Chapter 24

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.

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!