and anon he or I would make office like a divinity. High a remark which would run its ceremony, which has given way poor course to die prematurely with us to democracy, where in an atmosphere of courteous even monarchs can mix with assent. Then silence while an- their people like ordinary morother bright thought germi- tals and presidents more or nated, only to meet with the less have to, is still in all its same fate. It was not that we pristine vigour in Tibet. The had nothing to say; on the most punctilious respect was contrary, in our private con- his daily portion, and there versations he talked fluently was never any respite for him and to the point, marshalling from it. All who came in his facts and presenting his views with skill and vigour. But under the appalling conditions of these banquets it was impossible to carry on a conversation at all. Animation was sapped at its root. An English hostess, if a party of hers were to go like this, would feel like screaming, and no wonder. But there was nothing to be done, and we just sat on our raised dais, and bore it all hour after hour, while dish followed dish slowly and endlessly. I was in a better position than he, for I could fortify myself with the wine and smoke all the time, both of which indulgences were denied him by his cloth, and I wondered if he was as bored as I, and hoped I showed it no more than he did, if, that is, he was bored at all. If he was, there was no sign of it. His massive face wore throughout an air of courteous composure as though he found nothing oppressive in the alternation of long silences and desultory remarks. In truth, self-restraint was second nature to him, hedged about as he was in his high touch with him, officials or private citizens, high and low, never for a moment forgot the deference which was the due of his office. His subordinates even where they were generals or civilian officials of equivalent or still higher rank, invariably stood in his presence with head slightly bowed, while he gave his orders or discussed official matters with them, and when the interview was over they withdrew backwards. Officers in uniform would salute him smartly in our own manner, but with body bent double, a queer combination of the formalities of two conventions. When he went abroad, horsemen would dismount and all and sundry draw aside, many of the people dropping on to their knees, or even prostrating themselves as his cavalcade went by. He had no privacy at all. Wherever he went, whatever he did, even when he slept, there were always retainers in attendance upon him. They missed nothing, anticipating his every need, a motion on his part to rise or to sit, and they sprang forward to assist. When he mounted bis horse, ready hands held bridle and stirrups and helped him up, and when he dismounted helped him down, and supported him across the courtyard as though he were old and infirm instead of being a more powerful man than any about him. He could not even drink a cup of tea, the national beverage, without a cup-bearer dropping on his knees and lifting the cup up to him ceremoniously with both hands, for all the world as though Cæsar was was being offered a crown. In the circumstances he had, of course, no recreations or relaxations of any kind, being precluded from some of them by his cloth, and from all by virtue of his position, the veneration which set him on a pedestal, a being apart. Somehow or other, in that milieu, and with a man of his almost majestic presence, one missed the incongruity of it all. It seemed natural, he fitted the rôle so perfectly, and everybody, including himself, took it all for granted. I often wondered if he did not find it irksome, but if he did he gave no indication of it. Clearly he had long got used to the restraints and the limitations of his position, and very likely looked upon them as the price he paid for his office and the veneration of the people. Noblesse oblige. Lesser men have their comforts and their pleasures as children have their marbles. He had pomp and power, though I doubt if these made any special appeal to his mind, for he did not appear, nor was he reputed, to take delight in them. His dignity was marred by no trace of pomposity, and his mind seemed to be set on his duty, what he owed to god and man, not on what others owed to him. His days were full, his time absorbed by the manifold details of his administrative work, from which his only relaxation was found in the religious exercises of a Tibetan priest, prayer and mystical meditation. After two or three weeks at Chamdo I made a round trip to Jyekundo and back, a journey of about a month's duration, which broke a certain amount of new ground in the geographical sense, especially as regards that part of it which went through the nomad lands of Hlato. At Jyekundo I found that the Commissioner's supplies, the fons et origo of the crisis that was threatening, had not arrived. Had they been swallowed en route, another chicken rewarded for its powers of observation? Were the clouds destined thus to remove themselves, the whole thing to go up in smoke? It looked like it, and I fervently hoped so, but alas! it was not to be. If the consignment had been swallowed, it was in due course regurgitated, and we were again as we were. But I am anticipating. Returned to Chamdo, I found further letters from the Commissioner and his delegates, burdened with the same refrain, in reply to which the Kalon Lama reiterated his non possumus, and I pointed out that the alleged supplies were not at Jyekundo at all. I then went on another round trip, this time to Riwoche, and the actual scene of the incident which gave rise to the hostilities of 1917-18, the valley of MaraGeka on the confines of the Thirty-nine Banners of Jyade. Then back again to Chamdo, where I found the Kalon Lama suffering from a recurrence of an old complaint of his which seemed to be the gout, a natural enough affection, it would almost seem, to a man of his bulk and habits, for he really needed much more exercise than the circumstances, as we have seen, permitted him to take. His left leg and foot gave him a considerable amount of pain, which he bore with his usual composure, indeed ignored, carrying on as usual, and there was nothing to indicate that he was in the throes of a disease he was to die of in the brief space of a couple of years-that is, if die of it he did. Medicinal treatment and dieting were reinforced in his case by the ministrations of the priests-to wit, prayers and the imprinting upon the swollen parts of seals bearing the mystic formula Om Mani Padme Hum. He asked me how we treated such a complaint in England, and while I had to confess my ignorance I suggested iodine lotion. I gave him some. He tried it, politely commended its efficacy, and I enthusiastically gave him all VOL. CCXXI.-NO. MCCCXXXV. the rest I had, but I doubt if it did him any good. A further interchange of letters with the Commissioner and his delegates, and I set forth on another trip, for Atuntzu in the extreme south, a round journey which took, with halts, upwards of two months. Here again my travels broke new ground, it being my good fortune to be the first and still the only white man to travel down the Salween River at these latitudes (29° and 30° N.). There is something exhilarating in being the first in such matters, and I think all travellers will agree with me that it has nothing to do with getting one's name into guide-books, as Ruskin, in the preface to the second edition of 'Sesame and Lilies,' would appear to imagine. Rather it is the lure of the unknown, the subjective satisfaction of the pioneer in anything, which finds, I should imagine, its intensest expression in the realm of scientific discovery. The situation came to a head while I was on this trip. The Commissioner's supplies duly reached Jyekundo, and he wrote to the Kalon Lama, repeating himself to me, that he was sending his convoy to collect them without further ado, and that if the Tibetans opposed its passage the responsibility for the renewal of hostilities would be theirs. The Tibetan garrisons need not even, unless they preferred to, evacuate the road; it was enough if they refrained from hostilities D and allowed his convoy to pass in peace, and so on. I replied to the Commissioner immediately, from the place his letter reached me on my travels, pointing out that it was an act of war in itself to send troops across a frontier, and that hence, if he did so, the responsibility for whatever occurred would be his, and not the Kalon Lama's. The latter, for his part, reasseverated his position, and warned the Commissioner in effect that if his convoy was sent forward his blood would be on his own head. At the same time he suggested to me that I cut across country, and dissuade the Commissioner from his evident intention of forcing the passage. However, I could not see my way to comply. Time and space forbade; I was, in fact, too far away to get anywhere in time. Even if it were not so, I had no reason to believe that my persuasion would have any effect on the Commissioner, who was, I knew, desperate for these supplies, and who seemed, from this latest move of his, to have tired of the browsing cow of diplomacy which had already taken six months to get him nowhere. Seemingly a clash was inevitable. Que faire ? It may have occurred to you that, since the difficulty lay in the passage of Chinese troops through Tibetan territory, a solution might have been found in having the supplies brought through by a merchant caravan, but, unhappily, that was impossible, for every band of outlaws in Eastern Tibet, to say nothing of adventurous amateurs, would have made a bee-line for such a dainty morsel as twelve hundred rifles and many thousands of rounds of ammunition, with money boot. Then why not have the consignment escorted through Tibetan territory by Tibetan troops? Exactly. That was a card the Kalon Lama had up his sleeve, but had not time to produce, the situation in its final stages moving too rapidly for him. And anyway I doubt if the Commissioner would have agreed to it, would have consented to entrust his precious supplies to any one at all, especially in view of the sad fate of the first consignment. in Clearly there was nothing to be done. I continued my journey, and in due course was back at Chamdo, where I found the Kalon Lama prostrate with his gout, if it was gout. He was as composed as ever, though now in constant pain, the sciatic nerve being, it would appear, volved. Nevertheless, and in spite of my protests, he insisted on rising from his couch to receive me, and when I made the usual sympathetic inquiries, he answered as briefly as possible and hurried on to other matters, feeling, it was obvious, the distaste of sympathy common to men of forceful character. Sick or well, he was his same dominant self; his presence had lost none of its impressive dignity, or his voice its tone of quiet au a congeries of tribes notorious for their raiding propensities. On the other hand, no clash need occur with Tibet unless the Tibetan authorities moved up troops-that is, went out of their way to seek it, in which case, from the Commissioner's point of view, the responsibility for the renewal of hostilities would be theirs. It was rather thin, of course, but we must bear in mind that all this territory had been, a brief year before, part of his own domain, and that he considered the Lhasa authorities to be in wrongful occupation of it. His change of route was the interests of peace, and the The convoy We plunged into discussion of the situation, which had, just before my arrival, taken another, its final, turn. At the eleventh hour the Commissioner had abandoned his project of sending the convoy across the salient. While confident of his ability to force the passage if necessary, he was genuinely in his eyes a compromise in anxious to avoid if possible a clash on this, his western border, which could not but weaken his already precarious position ris-à-vis his rivals in the east. He realised from our letters that such a clash would inevitably ensue if he sent his convoy by the route proposed, which was held in strength by Tibetan troops. A way out of the difficulty presented itself through his delegates' discovery of an alternative route, which ran for most of the way through the nomad lands of the independent Goloks, and crossed the salient only in its extreme corner, where, moreover, there were no Tibetan troops in occupation. Compared to the other, this road or rather track had the great disadvantage that no supplies would be available en route, and the convoy would be exposed all along to the attentions of the hardy Goloks, The Kalon Lama was in a quandary: his problem was upon him. It would have been much simpler for him if the Commissioner had stuck to his original plan. That matter had long since been referred to Lhasa, and he had his orders to maintain his position vi et armis. But the present situation was entirely different. What action should he take? Whatever he did or did not do, he was accountable |