Mountains, situated between the Tarbagatai and the Alatou Mountains, and
eastward of the small rocky chain of the Ala-Kool, which extends some
sixty versts from east to west, and measures about twenty-five in
breadth. The highest summit is not more than three thousand feet above
the plain. Vegetation thrives on the lower slopes, but the upper parts
are gloomily bare. From Sultan Ishonac Khan Mr. Atkinson obtained a loan
of fresh horses, and of eight of his Kirghiz to escort him to the
Tarbagatai. A dreary ride it was,—over sandy hills, through sandy
valleys, where not even a blade of grass was green. In many places the
ground was thickly covered with a saline incrustation, which the horses’
feet churned up into a pungent dust, that filled every mouth and caused
intolerable thirst. Welcome was the glimmer of a lake that relieved by
its sparkle the dulness of the landscape; but when horse and man rushed
forward to drink of its waters, to their intense disappointment they
found them bitter as those of Marah. Not till the evening of the fifth
day, when they reached the river Eremil, did they enjoy the luxury of
fresh water.
Next day they reached the Tarbagatai, in the neighbourhood of the Chinese
town of Tchoubuchack, and encamped for the night at the foot of a great
tumulus or barrow, about one hundred and fifty feet high, which is
surrounded by many smaller barrows. They are the last resting-places of
a Kirghiz chief and his people, who belonged to a remote generation, and
to a race of which these tumuli are the only memorials. Another day’s
ride, and they arrived at the aul of Sultan Iamantuck, of whom and his
family Mr. Atkinson speaks as by far the most intelligent people he met
with in this part of Asia. The aul was pitched among high conical tombs
of sun-burnt bricks, the cemetery of the Sultan’s ancestors; and it
appears that once a year it was regularly visited by their pious
descendant and representative. With another relay of horses and a fresh
Kirghiz escort, Mr. Atkinson dashed onward, undeterred by the dreariness
of the sandy level, where neither water nor grass was to be found, and
the only living things were tarantulas and scorpions. His course lay
direct for the Alatou (“Variegated Mountains”), and he could see the
shining peaks of the Actou (“White Mountain”), which forms its highest
crest, and raises its summits fourteen to fifteen thousand feet above the
sea. After fording the broad deep stream of the Yeljen-sa-gash, he
arrived on the shore of Lake Ala-kool, measuring about sixty-five versts
in length by twenty in width, with a rocky island near the north shore,
erroneously described by Humboldt as the site of a volcano. It has no
outlet, yet it receives the tribute of eight rivers; the water is carried
off by evaporation.
Here Mr. Atkinson struck westward to find the aul of Sultan Bak, the
Rothschild of the steppes; a man who owns ten thousand horses, and a
proportionate number of camels, sheep, and oxen. Wealthy men are not
always well disposed towards stranger guests, and Sultan Bak evinced his
dislike of intrusion by sending Mr. Atkinson a diseased sheep! This was
immediately returned, with an intimation that Mr. Atkinson wanted neither
his company nor his gifts; he was the first Sultan who had shown himself
so discourteous, and though he had a large body, it was clear his heart
was that of a mouse. It is not surprising that a message of this kind
provoked him to wrath. He ordered the intruders to quit his aul; if they
did not, his men should drive them into the lake. But when he found that
they were well armed, that discretion which is the better part of valour
enabled him to subdue his temper; he sent one of his finest sheep as a
peace-offering, with an assurance that they might stay as long as they
liked, and should have men and horses when they left. Evidently the
Kirghiz patriarch knew how to make the best of a bad situation.
Accompanied by his poet, he paid a visit to Mr. Atkinson’s camp, supped
heartily off his own mutton, and exchanged the warmest professions of
friendship. The minstrel, at his master’s bidding, sang wild songs to
wilder tunes in glorification of the prowess and freebooting expeditions
of the Sultan and his ancestors, to the great edification of the
listening Kirghiz. So the evening passed peacefully, and the Sultan and
the white man parted on cordial terms. Next day, Mr. Atkinson was riding
towards the Karatou, a mountainous chain of dark purple slate; and six
days later he visited Sultan Boubania, on the river Lepson. In the
neighbourhood were many large tumuli, the largest being the most ancient.
One of these was built up of stone, and formed a circle of 364 feet in
diameter, with a dome-like mound thirty-three feet in height. Tradition
has not preserved the name of the dead honoured with so extraordinary a
memorial; the Kirghiz attribute it to demons working under the direction
of Shaitan. Another kind of tumulus, of more recent construction, was
circular in plan, but carried up to the height of fifty-four feet, in the
shape of “a blast furnace,” with an aperture at the top, and lateral
opening two feet square and four feet from the ground. In the interior
were two graves covered with large blocks of stone. According to the
Kirghiz, these tombs were built by the people who inhabited the country
before the Kalmucks. A third kind, of sunburnt bricks, and Mohammedan in
design, are ascribed to Timour Khan and his race.
Through the rocky gorge of the Balïïtz, Mr. Atkinson commenced his ascent
of the Alatou. His eye rested with pleasure on the richly coloured rocks
that composed the cliffs on either side—deep red porphyry, flecked with
veins of white; slate, jasper, and basalt. He explored several of the
valleys that break up the lower mass of the mountain chain, and rode
along many of its elevated ridges. Sometimes the roar of torrents filled
his ears; sometimes bright streams and sources sparkled in the sunshine;
sometimes he saw before him a fair mosaic of wild flowers; sometimes the
landscape was ennobled by the conspicuous figures of white mountain
peaks, relieved by a background of deep blue sky; sometimes the distant
vapours hovered wraith-like above the calm surface of Lake Tengiz. From
a plateau not far beneath the line of perpetual snow he obtained a noble
view of the Actou, and, to the south, of the lofty and picturesque peaks
of the Alatou; while, nearer at hand, the river Ara poured its thunderous
waters into a gorge some thousand feet in depth. The plateau was covered
with tumuli; one of which, measuring two hundred feet in diameter and
forty feet in height, was enclosed within a trench, twelve feet wide and
six feet deep. On the west side stood four masses of large stones in
circles; the altars, perhaps, on which, long ago, victims were sacrificed
to appease some sanguinary deity. It is a tradition of the Kirghiz that
these antiquities belonged to a native who, for some unknown cause,
determined on a great act of murder and self-destruction, and that they
were constructed before the terrible work was begun. They say that the
father killed his wife and all his children, excepting the eldest son, on
whom devolved the duty of killing, first his father, and then himself.
Mr. Atkinson visited, near the river Kopal, the Arasan, or warm spring,
which wells up in the centre Of a ravine formed of yellow and purple
marbles. Its temperature, all round the year, is 29′ R. or 97° F. Here,
in a remote past, the Kalmucks built a bath, which is still frequented by
Tartars, Kirghiz, and Chinese. The waters, it is said, are wonderfully
beneficial for scurvy and other cutaneous disorders.
Another route carried him to the Tamchi-Boulac, or “Dropping Spring,” at
the foot of the Alatou. The water oozes out of columnar cliffs in
myriads of tiny streams that glitter like showers of diamonds; while in
some parts they seem changed to drops of liquid fire by the reflected
colouring of the rocks, which vary in colour from a bright yellow to a
deep red.
For one hundred and three days Mr. Atkinson wandered among the Alatou
Mountains, exploring peak, precipice, valley, and ravine; surveying
torrent and river and waterfall; now ascending far above the line of
perpetual snow, now descending into warm and sheltered woods, where the
greensward was enamelled with blossoms. From the eastern end of the
Alatou, a seventeen days’ ride over hill and steppe brought him to the
Russian frontier and the comforts of civilization at Semipalatinsk. But,
almost as strongly possessed with the spirit of continuous motion as the
Wandering Jew in the grim old legend, he next set forth on a journey
across Siberia, from its western boundary on the Irtisch, to its Oriental
capital, Irkutsk. In the course of his long journey he visited the Saian
Mountains; ascended the valley of the Oka; explored a bed of lava and a
volcanic crater in the valley of the Ojem-a-louk; rode across the rugged
shoulder of Nouk-a-Daban; and descended the little river Koultouk to Lake
Baikal, or, as the natives call it, the Holy Sea. Hiring a small boat,
with a crew of seven men, he crossed the lake to the mouth of the river
Angara. Baikal is the third largest lake in Asia—about four hundred
miles in length, and varying in breadth from nineteen miles to seventy.
Though fed by numerous streams, it has only one outlet, the Angara, a
tributary of the Yenisei. Lying deep among the Baikal Mountains, an
off-shoot of the Altai, it presents some vividly coloured and striking
scenery. Its fisheries are valuable. In the great chain of
communication between Russia and China it holds an important place, and
of late years its navigation has been conducted by steamboats. The
native peoples inhabiting its borders are the Buriats and Tungusians.
Mr. Atkinson spent eight and twenty days in exploring this Alpine sea,
and afterwards proceeded to Irkutsk. {228}
ALEXINA TINNÉ
AND HER WANDERINGS IN THE SOUDAN.
ABOUT 1862, letters from Khartûm, the capital of Nubia, stimulated the
curiosity of European geographers by announcing that three courageous
ladies had undertaken a journey into Central Africa, with the view of
reaching those mysterious Sources of the Nile which, for generations, had
been the object of Western research. At first the news was received with
suspicion; many persons did not hesitate to speak of it as a hoax; but
incredulity vanished as the information grew more copious and more
precise, and it became known that the guiding spirit of the adventure was
a certain Miss Alexandrina or Alexina Tinné, a lady of great personal
charms and very wealthy. It was then unanimously agreed that she was one
of those brave daughters of England who, in the Continental belief, will
go anywhere and do anything that is hazardous or eccentric. And though
of Dutch extraction she really did owe something to English influences.
Her father was a Dutch merchant who, after acquiring an ample fortune in
Demerara, was naturalised in England, and finally settled at Liverpool.
He died while Alexina (born in October, 1835) was still a child, but the
wealthy heiress was brought up by her mother as befitted her social
position. What impelled her, in her young maidenhood, to plunge into the
dangers of African exploration—whether her action was due to a love of
adventure, a thirst after knowledge, a spirit rebelling against the
conventionalisms of society, or to baffled hope and slighted
affection—does not seem to be known. But it is certain that about 1859
she set out from the Hague, accompanied by her mother and aunt, and
visited various parts of Egypt and Syria. For some months she resided at
Beirut and Tripoli; next she repaired to Damascus; afterwards, to the
ruins of Palmyra, haunted by the memory of Zenobia; and, finally, she
dreamed of imitating the romantic career of Lady Hester Stanhope, and
installing herself as Queen of the Lebanon. Her mood, however, changed
suddenly; she returned to Europe, not to resume the monotonous habits of
social life, but to make preparations for an expedition in search of the
Sources of the Nile.
In this daring project she appears to have been encouraged partly by her
own fearlessness of nature; partly by the example of Mrs. Petherick, wife
of the English consul at Khartûm, whose fame had spread far and wide; and
partly by the flattering thought that it might be reserved for her, a
woman, to succeed where so many brave men had failed, and to be the first
to solve the great enigma of the Nilotic sphynx. What immortality would
be hers if she triumphed over every danger and difficulty, and stood,
where no European as yet had stood, on the margin of the remote
well-head, the long secret spring, whence issued the waters of Egypt’s
historic river! It must be owned that in this ambitious hope there was
nothing mean or unworthy, and that it could have been possible only to a
high and courageous nature.
She set out in the month of July, 1861, still accompanied by her mother
and her aunt, two ladies of mediocre character, who readily yielded to
the influence of a stronger mind. A part of the winter was spent in a
pleasant country house in one of the suburbs of Cairo—a kind of palace of
white marble, situated in the midst of odorous gardens, and looking out
upon the ample Nile and the giant forms of the Pyramids. There they made
extensive preparations for the contemplated journey; while Alexina spent
many thoughtful hours in studying the map of Africa, in tracing the
sinuosities of the White Nile above its point of junction with the Blue,
in laying down the route which should carry her and her companions into
the regions of the great lakes.
It was on the 9th of January, 1862, that she and her companions directed
their course towards Upper Egypt, voyaging in three boats, attended by a
numerous train of guides, guards, and servants. In the largest and most
commodious “dahabeeyah” were installed the three ladies, with four
European servants and a Syrian cook. Alexina’s journal, it is said,
preserves many curious details in unconscious illustration of the mixed
character of the expedition, which might almost have been that of a new
Cleopatra going to meet a new Mark Antony; we see the Beauty there as
well as the Heroine—the handsome woman who is mindful of her toilette
appliances, as well as the courageous explorer, who does not forget her
rifle and cartridges.
Passing in safety the first cataract, Miss Tinné’s expedition duly
arrived at Kousko; where she and her companions took a temporary leave of
the Nile, tourists, and civilization, and struck across the sandy desert
of Kousko to Abu-Hammed, in order to avoid the wide curve which the river
there makes to the westward. The caravan, besides Miss Tinné’s
domestics, included six guides and twenty-five armed men. Of camels
loaded with baggage and provisions, and dromedaries which carried the
members of her suite, there were a hundred and ten. The desert did not
prove so dreary as it had been painted; sand and rock were often relieved
by patches of blooming vegetation; the monotony of the plains was often
broken by ridges of swelling hills. The camels every evening browsed
contentedly on the herbage, and quenched their thirst in the basins of
water that sparkled in the rocky hollows.
The time usually required for crossing the desert is eight to nine days;
but as Alexina advanced very leisurely, by daily stages not exceeding
seven or eight hours, she occupied nearly three weeks. In spite of this
easy mode of travelling, her mother was so fatigued that, on arriving at
Abu-Hammed, on the banks of the Nile, she insisted they should again take
to the river. A dahabeeyah was accordingly hired, along with six
stalwart boatmen, who swore on the Koran to keep pace with the swiftest
dromedaries. So while the caravan tramped onwards through the burning,
shifting sand, Alexina and her companions voyaged up the Nile; but the
rowers soon proved false to their promises, slackened their oars, and
allowed the caravan to outstrip them. When reproached with their
lethargy, they excused themselves on the score of the arduousness of
their work and the great heat of the sun.
Meanwhile, the caravan had made considerable progress, and at nightfall
tents were pitched and fires lighted. As no dahabeeyah could be seen,
men were sent in search of it; but in vain. No news of it was obtained
until the following day, when it was ascertained that the Egyptian
boatmen had at last laid down their oars in sullen indolence, and that
Miss Tinné and her companions had been compelled to spend the night in a
Nubian village. The misadventure taught them the lesson that in Eastern
countries it is generally wiser to trust to brutes than to men; the
boatmen were dismissed, and the travellers once more joined the caravan.
But the heat proved insupportable, driving them to make a second
experiment of the river traject. A boat was again hired; again they
embarked on the glittering Nile; and again an evil fortune attended them.
Instead of reaching Berber, as they should have done, in four days, the
voyage was extended to over a week; but it was some compensation for
their fatigue when, at two hours’ march from the city, they were received
by some thirty chiefs, mounted upon camels, and attended by janizaries in
splendid attire, who, with much pomp and circumstance, escorted them to
the gates of Berber. There they were received by the governor with every
detail of Oriental etiquette, installed in pavilions in his gardens, and
waited upon in a spirit of the most courteous hospitality. No longer in
need of a complete caravan, Miss Tinné dismissed her camel-drivers; but,
desirous of leaving upon their minds an enduring impression, she rewarded
them with almost prodigal liberality. Her gold coins were so lavishly
distributed, that the Arabs, in surprise and delight, broke out into
unaccustomed salutations; and to this very day, remembering her
largesses, they sing of her glory, as if she had revived the splendour of
Palmyra.
There was a policy in this apparently thoughtless profusion. As a
natural result, her reputation everywhere preceded her; hospitality was
pressed upon her with an eagerness which may have been dictated by
selfish motives, but was not the less acceptable to her and her
companions. Women, gathering round her, prostrated themselves at her
feet. The young girls danced merrily at her approach; they took her for
a princess, or, at least, they saluted her as such.
After a residence of some weeks at Berber, the adventurous ladies hired
three boats, and ascended the Nile to Khartûm, the capital of the
Egyptian Soudan. Situated at the confluence of the White and Blue Nile,
it is the centre of an important commerce, and the rendezvous of almost
all the caravans of Nubia and the Upper Nile. Unfortunately, it is one
of the world’s _cloacinæ_, a kind of moral cesspool, into which the filth
and uncleanness of many nations pours—Italians, Germans, Frenchmen,
Englishmen, whom their own countries have repudiated; political gamblers,
who have played their best card and failed; fraudulent bankrupts,
unscrupulous speculators, men who have nothing to hope, nothing to lose,
and are too callous to fear. The great scourge of the place, down to a
very recent date, was the cruel slave-traffic, at that time carried on
with the connivance of the Egyptian Government. Recently the energetic
measures of Colonel Gordon have done much towards the extirpation of this
cancerous growth, and even the moral atmosphere of the town has been
greatly purified. To Alexina Tinné the place was sufficiently loathsome;
but a residence of some weeks’ duration, while preparations were made for
the advance into Central Africa, was imperative. She did what she could
to avoid coming into contact with the “society” of Khartûm, and exerted
all her energies to stimulate the labours of her subordinates, so that
she might depart at the earliest possible moment. At length, provisions
were collected, and a supply of trinkets to be used as gifts or in
barter; an escort of thirty-eight men, including ten soldiers fully
armed, and all bearing a good character for trustworthiness, was engaged;
and, finally, she hired for the heavy sum of ten thousand francs, a small
steamboat, belonging to Prince Halim. With a glad heart she quitted
Khartûm, and resumed the ascent of the White Nile, passing through a
succession of landscapes fair and fertile. As for the river, its quiet
beauty charmed her; and she compared it to Virginia Lake, the pretty
basin of water that sparkles in the leafy shades of Windsor Forest. Its
banks are richly clothed with trees, chiefly gumtrees, which frequently
attain the dimensions of the oak. But the graceful tamarisk is also
abundant, and myriads of shrubs furnish the blue ape with a refuge and a
home. The air glitters with the many-coloured wings of swarms of birds.
On the bright surface of the stream spread the broad leaves and white
petals of colossal lilies, among which the hippopotamus and the crocodile
pursue their unwieldy gambols.
How marvellous the effects of colour when this magical scene is bathed in
the hot rays of the sunshine! Through the transparent air every object
is seen with a distinct outline, and the sense of distance is overcome.
Where a shadow falls it is defined as sharply as on canvas; there is no
softening or confusing mist; you see everything as in a mirror. In the
noontide heats all nature is as silent here as in a virgin forest; but
when the cool breath of evening begins to be felt, and that luminous
darkness, which is the glory of a summer night in Central Africa, spreads
softly over the picture, the multiform life of earth swiftly re-awakens;
birds and butterflies hover in the air, the monkeys chatter merrily, and
leap from bough to bough. The sounds which then break forth—song and hum
and murmur, the roll of the river, the din of insects, the cries of the
wild beasts—seem all to mingle in one grand vesper hymn, proclaiming the
might and majesty of the Creator. These are generally hushed as the
night wears on; and then myriads of fireflies and glow-worms light their
tiny torches and illuminate the dark with a magical display; while the
air is charged with sweet and subtle odours exhaled from the corollas of
the plants which open only during the cool and tranquil hours.
While slowly making her way up the river, Alexina encountered an Egyptian
pasha, who was returning with a booty of slaves from a recent razzia.
She eagerly implored him to set the unhappy captives free, and when her
solicitations failed, purchased eight of the poor creatures, to whom she
immediately gave their liberty, supplying them also with provisions.
This has been termed an act of Quixotism; it was rather one of generous
womanly enthusiasm, and to our thinking redeems the failings of Alexina
Tinné’s character—compensates for the follies and frivolities which
encumbered her enterprise. Her heart was true to every gentle impulse,
and she ceased not to suffer keenly at the sight of the wretched
condition of the poor negroes who fell victims to an unholy traffic.
This traffic had aroused such feelings of hatred and revenge in the
breasts of the riverine tribes of the Nile, that the passage of the river
had become very dangerous, and the journey by land almost impossible.
The natives looked upon every white man as a Turk and a slave-dealer; and
when a boat appeared on the horizon, mothers cried with terror to their
children, “The Tourké, the Tourké are coming!” The scarlet tarbouch, or
fez, added to the repulsion. “It is the colour of blood just spilled,”
said a negro to his family. “It never fades,” they said; “the Turk
renews it constantly in the blood of the poor black men.”
Fortunately, they were able to distinguish between the boats of the
slave-dealers and Alexina Tinné’s steamer. Twice or thrice they
approached the latter; at first not without fear, but afterwards with
good courage. “Is the young lady who commands,” they asked, “the
Sultan’s sister? Does she come to assist or to persecute us?” When
fully informed of the object of her pacific expedition, they rapidly grew
familiar and ventured on board her boat. “Since you mean no evil against
us,” they cried, “we will do _you_ no harm; we will love you!” They
accepted from her hands a cup of tea, and courteously drank it without
manifesting their repugnance; and they explained to her their usages and
manners, and supplied her with interesting information respecting the
surrounding country. Her reception was so much to her mind, that she
would have remained for some time among this kindly people, had she not
felt bound to prosecute her journey to the south.