Treachery in Tibet

by John Wilcox

  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 handkerchie
f 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.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Jenkins nodded emphatically. ‘’E wants to be a soldier in the British army. No doubt about that.’

  A silence fell on the little group. Then it was broken by Simon: ‘That boy saved my life. I wouldn’t like to just let him join up back in Delhi or wherever. I owe him more than that. He’s as bright as a button and he’s become close to all of us.’

  ‘The answer is quite clear.’ Alice’s tone was firm. ‘He must first come back with all of us to Norfolk. He’s too young to go straight into the army.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Simon, we must put him into a good school, so that he improves that bright enquiring mind of his. Then, when he is ready and if he still wants to become a soldier, he would stand a good chance of getting a commission in the Indian army. What do you both think?’

  Jenkins’s great grin split his face. ‘Wonderful! An’ I could be ’is batman, eh?’

  ‘He wouldn’t get a better one.’ Fonthill put a hand into the depths of his poshteen and produced a half bottle of whisky. ‘Will you go and get him, please, 352, and bring him back here with four clean mugs, if you can find them. The boy had better begin to learn to drink, like a proper English soldier.’

  Jenkins looked embarrassed. ‘Ah, a bit late for that, bach sir. I’ve already been givin’ ’im lessons. In fact, I ’ave to say that ’e’s comin’ on quite well in that direction.’

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction although based on factual happenings. It is only fair to the reader, then, that I should delineate which is truth and which fiction in the telling of this story. In this context, Fonthill, Alice, Jenkins and Sunil are my creations as are other minor characters in the story, such as Willoughby, Curzon’s ADC, Chung Li and his family and the rather more important figure of General Khemphis Jong.

  The cast list of real people is longer: Curzon, Younghusband and Macdonald, of course, and officers in the expedition force such as Captain William Ottley, who actually led the Mounted Infantry throughout the campaign; Frank O’Connor, Younghusband’s valued interpreter; Colonel Campbell of the 30th Pathans; Colonel Brander, who led the attack at Karo La; Major Bretherton, who perished in the Tsangpo: Captains Bethune, Walton, Kelly and Cook-Young; and Lt John Grant, VC and his havildar, Karbir Pun. Alice’s three correspondent colleagues are as named.

  The list of the tongue-twistedly named Tibetans who played a role in the real-life story is equally long: the Ta Lama; Yutop Shapé; the amban, who was commander of the fort at Gyantse; Lobsang Trinley, the Dalai Lama’s adversarial Grand Secretary; the Chinese amban in Lhasa; Kalon Yuthok; Ti Rinpoche; and the two non-Tibetans who helped Younghusband make the initial breakthrough in negotiating the treaty; Captain Ja Bahadur, the Nepalese ambassador in Lhasa and the Tonsa Penlop, he of the homburg hat.

  I have tried to retell the battles and main events of the invasion as accurately as studies of respected accounts of the campaign have allowed. I must confess, however, to two departures from the actualité. The first concerns the attack on the mission at Chang Lo. I have the journalists not accompanying Colonel Brander on his attack on Karo La, because I wanted Alice to stay and describe the attack on the mission. In reality, all three correspondents went with the Colonel to Karo La. The second is that the Mounted Infantry’s heroic action at the river near the end of the march on Lhasa is a pure figment of my imagination, although in fact they experienced many more military encounters with the Tibetans than I have described. I felt that one more stirring piece of action was needed at this point in the story. Well, the book is a novel, after all!

  If one discounts the disastrous episode of Suez in 1956 as being forced on the UK by events rather than territorial ambition, the invasion of Tibet in 1904 (and, despite Curzon’s protestations, it was an invasion) can be described as the last real hurrah of British imperial expansionism. It took place only after Curzon pressed the British government hard to react to the border pinpricks and lack of respect shown to the Raj by the Tibetans and to the perceived threat of a growing Russian presence in Lhasa. Curzon never had firm evidence of the presence there of a permanent representative of the Tsar, nor of the existence of a Russian gun factory. He virtually lied about this, to support his long-held theory. The expedition, in fact, began shrouded in criticism from Westminster and it ended in quite bitter controversy.

  Younghusband got his treaty in the end, only after hard months of arguments in Lhasa, with Macdonald fussing and fuming in the background and longing to return to India. But, after lauding the Commissioner’s efforts initially, the British government emasculated the main elements of the agreement, reducing the amount of time the British occupied the Chumbi Valley from seventy-five years to three and cutting to a third the amount of reparations Younghusband had levied on the Tibetan government. It also revoked the clause, which Younghusband held dear, which allowed the British agent at Gyantse to visit Lhasa. In fact, the Tibetans never did pay the reparations and from attaining the status of hero, Younghusband limped back home accused of being headstrong and arrogant.

  Sides were taken in the Macdonald vs Younghusband spats. At the end of the long, arduous campaign, having reached Lhasa after one of the most difficult and dangerous expeditions in British military history, Younghusband could reasonably have expected to be honoured with the knighthood of the Order of the Bath. Instead, he received the lower appointment of Knight Commander of the Indian Empire. Macdonald, however, was on the eve of being Gazetted Knight Companion of the Order of the Bath when, on the last minute intervention of the King himself – reputed to be an admirer of Younghusband – he, too, was demoted to the KCIE.

  The controversy which ended the expedition seemed to obscure completely the fact that the main reason for the invasion – to counter the perceived strong influence in Lhasa of Russia – had been proven to be quite unfounded. But there was no more talk of a ‘forward policy’ being established to defend India.

  The two protagonists of the long march virtually disappeared from public view. Thanks to his old supporter Curzon, Younghusband was appointed to the Residency of Kashmir, which he coveted. But that lasted only three years and it became clear that he had no longer any future in the Indian Civil Service and he resigned and, after an unsuccessful attempt to enter politics in the UK, he devoted the rest of his life to religious works, unembittered and rather mystical to the end. Macdonald became a major general and ended his career as GOC in Mauritius, before retiring early back to Scotland because of ill health.

  Curzon, ill and burdened by the death of his beloved wife, returned to India but, worn out by constant conflict with Kitchener, resigned his Viceroyalty. He dropped out of public life for a while but married again, became Foreign Secretary during the war years and came within an ace of achieving the premiership in 1923, only to be pipped at the post by Baldwin. He died an unpopular figure, still carrying – perhaps unfairly – the reputation of being pompous and arrogant.

  And Tibet? Historians have written that Younghusband at least brought i
t out of its medievalism. But it has remained to this day a backward, pastoral and theologically influenced state that is now dominated and occupied by a resurgent China. The present Dalai Lama now lives in exile in India. The waters of international interest now seem to have closed quietly over Lhasa, as though the Younghusband Expedition had never existed.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am indebted to my agent, Jane Conway-Gordon, for her constant and loyal support and her commercial-literary efforts on my behalf. Why, she even supplied the title for this novel! My thanks also go to Susie Dunlop and her staff at Allison & Busby for their help and work in correcting my carelessness on detail and names. I would also have been lost without the London Library, whose staff helped me find the sources for ensuring that, as far as possible, my recreation of events from so long ago were accurate. Lastly, my love and thanks go to my wife Betty, for her proofreading, care and patience while I slogged over the high road to Lhasa with Simon, Alice and Jenkins.

  The Tibet expedition certainly seemed to attract a good deal of literary attention – perhaps because of its pseudo glamour as a last echo of more successful exploits of Empire? Many of the books about the invasion seemed to take sides in the ongoing debate about whether Macdonald’s caution was justified or represented an unacceptable drag on Younghusband’s energy and ambition. I have tried to tread between the daisies here, perhaps, however, coming down slightly on the side of the Commissioner, who, to me, steps out of the pages as a more charismatic person.