I have received a telegram from the Government informing me that you may set out before the arrival of the Chinese passport, but on the condition that you do not travel beyond Leh. As soon, however, as the Chinese Government, or the Swedish Minister (in London), telegraphs that your passport is drawn out, you may cross the Chinese frontier at your own risk; your passport will then be sent after you.
Then I telegraphed to Count Wrangel again, asking him to assure the Indian Government that the passport had really been granted me and was already on the way. It was already awaiting me in Leh when I arrived there. It was a pure formality, for I did not need it, and it would have to be decided first where the boundary lay between Eastern Turkestan and Tibet. The representative of China in London subsequently expressed his astonishment to Count Wrangel that I was travelling about in Tibet with a passport made out for Eastern Turkestan, but Count Wrangel replied very justly that he could not possibly control me and the roads I followed in Asia. The English Government had done its best to prevent my travelling through Tibet, and so there was no resource left but to outwit my opponents. How I succeeded will appear in the pages of this book.
On one of the first days, accompanied by Daya Kishen Kaul, I called on the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, Sir Pratab Sing, whose brother, Emir Sing, was also present. His Highness is a little middle-aged man of dreamy, melancholy aspect (Illustration 7). He received me with great friendliness, and promised to meet my wishes in every respect. He had heard of my journey through the desert in 1895, and when I had narrated its incidents I had won him over to my side; he would be pleased, he assured me, to see my new expedition start from his territory.
| 8. Palace of H.H. the Maharaja of Kashmir in Srinagar. |
On June 29 I was invited to a great fête at the Maharaja’s palace in honour of the Emperor’s birthday. The birthday of the King of England falls on November 9, but the Emperor of India was born on June 29. How that happens I do not know. At the appointed time I went to Younghusband, and at the quay of the Residence we were taken on board a shikara of the Maharaja—a long, elegantly decorated boat, with soft cushions and an awning with hanging fringes and tassels, and manned by about twenty rowers in bright red clothing. We glide swiftly and noiselessly down the Jhelam, see palaces, houses, and thick groves reflected picturesquely in the swirling ripples, sweep past numerous house-boats and canoes, and come to a halt a little below the bridge at the staircase to the palace, where Emir Sing received us on the lowest step in the red uniform of a major-general. On the platform above the steps the Maharaja awaited us. And then we mingled with the varied crowd of Englishmen and natives, all decked out in their best. Then a court was held; all the guests filed past in slow single-file, and His Highness distributed friendly shakes of the hand and nods. Then in the same order all sat down in rows of chairs, just as in a theatre. But we did not rest long, for soon dinner was announced, and we made free with what kitchen and cellar provided. After the feast was over, the Maharaja, his brother, and his little nephew, the heir to the throne, entered the hall and took their places at the middle of the table at which we sat. The Maharaja called for a cheer for the King-Emperor, another toasted Younghusband, who returned thanks in a neat and partly humorous speech. Then the guests were invited to go out into an open gallery with thick pillars, where they witnessed a display of fireworks. Between suns and Bengal fires, rockets and serpents flew into the air from boats lying on the river, and on the further bank “God save the King-Emperor” was spelled out in red lamps. Taste and elegance had been less studied than noise; there were detonations and sprays of fire in every nook and corner, and the whole gave an impression of unswerving loyalty. When we went down to our boat again all around was veiled in darkness; brilliant light streamed only through the colonnade of the palace façade. We rowed upstream and enjoyed a more beautiful and quieter illumination; the moon threw sinuous lines of gold across the ripples of the river, and flashes of blue lightning darted over the mountains on the horizon.
The Pundit Daya Kishen Kaul Divan Sahib was unwearied in his kind efforts. He procured me forty mules, which he bought from the Raja of Poonch. I rejected four; the rest were in good condition, but they were of a less sturdy breed than the Tibetan, and all foundered in Tibet. He also furnished me with an escort of four soldiers who had been in the service of the Maharaja. Two of them, Ganpat Sing and Bikom Sing, were Rajputs, and spoke Hindustani; they had certificates of good conduct, and the former wore a service medal. Like the cook Manuel, they declared themselves prepared to sacrifice their lives for me, but I calmed them with the assurance that our campaign would not be so bloody. Fortunately both belonged to the same caste, so that they could mess together; but, of course, they could not eat with other mortals. In camp I always saw them seated at their own fire a good distance from the others. The two others were Pathans, Bas Ghul from Cabul, and Khairulla Khan from Peshawar. Daya Kishen Kaul provided all with guns and ammunition at my expense, and their pay was fixed. They also received money for their outfit, and I prepared them to expect cold. My amiable benefactor looked after tents for me, saddles, pack-saddles, and a number of other necessary articles. Meanwhile I made purchases myself in the bazaars. I got about twenty yakdans, small leather-covered wooden boxes such as are used in Turkestan; kitchen utensils and saucepans; furs, ordinary blankets and frieze blankets; a tent-bed with mattress and a gutta-percha undersheet; warm material and bashliks; caps, Kashmir boots, cigars, cigarettes and tobacco for a year; tea, and several hundred boxes of preserved meat; also woven stuffs, knives, daggers, etc., for presents, and no end of other things (Illustrations 10, 14).
| 9. The Jhelam in Srinagar. |
In all my purchases and transport arrangements I received invaluable help from Cockburn’s Agency. It provided me with stores of rice, maize, meal and barley; for it was impossible to get together sufficient quantities in Leh. It also looked after the transport of this heavy baggage, and I had every reason to be satisfied with its arrangements. I had myself brought a boat with oars, rudder, mast, sails, life-buoys and centre-board, in the large chests I had sent out to India. Then I had the same scientific instruments as before: an alt-azimuth, two chronometers, meteorological instruments, compasses, photographic apparatus and plates, writing-blocks, sketch-and note-books, writing materials, field-glasses, hunting-rifles, revolvers, etc.
Burroughs and Wellcome of London had been so kind as to present me with an unusually complete medicine-chest, which was in itself a tasteful and elegant work of art, and contained drugs specially selected for a high, cold, and dry climate. All the remedies were in tabloids, well and orderly packed, and could easily be found with the aid of a printed catalogue. The whole was carefully stowed in a pretty aluminium chest which shone like silver. The medicine-chest was from the first exceedingly popular in the caravan; every one had a blind confidence in it. I had a suspicion that many ailments were feigned just to get another look at the chest. At any rate it contained the best portable medical outfit I have ever seen.