by John Wilcox
CHAPTER TWELVE
Following his talk with Jenkins, Simon strode away, his mind in a whirl, to find General Macdonald, his titular superior. Of course, he must ride after Alice – but how long had she been gone? He stopped for a moment to think. The first note from her had been delivered, what – five days ago? He could not remember and he had thrown the scrap of paper away long ago. It would take her perhaps two days to reach Lhasa, so she would now have been in Lhasa for, say, three days. Long enough to get into trouble!
He had to follow her, of course, but how? Just he and Jenkins? No, they would need at least someone to interpret for them. So, what – take a company of the Mounted Infantry? No. Too many. It would seem like they were invading Lhasa, and it would take time for such a party to prepare to ride out. Better, perhaps, to take ten good men, plus an interpreter and Jenkins, of course. Even a wounded Jenkins was better than no Jenkins at all. He strode on.
He found Macdonald inevitably checking a list of supplies. Patiently, Simon explained the situation and asked permission to leave the column to ride into Lhasa and find his wife. The General removed his cigarette and regarded Fonthill through the drifting blue smoke.
‘You’re not proposing taking the whole of the Mounted Infantry with you, are you? I couldn’t allow that, you know. They’re too valuable. We might be attacked again.’
‘No. Nothing like that. I thought just ten picked men: enough not to cause a disturbance when we enter Lhasa but enough to fight off any casual trouble we encounter.’
‘Very well. But you’d better check with Younghusband about going into Lhasa ahead of the main column. If you get into trouble, it could upset his diplomatic approach to the lamas.’
‘Very well. I will go now.’
If he was expecting a ‘good luck’, then it did not come. The General replaced the cigarette between his lips and returned to his column of figures. Younghusband, however, was much more animated.
‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Gone off on her own? Whatever did she expect to achieve?’
‘I’m damned if I know. But she is headstrong and brave and won’t shirk danger. I must go after her.’
‘Oh dear.’ Younghusband frowned. ‘I quite see that, old chap, but I was rather planning to enter the capital, er, peacefully, you know. Coming to negotiate, without further fighting and so on.’
‘Well, I don’t intend to inflame relations. That’s why I will take just ten good men from the Mounted Infantry to come with me and we will do our best to enter the capital quietly, without fuss or further fighting.’
‘Hmm. Where will you look to find her?’
‘At this stage, I don’t know. But she has taken the Tibetan youth with her. I seem to remember him saying that he had relations near Lhasa, perhaps there is a clue there. I doubt if she could just march up to the monastery where the government sits and demand entry. To start with, she would not know where to find it.’
‘Quite so. Well …’ Younghusband drummed his fingers on his trestle table. ‘Under the circumstances, I can’t stop you going. But, my dear fellow, I do beseech you to take great care with what you are about. You must not upset the lamas at this late stage and prejudice my negotiations. And, on the other hand, you will be entering a hornet’s nest and, with such little protection, you could be in great danger. You have done magnificent service on this campaign and I would hate to lose you, not the mention the great 257.’
‘352, actually, Commissioner.’
‘Ah yes. I am much better at poetry than numbers.’ He stood and extended his hand. ‘Go off, then, Fonthill, and take whatever will help you. Most of all, take great care. Good luck to you. Bring back your wife.’
Within the hour, Ottley had been reinstated as commander of the Mounted Infantry in Fonthill’s absence, ten troopers including a daffadar had been recruited as escort and Frank O’Connor had supplied a Tibetan who could, of course, speak the language, and who had proved a loyal servant to the column since its entry into his country. With a still-bandaged Jenkins at his side, Simon led his little band out of the camp and along the riverbank towards Lhasa.
He had been careful to ensure that the group did not go out of its way to attract attention. The Mounted Infantry, of course, did not wear uniform, as such, just their poshteens and bound leggings. No riding boots or pennanted lances. On reflection, he had selected only Gurkhas as his escort. Their high-cheeked, Nepalese features and their small stature gave them a Tibetan look and he ordered that their small, distinctive pillbox hats should be left behind. He could not expect them to be taken for Tibetan soldiers, for the Tibetan army contained little cavalry, but at least they would not stand out as sore thumbs in this strange country.
They rode hard, without posting outriders, and made camp well after dark. Fonthill was up well before dawn and fidgeted as breakfast and coffee were prepared.
‘No good ridin’ in on an empty stomach,’ growled Jenkins. ‘Either we’re goin’ to fight the whole of the Tibetan army with just ten men, or we’ll get lost in this big city, ponce around for days and then get arrested for loiterin’ with intent. Either way, it would be good to ’ave somethin’ in our bellies, look you, before we ’it trouble.’
The sun had hardly crept above the jagged peaks before the little party was in the saddle again. Simon judged, by the number of little shacks that had begun to appear stretching away on either side of the road, that they must be nearing Lhasa. What to do when they reached the city? The question had dogged him since they had set out. Where to go? The interpreter they had brought with them had been picked up many weeks ago, near the Indian border. He had never been to Lhasa in his life and had no idea where the great monasteries and seat of government were sited.
He was deep in thought when the daffadar he had sent on ahead came galloping back. The Gurkha reined in amidst a flurry of dust. ‘Firing up ahead, sahib,’ he said.
Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of firing? Did you see anything?’
‘No, sahib. It was some way down the road. I thought it better to come back and report immediately. But I recognise the sound of a Lee Metford and perhaps musket shots. But not many men.’
‘A Lee Metford!’ He turned to Jenkins. ‘Sunil had a Lee Metford.’
‘Yes. And he could use it, too.’
‘Right. Let’s go and take a look. Daffadar, you stay here with the troop and come up when we call.’
Cautiously, Fonthill and Jenkins set their ponies to the trot until they, too, could hear the sound of shots being exchanged, round a bend in the road. They tethered their horses to a bush and crept forward and peered round the edge of a boulder at the roadside.
At first they could see little, except puffs of smoke rising from three separate positions, behind rocks on the left-hand side of the road. Up a slight slope to the right they could see the body of a pony lying in a cluster of stones and someone lying behind it. It was from here that the distinctive crack of the British Lee Metford came.
Jenkins squinted his eyes to focus. ‘I reckon that’s old Sunshine,’ he muttered.
‘Damn!’ exclaimed Fonthill. ‘I’ve left my binoculars tied to the saddle.’
‘Don’t need ’em. That’s the lad all right. And I’d say ’e’s in a spot of trouble.’
‘God! Can you see any sign of Alice?’
‘No. I think ’e’s on ’is own.’
‘Right. We’ll go back and bring up the troop and ride down whoever is firing at him. Come on.’
Within minutes, they had rejoined the troop. Fonthill raised his voice and explained the situation. ‘We will advance at the trot and, at my command, we will charge at the men on the left of the road who are firing. They could be Khampas, so use your kukris. Right. To the front, trot.’
At the bend, Simon stood in the stirrups and drew his sabre. ‘Troop will charge!’ he shouted. The thirteen riders swept round the bend and thundered down the road. As they neared, Fonthill could see that it was indeed three Khampas who had taken shelter behind
rocks on the left and were firing at the lone figure up the hillside.
On seeing the riders, however, the three immediately turned and fled, dodging between the rocks, their distinctive long hair flowing behind them. They reached a point where they had left their own ponies and, throwing themselves into the saddle, they set off down the road towards Lhasa.
Fonthill turned his head and shouted. ‘Daffadar. Ride down those men and kill them. Do not enter the city, but return here.’
‘Sahib!’
The troop swept past Simon and Jenkins, their kukris raised and their eyes gleaming. Even the interpreter drummed his heels into his pony’s sides bringing up the rear but as intent on catching the fleeing Khampas as the soldiers.
Fonthill reined in, cupped his hands and shouted up the hillside. ‘Sunil. Is that you?’
A thin voice replied. ‘Yes, sahib. I am very glad you come.’
‘I bet you are, lad,’ shouted Jenkins. ‘Are you wounded?’
‘No bach, but I am very tired.’
Simon threw himself off the saddle, threw the reins to Jenkins and shouted, ‘Stay there. I am coming up.’
Within seconds he was crouching beside the boy, who attempted to stand beside his stricken horse, but his trembling legs would not let him. Fonthill put his arm around Sunil’s shoulders and held him close. ‘You are all right now. Where is Alice?’
The boy wiped his brow with a dirty finger, further smearing cordite across his face. ‘She all right, I think. When I last see her.’
‘When was that and where?’
‘About eight or nine hours ago, I think. She in jail in Lhasa.’
Simon’s eyes widened. ‘In jail! But thank God she’s still alive. Now, see if you can stand and we will walk down and join Jenkins. I don’t want him scrambling up here. He has been wounded.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘He can still fight, so don’t worry. Save your breath until you get down there. I presume your pony is dead?’
‘Oh yes. Khampas kill him.’
‘Right, tell me your story when we get down. We will see if dear old 352 can brew some tea while you tell your story and we wait for the troop to return. By the look of the Khampas’ old nags, I would say that they would have caught up with them by now.’
‘Yes, good. They bad men.’
Slowly, Sunil related how he and Alice had found his uncle, of the old man’s betrayal of them and of how he had been able to find Alice, cut her down and throw her the gun. Then, as instructed, he had run back to find his pony, mounted it without delay and ridden through the outskirts of Lhasa seeking the main road back towards the river. Unfortunately, however, in the darkness he had become lost and shortly before dawn he had ridden past a Khampas guard post on the edge of the city. They had glimpsed his rifle and shouted at him to stop. He had galloped away and somehow had stumbled on the main road ahead. But, dog-tired, just as dawn was breaking, he had pulled his mount off the road a little way up the hillside, tethered his pony where he hoped she could not be seen from the road and lay down to sleep awhile before continuing his journey. Unfortunately, however, the horse had dragged her tether and been seen by the Khampas, who had mounted their own horses to pursue him. He awoke to find them climbing towards him.
‘There were four of them,’ he said proudly, ‘but I seize my rifle and kill one.’
‘Good lad,’ murmured Jenkins.
‘The others ran back down the hill and began firing at me. They only have muskets but they were Khampas, so they could shoot. They kill my horse so that I could not escape.’ The boy hung his head. ‘I thought I was dead. I was so glad to see you charge in.’ He looked up. ‘I wondered if you would come.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Fonthill. ‘We came all right. Now we must find Alice and free her.’ His voice lowered. ‘You say that she was tied up to a bar in the window. Had they … had they hurt her, do you know?’
The youth’s teeth flashed. ‘A little bit, I think, but she sounded very strong. She tell me what to do, exactly.’
‘Thank God for that. Do you think you can find the jail again?’
‘I think so, now in daylight.’
‘How far are we from the city?’
‘About five miles or less. I wander a bit in the dark.’
‘I’ve made some tea,’ said Jenkins quietly. And he handed out two steaming tin cups.
Sunil grabbed his and began drinking noisily. Then they all looked up as the clatter of hooves on the stony road announced the return of the troop. The daffadar held up a bloodstained kukri.
‘We find them, sahib. They dead now.’
‘Well done, Daffadar. They deserved that. Dismount and see if you can find brushwood and make tea. We can take a break now, I think. I know now what we must do.’
‘Very good, sahib.’
The three sat in conference, while Jenkins – ‘I knew I should ’ave brought three cups’ – shared Simon’s tea.
‘Now, Sunil,’ asked Fonthill, ‘is the prison in the heart of the city?’
‘No. I think it on the outskirts, towards where my uncle lives, er, or used to live.’
‘Good. Did Alice tell you by any chance how many soldiers or guards were stationed in the prison?’
‘Oh yes. She say,’ he thought for a moment, ‘about a dozen, I think.’
Jenkins nodded his head. ‘Just right. We’re not goin’ to be outnumbered for once. How do you want to play this one, bach sir?’
Fonthill sighed. ‘Well, I am afraid there is only one way. If Alice has her handgun with her then I only hope to God that she won’t be forced to use it. Ideally, we should hide somehow, watch the prison and make a plan of attack. But we can’t afford to do that. Anything could be happening to Alice as we speak. So …’ He forced a grin. ‘We ride straight up to the prison gates, knock loudly and ask if they can take any more inmates. In other words, go straight in.’
A great grin spread across Jenkins’s battered face. ‘What could be better? I wonder if they’ve got any beer in there. I could do with a sip – just a sip, mind you. After all, I am a wounded old soldier.’
And they all laughed.
After they had mounted, Fonthill addressed the troop.
‘You will all know what we are doing here,’ he said. ‘My wife is somewhere in Lhasa and we have come to take her back to the column. We have now heard that she is in a prison on this side of the city. I intend to go straight there and free her and then ride out of the city. I do not wish to create a lot of trouble, no firing or fighting if we can help it. It is particularly important that we are allowed to get to the prison without incident.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want the Tibetan government to think that the General Sahib has sent just a troop of Gurkhas into the city alone to take it – although you fellows are quite capable of doing so.’
He waited until the dutiful chuckles had subsided. ‘No. I want us to ride in peacefully, without fuss, as though we are all just going shopping in a bazaar back in Nepal. So carbines will remain in their saddle buckets and you will keep your kukris out of sight. In other words, we don’t fight until we have to. And then, as always, as Gurkhas, we fight hard!’
At this a cheer went up from the ten soldiers. Then they formed into a compact group of five couples, with the interpreter riding behind Simon and Jenkins in the lead, and Sunil sitting at the back of Jenkins, his arm around the Welshman’s waist.
They quickly passed the bodies of the three Khampas, which the Gurkhas had thrown by the side of the road. Fonthill looked enquiringly at the daffadar.
‘Their ponies were old, sahib,’ the Gurkhas said in answer to the unspoken question. ‘Not worth keeping. I let them go.’
‘No, Daffadar, you should have taken them. They will return now to their stables and the Khampas will know that their riders have been killed. They could well now come out in force looking for us.’
‘Ah yes, sahib. I am sorry.’
‘Very well. Ride on ahead and give
us warning if you see danger.’
‘Very good, sahib.’
Fonthill looked at his two companions. ‘You two all right?’ he asked.
Jenkins nodded. ‘The wound in the thigh is throbbin’ a bit but the head, where the great brain operates, like, is fine now, thank you.’
‘Sunil?’
The youth gave his white, wrap-around smile. ‘I am good now that we go and rescue Memsahib,’ he grinned.
They were approaching Nethang, the village from which Alice was taken, when the daffadar came galloping back.
‘Big party of Khampas on horses coming, sahib,’ he reported.
‘Damn! I thought as much. How far away?’
‘Perhaps one-quarter mile.’
Fonthill looked around. ‘I don’t want to fight them now.’ He turned to Sunil. ‘Is there anywhere near where we can get off the road and not be seen?’
‘Yes. Gulley just up here on this side.’ He pointed with this right hand. ‘We hid our ponies when we arrived. They can’t be seen from road.’
‘Good. Lead the way, 352.’
The gulley was tree-fringed and curved away into the hillside and comfortably took the troop.
‘Quiet now,’ ordered Fonthill and he parted the branches of a tree which hung over the entrance. Within three minutes, there was the thunder of hooves and a band of Khampa soldiers, perhaps thirty in number, galloped by, whipping their ponies, their long swords bouncing against the sides of their mounts.
‘Miserable lookin’ lot,’ muttered Jenkins, at Simon’s elbow. ‘I reckon we could ’ave seen ’em off in two volleys.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t want to stir up trouble before we find Alice. Come on, let’s get out of here before they find those bodies and start to look for our tracks.’
The little party trotted on now, bringing puzzled looks from the Tibetan peasants who were beginning to crowd the road. Fonthill looked neither to right nor left but kept his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the troop between the tables that had been set at the roadside to sell sweetmeats, lengths of cloth and a bewildering array of trinkets.
