Purchase of a Sheep--A Mongol Butcher--Great Feast _a la Tartare_--Tartar
Veterinary Surgeons--Strange Cure of a Cow--Depth of the Wells of the
Ortous--Manner of Watering the Animals--Encampment at the Hundred
Wells--Meeting with the King of the Alechan--Annual Embassies of the
Tartar Sovereigns to Peking--Grand Ceremony in the Temple of the
Ancestors--The Emperor gives Counterfeit Money to the Mongol
Kings--Inspection of our Geographical Map--The Devil's
Cistern--Purification of the Water--A Lame Dog--Curious Aspect of the
Mountains--Passage of the Yellow River.
The environs of the Dabsoun-Noor abound in flocks of goats and sheep.
These animals like to browse on the furze and thorny bushes, the sole
vegetation of these barren steppes; they especially delight in those
nitrous efflorescences which are found here on all sides in the utmost
abundance. The soil, miserable as it is in other respects, seems very
favourable to the growth of these animals, which enter largely into the
consumption of the Tartars, constituting indeed the basis of their food.
If bought on the spot, they are of very moderate price. As we calculated
that a pound of meat would cost us less than a pound of flour, we
resolved, as a matter of economy, to buy a sheep. The thing was not
difficult to find; but as it would of course oblige us to stop, at least
for a day, we waited till we should come to some place, not quite barren,
and where our animals could find some pasturage to browse upon.
Two days after crossing Dabsoun-Noor, we entered a long narrow valley,
where some Mongol families had stationed themselves. The earth was
covered with a close herb, which, in form and character, had much
resemblance to thyme. Our beasts, as they proceeded, browsed furtively,
right and left, on this plant, and seemed to be very fond of it. This
new pasturage gave us the idea of encamping on the spot. Not far from a
tent, a Lama was sitting on a hillock, making ropes with camel's hair.
"Brother," said we as we approached him, "the flock upon that hill
doubtless belongs to you. Will you sell us a sheep?" "Certainly," he
answered, "I will let you have an excellent sheep; as to the price, we
shall not quarrel about that. We men of prayer are not like merchants."
He indicated to us a spot near his own tent, and unloaded our beasts.
The entire family of the Lama, when they heard the cries of our camels,
hastened to assist us to encamp. We, indeed, were not allowed to do
anything to it; for our new friends took delight in making themselves
useful, in unsaddling the beasts, pitching the tent, and putting our
baggage in order within.
The young Lama, who had received us with so much kindness, after having
unsaddled the horse and the mule, perceived that both these beasts were
hurt a little on the back. "Brothers," he said, "here is a bad business;
and as you are upon a long journey, it must be remedied, or you will not
be able to go on." So saying, he took the knife, which hung from his
girdle, sharpened it with rapidity upon his boot-tops, took our saddles
to pieces, examined the rough parts of the wood, and pared them away on
both sides till he had removed the slightest unevenness. He then put
together again, with wonderful skill, all the pieces of the saddles, and
returned them to us. "That will do," said he; "now you may travel in
peace." This operation was effected rapidly and in the readiest manner
possible. The Lama was then about to fetch the sheep; but as it was
already late, we said it was unnecessary, for that we should remain a
whole day in his valley.
Next morning, before we were awake, the Lama opened the door of our tent,
laughing so loud that he aroused us. "Ah," said he, "I see plainly that
you do not intend to depart to-day. The sun is already very high, and
you sleep still." We rose quickly, and as soon as we were dressed, the
Lama spoke of the sheep. "Come to the flock," he said; "you may choose
at your pleasure." "No, go by yourself, and select a sheep for us
yourself. At present we have an occupation. With us, Lamas of the
Western sky, it is a rule to pray as soon as we rise." "Oh, what a fine
thing!" said the Lama; "oh, the holy rules of the West!" His admiration,
however, did not make him forget his little affair of business. He
mounted his horse and rode towards a flock of sheep which we saw
undulating upon the slope of a hill.
We had not yet finished our prayers when we heard the Tartar returning at
full gallop. He had fastened the sheep to the back of his saddle, like a
portmanteau. Hardly arrived at the door of our tent, he dismounted; and
in the twinkling of an eye he had put upon its four legs the poor sheep,
quite astounded at the ride it had been favoured with. "That is the
sheep; is it not fine? Does it suit you?" "Admirably. What is the
price?" "One ounce; is that too much?" Considering the size of the
animal, we thought the price moderate. "You ask an ounce; here is an
ingot, which is just of the weight you require. Sit down for a moment;
we will fetch our scales, and you shall ascertain whether this piece of
silver really weighs an ounce." At these words the Lama drew back, and
cried, stretching out both hands towards us: "Above there is a heaven,
below there is the earth, and Buddha is the lord of all things. He wills
that men behave towards each other like brothers; you are of the West, I
am of the East. Is that any reason why the intercourse between us should
not be frank and honourable? You have not cheapened my sheep: I take
your money without weighing it." "An excellent principle," said we. "As
you will not weigh the money, pray sit, nevertheless, for a moment; we
will take a cup of tea together and talk over a little matter." "I know
what you mean; neither you nor I may cause the transmigration of this
living being. We must find a layman who knows how to kill sheep. Is it
not so?" and without awaiting an answer, he added, "another thing; from
your appearance, one may easily guess that, you are no great hands at
cutting up sheep and preparing them." "You are not mistaken," we
answered, laughing. "Well, keep the sheep tied to your tent; and for the
rest, rely upon me; I shall he back in a minute." He mounted his horse,
went off at full gallop and disappeared in a bend of the vale.
According to his promise, the Lama soon returned. He went straight to
his tent, tied his horse to a post, took off his saddle, bridle and
halter, gave it a cut with his whip, and so sent it off to pasture. He
went into his tent for a little while, and then appeared with all the
members of his family, that is to say, his old mother and two younger
brothers. They advanced slowly towards our tent, in truly ridiculous
fashion, just as if they were going to remove all their furniture. The
Lama carried on his head a large pot, which covered him as with an
enormous hat. His mother had on her back a large basket, filled with
argols. The two young Mongols followed with a trivet, an iron spoon, and
several other minor kitchen implements. At this sight, Samdadchiemba was
full of joy, for he saw before him a whole day of poetry.
When the entire _batterie de cuisine_ was arranged in open air, the Lama
invited us, in his politeness, to go and repose in our tent for awhile.
He judged from our air, that we could not, without derogation, be present
at the approaching scene of butchering. The suggestion, however, did not
meet our views, and we requested that if we could do so without
inconveniencing them, we might sit down on the grass at a respectful
distance, and with the promise that we would not touch anything. After
some objections, perceiving that we were curious to be spectators, they
dispensed with the etiquette of the matter.
The Lama seemed anxious; he kept looking towards the north of the valley,
as if expecting some one. "All right," he said at last, with an air of
satisfaction, "here he comes." "Who comes? Of whom do you speak?" "I
forgot to tell you that I had been just now to invite a layman to come,
who is very skilful in killing a sheep. There he is." We rose and
perceived, indeed, something moving among the heath of the valley. At
first we could not clearly distinguish what it was, for though it
advanced with some rapidity, the object did not seem to enlarge. At last
the most singular person we had ever met with in our lives presented
himself to our view. We were obliged to make the utmost efforts to
repress the strong impulse to laughter that came upon us. This layman
seemed to be about fifty years old, but his height did not exceed three
feet. On the top of his head, which terminated like a sugar-loaf, rose a
small tuft of badly combed hair; a grey, thin beard descended in disorder
down his chin. Finally, two prominences, one on his back, the other on
his breast, communicated to this little butcher a perfect resemblance
with AEsop, as he appears in various editions of the "Fables de la
Fontaine."
The strong sonorous voice of the layman was in singular contrast with the
exiguity of his thin, stunted frame. He did not lose much time in
saluting the company. After having darted his small black eyes at the
sheep, which was tied to one of the nails of our tent, he said "Is this
the beast you wish to have put in order?" And while feeling its tail in
order to judge its fat, he gave it a turn, and placed it on its back with
remarkable dexterity. He next tied together its legs; then, while
uncovering his right arm by throwing back the sleeve of his leathern
coat, he asked whether the operation was to be effected in the tent or
outside? "Outside," said we. "Outside, very well, outside;" so saying,
he drew from a leathern sheath, suspended from his sash, a knife with a
large handle, but whose blade by long use had become thin and narrow.
After having examined for a moment its point with his thumb, he plunged
it to the hilt into the side of the sheep, and drawing it out quite red,
the sheep was dead, dead at once, without making any movement; not a
single drop of blood had spouted from the wound. We were greatly
astonished at this, and asked the little man how he managed to kill a
sheep so very easily and quickly. "We Tartars," he said, "do not kill in
the same way as the Kitat; they cut the throat, we go straight to the
heart. By our method, the animal suffers less, and all the blood is, as
it should be, retained in the interior."
The transmigration once operated, nobody had any further scruples. Our
Dchiahour and the Tartar Lama turned back their sleeves, and advanced to
assist the little butcher. The sheep was skinned with admirable
celerity. Meantime the mother of the Lama had made the two pots boil.
She now took the entrails of the sheep, washed them pretty clean, and
then, with the blood which she took from the interior of the sheep by
means of a large wooden spoon, prepared some puddings, the basis of which
was the never-failing oatmeal. "Sirs Lamas," said the little layman,
"shall I bone the sheep?" Upon our answering in the affirmative, he had
the animal hooked upon the tent, for he was not big enough to perform
that operation himself; he then mounted upon a large stone, and passing
his knife rapidly along the bones, he detached, in one piece, all the
meat, so as to leave dangling from the tent a mere skeleton, clean,
cleared, and nicely polished.
While the little layman was, according to his expression, putting in
order the flesh of the sheep, the rest of the company had prepared a gala
in the Tartar fashion. The young Lama was director of the feast. "Now,"
he cried, "let us all sit round; the great pot is going to be emptied."
Forthwith everyone sat down upon the turf. The old Mongol woman plunged
both hands into the pot, which was boiling over, and drew out all the
intestines--the liver, the heart, the kidneys, the spleen, and the
bowels, stuffed with blood and oatmeal. In this gastronomical
preparation, the most remarkable thing was, that all the intestines had
been retained in their integrity, so that they presented themselves much
as they are seen in the living beast. The old woman served up, or rather
threw this splendid dish upon the lawn, which was at once our chair,
table, plate, and, in case of need, our napkin. It is unnecessary to
add, that we used our fingers instead of forks. Everyone seized with his
hands a portion of the bowels, twisted it from the mass, and devoured it
without seasoning or salt.
The two French missionaries were not able, despite their utmost
willingness, to do honour to this Tartar dish. First we burned our
fingers when we tried to touch the hot and smoking repast. Although our
guests urged that it ought not to be allowed to grow cold, we waited a
little, afraid of burning our lips also. At last we tasted these
puddings of sheep's blood and oatmeal, but after getting down a few
mouthsful, we were quite satisfied. Never, perhaps, had we eaten
anything so utterly tasteless and insipid. Samdadchiemba, having
foreseen this, had withdrawn from the common dish, the liver and the
kidneys, which he placed before us, with some salt, which he had
previously crushed between two stones. We were thus enabled to keep pace
with the company, who, with a devouring appetite, were swallowing the
vast system of entrails.
When the whole had disappeared, the old woman brought up the second
service, by placing in the midst of us the large pot in which the
puddings had been cooked. Instantly all the members of the banquet
invited each other, and every one taking from his bosom his wooden
porringer, ladled out bumpers of a smoking, salt liquid, which they
dignified with the pompous name of sauce. As we did not wish to appear
eccentric, or as if we despised the Tartar cuisine, we did like the rest.
We plunged our porringer into the pot, but it was only by the most
laudable efforts that we could get down this green stuff, which gave us
the idea of half masticated grass. The Tartars, on the contrary, found
it delicious, and readily reached the bottom of the extempore tureen, not
stopping for a moment, till nothing was left--not a drop of sauce, not an
inch of pudding.
When the feast was finished, the little layman took leave, receiving as
his fee the four feet of the sheep. To this fee, fixed by the old custom
of the Mongols, we added, as a supplement, a handful of tea leaves, for
we desired that he should long remember and talk to his countrymen of the
generosity of the Lamas of the Western sky.
Every one having now thoroughly regaled, our neighbours took their
kitchen utensils and returned home, except the young Lama, who said he
would not leave us alone. After much talk about the east and the west,
he took down the skeleton, which was still hanging at the entrance of the
tent, and amused himself with reciting, or rather singing, the
nomenclature of all the bones, large and small, that compose the frame of
the sheep. He perceived that our knowledge on this subject was very
limited, and this extremely astonished him; and we had the greatest
trouble to make him understand, that in our country ecclesiastical
studies had for their object more serious and important matters than the
names and number of the bones of a sheep.
Every Mongol knows the number, the name, and the position of the bones
which compose the frame of animals; and thus they never break the bones
when they are cutting up an ox or a sheep. With the point of their large
knife they go straight and at once to the juncture of the bones and
separate them with astonishing skill and celerity. These frequent
dissections, and especially the habit of being every day amongst their
flocks, make the Tartars well acquainted with the diseases of animals,
and skilful in their cure. The remedies, which they employ internally,
are always simples gathered in the prairie, and the decoction of which
they make the sick animals drink. For this purpose, they use a large
cow-horn. When they have contrived to insert the small end of this into
the mouth of the animal, they pour the physic in at the other extremity,
as through a funnel. If the beast persists in not opening its mouth, the
liquid is administered through the nostrils. Sometimes the Tartars
employ a lavement in their treatment of the diseases of animals; but
their instruments are still of primitive simplicity. A cow's horn serves
for the pipe, and the pump is a great bladder, worked by squeezing it.
Internal remedies, however, are not very often applied; the Tartars make
more frequent use of punctures and incisions in different parts of the
body. Some of these operations are extremely ludicrous. One day, when
we had pitched our tent beside a Mongol dwelling, a Tartar brought to the
chief of the family a cow, which, he said, would not eat, and which was
pining away day by day. The chief examined the animal, opened its mouth,
and rubbed its fore teeth with his nail. "Fool, blockhead," said he to
the man who had come to ask his advice, "why did not you come before?
Your cow is on the verge of death; there is scarce a day's life more in
her. Yet, there may be tried one means: I will attempt it. If your cow
dies, you will say it is your own fault; if it recovers, you will regard
it as a great favour from Hormousdha, operated by my skill." He called
some of his slaves, and ordered them to keep a firm hold of the beast,
while he was operating upon it. Then he entered his tent, whence he soon
returned, armed with a nail and a great hammer. We waited with
impatience this strange chirurgical operation, which was to be performed
with a nail and a hammer. While several Mongols held the cow, in order
to prevent its running away, the operator placed the nail under its
belly, and then drove it in up to the head with a violent stroke of the
hammer. Next, he seized with both hands the tail of the cow, and ordered
those who were holding it to let go. Instantly, the animal that had been
so very singularly operated upon, dashed off, dragging after it the
veterinary Tartar, clinging to its tail. In this fashion, they ran
nearly a li. The Tartar then quitted his victim, and came quietly back
to us, who were quite amazed at this new method of curing cows. He
declared there was no further danger for the beast; for he had
ascertained, he said, by the stiffness of the tail, the good effect of
the ferruginous medicine he had administered.
The Tartar veterinarians sometimes perform their operations at the belly,
as we have just seen; but it is more generally, with the head, ears,
temple, upper lip, and about the eyes that they deal. The latter
operation is principally had recourse to, in the disease which the
Tartar's call Hen's dung, to which mules are greatly subject. When this
disease breaks out, the animals leave off eating, and fall into extreme
weakness, so that they can hardly keep themselves on their legs; fleshy
excrescences, similar to the excrements of poultry, grow under the lids,
in the corners of the eyes. If these excrescences are removed in time,
the mules are saved, and recover by degrees their original vigour; if
not, they pine for a few days, and then die.
Although cupping and bleeding have great place in the veterinary art of
the Tartars, you must not suppose that they have at their disposal fine
collections of instruments, such as those of European operators. Most of
them have nothing but their ordinary knife, or the small iron awl, which
they keep in their girdle, and which they use daily to clear their pipes,
and mend their saddles and leathern boots.
The young Lama who had sold us the sheep, spent a great part of the day
in telling us anecdotes, more or less piquant and curious, about the
veterinary science in which he seemed to be very skilful. Moreover, he
gave us important instructions concerning the road we had to pursue. He
settled the stages we ought to make, and indicated the places where we
should encamp, so as to prevent our dying from thirst. We had still
before us in the country of the Ortous, a journey of about fourteen days;
in all that time we should find neither rivulet, nor spring, nor cistern;
but only, at certain distances, wells of an extraordinary depth; some of
them distant from each other two days' march, so that we should have to
carry with us our provision of water.
Next morning, after having paid our respects to the Tartar family, who
had shown us so much kindness, we proceeded on our way. Towards evening,
when it was nearly time to pitch our tent, we perceived in the distance a
large assemblage of various herds. Thinking that one of the indicated
wells lay probably there, we bent our steps in the direction, and soon
found that we were correct in our anticipation; the water was before us.
The beasts were collected from every quarter, waiting to be watered. We
halted accordingly, and set up our encampment. As we gazed upon the
assembled flocks, and the well, the covering of which was a large stone,
we recalled with pleasure the passage of Genesis, which relates the
journey of Jacob in Mesopotamia, to Laban, son of Bathuel the Syrian.
"Then Jacob went on his journey, and came into the land of the people
of the east.
"And he looked, and behold a well in the field, and, lo, there were
three flocks of sheep lying by it; for out of that well they watered
the flocks: and a great stone was upon the well's mouth.
"And thither were all the flocks gathered: and they rolled the stone
from the well's mouth, and watered the sheep, and put the stone again
upon the well's mouth in its place." {218a}
The wooden troughs placed around the well, reminded us of the other
passage, where the meeting of Rebecca with the servant of Abraham is
related.
"And when she had done giving him drink, she said, I will draw water
for thy camels also, until they have done drinking.
"And she hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and ran
again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels."
{218b}
One cannot travel in Mongolia, amongst a pastoral and nomad population,
without one's mind involuntarily going back to the time of the first
patriarch, whose pastoral life had so close a relation with the manners
and customs which we still find amongst the Mongol tribes. But how sad
and painful do these coincidences become, when we reflect that these
unfortunate people are still ignorant of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob.
We had scarcely pitched our tent, and arranged our modest kitchen, when
we saw several Tartar horsemen advancing at full gallop. They were
coming to draw water and give it to the numerous flocks that had been
long awaiting them. These animals, which had hitherto stood at a
distance, seeing the shepherds approach, hastened to the spot, and soon
all were grouped round the well, eager to quench their thirst. This
large assemblage of animals, so numerous and so various, created an
agitation, a tumult to which we were quite unused amid the silent
solitude of the desert; and it was perhaps on account of its novelty that
this confusion was, to us, full of entertainment. It was amusing to see
the half-tamed horses pushing and struggling to arrive first at the well;
then, instead of drinking in peace, biting, quarrelling, and even leaving
the water in order to pursue each other on the plain. The scene was
especially entertaining and picturesque, when an enormous camel came
forward, spreading alarm round the well, and driving away the vulgar herd
by its despotic presence.
There were four Mongol shepherds; while two of them, armed with a long
rod, ran about trying to effect a little order among the flocks, the two
others drew the water in a manner which greatly excited our surprise.
First, the utensil they used by way of pail, appeared to us very
remarkable; it was the entire skin of a goat, solidly fastened at the
four feet, the only opening being at the neck. A hoop kept this orifice
open; a long, strong rope of camel's hair was fastened at one end to the
wooden handle that crossed the diameter of the orifice, and at the other
end to the saddle of the horse ridden by one of the Tartars, who, when
the skin was filled rode off, and thus hauled up the bucket to the edge
of the well, where it was received by another man, who emptied its
contents into the troughs.
The well was of astonishing depth; the rope used to raise the bucket
seemed more than 200 feet long. Instead of running in a pulley, it went
right over a large stone, in which a large groove was already made by the
constant friction. Although the drawing up of the water was performed
with great activity, it was nearly dark before all the flock had been
watered; we then brought our five animals to participate in the general
banquet, and the Tartars had the complaisance to draw water also for us;
otherwise, it is probable we should never have got it, but have been
obliged to suffer thirst beside an abundant well.
These Tartars did not seem contented, like those we had met with in the
other parts of Mongolia; we saw they were very depressed at being obliged
to spend their lives in such a barren country, where pasturage is so very
scarce and water still rarer. They talked to us of the Mongol kingdoms
through which we had passed, and where it was so easy, so agreeable
indeed, to feed animals. "Oh, how happy are the inhabitants of these
countries!" said they. "How fortunate were we, could we spend our days
amidst those rich pasturages."
Before they returned to their dwelling, which lay behind a high mountain,
these Tartars told us that we ought to depart next morning before
daybreak, for that we should not find any water until we came to the
Hundred Wells, which was distant a hundred and fifty lis (fifteen
leagues).
Dawn had not yet appeared when we left. The country was, as before,
sandy, barren, and dismal. About noon we halted, in order to take a
little food, and to make tea with the water we had brought with us on one
of the camels. Night was setting in before we reached the Hundred Wells;
our poor animals could hardly move for hunger and fatigue; yet, at all
cost, we were obliged to reach the encampment. To remain where we were
would have caused infinite wretchedness. At last we came to the wells,
and without troubling ourselves to ascertain whether or no there were a
hundred of them, as the Tartar name of the place imported, we hastened to
pitch our tent. Happily the well was not so deep as that we had seen the
night before. Our first care was to draw some water for the horse and
the mule; but when we went to lead them to the trough, we did not find
them near the tent, where they usually stood to be unsaddled. This
misfortune occasioned us an alarm that made us forget the fatigues of the
day. We had, it is true, no fear of robbers, for in this respect no
country is more safe than the Ortous; but we thought that our animals,
thirsty as they were, had run away in search of water. They will go,
meditated we, till they have found water; perhaps they will go without
stopping to the frontier of the Ortous to the fiery banks of the Yellow
River.
The night was quite dark; nevertheless, we thought it proper to go
instantly in search of our horses, while Samdadchiemba was preparing
supper. We wandered about for a long time in all directions without
seeing anything; ever and anon we stopped to listen whether we could
distinguish the sound of the bells suspended from the horse's neck; but
our efforts were vain; nothing interrupted the dead silence of the
desert. We went on, without losing courage, still hoping to find animals
so very necessary to us, and the loss of which would have placed us in
such difficulties. Sometimes we fancied we heard in the distance the
tinkling of the bells. Then we laid flat down, applying our ears to the
earth, in order to catch more readily the slightest noise that might
occur; but it was all in vain; our search was fruitless.
The fear of losing our way in a dark night in a country, the bearings of
which we had not been able to examine, made us think of retracing our
steps. Judge of our consternation when, on turning round, we perceived,
apparently in the place where we had pitched our tent, a large volume of
flame and smoke rising. We did not doubt for an instant that
Samdadchiemba also had set out in search of the animals, and that in his
absence the tent had caught fire. Oh, how sad and discouraging was that
moment. In the middle of the desert, at two thousand lis' distance from
our christendom, we contemplated without hope those flames consuming our
tent, our sole shelter against the inclemency of the weather. "Alas!" we
said, "the tent is certainly destroyed, and doubtless all that was in it
has also become a prey to the flames."
We mournfully directed our steps to the place of our encampment. Though
anxious to ascertain our misfortune, we advanced slowly, for we were, at
the same time, afraid to approach the fearful spectacle, destructive of
our plans, and plunging us into misery of every description. As we
advanced, we heard loud cries; at last we distinguished the voice of
Samdadchiemba, apparently calling for assistance. Imagining that we
could still save something from the conflagration, we hastened to the
spot, calling out, at the pitch of our voices, that we were coming. When
we at last arrived at the encampment, we stood for an instant quite
stupified upon seeing Samdadchiemba quietly seated beside an immense
fire, and drinking with the greatest satisfaction bumpers of tea. The
tent was untouched, and all our animals lying around it: there had been
no conflagration at all. The Dchiahour, having found the horse and the
mule, had imagined that, having doubtless got to some distance, we should
have a difficulty in finding our way back to the encampment, and
therefore he had made a large fire to direct our steps, and sent forth
vehement cries inviting us to return. We had so fully believed in the
reality of our misfortune that, on beholding our tent again, we seemed to
pass at once from the extreme of misery to the height of happiness.
As the night had already made considerable progress, we hastened to eat,
with excellent appetite, the soup that Samdadchiemba had prepared, and
then laid down upon our goat-skins, where we enjoyed a profound sleep
till daybreak.
On getting up next morning a glance around the encampment diffused a
shudder of terror through all our limbs; for we found ourselves
surrounded on every side by deep wells. We had been, indeed, told that
we should not find water until we reached the place called Hundred Wells,
but we had never imagined, that this denomination, Hundred Wells, was to
be taken literally. When we had pitched our tent the night before, it
was too dark for us to remark the presence of these numerous precipices,
and accordingly we had taken no precautions. When we went out in search
of our stray animals we had, without knowing it, made a thousand turnings
and windings amongst these deep pits; and that we had thus walked in a
dark night, without any accident, could only be attributed to a special
protection of Providence. Before our departure, therefore, we planted a
small wooden cross on the brink of one of these wells, as a sign of our
thankfulness for the goodness of God.
After having made our usual breakfast, we proceeded. Towards noon we
perceived before us a great multitude issuing from a narrow defile,
formed by two precipitous mountains. We were lost in conjecture as to
what this numerous and imposing caravan could be. Innumerable camels,
laden with baggage, advanced in single file, one after the other,
escorted on either side by a number of horsemen, who, in the distance,
appeared to be richly attired. We slackened our pace, to obtain a nearer
view of this caravan, which appeared to us a very strange affair.
[Picture: Encampment at the Hundred Wells]
It was still a considerable distance off, when four horsemen, who formed
a sort of vanguard, galloped on towards us. They were all four
Mandarins, as we perceived from the blue button which surmounted their
cap of ceremony. "Sirs Lamas," they said, "peace be with you! Towards
what point of the earth do you direct your steps?" "We are of the West,
and it is to the West we are going. And you, brothers of Mongolia,
whither do you travel in so large a troop, and in such magnificent
apparel?" "We are from the kingdom of Alechan, and our king is making a
journey to Peking to prostrate himself at the feet of Him who dwells
above the sky." After these few words the four horsemen rose somewhat in
their saddles, saluted, and then returned to their position at the head
of the caravan.
We had thus encountered on his way the King of Alechan, repairing to
Peking with his gorgeous retinue, to be present at the great meeting of
the tributary princes, who, on the first day of the first moon, are bound
to offer the compliments of the new year to the Emperor. Behind the
vanguard came a palanquin carried by two splendid mules, harnessed, the
one before, the other behind, to gilt shafts. The palanquin was square,
plain, and by no means elegant; its roof was adorned with some silk
fringe, and its four panels were decorated with some pictures of dragons,
birds, and nosegays. The Tartar monarch was sitting, not upon a seat,
but with his legs crossed, in the oriental fashion. He seemed to be
about fifty years old; and his full round features gave to his
physiognomy a remarkable air of good nature. As he passed us, we cried:
"King of the Alechan, peace and happiness be on your way!" "Men of
prayer," he answered, "may you also be at peace," and he accompanied
these words with a friendly salute. An old white-bearded Lama, mounted
upon a magnificent horse, led the fore mule of the palanquin; he was
considered the guide of the whole caravan. Generally, the great marches
of the Tartars are under the guidance of the most venerable of the Lamas
of the district; for these people are persuaded, that they have nothing
to fear on their way, so long as they have at their head, a
representative of the divinity, or rather the divinity himself incarnate
in the person of the Lama.
A great number of horsemen, who surrounded, as a guard of honour, the
royal palanquin, made their horses curvet incessantly, and dash up and
down, in and out, from one side to the other, without ever stopping in
their rapid movements. Immediately behind the carriage of the king, came
a white camel of extraordinary beauty and size; a young Tartar, on foot,
led it by a silken string. This camel was not laden. From the tip of
each hump, which looked like two pyramids, floated pieces of yellow
taffeta. There was no doubt, that this magnificent animal was a present
destined for the Chinese Emperor. The remainder of the troop consisted
of numerous camels, carrying the baggage, the boxes, tents, pots, the
thousand and one utensils, that are always wanted in a country where no
tavern is to be found.
The caravan had passed on a long time, when meeting with a well, we
resolved to pitch our tent beside it. While we were making our tea,
three Tartars, one decorated with the red, the other with the blue
button, alighted at the entrance of our dwelling. They asked for news of
the caravan of the King of the Alechans. We answered that we had met it
a long time since, that it must already be at a considerable distance,
and that it would doubtless arrive, before night, at the encampment of
the Hundred Wells. "As it is so," they said, "we would rather remain
here, than arrive by night at the Hundred Wells, at the risk of falling
into some hole. Tomorrow, by starting a little before day, we shall
reach the caravan."
No sooner said than done: the Tartars forthwith unsaddled their horses,
sent them off to seek their fortune in the desert, and without ceremony
took their seat beside our fire. They were all Taitsi of the kingdom of
the Alechan. One of these, he who wore the cap with the red button, was
the king's minister; they all three belonged to the great caravan, but
the day before, having started to visit a friend, a prince of the Ortous,
they had been left behind by the main body.
The minister of the King of Alechan had an open, frank character, and a
very acute understanding; he combined Mongol good nature with vivacious
and elegant manners, which he had no doubt acquired in his frequent
visits to Peking. He asked many questions about the country which the
Tartars call the Western Heaven, and informed us, that every three years
a great number of our countrymen, from the different western kingdoms,
rendered their homage to the Emperor at Peking.
It is needless to observe that, for the most part, the Tartars do not
carry very far their geographical studies. The west means with them
simply Thibet and some adjacent countries, which they hear mentioned by
the Lamas, who have made the pilgrimage to Lha-Ssa. They firmly believe
that beyond Thibet there is nothing; there, say they, is the end of the
world; beyond, there is merely a shoreless ocean.
When we had satisfied all the inquiries of the red button, we addressed
some to him about the country of the Alechan, and the journey to Peking.
"Every third year all the sovereigns of the world," said he, "repair to
Peking, for the feast of the new year. Princes who live near, are bound
to go thither every year; those who live at the extremities of the earth,
go every second or third year, according to the distance they have to
travel." "What is your purpose in going every year to Peking?" "We
ourselves go as the retinue of our king; the king alone enjoys the
happiness of prostrating himself in the presence of the Old Buddha (the
Emperor)." He entered then into long details about the ceremony of the
first day of the year, and the relations between the Chinese Emperor and
the tributary kings.
The foreign sovereigns, under the dominating influence of the China
empire, repair to Peking; first, as an act of obeisance and submission:
secondly, to pay certain rents to the Emperor, whose vassals they
consider themselves. These rents, which are decorated with the fine name
of offerings, are, in fact, imposts which no Tartar king would venture to
refuse the payment of. They consist in camels, in horses remarkable for
their beauty, and which the Emperor sends to augment his immense herds in
the Tchakar. Every Tartar prince is, besides, obliged to bring some of
the rarer productions of his country; deer, bear and goat venison;
aromatic plants, pheasants, mushrooms, fish, etc. As they visit Peking
in the depth of winter, all these eatables are frozen; so that they bear,
without danger of being spoiled, the trial of a long journey, and even
remain good long after they have arrived at their destination.
One of the Banners of the Tchakar is especially charged with sending to
Peking, every year, an immense provision of pheasant's eggs. We asked
the minister of the King of the Alechan, whether these pheasant's eggs
were of a peculiar flavour, that they were so highly appreciated by the
Court. "They are not destined to be eaten," he answered; "the Old Buddha
uses them for another purpose." "As they are not eaten, what are they
used for?" The Tartar seemed embarrassed, and blushed somewhat as he
replied that these eggs were used to make a sort of varnish, which the
women of the imperial harem used for the purpose of smoothing their hair,
and which communicates to it, they say, a peculiar lustre and brilliancy.
Europeans, perhaps, may consider this pomatum of pheasant's eggs, so
highly esteemed at the Chinese court, very nasty and disgusting; but
beauty and ugliness, the nice and the nasty, are, as everybody knows,
altogether relative and conventional matters, upon which the various
nations that inhabit this earth have ideas remotest from the uniform.
These annual visits to the Emperor of China are very expensive and
extremely troublesome to the Tartars of the plebeian class, who are
overwhelmed with enforced labour, at the pleasure of their masters, and
are bound to provide a certain number of camels and horses, to carry the
baggage of the king and the nobles. As these journeys take place in the
depth of winter, the animals find little food, especially when, after
leaving the Land of Grass, they enter upon the districts cultivated by
the Chinese; and a great number of them, accordingly, die on the road.
Hence, when the caravan returns, it is far from being in such good order
and condition as when it started; it presents, one might almost say,
merely the skeletons of the animals. Those which have still retained a
little strength are laden with the baggage necessary on the way; the
others are dragged along by the halter, scarcely able to move one leg
before the other. It is a very sad, and, at the same time, singular
thing, to see the Mongols walking on foot, and leading behind them horses
which they dare not mount for fear of breaking them down.
As soon as the tributary kings are arrived at Peking, they repair to the
interior of the city, where they inhabit a quarter especially set apart
for them. They are generally two hundred in number, each of whom has his
palace or inn, which he occupies, with his retinue. A Mandarin, a grand
dignitary of the realm, superintends this quarter, and has it in charge
to maintain peace and concord amongst these illustrious visitors. The
tributes are transferred to the care of a special Mandarin, whom we may
consider as steward of the household.
During their stay at Peking, these monarchs have no communication with
the Emperor, no solemn audience. Some of them may perchance obtain
admittance to the throne; but it is only upon affairs of the highest
importance, above the jurisdiction of the ordinary ministers.
On the first day of the year, however, there is a solemn ceremony, at
which these two hundred monarchs are admitted to a sort of contact with
their suzerain and master, with him who, as they phrase it, sitting
beneath the sky, rules the four seas and the ten thousand nations of the
world by a single act of his will. According to the ritual which
regulates the state proceedings of the Emperor of China, he is bound to
visit every year, on the first day of the first moon, the temple of his
ancestors, and to prostrate himself before the tablet of his fathers.
There is before the entrance of this temple a long avenue, wherein the
tributary princes, who have come to Peking to render homage to the
Emperor, assemble. They range themselves right and left of the
peristyle, in three lines, each occupying the place appertaining to his
dignity. They stand erect, grave, and silent. It is said to be a fine
and imposing spectacle, to witness all these remote monarchs, attired in
their silk robes, embroidered with gold and silver, and indicating, by
the variety of their costumes, the different countries they inhabit, and
the degrees of their dignity.
Meantime the Emperor issues in great pomp from his Yellow Town. He
traverses the deserted and silent streets of Peking; for, when the
Asiatic tyrant appears, every door must be closed, and every inhabitant
of the town must, on pain of death, remain silent within his house. As
soon as the Emperor has arrived at the temple of the ancestors, the
heralds, who precede the procession, cry out, at the moment he places his
foot on the first step of the stairs that lead to the gallery of the
tributary kings: "Let all prostrate themselves, for here is the Lord of
the earth." To this the two hundred tributary kings respond in unison:
"Ten thousand congratulations!" And, having thus wished a happy new year
to the Emperor, they all fall down with their face towards the earth.
Then passes through their ranks, the son of heaven, who enters the temple
of the ancestors, and prostrates himself, in his turn, thrice before the
tablet of his fathers. Whilst the Emperor is offering up his adoration
to the spirits of his family, the two hundred monarchs remain prostrate
on the earth, and they do not rise until the Emperor has again passed
through their ranks; after this they re-enter their litters and return to
their respective palaces.
[Picture: Grand ceremony at the Ancestral Temple]
And such is the entire and sole fruit of the long patience of these
potentates, after leaving their distant countries, and enduring fatigues
and dangers of every description, and a long journey through the desert:
they have enjoyed the happiness of prostrating themselves in the path of
the Emperor! Such a spectacle would with us Europeans be a matter of
pity and disgust, for we could not comprehend how there should be so much
humility on one side, so much arrogance on the other. Yet it is the
simplest thing in the world to Asiatic nations. The Emperor takes his
all-mightiness as a grave matter of course; and the Tartar kings think
themselves happy and honoured in paying homage to it.
The prime minister of the king of the Alechan told us that a sight of the
Emperor is not easily obtained. One year, when his master was ill, he
was obliged to take his place at Peking, in the ceremony of the temple of
the ancestors, and he then hoped to see the Old Buddha, on his way down
the peristyle, but he was altogether mistaken in his expectation. As
minister, the mere representative of his monarch, he was placed in the
third file, so that, when the Emperor passed, he saw absolutely nothing
at all. "Those who are in the first line," he said, "if they are
cautiously dexterous, may manage to get a glimpse of the yellow robe of
the son of heaven; but they must take heed not to lift up their heads,
for such an audacity would be considered a great crime, and be punished
very severely."
All the Tartar princes are pensioned by the Emperor; the sum allotted to
them is a small matter, but it effects a considerable political result.
The Tartar princes, in receiving their pay, consider themselves the
slaves, or at least, as the servants of him who pays them; and concede,
in consequence, to the Emperor the right of requiring their submission
and obedience. It is about the first day of the year that the tributary
sovereigns receive, at Peking, the allotted pension, which is distributed
by some of the great Mandarins, who are said, by slanderous tongues, to
speculate in this lucrative employment, and never fail to make enormous
profits at the expense of the poor Tartars.
The minister of the king of the Alechan related, for our edification,
that in a particular year, all the tributary princes received their
pension in ingots of gilt copper. All found it out at once, but were
fain to keep silence, afraid to make public an affair that might result
in a catastrophe, compromising, not only the highest dignitaries of the
empire, but the Tartar kings themselves. As, in fact, the latter were
supposed to receive their money from the hands of the Emperor himself, a
complaint would, in some sort, have been to charge the Old Buddha, the
son of heaven, with being a coiner. They received accordingly their
copper ingots with a prostration, and it was not until they returned into
their own countries, that they declared, not indeed that they had been
cheated, but that the Mandarins, charged with distributing the money, had
been the dupes of the Peking bankers. The Tartar Mandarin who related
the adventure, gave us completely to understand that neither the Emperor,
nor the courtiers, nor the Mandarins, had anything to do with the affair.
We took good care not to undeceive him: as to us, who had no great faith
in the probity of the government of Peking, we were convinced that the
Emperor had regularly swindled the Tartar kings. We were confirmed in
this opinion by the fact that the period of this adventure coincided with
the British war; when, as we knew, the Emperor was in the last extremity,
and knew not where to get the money necessary to keep from starving the
handful of soldiers who were charged with the preservation of the
integrity of the Chinese territory.
The visit of the three Mandarins of the Alechan was not only pleasant on
account of the narrative they gave us of the relations of the Tartar
kings with the Emperor, but it was of essential utility to us. When they
understood that we were directing our steps towards the West, they asked
us whether we intended passing through the district of the Alechan. On
our answering in the affirmative, they dissuaded us from the project;
they told us that our animals would perish there, for not a single
pasturage was to be met with. We already knew that the Alechan is a
tract still more barren than the Ortous. It consists, in fact, of chains
of lofty mountains of sand, where you may travel sometimes for whole days
together, without seeing a single blade of vegetation. Some narrow
valleys, here and there, alone offer to the flocks a few thorny and
wretched plants. On this account the Alechan is very thinly inhabited,
even in comparison with the other parts of Mongolia.
The Mandarins told us that this year the drought which had been general
throughout Tartary had rendered the district of the Alechan almost
uninhabitable. They assured us that at least one-third of the flocks had
perished of hunger and thirst, and that the remainder were in a wretched
state. For their journey to Peking, they had, they said, chosen the best
they could find in the country; and we might have observed that the
animals of the caravan were very different indeed from those we had seen
in Tchakar. The drought, the want of water and pastures, the destruction
of the flocks--all this had given birth to an utter state of misery,
whence, again, numerous bands of robbers who were ravaging the country,
and robbing travellers. They assured us that, being so few in number, it
would not be wise for us to enter upon the Alechan mountains,
particularly in the absence of the principal authorities.
On receiving this information, we resolved not to retrace our steps, for
we were too far advanced, but to diverge a little from our route. The
night was far advanced ere we thought of taking rest; we had scarcely
slept a few minutes, in fact, when the day broke. The Tartars saddled
their steeds, and after having wished us peace and happiness, dashed off
at full gallop, to overtake the great caravan which preceded them.
As for us, before setting out, we unrolled the excellent map of the
Chinese empire, published by M. Andriveau-Goujon, and sought upon it to
what point we ought to direct our steps, so as to avoid the wretched
district of the Alechan, without, however, deviating too much from our
route. After looking at the map, we saw no other way than to recross the
Yellow River, to pass the Great Wall of China, and to travel across the
Chinese province of Kan-Sou, until we arrived among the Tartars of the
Koukou-Noor. Formerly this determination would have made us tremble.
Accustomed as we had been to live privately in our Chinese christendom,
it would have seemed to us impossible to enter the Chinese empire alone,
and without the care of a catechist. At that time it would have seemed
to us clear as the day, that our strangulation, and the persecution of
all the Chinese missions, would have been the certain result of our rash
undertaking. Such would have been our fears formerly, but the time of
our fear was gone. Indurated by our two months journey, we had come to
the persuasion that we might travel in China with as much safety as in
Tartary. The stay that we had already made in several large commercial
towns, compelled as we had been to manage our own affairs, had rendered
the Chinese manners and customs more familiar to us. The language
presented to us no difficulties; besides being able to speak the Tartar
idiom, we were familiar with the colloquial phrases of the Chinese, a
very difficult attainment to those who reside in the missions, because
the Christians there seek to flatter them by only employing, in the
presence of the Missionaries, the short vocabulary of words that they
have studied in books. Besides these purely moral and intellectual
advantages, our long journey had been useful in a physical point of view;
the rain, the wind, and the sun, which had during two months raged
against our European tint, had in the end embrowned and tanned it so,
that we looked quite like wild men of the wood in this respect. The fear
of being recognised by the Chinese now no longer troubled us.
We told Samdadchiemba that we should cease, in a few days, to travel in
the Land of Grass, and that we should continue our route through the
Chinese empire. "Travel among the Chinese!" said the Dchiahour; "very
well. There are good inns there. They boil good tea there. When it
rains, you can go under shelter. During the night, you are not disturbed
by the blowing of the north wind. But in China, there are ten thousand
roads; which shall we take? Do we know which is the best?" We made him
look at the map, pointing out all the places which we should have to pass
before we reached Koukou-Noor. We even reduced, for his edification,
into lis, all the distances from one town to the other. Samdadchiemba
looked at our small geographical chart with perfect enthusiasm. "Oh,"
said he, "how sincerely I regret that I did not study while I was in the
Lamasery; if I had listened to my master, if I had paid more attention, I
might perhaps now understand the description of the world, that is here
drawn on this piece of paper. With this, one can go everywhere, without
asking the way. Is it not so?" "Yes, everywhere," answered we; "even to
your own family." "How is that? is my country also written down here?"
and as he spoke he bent over the chart, so as entirely to cover it with
his huge frame. "Stand aside and we will show you your country. Look;
do you see this little space beside that green line? That is the country
of the Dchiahours, which the Chinese call the Three Valleys
(San-Tchouen). Your village must be here; we shall pass not more than
two days' journey from your house." "Is it possible?" cried he, striking
his forehead; "shall we pass two days' journey from my house? Do you say
so? How can that be? Not more than two days' journey? In that case,
when we are near it, I will ask my spiritual fathers permission to go and
see once more my country." "What can you have to do now in the Three
Valleys?" "I will go and see what is doing there. It is eighteen years
since my departure from my house. I will go and see if my old mother is
still there; and if she is alive, I will make her enter into the Holy
Church. As for my two brothers, who knows whether they will have enough
sense not to believe any longer in the transmigrations of Buddha. Ah,
yes," added he after a short pause, "I will make a little tea, and we
will talk this matter over again."
Samdadchiemba was no longer with us; his thoughts had flown to his native
land. We were obliged to remind him of his real
position,--"Samdadchiemba, you need not make any tea; and just now,
instead of talking, we must fold up our tent, load the camels, and
proceed on our way. Look; the sun is already high in the heavens: if we
do not get on, we shall never reach the Three Valleys." "True," cried
he; and springing up he set himself busily about making preparations for
our departure.
On resuming our route, we abandoned the direction towards the west, which
we had strictly followed during our journey, and diverged a little to the
south. After having continued our march for half the day, we sat down
for a while under a rock to take our repast. As usual, we dined on bread
and water; and what bread and water! Dough half baked, and brackish
water, which we had to draw up with the sweat of our brow, and to carry
about with us during our journey.
Towards the conclusion of our repast, while we were trying to scrape
together a few grains of tobacco in our snuff phials, by way of desert,
we saw coming towards us a Tartar on a camel; he seated himself beside
us. After having wished each other peace, we let him smell at our empty
snuff phial, and then offered him a little loaf baked in the ashes. In
an instant he had swallowed the bread, and taken three sniffs of snuff.
We questioned him about the route; he told us that if we followed the
same direction we should arrive in two days at the Yellow River, on
crossing which, we should enter the Chinese territory. This information
gave us great satisfaction, for it perfectly agreed with our map. We
asked him if water was far off. "Yes," answered he, "the wells are
distant. If you encamp again to-day, you will find a cistern on the way;
but there is little water, and that is very bad. Formerly it was an
excellent well, but it is now abandoned, for a tchutgour (demon) has
corrupted its waters."
This information induced us to proceed at once, for we had no time to
lose, if we desired to arrive before night. The Mongol mounted his
camel, which bounded across the desert, while our little caravan
continued slowly its uniform and monotonous march.
Before sunset, we arrived at the indicated cistern, when we pitched our
tent, as there was no hope of finding further on better water; besides,
we fancied the cistern might perhaps turn out less diabolical than the
Tartar had pretended it to be.
While we were lighting the fire, the Dchiahour went to draw water; he
returned in a few moments, saying that it was unfit to be drunk; that it
was mere poison. He brought a basin full with him, that we might taste
it and judge for ourselves.
The stench of this dirty, muddy water was, indeed, intolerable; and on
the surface of the nauseous stuff, we saw floating a sort of oily drop,
which infinitely increased our disgust. We had not the courage to raise
it to our lips; we were satisfied with its sight, and, above all, with
its smell.
Still we must either drink or die with thirst; we accordingly resolved to
make the best we could of this Cistern of the Devil, as it is called by
the Tartars. We collected roots, which were growing abundantly around
it, half buried in the sand; a few moments labour supplied us with an
ample provision of them. Then, first of all, we made some charcoal which
we broke into small pieces; next we filled our kettle with the muddy,
stinking water, placed it upon the fire, and when the water boiled, threw
in a quantity of the charcoal.
While we were engaged upon this chemical operation, Samdadchiemba, seated
beside the kettle, kept every moment asking us what sort of soup we
intended to make with all those detestable ingredients. We gave him, by
way of reply, a complete dissertation upon the discolouring and
disinfecting properties of charcoal. He listened to our scientific
statement with patience, but appeared in no degree convinced by it. His
eyes were fixed upon the kettle, and it was easy to see, from the
sceptical expression of his features, that he had no sort of expectation
or idea that the thick water bubbling in the kettle could at all become a
clear and limpid fluid.
By-and-by, we poured out the liquid thus prepared, and filtered it
through an impromptu linen sieve. The water realised was not, indeed,
delicious, but it was drinkable, having deposited all its salt and all
its ill odour. We had more than once, on our journey, used water in no
degree superior.
Samdadchiemba was perfectly intoxicated with enthusiasm. Had he not been
a Christian, he would assuredly have taken us for living Buddhas. "The
Lamas," said he, "pretend they have all knowledge and all power in their
prayer books; but I am certain they would have died of thirst, or been
poisoned, had they only had the water of this cistern to make tea with.
They have no more notion than a sheep how to render this bad water good."
And then he overwhelmed us with all sorts of odd questions about the
natural properties of things. In relation to the purification of water
which we had just operated, he asked whether by rubbing his face hard
with the charcoal, he could make it as white as ours; but then, when his
eyes turned to his hands, still black with the charcoal he had just
broken up, he himself laughed immensely at the idea he had propounded.
Night had set in before we had completed the distillation of the water we
required. We then made abundance of tea, and the evening was occupied in
drinking it. We contented ourselves with infusing a few pinches of
oatmeal in the tea, for the ardent thirst which devoured us absorbed all
desire to eat. After having deluged our inward man, we sought repose.
We had scarcely, however, stretched ourselves on the turf, when an
extraordinary and altogether unexpected noise threw us into a state of
stupor. It was a long, lugubrious, deep cry that seemed approaching our
tent. We had heard the howl of wolves, the roar of tigers and of bears;
but these in no way resembled the sound which now affrighted our ears.
It was something like the bellowing of a bull, but crossed with tones so
strange and unintelligible, that we were utterly panic-stricken. And we
were all the more surprised and confounded, because everybody had assured
us that there were no wild beasts of any kind in the whole Ortous
country.
Our embarrassment was becoming serious. We were in fear not only for our
animals, which were tied round the tent, but also on our own account. As
the noise did not cease, but, on the contrary, seemed to approach nearer
and nearer, we got up, not, indeed, to go forth in search of the
villainous beast that was thus disturbing our repose, but in order to try
to frighten it. To this intent all three of us set to work, shouting at
the pitch of our lungs; then we stopped, and so did the beast. After a
moment's silence, the roaring was heard once more, but at a considerable
distance. We conjectured that in our turn we had frightened the animal,
and this somewhat reassured us.
The cries once more approaching, we piled up some brushwood at a few
paces from the tent, and made a bonfire. The light, instead of deterring
the unknown monster, seemed rather to attract it; and before long, by the
flame of the brushwood, we could distinguish the outline of what appeared
to be a great quadruped, of reddish hue, the aspect of which, however, as
near as we could judge, was by no means so ferocious as its voice. We
ventured to advance towards it, but as we advanced, it retreated.
Samdadchiemba, whose eyes were very sharp, and accustomed to the desert,
assured us that the creature was either a dog or a stray calf.
Our animals were, at the very least, as absorbed with the subject as
ourselves. The horse and the mule pointed their ears, and dug up the
earth with their hoofs, while the camels, with outstretched necks and
glaring eyes, did not for an instant remove their gaze from the spot
whence these wild cries issued.
In order to ascertain precisely with what creature we had to do, we
diluted a handful of meal in a wooden dish, and placing this at the
entrance of the tent, withdrew inside. Soon we saw the animal slowly
advance, then stop, then advance again. At last it came to the dish, and
with the most remarkable rapidity, lapped up the supper we had prepared
for it. We now saw that it was a dog of immense size. After having
thoroughly licked and polished the empty dish, it lay down, without
ceremony, at the entrance of the tent; and we forthwith followed its
example, glad to have found a protector in the apprehended foe.
Next morning, upon awaking, we were able to examine at leisure the dog
which, after having so alarmed us, had so unreservedly attached itself to
us. Its colour was red, its size immense; its excessive meagreness
showed that it had been wandering about homeless for some time past. A
dislocated leg, which it dragged along the ground, communicated to it a
sort of swinging motion, which added to its formidable effect. But it
was especially alarming when it sent forth its loud, fierce voice.
Whenever we heard it, we instinctively looked at the animal whence it
proceeded, to see whether it really belonged to the canine race.
We resumed our route, and the new Arsalan accompanied us, its general
position being a few paces in advance of the caravan, as though to show
us the way, with which it appeared to be tolerably familiar.
After two days' journey we reached the foot of a chain of mountains, the
summits of which were lost in the clouds. We set about ascending them,
however, courageously, for we hoped that beyond them we should find the
Yellow River. That day's journey was very painful, especially to the
camels, for every step was upon sharp, rugged rock; and their feet,
accordingly, were very speedily bleeding. We ourselves, however, were
too absorbed with the strange, fantastic aspect of the mountains we were
traversing to think of the toil they occasioned us.
In the hollows and chasms of the precipices formed by these lofty
mountains, you see nothing but great heaps of mica and laminated stones,
broken, bruised, and in some cases absolutely pulverised. This wreck of
slate and schist must have been brought into these abysses by some
deluge, for it in no way belongs to the mountains themselves, which are
of granite. As you approach the summits, the mountains assume forms more
and more fantastic. You see great heaps of rock piled one upon the
other, and apparently cemented together. These rocks are almost entirely
encrusted with shells and the remains of a plant resembling sea weed; but
that which is most remarkable is that these granitic masses are cut and
torn and worn in every direction, presenting a ramification of holes and
cavities, meandering in a thousand complicated turns and twists, so that
you might imagine all the upper portion of each mountain to have been
subjected to the slow and destructive action of immense worms. Sometimes
in the granite you find deep impressions, that seem the moulds of
monsters, whose forms they still closely retain.
As we gazed upon all these phenomena, it seemed to us that we were
travelling in the bed of some exhausted ocean. Everything tended to the
belief that these mountains had undergone the gradual action of the sea.
It is impossible to attribute all you see there to the influence of mere
rain, or still less to the inundations of the Yellow River, which,
however prodigious they may be, can never have attained so great an
elevation. The geologists who affirm that the deluge took place by
sinking, and not by a depolarization of the earth, might probably find in
these mountains good arguments in favour of their system.
On reaching the crest of these mountains we saw beneath us the Yellow
River, rolling its waves majestically from south to north. It was now
near noon, and we hoped that same evening to pass the river, and sleep in
one of the inns of the little town of Che-Tsui-Dze, which we perceived on
the slope of a hill beyond the river.
We occupied the whole afternoon in descending the rugged mountain,
selecting as we went, the places right and left that seemed more
practicable than the rest. At length we arrived, and before nightfall,
on the banks of the Yellow River, our passage across which was most
successfully effected. In the first place, the Mongol Tartars who rented
the ferry oppressed our purse less direfully than the Chinese ferry-men
had done. Next, the animals got into the boat without any difficulty.
The only grievance was that we had to leave our lame dog on the bank, for
the Mongols would not admit it on any terms, insisting upon the rule that
all dogs must swim across the river, the boat being destined solely for
men, or for animals that cannot swim. We were fain to submit to the
prejudice.
On the other side of the Yellow River we found ourselves in China, and
bade adieu for awhile to Tartary, to the desert, and to the nomadic life.
[Picture: Chinese Statue]
[Picture: Chinese and Tartar arms]