CHAPTER LXVII

APRIL 24

In these days our life was dismal and lonesome, and our future uncertain. We went as in the dark, feeling with our hands lest we should fall. Every day which passed without any untoward event came upon me as a complete surprise. We had now only two days' journey to Raga-tasam on the great highway, where caravans and travellers fare to and fro, and Government officials are responsible that no unauthorized person slips past. I was thoroughly sick of my disguise and the constant uncertainty, and longed for a crisis to free me from my embarrassment. But to deliver ourselves, of our own free will, into the hands of the Tibetans was out of the question. They must detect us themselves, and till then the strain on our nerves must continue.

April 24--the anniversary of the _Vega's_ return to Stockholm in 1880! At sunrise the whole country lay under a bright wintry shroud of white snow. The thermometer had fallen to 2½°, but when the sun mounted up the horses steamed, and light clouds of vapour rose up from the snow, so that we might have been riding through a land of sol-fataras and fumaroles. Our caravan animals struggled bravely up the tough ascent. Of sheep we had only twenty left, and two of them were veterans from Lumbur-ringmo-tso. Twice we thought that the pass, Kinchen-la, was just before us, but new heights rose farther back, and we worked our way up hills, among which brooks run down towards Basang and Saka-dzong, where Muhamed Isa sleeps in his mound. To the south-west Chomo-uchong's summits presented a grand sight. At length we made the last ascent up to the top of the pass, where the height is 17,851 feet above sea-level. At the other side a river runs north-east, one of the headwaters of the Raga-tsangpo. To the west there is a brilliant spectacle, the summits of Lunpo-gangri rising in sharp and savage beauty from a maze of mountains and ridges, which shine in lighter bluer shades the more remote they are. To the north-east we catch a glimpse of an outlying ridge covered from foot to crest with new-fallen snow. The broad flat valley of the Raga-tsangpo stretches eastwards as far as the eye can see. In the far distance to the east-south-east a grand snowy crest shines forth, the northernmost of the Himalayan system (Illust. 199).

We stayed a long time at the top, and I sketched a panorama. Then we followed the track of the caravan over the lower shoulders of two mountains, and found our camp pitched in a valley with good grass and a brook partially frozen. My tent looked towards its bank, and all three stood as usual in a line. This day also had passed satisfactorily, but all would be different next day, for then we should come to Raga-tasam, where we encamped last year and stayed a week. Camp 391 was, then, the last where we could still feel at ease, for we had seen no living being all day long, and had no neighbours. Here, then, we must arrange some fresh safeguards.

We must sort out from our already scanty baggage all articles that might excite suspicion, as, for example, the small padded leather box in which the theodolite was packed; for the future it would be rolled with its inner wooden case in my bed. Further, the hypsometer's leather case and the actinometer, which probably would never be used again. Whatever was combustible was to be thrown into the fire and the rest buried. A couple of rugs of camel's wool were also to be discarded.

To begin with, we must make a change in our housing arrangements. I was to sleep for the last time in my old weather-beaten tent, where our chief, Abdul Kerim, was henceforth to set up his quarters and receive guests. For me a compartment of about 2 square yards, not larger than my bed, was partitioned off in Abdul Kerim's tent. This crib, which, when the camp was set up, was enclosed on all sides, was henceforth to be my prison cell. It was like a secret drawer in a bureau, and when it was ready I inspected it and found it somewhat narrow but comfortable.

Suen was my hairdresser, and he had just completed his business when Abdul Kerim looked in at the tent opening and whispered that four men with yaks were coming up the valley on the road we had to go down from the Kinchen-la. I hurriedly set my disguise in order and wound the turban round my head, while the flap was fastened, and Takkar was tied up before my tent. Then I looked through the peephole in the tent canvas on the side towards the upper end of the valley, and saw eight men on foot in dark-blue and red dresses, with red scarves round their heads, all armed with guns and swords, and leading nine horses; one man led two laden horses. What in the world did this mean? They were not robbers, for they came suddenly and at night. They seemed rather men in Government service; the two in front were certainly officials. My men occupied themselves at their fire; I could see that they were a prey to the greatest uneasiness.

The strangers came straight to our camp-fire as if it were the end of their journey. They formed a circle round Abdul Kerim, Lobsang, Kutus, and Gulam, and began an animated but subdued conversation. Three of them, evidently servants, led the horses to a spot barely thirty paces from my tent and right in front of it. There they took off all the saddles and loads, sent off the horses to graze, brought out pots and cans, arranged three stones in order, collected fuel, made a fire, fetched water in a large pot and cooked tea. It was plain that they intended to camp here for the night, and that they had intruded on us for the purpose of watching us.

The other five entered Abdul Kerim's tent, threw themselves down, and continued the conversation in the same low quiet voice and in thoroughly polite and measured tones. I could not catch what they said, but that the affair was serious I could only too plainly perceive, for I heard my name mentioned--Hedin Sahib. After a good hour's conversation they went out again and made a tour round my tent, but the furious Takkar would not let them approach the door. But they discovered the peephole in the side of the tent, and a man put his finger in and looked through the hole, but I was lying against the folds of the tent on the same side, so he could not see me. Then they went and threw themselves down in a circle round the fire, brought out their wooden cups and drank tea. They sat right in front of the entrance to my tent, and I could not get out without being seen.

Then Abdul Kerim whispered from the back of my tent and inside his own, and told me what the men had said. The leader, a stoutish young man of good appearance, had put the usual questions and received the usual answers. Then he had uttered the following words in a serious and decided tone:

"News of your arrival has come to the Governor of Saka-dzong through two salt caravans which passed your party above Pasa-guk. As it has never occurred that a merchant from Ladak has come from the north and has travelled on the byway through Gebuk, the Governor and the other authorities in Saka suspected that Hedin Sahib might be concealed among you, and the more so because he himself expressed his wish last year to come back again and travel through the mountainous regions in the north. Therefore my comrades and I received orders to follow your trail, overtake you, and subject you to the most searching examination. We are in no hurry, and in the morning we shall get several yak-loads of provisions. You protest that Hedin Sahib is not among you disguised as a Ladaki. Well, it may be that you are telling the truth. But remember, _tsongpun_, that we shall carry out our orders to the letter. You are thirteen men from Ladak, you say, and I can see only ten. Where are the others?"

"They are out collecting fuel."

"Good. When you are all assembled here we intend to search you down to the skin. Then we shall turn out all your baggage and empty every sack we find in your tents. And if in this examination we find nothing belonging to a European, it will remain for you to give a written declaration that no European is among your party concealed or disguised, and under this declaration you must set your name-stamp. Then you can travel early in the morning where you like, and we shall return to Saka."

When I heard this report the situation became quite clear to me, and I at once decided what I would do. But first I crept by the secret way into the caravan leader's tent, where I found myself surrounded by my retainers, except three, who were to warn us if the Tibetans came back again.

"What is to be done?" I asked Abdul Kerim.

"The Sahib knows best himself. As far as I can see, our condition is hopeless," answered the honest man, who had got us out of many a scrape before.

"What does Lobsang think?"

"It would not be wise to give them such a declaration," he answered with a very troubled face.

"Sahib," suggested Kutus, "if they give us breathing-time till night, the Sahib and I can hide among the mountains as at the time when we were close to Tsongpun Tashi. When the search is over we can rejoin the caravan farther down. I can carry the Sahib's papers, and other European articles can be buried in the ground under the tent."

"They know that we are thirteen," remarked Gulam.

Under the force of circumstances we had made our way right across Tibet with a trumped-up story, but to let Abdul Kerim confirm a false document with his name-stamp on my account was a little too strong even for my geographical conscience. I could not consent to that. Whatever might happen, our position was still a strong one. We were in the heart of Tibet. The next move would be that we should be sent out of the country, and by whatever way we were obliged to go, I should certainly gain something more. I would absolutely refuse to go to Ladak, but I would be content to go to India through Nepal, or, better still, through Gyangtse.

"No," I said to my men as I rose up, "I shall give myself up to the Tibetans."

Then they were all amazed, and began to cry and sob like children.

"Why do you weep?" I asked.

"We shall part here for good, and the Sahib will be killed," they answered.

"Oh no, it is not so bad as that," I said, for it was not the first time I had been caught by Tibetans.

When I walked out of the tent I heard behind me the murmur of Mohammedan prayers: "Allahu ekber--Bismillah rahman errahim."

In my usual disguise from top to toe, and with my face painted black, I walked with slow, deliberate steps straight to the circle of Tibetans. When I was close to them they all rose up, as if they knew that I was no ordinary Ladaki.

"Sit down," I said, with a dignified gesture of invitation, and sat down myself between the two principal men. In the one on my right hand I recognized at once the Pemba Tsering of the year before. I clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Do you know me again, Pemba Tsering?" He answered not a word, but looked with wide-opened eyes at his comrades, and nodded towards me, as much as to say "It is he." They were mightily dumbfoundered and disconcerted: no one spoke, some looked at one another, others gazed into the fire, one threw a couple of sticks among the stones, and another took small sips of tea.

Then I spoke again: "Yes, truly, Pemba Tsering, you are quite right; I am Hedin Sahib, who visited Saka-dzong last year. Here you have me again; what do you mean to do with me?"

Abdul Kerim, Lobsang, and Kutus stood behind, trembling like aspen leaves, and expecting that preparations for an execution would be the next move.

Still they made no answer, but began to whisper together in groups. The younger official, who was evidently the cock of the walk, for the others looked at him and waited for him to speak, began to look through his papers, and picked out one which he read in silence. As they were so long in recovering from their consternation--for they had not expected to get hold of me so easily--I sent Kutus for a box of Egyptian cigarettes, and offered them all round. Each took one with thanks, and lighted it after I had set an example and showed them that the cigarettes were not filled with gunpowder. Then the ice was broken, and the leader began to speak very softly and without looking at me.

"Yesterday strict orders came from the Devashung that the Governor of Saka would be held responsible for Europeans who might sneak into the country from the west, and if any European showed himself he must be immediately forced to return by the way he came. When the report reached Saka of a caravan two days' journey off, the Governor suspected that it might be you, Hedin Sahib, and we have now accomplished our task. In the Governor's name we forbid you to take another step eastwards. We beg you to conform in all things to our directions; our heads and your personal safety are at stake. To-morrow you will follow us over the Kinchen-la to Saka-dzong."

"I said last year that I must and would see the mountain region north of Saka. Now I have seen it, and you have not been able to prevent me. You see then that I can do more in your country than yourselves. Now I intend to travel back to India, but by which way only Lien Darin, Amban of Lhasa, shall decide. It is therefore my intention to write to him, and I shall not go anywhere before his answer comes."

"We do not wish you to travel by any other way than the one you choose, but we have no authority to forward a letter to Lhasa; the Governor will decide the question himself. It is with him you must treat; you must meet him personally. Therefore we will accompany you to-morrow to Saka-dzong."

"No, sir, anywhere else you please, but not to Saka-dzong. You know that my caravan leader died and lies buried there. It is against my principles to visit a place where I have buried a faithful servant. You shall never get me to Saka-dzong even if you raise all Tibet."

"If it would trouble you to see Saka-dzong again, we will certainly not urge you to go thither. Will you instead have the kindness to follow us to Semoku by the Tsango, on the _tasam_, which is only two days' journey to the south-west? I will then write to the Governor and ask him to meet you there."

"Good; I will follow you to Semoku to-morrow."

"Thanks; I will at once send an express messenger to inform the Governor, so that you may not have to wait at Semoku. But tell me why you have come back again? You travel and travel in Tibet and you are always sent away, but always come back again. Had you not enough last year, when you were obliged to leave the country by the road to Ladak? And now you turn up again among us. How is that possible, and why are you come?"

"Because I love your country and your friendly people to such a degree that I cannot live without them."

"H'm! It is very kind of you to say so, but would it not be better if you were to love your own country a little more? As long as we do not travel in your country, you should not travel in ours; we remain at home, and the best thing you can do is to remain in your country."

"As long as I can sit in a saddle I shall come back. You can inform the Devashung at your leisure that their Excellencies may look for more visits."

They laughed pleasantly and looked at one another, as much as to say: "If he likes to come back, he is welcome as far as we are concerned." And my Ladakis laughed and were extremely astonished that our last day of freedom had come to so peaceful and merry an ending. The Tibetans were exceedingly agreeable, polite, and gentle, and never uttered a hard or peevish word about the trouble that I had again brought upon them. And when the old wool story, which Abdul Kerim a little while before had tried to cram down their throats, was referred to, they laughed heartily and thought that it was a grand device. They are so accustomed to lie themselves that they have a great admiration for any one else who succeeds in deceiving them. They thought it very wonderful that we had been able to cross the whole country without detection, and believed that I must possess some mysterious powers of which they knew nothing, and that they must be very cautious in dealing with me.

The young official, who was named Rinche Dorche, but was called Rindor, a contraction of the two names, wrote a long letter to the Governor of Saka, saying that I was the same Hedin Sahib who had been here the year before, that we had come to a friendly agreement to proceed to Semoku, that I did not wish to travel to Ladak but straight to India, and that Lien Darin alone was to decide on the route. The letter was sealed, and despatched by a mounted courier over the Kinchen-la.

Then we talked and jested again, and before sunset we were as intimate as though we had been friends from childhood. We might have made an appointment to meet in this barren valley and been glad to have found one another. It was easy to understand that the Tibetans were pleased. They little thought when the sun rose that they would make such a good catch before evening. The successful issue of their mission would be of great advantage; they would be commended by the Governor and gain promotion. For my part I had a feeling of unmixed satisfaction. Our freedom was at an end, but for me it had been nothing but an exceedingly enervating captivity. Now, for the first time, I felt perfectly free, and was no longer a prisoner in my own tent; I should have no need of that wretched hiding-hole in Abdul Kerim's tent. The Tibetans laughed loudly at my ragged, smutty, greasy dress of coarse grey sackcloth, in which I looked like a convict, or, at best, like a begging monk of the Grey Friars' confraternity. Then they understood how I had succeeded in crossing Bongba unseen and unknown. How delightful it would be to throw my rags into the fire and clothe myself in a clean neat Tibetan costume, to be no longer obliged to hide my papers and instruments in rice sacks, and not to have to paint my face black as a Moor's instead of washing myself. As soon as we had parted from our new friends in the evening, Gulam took a hand-basin of warm water into my tent, and then I had a good scrubbing from top to toe, and the water showed that I wanted it. He had to change the water four times before I was tolerably clean. Then I clipped my Mohammedan beard to the skin, and sadly missed the razors I had thrown away. But I was glad that we had not burned the things we had condemned some hours earlier.

Rindor begged the loan of one of our tents, as their own transport train was not expected till the morning. Besides Pemba Tsering, there were two other men I had known the year before. They were all very friendly, and said that we had tipped them very generously. There was also a wrinkled old man in the party, who was always smoking a Chinese pipe. His name was Kamba Tsenam, and it was his tent near which we had so nearly been detained two days before.

Thus ended April 24, 1908. Strange, melancholy thoughts took possession of me when I went to bed. The Tibetans had again thwarted my plans--I know not how many times they had done so. Our future was dark as ever, but it had arrived at a new stage, and on the 25th we should wake up to begin a new chapter. The deep silence in the valley was only disturbed occasionally by Takkar, when the faithful dog barked at the Tibetans. His bark was re-echoed from both flanks as though three dogs kept guard over us. And the everlasting stars glittered as before over our lonely tents.