_THE MONGOLIAN FRONTIER AT MAIMATCHIN._
Outlook into Mongolia.--Town of Maimatchin without women.--Visit to
a Chinese merchant.--Refreshments.--Attendants.--Purchases.--Tea
bricks for coin.--The town.--Buddhist temple.--Chinese
malefactors.--Their punishments.--Chinese
dinner.--Food.--Intoxicating drinks.--Route to
Peking.--Travellers.--Modes of conveyance.--Manners of the
desert.--Postal service.
As we stood on the top of Kiakhta church, we could see, as already
observed, the three towns of Troitzkosavsk, Kiakhta, and Maimatchin.
The former two were like other Siberian towns, but southwards there lay
before us something decidedly new. Just over the border was a veritable
Chinese town; then came a broad plain, covered with sand and herbage,
with the horizon bounded by the hills of Mongolia, beyond which the
imagination was left to picture its capital, Urga, and, further south,
the great wall of China. Before continuing our journey eastwards,
therefore, I shall describe our visit to Maimatchin, and offer a few
observations upon the route over the Mongolian frontier to Peking.
Mai-ma-tchin signifies, in Chinese, “buy and sell,” and so is applied
to this border town as a “a place of trade.” It has a population, we
were told, of 3,000, and differs in one respect, at all events, from
all the cities upon the face of the earth, in that the inhabitants are
all of the male sex. Not a woman is to be found in the town, a baby’s
music is never heard there, and the streets are void of girls and boys.
Not that the men, however, are all bachelors, for some of them have
wives and families in China proper. Nor are they all woman-haters or
henpecked husbands. We did indeed hear of one man, a British subject,
who so far agreed with Solomon as to the undesirability of living with
a brawling woman, even though it were in a wide house, that he had
fled from his island home, and retired to a house-top in the wilds of
Siberia, where he is living in prosperity, and whither his spouse has
not pursued him. But the fact is, that among the curious arrangements
of the Chinese at the time of their early treaties with the Russians,
and in order that their celestial subjects might not become rooted
to the soil, but consider themselves as sojourners only, they have
forbidden that women should live in Maimatchin. Hence a paterfamilias
of Maimatchin, if he wishes to visit his wife and children, must
undertake a month’s journey across the desert on the back of a camel,
and return by the same means; so that a few such journeys may well give
wings to his desire speedily to make his fortune and return home.
We took the opportunity of paying an afternoon visit to Maimatchin
on the first day of our arrival at Kiakhta, Mr. Koecher kindly
accompanying us. After passing out of the wooden gate of Kiakhta we
found ourselves on a piece of neutral ground, about 500 yards wide,
between the two empires. On the south side is a palisade pierced
for the principal gate, shielded from view by a high wooden screen
some eight or ten paces from the wall. Behind this screen we entered
Maimatchin, and found ourselves in a new world. The town is built
inside a strong wooden enclosure, about 400 yards square, with four or
five mud-paved streets. They are regular, however, tolerably clean,
and, for China, wide,--wide enough perhaps to allow of a London omnibus
being driven through them. The houses are of one storey, built of
unburnt bricks of mud and wood, and are thus solid and tidy, and are
surrounded by courtyards. At the entrances are screens that shut out
the river from the street, which are painted with diabolical-looking
figures, to frighten away evil spirits. This represents, however, the
houses of the well-to-do merchants. Towards the southern part of the
town are the mean, windowless houses of the poor, which have little of
the neatness and propriety of the above.
We were taken first to visit one of the Chinese merchants named
Van-Tchan-Taï; and on entering his courtyard we found it surrounded
by a number of doors, some entering the warehouses, the kitchen,
out-houses, etc., and one leading to the shop and dwelling-place
of the merchant. The door consisted of a suspended transparent
screen, admitting the air, and yet keeping out flies and insects.
The window-frames were ornamented and covered with paper. None
looked into the street, but all into the courtyard. Inside the house
were two compartments, an outer and an inner. In the outer chamber
we were seated on a raised platform, or divan, which serves for a
sleeping-place for the clerks and assistants by night, and for a
dining-place by day, when the bedding and cushions are neatly rolled up
and ornamentally arranged. This platform is heated by a flue beneath,
and on the edge in front is kept, always burning, a small charcoal
fire, which serves for lighting pipes and heating grog. Round the wall
hung illuminated texts, from the writings of Confucius, and various
pictures, one of which we were told was a representation of the god of
happiness. And a very stout personage he looked! But this is strictly
in keeping with Chinese notions, for they delight to load their deities
with collops of fat, prosperity and abundance of flesh in their eyes
having great affinity. A number of little birds were in the room, not
in cages, but on perches resembling those on which parrots are kept in
England.
The merchant invited us to drink tea, and told us that the Chinese
use this beverage without sugar or milk three times a day; namely, at
rising, at noon, and at seven in the evening. They have substantial
meals at nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. When they
discovered I was English, they were curious to know all about us,
making various inquiries, trying to imitate our words and sounds, even
to laughing, and examining carefully such things as were shown them,
as watches, pencils, and knives. We were no less curious to pry into
their affairs, and learn of them all we could. The merchant employed 23
“clerks,” 18 in Maimatchin, and the remainder at a branch establishment
in some other part of the world. We did not make out, however, whether
this number included shop assistants, warehousemen, servants, cooks,
etc., or whether it consisted only of actual writers. They seemed all
dressed alike, from the master downwards; that is, in a suit of blue
nankeen, and black skull caps. Suspended on the wall, and covered
with paper to keep them from dust, were two or three white straw
hats, of depressed conical shape, with a horsehair tassel on the top,
seemingly reserved for summer use or gala days. One of the attendants
had a black dress edged with white, and on inquiry he was found to be
the coachman in half mourning. Chinese full mourning must not be of
silk, is all white, and worn 100 days after the death of a relative,
during which time the head is not shaved. Black and white is afterwards
worn for three years, one of its features being a small white ball on
the top of the cap. As the servants stood about waiting on us, their
discipline appeared to be very much of the patriarchal character; none
seemed greater or less than another, except it were the chief clerk,
who received, we found, about £30 a year; whilst the “boys” received
from £5 and upwards, their food being in all cases provided. This
chief clerk cultivated a straggling moustache, which is the privilege
of all Chinese men after they arrive at 30 years of age. He had also
very long nails, protruding, perhaps, half an inch, which evidently
were considered beautiful. It is the custom of Chinese gentlemen and
ladies to have long nails, that other persons may be aware of their
rank in society, for with such impediments they could not labour. This
senior also seemed fond of his pipe, which held just so much tobacco as
enabled him to take five good strong whiffs only, and he then blew out
of the pipe, with a peculiar noise, the remainder of the tobacco and
ashes.
Whilst sipping our tea we proceeded to make purchases. The principal
articles of Chinese export into Russia are teas, cottons, nankeens,
silks, good satins, rhubarb, and many articles of curiosity and
ingenuity. The exports from Siberia are generally furs. As we sat in
the merchant’s shop, it was a matter for conjecture as to where the
merchandise was kept, for it was not visible. A number of articles,
however, were brought forth from mysterious cupboards and drawers, and
we heard that the Chinese allow as little of their property as possible
to be seen by the authorities, lest they should be more highly taxed.
So far, therefore, as appearances go in a Chinese shop, the American
dealer’s window-notice would be eminently appropriate: “If you don’t
see what you want, ask for it.” We did this, and found it successful.
My first purchase was a piece of silk called Chin-chun-cha, supposed to
be of sufficient measure for two suits of clothes. This silk is undyed,
and washes and wears so well that it is a favourite material throughout
Siberia for gentlemen’s summer suits, and sometimes for ladies’ dresses.
The Chinese are fond of having a couple of balls in the hand, at idle
times, to roll and rub one over the other with the fingers, and so
play with; for the same reason, probably, that the Turks like to have
beads in the hand. Several of these balls were offered to me. One
pair was of Chinese jade, which, on being rubbed together, emitted
flashes of electric light. Gilt buttons, too, were shown as a rarity,
but their marks betrayed that they came from Birmingham. We bought
some embroidered purses of native workmanship, and cups and saucers.
The saucers are of a lozenge-shape, and of metal, with an indentation
fitted to receive the bottom of the cup, which has no handle. Hence, in
drinking the tea, it was not necessary to finger the cup, but merely
to hold the saucer and drink from the cup resting therein. Some of the
drinking vessels were of wood, but lacquered and covered with a varnish
which made them quite capable of holding boiling water. Our most
comical purchase, perhaps, was a pair of furred ear-pockets, connected
by a piece of elastic, for use in frosty weather.
After taking refreshment, we looked about the house and yard, into
the kitchen, which was clean enough, and into the warehouse, with its
piles of chests of tea, and were amused to see them take a hollow
iron auger, something like a large cheese taster, and drive this into
the corner of a tea-chest to bring thereout a sample handful of the
fragrant herb. I contented myself, however, with buying a brick of tea,
as a greater curiosity. It measures about nine inches by six, and is
three-quarters of an inch thick, and might better be called, as it once
was in Germany, “tile” tea. This article was formerly used for coin in
certain parts of Siberia, and is so still in Mongolia. The owner of a
circus, since my visit, made his way through Kiakhta to Urga. The stud
and its riders greatly delighted the Mongolians, who are excellent
horsemen, and, as the proprietor accepted the “current coin of the
realm,” his cashier’s office presented the unusual appearance of being
filled to overflowing with bricks of tea! We had cause, therefore,
for congratulation, that we had not to carry a quantity of this very
inconvenient form of cash.
After leaving the house we wandered through the streets, examining the
wares exposed for sale, like those we had seen on the Chinese stalls
in the market-place of Troitzkosavsk, and the looking round at which,
in both places, gave us much amusement. We found all sorts of Chinese
knick-knacks; and the poorest attempts at cutlery, in the shape of
knives, scissors, and razors, that ever I saw. The razors bore a
strong resemblance to miniature hatchets, and, on steaming across the
Pacific, I observed that their use was not confined to men, for the
Chinese women think so much of having the hair cut away smoothly from
the back of the neck, that one female on board was seen thus acting the
barber on behalf of her sister. Beads and hats were likewise exposed
for sale, brushes and combs, pieces of flint and steel, and Buddhist
rosaries; which last, evidently, were considered finely perfumed, but
we thought the smell abominable. A piece of Chinese vanity we saw
consisted of circular felt pads, highly dyed with rouge, with which the
people rub, and so redden, their faces. Several of these curiosities we
bought, bargaining for the price by signs, to the mutual amusement of
buyers and salesmen.
We were taken to the Buddhist temple, the precincts of which appeared
to comprise the houses of the governor (or, as he is called, the
_zurgutchay_), and the chief priest; also a theatre, and something like
a prison. In the court of the temple were placed two or three cannon,
which are fired daily when the governor is going to sleep. The theatre,
we found, was open only on fête days, and, if the report of travellers
be true, the plays are sometimes grossly obscene. This, however, is
only in keeping with the pictures seen in the houses, and sold openly
in the streets, which are too licentious to bear description.
We saw in the court of the temple two malefactors, who had iron rings
round their necks, attached to which were chains, about five feet long,
with enormous links, and of great weight, weighing, I should judge, in
all, upwards of 50 lbs. They had chains, too, upon their hands and
legs, and, being exceedingly dirty and ill clad, they looked somewhat
ferocious. One of them had his chain coiled about his shoulders for
more convenient carriage, and when he saw that I was curious he allowed
it to drop towards the ground, showing me the full length of his
punishment. I bought the man’s rosary for a souvenir. We saw, also,
in Maimatchin, another kind of Chinese punishment, in the shape of a
wooden collar, made of 6-inch plank, about 2½ feet square, and put
about a man’s neck. It was said to be more than 100 lbs. in weight,
and the unfortunate wearer was prevented by its size from putting his
hand to his mouth. He used therefore, in feeding himself, a long wooden
spoon, but he looked anything but comfortable. His accusation was
written on the collar, setting forth his name and family, and he was to
wear his collar night and day for a month, and that for _fighting_! but
I am not clear whether it was for an ordinary pugilistic encounter, or
for attempted violence to a superior.
As we walked about the streets it was plain that, though we were
distinctly in the Chinese empire and not in Russia, yet that the people
of the two border towns were on the most friendly footing. Chinese
merchants visit the Russians freely, drink tea, smoke cigarettes,
and chatter,--not “pigeon English,” but “pigeon Russian.” To this
good feeling I presume it was that we were indebted for an invitation
to dine, two days after, with the merchant upon whom we called. We
were particularly anxious to do this; for to eat a Chinese dinner at
Maimatchin had been one of the curious treats I had promised myself
when thinking of pushing on so far as Kiakhta. At the same time, Mr.
Michie’s declaring that a Chinese dinner, to which Kiakhta merchants
take their friends, was “a feast most Europeans would rather undergo
the incipient stages of starvation than come within the smell of it,”
had rather terrified me as to the horrors one might be expected to
eat. I determined, however, to place bread on one side of my plate
and water on the other, and then martyrise myself for the sake of
gaining experience, to say nothing of showing myself a person of good
breeding in Chinese eyes, by tasting _everything_; and I hoped that, if
anything particularly nasty came into my mouth, it might be neutralized
or speedily swallowed by the aid of a piece of bread or a draught of
water. Things were not so bad, however, as I had feared, and we were
none of us made ill. Calling on our way to dinner at Mr. Tokmakoff’s,
I begged a small loaf of half-white bread; and, thus prepared, we
presented ourselves at the house of Van Tchan Taï.
There were five in the party, which included Mr. Koecher, our Russian
host; Mr. M----, our fellow-countryman; Mr. Interpreter; myself, and
a Russian friend. We were shown first into the inner compartment,
and seated on the divan, whilst they brought us tea, dried fruits,
and confections, such as candied ginger, dried walnuts and Mandarin
oranges, salted almonds, and sugared ditto, melon seeds, etc., etc. We
then adjourned to the outer chamber, where the dinner was spread on a
table. But what a table! It was just about three feet square, and on
this were placed, as a commencement, no less than 10 dishes, besides
our own plates. These dishes, or saucers, of meats were replaced to
the number of 30. Further east I met a man who told me that when he
dined at Maimatchin they gave him 64 dishes! At this tiny table we
were seated, and each was provided with a small saucer, three inches
in diameter, half filled with dark-looking vinegar, into which we
were supposed to dip everything before carrying it to the mouth. Of
this I soon got tired, and began to eat things _au naturel_, that
is as far as possible; but most of the courses were so disguised by
confectionery and culinary art that we had to ask of almost every
plate, What is this? Happily the plates were so exceedingly small
that to taste of each did not seriously strain one’s eating powers;
and by tasting first, and then asking what it was, all prejudice was
taken away till it was too late to have any. But we discovered that
among the dishes we had eaten were beans, garlic, a kind of sea-weed
cooked like seakale, and a green kind also; likewise radishes cut in
slices, swallows’ eggs boiled, and rissoles of meat; various sorts
of marine vegetables, and, I think, birds’ nests. Towards the end of
the feast appeared a _samovar_, but not like the Russian article of
that name,--the difference resembling that between an “outside” and an
“inside” Dublin car, of which an Irishman said that, with an outside
car the wheels were inside, whereas with an inside car the wheels were
outside. So with the Chinese samovar, the boiling part was exposed
to view, and contained the soup, in which were small pieces of meat,
vermicelli, and rice puddings, the size of tennis balls, for the eating
of which they brought us chop-sticks--I suppose, that we might try our
hands, for at the earlier part of the meal they had given us knives and
forks. Chop-sticks are a pair of cylindrical rods, rather longer, and
not quite so thick as lead pencils, which are both held between the
thumb and fingers of the right hand, and are used as tongs to take the
food and carry it to the mouth--an operation by no means easy to the
unpractised. Our host did not sit at table, or eat with us, but stood
looking on, and giving orders to his boys or “clerks.” Each guest was
provided with a tiny cup about an inch or a little more in diameter,
and perhaps half an inch deep. Into this, at an early stage of the
proceedings, was poured, from a diminutive kettle, hot _mai-ga-lo_,
or Chinese brandy, tasting, it was said, somewhat like whisky. It is
exceedingly strong, though not so potent as another kind of which we
heard, called _khanshin_, and which not only makes a man intoxicated
on the day he drinks it, but if he takes a glass of water only on the
morrow, the intoxicating effect is repeated. When they came to pour
me out brandy I declined, the propriety of which our host recognised
at once; for when my friends told him I was a “lama,” or priest, he
said that “_their_ lamas were not allowed to drink brandy.” It was
comforting, therefore, to find that we had at least one good thing in
common.
Whilst we were in the house of Van Tchan Taï there came in a Mongolian
lama, to whom I was introduced as an _English_ lama. The Mongolian
lamas do not confine themselves to spiritual functions; for this man
was a contractor for the carriage of goods across the desert to and
from China, which leads me to say something of this curious journey.
The Kiakhta-Peking route was not that followed by the earliest
embassies sent overland from Siberia, nor by Marco Polo in his
marvellous travels in Tartary. In fact, it is remarkable how very
little has been known, until lately, concerning this part of Central
Asia, and how little is known still.[1]
After the building of Kiakhta and Maimatchin, the route across the
desert was of course extensively used by the caravans, though I am not
aware that it was followed by any Englishman or celebrated traveller
till within the past quarter of a century.[2]
There are six Englishmen, four of whom I have met, who, as well as
some ladies, have travelled this Mongolian route within the past 18
years.[3] The traveller, however, who has given us the most solid
and scientific information about the part of Mongolia of which we are
speaking is the Russian Colonel Prejevalsky, who spent three years,
beginning in 1870, by travelling first from Kiakhta to Peking, then
turning northward to Manchuria, and afterwards following in the tracks
of Huc not quite to Lhassa, but as far as the Blue River, or the
Yang-tse-kiang; and then, turning back, did the most daring thing of
all, crossing the desert of Gobi from Ala-shan to Urga and Kiakhta.
This journey had never before been attempted by a European, and was
accomplished in the height of summer, when sometimes the party could
obtain neither pasture nor water.
The distance between Kiakhta and Peking is a thousand miles, and
Europeans who wish to make the journey have the choice of two modes
of conveyance, either by post-horses or by caravan camels engaged
by special bargain with their owners. So, at least, says Colonel
Prejevalsky, though Mr. Milne tells a different tale, for he had
intended to cross Mongolia in company with a Russian officer by
courier horses; but he found that, according to the agreement between
the Russian and Chinese Governments, it was allowable only for such
couriers as were Russian subjects to take the horse road, and therefore
he was obliged to go the ordinary caravan route by camels. He made an
agreement with some Mongol carriers, that they were to take him from
Kiakhta to Kalgan, near the great wall of China, in 30 days, for which
he was to pay them £15. For every day less than thirty he was to pay
ten shillings extra; for every day beyond that time they were to pay
him ten shillings. There was also a clause that a tent, fire, and water
should be supplied. The ordinary procedure of the caravan in winter is
to be on the move till about seven or eight in the evening, and then
stop for tea, and travel on till midnight or two in the morning. A
halt is then made for sleep, and all start again by eight or ten. They
eat in winter only once a day, and, according to Mr. Milne’s account,
a winter journey across the desert is anything but comfortable. Mr.
Michie, however, and Captain Shepherd, who travelled in milder weather,
give a very different account, and speak in pleasant terms of a nomad
life. It is so utterly different from any European experience of motion
and living that, though it has several drawbacks--and a month is rather
too long to be wholly agreeable--yet those who have passed through
such a phase of travel look back upon it as a pleasant change from the
humdrum life of a homeward voyage in a P. and O. steamer.
The pace at which the caravan proceeds is provokingly slow, and the
jolting of the rude, clumsy camel-cart makes walking, for a great part
of the day, preferable to driving; but there is game to be shot, and
the solitude of the desert is now and then relieved by arrivals at
Mongolian _yourts_, or tents, where, conversation being the only form
of newspaper they know, there is a general wagging of tongues, and a
shower of questions to be asked. The Mongol’s one notion of wealth is
the number of a man’s flocks and herds; and thus, if the Englishman is
asked what he is worth, he has to translate his riches into thousands
of sheep, horses, and bulls, and then explain his possessions. Again,
the monotony of the way may be relieved occasionally by meeting with
the Russian post.[4]
The manners and customs of the Mongolians are, in many cases,
exceedingly interesting, as taking one back to the habits of a nomadic
and pastoral people. But it is not necessary to detail them here, as we
shall have before us, in a subsequent chapter, the Buriats, who are a
branch of the Mongolian race; and in treating of the one we shall be in
many respects treating also of the other.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] We owe some of our early geographical information about Eastern
Mongolia to the rupture between the Russians and Chinese on the Amur.
The Chinese took several prisoners, and transported them to Peking,
subsequently allowing Russian priests to be sent to minister to their
spiritual necessities. When, in course of time, the prisoners might
have returned, they had learned so to like their quarters, that
they chose to remain; whereupon “the spiritual mission” was kept
up by sending new priests at intervals of ten years, and thus the
Russians learned something of the unknown country through which these
functionaries travelled.
[2] Daniel De Foe made his celebrated “Robinson Crusoe” to re-visit
his island, and afterwards land in China, where he met with a Jesuit
missionary who took him to Peking. Then, crossing the desert, he came
to the Argun and Nertchinsk, and so proceeded to Tobolsk and crossed
the Urals to Archangel. This, of course, is fiction; but it may be
that De Foe, who was never abroad in his life, and who published his
“Robinson Crusoe” in 1719, had heard of a route used in his day across
the Mongolian desert. When we come to the interesting writings of the
Roman missionary Huc, we have, of course, a good deal of information
about Mongolia; but his route lay in the south along the great wall of
China towards the Himalayas, and not at all in the north.
[3] One is Mr. Howell, formerly a British resident in China, who
crossed from Shanghai to Kiakhta; another is Mr. Wylie, who was
connected with the British and Foreign Bible Society, and who crossed
from Kiakhta to Peking; but neither of these gentlemen has favoured the
public, as far as I am aware, with information as to his wanderings. In
1863 Mr. Michie undertook “the Siberian overland route from Peking to
St. Petersburg,” and wrote an account of his Mongolian travels, which
was the first English book that had appeared on that part of Asia. Mr.
Michie has been followed by three other English writers. In 1869, by
Mr. William Athenry Whyte, F.R.G.S., who wrote, “A Land Journey from
Asia to Europe, being an account of a camel and sledge journey from
Canton to St. Petersburg, through the plains of Mongolia and Siberia;”
in 1875-6, by Mr. John Milne, F.G.S., who crossed Europe and Siberia to
Kiakhta, Peking, and Shanghai, and read a paper concerning his journey
before the Asiatic Society of Japan; and, in 1877, by Captain W.
Shepherd, R.E., who returned “homeward through Mongolia and Siberia,”
and wrote a short account in the Royal Engineers’ Journal. I heard
some of these travellers spoken of by the residents in Siberia, and
the Russians seemed mightily surprised that Captain Shepherd should
have taken such a journey alone, and unable to speak a word of their
language. I suppose Messrs. Howell and Wylie did the same, but I have
heard of Captain Shepherd’s exploit as far away as the Crimea, and so
lately as last autumn.
[4] Postal communication was established by treaty between the Russians
and Chinese in 1858 and 1860. The Russian Government organized, at
its own expense, a regular transmission of both light and heavy mails
between Kiakhta, Peking, and Tien-tsin. The Mongols contract to carry
the post as far as Kalgan, the Chinese the rest of the way. The Russians
have opened post-offices at four places, Urga, Kalgan, Peking, and
Tien-tsin. The light mails leave Kiakhta and Tien-tsin three times a
month, the heavy mails only once a month. The heavy mails are carried
on camels, escorted by two Cossacks from Kiakhta; while the light mails
are accompanied only by Mongols, and are carried on horses. The light
mails are taken from Kiakhta to Peking in two weeks, whilst the heavy
mails take from 20 to 24 days; and the cost of all this to the Russian
Government is about £2,400 a year, the receipts at the four offices
amounting to about £430.