We altered our course from north to north-east, rising to 16,600 feet. We arrived at Lama Chokten, a pass protected by a Tibetan guard. The soldiers quickly turned out, matchlocks in hand. They seemed a miserable lot. They offered no resistance, but begged for money and food. The men complained of ill-treatment from their superiors. They received no pay, and even food was only occasionally sent to them at this outpost. Their tunics were in rags. Each man carried a sword stuck in front through the girdle. Here, too, we had more inquiries about the young sahib, the white man. Messengers on horseback had been sent post-haste from Taklakot to warn the Gyanema officer not to let him penetrate into Hundes (the Tibetan name for Tibet) should he attempt to come by the Lumpiya Pass. Their description of my supposed appearance was amusing enough to me, and when they said that if the sahib came their way they would cut off his head, I felt so touched by their good-natured confidence that I wanted to distribute a few rupees among them.
"Don't give them anything, sir," said Kachi and the doctor. "These fellows are friends of the dacoits. If these get to know that you havemoney, we shall run great risk of being attacked by them."
I insisted on giving them a present.
"No, sir," cried Kachi; "do not do it, or it will bring us trouble and misfortune. If you give them four annas, that will be ample."
Accordingly the commanding officer had this large sum deposited in his outstretched palm. To show his satisfaction, he put out his tongue to its full length, waved both hands in sign of gratitude, bowing clumsily at the same time. His fur cap had been previously removed and thrown on the ground. It was a great deal of ceremony over a gift which amounted to somewhat less than eight cents.
From this place I saw a beautiful sight. To the north the clouds had scattered, and the snow-covered sacred Kelas Mountain rose up before us. Not unlike the graceful roof of a temple, Kelas towered over the long, white-capped range, contrasting in its beautiful blending of tints with the warm sienna color of the lower elevations. Kelas was some two thousand feet higher than the other peaks of the Gangri chain. It showed strongly defined ledges and terraces marking its stratification, and these were covered with horizontal layers of snow of brilliant white in contrast to the dark, ice-worn rock. The Tibetans, the Nepalese, the Shokas, the Humlis, Jumlis, and Hindoos, all had a strong veneration for this mountain, which was believed by them to be the abode of all the good gods, especially the god Siva. In fact, the ledge round its basewas said by the Hindoos to be the mark of the ropes used by the devil "Rakas" in his effort to pull down the throne of Siva.
My men, with heads uncovered, their faces turned toward the sacred peak, were muttering prayers. With joined hands, which they slowly raised as high as the forehead, they prayed fervently, and then went down on their knees, with heads touching the ground. My brigand follower, who was standing close by me, hurriedly whispered that I should join in the prayers.
"You must keep friends with the gods," said the bandit; "misfortune will attend you if you do not bow to Kelas. That is the home of a good god!" And he pointed to the peak with the most devout air of conviction.
To please him, I saluted the mountain with great deference, and, imitating the example of my men, placed a white stone on one of theChoktensorObos(stone pillars). Hundreds of these had been erected at this place by devotees. These Obos, or rough pyramids of stones, were to be found on the paths over high passes, near lakes, and at the source of rivers. At no place had I seen so many as at Lama Chokten. Each passer-by deposited a white stone on one of these Obos. This was supposed to bring good fortune.
The guard-house itself, of rough stone, would in any country but Tibet be recognized as better fitted for pigs than for human beings.
Having gone a mile or so further, as the sun was fast disappearing we searched for a suitable spot to pitch our tents. There was no sign of water, only the stony bed of a dried rivulet. We were discussing thesituation when we heard a faint sound of rushing water. It grew louder and louder, and then we saw coming our way a stream of limpid snow-water gradually creeping over a bed of stones. Evidently the snow of the mountains, which had melted during the day, had only now reached the spot where we stood. My brigand was greatly excited.
"Water flowing to you, sahib!" he exclaimed, with his arms outstretched. "You will have great luck! Look! Look! You want water for your camp, and a stream comes to you! Heaven blesses you. You must dip your fingers into the water as soon as it comes up to you, and throw some drops over your shoulders. Fortune will then attend you on your journey."
I readily fell in with this Tibetan superstition. We all dipped our fingers and sprinkled the water over our backs. Wilson, however, who took the matter quite seriously, said it was all nonsense, and would not give in to such "childish superstitions."
In front of our camp was a great stretch of flat alluvial land, about ten miles long and fourteen wide, which apparently had once been the bed of a lake. With my telescope I could see at the foot of a small hill the camping-ground of Karko. There were many tents. My men seemed reassured when by their shape and color we made out the tents to be those of Joharis from Milam, who came over to this place to trade with the Tibetans. Beyond Karko to the north a stretch of water, the Gyanema Lake, shone brilliantly, and beyond it could be seen comparatively low hill ranges. In the distance more snowy peaks were visible.
On leaving camp we traversed the plain for six miles in a north-easterly direction, and then turned into a smaller valley well enclosed by hills, which we followed for a distance of three or four miles.
During our march we saw many herds ofkiang(wild horse). They came close to us. They resembled zebras, except that they were light brown in color. Their graceful and coquettish ways were most attractive. The natives regarded the proximity of these animals as dangerous, for their apparent tameness was merely in order to get quite near the unwary traveller, and then, with a sudden dash, inflict a horrible bite.
Having climbed over a hill range, we descended on the other side into a grassy stretch of flat land with a lake on the northern side. On a hill south of the lake stood the Gyanema fort, a primitive, tower-like structure of stone, with a tent pitched over it to answer the purpose of a roof. Two dirty white rags hung from a flagstaff. These were not national flags, but merely wind-prayers. Lower down, at the foot of the hill, were two or three large black tents and a small shed of stone. Hundreds of black, white, and brown yaks[1]were grazing on the green patches of grass.
The appearance of our party evidently frightened everybody, for we had hardly shown ourselves on the summit of the pass when in the fort a gong began to sound loudly, filling the air with its metallic notes. A shot was fired. Soldiers with their matchlocks[2]ran here and there. Theypulled down one of the black tents and hastily conveyed it inside the fort. The greater part of the garrison sought shelter within the walls of the fort with the hurry almost of a stampede. When, after some time, they made up their minds that we did not mean to hurt them, some of the Tibetan officers, followed by their men, came trembling to meet us. The doctor, unarmed, went ahead to talk to them, while Chanden Sing and I remained with the coolies in order to protect our baggage in case of a treacherous attack, and to prevent my frightened carriers from abandoning their loads and escaping. Matters looked peaceful enough. Rugs were spread on the grass, and finally we all sat down. An hour of tiresome talking with the Tibetan officers, while the same things were repeated over and over again, led to nothing. They said they could on no account allow any one from India, whether native or sahib, to proceed, and we must go back. We, on our side, stated that we were doing no harm. We were pilgrims to the sacred Lake of Mansarowar, only a few miles farther. We had gone to much expense and trouble. How could we now turn back when so near our goal? We would not go back, and trusted they would allow us to proceed.
We treated them courteously. Probably mistaking this for fear, they promptly took advantage of it, especially the Magbun, the General-in-Chief in charge of the Gyanema fort. His humble manner, of which at first he had made so much display, suddenly turned into arrogance.
"You will have to cut off my head," said he, with a viciouscountenance, "or, rather, I will cut off yours, before I let you go another step."
"Cut off my head!" I cried, jumping on my feet and shoving a cartridge into my rifle.
"Cut off my head!" repeated Chanden Sing, pointing with his Martini-Henry at the official.
"Cut off our heads!" exclaimed the Brahmin, angrily, and the two Christian servants of Dr. Wilson, while they handled a Winchester and a couple of Gourkhakukris(large knives).
"No, no, no, no! Salaam, salaam, salaam!" shouted the Magbun, with the quickness of a panic-stricken man. "Salaam, salaam," repeated he again, bowing down to the ground, tongue out, and placing his hat at our feet in a disgustingly servile manner. "Let us talk like friends."
The Magbun's men, no braver than their master, shifted about in a casual manner, so as to be behind their superior officers in case of our firing. On second thought, feeling that they were not safe even so screened, they got up. One after the other the Tibetans walked away for half-a-dozen steps slowly, to impress upon us that it was not fear that made them leave, and then took to their heels.
The Magbun and the officers who remained became meek. We spoke and argued in a friendly manner for two long hours, but with no result. The Magbun could not decide of his own accord. He would consult with his officers, and he could give us an answer no sooner than the nextmorning. In the mean time he would provide for our general comfort and insure our safety, if we would encamp near his tent. This, of course, I well knew to be a trick to gain time, so as to send for soldiers to Barca, north of the Rakastal Lake, as well as to all the neighboring camps. I frankly told him my suspicions, but added that I wished to deal fairly with the Tibetan authorities before resorting to force. I reminded the Magbun again and made him plainly understand that we were merely peaceful travellers, and had not come to fight; that I was paying tenfold for anything I purchased from him or his men, and was glad to do so; but at the same time, let any one beware who dared touch a single hair of a member of my party! The Magbun declared that he understood perfectly. He swore friendship, and as friends he begged us to stop over the night near his camp. By the Sun and Kunjuk Sum (Trinity) he gave a solemn oath that we should in no way be harmed. He took humble leave of us and retired.
The doctor and I had been sitting in front. Next were Chanden Sing, the Brahmin, and the two Christians. The carriers were behind. When the Magbun had gone, I turned round to look at my followers. What a sight! They one and all were crying, each man hiding his face in his hands. Kachi had tears streaming down his cheeks, Dola was sobbing, while the brigand and the other Tibetan in my employ, who had for the occasion assumed a disguise, were hiding behind their loads. Serious though the situation was, I could not help laughing at the fright of my men.
We pitched our tents. I had been sitting inside, noting theobservations which I had taken with my instruments and writing up my diary, when Kachi crept in, apparently in great distress. He seemed so upset that he could hardly speak.
"Master!" he whispered. "Master! The Tibetans have sent a man to your coolies threatening to kill them if they remain faithful to you. They must abandon you during the night. If you attempt to hold them they have orders to kill you."
At the same time that this agent had been sent to conspire with my coolies, other envoys of the Magbun brought into my camp masses of dry dung to make our fires. These men conveyed to me again the Magbun's renewed declarations of friendship. Nevertheless, soldiers were sent in every direction by the Tibetan official to call for help. I saw them start. One messenger went toward Kardam and Taklakot, a second proceeded in the direction of Barca, a third galloped to the west.
My carriers were evidently preparing to leave me. I watched them, unseen, through an opening in the tent. They were busily engaged separating their blankets and clothes from my loads, dividing the provisions among themselves, and throwing aside my goods. I went out to them, patiently made them repack the things, and warned them that I would shoot any one who attempted to revolt or desert.
While the doctor and I sat down to a hearty meal, Chanden Sing was intrusted with the preparations for war on our side. He cleaned the rifles with much care, and got the ammunition ready. He was longing tofight. The Brahmin, on whose faithfulness we could also rely, remained cool and collected through the whole affair. He was a philosopher, and never worried over anything. He took no active part in preparing for our defence, for he did not fear death. God alone could kill him, he argued, and all the matchlocks in the country together could not send a bullet through him unless God wished it. And if it be God's decree that he should die, what would be the use of rebelling against it? The two converts, like good Christians, were more practical, and lost no time in grinding the huge blades of theirkukris, in order to make them as sharp as razors.
When darkness came I placed a guard a little distance off our camp. It seemed likely that the Tibetans might make a rush on our tent if they had a chance. One of us kept watch all night outside the tent, while those inside lay down in their clothes, with loaded rifles by their side. I cannot say that either Dr. Wilson or I felt very uneasy, for the Tibetan soldiers, with their clumsy matchlocks, long spears, and jewelled swords and daggers, were more picturesque than dangerous.
FOOTNOTES:[1]A kind of ox with long hair.[2]Old muskets fired by a fusee, with a prong to rest the barrel on.
[1]A kind of ox with long hair.
[1]A kind of ox with long hair.
[2]Old muskets fired by a fusee, with a prong to rest the barrel on.
[2]Old muskets fired by a fusee, with a prong to rest the barrel on.
Early the next morning we were roused by the distant sound of tinkling horse-bells. On looking out of the tent I saw a long row of pack-ponies heavily laden, escorted by a number of mounted soldiers with matchlocks and spears. It was evident that some high official was coming. This advance-guard consisted of his inferior officers and baggage. They took a long sweep far away from our tent, and dismounted at the Gyanema fort. Other soldiers and messengers were constantly arriving in groups from all directions. The leader of one party, with a large escort of soldiers, was received with profuse salaams. I concluded that he must be an important person.
After some time a message was sent to us that this new-comer, the Barca Tarjum, wished to have the honor of seeing us. His rank might be described as that of a feudal prince. We replied that we were having our breakfast, and that we would send for him when we wished to speak to him. Our experience had taught us that it was better to treat Tibetan officials as inferiors, as they were then more subdued and easier to deal with. At eleven, we sent a messenger to the fort, to say we should be pleased to receive the Tarjum. He came immediately with a largefollowing. He was a picturesque figure dressed in a long coat of green silk of Chinese shape, with large sleeves turned up, showing his arms up to the elbow. He had a cap similar to those worn by Chinese officials, and he was shod in heavy, long black boots, with large nails under the soles. His long, pale, angular face was remarkable in many ways. It was dignified and full of repose. Though somewhat weak, his features were rather fine. Long hair fell in loose curls down to his shoulders. Hanging from his left ear was a large ear-ring, with malachite ornaments and a pendant. In his nervous fingers he held a small roll of Tibetan material, which he used with both hands as a handkerchief. He blew his nose inconsequently every time he was at a loss to answer a question. The Tarjum and his men were profuse in their bows, and there was, as usual, a great display of tongues.
We had rugs placed outside our principal tent. The doctor and I sat on one, asking the Tarjum to sit on the one facing us. His followers squatted around him. It is a well-known fact that in Tibet, if you are a "somebody," or if you wish people to recognize your importance, you must have an umbrella spread over your head. Fortunately the ever-prudent doctor had two, and these were duly spread over our respective heads. The Tarjum himself was shaded under a parasol of colossal dimensions, held in position by his secretary.
In spite of the extravagant terms of friendship which fell from the Tarjum's lips, I was convinced, by studying the man's face, that his words were insincere, and that it would be unsafe to trust him. Henever looked us straight in the face. His eyes were fixed on the ground all the time, and he spoke in an unpleasantly affected manner. I did not like the man from the very first, and, friend or no friend, I kept my loaded rifle on my lap.
After long, heavy speeches, clumsy compliments, and tender inquiries on the state of health of all relatives they could possibly think of, after repeated blowing of the nose and loud coughing, which always came on when we asked whether they had yet decided what we should be allowed to do, at last, when my patience was nearly exhausted, our negotiations of the previous day were reopened. We argued for hours. We asked to be allowed to go on. They were still uncertain whether they would let us or not. To simplify matters, and hasten their decision before other reinforcements arrived, the doctor applied for permission to let only eight of us proceed to Mansarowar. He (the doctor) himself would remain at Gyanema with the rest of the party, as a proof of good faith. Even this offer they rejected, not directly, but with hypocritical excuses and delays. They thought we could not find our way, and that if we did we should find it rough and the climate too severe; that brigands might attack us, and so on. All this was tiresome. The Tibetans were even getting unpleasant. I decided to bring matters to a crisis.
Still holding the rifle cocked at safety on my lap, I turned the muzzle of it toward the Tarjum, and purposely let my hand slide down to the trigger. He became uncomfortable. His face showed signs of apprehension.
His eyes, until now fixed on the ground, became first unsteady, and then settled fixedly, with a look of distress, on the muzzle of my rifle. He tried to dodge the aim, right or left, by moving his head. I made the weapon follow his movements. The Tarjum's servants fully shared their master's fear. Without doubt the poor fellow was in agony; his tone of voice, a moment before loud and insulting, now became very humble. With much meekness he expressed himself ready to please us in every way.
"I see that you are good people," said he, in a faint whisper accompanied by a deep bow. "I cannot give, as I should like, my official approval to your journey forward, but you can go if you wish. I cannot say more. Eight of you can proceed to the sacred Mansarowar Lake. The others will remain here."
Before giving his final decision, he said that he would prefer to have another consultation with his officers.
We granted this readily.
The Tarjum then presented the doctor with a roll of Tibetan cloth.
I had bathed in the morning, and my Turkish towel was spread outside the tent to dry. The Tarjum, who showed great interest in all our things, took a particular fancy to its knotty fabric. He sent for his child to see this wonderful material, and when he arrived the towel was placed on the youth's back as if it were a shawl. I at once offered it to him as a present if he would accept it. There were no bounds to his delight, and our relations, somewhat strained a few minutes earlier, became now ofthe friendliest character. We invited the party inside our tent, and they examined everything with curiosity, asking endless questions. They were now quite pleasant, and even amusing. Tibetans have a craving for alcohol. They soon asked if I had any to give them; there was nothing they would like more. As I never carry intoxicants, I could not offer whiskey, wine, or beer; but, not wishing to disappoint them, I produced a bottle of methylated spirit[3](which I used as fuel in my hypsometrical[4]apparatus). This they readily drank, apparently liking its throat-burning-qualities. They even asked for more. The Tarjum complained of an ailment from which he had suffered for some time. The doctor was able to give him a suitable remedy. All officers received small presents. Then they departed.
In the afternoon a messenger came from the Barca Tarjum. He had good news for us. The Tarjum wished us to understand that, "as we had been so kind to him and his followers, he regarded us as his personal friends. As we were so anxious to visit the Mansarowar Lake and the great Kelas Mount, and had already experienced many difficulties and great expense in coming so far, he agreed that eight of our party should proceed to these sacred places. It was impossible for him to give an official consent, but he repeated again that we could go if we wished."
This news naturally delighted me. Once at Kelas, I felt sure I could easily go further.
On the same evening a traitor in our camp sneaked from under the tent inwhich my men were sleeping and paid a visit to the Tarjum. There is no doubt that he told him I was not the doctor's brother nor a Hindoo pilgrim. He disclosed that I was a sahib, and that I was on my way to Lhassa. From what I heard afterward, it seemed that the Tarjum did not quite believe his informant; but, fresh doubts arising in his mind, he sent a message in the night, entreating us to return the way we had come.
"If there is really a sahib in your party, whom you have kept concealed from me, and I let you go on, my head will be cut off by the Lhassa officials. You are now my friends, and you will not allow this."
"Tell the Tarjum," I replied to the messenger, "that he is my friend, and I will treat him as a friend."
In the morning we found thirty horsemen, fully armed, posted about one hundred yards from our tent. To go ahead with my frightened men and be followed by this company would certainly bring trouble. It was better to adopt other tactics.
Much to the astonishment of the armed force and their superiors, the doctor, Chanden Sing, and I, rifles in hand, walked firmly toward the company of soldiers. After us came the trembling coolies. The Magbun and the Tarjum's officers could hardly believe their eyes. The soldiers quickly dismounted and laid their weapons down, to show that they had no intention of fighting. We passed without taking notice of them. The Magbun ran after me. He begged me to stop one moment. A pair of prettily embroidered cloth boots were produced from the loose folds of theofficial's coat, and he offered them to me with the following words:
"Though your face is sunburnt and black, and your eyes are sore" (they were not, as a matter of fact, but I wore snow-spectacles), "your features tell me that you are of good family. You must be a high officer in your country. Your noble feelings also show that you would not have us punished for your sake, and now our hearts are glad to see you retrace your steps. Let me offer you these boots, so that your feet may not get sore on the long and difficult journey back to your native land."
It was neatly put, though the mode of reasoning was peculiar. I accepted the boots. The Magbun and his guard salaamed to the ground.
Without further parleying we left the Magbun, and, retracing our steps, proceeded in a west-south-west direction, as though we had decided to turn back and leave the country.
We reached the summit of the hill and crossed to the other side. My men went on down the slope, but I remained, hidden behind a large stone, to observe with my telescope the people at Gyanema. No sooner had my last man disappeared on the other side of the pass than the cavalrymen jumped into their saddles, and, raising clouds of dust, galloped after us. This was what I had expected. I hastened to rejoin my men. When down in the plain, I again took my telescope and watched the sky-line of the hill we had just descended. Some thirty heads could be seen peeping over the rocks from among the boulders. The soldiers had evidently dismountedand were spying our movements. I felt annoyed that they did not openly follow us. I sighted my rifle to eight hundred yards, lay down flat, and took aim at a figure I could see more plainly than the others.
The doctor snatched the rifle from my shoulder.
"You must not shoot," said he, with his usual calmness; "you might kill somebody."
"I only wish to teach those cowards a lesson."
"That is all very well. But every man in Tibet is so cowardly that the lesson would have to be constantly repeated," answered Wilson, with his unfailing wisdom.
I slung my rifle over my shoulder, and made up my mind to start some other time on the great task I had then so nearly begun.
When we had covered a mile or so of the plain our ghostly escort crossed the pass, and came full gallop down the hill. I gave orders to my men to halt. The soldiers also came to a dead stop. I watched them through the telescope. They seemed to be holding a discussion. At last five men rode full speed northward, probably to guard the track in that direction. Three men remained where they were, and the remainder, as if seized by panic, galloped frantically up the hill again and disappeared over the summit.
We resumed our march. The three horsemen followed a course one mile south of ours, close against the foot of the hills. Lying low upon their ponies' heads, they probably imagined that they were passing us unperceived. Seeing that our bearings were for our old camp at Lama Chokten, they left our line and rode ahead of us.
When, in the evening, we reached Lama Chokten two shepherds came to greet us. Then another appeared.
"Our sheep are far away," said they. "We are hungry. We are poor. Can we stop near your camp and pick up the food that you will throw away?"
"Certainly," I replied. "But mind you do not pick up anything else."
These simple people, thinking I should not know them, had left their ponies at the Lama Chokten guard-house, and, disguised as shepherds, were now trying to make friends with us, with the object of discovering our movements. They were, of course, the three sepoys from Gyanema in disguise.
At each step in our retreat toward the Himahlyas my heart became heavier. I was thinking out fresh plans, but to think out plans and to carry them into effect were two different matters.
How many times had my schemes been upset! How often had I been forced to begin afresh when all seemed to point toward success! Now things had changed altogether for the worse. My chances of success, notwithstanding my constant struggle, were getting smaller and smaller every day. Failure stared me in the face.
At this camp thedaku(brigand), who had changed his disguise several times since coming in contact with the Tibetans, announced his immediate departure. The doctor, with his usual kindness, had already begged him to remain, but without avail. We well knew that in this region, infested by robbers, this man was only leaving us to become a robber again. Thedakuknew that I carried a large sum of money. During the last twodays his behavior had been more than strange. Had he come across some of his mates, or had he heard from the soldiers that they were in the neighborhood?
Thedakuhad a bundle of blankets strapped on his back in readiness to leave me. My men, distressed at this new danger, came to report it to me. I sent for him. Speaking bluntly, and keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, he said:
"I am going, sahib."
"Where?" I inquired.
"I have friends near here, and I am going to them."
"Very good, go," I replied, calmly taking up my rifle.
His load was off his shoulders in less time than it takes to tell of it. He resumed his work as usual. One or two other riotous coolies were brought back to reason in a similar manner.
I heard later that a band of brigands attacked a party of traders near the frontier two days after this occurred.
Another painful march back! We went a few miles and encamped on the bank of a rapid stream, the Shirlangdu. From this point, with some difficulty, it would be possible to climb over the mountain range during the night, and attempt to elude the spies and watchmen by crossing the mountains as far as Lake Mansarowar. I made up my mind to attempt this. It seemed to add to the risk to have so large a following as thirty men, so I decided that only four or five should accompany me. Going alone was impossible, because of the difficulty of carrying sufficient food.Nevertheless, if the worst came to the worst, I resolved to attempt going absolutely alone and rely on the chance of obtaining food from Tibetans.
All the loads were rearranged. Articles of clothing and comfort, niceties in the way of food, and extras in the way of luxuries were left behind to make room for my scientific instruments.
Each pound in weight dedicated to science meant a pound less food to take us to Lhassa. Everything that was not strictly necessary had to be left behind.
Two Tibetan spies came to camp in the afternoon in the disguise, as usual, of beggars. They asked for food and insisted upon it. Their manner was unbearably insulting. This was a little too much for us. Bijesing, the Johari, and Rubso, the Christian cook, were the first to enter into an open fight with them. They punched and kicked them, driving them down a steep ravine leading to a river; then, assisted by other men in camp, showered stones upon them.
FOOTNOTES:[3]Purified alcohol.[4]See Chapter I.
[3]Purified alcohol.
[3]Purified alcohol.
[4]See Chapter I.
[4]See Chapter I.
The hour fixed for my flight was 9p.m.Five men had been induced to follow me by the offer of a handsome reward.
At the appointed hour no one had put in an appearance. I went in search of them. One man had purposely injured his feet and was disabled, another professed to be dying, the others positively refused to accompany me. All were shivering with fright and cold.
"Kill us, sahib, if you like," they implored of me, "but we will not follow you."
At 3a.m.all attempts to get even one man to carry a load had proved futile. I had to abandon the idea of starting.
My prospects became gloomier than ever. Another march back toward the cold and dreary pass by which I had entered Tibet!
"You are depressed, Mr. Landor," remarked the doctor.
I admitted the fact. Every step backward was to me like a stab in the heart. My only wish was to push on at any cost, and it was only on account of my good friend, the doctor, that I had reluctantly refrained from making my way onward by force. My blood was boiling. The cowardiceof my men made them so contemptible in my eyes that I could not bear even to look at them.
On this depressing march I walked alone ahead of my party. The rugged way seemed short and easy. I found a suitable spot for our camp. Before me and on every side stood high, snowy mountains. In front towered that same Lumpiya Pass over which I had crossed into Tibet when my spirits ran high and I had hopes of taking my entire expedition toward the sacred city of Lhassa. I now hated the sight of those mountains.
Whether it is that storms come when one is depressed, or whether one gets depressed when storms approach, I am not prepared to say. On this occasion, when I was indeed very depressed, and before we had time to pitch our tents, the wind, which had been high all through the afternoon, increased tenfold. The clouds became black and threatening, and snow soon fell in feathery flakes.
"What are you going to do?" inquired the doctor of me. "I think you had better return to Garbyang, get fresh men, and make another start."
"No, doctor. I will die rather than continue this backward march. I have resolved to start alone to-night. I am convinced that I shall have better success. I shall find my way over the range."
"No, no, it is impossible, Mr. Landor!" cried the doctor, with tears in his eyes. "That must mean death to any one attempting it."
I told him I was quite determined to go.
The poor doctor was dumfounded. He knew that it was quite useless to try to dissuade me. I went into the tent to rearrange my baggage, makingthe load I intended to carry on my back as light as possible. My scientific instruments, money, and cartridges already made a good weight to carry on my person.
While I was making preparations for my journey Kachi Ram entered the tent. He looked perplexed.
"What are you doing, sir?" he inquired. "The doctor says you are going to leave alone to-night, cross the mountain range, and go to Lhassa by yourself."
"Yes; that is true."
"Oh, sir, the perils and dangers are too great! You cannot go."
"I know; but I am going to try."
"Oh, sir, then I will come with you."
"No, Kachi. You will suffer too much. Go back to your father and mother, now that you have the opportunity."
"No, sir; where you go, I will go. Small men never suffer. If they do, it does not matter. Only great men's sufferings are worth noticing. If you suffer, I will suffer. I will come."
Kachi's philosophy touched me. He meant what he said. I decided to take him.
This was a piece of luck. Kachi Ram had five bosom friends among the young Shoka coolies. In the evenings in camp they often joined in weird love-songs, in memory of the fair maids of their hearts whom they had left behind, on the other side of the Himahlyas.
Kachi hurried away in a state of great excitement. He was back in a few minutes.
"How many coolies will you take, sir?"
"None will come."
"Oh, I will get them," said he, with assurance. "Will five do?"
"Yes," I murmured, incredulously.
My doubt sustained a shock when Kachi returned, buoyant, saying, in his peculiar English:
"Five Shokas come, sir. Then you, sir, I, sir, five coolies, sir, start night-time. What clock?"
"By Jove, Kachi," I could not help exclaiming, "you are a smart lad!"
"'Smart,' sir?" inquired he, sharply, hearing a new word. He was most anxious to learn English, and he had a mania for spelling. "'Smart!' What is meaning? How spell?"
"S-m-a-r-t. It means 'quick, intelligent.'"
"Smart," he repeated, solemnly, as he wrote the newly acquired word into a book which I had given him for the purpose. Kachi was undoubtedly, in spite of small faults, a great character. He was a most intelligent, sharp, well-meaning fellow. His never-failing good-humor and his earnest desire to learn and to be useful were quite refreshing.
My luck seemed to have turned. A few minutes later Chanden Sing, quite unaware that any one had undertaken to accompany me, entered the tent, and exclaimed, in a disgusted manner:
"Shoka crab, sahib! Hunya log bura crab. Hazur, hum, do admi jaldi Lhassa giao." (The Shokas are bad. The Hunyas are very bad. Your honor and I, we two alone, will go quickly by ourselves to Lhassa).
Here was another plucky and useful man anxious to come. He professed to have no fear of death. How true the poor fellow's words were we will learn later.
Chanden Sing was a man of strong sporting tastes. His happiness was complete when he could fire his rifle at something, though he was never known to hit the mark. He had been severely scolded and punished only a few days before for wasting several cartridges trying to shootkiang(wild horse) three miles distant. Ordinary work, however, such as doing his own cooking or keeping my things tidy, was distasteful to him, and was invariably passed on to others.
Mansing, the leper, being unfortunately of the same caste as Chanden Sing, became my servant's servant. The two Hindoos constantly quarrelled and fought, but at heart they were the best of friends. The bearer, by means of promises, mingled at intervals with blows, eventually succeeded in inducing his protégé to join in our new expedition and face what dangers we might find ahead.
By eight o'clock in the evening I had collected all the men who had promised to follow me. They comprised my bearer, Kachi, and six coolies.
We named this camp "Devil's Camp," for diabolical indeed was the wind that shook our tents, not to speak of the snow blown into our shelters by the raging storm. During the night the wind grew in fury. Neither wood, dung, nor lichens for fuel could be found. Our tents were pitched at 16,900 feet above sea-level. To ascend to the summit of the range would mean a further climb of two thousand feet. In such weather thedifficulties of the ascent were increased tenfold, though for escaping the notice of the Tibetan watchmen, who were spying our movements, we could have no better chance than on a stormy night like this. I arranged with the doctor that he was to take back to Garbyang all the baggage I had discarded and the men who had declined to follow me. He must leave all our tents pitched until the afternoon of the next day, in order to let the Tibetans suppose that we were all sheltered under them. This would give me time to make a long forced march before they could discover that I had left my tent, and could get on my track. Hard as it would be for our little party going forward, we would take no tent except the smalltente d'abri, which weighed about four pounds. We should, in any case, be unable to pitch a tent for several days, for fear of being detected by the Tibetans. As soon as they would discover that we had left they would surely start in search of us. We should have to march long distances at night, keeping mostly on the summit of the range instead of proceeding, like ordinary travellers, along the valleys. We must get what little sleep we could during the day, when we could hide in some secluded spot. The thought of making a fire had to be abandoned because, even in the remote chance of finding fuel at the great altitudes where we were compelled to camp, every one knows that the light of a fire and a column of smoke can be seen from great distances, both in the day and at night. We had talked over all these matters before we made a start, and, moreover, we were fully aware thatif the Tibetans could lay their hands upon us, we were too few to fight them, and we had little chance of escaping with our lives. In fact, taking things all round, we had come to the conclusion that our lives were worth a mere song from the moment of our leaving Devil's Camp.
With the full knowledge of what we were undertaking we may have been foolish in starting at all, but lack of determination cannot fairly be charged against us.
The thoughtful doctor had brought with him from our last camp a few lichens, with which he was now attempting to light a fire to cook me a fewchapatis(native flat breads of India). Alas! four hours' hard work and four entire boxes of matches failed to produce the semblance of a flame.
At midnight I sent Chanden Sing and Kachi to collect the men. Two came trembling into the tent, the others could not be roused. I went myself and took them, one by one, to their loads. All were crying like children. It was then that I discovered that in the haste and confusion I had made one load too many. Here was a dilemma! Everything was ready and propitious for our flight. A delay at this juncture was fatal. I must have another man.
The moans and groans in the coolies' tent, when I went in search of another volunteer, were pitiful. You might have thought that they were all going to die, and this was their last agony. All because of the terror of being picked out to follow me.
At last, after threats and promises, Bijesing, the Johari, was persuaded to come. But the load was too heavy for him; he would only carry half. To save trouble, I agreed to carry the other half myself in addition to my own load.