General Macdonald sent on his mounted infantry to seize the Chaksam Ferry, and they succeeded in capturing the two large ferry-boats, and occupied Chaksam for the night. This was a great stroke, as if the Tibetans had kept the boats on the other side of the river our difficulties in surmounting this most serious obstacle would have been immensely increased.
BERTHON BOATS ON BRAHMAPUTRA.
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:
"Recently the Tongsa Penlop sent a letter to the Dalai Lama, and also communicated with the two delegates, but hitherto a treaty has not been effected. The Sahibs say that they intend to come to Lhasa and to see the Dalai Lama and to negotiate there, and that they will there establish friendship. The letter which contains the nine terms of the Convention has arrived here. This is a matter of great importance, and therefore the Chigyab Kenpo (Lord Chamberlain) has been sent to Chisul. Now, our Tibetan religion is very precious, so our Regent, officials, monks, and laymen have consulted together. Formerly we made a National Convention that none was to enter the country. So now, even if the Sahibs should come to Lhasa and meet the Dalai Lama, this will not advantage the cause of friendship. Should a fresh cause of dispute arise, we greatly fear that a disturbance, contrary to the interests of friendship, may follow. So we beg of the Sahibs both now and in the future to give the matter their earnest consideration, and if they will negotiate with the delegates who are now here all will be well. Please consider well all that has been said, and do not press forward hastily to Lhasa.
“Dated the Wood Dragon year.”
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.
This letter I despatched on the 25th, and the same day we marched six miles down the banks of the Brahmaputra River, to Chaksam Ferry. For the purpose of crossing this river we had brought with us from India four collapsible Berthon boats, and with these and the local ferry-boats seven companies of infantry and one company of mounted infantry were crossed over by nightfall.
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.