“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.