Departure of the Caravan--Encampment in a fertile Valley--Intensity of
the Cold--Meeting with numerous Pilgrims--Barbarous and Diabolical
Ceremonies of Lamanism--Project for the Lamasery of
Rache-Tchurin--Dispersion and rallying of the little Caravan--Anger of
Samdadchiemba--Aspect of the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin--Different Kinds
of Pilgrimages around the Lamaseries--Turning Prayers--Quarrel between
two Lamas--Similarity of the Soil--Description of the Tabsoun-Noor or
Salt Sea--Remarks on the Camels of Tartary.
The Tartar who had just taken his leave had informed us, that at a short
distance from the caverns we should find in a vale the finest pasturages
in the whole country of the Ortous. We resolved to depart. It was near
noon already when we started. The sky was clear, the sun brilliant; but
the temperature, still affected by the storm of the preceding day, was
cold and sharp. After having travelled for nearly two hours over a sandy
soil, deeply furrowed by the streams of rain, we entered, on a sudden, a
valley whose smiling, fertile aspect singularly contrasted with all that
we had hitherto seen among the Ortous. In the centre flowed an abundant
rivulet, whose sources were lost in the sand; and on both sides, the
hills, which rose like an amphitheatre, were covered with pasturage and
clumps of shrubs.
Though it was still early, we gave up all idea of continuing our journey
that day. The place was too beautiful to be passed by; besides, the
north wind had risen, and the air became intolerably cold. We pitched
our tent, therefore, in a corner, sheltered by the hills. From the
interior of the tent, our view extended, without obstruction, down the
valley, and we were thus enabled to watch our animals without moving.
After sunset, the violence of the wind increased, and the cold became
more and more intense. We thought it advisable to take some measures of
security. Whilst Samdadchiemba piled up large stones to consolidate the
borders of the tent, we went about the adjacent hills, and made, by aid
of a hatchet, an abundant provision of fuel. As soon as we had taken our
tea and our daily broth, we went to sleep. But sleep did not last long;
the cold became so severe that it soon roused us. "We can't remain so,"
said the Dchiahour; "if we don't want to die of cold on our goatskins, we
must get up and make a large fire." Samdadchiemba's words were full of
sense; it was not advisable to sleep at such a time, and accordingly we
rose, and added to our usual dress the great sheepskin robes that we had
bought at Blue Town.
Our fire of roots and green branches was hardly lighted, when we felt our
eyes as it were calcined by the biting acid influence of a thick smoke,
which filled the tent. We opened the door; but as this gave admission to
the wind, without getting rid of the smoke, we were soon obliged to shut
it again. Samdadchiemba was not in any way molested by the thick smoke,
which stifled us and drew burning tears from our eyes. He laughed
without pity at seeing us crouched by the fire, our heads bending over
our knees, and our faces buried in both hands. "My spiritual fathers,"
he said, "your eyes are large and bright, but they cannot endure a little
smoke; mine are small and ugly, but, never mind, they perform their
service very well." The jests of our camel driver were not much adapted
to cheer us up; we suffered dreadfully. Yet, amid our tribulations, we
saw occasion to feel our happiness to be very great. We could not
reflect without gratitude upon the goodness of Providence, which had led
us to caves, whose great value we now fully appreciated. If we had not
been able to dry our clothes, if we had been surprised by the cold in the
piteous state in which the storm had left us, we certainly could not have
lived long; we should have been frozen with our clothes in one immovable
block.
We did not think it prudent to proceed amid such severe cold, and to
leave an encampment, where at least our animals got sufficient herbage to
browse upon, and where fuel was abundant. Towards noon, the weather
having grown milder, we went out to cut wood on the hills. On our way we
observed that our animals had left the pasturage, and collected on the
banks of the rivulet. We at once conceived that they were tormented by
thirst, and that the stream being frozen, they could not quench it. We
bent our steps to them, and found, in fact, the camels eagerly licking
the surface of the ice, while the horse and the mule were kicking upon it
with their hard hoofs. The hatchet we had brought with us to cut wood,
served to break the ice, and to dig a small pond, where our animals could
quench their thirst.
Towards evening, the cold having resumed its intensity, we adopted a plan
for enabling us to obtain a better sleep than we had in the preceding
night. Until morning, the time was divided into three watches, and each
of us was charged, in turns, with keeping up a large fire in the tent,
while the others slept. Thus we did not feel much of the cold, and slept
in peace, without fear of setting our linen house on fire.
After two days of horrible cold the wind abated, and we resolved to
proceed on our way. It was only with great difficulty that we got down
our tent. The first nail that we tried to draw out, broke like glass
under the hammer. The sandy, humid soil on which we had made our
encampment, was so frozen that the nails stuck in it as if they had been
incrusted in stone. To uproot them, we were obliged to wet them several
times with boiling water.
At the time of our departure, the temperature was so mild that we were
fain to take off out skin coats, and to pack them up until further
occasion. Nothing is more frequent in Tartary than these sudden changes
of temperature. Sometimes the mildest weather is abruptly followed by
the most horrible frost. All that is needed for this is the falling of
snow, and the subsequent rise of the north wind. Any one not inured to
these sudden changes of the atmosphere, and not provided, in travelling,
with well-furred robes, is often exposed to dreadful accidents. In the
north of Mongolia especially, it is not unusual to find travellers frozen
to death amidst the desert.
On the fifteenth day of the new moon, we came upon numerous caravans,
following, like ourselves, the direction from east to west. The road was
filled with men, women, and children, riding on camels or oxen. They
were all repairing, they said, to the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin. When
they had asked whether our journey had the same object, they were
surprised at receiving an answer in the negative. These numerous
pilgrims, the astonishment they showed upon hearing that we were not
going to the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin, excited our curiosity. At the
turn of a defile, we overtook an old Lama, who, laden with a heavy pack,
seemed to make his way with great labour and pain. "Brother," said we,
"you are old; your black hairs are not so numerous as the grey.
Doubtless your fatigue must be extreme. Place your burden upon one of
our camels; that will relieve you a little." Upon hearing these words
the old man prostrated himself before us, in order to express his
gratitude. We made a camel kneel, and Samdadchiemba added to our baggage
that of the Lama. So soon as the pilgrim was relieved from the weight
which had oppressed him, his walk became more elastic, and an expression
of satisfaction was diffused over his countenance. "Brother," said we,
"we are from the West, and the affairs of your country not being well
known to us, we are astonished at finding so many pilgrims here in the
desert." "We are all going to Rache-Tchurin," replied he, in accents
full of emotion. "Doubtless," said we, "some grand solemnity calls you
together?" "Yes, to-morrow will be a great day: a Lama Bokte will
manifest his power: kill himself, yet not die." We at once understood
what solemnity it was that thus attracted the Ortous-Tartars. A Lama was
to cut himself open, take out his entrails and place them before him, and
then resume his previous condition. This spectacle, so cruel and
disgusting, is very common in the Lamaseries of Tartary. The Bokte who
is to manifest his power, as the Mongols phrase it, prepares himself for
the formidable operation by many days fasting and prayer, pending which,
he must abstain from all communication whatever with mankind, and observe
the most absolute silence. When the appointed day is come, the multitude
of pilgrims assemble in the great court of the Lamasery, where an altar
is raised in front of the Temple-gate. At length the Bokte appears. He
advances gravely, amid the acclamations of the crowd, seats himself upon
the altar, and takes from his girdle a large knife which he places upon
his knees. At his feet, numerous Lamas, ranged in a circle, commence the
terrible invocations of this frightful ceremony. As the recitation of
the prayers proceeds, you see the Bokte trembling in every limb, and
gradually working himself up into phrenetic convulsions. The Lamas
themselves become excited: their voices are raised; their song observes
no order, and at last becomes a mere confusion of yelling and outcry.
Then the Bokte suddenly throws aside the scarf which envelopes him,
unfastens his girdle, and seizing the sacred knife, slits open his
stomach, in one long cut. While the blood flows in every direction, the
multitude prostrate themselves before the terrible spectacle, and the
enthusiast is interrogated about all sorts of hidden things, as to future
events, as to the destiny of certain personages. The replies of the
Bokte to all these questions are regarded, by everybody, as oracles.
When the devout curiosity of the numerous pilgrims is satisfied, the
Lamas resume, but now calmly and gravely, the recitation of their
prayers. The Bokte takes, in his right hand, blood from his wound,
raises it to his mouth, breathes thrice upon it, and then throws it into
the air, with loud cries. He next passes his hand rapidly over his
wound, closes it, and everything after a while resumes its pristine
condition, no trace remaining of the diabolical operation, except extreme
prostration. The Bokte once more rolls his scarf round him, recites in a
low voice, a short prayer; then all is over, and the multitude disperse,
with the exception of a few of the especially devout, who remain to
contemplate and to adore the blood-stained altar which the Saint has
quitted.
These horrible ceremonies are of frequent occurrence in the great
Lamaseries of Tartary and Thibet, and we do not believe that there is any
trick or deception about them; for from all we have seen and heard, among
idolatrous nations, we are persuaded that the devil has a great deal to
do with the matter; and moreover, our impression that there is no trick
in the operation is fortified by the opinion of the most intelligent and
most upright Buddhists whom we have met in the numerous Lamaseries we
visited.
It is not every Lama that can perform miraculous operations. Those who
have the fearful power to cut themselves open, for example, are never
found in the higher ranks of the Lama hierarchy. They are generally lay
Lamas of indifferent character, and little esteemed by their comrades.
The regular Lamas generally make no scruple to avow their horror of the
spectacle. In their eyes, all these operations are wicked and
diabolical. Good Lamas, they say, are incapable of performing such acts,
and should not even desire to attain the impious talent.
Though these demoniac operations are, in general, decried in
well-regulated Lamaseries, yet the superiors do not prohibit them. On
the contrary, there are certain days in the year set apart for the
disgusting spectacle. Interest is, doubtless, the only motive which
could induce the Grand Lamas to favour actions which in their conscience
they reprove. The fact is, that these diabolical displays are an
infallible means of collecting together a swarm of stupid and ignorant
devotees, who communicate renown to the Lamasery, and enrich it with the
numerous offerings which the Tartars never fail to bring with them on
such occasions.
Cutting open the abdomen is one of the most famous _sie-fa_
(supernaturalisms) possessed by the Lamas. There are others of the same
class, less imposing, but more common; these are practised in people's
houses, privately, and not at the great solemnities of the Lamaseries.
For example, they heat irons red-hot, and then lick them with impunity;
they make incisions in various parts of the body, which an instant
afterwards leave no trace behind, etc. All these operations have to be
preceded by the recitation of some prayer.
We knew a Lama who, according to every one's belief, could fill a vase
with water, by the mere agency of a prayer; but we could never induce him
to try the experiment in our presence. He told us that as we held not
the same faith with him, the experiment, in our company, would not be
merely fruitless, but would expose him to serious danger. One day,
however, he recited to us the prayer of his sie-fa. It was brief, but we
readily recognised in it a direct appeal to the assistance of the demon.
"I know thee, thou knowest me;" thus it ran: "Come old friend, do what I
ask of thee. Bring water, and fill the vase I hold out to thee. To fill
a vase with water, what is that to thy vast power! I know thou chargest
dear for a vase of water; but never mind: do what I ask of thee, and fill
the vase I present to thee. Some time hence we'll come to a reckoning:
on the appointed day thou shalt receive thy due." It sometimes happens
that the appeal remains without effect: in such cases, praying is
discontinued, and the being invoked is assailed with insults and
imprecations.
The famous sie-fa that was now attracting so large a number of pilgrims
to the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin, inspired us with the idea of repairing
thither also, and of neutralizing, by our prayers, the satanic
invocations of the Lamas. Who knows, said we to each other, who knows
but that God even now has designs of mercy towards the Mongols of the
Ortous land; perhaps the sight of their Lama's power, fettered and
overcome by the presence of the priests of Jesus Christ, will strike upon
the hearts of these people, and make them renounce the lying creed of
Buddha, and embrace the faith of Christianity! To encourage each other
in this design, we dwelt upon the history of Simon Magus, arrested in his
flight by the prayer of St. Peter, and precipitated from the air to the
feet of his admirers. Of course, poor missionaries, such as we, had not
the insane pretension to compare ourselves with the prince of the
Apostles; but we knew that the protection of God, which is sometimes
granted in virtue of the merit and sanctity of him who seeks it, is also
often accorded to the omnipotent effacity in prayer itself.
We resolved, therefore, to go to Rache-Tchurin, to mingle with the crowd,
and, at the moment when the diabolical invocations should commence, to
place ourselves, fearlessly, and with an air of authority before the
Bokte, and to solemnly forbid him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to make a
display of his detestable power. We did not disguise from ourselves the
possible results of this proceeding; we knew that it would assuredly
excite the fury and hatred of the adorers of Buddha; and that perhaps a
violent death would be an instant reward for the endeavour to convert
these Tartars; "But what matter!" exclaimed we; "let us do courageously
our work as missionaries; let us employ fearlessly the power that we have
received from on high, and leave to Providence the care of a future which
does not appertain to us."
Such were our intentions and our hopes; but the views of God are not
always in conformity with the designs of man, even when these appear most
in harmony with the plan of His Providence. That very day there happened
to us an accident which, carrying us far away from Rache-Tchurin,
involved us in the most distressing perplexities.
In the evening, the old Lama who was travelling with us asked us to make
the camel kneel, so that he might take his pack from its back.
"Brother," said we, "are we not going to journey together to the Lamasery
of Rache-Tchurin?" "No; I must follow the path which you see meandering
towards the north, along those hills. Behind that sand-hill is a trading
place, where, upon festival days, a few Chinese merchants set up their
tents and sell goods. As I want to make a few purchases, I cannot
continue to walk in your shadow." "Can we buy flour at the Chinese
encampment?" "Millet, oatmeal, flour, beef, mutton, tea-bricks,
everything is sold there." Not having been able to purchase provisions
since our departure from Tchagan-Kouren, we considered this a favourable
opportunity for supplying our deficiency in this respect. In order not
to fatigue our beasts of burden with a long circuit across stony hills,
M. Gabet took the flour-sacks upon his camel, separated from the caravan,
and went off at a gallop towards the Chinese post. According to the
indications furnished by the old Lama, he was to meet us again in a
valley at no great distance from the Lamasery.
After travelling for nearly an hour along a rugged road, continually
intersected by pits and quagmires, the Missionary Purveyor reached the
small heath, on which he found a number of Chinese encamped, some of
their tents serving as shops, and the rest as dwellings. The encampment
presented the appearance of a small town full of trade and activity, the
customers being the Lamas of Rache-Tchurin and the Mongol pilgrims. M.
Gabet speedily effected his purchases; and having filled his sacks with
flour, and hung two magnificent sheep's' livers over one of the camel's
humps, rode off to the place where it had been arranged the caravan
should await him. He soon reached the spot, but he found no person
there, and no trace of man or beast having recently passed was visible on
the sand. Imagining that perhaps some derangement of the camels' loads
had delayed our progress, he turned into the road, which it had been
agreed we should follow; but it was to no purpose that he hastened along
it, that he galloped here and there, that he ascended every hill he came
to,--he could see nothing; and the cries he uttered to attract our
attention remained unanswered. He visited several points where various
roads met, but he found merely another confusion of the steps of horses,
camels, oxen, sheep, tending in every direction, and crossing and
recrossing each other, so that he was left, at last, without even a
conjecture.
By-and-by be recalled to mind that our aim, as last resolved, had been
the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin; he turned round, and perceiving the
Lamasery in the distance, hurried thither as fast as he could go. When
he reached the structure, which stood in the form of an amphitheatre upon
the slope of a hill, he looked every where for us, and asked everybody
about us, for here, at least, there was no lack of persons from whom to
seek information, and our little caravan was composed in a manner likely
to attract the attention of those who saw it at all: two laden camels, a
white horse, and, above all, a black mule, that everyone we passed
stopped to remark, on account of its extreme diminutiveness, and the
splendid tint of its skin. M. Gabet inquired and inquired, but to no
purpose; no one had seen our caravan. He ascended to the summit of the
hill, whence the eye extended over a large expanse, but he could see
nothing at all like us.
The sun set, yet the caravan did not appear. M. Gabet beginning to fear
that some serious accident had befallen it, once more set off, and
searched in every direction, up hill and down dale, but he could see
nothing of us, and learn nothing of us, from the travellers whom he met.
The night advanced, and soon the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin disappeared in
the darkness. M. Gabet found himself alone in the desert, without path
and without shelter, fearing alike to advance or to recede, lest he
should fall into some abyss. He was fain, therefore, to stop where he
was, in a narrow, sandy defile, and to pass the night there. By way of
supper, he had to content himself with an _Impression de Voyage_. Not
that provisions were wanting, by any means, but fire was, and water.
Besides, the feeling of hunger was superseded by the anxieties which
afflicted his heart as to the caravan. He knelt on the sand, said his
evening prayer, and then lay down his head upon one of the flour-sacks
beside the camel, keeping its bridle round his arm lest the animal should
stray during the night. It is needless to add that his sleep was neither
sound nor continuous; the cold, bare ground is not a very eligible bed,
especially for a man preyed upon by dark anxieties.
With the earliest dawn, M. Gabet mounted his camel, and though well nigh
exhausted with hunger and fatigue, proceeded anew in search of his
companions.
The caravan was not lost, though it was terribly astray. After M. Gabet
had quitted us, in order to visit the Chinese post, we at first exactly
followed the right path; but before long we entered upon a vast steppe,
all trace of road insensibly faded away amidst sand so fine that the
slightest wind made it undulate like sea-waves; there was no vestige upon
it of the travellers who had preceded us. By-and-by the road disappeared
altogether, and we found ourselves environed with yellow hills, which
presented not the slightest suggestion even of vegetation. M. Huc,
fearing to lose himself amid these sands, stopped the cameleer.
"Samdadchiemba," said he, "do not let us proceed at random. You see
yonder, in the valley, that Tartar horseman driving a herd of oxen; go
and ask him the way to Rache-Tchurin." Samdadchiemba raised his head,
and looked for a moment, closing one eye, at the sun, which was veiled
with some passing clouds. "My spiritual father," said he, "I am
accustomed to wander about the desert; my opinion is, that we are quite
in the right road: let us continue our course westward, and we cannot go
astray." "Well, well, since you think you know the desert, keep on."
"Oh, yes; don't be afraid. You see that long, white line on the mountain
yonder? that's the road, after its issue from the sands."
On Samdadchiemba's assurance, we continued to advance in the same
direction. We soon came to a road as he had promised, but it was a road
disused, upon which we could see no person to confirm or contradict the
assertion of Samdadchiemba, who persisted that we were on the way to
Rache-Tchurin. The sun set, and the twilight gradually gave place to the
darkness of night, without our discovering the least indication of the
Lamasery, or, which surprised us still more, of M. Gabet, who, according
to the information of the old Lama, ought to have rejoined us long ago.
Samdadchiemba was silent, for he now saw that we had lost our way.
It was important to encamp before the night had altogether closed in.
Perceiving a well at the end of a hollow, we set up our tent beside it.
By the time our linen-house was in order, and the baggage piled, the
night had completely set in; yet M. Gabet had not appeared. "Get on a
camel," said M. Huc to Samdadchiemba, "and look about for M. Gabet." The
Dchiahour made no reply; he was thoroughly disconcerted and depressed.
Driving a stake into the ground, he fastened one of the camels to it, and
mounting upon the other, departed mournfully in quest of our friend. He
had scarcely got out of sight, when the camel that was left behind,
finding itself alone, sent forth the most frightful cries; by-and-by it
became furious; it turned round and round the stake, backed to the very
limit of the rope and of its long neck, made longer by painful extension,
and applied every effort to get rid of the wooden curl that was passed
through its nose: the spectacle of its struggle was really frightful. At
last it succeeded in breaking the cord, and then dashed off boundingly
into the desert. The horse and mule had also disappeared; they were
hungry and thirsty; and about the tent there was not a blade of grass,
not a drop of water. The well beside which we had encamped was perfectly
dry; in fact, it was nothing more than an old cistern which had probably
been for years useless.
Thus our little caravan, which for nearly two months had journeyed,
without once separating, through the desert plains of Tartary, was now
utterly dispersed; man and beast--all had disappeared. There remained
only M. Huc, solitary in his little linen-house, and a prey to the most
corroding anxieties. For a whole day he had neither eaten nor drunk; but
under such circumstances you do not ordinarily feel either hunger or
thirst; the mind is too full to give any place to the suggestions of the
body; you seem environed with a thousand fearful phantoms: and great
indeed were your desolation, but that you have for your safety and your
consolation, prayer, the sole lever that can raise from off your heart
the weight of sombre apprehensions that would otherwise crush it.
The hours passed on, and no one returned. As, in the obscurity of night,
persons might pass quite close to the tent, and yet not see it, M. Huc,
from time to time, ascended the adjacent hills and rocks, and, in his
loudest tones, called out the names of his lost companions, but no one
replied; all still was silence, and solitude. It was near midnight, when
at length the plaintive cries of a camel, apparently remonstrating
against being driven so fast, were heard in the distance. Samdadchiemba
soon came up. He had met several Tartar horsemen who had no tidings,
indeed, of M. Gabet, but from whom he learned that we had gone altogether
astray; that the road we were pursuing led to a Mongol encampment, in
precisely the contrary direction to Rache-Tchurin. "By day-break," said
Samdadchiemba, "we must raise the tent, and find the right path; we shall
there, no doubt, meet the elder spiritual father." "Samdadchiemba, your
advice is a bubble; the tent and the baggage must remain here, for the
excellent reason, that they cannot be moved without animals." "Animals!"
exclaimed the Dchiahour, "where, then, is the camel I fastened to the
stake?" "It broke the rope and ran away; the horse and the mule have run
away too, and I have not the least idea where any of them are to be
sought." "This is a pretty business," grumbled the cameleer; "however,
when day breaks we must see what can be done. Meanwhile, let us make a
little tea." "Make tea, by all means, if you can make tea without water,
but water there is none; the well is perfectly dry." This announcement
completed the discomfiture of poor Samdadchiemba; he sank back quite
exhausted upon the baggage, and his weariness soon threw him into deep
slumber.
With the first streaks of dawn, M. Huc ascended an adjacent hill in the
hope of discovering something or somebody. He perceived, in a distant
valley, two animals, one black, one white; he hastened to them, and found
our horse and mule browsing on some thin, dusty grass, beside a cistern
of soft water. When he led the animals back to the tent, the sun was
about to rise, but Samdadchiemba still slumbered, lying in exactly the
same position which he had assumed when he went to sleep.
"Samdadchiemba," cried M. Huc, "won't you have some tea this morning?"
At the word tea, our cameleer jumped up as though he had been
electrified; he looked round, his eyes still heavy with sleep, "Did not
the spiritual father mention tea? Where is the tea? Did I dream I was
going to have some tea?" "I don't know whether you dreamed it, but tea
you may have, if you wish, as there is soft water in the valley yonder,
where, just now, I found the horse and the mule. Do you go and fetch
some water, while I light the fire." Samdadchiemba joyfully adopted the
proposition, and putting the buckets over his shoulders, hastened to the
cistern.
When tea was ready, Samdadchiemba became quite comfortable; he was
absorbed with his beloved beverage, and seemed to have altogether
forgotten the disruption of the caravan. It was necessary, however, to
recall the circumstance to him, in order that he might go in search of
the camel that had run away.
Nearly one half the day elapsed, yet his companions did not rejoin M.
Huc. From time to time there passed Tartar horsemen or pilgrims
returning from the festival of Rache-Tchurin. Of these M. Huc inquired
whether they had not seen, in the vicinity of the Lamasery, a Lama
dressed in a yellow robe and a red jacket, and mounted on a red camel.
"The Lama," said he, "is very tall, with a great grey beard, a long
pointed nose, and a red face." To this description, there was a general
answer in the negative: "Had we seen such a personage," said the
travellers, "we should certainly have remarked him."
At length, M. Gabet appeared on the slope of a hill; from its summit he
had recognised our blue tent pitched in the valley, and he galloped
towards his recovered companion as fast as his camel could go. After a
brief, animated conversation, wherein both spoke and neither answered, we
burst into a hearty laugh at the misadventure thus happily terminated.
The reorganization of the caravan was completed before sunset, by
Samdadchiemba's return with the missing camel, which, after a long round,
he had found fastened to a tent; the Tartar, who owned the tent, having
seen the animal running away, had caught it and secured it until some one
should claim it.
Though the day was far advanced, we determined to remove, for the place
where we had encamped was miserable beyond all expression. Not a blade
of grass was to be seen, and the water I had discovered was at so great a
distance, that it involved quite a journey to fetch it. "Besides," said
we, "if we can only, before night, manage to get within sight of the
right road, it will be a great point gained." Our departure thus
determined, we sat down to tea. The conversation naturally turned upon
the vexatious mischance which had given us so much fatigue and trouble.
Already more than once, on our journey, the intractable, obstinate
temperament of Samdadchiemba had been the occasion of our losing our way.
Mounted on his little mule, as we have described, it was he who led the
caravan, preceding the beasts of burden. Upon his assumption that he
thoroughly understood the four cardinal points, and that he was perfectly
conversant with the deserts of Mongolia, he would never condescend to
inquire the route from persons whom he met, and we not unfrequently
suffered from his self opinion. We were resolved, therefore, to convert
the accident which had just befallen us, into the basis of a warning to
our guide. "Samdadchiemba," said we, "listen with attention to the
important advice we are about to impart. Though in your youth you may
have travelled a good deal in Mongolia, it does not follow that you are
master of all the routes; distrust, therefore, your own conjectures, and
be more willing to consult the Tartars whom we meet. If yesterday, for
example, you had asked the way, if you had not persisted in your practice
of being guided wholly by the course of the sun, we should not have
endured so much misery." Samdadchiemba made no reply.
We then got up to make the preparations for departure. When we had put
in order the different articles that had been confusedly thrown about the
tent, we remarked that the Dchiahour was not occupied, as usual, in
saddling the camels. We went to see what he was about, and to our great
surprise found him tranquilly seated upon a large stone behind the tent.
"Well!" exclaimed we, "has it not been determined that we are to encamp
elsewhere this evening? What are you seated on that stone for?"
Samdadchiemba made no reply; he did not even raise his eyes, but kept
them fixedly directed towards the ground. "Samdadchiemba, what is the
matter with you? Why don't you saddle the camels?" "If you wish to go,"
replied he drily, "you can go; as for me, I remain here. I cannot any
longer accompany you. I am, it seems, a wicked man, devoid of
conscience; what occasion can you have for such a person?" We were
greatly surprised to hear this from a young neophyte who had seemed so
attached to us. We, however, thought it best to attempt no persuasion,
lest we should aggravate the sullen pride of his character, and render
him still more indocile for the future. We accordingly proceeded to do
the necessary work ourselves.
We had already folded the tent and packed it on a camel, not a word being
spoken by any of the party. Samdadchiemba remained seated on the stone,
covering his face with his hands, and probably watching through his
fingers how we got on with the labour which he was accustomed to fulfil.
When he saw that we were doing very well without him, he rose, without
uttering a word, loaded the other camel, saddled his own mule, mounted
it, and led the way as usual. M. Gabet and M. Huc exchanged smiles, but
they said nothing, for they feared that any observations at that moment
might irritate a temperament which evidently required the greatest care
in its management.
We halted in a spot beside the road, not very magnificent, certainly, as
a station, but at all events, infinitely preferable to the ravine of
desolation in which we had experienced such misery. There was this great
blessing, that we were once more united; an immense satisfaction in the
desert, and which we had never sufficiently appreciated until the
occurrence of the mischance that had for a while separated us. We
celebrated the occasion by a splendid banquet, of which the flour and
sheep's liver, purchased by M. Gabet, formed the basis. This
unaccustomed treat relaxed the frowning brow of Samdadchiemba, who
applied himself to the culinary arrangements with absolute enthusiasm,
and effected, with very limited resources, a supper of several courses.
Next morning, at daybreak, we were in motion. We had not proceeded far
when we discovered before us, outlined on the yellow ground of a sandy
hill, several large buildings, surrounded with a multitude of white huts.
This was the Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin, which, as we approached it,
seemed to us a well-built, well-kept place. The three Buddhist temples
which rise from the centre of the establishment, are of elegant, of
majestic construction. The entrance to the principal temple is through a
square tower of colossal proportions, at each angle of which is a
monstrous dragon, elaborately carved in stone. We traversed the Lamasery
from one end to the other, along the chief streets. There was throughout
religious and solemn silence. The only persons we saw were a few Lamas
enveloped in their large red scarfs, who, after giving us the salutation
of the day in a tone scarce above a whisper, gravely continued their
melancholy walk.
[Picture: Lamasery of Rache-Tchurin]
Towards the western extremity of the Lamasery, Samdadchiemba's little
mule shied, and then dashed off at a gallop, followed in its irregular
flight, by the two baggage camels. The animals on which we were mounted
were equally alarmed. All this disorder was occasioned by a young Lama,
who was stretched at full length in the middle of the street, performing
a rite in great vogue among the Buddhists, and which consists in making
the circuit of a Lamasery, prostrating yourself, with your forehead to
the ground, at every single step you make. Sometimes the number of
devotees performing together this painful pilgrimage is perfectly
prodigious; they follow each other, in Indian file, along a narrow path
which encircles the entire Lamasery and its appendant buildings. Any one
who deviates in the slightest degree from the prescribed line, is
considered to have failed in his devotion, and loses all the fruit he
would otherwise have derived from his previous toil. Where the Lamasery
is of any extent, the devotees have hard work to get through the ceremony
in the course of a long day; so that the pilgrims, who have undertaken
this exercise, and have started early in the morning, think themselves
lucky if they can complete the operation by nightfall. For the
pilgrimage must be performed without intermission, so strictly, that the
pilgrims are not allowed to stop for a moment even to take a little
nourishment. If, after commencing the rite you do not complete it
offhand, it does not count; you have acquired no merit, and you are not
to expect any spiritual profit.
Each prostration must be perfect, so that the body shall be stretched
flat along the ground, and the forehead touch the earth, the arms being
spread out before you, and the hands joined, as if in prayer. Before
rising, the pilgrim describes each time a semi-circle on the ground by
means of a goat's horn, which he holds in either hand, the line being
completed by drawing the arm down to the side. You cannot but feel
infinite compassion when you look upon these wretched creatures, their
face and clothes all covered with dust or mud. The most inclement
weather will not check their intrepid devotion; they continue their
prostrations amid snow and rain and the most piercing cold.
There are various modes of performing the pilgrimage round a Lamasery.
Some pilgrims do not prostrate themselves at all, but carry, instead, a
load of prayer-books, the exact weight of which is prescribed them by the
Great Lama, and the burden of which is so oppressive at times that you
see old men, women, and children absolutely staggering under it. When,
however, they have successfully completed the circuit, they are deemed to
have recited all the prayers contained in the books they have carried.
Others content themselves with simply walking the circuit, telling the
beads of their long chaplets, or constantly turning a sort of wheel,
placed in the right hand, and which whirls about with inconceivable
rapidity. This instrument is called Tchu-Kor, (turning prayer.) You see
in every brook a number of these Tchu-Kor, which are turned by the
current, and in their movement are reputed to be praying, night and day,
for the benefit of those who erect them. The Tartars suspend them over
the fire-place, and these in their movements are supposed to pray for the
peace and prosperity of the whole family, emblemed by the hearth. The
movement itself is effected by the through draught occasioned by the
openings at the top of the tent.
[Picture: Turning Prayers]
The Buddhists have another mode of simplifying pilgrimages and devotional
rites. In all the great Lamaseries you find at short intervals figures
in the form of barrels, and turning upon an axle. The material of these
figures is a thick board, composed of infinite sheets of paper pasted
together, and upon which are written in Thibetian characters the prayers
most reputed throughout the country. Those who have not the taste, or
the zeal, or the strength to carry huge boards of books on their
shoulders, or to prostrate themselves, step after step, in the dust and
mire, or to walk round the Lamasery in winter's cold or summer's heat,
have recourse to the simple and expeditious medium of the prayer barrel.
All they have to do is to set it in motion; it then turns of itself for a
long time, the devotees drinking, eating, or sleeping, while the
complacent mechanism is turning prayers for them.
One day, on approaching a prayer barrel, we found two Lamas quarrelling
furiously, and just on the point of coming to blows, the occasion being
the fervour of each for prayer. One of them having set the prayer
automaton in motion, had quietly returned to his cell. As he was
entering it he turned his head, doubtless to enjoy the spectacle of the
fine prayers he had set to work for himself, but to his infinite disgust,
he saw a colleague stopping his prayers, and about to turn on the barrel
on his own account. Indignant at this pious fraud, he ran back, and
stopped his competitor's prayers. Thus it went on for some time, the one
turning on, the other stopping the barrel, without a word said on either
side. At last, however, their patience exhausted, they came to high
words; from words they proceeded to menaces, and it would doubtless have
come to a fight, had not an old Lama, attracted by the uproar, interposed
words of peace, and himself put the automaton in motion for the joint
benefit of both parties.
Besides the pilgrims whose devotion is exercised within or about the
Lamaseries, you find many who have undertaken fearfully long journeys,
which they execute with a prostration at every step. Sad and lamentable
is it to see these unhappy victims of error enduring, to no purpose, such
terrible and painful labours; one's heart is pierced with grief, and
one's soul impressed with yearning for the day when these poor Tartars
shall consecrate to the service of the true God that religious energy
which they daily waste upon a vain and lying creed. We had hoped to
profit by the solemnities at Rache-Tchurin to announce the true faith to
the Ortous; but such was doubtless not the will of God, since He had
permitted us to lose our way on the very day which seemed most favourable
for our project. We accordingly passed through the Lamasery of
Rache-Tchurin without stopping, eager as we were to arrive at the very
source of that immense superstition, of which, as yet, we had only
witnessed a few shallow streams.
At a short distance from Rache-Tchurin we reached a road well marked out,
and covered with travellers. It was not, however, devotion that had set
these people in motion, as it had the pilgrims whom we saw at the
Lamasery; mere matter of business was leading them towards the
Dabsoun-Noor, (the Salt Lake,) celebrated throughout Western Mantchou,
and which supplies with salt, not only the adjacent Tartars, but also
several provinces of the Chinese Empire.
For a day's journey before you reach Dabsoun-Noor the soil changes by
degrees its form and aspect; losing its yellow tint, it becomes
insensibly white, as though thinly covered with snow. The earth swelling
in every direction, forms innumerable hillocks, cone-shaped, and of a
regularity so perfect that you might suppose them to have been
constructed by the hand of man. Sometimes they are grouped in heaps, one
on the other, like pears piled on a plate; they are of all sizes, some
but just created, others old, exhausted, and falling to decay. Around
these excrescences grow creeping thorns, long-pointed, without flowers or
leaves, which, intertwining spirally, surmount them with a sort of
net-work cap. These thorns are never found elsewhere than about these
hillocks; upon those of more recent growth they are firm, vigorous, and
full of shoots. Upon the elder elevations they are dried up, calcined by
the nitre, brittle, and in shreds.
As you look upon these numerous mounds, covered with a thick
efflorescence of nitre, it is obvious to your sense that beneath the
surface, and at no great depth, some great chemical operation is in
progress. Springs, generally so rare in the Ortous country, are here of
frequent occurrence, but the water is for the most part excessively salt.
Here and there, however, by the very side of a brackish pool, there is a
spring of soft, sweet, delicious water; all such are indicated to
travellers by a small flag, fluttering from the end of a long pole.
Dabsoun-Noor is not so much a lake as a reservoir of mineral salt, mixed
with nitrous effloresence. The latter, in colour pale white, and
crumbling between the fingers, is easily distinguishable from the salt,
which is of a grey tint, and glitters like crystal when broken.
Dabsoun-Noor is about twenty lis in circumference. Around it, at
intervals, are the tents occupied by the Mongols who work it, and the
Chinese who have thrust themselves in as partners. It were difficult
indeed to find any description of industry or commerce within a certain
range of their own country in which the Chinese do not contrive to have a
hand. The manipulation to which the salt is subjected requires neither
great labour nor great science. All the workers do is to pick it up as
it comes in the reservoir, to pile it, and, when the heap is of a certain
size, to cover it with a thin coating of potter's earth. When the salt
has sufficiently purified itself, the Tartars convey it to the nearest
Chinese mart and exchange it for tea, tobacco, brandy, and other
commodities. In the locality itself salt is of no value: at every step
you see lumps of it, sometimes of remarkable purity. We filled a bag
with these for our own use and for that of the camels, which are all very
fond of salt. We traversed Dabsoun-Noor throughout its breadth from east
to west, and we had to take the utmost precaution as we proceeded over
its loose, and at times almost moving, soil. The Tartars recommended us
not to deviate in the least from the path we should find marked out, and
by all means to avoid any places where we should see the water bubbling
up, for there they informed us, were gulfs which they had frequently
endeavoured to sound, but without result. This statement induced us to
believe that there is a noor, or lake, here, but that it is underground,
the place called Dabsoun-Noor being merely the covering or roof of the
lake, composed of the saline and saltpetrous matter produced by the
constant evaporation of the subterranean waters. Foreign matter, brought
by the wind, and consolidated by the rain, would in the lapse of time
form a crust upon such a roof strong enough to bear the caravans that
incessantly traverse Dabsoun-Noor.
This great salt mine seems to pervade with its influence the whole Ortous
district, throughout whose extent the water is brackish, the soil arid,
and the surface encrusted with saline matter. This absence of rich
pasturage and fresh water is very adverse to the growth of cattle; but
the camel, whose robust and hardy temperament adapts itself to the most
sterile regions, affords compensation to the Tartars of the Ortous. This
animal, a perfect treasure to the dwellers in the desert, can remain a
fortnight, or even a month, without eating or drinking. However wretched
the land may be on which it is put to feed, it can always find wherewith
to satisfy its hunger, especially if the soil be impregnated with salt or
nitre. Things that no other animal will touch, to it are welcome; briars
and thorns, dry wood itself, supply it with efficient food.
Though it costs so little to keep, the camel is of an utility
inconceivable to those who are not acquainted with the countries in which
Providence has placed it. Its ordinary load is from 700 to 800 lbs., and
it can carry this load ten leagues a day. Those, indeed, which are
employed to carry dispatches, are expected to travel eighty leagues per
diem, but then they only carry the dispatch bearer. In several countries
of Tartary the carriages of the kings and princes are drawn by camels,
and sometimes they are harnessed to palanquins; but this can only be done
in the level country. The fleshy nature of their feet does not permit
them to climb mountains, when they have a carriage or litter of any sort
to draw after them.
The training of the young camel is a business requiring great care and
attention. For the first week of its life it can neither stand nor suck
without some helping hand. Its long neck is then of such excessive
flexibility and fragility, that it runs the risk of dislocating it,
unless some one is at hand to sustain the head while it sucks the teats
of its dam.
The camel, born to servitude, seems impressed from its birth, with a
sense of the yoke it is destined to bear through life. You never see the
young camel playing and frolicking about, as you see kids, colts, and
other young animals. It is always grave, melancholy, and slow in its
movements, which it never hastens, unless under compulsion. In the
night, and often in the day also, it sends forth a mournful cry, like
that of an infant in pain. It seems to feel that joy or recreation are
not within its portion; that its inevitable career is forced labour and
long fastings, until death shall relieve it.
The maturation of the camel is a long affair. It cannot carry even a
single rider until its third year; and it is not in full vigour until it
is eight years old. Its trainers then begin to try it with loads,
gradually heavier and heavier. If it can rise with its burden, this is a
proof that it can carry it throughout the journey. When that journey is
only of brief duration, they sometimes load the animal in excess, and
then they aid it to rise by means of bars and levers. The camel's
capacity for labour endures for a long time. Provided that at certain
periods of the year it is allowed a short holiday for pasturing at its
leisure, it will continue its service for fully fifty years.
Nature has provided the camel with no means of defence against other
animals, unless you may so consider its piercing, prolonged cry, and its
huge, shapeless, ugly frame, which resembles, at a distance, a heap of
ruins. It seldom kicks, and when it does, it almost as seldom inflicts
any injury. Its soft, fleshy foot cannot wound, or even bruise you;
neither can the camel bite an antagonist. In fact, its only practical
means of defence against man or beast is a sort of vehement sneeze,
wherewith it discharges, from nose and mouth, a mass of filth against the
object which it seeks to intimidate or to annoy.
Yet the entire male camels, _bore_ as the Tartars call them, (_temen_
being the generic appellation of the animal), are very formidable during
the twelfth moon, which is their rutting time. At this period, their
eyes are inflamed; an oily, fetid humour exhales from their heads; their
mouths are constantly foaming; and they eat and drink absolutely nothing
whatever. In this state of excitement they rush at whatever presents
itself, man or beast, with a fierceness of precipitation which it is
impossible to avoid or to resist; and when they have overthrown the
object they have pursued, they pound it beneath the weight of their
bodies. The epoch passed, the camel resumes its ordinary gentleness, and
the routine of its laborious career.
The females do not produce young until their sixth or seventh year; the
period of gestation is fourteen months. The Tartars geld most of their
male camels, which, by this operation, acquire a greater development of
strength, height, and size. Their voices become at the same time thinner
and lower, in some instances wholly lost; and the hair is shorter and
finer than that of the entire camels.
The awkward aspect of the camel, the excessive stench of its breath, its
heavy, ungraceful movements, its projecting hare-lips, the callosities
which disfigure various parts of its body, all contribute to render its
appearance repulsive; yet its extreme gentleness and docility, and the
services it renders to man, render it of pre-eminent utility, and make us
forget its deformity.
Notwithstanding the apparent softness of its feet, the camel can walk
upon the most rugged ground, upon sharp flints, or thorns, or roots of
trees, without wounding itself. Yet, if too long a journey is
continuously imposed upon it, if after a certain march you do not give it
a few days' rest, the outer skin wears off, the flesh is bared, and the
blood flows. Under such distressing circumstances, the Tartars make
sheep-skin shoes for it, but this assistance is unavailing without rest;
for if you attempt to compel the camel to proceed, it lies down, and you
are compelled either to remain with or to abandon it.
There is nothing which the camel so dreads as wet, marshy ground. The
instant it places its feet upon anything like mud, it slips and slides,
and, generally, after staggering about like a drunken man, falls heavily
on its sides.
When about to repose, it kneels down, folds its fore legs symmetrically
under its body, and stretches out its long neck before it on the ground.
In this position, it looks just like a monstrous snail.
Every year, towards the close of spring, the camel sheds its hair, every
individual bristle of which disappears before a single sprout of the new
stock comes up. For twenty days the animal remains completely bare, as
though it had been closely shaved all over, from the top of the head to
the extremity of the tail. At this juncture, it is excessively sensitive
to cold or wet; and you see it, at the slightest chillness in the air or
the least drop of rain, shivering and shaking in every limb, like a man
without clothes exposed on the snow. By degrees the new hair shows
itself, in the form of fine, soft, curling wool, which gradually becomes
a long, thick fur, capable of resisting the extremest inclemency of the
weather. The greatest delight of the animal is to walk in the teeth of
the north wind, or to stand motionless on the summit of a bill, beaten by
the storm and inhaling the icy wind. Some naturalists say that the camel
cannot exist in cold countries; these writers must have wholly forgotten
the Tartarian camels, which, on the contrary, cannot endure the least
heat, and which certainly could not exist in Arabia.
The hair of an ordinary camel weighs about ten pounds. It is sometimes
finer than silk, and always longer than sheep's wool. The hair growing
below the neck and on the legs of the entire camels is rough, bushy, and
in colour black, whereas that of the ordinary camel is red, grey, and
white. The Tartars make no sort of use of it. In the places where the
animals pasture, you see great sheets of it, looking like dirty rags,
driven about by the wind, until they are collected in sheltered corners,
in the hill sides. The utmost use the Tartars make of it is to twist
some of it into cord, or into a sort of canvas, of which they construct
sacks and carpets.
The milk of the camel is excellent, and supplies large quantities of
butter and cheese. The flesh is hard, unsavoury, and little esteemed by
the Tartars. They use the hump, however, which, cut into slices, and
dissolved in tea, serves the purpose of butter. It is known that
Heliogabalus had camel's flesh served up at his banquets, and that he was
very fond of camel's feet. We cannot speak as to the latter dish, which
the Roman Emperor piqued himself upon having invented, but we can
distinctly affirm that camel's flesh is detestable.
[Picture: Chapter Tailpiece]
[Picture: Mongol Butcher]