CHAPTER V.

THE DESERT OF GOBI.

THE population of Mongolia, an elevated plateau lying about four

thousand feet above sea-level, is roughly estimated at between three and

four millions, but the difficulties of obtaining anything like an

accurate census of the tribes inhabiting this vast tableland are

obvious. Of this number, over thirty thousand inhabit Urga, the capital

and residence of the “Kootookta,” or living God of the Mongol religion,

“Buddhism.” The power of this human deity is purely nominal. He is

allowed to reign on sufferance by the Emperor of China, who governs,

more or less nominally, the whole of Mongolia, from the Siberian

frontier to the mountains of Tibet. The Mongol Tartars pay tax, though

somewhat irregularly, to the Pekin Government, the native khans or

princes being responsible for the revenues of their several “khanates”

or districts.

The name “Gobi” is given by the Mongols to any district more or less

destitute of water, but the desert, where we crossed it, presents but

few of the characteristics with which we usually associate the name. It

may better be described as a vast plain or steppe, extending from the

northern side of the Great Wall of China to the Russian frontier-town of

Kiakhta, a distance of over eight hundred miles. With the exception,

however, of about fifty miles of sandy waste midway across, the

north-western portion is seldom entirely devoid of vegetation of some

sort or another, be it rich, luxuriant pasture, or dry withered scrub.

Perhaps the most curious thing about this so-called desert is, that

although grass is so plentiful, and in many places wild flowers grow in

profusion, water is very scarce. In the summer months frequent and heavy

rain storms do much to lessen this evil, but the Tartars suffer terribly

at times from the drought, which sometimes lasts a year or more.

Notwithstanding, the climate is healthy, and serious epidemics, such as

cholera or typhus, unknown.

There are three caravan routes from the Great Wall to Urga. Along each

of these wells have been dug eight to ten feet deep, and at intervals of

twenty to thirty miles; but we found the water in most of them thick and

brackish, in many undrinkable, and had every reason to be sorry, long

before we reached Urga, that we had not laid in a larger stock of

soda-water at Shanghai.

Our guides were not cheerful companions. Moses seldom spoke, Aaron

never. Sylvia, however, was the life and soul of the caravan. His

spirits never flagged for an instant, and whenever he could talk to no

one else, he would hold long conversations in a loud tone with the camel

he bestrode, occasionally bursting into song. The Mongols do not squeak

when they sing, as the Chinese do, but their voices are as harsh and

inharmonious as their songs, which are generally in the minor key, and

very doleful and depressing.

I will not weary the reader with a daily description of the scenery

passed between Kalgan and Urga. It may be described in very few words:

Fourteen days of undulating grass plain, monotonous and unbroken, save

by an occasional “Yourt”[6] or encampment, four days of deep, sandy

desert interspersed with two ridges of rock, one hundred and fifty to

two hundred feet high, so steep as to be almost impracticable for the

carts. Five more days of green plain with intervals of gravel, thickly

covered with the brightly coloured transparent stones, for which Gobi is

famous. Such is a brief but sufficient description of the twenty-three

days we occupied in reaching Urga. But for the tract of sandy desert

half-way, nothing meets the eye, day after day, week after week, but one

long dreary succession of waves of plain, which reminded me of nothing

so much as the ocean. Not a solitary object, animate or inanimate, broke

the dull, desolate landscape save when at rare intervals we sighted a

Tartar tent, gleaming white in the sunshine, and looking in the far

distance like some white sea-bird asleep on the billows of this huge sea

of verdure. Beyond the capital, however, the country becomes more

accentuated, and there are woods, mountains, and rivers, to gladden the

eye after the long, monotonous desert journey, of which we were heartily

sick long before we reached the sacred city of the Kootookta.

I fondly imagined I had reached the acme of discomfort and misery in a

mule-litter, but the latter is a bed of roses compared to the boxes of

human suffering in which we crossed Mongolia. Imagine a kind of oblong

vehicle, eight feet long by three wide, and four feet high, the body of

the cart of rough unpainted wood, the roof or covering of canvas,

thickly smeared with Chinese varnish, which in wet, or very hot weather,

exuded the most intolerable smell. Two doors with small square holes

therein, let in the air and light (also occasionally the rain), while a

mattress and a couple of large feather pillows acted as a buffer,

without which one’s body and head would in a very short time have been

one mass of bruises. To say that these somewhat primitive vehicles shake

would be incorrect. They leap and bound even on a fairly good road,

beating and pounding the wretched inmate into a jelly; over stony ground

it is next to impossible to remain in them for any length of time

without a splitting headache, and a feeling as if every individual bone

in one’s body had been torn from its socket and put back again. I do not

wish my bitterest enemy a worse fate than a night of rough caravan work

in Mongolia. We often walked till one in the morning, in preference to

the intolerable shaking, which affected the nerves and mind almost as

much as it injured the body.

With the exception of a forty-eight hours’ rest at Urga, the day’s work

never varied, from the time we left Kalgan till we rode through the

Russian outposts at Kiakhta. At daybreak (between five and six a.m.)

Sylvia would gallop off on a pony and bring in the camels which, turned

loose at the halt, had strayed away in search of pasture till, at

sunrise, some of them were mere specks on the horizon. Breakfast (a cup

of cocoa and a biscuit) over, the caravan was usually well under weigh

by half-past six. The pace was not exhilarating, it seldom attained the

rate of three miles an hour, never exceeded it. We then travelled on,

riding or walking, till two o’clock p.m., when tents were pitched, and,

if near a well, the water-barrels filled. The midday meal consisted of a

tin of preserved meat and rice, or, if in a game district, a duck or

sand-grouse sometimes enlivened this somewhat sad meal. At five o’clock

we were on the move again till one or two in the morning, only halting

about nine o’clock for a quarter of an hour, to unsaddle the ponies and

swallow a cup of Valentine’s meat juice. I do not know what we should

have done without this preparation. On a journey of this kind, where the

fatigue is so great and cooking impossible, it is simply invaluable.

We thus got about four hours’ actual rest in the twenty-four, for in the

carts, while in motion, sleep was out of the question. I have often

since wondered how the ponies stood it. Camels are, of course, used to

such long exhausting journeys, though, strangely enough, the loss of a

camel was our only casualty.

We got on fairly well for two or three days, but after the first week

experienced a sense of oppression and weariness very hard to shake off,

and the dull, dead monotony of the eternal green steppes began to tell

upon the mind and spirits. We met but once a day as a rule, and even

then, like the parrot, spoke little and thought much; indeed we had

nothing to talk about, for with the exception of an occasional yourt

there was not one solitary object to distract the mind for a moment, or

interrupt the depressing aspect of the waves of plain that extend

between Kalgan and Urga. We even welcomed the region of sand in

mid-desert. It was a change, at any rate, and there were rocks to look

at, though, on the other hand, the work was harder and the distance

accomplished each day considerably less.

Perhaps the most striking peculiarity about Gobi is the dead silence

that reigns over its vast surface. At night the bright, unwavering

lights of the Great Bear, and soft glimmer of Cassiopeia and the

Pleiades stood out with a distinctness rarely seen in other latitudes. I

often lay awake and watched them, too tired to sleep, till the

lightening horizon heralded the dawn of another dreary, uneventful day,

and warned one that another hour at most would see us off again on our

weary journey. I had never, till I spent a night out on the waste,

thoroughly realized the words of the poet:——

And round me all in utter darkness lies,

No sound, no form, no message, and no sign,

Only the silence of the far-off skies

And stars that thro’ the darkness calmly shine.

It was not till the morning of the fifth day out from Saram Bolousar

that we sighted a yourt on the horizon and encamped within a mile of it

at dinner-time. There were but half-a-dozen tents in all, containing the

filthiest and most repulsive beings I have ever beheld.

The majority were, unfortunately for us, not the least troubled with

shyness, and took forcible possession of our tent and carts,

notwithstanding the indignant protestations of Jee Boo. Remonstrance was

useless. It would have been contrary to the rules of desert etiquette to

turn them out, and might have got us into trouble. It was a hot day, and

so closely were they packed about the tent-doorway that not a breath of

air could reach us, yet we suffered in silence, though the smell from

the greasy rags in which the poor wretches were clothed was well-nigh

unbearable. We must have seen from first to last about a hundred

natives, but I was sadly disappointed, I must own, in the Mongolian

Tartar. I had pictured him a wild, fierce-looking fellow, bristling with

knives and firearms, and leading a wild, romantic existence, of which

privation and danger formed a daily part. I found him a mild,

stupid-looking individual, lazy, good-tempered, dirty——not to say

filthy——in appearance and habits, and addicted to petty theft when there

was no fear of being found out.

The men are of middle size, muscular and stoutly built, with thick lips

and small beady black eyes. Naturally fair, the combined effects of sun,

argol smoke, and last, but not least, dirt give to most of them the hue

of a negro. Their women are plain and, as a rule, virtuous. Infidelity

is rare in Mongolia, and when it does occur the injured husband is

easily consoled by payment of a few sheep or a camel or two. The

Mongolian woman’s lot is not a happy one. Unlike their Kirghiz brothers,

the Mongolian Tartars have no respect whatever for their wives, of which

they are allowed any number, though the first married takes precedence

over the others. They are treated more as slaves than companions, and do

all the real hard work of the yourt, from catching the camels to

disembowelling a sheep! The men, as a rule, live longer than the women.

The latter suffer more from disease, although, with the exception of a

kind of influenza prevalent in summer, epidemics are unknown in

Mongolia.

The Mongol Tartar is essentially a nomad, and seldom stationary for more

than a year at a time, but for ever on the move, roving hither and

thither over the great plain in search of pasture and water for his

flocks and herds. His “yourt” or tent is admirably adapted to his wild,

erratic life, being so constructed that it can be taken down and packed

on a camel’s back in less than an hour. The “yourts” are circular in

shape, and simply consist of two layers of thick felt stretched over a

wooden framework secured by stout leather thongs. They are about five

feet high, and eighteen feet in diameter. A hole cut in the centre of

the conical roof lets out the smoke of a fire, which day and night is

kept alight for cooking purposes. The Mongol has no fixed time for his

meals. He eats when he feels hungry, and as often in the middle of the

night as the day. In winter the roof aperture is closed, and the smoke

allowed to escape as best it may through the chinks and crannies in the

felt. The fuel used is not wood (for no wood grows in Gobi), but “argol”

or dried camels’ dung, the smoke of which is much more dense and

pungent, and most of the Mongols suffer from sore eyes in consequence.

The furniture of a yourt is simple enough; half-a-dozen sheepskin rugs,

a flat iron pan to cook in, a large box containing the goods and

chattels of the family, surmounted by an image of Buddha and two or

three prayer-wheels; there is little or no room for more. Some of the

yourts are better furnished than others, those for example belonging to

the khans or princes. The latter are resplendent inside and out with

gold, silver, and costly silks; but these are rarely met with by the

casual traveller.

With the exception of gluttony the Mongol has few vices. Drunkenness is

rare. It is only when the mares are milked and “airak” brewed that they

exceed in this respect; but when they do, it is with a will, a whole

yourt being given up to drunkenness and debauch for two or three days

together. “Airak” is the only intoxicant known to the Mongols, if we

except the strong fiery whisky sometimes imported among them by Chinese

traders. Dirt is their other failing. I can safely say I have never

seen, or even read of a race so loathsome in their appearance and habits

as the Mongols. Men and women alike seem to revel in it, and most of

them present more the appearance of perambulating bundles of filthy rags

than human beings. It was not till we reached Urga, and met some of the

better class, that we were able to distinguish what the Mongol costume

really is, viz. a kind of loose dressing-gown reaching just below the

knee, secured by an ornamented silver belt, a pair of baggy breeches

stuffed into a pair of Chinese half-boots with felt soles, the whole

surmounted by a broad-brimmed black felt hat, not unlike a sailor’s hat

in shape, with long silk streamers. In winter the poor Mongol is

smothered in sheepskins, the rich in furs from Siberia. At a distance

the women are indistinguishable from the men, the only perceptible

difference being that the former wear no belt (the Mongol name for woman

signifies literally the “unbelted one”), while all wear a head-dress, a

kind of tiara of Chinese manufacture, made of silver and red and blue

stones, which look like, but are not, turquoises and coral. A Mongol

lady never does her hair more than once every two months or so. It is

kept in position by a kind of thick glue, and dressed so as to stand out

two or three inches on either side of the head at right angles. The

result of this practice in dwellings so infested with vermin as the

Mongol yourts may be left to the imagination.

The wealth of a Mongol Tartar consists exclusively of camels, sheep, and

ponies, for there is no industry, no manufacture of any kind in

Mongolia. The ponies are wonderfully well suited to endure the long,

distressing voyages their owners are continually making. Though small

and slightly built, the amount of fatigue these little beasts will

undergo is something incredible. Nothing seems to tire them, and our

own, “Chow” and “Karra,” arrived at Kiakhta as fit and sound as when we

left the Great Wall, although they had but five hours’ rest out of the

twenty-four for over a month, and for nearly a quarter of that time were

on a short allowance of water. The worth of a pony in Gobi varies from

8_l._ to 10_l._, or its equivalent in brick tea, for money is unknown in

Mongolia, and the currency at present consists solely of this somewhat

cumbersome article. We passed two or three droves of 400 or 500 ponies

each on our way across, which were being sent to Kalgan for export to

Pekin, Shanghai, and other parts of China. Accompanying one of these was

a “Mongolized” German, Herr R————, who twenty years ago settled in

Mongolia and has made a large fortune buying and exporting ponies. We

should never have known him for a European, dressed as he was _à la

Tartare_, and the “_Guten Tag_,” with which he greeted us, sounded

strangely out of place.

The Mongols never shoe their ponies, nor do they groom them. The mane

and tail is allowed to grow so long as to almost trail on the ground,

the Tartars saying that the length of these appendages keeps them warm

in winter, and wards off flies in the hot season; also, in case of a

broken bridle or stirrup-leather, there is always the horsehair handy to

mend it with!

The ways of these little beasts are at first somewhat confusing to a

stranger. It took me some time to get used to “Karra’s” favourite

tricks, such as stopping to scratch his ear with his hind-leg, sitting

down like a dog, and occasionally rolling without a moment’s warning,

when we came to a more than ordinarily tempting bit of grass. He was

certainly the cleverest pony I have ever seen out of a circus, and as

sweet-tempered as he was mischievous. I shall never forget when, the

first day after antelope, I attempted to guide him through the rat-holes

and mole-hills that thickly cover the central parts of the desert. We

had not gone ten lengths before, getting his head well down, he set to

kicking and bucking with such a will, that I expected every instant to

see the girths snap and the saddle sent flying! Moses, galloping

alongside, motioned me to drop the reins on his neck. The effect was

instantaneous, for he immediately became as quiet as a lamb, and bounded

away again with a snort and shake of his game little head, as much as to

say, “The idea of this idiot trying to teach _me_ my way over the

desert!” “Karra” never once gave me a fall, nor made a mistake, although

this novel mode of riding at full gallop over rough ground, with one’s

hands in one’s pockets, required some nerve at first.

We were later than usual in getting away the evening of our halt in the

Tartar encampment, for a sheep was given us by our unwelcome guests in

exchange for a couple of soda-water bottles. These are especially prized

by the Mongols, probably on account of their, to them, strange shape.

The task of slaying the animal was relegated to Sylvia, who proceeded to

his work in true Tartar fashion. First making a huge gash in its side

with his large clasp-knife, he thrust in his hand, and seizing the heart

stopped its movements. The animal was then skinned, and the entrails,

after being washed, carefully put aside; nothing was wasted. We reserved

the legs for ourselves, and Moses and Co. proceeded to devour the rest.

From the time it was killed to when they were licking the last remnants

from the bones took them just two hours; they ate it half raw. The sheep

on Gobi are small and pure white, with long pendent black ears, and an

enormous tail weighing eight to ten pounds. This lump of fat is

considered a delicacy, and always given to the favoured guest in a

“yourt.” The mutton was excellent, not unlike Southdown.

We got but little rest that night. Our guests had left us a souvenir in

the shape of certain nameless animals that stuck to us faithfully the

remainder of our journey to Kiakhta. We had hitherto congratulated

ourselves on there being no mosquitoes, but soon realized that a whole

army of the latter would have been preferable to the noisome insects

that, two or three days afterwards, swarmed in the carts, and gave us no

peace, night or day. Their smell was worse than their bite, and I think

this was, perhaps, the greatest discomfort we had to put up with on the

desert journey, always excepting the fatigue and semi-starvation.

We passed and saw nothing for the following three days, although it was

interesting to note the curious waves of vegetation and animal life that

we crossed at intervals. For a couple of miles the ground would be a

perfect network of rat-holes, to give place, in turn, to a district

covered with bright black and yellow lizards. Then thousands of beetles

covered the plain——large, long-legged things, with bodies as big as a

cockroach, and striped with red and black bars; then rats again, and so

on, but the rats were in the majority. In many places the plain was

alive with them; you trod on them as you walked. The Gobi rat is

peculiar to Mongolia. He is a soft, pretty little animal, with a

feathery tail, and has none of the disgusting attributes of the common

Norwegian or English rat.

It was the same with the vegetation. Each flower or herb seemed to have

its own district, though one kind of weed was noticeable everywhere, in

the barren as in the most fertile parts. Not being a naturalist, I

cannot give its name, but in appearance it is exactly like the weed that

grows in such luxuriance at the bottom of our fresh-water ponds and

canals in England, where it is called “Babington’s curse,” from the fact

that it was originally imported by a person of that name in America.

When crushed it emits a sweet scent like thyme, and on clear, cool

nights the scent was almost overpowering when the carts and camels had

passed over it.

Another flower very common in Gobi is the white convolvulus, which grows

almost everywhere like the herb mentioned above. Among the rarer sort

were a pretty lilac-coloured daisy with a yellow centre, the common

dandelion, and in some parts the English daisy. Rarest of any was a pink

flower growing on a prickly bush about a foot high, exactly like a

miniature hawthorn-tree in full bloom. It had a sweet but rather sickly

perfume.

The seventh day out we met the heavy Russian mail——five camels in charge

of two Cossacks and a Tartar. The latter were cheery, good-tempered

fellows, and seemed to be taking it easy, each astride a camel, with red

flannel shirts, bare legs and feet, and nothing to show they were

Russian soldiers but the flat, white, peakless cap with which

Vereschagin’s pictures have made us familiar. We gave them a drink

apiece, and sent them on their way rejoicing, but with an expression of

wonder on their jolly, sunburnt faces——wonder, not unmingled with pity,

for the poor, mad Englishmen who were doing this journey for pleasure!

We entered at sunset a part of the desert literally covered with

enormous mole-hills, some as much as two or three feet in height. Being

pitch-dark, we had a rough time of it in the carts, for the feeble

glimmer of the paper-lantern attached to each only sufficed to make

darkness visible, and it was almost impossible to steer clear of the

huge mounds. After several narrow escapes of an upset, we got out and

walked, about ten o’clock, and had an uncomfortable night of it, for

about 10.30 a fine, drizzling rain commenced to fall, which lasted till

we encamped at midnight. Walking was little better, and resulted in some

terrible croppers, for we could not see an inch before us. A good stiff

glass of whisky and water and a rest of six hours soon put things right,

though we felt a good deal beat the next morning, when at 6.30 we were

roused by the inexorable Sylvia.

We encamped the next day near a yourt of considerable size. Moses having

informed us that the chief or head-man was a Lama of some importance, we

sent up to his tent, a gaudy-looking edifice, surmounted by half a dozen

red and yellow prayer-flags, to ask if we might call and pay our

respects, a request that was immediately granted. This was the largest

yourt we saw, and was composed of over twenty tents.

We rode off after dinner, accompanied by Jee Boo, who, on the way,

instructed us how to behave, for the forms and ceremonies that have to

be gone through when visiting a Tartar domicile are, to a stranger,

somewhat confusing. For instance, a Mongolian never dreams of walking up

to a strange yourt. Not only is it contrary to custom, but dangerous, on

account of the huge dogs kept about every tent for the protection of the

women and children when the men are from home. A Russian Cossack,

ignorant of this, went up to a yourt on foot a few years since, and was

torn in pieces by the savage brutes, which are, in size and appearance,

very much like an English mastiff.

Arrived within earshot of the yourt, we reined up, Jee Boo shouting out

loudly, “Nohai Harai,” or “Tie up the dogs.” Several women then emerged

from the lama’s tent, and secured the brutes, after which we rode up,

and handing our ponies over to the care of a rather pretty, dark-eyed

Tartar girl, entered the tent in somewhat undignified fashion on all

fours. The door was too low to admit us in any other fashion. Our

sticks, revolvers, and knives were laid on the ground outside. It would

be as great a breach of good manners to enter a Mongol tent armed or

with a stick in your hand as a drawing-room with your hat on, the idea

being, that while under his roof, your host is responsible for your

safety. You do not require to defend yourself. There were, save the

lama, no men about, and we afterwards heard they were away on a hunting

expedition in quest of antelope. It was some time before we could make

out the lama, for the sunshine outside was dazzling, and the interior of

the tent in almost total darkness. The great man, who was lying on a

kind of divan, and surrounded by four or five women, did not rise when

we entered, but lazily extended a moist and dirty hand as a sign that we

might shake hands with him, which having done, we seated ourselves on

his right and left. He was a fat, pasty-faced individual, clad in a long

gown of faded yellow silk, the front of which was stiff with the grease

and dirt of years. His bullet head was, after the manner of lamas,

shaved; and round his neck was hung a huge brass ornament, of rough

workmanship.

Having motioned us to a seat, the lama made a long speech, of which we

could understand nothing, nor could, I believe, Jee Boo, although he

told us it was replete with good wishes and compliments. The Mongol

language is a difficult one, and even our interpreter, who had studied

it for years, could only speak it in a very rudimentary way. One

peculiarity of the Mongol tongue is that, unless you say a word

_exactly_ as it is pronounced, you might as well address them in

Sanskrit or double-Dutch. As an instance of this, an American missionary

at Kalgan was good enough to teach me a word of the greatest importance

in the desert: “Tie up your dogs.” He pronounced it “No high, Harū”

(sic), but when I tried this, it failed signally, and the Mongols could

make nothing of it for a long time. At last a light dawned on them.

“Nohoi Haré, oh, we understand that!” I could not help thinking, after

this, that the Gospel must have rather a poor chance in Mongolia!

The interior of the tent was comfortable enough, though the argol smoke

got into one’s eyes and made them smart for days after. The floor was

strewn with thick, soft Chinese rugs and tapestries, apparently of great

value, while round the sides of the tent were hung large pieces of

bright silk, covered with Chinese and Tibetan characters——probably

prayers. Directly in front of the entrance was a kind of altar, painted

red, upon which reposed a huge gilt image of Buddha surrounded by

half-a-dozen prayer-wheels, to which whenever they passed them, the

inmates of the yourt gave a vigorous turn. The amount of prayers they

must have got through, even during our short visit, was something

marvellous, for the wheels were incessantly on the go, from the time we

entered the tent till we left it. In the centre, and directly opposite

the entrance, a huge copper cauldron, three parts full of a dirty,

yellow-coloured liquid, simmered on a brazier of argol, the only fuel

used in this part of Mongolia, where no wood grows.

Having smelt and returned the inevitable snuff-bottle, we murmured

“mendu” “good-day,” and relapsed into silence, waiting for the Lama to

recommence the conversation. The snuff-bottle is an infallible sign of a

Mongol’s wealth and position. No conversation is ever carried on without

a preliminary sniff, which is more a matter of form than anything else,

as they often contain nothing. From the head Lama to the poorest Mongol

no Tartar is ever without one. Most are of Pekin manufacture, ranging in

value from a few cash to two hundred taels or more, the best ones being

of gold or jade encrusted with precious stones, the commoner sort of

glass or china. Attached to the stopper is a small bone or ivory spoon

with which the snuff (when there is any) is ladled into the nostrils.

A good ten minutes elapsed before the Lama showed any desire to enter

into conversation, and we were about to take our departure when the

pretty Tartar girl came bustling into the tent and brought us some tea

(or a concoction of that name) out of the copper cauldron. Seeing that

we looked at the greasy-looking stuff rather askance, the Mongol gave a

sort of grunt and held his thumb up, an operation that was repeated by

the women around him. This I learnt from Jee Boo means “good,” holding

it down in the manner of the Romans when they desired the death of a

gladiator “bad.” So we were forced to drink it, though with reluctance,

especially as I had noticed that the Mongols, as a rule, follow Jack

Sprat’s example and lick the platter clean! The shallow wooden cups, out

of which we drank, were literally encrusted with dirt, but it would

never have done to refuse, so we gulped the nauseous mixture of brick

tea, millet, and mutton-fat down. Never shall I forget it. That was the

only cup of real Mongol tea I ever tasted, but it was some days before I

got the flavour out of my mouth. The Lama seemed to enjoy it, though,

and put away quite a dozen cups during the interview.

The beverage had one good effect; it loosened his tongue, and the

following somewhat erratic dialogue, through the medium of Jee Boo, now

took place between us:——

Lama: “Who and what are you, and where do you come from?”

Jee Boo: “They are English, and come from a great country far away

beyond the seas.”

Lama: “_What_ are you?”

Jee Boo: “English!”

Lama: “You mean they are Russian (Rooski).”

Jee Boo: “No; English (roaring).”

Lama: “What nonsense; they are white! and all white men are Russians, so

they must be.” Silence; then, after a pause:——“_What_ do you say you

are?”

Jee Boo: “English. A country (he adds parenthetically) ruled over by a

woman.”

“Indeed!” replies the Lama, opening his little pig’s-eyes in

astonishment; then thoughtfully, and after a very long pause, “How many

sheep has she got?”

This involved a mental and mathematical calculation rather beyond me, so

I merely replied that her Majesty’s wealth was so great, it could not be

gauged by the domestic animal in question. My response was only met with

a quiet smile of incredulity, and a remark that elicited loud laughter

from the women. We inferred, as Jee Boo did not join in the merriment,

and would not tell us what it meant, that it was not complimentary.

Seeing the lama smoking, I lit a cigarette, and was about to replace the

case in my pocket when our merry old host took it from my hand, and

after carefully examining it, transferred it calmly but firmly into his

own breeches’ pocket. Presuming he would return it when we left, I

thought no more of the matter, but at the close of our visit found he

had every intention of keeping it as, he explained to Jee Boo, a

_souvenir_ of me. In vain I expostulated. “You can’t possibly ask for it

back,” said Jee Boo, “it is the custom.” The case was but a cheap

leather one. Had it been of value, I should have rebelled, even though

in mid desert. At any rate, I determined in future to make afternoon

calls in Gobi with empty pockets. The name of this place, as far as I

could gather, was “Ourouni.” It is very hard in the desert to get at the

right name of even a permanent yourt. The Mongols have a superstition

that if they tell a stranger the name of their habitation, it will bring

bad luck to the place. I have frequently asked three or four of the

inmates of a yourt its name, and been answered a different one by each.

I gave it up at last as a bad job. The only yourt I was sure of

throughout the journey was Toogoorook, and that was on our maps.

[Illustration: OUROUNI.]

The sun was low in the heavens when we bid adieu to the Lama and took

our departure. We were rather surprised to find on arriving in camp, the

baggage on the ground, the ponies still unsaddled, the camels scattered

about the plain in all directions, and Moses and Aaron clearly under the

influence of “arak.” As for Sylvia, he had taken up a position behind

one of the carts _tête-à-tête_ with the pretty Tartar, who was plaiting

his pigtail, and carrying on in a way that would somewhat have

disconcerted her spouse had he suddenly arrived on the scene. Benedick

would probably, however, not have minded much, for, as I have said, the

Mongols are not jealous of their women. They greatly differ in this

respect from the Kirghiz tartars, who will not allow a stranger even to

look upon their wives. Their respective religions, Mahometanism and

Buddhism, of course, account for this. The Kirghiz woman is always more

or less under supervision, the Mongol may do as she pleases, go where

she likes, and alone. Nevertheless, there is but little immorality among

the latter. As much cannot be said for the followers of the Prophet

further west.

Our faithful little henchman’s face expanded into a broad grin as soon

as he saw us. He was no bad judge of female beauty. The face and figure

of the object of his affections would not have disgraced a European

ball-room; while a fascinating half-savage half _naïve_ manner enhanced

her attractions not a little. It was only with great difficulty and by

threats of complaining to the Lama that we separated the love-sick

camel-driver from his lady-love. But, even then, she would not forsake

him. Jumping on a pony as soon as we started, she rode alongside the

caravan till the moon had fairly risen, and we were some miles from her

home. It was not till nearly ten o’clock that she left us, after a

tender parting with Sylvia (during which the caravan was left to its own

devices), to gallop home alone in the moonlight to her yourt and lawful

master.

Moses’ pony showed such evident signs of breaking down that he exchanged

it for a new one to-day. We witnessed the operation of selecting the

animal from a drove of one hundred or so that were feeding within a

quarter of a mile or so of the yourt. Armed with a long slender pole

with a noose at the end, one of the men rode out and, after a smart

gallop, succeeded in lassoing a wiry-looking little chestnut and

bringing it back to camp, when it was at once saddled. It was scarcely

three years old, and had never been backed, yet in less than half an

hour from when Moses mounted it was walking alongside the caravan as

quietly and demurely as its predecessor. The facility and rapidity with

which the Mongols break in their horses is something marvellous.

The Mongols, men, women, and children, are passionately fond of riding,

and almost their sole pastime is horse, or rather pony racing, which the

women, who sit cross-legged, join in as well as the men. That they are

splendid riders is hardly to be wondered at, for they are in the saddle

from morning till night. A Mongol never dreams of walking, even when

going the shortest distances, as from one tent to another in camp. To

their animals they are kindness itself, and I never once saw them strike

a pony. Their seat is peculiar and ugly. Most of them ride crouching,

like monkeys, leaning well over their pony’s withers, and riding

entirely with the left hand, while the right arm is waved wildly about

at full extent when they wish to increase their speed. As a rule,

though, they are very merciful in this respect, and let their ponies

take it easy, the ordinary pace being a sort of amble. We fortunately

took the precaution of bringing our own saddles, for those used by the

Mongols are made entirely of wood, and are hard, uncomfortable things,

in shape something like a Turkish demi-pique, but about half the size.

The bit used is something like our English ring-snaffle, the reins being

made of thin leather thongs.

The following day was without incident except that, about sunset, we

passed a series of cairns stretching away at intervals of about four

hundred or five hundred yards to the horizon on either side of us. These

are about fifteen feet in height, and formed of stones of various sizes,

bleached camel-bones, feathers, and bits of rug, while at the top of

each a dilapidated prayer-flag fluttered. We took them (as we afterwards

discovered, rightly) for the boundary between Inner and Outer Mongolia.

Although they are not marked on any Russian or English map, Ivanoff had

told us to look out for them, as we should then be getting about

half-way to Ourga. As we passed them, Moses and Co. each cast a stone

upon them as an offering to their divinity. No Mongol ever dreams of

omitting to do this. Nothing else occurred to break the monotony of the

day’s march, but an occasional shot at a duck or sand-grouse, for we

were now approaching the game country. There was little cover at first,

but the next and three following days the desert was covered for miles

around with thick, prickly bushes somewhat resembling furze, and here it

fairly swarmed with sand-grouse, a pretty fawn-coloured bird with a

black ring round the neck, and hairy legs. Most were plump, and in

excellent condition, and we found them excellent eating. We must have

seen thousands, and managed to bag nine brace in a couple of hours with

no difficulty, merely walking a few yards away on either side of the

carts, for they were not at all wild. We saw no other game except the

largest hare I have ever seen, which I shot. Her size was explained when

on preparing her for the pot, we found she was about to present the hare

population of Gobi with an addition of five! The game was a welcome

change to the tinned meats we had had to subsist on since leaving

Kalgan, especially as the smart Yankee storekeeper, from whom we had

procured our stores at Shanghai, had managed to palm off a number of old

and useless tins, some dating as far back as the year 1862, which were

carefully packed away under the others, so that we did not open them

till in mid desert. I can only trust, for his sake, that the wishes we

expressed regarding his future state may never be realized.

With the exception of a kind of small antelope there is no big game in

Mongolia proper, although hard by, in Manchuria, there are tiger and

lion in plenty. The Gobi antelope is called by the Mongols literally,

“Gooroosh,” by the Chinese “Wang Yang,” or yellow sheep. It is of a

light fawn colour with white legs. We saw several herds of some hundreds

each, but were only once able to get within shot, for owing to the flat

nature of the ground they nearly always saw or heard us long before we

could get near them. The only occasion on which we did so, was by the

aid of a ridge of rocks. Our ponies, too, were not up to much galloping,

although Karra was always ready, and keen as mustard for a hunt. But the

Mongols declined to stay for us a moment, and the operation of keeping

one eye on the game, and the other on the caravan was somewhat

fatiguing. With a properly organized expedition a sportsman could, have

any amount of fun in the Gobi, though I doubt if even the good sport

would repay him the expense and discomfort.

On the morning of the 21st, patches of bright golden sand broke the

green horizon, and on the evening of the same day we passed our first

night _en plein desert_. The next morning showed us nothing but sand,

drift upon drift, as far as the eye could see, in an unbroken horizon,

save where to the north-west, in the middle distance, a ridge of abrupt,

precipitous rocks glowed pink in the rays of the rising sun. By midday

we encamped at their base after a hard morning’s work, for the sand was

axle-deep, and the camels, at times, were unable to move the carts

alone. We did but little more than a mile an hour all day. Although the

ridge of rocks was little over two hundred feet high, the ascent and

descent occupied nearly four hours. There was no path or track of any

kind, and the ridge as rough and uneven as a heap of stones. Every

moment I thought the carts would go to pieces. As for the ponies, taking

off their bridles and saddles, we left them to their own devices. Chow

was rather awkward, and got two or three nasty falls, but Karra

scrambled about like a wild cat, and was not in the least put out. Five

o’clock saw us encamped on the deep sandy plain the other side, where

there should have been a well, but it was, alas! quite dry, and we had

to put ourselves and the ponies on short allowance. All were thoroughly

done up, when at eight o’clock p.m., the inexorable Moses made a fresh

start. We then found that one of the camels was dead lame. The usual

Mongol remedy of patching up the sole with small tin tacks and a piece

of leather, much as a boot is cobbled, was found ineffectual, so his

pack was removed, and he was untied and left to get on with the caravan

as best he could. The poor brute’s struggles to keep up with us were

painful to witness, for a camel will go on till he drops and dies,

sooner than be left alone in the desert. I would have put a bullet

through him, but that the Mongols are intensely superstitious, and have

a belief that killing one of these animals brings bad luck on a caravan.

The poor brute was still with us when we encamped, but died about half

an hour after we started in the morning. Looking back a few moments

after, I saw his carcase black with crows and carrion, though a moment

before there was not a bird to be seen in the sky.

[Illustration: MY CAMEL CART.]

The Mongolian camel is peculiar to the country. It is two humped and

very much smaller than camels found in other parts of the world. The

average load of a caravan camel is 4 cwt., or four chests of tea of 1

cwt. each. It was often a source of wonder to me how these animals can

exist as they do without water——indeed, they were supposed never to want

it, and it was given them only when very plentiful. They ate the whole

day, however, while on the plains, and the amount of food they got

through _en route_ was surprising. Curiously enough they seemed to

prefer dry scrub to good sweet grass. In winter a long, shaggy coat

protects the Mongolian camel from the keen, icy blasts that sweep over

the Gobi, but in summer this is shed, with the exception of a few coarse

tufts on the head, neck, and legs. Our camels appeared to suffer

terribly from the heat, and perspired profusely on hot days. On these

occasions we found it impossible to remain in the carts. Indeed, at all

times the stench was so bad that we had to lie with our heads at an

angle that no amount of pillows would rectify. Any one with apoplectic

tendencies would stand a poor chance crossing Gobi. The Mongolian camel

is led in the ordinary way, i.e. by a thin plug of wood sharp at one

end, and thrust through the nostril, and fastened to a string, which in

turn is fastened to the camel or cart in front. The operation of

drilling the hole through a young camel’s nose is painful in the

extreme. I witnessed it once, and not being aware that nature has

provided these beasts with a kind of reservoir of green, mucous

substance, presumably for purposes of self-defence, stood close to it

during the operation, and received a quantity of the stuff full in my

face, much to Sylvia’s delight, who ducked just in time to avoid it.

Beyond this, save on one occasion, I never saw a Mongolian camel show

signs of temper. They are gentle, stupid creatures for the most part.

We suffered a good deal from heat and thirst our second day in the sandy

desert. The work too was harder——so hard that at times we had to hitch

an extra camel on to each cart, and even then could hardly get them

through the deep, clinging sand. About 11 a.m., we overtook five

Mongols, wild rugged-looking fellows, on their way to Ourga. Moses

discovered, after a few minutes’ conversation, that it was thanks to

them and their ponies that the well of yesterday was dry. They had a

sheepskin half full of water with them, but resolutely refused to spare

us a drop. I do not think I ever realized what the word thirst really

meant till that moment, for it was now a case of share and share alike,

our supply of claret and soda-water having become exhausted three days

before this. Each of these men had a bundle of heavy wooden rods

fastened to his saddle-bow, and trailing on the ground, thus scoring a

deep trail or wake in the sand behind him. It is only by these means

that in this part of the desert the Mongol is able to find his way from

yourt to yourt, for there are no landmarks to steer by. They had no tent

or travelling conveniences whatever, save a large brass pan for cooking

purposes, and a supply of argol in a canvas sack, though what they could

find to cook was a mystery to me. They accompanied us for a time, but,

seeing that we had no bottles or anything else to give them, soon left

us and struck off in a south-westerly direction, directly contrary to

the place they told us they were bound for, Ourga. I did not inquire

why, knowing that the ways of the Mongol are inscrutable, and not to be

judged as are those of the ordinary run of mankind!

So the day wore heavily away, and we plodded on, nearly up to our knees

in sand by the side of the caravan till four o’clock, when Sylvia

sighted a large herd of gooroosh in the distance, but the glimpse we

caught of them was only momentary, and the hurrying, indistinct brown

mass had in a very few seconds disappeared below the horizon.

About half an hour later a loud scream attracted my attention, and,

turning, I found Jee Boo flat on the ground in a dead faint, the effect,

as I rightly guessed, of the sun. Moses even then was very loth to stop,

and it was only by a judicious exposure of my revolver, of which Mongols

have a wholesome dread, that I succeeded in halting the caravan.

Pitching the tent, I soon had the wretched Chinaman inside, and made as

comfortable as circumstances would permit. I found him quite

unconscious, while the eyelid when opened disclosed a broad expanse of

white, which was far from reassuring. Apart from the mere fact of losing

the poor fellow, I could not help wondering what would become of us, in

the event of his death, for we knew but half a dozen words of Mongol,

and without an interpreter were helpless as the babes in the wood! The

atmosphere of the tent soon became so stifling that I had to leave it

for a few minutes, feeling quite sick and faint. We all know the value

of water in such cases, but of this we could ill spare a drop, having

but about half a gallon left. The next well, it was true, was but seven

miles distant, but who could tell that it, like its predecessor, might

not be dry and empty? Altogether the situation was about as awkward as

it could well be, and I cursed (not for the first time) the unlucky fate

that had ever brought me to the desert of Gobi! But something had to be

done and quickly, so for the first time I opened our small

medicine-chest, the furnishing of which I had carelessly taken but

little trouble about. Of course, as usual, everything not required was

handy. Rolls of diachylon plaster, Cockle’s pills, chlorodyne, menthol,

Dover’s and seidlitz powders, came tumbling out in glorious confusion;

but we fumbled about in despair for a remedy, while Jee Boo’s heavy,

stertorous breathing warned us that not a moment was to be lost. I was

determined that if he did die, I should not be the only one responsible

for his demise, and insisted upon Lancaster’s giving his opinion as to

treatment! If poor Jee Boo had known the state of doubt his medical

advisers were in, I think he would have suffered even more than he did!

But the course of treatment was at last decided upon, though we differed

materially for some time, Lancaster insisting upon it that we should

open a vein. As (when I pressed him) he seemed uncertain what vein, I

felt in the interest of Jee Boo’s possible widow and orphans that this

was unjust. Even my small experience in surgery told me that there are

some veins the opening of which will kill the strongest man in under

five minutes. So this course was (by Lancaster) reluctantly abandoned,

and a huge dose of sal volatile and water administered. I shall never

forget that moment or my state of mind during the working of the

medicine. However (and no one was more surprised than myself) it had the

desired effect, and at the end of about ten minutes we had the

satisfaction of seeing our patient slowly open his eyes. In half an hour

he was quite conscious again. I can scarcely recommend this treatment to

my readers as an infallible one for sunstroke. Indeed, I have since been

told by a physician, that had not my patient been a Chinaman, it would

have killed him right off!

We were not sorry to get out of the tent, for the temperature therein

registered over 100°. As the flimsy structure was only intended to hold

three at the most, and as every one assisted at our medical

consultation, this was hardly surprising. When we emerged again into the

open air the changed appearance of the sky and desert somewhat puzzled,

not to say alarmed, us. The heat was still oppressive, but whereas half

an hour previously the sky had been bright and cloudless, it was now

darkened, while the sun like a huge ball of fire glowed, red and angry,

in the misty heavens, which had changed within the last ten or fifteen

minutes from a deep intense blue to a uniform leaden colour. Nor was the

appearance of the desert the same, the glassy yellow expanse of sand had

disappeared. Beyond a distance of thirty or forty yards one saw nothing

but a moving yellow mass swaying to and fro, and producing the effect,

against the dark masses of cloud, of a huge field of ripe corn waving

wildly about in a heavy gale of wind.

The _coup-d’œil_ would have been peculiar and interesting anywhere else.

In the desert it was weird and alarming, so much so that I returned to

the tent, and, calling Moses out, drew his attention to it, and not a

moment too soon. In less time than it takes to write, Sylvia was

scouring the plain in search of the camels, which had fortunately not

strayed far out of reach, while Aaron busied himself in firmly hammering

in the tent-pegs, which had only been lightly fixed during our temporary

halt. In less than ten minutes the camels were in and tethered in a line

next the carts, to which the ponies were firmly fastened. Moses then led

or rather pushed us into our carts, and slammed the door in our faces.

Looking out of the window a moment after I saw the Mongols disappear one

by one into the tent; Sylvia, who entered last, firmly fastening the

aperture behind him. During these mysterious preparations it had become

darker and darker, while the wind, which had suddenly risen, was driving

thick woolly masses of white cloud across the black lowering sky. We

were not long in suspense. A few seconds only elapsed when a perfect

tornado burst upon us. I managed with some difficulty to open my door on

the lee side and look out, but could see nothing but one whirling mass

of sand or vapour, I could not tell which, in appearance very much like

a thick London fog. Nor could we hear anything but the whirling of the

wind, the wild, unearthly cries of the camels, whose shadowy forms I

could just distinguish huddled together a few yards from me, and the

neighing of Chow and Karra, the latter of whom had, with his usual

sagacity and fore-thought, broken his bridle and crawled under my cart.

Then for the first time the truth dawned upon me——we were in a

sandstorm.

It was not an agreeable sensation, for I was in a pleasing state of

uncertainty as to how it would all end. One might as well have tried,

during the storm, to attract the attention of the man in the moon as to

make oneself heard. Luckily it did not last long. In five minutes it was

over, and the sky blue and clear again. The sight on looking out of the

carts again was a queer one. The camels’ heads were invisible, each

being burrowed under the body of his neighbour. As for the tent, it had

disappeared, and it was only after a time that I made out a heap of sand

with a moving mass underneath to show where it had been. It had blown

down early in the proceedings, and Moses and Co., to say nothing of the

wretched Jee Boo, narrowly escaped suffocation. In half an hour

everything had resumed its wonted appearance, and the air was as cool

and pleasant as before it had been sultry and oppressive. The inside of

our carts, though, were an inch deep in sand, and our nostrils, hair and

eyes full of it. Save for a hot, feverish feeling that banished sleep,

and gave one an uncomfortable feeling in the head like influenza, we

felt no ill effects, and were not altogether sorry when it was over that

we had experienced the strange phenomenon. Sandstorms are rare in Gobi,

but when they do occur are dangerous to solitary travellers. Many

mysterious disappearances in this part of the desert are put down to

them; for the sand-drifts obliterating the marks of the Mongol’s guiding

rods, he is unable to retrace his steps to the yourt he started from.

We reached the wells at about 4 a.m. next morning, and were relieved to

find them nearly full, and the water drinkable. The rain came down in

torrents shortly afterwards. We would have given a good deal for a

shower the day before, but could now have gladly dispensed with it, for

the carts leaked badly, and we were wet through before the weather

cleared at daybreak. We got a couple of hours’ rest though, and by ten

o’clock were away again, refreshed if not rested. It is astonishing what

little amount of sleep a man can do with when put to it.

The morning of this (the 23rd of August) was bright and clear, and the

rain and cool air seemed to have given a new lease of life to man and

beast. Jee Boo, though complaining of slight headache, had otherwise

quite recovered from his attack, so that with the bright sunshine and

crisp, clear air, our spirits rose, and all went merry as the

traditional marriage-bell. Towards midday we had a somewhat exciting

chase after an antelope, and one that might have resulted somewhat

disagreeably. The ever-watchful Jee Boo having sighted a herd near a

ridge of rocks some three miles distant, we saddled the ponies, and,

with our rifles, galloped towards them under the guidance of the little

Tartar, taking care to keep the ridge between us. When within about

three hundred yards of the spot, we dismounted, Lancaster, accompanied

by Sylvia, making for the right of the rocks (which were about a mile in

length and two hundred feet in height) while I took the left hand.

Though less precipitous than the ridge we had crossed two days before,

the ascent was too steep to be pleasant, especially when laden with a

rifle in one hand, and having to lead a wilful and obstinate pony with

the other.

We reached the summit in safety after a stiff climb. To any pony but

Karra the ascent would have been impossible. Securing his bridle to a

sharp edge of rock, I lay flat upon the ground, and crawled to the edge

of the precipice, but there was nothing to be seen but bare sandy plain.

Having watched for about five minutes, I was about to rise and take up a

fresh position, when the crack of Lancaster’s rifle rang out some

distance to the right. In another moment the whole herd, some sixty or

seventy in number, came bounding by just underneath me. Picking out a

fine buck, I took steady aim, fired, and had the satisfaction of seeing

him drop on his forelegs. I thought for a second he was badly hit, but

he only reeled to and fro once or twice, then with an effort regained

his feet, and galloped on after the others, who were already almost out

of sight. Seeing that he got over the ground but slowly and with

difficulty, I determined to give chase, and, loosing Karra, we made our

way helter-skelter down the cliff-side. Though the climb had taken us

quite half an hour, the descent did not take more than three minutes.

Some of the ledges were quite four feet high, with a landing on smooth

slippery rock, but little Karra never once made a mistake. Arrived at

the bottom of the cliff, I jumped on his back, and away we went full

gallop after the wounded antelope, now just disappearing out of sight

over a high ridge of sand a good distance off. My pony was even keener

than I, and I never knew till that day what a little wonder he was.

Fifteen days had we been in the desert, travelling day and night, and

two days of that on short allowance of water and food, and yet here he

was galloping as strong as a steam engine, and pulling and tearing at

his bridle as if he had been in the stable for a month. What would he

not have been worth in England! But quickly as we covered the distance

to the ridge which had hidden the antelope from view, we were too late.

No trace could we discover of him. The desert was here covered with

innumerable sand-hills and depressions, and it is more than likely that

he succeeded in hiding himself in one of these. We hunted about for some

time, but without success. I dared not stop too long, for fear of losing

the caravan, which I knew had not stopped during our absence. So,

somewhat disappointed, I dismounted, and led Karra slowly back to the

rocks where, as I thought, Lancaster and Sylvia were awaiting me. No

trace of the caravan was now visible.

I took my time returning to the ridge, imagining that by this time my

companions had seen me, and would not move till I came up to them. It

seemed strange too that they should have abandoned their position, for

on coming up to the right side of the rocks I found them gone. When, on

riding the whole length of the ridge, shouting as I went, I saw no signs

of them, the disagreeable truth flashed across me that they had departed

altogether——a surmise which proved correct. In vain I searched every

cleft and ravine, thinking they might have penetrated thither in search

of wounded game; in vain I yelled myself hoarse, and blew the whistle

which we always carried in view of this contingency, till I was black in

the face; not a sound came in answer, but the echoes, which the

innumerable creeks and gullies which riddled the place flung back to me.

In one of the ravines, curiously enough, I came upon a tree, the first

and only one we saw in the desert, or indeed since leaving Tsin W’hui

Poo; it was but ten or twelve feet high, a kind of wild olive with

gnarled trunk and scanty foliage. At any other time I should have

stopped to examine it more closely, but that my mind was then running on

matters very far removed from natural history. Every moment the

awkwardness of my position grew more apparent. A thousand doubts and

fears crowded on my mind, which the surroundings of the lone,

desolate-looking place did not tend to reassure. At one moment I was for

remaining where I was, but the next brought the reflection that

Lancaster, having seen me riding for dear life in a S.W. direction,

would probably direct the Mongols in that quarter, and never dream of

returning to this bleak barren rock. One thing was certain, if the

caravan did not rescue me, no one would, for this part of Gobi is as

uninhabited and desolate as the interior of the Sahara itself.

Of a sudden the thought struck me to climb to the summit of the rocks,

and as a last resource to scan the horizon from that altitude with the

glasses I had fortunately brought with me. Securing Karra to the old

tree, I again ascended to the top, this time not without some hard

knocks and scratches, while the perspiration poured off me in my anxiety

to lose no time. I was never without a compass in the desert, and had

luckily taken the bearings of the rocks before we set out that morning.

Allowing for time and distance, I found the caravan should now be N.N.W.

from where I stood, and turning my glasses to the spot, discovered it to

my great relief, on the very edge of the horizon, and hardly visible,

even through the powerful glasses. To the naked eye it was invisible.

First taking care to get my bearings right, I scrambled down, and,

loosing Karra, galloped after it _ventre à terre_. In twenty minutes it

was well in sight, and we were safe.

It was all owing to Sylvia, who had persuaded Lancaster to return,

saying that I should without doubt join the caravan farther on. A Mongol

failing is to think that strangers know their way about the desert as

well as they do themselves. Lancaster had had no better luck than

myself, so our day’s sport was hardly a success. We were a good deal

disappointed, though not so much as our men, who had been looking

forward to a meal of fresh roast meat, the gooroosh being excellent

eating.

Towards evening of the same day we traversed a tract of sand about a

mile across, so deep that we had to hitch three camels on to each cart.

Even then they could hardly get the heavy, clumsy vehicles through it,

and we had to literally put our shoulders to the wheel. The sand was

nearly up to our knees, and so fine that it actually worked its way into

our boots through the sole and the leather. Just beyond this the sand is

succeeded by hard gravelly soil of a deep red colour, covered so thickly

in parts with transparent stones and crystals, that the ground looked

here and there like inlaid mosaic. Quantities of these stones are sent

to Pekin, to be converted into buttons, snuff-bottle-stoppers, &c. They

are also much sought after by the ladies of Ourga for head ornaments.

Most of the pebbles were a species of yellow or red agate, and I picked

up a couple of very pretty violet ones——presumably amethysts.

There is not a blade of grass or vegetation in this part of the desert,

nor are there any rocks or hills to break the dead-level of the plain,

as flat and smooth as a billiard-table or well-kept garden-walk, for

miles and miles. It therefore struck us as curious to come, while

walking a few yards in front of the caravan, upon the letters “A. L.”

formed in capitals three feet long, by a kind of creeper which had

firmly taken root in the hard, gravelly soil. Had the letters been

irregularly or fantastically formed, they might have suggested a freak

of nature, but they were clear, distinct, and as well formed as any on

this page. How they came there must remain a mystery. They could not

have been the work of Russians (for their L is totally different to that

of other European languages) much less that of a Mongol or Chinaman. I

must own that I am superstitious, and hoped that the mysterious

characters might bode no evil to one of my greatest friends bearing the

same initials in England.

Just after sunset three mounted Mongols rode out of the dusk, and,

galloping furiously past the caravan, disappeared in the direction we

were going. They seemed to have started out of the ground, so suddenly

did they make their appearance. An event of this sort always creates

excitement in the desert, for as a general rule every one stops and

exchanges words when meeting a caravan on the lonely highway. For this

reason perhaps our Mongols did not like the look of the strangers, and

Jee Boo, at the request of Moses, begged us to load our revolvers. We

did so, but saw nothing more of the mysterious horsemen, who Sylvia

positively assured us were robbers, who would have attacked us had they

not found us too strong for them, and on the defensive.

We passed a couple of yourts shortly afterwards, smoke-blackened,

shapeless dwellings, about half the size of an ordinary Mongol tent,

with a small hole for a door, out of which a man and a woman crawled and

offered us argol for sale. More revolting specimens of the human race I

have never seen. We saw no sheep or ponies about; indeed there was

nothing to feed them upon. Hard by lay a dead camel, the stench from

which nearly knocked us down fifty yards off, and on which the poor

wretches had been subsisting for several days. Other food they had none,

though there was a well brimful of clear cold water a quarter of a mile

farther on, at which we filled the barrels, and, for the first time for

ten days, washed our hands and faces.

We managed to get some sleep in the carts, for the first and only time

that night, for the ground was as smooth as a billiard-table, and there

were no stones or boulders to disturb our slumbers. Nor did I wake till

past one o’clock, when the caravan halted.

Looking out of the cart window, I at first imagined that we had arrived

at Ourga, for we were encamped, apparently, under the walls of a city.

At the same time it struck me as strange, that a silence so dead should

reign over such a large place. The illusion was complete, and I was

never more astonished to find that what I had taken for walls, towers

and roofs of houses, were in reality nothing more than a group of

enormous blocks of granite. Some must have measured quite fifty feet

high by twenty broad, the space of ground they occupied being

considerably over a square mile. Had I thought for a moment, I must have

known that stone buildings in Mongolia are extremely rare, almost

unknown. A Mongol Tartar has the greatest objection to living in a

permanent dwelling of any sort or kind, and even Ourga, the capital, is

composed almost exclusively of tents. Notwithstanding, one could

scarcely realize that it was an optical delusion, that the mimic domes

and minarets standing out clear and distinct, as a pen-and-ink sketch

against the starlit sky, were but masses of unhewn stone, and the work

of nature, not of man.

Our Mongols were asleep, and Lancaster; but late as it was, and at the

sacrifice of my remaining rest, I could not resist the temptation of

exploring the place, first taking the precaution of arming myself. It

looked just the kind of spot that robbers or marauders, had there been

any about, would have selected for an encampment.

I found the interior as curious as the outside, for the rocks were

placed as regularly, and the ways as well defined, as the streets and

squares of a modern city. The deathlike stillness, and queer fantastic

shadows, thrown by the bright moon-rays, gave one an uncanny feeling,

and I took care to keep the caravan fires in sight. Although outside the

desert was hard and gravelly, the sand here was knee-deep. Suddenly

while walking down one of the smaller paths my foot struck sharply

against a small square stone sunk deeply into the sand. On examining

this more closely, I found that on it was rudely carved a Russian

character and a cross. It was evidently a grave. Having no desire to

prolong my investigations after this, I was about to rise and return to

the caravan, when an indefinable impression stole over me that

something, and something human and living, was near me. The feeling may

have been produced by liver, perhaps by instinct. At any rate, it was

correct, for on turning I found myself next to one of the most repulsive

and hideous creatures I have ever beheld. It was impossible to tell in

the dim light whether it was a man or a woman, for its body was covered

with shapeless rags, its head with a mass of grey tangled hair that hid

the features. I have seldom felt more uncomfortable, and would at that

moment gladly have given five pounds to be back safe and snug in my

cart. At any rate, I thought, the sooner out of this the better, so

seizing my opportunity, I dodged past the figure, and walked quickly

away in the direction of the camp fires. Guessing my intention, it

pursued me for a few yards, struggling with difficulty through the deep

sand, but I soon distanced it, and only breathed freely again when I had

got out of the place, and was once more in the open.

The caravan was in a state of commotion when I returned, for I had been

away quite an hour, and having told no one of my intention, they were,

on waking, at a loss to know where I had got to. When I related my

adventures to Moses, his face was a picture. “Moo chim” (bad men), he

kept repeating, which meant that the place, according to Mongols, is

haunted, and that no one who can avoid it ever penetrates into its

silent, mysterious depths by day or night. Whether the creature I saw

was a ghost, I know not. If so, it was a very dirty one. It would have

needed the pencil of a Doré, the pen of a Rider Haggard, to describe the

place, which was certainly the most marvellous freak of nature I have

ever come across.

I made inquiries at Kiakhta, but could never find out anything to

explain, geologically, the presence of these stones, and their peculiar

position. All the Russian merchants could tell me was that a Cossack in

charge of the mail had been buried there seven years ago, and that the

place ever since was said by the Mongols to be infested with evil

spirits. It seems strange that no efforts have ever been made by the

professors belonging to the College of Kiakhta to unravel the mystery,

but the latter appeared to give more of their leisure hours to cards,

vodka, and flirtation with their neighbours’ wives than to scientific

research.

The morning of the next day (July 25th) was cold and cloudy. We crossed,

an hour after starting, a large salt-marsh, with tufts of half-withered

grass growing here and there. The ponies fared badly, but the camels

managed all right, as I verily believe they would do in a crater. Though

this marsh is deep in rainy weather, and very difficult to get over,

there had, luckily, been no rain for some time, and we crossed it

without difficulty, the ground being hard, and covered with evaporated

salt, giving the desert the appearance of a huge snow-field. Beyond

this, vegetation again ceased, and we entered on a tract of gravelly

country. Some low green hills now appeared on the horizon——the plains

and rich pastures of Toogoorook, at which yourt the hardest part of our

desert journey would be virtually over.

We encamped midday at the foot of a steep and barren rock, about one

thousand feet high, on the banks of a large lake of dirty, brackish

water, as wild and desolate a spot as can well be imagined. Huge

vultures and other carrion birds flew hither and thither about the rocks

and ravines, while the dismal and incessant croaking of the frogs among

the withered sedges that fringed the black, melancholy-looking water

made the place anything but a cheerful spot for an encampment. The

further end of the lake swarmed with wild fowl, and we succeeded, after

dinner, in bagging a couple of sheldrake, though they were so shy, it

was only with great difficulty we could get near them. We also shot an

enormous vulture, seven feet broad from one wing-tip to the other; but

he smelt so, we had to have him carried some distance away from the

caravan. This was explained by the partially devoured remains of a camel

we afterwards passed a few hundred yards from camp. The brink of the

lake was strewn with the bleached bones of these animals, which did not

contribute to make the _coup-d’œil_ more cheerful.

Towards evening we sighted a large herd of antelope on the horizon, but

they saw us, and were off long before we could give chase.

About five o’clock it came on to rain and blow as it only can in Gobi. I

do not think I ever spent a more wretched night. The storm became so bad

that the camels would not face it, and we had to stop and pitch tents at

ten o’clock, three hours before the usual time. Several attempts were

made to light a fire, but without success, for the wind not only blew it

out, but the wretched, flimsy tent down on top of it, Mongols and all.

We consoled ourselves as best we could with a nip of whisky (of which we

had one bottle left), and turned into our carts to make the best of it.

But even our sheepskins were next to useless in the keen wind that

whistled through the rents and chinks of the canvas cart roofs as if

they had been sieves. About midnight the rain came down again in sheets,

and in less than half an hour was streaming in upon us, like a

shower-bath. We were wet through in less than ten minutes, and then

abandoned the idea of rest or sleep altogether.

If the night had been miserable, the morning was far worse. We were

perfectly willing to start; anything was preferable to sitting in our

carts, listening to the ceaseless pattering of the rain and looking out

of the narrow window at the misty, dreary landscape; but the Mongols

were obdurate. Nothing upsets them like rain or getting wet, presumably

because they never wash, and Moses steadfastly refused to move till the

weather cleared, which it showed no signs whatever of doing. Our men had

managed to rig the tent up again, and all three lay inside, packed like

sardines, with every aperture tightly closed. I tried to read, but soon

had to give it up, my head shook so with the cold. Worse still, we had

exhausted our last scrap of tobacco, and could not bring ourselves to

venture on the hay-like filth that Sylvia offered us. Still, it showed

the little Tartar’s unselfishness, for he had but a pipeful left to last

him on to Ourga, and there is no race in the world so devoted to the

fragrant weed.

About two o’clock it mended a little, and the sun, which had all the

morning been invisible, began to struggle through the grey, watery

clouds. So sudden are the changes of temperature and weather in the

desert that by 3 p.m. the sky was blue and cloudless, and the sun too

hot to be pleasant. We were not sorry to get out again, and dry

ourselves in the warm rays which took the stiffness out of our cramped

and aching limbs. We suffered but little from vermin, which up till now

had been one of our greatest annoyances, after this. “It’s an ill wind

that blows nobody good;” and perhaps they were all drowned!

Starting at 7 p.m., we travelled all night, and by morning every trace

of sand and gravel had disappeared, and we were in the grass plains

again——where our ponies fairly revelled in the fresh, rich pasture.

Sylvia was despatched to a yourt some five miles distant to buy a camel

in place of the one we had lost, and as he was not expected back till

six o’clock, we enjoyed a good sleep all the afternoon, not before we

wanted it. We had had none for two nights.

The camel arrived in due course. He was a snow-white one, of mild and

benign appearance. Lancaster took a great fancy to him, and insisted in

having him harnessed to his cart. I noticed a look in the beast’s eye,

whenever he was pushed about or touched more roughly than usual, that

boded no good. However, we were assured that he was all that could be

desired, and took Sylvia’s word for it. We started again that evening,

with our new purchase in Lancaster’s cart. Although the night was fine

and starlit, with a lovely moon, I turned into my cart early, for the

plain was as smooth and unbroken as a lawn-tennis ground, and I did not

despair of getting a really good night’s rest, and probably should have

had one, but for an unforeseen accident that, ridiculous and laughable

as it now seems, might have had a very serious, if not fatal result. I

was rudely awoke about 2 a.m. by Jee Boo, who bursting open my door,

entreated me to come out at once. One is easily unnerved in the desert,

and apt to fancy things, so much so that for a moment I thought a mutiny

had broken out among the Mongols, and, seizing my revolver and pouch,

jumped out on to the moonlit plain. The sight that greeted my eyes

caused me at first to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, in

which, however, the Mongols, who were helplessly assembled round my

cart, did not join. Like them, I also soon realized how seriously the

affair might end. Lancaster’s camel had _run away_, and was scouring the

plain in a way that plainly showed if we ever intended seeing him again

we had better catch him at once. The ponies were all unsaddled, but

Sylvia and I jumped upon ours barebacked, and galloped away as hard as

we could lay legs to the ground after the refractory beast, whose white

body, followed by the cart swaying madly to and fro, was rapidly

disappearing in the dim, shadowy distance. It had happened in a second.

Sylvia, having left his cart for a moment, which was leading, the

cunning brute had taken advantage of his absence to break with one jerk

the string that fastened his cart to the next camel. When our driver

returned, he found the caravan halted and his new purchase making tracks

across the plain in, strange to say, the direction of the yourt we had

bought him from.

The best description I have ever read of a camel’s pace when at full

speed is given by the late Colonel Burnaby, in “A Ride to Khiva,” where

he says: “A camel’s gait is a peculiar one. They go something like a pig

with the fore, and like a cow with the hind, legs.” This does not sound

like speed, but the pace at which these brutes get over the ground is

something more than remarkable, and it took us all our time, to get up

to Lancaster’s cart, who was, to use a sporting expression, “going

strong!” The frantic bounds the cart was taking beggars description. I

thought every second it would overturn, for the brute whirled it about

as if it had been a match-box. I could see Lancaster in the moonlight at

the open door, evidently meditating a jump, so shouted to him to remain

where he was. The ground was rough and stony, and to fall might have

meant a broken limb, which would have placed us in an awkward

predicament. It was some time before we managed to stop the runaway by

each getting one side of, and riding into, him. I never could have

believed a camel had such a turn of speed. Sylvia caught the nose

string, and we secured him at last, and got him back to the caravan

without further mishap. He was relegated to the water-barrels in future.

It was thought the weight might steady him, and it did, for we were

troubled with no more of his pranks.

The plains next day were more thickly inhabited and the pasture more

luxuriant than in any part of the desert yet traversed. We passed

several yourts, from which the inhabitants rode out to meet us with

presents of milk and a kind of cheese made of mare’s milk. They seemed

cleaner and better-mannered than the Mongols the other side, and did not

(for a wonder) ask us for anything. Their yourts, too, were cleaner,

their sheep and ponies better looking than others we had seen.

[Illustration: AN AWKWARD MOMENT.]

This portion of the Gobi swarms with a curious animal, of which I ignore

the name. It is in colour like a hare, in size something between that

animal and a rabbit, with short thin legs, and stiff wiry hair like that

of a badger. The ground was in many places literally honeycombed with

their burrows, which are enormous for so small an animal. Many of the

holes would for a short distance admit a good-sized man. They are neatly

and beautifully constructed, the earth being carried and thrown away

some distance off, though _how_ has not been ascertained. We must have

seen thousands, but could never get near enough to shoot one, and so

examine it closely. Unlike the smaller species of rat on the other side,

they are, shy and wary, and bolt into their holes on the slightest

noise. It is said that Mongols eat them, but I am rather doubtful as to

the truth of this assertion. Few would have the patience or take the

trouble to catch them.

We sighted, on the 28th of August, a huge encampment of some fifty

tents, on the horizon, evidently the yourt of some chief or Lama of

importance, _en voyage_. On passing it at the nearest point (some two

miles distant), Lancaster and I were riding off to inspect it more

closely, but were recalled by the frantic gesticulations of Moses, who

begged us on no account to go. His reason I never could ascertain, but

he led us to understand, through Jee Boo, that we might meet with an

unpleasant reception, by which I conclude some religious ceremony was

being performed. We could distinguish through the glasses, crowds of

people moving about the encampment, on foot and on horseback, and these

with the white tents gay with gaudy prayer-flags, against the bright

green sward, gave it more the appearance of a huge fair than a desert

camp. The plains for miles around were dotted with flocks and herds, but

none of the people, though they saw us distinctly, rode out to the

caravan.

The country on the 28th became more accentuated and undulating. We

passed to-day two large lakes (fresh) teeming with wild fowl, duck, and

wild geese, of which latter we bagged a brace, and ate for dinner,

washed down by a bottle of champagne specially kept for the day when the

neck of our desert journey should be broken. The plain to-day was full

of huge edible mushrooms as large as soup plates. We gathered a

quantity, and had some for dinner, although as we ate them solely on Jee

Boo’s assurance that they were not poisonous, we were somewhat uneasy

for a couple of hours after. We encamped to-day in a kind of oasis, of

wild, sweet-smelling flowers, pink heather and long grass through which

ran a delightfully clear cold stream of water over a gravelly bed. It

was like nectar, after the filth we had been drinking, and yet so

improvident are the Mongols, that had we not insisted upon it, they

would have left without filling the barrels. It was lucky we did so, for

the two succeeding wells were stagnant and brackish, and one, having the

remains of a dead sheep in it, undrinkable. The next day at mid-day we

camped in sight of the high and partly wooded hills that surround Ourga.

A Lama, _en route_ to the capital, now joined us. This is an invariable

custom in the desert, a Tartar never travelling alone if he can possibly

help it, perhaps more for the sake of companionship than from fear of

robbers or marauders, who are said to infest the more lonely parts of

Gobi. He (the Lama) was a fat, good-tempered old fellow, his enormously

fat carcase clad from head to foot in bright yellow silk. The grey pony

he rode was so tiny that looked at from behind its body was invisible.

One saw nothing but a huge balloon-like mass of yellow silk, supported

by four thin, very shaky-looking white legs. I noticed, throughout

Mongolia, that the fattest men invariably rode the smallest ponies,

perhaps on the same principle that in Europe the largest instrument in a

German band is almost invariably played by a diminutive child of tender

years.

We visited a yourt after dinner by the invitation of our newly made fat

friend. The tent was cleaner, both inside and out, than the ones we had

passed here on the Chinese side, indeed all the yourts had a prosperous,

well-to-do look about them, very different to the smoke-blackened,

dirty-looking dwellings on the southern side of the sandy desert. This

was probably due to their being in the close vicinity of the capital,

and also in a great measure to the fuel used being wood instead of the

sickly-smelling, stifling “Argol.”

The reader may or may not believe in Palmistry, but it can scarcely fail

to interest him to hear that this ancient science is as well known among

the Mongols as the gipsies, and has been for hundreds of years. I found

this out quite by accident, on examining the hand of a young girl who

brought us milk and cheese, and otherwise did the honours of the yourt.

To my surprise she at once guessed my intention, and insisted on my

reading it all through, and explaining the lines to her. Nor did my work

end here, a dozen greasy palms being eagerly thrust forward as soon as I

had completed “Tsaira’s.”

The latter, a bright-looking girl of about sixteen, was evidently the

belle of these parts, and not unjustly so, for her dark eyes, comely

features, and pearly teeth were a pleasing contrast to the ordinary

stolid, flat-faced females of the desert. She was the first (and last)

really pretty Mongolian woman we saw, and unlike most of her sex (in the

desert) not the least shy. The operation of shaving (which I now went

through preparatory to meeting the Russian Consul at Ourga) astonished

her a good deal, but the sight of a looking-glass much more so. She had

never heard of such a thing, or seen her own pretty face, except dimly

reflected in water or tea. It was the only one we possessed, or I could

not have had the heart to refuse it her, for she was not backward in

asking. However, a few sticks of chocolate consoled her, though she

tried very hard for a ring I wore. It was only by impressing on her that

it was given me by a “Boosooge”[7] almost as pretty as herself, who

would never forgive me, if I returned without it, that she allowed me to

depart in peace, which we did at sunset, all the inhabitants of the

yourt turning out to bid us good-bye, and load us with parting gifts of

milk and cheese.

The next day (30th August) we entered a green and fertile valley, about

three miles broad, with lofty, partially wooded hills on either side.

The plain was in parts thickly inhabited, and we continually passed

Mongols, both men and women, and during the day three large caravans,

two of bullock-carts one hundred to one hundred and fifty strong, laden

with wood and hides for China, to return with tea. The third was

composed exclusively of camels, sixty in number. About twenty men

accompanied it. On one of the leading camels was a poor Mongol,

evidently in a dying condition. Our own men were far behind, and the

ones we questioned by signs, only laughed and walked on when we pointed

to the poor wretch, lying on his back with the fierce sun beating down

on his ghastly, upturned face. About a quarter of a mile behind the

caravan came the Chinaman in charge, gorgeous in yellow and lavender

silk, and bristling with arms. I felt very much inclined to kick him out

of his cart, and put the dying Mongol there instead. Although white men

of any kind are so rare here, they never deigned to look at us, nor

reply to our question, addressed in Chinese, as to how many days they

had left Ourga. By getting them into conversation, we might, we thought,

have accompanied them as far as the caravan, and by Jee Boo’s help got

something done for the poor Tartar, but it was no use. I could not get

the latter out of my head the whole day, and shuddered when I thought of

how his sufferings might end. The Mongols never bury their dead, at any

time, and often on a voyage leave their sick to themselves, very much as

they do a camel, alone in mid-desert.

The queer custom prevalent among the Mongol Tartars of leaving their

dead on the surface of the ground was brought to my notice in a forcible

though somewhat unpleasant manner the next day, a couple of hours before

we reached the river Tola, which lies about two miles from Ourga. Upon

this occasion our baggage-camels had, contrary to custom, started first.

The caravan road here is clearly defined, so we started off alone and on

foot in advance of our party, and had barely gone three hundred yards

when an object lying in the middle of the road arrested my attention, a

small, oblong parcel about two feet long, done up in Chinese paper, and

secured with twine. “Something Moses has dropped,” I remarked casually;

and the contents feeling soft and shapeless, I put it down to some of

his wearing apparel, and returned to the caravan to give it to Sylvia,

who had just started and was, as usual, softly crooning to himself in a

semi-state of slumber on the leading camel. But catching sight of what I

held, he nearly fell off with fright, and shrieking “Moo-moo” with all

his might, pulled his camel away from me with such force that the cart

nearly turned over. “Moo-moo,” he repeated, hurriedly dismounting, and

leaving the caravan to itself, put a respectful distance between us. His

face was a picture of alarm and dismay, and as pale as a ghost. I was

not altogether easy myself, thinking the packet might be infected with

some virulent disease, so I yielded to the little Tartar’s vehement

gestures, threw it on the ground and walked on, followed slowly by

Sylvia muttering to himself and smoking furiously, a sure sign that a

Mongol’s equanimity has been seriously upset.

It was not till we reached the others at mid-day that I found out what

the mysterious packet contained, and that what I had innocently been

carrying about was a _dead baby_! Sylvia had by this time recovered

himself, and affected to laugh at the occurrence, though, at the time, I

have never seen a human being in a state of more abject terror. The

Russian Consul, when I told him of the occurrence, remarked that all

Mongols have an almost ridiculous fear of death and everything connected

with it. This seemed the more curious as every step you take in their

capital reminds you of it. Ourga might justly be called “a dead city,”

so grim and weird are the customs of its strange, uncanny population.

We sighted the Tola at about nine o’clock on the morning of the 31st of

August, and must have passed at least a dozen caravans of fifty or sixty

camels each, before we reached its banks, from the time we started,

about six a.m. The reports we got as to the state of the river were not

encouraging. Heavy rains had made the ford impassable, and all traffic

was now being carried on by means of the ferry, some five miles lower

down the stream. It was not reassuring either to hear that this

ramshackle contrivance had broken down twice within the last twenty-four

hours, precipitating three bullock-carts and two men (one of whom was

drowned) into the water. However, we made up our minds for the worst,

and, hoping for the best, gave ourselves up to enjoyment of the really

beautiful scenery we were passing through.

One might have been in the most picturesque parts of Switzerland or the

Tyrol. A broad, gravelly road runs from here right into Ourga, and along

this a continual stream of caravans, inward and outward bound, was

hurrying. The whole plain was alive with movement, and the bright

sunshine, gay dresses of Mongol horsemen, and tinkling of caravan bells,

gave an air of gaiety to the scene, welcome enough after twenty-three

days of uninterrupted, monotonous desert. On our right hand a clear,

brawling stream swirled along, an outlet of the swollen, tumultuous

Tola, to lose itself in the large fresh-water lake we passed yesterday.

On our left a range of low, green hills, wooded at the summit, their

green hill-sides, dotted with countless sheep and ponies at pasture,

stretched away to where the Tola, a thin thread of silver, wound its

course through this lovely valley, literally a “land of milk and honey!”

We arrived at the riverside about one o’clock. The foaming, turgid

river, the banks lined on either side, as far as eye could see, with

bullock-carts and camels, the row and hubbub, where each man (and there

must have been some hundreds) tried to shout louder than his neighbour;

it was a strange, picturesque sight.

A smart dapper-looking Cossack, in grey coat with yellow facings, and

white, peakless cap, had charge of the ferry, a clumsy-looking

arrangement enough, worked by a dilapidated-looking rope stretched

across the stream, here about three hundred yards wide, and secured to

two small trees on either side of the river. It did not need much

calculation to see where the ferry would go in the event of this

breaking, for about two hundred yards down stream was a chain of rocks,

against which the torrent foamed and dashed in a manner anything but

cheering to non-swimmers like Lancaster and myself. The result of an

accident had been pretty well shown, for this was the third boat used

during the last twenty-four hours, the others having been engulfed, with

the loss, however, of only one human life.

The Cossack was politeness itself, and I luckily knew a little Russian.

“Are you the Englishmen expected from Pekin?” “Yes.” How they knew of

our advent at Ourga was, and has ever since been, inexplicable to me.

“M. Shishmaroff has been expecting you. Please take a seat, and I will

send you and the ponies over, the carts can follow.” And offering us a

cigarette, our friend hurried off to see our steeds safely embarked.

Though only a private soldier, the man’s manner was as courteous and

polite as could be. It was, however, only a forerunner of what we were

to experience, for seldom have I experienced in any country so much

genuine kindness and hospitality from the lower orders as in Asiatic

Russia.

Our friend the Cossack returned in under half an hour. “Your boat is

ready, Gospodin, and you can get in, but please sit tight. I will cross

with you. In case of accident,” he added coolly, as he politely handed

us in, “jump out and hold on to the rope. The Mongols will pull you

ashore.”

It was not a pleasant sensation, crossing that stream, in fact I do not

know that I have ever passed a much more _mauvais quart-d’heure_. The

clumsy craft, although containing only the Cossack, our two selves and

the ponies, lurched over midway across, so suddenly and at such an angle

that the water came pouring in over the side. This frightened the

ponies, who set to plunging and kicking with such a will that I thought

every instant their heels would go through the side of the rotten old

tub. We were then, luckily, considerably more than half-way over, each

holding on like grim death to the rope, for to let go would have meant a

certain upset. Never have I heard such a babel. The Mongols on the bank

(in whose minds the death of their drowned companion was still fresh)

raised a yell that would have awoke the dead, and must have disturbed

the Kootooktas mid-day siesta three miles off. It was only by dint of

sheer hard work, that we succeeded in pulling ourselves across, our

fingers nearly cut to the bone by the fraying of the rope. I have seldom

felt more relieved than when we stood once more high and dry on terra

firma. The thought of how our carts were to be got over did not concern

us in the least. We were only too glad to have escaped with our lives,

for an upset, even to a good swimmer, would have meant certain death.

It was nearly three o’clock by the time we were across, and as the carts

were not to be brought over till the ferry was repaired, a work of three

or four hours, we resolved to ride on alone. The way was simple enough,

for a broad gravel path or road runs right into the city. Having got

minute directions from the Cossack how to find the Consul’s house, we

set off at a gallop across the plain to Ourga.

So ended our journey over the desert proper. What we had always imagined

would be the hardest part of our journey was now over. We had never

thought of Siberia. That seemed feasible enough. Our bugbear, before

starting, had been Gobi, the terrible Chinese desert, against which we

had been so often warned before leaving England. “You will never get

across,” said one. “The Tartars will murder you for a certainty,” said

another. Even in Pekin itself we heard blood-curdling stories of the

wild tribes said to inhabit the lonely waste lying between the Great

Wall of China and Russian frontier. As a matter of fact, few Europeans,

even those living in China itself, know anything whatever of Mongolia.

Danger there may be, but we never experienced it, nor do the three or

four Englishmen who preceded us make mention of ever having been

attacked. I would, personally, very much sooner spend the night unarmed

and alone in the (so-called) most dangerous parts of Gobi, than walk

through the lonelier suburbs of London or Paris, after dark on a

winter’s evening.

We skirted for a time the precipitous mountain that lines the left bank

of the Tola. Presently we came to an abrupt turn in the road; a glorious

panorama of plain and wood, mountain and river, lay at our feet, and a

couple of miles away a compact mass of red and white dwellings, golden

domes, and snowy tents, surmounted and surrounded by thousands of

brightly coloured-prayer flags, which flashed and waved in the sun with

every breath of the pure morning air. We had reached the sacred city of

Ourga.

—————

Footnote 6:

A Mongol tent or encampment.

Footnote 7:

Woman.

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