THE GOBI DESERT—_continued_.
Sport in the desert—The “post-station” at Oud-en—The last of
the desert—Saham-Balhousar—First impressions of China—Chinese
women—Returning to sea-level—Curious experience—The eclipse of
the moon—Arrival at Kalgan.
[Illustration: THE RUSSIAN POST-STATION IN MID-DESERT.]
Nothing of particular interest occurred during the next few days
after leaving Tcho-Iyr. To the low range of rocky hills surrounding
it succeeded a monotonous expanse of endless gravel-coloured plain,
which was positively depressing to one’s spirits. Day after day would
find us surrounded by the same unbroken horizon, while, with the
regularity of clockwork, at eleven o’clock every morning the piercing
cold north-easterly wind would commence blowing, and continue until late
in the afternoon, very often with the force of a strong gale. Owing,
I believe, to its being some four thousand feet above the sea-level,
the temperature of the great plateau of Mongolia is never high, even in
summer; but in winter the cold is excessive, almost as great as in any
part of Siberia, and the desert is covered with several feet of snow.
[Illustration: IN THE GOBI DESERT—A TEA CARAVAN ON ITS WAY TO SIBERIA.
(_From a Kodak photograph._)]
Although I had a Winchester rifle and a fowling-piece with me, and a
store of ammunition, the sport I managed to get never compensated me
for the bother of carting the heavy load about. During the whole time I
was in the desert I did not fire off more than one hundred rounds, and
these with but a very poor result; still, what I did get was large, and
helped to increase our larder. From what I saw, it struck me that there
is really very little sport to be got in the Gobi. It is true one often
saw in the distance many herds of antelope, but, owing to the flatness of
the country and the entire absence of cover, it was almost impossible to
get even within range of them. If I had been a dead shot at, say, eight
hundred or nine hundred yards, I might perhaps have done some execution,
but, unfortunately, I am not. There was also a species of bird something
like a very large wild goose, which the Cossacks called “Kuritze,” which
was splendid eating, not unlike venison. I managed to get some of these
with my rifle, as they were not so shy—one in particular must have
weighed twenty or thirty pounds, and it lasted us several days. Some
districts abounded with a curious animal not unlike a rabbit, which the
Mongols called “Tarbargan.” These were easily got, probably because they
were no good for eating purposes, even the Mongols refusing a couple I
shot. Other parts of the desert were simply covered with large mounds,
which the Cossacks told me were made by “Koshki,” a sort of wild cat
which burrows in the ground. I never, however, saw any of the animals,
though we were passing through their haunts for days. Small green lizards
seemed to thrive everywhere, even in the most arid places; in fact,
I don’t think I ever saw so many before. A peculiar kind of beetle,
which covered the ground in great numbers, seemed confined to a certain
district or undefined zone, for once out of it they disappeared. Often
in the early morning, when the sleeping caravan was aroused to prepare
for the start, wolves would be seen prowling around at a short distance
from us; but they always got away before I could get the sleep out of my
eyes and my rifle ready. So it cannot be said that animal life in the
Gobi is extensive enough to be considered good sport, or sufficient to
enliven the monotony of travelling across it. Of course, I am speaking
only from my experience on the caravan route; possibly in the more remote
districts of the vast waste, on the Manchurian side, are animals in
abundance, but they are too far away to be “get-at-able.”
On May 15 we reached a post-station which stands at a place called
“Oud-en,” exactly in mid-desert, consisting of a couple of yourts in
charge of a Russian. It would be impossible to imagine anything more
unutterably lonely and dreary than this little station. For miles before
we reached it the desert was simply a vast expanse of bare rocks, without
the slightest sign of vegetation to break the monotony of their dull
muddy-grey colour. It almost appeared as if the most bleak and wretched
spot had been purposely chosen for the “post-station,” for there was not
even a Mongolian yourt within miles, and even the nearest water was some
distance away. I could not help thinking that exile to the most far-away
Siberian villages would be preferable to the awful existence here, while
the life of the Cossacks in charge of the mail, continually on the march,
was one of positive gaiety compared to it. Still, the man living thus, of
his own free will, was no old, broken-down individual, looking as though
he were sick of the world, but a smart young fellow, with very little of
the hermit in his outward appearance; yet this is what to all intents and
purposes he is, and for the wretchedly small pay of thirty roubles (£3
10_s._) per month, out of which he had to keep himself! I learned that,
with the exception of a Mongolian servant, he was quite alone, and never
saw a soul except when the homeward or outward-bound mail passed once a
month. He had not got even a horse or a gun to help while away the time,
and his stock of books, the poor fellow told me, he had read through and
through many times during the three years he had spent in the station.
What an existence! It has often struck me that there are certain types of
men whose intelligence is so little above that of animals that, so long
as they can manage to exist somehow and without too much exertion, it
is all they require; to them, such words as discontent or ambition are
unknown; like the blind horse turning a wheel, they plod on day after day
in the same well-worn groove, with no other prospect but the respites for
food or sleep. And it is, doubtless, fortunate it is so, for these are
the men who uncomplainingly pass away their lives in distant lighthouses
and other lonely and far-off places where other men would simply go
raving mad in a short time. We stayed the night here, for our fresh
camels had not arrived, and did our best to make a merry time of it, the
postmaster giving us quite a feast, and producing a large bottle of some
awful stuff, which I learned was “Chinese vodka,” to wash it down with.
Somehow, though, laughter seemed out of place in this remote solitude;
for, to me at any rate, the death-like silence outside seemed as if
endeavouring to reassert itself during every pause in the conversation.
The Gobi is no place for frivolity.
[Illustration: IN THE GOBI DESERT: LADY VISITORS TO OUR ENCAMPMENT.
[_To face p. 323._]
We were astir betimes the following morning, and after a hasty breakfast
and a final stirrup-cup with our host, the caravan was fairly got under
way, and we were once more _en route_ for the Celestial Empire. We were
now over the top of the hill, so to speak, and every step brought us
nearer our destination, though we still had many weary days before us. So
few incidents worthy of note occurred during the next week that I will
pass over the remainder of the journey through the Gobi itself. Suffice
it to say that from one side to the other of it, with the exception of
an occasional oasis, its desolate aspect remained unchanged. I might
here mention how curiously everything in the desert became charged with
electricity; my furs simply crackled like biscuits when touched.
At length, on May 23, there were signs that we were at last reaching
vegetation once more, for grass began to show itself, and in a short
time, as though we had passed an invisible line, we were crossing rolling
prairies, which were an agreeable change after the stony waste. Just on
the confines of the desert we passed the Mongol Monastery of Holfer-Sum,
a curious-looking group of buildings of Thibetan architecture; we were,
however, too far away for me to be able to pay it a visit. This was my
last glimpse of Mongolia; and it was certainly with no feelings of regret
that I bid adieu to the most dreary and wearisome country I have ever
visited.
Early the next morning we were in sight of the little Chinese frontier
town of Saham-Balhousar, and shortly after drew up outside the station,
where we had to change our camels for mules. The long and tedious desert
journey was over at last, a journey on which I had anticipated meeting
with difficulties, not to say dangers, considering I was quite alone; but
the whole time I was in Mongolia I never had any serious molestation—as
a matter of fact, I can only recall one incident which might have had an
unpleasant ending, and that was the adventure on the road to Ourga.
[Illustration: YE GENTLE SHEPHERDESS OF YE STEPPE.
[_To face p. 324._]
Saham-Balhousar is quite a rising little place, and, although only called
a village, is of very respectable dimensions. It was my first glimpse
at China proper, for, though some distance from the Great Wall, it is
thoroughly Chinese in character. As a matter of fact, it impressed me
much more favourably than many places I passed through after; the style
of its buildings also struck me very much, for they were quite distinct
from anything I had as yet seen, and had an almost Egyptian appearance in
the bright sunlight.
It was here that I first saw that most hideous of mutilations, the small
foot of the Chinese women. The custom of crippling their female infants
is, I believe, gradually dying out, and slowly but surely the Manchurian
shoe is coming more into use. To see the wretched women hobbling about
on their high heels is, I fancy, more painful to the European beholder
than it is to the victims themselves, who have doubtless become quite
accustomed to their crippled condition. I have a pair of shoes belonging
to a full-grown woman, and they only measure three inches in length! The
highest class of Chinese ladies are absolutely unable to walk about at
all on account of the smallness of their feet.
It was in Saham-Balhousar that I had for the first time a real glimpse
of what over-population means. Although I had, of course, often heard
of the teeming millions of China, I had never until then really formed
any accurate idea of what that meant. This first Chinese town I visited
opened my eyes, for I saw everywhere such crowds of people and children
that I could not help wondering where they all managed to live in the
place, and the curious part of it was, how much they all resembled one
another; they all seemed part of one huge family. The children throughout
China were simply stunning, and quite pictures in themselves.
Our caravan drew up in the courtyard of the house, and the baggage was
transferred from the camels to several curious-looking carts, built
expressly for the road through the mountain-pass to Kalgan, a distance
of some sixty miles. It was well on in the afternoon by the time our
preparations were complete and we were ready to start again. I forgot
to mention that my cart still remained with us, though it was now
only a camel telega in name, for, instead of a “ship of the desert,”
two diminutive mules were harnessed tandem fashion in the shafts. The
mail-carts were drawn by mules and donkeys, harnessed together anyhow,
driven by Chinese “boys.” It was certainly a grotesque procession, and
one scarcely worthy of so high sounding an appellation as the “Russian
Heavy Mail,” and very out of place did the Cossacks with their official
caps look, seated on the top of the heap of heterogeneous baggage.
Although there is no visible boundary-line between Mongolia and China,
the difference was manifest immediately we left Saham-Balhousar. On all
sides were small hamlets scattered about the plain, whilst the country
was laid out in plantations and fields, which were simply teeming with
industrious peasants. It was a very different scene from anything met
with over the border amongst the lazy Mongols.
Towards the evening the plains ahead of us were walled in by what
appeared to be a line of low rocky hills. In vain I looked for the
magnificent mountain range which I had been told encompasses Kalgan, and
over the summit of which the Great Wall winds its immense length; yet
we were certainly near enough, I thought, for any really high mountains
to be visible by now, but nothing at all like a mountain was in sight.
It was getting dusk, and the moon rising, when we reached the confines
of the plain and began to descend a hill, or rather a steep rocky road
leading right into the hills themselves, and which at every instant grew
steeper and rougher.
After proceeding for some little time I noticed quite by accident that
the moon, which was at its full and shining gloriously in a cloudless
sky, was becoming gradually obscured; we were evidently going to witness
an eclipse, and just at a time when we wanted as much light as possible
to help us pick our way amongst the boulders with which the track was
encumbered. Much to the dismay of our drivers, it grew darker and darker,
until at last not a speck of light was left even to indicate where the
brilliant orb had recently been, and our boys of their own accord halted
the caravan and bowed themselves repeatedly to the earth, muttering
prayers and incantations. It was so weird and supernatural an effect,
that it made me almost think I was in a dream. This idea was, however,
soon dispelled, for the road was realistic and material enough, for it
had meanwhile been getting so steep and rocky, and the path so narrow,
that we all had to walk and lend a hand at getting the waggons through.
I then suddenly remembered that the whole plateau of Mongolia is more
than five thousand feet above the sea, so we were almost level before
with the tops of the mountains which form the northern boundary of China.
This, then, was the rocky range of hills we had been approaching during
the evening; we were now, therefore, on our way down into the Celestial
Empire. As we gradually descended, the granite cliffs and peaks loomed
up higher and higher around us, and so dark was the night, that at times
it became positively dangerous to advance owing to the obscurity and
the numerous precipices along the edge of which the track lay. The moon
remained hidden for nearly two hours, till just as dawn showed signs of
breaking, when she began to appear once more, to the evident relief of
our followers. Half-way down, at the end of the worst bit, we halted
for a couple of hours to have a rest and feed the animals, and I felt
so knocked up after my long and rough walk, or rather climb, that I
immediately fell into a deep sleep, from which I only woke just as we
were starting again.
It was now broad daylight and a lovely morning—so lovely, in fact, that
it would require the pen of a poet to convey any idea of the glorious
sunrise in that remote mountain-pass. We were now but a short distance
from Kalgan, but the track was so rough that our progress was very
slow, for we were still descending through a sort of gorge which looked
like the old bed of a river. The scenery at times appeared magnificent;
still, even in these wild and uninviting surroundings, the ever-energetic
Celestials had seized on every available spot, and high up the almost
precipitous sides of the mountains one could see here and there little
patches of cultivation, which in places were so numerous as to form what
looked like terraces on the side of the precipices, each plot being
surrounded by a miniature wall. Certainly, one’s first impressions of the
Chinese, especially when coming from Mongolia, are such as to make one
absolutely admire their marvellous energy and industry; this impression
is, however, somewhat modified later by more intimate knowledge of the
people.
One of the quaintest sights I think I have ever seen was in this pass,
when we reached a little village (of which I forget the name), and which
was built right on the face of the mountain itself. The effect of the
tiny houses perched right away up in mid-air, and the glimpse of its
blue-coated inhabitants dotted here and there like dolls, was quite
unique. The awful state of the road over which I was being bumped to
pieces somewhat marred, however, my appreciation of the scenery through
which we were passing.
We were now quite close to our destination, and the traffic around us
increased every moment; in a short time, a turn in the road showed me the
welcome sight of a big cluster of houses. This was Yambooshan, a suburb
of Kalgan, where lived the Russian tea merchants, and to one of whom I
had a letter of introduction. My journey across the “Great Hungry Desert”
was accomplished, and I was once more within touch of civilization.