The
conduct of Great Britain in her relations with Tibet puts me in mind
of the dilemma of a big boy at school who submits to the attacks of a
precocious youngster rather than incur the imputation of 'bully.' At
last the situation becomes intolerable, and the big boy, bully if you
will, turns on the youth and administers the deserved thrashing.
There is naturally a good deal of remonstrance from spectators who
have not observed the byplay which led to the encounter. But sympathy
must be sacrificed to the restitution of fitting and respectful
relations.The
aim of this record of an individual's impressions of the recent
Tibetan expedition is to convey some idea of the life we led in
Tibet, the scenes through which we passed, and the strange people we
fought and conquered. We killed several thousand of these brave,
ill-armed men; and as the story of the fighting is not always
pleasant reading, I think it right before describing the punitive
side of the expedition to make it quite clear that military
operations were unavoidable—that we were drawn into the vortex of
war against our will by the folly and obstinacy of the Tibetans.The
briefest review of the rebuffs Great Britain has submitted to during
the last twenty years will suffice to show that, so far from being to
blame in adopting punitive measures, she is open to the charge of
unpardonable weakness in allowing affairs to reach the crisis which
made such punishment necessary.It
must be remembered that Tibet has not always been closed to
strangers. The history of European travellers in Lhasa forms a
literature to itself. Until the end of the eighteenth century only
physical obstacles stood in the way of an entry to the capital.
Jesuits and Capuchins reached Lhasa, made long stays there, and were
even encouraged by the Tibetan Government. The first[1]
Europeans to visit the city and leave an authentic record of their
journey were the Fathers Grueber and d'Orville, who penetrated Tibet
from China in 1661 by the Sining route, and stayed in Lhasa two
months. In 1715 the Jesuits Desideri and Freyre reached Lhasa;
Desideri stayed there thirteen years. In 1719 arrived Horace de la
Penna and the Capuchin Mission, who built a chapel and a hospice,
made several converts, and were not finally expelled till 1740.[2]
The Dutchman Van der Putte, first layman to penetrate to the capital,
arrived in 1720, and stayed there some years. After this we have no
record of a European reaching Lhasa until the adventurous journey in
1811 of Thomas Manning, the first and only Englishman to reach the
city before this year. Manning arrived in the retinue of a Chinese
General whom he had met at Phari Jong, and whose gratitude he had won
for medical services. He remained in the capital four months, and
during his stay he made the acquaintance of several Chinese and
Tibetan officials, and was even presented to the Dalai Lama himself.
The influence of his patron, however, was not strong enough to insure
his safety in the city. He was warned that his life was endangered,
and returned to India by the same way he came. In 1846 the Lazarist
missionaries Huc and Gabet reached Lhasa in the disguise of Lamas
after eighteen months' wanderings through China and Mongolia, during
which they must have suffered as much from privations and hardships
as any travellers who have survived to tell the tale. They were
received kindly by the Amban and Regent, but permission to stay was
firmly refused them on the grounds that they were there to subvert
the religion of the State. Despite the attempts of several determined
travellers, none of whom got within a hundred miles of Lhasa, the
Lazarist fathers were the last Europeans to set foot in the city
until Colonel Younghusband rode through the Pargo Kaling gate on
August 4, 1904.The
records of these travellers to Lhasa, and of others who visited
different parts of Tibet before the end of the eighteenth century, do
not point to any serious political obstacles to the admission of
strangers. Two centuries ago, Europeans might travel in remote parts
of Asia with greater safety than is possible to-day. Suspicions have
naturally increased with our encroachments, and the white man now
inspires fear where he used only to awake interest.[3]The
policy of strict exclusion in Tibet seems to have been synchronous
with Chinese ascendancy. At the end of the eighteenth century the
Nepalese invaded and overran the country. The Lamas turned to China
for help, and a force of 70,000 men was sent to their assistance. The
Chinese drove the Gurkhas over their frontier, and practically
annihilated their army within a day's march of Khatmandu. From this
date China has virtually or nominally ruled in Lhasa, and an
important result of her intervention has been to sow distrust of the
British. She represented that we had instigated the Nepalese
invasion, and warned the Lamas that the only way to obviate our
designs on Tibet was to avoid all communication with India, and keep
the passes strictly closed to foreigners.Shortly
before the Nepalese War, Warren Hastings had sent the two missions of
Bogle and Turner to Shigatze. Bogle was cordially received by the
Grand Teshu Lama, and an intimate friendship was established between
the two men. On his return to India he reported that the only bar to
a complete understanding with Tibet was the obstinacy of the Regent
and the Chinese agents at Lhasa, who were inspired by Peking. An
attempt was arranged to influence the Chinese Government in the
matter, but both Bogle and the Teshu Lama died before it could be
carried out. Ten years later Turner was despatched to Tibet, and
received the same welcome as his predecessor. Everything pointed to
the continuance of a steady and consistent policy by which the
barrier of obstruction might have been broken down. But Warren
Hastings was recalled in 1785, and Lord Cornwallis, the next
Governor-General, took no steps to approach and conciliate the
Tibetans. It was in 1792 that the Tibetan-Nepalese War broke out,
which, owing to the misrepresentations of China, precluded any
possibility of an understanding between India and Tibet. Such was the
uncompromising spirit of the Lamas that, until Lord Dufferin
sanctioned the commercial mission of Mr. Colman Macaulay in 1886, no
succeeding Viceroy after Warren Hastings thought it worth while to
renew the attempt to enter into friendly relations with the country.
Headquarters
of the Mission at Lhasa.
The
Macaulay Mission incident was the beginning of that weak and abortive
policy which lost us the respect of the Tibetans, and led to the
succession of affronts and indignities which made the recent
expedition to Lhasa inevitable. The escort had already advanced into
Sikkim, and Mr. Macaulay was about to join it, when orders were
received from Government for its return. The withdrawal was a
concession to the Chinese, with whom we were then engaged in the
delimitation of the Burmese frontier. This display of weakness
incited the Tibetans to such a pitch of vanity and insolence that
they invaded our territory and established a military post at Lingtu,
only seventy miles from Darjeeling.We
allowed the invaders to remain in the protected State of Sikkim two
years before we made any reprisal. In 1888, after several vain
appeals to China to use her influence to withdraw the Tibetan troops,
we reluctantly decided on a military expedition. The Tibetans were
driven from their position, defeated in three separate engagements,
and pursued over the frontier as far as Chumbi. We ought to have
concluded a treaty with them on the spot, when we were in a position
to enforce it, but we were afraid of offending the susceptibilities
of China, whose suzerainty over Tibet we still recognised, though she
had acknowledged her inability to restrain the Tibetans from invading
our territory. At the conclusion of the campaign, in which the
Tibetans showed no military instincts whatever, we returned to our
post at Gnatong, on the Sikkim frontier.After
two years of fruitless discussion, a convention was drawn up between
Great Britain and China, by which Great Britain's exclusive control
over the internal administration and foreign relations of Sikkim was
recognised, the Sikkim-Tibet boundary was defined, and both Powers
undertook to prevent acts of aggression from their respective sides
of the frontier. The questions of pasturage, trade facilities, and
the method in which official communications should be conducted
between the Government of India and the authorities at Lhasa were
deferred for future discussion. Nearly three more years passed before
the trade regulations were drawn up in Darjeeling—in December,
1903. The negociations were characterized by the same shuffling and
equivocation on the part of the Chinese, and the same weak-kneed
policy of forbearance and conciliation on the part of the British.
Treaty and regulations were alike impotent, and our concessions went
so far that we exacted nothing as the fruit of our victory over the
Tibetans—not even a fraction of the cost of the campaign.Our
ignorance of the Tibetans, their Government, and their relations with
China was at this time so profound that we took our cue from the
Chinese, who always referred to the Lhasa authorities as 'the
barbarians.' The Shata Shapé, the most influential of the four
members of Council, attended the negociations on behalf of the
Tibetans. He was officially ignored, and no one thought of asking him
to attach his signature to the treaty. The omission was a blunder of
far-reaching consequences. Had we realized that Chinese authority was
practically non-existent in Lhasa, and that the temporal affairs of
Tibet were mainly directed by the four Shapés and the Tsong-du (the
very existence of which, by the way, was unknown to us), we might
have secured a diplomatic agent in the Shata Shapé who would have
proved invaluable to us in our future relations with the country.
Unfortunately, during his stay in Darjeeling the Shapé's feelings
were lacerated by ill-treatment as well as neglect. In an unfortunate
encounter with British youth, which was said to have arisen from his
jostling an English lady off the path, he was taken by the scruff of
the neck and ducked in the public fountain. So he returned to Tibet
with no love for the English, and after certain courteous overtures
from the agents of 'another Power,' became a confirmed, though more
or less accidental, Russophile. Though deposed,[4]
he has at the present moment a large following among the monks of the
Gaden monastery.In
the regulations of 1893 it was stipulated that a trade mart should be
established at Yatung, a small hamlet six miles beyond our frontier.
The place is obviously unsuitable, situated as it is in a narrow
pine-clad ravine, where one can throw a stone from cliff to cliff
across the valley. No traders have ever resorted there, and the
Tibetans have studiously boycotted the place. To show their contempt
for the treaty, and their determination to ignore it, they built a
wall a quarter of a mile beyond the Customs House, through which no
Tibetan or British subject was allowed to pass, and, to nullify the
object of the mart, a tax of 10 per cent. on Indian goods was levied
at Phari. Every attempt was made by Sheng Tai, the late Amban, to
induce the Tibetans to substitute Phari for Yatung as a trade mart.
But, as an official report admits, 'it was found impossible to
overcome their reluctance. Yatung was eventually accepted both by the
Chinese and British Governments as the only alternative to breaking
off the negociations altogether.' This confession of weakness appears
to me abject enough to quote as typical of our attitude throughout.
In deference to Tibetan wishes, we allowed nearly every clause of the
treaty to be separately stultified.The
Tibetans, as might be expected, met our forbearance by further
rebuffs. Not content with evading their treaty obligations in respect
to trade, they proceeded to overthrow our boundary pillars, violate
grazing rights, and erect guard-houses at Giagong, in Sikkim
territory. When called to question they repudiated the treaty, and
said that it had never been shown them by the Amban. It had not been
sealed or confirmed by any Tibetan representative, and they had no
intention of observing it.Once
more the 'solemn farce' was enacted of an appeal to China to use her
influence with the Lhasa authorities. And it was only after repeated
representations had been made by the Indian Government to the
Secretary of State that the Home Government realized the seriousness
of the situation, and the hopelessness of making any progress through
the agency of China. 'We seem,' said Lord Curzon, 'in respect to our
policy in Tibet, to be moving in a vicious circle. If we apply to
Tibet we either receive no reply or are referred to the Chinese
Resident; if we apply to the latter, he excuses his failure by his
inability to put any pressure upon Tibet.' In the famous despatch of
January 8, 1903, the Viceroy described the Chinese suzerainty as 'a
political fiction,' only maintained because of its convenience to
both parties. China no doubt is capable of sending sufficient troops
to Lhasa to coerce the Tibetans. But it has suited her book to
maintain the present elusive and anomalous relations with Tibet,
which are a securer buttress to her western dependencies against
encroachment than the strongest army corps. For many years we have
been the butt of the Tibetans, and China their stalking-horse.The
Tibetan attitude was clearly expressed by the Shigatze officials at
Khamba Jong in September last year, when they openly boasted that
'where Chinese policy was in accordance with their own views they
were ready enough to accept the Amban's advice; but if this advice
ran counter in any respect to their national prejudices, the Chinese
Emperor himself would be powerless to influence them.' China has on
several occasions confessed her inability to coerce the Tibetans. She
has proved herself unable to enforce the observance of treaties or
even to restrain her subjects from invading our territory, and during
the recent attempts at negociations she had to admit that her
representative in Lhasa was officially ignored, and not even allowed
transport to travel in the country. In the face of these facts her
exceedingly shadowy suzerainty may be said to have entirely
evaporated, and it is unreasonable to expect us to continue our
relations with Tibet through the medium of Peking.
Chorten.
Panorama
of a Convent.
It
was not until nine years after the signing of the convention that we
made any attempt to open direct communications with the Tibetans
themselves. It is astonishing that we allowed ourselves to be
hoodwinked so long. But this policy of drift and waiting is
characteristic of our foreign relations all over the world. British
Cabinets seem to believe that cure is better than prevention, and
when faced by a dilemma have seldom been known to act on the
initiative, or take any decided course until the very existence of
their dependency is imperilled.In
1901 Lord Curzon was permitted to send a despatch to the Dalai Lama
in which it was pointed out that his Government had consistently
defied and ignored treaty rights; and in view of the continued
occupation of British territory, the destruction of frontier pillars,
and the restrictions imposed on Indian trade, we should be compelled
to resort to more practical measures to enforce the observance of the
treaty, should he remain obstinate in his refusal to enter into
friendly relations. The letter was returned unopened, with the verbal
excuse that the Chinese did not permit him to receive communications
from any foreign Power. Yet so great was our reluctance to resort to
military coercion that we might even at this point have let things
drift, and submitted to the rebuffs of these impossible Tibetans, had
not the Dalai Lama chosen this moment for publicly flaunting his
relations with Russia.The
second[5]
Tibetan Mission reached St. Petersburg in June, 1901, carrying
autograph letters and presents to the Czar from the Dalai Lama. Count
Lamsdorff declared that the mission had no political significance
whatever. We were asked to believe that these Lamas travelled many
thousand miles to convey a letter that expressed the hope that the
Russian Foreign Minister was in good health and prosperous, and
informed him that the Dalai Lama was happy to be able to say that he
himself enjoyed excellent health.It
is possible that the mission to St. Petersburg was of a purely
religious character, and that there was no secret understanding at
the time between the Lhasa authorities and Russia. Yet the fact that
the mission was despatched in direct contradiction to the national
policy of isolation that had been respected for over a century, and
at a time when the Tibetans were aware of impending British activity
to exact fulfilment of the treaty obligations so long ignored by
them, points to some secret influence working in Lhasa in favour of
Russia, and opposed to British interests. The process of
Russification that has been carried on with such marked success in
Persia and Turkestan, Merv and Bokhara, was being applied in Tibet.
It has long been known to our Intelligence Department that certain
Buriat Lamas, subjects of the Czar, and educated in Russia, have been
acting as intermediaries between Lhasa and St. Petersburg. The chief
of these, one Dorjieff, headed the so-called religious mission of
1901, and has been employed more than once as the Dalai Lama's
ambassador to St. Petersburg. Dorjieff is a man of fifty-eight, who
has spent some twenty years of his life in Lhasa, and is known to be
the right-hand adviser of the Dalai Lama. No doubt Dorjieff played on
the fears of the Buddhist Pope until he really believed that Tibet
was in danger of an invasion from India, in which eventuality the
Czar, the great Pan-Buddhist Protector, would descend on the British
and drive them back over the frontier. The Lamas of Tibet imagine
that Russia is a Buddhist country, and this belief has been fostered
by adventurers like Dorjieff, Tsibikoff, and others, who have
inspired dreams of a consolidated Buddhist church under the spiritual
control of the Dalai Lama and the military ægis of the Czar of All
the Russias.These
dreams, full of political menace to ourselves, have, I think, been
dispelled by Lord Curzon's timely expedition to Lhasa. The presence
of the British in the capital and the helplessness of Russia to lend
any aid in such a crisis are facts convincing enough to stultify the
effects of Russian intrigue in Buddhist Central Asia during the last
half-century.The
fact that the first Dalai Lama who has been allowed to reach maturity
has plunged his country into war by intrigue with a foreign Power
proves the astuteness of the cold-blooded policy of removing the
infant Pope, and the investiture of power in the hands of a Regent
inspired by Peking. It is believed that the present Dalai Lama was
permitted to come of age in order to throw off the Chinese yoke. This
aim has been secured, but it has involved other issues that the Lamas
could not foresee.And
here it must be observed that the Dalai Lama's inclination towards
Russia does not represent any considerable national movement. The
desire for a rapprochement was largely a matter of personal ambition
inspired by that arch-intriguer Dorjieff, whose ascendancy over the
Dalai Lama was proved beyond a doubt when the latter joined him in
his flight to Mongolia on hearing the news of the British advance on
Lhasa. Dorjieff had a certain amount of popularity with the priest
population of the capital, and the monks of the three great
monasteries, amongst whom he is known to have distributed largess
royally. But the traditional policy of isolation is so inveterately
ingrained in the Tibetan character that it is doubtful if he could
have organized a popular party of any strength.It
may be asked, then, What is, or was, the nature of the Russian menace
in Tibet? It is true that a Russian invasion on the North-East
frontier is out of the question. For to reach the Indian passes the
Russians would have to traverse nearly 1,500 miles of almost
uninhabited country, presenting difficulties as great as any we had
to contend with during the recent campaign. But the establishment of
Russian influence in Lhasa might mean military danger of another
kind. It would be easy for her to stir up the Tibetans, spread
disaffection among the Bhutanese, send secret agents into Nepal, and
generally undermine our prestige. Her aim would be to create a
diversion on the Tibet frontier at any time she might have designs on
the North-West. The pioneers of the movement had begun their work.
They were men of the usual type—astute, insidious, to be disavowed
in case of premature discovery, or publicly flaunted when they had
prepared any ground on which to stand.Our
countermove—the Tibet Expedition—must have been a crushing and
unexpected blow to Russia. For the first time in modern history Great
Britain had taken a decisive, almost high-handed, step to obviate a
danger that was far from imminent. We had all the best cards in our
hands. Russia's designs in Lhasa became obvious at a time when we
could point to open defiance on the part of the Tibetans, and
provocation such as would have goaded any other European nation to a
punitive expedition years before. We could go to Lhasa, apparently
without a thought of Russia, and yet undo all the effects of her
scheming there, and deal her prestige a blow that would be felt
throughout the whole of Central Asia. Such was Lord Curzon's policy.
It was adopted in a half-hearted way by the Home Government, and
eventually forced on them by the conduct of the Tibetans themselves.
Needless to say, the discovery of Russian designs was the real and
prime cause of the despatch of the mission, while Tibet's violation
of treaty rights and refusal to enter into any relations with us were
convenient as ostensible motives. It cannot be denied that these
grievances were valid enough to justify the strongest measures.In
June, 1903, came the announcement of Colonel Younghusband's mission
to Khamba Jong. I do not think that the Indian Government ever
expected that the Tibetans would come to any agreement with us at
Khamba Jong. It is to their credit that they waited patiently several
months in order to give them every chance of settling things
amicably. However, as might have been expected, the Commission was
boycotted. Irresponsible delegates of inferior rank were sent by the
Tibetans and Chinese, and the Lhasa delegates, after some fruitless
parleyings, shut themselves up in the fort, and declined all
intercourse, official or social, with the Commissioners.[6]At
the end of August news came that the Tibetans were arming. Colonel
Younghusband learnt that they had made up their minds to have no
negociations with us
inside Tibet. They
had decided to leave us alone at Khamba Jong, and to oppose us by
force if we attempted to advance further. They believed themselves
fully equal to the English, and far from our getting anything out of
them, they thought that they would be able to force something out of
us. This is not surprising when we consider the spirit of concession
in which we had met them on previous occasions.At
Khamba Jong the Commissioners were informed by Colonel Chao, the
Chinese delegate, that the Tibetans were relying on Russian
assistance. This was confirmed later at Guru by the Tibetan
officials, who boasted that if they were defeated they would fall
back on another Power.In
September the Tibetans aggravated the situation by seizing and
beating at Shigatze two British subjects of the Lachung Valley in
Sikkim. These men were not restored to liberty until we had forced
our way to Lhasa and demanded their liberation, twelve months
afterwards.The
mission remained in its ignominious position at Khamba Jong until its
recall in November. Almost at the same time the expedition to Gyantse
was announced.[7]In
the face of the gross and deliberate affront to which we had been
subjected at Khamba Jong it was now, of course, impossible to
withdraw from Tibetan territory until we had impressed on the Lamas
the necessity of meeting us in a reasonable spirit. It was clear that
the Tibetans meant fighting, and the escort had to be increased to
2,500 men. The patience of Government was at last exhausted, and it
was decided that the mission was to proceed into Tibet, dictate terms
to the Lamas, and, if necessary, enforce compliance. The advance to
Gyantse was sanctioned in the first place. But it was quite expected
that the obstinacy of the Tibetans would make it necessary to push on
to Lhasa.Colonel
Younghusband crossed the Jelap la into Tibet on December 13, meeting
with no opposition. Phari Jong was reached on the 20th, and the fort
surrendered without a shot being fired. Thence the mission proceeded
on January 7 across the Tang Pass, and took up its quarters on the
cold, wind-swept plateau of Tuna, at an elevation of 15,300 feet.
Here it remained for three months, while preparations were being made
for an advance in the spring. Four companies of the 23rd Pioneers, a
machine-gun section of the Norfolk Regiment, and twenty Madras
sappers, were left to garrison the place, and General Macdonald, with
the remainder of the force, returned to Chumbi for winter quarters.
Chumbi (10,060 feet) is well within the wood belt, but even here the
thermometer falls to 15° below zero.
Tuna
Village.
A
more miserable place to winter in than Tuna cannot be imagined. But
for political reasons, it was inadvisable that the mission should
spend the winter in the Chumbi Valley, which is not geographically a
part of Tibet proper. A retrograde movement from Khamba Jong to
Chumbi would be interpreted by the Tibetans as a sign of yielding,
and strengthen them in their opinion that we had no serious intention
of penetrating to Gyantse.With
this brief account of the facts that led to the expedition I abandon
politics for the present, and in the succeeding chapters will attempt
to give a description of the Chumbi Valley, which, I believe, was
untrodden by any European before Colonel Younghusband's arrival in
December, 1903.I
was in India when I received permission to join the force. I took the
train to Darjeeling without losing a day, and rode into Chumbi in
less than forty-eight hours, reaching the British camp on January 10.
