MYSTERIES, MIRACLES AND A NEW FIGHT
In the evening of the same day we arrived at the Sacred Lake of Teri
Noor, a sheet of water eight kilometres across, muddy and yellow, with
low unattractive shores studded with large holes. In the middle of the
lake lay what was left of a disappearing island. On this were a few
trees and some old ruins. Our guide explained to us that two centuries
ago the lake did not exist and that a very strong Chinese fortress
stood here on the plain. A Chinese chief in command of the fortress gave
offence to an old Lama who cursed the place and prophesied that it would
all be destroyed. The very next day the water began rushing up from the
ground, destroyed the fortress and engulfed all the Chinese soldiers.
Even to this day when storms rage over the lake the waters cast up on
the shores the bones of men and horses who perished in it. This Teri
Noor increases its size every year, approaching nearer and nearer to the
mountains. Skirting the eastern shore of the lake, we began to climb a
snow-capped ridge. The road was easy at first but the guide warned us
that the most difficult bit was there ahead. We reached this point two
days later and found there a steep mountain side thickly set with forest
and covered with snow. Beyond it lay the lines of eternal snow--ridges
studded with dark rocks set in great banks of the white mantle that
gleamed bright under the clear sunshine. These were the eastern and
highest branches of the Tannu Ola system. We spent the night beneath
this wood and began the passage of it in the morning. At noon the guide
began leading us by zigzags in and out but everywhere our trail was
blocked by deep ravines, great jams of fallen trees and walls of rock
caught in their mad tobogganings from the mountain top. We struggled for
several hours, wore out our horses and, all of a sudden, turned up at
the place where we had made our last halt. It was very evident our Soyot
had lost his way; and on his face I noticed marked fear.
“The old devils of the cursed forest will not allow us to pass,” he
whispered with trembling lips. “It is a very ominous sign. We must
return to Kharga to the Noyon.”
But I threatened him and he took the lead again evidently without hope
or effort to find the way. Fortunately, one of our party, an Urianhai
hunter, noticed the blazes on the trees, the signs of the road which our
guide had lost. Following these, we made our way through the wood, came
into and crossed a belt of burned larch timber and beyond this dipped
again into a small live forest bordering the bottom of the mountains
crowned with the eternal snows. It grew dark so that we had to camp for
the night. The wind rose high and carried in its grasp a great white
sheet of snow that shut us off from the horizon on every side and buried
our camp deep in its folds. Our horses stood round like white ghosts,
refusing to eat or to leave the circle round our fire. The wind combed
their manes and tails. Through the niches in the mountains it roared and
whistled. From somewhere in the distance came the low rumble of a pack
of wolves, punctuated at intervals by the sharp individual barking that
a favorable gust of wind threw up into high staccato.
As we lay by the fire, the Soyot came over to me and said: “Noyon, come
with me to the obo. I want to show you something.”
We went there and began to ascend the mountain. At the bottom of a very
steep slope was laid up a large pile of stones and tree trunks, making
a cone of some three metres in height. These obo are the Lamaite sacred
signs set up at dangerous places, the altars to the bad demons, rulers
of these places. Passing Soyots and Mongols pay tribute to the spirits
by hanging on the branches of the trees in the obo hatyk, long streamers
of blue silk, shreds torn from the lining of their coats or simply tufts
of hair cut from their horses’ manes; or by placing on the stones lumps
of meat or cups of tea and salt.
“Look at it,” said the Soyot. “The hatyks are torn off. The demons are
angry, they will not allow us to pass, Noyon. . . .”
He caught my hand and with supplicating voice whispered: “Let us go
back, Noyon; let us! The demons do not wish us to pass their mountains.
For twenty years no one has dared to pass these mountains and all bold
men who have tried have perished here. The demons fell upon them with
snowstorm and cold. Look! It is beginning already. . . . Go back to our
Noyon, wait for the warmer days and then. . . .”
I did not listen further to the Soyot but turned back to the fire, which
I could hardly see through the blinding snow. Fearing our guide might
run away, I ordered a sentry to be stationed for the night to watch him.
Later in the night I was awakened by the sentry, who said to me: “Maybe
I am mistaken, but I think I heard a rifle.”
What could I say to it? Maybe some stragglers like ourselves were giving
a sign of their whereabouts to their lost companions, or perhaps the
sentry had mistaken for a rifle shot the sound of some falling rock
or frozen ice and snow. Soon I fell asleep again and suddenly saw in a
dream a very clear vision. Out on the plain, blanketed deep with snow,
was moving a line of riders. They were our pack horses, our Kalmuck and
the funny pied horse with the Roman nose. I saw us descending from this
snowy plateau into a fold in the mountains. Here some larch trees
were growing, close to which gurgled a small, open brook. Afterwards I
noticed a fire burning among the trees and then woke up.
It grew light. I shook up the others and asked them to prepare quickly
so as not to lose time in getting under way. The storm was raging. The
snow blinded us and blotted out all traces of the road. The cold also
became more intense. At last we were in the saddles. The Soyot went
ahead trying to make out the trail. As we worked higher the guide less
seldom lost the way. Frequently we fell into deep holes covered with
snow; we scrambled up over slippery rocks. At last the Soyot swung his
horse round and, coming up to me, announced very positively: “I do not
want to die with you and I will not go further.”
My first motion was the swing of my whip back over my head. I was so
close to the “Promised Land” of Mongolia that this Soyot, standing in
the way of fulfilment of my wishes, seemed to me my worst enemy. But I
lowered my flourishing hand. Into my head flashed a quite wild thought.
“Listen,” I said. “If you move your horses, you will receive a bullet in
the back and you will perish not at the top of the mountain but at the
bottom. And now I will tell you what will happen to us. When we shall
have reached these rocks above, the wind will have ceased and the
snowstorm will have subsided. The sun will shine as we cross the snowy
plain above and afterwards we shall descend into a small valley where
there are larches growing and a stream of open running water. There we
shall light our fires and spend the night.”
The Soyot began to tremble with fright.
“Noyon has already passed these mountains of Darkhat Ola?” he asked in
amazement.
“No,” I answered, “but last night I had a vision and I know that we
shall fortunately win over this ridge.”
“I will guide you!” exclaimed the Soyot, and, whipping his horse, led
the way up the steep slope to the top of the ridge of eternal snows.
As we were passing along the narrow edge of a precipice, the Soyot
stopped and attentively examined the trail.
“Today many shod horses have passed here!” he cried through the roar
of the storm. “Yonder on the snow the lash of a whip has been dragged.
These are not Soyots.”
The solution of this enigma appeared instantly. A volley rang out. One
of my companions cried out, as he caught hold of his right shoulder; one
pack horse fell dead with a bullet behind his ear. We quickly tumbled
out of our saddles, lay down behind the rocks and began to study the
situation. We were separated from a parallel spur of the mountain by a
small valley about one thousand paces across. There we made out about
thirty riders already dismounted and firing at us. I had never allowed
any fighting to be done until the initiative had been taken by the
other side. Our enemy fell upon us unawares and I ordered my company to
answer.
“Aim at the horses!” cried Colonel Ostrovsky. Then he ordered the Tartar
and Soyot to throw our own animals. We killed six of theirs and probably
wounded others, as they got out of control. Also our rifles took toll
of any bold man who showed his head from behind his rock. We heard the
angry shouting and maledictions of Red soldiers who shot up our position
more and more animatedly.
Suddenly I saw our Soyot kick up three of the horses and spring into the
saddle of one with the others in leash behind. Behind him sprang up the
Tartar and the Kalmuck. I had already drawn my rifle on the Soyot but,
as soon as I saw the Tartar and Kalmuck on their lovely horses behind
him, I dropped my gun and knew all was well. The Reds let off a volley
at the trio but they made good their escape behind the rocks and
disappeared. The firing continued more and more lively and I did not
know what to do. From our side we shot rarely, saving our cartridges.
Watching carefully the enemy, I noticed two black points on the snow
high above the Reds. They slowly approached our antagonists and finally
were hidden from view behind some sharp hillocks. When they emerged from
these, they were right on the edge of some overhanging rocks at the foot
of which the Reds lay concealed from us. By this time I had no doubt
that these were the heads of two men. Suddenly these men rose up and
I watched them flourish and throw something that was followed by two
deafening roars which re-echoed across the mountain valley. Immediately
a third explosion was followed by wild shouts and disorderly firing
among the Reds. Some of the horses rolled down the slope into the snow
below and the soldiers, chased by our shots, made off as fast as they
could down into the valley out of which we had come.
Afterward the Tartar told me the Soyot had proposed to guide them around
behind the Reds to fall upon their rear with the bombs. When I had bound
up the wounded shoulder of the officer and we had taken the pack off the
killed animal, we continued our journey. Our position was complicated.
We had no doubt that the Red detachment came up from Mongolia.
Therefore, were there Red troops in Mongolia? What was their strength?
Where might we meet them? Consequently, Mongolia was no more the
Promised Land? Very sad thoughts took possession of us.
But Nature pleased us. The wind gradually fell. The storm ceased. The
sun more and more frequently broke through the scudding clouds. We were
traveling upon a high, snow-covered plateau, where in one place the wind
blew it clean and in another piled it high with drifts which caught our
horses and held them so that they could hardly extricate themselves at
times. We had to dismount and wade through the white piles up to our
waists and often a man or horse was down and had to be helped to his
feet. At last the descent began and at sunset we stopped in the small
larch grove, spent the night at the fire among the trees and drank the
tea boiled in the water carried from the open mountain brook. In various
places we came across the tracks of our recent antagonists.
Everything, even Nature herself and the angry demons of Darkhat Ola, had
helped us: but we were not gay, because again before us lay the dread
uncertainty that threatened us with new and possibly destructive
dangers.