THE MARCH OF GHOSTS
In no other way can I describe the journey from the River Ero to the
border of Tibet. About eleven hundred miles through the snowy steppes,
over mountains and across deserts we traveled in forty-eight days.
We hid from the people as we journeyed, made short stops in the most
desolate places, fed for whole weeks on nothing but raw, frozen meat in
order to avoid attracting attention by the smoke of fires. Whenever we
needed to purchase a sheep or a steer for our supply department, we sent
out only two unarmed men who represented to the natives that they were
the workmen of some Russian colonists. We even feared to shoot, although
we met a great herd of antelopes numbering as many as five thousand
head. Behind Balir in the lands of the Lama Jassaktu Khan, who had
inherited his throne as a result of the poisoning of his brother at Urga
by order of the Living Buddha, we met wandering Russian Tartars who had
driven their herds all the way from Altai and Abakan. They welcomed us
very cordially, gave us oxen and thirty-six bricks of tea. Also they
saved us from inevitable destruction, for they told us that at this
season it was utterly impossible for horses to make the trip across the
Gobi, where there was no grass at all. We must buy camels by exchanging
for them our horses and some other of our bartering supplies. One of the
Tartars the next day brought to their camp a rich Mongol with whom he
drove the bargain for this trade. He gave us nineteen camels and took
all our horses, one rifle, one pistol and the best Cossack saddle. He
advised us by all means to visit the sacred Monastery of Narabanchi, the
last Lamaite monastery on the road from Mongolia to Tibet. He told us
that the Holy Hutuktu, “the Incarnate Buddha,” would be greatly offended
if we did not visit the monastery and his famous “Shrine of Blessings,”
where all travelers going to Tibet always offered prayers. Our Kalmuck
Lamaite supported the Mongol in this. I decided to go there with the
Kalmuck. The Tartars gave me some big silk hatyk as presents and loaned
us four splendid horses. Although the monastery was fifty-five miles
distant, by nine o’clock in the evening I entered the yurta of this holy
Hutuktu.
He was a middle-aged, clean shaven, spare little man, laboring under the
name of Jelyb Djamsrap Hutuktu. He received us very cordially and was
greatly pleased with the presentation of the hatyk and with my
knowledge of the Mongol etiquette in which my Tartar had been long and
persistently instructing me. He listened to me most attentively and gave
valuable advice about the road, presenting me then with a ring which has
since opened for me the doors of all Lamaite monasteries. The name of
this Hutuktu is highly esteemed not only in all Mongolia but in Tibet
and in the Lamaite world of China. We spent the night in his splendid
yurta and on the following morning visited the shrines where they were
conducting very solemn services with the music of gongs, tom-toms and
whistling. The Lamas with their deep voices were intoning the prayers
while the lesser priests answered with their antiphonies. The sacred
phrase: “Om! Mani padme Hung!” was endlessly repeated.
The Hutuktu wished us success, presented us with a large yellow hatyk
and accompanied us to the monastery gate. When we were in our saddles he
said:
“Remember that you are always welcome guests here. Life is very
complicated and anything may happen. Perhaps you will be forced in
future to re-visit distant Mongolia and then do not miss Narabanchi
Kure.”
That night we returned to the Tartars and the next day continued our
journey. As I was very tired, the slow, easy motion of the camel was
welcome and restful to me. All the day I dozed off at intervals to
sleep. It turned out to be very disastrous for me; for, when my camel
was going up the steep bank of a river, in one of my naps I fell off
and hit my head on a stone, lost consciousness and woke up to find
my overcoat covered with blood. My friends surrounded me with their
frightened faces. They bandaged my head and we started off again. I only
learned long afterwards from a doctor who examined me that I had cracked
my skull as the price of my siesta.
We crossed the eastern ranges of the Altai and the Karlik Tag, which are
the most oriental sentinels the great Tian Shan system throws out into
the regions of the Gobi; and then traversed from the north to the south
the entire width of the Khuhu Gobi. Intense cold ruled all this time and
fortunately the frozen sands gave us better speed. Before passing the
Khara range, we exchanged our rocking-chair steeds for horses, a deal in
which the Torguts skinned us badly like the true “old clothes men” they
are.
Skirting around these mountains we entered Kansu. It was a dangerous
move, for the Chinese were arresting all refugees and I feared for my
Russian fellow-travelers. During the days we hid in the ravines, the
forests and bushes, making forced marches at night. Four days we thus
used in this passage of Kansu. The few Chinese peasants we did encounter
were peaceful appearing and most hospitable. A marked sympathetic
interest surrounded the Kalmuck, who could speak a bit of Chinese,
and my box of medicines. Everywhere we found many ill people, chiefly
afflicted with eye troubles, rheumatism and skin diseases.
As we were approaching Nan Shan, the northeast branch of the Altyn Tag
(which is in turn the east branch of the Pamir and Karakhorum system),
we overhauled a large caravan of Chinese merchants going to Tibet
and joined them. For three days we were winding through the endless
ravine-like valleys of these mountains and ascending the high passes.
But we noticed that the Chinese knew how to pick the easiest routes
for caravans over all these difficult places. In a state of
semi-consciousness I made this whole journey toward the large group of
swampy lakes, feeding the Koko Nor and a whole network of large rivers.
From fatigue and constant nervous strain, probably helped by the blow
on my head, I began suffering from sharp attacks of chills and fever,
burning up at times and then chattering so with my teeth that I
frightened my horse who several times threw me from the saddle. I raved,
cried out at times and even wept. I called my family and instructed them
how they must come to me. I remember as though through a dream how I was
taken from the horse by my companions, laid on the ground, supplied with
Chinese brandy and, when I recovered a little, how they said to me:
“The Chinese merchants are heading for the west and we must travel
south.”
“No! To the north,” I replied very sharply.
“But no, to the south,” my companions assured me.
“God and the Devil!” I angrily ejaculated, “we have just swum the Little
Yenisei and Algyak is to the north!”
“We are in Tibet,” remonstrated my companions. “We must reach the
Brahmaputra.”
Brahmaputra. . . . Brahmaputra. . . . This word revolved in my fiery
brain, made a terrible noise and commotion. Suddenly I remembered
everything and opened my eyes. I hardly moved my lips and soon I
again lost consciousness. My companions brought me to the monastery of
Sharkhe, where the Lama doctor quickly brought me round with a solution
of fatil or Chinese ginseng. In discussing our plans he expressed grave
doubt as to whether we would get through Tibet but he did not wish to
explain to me the reason for his doubts.