“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.