Just a year had now elapsed since we had arrived at Khamba Jong, and now at length all were united in the single purpose of advancing to Lhasa—the Imperial Government, the Indian Government, and the military authorities. A year had been wasted in futile forbearance for the benefit of the British public, but at length what the responsible Government of India had advocated since January of the previous year was to be carried into effect, and on July 14 we left our dreary little post at Gyantse and set out, full of enthusiasm, for Lhasa.

Though we were so high above sea-level, it was quite hot now in the middle of the day, for the sun in these low latitudes and in this clear atmosphere struck down with considerable force. But we also had some very heavy rain in the next few days.

As we approached the Karo-la (pass), the scene of Colonel Brander’s gallant little action, I received a letter from the Tongsa Penlop at Gyantse, enclosing a letter he had received from the Dalai Lama. It said:

“We have written to the Yutok Sha-pÉ, inquiring from him whether it will be easy to effect a settlement or not. Will you also request the English privately not to nibble up our country? Please use your influence well both with the English and the Tibetans. I cannot at present speak with exactness with regard to the frontier, but I have said something on the matter to the Pukong Tulku, so it will be well if the negotiations are begun quickly. Once they have begun, we shall hear gradually who is in the right.”

On the next day, July 17, we marched to a camp immediately below the Karo-la, and there we found the Bhutanese messenger who had carried a letter from the Tongsa Penlop to the Yutok Sha-pÉ’s camp had returned, saying that some Tibetan officials would come over presently to see us. The Tibetans, however, fired at our mounted infantry from the wall on the far side of the pass, and no officials appeared.

This looked as if we were to have another fight. Before we left Gyantse we had heard that the pass was occupied by 2,000 Tibetans, and that there were 2,000 more in support, and the mounted infantry now reported the pass to be strongly held and fresh walls and sangars to have been built. All the villages en route, too, had been deserted, so we fully expected a fight.

Our camp under the pass was right in among a lofty knot of mountains, one of which rose to a height of over 24,000 feet above sea-level. A magnificent glacier descended a side valley to within 500 yards of the camp. The whole scene was desolate in the highest degree. And though we were on the highroad to Lhasa, the road was nothing but the roughest little mountain pathway rubbed out by the traffic of mules and men across it.

The afternoon and evening of the 17th were occupied in reconnoitring the position of the Tibetans. They were very strongly posted at a narrow gorge three miles from our camp on the north side of the pass, and their position was flanked by impassable snow mountains. The old wall of Colonel Brander’s time had been extended on either hand till it touched precipices immediately under the snow-line. Behind this lay a second barrier of sangars. Like all the walls which the Tibetans so skilfully erected at such places, this was built up of heavy stones. The position was manned, according to our latest information, by about 1,500 Tibetans.

At 7 a.m. on the morning of the 18th, when now, even in the height of summer, there was still a nip of frost in the air, the advance troops marched off. The Royal Fusiliers, under Colonel Cooper, were to attack the centre, and on either side parties of the 8th Gurkhas were to turn the flanks.

While the Gurkhas were slowly plodding up the mountain-sides, I seated myself beside Major Fuller’s mountain battery, and watched the effects of gun-fire at these altitudes. It was most interesting. The pass itself was 16,600 feet, and the battery was a few hundred feet above it, and was for some time firing at groups 5,000 yards away, and some of them on the glacier at about 18,000 feet above the sea. In such a rare atmosphere ordinary sighting and ordinary fuses were quite useless. The shells would cleave through the thin air at very considerably greater velocity than they would pass through the thicker air at sea-level. All the sighting and the timing of the fuses had, therefore, to be completely readjusted by trial and guesswork. Despite this, however, wonderfully accurate shooting was effected by these splendid little guns, and it would have made all the difference to Colonel Brander if he had had them instead of the useless 7-pounders.

The Gurkhas and Pathans, after a long and difficult climb to 18,000 feet, turned the position, but the Tibetans in the centre had not waited. They knew that the dreaded mounted infantry would be after them, so each determined that he, at any rate, would not be the last to leave the position, and all had cleared off before our troops arrived. Most, indeed, had retreated in the night, and in reality only about 700 Kham men were left to hold the position. Many of these escaped high up over the snows, pursued only by our shrapnel shells. Our mounted infantry reconnoitred up to within two miles of Nagartse Jong, which was found to be occupied, while reports came in that 1,300 more men from Kham were expected.

Nagartse was reached on the 19th, and close to it I was met by a deputation from Lhasa. Here were signs of negotiations at last. I said I would have a full interview at three that afternoon, but must warn them at once that it would be necessary for me to occupy the jong, and to advance to Lhasa, though I was ready to negotiate on the way. The deputation, which consisted of the Yutok Sha-pÉ, the Ta Lama, the Chief Secretary, and some monks, arrived in my camp shortly before the time appointed. The Yutok Sha-pÉ took the chief place. He was a genial, gentlemanly official of good family and pleasant manners. But it soon became apparent that both he and the Ta Lama were in the hands of the Chief Secretary, the monk official who, from our first meeting at Khamba Jong, had ever been an obstacle in our way. This latter official, acting as spokesman, said they had heard from the Tongsa Penlop that we wished to negotiate at Gyantse, and they had set out to meet us when they heard that we were advancing. They were quite willing to negotiate if we returned to Gyantse, and in that case they would accompany us and make a proper settlement with us there.

I repeated for the fiftieth time that I had waited for more than a year to negotiate; that even at Gyantse I had given them many opportunities; that when I had first arrived there I had announced my desire to negotiate; that after the attack upon me I had still declared my willingness to negotiate up to June 25; that on the intercession of the Tongsa Penlop the Viceroy had extended that term for some days; that even after the capture of the jong I had sent messengers over the country to find them, and waited for another week at Gyantse; but that eventually the patience of the Viceroy had become completely exhausted, and His Excellency had ordered me to advance to Lhasa forthwith, as he had reluctantly become convinced that only there could a settlement be made. We were now advancing to Lhasa. I would be quite ready to negotiate with them on the way, and if the Tibetan troops did not oppose us we would not fight against them; but as our troops had on the previous day been fired at from the jong, we must send our troops in to occupy it. We would, however, allow the delegates to remain unmolested, and would see that their property was not disturbed, and that they themselves were accorded proper marks of respect.

The delegates replied that if we went on to Lhasa there was no chance of a settlement being arrived at; that they had come here with the sincere intention of making friendship with us and securing peace, but if we sent troops into the jong they did not see how they could be friends with us; they were the two biggest men in Tibet next to the Dalai Lama, and it was both against their religion and disgusting to them to have soldiers in the same place where they were staying. I said they must, after all, allow that this could not be half so disgusting to them as having their soldiers firing into my camp at Gyantse, while I was asleep, was to me. They continued one after another wrangling and protesting against our occupying the jong. After listening for an hour to their protests, I asked them if they would now care to hear the terms we intended to ask of them. They replied that they could not discuss any terms till we returned to Gyantse. I said I had no wish now to discuss the terms, but merely desired to know if they wanted to be acquainted with them. They continued to protest that they would discuss nothing here, and it was only after considerable fencing that I got them to admit that they had heard the terms from the Tongsa Penlop.

I then said that I wished them to understand that if we were further opposed on the way to Lhasa, or at Lhasa itself, these terms would be made stricter. I said the British Government had no wish to be on any other than friendly terms with Tibet, that we had no intention of remaining in Lhasa any longer than was required to make a settlement, and as soon as a settlement was made we would leave. But I had the Viceroy’s orders to go to Lhasa, and go there I must. I desired, however, to give them most earnest advice and warning. They were the leading men of Tibet, and upon them lay a great responsibility. I was quite prepared on arrival at Lhasa to live on as friendly and peaceable terms with the people as I had at Khamba Jong, and as I had when I first arrived at Gyantse; to pay for everything, and to respect their religious buildings. It rested with them now to decide whether our stay at Lhasa should be of this peaceable nature and of short duration, and whether the settlement should be of the mild nature we at present contemplated, or whether we should have to resort to force, as we had been compelled to do at Gyantse, to impose severer terms, and to prolong our stay.

The delegates listened attentively while I made this exhortation to them, but, after consulting together, replied that even if we did make a settlement at Lhasa, it would be of no use, for in Tibet everything depended on religion, and by the mere fact of our going to Lhasa we should spoil their religion, as no men of other religions were allowed in Lhasa. I asked them if there were no Mohammedans living in Lhasa, and they replied that there were a few, but they were not allowed to practise their religious rites—a sad admission in view of the toleration which the Buddhist religion in reality enjoins. I added that we would not have gone to Lhasa unless we had been absolutely compelled to by their incivility in not meeting us elsewhere; that personally I had already suffered great inconvenience, and would much prefer not to have the further inconvenience of going to Lhasa; but no other resource was now left to us, and my orders from the Viceroy were final.

The Yutok Sha-pÉ throughout was calm and polite, and at his departure was cordial in his manner. The Ta Lama, though more excited, was not ill-mannered. The Chief Secretary was very much excited throughout, and argumentative and querulous. The whole tone of the delegates showed that they—or, at any rate, the Dalai Lama—had not even yet realized the seriousness of the position. The tone they adopted entirely ignored their serious breaches of international courtesy, and was that of people with a grievance against us and quite ignorant of the fact that we had grievances against them; they were, too, excessively unbusinesslike and impracticable, and I anticipated an infinity of trouble in carrying through a settlement with such men. On the other hand, the disposition and manners of the Yutok Sha-pÉ gave one more confirmation of the impression I had long formed that the laymen of Tibet were by no means inimical, and that but for the opposition of the monks we might be on extremely friendly terms with them.

Under General Macdonald’s well-thought-out arrangements the occupation of the jong was effected without any mishap or loss of life. Captain O’Connor accompanied the delegates back towards the jong, which, however, they did not again enter, but took up their quarters in the village, while their followers and baggage were sent down to them there. I expressed my regret to the Yutok Sha-pÉ that at our first meeting I should have had to put him to such inconvenience. But the occupation of the jong was a military necessity. It was a matter of congratulation that it should have been effected without the loss of life on either side.

The following day the Tibetan delegates held another prolonged interview with me, lasting three and a half hours. They made no further mention of the occupation of the jong, but were very insistent that we should not advance to Lhasa. The Yutok Sha-pÉ was the chief spokesman at first, but during the course of the interview each one repeated separately much the same arguments. They said that in Lhasa there were a great number of monks and many unruly characters, and disturbances might easily arise; to which I replied that I should much regret any such disturbances, and hoped the delegates would do their best to prevent them, for the result could only be the same as the result of the disturbances at Gyantse.

Another argument the delegates used was that, if we went to Lhasa, we should probably find no one there. To this I replied that this would necessitate our waiting until people returned. I reminded them that they lived apart from the rest of the world, and did not understand the customs of international intercourse. To us the fact of their having kept the representative of a great Power waiting for a year to negotiate was a deep insult, which most Powers would resent by making war without giving any further chance for negotiation. But the British Government disliked making war if they could possibly help it. They had therefore commanded me to give the Tibetans one more chance of negotiating, though that chance could only be given at Lhasa itself. Let them make the most of this opportunity.

The delegates replied that they had intended no insult by keeping me waiting a year; it was merely the custom of their country to keep out strangers. “But, anyhow,” they said, “let us forget the past; let us be practical, and look only at the present. Here we are, the leading men in Tibet, ready to negotiate at Gyantse, and make a settlement which will last for a century.”

I replied to the Yutok Sha-pÉ that I had no doubt that if a sensible man like himself had been sent to me sooner, we might have made up a satisfactory settlement long ago, and there would have been no necessity for us to go through all this inconvenience of advancing through an inhospitable country to Lhasa; but after the many chances which had been given them of negotiating at Gyantse, they could hardly consider it reasonable that we should give them any more. Moreover, the Viceroy had formed the opinion, from the fact of the Ta Lama having told me at Gyantse that he had no authority to evacuate the jong without referring to Lhasa, and from the fact of his running away, that he had not sufficient power to make a settlement. For all these reasons we were compelled to go to Lhasa, though I was ready to negotiate on the way, and we would return directly a settlement was made.

They then made further reference to their religion being spoilt if we went to Lhasa, and I asked them to make more clear to me in what way precisely their religion would be spoilt. I said we were not intolerant of other religions, as they themselves were. They had yesterday told me that, though there were some Mohammedans in Lhasa, yet they were not allowed to practise their religious rites. We had no such feelings towards other religions. On the contrary, we allowed the followers of each to practise their religious observances as they liked.

The delegates said that they were not so intolerant to the Mohammedans: they merely forbade building mosques, and prevented any new Mohammedans coming into their country. I said that at any rate some were there, and apparently they had not spoilt the religion of the Tibetans. They replied that the ancestors of these had come many, many years ago, and the Tibetans had become accustomed to them; to which my rejoinder was that if Mohammedans had lived among them practising their religious rites for all these years—apparently for centuries—without spoiling the religion of Tibet, I could not believe that the fact of our going to Lhasa for a few weeks only could have any permanent ill-effect on the religion of Tibet.

They then remarked that if we now went to Lhasa all the other nations would want to go there, and see the sights, and establish agents there. I told them I had not the smallest wish to see the sights of Lhasa. I had already travelled in many different lands, and seen finer sights than they could show me at Lhasa; and as to stationing an agent there, we had no such intention. Could they tell me if any other nation wished to? They replied that the Russians would be wanting to send an agent to Lhasa. I told them they need not be in any fear on that score, for the Russian Government had assured our Government that they had no intention of sending an agent to Tibet. I added that, though we had no intention of establishing a political agent at Lhasa, we desired to open a trade-mart at Gyantse on the same conditions as the trade-mart at Yatung had been opened—that is, with the right to send a British officer there to superintend the trade.

The delegates would not, however, be led into a discussion of the terms. They said they could only discuss the terms at Gyantse, and the conversation drifted back into the old lines of withdrawing to Gyantse. Each of the four members of the delegation repeated in turn the same arguments for withdrawing to Gyantse, and I gave to each in turn my reasons for advancing to Lhasa. I said I feared they must think me extremely obstinate, and I felt sure that, if they had been deputed by their Government earlier in the day, I should have been able to agree to their wishes, and we could have soon come to an agreement. As matters stood at present, I could do nothing but obey the orders of the Viceroy. They asked if I could not stop here, represent to His Excellency what they had said, and await further instructions. I replied that the Viceroy only issued his orders after very careful deliberation, but once they were issued, he never revoked them.

I endeavoured throughout the interview to avoid being drawn into petty wrangling. Even more important than the securing of a paper convention, which might or might not, be of value, was, I stated to Government at the time, the placing of our personal relations with the officials of Tibet upon a good footing from the start. I had to be severe with them at Gyantse, because they would not pay proper respect to me; but at each interview since they had come well before the appointed time, they were thoroughly respectful throughout, and I was able to treat them with the politeness I preferred to show them when they made this possible. I trusted that, after I had suffered two interviews, one of three and a quarter hours and another of three and a half hours, they would feel that I was at any rate accessible, and that they would have no compunction in coming to see me whenever they felt inclined. Until, however, they received further orders from Lhasa, there was nothing more to be said on either side.

We had halted a day at Nagartse to collect supplies, of which we were short, and some question arose whether, as we had the negotiators here, it would not be better to stop and negotiate. By being too uncompromising we might be simply stiffening them up to renewed fighting, and in the desolate country in which we found ourselves, with practically no supplies and with a lofty pass behind us, we might find ourselves in a very awkward predicament. All this had certainly to be taken into consideration. Still, we should be sure to find supplies in the Lhasa Valley, unless the Tibetans resorted to the extreme course of destroying or carrying off all their foodstuffs; and as the Tibetans were now evidently on the run, I never had any real doubt that we should keep them on the run, and follow them clean through, right up to Lhasa.

On the 21st we found that the delegates had decamped in the night. Perhaps, after all, I had made a mistake, and allowed these very coy birds to escape just as they had come into my hand. On the whole I thought not. I believed others would soon come in. So I marched very contentedly along the shores of one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen—the Yamdok Tso. It was 14,350 feet above sea-level. In shape it was like a rough ring, surrounding what is practically an island; and in colour it varied to every shade of violet and turquoise blue and green. At times it would be the blue of heaven, reflecting the intense Tibetan sky. Then, as some cloud passed over it, or as, marching along, we beheld it at some different angle, it would flash back rays of the deep greeny-blue of a turquoise. Anon it would show out in various shades of richest violet. Often, when overhead all was black with heavy rain-clouds, we would see a streak of brilliant light and colour flashing from the far horizon of the lake; while beyond it and beyond the bordering mountains, each receding range of which was of one more beautiful shade of purple than the last, rose once more the mighty axial range of the Himalayas, at that great distance not harsh in their whity coldness, but softly tinted with a delicate blue, and shading away into the exquisite azure of the sky. What caused the marvellous colouring of this lake, which even the Tibetans call the Turquoise Lake, we could none of us say. Perhaps it was its depth, perhaps it was its saline character, or some chemical component of its water. But whatever the main cause, one cause at least must have been the intense blue of the Tibetan sky at these great altitudes, so deep and so translucent that even the sky of Greece and Italy would pale beside it.

This latter theory is what Lord Rayleigh would adopt. In a lecture which he delivered this year at the Royal Institution on the causes of the coloration of water, he gave his conclusion, from careful observations and tests, that the cause of the blueness of, say, the Mediterranean Sea was the Mediterranean sky, which was exactly the theory we had thought must apply to this Tibetan lake.

Marching along by this lake we had much rain, turning into snow at night. Pete Jong, a picturesque little fort close to the shore, was reached on the 22nd, where, as at Nagartse, a company of infantry and a few mounted infantry were left to keep up the line of communications. From here the mounted infantry, reconnoitring ahead, reported the remnants of the Kham force to be retreating in a disorganized condition, and looting the country en route.

Another of the Tibetan stone walls, running from the waters of the lake far up the mountain-side, was found deserted on the next day, and that same day we crossed the last pass on the way to Lhasa, the Kamba-la, 15,400 feet. The ascent was steep, but we all eagerly clambered up in the faint hope of getting some distant glimpse of Lhasa, or at any rate of the mighty Brahmaputra River, which still lay in between us and the sacred city. The enthusiastic Perceval Landon was quite certain that through some chink he saw the glitter of a gilded cupola, and refused to be convinced by the prosaic survey officers that whatever it might be it at any rate was not the roof of the Potala.

But if we were not yet to catch a sight of our goal we had many other exciting incidents on that day. We descended rapidly from the pass by a very steep path to a camp on the banks of the great Brahmaputra itself, called here the Sanpo, and presumed to be identical—though this is a great geographical problem yet to be solved—with the Brahmaputra of India. It was here 11,550 above sea-level, and spread out in many channels, but farther down, where it was narrowed into a single channel, it was 140 yards wide and flowing with a strong, swift current. The valley was wide and well cultivated with wheat and barley, and several cultivated valleys ran into it. In these valleys were plenty of trees, poplars and willows, but the hillsides were not wooded, as we had hoped.

General Macdonald sent on his mounted infantry to seize the Chaksam Ferry, and they succeeded in capturing the two large ferry-boats, and occupied Chaksam for the night. This was a great stroke, as if the Tibetans had kept the boats on the other side of the river our difficulties in surmounting this most serious obstacle would have been immensely increased.

Another great event on this day was the receipt of what was, I think, the first written communication which any British official had received from a Tibetan official since the time of Warren Hastings. It was addressed to “The all-wise Sahib sent by the English Government to settle affairs, from the Tibetan National Assembly.” It ran as follows:

"Recently the Tongsa Penlop sent a letter to the Dalai Lama, and also communicated with the two delegates, but hitherto a treaty has not been effected. The Sahibs say that they intend to come to Lhasa and to see the Dalai Lama and to negotiate there, and that they will there establish friendship. The letter which contains the nine terms of the Convention has arrived here. This is a matter of great importance, and therefore the Chigyab Kenpo (Lord Chamberlain) has been sent to Chisul. Now, our Tibetan religion is very precious, so our Regent, officials, monks, and laymen have consulted together. Formerly we made a National Convention that none was to enter the country. So now, even if the Sahibs should come to Lhasa and meet the Dalai Lama, this will not advantage the cause of friendship. Should a fresh cause of dispute arise, we greatly fear that a disturbance, contrary to the interests of friendship, may follow. So we beg of the Sahibs both now and in the future to give the matter their earnest consideration, and if they will negotiate with the delegates who are now here all will be well. Please consider well all that has been said, and do not press forward hastily to Lhasa.

“Dated the Wood Dragon year.”

This letter was brought by a messenger, who said that the new delegates were then at Chisul, on the opposite bank of the river. And now again arose the question whether we should make use of this new chance of negotiating or should still press on to Lhasa. We had in front of us the serious obstacle formed by the Brahmaputra River, which, if we crossed it, would be a nasty impediment to have in our rear. On the other hand, we had negotiators here with more ample credentials than any had had before, and we had the National Assembly itself in communication with us. The fear of our going to Lhasa might have more effect than our actual presence in the place. The mere dread of our advance might make them agree to our terms, while if we actually advanced to their sacred city we might find that the most determined defence had been reserved for the capital; and that we had put our heads into a hornets’ nest, and irritated 20,000 monks into buzzing about our ears. This was an eventuality on which I had to count, and of which I had been warned by speeches by responsible men in England which did little to encourage me in my task. An ex-Prime Minister, Lord Rosebery, had said in February in the House of Lords that this Mission bore “in its circumstances so melancholy a resemblance to that first war in Afghanistan, which we conducted under the late Lord Lytton, that it must give all those whose minds and memories recurred to the past serious grounds of misgivings when they saw once more His Majesty’s Government proceeding in the same direction to an end which they could not see themselves.” A future Prime Minister, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, in pressing for the recall of the Mission, had said in the House of Commons in April that “we had had experience before, and the associations connected with the name of Cavagnari did not seem to invite us to undertake a similar policy again.”

If we pressed on to Lhasa, into this swarm of fanatically hostile monks, we might all share the fate of Cavagnari, while if we simply held up the threat of advancing we might get the treaty through. It was an alternative which I had to consider; but I felt fairly sure by now that I had rightly taken the measure of the Tibetans, so I sent a verbal intimation by the messenger that I would be glad to receive the delegates, but that I could not consent to defer my advance to Lhasa. And, in reply to the letter of the National Assembly, I wrote to the Dalai Lama that more than a year ago I had arrived at Khamba Jong, which he had approved as a meeting-place for the negotiations, but that the appointed delegates refused to negotiate. I had advanced to Gyantse, but still no negotiators had arrived, and instead, I was treacherously attacked at night. Now the Viceroy had ordered me to advance to Lhasa to negotiate there. Those orders I had to obey, but I had no desire to create disturbances in Lhasa or interfere with the religion of the country, and as soon as I had obtained his seal to the Convention I had been instructed to negotiate, I would retire from Lhasa. No religious places which were not occupied by Tibetan soldiers would be occupied by British soldiers; our soldiers would not fire if no opposition was offered to them; and all supplies taken from the peasants would be paid for. But if opposition were offered, our troops would be compelled to commence military operations, as they did at Gyantse, and the terms of the settlement would be increased in severity.

This letter I despatched on the 25th, and the same day we marched six miles down the banks of the Brahmaputra River, to Chaksam Ferry. For the purpose of crossing this river we had brought with us from India four collapsible Berthon boats, and with these and the local ferry-boats seven companies of infantry and one company of mounted infantry were crossed over by nightfall.

But a sad accident occurred: one of the boats capsized in the rushing, eddying current, and Major Bretherton, the Chief Supply and Transport Officer, and two Gurkhas were drowned. There was no more capable and energetic officer in the Force. Our success depended much less on fighting than on supply and transport arrangements, and these had been wellnigh perfect. Major Bretherton, in the Kashmir, Gilgit, Chitral, and North-West frontiers, had almost unrivalled experience of rough transport work, and his driving power, his readiness, quickness, far-sightedness, and inexhaustible buoyancy and cheerfulness were of inestimable value in carrying through such an enterprise as that which we had now so nearly completed. It was hard that young Gurdon should lose his life just at the beginning of so promising a career; it seemed almost more cruel that a man who had achieved so much, and who was just within sight of the goal for which he had worked longer and harder than any one of us, should have been swept away in an instant and have never seen his reward. It is in reflecting on cases such as these that one begins to wonder whether our touching trustfulness in the mercy of Providence is altogether justified.

We had to halt some days now, while the troops and baggage were being transported across the river, and on the 27th I had a three hours’ interview with this new deputation from Lhasa, which consisted of the Dalai Lama’s Chamberlain, a man of some capacity, with an air of great consequence, who was evidently regarded with much respect; the Ta Lama, the somewhat effete, but genial, old gentleman who had met me at Gyantse; and a Secretary of the Council, a brisk, cheery gentleman, with an ever-ready smile, and very different from the other Secretary who had met us at Khamba Jong, Gyantse, and Nagartse.

They brought with them a letter from the Dalai Lama, and repeated the old request that we should not go to Lhasa. The only new argument they used was that our going to Lhasa would so spoil their religion that the Dalai Lama might die. I told them that I should much regret that our arrival in Lhasa should have any such melancholy result, but I had studied their religion, and could hardly believe it was so weak that it would not stand our presence in Lhasa for a few weeks. The delegates repeatedly urged me to realize the personal inconvenience our presence in Lhasa would be to the Dalai Lama. The Ta Lama explained that the Chamberlain was in constant personal attendance on the Dalai Lama, and enjoyed his fullest confidence, and for that reason had been specially deputed by the Dalai Lama. I was given to understand that this was a very unusual favour, and I was earnestly begged to accede to the Dalai Lama’s personal wishes; the delegates further told me that if I did not accede to them they would themselves be severely punished by the Dalai Lama.

In reply I expressed my inability to accede to the Dalai Lama’s wishes, but trusted they would ask His Holiness to excuse my insistence. They had spoken of the inconvenience our presence in Lhasa would cause the Dalai Lama, but His Holiness would, I felt sure, realize the inconvenience we had already suffered through the delay in the arrival of negotiators. I could assure them that the Viceroy had every desire to consult the feelings of the Dalai Lama, and it was because we knew that His Holiness was averse to the presence of strangers in Lhasa that His Excellency had not sent me there in the first instance, though the capital of a country was the natural and usual place in which to conduct negotiations. It was only after we had found it impossible to effect a settlement anywhere else that I had been ordered to proceed to Lhasa.

I added that after an Envoy had been kept waiting for a year, and had been attacked and shot at for two months, most rulers would have refused to allow their representative to negotiate till the capital had been captured. We were not, however, advancing with that object. They could see that here we were paying for all supplies we took, and the monastery immediately outside the camp was left unmolested. I was prepared to show like consideration on our arrival at Lhasa if we were unopposed, and I trusted His Holiness would appreciate this concession.

The delegates assured me again that the Dalai Lama was really anxious to make a settlement, that they had come in a peaceful manner, and had let the army they had with them a few days ago disperse to their homes. I had little difficulty in believing these assertions, for we had received accounts that the Tibetan army had scattered in a panic, the Kham levies looting in all directions. A peaceful settlement was undoubtedly, therefore, the sincere desire of the Dalai Lama, though turbulent monks might yet create a disturbance in Lhasa. As to the delegates being punished if we advanced to Lhasa, I said that I myself would be punished if we did not.

A discussion afterwards followed on the question of other foreigners coming to Tibet if we were allowed there. I told them it was the usual custom for neighbouring countries to have representatives at each other’s capital, and we would probably have avoided all the misunderstandings which led to the present troubles if we had had a representative at Lhasa and they had had one in Calcutta. We knew, however, their aversion to keeping a British agent at Lhasa; we were not, therefore, pressing the point, and were only insisting upon having trade agents at Gyantse and other marts. There would, however, in any case, have been no reason for other foreigners establishing an agent at Lhasa. Russia had declared that she had no intention of sending an agent to Tibet. The delegates replied that our establishing an agent even at Gyantse would be against their custom, and spoil their religion. I said that I understood, then, that they were not prepared even now to agree to our terms, and they informed me that they were only authorized to discuss them, and they would have to be considered in the National Assembly. “You expect me, then,” I said, “to remain out here in a half-desert place discussing terms. I have already remained for months together in desert places in Tibet, and can now negotiate in no other place than Lhasa.” I begged the Chamberlain as a practical man to accept this as inevitable, and to turn his mind now to insuring that there should be no more useless bloodshed on the way, and that we should be enabled by the speedy conclusion of the settlement to leave Lhasa at an early date.

Before closing the interview, I had some conversation with the delegates on the general question of intercourse between Tibet and India. I said that we should be very glad if they would more frequently accept the hospitality we were always ready to offer them in India. They would find that in India they could travel wherever they liked, and would everywhere be protected and welcomed. They would see, too, that though we were Christians we not only tolerated but protected Buddhists, Hindus, and Mohammedans. We even spent large sums of money in preserving ancient buildings of other religions. In this camp was an officer, Colonel Waddell, who had spent his life in studying the Buddhist religion, and while reading the ancient books had discovered instructions indicating exactly where the birthplace of Buddha could be found. The British Government had spent a considerable amount of money in clearing away forests, and the town in which Buddha was born was actually discovered. We did not believe that every religion except our own was wrong. On the contrary, we believed that the same God whom we all worshipped could be approached by many different roads, and we were ready to respect those who were travelling to the same destination, though by a different road to that which we ourselves were following.

The delegates expressed their satisfaction that we should have studied their religion, but the conversation soon returned to the more pressing question of our advance to Lhasa. The Chamberlain was the most sensible, practical man we had so far met, and I was specially polite to him, as in the event of the flight or murder of the Dalai Lama he might be a possible Regent. But even he had evidently very little power, and while he was nervous throughout the interview, was clearly more nervous of his own people than of us.

After the interview had lasted three and a half hours, I asked them to report my words to the Dalai Lama, and I told them that I should be very glad to see them again whenever they liked, either to discuss further official business, or, putting official matters aside, to pay me a friendly private visit. They took one of my Tibetan Munshis with them, and gave him a special present of silk for Captain O’Connor, and also told the Munshi that the man who had brought all this trouble on Tibet was the Tung-yig-Chembo (the Chief Secretary), who was at Khamba Jong, Gyantse, and Nagartse, but who was not present at this interview. It was satisfactory to find that two such influential men as the Chamberlain and the Ta Lama had discovered this, and I thought that if the man was now cast aside, our chance of getting on terms of friendship with high Tibetan officials would be vastly increased.

I now accepted the silk which the Dalai Lama had sent me through the Tongsa Penlop, but which I had at the time refused to accept unless accompanied by a letter or handed to me by one of the Dalai Lama’s own officials. The present was mentioned in the Dalai Lama’s letter to me, and the Chamberlain also told me the Dalai Lama begged me to accept it. I could therefore accept it without loss of dignity. I sent him in return a large and very handsome silver-gilt bowl.

This letter was certainly the first letter which any Dalai Lama had written to an Englishman, and was addressed “To the Sahib sent by the English Government to settle affairs,” and ran as follows:

"In a letter recently received by the Sha-pÉ from the Tongsa Penlop he says that the establishment of friendship has now become difficult, as the English officers with their escort say that they are about to proceed to Lhasa to make a treaty and to meet the Dalai Lama. With this communication the nine terms of the Convention were also received. The National Assembly has been consulted regarding this matter, and as it has decided for friendship it has sent a separate communication to the British. I too, in accordance with the religious customs of Tibet, am at present in retreat, and it would be a difficult matter for me to meet the Sahibs. I have sent two representatives on ahead to negotiate regarding friendship, and also the Chikyab Kenpo, who lives always near me. It will be well if matters are discussed with my delegates there for the sake of peace. But it is not well for the establishment of an agreement between the two countries if you come to Lhasa contrary to my wishes. Please consider this well. I send a scarf and have already sent some silks separately.

“Dated the 8th day of the 6th month, Wood Dragon year.”

To this letter I replied that I was sure he would recognize the inconvenience it would be to me now that I had left Gyantse to negotiate at any other place than Lhasa itself, but that I would disturb His Holiness as little as possible in his religious seclusion.

The Dalai Lama’s Chamberlain returned to Lhasa immediately, but on the 29th the Ta Lama, accompanied by the same Secretary of Council who was present at the interview of July 27, again came to visit me. He explained that the Chamberlain had returned to Lhasa to report personally to the Dalai Lama the result of his interview with me, and he hoped that I would wait here till the reply of the Dalai Lama should reach me. I informed him that I could not wait here longer than the 31st, that it was not our custom to act in a dilatory manner, and that I was indeed daily expecting a telegram from the Viceroy asking me for an explanation of the delay which had already occurred.

During the interview, which lasted three hours, the conversation was of a discursive nature, as the Ta Lama clearly had no power even to discuss anything else than our advance to Lhasa. I gathered that what he and the other delegates, and probably also the Dalai Lama himself, feared was the turbulence of the war party among the monks of the three great monasteries, leading to some futile collision with our troops which would not have the slightest effect in stopping us, but which would merely irritate us into sacking Lhasa. Probably what the Dalai Lama’s party also feared was that these same turbulent monks might turn upon the Dalai Lama himself and make away with him.

I told the Ta Lama that I considered it a great pity that he and the other able councillors who had recently met me had not come to Khamba Jong, for the Secretary of Council who had met Mr. White and me there had not comported himself in at all a conciliatory manner; he had, in fact, irritated us considerably, and made a peaceful settlement impossible. This surprised me the more because the Chinese Government had informed the Viceroy that the Dalai Lama had agreed to Khamba Jong as the meeting-place where negotiations should take place.

The Ta Lama replied that what the Dalai Lama meant was the Khamba boundary, not Khamba Jong. I told him that this was hardly intelligible, as the Khamba boundary was along the top of mountains. We clearly could not sit on the top of a mountain and negotiate: we had to meet on either the one side or the other, and as the Amban and Tibetan officials had come to India on the last occasion, it was natural that we should expect to meet in Tibet on this. I added that when the Chinese and Tibetan officials came to India we treated them as our guests, as Mr. White, who was present at Darjiling, could testify; we provided houses, food, and transport for them; allowed them to have their own soldiers as escort; and took them down to Calcutta to visit His Excellency the Viceroy. On the other hand, when Mr. White and I arrived at Khamba Jong last year we were not even allowed to buy supplies.

The Ta Lama said that what was meant by the Khamba boundary was not the top of the mountains, but the wall at Giagong. He did not deny that Tibetan officials had been treated as guests at Darjiling, but he said we did not realize the great expense the Tibetan Government had incurred in transporting them to the Indian frontier. I then asked the Ta Lama what reason they had for originally starting this trouble, which after all originated in their invasion of Sikkim in 1886. Why did they send troops into the territory of a British feudatory State? We had lived for so many years without troubling one another: why did they start a trouble which had lasted up to the present time?

He replied that they considered Sikkim to be a feudatory of Tibet, and the Dalai Lama was accustomed at that time to send orders to the Sikkim chief. I said that they must surely have been aware of the treaty which had been concluded more than twenty years previous to the Tibetan invasion of Sikkim, between Sikkim and the British Government, by which the former acknowledged the suzerainty of the latter. If the Tibetans had had any objection, the proper course would have been to make representations at the time, and not twenty years after to send troops into Sikkim.

As regards the treaty we now wished to make with them, how would the negotiations be conducted? I asked, and who had the final authority in the State? The Ta Lama said that Councillors and secretaries and representatives of the National Assembly would meet me and discuss the terms. The final authority was the National Assembly, which was composed of representatives from all over Tibet, but chiefly from the three great monasteries at Lhasa. Both monks and laymen attended as well as many officials, but the Councillors (Sha-pÉs) were not included in it, and the Dalai Lama had no representative there.

I told the Ta Lama that this seemed rather extraordinary, for the Councillors were presumably the most able men in the State, and yet their counsels were liable to be overridden by the decision of a body of irresponsible and less capable men. “Supposing,” I said, “that the Dalai Lama and the Councillors wished to agree to the terms I was asking and the National Assembly declined to agree, whose views would be adopted?” The Ta Lama said that the Dalai Lama and the Councillors never disagreed with the National Assembly, for the decision of the latter was final. I said this made matters very difficult for me; for I negotiated with the Councillors as being the leading men in the State, and yet they could not even enter the National Assembly to report what I had said to them. The Ta Lama said the custom was for the Councillors to send one of the secretaries to present their views to the National Assembly. I asked who presided, what was the number of representatives, and whether the decision was arrived at by votes. He said no one presided, that there were about 500 representatives, and that they arrived at a decision by discussing till they were all of one mind.

I remarked that in these circumstances the negotiations promised to last a considerable time. Did he think they would be concluded in a year? He said a good deal depended upon how we proposed to set about negotiating. If we took each point separately, and had it discussed in the National Assembly till agreed to, the settlement might be made fairly quickly; but if we gave the whole treaty in a lump, and said this and nothing less must be agreed to, he did not think a settlement would ever be made.

I told the Ta Lama that it was a matter of indifference to the British Government how long the negotiations lasted, for we should expect the Tibetan Government to pay for our expenses from the date of the attack on the Mission at Gyantse till the date of the conclusion of the treaty. The Ta Lama urged that we should not be hard on the Tibetans by demanding an indemnity, for if we did we could never be friends. I answered that we would not have demanded an indemnity if they had been reasonable and had negotiated at Khamba Jong or Gyantse, but as they had chosen to fight, and had been worsted, they must take the consequences of their own actions.

The Ta Lama then dwelt upon the habit of the Tibetans to take plenty of time in making decisions. They liked to think well before taking action, and could not stand being hurried. I informed him that we also tried to think well before taking action, but we thought quickly and acted at once, so as to get on without delay from one thing to another. The lives of men were short, and we wished to get through as much as possible in the little time we were here. The Ta Lama said that their time was taken up with the study of religion, which did not admit of hurry. During this latter part of the discussion the Ta Lama and the Secretary laughed heartily, then the former, after asking leave to depart, repeated, as I was shaking hands with him, another appeal to me not to go to Lhasa.

On the same day as I was having this interview I also received from the Chinese Resident a letter, in which he expressed sympathy with me in the trials of my long journey, and said that the Tibetans were “dull, unlettered men, obstinately averse to receiving advice,” and that he was truly ashamed at the state of affairs. He said he was sending me the Chief of the Military Secretariat to acquaint me with the condition of affairs. He had impressed on the Dalai Lama that the Tibetans were on no account to treat me unceremoniously, but he warned me that these Tibetans were “cunning and insincere to a degree, and that it was necessary to obtain guarantees from them before a settlement of anything could be made.”

On July 31 all the troops, except a small garrison to guard the ferry, having crossed the river, we set out again towards Lhasa. As I was passing Chisul the Ta Lama asked me to stay for a short time to talk to him. He said he was much surprised at our advancing, as he had understood from me that we wished to make a settlement and be on friendly terms, and, if we advanced, there might be disturbances. I reminded him that I had always said we would advance, and remarked that, if there were disturbances, the responsibility would rest upon the Tibetan Government, for I had informed him many times, and had written to both the Amban and the Dalai Lama to say that we would not commence fighting, and our troops had orders not to fire unless they were fired upon.

The Ta Lama then begged me to stay till the Chamberlain returned with the reply from the Dalai Lama. His Holiness would not at all like our advancing without his permission, but if we waited for his reply, we might find that he was willing for us to advance, and he would give orders to the Tibetan soldiers to allow us to pass. I replied that we had already waited nearly a week at Chaksam Ferry, that there had been plenty of time to issue such orders if there was any intention to issue them, and that, in any case, whatever the Dalai Lama’s reply was, I should have to advance to Lhasa.

The Ta Lama then tried to persuade me to advance with only a small following; he said that my entering Lhasa with a large army would alarm the Tibetans, and make the Dalai Lama think that our intentions were not really friendly. I recalled to his remembrance that only a few minutes before he had spoken of the possibility of disturbances. It was to protect ourselves in case of disturbances, and to guard ourselves against such another attack as that which was made upon me at Gyantse in May, that we were taking a sufficient force to Lhasa.

The Ta Lama begged me not to be always harping upon what had occurred at Gyantse. Let all that be forgotten, he said. The Tibetans were now really anxious to make a settlement, and he would give me a promise in writing that no harm would befall us if I went to Lhasa with only a small following. I told him the Tibetans already had a promise in writing from me in my letter to the Dalai Lama that we would not fight unless opposed, and if, with that in their hands, they allowed disturbances to occur, I should presume they were not anxious for a settlement. I required no written promise from them not to harm us, but relied upon their sense of self-interest not to bring on further disturbances.

The Ta Lama, as a final effort, begged me to stay here for a day; and, last of all, as he was shaking hands with me—a ceremony which lasted a quarter of an hour—entreated me not to enter Lhasa city. I told him that I had the highest admiration for his eloquence and power of persuasion, and would have great satisfaction in telling the Dalai Lama that he really had done his utmost to delay us. I, of course, realized the position in which he stood, and that it was his business by every means in his power to prevent us reaching Lhasa. At the same time, I was sure, I said, that a man of his sense knew in the bottom of his heart that the Tibetans were extremely fortunate in having been able to secure our peaceful entry to Lhasa, and prevented the capture of the city by force of arms. We had promised not to occupy Lhasa if we were not further opposed, and with that promise they must be content.

The Ta Lama, though excessively urgent towards the close of the interview, was perfectly polite throughout. But so extraordinarily impracticable are these Tibetans that he evidently thought that, because I had assured him at previous interviews that we wished to make a friendly settlement, we were therefore committing a sort of breach of faith in now advancing to Lhasa. I had never ceased to assure him that we did intend to advance, but now that we actually were advancing he regarded it as a grievance.

For the next two days we marched steadily on towards Lhasa, expecting at each corner we turned to catch sight of the Potala in the distance, or at least to hear from the reconnoitring parties of mounted infantry that they had seen its gilded roofs. On August 2, at our last camp, a dozen miles only from Lhasa, which now really could be seen in the distance, I received the final deputation, which had come to make the last great effort to induce us to stop. It consisted of the old Ta Lama, the General who had met Mr. White and me at Khamba Jong, and had since been promoted to the post of Councillor, and known as the Tsarong Sha-pÉ, the Chinese official deputed by the Resident, the Abbot in private attendance on the Dalai Lama, a Secretary of Council, and the Abbots of the three great Lhasa monasteries. They repeated the usual requests that we should not go to Lhasa. I reiterated my usual statements that we must go there. They said that if we would remain where we were they would supply us with everything—of course, on payment. The Dalai Lama’s private Abbot made a special appeal on behalf of the religion of Tibet. I told him I was particularly interested in hearing his views on religion, but I trusted he would not object to my reminding him that, while he was an eminent authority on religion, he had little experience of politics. In political life, when a country repudiated a treaty, declined to negotiate a new one, and attacked the Envoy who was sent for that purpose, it was considered that that country had committed three very serious offences, any one of which would be justification for the capture of the capital of the offending country. In the present case, out of consideration for the special sanctity of the city, we were prepared, if we encountered no opposition, to abstain from capturing Lhasa, and I trusted the Abbot would appreciate the consideration. Perhaps if he had himself been fired on continually for two months he would not have been equally moderate. The Abbot laughed, but remarked that they also had had to suffer.

I promised the Abbot to respect the monasteries. If they were occupied by soldiers, and we were fired at from them, as we were from the monasteries round Gyantse, we should, of course, have to attack them. But we did not wish to be obliged to resort to force, and as long as we were not attacked we would prevent our soldiers from entering the monasteries. I would also see that soldiers and followers did not enter the city of Lhasa unless in attendance on an officer. The Tsarong Sha-pÉ asked me to give them a written agreement to this effect. I said I would, provided they would give me a written agreement that traders from the city would not be prevented from coming to sell things to the soldiers in camp, as the Gyantse traders had done. The Tsarong Sha-pÉ said that this would be impossible without the consent of the National Assembly. I told him that I could not in that case give them the written agreement, and I rose at once and closed the Durbar.

The final effort to stop us had failed, and on August 3 we set out on our last march. The eventful day, to which we had so long looked forward, had at length arrived. We marched up a well-cultivated valley two or three miles broad, bounded by steep snow-capped mountains, and with a rapid river as wide as the Thames at Windsor running through it. We passed numbers of little hamlets and groves of poplars and willows. And then we saw, rising steeply on a rocky prominence in the midst of the valley, a fort-like dominating structure, with gilded roofs, which we knew could be none other than the Potala, the palace of the Dalai Lama of Lhasa.

The goal of so many travellers’ ambitions was actually in sight! The goal, to attain which we had endured and risked so much, and for which the best efforts of so many had been concentrated, had now been won. Every obstacle which Nature and man combined could heap in our way had been finally overcome, and the sacred city, hidden so far and deep behind the Himalayan ramparts, and so jealously guarded from strangers, was full before our eyes.

THE GATE OF JHASA.