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.
As we settled down to our preparations at Darjiling, it did indeed seem a bold task that we were undertaking. The weather now, in November, was clear and bright. Day after day from our headquarters at the Rockville Hotel we could look out on that stupendous range of snowy mountains, to view which hundreds of people come at this season from all over the world. And to think that we had to pierce through that mighty barrier at the coldest season of the year in face of the certain opposition of the Tibetans, and to establish ourselves far beyond in a spot to which for half a century no European had approached, did indeed at times appal one. But the very risk and romance and novelty of the task soon again inspired one with enthusiasm. It was no ignoble little raid, as ignoble Little Englanders were saying, that we were embarking on. It was an undertaking with every moral justification behind it. And it was a feat which, if successfully performed, would add one more to the triumphs of man over Nature, and bring added glory to the Indian army by whom it was accomplished.
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 local authorities were also extremely helpful. Mr. Walsh, the Deputy Commissioner of Darjiling, on account of his knowledge of the frontier, and because he spoke Tibetan, was to accompany me as an Assistant Commissioner; and Mr. Garrett, who took his place at Darjiling, put his whole energies to collecting coolies, ponies, and supplies. The local engineers got the road along the Teesta Valley—which with unfailing regularity falls into the river in the rainy season—into proper working order again. Mr. White, in Sikkim, set to work to raise a coolie corps for work on the passes. And in a month from the date of receiving the sanction of the Secretary of State, General Macdonald was able, in spite of the blow which had befallen him in the loss of the yaks, to make the start towards Tibet.
It was a sad day when I said good-bye to my wife and little girl to plunge into the unknown beyond the mighty snowy range which lay before us. To me there was nothing but the stir and thrill of an enterprise which would ever live in history; before her there lay only long and dreary months of sickening anxiety and suspense, for which my eventual success might or might not be a sufficient recompense. A little knot of visitors assembled at the Rockville Hotel on the morning of December 5 to bid us good-bye and good luck, and Mrs. Wakefield, the manageress, patriotically waved a Union Jack. Then we were off—as it turned out, to the mysterious Lhasa itself.
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 force then assembled consisted of two guns, No. 7 Mountain Battery, Royal Artillery; a Maxim gun detachment of the Norfolk Regiment; two guns, 7-pounders, 8th Gurkhas; half-company 2nd Sappers; eight companies 23rd Sikh Pioneers; six companies 8th Gurkhas; with field hospitals, engineer field park, ammunition column, telegraph, postal, and survey department detachments. In spite of foot-and-mouth disease among the pack-bullocks, of sickness and desertion amongst the Nepalese Coolie Corps, and of rinderpest, Major Bretherton had succeeded in accumulating a month’s supply for the troops and ten days’ fodder for the animals, and General Macdonald was able to make a short march on the 11th to the foot of the Jelap-la (pass) with the first column, consisting of 1,150 fighting men, four guns, and four Maxims.
On December 12 we crossed the pass itself. It is 14,390 feet in height, and leads, not across the main watershed of the Himalayas, but across the range dividing Sikkim from Chumbi, a sharp, bare, rocky ridge. The ascent to it was very steep, and, as the ridge formed the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet, it was possible we might be opposed at the summit.