During our stay at Khamba Jong Mr. White, Captain O’Connor, and I had often talked over the question of advancing into Tibet in winter. It had always so far been assumed that with the approach of winter all operations on this frontier must cease, missions must withdraw, and troops go into winter-quarters. But on the Gilgit frontier we had taken troops across snow-passes in winter, and Colonel Kelly took troops and guns across the Shandur Pass to the relief of Chitral in April, which, from the softness of the snow, is the very worst time. I asked Mr. White, who knew the Sikkim frontier so well, whether there was really any insuperable obstacle to our crossing these passes in winter, and as he said there was not, and as he was heartily in favour of such a move, I urged Government not to delay till the spring, but to let us advance even in winter. We do not hesitate when there is real necessity to send troops and missions into unhealthy and hot places in the hottest season of the year. Why, then, should we be put off by cold? Against cold we could take plenty of precautions by clothing troops and followers with furs and sheepskins, and we should doubtless lose some, but not more than we lose from malaria and heat-strokes in hot places. And as for passes being closed, I had had as much experience as most people of Himalayan passes, and I knew that passes which are closed for single men or small parties, are not necessarily closed for large parties, which can organize regular shelters and trample down paths in the snow. It was a risk to take, and Lord Curzon and the Government of India were courageous in taking it. But, like many other risks we took on this enterprise, it was justified by the result. By April the casualties from sickness and frost-bite were only thirty-five deaths among combatants and forty-five among followers, which, considering the circumstances, was wonderfully low, and we had proved for all time to the Tibetans, to ourselves, and to the world, that Indian troops could march across the Himalayas in the very depth of winter.

As we settled down to our preparations at Darjiling, it did indeed seem a bold task that we were undertaking. The weather now, in November, was clear and bright. Day after day from our headquarters at the Rockville Hotel we could look out on that stupendous range of snowy mountains, to view which hundreds of people come at this season from all over the world. And to think that we had to pierce through that mighty barrier at the coldest season of the year in face of the certain opposition of the Tibetans, and to establish ourselves far beyond in a spot to which for half a century no European had approached, did indeed at times appal one. But the very risk and romance and novelty of the task soon again inspired one with enthusiasm. It was no ignoble little raid, as ignoble Little Englanders were saying, that we were embarking on. It was an undertaking with every moral justification behind it. And it was a feat which, if successfully performed, would add one more to the triumphs of man over Nature, and bring added glory to the Indian army by whom it was accomplished.

It had been originally intended that I should return to Khamba Jong to the Mission which I had left there, and with them march across to Kalatso, on the Gyantse line, while General Macdonald marched up through Chumbi. But on talking the matter over with him at Darjiling, he thought that such a move would involve unnecessary risk, and would be difficult to arrange for with the transport and supplies, as the Tibetans had forcibly dispersed the yaks which the Nepalese had sent across the frontier. It was arranged, therefore, that the Mission, now under the charge of Mr. Wilton, should be withdrawn from Khamba Jong; but both Mr. White and I were anxious that no retirement should take place from one direction till we were actually advancing in another, for any symptom of withdrawal before such people as the Tibetans is apt to be misconstrued into fear, and to encourage them into hostile action. So it was arranged that until we advanced into Chumbi the Mission would remain at Khamba Jong, and then retire into Sikkim and join General Macdonald and myself in Chumbi.

General Macdonald, his Chief Staff Officer, Major Iggulden, who was well acquainted with the frontier, having served in the little Sikkim campaign of 1888, Major Bretherton, and Captain O’Connor now had their hands full with the arrangements for the advance, and, as always happens, every additional unnecessary difficulty arose. For advance into Tibet in mid-winter, animals like yaks, which hate being below 12,000 feet, and are stifled with the heat if the thermometer rises above the freezing-point, were, of all others, the most suitable, and the Nepalese Government, with great trouble had collected several thousand and despatched them to Sikkim. But just as they arrived some kind of disease broke out among them, and all, except a very few, which had to be secluded, died. It was a terrible blow, but Major Bretherton, with his unfailing cheery resourcefulness, set about getting the transport he knew and had worked so well on the Kashmir frontier—Kashmir ponies, Balti and Poonch coolies. Sir Edmond Elles, the Military Member of Council, was near by in Calcutta at the time, and with his unrivalled experience in organizing such expeditions, was able to direct the whole scheme of arrangement to its greatest possible advantage. He would not, indeed, at this stage spare those magnificently organized mule corps which he treasured up in the event of greater need elsewhere, and which he only eventually sent when operations in Tibet assumed a greater importance. But in every other way he gave General Macdonald support in these most difficult transport and supply arrangements, and with great rapidity bullocks, ponies, and coolies, arrived in the Teesta Valley. And sheepskins, blankets, woollen comforters, thick jerseys, and warm socks, were provided for both fighting men and followers. If the Government of India does a thing at all, it does it well, and nothing was spared—except the mules—to make the movement a success.

The local authorities were also extremely helpful. Mr. Walsh, the Deputy Commissioner of Darjiling, on account of his knowledge of the frontier, and because he spoke Tibetan, was to accompany me as an Assistant Commissioner; and Mr. Garrett, who took his place at Darjiling, put his whole energies to collecting coolies, ponies, and supplies. The local engineers got the road along the Teesta Valley—which with unfailing regularity falls into the river in the rainy season—into proper working order again. Mr. White, in Sikkim, set to work to raise a coolie corps for work on the passes. And in a month from the date of receiving the sanction of the Secretary of State, General Macdonald was able, in spite of the blow which had befallen him in the loss of the yaks, to make the start towards Tibet.

It was a sad day when I said good-bye to my wife and little girl to plunge into the unknown beyond the mighty snowy range which lay before us. To me there was nothing but the stir and thrill of an enterprise which would ever live in history; before her there lay only long and dreary months of sickening anxiety and suspense, for which my eventual success might or might not be a sufficient recompense. A little knot of visitors assembled at the Rockville Hotel on the morning of December 5 to bid us good-bye and good luck, and Mrs. Wakefield, the manageress, patriotically waved a Union Jack. Then we were off—as it turned out, to the mysterious Lhasa itself.

The first night I passed with Mr. James, a nephew of my old travelling companion in Manchuria, at a most charming little bungalow in a tea-plantation, and on the way met other tea-planters, all very anxious that my Mission would have the result of opening up Tibet for their produce. I once more rode through all that glorious tropical vegetation in the Teesta Valley. I passed the camp of the 23rd Pioneers, and first made the acquaintance of Colonel Hogge and his officers, with whom I was to be so closely associated in future, and in whom I always found such firm supporters. And by December 10 General Macdonald and his staff, the bulk of the troops for the advance, Mr. White, Mr. Walsh, Captain O’Connor, and myself had all rendezvoused at Gnatong, ready to move into Tibet.

The force then assembled consisted of two guns, No. 7 Mountain Battery, Royal Artillery; a Maxim gun detachment of the Norfolk Regiment; two guns, 7-pounders, 8th Gurkhas; half-company 2nd Sappers; eight companies 23rd Sikh Pioneers; six companies 8th Gurkhas; with field hospitals, engineer field park, ammunition column, telegraph, postal, and survey department detachments. In spite of foot-and-mouth disease among the pack-bullocks, of sickness and desertion amongst the Nepalese Coolie Corps, and of rinderpest, Major Bretherton had succeeded in accumulating a month’s supply for the troops and ten days’ fodder for the animals, and General Macdonald was able to make a short march on the 11th to the foot of the Jelap-la (pass) with the first column, consisting of 1,150 fighting men, four guns, and four Maxims.

On December 12 we crossed the pass itself. It is 14,390 feet in height, and leads, not across the main watershed of the Himalayas, but across the range dividing Sikkim from Chumbi, a sharp, bare, rocky ridge. The ascent to it was very steep, and, as the ridge formed the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet, it was possible we might be opposed at the summit.

But on the question of opposition I had had some communication with the Tibetans. News of the assembly of troops and of the preparations we were making had naturally reached the Tibetans, and on November 28 Captain Parr, who was in Chinese employ, associated with the Chinese delegate, informed me that the Tibetans were expecting that, before any advance was made into their country, the British Government would make a formal declaration of their intention; that if they intended to make war they would make a formal declaration of war. I replied that no more formal declaration would be made than that conveyed in the letter from the Viceroy to the Chinese Resident. If the progress of the Mission were obstructed, General Macdonald would use force to clear a way for the passage of the Mission. If no opposition were offered, he would not attack the Tibetans. We were prepared to fight if fighting were forced upon us; we were equally ready to negotiate if the Chinese and Tibetans would send proper delegates to negotiate with us.

All accounts seemed to show at that time that the Tibetans intended to fight, and from several independent sources came information that they were relying on Russian support. And these latter reports were confirmed later by Colonel Chao, the Chinese delegate, who said that Dorjieff was then in Lhasa, and that the arrogance of the Tibetans was due to their reliance on the support of the Russians, since many discussions had been held in Russia between Dorjieff and Russian officials, with the result that of late the Tibetans had been taunting the Chinese openly, and saying that they had now a stronger and greater Power than China upon which to rely for assistance.

Still, I meant to do my best to secure our passage to Gyantse without fighting, and to the General commanding the Tibetan troops at Yatung I gave the pledge that we were conducting the Mission, under adequate protection, to a place better fitted for negotiation, but that we were not at war with Tibet, and unless we were ourselves attacked, we should not attack the Tibetans. I repeated these assurances to some Tibetan messengers at Gnatong, and told them to tell the Tibetan Generals that if they did not attack us we would not attack them.

On reaching the summit of the Jelap-la, on a bright, clear sunny day, with glorious views all round, we found no one to oppose us. We looked down into the Chumbi Valley into a sort of labyrinth of deep forest-clad valleys, and beyond these to the high main range, which still separated us from Tibet proper, for Chumbi is not geographically part of Tibet, nor are its inhabitants true Tibetans.

The march was very trying for the troops and transport, for the “road” was simply a mountain-path of the roughest description. One coolie corps struck work, and a number of the local drivers of a pony corps and many Nepalese coolies had deserted, for a curious feeling was prevalent on the frontier that we were advancing to our doom. But the troops and the bulk of the transport got over all right, though very exhausted, and we encamped in three bodies near Langram, well below the pass, in a deep, narrow, forest-clad gorge.

Here I was met by the ubiquitous Captain Parr, who in many ways was extremely helpful at this time, by the local Chinese official, and by the Tibetan General. They asked me to go back to Gnatong, where the Chinese Resident and Tibetan Councillors would come and discuss matters with me. On my declining, they asked me to remain where I was for two or three months. I told them I had waited for months without result at Khamba Jong; now I had to go on into Tibet. If my passage were opposed, General Macdonald would break down opposition; if they did not oppose us, we would not attack them. They asked me what we should do if on the morrow we found the gate in the Yatung wall closed. I said we would blow it open.

What would happen on the morrow was now the interesting question. We would reach Yatung, which for the last ten years we had been trying to make into a trade-mart, according to the treaty, and we would approach that wall which the Tibetans had thrown up to prevent anyone coming to trade. The dramatic moment had arrived; and as General Macdonald and I on the following morning rode down the wooded gorge with all military precautions, it was impossible to say what our reception would be.

Suddenly, as we turned a sharp corner, we saw a solid wall, stretching right across the valley from the river up the mountain-side. General Macdonald sent a flanking party up the hills, and a skirmishing party to advance straight at the wall. As we approached we were met by the same officials who had visited us on the previous night. They asked us not to advance, but we noticed that they had left the gate open, so the advance-guard passed through. Then General Macdonald and I followed, and exactly as I passed under the gateway the local official seized my bridle and made one last ineffectual protest.

On the other side I called together all the officials, and sitting on a stone, with a large crowd gathered round, I explained to them the reason for our advance. I let them repeat their protests, for it evidently appeased the Tibetan General to say it in public; but it did not strike me that he personally particularly minded our coming, and the meeting broke up in great good-humour. Then we adjourned to Captain Parr’s house, where we had to eat not only his lunch, but lunches sent us by the Chinese and Tibetan officials as well, these latter themselves joining in the meal.

This was an excellent beginning, which filled me with great hopes of effecting a settlement peacefully; and as we advanced up the valley in the next few days we found the villagers ready to bring in supplies for purchase, and to hire out their mules and ponies, while the women and children who had run away to the hills returned to the villages in perfect confidence.

After we had struck off from the subsidiary Yatung Valley into the main Chumbi Valley, through which runs the Amo-chu (river), the valley opened to a width of two or three hundred yards, the road was good, there was a considerable amount of cultivation, and grass was plentiful; the houses were better built, and the villages had a more prosperous look than is generally seen in Himalayan valleys; and with a road right down the Amo-chu to the plains of Bengal, which would save crossing the Jelap-la, this seemed the obvious route by which to approach Tibet.

General Macdonald had to halt for some days, completing his arrangements for supplies and transport, and while we were halted we were joined by Mr. Wilton, Captain Ryder, R.E., the Survey Officer, and Mr. Hayden, the geologist, who had all come in from Khamba Jong. They had had a very cold and very trying time after I left, and their retirement was an extremely delicate operation. The Tibetan troops hovered about, and with a 17,000 feet pass to cross in December, Captain Bethune had about as difficult a manoeuvre to perform as often falls to the lot of a soldier. The Tibetans occupied our camp in triumph, but never actually attacked, and the retirement was safely effected.

Both Captain Ryder and Mr. Hayden had done excellent work. The former had surveyed all the neighbourhood, fixing many new peaks far into Tibet; and Mr. Hayden, roaming over the hills, had made interesting discoveries of fossil-bearing beds, which enabled him to determine the age of the strata in those parts.

General Macdonald, with a flying column of 795 fighting men, started on the 18th for Phari, through a piece of country which had never before been traversed by a European. It was reported that there was a Tibetan force there ready to oppose us. The first march beyond the permanent camp at the meeting of the Amo-chu and the Rilo-chu was easy; but the second march was over a very bad road, ascending steeply through a narrow wooded gorge, where a few determined men could have greatly delayed the advance of the column. The hardships of the march were increased by the almost total absence of fuel at Kamparab camping-ground, which was two miles beyond the wood limit. A certain amount of fuel had been taken on spare mules, and this, with yak-dung in small quantities, had to suffice. On the 20th General Macdonald reached Phari, marching over open country, where the only obstacle to rapid marching was the great altitude and numerous frozen streams. The Jong (fort) he found unoccupied. It was a strong, lofty, masonry-castellated structure, at the junction of the road to the Tang-la (pass), with a road to Bhutan, up which Bogle, Turner, and Manning had proceeded to Tibet so many years before.

In this Jong General Macdonald stationed two companies of the 8th Gurkhas and one 7-pounder gun, while the remainder of the column camped on the plain outside. To the Tibetan and Chinese officials General Macdonald explained that he was only safeguarding the road for the advance of the Mission, and guarding against the regrettable display of force with which the Tibetans had endeavoured to intimidate the Mission at Khamba Jong. He stayed there a couple of nights, during which the cold was intense, the thermometer registering about 40° of frost at night. The ground was frozen so hard that a working party of twelve men only succeeded, after two hours’ hard work, in excavating some 33 cubic feet of earth, and as neither turf nor stones were available, it was impossible to construct any entrenchments.

Leaving Major Row in command of the two companies in the Jong, General Macdonald returned with the remainder of the force to Chumbi, which he reached on the 23rd. And on Christmas Day we received a mostly kindly and encouraging telegram from Lord Curzon. The inhabitants of the Chumbi Valley were now selling us grass, buck-wheat, turnips and potatoes, and Major Bretherton had arranged for 400 mules to ply on a contract system between here and the Teesta Valley. This, though very helpful, did not amount to very much, and we were dependent for most of our supplies and transport from the rear. In addition to this, the loss of the yaks was now severely felt. So our progress was necessarily slow. But I was very anxious, as soon as we could, to be over the main range, in Tibet proper, in some position equivalent to Khamba Jong. Just over the Tang-la (pass) we knew there was a small place called Tuna, and there I wished the Mission established with a good escort and plenty of ammunition and supplies, while all arrangements were being completed for the further advance to Gyantse. There was a certain amount of risk in this; but to be among the Tibetans proper, and to compensate for the withdrawal from Khamba Jong, I thought it was necessary to run it. Our prestige at this time on the Sikkim frontier was quite astonishingly low. I had never seen it so low elsewhere. In other places there was always that indefinable something behind which gave one something to work with, but on this frontier the people stood in much greater awe of the Lhasa Lamas than they did of us, and we had to do everything we could, short of fighting, to establish some prestige.

On January 4 the Mission and a flying column, under General Macdonald’s personal command, left Chumbi, and on the 6th reached Phari. The cold was now terrible. Piercing winds swept down the valley, and discomfort was extreme. Near our camp was a big waterfall frozen solid.

At Phari we found that representatives of the three great monasteries at Lhasa and a General from Lhasa had arrived, and Major Row reported many cases in which the inhabitants had expressed their willingness to deal with us, but feared to do so on account of the threats of these Lhasa functionaries. Captain O’Connor saw these monks, whom he found to be exceedingly surly, saying they would discuss nothing whatever until we went back to Yatung.

A Major Li, who had been deputed by the Resident to take Colonel Chao’s place, visited me, and told me it was impossible to get the Tibetans to do anything. He said they were a most obstinate people, and at present would pay no respect to the Chinese, as they were so fully relying on Russian support.

Captain O’Connor reported that the whole demeanour of these Lhasa monks, who were the men who really guided the destinies of Tibet, was impracticable in the extreme. They made no advance in civility, though I instructed Captain O’Connor to be studiously polite in his behaviour, and they adopted the high tone of demanding our withdrawal. All I asked them was an assurance that they would not prevent willing people from selling supplies to us, and even this little they refused both the Chinese and myself.

But the worst feature of the situation, as I reported at the time, was that the local people, and even the Chinese, thought that in advancing into Tibet we were advancing to our destruction. They were not impressed by our troops; they knew how few there were; they knew of thousands of Tibetan troops on the far side of the pass; and they believed that the new Lhasa-made rifles and the new drill would prevent the loss they had incurred in their last campaign against us. Many of our camp-followers deserted, and local men in our employ brought in stories of the numbers and prowess of the Tibetans, and how they would attack us in the night and swamp us.

These were the circumstances in which we set out, now in the extreme depth of winter, to cross over the main range of the Himalayas into Tibet.

On January 7 we encamped at the foot of the pass, the thermometer that night falling 18° below zero. As I looked out of my tent at the first streak of dawn the next morning there was a clear cutting feel in the atmosphere, such as is only experienced at great altitudes. The stars were darting out their rays with almost supernatural brilliance. The sky was of a steely clearness, into which one could look unfathomable depths. Behind the great sentinel peak of Chumalhari, which guards the entrance to Tibet, the first streaks of dawn were just appearing. Not a breath of air stirred, but all was gripped tight in the frost which turned buckets of water left out overnight into solid ice, and made the remains of last night’s stew as hard as a rock. Under such conditions we prepared for our advance over the pass, and as the troops were formed on parade, preparatory to starting, it was found that many of the rifles and one of the Maxims would not work, on account of the oil having frozen.

The rise to the pass was very gradual, and the pass itself, 15,200 feet above sea-level, was so wide and level that we could have advanced across it in line. But soon now the wind got up, and swept along the pass with terrific force. At this altitude, and clad in such heavy clothing, we could advance but slowly, and the march seemed interminable. The clearness of the atmosphere made the little hamlet of Tuna appear quite near; but hour after hour we plodded wearily over the plateau, and it was late in the afternoon before we reached it, and even then, for the sake of water, we had to go a mile or more beyond, and encamp in the open.

A Tibetan force was near at hand, and as they were credited with a habit of attacking at night, General Macdonald took special precautions against such an eventuality; but as darkness set in and the cold increased in intensity, we felt we should be pretty helpless in an open camp, and there were some thoughts of retiring again across the pass, for the military risks were very great. But, on the whole, we thought it would be better to face it now we were there; and as, next morning, we examined the hamlet of Tuna, and found it could be turned into a good defensible post, and had a well within the walls, we decided that the Mission should remain there, with an escort of four companies of the 23rd Pioneers, Lieutenant Hadow’s Maxim-gun detachment, and a 7-pounder—the whole under Colonel Hogge; while General Macdonald, with the flying column, returned to Chumbi to complete his arrangements.

The immediate surroundings in which we now found ourselves were miserable in the extreme. Tuna was nearly 15,000 feet above the sea, and was the filthiest place I have ever seen. We tried to live in the houses, but after a few days preferred our tents, in spite of the cold, which was intense, and against which we could not have the comfort and cheer of a fire, for only sufficient fuel for cooking could be obtained, most of it being yak-dung, and much having to be brought from Chumbi. The saving feature was the grand natural scenery, which was a joy of which I never tired. Immediately before us was an almost level and perfectly smooth gravel plain ten or twelve miles in width, and on the far side of this rose the great snowy range, which forms the main axis of the Himalayas, and here separates Tibet from Bhutan. Snow seldom fell. The sky was generally clear, and the sunshine brilliant, and well wrapped up, away from the dirty hamlet and sheltered from the terrific wind, there was pleasure to be had out of even Tuna. And the sight of the serene and mighty Chumalhari, rising proudly above all the storms below and spotless in its purity, was a never-ending solace in our sordid winter post.