Treachery in Tibet (18 page)

Jenkins had resumed his previous master and pupil relationship with Sunil. Although the youth remained close to Alice, there was little for him to do because she, too, had fallen victim to the general malaise. With very little happening, there was little to write about. So Jenkins took it upon himself to improve Sunil’s marksmanship.

Every afternoon, the two would repair to the far side of the perimeter wall – although remaining within it – while the old soldier would allocate a precious number of cartridges for the practice.

‘Now the first thing to remember, Sunshine,’ said Jenkins, ‘is that this is an old rifle and probably won’t fire accurately. So what do we do, eh?’

The young man’s eyes widened in concentration. ‘See if it fires up or down?’

Jenkins beamed. ‘Absolutely. Or right or left. So, let us fire at this bit of card I ’ave nailed to that tree, aim at the circle in the middle, and see what ’appens. Three shots will do. Carry on, then, soldier.’

Sunil aimed with care and fired. Together, the two then walked to the card.

‘Ah, as I thought,’ said Jenkins. ‘Firin’ too low. Well grouped, though. Shows you’ve got an eye. Now, let’s try again, adjustin’ the
sight so that the end of the gun points a bit ’igher. ’Ardly a touch, though, at this short range. That’s all that it needs. Try again. Just two shots this time.’

The boy fumbled with the sight and then raised the rifle to his shoulder. He stood, for a moment, the muzzle swaying slightly.

Jenkins intervened straight away. ‘Ah now, lad. A common mistake. If you wait too long with an ’eavy gun like the Lee Metford before firin’ you’ll wave it about like you’re dryin’ wet knickers.’ He took the rifle. ‘Thing to do, see, is to pick it up with a firm grip, look you, like this, an’ thrust it into the shoulder, like this. Push it in with the left ’and an’ ’old it steady with that ’and. The right ’and does nothin’ until you pull the trigger. Then sight it. An’ above all, don’t jerk when you pull the trigger. Just squeeze it, nice an’ gentle, like.’

And so it went on, until Sunil was handling the rifle with confidence and hitting the roundel in the middle of the cardboard with nine out of ten shots.

Fonthill watched from afar and slowly nodded with approval. Since they had talked round the fireside on the trek over the mountains, Jenkins had never again mentioned his adopted children. Was Sunil becoming a surrogate son? Could this lead to complications? The subject of the boy had been on his mind, anyway, during these days of inactivity. He knew that Alice had become fond of him. What to do with him when this present adventure was over? From what Jenkins had told him and what he had observed today, it looked as though Sunil could make a good soldier, if he wished to go down that route. But what about his own family? Simon had always understood that all he had left was the uncle who had remained behind on the plantation and who had seemed not at all sad, was even delighted, that his
nephew was being taken off his hands for a while. He frowned. One couldn’t assume responsibility for a young life without great care. Better to cross that bridge when they came to it, for he certainly had no solution at present. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

At last, on 29th June a large white flag was seen being carried from the fort. The man bearing it asked for an armistice until the arrival of the Ta Lama from Shigatse; the other emissary from Lhasa had, it appeared, already arrived and was in the fort. Younghusband curtly replied that he would grant an armistice until sunset on the following day but that the fort must be evacuated in the meantime.

The following day showed no signs of evacuation and the delegation from Lhasa had not appeared by sunset. A message was received, however, that the Ta Lama was definitely on his way and that the ruler of the neighbouring, pro-British state of Bhutan – with the improbable name of Tonsa Penlop (the British troops immediately called him ‘The Tonsil’, to match the soubriquet of ‘Hambone’ they had given the
amban
, the commander of the fort) – was also nearing, bearing with him a message from the Dalai Lama himself, so Younghusband prolonged the armistice.

He had to do it again when, the next day, the Ta Lama once again had not, it seemed, reached Gyantse, although the Tonsa, who had had twice as far to travel as the all-important lama from Lhasa, had already ridden in to the British camp from Bhutan, wearing a broad smile and a ceremonial grey homburg hat wedged down to just above his eyes. He did, indeed, carry a message from the Dalai Lama, but it was addressed to him and not to Younghusband. It merely asked for his help in making a peaceful settlement because ‘fighting is bad for men and animals’.

At last the delegation from Lhasa appeared, ambling towards the fortress. Younghusband immediately sent a message pointing out that it was a day late and should present itself at Chang Lo without further delay. The Ta Lama replied that he proposed to pay his respects to the Tonsa on the following morning and would visit the British afterwards. This provoked a tart rejoinder from Younghusband, to the effect that unless the Ta Lama presented himself to the British Commissioner by nine o’clock in the morning the fort would be attacked.

All of this was reported to the senior British officers who were observing this game of diplomatic ping-pong with growing incredulity. Jenkins summed it up, as always.

‘They’re barmy,’ he hissed through his moustache. ‘Don’t the silly buggers realise that there ’ave been – what is it – three bloody great battles, with them gettin’ the worst of it and losin’ ’undreds of men? What ’ave these blokes come all this way for, just a cup of tea an’ a chat with old mates? We’ve got a bleedin’ great army ’ere, look you, chompin’ at the bit waitin’ to ’ave a go at ’em.’

Alice shook her head sadly. ‘They’re from a different world, 352,’ she said. ‘Punctuality doesn’t have the same meaning to them that it does for us. In fact, they obviously think it polite not to show any indication of undue haste. It’s a culture clash, that’s what it is, and Younghusband, with his knowledge of the East and as head of the mission, ought to make allowances for it.’

‘I don’t agree, Alice,’ said Fonthill. ‘Y is here, representing not just this expedition, but the King and the British Empire. He is very conscious of this and cannot allow a backward state such as Tibet to be churlish towards it. China learnt this lesson four years ago in
Peking when the Boxers rose. They are supposed to have suzerainty over Tibet, they should know.’

Alice sniffed. ‘I don’t think the Chinese give much of a toss about Tibet. They don’t seem to get involved with the country at all.’

‘Yes, but they don’t want another great power – such as us – getting involved, either.’

‘Well, we are supposed to be here because of Russia. But from everything I have learnt so far on this trip, the Tsar is not really interested in Tibet either, despite what Curzon thinks. What the hell is everyone playing at?’

Jenkins interrupted by blowing his nose violently. ‘What indeed,’ he said with mock solemnity, carefully wiping his moustache. ‘I am gettin’ very, very bored on this postin’ and am still quite cold. I shall be very glad when somethin’ meaningful, like, ’appens.’

There seemed no chance of that even on the following day. Nine o’clock came and went without any sign of movement from the Tibetan camp. Shortly afterwards, however, the Ta Lama was seen heading towards Tonsa Penlop’s encampment. Immediately, Younghusband instructed Fonthill to take a company of his Mounted Infantry and bring them into Chang Lo directly – by force, if necessary.

There, the diplomatic game continued. The Commissioner kept them waiting in a tent for two hours before receiving them. As Fonthill afterwards related, Younghusband then lectured the Ta Lama – a quiet, ‘seemingly stupid’ but quite polite old man. He told him, related Simon, that he was ready to make war or ready to make a settlement. Personally, he said that after the way he was attacked during the night he was in favour of war and that we had an army ready to advance on Lhasa tomorrow, a second army waiting in Chumbi to take this one’s
place and a third in India ready to come up to Chumbi. But the King Emperor in London had commanded him to make one more effort at Gyantse. They would, however, have to show that they were in earnest in wanting to negotiate or he would just march on to Lhasa.

The Ta Lama was then dismissed with orders to return to Chang Lo with his delegation for a formal durbar at noon on the following day.

Arrangements were then put in hand for this great event. Lunch was prepared and a guard of honour assembled from the Norfolk’s machine gunners, tables were laid, Younghusband, Macdonald and his senior officers arrayed themselves in their full dress uniforms, Fonthill, with the aid of Alice, cobbling together something more formal than his usual jodphurs and
poshteen
, and the Commissioner appeared resplendent in a plumed cocked hat. They were all solemnly presented to Tonsa Penlop, the ruler of Bhutan, his grey homburg still screwed in place to just above his ears, who turned up pre-promptly at 11.30. There was, however, no sign of the delegation from Lhasa. All eyes stayed on the fort but the gates were not opened. So, at 1.30 lunch was taken without them – just, of course, as the delegation was seen leaving the fort.

Younghusband was coldly furious. The Ta Lama and his retinue – which included the Dalai Lama’s Grand Secretary, Lobsang Trinley, already known to the Commissioner from his earlier talks at Khamba Jong and disliked by him – were ushered into a tent while the officers finished their lunch. They were left there until four in the afternoon when the British and the Tongsa Penlop eventually joined them.

Once everyone was seated, Younghusband remained silent and completely composed, staring coldly at the Tibetans. They, all robed
in golden vestments, began to fidget and exchange glances until, at last, the Ta Lama broke the painful silence by apologising for their late arrival. At last, then, the durbar could begin.

It did not do so fruitfully. Younghusband began by saying that, in view of the disrespect shown to him and to the British Crown, he presumed that the Tibetan delegation was not in earnest in seeking a settlement and that he was expected therefore to march on Lhasa. This was denied and the Ta Lama earnestly vowed that a settlement was desired and that no disrespect was intended. In that case, replied the Commissioner, as a preliminary the troops who had reoccupied the fort and who had been busy building up its walls, should leave the
jong.

It soon became apparent that the Grand Secretary still occupied hard hardline position and, despite the many and conciliatory efforts made by the amiable ‘Tonsil’, he dominated the Tibetan delegation. He gave no ground and neither, of course, did Younghusband as the afternoon wore on. Eventually, the Commissioner stood and declared the durbar was at an end. Unless the fort was evacuated by noon on 5th July, i.e. in two days time, the British would take it by force.

‘Why on earth,’ asked Alice later as she struggled to undo the collar of her husband’s borrowed formal mess jacket, ‘does Younghusband demand that the fort should be surrendered again before he talks? There is absolutely nothing to stop him continuing to parley here in Chang Lo, as long as there is no adversarial act made towards us from the fort. In fact, he is not negotiating at all, is he? He is just making demands. I don’t understand it.’

‘I think I do.’ Fonthill pulled on his old shirt with a sigh of relief. ‘You know that he has been rebuked from Delhi already for being too
pushy and questioning of the government’s policy of “take it easy?”’

‘Well, yes.’

‘If he continues to parley here and eventually comes out with a deal, which, given the help of Old Tonsil and the respect in which the Tibetans hold the old chap, is not beyond the bounds of possibility …’

‘Hmm.’

‘Then, I think he believes the government – in London, if not in Delhi – will pat him on the back, call him back, replace him with someone who will report to Macdonald and then, with Mac in charge, no one will go to Lhasa and nothing will really happen. Don’t forget that Curzon is, by all accounts, quite ill in England. A face-saving, anodyne treaty might ensue perhaps, but no real change of Tibet’s attitude towards India or Britain. Nothing will have been gained and all this fighting and killing will have been in vain. Y won’t have that.’

A silence fell on the little room. Alice eventually broke it. ‘What
will
he have, then?’

‘It looks as though a bit of a full-pitched battle to storm the stronghold across the way, with further loss of life on both sides and further cost to the British Exchequer. But with the great fort subdued and the road to Lhasa opened up, the British public would never countenance a full-scale retreat back to India, nor the replacement of the heroic leader of the mission. Both Delhi and London would have to let Y get on to Lhasa to subdue the lamas there. I’m afraid it’s what Empire is all about, Alice.’

He gave a rueful smile and reached out for her hand, but she snatched it away.

‘Well,’ she hissed, ‘I think it’s bloody disgraceful. Russia is not entrenched in Lhasa – nobody is, not even the Chinese who are
supposed to own the place – so Curzon is wrong about that. We’ve seen no Russian troops or Russian arms. Tibet is a backward, miserable, badly governed country which does not have its eyes on India and just wants to be left alone. Apart from which, 352 is right. It’s also bloody cold.’

She grinned up at her husband ruefully through tear-wet eyelashes and he pulled her to him.

Two days later, at midday on the afternoon of the 5th July, after no response was received to Younghusband’s ultimatum, the Mission Commissioner heliographed from Chang Lo to General Macdonald’s headquarters in the village of Palla requesting that the attack on the great fort should begin.

Even then, the operation did not begin. Macdonald, who had sent a message to his colleague on 1st July urging him to have patience ‘and I think you have a fair chance of having the game in your hands and reaping the rewards of your efforts’, now heliographed back two irrelevant queries concerning diplomatic niceties before finally ordering his guns into action. It was clear that he, at least, did not exactly savour the task of attacking such a seemingly impregnable stronghold as the great fort of Gyantse.

Nevertheless, the General had laid his plans with care. Although little activity seemed to ensue from the British facing the fort after the first, exploratory shells had been launched at 2 p.m., in fact, during the afternoon Macdonald began moving troops and two guns towards the north-western bastion from where he made great ploy of capturing a village near the outworks of the fort. As darkness fell, he left his campfires burning there and moved his artillery up towards
his true objective, the southern face of the fort.

Then, just before dawn on the morning of the 6th July, Macdonald launched his main assault, with three columns of infantry feeling their way forward in the darkness through the outcrop of narrow streets and houses to the base of the rock. Near disaster then ensued when, at the head of the centre column a dog was disturbed, causing it to bark and alerting the Tibetans, who opened fire. In the pitch-black, confusion reigned and the 40th Pathans collided with a company of the Royal Fusiliers behind it and the two units turned and fled, crashing into each other.

Order, however, was quickly restored and the three columns were merged into two. Some resistance continued to be offered by the Tibetans, but, with the antique Bubble at last doing good work at point-blank range, the maze of stone outbuildings was reduced by demolition parties until the whole of the southern flank of the fort was in British hands.

As soon as it was light, the artillery – the ten-pounders and the Gurkhas’ pair of elderly light guns – opened up from the three positions which they had reached under cover of darkness. Initially, each battery used shrapnel, fired so that it exploded over the heads of the defenders high above. Then, they were replaced by high-explosive shells which hammered away at the walls and earthworks at the base of the fort.

Eventually, with the sun burning down, the Tibetan fire consistent but not causing great damage and the British guns seemingly to be proving equally ineffective, Macdonald dithered. The great rock on which the fort itself perched, towered above the heads of the British troops, who now held all the ground up to the point at which the
rock rose from the plain. Above them a road, ascending from right to left up to a gateway had been cut diagonally into the rock. But overlooking it was a high wall, surmounted by three towers. These commanded the road and the way to the gate and the Tibetans rained down fire on anyone who attempted to use the road.

Impasse set in. How could the sepoys, with their new British colleagues, the Fusiliers, get up there?

Fonthill had only been involved in the original diversionary movement, leading one company of his Mounted Infantry to make the feint to the north. Now, tired because of little sleep, he and Jenkins wandered round to where the main force was congregated at the southern end of the rock.

There, he met an old friend from the Pathan Revolt on the North-West Frontier, Colonel Campbell of the 40th Pathans, who was in charge of the storming parties.

‘Why are we stuck here?’ asked Simon.

‘Old Mac doesn’t seem to know what the hell to do next,’ growled Campbell. ‘But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him keep my men sitting on their arses down here under this sun all day. Can’t move without his orders, though.’

‘Can you see any way up?’

‘Not really. Can you?’

‘There might be a way on the eastern corner. I’ve just walked round there. Come and have a look.’

The two men, with Jenkins tagging behind, constantly wiping his forehead with a dirty handkerchief, walked round the base of the rock, close enough to the face to avoid sniping and dodging stones that were occasionally hurled at them from up above. They
eventually came to the eastern face of the rock, where the artillery fire had reduced two walls at the base of the fort itself to rubble, the second and highest of which was still being stoutly defended by a band of Tibetans. Below that wall, however, the rock face was not so sheer as elsewhere and stony projections protruded which might, just might, offer help to skilled climbers.

Fonthill pointed. ‘What do you think?’

Campbell wrinkled his nose. ‘My Pathans would never get up there,’ he muttered, ‘but Gurkhas just might.’

‘From what I’ve seen so far,’ said Simon, ‘I’d back Gurkhas in full battle order to climb Everest.’

‘Right, I’ll suggest to the General that he gives that a try. Or … your idea … would you rather put it to him?’

Fonthill grinned. ‘Good lord, no. I’m not a Regular. I’m just a part-time horseman, beyond the pale. You go and get the glory.’

‘No glory in it, old man. I’m certainly not going to shin up there meself.’

Simon and Jenkins watched the Colonel stride away, casting a wary eye upwards. ‘Good idea,’ said the Welshman. ‘I was just goin’ to suggest it myself but then I thought you’d say that I should lead the climbin’.’

‘You can still go up, if you want to lead.’

‘No thank you. I’ve been up all night and I might nod off, ’angin’ on with one ’and, see. An’ that would set a bad example, look you.’

The two dodged back to rejoin the Fusiliers grouped amongst the rubble. Very soon the artillery opened up again, but this time concentrating on the Tibetans manning the highest of the two semi-ruined walls that formed the base of the fort’s defences. The guns were laid with accuracy
and soon a black hole appeared in the wall. Then, from deep inside the fort, came a dull explosion.

‘We’ve hit a powder magazine,’ declared Fonthill.

Yet the explosion seemed to have done nothing to diminish the weight of the Tibetans’ fire. Even so, the bang seemed to be the signal for two companies, one from the 8th Gurkhas and one from the Royal Fusiliers, to charge across the patch of open ground between the village ruins and the base of the rock, and begin to climb.

‘Splendid,’ breathed Simon, ‘Mac’s bought the idea.’

As they watched, it became clear that the Gurkhas were easily outdistancing the Fusiliers. To protect the climbers, the guns still concentrated on the defenders up above but this was counterproductive, for the shells dislodged large lumps of rock and masonry that bounced down the almost precipitous face, hitting some of the little men in the lead and sending them plunging to the ground below.

Then the guns stopped and immediately enfilading fire opened up on the climbers from turrets on either flank and the defenders at the ruined wall reappeared and began hurling rocks at them. But the Gurkhas hung on and it became clear to the anxious watchers below that they were being led by a young English subaltern, Lieutenant John Grant, now climbing hand over hand and being followed by his Gurkha
havildar,
Karbir Pun.

A cheer rang out when it was seen that they had reached a point just below the black hole. Here the Gurkhas grouped for a moment but further progress could only be made by one man at a time, crawling on hands and knees. So Grant hauled himself up and was about to enter the breach when he was hit by a bullet and almost simultaneously another hit the
havildar.
A groan went up from the
watchers as both men slid down the rock for about thirty feet. It was immediately followed by another cheer as the officer and the
havildar
immediately picked themselves up and began, agonisingly, to climb again.

They reached the gaping cavern and disappeared within it, followed hard on their heels by the waiting riflemen.

Immediately, figures high up above were seen dodging away from the battlements, others were seen running to the north and others began sliding down ropes seeking shelter in the warren of buildings there that had so far escaped the shelling.

‘My God!’ cried Fonthill. ‘We’ve done it. We’ve recaptured the fort.’ He turned to Jenkins. ‘What would we do without those magnificent Gurkhas!’

The Welshman sniffed. ‘Lose bloody wars, that’s what. They’re tough as nuts and real fighters, so they are.’

‘Come on, I must go and see the General. He will probably want us to pursue the retreating soldiers and run them down. It’s what I hate doing, but it’s our bloody job, I suppose. Come on, Sergeant Major, smartly now.’

They half ran, half trotted in the hot sun to the hamlet of Palla, where Macdonald had his headquarters. They found the General on a rooftop, inspecting the fort with a telescope.

‘Congratulations, General,’ said Fonthill. ‘The fort is yours. Do you want the Mounted Infantry to pursue the fleeing Tibetans?’

Macdonald wheezed, took the cigarette from his mouth and shook his head. ‘Thank you, Fonthill, but I think not. I don’t want to take on loads of prisoners again and I think we’ve done enough for one day.’

He turned and gestured to where a large Union Jack was being pulled up the flagstaff on top of the highest tower, there to flutter in the breeze. The General put his eye to the telescope again and muttered, half to himself, ‘Yes, we’ve stormed the fort and the road to Lhasa now really is open – if we want to take it, that is …’ His voice fell away almost to a whisper.

Fonthill nodded, relieved that he was not being asked to undertake a sabre-swinging pursuit, and turned away to find Jenkins waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said ‘and find Alice.’

‘Yes. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. Victorious warriors deserve at least that, I’d say, particularly them that ’ave been up all day, like.’

On their way, however, they were met by a Royal Fusilier warrant officer, pulling along a bedraggled Sunil and carrying the youth’s rifle.

‘Ah sir,’ he cried. ‘Glad I’ve found you. I believe this lad belongs to you, sort of, anyway.’

‘Sort of, Sergeant Major, yes. Where did you find him?’

‘He was among the ruins below the rock taking potshots at the Tibetans on the ramparts with this Lee Metford. He must have stolen it.’

‘No, I did not steal,’ shouted Sunil.

‘No mate,’ Jenkins intervened. ‘It’s his own. I’ve been teaching him to shoot.’

‘Well, Taffy,’ said the Sergeant Major, ‘You’ve done a bloody good job, I’d say. While I was watchin’ him, I saw him hit two of the blokes on the top. Very good shooting, indeed. And they’re his own people, by the look of it.’

Sunil’s face was now a dark purple. ‘No, not my people. Not
proper Tibetans. They Khampas. Not from here. Nasty people but fierce warriors. I happy to kill them.’

The Sergeant Major nodded. ‘Ah, from what I’ve heard, they’re the lot who gave you all a hard time in taking Palla, before we arrived. Well, if this lad wants to be a British soldier, I’ll warrant the Fusiliers will take him.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant Major.’ Fonthill offered his hand to the old soldier, who paused for a second, unused to such a social gesture from a senior officer, and then shook it. ‘We’ll take the boy. I think we all deserve a cup of tea.’

‘Right sir.’ The warrant officer saluted smartly. ‘I don’t think I’ll need you to sign a chit for safe receipt. Goodbye, marksman. Maybe we’ll see you in the Fusiliers yet.’

Sunil glared at the back of the departing soldier. ‘What is Fusiliers?’ he asked.

Jenkins sniffed. ‘Ah, very, very ordinary soldiers, Sunshine. They’re not Welsh, y’see. Not proper soldiers like the old 24th of Foot. Now
they
—’

Fonthill interrupted smartly. ‘Come on, Sunil. Let’s go and find Alice.’