THE LAST PREPARATIONS
Captain Patterson was now Joint-Commissioner of the province of Ladak.
He received me from the first with the greatest hospitality and
kindness, and was one of the finest men I have ever come in contact
with. Having a thorough knowledge of India, Ladak, and Tibet, he was
able to give me valuable hints and advice, and was untiring in assisting
to equip the great caravan, the object of which was still, officially,
Eastern Turkestan, without overstepping his instructions by a hair's
breadth. I found in him a true friend, and after dinner, which I always
took at eight o'clock in the evening, we often sat together till long
after midnight, talking of the future of Asia and the doings of the
world.
[Illustration: 30. MUHAMED ISA.]
Sir Francis Younghusband had recommended to me a well-known caravan
leader, Muhamed Isa. I had seen him in Kashgar and Srinagar, and knew
that he had been present at the murder of the French explorer, Dutreuil
de Rhins, on June 5, 1894. During about thirty years he had travelled in
most parts of Central Asia, and was also acquainted with many parts of
Tibet. Besides a number of shorter journeys which he had accomplished in
the service of various sahibs, he had also been Carey's and Dalgleish's
caravan leader on their great march through Central Asia, and had served
a couple of years under Dutreuil de Rhins. He accompanied Younghusband
on his famous march over the Mustagh Pass (1887), and had been his
caravan leader in the campaign to Lhasa (1903-1904). On Ryder's and
Rawling's journey in the valley of the upper Brahmaputra he had had the
management of the baggage caravan. During all these journeys he had
acquired experience which might be very useful to me, and I gratefully
accepted Younghusband's proposal, especially as Captain Patterson, in
whose service Muhamed Isa then was, did not hesitate to place him at my
disposal. Besides, Muhamed Isa spoke fluently Turki, Tibetan, and
Hindustani, and wished for nothing better than to accompany me. Without
knowing that he had been warmly recommended, he had earnestly begged his
master to allow him to enter my service (Illustration 30).
His father was a man of Yarkand, his mother a Lamaist of Leh. The mixed
race of such unions is called Argon, and is generally distinguished by
physical power and extraordinarily well-developed muscular structure.
Muhamed Isa also was a fine man, tall and strong as a bear, with great
power of endurance, reliable and honest, and after a few days' journey
with him I found that my caravan could not have been entrusted to better
hands. That the first crossing of Tibet was so successful was due in
great measure to his services. He kept splendid discipline among the
men, and if he were sometimes strict, it was for the good of the
caravan, and he permitted no neglect of duty.
He entertained Robert and myself, and even the caravan men, for hours
together with tales of his fortunes and his adventures in the service of
other Europeans, criticising some of his former masters without much
reserve. The remembrance of Dutreuil de Rhins especially seemed to
affect him; he frequently returned to his account of the attack made on
the unfortunate Frenchman. He was also a good boaster, and declared that
once in midwinter he had carried a letter in ten days from Yarkand to
Leh, with all his provisions on his back--a journey that an ordinary
mortal takes a month to accomplish. But there was no harm in his
exaggerations; he was always witty and amusing, always cheerful and
ready for a joke, and kept up the spirits of the rest in depressing
circumstances. Poor Muhamed Isa! How little we suspected, when he and I
set out together, that he would never return to his wife and home!
I had scarcely taken possession of my new dwelling in Leh when Muhamed
Isa appeared with a pleasant, kindly "Salaam, Sahib."
"Peace be with you," I answered; "you have not changed much in all the
years since we met in Kashgar. Are you disposed to accompany me on a
journey of two years through the high mountains?"
"I wish nothing better, and the Commissioner Sahib has allowed me to
report myself to you for service. But I should like to know whither we
are to travel."
"We are going northwards to Eastern Turkestan; you will hear about our
further movements when we have left the last villages behind."
"But I must know the details of your plan because of the preparations."
"You must take provisions for horses and men for three months, for it
may happen that we shall be so long without coming into contact with
human beings."
"Then, surely, we must be making for Tibet--that is a country I know as
well as my house in Leh."
"What are your terms?"
"Forty rupees a month, and an advance of two hundred rupees to leave
with my wife at starting."
"All right! I take you into my service, and my first order is: buy about
sixty strong horses, complete our store of provisions so that it may
last three months, and get together the necessary equipment for the
caravan."
"I know very well what we want, and will have the caravan ready to march
in ten days. But let me suggest that I be allowed to choose the
servants, for I know the men here in Leh, and can tell which are fit for
a long trying journey."
"How many do you want to manage the caravan?"
"Five-and-twenty men."
"Very well, engage them; but you must be responsible that only useful,
honest men enter my service."
"You may depend on me," said Muhamed Isa, and added, that he knew it to
be to his own interest to serve me well.
During the following days Muhamed Isa was always on his feet, looking
out for horses. It was not advisable for many reasons to buy them all at
once--for one thing, because the prices would then rise; so we bought
only five or six each day. As, however, the peasants from the first
asked exorbitantly high prices, a commission of three prominent Ladakis
was appointed, who determined the real value of the horses offered for
sale. If the seller were satisfied with the assessment, he was paid at
once, and the horse was led to his stall in our open stable. Otherwise,
the seller went away, but usually returned next day.
Altogether 58 horses were bought, and Robert made a list of them: 33
came from various villages in Ladak, 17 from Eastern Turkestan, 4 from
Kashmir, and 4 from Sanskar. The Sanskar horses are considered the best,
but are difficult to get. The Ladak horses, too, are good, for, being
bred in the mountains, they are accustomed to rarefied air and poor
pasture; they are small and tough. The Turkestan horses have, as a rule,
less power of endurance, but we had to take them for want of better, and
all ours had crossed the Karakorum Pass (18,540 feet) once or oftener.
As the horses were bought they were numbered in the list, and this
number on a strip of leather was fastened to the mane of the horse.
Afterwards I compiled a list of the dead, as they foundered, in order to
ascertain their relative power of resistance. The first that died was a
Sanskar, but that was pure chance--he died some days after we marched
out of Leh, of acute disease. Later on the losses were greatest among
the Yarkand horses. The prices varied considerably, from 37 to 96
rupees, and the average price was 63 rupees. A horse at 95 rupees fell
after three weeks; another, that cost exactly half, carried me a
year-and-a-half. The commission was very critical in its selection, and
Muhamed Isa inspected every four-legged candidate before it was
accepted. As a rule we did not hesitate to take horses ten or twelve
years old; the tried horses were more reliable than the younger ones,
though these often appeared much more powerful. But not one of them all
was to return from Tibet; the lofty mountains let none of their prey
escape. "Morituri te salutant," said Captain Patterson forebodingly, as
the first caravan passed out of Leh.
The caravan, then, consisted of 36 mules and 58 horses. It is always
hard at the last to make up one's mind to start; after a few days we
should find ourselves in country where we could procure nothing but what
grows of itself on the ground. Certainly we were in the very best
season; the summer grass was now in the greatest luxuriance, but it
would soon become more scanty, and in about ten days we should reach a
height where there was no pasturage. Therefore it was necessary to take
as much maize and barley as possible with us, and here a difficulty came
in: we durst not overburden the animals with too heavy loads, for then
the strength of the caravan would be broken in the first month, while,
in the second month, it would come to grief if we should find ourselves,
as was most probable, in a barren country. And as the days pass, the
stores diminish and come to an end just when they are most wanted. In
the first weeks we had the ascent to the border region of the Tibetan
plateau before us, and had consequently to expect the most troublesome
country to traverse just at the commencement of the journey. Therefore
our first marches were short, and all the shorter because the loads were
heavier. This is a pretty complicated problem for an army commissariat.
After consultation with Muhamed Isa I resolved to hire an auxiliary
caravan of 30 horses from Tankse to accompany us for the first month and
then return. Hence arose a financial problem. The men of Tankse asked 35
rupees a month for each horse, or 1050 rupees in all; of course they ran
great risk, and I must therefore undertake to pay 30 rupees for every
horse that fell on the outward journey, and 10 rupees for one that fell
on the return home. In the worst case, then, the cost would amount to
1950 rupees. On the other hand, if I bought these horses at 60 rupees a
head, the total expenditure would be 1800 rupees, and the horses would
belong to me. Then the old problem was repeated: I should have to take
fodder for these thirty horses, and engage ten men to attend to them,
and for these men provisions must be obtained. After many pros and cons
we at length decided to hire the horses only, for then their owners
would accompany them at their own risk and supply themselves with
rations carried by seven yaks. The provisions for the first month were
to be taken from our own animals, to lighten their loads and economize
their strength; for a horse or mule always gets tired at the beginning
of the journey, and must be spared. But if one of the hired horses
became exhausted, its owner was at liberty to send it home before the
expiration of the month.
As forage and grazing was dear in Leh, we sent off as early as August
10, 35 mules and 15 horses with their loads, and 15 men and a
_chaprassi_, to Muglib, which lies beyond Tankse and has good pastures.
Sonam Tsering, whom Captain Rawling had strongly recommended, was chosen
as leader of this caravan. He received 100 rupees for the expenses of
the caravan. Muhamed Isa accompanied it part of the way to see that
everything went on smoothly.
A few days after his engagement Muhamed Isa presented to me 25 men, who,
he proposed, should enter my service. There was no difficulty in finding
men willing to come; all Leh would have followed me if wanted. The
difficulty was to make a proper choice, and appoint only serviceable men
who could fill their posts and understood their duties.
It was a solemn moment when the main body of the caravan assembled in my
garden, but the spectacle had its humorous side when Muhamed Isa, proud
as a world-conqueror, stepped forward and mustered his legions. At my
request Captain Patterson was present to have a look at the fellows; he
now delivered a short address, and impressed on them how important it
was for their own sakes to serve me honestly. Their pay was fixed at 15
rupees a month, and half a year's pay was advanced to them. The Rev. Mr.
Peter was so kind as to undertake to distribute the money to their
families. Lastly, I promised each a present of 50 rupees for good
behaviour, and bound myself to guarantee their journey home to Leh, with
expenses, from whatever place we might separate.
In the course of my narrative I shall have abundant opportunities of
introducing these men individually to my readers. Besides Sonam Tsering,
already mentioned, who had served under Deasy and Rawling, I will here
name old Guffaru, a greyheaded man with a long white beard, who
thirty-three years ago accompanied Forsyth's embassy to Jakub Bek of
Kashgar. He had seen the great Bedaulet ("the fortunate one") in all his
pomp and state, and had many tales of his experiences on Forsyth's
famous journey. I at first hesitated to take with me a man of sixty-two,
but he begged so earnestly; he was, he said, Muhamed Isa's friend, and
he was so poor that he could not live if I did not employ him. He had
the forethought to pack up a shroud that he might be buried decently if
he died on the way. That everything should be properly managed in such
case, and that his outstanding pay might be transmitted to his family,
he took his son, Kurban, with him. But Guffaru did not perish, but was
in excellent condition all the time he was with me (Illustration 31).
Another, on whom I look back with great sympathy and friendly feeling,
was Shukkur Ali. I had known him in 1890 in Kashgar, where he was in
Younghusband's service, and he, too, remembered that I had once drawn
him in his master's tent. He was so unconsciously comical that one
almost died of laughter as soon as he opened his mouth, and he was my
oldest acquaintance among this group of more or less experienced
Asiatics. He had taken part in Wellby's journey, and gave us the most
ghastly descriptions of the sufferings the captain, who afterwards fell
in the Boer War, and his caravan had to endure in North Tibet, when all
the provisions were consumed and all the animals had perished. A year
later he shared in my boating trips on the holy lake, Manasarowar, and
was as useful as he was amusing. Shukkur Ali was an honest soul, and a
stout fellow, who did his work without being told, quarrelled with no
one, and was ready and willing for any kind of service. He was always in
the highest spirits, even during a violent storm in the middle of the
lake, and I saw him weep like a child on two occasions only--at the
grave of Muhamed Isa, and when we said the last good-bye.
[Illustration: 31. GUFFARU.]
These three were Mohammedans, as their names show. The caravan contained
eight sons of Islam in all; the leader, Muhamed Isa, was the ninth. The
other seventeen were Lamaists. Then came two Hindus, a Catholic, Manuel,
and two Protestants, Robert and myself. I will not vouch for the
religious convictions of the Lamaists. As regards some among them, I
found that they sometimes changed their religion. For instance, Rabsang,
when he travelled to Yarkand, was a Mohammedan and shaved his head, but
on the way to Tibet he was just as zealous a believer in Lamaism.
The oldest of my companions was Guffaru, sixty-two, and the youngest
Adul, twenty-two, and the average age of the whole company was
thirty-three years. Eleven of these men came from Leh, the others from
different villages of Ladak. Only one was a foreigner, the Gurkha Rub
Das from the frontier of Nepal. He was quiet and faithful, and one of my
very best men. It was a pity he had no nose; in a hot scuffle in Lhasa
an opponent had bitten off that important and ornamental organ.
I may pass quickly over the equipment; it is always the same. For the
men rice, flour, _talkan_, or roasted meal, which is eaten mixed with
water, and brick tea in bulk were taken. For myself several hundred tins
of preserved meat, tea, sugar, tobacco, etc., all provided by the
merchant Mohanlal, whose bill came to 1700 rupees. New pack-saddles,
ropes, frieze rugs, horse-shoes, spades, axes and crowbars, bellows,
cooking-pots, copper cans, and the cooking utensils of the men with
other articles cost nearly a thousand rupees. The pack-saddles we had
bought in Srinagar were so bad that we had to have new ones made, and
Muhamed Isa enlisted some twenty saddlers, who sewed all day under the
trees of the garden. But everything was ready in time and was of
first-rate quality. Captain Patterson declared that a better-found
caravan had never left Leh. How stupid I had been to linger so long in
Srinagar and associate with the lazy gentlemen of the Maharaja.
Everything that came from there was either exorbitantly dear or useless.
Only the mules were good. Yet I always remember my sojourn in Srinagar
with feelings of great thankfulness and pleasure.
The Moravian missionaries in Leh rendered me invaluable service. They
received me with the same hospitality and kindness as before, and I
passed many a memorable hour in their pleasant domestic circle. Pastor
Peter had endless worries over my affairs; he managed both now and
afterwards all the business with the new retainers. Dr. Shawe, the
physician of the Mission, was an old friend I had known on my former
journey, when he treated my sick cossack, Shagdur, in the excellent
Mission Hospital. Now, too, he helped me both by word and deed. He died
in Leh a year later, after a life devoted to suffering humanity.
Many of my dearest recollections of the long years I have spent in Asia
are connected with the Mission stations, and the more I get to know
about the missionaries the more I admire their quiet, unceasing, and
often thankless labours. All the Moravians I met in the western
Himalayas are educated to a very high standard, and come out
exceptionally well prepared for the work before them. Therefore it is
always very stimulating and highly instructive to tarry among them, and
there is none among the Europeans now living who can vie with these
missionaries in their knowledge of the Ladak people and their history. I
need only mention Dr. Karl Marx and Pastor A. H. Francke as two men who
are thoroughly at home in strictly scientific archæological
investigation.
Some young coxcombs, to whom nothing is sacred, and whose upper storeys
are not nearly so well furnished as those of the missionaries, think it
good form to treat the latter with contemptuous superiority, to find
fault with them, to sit in judgment on them, and pass sentence on their
work in the service of Christianity. Whatever may be the result of their
thankless toil, an unselfish struggle for the sake of an honest
conviction is always worthy of admiration, and in a time which abounds
in opposing factors it seems a relief to meet occasionally men who are
contending for the victory of light over the world. In Leh the
missionaries have a community which they treat with great gentleness
and piety, for they know well that the religion inherited from their
fathers has sunk deep into the bone and marrow of the natives, and can
only be overcome by cautious, patient labour. Even the Ladakis who never
visit the Mission stations always speak well of the missionaries, and
have a blind confidence in them, for apart from their Mission work they
exercise an effect by their good example. The Hospital is made great use
of, and medical science is a sure way of access to the hearts of the
natives.
During the last days of my stay in Leh I saw my old friends again, Mr.
and Mrs. Ribbach, in whose hospitable house I had spent many pleasant
winter evenings four years ago.
One day Captain Patterson proposed that I should go with him to call on
the wealthy merchant Hajji Nazer Shah. In a large room on the first
floor, with a large window looking over the Indus valley, the old man
sat by the wall, on soft cushions, with his sons and grandsons around
him. All about stood chests full of silver and gold-dust, turquoise and
coral, materials and goods which would be sold in Tibet. There is
something impressively patriarchal about Hajji Nazer Shah's commercial
house, which is managed entirely by himself and his large family. This
consists of about a hundred members, and the various branches of the
house in Lhasa, Shigatse, Gartok, Yarkand, and Srinagar are all under
the control of his sons, or their sons. Three hundred years ago the
family migrated from Kashmir to Ladak. Hajji Nazer Shah is the youngest
of three brothers; the other two were Hajji Haidar Shah and Omar Shah,
who died some years ago leaving numerous sons behind them.
The real source of their wealth is the so-called Lopchak mission, of
which they possess a monopoly. In accordance with a treaty nearly 200
years old, the kings of Ladak sent every third year a special mission to
the Dalai Lama, to convey presents which were a token of subjection to
the supremacy of Tibet, at any rate in spiritual matters. However, after
Soravar Sing, Gulab Sing's general, conquered Ladak in 1841 and annexed
the greater part of this country to Kashmir, the Maharaja of Kashmir
took over the duty of carrying out the Lopchak mission, and always
entrusted it to one of the noblest, most prominent families of Ladak.
For some fifty years this confidential post has been in the family of
Nazer Shah, and has been a source of great profit to them, especially as
several hundred baggage animals are provided for the mission gratis, for
the journey from Leh to Lhasa. A commercial agent is also sent yearly
from Lhasa to Leh, and he enjoys the same transport privileges.
The mission had left eight months before under the charge of one of the
Hajji's sons. Another son, Gulam Razul, was to repair in September to
Gartok, where he is the most important man in the fair. I asked him
jokingly if I might travel with him, but Hajji Nazer Shah replied that
he would lose the monopoly if he smuggled Europeans into Tibet. Gulam
Razul, however, offered me his services in case I should be in the
neighbourhood of Gartok, and I afterwards found that this was not a mere
polite speech. He will play a most important part in this narrative.
After my return to India I had an opportunity of drawing attention in
high quarters to the importance to English interests of his commercial
relations in Tibet, and I warmly recommended him as a suitable candidate
for the much-coveted title of Khan Bahadur, which he, indeed, received,
thanks to the kind advocacy of Colonel Dunlop Smith.
Now, too, he rendered me many valuable services; perhaps the greatest
was to take a considerable sum in Indian paper in exchange for cash,
part of which consisted of a couple of bags of Tibetan _tengas_, which
proved very useful four months later.
The old Hajji was a fine Mohammedan of the noblest type. He obeyed
faithfully the commands of the Koran, and five times daily tottered into
the mosque to perform his devotions. He had more than enough of the good
things of this world, for his extensive business connections brought him
in yearly a net profit of 25,000 rupees, and his name was known and
respected throughout the interior of Asia. Before my return he had left
the stage and taken possession of his place, with his face turned
towards Mecca, in the Mohammedan graveyard outside the gate of Leh.
[Illustration: 32. THE RAJA OF STOK.
33. PORTAL OF THE PALACE IN LEH.
34. VIEW OVER THE INDUS VALLEY FROM THE ROOF OF THE PALACE IN LEH.
35. LAMA OF HIGH RANK IN LEH.
Sketches by the Author.]
The small town itself is full of the most attractive and fascinating
examples of Tibetan architecture. On all sides are seen quiet nooks with
motley figures, temple portals, mosques, houses rising one above
another, and open shops, whither customers flock; and the traffic became
brisker every day after the summer caravans from Yarkand over the
Kardang Pass began to arrive at Leh. Round the town stands a crescent of
bare, lumpy, sun-lighted hills; to the south and south-east the dry
gravelly plain slopes down to the Indus, where a series of villages
among green fields and woods impart some life to the picture. On the
farther side is seen the Stokpa, a lofty summit, below which the village
Stokpa peeps out of a valley mouth. Here resides an ex-king of the third
generation, the Raja of Stok, whose grandfather ruled as king of Ladak
but was deprived by Soravar Sing of his dignity and State.
The Raja of Stok, or, to give him his full name and title, Yigmet Kungak
Singhei Lundup Thinlis Zangbo Sodnam Nampar Gelvela, Yagirdar of the
state of Stok, awakes one's sympathy in his somewhat sad position; he is
evidently painfully sensitive of the loss of the honour and power which
fate has denied him. He was on a visit to Leh, for he owns an
unpretending but pretty house in the main street. The Tibetans still
look upon him as the true and rightful king, while the ruler of the
country, the Maharaja of Kashmir, is only a usurper in their eyes. We
therefore concluded that a letter of recommendation from this Raja of
Stok might be very useful some day or other. He was evidently flattered
by my request and quite ready to grant it. In his open letter he ordered
"all men in Tibet of whatever rank, from Rudok, Gartok, and Rundor to
Shigatse and Gyantse, to allow Sahib Hedin to pass freely and
unmolested, and to render him all necessary assistance." This highly
important document, with the date and the red square seal of the Raja
affixed, was afterwards read by many Tibetan chieftains, on whom it made
not the slightest impression. They quietly answered: "We have only to
obey the orders of the Devashung in Lhasa." (Illustration 32.)
The old palace of Leh stands on its rock like a gigantic monument of
vanished greatness. From its roof one has a grand view of the town, the
Indus valley, and the great mountains beyond the river. In the
foreground stretch fields of wheat and barley, still staringly green
amidst the general grey, small groups of garden trees, groves of poplar,
farm-houses, and small knobly ridges, while the dreary Mohammedan
graveyard stands out sharply and obtrusively in the evening sunshine.
Immediately below us lies a chaos of quadrangular houses of stone or
mud, with wooden balconies and verandahs, interrupted only by the main
street and the lanes branching out of it. On the point of a rock to the
east is seen a monastery, for which a lama gave the name of Semo-gungma.
Semo-yogma stands in the palace itself. The temple hall here is called
Diva, and the two principal images Guru and Sakya-tubpa, that is,
Buddha. The portal of the palace with its pillars has a very picturesque
effect. Through this portal you enter a long, dark, paved entrance and
then pass up a stone staircase and through gloomy passages and
corridors, with small offshoots running up to balcony windows; in the
interior, however, you roam about through halls all equally dark. No one
dwells now in this phantom castle, which fancy might easily make the
scene of the most extravagant ghost stories. Only pigeons, which remain
for ever young among the old time-worn monuments, coo out their
contentment and cheerfulness (Illustrations 28, 29, 33, 34).
Still the palace, in spite of its decay, looks down with royal pride on
the town far below, with its industry and commercial activity, and on
this central point on the road between Turkestan and India. The wind
sweeps freely over its roof, its flat terraces, and breastwork with
prayer strips flapping and beating against their sticks. A labyrinth of
steep lanes lead up to it. Wherever one turns, the eye falls on some
picturesque bit: whole rows of _chhortens_, one of which is vaulted over
the road, small temples and Lama houses, huts and walls.
[Illustration: 36. MONUMENTS TO STOLICZKA AND DALGLEISH, LEH.]
On the hill behind Captain Patterson's bungalow lies a burial-ground
with the graves of five Europeans: the names Stolicza and Dalgleish
especially attract our attention. Over Stolicza's grave a grand monument
has been erected. The inscription on a tablet in front informs us
that he was born in June 1838 and died in June 1874 at Murgoo, near the
Karakorum Pass. The Indian Government erected the memorial in 1876 as a
mark of respect and gratitude for the service which Stolicza had
rendered during the journey of Forsyth's embassy. The same inscription
is repeated on the other side in Latin. Dalgleish's tombstone is
simpler, but is also adorned with a tablet of cast-iron. He was born in
1853 and was murdered on the Karakorum Pass in 1888. Both terminated
their life pilgrimage in the same country high above the rest of the
world, and both sleep their last sleep under the same poplars and
willows. Now the evening sun gilded the mountain crests, reddish-yellow
light fell on the graves and the trunks of the poplars, a gentle wind
murmured softly through the tree-tops, and spoke in a melancholy whisper
of the vanity of all things; and a short time later, when the lamps in
the Government buildings had been lighted, champagne corks popped at the
farewell dinner given by Captain Patterson to another pilgrim who had
not yet ended his lonely wanderings through the wide wastes of Asia
(Illustration 36).