[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]