Through Unknown Tibet

by M. S. Wellby

I was just about to sally forth to try and purchase some bread, for I had noticed some at the corner only a short distance from the inn, when some one hurriedly trotted in and at once dismounted from his pony. He was somewhat better dressed than the ordinary crowd around, and on seeing me he came straight towards me. I could hardly make up my mind whether he was a European or a Chinaman, and when he addressed me in a mixture of French and Chinese I was still more mystified, so to simplify matters I replied, "I'm an Englishman," and held my hand out to him. He eagerly seized it and gave me the heartiest shake I had received for many a long day, and I felt thankful that we had found a European and a friend anxious to help us in this out-of-the-way place.

Mr. Rijnhart, for that was his name, was a Dutch missionary, and had only taken up his abode in Tankar within the last three months. He said, "You must come at once and live with me and my wife." In thanking him, I replied that it was impossible for me to do that, for I had nothing but what was on my back. With genuine hospitality he remarked that if such was the case it was more imperative than ever that I should come and live in his house. In another moment we were trotting through the street in single file, chatting all the while, when, suddenly turning to the left, we very shortly afterwards drew up at Rijnhart's little house. One step up out of the narrow lane landed us in an open courtyard, where his kind-hearted wife, Dr. Rijnhart, was waiting to welcome us, as well as Mr. Hall, of the China Inland Mission, who had come over to Tankar from Sining, and had only just returned with the Rijnharts from making a trip to the sea of Koko Nor. So it was indeed fortunate not to have arrived in Tankar during their absence. The Rijnharts had a small house; there were rooms and stables all round the four sides of the yard. Great honour was shown to me in the eyes of the Chinese by allotting to my use the room that faced the entrance. The Rijnharts, when by themselves, lived in Chinese fashion, and were on the most friendly terms with all the Chinese and Tibetan officials in the town. Besides being engaged in the great aim of all missionaries, these two good people administered bodily medicine as well; in fact, their sole means of existence arose from the small sums and kind they received in return. They were, indeed, leading a hard, unselfish life, yet they were a very happy couple, for they knew they were doing good.

The fact of their receiving payment for their doctoring may meet with censure from some people, but the results should be looked at. At Tankar the Rijnharts had entirely won over the hearts of the Chinese, and in consequence of this, we ourselves were treated with courtesy and civility by the officials. The customary hatred of foreigners by the Chinese had disappeared from Tankar.

During the afternoon some Lhassa officials dropped in for a chat and a cup of tea, or, more correctly speaking, a small bowl of tea. They were pleasant fellows with nice faces, and had been stationed at Tankar to see that justice was done to all Tibetans passing through this frontier town. There were four officials altogether, the most influential being called Sherchichaba, and the fourth Lusam Kindum. They took great interest in our journey, and were evidently pleased to meet me.

When they had departed, a very stout and hearty Chinaman stepped in. He was Chen-Lao-Pan, an agent for Forbes & Co., the wool merchants. He could only speak a few words of English, but as he laughed so frequently and so heartily, there was no feeling of awkwardness when with him. That night the many little homely comforts attended to by Dr. Rijnhart herself were highly appreciated by me, and I slept soundly.

The next morning we had leisure to look round before the arrival of Malcolm with the Mongols. Tankar is a busy little town of some 10,000 inhabitants, and owes its importance, not to its being a market centre, but to the fact that it is the first and last Chinese town passed by caravans journeying to and from Lhassa and Mongolia. It is a kind of depôt, for the merchandise is taken further in to the larger towns. We walked through the main street, and peeped into all the shops, most of which contained nick-nacks and a great deal of rubbish. We then mounted the walls on the western side, and noticed that great heaps of stones had been collected there for the people to throw down on to the heads of the Mohammedan rebels. Several mud houses had also been erected, where the soldiers had to sleep and keep watch in turn. From these walls a fine view of the surrounding country is gained. Tankar appears to be situated in a kind of hollow, with rising ground and hills on all sides. One of the principal hills lies north-west, and is called Ho La, or Ta Sand, and another hill lying south-east is called Ts'ai T'a by Tartars and Wupu by Tibetans. From the summit of one of the south-eastern hills, where a single tree has been planted, the town of Sining can be seen, a distance of ninety li. This tree is a useful landmark for travellers, as it can be seen for a long distance along the road. We could see, too, the river, which is here called the Ta Ho by the Chinese, and Ch'enkook by Mongols of the Tsaidam, running merrily through a land of cultivation, the most plentiful crops being wheat, barley, oats, millet, pease, and a little linseed and opium.

We had no sooner returned to Rijnhart's little house when Malcolm and the Mongols arrived, so our party was once more reunited. Since leaving Leh we had travelled over 1,983 miles, and for between three and four months had been at a height of about 1,600 feet above the sea level. In spite of the pressing invitations of our hosts, we decided to remain only one day at Tankar. It was now the middle of October, and before very long the severe winter of these parts would be upon us; furthermore, we were already due back in India some six weeks ago. We agreed to make the most of our short stay, so in the afternoon we visited the Yamen, in order to pay our respects to the "ting," or mayor, of Tankar. We spent some minutes in the first outer courtyard, which was decorated with some huge imitation stone lions, while our visiting card was being taken to this chief official. The people, as usual, took advantage of the delay to feel and inspect our clothes, and the state they were in would alone have warranted this scrutiny, let alone the curiosity these people exhibited with regard to the texture of the cloth. We were glad at length to escape and be ushered into the presence of the "ting," where all respect and attention was shown to us. We were given the great seat of honour, and provided with some delightful tea. We apologised for the dilapidated state we were in, but the "ting" replied that he had carefully read our passport, and knew we were great military officials from India, and quite understood our present circumstances; in fact, he wondered we had arrived with anything at all. Whilst chatting away, we inquired how many soldiers were in the town. None now, he replied, for all had been disbanded since the rebellion had been quelled. When our visit had lasted as long as was polite, we rose to depart, and the "ting," in order to show his great respect for us, accompanied us as far as the big gates, walking at a slow rate. These had been thrown open wide, as a still further sign of respect, where, amidst much bowing and raising of the hands to the head, we eventually got off.

We then made our way to the house of the Hsieht'ai, or Colonel, and why there should be a Colonel with no soldiers seemed ridiculous. However, this was no business of ours, but as he was the next important official in Tankar, it was our duty to visit him. He was a rather enfeebled, elderly gentleman, but very kind to us, and that very evening we received presents from him, consisting of a sheep for ourselves, and grass and liou or pease for our ponies. He asked many questions with regard to the Indian revenue, its army, etc., and asked how many men we ourselves commanded, and, in order to do ourselves justice, we calculated a single Englishman was equal to a great number of Chinamen, which he evidently did not.

Our third visit was to Chen-Lao-Pan, who lived in luxury and comfort and on the fat of the land. He sent us forth rejoicing with a bottle of Chinese wine and a packet of tobacco from Lancheo, the capital of Kansu, so famous for its tobacco grown and manufactured there.

At afternoon tea it is polite manners for the host to take some bread or cake from the guest's plate and place it on the table before him, and before drinking tea to raise the cup in both hands and nod to one's friends, who return the salutation in the same manner. It is also considered polite for a guest, when offered the seat of honour, to refuse it, when the host will at once try and put his guest into it. A show of resistance is at once made in return. The consequence is, that before the seat is eventually occupied by the guest, as it always is, a struggle of a few minutes duration is carried out against its occupation.