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Sir Francis Edward Younghusband

CHAPTER I
BOGLE’S MISSION, 1774

Fortunately there was at the head of affairs the greatest, though the most maligned, of all the Governors-General of India, who was able to turn to profit the advantages accruing from the sacrifices which had been made. Fortunately, too, in those days a Governor-General still had some power and initiative left, and was able, without interminable delays, debates, correspondence, and international considerings, to act decisively and strongly before the psychological moment had passed.

On receipt of this letter, Warren Hastings laid it before the Board at Calcutta, and informed them that, in reply, he had written to the Tashi Lama, proposing a general treaty of amity and commerce between Bengal and Tibet. The letter of the Lama, he said, had invited us to friendship, and the final arrangement of the disputes on the frontier had rendered the country accessible, without danger either to the persons or effects of travellers. He had, therefore, written for and obtained a passport for a European to proceed to Tibet for the negotiation of the treaty, and he now purposed sending Mr. Bogle, a servant of the Company, well known for his intelligence, assiduity, and exactness in affairs, as well as for the “coolness and moderation of temper which he seems to possess in an eminent degree.” Warren Hastings, with great wisdom and knowledge of Asiatic affairs, adds that he “is far from being sanguine in his hopes of success, but the present occasion appears too favourable for the attempt to be neglected.”

Warren Hastings’ policy was, then, not to sit still within his borders, supremely indifferent to what occurred on the other side, and intent upon respecting not merely the independence but also the isolation of his neighbours. It was a forward policy, and combined in a noteworthy manner alertness and deliberation, rapidity and persistency, assertiveness and receptivity. He sought to secure his borders by at once striking when danger threatened, but also by taking infinite pains over long periods of time to promote ordinary neighbourly intercourse with those on the other side. Both qualities are necessary. Spasmodic action unaccompanied by steady, continuous efforts at conciliation produces no less bad results than does plodding conciliation never accompanied by action. It was because Warren Hastings possessed this capacity for instantly seizing an opportunity, because he could and would without hesitation or fear use severity where severity alone would secure enduring harmony, but would yet persistently and with infinite tact, sagacity, and real good-heartedness work for humane and neighbourly relationship with adjoining peoples, that he must be considered the greatest of all the great Governors-General of India.

The youth of Warren Hastings’ agent is the first point to note: he was only twenty-eight. Nowadays we use men who are much too old. It is when men are young, when they are still crammed full of energy, when their faculties are alert, that they are most useful and effective. I often doubt whether the experience of maturer age possesses all the advantages which are commonly attributed to it, and whether young men act more rashly or irresponsibly than old men. The former have their whole careers before them, and their reputations to make. They are no more likely, therefore, to act rashly than “old men in a hurry.” Warren Hastings was therefore wise, in my opinion, to choose a young man, and he was equally wise to choose an agent of good breeding and with great natural kindliness of disposition. Asiatics do not mind quickness or hotness of temper, or severity of manner, as long as they can feel that at bottom the man they have to do with has a good, warm, generous heart. He need not wear it on his sleeve, but they will know right enough whether he possesses one or not. And that Warren Hastings’ agent had such a heart his home correspondence, his friendship with Hastings himself, and his eventual dealings with the Tibetans amply testify.

Having determined his policy and selected his agent, Warren Hastings gave him the following instructions,^[1] dated May 13, 1774: "I desire you will proceed to Lhasa.... The design of your mission is to open a mutual and equal communication of trade between the inhabitants of Bhutan [Tibet] and Bengal, and you will be guided by your own judgment in using such means of negotiation as may be most likely to effect this purpose. You will take with you samples, for a trial of such articles of commerce as may be sent from this country.... And you will diligently inform yourself of the manufactures, productions, goods, introduced by the intercourse with other countries, which are to be procured in Bhutan.... The following will be also proper objects of your inquiry: the nature of the roads between the borders of Bengal and Lhasa, and of the country lying between; the communications between Lhasa and the neighbouring countries, their government, revenue, and manners.... The period of your stay must be left to your discretion. I wish you to remain a sufficient time to fulfil the purposes of your deputation, and obtain a complete knowledge of the country and the points referred to your inquiry. If you shall judge that a residence may be usefully established at Lhasa without putting the Company to any expense, but such as may be repaid by the advantages which may be hereafter derived from it, you will take the earliest opportunity to advise me of it; and if you should find it necessary to come away before you receive my orders upon it, you may leave such persons as you shall think fit to remain as your agents till a proper resident can be appointed.... You will draw on me for your charges, and your drafts shall be regularly answered. To these I can fix no limitation, but empower you to act according to your discretion, knowing that I need not recommend to you a strict frugality and economy where the good of the service on which you are commissioned shall not require a deviation from these rules."

During his passage through Bhutan, Bogle found many obstacles placed in his way; but he eventually left the capital in the middle of October, and on the 23rd of that month reached Phari, at the head of the Chumbi Valley, up which we marched to Lhasa 130 years later. Here he was received by two Lhasa officers, and farther on, at Gyantse, where the Mission of 1904 was attacked and besieged for nearly two months, he was entertained by a priest, “an elderly man of polite and pleasant manners,” who sat with him most of the afternoon, and drank “above twenty cups of tea.” Crowds of people appear to have assembled to look at him, but beyond the irksomeness of these attentions he suffered no inconvenience or opposition.

Bogle explained that Kuch Behar was separated from the British province of Bengal only by a rivulet; that the Bhutanese from time immemorial had confined themselves to their mountains, and when they visited the low countries it was in an amicable manner, and in order to trade; that when many thousand armed men issued at once from their forests, carried off the Raja of Kuch Behar as prisoner, and seized his country, the Company very justly became alarmed, and concluded that the Bhutanese, encouraged by their successes in Kuch Behar to-day, and undeterred by so slight a boundary as a small stream, might invade the British provinces to-morrow. Bogle continued that Warren Hastings, on the people of Kuch Behar applying to him for assistance, immediately despatched a battalion of sepoys to repel the invaders, but was extremely glad, on receipt of the Tashi Lama’s letter, to suspend hostilities and subsequently to conclude a peace with the Bhutanese and restore them their country. In conclusion, he said that Warren Hastings, being happy to cultivate the friendship of a man whose fame was so well known, and whose character was held in veneration by so many nations, had sent him to the Lama’s presence with the letter and tokens of friendship which he had laid before him.

Continuing his conversation on the subject of Behar, the Lama, in subsequent interviews, said that many people had advised him against receiving an Englishman. "I had heard also,"^[3] he said, “much of the power of the Fringies: that the Company was like a great King, and fond of war and conquest; and as my business and that of my people is to pray to God, I was afraid to admit any Fringies into the country. But I have since learned that the Fringies are a fair and a just people.” To this Bogle replied that the Governor was, above all things, desirous of obtaining his friendship and favour, as the character of the English and their good or bad name depended greatly upon his judgment. In return the Lama assured Bogle that his heart was open and well disposed towards the English, and that he wished to have a place on the banks of the Ganges to which he might send his people to pray, and that he intended to write to Warren Hastings about it. This he did, after Bogle’s return, and a piece of land was given him on the banks of the Hooghly branch of the Ganges, opposite Calcutta, and a house and temple were constructed on it by Bogle for the Lama.

Bogle assured him that times were now altered, that under the Company in Bengal—and it must be remembered that when he was speaking our rule did not extend beyond Bengal on that side of India—every person’s property was secure, and everyone was at liberty to follow his own religion.

Later on, at the request of the Tashi Lama, two deputies from Lhasa came to visit Bogle. They said the English had shown great favour to the Lama and to them by making peace with the Bhutanese and restoring their country. Bogle replied that the English were far from being of that quarrelsome nature which some evil-minded persons represented them to be, and wished not for extent of territories. They were entrusted with the management of Bengal, and only wished it should remain in tranquillity. The war with the Bhutanese was of their own seeking. The deputies might judge whether the Company had not cause for alarm when eight or ten thousand Bhutanese, who had formerly confined themselves to their mountains, poured into the low country, seized the Raja of Kuch Behar, took possession of his territories, and carried their arms to the borders of Bengal. The deputies could judge for themselves whether the Company were not in the right in opposing them. In the course of the war some of the Bhutan territory was taken from them, but was immediately restored at the request of the Tashi Lama, and so far from desiring conquest, the boundaries of Bengal remained the same as formerly.

“This,” says Bogle, “is a stumbling-block which crosses me in all my paths.” And in the paths of how many negotiators since has it not stood as a stumbling-block! The Tibetans are ready to do anything, but they can do nothing without the permission of the Chinese. The Chinese would freely open the whole of Tibet, but the Tibetans themselves are so terribly seclusive. So the same old story goes on year after year, till centuries are beginning to roll by, and the story is still unfinished. When in the Audience Hall of the Dalai Lama’s Palace at Lhasa itself I had obtained the seals of the Dalai Lama, of the Council, of the National Assembly, and of the three great monasteries, to an agreement, and had done all this in the presence of the Chinese Resident, I thought we had at last laid that fiction low for ever. But it seems to be springing up again in all its old exuberance, and showing still perennial vitality.

Bogle contended that Warren Hastings, in his proposals to facilitate trade, was promoting the advantage of Tibet as well as of Bengal; that in former times merchants used to come freely into Tibet; that the Gurkha Raja’s wars and oppressions had prevented their coming for some years past, and he only prayed the Lama to remove the obstacles which these had occasioned. To this the Lama replied that he had no doubt of carrying the point, but that it might require a year or two to do it effectually.

“This conversation gave me more concern,” he records, “than any I had in Tibet.” He immediately asked to see the Tashi Lama, and told him “with some warmth,” as he was “a good deal affected,” that he could not help being concerned that the Regent should suspect him of coming into his country to raise disturbances; that God was his witness that he wished the Regent well, and wished the Lama well, and the country well, and that a suspicion of treachery and falsehood he could not bear. The Tashi Lami tried to calm him, and eventually dictated a letter in Tibetan in Bogle’s name to the Lhasa Regent. This letter contained only one sentence of pure business. It simply said: “I request, in the name of the Governor, my master, that you will allow merchants to trade between this country and Bengal.” Not a very aggressive request to make or a very great favour to ask, especially as the Tibetans had begun their intercourse by asking a favour from us. But it was not for a century and a quarter, and not till we had carried our arms to Lhasa itself, that that simple request was answered, although all the time the people and traders of Tibet were only too willing to trade with us.

And now the feeling of suspicion was to be increased by an unfortunate occurrence. The Gurkha Raja of Nepal wrote to both the Tashi Lama and the Lhasa Regent, announcing that he had subdued certain districts. He said he did not wish to quarrel with Tibet, but if they had a mind for war he let them know he was well prepared, and he would desire them to remember he was a Rajput. He wished to establish factories at places upon the Tibetan border, where the merchants of Tibet might purchase the commodities of his country and of Bengal, and he desired the concurrence of the Tibetans. He also further desired the Tibetans "to have no connection with Fringies or Moghuls, and not to allow them into the country, but to follow the ancient custom, which he was resolved likewise to do." A Fringy had come to him upon some business, and was now in his country, but he intended to send him back as soon as possible, and desired the Tibetans to do the same with Bogle.

At his farewell interview Bogle said that Warren Hastings would send letters to the Lama by his own servants, upon which the Lama said: "I wish the Governor will not at present send an Englishman. You know what difficulties I had about your coming into the country, and how I had to struggle with the jealousy of the Gesub Rimpoche (the Regent) and the people at Lhasa. Even now they are uneasy at my having kept you so long. I could wish, therefore, that the Governor would rather send a Hindu. I am in hopes my letter to the Regent will have a good effect in removing his jealousy, and I expect in a year or two that the government of this country will be in the Dalai Lama’s hands, when I will inform the Governor, and he may then send an Englishman to me and to the Dalai Lama."

CHAPTER II
TURNER’S MISSION, 1782

The success of Asiatic affairs depends so much on the influence of personalities that the death of these two men, who had conceived such a real respect and affection for one another, was an almost fatal blow to Warren Hastings’ plans for the improvement of the relationship between Tibet and India. Nevertheless, he kept steadily on with his deliberate policy, and watched for some other opportunity of carrying it to fruition. Persistency of aim and watchfulness for opportunities, making the most of the occasion offered, and decisiveness of action—these were always Hastings’ guiding principles. So when, in February, 1782, news reached Calcutta that the Tashi Lama, in accordance with the Tibetan ideas of reincarnation, had reappeared in the person of an infant, he resolved to send another mission to Tibet to congratulate the Regent.

To this the Regent replied that the present and the late Tashi Lama were one and the same, and that there was no manner of difference between them, only that, as he was yet merely an infant, and his spirit had but just returned into the world, he was at present incapable of action. The Regent assured Turner of the firm, unshaken attachment which the Tashi Lama had entertained for Mr. Hastings to his latest breath, and he was also loud in his encomiums on the occasion that gave birth to their present friendship, which originated entirely in his granting peace to the Bhutanese in compliance with the intercession of the Tashi Lama.

The power and influence of these Chinese officials in Tibet was evidently very great, for in his intercourse with the Tibetan officials Turner could plainly trace, though they were averse to own any immediate dependence upon the Chinese, the greatest awe of the Emperor of China, and of his officers stationed at the Court of Lhasa, who had usurped even from the hands of the Dalai Lama the greatest portion of his temporal power. When Turner offered to attend a certain ceremony, the Regent excused himself from accepting the offer of his company on account of the Chinese, whose jealousy of strangers was well known, and to whom he was particularly anxious to give no occasion for offence. On a subsequent occasion the Regent told Turner that many letters had passed between himself and the Dalai Lama, who was always favourably inclined towards the English; but he attributed the discouragement and obstruction Turner had received to the Chinese officials at Lhasa. “The influence of the Chinese,” adds Turner, “overawes the Tibetans in all their proceedings, and produces a timidity and caution in their conduct more suited to the character of subjects than allies.” At the same time, they were very jealous of interference by the Chinese, and uneasy of their yoke, though it sat so lightly upon them. And while they respected the Chinese Emperor, and had this fear of Chinese officials, they “looked upon the Chinese as a gross and impure race of men.”

Turner spent nearly a year in Tibet, and though he was unable to visit Lhasa owing to the antipathy of the Lamas, he was able to obtain some substantial concessions from the Regent of the Tashi Lama at Shigatse. He obtained^[5] “his promise of encouragement to all merchants, natives of India, that may be sent to traffic in Tibet, on behalf of the Government of Bengal,” and he reports to Warren Hastings that his authority alone is requisite to secure these merchants the protection of the Regent, who had promised to grant free admission into Tibet to all such merchants, natives of India, as shall come recommended by the Governor of Bengal; to yield them every assistance requisite for the transport of their goods; and to assign them a place of residence for vending their commodities, either within the monastery at Shigatse, or, should it be considered as more eligible, in the town itself. He did not consider it consistent with the spirit of Warren Hastings’ instructions, he reports, to be importunate for greater privileges than those to native traders. Such as he had obtained he hoped would suffice to open the much-wished-for communication. When merchants had learnt the way, tasted the profit and established intercourse, the traffic might bear a tax, which, if laid upon it in its infancy, might suppress its growth.

By an unfortunate circumstance, through the first British Envoy having arrived in Nepal just about the time of this invasion, the Chinese commander formed the impression that we had instigated, or at least encouraged, the Nepalese in their attack on Tibet; and the representations which he made to his Government, coupled, says Turner, with our declining to afford effectual assistance to the Lamas’ cause, had considerable weight. As a consequence, all communication between Tibet and India was stopped, and “the approach of strangers, even of Bengal and Hindustan, was utterly prohibited.” The Hindu holy men were charged with treachery in acting as spies and guides for the Nepalese, and were forbidden to remain any longer in Shigatse; and “from this period,” continues Turner, “unhappily is to be dated the interruption which has taken place in the regular intercourse between the Company’s possessions and the territory of the Lama.”

CHAPTER III
MANNING’S VISIT TO LHASA

Manning, attended by a Chinese servant, proceeded to Tibet through Bhutan, and on October 21, 1811, arrived at Phari, at the head of the Chumbi Valley. His description of the Jong then precisely corresponds with our own experiences in Tibet on many an occasion since: “Dirt, dirt, grease, smoke. Misery, but good mutton.”

The answer from the Lhasa magistrate to his request to be permitted to proceed to Lhasa arrived a few days after his arrival at Gyantse. A passport was given him, transport and supplies furnished, and as he neared Lhasa he was met by a “respectable person on horseback, who dismounted and saluted,” and who had been sent out by the Tibetan authorities to welcome him and conduct him to Lhasa.

Arrived in the great hall he made due obeisance, touching the ground three times with his head to the Grand Lama, and once to the Ti-mi-fu. While he was bowing, "the awkward servants contrived to let fall and break the bottle of lavender-water." Having delivered his present to the Grand Lama, he took off his hat, and “humbly gave his clean-shaved head to lay his hands upon.”

Yet, on the whole, he was not badly treated. He remained on at Lhasa for several months, paying many visits to the Grand Lama, and eventually orders came from Peking for him to return the way he came. He left Lhasa on April 19, and reached Kuch Behar on June 10, 1812.

Yet Manning confirmed what Bogle and Turner had also noticed—that, while the Tibetans dreaded the Chinese, they disliked them intensely. He says that the Chinese were very disrespectful to the Tibetans. Only bad-charactered Chinamen were sent to Tibet, and he could not help thinking that the Tibetans "would view the Chinese influence in Tibet overthrown without many emotions of regret, especially if the rulers under the new influence were to treat the Grand Lama with respect; for this is a point in which those haughty Mandarins are somewhat deficient, to the no small dissatisfaction of the good people of Lhasa." These words would be very fairly applicable to the situation at the present day.

CHAPTER IV
THE BENGAL GOVERNMENT’S EFFORTS, 1873–1886

In seeking to press the Chinese for admittance to Tibet, he said, the most emphatic declaration might be made that, having our natural and best boundary in the Himalayas, we could not, and would not in any circumstances, encroach on Tibet, and we might offer to arrange that none save Hillmen or classes domiciled in Tibet should be allowed to go in without a pass, which would be given under such restrictions that Government would be responsible for the conduct of the holders.

Local officers are often told that they are too impatient, and that they too frequently want to settle a matter by local action, when it might be so much better disposed of by correspondence from headquarters; by negotiations, for instance, between London and Peking, or London and St. Petersburg. They are urged to take a wider view, and to display a calmer spirit, and greater confidence in the wisdom and sagacity of their London rulers. But when thirty years after this very moderate and perfectly reasonable request was made by the local authority, the matter was still no nearer settlement than it was when the request was made; and when the House of Commons, which controls the destinies of the Empire, was still asking why we did not apply to the Chinese, the local officer’s faith in the superior efficacy of headquarters treatment is somewhat shaken. And he often questions whether matters which, after forming the subject of voluminous correspondence between the provincial Government and the Government of India, between the latter and the India Office, between the India Office and the Foreign Office, between the Foreign Office and the Ambassador abroad, between him and the Foreign Government, which are discussed in the Cabinet, and form a subject for debate in the House of Commons and the House of Lords, and for platform speeches and newspaper articles innumerable, do not in this lengthy process assume a magnitude which they never originally possessed; whether, having assumed such magnitude, they ever really do get settled or only compromised; and whether, after all, they might not have been settled expeditiously and decisively on the spot before they had been allowed to grow to these alarming proportions.

There are, one knows, many cases which can only be settled by the Central Government, and which are so settled very satisfactorily, but I am doubtful if Tibet is one of these, and whether we have been wise in the instance of Tibet, and in many others connected with China, to make so much of, and expect so much from, the Chinese Central Government, which has so little real control over the local Governments. Perhaps if the Government of Bengal, with the countenance and support of the Imperial Government, had long ago dealt directly with the Lhasa authorities, Chinese and Tibetan matters might have been arranged more expeditiously and satisfactorily. At any rate, it cannot be safely assumed that the Central Government method is necessarily the best.

But in 1885 a renewed effort was made to come to an understanding with the Tibetans. The brilliant Secretary of the Bengal Government, Colman Macaulay, visited the frontier to see if any useful relationship could be established with the Shigatse people by the route up the head of the Sikkim Valley. The Tashi Lama, who resides at Shigatse, had always been more friendly than the Lhasa people, and this seemed more promising. Macaulay saw a local Tibetan official from the other side, entered into friendly intercourse, and found, as Bogle and Turner had found, that apart from Chinese obstruction there was no objection on the part of the Tibetan people themselves to enter into friendly relationship. Macaulay was filled with enthusiasm. He threw his whole soul and energy into the matter. He secured the support of the Government of India. And, more important still, he fired the Secretary of State for India with ardour. Never before had such enthusiasm for improving our relations with Tibet been shown. And as it happened that this Secretary of State was the best the India Office have ever had—the man who without any faltering hesitation annexed Burma, to the lasting benefit of the Burmese, of ourselves, and of humanity—there seemed now a real prospect of success. Lord Randolph Churchill and Colman Macaulay were something of kindred spirits, and Macaulay was sent to Peking with every support and encouragement to get the necessary permit for a mission to Lhasa. The Chinese assented. Permission was granted. Macaulay organized his mission, bought rich presents, collected his transport, and was on the eve of starting from Darjiling when “international considerations” came in and Government countermanded the whole affair.

This is a very essential fact to bear in mind in the consideration of the Tibetan question—that after both Tibetan and Chinese susceptibilities had been given way to on every occasion, it was the Tibetans who invaded us. It was a Bhutanese invasion of the plains of Bengal, followed by a letter from the Tashi Lama, that had initiated our relations with Tibet in the time of Warren Hastings. And it was this invasion of Sikkim that forced upon us the regularization of our relations with the Tibetans.

This position General Graham attacked on the following day, and drove the Tibetans from it over the Jelap-la Pass, and in the ensuing days pursued them into the Chumbi Valley. But here again, in accordance with our principle of respecting Chinese susceptibilities, our troops did not remain in Chumbi a single day, but returned at once to Gnatong. For two years now the Tibetans had been encroaching on our side of the frontier, but not for one day would we permit our troops to remain on the Tibetan side. Forbearance could scarcely go further than this, but yet it was to be still more strained on many a subsequent occasion.

CHAPTER V
THE CONVENTION WITH CHINA

But now that the Indian Government, knowing that they could perfectly well hold their own up to their frontier, and finding that the Chinese were of little use in controlling events beyond it, were quite prepared to drop negotiations, the Chinese themselves came forward and pressed for their conclusion. This is an important point. It was now the Chinese who were pressing for an agreement. Further, and this is still more important, they stated that “China will be quite able to enforce in Tibet the terms of the treaty,” and they asked the Government of India to depute officers to meet the Chinese Resident at Gnatong. For the agreement which was subsequently reached the Chinese are therefore in the fullest sense responsible. They had themselves sought it, and they had themselves undertaken to control the affairs of the Tibetans.

Our principal aim was to get some mart recognized, to which our merchants could resort and there meet Tibetan merchants. We did not attempt to gain permission for our traders to travel all over Tibet, as Tibetan traders can travel all over India. We merely sought to have one single place recognized where Indian and Tibetan traders could meet to do business with each other. And the place we sought to get so recognized was not in the centre of Tibet, or even in Tibet proper at all. It did not lie on the far side of the Himalayan watershed. It was Phari, at the head of the Chumbi Valley, on the southern side of the main Himalayan range. Yet to even this the Chinese and Tibetans would not agree, and eventually Yatung, at the extreme southern end of the Chumbi Valley and immediately on our border, was agreed upon.

Mr. White, writing on June 9 from Yatung, reported that, in the first place, the site of the mart had been “exceedingly badly chosen.” It will be remembered that it was chosen by the Tibetans, and simply accepted by us out of deference to their feelings. It was at the bottom of a narrow valley, shut in by steep hills, with no room for expansion. He further reported that the godowns (stores), or shops, built for the trade would answer the purpose of native shops, but were quite inadequate for the storage of goods or for the use of European merchants, and that the rent proposed was exorbitant, being Rs. 25 a month, when a fair rent would be from Rs. 4 to Rs. 5. He found the Tibetans most discourteous and obstructive, and he believed that the Lhasa authorities had issued orders that the free-trade clauses of the treaty were not to be carried out. The local official at Phari, at the head of the Chumbi Valley, charged 10 per cent. on all goods passing through Phari, both imports and exports; and this action, in Mr. White’s opinion, certainly did away with any freedom of trade, as provided for in the treaty, for it was obviously useless to have provided by treaty that Indian goods should be allowed to enter Tibet free of duty if a few miles inside the frontier, and on the only road into Tibet, a heavy duty was to be imposed upon them.

Mr. White also reported that the Chinese, though friendly to him, and apparently willing to help, had “no authority whatever.” They admitted that the treaty was not being carried out in a proper spirit, and Mr. White gathered that the Tibetans actually repudiated it, and asserted that it was signed by the British Government and the Chinese, and therefore they had nothing to do with it. In any case, they maintained that they had a right to impose what taxes they chose at Phari so long as goods were allowed to pass Yatung free. The Chinese confessed that they were not able to manage the Tibetans. The Tibetans would not obey them, and the Chinese were afraid to give any orders. China was suzerain over Tibet only in name, was Mr. White’s conclusion. Negotiation was, therefore, he said, most difficult, for though the Chinese agreed to any proposal, they were quite unable to answer for the Tibetans, and the Tibetans, when spoken to, either sheltered themselves behind the Chinese or said that they had no orders to give any answer for Lhasa, and could only report.

The Government of India, however, "recognizing the necessity for extreme patience in dealing with the Tibetans, decided that it would be premature to make any formal complaint of their obstructiveness."^[6] They wrote to the Government of Bengal that "The information in regard to the levy of duty at Phari and to the obstructiveness of the Tibetans was certainly unsatisfactory, but the Regulations only laid down that goods entering Tibet from British India across the Sikkim-Tibet frontier, or vice versa, shall be exempt, etc. Phari is a considerable distance from the frontier, and unless it could be shown that the duty to which Mr. White referred was a special one newly imposed it appeared doubtful whether the Government of India could enter a valid objection." “It has always been recognized,” continues the despatch, "that the utmost patience is necessary in dealing with the Tibetans, and having regard to the short time which has elapsed since the date fixed for the opening of the Yatung mart, the Governor-General in Council would prefer to make nothing in the nature of a complaint to the Chinese Government at the present stage."^[7]

It was not only in trade matters that the Tibetans had shown a disregard of the treaty. In the matter of the frontier also they proved troublesome, and during his stay at Yatung Mr. White was informed that certain places in the north-east of Sikkim, and within the boundary laid down in the Convention of 1890, had recently been occupied by Tibetan soldiers. The Viceroy wrote to the Amban in August, 1899, pointing out that such incidents were not unlikely to occur as long as the frontier officials had no practical acquaintance with the actual border-line, and suggesting that it would probably be convenient to arrange that Frontier Officers should meet before long on the border and travel together along the boundary fixed by the Convention.

Everything was then carefully and deliberately arranged, and there seemed good prospect of a settlement of the frontier; but when, in the following May, Mr. White approached the frontier to meet the Chinese deputy, in accordance with an arrangement they had made between them, he was met by a letter, written by direction of the deputy, and stating that the Lamas were obstinate in their refusal to supply transport, and that he was much disturbed at his failure to keep his appointment, but had laid his difficulties before the Amban. On May 19 Mr. White and the Chinese Major met—a different one from the deputy originally appointed, for the latter had since died. He asked for more delay, but Mr. White refused, as he had already been kept waiting with his escort at inclement altitudes, and Mr. White and he fixed the site of the pillar on the Jelap-la (pass), which is a spot where the site of the watershed forming the boundary, according to treaty, is quite unmistakable, as it runs along a very sharply-defined ridge. Mr. White erected a pillar here, and arranged with the Chinese deputy to meet him at another pass, the Dokala, on June 1, while Mr. White should in the interval erect a pillar at the Donchukla, to be afterwards inspected by the Chinese.

The Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Charles Elliott, acknowledged that it was difficult for Mr. White to remain indefinitely in his camp on the frontier, but declared that it was impossible to disguise the fact that a return to Gantok practically meant the abandonment of the demarcation. He believed that the authorities in Peking were anxious that the delimitation should continue without delay, but it was plain that the Amban at Lhasa was unable to give effect to the wishes of his Government in consequence of the opposition manifested by the Lamas, who exercised the real authority in Tibet. The contemplated withdrawal of Mr. White to Gantok would undoubtedly, he thought—and events proved him to be absolutely right—cause a loss of prestige, would be looked upon by the Tibetans as a rebuff to British authority, and would encourage them in high-handed acts and demands, and possibly outrages. He had no doubt that if the British Government had only to deal with Tibet, the wisest policy would be to give them warning that unless they at once made arrangements to co-operate in the work of delimitation it would be done without them, and that unless they appointed a ruler on their side who could protect the pillars set up, the British Government would march in and hold the Chumbi Valley in pawn, either temporarily or permanently. Such a brusque and high-handed line of conduct, added the Lieutenant-Governor, was the only one that frontier tribes who have reached the stage of civilization of the Tibetans could understand. But the affair, he allowed, was complicated by the relations of Government with China, and our desire to uphold the weak and tottering authority of the Chinese in Lhasa, the result of which was that the people who were in real power were not those we dealt with, and that the people we dealt with had no power to carry out their engagements with us. In the circumstances, Sir Charles Elliott advocated such negotiations with the Chinese Government as would leave the British Government free to march in and hold the Chumbi Valley, with their consent, and without any detriment to the Chinese suzerainty, but with the object of assisting them to establish their authority more firmly at Lhasa. At any rate, we ought, he considered, to intimate in a firm and friendly way to the Peking Government that either they must get their orders carried out or we must. He reminded the Government of India that nothing had been exacted as the result of the British victories at Lengtu and on the Jelap-la—not even compensation for the cost of the campaign—and he urged that we should now insist that we would protect our own interests if China could not carry out her engagements.^[8]

The Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Charles Elliott, acknowledged that it was difficult for Mr. White to remain indefinitely in his camp on the frontier, but declared that it was impossible to disguise the fact that a return to Gantok practically meant the abandonment of the demarcation. He believed that the authorities in Peking were anxious that the delimitation should continue without delay, but it was plain that the Amban at Lhasa was unable to give effect to the wishes of his Government in consequence of the opposition manifested by the Lamas, who exercised the real authority in Tibet. The contemplated withdrawal of Mr. White to Gantok would undoubtedly, he thought—and events proved him to be absolutely right—cause a loss of prestige, would be looked upon by the Tibetans as a rebuff to British authority, and would encourage them in high-handed acts and demands, and possibly outrages. He had no doubt that if the British Government had only to deal with Tibet, the wisest policy would be to give them warning that unless they at once made arrangements to co-operate in the work of delimitation it would be done without them, and that unless they appointed a ruler on their side who could protect the pillars set up, the British Government would march in and hold the Chumbi Valley in pawn, either temporarily or permanently. Such a brusque and high-handed line of conduct, added the Lieutenant-Governor, was the only one that frontier tribes who have reached the stage of civilization of the Tibetans could understand. But the affair, he allowed, was complicated by the relations of Government with China, and our desire to uphold the weak and tottering authority of the Chinese in Lhasa, the result of which was that the people who were in real power were not those we dealt with, and that the people we dealt with had no power to carry out their engagements with us. In the circumstances, Sir Charles Elliott advocated such negotiations with the Chinese Government as would leave the British Government free to march in and hold the Chumbi Valley, with their consent, and without any detriment to the Chinese suzerainty, but with the object of assisting them to establish their authority more firmly at Lhasa. At any rate, we ought, he considered, to intimate in a firm and friendly way to the Peking Government that either they must get their orders carried out or we must. He reminded the Government of India that nothing had been exacted as the result of the British victories at Lengtu and on the Jelap-la—not even compensation for the cost of the campaign—and he urged that we should now insist that we would protect our own interests if China could not carry out her engagements.^[8]

A few months after this was written, in November of 1895, Mr. Nolan, the Commissioner of Darjiling, an officer who had for many years been conversant with the Tibetan question, and who held civil charge of that division of Bengal which adjoins Sikkim and Bhutan, and who supervised our relations with those two States as well as our trade with Tibet, visited Yatung, and had conversations with Chinese and Tibetan local officials. His report of the state of affairs there is one of the most interesting published.^[9] He found that the imposition of the 10 per cent. duty at Phari was no new exaction, but had existed for a long time. He found, also, that the reason the Tibetans did not meet Mr. White in the previous summer to delimit the boundary was that they wished the general line of the frontier should be agreed upon, in the first instance, with reference to maps, and the ground visited only after this was done. But he found, too, that the Tibetans repudiated the treaty. The “Chief Steward,” the sole Commissioner on the part of the Tibetan Government for reporting on the frontier matter, “made the important statement that the Tibetans did not consider themselves bound by the Convention with China, as they were not a party to it.” He reported further, that the Tibetans had prevented the formation of a mart by building a wall across the valley on the farther side of Yatung, by efficiently guarding this and by prohibiting their traders from passing through. Mr. Korb, a wool merchant from Bengal, had come to Yatung to purchase wool from some of his correspondents on the Tibetan side, who had invited him thither; but the Tibetans prevented his correspondents from coming to do business with him. Tibetan merchants were similarly prevented from seeing Mr. Nolan.

The failure to carry out the treaty he attributed entirely to the Tibetans. He was quite satisfied that the Chinese officials in Tibet, whatever might have been their prepossessions in favour of the policy of seclusion, then sincerely desired to see the Convention carried out, being afraid that they would be disgraced by their own Government if it were not. The Tibetans were the real as well as the ostensible opponents. And Mr. Nolan believed their true motives in opposing the treaty were correctly expressed by a monk, who said that if the English entered Tibet, his bowl would be broken, meaning that the influence of his Order would be destroyed, and its wealth, typified by the collection of food made from door to door in bowls, would be lost. And this opposition on the part of the Lamas the Chinese had not the means of overcoming. They certainly had an acknowledged social superiority, and they were feared to a certain extent on account of their power to send an army through the Himalayas, as they had done on several occasions with surprising success. On the other hand, their present forces in Tibet were ridiculously small, and from Yatung to Gyantse they only had 140 soldiers, and at Lhasa only a few hundreds, while the monks at Lhasa numbered 19,100, of whom 16,500 were concentrated in three great monasteries, and they were vigorous and formidable in a riot, having attacked the Chinese in 1810 and 1844 and the Nepalese in 1883.

And so the game rolled on, and nothing whatever resulted. The Chinese Resident was superseded, and the Chinese asked that action should be deferred till the new one arrived. The new Resident came, and wrote that the Tibetans are "naturally doltish, and prone to doubts and misgivings," and it would be best therefore that they should “personally inspect the line of demarcation mentioned in the treaty,” though a Tibetan representative had been with the Chinese Amban when the Convention was made, and had ample opportunity during the years that agreement took in negotiating to inspect and to give the views of his Government upon it. And so it resulted that when, at the conclusion of five years from the signing of the Trade Regulations, the Secretary of State asked the Government of India for “a full report, both on the progress made since the date of that agreement towards the settlement of the frontier, and on the extent to which the trade stipulations of the treaty and Convention had been operative,” the Bengal Government had to reply^[10] that the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet, as laid down in Article I. of the Convention, had not yet been demarcated, owing to the refusal of the Tibetans to abide by the terms of the Convention, and to their claiming a tract of land to the north of Donkya-la, Giagong, and the Lonakh Valley; and that the trade stipulations contained in the Regulations, had been inoperative. The Tibetans had prevented Yatung becoming a real trade-mart; absolutely no business was transacted there, and it was merely a registering post for goods passing between Tibet and India, and the proclamation of the place as a mart had in no way influenced the trade between the two countries, for what small increase there was appeared to be mainly due to, and might have been expected from, the restoration of peace between the British Government and Tibet.

CHAPTER VI
SECURING THE TREATY RIGHTS

Lord Curzon therefore commenced, in the autumn of 1899, a series of attempts to open up direct communication with them. Ugyen Kázi, the Bhutanese Agent in Darjiling, who was accustomed to visit Tibet for trade purposes, was first employed to write a letter on his own behalf to the Dalai Lama, suggesting, in general terms, that a high Tibetan official should be sent to discuss the frontier and trade questions. This letter met with an unfavourable response. Captain Kennion, the Assistant to the Resident in Kashmir, who annually visits Leh and the Western Tibet frontier, was then charged with a letter from the Viceroy to the Dalai Lama, which he was to give to the Tibetan officials in Gartok; but six months after this was returned to Captain Kennion, with the intimation that the officials had not dared, in the face of the regulations against the intrusion of foreigners into Tibet, to send it to Lhasa. These two methods having failed, Ugyen Kázi was entrusted with another letter from the Viceroy to the Dalai Lama, which he was himself to present at Lhasa. In August, 1901, he returned from Lhasa, reporting that the Dalai Lama declined to reply to it, stating as his reason that the matter was not one for him to settle, but must be discussed fully in Council with the Amban, the Ministers, and the Lamas, and the letter was brought back with the seal intact.

A factor of determining importance now suddenly thrust itself into the situation. At the very time when the Viceroy was making these fruitless efforts to enter into direct communication with the Dalai Lama came the information that this exclusive personage had been sending an Envoy to the Czar. Our Ambassador at St. Petersburg forwarded to the Foreign Office an announcement in the official column of the Journal de Saint Petersbourg of October 2 (15), 1900, announcing the reception by His Majesty the Emperor of a certain Dorjieff, who was described as first Tsanit Hamba to the Dalai Lama of Tibet. And, some months later, our Consul-General at Odessa forwarded to the Foreign Office an extract from the Odessa Novosti of June 12 (25), 1901, stating that Odessa would welcome that day an Extraordinary Mission from the Dalai Lama of Tibet, which was proceeding to St. Petersburg with diplomatic instructions of importance. At the head of the mission was the Lama, Dorzhievy (Dorjieff), and its chief object was a rapprochement and the strengthening of good relations with Russia. It was said to have been equipped by the Dalai Lama, and despatched with autograph letters and presents from him to His Imperial Majesty. And, among other things, it was to raise the question of the establishment in St. Petersburg of a permanent Tibetan Mission for the maintenance of good relations with Russia.

They continued to plod steadily along at the settlement of the frontier, and corresponded with the Secretary of State and the Bengal Chamber of Commerce about the introduction of tea to Tibet now that the five years, during which it was to be excluded had expired. But they acted with much more decision than previously, and instead of waiting year after year for the arrival of Chinese or Tibetan deputies to meet our representatives, they sent Mr. White, in the summer of 1902, to Giagong, to reassert British rights to the tract of country which the Tibetans had been occupying in contravention of the treaty of 1890, and, if necessary, to expel them from the British side of the frontier. Mr. White had suggested that an effective and simple way would be to occupy the Chumbi Valley, but the Government of India, though they considered grounds for strong action were far from lacking, were not for the time in favour of such a proposal. And another alternative of stopping all Tibetan trade they thought would be hard on our own traders, and might drive trade permanently away to Nepal and Bhutan. They accordingly adopted the above-mentioned course.

The Viceroy, in reply, wrote to say that the object of the journey from which Mr. White had recently returned was to inspect the boundary as laid down in the Convention of 1890, and to compel the withdrawal from Sikkim territory of any troops which the Tibetans might have established in violation of that Convention. He reminded the Chinese Resident that he had offered to make concessions with respect to these frontier lands, on the understanding that matters as to trade would be put on a proper footing. But Lord Curzon pointed out that the negotiations for the improvement of trade relations between India and Tibet had made no real progress during the past twelve years. In these circumstances, he had no alternative but to compel the observance of the boundary as prescribed by the Convention; and until matters as to trade had been placed on a satisfactory footing, he must continue to insist on the boundary being observed, though any proposals which the Chinese Resident would make for the improvement of trade relations would receive careful consideration, and Mr. White had been instructed to discuss with the Commissioners appointed by the Amban any suggestions which they might put forward.

Our Minister at Peking, on August 2, 1902, telegraphed^[15] to Lord Lansdowne that there had been going the rounds of the press an agreement in regard to Tibet, alleged to have been secretly made between Russia and China. In return for a promise to uphold the integrity of China, the entire interest of China in Tibet was to be relinquished to Russia. This rumour, said our Minister, seemed to have originated in a Chinese paper published in Satow. Fuller information was sent by letter. According to this, among other things, Russia would establish Government officers in Tibet to control Tibetan affairs.

It was obviously prudent, therefore, to prevent her acquiring a more predominant influence than our own in Tibet. While it was quite natural that she should be glad to have an influence at Lhasa, it was still more natural that we should be jealous of her having more influence than we had. For, while our border was contiguous with Tibet for 1,000 miles, from Kashmir nearly to Burma, the Russian border nowhere touched or even approached Tibet. The whole breadth of Chinese Turkestan lay in between the Russian frontier and the nearest frontier of Tibet, and Lhasa itself was 1,000 miles distant from the nearest point on the Russian frontier. To appreciate the position, let the reader draw out the map at the end of this volume.

CHAPTER VII
NEGOTIATIONS WITH RUSSIA

A few days later, on February 18, Lord Lansdowne, in a further conversation with the Russian Ambassador, recurred to the same subject.^[19] He said that the Indian Government had been seriously perturbed by the communication made to the Foreign Office. The interest of India in Tibet was, Lord Lansdowne said, of a very special character. With a map of Central Asia before him, he pointed out to the Ambassador that Lhasa was within a comparatively short distance of the Indian frontier, while, on the other hand, it was considerably over 1,000 miles from the Asiatic possessions of Russia, and any sudden display of Russian interest or activity in the regions immediately adjoining the possessions of Great Britain could scarcely fail to have a disturbing effect upon the population, or to create the impression that British influence was receding, and that of Russia making rapid advances into regions which had hitherto been regarded as altogether outside her sphere of influence.

Some delay occurred in getting a reply from the Russian Government, but on April 8, 1903, the Russian Ambassador informed Lord Lansdowne^[20] that he could “assure him officially that there was no convention about Tibet, either with Tibet itself, or with China, or with anyone else; nor had the Russian Government any agents in that country, or any intention of sending any agents or missions there. But, although the Russian Government had no designs whatever about Tibet, they could not remain indifferent to any serious disturbance of the status quo in that country. Such a disturbance might render it necessary for them to safeguard their interests in Asia; not that even in that case they would desire to interfere in the affairs of Tibet, as their policy ‘ne viserait le Tibet en aucun cas,’ but they might be obliged to take measures elsewhere. They regarded Tibet as forming part of the Chinese Empire, in the integrity of which they took an interest.”

With these very definite assurances from Russia, it might well be asked why we should still have desired to take pronounced measures in Tibet. Anxiety in regard to Russian action in Tibet was the main reason why the Government of India sought to take action in Tibet. Now that we were reasonably assured that Russia had no intention of interfering in Tibet, why should we still have thought it necessary to send a mission into the country? The answer is that we had not yet settled those questions of trade and intercourse which had existed years before the Russian factor intruded itself into the situation; besides which we had always the consideration that, although it might be true enough that the Russians had no mind to have any dealings with the Tibetans, yet the Tibetans might still think they could rely on the Russians in flouting us. The Germans had officially no intention of interfering with the Boers, yet it was because Kruger thought he could rely upon German support that he went to war with England. He was much too astute an old gentleman to have fought us if he had thought he would have had to fight us by himself. So it was with the Tibetans. The Russian Government might not have the remotest intention of helping them in any possible way, yet the Tibetans might, and did, think they could count upon Russian support. The Dalai Lama’s Envoy Extraordinary had been very well received by the Czar and by the Russian Chancellor and others. Doubtless, he had collected some very handsome subscriptions and received valuable presents. A little Oriental imagination would soon expand these ordinary amenities into a promise of thick-and-thin support against the English. We had still this erroneous impression to reckon with.

CHAPTER VIII
A MISSION SANCTIONED

When the Russian assurances were at length received, the purport of the conversation Lord Lansdowne had held with the Russian Ambassador was at once communicated by telegram to the Viceroy, and on April 14 the Secretary of State, presuming that it would be necessary to include in the scope of the negotiations with China and Tibet the entire question of our future relations with Tibet, commercial and otherwise, asked the Viceroy for his views as to the form which these negotiations should now take, with special reference to the means to be adopted to insure that the conditions that might be arrived at would be observed by Tibet.

In regard to the subject-matter of the forthcoming negotiations, the Viceroy telegraphed on May 7 that, having regard to the stultification of existing treaty provisions, and to the unsuitability of either Yatung, Phari, or any other place in the Chumbi Valley, for a trade-mart, in which business could be transacted directly between British and Tibetan merchants, without incurring the monopoly of local traders, it was necessary to insist upon opening a new trade-mart and upon having a British agent at Gyantse. The Viceroy thought that having a British representative at Lhasa, which would be the best possible security for the future observance of the conditions, would be far preferable; but assuming the unwillingness of His Majesty’s Government to press this claim, the proposal for an agent at Gyantse was a suitable alternative. In any case, the fullest facilities should be given to the British representative for direct communication with the Tibetan Government, and if he met with obstruction, it would be necessary to resort to the alternative of moving him forward to Lhasa. Furthermore, it would be necessary to secure for British Indian subjects the same freedom for trade and travel in Tibet as was enjoyed by Kashmiris and Nepalese, and to insist that all British subjects duly authorized by the Government of India should be allowed to proceed by recognized routes to Gyantse, beyond which a pass from the Tibetan Government would be required.

The final decision of the Home Government on the whole matter was telegraphed to the Viceroy on May 28. They approved a procedure by which both the Chinese and Tibetan Governments would be bound by the action of their representatives, but they wished that the negotiations should be confined to questions concerning trade relations, the frontier, and grazing rights, and that no proposal should be made for the establishment of a Political Agent at Gyantse or Lhasa, as such a political outpost might entail difficulties and responsibilities incommensurate with any benefits which would be gained by it. They had recently received assurances that Russia had no intention of developing political interests in Tibet, and they were unwilling to be committed by threats to any definite course of compulsion to be undertaken in future.

To this the Viceroy replied, on June 3, 1903, that, as the Resident had already clearly recognized, it would be useless to negotiate upon matters affecting Tibet without insuring the full and adequate representation of the Dalai Lama’s Government throughout the proceedings. He was nominating as his Commissioner Colonel Younghusband, who, accompanied by Mr. White, Political Officer in Sikkim, as Joint Commissioner, would proceed to meet the Commissioners appointed by the Resident, who should, of course, be of equivalent rank, and must be attended by a Tibetan officer of the highest rank, whose authority to bind the Tibetan Government was absolute and unquestioned. On this understanding, that the Lhasa authorities would be duly and fully represented, the Viceroy was prepared to accept the Resident’s invitation that the Commissioners should meet at a very early date, and discuss, not only the exact position of the frontier under the Convention of 1890 and the mutual rights of grazing to be allowed on either side of that frontier to the people of Tibet and British territory, but also the method in which our trade relations could be improved and placed upon a basis more consonant with the usage of civilized nations and our direct and predominating interests in Tibet. And as the Resident was prepared to let his deputies meet the British representative at any place which the Viceroy might select, and as Khamba Jong, being the nearest inhabited place to the frontier in question, seemed to be the most suitable place for the meeting, he had directed Colonel Younghusband to proceed thither as soon as he conveniently could, and he trusted that the Resident would secure the attendance of the Chinese and Tibetan representatives at Khamba Jong on, or as soon as possible after, July 7.

On the same date as this letter was written I also received my own formal instructions.^[22] I was informed that a strict insistence on the boundary-line as laid down in the Convention of 1890 was, perhaps, not essential either to the Government of India or to the Sikkim Durbar, and I was directed to give my opinion on this point after inspecting the tract in question. The matter of grazing rights was not one of great importance, and after discussion with the Chinese and Tibetan delegates I was to submit my proposals as to the agreement which might be come to in this matter. The revision of the Trade Regulations and the recognition of Gyantse as a trade-mart in place of Yatung were to form the subject of discussion with the Chinese and Tibetan delegates, and the provision of guarantees for the observance of such agreements as might be concluded were to be considered a matter of the first importance. It was further considered very desirable that arrangements for free communication between the Government of India and the authorities at Lhasa should be made, and possibly also annual meetings between British and Tibetan officials for the due settlement of the trade and frontier difficulties which might occur.

CHAPTER IX
SIMLA TO KHAMBA JONG

The previous chapters have been necessarily, though perhaps somewhat tediously, filled up with a narrative of the many intricate considerations which went towards the final determination to send a mission to Tibet. But of all that had been going on—of the voluminous correspondence in the great offices, of the meetings and attempts at meetings on the frontier—I was wholly ignorant. Anglo-Indian papers seldom contain information on such happenings. And for some years past, in accordance with the well-intentioned, but, as it has since turned out, thoroughly unsound, advice of a previous Viceroy, that it would be to my advantage in the Political Department not to remain for ever on the frontier, but to acquire experience of internal affairs as well, I had been serving in the interior in political agencies in Rajputana and Central India, and had heard nothing of any intention to send a mission to Tibet. Nor had I ever had any connection with Tibet, though as long ago as 1888 the then Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal had, I discovered many years after, asked the Government of India for my services, as I had then just returned from a journey around Manchuria and across Central Asia, from Peking to Kashmir, and it was thought that, knowing Chinese customs, I might be of use, in addition to the Chinese interpreter. This request was twice made, it appears; but I was then a young subaltern, still in military employ, and in the throes of examination, and the Government of India replied that I was not available, as I was about to go up for examination, and, if sent away then, would fail to qualify for promotion. So I went up for one of those examinations of which such a fetish is made, and never till now had been near the Tibet frontier. I made, indeed, an abortive effort in 1889 to go to Lhasa, disguised as a Turki from Central Asia; but this, too, was nipped in the bud by the refusal of my Colonel to give me leave from the regiment. What spirit of adventure I possessed never received much encouragement from Government, and, as I have said, I had left the frontier for some years, and was superintending the affairs of a native State in the very heart of India, when, on a sweltering day in May, I suddenly received a summons to proceed at once to Simla to receive instructions regarding a mission I was to lead to Tibet.

One thing he made perfectly clear to me from the start—that he meant to see the thing through; that he intended the mission to be a success, and would provide me with every means within his power to make it so. Fortunately, we knew each other well—ever since his first appointment as Under-Secretary of State for India. We had travelled together nine years previously round Chitral and Gilgit; we had corresponded for years; and when he came to India he, with a kindness of heart for which he is ordinarily given very little credit, had asked me to regard him, not as Viceroy, but as an old friend and fellow-traveller. No better initiator and supporter of such an enterprise as a mission to Tibet could be imagined. He had his whole heart and soul in the undertaking, and I do not think it took long for me to put my whole heart into it, too.

I departed, then, from Simla in the most matter-of-fact manner possible, telling my friends, what was perfectly true, that I was going to see Darjiling. I had therefore no “enthusiastic send-off.” But I had what was better, the heartfelt good wishes of the Viceroy, who has known the conditions under which frontier officers work, and has been more interested in the problems which confront them than any other Viceroy for many a year past. I was also greatly cheered, and subsequently most warmly and continuously supported, by Sir Louis Dane, the Foreign Secretary, whose hospitality I had enjoyed during my stay in Simla.

As in the earliest dawn I looked out of the train window, to catch the first glimpse of those mighty mountains I had to penetrate, I saw far up in the sky a rose-tinged stretch of seeming cloud. All around was level plain. The air was stifling with the heat of a tropical midsummer. But I knew that pinky streak across the sky could be nothing else than the line of the Himalayas, tinted by the yet unrisen sun. It gave me the first thrill of my new adventure, and I forthwith drank in greedily every new impression.

Sir James Bourdillon, the acting Lieutenant-Governor; Mr. Macpherson, the Chief Secretary; Mr. Marindin, the Commissioner; Mr. Walsh, the Deputy-Commissioner, were all most helpful to me, and I appreciated their assistance all the more because I could not help feeling somewhat of an interloper and poacher upon other people’s preserves. Since 1873 the Bengal Government had been working for the settlement of their frontier affairs with Tibet, and now at the crucial moment a stranger dropped down from the Olympian heights of Simla to carry out the culminating act. I could naturally expect ordinary official civility from them. But they, every one of them, went out of their way to put their whole information and experience at my disposal. More than that, both they and their wives were more thoughtful and kind to my wife than I could possibly record during all that time of anxiety and depression when we subsequently advanced to Lhasa, and we have ever felt most deeply grateful to them.

I left Darjiling on June 19, in drenching rain. To realize it the English reader must picture to himself the heaviest thunderstorm he has ever seen, and imagine that pouring down continuously night and day. I was, of course, provided with a heavy waterproof cloak, with a riding apron and an umbrella; but the moisture seemed to soak through everything, for there was not only the rain beating down from above, but the penetrating mists creeping in all round. But I could not be depressed by mere rain, however much. The road passed through a forest of unsurpassable beauty. Chestnuts, walnuts, oaks, laurels, rhododendrons, and magnolias grew in great magnificence, and among them Himalayan kinds of birch, alder, maple, holly, apple, and cherry. Orchids of the most brilliant varieties I could have gathered in basketfuls. The perpetual moisture and the still atmosphere nourished the most delicate ferns; while the mosses were almost as beautiful, and hung from the trees in graceful pendants, blending with the festoons of the climbing plants.

They were also devoted to the people amongst whom they lived. These Lepchas are, says Mr. White, in his recent book, “Sikkim and Bhutan,” "quite an exceptional people, amongst whom it is a pleasure to live." And he says they make excellent and trustworthy servants. Certainly these people were devoted to Mr. White, who, in a kindly patriarchal way, did many a kindness for them as he toured through their valley. And I was particularly interested in observing them, and hearing Mr. White’s opinion of them, because they have been the subject of so many encomiums on the part of Herbert Spencer. On account of their truthfulness and gentleness they had been held up by him as an example to civilized people, and I was anxious to see whether at close quarters they were as estimable as they had appeared at a distance to the philosopher.

We remained only a few days in Gantok, and then pushed on toward the Tibetan frontier, for we were well on in the summer now, and we wanted, if possible, to get the matter settled before winter. The rain never ceased: bucketfuls and bucketfuls came drenching down. The ordinary waterproofing in which we wrapped our luggage was soaked through as if it had been paper. In the valley bottom we passed the camp of the 32nd Pioneers engaged in improving the road, and anything more depressing and miserable I have never seen. Tents, clothes, furniture—everything was soaking. The heat was stifling, the insect pests unbearable. Fever sapped the life out of the men, and one shuddered at the misery of life under such conditions: day after day, week after week, month after month, digging and blasting away at a road which as soon as it was made was washed into the river again; wet through with rain and with perspiration while at work, and finding everything equally moist on returning to camp; tormented with insect pests at work and in camp by night and by day. Yet it was only by mastering such conditions as these that the eventual settlement with Tibet was ever rendered possible.

And now, as we reached the higher regions, the loathsome leeches, the mosquitoes, gnats, and midges, were left behind, and we came into a region of Alpine vegetation—spruce-firs, ash, birch, maple, crab-apple, and nut, with jasmine, ivy, spiræa, wood-sorrel, and here and there, rising lightly through the shade of the forest, a gigantic white lily, most exquisitely lovely.

Here, at Tangu, only a march below the district round Giagong, which the Tibetans claimed, the real business of the mission commenced. By July 1 the whole of both the escort and the support—the former 200 men and the latter 300—were assembled, under the command of Colonel Brander. Both the men and the transport animals had suffered greatly in marching through the drenching rain and the steamy, fever-laden lower valleys; but now, in the cooler air of Tangu, they recovered their strength, and all were eager for the advance into Tibet. I was myself equally keen, but as I could hear no news of either Chinese or Tibetan officials of rank or authority having arrived at Khamba Jong to meet me, I decided to let Mr. White, with Captain O’Connor and the whole escort, go on in advance to arrange preliminaries.

On the following day Captain O’Connor rode forward, and was met by the Jongpen of Khamba Jong at the wall at Giagong, which the Tibetans claimed as their frontier, but which was on a river flowing into the Teesta River, and therefore clearly on our side of the frontier laid down by the Convention of 1890, concluded by the Chinese Resident, who had with him a Tibetan representative. The Jongpen importuned Captain O’Connor to dismount and to persuade Mr. White to do the same. But Captain O’Connor said that no discussion was possible, and on Mr. White’s arrival with the escort they all passed through the wall, and just beyond saw the two Lhasa officers arrayed in yellow silks, and accompanied by a crowd of unarmed retainers riding towards them from their camp. Captain O’Connor advanced to meet them, and they dismounted and spoke to him very civilly. They asked him to persuade Mr. White to dismount, to proceed to their tent close by, to partake of some refreshments, and to “discuss matters.” Captain O’Connor replied that Mr. White was not prepared to break his journey or to discuss matters at Giagong, but would be glad to see them in his camp that evening, though any discussion must be deferred until after the arrival of myself and the Chinese Commissioner at Khamba Jong.

The next day Mr. White and his escort rode quietly across the frontier, without meeting anyone except the Chinese Commandant of the small post of Giri, who passed by without speaking. Mr. White encamped near Giri, and received a visit from Mr. Ho, who communicated to him the contents of the Resident’s reply to the Viceroy, and made a request, which was politely declined, that the British Commissioner should remain at Giri in preference to proceeding to Khamba Jong. In this despatch the Chinese Resident informed the Viceroy that he had again deputed Mr. Ho, in conjunction with Captain Parr, the Customs Commissioner at Yatung, who, he said, were truly of equal rank to the Commissioner deputed by the Viceroy, to discuss all matters in a friendly manner. He further said that the Dalai Lama had deputed his Chief Secretary and a Depon (General) of Lhasa to negotiate in conjunction with the Chinese Commissioners. But the Resident understood, he said, that Khamba Jong was in Tibetan territory, and therefore the meeting could only be at the boundary near the grazing-grounds fixed by the Convention of 1890. The Resident contended, that is to say, that though the Tibetans had for thirteen years with armed men occupied territory on our side of the frontier laid down by the Convention, we were not even to meet temporarily for discussion on the Tibetan side of the same frontier.

CHAPTER X
KHAMBA JONG

As we rode on into Tibet and got out into the open, and well away from the Himalayan range, we obtained a glorious view of that stupendous range from Chumalhari, 24,000 feet, on the extreme east, to Kinchinjunga, 28,275 feet, in the centre, and Everest itself, 29,002 feet, and ninety miles distant in the far west.

Two days later they all came to return my visit, and after the usual polite conversation I said I would now redeem my promise, and I told the interpreter to commence reading a speech which I had prepared beforehand, and which Captain O’Connor had carefully translated into Tibetan. But before he could commence the Tibetans raised objections to holding negotiations at Khamba Jong at all. The proper place, they said, was Giagong. I told them that the place of meeting was a matter to be decided upon, not by the negotiators, but by the Viceroy and Amban. The Viceroy had selected Khamba Jong because of its proximity to the portion of frontier in dispute, and he had chosen a place on the Tibetan rather than the Indian side of the frontier because the last negotiations were conducted in India; and when, after much trouble a treaty had been concluded between the Chinese and British Governments, the Tibetans had repudiated it, saying they knew nothing about it. On the present occasion, therefore, the Viceroy decided that negotiations should take place in Tibet, and had asked that a Tibetan official of the highest rank should take part in them, in order that, when the new settlement was completed, the Tibetans should not be able to say they knew nothing of it.

“You come and travel and trade in India just as you please,” I said. "You go where you like, and stay there as long as you like. But if any one from India wishes to trade in Tibet he is stopped on the frontier, and no one is allowed to go near him. He can trade in Russia, in Germany, in France, and in all other great countries, and in all other dependencies of the Chinese Empire, in Manchuria, in Mongolia, and in Turkestan; but in Tibet alone of all countries he cannot trade. This is a one-sided arrangement, unworthy of so fair-minded and cultured a people as you are; and though His Excellency has no intention of annexing your country, and may, indeed, if you prove reasonable in regard to the admission of trade, make concessions to you in respect to the frontier lands near Giagong, yet he will insist that the obstacles which you have for so many years put in the way of trade between India and Tibet shall be once and for ever removed."

Mr. Ho here interposed, and said that the Tibetans were very ignorant and difficult to deal with, and he asked me if I could not meet them by agreeing to go to the frontier. I said I would with pleasure, and when representatives whom the Viceroy would permit me to negotiate with were present I would gladly ride with them to the frontier and discuss the question on the spot; but the frontier was not at Giagong, as the Tibetans supposed, but at the Kangra-la (pass), only ten miles from where we where. Mr. Ho said the actual position of the frontier was not known yet, but that it was where the waters flowed down to India. I said five minutes’ investigation would make clear where that was, and Mr. Ho said that then the matter could be very easily settled.

And if the delegates did not choose to give me any work, I was quite content to do none, for I was thoroughly happy in camp there at Khamba Jong. All my staff were delightful companions, and we were very happy together. Mr. White was the best possible hand at making a camp comfortable and feeding arrangements good; and we had neither the stifling heat of the Indian plains nor the discomforts of the rainy season in the hills. We were beyond the reach of the monsoon. We had occasional refreshing showers, but for July, August, and September, the rainfall was only 4.9 inches, and, for the most part, the weather was bright and fine and clear. We could see immense distances over the rolling plains. We would watch the mighty monsoon clouds sweeping along the Himalayas; we would catch glimpses of some noble peak rising superbly above them, and Kinchinjunga close by and Everest in the farthest distance were a perpetual joy.

I told them that, in the first place, they also had broken the treaty by crossing the boundary fixed in it and occupying Giagong; and, in the second place, we must regard Tibetans as all one people, and hold all responsible for the actions of each.

As regards the objection which the Resident had made to the selection of Khamba Jong as the meeting-place, Lord Curzon said that it was the nearest point in Tibet to the disputed boundary; and it was necessary that the present negotiations should be conducted in Tibet, as the former Convention which the Tibetans had repudiated was concluded in India, and His Majesty’s Government were not prepared to allow a similar repudiation of any new agreement. But, as winter was approaching, if the negotiations were not completed, I might have to select some other place in Tibet for passing the winter. In conclusion, the Viceroy emphasized the importance of my position and duties, and stated that I was entitled to expect that he should reply to my communications, and look to him for co-operation.

I advised the Abbot to get the Tashi Lama to represent matters directly to Lhasa. He replied they were not allowed to make representations against the orders of the Lhasa Government. Nevertheless, he would again, that very day, go to the Lhasa delegates, tell them how he had once more tried to induce me to go back to Giagong, and would ask them to make a request to Lhasa to open negotiations at Khamba Jong, and he said he would even go so far as to undertake to receive in their stead any punishment which the Lhasa Government might order upon the delegates for daring to make this request.

In any case, whether they really were ignorant or not of the position of Khamba Jong, they had all formally agreed to send delegates to meet Mr. White and myself there, and the continued refusal of these delegates even to receive communications was utterly indefensible.

On September 2 the Government of India asked me to submit proposals for dealing with the situation if the Tibetans continued to be so impracticable. I replied on the 9th, that I thought that the Viceroy’s reply to the Resident might have some effect upon the Chinese at least. Both Chinese and Tibetans had so far been under the impression that the present mission was only one more of the futile little missions which had come and gone on the Sikkim frontier for years past. They thought that if they could be obstructive enough during the summer and autumn, we should no doubt return before the winter. On this point the Viceroy’s letter would leave them in no doubt. It was clear from that that we intended to stay for the winter. Besides this I had, I said, in conversation with Mr. Ho and the Shigatse people, tried to bring both the Chinese and the Tashi Lama round to putting pressure on the obstinate Lhasa monks. But there was little hope, I thought, that mere verbal persuasion would be sufficient. Direct action would be required. The despatch of a second Pioneer regiment to put the road to the Jelap-la (pass) in order, had, I understood, been ordered. I recommended, therefore, that about the same time my escort should be strengthened by 100 men from the support.

The strengthening of my escort and the appearance of the Nepalese yaks might be made to coincide with the concentration of the 23rd Pioneers in the neighbourhood of the Jelap-la (pass) in about a month’s time. This I thought was all that could be done to bring the Tibetans to a more suitable frame of mind. If these measures failed, an advance into the Chumbi Valley was the most obvious course to take, for the Jelap-la could be crossed at any time during the winter, and along the Chumbi Valley lay the best trade-route and military road to Lhasa. When the Chumbi Valley had been occupied, the mission might, transported by Nepalese yaks, march across to Gyantse. The 32nd Pioneers and all transport would then be transferred to the Chumbi Valley line, and that line be made our chief line of communication.

I said that the Viceroy’s despatch had reached the Resident one month previously, and no reply had yet been received, though letters from Lhasa could reach Khamba Jong in four days. The Mission had been there for three months without being able to even commence negotiations. The Chinese showed indifference and incompetence, and the Tibetans pure obstruction. The present Resident was acknowledged by even the Chinese to be weak and incompetent, and his Associate Resident had been allowed to resign some months back. The new Amban, though appointed in December, was only just leaving Chengtu, and could not reach the frontier till January. The new Associate Resident had been given sick-leave before even joining his post. Mr. Ho, though I had given him the above-mentioned very serious warning, made no haste to proceed to Lhasa, but had loitered at Phari. Even if the Chinese showed less indifference, they could do little with the Tibetans. Mr. Ho was refused transport, and Colonel Chao (his successor) had informed me that the new Resident could not bring large numbers of troops into Tibet, as Tibetans would refuse to furnish transport and supplies. As regards the attitude of the Tibetans, the people in the vicinity and the Shigatse deputies were perfectly friendly, but the Lhasa authorities were as obstructive as ever. The delegates, since the first formal visits, had refused all communication, social or official, with me. The two Sikkim men made prisoners remained in custody, and Tibetan troops lined all the heights between our camp and Gyantse or Shigatse; and there was much probability that Siberian Buriat Lamas were present in Lhasa. The result of all our moderation in the present and previous years was nil, and I could, I said, no longer hold out any hope to Government of a peaceful solution of the question.

It was upon this that I was summoned to Simla to advise the Government of India, and after consultation with me at a meeting of the Council, which I was invited to attend, they telegraphed, on October 26, to Mr. Brodrick, who had now succeeded as Secretary of State, that, for the following reasons, an advance into Tibet seemed indispensable: (1) Though the Dalai Lama had agreed to the Commissioners meeting at Khamba Jong, the Tibetan delegates had refused to hold any communication with the British Commissioner; (2) no Chinese delegates of suitable rank had as yet been sent; (3) the procrastination of the Chinese Government; (4) the warlike preparations of the Tibetans; (5) the arrest and imprisonment of two British subjects; (6) the complete failure of the policy pursued for twenty-five years, the only result of which was that the Tibetans mistook our patience for weakness, and despised our strength. They recommended, therefore, the advance should extend to Gyantse, and should not be confined to the Chumbi Valley, for these reasons: (1) That the Chumbi Valley is on the Indian side of the watershed, and is not regarded as part of Tibet, and a move from Khamba Jong only to there would be regarded as a retrograde movement by the Tibetans; (2) that if we moved only into the Chumbi Valley, we should find the existing situation at Khamba Jong repeated at Phari; (3) that Colonel Younghusband considered it extremely important that we should come into contact with the Tibetan people, for they were quite prepared to enter into relations with us, and were friendly, it being only the hierarchy of Lhasa Lamas who were opposed; (4) that, as we were pressing to have a mart at Gyantse, that object could be secured in no better way than by advancing thither at once. On arrival at Gyantse the force would not attack the place, but, as had been done at Khamba Jong, would establish a fortified port, and invite Tibetans and Chinese to resume negotiations.

It was a curious telegram, which I never quite understood. It said that the advance was to be made for the sole purpose of obtaining satisfaction. But it was always understood, and it was most emphatically laid down, that this was not a punitive expedition to obtain satisfaction and get reparation. It was a Mission despatched to put our relations with the Tibetans on a regular footing, to establish ordinary neighbourly intercourse with them. Lord Lansdowne himself said in the House of Lords^[24]: “We desire that a new Convention should be entered into between the Government of India, on the one hand, and the Tibetans and Chinese, as the suzerain Power, on the other. That is the object of the Mission.” It is remarkable that a document which was so often quoted to the Russian Government, to the Indian Government, to the Chinese Government, and which the Indian Government on one occasion quoted to me in terms of admonition, should have described with so little precision the real purpose of the advance—and this at the culminating point of thirty years’ effort on the part of the Government of India. It was not till after the Mission had been attacked at Gyantse, and on account of that attack, that we demanded satisfaction—in the shape of an indemnity. The obvious purpose of the advance was to do what Warren Hastings had attempted, what the Government of Bengal since 1873 had been advocating—to put our intercourse with the Tibetans on proper terms. We had found it impossible to effect this object on the frontier or by negotiation with the Chinese Government. We were going to advance into Tibet, to Gyantse, to see if we could not effect it there, to get the frontier defined and recognized, to have the conditions under which trade could be carried on determined, and to have the method of communication between our officials and Tibetan officials clearly laid down. This, and not the obtaining of satisfaction, which is the business of a military commander in charge of a punitive expedition, was obviously the purpose of our advance into Tibet, and it is odd that this was not recognized in what was so often afterwards quoted as the fundamental statement of our policy.

While we were making preparations at Darjiling for the next move, correspondence was also taking place from headquarters. The Viceroy, in reply to a letter of the Lhasa Resident’s of October 17, stating that he had nominated a Colonel Chao in place of Mr. Ho, that he had asked the Dalai Lama to send a Councillor of State to accompany him (the Resident) to Khamba Jong, but that all this required time to settle, and asserting that the Tibetan passes were guarded by soldiers, and requesting the Viceroy, therefore, to instruct the British Commissioner not to move from the present camp, told the Resident that he understood that Colonel Chao was of lower, not higher, rank than Mr. Ho, and that, as the Resident’s departure was contingent on the Dalai Lama’s nomination of a Councillor, and as the Dalai Lama had for four months past failed to send, as desired, an officer of the highest rank, he saw no prospect of the Resident arriving at Khamba Jong within any reasonable time. The Viceroy then recapitulated our various grounds of complaint, and concluded by saying that, in these circumstances, he had no alternative but to transfer the place of negotiations to some more suitable spot, where he hoped they might be resumed. And as the Resident had stated that the Tibetan passes were guarded by soldiers, he had been compelled to take measures to insure the safety of the Commissioners in moving from Khamba Jong, and to prevent any possible interruption of communication with them.

The Chinese Minister said that his Government recognized the forbearance shown by the British authorities towards the Tibetans, and also the friendly spirit brought by the British Commissioners to the discussion of frontier questions, and they hoped that we would recognize the difficult position in which China had been placed by her obstinate and ignorant vassal, and enjoin our Commissioners to exercise patience and forbearance, and thus assist the Resident, who had been instructed to proceed in person to the frontier to bring the Tibetans to a juster sense of their duties and responsibilities as good neighbours.

Lord Lansdowne expressed his great surprise at the excitement which the announcement of the advance seemed to have enacted. He had, he said, already pointed out to the Ambassador that Tibet was, on the one hand, in close geographical connection with India, and, on the other, far remote from any of Russia’s Asiatic possessions. Our interest in Tibetan affairs was therefore wholly different from any which Russia could have in them. He reminded Count Benckendorff that he had already explained to him that we had received the greatest provocation at the hands of the Tibetans, who had not only failed to fulfil their treaty obligations, but had virtually refused to negotiate with us. We had always been reluctant to entangle ourselves in quarrels with the Tibetans, but our forbearance had led them to believe that we could be ill-treated with impunity. Lord Lansdowne said he was firmly convinced that the Russian Government would not have shown as much patience as we had, and that they would have been at Lhasa by that time. He felt bound to add that it seemed to him beyond measure strange that these protests should be made by the Government of a Power which had, all over the world, never hesitated to encroach upon its neighbours when the circumstances seemed to require it. If the Russians had a right to complain of us for taking steps to obtain reparation from the Tibetans by advancing into Tibetan territory, what kind of language should we not be entitled to use in regard to Russian encroachments in Manchuria, Turkestan, and Persia.

CHAPTER XI
DARJILING TO CHUMBI

During our stay at Khamba Jong Mr. White, Captain O’Connor, and I had often talked over the question of advancing into Tibet in winter. It had always so far been assumed that with the approach of winter all operations on this frontier must cease, missions must withdraw, and troops go into winter-quarters. But on the Gilgit frontier we had taken troops across snow-passes in winter, and Colonel Kelly took troops and guns across the Shandur Pass to the relief of Chitral in April, which, from the softness of the snow, is the very worst time. I asked Mr. White, who knew the Sikkim frontier so well, whether there was really any insuperable obstacle to our crossing these passes in winter, and as he said there was not, and as he was heartily in favour of such a move, I urged Government not to delay till the spring, but to let us advance even in winter. We do not hesitate when there is real necessity to send troops and missions into unhealthy and hot places in the hottest season of the year. Why, then, should we be put off by cold? Against cold we could take plenty of precautions by clothing troops and followers with furs and sheepskins, and we should doubtless lose some, but not more than we lose from malaria and heat-strokes in hot places. And as for passes being closed, I had had as much experience as most people of Himalayan passes, and I knew that passes which are closed for single men or small parties, are not necessarily closed for large parties, which can organize regular shelters and trample down paths in the snow. It was a risk to take, and Lord Curzon and the Government of India were courageous in taking it. But, like many other risks we took on this enterprise, it was justified by the result. By April the casualties from sickness and frost-bite were only thirty-five deaths among combatants and forty-five among followers, which, considering the circumstances, was wonderfully low, and we had proved for all time to the Tibetans, to ourselves, and to the world, that Indian troops could march across the Himalayas in the very depth of winter.

It had been originally intended that I should return to Khamba Jong to the Mission which I had left there, and with them march across to Kalatso, on the Gyantse line, while General Macdonald marched up through Chumbi. But on talking the matter over with him at Darjiling, he thought that such a move would involve unnecessary risk, and would be difficult to arrange for with the transport and supplies, as the Tibetans had forcibly dispersed the yaks which the Nepalese had sent across the frontier. It was arranged, therefore, that the Mission, now under the charge of Mr. Wilton, should be withdrawn from Khamba Jong; but both Mr. White and I were anxious that no retirement should take place from one direction till we were actually advancing in another, for any symptom of withdrawal before such people as the Tibetans is apt to be misconstrued into fear, and to encourage them into hostile action. So it was arranged that until we advanced into Chumbi the Mission would remain at Khamba Jong, and then retire into Sikkim and join General Macdonald and myself in Chumbi.

General Macdonald, his Chief Staff Officer, Major Iggulden, who was well acquainted with the frontier, having served in the little Sikkim campaign of 1888, Major Bretherton, and Captain O’Connor now had their hands full with the arrangements for the advance, and, as always happens, every additional unnecessary difficulty arose. For advance into Tibet in mid-winter, animals like yaks, which hate being below 12,000 feet, and are stifled with the heat if the thermometer rises above the freezing-point, were, of all others, the most suitable, and the Nepalese Government, with great trouble had collected several thousand and despatched them to Sikkim. But just as they arrived some kind of disease broke out among them, and all, except a very few, which had to be secluded, died. It was a terrible blow, but Major Bretherton, with his unfailing cheery resourcefulness, set about getting the transport he knew and had worked so well on the Kashmir frontier—Kashmir ponies, Balti and Poonch coolies. Sir Edmond Elles, the Military Member of Council, was near by in Calcutta at the time, and with his unrivalled experience in organizing such expeditions, was able to direct the whole scheme of arrangement to its greatest possible advantage. He would not, indeed, at this stage spare those magnificently organized mule corps which he treasured up in the event of greater need elsewhere, and which he only eventually sent when operations in Tibet assumed a greater importance. But in every other way he gave General Macdonald support in these most difficult transport and supply arrangements, and with great rapidity bullocks, ponies, and coolies, arrived in the Teesta Valley. And sheepskins, blankets, woollen comforters, thick jerseys, and warm socks, were provided for both fighting men and followers. If the Government of India does a thing at all, it does it well, and nothing was spared—except the mules—to make the movement a success.

The first night I passed with Mr. James, a nephew of my old travelling companion in Manchuria, at a most charming little bungalow in a tea-plantation, and on the way met other tea-planters, all very anxious that my Mission would have the result of opening up Tibet for their produce. I once more rode through all that glorious tropical vegetation in the Teesta Valley. I passed the camp of the 23rd Pioneers, and first made the acquaintance of Colonel Hogge and his officers, with whom I was to be so closely associated in future, and in whom I always found such firm supporters. And by December 10 General Macdonald and his staff, the bulk of the troops for the advance, Mr. White, Mr. Walsh, Captain O’Connor, and myself had all rendezvoused at Gnatong, ready to move into Tibet.

The march was very trying for the troops and transport, for the “road” was simply a mountain-path of the roughest description. One coolie corps struck work, and a number of the local drivers of a pony corps and many Nepalese coolies had deserted, for a curious feeling was prevalent on the frontier that we were advancing to our doom. But the troops and the bulk of the transport got over all right, though very exhausted, and we encamped in three bodies near Langram, well below the pass, in a deep, narrow, forest-clad gorge.

Suddenly, as we turned a sharp corner, we saw a solid wall, stretching right across the valley from the river up the mountain-side. General Macdonald sent a flanking party up the hills, and a skirmishing party to advance straight at the wall. As we approached we were met by the same officials who had visited us on the previous night. They asked us not to advance, but we noticed that they had left the gate open, so the advance-guard passed through. Then General Macdonald and I followed, and exactly as I passed under the gateway the local official seized my bridle and made one last ineffectual protest.

General Macdonald had to halt for some days, completing his arrangements for supplies and transport, and while we were halted we were joined by Mr. Wilton, Captain Ryder, R.E., the Survey Officer, and Mr. Hayden, the geologist, who had all come in from Khamba Jong. They had had a very cold and very trying time after I left, and their retirement was an extremely delicate operation. The Tibetan troops hovered about, and with a 17,000 feet pass to cross in December, Captain Bethune had about as difficult a manœuvre to perform as often falls to the lot of a soldier. The Tibetans occupied our camp in triumph, but never actually attacked, and the retirement was safely effected.

Leaving Major Row in command of the two companies in the Jong, General Macdonald returned with the remainder of the force to Chumbi, which he reached on the 23rd. And on Christmas Day we received a mostly kindly and encouraging telegram from Lord Curzon. The inhabitants of the Chumbi Valley were now selling us grass, buck-wheat, turnips and potatoes, and Major Bretherton had arranged for 400 mules to ply on a contract system between here and the Teesta Valley. This, though very helpful, did not amount to very much, and we were dependent for most of our supplies and transport from the rear. In addition to this, the loss of the yaks was now severely felt. So our progress was necessarily slow. But I was very anxious, as soon as we could, to be over the main range, in Tibet proper, in some position equivalent to Khamba Jong. Just over the Tang-la (pass) we knew there was a small place called Tuna, and there I wished the Mission established with a good escort and plenty of ammunition and supplies, while all arrangements were being completed for the further advance to Gyantse. There was a certain amount of risk in this; but to be among the Tibetans proper, and to compensate for the withdrawal from Khamba Jong, I thought it was necessary to run it. Our prestige at this time on the Sikkim frontier was quite astonishingly low. I had never seen it so low elsewhere. In other places there was always that indefinable something behind which gave one something to work with, but on this frontier the people stood in much greater awe of the Lhasa Lamas than they did of us, and we had to do everything we could, short of fighting, to establish some prestige.

But the worst feature of the situation, as I reported at the time, was that the local people, and even the Chinese, thought that in advancing into Tibet we were advancing to our destruction. They were not impressed by our troops; they knew how few there were; they knew of thousands of Tibetan troops on the far side of the pass; and they believed that the new Lhasa-made rifles and the new drill would prevent the loss they had incurred in their last campaign against us. Many of our camp-followers deserted, and local men in our employ brought in stories of the numbers and prowess of the Tibetans, and how they would attack us in the night and swamp us.

CHAPTER XII
TUNA

Encouraged by the fact that they showed some little signs of a desire to discuss matters, I determined now to make a bold move to get to close quarters with them. I was heartily tired of this fencing about at a distance; I wanted to get in under their reserve. And I thought that if we could meet and could tell them in an uncontentious and unceremonious manner what all the pother was about, we might at any rate get a start—get what the Americans call a “move on.” It was worth while, it seemed to me, to make a supreme effort to get this intrinsically small matter settled by peaceful means, even if a very considerable risk was incurred in the process; and I wished particularly to see them, and to judge of them, in their own natural surroundings. I was constantly being called upon by Government to give my opinion upon the probable action of the Tibetans, but so far I had only seen them in our own camps, and they had steadily refused to admit me into theirs. I therefore determined on the following morning, without any formality, without any previous announcement, and without any escort, to ride over to their camp, about ten miles distant, at Guru, and talk over the general situation—not as British Commissioner, with a list of grievances for which he had to demand redress, but as one who wished to understand them, and by friendly means to effect a settlement. I was only too well aware that such an attempt was likely to be taken by the Tibetans as a sign of weakness; still, when I saw these people so steeped in ignorance of what opposing the might of the British Empire really meant, I felt it my duty to reason with them up to the latest moment, to save them from the results of their ignorance.

The General assured me that it was untrue that they had any dealings with the Russians, and the monks brusquely intimated that they disliked the Russians just as much as they disliked us; they protested that they had nothing to do with the Russians, that there was no Russian near Lhasa at that time, and that Dorjieff was a Mongolian, and the custom of Mongolians was to make large presents to the monasteries. They asked me, therefore, not to be so suspicious.

A real crisis was on us, when any false step might be fatal. I told Captain O’Connor, though there was really no necessity to give such a warning to anyone so imperturbable, to keep his voice studiously calm, and to smile as much as he possibly could, and I then said that I had to obey the orders of my Government, just as much as they had to obey the orders of theirs; that I would ask them to report to their Government what I had said, and I would report to my Government what they had told me. That was all that could be done at present; but if the Viceroy, in reply to my reports, ordered me back to India I should personally be only too thankful, as theirs was a cold, barren, and inhospitable country, and I had a wife and child at Darjiling, whom I was anxious to see again as soon as I could.

While I perceived that the monks were implacably hostile, that they had the preponderating influence in the State, and were entirely convinced of their power to dictate to us, I perceived also that the lay officials were much less unfriendly, less ignorant of our strength, and more amenable to reason, and that the ordinary people and soldiers, though perhaps liable to be worked on by the monks, had no innate bad feeling against us. Hereon I based my hopes for the security of the eventual settlement.

Two more messengers arrived on the 10th, asking me to fix a date for withdrawal, and threatening trouble if I remained. These threats and rumours of attacks, and reports of the monks having set apart five days to curse us solemnly, continued for the following weeks, and caused us to keep well on the lookout: double sentries were posted at night, and, on account of the cold, relieved every hour. It was wearisome and anxious work, but we felt quite confident of ourselves, and in the end no attack was made.

He was a rough, jovial person, and when I said that I merely wished to know on which side the Bhutanese intended to place themselves, that, as they were of the same religion and race as the Tibetans, we could quite understand their siding with them, but only wished to know plainly, so that we could make our arrangements accordingly, he replied most emphatically that the Bhutanese would be on our side. I said that these were mere words, and he said that he would put them on paper and seal it, which he did. I said that that was, after all, only a piece of paper. Would he show his friendship by deeds? Would he help us with supplies? And he readily promised, and gave us permission, on payment, to make a road up the Amo-chu. Like the Nepalese on our left flank, these Bhutanese on our right were most whole-souled in their support, and it greatly strengthened my position subsequently to be able to advance into Tibet arm-in-arm with Nepal and Bhutan.

These negotiations had led to nothing; but one more stone had been turned in our attempt to effect a settlement peacefully, and incidentally the attempt had been instrumental in putting us on good terms with the Bhutanese. I wrote at the time that I was hopeful that from this beginning we might establish more intimate relations with Bhutan, for the Envoy was the first sensible man I had met on that frontier, and there might be advantage in closer intimacy between us. Everything turned out well afterwards. Mr. White twice visited the country and established the best possible relations with the people, and Bhutan is now definitely under our protection.

Generally the days were clear and bright, but almost invariably at ten or eleven a terrific wind would arise, and blow with fury for the rest of the day. And sometimes mighty masses of cloud would come sweeping up from the direction of India. Snow would fall, and then for two or three days together we would be the sport of a terrific blizzard. The mountains would be hidden, and nothing would be visible but dull masses of fiercely-driven snow, as fine and dry as dust, and penetrating everywhere. For days together the thermometer would not rise above 15° even in the middle of the day. Our camp would be the very picture of desolation. It seemed impossible that the poor sentries at night would ever be able to stand against the howling storm and the penetrating snow, or that our soldiers would ever be able to resist an attack from the Tibetans in such terrific circumstances.

We moved along as rapidly as is possible at those high altitudes and encumbered with heavy clothing. A short way out we were met by a messenger from the Tibetan General, urging us to go back to India. I told the messenger to gallop back at once and tell the Lhasa General that we were on our way to Gyantse, and were going as far as Guru, ten miles distant, that day. I said that we did not want to fight, and would not unless we were opposed, but that the road must be left clear for us, and the Tibetans must withdraw from their positions across it. Farther on, as we advanced across an almost level gravelly plain, we came in sight of the Tibetan position in a series of sangars on a ridge. At 1,000 yards’ distance we halted, and awaited the arrival of the Tibetans for our last palaver. They rode up briskly with a little cavalcade, and we all dismounted, set out rugs and coats on the ground, and sat down for the final discussion. I reiterated the same old statement—that we had no wish or intention of fighting if we were not opposed, but that we must advance to Gyantse. If they did not obstruct our progress or did not attack us, we would not attack them. But advance we must, for we had found it impossible to negotiate anywhere else. They replied with the request—or, indeed, almost order—that we must go back to Yatung, and they would negotiate there. They said these were their instructions from Lhasa. They also did not wish to fight, but they had orders to send us back to Yatung.

It was the last and final effort to carry out our object without the shedding of blood. The troops responded with admirable discipline to the call. They steadily advanced across the plain and up the hillside to the Tibetan lines, expecting at any moment that from behind the sangars a destructive volley might be opened upon them before they could fire a shot. Some of them afterwards, and very naturally, told me that they hoped they would never again be put in so awkward a position. But I trust their discipline will at any rate show to those in England who so decried this day’s action, and spoke about our "massacring unarmed Tibetans"—that men on the remotest confines of the Empire can and do exercise moderation and restraint in the discharge of their duty, and do not always act with that wantonness and reckless cruelty with which they are so often credited at home.

The Tibetans on their side showed great indecision. They also had apparently received orders not to fire first; and the whole affair seemed likely to end in comedy rather than in the tragedy which actually followed. The Tibetans first ran into their sangars and then ran out again. Gradually our troops crept up and round the flanks. They arrived eventually face to face with the Tibetans, as will be seen in the accompanying photograph by Lieutenant Bailey, and things were almost at an impasse till the Tibetans slowly yielded to the admonitions of our troops, and allowed themselves to be shouldered out of their position and be “moved on,” as London policemen would disperse a crowd from Trafalgar Square.

He had, of course, completely lost his head. Though in command of some thousands of armed men, and though I had given him ample warning of our intention to advance, he was totally unprepared for action when our advance was made. He had brought his men back into an absurd position; his action when he had got them back was simply childish. I sent Captain O’Connor to announce to him that General Macdonald and I had decided that his men must be disarmed, but he remained sullen and did nothing; and when, after a pause, the disarmament was actually commenced, he threw himself upon a sepoy, drew a revolver, and shot the sepoy in the jaw.

It was a terrible and ghastly business; but it was not fair for an English statesman to call it a massacre of “unarmed men,” for photographs testify that the Tibetans were all armed; and, looking back now, I do not see how it could possibly have been avoided. The Tibetans afterwards at Lhasa told me in all seriousness that I might have known their General did not mean to fight, for if he did he would not have been in the front as he was. This, no doubt, was true, and, left to himself, he would, we may be sure, have arranged matters with me in a perfectly amicable manner, for at Guru in January, and when he came to see me at Tuna, he had always shown himself courteous and reasonable; and his men had no antipathy towards us. But he had at his side, ruling and over-awing him, a fanatical Lama from Lhasa. Ignorant and arrogant, this priest herded the superstitious peasantry to destruction. It is only fair to assume that, somewhere in the depths of his nature, he felt that the people’s religion was in danger, and that he was called upon to preserve it. But blind fear of the danger which he believed threatened was so combined with overweening confidence, and there was such a lack of effort to avert the supposed danger by reasonable means, as might so easily have been done, that he simply brought disaster on his country, and, poor man, paid the penalty of his unreasonableness with his life. What to me is so sad is that now, when the Lamas have discovered their errors and are imploring our aid, we can do so little to befriend them.

I now received a letter, dated March the 27th, from the Resident, who said he was most anxious to hasten to meet me, and had seen the Dalai Lama, but “difficulties arose over transport, which he was unwilling to grant.” After considering all this, he had come to the conclusion that Tibetan politics were those of drift; that Chinese officials were too engrossed in self-seeking, and hence the Tibetans shirked action. But a quarrel on his part with the Dalai Lama would only mar matters, so he would “go on” and perform his share of the duties allotted to him, and he had decided to write "a succinct report to Peking," and then again ask for transport. He hoped I would recognize his perplexities. I had excellent reason for an advance to Gyantse with my escort, he said. But, “notwithstanding the craft and deceit of the Tibetans and their violation of principle,” he had compelled them “somewhat to understand the meaning of principle,” and if I suddenly penetrated into their country he feared they would lapse into their former temper, and thus imperil the conclusion of trade relations. The Dalai Lama had told him that if I would retire to Yatung he would select Tibetan delegates and request him (the Resident) to proceed there and discuss matters. The Resident added that “this frontier matter had been hanging fire for over ten years because it had been perfunctorily drawn up in the beginning, and because subsequently it was shirked by the different delegates, who did not strive honestly to adjust the difficulties.” He was ashamed to mention the question of my retirement to Yatung, but, still, he thought it would be better for me to retire there and “insure the smooth working of a settlement.”

CHAPTER XIII
GYANTSE

Gyantse was indeed a delightful change from Tuna. It was, in the first place, nearly 2,000 feet lower, so naturally warmer. In addition, spring was coming on. Leaf-buds were beginning to sprout on the willows. The little irises in plenty were appearing. And birds of several rare varieties came to rejoice Captain Walton’s heart and fill his collection.

Yet, with all this ease and quiet, there was not the slightest real sign of the business of negotiation being commenced. I had naturally expected that, when the Resident had been specially deputed by the Chinese Government for these negotiations sixteen months previously, I should have found him at Gyantse, or at any rate on his way there, and that, after the Chinese Government had been urging the Tibetans since the previous summer to send a properly empowered delegate, the Resident would have been accompanied by a Tibetan Commissioner capable of negotiating with me. But on April 22 I received a despatch from the Resident, stating, indeed, his intention of arriving at Gyantse before May 12, but giving no news that a proper Tibetan Commissioner had been appointed. He stated that the Lhasa General had been the aggressor in the fight at Guru, that the fault was on the side of the Tibetans, who had disregarded his advice, and he recognized our compassion in having magnanimously released the foolish and ignorant prisoners, cared for the wounded, and shown humane motives of sternness and mercy. He added that the Dalai Lama was now aroused to a sense of our power. But still there was no mention that the transport which the Resident was “insisting on” had been provided, and the appointment of a proper Tibetan Commissioner was still not made. In fact, the Councillors had all been imprisoned by the Dalai Lama, and there were “but few capable Tibetan officials to settle the frontier and other important questions,” which could not, added the Resident, “be disposed of in a peremptory manner.” A few days’ delay would not, therefore, he considered, be out of place.

In these circumstances I telegraphed to Government on April 22 that the best way to meet these dilatory tactics was, at the earliest moment by which military preparations could be completed, to move the Mission straight to Lhasa, and carry on the negotiations at the capital, instead of halfway. This, I said, would be the most effective and only permanent way of clinching matters, besides being the cheapest and quickest. Our prestige, I urged, was then at its height, Nepal and Bhutan were with us, the people were not against us, the Tibetan soldiers did not care to fight, the Lamas were stunned. By a decisive move then a permanent settlement could be procured. I added that, in recommending this proposal at so early a stage for the consideration of Government, my object was that the favourable season might be utilized to the full, and that we might not allow the psychological moment to pass without taking advantage of it. Meanwhile, I said, I would receive the Amban, and would ascertain what power to effect a settlement he and the Tibetan representative really possessed.

But it was on political grounds that I had to give the decision, and on those grounds I had no objection. I had come to negotiate, but there was no symptom of negotiators appearing. On the other hand, the Tibetans were still further massing their troops; their position at the Karo-la and between there and Kangma was threatening our line of communication; and they had fired on our reconnoitring party. For these reasons I informed Government by telegram on May 2 that I had raised no objection on political grounds to Colonel Brander’s proposal to go out and attack the Tibetans on the pass before they could attack our line of communication. I had stated, verbally and in writing, to the Chinese and to the Tibetans that we came to Gyantse to negotiate. Since our arrival we had evacuated the jong, and General Macdonald, with the greater part of the force, had returned to Chumbi. There could be no question, then, that we meant to negotiate and not to fight. Yet they still neither sent a negotiator, nor said they had any intention to negotiate; instead they massed troops to attack us; and I felt at perfect liberty to let the commander of the Mission escort take whatever means he liked to secure its safety.

For a few days, till Colonel Brander returned, we were in a critical position, and we were also anxious about Colonel Brander himself. The worst that, in making our calculations at Darjiling in November, we had deemed likely to happen had happened, and we were now at the straining-point. Major Murray, assisted especially by Captain Ryder with his engineering experience, strengthened the post as far as possible during the day, and at night we looked out watchfully for a further attack. For it was at night, when our long-range rifles lost their special advantage, that the Tibetans would have their best chance. We only had 170 men, and the vastly superior numbers which the Tibetans were now collecting ought to have had a fair chance of overwhelming us if they had pressed home a well-planned night attack. They fired a good deal during this and the following nights, but we kept a good watch, and we heard afterwards that the Lamas tried to organize a second attack on us, but the men refused to turn out.

We now heard full details of the Karo-la fight. It appears that the Tibetans engaged were mostly drawn from the districts of South-Eastern Tibet. They were commanded by a layman and a monk official, and had been organized by a monk State Councillor and another high ecclesiastical official who had been stationed for some time at Nagartse. Representatives of the three great Lhasa monasteries were at the fight, and each monk had been provided by the Lhasa Government with a matchlock and a knife before starting to join the army.

An important stage had now been reached. The Government of India on May 14 telegraphed to me that His Majesty’s Government agreed with them that recent events made it inevitable that the Mission should advance to Lhasa, unless the Tibetans consented to open negotiations at Gyantse. I was, therefore, to give notice to the Amban that we should insist on negotiating at Lhasa itself if no competent negotiator appeared in conjunction with him at Gyantse within a month.

All this, however, is by way of interlude, and is merely one of the many reflections I made while I was myself under enforced inactivity, and had nothing much else to do but watch the action of those others upon whom the responsibility for the time being rested.

Breaches had been made, but the village had yet to be stormed, and Major Peterson, with his Sikh Pioneers, as soon as it was light, gallantly stormed house after house, while Colonel Brander supported him with the guns on the hillside a few hundred yards off. The Tibetans fought stubbornly, as they always did in these villages, but Major Peterson pressed steadily on, and by 1.30 the village was in Colonel Brander’s hands.

On the afternoon of June 5 I received instructions from the Government of India to proceed to Chumbi, to confer with General Macdonald as to future plans. We had to a certain degree kept open our communications. Still, there were Tibetans all about, and it was a somewhat unusual, and certainly risky, proceeding for the chief of the Mission to have to ride 150 miles down the lines to consult the military commander. However, I was glad enough of the change from the monotony of our investment at Gyantse, and at four the next morning, while it was still dark, I rode out with an escort of forty mounted infantry, under Major Murray, and accompanied by that gallant doctor of the 8th Gurkhas, Dr. Franklin. We gave a wide berth to the Niani monastery, and arrived safely at Kangma, our first fortified post, forty miles distant, where Captain Pearson, of the 23rd Pioneers, was in command with about 100 men.

But this was not the only body of Tibetans about. While these were making the direct attack, two other bodies of 400 men each had appeared, all of them Kham men, the best fighters in Tibet. One party went up the valley and the other down, to cut off our retreat on either hand. This was a great strategical effort on the part of the Tibetan commander, but it failed, because as soon as the attack on our post was repulsed Major Murray sallied forth, and in turn attacked the other Tibetan parties, climbing the hillside and sending them helter-skelter over the mountains.

It was tolerably certain a fortnight after my arrival at Gyantse that the Tibetans did not seriously mean to negotiate, and if we had to go to Lhasa, it was urgently necessary to make early preparations for an advance, so that another whole summer might not pass away without result. Yet I was undoubtedly premature in breathing the word Lhasa so early as the end of April. It was clear to me that if we wished to make a well-thought-out, complete, and lasting settlement with the Tibetans and the Chinese combined, and if we wished—what I always regarded as much more important than any paper settlement, and as our real object in going to Tibet—the establishment of a good feeling between ourselves and the Tibetans, we must not only go to Lhasa, but be able to stay there for an ample period. Yet when I stated this opinion to Government, I should, I acknowledge, have given it in a less brusque way than I did in the telegram I have quoted.

The narrow local point of view was, then, that for thirty years continuously we in India had been trying to settle a trumpery affair of trade and boundary with a semi-barbarous people on our frontier, and time after time we had been put off by these “considerations of international relations wider than the mere relations between India and Tibet.” But now we had the chance of a century of settling this business once and for all. We had, after years of negotiations and correspondence, made our effort. We had taken immense trouble and gone to great expense. And all I wished to do was to represent from my restricted point of view that I ought to have plenty of time to make the most of this opportunity. I should have represented my views in less provocative language, I admit; but the main contention was, I am sure, sound, and it would have been better now if it had been acted on. If I had not been rushed at Lhasa, but had had plenty of time to gauge and report the situation there, and to receive the orders of Government on any modifications which might be suggested by the circumstances, I should have been able to conclude with both the Chinese and Tibetans a treaty which my own Government as well as they would have accepted.

This, in the sequel, was to be a clinching fetter on the action of the Indian Government. They still wanted a representative at Lhasa; and in view of the determined hostility of the Tibetans, they wanted discretion to occupy the Chumbi Valley as a guarantee for the fulfilment of the treaty; and when the Russians had permanently stationed thousands of troops in Manchuria, had constructed railways, built forts, and established posts, where seventeen years before I had not seen a single Russian, and when they had Consular representatives all along their border in Chinese Turkestan and Mongolia, it was hard to see on what grounds they could have objected to the very mild measures which the Government of India desired to adopt. In any case, when the Tibetans had shown, not merely passive obstinacy, but downright hostility, and when, even though it might be the case that, in the words of Count Lamsdorff to Sir Charles Hardinge,^[31] “the relations between Russia and Tibet were of a purely religious nature, due solely to the large number of Russian Buriats who regarded the Dalai Lama as their Pope,” it was clear that the Tibetans relied on those merely religious relations as a support against us, the Government of India might have hoped that their hands would be freed to enable them to definitely settle up this intrinsically not very important Tibetan affair. But “wider international considerations” were, as so often happens in Indian affairs, to tell hardly against the Government of India. Since the Mission had started into Tibet war between Russia and Japan had broken out. Our relations with Russia were, consequently, at a very delicate stage. War was in the air, and statesmen had to be careful. For the sake of this insignificant business with Tibet, it would be hardly worth while endangering our relations with Russia, especially when her adhesion to our arrangement with France in regard to Egypt was required. Yet when we look at the map at the end of this book, and see how far the Russian frontier is from Tibet and to what a length our own actually touches it, and when we remember, too, that there was actually in Lhasa at this time a Russian subject who had been accustomed to go backwards and forwards between Lhasa and St. Petersburg, and served therefore all the purposes required of those religious relations which it was very natural should subsist between the Dalai Lama and Russian Buddhists, it does seem hard that the Government of India, now at the climax of all their efforts, should have been tied down through deference to the distant Power.

Continuing, I said that, though I had little hope that any settlement would be arrived at without fighting, yet, fighting or no fighting, I had to make a settlement some time, and one that would last another hundred years. If the Tibetans had only been as sensible as the Bhutanese, and come and talked matters over with me, we could easily have arrived at a settlement long ago. All we desired was to be on friendly and neighbourly terms with States like Bhutan and Tibet lying on our frontier. War, though it could have but one result, gave us much trouble, which we had no wish unnecessarily to incur. We, therefore, much preferred peace. I sent my respects to the Dharm Raja, and asked the Tongsa Penlop to write to me often and give me advice regarding the settlement with Tibet, and he fervently assured me of the good-will of the Bhutanese, and said that they would never depart from their friendship with the British Government.

CHAPTER XIV
THE STORMING OF GYANTSE JONG

This is a dilemma in which we are constantly being placed on the Indian frontier. The people of a country into which we advance are often ready to be friendly with us if they could be certain we would stay and be able to support them afterwards. But if they know we are going to withdraw they naturally fight shy, for those who show us friendship would get into trouble when we left. This is one of the many reasons which make me favour our keeping up a strong continuous influence when once we have been compelled to advance into a semi-civilized or barbarous country. It is often highly inconvenient to have to do this, but it is the most humane course, and I am not sure that it would be so inconvenient if it were followed consistently. It need not mean annexation or petty interference, but it must mean sufficient influence to prevent relapses to barbarism.

After consultation with General Macdonald, I replied to the Tibetans that I would grant the armistice they asked for till sunset of June 30, to enable the Ta Lama to reach Gyantse; but that as I was attacked on May 5 without warning, though I had informed the Tibetan Government that I was ready to negotiate there, and as Tibetan armed forces had occupied the jong and fired into my camp ever since, General Macdonald, who was responsible for the safety of the Mission, demanded that they should evacuate the jong and withdraw all armed force beyond Karo-la, Yang-la, and Dongtse. A reasonable time for this would be given.

By four o’clock the Durbar was again assembled, with General Macdonald and his officers, all my staff, and a guard of honour. Captain O’Connor then led in the Tibetan delegates, and showed them to their places on my right; but I made no signs of receiving them, and remained perfectly silent, awaiting an apology. They moved about uncomfortably during this deadening silence, and at last the Ta Lama, who was really a very kindly, though perfectly incapable, old gentleman, and absolutely in the hands of the more capable but evil-minded Chief Secretary, murmured out a full apology. I informed them that the inference I drew from the disrespect they had shown me in arriving an hour and a half late was that they were not in earnest in desiring a settlement. The Ta Lama assured me that they were really in earnest, but that the Grand Secretary was ill. I then informed them that, as I had been attacked at Gyantse without any warning, and after I had written repeatedly to the Amban saying I was waiting there to negotiate, and as I had been fired on from the jong continually for two months since the attack, I must press for its evacuation. General Macdonald was prepared to give them till noon of the 5th—that is, nearly two days—in which to effect the evacuation; but if after that time the jong was occupied, he would commence military operations against it. Irrespective of these operations, I would, however, be ready to receive them if they wished to make a settlement, and prevent the necessity of our proceeding to Lhasa.

General Macdonald probably never would have been able to take the jong if his guns had not just been supplied, on the recommendation of General Parsons, the Inspector-General of Artillery, with “common” shell as well as the shrapnel, which was all that up till now they had carried with them. Shrapnel is of use only against troops. Common shell is more solid, and can be used against masonry, and against the jong it proved tremendously effective when fired by the accurate and hard-hitting little 10-pounders.

As day dawned we could see that we had gained a footing in the town which was the immediate object of General Macdonald’s attack previous to the assault on the jong itself. What had happened was this: The Tibetans had opened an unexpectedly heavy fire before the assaulting columns could get close up under the walls of the outlying parts of the town, and our three columns were reorganized into two—that on the right under Colonel Campbell, of the 40th Pathans, a tried and experienced frontier officer, and that on the left under Major Murray, 8th Gurkhas. With Colonel Campbell was Captain Sheppard, R.E., who, with that dash and effectiveness which always characterized him, succeeded in laying and firing a charge under the walls of the most strongly held house, and blowing in it a breach, which, with the damage done by the fire of the 7-pounder gun, gave an opening for the assaulting column. On the left Lieutenants Gurdon and Burney also succeeded in blowing breaches in the walls of the houses; but, to the grief of all, Gurdon was killed—it is believed by the falling debris of the very wall which he had blown up. He had been with the Mission escort from the very first, and in many of these very dangerous assaults on villages had displayed most daring courage. He was a brother of the Captain (now Lieutenant-Colonel) Gurdon who had so distinguished himself in the Siege of Chitral, and who was one of my closest friends. When the news came in to me from the front, I felt how sad indeed it was that one so young and so full of promise, with a great and useful career most certainly before him, should have been thus in an instant cut off. But he did not fall in vain, for what he had done at the cost of his life enabled the assaulting columns to enter the town, which by 7 a.m. was in our possession.

At three o’clock General Macdonald ordered forward four companies of the reserve, and directed the 10-pounder guns to concentrate their fire on the portion of the wall to be breached for the assault. As the reinforcements crossed the open to the town the Tibetans redoubled their fire, but our fire from all parts of the field also increased. The 10-pounder battery under Major Fuller did magnificent work. Stationed only 1,000 yards from the point to be breached, it placed one shell after another in exactly the same spot. Bit by bit the wall came tumbling down. A larger and larger gap appeared, and by four a breach sufficiently large for an assault had been made.

Very, very gradually—or so it seemed to us in our suspense below—the Gurkhas, under Lieutenant Grant, made their upward way. First a few arrived just under the breach, then more and more. Then came the crisis, and Grant was seen leading his men straight for the opening. Instantly our bugles all over the field rang out the “Cease fire,” so as not to endanger our storming party. The Tibetans, too, now stopped firing; and where a moment before there had been a deafening din there was now an aching silence. We held our breath, and in tense excitement awaited the result of the assault. We saw the little Gurkhas and the Royal Fusiliers, who formed the storming party, stream through the breach. Then we watched them working up from building to building. Tier after tier of the fortifications was crowned, and at last our men were seen placing the Union Jack on the highest pinnacle of the jong. The Tibetans had fled precipitately, and Gyantse was ours.

Yet, in spite of our success, and to a certain extent by reason of it, I was still ready to negotiate with Tibetan delegates. I had disliked, with an intensity which only those can know who have been in a similar position, the idea of making any mention of negotiation during all that critical time in May, while they were firing proudly at us from the jong, and were surrounding me in my little post below. Now that, through General Macdonald’s skilful dispositions and the bravery of his troops, I was in the top place, I readily tried to negotiate. And I thought that His Majesty’s Government were anxious that further efforts to negotiate here should be made; for on June 25 they had telegraphed that if there was reasonable expectation of the early arrival of the Resident, accompanied by competent Tibetan negotiators, the advance to Lhasa might be postponed. They thought that the advance should not be undertaken unless there was adequate ground for doubting the competency of the Tibetan delegates or the earnestness of the Tibetan Government. Moreover, some few days’ delay was necessary for General Macdonald to complete his arrangements for the advance, to collect sufficient supplies, and to establish Gyantse as his secondary base.

All were now eager and ready for the advance, and I wrote to the Chinese Resident, that as neither he nor any competent Tibetan negotiator had come to Gyantse I was proceeding to Lhasa. I stated that my purpose was still to negotiate, but that I must ask him to prevent the Tibetans from further opposing my Mission, and I intimated that the terms I was demanding would be still more severe if we encountered opposition.

CHAPTER XV
THE ADVANCE TO LHASA

On the next day, July 17, we marched to a camp immediately below the Karo-la, and there we found the Bhutanese messenger who had carried a letter from the Tongsa Penlop to the Yutok Sha-pé’s camp had returned, saying that some Tibetan officials would come over presently to see us. The Tibetans, however, fired at our mounted infantry from the wall on the far side of the pass, and no officials appeared.

While the Gurkhas were slowly plodding up the mountain-sides, I seated myself beside Major Fuller’s mountain battery, and watched the effects of gun-fire at these altitudes. It was most interesting. The pass itself was 16,600 feet, and the battery was a few hundred feet above it, and was for some time firing at groups 5,000 yards away, and some of them on the glacier at about 18,000 feet above the sea. In such a rare atmosphere ordinary sighting and ordinary fuses were quite useless. The shells would cleave through the thin air at very considerably greater velocity than they would pass through the thicker air at sea-level. All the sighting and the timing of the fuses had, therefore, to be completely readjusted by trial and guesswork. Despite this, however, wonderfully accurate shooting was effected by these splendid little guns, and it would have made all the difference to Colonel Brander if he had had them instead of the useless 7-pounders.

Nagartse was reached on the 19th, and close to it I was met by a deputation from Lhasa. Here were signs of negotiations at last. I said I would have a full interview at three that afternoon, but must warn them at once that it would be necessary for me to occupy the jong, and to advance to Lhasa, though I was ready to negotiate on the way. The deputation, which consisted of the Yutok Sha-pé, the Ta Lama, the Chief Secretary, and some monks, arrived in my camp shortly before the time appointed. The Yutok Sha-pé took the chief place. He was a genial, gentlemanly official of good family and pleasant manners. But it soon became apparent that both he and the Ta Lama were in the hands of the Chief Secretary, the monk official who, from our first meeting at Khamba Jong, had ever been an obstacle in our way. This latter official, acting as spokesman, said they had heard from the Tongsa Penlop that we wished to negotiate at Gyantse, and they had set out to meet us when they heard that we were advancing. They were quite willing to negotiate if we returned to Gyantse, and in that case they would accompany us and make a proper settlement with us there.

The delegates replied that they had intended no insult by keeping me waiting a year; it was merely the custom of their country to keep out strangers. “But, anyhow,” they said, “let us forget the past; let us be practical, and look only at the present. Here we are, the leading men in Tibet, ready to negotiate at Gyantse, and make a settlement which will last for a century.”

The delegates said that they were not so intolerant to the Mohammedans: they merely forbade building mosques, and prevented any new Mohammedans coming into their country. I said that at any rate some were there, and apparently they had not spoilt the religion of the Tibetans. They replied that the ancestors of these had come many, many years ago, and the Tibetans had become accustomed to them; to which my rejoinder was that if Mohammedans had lived among them practising their religious rites for all these years—apparently for centuries—without spoiling the religion of Tibet, I could not believe that the fact of our going to Lhasa for a few weeks only could have any permanent ill-effect on the religion of Tibet.

I endeavoured throughout the interview to avoid being drawn into petty wrangling. Even more important than the securing of a paper convention, which might or might not, be of value, was, I stated to Government at the time, the placing of our personal relations with the officials of Tibet upon a good footing from the start. I had to be severe with them at Gyantse, because they would not pay proper respect to me; but at each interview since they had come well before the appointed time, they were thoroughly respectful throughout, and I was able to treat them with the politeness I preferred to show them when they made this possible. I trusted that, after I had suffered two interviews, one of three and a quarter hours and another of three and a half hours, they would feel that I was at any rate accessible, and that they would have no compunction in coming to see me whenever they felt inclined. Until, however, they received further orders from Lhasa, there was nothing more to be said on either side.

On the 21st we found that the delegates had decamped in the night. Perhaps, after all, I had made a mistake, and allowed these very coy birds to escape just as they had come into my hand. On the whole I thought not. I believed others would soon come in. So I marched very contentedly along the shores of one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen—the Yamdok Tso. It was 14,350 feet above sea-level. In shape it was like a rough ring, surrounding what is practically an island; and in colour it varied to every shade of violet and turquoise blue and green. At times it would be the blue of heaven, reflecting the intense Tibetan sky. Then, as some cloud passed over it, or as, marching along, we beheld it at some different angle, it would flash back rays of the deep greeny-blue of a turquoise. Anon it would show out in various shades of richest violet. Often, when overhead all was black with heavy rain-clouds, we would see a streak of brilliant light and colour flashing from the far horizon of the lake; while beyond it and beyond the bordering mountains, each receding range of which was of one more beautiful shade of purple than the last, rose once more the mighty axial range of the Himalayas, at that great distance not harsh in their whity coldness, but softly tinted with a delicate blue, and shading away into the exquisite azure of the sky. What caused the marvellous colouring of this lake, which even the Tibetans call the Turquoise Lake, we could none of us say. Perhaps it was its depth, perhaps it was its saline character, or some chemical component of its water. But whatever the main cause, one cause at least must have been the intense blue of the Tibetan sky at these great altitudes, so deep and so translucent that even the sky of Greece and Italy would pale beside it.

Marching along by this lake we had much rain, turning into snow at night. Pete Jong, a picturesque little fort close to the shore, was reached on the 22nd, where, as at Nagartse, a company of infantry and a few mounted infantry were left to keep up the line of communications. From here the mounted infantry, reconnoitring ahead, reported the remnants of the Kham force to be retreating in a disorganized condition, and looting the country en route.

Another great event on this day was the receipt of what was, I think, the first written communication which any British official had received from a Tibetan official since the time of Warren Hastings. It was addressed to “The all-wise Sahib sent by the English Government to settle affairs, from the Tibetan National Assembly.” It ran as follows:

This letter was brought by a messenger, who said that the new delegates were then at Chisul, on the opposite bank of the river. And now again arose the question whether we should make use of this new chance of negotiating or should still press on to Lhasa. We had in front of us the serious obstacle formed by the Brahmaputra River, which, if we crossed it, would be a nasty impediment to have in our rear. On the other hand, we had negotiators here with more ample credentials than any had had before, and we had the National Assembly itself in communication with us. The fear of our going to Lhasa might have more effect than our actual presence in the place. The mere dread of our advance might make them agree to our terms, while if we actually advanced to their sacred city we might find that the most determined defence had been reserved for the capital; and that we had put our heads into a hornets’ nest, and irritated 20,000 monks into buzzing about our ears. This was an eventuality on which I had to count, and of which I had been warned by speeches by responsible men in England which did little to encourage me in my task. An ex-Prime Minister, Lord Rosebery, had said in February in the House of Lords that this Mission bore “in its circumstances so melancholy a resemblance to that first war in Afghanistan, which we conducted under the late Lord Lytton, that it must give all those whose minds and memories recurred to the past serious grounds of misgivings when they saw once more His Majesty’s Government proceeding in the same direction to an end which they could not see themselves.” A future Prime Minister, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, in pressing for the recall of the Mission, had said in the House of Commons in April that “we had had experience before, and the associations connected with the name of Cavagnari did not seem to invite us to undertake a similar policy again.”

If we pressed on to Lhasa, into this swarm of fanatically hostile monks, we might all share the fate of Cavagnari, while if we simply held up the threat of advancing we might get the treaty through. It was an alternative which I had to consider; but I felt fairly sure by now that I had rightly taken the measure of the Tibetans, so I sent a verbal intimation by the messenger that I would be glad to receive the delegates, but that I could not consent to defer my advance to Lhasa. And, in reply to the letter of the National Assembly, I wrote to the Dalai Lama that more than a year ago I had arrived at Khamba Jong, which he had approved as a meeting-place for the negotiations, but that the appointed delegates refused to negotiate. I had advanced to Gyantse, but still no negotiators had arrived, and instead, I was treacherously attacked at night. Now the Viceroy had ordered me to advance to Lhasa to negotiate there. Those orders I had to obey, but I had no desire to create disturbances in Lhasa or interfere with the religion of the country, and as soon as I had obtained his seal to the Convention I had been instructed to negotiate, I would retire from Lhasa. No religious places which were not occupied by Tibetan soldiers would be occupied by British soldiers; our soldiers would not fire if no opposition was offered to them; and all supplies taken from the peasants would be paid for. But if opposition were offered, our troops would be compelled to commence military operations, as they did at Gyantse, and the terms of the settlement would be increased in severity.

But a sad accident occurred: one of the boats capsized in the rushing, eddying current, and Major Bretherton, the Chief Supply and Transport Officer, and two Gurkhas were drowned. There was no more capable and energetic officer in the Force. Our success depended much less on fighting than on supply and transport arrangements, and these had been wellnigh perfect. Major Bretherton, in the Kashmir, Gilgit, Chitral, and North-West frontiers, had almost unrivalled experience of rough transport work, and his driving power, his readiness, quickness, far-sightedness, and inexhaustible buoyancy and cheerfulness were of inestimable value in carrying through such an enterprise as that which we had now so nearly completed. It was hard that young Gurdon should lose his life just at the beginning of so promising a career; it seemed almost more cruel that a man who had achieved so much, and who was just within sight of the goal for which he had worked longer and harder than any one of us, should have been swept away in an instant and have never seen his reward. It is in reflecting on cases such as these that one begins to wonder whether our touching trustfulness in the mercy of Providence is altogether justified.

In reply I expressed my inability to accede to the Dalai Lama’s wishes, but trusted they would ask His Holiness to excuse my insistence. They had spoken of the inconvenience our presence in Lhasa would cause the Dalai Lama, but His Holiness would, I felt sure, realize the inconvenience we had already suffered through the delay in the arrival of negotiators. I could assure them that the Viceroy had every desire to consult the feelings of the Dalai Lama, and it was because we knew that His Holiness was averse to the presence of strangers in Lhasa that His Excellency had not sent me there in the first instance, though the capital of a country was the natural and usual place in which to conduct negotiations. It was only after we had found it impossible to effect a settlement anywhere else that I had been ordered to proceed to Lhasa.

A discussion afterwards followed on the question of other foreigners coming to Tibet if we were allowed there. I told them it was the usual custom for neighbouring countries to have representatives at each other’s capital, and we would probably have avoided all the misunderstandings which led to the present troubles if we had had a representative at Lhasa and they had had one in Calcutta. We knew, however, their aversion to keeping a British agent at Lhasa; we were not, therefore, pressing the point, and were only insisting upon having trade agents at Gyantse and other marts. There would, however, in any case, have been no reason for other foreigners establishing an agent at Lhasa. Russia had declared that she had no intention of sending an agent to Tibet. The delegates replied that our establishing an agent even at Gyantse would be against their custom, and spoil their religion. I said that I understood, then, that they were not prepared even now to agree to our terms, and they informed me that they were only authorized to discuss them, and they would have to be considered in the National Assembly. “You expect me, then,” I said, “to remain out here in a half-desert place discussing terms. I have already remained for months together in desert places in Tibet, and can now negotiate in no other place than Lhasa.” I begged the Chamberlain as a practical man to accept this as inevitable, and to turn his mind now to insuring that there should be no more useless bloodshed on the way, and that we should be enabled by the speedy conclusion of the settlement to leave Lhasa at an early date.

The Dalai Lama’s Chamberlain returned to Lhasa immediately, but on the 29th the Ta Lama, accompanied by the same Secretary of Council who was present at the interview of July 27, again came to visit me. He explained that the Chamberlain had returned to Lhasa to report personally to the Dalai Lama the result of his interview with me, and he hoped that I would wait here till the reply of the Dalai Lama should reach me. I informed him that I could not wait here longer than the 31st, that it was not our custom to act in a dilatory manner, and that I was indeed daily expecting a telegram from the Viceroy asking me for an explanation of the delay which had already occurred.

On July 31 all the troops, except a small garrison to guard the ferry, having crossed the river, we set out again towards Lhasa. As I was passing Chisul the Ta Lama asked me to stay for a short time to talk to him. He said he was much surprised at our advancing, as he had understood from me that we wished to make a settlement and be on friendly terms, and, if we advanced, there might be disturbances. I reminded him that I had always said we would advance, and remarked that, if there were disturbances, the responsibility would rest upon the Tibetan Government, for I had informed him many times, and had written to both the Amban and the Dalai Lama to say that we would not commence fighting, and our troops had orders not to fire unless they were fired upon.

For the next two days we marched steadily on towards Lhasa, expecting at each corner we turned to catch sight of the Potala in the distance, or at least to hear from the reconnoitring parties of mounted infantry that they had seen its gilded roofs. On August 2, at our last camp, a dozen miles only from Lhasa, which now really could be seen in the distance, I received the final deputation, which had come to make the last great effort to induce us to stop. It consisted of the old Ta Lama, the General who had met Mr. White and me at Khamba Jong, and had since been promoted to the post of Councillor, and known as the Tsarong Sha-pé, the Chinese official deputed by the Resident, the Abbot in private attendance on the Dalai Lama, a Secretary of Council, and the Abbots of the three great Lhasa monasteries. They repeated the usual requests that we should not go to Lhasa. I reiterated my usual statements that we must go there. They said that if we would remain where we were they would supply us with everything—of course, on payment. The Dalai Lama’s private Abbot made a special appeal on behalf of the religion of Tibet. I told him I was particularly interested in hearing his views on religion, but I trusted he would not object to my reminding him that, while he was an eminent authority on religion, he had little experience of politics. In political life, when a country repudiated a treaty, declined to negotiate a new one, and attacked the Envoy who was sent for that purpose, it was considered that that country had committed three very serious offences, any one of which would be justification for the capture of the capital of the offending country. In the present case, out of consideration for the special sanctity of the city, we were prepared, if we encountered no opposition, to abstain from capturing Lhasa, and I trusted the Abbot would appreciate the consideration. Perhaps if he had himself been fired on continually for two months he would not have been equally moderate. The Abbot laughed, but remarked that they also had had to suffer.

I promised the Abbot to respect the monasteries. If they were occupied by soldiers, and we were fired at from them, as we were from the monasteries round Gyantse, we should, of course, have to attack them. But we did not wish to be obliged to resort to force, and as long as we were not attacked we would prevent our soldiers from entering the monasteries. I would also see that soldiers and followers did not enter the city of Lhasa unless in attendance on an officer. The Tsarong Sha-pé asked me to give them a written agreement to this effect. I said I would, provided they would give me a written agreement that traders from the city would not be prevented from coming to sell things to the soldiers in camp, as the Gyantse traders had done. The Tsarong Sha-pé said that this would be impossible without the consent of the National Assembly. I told him that I could not in that case give them the written agreement, and I rose at once and closed the Durbar.

CHAPTER XVI
THE TERMS

I have often been asked what were my feelings when I first saw Lhasa—whether I was not filled with a sense of elation. I was filled with nothing of the kind. It was when I left Lhasa that I really had all that feeling of intense relief and satisfaction which everyone experiences when he has set his heart on one great object and attained it. When I left Lhasa I had my treaty, and—what I had always put at more value than the treaty itself—the good-will of the people. When I arrived at Lhasa it was very doubtful if I should be able to get a treaty at all, and still more doubtful if I could get it with the good-will of the people, without which any paper treaty would be useless. To negotiate a treaty with a people acknowledged by those who knew them best—the Chinese, the Nepalese, and the Bhutanese—to be most obstinate and obstructive, time was required. To break through the reserve of so exclusive a people, to make friends of men with whom we had just been fighting, still more time was essential. Yet it was just time that was denied me. I had pressed for it in June, but in too ineffectual a manner, and had been rebuffed. Though this was an avowedly political Mission, military considerations were allowed to preponderate. I could only stay in Lhasa a month and a half or two months. We must be back before the winter. And thus tied, I had to set to work with all speed, but with the outward appearance of having the utmost leisure, to negotiate the treaty. Hurried as I was, I had yet to assume an air of perfect indifference whether the negotiations were concluded this year, next year, or the year after. And irritated though I might be, I had above all to exercise as much control as I could possibly bring to bear to keep down any feelings of hastiness or exasperation, which might ruin our chances of securing the eventual good-will of the people.

Lord Lansdowne had given assurances to the Russian Ambassador, but he had expressly added when making them that the policy then announced was not unalterable in any eventuality, and that the action of His Majesty’s Government was to some extent dependent on the action of the Tibetans themselves. The Government of India did not desire to depart from the declaration which Lord Lansdowne had made that, so long as no other Power endeavoured to intervene in the affairs of Tibet, no attempt would be made to annex it, to establish a protectorate over it, or in any way to control its internal administration; but they thought that recent developments might make it incumbent upon them to recommend to His Majesty’s Government a reconsideration of the opinion they had expressed in their telegram of November 6, 1903, in so far as it concerned the establishment of a permanent Mission in the country.

They explained that this valley lay to the south of the main watershed, and was Indian rather than Tibetan in character. Our Mission had been well received by the people, and Mr. Walsh, the Political Agent who had been located among them, reported that they regarded our presence with unmixed satisfaction, and that their only fear was lest we might evacuate the valley, and expose them to the vengeance which the Lamas would surely take upon them for having lived on terms of friendliness with us. The occupation of this region was recommended by all the local authorities as far back as 1888, was strongly urged by the Bengal Government in Mr. Cotton’s letter, dated July 22, 1895, but was deferred owing to Chinese susceptibilities. The contumacious disregard of the Tibetans for their treaty obligations and for the authority of their Suzerain had culminated in armed resistance to the passage of a friendly Mission despatched by us with the full cognizance of that Suzerain, and accompanied by Chinese representatives throughout. It appeared to Government that recent developments might make it necessary to take material guarantees. They had referred to a road through the Chumbi Valley as desirable in order to secure the position of our representative in Tibet, if such a one should be appointed. The route which was projected along the Amo Chu Valley would lead into the foot of the Chumbi Valley, and it was obviously desirable that it should continue under our control up to the point where it debouches on to the open plateau of Tibet beyond the Tang-la. The opening up of such a route into Tibet proper must evidently be the precursor of any real development of trade, and, what was of far greater importance, it would provide one of the surest guarantees for the predominance of our influence and the safety of our Agents in the country.

Now that it had become necessary to send a regular military expedition to Lhasa, Government submitted that they had a good claim to be recouped the expense to which they had been put. It was obvious that the retention of the Chumbi Valley would not, from a monetary point of view, be an adequate return for the outlay in which they had been involved, and Government thought it well to put forward a claim to compensation against the Tibetans. Further, they considered that, having regard to the recent attacks upon their Mission at Gyantse, and as a measure calculated to increase the security of their representative in Tibet, they should follow the precedent of the demands presented by the allied Powers to the Chinese Government after the events of 1900, and should insist on the razing of all fortified positions which might impede the course of free communication between our frontier and Lhasa, and on the prohibition of the importation of arms into Tibet or their manufacture within the country except with their special permission.

Government considered, however, that this alternative, the least which could be contemplated, was not calculated, in the same degree, to afford a guarantee of satisfactory results. An agent at Gyantse, though possibly in greater personal security, would probably not be in so good a position for knowing what transpired in political circles at Lhasa.

It would be useless at the present stage, the Government of India thought, to enter into details of the draft Convention, of the trade regulations, of the terms as to Customs duty, of the arrangements in regard to mining rights and concessions which appeared to be necessary, and of the boundary settlements on the Sikkim and Garhwal Frontiers which stood for decision. These questions must first be discussed by their Commissioner with the representatives of the Tibetan Government.

His Majesty’s Government had also been consistently averse to any policy in Tibet which would tend to throw on the British Empire an additional burden. The great increase to our responsibilities, however necessary, which recent additions to the Empire had involved, made it obvious that it would be imprudent further to enlarge them except upon the strongest ground. In military and naval matters the resources of Great Britain and India must be considered together. India had from time to time given effective and ready help in the defence of British interests and British Colonies. On the other hand, it had to be remembered that the British army largely existed in order to defend India, and every new obligation undertaken by India was as much a charge upon the common stock of our heavily burdened resources as if it were placed upon the people of this country.

CHAPTER XVII
THE NEGOTIATIONS

I received him, as, indeed, I had received the Tibetans all through, at official interviews, in full dress uniform, with all my Political Staff in similar dress. He made the usual polite inquiries, and then said that he wished to work with me in effecting a speedy settlement with the Tibetans. He had hoped to meet me before, and had hastened to Lhasa at unusual speed, but the Tibetans had refused to furnish him with transport, and he had, therefore, been unable to proceed beyond Lhasa. I said I quite appreciated the difficulties he must have had with the Tibetans, for I had had some experience of them now, and a more obstructive people I had never come across. He agreed that they were an exceedingly obstinate people. He said he feared I must have had a very unpleasant time at Gyantse, and I told him that we had come there to negotiate, and not to fight, and therefore had very few soldiers with us at the time the attack was made. Later on, General Macdonald arrived with reinforcements, and the Tibetans had to suffer heavily for their misconduct. On the present occasion, however, we had come ready either to negotiate or to fight. We were prepared to negotiate; but if the Tibetans were obstinate, we would not hesitate to fight. I should be glad if he would impress upon the Tibetans with all his power that we were no longer to be trifled with.

The next day I had to return his visit, and now arose a problem. His residence was on the far side of the city, and the point was whether we should ride through Lhasa or round it. It was risky to ride through this sacred city, swarming with monks who had organized the opposition against us. We had been so recently fighting against them that we could not be sure of their attitude. Peace was not yet concluded, and they had shown no signs, so far, of really negotiating, but had, on the contrary, been doing their best to stave us off from Lhasa. So our reception was uncertain, and, if anything happened to us, the matter-of-fact, common-sense person at home would, without compunction, have criticized me for running the risk without any necessity. But from my point of view there was a necessity. All this trouble had arisen through the Tibetans being so inaccessible and keeping themselves so much apart; and now I meant to close in with them, to break through their seclusion, to brush aside their exclusiveness, and to let them see us and us see them as the inhabitants of the rest of the world see each other; and I meant to make a beginning at once. So I determined now, on the very first day after our arrival, to ride right through the heart of the city of Lhasa.

We passed numbers of clean-shaven, bare-headed monks from the great monasteries round, one of which alone held 8,000. They were a dirty, degraded lot, and we all of us remarked how distinctly inferior they were to the ordinary peasantry and townsmen we met. The monks, as a rule, looked thoroughly lazy and sensual and effete; the countrymen and the petty traders in the town were hardy, cheery people, and as we rode through the city really paid very little attention to us.

I then asked the Amban if he would get the Tibetans to depute two or three representatives for the special purpose of negotiating a settlement with me. A variety of delegates had been sent to meet me on the way up, but it was desirable that the same men, without change, should continue to negotiate with me till the settlement was arrived at. The Amban promised to arrange this. After apologizing for introducing business matters into the conversation during my first visit to him, I took leave of the Amban and returned to camp by a détour through the heart of the city.

The Nepalese representative said the Regent was a moderate man, more inclined to make a peaceful settlement than the generality of the National Assembly. Captain Jit Bahadur having hinted that the Regent and the Dalai Lama’s brother were anxious to visit me, I told him to let the Regent know that I would be glad to receive him; and I asked him to tell the Regent from me that we had no wish to be other than on friendly terms with the Tibetans. We had no desire to make war upon them or object to gain by it; we did not wish to annex their country; and the Viceroy had given me the very strictest orders to respect their religion, so that when I heard from him (the Nepalese representative) and the Tongsa Penlop that the Tibetans considered the Summer Palace a sacred building, I had consented to take up my residence elsewhere, even though at inconvenience to myself. But while we had thus no wish to make war, and were prepared to respect their religion, the Tibetans were putting me in a very difficult position. They had asked me to stop hostilities, saying they wished to make a settlement, but although they had been acquainted with the terms for three weeks, and I had already been here a week, yet not one word of negotiation had yet passed between me and them. Nor had they made proper efforts to furnish the troops with supplies. If they failed to negotiate, what could I do? It seemed to me that the Tibetans were like men in a bog. They were sinking deeper and deeper. Last year they were in up to their knees only. A month ago they were up to their waists. Now they were up to their necks. And in a short time, if they would not accept the hand which was stretched out to them by the Regent, they would be in over their heads.

I called upon the Chinese Resident on the 10th and impressed upon him the responsibility which lay on the Chinese Government to induce the Tibetans to make a settlement. He said he was most anxious to work with me, and had sent a message to the Dalai Lama to return. But I heard from other sources that the Dalai Lama was now eight marches off, and had with him the Siberian Buriat Dorjieff, to whom the Tibetans attributed all their troubles, but who was reported to have very sagaciously advised the Dalai Lama to retire for a bit, as the English would soon calm down and disappear again like the bubbles in boiling water which subside when the water has cooled.

They begged me to be more reasonable and to discuss things more quietly; they said they were accustomed to talk matters over at great length; they hoped that the Resident would be able to persuade me to be more considerate; and they suggested that I should ask the Viceroy to let me demand easier terms from them. I reminded them that they had been aware of the terms for three weeks now, and I had been ready, on the way up here, to explain them to them. I had now been ten days at Lhasa; they had not yet come to talk to me about them; and I had heard from the Resident that, so far from showing any inclination to agree with them, they had written about them in very impertinent terms. They must not be surprised, therefore, that my patience was exhausted. The terms which I had shown them were issued by command of the British Government, and no reference to His Excellency the Viceroy would have the slightest effect in modifying them.

He then said he would have liked to come and see me before, but was afraid of the Sha-pés. He told me how he had been hastily summoned by the Dalai Lama a few weeks ago, but on his arrival had found the Dalai Lama had fled. He had greatly disliked taking up political business, for he had spent his whole life in religious study, and was altogether ignorant of the methods of public affairs. But the Sha-pés and people in the palace had given him a message from the Dalai Lama, handing over the Dalai Lama’s seal to him, and telling him he was to act as Regent during the Dalai Lama’s absence.

The first sign of yielding came on August 15, when the Resident intimated to me that he had pressed the Tibetan Government to make a start towards a settlement by releasing the two Lachung men (British subjects) who had been seized last year beyond Khamba Jong, and that the Tibetan Government had agreed. He wished to know when and in what manner they should be handed over. I informed him that they should be handed over to me the next morning by two members of the Council.

As regards the Convention itself, the Amban said he would have to discuss the clause regarding trade-marts with me. I said I was prepared to talk the matter over, but we should have to insist upon establishing trade-marts at Gyantse and Gartok, and I did not understand the Tibetan objections to the establishment of a mart at Gyantse, for we had the right more than a century ago to have one even at Shigatse. This right had not been exercised for a great number of years, but at one time Indian traders visited Shigatse regularly.

I said that if only they had behaved more sensibly in the beginning all this trouble would have been saved: there would have been no war, and no indemnity would have been asked. We had not wished for war, and I had gone with Captain O’Connor, without any escort, into their camp at Guru in January to reason quietly with the leaders there, and ask them to report my views to Lhasa. If we had wanted war I should never have so acted. That I did was proof that we wished for peace. But they refused to report my words to Lhasa, and hence this trouble. The Ti Rimpoche here interpolated that they were afraid to report anything to the Dalai Lama. I went on to say that it was not fair to expect India to pay all the cost of a war brought on by the foolishness of the Tibetan rulers, so we had to ask that the Tibetans should pay part of the sum. Yet even now we were not asking for more than half of the whole cost. I was demanding Rs. 50,000 a day from the date of the attack on the Mission till a month after the date on which the Convention was signed. The Ti Rimpoche would note that I was not asking payment from the date of the Guru fight, because that fight might have been due to mere foolishness on the part of the leaders, but from the date when the Tibetans deliberately attacked the Mission at Gyantse, after I had repeatedly notified that I had come to negotiate. From that date, therefore, we expected them to contribute to the cost of military operations.

I then remarked that I had heard the Dalai Lama had without any doubt whatever fled the country. The Amban said this was true, and he was evidently not flying to China, but to the north—possibly to join the Great Lama at Urga. I said he would hardly be flying to China, for he would surely have obtained the Amban’s permission to proceed to Peking, or at least have informed him of his intention. The Amban replied that he had gone off without any warning, and he had now definitely decided to denounce him to the Emperor, and would to-day or to-morrow send me a telegram which he would ask me to have despatched to Peking as quickly as possible. I said I would do this service for him, and I considered he was acting with great wisdom in denouncing the Dalai Lama, for it was he who had brought all this trouble upon his country, and he deserved to suffer for it. I was not surprised, however, at so young a ruler coming to grief, for our experience in India was that a young chief, even when he had only temporal authority in his hands, was very liable to get into the power of unscrupulous and designing men, and rush off in a headstrong way on a foolish course. For a young Dalai Lama, who had not only temporal, but also supreme spiritual power, the tendency to go wrong must have been almost irresistible.

I replied that the war in Sikkim had cost us a million sterling, and the present war would cost another million. After the Sikkim War the Tibetans had repudiated the treaty which the Resident then made, and we might very justifiably now ask for an indemnity for the Sikkim War, as well as for this. We were, however, making no such demand, and we were only asking from Tibet half the cost of the present war. I knew, of course, that Tibet had suffered from the present war, but no such suffering need have occurred if they had negotiated with me at Khamba Jong in the previous year. And, while they had suffered, we also had not escaped without trouble. Captain O’Connor had himself been wounded, and what we looked upon as extremely serious in this matter was that the representative of the British Government should have been attacked. If they attacked the Resident here, they knew well how angry the Emperor of China would be. I quite recognized, however, the difficulty they had in paying the indemnity in cash within three years. I would, therefore, be prepared to receive proposals from them as to modifications in the manner of payment. If, for instance, they thought it impossible to pay the whole indemnity in three years, and would like the term extended to five, I would submit such a proposal for the orders of the Viceroy. Or, again, if they would prefer to pay the indemnity at the rate of a lakh of rupees a year for a long term of years, I would ask Government if the difficulty might be met in that way.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE TREATY CONCLUDED

We were now at the end of August; my time was very short, and I was in an awkward predicament. On the 30th I had telegraphed to Government that the Tibetans, in spite of their protests of poverty, could really pay the indemnity, but that I thought trade concessions in lieu of a portion would be preferable. I also asked for liberty to arrange for payment of the indemnity by instalments of one lakh of rupees (£6,666) a year for a long term of years, if that arrangement were preferred by the Tibetans, a proposal which I had also made a month before. On the same day I was told by General Macdonald that September 15 was the latest date to which he could remain at Lhasa. The Secretary of State had telegraphed to the Viceroy^[36] that “the date on which the return of the force from Lhasa is to begin should be fixed by the military authorities in communication with Younghusband.” In accordance with these instructions, General Macdonald telegraphed to the Adjutant-General^[37] that he had consulted me with regard to fixing a date for our departure, that I had said I could not fix any date, but thought the beginning of October the earliest, and could not guarantee that. The medical authorities considered September 1 the latest safe date. The officers commanding units thought the 12th might be risked. General Macdonald himself was prepared to stay till September 15, and would delay the departure a few days longer if that would make the difference. There had already been snow on the hills round Lhasa and Nagartse, there was heavy snow on the Karo-la and at Ralung, with severe frost on the Karo-la, and the return march would take nineteen days. General Macdonald concluded that September 13 was the latest safe date for our stay in Lhasa, and would be glad of immediate orders, but, in the absence of orders to the contrary, would fix the 15th for the departure.

The time to strike had come. If I had moved earlier, before the Tibetans had, each of them, had the opportunity of blowing off steam, I should simply have aroused more armed opposition. If I delayed, I might have to leave Lhasa through military considerations before I ever got the chance. I had asserted fifteen months before, in a letter to my father written when just starting for Tibet, that I would sit tight any length of time, but when my opportunity came, as come it must, I would strike in hard and sharp. The psychological moment had exactly arrived, and I determined to use it. I told the Chinese Resident that I would call on him on September 1 with the full final draft of the Treaty, and that I would like the Tibetan Council and the members of the National Assembly to be present when I met him. In the presence of the Chinese representative, I meant to inform the whole of the leading men of Lhasa, monk, lay, and official, that they must sign the Treaty, or take the consequences of refusal.

On the day following, September 2, one of the Councillors and some other officials visited Captain O’Connor, and went through the draft Treaty with him word by word. On the same day the Tongsa Penlop suggested, on his own initiative, to the Tibetans that they should let us collect the Customs duty at the marts, and get the amount of the indemnity from that source. I telegraphed to Government that I was making no move in this matter of adjusting the difficulty about the indemnity till the Tibetans made definite proposals, but that I thought it would be advantageous to move, and would like the views of Government.

I kept Captain O’Connor talking with them for a few minutes while I turned the whole question over in my mind once more before I gave a final decision. One very easy course I might have adopted was to say that I must refer the matter to Government and await their orders. But before I could get an answer military considerations might have predominated, and I might find myself forced to leave Lhasa. As the Government of India subsequently said, the language of the communications which they received from the Home Government was such as to impress on them and me alike that they were strongly averse to any prolongation of the stay at Lhasa. I had, therefore, no assurance that I should have time to go on discussing this point with the Tibetans. Then, again, I thought that in the matter of the indemnity a certain amount of latitude had been left me. The Secretary of State’s instructions on this point were: “In regard to the question of an indemnity, the sum to be demanded should not exceed an amount which, it is believed, will be within the power of the Tibetans to pay, by instalments, if necessary, spread over three years. Colonel Younghusband will be guided by circumstances in this matter.” The full despatch was more definite than this telegram. But the despatch had not yet arrived. Some degree of discretion was left me. Was I justified by the very difficult circumstances in which I found myself in stretching it to seventy-five years? This was the question I had to settle in my mind while the Regent was waiting for my reply.

The thing was done, but what I did in saying those half a dozen words agreeing to the Tibetan proposals was considered afterwards to be a grave error of judgment, and was to bring upon me the censure of Government, That, of course, is what I had to risk. I knew that I was not acting within my instructions. I was using my discretion in very difficult circumstances with what the Government of India afterwards described^[39] to the Secretary of State as “a fearlessness of responsibility which it would be a grave mistake to discourage in any of their agents.” And if I really was in error, I think that those who tied their agent down for time and bound him within such narrow lines before they were aware in what conditions he would find himself at Lhasa, cannot themselves be considered as altogether faultless.

In another matter also I at this time acted on my own responsibility. In the original proposals of the Government of India regarding the terms about which I was, without committing Government, to ascertain how the Tibetan Government would be likely to regard them,^[40] was one by which the agent at Gyantse was to have the right of proceeding to Lhasa to discuss matters with the Tibetan officials or the Resident. This reached me before I left Gyantse, and when the Tongsa Penlop asked me for our terms to let the Dalai Lama know what we wanted, I gave him this among all the rest. Subsequently, I received instructions not to ask for permission for the Gyantse agent to proceed to Lhasa. I did not, however, at once withdraw the clause from the list of terms, because in the course of negotiations it might prove useful as a point on which I could, if necessary, make concessions to the Tibetans. But when I found the Tibetans raised no special objections to the clause, provided the trade agent went to Lhasa only on commercial, and not political, business, and only after he had found it impossible to get this commercial business disposed of by correspondence or by personal conference with the Tibetan agent at Gyantse, I thought there would be no objection to taking an agreement from the Tibetans to that effect; for, under such limitations and provisions, there could be no grounds for assuming that in going there the trade agent at Gyantse would be taking upon himself any political functions, or adopting the character of a Political Resident.

To the troops the news that the Treaty was concluded was a completely unexpected announcement. For weeks past they had heard of nothing but Tibetan obstruction. They knew that we should soon be leaving Lhasa, and they had made up their minds that we should have to leave without a Treaty. They were overjoyed, then, when they heard that the Treaty had been concluded and was to be signed next day. On most of the frontier expeditions upon which they had been engaged there was little to show in return for all they went though. Now they had been led to a remote sacred city, and had not only reached their goal, but were also to bring back something with them as the tangible result of their labours. Their satisfaction was therefore great.

CHAPTER XIX
IMPRESSIONS AT LHASA

Congratulations from India and England soon came pouring in. Only six days after the Treaty was signed came a telegram from the Viceroy conveying the congratulations of the King himself. His Majesty, though away at Marienbad, had immediately telegraphed his congratulations, a particular compliment which is rarely given for work in India. To the troops this was especially gratifying. The telegram was read out to them on a full parade, which General Macdonald ordered for the purpose. The Secretary of State, the acting Viceroy, Lord Ampthill, Lord Curzon, from England, Lord Kitchener, and very many others, also sent their congratulations; and now, while the Chinese Government were making up their minds whether they would allow the Resident to sign his adhesion to the Treaty, I had leisure and inclination to go about Lhasa and see something of the monasteries and temples, and talk with the people in a less forced and formal manner than I had to while the strain of the negotiations was on us.

For this purpose Mr. White, Mr. Walsh, Captain O’Connor, and Colonel Waddell, the well-known writer on Lamaism, who was appointed Chief Medical Officer and Archæologist to the Mission’s escort, were invaluable. Each had his special qualification for the work, and each made use of it by “peaceful penetration” to break through the last barrier which separated us from the Tibetans. Mr. White was known in person or by reputation as none of the rest of us were, and had many friends who were also friends of these Lamas. Through them he obtained an invitation to the De-pun Monastery, and from this start made rapid progress. Mr. Walsh, as Deputy Commissioner of Darjiling, and through his long acquaintance with this frontier and intimate knowledge of the language and history of the country, was also able to exert a most useful influence after his arrival from Chumbi, while Colonel Waddell interested himself in the libraries and in historical research. As a consequence, when I visited these monasteries, after the signature of the Treaty, I was received as if the visit from a British official was the same ordinary occurrence as it is in India.

The lower-class priests, on the other hand, live in a pitiful way. No words, says Kawaguchi, can describe their poor condition. The scholar-priests have to earn their living as well as their expenses as students. Yet they are too busy to go out and make money, and what they receive as offerings from believers and as salaries from temples does not amount to enough to support them. They get a drink of tea gratis, but no flour; and such is their pitiable condition that they will often pass a couple of days without eating.

The Tibetan’s main idea, in fact, has been to save his own soul. He does not trouble about others so long as he can save himself. Indeed, he thinks it will require all his energies to do even that much, for at heart he is still full of his original religion of demonology. He looks upon the spiritual world as filled with demons, ready to prey upon him if he makes the slightest slip. Every temple, almost every house, is full of fantastic pictures of the most terrible and blood-curdling devils, with glaring eyes, open fang-studded mouth, extended neck and outstretched arm, ready to pounce upon some miserable victim. The belief in heaven is vague. The belief in hell is the one great fact in their lives, and how real it is may be imagined when we hear of these poor wretches, who, in order to escape its terrors, voluntarily allow themselves to be walled into solitary cells, from which for years they never emerge, but take in their food once a day through a narrow opening. Thus only do those poor deluded creatures think they can escape from demons in the world to come. But that they most sincerely believe in a life hereafter no more positive evidence could be afforded. An interesting detail is that their hell is not hot, but cold. If it were hot, the inhabitants of frozen Tibet would all flock there.

This temple, or cathedral, as it has sometimes been styled, has been fully described by Sarat Chandra Das, Perceval Landon, and others. The latter especially has given a remarkably vivid description of his impression. It is, as Colonel Waddell has aptly styled it, the St. Peter’s of Lamadom, and is chiefly noteworthy as containing the image of Buddha, made in India, but brought to Lhasa from China by the Chinese Princess who married a Tibetan King and introduced Buddhism into the country.

Besides these visits to monasteries and temples, we also saw something of the Tibetans socially during our stay in Lhasa, and Captain Walton, through his skill in medicine, attracted many hundreds to his hospital, and was able to get on terms of intimacy with unofficial Tibetans of the highest position. Many would come and dine with us, for the Tibetans, though they have the ordinary class distinctions which are found in every people, have not those rigid caste barriers which are such a hindrance to social intercourse in India. Even the ladies were very nearly induced by the persuasive Captain O’Connor to come to tea, and the wives of the Councillors had actually accepted an invitation, when at the last moment shyness overtook them. Women are much to the fore in Tibet, and have great influence with their husbands, so we especially regretted not having seen them.

Whatever seclusive feeling they may have had, they abandoned it when the Treaty was concluded. They came to our gymkhanas, and wondered why only the first should be given the prize when all the rest had covered exactly the same distance. They watched with wonder Vernon Magniac and other inveterate sportsmen pulling fish out of the river by pieces of string attached to long sticks. They watched theatrical performances, and marvelled at our display of fireworks; and they did a magnificent business with us in the sale, not only of supplies for the troops, but also of innumerable curios, brass and bronze figures, turquoise ornaments, embroideries, silks, etc.

Summarizing the characteristics of the Tibetans, we may say, then, that while they are affable outwardly and crafty within, as most dependent people have to be; while they are dirty and lazy; and while their religion is degraded, and they show no signs of either intellectual or spiritual progress, yet at heart they are not an unkindly or unsociable people, and they have undoubtedly strong religious feelings. Immorality is not entirely unchecked. The Lama who married a nun had his official career blighted. Ministers have been known to refuse their salaries as they had enough to live on without. There is often much affection and staunch friendship among the Tibetans. And there are in them latent potentialities for good, which only await the right touch to bring them into being.

CHAPTER XX
THE RETURN

Before leaving on the following morning, the Ti Rimpoche visited me, and presented each of us with an image of Buddha. He had also visited General Macdonald and given him a similar image. He was full of kindliness, and at that moment more nearly approached Kipling’s Lama in “Kim” than any other Tibetan I met. We were given to understand that the presentation by so high a Lama to those who were not Buddhists of an image of Buddha himself was no ordinary compliment. And as the reverend old Regent rose from his seat and put the present into my hand, he said with real impressiveness that he had none of the riches of this world, and could only offer me this simple image. Whenever he looked upon an image of Buddha he thought only of peace, and he hoped that whenever I looked on it I would think kindly of Tibet. I felt like taking a part in a religious ceremony as the kindly old man spoke those words; and I was glad that all political wranglings were over, and that now we could part as friends man with man.

Such experiences are only too rare, and they but too soon become blurred in the actualities of daily intercourse and practical existence. Yet it is these few fleeting moments which are reality. In these only we see real life. The rest is the ephemeral, the unsubstantial. And that single hour on leaving Lhasa was worth all the rest of a lifetime.

The behaviour of these Indian troops had also contributed greatly to the change of feeling in the Tibetans. Their discipline was excellent. They had fought hard when fighting was necessary. When the fighting was over they readily made friends with the Tibetans. And the latter more than once told me that the people suffered more from their own troops than they did from ours. This discipline and good behaviour of Indian troops we take for granted. It is none the less very remarkable. We had with us Gurkhas, trans-frontier Pathans, Sikhs, and Punjabi Mohammedans. All of these in their natural state, under their own leaders, and uncontrolled by British officers, would have played havoc in Lhasa. Their good behaviour on the present occasion was one of the main causes of the Tibetans suddenly swinging round as they did in our favour.

The Gartok party I put in charge of Captain Rawling, as its main purpose was to open the new mart, and he had in the previous year made a remarkable and most useful journey in Western Tibet. Captain Ryder had been detailed for charge of the survey operations of the expedition down the Brahmaputra, and Lieutenant Wood, R.E., who had been engaged for some time in resurveying the peaks round Mount Everest in Nepal, was to have done the survey work with the Gartok party. But now that the project for the former expedition had fallen through, Captain Ryder also accompanied the Gartok party and took charge of the survey. He was an officer of great capacity, and during the Mission had done most valuable work in extending the triangulation of India right up to Lhasa. He had now an even more interesting piece of geographical work before him—the survey of the upper course of the Brahmaputra (San-po) to its source, and the settling definitely of the question whether there was any higher peak than Everest at the back of the Himalayas.

But in the midst of this dream of ease, and just the very day before I reached Darjiling, came the rude shock that the best points I had obtained at Lhasa were to be given up. I will deal with this matter in a subsequent Chapter. It is enough here to state that all the pleasure of my return was dashed from me in a moment, and I bitterly regretted ever having undertaken so delicate a task with my hands so tied.

Nor could anything have been more generous than the support which Lord Ampthill and the whole Government of India gave me in the matter of the disallowed points in the Treaty. But what caused me anxiety was the view which Lord Curzon would take of what I had done. He had recommended me originally on account of my discretion. As long as he was in India he had given me unfailing and ungrudging support, besides the personal encouragement of a real friend; and if he thought that in the end I had failed him I should have been miserable for the rest of my days. I had acted absolutely and entirely on my own responsibility in what, in most difficult circumstances, had seemed to me the best for my country; and I had to take the risk of my action being approved or disapproved. But it would have been indeed a blow if I found Lord Curzon thought I had acted wrongly.

On my arrival in England I had the honour of an audience of His late Majesty, and the reward I most appreciated for my services in Tibet was this opportunity of personally knowing my Sovereign. I saw him quite alone. He placed me in a chair by his desk, and then in some indefinable way made it possible for me to speak to him as I would have to my own father. He was himself most outspoken. He did not merely ask questions in a perfunctory way, but took a genuinely keen interest in our proceedings. He warmly praised the conduct of the troops. He was well aware of the deeds, and even character, of individual officers, and he spoke most feelingly of the loss of Major Bretherton, of whose splendid work he was fully cognizant. It appeared to me that it was men, and not policies, which chiefly interested him: human personalities rather than abstract principles. He was himself, as all the world now knows, a generous personality; and not merely a great Sovereign, but a great man. No one I have ever met has given me such an impression of abounding vitality and warm-blooded humanity, full and overflowing. And I left his august presence not only rewarded, but re-inspired.

CHAPTER XXI
THE RESULTS OF THE MISSION

When the Mission was despatched into Tibet, we had for thirty years been trying to regulate our intercourse with our Tibetan neighbours, but had obtained no success whatever. The Treaty which their suzerain had made with us was repudiated. Boundary pillars were thrown down, trade was boycotted, our communications were returned. And the Dalai Lama showed a decided leaning towards the Russians. As a result of Lord Curzon’s policy in sending a Mission to Tibet, there had been signed by the Tibetan Government in the audience-room of the Dalai Lama’s palace in Lhasa itself, in the presence of the Chinese Amban and of all the chief men of Tibet, a Treaty which defined our boundaries, placed our trade relations upon a satisfactory footing, and gave us the right to exclude any foreign influence if we should so wish. And in spite of the military operations which we were forced to undertake, and in spite of the Tibetans being compelled to pay an indemnity, the position of the Tibetans towards us was distinctly more favourable when we left Tibet than when we entered it.

A further result was the friendship of Bhutan. When the Mission started, the Bhutanese were practically strangers, and their attitude was uncertain. When the Mission returned they were our firm friends. The chief visited Calcutta. Mr. White has twice been most cordially received in Bhutan. And the former Tongsa Penlop, now the Maharaja of Bhutan, has formally placed himself under our protectorate.

A week after the signing of the Treaty the Government of India telegraphed to me that the Secretary of State considered that a difficulty was presented by the amount of the indemnity, especially when the provision for its payment was read in conjunction with Clause VII. of the Treaty, the effect being that our occupation of Chumbi might have to continue for seventy-five years. This was, the Secretary of State said, inconsistent with the instructions conveyed in his telegram of July 26, and with the declaration of His Majesty’s Government as to withdrawal. The Government of India were, therefore, asked to consider whether, without prejudice to the signed agreement, it would not be possible to intimate to the Tibetans that the amount of the indemnity would be reduced on their duly fulfilling the terms agreed to and granting further facilities for trade.

Regarding the amendment of the Treaty to meet the wishes of His Majesty’s Government, they proposed by telegram on October 21^[43] that in ratifying it a declaration should be appended by the Viceroy reducing the indemnity from 75 to 25 lakhs, and affirming that after three annual instalments had been paid the British occupation of the Chumbi Valley should terminate, provided the terms of the Treaty should in the meantime have been carried out.

CHAPTER XXII
NEGOTIATIONS WITH CHINA

Nothing resulted from Mr. Tang’s visit to India, and ill-health caused him to return to China. But on April 27, 1906, in place of an Adhesion Agreement, a Convention was signed at Peking between Great Britain and China which “confirmed” the Lhasa Convention of 1904. In addition, Great Britain engaged “not to annex Tibetan territory, or to interfere in the administration of Tibet”; while the Chinese Government undertook “not to permit any other foreign State to interfere with the territory or internal administration of Tibet.” We were entitled to lay down telegraph-lines to connect the trade-marts with India. And it was laid down that the provisions of the old Convention of 1890, and the Trade Regulations of 1893, remained in full force.

Mr. Chang’s action at Gyantse gave rise to a similar impression that he was aiming at the belittlement of British influence rather than at cordially co-operating with our officers as Yu-tai had. He posted there a Chinese official named Gow as Sub-Prefect, with the title of Chinese Commissioner in charge of the Chinese Trade and Diplomatic Agency; and this Mr. Gow proved so contumacious that Sir Edward Grey had eventually to press for his withdrawal. He threatened to stop the supply of provisions by Tibetans to our Trade Agent unless they were paid for at rates to be fixed by himself; and he also, apparently under sanction from Peking, claimed that in all transactions between the Tibetans and British officers he should act as intermediary.

Later other evidence of Mr. Chang’s antipathy came to light. The Tibetan Jongpens at Gyantse informed Captain O’Connor in January, 1907, that since his arrival upon the scene their position had become very difficult, for he had told them that in future the Chinese were to act as intermediaries between the English and Tibetans, and so before complying with any request of his they would be obliged to ask the permission of Mr. Gow. And on March 5 Captain O’Connor telegraphed that he was now completely cut off from personal intercourse with Tibetan officials, as Mr. Gow refused to let the Jongpens see him.

In consequence of these representations Mr. Gow was withdrawn from Tibet, but only to be given a higher appointment in a more popular part of the Chinese Empire—the Directorship of Telegraphs at Mukden in Manchuria—and the attitude of the Chinese in Tibet has not yet really changed. Perhaps the reason may be found in the hint given by Sir John Jordan, who, when the Grand Secretary told him that the Wai-wu-pu had always been puzzled to know the causes of the friction between Mr. Gow and the British Trade Agent, expressed his conviction that they lay in the fact that someone from Peking had been inspiring a policy in Tibetan affairs which was hostile to the Treaty and to British interests.

So for the present ended any idea of direct remonstrance regarding breaches of the Treaty. But it was not only locally at the trade-marts that the Chinese were pursuing their policy of separating the Tibetans from us. By an astute move they had already sought to effect the same end through payment of the indemnity. By the terms of the Treaty this was due from the Tibetans. Though we might well have demanded the indemnity from the Chinese, and many think that we should have demanded part, at least, for it was to enforce a Treaty which they had asked us to make, which they had assured us they could see observed, but of which, from 1890 to 1904, they were never able to secure fulfilment, that we went to Lhasa, we instead demanded it from the Tibetans, and, on account of their poverty, we reduced the amount payable from 75 to 25 lakhs of rupees—from half a million sterling to £166,666. The Chinese now said that they would pay this reduced indemnity. In an Imperial Decree issued in November, 1905, it was ordered that the indemnity should, in view of the poverty of the people, be paid by the Chinese Government—that is, that the Chinese Government should pay it over to us direct for, and on behalf of, Tibet.

But this method of payment Mr. Chang refused, and wrote to Sir Louis Dane: “I regret to say that I am unable to meet your wishes that Tsarong Sha-pé should himself tender payment. I have received very explicit instructions from my Government on this subject, that the third instalment of the indemnity (Rs. 8,33,333:5:4) is to be handed over in the form of a cheque only by myself.” When the matter arose in discussion at a meeting on January 10, Mr. Chang intimated that he based his objection to the proposal on the fact that direct dealings between us and the Tibetan authorities would be involved in it. It was no longer possible, the Government of India thought, to doubt Chang’s firm determination that Chinese sovereignty over Tibet, to the exclusion of all local autonomy, should be indicated, and that direct communication of all kinds between our officials and Tibetans should be prevented. It appeared that Mr. Chang was being supported in this attitude by the Chinese Government, and that it was doubtful if we could expect, without further guarantee, loyal fulfilment of the Lhasa Convention as interpreted by His Majesty’s Government. Chinese claims might exist which contravened our distinct rights under the Lhasa Convention, as recognized in the Anglo-Russian arrangement regarding Tibet, and confirmed by the Peking Convention. The Indian Government greatly feared the reproduction in an aggravated form of the position of affairs before 1903 if Chinese contentions were admitted.

The final instalment of the indemnity having been paid, orders for the evacuation of the Chumbi Valley were issued on January 27, 1908.

These Regulations would have been of value if they had been observed, but even in 1910 the Indian Government reported that the Chinese did not allow the Tibetans to deal directly with our Agents, and once they were concluded the Chinese seem to have been more engrossed with the great forward movement which, I have stated, they commenced as soon as we had evacuated Chumbi, than in carrying out their part of the agreement.

The events which led up to this will be set forth in detail in the following Chapter. To make the consecutive narrative of Chinese action complete, it will merely be noted here that three months later the Chinese troops arrived in Lhasa; that on the day of their arrival ten soldiers were sent to each of the Tibetan Ministers’ houses; that the Dalai Lama thereupon fled to India; that the Chinese sent several hundred soldiers to “attend” and “protect” him, but that he escaped across our frontier; that only a fortnight after he had left Lhasa he was deposed by Imperial decree; that the Chinese then took the Government of Tibet into their hands, preventing the sole remaining Minister from doing anything without the Resident’s consent, holding the ferry across the Brahmaputra, and preventing anyone crossing the river without a pass from the Resident, replacing Tibetan by Chinese police, seizing rifles, closing the arsenal and mint; and, what more intimately concerns ourselves, and what was immediately opposed to Treaty obligations, preventing the Tibetans dealing directly with our Trade Agents.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE ATTITUDE OF THE TIBETANS SINCE 1904

Some exception was taken by the Tibetans to our building a house in Chumbi, and to the maintenance of the telegraph-line, both of which had been erected during the course of the Mission. But on the whole the intercourse was friendly, and these written and personal communications showed that the Tibetans had entirely reversed their former attitude of positively refusing all direct intercourse with us.

In January, 1906, Chao set off with some 2,000 foreign-drilled troops, equipped with rifles of German pattern and four field-guns, for Hsiang Cheng, a lamasery at one time the home of over 2,000 Lamas. It is situated about a week’s journey south-east of Batang on a high plateau surrounded by mountains, and the territory under its sway had so far been prohibited to Chinese, any who did enter being skinned alive. In the winter of 1905 a small Chinese official with twenty soldiers had come to this stronghold with a summons to the Abbot to swear his allegiance to China, but the Lamas had treated him with contumely.

This change of attitude the Government of India attributed to fear on the part of the Lhasa authorities lest the Dalai Lama should on his return punish them for complaisance to our demands; and also to expectations that the negotiations which the Chinese Commissioner was at the time conducting in Calcutta might result in a material modification of the Convention in favour of Tibet.

Early in the following year we hear of him sending the indispensable Dorjieff to St. Petersburg with a message and gifts for the Czar. Of this the Russian Director of the Asiatic Department informed our Ambassador, stating that His Majesty had granted Dorjieff an audience, and had accepted the gifts, which consisted of an image of Buddha, a very interesting copy of Buddhistical liturgy, and a piece of stuff. The message was to the effect that the Lama had the utmost respect and devotion for the “Great White Czar,” and that he looked to His Majesty for protection from the dangers which threatened his life if he returned to Lhasa, as was his intention and duty. The answer returned to him was of a friendly character, consisting of an expression of His Majesty’s thanks for his message and of his interest in his welfare. The Russian Minister said that he wished the Ambassador should hear exactly what had occurred, as the Press would probably make out that the audience had a political character.

Mr. R. F. Johnston, of the Colonial Service, District Officer at Wei-hai-wei, and the author of the most remarkable of recent books of travel, “From Peking to Mandalay,” paid the Dalai Lama a private visit in July, and reported that he was treated in a dignified and friendly manner. The Dalai Lama told him that he wished his relations with the British to be friendly, and that “he looked forward to meeting British officials from India when he returned to Tibet.” Mr. Johnston said he appeared to treat his Chinese guard with contempt, and that there was bad feeling between the Chinese and Tibetan soldiers, while the Chinese officials complained that they were ignored by the Lama.

Under the outward aspect of honouring the Dalai Lama, the Chinese now by Imperial Decree emphatically stated his subordinate position. “The Dalai Lama,” said the Decree, “already, by the Imperial commands of former times, bears the title of the Great, Good, Self-existent Buddha of Heaven. We now expressly confer upon him the addition to his title of the Loyally Submissive Vicegerent, the Great, Good, Self-existent Buddha of Heaven.” As Sir John Jordan observed, the additional attributes did not leave much doubt as to the rôle which the Pontiff was expected to play in the future. He was, above all else, to be the loyally submissive Vicegerent of the Chinese Emperor, and his dependence on the Imperial favour was to be further accentuated by the grant to him of a small personal allowance, also provided for in the Decree.

The Dalai Lama left Peking on December 21 to proceed to Lhasa by way of Tung-kuan, Si-ngan, Lanchou, and Kumbun—that is, by the northern route, and not through Szechuan, as the Chinese Residents always travel. The day before his departure he sent two of his Councillors to Sir John Jordan to pay a visit of farewell on his behalf. In addition to some presents of incense and other articles for the Minister, they brought a “hata” (scarf), which they specially begged should be transmitted to His Majesty the King-Emperor, with a message of respectful greetings from His Holiness. The Councillors said that the Dalai Lama’s visit to Peking had been a useful educative influence to himself and his advisers, and had resulted, they hoped, in the resumption of the time-honoured relations with China. It had also enabled them to ascertain the views of His Majesty’s Government with regard to Tibet, and, after the assurances our Minister had given them, they now went back thoroughly convinced that so long as they faithfully carried out the terms of the recent Convention, they could look forward with confidence to the maintenance of friendly relations with His Majesty’s Indian Government. This they considered one of the most valuable results of their journey. The Dalai Lama had originally intended, they explained, to leave two or three of his Councillors to represent his interests here, but this proposal had for the time being been abandoned in deference to the views of the Chinese Government.

The Dalai Lama also at this time sent a messenger by Calcutta to Peking with a letter to the British Minister, dated November 7, from the Tacheng Temple, three days’ march outside Lhasa. This messenger reached Peking on February 7. The letter gave expression to the Lama’s desire that friendly relations with India might be maintained, and begged that the bearer’s message might be listened to by the Minister. This message, which was delivered on February 21, was to the effect that, having arrived in Lhasa territory, the Dalai Lama was concerned to find that active measures were being taken in the country by Chinese troops, and hoped that anything our Minister could do would be done. This messenger, though he had denied that he was the bearer of any other letters, as a matter of fact also delivered similar letters to the Japanese, French, and Russian Ministers, and the Russian Minister informed Mr. Max Müller, our Chargé d’Affaires, that the letter to him was couched in more definite terms than that addressed to Sir John Jordan, and asked directly for Russian help against the aggression of the Chinese.

Tibetans are proverbially hazy in their accounts of what was actually said or done on particular occasions, and the Chinese Government afterwards denied that Wen could possibly have given any such promise. But the Ministers did show Mr. Bell, the Political Officer in Sikkim, a letter which they asserted they had received from Wen. Wen wrote: “I had a personal interview on February 9, 1910, at the Potala, with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, in regard to the orders sent from Szechuan about sending 1,000 Chinese troops to Lhasa....” He then agreed that the distribution of the troops to guard the frontier would be considered on their arrival at Lhasa; the Lamas would not be harmed or their monasteries destroyed, and there would be no diminution in the Dalai Lama’s spiritual power. Wen further stated in this letter that the Dalai Lama had agreed that the Chinese troops would have no resistance offered to them; that the Tibetan troops then assembled would be dismissed to their homes; that the Dalai Lama would thank the Emperor, through the Resident, for the great kindness shown him; and that great respect should, as usual, be paid by the Dalai Lama to the Chinese Resident.

Such was the account given by the President of the Wai-wu-pu to our Minister at Peking. But the Dalai Lama, remembering what had happened just recently in Eastern Tibet under Chao Erh-feng, who was now himself at Chiamdo, was not so confident as to what these additional troops were meant for. When the new arrivals entered Lhasa on February 12, three of his chief Ministers were with him in the Potala, and during the meeting news came that the Chinese had despatched ten soldiers to the house of each Minister to arrest him. Upon hearing this, and that more than the 1,000 Chinese troops had entered Lhasa territory, the Dalai Lama and his Ministers decided to fly, and they left Lhasa that same night.

The Dalai Lama himself had meanwhile pressed rapidly on. On the 16th he crossed the Karo-la, the scene of Colonel Brander’s fight, and reached Ralung. Nor was reached on the 17th, Dochen on the 18th, and Phari on the 19th. Here lots were cast as to whether he should proceed viâ Bhutan, Khamba Jong, or Gnatong. The lot fell on the last route, and, reinforced by about 100 men of the Chumbi Valley, he was escorted as far as Yatung on the 20th. With still further reinforcements and with fresh supplies he was escorted up to the Sikkim frontier on the 21st, and that same day reached Gnatong, on the British side.

Besides this, the Minister reported that Chinese police were being posted throughout the country by the Amban, and where Tibetan police existed they were being dismissed. The Amban had removed thirty good rifles from the Tibetan armoury, had closed the Tibetan arsenal and Tibetan mint, and proposed the confiscation of all rifles throughout the country in the possession of Tibetans. The Regent had been forbidden by him to perform his religious duties, the Amban saying another Lama would be chosen for this purpose. The Amban had broken open the sealed doors of the Dalai Lama’s palace at Norbaling, near Lhasa, was taking steps to deprive the Ministers who accompanied Dalai Lama to Darjiling of their appointments, and had posted soldiers in most of their houses.

From Darjiling the Dalai Lama proceeded to Calcutta, where, on March 14, after an exchange of formal visits, he had a private interview with the Viceroy. He expressed his reliance on the British Government and his gratitude for their hospitality. The difficulties between Tibet and Britain in 1888 and 1903 had been caused by China. The promises of the Emperor and Dowager Empress had been disregarded by the Amban, who had clearly shown that he would leave the Tibetans no power. He appealed to us to secure the observance of the right which the Tibetans had of dealing direct with the British. But he further desired the withdrawal of Chinese influence, so that his position might be that of the fifth Dalai Lama who had conducted negotiations, as the ruler of a friendly State, with the Emperor. There should also be withdrawal of Chinese troops. The Treaties of 1890 and 1906, to which they were not parties, Could not be recognized by the Tibetans. He was cut off from communication with the Regent whom he had left at Lhasa, although he and his Ministers were the Government of Tibet, and had the seals of office. All travellers were stopped and searched by the Chinese, and, unless sent secretly, no official letters got through. He had received some private letters. He would not return to Lhasa unless this matter was settled satisfactorily. What his eventual destination would be he could not say; he wished to return to Darjiling for the present. After the violation of the promises which the Dowager Empress gave him, he would not trust the Peking Government’s written assurance. Intrigue on his part against the Chinese he denied. The Amban was altogether hostile, and a hostile policy had been adopted by the Chinese. He repeated his statement that the Chinese had designs on Sikkim, Bhutan, and Nepal. So far as Tibet was concerned, there was no need for the large force of 2,700 troops which, according to his information, the Chinese had in and round Lhasa. The Lama also gave his account of his relations with Dorjieff, who, he said, was a purely spiritual adviser, and of the treatment of the letter from Lord Curzon. He inquired, at the conclusion of the interview, how his appeal was answered. In reply Lord Minto said that at present he could give no reply at all, but that he was very glad to make his acquaintance, to extend hospitality, and to hear his views, which would be placed before His Majesty’s Government. The Dalai Lama again thanked Lord Minto warmly for his hospitality and took his leave.

Was there ever a more tragic reversal of an old position? Warren Hastings, Bogle, Turner, Lord Curzon, and we in 1904, all trying to induce the Tibetans to be ordinarily civil! And now the Grand Lama and his entire Government come to us, come to beg us to uphold their right of communicating direct with us, and to send British officers—and not merely officers, but soldiers—to Lhasa, and to form an alliance. In all history there can hardly be a case of a more dramatic turning of the tables. Yet, when all we had been striving after for a century and a half was now being pressed upon us, we informed the Dalai Lama we were precluded from interfering. When the Tibetans did not want us we fought our way to Lhasa to insist upon their having us; when they did want us, and had come all the way from Lhasa to get us, we turned them the most frigid of shoulders.

Sir John Jordan, one of the best Ministers we have had in Peking, had unfortunately to leave Peking at this time, and since the reply of the Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Max Müller, was received the situation had so altered that the terms in which the Chinese were to be addressed had to be reconsidered. It was true, said Lord Morley, in addressing the Foreign Office, that, in view both of our Treaty relations with China and Russia and of the history of our past policy in regard to Tibet, the position of Great Britain is somewhat delicate, and that it is difficult for us to make an effective protest. But he was strongly of opinion that it should be pointed out emphatically to the Chinese Government (1) that Great Britain, while disclaiming any desire to interfere in the internal administration of Tibet, cannot be indifferent to disturbances of the peace in a country which is both our neighbour and is on intimate terms with other neighbouring States upon our frontier, and especially with Nepal, whom we could not prevent from taking such steps to protect her interests as she might think necessary in the circumstances; (2) that, in view of our Treaty relations with both Tibet and China, His Majesty’s Government had the right to expect that the Chinese Government would at least have tendered friendly explanations before embarking on a policy which, in the absence of such explanations, could not but appear intended to subvert the political conditions set up by the Anglo-Tibetan Convention and confirmed by the Anglo-Chinese Convention; and (3) that His Majesty’s Government must claim that, whatever the intentions of the Chinese Government might be as regards the future of Tibet, an effective Tibetan Government should be maintained, with whom we could, when necessary, treat in the manner provided by those two Conventions.

Sir Edward Grey concurred in Lord Morley’s views, and directed Mr. Max Müller on February 23 to make a representation to the Chinese Government in the above sense. In reply to this, Liang-tun-yen, the President of the Wai-wu-pu, informed Mr. Max Müller on February 25 that the force despatched to Lhasa consisted of not more than 2,000 men, under a Brigadier, but not under Chao Erh Feng, who was apparently still at Chiamdo. He wished to assure the British Government that the Chinese intentions were merely to enable the country to be policed and more effective control than formerly to be exercised, particularly in regard to Tibet’s obligations to neighbouring States. The Chinese desired no modification of the status quo, and no alteration in any way of internal administration. It had not been their intention that the Dalai Lama should be deprived of his power, and repeated messages to that effect had been sent him. His title had already been taken from him in 1904, and subsequently restored to him. He would now be punished personally by deposition and by a new Dalai Lama being appointed; but unless unforeseen circumstances rendered such a course necessary, no further aggressive action in Tibet was contemplated.

The Imperial Decree said that the Dalai Lama had been the recipient of Imperial favour and abounding kindness, but that since he assumed control of the administration he had been proud, extravagant, lewd, and slothful beyond parallel, and vice and perversity such as his had never before been witnessed. Moreover, he had been violent and disorderly, had dared to disobey the Imperial commands, had oppressed the Tibetans, and precipitated hostilities. In July, 1904, he had fled during the disorders, and was denounced by the Imperial Resident in Tibet as of uncertain reputation, and a Decree was issued depriving him temporarily of his title. When he came to Peking he was received in audience, given an addition to his title, and presented with numerous gifts. Every indulgence was shown to him in order to manifest the Emperor’s compassion. The past was forgiven in the hope of a better future, and the Emperor’s intention was generous in the extreme. The present entry of Szechuan troops into Tibet was specially for the preservation of order and the protection of the trade-marts, and the Tibetans should not have been suspicious because of it; but the aforesaid Dalai, after his return to Tibet, spread reports and became rebellious, defamed the Resident, and stopped supplies to Chinese officers. Numerous efforts were made to bring him to reason, but he would not listen; and when Lien-yü telegraphed that, on the arrival of the Szechuan troops in Lhasa, the Dalai Lama, without reporting his intention, had fled during the night of February 12, and that his whereabouts were unknown, the Emperor commanded the Resident to take steps to bring him back and make satisfactory arrangements for him. The aforesaid Dalai Lama had been guilty of treachery over and over again, and had placed himself outside the pale of the Imperial bounty. To his superiors he had shown ingratitude, and he had failed to respond to the expectations of the people below him. He was not a fit head of the saints.

On the receipt of the Chinese reply, Lord Morley telegraphed to the Viceroy for the views of the Government of India; but at the same time he impressed on them that they should bear in mind that it was essential that a strictly non-committal attitude on all points at issue between China and Tibet should be observed.

The Viceroy suggested that in any case our own interests must be protected. There was unsettlement in our frontier States. Rumours of location of a garrison at Yatung and the number of troops in Tibet constituted, in the opinion of the military authorities, a menace to the peace of our border. The reform, not the abolition, of the Tibetan Government was contemplated in the edict of March 9, 1908. The Trade Regulations of 1908 had been violated in the following respects: Administration and policing of trade-marts had, inconsistently with Article III., been taken over by Chinese, and direct dealings between our Agents and Tibetans had been prevented. The Tibetan Government was recognized by the Convention of 1904, which was recognized by Article I. of the Convention of 1906. A large slice of Tibetan territory had been lopped off by the Chinese, who had forcibly occupied and dispossessed the Tibetans of Chiamdo, of Troya, and of Tsa Kalho—provinces of Eastern Tibet. It seemed necessary in any case, therefore, that the Chinese Government should be required to give definite assurances on the following points: (1) The limitation of the Chinese garrison in Tibet to a number adequate for maintenance of order internally. (2) The maintenance of a real Tibetan Government. (3) The policing of the trade-marts by Tibetans under Chinese officers, if necessary. (4) The appointment at Lhasa of an Amban less hostile to British interests. (5) The issue of instructions to Chinese local officers to co-operate with British Trade Agents and not to hinder our officers and the Tibetans from dealing direct with one another. It might be advisable that at this stage the Chinese Government should be informed that the British Government must reserve the right to retain and increase the escorts at Yatung and Gyantse, if necessary, in view of the change in the status quo, unfriendliness of local Chinese officers, and disturbed state of Tibet. Individual Chinese might get out of hand, though it was improbable that our agencies would be attacked by the Chinese.

CHAPTER XXIV
SOME CONCLUSIONS

It has been said, indeed, that if ever we lose India it will be in London. I am not of those who think we ever shall lose India, for I have much too great a faith in the common sense and spirit of my countrymen. Nor do I say that we are worse than other peoples in “trusting the man on the spot.” I think we are very much better. It requires a really big people to give their representatives rope; and a big people we are, and in the main the British nation has supported its Viceroys, Governors and their Agents better than any other nation have supported theirs, or we should not be in India now.

Secretaries of State lecture the Indian Government about the “wider view,” the “larger Imperial interests,” and so on; but administrators in India have a suspicion that, however broad the views of a Secretary of State may be, they are probably not much longer than the distance which separates him from the next General Election. In any case, whether or no he is looking—as indeed he ought, under the theory of our Constitution, to be looking—to the next General Election, he cannot be expected to have the same length of view as the Indian Government; for he is, after all, a bird of passage, in the India Office for a few years and then not heard of there again. And as to the larger Imperial interests, most British administrators are aware of them, for they have been about the world more than British politicians. They are well enough aware that Indian considerations must be weighed in the balance with other Imperial considerations, and that in the last resort it is the British statesman who must decide. But what they doubt is whether the full weight of the Indian considerations is ever put into the Imperial scale. Since 1873 every sort of consideration has been given more weight than the Indian in these Tibetan affairs, and the consequence is that they still drag on in as unsatisfactory a state now as they were thirty-seven years ago.

If this be really the wish of the British people, then a much ampler latitude might be allowed to the Viceroy, Lieutenant-Governors, and high Frontier Officers, and a greater deference be shown to their views. If agents abuse this latitude, then they can be censured, as I was censured, or punished in any way that is necessary. And if the present men are not good enough to be entrusted with responsibility, then means might be taken for sending out better. Competitive examinations are not the only or the best means of obtaining rulers for India. And there is no reason why India should not be provided with just as good men as go to Whitehall or Westminster. But never can it be seriously believed that it is the wish of the British people that the principle of trusting the man on the spot be abandoned, or the sense of responsibility in their agents damped down.

Lastly, there is scope for much fuller personal intercourse between local officers and superiors in India itself and between India and England. Facility of communication is not taken sufficient advantage of in this way. To refer again to this case of Tibet. During all that time occupied in the correspondence leading up to the Mission an Indian official, thoroughly well posted in the local conditions and with the views of the Government of India upon them, might have been sent to Peking, St. Petersburg, and London, to put the Indian and local view before our Ambassadors and the Home Government, to be informed in return of the Chinese and Russian and Imperial views, and to be the bearer of the final decision thereon of the Imperial Government, which he could explain with much greater effectiveness than is achieved by letters and telegrams. An advantage, additional to the better settlement of the actual question in hand, would be that the Indian official so employed would be gaining some all-round experience, which would be of value on future occasions.

The net result is that at last we find the Tibetans anxious to be on neighbourly terms, and, indeed, to form an alliance with us, but that the action of the Russians on the one hand and of the Chinese on the other, together with lukewarmness in England, stands in the way of our being as intimate with the Tibetans as they now wish us to be. It has proved in the result that the Tibetans are not really the seclusive people we had believed. By nature they are sociable and hospitable and given to trade. They are jealous about their religion, but as long as that is not touched they are ready enough for political relationship, for social intercourse, and for commercial transactions. The present obstacle to neighbourly intercourse is the suspicion of the Chinese. There is some reason to think that from the first they have instilled into the Tibetans the idea of keeping themselves secluded. Anyhow, now they are quite evidently keeping us apart. And any means we had of preventing the Chinese insinuating themselves between us and the Tibetans have been taken from us through the jealousy of the Russians. Owing to this, we are not now in Chumbi and we have not an agent at Lhasa. The Chinese fear we may absorb Tibet and press them in Szechuan, and the Russians fear a predominant influence with the Dalai Lama might be used by us detrimentally to their Buddhist subjects present and to be. Both, therefore, stand in the way of that close relationship with the Tibetans which is now desired even more by them than by us.

Before the Lhasa Mission, Russian influence—not necessarily exerted with deliberate intention by the Russian Government, but existent nevertheless—was the disturbing factor; now it is Chinese influence, exerted beyond its legitimate limits and with imprudent harshness. Either of these causes results in a feeling of uneasiness, restlessness, and nervousness along our north-eastern frontier, and necessitates our assembling troops and making diplomatic protests, and might require us to permanently increase our garrison on this frontier. That is the practical point we have to meet.

But when Chinese action is such as to create unrest instead of preserving order, when it upsets all the border people and necessitates our assembling troops to keep the frontier steady, then we have a need to intervene. And this has been the nature of Chinese action lately. Except the Afghans, I have not known any people quite so tactless and provocative as the Chinese in dealing with a subject race. Their haughtiness and the hatred they inspired were remarked on a century ago by Manning. Long years of slackness, indifference, and supercilious disdain of the people, for whom no attempt is made to do anything, are every now and then broken by some sudden and violent effort. Chao Erh-feng’s methods have formed the subject of an impeachment by his own countrymen, and apart from the question whether he used treachery or beheaded prisoners, his regulations to the Tibetans of Batang to adopt the queue and to wear trousers, the measures he ordered for the breaking down of Lamaism, and his annexation of Derge, were all calculated to rouse the whole Lamaist world. No one is more fully aware than myself that the priestly power required to be broken, for it had become a curse and drag to the people. What I doubt is whether the Chinese have gone the right way about it. To me it seems they are more likely to have roused rumblings among the Tibetans and Mongolians for many years to come rather than have secured peace. Our own victories had reduced the Tibetans of Tibet proper to order. The recalcitrant Dalai Lama had been obliged to fly, and the Chinese were masters of the situation; and, especially after we had withdrawn from Chumbi, they had nothing to fear from us. That, even with these advantages, they should have pursued this active policy in Tibet, driven the Dalai Lama from Lhasa, turned the suzerainty into sovereignty, and practically transformed Tibet from a native State into a Chinese province, indicates to me that they are wanting in political sagacity, however much diplomatic acumen they may possess, and that their action is much more likely to cause disorder than order on our frontier.

It is conceivable that this present burst of the Chinese will not last long. It is expensive, and the Chinese cannot afford unnecessary expenditure. What they want, we may conjecture, is, above everything, to “save their face.” The Tibetans had been flouting them for years, and the Chinese wanted to kick them. They now have kicked them, and their faces are saved. What we have to do is to make them realize that to proceed any farther will obviously bring them to unpleasant contact with us. It might conceivably drive us into going to Lhasa again. We have been there once, and could go there again. We ought, therefore, to be able to make the Central Government see that their best chance of quiet on their frontier—which is, after all, even more essential to them than to us—is to send to Lhasa a Resident of the Yutai type rather than of the Chang and Chao description. As long as the Chinese showed themselves willing to co-operate with us, we have for a long series of years shown ourselves ready to co-operate with them, and we are just as interested in their faces being properly saved as they are. And if they would send a Resident with the general hint to “get on” with us, there would be quiet in Tibet without their dignity being interfered with. On our side, to insure smooth working, we might send one or other of the officers on the frontier to Peking or to Chengtu to talk matters over with our representatives in China, find out where the shoe is pinching, and acquire hints as to the methods of dealing with the Chinese to avoid friction. Or a Consular officer from China might visit our trade-marts and give the Indian Government suggestions. Anyhow, in these or similar ways we might do what we can to remove any unnecessary local causes of friction while we are pressing the Central Government for a more conciliatory manner to be observed in the Chinese officials sent to Tibet.

Whether this is done or no we ought, in my view, to alter our whole attitude to the Tibetan question. Instead of expecting to secure peace by shrinking from having anything to do with the people, we should rather put ourselves forward to acquire increased intimacy. We should seek to secure quiet by the more effective and certain method of deliberately making use of every means we have of keeping up and increasing contact with the Tibetans. We have given the one line three great trials, and it has failed. We have given the other line three trials, and on each occasion it has succeeded. All the forbearance and patience which we showed in countermanding the despatch of Macaulay’s Mission, and in trusting to the consideration of the Chinese and Tibetans, only led to the Sikkim campaign. Similar forbearance after 1888 merely led to the armed Mission of 1904. And the desire to have as little as possible to do with Tibet since 1904 has, after all, resulted in the reassembling of troops upon our frontier and protests to Peking. I am not contending that no forbearance, moderation, and patience should be shown. My own proceedings are good enough testimony of my belief in the efficacy of these qualities. My contention is that there must be moderation even in moderation, and forbearance even in forbearing, and that the obstinate determination to have nothing, or as little as possible, to do with Tibet has brought on exactly what we wanted to avoid. On the other hand, when we have gone forward and made efforts to get in touch with the Tibetans, to understand them and explain ourselves to them, a more settled state has always resulted. After Bogle’s and Turner’s Missions in the eighteenth century, and after the Mission of 1904, there was a perceptibly better feeling between us and the Tibetans, all tending to that orderliness on our frontier which is what we most desire. The closer contact and more intimate touch, besides being the more humane method, diminishes rather than increases the risk of trouble. As a case in point, I consider that if we had had a representative at Lhasa this year, or even if our agent at Gyantse had been able to proceed to Lhasa, the present trouble need not have arisen. Knowing what British officers are by their personal influence able to accomplish, I believe that if Major O’Connor, or Major Gurdon, or Major Dew, or one or other of a dozen similar officers who are to be found in India, had been at Lhasa last winter, he would have been able to nip this trouble in the bud. And this not by giving the Tibetans out-and-out support against their legitimate suzerain, but by telling them frankly what the limits were beyond which it was quite impossible for them to expect support from us, the Russians, or anyone else; and by similarly impressing upon the Chinese that there is a point at which we should be bound to protest if they attempted to go beyond it. He would have been the friend of the Tibetans, and he would have been the friend of the Chinese; and as friends of both he would have made them friends with one another.

CHAPTER XXV
A FINAL REFLECTION

To take one very noteworthy case, the German invasion of France in 1870. To this day the action is ascribed to the deliberate designs of Prince Bismarck, and the story of his alteration of the Ems telegram is regarded as a proof positive of his set design heartlessly to make war on France. Yet quite recently there has appeared in the “Reminiscences of Carl Schurz,” the American statesman, who was originally a German subject and revolutionist of 1848, the account of a very remarkable interview^[65] he had with Bismarck before the Franco-German War. In a tone quite serious, grave, and almost solemn, Bismarck said to Schurz: "Do not believe that I love war. I have seen enough of war to abhor it. The terrible scenes I have witnessed harass my mind. I shall never consent to a war which is avoidable, much less seek it. But this war with France will surely come. It will be forced upon us by the French Emperor." The Ems telegram was “edited,” but no mere editing of a telegram by a bureaucrat could by itself have produced a war, much less a victorious war. We read that when King William returned from Ems to Berlin, he was quite stupefied by the outburst of popular enthusiasm which greeted him from every side, and gradually came to see that it was in truth a national war which the people needed and craved for. What Bismarck did was simply to express and personify the feelings of the people. And in a recent work by a French writer a letter by Napoleon III. is mentioned, in which he admitted that the French Government had been the aggressor in 1870.

So far as the British are concerned, it is an undeniable fact that we have over and over again been forced forward against our deliberate wish and intention. Our presence in India is the best possible example. There could not by any means have been a deliberate intention on the part of the inhabitants of an island in the North Sea to establish an Empire over 200,000,000 people at the other end of the world, at a time when they could only be reached by a six months’ voyage round the Cape, and when the islanders were engaged in a life-and-death struggle with their powerful neighbours across the Channel. “International considerations,” the “wider purview,” the “interests of the Empire as a whole,” should in all conscience have prevented the English from establishing their rule in India. And yet, in spite of all these considerations, in spite of peremptory orders from England, in spite of Governor after Governor being sent out to stop any further aggressions, English rule did extend over India. The British Government and the British people never intended, never even wanted, to supplant the Moghul Emperors. They tried their very best, from motives of clean, sheer self-interest, to leave the Sikhs in the Punjab alone, just as they are now trying desperately to leave the Afghans and frontier tribes alone. But yet they supplanted the Moghuls at Delhi and annexed the Punjab.

Or, again, take the case of Lord Morley and Sir Edward Grey in this matter of Tibet. No one could have desired less than they did to intervene in Tibet. They had come into office supported by an enormous majority in the country—a majority which had had the very question of Tibet before them. They had to fear nothing from opposition in Parliament or in the country. They had shown themselves most amenable and compliant to Chinese wishes and Chinese methods. We had a right to say that the Tibetans should pay the indemnity, but we forebore to press this point, as the Chinese undertook to pay it on their behalf. We had a right to occupy the Chumbi Valley till the trade-marts had been effectively opened for three years. The trade-marts were not effectively opened—our Agent reported, indeed, that they were effectively closed—but again we did not want to press the point, and the Chumbi Valley, our sole material guarantee for the observance of the Treaty, was evacuated. We also engaged in a definite Treaty "not to annex Tibetan territory or to interfere in the administration of Tibet." Even travellers such as Sven Hedin we refused to allow across our border into Tibet. Everything we could do to avoid interference and irritation we did. And every sign of intriguing official had disappeared from India. Lord Curzon had left, Mr. White and I had retired, Captain O’Connor was in Persia, and there was a new Foreign Secretary. Yet just as many troops as accompanied the Mission at the start were moved to the frontier ready to advance into Tibet at any time. If men like Lord Morley and Sir Edward Grey so act, may it not be inferred that bureaucrats also are carried along against their will by some strange force?

The overwhelming probability is that there is some strange force working in the affairs of men, and when British Governments and the British people are driven along against their will it is more reasonable to attribute this phenomenon, not to the designs and intrigues of a few officials, but to some inward compulsion from the very core of things. The paragraph in the Spectator must have been either written or inspired by Mr. Meredith Townsend, then its co-editor and author of “Asia and Europe,” a man who had lived in India, who had made a life-long study of Asiatic politics, and who honestly did not like the idea of advancing to Lhasa. When such a man wrote of the action of a strange force the matter is worth close examination.

We may, then, very safely assume that there actually is a strange force driving us on. The highest intelligence affirms that it is so, and intuition, a still higher guide, confirms the view. The practical question is: What is the direction in which it is driving us?

That there is a strange force driving us on, and that it is impelling us in the direction of freedom with union, or of the one through the other, is, then, a reasonable assumption to make. And if this is so, we are not merely drifting along on a mere tendency—we are being driven onward by a forceful impulse. If, then, we find that the direction in which we are thus being impelled is towards what is, in itself, obviously good and desirable, should we not be wiser, instead of standing stubbornly athwart the impulse, to throw our whole selves in with it, to immerse ourselves in it, to let it permeate us through and through and to utilize our intellects to give this general impetus practical, definite effect?

INDEX

MR. BOGLE

SIKKIM SCENERY.

MISSION CAMP, KHAMBA JONG (MOUNT EVEREST IN FAR DISTANCE).

THE SHIGATSE ABBOT.

THE PRIME MINISTER OF NEPAL.

COLUMN CROSSING THE TANG-LA, JANUARY, 1904.

CHUMALHARI

MOUNTED INFANTRY.

THE START FROM TUNA FOR GURU.

SEPOYS “SHOULDERING” TIBETANS FROM POSITION: GURU, MARCH, 1904.

THE TONGSA PENLOP (NOW MAHARAJA OF BHUTAN).

GYANTSE JONG.

CAMP NEAR KARO-LA.

BERTHON BOATS ON BRAHMAPUTRA.

TA LAMA AND HIS SECRETARY.

THE GATE OF JHASA.

THE DALAI LAMA.

THE POTALA, LHASA.

MISSION QUARTERS, LHASA.

THE COUNCIL.

THE TI-RIMPOCHE

THE CHUMBI VALLEY

SIGNING THE TREATY.

SEALS AFFIXED TO TREATY.

THE SERA MONASTERY.

1.  Markham, “Mission of Bogle,” p. 6.

2.  Markham, p. 135.

3.  Markham, p. 137.

4.  Markham, p. 162.

5.  Turner, p. 374.