The Mountain Kingdom. A narrative of adventure

Front matter

THE MOUNTAIN KINGDOM. " Toward the Est, be many iourneyes, men fynden a gret Contree and a gret Kyngdom, that men clepen Mancy : and that is in Ynde the more : and it is the beste Lond, and on of the fairest, that may be in all the World, and the most delectable, and the most plentifous of alle Goodes, that is in the power of man." Sir John Maundeville, Kt. ,-uic.iq sin i|Sno.u|i ioqs 'I131 3ll luouioiu }xou 3iy\ puu 'uciu Xui pojOAOo pt;q j 'ino seai joajoas.i Xui ;ut;jsu; ue uj ,, THE MOUNTAIN KINGDOM A NARRATIVE OF ADVENTURE l:Y D. LAWSON JOHNSTONE LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON Limited §t. gunstan's gonsc Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C. iSSs [All rights reserved] LONDON : FK1NTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, st. John's house, clerkenwell road. PURSUANT TO A LONG-STANDING PROMISE, THIS NARRATIVE IS INSCRIBED TO JULES VERNE, As A SLIGHT MARK OF ESTEEM FROM HIS FRIEND AND WELL-WISHER, THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS. $ art *. EASTWARD HO ! CHAP. pAGE I. An April Morning 3 II. A Momentous Discussion . . . .15 III. Sirikisson Speaks 25 IV. Outward Bound 35 V. Our New Comrade 41 VI. Ten Thousand Feet 50 VII. The Sahib in Danger 59 VIII. Down the Precipice and into Thibet . 69 Sart e. THE CENTRAL WILDS. I. We begin our Journey into the Wilds . 81 II. A Quarrel and an Encounter ... 90 III. Natives and Wolves 102 IV. We pass the Defile in V. Our Misadventure and Eric's News . 121 VI. Down the Mysterious River . . .130 VII. Saved „ . .141 VIII. We Fight, and are Defeated . . .151 $art m. THE LAND OF KISNIA. I. In Prison 167 II. The Dadchierka Caen of Kisnia . . Contents. VIII CHAP. pAGE III. Our Interview with Timrac the King . 190 IV. We are taught by Pellas . . . .201 V. The Festival of the Gods. . . • 212 VI.

We are raised to the Peerage . . 225 VI 1. "Precious Stones in Abundance" . . 237 VIII. Asoka is Surprised 251 IX. A Bolt from the Blue .... 261 X. Dadchierka's Metamorphosis and Asoka's Attack 273 XL The Death of Edwards .... 286 XII. The Poisoned Arrow 296 XIII. The Last of Kisnia 309 XIV. Conclusion 319 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. " In an instant my revolver was out, I had covered my man, and the next moment he fell, shot through the brain "...... Frontispiece. " Man overboard ! " .... To face page 42 The Sahib in danger 58 "The huge mass of granite, after swaying for a few seconds, crashed down upon the spot where I had a moment before stood " 112 " Still on we rush, faster and faster as we are drawn towards the chasm, like a needle towards a magnet" I42 Eric's shot Tg6 " Pellas hastened to demand of his cousin the cause of the encounter" . . . . . . .251 The poisoned arrow ,OJ iart L EASTWARD HO!

Chapter I. An April Morning

My experience in the literary way has been so small that it was only after great persuasion that I was induced to commence this history. Being conscious of my shortcomings, I wished to hand over the task to some one more capable of doing it justice ; and it was not until my friends, the Hon. Eric Trevanion and Mr. Francis Lee, of Nepaul, had used considerable pressure that I gave in to them. They said that as I had been leader it was my duty to give an account of our marvellous adventures to the world, and no one else had any right to do it. So, in the end, I con sented, though it was with much reluctance. Before beginning, however, it may be necessary for me to remind the reader that there is an ancient proverb to the effect that " Truth is stranger than fiction." Otherwise, he or she may be apt to forget that this is a true narrative, and not the creation of B an imaginative novelist's brain.

The incidents I intend to relate, especially in the latter half of this volume (always provided, of course, that I do not throw up the whole thing in disgust by that time) may appear, to say the least of it, strange and un common, as, indeed, they appeared to us ourselves at the time ; but it is known, on the authority of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, " There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Strange things we saw, and strange things we did, as shall be related in their proper places — things of which, in our philosophy, we never at one time even dreamt. But we are wiser now, thanks to the expedition above referred to ; and I hope that my readers, before they finish all that I mean to write, may be in the same condition. Well, making the best of an uncongenial job — for, even at college, I was more at home with a bat or an oar than a pen — I suppose I shall have to begin at the beginning.

Know, then, that on a certain spring morning in the year of grace 187 — , I, Douglas Dalziel of Airth, Esquire, was in my twenty-fourth year. Airth, which, as every one knows, is in Inverness-shire, N.B., had passed into my possession on attaining my majority, my father having died nine years previously. He had had one younger brother, who, all through my boyhood and youth, was a mystery to me. For a long time all that I knew of him was that he had died or been killed somewhere abroad ; that his loss had been so acutely felt by my parents that they could hardly bear to hear his name mentioned ; and that a monument had been erected to his memory in the family burying-place, the inscription on which ran : Alister Douglas Dalziel. Born, 1825. Died, 1851. "He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life!' Often in my boyhood, while my father was still alive, have I stood by this monument, musing on my uncle's probable fate, and wishing I could know more of one whom I placed alongside of Richard Cœur de Lion, Ivanhoe, the Knight of the Leopard, and my other favourite heroes of chivalry.

One day, when I was about twelve, I summoned up courage to ask my father concerning him. I don't know why I had not done so before, unless it was that intuitively I had felt that it was a sub ject about which he did not care to talk, and ac cordingly I had curbed my impatience until it was no longer possible to do so. I shall never forget the look of pain which crossed his face when I put my question ; but after considering for a minute or two he merely replied : " Not just now, Douglas ; you are still too young to understand. When you are older I may tell you the story of his death. But never speak to me of him again, my boy, for it costs me more pain than I like to own even to think of him." After that I said no more, though my curiosity underwent no abatement. Then my father died, and shortly afterwards I was sent to Rugby, whence I passed to Oxford.

In the midst of the work and play of school and college, I thought less of the mystery surrounding my uncle's death, and it was only on rare occasions during vacation time that the desire to unravel it returned to me. At Rugby and Brasenose my greatest chum was the Hon. Eric Trevanion, the youngest of the four sons of Lord Trevanion. In school and out of it, we were well-nigh inseparable ; and so our com mon delight may be imagined when Eric's father bought the castle and estate of Loch-Eyt, which was, as it were, next door to our house in Locha ber. We had now finished our careers at Oxford (doing nothing very distinguished, I am afraid), and what we should do, or where we should go next, was still a controversial matter. But during this spring we were enjoying ourselves at home — a thing which at no time presented any great difficulties to us.

Well, on this April morning in 187 — , I had occasion to pass my uncle's monument, and I stood still, as in my boyhood, to read the inscription. Doing so, the same desire as of old came over me, but more irresistibly than it had ever done before ; and, as I remembered my father's words before his death, I determined to ask my mother to tell me my uncle's story. Surely it was now time that 1 should know! The resolution was no sooner taken than I acted upon it. Returning at once to the house, I sought my mother's room, and finding her disengaged, I asked her to tell me all about my Uncle Alister. Contrary to my expectation, she made no demur, but only said : " I have been anticipating such a request for a long time, Douglas, and have only wondered that it was not made sooner. Your poor father, before he died, told me that he had promised to tell you the whole story, and asked me to do so instead.

The tale is a sad one to me, and I do not like to dwell upon it ; but you may as well hear it just now as later." Settling herself comfortably in her chair, while I took possession of another by her side, she com menced. " You know that your Uncle Alister was your father's younger brother, and they were passion ately fond of each other, so much so that they were seldom apart. After our marriage, Alister, at that time about your age, continued to stay with us. He was a tall and good-looking young fellow, and one of the strongest men in the county ; and he was such a general favourite that I believe he could have raised a regiment from amongst his admirers. " Your father, like many more of the family, had been a great traveller before he succeeded to the estates, and had been over most of America and Africa.

He had been about to start for India when his father died, and the principal ambition of his life was to thoroughly explore the unknown places of Asia before he died. He had curious ideas of the wealth that perhaps lay in many of the out-of-the-way parts of that vast continent ; and, had he lived, I believe he would have carried out his intentions. " Well, Alister had also the family craze for travel — a craze which I see is developing itself in you, Douglas ; and this your father, in default of going himself, strove to turn into an Asiatic channel. But Alister inclined to Africa, and seemed to care little for Asia. I saw that your father would, for very little cause, be off himself to Central Asia, and that the only way to prevent such a thing would be to get Alister to go in his stead. Accordingly I added my influence to Evan's — your father's— and, his brain once fired by thoughts of adventure, he was not difficult to manage.

"In 1850 he started for India, his only com panion being an Anglo-Indian of the name of John Nimmo, who had been introduced to him in London as a traveller who had srone through Southern China from Canton to Burma. Nimmo was desirous of further travel, and as he knew much of the languages and manners of many of the peoples of Eastern Central Asia, he seemed just the partner for Alister. "We first heard from him when he reached Calcutta. He had by that time, in conjunction with Nimmo, decided his course, which was to strike through Assam to the frontier of Burma and Thibet. Then they meant to see if it were possible to cross the intervening mountains and follow the Yang-tse-Kiang northward by way of Bathang and Miniak to its sources ; and passing through the Tartar province of the Koko-Nor and the Chinese one of Kansuh, reach the great wall of China, which he and Nimmo would attempt to follow eastward to Peking.

This enterprise was bold even to rashness, for at that time the Chinese Empire was shut to foreigners, or rather Europeans, on pain of death. But Alister and his friend apparently thought little of the danger, and we on our part could only hope that he would return all right. "About three months later we got another letter which had been given to a native guide on the frontiers of Burma, and brought by him to Calcutta. This told of their progress through Assam. Everything had gone well so far — natives friendly, country splendid, and game plentiful. " This was the last letter your uncle wrote. A year passed without any further news of the travellers, and we were just beginning to feel anxious when a letter arrived from Nimmo from Rangoon containing the sad news that Alister had been murdered by a band of roving brigands in the region of the lakes of the Koko-Nor.

But get the letter from my escritoire. It is in the top right-hand drawer above the other papers. Here are the keys," Deeply interested in the narrative, I hastened to obey, and in a few seconds returned with the letter, of which I give a verbatim copy : — At Messrs. J. and A. Swan's, Rangoon, 31st October, 185 1 My Dear Sir, — I only arrived here this morning, and consequently can only send you a few lines at present to tell you of the sad fate of your brother, Mr. Alister Dalziel. Fuller particulars will arrive by next mail. After passing the frontier into Thibet we struck northward — slightly north-west — keeping as far as possible out of the track of native villages, and after incredible difficulties had been surmounted, we reached Sourmang in September. There finding the natives favourably disposed towards us we wintered, starting again in April, and reaching the fertile plains of the Koko-Nor shortly after.

Hearing that it would be impossible to penetrate eastward without being discovered and arrested by the Chinese authorities, we determined to go westward through Turkestan and so into Kashmir. On the evening of the 15th of May we encamped on the banks of one of the small lakes near the Koko-Nor, or Blue Sea. About eight o'clock Alister saw a cloud of dust approaching from the south-east, and by the aid of his glass he made out this to be caused by a large troop of mounted Kolo (brigands, the terror of the peaceful Tartars) coming directly towards us. There was no time n to flee. They soon sighted us, and rode down upon us, spear in hand. We held up our hands in token of surrender, but they either did not understand us or did not wish to do so ; and in a few minutes we were completely surrounded.

I was at once knocked down by a blow on the back of the head, and as I lay on the ground I saw your brother empty his revolver amongst them. He was then set upon by at least six Kolo, and he had received many thrusts, which must have been fatal, before I lost consciousness. When I recovered I was being cared for by an honest Tartar family, who had found me after the brigands left. On inquiring for your brother I learned that the dead had been thrown by the Kolo into the lake. After my recovery I retraced my steps, eventually reaching Burma in safety. There can be no doubt, my dear sir, that your brother was killed, and before closing this letter (the post leaves in ten minutes) I must express to you my deep sorrow at the occurrence. Alister had become like a brother to me, and I feel his loss acutely; I will write fuller to-morrow, and meanwhile am, yours very sincerely, John G. Nimmo.

"We waited for several days," .continued my mother, " for the promised letter, but on its non arrival your father telegraphed to the firm men tioned in Mr. Nimmo's letter, Messrs. J. and A. Swan, bankers, of Rangoon, and from them he received the intelligence that Nimmo had gone up country immediately, with what purpose no one knew. "Inquiries were set on foot, but all in vain. To this day no more has been heard of Nimmo ; and at the time it was conjectured that he had been killed by dacoits in Upper Burma. But, un fortunately, there could be no doubt about the truth of his story. Everything pointed to the same conclusion — the wound on the back of his head, the condition in which he reached Rangoon, and the story he told so circumstantially to the people there. His disappearance was the only doubtful point, and he might have had powerful reasons of his own for it.

"Your father's inquiries regarding the Kolo only served to confirm Nimmo's statements. These brigands are hordes of Si-fan, or Eastern Thibetans, who, descending from their mountains like the Highlanders of old, pillage and murder the Mongol tribes who wander over the fruitful plains of the Koko-Nor. They very seldom take prisoners ; they are not averse to murder if their purpose can be accomplished in no other way ; and, in short, nothing could be more likely than that your uncle had been killed by them. " That is all the story, Douglas, for it would be too painful for me to tell you how the news affected your father and myself. Indirectly, we were responsible for Alister's death ; and I believe your father was never the same man again. He could not bear to hear the incident spoken of, and to the day of his death he reproached himself, An A pi it Morning. 13 perhaps too much, for his share in the mat ter."

So this was my uncle's sad story ! I confess that I was strangely affected while my mother was narrating the events that led up to his death ; and after thinking over the matter in all its bearings, I cried, impulsively : " Mother, I don't believe my uncle was killed by these brigands ! " " Why ? " she asked, with more indifference than I had expected. " That fellow Nimmo wasn't killed, and why should uncle be ? True, he fired at them, and Nimmo saw him receive several thrusts ; but, all the same, he had fully as much chance as his friend, and I believe he's alive yet, though perhaps in captivity. Then Nimmo's disappearance looks rather queer, to say the least of it, and that letter of his strikes me as somewhat hypocritical. No, I don't think he was killed, and I've a good mind to go in search of him — or, at least, to make sure."

I may here mention that my mother was quite right when she said that I was developing a craze for travel. Such crazes are, I think, hereditary ; certainly my father's had descended to me ; and this story had served to give mine the impetus it needed. I had always longed to be an explorer, and Central Asia would do as well as, perhaps better than, any other part of the globe ; it was certainly less known and much more difficult of access, and there was more than the usual danger when one got there — things not to be despised in this latter end of the nineteenth century. No wonder, then, that I was quite excited over my new idea. My brain seemed on fire as I pon dered over the story I had heard, and considered the chances of finding my uncle still alive. Thibet ! — Tartars ! — there was magic in the very names ; and it was a magic which, in my case at least, did not take long in accomplishing its pur pose.

With my usual impulsiveness — my friends tell me I am very impulsive — I wished to bring down atlases and books of travel at once ; but my mother interposed with a still better suggestion. " I think you might do worse than take a walk over to Loch-Eyt to see Eric ; and perhaps you may be able to discuss the matter more calmly on your return." I was all eagerness to find out what my friend thought of the matter ; so I adopted the proposal on the instant, and, five minutes later, I was striding across the moors to Loch-Eyt Castle, with my faithful dog Tray trotting by my side. US

Chapter II

A MOMENTOUS DISCUSSION. The Hon. Eric Trevanion was three months my junior as regards age, but there was little to choose between us in all other particulars save one. That one was his physique. And, considering that he stood six feet three in his stockings, and his breadth and strength were proportionate, it is not to be wondered at that I came off second-best in this respect. A better specimen of an Englishman than Eric, taking him all round, it would have been difficult to find. Clear-cut features, hair and eyes of a chestnut brown colour, and a frank and open expression — these had my friend in common with his three brothers ; and as for his accomplishments, when I say that he was a dead shot, an indefatigable deer stalker, a bold rider to hounds, as good a swimmer as Byron is said to have been, and had as much coolness, courage, and determination as any one I ever knew — you should have a pretty good idea of Eric.

As may be supposed, he was a general favourite in the county. He had a word, a joke, or a quo tation from his favourite poets for every one ; and V his bright and cheery presence was, I am told, sadly missed during the periods he was ab sent. In short, he was just such a man as one would care to have as a companion when in a tight place ; for he could be relied upon to stand by one in every emergency. He was standing on the steps of the terrace in front of Loch-Eyt Castle — a hoary old pile dating from the time of Harlaw — when Tray and I came up ; and he had with him his brother Harold and a stranger. My dog was not long in announc ing our arrival. He had been a present to me from Eric, who had named him after the harper's " poor dog Tray " of Thomas Campbell ; and I verily believe he had as great an affection for his late master as for his present one.

At all events, he always greeted him with great vehemence ; and on this occasion he bounded forward and jumped upon him in great glee the moment he caught sight of him. Eric, as he came down the avenue to meet me, hailed me in his characteristic manner, in the words of Scott : ,: ' Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! ' ' " Who is your friend, Eric ? " I asked, when I had returned his greeting. " A sort of half-cousin of ours — an East Indian, immensely rich, and a jolly fellow all round. Come on ; I'll introduce you." I followed him up to the terrace, and, addressing the stranger, he said, " Frank, allow me to introduce to you Dalziel of Airth. Douglas — my cousin Mr. Frank Lee." Mr. Lee was so dark as to be almost brown, taking the word as it is used in connection with Hindu colour, and his whole appearance gave one the im pression that he was not English.

Jet-black hair, heavily ringleted, and eyes which seemed almost as black as the hair, denoted that he had at least a strain of foreign blood in his veins. His mouth was almost covered by a heavy moustache, but had a kindly expression hovering round its corners ; and, altogether, judging from a first im pression, he seemed as nice a fellow as one cou'd wish to meet. We stood chatting for a few minutes, and then Harold Trevanion called him away to see the kennels ; and during his absence I took the opportunity of asking Eric concerning him. " He only arrived this morning," he answered, " along with his servant, a pure-bred Ghoorka. You may have noticed that he's rather dark, which is not strange, considering that he's a half-breed. His father was my mother's full cousin, and had a somewhat romantic career.

During a shooting expedition to Nepaul he fell in love with a dusky beauty, the only daughter and heiress of a wealthy old Ghoorka chief. The father would have nothing to do with him, so he waited until he died, and then married her. After a couple of years in Calcutta, they took up their residence somewhere on the Himalayas, where Frank — who, by the way, is more generally known as ' the Sahib,' a name c which was first conferred upon him at school, and which he has no objection to, but rather likes — well, Frank was born and brought up there. Both his parents died lately ; like you, he has no brothers or sisters, and, as I have remarked, he is as rich as old Crœsus. His servant, Sirikisson, they call him, is a sort of hereditary body-guard, he having done the same duty to old Lee and his Ghoorka wife, and his father to the Sahib's maternal grandfather, and so on."

" And is he (the Sahib) touchy regarding his descent ? " I asked. " Not he. There is nothing he likes better than to talk of his Ghoorka progenitors and their deeds. You know these Ghoorkas, under a fellow called Prithi Nareyan, conquered Nepaul in the middle of last century ; and one of the .Sahib's ancestors was the most active of the lot, as far as plundering was concerned. No doubt that is how the family got their riches — like some of our own old families, the Tre vanions not excepted." " He must be an interesting sort of fellow, Eric, and I'm glad, for several reasons, that I've met him. How long does he intend to stay ? " " No more than a week or ten days, and then he returns to India. At his place in Nepaul, on the Himalayan slopes, he keeps up royal state ; and he has invited me to return with him, promising me as many lions, tigers, and other big game as I wish.

If you were only to come, Douglas, by Jove ! see if I shouldn't accept." I had been waiting for an opportunity of opening up the subject nearest my heart ; and, now that my chum seemed so set upon going to India, I felt that there would be little difficulty in taking him further. " It's certainly an enticing prospect," I said, " and I should like nothing better — the more so because I have just heard all about my mysterious uncle, and therefore I'm anxious to get both you and myself off to Central Asia." " That's good news, although I don't quite see the connection between your uncle, who, according to his epitaph, died nearly a quarter of a century ago, and Central Asia." " I'll soon make everything clear even to your thick skull," I retorted. " The story is a rather long — But here comes your friend ; let us see what he has to say on the subject of Central Asia."

Before I had time to broach the subject to Mr. Lee, however, Eric proposed that the three of us — Harold had taken himself off — should adjourn to the morning-room, in which we could discuss any question, from the income-tax to the Eastern difficulty, more comfortably than in the open air, where the breeze off the sea was still very keen. Accordingly, we took possession of the room, and, to ensure secrecy, after Eric had brought half-a-dozen atlases and special maps from the library, we locked the door. Then I told my uncle's story, and read Nimmo's letter, which I had brought over with me. After I had finished, Eric asked : — C " And what is your opinion of it all ? " "That he was not killed at the time, whether he has died since or not." " It would be worth while to go out just to settle the point.

Of course we have the chances of getting served in the same way, you know ; but, after all, there is no fun without danger, as the Irishmen say at Donnybrook. And there's sure to be plenty of adventure and sport. What do you say, Sahib, as a man who knows all about it ? " "I can't pretend to know much about it," answered the Indian ; "but all the same, I have no difficulty in vouching for the sport. As to your uncle being alive, Mr. Dalziel, I hardly think it probable. Surely, during all these years, he would have had at least one opportunity of escaping and returning home. But if you have any doubts on the subject, it may be better, as Eric says, to settle the matter once and for all. You may rely upon me to give you every assistance in my power." " Thanks. I will do so if I decide to go."