NAINI: TIBETAN WARFARE
We were all halted a day or two at Kangma. There was some truth after
all in the yarn of the first two mounted infantrymen whom we had met on
the road, for some of the enemy had been located not far away, and a
flying column had gone out after them. The enemy evaded the column
successfully, and the latter returned after no other incident except the
death of a man and one or two mules from the effects of drinking water
which the brave enemy, ignorant of such Western vagaries as the Geneva
Convention, had artfully poisoned.
Some unladen mules, of which we stood in considerable need, were brought
in that same day by a small escort from Gyantse. They had been fired on
_en route_, and so everything began to point to the chance of a bit of
fighting in the near future.
From here onwards we amalgamated into one column, and that first march
out of Kangma was particularly typical of the inconveniences of a
comparatively long column when marching on a narrow hill-road. It may
seem strange, but was really quite natural, that our small force with
its transport should occupy five miles of road-way, which was, I
believe, its approximate length, and to get this five-mile-long serpent
to crawl successfully through the 'Red Idol gorge,' and later on wriggle
over a certain very narrow, rather ricketty bridge, that barred the way
close to camp, was a matter of many tedious hours. Horribly cold it was
too that afternoon, as one waited for one's kit to turn up, the valley
just there being a veritable chimney that drew a terrific draught up
from the Gyantse direction.
Our labours were also beginning to increase somewhat, owing both to the
compressed fodder from India having run out, and our being no longer in
a peaceful region, where we could procure fodder by contract. Both at
Kangma and here we had to send out foraging parties. We were still
observing a most courteous attitude towards the enemy, and were paying
the villagers handsome sums for what fodder we took, provided any
villagers showed themselves. However, in many cases the villages were
completely deserted.
That afternoon a reconnoitring party of mounted infantry returned with
one man badly wounded, and the report that the village of Naini, seven
miles ahead, was strongly held by the enemy. This meant fighting on the
morrow.
On the morrow we marched early to Naini, and disposed ourselves for
battle. Below the road, and quite out of range from the village, were
some convenient fields of young barley, upon which we closed up all the
transport, and removed the loads. We were dreadfully punctilious at that
period of hostilities about commandeering fodder or damaging crops, and
as soon as the fight began I remember the late Major Bretherton--the
chief Supply and Transport officer--sending me with a delightfully
worded message to the commandants of transport units regarding the
extent to which their animals might graze. I was to tell them that,
though all damage to crops was to be rigidly avoided, yet if by any
chance a mule did so far forget himself as to nibble a blade or two of
young barley, the matter need not on the present occasion be taken too
seriously, as the only ground available for closing up the transport was
the ground on which that nice young barley was growing. So while 'all
day long the noise of battle rolled' a hundred feet above them and two
hundred yards away, the transport animals did themselves 'top-hole' on
the enemy's best young barley; a good thing too, for they got precious
little fodder when they reached camp that night.
I got a good view of the Naini fight, seeing most of it in company with
the General's Staff. A portion of the Gyantse garrison had come out to
assist, and peppered the village and lamasarai from a high hill above,
while our own column enveloped them from other directions. We made some
fine big holes in their walls, and many a bee's nest of laymen and
fighting monks was disturbed by a well-directed shell. Later on came the
turn of the infantry at what must have been unpleasantly close quarters.
The fighting in Tibet was of course, in one sense, quite a minor matter.
But, on the other hand, it was quite a distinctive kind of fighting,
and, as such, does not deserve to be ignored. My share in those fights
was mainly that of an interested spectator, and in this capacity I give
my opinion of it.
I should say that for any one who, like myself, never had to go within a
certain distance of the position, there could be no more gentlemanly
way of getting your baptism of fire than on a Tibetan battlefield. The
jingal, for instance, is a delightful weapon at that range. Of course,
if a jingal bullet hit you (a heavy rough-hewn thing of about three
inches diameter), it would make a hole that it would take a lot of
surgery to fill up. But normally, in the latter stages of its flight,
the jingal bullet lets you know it is coming. Furthermore, except at
close range, it is very inaccurate. So if what you desire on the
battlefield is mild excitement, with the minimum of risk, I would
recommend exposing yourself to jingal-fire at, say, from six to twelve
hundred yards.
A very different tale would be that of the fighter in the firing line.
Most of the fights in Tibet involved not only street-fighting but
house-fighting, and this species of fun generally began immediately
after a steep climb of several hundred feet. I can imagine few greater
physical and moral trials in modern warfare than that endured by those
officers and men of ours, who, while gasping for breath after a race up
a steep slope in that rare air, penetrated in small parties first
through narrow streets, then into dingy courtyards, and lastly into
byres and store-rooms and living-rooms that were generally pitch dark,
not knowing from what hole or corner, or with what murderous form of
clumsy firearm, they might not at any moment be fired upon by an unseen
foe at close quarters. For the sake of those who went through this trial
and were not found wanting, Tibetan warfare should not be despised.
The fight at Naini was waged for many weary hours. Its spectacular charm
had soon worn off. The juxtaposition of fierce excitement and deadly
boredom is a strange feature of warfare. There, two hundred yards away,
men were killing one another, and here were some of us positively
yawning!
Late in the afternoon, our pride of conquest somewhat chastened by the
pangs of hunger, we marched onwards to Gyantse. As we drew nearer we
heard what seemed like a very irregular artillery salute fired by very
drunken gunners in honour of some personage entitled to a very large
number of guns. It was only the jingals in the Gyantse-jong firing away
at us patiently and solemnly, in the pious hope that they one day might
hit something. Their main objective was a ricketty bridge across the
Gyantse river which we had to cross before reaching our camp. Some
jingal bullets did on occasion fall fairly near the bridge, and one mule
was actually hit in the act of crossing. The crossing of that bridge
took till late into the night. All the way from Naini the path was
intersected with irrigation nullahs, of which most were full of water.
This caused many checks, which culminated in the block at the bridge.
The latter began to fall to pieces before all the transport was over,
some animals occasionally falling off into the water. The last of the
rearguard reached camp about midnight.