BEYOND THE TIAN SHAN TO KASHGAR
Farghana is a country of small extent, but abounding in grain and
fruits; and it is surrounded with hills on all sides except on the
west.... Andijan is the capital. The district abounds in birds and
beasts of game. Its pheasants are so fat that the report goes that
four persons may dine on the broth of one of them and not be able to
finish it.--_Memoirs of Baber._
After three days and nights in the train it was pleasant to make a halt
at Tashkent, the capital of Russian Turkestan, though the sudden change
of climate was somewhat exhausting. It was towards the end of March,
and the whole town, famous for its fruit trees, was embowered in pink
and white blossom, and the avenues of magnificent poplars, willows and
beautiful Turkestan elms were shaking out their fresh green leaves.
The Russians, under General Kaufmann, took Tashkent about fifty years
ago, and have laid out the new town with broad roads planted with
fine trees that are watered by irrigation. There are churches, public
parks, tram-lines and imposing-looking shops, the considerable Russian
population appearing to mix freely with the Sarts, as the inhabitants
are termed by the dominant race. In India a white woman of whatever
class has a position with the natives, but here the ordinary Russian
woman is seemingly on an equality with them, and not infrequently
marries them. In the best confectioner’s shop, served by Russian
girls, natives came in and bought and ate cakes and sweets on the
premises, side by side with smart officers or elegant ladies evidently
belonging to the upper circles of Tashkent society.
Even in this remote part of the Russian Empire the War was brought
home to the inhabitants by the presence of fifteen thousand prisoners,
Germans and Austrians. The latter, who were mostly Slavs, had the
privilege of shopping in the town, and we heard that they were on
excellent terms with their captors, whereas the Germans were permitted
no such relaxation of their captivity.
A long narrow street led from the Russian city straight into the native
town with its mud-built houses, its little stalls of food and clothing,
its mosques and shrines, and above all its gaily clad populace. But for
the people I could have imagined myself to be in a Persian city; but
here, instead of men in dingily coloured frock-coats and tall astrakhan
hats, and women shrouded in black from head to foot, the inhabitants
of both sexes revelled in colour. All wore smart velvet or embroidered
caps, round which the greybeards swathed snowy turbans. The men had
striped coats of many colours, the brighter the better, the little
girls rivalling them with bold contrasts, such as a short, gold-laced
magenta velvet jacket worn above a flowered, scarlet cotton skirt, or
a coat of emerald green with a vivid blue under-garment. For the most
part they were pretty, rosy-cheeked, velvet-eyed maidens, with their
hair hanging down their backs in a dozen plaits, and I felt sorry to
think that all their charm would shortly have to disappear behind
the long cloak, beautifully embroidered though it might be, and the
hideous black horsehair veil affected by their mothers.
One fascinating little figure adorned with big earrings and bracelets
came dancing down an alley into the street, holding out the ends of a
scarlet veil which she had thrown over her head, her cotton dress and
trousers being in two shades of rose. She pirouetted up to a tall man
in a rainbow-coloured silk coat who was carrying a tin can, and had
paused at the steps of the mosque to let the children gather round
him. To my surprise he began to dole out ice-cream in little glasses,
and boys and girls had delicious “licks” in exchange for small coins.
I remembered how envious I had felt in early youth when I saw English
street urchins partaking of what seemed to me to be food fit for the
gods, although my nurse allowed me no chance of sampling it, and in a
moment the East and the West seemed to come very near, the ice-cream
man acting as the bridge across the gulf.
After leaving Tashkent we travelled through a rich alluvial country
watered by the Sir Daria, the classical Jaxartes, and halted on our
way to Andijan at the ancient city of Khokand. As at Tashkent, the
Russian and native towns are separate, and we hired a moon-faced,
beardless Sart, attired in a long red and blue striped coat and with an
embroidered skull-cap perched on his shaven head, to drive us round.
He raced his wiry little ponies at a great pace along a wide
tree-planted avenue ending in a church of preternatural ugliness set
in a public garden. Near by were Russian houses and shops, while small
victorias containing grey-uniformed officers or turbaned Sarts dashed
past, and native carts laden with bales of cotton creaked slowly by.
Many of these carts had big tilts, the wooden framework inside being
gaudily painted, and the horses themselves were decked with handsome
brass trappings.
The old town, with its high mud walls, flat-roofed squalid dwellings,
a bazar closely resembling those to be found in any Asiatic city,
and comparatively modern mosques, had little of interest, though a
well-known traveller speaks of its thirty-five theological colleges:
its roads, as usual, were bad and narrow, and must be rivers of mud in
wet weather.
Many women were unveiled, others wore the ghoul-like horsehair face
coverings, and some of their embroidered coats were so charming in
design and colouring that I longed to do a “deal” with the wearers.
Many of the people were squatting, eating melons which they store
during the winter, or drinking tea, a Russian woman being evidently
a member of one family group. We had one or two narrow shaves of
colliding with other carriages, as our coachman threaded his way far
too fast for safety and exchanged abusive epithets with his brother
Jehus, among whom were Russians in black, sleeveless, cassock-like
garments worn over scarlet cotton blouses. The harness of the little
horses was adorned with many tufts of coloured wools, giving a pretty
effect as these tassels nearly swept the ground or waved in the air.
The life on the roads, the spring sunshine, the fresh green leaves, the
white and pink of the blossom, and the orgy of colour furnished by the
inhabitants, made the drive an unforgettable experience.
A few hours later we reached Andijan, where the railway ended, and
here we had our last clean resting-place until we arrived at Kashgar.
I noticed that the native women wore long grey burnouses with black
borders ending in two tails that were always trailing in the dust, and
all hid their faces in the mask-like horsehair veils. It was the day
before Palm Sunday, and as we strolled in the evening up the cobbled
street of the town a large congregation was issuing from the church,
every one carrying a small branch and a little candle, which each
had lit in the sanctuary. In the darkness the scores of tiny lights
looked like fire-flies, and I observed how carefully the sacred flame
was sheltered from any draught, as it is considered most important to
convey it home unextinguished. Our hotel was fairly good, but I was
not pleased on retiring to find that my door did not lock, and that my
window, opening on to a public balcony, had no fastening. To supplement
these casual arrangements I made various “booby-traps” by which I
should be awakened if any robber entered my room, but luckily slept
undisturbed.
It may give some idea of the vast extent of the plains of Russia which
we had crossed by train, when I mention that there was not a single
tunnel on the hundreds of miles of rail between Petrograd and Andijan.
It was the end of March when we set out to drive the thirty miles
from Andijan to Osh. We packed ourselves, our suit-cases and the
lunch-basket into a little victoria, while Achmet, the Russian Tartar
cook we had engaged at Tashkent, accompanied our heavy baggage in the
diligence. The sky was overcast with heavy clouds, so there was no
glare from the sun, and the rain of the previous night had laid the
dust on the broad road full of ruts and holes. Ploughing was in full
swing, barley some inches high in the fields, fruit blossom everywhere,
and the poplars and willows planted along the countless irrigation
channels made a delicate veil of pale green. Beyond the cultivation lay
bare rolling hills, behind which rose the lofty mountain ranges which
we must cross before we could reach our destination.
The whole country seemed thickly populated, and we passed through
village after village teeming with life, the source of which is the
river, which ran at this time of year in a surprisingly narrow stream
in its broad pebbled bed, and was so shallow that men on foot or on
donkey-back were perpetually crossing it. Tortoises were emerging from
their winter seclusion, the croak of the frog filled the land, hoopoes
and the pretty doves which are semi-sacred and never molested flew
about, and the ringing cry of quail and partridge sounded from cages in
which the birds were kept as pets.
The men, if not busied with agriculture, were usually fast asleep or
drinking tea on the mud platforms in front of their dwellings, and
the gaily clad women slipped furtively from house to house, or, if
riding, sat on a pillion behind the men. In fine contrast to her veiled
sisters was a handsome Kirghiz lady following her husband on horseback
through the Osh bazar, and making a striking figure in a long green
coat, her head and chin wrapped in folds of white that left her massive
earrings exposed to view. She rode astride every whit as well as the
man did, exchanged remarks freely with him, and was moreover holding
her child before her on the saddle. Other women were carrying cradles
which must have made riding difficult, and often a child stood behind,
clinging to its mother’s shoulders. On entering the native town of Osh,
mentioned in Baber’s Memoirs as being unsurpassed for healthiness and
beauty of situation, we passed a mosque with such a badly constructed
mud dome that it looked like a turnip, and made our way along a
broad tree-planted Russian road to the _nomera_. This was a house
with “furnished apartments to let,” and the small rooms, by no means
overclean, were supplied with beds, tables and chairs. We set to work
to unpack our camp things, and sent Achmet out to buy bread, butter,
meat, eggs, etc., for our two hundred and sixty mile ride to Kashgar.
Our host made no pretensions to supply food, but exactly opposite our
lodgings was the officers’ mess; with true Russian hospitality its
members invited us to take our meals there, and next day at lunch we
met a dozen officers, with their jovial, long-haired chaplain in black
cassock with a broad silver chain and crucifix round his neck. Luckily
for me there were a couple of officers who spoke German, though the
others threatened them with heavy fines for daring to converse in the
language of the Huns. In spite of the Tsar’s edict, vodka and wine
flowed freely (the doctor had evidently given medical certificates
liberally to the mess) and numerous toasts were drunk, every one
clinking his glass with my brother’s and mine as the health of King
George, the Tsar, our journey, and so on were given. All were most
kind, though I could have wished Russian entertainments were not so
long--that luncheon lasted over three hours--and we left in a chorus of
good wishes for our ride to Kashgar.
We were roused early next morning by the arrival of our caravan of
small ponies, and with much quarrelling on the part of their drivers
the loads were at last adjusted. We had our saddles put on a couple of
ill-fed animals and started off beside the rushing river on our first
stage of twenty miles. The ponies were very inferior to the fine mules
with which we had travelled in Persia, and our particular steeds would
certainly have broken down long before we reached Kashgar if we had
not dismounted and walked at frequent intervals throughout the whole
journey.
At first the road was excellent as we left pretty little Osh nestling
under Baber’s “mountain of a beautiful figure,” and made our way up
a highly cultivated valley towards the distant snowy peaks. We were
escorted by a fine-looking _Ming Bashi_ or “Commander of a Thousand,”
who had a broad velvet belt set with bosses and clasps of handsome
Bokhara silver-work. He wore the characteristic Kirghiz headgear, a
conical white felt with a turned-up black brim, and four black stripes,
from the back to the front and from side to side of the brim, meeting
at the top and finishing off with a black tassel. We were to see
this headgear constantly during the next eight months, as it is worn
throughout Chinese Turkestan and the Pamirs. Owing to the presence of
these _Ming Bashis_ we met with extreme consideration, village _Begs_
and their servants escorting us at every stage and securing the right
of way for us with caravans. This was a privilege that for my part I
keenly appreciated, as the track, when it skirted the flanks of the
mountains, was hardly ever wide enough for one animal to pass another,
and I had no wish to be pushed out of my saddle over the precipice by
the great bales of cotton that formed the load of most of the ponies we
met. These officials usually secured some garden or field, a place of
trees and running water, where we could lunch and rest at mid-day, and
often they brought a silken cushion which they offered to my brother.
They were surprised when he handed it on to me, for in Mohamedan
countries the woman is considered last--if at all.
In the Osh district horses, camels, donkeys, cows, goats and sheep
were in abundance, the sheep having the _dumba_ or big bunch of fat as
a tail, which nourishes the animal when grass runs short during the
winter months. They had long hair like goats and rabbit-like ears,
were coloured black, white, brown, grey or buff, and looked far larger
in proportion than the undersized cattle and ponies. On the road we
saw many of the characteristic carts that had immensely high wheels
with prominent hubs. The driver sat on a saddle on the horse’s back,
supporting his feet on the shafts, thereby depriving the animal of half
its strength for pulling the load and proving that this nation of born
riders has not grasped the elementary principles of driving. These
carts had no sides, but carried their loads in a curious receptacle of
trellis-work, as shown in the illustration.
[Illustration: CART USED IN THE OSH DISTRICT. _Page 26._]
We reached our first night’s lodging about four o’clock, and I was
glad to dismount, as riding at a foot pace on an animal that is a slow
walker is a tedious business. All these halting-places in Russian
territory were much alike--a couple of small plastered rooms, often
with bedsteads, table and stools, sometimes looking into a courtyard
where the ponies were tied for the night, but often with no shelter
for the animals and their drivers. Jafar Bai, the _chuprassi_ from the
Kashgar Consulate sent to escort us, was of the utmost service to us on
the road. I noticed that many of the men we passed saluted him by
throwing their whips from right to left across their chests, and their
deference made me realize the high esteem in which he was held. He put
up our camp beds, tables and chairs, and found water for our folding
baths. It was usually cold at night, and besides warm underclothing I
had a sleeping sack, rugs and my fur-lined coat. We always got up at
5.30 A.M., and I did a hasty toilette in the dark with the aid of my
torchlight, Achmet producing coffee, eggs, bread, butter and jam for
our early breakfast, while Jafar Bai packed our bedding.
Once or twice we were accommodated in the house of a village _Beg_, and
found the floors covered with felts and carpets, and a table spread
with bread, sweets, raisins, almonds and pistachios. One of our hosts
kept his treasures in a wonderful gilt, red and black chest, from
which he produced a handsome watch given him by the Russians. This
chest emitted a loud musical note when opened or shut, in order, I
presume, to warn the owner if thieves attempted to rifle it. At night
his servants removed his bedding of Bokhara silken quilts, but with
touching confidence left the box in our charge!
Our second day’s march found us approaching the mountains, and we
rode to the top of a low pass where hills slashed with scarlet,
crimson and yellow rose one behind another, to be dominated by the
glorious snow-covered Tian Shan peaks clear cut against a superb blue
sky. Walking down the passes was certainly preferable to sitting
on a stumbling pony, but I found it rather hard work, as the track
was usually very steep and littered with loose stones, on which one
could easily twist an ankle or tumble headlong. Every now and again
it looked as if we had reached the bottom, when lo, after turning a
corner, the track zigzagged down beneath our feet seemingly longer and
steeper than ever.
During this march we passed a party of Chinese bound for Kashgar,
consisting of an official and a rich merchant with their retinues. The
ladies of the party travelled in four mat-covered palanquins, each
drawn by two ponies, one leading and one behind, and I pitied them
having to descend these steep places in such swaying conveyances.
They were attended by a crowd of servants in short black coats, tight
trousers and black caps with hanging lappets lined with fur, the
leaders being old men clad in brocades and wearing velvet shoes and
quaint straw hats. As seems usual with upper-class Chinese, they were
very indifferent horsemen, and sat on bundles of silk quilts, not
attempting to guide their ponies in any way, but letting the burly
Kirghiz lead them by the halters. In striking contrast to them was a
fine-looking man in a long green and purple striped coat, from the
handsome girdle of which hung a silver-sheathed knife. His boldly
cut aquiline features were surmounted by a black fur cap, and as he
rode down the pass on a beautiful Badakshani horse the pair made a
delightful picture.
Caravans laden with bales of cotton toiled uphill towards us, and
sometimes we met a string of camels; but ponies did most of the work
here, their small heads peering out from between their bulky loads.
They had bells hung round their necks, enabling the approach of a
pack-train to be heard at a considerable distance, and specially
favoured animals wore collars of blue beads to avert the evil eye.
Besides caravans we met gangs of Kashgaris going to work at Osh or
Andijan during the summer, in order to earn the money on which they
live throughout the winter. They were sturdy men, their white teeth
flashing in faces tanned almost black by the sun, and they wore long
padded cotton coats of all colours, the most usual being scarlet, faded
to delicious tints. As these coats were turned back to enable them to
walk more freely, we had the contrast of a bright turquoise blue, or an
emerald green or a purple lining. Some walked barefoot, others in long
leather riding-boots or felt leggings, and all had leather caps edged
with fur. Each man carried a bundle of his belongings, out of which
cooking-pots often peeped, and some one in the gang was certain to have
a _tar_, a kind of mandoline, with which to amuse the party, or perhaps
a bagpipe or a small native drum; it was pleasant to come across a
group of these wayfarers beguiling their long march by listening to the
music that has so strong a fascination for Orientals.
The farther we left Osh behind us the more barren became the country,
until we marvelled how the flocks and herds could support life on the
scanty vegetation. At one point the hills were a bright scarlet and it
was strange to see a red mud-built village with sheep grazing in this
brilliantly coloured setting. We crossed rivers and streams many times,
but they were not deep, for the mountain snow had not yet melted, and
we found the bridges formed of rough poplar stems, with big holes
into which boulders were stuck, far more dangerous than the water. It
was during this march that my pony nearly ended our joint careers by
backing with me to the edge of a precipice. We were passing a donkey
laden with brushwood, an ordinary sight, of which my brother’s horse
on ahead had not taken the smallest notice, when my animal made a big
shy, and if Jafar Bai had not seized the rein I held out to him and
hauled at it manfully while I urged my mount with whip and voice, we
should both have fallen into the river rushing far below.
The crux of our journey was the crossing of the Terek Dawan or Pass,
12,000 feet high, and the night before we lodged in _akhois_, at its
foot, in place of the usual rest-house.
It was my first experience of the bee-hive like homes of the
Kirghiz--“a dome of laths and o’er it felts were spread”--and, as we
had ridden through heavy rain and hail the last part of the way, I was
extremely thankful to pass behind a felt curtain and find myself in a
snug circular room lined with felts and embroideries. A fire was lit
on the ground in the centre, the smoke escaping from a large hole in
the roof, and by squatting on the floor we could more or less avoid the
acrid smoke that made our eyes water.
In the morning we started at seven o’clock, anxious to reach the top
of the pass before the sun, now hot during the day, could melt the
snow. To our intense relief it was a superb day, a few fleecy clouds
sailing across a deep turquoise sky. I was clad in a mixture of arctic
and tropical attire, wearing a leather coat under my thick tweed
habit, woollen putties and fur-lined gloves, along with a pith hat,
blue glasses and gauze veil. We soon came to the snow and zigzagged
upwards on a narrow track moving in single file, any animal trying to
pass another being liable to fall headlong in the soft deep snow on
either side, a fate that befell two of our party early in the day.
After a while, as we advanced, the great peaks towered on all sides,
sharply silhouetted against their blue background--nothing but white as
far as eye could reach; and here and there skeletons sticking out of
the snow bore eloquent witness to the terrible annual toll paid by the
hundreds of horses and donkeys that have to cross this cruel pass. I
could hardly believe that it was possible to ride over these mountains,
so steeply did they rise above us; and at the worst part of the ascent
some sturdy Kashgaris coming down towards us had much ado to keep their
feet, even though they carried long staves, one man falling headlong
and rolling a considerable distance. The last pull to the crest is
almost perpendicular, and is noted for accidents--here my brother’s
pony nearly went over--but finally, caravan and all, we reached the
summit of the pass in safety, and dismounted to enjoy the fine view.
Before us lay the great Alai Range, peak towering above peak of boldly
serrated mountains. Over us hovered a huge vulture, and as I looked
down the track in front where the snow was partly melted, hideous heaps
of bones were revealed, and I felt that the ill-omened bird knew that
it would never lack food so long as Russia did nothing to improve this
execrable road.
In books of travel the writer frequently “swings down” such places,
but my experience was very different, as we crept down the worst parts
on foot. The snow on the farther side was rotten, and our feet broke
through it to water running underneath and big boulders. It was the
kind of path on which one could easily break a leg, and for a loaded
pony was a cruel ordeal, if not almost impossible. Even where the snow
had entirely melted near the foot of the pass the way lay through a
mass of boulders and slippery mud most trying to any baggage animal.
For ourselves we had nothing to complain of, and a march of seven
hours found us at the little rest-house enjoying some lunch; but our
caravan fared very differently. The distance was only twelve miles,
but so bad was the going that the ponies, though lightly laden, were
about thirteen hours on the road, and four poor animals stayed out all
night. We had no evening meal till nine o’clock, and our hold-alls when
they arrived were encrusted with ice that had made its way inside and
soaked our bedding. We had no means of drying it in the serai, and so
were obliged to sleep in our clothes. We were too thankful to be safely
over the pass to heed such minor discomforts, and were indeed most
fortunate; for the road was closed for some days after our journey in
order that a fresh track might be trampled down by driving unloaded
animals across it.
On the morrow our caravan had a much-needed rest till mid-day, while
we unpacked our boxes and dried our wet belongings in the sun. I was
concerned about my face, as in spite of all my precautions I found that
my cheeks, nose and lips were terribly swollen, and besides being burnt
a bright scarlet, all my skin was coming off in patches, making me most
unsightly in appearance. On my mentioning this experience not long ago
to an eminent geographer and traveller, he assured me that, if I had
thickly powdered my unlucky visage before encountering sun and snow, it
would have got off scot-free, and I insert the hint for the benefit of
future travellers.
Our next stage was Irkeshtam, situated at the junction of the
Osh-Kashgar and Alai routes. In the time of Ptolemy it was an important
centre on the great trade route which ran from Rome across Asia to
China, the “Stone Tower” mentioned by the Greek geographer being either
here or in the vicinity. To-day it consists of a small fort garrisoned
by Cossacks, with customs and telegraph offices all set down in
hopelessly barren surroundings.
We were hospitably welcomed by the customs official’s wife and sister,
but were sorry to find that our host was ill. After the nine o’clock
supper we retired, my brother sleeping in some outhouse, and I in a
little room which my hostess’s sister had kindly vacated for me, where
I had a queer experience. As the window was hermetically sealed up
for the winter, and the stove was lit, I had perforce to leave the
door open in order to escape partial suffocation. A large carpet was
suspended from the ceiling above the bedstead, across which it was
carried, and hung down to the floor, and upon the bed were a sheet, a
velvet bedspread and a couple of lace-covered pillows. Slipping into
my rugs I put out the lamp, and as I was composing myself for slumber
I became aware of a stirring under the bed, and a breathing. Thinking
it must proceed from the dog or cat, with both of which I had made
friends, I tapped the carpet and said “Ssh!” reflecting that if I
troubled to drive the animal out it would be sure to return again by
the open door, and as all was quiet I thought no more about the matter
and went to sleep.
Some time in the middle of the night I was suddenly roused by feeling
the bed violently jolted and to my horror heard loud and unmistakably
human snores proceeding from under it. Considerably startled, I sat up
in the pitch darkness and listened to heavy breathing while I summed
up the situation. The intruder could not be a burglar, as there was
nothing to steal, and of course I was in no danger, as I could rouse
the house in a moment, my door being open. I felt it would be wrong
to make a disturbance as our host was so ill; I could not communicate
with my brother, for I had no idea where he was, and it would have
been impossible to leave the house and search for him in the wind and
darkness, with savage dogs roaming about. Another alternative would
have been to light the lamp and turn out the intruder myself; but I
feared that my lack of Russian and Turki would make this difficult,
and it would certainly rouse the establishment. All things considered,
I decided to lie and watch for daylight, my matches being to my hand.
After the unknown had turned over again I heard the regular breathing
of deep slumber, and soon, contrary to my intention, I dropped off to
sleep myself.
When I woke about seven o’clock it was quite light. Examining my bed
with some trepidation, I found a space between it and the wall at each
end. Behind my pillows was a heavy red felt, and pulling this up I
came upon a makeshift bed with pillow and bedding underneath mine. The
occupant had gone, and I discovered the place at the end of the bed
where “it” must have crept out noiselessly through the open door!
I said nothing to our hostesses, who came straight from their beds to
give us bread and coffee before we started. They rode with us for a
couple of miles to speed us on our way, and I was somewhat surprised
to see that they merely pulled long coats over their night attire and
muffled their heads in shawls before they mounted their horses. It
was not until we had bade them farewell that I was able to relate my
adventure to my brother and discuss this curious example of primitive
Russian customs.
We parted from the ladies at the Kizil Su, the river that waters
Kashgar, which we found very difficult to cross owing to the floes of
half-melted ice in the middle of the stream and the broad ice shelves
that protruded from either bank. We were now in Chinese Turkestan, and
our halting-places changed considerably for the worse; indeed, the
animals were relatively better housed than the human beings. Usually
we rode into a small yard, two sides of which were given up to the
ponies, while only dark rooms lit by a hole in the roof were reserved
for travellers. The ceilings were unplastered, the interstices of the
poplar beams being stuffed with hay, which as the weather grew warmer
would be a haunt of scorpions and tarantulas. There was no furniture of
any kind in these “hotels” with their crumbling mud walls and uneven
floors, and I was always thankful when I slept in them that the “insect
season” had not begun. It was not easy for me to sleep in these places,
for the servants seemed to talk all night long; moreover, as my room
was merely wattle-and-daub I could hear every movement of the animals
on the other side of the thin walls, as they munched their fodder,
fidgeted, and now and again screamed and tried to kick one another.
I was also often roused from my slumbers by some cat that would leap
down through the hole in the roof and would prowl about until my angry
“Ssh!” frightened it into departing, though it would probably return
later and disturb me again.
At the first of these unprepossessing stages we were greeted by a
_ya-yieh_ or “yamen runner,” who had been deputed by the Chinese
authorities to escort us for the remainder of the journey. He was
a striking figure, with a scarlet and yellow plastron on his chest
denoting his official position.
Our onward route lay across many low passes, one I remember being
crowned by a deserted fort, a memento of Yakub Beg, and clustered round
this stronghold were many shrines--piles of stones adorned with wild
sheeps’ horns and with poles on which fluttered countless rags, the
idea being to remind the buried saint to intercede for the giver of the
scrap of cloth or cotton. After this we traversed a district strewn
with conglomerate rocks which assumed the most fantastic and weird
shapes, and we wound through a long defile where the loess hills were
crimped and frilled, looking much like rows of ballet skirts flung one
upon another.
The ranges decreased in height as we proceeded, the sandy detritus
moving down on barren valleys in which we saw very little sign of
life. There were the pretty snow pigeons, the ubiquitous crows, and
occasionally magpies standing on the backs of a few goats, pecking the
ticks from their hair as the animals fed on almost invisible herbage
or gnawed the bark from branches of willows that were cut down for the
purpose.
Ever since we had crossed the Terek Dawan the weather had been cold and
windy, with frequent dust-storms, the sand driving in great red clouds
across the treeless wastes, and enveloping us and our caravan in grit
that made the eyes smart.
Farther and farther the hills receded until we emerged on to the great
Kashgar plain, where at Miniol, our last halting-place, the irrigated
fields were green with crops, the trees in leaf, clumps of irises about
to burst into flower, lizards darting among the stones, and frogs
chanting loudly from the watercourses. To give some idea of the size
of the Tian Shan Range it may be mentioned that nine out of the twelve
stages of our journey lay through mountains.
On April 10, the thirty-sixth day after leaving England, we rode across
the stony plain towards a long green line on the horizon that indicated
the goal of our journey, passing on our way an old watch-tower erected
in bygone days on the edge of the Oasis to give due warning of Kirghiz
raiders. Some miles out of the city a fine saddle-horse and a rickety
hooded victoria met us. My brother mounted the one and I got into the
other, to be jolted over stones and in clouds of dust towards Kashgar.
As we entered the Oasis with its avenues of willow, poplar and mulberry
that surrounded the town for miles, Sir George Macartney and his
children appeared to welcome us, and we also had a greeting from the
Indians, when we entered a garden and sat down at a table on which a
lavish meal had been spread. We halted farther on to exchange greetings
with the Swedish missionaries, then drove in the red dust to where the
Russian Consul-General and his staff hospitably entertained us, and
afterwards to the Chinese reception, where more tea had to be sipped.
This was the last stopping-place, and it was with joy that I heard the
children who shared my carriage say, as we skirted the castellated city
wall, that we were at last nearing the British Consulate.
We drove into a large garden planted with trees, where Lady Macartney
came down the steps of a big, pleasing house and, giving us the kindest
of greetings, led us into the dining-room. Here it was so delightful
to be once more in an English atmosphere and to talk to a countrywoman
that I could not resist partaking of afternoon tea, though it was for
the fourth time since we had entered the Kashgar Oasis.