APRIL 24
In these days our life was dismal and lonesome, and our future
uncertain. We went as in the dark, feeling with our hands lest we should
fall. Every day which passed without any untoward event came upon me as
a complete surprise. We had now only two days' journey to Raga-tasam on
the great highway, where caravans and travellers fare to and fro, and
Government officials are responsible that no unauthorized person slips
past. I was thoroughly sick of my disguise and the constant uncertainty,
and longed for a crisis to free me from my embarrassment. But to deliver
ourselves, of our own free will, into the hands of the Tibetans was out
of the question. They must detect us themselves, and till then the
strain on our nerves must continue.
April 24--the anniversary of the _Vega's_ return to Stockholm in 1880!
At sunrise the whole country lay under a bright wintry shroud of white
snow. The thermometer had fallen to 2½°, but when the sun mounted up the
horses steamed, and light clouds of vapour rose up from the snow, so
that we might have been riding through a land of sol-fataras and
fumaroles. Our caravan animals struggled bravely up the tough ascent. Of
sheep we had only twenty left, and two of them were veterans from
Lumbur-ringmo-tso. Twice we thought that the pass, Kinchen-la, was just
before us, but new heights rose farther back, and we worked our way up
hills, among which brooks run down towards Basang and Saka-dzong, where
Muhamed Isa sleeps in his mound. To the south-west Chomo-uchong's
summits presented a grand sight. At length we made the last ascent up
to the top of the pass, where the height is 17,851 feet above sea-level.
At the other side a river runs north-east, one of the headwaters of the
Raga-tsangpo. To the west there is a brilliant spectacle, the summits of
Lunpo-gangri rising in sharp and savage beauty from a maze of mountains
and ridges, which shine in lighter bluer shades the more remote they
are. To the north-east we catch a glimpse of an outlying ridge covered
from foot to crest with new-fallen snow. The broad flat valley of the
Raga-tsangpo stretches eastwards as far as the eye can see. In the far
distance to the east-south-east a grand snowy crest shines forth, the
northernmost of the Himalayan system (Illust. 199).
We stayed a long time at the top, and I sketched a panorama. Then we
followed the track of the caravan over the lower shoulders of two
mountains, and found our camp pitched in a valley with good grass and a
brook partially frozen. My tent looked towards its bank, and all three
stood as usual in a line. This day also had passed satisfactorily, but
all would be different next day, for then we should come to Raga-tasam,
where we encamped last year and stayed a week. Camp 391 was, then, the
last where we could still feel at ease, for we had seen no living being
all day long, and had no neighbours. Here, then, we must arrange some
fresh safeguards.
We must sort out from our already scanty baggage all articles that might
excite suspicion, as, for example, the small padded leather box in which
the theodolite was packed; for the future it would be rolled with its
inner wooden case in my bed. Further, the hypsometer's leather case and
the actinometer, which probably would never be used again. Whatever was
combustible was to be thrown into the fire and the rest buried. A couple
of rugs of camel's wool were also to be discarded.
[Illustration: 334. TIBETANS WITH YAKS.]
[Illustration: 335. DORCHE TSUEN ON THE MARCH.]
To begin with, we must make a change in our housing arrangements. I was
to sleep for the last time in my old weather-beaten tent, where our
chief, Abdul Kerim, was henceforth to set up his quarters and receive
guests. For me a compartment of about 2 square yards, not larger than
my bed, was partitioned off in Abdul Kerim's tent. This crib, which,
when the camp was set up, was enclosed on all sides, was henceforth to
be my prison cell. It was like a secret drawer in a bureau, and when it
was ready I inspected it and found it somewhat narrow but comfortable.
Suen was my hairdresser, and he had just completed his business when
Abdul Kerim looked in at the tent opening and whispered that four men
with yaks were coming up the valley on the road we had to go down from
the Kinchen-la. I hurriedly set my disguise in order and wound the
turban round my head, while the flap was fastened, and Takkar was tied
up before my tent. Then I looked through the peephole in the tent canvas
on the side towards the upper end of the valley, and saw eight men on
foot in dark-blue and red dresses, with red scarves round their heads,
all armed with guns and swords, and leading nine horses; one man led two
laden horses. What in the world did this mean? They were not robbers,
for they came suddenly and at night. They seemed rather men in
Government service; the two in front were certainly officials. My men
occupied themselves at their fire; I could see that they were a prey to
the greatest uneasiness.
The strangers came straight to our camp-fire as if it were the end of
their journey. They formed a circle round Abdul Kerim, Lobsang, Kutus,
and Gulam, and began an animated but subdued conversation. Three of
them, evidently servants, led the horses to a spot barely thirty paces
from my tent and right in front of it. There they took off all the
saddles and loads, sent off the horses to graze, brought out pots and
cans, arranged three stones in order, collected fuel, made a fire,
fetched water in a large pot and cooked tea. It was plain that they
intended to camp here for the night, and that they had intruded on us
for the purpose of watching us.
The other five entered Abdul Kerim's tent, threw themselves down, and
continued the conversation in the same low quiet voice and in thoroughly
polite and measured tones. I could not catch what they said, but that
the affair was serious I could only too plainly perceive, for I heard my
name mentioned--Hedin Sahib. After a good hour's conversation they went
out again and made a tour round my tent, but the furious Takkar would
not let them approach the door. But they discovered the peephole in the
side of the tent, and a man put his finger in and looked through the
hole, but I was lying against the folds of the tent on the same side, so
he could not see me. Then they went and threw themselves down in a
circle round the fire, brought out their wooden cups and drank tea. They
sat right in front of the entrance to my tent, and I could not get out
without being seen.
Then Abdul Kerim whispered from the back of my tent and inside his own,
and told me what the men had said. The leader, a stoutish young man of
good appearance, had put the usual questions and received the usual
answers. Then he had uttered the following words in a serious and
decided tone:
"News of your arrival has come to the Governor of Saka-dzong through two
salt caravans which passed your party above Pasa-guk. As it has never
occurred that a merchant from Ladak has come from the north and has
travelled on the byway through Gebuk, the Governor and the other
authorities in Saka suspected that Hedin Sahib might be concealed among
you, and the more so because he himself expressed his wish last year to
come back again and travel through the mountainous regions in the north.
Therefore my comrades and I received orders to follow your trail,
overtake you, and subject you to the most searching examination. We are
in no hurry, and in the morning we shall get several yak-loads of
provisions. You protest that Hedin Sahib is not among you disguised as a
Ladaki. Well, it may be that you are telling the truth. But remember,
_tsongpun_, that we shall carry out our orders to the letter. You are
thirteen men from Ladak, you say, and I can see only ten. Where are the
others?"
"They are out collecting fuel."
"Good. When you are all assembled here we intend to search you down to
the skin. Then we shall turn out all your baggage and empty every sack
we find in your tents. And if in this examination we find nothing
belonging to a European, it will remain for you to give a written
declaration that no European is among your party concealed or disguised,
and under this declaration you must set your name-stamp. Then you can
travel early in the morning where you like, and we shall return to
Saka."
When I heard this report the situation became quite clear to me, and I
at once decided what I would do. But first I crept by the secret way
into the caravan leader's tent, where I found myself surrounded by my
retainers, except three, who were to warn us if the Tibetans came back
again.
"What is to be done?" I asked Abdul Kerim.
"The Sahib knows best himself. As far as I can see, our condition is
hopeless," answered the honest man, who had got us out of many a scrape
before.
"What does Lobsang think?"
"It would not be wise to give them such a declaration," he answered with
a very troubled face.
"Sahib," suggested Kutus, "if they give us breathing-time till night,
the Sahib and I can hide among the mountains as at the time when we were
close to Tsongpun Tashi. When the search is over we can rejoin the
caravan farther down. I can carry the Sahib's papers, and other European
articles can be buried in the ground under the tent."
"They know that we are thirteen," remarked Gulam.
Under the force of circumstances we had made our way right across Tibet
with a trumped-up story, but to let Abdul Kerim confirm a false document
with his name-stamp on my account was a little too strong even for my
geographical conscience. I could not consent to that. Whatever might
happen, our position was still a strong one. We were in the heart of
Tibet. The next move would be that we should be sent out of the country,
and by whatever way we were obliged to go, I should certainly gain
something more. I would absolutely refuse to go to Ladak, but I would be
content to go to India through Nepal, or, better still, through
Gyangtse.
"No," I said to my men as I rose up, "I shall give myself up to the
Tibetans."
Then they were all amazed, and began to cry and sob like children.
"Why do you weep?" I asked.
"We shall part here for good, and the Sahib will be killed," they
answered.
"Oh no, it is not so bad as that," I said, for it was not the first time
I had been caught by Tibetans.
When I walked out of the tent I heard behind me the murmur of Mohammedan
prayers: "Allahu ekber--Bismillah rahman errahim."
In my usual disguise from top to toe, and with my face painted black, I
walked with slow, deliberate steps straight to the circle of Tibetans.
When I was close to them they all rose up, as if they knew that I was no
ordinary Ladaki.
"Sit down," I said, with a dignified gesture of invitation, and sat down
myself between the two principal men. In the one on my right hand I
recognized at once the Pemba Tsering of the year before. I clapped him
on the shoulder, saying, "Do you know me again, Pemba Tsering?" He
answered not a word, but looked with wide-opened eyes at his comrades,
and nodded towards me, as much as to say "It is he." They were mightily
dumbfoundered and disconcerted: no one spoke, some looked at one
another, others gazed into the fire, one threw a couple of sticks among
the stones, and another took small sips of tea.
Then I spoke again: "Yes, truly, Pemba Tsering, you are quite right; I
am Hedin Sahib, who visited Saka-dzong last year. Here you have me
again; what do you mean to do with me?"
Abdul Kerim, Lobsang, and Kutus stood behind, trembling like aspen
leaves, and expecting that preparations for an execution would be the
next move.
[Illustration: 336. FAREWELL ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE TIBETANS ON MAY 5,
1908.]
Still they made no answer, but began to whisper together in groups. The
younger official, who was evidently the cock of the walk, for the others
looked at him and waited for him to speak, began to look through his
papers, and picked out one which he read in silence. As they were so
long in recovering from their consternation--for they had not expected
to get hold of me so easily--I sent Kutus for a box of Egyptian
cigarettes, and offered them all round. Each took one with thanks, and
lighted it after I had set an example and showed them that the
cigarettes were not filled with gunpowder. Then the ice was broken, and
the leader began to speak very softly and without looking at me.
"Yesterday strict orders came from the Devashung that the Governor of
Saka would be held responsible for Europeans who might sneak into the
country from the west, and if any European showed himself he must be
immediately forced to return by the way he came. When the report reached
Saka of a caravan two days' journey off, the Governor suspected that it
might be you, Hedin Sahib, and we have now accomplished our task. In the
Governor's name we forbid you to take another step eastwards. We beg you
to conform in all things to our directions; our heads and your personal
safety are at stake. To-morrow you will follow us over the Kinchen-la to
Saka-dzong."
"I said last year that I must and would see the mountain region north of
Saka. Now I have seen it, and you have not been able to prevent me. You
see then that I can do more in your country than yourselves. Now I
intend to travel back to India, but by which way only Lien Darin, Amban
of Lhasa, shall decide. It is therefore my intention to write to him,
and I shall not go anywhere before his answer comes."
"We do not wish you to travel by any other way than the one you choose,
but we have no authority to forward a letter to Lhasa; the Governor will
decide the question himself. It is with him you must treat; you must
meet him personally. Therefore we will accompany you to-morrow to
Saka-dzong."
"No, sir, anywhere else you please, but not to Saka-dzong. You know that
my caravan leader died and lies buried there. It is against my
principles to visit a place where I have buried a faithful servant. You
shall never get me to Saka-dzong even if you raise all Tibet."
"If it would trouble you to see Saka-dzong again, we will certainly not
urge you to go thither. Will you instead have the kindness to follow us
to Semoku by the Tsango, on the _tasam_, which is only two days' journey
to the south-west? I will then write to the Governor and ask him to meet
you there."
"Good; I will follow you to Semoku to-morrow."
"Thanks; I will at once send an express messenger to inform the
Governor, so that you may not have to wait at Semoku. But tell me why
you have come back again? You travel and travel in Tibet and you are
always sent away, but always come back again. Had you not enough last
year, when you were obliged to leave the country by the road to Ladak?
And now you turn up again among us. How is that possible, and why are
you come?"
"Because I love your country and your friendly people to such a degree
that I cannot live without them."
"H'm! It is very kind of you to say so, but would it not be better if
you were to love your own country a little more? As long as we do not
travel in your country, you should not travel in ours; we remain at
home, and the best thing you can do is to remain in your country."
"As long as I can sit in a saddle I shall come back. You can inform the
Devashung at your leisure that their Excellencies may look for more
visits."
[Illustration: 337, 338, 339, 340. THE DANCERS AT THE CAMP-FIRE: TUBGES,
KUNCHUK, SUEN.]
They laughed pleasantly and looked at one another, as much as to say:
"If he likes to come back, he is welcome as far as we are concerned."
And my Ladakis laughed and were extremely astonished that our last day
of freedom had come to so peaceful and merry an ending. The Tibetans
were exceedingly agreeable, polite, and gentle, and never uttered a hard
or peevish word about the trouble that I had again brought upon them.
And when the old wool story, which Abdul Kerim a little while before had
tried to cram down their throats, was referred to, they laughed heartily
and thought that it was a grand device. They are so accustomed to lie
themselves that they have a great admiration for any one else who
succeeds in deceiving them. They thought it very wonderful that we had
been able to cross the whole country without detection, and believed
that I must possess some mysterious powers of which they knew
nothing, and that they must be very cautious in dealing with me.
The young official, who was named Rinche Dorche, but was called Rindor,
a contraction of the two names, wrote a long letter to the Governor of
Saka, saying that I was the same Hedin Sahib who had been here the year
before, that we had come to a friendly agreement to proceed to Semoku,
that I did not wish to travel to Ladak but straight to India, and that
Lien Darin alone was to decide on the route. The letter was sealed, and
despatched by a mounted courier over the Kinchen-la.
Then we talked and jested again, and before sunset we were as intimate
as though we had been friends from childhood. We might have made an
appointment to meet in this barren valley and been glad to have found
one another. It was easy to understand that the Tibetans were pleased.
They little thought when the sun rose that they would make such a good
catch before evening. The successful issue of their mission would be of
great advantage; they would be commended by the Governor and gain
promotion. For my part I had a feeling of unmixed satisfaction. Our
freedom was at an end, but for me it had been nothing but an exceedingly
enervating captivity. Now, for the first time, I felt perfectly free,
and was no longer a prisoner in my own tent; I should have no need of
that wretched hiding-hole in Abdul Kerim's tent. The Tibetans laughed
loudly at my ragged, smutty, greasy dress of coarse grey sackcloth, in
which I looked like a convict, or, at best, like a begging monk of the
Grey Friars' confraternity. Then they understood how I had succeeded in
crossing Bongba unseen and unknown. How delightful it would be to throw
my rags into the fire and clothe myself in a clean neat Tibetan costume,
to be no longer obliged to hide my papers and instruments in rice sacks,
and not to have to paint my face black as a Moor's instead of washing
myself. As soon as we had parted from our new friends in the evening,
Gulam took a hand-basin of warm water into my tent, and then I had a
good scrubbing from top to toe, and the water showed that I wanted it.
He had to change the water four times before I was tolerably clean. Then
I clipped my Mohammedan beard to the skin, and sadly missed the razors
I had thrown away. But I was glad that we had not burned the things we
had condemned some hours earlier.
Rindor begged the loan of one of our tents, as their own transport train
was not expected till the morning. Besides Pemba Tsering, there were two
other men I had known the year before. They were all very friendly, and
said that we had tipped them very generously. There was also a wrinkled
old man in the party, who was always smoking a Chinese pipe. His name
was Kamba Tsenam, and it was his tent near which we had so nearly been
detained two days before.
Thus ended April 24, 1908. Strange, melancholy thoughts took possession
of me when I went to bed. The Tibetans had again thwarted my plans--I
know not how many times they had done so. Our future was dark as ever,
but it had arrived at a new stage, and on the 25th we should wake up to
begin a new chapter. The deep silence in the valley was only disturbed
occasionally by Takkar, when the faithful dog barked at the Tibetans.
His bark was re-echoed from both flanks as though three dogs kept guard
over us. And the everlasting stars glittered as before over our lonely
tents.