AN ATTEMPT AT MUTINY
The entire food-supply for my men was now reduced to four pounds of
flour, two pounds of rice, and two pounds of _satoo_. This we gave to
the four men who were to attempt to enter Taklakot. Their journey would
be long and fatiguing. For us there were plenty of nettles to fall back
upon. For myself I had a small quantity of tinned provisions, but I
intended to keep these for worse days which, I feared, were in store for
me.
I carefully instructed the four Shokas how to enter the Tibetan fort one
by one in their disguises, and, in order to avoid suspicion, purchase
only in small quantities at a time the provisions we required. When a
sufficient amount was obtained to make one load, a man should
immediately start back for our camp. The others were to follow
separately for a few marches. At a given spot they would all four meet
again and return together to us. It was exciting work to prepare the
different disguises and arrange for everything. At last, after repeated
good-byes and words of encouragement, the four messengers left on their
perilous errand. All seemed quiet around us, so quiet that I unburied my
sextant and artificial horizon and was taking astronomical observations
when a herd of over a hundred yaks appeared on the pass north of our
camp, and slowly advanced toward us. Were we discovered? Were the
Tarjum's men coming, preceded by their animals? No time was to be lost.
Instruments and blankets were quickly cleared away and hidden. Crawling
up toward the animals, that had stopped on seeing us, we threw stones at
them in order to drive them down the next creek. We were just in time to
do this and return to our hiding-place when we saw, on the summit of the
pass and on the other side, a number of Tibetans following the yaks we
had driven away. The Tibetans passed only a couple of hundred yards
below us, evidently quite unaware of our presence. They were apparently
looking for our tracks, for they often stooped to examine the ground.
Later in the afternoon I went to reconnoitre down the Gyanema road, in
the hope of watching, unseen, the Tibetans who passed on their way to
and from Taklakot. I saw no soldiers. A strong band of brigands, driving
before them thousands of sheep and yaks, was an interesting sight. The
bandits rode ponies, and obeyed their leader smartly when, in a hoarse
voice, and never ceasing to turn his prayer-wheel, he muttered orders.
They went briskly along, women and men riding their ponies astride. The
men had matchlocks and swords. Each pony carried, besides its rider,
bags of food slung behind the saddle. I watched the long procession from
behind rocks, and felt somewhat relieved when the last horsemen, who
passed only some twenty yards from me, rode away with the rest of the
caravan. I retraced my steps. Judging that this camp was not quite so
safe as I had at first imagined, I proceeded, with the aid of my men,
to make a rough intrenchment and to erect a wall round the platform,
sheltered by the projecting rock under which we lived. These bulwarks
hid us from the sight of passing Tibetans, and were serviceable as
fortifications in case of a night attack. All our things were buried a
short distance above our camp.
Another long, dreary day had passed. We had used our last grain of salt.
Yet another day on nettles alone, and a third day and a fourth on the
same diet! How sick we got of nettles! The days seemed endless as, lying
on a peak above our camp, I remained hour after hour scanning with my
telescope the long plateau above the Gakkon River in search of our
expected messengers. Every time I saw men in the distance my heart
leaped, but on focussing them with my glass they turned out to be Jogpas
(bandits), or Dogpas (nomad tribes of smugglers), or travelling Humlis
or Jumlis, on their way to Gyanema and Gartok. As time went on and the
messengers did not put in an appearance, we began to entertain doubts as
to their safety. Would they betray us and never return? Or had they been
caught by the Jong Pen (the Master of the fort), and been imprisoned and
tortured?
My Indian servant declined to eat any more nettles. He said it was
better not to eat at all than to eat the same thing constantly. He
declared he could fast for ten days, and would make up for the lack of
food by sleeping.
My fortified abode was comfortable enough during the morning when the
sun shone on it. Often when the rock had absorbed a good deal of heat,
it got so warm that we had to abandon it in the middle of the day, when
the thermometer registered as much as 120 deg., 122 deg., and even 124
deg. From 1 P.M. till ten o'clock at night a bitter wind blew from the
south-east and seemed to get right into our bones. So cold was this
wind that the temperature suddenly dropped down to 60 deg., and even
lower, the moment the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and
continued to fall as low as 40 deg., 34 deg., and 32 deg. during the
night. One night we had a terrific gale and a snow-storm. Such was the
force of the wind that our wall was blown down upon us as we slept under
its shelter. The hours we had hoped to rest had to be spent in repairing
the damage done.
On the following morning we were gathering nettles for our meal when we
heard the distant tinkling of fast-approaching horse-bells. We quickly
put out the fires, hid our things, and hastened behind our bulwarks. I
seized my rifle. Chanden Sing loaded the Martini. A Shoka, who was too
far off to reach our fortified abode in time, screened himself behind
some rocks. In the nick of time! Half a dozen soldiers, with matchlocks
to which were attached red flags, were cantering gayly up the hillside
only a few yards in front of us. They were undoubtedly searching for me.
They looked in every direction, but fortunately never turned their eyes
toward the castle walls that concealed us. Perhaps they were expecting
to see a large European tent in one of the valleys, and never dreamed
that we should be where we were. We covered them well with our rifles,
but we had no occasion to fire. They rode on. The sound of their
horse-bells grew fainter and fainter as they disappeared on the other
side of the pass. These horsemen were probably soldiers despatched by
the Tarjum to guard this track. They were now on their way back to their
master, satisfied that the Englishman was not to be found in that part
of the country.
We named that spot "Terror Camp," for many and horrible were the
experiences that befell us there. Another weary day dragged slowly to
its close, and no sign of the messengers' return. Two men volunteered to
go into Kardam, a settlement some miles off. There they would try to
obtain food from the Tibetans. One of them had a friend at that place.
He would try to buy from him sufficient provisions to enable us to go on
a few days longer.
Disguised as pilgrims, a disguise not difficult to assume, for their
clothes were falling to pieces owing to the rough marching we had done
of late, the men started and were away the whole day. When they returned
late at night they had an amusing tale to tell. Meeting a tribe of
Dogpas, they had boldly entered their camp, asking to purchase food.
Unfortunately the Dogpas had not sufficient for themselves, and could
not spare any. Incidentally my men were informed that _Lando Plenki_
(the name the Tibetans had given me) had taken a large army of men into
Tibet. Great excitement prevailed at Taklakot as well as at other
places, owing to the fact that the Englishman had the strange power of
making himself invisible when the Tibetan soldiers were near him. He
had been heard of in many places in Tibet. Soldiers had been sent in all
directions to capture him. His tracks had several times been discovered
and followed. Yet he could never be found. Messengers had been hastily
sent out from Taklakot to Lhassa (sixteen days' journey), and to Gartok,
a great market in West Tibet, asking for soldiers to assist in the
capture of this strange invader, who was also said to have the power of
walking on water when crossing rivers and of flying over mountains when
he chose.
When I recalled our struggles and sufferings in climbing over the
mountains and in crossing the streams on our journey, this account of
myself given by the Tibetans, and now repeated to me, struck me as
almost cruelly ironical. I was pleased that the Tibetans credited me
with such supernatural powers, for it would keep them from getting too
close to us.
Three more long days were spent in painful anxiety regarding the fate of
our messengers. We feared that they had been captured and beheaded. We
had retired in despair to our fortress. It was 10 P.M. We were worn out
and ready to turn in. Our fire at the bottom of the creek was slowly
dying out. Nature around us was as still and silent as death. I suddenly
heard sounds of approaching steps. We listened, peeping through the
narrow openings in our wall. Were these Tibetans trying to surprise us
in our sleep or were they my men returning at last?
We closely watched the gorge from which the sounds came--yes, faint
sounds of voices and of footsteps. At last four staggering figures
crawled cautiously into camp. We could not even then discern in the dim
light whether they were our messengers or not.
"_Kuan hai?_" (Who is there?) I shouted.
"Dola!" replied a voice. We gave them a joyful and hearty greeting, but
our happiness was not to last long. The men did not respond. They seemed
quite exhausted and terrified. I asked them to explain the cause of
their distress. Sobbing and embracing my feet, they at first declined to
tell me. Grave, indeed, was the news they brought.
"Your days are numbered, sir!" at last cried Dola. "It is impossible for
you to get out of this country alive!... They will kill you! The Jong
Pen of Taklakot says he must have your head at any cost."
"Do not look so far ahead, Dola," I replied, trying to console him.
"Tell me, first, how you reached Taklakot?"
"Oh, sahib, we followed your plan. We suffered much on the road. The
marches were long and severe, and we had little food. We walked day and
night for two days, keeping away from the track, and hiding whenever we
saw any one. When we got near the Tibetan fort we saw, at the foot of
the hill, a few tents of Shokas from Nepal. None of the Shokas from
British Territory had been allowed to enter Tibet. A guard kept a sharp
lookout day and night in order to arrest anybody entering the country
from that side. Two fakirs, who were on a pilgrimage to the sacred
Mansarowar Lake, unaware of the danger, had crossed over the Lippu
Pass, and had proceeded down to Taklakot. They were immediately seized
and accused of being you, sir, in disguise. As the Tibetans were not
quite certain as to which of the two was the disguised Englishman, they
severely punished both, beating them almost to death. What became of
them we were unable to learn. The Tibetans afterward found out that you
had entered Tibet by another pass, and soldiers have been sent in every
direction to look for you.
"No sooner did we appear at Taklakot," sobbed Dola, "than we were
pounced upon, knocked about, and arrested. They cross-examined us
closely. We professed to be Johari traders who had run short of food,
and had made for Taklakot to buy provisions. They beat us and treated us
badly, until your friend Zeniram, the head village man of Chongur (in
Nepal), came to our rescue and gave thirty rupees surety for us. We were
then allowed to remain in his tent, guarded by Tibetan soldiers. We
secretly purchased from him and packed the provisions. At night Zeniram
succeeded in decoying the soldiers who were guarding us into his tent,
and gave them _choekti_ to drink until they became intoxicated. One by
one we four succeeded in escaping with our loads. For three nights we
marched steadily back, hiding during the day. Now we have returned to
you, sir."
Dola paused for a minute or two.
"Sir," he continued, "we were told in Taklakot that over a thousand
soldiers are searching for you everywhere. More are expected from Lhassa
and Sigatz,[5] whither the Jong Pen has hastily sent messengers. They
fear you, sir, but they have orders from Lhassa to capture you at any
cost. They say that you can make yourself invisible when you wish.
Exorcisms are made and prayers offered daily, so that in future you may
be seen and arrested. Once caught, they will have no pity on you. You
will be beheaded. The Jong Pen is angry with you, owing to the defiant
messages you sent him from Garbyang. He has given orders to the soldiers
to bring you back dead or alive. Whoever brings your head will receive a
reward of five hundred rupees."
"I had no idea my head was so valuable!" I could not help exclaiming. "I
shall take great care of it in the future."
In Tibet five hundred rupees represent a large fortune. The man
possessing such a sum is a rich man.
My men looked upon the whole affair as very serious.
I gave a handsome reward to the four men who had brought the provisions,
but that did not prevent all my Shokas declaring that the danger was so
great that they must leave me there and then. Appeals are useless on
such occasions. I simply said that I should shoot any man attempting to
leave camp. Having now provisions for ten days, I informed my men that
we must at sunrise push on.
Sulky and grumbling, the Shokas left the fortified corner and went below
to the creek. They said they preferred sleeping down there. I suspected
them. I sat up watching them and listening instead of sleeping. My
Indian servant rolled himself up in his blanket, and, as usual, was
soon asleep. The Shokas lighted a fire, sat around it, and with their
heads close together held an excited council in a half-whisper. In the
heated discussion some spoke louder than they imagined. The night being
particularly still, and the place well adapted for carrying sound, I
overheard words which put me on the alert. I soon convinced myself that
they were arranging to sell my head ... yes ... and to divide the money!
The men got closer together, and spoke so faintly that I could hear no
more. Then they each in turn placed one hand above the other along a
stick, until the end of it was reached; each man then passed it to his
neighbor, who went through the same performance; a queer kind of drawing
lots, common among the Shokas. Eventually the man selected by fate drew
from a load a large Gourkha knife, and removed its scabbard. I well
remember the moment when the men, with their faces lighted by the small
flame of the flickering fire, all looked up toward my aerie. Seen from
the fissure in the wall behind which I knelt, their countenances seemed
distorted and ghastly. They listened to hear if we were asleep. Then all
but one rolled themselves in their blankets, completely covering their
heads and bodies. The one figure I could now see sat up by the fire for
some time, as if thinking hard. Every now and then he turned his head up
toward my fortress and listened. At last he got up and, with his feet,
smothered the fire. It was a lovely night, and as soon as the reddish
flame was put out the stars shone like diamonds in the deep-blue sky.
I rested the barrel of my rifle on the wall, my eyes being fixed on the
black figure down below. Stooping low, the traitor crawled step by step
the few yards up to my abode, pausing to listen each time a rolling
stone caused a noise. He was now only two or three yards away. He seemed
to hesitate. Drawing back, and ready to spring up, I kept my eyes fixed
on the top of the wall. I waited some time, but the man was in no hurry.
I grew impatient.
I slowly got up, rifle in hand, and as I raised my head above the wall I
found myself face to face with the man on the other side. I lost no time
in placing the muzzle of my Mannlicher rifle close to his face. The
surprised Shoka, dropping his knife, went down on his knees and begged
my pardon. He received a good pounding with the butt of my rifle. I felt
I had better ascertain that no further disturbance took place during the
night. Two men attempted to crawl out of camp and desert, but I
discovered them and stopped them in time. At last the sun rose, and the
night ended with all its troubles and anxieties.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Usually called "Shigatze" on English maps.]