The Tongsa Penlop had neither the local knowledge nor the quickness of Captain Jit Bahadur; but he was a man of more importance—he is indeed now Maharaja of Bhutan—and his representations carried weight. He and Mr. White soon made a firm friendship, and together they did much to bring the negotiations through.
There was still no sign, though, of any definite delegates being appointed to negotiate with me, and on August 8 I had to report to Government that the Tibetan Government was in utter confusion. My old friend the Ta Lama had been disgraced, as, poor man, he always told me he would be if we advanced to Lhasa. My other friend the Yutok Sha-pé, who had met me at Nagartse, had very sensibly, or perhaps naturally, gone sick. Of the two remaining Councillors, one was useless and the other inimical. The National Assembly sat continuously, but only criticized what anyone did, and was afraid to do anything itself without reference to the Dalai Lama. And the Dalai Lama, who had fled on our approach to Lhasa and was three days distant, would not in his turn act without sanction of the Assembly. Everyone was in fear, not now of us, but of his next-door neighbour: and each was working against the other. No attempt at commencing negotiations had been made, though I had given the Resident an outline of our terms. The Tongsa Penlop and the Nepalese representative constantly visited me, but expressed despair at the silliness of the Tibetans, and said their heads ached with arguing with them. The general attitude of the Tibetans, though exasperating, was, I thought, probably more futile and inept than intentionally hostile, But yet it was not easy to see then how in my limited time I was to get a definite treaty signed, sealed, and delivered out of such an intangible, illusive, un-get-at-able set of human beings as I now found in front of me.
The very next day, though, a ray of light appeared which was in the end to show the way to a solution of our difficulties. The Nepalese representative came to inform me that on the previous night he went to see the Ti Rimpoche, the Regent to whom the Dalai Lama had handed over his seal, and had explained to him that matters were getting serious. The Regent replied that he and the Dalai Lama’s brother were anxious to make a settlement, and were of opinion that the Government terms might well be accepted with two or three modifications. The Regent thought that the amount of indemnity I had named—Rs. 50,000 a day—was excessive. And he would ask that if they released the two Lachung men we should release the yaks and men whom we had seized last year in retaliation. With those modifications he thought the National Assembly might reasonably accept our terms.
THE COUNCIL.
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.
The Tibetans’ so-called reply to our terms was the next day communicated by the Resident’s secretary to Mr. Wilton. The Tibetans refused each single point, and said that an indemnity was due from us to them rather than from them to us. The only trade-mart they would concede was Rinchengong, which was scarcely two miles beyond Yatung. I had the document returned to the Resident with a message that I could not officially receive so preposterous a reply.
The Resident called upon me the next day and said he had received a reply to our terms, but it was so impertinent he could not even mention it to me officially. He had sent it back to the Tibetans censuring them for their stupidity, and ordering them to send a more fit reply. He had pointed out to them their folly in not settling with us, and how impossible it was for them to contend against us.
He then made a singularly interesting remark. The ordinary people, he said, were not at all ill-disposed towards us. They liked us, and were anxious to trade with us. Reports of our treatment of the wounded, and of the liberal payment we made for supplies, had spread about the country, and the people in general would be glad enough to make a settlement and be on good terms. Where the opposition came from was from the Lamas, more especially those of the three great monasteries. They and they alone were the obstructionists, and if they were out of the way there would be no more trouble, and the people would speedily be friends with us.