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Title: A tour in Mongolia
Author: Beatrix Manico Gull
Author of introduction, etc.: David Fraser
Release date: August 1, 2025 [eBook #76610]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Methuen & co. ltd, 1920
Credits: Alan, Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TOUR IN MONGOLIA ***
[Illustration: MONGOLIA]
A TOUR IN MONGOLIA
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR]
A TOUR
IN MONGOLIA
BY
BEATRIX BULSTRODE
(Mrs. EDWARD MANICO GULL)
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BEARING ON THE POLITICAL ASPECT
OF THAT COUNTRY BY
DAVID FRASER
(“TIMES” CORRESPONDENT IN PEKING)
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR’S PHOTOGRAPHS AND A MAP
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1920_
DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN NEWELL JORDAN
G.C.I.E., K.C.B., K.C.M.G.
H.B.M. MINISTER IN CHINA
INTRODUCTION
Mrs. Gull (Mrs. Bulstrode as she then was) had the fortune, not to
mention the pluck, to be in Urga at a time when history was being made
for Mongolia. I well remember the perturbation in British official
circles in Peking when this adventurous lady, at a time when the
Chinese were fighting the Mongols, sought a passport to take her
through the opposing lines, and so to the desired destination. Needless
to say the passport was not forthcoming, whereupon Mrs. Gull, without
papers, went off by herself, and succeeded in making a considerable
journey which brought her perilously close to the unsettled region in
which guerilla warfare was proceeding.
Her experiences in Inner Mongolia made it plain that getting through to
Urga meant a detour so long, expensive, and risky as not to be worth
while. Accordingly, she and her sporting companion, Mr. E. M. Gull, a
fire-eater in the pursuit of political developments, went round the
back way by train and reached Urga from Siberia, no small adventure,
considering the state of Mongolia at the time. What they saw Mrs. Gull
describes in her own taking manner, and I need not say more about her
book than that it is full of enlightenment as regards the character of
both people and country. Mongolia is one of the few remaining great
backwaters of the world, neglected because so remote from the sea and
the civilisation arising out of marine communication. Nevertheless,
through Mongolia, at no distant date, must be constructed that line
which will link China with the Siberia Railway, and constitute part of
the great trunk route joining Europe with the Far East.
If those of us who dwell in the Far East are not very far out in our
calculations, the Pacific is to be one of the great spheres of economic
development in the future. In China there is illimitable scope for such
development, and it is obvious that the question of the control of the
quickest route between China and the West is one of much importance
to all interested. Mongolia, moreover, is not all Gobi desert, nor is
the Gobi a desert except in an unimportant degree. It is, in fact, a
monster plateau, huge areas of which are capable of cultivation. At
present, its pastoral inhabitants are like the Arabs of Mesopotamia,
roaming the land with flocks and herds, but the land is a land of much
promise. Its mineral wealth has hardly been examined at all, though
gold and coal are known to exist. But, when we recollect the known
mineral wealth of the whole of the mountainous region of the southern
confines of Siberia, we realise that there is a corresponding region
over the Mongolian border which is, in fact, part of the same mountain
system. If the one is minerally wealthy, there is every reason to
suppose that the other is similarly so. In thinking of the Mongolia
of the future, then, it is only reasonable to suppose that, when
penetrated by communications, it will develop out of all recognition,
as compared with its present state.
Mrs. Gull is particularly instructive in her analysis of Mongol
character. The Mongol is simple, happy, good-natured, intensely lazy,
and apparently entirely lacking in practical qualities. His very
disposition is the cause of his past and present troubles. He is, in
short, not fitted to compete with the outside world. Therefore, he
has become the sport of other peoples, and the destiny of his land
is being decided for him by foreigners. To begin at the beginning of
recent developments, it is necessary to go back only to 1911. The
Japanese defeat of the Russians had set the Chinese thinking, and,
suffering much from foreign pressure at home, they thought to assert
themselves in distant lands. They initiated a forward policy on the
Burmah frontier that gave us trouble for some years, culminating
in the Pienma incident. They invaded Thibet and occupied Llassa,
establishing a degree of control over their vassal which they had never
claimed before. They next turned their attention to Mongolia, where, as
suzerain, they maintained only a few residents with trifling escorts.
They planned to occupy Urga with a large force, and actually built
huge barracks there. Meanwhile, Chinese colonists had been pressing
into Inner Mongolia, buying land from the nomads and establishing
great cultivated areas. Chinese bankers had been lending money at
usurious rates to the simple Princes. All trade was in the hands of the
Chinese. The Mongols became alive to the fact that China was acquiring
a strangle-hold over them. They saw what had happened to their cousins
of Thibet, and they became alarmed for their freedom, the overwhelming
passion of the nomad. Russia, sore at the Japanese defeat, also, at
this time, began to think of a future in which an arisen China might
prove a danger, as Japan had proved dangerous. Chinese designs upon
Mongolia might presage a threat against her at some far-off time.
Accordingly it became Russian policy to block China in Mongolia, and,
if possible, to set up Mongolia as a buffer State. To that end, Russian
agents commenced a propaganda against the Chinese, emphasising the
danger of absorption by China. Then arose a pro-Russian party in Urga,
urging alliance with Russia as a protection against China.
Then occurred the Revolution in China. The Manchus were dethroned. Then
followed the expulsion of the Chinese from Thibet, and the declaration
of independence by the Thibetans. Egged on by the Russians, the Mongols
did likewise, justifying the breaking of the ancient connection by
declaring that their allegiance had been to the Manchus, and that,
as there was no more a Manchu dynasty in China, they no longer owed
anything to China. Russia promptly recognised the new State, and signed
political and commercial treaties with it. The Chinese refused to
accept the _fait accompli_, and immediately made war upon Mongolia.
Fighting was proceeding when Mrs. Gull was in Inner Mongolia, and
later on at Urga. To make a long story short, the Chinese troops
utterly failed to make any impression upon their opponents. Internal
difficulties forced the Chinese to relinquish the struggle, and in 1919
was signed the tri-partite Kiachta Convention. This document recognised
and confirmed the treaties made with Russia, gave Mongolia autonomy and
a guarantee against the intrusion of Chinese troops and colonists into
Mongolia. The effect of the Convention was to give Russia exactly what
she wanted--a buffer State.
It is necessary now to jump to the date when Japanese troops, in
agreement with the Allies, entered Siberia. The Japanese found it
convenient to maintain at Chita, in Transbaikalia, the Cossack
adventurer Semenov, a man with Buriat (or Mongol) blood in him. Admiral
Kolchak dismissed Semenov from the command of the Trans-Baikal Division
for malpractices, but the Japanese refused to allow his removal by
force. Semenov, some months ago, inaugurated a pan-Mongol movement for
the creation of a Mongol State, which should include the Mongols of
Barga (a region of North Manchuria), the Buriats of Transbaikalia and
Mongolia. The Hut’ukt’u, the Living Buddha of Mongolia, was invited
to join, and, after consultation with the Princes, refused. Semenov
next threatened invasion. It is difficult to know how much reality
there is in Semenov’s movement, but it is still to the fore, and we
are warned that developments from it may yet be expected. At any rate,
it is established that the Japanese have been, and still are, closely
associated with Semenov, and the assumption is that they are perfectly
cognisant of the activities of their protégé.
Returning to Urga, we find the Mongolians dissatisfied with the
Russians, for a variety of reasons. They had done nothing for
the economic development of the country, nor had they helped to
organise an effective military force. Russia, as a protector, having
vanished, the Mongols were helpless, and they were genuinely alarmed
by the threats of Semenov. They appealed to the Chinese for military
assistance, and in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, 4000 Chinese
troops were in Urga, commanded by a General Hsu Shu-cheng, the most
aggressive of those militarists who have done so much to involve China
in political and financial trouble. It is instructive to note that
the forces commanded by Hsu were equipped with Japanese money, and
that Hsu himself is regarded throughout China as being entirely in
the hands of the Japanese. It will, therefore, be perceived that the
Mongols were frightened into calling in Chinese troops by the actions
of one protégé of Japan, and that the assistance, when it came, proved
to be an army under another Japanese protégé! The unfortunate Mongols
were soon to be enlightened as to the meaning of these manœuvres. A
pro-Chinese party, since the collapse of Russia, had been urging a
return to the Chinese fold, and proposed a petition to China cancelling
autonomy and asking for re-instatement. The Hut’ukt’u and a majority
of Princes and Lamas were opposed to this step. General Hsu Shu-cheng,
on arrival at Urga, immediately pressed for signature of the petition,
and, on refusal, delivered an ultimatum, threatening deportation to
China of the Hut’ukt’u and the Premier if his demands were not complied
with. He further threatened the Mongols with Japanese troops from
Transbaikalia, which threat the Japanese officially denied in Peking
had been made with authority. The Mongols, however, were browbeaten
into submission; the Government signed the petition, and the President
of China has since issued a Mandate denouncing the Kiachta Convention
and other relative treaties, and granting the prayer of the Mongols to
become again subject to China. Autonomous Mongolia, therefore, is no
more. The Chinese plan military occupation on a large scale, and will
shortly send three more brigades into Mongolia. If the Chinese were
more successful in the administration of their own country, it might be
said that the Mongols would be better off under Chinese rule than their
own; for, as Mrs. Gull says, there can be no doubt that the Mongols are
closely akin to their southern neighbours. But the question seems to be
rather whether Japan is not to be the predominant power in Mongolia in
the future. She openly claims predominance in China, and, for the time
being, is predominant. Through China she may yet acquire control over
Mongolia, or may arrive at the same result by basing action in Siberia.
She has plainly told the powers seeking to form the banking Consortium
for China that she wishes Manchuria and Mongolia to be excluded from
its operations, thereby indicating her desire for an exclusive position
in Mongolia. Most significant is the announcement just published in
the local press, and confirmed by other indications, that the Chinese
Government propose the immediate extension of the Peking-Suiyuan
Railway to Urga. The Chinese Government has no money for such an
enterprise, and no possibility of getting it except by a foreign loan.
This, above all, is a scheme that should be financed by the Consortium,
yet it seems far more than likely that the railway will be built with
Japanese money. And whoso builds the railway will assuredly be the
master.
DAVID FRASER
PEKING, _January, 1920_
A word of explanation as to the tardy appearance of this book in
relation to the date of its completion seems necessary. It will
suffice to say that the manuscript reached the publishers within a
day or two of the declaration of war. The Introduction by Mr. David
Fraser, “Times” correspondent in Peking, is designed to give a
bird’s-eye yet comprehensive impression from the date of the visit
to Urga up to the present time of the political relations existing
between Mongolia and China.
B. M. G.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
MAP OF MONGOLIA _Inside front cover_
THE AUTHOR _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE AUTHOR ON A PEKING CART AT THE STARTING-POINT 14
THE GREAT NORTH GATE AT KALGAN LEADING STRAIGHT INTO
MONGOLIA 14
A BIRD FANCIER, KALGAN 28
SERVANTS IN THE COURTYARD 28
WITH DOBDUN, READY TO START 34
CROSSING THE HAN-O-PA PASS 34
A CAMEL CARAVAN 58
THE LAMA IN EMBRYO AND HIS LITTLE SISTER GATHERING ARGOL 58
CARRYING MAILS 60
A WELL BY THE WAYSIDE 60
HE DREW REINS TO TAKE STOCK OF THE FOREIGNER 60
METHUSELAH AND HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 70
ONE OF THE LARGEST CAMEL CARAVANS I HAD EVER SEEN 70
A MONGOL BRIDE 72
A TYPICAL CHAKHAR 74
TWO OR THREE HUNDRED LAMAS SQUATTING ON THE GROUND IN
THE SUNNY FORECOURT OF A TEMPLE 78
HANKARAWA 78
A PASTORAL SCENE 98
TROITZE-CASAVSK 114
OUR BURIAT HOSTESS 114
THE JAMSCHIK AND HIS TARANTASS 114
A RUSSIAN SAMSON SEPARATED THE COMBATANTS 128
THE LAMA AND HIS MAIDEN 128
A MONGOL AND HIS FAMILY ON THE PLAINS NEAR URGA POSED
FOR MY BENEFIT 142
HE INVITED US TO INSPECT HIS CARAVAN 144
THE SUMMIT OF THE ALTAI BERG 144
THE GREAT WHITE TEMPLE, URGA 152
THE HORSE AND CAMEL MARKET, URGA 152
A BEAUTIFUL TEMPLE AT MAI-MAI-CH’ENG 158
A MONGOL PRINCESS IN HER OFFICIAL ROBES, ACCOMPANIED BY
HER TWO LADIES 158
BOGDO’S BODYGUARD 176
LITTLE LAMA BOYS PLAY “TAG” ROUND THE BARRIERS 176
CHURCH AND STATE: MONGOL PRINCE AND HIGH LAMA 180
THE GREAT STATE UMBRELLA OF SILKEN EMBROIDERY 182
IN AN ECSTASY OF WORSHIP THE MONKS PROSTRATE THEMSELVES
NEAR THE THRESHOLD OF THE SANCTUARY 182
THE MEETING OF THE ARCHERS: THEY RANGED THEMSELVES IN
COUPLES AT THE STANCES 184
SCORING THE HITS AT THE BUTTS 184
A MASK AT THE DANCE OF THE GODS 186
A MONGOL PRINCESS WEARING A HEADDRESS OF GOLD 186
A MONGOL GLADIATOR 190
A WRESTLING BOUT 192
YOUNG LAMAS 192
PRISONERS AT URGA, SHUT UP FOR THE REMAINDER OF THEIR
LIVES IN IRON-BOUND COFFINS 196
(_Reproduced by permission of the Illustrated London News_)
A TOMB IN URGA: DAGOBAS ERECTED OVER PRIESTS’ GRAVES 206
SOUTHERN SOLDIERS 206
A MONGOL ORTON 226
CONTINUING THE JOURNEY ON OX-CARTS, DRAWN BY PONIES 226
A REMARKABLE ONE-YEAR-OLD BOY 228
THE TALE OF A TOUR IN MONGOLIA
CHAPTER I
“What is outside the world, daddy?”
“Space, my child.”
“But what is outside space then?”
The fascination of the unknown, a deep love of the picturesque, and
inherent desire to revert awhile to the primitive--these were probably
some of the factors that made a little tour in Mongolia so essentially
desirable to me at a period when, instead of turning my face homewards,
I merely felt the compelling desire for more. The remark, “Such a pity
you did not come here before the old order of things passed away,” had
assailed my ears like minute-guns throughout my eighteen months in
China, and here in Mongolia was at last an opportunity of meeting with
mediævalism untouched.
The most delightful, and by far the most interesting, expedition that
lures the traveller for a couple of days from the gaiety of life in
Peking, is that which leads him out to the Ming tombs and a little
farther on to meditate upon change and decay from the summit of the
Great Wall. The Great Wall may well have been the ultimate goal of all
his wanderings in China, a goal indeed at which to pause and reflect
upon all he has learned and seen through the months spent in journeying
up from the turbulent south to the heart of China in the north. But
even so it is a little disappointing upon arriving at the Nank’ou
Pass to be informed that this, impressive though it be, is merely
a relatively modern branch of the Great Wall itself, added no less
than 1700 years later to the original construction. To see the _real_
Great Wall then, the wall that has withstood the ravages both of Huns
and Tartars, the wall that played a not unimportant part in warfare
two centuries before the Christian era--this furnished me at least
with an excuse to get away to Kalgan; and in a visit to Kalgan, the
starting-point for the historic caravans which penetrate the desert,
across which prior to the existence of the Trans-Siberian railway all
merchandise passed to the north, I foresaw the germ which might, with a
little luck, blossom out into a little expedition across the frontier.
At Dr. Morrison’s hospitable board, to which drift inevitably those
travellers who want something more than the social round and the
sights provided for the globe trotter in Peking, I was fortunate in
meeting a couple of Norwegian missionaries who were good enough to
make arrangements for me to stay in their compound at Kalgan. The
husband, after many years’ work, had abandoned the hope of converting
the Mongols to Christianity, and had placed his unique knowledge of the
people and of their country--doubtless in return for a handsome salary
(on paper)--at the disposal of the new Chinese Government. In common
with every one else to whom I mentioned my project of travelling in
Mongolia, these good people did their best to put me off, but finally,
seeing that I intended to carry out my idea willy-nilly, they helped me
in making my plans, engaged the Chinese who accompanied me, and lent me
the various accessories of camp life, etc., in the most generous manner
possible.
For some weeks past threatenings and rumours of war had been dribbling
in from various points on the Mongolian frontier. Mongol soldiers
(converted robber bands) in ridiculously small numbers, but effectual,
as having been armed and trained by “the Urga government,” which to all
intents and purposes is another name for Russian officers, were said
to be marching south, “plundering everywhere and killing Chinese and
Mongols without distinction”.
The Chinese in Peking were doubtless growing uneasy, and the following
paragraph which appeared about this time in the “Peking Daily News,”
a Chinese-owned newspaper with an European circulation, suggests that
the authorities were somewhat late in the field with their honours and
encouragements for those Mongols who even now were perhaps flirting
with presents of roubles from a more northern source. Already the storm
was brewing past control:--
“The Bureau of Mongolian and Tibetan affairs (in Peking) reports that a
petition from the Shang Chia Hut’ukt’u has been received, stating that
the Shang Chodba has supported the Republican cause and requesting that
he be rewarded.
“As Pa-yen-chi-erh-ko-la, the Shang Chodba and Dassak Da Lama, has been
loyal to the Republic and is highly commendable, he is hereby permitted
to sit on a Green Cart and to use Yellow Reins, as an encouragement.”
No very highly imaginative mind is surely necessary to conjure up a
scene of wonderful picturesqueness from the foregoing. To see a beaming
“Da (or great) Lama” seated upon the shafts of his new Green Cart and
driving a hefty white mule with his lately acquired Yellow Reins,
feeling tremendously encouraged thereby in his loyalty to China, the
recently established republic of Mongolia’s suzerain--it was worth
while, _coûte que coûte_!
Peking, so far as I was concerned, had more than come up to its
reputation for kindness and hospitality. I had certainly put the former
to the test during a short but sharp bout of illness I had encountered
there, when I can only say that my room presented the appearance of
a conservatory and that rarely an hour passed without some friendly
“chit” of enquiry and sympathy. All the same, it had been much borne
in upon me that any deviation from the narrow path to the golf links,
or from the delightful picnics held in one or other of the recognised
show places within hail of the Legation quarter, was looked upon with
cold disfavour. Few things seem to cause a certain type of mind more
annoyance than that one should care to travel on lines other than those
parallel with their own.
The less, I felt, that I discussed my projected plans the better.
Therefore, informing merely a couple of friends who happened to be
dining with me the previous evening--and who, by the way, did not in
the least believe me--that I was off in the morning to Kalgan for a few
days, I set forth for the Shih Chi Men station (the terminus of the
Peking-Kalgan railway) at the break of one glorious day of April in
1913.
Two ’ricshas were necessary for myself and a very modest amount of
luggage, and to each ’ricsha two coolies, for the Shih Chi Men is at
the extreme north-west of Peking, to gain which one has to travel
diagonally across the Tartar city, skirting the rose-coloured walls
of the Forbidden City through which at that time the traffic was not
allowed to penetrate. The road is bad and exceedingly dusty, and being
the sole European upon arriving at the station, I had the inevitable
uproar with my coolies as regards payment. One of the untoward
influences that we Westerns seem to have exerted upon the Chinese
coolie class is that they will always try to bully anyone who is at
a disadvantage--a condition of affairs I never once experienced up
country, off the beaten track, where I met with nothing but chivalry.
The quartet followed me, shouting and yelling, on to the platform--I
having taken good care not to pay them until my belongings were safely
out of their hands--only to be buffeted and finally kicked out by the
station officials.
The journey from Peking to Kalgan has many points of interest, and I
decided to break it half-way in order to pay a second visit to the
tombs of the Emperors of the Ming dynasty, stopping overnight at the
quaint little half-westernised hotel kept by a Chinaman at the foot of
the Nank’ou Pass. There was not much choice as to the means of covering
the eleven or twelve miles between Nank’ou and the tombs, and I decided
in favour of the solitary pony instead of the unattractive looking
mules, or the chair of the indolent which is carried on poles by four
coolies. I had confidently expected to make the expedition in peaceful
solitude; but not a bit of it. A pock-marked mafu, or groom, insisted
upon accompanying me on foot, and it was soon evident that he set the
pace not I. It was some little time too before I discovered the reason
of the pony’s reluctance to trot except when we came to a strip of
grass--he had four very tender feet, and my way lay across extremely
rough country, along the boulder--strewn beds of mountain streams and
rocky little paths bordering the planted fields.
The beautiful pail’ou of five arches was the first indication that we
were nearing our destination, but even then there were two or three
miles along the uneven and loosely flagged avenue of huge symbolical
stone men and beasts, camels, horses, and lions standing in silent
attendance on the spirits of the departed rulers. The tombs, temples
in effect, whose golden roofs rise out from among deep green cypresses
and masses of white blossom, are enclosed in many courtyards by high
rose-coloured walls pierced by magnificent gateways.
To the chief of these gateways I rode, followed by my mafu, and
offering the customary fee of twenty cents, I proposed to enter.
Seeing that I was alone, the doorkeeper, an unusually tall man even
for Chihli, began a bullying argument for more money. Not wanting to
waste time, I compounded finally upon something like three times the
proper sum, and he opened the great doors and admitted me into the
courtyard. Here amidst the most dreamily beautiful surroundings of pure
white marble terraces, weathered memorial archways, steps carved in low
relief and the mellowed rose-coloured walls always for background, I
felt very much at peace with the world as I sat and rested in the crook
of a blossom-covered tree after my hot and wearisome ride.
Greatly refreshed by the beauty and stately solitude of the scene (to
say nothing of a delicate little lunch which had been so thoughtfully
provided for me by my excellent host of the Ching Erh hotel), I now
felt inspired to explore further, and walked over the grass to the
entrance of the chief temple. Dropping from the clouds (or, what seemed
more likely, appearing from the nether regions) I was again confronted
by the same burly janitor who rather threateningly barred my way and
demanded more money. I had now not even the support of my pony boy. I
had no intention of being baulked of the whole object of my long ride,
neither did I mean to be bullied into paying the rascal all over again.
Seeing that I was not inclined to give in, the man began to lock up
the great doors, which usually stood open, when, turning as though I
were going away, I made a sudden move, pushed past him, and was inside
the temple. He was very angry and for the moment nonplussed, swore
at me volubly, casting aspersions doubtless upon my ancestry in true
Celestial style. Quite unexpectedly, however, he stopped, and before I
had time to realise his intention, he slammed to the door and turned
the key in the lock.
I made a desperate effort to escape, but I was too late. I was now in
pitch darkness and as to when or whether he, my gaoler, intended to let
me out, I did not know. I could hear him walking off and clanking his
great keys triumphantly as he went down the flagged path. I was far
too angry to be in the least frightened, and of all things, I had no
intention of letting the ruffian think that he had scored. Recovering
a little from my surprise, I groped my way about among the dusty gods
and devils, thinking that probably there would be some other exit,
and finally came upon a low door at the back of the high altar. This
gave way to my pushing, and opened on to a narrow staircase up which I
stumbled, eventually finding my way out on to the top of the open flat
roof of the first story of the temple. Here at least I could see where
I was. Moreover, I was in the open air, and I could solace myself with
the truly lovely view of the surrounding temples and the thickly wooded
country side.
Not a soul was to be seen. The wretch evidently meant me to stay there
until I thought better of my sins. For an hour or two I wandered about
my prison, spending part of the time in speculating as to whether my
gymnastic ability would enable me, with the help of friendly branches,
to scale forty feet or so of rough wall and thus to escape. I decided,
however, that to risk a broken limb was not worth while, and that to
spend a night in a temple after all would not kill me. There would
probably be other visitors turning up next day.
By this time the afternoon was drawing in, and the wonderful colouring
around me was rendered even more beautiful by the golden haze from the
setting sun, when I observed three figures walking among the trees
in the garden below. They were evidently in angry altercation. These
were my mafu, the burly ruffian (who was gesticulating wildly), and a
well-dressed and dignified Chinese gentleman. Without losing a moment,
I scrambled hastily down the dark staircase again, and arrived in the
temple just as a flood of light was admitted by the door being flung
open.
To my astonishment, my unknown friend in need addressed me in pidgin
English, “Mississee mafu talkee my one bad man shutee up Mississee.
Chlist! (I am afraid that he believed this to be quite a polite
expression of amazement) Chlist! What bad man!” The “bad man” was
grinning nervously while all this was going on, and in order to show
him unmistakably what my opinion was of his behaviour, I gave him a
resounding smack on the head as he released me. Even then he had the
impudence to ask me for a “cumshaw” (tip), and in order that he might
not lose face among the little crowd which had collected at the outer
gateway, he only laughed as he rubbed his head and listened to a
tremendous dressing-down delivered by the three of us. I decided as I
rode back to Nank’ou in the twilight that I would report the matter to
my Legation in Peking, but later on I thought better of it. They might
have said, “I told you so!”
Starting early next morning, I continued my journey to Kalgan, the
line--the only one in China constructed, financed, and managed by the
Chinese--following the course of the Nank’ou Pass, tunnelling below
the Great Wall a few miles farther on. Travelling second class, from
the viewpoint of mixing with the people rather than from economical
motives, the difference in the price of tickets being a mere couple
of dollars, I had for my sole European companion an old Swedish
missionary who told me that our fellow-travellers were consumed with
curiosity about me. They assumed, to begin with, that my husband must
be luxuriating in the first-class portion of the train, and that among
the English it was the custom to treat the wives as inferiors. Then,
seeing the missionary and myself in conversation, they jumped to the
conclusion that I was wife of the latter, and that I very properly only
spoke to him when he addressed me. Finally, on this being denied, they
settled down to the idea, on seeing me take a large volume from my bag
and read it (J. O. P. Bland’s absorbingly interesting “Events in China”
by the way) that I was a great scholar, and that as such, I of course
preferred the simple life. That an ordinary Englishwoman should travel
second class needed an explanation in their eyes.
A wealthy young man, he who had asked most of the questions,
entertained me greatly during the journey. His clothes were very
beautiful, a long silk-damask lavender coat, fur-lined, surmounted by
a handsome riding coat in plum-coloured broché. His great treasure
seemed, however, to be a large silver watch, which he kept pulling
out in the hope that I might be looking at him. Its going capacity
must have been precarious for he always listened to it, and after
looking carefully all round it, he generally smelt it as well. It was
here that I really learned to appreciate the practical use of the
two-inch thumb-nail which one frequently sees adorning the hands of
the upper-class Chinese. My friend of the lavender coat had purchased
a roast duck from an itinerant vendor at a wayside station, and
commanded my admiration by the dexterity with which he cut up and ate
it, his thumb-nail alone serving him as a carver. He was hungry, and he
finished that bird at a sitting.
The scenery on the way up was unexciting until a tempestuous sunset
lighted up the rugged mountains, making their snow-covered peaks appear
like flaming watch-towers until the sun went down, and with a snap it
all suddenly changed. Even in this cold weather we met hundreds of
coolies travelling down in open trucks, many of them equipped with
motor goggles, which the dust storms of this part of the world render
an absolute necessity.
We were two hours late at Kalgan, having taken nine hours on the way
(one can hardly expect a sudden transformation as regards punctuality
to result from a change of government in China), and I spent a somewhat
weary time in the dimly lighted carriage wondering what on earth I
should do if the missionaries failed to meet me at the station. Knowing
that he would be of no use should I manage to get away to Mongolia, I
had taken no “boy” with me, and I doubted very seriously that my few
words of Chinese would carry me far in this frontier town, which, I had
heard, would be a babel of tongues, and where among 75,000 inhabitants
the European population, Russian and German traders all told, did not
number more than about forty or fifty.
However, no sooner had I landed on the platform at Kalgan than a cheery
voice, unmistakably American, hailed me in a friendly manner.
After giving the required information concerning myself and my business
to the courteous Chinese policeman, who, notebook in hand, awaited the
train for such purpose, the pleasant young missionary, guessing that I
was both tired and hungry, and not in the least put out on account of
waiting over two hours on the platform for my train to come in, bundled
me and my belongings into a Peking cart. The latter taking up most of
the room inside, I sat cross-legged on the shaft, the Chinese driver
sitting hard against my back on the opposite side; my host walked
alongside of us.
There had been the one rain of the season on the previous day and
what under normal conditions had been a foot or so of dust, was now
morass, and we passed through slush that reached to the axles of our
wheels. “Tuck up your feet,” sang out the missionary as he took an
unanticipated plunge into deep water from the pseudo-sidewalk; but I
was prepared. This, strange to say, was my first experience of riding
in a Peking cart, society in the capital having long ago voted them
out-of-date and even in cold weather preferring the ’ricsha. True, I
found their appearance of comfort somewhat of a delusion but their
picturesque trimness I had always greatly admired. These strong,
springless carts of light wood have solid axles, the ends being inlaid
with a device in metal, and upon these the wheels revolve directly.
The pale blue linen covers, with little windows made of black gauze on
either side, all outlined with black velvet, present an attractive and
cleanly appearance, as does also the heavy white leather harness with
bright brass or silver buckles and ornaments, which embellishes the
handsome black mule, who, at first sight, looks almost too powerful for
his job.
Our road lay across the river Yang through the heart of the city now,
at nearly 10 o’clock, dark and silent as the grave--silent that is,
save for the creaks and excruciating grindings of the wheels as the
great boulders sent the cart high up on one side only to slither down
into the slush on the other, the mule coming to a standstill from time
to time in order to let things right themselves. The main street of
Kalgan is scarcely a credit to the community. After half an hour or so
of strenuous effort to keep my seat, we turned abruptly out of a
narrow alley into the compound of the mission at which I was to board,
and were welcomed by my hostess, a pretty girl in her early twenties,
at the door of one of the two bungalows.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR ON A PEKING CART AT THE STARTING POINT]
[Illustration: THE GREAT NORTH GATE AT KALGAN LEADING STRAIGHT OUT INTO
MONGOLIA]
CHAPTER II
“A great army may be robbed of its leader, but nothing can rob one poor
man of his will”
--_Chinese proverb_
I shall always associate Kalgan with waiting for things to happen.
Rumours of war were constantly coming to one’s ears, news of
camel caravans on the point of starting for Mongolia reached one
periodically. Nothing ever seemed to culminate. The missionaries, of
whom there were some half a dozen, were very much opposed to my making
an expedition alone into Mongolia, and with my limited knowledge of
Chinese it was impossible without their help to make any plans for
doing so. My hostess, a delicate little thing, very much younger than
her colleagues, stood my friend throughout and did what she could
to make enjoyable my stay within the somewhat circumscribed area of
the compound. Deeply interested in English manners and customs her
conversation had an almost childish _naïveté_, and circled around our
royalties and other great English names that had come to her ears. She
was, she told me “tickled to death” at the idea of entertaining an
English lady, but was frankly disappointed that I bore no title. As a
small girl, she said, she had longed to be English, and loved reading
about lords and ladies (we now know the market for a certain class of
light fiction), and persuaded her mother to call her “Lady Ermyntrude”.
“Is it true,” she would ask me, “that if English girls don’t marry the
first man that asks them, they never get another chance?”
Life in a mission compound can never fail to interest the speculative
mind, and although waiting about for plans to resolve themselves is
a severe tax on one’s patience, my days at Kalgan are recalled with
considerable pleasure notwithstanding. What I wanted was an excuse
for taking a camel cart (which appealed to me as being exceedingly
comfortable as well as a great novelty), and I watched a couple in
course of preparation for the ill-fated expedition of Messrs. Grant and
Henningsen who were to journey across the Gobi to Urga on telegraph
service, which for the former was to end so disastrously. Camel carts
bear a certain amount of similarity to the Peking cart, with the
following differences: they are higher from the ground, having larger
wheels; they are covered in entirely, having a window and door on the
near side; they are of such ample dimensions that one may stretch
oneself at full length and live in them in considerable comfort. In
fact, I have in North Mongolia seen a man, woman, and two children
camping very comfortably in one cart.
One might well be asked what there was to prevent me from hiring a
camel cart--a very natural question when one lives in Europe and
where money will compass most of one’s desires. Not so in the East.
A solitary camel cart was held to be unsuitable for my purpose, for
a solitary camel cart wandering about Mongolia without escort would
undoubtedly attract an undue amount of attention. Camel carts usually
form part of a caravan.
Kalgan, with its population of some seventy or eighty thousand souls,
grown out of all proportion to the picturesque little walled-in city
in its midst, the unusual temples, among which a couple of Mohammedan
mosques came as a surprise to me, its many theatres, and little
shops containing much that was interesting and novel, would under
ordinary conditions have satisfied me for weeks; but the nearness to
the goal of my desire to some extent spoiled it for me, rendering it
tantalising and me restless. Not once, but many times, did I find
my way on foot through the thick dust of the narrow streets to the
wide road leading out to the north gate, the Mongol quarter of the
city. There one met hundreds of camels padding softly along in the
thick dust laden with immense bales of wool from Urga, picking their
way over boulders polished by the traffic of 1200 years. The camels
are in their most disreputable condition in April; their wool, being
in process of shedding, left big bare patches, and made them look
singularly naked in places. I loved to see their stately walk, and the
stolid Mongols sitting, pipe in mouth, on their backs. Fine beasts.
Fine men. To see, too, the Mongols themselves at their journey’s end,
galloping recklessly along this terrific road, raising clouds of dust
in their wake, stirrupless as often as not, their ponies slithering and
stumbling over the concealed stones, recovering themselves in a manner
perfectly marvellous. They are wonderful horsemen. A Russian post plies
between Kalgan and Urga, suspended now, however, on account of the
unrest in the country, and the Mongols cover the 800 miles in eight
days, relays of ponies waiting for them every twenty miles or so. They
ride at full speed during the entire journey, which averages ordinarily
from thirty to thirty-two days.
Small wonder that the wares in the innumerable little stalls which
line this great north road should be dirty and unattractive at first
glance. One must quickly consume one’s proverbial peck of dust here;
everything in this Mongol market is thick with it; hair, clothes,
food, and all. But what is the use of troubling about what cannot be
helped? A medicine stall was one of the many at which I lingered,
and from curiosity asked the prices of things that were displayed as
“cures”--snakes, lizards, and similar small fry were kept in bulk. A
rhinoceros tusk I gathered to be a charm of prophylactic nature, but
a furry foot altogether baffled my intelligence. The vendor was by
no means anxious to sell, but being pressed for a price said that I
might have the object for fifteen dollars, i.e. thirty shillings. I
discovered later that it was the pad of a bear, and esteemed of great
value from a medicinal point of view. I refrained from purchasing
it. Two charming souvenirs, however, I did pick up in Kalgan--a tiny
green jade wine cup, and, as a mascot, a jade thumb ring guaranteed to
bring me great good luck on all my wanderings. They were of the colour
of rivers bringing down the snow from mountains, and moreover were
bargains at a dollar and half a dollar respectively.
Everything that one could conceivably want for the great journey
across the desert is to be bought from this market, the last link
with civilisation, and few caravans push straight through this busy
quarter without a halt for a hank of rope, or another string of dried
persimmons, or such like. To the gregarious Celestial it must indeed be
a mighty effort to break away from Kalgan and start upon that lonely
trek so fraught with dangers and possibilities unknown.
The principal theatre in Kalgan is in this neighbourhood, and more than
once I got drawn into a crowd of five or six hundred people in the
triangular piece of waste ground near the north gate. The theatre was a
pretty little temple, the stage open to the heavens on three sides and
raised eight or ten feet from the ground. The play is as a rule, I am
told, composed of scenes and episodes from the Chinese classics. Be
that as it may, the actors, with handsome flowing beards, are as unlike
the modern Chinese as well could be.
Every one whose business was not too pressing strolled within seeing
and hearing distance--there were no barriers or enclosures. At the
back of the crowd, which, with less than half a dozen exceptions, was
composed of men and boys, numbers of ponies and mules waited patiently,
and among them from their Peking carts a few women obtained a good
view while not being too much in evidence. Kalgan is conservative
in preserving her traditions concerning the deportment of women.
Vendors of all sorts of things, from dusting brushes to cigarettes
and pea-nuts, took life easily on the outskirts of the laziest,
pleasantest, smelliest crowd I have ever been in. In the background
too were several barbers plying their trade, their victims gazing at
the play while their heads were shaved or their _queues_ combed and
plaited. The quaint mediæval play, with great clashing of cymbals, and
lunging about with swords and scimitars, was lively enough to please
the audience tremendously. The whole scene was picturesque to a degree,
what with bright clothes and action on the stage, with a background of
the mountains surrounding Kalgan, and nearer still the sombre old wall
of many, many centuries, and again, in front of it, the flat and gabled
roofs of Chinese houses and shops with their ornate fronts and gaudy
signs and symbols, the gilded lettering in two languages as befits the
meeting-place of China and Mongolia. Nearer still the handsome mules
with their richly decorated saddle-cloths, passed and re-passed, and
now and again a string of dromedaries pursued the even tenor of their
way, undisturbed and unattracted by the babel of the multitude. The
colour scheme was blue, blue, blue, in every conceivable tone, and for
variation, soft maizy yellow, prune, and mauve--the distant mountains
deeply purple.
The old men of China are not the least pleasing of its inhabitants.
They are so kindly, so dignified, so placid, and so really venerable.
They stood around, dozens of them, with their pet birds in pretty
wooden cages singing away all the time, often held on the flat of
their hands high up and out of danger from the crowd. The cages are
frequently finely carved and beautifully made, the little seed and
water-pots of good porcelain, and the fittings of wrought silver
or brass. In Kalgan a foreign woman is indeed a _rara avis_, but
Chinese manners can be beyond reproach. The people crowd round one,
and certainly in the city one never moved without a small following.
But here, weird object that one must have seemed, they seldom made
themselves objectionable or jeered. One cannot help reflecting upon the
difference there would be in the case of a Chinese visiting a northern
English town in his Oriental dress and with his stumbling speech. How,
one wonders, would the crowds treat him?
In pleasant contrast with the dust of the city were certain riding
expeditions which took me, accompanied by my host, to the foot hills
surrounding Kalgan, to inspect at close quarters the ruins of the Great
Wall and the watch-towers which punctuate it every 200 yards. Whether
he did it to test my riding capabilities or my courage before starting
me off on my lonely tour, I never quite discovered, but vivid in my
recollection is the climbing my host and I did on one occasion. By no
means an accomplished rider, the second day out on a new pony is always
more agreeable to me than the first, but when I saw how the little
black beast that had been lent to me and which I was subsequently to
take up-country, could scale precipitous banks, keep its feet among
loose shale lying on hard slippery surfaces, creep along narrow,
sloping tracks round mountain sides--places along which one would never
have dared to lead, much less ride, a horse at home--my confidence
developed considerably. In parts it was too dangerous to remain in the
saddle at all, and I shall never forget one thrilling moment when my
pony insisted upon turning right round upon our sole support, which was
a bit of a tuft overhanging a chasm some forty to sixty feet deep. His
heels sent the stones flying down, and I momentarily expected the whole
thing to give way, and that we should roll down hopelessly mixed-up,
sheer on to the rocks below.
In connection with the extensive railway works at Kalgan and the
projected extension of them, is quite an important little community
of well-educated Cantonese, with some of whom I became acquainted by
means of an introduction given to me in Peking by my friend, Dr. Wu
Lien Teh, whose research work, especially in connection with plague, is
well known throughout the scientific world. Several of these Cantonese
are Christians and are keen supporters of the work carried on by the
missionaries amongst their employees. My introduction was presented
at a fortunate moment, for a feast to celebrate the arrival of a
first-born son was just then in course of preparation, and the presence
of a foreign lady apparently lent to it a welcome novelty.
The proud father of the baby, Dr. Shi, knew a certain amount of
English, and, in consequence, I launched out alone, on to that sea of
unknown etiquette and custom, feeling a certain degree of security.
What was my horror on arriving at the house to find my host anxiously
awaiting my somewhat tardy arrival in order to introduce me to the
sixteen ladies already present so that he might hasten off to preside
at a similar banquet to his men friends at a restaurant near by. Not
one word of anything but the Cantonese dialect did the ladies speak,
and my carefully prepared sentences of felicitation in the Mandarin
tongue were in consequence discounted. The company, among whom was
the baby’s mother, greeted me with much ceremony and cordiality.
The precise form of salutation varies in different parts of China,
and here the correct bow resembles nothing so much as the action of
surreptitiously pulling up one’s stocking. Dr. Shi was careful to
explain to me that I was the guest of honour, and, after showing me
where to sit, he departed and left me to the tender mercies of the
little ladies. A little later on, however (and this suggests the innate
kindness and consideration of the Chinese) his heart must have smote
him, and thinking that chopsticks might be a source of embarrassment
to me, he flew round from the restaurant with a borrowed plate, spoon,
and fork. As a matter of fact these latter embarrassed me far more than
the chopsticks had done, for my big plate afforded my two generous
hostesses opportunity to overwhelm me with food which the ordinary
little bowl would never have contained.
Upon the round table were set no fewer than sixteen dishes, and these
I gathered were only accessories to the huge bowls which were brought
in from the kitchen, whence there appeared at least a dozen distinct
courses. Eggs served in cochineal-stained shells were, it was explained
to me, in special honour of the new baby, as also was the ginger of the
same glad hue. The feast was heralded in by the customary joy sounds of
China; crackers innumerable and deafening being fired off immediately
outside the room in which we were assembled. Little leaden kettles
of “the dew of the rose leaf” (samshui) were first of all brought in,
and each of us was assisted to at least a thimbleful. Then began the
“Ch’ing chih fan” (“invite you to eat”). Everybody “ch’inged” everybody
else, and we proceeded at the same time to help one another to dainty
morsels with our own chopsticks. Instead of drinking to each other in
occidental fashion, the Chinese “eat to each other,” and when one’s
neighbour planks a toothsome morsel of bird or fish into one’s bowl, it
is etiquette to rise slightly in one’s chair and say “thank you”.
Chopsticks, by the way, are like golf--it is largely a game of chance
and temperament. Sometimes one is on one’s game, and one manages to put
away a substantial meal; at other times one “can’t hit a ball,” and one
leaves the table feeling rather empty. The meal had not progressed far
before we were on terms of great conviviality, not to say familiarity.
They all laughed at the way in which I mismanaged my chopsticks (I
declined to give in and use a spoon and fork) and tried to teach me.
It was of no use, I was not “on my game” that evening. Next to me was
a dear old soul in a handsome black velvet coat; I think she must
have been a near relation on account of the way in which she took me
under her wing, from time to time popping a choice morsel, a chunk of
pine-apple, or a gigantic prawn, straight into my mouth. At intervals
dishes that I really enjoyed came on, buried eggs, bearing striking
resemblance, by the way, to plover’s eggs, crisply baked apricot
kernels, roast duck (horribly underdone), and the seeds of the lotus in
syrup, being among the most palatable. Half-way through the feast my
large plate was a horrible sight and full of things I felt I could not
possibly swallow.
A charming girl opposite me leaned forward and gave me a generous
helping of some nice-looking whitish stew which nearly made me sick
when I tried it. It was like eating a very slimy sponge. To cover
my confusion, and with, I thought, great aplomb, I managed with
some difficulty to perch a beautiful morsel of very raw duck on my
chopsticks, which, instead of eating myself, I unselfishly plunged into
the mouth of my old friend on my left. The attention nearly choked her.
She did not expect it of me. But pleasant relations were established
for the evening, and I received several invitations to other dinner
parties as a result. There was a good deal of giggling at my foreign
ways, but these, I imagine, were less productive of sheer glee than my
attempt to adapt myself to their customs.
At half-time or thereabouts, a woman servant of the coolie class,
very slatternly, and with her own baby upon her back, distributed
cigarettes, some cheap American brand in a tin, picking them out with
her dirty fingers and pressing them upon us in a most hospitable way.
All the servants, in fact, urged us on behalf of their master and
mistress to eat and drink. From time to time they would quietly sneak
a cigarette for themselves, and go to stand in the doorway to smoke
it. One of them was quite an old woman, and it amused me to watch her
casually take one from the table and light it between her withered old
hands with her back turned to the company. Our hostess, for whom with
two or three other guests there was not room at our table, came in
periodically to see how we were progressing, and would hand us one or
other of the delicacies persuasively. She peeled a Mandarin orange for
the old T’ai-t’ai next to me. The latter took it, but at once passed
it on to one of the urchins who were hanging around for tit-bits. It
seemed ungracious, but I suppose it was quite polite. A great tip to
be remembered at a Chinese feast is this; entice one of the many small
children always present to your side. You have then, conveniently
situated, a willing receptacle for the superfluous dainties that have
been heaped into your bowl, besides which you gain merit for your
“warm-heartedness” towards the dear little souls.
[Illustration: A BIRD FANCIER, KALGAN]
[Illustration: SERVANTS IN THE COURTYARD]
Between ten and half-past--we had sat down soon after 6 p.m.--I
felt that the time had arrived when I might reasonably, though
reluctantly, take my departure; but the attempt to do so was met by
much protestation and conversation, and it was borne in upon me that
my old friend the T’ai-t’ai was inviting me to go back with her to her
house there to “sit-a-sit”. I agreed with pleasure, and hand-in-hand we
sallied forth in the moonlight, together with her daughter-in-law
and her little daughter, a pretty little soul, this latter, who was
the proud possessor of an English watch bracelet as well as several
distinctly western rings and bangles. Their house was not very far
off, and when we arrived the old lady ushered me into a bedroom where
her husband and son were reading in somewhat _négligé_ costume. They
quickly invited me into the guest room and, hastily donning their long
coats of ceremony, joined us. The father spoke a little English--he
had once stayed for three weeks in England, coming over, I understood,
in the train of Li Hung Ch’ang; the son, with whom I had a most
illuminating conversation on Chinese topics, had been educated in
England, and another son was at that time an undergraduate at Caius
College, Cambridge.
CHAPTER III
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step”
--_Chinese proverb_
Although I never found Kalgan lacking in interest and amusement,
I began to feel at the end of a week there that my prospects for
setting out for Mongolia did not seem to improve. The place teemed
with soldiers, and reports came in of impending battles between
Russo-supported Mongols and troops from the south which were daily
being poured over the frontiers. What to believe, and how much
reliance to place upon such information no one seemed to know, but
the persistency of one report, of a battle that had lasted six hours
at Dolo N’or, when the Chinese had to retire in the face of superior
numbers, found justification later on in obvious fact.
My long-looked-for opportunity came at last, however, in the shape of
a Finnish missionary who wished to journey westward into Mongolia,
and who expressed himself as not only willing but pleased to allow my
little caravan to join his for our mutual protection. My preparations
at once sprang into activity. A Peking cart drawn by a strong mule,
and a most unpromising pony were hired for me, together with a
ruffianly looking Chinese, said to be trusty, at any rate brave enough
to face the terrors of Mongolia, at the rate of four dollars a day.
Hearing that we were to make an early start, I finished every detail of
my packing overnight, and was up betimes next day, lingering, however,
long in the last bath that I was likely to get for many a long day. I
ought by that time to have known that such plans as those for leaving
early seldom materialise, but I felt anyhow that I would not be the one
to cause delay. Instead of 8 a.m. we were under weigh soon after noon.
I had employed the meantime greatly to my own advantage. When I went
out to inspect my cart, the driver had already more than half filled
the interior with his own and his companion’s belongings, sheep-skin
coats of doubtful cleanliness, sacks of fodder, and what not. It is
quite as typical of Chinese as of menials in other countries, to find
out by such experiments just how far they dare to go, or how much their
employer will stand--which comes to the same thing. My own theory is
that if you do not at the very outset assume the whip-hand, you will
get more or less bullied by those who should be obeying your orders. I
used my own discretion here, therefore, and ordered everything to be
turned out of the cart, including a sort of mattress-cushion which
lined it. They did as they were told without a murmur, and laughed at
my persistence and their own discomfiture in the clouds of dust they
raised.
I then had my own things carefully packed in, bedding in a hold-all,
cushions, water-bottles, as well as such articles as my camera,
books, and a certain amount of food. My box of provisions, including
tinned meat, Bovril, tea, butter, cheese, rice, oatmeal, as well as a
plentiful supply of walnuts and raisins, and a small box containing
a change of clothes, were roped securely on to the tail of the cart;
fodder for the animals being placed on the top of them. Eggs and
potatoes I could rely upon buying from the Chinese for at least three
days out from Kalgan. The Southern Mongols themselves have nothing at
all to sell, living as they do on koumiss (soured milk), tsamba (a sort
of crushed barley), and mutton when they can get it.
A tiresome lad of eighteen or so made his appearance during the
morning, and I foresaw that if he came too that I should be bothered
with him as well as the driver sitting on the shafts of my cart and
thus obscuring my view when I was inside. The missionaries spoke
sternly to both boy and driver to this effect and told them plainly
that I refused to allow the former to accompany me. They acquiesced;
but before we were clear of the city the lad turned up again smiling,
and later on I discovered that he was the owner of the little red
demon of a pony, and also that he was a very necessary adjunct to my
party.
The caravan consisted of the Finnish missionary, his two open carts
drawn by two horses in each, myself in my Peking cart drawn by mule
and pony, a saddle pony, three Mongols, two of whom were mounted--who,
wishing to return to their homes on the borders of the Gobi, attached
themselves to us for safety, and four Chinese to attend to the
animals--nine of us in all. We were accompanied to the city gates
by some of the missionaries. The government offices, the Tartar
general’s yamen, the Bureau of Foreign Affairs, as also the offices
in which business connected with Southern Mongolia is transacted, are
all situated in this part of the city. There was some question as to
whether I might not have difficulty in passing the Chinese guard at the
gates of the city, since I possessed no passport even for travelling in
Chihli, much less for leaving that province and penetrating into the
wilds of Mongolia. Knowing quite well that had I applied for a passport
it would have been refused, I decided--upon the advice, I may say, of
an official high up in the Chinese government service--to dispense
with that formality. The missionaries, good sportsmen that they were,
intended to acquaint the Chinese Foreign Office with the fact that I
was in Mongolia _after my departure_. The Chinese, however, take but
little account of women, and I passed through the north gate on the
high road to the goal of my ambition.
Riding, I soon found, was not much fun over this rocky way. I had yet
to grow used to trusting entirely to luck, and to letting the pony
have his head under such conditions. Moreover, knowing nothing of the
country one was obliged at first to keep within sight of the caravan,
which hereabouts went forward at a snail’s pace. I therefore spared my
pony for a spell, and giving it to the boy to lead, I retired to my
cart to lie down, and with my feet sticking out over the mule’s back,
meditate on what was before me.
The road for ten miles or so follows the mud-coloured valley where
the clusters of houses so tone in with their surroundings that one
might think that they did so upon the theory of protective adaptation
to their environment. From the rocks and boulders with which the road
is strewn it might well have been a river-bed until the steep ascent
of some 2400 feet from the level to the Chang Chia K’ou, the Kalgam,
or Han-o-pa (meaning handle) Pass begins. The carts here began to
progress in brief spasms, and the gradient, together with the general
conditions, made this a somewhat painful experience. Leading our
ponies, we were able by devious paths to discover rather smoother
going, and the number one Mongol, a charming old man of some position,
who, having no mount, now seated himself (without invitation) on the
shaft of my cart, remarked that “The great one must be possessed
of extraordinary strength to be able to walk like that”. I learned
subsequently that a horseless Mongol is just about as much use as a
seagull with its wings clipped.
[Illustration: WITH DOBDUN, READY TO START]
[Illustration: CROSSING THE HAN-O-PA PASS]
The missionaries had arranged that this same old Mongol, Dobdun, by
name, should act “boy” for me on the way up, i.e. boil water, peel
potatoes, and spread my bedding at night. I liked him very much, but
mainly for the sake of his picturesque appearance, for besides being
very stupid, extremely lazy, and knowing not one word of Chinese, he
had not the foggiest notion as to how to do anything for my comfort
beyond getting me hot water, and smiling in a paternal way, when, to
relieve my beasts, I got out and walked up the steep places.
By the time we were at the top of the pass, between five and six
thousand feet above sea level, it was dusk. We had taken our time
over the ascent, an icy wind was blowing, and the scene before us was
desolate indeed. Earlier in the day and under normal conditions the
traffic here is very considerable. Not so at the time of my visit, for
beyond being overtaken by a couple of Mongols trotting swiftly along
on camels, who drew rein for a few seconds just in order to pass the
time of day, or, more literally perhaps, to put the inevitable question
as to our destination, before they flew on again, we encountered never
a soul. I had never seen camels trotting before and they reminded me
of leggy schoolgirls fielding at cricket, for they scatter their limbs
about in just such an ungainly way.
The explanation of the solitude of the pass was forthcoming and obvious
enough later on, when, wheeling into the compound of a Chinese inn, we
were told that the whole place had been commandeered by the Chinese
troops. It was all very ghostly and mysterious, not to say formidable.
Under a bright starlit sky, the wind was blowing a gale, and the
prospect of sleeping in the open under such conditions by no means
appealed to me. Han-o-pa is a fair-sized village, but it was only after
our fourth attempt that we could gain admission to an inn.
The inns, which are to be found only for thirty or forty miles north
of the frontier, are similar to all inns in North China. Built of mud,
the one-storied sheds line three sides of the compound wall. There are
stone posts in the compound to which horses and mules are tied up; in
the centre is a collection of carts and bales of hides and wool all
carefully covered up, while occupying a corner to themselves a trio of
camels was tethered. We entered the main room, the kitchen, two-thirds
of which was taken up by the k’ang, a low platform some two feet from
the ground, covered with a thick layer of hardened mud or boards, and
heated from underneath by means of a small furnace. It is one man’s
work to keep the fire going. With one hand he pulls a sort of bellows
in and out, with the other he feeds the fire continuously by means of a
ladle filled with dried horse-droppings. From this time onward, argol,
the Mongolian word for this dried manure, was the only description of
fuel I saw until my return to civilisation. There is neither wood nor
coal (unless, maybe, the latter is hid from sight in the bowels of
the mountain) in Inner or South Mongolia. The k’ang was crowded with
Mongols and Chinese as well as a number of soldiers, and I learned that
the tiresome boy who had insisted upon accompanying me was regaling the
company with a personal description of the foreigner whom he had in
tow, more especially how that she had had four shots on one occasion
before her pony would let her mount; a feat which seemed to give rise
to great hilarity when they saw me--the relation of eleven stone to the
size of the pony, I imagine.
In the room adjoining were several Chinese traders, and I had to make
my choice between, sharing a k’ang with these gentlemen and the Finn,
or sleeping under the stars in the courtyard in my cart. Throwing
convention to the winds (one really could not trouble about Mrs.
Grundy in Mongolia some five or six thousand feet above sea level
with a thermometer well below zero and an icy blast blowing from the
snow-covered mountains), I decided upon the former without a moment’s
consideration, and arranged a sheet of oilcloth with my cork mattress
on the top on the opposite side to that on which the Chinese had
already stretched themselves. It was late, and we lost no time in
preparing and eating our chief meal of the day. We sat cross-legged
on our beds, a low Chinese table between us, while we ate. We were
tired, and very hungry, and to save unpacking, I shared my provisions
with the missionary. Having travelled a good deal about Mongolia, he
knew the people and the language well, and I found him an interesting
companion in consequence, delightfully ready to pour information out to
so keen a listener as I was. I am afraid that he thought me quite mad
to wish to make such a journey from motives other than evangelisation
or business, and he told me later that he was greatly surprised at my
powers of endurance, and that I could take things as they came with
such equanimity. Moreover, at the end of the journey he expressed his
willingness to allow me to join his caravan some time in the future
on an extensive tour over several months in the western region of the
country--which was, I felt, the greatest compliment he could have paid
me.
“You won’t be able to undress, you know,” the Finn informed me, as he
nervously watched me divesting myself of my heavy riding boots; for
which superfluous information I politely thanked him. I had had no
intention of doing so in this motley company. One’s toilet on such
an occasion was both brief and simple. I travelled in the only garb
possible in that country, a cross-seat riding habit, and at night
merely divested myself of my outer garment in order to put on a long
sheepskin coat, took off my stock, crammed a fur cap down over my ears,
and tried to sleep. I found this last somewhat difficult on those hard,
hard k’angs, with a regular orchestra of snores bellowing forth from my
neighbours on all sides. The boards do not accommodate themselves to
one’s pampered body, and I used to wish there were less of me to ache.
It was not much after 4 a.m. when the Mongols woke us next day, and
we drank our tea and ate some bread and butter to an accompaniment of
much shouting as they persuaded the animals into their harness. There
was little inducement to wash, for the top of the Han-o-pa Pass was
intensely cold in April, and what tried me more than anything else was
the difficulty of keeping the skin on my hands and face in that harsh,
alkali-laden atmosphere. Our Chinese companions, who had put us through
a perfect catechism before we all settled down for the night, we left
still snoring on the k’ang. Our joint hotel bill for the accommodation,
and including the tip to the man who sat up all night at the bellows,
was somewhere in the neighbourhood of 3½d., but being foreigners, we
doubtless paid more heavily than did the Chinese.
Our early start was somewhat discounted by the breaking down of one
of the wagons half an hour afterwards on the most exposed part of
the mountain. The wind cut us through and through, and the sight of
the snow and ice on all sides did not tend to make us feel any more
comfortable. (One learns patience and philosophy in this country, if
one learns nothing else.) My beautiful old Mongol presented his advice
to the carters as to repairing the wagon, and then proceeded to climb
up into the other one, thrust himself deep down amongst the cargo, and
drawing all the available covering over his head became, for the time
being, lost to view. I quickly adapted myself to my environment and
followed his example, thus beginning the day by endeavouring to finish
the night, and sleeping in my cart until nearly nine o’clock, when,
calling up my pony, I had a delightful ride until our next halt, at
tiffin time.
The day had by this time resolved itself into a condition of springlike
perfection, and we had passed from the rugged barrier of the Han-o-pa
region to a grassy plateau, finding a good deal of the land as well
under Chinese cultivation, crops of wheat and oats just beginning
to show themselves above the ground. By their assiduity, their
perseverance, thrift, and industry, the Chinese here are persistently
pressing onward and forward into Inner Mongolia, year by year a little
more and a little more, colonising, and putting land under cultivation,
ploughing up great tracts which perhaps the previous year had furnished
grazing ground for Mongol live stock, their clusters of little mud
houses forming landmarks in the bare landscape.
Long strings of ox-carts were here winding their way up towards the
mountains--unhappy-looking oxen with a vast amount of endurance,
wretched little carts carrying a load of three sacks apiece, weighing
from six to seven cwt. They travel very slowly, and on this narrow
rocky road they are compelled to stop and make way for everything that
either passes or meets them. The creaking of a string of ox-carts,
sometimes as many as a 100 to 150 tied to one another, once heard
will never be forgotten. The wheels are fixed on to solid axles which
revolve with them and the rest of the structure is the personification
of simplicity. Held together by wedges, the one thing needful to its
well-being is water. Allowed to become too dry, the ox-cart falls to
pieces. Kept properly damp, it forms the most serviceable of all means
of transport across the desert. The camel for celerity, but slow and
sure is decidedly the characteristic of the ox-cart.
The first camel caravan we saw bearing hides and wool down to Kalgan
met us hereabouts. The Mongols at the rate of one to every fifteen
beasts, stared and stared at me and my pony, while I returned the gaze
with interest. The staying power of camels is proverbial. The caravans
in Mongolia march from twenty-five to twenty-eight miles a day,
averaging a little over two miles an hour, for a month, after which
the animals require a two weeks’ rest when they will be ready to begin
work again. Their carrying powers all the same do not bear comparison
with the ox-cart. The ordinary load for the Bactrian, or two-humped
Mongolian, camel is about 2 cwt. For riding purposes, though despised
by the horsey Mongol, a good camel may be used with an ordinary saddle
for seventy miles a day for a week in spring or autumn without food or
water. The points of this particular species are a well-ribbed body,
wide feet, and strong, rigid humps. The female camel is pleasanter to
ride and generally more easy-going than the skittish young bull camel,
who in the months of January and February is likely to be fierce and
refractory. I have heard it said that if a camel “goes for you” with an
open mouth, you should spring at his neck and hang on with both legs
and arms until some one renders you timely assistance and ties him up.
Generally speaking, however, they are not savage. They make as though
to bite, but seldom actually do. The female might, in fact would, try
to protect her young; and the cry of a cow camel when separated from
her calf is as pathetic as that of a hare being run down by the hounds.
It was at a somewhat superior inn we drew rein at midday with the
double object of resting our animals and refreshing ourselves. The
pleasant Chinese who owned it invited us into his private apartment,
a relatively clean room, and it was here that I made my first cooking
experiment on the journey. In a biscuit box, which when we set out
contained a dozen eggs, was discovered the early development of an
omelette. Weeding the eggshells carefully away from the same, I
replaced them by chips of cold ham, thus in course of time producing
what I considered to be a dish worthy of the excellent _chef_ to whom I
had so lately said farewell at the Wagon-lits hotel at Peking.
Alas! for my well-meant effort. The Finn felt extremely unwell after
partaking thereof, but in a subsequently confidential moment he
explained to me that the omelette had unhappily not harmonised with
a vast amount of cake which he had during the morning eaten in the
sad intervals of wakefulness while I was riding and he was snoozing
in my cart out of the wind. The innkeeper kept us company, of course,
during the meal, when he gave us the latest intelligence concerning
the movements of the Mongol and Chinese troops. All along the caravan
route to Urga, he told us, the Mongols were removing their camps and
flocks to remoter quarters for fear of being pillaged; and even down
here, little more than a day’s journey from the frontier, most of the
colonists were ready to pack up their ox-carts at an hour’s notice and
hurry away to the security of Chihli.
The day, which had begun with so much promise, developed badly, a high
wind sprang up from the north, and, laden with alkaline saturated
sand lashed one’s face into a condition of soreness. Riding, as we
were, straight into the teeth of it, our progress was slow and the
hour late when we made for an isolated and miserable little compound
in which to pass the night. So few wayfarers had we seen during the
day that it seemed reasonable to suppose that we should have the place
almost to ourselves; but not at all. A most unholy looking crew of
Chinese and Mongols appeared to occupy every possible corner when the
door was opened, and we were told baldly that there was no room for
us here at all. There was, however, no alternative but to remain, and
with a little persuasion on the part of my old Mongol, a few of his
fellow-countrymen betook themselves to a less comfortable shed which
the innkeeper had considered unworthy of sheltering us. Some of them
remained, and there was, of course, nothing to do but to make the best
of it. The Finn told me that he thought he could get the Chinese men
turned out as well if I liked, but this would have been a desperately
unsportsmanlike thing to do, and I felt that one could not possibly
allow a missionary so to prejudice his profession. I could see that he
was relieved by, and much appreciated, my point of view, which I must
say seemed merely an elementary action in “playing the game”.
There were some nine or ten of us to share the room, and two of the
Mongols looked most awful villains. I always slept with my revolver
under my pillow--most people did, I fancy, during those troublous
times--and I was amused at the Finn remarking, “You should put your
trust in God rather than in firearms”. I told him that I quite agreed
with him, but that I had always believed that intelligence combined
with a straight eye had been given to us with a view to helping
ourselves in tight corners. This same excellent man, be it related,
never himself travelled without a revolver in his pocket and was at
this time the proud possessor of a shot gun into the bargain. It struck
me afterwards that he was not unreasonably a little nervous as to whom
I might shoot were I to wake up suddenly frightened in the night. As a
matter of fact, the known possession of firearms in such a country is
in itself a certain amount of security.
Getting away in the early morning was always rather a business. My
stubborn mule had sometimes to be coaxed and threatened alternately
for half an hour before he would allow himself to be put between the
shafts of the cart, and finally our caravan would get under weigh,
disentangling itself from the apparently inextricable confusion of the
crowded compound.
Mongolian dogs, roused by the crackings of whips, keeping up an
incessant growl, breaking into a savage bark should the unwary
visitor venture too near; weary ponies with drooping heads tethered
to the stone pillar in the middle; ill-conditioned pigs nosing about
everywhere in somewhat hopeless search of provender; and, as souls
apart, the stately camels in picturesque groups looking superciliously
on, snarling and snapping as their owners urge them to kneeling posture
to receive their loads--such is the composition of the inn compound
as one hangs around shivering in the chilly dawn, ready to hoist
oneself into the saddle and be off the moment that the caravan is on
the point of starting. It does not need great experience in this sort
of travelling to be firm in seeing one’s entourage set out before one
departs oneself.
CHAPTER IV
“Those who know when they have enough are rich”
--_Chinese proverb_
The countryside at this point, some seventy miles north-west of the
Great Wall, begins to lose its cultivated aspect and to develop into
great stretches of undulating prairie as far as the eye can see, which
would have been ideal for riding had one had no retarding caravan to be
kept in view. By this time I had grown quite attached to my pony, for
although obstinate, as Mongolians must always appear by comparison with
Europeans, he had a very fair mouth and was evidently used to being
well treated. The monotony of the plains was broken not far from the
last sign of civilisation, Haraossu, a place composed of a temple and
a few houses, to reach which we had the excitement of fording a river,
the carters making no end of a bother about this. First of all they
persuaded one of the younger Mongols to divest himself of his trousers
in order to wade out to ascertain at which point the animals would best
be able to negotiate it. He walked into the water gingerly enough, the
others all pouring advice into his ears at the tops of their voices,
and after a considerable delay and a ridiculous amount of fussing
and preparation--the water in the deepest part did not come up to our
axles--we got over with great yelling and shouting. The little red
pony in my tandem flew over as though demons were after him, nearly
upsetting the cart by rushing up the steep bank on the opposite side.
My saddle pony went over quietly enough with me on his back, I having
reassured him by letting him drink a little water first, and having
therefore no difficulty at all.
The last mud hut, a private house--there being no more inns on this
side of the Gobi desert--was reached long after dark. It was a truly
depressing habitation, the only virtue of which was that it was almost
deserted save for an old man and his two sons. They may have had
relatively comfortable quarters, but all that they could be induced
to give us was the merest little outhouse, a lean-to shed, from the
roof of which hung cobwebs heavy with the dust of ages. Warmth or
comfort there was none. Stacked round the walls and in the corners were
harness, primitive agricultural appliances, a collection of fusty bags,
and a mass of rubbish. When the dim light of our candles penetrated to
the rafters we saw hanging therefrom a number of skins of sheep, goats,
etc., some of them quite recently disassociated from their carcasses
and in sanguinary condition, as well as a skeleton of what I diagnosed
as a cat.
It was a horrible place and so appallingly dirty that one felt desire
neither to eat nor rest in it. Packed up on the tail of my cart,
however, I carried a canvas camp-bed of which I had not expected to
make use before arriving at Ta-Bol. Here it was a great comfort, for
at least it raised me above the dust-level of the crowded k’ang, and
one did one’s best to become oblivious of the surroundings as soon as
possible. The owners of the place were evidently very nervous, and a
murmur of conversation kept me awake most of the night. They would tell
us nothing, however, and pretended ignorance of all that was taking
place in the country. Seeing some fowls, we persuaded them with some
difficulty to sell us a few eggs, which they assured us were perfectly
fresh. To my surprise, however, in applying the test of spinning them
round, they whirled like a teetotum, and I learned for the first time
of the native custom of hard-boiling them as soon as they were laid.
We awoke to very cold weather next day, and I found to my sorrow that
my pony had developed a swollen back and that it would be unwise to
saddle him. Starting by leading him, I tied him up later on to the
tail of the cart just in front of my own, thinking to keep an eye on
him as we followed. But this was too undignified for the game little
beast, and with a toss of his head he broke his reins and went off at
a gallop, heading for the detestable quarters we had left an hour
earlier. This delayed us considerably, for we had already made a late
start owing to my stupid old Mongol first breaking the strap which held
my bedding together and then so packing everything into my cart that I
could not possibly get into it as well. The entire contents had to be
disgorged and re-arranged.
By this time I had got my carters pretty well into shape, and they
were beginning to realise that things had to be done in my way, that
the cart was mine _pro tem._, and that I was not out for their sole
amusement. In a country where women are wont to take such an entirely
back seat it needs time and perseverance to establish this novel
state of affairs. As I had foreseen, there being two of them to one
of me, they tried in a mild way to bully me by seating themselves on
my shafts at the same time, thereby, when I was inside, completely
obscuring my view, and putting me on a level with the native women who
are neither seen nor heard. It was, too, only by considerable firmness
that I established a right to my favourite possession, a large sheet of
Chinese oilcloth. My bed was spread upon it at night, when it made a
sort of neutral territory between myself and the many insects by which
I was likely to be attacked. By day it shielded my baggage from the
dust and occasional rain storms, as well as gladdening my eyes when
they rested upon its brilliant imperial yellow. Not once but many times
did my driver try to annex this precious oilcloth in order to protect
his fodder therewith.
With two of the Mongols who accompanied us for their own convenience,
I had very little to do. One of them, a son-in-law of the older
man, was a mere youth, very under sized, of seventeen or eighteen,
whose wedding, I learned later, was the great event of a few months
previously in Inner Mongolia. The father-in-law treated him with much
respect and consideration, for the boy is rich as Mongols go, and was
returning from Kalgan with saddle bags filled with purchases for his
bride; most uncomfortable they must have been, since they pushed out
his short legs from the saddle in a most ludicrous way. Starting an
hour or so later than we did, they were handed a packet of letters
which arrived just after I left, as well as a dollar’s worth of stamps.
They remembered to give me the letters a day or two afterwards, but I
can only conclude that they kept the stamps to trade with next time
they visited Kalgan, for I saw them never at all.
Mongols pure and simple inhabited the hut at which we drew rein for our
horses’ midday rest, and girls with bright chubby cheeks and large dark
eyes came out to stare at us. After this between us and the Gobi there
was nothing but boundless prairie with an occasional group of Mongol
yourts, or tents. The air here was so clear that the eye carried for
a considerable distance. Far out on the horizon one may see objects
bobbing up and down, and, like a ship upon the high seas the sails of
which come into view long before her hull, these objects gradually
resolve themselves into figures, and a couple of Mongols mounted upon
camels dawn upon one’s view, swinging along at a great pace, the wind
at their backs. They are the pioneers of a storm and great clouds
of dust are rolling up behind them. The unusual sight not only of a
whirlwind, but of a whirlwind walking across the prairie was very
striking. It revolves at a tremendous rate upon its own axis as well as
making swift progress. In the high wind we found hereabouts, I several
times saw two or more solid columns of dust rising high into the air,
apparently stalking each other over the plains. Another curious and
equally amusing sight was that created by lumps of camel wool, which,
becoming detached, are blown along gathering loose dry grass and more
wool on their way, gradually forming huge boluses and trundling along
in the high wind with an amazing velocity.
We were now in Mongolia proper, and the language of the people we met
appealed to me as infinitely more musical and harmonious than the
throaty sounds that emanate from the mandarin speaking Chinese. Early
in the day we arrived at the home of my old Mongol, Dobdun, and here
in his yourt we were evidently not only eagerly expected, but received
a very hearty welcome from the wives, a lama priest, brother of our
host, and from a number of young people and children. There were
several yourts clustered together, and outside the ubiquitous Tibetan
prayer flags fluttered in the wind. As we rode up, we were greeted by a
volley of barks from several ferocious dogs, and in Mongolia one soon
learns never to dismount until some one from the yourt comes out to
control them. When within shouting distance of the settlement at which
one wishes to stop, one should stop and call out the word “Nuhuoi”
(Mongolian for dogs), which as a rule brings out not only the dogs
themselves, if they are not already on your tracks, but the inhabitants
of the yourts who are bound by law to control them.
The yourt is an umbrella-like framework of trellis-wood covered with
rather thick felt, which when new is perfectly white, and in travelling
in cold weather I ask for nothing better than to be housed in one of
these. Some 14 to 18 feet in diameter, they are circular in form,
having a dome-shaped roof. The door, which is originally painted red,
faces always south or south-east. Upon entering the yourt, you are
confronted by the little family altar, on which is arranged a Buddha
and perhaps several smaller and subsidiary gods, together with sundry
little brass cups containing offerings of one sort and another. In
front of the altar is a low Chinese table, and round the sides of
Dobdun’s yourt were some fine old red lacquer chests for clothes and
valuables. Most of these had nice old Chinese locks, but on one of
them the Finn recognised an European padlock as his own which he lost
when travelling a year ago with this same Mongol. He did not call
attention to the fact; it would be of little use, for Mongols pick up
and pocket things when the opportunity occurs and think nothing at all
of it.
Dobdun’s yourt was exceptionally well-equipped. The ground was covered
with semi-circular mats of very thick white felt with a device
_appliqué_ in black as a border. Some handsome skins were also strewn
about. The centre of the yourt was occupied by an iron basket of
flaming argol, the smoke from which escaped through a circular opening
in the roof. Our host, my quondam “boy,” being a man of means, had
some handsome cushions for his guests to sit upon, and on these we
squatted cross-legged. There is a considerable amount of etiquette to
be observed in visiting a Mongol family, and the first thing to be
remembered is of significant importance. Just as one does not carry an
umbrella into a London drawing-room, neither should one take a whip
or stick into a Mongol yourt. To do so is tantamount to an act of
aggression, and the proper thing is to lay them on the roof outside as
one enters. Once inside, the usual palaver, as in China, takes place
as to where one shall sit, and it is interesting to reflect how very
nearly related after all in some respects our own manners are to those
of the Asiatics. It would surely be a very modern young person who
would plump himself into the largest armchair before his elders and
betters were disposed of.
To the left of the fire are the seats of the lowly, and the inevitable
invitation to “come up higher” necessitates a certain amount of
elasticity on the part of those unaccustomed to sink gracefully to the
ground into a cross-legged position. Should cramp ensue from squatting
thus, the visitor should remember that to sit with his feet pointing to
the back of the tent is a heinous breach of good manners. If stretch
they must, it should be towards the door, not the altar. On the other
hand, if the foreigner divests himself of his headgear, which among the
Mongols is not customary, he must place it higher up than, that is, on
the altar side of, himself. If the word of greeting has for the moment
been mislaid, as in my own case it invariably was, bows and smiles
carry one a long way all the world over. Friendliness, but never to the
point of permitting the least familiarity, seemed to me in the East to
pave the way as a rule.
With their warm welcome, a good deal of curiosity is naturally
combined, and I did not flatter myself that it was “love at first
sight” which made the ladies of the family so anxious to sit near to
me. Again, as the Chinese do, the Mongols like to finger one’s clothes,
get a close look at our “funny white eyes and light hair,” and if one
wears a ring, they are as amused as children to be allowed to try it
on. But Dobdun, having had some experience of Europeans was not going
to allow his womenkind to over-reach themselves, and their share in
the entertainment was to initiate me into the mysteries of Mongol
tea-making, and keep the fire going, and then, literally, to take a
back seat and allow the superior sex to converse.
Having finally settled into such seats as befitted the relative dignity
of the visitors, an interchange of snuff-bottles took place, but in the
case of Mongols alone it would be the caller who would offer his to the
host and then to the others present. Of all their personal possessions,
there is nothing more highly prized by the Mongols throughout the
country than their snuff-bottles, which, in the case of rich men,
are frequently made of carved jade, crystal, and precious stones. A
considerable amount of ritual surrounds the offering and receiving of
the snuff-bottle. Our host, however, pandering to our foreign ways,
produced his snuff, and I learned from him to receive it in the palm of
my hand, lift it slowly to my nose, sniff, and then bowing return it
with deliberation to the owner. Dobdun’s habitat, I was warned, was not
to be taken as an index to all yourts, for the general cleanliness, as
well as the quality of the tea there, were vastly superior to anything
else I was likely to meet in Mongolia. I was, in fact, being let down
very easy in my initiation.
The Mongols are very hospitable and insist upon giving the visitor tea
and milk. It is at first a trying experience to know that good manners
compel you to drink from a filthy bowl the still filthier milk which
you see taken from a skin bag, made from the “innards” of a sheep,
hanging up the side of the yourt, and offered to you by hands which
from the day they were born appear never to have been washed. Brick
tea, of which there are several qualities, and which in some parts of
Mongolia still forms the currency, is made at Hankow from the dust and
sweepings of the leaf. It is used throughout the country, and forms the
staple drink of the Mongols. It is brewed by shavings, cut from the
slab, being pounded up and stewed indefinitely in milk, to which salt
and a cheesy description of butter are added.
The relation between the tea and the argol was somewhat too intimate
for my peace of mind, and it went sometimes much against the grain to
drink from a bowl wiped out by the fingers of some dirty old woman who
the moment before had been employed in feeding the fire with the horse
or camel droppings. The collecting of argol is a source of constant
occupation throughout the spring and summer, when after being spread
over the ground in the sun, it is piled in great mounds near the yourts
for use during the winter months. It makes a good hot fire and has
practically no smell at all when burning. While engaged in endeavouring
to drink this saline mixture and at the same time to convey the
impression that I liked it, an elderly man in a loose robe of dark
red cotton cloth, his head clean-shaved, rode up, dismounted, and came
in. He was presented to me as “my brother, the lama”. He was an old
friend of the missionary, and they at once entered into an animated
conversation.
A particularly handsome small boy with large and merry brown eyes made
his appearance soon after, and to my surprise, lama priests being
vowed to celibacy, was introduced by Dobdun as “the son of my brother,
the lama”. The Finn chaffed the priest gently on the subject of the
breaking of his vows, whereupon every one laughed, including the
illegitimate son, who, a fine lad of twelve or so, had already been
dedicated to the temple and was now a lama student. They retaliated, I
heard subsequently, by asking the missionary what on earth he was doing
travelling about the country with a woman. This might have embarrassed
me had I known the language. It is not the first time that I have
experienced the blissfulness of ignorance. The lama in embryo and his
little sister were quite willing to be photographed later on, and were
posed for me by their seniors at their usual occupation--gathering
argol.
[Illustration: A CAMEL CARAVAN]
[Illustration: THE LAMA IN EMBRYO, AND HIS LITTLE SISTER GATHERING
ARGOL]
In spite of Dobdun’s constant association with missionaries at Kalgan,
in spite of the fact that he knows by heart quite half of the Bible,
that he has had every opportunity and every encouragement to become
a Christian, he remains as devout a Buddhist as ever he was; and,
although interested in the religion of the Western world, he regards
it as similar but vastly inferior to his own faith. And so he continues
to enshrine his little brass figure of the prophet, and at sundry times
he doubtless makes his prostrations, and fills up the many little metal
cups with suitable offerings of corn and wine to his god.
Thus my first impression of a Mongol yourt was an extremely pleasant
one, and I was sorry at the end of an hour or more to say farewell to
my first Mongol friend, little knowing that he had no intention of
letting me very far out of his sight and that he would turn up again
within the next forty-eight hours in order to present his foreign
protégée to his various friends in the neighbourhood. But you never
know your luck in travelling, and in seeking shelter for the night you
are as likely as not in winter to find a very different sort of yourt.
The young calves and lambs share the warmth of the stove with their
owners, and, if the size of the family (a very elastic term here) is
out of proportion to the accommodation of the yourt, they will all lie
down together, well wedged in with their feet towards the fire in the
middle, the animals squeezing in where they can.
Delightfully drowsy hours in my cart over smooth prairie followed the
substantial meal in the warmth of the yourt as we pressed on toward
Ta-Bol, when I was suddenly awakened by an unexpected halt, in time to
see the Finn dismount at the sight of a couple of Mongols on camels
who drew up to speak to him. The camel-riders made their beasts kneel
and they swung themselves out of their saddles to shake the missionary
warmly by both hands. By this time a third man riding one and leading
another pony appeared on the scene and the four men squatted on the
ground in earnest conference. It transpired that they were attached to
a great caravan on its way down to Kalgan; that they had already been
obliged to go much out of their way in order to avoid the soldiers;
and that they would be thankful if the Finn would give them “written
words” in case any further effort were made to commandeer their camels.
I provided them with leaves from my note-book for the purpose, and the
Finn did what he could for them.
[Illustration: CARRYING MAILS]
[Illustration: BY THE WAYSIDE]
[Illustration: ‘HE DREW REINS TO TAKE STOCK OF THE FOREIGNER’]
Exactly why his words should have weight with Government troops in a
country under martial law, I could never quite fathom. Perhaps it was
that the soldiers from China and these Mongols from Urga would not be
able to speak one another’s language--more than probable. These Mongols
at all events departed quite happy and apparently much reassured by the
missionary’s advice. The horseman lent the Finn the capital little pony
he was leading. They would meet again before long, he said, and then it
could be returned to him. That night I reached the most northerly point
of my little excursion into the wilds, and camped out in the vicinity
of the only mission in the heart of Mongolia.
Lack of hospitality has never been one of the variety of faults so
erroneously attributed to missionaries, but the little five-roomed mud
structure which housed two families as well as three or four unattached
men and women, to say nothing of an adopted Mongol orphan, had its
limitations, and I was not at all sorry to pitch my own tent rather
than tax the already overburdened resources of this newly established
station. It was but a few weeks after my visit that this little
community had to fly for their lives in the face of the pillaging
Mongols from the north, and up to the present time there has been
apparently but little hope of their returning to rebuild the ruins of
their compound, and to resume their almost hopeless task of conversion.
Missions in China are making quite unprecedented progress at the
present time, owing doubtless in some degree to the prevailing desire
for Western education and enlightenment in general. But Buddhism, or
indeed any other form of belief, has nothing approaching so strong a
hold over the Chinese as Lamaism has over the Mongols, where in every
family at least one boy is dedicated from birth to the priesthood, and
where lamas are estimated as forming over 60 per cent. of the total
male population.
Within hail of this plucky little band I pitched my tent, and for the
first time experienced the diversions of life under canvas in what
was practically winter and during a gale. Among certain things I lay
claim to have learnt at Ta-Bol was how to appear cheery and optimistic
at breakfast time when from early dawn and even earlier one had been
engaged in finding out all about the ways and possibilities of canvas
during a raging hurricane. The Mongols are an astonishingly feckless
lot of people compared with the Chinese who nearly invariably “go one
better” and improve upon anything one shows them from the Western
world. The first thing that happened when I retired for the night
was the collapse of my canvas bed. The “boy,” to whom the business
of erecting it and my tent had been entrusted, had satisfied his
conscience by merely hooking the ends to the bed supports, and had
left the sides (literally) to rip. They did. With a tremendous effort,
the light blowing out at intervals, I managed to detach the frame from
the canvas and begin again. In course of time, and extremely cold, I
got into bed. By 3 a.m. I was aroused by the flap of the tent untying
itself and making a most irritating noise. There was nothing for it but
to wake up thoroughly and make it fast.
I think I could not have been asleep more than half an hour before
I gradually became conscious that my tent appeared to be the sole
obstacle in the path of a tremendous hurricane on its way down from
Urga to Peking, for all the force of the gale sweeping over hundreds
of miles of desert seemed to be expending its force upon the canvas.
The flap-flap was merely the overture to a grand chorus, and the cords
on one side of the tent suddenly freeing themselves from the pegs
outside, the entire place became transformed in the twinkling of an eye
into a pandemonium.
The dust was dense and my belongings blew round in it in base imitation
of the whirlwinds which had amused me so much during the early part of
the previous day. Loose corners of the tent smacked at everything with
extraordinary vigour, smashing all that came within their reach and
inflicting stinging slaps as one sought to make them fast. Any sort of
light was out of the question and chaos reigned for hours. Having made
the ropes fast again and, regardless of dust, deposited everything upon
the ground with the heavier articles on the top as the only possible
expedient, I again made a bid for the oblivion of a final nap. From
sheer exhaustion I managed to sleep again even in that storm, to wake
up shivering with cold and in a gritty condition of great discomfort.
For the rest--every single article in the tent had to be cleaned when
the wind went down. Among things I noted during that eventful night was
that it is essential when sleeping so near to the bosom of mother earth
in winter to pack as many clothes underneath as on the top of one’s
body in a canvas bed. More than once I woke up in the morning quite
stiff with cold.
Life, however, is full of contrasts, and “joy cometh with the
morning”. At an early hour a missionary called upon me with a pleasing
proposition from the Mongols, who, hearing that I had a gun, thought
that it would be a good opportunity to organise a wolf hunt. Wolves are
the arch enemies of the Mongols on account of the tremendous amount
of damage they do to the stock. The Mongols hunt them with a zest
bred of vengeance, and ride them down (at a somewhat severe cost to
their ponies, for the pace is terrific and the strain great), finally
lassoing them with a loop of raw hide attached to the end of a pole.
The wolf thus caught has a poor time at the hands of the revengeful
hunter, and I heard horrible stories of the unfortunate brutes being
pegged down to earth, jaws bound, skinned alive except the head, and
then set free. Of Mongol bravery there is no doubt, but the reason
they give for wolves never attacking men in Mongolia is typical of
their “bounce” and conceit. Wolves certainly “go for” people in Russia
immediately north, and in Manchuria and China immediately to the east
and south of Mongolia. The Russians and Chinese, say the Mongols, are
cowards and run away, while they, the Mongols, attack the wolves,
yelling and shouting.
A certain she-wolf had for some time carried on successful forays in
the neighbourhood, and had done considerable damage, not only among
the flocks and herds, but had even pulled down a colt quite near to a
settlement. Her lair, where it was suspected that she was maintaining
a litter of young cubs, had been located on a distant hill-side. Our
armament on this occasion was, though varied, quite insufficient, and
consisted only of our service and two smaller revolvers as well as a
shot gun. We lacked the essential rifle. The expedition, however, was
not wholly unsuccessful. Taking a line well to leeward of the suspected
hill-side, four of us with as many Mongols, armed with spades and
picks, spreading ourselves out with a view to cutting off the retreat
of the old wolf, should she attempt to dodge us, began a silent march
over the dried-up grass. We had walked for less than half an hour when,
sure enough, the vibrations of our footsteps carried the news of our
approach through the earth to the lair, and in the distance we descried
the lady, who, while keeping her weather eye upon us, was making off at
a swinging lope at right angles to us. If only we had had a rifle! Each
of us was ready to pose as a certain shot and swore to the unquestioned
demise of the wolf in such a case. A couple of excellent shots from the
service revolver scuffed up the dust after her retreating form, and
some of us ran at an angle and tried to head her off by shooting in
front of her. But pack of novices that we were, she got well away, her
tongue no doubt in her cheek, and we watched her regretfully into dim
distance.
Hard work was to take place of suitable weapons. The lair was not
difficult of discovery. The hill-side was a perfect honeycomb of holes,
and we tried several before settling down to the task of a navvy upon
the most promising group. We all took our turn in wielding the two
Chinese spades the Mongols had brought with them, and before long we
had made a deep gully some eight or nine feet in length and four or
five in depth which we fondly hoped would soon disclose the nest. Our
disappointment in discovering that we had merely turned up a passage
which went off sharply to the innermost recesses of the slope was
great, and two of the party threw up the sponge, declaring that the
game was not in the least worth the candle. Personally, I had ulterior
motives in view, and was nothing loth to getting my muscles into trim
by such excellent exercise as digging. To become the owner of a couple
of wolf cubs and to take them back with me to Peking and possibly ship
them home alive seemed to me very well worth while.
We dug all day, and towards evening decided, on the advice of the
Mongols, to try to smoke out the wolves by lighting a fire at another
entrance to the group of holes upon which we were engaged. We were
certainly rewarded, not by a capture of wolves, but by one of the most
wonderful sights I had experienced in the East. Whether accidental or
intentional, it was not very clear, but in any case the Mongols managed
to start a prairie blaze which ran like wildfire over acres and acres
of dried-up grass. It was a wonderful display. Numbers of eagles,
harrier eagles, they called them, hovered and hung over the burning
expanse, swooping down with deadly certainty upon any ground game that
might run. It was very interesting to watch four of these great birds
hunt and chase a miserable white hare which simply had no chance at all.
There is any amount of sport even in this unpromising part of Mongolia;
antelope, prairie chicken, and hare offering a welcome variety to
the everlasting mutton of the stewpot. It was fortunate that the
fire spread in a direction away from the little mission station and
the Mongol yourts near it. At night the whole horizon to the west
was glowing, and one could see flames leaping high from time to time
as they licked up some little bush or scrub, the hillocks becoming
sharply outlined for a while and then part of the blaze itself. Had the
strong wind of the night before kept up we should have been in a tight
corner. It was an alarming as well as a beautiful sight. The relentless
progress of the crackling flames was awe-inspiring, and the phenomenal
part of it all was that after laying bare some thousands of acres, the
whole thing seemed to fizzle out almost as rapidly as it had begun.
I gathered that it was against the law of the country to start such
fires, but the Mongols seemed to think that it all made for good and
that the new grass would have all the better chance by the clearing off
of the old.
At daybreak the following morning a couple of us sallied forth once
more to the scene of yesterday’s excavations, and seeing from the
distance some movement among the upturned earth we fired, to find upon
closer inspection that one fluffy little cub playing outside the hole
had been badly peppered and that another one had been killed outright.
That there were more inside was fairly certain, for a litter usually
consists of from five to seven or more. We decided to continue digging
operations. After several hours’ extremely hard work and a display of
great bravery on the part of one of the missionaries who burrowed into
the hole, where there might very well have lurked the parent wolf,
until nothing but his feet could be seen outside, we came upon a nest
of three more cubs as well as a wounded one in a passage leading to it.
The Mongols were delighted with the bag, and clamoured for the pretty
soft little creatures whom it went to my heart to destroy. One was
spared for me, and I fed it for several days from a Mongol baby
bottle--but it died. The baby bottle of the country, I may mention, is
the horn of a cow pierced through to the tip, with a teat cut from the
udder of a sheep attached thereto. A great many babies whose mothers
have died in childbirth are, I am told, brought up in this way. By the
time we had finished our labours we had dug a trench of over twenty
feet long, sometimes seven feet in depth, to say nothing of various
false tracks, in the process of which we turned up several tons of very
tough earth, blistered our hands badly, and made a most untidy mess
of the hill-side. Over and above their joy at having given the happy
despatch to no fewer than six of their potential enemies, the Mongols
were delighted to cut up the wolves for the sake of their livers, which
form one of their most highly valued medicines.
CHAPTER V
“That the wicked have plenty to eat is no indication of the approval of
heaven”
--_Chinese proverb_
It would be unkind to recommend any sensitive person to make a first
experiment in camping out among such a friendly, but inquisitive
crew as the natives hereabouts, and I could but be thankful to have
served my apprenticeship in this respect in China. After travelling,
very much off the beaten track, sometimes for eighteen months in his
country, the Chinese, wherever I met him, in Mongolia or in Russia,
or in Russo-Japanese Manchuria, seemed far more to me like “a man and
a brother” than the inhabitants of any of the latter countries. The
casual manner in which the Mongol would walk into one’s tent was, to
say the least of it, embarrassing; and I have heard it said that quite
a little grievance exists among those who from time to time visit
Peking for trading purposes or on official business because the houses
of Europeans are not open to them as are their hospitable yourts to the
traveller in their country.
[Illustration: METHUSELAH AND HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW]
[Illustration: ONE OF THE LARGEST CAMEL CARAVANS THE AUTHOR HAD EVER
SEEN]
An old, old man dropped in one day to see me, stone deaf, and
dumb. I had been hearing a good deal and in great variety about
their superstitions regarding devils, and when this wrinkled old
leather-face, overshadowed by a sheepskin cap black with the dirt of
ages, silently approached me in the half-light of late afternoon, it
was as though the evil one had materialised. Very thin--there is no
soft corner in the Mongol heart, as in the Chinese, for the aged--very
tattered, and with bleared eyes, Methuselah gently fingered all my
belongings, passing his filthy fingers up and down the bristles of
my hair- and tooth-brushes with evident enjoyment. My interest, to
say nothing of my astonishment, was far too great for me to think of
raising any objection. Poor old man!
Far from being venerated on account of advancing years the old people
in Mongolia run a very good chance of being crowded out of their
yourts by the younger generation, and left to live or die with no more
possessions than a bit of felt covering and a meagre allowance of food
on the dust heaps surrounding the settlements.
A son of my old visitor had been a lesser mandarin in this part, but
was dispossessed as the result of having been altogether too grasping
in his “squeeze” of the soldiers whom he was supposed to pay with money
that was provided for that purpose. Four or five fairly well-to-do
yourts were the fruit of his ill-gotten gains, and his chief wife,
the T’ai-t’ai, showed me with pride her beautiful headdress which she
said was worth over one hundred taels, which it was not difficult to
believe. A number of relations crowded into the yourt when I went to
pay my call--an astonishingly picturesque crowd in blue, purple, and
lavender coats, mingling with the bright orange and dull red of the
lamas’ habits--all more or less dirty, and some very ragged. The men
with their shaggy fur caps and silver-mounted hunting knives, ivory
chopsticks hanging in cases, and flint and tinder purses slung on
silver chains round their waists or attached to their girdles; the
women with elaborate headdresses of the same metal, richly studded with
jade, coral, and sometimes pearls, are all really very imposing.
Nothing would satisfy them but that I should go to call upon the little
bride of the family and their son, her boy husband. Escorted by the
mother-in-law, I made my way to a very new-looking yourt covered with
clean white felt and with a newly painted red door. It formed quite a
landmark among the others, which were in varying stages of dirtiness
and decay. We were received by the young bridal couple, who, arrayed in
all the splendour of their wedding garments in my honour, had omitted
to tidy up their habitation, which presented a sorry spectacle of
thriftless disorder. I gathered that some of the wedding presents had
been of a practical nature, for I noticed--incidentally by hitting
them with my head--haunches of antelope and joints of mutton hanging
from the roof just inside the entrance. The marriage did not seem to
me to promise particularly well, for although amply endowed with
such worldly goods as the Mongol heart could desire, the boy and girl,
children that they were, seemed distinctly snappy with each other, and
each kept his or her own key of the red lacquer chests which contained
their respective treasures.
[Illustration: A MONGOL BRIDE]
The girl’s bridal coiffure was quite wonderful, and back and front
her strings of coral and silver chains, with their massive ornaments,
reached almost to the bottom of her coat. I noticed that the older
women’s strings of beads seemed to grow shorter with age, and gathered
that, as the girls of the family married, their headdresses were
contributed to by the senior generation. A bride, therefore, in a poor
family possesses much finer jewels than does her mother, who, like many
a mother at home, has been impoverished by the wedding.
The tribe of this region is the Chakhar of South or Inner Mongolia, and
owing to the proximity of China they are, I believe, the least pure
bred of any. In the main a nomadic people, they move their settlements
under normal conditions but twice in the year, the principal object
being, of course, fresh pasture for their cattle. They also, however,
attach some importance to tradition, and will move their yourts just
a few yards sometimes just for the sake of having done so. A fairly
well-watered country, the locale of the yourts is to some extent
determined by the wells, but the areas are relatively circumscribed,
and there is little difficulty in discovering at any given time the
whereabouts of any particular family one may be seeking.
The great lamaseries are necessarily of permanent structure, and
fine temples surrounded by a number of yourts and rough houses of
Chinese type form villages of considerable size. One comes upon them
unexpectedly like oases in the desert. Once a most warlike tribe and
foes greatly to be feared by their Chinese neighbours, the Chakhars
appear to be now a more peaceable folk than their cousins of the North,
and have not, in unison with the Khalkhas, sought to throw off the
Chinese yoke with the downfall of the Manchu dynasty. I have heard it
said that the Chakhars are cleaner than other tribes, but for the truth
of this statement I am unable to vouch; and truly, in view of the fact
that it would be difficult to be dirtier than they, I myself find it
hard to believe it. Mongols, generally speaking, are an extraordinary
dirty people, and one of their superstitions is that if they have too
much to do with water in this life they will become fish in the next
incarnation. They suffer much from contagious diseases, on account of
their habits as well as owing to their lack of morality.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL CHAKHAR]
The Mongols are, I am told, some of the most frankly immoral people in
the world, and this is not the result of the absence of moral code,
for theoretically this latter is of the strictest possible character.
The lamas certainly have an extremely bad reputation; certain orders
of them are allowed to marry, but the great bulk of the immense
population of priests is nominally celibate. Among the various orders
of the priesthood are some whose mission it is to travel about the
country to collect money for the temples. When one of these holy men
(the greatest villains unhung, would be my honest opinion) visits
a settlement he is invited to stay in the richest yourt, given the
best of everything to eat, and the chief wife, or, if he prefers her,
the daughter, is offered to him as a matter of course. There is no
question, I believe, of these women, who belong to the lamas, being
looked down upon--far from it. But as far as I could observe and
understand, women entering into this irregular alliance do not wear the
distinctive and very beautiful headdress of the married woman.
Lamas throughout Mongolia have their heads clean-shaven, and in this
region their ordinary dress consists of long tunics of coarse cotton
in varying tones of terra-cotta and yellow, bound round the waist
with sashes of dark red, as well as long folds of the same material
which, worn ordinarily across the chest, are on ceremonial occasions
and whilst officiating unwound and used in shawl fashion. Even were
there no other distinguishing feature between the Mongol and Chinese,
by their boots you would know them all the world over; clumsy,
loose-legged affairs, coming two-thirds of the way up to the knee,
the dignity of the Mongol is very greatly diminished if he has to
walk or run in such a footgear. Toes upturned, the sole is thick and
cumbersome, the boot fits nowhere at all, and the walk degenerates
into a shuffle in consequence. For purposes of differentiation the
laity are called black men, their hair being worn in long handsome
pig-tails, the front of the head shaved in Chinese fashion. I was
present on the occasion of the inauguration of the first Parliament
of China’s Republic in Peking in the spring of 1913, when the Mongol
representatives, three of them from Inner Mongolia, were conspicuous
in that ultra modern and newly cropped assembly by their _queues_, by
their high boots, and by their old-world satin-brocade, fur-trimmed
coats of a richness and quality now seldom seen in Peking.
Men and women are extremely fond of dress and ornaments; the former
run to beautiful and valuable snuff-bottles, elaborate decoration of
their hunting knives, tobacco pouches, chopsticks, and flint and tinder
boxes. Extremes seem to me to meet in the cherished possessions of an
old Mongol mandarin. He showed me with much pride an up-to-date rifle,
a splendid pair of Zeiss field-glasses, and then his flint and tinder
box.
Ta-Bol, the meaning of which, “five mountains,” suggests a somewhat
distorted view of the slight elevations which surround it, proved to
be a pleasant centre for my short sojourn in the Chakhar country, and
I managed to get a variety of experiences into the time I was there.
In a north-westerly direction and distant some 60 li from Ta-Bol lies
Hankarawa, an important citadel of lamaism and the largest temple of
Inner Mongolia. In perfect weather and over the most delightful riding
country imaginable, with a good track across undulated prairie, an
early start was made in order to have plenty of time on arrival. My
star seemed in the ascendant, and it was truly a lucky day that I chose
for the expedition.
Forming a suburb to the lamasery were half a dozen or less yourts near
the entrance, and these I found on closer inspection were primitive
little stores kept by the Chinese for supplying the lamas--who here, as
in most other places, do no work at all and produce absolutely nothing
for their own use--with the necessities of life. The courtly owner of
one of them pressed me to enter, when he at once offered me the best
tea that I had had since I left South China. In stumbling phrases, I
expressed my appreciation and enquired whether the tea was not from
the Bohea hills of Fukien. This let loose a flood of conversation (of
which, I must confess, I hardly understood a word), out of which I
disentangled the fact that my host had come from that province and
was delighted to speak with one who knew and admired his native city,
Foochow. As to paying for my entertainment, they scouted the idea, and
when I departed I felt that at least I had now one friend in Mongolia.
As I approached the entrance to the place it all seemed abnormally
quiet and deserted. I knew there were hundreds of lamas there, but
no one was about and not a sound was to be heard. It was all very
mysterious. It was not until I had tentatively opened many doors and
peered into the gloom of sundry temples, in one of which a very old
lama sat quite alone, droning his prayers in the Tibetan tongue,
clashing a pair of cymbals and beating a big drum with his hands and
feet respectively all at the same time, that I heard sounds as of
clapping and applause. I found them difficult to locate. Chancing on
the entrance to an unpromising looking and, as far as I could see
deserted, compound, I leaned my weight against the great painted
wooden doors, which giving way with a loud creak, precipitated me
most unexpectedly into the midst of an unlooked-for entertainment. My
own surprise can hardly have been less than the combined astonishment
of some two to three hundred lamas, ranging from little boys to old
hoary-heads, all squatting on the ground in the sunny forecourt of a
temple.
[Illustration: TWO OR THREE HUNDRED LAMAS SQUATTING ON THE GROUND IN
THE SUNNY FORECOURT OF A TEMPLE]
[Illustration: HANKARAWA]
My sudden appearance with a camera in their midst was apparently most
disconcerting, and one and all they covered their heads with the dark
red sashes. To take a snapshot on the spur of the moment was literally
a reflex act on my part, and had my life been at stake in the doing of
it I could not have refrained. As it was, for a moment or two perhaps
the situation was a trifle strained, and whether my intrusion would
be resented, as it might well have been in that out-of-the-way
corner of the earth, was exceedingly uncertain. Scowls and anger were
expressed all too plainly on the debased faces of many of the younger
men, but at a sign from one of the leaders they seemed quickly to
recover their equanimity, resumed their occupation, and offered not the
slightest objection to my presence, when, by signs, I asked permission
to walk round the outskirts of the gathering.
The deep red, vivid orange, and pale cinnamon of their clothes
suggested great borders of parrot tulips ranged on either side of a
wide flagged path leading up to the chief lama, who quite possibly
had seen, what probably few of the others had, white faces visiting
the temples in Peking. He allowed me to take a photograph at close
quarters, smiling (at his own cowardice, I presume) the while. The
little boys made hideous faces at me as I strolled round, and the
young men of twenty or so, an age at which I always feel there is most
to fear from devilment and cruelty, looked at me in an unmistakably
hostile manner.
A little group of men stripped to the waist formed the centre of
operations, and these it transpired were candidates for a degree. They
were being examined by the seniors and cross-examined by their junior
colleagues of all ages. Each side backed its fancy apparently and all
indulged in wild clapping and gesticulation, some of them rising from
the ground in their excitement and yelling approbation or the reverse
to the victim of the moment. The brown-faced old chief lama sat suave
and imperturbable throughout. The scene was as picturesque as it was
interesting and fraught with mystery.
Soon afterwards the assembly dispersed, and, freed from the restraint
of their elders, the young lamas hustled round me in an aggressive and
pugnacious sort of mood. I have found in my limited experience that to
meet this kind of thing good-humouredly, but never to show the least
sign of embarrassment, usually has a placating effect. I allowed one
or two of the more objectionable youths to look through my camera, for
instance, but when one of them wished to take it from me for a closer
inspection I smacked his hand away as I would have done a child’s,
whereat they laughed. Not more than five per cent of the uninitiated
seem able to see anything through the lenses of a camera, but if one
or two can be made to do so the others are placed at a disadvantage,
which, to some extent gives one the whip hand.
In the same way with the Chinese. On rare occasions I was faced with
the type of swanking young man who conceives it to be his mission in
life to make the foreigner “lose face”. He usually begins by calling
attention to one’s limited knowledge of his language, but I succeeded
more than once in turning the tables by enquiring if he knew “English
talk,” “French talk,” “Russian talk,” and so forth. A contemptuous
shrug of the shoulders and an expressive movement of the hands, with a
well-there-you-are look on your face, and the crowd laughs with you,
while the swanker retires to reflect on the fact “that they don’t know
everything down in Judee”.
On one occasion in Mongolia it became essential for me to assert
my position. The lad who had insisted, against my wishes, upon
accompanying my caravan up country (I discovered afterwards that
he was actually the owner of and alone could manage the pony which
helped to draw my cart) declined to carry out my instructions in some
small matter or other one day, and, moreover, when I insisted, he
was cheeky, imitating me in the way I spoke Chinese almost before my
face. This could not, of course, be permitted for an instant. I waited
my opportunity, and later in the day on returning from an expedition
I asked a missionary to explain his misdeeds very carefully to him,
and to help him to realise that though I might not be able to speak
his language I did not intend to stand any nonsense from him. I
stepped in at the end of the harangue and seizing him by the pigtail I
administered the severest chastisement I have ever given, boxing his
ears soundly several times. The crucial question had arisen. Was I to
lose face, or was he? I have to admit that I was not “hitting a man of
my own size,” but the effect on the Mongol onlookers was excellent, and
as for the lad himself--well--he and I and a young Mongol spent the
greater part of next day together hunting for eagles’ eggs, far away
from the camp. That I taught him the approved Western method of blowing
eggs with one hole only (some of them were in an unpleasantly mature
condition) sealed our relationship, which remained friendly until I
left China.
One romantic evening in South Mongolia comes back to my remembrance
in Europe as it were in a dream. I had arranged to accompany my old
friend the Finn on a visit to a distant settlement in order to see
whether these people there with whom he was totally unacquainted would
give him a hearing at all. After a ride of some twenty li or so, we
arrived late one Sunday afternoon at a group of tents sheltered from
the north and easterly winds by a belt of low hills, and came to a halt
a hundred yards away from the most important looking yourt with a shout
of “Nuhuoi”.
The people emerged from the surrounding tents and restrained the very
savage dogs who were howling for our blood. Women controlled them,
kneeling on the ground and holding them in by their collars. The moment
the dogs see that strangers are given a friendly reception there is no
more trouble with them until the time for departure comes, when the
same performance has to be repeated. The owner of the yourt we had
selected for our visit was a Mandarin of some standing, and his fine
manners greatly impressed me as he offered us the snuff-bottle in the
most courtly fashion imaginable. With him was a very handsome man who
might from his gentle and learned appearance have been--what one likes
to imagine they are--an Oxford don. This was the Mandarin’s secretary,
and having lived from time to time in Peking, he had acquired something
of the culture and refinement of the Chinese upper class. Through him,
the Finn addressed most of his remarks to the Mandarin who was keenly
entertained until the subject of Western religion was broached, when he
completely changed his aspect, becoming palpably indifferent, if not a
little sulky, remaining with us only because good manners compelled him
to do so.
People from neighbouring tents swarmed in, crowding and jostling each
other at the entrance in order to catch a glimpse of the foreigners.
The atmosphere became not a little thick, the doorway being absolutely
blocked up by a solid little mass of humanity, little faces even
peering in between the ankles of the older folk. A motley crew indeed,
the sun streaming in like a brilliant shaft through the hole in the
roof, the rest of the interior in deep shade, the colours of their
clothes and the whimsical faces of the people making altogether a
fascinating study. The Finn suggested that I, as a new-comer to
Mongolia, would like to hear some of the music of the country, and
there was a great pow-wow as to who should perform for my benefit.
After a prodigious wait, two young lamas disappeared, soon to return,
the one with a long multi-stringed instrument of wood distantly
related, perhaps, to the zither family; and the other bearing a
banjo-like affair provided with four strings.
In the dim light from the setting sun, and with a shyness charming
to behold in these usually somewhat truculent youths, they twanged
their strings in pretty little minor chords, and from time to time
one of them would sing quietly and very bashfully of the prowess of
his historic forebears. The singer of the settlement, a girl, was, I
gathered, too shy to appear at all. It was all so weird and barbaric,
so remote from life as I had known it, and so extraordinarily like a
dream. The Mongols, as I learnt during my months in Peking, are totally
unlike the Chinese in their relation to music. While I was in Peking
the last of the Manchu empresses departed from the disturbed life of
her country, and the lamas, of course, played an important part at
the funeral ceremonials. Grouped in a little temple-like structure
to one side of the platform upon which the obeisance to the memorial
tablet of the dead empress was made, some forty or fifty priests in
brilliant togas of Imperial yellow satin intoned a solemn dirge which
was absolutely in harmony with the atmosphere of mourning. Many people
who deny entirely the least suggestion of musical sense to the Chinese
were, I remember, greatly struck with the extraordinarily deep and
rich tones that came from the Mongol throats in their Gregorian-like
chanting.
CHAPTER VI
“The best riders have the hardest falls”
--_Chinese proverb_
The people in the neighbourhood of Ta-Bol were quite a friendly lot,
and I was frequently invited to go and have a chat in the various
yourts. To persuade one inside and therefore to be at close enough
quarters to enjoy a thorough inspection of the foreigner’s clothes,
hair, “light eyes,” etc., was a source of much enjoyment to some of
the younger women, and turning a blind eye, that _sine quâ non_ of
all good travellers, upon the dirt and disorder, I managed to see the
people under more or less normal conditions, which one seldom succeeds
in doing when journeying with a definite goal and object. In some of
the yourts, each one, it seemed to me, dirtier than the last, were
delightful babies, confiding little creatures who had never known
harshness, some of whom wore really beautiful charms of jade and lumps
of amber round their brown necks, which nothing could induce the
mothers to sell, for fear of jeopardising the fortunes of their little
ones. From what I saw of them, both in the north as well as in the
south, I came to the conclusion that the youthful Mongolian, until
he arrives at such an age to be dedicated to the vicious life of the
lamasery, is a particularly happy little person. The boy baby dominates
the yourt as much as he dominates the palace, but I imagine his little
sister has a rather fairer chance in life than she often enjoys in
the Chinese family. At any rate, I never saw a child being ill-used
in Mongolia, and to hear one cry is of rare occurrence. Families all
over Mongolia are, I am told, small, and in one yourt when the mother
of twins was presented to me as a somewhat phenomenal person, she
apologised for the fact and said, “The foreigner will regard me as
being like a dog to produce two children at one birth”.
Upon returning one evening to my camp, I found that the local Mandarin
had sent across one of his camels in response to a remark of mine
that I had never ridden one. The natives, I think, expected a fine
entertainment, for there were several unwonted loafers hanging about
the compound. The camel looked a nice gentle young thing, and we took
to each other at first sight. At a word from the man who brought her,
she knelt in order to receive me in the saddle, which was the usual
sort of Mongol affair with very short stirrups. Having neither reins
nor bridle is at first disconcerting, but I was assured that it was
simple enough to steer with the single rope of camel’s hair which is
attached to a wooden pin running through the cartilage of the animal’s
nose. I was lucky in not coming off at once, for it takes a little
experience to remember that in rising, hind legs first, the camel
pitches you forward against the front hump and then shoots you back
again when the fore-quarters of the creature come into position. I had
no intention, however, of making merry for the Mongols, and blithely
declining to be led (I somehow trusted that camel), I started off at a
gentle pace, wondering how on earth I would stop her should Madame la
Chamelle take it into her head to run away with me.
Days of see-saws and swings are to me a still cherished reminiscence.
I by no means disliked the undulating motion which to many people
recalls the Dover-Calais boats, and, gaining assurance, I dug my heels
in and essayed a gentle amble. Madame obliged me, and we were, I fondly
believe, mutually satisfied, when I, becoming rashly familiar upon
so short an acquaintance, used a word I had learned from the Chinese
when riding a donkey along the dusty roads near the Imperial summer
palace at Peking. “Dôk, Dôk,” I gaily remarked to Madame, merely (and
quite unnecessarily) to suggest that she should pick up her feet and
not stumble. I forgot that her scholastic attainments included only
her mother tongue and that she did not know the Chinese language. The
effect was striking in more senses than one. She came to a sudden
standstill and with a tremendous heave shot me on to her front hump as
she plumped down upon her knees. It was but by the mercy of providence
that my neck was not broken, and that with the second movement reversed
I regained my seat. Fortunately we were well out of sight of onlookers,
but my confidence was badly shaken, and it was only when it occurred to
me that “Sŏk, Sŏk,” was the expression of the Mongols when they wished
their camels to kneel to be loaded up that I felt forgiving and able to
forget the little misunderstanding.
The expression of a camel’s face is always one of supreme contempt.
Camels remind me of certain elderly and aristocratic spinsters who,
possessing no money and but little brain, have one asset, their
social superiority. But I like it all the same, breeding in camels or
spinsters either as far as that goes.
During the whole time that I was at Ta-Bol rumours came daily to
our ears of the increasingly disturbed condition of the country, of
fighting that had taken place or was expected to take place at no very
great distance. The missionaries were warned by the authorities that
they must hold themselves in readiness for flight at an hour’s notice,
and that they would be wise if they lost no time in sending their women
and children into regions of safety. A trio of Chinese officials were
located somewhere in the vicinity, and the utmost secrecy was observed
in regard to their movements while the general atmosphere of unrest and
nervousness prevailed.
It was not difficult to see that if I wanted to carry my whole scheme
into effect, which was to return to Peking, make my preparations, and
start again at once for Europe by way of the Gobi and Siberia, I had
better lose no time. This little expedition was merely by way of a
preliminary canter in order to gain experience for the more ambitious
journey right across the desert, as well as to test my capacity for
really rough travelling and primitive living. My journey back to China
promised to be a lonely one. I should this time have neither Finn nor
Mongols riding with me for company, but merely the two Chinese who were
daily becoming more uneasy and restless at the news from the north, and
who were pestering me with enquiries as to when we were to return to
the safety of Kalgan.
Disliking anything savouring of monotony and being, moreover,
interested in the possibilities of Inner Mongolia from the European
point of view, I decided to go back to Kalgan by a different route from
that by which we came. I had heard in Peking of a large horse-farm
financed by a small syndicate in China, at which lived a solitary
German overseer, a long day’s journey to the south-east of Ta-Bol at a
place called Dol-na-gashi. I was told that this would be interesting to
visit.
Although it was only early May, I had on the whole been most fortunate
as regards weather during my trip, but at the time of my proposed
departure a typical Gobi gale sprang up and delayed me for a couple of
days, during which time it was impossible to do anything at all. The
only satisfaction I had was that all my belongings were packed up and
out of the dust.
My Chinese driver demanded money before starting; he had apparently
run up a bill with some Mongol, for fodder, he said, and he would not
be allowed to go before he paid up. I had stayed away longer than my
servants had anticipated, the original arrangement being that half
their total hire should be paid down at starting, and the remainder
handed over when they delivered me safe and sound in Kalgan again. I
certainly believe that it added considerably to my safety to travel
very light as regards money: I took with me but a few dollars. I was
careful now to give my men money enough only for their immediate
necessities, and to retain the whip hand by keeping the bulk of it
until the end of the journey. I am afraid that we were a somewhat surly
trio as we turned our backs upon Ta-Bol and set our faces homewards in
the icy wind and stinging dust. The Chinese were annoyed at having to
make this détour by--to them--an unknown route, while I have to admit
being rather “under the weather” myself.
A Mongol rode with us some distance to put us in the right direction
for the horse-farm, and before nightfall we arrived at a substantially
built and very comfortable bungalow, planked down in the middle of
interminable prairie, upon the borders of an extensive shallow lake
which provided resting place for numbers of wildfowl. Surrounding
the bungalow were yourts, and long, low stables, in which I learned
later the magnificent Russian stallions who were to improve the breed
of Mongol ponies were housed. Concealing his astonishment at the
unexpected appearance of an European lady at his door, the German
overseer, speaking excellent English, gave me a most cordial welcome.
The interior of the bungalow contained all the comfort of a farmhouse
in Saxony, and glad I was to stay there for a night, and thus to reduce
by one the number of uncomfortable inns to be experienced on the way
back to Kalgan. After the ugly, undersized though serviceable little
Mongol ponies to which one had become accustomed, the magnificent
horses--Russian crossed with German, if I remember aright--looked like
giants. Their powerful build with short arched necks and small heads
was very dignified indeed, and for the first time in all my wanderings
I felt a suggestion of homesickness as I looked at them, and wondered
how far the development of the motor-car would have gone to oust the
horses which are seen to greater advantage in London during the season
than anywhere else in the world.
A bunch of 500 Mongol ponies scattered about the prairie was the
material with which my host had to work. He had not, he told me, so
far had particularly good luck with them owing to sickness amongst
the mares, and he did not seem to think that the immediate prospects
as regards financial success were any too rosy. One point about
this horse-farm that interested me particularly was that with all
their horsey proclivities, their vaunted horsemanship, and general
prowess, the German overseer preferred to employ Chinese to Mongols as
infinitely more reliable with the animals in all respects.
We made an early start next day. The weather had cleared again. A
handful of cigarettes between them transformed my Chinese into the
cheeriest and most considerate companions. Previous to this they had
been, perhaps, rather rubbed up the wrong way--most unintentionally, I
am sure--by first one person and then another conveying instructions
to them. But now that they were solely responsible for me and to
me, no one could have behaved better. Once succeed in giving your
Chinese employee a real sense of responsibility and you have one of
the most trustworthy men in the world to deal with is not only my own
experience, but that of men who have lived half a lifetime in China.
Those, indeed, who live there longest like them best. I have long since
come to the conclusion that as far as is practicable with virtually no
knowledge of their language the more one manages one’s native servants
oneself and without assistance the better one will hit it off with
them. As soon as ever the third person intervenes, misunderstandings,
ill-temper, and disagreement result.
I was certainly pleased with my drivers when they told me that if I did
not mind cutting tiffin and the midday rest, they thought that they
could take me to a distant inn where I should be much more comfortable
than at the obvious halt. Nothing loth, and quite content with a diet
of walnuts and dates, since that was all that was accessible in my
cart, we travelled for twelve solid hours on end. The men were in
high spirits, shouting “Whoa, whoa,” to the animals (which in Chinese
topsey-turveydom means of course “hurry up”--I was taken in by this
every time) and cracking jokes all day, because, as the Yankees say,
they “felt so good”. It was certainly a hard day, and at the end of it
we met, what to me was a never-failing joy, one of the largest camel
caravans I had ever seen. Slowly climbing up over the horizon it loomed
between us and a gorgeous sunset, gradually dawning upon our vision
as it came swaying along in the golden haze, richly dressed Mongols
lolling easily upon the camels’ backs. There must have been over 200
camels and sixteen or eighteen men, all fully armed, riding them,
bright patches of colour in their blue, purple, or priestly red.
So completely was I absorbed in this beautiful picture that I did not
notice, neither apparently did the men, that we were approaching the
compound of an inn on the off-side, until suddenly our leading pony
made a tremendous dash right through the middle of the caravan across
the track, scattering the camels and causing something of a stampede.
The little brute was hungry and had no intention of allowing a few
camels to stand between him and his supper. The camels, who are only
loosely roped together in order to save their pierced noses should any
untoward incident, such as a stumble or cast load, occur, spread out
in all directions, and for the moment the air was rendered sultry with
Mongol execrations. No harm was, however, done, and every one laughed
at the d’hivilment of the fiery little red pony. But our destination
was not yet, and it was long after dark when we arrived “at the haven
where we would be”. A long parley at the gateway of the inn filled me
with fear that we were going to have trouble in securing accommodation,
but after much wheedling on the part of my pock-marked Chinese, we were
allowed to enter, and without a word from me some men were turned out
of a room in order that I might have it to myself.
The lad whose head I had so severely smacked but a few days previously
behaved admirably, setting up my bed, fetching me hot water, and then
staying to see me eat my supper. It was only by presenting him with
the greater part of a leg of mutton (I detest old mutton!) that I got
rid of him at all. Alone for a short spell, I settled down to a hearty
meal composed of the various remains in my food box, and hurried off
to bed with the uncomfortable recollection that the boy had held up
four fingers as indicating the hour at which we were to start, or at
least at which I was to be called, on the morrow. Expecting to reach
Kalgan within twenty-four hours, I bestowed certain articles of food
upon the coolies who stood round watching me pack up next morning, and
was amused to see that my men got a _quid pro quo_ for anything I gave
away. A copy of “Punch” was the means, I observed, of purchasing fodder
for the red pony from the inn proprietor.
Another somewhat strenuous day brought us to the top of the Han-o-pa
Pass, and by the time we reached the heights the colouring was superb.
Purple and pale blue mountains pushed through a misty atmosphere,
the sun shone brilliantly, and great masses of clouds shed their
deep shadows over the gateway to North China. It was here that the
road from Dolo N’or joined our caravan route, and we had indeed the
evidence of our own eyes that the fighting of which we had heard so
much was no mere myth. We overtook ox-cart after ox-cart escorted
by small detachments of Chinese soldiers, bringing down knapsacks,
accoutrements, and caps belonging to the poor Chinese who had fallen
to the splendid marksmanship and dash of the Mongol troops at the
battle of Dolo N’or. The Chinese are much too thrifty (and poor) to
allow their caps to be buried with the soldiers. More than once, too,
we saw some miserably wounded officer being carried down that terribly
rocky pass on a rough stretcher. One man had had to pass the night at
the last inn at which I stopped, and it was pitiful to see the agony
he suffered in being lifted on to his stretcher again. He had been
badly shot in the lower part of the body, and I am sure he must have
wished that he had been killed outright. People say that the Chinese
are insensitive, and that relatively speaking that they do not suffer.
One thing I know about them is that some of them have the power of
self-control very wonderfully developed. As to their sensitiveness to
pain, I should not like to speak, but I am very certain that it is rash
to generalise.
It is strange what a haven of comfort and security one’s headquarters,
however temporary, become for the time being, and my last day on the
road was marked by the now-we-shall-soon-be-home feeling. By way of a
final experience, we encountered for three hours over the highest part
of the pass the thickest dust storm that it has ever been my lot to
see in the East. So dense it was, that covering myself up completely
with the oilcloth I cowered as far back as I could get in my cart,
and breathed in air which might have been caused by a practical
joker with a bag of flour, while for safety, as well as out of sheer
humanity, I gave my motor goggles to my perspiring driver. Appearances
do not trouble me much off the beaten track, but the whole of the day
following was devoted by myself and a “boy” in trying to drive the dust
out of the riding kit which I had worn in the storm, and even from the
few things which were carefully packed away in a small box.
The descent from the heights some fifteen miles north of Kalgan was
one of continuous jolt, joggle, bang-joggle, bang, jolt. One wheel
would mount a time-worn boulder, linger a second on the top, and
slide off with a gulp into the soft sand. The other meanwhile, would
execute a “pas seul” on a rock newly disintegrated from the mountain
side. Packed even by an old hand well versed in Chinese travelling,
everything breakable got broken on my journey down over the Kalgan
Pass, and even the sides of my books were ground against each other
until the cardboard showed through the cloth covers. As for my camera,
my cherished old Kodak which for over fifteen years had served me well
and in many countries, and which especially in Mongolia had given me
cent per cent of good results, I did not mean to let it get broken if
I could possibly help it, and I saved its life by carrying it slung
round my neck so that it rested on my chest, thus providing a certain
amount of resistance against the jarring. The reason of this somewhat
excessive destruction was that we came down the mountain side at top
speed, reckless as to driving, in order to reach Kalgan before the
closing of the city gates.
Away down on the level all our troubles were forgotten in the
compensating peacefulness of shelter from the wind. The road along the
Kalgan valley was very beautiful, very soothing, and full of incident.
The rugged mountains round us were bathed in the soft warm glow of
sunset, the shadows closing in behind us fell in rich violet tones. The
trees, which little more than a month ago had been bare, were now fully
clad in their daintiest, freshest green, and what had been a frozen
river-bed was once again a running stream. Many men and boys watering
their horses greeted my drivers, and incidentally myself, as heroes
who had deeds of daring done, and welcomed us as travellers returned
in safety from a distant and dangerous land. The Chinese are horribly
afraid of the Mongols.
[Illustration: A PASTORAL SCENE]
CHAPTER VII
“With coarse food to eat, water to drink, and the bended arm as a
pillow, happiness may still exist.”
--_Chinese proverb_
So greatly had I enjoyed my experiences of travel in Inner Mongolia,
that it was in a sanguine frame of mind I returned to Peking to engage
in the pleasant task of making my preparations for a more extensive
expedition. I had not, however, been long in the capital before I
received from an authentic quarter news which made my prospects of
carrying my plans into effect look somewhat dubious. Confirming the
rumours I had heard at Ta-Bol, a Reuter’s telegram was published to the
effect that a battle in which 1200 Chinese soldiers had been routed had
taken place immediately north of that place, and that the Hung-hu-tzes,
once a robber band, now authorised Mongol soldiery, were plundering
within a few hundred li of Kalgan, and killing Mongols and Chinese
without distinction.
The next thing that happened was that one afternoon at the British
Legation, forty-eight hours only after my return from the north, I met
Mr. Edward Manico Gull, then of the Chinese Maritime Customs Service,
who, like myself, undeterred by the question of risks, was keenly
desirous of crossing the Gobi and of visiting Urga with a view of
learning at first hand something of the political conditions which led
up to the rebellion of Mongolia against Chinese rule. A few days later
he propounded the very practical suggestion that it would be decidedly
economical, and, what was of far greater importance, very much safer,
if we joined forces in order to make the attempt. Plans then grew
apace. Mr. Gull left for Kalgan almost immediately, and spent a weary
fortnight in making strenuous efforts to secure first camels, and then
a Mongol to accompany us as guide. Only people who have had this sort
of experience can realise the constant disappointment, the promises,
the breaking of promises, the endless procrastinations and delay that
attend an endeavour to persuade the Asiatic into doing something
concerning which he has misgivings--it resolves itself into a perfect
see-saw of anticipation and disillusion.
At extortionate rates, camels were commissioned over and over again; a
southern Mongol undertook the duties of guide. When the time arrived
for their appearance there were no camels. The Mongol backed out of his
bargain. For my part, I undertook the purchase of stores--a somewhat
unknown quantity, for under the unsettled conditions of the country
it was wise to be prepared for all emergencies, such as dodging the
fighting forces, which conceivably might mean making a détour taking
weeks. I also bought a capital pony--alas! only to sell him back again
to his owner a few days later. But I at Peking was less sanguine
than my friend at Kalgan. The little experience I had already had of
Mongolia had taught me something of the difficulties of the situation,
and by then the frontiers were so tremendously guarded that there was
never the ghost of a chance of getting out of China nor of our caravan
going through the lines.
To the kindness of certain friends at Peking at this time I owe
more even than perhaps they realise. Plans had of necessity to be
kept private under the circumstances, and the sympathy as well as
the practical assistance in preparing my outfit that were given to
me in the most generous manner possible by the two people who were
in my confidence can never be forgotten. But to cut a long, and to
me a heartrending, story short, we had, after straining every nerve
to achieve our object, to abandon the notion of crossing the Gobi,
and, travelling by train in the most prosaic manner possible through
Manchuria and Siberia, we arrived at Verkne-Oudinsk on the Eastern side
of Lake Baikal. The journey thither, had not the vision of all we had
missed in being forced to cut out the Gobi from our calculations loomed
large on our horizon, would have been very interesting. As it was,
I broke my journey by the South Manchurian Railway for twenty-four
hours in order to see something of the old capital and metropolis of
Manchuria, Moukden, while Mr. Gull travelled on to spend a few days
with some friends at Harbin.
Moukden attracted me on several counts. I wanted to see with my own
eyes something of the effect of the Japanese influence (the line from
Peking to Ch’angch’un is Japanese) on the Chinese in Manchuria, as
well as to visit what had been the scene of great slaughter during
the Russo-Japanese war. Most of all was I anxious not to miss the
opportunity of inspecting the small but fine collection of Ch’en Lung
pictures which interested me deeply. These, together with an enormous
collection of porcelain, are kept, thick with dust and but rarely
seeing the light of day, in the old palace, the ancestral home of the
late dynasty, perilously exposed, it seemed, to danger from fire, but
perhaps safer as regards looting than they might be in China proper.
One of these days one fears that a needy Government, if it continues to
sail under Republican colours, will cast its predatory eye on this mass
of treasure, and a long purse from the United States will replenish
the coffers of the iconoclasts at the expense to the nation of some
of the most precious heirlooms of the faded monarchy, the priceless
possessions of Ch’en Lung the magnificent. The tombs of the Manchu
sovereigns a few miles out of the city also helped to convince me that
it had been well worth while to break my journey at Moukden.
From Ch’angch’un to Harbin one travels under Russian auspices on the
Chinese Eastern Railway. Never in all my experience have I arrived
at a more depressing place than Harbin, some eighteen hours’ journey
on from Moukden. Never have I felt more of a stranger in a strange
land. Chaos reigned among the cosmopolitan crowds on the platforms,
and I was in despair at securing my luggage before the train went
on. A friend in need, in the person of a hotel porter, came to my
assistance after I had effected the whole business myself, and haled
me off to the dreariest hotel it has ever been my lot to enter. Of
mushroom growth consequent on the opening of the Siberian Railway,
there is little that is attractive in Harbin, and it was depressing to
find that Russian holidays, when all shops are closed, necessitated
remaining there for several days in order to make final purchases. I
could find no redeeming feature in Harbin, although it was there that
an extraordinary piece of good luck befell us. In a dismal tea garden,
Mr. Gull and I were using up a great deal of energy in the endeavour to
persuade a Russian waitress to provide us with bread and butter, when
a handsome old man turned round and in dulcet tones said, “Would you
like me to interpret for you?” We did indeed like, and still more did
we enjoy the conversation that ensued. We learned that our friend, a
much-travelled man, had been in Urga, and was therefore able to give
us most valuable information as to the means of getting there. In the
kindness of his heart, he even presented us with introductions to a
Russian who had it in his power to be exceedingly useful to us, but
who unfortunately was absent from Mongolia when we arrived there. This
kindness on the part of a perfect stranger was truly refreshing, not to
say inspiring.
Leaving Peking as we had done by so entirely different a route from
that we had projected, we had been unable to provide ourselves with
the permits necessary for carrying firearms in Russia. The Russian
customs are the bugbear of trans-Siberian travel. Even when all is in
one’s favour, passports duly _viséd_, every detail _en règle_, endless
difficulties are apt to crop up, and sad and varied are the stories
with which passengers regale each other of lost luggage, missed trains,
and other uncalled-for troubles, one and all resulting from--shall
we say excess of zeal?--at the customs. The Russians still seem to
think that they are doing one a favour in allowing one to travel in
their unattractive and expensive country, in which I for one certainly
encountered more sheer discomfort than in any other place I have stayed
in.
The settlement, it is scarcely worthy of being called a town, of
Manchuli is separated by some forty-eight hours’ journey from Harbin.
It is solely of importance as being the Russian frontier, and is the
scene therefore of all that is exasperating in connection with customs.
It was here that we anticipated trouble with our guns, revolvers,
and ammunition. But good fortune was beginning to shine upon us, and
owing to a little kindly advice from another casual acquaintance, we
experienced no difficulty at all. We had been warned that if the guns
were too much in evidence they would unquestionably be confiscated and
that imprisonment without the option of a fine would result without
doubt. Stories of the awful dungeons on the Volga floated through my
mind.
My gun, therefore, was taken from its case (the latter being sent
back by post to Peking) and the three sections wrapped up and packed
among the underwear in my trunk. The ammunition, I was advised, should
be so distributed as to give no clue to its presence. This was by no
means an easy matter. Over a hundred rounds packed away into a tin jug
and basin, with walnuts placed on the top, were made into an untidy
brown paper parcel. The remainder was carried in a haversack. It being
generally agreed that the less likely of the two of us to be suspected
was myself, I undertook to do my best to perpetrate the deception.
Underneath my Burberry I slung the Mauser pistol and a large Colt
revolver; my smaller weapon I carried in my pocket. The ammunition for
all these I had also spread about my person. Outside my coat was the
haversack, the strap concealed round my neck, and in order to suggest
the lightness of--food, shall we say?--I carried this jauntily on the
tips of two fingers. The total was somewhat weighty, and I felt for all
the world like a Gilbert and Sullivan pirate.
The examination of my small trunk was to me a nerve-racking
performance. To present a bland appearance to the officials who
conducted the search was, under the circumstances, rather hard. Layer
after layer was lifted out, but when on the verge of disclosing my
disjointed gun the generalissimo in command stayed the hands of his
underling and all was well. But it was touch and go.
Upon our box of stores we had fully expected to pay duty, since
everything entering Russia is liable, and a few days previously I had
been told of a lady travelling home by this route with her baby being
charged full price on sixteen tins of milk which she had purchased for
her journey. But the officials were content with the turning out of the
entire contents of the box, when finding that there was no one article
in sets of dozens, they were good enough to pass the lot through
without charging us a penny.
The remainder of the journey to our destination, Verkne-Oudinsk, was
pleasant enough by the ordinary trans-Siberian daily express, and
without incident worth recording. There was no restaurant car, but
the station buffets all along this route are excellent, and in taking
advantage of these for meals we were able to husband the contents of
the food box for Mongolian emergencies. We drew up at more or less
suitable times for meals thrice daily, and soon learned to accommodate
ourselves to these or to go without altogether. At the buffets we
found capital food at very reasonable prices, and it was usually
cooked to the minute of the train’s arrival. At wayside stations
too, we were able to buy wild raspberries in any quantity, but never
were we able to hit these off at the same station at which we bought
beautiful cream--the equivalent of about half a pint for a penny. Food
on such a journey (there were about fifty hours between Manchuria and
Verkne-Oudinsk) plays no unimportant part, and for the sake of those
who fear lest they may go hungry should they have the courage to travel
other than by the _train de luxe_, I will just mention in passing that
the little spatch-cock chickens fried in egg and breadcrumb, after a
liberal helping of the famous Russian Bortsch (which indeed is a meal
in itself) make a dinner hard to beat. Travelling second class for
economy’s sake--for we were in utter ignorance as to how our financial
resources would hold out in Mongolia--our travelling companions were
mainly Russian officers and their families, and from time to time a
couple of priests of the Greek Church would get in. But one of all
these knew any language other than his mother tongue. To find the
wonderful linguists with which Russia is usually accredited one must
go, I fancy, into the society of Petersburg or Moscow. This particular
linguist, a priest, had lived in America. The conductors on the trains,
though civil enough, spoke Russian only. The well-equipped washrooms at
the end of each compartment were dreadful traps for losing things, and
an unpleasing coincidence occurred when we discovered the loss of our
respective watches both on the same day.
They were undoubtedly stolen. Mine was less easily explained than that
of my fellow-traveller. For less than two minutes he had left it on the
edge of the lavatory basin, and on becoming aware of this second loss
it seemed that the time had come for complaint. Complaint in Russian,
however, is not so easy when one does not know one word of the tongue,
and we resorted to the primitive method of drawing the watch, and then
making pantomimic enquiries of our companions--at that time a couple of
priests and the two sons of one of them. It was one of these latter we
had reason to suspect, and going sternly up to them, I brandished the
drawing in their faces and demanded the watch. The father broke out to
our astonishment in voluble English, and assured us (what parent would
not have done?) that his were good little boys, and would not think of
keeping the watch had they found it. Our surprise was even greater when
the second priest produced his cigarette case, opened it, and disclosed
the watch. He presented it to me with an unctuous bow, explaining that
not knowing to whom it belonged he had retained it. I am afraid that
we must have mingled incredulity with our gratitude, or perhaps his
uneasy conscience smote him, for he pulled forth a large crucifix from
his voluminous garment, kissed it sanctimoniously, held out his hands
to both of us, and before we had time to realise the situation kissed
first one and then the other of us amid great protestations of honesty.
A most revolting person.
CHAPTER VIII
“Whom Heaven has endowed as a fool at his birth it is a waste of
instruction to teach”
--_Chinese proverb_
Our real difficulties had, however, barely begun, and it was upon
arrival at the Hotel Siberie at Verkne-Oudinsk that we felt completely
at sea in the absence of one word of a common language. Reaching
our destination late at night we had the greatest trouble in making
them understand that we were hungry and wished to have supper before
seeking our rooms. Eggs, we thought, would be the simplest and most
easily obtainable fare. I therefore drew an egg. What they did _not_
think it was meant for can hardly be described; that it was an egg
never occurred to them. Certainly an egg drawn in a hurry might be
many things. Therefore I added an egg-cup to my sketch; and at this
they stared in blank astonishment. I think they had never seen such a
thing. I then tried to draw a chicken; at which they laughed, but had
no conception as to my intention. With all the resourcefulness of the
superior sex, Mr. Gull had a brilliant notion. Out of all patience--he
is a peppery little man--he pointed to my picture, and, violently
flapping his arms, he squawked “Cock-a-doodle-doo” at the top of
his voice. Delight on the part of the staff. The demonstration had
penetrated their thick skulls, and we had eggs for supper that night.
Next day our intention was to find out all about the steamboat which
was to carry us up the Selenga River to Kiachta, but how to encompass
this was almost an insurmountable problem. The clerks of the telegraph
office had been our solitary hope, but on acquaintance we found that
this means was worse than useless. They knew not one word of French,
German, or, of course, English. We wandered, somewhat disconsolate,
along the dusty streets, wondering what we should be able to do, when,
when coming away from a private house, we encountered the amiable
countenance of a Chinaman. We seized upon him, and our troubles were,
for the time being at least, at an end. What he did not know himself,
he put us in the way of finding out, and retracing his steps into the
house he invited the master thereof to come forth and to speak with us.
This gentleman turned out to be a German-speaking Russian engaged in
one of the more important businesses of the place, and of his kindness
we have the most grateful recollection. He helped us to order dinner,
he walked with us, and drove with us. He took us to the steamship
company’s office, purchased our tickets, and finally put us and our
luggage on board the “Rabatka,” waving us farewells from the wharf
like the good friend that he was.
Verkne-Oudinsk is not a place of many attractions. Once a penal
settlement, now a military stronghold, its main feature is the huge
white prison standing on the banks of the Selenga River a short
distance outside the town; it seems out of all proportion to the
population of some 40,000 inhabitants. This prison is capable of
containing 600 men and women, and in some of the rooms there are as
many as seventy persons herded together. Criminals of the worst order,
as well as those prisoners who have escaped and been recaptured, are
isolated, confined in dungeons, and wear fetters on their ankles.
Of Verkne-Oudinsk’s 40,000 inhabitants some 10,000 are said to be
Chinese, while of the remainder an appreciable proportion is no doubt
composed of Russian political exiles and ticket-of-leave men with their
families, or their descendants.
In relation to the size and position of the place the shops of
Verkne-Oudinsk are fairly good. There are also a couple of factories,
while a brisk trade is carried on at certain hours of the day in
the big market square. Considerable business is transacted in
Verkne-Oudinsk in connection with skins, fur, wool, and timber.
The first-named are, however, exported in their raw condition and
therefore not a great many people are employed in this trade. As in
most Russian towns, the church forms the dominant feature, and that
in Verkne-Oudinsk, with its copper-green roof and white walls, is
decidedly attractive to the eye, standing as it does, on the banks of a
flowing river.
The houses, mainly of wood, and often composed of rough logs with the
bark remaining, are for the most part of one story and border the roads
on which the dust is habitually ankle deep. The only possibility of
comfort under such conditions is to wear the long soft top boots of the
country. Yet it is only the men of the place who do so, and the women
for the most part go about in trodden-down slippers and with shawls
over their untidy heads.
The weather was by this time growing hot, and the prospect of two
days’ travelling on a river steamboat sounded exceedingly pleasant
after the shadeless, dust-laden streets of Verkne-Oudinsk. But we had
reckoned without the mosquitoes. The “Rabatka” can hardly be called a
luxurious boat, and the vibration and noise from the paddle-wheels were
at first not a little trying. The cabins, arranged with three hard,
velvet-covered seats in place of berths, were very small, while the
necessity that arose for the thick wire-gauze screens over the windows
as soon as the sun went down, rendered them almost unendurably hot.
There was a roomy upper deck upon which we had fondly contemplated
spending all our time, but alas! the funnel emitted, not smoke, but a
continuous rain of red-hot charcoal, and in view of the danger from
fire there was, of course, no awning.
The scenery, which was mildly pretty as we passed between the pine-clad
hills outside Verkne-Oudinsk, soon became flat and uninteresting.
Selenginsk, the only village of any size and with the usual large
white church with green domes, was passed about half-way between our
starting-point and Ost-Kiachta, and may be remembered as having been
during the early part of last century the field of a group of English
missionaries who established there an excellent work among the Buriats
(a Russian-nationalised tribe of Mongols). They lived there in complete
exile until Nicholas Imperator ordered them out of the country in the
early forties, the reason being that it was English influence and not
the Christianising of the Buriats that was feared by the authorities.
Delightful indeed it was to reach the little port of Ost-Kiachta in
the cool of the morning, to make a bad bargain with the owner of a
tarantass, and to find ourselves driving along through country which
was in refreshing contrast to that we had recently left--stretches
of flowery moorland bordered with pines and silver birches. At one
point across a shallow valley drifted sounds of melody, which, we
discovered later, arose from the tents of an encampment of Russian
soldiers. This part of Siberia, in fact, bristles with bayonets, and
the ulterior motives of massing such numbers of soldiers in territory
so obviously peaceful is significant enough. We must have driven for
some ten miles or more when we dashed through the gay little town
of Troitze-Casavsk, in which churches and barracks seemed to dominate
everything right up to the door of the unpretentious, one-storied,
barn-like erection which called itself the Hôtel Metrôpole.
[Illustration: TROITZE CASAVSK]
[Illustration: OUR BURIAT HOSTESS]
[Illustration: THE JAMSCHIK AND HIS TARANTASS]
The place presented a depressed aspect, and the bedrooms, like cells,
opening off a long and odoriferous passage, were far from cheering.
The washing arrangements, just a trickle of water coming from a tin
receptacle of doubtful cleanliness fixed above a basin, and the
sheetless, blanketless beds were by no means inviting. The landlord,
however, a portly Serb, was a pleasant enough fellow, and sent us in an
appetising lunch, which, after our picnicing experiences on both boat
and train was welcome. Kiachta, of which Troitze-Casavsk is merely a
division on the northern side, we found to be a far more interesting
place than Verkne-Oudinsk. A great military centre, with newly-erected
barracks of strikingly ugly design and capable of accommodating over
15,000 soldiers, mars the foreground of what would otherwise be a most
charming view extending as far as the eye can reach into Mongolia.
A ribbon of no man’s land divides Kiachta from Mai-mai-ch’eng (buy-sell
city), a pretty little Chinese township which fringes the northernmost
border of Mongolia opposite Kiachta--the neutral territory being
defined by a couple of stone pillars on the strip of dusty waste.
But Russia has long ago broken the laws of neutral territory by the
establishment of barracks within five miles of the frontier, and
Mai-mai-ch’eng is depressed. They are very depressed indeed, for the
Russians are pressing the Chinese very hard here, and, while the latter
doubtless squeezed the Mongol to the limits of his endurance, they
in their turn are being ground down and out of existence by dues and
taxation on both incoming and outgoing goods, in face of the special
protection which is afforded to all Russian products. The Chinese
were very ready to talk about their grievances, and we sat in their
little shops and drank excellent tea, in Russian fashion, in vast
quantities one hot afternoon while they poured these grievances into
our sympathetic ears. Chinese, Mongols, and Russians live cheek by jowl
in Kiachta, but all told, apart from the military, the total population
numbers not many more than a thousand souls.
It is here in Kiachta that one first makes the acquaintance of the
Khalkha or Northern Mongol. In the streets, in the market place, in the
burning heat where the sand refracts every atom of glare, they are to
be encountered. Always mounted, they presented the most extraordinarily
picturesque appearance, and the first impression fascinated me.
One couple, an elderly rake and his pretty young wife, we followed
about while they made their purchases. The girl, sitting easily and
gracefully on her pony, bartered for things at the various stalls,
while her elderly swain doled out the roubles with a cheeriness
which made me think that she must surely be the wife of “the other
fellow”--it certainly was not marital. At a Chinese booth she drank,
what looked like, sherbet, made an awful face over it, whereat Don
Yuan laughed derisively. Riding astride, she appeared both eminently
practical and unpractical at the same time--the curious spreading
coiffure looking as though it would catch the wind to any extent when
she was going fast. This seemed to me as though it might possibly have
been the forerunner of the Manchu headdress which strikes one as being
so attractive the first time one sees it in Peking. The typical Mongol
swagger, of which later we were to see plenty, was not absent from the
pair, and the maiden evidently enjoyed our interest, and was, moreover,
quite coy about it.
How to get away from Kiachta was a problem somewhat difficult of
solution. Wild rumours regarding the turbulent soldiery and the
Hung-hu-tzes, or “red-beards,” as these murderous robbers are
called, sent up the prices alarmingly. By an European we had met in
Verkne-Oudinsk we had been told that our route might be infested by
such, and that on meeting a bunch of mounted men in Russian boots and
slouch hats we were to shoot at sight and not to wait for them “to
plug the lead in first”. Hung-hu-tzes have the reputation of killing
first and robbing afterwards. How sound this advice may have been it
is difficult to determine now, for fortunately we never had occasion
to put it into practice. Through the kind offices of a solitary Dane
in charge of the telegraph system at Kiachta, to whom we were lucky in
having an introduction, we were able to come to terms with the owner
of a tarantass. The latter is a rough cradle-like, hooded structure,
virtually springless, on four wheels, drawn by three fiery horses,
driven by a Jamschik or Russian coachman. For sixty roubles (nearly
£7), ten of them in advance (which we inadvertently forgot to deduct
when we got to our journey’s end), our ruffianly looking driver
undertook to convey us to Urga, but, he said, owing to the rivers at
this time of year being in flood, he would not guarantee to do so
under a week. From my point of view this was no drawback; lingering on
the road enables one frequently to obtain an intimacy with the local
conditions which hurrying through against time and under contract
completely frustrates.
I was glad to shake the dust of Russia from my feet for a while and
depart from the hotel which at 8 o’clock on this perfect summer’s day
was still slumbering and slothful. Evidence of the previous night’s
debauch sufficed to make breakfast in the dining-room an unattractive
experience, and it was not a place in which one cared to remain longer
than absolutely necessary. A charge in our bill of something over five
shillings for a cooked cauliflower was proof enough that the Russians
love money though they do not love work. Rather a Mongol yourt at any
time than an Hôtel Metrôpole in Siberia. Civilisation, so called, is
all very well, but more often than not it destroys simplicity while in
no sense augmenting comfort.
CHAPTER IX
“The Great Way is very easy, but all love the by-paths”
--_Chinese proverb_
The sheer discomfort of our crowded tarantass could not quench the
glorious optimism with which on the last day of June we sallied forth
on the highway to Urga. Our driver, though he looked a ruffian, was not
unpromising on further acquaintance, and we ended up by liking him very
much. On the day previous to our departure he had called to see exactly
how much luggage we wanted to take with us, and this he was inclined
to limit severely. Needless to say it had expanded considerably during
the night, and we cudgelled our brains as to how to get it into the
tarantass without exciting his criticism too much. The Jamschik was
all smiles in the morning however, and took no notice as package after
package was stowed away. The awful thought passed through my mind
that perhaps he was in league with the Hung-hu-tzes and felt that the
more the stores the better the booty. We were far too crowded to be
comfortable. Experience, however, had taught us that in due course one
shakes down to anything, and anyhow we were feeling altogether too
pleased with life to worry much at this juncture. With us, surrounding
us, and suspended above our heads from the roof of the tarantass,
making hard corners and lumps when we tried to sit on or lean against
them, were our food supplies for the double journey (which as regards
time limit was exceedingly vague), a modicum of personal baggage, our
bedding, and, not least, our cameras, firearms and cartridges. The
weapons had to be so arranged as to be immediately available. We had
but one desire--to get to Urga.
The tarantass was drawn by three horses abreast with a fourth tied up
and trotting alongside always--in the way, poor little chap, being
crowded up banks when the road narrowed and coming in for the sharpest
cuts from the long whip on account of his ill-luck every time. Our
last stop, long before we had shaken down into anything like comfort,
was at Mai-mai-ch’eng, just across the frontier, where we had hoped
to lay in a stock of cigarettes, to purchase fresh bread, and to post
final letters. But, Russian influence prevailing, Mai-mai-ch’eng had
not waked up, the post-office and bakers’ shops were still shut,
and our sole catch was cigarettes. Once out of Kiachta and through
Mai-mai-ch’eng we were actually in Mongolia proper, speeding over
undulating country on tracks rather than on roads, driving across
flowery prairie, having said good-bye to all civilisation and houses
for the time being. At midday we fetched up at the first Russian
resthouse, a new and therefore fairly clean log-hut, and congratulated
ourselves upon the prospect of simple comfort when a blue-eyed,
blue-bloused young Russian produced the ubiquitous _samovar_ and made
for us even here tea the like of which you can get neither for love
nor money outside Russia. While we ate our lunch the Jamschik amused
himself by detaching and thoroughly oiling the wheels of the tarantass,
a business which delayed us considerably and which it seemed to us
might very well have been performed before we started.
The day which had begun so well grew dull, and grey clouds turned into
steady rain which made us anxious as to what the night might have in
store for us. Through pretty country, grassy and well sprinkled with
flowers, a small species of scarlet and yellow tiger-lily growing in
abundance everywhere, we drove on for four or five hours before pulling
up in a torrent of rain at dusk, at an unexpected shanty surrounded by
three or four yourts out of which several Mongols promptly appeared. On
further acquaintance we came to the conclusion that they were Buriats,
but be their nationality what it may, they gave us a warm welcome;
the woman who appeared to rule the roost there did her best to make
us comfortable, dusting the rain from us and even going so far as to
wipe the mud from Mr. Gull’s mackintosh with my sponge which I had
unfortunately unpacked a thought too soon. The family appeared to be
extensive, both numerically and in size. They all helped to carry in,
and were eager to unpack, our belongings. The good lady soon had a
_samovar_ bubbling cheerily and a fire crackling in the mud stove which
occupied quite a third of the floor space. She conveyed to us, entirely
by pantomime and we afterwards verified her statement that she had once
been in the Russian consul’s service, that she was a Christian--there
was an icon in the corner of the room to which she pointed--and that
therefore she loved us very much and would do anything she could for us.
The men brought in a goodly supply of wood--it was cold even in the
early July nights--and then stood and gazed at us solemnly. The
entire family and many friends from the neighbourhood entered quite
unceremoniously from time to time to have a look at us. They would walk
straight in, stand and stare for a minute or two, finger anything that
attracted their notice, and go on their way. Not so the little boys, of
whom there were three or four, who refused to leave us and from whom,
while they were picking up little bits of food, we tried to pick up a
word or two of Mongolian. The sheep and goats too, squeezing together
under the eaves, tried to enter each time the door was opened, and
would have crowded us out had we not been firm. As it was, they kept up
a melancholy “Baa, ba-a,” throughout the greater part of the night.
There was here, of course, no Kangue, and following our Jamschik’s
example, we spread all the available clothes and rugs upon the floor.
I lay awake for, it seemed to me, many hours, the men snoring on the
other side of the stove, listening to the rain beating down, and
thankful to be in such relatively comfortable quarters. Before 7 a.m.
we were up again, spreading our hard biscuit with blackberry jam (how
I regretted not having insisted upon taking over the commissariat
department and buying bread!) and drinking our cocoa as hot as possible
in order to warm ourselves. The children came in for the dregs, in
return for which they did their best to teach me to count up to six
in their mother tongue. I do not think that their own knowledge went
beyond the figure.
It had rained all night and continued to do so all the next day, and
the night following that again, and we were not sorry when our Jamschik
intimated to us that we had better for the moment stop where we were.
We knew that we had shortly to cross a river, and when he raised his
arms above his head and said “Ura Gol,” we rightly concluded that the
river, swollen high, was impossible to negotiate. Besides, next night
might, for all we knew, mean camping in the open, and this under the
present conditions of weather was by no means enticing. We had a very
lazy day, writing a little, reading and talking, playing with any small
Mongols who happened to put in an appearance.
By the following morning the river was said to have gone down
sufficiently for us to cross, and we were well under weigh by 6 a.m. in
none too promising weather. The Ura Gol was not far off, and we crossed
the rushing waters by means of a flat-bottomed barge pulled over by
wire hawsers. We all crowded together on our tarantass, horses, and
men, paying the Mongols who thus transported us about three shillings
for their trouble. The banks were flat, and there was nothing to charm
the eye in this part of the river or in the bleak and hilly landscape
over which a watery sun was making a futile attempt to shine. By tiffin
time we had accomplished our third stage and drew up at a mud hovel
depressing to a degree. The heavy rains had partially destroyed the
roof and the floor was in consequence a morass of filth. There were
living here in melancholy exile three or four unkempt and murderous
looking men, and a very unhappy woman with three little boys clinging
about her draggled skirts--miserable and dissolute Russians upon whom
the hand of fate had fallen too heavily to admit even the faintest ray
of hope upon their horizon. There is something peculiarly pathetic
in the sight of the reversion to this condition of animal existence
by people who have obviously at some time or another belonged to
civilisation. What they lived on here was more of a mystery than how
they lived.
The day had cleared to a perfect brilliance, and the world seemed a
cheery place as we ascended from the mosquito-ridden and marshy valleys
and wended our way among the hills to the highlands. Coming over a
long and somewhat tedious pass, a tremendous view rewarded us at the
top of the climb--an immense plain, ascending by gentle slopes to the
mountains, a ribbon of wheel-tracks running across it. It was evening
when our Jamschik suddenly turned in his seat and, pointing with his
whip, shouted out something as unintelligible as it was exhilarating.
In the twinkling of an eye we seemed to be transplanted into another
life. There, right at our feet, was a huge Mongol settlement, girdled
about on all sides by the low-lying mountains. Numbers of yourts,
clustered in twos or threes, formed the centre of great activity.
Colour, form, and motion were literally rampant. What in the distance
had looked like ant-hills with ants swarming around them turned out
to be the yourts surrounded by cattle and flocks. Brilliantly dressed
Mongols galloped around in every direction; hundreds of horses were
scattered about in herds over the foothills. The men were rounding them
up for the night. From time to time some wayward little beast would
break away from the rest, proposing to spend the night in mountain
solitude. A gaudy stalwart would dart off after it, standing in his
stirrups, leaning well forward in his saddle, reins held high in one
hand, while in the other he trailed behind him what looked like a
fishing-rod ending up in a loop of raw hide. With a twirl of his
wrist he would bring this flying round at the right moment, and lasso
the pony with great adroitness, hauling it, subdued at once by the
tightening thong, back to the herd.
Nearer the camp, the women coped with the gentler cattle and sheep,
and by the time we arrived numbers of cows were tethered with their
calves reluctantly allowing a modicum of their milk to be diverted from
its natural destiny. The milking of a Mongol cow is less easy than it
might appear. The latter has far more character than that cow which
is confined to the proverbial three acres, and on no account will the
Mongol bovine yield up her milk until her calf has had its whack. I
have seen them myself arching up their backs and persistently refusing
to allow one drop to be drawn.
“We shall be able to get new milk here,” rejoiced my travelling
companion, to which I replied, “The newer the better,” and foraged for
a jug among the contents of our food basket. He was all for buying some
from the pail of a laughing maiden who was drawing freely on the teats
of a cow tethered near by. I, however, having been brought up for so
many years under the direct jurisdiction of those who frame the public
health laws, did not fancy the milk that had filtered through dirty
fingers into a still more questionable sheepskin pail. I therefore
waded in on my own account, and, tin jug in hand, walked up to the
nearest cow, laughing and joking with the Mongols who crowded round me,
oblivious of a murmured protest in connection with my “appalling cheek”
from Mr. Gull, and proceeded to milk her. But no, the cow did not
see the joke. She declined to be milked by an impertinent foreigner.
I turned to another, a gentler creature, who was quite willing. The
Mongols greeted my attempt, my successful attempt, I may proudly add,
with the utmost hilarity, and my jug was half-full when--what I thought
was--a furious old woman pushed through the ring, and gave me very
plainly to understand that this was her cow, and that if I stole any
more milk she would set her equally furious dog, which was barking
loudly at her heels, upon me. The other Mongols urged me to continue,
and soundly rated the old--man, I discovered him to be--on his lack
of hospitality. To them it was a stupendous joke, and so popular did
the incident for the moment make me that I might have milked every cow
in the place after that had I wanted to. My companion, while strongly
condemning my action, drank the milk with keen appreciation--“Adam”!
[Illustration: A RUSSIAN SAMSON SEPARATES THE COMBATANTS]
[Illustration: THE LAMA AND HIS MAIDEN]
In the meantime, Mr. Gull and the Jamschik had fixed up our quarters
for the night. A handsome young lama had pressed the hospitality of
his yourt upon us, and intimated that the only other occupants would
be himself and the maiden who appeared to be attached to him. There
were from thirty to forty yourts on the plain, some clean and
new, others filthy and in the last stage of dilapidation. Ours was
reasonably clean, and the felt, with an effective decoration in black
for a border, was in good condition. As I returned from my milking
exploit, the lama beckoned me to enter, and as I did so, mindful of my
manners, I laid my stick on the roof above the door. To my surprise,
the priest picked it up and brought it inside--he evidently thought
that such a handsome foreign stick would be too great a temptation
to his enemies. A great fire sending forth volumes of smoke was
blazing in the centre of the yourt, and I found my fellow-traveller
suffering greatly in consequence as he struggled with our baggage and
the unpacking of the food box preparatory to the evening meal. We had
arrived at a satisfactory division of labour--the culinary side, which
included “washing up,” fell to my lot, the unpacking, repacking and
cording--which had to be done with great thoroughness--was carried out
by my companion. The great tip in a smoky yourt is to squat on one’s
heels and so keep one’s head out of the smoke which rises at once to
the roof leaving the ground more or less clear.
Half a dozen Mongols besides our host and hostess came and sat on the
opposite side of the yourt as we spread our supper in front of us. They
boiled the water for us and I made tea, when a happy thought struck me.
I poured out two mugs full of tea, added plenty of sugar and milk, and
rising, we handed them respectively to the priest and to the girl.
They were delighted, and the others chortled at the unexpected good
manners of the foreigners. They rose to the occasion at once, poured
the tea from our _mugs_ to their _bowls_ (for which I was thankful),
and, turning to the pail of milk behind them, filled the mugs and gave
them back to us. In phraseology journalistic, “an excellent impression
was produced”.
After supper, in total ignorance as to the rules of procedure for going
to bed in a yourt, we walked about and watched night falling on the
camp. The fierce guard dogs were let loose, and we were left alone
with two or three little lama boys who never ceased pestering us for
cigarettes. Then we turned in; our rugs and waterproof sheeting spread
along the periphery of the yourt in order to catch all the air that was
moving. They had evidently been waiting for us. The lama entered soon
afterwards, and undressing to the extent of only divesting himself of
his long coat and boots disposed himself quite near to my head and was
soon sound asleep. By and by, the little girl crept quietly in, and
pulling off her great boots with their embroidered tops of black and
green, she curled herself round like a kitten at the priest’s feet,
and with sundry little grunts settled down for the night. Shortly
afterwards, the deep silence of the wilds was unbroken save for the
snores of our trusty Jamschik, whose hefty form lay stretched across
the entrance to the yourt.
I lay awake for some time trying to realise the strangeness of my
environment; trying to realise that I had attained the desire of my
heart for the moment--primitive life among an unmistakably primitive
people--realising alas! too well, that the freshness and novelty of all
things wear quickly away in the face of one’s amazing adaptability to
the immediate requirements and realities of life. Then gradually, with
that easy exaggeration that attends the semi-conscious condition, I
dawdled off into the land of the wildest dreams, becoming merged into
that essential factor which is common to all existence, be it primitive
or civilised--sleep.
Dawn broke amazingly soon it seemed to me, and by 5 o’clock we had
spread our breakfast in the pale golden sunshine on the grass outside
the yourt. By degrees the settlement awoke once more. The camp was
alive again. The women drove the flocks hither and thither suckling,
their babies at the same time, astonishingly picturesque in their
wonderful headdresses of hair flattened out into the shape of rams’
horns, finished off with long plaits, at the extremities of which were
suspended coins, as often as not of Russian origin. There was again a
great deal of tearing about on ponies, and one could but admire the
splendid horsemanship as the men sorted out their animals and drove
them to browse upon fresh pastures. After breakfast, I watched our
hostess of the previous night making little cakes of koumiss, which she
did by squeezing the thickened mares’ milk through her grubby little
hands. She presented me with a cake, and watched to see whether or no
I would eat it. As she finished them she placed the cakes on a large
bamboo sieve and put them to dry in the sun on the roof of the yourt.
If one could dissociate the taste from the appearance of the fingers
that had made it, the koumiss was not at all bad, and reminded me
strongly of a certain cheese which, but a few years ago, promised long
life wholesale to mankind on the dictum of a great name in science. I
should have liked to remain there for weeks, and we left the settlement
most reluctantly. That one experience alone made my visit to the East
worth while.
CHAPTER X
“I would that I were as I have been,
Hunting the Hart in Forest Green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
O that’s the life for Joy and me”
--_Scott_
The wisdom of an early start soon became apparent when we were obliged
literally to cut our way through forest undergrowth for hours on
end. Starting with a steep climb, we had to dodge the water which
was pouring down in rivulets between the trees. The erstwhile track
had been washed away and now formed the bed of a torrential river,
which having scattered the loose material was in parts quite deep.
The horses floundered about in great distress and uncertainty for
some time, and finally we decided that there was nothing for it but
to make a path for ourselves through the thicket--fortunately not of
a particularly dense description. To make the whole concern narrower,
one pony was unhitched, and I led him, while the men struggled to get
the tarantass through the trees, branches from which had from time to
time to be hacked off in order to let it pass. Frequently we had to
negotiate rushing streams. One of us would leap over first to receive
the leading rein of the loose pony--anything but a docile little
beast--which would then jump across. It went down once, but fortunately
was none the worse, and the Jamschik was on ahead and did not see it.
I also went down once, in the very middle of a stream, the banks of
which had not afforded a very good take-off. Amusement in that instance
seemed to deprive my fellow-traveller of all sympathy.
Our gymnastic feats, however, were not such as to swamp our
appreciation of the scenery around us. It was as though one gardener
had decided to make a rockery of ferns and foliage whilst the other had
come along and sewn seeds of every variety of flowers among them. We
feasted on the sight and scent. It was marvellously pretty here, and
we lamented that the Jamschik saw fit to press on, and bring us, after
some strenuous hours, to an open hill-side before he would allow us to
outspan and have tiffin. Certainly it was dry enough there; hot beyond
expression. The weather had undergone a sharp reaction, and we sat
grilling in the sun until our thoughtful driver rigged up a sailcloth,
when the effect of our hard morning’s work, to say nothing of lunch,
induced us to succumb promptly to a siesta in its shade.
As to why the Jamschik should loaf now when but a few hours previously
he had hurried us uncomfortably, we could not fathom until in the
late afternoon we arrived on the banks of the Hara Gol, the most
important river on our route, and found it to be so high that it might
be another two days before we could get over in safety. Other people
had been hung up in the same way, and we fraternised with a large
family of Russians whose destination was the gold-mining district to
the north-east of Urga. It was here that my fellow-traveller and I had
our first--and almost our only--difference of opinion. I had my own
notions as to suitable places for camping out, and did not at all wish
to do so upon ground that from time to time was covered with water,
and which after all was only temporarily dried-up swamp. I was certain
that we should be much harassed by mosquitoes. We were both rather
tired, and--shall I admit it?--I, at least, felt a bit irritable. In
turn we had each indulged in a considerable bath in the river, but I,
being in no sense a strong swimmer, had to content myself with a muddy
backwater, instead of plunging into the stream. On my return I found
that the superior sex had settled matters and had unpacked upon a piece
of ground about 300 yards only from the little encampment belonging to
our Russian neighbours, instead of, as I had wished, driving back a
mere mile to a delightful hill-side where we should be free from the
pest which had been my greatest trial throughout my sojourn in the
East. As a matter of fact, the Jamschik had had, I suppose, the casting
vote; moreover, our neighbours might have felt hurt had we gone so far
away, so, with his usual consideration for the feelings of others, my
fellow-traveller had given way during my absence.
I was, again I admit it, decidedly cross, and found great relief in
putting my gun together (for the first time, for it was practically a
new toy), stuffing my pockets full of ammunition, and stalking off by
myself to some marshy land at a considerable distance from the camp.
My new toy was tremendously soothing to my feelings, and I banged
away a dozen or so cartridges--incidentally killing a wild fowl which
I was unable to retrieve--with great satisfaction. A small lame boy
appeared from nowhere, and followed me about in delighted anticipation
of empty cartridge cases. I tried to kill at too great a range. There
were wild geese and duck in plenty, but they circled above my head,
making derisive squawks at me; and finally with the lightest of light
bags I got back to our camp happy and hungry. I managed to maintain
a dignified reserve throughout dinner, at the end of which, however,
rested and replete, we decided that formality and strained relations
on the banks of a river a thousand miles away from civilisation were
hardly consistent with our philosophy. A confidential little talk
during our after-dinner stroll in the dusk put matters right again.
As a matter of fact we scored decidedly in making friends with the
Russian miners. One of the party spoke a little German, and we were
thus enabled to trade tinned food and chocolate for the fresh meat and
bread which they had killed and baked on the river banks. Next day we
fed royally, and I maintain that the best râgout I have ever tasted was
the result of my own genius in allying well-soaked, dried apricots with
half a leg of mutton, and stewing the lot for hours. The apricots made
an admirable substitute for the vegetables we were unable to procure.
The smell arising from our delicious stew, must, we thought, be making
the Jamschik’s mouth water considerably, and at some sacrifice to
ourselves--it was hungry work, this trekking--we decided to invite
him to share the feast. What was my disgust, chagrin, when he dug his
jack-knife into the saucepan and speared out the meat, deliberately
pouring off all the gravy and apricots upon the ground. There was
nothing to be done, but I swore there and then that this was the last
time I would invite any foreigner to share pot luck of my providing.
But if the Jamschik did not appreciate the râgout, the dogs did.
I had been driven by the onslaughts of the mosquitoes to sleeping
rather uncomfortably in the tarantass, and all through the night I
was disturbed by these horrible animals prowling about underneath,
sniffing round the sleeping forms of the men under the sailcloth. They
did not appear to be conscious of them, but later I discovered that the
Jamschik slept with one ear at least on the “qui vive,” for apparently
he knew his own horses’ footsteps among a hundred, and got up in the
dead of night to hobble them when they wandered together with scores
of others too near to the camp.
Apart from the dogs, the persistently inquisitive Mongol boys, and
the mosquitoes, camping on the banks of the Hara Gol returns to my
memory as one of the pleasantest episodes in the journey. I found a
perfect bathing place a little lower down the river, with a hard,
shingly bottom, and though not in the current it was perfectly clear
and away from the public gaze. From yourts far and near we were visited
by Mongols, who usually, when they found that we did not speak their
language and could convey no news to them in consequence, spent but
a few minutes in making their inspection and rode off again. On one
occasion we witnessed a very amusing sight. We had given a particularly
ragged lama some odds and ends of food, and a squabble immediately
arose between him and another. They quickly came to blows, when the
smaller man, finding himself outmatched, stopped suddenly, and picking
up a large boulder proceeded to hammer the head of his adversary. The
Russian sense of fairplay could not stand this, and a huge man with the
ruddy countenance of a David and the flaming beard combined with the
muscularity of a Samson, walked in, and seizing each man by the scruff
of his neck, hurled the twain apart, to the great glee of the onlookers.
At a very early hour of our third day’s camp, I was awakened with the
news that the river had gone down sufficiently to admit of a trial
trip to cross it. A great deal of preparation was necessary in order
to keep things dry, and when we were about the middle of the river it
was just “touch and go” lest the water would overflow the sides of the
tarantass. A great caravan of us crossed together, Russians, Chinese,
and a rabble of Mongols, who, stripped almost naked, carried over our
loads on their saddle bows. I regretted afterwards that I took no
photograph of the crossing, but I was far too much occupied in keeping
my camera and cartridges dry to think of doing so.
The next two stages offered no special attraction in the matter of
scenery, and we broke into the routine of the day only by leaving our
tarantass for the space of an hour that we might inspect at closer
quarters what looked uncommonly like a foreign building about half a
mile away from the road. It turned out to be quite a large flour mill
called Wang Ch’ang Shan, belonging to a Chinese firm, and employing
apparently some twenty-five to thirty men. Although they offered us tea
and sold us some eggs and stodgy little dough rolls at high prices,
they maintained that baffling reserve as to their business, which
amounts only to the polite Chinese method of telling you to mind yours.
Another couple of hours brought us to an unexpected little oasis in
the shape of a promising and well-built house in Russian style, but
owned fortunately by a young Chinaman, who welcomed us most warmly and
who could not do enough for us. We sat on chairs and ate a delicious
tiffin of lightly boiled eggs, toasted dough rolls, and _samovar_ tea,
at a table in great comfort, after which Mr. Gull thought to crown all
by indulging in a luxurious siesta in--what looked like--a nice clean
little bedroom adjoining. I sat and read a book over a final cup of
tea. I had not settled down for more than ten minutes when the peace
was suddenly disturbed by execrations coming from the other room,
and an earnest entreaty that I should send in the Chinese proprietor
at once “to see”. He did so, and found the usually philosophical
Englishman rampant and furious. Biting him, crawling over his clothes
and on the cork mattress which he had taken in with him, were numbers
of large and lively--I must write it--bugs. Nothing but a complete bath
in a very small basin, followed by a change of all his clothes--which
involved the entire unpacking of the tarantass--would soothe him.
The incident had really a humorous side, for we had, in theory,
contemplated encounter with every variety of carnivorous insect on our
journey; and then at first sight to produce such a hullabaloo!
Our Chinese host was careful to explain that the majority of his guests
who made use of his rooms were less cleanly than ourselves, and that
the Russians who were his most frequent visitors were “dirty pigs”. He
was himself suffering from a highly inflamed condition of both eyes,
and was mightily pleased when I gave him some “foreign medicine” with
the use of which I predicted a speedy cure, as well as showing him
how to open his eye in a wine-glass. I bore the mild contempt of my
fellow-traveller with the patience bred of faith, and nobly refrained,
when some weeks later we returned from Urga and found that the solution
of boracic acid had done its work in effecting a complete cure, from
saying, “I told you so”.
The night following we were far away from all humanity and passed
the night sheer out on the open hill-side down by the wheels of the
tarantass. We had had a long and somewhat dreary drive, twelve hours in
all, exclusive of a midday rest. To go to sleep with a vision of heaven
beyond the twinkling stars is one thing--to wake up in the cheerless
grey dawn, saturated with dew and stiff with cold, is another. We had
little difficulty in starting off at four o’clock that morning, and I
do not remember that there was a great deal of conversation between the
three of us for the first couple of hours or so.
CHAPTER XI
“Better good neighbours than relations far away”
--_Chinese proverb_
Our proximity to Urga became now apparent in the increasing traffic
over the prairie. From the hill-side on which we halted at breakfast
time we watched the life of the plains--little groups of horsemen
sitting casually in their saddles, turning round to stare at us,
standing in their stirrups, sped quickly past. A settlement was in
process of striking camp; the trellis and felt of the yourts were
folded up and piled on the backs of the unwilling camels. A splendid
Mongol riding proudly at the head of a string of camel carts came along
from the west, dismounted, stretched himself, and climbed up to see
what we were doing. By unmistakable signs he invited us to descend to
his caravan below. In the first cart were his wife and two little sons,
the jolliest little creatures imaginable. In pukka Oriental style I
admired and fingered the headdress of the lady, and then dandled the
children, expressing my appreciation of their weight and beauty. The
man quite grasped the photographic idea, and posed his family for my
benefit. Afterwards he surprised us greatly by asking for money;
despite the fact that one string of his wife’s pearls would have
fetched far more than we were able to raise between us. But he did not
resent our refusal, and hailed us with the cheery greeting of “San
bainu” when we overtook him later in the day.
[Illustration: A MONGOL AND HIS FAMILY ON THE PLAINS NEAR URGA, POSED
FOR THE AUTHOR’S BENEFIT]
Moving on from the plains which stretched away into the mountains and
valleys on all sides, we soon began the steep ascent of the Urga Pass
when the subtlety of our Jamschik showed itself in suggesting that
in the bordering woods hereabouts there was any amount of game. We
jumped out of the tarantass--which was soon out of sight--in a sanguine
frame of mind, and guns over our shoulders we trudged and trudged up
that mountain side. Tiring it was, in the fierce July sun, beyond
expression, and we got--never a shot. But the scenery here was well
worth the fag of the climb. Range upon range of mountains disclosed
themselves as we ascended among a perfect wilderness of flowers.
Peonies, roses, and delphiniums, Japanese anemones, blue columbines,
red and yellow lilies--a background of dark pine forest, and away in
the distance, blue mountains beneath a canopy of soft masses of rolling
clouds.
Half-way up, we were overtaken by a number of Russian officers who
looked, as well they might, in astonishment at the sight of a couple of
English people, apparently without belongings or conveyance, calmly
strolling up a mountain in the heart of Mongolia. We met them again at
the summit of the Altai Berg. Their Mongols were having a rest, and
incidentally, I dare say, “gaining merit” by adding a few stones to the
great cairn, from which numbers of dirty rags serving as prayer flags
fluttered. I think the officers were waiting in order to discover what
on earth we were doing there and what was our object in going to Urga.
They did not, however, make much headway with us. Their knowledge of
German was very limited and we on our side did not see the force of
burdening them at this juncture with our confidences. They, needless
to say, had remained in their conveyances all the way up. The latter
were being drawn Orton fashion by four mounted Mongols. A pole is fixed
across the thin ends of the shafts, and is carried by the Mongols
between the pummel of their saddles and their stomachs. Usually a
couple of men ride on either side of the shafts. Six to eight Mongols
accompany each carriage, women as well as men taking turn and turn
about. They laugh and fool about all the time, tearing up hill and down
dale, the tarantass swaying about with plenty of play at the other end
of the shafts. They are absolutely reckless and care not one straw what
happens--as we learned to our cost later on.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR’S PARTY INSPECTING A CARAVAN]
[Illustration: THE SUMMIT OF THE ALTAI BERG]
Our Jamschik greeted us cheerily when we met him again at the top of
the pass, and at once “took on” the Mongol outriders for a race down
into Urga. We did not know the Russian for “not so quick” or “steady,”
and we flew over the ground holding on like grim death, our three
horses galloping and taking the most reckless short cuts at breakneck
speed. Down, down we tore, over the roughest and most impossible tracks
to an accompaniment of terrific jolts and bangs. The Mongols kept up,
yelling and laughing as they rolled about in their saddles. It was no
less terrifying than it was painful, but personally I was far too tired
to care much what happened, or to feel as alarmed as I do even now in
retrospect. But we got in ahead of the Russians, which was a great crow
over for us.
Urga was at length in view. Situated on the north bank of the Tola
River, it lies 600 miles north of the Chinese frontier at Kalgan, and
200 miles south of the Russian frontier at Kiachta. A long straggling
vista of gaudy temples and groups of yourts, little wooden houses
enclosed by high palisades, numbers of brightly painted sheds which we
found afterwards to contain the Tibetan prayer wheels, a few foreign
bungalows looking like dolls’ houses and built of pitch-pine, as
well as clusters of Chinese houses--such was our first impression of
Mongolia’s capital. On the western side lies the Holy City, where, it
is estimated, dwell some thirty thousand lamas, and in which no lay man
or woman may remain after sundown. The Chinese city, Mai-mai’ch’eng
again, is situated to the east, and between the twain are a number of
untidy, depressing little shanties, as well as the pleasant Russian
consulate, out of all harmony and character with the rest, belonging to
the ever-increasing army of Russian traders. Closed in on all sides by
mountains, some of considerable altitude and densely wooded, the sacred
mountain of Bogdo N’or dominates the city. Bogdo N’or abounds in game,
but nothing must here be killed, and no one may pitch a tent on that
side of the Tola River which separates the holy ground from the plains
upon which Urga is situated. Death is the punishment for the Mongol who
so far forgets his traditions as to kill bird, beast, or fish on Bogdo
N’or, and imprisonment for life--the far worse fate--for any foreigner
who should be rash enough thus to transgress.
One trusts to luck very largely in travelling under such circumstances,
and we had no very definite idea as to what we were going to do when
we reached Urga. At the time of our visit, exclusive of Russians there
were only two Europeans in Urga, probably in Mongolia, and Mr. Gull
and I were the sole representatives of Great Britain and Ireland. The
two Europeans were a Norwegian and a German, both engaged in trading
with the Mongols. The latter I had already met in Kalgan, and he was
certainly as good as his word and twice as hospitable when I saw him
again in Urga. To the former Mr. Gull had an introduction, and on
arrival we made straight for his compound where he received us most
kindly, allowing us to make our headquarters with him during our stay
in Urga, as well as letting us go shares in his commissariat for the
time being. The Russian Agent, to whom we reported ourselves next day,
treated us with the greatest hospitality and contributed greatly to
our comfort by lending me some chairs and other luxuries for the tiny
Chinese house provided for me in the Norwegian’s compound. Our luck
held good.
Anxious to see the Mongols as they really are and through the
unprejudiced eyes of those unconnected with political considerations,
we were fortunate indeed in having for our host a man of such
intellectual qualities and broad sympathies as Mr. Mamen. Speaking
their language as one of themselves--he had, I believe, lived in
Mongolia for under two years--this young Norwegian of the appearance
and stature of a Viking, was on friendly terms with most of the Mongol
princes and officials, evidently being well-liked and trusted by them.
One has but to forego for a short time what are regarded as the
commonplaces of existence in order to appreciate them at their true
value, and, after a week of far from restful nights, I could have
dilated at length upon the sheer luxury of a very tenth-rate bed. It
was a day or two after I reached Urga that I felt my old appetite
for sightseeing return, and this was whetted by a curious little
ceremony of daily recurrence, a good view of which was obtainable
without going beyond the limits of the compound. Less than two hundred
yards away there appeared above the compound wall a small stage about
four or five feet square supported by a rough scaffolding of perhaps
twenty-five feet high. Each day when the sun was well up, two lamas,
climbing laboriously up to their perch, would don their official yellow
Chanticleer pull-on caps, queer ragged capes of many colours, and
proceed to call their gods to the Temple. Turning to the east, north,
west, and always ending up with the south, thus facing the sacred
mountain, they would, first one and then the other, produce prolonged
and continuous blasts by blowing upon a conch shell, the melancholy and
hollow note of which seems to come back to me over time and space.
Living as we were in the Chinese quarter of the place, and an
intolerably gritty road of almost two miles in extent separating us
from West Urga, obviously the first thing to be done was to obtain
ponies. I was all for purchasing a couple outright, but other counsels
prevailed and we hired them, thus placing ourselves at the mercy of a
scallywag horse-dealer, a lesser mandarin by the way, who imposed upon
us from beginning to end. The price, small though it sounds at home,
was high at thirty roubles (then £3) a month for each nag (in a place
where one can purchase a very nice little beast for less than double
that amount), even though it included such feed as could be picked
up on the plains during the night, and when we were not using them. I
really think their owner must have had his tongue in his cheek when
he sent along the first pair for us to try. Mine had the appearance
of a worn-out van-horse--a tall, thin brute, with a mouth of iron
and legs that scattered in all directions when I forced him into a
canter--which was not very often. I kept him for one day only. For Mr.
Gull a miniature pony was provided. It had a sore mouth which made it
extremely irritable. Together we certainly presented a very comical
appearance. But any mount in dusty Urga is preferable to none, and on
sight-seeing bent it really did not matter much that our nags were
“crocks”; the fact that with patient, drooping heads they would stand
for any length of time, was perhaps, under the circumstances, rather
convenient than otherwise.
CHAPTER XII
“He that does not believe in others finds that they do not believe in
him”
--_Chinese proverb_
Our very first ride took us right into--what any Mongol other than a
lama would, I am sure, describe as--the heart of Urga. At the foot of
the hill upon which the holy city, K’urun, stands is the centre of
activity in Mongolia’s capital--the horse and camel market. All day
and every day the bartering goes on, and it is here perhaps that you
may study with the greatest advantage the salient characteristics of
the race. The Chinese, I believe, invariably score off the Mongols
in business transactions, but not so in connection with horses. The
Mongol is born, bred, gets drunk, and dies in the saddle, and, like
many others with a knowledge of horse flesh, he would cheat his own
grandmother over a deal of this nature--except for the fact that the
old lady would probably be one too many for him.
In a dusty expanse, fringed on either side with small Chinese shops
crowned with low curved roofs, painted poles, and swinging signs with
gold characters carved large on them, stand the ponies in their
hundreds, and the supply would seem to be well-nigh inexhaustible.
Generally speaking, the animals are small and unattractive looking, and
it would certainly require the “seeing eye” to make a selection from
this mass of unkempt little beasts who, until they are mounted, show
not the least suggestion of the spirit that is in them. The camels are
few and far between, and I have never seen anything approaching a fine
beast on sale here. One has to penetrate into the compounds of the
camel owners in order to buy the best, I think, for usually it is but
the indifferent and unwanted that find their way into the open market.
Urga, the Da Huraz (the first monastery) or Bogda Lama en Hurae (the
encampment of the supreme lama) as it is severally described by the
Mongols themselves (Urga being probably a Russian corruption), Urga,
the religious centre as well as the capital of Mongolia, may be split
up into three distinct and separate divisions, the market-place serving
as a link between two of them, the holy city and the Russian quarter.
The former, in shape resembling a gigantic dust mound and in appearance
a piece of crazy patchwork, is covered with a perfect rabbit warren of
compounds, in most of which felt yourts take the place of buildings. By
circuitous paths between the high palisades which cut one compound off
from another, one reaches as one nears the top the so-called University
buildings, “the Gando,” from which at certain hours of the day lamas
in their thousands may be seen pouring forth.
Crowning the hill is the great white temple, newly erected and barely
finished when I saw it. In walking round a temple, either in or
outside, foreigners should remember that sacred objects should always
be kept on the right hand as a mark of respect. Inside the temple is
one of the largest Buddhas in the world; an immense brazen figure
with four arms rising nearly one hundred feet out of the centre of
the symbolic lotus flower. This was presented by Bogdo, the ruler,
spiritual and temporal, of Mongolia--a thank-offering for restored
eyesight (which I heard is now as bad as ever) at a cost of 1,500,000
roubles. Facing the idol, and in direct violation of all Buddhistic
principles which ordain the celibacy of its priesthood, two thrones,
equal in every respect and draped in royal canary-coloured silk
damask, are placed for the lama pontiff and--his consort. This really
beautiful temple, with its mass of gilding and harmonious decoration,
forms a perpetual testimony to the inability of the Mongols to go far
independently of Chinese assistance, for one does not contemplate as a
likely event in the near future the building and decoration by Russian
workmen of what they would regard as pagan edifices. This Mongolian
building, with all its Tibetan ornamentation and detail, was erected
entirely by Chinese hands, the brass for the Buddha being brought
across the desert from Dolo N’or. In no sense do politics come
within the sphere of my observations, but having seen a certain amount
of Chinese, Russians, and Mongols in juxtaposition, there appears to
me to be but little doubt as to which two nations form natural allies.
The Mongols, beyond breeding ponies and cattle, making the felt of
their yourts and engaging in a certain amount of transport business, do
practically nothing, make practically nothing, for themselves. Their
very clothes and ornaments are of Chinese manufacture, and certainly it
is the Chinese who are alone responsible for anything that is beautiful
in Urga.
[Illustration: THE GREAT WHITE TEMPLE, URGA]
[Illustration: THE HORSE AND CAMEL MARKET, URGA]
I, as other travellers in Mongolia have done, found it very difficult
to buy any characteristically and exclusively Mongolian objects, and
was therefore delighted to discover, not many days before my departure,
that a Mongol auction was in progress immediately outside the great
temple. I went boldly in amongst the crowd and made bids for various
things belonging, so far as I could make out, to departed lamas. The
articles on sale were in the main clothes, altogether too dirty to
handle, but with a few interesting little objects connected with the
temple services among the rubbish, of which two, a priest’s bell and a
small brass drumstick, passed into my possession. A fine milk-jug in
white metal with thick raised repoussé bands became mine at the price
of five roubles. Instead of an aperture, the top was covered in and
holes pierced through the metal to allow the milk to be poured into the
jug. Thus, there was not the faintest chance of its ever being properly
washed out, which, seeing the use to which it was to be put, seemed a
drawback.
A very decorative pail, of copper and brass, much worn, and certainly
without great expectation of life before it from an utilitarian point
of view, greatly excited my envy, and I made a bid for it--two roubles.
A Mongol promptly offered a few kopecks more, and my price finally rose
to three roubles or six shillings. No one outbidding me, so far as I
could see, I was fully under the impression that the pail was now my
property; but not so. In company with the auctioneer and three or four
others, I went the round of the neighbouring yourts to find out whether
or no anyone else wanted it and would give more. The man, however, whom
the auctioneer thought might care to make a higher bid was not at home,
and after hanging about for fully a couple of hours I came away without
my pail, and learned once more that hurry is a word unknown in the
East. There is apparently no time limit for bids at a Mongol auction,
and a transaction frequently takes several days to complete.
The Russian quarter is adjacent to the holy city and separated
therefrom, as I have said, by the horse market and the Chinese shops.
It boasts of some half a dozen general stores, at which tinned foods,
boots, and materials for clothes can be purchased at ridiculously
inflated prices; there is also a restaurant of a most depressing
description, as well as a chemist’s shop. It may well be imagined that,
the majority of the Chinese traders having been driven forth during
the rebellion in 1912 on the one hand, and the virtual suppression of
Chinese goods by a grinding taxation on the other, Russian retail trade
in Urga is in a flourishing condition.
The Mongols are now to all intents and purposes forced very largely
into dealing with Russian stores, and when one is told that 40 to 50
per cent is regarded as a reasonable profit, one can only wonder how
long it will be before the natives realise that they have exchanged
the frying pan for a remarkably fierce fire. But it is to be trusted
that this condition of affairs will right itself again in time. Russian
enterprise--should it develop--will probably fail through lack of
labour. Their own command of labour in these regions is practically
_nil_, and the cost of imported energy would be likely to spell failure
to anyone engaging in business. On the other hand, the Mongols never
have worked and it is highly improbable that they ever will. Mongol
requirements are simple, but such as they are it is clear that they
need the Chinese to supply them.
This Russian quarter forms the least attractive division of Urga. The
houses are small, squalid, and untidy; their inhabitants possess
apparently not the faintest knowledge of sanitation. What must be the
civilising effect, of which one hears, of the Russian influence upon
the Mongols, it is not difficult to foretell. The Chinese may be dirty,
are extremely dirty in some respects, no doubt, but at least they do
not appear to lose their sense of the artistic for all their defects
in this direction, and under normal conditions even in the poorest
quarters of their cities, a certain “esprit,” a “joie de vivre,” is
seldom absent. It is exceedingly difficult to arrive at anything
representing even an approximate estimate of the number of Russians
in Urga. Of civilians, perhaps 1000 forms a liberal estimate, but all
enquiries as regards the military strength are politely but firmly
repulsed. The people in the Russian quarter, in the shops, restaurant,
and on the streets, are a surly looking lot. Their suspicious character
is plainly painted upon their uncouth faces, and every one with whose
business in life they are not entirely “au fait,” they regard as a spy
of some sort. Throughout our stay in Urga it was significant that we
rode nowhere but that we met the same Buriat soldier ostentatiously
uninterested in our existence.
Urga must have presented a gayer appearance under Chinese rule, when
the great untidy stretch of waste land reaching almost from West
Urga into Mai-mai’ch’eng, waste land formerly bordered with Chinese
shops and houses, would have had a far more cheery atmosphere than
it possesses nowadays. Now the few Mongol yamens stand isolated and
unsupported, and the merry “va-et-vient” of commercial prosperity
is no more. At night it is said to be rash to venture across it
unaccompanied, and indeed on more than one occasion we encountered a
Cossack riding full pelt across the stony expanse, brandishing his
naked revolver in his right hand. But latterly there appears to have
been a somewhat arbitrary planning out and dividing up of the main part
of Urga by the Russians, and an expanse which must be of dimensions
approaching something like two miles long by three-quarters of a mile
wide in the very heart of Urga, and in the centre of which the Russian
consulate happens to stand, is to be doled out in concessions to
Russians and to Russians only. To the north of this desolate scene are
sundry temples, and outside them stand a number of brightly painted
little sheds containing the well-known Tibetan prayer wheels. Sexagonal
in form, and with the characters representing “Om Mani Padme Hum”
painted in red letters upon the panels, these prayer cylinders turn on
a central pin, and anyone giving a hefty swing to them as he passes
says his prayers with a minimum of trouble for a maximum of result. The
Mongols, both lamas and laity, use the wheels devoutly, and one’s ears
grow accustomed to the light creaking sound long before one realises
whence it comes.
The Russian consulate, in the midst of a heterogeneous collection
of barracks, officers’ quarters, and outbuildings, is a pleasant
house enough, English in style and furnished, the Russian diplomatic
agent told me, to resemble an English country house inside as far as
possible. Of modest dimensions, it stands back from the road in an
untidy compound, over the gates of which the Imperial standard looms
large and menacing. The present agent is a man of marked ability, and
speaks, I believe, no less than eight modern languages with a fluency
equal to his native tongue. He has obviously succeeded in bringing the
Mongol authorities to heel in a surprising degree as was evidenced not
long ago when he insisted that the Hut’ukt’u, the ruler of all the
Mongols, supported by some of the chief men of his country, should toe
the line in person and make profound apology at the consulate for some
slight that had been shown to the Russian flag. Whether or no this was
a well-calculated action has yet to be proved. But that the Mongols
are making a desperate effort not to be swallowed up exclusively and
irrevocably by Russia is strongly suggested by their recently expressed
desire to the other powers that the latter should be represented
by consuls in Urga “in order to conclude treaties of commerce and
friendship”. It is moreover rumoured that the Mongolian Government has
recently issued an order forbidding the Chinese to sell any land in
Mongolia to Russians. The only other house of any size or importance
is the hideous red-brick erection which forms the headquarters of
the Mongolore Company, which represents an important concession of
gold-mining rights granted to the Russians prior to the declaration of
independence.
[Illustration: A BEAUTIFUL TEMPLE AT MAI-MAI’CH’ENG]
[Illustration: A MONGOL PRINCESS IN HER OFFICIAL ROBES, ACCOMPANIED BY
HER TWO LADIES]
In so far as the structural picturesque is concerned, this is
undoubtedly now centred in and confined to the Chinese quarter,
Mai-mai’ch’eng, where fine gateways and a very beautiful little temple
remain as evidence of the prosperity enjoyed under Chinese rule. Now
the entire place, which is surrounded by a strong stockade of fourteen
or fifteen feet high, which, in a country where stone is so rare and
labour so expensive, takes the place of the usual encompassing wall,
is almost entirely deserted, and one may walk from end to end without
encountering half a dozen people. The courtyard and temple far surpass
in decoration and cleanliness anything that I saw in China. The mural
paintings illustrate Chinese fables and are exceptionally well carried
out and preserved. They have evidently been most carefully cherished
by the guild of Shansi merchants, the Shih Erh Chia, of whom it is the
headquarters. The Mongols use the temple as much as the Chinese do,
and I watched a Mongol princess in her official robes, accompanied by
her two ladies, most devoutly performing her prostrations one day. She
allowed me afterwards to take two or three photographs of her, but it
was difficult to persuade her into sufficient light to make a very
satisfactory picture.
Immediately outside the north gate of Mai-mai’ch’eng is the Chinese
cemetery, where hundreds of unburied coffins are piled awaiting, I
gathered, the far distant day when they might be carried back to be
interred in Chinese soil. The poorer Chinese, for whom there was never
such happy prospect, are buried in alien earth behind the Russian
consulate--a series of little mounds like magnified molehills being all
that remains to indicate the fact.
CHAPTER XIII
“Since men live not for a hundred years it is vain to scheme for a
thousand”
--_Chinese proverb_
Whereas in Inner Mongolia I did not see the Chakhars in sufficient
numbers to enable me to form even an impression upon which to base a
generalisation as to typical characteristics, the Khalkha or Northern
Mongol struck me as being of rather superior build. Roughly speaking,
I think that the average height of a Khalkha man must be in the
neighbourhood of five feet eight inches, while a large number of them
are really tall. The women are strikingly smaller, and, generally
considered, are not less than ten or twelve inches shorter than the
men. The recollection I have carried away of them is that they are a
fairly handsome race. Masses of black hair surmount almond-shaped,
strikingly bright and responsive eyes; the cheek-bones are high and
slightly flattened. Small, well-formed aquiline noses above shapely
mouths and firm chins lend a suggestion of strong character. The teeth
are, as a rule, beautiful, and a ruddy colouring showing through the
sun-scorched, wind-weathered skin, gives them a very healthy appearance.
The principal difference in dress between the northern and southern
Mongol lies in the arrangement of the hair of the married women. In
Inner Mongolia the form of headdress might be described as a skull cap
of silver filagree, from which long chains studded with precious stones
are suspended. The hair is fastened up and hardly shows at all.
The Khalkha matron, however, is contented with nothing so simple. Her
sleek locks are strained over a wire frame which spreads out like wings
above her ears, and are held together by some resinous preparation,
with jewelled slides at intervals to keep the whole in place.
Surmounting this is the filagree skull cap, often richly set with
turquoises and pearls, and from it hang tassels of pearls ten or twelve
inches in length. In poorer circumstances the jewelled slides have
their counterparts in little strips of bamboo, and the pearls would be
substituted by chains of silver and strings of coral. One and all adopt
this obviously inconvenient style of coiffure, the unmarried girl alone
wearing her hair in long plaits and entirely unadorned. The Khalkha
women must have exceedingly long tresses, for although nine or ten
inches are thus taken up by the wings, the remainder is of sufficient
length to form into long plaits which, as shown in the picture of the
princess, are either confined in highly decorative silver tubes, or
are allowed to fall free on each side of the figure to the waist.
Hat pins being an unknown weapon in Mongolia, it was a matter of
much conjecture to me as to how these ladies contrived to keep their
smart little hats so securely perched on the summit of this elaborate
headdress. The hats themselves are very trim and dainty. Made of course
by the Chinese, who are always great hands with the paste pot, a shape
is first created from bamboo paper, hard and unpliable, not unlike a
jelly mould. Over this is stretched yellow satin, while the brim is
turned up with black velvet in summer, or with a handsome piece of fur
in winter. The crown of the hat tapers to a point embellished by a
gold or silver ornament, which in the case of men supports the ball of
coloured crystal denoting by its colour the rank of the wearer. Men’s
hats are otherwise similar to women’s, and if the wearer belongs to the
mandarin class a peacock’s feather protrudes horizontally from below
the crystal ball. The main difference, headdress apart, between men’s
and women’s clothes is that the former sport a sash bound round and
round their waists with the ends tucked in. All wear long coats and
trousers, the women having their shoulders padded up into little peaks
such as were worn in Elizabethan days. All have very long sleeves, the
cuffs of which are turned up with pale blue--no matter what the colour
of the coat--and cover the finger-tips.
The material from which the clothes of the more wealthy are made is
such as we use for our Court trains. In really beautiful satin brocades
and thick soft silks both men and women are attired in this remote
corner of the globe, and I can well believe that dress forms a heavy
item in Mongol expenditure. Extremely fond of colour, the Mongol taste,
or rather that of the Chinese Worth or Paquin who dictates to them,
runs to rich harmony rather than to garishness, while their constancy
to the prevailing fashion, which here is the very reverse of fleeting
since it probably has not modified in any way for the past hundred
years--maybe much more--renders the finish and workmanship quite
excellent. While possessing small and well-shaped hands and feet, the
Mongols thrust these latter into clumsy boots which we should consider
many sizes too large for them. They are made of inferior looking
leather and the toes turn skywards; their loose tops, coming half-way
to the knee, are usually ornamented with very pretty green and white
sticking.
Of their character one must speak of course almost entirely by
hearsay. Their very name is suggestive, “Mong” meaning “brave,” while
volumes might be filled with legends concerning their prowess. It
would indeed be absurd to generalise at all upon those with whom
one came into personal contact in the space of a few weeks, and in
the complete absence of knowledge of the language. That they have a
keen sense of humour is apparent to the most casual observer, and
anything in the way of a practical joke played off on the foreigner or
equally upon one of their number will produce hilarious merriment. In
common with most people who preserve a simple life and do not allow
their desires to advance beyond the possibility of fulfilment, the
Mongols are, in the absence of a cause which provokes them to anger,
very good-tempered, and most distinctly are they philosophical. An
angry Mongol is, however, an ugly sight, and one, if possible, to be
avoided. Of his capacity for endurance there can be no doubt. It is
constantly exemplified in everyday life. I have indeed heard it stated
that a Mongol will ride 600 miles in nine days, using the same horse
throughout. An instance of their toughness was shown by the cheery old
mafu who looked after our host’s ponies and occasionally rode with us
while we were in Urga. A somewhat heavy fall from his horse one day
resulted in a trio of broken ribs, and the man, whose age must have
been in the neighbourhood of sixty, remained huddled up in his yourt
for twenty-four hours. For bed, however, in our sense of the term, the
Mongol has but little use, and if he cannot live his ordinary life he
usually dies in preference. The mafu turned up the day following his
accident, and upon enquiry as to the damage to his ribs, admitted that
“It hurts a little when I cough”. On another occasion, in the depth
of winter, one of the ponies in his charge strayed, and for thirty
hours was missing. Taking another horse, the old mafu went out into
the neighbouring mountains to find him, and as the hours went on his
employer grew anxious. Night fell, and the thermometer descended two or
three degrees below zero. It was evening on the following day when he
re-appeared, none the worse for his exposure, nor from the fact that
he had not broken his fast throughout the day and a half he had been
absent.
That the Mongols are wantonly cruel, I have never heard any evidence.
Certain cruelty arises from a dogma in their faith rather than from
any direct idea of being maliciously hurtful. They will, for instance,
leave an animal to die in anguish rather than put it out of its misery,
for nominally they are not allowed to take life, and consequently do
not trouble themselves to perform an act of humanity for its own sake.
That they will be brutally cruel when it is a question of revenge
there can be no doubt. On the other hand, that they are capable of
real devotion to their animals is, I think, suggested by the following
incidents, written down as told to me one evening by the Norseman, when
we were sitting on a river bank waiting for wild duck to come up.
“The man will never get over it,” he said. “He was overwhelmed by his
grief. He loved those two fine dogs of his and he kept them only for
his hunting. He took them with him to the mountains to hunt lynx in
the dense forest which cover them over there. Three or four days at a
time, he would go out and his bag was never less than two or three,
sometimes four or five, skins, worth from twenty to thirty roubles
apiece. Then for two days he would sit in his yourt, resting, and
cleaning his guns, feeding heavily, and perhaps drinking the vodka the
Russians had given him when he sold his skins. Pig should be his next
object, he decided, and with one companion and his two dogs he sallied
forth to the mountain side. From a thicket, out rushed four great
boars. Off flew the lynx hounds after them. Bang, bang, went the guns,
and the quarry was slain. But alas! the trusty hound who had leapt up
to it was slain too--shot through the heart. The hunter returned to
his yourt on the plains near Urga, leaving the slaughtered pig behind
him on the mountain side, but bearing with him only the corpse of his
dog. Never before has a Mongol been seen to weep like this man. For
three days he sorrowed terribly. He would take no food. He desired
speech with no man. In life there was no comfort for him because of the
thought that with his own hands he had shot his dog. And now he goes
hunting, taking with him his one lynx hound only, and does not do so
badly. The better of the two dogs is the survivor, but the hunter will
never admit this fact.
“It was this man’s own cousin I often went out with,” continued my
companion, “and he was every bit as keen on dogs. Once when I was with
him up beyond that ridge to the west there, a powerful bull elk broke
cover, and in the twinkling of an eye the dogs were upon him. A careful
aim was taken by the Mongol and--his gun dropped. With a tremendous
kick the elk had freed himself from his pursuers, and uttering a cry of
acute agony the dog fell and lay helpless on the turf. The elk’s hoof
had caught her full in the muzzle, and the space of time during which
she would have the power to breathe through the pouring blood could
be but short. His master ran up, calling to the other man to hurry.
‘Do what you can for her, do all you can to save her life.’ He knew it
was hopeless, and he left to his friend’s care his dying dog. Revenge
surged up in his heart. He thought of nothing but that cruel kick from
the elk’s hoof, and nothing did he consider as to where he was going,
nor as regards provision for the hunt. For two days he pursued his
prey, foodless, drinkless--and he returned empty handed to the camp. ‘I
have killed that elk,’ was all that he vouchsafed when he came back,
and he straightway went out to look at the frozen body of his dog with
its mangled muzzle.”
* * * * *
The Mongols are astonishingly fine shots, and it would take a very
accomplished sportsman to compete with them in potting the pretty
little sable-like tarbagans, whose heads flash in and out of their
holes on the prairie hereabouts with lightning-like rapidity. While
some of the well-to-do Mongols possess fine weapons (rifles of the
most modern design, which I was told were imported from Germany on very
easy terms), the majority of the hunting fraternity content themselves
with old muzzle loaders. Practically all Mongols rest their guns on
some support when aiming, and the muzzle loaders frequently have a
forked attachment which can be let down and fixed in an instant.
The Mongols possess that most enviable capacity for putting away an
immense amount of food at a sitting, following which they can, if
necessary, fast for a very considerable time. The staple food of the
Khalkha Mongol appears to be meat in direct relation to the length of
his purse; horse, camel, mule, antelope, mutton, nothing seems to come
amiss; he takes, too, preparations of milk, farinaceous food, such
as koumiss and millet, as well as brick-tea made with milk. Added to
these, the well-to-do in Urga doubtless buy such delicacies as the
Russian shops provide when it takes their fancy. In a general store
we met one day a charming old mandarin of obvious refinement and high
breeding. He was in company with several ladies for whom he was buying
sweets in the most approved Western style. There were six of them
altogether, four ladies and two men. All were gorgeously dressed, the
ladies with most wonderful ornaments and string upon string of pearls.
The men had fine single stones, one a pearl, and the other a large aqua
marine, set in front of their caps. They tasted two or three kinds of
sweets, and finally, going in for quantity rather than quality, the
doyen of the party purchased a 7-lb. tin of rather unattractive looking
pear-drops, which was wrapped in paper and tied up for him. A moment
afterwards the string broke and the tin fell to the ground, burst open,
and part of the contents scattered on the questionable boards. They
took it most good humouredly, laughing inordinately, and all of them
went down on their knees on the floor to retrieve the sweets. To us
they were exceedingly friendly, and the older mandarin chatted away to
us in indifferent Chinese irrespective as to whether we understood or
not.
Drunkenness, said to be on the increase, is, relatively speaking, far
more common among the Mongols than among the Chinese, and in Urga it is
no unusual thing to see two or three men going about with the cangue,
a wooden collar nearly two feet square, padlocked round their necks
as a punishment for the recent lapse from the paths of sobriety. A
frequent repetition of the offence results in the culprit being marched
off to the yamen and being severely beaten. The most usual method of
becoming intoxicated is by drinking arac, a spirit which is produced
by fermenting mares’ milk. I understand that one has to drink this in
large quantities to attain to the condition, but bulk, if in the end
the object is achieved, seems to offer no drawback to the inebriate,
for I have known Breton peasants who would put away as many as ten
litres and become gloriously drunk before half their day’s work
was done. A certain amount of Chinese whisky derived from grain is
imported, but it is very much more expensive, of course, and, generally
speaking, even with its more tardy result, distilled mares’ milk is
preferred by the Mongols. The lamas, whose vows in addition to those of
celibacy include abstinence from strong drink and the flesh of animals,
are also to be found amongst the bibulous.
The more degenerate Chakhar is said to be addicted in a very slight
degree only to the use of opium, but so far as I was able to ascertain
the vice in Outer Mongolia is practically unknown. In view of this
fact it was interesting to read in “The Times” immediately on my
return from Mongolia that an English syndicate at Harbin had been
reported to have made a proposal to the Mongol Government to pay
them £100,000 annually for the privilege of importing opium into
their country. Upon the Russian Agent at Urga protesting, the Mongol
Government replied to the effect that the danger arising from opium
in Mongolia was in no sense commensurate with the advantages to be
derived from the annual receipt of a million roubles; also, that the
opium would not be for the consumption of the Mongols. Under the
present conditions of their relations with China and the flight of
the vast majority of Chinese from Mongolian territory, this latter
contention carries its own confutation. The Chinese in Mongolia are
certainly in nothing approaching sufficient numbers at the time being
to justify any syndicate in paying £100,000 per annum for the privilege
of providing them with the pernicious drug. Besides, away from the
influence of Russians, whom he now undoubtedly resents as having got
the better of him, the Mongol when you meet him on his own ground is a
cheery, friendly person enough, and under the most trying and arduous
conditions of travel it is the Mongol who keeps his temper best and who
remains complacent when every one else is inclined to grumbling and
irritability. His utter laziness and hopeless lack of gumption make him
useless in an emergency, and where, I always felt, the Chinese are our
superiors in their wonderful resourcefulness and quick adaptability,
the Mongol is stupid and shiftless in the extreme.
Tremendously under the influence of their priests, the result of their
religion or, perhaps it would be better to put it, the application of
their religion, is not such as to compel one’s admiration. Humanity,
for instance, is by no means one of their salient characteristics, and
their behaviour to old people, whom they will turn out of their yourts
to die on the dust heaps, is absolutely barbarous.
The loose matrimonial relations prevailing amongst the Mongols are much
condemned amongst the Chinese, who, although they take temporary wives
during their sojourn in Mongolia, where Chinese law will not allow
their own women-kind to accompany them, they never attach themselves to
Mongol women in any legal sense. The Mongol women, on the other hand,
are said to prefer the Chinese to their own race as husbands on the
grounds that the former possess kinder and gentler dispositions. The
children resulting from these mixed alliances, of which there are a
great many in Urga, are called “orles” or half-breeds, by the Mongols.
They are easily distinguishable from the others.
Women have no very respected position or _locus standi_ in Mongolia. If
anything in the life of the country can be called drudgery at all, it
certainly falls to the lot of the women. Their claim on their menkind
appears to be mainly sexual, for while they are young and pretty they
seem to enjoy life and “have a good time” (I am speaking, of course,
of life in the capital). They are often very pretty, chic, and healthy
looking, for, in sharp contrast with their Chinese sisters, they lead
a life of freedom and of open air, ride about everywhere with the men,
attend all the festivities that are going on, wear gorgeous apparel and
lovely jewels, and, generally speaking, “go the pace”.
What they do not know about the gentle art of flirtation is not worth
knowing, and the young woman who is unable to attract two or three
lovers to her side is, they say, generally looked down upon. The
northern Mongols appeared to me to be remarkably merry and bright
as compared with the southern. There is on occasions a great sense
of gaiety in Urga when the people seem full of the joy of life, and
perhaps the women are wise enough to accept their privileges rather
than to worry too much about their rights. Mongols, however, are said
to mistrust women greatly, never taking them into their confidence,
or allowing them a finger in the pie of any important business
transaction.
CHAPTER XIV
“Each path with robes and various dyes bespread,
Seems from afar a moving tulip bed”
--_Tickell_
Our visit to Urga had been most fortunately timed, and we were
delighted to hear within a few days of reaching the capital that the
great semi-religious, semi-athletic festival of the Ts’am Haren, or
sacred dance, was to take place during the second week in July. A more
bewilderingly picturesque and fantastic sight than this presented day
after day--held at intervals it prolonged itself over a fortnight--I
never expect to see. Proceedings included the presentation of tribute
to the Hut’ukt’u, followed by an archery competition, continued with
the dance of the gods, a great wrestling tourney, and wound up with a
race meeting.
Reminiscent in some degree of their past glories, the Mongol princes
and their banner-men came from distant principalities of the dominion
to take part in these feats of strength and skill, and at the same time
to present their gifts and to do homage to their spiritual and temporal
chief. Bogdo, the Hut’ukt’u (“he who is born again”), the Living God
of Mongolia, is nominally the ruling spirit of these festivities, but
although his chair of state was always prominently in position, this
mighty ruler, whom his subjects believe to be the richest as well as
the most potent monarch in the world (has he not 2000 white ponies and
a 1000 white camels?), did not come to sit in it. On one occasion only
did “He that can do no wrong” put in an appearance, and that was when
lamas and princes assembled to hand over to him the money and presents
that had been begged from, and squeezed out of, his subjects throughout
the length and breadth of Mongolia. Great were the rejoicings when it
became known that Bogdo was to be present in person, to receive with
his own fair hands the offerings that had been brought to Urga. Bogdo,
the Djibson Dampa Lama (Holy Reverence) Edsen Han, as he is severally
styled, the chief of all the Hut’ukt’us, by birth a Tibetan, being
son of a steward to the Dalai Lama, is a man of middle age, already
decrepit, in appearance bloated, dissipated, uninspiring. The spiritual
head of the Mongolian Buddhists, he now lays claim, since Mongolia
is no longer subject to Chinese rule, to temporal authority as well.
Indeed the position of this lama pontiff is of unusual character, and
might almost be said to embrace a dual personality. On the one hand,
the celibate ruler of priests, the religious leader of the faith.
On the other, the crowned emperor of the Mongols; crowned with his
wife, and firmly insistent that their ten-year old son should be
crowned as his heir, that there should be no room for doubt as to his
intentions in regard to the succession to the Mongol throne.
[Illustration: BOGDO’S BODYGUARD]
[Illustration: LITTLE LAMA BOYS PLAY ‘TAG’ ROUND THE BARRIERS]
That all actions of the Hut’ukt’u must of necessity be right is
ingrained in the minds of his people, and taken quite literally by
his adherents. That he, the reincarnation of the sainted historian
Taranatha, should openly, and I use the word advisedly, for Mongolia is
a wonderful country for winking at things nominally taboo, take unto
himself a wife must, even though such action is a violation of all
Buddhistic principles, be right, because Bogdo can do no wrong. There
are many stories rife as to the iniquities of their ruler, and one that
I myself heard on good authority made him responsible for the cruel
murder of a well-known Mongol official, whom he is said to have forced
into drinking in his presence a cup of poisoned wine.
Into Bogdo’s house we did not penetrate. It would have been difficult
enough under ordinary circumstances to have obtained an audience, but,
as it was, the Hut’ukt’u was in a bad state of health, and moreover
it was rumoured that an addition to his family was daily expected. A
pleasant ride along the valley of the Tola River brought us to the
confines of Bogdo’s compound, and we were interested in the queer
mixture of styles the house presented. Built of wood, the main part of
the structure might have been an English farm-house, but out of all
character with this was the square green tower in the middle of it,
and the many little Chinese turrets and pavilions with yellow-tiled
roofs. The compound was surrounded by a rough fir tree fence and the
place presented an untidy appearance. There was nothing to suggest the
immense wealth with which Bogdo is credited, beyond the insignificant
fact of a small herd of antelope inside a neighbouring compound. Far
more picturesque, at a stone’s throw distant, was the residence of the
Choi Gin Lama, Bogdo’s brother, a well-planted garden surrounding a
number of small houses and a temple, all with green roofs and Tibetan
in style.
The general arrangements for the Ts’am Haren were carried out with
great forethought and method; the discipline and general order as
one event followed another would really rival the management of like
festivities in the Western world. Our main difficulty was that we
could seldom ascertain within a few hours as to when the performances
began, and in consequence of this we were always up to time and had
a good deal of waiting about. For the presentations to Bogdo great
preparations were made; the approaches to the temple were well
protected by southern soldiers who supplement the body-guard of the
Hut’ukt’u, and the barriers around which the little lama boys played
“tag,” or a Mongolian form of it, fenced off great spaces across which
the unwary foreigners might otherwise have cantered their horses in
disrespectful light-heartedness.
The Temple of the Gods, situated on the north side of the stony expanse
between the Consulate and West Urga was the centre of a brilliant
scene. The body-guard in royal blue silk damask coats with black velvet
facings outlined with silver braid, prune coloured waistcoats and pale
lemon cummerbunds, formed a valiant looking band enough; their weapons
were modern in type, and their clothes apart from being picturesque
were, what is far rarer in the extreme East, smart, clean, and in
good condition. Quite satisfied with the impression their appearance
produced upon me, they showed no little keenness to be photographed.
Inside the barriers the ground was lined on one side with a number of
marquees, under which in deep shadow sat the Mongol mandarins, silently
contemplative and out of the glare, the richness of the blue-purple
and chocolate of their silken garments looking all the richer in the
half light. Opposite them, at a distance of 150 yards or so, the rank
and file of the lama community were herded together, squatting on the
ground and standing in the back rows, thousands of them, from whom
from time to time darted forth some naughty boy with the object of
exchanging his seat for a better one. A mass of dull Indian red was the
effect they produced, unrelieved but for the wonderful banners that had
been erected on great frames of wood opposite the temple entrance. The
mob was kept within bounds by angry lamas who cut at the people if they
pressed forward or got out of place with sharp little switches. The
faces of these men were quite diabolically hideous; their expressions
evil and cruel. There is some idea, no doubt, that the uglier the face
the more alarming it is.
A group of high lamas in gorgeous vestments of orange and scarlet sat
enveloped in their loose folds out of the sun beating down upon an
archway, their hard gilded hats, in shape reminding one of the tops of
raised pies, glittering where the light filtered through the roof with
a metallic brilliance. The crowds are moving now, lamas and “black men”
are mingled, although it is an essentially lamaistic occasion and the
predominating tones range from lemon to vermilion.
Final preparations are now being made, yards upon yards of Imperial
yellow cloth are stretched in a golden pathway from the yourts hidden
away inside an inner compound, through the great p’ailou, under which
the priests shelter from the sun, and away and beyond to the main
entrance to the Temple of the Gods. The yourts behind the palisade form
the robing and refreshment rooms for the Hut’ukt’u, and we note a cart
drawn by a magnificent bullock pull up outside in order that the huge
pots of mares’ milk may be lifted from it. Bogdo is within the gates,
and none but prelates and princes have access to the sacred precincts.
At the portals high lamas sit, and two tall figures support the great
state umbrellas of silken embroidery on either side. The heat is
intense, and a row of sleepy dignitaries doze uncomfortably on the long
benches under the portico. There is a drowsiness about the day, and the
hum of conversation is subdued and soothing.
[Illustration: CHURCH AND STATE: MONGOL PRINCE AND HIGH LAMA]
Suddenly there is a stir, and a thrill of expectation runs through
all of us. A crowd of princes and mandarins and their sons hurries
forth from the little tents and forms up in lines on either side of
the golden pathway. Lama officials come forward and thrust lighted
joss-sticks into each of the outstretched hands. Space is left between
the long rows for three people to walk abreast. A look of intense
eagerness, even of anxiety, spreads over the bronzed faces, for their
god is but a sick man. A harsh trumpeting presages the approach of
their incarnate deity; continuous and raucous. Two heralds, each
holding what we suppose to be a glorified “hatag” on his upturned
wrists but made of leopard’s skin stuffed in the form of an elongated
sausage, made their appearance. Following them are the trumpeters,
first one and then the other producing a long unbroken wail from his
copper and brass instrument which resembles that which I bought as a
war trophy months past in Peking.
A posse of lamas in robes and the mitred headdress of high ceremony,
looking for all the world like a perambulating bed of nasturtiums in
full bloom, precede their pontiff, who, fat, pallid, and ponderous, his
diseased eyes protected by round black glasses, supported (held up, it
seemed to us) by a priest on either side, walks labouringly along the
yellow cloth. The bearers of the embroidered umbrellas are close upon
his heels, and the crowd of privileged persons, priests, and laity,
jostling each other for priority, follow in his train to the Temple of
the Gods. Humbler lamas from remote corners of Mongolia stand about in
little groups. They are there to watch the passing of their god. The
feeling is tense. Fervid adoration shines from their straining eyes.
Clasped hands stretch forth in expression of profound emotion as the
procession winds its way into the temple, up to the tribute throne.
There is silence, save for the sound of the heavy footsteps of the
central figure as he stumps over the yellow tissue covering the boarded
pathway. In an ecstasy of worship the monks prostrate themselves near
the threshold of the sanctuary. They have beheld him whom they would
fain see: him whom they have travelled footsore and hungry so many
miles, for so many weeks, to honour. They are happy. Their faces are
sublime. They have reached the haven of their desire.
[Illustration: THE GREAT STATE UMBRELLA OF SILKEN EMBROIDERY]
[Illustration: IN AN ECSTASY OF WORSHIP THE MONKS PROSTRATE THEMSELVES
NEAR THE THRESHOLD OF THE SANCTUARY]
Lined up along a wall not far from the great gateway to the temple,
waiting with radiantly expectant countenances, and bearing their
gifts in their hands, are some hundreds of ragged pilgrims. Fifty men
of Bogdo’s guard are in attendance here, ready when the time comes
to marshal them into the Presence. They have been waiting since
dawn, but in a state of supreme exaltation. They have drawn the lucky
number amongst their fellows, and carry their offerings on trays and
platters--little ornaments for the temple altars, sometimes even food
have they brought to lay at the feet of their spiritual sovereign.
But their turn is not yet. Precedence has been given to the princes
and rich men in fine raiment, and these, holding aloft in both hands
costly tribute hidden from sight in silken coverings of daffodil
yellow, make a wonderful procession as the crowd opens out for them,
and they pass from a blaze of sunshine into the dimly mellow light of
the great temple interior. A low droning chant rises and falls from the
throats of Urga’s priests as the doors open and close on the bearers of
treasure, gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They are so numerous that they
can only be admitted in sections of a hundred or so at a time.
Less stirring perhaps, but every whit as picturesque, was the meeting
of the archers held on the great grassy expanse between the sacred
mountain and the city. I rode out to it to find a scene which suggested
a herbaceous flower-bed in bright autumn sunshine. A background
of wooded hills rose up in the distance across the Tola River to
some 1500 or 1600 feet. The garments of the crowds--the laity were
in preponderating forces to-day--were indeed a study in contrasts
and harmonies. Pointsettia scarlet vied with pure turquoise and
lapis-lazuli blue; lavender and rich violet, sober mouse colour, pale
lemon chrome ranging to vivid orange--the brilliance of a field of
parrot tulips such as brought back to my memory the bulb farms in full
bloom which surround Haarlem. Cup day at Ascot would seem pale and
anæmic as compared with this Mongolian toxophilite display.
At one end of the ground were half a dozen little marquees, light or
dark blue linen _appliqué_ with yellow and white devices. Under them,
upon comfortable square cushions, sat the princes and princesses, the
mandarins and their wives, with sundry other officials. Surrounding
them were the crowds, and again, like a wall beyond, hundreds and
hundreds of ponies were tethered, for no one ever dreams of walking in
Mongolia. In front of the tents at the south end of the ground were
half a dozen stances for the archers. They shot in pairs, princes and
peasants alike, and undistinguished save for the badge of office in
the form of the peacock’s feather which protrudes horizontal from the
crown of the round pork-pie hat with red streamers, and by the richer
material of the garments. They had four shots apiece, and their range
was about seventy to seventy-five yards distance.
[Illustration: THE MEETING OF THE ARCHERS ‘RANGED THEMSELVES IN COUPLES
AT THE STANCES’]
[Illustration: SCORING THE HITS AT THE BUTTS]
The competitors were in great force, and coming out eight or ten at a
time they ranged themselves in couples at the stances, bowed low to the
magnates in the marquees, saluted the butts likewise, and let fly their
heavy, ivory-tipped arrows--not at targets, but at birch-bark rings
piled loosely as a child might build a “castle” with his bricks one on
top of the other, and making little low walls of perhaps ten or twelve
feet in length by eighteen inches high. At the butts were a number of
men scoring the hits, and as the arrows flew they flapped their long
arms above their heads and chanted a sort of dirge-like incantation,
not dissimilar to that with which our sailors accompany the hauling in
of anchor cables.
The song rose and fell, crescendo and diminuendo, in harmony with the
success or failure of the competitors. A gentle swaying movement of
the crowds as their eyes followed the arrows was like a corn-field
shivering in waves as the breeze stirs it. The umpires stood right
in the line of the hurtling missiles, and little lamas in embryo,
bare-footed and bare-limbed, gathered the arrows as they fell, tripping
back with them to the archers like sun-kissed amorini with their
quivers full. The utmost order prevailed, and this event, as were also
the others, was organised to perfection.
The Dance of the Gods which took place in the spacious outer courtyard
of the temple was similar in effect to the Devil Dances I had watched
with such interest at the lama temple in Peking in the previous spring.
The ground was marked out in sections and all operations were directed
towards a canopy of yellow silk ornamented with conventional devices
in blue, beneath which the throne of the Hut’ukt’u was placed. That
he would be present in _persona proprîa_ nobody expected, but in
his absence all honour was paid to the space which should have been
occupied by him.
The status of Russia was officially recognised by the erection of a
special marquee not far from that of the Bogdo, and under this the
Russian Consul sat cross-legged and perspiring, supported by a number
of officials, an interpreter, and his handsome Persian valet at his
elbow. A large number of Russians also stood and looked on at the weird
gyrations of the masked dancers which continued untiringly hour after
hour beneath a fierce sun beating mercilessly down upon the thousands
of spectators fringing this gritty and treeless expanse. Picturesque
and novel though the dancing was, it became monotonous after a while as
troop after troop of actors, concealed beneath the most grotesque masks
which covered their heads and shoulders, issued forth in turn, and
went through what appeared to us to be the same evolutions one after
the other. It is very difficult to arrive at any exact interpretation
of such religious dances, but the most likely explanation is that the
scenes gone through are a representation in pantomime of incidents in
the early history of Buddhism. The dancers are masked to represent
the gods, mythological animals, and hideous devils, and they prance
about the chalked-in area to the strains of Tibetan trumpets and
other weird sounds. The gods, whose amiable and pallid countenances
very naturally bear strong resemblance to the sublime expression of
contemplation admired by the Chinese, overcome the devils in due
course, but to our disappointment by the means of peaceful exorcism and
not by muscular conflict. This sort of thing continued for the best
part of a day, and it was easy to see that the spectators grew bored,
for the majority were as ignorant, we were told, as we ourselves as to
what it was all about.
[Illustration: A MASK AT THE DANCE OF THE GODS]
[Illustration: A MONGOL PRINCESS WEARING A HEAD-DRESS OF GOLD]
Attendance at the sacred dance may to some extent have been a matter of
obligation on the part of a considerable proportion of the audience,
but for the subsequent event, the annual wrestling competition, it was
a very different story, and the approaches to the ground were thronged
by men, women, and children, about whose keenness there was little
room for doubt. As far as the arrangement of the ground was concerned,
proceedings followed to a large extent those of the previous occasions.
The main difference, as far as I was able to observe, seemed to be that
all the princesses in Urga (if they were all princesses) were present
in order to lend encouragement to their swains. Seated demurely enough
in rows, these charming little ladies displayed their wonderful jewels
and clothes to vast advantage. Beneath their hats was to be discerned
the gold headdress that is worn only on very special occasions. In
shape similar to an inverted finger-bowl and of open-work design, many
of them were made of gold and must have been uncomfortably heavy on
this hot day. Suspended from the frame were strings of pearls, and a
modest estimate of these suggested that some of these grand ladies wore
from 300 to 400 pearls, many of them as large as peas and quite perfect
in colour. In this great mixed assembly they doubtless felt that their
dignity behoved them to present a formal appearance, but the brown eyes
and rosy lips looked merry enough, and one caught mocking and seductive
glances shooting backwards and forwards in spite of all their primness.
The loose long coats worn habitually by the Mongol men conceal
successfully their proportions and claims to physical development, and
it was with some interest that we watched the wrestlers prepare for
the ring. Their faces, burned alternately by the strong sun and rasped
by icy winds, are usually weathered to the colour of old copper, and
one is astonished to see when they are stripped that their bodies are
as fair as those of the average Englishman. Strong rather than agile
in appearance, these braves, lamas and laymen alike, practice from the
time they are little boys and train seriously when the opportunity
offers; they are as hard as nails when the time comes for their prowess
to be put to the test.
The signal is given, and four pairs of competitors enter the
gladiatorial ring, each being arranged at a given point and closely
watched by a couple of umpires, who, acting as backers into the
bargain, never cease pouring advice and encouragement upon them,
occasionally even punctuating their sentiments by administering
resounding smacks on the softer portions of their anatomy. Before
getting to work, however, convention has prescribed, doubtless from
time immemorial, that salutations shall be offered to the gods, or
to the presiding deity, be he who he may. Alas for the influence of
Western ways! The feet of the deity who should have presided have
developed perhaps just a shade too big even for his Mongol boots, and
salutations must be made instead to that empty symbol of sovereignty,
the unoccupied throne of the absent Hut’ukt’u.
Moving in single file towards the northern end of the ground,
exclaiming as they go, the gladiators advance one by one to the empty
chair literally by leaps and bounds. Their prancing action brings the
knees up to the stomach with every step, and they present the most
ludicrous sight imaginable. Arrived at the dais, the braves leap in
the air, fall on their knees, and touching the ground three times with
their foreheads, perform profound obeisance.
The bout began, and to the eyes of the uninitiated it appeared in some
instances a trial of brains rather than of muscles. A smart trick would
send one man down with lightning celerity, and at once the victor
would prance off again to tell that vacant throne that he had won. In
other cases a pair would remain in close embrace for several minutes,
motionless, and apparently thoughtful. Here one could only suppose that
endurance was playing its part, since for no apparent reason one of
the men would suddenly collapse, and the other would fly off to tell
the story. Notwithstanding my lack of technical knowledge, I found
this an absorbingly interesting form of entertainment, and rejoiced to
hear from the Norwegian, German, Russian, and Englishman that these
well-made specimens of humanity were sportsmen in every sense of the
word, that they played the game as well as any Westerner. Indeed they
may be said in one respect to set an example to the Western world in
the total disparity of the reward to the merit that had attained it.
A handful of little cakes, the greater part of which were distributed
among his friends by the victor, formed the entire “purse” for which he
fought. The honour of the thing is good enough for these uncivilised
Mongols.
[Illustration: A MONGOL GLADIATOR]
The closing event of the festival of Ts’am was most enjoyable of
all, and I feel that I cannot improve upon the description given by
Mr. Gull in the paper which he read before the Central Asian Society
on his return to England. “The race meeting was held in a beautiful
green valley a little east of Urga. We rode out to it in a merry
party of Mongols and their wives, who, though in gala array, rode
astride. There were thirty entries for a race over flat open country
for five miles. The jockeys were little boys and girls, the youngest
eight, the oldest not more than fourteen. The ponies, their riders
up and singing in chorus, paraded in a circle between tents coloured
light and dark blue. Presently a lama in flowing robes of yellow with
a pennon at the end of a lance placed himself at the head of the
line, and the slow parade broke into a trot. Four or five times the
circle was completed till the trot momentarily quickening became a
fast canter. Then the excitement of the ponies worked up to a pitch,
the lama gave the signal. With a sweep of his lance he shot off at a
gallop the circle behind him uncoiling like a lasso. It spread out
towards the plain racing towards a bend in the hills, the actual
starting-point. We followed for a little and then dismounting we waited
until in straggling file, flanked by those who had gone all the way,
the competitors reappeared. The first home was a girl with a sash of
orange bound round her jet black hair. A mounted lama caught her bridle
and led her up to each of the tents in turn. Before each he intoned a
prayer, and at the last the girl was handed a bowl of milk, and milk
was poured over her pony’s head. Each of the competitors was then taken
up to the tents in turn, and each pony anointed in the same way. At the
end of the afternoon the owners and others stripped off their clothes
and wrestled until the sun, crowned with a floating splendour of flame
sank behind the hills.”
* * * * *
The friendliness of the Mongols towards Europeans was on this occasion
decidedly marked, and in company with half a dozen Russian officers
who had brought over a number of their men to see the sport, we
were entertained “at tea” in one of the pale blue tents near the
winning-post. We all sat on the ground in a row, cross-legged, and the
lamas handed round queer little Chinese cakes and bowls of mares’ milk.
The latter looked dirty but was really not at all bad to taste.
Our meeting under these strange but pleasant circumstances with
the Russian officers led to the establishment of cordial relations
between us, in spite of the fact, which surprised us not a little,
that one only of their number knew any language other than their own.
This great burly fellow, a Captain in a Siberian rifle corps, was
hail-fellow-well-met directly he saw us, and, coming from the Baltic
provinces, spoke German fluently. We took advantage a few days later of
his invitation to ride over to his quarters that we might see something
of the extensive new barracks which are being built by the Russians.
The soldiers are at present mainly housed in barracks which were begun
by the Chinese, who in 1910 proposed to keep a small force there.
Anyone more hospitable than these gallant Russians I have seldom met,
but their notions of entertainment did not run on lines exactly
parallel with our own, and it was impossible to persuade them that I
really did not like my tea half-and-half with neat brandy, and that in
view of a very solitary ride home across dangerous country there were
limits to my capacity for drinking vodka.
[Illustration: A WRESTLING BOUT]
[Illustration: YOUNG LAMAS.]
I fancy that some of these officers, though nominally this Mongolian
exile is very distasteful to them, manage to amuse themselves and
to take advantage of the great possibilities of sport that this
region offers; they extended to us a variety of inducements such as
expeditions after bear, lynx, and wolves, to say nothing of wild-fowl
shooting, if we would remain in Urga long enough. There is plenty of
bird and animal life both in South and North Mongolia, harrier eagles,
vultures, sheldrakes, bustards, geese, ducks, magpies, crows and larks
abounding, while in North Mongolia beautiful herons, always seen in
couples, were so tame that they allowed one to get within very short
range before spreading their wings and sailing away.
CHAPTER XV
“It is only kindness and not severity that can impress at the distance
of a thousand miles”
--_Chinese proverb_
Among all the brightness and sparkle of life in Urga, there is alas!
a very dark and sinister side. Day after day, we rode past a certain
little inconspicuous enclosure surrounded by a rough pine stockade,
little recking of the appalling amount of misery it encompassed. How
far circumstances and how far sheer native cruelty are responsible
for the terrible condition under which the Mongols drag out a ghastly
existence in punishment for crimes either great or small, and even
prior to condemnation, it would be difficult to establish. Deprivation
of liberty and rigorous confinement is the accepted form of punishment
held by the Mongols in common with all nations of modern civilisation,
and the present form probably originated before there was any other
way of imprisoning malefactors than the felt yourt of the nomad, from
which, of course, any prisoner could escape in ten minutes.
Few, if any, Europeans other than Russians have seen the inside of this
Mongol prison; and truly the dungeons at Urga beggar description.
Through the kind offices of one of our Russian friends we obtained a
pass from the Mongol Government to enable us to visit the prisoners.
The authorities were not a little suspicious as to our object in
wishing to do so, and since a reason had perforce to be furnished,
they were informed that we were merely humane travellers who desired
to distribute largesse among the suffering inmates. Accompanied by a
couple of Mongol officials, three Russians, and Mr. Gull, I was taken
over the entire place, and I believe that none of its horrors escaped
me.
It would indeed be a hard heart that did not open to the hopeless
misery of the prisoners. Within a small compound fenced in by high
spiked palisades are five or six dungeons. The dungeons are thrice
enclosed by a stockade of rough pinewood some eighteen feet high, and
to gain access to them many heavily bolted doors have to be unbarred.
All the doors were double, and two great padlocks ensured the security
of each. As we entered, the gaolers, who struck us as being a most
unholy looking couple who literally gloated over the misery of the
prisoners in their power, met us, and called our attention, quite
unnecessarily, to a trio of pale-faced Mongols sitting on the ground
just inside the gates. Their hands and feet were heavily chained
together, and they fell on their knees when they saw us. We had each
contributed three roubles before entering the prison, and, having
reduced it to small change, one of the party doled it out, making the
sum go as far as possible among the miserable suppliants.
Passing on to the interior, we came upon a heavy wooden chest, some
4 to 4½ feet long by 2½ feet deep, iron-bound and secured by two
strong padlocks. To our horror we discovered that it contained a
man--one might have imagined that a wild beast to be sent by train was
temporarily imprisoned therein! But a man! The hole in the side was
of sufficient size to enable the prisoner to thrust out his manacled
hands. This also provided the sole means of ventilation. But this
unfortunate creature was well off compared with the others we saw
subsequently. At least he was breathing in the open air. The dungeons,
we were told, were so full that this prisoner had to remain outside.
While we were discussing his pitiable lot, clank, clank, went the great
bars and bolts, and the gaoler had opened the double doors leading into
the first dungeon. There must have been from twenty to thirty coffins
in this, some piled on the tops of the others, and the atmosphere was
absolutely putrid. The two Mongol officials, whose general tone I
cannot say impressed us very favourably, now very ostentatiously held
their long sleeves over their noses, accustomed to smells though they
were. One imagines that there may have been some means of cleaning out
the coffins from underneath as is the case in cages in a menagerie,
for it was most strongly impressed upon us that never under any
circumstances whatsoever are the prisoners allowed to come out except
for execution or--rarely--to be set free. The majority are in for life
sentences.
[Illustration: PRISONERS AT URGA, SHUT UP FOR THE REMAINDER OF THEIR
LIVES IN HEAVY IRON-BOUND COFFINS]
One’s eyes growing accustomed to the darkness--the only light that
penetrates it is from the doors when they are opened--one became
gradually aware of wild shaggy heads poking through the round holes
in the coffin’s sides. I was standing, quite unconsciously, close to
a coffin, when, glancing down, I saw a terrible face, nothing more,
almost touching the skirt of my riding coat. Beside one coffin was a
pool of blood which told its own tale. Within it there was a poor devil
coughing his lungs up. The Russian officer, knowing Mongolian well,
spoke a few words to one or two of them, but they seemed too dazed to
understand. Their minds, like their limbs, quickly atrophy in this
close confinement. After a breath of fresh air in the tiny space that
separates the dungeons, which, by the way, are four or five feet below
ground level, another double door was unbarred for us, and we entered
the second dungeon where there were a similar number of Chinese, in
the coffins. It struck us as infinitely sad to find these gentle,
highly civilised Chinese here, Shansi merchants most of them, friends
and neighbours no doubt of the men with whom we had drunk tea in their
charming guild rooms adjoining the little temple in Mai-mai-ch’eng.
There they were, shut up for the remainder of their lives in heavy
iron-bound coffins, out of which they could never under any conditions
or for any purpose move. They could not lie down flat, they could not
sit upright, they were not only manacled but chained to the coffins.
They saw daylight but for a few minutes, when their food was thrust
into their coffins through a hole four or five inches in diameter,
twice daily. In one way only did they score over their Mongolian
fellow-sufferers. Their narrower Chinese skulls enabled them, painfully
and with difficulty, to protrude their heads through the hole in the
coffin side. The Mongol cranium is too wide to do so at all.
Mr. Gull talked to the Chinese as long as the brutal-looking gaolers
would let him, and I admired the pluck which enabled him to remain so
long in that fearsome atmosphere. The men told him that all they knew
was that they were suspected of supporting the Chinese Republic at the
time of the Mongol declaration of independence. They had apparently had
no trial, and they saw not the slightest chance of escape from this
appalling situation. They seemed thankful to have a few words with
anyone in their own tongue.
There were five dungeons and we went into all of them. It was
impossible in the dim light to estimate how many prisoners they
contained, and one got very varying figures, but I imagine that the
total must be in the neighbourhood of 150. One of the Russians wished
to take a photograph of the three prisoners outside, and the brutes
of gaolers held their hands when they tried to cover their faces. I
felt that one ought not insult their misery by doing such a thing.
Indeed, no matter what their crimes, one had nothing but the deepest
pity for the prisoners. We were profoundly moved by all the experiences
of the afternoon and rode back much saddened in the twilight to
Mai-mai-ch’eng. Nothing I can ever see in the future will wipe out the
memory of that terrible prison.
What I had learned of the prison system in Urga helped me the better
to understand what I saw later on. I was present, not indeed from any
morbid curiosity, but in order to witness the much-vaunted Mongol
courage in the face of death, at the execution of three Mongol
soldiers, who six months before had murdered their general, Gen Dung
Geng, and since that time had been dragging out their lives in those
awful coffins.
A perfect July morning. The ride over the short turf for miles along
the wide valley to the north-east of Urga made us forgetful for the
time being of the gruesome object of our expedition. Three of the
soldiers who had murdered their general--the prince, who had led them
400 strong against 4000 Chinese within the walled city of Kobdo, and
whose title was the reward of his conquest--were to be executed.
Discipline among his ranks had been terribly severe; his soldiers hated
him, and the glory with which they were covered as a consequence of
their victory did not outweigh the rancour in their hearts. A chosen
few were supported without exception by their fellows. They were
unanimous to a man.
The prince must die. They rose against him on the morning of an
ice-bound day in January, and twenty Mauser rifles emptied their lead
into his body. Miraculous seemed the strength possessed by the General.
A bullet shattered his thigh, but he continued to run. The soldiers
hesitated when they saw that he did not fall. For one English mile he
fled from his pursuers, limping but swift. To the city he fled, and
people ran out from their dwellings to ask the reason for such doings.
They were out of earshot when the answer came flinging back to them.
But as he ran he called to those that would have come up with him,
“Stand away from me, or you also will surely be killed,” and in his
agony he pushed into a place of safety some little children who were
in his path. His heart was tender in spite of the severity of his
discipline.
He ran; and coming to a gateway where he might hope to find sanctuary,
he threw himself with all his force against the door. He was a strong
man, and the door fell in, and he with it. He lay as he fell. His own
soldiers came quickly up with him, and to the first he cried, “Kill
me, then, that I may enter the new life without further delay”. And
straightway the man shot him through the head.
... And we sat on the hill-side and waited, while our ponies found
fodder more luscious than that to which they were accustomed on the
nearer plains. We waited for over two hours. The Mongols are not a
punctual people.
Presently, riding in twos and threes, they came straggling over the
hill; the hill that shall obscure from view the bloody deed which must
be carried out without the knowledge of the gods, which on no account
may take place within sight of the sacred mountain of Bogdo-N’or upon
whose face all Urga gazes.
The horsemen rode slowly across the mountain, for they knew that more
slowly still would the ox-carts with their mounted escort of soldiers
from the south wend their way around its foot. Besides, there was no
hurry. The prince’s soldiers, three only of the many who were eating
their hearts out in those awful dungeons, were to die to-day for his
murder.
Some sixty or seventy Chinese herded together near us, a cheery,
chattering crowd, make a jarring note in this sombre atmosphere. They
rejoice to witness death, more especially when a Mongol is to die. They
sit apart from all others. There is no natural affinity between these
warring races; and the chances just now are that in the near future
Mongolia’s relations with her celestial neighbours may be fundamentally
altered.
Suddenly round the bend of the valley appears a multi-coloured little
group of riders, the predominant tint being the blue uniforms of the
southern soldiers making general harmony with the grey-green of the
grass on the slopes. They are quickly within range, and by the peacock
plumes in their velvet hats one sees that many officials accompany
the criminals. There, in the midst of the soldiers, are the primitive
little ox-carts, two of them, and in them sit, arms tightly bound to
their backs, the shock-headed criminals. Shock-headed and bearded they
have become during their sojourn in the coffins in which they have been
closely confined in Urga’s dungeons. Death is indisputably preferable
to imprisonment in Mongolia. One of the trio, in spite of the terrible
six months through which he has passed, is full of life and vigour, and
he shouts up in a truculent manner to the officials who have gathered
together in a little tent overlooking the stakes to which later on
the prisoners are to be bound, “Hi, you there,” he calls, “don’t go
and hide yourselves inside the tent. You have to watch our execution.
Come out and see us die.” And when the simple meal, with which they
are served immediately before the execution takes place, is served to
them--unable to feed themselves, the bowls are held to their lips by
the gaolers--this same man demands his rights, and asks for meat and
tea instead of the water and tsamba which are given to him.
And then--having satisfied their hunger, they are quickly and securely
bound in kneeling posture to the stakes. For the last time the sturdy
ruffian expostulates at not being allowed to face the fire. “Why do you
not let us face the guns?” he argued. “Why will you not allow us to die
like soldiers?” This position is ignominious. It is unworthy of their
traditions. But no notice is taken of him, and perhaps his earlier
discipline impels him to submit without further demur. A lama, carrying
in his hands a framed picture of the Great Prophet, walks in front of
the captives. What he says to them we cannot hear, but one replies,
“I only want to be a soldier when I am born again”. The three gaze
reverently enough at the Buddha, and perhaps pray to him that their lot
in the speedy re-incarnation, which they confidently anticipate, may
be cast in pleasanter places. The lama retires, and with a startling
rapidity, three blue-clad soldiers have placed themselves at close
range, five yards at most from the murderers, and then--thud, thud,
and the dust on the hill beyond puffs up in three little clouds. The
heads of two of the men fall backwards with a jerk on their necks. The
bullets have done their work. But custom demands that a second and
even a third round shall be fired. Then we see that one of the men,
the central figure of the group, is still alive, and the awful thing
is that no one but ourselves appears to give heed to the fact, until
the Norwegian runs down the hill to the unfortunate victim and calls
the attention of the Mongols to his condition. Five minutes--they seem
like hours--pass before one of the troop of soldiers, already mounted
and galloping up the hill towards Urga, is called back. He dismounts,
kneels, and takes aim and fires. There is no mistake about the despatch
this time. The poor wretch has died hard indeed.
We are a very quiet little party as we ride slowly homewards through
the valleys. Away behind us the kites circle round the spot we have
just left; waiting until the last of the crowd has taken himself off.
A human vulture has paid a few kopecks for the privilege of stripping
those three poor bodies of the filthy clothes in which they so bravely
expiated their crime, and he too waits until we are all out of sight
before he commences his gruesome task. And the dogs, the ghoulish dogs
that infest Urga, will compete with the vultures.
CHAPTER XVI
“Those who know do not speak; those speak who do not know”
--_Chinese proverb_
The Mongol belief in an immediate re-incarnation leads them to be
entirely careless of their dead, and the only description of tomb I
saw in Urga were a couple of dagobas erected over priests’ graves.
“What does it matter?” they say. “The body is only a case for the
spirit, and the spirit is at once born again into a new case.” I think
that herein lies the reason they never seem to trouble to wash their
“cases”. Corpses are carried out on to the hill-side on the tail of an
ox-cart, a lama accompanying the man in charge of it. The lama selects
an auspicious spot; the man whips up his pony, jerks the corpse to the
ground, and they drive quickly off without looking back. The rest is
left to luck. If the body is rapidly devoured by wild beasts and birds
of prey, the virtue of the deceased is established in the face of any
evidence to the contrary. If, however, the process of dissolution is
protracted, a bad name will cling to the reputation of the departed
and also reflect inconveniently on his surviving family as long as
spiteful memory permits.
A lasting impression of Urga is that of a city strewn with bones, and
horrible, ghoulish, and terribly savage dogs prowling among them. You
may count these dogs sometimes in hundreds about the refuse heaps that
surround Urga. Often they may be seen silently gnawing, gnawing away at
something which makes you shudder as you ride quickly past. One never
ventures outside one’s door unarmed, for in winter the dogs are very
fierce with hunger, and in summer there is always danger of meeting
a mad brute. Only a few months before we stayed there a young lama
from the temple just outside our compound was torn to pieces by these
pariah dogs. He was a fine strong young man, but had gone forth alone
one winter’s day and was without a weapon. A number of dogs attacked
him and before anyone could respond to his cries they had dragged him
away to a neighbouring refuse heap and there torn him limb from limb.
The dogs belong to nobody, and as well as being a constant source of
danger, they are most repulsive looking creatures, always unsightly
from some horrible disease that seems to beset them. The Mongol view
is that these dogs act as scavengers and so save them the trouble of
disposing of their refuse.
[Illustration: A TOMB IN URGA DAGOBAS ERECTED OVER PRIESTS’ GRAVES]
[Illustration: SOUTHERN SOLDIERS]
Cut off completely from the world, as it seemed, I received neither
letters nor news of outside affairs, nor did I observe during this
gala time at Urga much evidence as to the unsettled state of Chinese
and Mongolian political matters. An occasional telegram was received
by my host from his colleague at Kalgan telling him something of the
movements of the two opposing forces, but it was little that we learned
as to what was happening, and if one had remained much longer there one
would certainly have come to regard Urga as the centre of the universe,
and to attach paramount importance to Mongolia as a political unit.
The news, therefore, that Mr. Grant, a young Scotsman engaged in the
Chinese telegraph service, had been murdered by Mongol soldiery at
Ta-Bol was a great shock. We had met the companion who set out with
him, the preparations for whose expedition I had watched with such
interest three months before from the mission compound at Kalgan, when
we passed through Verkne-Oudinsk, and were told by him that Mr. Grant
would probably reach Urga before we left it. The story as it came to
us through Mongol sources was that Hung-hu-tzes had descended upon
this poor young fellow for food at an isolated telegraph station, and
that when they had exhausted his supplies, he, though resenting their
importunities, had despatched urgent messages to the Chinese Government
for relief. It is said that a telegram was sent to Yuan Shih K’ai
himself; but the Chinese Government were apathetic, or they did not
see the force of feeding this robber band whose object was to destroy
their men, when it was all they could do to supply their own soldiers
with the barest necessities. In any case, no relief came, and Grant
in desperation, no Chinese or Mongol being willing to undertake the
journey, finally set off to Kalgan that he might obtain the stores
necessary in order to continue his tour of inspection north. Why the
authorities allowed him to return under the conditions prevailing in
Inner Mongolia at that time it is difficult to understand. Be that as
it may, upon reaching Ta-Bol again in company with three Chinese he was
apparently captured by Mongol soldiers, who met him with the demand
that he should hand over his supplies and his Chinese as well to them.
He should go free, they said, if he complied, but if he refused they
would kill him.
To his eternal honour be it recorded that Grant stood by his Chinese
companions. The Mongols, although they murdered him in cold blood,
have at least been forced to admit that the white man was their equal
in their boasted bravery; that he knew something of which they know
nothing--the supreme virtue of self-sacrifice. He did not die with
the satisfaction of knowing that he was saving the life of others in
so doing--one hopes that many of us would be capable of paying that
price for such a reward. He died because he would not save his own
life at the price of blood even though that blood was inevitably to be
shed. From Mongol lips the account of the final scene comes to us.
Announcing their intention of putting him to death, soldiers crowded
round him to take him captive. He jeered that so large a number should
be necessary to bind a single man. “We will soon stop your laughing,”
they said, and lining up twenty men they shot him down.
Grant met his death in such a manner as to make his nation proud of
him. His action, combined with his last brave words, was of a gallantry
that places him high in the company of heroes. “You may kill me, but
you can never frighten me,” he said. A month or more later his body was
found with a bullet through the head, as were the bodies of the three
Chinese with whom he died rather than leave to their fate. Though the
murderers had fled, the camp near which the bodies were found still
remained, and it was on that account that they were found undisturbed;
that the wolves and vultures had left them untouched. It would almost
seem as though the Mongols, having done their worst, had guarded the
remains; as though they realised that a hero’s death must surely be
avenged.
Although, as I have said, there was little enough on the surface in
the capital to suggest that a few hundred miles away fighting was in
progress and unrest was prevalent, one could not describe Urga as being
either a peaceful or a soothing place in which to settle. The fact that
one must always keep a loaded rifle at hand does not make for that.
A somewhat “nervy” little experience of my own one night was when
I heard rifle and revolver shots too near to be exactly a lullaby.
Creeping out into the compound, my revolver at full cock, and taking
cover under shadow of the low Chinese buildings that bordered it, I
discovered that a Mongol was sitting upon my roof taking pot shots at
his enemy over the wall. This is the one and only time that I think I
can claim literally to have been “under fire”.
Another uncomfortable moment was one night in riding home in the dark
after dining with our Russian friends, when we inadvertently disturbed
a horde of pariah dogs very busily engaged in gnawing at--heaven knows
what! Several of them leapt up angrily at us, and there was temporary
uncertainty as to whether we might not be in for an extremely ugly time
of it. At night, too, our ponies were fearfully nervous, and after a
violent “shy” because my fellow-traveller struck a match to light a
cigarette, my little brute chucked me over his head most unexpectedly
when, on reaching the compound gates, I essayed to rouse the inmates
by banging on the doors with my riding-crop. We learned before leaving
Urga that to be out after dark was looked upon as exceedingly rash and
unwise, and before we left that city an order was issued by the Mongol
Government to the effect that no one was to go outside his house after
8 p.m.; that in one house in every twelve a man was to sit up all night
in order to give warning should Hung-hu-tzes threaten; and that in
every house or yourt a light was to be kept burning all night.
These were not exactly reassuring auspices under which to make our way
back along the lonely tracks to civilisation. It decided us, in fact,
to give up the idea of taking a different route back in order to visit
the gold mines in the Iro district, for it was especially in that
neighbourhood that there was most likelihood of meeting desperate and
evil characters. Anxious therefore to prolong our stay in Urga to the
limit of the time we had at our disposal, we decided to cut the journey
back to Siberia as short as possible and travel “orton” in as rapid
stages as might be. The Russian Consul was very good in helping us to
make our arrangements. In fact, the uncomfortable feeling lingered
unexpressed at the backs of our minds that friendly though he had been,
he would not be sorry to see us turn our faces from Urga. It is obvious
that the Russians would not like a couple of inquisitive foreigners
poking their noses into all sorts of corners, especially in a country
where Russian jurisdiction is in the balance and control by no means
complete.
An antediluvian tarantass was procured, and we were told that the owner
lived in Kiachta and that we might deposit it there for him. The small
sum of ten roubles seemed to ensure sufficient repair being carried
out on it to see us through the two hundred miles that lay between
Urga and our destination. The first day of August was spent in packing
up and making preparations for our journey, which we hoped to compass
in four instead of the seven days we had taken in coming. The friends
we had made during our stay came to speed us on our way and regaled
us during tea-time with stories of adventures that travellers had met
with on previous occasions over the same road. The Consul, very genial
and cheery himself, brought us our “huchaos” as well as the passes
which would enable us to carry our weapons out of Mongolia and through
Russian territory. Our last evening, as we fondly thought, we spent on
the banks of the Tola River, and with the whitened skull of a camel for
a target we tried to improve our marksmanship with the Mauser in the
twilight, using up all the ammunition we dared spare from the possible
requirements on the journey home.
CHAPTER XVII
“To spoil what is good by unreasonableness is like letting off
fireworks in the rain”
--_Chinese proverb_
Again we had reckoned without our--Mongols. Rising betimes and being
from an early hour in a state of preparedness, we sat down and waited
for the appearance of our tarantass, our horses, and our men. We
waited all day, and in the evening gave them up as a bad job and went
off for a final ride over the short springy turf among the foothills
surrounding the holy city. Next day, five weeks exactly since we had
left Kiachta, the Mongols arrived before 8 a.m., but such are their
feckless and procrastinating ways, that it was noon before they were
ready to start. Our first halt came all too soon, for we were not more
than 300 yards from the compound gates when we had smash number one.
This, by the way, was the first and last time that I have ever seen a
Mongol unseated, and to do him justice, the man came off his pony, not
from having lost his grip, but in preference to being crushed against
the palings of the temple we were passing.
We had started off three men short, and one of the ponies, never having
been used to draw anything before, and being, moreover, extremely
fresh, took advantage of the situation to jib, throw its rider, and
bolt off across the valley. Without a moment’s delay, the other Mongol
freed his steed from the tarantass and sped off after the runaway. We
were left sitting in the tarantass. The pony, after a wild chase, was
caught again, and then in order to knock the stuffing out of him a
little, his owner, belabouring him freely, took him for a sharp gallop.
Meanwhile, and just as we were ready to depart once more, the rascally
horse-dealer, who, by the way, had been our next-door neighbour as
well, rode up, obviously in a state of indignant excitement. Mr. Mamen,
our Norwegian friend, who, hearing of our smash, had come along to help
if he could, explained that the man was very angry and was under the
impression that we had insulted him.
The story of the skull, the _casus belli_ with the horse-dealer, brings
back to me considerable regret. Ten days or so prior to our departure
I had found on a hill-side some distance from Urga a fine, and
apparently, clean, specimen of Mongol skull, and tyro in the subject
that I was, thought that to possess and take it home with me would be
interesting from an anthropological point of view. Threading a bit of
string through the eye socket, therefore, I tied the skull to my saddle
and rode back with it. My friends very kindly, instead of crushing my
aspirations, suggested that to let it steep for a few days in a pail of
disinfectant might be a wise and sanitary precaution. When, however,
I wanted to pack it up, I found on pouring off the disinfectant, that
the dogs and vultures had not performed their functions with the
thoroughness that I had anticipated, and that the cranium was still
half full of decomposed cerebral matter. My Chinese boy, of course,
would not look at it, and I could persuade neither of my European
companions to clean out the thing for me. The easiest way out of the
difficulty seemed to be to leave the skull behind. As soon, however,
as we had taken our departure, the boy in clearing up took the pail
and its contents to a neighbouring dust-heap and deposited the latter
thereon.
Our Mongol horse-dealer had unfortunately been cognisant of the
proceedings, and, on the look out, no doubt, for a grievance, had
jumped on his horse that he might overtake us and complain of our
action in leaving the skull so near to the confines of his compound.
We apologised, of course, and tried to impress upon him the fact that
we had intended no insult. Noticing that he still appeared irate, my
noble fellow-traveller, with the object, I believe, of leaving nothing
but pleasant impressions behind, offered to go back and to remove the
skull from the vicinity. A further delay, and he re-appeared, bringing
with him a bulky parcel tied up in a newspaper. My penitence was not
assumed, and coals of fire were heaped on my head when not one solitary
word of reproach was uttered as we packed my very gruesome possession
away in the bottom of the tarantass. Even now it was in no pleasant
condition for transporting by civilised routes through Europe, and
I willingly agreed that it would be as well to rid ourselves of the
encumbrance at the first opportunity. To remind me of that incident,
even ever so gently, during the rest of the journey was to render
me immediately docile and amenable to any scheme, no matter how
distasteful it might be.
We picked up our remaining Mongols in Urga, and bade adieu to the
Russian officer, Captain Gabriek, who came to see us off, give us some
parting words of advice, and take a photograph of us as a souvenir.
We were nearing the top of the first hill out of the capital when
smash number two occurred. The new pole which had been fixed across
the shafts of the tarantass and was being carried in the usual way
athwart the saddles of four Mongols, suddenly broke in two, and,
without a moment’s warning, the tarantass began to trundle backwards
down the incline. We sat tight, expecting to turn over every minute,
the Mongols, who are useless in a crisis, looking on aghast at what
had happened. We fetched up against a heap of stones in a manner
truly providential, when, keeping the right side uppermost, we
disembarked, and set the Mongols to work on mending the broken pole.
The opportunity having arrived, I took advantage of all their attention
being concentrated elsewhere to walk off with the newspaper parcel
containing the skull, and sauntering away to some distant bushes, I
concealed my burden amongst them. Years hence some Sherlock Holmes will
doubtless discover it, and making four out of two plus three, will with
his customary acumen come to the conclusion that a dastardly crime has
been committed here; that some brutal Englishman has murdered a Mongol
and disposing of the body (heaven knows how!) has attempted to conceal
the head by wrapping it in a copy of the “North China Herald,” and
leaving it by the wayside. You never can tell.
We were forced into the position of making the best of a very bad job
as far as the repair to our broken pole was concerned, and came to the
conclusion that it would not bear the severe strain of descending the
long road which led down to the farther side of the Urga Pass, up which
we had trudged so cheerily little more than a month before. So, with a
couple of ropes to haul the tarantass back in order to avoid weight on
the pole, we allowed the now somewhat subdued Mongols to take it down,
while we ourselves led their ponies. Our accident delayed us for over
an hour, and this, combined with our tardy start, made us very late
in arriving at the end of the first stage. Here a relay of men and
horses was forthcoming, and we did our best to instil into them caution
as regards the fragile condition of our conveyance. The way diverged
considerably from the route our Jamschik had taken in bringing us, and
before reaching our night quarters we had a somewhat disconcerting
stream to negotiate. Under ordinary conditions the Mongols would have
raced over and torn up the steep bank on the farther side with wild
“Hoop-la’s”. Our broken pole necessitated a very different procedure,
and there was nothing for it but “all hands to the wheels” and to push
the heavy tarantass across. They gave me one of the ponies to ride, but
what with the water being deep and the pony splashing about I think I
got as wet as they did. Mongols detest getting even their feet wet and
made a prodigious fuss before they could be induced to wade.
Our men on this stage were not a particularly ingratiating set, and,
though the subject did not come up for discussion, neither of us felt
any too safe in their hands. Their character was disclosed when we
arrived at our destination for the night, and they tried to force us
into paying eight roubles instead of the usual three, or the actual
five, which we offered them. The Mongols bluffed all they knew, and
swore (one of them spoke enough Chinese to act as interpreter) that the
sum of eight roubles was entered in black and white upon our “huchao,”
or posting permit. My less pugnacious companion was for paying and
thus saving discussion, but I felt that to give in at so early a stage
would mean being bullied at every subsequent one, and I therefore
gave them to understand that I would go back to Urga with them in the
morning to settle matters rather than be imposed upon in such a manner.
They made as though they would depart without the money, but finally
caved in before our firm stand, and after a pow-wow which had lasted
over an hour, they settled down to tea and cigarettes before taking
their departure, by which time it was nearly ten o’clock.
Tired out with our long parley, thankful to see the last of them, but
pleased that we had managed to keep our tempers and that we had finally
scored off these Mongols, we fed hastily and settled down in the
traveller’s yourt for the night with as little preparation as might be,
feeling none too secure in this obviously hostile camp. In the wee sma’
hours a sound of soft footsteps wakened me, and I sat up to listen.
I could hear from the deep regular breathing of the other occupants
of the yourt that nervousness was not troubling them unduly. But the
slight sounds developed, and a sudden creaking outside woke Mr. Gull up
too. An unexpected rush of horses’ hoofs and more creaking presented
in a flash to me what was happening outside. “They are stealing our
tarantass,” I whispered, and grasped my revolvers, one in each hand.
We sat still and waited in silence for a while, when lights and voices
reached us through the chinks and crevices of the yourt. “Those brutes
have come back to rob us,” muttered Mr. Gull, and crawling quietly to
the door I could see through the crack above it a crowd of faces.
“What the devil do you want?” shouted one of us, and rejoicing to find
my hand steady as a rock, I prepared to fire at the first indication of
attack. Indeed I was veritably within an ace of pulling the trigger,
when suddenly I became conscious of a fair moustachioed, blue-eyed
face, topped by a forage cap, gazing at me in gentle amazement. I could
have fallen upon the neck to which it was attached in the reaction from
what we believed to be a desperate situation. The Mongols were not
there to attack us, but merely to usher in to the traveller’s yourt a
Russian officer and his servant who were posting through to Kiachta in
like manner to ourselves. We quickly helped them to settle in, plied
them with food and brandy (which seemed to please them enormously),
and the lot of us were soon sleeping soundly and securely, I with the
comfortable feeling that together we would be able to account for a
good many Mongols were the ruffians to come back and raid us.
We had rather hoped that we might be able to continue our journey in
this pleasant, if speechless, company, but the Russians were travelling
very light, and were up and off by daybreak, while we had to wait for a
new pole; a young Scotch fir being cut down, smoothed a bit, and sold
to us for fifty kopecks for the purpose. I was interested in watching
the toilet of the officer, whose servant stood at attention opposite
him holding a small saucepan full of water in which he washed and
gargled with great thoroughness.
The appearance of the group of Mongols who were to take us on our
next stage did not impress us favourably, and we felt that our men
of yesterday had probably done their best to make things difficult
for us. The other people in the camp too, seemed truculent and surly,
begging for food from us in no too pleasant a manner. One of our new
men was indeed a formidable looking ruffian, six feet tall, and with
a scowl that never left his face. The others consisted of a “black
man,” two girls, and a lama of twenty or so. The younger girl was very
pretty. She obviously mistook me for a man, and all the time she was
off duty she rode alongside the tarantass making overtures to me for
sweets (we had laid in a good supply on finding a particularly pleasing
brand in a Russian shop in Urga), pins, flowers, or any other trifle
she espied and as promptly coveted. She was so coy and merry that I
felt quite sorry for my companion that all her attentions should thus
be squandered upon myself. It annoyed some one else too. The young
lama whose beloved, I gathered, she was, seemed distinctly uneasy,
and his head was much more frequently turned in our direction than to
his business of guiding the tarantass. At one halt he appeared to be
telling her plainly what he thought of her frivolous behaviour, but
although she pouted very prettily it was all to no avail, and her
swain tied up again, figuratively speaking, between the shafts of the
tarantass, the minx relapsed once more into her engaging little ways.
At the end of the stage there was the fuss we had anticipated, and
our scowling outrider looked by no means a pleasant customer when he
began bullying argument for a double fare. We were, however, at this
time of day in no mood to be trifled with, and throwing the money on
the ground, waved our “huchao” in the face of the head man of the
settlement and demanded fresh horses without delay. Two can play at a
game of bluff, and we were the winning side this time. With a lively
crew of no less than eight youngish men--dare-devil scallywags they
looked--we were soon under way again.
CHAPTER XVIII
“When the mind is enlarged the body is at ease”
--_Chinese proverb_
The antiquity of our tarantass was a source of constant anxiety to
us, and minor mishaps, ropes wearing out, shafts slipping, and nuts
becoming loose, were of frequent occurrence. Two of our riders were
mere boys--one a lama, of fifteen or sixteen--who when they were
drawing us insisted on riding at a reckless pace over some very
rough country. I protested several times and finally, after they had
repeatedly disregarded my injunctions, succeeded in bringing them to
a halt. Things were soon again as bad as ever however, and we were
travelling at a tremendous rate when snap, scurrrr, scuff! our front
axle-tree had broken clean in two, and a wheel rolled clear away on
the near side. We were now in a sorry plight, and what we were going
to do we had not the slightest idea. The Mongols looked on helplessly,
and were quite subdued when I told the two young ruffians, who had
been so entirely responsible for the damage, in fluent English exactly
my sentiments regarding themselves at that moment. By the sheer
intervention of Providence we were saved from an uncommonly awkward
situation. In the dim distance, the forms of a couple of Russians
riding along were descried by one of our Mongols, and leaping into
his saddle he had galloped away to solicit their aid before we had
diagnosed what was passing in his mind.
Of the resourcefulness, the kindness, and general _bon camaraderie_
of those Russians I can hardly say enough. Our troubles were at an
end. Of the pair, we diagnosed one as being perhaps a cattle-dealer in
low-water--his shaggy and disreputable appearance maybe belied him:
the other man was a raw young soldier carrying despatches to Kiachta.
The first was a man of brains. He took in the situation at a glance
and immediately set the Mongols to work; one to cut down a sapling,
others to clear out some of the wreckage. Meanwhile he gave them such
a dressing down as did my heart good to hear. By transforming the
sapling into a sort of sleigh runner, he achieved what had seemed next
to impossible, a means of conveying the tarantass, which now had a
tremendous list to starboard, with our belongings inside to the next
stage of the journey.
Thankful to have got even so far, we were preparing to pay off and
dismiss the Mongols who had been responsible for so much trouble, but
the Russian stopped us and gave us to understand that in consequence of
the smash it would be better to give them nothing, and we therefore
got rid of them by writing a letter on the spot to the Yamen at Urga,
setting forth our complaint and explaining that we had been obliged to
abandon the tarantass at the fourth stage of our journey. The headman
appeared to support the Russian’s judgment, and moreover cautioned the
new set of men who were to take us along in gingerly fashion in our
three-wheeled and almost disabled tarantass to our resting-place for
the night. Fortunately this turned out to be a very short stage, and we
walked almost all the way.
Having travelled by a different, although, I presume, more or less
parallel road from Urga, we were agreeably surprised to find ourselves
when night fell at the little wooden shanty occupied by the young
Chinese whose eyes I had treated on the downward journey, but with
whose house my fellow-traveller had less pleasant associations.
His quarters, however, were taken up by Chinese travellers, and we
therefore put up with a family of Russians who occupied the adjoining
rooms. As regards cleanliness this was certainly no improvement on the
apartment next door, and I think Mr. Gull, who decided to sleep in the
tarantass, had the better part. I had quite anticipated sharing the
room with the Russian family who at supper time ate their meal in one
corner while we, with the soldier and our friend in need as guests, had
ours in the other. But they all dwindled away after their repast and I
felt somewhat nonplussed when, after I had retired to my plank bed,
they trooped in one by one to say their prayers in front of the icon
which decorated the corner of my abode. The men, of whom there seemed
to be a nondescript half-dozen, appeared to find sleeping accommodation
in odd carts and corners in the yard, and I heard next morning that the
compound had not been such a quiet place of repose after all; that the
cows lowed, the pigs grunted, that cocks crowed long before dawn, and
finally that snores were to be heard coming from every direction.
From this time forward the two Russians, civilian and soldier, were as
our brothers. For the sake of their company and from sheer gratitude
for their helpfulness and resource we welcomed them gladly, and
willingly shared with them all that we had in the way of provisions. We
had every reason to believe that our “huchao” carried the cattle-dealer
through the remaining stages free of expense, and not once but many
times I gathered from an intelligible word here and there that he
described us to the Mongols as near relations of the Hut’ukt’u, and
therefore that there must be no further nonsense about overcharging us.
This must have been the explanation of the fact that at one stage the
Mongols refused payment altogether, and I am afraid it must ever remain
on our consciences that we were benefiting from what was in effect an
offering to the living God.
[Illustration: A MONGOL ORTON]
[Illustration: CONTINUING THE JOURNEY ON OX-CARTS DRAWN BY PONIES]
The damage to our vehicle was examined by every man, woman, and
child within reach, and a general concensus of opinion was arrived at
to the effect that repair was impossible, and that the alternatives
available were either to continue our journey by ox-carts drawn by
ponies and to abandon our tarantass, or to remain where we were for a
very precarious fortnight while a new axle was made and sent down to us
from Kiachta. The latter course was out of the question, and we gaily
embarked upon a journey of some 120 miles on ox-carts, little recking
of the possibilities of discomfort that this means of transit involved.
On one cart, which we did our utmost to keep in sight and in front of
us, we packed the baggage, on the other we somewhat perilously perched
ourselves. There was no protection either at the back or sides of the
rough conveyance, and it was some time before we could learn to balance
ourselves with any degree of comfort or feeling of security.
Arriving at the next stage about midday we were so tired with the
jolting and the strain of keeping our seats that we were literally too
exhausted to unpack our food, and merely stretched our cramped limbs
on the grass and dozed while the ponies were caught and put between
the shafts and a new relay of Mongols carried out their customary
pow-wow with the last lot. The stages were now of shorter duration,
and as the carts were the property of the Mongols at various points,
their capacity for comfort presented a pleasing variety. None of them,
however, would in our luxurious and extravagant country, I am sure, be
considered worthy of carrying manure from the farmyard to the field.
The description of ox-carts which cross the Gobi and which I constantly
met in Inner Mongolia applies equally to those of this region.
A further stage was rendered lively and really interesting by the
discovery of the most remarkable one-year-old boy it has ever been
my lot to meet. To say that the child could walk and talk like a
four-year-old is to mention the least striking of his accomplishments.
Mr. Gull, at the appearance of the baby in his mother’s arms, was
smoking a cigarette, and by unmistakable signs, to say nothing of
sounds which were apparently intelligible to the surrounding Mongols,
he expressed his desire for one too. He was forthwith presented with a
cigarette, and we quite expected him to do what all normal children of
his age would have done, pull it to pieces. But not so this child. He
put it in his mouth most carefully, and looking round gravely to watch
the effect he had produced, he allowed it to be lighted, when he puffed
it for a moment or two before struggling to his feet and toddling off
to the yourt to show his trophy to a doting grandfather. It was quite
evident that that baby, as certain other babies of my acquaintance,
ruled not only the yourt of his parents, but his various kith and kin
in the camp to boot.
[Illustration: A REMARKABLE ONE-YEAR-OLD BOY]
The settlement thus dominated appeared to us to be of a somewhat
more wealthy character than others at which we had rested--at least,
it produced a slightly superior cart, larger, and with a plank
upon which to sit, while the harness had the high Russian arc-like
arrangement attached to the shafts. Between this and the next stage we
again crossed the Hara-Gol (at a point higher up the river than last
time) and found it almost unrecognisable, so greatly had its volume
decreased. That the Mongols do not devote the pick of their herds to
supplying the traveller with horse-flesh for the journey between Urga
and Kiachta goes without saying. As a rule, however, the ponies that
were available were more or less docile, and on two stages only did we
seem in peril of never reaching our destination at all; once on account
of too great a pace, on another on account of no pace at all.
Starting at 5 o’clock on the morning after we had re-crossed the
Hara-Gol, and with a very good-looking and pleasant young priest as
outrider--it should be mentioned that to each cart was attached one
pony only and that this was led by a mounted Mongol--we seemed likely
to take a short cut across the Great Divide. The wheeler was hopeless,
beginning with a tremendous tussle on being put between the shafts; and
it was more than probable that this was his first experience of such
encumbrances as cart and harness. The Mongol, whose own steed was in
none too good a temper, held him up short against his bridle, and from
time to time seemed likely to be pulled from his saddle by the jerks
and tugs with which the little brute tried to free himself.
Our Russian friend and the soldier had ridden ahead, and there seemed
every likelihood that we were in for a lively time. After a while,
however, the pony appeared to have come to terms and to settle down
to the fact that he had met his master. The strain, however, had been
too much for the harness, and a piece of the raw hide that formed it,
parting company from the rest, gave the animal his chance. Without
an instant’s warning he was off, helter-skelter, over the prairie.
Our lama, taken off his guard by the fracture, was left behind for a
moment, but, recovering himself, darted away at a little distance,
and instead of trying to catch us up did his best to head the pony up
the hill, instead of allowing us to be dragged to certain destruction
along a narrow road which wound up with a steep incline down to the
dried-up bed of a river. There was nothing for it but to sit tight and
hope for the best, and holding on to one another like grim death, we
danced about like parched peas on a drum head. Sitting tight seemed to
suggest relative security for a moment or two, but in front of us was
a bank, and heaven knows what beyond it. “The bank will stop him,” I
cried; but no such luck. Up he went, and to our breathless amazement
we found we had leapt, cart, pony, ourselves, and all, not only the
bank but the gully that was on the other side as well. It said much for
the stability of our cart no less than for our nerves. But there were
limits to the little beast’s powers, and the sharply ascending ground
to which he turned to avoid his master was too much for him, and,
completely played out, he allowed himself to be caught. By this time
our Russian friend, not understanding our delayed appearance, had very
thoughtfully ridden back, and, practical man that he was, mended the
harness, swearing volubly at the lama meantime. That we were alive to
tell the tale seemed to us a miracle indeed.
Our next experience was a great contrast, for on the north bank of
the Iro-Gol where we again changed horses, we picked up the slowest
brute I met during the whole time I was in the East. So slow it was
that the Russian lent me his whip in order that I might urge it on a
bit from the cart. This and the fact that on one occasion I touched it
gently on the back with the toe of my boot rather annoyed the Mongol
who led it, and turning round he informed us in Chinese that his horse
was “li h’ai” (terrible). Once and once only did it suggest the least
justification of the statement, and that was when nearing camp it
appeared suddenly to call its traditions, and made a very respectable
entry, dashing up to the travellers’ yourt in fine style.
This proved to be a very friendly settlement, and the people crowded
round the yourt to bid us welcome. I dare say friendliness was mingled
with curiosity. Seeing me pour a drop or two of eau-de-Cologne on a
handkerchief and pass it over my face, they were keenly desirous of
paying me the compliment of imitation, and held out their hands for the
bottle. Mongols are not backward in asking for what they want, and are
quite of the belief that to him who asks shall be given. “Ai-iaa” they
ejaculated delightedly. Most of them liked the scent, but one woman who
sniffed it up too hard from the palm of her hand was greatly annoyed
when it stung her nose, shaking her head like a dog, and walking off
in high dudgeon when the others roared with laughter at her. They all
copied my method of using it, and were smearing their faces over with
their dirty hands, when our Russian took a rise out of a new-comer who
had not been present at the first operation. Seeing every one rubbing
their cheeks he wished of course to take part in the game, and the
Russian pouring the questionable dregs of a water bottle into his
outstretched palms, the trusting lama applied it to his face. The rest
keenly appreciated the joke and the man himself took it in good part
when he found that they were fooling him. As consolation I administered
a lump of sugar dipped in tea, and this was much relished. They were
a cheery lot of people here who played with us and each other like so
many children.
We woke up next morning to make the acquaintance of a learned professor
from the University of Tomsk, who had arrived during the night, coming
in so quietly that he had disturbed no one. We learnt that he was on a
surveying expedition to Ulliasutai and Kobdo. We left him planting his
theodolite on the top of a hillock near the camp, the Mongols regarding
his movements with the greatest suspicion and dislike. Another couple
of stages brought us near the end of our journey, and as we jogged
along within sight of Kiachta we reviewed our experiences during the
weeks in wild Mongolia, with, to quote my fellow-traveller, “at all
events this result--that at the end of the journey we both wished we
were back again at the beginning”.
Kiachta looked picturesque enough as we approached its
quasi-civilisation once more. Still, we had no desire to remain there
an hour longer than was necessary, and now that Mongolia was for the
time being a thing of the past--a veritable castle in Spain which this
time at any rate had materialised--I looked forward with pleasure to
the--to me--unknown capital of Russia. The journey down the Selenga
River contrasted pleasantly as regards duration with the up-river
trip, and arriving once more at dusty Werkne-Udinsk, we lost no time
in embarking upon the express train to Chelyabinsk, passing through
Transbaikalia in rainy gloom. At Chelyabinsk we changed and boarded a
very inferior train for St. Petersburg, the first-class carriages of
which were small and less comfortable than the average second class in
any other country. Petersburg in late summer was quiet enough to be
restful after our wanderings, while the cleanliness and comfort that
attends sightseeing in the orthodox manner were, I am bound to admit,
distinctly refreshing. But the essence of life lies in its contrasts,
and after returning to London by means of the luxurious boats which
ply from point to point among the beautiful islands of the Baltic, it
was not many weeks before one looked back with longing to the simple
life, the simple customs of a primitive people--veritably a call to the
wild. Mongolia fascinated me in anticipation; in materialisation; in
retrospect; and most of all in the prospect of going back again--some
day.
INDEX
Altai Berg, summit of, 144.
Archers, meeting of, 183.
Architecture at Mai-mai-ch’eng, 159.
Baltic Provinces, 192.
Bogdo, compound, structure of his, 177;
Mongolia, ruler of, 152.
Bogdo N’or, 146, 201;
sacred mountain of, 146.
Bohea, Fukien hills of, 77.
British Legation at Peking, 99.
-- perturbation at Mrs. Gull’s intentions, vii.
Buriats, Mongols, Russian nationalised tribe of, 114.
Burmah frontier, Chinese and, ix.
Cemetery, Chinese, at Mai-mai-ch’eng, 160.
Chang Chia K’ou, 34.
Ch’angch’un, 102, 103.
Chelyabinsk, author’s departure for, 233.
Ch’en Lung, pictures, collection of, 102.
Chihli, 7, 33, 43.
China, 64, 70, 72, 76, 82, 89, 92, 95, 101, 102, 159.
-- economic possibilities of, viii.
-- foreign policy of, ix.
-- form of salutation in, 25.
-- Mongolian petition to, xiii.
-- North, inns of, 36, 95.
-- Revolution in, xi.
-- unsettled political state of, 207.
-- war between, and Mongolia, xi.
Chinese at Urga, vii.
-- banquet in honour of baby, 24.
-- Foreign Office, 33.
-- Inner Mongolia, gradual invasion of, by, 40.
Choi Gin Lama, the residence of, 178.
Consortium, banking, for China, xiv.
Dance of the Gods, 185.
Dassak Da Lama, 4.
Dol-na-Gashi, horse-farm at, 89.
Dolo N’or, 30, 95, 153.
Empress of China, death of, in Peking, 84.
Foochow, 77.
Fukien, Bohea hills of, 77.
Gen Dung Geng, General, 199.
Gobi, viii, 17, 33, 48, 51, 89, 100, 101, 228.
Gold-mining, Mongolore Co. at Urga, 159.
Grant, Mr., murder of, at Ta-Bol, 207.
Great Divide, 229.
-- Wall, 2, 10, 23, 47.
Haarlem, 184.
Hankarawa, Inner Mongolia, largest temple of, 77.
Hankow, 57.
Han-o-pa Pass, 34, 39, 40, 95.
-- village of, 36.
Hara-Gol, 134, 138, 229.
Haraossu, 47.
Harbin, 102, 103, 104, 171.
Holy City of Mongolia, 145.
Horse-breeding at Dol-na-Gashi, 89.
Hsu Shu-cheng, General, xiii.
Hut’ukt’u, the ruler of the Mongols, 158, 175, 176, 180.
Inner Mongolia, 51, 73, 76, 77, 89, 99, 164, 228.
-- -- Chinese gradual invasion to, 40.
-- -- fuel of, 37.
-- -- headdress of, 162.
-- -- Northern Mongols of, 161.
Iro-gol, 231.
Japan and Mongolia, xiv.
-- future of, xiv.
-- troops of, in Siberia, xii.
Japanese-Russo War, effect of, ix.
Kalgan, 13, 2, 3, 6, 12, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 30,
32, 34, 51, 58, 89, 90, 91, 100, 101, 145, 146, 207, 208.
-- consignment of wool and hides to, 41.
-- departure for, 5.
-- descent from heights north of, 97.
-- inhabitants, number of, 75,000, 13.
-- journey continued to, 10.
-- Pass, 97.
-- plunder of, by band of Hung-hu-tzes, 99.
-- Valley, road along, 97.
Kiachta, 118, 121, 211, 213, 220, 224, 227, 233.
-- convention of, xi.
-- cosmopolitan inhabitants, 116;
problem of departure from, 117.
-- Selenga River to, 111;
Troitze-Casavsk, division of, 115.
Kobdo, 199, 233.
Kolchak, Admiral, xii.
Llassa, occupation of, by Chinese, x.
Mai-mai-ch’eng, architecture of, 159, 160, 116, 156, 197, 199.
-- Chinese township of, 115.
-- halt at, 121.
-- situation of, 145.
Manchu dynasty, xi, 74.
Manchuli, settlement of, 104.
Manchuria, 64, 101, 102, 107.
Mission compound, life in, 17.
Mongol family, visit to, 54.
-- State, suggested creation of, xii.
Mongolia, 13, 17, 31, 33, 37, 40, 41, 56, 57, 67, 71, 73, 75, 77,
81, 82, 83, 97, 104, 107, 115, 144, 146, 147, 153, 158,
161, 162, 171, 172, 176, 177, 181, 184, 193, 201, 202,
208, 212, 233, 234.
-- Chinese policy in, viii.
-- departure for, 30.
-- Independence of, xi.
Mongolia, Inner, 51, 73, 76, 77, 89, 99, 164, 228.
-- -- fuel of, 37.
-- -- gradual invasion of Chinese to, 40.
-- -- headdress of, 162.
-- -- Northern Mongols of, 161.
-- Japan and, xiv.
-- North, 17, 161, 193.
-- -- bird and animal life in, 193.
-- Northern, headdress of, 162.
-- proper, arrival in, 52.
-- re-incarnation, believed in, 205.
-- Russia and, xi.
-- unsettled state of, 207.
-- Urga, capital of, 145.
-- -- religious centre of, 151.
-- war, rumours of, 16.
-- wolf hunt in, 64.
-- women’s position in, 173.
Mongolian frontier, war, rumours of, 3.
-- Government, order issued to Chinese by, 158.
Mongolians and Chinese, movements of, 43.
-- character of, ix, 165.
-- dress of the, 164.
-- Europeans, friendliness to, 192.
-- food of, 169.
Mongolore Gold-mining Co., headquarters of, at Urga, 159.
Moscow, 108.
Moukden, tombs of the Manchu Sovereigns, 102, 103.
Nank’ou Pass, 2, 6, 10.
North China, inns of, 36; 95.
Ost-Kiachta, 114.
Outer Mongolia, 171.
Pa-yen-chi-erh-ko-la, 4.
Peking, 4, 5, 10, 24, 43, 62, 66, 70, 79, 83, 87, 101, 102, 105,
117, 181, 185.
-- British Legation at, 99.
-- Chinese in, 3.
-- death of Manchu Empress in, 84.
-- departure from, 104.
-- first Parliament, inauguration of, 76.
-- to Kalgan, journey from, 6.
-- preparations for return to, 89.
-- return to, 99.
Peking-Suiyuan Railway, xv.
Punishment, barbarous methods of, 170.
Re-incarnation, belief of, Mongolians in, 205.
Republican cause, Shang Chodba, supporter of, 4.
Russia, 64, 115, 118.
-- alarm of, at Chinese policy, x.
-- and Mongolia, xi.
-- establishment of barracks on neutral front, 116.
-- treaties with, recognised by China, xi.
Russian Consulate in Urga, 158.
-- post, between Kalgan and Urga, 19.
-- retail trade of Urga, 155.
Russo-Japanese War, effects of, ix.
St. Petersburg, 108, 234.
Selenga River, journey down, 233; 111, 112.
Selenginsk, 114.
Semenov, General, xii.
Shang, Chia Hut’ukt’u, 4.
Shang Chodba, supporter of Republican cause, 4.
Shin Chi Men, 5.
-- -- -- Station, departure for, 5.
Shih Erh Chia, Shansi merchants, headquarters of, 159.
Siberia, 89, 101, 114, 119, 211.
-- Japanese troops in, xii.
Siberian Railway, viii, 103.
South Manchurian Railway, 102.
Ta-Bol, departure from, 90.
-- journey towards, 59.
-- meaning of, 76.
-- rumours of war, 88.
-- Mr. Grant, murder of, at, 207.
-- visiting at, 85; 61, 77, 89, 99.
Tartar City, 5.
Temple of the Gods, position of, 179.
-- -- -- -- main entrance to, 180.
-- -- -- -- procession to, 182.
Thibet, Chinese invasion of, x.
-- Independence of, suggested, xi.
To-la River, 145, 146, 177, 183, 212.
Transbaikalia, 233.
Trans-Siberian Railway, 2.
Troitze-Casavsk, 115.
Ts’am Haren, arrangements for, 178.
-- race meeting at, 190.
Ulliasutai, 233.
Ura Gol, crossing the, 125; 124.
Urga, 3, 17, 19, 43, 60, 62, 100, 104, 118, 121, 135, 141, 144,
145, 146, 147, 165, 167, 169, 174, 176, 183, 187, 190, 193,
195, 199, 201, 202, 204, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210, 211, 212,
214, 216, 221, 225.
-- capital of Mongolia, 145.
-- Chinese rule in, 156.
-- -- troops in, xiii.
-- departure for, 120.
-- -- from, 213.
-- division of main part of, 157.
-- headquarters of Mongolore Gold-mining Co., at, 159.
-- mixed alliances in, 173.
-- Pass, ascent of, 143; 217.
-- prison at, 194.
-- proximity to, 142.
-- punishments in, 170.
-- religious centre of Mongolia, 151.
-- Russian Consulate in, 158.
-- -- quarter of, 155.
-- -- retail trade of, 155.
-- Russians at, xi.
-- Ts’am Haren, sacred dance at, 175.
-- University buildings of, 151.
-- visit to heart of, 150.
-- West, 148; 156, 179.
-- wool from, 18.
Verkne-Oudinsk, 101, 107, 110, 113, 115, 117, 207.
-- main features of, 112.
-- remainder of journey to, 106.
-- scenery of, 144.
Volga, 105.
Wang Ch’ang Shan, flour mill of, 139.
Werkne-Udinsk, arrival at, 233.
West Urga, 148; 156, 179.
Wolf hunt in Mongolia, 64.
Women’s position in Mongolia, 173.
Yang River, 14.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, ABERDEEN
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.
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