Treachery in Tibet (30 page)

‘I don’t know. And Sunil. I feel even more responsible for him. He saved my life, too, of course, and I owe him so much. He will be a bit rootless now, I should think. Should we offer to take him home to Norfolk with us? – or both of them, for that matter?’

‘I don’t know either. We shall just have to leave it there for the moment, my love, and let events, to some extent, take their course.’

With virtually nothing of any significance happening and with Younghusband not anxious to be accused of bullying the Tibetan government, the Commissioner devoted himself to the task of finding himself a house of sufficient standing for a representative of the British Empire and his staff within Lhasa itself. He trailed his coat rather by intimating that the Summer Palace of the Dalai Lama would suit him admirably, but ended up accepting the offer of the unoccupied house of the First Duke in Tibet, known as Lhalu Mansion, just 1,000 yards from and looking out onto the Potala. It was commodious and allowed the officers of the military escort and of the mission a room to themselves and, great luxury, each window was glassed!

The military escort also moved itself onto an open stretch of land know as The Plain of Wild Asses. It was a more healthy site but, more importantly, it commanded with its artillery not only Younghusband’s new home but also the Potala Palace and the great Sera Monastery. Macdonald was leaving nothing to chance. Trenches were dug and earthworks were thrown up so that the army was now settled within a veritable fortress.

Alice and the rest of the correspondents were housed within it, so that the Fonthills’ cosy tent sharing arrangement was ended at last. Alice herself was met with a degree of good-natured joshing from her colleagues about her sad appearance, for the discoloured swelling about her eyes had not yet receded. She sighed, grinned and merely replied that it was ‘a damned good story that went all wrong’, refusing to add more. Her reputation, built over the years in the field for ferreting out exclusive reports, bolstered the response and her colleagues all sighed with relief that Alice Griffith had not this time scooped them once again.

Not all was sweetness and light, however, between the army and
the town authorities. The army’s supplies were now running low and although the Lhasa elders were told of the troops’ requirement and payment promised, nothing was forthcoming that looked like meeting the need. After five days the shortage of grain and fodder had become acute and the mules were back on half rations. Macdonald moved in and demanded 320,500 lbs of grain from the nearby Drepung Monastery’s stores. When O’Connor and a contingent of troops approached the monastery they were met by an angry crowd of monks who threatened them with stones, forcing them to withdraw.

Macdonald responded by bringing up his artillery and telling the monks that they had one hour to provide the grain or he would open fire on the monastery. Just as the guns were limbering up to fire, sacks of grain,
tsampa
and butter began to dribble out, slowly. The rest was promised within five days and the General took four of the monastery’s abbots as hostages to ensure that the promise was kept.

Fonthill’s accommodation within the Commissioner’s headquarters had helped to renew his former semi-close relationship with Younghusband. The Colonel confided to Simon that he had now received the final draft of the agreement that he was to secure with the Tibetan government. ‘That’s all very well, old chap,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know how on earth I shall get through it for no one will accept responsibility and the Dalai Lama has bolted.’

The terms that were to be asked of the Tibetans seemed, to Fonthill at least, to be quite onerous. The main demands were: the establishments of trade marts at Gyantse and Gartok, the latter in Western Tibet; the British occupation of the Chumbi Valley until reparations were paid; permission for the British agent in Gyantse to visit Lhasa; and – bound to be the most contentions to the Tibetans by
far – the imposition of a fine, or reparations, to the Indian government to offset the cost of the expedition, the exact figure to be decided by the Commissioner ‘in the light of circumstances’, in other words, his estimation of how much the Tibetans would be able to pay.

Younghusband was determined to stay in Lhasa, with his military escort until the agreement was signed. But the signs were by no means propitious.

Macdonald’s brush with the monks at Drepung was not the only flaring to the surface of hostility to the British. An ugly incident occurred on 18th August when two English medical officers, Captains Kelly and Cooke-Young were leaving the camp to breakfast at Lhalu Mansion. Without warning, they were suddenly attacked from behind by a monk wielding a large sword.

The man swung the blade and hit Cook-Young on the back of the head. The officer’s forage cap, however, took most of the force of the blow and, although being knocked to the ground, he suffered no serious injury. Kelly meanwhile had seized a rifle and bayonet from a nearby soldier and ran at the monk, thrusting the bayonet through his arm and bringing him to his knees. A second thrust penetrated his cheek and pinned the man to the ground. When the bayonet was withdrawn, however, the monk sprang to his feet and ran head down at the Captain, like a bull to a matador, bringing him down.

The monk, seemingly impervious to his wounds, snatched up the rifle and bayonet and ran with them towards the camp. Captain Cook-Young bravely ran after him only to receive a second and more severe sword cut to the head. The attack had by now attracted attention from guards at the camp and the monk was laid low by a blow to the knees and overpowered.

Under his monk’s robes, he was found to be wearing a suit of ancient chain mail and proved, under examination, to be a member of a fighting order of monks who mainly served as guards to the larger monasteries. At first he claimed that his action was a form of revenge for a brother killed at Gyantse but later admitted that he had been encouraged to mount the attack by colleagues anxious to find out what would happen to anyone who confronted the British.

They received their answer when the monk was tried by a special court the next morning and hanged as an example in sight of the city. He died still fighting; kicking a soldier in the face as he was forced up the ladder and spitting in the face of another. He was left hanging for twenty-four hours as an example and deterrent to any other monks who might consider breaking their vows in observing the sanctity of life.

It was no surprise, therefore, that when the Commissioner managed at last to set up a meeting at his official residence attended by the Dalai Lama’s private secretary, the secretary of the Kashag, or ruling council, and two of the four Shapés who made up the council, it turned out to be a disaster. The Tibetans raised objections to every clause in the proposed treaty, particularly that demanding an indemnity from the Tibetans to meet the cost of the army’s advance on Lhasa. If money had to be exchanged, they argued, it should go to the council to pay for the damage caused by the British troops.

When told of this, Alice predictably agreed. ‘We have almost ravaged the damned country,’ she said. ‘They didn’t invite us in. Why should they pay the cost of our invading their land?’

Simon began to argue: ‘Well they are a defeated country …’ but gave up quickly as Alice took a deep breath.

In his Sisyphean task, however, the Commissioner found two unexpected allies in the Tonsa Penlop of Bhutan – he of the homburg hat – who announced that he had advised the ruling council to depose the absent Dalai Lama. The second was the Nepalese Consul in Lhasa, Captain Jit Bahadur. The latter arrived one day at Lhalu Mansion bringing with him a previously withdrawn but, as it turned out, very important person in the form of the acting regent, an elderly, studious and extremely polite lama called Ti Rinpoche. It seemed that, when the Dalai Lama had fled the city, he had handed over his royal seal of office to this man, who had now been persuaded by Bahadur to step forward and meet the British delegation.

He proved to be just the sort of person to delight the equally studious Younghusband, of whom he enquired if he believed in reincarnation, adding that he hoped that ‘both of us would be good during the negotiation, then we might both go to heaven’. The Commissioner replied that he had not the smallest doubt that they would both go to heaven if they achieved a satisfactory conclusion to the talks.

It was a good start and a touch further progress was made on 14th August when the two Indians, allegedly sent by Curzon to spy on Russian influence in Lhasa and imprisoned in the city, were formally handed over to Younghusband by the Tibetans. They revealed that, at first they had been beaten but latterly had been well treated. They looked pale but bore no other marks of personal harassment.

It seemed a propitious moment for Fonthill to approach the Commissioner and the General. He and Alice had become increasingly restless at being forced to remain in a Forbidden City which had turned out to be smelly, unhygienic and to them both, now, a very boring place. It was clear that the negotiations, which had hardly
begun in meaningful form, were going to stretch out for months yet. With no action to engage Simon and Jenkins and for Alice to report on, their presence there had become virtually redundant and their daily rounds tedious. The two had therefore decided to seek their release. Jenkins’s approval had come quickly, prompted by the fact that he could find no beer in Lhasa worthy of the name.

Macdonald and Younghusband had offered no objections; the former brusquely and the latter with sadness.

‘If and when I get what I want from these talks,’ Younghusband said, ‘I will, of course, be recommending that the services of those on this mission should be recognised, now that it has reached a successful conclusion. You have performed magnificently on this campaign, my dear fellow, but, as you served in a military capacity, it will be up to Mac to make the recommendation on your behalf. If it were left to me, given that you already possess a CB and a DSO, I would have put you up for a knighthood, although with you not being exactly a regular soldier, I doubt if it would have been accepted.’

Fonthill smiled. ‘That’s a most kind thought, Francis, but I really do not deserve any such recognition and, between you and I, I rather doubt whether Mac has ever really approved of me, so I doubt if any such move would have come from him. So let whatever promotion or gong is appropriate go to Ottley. He has been the real leader of the Mounted Infantry, for he trained the nucleus up in the first place and has been a magnificent number two to me. He certainly deserves promotion and for his career to be advanced.’

‘Very well. When will you leave?’

‘As soon as Alice gets permission from her editor to leave – and she thinks that he will agree that Reuters can do the reporting job
quite adequately from now on. And, of course, if we can get passage in whatever column is going back to the border.’

‘Oh, I am sure Mac can arrange that. Come in and say goodbye before you go.’ The two shook hands and Simon left and went in search of Alice and Jenkins.

He found the two sharing a cup of tea and broke the news.

‘Good,’ exclaimed Alice. ‘I will cable my editor immediately. I’ve just heard, anyway, that that pompous ass, Perceval Landon, who has been here for
The Times,
has pushed off back to India. He has always claimed to be a personal friend of Curzon and has explained to anyone who would listen that he has gone bearing personal letters from the Commissioner. But that is clearly rubbish. He is off back to London so that he can be the first to write a book about the expedition and pull in a whacking great publishing contract.’

Jenkins nodded his head sagely and looked around him. ‘I shan’t be sorry to leave this bloody awful place,’ he sniffed. ‘Even the thought of crossin’ them mountains again is better than stayin’ ’ere, look you, twiddlin’ our fingers and toes.’

Simon squatted down beside the two. ‘What will you do, 352, when we get back to India? Go on to South Africa, presumably?’

The Welshman frowned and looked down at the ground. ‘Well, I must go an’ see to my girls, and all that. I must see ’ow they’re gettin’ on at their new school and,’ he looked up with a rueful grin, ‘throw a few more pennies into the kitty, so to speak.’

Alice leant forward. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘But what after that? Will you stay in South Africa?’

Jenkins pulled at his moustache and seemed a touch discomforted. ‘Well, to be honest, missus, I’m not sure.’ He gave them both a smile
that contained a trace of embarrassment. ‘I’m not sure what to do with meself, see. Who would want a discharged street fighter an’ gutter mongrel, who’s good at killin’ people and keeps fallin’ off mountains? But I suppose I’ve got to stay with me girls, ’aven’t I?’

Simon nodded. ‘Of course. You must look after them. But I have an idea. Why don’t you bring them over to us in Norfolk and stay with us for as long as you like, while you sort yourself out. We have a very good local school near us, where Alice is a governor, and it would do them good to travel a bit and learn at first-hand about good old England.’ He turned to his wife. ‘What do you think, darling?’

‘I think it’s a splendid idea,’ Alice nodded enthusiastically. ‘The Black Dog in the village will welcome you back with open arms. You must say yes, 352.’

Jenkins put down his tin cup and produced a grimy, huge handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, with a noise like a thunderclap. ‘You’re both very kind,’ he said eventually. ‘I know the girls would love it. But no charity to an old soldier, now. We can pay our way, you know.’

‘And you certainly will.’ Fonthill leant forward and extended his hand. ‘We’ll make a profit out of you.’

Bashfully, Jenkins shook hands with them both. Then he blew his nose again and asked: ‘What about dear old Sunshine, eh? Don’t forget, ’e’s got into killin’ ways out ’ere. ’E won’t easily slot back into life with ’is rotten old uncle on your old tea place, now, I wouldn’t think.’

Simon nodded. ‘Quite right. We must ask him what he wants to do—’

‘Yes, but,’ Alice interrupted quickly, ‘we must offer him something. We can’t just cast him off. You’ve become closest to him out here,
352. Have you any idea what he would like to do when we get back to India? I think he’s forgotten his original idea of being a journalist – too much scribbling, cabling and so on.’