THE BORDERLAND OF BHUTAN
The races along our North-East Border--Tibet--The
Mahatmas--Nepal--Bhutan--Its geography--Its
founder--Its Government--Religious rule--Analogy
between Bhutan and old Japan--_Penlops_ and
_Daimios_--The Tongsa _Penlop_--Reincarnation of the
Shaptung Rimpoche--China's claim to Bhutan--Capture of
the Maharajah of Cooch Behar--Bogle's mission--Raids
and outrages--The Bhutan War of 1864-5--The Duars--The
annual subsidy--Bhutan to-day--Religion--An
impoverished land--Bridges--Soldiers in Bhutan--The
feudal system--Administration of justice--Tyranny of
officials--The Bhuttias--Ugly women--Our neighbours in
Buxa--A Bhuttia festival--Archery--A banquet--A
dance--A Scotch half-caste--Chunabatti--Nature of the
borderland--Disappearing rivers--The Terai--Tea
gardens--A planter's life--The club--Wild beasts in the
path--The Indian planters--Misplaced sympathy--The tea
industry--Profits and losses--Planters' salaries--Their
daily life--Bhuttia raids on tea gardens--Fearless
planters--An unequal fight.
Along the North-East Frontier of India lie numerous States and races of
which the average Britisher is very ignorant. Of late years Tibet has
bulked largely in the public eye owing to international and diplomatic
intrigues and our little war with it in 1904. But, previously, it was
probably best known to the Man in the Street as the country from which
according to the Theosophists, "the Mahatmas come from." They must all
have deserted it long since; for I never met anyone who had been in
Tibet who had ever heard of them there. Travellers like General Bower
who had journeyed through the land from end to end, officers of the
Anglo-Indian Army that made its way to Lhasa, others of my regiment who
had lived in Gyantse, learned to speak the language and mixed much with
the people, were all ignorant of the existence of these mysterious and
supernaturally gifted beings.
Nepal is best known as the country which supplies us with the popular
little Gurkha soldiers. But Bhutan, which lies along our Indian border,
is scarcely known even by name to the crowd. Yet, as long ago as in the
days of Warren Hastings, we had diplomatic intercourse with it; and half
a century has not elapsed since we were at war with the Bhutanese. Yet,
to-day, there are not a dozen Englishmen who have crossed its borders.
Bhutan is an exceedingly mountainous country, twenty thousand square
miles in extent, lying along the northern boundary of Bengal and Assam,
hemmed in on the west by Sikkim, a State under our suzerainty, and on
the west and north by Tibet. A Buddhist land, its system of government
is very similar to that of Japan before the Meiji, the revolution of
1868. It was founded by a lama who, after establishing himself as
supreme ruler, handed over the control of temporal matters to a layman
and a council of elders. Until the other day the country was nominally
governed by a spiritual head, the Shaptung Rimpoche, an incarnation of
the deified founder, known in India as the Durma Raja, and a mundane
monarch whom we term the Deb Raja. They were assisted by a council. The
analogy between them and the Mikados and Shoguns of Japan was very
close. To complete it the real control of the land was practically in
the hands of feudal barons called _Penlops_, who, like the _Daimios_ of
old Japan, ruled their own territories, and, when strong enough, defied
the Central Government. For the greater part of the last century the
_Penlops_ of Tongsa were the most powerful among these. The present
holder of the title was recently elected hereditary Maharajah of Bhutan.
He is Sir Ugyen Wang-chuk, K.C.I.E.--a most enlightened man and strongly
in favour of the British. During the war of 1904 with Tibet, he placed
all his influence on our side; and, his efforts to prevent bloodshed
being unavailing, he accompanied our troops to Lhasa. The Government of
India, in recognition of his services rewarded him with the K.C.I.E.,
and a present of rifles and ammunition. When our present King-Emperor
visited India as Prince of Wales in 1906, Sir Ugyen Wang-chuk was
invited to Calcutta and saw for himself the wonders of civilisation and
learned something of the might of England. It was shortly after his
return from India that he was elected Maharajah. Though he is now the
real ruler of the country the pretence is kept up of the Government
still being in the hands of the Durma and Deb Rajas. On the death of the
incumbent of the former position, his reincarnation is sought for among
young boys throughout the land, as happens in the case of the Dalai Lama
in Tibet.
In former times China held a shadowy claim to the suzerainty of Bhutan;
and when, after our war with Tibet, we re-established her influence over
that country, the Chinese endeavoured to reassert their hold over Bhutan
as well. The Tongsa _Penlop_ preferred having the British to deal with
and in January, 1910 signed a treaty by which he placed the foreign
relations of his country under the control of the Government of India.
But otherwise Bhutan is completely independent. We do not interfere in
any way in its internal affairs; and while the Bhutanese can enter India
freely, no Britisher is allowed into their country without special
sanction from our own authorities, which is rarely given.
The first occasion on which the Indian Government was brought into
contact with Bhutan was in the time of Warren Hastings. In those days
the Bhutanese claimed sovereignty over the forest-clad plains in the
north of Eastern Bengal. In 1772 they carried off the Maharajah of Cooch
Behar as a prisoner. A small British force pursued them into the hills
and made them surrender their captive. Hastings seized the opportunity
of their suing for peace to send an Envoy, Bogle, to endeavour to
establish trading relations with Bhutan. Bogle entered the country by
way of Buxa Duar and was at first well received by the Deb Raja. He gave
a flattering account of the people and their customs in his journal; and
his description of Bhutan might almost have been written yesterday, so
little changed is it. His mission bore little fruit; and the jealousy of
strangers, inherent in all Buddhist nations, soon put a stop to any
intercourse with India. A long series of raids into our territory and
outrages on our subjects along the border was borne with exemplary
patience for many years by the East India Company. But at length the
ill-treatment of another Envoy, Eden, sent to remonstrate with the
Bhutanese, led to our declaring war on them in 1864. Taken by surprise
at first, they were driven out of their forts in the Himalayan passes;
but they soon rallied, chased one of our columns in disorder out of the
country, forcing it to abandon its guns, and penned in our garrisons in
the captured forts. But, in the following year, despite their fanatical
bravery, they were defeated finally and compelled to beg for peace. The
Indian Government deprived them of the Duars, the forest strip of
country lying along the base of the Himalayas. The word _duar_ means
"door," or "gateway," and originally referred to the passes leading
through the mountains into India. The Bhutanese pleaded that this
deprived them of their most profitable raiding ground and source of
supply of slaves. Our Government, moved by this ingenuous plea,
compensated them by the grant of an annual subsidy of fifty thousand
rupees (now equal to L3333) which has recently been raised to a lakh,
which is one hundred thousand. This sum, like similar but smaller
amounts disbursed by us to savage tribes along our frontiers, may be
regarded as either a species of blackmail or a reward of good behaviour.
Should the recipients displease us in the conduct of their relations
with other countries or should they allow their unruly young men to raid
across our borders, the payment is suspended until amends are made. It
generally has the desired effect, and saves a punitive little war. I was
surprised, however, to find that the Bhuttias inside our frontier, who
were mostly refugees from the exactions and oppression of their own
officials, attributed our paying this subsidy to fear of the might of
Bhutan, and held it up to my sepoys as a proof of the greatness of their
nation.
Bhutan to-day stands much where it has for centuries past. Its religion
is a debased lamaism and idolatry, which replace the high moral teaching
of Buddha. Its impoverished peasants and even the lay officials are
heavily taxed to support in idleness the innumerable shoals of Buddhist
monks and nuns. Praying wheels and prayer flags and the support of lamas
are, as in Tibet, all that is necessary to ensure salvation. Arts and
handicrafts are decaying. Trade is principally carried on by the
primitive method of barter. Owing to the mountainous nature of the
country cultivation is much restricted. The only coins I could find
struck in Bhutan were a silver piece worth sixpence, and a copper one
worth the sixteenth of a penny. British, Tibetan and Chinese coins are
used. Most of our annual subsidy finds its way back into India in
exchange for cloth and food-stuffs. When paid by us a large portion of
it used to go to the ecclesiastical dignitaries in the capital, Punakha,
and the rest was distributed among the various _Penlops_. The Deb
Zimpun, the official sent into our territory every year to receive it,
now hands it over to the Maharajah, who disburses it.
The roads through Bhutan are mere ill-kept mule tracks. The forests,
which are in strong contrast to the usually treeless plateaux of
Northern Tibet, though not found at the greatest elevation in the
country, are well looked after; and the regulations for their
preservation are strictly enforced. A long series of internecine wars
has ruined the land; but of late years the predominance of the Tongsa
_Penlop_ has ensured internal peace. The only buildings of note are the
temples, the _gumpas_ or large monasteries and the _jongs_ or castles,
huge rambling edifices of stone and wood. The towns mostly consist of
wooden huts. But the Bhutanese are very clever in constructing bridges
over the rivers and torrents that traverse their mountainous country.
These are sometimes marvels of engineering skill, great wooden
structures on the cantilever principle or well-constructed iron
suspension bridges, remarkable when one considers the rude appliances at
the disposal of the builders.
There is no regular army in Bhutan, each _Penlop_ and important official
maintaining his own armed retinue; but every man in the country is
liable for service. Their weapons are chiefly single-edged straight
swords and bows and arrows. The swords are practically long knives and
are universally carried as cutting tools, for use in the forests. There
are very few modern fire-arms in the country. The Deb Zimpun, in his
visit to Buxa to receive the subsidy, was accompanied by his guard of
sixty men without a gun among them. He told me that he possessed a
fowling-piece himself which he had left behind, as he had no cartridges
for it.
Although Bhutan now possesses a Maharajah, the government is still
carried on on feudal lines. The _Penlops_ rule their own territories
without much outside interference. Under them are the _jongpens_ or
commanders of _jongs_, who act as governors of districts. Each _Penlop_
has a _tarpon_ or general to command his troops. Under the _jongpens_
are lesser officials known as _tumbas_. There is no judiciary branch,
and justice is rudely administered. A murderer is punished by the loss
of a hand and being hamstrung, or sometimes is tied to the corpse of
his victim and thrown into a river or over a precipice. The exactions
of the officials drive many refugees over our border: and the hills
around Buxa were peopled almost entirely by Bhuttias who had fled from
slavery and oppression.
The Bhuttia is a cheerful, hard-working and easily contented individual.
He is naturally brave, and has the makings of a good soldier in him. He
is generally medium-sized, broad and sturdy, with thick muscular legs
such as I have only seen equalled in the chair coolies of Hong Kong and
the rickshawmen in Japan. The northern Bhutanese are fair and often
blue-eyed. Their Tibetan neighbours hold them in dread. The dress of a
Bhuttia man is simple and consists of one garment shaped like the
Japanese kimono, kilted by a girdle at the waist to leave the legs free.
Their heads and feet are generally bare. The costume of the richer folk,
except on occasions of ceremony, is very much the same; but they
generally wear stockings and shoes or long Chinese boots. But even the
Maharajah often goes barelegged. The Bhutanese women are the ugliest
specimens of femininity I have ever seen. In the south they cut their
hair shorter even than the men do. But when they can they load
themselves with ornaments of turquoises or coloured stones.
Around Buxa the Bhuttia inhabitants build, high upon the steepest hills,
villages of wooden, palm-thatched huts supported on poles which raise
them well off the ground. Their household utensils and drinking vessels
are usually made of the useful bamboo. Around their houses they scratch
up the ground and plant a little; but their chief employment is as
porters or as woodcutters in the Government forests. They never seek for
work in the tea gardens near; though on these the coolies are well paid
and have to be brought from a long distance away in India. But the
Bhuttia is essentially a hill-man; and life in the steamy heat of the
Bengal plains would be unendurable to him.
A thousand feet above Buxa, on the slopes of Sinchula, stood a hamlet of
a dozen huts. Learning that the inhabitants were celebrating a yearly
festival, Smith and I, accompanied by a native officer, set off to visit
it. As we climbed the steep hill-side we heard fiendish yells and
shrieks, and conjectured that we were coming upon a devil-dance at
least. But we only found the men of the village engaged in an archery
contest. Two targets were placed about a couple of hundred yards apart;
and a party at either end shot at them. The small marks were rarely hit,
even when we placed rupees on them to stimulate the competitors; but
most of the arrows fell very close to them. A good shot was hailed with
vociferous applause by the marksman's team, a bad one by the shrieks,
groans and derisive laughter we had heard. When the contest was over we
were invited to try our skill and luckily did not disgrace ourselves.
Then the bows of the contestants were stacked together on the ground and
hung with garlands and leafy branches. The men sat down in two lines
forming a lane to the bows; and each drew out from the breast of his
kimono a small wooden or metal cup. Several women appeared from the
village, bearing food and drink in cane baskets or gaily decorated
vessels made of bamboo. We learned that the feast lasted six days and
that each one of the principal villagers acted as host and provided the
provender a day in turn and his womenfolk dispensed his hospitality.
To-day's entertainer began the proceedings by filling his own cup,
advancing to the pile of bows, bowing profoundly before it several times
and pouring the contents of his cup on the ground. As he did so he
muttered some words. Then he turned about and walked back. The other
men, as they sat cross-legged on the ground, shouted out a long
utterance which I took to be a form of grace before meals, and ended
with a series of ear-piercing yells which would have done credit to a
pack of mad jackals. The effect of the contrast between the fiendish
noises they made and their beaming countenances was comical. Then the
hostesses passed down the lines of men, handed them platters and heaped
rice and other food on them. The cups were filled first with the
vile-smelling and worse-tasting native liquor, and afterwards, when
emptied several times, with tea. Undisturbed by our presence the guests
made a hearty meal, the host walking up and down the lines and
encouraging them to enjoy themselves, while his women brought fresh
relays of victuals. But at last their appetites were satisfied. Then the
ladies of the hamlet who had been watching their lords and masters from
a respectful distance came forward. In addition to their ordinary
garments they wore capes of black velveteen, only donned on occasions of
ceremony; and their necks were hung with chains of imitation turquoises
and large, coloured stone beads. To the monotonous accompaniment of two
tiny hand-drums, beaten by men, they performed a mournful and
exceedingly proper dance. This the men applauded languidly. Among the
women I was struck by the European-like features of the very ugliest of
them. She was fair-haired, high-cheek-boned and long-nosed. She
contrasted strongly with the Tartar type of features of those around
her. I learned that she was the illegitimate daughter of a Scotch
military surgeon who had formerly been quartered in Buxa. She was
married to a Bhuttia, and, judging from her silver ornaments, was quite
a person of importance in the hamlet. But as I saw her afterwards
working as a coolie and passing with heavy loads up and down through
Buxa, it was evident that her economical father had not left her beyond
the necessity of toiling for her daily rice.
[Illustration: "THE LADIES OF THE HAMLET CAME FORWARD."]
[Illustration: BHUTTIA DRUMMERS.]
The dance finished the festivities for the day. We were led in
procession by the revellers through the village with songs and beating
of drums; and, having bestowed a few rupees on them, we departed amid a
loud chorus of thanks.
Some time afterwards I was present at a similar festival in Chunabatti,
the large village containing nearly a thousand Bhuttias, a few miles
over the hills from Buxa. Here the American lady missionary had resided
for over fifteen years; and I asked her for some explanation of the
festival. But she confessed that, even after her long residence among
the villagers, she knew nothing of their beliefs, religion or
ceremonies. I may mention that she had never made a convert. But as far
as I could see these cis-border Bhuttias were even more ignorant of
their faith than the dwellers in Bhutan. There were a few prayer flags
fluttering on the hill above the village; but _chortens_ and praying
wheels were conspicuous by their absence, though there was enough
water-power in the mountains for the latter to ensure salvation for
millions of believers in their efficacy. The village possessed one lama,
who was treated with scant respect. I often saw him teaching the small
boys to read the Hindi characters, which are the same as used for the
written Tibetan language.
This Chunabatti festival was celebrated in the same manner as the one we
had seen before, with eating, drinking, dances by the women, and archery
contests by the men. Some of the small boys were brought out to practise
with the bow; and many of them shot quite well. But there was absolutely
no trace of religious celebration.
To-day the boundary-line between Bhutan and India lies generally along
the summits of the last mountain-chain above the plains. Dense jungle
clothes the sides of the hills and descends to meet the upward waves of
the Terai Forest, which stretches along the foot of the Himalayas
through Assam, Bengal, and Nepal. The mountains are cloven by deep and
gloomy ravines through which swift-flowing rivers like the Menass,
Raidak, Torsa, and Tista pour their waters to swell the Brahmaputra and
the Ganges. Some of these torrents disappear underground a few hundred
yards from the hills and leave a broad river-bed empty for miles, except
during the Rains. But farther away they suddenly appear again above the
surface and flow to the south. The character of the jungle in the region
where they reappear is damper and more tropical than near the mountains,
and has earned for the forest the title of Terai, which means "wet."
Streams which on the level of Santrabari reached the plains, there
vanish, to come again above the ground near Rajabhatkawa.
[Illustration: CHUNABATTI.]
The long belt of the Terai Jungle is nowadays patched with clearings for
tea gardens; for the Duars' tea is famous. Mixed with tea grown near
Darjeeling at an elevation of six thousand or seven thousand feet it
forms a favourite blend. But the sportsman, no matter how fond he may be
of the "cup that cheers," cannot view without regret the clearing away
of thousands of acres of forests that shelter big game. And an artist
would not consider the destruction of the giant, orchid-clad trees with
the festoons of swinging creepers compensated for by the stretches of
more profitable low green tea-bushes in symmetrical and orderly rows.
Nor do the other signs of man's handiwork on a tea garden compensate for
the natural beauties they replace. Hideous factories, gaunt drying and
engine-houses with stove-pipe like chimneys rising above corrugated iron
roofs, villages of dilapidated thatched huts sheltering the hundreds of
coolies employed on the estate, and the unbeautiful bungalows of the
Europeans in charge. For on each garden there are from one to four
Britishers. The larger ones have a manager, two assistants, and an
engineer; on the smaller ones the manager perhaps combines the functions
of the others in his own person.
A planter's life is a lonely one. The gardens are generally a few miles
apart. Men busy, especially in the gathering season, from dawn to dark
have little inclination to go visiting after the day's work is done,
even if the roads were better and freer from the danger of meeting a
wild elephant on them at night. But in each little district a club-house
is built in some central spot within comparatively easy reach of all the
gardens around. It is generally only a rough wooden shed; but in the
small clearing around it a few tennis courts, or perhaps a polo ground,
are made. And here once a week all the planters of the neighbourhood,
with an occasional lady or two among them, repair on horseback through
the jungle. There may be flooded rivers to cross, wild beasts to avoid;
but, unless writhing in the grip of the planters' plagues, malarial or
blackwater fever, all will be there on club day. Like the Bhuttias in
our village feast one of the number takes it in turn to act as host. He
sends over from his bungalow, miles away, crockery, glasses, a cold
lunch, and, possibly, tea. For planters are not fond of it as a
beverage. Then men, who have not seen another white face for a week,
foregather, do justice to the lunch, play tennis or polo, and take a
farewell drink or two when the setting sun warns them to depart. Then
into the saddle again and off by forest road and jungle track to another
week of loneliness and labour. What tales they have to tell of the wild
beasts they meet on their way home in the deepening gloom! But the
planter fears nothing except wild elephants; and not them if he is on
horseback and a good road. Two men from the same garden who used to
linger longest at the bar came one evening upon a tiger, another time
upon a fine specimen of the more dreaded Himalayan bear, right in their
path. They were unarmed, but their libations had added to their natural
courage. Without hesitation, they dug spurs into their unwilling ponies
and with demoniac yells charged straight at the astonished wild beasts.
In each case tiger or bear found this too much for his nerves and
promptly bolted into the jungle.
There are few finer bodies of men in the world than the planters of
India. Educated men, they lead the life of a _gaucho_. Hard riders, good
shots, keen sportsmen, they are the best volunteers we have in the
Indian Empire; and more than once some of them have worthily upheld the
fame of their class in war.
During the last Abor Expedition of 1912 several of the Assam Valley
Light Horse, a Planters' corps, gave up their posts and went to the
front as troopers.
It is well to be content with your lot. From our cool hills I used to
look down on the bright green patches of the gardens in the dark forests
below and pity the poor planters in the humid heat of the summer months.
But when I visited them I found that their sympathy went out to us in
Buxa. On one occasion my host pointed to the dark wall of hills on which
three tiny white specks, the Picquet Towers of my fort, shone out in the
sunlight. With a sigh of compassion he said:
"Whenever we look up there and think of you poor fellows shut up in that
isolated spot we pity you immensely and wonder how you can bear the
dreadful loneliness of it. Down here we are so much better off."
As he spoke we looked towards the mountains, and at that moment a dark
cloud was drawn like a pall across their face. Its black expanse was
rent by vivid lightning; and the hollow roll of distant thunder in the
hills told us that one of the frequent storms was raging over my little
Station, while we stood in brilliant sunshine. And certainly at the
moment Buxa looked a gloomy spot.
Tea growing seems a profitable industry. I heard of estates which paid
a profit of sixty per cent, and noticed with regret fresh inroads being
made in the forest for more ground to plant in. Of course with a new
garden one must wait five years or so for any return on the capital
invested. And the initial expenses of clearing and preparing the soil,
buying machinery and erecting factories, are great. The coolies must be
brought from a distance, as the country around is too sparsely populated
to supply a sufficiency of labour. And before quitting their houses they
demand an advance of pay to leave with their relatives, and not
infrequently abscond after getting the money. Each company sends a
recruiting agent to collect these coolies who are well paid according to
the Indian labour-market rates. And the father of a family is better off
than a bachelor; for women and children help to gather the leaves, and
each worker brings in his or her basket to be weighed, and payment is
made by results. One sees the mothers with their babies on their hips
moving among the bushes and plucking the tender green shoots. The whole
process of manufacturing, from the planting and pruning, the gathering
of the leaf, and the withering and drying, down to the packing of the
tea ready for the market is interesting. Little goes to waste. The
floors of the factories are regularly swept, and the tea-dust thus
collected is pressed into blocks to form the brick-tea popular in
Central Asia and used as currency in the absence of money.
But tea growing is not all profit. Sometimes a hailstorm ruins the
year's crop, frost blights the plants, and losses occur in other ways.
The planters rarely own their gardens, but are usually in the service of
companies in England. They are not overpaid; a manager in the Duars
generally receives six hundred rupees a month, together with a house,
allowances for his horse and certain servants which make his salary up
to another hundred, in all about forty-seven pounds. But an assistant
begins on less than twenty pounds a month. Engineers, who look after the
machinery, are better paid; and some economically minded companies
promote the engineer to be manager, and so save a salary. The expenses
of living are not great, and a frugal planter--if such a being
exists--can save money.
To those fond of an outdoor existence the work is pleasant enough. Early
in the morning manager and assistants mount their ponies and set out to
ride over the hundreds of acres of the estate, inspect the plants, visit
the nurseries, and watch the coolies at work among the bushes or
clearing the jungle. Then through the factory and, if it be the season,
see the baskets of leaves brought in and weighed. And back to a late
breakfast, where tea rarely finds its way to the table, and a siesta
until the afternoon calls them forth to ride round the garden again. It
sounds an easy life and idyllic, but the planters say it is not.
In any land the sight of the rich plains stretching away from the foot
of the barren hills is always a tempting sight to the fierce mountain
dwellers. And for the Bhutanese it must have been a sore struggle to
curb their predatory instincts and cease from their profitable descents
on the unwarlike inhabitants of Bengal. Wealth and women were the prizes
of the freebooter until the shield of the Briton was thrust between him
and his timorous prey. Yet even to-day, although their nation is at
peace with us, the temptation sometimes proves too much for lawless
borderers. And parties of raiders from across the frontier swoop down on
the Duars. A tea garden, when a store of silver coin is brought to pay
the wages of the hundreds of coolies, is their favourite mark. The few
police scattered far apart over the north of Eastern Bengal are
powerless to stop a rush of savage swordsmen who suddenly emerge from
the forest, loot the _bunniahs_ and the huts on a garden, and disappear
long before an appeal for succour can reach the nearest troops. With the
fear of the white man before their eyes they do not seek to meddle with
the Europeans in their factories and bungalows. But the fearless
planters do not imitate their forbearance. In one garden a terrified
coolie rushed to the manager's house to inform him that Bhuttias were
raiding the village. Without troubling to inquire the number of the
dacoits the planter called his one assistant; and taking their rifles
the two Englishmen mounted their ponies and galloped to the village.
They found it in the hands of about sixty Bhuttias, armed with _dahs_,
who were plundering right and left. The planters sprang from their
saddles and opened fire on them. The raiders, aghast at this unpleasant
interruption to their profitable undertaking, strove to show a bold
front. But the pitiless bullets and still more the calm courage of the
two white men daunted them; and they fled into the friendly shelter of
the forest. That garden was never attacked again.
I was surprised to learn that on such occasions the planters had never
sent information to the detachment at Buxa. But they told me that, as
they never saw anything of the troops there, they almost forgot their
existence. They added that the raiders came and went with such rapidity
that it was hopeless for infantry to try to catch them. I determined to
alter this state of affairs. So, shortly after our arrival, I took
almost all my men out on a ten days' march, lightly equipped, through
the jungle district to show that we were not tied to the fort and that
we could mobilise and move swiftly if needed. I also devised a scheme by
which, on the first intimation of a raid reaching me, mobile parties of
my detachment would dash off at once over the hills to secure all the
passes near and cut off the retreat of the invaders, while other
parties, descending into the forest, would shepherd them into their
hands.