Treachery in Tibet

by John Wilcox

  He found the flame-haired captain instructing his Sikhs on how to groom their horses correctly; a good sign. He introduced himself and immediately Ottley’s face lit up.

  ‘Ah, delighted to meet you, sir,’ he beamed. ‘I read about the work you did with Mounted Infantry on the veldt in the recent bit of trouble. Wish I’d been with you then. What are you up to here, in this godforsaken place?’

  Simon coughed awkwardly and then transmitted his news. ‘I am sorry that you will be losing your independence, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘But I promise that I am here to learn as much from you as you from me. It looks as though you have already done a good job in teaching these Sikhs how to ride.’

  The young man’s smile did not lessen. ‘Good lord, no, sir,’ he said. ‘We are not exactly Horse Guards, you know. If a rabbit leaves its hole, half of my troop are liable to fall out of their saddles. But they are good men. Basically good soldiers and I think you will become proud of them.’

  Fonthill held out his hand. ‘I am sure I will.’ They shook hands. ‘What is your Christian name?’

  ‘William.’

  ‘Good. I will address you so. And you must call me Simon.’ He grinned. ‘No Horse Guards stuff here, William. We will be a very irregular unit. Oh, one more thing I should tell you.’ He explained Jenkins’s role.

  Ottley frowned at first, but when Jenkins’s name was introduced his face brightened. ‘Oh! 352. Goodness, sir … er … Simon, he is almost as famous as you. Got a DCM, didn’t he?’

  ‘Two, in fact. The first in the Sudan and the second against the Boers.’

  ‘Well, he obviously knows his stuff.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Any chance of us being the first into Lhasa, do you think?’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind putting a guinea or two on it.’

  ‘Splendid. Look forward to it. Do you want to superintend the grooming?’

  ‘No. I have other things to do. I will meet the men in the morning.’ A thought struck him. ‘No. Better not yet. My position has to be confirmed by Kitchener. So let’s keep this under our hats for the moment. But I don’t anticipate any problems there. Carry on, William.’

  ‘Thank you, ah, Simon.’

  Fonthill walked away with a new-found spring in his step to find Alice and Jenkins. His wife, as usual, was not in their tent, for, with little hard news to transmit back to Fleet Street, she was regularly out and about watching the behaviour of the troops and the coolies, picking up facts and colour. At this point, she still had a free hand, for her colleagues from the other newspapers had still not made the difficult journey up from the border. Jenkins, however, was crouched down outside his tent at the side of Sunil, whose Lee Metford rifle he had broken down in parts and laid out on a piece of cloth on the ground.

  ‘Good news,’ cried Simon. ‘We’re back in the army.’

  The Welshmen immediately assumed a melancholic face. ‘Oh, bloody ’ell,’ he grunted. ‘You promised me that there would be no more of all that … bloody salutin’ an’ stuff.’

  ‘No, nor will there be. We are going to be in charge of the Mounted Infantry. That lot that we watched coming in. And there’s more reinforcements on their way, from what I hear. We will be a very irregular unit. Rather like what we were out on the veldt, except we won’t have that bloody man Sir John French breathing down our necks. And you have been demoted to Colour Sergeant.’

  ‘Ah well. Could ’ave been worse. Could ’ave been the Mountain Climbers Brigade. When do we start?’

  ‘Probably tomorrow. As long as it takes Lord Kitchener to approve our appointment by telegraph. Then we shall have to start training these Sikhs. You work with Captain Ottley teaching ’em riding and I’ll teach them formation work and so on – if I can remember the drill, that is.’

  ‘I don’t think we shall need much of that in these parts, bach sir. More a question of ’ow to sit in the saddle when the bleedin’ ’orse is goin’ straight up a mountain.’

  ‘Yes. Something like that. Now, Sunil, can you put the kettle on?’

  Kitchener’s approval came back with flattering speed, relayed to Fonthill by Macdonald’s orderly. The two men immediately found the mounted Sikhs’ lines and the work began. In fact, it transpired that Ottley, a captain of the 23rd Pioneers, was the only man in the expeditionary force who had attended the Mounted Infantry course at Sialkot. He had had very little time to train his men before the column set off and the thirty with him now had been the only Sikhs, plus a handful of Gurkhas, who had been considered efficient enough to leave with the main force. Forty or so had had to be left behind for further training. Since then, twenty or so had come up to New Chumbi and others were expected.

  Unskilled as horsemen, nevertheless the little unit had led the flying column that Macdonald had taken into the mountains. Ottley told Fonthill that his ‘cavalry’ had penetrated far ahead of the column, past the fortress of Phari – ‘an imposing sight’ – and pressed on up over the 15,200-high Tang La, ‘The Clear Pass’, so called because the prevailing winds kept it usually clear of snow, until they met the lower slopes of Mount Chomolhari.

  ‘They towered above us like a perpendicular wall of snow,’ recounted Ottley. ‘We had gone as far as we possibly could and we and our ponies were exhausted. Also, despite the snow, there was little to drink, so we had to turn back.’

  ‘How did the men behave?’

  ‘Magnificently. I was proud of them. We met no opposition, of course, from the natives and those we saw at Phari were very welcoming. But we discovered that we had one great problem.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘We have no riding breeches, of course, and the loose serge trousers worn by the men had chafed their inner thighs horribly. Many were bleeding and hardly able to walk, let alone ride. We need to get proper breeches as soon as possible.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll see to it straight away.’

  ‘Despite all the problems – which included, by the way, the fact that the ponies became very disturbed and refused to settle down – despite all this, we managed to cover thirty-five miles in one day to get back. Pretty damned good, I’d say. Augurs well for the future. They are good men.’

  ‘Splendid. I will telegraph back to the base camp for breeches. Oh – what happened with the Phari Fort? Younghusband has issued a promise to the Tibetans that we will not occupy territory or fortified positions. I presume the General left no garrison there?’

  For the first time Ottley looked troubled. He frowned. ‘Afraid so. Despite the appeals of the Tibetan commander there, the General threw out the wives and dependents of the defenders – who had offered no resistance, remember – and installed two companies of Gurkhas in the fort.’

  ‘Oh dear. Presumably he was worried that it could prove an obstacle to the main column if the Tibetans decided to resist.’

  ‘I suppose so. It looks a pretty formidable place from the outside, at least. I heard it was a fort that had dominated the old trading route to India and also some kind of mobilisation centre for this end of Tibet, so I suppose the General knew what he was doing.’

  The habitual sunny smile returned to his face. ‘But then generals are always supposed to know what they are doing, aren’t they?’

  Fonthill returned the grin. ‘I’ve known a few who didn’t. I’ll go and telegraph about the breeches. Have you had the MO see to the men?’

  ‘Yes. Just a bit of ointment. Don’t think the Sikhs liked it but I made ’em apply it.’

  ‘Good.’

  Because of the chafing problems, the men were relieved of riding duties for the next few days and Simon, Ottley and Jenkins restricted their teaching activities to lectures on keeping formation, wheeling into line, firing from the saddle and so on. The black faces of the men wore intense expressions as they listened, both eyes and mouths wide open and Fonthill worried that little had been imparted, but Ottley assured him that all of the instructions had been taken on board.

  Christmas came and went at New Chumbi with hardly a break in th
e routine of drill, weapon inspections and, once the riding breeches had been delivered, scouting expeditions by Fonthill’s men that produced no sign of hostile troops. The biggest change was in the weather, for the smiling face of the Chumbi valley quickly disappeared when bitterly cold and strong winds swept along the plateau and winter settled in. Luxuries disappeared from the menu and the chapattis had to be made from a basic mixture of flour and water, which tasted, as one subaltern confessed, ‘like mustard plaster’. The biggest hardship was when the officers’ mess orderlies revealed that their normal care in cooling the champagne had been overdone and the wine was far too bitterly cold to be drunk. Beer, which had been kept under cover, had to be substituted.

  ‘Serves you all right,’ muttered Alice. ‘Nobody deserves champagne so far, because nothing has happened. What are we supposed to be doing here, anyway?’

  The answer seemed to be ‘consolidating’, while a second supply route between Gangtok and New Chumbi was opened, which cut some ten miles off the route and enabled the amount of food being brought in to rise to 40,000 pounds a day. The indigenous inhabitants of Chumbi were also now losing their reserve and were providing animal fodder, buckwheat and potatoes, for which they were paid handsomely.

  Alice had now lost her exclusivity in the column for she had been joined by three other journalists representing The Times, the Daily Mail and Reuters News Agency. She dourly resented their presence and refused to join their little tented compound, preferring to mess with Simon, Jenkins and Sunil.

  ‘We are all fighting for journalistic scraps here, anyway,’ she confided to Simon, ‘for there is nothing to write about. I am tired of describing the bloody sunset and the difficulties of putting up tents when you can’t drive a peg into the ground. I do wish we could advance.’

  Her wish was granted early in January, however, when it was announced that another flying column, with Younghusband and the diplomatic heart of the mission, would advance over the Tang La and set it up in a further advanced base high up on the plateau at a tiny hamlet called Tuna, where it would see out the rest of the winter.

  It was to everyone’s relief, then, when sufficient supplies had been built up to allow this second, stronger, flying column, led by Fonthill’s Mounted Infantry, to set off from New Chumbi over the mountains again. Word filtered down that the move had been at the insistence of Younghusband who, it was said, had eventually won a highly charged argument with Macdonald about the dangers to be faced by advancing further into Tibet in midwinter. Simon, busily preparing his horsemen for the advance, was not involved in the argument – and he was heartily glad of it.

  The journalists, who had grown increasingly restive under what Alice condemned as an unnecessarily rigid form of censorship installed by Macdonald on the plain, were now allowed to join the advance. Before setting off, Fonthill took Sunil to one side. The youth’s relationship to Alice had become even closer and he had begun trying to teach her Tibetan. Simon decided to capitalise on the friendship.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Now that we are advancing into Tibet proper and I shall be riding out with my men every day, I would be grateful if you would take on the responsibility of looking after the memsahib.’

  Suni’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh yes, sahib. What you want me to do?’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t need a nursemaid and she would be horrified at the suggestion that she could not look after herself. But,’ he grinned, ‘she can be a trifle headstrong, you know?’

  The youth nodded gravely.

  ‘So there is no need to tread on her coat-tails, so to speak, but I would be most grateful if you would stay close to her as soon as we go into action. Do you think you could do that?’

  ‘Oh yes, sahib. Don’t tread on skirt but stay close, yes.’

  ‘Splendid. You still have your Lee Metford rifle, I think?’

  ‘Oh yes. Jenkins Bach has given me lessons on shooting it.’

  ‘Good. As soon as we meet trouble, my wife will certainly want to go to the front to take notes about the battle or whatever. Now, she will certainly ignore any attempts by you to stop her from doing so. So don’t try it. But I would ask you to go with her, with your rifle, and protect her if it becomes necessary. Do you understand?’

  Sunil’s chest visibly swelled. ‘Certainly, sahib. I will protect. Most certainly.’

  ‘Good man. I knew I could rely on you. Now, don’t tell her what I have asked you to do, because that will annoy her. Just accompany her casually, as though you are interested in all that she does. Which I think is true, anyway. Is it not?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed sahib. I will be journalist when this journey is finished.’

  ‘Good. I am sure that you will make a good one.’

  Simon looked into the earnest face before him and felt reassured. Alice could well look after herself but – and he frowned at the thought – she had a propensity for pushing herself into danger and, perhaps, with Sunil at her side, she might feel a sense of responsibility for him and so curtail her eagerness to get close to the action. He shook the boy’s hand and strode away.

  The Chumbi Valley was situated at about 10,000 feet above sea level but the climb for the column began almost immediately after leaving the encampment at New Chumbi. Once again, as the trail led ever upwards and became steeper, the Mounted Infantry, ranging far ahead, were forced to dismount and lead their ponies. The route led between masses of sharply cornered rocks, which merged later into great overhanging bare cliffs of blackened granite.

  ‘Oh, bloody ’ell,’ grunted Jenkins. ‘’Ere we go again.’

  In fact, the trail, although steep up to the 15,200 feet high Tang La pass, was not as terrifying as that leading to the Jelep La, for it wound through rocks on either side, through which the wind howled like a thousand banshees, but offering no precipitate falls to an abyss below. Just beneath the pass, at about 14,000 feet, Fonthill and his advance guard debouched onto an open, barren stretch of upland, the first intimation that they were approaching the great northern plain, the Chang Tang, the fabled ‘roof of Tibet’. Here, on the advice of Ottley, who had ridden this way days before, they waited until the main force caught up with them and the whole column camped for the night.

  Fonthill sought out Alice and Sunil and asked anxiously ‘any sign of mountain sickness?’ Both shook their heads negatively and Simon, who, with Jenkins, had felt nothing more than tremors in his stomach as they climbed, put this down to the fact that they had acclimatised to a large extent at New Chumbi. After dark, however, a different problem faced them.

  That night the temperature plummeted to minus eleven degrees Fahrenheit and it became clear that every scrap of clothing would be needed to prevent frostbite attacking. Simon and Alice shared a tent, as before, with Jenkins and Sunil in the other. They all retained their sheepskins and felt boots within their sleeping bags and stretched canvas covers over the bags, soon learning to sleep on their backs, for turning over allowed a piercing shaft of bitterly cold air to penetrate into the bags. Little sleep was had that night.

  Dawn, however, brought bright sunlight, a cloudless sky and a rejuvenation of spirits all around – particularly when the news reached everyone that an officer in the main column had unwisely placed his false teeth in a tumbler of water at his side to find them frozen solid by the morning.

  A march of little more than a mile and a half over half-frozen greensward led to a bluff beyond which stood the impressive Fort of Phari, a castellated virtual castle, looking like some remnant from the Crusades, from which a row of prayer flags and a Union Jack streamed in the strong wind – showing that the two companies of Gurkhas were still in possession. Here, a halt was made while mules and ponies were laden with supplies for the new base, some fourteen miles ahead at Tuna.

  Alice took advantage of this to visit the fort, a wide-eyed Sunil at her side, carrying his Lee Metford. The stronghold had earlier yielded its stock of gunpowder and bullets without firing a single shot as the soldiers had advanced through the huddl
e of miserable huts that stood at the foot of its walls. Now, however, Alice wrinkled her nose in disgust as she walked through the hamlet. Centuries of inhabitants had thrown their rubbish outside their doors so that it had grown so high that steps had had to be dug down through it to reach the ground floor of the dwellings. Inside the fort, she found that its courtyards were strewn with similar rubbish, including old armour, matchlocks, limbers and spears and the building itself was a warren of narrow passages and dingy cells, all empty.

  She made notes and retreated to the village in the hope of finding some of its inhabitants. They proved to be as unprepossessing as their surroundings. The women, who extended their tongues in a gesture of greeting, had covered their faces with a red paste that had blackened as it oxidised, obviously to protect their faces from the constant wind. From the pungent odour that accompanied them, Alice realised that they must have smeared their bodies with rancid butter. Yet everyone seemed to have a perfect set of white, gleaming teeth.

  Through Sunil, she attempted to question them, to gain their opinion of this intrusion of alien soldiers from so far away. But the youth confessed that they seemed reluctant to talk and, she suspected, he was having difficulty in understanding their dialect. Shivering in the cold, she gave up and they walked back to the encampment, where she began writing a despatch to be cabled back by the new telegraph wires that had been set up as the column advanced, now linking Phari to the Indian border, Calcutta and the outside world.

  She sat in the weak sun, drinking tea in an attempt to keep warm and sucking her pencil. There had been no military action to write about so far and, indeed, no enemy to describe. If this was a war, she confessed, it was a fake one, unreal – even spurious. Younghusband’s Mission, with its escort bristling with weaponry, had been allowed slowly to climb, slip and plod wearily into the Tibetan uplands without deterrence. The weather and the terrain had been the enemy.