the treaty which the Amban and the Viceroy had signed, he was
exceedingly angry, and ordered Mr. White to go to Giagong to remove the
Tibetans who had presumed to cross the frontier which the Amban and
Viceroy had fixed. Mr. White had gone there and removed the Tibetans,
and thrown down their guard-house, and reported to the Viceroy what he
had done.
Now the Amban, when he heard what Mr. White had done, wrote to the
Viceroy that, if there was any matter which needed discussion, he would
send a Chinese officer and a representative of the Dalai Lama to settle
it with a British officer. And the Viceroy had written in reply that he
had sent a high officer with Mr. White to Khamba Jong to settle
everything about the frontier and about trade; but as the Tibetans had
broken the old treaty because they said they had known nothing about it,
His Excellency had written to the Amban that there must be at the
negotiations a Tibetan official of the highest rank, whose authority to
bind his Government must be unquestioned. Mr. White and I had
accordingly come, and as soon as I heard from the Viceroy that he was
satisfied on this last point I was ready to commence negotiations.
The Viceroy, I could assure them, had no intention whatever of annexing
their country, and it was possible, indeed, that he might make
concessions in regard to the lands near Giagong, if in the coming
negotiations they showed themselves reasonable in regard to trade. But I
warned them that, after the way in which they had broken and repudiated
the old treaty, concluded in their interests by the Amban at the close
of a war in which they were defeated, they must expect that he would
demand from them some assurance that they would faithfully observe any
new settlement which might be made.
“You come and travel and trade in India just as you please,” I said.
"You go where you like, and stay there as long as you like. But if any
one from India wishes to trade in Tibet he is stopped on the frontier,
and no one is allowed to go near him. He can trade in Russia, in
Germany, in France, and in all other great countries, and in all other
dependencies of the Chinese Empire, in Manchuria, in Mongolia, and in
Turkestan; but in Tibet alone of all countries he cannot trade. This is
a one-sided arrangement, unworthy of so fair-minded and cultured a
people as you are; and though His Excellency has no intention of
annexing your country, and may, indeed, if you prove reasonable in
regard to the admission of trade, make concessions to you in respect to
the frontier lands near Giagong, yet he will insist that the obstacles
which you have for so many years put in the way of trade between India
and Tibet shall be once and for ever removed."
This speech was, of course, made for the benefit of the Lhasa
Government. The Tibetan officials would receive no written
communications, but I thought it barely possible that they might pass on
a verbal communication, especially when it was made before a responsible
Chinese official, and after I had given due notice of my intention.
The Tibetan delegates listened attentively while it was being delivered,
but at its conclusion said that they could not enter into any discussion
upon it. I replied that neither could I discuss it with them, for I had
not yet heard from the Viceroy that he was satisfied that they were of
sufficiently high rank to carry on negotiations. I had, however, as a
matter of courtesy, taken the trouble to acquaint them informally with
the Viceroy’s views, which I trusted they would report to their
Government. They replied that they could not even do that much, that
they could make no report at all unless we went back to Giagong.
Mr. Ho here interposed, and said that the Tibetans were very ignorant
and difficult to deal with, and he asked me if I could not meet them by
agreeing to go to the frontier. I said I would with pleasure, and when
representatives whom the Viceroy would permit me to negotiate with were
present I would gladly ride with them to the frontier and discuss the
question on the spot; but the frontier was not at Giagong, as the
Tibetans supposed, but at the Kangra-la (pass), only ten miles from
where we where. Mr. Ho said the actual position of the frontier was not
known yet, but that it was where the waters flowed down to India. I said
five minutes’ investigation would make clear where that was, and Mr. Ho
said that then the matter could be very easily settled.
Mr. Ho’s Chinese secretary then suggested that I should give the
Tibetans the copy of my speech which the interpreter had read from. I
assented with readiness, and, with Mr. Ho’s approval, presented it to
them. But they could not have got rid of a viper with greater haste than
they got rid of that paper. They said that they could on no account
receive it, and handed it on to Mr. Ho’s secretary, to whom, as he spoke
English, I had also given an English version.
These so-called delegates never came near us again at Khamba Jong, but
shut themselves up in the fort and sulked. And in reporting the result
of this interview to Government, I said that both Mr. White and I were
of opinion that Government must be prepared for very protracted
negotiations, and also for the possibility of coercion. The attitude of
the Tibetans was fully as obstructive, I said, as Mr. White and every
other person acquainted with them had predicted it would be, and I saw
at present little prospect of coming to a settlement without coercion,
though I would use every possible means of argument and persuasion.
And if the delegates did not choose to give me any work, I was quite
content to do none, for I was thoroughly happy in camp there at Khamba
Jong. All my staff were delightful companions, and we were very happy
together. Mr. White was the best possible hand at making a camp
comfortable and feeding arrangements good; and we had neither the
stifling heat of the Indian plains nor the discomforts of the rainy
season in the hills. We were beyond the reach of the monsoon. We had
occasional refreshing showers, but for July, August, and September, the
rainfall was only 4.9 inches, and, for the most part, the weather was
bright and fine and clear. We could see immense distances over the
rolling plains. We would watch the mighty monsoon clouds sweeping along
the Himalayas; we would catch glimpses of some noble peak rising
superbly above them, and Kinchinjunga close by and Everest in the
farthest distance were a perpetual joy.
Some of us went out shooting antelopes and _Ovis ammon_; while others
went botanizing or geologizing; and when, later on, our scientific staff
was complete, I could accompany Mr. Hayden to hunt for fossils, Captain
Walton to collect birds, and Colonel Prain, now Director of the
Botanical Gardens at Kew, to collect plants, and thus hear from each of
these specialists in turn all the interests of their sciences, so I did
not care a pin how long these obstinate Tibetans kept us up there.
But while the Lhasa delegates would have no more to say to us, a
deputation came to see me on behalf of the Tashi Lama, who is of equal
spiritual importance with the Dalai Lama, though of less political
authority. They said that they had been sent to represent to us that the
Tashi Lama was put to great trouble with the Lhasa authorities by our
presence at Khamba Jong; that the Lhasa authorities held him responsible
for permitting us to cross the frontier, and he begged me to be so kind
as to save him from the trouble by withdrawing across the frontier or to
Yatung, which was the place fixed for meetings of this kind. I repeated
to them all the arguments I had used with the Lhasa delegates. They were
much more courteous, and talked over the matter in a perfectly friendly,
and even cheery, way. They said, though, that they knew nothing about
the treaty, as it was concluded by the Amban, and not by themselves, and
they could not _be_ responsible for observing it. I said that that was
precisely the reason why we had now come to Tibet. We wished now to make
a new treaty there, where Tibetans could take part in the negotiations,
so that they would not in future be able to say they knew nothing about
it. They laughed, and said this was a very reasonable argument, but that
it was the Lhasa people, and not themselves, who had broken the treaty,
and we ought to go to Yatung and make the new treaty there.
I told them that, in the first place, they also had broken the treaty by
crossing the boundary fixed in it and occupying Giagong; and, in the
second place, we must regard Tibetans as all one people, and hold all
responsible for the actions of each.
The impression left upon me by this interview, I reported at the time,
was that the Tibetans, though excessively childish, were very pleasant,
cheery people, and, individually, probably quite well disposed towards
us.
Mr. Wilton, of the China Consular Service, joined us on August 7. He had
been acting as Consul at Chengtu, in Szechuan, and I had not spoken to
him for more than five minutes before I realized what a help he would be
to us. He at once said that neither the Chinese nor the Tibetan
delegates were of at all sufficient rank or authority to conduct
negotiations with us, and no one else than one of the Ambans and one of
the Tibetan Councillors would be of any use. The new Chinese Resident,
who had been deputed in the previous December specially for the purpose
of conducting these negotiations he had himself seen at Chengtu, and it
is significant of the dilatoriness of the Chinese that, while Mr. Wilton
reached me early in August, the Resident did not reach Lhasa till the
next February, thirteen months after he had set out from Peking.
Having received Mr. Wilton’s advice regarding the status of the
delegates, the Viceroy, on August 25, wrote to the Chinese Resident,
suggesting that either he himself or his Associate Resident should meet
me, and that, as the present Tibetan delegates had shown themselves
entirely unsuited for diplomatic intercourse, and would not even accept
the copy of the speech explanatory of the relations between India and
Tibet which I had made, he proposed that the Tibetan Government should
be invited to depute a Councillor of the Dalai Lama, accompanied by a
high member of the National Assembly.
As regards the objection which the Resident had made to the selection of
Khamba Jong as the meeting-place, Lord Curzon said that it was the
nearest point in Tibet to the disputed boundary; and it was necessary
that the present negotiations should be conducted in Tibet, as the
former Convention which the Tibetans had repudiated was concluded in
India, and His Majesty’s Government were not prepared to allow a similar
repudiation of any new agreement. But, as winter was approaching, if the
negotiations were not completed, I might have to select some other place
in Tibet for passing the winter. In conclusion, the Viceroy emphasized
the importance of my position and duties, and stated that I was entitled
to expect that he should reply to my communications, and look to him for
co-operation.
At Khamba Jong itself no progress was being made. There was, indeed,
fear at one time that we should be attacked, and I have not much doubt
that we should have been if we had shown any slackness or unguardedness.
But Captain Bethune was an officer of much experience, and his men were
all accustomed to frontier warfare, and every precaution was taken. Our
camp was well fortified and the country round regularly patrolled.
Two Sikkim men who had gone to Shigatse, as was customary, were seized,
however, and, we heard, had either been tortured or killed. In spite of
our representations, the Tibetans refused to give them up, and, in
retaliation, we had to seize Tibetan herds and to remove all the
Tibetans I had so far, though at considerable risk, allowed to remain at
Giagong.
Some slight chance of a settlement appeared when, on August 21, the head
Abbot of the Tashi Lumpo monastery, near Shigatse, came to make another
representation on behalf of the Tashi Lama. He was a courteous, kindly
man, and was accompanied by two monks and a lay representative, besides
the former deputy from the Tashi Lama. The Abbot said that a Council had
been held by the Tashi Lama, and it had been decided to make another
representation to me. This representation did not, however, differ from
the first, and I repeated the same arguments in reply. He was especially
insistent about Giagong, and I asked him when one man had a certain
thing which another man wished to get from him, which was the wiser
course to pursue—to make friends with him, or to do everything to make
him annoyed. The Tibetans all burst out laughing at this argument, and I
then went on to say that the Lhasa authorities, instead of doing
everything they could to dispose us favourably towards them, and incline
us to make concessions in regard to Giagong, had adopted a steadily
unfriendly attitude; they had sent only small officials to meet Mr.
White and myself, and these small officials did nothing but say they
would negotiate nowhere else but at Giagong. This was not the way to
predispose us in their favour.
The Abbot said the delegates were not small officials, but were next in
rank to the Councillors. I said I had concluded they were men of little
power, because when I had made a speech to them on my first arrival, and
had asked them to report the substance of it to the Lhasa Government,
they had refused. If they could not even report a speech, I supposed
they would not be fit to negotiate an important treaty.
I asked the Abbot to give this advice to His Holiness—that if he wished
us to withdraw from Khamba Jong, he should use his influence with the
Lhasa authorities to induce them to send proper delegates, and instruct
such delegates to discuss matters with us in a reasonable and friendly
spirit. Then matters would be very soon settled, and we would return to
India.
I then made some personal observations to the Abbot, and he told me that
from a boy he had been brought up in a monastery in a religious way, and
was not accustomed to deal with political matters. I told him I envied
him his life of devotion. It was my business to wrangle about these
small political matters, but I always admired those who spent their
lives in the worship of God. He asked me if he might come and see me
again, and I said he might come and see me every day and all day long;
and Captain O’Connor, who could speak Tibetan, would often pay him
visits.
On August 24 the Abbot again came to see me, and said that after his
previous visit he had gone to the Lhasa delegates and urged them to
negotiate at Khamba Jong, instead of at Giagong. But they had replied
that, just as my orders were to negotiate at the former place, so their
orders were to negotiate at the latter, and they could not agree to
anything different. The Abbot, therefore, now came to say that there
were several hundred Tibetan troops near by, but he would get those
withdrawn if I would send away my escort. He thought that then the Lhasa
Government would probably consent to negotiations at Khamba Jong. I told
him that I had not the slightest objection to the presence of the
Tibetan troops, but it surprised me that, when they had so many hundreds
near, they should have any objection to the small number which I myself
had.
The innocent-minded Abbot then asked if I would send away half, and he
would himself remain with us as a hostage. He explained that the
Tibetans thought we had come with no friendly intent, as we had forced
our way into the country, and a reduction of our escort would appease
them. I told the Abbot I could not acknowledge that we had forced our
way into Tibet, as I had up to now ignored the presence of Tibetan
soldiers inside the treaty frontier, who had no business to be where
they were; and I repeated my old arguments in regard to the strength of
my escort.
The Abbot very politely apologized for all the trouble he was giving me
by making so many requests. I told him he might make requests to me all
day long, and he would always find me ready to listen to him and give
him what I, at any rate, considered reasonable answers. I much regretted
the inconvenience which was being caused to the Tashi Lama, and I felt
sure that if the conduct of these negotiations rested with His Holiness
and the polite and reasonable advisers of his whom he had sent to me, we
should very soon come to a settlement.
I advised the Abbot to get the Tashi Lama to represent matters directly
to Lhasa. He replied they were not allowed to make representations
against the orders of the Lhasa Government. Nevertheless, he would
again, that very day, go to the Lhasa delegates, tell them how he had
once more tried to induce me to go back to Giagong, and would ask them
to make a request to Lhasa to open negotiations at Khamba Jong, and he
said he would even go so far as to undertake to receive in their stead
any punishment which the Lhasa Government might order upon the delegates
for daring to make this request.
He then asked me what we wanted in the coming negotiations. I told him
that I had set our requirements forth fully in a speech I had made on my
first arrival, a copy of which I would very gladly give him. But he was
well acquainted with it, and asked me what was meant exactly by opening
a trade-mart. I explained that we wanted a proper trade-mart, which
would not be closed with a wall behind it, as Yatung had been—a mart
where Indian traders could come and meet Tibetan traders; a mart such as
we had in other parts of the Chinese Empire, and had formerly had in
Shigatse itself.
The Abbot himself was a charming old gentleman. Whatever intellectual
capacity he may have had was not very apparent to the casual observer,
and he corrected me when I inadvertently let slip some observation
implying that the earth was round, and assured me that when I had lived
longer in Tibet, and had time to study, I should find that it was not
round, but flat, and not circular, but triangular, like the bone of a
shoulder of mutton. On the other hand, he was very sociable and genial.
He would come and have lunch and tea with us, and would spend hours with
Captain O’Connor and Mr. Bailey, playing with gramophones, typewriters,
pictures, photographs, and all the various novelties of our camp.
[Illustration: THE SHIGATSE ABBOT.]
But the situation now began to grow worse. On August 31 I was informed
by a trustworthy person, who had exceptional sources of information,
that he was convinced that the Tibetans would do nothing till they were
made to and a situation had arisen. They were said to be quite sure in
their own minds that they were fully equal to us, and, far from our
getting anything out of them, they thought they would be able to force
something out of us. Some 2,600 Tibetan soldiers were occupying the
heights and passes on a line between Phari and Shigatse. My informant
did not think, however, that they would attack us for the present,
though they might in the winter, when our communications would be cut
off. Their immediate policy was one of passive obstruction. They had
made up their minds to have no negotiations with us inside Tibet, and
they would simply leave us at Khamba Jong, while if we tried to advance
farther, they would oppose us by force. They were afraid that if they
gave us an inch we would take an ell, and if they allowed us at Khamba
Jong one year we should go to Shigatse the next, and Lhasa the year
after. So they were determined to stop us at the start.
The Shigatse Abbot had, I heard, done his best to make the Lhasa
officials take a more reasonable view, but without success. The Lhasa
officials were entirely ruled by the National Assembly at Lhasa, and
this Assembly was composed chiefly of Lhasa monks.
It was difficult to understand why there was all this trouble about
negotiating at Khamba Jong, for the Chinese Government had informed our
Minister at Peking on July 19 that “the Imperial Resident had now
arranged with the Dalai Lama to appoint two Tibetan officials of fairly
high standing to proceed with the Prefect Ho to Khamba to meet Major
Younghusband and Mr. White, and discuss with them what steps are to be
taken.” The Chinese Government added that they trusted it would be
possible to effect a speedy and friendly settlement of this
long-standing dispute, and requested Mr. Townley to acquaint his
Government by telegraph with the contents of this communication, so that
Major Younghusband and Mr. White might be instructed to open
negotiations in a friendly spirit with the Tibetan and other delegates
appointed, and it was hoped that the pending questions would then be
speedily and finally settled.
The Chinese Government did, indeed, ask the British Government to
withdraw the troops we had with us at Khamba Jong, but this was on the
strength of a report they had received that when I was to follow Mr.
White to Khamba Jong, I was to bring with me the 300 men who formed the
support left at Tangu.
That the Dalai Lama himself had agreed to Khamba Jong being the
meeting-place seems evident from the copy of the telegram from the
Chinese Resident at Lhasa, which the Chinese Government forwarded to Mr.
Townley with the above-mentioned communication. The Resident’s words
were: “The Dalai Lama’s answer is to the effect that, since the British
Government has appointed Major Younghusband as Boundary Commissioner and
Mr. White as his fellow-Commissioner, and fixed the 7th instant for the
meeting of the delegates at the frontier station of Khamba, and as the
Prefect Ho Kuang Hsieh is to proceed there in a few days from Chingshi,
it is his duty, the matter being a very important one, also to appoint
interpreter officials above the usual rank to proceed to Khamba, and, in
company with the Prefect Shou [? Ho], to meet the British delegates and
discuss the frontier question with them.”
Nothing would seem clearer than this. Both the Chinese Government and
the Dalai Lama accepted Khamba—that is, Khamba Jong—as the place of
meeting, and directed their delegates to proceed to meet Mr. White and
myself there. Yet, when we met at the appointed place, they refused to
have anything to do with us!
I think a solution of this extraordinary proceeding may be found in the
last paragraph of the telegram of the Resident to his Government. In
this very same telegram in which he announces that the Dalai Lama is
sending delegates with Mr. Ho to meet me at Khamba Jong, the Resident
asks that we should “be careful not to cross the frontier, and thus
again excite the suspicion and alarm of the Tibetans.”
My impression is that neither the Chinese Government, the Resident, nor
the Dalai Lama knew that Khamba Jong was on the Tibetan side of the
frontier. And this appalling ignorance of the frontier by men who,
nevertheless, kept the control of frontier affairs absolutely in their
hands was one of the main difficulties with which we had to deal, and
was what made it an absolute necessity to negotiate with them face to
face at Lhasa itself.
In any case, whether they really were ignorant or not of the position of
Khamba Jong, they had all formally agreed to send delegates to meet Mr.
White and myself there, and the continued refusal of these delegates
even to receive communications was utterly indefensible.
On September 1 Mr. Ho came to me to say he had been recalled to Lhasa
owing to ill-health. I took the opportunity to recount the difficulties
the Chinese Government had placed us in by undertaking responsibilities
in regard to the Tibetans, and then not being able to fulfil them. The
British Government had time after time shown consideration to the
Chinese Government, but the net result was that the Tibetans had broken
the old treaty, and now placed every obstacle in the way of negotiating
a new one. I trusted he would represent to the Resident the seriousness
of the position, and impress upon him the importance of using his
influence with the Tibetan Government to induce them to change their
present intolerable attitude. The Tibetans did not seem to understand
that for years they had been offending the British Government, and that
it ill became them, therefore, to object to the mere place where
negotiations were to be held. We had given them the opportunity for
negotiating, and if the Lhasa Government still persisted in refusing to
hold negotiations at Khamba Jong, and the Chinese still showed their
incapacity to make them negotiate there, then the Resident must
understand that the position would become very grave indeed, and the
Chinese and Tibetans would only have themselves to thank if, under these
circumstances, the British Government took matters into their own hands
and adopted their own measures for effecting a settlement.
Mr. Ho said he would explain all this to the Amban, and he also then and
there explained it to the Tibetans—the Shigatse Abbot and others, though
not including the Lhasa delegates—who were present, and these seemed
impressed, though they said we were acting in a very oppressive manner.
On September 2 the Government of India asked me to submit proposals for
dealing with the situation if the Tibetans continued to be so
impracticable. I replied on the 9th, that I thought that the Viceroy’s
reply to the Resident might have some effect upon the Chinese at least.
Both Chinese and Tibetans had so far been under the impression that the
present mission was only one more of the futile little missions which
had come and gone on the Sikkim frontier for years past. They thought
that if they could be obstructive enough during the summer and autumn,
we should no doubt return before the winter. On this point the Viceroy’s
letter would leave them in no doubt. It was clear from that that we
intended to stay for the winter. Besides this I had, I said, in
conversation with Mr. Ho and the Shigatse people, tried to bring both
the Chinese and the Tashi Lama round to putting pressure on the
obstinate Lhasa monks. But there was little hope, I thought, that mere
verbal persuasion would be sufficient. Direct action would be required.
The despatch of a second Pioneer regiment to put the road to the
Jelap-la (pass) in order, had, I understood, been ordered. I
recommended, therefore, that about the same time my escort should be
strengthened by 100 men from the support.
What I thought, however, would have a greater effect than anything else
upon the Tibetans would be the demonstrating to them that the Nepalese
were on our side, and not theirs. The Nepalese Minister had offered
8,000 yaks. I would have 500 of these march across to us by the Tinki
Jong route, and would recommend that a suitable representative of the
Nepalese Durbar should accompany them for the purpose of formally
handing them over to us. This would be a sign which the Tibetans could
not mistake that the Nepalese were on our side.
The strengthening of my escort and the appearance of the Nepalese yaks
might be made to coincide with the concentration of the 23rd Pioneers in
the neighbourhood of the Jelap-la (pass) in about a month’s time. This I
thought was all that could be done to bring the Tibetans to a more
suitable frame of mind. If these measures failed, an advance into the
Chumbi Valley was the most obvious course to take, for the Jelap-la
could be crossed at any time during the winter, and along the Chumbi
Valley lay the best trade-route and military road to Lhasa. When the
Chumbi Valley had been occupied, the mission might, transported by
Nepalese yaks, march across to Gyantse. The 32nd Pioneers and all
transport would then be transferred to the Chumbi Valley line, and that
line be made our chief line of communication.
These were my recommendations to Government when two months’ experience
had shown me the difficulty of even entering into communication with the
Tibetans. Neither Mr. White nor I, nor any of us, had any real hope of
effecting a final settlement anywhere short of Lhasa itself; for it was
quite evident to us on the spot that to carry the negotiations through
we should have to come to close grips with the priestly autocrats who
kept all power in their own hands, and to whom the officials on the
frontier were frightened to represent the real state of affairs. But at
that time it was high treason for me to whisper the word Lhasa to my
nearest friend, such agitation did the sound of it cause in England. So
I racked my brains and everyone else’s brains to think of alternative
measures to an advance to Lhasa, which might be exhausted before this
alarming proposal could be made. And I subsequently strove honestly to
get the utmost out of each of those measures before I suggested the
next, for I quite realized the difficulty which any Government at home
has in securing support from the House of Commons in a matter of this
kind. Such methods are very costly, very risky, and very ineffective;
but as long as what an officer in the heart of Asia may do is contingent
on the “will” of “men in the street” of grimy manufacturing towns in the
heart of England, so long must our action be slow, clumsy, and
hesitating, when it ought to be sharp and decisive.
* * * * *
I have referred to the offer of the Nepalese Government to help us with
yaks, a species of buffalo peculiar to Tibet, which are of value as
transport animals at high altitudes. This offer was not only of great
practical use, but of still greater political significance. And it is
time now to consider this yet other important factor in the
situation—the attitude of the Nepalese Government; for Nepal was in
rather a peculiar position in this matter. On the one hand, it sends a
mission to Peking every three years, and also has a treaty with the
Tibetans, under which it is bound to come to their assistance if they
are attacked; on the other hand, it has political relations with
ourselves. The attitude which the Nepalese Government would take under
the circumstances was a matter of considerable importance to us, and no
doubt of much questioning among themselves.
Recognizing this, the Government of India at the start laid down in
their despatch to the Secretary of State of January 8, 1903, that they
contemplated acting in complete unison with the Nepalese Durbar
throughout their proceedings, and would invite them, if thought
advisable, to take part in our mission. The Indian Government believed
that the policy of frank discussion and co-operation with the Nepalese
Durbar would find the latter prepared most cordially to assist our
plans. An interview at Delhi at the time of the Durbar between Lord
Curzon and the Prime Minister of Nepal, Maharaja Chandra Shamsher
Jang—the same who came to England in 1908—confirmed the impression. The
Nepalese Government regarded this rumour of intrigue in Tibet with the
most lively apprehension, and considered the future of the Nepalese
State to be directly involved. Further, the Maharaja (the Prime
Minister) was prepared to co-operate with the Government of India in
whatever way might be thought most desirable, either within or beyond
the frontier, for the frustration of designs which he deemed to be
utterly inconsistent with the interests of his own country.
This intention the Maharaja afterwards most amply fulfilled right up to
the close of the mission. The welcome offer of 500 yaks, now accompanied
as it was by a further offer of 8,000 yaks within a month, was the first
practical sign of the intention. A second was to follow. And early in
September I received from Colonel Ravenshaw, our Resident in Nepal, who
had so much contributed to this good understanding between us and the
Nepal Prime Minister, the translation of a letter which the latter had
just addressed to the Council of Lhasa.
[Illustration: THE PRIME MINISTER OF NEPAL.]
In this letter the Nepal Minister said that he had heard from his
frontier officers and from newspaper reports that, in the absence of
fully-empowered Commissioners from Tibet to deal with the British
Commissioners at Khamba Jong, no settlement could be arrived at, and the
latter were being unnecessarily detained. This omission to depute
Commissioners vested with full authority, and the neglect or failure of
the Tibetan Council to bring about a reasonable settlement for so long,
compelled him to say that “such unjustifiable conduct” might lead to
grave consequences. It was laid down, the Minister said, in the treaty
between Nepal and Tibet that Nepal would assist Tibet in the case of the
invasion of its territory by any foreign Rajas. Consequently, when a
difference of opinion arose between the Tibetans and anyone else, it was
incumbent on him to help them to the best of his power with his advice
and guidance, in order to prevent any trouble befalling them from such
difference of opinion. And the manner in which the Tibetans had managed
the present business not appearing commendable, the assistance he would
give at this crisis “of their own creation” would consist in giving such
advice as would conduce to the welfare of their country. Should they
fail to follow his advice and trouble befall them, there would be no
other way open to him of assisting them in the troublous solution
brought about by following a wayward course of their own. This should be
understood well, for the British Government did not appear to him to
have acted in an improper or high-handed way in this matter, but was
simply striving to have the conditions of the treaty fulfilled, and it
was against the treaty and against all morality or policy to allow
matters to drift, and to regard as enemies the officers of such a
powerful Government who had come to enforce such rights. Besides, when
the Emperor of China had, for their good, posted Ambans of high rank, it
was a serious mistake on their part to disregard even their advice and
neglect to carry on business with the British Commissioners.
The advice the Nepal Minister gave to the Tibetan Council was this: If
the report was correct that they had refused to be bound by the treaty
of 1890, on the ground that it was concluded by the Chinese and not by
themselves, then they had acted very improperly. The Tibetans and the
Nepalese had for a long time held the Emperor of China in high respect.
It was improper, then, to declare that the treaty, having been made by
the Chinese, was not binding upon the Tibetans, since whatever was done
was done on their behalf. The Minister pointed out that, since the
conclusion of the treaty between the British and Nepal Governments
representatives of each of the Governments had resided in the other’s
country, and the due observance of the terms of the treaty had been
continually advantageous to the Government of Nepal, and their religion
had not suffered in any way. The advantages derived from such an
arrangement were too many to enumerate. Since the treaty was made, the
British Government had on different occasions restored to them
territories lost by Nepal in war, and producing a revenue of many lakhs
of rupees. The Tibetans must bear in mind that the Government that they
had to deal with was not a despotic, but a constitutional, one, and this
would be corroborated by the fact that the British had helped the
Nepalese to maintain the autonomy of their country for so long a time,
whereas they might easily have deprived them of it if they had had a
mind to behave in a despotic and unjust manner. The most notable feature
in the relations of the Nepalese with the British, continued the
Minister, was that they sacredly observed Nepalese religious and social
prejudices. Hence if the Tibetans would even now take time by the
forelock, settle the pending questions, and behave with the British as
true friends, he was sure Tibet would derive the same benefit from such
an alliance as Nepal had hitherto done. That the British Government had
any evil designs upon Tibet did not appear from any source. It was well
known that the sun never sets upon the British dominions, and that the
Sovereign of such a vast Empire should entertain designs of unjustly and
improperly taking the Tibetan mountainous country should never cross
their minds. So wrote the Nepalese Minister to the Lhasa Council.
* * * * *
Another month passed, and there was still no improvement in the
situation. On the contrary, continued rumours arrived that the Tibetans
were massing troops, and that at Lhasa they were quite prepared to go to
war. The old Shigatse Abbot was very friendly, but quite ineffectual in
bringing about negotiations. One day he lunched with us, and assured us
that he had made a divination that Yatung was the place where
negotiations would be carried on quickest. I said that what we wanted to
find was a place where the negotiations could be carried on, not
quickest, but best; and I asked him to consult his beads again, and see
if Shigatse would not be suitable in that respect. He laughed, and
replied that the divination had to be made in front of an altar, to the
accompaniment of music. Captain O’Connor had succeeded in making the
Abbot and his people so friendly that Mr. Wilton heard from Chinese
sources that the Chinese believed that we had either bought over the
Abbot or promised him some considerable concession—neither of which was,
of course, the case. Still, all this friendliness of the Shigatse men
amounted to very little practical use as long as the Lhasa people were
still obstinate. So on October 7 I telegraphed to Government that I was
strengthening my escort by 100 men from the support, and on the
following day telegraphed them a resumé of the whole situation.
I said that the Viceroy’s despatch had reached the Resident one month
previously, and no reply had yet been received, though letters from
Lhasa could reach Khamba Jong in four days. The Mission had been there
for three months without being able to even commence negotiations. The
Chinese showed indifference and incompetence, and the Tibetans pure
obstruction. The present Resident was acknowledged by even the Chinese
to be weak and incompetent, and his Associate Resident had been allowed
to resign some months back. The new Amban, though appointed in December,
was only just leaving Chengtu, and could not reach the frontier till
January. The new Associate Resident had been given sick-leave before
even joining his post. Mr. Ho, though I had given him the
above-mentioned very serious warning, made no haste to proceed to Lhasa,
but had loitered at Phari. Even if the Chinese showed less indifference,
they could do little with the Tibetans. Mr. Ho was refused transport,
and Colonel Chao (his successor) had informed me that the new Resident
could not bring large numbers of troops into Tibet, as Tibetans would
refuse to furnish transport and supplies. As regards the attitude of the
Tibetans, the people in the vicinity and the Shigatse deputies were
perfectly friendly, but the Lhasa authorities were as obstructive as
ever. The delegates, since the first formal visits, had refused all
communication, social or official, with me. The two Sikkim men made
prisoners remained in custody, and Tibetan troops lined all the heights
between our camp and Gyantse or Shigatse; and there was much probability
that Siberian Buriat Lamas were present in Lhasa. The result of all our
moderation in the present and previous years was _nil_, and I could, I
said, no longer hold out any hope to Government of a peaceful solution
of the question.
On October 11 I left Khamba Jong to proceed to Simla to confer with the
Government of India on future action, and thus ended this futile effort
to settle the question on the frontier.
The unsatisfactory nature of the situation had in the meanwhile been
taken notice of by the Government in England, and, under their
instructions, Sir Ernest Satow, our Minister at Peking, on September 25
presented a note to the Chinese Government, stating that, in spite of
the Dalai Lama having agreed that negotiations should take place at
Khamba Jong, the Tibetan representatives had refused to negotiate there;
they had imprisoned two British subjects at Shigatse, and refused to
release them; and they were collecting troops, and making hostile
preparations. Sir Ernest Satow further verbally informed the Foreign
Board, in accordance with his instructions, that His Majesty’s
Government expected them to bring immediate pressure to bear upon the
Dalai Lama, with a view to the release of the two British subjects who
had been imprisoned, and to the commencement without delay of
negotiations between the Tibetan delegates and the British
Commissioners. Should the Dalai Lama not give immediate satisfaction to
these demands, His Majesty’s Government would feel themselves compelled
to take such measures as they might consider necessary for the safety of
their Mission and for the release of the two British subjects.
Prince Ching promised Sir Ernest Satow to despatch a telegram at once to
Lhasa by Batang, and said he hoped an improvement would manifest itself
as soon as the new Resident arrived; but he described the Tibetans as
intensely ignorant and obstinate, and very difficult to influence.
At first the Imperial Government was not prepared to sanction anything
further than the occupation of the Chumbi Valley; but on October 1 Lord
George Hamilton telegraphed to the Government of India that Government
had again considered the position, and were now prepared, if complete
rupture of negotiations proved inevitable, to authorize, not only the
occupation of the Chumbi Valley, but also the advance of the Mission to
Gyantse, if it could be made with safety; and he asked the Viceroy to
inform him of his plans, and particularly how he proposed to secure the
safety of the Mission at Gyantse.
It was upon this that I was summoned to Simla to advise the Government
of India, and after consultation with me at a meeting of the Council,
which I was invited to attend, they telegraphed, on October 26, to Mr.
Brodrick, who had now succeeded as Secretary of State, that, for the
following reasons, an advance into Tibet seemed indispensable: (1)
Though the Dalai Lama had agreed to the Commissioners meeting at Khamba
Jong, the Tibetan delegates had refused to hold any communication with
the British Commissioner; (2) no Chinese delegates of suitable rank had
as yet been sent; (3) the procrastination of the Chinese Government; (4)
the warlike preparations of the Tibetans; (5) the arrest and
imprisonment of two British subjects; (6) the complete failure of the
policy pursued for twenty-five years, the only result of which was that
the Tibetans mistook our patience for weakness, and despised our
strength. They recommended, therefore, the advance should extend to
Gyantse, and should not be confined to the Chumbi Valley, for these
reasons: (1) That the Chumbi Valley is on the Indian side of the
watershed, and is not regarded as part of Tibet, and a move from Khamba
Jong only to there would be regarded as a retrograde movement by the
Tibetans; (2) that if we moved only into the Chumbi Valley, we should
find the existing situation at Khamba Jong repeated at Phari; (3) that
Colonel Younghusband considered it extremely important that we should
come into contact with the Tibetan people, for they were quite prepared
to enter into relations with us, and were friendly, it being only the
hierarchy of Lhasa Lamas who were opposed; (4) that, as we were pressing
to have a mart at Gyantse, that object could be secured in no better way
than by advancing thither at once. On arrival at Gyantse the force would
not attack the place, but, as had been done at Khamba Jong, would
establish a fortified port, and invite Tibetans and Chinese to resume
negotiations.
It was estimated, in a subsequent telegram, that the total force to be
employed would be one battalion of Gurkhas, two companies of Sappers and
Miners, two battalions of Pioneers, two guns, British Mountain Battery,
two Maxims, and two seven-pounder guns. The command of the whole was to
be entrusted to Brigadier-General Macdonald.
The Secretary of State,[23] in a telegram dated November 6, at last gave
his sanction to an advance. In view of the recent conduct of the
Tibetans, His Majesty’s Government felt that it would be impossible not
to take action, and they accordingly sanctioned the advance of the
Mission to Gyantse. They were, however, clearly of opinion that “this
step should not be allowed to lead to occupation or to permanent
intervention in Tibetan affairs in any form. The advance should be made
for the sole purpose of obtaining satisfaction, and as soon as
reparation was obtained a withdrawal should be effected. While His
Majesty’s Government considered the proposed action to be necessary,
they were not prepared to establish a permanent Mission in Tibet, and
the question of enforcing trade facilities in that country should be
considered in the light of this telegram.”
It was a curious telegram, which I never quite understood. It said that
the advance was to be made for the sole purpose of obtaining
satisfaction. But it was always understood, and it was most emphatically
laid down, that this was not a punitive expedition to obtain
satisfaction and get reparation. It was a Mission despatched to put our
relations with the Tibetans on a regular footing, to establish ordinary
neighbourly intercourse with them. Lord Lansdowne himself said in the
House of Lords[24]: “We desire that a new Convention should be entered
into between the Government of India, on the one hand, and the Tibetans
and Chinese, as the suzerain Power, on the other. That is the object of
the Mission.” It is remarkable that a document which was so often quoted
to the Russian Government, to the Indian Government, to the Chinese
Government, and which the Indian Government on one occasion quoted to me
in terms of admonition, should have described with so little precision
the real purpose of the advance—and this at the culminating point of
thirty years’ effort on the part of the Government of India. It was not
till after the Mission had been attacked at Gyantse, and on account of
that attack, that we demanded satisfaction—in the shape of an indemnity.
The obvious purpose of the advance was to do what Warren Hastings had
attempted, what the Government of Bengal since 1873 had been
advocating—to put our intercourse with the Tibetans on proper terms. We
had found it impossible to effect this object on the frontier or by
negotiation with the Chinese Government. We were going to advance into
Tibet, to Gyantse, to see if we could not effect it there, to get the
frontier defined and recognized, to have the conditions under which
trade could be carried on determined, and to have the method of
communication between our officials and Tibetan officials clearly laid
down. This, and not the obtaining of satisfaction, which is the business
of a military commander in charge of a punitive expedition, was
obviously the purpose of our advance into Tibet, and it is odd that this
was not recognized in what was so often afterwards quoted as the
fundamental statement of our policy.
The telegram was not very purposeful or instructive, but such as it was
we were glad enough to get it. It at least allowed us to go to Gyantse,
and though at the time when my advice was asked I said I did not think
we should get the business really settled till we reached Lhasa, we
certainly stood a better chance at Gyantse than at Khamba Jong. In all
civilized countries envoys who have to negotiate a treaty go straight to
the capital, and how it could ever have been expected that in Tibet,
where all power was concentrated in a supposed god, who relied upon the
support of Russia in any difficulties, we should have been able to
negotiate a treaty at anywhere short of Lhasa, it is hard now to
realize.
However, as I told Lord Curzon at his camp in Patiala, where I took
leave of him on my return to Tibet, I meant to do my very best to get
the thing through. He once more gave me the same warm encouragement he
always extended to those in India whom he believed to be working well,
and I left again for Darjiling.
* * * * *
While we were making preparations at Darjiling for the next move,
correspondence was also taking place from headquarters. The Viceroy, in
reply to a letter of the Lhasa Resident’s of October 17, stating that he
had nominated a Colonel Chao in place of Mr. Ho, that he had asked the
Dalai Lama to send a Councillor of State to accompany him (the Resident)
to Khamba Jong, but that all this required time to settle, and asserting
that the Tibetan passes were guarded by soldiers, and requesting the
Viceroy, therefore, to instruct the British Commissioner not to move
from the present camp, told the Resident that he understood that Colonel
Chao was of lower, not higher, rank than Mr. Ho, and that, as the
Resident’s departure was contingent on the Dalai Lama’s nomination of a
Councillor, and as the Dalai Lama had for four months past failed to
send, as desired, an officer of the highest rank, he saw no prospect of
the Resident arriving at Khamba Jong within any reasonable time. The
Viceroy then recapitulated our various grounds of complaint, and
concluded by saying that, in these circumstances, he had no alternative
but to transfer the place of negotiations to some more suitable spot,
where he hoped they might be resumed. And as the Resident had stated
that the Tibetan passes were guarded by soldiers, he had been compelled
to take measures to insure the safety of the Commissioners in moving
from Khamba Jong, and to prevent any possible interruption of
communication with them.
The Chinese Government made on November 16 a protest to Lord Lansdowne
against an advance, and hoped that I would be instructed to await the
arrival of the new Resident, who, it will be remembered, had been
instructed nearly a year previously to proceed as rapidly as possible to
Lhasa; but Lord Lansdowne informed them that His Majesty’s Government
had learnt by experience that the Tibetans systematically disregarded
the injunctions of the Emperor and the Chinese Government, who had no
real influence in restraining them from acts such as those we complained
of. We had treated the Tibetans with the utmost forbearance, but these
recent proceedings compelled us to exact satisfaction, and we could not
remain inactive until the arrival of the new Resident, who had
unnecessarily protracted his journey.
The Chinese Minister said that his Government recognized the forbearance
shown by the British authorities towards the Tibetans, and also the
friendly spirit brought by the British Commissioners to the discussion
of frontier questions, and they hoped that we would recognize the
difficult position in which China had been placed by her obstinate and
ignorant vassal, and enjoin our Commissioners to exercise patience and
forbearance, and thus assist the Resident, who had been instructed to
proceed in person to the frontier to bring the Tibetans to a juster
sense of their duties and responsibilities as good neighbours.
To this Lord Lansdowne replied that the Chinese had hitherto signally
failed in such attempts, and the attitude of the Tibetan authorities had
of late been of increased hostility. It was impossible, therefore, for
us to desist from the measures already sanctioned.
In the event, it turned out that the Resident never did meet me on the
frontier, and that even his successor, when at last he arrived at Lhasa,
did not care to meet me even at Gyantse, for the Tibetans, so he
informed me, would not provide him with transport. Lord Lansdowne’s
refusal to desist from action and pursue still further the policy of
patience and forbearance was, therefore, amply justified by events.
* * * * *
But it was not only the Chinese Government who were now beginning to
protest against our action. The Russian Government also began to move in
the matter. Lord Lansdowne had on November 7, the day on which the
forward move was sanctioned by Government, informed the Russian
Ambassador[25] that, owing to the outrageous conduct of the Tibetans, it
had been decided to send our Mission, with a suitable escort, farther
into the Tibetan territory, but that this step should not be taken “as
indicating any intention of annexing, or even of permanently occupying,
Tibetan territory.” And on November 17 Count Benckendorff called on Lord
Lansdowne,[26] and spoke in the most earnest tones of the effect which
had been created in Russia by the announcement that we were about to
advance into Tibet. He was instructed to remind Lord Lansdowne of the
former statement he (Count Benckendorff) had made to him as to the
manner in which the Russian Government regarded the Tibetan question.
They could not help feeling that the invasion of Tibetan territory by a
British force was calculated to involve a grave disturbance of the
Central Asian situation, and it was most unfortunate that at that
moment, when the Russian Government were disposed to enter into an
amicable discussion of our relations at the various points where British
and Russian interests were in contact—an allusion to the preliminary
negotiations for the Anglo-Russian Agreement and _entente cordiale_—an
event of this kind, so calculated to create mistrust on the part of
Russia, should have occurred.
Lord Lansdowne expressed his great surprise at the excitement which the
announcement of the advance seemed to have enacted. He had, he said,
already pointed out to the Ambassador that Tibet was, on the one hand,
in close geographical connection with India, and, on the other, far
remote from any of Russia’s Asiatic possessions. Our interest in Tibetan
affairs was therefore wholly different from any which Russia could have
in them. He reminded Count Benckendorff that he had already explained to
him that we had received the greatest provocation at the hands of the
Tibetans, who had not only failed to fulfil their treaty obligations,
but had virtually refused to negotiate with us. We had always been
reluctant to entangle ourselves in quarrels with the Tibetans, but our
forbearance had led them to believe that we could be ill-treated with
impunity. Lord Lansdowne said he was firmly convinced that the Russian
Government would not have shown as much patience as we had, and that
they would have been at Lhasa by that time. He felt bound to add that it
seemed to him beyond measure strange that these protests should be made
by the Government of a Power which had, all over the world, never
hesitated to encroach upon its neighbours when the circumstances seemed
to require it. If the Russians had a right to complain of us for taking
steps to obtain reparation from the Tibetans by advancing into Tibetan
territory, what kind of language should we not be entitled to use in
regard to Russian encroachments in Manchuria, Turkestan, and Persia.
Count Benckendorff asked him whether he had any objection to his saying
that Government had approved of the advance into Tibetan territory with
reluctance, and only because circumstances had made it inevitable, and
that our sole object was to obtain satisfaction for the affronts we had
received from the Tibetans; and Lord Lansdowne said that he had no
objection to his making such a statement.
* * * * *
Despite Russian and Chinese protests, the advance to Gyantse was now
irrevocably decided on, and once again we have now to ask, Was the
Mission justified in advancing into Tibet? I have given all the reasons
for thinking that the despatch of the Mission to Khamba Jong was
justified. Was this further advance into the Chumbi Valley and to
Gyantse equally necessary? Perhaps, if we had shown yet more patience
and yet more forbearance, we might have effected our object without
advancing by force into the country. Was this so?
What eventually occurred showed that there were no possible grounds for
such a belief. Even when the Chinese Central Government were aroused,
and had ordered the Resident to proceed to the frontier to settle
matters, he was unable to get there. The Tibetans refused him transport,
and when we reached Lhasa, in August of the following year, we found him
to be practically a prisoner, and almost without enough to eat, as the
Tibetans had prevented supplies of money from reaching him, and he had
actually to borrow money from us. But it was with the Tibetans that we
really wished to negotiate. Perhaps they would have come to terms with
us if we had been a little less impatient and remained on the frontier?
Perhaps they would have sent a Councillor, as we had asked, and
negotiated a treaty? On this point, too, our later experience showed
that we could not have relied. When we at length reached Lhasa I had to
negotiate, not with one Councillor only, but with the whole Council; and
not with the Council, but the Regent himself, to whom the Dalai Lama had
entrusted his own seal and whom he had appointed in his place; and not
with the Council and the Regent only, but with the National Assembly and
three great monasteries in addition; and with all in the presence of the
Chinese Resident himself. No one man would ever have been entrusted by
them with power, and no one man would take responsibility. It was only
with the whole together that it was possible to negotiate; and we could
negotiate with the whole together no where but in Lhasa itself.
Granted all this, some may say, but even then was it worth incurring
Russian resentment in order to settle a trumpery affair of boundary
pillars and petty trade interests in a remote corner of our Empire? Now,
I most fully sympathize with the Russian view. Our advancing into Tibet
would—and, in fact, did—“involve a grave disturbance of the Central
Asian situation.” The news of our signing a treaty in the Potala at
Lhasa, and of the Dalai Lama having to flee, did produce a profound
impression. But if the subject-matter of our dispute was small, there
was small reason why the Russians should trouble us about it. The matter
grew in dimension because the Tibetans, whom the Chinese suzerains
themselves had characterized as obstinate and difficult to influence,
had grown still more obstinate and still more difficult to influence,
through their having led themselves to believe that they could count on
Russian support. In view of Russian disclaimers, we can assume that the
Russian Government gave them no intentional grounds for that belief.
Nevertheless, they had it, and for practical purposes that was all that
concerned us then. The reception of the Dalai Lama’s religious missions
by the Czar, the Czarina, the Chancellor and Minister, and the
subscriptions they had collected, together with the extraordinary belief
they had that Russia was nearer to Lhasa than India was, had led the
ignorant Dalai Lama to believe that he could count on Russian support
against the British. One can quite realize that the Russians, with their
thousands of Buddhist Asiatic subjects, and with the prospect that then
seemed near of their absorbing Mongolia, and so possessing still more
Buddhist subjects, would be sensitive of our acquiring a predominant
influence with the Dalai Lama. But that is scarcely a reason why we
should not take measures to counteract an influence which was already,
and in hard fact proving, detrimental to our own interests by
encouraging the Tibetans in the belief that they could with impunity
ignore their treaty obligations. The Russian Government had no intention
of sending an agent to Lhasa. Nevertheless, there was in Lhasa all the
time a Russian subject who had more influence over the Dalai Lama than
the Chinese Resident. When such was the condition of affairs, we could
hardly defer to Russia in a matter concerning a country adjoining our
frontier, but nowhere adjoining hers.
Just as the move to Khamba Jong a dozen miles inside the Tibetan
frontier was most amply justified, so also was the move to Gyantse,
halfway to the capital.
-----
Footnote 23:
Blue-book, I., p. 294.
Footnote 24:
February 26, 1904.
Footnote 25:
Blue-book, I., p. 294.
Footnote 26:
_Ibid._, p. 298.
-----
------------------
CHAPTER XI
DARJILING TO CHUMBI
During our stay at Khamba Jong Mr. White, Captain O’Connor, and I had
often talked over the question of advancing into Tibet in winter. It had
always so far been assumed that with the approach of winter all
operations on this frontier must cease, missions must withdraw, and
troops go into winter-quarters. But on the Gilgit frontier we had taken
troops across snow-passes in winter, and Colonel Kelly took troops and
guns across the Shandur Pass to the relief of Chitral in April, which,
from the softness of the snow, is the very worst time. I asked Mr.
White, who knew the Sikkim frontier so well, whether there was really
any insuperable obstacle to our crossing these passes in winter, and as
he said there was not, and as he was heartily in favour of such a move,
I urged Government not to delay till the spring, but to let us advance
even in winter. We do not hesitate when there is real necessity to send
troops and missions into unhealthy and hot places in the hottest season
of the year. Why, then, should we be put off by cold? Against cold we
could take plenty of precautions by clothing troops and followers with
furs and sheepskins, and we should doubtless lose some, but not more
than we lose from malaria and heat-strokes in hot places. And as for
passes being closed, I had had as much experience as most people of
Himalayan passes, and I knew that passes which are closed for single men
or small parties, are not necessarily closed for large parties, which
can organize regular shelters and trample down paths in the snow. It was
a risk to take, and Lord Curzon and the Government of India were
courageous in taking it. But, like many other risks we took on this
enterprise, it was justified by the result. By April the casualties from
sickness and frost-bite were only thirty-five deaths among combatants
and forty-five among followers, which, considering the circumstances,
was wonderfully low, and we had proved for all time to the Tibetans, to
ourselves, and to the world, that Indian troops could march across the
Himalayas in the very depth of winter.
As we settled down to our preparations at Darjiling, it did indeed seem
a bold task that we were undertaking. The weather now, in November, was
clear and bright. Day after day from our headquarters at the Rockville
Hotel we could look out on that stupendous range of snowy mountains, to
view which hundreds of people come at this season from all over the
world. And to think that we had to pierce through that mighty barrier at
the coldest season of the year in face of the certain opposition of the
Tibetans, and to establish ourselves far beyond in a spot to which for
half a century no European had approached, did indeed at times appal
one. But the very risk and romance and novelty of the task soon again
inspired one with enthusiasm. It was no ignoble little raid, as ignoble
Little Englanders were saying, that we were embarking on. It was an
undertaking with every moral justification behind it. And it was a feat
which, if successfully performed, would add one more to the triumphs of
man over Nature, and bring added glory to the Indian army by whom it was
accomplished.
It had been originally intended that I should return to Khamba Jong to
the Mission which I had left there, and with them march across to
Kalatso, on the Gyantse line, while General Macdonald marched up through
Chumbi. But on talking the matter over with him at Darjiling, he thought
that such a move would involve unnecessary risk, and would be difficult
to arrange for with the transport and supplies, as the Tibetans had
forcibly dispersed the yaks which the Nepalese had sent across the
frontier. It was arranged, therefore, that the Mission, now under the
charge of Mr. Wilton, should be withdrawn from Khamba Jong; but both Mr.
White and I were anxious that no retirement should take place from one
direction till we were actually advancing in another, for any symptom of
withdrawal before such people as the Tibetans is apt to be misconstrued
into fear, and to encourage them into hostile action. So it was arranged
that until we advanced into Chumbi the Mission would remain at Khamba
Jong, and then retire into Sikkim and join General Macdonald and myself
in Chumbi.
General Macdonald, his Chief Staff Officer, Major Iggulden, who was well
acquainted with the frontier, having served in the little Sikkim
campaign of 1888, Major Bretherton, and Captain O’Connor now had their
hands full with the arrangements for the advance, and, as always
happens, every additional unnecessary difficulty arose. For advance into
Tibet in mid-winter, animals like yaks, which hate being below 12,000
feet, and are stifled with the heat if the thermometer rises above the
freezing-point, were, of all others, the most suitable, and the Nepalese
Government, with great trouble had collected several thousand and
despatched them to Sikkim. But just as they arrived some kind of disease
broke out among them, and all, except a very few, which had to be
secluded, died. It was a terrible blow, but Major Bretherton, with his
unfailing cheery resourcefulness, set about getting the transport he
knew and had worked so well on the Kashmir frontier—Kashmir ponies,
Balti and Poonch coolies. Sir Edmond Elles, the Military Member of
Council, was near by in Calcutta at the time, and with his unrivalled
experience in organizing such expeditions, was able to direct the whole
scheme of arrangement to its greatest possible advantage. He would not,
indeed, at this stage spare those magnificently organized mule corps
which he treasured up in the event of greater need elsewhere, and which
he only eventually sent when operations in Tibet assumed a greater
importance. But in every other way he gave General Macdonald support in
these most difficult transport and supply arrangements, and with great
rapidity bullocks, ponies, and coolies, arrived in the Teesta Valley.
And sheepskins, blankets, woollen comforters, thick jerseys, and warm
socks, were provided for both fighting men and followers. If the
Government of India does a thing at all, it does it well, and nothing
was spared—except the mules—to make the movement a success.
The local authorities were also extremely helpful. Mr. Walsh, the Deputy
Commissioner of Darjiling, on account of his knowledge of the frontier,
and because he spoke Tibetan, was to accompany me as an Assistant
Commissioner; and Mr. Garrett, who took his place at Darjiling, put his
whole energies to collecting coolies, ponies, and supplies. The local
engineers got the road along the Teesta Valley—which with unfailing
regularity falls into the river in the rainy season—into proper working
order again. Mr. White, in Sikkim, set to work to raise a coolie corps
for work on the passes. And in a month from the date of receiving the
sanction of the Secretary of State, General Macdonald was able, in spite
of the blow which had befallen him in the loss of the yaks, to make the
start towards Tibet.
It was a sad day when I said good-bye to my wife and little girl to
plunge into the unknown beyond the mighty snowy range which lay before
us. To me there was nothing but the stir and thrill of an enterprise
which would ever live in history; before her there lay only long and
dreary months of sickening anxiety and suspense, for which my eventual
success might or might not be a sufficient recompense. A little knot of
visitors assembled at the Rockville Hotel on the morning of December 5
to bid us good-bye and good luck, and Mrs. Wakefield, the manageress,
patriotically waved a Union Jack. Then we were off—as it turned out, to
the mysterious Lhasa itself.
The first night I passed with Mr. James, a nephew of my old travelling
companion in Manchuria, at a most charming little bungalow in a
tea-plantation, and on the way met other tea-planters, all very anxious
that my Mission would have the result of opening up Tibet for their
produce. I once more rode through all that glorious tropical vegetation
in the Teesta Valley. I passed the camp of the 23rd Pioneers, and first
made the acquaintance of Colonel Hogge and his officers, with whom I was
to be so closely associated in future, and in whom I always found such
firm supporters. And by December 10 General Macdonald and his staff, the
bulk of the troops for the advance, Mr. White, Mr. Walsh, Captain
O’Connor, and myself had all rendezvoused at Gnatong, ready to move into
Tibet.
The force then assembled consisted of two guns, No. 7 Mountain Battery,
Royal Artillery; a Maxim gun detachment of the Norfolk Regiment; two
guns, 7-pounders, 8th Gurkhas; half-company 2nd Sappers; eight companies
23rd Sikh Pioneers; six companies 8th Gurkhas; with field hospitals,
engineer field park, ammunition column, telegraph, postal, and survey
department detachments. In spite of foot-and-mouth disease among the
pack-bullocks, of sickness and desertion amongst the Nepalese Coolie
Corps, and of rinderpest, Major Bretherton had succeeded in accumulating
a month’s supply for the troops and ten days’ fodder for the animals,
and General Macdonald was able to make a short march on the 11th to the
foot of the Jelap-la (pass) with the first column, consisting of 1,150
fighting men, four guns, and four Maxims.
On December 12 we crossed the pass itself. It is 14,390 feet in height,
and leads, not across the main watershed of the Himalayas, but across
the range dividing Sikkim from Chumbi, a sharp, bare, rocky ridge. The
ascent to it was very steep, and, as the ridge formed the boundary
between Sikkim and Tibet, it was possible we might be opposed at the
summit.
But on the question of opposition I had had some communication with the
Tibetans. News of the assembly of troops and of the preparations we were
making had naturally reached the Tibetans, and on November 28 Captain
Parr, who was in Chinese employ, associated with the Chinese delegate,
informed me that the Tibetans were expecting that, before any advance
was made into their country, the British Government would make a formal
declaration of their intention; that if they intended to make war they
would make a formal declaration of war. I replied that no more formal
declaration would be made than that conveyed in the letter from the
Viceroy to the Chinese Resident. If the progress of the Mission were
obstructed, General Macdonald would use force to clear a way for the
passage of the Mission. If no opposition were offered, he would not
attack the Tibetans. We were prepared to fight if fighting were forced
upon us; we were equally ready to negotiate if the Chinese and Tibetans
would send proper delegates to negotiate with us.
All accounts seemed to show at that time that the Tibetans intended to
fight, and from several independent sources came information that they
were relying on Russian support. And these latter reports were confirmed
later by Colonel Chao, the Chinese delegate, who said that Dorjieff was
then in Lhasa, and that the arrogance of the Tibetans was due to their
reliance on the support of the Russians, since many discussions had been
held in Russia between Dorjieff and Russian officials, with the result
that of late the Tibetans had been taunting the Chinese openly, and
saying that they had now a stronger and greater Power than China upon
which to rely for assistance.
Still, I meant to do my best to secure our passage to Gyantse without
fighting, and to the General commanding the Tibetan troops at Yatung I
gave the pledge that we were conducting the Mission, under adequate
protection, to a place better fitted for negotiation, but that we were
not at war with Tibet, and unless we were ourselves attacked, we should
not attack the Tibetans. I repeated these assurances to some Tibetan
messengers at Gnatong, and told them to tell the Tibetan Generals that
if they did not attack us we would not attack them.
On reaching the summit of the Jelap-la, on a bright, clear sunny day,
with glorious views all round, we found no one to oppose us. We looked
down into the Chumbi Valley into a sort of labyrinth of deep forest-clad
valleys, and beyond these to the high main range, which still separated
us from Tibet proper, for Chumbi is not geographically part of Tibet,
nor are its inhabitants true Tibetans.
The march was very trying for the troops and transport, for the “road”
was simply a mountain-path of the roughest description. One coolie corps
struck work, and a number of the local drivers of a pony corps and many
Nepalese coolies had deserted, for a curious feeling was prevalent on
the frontier that we were advancing to our doom. But the troops and the
bulk of the transport got over all right, though very exhausted, and we
encamped in three bodies near Langram, well below the pass, in a deep,
narrow, forest-clad gorge.
Here I was met by the ubiquitous Captain Parr, who in many ways was
extremely helpful at this time, by the local Chinese official, and by
the Tibetan General. They asked me to go back to Gnatong, where the
Chinese Resident and Tibetan Councillors would come and discuss matters
with me. On my declining, they asked me to remain where I was for two or
three months. I told them I had waited for months without result at
Khamba Jong; now I had to go on into Tibet. If my passage were opposed,
General Macdonald would break down opposition; if they did not oppose
us, we would not attack them. They asked me what we should do if on the
morrow we found the gate in the Yatung wall closed. I said we would blow
it open.
What would happen on the morrow was now the interesting question. We
would reach Yatung, which for the last ten years we had been trying to
make into a trade-mart, according to the treaty, and we would approach
that wall which the Tibetans had thrown up to prevent anyone coming to
trade. The dramatic moment had arrived; and as General Macdonald and I
on the following morning rode down the wooded gorge with all military
precautions, it was impossible to say what our reception would be.
Suddenly, as we turned a sharp corner, we saw a solid wall, stretching
right across the valley from the river up the mountain-side. General
Macdonald sent a flanking party up the hills, and a skirmishing party to
advance straight at the wall. As we approached we were met by the same
officials who had visited us on the previous night. They asked us not to
advance, but we noticed that they had left the gate open, so the
advance-guard passed through. Then General Macdonald and I followed, and
exactly as I passed under the gateway the local official seized my
bridle and made one last ineffectual protest.
On the other side I called together all the officials, and sitting on a
stone, with a large crowd gathered round, I explained to them the reason
for our advance. I let them repeat their protests, for it evidently
appeased the Tibetan General to say it in public; but it did not strike
me that he personally particularly minded our coming, and the meeting
broke up in great good-humour. Then we adjourned to Captain Parr’s
house, where we had to eat not only his lunch, but lunches sent us by
the Chinese and Tibetan officials as well, these latter themselves
joining in the meal.
This was an excellent beginning, which filled me with great hopes of
effecting a settlement peacefully; and as we advanced up the valley in
the next few days we found the villagers ready to bring in supplies for
purchase, and to hire out their mules and ponies, while the women and
children who had run away to the hills returned to the villages in
perfect confidence.
After we had struck off from the subsidiary Yatung Valley into the main
Chumbi Valley, through which runs the Amo-chu (river), the valley opened
to a width of two or three hundred yards, the road was good, there was a
considerable amount of cultivation, and grass was plentiful; the houses
were better built, and the villages had a more prosperous look than is
generally seen in Himalayan valleys; and with a road right down the
Amo-chu to the plains of Bengal, which would save crossing the Jelap-la,
this seemed the obvious route by which to approach Tibet.
General Macdonald had to halt for some days, completing his arrangements
for supplies and transport, and while we were halted we were joined by
Mr. Wilton, Captain Ryder, R.E., the Survey Officer, and Mr. Hayden, the
geologist, who had all come in from Khamba Jong. They had had a very
cold and very trying time after I left, and their retirement was an
extremely delicate operation. The Tibetan troops hovered about, and with
a 17,000 feet pass to cross in December, Captain Bethune had about as
difficult a manœuvre to perform as often falls to the lot of a soldier.
The Tibetans occupied our camp in triumph, but never actually attacked,
and the retirement was safely effected.
Both Captain Ryder and Mr. Hayden had done excellent work. The former
had surveyed all the neighbourhood, fixing many new peaks far into
Tibet; and Mr. Hayden, roaming over the hills, had made interesting
discoveries of fossil-bearing beds, which enabled him to determine the
age of the strata in those parts.
General Macdonald, with a flying column of 795 fighting men, started on
the 18th for Phari, through a piece of country which had never before
been traversed by a European. It was reported that there was a Tibetan
force there ready to oppose us. The first march beyond the permanent
camp at the meeting of the Amo-chu and the Rilo-chu was easy; but the
second march was over a very bad road, ascending steeply through a
narrow wooded gorge, where a few determined men could have greatly
delayed the advance of the column. The hardships of the march were
increased by the almost total absence of fuel at Kamparab
camping-ground, which was two miles beyond the wood limit. A certain
amount of fuel had been taken on spare mules, and this, with yak-dung in
small quantities, had to suffice. On the 20th General Macdonald reached
Phari, marching over open country, where the only obstacle to rapid
marching was the great altitude and numerous frozen streams. The Jong
(fort) he found unoccupied. It was a strong, lofty, masonry-castellated
structure, at the junction of the road to the Tang-la (pass), with a
road to Bhutan, up which Bogle, Turner, and Manning had proceeded to
Tibet so many years before.
In this Jong General Macdonald stationed two companies of the 8th
Gurkhas and one 7-pounder gun, while the remainder of the column camped
on the plain outside. To the Tibetan and Chinese officials General
Macdonald explained that he was only safeguarding the road for the
advance of the Mission, and guarding against the regrettable display of
force with which the Tibetans had endeavoured to intimidate the Mission
at Khamba Jong. He stayed there a couple of nights, during which the
cold was intense, the thermometer registering about 40° of frost at
night. The ground was frozen so hard that a working party of twelve men
only succeeded, after two hours’ hard work, in excavating some 33 cubic
feet of earth, and as neither turf nor stones were available, it was
impossible to construct any entrenchments.
Leaving Major Row in command of the two companies in the Jong, General
Macdonald returned with the remainder of the force to Chumbi, which he
reached on the 23rd. And on Christmas Day we received a mostly kindly
and encouraging telegram from Lord Curzon. The inhabitants of the Chumbi
Valley were now selling us grass, buck-wheat, turnips and potatoes, and
Major Bretherton had arranged for 400 mules to ply on a contract system
between here and the Teesta Valley. This, though very helpful, did not
amount to very much, and we were dependent for most of our supplies and
transport from the rear. In addition to this, the loss of the yaks was
now severely felt. So our progress was necessarily slow. But I was very
anxious, as soon as we could, to be over the main range, in Tibet
proper, in some position equivalent to Khamba Jong. Just over the
Tang-la (pass) we knew there was a small place called Tuna, and there I
wished the Mission established with a good escort and plenty of
ammunition and supplies, while all arrangements were being completed for
the further advance to Gyantse. There was a certain amount of risk in
this; but to be among the Tibetans proper, and to compensate for the
withdrawal from Khamba Jong, I thought it was necessary to run it. Our
prestige at this time on the Sikkim frontier was quite astonishingly
low. I had never seen it so low elsewhere. In other places there was
always that indefinable something behind which gave one something to
work with, but on this frontier the people stood in much greater awe of
the Lhasa Lamas than they did of us, and we had to do everything we
could, short of fighting, to establish some prestige.
On January 4 the Mission and a flying column, under General Macdonald’s
personal command, left Chumbi, and on the 6th reached Phari. The cold
was now terrible. Piercing winds swept down the valley, and discomfort
was extreme. Near our camp was a big waterfall frozen solid.
At Phari we found that representatives of the three great monasteries at
Lhasa and a General from Lhasa had arrived, and Major Row reported many
cases in which the inhabitants had expressed their willingness to deal
with us, but feared to do so on account of the threats of these Lhasa
functionaries. Captain O’Connor saw these monks, whom he found to be
exceedingly surly, saying they would discuss nothing whatever until we
went back to Yatung.
A Major Li, who had been deputed by the Resident to take Colonel Chao’s
place, visited me, and told me it was impossible to get the Tibetans to
do anything. He said they were a most obstinate people, and at present
would pay no respect to the Chinese, as they were so fully relying on
Russian support.
Captain O’Connor reported that the whole demeanour of these Lhasa monks,
who were the men who really guided the destinies of Tibet, was
impracticable in the extreme. They made no advance in civility, though I
instructed Captain O’Connor to be studiously polite in his behaviour,
and they adopted the high tone of demanding our withdrawal. All I asked
them was an assurance that they would not prevent willing people from
selling supplies to us, and even this little they refused both the
Chinese and myself.
But the worst feature of the situation, as I reported at the time, was
that the local people, and even the Chinese, thought that in advancing
into Tibet we were advancing to our destruction. They were not impressed
by our troops; they knew how few there were; they knew of thousands of
Tibetan troops on the far side of the pass; and they believed that the
new Lhasa-made rifles and the new drill would prevent the loss they had
incurred in their last campaign against us. Many of our camp-followers
deserted, and local men in our employ brought in stories of the numbers
and prowess of the Tibetans, and how they would attack us in the night
and swamp us.
These were the circumstances in which we set out, now in the extreme
depth of winter, to cross over the main range of the Himalayas into
Tibet.
On January 7 we encamped at the foot of the pass, the thermometer that
night falling 18° below zero. As I looked out of my tent at the first
streak of dawn the next morning there was a clear cutting feel in the
atmosphere, such as is only experienced at great altitudes. The stars
were darting out their rays with almost supernatural brilliance. The sky
was of a steely clearness, into which one could look unfathomable
depths. Behind the great sentinel peak of Chumalhari, which guards the
entrance to Tibet, the first streaks of dawn were just appearing. Not a
breath of air stirred, but all was gripped tight in the frost which
turned buckets of water left out overnight into solid ice, and made the
remains of last night’s stew as hard as a rock. Under such conditions we
prepared for our advance over the pass, and as the troops were formed on
parade, preparatory to starting, it was found that many of the rifles
and one of the Maxims would not work, on account of the oil having
frozen.
The rise to the pass was very gradual, and the pass itself, 15,200 feet
above sea-level, was so wide and level that we could have advanced
across it in line. But soon now the wind got up, and swept along the
pass with terrific force. At this altitude, and clad in such heavy
clothing, we could advance but slowly, and the march seemed
interminable. The clearness of the atmosphere made the little hamlet of
Tuna appear quite near; but hour after hour we plodded wearily over the
plateau, and it was late in the afternoon before we reached it, and even
then, for the sake of water, we had to go a mile or more beyond, and
encamp in the open.
[Illustration: COLUMN CROSSING THE TANG-LA, JANUARY, 1904.]
A Tibetan force was near at hand, and as they were credited with a habit
of attacking at night, General Macdonald took special precautions
against such an eventuality; but as darkness set in and the cold
increased in intensity, we felt we should be pretty helpless in an open
camp, and there were some thoughts of retiring again across the pass,
for the military risks were very great. But, on the whole, we thought it
would be better to face it now we were there; and as, next morning, we
examined the hamlet of Tuna, and found it could be turned into a good
defensible post, and had a well within the walls, we decided that the
Mission should remain there, with an escort of four companies of the
23rd Pioneers, Lieutenant Hadow’s Maxim-gun detachment, and a
7-pounder—the whole under Colonel Hogge; while General Macdonald, with
the flying column, returned to Chumbi to complete his arrangements.
The immediate surroundings in which we now found ourselves were
miserable in the extreme. Tuna was nearly 15,000 feet above the sea, and
was the filthiest place I have ever seen. We tried to live in the
houses, but after a few days preferred our tents, in spite of the cold,
which was intense, and against which we could not have the comfort and
cheer of a fire, for only sufficient fuel for cooking could be obtained,
most of it being yak-dung, and much having to be brought from Chumbi.
The saving feature was the grand natural scenery, which was a joy of
which I never tired. Immediately before us was an almost level and
perfectly smooth gravel plain ten or twelve miles in width, and on the
far side of this rose the great snowy range, which forms the main axis
of the Himalayas, and here separates Tibet from Bhutan. Snow seldom
fell. The sky was generally clear, and the sunshine brilliant, and well
wrapped up, away from the dirty hamlet and sheltered from the terrific
wind, there was pleasure to be had out of even Tuna. And the sight of
the serene and mighty Chumalhari, rising proudly above all the storms
below and spotless in its purity, was a never-ending solace in our
sordid winter post.
------------------
CHAPTER XII
TUNA
The first event of importance after our arrival at Tuna was the receipt,
on January 12, of a message from the Lhasa officials, saying that they
wished for an interview. At noon, the time I had appointed, several
hundreds of men appeared on the plain below the village. They halted
there, and asked that I should come out and meet them halfway. Perhaps
unnecessarily, I refused this request. It was bitingly cold in the open
plain, and I thought the Tibetan leaders might have come into my camp,
where I had said I would receive them, and where a guard of honour was
ready. However, I sent out the indispensable and ever-ready Captain
O’Connor to hear what they had to say, and on his return he replied that
they once more urged us to return to Yatung, but afterwards stated that
they were prepared to discuss matters there, at Tuna.
This constituted a distinct improvement on the attitude adopted by them
at Phari, and their general demeanour was much more cordial, according
to Captain O’Connor. But they told him that if we advanced and they were
defeated, they would fall back upon another Power, and that things would
then be bad for us. In conversation with the Munshi they said that they
would prevent us from advancing beyond our present position, and they
repudiated our treaty with the Chinese, saying they were tired of the
Chinese, and could conclude a treaty by themselves.
[Illustration: CHUMALHARI]
Encouraged by the fact that they showed some little signs of a desire to
discuss matters, I determined now to make a bold move to get to close
quarters with them. I was heartily tired of this fencing about at a
distance; I wanted to get in under their reserve. And I thought that if
we could meet and could tell them in an uncontentious and unceremonious
manner what all the pother was about, we might at any rate get a
start—get what the Americans call a “move on.” It was worth while, it
seemed to me, to make a supreme effort to get this intrinsically small
matter settled by peaceful means, even if a very considerable risk was
incurred in the process; and I wished particularly to see them, and to
judge of them, in their own natural surroundings. I was constantly being
called upon by Government to give my opinion upon the probable action of
the Tibetans, but so far I had only seen them in our own camps, and they
had steadily refused to admit me into theirs. I therefore determined on
the following morning, without any formality, without any previous
announcement, and without any escort, to ride over to their camp, about
ten miles distant, at Guru, and talk over the general situation—not as
British Commissioner, with a list of grievances for which he had to
demand redress, but as one who wished to understand them, and by
friendly means to effect a settlement. I was only too well aware that
such an attempt was likely to be taken by the Tibetans as a sign of
weakness; still, when I saw these people so steeped in ignorance of what
opposing the might of the British Empire really meant, I felt it my duty
to reason with them up to the latest moment, to save them from the
results of their ignorance.
Captain O’Connor and Captain Sawyer, of the 23rd Pioneers, who was
learning Tibetan, accompanied me, but we did not take with us even a
single sepoy as escort. On our way we were met by messengers, who had
come to say that the Tibetan chiefs would not come to see me at Tuna,
and I was all the more pleased that I had left Tuna before the message
arrived.
On reaching Guru, a small village under a hill, we found numbers of
Tibetan soldiers out collecting yak-dung in the surrounding plain; but
there was no military precaution whatever taken, and we rode straight
into the village. About 600 soldiers were huddled up in the cattle-yards
of the houses. They were only armed with spears and matchlocks, and had
no breech-loaders. As we rode through the village they all crowded out
to look at us, and not with any scowls, but laughing to each other, as
if we were an excellent entertainment. They were not very different in
appearance from the ordinary Bhutia dandy-bearers of Darjiling or the
yak-drivers we had with us in camp.
We asked for the General, and on reaching the principal house I was
received at the head of the stairs by a polite, well-dressed, and
well-mannered man, who was the Tibetan leader, and who was most cordial
in his greeting. Other Generals stood behind him, and smiled and shook
hands also. I was then conducted into a room in which the three Lhasa
monks were seated, and here the difference was at once observable. They
made no attempt to rise, and only made a barely civil salutation from
their cushions. One object of my visit had already been attained: I
could from this in itself see how the land lay, and where the real
obstruction came from.
The Lhasa General and the Shigatse Generals—we had become accustomed to
calling them Generals, though the English reader must not imagine they
at all resembled Napoleon—took their seats on cushions at the head of
the room and opposite to the monks. We were given three cushions on the
right, and two Shigatse Generals and another Shigatse representative had
seats on the left. Tea was served, and the Lhasa General, as the
spokesman of the assembly, asked after my health.
After I had made the usual polite replies and inquiries after their own
welfare, I said I had not come to them now on a formal visit as British
Commissioner, or with any idea of officially discussing the various
points of difference between us; but I was anxious to see them and know
them, and to have an opportunity of freely discussing the general
situation in a friendly, informal manner. So I had ridden over, without
ceremony and without escort, to talk matters over, and see if there was
no means of arriving at a settlement by peaceful means. I said that I
had been appointed British Commissioner on account of my general
experience in many different countries, that I had no preconceived ideas
upon this question and no animus against them; from what I had seen of
them, I was convinced there was no people with whom we were more likely
to get on, and I hoped now we had really met each other face to face we
should find a means of settling our differences and forming a lasting
friendship.
The Lhasa General replied that all the people of Tibet had a covenant
that no Europeans were ever to be allowed to enter their country, and
the reason was that they wished to preserve their religion. The monks
here chimed in, saying that their religion must be preserved, and that
no European, on any account, must be admitted. The General then went on
to say that, if I really wanted to make a friendly settlement, I should
go back to Yatung.
I told him that for a century and a half we had remained quietly in
India, and made no attempt to force ourselves upon them. Even though we
had a treaty right to station an officer at Yatung, we had not exercised
that right. But of recent years we had heard from many different sources
that they were entering into friendly relations with the Russians, while
they were still keeping us at arm’s length. One Dorjieff, for instance,
had been the bearer of autograph letters from the Dalai Lama to the Czar
and Russian officials at the very time when the Lama was refusing
letters from the Viceroy of India. We could understand their being
friendly with both the Russians and ourselves, or their wishing to have
nothing to do with either; but when they were friendly with the Russians
and unfriendly with us, they must not be surprised at our now paying
closer attention to our treaty rights.
The General assured me that it was untrue that they had any dealings
with the Russians, and the monks brusquely intimated that they disliked
the Russians just as much as they disliked us; they protested that they
had nothing to do with the Russians, that there was no Russian near
Lhasa at that time, and that Dorjieff was a Mongolian, and the custom of
Mongolians was to make large presents to the monasteries. They asked me,
therefore, not to be so suspicious.
I said it was difficult not to be suspicious when they persistently kept
us at such a distance. I then addressed them in regard to religion, and
asked them if they had ever heard that we interfered with the religions
of the people of India. They admitted that we did not interfere, but
they maintained, nevertheless, that it was to preserve their religion
that they adhered to their determination to keep us out.
As the Buddhist religion nowhere preaches this seclusion, it was evident
that what the monks wished to preserve was not their religion, but their
priestly influence. This was the crux of the whole situation. And it
entirely bore out what Mr. Nolan, the Commissioner of Darjiling, had
observed many years before[27]—that it was “the breaking of the beggars’
bowl” that was in question, the loss of these presents from Mongolians
and others.
So far the conversation, in spite of occasional bursts from the monks,
had been maintained with perfect good-humour; but when I made a sign of
moving, and said that I must be returning to Tuna, the monks, looking as
black as devils, shouted out: “No, you won’t; you’ll stop here.” One of
the Generals said, quite politely, that we had broken the rule of the
road in coming into their country, and we were nothing but thieves and
brigands in occupying Phari Fort. The monks, using forms of speech which
Captain O’Connor told me were only used in addressing inferiors, loudly
clamoured for us to name a date when we would retire from Tuna before
they would let me leave the room. The atmosphere became electric. The
faces of all were set. One of the Generals left the room; trumpets
outside were sounded, and attendants closed round behind us.
A real crisis was on us, when any false step might be fatal. I told
Captain O’Connor, though there was really no necessity to give such a
warning to anyone so imperturbable, to keep his voice studiously calm,
and to smile as much as he possibly could, and I then said that I had to
obey the orders of my Government, just as much as they had to obey the
orders of theirs; that I would ask them to report to their Government
what I had said, and I would report to my Government what they had told
me. That was all that could be done at present; but if the Viceroy, in
reply to my reports, ordered me back to India I should personally be
only too thankful, as theirs was a cold, barren, and inhospitable
country, and I had a wife and child at Darjiling, whom I was anxious to
see again as soon as I could.
This eased matters a little. But the monks continued to clamour for me
to name a date for withdrawal, and the situation was only relieved when
a General suggested that a messenger should return with me to Tuna to
receive there the answer from the Viceroy. The other Generals eagerly
accepted the suggestion, and the tension was at once removed. Their
faces became smiling again, and they conducted me to the outer door with
the same geniality and politeness with which they had received us,
though the monks remained seated and as surly and evil-looking as men
well could look.
We preserved our equanimity of demeanour and the smiles on our faces
till we had mounted our ponies and were well outside the camp, and then
we galloped off as hard as we could, lest the monks should get the upper
hand again and send men after us. It had been a close shave, but it was
worth it.
I had sized up the situation, and felt now I knew how I stood. I knew
from that moment that nowhere else than in Lhasa, and not until the
monkish power had been broken, should we ever make a settlement. But it
was still treason to mention the word “Lhasa” in any communication to
Government, and I had to keep these conclusions to myself for many
months yet, for fear I might frighten people in England who had not yet
got accustomed to the idea of our going even as far as Gyantse.
While I perceived that the monks were implacably hostile, that they had
the preponderating influence in the State, and were entirely convinced
of their power to dictate to us, I perceived also that the lay officials
were much less unfriendly, less ignorant of our strength, and more
amenable to reason, and that the ordinary people and soldiers, though
perhaps liable to be worked on by the monks, had no innate bad feeling
against us. Hereon I based my hopes for the security of the eventual
settlement.
A few days later the Lhasa General, known as the Lhi-ding Depon, in
company with a high Shigatse official and the General who had met me at
Yatung, paid me a visit at Tuna. The Lhasa General announced that, like
me, he was most anxious to come to a friendly settlement, and therefore
he would ask me to withdraw to Yatung, where discussions could then take
place in the most amicable manner. I told him I did not wish to say
anything disagreeable to himself personally, as he had always been
polite to me, but I would ask him to let his Government know that the
time was past for talk of this kind, and to warn them that they must
take a more serious view of the situation; they must realize that the
British Government were exceedingly angry at the treatment that I, their
representative, had received, and were in no mood to be trifled with.
Far from going back, or even staying here, we were going to advance
still farther into Tibet, and I expected to be met both by the Amban and
by a Tibetan official of the highest rank, who would have sufficient
authority to negotiate a proper treaty with me in the place of the one
concluded by the Amban, which the Tibetans repudiated. I had waited for
six months for a proper representative to be sent to meet me, but even
now none had arrived.
I heard from him later that he had communicated to the Lhasa monks the
substance of this interview, but they had stated they could make no
report of my views to the Lhasa Government until we had retired to
Yatung.
Two Captains were sent to me on February 7 with a message that I must
retire to Yatung, and I sent the usual reply verbally by them and in
writing by the hands of my Tibetan Munshi. This latter communication was
returned, with the customary intimation that letters were not received.
[Illustration: MOUNTED INFANTRY.]
Two more messengers arrived on the 10th, asking me to fix a date for
withdrawal, and threatening trouble if I remained. These threats and
rumours of attacks, and reports of the monks having set apart five days
to curse us solemnly, continued for the following weeks, and caused us
to keep well on the lookout: double sentries were posted at night, and,
on account of the cold, relieved every hour. It was wearisome and
anxious work, but we felt quite confident of ourselves, and in the end
no attack was made.
General Macdonald and the main body were also having a perhaps equally
trying time. Communications had to be kept up across two high passes
right through the winter; a flying column had to be ready to proceed at
any moment to our assistance at Tuna; and supplies and transport had to
be collected for our advance as soon as possible to Gyantse. On the
Tang-la there was never any great depth of snow, and what snow fell soon
cleared away; but there were terrible winds, and the convoys sometimes
crossed in blinding, icy blizzards. In February General Macdonald
himself came over with one of these convoys for a short inspection. On
the passes into Sikkim there was much more snow, and they were
occasionally closed after an unusually heavy storm. Still, fairly
continuously the transport corps plied across them, and supplies
accumulated in Chumbi.
All this time we had been in considerable anxiety in regard to Bhutan.
During our advance through Chumbi we had Bhutan on our right flank. The
Bhutanese were of the same religion as the Tibetans, and closely
connected with them. It was possible, therefore, that they might take
the Tibetan side, and it was of the highest importance that we should
secure at least their neutrality. Mr. Marindin, the Commissioner of
Darjiling, had written to ask them to send someone to discuss matters
with him; but the answer, which was received as we were passing through
Chumbi, was not wholly satisfactory, so I sent another message, with the
result that an official of some standing, the Trimpuk Jongpen, arrived
at Phari, and was brought on by Mr. Walsh to see me at Tuna.
He was a rough, jovial person, and when I said that I merely wished to
know on which side the Bhutanese intended to place themselves, that, as
they were of the same religion and race as the Tibetans, we could quite
understand their siding with them, but only wished to know plainly, so
that we could make our arrangements accordingly, he replied most
emphatically that the Bhutanese would be on our side. I said that these
were mere words, and he said that he would put them on paper and seal
it, which he did. I said that that was, after all, only a piece of
paper. Would he show his friendship by deeds? Would he help us with
supplies? And he readily promised, and gave us permission, on payment,
to make a road up the Amo-chu. Like the Nepalese on our left flank,
these Bhutanese on our right were most whole-souled in their support,
and it greatly strengthened my position subsequently to be able to
advance into Tibet arm-in-arm with Nepal and Bhutan.
This Trimpuk Jongpen at once became a useful ally. I explained to him
the whole of our case with the Tibetans, pretty much as I had explained
it to the Tibetans in my speech at Khamba Jong. He asked me whether he
might see the Lhasa delegates, explain our views to them, and try and
induce them to come to a settlement, for he said his Government were
most anxious that a peaceful settlement should be arrived at. I had no
hope that he would be able to effect anything, but I thought that the
fact of his attempting to mediate might be the means of bringing the
Bhutanese Government into closer relation with us. I therefore consented
to his seeing the Lhasa delegates, and asked when he proposed to go to
Guru. His answer surprised me. He said he found there was no one there
of sufficient rank for him to visit them, so he would send over and
invite them to come and see him. The Lhasa General, another General, and
one of the Lama representatives did come and see him, and this incident
furnished sufficient proof of what we had all along contended—that the
men whom the Lhasa Government had sent to negotiate with me were of an
altogether too insignificant position for me to meet in serious
negotiation.
After the first interview the Bhutan Envoy came to me to report the
result. He said he had repeated to them what I told him, and the Lhasa
delegates had replied that Yatung was the place appointed for
discussions, and we ought to have discussed matters there; but, instead
of that, we came with an armed force to Khamba Jong, and then had come
into Chumbi, so they did not believe that we honestly intended to make a
peaceful settlement, but they asked what were the terms of the
settlement we wished to make.
I told the Envoy that I would willingly go back to Yatung if I thought
that by doing so there was the slightest prospect of making a durable
settlement with the Tibetans. But, as a matter of fact, we had tried for
years to make a settlement at Yatung. Our political officers, Mr. White
and Captain Le Mesurier, had met Tibetan officials, and also the Amban,
there, but without result. As to what terms we would ask in the
settlement, that was, of course, a matter which I should have to discuss
with the high official possessed of full powers to negotiate, as soon as
one was appointed; but I might say, in general terms, that there were
three main points we should want to settle with the Tibetans: Firstly,
the boundary with Sikkim; secondly, the regulation of trade and the
selection of a more suitable trade-mart than Yatung; and thirdly, the
means of communication between ourselves and the Tibetans. The Envoy
then returned to the Lhasa delegates, who had been awaiting my reply. On
the following day they had a full meeting at Guru to consider it, and
the Lhasa General paid another visit to the Bhutan Envoy. The Tibetans
said that, as we were in the wrong, having advanced into Tibet, we
should retire to Yatung, and then negotiations could take place; but as
regards our wish to regulate communications with them, they could only
say that no communications would ever be allowed, as it was against the
rule of the country.
These negotiations had led to nothing; but one more stone had been
turned in our attempt to effect a settlement peacefully, and
incidentally the attempt had been instrumental in putting us on good
terms with the Bhutanese. I wrote at the time that I was hopeful that
from this beginning we might establish more intimate relations with
Bhutan, for the Envoy was the first sensible man I had met on that
frontier, and there might be advantage in closer intimacy between us.
Everything turned out well afterwards. Mr. White twice visited the
country and established the best possible relations with the people, and
Bhutan is now definitely under our protection.
This was the last attempt to negotiate before we advanced. The old
Resident at Lhasa spoke much of coming to meet me, but never came. The
new Resident, who had been appointed specially for this work in
December, 1902, did not reach Lhasa till February the 11th, 1904, and
neither he nor any proper Tibetan negotiator appeared. And we remained
patiently at Tuna through all February and March.
The military officers had a poor time, for they had to be so rigorously
on the watch, and Colonel Hogge had such a bout of sleeplessness from
the effect of the high altitudes that he had to go for a fortnight’s
change to Chumbi, which is only 9,000 feet above sea-level, to give
himself the chance of sleeping again, after which he was all right. We
had, too, twelve cases of pneumonia among the sepoys, eleven of which,
from the altitude, proved fatal. And one poor young fellow in the postal
department, Mr. Lewis, had to have both his feet amputated for
frost-bite, and eventually died of the effects.
But we had much to employ us, too. Captain Ryder would go off surveying;
Mr. Hayden would make geologizing expeditions; Captain Walton would
collect every living animal of any size and description he could detect;
Captain O’Connor would always be surrounded with Tibetans, of every
degree of dirt; and I would spend my days on the mountain-sides,
sheltered as much as I could be from the wind, getting as much as I
could of the bright warm sunshine of these southern latitudes, and on
the whole thoroughly enjoying myself, for the natural scenery was an
unfailing pleasure.
Generally the days were clear and bright, but almost invariably at ten
or eleven a terrific wind would arise, and blow with fury for the rest
of the day. And sometimes mighty masses of cloud would come sweeping up
from the direction of India. Snow would fall, and then for two or three
days together we would be the sport of a terrific blizzard. The
mountains would be hidden, and nothing would be visible but dull masses
of fiercely-driven snow, as fine and dry as dust, and penetrating
everywhere. For days together the thermometer would not rise above 15°
even in the middle of the day. Our camp would be the very picture of
desolation. It seemed impossible that the poor sentries at night would
ever be able to stand against the howling storm and the penetrating
snow, or that our soldiers would ever be able to resist an attack from
the Tibetans in such terrific circumstances.
By the middle of March General Macdonald’s arrangements were nearing
completion, and I wrote to the new Resident, who had recently announced
his arrival, saying that I was about to move to Gyantse to commence
negotiations, that I hoped to meet him there, and trusted he would
secure the attendance of fully-empowered Tibetan representatives of
suitable rank. I asked him to warn the Tibetans that the consequences of
resistance to the passage of my Mission would be very serious.
On March 24 General Macdonald left Chumbi, and arrived at Tuna on the
28th, with two 10-pounder guns, one 7-pounder, four companies 32nd
Pioneers, three and a half companies 8th Gurkhas, field-hospital, and
engineer park.
Colonel Hogge’s patrols had been watching the Tibetans carefully lately.
Reinforcements had arrived since I visited Guru, and the Tibetans had
built a wall across the road about six miles from Tuna. There was also a
considerable force on the other side of the Bam-tso (lake).
[Illustration: THE START FROM TUNA FOR GURU.]
On March 31, after we had given fair warning to the Tibetans, the
advance was made. Light snow lay on the ground. The cold was even now
intense. News that the Tibetans were still in position had reached us,
and the crucial moment which was to decide upon peace or war was now
approaching.
We moved along as rapidly as is possible at those high altitudes and
encumbered with heavy clothing. A short way out we were met by a
messenger from the Tibetan General, urging us to go back to India. I
told the messenger to gallop back at once and tell the Lhasa General
that we were on our way to Gyantse, and were going as far as Guru, ten
miles distant, that day. I said that we did not want to fight, and would
not unless we were opposed, but that the road must be left clear for us,
and the Tibetans must withdraw from their positions across it. Farther
on, as we advanced across an almost level gravelly plain, we came in
sight of the Tibetan position in a series of sangars on a ridge. At
1,000 yards’ distance we halted, and awaited the arrival of the Tibetans
for our last palaver. They rode up briskly with a little cavalcade, and
we all dismounted, set out rugs and coats on the ground, and sat down
for the final discussion. I reiterated the same old statement—that we
had no wish or intention of fighting if we were not opposed, but that we
must advance to Gyantse. If they did not obstruct our progress or did
not attack us, we would not attack them. But advance we must, for we had
found it impossible to negotiate anywhere else. They replied with the
request—or, indeed, almost order—that we must go back to Yatung, and
they would negotiate there. They said these were their instructions from
Lhasa. They also did not wish to fight, but they had orders to send us
back to Yatung.
There was no possible reasoning with such people. They had such
overweening confidence in their Lama’s powers. How _could_ anyone dare
to resist the orders of the Great Lama? Surely lightning would descend
from heaven or the earth open up and destroy anyone who had such
temerity! I pointed to our troops, now ready deployed for action. I said
that we had tried for fourteen years inside our frontier to settle
matters. I urged that for eight months now I had patiently tried to
negotiate, but no one with authority came to see me, my letters were
returned, and even messages were refused. I had therefore received the
commands of the Emperor to advance to Gyantse, in the hope that perhaps
there responsible negotiators would meet us. Anyhow, the time for
further parleying here was gone. The moment for advance had arrived. I
would give them a quarter of an hour after their return to their lines
within which to make up their minds. After that interval General
Macdonald would advance, and if the Tibetans had not already left their
positions blocking our line of advance, he would expel them by force.
All this was interpreted to them by Captain O’Connor with his inimitable
suavity and composure. But we might just as well have spoken to a stone
wall. Not the very slightest effect was produced. After all, our numbers
were not very overwhelming. The Tibetans had charms against our bullets,
and the supernatural powers of the Great Lama in the background. Whether
they had any lurking suspicions that perhaps, after all, these might not
be efficacious I know not. But, anyhow, all had to obey the orders from
Lhasa. Those orders were not to let us proceed farther, so stop us they
must, and that was all they were concerned with. They had formed no plan
of what they should do if we did advance contrary to the Great Lama’s
orders. But for that there was no need; the Lama would provide. Such
were their ideas. It was, of course, an impossible situation.
The Generals and their following returned to their camp. The quarter of
an hour of grace elapsed. And now the great moment had arrived. But I
wished still to give them just one last chance, in the hope that at the
eleventh hour, and at the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour, they
might change their minds. I therefore asked General Macdonald to order
his men not to fire upon the Tibetans until the Tibetans first fired on
them. In making this request I well knew the responsibility I was
incurring. We were but a handful of men—about 100 Englishmen and 1,200
Indians—in the face of superior numbers of Tibetans, in the heart of
their country, 15,000 feet above the sea, and separated from India by
two high passes; and the advantage our troops possessed from arms of
precision and long-range fire I took from them.
It was the last and final effort to carry out our object without the
shedding of blood. The troops responded with admirable discipline to the
call. They steadily advanced across the plain and up the hillside to the
Tibetan lines, expecting at any moment that from behind the sangars a
destructive volley might be opened upon them before they could fire a
shot. Some of them afterwards, and very naturally, told me that they
hoped they would never again be put in so awkward a position. But I
trust their discipline will at any rate show to those in England who so
decried this day’s action, and spoke about our "massacring unarmed
Tibetans"—that men on the remotest confines of the Empire can and do
exercise moderation and restraint in the discharge of their duty, and do
not always act with that wantonness and reckless cruelty with which they
are so often credited at home.
If General Macdonald had had a perfectly free hand, and had been allowed
to think only of military considerations, he would have attacked the
Tibetans by surprise in their camp, without giving them any warning at
all; and even after I had given the Tibetans warning, if he had still
been free to act on only military lines, he would have shelled their
position with his guns, and with long-range rifle-fire have broken down
the defence before advancing to the attack. As it was, in order to give
them a chance up to the very last moment, he abdicated both the
advantage of surprise and of long-range fire, and his troops advanced up
the mountain-side on less than even terms to the fortified position of
the Tibetans.
The Tibetans on their side showed great indecision. They also had
apparently received orders not to fire first; and the whole affair
seemed likely to end in comedy rather than in the tragedy which actually
followed. The Tibetans first ran into their sangars and then ran out
again. Gradually our troops crept up and round the flanks. They arrived
eventually face to face with the Tibetans, as will be seen in the
accompanying photograph by Lieutenant Bailey, and things were almost at
an impasse till the Tibetans slowly yielded to the admonitions of our
troops, and allowed themselves to be shouldered out of their position
and be “moved on,” as London policemen would disperse a crowd from
Trafalgar Square.
[Illustration: SEPOYS “SHOULDERING” TIBETANS FROM POSITION: GURU, MARCH,
1904.]
At this point the two Lhasa Majors who had met me previously in the day
rode out again, and told me that the Tibetans had been ordered not to
fire, and begged me to stop the troops from advancing. I replied that we
must continue the advance, and could not allow any troops to remain on
the road. There was a post actually on the road, with a wall newly and
deliberately built across it, and it was obvious that if we were ever to
get to Gyantse the Tibetans behind that wall must be removed. Yet I
thought the affair was practically over. The Tibetans were streaming
away from their position along the ridge, and had even begun to leave
their post on the road. Then a change came. The Lhasa General, or
possibly the monks, recalled the men to their post, and an officer
reported to General Macdonald that, though surrounded by our troops,
they refused to retreat: they were not fighting, but they would not
leave the wall they had built across the road.
General Macdonald and I had a consultation together, and agreed that in
these circumstances the only thing to do was to disarm them and let them
go. We rode together to the spot, and found the Tibetans huddled
together like a flock of sheep behind the wall. Our infantry were in
position on the hillside only 20 yards above them on the one side; on
the other our Maxims and guns were trained upon them at not 200 yards’
distance. Our mounted infantry were in readiness in the plain only a
quarter of a mile away. Our sepoys were actually standing up to the
wall, with their rifles pointing over at the Tibetans within a few feet
of them. And the Lhasa General himself with his staff was on _our_ side
of the wall, in among our sepoys.
He had, of course, completely lost his head. Though in command of some
thousands of armed men, and though I had given him ample warning of our
intention to advance, he was totally unprepared for action when our
advance was made. He had brought his men back into an absurd position;
his action when he had got them back was simply childish. I sent Captain
O’Connor to announce to him that General Macdonald and I had decided
that his men must be disarmed, but he remained sullen and did nothing;
and when, after a pause, the disarmament was actually commenced, he
threw himself upon a sepoy, drew a revolver, and shot the sepoy in the
jaw.
Not, as I think, with any deliberate intention, but from sheer inanity,
the signal had now been given. Other Tibetan shots immediately followed.
Simultaneously volleys from our own troops rang out; the guns and Maxims
commenced to fire. Tibetan swordsmen made a rush upon any within reach,
and the plucky and enterprising Edmund Candler, the very able
correspondent of the _Daily Mail_, received more than a dozen wounds,
while Major Wallace Dunlop, one of the best officers in the force, was
severely handled. For just one single instant the Tibetans, by a
concerted and concentrated rush, might have broken our thin line, and
have carried the Mission and the military staff. But that instant passed
in a flash. Before a few seconds were over, rifles and guns were dealing
the deadliest destruction on them in their huddled masses. The Lhasa
General himself was killed at the start, and in a few minutes the whole
affair was over. The plain was strewn with dead Tibetans, and our troops
instinctively and without direct orders ceased firing—though, in fact,
they had only fired thirteen rounds per man.
It was a terrible and ghastly business; but it was not fair for an
English statesman to call it a massacre of “unarmed men,” for
photographs testify that the Tibetans were all armed; and, looking back
now, I do not see how it could possibly have been avoided. The Tibetans
afterwards at Lhasa told me in all seriousness that I might have known
their General did not mean to fight, for if he did he would not have
been in the front as he was. This, no doubt, was true, and, left to
himself, he would, we may be sure, have arranged matters with me in a
perfectly amicable manner, for at Guru in January, and when he came to
see me at Tuna, he had always shown himself courteous and reasonable;
and his men had no antipathy towards us. But he had at his side, ruling
and over-awing him, a fanatical Lama from Lhasa. Ignorant and arrogant,
this priest herded the superstitious peasantry to destruction. It is
only fair to assume that, somewhere in the depths of his nature, he felt
that the people’s religion was in danger, and that he was called upon to
preserve it. But blind fear of the danger which he believed threatened
was so combined with overweening confidence, and there was such a lack
of effort to avert the supposed danger by reasonable means, as might so
easily have been done, that he simply brought disaster on his country,
and, poor man, paid the penalty of his unreasonableness with his life.
What to me is so sad is that now, when the Lamas have discovered their
errors and are imploring our aid, we can do so little to befriend them.
After the action, General Macdonald ordered the whole of the medical
staff to attend the wounded Tibetans. Everything that with our limited
means we could do for them was done. Captains Davies, Walton, Baird,
Franklin and Kelly, devoted themselves to their care. A rough hospital
was made at Tuna. And the Tibetans showed great gratitude for what we
did, though they failed to understand why we should try to take their
lives one day and try to save them the next. We had been in some anxiety
regarding a second body of Tibetans, 2,000 strong, on the opposite side
of the lake, but these, on hearing of the disaster near Guru, retreated;
and on April 5 we resumed our march in the direction of Gyantse, the
thermometer, even thus in April, showing 23 degrees of frost on the
morning we started.
I now received a letter, dated March the 27th, from the Resident, who
said he was most anxious to hasten to meet me, and had seen the Dalai
Lama, but “difficulties arose over transport, which he was unwilling to
grant.” After considering all this, he had come to the conclusion that
Tibetan politics were those of drift; that Chinese officials were too
engrossed in self-seeking, and hence the Tibetans shirked action. But a
quarrel on his part with the Dalai Lama would only mar matters, so he
would “go on” and perform his share of the duties allotted to him, and
he had decided to write "a succinct report to Peking," and then again
ask for transport. He hoped I would recognize his perplexities. I had
excellent reason for an advance to Gyantse with my escort, he said. But,
“notwithstanding the craft and deceit of the Tibetans and their
violation of principle,” he had compelled them “somewhat to understand
the meaning of principle,” and if I suddenly penetrated into their
country he feared they would lapse into their former temper, and thus
imperil the conclusion of trade relations. The Dalai Lama had told him
that if I would retire to Yatung he would select Tibetan delegates and
request him (the Resident) to proceed there and discuss matters. The
Resident added that “this frontier matter had been hanging fire for over
ten years because it had been perfunctorily drawn up in the beginning,
and because subsequently it was shirked by the different delegates, who
did not strive honestly to adjust the difficulties.” He was ashamed to
mention the question of my retirement to Yatung, but, still, he thought
it would be better for me to retire there and “insure the smooth working
of a settlement.”