TO THE SAYANS AND SAFETY
Dense virgin wood surrounded us. In the high, already yellow grass the
trail wound hardly noticeable in among bushes and trees just beginning
to drop their many colored leaves. It is the old, already forgotten Amyl
pass road. Twenty-five years ago it carried the provisions, machinery
and workers for the numerous, now abandoned, gold mines of the
Amyl valley. The road now wound along the wide and rapid Amyl, then
penetrated into the deep forest, guiding us round the swampy ground
filled with those dangerous Siberian quagmires, through the dense
bushes, across mountains and wide meadows. Our guide probably did not
surmise our real intention and sometimes, apprehensively looking down at
the ground, would say:
“Three riders on horses with shoes on have passed here. Perhaps they
were soldiers.”
His anxiety was terminated when he discovered that the tracks led off to
one side and then returned to the trail.
“They did not proceed farther,” he remarked, slyly smiling.
“That’s too bad,” we answered. “It would have been more lively to travel
in company.”
But the peasant only stroked his beard and laughed. Evidently he was not
taken in by our statement.
We passed on the way a gold mine that had been formerly planned and
equipped on splendid lines but was now abandoned and the buildings all
destroyed. The Bolsheviki had taken away the machinery, supplies and
also some parts of the buildings. Nearby stood a dark and gloomy church
with windows broken, the crucifix torn off and the tower burned, a
pitifully typical emblem of the Russia of today. The starving family of
the watchman lived at the mine in continuing danger and privation. They
told us that in this forest region were wandering about a band of Reds
who were robbing anything that remained on the property of the gold
mine, were working the pay dirt in the richest part of the mine and,
with a little gold washed, were going to drink and gamble it away in
some distant villages where the peasants were making the forbidden vodka
out of berries and potatoes and selling it for its weight in gold. A
meeting with this band meant death. After three days we crossed the
northern ridge of the Sayan chain, passed the border river Algiak and,
after this day, were abroad in the territory of Urianhai.
This wonderful land, rich in most diverse forms of natural wealth, is
inhabited by a branch of the Mongols, which is now only sixty thousand
and which is gradually dying off, speaking a language quite different
from any of the other dialects of this folk and holding as their life
ideal the tenet of “Eternal Peace.” Urianhai long ago became the scene
of administrative attempts by Russians, Mongols and Chinese, all of whom
claimed sovereignty over the region whose unfortunate inhabitants, the
Soyots, had to pay tribute to all three of these overlords. It was due
to this that the land was not an entirely safe refuge for us. We had
heard already from our militiaman about the expedition preparing to go
into Urianhai and from the peasants we learned that the villages along
the Little Yenisei and farther south had formed Red detachments, who
were robbing and killing everyone who fell into their hands. Recently
they had killed sixty-two officers attempting to pass Urianhai into
Mongolia; robbed and killed a caravan of Chinese merchants; and killed
some German war prisoners who escaped from the Soviet paradise. On the
fourth day we reached a swampy valley where, among open forests, stood a
single Russian house. Here we took leave of our guide, who hastened away
to get back before the snows should block his road over the Sayans. The
master of the establishment agreed to guide us to the Seybi River for
ten thousand roubles in Soviet notes. Our horses were tired and we were
forced to give them a rest, so we decided to spend twenty-four hours
here.
We were drinking tea when the daughter of our host cried:
“The Soyots are coming!” Into the room with their rifles and pointed
hats came suddenly four of them.
“Mende,” they grunted to us and then, without ceremony, began examining
us critically. Not a button or a seam in our entire outfit escaped their
penetrating gaze. Afterwards one of them, who appeared to be the local
“Merin” or governor, began to investigate our political views. Listening
to our criticisms of the Bolsheviki, he was evidently pleased and began
talking freely.
“You are good people. You do not like Bolsheviki. We will help you.”
I thanked him and presented him with the thick silk cord which I was
wearing as a girdle. Before night they left us saying that they would
return in the morning. It grew dark. We went to the meadow to look after
our exhausted horses grazing there and came back to the house. We were
gaily chatting with the hospitable host when suddenly we heard horses’
hoofs in the court and raucous voices, followed by the immediate entry
of five Red soldiers armed with rifles and swords. Something unpleasant
and cold rolled up into my throat and my heart hammered. We knew the
Reds as our enemies. These men had the red stars on their Astrakhan caps
and red triangles on their sleeves. They were members of the detachment
that was out to look for Cossack officers. Scowling at us they took
off their overcoats and sat down. We first opened the conversation,
explaining the purpose of our journey in exploring for bridges, roads
and gold mines. From them we then learned that their commander would
arrive in a little while with seven more men and that they would take
our host at once as a guide to the Seybi River, where they thought the
Cossack officers must be hidden. Immediately I remarked that our affairs
were moving fortunately and that we must travel along together. One of
the soldiers replied that that would depend upon the “Comrade-officer.”
During our conversation the Soyot Governor entered. Very attentively he
studied again the new arrivals and then asked: “Why did you take from
the Soyots the good horses and leave bad ones?”
The soldiers laughed at him.
“Remember that you are in a foreign country!” answered the Soyot, with a
threat in his voice.
“God and the Devil!” cried one of the soldiers.
But the Soyot very calmly took a seat at the table and accepted the cup
of tea the hostess was preparing for him. The conversation ceased. The
Soyot finished the tea, smoked his long pipe and, standing up, said:
“If tomorrow morning the horses are not back at the owner’s, we shall
come and take them.” And with these words he turned and went out.
I noticed an expression of apprehension on the faces of the soldiers.
Shortly one was sent out as a messenger while the others sat silent with
bowed heads. Late in the night the officer arrived with his other seven
men. As he received the report about the Soyot, he knitted his brows and
said:
“It’s a bad mess. We must travel through the swamp where a Soyot will be
behind every mound watching us.”
He seemed really very anxious and his trouble fortunately prevented him
from paying much attention to us. I began to calm him and promised on
the morrow to arrange this matter with the Soyots. The officer was a
coarse brute and a silly man, desiring strongly to be promoted for the
capture of the Cossack officers, and feared that the Soyot could prevent
him from reaching the Seybi.
At daybreak we started together with the Red detachment. When we had
made about fifteen kilometers, we discovered behind the bushes two
riders. They were Soyots. On their backs were their flint rifles.
“Wait for me!” I said to the officer. “I shall go for a parley with
them.”
I went forward with all the speed of my horse. One of the horsemen was
the Soyot Governor, who said to me:
“Remain behind the detachment and help us.”
“All right,” I answered, “but let us talk a little, in order that they
may think we are parleying.”
After a moment I shook the hand of the Soyot and returned to the
soldiers.
“All right,” I exclaimed, “we can continue our journey. No hindrance
will come from the Soyots.”
We moved forward and, when we were crossing a large meadow, we espied at
a long distance two Soyots riding at full gallop right up the side of a
mountain. Step by step I accomplished the necessary manoeuvre to bring
me and my fellow traveler somewhat behind the detachment. Behind
our backs remained only one soldier, very brutish in appearance and
apparently very hostile to us. I had time to whisper to my companion
only one word: “Mauser,” and saw that he very carefully unbuttoned the
saddle bag and drew out a little the handle of his pistol.
Soon I understood why these soldiers, excellent woodsmen as they were,
would not attempt to go to the Seybi without a guide. All the country
between the Algiak and the Seybi is formed by high and narrow mountain
ridges separated by deep swampy valleys. It is a cursed and dangerous
place. At first our horses mired to the knees, lunging about and
catching their feet in the roots of bushes in the quagmires, then
falling and pinning us under their sides, breaking parts of their
saddles and bridles. Then we would go in up to the riders’ knees. My
horse went down once with his whole breast and head under the red fluid
mud and we just saved it and no more. Afterwards the officer’s horse
fell with him so that he bruised his head on a stone. My companion
injured one knee against a tree. Some of the men also fell and were
injured. The horses breathed heavily. Somewhere dimly and gloomily
a crow cawed. Later the road became worse still. The trail followed
through the same miry swamp but everywhere the road was blocked with
fallen tree trunks. The horses, jumping over the trunks, would land in
an unexpectedly deep hole and flounder. We and all the soldiers were
covered with blood and mud and were in great fear of exhausting our
mounts. For a long distance we had to get down and lead them. At last we
entered a broad meadow covered with bushes and bordered with rocks. Not
only horses but riders also began to sink to their middle in a quagmire
with apparently no bottom. The whole surface of the meadow was but a
thin layer of turf, covering a lake with black putrefying water. When
we finally learned to open our column and proceed at big intervals, we
found we could keep on this surface that undulated like rubber ice and
swayed the bushes up and down. In places the earth buckled up and broke.
Suddenly, three shots sounded. They were hardly more than the report of
a Flobert rifle; but they were genuine shots, because the officer and
two soldiers fell to the ground. The other soldiers grabbed their rifles
and, with fear, looked about for the enemy. Four more were soon unseated
and suddenly I noticed our rearguard brute raise his rifle and aim
right at me. However, my Mauser outstrode his rifle and I was allowed to
continue my story.
“Begin!” I cried to my friend and we took part in the shooting. Soon the
meadow began to swarm with Soyots, stripping the fallen, dividing the
spoils and recapturing their horses. In some forms of warfare it is
never safe to leave any of the enemy to renew hostilities later with
overwhelming forces.
After an hour of very difficult road we began to ascend the mountain and
soon arrived on a high plateau covered with trees.
“After all, Soyots are not a too peaceful people,” I remarked,
approaching the Governor.
He looked at me very sharply and replied:
“It was not Soyots who did the killing.”
He was right. It was the Abakan Tartars in Soyot clothes who killed the
Bolsheviki. These Tartars were running their herds of cattle and horses
down out of Russia through Urianhai to Mongolia. They had as their
guide and negotiator a Kalmuck Lamaite. The following morning we were
approaching a small settlement of Russian colonists and noticed some
horsemen looking out from the woods. One of our young and brave Tartars
galloped off at full speed toward these men in the wood but soon wheeled
and returned with a reassuring smile.
“All right,” he exclaimed, laughing, “keep right on.”
We continued our travel on a good broad road along a high wooden fence
surrounding a meadow filled with a fine herd of wapiti or izubr, which
the Russian colonists breed for the horns that are so valuable in the
velvet for sale to Tibetan and Chinese medicine dealers. These horns,
when boiled and dried, are called panti and are sold to the Chinese at
very high prices.
We were received with great fear by the settlers.
“Thank God!” exclaimed the hostess, “we thought . . .” and she broke off,
looking at her husband.