For certain reasons of my own, and knowing the difficulty of obtaining ponies in Tibet itself, I decided to bring my pony across at all costs. It was certainly a job which gave me a great many hours of hard work and anxiety. The trail, blasted into the rock or in narrow flights of steps along the high cliffs, was wet and slippery, and in many places hardly broad enough for the animal’s body to pass without losing its balance. Still, with a sling or two, and one man holding the beast by the head and another by the tail, we managed, with occasional precipitous slides, to get along pretty well. In one place the pony slipped and fell sideways on the wet slabs, and kicked fragments of the unsteady road (in that portion laid on crowbars) flying into the river, down, down below, some 600 or 700 feet sheer drop. In other places, where rough scaffolding, supported on ropes, had been erected along the vertical rock in order to cut holes for the crowbars, [[34]]the work of conveying the pony across was by no means easy. The scaffolding was generally made of a couple of trees tied together horizontally and an occasional plank.
Perhaps the illustration representing one of these passages may give a better idea of the situation than a long description. It was impossible for the pony to walk on the scaffolding, so that we had to push him over and convey him across, suspended, as far as where the trail began again. This we did by means of several rope slings round his body. Then one man held the pony’s head, while I held him by the tail—being the easiest to let go in case of misadventure.
As the weight of a pony is considerable, the men wound the ropes several times round their wrists; and at one moment, when we were all in the centre of the scaffolding, it creaked so, and a plank on which a man stood showed such elasticity when a good deal of the weight was centered on it, that I really thought we should all be precipitated down into the stream. As luck would have it—and we did sweat over the undertaking, although the day was intensely cold—we got safely on the other side.
A Moment of Suspense
Perhaps I may mention that never in my experience have I seen an animal more terrified than that [[35]]pony was on that occasion. When we stood him again upon terra firma his legs quivered so that it was quite painful to witness, and he neighed and neighed convulsively, and made the sound echo all down the valley. I may also add that from that same scaffolding, that same morning, one of the workmen had fallen over, and his body was dashed into an unrecognisable mass on some rocks in the foaming stream below.
I had heard most peculiar rumours from the natives that the Tibetans had come in great force on to British territory at Garbyang, and with great pomp and much beating of drums were proclaiming that the British Government were afraid of coming to Tibet, and that the entire Bias and Chaudas had now been ceded to Tibet.
It may be remembered that as early as 1898, after the return from my first journey to Tibet, I pointed out to the Government the abuses of Tibetan officials who came over to our side of the frontier, claimed Sah-tal or Land Revenue from British subjects, and even tortured unprotected natives on our side of the frontier if they refused to pay. Some prominence was given in the House of Commons to questions on this subject, and the Governor of the North-West [[36]]Provinces had to acknowledge that such was the case, but declared that steps would be taken to stop the abuses. That the Sah-tal was paid was admitted, but it was stated to be a trade tax, which was untrue, and possibly uttered in ignorance of facts. It was agreed that the payment of the Sah-tal by British subjects should, nevertheless, be stopped, and it was actually suspended.
Apart from the fact that the words Sah-tal in themselves mean “land revenue,” and that it is paid on the amount of land possessed by Shokas on British soil, a further proof that it is a land tax is provided by the case of Darma Shokas, who pay the Sah-tal on their land to the Jong Pen of Taklakot, and who do no trading with that particular part of Tibet.
Furthermore, the Jong Pen of Taklakot receives the amount with the distinct understanding that it is a land tax, and not a trade tax, and as such it appears in Government reports by the few British officials who had been to the frontier, such as Mr. Sturt, Mr. Larkin, and other deputy commissioners and collectors, and the Political Agent on the spot. In Darma the Sah-tal was collected direct by Jong Pen’s emissaries, but in Bias and Chaudas the Political Agent was made to act as a servant [[37]]to the Tibetans, and after collecting the revenue handed it over to the Jong Pen’s officials at Gungi and at Garbyang, two villages conveniently situated for the purpose.