A warning to my men--Calm and coolness--The Pombo's tent--Chanden
Sing cross-examined and flogged.
ON reaching the settlement, my last words to my men before we were
separated were, "No matter what they do to you, do not let them see that
you suffer," and they promised to obey me. We were then conveyed to
different tents. I was dragged to one of the larger tents, inside and
outside of which soldiers were placed on guard. Those near me were at
first sulky, and rough in their manner and speech, but I always made a
point of answering them in as collected and polite a fashion as I could.
I had on many previous occasions found that nothing carries one further
in dealings with Asiatics than to keep calm and cool, and I saw in a
moment that, if we were ever to get out of our present scrape, it would
be by maintaining a perfectly impassive demeanour in face of anything
that might take place. Whether I acted my part well it is not for me to
say, but the reader can satisfy himself on that point by perusing the
Government inquiry and report made by Mr. J. Larkin, and given in the
Appendix to this book.
The tent being kept closed, I was unable to discover what happened
outside, but from the noises I heard of people rushing hither and
thither, and of shouted orders, besides the continuous tinkling of the
soldiers' horse-bells as they galloped past the tent, I concluded that
the place must be in a state of turmoil. I had been some three hours in
the tent, when a soldier entered and ordered me out.
"They are going to cut off his head," said he to his comrades; and,
turning round to me, he made a significant gesture with his hand across
his neck.
"_Nikutza_" ("All right"), said I drily.
It must not be forgotten that, when a Tibetan himself hears words of
this import, he usually goes down on his knees and implores to be spared,
with tears, and sobs, and prayers in profusion. So it is not surprising
that the Tibetans were somewhat astonished at my answer, and seemed
puzzled as to what to make of it. Anyhow, the first ardour of the
messenger was sensibly cooled down, and I was led out with more
reluctance than firmness.
[Illustration: THE POMBO'S TENT]
During the time I had been shut up, a huge white tent with blue ornaments
had been pitched in front of the mud-house, and round it were hundreds of
soldiers and villagers--a most picturesque sight.
As I was led nearer, I perceived that the front of the tent was wide
open, and inside stood a great number of red Lamas, with shaven heads, in
their long woollen tunics. The soldiers stopped me when I was about
twenty yards from the tent. Additional ropes were added to those already
cutting into my wrists, elbows and chest, and the others made tighter. I
perceived Chanden Sing led forward, and then, instead of taking me before
the Lamas, they pushed me to the rear of the solitary mud-house to
preclude my witnessing the scene that followed. I heard Chanden Sing
being interrogated in a loud angry tone of voice, and accused of having
been my guide. Next I heard wild shouts from the crowd, then a dead
silence. A few instants later I distinguished the snapping noise of a
lash, followed by hoarse moans from my poor bearer, to whom they were
evidently applying it.
I counted the strokes, the sickening noise of which is still well
impressed on my memory, as they regularly and steadily fell one after the
other to twenty, to thirty, forty, and fifty. Then there was a pause.