My note-books and maps--What the Lamas wanted me to say--My
refusal--Anger and threats--Ando, the traitor--Chanden Sing's
heroism--A scene of cruelty--Rain.
THE two Lamas, leaving Chanden Sing, produced my note-books and maps, and
proceeded to interrogate me closely, saying that, if I spoke the truth, I
should be spared, otherwise I should be flogged and then beheaded.
[Illustration: A SOLDIER]
I answered that I would speak the truth, whether they punished me or not.
One of the Lamas, a great big brute, who was dressed up in a gaudy red
silk coat, with gold embroidery at the collar, and who had taken part in
the flogging of Chanden Sing, told me I must say "that my servant had
shown me the road across Tibet, and that he had done the maps and
sketches." If I would say this, they were willing to release me and have
me conveyed back to the frontier, promising to do me no further harm.
They would cut my servant's head off, that was all, but no personal
injury should be inflicted on me.
I explained clearly to the Lamas that I alone was responsible for the
maps and sketches, and for finding my way so far inland. I repeated
several times, slowly and distinctly, that my servant was innocent, and
that therefore there was no reason to punish him. He had only obeyed my
orders in following me to Tibet, and I alone, not my two servants, was to
be punished if anybody was punishable.
The Lamas were angry at this, and one of them struck me violently on the
head with the butt-end of his riding-crop. I pretended not to notice it,
though it made my scalp ache and smart.
[Illustration: SOLDIER WITH PIGTAIL WOUND ROUND HIS HEAD]
"Then we shall beat you and your man until you say what we want," the
Lama exclaimed angrily.
"You can beat us if you like," I replied with assurance, "but if you
punish us unjustly it will go against yourselves. You can tear our skin
off, and you can make us bleed to death, but you cannot make us feel
pain."
Ando, the traitor, who spoke Hindustani fluently, acted as interpreter
whenever there was a hitch in our Tibetan conversation, and with what I
knew of the language, and with this man's help, everything was explained
to the Tibetans as clearly as possible. Notwithstanding this, they
continued mercilessly to lash my poor servant, who, in his agony, was
biting the ground as each blow fell on him and tore away patches of skin
and flesh. Chanden Sing behaved heroically. Not a word of complaint, nor
a prayer for mercy, came from his lips. He said that he had spoken the
truth and had nothing more to say. Watched intently by all the Lamas and
soldiers, I sat with affected stoicism before this scene of cruelty,
until, angry at my phlegm, order was given to the soldiers that I should
be dragged away. Again they led me behind the mud-house, from where I
could distinctly hear the angry cries of the Lamas cross-examining
Chanden Sing, and those dreadful sounds of the lash still being
administered.
It began to rain heavily, and this was a bit of luck for us, for in
Tibet, as in China, a shower has a great effect upon the people, and even
massacres have been known to be put a stop to until the rain should
cease.
Such was the case that day. The moment the first drops fell, the soldiers
and Lamas rushed here, there, and everywhere inside the tents, and I was
hastily dragged to the most distant tent of the settlement, which became
packed with the guards into whose charge I had been given.
[Illustration: AN OFFICER]