MANNERS AND CUSTOMS
Joldan, the Tibetan British postmaster in Leh, is a Christian of
spotless reputation. Every one places unlimited confidence in his
integrity and truthfulness, and his religious sincerity has been
attested by many sacrifices. He is a Ladaki, and the family property was
at Stok, a few miles from Leh. He was baptized in Lahul at twenty-three,
his father having been a Christian. He learned Urdu, and was for ten
years mission schoolmaster in Kylang, but returned to Leh a few years
ago as postmaster. His 'ancestral dwelling' at Stok was destroyed by
order of the wazir, and his property confiscated, after many
unsuccessful efforts had been made to win him back to Buddhism.
Afterwards he was detained by the wazir, and compelled to serve as a
sepoy, till Mr. Heyde went to the council and obtained his release. His
house in Leh has been more than once burned by incendiaries. But he
pursues a quiet, even course, brings up his family after the best
Christian traditions, refuses Buddhist suitors for his daughters,
unobtrusively but capably helps the Moravian missionaries, supports his
family by steady industry, although of noble birth, and asks nothing of
any one. His 'good morning' and 'good night,' as he daily passed my tent
with clockwork regularity, were full of cheery friendliness; he gave
much useful information about Tibetan customs, and his ready helpfulness
greatly facilitated the difficult arrangements for my farther journey.
[Illustration: A CHANG-PA WOMAN]
The Leh, which I had left so dull and quiet, was full of strangers,
traffic, and noise. The neat little Moravian church was filled by a
motley crowd each Sunday, in which the few Christians were
distinguishable by their clean faces and clothes and their devout air;
and the Medical Mission Hospital and Dispensary, which in winter have an
average attendance of only a hundred patients a month, were daily
thronged with natives of India and Kashmir, Baltis, Yarkandis, Dards,
and Tibetans. In my visits with Dr. Marx I observed, what was confirmed
by four months' experience of the Tibetan villagers, that rheumatism,
inflamed eyes and eyelids, and old age are the chief Tibetan maladies.
Some of the Dards and Baltis were lepers, and the natives of India
brought malarial fever, dysentery, and other serious diseases. The
hospital, which is supported by the Indian Government, is most
comfortable, a haven of rest for those who fall sick by the way. The
hospital assistants are intelligent, thoroughly kind-hearted young
Tibetans, who, by dint of careful drilling and an affectionate desire to
please 'the teacher with the medicine box,' have become fairly
trustworthy. They are not Christians.
In the neat dispensary at 9 a.m. a gong summons the patients to the
operating room for a short religious service. Usually about fifty were
present, and a number more, who had some curiosity about 'the way,' but
did not care to be seen at Christian worship, hung about the doorways.
Dr. Marx read a few verses from the Gospels, explaining them in a homely
manner, and concluded with the Lord's Prayer. Then the out-patients were
carefully and gently treated, leprous limbs were bathed and anointed,
the wards were visited at noon and again at sunset, and in the
afternoons operations were performed with the most careful antiseptic
precautions, which are supposed to be used for the purpose of keeping
away evil spirits from the wounds! The Tibetans, in practice, are very
simple in their applications of medical remedies. Rubbing with butter is
their great panacea. They have a dread of small-pox, and instead of
burning its victims they throw them into their rapid torrents. If an
isolated case occur, the sufferer is carried to a mountain-top, where he
is left to recover or die. If a small-pox epidemic is in the province,
the people of the villages in which it has not yet appeared place thorns
on their bridges and boundaries, to scare away the evil spirits which
are supposed to carry the disease. In ordinary illnesses, if butter
taken internally as well as rubbed into the skin does not cure the
patient, the _lamas_ are summoned to the rescue. They make a _mitsap_, a
half life-size figure of the sick person, dress it in his or her clothes
and ornaments, and place it in the courtyard, where they sit round it,
reading passages from the sacred classics fitted for the occasion. After
a time, all rise except the superior _lama_, who continues reading, and
taking small drums in their left hands, they recite incantations, and
dance wildly round the _mitsap_, believing, or at least leading the
people to believe, that by this ceremony the malady, supposed to be the
work of a demon, will be transferred to the image. Afterwards the
clothes and ornaments are presented to them, and the figure is carried
in procession out of the yard and village and is burned. If the patient
becomes worse, the friends are apt to resort to the medical skill of the
missionaries. If he dies they are blamed, and if he recovers the _lamas_
take the credit.
At some little distance outside Leh are the cremation grounds--desert
places, destitute of any other vegetation than the _Caprifolia horrida_.
Each family has its furnace kept in good repair. The place is doleful,
and a funeral scene on the only sunless day I experienced in Ladak was
indescribably dismal. After death no one touches the corpse but the
_lamas_, who assemble in numbers in the case of a rich man. The senior
_lama_ offers the first prayers, and lifts the lock which all Tibetans
wear at the back of the head, in order to liberate the soul if it is
still clinging to the body. At the same time he touches the region of
the heart with a dagger. The people believe that a drop of blood on the
head marks the spot where the soul has made its exit. Any good clothing
in which the person has died is then removed. The blacksmith beats a
drum, and the corpse, covered with a white sheet next the dress and a
coloured one above, is carried out of the house to be worshipped by the
relatives, who walk seven times round it. The women then retire to the
house, and the chief _lama_ recites liturgical passages from the
formularies. Afterwards, the relatives retire, and the corpse is carried
to the burning-ground by men who have the same tutelar deity as the
deceased. The leading _lama_ walks first, then come men with flags,
followed by the blacksmith with the drum, and next the corpse, with
another man beating a drum behind it. Meanwhile, the _lamas_ are praying
for the repose and quieting of the soul, which is hovering about,
desiring to return. The attendant friends, each of whom has carried a
piece of wood to the burning-ground, arrange the fuel with butter on the
furnace, the corpse wrapped in the white sheet is put in, and fire is
applied. The process of destruction in a rich man's case takes about an
hour. During the burning the _lamas_ read in high, hoarse monotones, and
the blacksmiths beat their drums. The _lamas_ depart first, and the
blacksmiths, after worshipping the ashes, shout, 'Have nothing to do
with us now,' and run rapidly away. At dawn the following day, a man
whose business it is searches among the ashes for the footprints of
animals, and according to the footprints found, so it is believed will
be the re-birth of the soul.
Some of the ashes are taken to the _gonpos_, where the _lamas_ mix them
with clay, put them into oval or circular moulds, and stamp them with
the image of Buddha. These are preserved in _chod-tens_, and in the
house of the nearest relative of the deceased; but in the case of 'holy'
men, they are retained in the _gonpos_, where they can be purchased by
the devout. After a cremation much _chang_ is consumed by the friends,
who make presents to the bereaved family. The value of each is carefully
entered in a book, so that a precise return may be made when a similar
occasion occurs. Until the fourth day after death it is believed to be
impossible to quiet the soul. On that day a piece of paper is inscribed
with prayers and requests to the soul to be quiet, and this is burned by
the _lamas_ with suitable ceremonies; and rites of a more or less
elaborate kind are afterwards performed for the repose of the soul,
accompanied with prayers that it may get 'a good path' for its re-birth,
and food is placed in conspicuous places about the house, that it may
understand that its relatives are willing to support it. The mourners
for some time wear wretched clothes, and neither dress their hair nor
wash their faces. Every year the _lamas_ sell by auction the clothing
and ornaments, which are their perquisites at funerals[1].
[1] For these and other curious details concerning Tibetan customs I am
indebted to the kindness and careful investigations of the late Rev. W.
Redslob, of Leh, and the Rev. A. Heyde, of Kylang.
The Moravian missionaries have opened a school in Leh, and the wazir,
finding that the Leh people are the worst educated in the country,
ordered that one child at least in each family should be sent to it.
This awakened grave suspicions, and the people hunted for reasons for
it. 'The boys are to be trained as porters, and made to carry burdens
over the mountains,' said some. 'Nay,' said others, 'they are to be sent
to England and made Christians of.' [All foreigners, no matter what
their nationality is, are supposed to be English.] Others again said,
'They are to be kidnapped,' and so the decree was ignored, till Mr.
Redslob and Dr. Marx went among the parents and explained matters, and a
large attendance was the result; for the Tibetans of the trade route
have come to look upon the acquisition of 'foreign learning' as the
stepping-stone to Government appointments at ten rupees per month.
Attendance on religious instruction was left optional, but after a time
sixty pupils were regularly present at the daily reading and explanation
of the Gospels. Tibetan fathers teach their sons to write, to read the
sacred classics, and to calculate with a frame of balls on wires. If
farther instruction is thought desirable, the boys are sent to the
_lamas_, and even to the schools at Lhassa. The Tibetans willingly
receive and read translations of our Christian books, and some go so far
as to think that their teachings are 'stronger' than those of their
own, indicating their opinions by tearing pages out of the Gospels and
rolling them up into pills, which are swallowed in the belief that they
are an effective charm. Sorcery is largely used in the treatment of the
sick. The books which instruct in the black art are known as 'black
books.' Those which treat of medicine are termed 'blue books.' Medical
knowledge is handed down from father to son. The doctors know the
virtues of many of the plants of the country, quantities of which they
mix up together while reciting magical formulas.
[Illustration: CHANG-PA CHIEF]
I was heartily sorry to leave Leh, with its dazzling skies and abounding
colour and movement, its stirring topics of talk, and the culture and
exceeding kindness of the Moravian missionaries. Helpfulness was the
rule. Gergan came over the Kharzong glacier on purpose to bring me a
prayer-wheel; Lob-sang and Tse-ring-don-drub, the hospital assistants,
made me a tent carpet of _yak's_ hair cloth, singing as they sewed; and
Joldan helped to secure transport for the twenty-two days' journey to
Kylang. Leh has few of what Europeans regard as travelling necessaries.
The brick tea which I purchased from a Lhassa trader was disgusting. I
afterwards understood that blood is used in making up the blocks. The
flour was gritty, and a leg of mutton turned out to be a limb of a goat
of much experience. There were no straps, or leather to make them of, in
the bazaar, and no buckles; and when the latter were provided by Mr.
Redslob, the old man who came to sew them upon a warm rug which I had
made for Gyalpo out of pieces of carpet and hair-cloth put them on
wrongly three times, saying after each failure, 'I'm very foolish.
Foreign ways are so wonderful!' At times the Tibetans say, 'We're as
stupid as oxen,' and I was inclined to think so, as I stood for two
hours instructing the blacksmith about making shoes for Gyalpo, which
kept turning out either too small for a mule or too big for a
dray-horse.
I obtained two Lahul muleteers with four horses, quiet, obliging men,
and two superb _yaks_, which were loaded with twelve days' hay and
barley for my horse. Provisions for the whole party for the same time
had to be carried, for the route is over an uninhabited and arid desert.
Not the least important part of my outfit was a letter from Mr. Redslob
to the headman or chief of the Chang-pas or Champas, the nomadic tribes
of Rupchu, to whose encampment I purposed to make a _détour_. These
nomads had on two occasions borrowed money from the Moravian
missionaries for the payment of the Kashmiri tribute, and had repaid it
before it was due, showing much gratitude for the loans.
Dr. Marx accompanied me for the three first days. The few native
Christians in Leh assembled in the gay garden plot of the lowly
mission-house to shake hands and wish me a good journey, and not a few
who were not Christians, some of them walking for the first hour beside
our horses. The road from Leh descends to a rude wooden bridge over the
Indus, a mighty stream even there, over blazing slopes of gravel
dignified by colossal _manis_ and _chod-tens_ in long lines, built by
the former kings of Ladak. On the other side of the river gravel slopes
ascend towards red mountains 20,000 feet in height. Then comes a rocky
spur crowned by the imposing castle of the Gyalpo, the son of the
dethroned king of Ladak, surmounted by a forest of poles from which
flutter _yaks'_ tails and long streamers inscribed with prayers. Others
bear aloft the trident, the emblem of Siva. Carefully hewn zigzags,
entered through a much-decorated and colossal _chod-ten_, lead to the
castle. The village of Stok, the prettiest and most prosperous in Ladak,
fills up the mouth of a gorge with its large farm-houses among poplar,
apricot, and willow plantations, and irrigated terraces of barley; and
is imposing as well as pretty, for the two roads by which it is
approached are avenues of lofty _chod-tens_ and broad _manis_, all in
excellent repair. Knolls, and deeply coloured spurs of naked rock, most
picturesquely crowded with _chod-tens_, rise above the greenery,
breaking the purple gloom of the gorge which cuts deeply into the
mountains, and supplies from its rushing glacier torrent the living
waters which create this delightful oasis.
The _gopa_ came forth to meet us, bearing apricots and cheeses as the
Gyalpo's greeting, and conducted us to the camping-ground, a sloping
lawn in a willow-wood, with many a natural bower of the graceful
_Clematis orientalis_. The tents were pitched, afternoon tea was on a
table outside, a clear, swift stream made fitting music, the dissonance
of the ceaseless beating of gongs and drums in the castle temple was
softened by distance, the air was cool, a lemon light bathed the
foreground, and to the north, across the Indus, the great mountains of
the Leh range, with every cleft defined in purple or blue, lifted their
vermilion peaks into a rosy sky. It was the poetry and luxury of travel.
At Leh I was obliged to dismiss the _seis_ for prolonged misconduct and
cruelty to Gyalpo, and Mando undertook to take care of him. The animal
had always been held by two men while the _seis_ groomed him with
difficulty, but at Stok, when Mando rubbed him down, he quietly went on
feeding and laid his lovely head on the lad's shoulder with a soft
cooing sound. From that moment Mando could do anything with him, and a
singular attachment grew up between man and horse.
Towards sunset we were received by the Gyalpo. The castle loses nothing
of its picturesqueness on a nearer view, and everything about it is trim
and in good order. It is a substantial mass of stone building on a lofty
rock, the irregularities of which have been taken most artistic
advantage of in order to give picturesque irregularity to the edifice,
which, while six storeys high in some places, is only three in others.
As in the palace of Leh, the walls slope inwards from the base, where
they are ten feet thick, and projecting balconies of brown wood and grey
stone relieve their monotony. We were received at the entrance by a
number of red _lamas_, who took us up five flights of rude stairs to the
reception room, where we were introduced to the Gyalpo, who was in the
midst of a crowd of monks, and, except that his hair was not shorn, and
that he wore a silver brocade cap and large gold earrings and bracelets,
was dressed in red like them. Throneless and childless, the Gyalpo has
given himself up to religion. He has covered the castle roof with
Buddhist emblems (not represented in the sketch). From a pole, forty
feet long, on the terrace floats a broad streamer of equal length,
completely covered with _Aum mani padne hun_, and he has surrounded
himself with _lamas_, who conduct nearly ceaseless services in the
sanctuary. The attainment of merit, as his creed leads him to
understand it, is his one aim in life. He loves the seclusion of Stok,
and rarely visits the palace in Leh, except at the time of the winter
games, when the whole population assembles in cheery, orderly crowds, to
witness races, polo and archery matches, and a species of hockey. He
interests himself in the prosperity of Stok, plants poplars, willows,
and fruit trees, and keeps the castle _manis_ and _chod-tens_ in
admirable repair.
Stok Castle is as massive as any of our mediaeval buildings, but is far
lighter and roomier. It is most interesting to see a style of
architecture and civilisation which bears not a solitary trace of
European influence, not even in Manchester cottons or Russian gimcracks.
The Gyalpo's room was only roofed for six feet within the walls, where
it was supported by red pillars. Above, the deep blue Tibetan sky was
flushing with the red of sunset, and from a noble window with a covered
stone balcony there was an enchanting prospect of red ranges passing
into translucent amethyst. The partial ceiling is painted in arabesques,
and at one end of the room is an alcove, much enriched with bold wood
carving.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF STOK]
The Gyalpo was seated on a carpet on the floor, a smooth-faced, rather
stupid-looking man of twenty-eight. He placed us on a carpet beside
him, and coffee, honey, and apricots were brought in, but the
conversation flagged. He neither suggested anything nor took up Dr.
Marx's suggestions. Fortunately, we had brought our sketch-books, and
the views of several places were recognised, and were found interesting.
The _lamas_ and servants, who had remained respectfully standing, sat
down on the floor, and even the Gyalpo became animated. So our visit
ended successfully.
There is a doorway from the reception room into the sanctuary, and after
a time fully thirty _lamas_ passed in and began service, but the Gyalpo
only stood on his carpet. There is only a half light in this temple,
which is further obscured by scores of smoked and dusty bannerets of
gold and silver brocade hanging from the roof. In addition to the usual
Buddhist emblems there are musical instruments, exquisitely inlaid, or
enriched with _niello_ work of gold and silver of great antiquity, and
bows of singular strength, requiring two men to bend them, which are
made of small pieces of horn cleverly joined. _Lamas_ gabbled liturgies
at railroad speed, beating drums and clashing cymbals as an
accompaniment, while others blew occasional blasts on the colossal
silver horns or trumpets, which probably resemble those with which
Jericho was encompassed. The music, the discordant and high-pitched
monotones, and the revolting odours of stale smoke of juniper chips, of
rancid butter, and of unwashed woollen clothes which drifted through the
doorway, were overpowering. Attempted fights among the horses woke me
often during the night, and the sound of worship was always borne over
the still air.
Dr. Marx left on the third day, after we had visited the monastery of
Hemis, the richest in Ladak, holding large landed property and
possessing much metallic wealth, including a _chod-ten_ of silver and
gold, thirty feet high, in one of its many halls, approached by
gold-plated silver steps and incrusted with precious stones; there is
also much fine work in brass and bronze. Hemis abounds in decorated
buildings most picturesquely placed, it has three hundred _lamas_, and
is regarded as 'the sight' of Ladak.
At Upschi, after a day's march over blazing gravel, I left the rushing
olive-green Indus, which I had followed from the bridge of Khalsi, where
a turbulent torrent, the Upshi water, joins it, descending through a
gorge so narrow that the track, which at all times is blasted on the
face of the precipice, is occasionally scaffolded. A very extensive
rock-slip had carried away the path and rendered several fords
necessary, and before I reached it rumour was busy with the peril. It
was true that the day before several mules had been carried away and
drowned, that many loads had been sacrificed, and that one native
traveller had lost his life. So I started my caravan at daybreak, to get
the water at its lowest, and ascended the gorge, which is an absolutely
verdureless rift in mountains of most brilliant and fantastic
stratification. At the first ford Mando was carried down the river for a
short distance. The second was deep and strong, and a caravan of
valuable goods had been there for two days, afraid to risk the crossing.
My Lahulis, who always showed a great lack of stamina, sat down, sobbing
and beating their breasts. Their sole wealth, they said, was in their
baggage animals, and the river was 'wicked,' and 'a demon' lived in it
who paralysed the horses' legs. Much experience of Orientals and of
travel has taught me to surmount difficulties in my own way, so,
beckoning to two men from the opposite side, who came over shakily with
linked arms, I took the two strong ropes which I always carry on my
saddle, and roped these men together and to Gyalpo's halter with one,
and lashed Mando and the guide together with the other, giving them the
stout thongs behind the saddle to hold on to, and in this compact mass
we stood the strong rush of the river safely, the paralysing chill of
its icy waters being a far more obvious peril. All the baggage animals
were brought over in the same way, and the Lahulis praised their gods.
At Gya, a wild hamlet, the last in Ladak proper, I met a working
naturalist whom I had seen twice before, and 'forgathered' with him much
of the way. Eleven days of solitary desert succeeded. The reader has
probably understood that no part of the Indus, Shayok, and Nubra
valleys, which make up most of the province of Ladak, is less than 9,500
feet in altitude, and that the remainder is composed of precipitous
mountains with glaciers and snowfields, ranging from 18,000 to 25,000
feet, and that the villages are built mainly on alluvial soil where
possibilities of irrigation exist. But Rupchu has peculiarities of its
own.
Between Gya and Darcha, the first hamlet in Lahul, are three huge
passes, the Toglang, 18,150 feet in altitude, the Lachalang, 17,500, and
the Baralacha, 16,000,--all easy, except for the difficulties arising
from the highly rarefied air. The mountains of the region, which are
from 20,000 to 23,000 feet in altitude, are seldom precipitous or
picturesque, except the huge red needles which guard the Lachalang Pass,
but are rather 'monstrous protuberances,' with arid surfaces of
disintegrated rock. Among these are remarkable plateaux, which are taken
advantage of by caravans, and which have elevations of from 14,000 to
15,000 feet. There are few permanent rivers or streams, the lakes are
salt, beside the springs, and on the plateaux there is scanty
vegetation, chiefly aromatic herbs; but on the whole Rupchu is a desert
of arid gravel. Its only inhabitants are 500 nomads, and on the ten
marches of the trade route, the bridle paths, on which in some places
labour has been spent, the tracks, not always very legible, made by the
passage of caravans, and rude dykes, behind which travellers may shelter
themselves from the wind, are the only traces of man. Herds of the
_kyang_, the wild horse of some naturalists, and the wild ass of others,
graceful and beautiful creatures, graze within gunshot of the track
without alarm.
I had thought Ladak windy, but Rupchu is the home of the winds, and the
marches must be arranged for the quietest time of the day. Happily the
gales blow with clockwork regularity, the day wind from the south and
south-west rising punctually at 9 a.m. and attaining its maximum at
2.30, while the night wind from the north and north-east rises about 9
p.m. and ceases about 5 a.m. Perfect silence is rare. The highly
rarefied air, rushing at great speed, when at its worst deprives the
traveller of breath, skins his face and hands, and paralyses the baggage
animals. In fact, neither man nor beast can face it. The horses 'turn
tail' and crowd together, and the men build up the baggage into a wall
and crouch in the lee of it. The heat of the solar rays is at the same
time fearful. At Lachalang, at a height of over 15,000 feet, I noted a
solar temperature of 152°, only 35° below the boiling point of water in
the same region, which is about 187°. To make up for this, the mercury
falls below the freezing point every night of the year, even in August
the difference of temperature in twelve hours often exceeding 120°! The
Rupchu nomads, however, delight in this climate of extremes, and regard
Leh as a place only to be visited in winter, and Kulu and Kashmir as if
they were the malarial swamps of the Congo!
[Illustration: FIRST VILLAGE IN KULU]
We crossed the Toglang Pass, at a height of 18,150 feet, with less
suffering from _ladug_ than on either the Digar or Kharzong Passes.
Indeed Gyalpo carried me over it, stopping to take breath every few
yards. It was then a long dreary march to the camping-ground of Tsala,
where the Chang-pas spend the four summer months; the guides and baggage
animals lost the way and did not appear until the next day, and in
consequence the servants slept unsheltered in the snow. News travels
as if by magic in desert places. Towards evening, while riding by a
stream up a long and tedious valley, I saw a number of moving specks on
the crest of a hill, and down came a surge of horsemen riding furiously.
Just as they threatened to sweep Gyalpo away, they threw their horses on
their haunches, in one moment were on the ground, which they touched
with their foreheads, presented me with a plate of apricots, and the
next vaulted into their saddles, and dashing up the valley were soon out
of sight. In another half-hour there was a second wild rush of horsemen,
the headman dismounted, threw himself on his face, kissed my hand,
vaulted into the saddle, and then led a swirl of his tribesmen at a
gallop in ever-narrowing circles round me till they subsided into the
decorum of an escort. An elevated plateau with some vegetation on it, a
row of forty tents, 'black' but not 'comely,' a bright rapid river, wild
hills, long lines of white sheep converging towards the camp, _yaks_
rampaging down the hillsides, men running to meet us, and women and
children in the distance were singularly idealised in the golden glow of
a cool, moist evening.
Two men took my bridle, and two more proceeded to put their hands on my
stirrups; but Gyalpo kicked them to the right and left amidst shrieks of
laughter, after which, with frantic gesticulations and yells of
'_Kabardar!_' I was led through the river in triumph and hauled off my
horse. The tribesmen were much excited. Some dashed about, performing
feats of horsemanship; others brought apricots and dough-balls made with
apricot oil, or rushed to the tents, returning with rugs; some cleared
the camping-ground of stones and raised a stone platform, and a flock of
goats, exquisitely white from the daily swims across the river, were
brought to be milked. Gradually and shrinkingly the women and children
drew near; but Mr. ----'s Bengali servant threatened them with a whip,
when there was a general stampede, the women running like hares. I had
trained my servants to treat the natives courteously, and addressed some
rather strong language to the offender, and afterwards succeeded in
enticing all the fugitives back by showing my sketches, which gave
boundless pleasure and led to very numerous requests for portraits! The
_gopa_, though he had the oblique Mongolian eyes, was a handsome young
man, with a good nose and mouth. He was dressed like the others in a
girdled _chaga_ of coarse serge, but wore a red cap turned up over the
ears with fine fur, a silver inkhorn, and a Yarkand knife in a chased
silver sheath in his girdle, and canary-coloured leather shoes with
turned-up points. The people prepared one of their own tents for me, and
laying down a number of rugs of their own dyeing and weaving, assured me
of an unbounded welcome as a friend of their 'benefactor,' Mr. Redslob,
and then proposed that I should visit their tents accompanied by all the
elders of the tribe.