CAPTURED
In the night I heard noises several times. I went out of my tent to look
for the disturbers, but failed to discover any one. This had become my
nightly experience, and I attached little importance to these sounds.
In the morning Ando and two or three Tibetans came to sell us provisions
and ponies. While my two servants and I were engaged in purchasing what
we required, I saw a number of villagers approaching in groups. Some
spun wool, others carried bags of _tsamba_ and flour, while others led a
number of ponies. Having purchased provisions to last us a couple of
months, we began the selection of mounts. Naturally my servants and
myself were overjoyed at our unexpected luck, after sufferings and
privations of all kinds, in finding ourselves confronted with abundance
of everything we could possibly desire. Chanden Sing and Mansing, who
were sportsmen of the very first order, delighted at the prospect of
getting animals, rode first one pony and then another to suit
themselves. Chanden Sing, having selected a handsome beast, called me to
examine it before paying over the purchase-money. Unsuspecting of foul
play, and also because it would not have been convenient to try the
various lively ponies with my rifle slung over my shoulder, I walked
unarmed to the spot, about a hundred yards away from my tent, where the
restless animal was being held for my inspection. The natives followed
behind me, but such a thing being common in any country when one buys a
horse in public, I thought nothing of it. As I stood with my hands
behind my back, I well recollect the expression of delight on Chanden
Sing's face when I approved of his choice. As is generally the case on
such occasions, the people collected in a crowd behind me expressed in a
chorus their gratuitous opinion on the superiority of the steed
selected. I had just stooped to examine the pony's fore legs when I was
suddenly seized from behind by several persons, who grabbed me by the
neck, wrists, and legs, and threw me down on my face. I struggled and
fought until I shook off some of my assailants and regained my feet; but
others rushed up, and I was surrounded by some thirty men, who attacked
me from every side. They clung to me with all their might, and succeeded
in grabbing again my arms, legs, and head. Exhausted as I was, they
knocked me down three more times, but each time I regained my feet. I
fought to the bitter end with my fists, feet, head, and teeth. Each time
I got one hand or leg free from their clutches, I hit right and left at
any part where I could disable my opponents. Their timidity, even when
in such overwhelming numbers, was indeed beyond description. It was
entirely due to it, and not to my strength, for I had hardly any left,
that I was able to hold my own against them for some twenty minutes. My
clothes were torn in the fight. Long ropes were thrown at me from every
side. I became so entangled in them that my movements were impeded. One
rope which they flung and successfully twisted round my neck completed
their victory. They pulled hard at it from the two ends, and while I
panted and gasped with the exertion of fighting, they tugged and tugged
in order to strangle me. I felt as if my eyes would shoot out of my
head. I was suffocating. My sight became dim. I was in their power.
Dragged down to the ground, they stamped, and kicked, and trampled upon
me with their heavy nailed boots until I was stunned. Then they tied my
wrists tightly behind my back; they bound my elbows, my chest, my neck,
and my ankles. I was a prisoner!
[Illustration: PURCHASING PONIES]
They lifted me and made me stand up. Brave Chanden Sing had been
struggling with all his might against fifteen or twenty foes, and had
disabled several of them. He had been pounced upon at the same moment
that I was, and had fought gallantly until, like myself, he had been
entangled, thrown down, and secured with ropes. During my struggle I
heard him call out repeatedly: "_Banduk, banduk, Mansing; jaldi,
banduk!_" (Rifle, rifle, Mansing; quick, my rifle!) but, alas, poor
Mansing the leper, the weak and jaded coolie, had been sprung upon by
four powerful Tibetans, who held him pinned to the ground as if he had
been the fiercest of bandits. Mansing was a philosopher. He had saved
himself the trouble of even offering a resistance; but he, too, was
ill-treated, beaten, and tightly bound. At the beginning of the fight a
shrill whistle had brought up four hundred[10] armed soldiers who had
lain in ambush round us, concealed behind the innumerable sand-hills
and in the depressions in the ground. They took up a position round us
and covered us with their matchlocks.
All was now over, and, bound like a criminal, I looked round to see what
had become of my men. When I realized that it took the Tibetans five
hundred men,[11] all counted, to arrest a starved Englishman and his two
half-dying servants, and that, even then, they dared not do it openly,
but had to resort to abject treachery; when I found that these soldiers
were picked troops from Lhassa and Sigatz (_Shigatze_), dispatched on
purpose to arrest our progress and capture us, I could not repress a
smile of contempt for those into whose hands we had at last fallen.
My blood boiled when, upon the order of the Lama, who the previous night
had professed to be our friend, several men advanced and searched our
pockets. They rifled us of everything we possessed. Then they began
overhauling our baggage. The watches and chronometer were looked upon
with suspicion, their ticking causing curiosity and even anxiety. They
were passed round, and mercilessly thrown about from one person to the
other until they stopped ticking. They were then pronounced "dead." The
compasses and aneroids, which they could not distinguish from watches,
were soon thrown aside, as "they had no life in them." Great caution was
displayed in touching our rifles, which were lying on our bedding when
the tent had been torn down.
[Illustration: I WAS A PRISONER]
Fears were entertained lest the rifles should go off unexpectedly. It
was only on my assurance (which made our captors ten times more
cautious) that they were not loaded, that at last they took them and
registered them in the catalogue of our confiscated property. I had upon
me a gold ring that my mother had given me when I was a child. I asked
permission to retain it. With their superstitious nature they
immediately thought that it had occult powers, like the wands one reads
of in fairy tales.
A man called Nerba, who later on played an important part in our
sufferings, was intrusted with the ring, and was warned never to let me
see it again. It was heartbreaking, as we three prisoners sat bound and
held down by guards, to see the Lamas and officers handle all our things
so roughly that they spoiled nearly all they touched. Particularly
disgusting was their avidity when, in searching the pockets of the coat
I wore daily, and which I had not put on that morning, they found a
quantity of silver coins, some eight hundred rupees in all. Officers,
Lamas, and soldiers made a grab for the money, and when order was
re-established only a few coins remained where the sum had been laid
down. Other moneys which they found in one of my loads met with a
similar fate. Among the things arousing the greatest curiosity was an
india-rubber pillow fully blown out. The soft, smooth texture of the
india-rubber seemed to take their fancy. One after the other they rubbed
their cheeks on the cushion, exclaiming at the pleasant sensation it
gave them. In playing with the brass screw by which the cushion was
inflated, they gave it a turn, and the imprisoned air found its way out
with a hissing noise. This created quite a panic among the Tibetans.
Their superstitious minds regarded this hissing as an evil omen.
Naturally I took advantage of any small incident of this kind to work
judiciously on their superstitions and to frighten the natives as much
as I could.
The Tibetans, having examined all except my water-tight cases of
instruments, photographic plates, and sketches, seemed so upset at one
or two things that happened, and at some remarks I made, that they
hurriedly sealed up my property, which they had placed in bags and
wrapped in blankets. They ordered the things to be placed on yaks and
brought into the guard-house of the settlement. This done, they tied the
end of the ropes that bound our necks to the pommels of their saddles,
and, having loosed our feet, they sprang on their ponies and rode off,
with shouts, hisses, and cries of victory, firing their matchlocks in
the air, and dragging us prisoners into the settlement.
On reaching the settlement, my last words to my men before we were
separated were: "No matter what they do to you, do not let them see that
you suffer." They promised to obey me. We were conveyed to different
tents.
I was dragged to one of the larger tents, inside and outside of which
soldiers were placed on guard. They were at first sulky, and rough in
their manner and speech. I always made a point of answering them in a
collected and polite fashion. I had on many previous occasions noticed
that nothing carries one further in dealings with Asiatics than to keep
calm and cool. I felt confident that if we were ever to get out of our
present scrape, it would be by maintaining a perfectly impassive
demeanor in face of anything that might happen.
[Illustration: DRAGGED INTO THE SETTLEMENT]
The tent being kept closed, I was unable to see what was taking place
outside, but I could hear the noise of people rushing here and there.
Orders were shouted, and the continuous tinkling of the soldiers'
horse-bells as they galloped past the tent made me conclude that the
place must be in a state of turmoil. I had been some three hours in the
tent when a soldier entered and ordered me out.
"They are going to cut off his head," said he to his comrades. Turning
round to me, he made a significant gesture with his hand across his
neck.
"_Nikutza_" (All right), said I, dryly.
It must not be forgotten that, when a Tibetan hears words to that
effect, he usually goes down on his knees and begs for mercy with tears,
and sobs, and prayers in profusion. So it is not surprising that the
Tibetans were somewhat astonished at my answer. They seemed puzzled as
to what to make of it. I was led out with more reluctance than firmness.
During the time I had been shut up a huge white tent with blue ornaments
had been pitched in front of the mud house. Round it were hundreds of
soldiers and villagers--a most picturesque sight.
As I was led nearer I perceived that the front of the tent was wide
open. Inside stood a great number of red Lamas, with shaven heads, and
long woollen tunics. The soldiers stopped me when I was about twenty
yards from the tent. Additional ropes were added to those already
cutting into my wrists, elbows, and chest, and the others were made
tighter. I perceived Chanden Sing led forward. Instead of taking me
before the Lamas, they pushed me to the back of the mud house to prevent
my seeing the scene that followed. I heard Chanden Sing being
interrogated in a loud, angry tone of voice, and accused of having been
my guide. Next I heard wild shouts from the crowd, then a dead silence.
A few instants later I was horrified. I listened--yes, it was the
snapping noise of a lash, followed by hoarse moans from my poor servant,
to whom they were evidently applying it.
I counted the strokes, the sickening noise of which is still well
impressed on my memory, as they regularly and steadily fell one after
the other, to twenty, to thirty, forty, and fifty. Then there was a
pause.
A number of soldiers now came for me. I was first led, then pushed
violently before the tribunal.
On a high seat in the centre of the tent sat a man wearing ample
trousers of gaudy yellow and a short yellow coat with flowing sleeves.
On his head he had a huge four-pointed hat, gilt all over, and with
three great eyes painted on it. He was young-looking. His head was clean
shaven, as he was a Lama of the highest order, a Grand Lama and a
_Pombo_, or Governor of the province, with powers equivalent to those of
a feudal king. On his right stood a stout, powerful red Lama who held a
huge double-handed sword. Behind him, and at the sides, were a number of
other Lamas, officers and soldiers. As I stood silent, and held my head
high before him, two or three Lamas rushed at me and ordered me to
kneel. They tried to compel me to do so by forcing me on my knees, but I
succeeded in remaining standing.
The Pombo, who was furious at my declining to kneel before him,
addressed me in words that sounded violent; but, as he spoke classical
Tibetan, and I only the colloquial language, I could not understand a
word he said. I meekly asked him not to use such fine words, as they
were unintelligible to me.
The great man was taken aback at this request. With a frown on his face,
he pointed to me to look to my left. The soldiers and Lamas drew aside,
and I beheld Chanden Sing lying flat on his face, stripped from the
waist down, in front of a row of Lamas and military men. Two powerful
Lamas, one on each side of him, began again to chastise him with knotted
leather thongs weighted with lead, laying on their strokes with vigorous
arms from his waist to his feet. He was bleeding all over. Each time
that a lash fell on his wounded skin, so great was my sorrow that it
gave me a pain more intense than if a dagger were stuck into my chest,
but I never betrayed my feelings. I knew Orientals too well to show any
pity for the man, as this would only have involved a more severe
punishment for him. So I looked on at his torture as one would upon a
thing of every-day occurrence. The Lamas near me shook their fists under
my nose, and explained that my turn would come next. I smiled and
repeated the usual "_Nikutza, nikutza_" (Very good, very good).
The Pombo and his officers were puzzled. I could see it plainly by their
faces.
The Pombo, an effeminate, juvenile, handsome person, almost hysterical
in manner, seemed a splendid subject for hypnotic experiments. I had a
good reason to think this. As we shall see later, he had already often
been under mesmeric influence. He remained with his eyes fixed upon
mine, as if in a trance, for certainly over two minutes.
There was a wonderful and sudden change in the man. His voice, arrogant
and angry a few moments before, was now soft and apparently kindly. The
Lamas around him were evidently concerned at seeing their lord and
master transformed from a foaming fury into the quietest of lambs. They
seized me and brought me out of his sight to the spot where Chanden Sing
was being chastised. Here again I could not be compelled to kneel, so at
last I was allowed to squat down before the Pombo's officers.
Two Lamas produced my note-books and maps, and proceeded to question me
closely, saying that, if I spoke the truth, I should be spared;
otherwise I should be flogged and then beheaded.
I answered that I would speak the truth, whether they punished me or
not.
Dressed in a gaudy red silk coat, with gold embroidery at the collar,
one of the Lamas, a great big brute who had taken part in the flogging
of Chanden Sing, told me I must say "that my servant had shown me the
road across Tibet, and that he had drawn the maps and sketches." If I
stated this, they were willing to release me and have me conveyed back
to the frontier, promising to do me no further harm. They would cut my
servant's head off, that was all, but no personal injury would be
inflicted on me.
I explained clearly to the Lamas that I alone was responsible for the
maps and sketches, and for finding my way so far into the Forbidden
Land. I repeated several times, slowly and distinctly, that my servant
was innocent, and that therefore there was no reason to punish him. He
had only obeyed my orders in following me to Tibet, and I alone, not my
two servants, was to be punished if anybody was punishable.
The Lamas were angry at this. One of them struck me violently on the
head with the butt-end of his riding-crop. I pretended not to notice it,
though it made my scalp ache to quite an appreciable extent.
"Then we shall beat you and your man until you say what we want!" the
Lama exclaimed, angrily.
"You can beat us if you like," I replied, with assurance, "but if you
punish us unjustly it will go against yourselves. You can tear our skin
off, you can make us bleed to death, but you cannot make us feel pain."
Ando, the traitor, who spoke Hindustani fluently, acted as interpreter
whenever there was a hitch in our conversation. With what I knew of the
Tibetan language, and with this man's help, everything was explained as
clearly as possible to the Tibetans. Notwithstanding this, they
continued to lash mercilessly my poor servant. In his agony he was
biting the ground as each blow fell on him tearing away patches of skin
and flesh. Chanden Sing behaved heroically. Not a word of complaint nor
a prayer for mercy came from his lips. He said that he had spoken the
truth, and had nothing more to say. Watched intently by all the Lamas
and soldiers, I sat with affected calm before this scene of cruelty,
until, angry at my indifference, order was given to the soldiers that I
should be dragged away. Again they led me behind the mud house, from
where I could distinctly hear the angry cries of the Lamas
cross-examining Chanden Sing and those dreadful sounds of the lash still
being administered on my poor servant.
It began to rain heavily. This was lucky for us, for in Tibet, as in
China, a shower has a great effect upon the people. Even massacres have
been known to be postponed until the rain stopped.
Such was the case that day. The moment the first drops fell, the
soldiers and Lamas rushed here, there, and everywhere inside the tents.
I was hastily dragged to the most distant tent of the settlement, which
became packed with the soldiers in whose charge I had been given.
[Illustration: CHANDEN SING BEING FLOGGED]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 10: The Lamas stated afterward that this was the number.]
[Footnote 11: Counting Lamas, villagers, and soldiers.]