Treachery in Tibet (8 page)

A silence fell on the tent, broken only by the distant grunting of mules and the creaking of harness. ‘Hmmm,’ responded Fonthill. ‘I see that. Although,’ he smiled, ‘it all depends, of course, upon the character and personalities of the … er … joint commanders.’

The Colonel put down his tea sharply and brushed the edge of his luxurious moustache. ‘Absolutely!’ he cried. ‘You have put your finger on it exactly. There lies the problem. Now,’ he leant forward, ‘when he returns you will see that Macdonald will pitch his tent and that of his staff on the right-hand side of the column.’ He raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘You will appreciate the significance of that?’

‘Oh yes. The senior officer always takes that position in the field.’

‘Quite so. Well, I have never made a fuss about that, but I find it a little irksome. The most important thing, however, is that I am discovering that Macdonald is ridiculously cautious on the advance, to the point that he has slowed down the progress of the whole column and is constantly in opposition to me about the supplies needed to support us. He is now foraging ahead to set up supply depots for the march. We are becoming so preoccupied with our supply line that it appears to me that it will be next Christmas before we even get to Gyantse.’

‘I see. Are you expecting to be challenged, militarily by the Tibetans along the way?’

‘We just don’t know. It has not happened so far, but we can be vulnerable, of course, in the high passes and we have more of those to surmount before we reach Gyantse. It remains to be seen.’

‘Well,’ Simon frowned, ‘I suppose the General feels his responsibility keenly. An armed advance deeply into so-called enemy territory will throw up logistical problems. The further you go into these mountains in midwinter the longer your lines of communication – always the most vulnerable part of any advancing troops. And, of course, these mountains and plateaus are among the most inhospitable places on earth.’ His frown softened into a smile. ‘I have already seen enough to realise that.’

‘Good. You appreciate the military situation. But, you know, I am not unaware of the problems we have in trying to approach the Tibetans and getting them to talk. They are ruled not by the Dalai Lama, as everyone thinks, but by the religious caste of monks and lamas that completely dominate the country. These are all, it seems,
xenophobic medievalists who subjugate the people in the most cruel way.’

Younghusband leant forward in emphasis. ‘My dear Fonthill, do you know that until Mac improvised a basic little wooden cart here on this plain to carry supplies, wheeled vehicles had never been used in Tibet! Just think of that.’

He took a gulp of tea and leant back comfortably. ‘They are arrogant in the extreme and contemptuous of our power in India. Any sign of weakness on our part – our snail’s pace advance, looking as though we are timorously afraid of them, or any temporary retreat, will give them heart and distance them even further from the negotiating table.

‘You know,’ the walrus moustache bent into a warm smile, ‘I suppose that both Macdonald and I have our individual careers at stake on this mission. I want to surge on ahead, as fast as is humanly possible, to put pressure on the Tibetans to negotiate with us and give us equal, if not greater influence in Lhasa than the Russians. Mac, on the other hand, is terrified of being defeated by an attack on us by the Tibetan army. It would be the end of his career. Hence his excessive caution.

‘But look here. Things are not quite as bad, perhaps, as I have painted them. These are very early days in terms of our task here. I am only pointing out embryonic problems which, I do hope, will not develop further and to illustrate to you what, I think, was in the back of Curzon’s mind in asking you to join us as his … ah … what you might call “special representative”. Because of K, he could not put me in overall command here, but I feel he could sense that issues, such as those I have described, could arise to threaten the success of the mission.’

The bulbous eyes twinkled. ‘It’s a great tribute to you, my dear fellow, that he thinks you might prove to be an ameliorative influence here, if things get worse.’ He gestured towards Fonthill with both hands, as though giving some kind of benediction.

Simon sat deep in thought and was unconscious of the darkness developing within the tent as the sun disappeared quickly. Eventually, he grunted. ‘I am most grateful to you for explaining things, so openly, ah … may I call you Francis?’

‘Of course, Simon.’

‘I presume that Lord Curzon did not quite put things so clearly to you?’

‘He did not. It would have been difficult and even indiscreet to have done so.’

‘Quite. Well, Francis, let me say now that the role you have described is one that makes me uncomfortable. For I do not think that I have the skills, nor indeed the seniority here to play it competently. What I will seek is an actual job, perhaps reporting to Macdonald, because I am more a soldier than a diplomat, I fear. I am used, for instance, to scouting ahead of an army and to advising on how to avoid specific dangers that loom before the main force.’

The Colonel nodded. ‘That sounds very appropriate in terms of our advance in this wild country. I would have no apprehensions about you reporting to Macdonald.’

‘Good. However, let me say that, if I can be of any assistance to you personally in terms of the possible problems you have described, I shall be only too happy to help. I am here to serve.’

‘Most kind of you. Now,’ Younghusband stood and extended his hand, ‘you will want to settle in before it gets completely dark.
There’s hardly a twilight in these parts. I have much enjoyed our talk. Call on me at any time.’

‘Thank you. I will.’

Fonthill walked back to where his little party’s two tents had been erected, his brow wrinkled in thought. He had warmed to Younghusband but was far from sanguine about the part he could play in the column’s advance. He hated the thought of becoming some kind of arbitrator, shuttling backwards and forwards between the two leaders. No, that was not for him. Ah well, the only thing to do was to wait for Macdonald’s return and to suggest to him some positive role he could play. But what he had heard did not augur well for the future of the expedition.

New Chumbi proved to be a delightful place to wait for the return of the forward party and one of the most pleasant sites for an army staging post that Simon and Alice could remember. All around, the giant mountains looked down, craggy, ice-bound peaks with skirts of dark pines breaking out from the snow lower down. The plain itself was a huge, flat meadow, sprinkled with the remains of the summer’s wild flowers that reminded them all again of home: wild strawberries, anemones, primulas and celandines. Finches and red-legged crows chirped and croaked and larks swooped overhead, singing their more felicitous song, while the bark of a fox could be heard most mornings from the lower foothills as the sun touched the tent tops at about 7 a.m.

‘I am beginnin’ to feel distinctly warmer,’ said Jenkins, returning one morning from the river, holding up two brown trout.

‘How did you get those, for goodness’ sake?’ asked Simon. ‘You
don’t have a rod and line with you, do you?’

‘Oh yes.’ He held up one gnarled hand. ‘Me fingers, see. These little fishes love bein’ tickled, look you. Just right for breakfast, isn’t it?’

Fonthill grinned, remembering that Jenkins had been brought up on a farm in North Wales and how his bucolic skills had often saved them from hunger in the wild.

‘The lad got one, too.’ Jenkins jerked his head to where Sunil was running towards them, a silvery fish wriggling in his fist.

The youth had now taken to shadowing the Welshman for much of the time, listening intently as the workings of the Lee Metford, and also of the more modern Lee Enfield rifles carried by Jenkins and Fonthill, were explained to him and adjusting his posture in the saddle under Jenkins’s tuition. Slowly, however, he began also to form a bond with Alice, sitting watching silently as she scribbled her copy and then taking it for clearance to the Gurkha captain who, much to the latter’s disgust and Alice’s chagrin, had been given the task of press censor. He had become, noted Simon, almost one of the family, always there, always anxious to learn or be useful. It was clear that he had not forgotten the language of his ancestors, either, for he had slipped into the role of bargaining on their behalf for the delicacies – buckwheat and potatoes, plus fodder for the animals – that local people had taken to bringing in to the camp.

‘I wish I could take him home to Norfolk,’ confided Alice. ‘He would be invaluable in Norwich market on Saturday mornings.’

Two days later, General Macdonald returned with his forward scouting party.

‘Blimey,’ muttered Jenkins, as the party came into sight far across the plain. ‘It’s not so much a scoutin’ unit, more another bloody army.’

Indeed, it was; a force of some 800 men that the General had taken with him to reconnoitre the way ahead to the north. His objective had been the great fortress of Phari, some twenty-eight miles further up the valley, and over the pass of Tang La towards the towering mass of Mount Chomolhari and so into the interior of Tibet. As the huge scouting party entered the camp the news soon spread: another seemingly impregnable wall across a gorge had had its door opened for the troops and the defenders of Fort Phari itself had welcomed the invaders with open arms, running towards the soldiers with their tongues protruding from open mouths – the mark of friendship.

Fonthill, Alice, Jenkins and Sunil watched the arrival with interest. ‘Hmmm,’ muttered Simon. ‘No cavalry to speak of. Look.’ He pointed. ‘There are only some thirty what you could call horsemen.’

It was true – and they looked completely exhausted. A young red-haired officer led what appeared to be a group of Sikhs, swathed in
poshteens
, some wearing great fur hats and others with woollen scarves tied across the top of their turbans and under their chins, walking ponies all of whom had their heads hanging low. For these men and beasts, at least, it had obviously been a testing excursion.

‘Not cavalry, really,’ mused Alice.

‘More Mounted Infantry, I’d say,’ offered Jenkins. ‘An’ not well trained at that.’

Simon turned towards Sunil. ‘We all think about Tibet as being a land of mountains and high passes,’ he said. ‘Are there many more plains or plateaus like this one further inland?’

‘Oh yes, sahib.’ The youth nodded his head vigorously. ‘Many. Only not like this one, as I remember.’ He gestured around him. ‘This very nice place, with flowers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Not further up, through the mountains. There are flat places but very high. Not much grows. Very wide and long and stony and not nice. No, not nice at all. I live there when little.’

Jenkins nodded. ‘We’re goin’ to need cavalry,’ he said. ‘At least for scoutin’ an’ that.’

‘Exactly.’ Frowning, Simon looked across at his old comrade. They had not spoken about the slip over the trail’s edge after they had arrived at the camp, but it had been preying on his mind.

‘I believe that,’ he said, ‘if we have to continue this march onto Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, there are, in all, five high passes to cross – counting the one from which we have just descended. How do you feel about that, 352?’

The Welshman returned the frown. ‘Ah,’ he said eventually. ‘No other way round then, eh?’

‘Afraid not.’

‘Well, to tell you the truth, bach sir, I’d be a bit worried about that, like.’

‘I thought you would be. But I don’t want to leave you behind. Do you think you could manage them?’

Jenkins sucked in his moustache. ‘O’ course I could. Just a question of takin’ a deep breath, look you, an’ stayin away from the bleedin’ edge, like. Nothin’ to it, really, eh?’

Fonthill sighed. ‘Absolutely nothing to it, old chap. Well done. We will all keep our eye on you – and we will rope up. That should make you feel better, eh?’

The Welshman frowned again and stared ahead, to the north-west away towards the towering peaks. ‘Well, if it’s all the same to you, bach sir,’ he said, ‘I’d rather not, see. I’d be worryin’ all the time, like, about bringin’ you all down the mountain the quick way, with me. You see …’ His frowned deepened as he thought for a while. ‘This bein’ frightened of ’eights is silly, really. P’raps after I’ve slipped down the fifteenth mountain I’ll ’ave conquered it, like. So the only way is to keep goin’ with yer chin up, look you.’

‘Good man. That’s the spirit. But we will still keep an eye on you.’

‘Now that would be kind, so it would. Thank you kindly.’

Simon decided not to pay his respects to Brigadier General James Macdonald immediately, for it was clear the man had much to do. But the next morning he sent a message, asking if he could wait upon him. The reply came back: ‘Whenever you like.’

The General, who had, like Fonthill, been appointed a Companion of the Order of the Bath, had, Simon knew, originally been ordered to join the mission as a colonel in charge of the building of roads over the border and into Tibet. Later, however, he had been promoted on the express order of his fellow sapper, Lord Kitchener, to take command of the mission’s escort. He had served earlier in East Africa, somewhat controversially, and then in a more fighting role against Muslim rebels in Uganda, but his experience as an Engineer was wide. Nevertheless it was whispered he had been appointed to take military command of the expedition only because he was the most senior officer on the spot in Sikkim nine years later.

The man who stood to meet him at the entrance to his tent was of medium height and certainly looking older than his forty-one
years. He was unsmiling and bent to stub out a cigarette as Fonthill approached. His head was bald and his nose, sharply pointed and tipped slightly upwards at its end, stood out above a less than luxurious but wide moustache. The General’s expression, Simon, could not help but note, seemed sad and tired.

‘How do you do,’ he said. ‘Do come inside.’ He spoke with a faint but distinct Aberdeenshire accent.

‘Thank you, General. I hear that you have had a most successful trip up into the mountains.’

‘Ah yes. I suppose one could say that. Cigarette?’ He offered an open silver cigarette box.

‘No, thank you.’

Macdonald struck a match, lit his cigarette and deposited the matchstick carefully into a tray that was laden with nub ends. ‘At least we met no opposition, although that is not to say that we shan’t be opposed if we carry on much further into the hinterland.’

Fonthill noticed the ‘if’, but decided not to query the qualification. Macdonald gestured to a camp stool and sat opposite in a more comfortable folding chair. He was obviously a man of few words and sat, smoking, waiting for Simon to speak.

‘Apart from paying my respects after my arrival, General,’ Fonthill said, breaking the silence, ‘I felt I should talk to you to see if you had any idea of the role you would like me to play in the column.’

‘Hmmm.’ Blue smoke curled past his nose as Macdonald put his head back and considered the tent ceiling for a moment. ‘Lord Kitchener has written to me about you and has commended you warmly to me. Said you did first-class work in South Africa during the last show there.’

‘That’s very kind of him.’

‘Yes.’ He regarded Fonthill through the thin cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowed. ‘I think we were both involved in the Boxer Rebellion, although we did not meet.’

‘Really?’ Simon scanned his brain quickly. He had no memory of encountering this wiry, rather distant man in the hothouse that was Peking during the siege of the city. Perhaps on the relief expedition?

He put the question and Macdonald nodded. ‘I ended up as Director of Railways,’ he said. ‘Not the most glorious of postings but I knew of you, of course. You were always out there in front, getting up to all kinds of remarkable things, as I remember.’

The tone of cynicism was alleviated to some extent by a faint smile on the Scotsman’s face, but Simon did not take kindly to it. ‘Well,’ he said, frowning, ‘my wife was locked up in that bloody city beleaguered by those fanatics and I was desperate to get in there and join her. It was a most difficult time – and I have to say that the relief expedition, you will remember, took its time reaching Peking.’

‘Yes. Quite so.’

Another silence fell between them and Simon stirred again. ‘I am quite sure that you have an excellent staff here, General, and I would not wish to intrude at a senior level.’

Macdonald carefully knocked the ash off his cigarette and coughed. ‘Yes. I am very happy with the fellows I have, although, you know, they are all predominantly infantry officers.’ There was another pause. ‘Sooo …’ He drew the word out slowly. ‘Do you have any suggestions to make, Fonthill?’

‘Well, I do so with reluctance, since I have only just arrived here, but I am most anxious to be of use and I agree with Younghusband
that I might have rather more to offer on the military side than as some sort of diplomatic aid.’ He smiled, seeking agreement, but Macdonald remained silently regarding him, through his blue smokescreen.

‘Yes … er,’ Simon sought for the right words to continue. Blast the man, he was being forced to present his qualifications for being in Tibet at all! He refused to offer the obligatory ‘Sir,’ and said: ‘General, you may know that I ended the Boer War as a brigadier general – very temporary, I hasten to add – in command of two units of cavalry?’

Macdonald nodded.

‘I spent the last two years of the war – that is when the Boers took to the veldt and, organised as highly mobile commandos, conducted guerrilla warfare against us – I spent it in the saddle chasing those remarkably elusive and, to my mind, rather brilliant farmer generals all over the Free State, Natal and in the Transvaal.’

The General remained silent.

Simon cleared his throat. ‘In fact, the chaps I had were never really trained cavalry at all, in that they were not from the smart regiments, like the Hussars and the Dragoons. No, my men were a rather ragtag lot from the gold fields and cities who volunteered to fight for us. In effect, given that some of them had seen service on foot, they became Mounted Infantry.’

‘Yes.’ Macdonald spoke slowly. ‘I have about thirty of the same sort of fellows with me now, although, of course, they are Indians, mainly Sikh Pioneers.’ He drew on his cigarette again. ‘As far as I can see they have been spending quite a lot of their time falling out of their saddles, but I have a good young Irish chap leading them, young but good.’

Fonthill felt his heart sink. Was his idea going to be rubbished
before he proposed it? ‘Yes, I saw them return. They looked as though they were more or less shattered.’

‘They were.’

Another silence. ‘My idea is this, General,’ Simon said, leaning forward. ‘Although I was an infantry subaltern years ago in the old 24th Regiment of Foot in Zululand – you will remember Isandlwana, Rorke’s Drift, etc?’

Macdonald nodded. Damn the man! Didn’t he have a tongue?

‘Yes, well,’ Fonthill continued, ‘I do not consider myself a regular soldier and, anyway, as you say, you have a first-class staff filling the key roles. I have always served outside commissioned ranks, acting as scout and sometimes intelligence officer. The Boer War, however, was different, I was recommissioned and had my own command. Nevertheless, my role was, what you might call, irregular. It was Kitchener’s idea that I should stay with my men out in the veldt, fighting the Boers at their own game. Travelling light, without artillery or baggage, living in the saddle and attacking them wherever we could find them and harassing them when we could not attack.’

Macdonald nodded again, but there seemed to be a light of interest glowing in his dark eyes.

‘Now, things will be very much different here, of course. But you will need horsemen. From what I have learnt of the terrain ahead, it will not be all high, snowbound passes but also vast, stony plateaus, very inhospitable but where you will need mobile scouts to range far ahead of you and spy out the Tibetan defences and indeed their forward movements against you.’ Fonthill paused to gather breath. This was like pushing water uphill.

‘At the moment,’ he continued, ‘you have some thirty men, not well trained by the look of them. You will need more, in my view, with good, hard-working ponies. I know these are difficult to find but you will need them, I promise. I am glad to hear that you have a good young fellow with them at the moment but he looks young and inexperienced.’