LED TO THE FRONTIER
When all was ready, Mansing and I were led on foot to Toxem. Our guard
consisted of some fifty horsemen. We had to travel at a great speed
despite our severely lacerated feet, our aching bones, and the sores and
wounds with which we were covered all over. The soldiers led me tied by
the neck like a dog, and dragged me along when, panting, exhausted, and
suffering, I could not keep up with the ponies. We crossed several cold
streams, sinking in water and mud up to our waists.
At Toxem, to my delight, I beheld Chanden Sing still alive. He had been
kept prisoner in the mud house, where he had remained tied upright to a
post for over three days. For four days he had eaten no food nor drunk
anything. He was told that I had been beheaded. He was in a dreadful
condition--almost dying from his wounds, cold, and starvation.
We were detained for the night in one of the rooms of the mud house. The
place was packed with soldiers who gambled the whole night, and sang and
swore and fought, preventing us from sleeping for even a few minutes. We
were half choked by the smoke from the fire.
The next day at sunrise Chanden Sing and I were placed on yaks, not on
riding-saddles, but on wooden pack-saddles. Poor Mansing was made to
walk, and was beaten mercilessly when, tired and worn, he fell or
remained behind. Finally they tied a rope round his neck and dragged him
along in a most brutal manner. A strong guard prevented our escaping.
The soldiers demanded fresh relays of yaks and ponies, and food for
themselves, at all the encampments, so that we travelled fast. In the
first five days we covered one hundred and seventy-eight miles, the two
longest marches being, respectively, forty-two and forty-five miles.
Afterward we did not march quite so quickly.
We suffered considerably on these long marches. The soldiers ill-treated
us, and would not allow us to eat every day for fear we should get too
strong. They let us have food only every two or three days. Our
exhaustion and the pain caused by riding those wretched yaks in our
wounded condition were terrible.
All our property had been taken away from us. Our clothes, in rags, were
swarming with vermin. We were barefooted and almost naked. The first few
days we generally marched from before sunrise till an hour or two after
sunset. As soon as we reached camp we were torn off our yaks, and our
jailers fastened heavy rings round our ankles, in addition to those we
already had round our wrists. Thus hampered with chains, the Tibetans
knew we could not possibly escape. We were left to sleep out in the open
without a covering of any kind. Some nights we were lying on snow; other
nights we were drenched in rain. Our guard generally pitched a tent
under which they slept. Even when they did not have a shelter, they
usually went to brew their tea some fifty yards or so from us.
Helped by my two servants, who sat by me to keep watch and to screen me,
I managed, at considerable risk, to keep a rough record of the return
journey, on a small piece of paper that had remained in my pocket when I
had been searched by the Tibetans. My hands being supple, I was able to
draw my right hand out of its cuff. Using as a pen a small piece of bone
I had picked up, and my blood as ink, I drew brief cipher notes and a
rough map of the entire route back.
Necessarily I had to content myself with taking my bearings by the sun,
the position of which I got fairly accurately by constantly watching the
shadow projected by my body on the ground. Of course, when it rained or
snowed, I had to reckon my bearings by the observations of the previous
day. We travelled first west, then successively west-north-west,
north-west, west, and north-west, following the Brahmaputra along a
course south of the outward journey, until we reached the boundary of
the Yutzang (the Lhassa) province. The soldiers of our guard were severe
with us. They ill-treated us in every possible way. Only one or two of
the soldiers showed thoughtfulness, bringing us a little butter or
_tsamba_ whenever they could do so unseen by their comrades. The guard
was changed so frequently that we had no chance of making friends with
the men. Each lot seemed worse than the last.
A curious incident happened one day, causing a scare among the Tibetans.
We had halted near a cliff. The soldiers were some twenty yards off.
Having exhausted all other means to inspire these ruffians with respect,
as a last resort I tried ventriloquism. I spoke, and pretended to
receive answers to my words from the summit of the cliff. The Tibetans
were terror-stricken. They asked me who was up there. I said it was some
one I knew.
"Is it a _Plenki_?"
"Yes."
Immediately they hustled us on our yaks while they mounted their ponies,
and we left the place at a great speed.
On reaching a spot, which from observations taken on my outward journey
I reckoned to be in longitude 83 deg. 6' 30" east, and latitude 30 deg.
27' 30" north, I had a great piece of luck. It was at this point that the
two principal sources of the Brahmaputra met and formed one river, one
coming from the north-west, which I had already followed, the other
coming from the west-north-west. The Tibetans, to my delight, selected
the southern route, thus giving me an opportunity of visiting the second
of the two principal sources of the great river. This second stream rose
in a flat plain, having its first birth in a lakelet in approximate
longitude 82 deg. 47' east and latitude 30 deg. 33' north. I gave the
northern source my own name. I was glad to be the first white man to
visit both sources of the Brahmaputra River.
Dreary as this period of captivity was, yet it was instructive. As we
went along, I got the soldiers to teach me several Tibetan songs, and
from the less ill-natured men of our guard I picked up, by judicious
questioning, a considerable amount of information.
Over a more southerly and lower pass than the Maium Pass, by which,
healthy, hopeful, and free, we had entered the province of Yutzang, we
now left it, wounded, broken down, almost naked, and prisoners.
We proceeded in a north-westerly direction. Once clear of the sacred
Yutzang province, our guard behaved with rather less cruelty. With the
little money the Pombo had permitted me to keep we were now allowed to
purchase food enough to provide us with more frequent meals. While we
ate, the soldiers removed our handcuffs, which they temporarily placed
round our ankles. With utensils lent us by our guard, we were able to
cook some food. It seemed delicious. We used flat stones for dishes.
We crossed our former track, and then followed it almost in a parallel
line, some miles north of it, along an undulating, clayey plateau, thus
avoiding the marshy plain which we had found so troublesome to cross on
our outward journey. We found a great number of black tents scattered
here and there. One night, when encamped near some small lakes, we were
allowed to purchase a goat. A soldier who had been friendly to us
selected a fat one for us, and we were looking forward with pleasure to
a solid meal when we found, to our dismay, that we had no means of
dispatching the animal. We could not behead it, as the Tibetans would
not trust us with a knife or sword. The Tibetans refused to kill the
animal for us. Eventually our soldier friend allowed his scruples to be
overcome by the payment of a rupee. He tied the animal's legs together,
and having stopped up its nostrils with mud, he held the poor beast's
mouth tightly with one hand until it died by suffocation. With his free
hand the soldier during the performance revolved his prayer-wheel,
praying fervently all the while.
We found ourselves at last in the plain, where a Tarjum's encampment of
some two hundred tents was to be seen. Here we remained one night. There
was a large assemblage of Lamas and soldiers. In the middle of the night
we were roughly roused from our sleep, and made to move our camp about a
mile or so from the settlement. Early in the morning, having crossed the
large stream, we proceeded in a south-westerly direction, reaching the
encampment of the Tokchim Tarjum the same night. Here we were met by the
officers who had on a previous occasion, during our outward journey,
brought us gifts, and whom we had routed with their soldiers when they
had threatened us.
This time they behaved considerately. The oldest of them showed us great
civility, and professed admiration for our perseverance against such
heavy odds. The old gentleman did all he could to make us comfortable,
and even got two strolling musicians to amuse us.
The next day, amid repeated good-byes and professions of friendship on
the part of our hosts and jailers, we departed toward Mansarowar. Late
in the afternoon we reached Tucker Village and Gomba, where we put up at
the same _serai_ in which we had slept on our way out. All our bonds
were here removed, and we enjoyed comparative freedom, though four men
walked by my side wherever I went, and an equal number looked after
Chanden Sing and Mansing. Naturally we were not allowed to go far from
the _serai_, but we could stroll about in the village. I took this
opportunity to have a swim in the Mansarowar Lake. Chanden Sing and
Mansing again paid fresh salaams to the gods, and also plunged into the
sacred waters.
The local Lamas, who had been friendly during my former visit, were now
extremely sulky and rude. Having witnessed our arrival, they withdrew
into the monastery, slamming the gate after them. All the villagers,
too, hastily retired to their respective houses. The place looked
deserted with the exception of the soldiers round us.
Poor Mansing, who, worn out and in great pain, was sitting close by me,
looking vaguely at the lake, had an extraordinary vision, the result,
probably, of fever or exhaustion.
"Oh, sir," said he, as if in a dream, though he was quite awake, "look,
look! Look at the crowd of people walking on the water! There must be
more than a thousand men! Oh, how big they are getting!... And there is
God!... No; they are Tibetans; they are coming to kill us; they are
Lamas! Oh, come, sahib, they are near!... Oh, they are flying!..."
"Where are they?" I asked.
"They have all disappeared!" he exclaimed, as I placed my hand on his
forehead and he woke from his trance.
I could see that the poor fellow was under an hallucination. His
forehead was burning, and he had a high fever.
He seemed quite stupefied for a few moments. On my inquiring of him
later whether he had seen the phantom crowd again, he could not remember
ever having seen it at all.
The natives came to visit us in the _serai_ during the evening. We had
great fun with them. The Tibetans were full of humor and had comical
ways. Now that we were only two marches from Taklakot, it was but
natural that our spirits were high. Only two more days of captivity, and
then a prospect of freedom!
It was still dark when we were roused and ordered to start. The soldiers
dragged us out of the _serai_. We entreated them to let us have another
plunge in the sacred Mansarowar, and the three of us were eventually
allowed to do so. The water was bitterly cold, and we had nothing to dry
ourselves with.
It was about an hour before sunrise when we were placed on our yaks and,
surrounded by some thirty soldiers, rode off.
When we had been marching for several hours our guard halted to have
their tea. A trader named Suna, and his brother and son, whom I had met
in Garbyang, halted near us. From them I heard that news had arrived in
India that my two men and I had been beheaded, and that thereupon Doctor
Wilson and the British Political Officer, Karak Sing, had crossed over
the frontier to ascertain the facts, and to attempt to recover my
baggage, etc. My joy was intense when I heard that they were still at
Taklakot. I persuaded Suna to return as fast as he could to inform
Wilson that I was a prisoner, and to tell him my whereabouts. I had
barely given Suna this message when our guard seized the man and his
brother and roughly dismissed them, preventing them from having any
further communication with us.
As soon as we were on the march again, a horseman rode up to us with
strict orders from the Jong Pen of Taklakot not to let us proceed any
farther toward the frontier by the Lippu Pass, which we could now have
reached in two days, but to take us instead by the distant Lumpiya Pass.
At that time of the year the Lumpiya would be impassable. We should have
to make a further journey of at least fifteen or sixteen days, most of
it over snow and ice, during which we, in our starved and weakened
state, would inevitably die. We asked to be taken into Taklakot, but our
guard refused. The Jong Pen of Taklakot had sent other messengers and
soldiers to insure the fulfilment of his orders, and to prevent our
further progress.
Our guard, now strengthened by the Taklakot men, compelled us to leave
the Taklakot track, and we began our journey toward the cold Lumpiya.
This was murder. The Tibetans, well knowing it, calculated on telling
the British authorities that we had died of a natural death on the
snows.
We were informed that we should be left at the point where the perpetual
snows began, that the Tibetans would give us no food, no clothes and no
blankets, and that we should be abandoned to cross over the frontier as
best we could. This, needless to say, meant sure death.
After travelling some two and a half miles westward of the Taklakot
track we declined to proceed any farther in that direction. We said
that, if they attempted to compel us, we were prepared to fight our
guard. Whether we died by their swords and matchlocks, or froze to death
on the Lumpiya, was quite immaterial to us.
The guard, perplexed, decided to let us halt there for the night, so as
to have time to send a messenger to Taklakot to inform the Jong Pen, and
ask for further instructions.
During the night the order came that we must proceed, so the next
morning our guard prepared to start us again toward the Lumpiya. It was
at that moment that we three semi-corpses collected what little strength
remained in us, and suddenly, with what stones we could pick up, made an
attack on the soldiers. Incredible as it may seem, our cowardly guard
bolted! We went on in the direction of Taklakot, followed at a distance
by these ruffians, who were entreating us to make no further resistance
and to go with them where they wanted us to go. If we did not, they
said, they would all have their heads cut off. We refused to listen, and
kept them away by throwing stones at them.
We had gone but a few miles when we met with a large force of soldiers
and Lamas, dispatched by the Jong Pen to prepare for our death. Unarmed,
wounded, starved, and exhausted as we were, it was useless attempting to
fight against such odds. As it was, when they saw we had regained our
freedom, they made ready to fire on us.
[Illustration: WE ATTACKED OUR GUARD WITH STONES]
The Jong Pen's chief minister, a man called Lapsang, and the Jong Pen's
private secretary, were at the head of this party. I went to shake hands
with them. A long and stormy palaver followed, but they kept firm and
insisted on our turning away from the frontier, now that we were within
a short distance of it. We must perforce proceed by the high Lumpiya
Pass. Those were the Jong Pen's orders, and they, as well as I, must
obey them. They would not give us or sell us either animals or clothes,
which even the small sum of money I had on me would have been sufficient
to buy. They would not provide us with an ounce of food. We emphatically
protested, and said we preferred to die where we were. We asked them to
kill us there and then, for we would not budge an inch westward.
Lapsang and the Jong Pen's private secretary now cunningly suggested
that I should give them in writing the names of the Shokas who had
accompanied me to Tibet, probably with the object of confiscating the
land and goods of these former followers of mine. As I said I could not
write Tibetan or Hindustani, they requested me to do it in English. This
I did, but substituting for the names of my men and my signature
sarcastic words, which must have caused the Tibetans surprise when they
had the document translated.
The Tibetans refused to kill us there and then. Lapsang showed us great
politeness, and asked us as a personal favor to him to go by the Lumpiya
Pass. As I had no alternative I reluctantly decided to accept their
terms rather than waste any more time talking.
Escorted by the large force of soldiers, we had nearly reached Kardam
when a horseman came up at a full gallop and hailed our party. We
stopped. The messenger overtook us and handed Lapsang a letter. It
contained an order to bring us immediately into Taklakot.
We retraced our steps along the undulating plateau above the Gakkon
River. Late at night we reached the village of Dogmar, a peculiar
settlement in a valley between two high cliffs of clay. The natives
lived in holes and chambers hollowed in the cliff.
Lapsang, the Jong Pen's private secretary, and the greater portion of
the soldiers, having changed their ponies, went on to Taklakot. We were
made to halt. Another letter came from the Jong Pen saying he had
changed his mind, and we must, after all, go by the Lumpiya Pass!