Loads--A set of useful pack-saddle cases--Provisions and
scientific outfit--Clothes and shoes--Medicines--Under way--The
first march--Servants--How I came to employ faithful Chanden
Sing.
I KNEW that from Naini Tal, 6407 feet (sixty feet above lake level), all
my loads would have to be transported on the backs of coolies, and
therefore they had to be divided into equal weights not exceeding
twenty-five seers, or fifty pounds. I packed instruments, negatives, and
articles liable to get damaged, in cases of my own make designed
especially for rough usage. A set of four such cases, of well-seasoned
deal wood, carefully joined and fitted, zinc-lined, and soaked in a
special preparation of mine by which they were rendered water and air
tight, could be made useful in many ways. Taken separately, they could be
used as seats; four placed in a row answered the purpose of bedstead;
three could be used as seat and table; and the combination of four used
in a certain manner made a punt or boat of quick, solid, and easy
construction, by which an unfordable river could be crossed or soundings
taken in the still waters of a lake. The cases could also be used as
baths for myself and my followers (if I could induce these to so far
indulge), and also in the developing of my negatives as tanks to properly
wash my plates. I conjectured even that in case of emergency they might
serve as water casks in arid regions, if I should have to traverse any.
One of these boxes packed was exactly a coolie load, and two could be
easily slung over a pack-saddle by means of straps and rings. It was due
mainly to the stoutness and strength of these cases that, notwithstanding
the amount of knocking about they got, my photographic and painting work,
as well as my maps, instruments, etc., were really in no way injured
until we fell into the hands of the Tibetans. Fortunately, the most
important part of my work, from a scientific point of view, had already
been accomplished. My provisions were prepared for me by the Bovril
Company after instructions furnished by me, with a view to the severe
Tibetan climate and the altitudes we should find ourselves in. They
contained a vast amount of fat and carbonaceous food, as well as
ingredients easily digestible and calculated to maintain one's strength
even in moments of unusual stress. I had them packed in tin cases and
skin bags. I carried in a water-tight box 1000 cartridges for my 256°
Mannlicher rifle, besides 500 cartridges for my revolver, and a number of
hunting knives, skinning implements, wire traps of several sizes for
capturing small mammals, butterfly nets, bottles for preserving reptiles
in alcohol, insect-killing bottles (cyanide of potassium), a quantity of
arsenical soap, bone nippers, scalpels, and all other accessories
necessary for the collection of natural history specimens. There were
three sets of photographic apparatus in my outfit, and one hundred and
fifty-eight dozen dry plates, as well as all adjuncts for the developing,
fixing, etc. of the negatives as they were taken. The collecting
materials were given me by the British Museum of Natural History, to
which institution I had promised to present all specimens of fauna and
flora I might collect during my journey. I had two sets of instruments
for astronomical observation and for use in surveying (one of which had
been furnished me by the Royal Geographical Society), such as the
six-inch sextant, hypsometrical apparatus for measuring heights, with
boiling-point thermometers specially constructed for very great
altitudes; two aneroids, one to 20,000 feet, the other to 25,000 feet;
three artificial horizons (one mercury, the others plate-glass with
levels); a powerful telescope with astronomical eyepiece and stand; a
prismatic, a luminous, a floating, and two pocket compasses; maximum and
minimum thermometers, a case of drawing instruments, protractors,
parallel rules, tape rules, a silver water-tight half-chronometer watch
and three other watches, section paper in books and in large sheets,
Raper's and the Nautical Almanac for 1897 and 1898.
Not to neglect the artistic aspect of my expedition, I had provided
myself with ample painting and drawing materials, and I trust to the
appearance of my sketches in these volumes to prove that I did not carry
them in vain.
I was provided with a very light mountain _tente-d'abri_ seven feet long,
four feet wide, and three feet high. Well accustomed to the sort of
travelling I was in for, I decided that I required for myself only a
camel-hair blanket in the way of bedding. I reduced my clothing also to a
minimum and made no difference in it from start to finish. The only thing
I ever missed was my straw hat, which I wore up in the Himahlyas just as
I had worn it in the broiling plains, because it seemed to me always the
most comfortable headgear. It was rendered unwearable through the
clumsiness of one of my Shokas to whom I had lent it to carry in it some
swan eggs (presented by a friendly Shoka), and who fell with it, or on
it, to the detriment and destruction both of vessel and load. After that
I generally went about with my head uncovered, as I only had a small cap
left, which was not comfortable. I wore medium thick shoes without nails,
and never carried a stick, and I think it was due largely to the
simplicity of my personal equipment that I was able, as will be seen
presently, to climb to one of the greatest altitudes ever reached by a
human being.[1]
My provision of medicines cost me only half-a-crown, firm as I am in the
belief that man, living naturally under natural conditions, and giving
himself plenty of exercise, can be helped very little by drugs.
And thus I started.
On the first day I rode from Naini Tal to Almora, thirty miles by the
lower and well-known road _viâ_ Khairna.
Almora (5510 feet) is the last hill station towards the frontier where I
expected to find a European, or rather an Anglo-Indian, community, and I
made it my headquarters for a few days. It was my intention to obtain
some reliable hill men, possibly Gourkhas, to accompany me. I applied in
vain for this purpose to the Lieut.-Colonel of the 1st 3rd Gourkha
Regiment quartered in the station, duly showing letters, introductions,
and documents from the highest authorities and institutions in England,
plainly demonstrating the scientific object of my journey to Tibet.
The superior authorities seemed open to negotiations had I been able to
afford a wait of several months; but, as this would have involved the
postponement of my journey for a year on account of the passes leading
into Tibet becoming impassable at the end of the summer, I decided to
snap my fingers at all the red tape the job required, and to start on my
journey without the Gourkhas.
As luck would have it, I came across a gentleman at Almora, a Mr. J.
Larkin, who showed me great politeness and gave me much useful
information with regard to the roads, the mode of travelling, etc. on the
British side of the Tibetan frontier. He had himself travelled nearly up
to the boundary the previous year, and knew that part of Kumaon better
than any Anglo-Indian in the province. In fact, with the exception of
Colonel Grigg, Commissioner of Kumaon, Mr. Larkin is the only other
official who has any knowledge at all of the north-east of Kumaon, now so
neglected by the Government of the N.W.P.
[Illustration: MY FAITHFUL COMPANION]
Gourkhas being unobtainable, the question weighed heavily on my mind of
obtaining plucky, honest, wiry, healthy servants, of whatever caste they
might be, who would be ready for the sake of a good salary and a handsome
reward to brave the many discomforts, hardships, and perils my expedition
was likely to involve. Both at Naini Tal and here scores of servants and
Shikaris (sporting attendants) offered themselves. They one and all
produced "certificates" of good conduct, irreproachable honesty,
good-nature and willingness to work, and praises unbounded of all
possible virtues that a servant could possess. Each certificate was duly
ornamented with the signature of a General, a Captain, a Lieut.-Governor,
or some other considerable personage, but each bearer of such testimonial
seemed sadly neglected by those who had been so enthusiastically pleased
with his services, for he invariably commenced by asking for a loan of
several rupees to purchase boots and blankets, and to enable him to
support a wife with or without a family whom he would be leaving behind.
I decided that my means did not permit of my supporting "the dear ones at
home" of the two or three dozen followers I should require, and I made up
my mind to wait and see whether I could not find men to suit me farther
on my road without involving myself in the liability of supporting the
entire population I left behind me. I made only one exception. I was
sitting one fine day in my room at the Dâk Bungalow (post resting-house)
when an odd creature entered and offered his services, salaaming me.
"Where are your certificates?" I asked.
"_Sahib, hum 'certificates' ne hai!_" ("Sir, I have no certificates.")
"Well, then I may employ you."
I had previously had a good look at the fellow. His facial lines showed
considerably more character and force than I had noticed in the features
of other local natives. His attire was peculiar. He wore a white turban,
and from under a short velvet waistcoat there protruded a gaudy flannel
shirt in yellow and black stripes, which he wore oddly outside of his
pyjamas instead of in them. He had no shoes, and carried in his right
hand an old cricket stump, with which he "presented arms," as it were,
every time that I came in and went out of the room. I at once decided to
try him. It was about nine o'clock in the morning, when I, having many
people to see, handed Chanden Sing, for that was his name, a pair of
shoes and some blacking.
"Mind I find them clean when I return."
"_Acha, Sahib_." ("All right, sir!")
"You will find some brushes in my room."
"_Bahut acha, Sahib_." ("Very good, sir!")
I left. At six p.m. when I returned to my quarters I found Chanden Sing
still polishing my footgear with all his might. He had been at it the
whole day and had used for the purpose my best hair and clothes brushes.
"Oh, you _budmash! crab log, pagal!_" ("Oh! you bad character! bad man,
fool!") I exclaimed, disgusted, making as much display as possible of the
only three or four words I then knew of Hindustani. I snatched the
blackened articles of toilet out of his hands, while he, with an air of
wounded feelings, pointed out the wonderful results he had achieved.
[Illustration: MY START FROM NAINI TAL]
It was clear that Chanden Sing was not much of a valet, neither was he a
master at opening soda-water bottles. He generally managed to give you a
spray bath if he did not actually shoot the flying cork in your face. It
was owing to one (by no means the first) of these accidents that Chanden
Sing, having hit me full, was a few days later flung bodily out of the
front door. I am very adverse to the habit of punishing the natives
injudiciously and unjustly, but I believe that firm if not too severe a
punishment administered in time is absolutely necessary with native
servants, and generally saves much trouble and unpleasantness in the end.
Anyhow Chanden Sing, none the worse, returned the next day to fetch his
cricket stump which he had forgotten in his hurried and involuntary
departure. He seized this opportunity to offer his humblest apologies for
his clumsiness, and produced the following letter which he had got
written in English by a Babu in the Bazaar:
"DEAR SIR,--I am a stupid man, but I hear you intend to take two
Gourkha soldiers with you to Tibet. I am a good and very _stout_
man and therefore far superior to any Gourkha. Please employ me.
"Your faithful servant,
"CHANDEN SING."
This was touching, and I forgave him and allowed him to stay. He improved
as time went on, and after a while became quite tolerable. One morning
Mr. Larkin called when Chanden Sing happened to be about.
"Who is that?" said Larkin.
"That is my bearer."
"But he is not a bearer! He was once a policeman, and a smart fellow too.
He worked out a good case in his own village and had many people arrested
and convicted for theft. As a reward they sacked him."
"I am thinking of taking him with me."
"He is a good lad," replied Mr. Larkin. "You can anyhow take him as far
as the frontier, but I would not advise you to take him into Tibet."
Mr. Larkin counselled Chanden Sing to be diligent and attentive, and the
ex-policeman beamed all over with joy when I told him definitely that he
might accompany me to Bhot. He turned out to be the one plucky man among
all my followers, and he stood by me through thick and thin.
[1] See Appendix. Letter by Dr. H. Wilson.