Kalmucks were waiting with the horses, and rode rapidly towards the place
which he had selected for a camp. Next morning he proceeded to cross the
mountains by a new route to the mouth of the river Koksa; it proved to be
the most arduous of his many enterprises. Hour after hour, his Kalmuck
guide led him through a wilderness of rocks and sand, and he rejoiced
greatly when at last they descended towards the wooded region, and caught
sight of the dark Katounaia winding in a deep valley three thousand feet
below. They followed downwards a track made by animals, but, though easy
for stags and deer, it was difficult for horses. In many places the only
traject was a narrow ledge, with deep precipices beneath, and often
steep, rugged acclivities above. In one place they had to ride over what
the Kalmucks call a “Bomb”—a narrow ridge of rocks, passable only by one
horse at a time. Should two persons meet on any part of these “Bombs,”
one of the horses must be thrown over, as it is as impossible to turn
round as to pass. On reaching the track by which the Kalmuck hunters
ascend the mountains, Zepta called a halt, and sent one of his companions
on foot to the other end of the fearful ridge, hidden from view by some
high crags, round which the party had to ride. In less than half an hour
he returned, but without his cap, which had been left as a signal to any
hunters who might follow, that travellers were crossing the “Bomb.”
And now we shall allow Mr. Atkinson to speak himself:—
“Zepta and the hunter told me to drop the reins on my horse’s neck, and
he would go over with perfect safety. The former led the van; I
followed, as desired, at three or four paces behind him. For the first
twenty yards the sensation was not agreeable. After that I felt perfect
confidence in the animal, and was sure, if left to himself, he would
carry me safely over. The whole distance was about five hundred paces,
and occupied about a quarter of an hour in crossing. In some places it
was fearful to look down—on one side the rocks were nearly perpendicular
for five or six hundred feet; and on the other, so steep, that no man
could stand upon them. When over, I turned round and watched the others
thread their way across; it was truly terrific to look at them on the
narrow and stony path—one false step, and both horse and rider must be
hurled into the valley a thousand feet below! These are the perils over
which the daring sable-hunters often ride. With them it is a necessity;
they risk it to obtain food, and not for bravado, or from foolhardy
recklessness—like that of some men who ride their horses up and down a
staircase. Kalmuck and Kirghiz would laugh at such feats. I have seen
men who would ride their horses along the roof of the highest cathedral
in Europe, if a plank, eighteen inches wide, were secured along the
ridge. Nor would they require a great wager to induce them to do it;
theirs is a continual life of danger and hardships; and they never seek
it unnecessarily.”
This ridge carried them across the valley, and they descended through a
dense cedar forest to the bank of the river, where they supped splendidly
on a fine fat buck that had fallen to the guns of Zepta and Mr. Atkinson.
Next morning, they were again in the saddle _en route_ for Ouemonia,
where their safe return excited much popular enthusiasm. Bidding adieu
to his faithful companions, he crossed the Katounaia, and with a new
escort rode on towards the Koksa. Leaving it to the south, he struck the
river Tschugash, encamped for the night in a clump of pines on its bank,
and in a day or two arrived at his old quarters on the Tchenish.
* * * * *
Mr. Atkinson’s next expedition was to the great Desert of Gobi, sometimes
called _Scha-ho_, or the Sandy River. Beginning upon the confines of
Chinese Tartary, its vast expanse of sterile wilderness stretches over
some twelve hundred and fifty miles towards the coasts of the Pacific.
It consists in the main of bare rock, shingle, and loose sand,
alternating with fine sand, and sparsely clothed with vegetation. But a
very considerable area, though for a great part of the year not less
monotonously barren, assumes in the spring the appearance of an immense
sea of verdure, and supplies abundant pasturage to the flocks and herds
of the Mongolian nomads; who wander at will over the wide
“prairie-grounds,” encamping wherever they find a sheltering crag or a
stream of water. The general elevation of the Gobi above the sea is
about 3500 feet.
It must be owned that the Gobi is not as black as it is painted. There
are fertile nooks and oases, where the sedentary Mongols, and especially
the Artous, sow and reap their annual crops of hemp, millet, and
buckwheat. The largest is that of Kami. The gloomy picture of “a barren
plain of shifting sand, blown into high ridges when the summer sun is
scorching, no rain falls, and when thick fog occurs it is only the
precursor of fierce winds,” {211} is true only of the eastern districts,
such as the Han-hai, or “Dry Sea,” or the Sarkha Desert, where, for
instance, you meet with scarcely any other vegetation than the
_Salsoloe_, or salt-worts, which flourish round the small saline pools.
“In spring and summer,” says Malte Brun, “when there is no rain, the
vegetation withers, and the sun-burnt soil inspires the traveller with
sentiments of horror and melancholy; the heat is of short duration, the
winter long and cold. The wild animals met with are the camel, the
horse, the ass, the djiggetai, and troops of antelopes.”
It has been observed, and not without reason, that the great Asiatic
desert has exercised a fatal influence on the destinies of the human
race; that it has arrested the extension of the Semitic civilization.
The primitive peoples of India and Tibet were early civilized; but the
immense wilderness which lay to the westward interposed an impassable
barrier between them and the barbarous tribes of Northern Asia. More
surely even than the Himalaya, more than the snow-crowned summits of
Srinagur and Gorkha, these desert steppes have prevented all
communication, all fusion between the inhabitants of the north and those
of the south of Asia; and thus it is that Tibet and India have remained
the only regions of this part of the world which have enjoyed the
benefits of civilization, of the refinement of manners, and the genius of
the Aryan race.
The barbarians who, when the darkness of ruin hung over the Roman Empire,
invaded and convulsed Europe, issued from the steppes and table-lands of
Mongolia. As Humboldt says {212}:—“If intellectual culture has directed
its course from the east to the west, like the vivifying light of the
sun, barbarism at a later period followed the same route, when it
threatened to plunge Europe again in darkness. A tawny race of
shepherds—of Thon-Khiu, that is to say, Turkish origin—the Hiounguou,
inhabited under sheep-skin tents the elevated table-land of Gobi. Long
formidable to the Chinese power, a portion of the Hiounguou were driven
south in Central Asia. The impulse thus given uninterruptedly propagated
itself to the primitive country of the Fins, lying on the banks of the
Ural, and thence a torrent of Huns, Avars, Chasars, and divers mixtures
of Asiatic races, poured towards the west and south. The armies of the
Huns first appeared on the banks of the Volga, then in Pannonia, finally
on the borders of the Marne and the Po, ravaging the beautiful plains
where, from the time of Antenor, the genius of man had accumulated
monuments upon monuments. Thus blew from the Mongolian deserts a
pestilential wind which blighted even in the Cisalpine plains the
delicate flower of art, the object of cares so tender and so constant.”
IV.
With three Cossacks, seven Kalmucks, eight rifles, and a store of powder
and lead, Mr. Atkinson passed into the Gobi. His Kalmucks had their hair
cut close, except a tuft growing on the top of the head, which was
plaited into a long tail, and hung far down their back. The chief was
named Tchuck-a-bir, a stalwart, powerful fellow, with a fine manly
countenance, large black eyes, and massive forehead. He wore a
horse-skin cloak, fastened round his waist with a blood-red scarf. In
warm weather he drew his arms from the sleeves, which were then tucked
into his girdle, and the cloak draped around him in graceful folds,
adding to the dignity of his tall and robust form.
Across the Kourt-Choum mountains the travellers took their way, directing
their course towards the Tanguor chain, many of the peaks of which soar
above the line of eternal snow. Ascending one of these summits, they
enjoyed a noble prospect: immediately beneath them lay the Oubsa-Noor; to
the south-west were visible the Oulan-Koum Desert and the Aral-Noor; to
the south lay Tchagan Tala, and the ridges descending down to the Gobi;
to the south-east the white crests of the Khangai Mountains. This was
such a view of Central Asia as never before had European enjoyed.
Keeping far away to the east, they approached the sources of the Selenga
and Djabakan, in the neighbourhood of which he hoped to meet with the
Kalka tribes. In a rich green valley they came upon one of their auls,
and were hospitably received by Arabdan, the chief, who, according to the
custom of the desert, at once handed to Mr. Atkinson a bowl of tea. Not,
indeed, tea as we English understand it, the clear thin fluid, sweetened
with sugar and tempered with cream; but a thick “slab” mixture of tea,
milk, butter, salt, and flour—tea-soup it might appropriately be called.
Arabdan was tall and thin, between fifty and sixty years of age,
dark-complexioned, with high cheek-bones, small black eyes, a prominent
nose, and a scanty beard. His meagre figure was wrapped in a long
dark-blue silk khalat, buttoned across his chest; in a leather girdle,
adorned with a silver buckle, he carried his knife, flint, and steel.
His helmet-shaped black silk cap was trimmed with black velvet, and
looked very gay with its two broad red ribbons hanging down behind. This
brave costume was completed by a pair of high-heeled, madder-coloured
boots. As for the women, one wore a robe of black velvet, the other a
khalat of red and green silk; the waist of each was defined by a broad
red sash. Their hair was fantastically coiffured, falling upon their
shoulders in a hundred small plaits, some of which glittered with coral
beads, the principal toilette ornament of the Mongolian women. Their red
leather boots were very short and high at the heels, so that they walked
as badly and awkwardly as English ladies. The children wore little more
than nature had provided them with; except that, by rolling in the mud,
they contrived to coat their bodies with reddish ochre, in striking
contrast to their elfin locks of jet black.
Externally the yourts of the Kalkas resemble those of the Kalmucks, but
they differ in the arrangements of the interior. A small low table is
placed opposite the doorway, and upon it the upper idols, or household
gods, and several small metal vases, are set out. In some are kept
grains of millet; in others, butter, milk, and koumis—offerings to the
aforesaid deities. On the left side of this altar stand the boxes which
contain the family property, and near them various domestic utensils and
the indispensable koumis bag. Opposite lie several piles of voilock, on
which the family take their rest.
Immediately on Mr. Atkinson’s arrival a sheep was slain to do him honour,
and it was soon steaming in the iron caldron, with the exception of a
portion broiled for his special delectation. Supper, however, was not
served in the chief’s yourt, but in another; to which everybody repaired
with appetites which suggested that they had fasted for weeks. When the
completest possible justice had been done to the mutton, men, women, and
children retired to their rude couches.
Next morning our indefatigable traveller was once more in the saddle. We
cannot follow him in all the details of his daily journeyings, which
necessarily bore a close resemblance to one another; but we may accompany
him on a visit to the great Kalkas chief, Darma Tsyren. On entering his
yourt, Mr. Atkinson was entertained with tea-soup as usual. Then, he
says—
“The chief sat down in front of me, and the two young men who had
conducted me sat near him—they were his sons. Beyond these sat ten or
twelve other Kalkas, watching my movements with intense interest. I was
undoubtedly the first European they had ever seen. My large felt hat,
shooting jacket, and long boots, will be remembered for years to come—not
that I think they admired the costume; theirs is far more picturesque.
Presently a number of women came into the yourt, and at their head the
wife of the chief. She sat down near him, and was joined by her
daughter; the others got places where they could; but the gaze of all was
upon me. No doubt it would have been highly amusing could I have
understood their remarks, as they kept up an incessant talking.
“At this moment a Cossack brought my samovar into the yourt; and these
people were much astonished to see the steam puffing out, with no fire
under it. One man placed his hand on the top, and got his fingers burnt,
to the great amusement of his friends. My dinner of broiled venison was
brought in on a bright tin plate; this and the knife and fork excited
their curiosity—such articles being quite new to them. They watched me
eat my dinner, and nothing could induce them to move till the plates were
taken away. Darma Tsyren had ordered a sheep to be killed, which had now
been some time in the caldron. When the announcement was made that it
was ready, I was soon left to myself; the whole aul, men, women, and
children, were shortly enjoying the feast.”
From Darma Tsyren Mr. Atkinson obtained the loan of four Kalkas and
twelve horses, and taking also two of his Kalmucks and two Cossacks, he
started on a journey to the river Toss. In the evening he and his party
encamped in a pretty valley, watered by a small lake, which supplied them
with some snipes and ducks for supper. During the night a pack of wolves
visited the encampment. On receiving warning of their approach by a
distant howl, Mr. Atkinson loaded his double-barrelled gun and
distributed ammunition among his people, in order to give the unwelcome
visitors a warm reception. The horses were collected, and picketed in a
spot between the camp and the lake. Nearer and nearer came the enemy;
the tramp of their feet could be heard as they galloped forward. They
reached the camp, and through the night air rang their ferocious howl.
Some dry bushes flung on the fire kindled a sudden flame, which revealed
their gaunt figures, with eyes flashing and ears and tails erect; and
immediately a deadly volley crashed into their midst. With a yell of
pain and terror they turned tail; and Mr. Atkinson and his party hastened
to reload their guns, feeling certain they would return.
The fire flickered down among its embers, and for a time all was silent.
Then arose a stir and an alarm among the horses; and it was discovered
that the pack had divided, one division stealing upon the animals from
the water side, the other interposing between them and the camp. A rush
and a shout of the Kalmucks and Kalkas drove them back; and a Cossack and
a Kalmuck wore posted on each flank, to guard the approaches and give the
alarm. Moreover, the fire was replenished, and its glare lighted up the
scene for miles around. A hush, and a moment of expectation! Then might
you see the hungry pack advancing once more to the assault, with eyeballs
glaring like red-hot iron. A crack of rifles on the right was followed
by Mr. Atkinson’s two barrels, one of which brought down its victim,
while the other, discharged into the midst of the pack, wounded two or
three. Gradually the growling ceased; the wolves again retired; but both
Kalkas and Kalmucks advised that a close watch should be kept, as they
would certainly make a third effort.
There was little fuel left, and it was necessary, therefore, to be doubly
vigilant. The night was one of deep darkness, without moon or stars, and
nothing could be seen, even at a short distance, except towards the lake,
where a shimmer of dubious light rested on the waters. Keen ears and
eyes were on the alert, but no sight or sound of wolf rewarded their
watchfulness. The Kalkas said the wolves were simply waiting until all
was silent in the camp to make another dash at the horses. For a long
time, however, no movement was made, when two of the horses grew uneasy,
tugging at the thongs and snorting loudly. At the same time, the clouds
cleared from the sky, and the stars peering forth threw more light upon
the lake. Howling was heard in the distance, and Tchuck-a-bir declared
that another pack of wolves was approaching. As they drew near, the
former pack, still lurking in the shades, began to growl, and it seemed
possible that a combined attack would be delivered. In order to renew
the fire, four of the men, two being armed, crept along the margin of the
lake, returning in about ten minutes, each with an armful of fuel. The
embers were stirred into life, and the brushwood placed ready to be blown
into a flame when wanted. Suddenly a great tumult arose; the other
wolves had come on the scene, and the echoes rang with a medley of
discordant sounds. Again the watchers waited; and after their patience
had been tested for half an hour, the horses began to pull and plunge in
frenzied terror. The bushes were lighted, and by their blaze Mr.
Atkinson saw a group of eight to ten wolves within fifteen paces. He
fired both barrels at them; his men also fired; and the herd, with a
frightful howl, ignominiously fled. At daylight Mr. Atkinson examined
the scene of action, and found the carcases of eight wolves. With their
skins as trophies, he returned to Darma Tsyren’s aul.
* * * * *
A day or two later, Mr. Atkinson had an adventure with boars. Leaving
four men to guard the camp, he had ridden out, with five followers, in
search of sport. Plunging into a thick copse of long grass and low
bushes, they started more than one boar from his lair, and tracing them
by their motion in the herbage, galloped in hot pursuit. As they emerged
into the open, they could see two large dark grizzly boars about a couple
of hundred yards ahead, and spurred after them with might and main.
Rapidly they gained upon the panting brutes, and when within about fifty
yards, Mr. Atkinson and a Cossack sprang from their horses, fired, and
wounded one of the boars. While they reloaded, the rest of the party
galloped on, and presently other shots wore fired. The boars had
separated: one, dashing across the valley, was followed up by two of the
men; the other was pursued by Mr. Atkinson and his Cossack. After a
splendid chase, they drew near enough to see the foam on his mouth, and
his large tusks gnashing with rage. The Cossack fired; the ball hit him,
but did not check his wild, impetuous course. Swiftly Mr. Atkinson urged
on his horse, got abreast of the animal at about twenty paces distant,
and lodged a bullet in his shoulder. This stopped him, but it took two
more shots to kill him. He proved to be a noble fellow, weighing nine
poods, or about 324 lbs., with long, sharp tusks, which would have been
formidable weapons in a close encounter.
Leaving the Cossack and a Kalmuck to dress the prize and convey it to the
camp, Mr. Atkinson, after reloading his arms, hastened to join the rest
of his party, who were in full chase on the other side of the river, at a
distance of about three versts. He rode briskly forward, but the hunt
was at an end before he reached the river. His followers, on joining
him, announced that they had killed a large boar, though not the one
first started. He had escaped, and while they were searching for his
trail amid some reeds and bushes, a large boar sprang in among them, and
charged at a Cossack’s horse. When within three or four paces of his
intended victim he was stopped by a bullet from Tchuck-a-bir’s rifle; but
he got away before a second shot could be fired, and an animated chase
began. He received several balls, but they seemed to have no effect on
his impenetrable hide. Rushing into the river, he swam across, at a
point where it expanded into a deep broad pool; the men followed him, and
a ball from one of the Kalmucks inflicted a severe wound. Furious with
rage and pain, he dashed full at the man who had wounded him; the Kalmuck
dexterously wheeled his horse aside, and a ball from Tchuck-a-bir laid
the monster dead. With two large boars as the spoils of their prowess,
Mr. Atkinson and his “merry men” returned to camp triumphant.
Mr. Atkinson next travelled in a southerly direction for two days; after
which he turned to the west, and struck upon the river Ouremjour; his
object being to enter the Gobi to the north of the great chain of the
Thian-Chan, or, as he calls them, Syan-Shan Mountains. These are the
highest in Central Asia, and amongst them rises that stupendous mass,
Bogda Oöla, with the volcanoes Pe-shan and Hothaou, to see which was his
leading purpose and aim. He gives an animated description of his
approach to the Syan-Shan. A bright sun was rising behind the wayfarer,
but its rays had not yet gilded the snowy peaks in his front. As he rode
onward he watched for the first bright gleam that lighted up the ice and
snow on Bogda Oöla; presently the great crest reddened with a magical
glow, which gradually spread over the rugged sides, and as it descended,
changed into yellow and then into silvery white. For many minutes Bogda
Oöla was bathed in sunshine before the rays touched any of the lower
peaks. But in due time summit after summit shot rapidly into the brave
red light, and at last the whole chain shone in huge waves of molten
silver, though a hazy gloom still clothed the inferior ranges. In these
atmospheric effects we cannot but recognize a marvellous grandeur and
impressiveness; there is something sublimely weird in the sudden changes
they work among the stupendous mountain masses. Onward fared the
traveller, obtaining a still finer view of Bogda Oöla, and of some of the
other peaks to the west; but, as the day advanced, the clouds began to
fold around its head, and the huge peak was soon clothed with thick
surging wreaths of vapour. The lower range of the Syan-Shan is
picturesque in the extreme; jagged peaks stand out in bold relief against
the snow-shrouded masses, which tower up some eight to ten thousand feet
above them, while the latter are clothed with a luminous purple mist that
seems not to belong to this world. Mr. Atkinson continued his route in a
north-westerly direction, towards one of the lower chains which run
nearly parallel with the Syan-Shan. Thence he could see the Bogda Oöla
in all its grand sublimity, and the volcanic peak Pe-shan, with black
crags outlined against the snow, still further to the west; while beyond
these a long line of snow-capped summits melted into the vaporous
distance.
In the course of his wanderings in Chinese Tartary, our traveller saw
much of the Kirghiz chiefs, the Sultans of the steppes. On one occasion,
while riding in the sterile desert, he fell in with the aul of Sultan
Ishonac Khan—a stoutly built man, with strong-marked Kalmuck features,
who, in right of his descent from the famous Genghiz Khan, wore an owl’s
feather suspended from the top of his cap. His costume was gallant and
gay; Chinese silk, richly embroidered.