The main point was that in inhabited districts I should conduct myself with Oriental self-control and be entirely passive. The outcome of this mad plan was to me enshrouded in impenetrable darkness. I only knew that I must go northwards from Drugub in the direction of the Karakorum pass, then turn to the east and south-east, and endeavour to cross from Lemchung-tso the blank space lying to the south of Bower’s route in 1891, and thence continue my journey through the great blank patch on the north of the upper Tsangpo. If I were successful, I would go south to India either through Nepal or through Gyangtse, where perhaps I might have an opportunity of meeting Major O’Connor, as I had always wished to do. Gulam Razul advised me to be very cautious, for the Rudok-dzong had a paid spy in Drugub, who had to report on the movements of Europeans on the English side of the frontier. This spy was one of the most dangerous reefs in my fairway; the suspicion of the Tibetans was at once roused when they found that I had bought twenty mules from Gulam Razul. The Garpun sent a messenger to find out what I wanted them for. He was told that they were for a journey to Khotan.
Thakur Jai Chand had an excellent jamadar whom he sent to meet the baggage coming from India. At length, in the beginning of November, we received news that the consignment was coming. Then Robert proposed to go to meet our wished-for guests with some of our new mules. Late on the evening of the 6th they all turned up when I was already in bed. They were five policemen from Rampur, one of them suffering from inflammation of the lungs and more dead than alive. When Robert met them they were so starved and exhausted that he had first to massage the whole party to put new life into them (Illust. 276).
I at once gave orders to light a roaring fire and serve tea. They came up with their laden mules, two Mohammedans, three Hindus—all in dark blue uniforms with tall blue-and-white turbans, rifles, and bayonets. I bade them welcome, thanked them for the excellent way in which they had performed their task, and made their corporal give me an account of their difficult and trying journey over the Ayi-la. Then they were shown to sleeping-places in a tent, and next day I looked through the nine chests sent to me by Colonel Dunlop Smith. Three of them contained 6000 rupees in silver, all of the Queen’s reign, none of the King’s, for the Tibetans will not take rupees on which King Edward’s face is stamped. The other boxes contained tinned meat of all kinds, preserves, chocolate, cheese, cakes and biscuits; cigars, cigarettes and tobacco; gold and silver watches, and revolvers with ammunition, for presents; cartridges for two of our guns; note-books and map paper; a whole library of new novels, including Jack London’s The Call of the Wild—a present from O’Connor and suitable reading for the adventurous time before us; an anemometer and a hydrometer, presents from the chief of the Central Meteorological Institute in Simla, Dr. Gilbert Walker; and a host of other necessary and acceptable articles. The amiable Colonel, his equally amiable sister, and his daughter, had had no end of trouble in selecting and purchasing the things, packing them up and transmitting them to Tibet. It was owing to their kindness that I was able for a long time to live like a prince, and I cannot be sufficiently grateful to them.
Now I had nothing more to wait for. The policemen were well paid, and I also bore the expense of their return journey and gave them winter clothing; took a hearty farewell of my sincere friend Gulam Razul, without whose help the new journey would have been impossible; thanked Thakur Jai Chand and the other Hindus for their kindness, and started off on November 9, 1907, north-westwards along the course of the upper Indus.
On the 26th we reached Tankse, where the dignitaries of the district and even the tesildar of Leh came to meet us. They had already heard that I intended to travel to Khotan in midwinter. The following day was to be a day of rest, for here I was to discharge all my old servants except Robert and the Gurkha, Rub Das. When I had breakfasted, Tsering carried out the plates and dishes, which now had many chips out of their enamel. “This is the last time, Tsering, that you will wait on me.” Then the old man began to weep, and hurried out quickly.
Then I summoned all the men to my tent and made them a speech, telling them that they had served me faithfully and obediently, and had well earned the comfort and repose that awaited them by their domestic hearths in the bosom of their families. I wished them good fortune and prosperity in the future, and reminded them of the loss we had all sustained by the death of Muhamed Isa—good old Muhamed Isa, who, when we were last at Tankse, had made all arrangements so cleverly and conscientiously. And to show them that we were not the only ones who mourned for him, I read them what Younghusband, O’Connor, and Rawling had written to me about the deceased.
| 288. Robert in Winter Dress. |
While their five horses and five yaks were being loaded with all their belongings, they came to me in my tent, one after another, to receive their pay and an extra present. Tsering, Rehim Ali, Shukkur Ali, and Tundup Sonam received especial gifts of money, the latter three having exposed themselves to danger on my account. Old Tsering asked to be allowed to keep the lame dog from the Ngangtse-tso; its bark before his hut in Leh would remind him of the time when the dog kept watch at our camp-fires. Shukkur Ali kept another dog from the same country. Now I had only the brown puppy, which, with Robert and the mule from Poonch, were among the oldest veterans of the caravan, all three having accompanied me from Srinagar.
And then came the bitter moment of parting. So much grief, such loud weeping! They could hardly tear themselves away. The tesildar was quite overcome at witnessing the deep attachment of my simple followers. The bonds were strong that were now torn asunder, for there is nothing which knits men together so firmly as common sufferings and dangers. I myself felt a catch in my throat, and, as the men reluctantly followed their yaks down the road to Drugub, I stood and watched them until they were out of sight. Then I dried my eyes before going into my tent, where Robert and the tesildar were waiting for me with tea and cakes served up by Rub Das. I could not help thinking of a funeral repast after an interment, at which a wreath of violets had been laid on the grave of a departed friend.
Next morning I awoke to new surroundings. All my old companions were scattered to the four winds, and now they were gone all seemed empty and deserted. Robert read off the meteorological instruments as usual, and Rub Das laid my breakfast as noiselessly as an elf. I was glad that in spite of everything I felt not the slightest irresolution. The same angel who had protected me on my former journey would again attend my steps. I seemed to hear once more in the distance the rustle of his wings in the cold winter nights on the Chang-tang.