“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.