

------------------

CHAPTER VII

NEGOTIATIONS WITH RUSSIA

I would again recall the fact that when the Government of India wrote

the above-quoted despatch, Russia was not yet at war with Japan, and was

very much in the ascendant and active in Asia. She had recently occupied

Port Arthur, and run a railway through Manchuria; and she was in a

dominant, almost domineering, position at Peking. And as showing the

interest she took in Tibet, there came, just after the receipt by the

India Office of Lord Curzon’s despatch, a representation from the

Russian Chargé d’Affaires in London, founded apparently upon our very

humble efforts of the previous summer within our own frontier. In this

representation, which was made in the form of a memorandum[17]

communicated to the Foreign Office, it was stated that, according to the

information which the Russian Government had received from an

authoritative source, a British military expedition had reached

Komba-Ovaleko, on its way north by the Chumbi Valley, and that the

Russian Government would consider such an expedition to Tibet as likely

to produce a situation of considerable gravity, which might oblige them

to take measures to protect their interests in those regions.

It was impossible to trace what place was intended by Komba-Ovaleko. Mr.

White and his little escort of 150 men had never gone outside the limits

of Sikkim, and had long since returned to their headquarters. There was

no difficulty, then, in giving the Russian Ambassador the assurance that

this “authoritative” information was without the smallest foundation.

And Lord Lansdowne went further than merely refuting the false

information. He told the Ambassador[18] that the language of the

communication had seemed to him unusual, and, indeed, almost minatory in

tone. He referred especially to the statement that the Imperial

Government might, in consequence of our action in a country which

immediately adjoined the frontiers of India, find it necessary to take

measures to protect Russian interests in those regions. Lord Lansdowne

said he could not conceive why it was necessary for Russia to evince her

interest in this manner.

Count Benckendorff expressed his opinion that these exaggerated rumours

had been spread designedly in order to foster ill-feeling between Great

Britain and Russia, and thought we should spare no pains in order to

dissipate them. There was, he said, no reason whatever why the two

Governments should have trouble over Tibet. Russia had no political

designs upon the country, and he presumed we had not.

Lord Lansdowne replied that if he was invited to say that we had no

desire to annex Tibetan territory, he would unhesitatingly answer in the

affirmative, but he was bound to be careful how he gave general

assurances, the import of which might hereafter be called in question,

as to our future relations with Tibet. It was natural that the Indian

Government should desire to promote Indian trade in that country, and

they would no doubt take whatever measures seemed to them necessary for

that purpose. The Ambassador admitted that this was only natural.

A few days later, on February 18, Lord Lansdowne, in a further

conversation with the Russian Ambassador, recurred to the same

subject.[19] He said that the Indian Government had been seriously

perturbed by the communication made to the Foreign Office. The interest

of India in Tibet was, Lord Lansdowne said, of a very special character.

With a map of Central Asia before him, he pointed out to the Ambassador

that Lhasa was within a comparatively short distance of the Indian

frontier, while, on the other hand, it was considerably over 1,000 miles

from the Asiatic possessions of Russia, and any sudden display of

Russian interest or activity in the regions immediately adjoining the

possessions of Great Britain could scarcely fail to have a disturbing

effect upon the population, or to create the impression that British

influence was receding, and that of Russia making rapid advances into

regions which had hitherto been regarded as altogether outside her

sphere of influence.

Lord Lansdowne added that he had received from apparently trustworthy

sources reports to the effect that Russia had lately concluded

agreements for the establishment of a Russian protectorate over Tibet,

and also that, if she had not already done so, she intended to establish

Russian agents or Consular officers at Lhasa, and he thought it of the

utmost importance that as the Ambassador had disclaimed on the part of

Russia political designs upon Tibet, he should be in a position to state

whether these rumours were or were not without foundation.

Count Benckendorff replied that he did not believe that there was any

foundation in them, but he expressed his readiness to make special

inquiries of the Russian Government as to the truth of the statements

referred to.

Lord Lansdowne then went on to say that as we were much more closely

interested than Russia in Tibet, it followed that, should there be any

display of Russian activity in that country, we should be obliged to

reply by a display of activity, not only equivalent to, but exceeding

that made by Russia. If they sent a mission or an expedition, we should

have to do the same, but in greater strength. As to our dealings with

Tibet at the moment, Lord Lansdowne stated that we were endeavouring to

obtain from the Tibetan authorities the fulfilment of pledges which had

been given to us in 1890 in regard to the location of the frontier, and

in regard to trade facilities on the borders of Sikkim. We had found

that it was of no use to deal with Tibet through China, owing to the

dilatory methods of the Chinese Government and the slenderness of their

influence over Tibet. It was absolutely necessary that these local

questions should be disposed of to our satisfaction, and we should

continue to take the necessary steps for that purpose.

Some delay occurred in getting a reply from the Russian Government, but

on April 8, 1903, the Russian Ambassador informed Lord Lansdowne[20]

that he could “assure him officially that there was no convention about

Tibet, either with Tibet itself, or with China, or with anyone else; nor

had the Russian Government any agents in that country, or any intention

of sending any agents or missions there. But, although the Russian

Government had no designs whatever about Tibet, they could not remain

indifferent to any serious disturbance of the _status quo_ in that

country. Such a disturbance might render it necessary for them to

safeguard their interests in Asia; not that even in that case they would

desire to interfere in the affairs of Tibet, as their policy ‘ne

viserait le Tibet en aucun cas,’ but they might be obliged to take

measures elsewhere. They regarded Tibet as forming part of the Chinese

Empire, in the integrity of which they took an interest.”

Count Benckendorff went on to say that he hoped that there was no

question of any action on our part in regard to Tibet which might have

the effect of raising questions of this kind, and Lord Lansdowne told

him that we had no idea of annexing the country, but he was well aware

that it immediately adjoined our frontier, that we had treaties with the

Tibetans, and a right to trade facilities. If these were denied us, and

if the Tibetans did not fulfil their treaty obligations, it would be

absolutely necessary that we should insist upon our rights. In cases of

this kind, where an uncivilized country adjoined the possessions of a

civilized Power, it was inevitable that the latter should exercise a

certain amount of local predominance. Such a predominance belonged to us

in Tibet. But it did not follow from this that we had any designs upon

the independence of the country.

With these very definite assurances from Russia, it might well be asked

why we should still have desired to take pronounced measures in Tibet.

Anxiety in regard to Russian action in Tibet was the main reason why the

Government of India sought to take action in Tibet. Now that we were

reasonably assured that Russia had no intention of interfering in Tibet,

why should we still have thought it necessary to send a mission into the

country? The answer is that we had not yet settled those questions of

trade and intercourse which had existed years before the Russian factor

intruded itself into the situation; besides which we had always the

consideration that, although it might be true enough that the Russians

had no mind to have any dealings with the Tibetans, yet the Tibetans

might still think they could rely on the Russians in flouting us. The

Germans had officially no intention of interfering with the Boers, yet

it was because Kruger thought he could rely upon German support that he

went to war with England. He was much too astute an old gentleman to

have fought us if he had thought he would have had to fight us by

himself. So it was with the Tibetans. The Russian Government might not

have the remotest intention of helping them in any possible way, yet the

Tibetans might, and did, think they could count upon Russian support.

The Dalai Lama’s Envoy Extraordinary had been very well received by the

Czar and by the Russian Chancellor and others. Doubtless, he had

collected some very handsome subscriptions and received valuable

presents. A little Oriental imagination would soon expand these ordinary

amenities into a promise of thick-and-thin support against the English.

We had still this erroneous impression to reckon with.

------------------

CHAPTER VIII

A MISSION SANCTIONED

While the negotiations with Russia were proceeding the Home Government

would come to no final decision as to the action to be taken. The

question at issue, they informed the Indian Government[21] in February,

was no longer one of details as to trade and boundaries—though on these

it was necessary that an agreement should be arrived at—but the whole

question of the future political relations of India and Tibet. They

agreed with the Indian Government that, having regard to the

geographical position of Tibet on the frontiers of India, and its

relations with Nepal, it was “indispensable that British influence

should be recognized at Lhasa in such a manner as to render it

impossible for any other Power to exercise a pressure on the Tibetan

Government inconsistent with the interests of British India.” They

admitted, also, the force of the contention that the interest shown by

the Russian Government in the action of the Government of India on the

Tibetan frontier demonstrated the urgency of placing our relations with

Tibet on a secure basis. They recognized that Nepal might be rightly

sensitive as to any alteration in the political position of Tibet which

would be likely to disturb the relations at present existing between the

two countries, and that the establishment of a powerful foreign

influence in Tibet would disturb those relations, and might even, by

exposing Nepal to a pressure which it would be difficult to resist,

affect those which then existed on so cordial a basis between India and

Nepal. They regretted the necessity for abandoning the passive attitude

that had hitherto sufficed in the regulation of affairs on the frontier,

and were compelled to recognize that circumstances had recently occurred

which threw on them the obligation of placing our relations with the

Government of Lhasa upon a more satisfactory footing. And they

acknowledged that the proposal to send an armed mission to enter Lhasa,

by force if necessary, and establish there a Resident, might, if the

issue were simply one between India and Tibet, be justified as a

legitimate reply to the action of the Tibetan Government in returning

the letters which on three occasions the Viceroy had addressed to them,

and in disregarding the Convention with China of 1890. But they stated

that they could not regard the question as one concerning India and

Tibet alone. The position of China in its relations to the Powers of

Europe had been so modified in recent years that it was necessary to

take into account those altered conditions in deciding on action

affecting what still had to be regarded as a province of China. It was

true that we had no desire either to declare a protectorate or

permanently to occupy any portion of the country. But measures of that

kind might become inevitable if we were once to find ourselves committed

to armed intervention.

For the above reasons, the Home Government thought it necessary, before

sanctioning a course which might be regarded as an attack on the

integrity of the Chinese Empire, to be sure that such action could be

justified by the previous action of Tibet, and they had, accordingly,

come to the conclusion that it would be premature to adopt measures so

likely to precipitate a crisis in the affairs of Tibet as those proposed

by the Government of India. They would await, therefore, the result of

their reference to the Russian Government, and after those explanations

had been received they would be in a better position to decide on the

scope to be given to the negotiations with China, and on the steps to be

taken to protect India against any danger from the establishment of

foreign influence in Tibet.

When the Russian assurances were at length received, the purport of the

conversation Lord Lansdowne had held with the Russian Ambassador was at

once communicated by telegram to the Viceroy, and on April 14 the

Secretary of State, presuming that it would be necessary to include in

the scope of the negotiations with China and Tibet the entire question

of our future relations with Tibet, commercial and otherwise, asked the

Viceroy for his views as to the form which these negotiations should now

take, with special reference to the means to be adopted to insure that

the conditions that might be arrived at would be observed by Tibet.

The Viceroy on April 16 replied that he had recently received from the

delegate deputed by the Chinese Resident an intimation that if Yatung

was not considered a suitable locality, they were willing to negotiate

at any place acceptable to us. And he proposed, accordingly, to invite

the Chinese Resident to depute delegates to meet our representative at

Khamba Jong, which was the nearest inhabited place on the Tibetan side

to the frontier in dispute near Giagong. The Viceroy proposed that our

representative, with an escort of 200 men, should proceed to that place,

while reinforcements were held in reserve in Sikkim, and that, should

the Chinese and Tibetan representatives fail to appear, or should the

former come without the latter, our representative should move forward

to Shigatse or Gyantse, in order that the arrival of the deputations

from Lhasa might be accelerated.

The Secretary of State telegraphed on April 29 that there was no

objection to the Chinese, Tibetan, and Indian representatives meeting at

Khamba Jong or to the military arrangements recommended; but His

Majesty’s Government considered that without previous reference to them

the Mission should not advance beyond that place, as in existing

conditions, even in the event of the failure of the Chinese and Tibetan

parties, any sudden advance to Lhasa was not, in their opinion,

justified.

In regard to the subject-matter of the forthcoming negotiations, the

Viceroy telegraphed on May 7 that, having regard to the stultification

of existing treaty provisions, and to the unsuitability of either

Yatung, Phari, or any other place in the Chumbi Valley, for a

trade-mart, in which business could be transacted directly between

British and Tibetan merchants, without incurring the monopoly of local

traders, it was necessary to insist upon opening a new trade-mart and

upon having a British agent at Gyantse. The Viceroy thought that having

a British representative at Lhasa, which would be the best possible

security for the future observance of the conditions, would be far

preferable; but assuming the unwillingness of His Majesty’s Government

to press this claim, the proposal for an agent at Gyantse was a suitable

alternative. In any case, the fullest facilities should be given to the

British representative for direct communication with the Tibetan

Government, and if he met with obstruction, it would be necessary to

resort to the alternative of moving him forward to Lhasa. Furthermore,

it would be necessary to secure for British Indian subjects the same

freedom for trade and travel in Tibet as was enjoyed by Kashmiris and

Nepalese, and to insist that all British subjects duly authorized by the

Government of India should be allowed to proceed by recognized routes to

Gyantse, beyond which a pass from the Tibetan Government would be

required.

As Commissioner, the Viceroy proposed to appoint Major Younghusband,

Resident at Indore. He could confidently rely on his judgment and

discretion, and he had great Asiatic experience. With him he would

associate as Joint Commissioner Mr. White, Political Officer in Sikkim.

The Secretary of State hesitated to accept at once the proposal

regarding Gyantse, and wished before coming to any decision to be

informed whether the Viceroy could propose any alternative in place of

the extreme course of advancing by force into Tibet; and the Viceroy

said the only alternatives were (_a_) the costly and ineffectual measure

of blocking all trade-routes and excluding Tibetans from British India,

and (_b_) an occupation of the Chumbi Valley.

The final decision of the Home Government on the whole matter was

telegraphed to the Viceroy on May 28. They approved a procedure by which

both the Chinese and Tibetan Governments would be bound by the action of

their representatives, but they wished that the negotiations should be

confined to questions concerning trade relations, the frontier, and

grazing rights, and that no proposal should be made for the

establishment of a Political Agent at Gyantse or Lhasa, as such a

political outpost might entail difficulties and responsibilities

incommensurate with any benefits which would be gained by it. They had

recently received assurances that Russia had no intention of developing

political interests in Tibet, and they were unwilling to be committed by

threats to any definite course of compulsion to be undertaken in future.

* * * * *

While the Home Government and the Indian Government were thus

deliberating as to the final action which should be taken,

communications with the Chinese were being exchanged. The Chinese

Government had, in December, informed our Minister at Peking that “the

Throne, attaching deep importance to international relations, and

regarding the Tibetan question of great importance, had specially

appointed Yu Tai to be Imperial Resident in Tibet, with orders to

proceed with all speed, and negotiate with Mr. White in an amicable

spirit.” This newly-appointed Resident called on the British Minister on

January 5, and informed him that he had hoped to be able to travel to

his new post by way of India, but that, in order to avoid arousing the

suspicion of the Tibetans, it had been decided that he should travel by

the Yangtse River and Szechuan, and would not be able to reach Lhasa

much before July. He did not, in fact, reach it till six months later

still, till thirteen critical months had elapsed since the Chinese

Government had told us that he was to proceed to Lhasa with all possible

speed.

Mr. Townley, the British Chargé d’Affaires at Peking, on May 12,

informed the Chinese Government that the Government of India would

invite the Resident at Lhasa to send Chinese delegates to meet the

representatives of the British Government at Khamba Jong, for the

settlement of pending questions, and would inform the Resident that the

Chinese delegates should be accompanied by a duly accredited Tibetan

representative. The Chinese Government were told that we attached great

importance to this latter point, for the Tibetans had more than once

intimated to the British authorities that they did not consider

themselves bound to observe the provisions of the treaties previously

made between the British and Chinese representatives, because no

representative of the Dalai Lama had taken part in the negotiations.

The Chinese Government, on receipt of this, telegraphed to the Resident

at Lhasa, asking him again to admonish the Dalai Lama, and to persuade

him not to fail to send, with speed, a Tibetan official to be associated

with the deputy Ho in his discussion with Mr. White. In reply, the

Chinese Government received, on July 18, a telegram from the Resident,

saying that he had at once communicated these instructions to the Dalai

Lama, “directing him to send a Tibetan [lit., barbarian] official of

fairly high standing and despatch him to the frontier, provided with

credentials as a negotiator, in order to concert with the Prefect Ho and

his colleagues, to await British officials, and effect a harmonious and

sincere settlement.”

The Resident at Lhasa had also at this time submitted to the Throne a

memorial, which furnishes exceedingly instructive reading. He said he

had summoned the Tibetan Councillors to his office, and admonished them

in person to the effect that the English intended to bring troops to

Tibet, and that it was difficult to fathom their objects. All this, he

said, was the result of their obstructing last year a deputy with his

retinue, so that a favourable opportunity was lost. If the English did

make this long march, it would, of course, be the duty of him, the

Imperial Resident, to proceed in person to the frontier and find some

way of persuading them to stop. But the Tibetans, on their side, must

not show their previous obstinacy; and if the English did not stop, and

insisted on entering Tibet, they must on no account repel them with

arms, but must discuss matters with them on the basis of reason. Thus he

hoped a rupture might be avoided, and things brought back to a

satisfactory conclusion. But if, as before, the Councillors allowed

themselves to be guided by the three great monasteries, and hostilities

once began, then the horrors of war would be more than he could bear to

think of, and even the mediation of him, the Imperial Resident, would be

of no avail.

Such, said the Resident, were the admonitions which he addressed to the

Tibetan Councillors, and as he did so he watched their demeanour. It was

submissive certainly, but obstinacy was engrained in the character of

the Tibetan barbarians, and whether, when matters should become

pressing, they would consent to obey and discuss questions in a friendly

spirit, it was difficult for him to tell in advance.

The laconic observation by the Emperor on this curious document, which

correctly described the Tibetans, and which incidentally depicted both

the contempt of the Chinese for these “barbarians” and the

ineffectiveness of their control over them, was—“Seen.”

But the Resident had also written to the Viceroy, on April 6, saying

that he had deputed Mr. Ho and Captain Parr for the discussion of

affairs, and they were waiting at Yatung. The deputy appointed by the

Viceroy might, he said, either come to Yatung, or the Chinese deputies

would proceed to Sikkim, or such other place as might be decided on by

the Viceroy.

To this the Viceroy replied, on June 3, 1903, that, as the Resident had

already clearly recognized, it would be useless to negotiate upon

matters affecting Tibet without insuring the full and adequate

representation of the Dalai Lama’s Government throughout the

proceedings. He was nominating as his Commissioner Colonel Younghusband,

who, accompanied by Mr. White, Political Officer in Sikkim, as Joint

Commissioner, would proceed to meet the Commissioners appointed by the

Resident, who should, of course, be of equivalent rank, and must be

attended by a Tibetan officer of the highest rank, whose authority to

bind the Tibetan Government was absolute and unquestioned. On this

understanding, that the Lhasa authorities would be duly and fully

represented, the Viceroy was prepared to accept the Resident’s

invitation that the Commissioners should meet at a very early date, and

discuss, not only the exact position of the frontier under the

Convention of 1890 and the mutual rights of grazing to be allowed on

either side of that frontier to the people of Tibet and British

territory, but also the method in which our trade relations could be

improved and placed upon a basis more consonant with the usage of

civilized nations and our direct and predominating interests in Tibet.

And as the Resident was prepared to let his deputies meet the British

representative at any place which the Viceroy might select, and as

Khamba Jong, being the nearest inhabited place to the frontier in

question, seemed to be the most suitable place for the meeting, he had

directed Colonel Younghusband to proceed thither as soon as he

conveniently could, and he trusted that the Resident would secure the

attendance of the Chinese and Tibetan representatives at Khamba Jong on,

or as soon as possible after, July 7.

On the same date as this letter was written I also received my own

formal instructions.[22] I was informed that a strict insistence on the

boundary-line as laid down in the Convention of 1890 was, perhaps, not

essential either to the Government of India or to the Sikkim Durbar, and

I was directed to give my opinion on this point after inspecting the

tract in question. The matter of grazing rights was not one of great

importance, and after discussion with the Chinese and Tibetan delegates

I was to submit my proposals as to the agreement which might be come to

in this matter. The revision of the Trade Regulations and the

recognition of Gyantse as a trade-mart in place of Yatung were to form

the subject of discussion with the Chinese and Tibetan delegates, and

the provision of guarantees for the observance of such agreements as

might be concluded were to be considered a matter of the first

importance. It was further considered very desirable that arrangements

for free communication between the Government of India and the

authorities at Lhasa should be made, and possibly also annual meetings

between British and Tibetan officials for the due settlement of the

trade and frontier difficulties which might occur.

In conclusion, I was warned to be very careful to abstain from using any

language or taking any action which would bind the Government to any

definite course hereafter without first obtaining the sanction of the

Government of India.

* * * * *

All was now prepared for the start of a mission. In this extraordinarily

complex and intricate matter the many different lines had at last been

made to converge on one point. The manifold communications which had

taken place for thirty years between the Bengal Government and the

Government of India, between local Indian officers and local Chinese and

Tibetans; the correspondence between Simla or Calcutta and London,

between the India Office and the Foreign Office, between the Foreign

Office and the Russian and Chinese Governments, and between the Viceroy

and our Minister at Peking and the Chinese Resident at Lhasa, had all

been boiled down into the definite act of the despatch of a mission to a

place a bare dozen miles inside Tibet to discuss trade-relations,

frontier and grazing rights.

This was not, after all, any remarkably bold or outrageously aggressive

act. Such as it was, was it justified? The narrative of the causes which

led to the move has been long, but, even so, it has been hard to put

their true significance so that it may be appreciated by people

unacquainted with Orientals. Still, there are some fairly plain facts

and considerations which emerge from the long narrative, and which all

who are accustomed to the conduct of affairs may be expected to

understand.

The first fact is this—that it was aggression on the part of the

Tibetans or their vassals which led to action on our part, and that

before ever a single soldier of the British Government had crossed the

frontier into Tibet Tibetan troops had crossed it to the Indian side. It

was the irruption of the Bhutanese into the plains of Bengal which

caused Warren Hastings to send Bogle to Tibet in 1774. It was the

invasion of Sikkim by the Tibetans which made the necessity for the

treaty of 1890. And it was because the Tibetans repudiated that treaty,

and occupied territory inside the boundary therein laid down, that we

had to take measures to see it observed.

But even supposing they were aggressive, it may be said that we ought to

have treated the Tibetans with leniency, gentleness, and consideration,

because of their ignorance. So we ought, and so we did. Warren Hastings

conceded the request of the Tashi Lama. And though the Tibetans for a

century have been free to come down to India, with no restrictions on

their trade or on their travel, we for years never pressed for any

ordinary rights of trade and travel for our own subjects, whether

British or Indian. We allowed the Tibetans to come down where, and when,

and how they liked. For a century we let the principle of heads they

win, tails we lose, continue. Even when we at last stirred, and thought

of sending Macaulay to Lhasa to make some less one-sided arrangement, we

gave up the idea when we saw that the Tibetans raised objection. And

even, again, when the Chinese asked us to make a definite treaty with

them on behalf of the Tibetans, and guaranteed its observance by them,

and when the Tibetans broke it, and repudiated it, and refused to meet

our officers, we continued for ten years showing them forbearance and

patience. It was only at last when the Tibetans, having broken the

treaty, having declined to have any communication with us, yet sent

Envoys to the Russians, that we took high action, and despatched a

mission with an escort into Tibet. If we had shown no inclination to

hold the Tibetans and Chinese to their engagements, others might well

think that they also would not be held to theirs, and our authority and

influence would slacken in proportion as this impression got abroad. No

Government can conduct the affairs of contiguous States if it allows a

treaty to be broken with impunity.

My personal view is that the local question would have been better

settled, and much subsequent international complications would have been

saved if, at an earlier stage in the proceedings, when it first became

amply clear that our treaty was valueless; that the Tibetans repudiated

and ignored it, and that the Chinese were unable to have it observed, we

had at once resumed the proceedings where we had left them when we drove

the Tibetans across our border, and had again advanced into the Chumbi

Valley, and stopped there till we had effected a properly recognized and

lasting settlement. This was the course recommended by Sir Charles

Elliott, the then Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, and whether that would

have been a wise course or not, I do not see how anyone who has

carefully considered the whole course of transactions which at last led

up to the despatch of a mission to the first inhabited place across the

border can deny that such a course was justified.

Whether the mission was conducted with due consideration or with

unnecessary harshness, and whether any good came of it, either to

ourselves or to the Tibetans or to anyone else, are matters for separate

review, and to that purpose I will now address myself in the following

narrative of the course of the mission.

-----

Footnote 11:

Blue-book, p. 101.

Footnote 12:

Blue-book, p. 166.

Footnote 13:

Blue-book, p. 117.

Footnote 14:

_Ibid._, p. 123.

Footnote 15:

Blue-book, p. 140.

Footnote 16:

Blue-book, p. 152.

Footnote 17:

Blue-book, p. 178.

Footnote 18:

Blue-book, p. 180.

Footnote 19:

_Ibid._, p. 181.

Footnote 20:

Blue-book, p. 187.

Footnote 21:

Blue-book, p. 184.

Footnote 22:

Blue-book, p. 198.

-----

------------------

CHAPTER IX

SIMLA TO KHAMBA JONG

The previous chapters have been necessarily, though perhaps somewhat

tediously, filled up with a narrative of the many intricate

considerations which went towards the final determination to send a

mission to Tibet. But of all that had been going on—of the voluminous

correspondence in the great offices, of the meetings and attempts at

meetings on the frontier—I was wholly ignorant. Anglo-Indian papers

seldom contain information on such happenings. And for some years past,

in accordance with the well-intentioned, but, as it has since turned

out, thoroughly unsound, advice of a previous Viceroy, that it would be

to my advantage in the Political Department not to remain for ever on

the frontier, but to acquire experience of internal affairs as well, I

had been serving in the interior in political agencies in Rajputana and

Central India, and had heard nothing of any intention to send a mission

to Tibet. Nor had I ever had any connection with Tibet, though as long

ago as 1888 the then Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal had, I discovered

many years after, asked the Government of India for my services, as I

had then just returned from a journey around Manchuria and across

Central Asia, from Peking to Kashmir, and it was thought that, knowing

Chinese customs, I might be of use, in addition to the Chinese

interpreter. This request was twice made, it appears; but I was then a

young subaltern, still in military employ, and in the throes of

examination, and the Government of India replied that I was not

available, as I was about to go up for examination, and, if sent away

then, would fail to qualify for promotion. So I went up for one of those

examinations of which such a fetish is made, and never till now had been

near the Tibet frontier. I made, indeed, an abortive effort in 1889 to

go to Lhasa, disguised as a Turki from Central Asia; but this, too, was

nipped in the bud by the refusal of my Colonel to give me leave from the

regiment. What spirit of adventure I possessed never received much

encouragement from Government, and, as I have said, I had left the

frontier for some years, and was superintending the affairs of a native

State in the very heart of India, when, on a sweltering day in May, I

suddenly received a summons to proceed at once to Simla to receive

instructions regarding a mission I was to lead to Tibet.

Here, indeed, I felt was the chance of my life. I was once more alive.

The thrill of adventure again ran through my veins. And I wasted little

time in rounding up my business, packing my things, and starting off for

Simla.

There I was handed over all the papers in the Foreign Office to digest

while the final instructions of the Secretary of State were still

awaited. And one afternoon I was asked to lunch with Lord Curzon and

Lord Kitchener, at a gymkhana down at Annandale, where, after lunch,

sitting under the shade of the glorious pine-trees, Lord Curzon

explained to me all his intentions, ideas, and difficulties. Men and

ladies performed every feat of equestrian skill and equestrian nonsense,

and the place was crowded with all the beauty and gaiety of Simla in the

height of the season. But the Viceroy and I sat apart, and talked over

the various difficulties I should meet with in Tibet, and the best means

by which they could be overcome.

One thing he made perfectly clear to me from the start—that he meant to

see the thing through; that he intended the mission to be a success, and

would provide me with every means within his power to make it so.

Fortunately, we knew each other well—ever since his first appointment as

Under-Secretary of State for India. We had travelled together nine years

previously round Chitral and Gilgit; we had corresponded for years; and

when he came to India he, with a kindness of heart for which he is

ordinarily given very little credit, had asked me to regard him, not as

Viceroy, but as an old friend and fellow-traveller. No better initiator

and supporter of such an enterprise as a mission to Tibet could be

imagined. He had his whole heart and soul in the undertaking, and I do

not think it took long for me to put my whole heart into it, too.

I had in previous years been despatched from Simla on two political

missions—in 1889 to explore the unknown passes on the northern frontier

of Kashmir, and to put down the raids from Hunza, and in 1890 to the

Pamirs and Chinese Turkestan—so I had some general idea of what to

expect on the present occasion; and as I had also spent three months in

the Legation at Peking, besides travelling from one end to the other of

the Chinese Empire, I knew enough about the Chinese to know that I

should never be able to deal successfully with them without the

assistance of someone who had had a life-training in the work. I

therefore, in the first place, asked for an officer of the China

Consular Service to act as adviser and interpreter. Next, as regards

dealing with the Tibetans, it was most necessary to have an officer who

could speak the Tibetan language, and it was fortunate for the success

of the mission that Government were able to send with it, first as

Intelligence Officer and afterwards as Secretary, Captain O’Connor, an

artillery officer, who, when stationed with his mountain battery at

Darjiling, had learned the Tibetan language and studied the history and

customs of the Tibetans, and who, I afterwards found, was never so happy

as when he was surrounded by begrimed Tibetans, with whom he would spend

hour after hour in apparently futile conversation.

The services of some of the Gurkhas and of the Pathan, Shahzad Mir, who

had been with me on my mission in 1889, I also tried to secure; but the

Gurkhas had all left their regiment, and Shahzad Mir, who had been

employed on many a mission and reconnaissance since, was then absent in

Abyssinia.

Mr. White reached Simla a day or two after my arrival, and we at once

set to work to discuss arrangements. He had had experience on that

frontier for fourteen years, and was naturally well up in all the local

aspects of the question, and knew—what I did not—what dealing with

Tibetans really meant. His accounts of their obstinacy and

obstructiveness appeared to me exaggerated, and, with the optimism of

inexperience, I thought that we should, together with Captain O’Connor’s

assistance, be able to soon break through it. But Mr. White turned out

in the end to be right, and I think from the first he knew that we

should not be able to do anything elsewhere than in Lhasa.

Mr. White’s long local experience on that frontier made his

recommendation in regard to arrangements specially valuable. We were to

have an escort of 200 men from the 32nd Pioneers, who had been for some

months in Sikkim improving the road towards the frontier, and we wished

arrangements made for them to precede us to the vicinity of the

frontier, so that we, travelling lightly, might reach Khamba Jong as

quickly as possible, for we were now getting well on into the summer,

and had not much time to spare for negotiation before the winter came

on.

Indian troops and officers have, fortunately, plenty of experience in

rough work of this and every other description. The 32nd Pioneers I had

known in the Relief of Chitral in 1895, and they had come almost

straight to Sikkim from another frontier expedition, so they could be

relied on to be thoroughly up to the duty now expected of them. All I

asked Government for, on Mr. White’s recommendation, was that, as they

would be moving up from the hot, steamy valleys of Lower Sikkim to a

plateau 15,000 feet above sea-level, they should be provided with

clothing on the winter scale, with poshtins (sheepskin coats) for

sentries, and that special rations should be issued to the men. And for

ceremonial effect, which is an item never to be lightly passed over in

dealings with Asiatics, I asked that they should take with them their

full-dress uniforms, and that twenty-five of them should be mounted on

ponies, which could be procured locally.

The Government of India always equips and organizes its expeditions

well, and such little arrangements were soon and readily made. And by a

piece of foresight on its part, there was on the spot in Sikkim the best

practical rough-and-ready supply and transport officer in their service,

Major Bretherton, D.S.O., a very old friend of mine in Chitral days, a

man of unbounded energy, of infinite resource, and of quite

unconquerable optimism, who was drowned in the Brahmaputra within a few

days’ march of Lhasa, when we were just about to reap the reward which

he, more than any other single man, had put within our reach.

* * * * *

All headquarter arrangements having been made, and my formal

instructions received, Mr. White and I left Simla early in June to

proceed by Darjiling to the Sikkim frontier. In India such enterprises

as we were now embarking on are always started off very quietly, and few

outside a limited official circle, and possibly the Russian Government,

knew anything at all about our mission. The Government of India is

over-sensitive to questions and criticisms in Parliament, and, dependent

as it is upon the support of public opinion in England, would be better

advised, in my opinion, to take the public in England more into its

confidence. But this sensitiveness is intelligible. It must by the

necessity of the case be especially difficult to govern India from

England, but that task is rendered vastly more difficult by careless

questions and criticisms of Members of Parliament. My mission suffered

much through the want of support by the British public, and they could

hardly have been expected to give it support when it was eventually

sprung so suddenly on them, and when they had not had the opportunity of

watching affairs gradually growing to a crisis. On the other hand, the

Indian Government cannot be expected to expose delicate affairs to the

risk of rough, crude handling from men who, though they ultimately

control these affairs, are so very little versed in their conduct.

I departed, then, from Simla in the most matter-of-fact manner possible,

telling my friends, what was perfectly true, that I was going to see

Darjiling. I had therefore no “enthusiastic send-off.” But I had what

was better, the heartfelt good wishes of the Viceroy, who has known the

conditions under which frontier officers work, and has been more

interested in the problems which confront them than any other Viceroy

for many a year past. I was also greatly cheered, and subsequently most

warmly and continuously supported, by Sir Louis Dane, the Foreign

Secretary, whose hospitality I had enjoyed during my stay in Simla.

* * * * *

The journey from Simla to Darjiling by Calcutta was a curious beginning

for an expedition to the cold of the Himalayas. The monsoon had not yet

broken. The heat of the railway journey was frightful. At Calcutta the

temperature was almost the highest on record. And we hurried on, for I

was impatient, not only to be out of the heat, but to be getting to

work.

At the very outset I looked forward to one experience of, to me,

peculiar interest. My life through, mountains have excited in me a

special fascination. I was born in the Himalayas, within sight of the

Kashmir Mountains; and some inexplicable attraction has drawn me back to

them time after time. Now that I was called upon to pierce through the

Himalayas to the far country on the hither side, I was to make my start

from that spot, from which of all others the most perfect view is to be

obtained. Darjiling is now known throughout the world for the

magnificence of its mountain scenery, and fortunate it is that such a

spot should be now so easily accessible.

As in the earliest dawn I looked out of the train window, to catch the

first glimpse of those mighty mountains I had to penetrate, I saw far up

in the sky a rose-tinged stretch of seeming cloud. All around was level

plain. The air was stifling with the heat of a tropical midsummer. But I

knew that pinky streak across the sky could be nothing else than the

line of the Himalayas, tinted by the yet unrisen sun. It gave me the

first thrill of my new adventure, and I forthwith drank in greedily

every new impression.

All around in the plains there was rank, dank, depressing vegetation.

Unwholesomeness exuded from the soil. Putrefying pools of water lay

about on every side. The whole air was thick with fever. But those high

heavenly mountains carried hope. As the train progressed, the lower

"hills"—themselves 7,000 or 8,000 feet in height—came into sight.

Eventually we reached their base, and left the ordinary train for the

little mountain railway which ascends to Darjiling. And now, indeed,

were charms on every hand. The little railway winds its way upward

through a tropical forest of superb magnificence. The orchids could

almost be plucked from the miniature carriages. The luxuriant vegetation

nearly met over the train. Immense tree-ferns and wild bananas shot up

beneath the overhanging arches of the dripping forest trees. Wreaths and

festoons of vine, convolvulus, and begonia stretched from bough to

bough. Climbing bauhinias and robinias entwined the trunks and hung like

great cables from tree to tree. Bamboos shot up in dense tufts to a

height of 100 feet. Refreshing streams dashed foaming down the

mountain-side. Glorious waterfalls here and there thundered over steep

cliffs. And through all the diminutive train panted its way upward—by

zigzags, by spirals, through tunnels, across dizzy bridges, along the

sides of cliffs—but only too slowly, for, glorious as was the tropical

forest, I thirsted for the sight of Kinchinjunga, which we should get

when we at last topped the ridge and reached Darjiling.

Alas! when we at last reached the summit, all was hid in cloud. Fresh

from the steamy plains, we shivered in the damp mists, and when we

reached Darjiling itself rain was descending in cataracts. It was

depressing, but it had the advantage that it enabled me to recuperate a

little from the hot, trying railway journey through the plains of India,

and be all the more fit therefore to thoroughly enjoy and appreciate the

great view when at last it should be revealed.

Many times afterwards I saw it, and each time with a new and more

wonderful impression. Sometimes in the eddying cloudy billows a break

would come, giving a glimpse into heaven itself; and through the little

inlet would be seen a piece of sky of the intensest blue, and against it

a peak of purest white, so lofty and so much a partner of the sky and

clouds it seemed impossible it could ever be of earth. This was

Kinchinjunga in one of its aspects. At another time, when all was clear

of cloud, I would look steeply down from the tropical forests of

Darjiling for 6,000 feet to the bottom of the narrow valley beneath, and

then up and up through tier after tier of ever-heightening ridges, till,

far up in the skies, suffused in the blue and dreamy haze, my eyes would

rest on the culminating range of all, spotless and ethereal, and

reaching its climax in one noble peak nearly 28,000 feet above the

valley depths from which it rose. And at yet another time, when the

houses were all lit in the bazaar, and the lamps lighted along the

roads, and night had almost settled down upon Darjiling, high up in the

skies would be seen a rosy flush: Kinchinjunga was still receiving the

rays of the sun, long since set to us below. In these and many other

aspects Kinchinjunga had never-ending charms.

Darjiling itself, with such scenery and vegetation, was, it need hardly

be said, an exquisitely beautiful place. And it had about it none of the

busy air of Simla. It was at this season nearly always shrouded in mist,

and seemed wrapped in cotton-wool. No one was in a hurry, and the whole

tone of the place was placid and serene.

Sir James Bourdillon, the acting Lieutenant-Governor; Mr. Macpherson,

the Chief Secretary; Mr. Marindin, the Commissioner; Mr. Walsh, the

Deputy-Commissioner, were all most helpful to me, and I appreciated

their assistance all the more because I could not help feeling somewhat

of an interloper and poacher upon other people’s preserves. Since 1873

the Bengal Government had been working for the settlement of their

frontier affairs with Tibet, and now at the crucial moment a stranger

dropped down from the Olympian heights of Simla to carry out the

culminating act. I could naturally expect ordinary official civility

from them. But they, every one of them, went out of their way to put

their whole information and experience at my disposal. More than that,

both they and their wives were more thoughtful and kind to my wife than

I could possibly record during all that time of anxiety and depression

when we subsequently advanced to Lhasa, and we have ever felt most

deeply grateful to them.

The Bengal Government, I have often thought, has experienced a hard fate

over Tibet affairs. It was a Governor of Bengal—Warren Hastings—who

initiated the idea of sending a mission to Tibet. It was another

Lieutenant-Governor who revived the idea of intercourse in 1873. It was

a Bengal officer, Colman Macaulay, who originated and pushed through the

idea of a mission to Lhasa in 1885. It was a Bengal officer, Mr. Paul,

who negotiated the Trade Regulations of 1893; and it was a

Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Charles Elliott, who, in 1895, made what seems

to me to have been the most suitable recommendation for the settlement

of the question, an occupation of the Chumbi Valley.

But gradually, in the course of years, the conduct of frontier matters

has been taken out of their hands by the Government of India and out of

the hands of the latter by the Imperial Government. There has been a

greater and greater centralization of the conduct of frontier relations,

which may be necessary from some points of view, but one of the effects

of which is apparent locally. The local Government loses its sense of

responsibility for frontier matters. Local officers feel little

inducement to fit themselves for the conduct of such affairs. And,

consequently, when good frontier officers really are wanted in future,

they will not be found, and the next mission to Lhasa will in all

probability be led by a clerk from the Foreign Office in London.

I left Darjiling on June 19, in drenching rain. To realize it the

English reader must picture to himself the heaviest thunderstorm he has

ever seen, and imagine that pouring down continuously night and day. I

was, of course, provided with a heavy waterproof cloak, with a riding

apron and an umbrella; but the moisture seemed to soak through

everything, for there was not only the rain beating down from above, but

the penetrating mists creeping in all round. But I could not be

depressed by mere rain, however much. The road passed through a forest

of unsurpassable beauty. Chestnuts, walnuts, oaks, laurels,

rhododendrons, and magnolias grew in great magnificence, and among them

Himalayan kinds of birch, alder, maple, holly, apple, and cherry.

Orchids of the most brilliant varieties I could have gathered in

basketfuls. The perpetual moisture and the still atmosphere nourished

the most delicate ferns; while the mosses were almost as beautiful, and

hung from the trees in graceful pendants, blending with the festoons of

the climbing plants.

After riding for some miles along the ridge, we descended towards the

Teesta River, and again met with the magnificent tree-ferns, palms,

bamboos, and wild bananas. We passed by several flourishing tea

plantations, each with its cosy, but lonely, bungalow, surrounded by a

beautiful garden. By the roadway caladiums of every variegated colour

brightened the prospect. But as we descended the atmosphere grew more

oppressive and stifling, till when we reached the Teesta itself, which

here lies at an altitude of only 700 feet above sea-level, the

atmosphere was precisely that of a hothouse. The thermometer did not

rise above 95°, but the heat was well-nigh unbearable. Perspiration

poured from every pore. Energy oozed away with every drop, and the

thought of a winter amid the snows of Tibet became positively cheering.

It was a curious beginning for such an expedition as was to follow, but

the Indian officer has to be prepared to undergo at a moment’s notice

every degree of heat or cold, of storm and sunshine, of drought or

deluge, and take everything he meets cheerily as in the day’s work.

[Illustration: SIKKIM SCENERY.]

We were now in Sikkim proper, the thin wedge of a valley which runs from

the plains to the watershed of the Himalayas, and separates Nepal from

Bhutan. For luxuriance and for variety of vegetation, and of animal,

bird, and insect life, it must, I should say, be unequalled by any other

country in the world, for it lies in the tropics, and rises from an

elevation of only a few hundred feet above sea-level to a snowy range,

culminating in a peak 28,178 feet in height.

The valley bottom was narrow, and the Teesta River, 100 yards or so

broad, dashed down over great boulders and beside precipitous cliffs

with immense velocity. Both the main and the side valleys were very

deep, the slopes steep, and the whole packed with a dense forest of rich

and graceful and variegated foliage. Tropical oaks of gigantic size, a

tree with a buttressed trunk growing to a height of 200 feet, “sal,”

sago-palms, bamboos, bananas, bauhinias, “took,” screw-pine, and on the

ridges _Pinus excelsus_. An immense climber, with pendulous blossoms,

and which bears a fruit like a melon, was very prevalent, and

aristolochias, with their pitcher-like flowers, orchids, and ferns.

Tropical profusion of vegetable growth was nowhere better exemplified.

But almost more remarkable were the number and the variety of the

butterflies. I counted seventeen different species in a couple of

hundred yards, some of the most exquisitely beautiful colouring,

flashing out every brilliant and metallic hue; others mimicking the

foliage, and when at rest shutting their wings together, and exactly

resembling the leaves of a tree. Less beautiful, but equally abundant,

was the wealth of insect life. And here with a vengeance was the thorn

which every rose possesses. Midges, mosquitoes, gnats, every conceivable

horror and annoyance in this particular line, was present here; also

beetles in myriads; some spiders, too, of enormous size; cockchafers and

cockroaches, winged ants, and, in addition to all these insect pests,

the countless leeches on every leaf and every blade of grass. It is

indeed a paradise for a naturalist, but only for such a naturalist as

has his flesh under due subjection to the spirit. And such a naturalist

was the great Sir Joseph Hooker, the friend of Darwin, who first

explored this country in 1848 and 1849, and who is even now living

amongst us.

The stillness of these parts I have already referred to. There is seldom

a breath of air stirring, and one feels in a gigantic hothouse. But it

is not noiseless, for, apart from the roar of the main river as it

dashes impetuously through the languid forest, and, apart from the

thundering of the voluminous waterfalls, which, fringed with rich masses

of maidenhair and many other delicate and graceful ferns, form yet

another striking feature in the landscape, one hears also in the forest

depths the incessant chorus of the insects. Bird-life there is scarcely

any, and therefore very little song of the birds; but there is an

incessant rhythmic rise and fall of insect whirring, broken at intervals

by the deafening, dissonant screechings of invisible crickets.

All this was very beautiful and very interesting as an experience, but I

felt no temptation to linger in the stifling valley, and was glad when

the road began to rise to Gantok and the temperature to lower. Then the

more distinctly tropical vegetation began to disappear, and at between

4,000 and 5,000 feet a kind of birch, willows, alders, rhododendrons,

and walnuts grew side by side with the plantains, palms, and bamboos.

Among the plants grew balsam, climbing vines, brambles, speedwells,

forget-me-nots, strawberries, geraniums, orchids, tree-ferns, and

lycopodiums.

Embedded amidst all the luxuriance of forest and plant life, and facing

the snowy range with a view of Kinchinjunga itself, is the Gantok

Residency, a charming English house, clustered over with roses, and

surrounded by a garden in which rhododendrons, magnolias, canna of every

rich variety, tree-ferns, lilies, and orchids, and all that could excite

the envy of the horticulturist, grow almost without the trouble of

putting them into the ground.

Here I enjoyed the hospitality of Mr. White, who had preceded me to make

preparations. He and Mrs. White had lived there for fourteen years. They

were devoted to their garden, in which they found a never-ending

interest with all the English flowers—narcissus, daffodils, pansies,

iris—in the spring, and the beautiful tropical plants in the summer.

They were also devoted to the people amongst whom they lived. These

Lepchas are, says Mr. White, in his recent book, “Sikkim and Bhutan,”

"quite an exceptional people, amongst whom it is a pleasure to live."

And he says they make excellent and trustworthy servants. Certainly

these people were devoted to Mr. White, who, in a kindly patriarchal

way, did many a kindness for them as he toured through their valley. And

I was particularly interested in observing them, and hearing Mr. White’s

opinion of them, because they have been the subject of so many encomiums

on the part of Herbert Spencer. On account of their truthfulness and

gentleness they had been held up by him as an example to civilized

people, and I was anxious to see whether at close quarters they were as

estimable as they had appeared at a distance to the philosopher.

They are of the Mongolian type of feature, yet they have very

distinctive features of their own, and would never be mistaken for

either the Tibetans, the Nepalese, or the Bhutanese, who touch them on

either side, and they seem to have come along the foothills from Assam

and Burma. Their chief characteristic is undoubtedly their gentleness.

Timidity is the word which might better describe it. They live in a

still, soft, humid climate, and their character is soft like the

climate; but their disposition is also attractive, like their country.

They are great lovers of Nature, and unequalled as collectors. In their

own country and unspoiled they are frank and open, good-natured and

smiling, and when they are at their ease, amiable, obliging, and polite.

They are indolent and improvident, but they seldom have private or

political feuds. They never aggress upon their neighbours. And by nature

they are scrupulously honest. Their women are chaste, and neither men

nor women drink in excess.

These 6,000 Lepchas certainly have every estimable quality, and many for

which we Europeans are not strikingly remarkable. Yet mere gentleness,

without strength and passion at the back, can hardly count much in the

world, and it is not possible seriously to regard the Lepchas as an

ensample for our living. Even the naughty little Gurkhas, who would,

except for our protection of the Lepchas, have long since swallowed them

up, we really prefer.

We remained only a few days in Gantok, and then pushed on toward the

Tibetan frontier, for we were well on in the summer now, and we wanted,

if possible, to get the matter settled before winter. The rain never

ceased: bucketfuls and bucketfuls came drenching down. The ordinary

waterproofing in which we wrapped our luggage was soaked through as if

it had been paper. In the valley bottom we passed the camp of the 32nd

Pioneers engaged in improving the road, and anything more depressing and

miserable I have never seen. Tents, clothes, furniture—everything was

soaking. The heat was stifling, the insect pests unbearable. Fever

sapped the life out of the men, and one shuddered at the misery of life

under such conditions: day after day, week after week, month after

month, digging and blasting away at a road which as soon as it was made

was washed into the river again; wet through with rain and with

perspiration while at work, and finding everything equally moist on

returning to camp; tormented with insect pests at work and in camp by

night and by day. Yet it was only by mastering such conditions as these

that the eventual settlement with Tibet was ever rendered possible.

Fortunately for them, some 200 were now to leave these dismal

surroundings and accompany me to the Tibetan frontier as escort. We

marched on up the valley by a road carried in many places along the side

of precipices overhanging the roaring river, and with neither wall nor

railing intervening between one and destruction. Only in Hunza, beyond

Kashmir, have I seen a more precarious roadway. The same luxuriant

vegetation extended everywhere. But what impressed me most in this

middle region of Sikkim were the glorious waterfalls. Never anywhere

have I seen their equal. We were in the midst of the rains. The torrents

were full to the limit, and they would come, boiling, foaming,

thundering down the mountain-sides in long series of cascades, gleaming

white through the ever-green forest, and festooned over and framed with

every graceful form of palm and fern and foliage.

And now, as we reached the higher regions, the loathsome leeches, the

mosquitoes, gnats, and midges, were left behind, and we came into a

region of Alpine vegetation—spruce-firs, ash, birch, maple, crab-apple,

and nut, with jasmine, ivy, spiræa, wood-sorrel, and here and there,

rising lightly through the shade of the forest, a gigantic white lily,

most exquisitely lovely.

On June 26 we reached Tangu, at a height of 12,000 feet above the sea,

and here in a comfortable wooden rest-house, in a cool and refreshing

climate, we were able to forget all the depressions of the steamy

valleys. The spiræa, maple, cherry, and larch, which we had met lower

down, had now disappeared, and in their place were willow, juniper,

stunted birch, silver fir, white rose, berberry, currant, and many

rhododendrons. The mountain-sides were covered with grass and carpeted

with flowers, and especially with many beautiful varieties of primulas,

as well as with gentians, potentillas, geraniums, campanulas, ground

orchids, delphiniums, and many other plants, while near by we found a

fine dark blue poppy; and, most remarkable plant of all, growing here

and there on the mountain-side in isolated grandeur, a gigantic rhubarb

(_Rheum nobile_), described by Hooker as the handsomest herbaceous plant

in Sikkim, with great leaves spread out on the ground at the base, while

the main plant rose erect to a height of 3 feet in the form of a

pyramid, but with the clusters of flowers protected from the wind and

rain, by reflexed bracts.

* * * * *

Here, at Tangu, only a march below the district round Giagong, which the

Tibetans claimed, the real business of the mission commenced. By July 1

the whole of both the escort and the support—the former 200 men and the

latter 300—were assembled, under the command of Colonel Brander. Both

the men and the transport animals had suffered greatly in marching

through the drenching rain and the steamy, fever-laden lower valleys;

but now, in the cooler air of Tangu, they recovered their strength, and

all were eager for the advance into Tibet. I was myself equally keen,

but as I could hear no news of either Chinese or Tibetan officials of

rank or authority having arrived at Khamba Jong to meet me, I decided to

let Mr. White, with Captain O’Connor and the whole escort, go on in

advance to arrange preliminaries.

On July 4 they left Tangu, and encamped some nine miles distant, on the

near side of the wall at Giagong, which the Tibetans claimed as their

boundary, and from which they had been removed by Mr. White in the

previous year. Before reaching camp—that is to say, well on the Sikkim

side of even the wall—Mr. White was met by the Jongpen, or Commandant,

of Khamba Jong—“Jong” being the Tibetan for fort. He informed Mr. White

that there were encamped at Giagong, on the other side of what the

Tibetans claimed as their frontier, two officials—a General and a Chief

Secretary of the Dalai Lama—who had been deputed to discuss frontier

matters, and who were anxious to confer with Mr. White on the following

day.

Mr. White informed the Jongpen that he would be prepared to greet the

officials on the road, and to receive them in a friendly manner in his

camp on the next evening, but that he was not prepared to halt or hold

any discussion at Giagong.

On the following day Captain O’Connor rode forward, and was met by the

Jongpen of Khamba Jong at the wall at Giagong, which the Tibetans

claimed as their frontier, but which was on a river flowing into the

Teesta River, and therefore clearly on our side of the frontier laid

down by the Convention of 1890, concluded by the Chinese Resident, who

had with him a Tibetan representative. The Jongpen importuned Captain

O’Connor to dismount and to persuade Mr. White to do the same. But

Captain O’Connor said that no discussion was possible, and on Mr.

White’s arrival with the escort they all passed through the wall, and

just beyond saw the two Lhasa officers arrayed in yellow silks, and

accompanied by a crowd of unarmed retainers riding towards them from

their camp. Captain O’Connor advanced to meet them, and they dismounted

and spoke to him very civilly. They asked him to persuade Mr. White to

dismount, to proceed to their tent close by, to partake of some

refreshments, and to “discuss matters.” Captain O’Connor replied that

Mr. White was not prepared to break his journey or to discuss matters at

Giagong, but would be glad to see them in his camp that evening, though

any discussion must be deferred until after the arrival of myself and

the Chinese Commissioner at Khamba Jong.

They pressed forward on foot, and, catching hold of Mr. White’s bridle,

importuned him to dismount and repair to their tents. At the same time

their servants pressed round the horses of the British officers, and,

seizing their reins, endeavoured to lead them away. After speaking very

civilly to the two Lhasa officials, Mr. White was obliged to call two or

three sepoys to clear the way, and the British officers then rode on,

while the two Lhasa officers mounted and rode back to camp. The Jongpen

afterwards followed the British officers, and made repeated efforts to

induce them to halt for a day at the next camp in order to confer with

the two Lhasa officials. He was in a very excited state, and hinted more

than once at possible hostilities, and said: “You may flick a dog once

or twice without his biting, but if you tread on his tail, even if he

has no teeth, he will turn and try and bite you.”

I suppose it is always difficult for one party to see the other party’s

point of view; but, of course, his contention regarding us precisely

applied to what we thought of the Tibetans. It was simply because the

Tibetans had encroached on us, and were even now addressing us _inside_

the frontier fixed by treaty, that we were at last turning and insisting

on our treaty rights.

That evening Mr. Ho, the Chinese delegate, sent word that he had arrived

at Giri, just on the other side of the frontier, and asking that Mr.

White would remain at Giagong.

The next day Mr. White and his escort rode quietly across the frontier,

without meeting anyone except the Chinese Commandant of the small post

of Giri, who passed by without speaking. Mr. White encamped near Giri,

and received a visit from Mr. Ho, who communicated to him the contents

of the Resident’s reply to the Viceroy, and made a request, which was

politely declined, that the British Commissioner should remain at Giri

in preference to proceeding to Khamba Jong. In this despatch the Chinese

Resident informed the Viceroy that he had again deputed Mr. Ho, in

conjunction with Captain Parr, the Customs Commissioner at Yatung, who,

he said, were truly of equal rank to the Commissioner deputed by the

Viceroy, to discuss all matters in a friendly manner. He further said

that the Dalai Lama had deputed his Chief Secretary and a Depon

(General) of Lhasa to negotiate in conjunction with the Chinese

Commissioners. But the Resident understood, he said, that Khamba Jong

was in Tibetan territory, and therefore the meeting could only be at the

boundary near the grazing-grounds fixed by the Convention of 1890. The

Resident contended, that is to say, that though the Tibetans had for

thirteen years with armed men occupied territory on our side of the

frontier laid down by the Convention, we were not even to meet

temporarily for discussion on the Tibetan side of the same frontier.

On July 7 Mr. White, with his escort, marched to Khamba Jong, and

encamped on a small stream not far from the Jong, or fort, which was an

imposing building on the summit of a lofty crag some hundreds of feet

above the plain. Mr. Ho wrote to Mr. White saying that he had instructed

the Khamba Jongpen to provide him with supplies, and that he himself,

accompanied by the two Lhasa officials, would arrive there on the

following day. A letter of thanks was sent, and on the strength of Mr.

Ho’s letter Mr. White wrote to the Tibetan Jongpen asking him to supply

some grass; but the letter was returned unopened, with a somewhat

unceremonious verbal message.

Major Bretherton, the energetic supply and transport officer, who had

come up from Sikkim to arrange supply matters, on the following day

found a rich and fertile valley some three or four miles from Khamba

Jong, where grazing was abundant, and where barley crops were raised and

sheep and cattle reared.

In the evening the Khamba Jongpen, with two junior officers bearing

presents from the Lhasa delegates, arrived in camp. Mr. White received

them, and sent polite messages in return, and Captain O’Connor

afterwards interviewed the messenger in his own tent, and conversed very

amicably for some time, the messenger being evidently very pleased with

his reception, and altogether refusing to accept money, which was all

Mr. White had at the moment, in return for their presents. The Jongpen

also behaved with great civility, and repeatedly apologized in regard to

his refusal to accept the letter, and promised to supply grass on the

following day.

The two Lhasa officials, who were those referred to in the Chinese

Resident’s letter to the Viceroy, visited Mr. White on July 11. They

were well-mannered, but made protests regarding what they called our

transgression of the frontier. After the interview with Mr. White they

visited the Sikkim heir-apparent, who had arrived in Mr. White’s camp on

the previous day; and here Captain O’Connor, in a less formal way, had a

long conversation with them, endeavouring to find out under what amount

of authority they had come. But they evaded all queries, and merely

reiterated that if they had not had proper orders they would not, of

course, be there. On the same day Mr. White visited Mr. Ho.

Captain O’Connor had a two-hours conversation with the Lhasa delegates

on the 12th. He elicited that the Chief Secretary had been to Peking and

back by Calcutta and Shanghai. The position they took up was that the

place appointed by their Government for the discussion of affairs was

the Giagong frontier, and on arrival there they would produce their

credentials. As regards official correspondence, they said that by the

terms of some treaty between the Chinese and the Tibetans all official

correspondence between the Tibetans and foreigners had to be conducted

through the Ambans, and, under these circumstances, they could neither

receive nor reply to our letters. But they affirmed, nevertheless, that

they were fully empowered to treat with our Commissioners at the proper

place—the Giagong frontier.

Their dislike of the Chinese they plainly expressed. They said the

Chinese despised the Tibetans, and were often instrumental in letting

foreigners into the country—the poor Chinese who are accused by us of

keeping foreigners _out_! The relations of Tibetans and Chinese were

indeed extraordinarily anomalous. Whilst the Tibetans deferred to Mr. Ho

in almost every matter, going so far as to forward to him official

letters received from our camp for fear that they might get into trouble

if they retained them, Mr. Ho himself admitted that in many matters he

was powerless. The Tibetan officials appeared to be childishly impotent

and terrified of their own Government, whilst at the same time they were

deliberately obstructive in every matter, great or small, in which the

British were concerned, and were quite ready to use the Chinese as a

very convenient scapegoat whenever it suited them.

Mr. White made a formal visit to them on July 13, and at the close of

the interview gave them presents, including two packets of tea each.

They tried to raise some objections to receiving the tea, but no

attention was paid, and the presents were accepted.

While all these proceedings were taking place, I confess that I at Tangu

was in some anxiety. To march across the frontier in face of all

protest, as Mr. White did, appears, when set down like this, as a very

high-handed action. But it was also very risky. I had purposely, though

not very wisely, but at any rate to avoid a direct collision at the very

start, decided not to attack, and remove the Tibetans from Giagong, as

they had been removed on the previous year. Mr. White was simply to

march through to the place appointed by our Government in communication

with the Chinese Government for the place of negotiation. But in so

doing we left Tibetan troops in a good position on our line of

communications, and as the Tibetans were evidently in an irritable

state, this was no mean risk to take, and Colonel Brander and I at Tangu

used to look out with considerable anxiety for the arrival of the daily

dak from Mr. White.

On the face of it there seems some force in the Tibetan argument that

discussion should take place at Giagong; and when officials from Lhasa

had at last arrived, and with a Chinese deputy as well, and even

provided with credentials, and were ready to negotiate, it would seem

more reasonable on our part to have met there and negotiated. But such

negotiations would not in fact have led to any result. The powers they

had would simply have been not to let us inside the wall. They would

have had none to negotiate in the real sense of the word, and they would

have been afraid to make any kind of concession for fear their property

or even their lives would be forfeited. Even when we arrived close to

Lhasa, and men of much higher rank came to meet us, they had absolutely

no power. Even the Regent had none, nor the whole Council. The Tibetans

had no machinery for the conduct of foreign relations. They were under

some arrangement to let the Chinese conduct their foreign relations, and

yet, as we had experienced, they refused to abide by what the Chinese

did for them.

------------------

CHAPTER X

KHAMBA JONG

Now that Chinese and Tibetan representatives of some kind had appeared,

even though they were not of much rank or accredited with much power, I

thought it well to proceed to Khamba Jong to get into touch with them,

and form my own impression of how matters stood. I therefore rode

straight through from Tangu to Khamba Jong on the 18th, accompanied by

Mr. Dover, the Sikkim engineer, who had made such excellent rough roads

and bridges, and escorted by a few mounted men.

After Tangu the mountain-sides became more and more barren; trees were

replaced by low shrubs and dwarf rhododendrons, and higher up they, too,

disappeared, till, when we crossed the Kangra-la (pass), there was

nothing but rough coarse scrub. The pass itself was easy enough, though

it was just over 17,000 feet in height. As we descended from it we were

at length really in Tibet, and the change was most marked. In place of

narrow valleys were great wide plains, intersected indeed by distant

ranges of mountains, and absolutely devoid of trees, but open and

traversable in every direction. The sky, too, was clear. The great

monsoon clouds were left behind, and the sun shone with a power which

brought the temperature up to 82° in the shade, and made it quite

uncomfortably hot at midday, though at night there were 4° of frost.

[Illustration: MISSION CAMP, KHAMBA JONG (MOUNT EVEREST IN FAR

DISTANCE).]

As we rode on into Tibet and got out into the open, and well away from

the Himalayan range, we obtained a glorious view of that stupendous

range from Chumalhari, 24,000 feet, on the extreme east, to

Kinchinjunga, 28,275 feet, in the centre, and Everest itself, 29,002

feet, and ninety miles distant in the far west.

On July 20 I made a formal call upon Mr. Ho and the Tibetan delegates.

Mr. Ho was not a very polished official, and did not favourably impress

me. The Tibetan Chief Secretary, however, did, and I reported at the

time that he had an “exceedingly genial, kind, accomplished style of

face.” But appearance belied him, and right up to the conclusion of the

treaty, nearly fourteen months later, he was the most inimical to us of

all the Tibetans.

As this was a first interview, I did not proceed with any business

discussion, but I told the delegates that, though I must await the

orders of the Viceroy on the letter which the Resident had addressed

him, and could not, therefore, yet commence formal negotiations, yet I

would at our next meeting state plainly in detail the view which the

Viceroy took of the situation, so that they might know our views, and be

ready when the formal negotiations commenced to make proposals for their

settlement.

Two days later they all came to return my visit, and after the usual

polite conversation I said I would now redeem my promise, and I told the

interpreter to commence reading a speech which I had prepared

beforehand, and which Captain O’Connor had carefully translated into

Tibetan. But before he could commence the Tibetans raised objections to

holding negotiations at Khamba Jong at all. The proper place, they said,

was Giagong. I told them that the place of meeting was a matter to be

decided upon, not by the negotiators, but by the Viceroy and Amban. The

Viceroy had selected Khamba Jong because of its proximity to the portion

of frontier in dispute, and he had chosen a place on the Tibetan rather

than the Indian side of the frontier because the last negotiations were

conducted in India; and when, after much trouble a treaty had been

concluded between the Chinese and British Governments, the Tibetans had

repudiated it, saying they knew nothing about it. On the present

occasion, therefore, the Viceroy decided that negotiations should take

place in Tibet, and had asked that a Tibetan official of the highest

rank should take part in them, in order that, when the new settlement

was completed, the Tibetans should not be able to say they knew nothing

of it.

The Tibetans then raised objections to the size of my escort. I

explained that it was merely the escort which was becoming to my rank,

and was even smaller than the escort which the Chinese Resident took to

Darjiling and Calcutta at the former negotiations. They said they had

understood that the negotiations were to be friendly, and so they

themselves had brought no armed escort. I replied that the negotiations

certainly were to be friendly, and that if I had had any hostile

intentions I should have brought many more than 200 men, a number which

was only just sufficient to guard me against such attacks of bad

characters as had very recently been made upon the British Ambassador at

the capital of the Chinese Empire.

My speech was then read by the interpreter. It recounted how, seventeen

years before, the Viceroy proposed a peaceful mission to Lhasa to

arrange the conditions of trade with Tibet. British subjects had the

right to trade in other parts and provinces of the Chinese Empire, just

as all subjects of the Chinese Emperor were allowed to trade in every

part of the British Empire. But in this one single dependency of the

Chinese Empire, in Tibet, obstacles were always raised in the way of

trade. It was to discuss this matter with the Tibetan authorities at

Lhasa, and to see if these obstacles could not be removed, that the then

Viceroy of India proposed, with the consent of the Chinese Government,

to send a mission to Lhasa in 1886. But when the mission was about to

start, the Chinese Government at the last moment informed the Viceroy

that the Tibetans were so opposed to the idea of admitting a British

mission to their country that they (the Chinese Government) begged that

the mission might be postponed; and out of good feeling to the Chinese

Government, and on the distinct understanding that the Chinese would

exhort the Tibetans to promote and develop trade, the Viceroy

counterordered the mission.

Seventeen years had now passed away since the Chinese made the promise,

and the British Government had just cause to complain that in all these

years, owing to the persistent obstruction of the Tibetans, the Chinese

had been unable to perform their pledge.

And the forbearance which the Viceroy had shown in countermanding the

mission had met with a bad return on the part of the Tibetans, for they

had proceeded, without any cause or justification, to invade a State

under British protection. Even this the Viceroy bore with patience for

nearly two years, trusting they would be obedient to the authority of

the Chinese Government and withdraw. But when they still remained in

Sikkim, and even attacked the British troops there, he was compelled to

punish them and drive them back from Sikkim and pursue them into Chumbi.

And in Chumbi the British troops would have remained as a punishment for

the unprovoked attack upon them if it had not been for the friendship

which existed between the Emperor of China and the Queen of England.

Out of regard, however, for that friendship, the Viceroy agreed to enter

into negotiation with the Chinese Resident acting, on behalf of the

Tibetans, and after some years an agreement was made, by which the

boundary between Tibet and Sikkim was laid down, and arrangements were

made for traders to come to Yatung to sell the goods to whomsoever they

pleased, to purchase native commodities, to hire transport, and to

conduct their business without any vexatious restrictions. It was also

agreed that if, after five years, either side should wish to make any

alterations, both parties should meet again and make a new agreement.

At the end of five years the Queen’s Secretary of State wrote to the

Viceroy and inquired how the treaty was being observed, and the reply

went back that the Tibetans had destroyed the boundary pillars which

British and Chinese officials had erected on the frontier laid down by

the treaty; that they had occupied land at Giagong inside that boundary;

that they had built a wall on the other side of Yatung, and allowed no

one to pass through to trade with the traders who came there from India;

and, lastly, that they had repudiated the treaty which had been signed

by the Resident and the Viceroy on the ground that it had not been

signed by one of themselves.