From Khela on the Nepalese boundary, where I found my men and pony—the
latter had been safely taken back across the dangerous Nerpani road—I
proceeded in all haste to Almora. I varied my journey slightly,
travelling by way of Thal.
The roar of British officials had been very great while I was distant,
so I halted several days both in Almora and Naini-Tal, the summer seat
of the Provincial Government, in order to give them opportunity of
carrying out some of their threats. Nothing happened.
By way of Bombay I returned to England, and from there I sailed
directly to America, on my way to the Chinese War.
Perhaps the journey, requiring as it did more than ordinary endurance,
did more to strengthen my former theories about travelling attendants
than any journey I had taken before. I invariably found that thoughtful
and tactful kindness with my men and with strangers always paid better
than harsh treatment. It is all very well for the leader of an
expedition not to mind this, and not to feel that, and, if anything,
rather enjoy the fun of roughing it. The interest which he—if of even
moderate intelligence—must take in the study of the country, the
natives, recording his scientific observations, surveying,
photographing, writing up his notes, etc., leave him but little time to
worry over climatic conditions or the cooking. But not so with the
native followers, who after their day’s work is finished—and pretty
tedious their day’s work is—have nothing to employ their minds except
the thought that another day of hardship is to follow. The mind preys a
good deal upon the entire system, and when to mental depression you add
every possible bodily inconvenience you can think of, it is not
unnatural that the men are inclined to break down.
First of all, naturally, I took great care to have my men well fed and
clothed, then the next and most important was to prevent them getting
depressed when great difficulties were facing them. Many evenings, when
we did not make night marches, I used to collect my men round my tent
and entertained them with long descriptions of things in Europe they
had never seen, such as ocean steamers, “sky-scrapers,” railways,
electric light, etc.
I am rather sorry that, this publication being illustrated entirely by
drawings done by hand, I am not able to give an interesting photograph
of a group of my followers whom I snapshotted as I was describing to
them the wonders of civilisation. The expressions of wonderment and
keen interest were quite intense, and show clearly in the photograph.
The men always looked for these nightly lectures, and no matter how
tired they were they generally collected round for me to tell them
more. This, I think, helped more to keep my men in good spirits—in very
exasperating circumstances—than anything I could think of. Every topic
would lead to endless discussions among them, and most amusing
controversies, which enlivened their spirits, anyhow till the next
lecture.
Natives always take the keenest interest in firearms and anything
connected with them. Also in telescopes, which they love. I happened to
possess a little camera which was not unlike a spy-glass. I had given
it to one of my men to carry—by the way, to the fellow who saved my
life on the top of Lumpa Mountain. He could not get it out of his head
that it was a glass, and once or twice I caught him trying to survey
the landscape with it.
One evening, on my way down to Almora, we had reached camp, and as I
was sitting outside my tent I perceived the fellow walking away with my
camera towards a cluster of trees some way off on the top of a hillock.
I watched him with the corner of my eye. When he got there he climbed
right to the top of the highest tree, and as he clung with his folded
legs to the branch, swinging to and fro in the wind, he unslung the
camera and pulled it out of its case. Next, as I expected, he brought
it up to his eyes and proceeded to scan the landscape. Unhappily for
the camera, the branch, having swung rather too far beyond its limit of
elasticity, gave way, and down came the man and precious instrument,
bounding from branch to branch until they bumped with some might upon
the solid ground—the man, of course, on the top of the camera. The
camera he picked up in fragments, besides destroying eighteen excellent
negatives it contained.
“What on earth did you do that for?” I asked of the Shoka.
“Sahib,” he said, rubbing his aching side, “I have longed for many a
day to look through the durbin; we Shokas are to leave you to-morrow,
and I thought I would have no other opportunity. You can kill me,
sahib, because I deserve it!”
When I thought of the deep debt of gratitude I owed this man, I
preferred to spare him. I handed him a real and powerful telescope,
properly focussed, for him to have the treat he wished. When he gazed
through it and saw the distant snows and a village some miles off
appear quite close, his excitement had no bounds, and when he
recognised people coming out of the houses his amazement was very
curious to watch.
We had many, many amusing incidents of this kind, and they served to
pass away the time.
I cannot end this book without paying a tribute to the faithfulness,
endurance, and bravery of all my men. A more devoted lot of fellows
could nowhere have been procured. I never had the slightest trouble in
any way with them even, as we have seen, under most trying
circumstances. The work demanded of them was of the most severe nature,
and the constant strain and bodily sufferings so great, that I rather
doubt whether I know of any white man who could have stood it—not as
they did, but even half as well. As it was, after the strain was
over—but not before—the poor fellows all broke down, except one. Most
of them were pitiably footsore and exhausted, and only their strong
will carried them through. The only exception was the young boy, frail
and delicate, almost girlish-looking—but with a determined little
face—to whom I have referred at the beginning of the book. As
stipulated when I employed him, he always carried the heaviest load,
and when physically stronger men lay down tired at the end of a march,
he was ever ready to run about to collect fuel, took endless pleasure
in helping to pitch the tents, and assist in the cooking. The endurance
and courage of that little fellow were quite marvellous. He did more
work than two men taken together, and at the end of the journey he was
the only one who returned in excellent condition, and as fresh as
possible.
So that, remember, it is not always the big, bulky, muscular fellows
who can stand more hardships,—the strongest and most muscular fellow I
had was the only one who succumbed; on the contrary, down to a certain
limit, for very hard work, the smaller the men you employ the better.
Wiriness, suppleness, agility—and intelligence—are essential, and
always to be preferred to brutal, uncontrollable strength; but, above
all, use your judgment, and never take with you on expeditions of this
sort a man who does not possess a strong will.