CHAN-KIA-KOW.
We reached Chan-kia-kow at 1 o'clock, after a hard ride. It is
a large, straggling town, lying in a valley surrounded on three
sides by mountains, and is bounded on the north by the Great Wall,
which descends precipitously from the brow of the hill, crosses
the valley, and up the other side. The town of Chan-kia-kow has a
character peculiarly its own. It derives its importance from its
being the focus of the trade between Russia and China. All goods to
and from Kiachta must pass this way, whether on the direct route
for the Hu-quang provinces or _viâ_ Tientsin. The result is a large
"foreign" population--that is, of Chinese from other provinces.
Many of these men have passed most of their lives in Kiachta, and
speak Russian. Most of them are wealthy; indeed, the Kiachta trade
has been the means of enriching both Chinese and Russians, and many
of both nations who have been engaged in it have amassed large
fortunes. There is an outward appearance of wealth in Chan-kia-kow,
and more show of newness than one meets with in other of their
fusty old towns. Some new temples have lately been built by the
merchants, and new archways, of which the paint is fresh and good,
a thing rarely seen in China. This being the frontier town between
China and Mongolia, attracts considerable numbers of Mongols, who
bring in their camels to hire for the transport of goods across the
desert, and drive in their sheep, cattle, and horses for sale,
taking back with them in exchange store of brick-tea and small
articles of various sorts, such as pipes, tobacco, &c. The Russians,
also, have had a factory here for a few years, and altogether a rare
motley crowd is the population of Chan-kia-kow. The Russians call it
Kalgan, a name of Mongol origin, meaning, according to Bell, "the
everlasting wall." But it is more probably a corrupt form of Halgan,
or Khalgan, signifying a gate. The name is quite out of use among
the modern Mongols, who invariably employ the Chinese name.
Mr. Noetzli first endeavoured to hunt up some of his Chinese
acquaintance, and a tedious business it was, in the interminably
long streets, and in a rather hot sun, fatigued as we were with a
long ride. After several false scents, we hit on the establishment
of a Shanse man who had been thirty years in Kiachta. He and his
household spoke good Russian, and he was proud to serve up tea,
European fashion, with cups and saucers, sugar and teaspoons.
This was very acceptable to us; and we rested as long as we could
under his roof, while he entertained us with much interesting
conversation, and many cups of the cheering beverage. Having got
directions by which to find out the Russians, who had lately gone
into new quarters, we soon traced them out in a neat little house
built on the hill-side, out of town, that is, beyond the Great Wall,
in the narrow pass leading into Mongolia. Mr. Noetzli, being already
acquainted with some of them, and speaking a little Russian, we
soon made friends with them, and induced them to invite us to take
up our quarters with them. So, tying up our beasts, we abandoned
ourselves to tea-drinking for an hour or two. The Russians were
exceedingly kind and hospitable to us. We were much more comfortable
with them than we could hope to be in a Chinese inn; but we derived
other advantages from living with the Russians which were of more
importance to us. We were not friendless; the cunning Chinese could
not look on us merely in the light of victims who had come there
to be choused and swindled. Our negotiations for transport would
pass through the hands of our Russian friends, who were accustomed
to deal in such matters. So far all was well. But Mr. Noetzli had
sent an express on some time before to ask the Russians to prepare
us camels. Had they done it? No. This looked black rather, but we
resigned ourselves to circumstances, confidently believing that
things would mend when they came to the worst. We now prepared
to play our last card, which was that Mr. Noetzli should go,
accompanied by Chebekin, the Russian factotum, a most indefatigable
fellow, who speaks Mongol like a native, to a Lama convent, called
Bain-tolochoi, two days' journey into Mongolia. There they were to
discover a certain priest, to whom Noetzli was accredited by the
lamas at Peking, and endeavour to get him to advise some of his
Mongol brethren to give us camels. The simple Mongols reverence
their lamas, and will readily execute their behests, even at great
personal inconvenience. This lama was a man of great influence in
his own circle, and we were a little sanguine about the result,
if only a favourable reception could be had. It was arranged,
therefore, that our two friends should set out on horseback on the
morrow, while we kicked our heels about in idleness and suspense at
Chan-kia-kow.
The next morning, 21st of August, while we were at breakfast, two
Mongols came lounging into the place. One of them was the courier
who carries the post-bag to Kiachta, who was hanging about waiting
for post-day; the other was a friend of his, but apparently a
stranger to our hosts. We took the opportunity of asking about
camels, and Chebekin set to work palavering. In a quarter of an hour
the whole thing was settled, we were to have camels in four days,
and we should be ready to start on the fifth day. The price we paid
for eight camels (we really had twelve) for 800 miles, was 150 taels
(£50), and two bricks of tea to the ferryman of a certain river.
Thus we were once more at ease in our minds; the two scouts were
well pleased to see their horses unsaddled again, and we were all
happy together.
The next day Mr. Noetzli left us to return to Tientsin, and we
were rather in a bad plight, not being able to communicate with
our Russian friends, except in Chinese, a language of which we
were almost wholly ignorant. One of them vigorously rubbed up some
English he had once learned, and in a few days made great progress.
While we are waiting for our camels we have plenty of time to see
Chan-kia-kow, but after all there is not much to see. The view from
the house where we lived was across the pass, and looked straight
on the mountain wall on the other side. So close were we to the
mountain that the sun was several hours up before he was seen
topping the hill. The Great Wall runs over the ridges of these
hills, nearly east and west. This structure is entirely in ruins
here. The rubbish that once composed it remains and marks the line.
Many of the towers are still standing. I doubt if the wall ever has
been so massive in this quarter as near its eastern terminus, where
I crossed it a few years ago. Where the Great Wall crosses the town
of Chan-kia-kow it is kept in good repair, and has a good solid arch
with a gate which is closed nominally at sunset. There is no traffic
from the town except through this port, and all Mongols and Chinese
dismount in passing.
One of our amusements in Chan-kia-kow was to attend the horse-fair
which is held every morning on an esplanade just outside the city
on the Mongol side of the Great Wall. It is a most exciting scene,
and attracts a great concourse of people. Several hundred ponies,
chiefly Mongol, are here exposed for sale every morning. They are
tied up in line on either side, leaving the middle space clear,
and are taken out in turns and ridden up and down the open space
by wild-looking jockeys, who show off their paces to the highest
advantage. The fast ones are galloped as hard as their legs can
carry them from end to end of the course, pulling up dead short,
about ship and back again, the riders all the while holding out
their whip hand at full length, and yelling like infuriated demons.
There are generally half a dozen on the course at a time, all going
full tilt, and brushing past each other most dexterously. They go
tearing through the crowd of spectators without checking their
pace, and yet it is rare for any one to get ridden over. Amongst
these ponies are many extraordinary trotters, and many trained
to artificial paces. These are generally more sought after by
purchasers than the gallopers.
A number of men hang about the horse-fair who act as brokers between
buyers and sellers. These men are invariably Chinese. They soon
attached themselves to us, offering their services, and descanting
on the merits of the various steeds that were constantly scouring
past us. Their mode of making and receiving offers is to pull their
long sleeves down and communicate with each other by the touch of
the fingers. This seems to be more of a traditional ceremony than
anything else, for when they have made a bid with so much show of
secrecy, they frequently continue the bargaining _vivâ voce_ in
the hearing of the whole multitude. The prices of the ponies sold
varied from five taels to twenty, or say from thirty shillings to
six guineas. We had occasion to make some purchases, and paid about
ten taels each for very good useful ponies. One of mine that I had
brought from Tientsin had got a very bad sore back from the last
day's ride with a badly fitting saddle. He was useless to me in that
condition, and I sold him to a horsedealer for five taels.
Large droves of cattle and sheep came in from Mongolia, but the sale
of these is not carried on with so much ostentation as that of the
horses.
We daily, almost hourly, observed long strings of ox-carts coming
down through the pass loaded with short square logs of soft wood.
The carts are of the roughest description, and have not, I think,
a bit of iron in their construction. This wood is brought from the
mountains near Urga, across the desert of Gobi, a distance of 600
miles, and is chiefly used in the manufacture of coffins by the
Chinese. These ox caravans travel very slowly, a journey of 600
miles occupying forty days or more; but it is a cheap and convenient
mode of conveyance. The animals feed themselves on the way, and cost
very little to start with. Camels could do the work, but a camel is
a wretched object in harness, and is quite unable to drag even a
light cart through a steep pass. Horses or oxen have to do this work
for them. The pass at Chan-kia-kow is very stony for some fifteen
miles, and the oxen have to be shod with thin iron plates. The
Chinese farriers at Chan-kia-kow are very expert at shoeing cattle
and horses. They don't attempt to make a shoe to fit any particular
hoof, but keep a stock on hand, and selecting the nearest size, they
hammer the shoe approximately to the shape of the hoof. They don't
trouble themselves to cut the hoof down much, and you can have your
beast shod on all four feet in a remarkably short time.
The head of the Russian establishment had been absent on a journey
to Peking. He returned while we were in his house, travelling, as
we had done, in a mule-litter. Amongst his travelling gear that
we saw turned out of the palanquin was a small sized "_samovar_,"
or tea-urn, which is the greatest institution in Russia, and as
we were first introduced to it in Chan-kia-kow I must give some
account of it here. _Samovar_ is composed of two Russian words,
meaning, I believe, "self-boiling." It is a very simple and
admirable contrivance for boiling water quickly, and keeping it
boiling, without which it is impossible to make tea fit to drink.
The samovar is an elegantly shaped vase, made of brass, with a
tube about two and a half inches in diameter going down the centre
from top to bottom. A charcoal fire burns in this tube, and, as
the water is all round it, a large "heating-surface" is obtained,
and the water is acted on very rapidly. Samovars are made of all
sizes, the capacity being estimated in tea cups. An average sized
one contains twenty to twenty-five cups, or rather glasses, for it
is customary among the Russians to drink tea out of tumblers. Those
who can afford it drink very good tea, and they are probably the
most accomplished tea-drinkers in the world; our countrywomen might
even learn a lesson from them in the art of tea-making. They use
small earthenware tea-pots, and their first principle seems to be to
supply the pot bountifully with the raw material. The infusion comes
off very strong, and they judge of its strength by the colour in
the glass. They put but a little tea in the glass, and then dilute
it with boiling water from the samovar, in about the proportions
of the whiskey and water in toddy. As a rule, they use sugar and
milk, or cream, when procurable. At Chan-kia-kow it was not to be
had, for the Chinese do not use milk, or any preparation from it;
and it probably never occurred to the Russians that they might keep
their own cow for a mere song. The Russian gets through an amazing
quantity of tea in the course of a day, and I verily believe they
consume more per head than the Chinese themselves. The samovar is
almost constantly blowing off steam--morning, noon, and night it is
to be seen on the table, and they never stop sipping tea while there
is any water left. It is as much a necessary of life with them as
their daily bread, or tobacco to an inveterate smoker, and their
attachment to their own way of making it, is strikingly exhibited
by the fact, that a Russian, travelling among the Chinese, where
every possible facility for tea-making is at hand, should consider
it essential to his comfort to carry his own samovar about with him.
During our stay at Chan-kia-kow, we experienced a considerable
change in the weather. The first two days it was hot, but with a
fresher and more elastic atmosphere than about Peking. This is
probably due to the elevation, and the vicinity of mountains. We
had ascended by successive passes and terraces from Peking about
2500 feet, which is approximately the elevation of Chan-kia-kow. A
thunder-squall on the 21st of August cooled the air so much that
we had to sleep under a blanket that night. Next morning was quite
chilly with the thermometer at 71°. At mid-day on the 23rd it stood
at 72°, and on the morning of the 24th it was 65°. It got warmer
again afterwards, but we began to think there was something in the
Russian warnings of great cold in Mongolia, and we did not regret
being well provided with blankets and furs.
As the time drew near for our departure we seriously set to work to
supply ourselves with necessaries for the journey across the desert.
Our Mongol friends had contracted to carry us to Kiachta in thirty
days, but to provide against accidents we allowed a good deal more.
Although we were well supplied for the desert journey with preserved
provisions, wine, and bottled porter, the opportunity of procuring
fresh vegetables was too tempting to be overlooked. At Chan-kia-kow
we found some of the finest cabbages[4] in the world, carrots, &c.
Potatoes are also to be had in the season, but we were too early.
These and some fresh beef equipped us fully in that department.
[4] These cabbages are said to have been originally introduced from
Russia.
Then we had to purchase two carts to travel in. The Russians and
Chinese always travel so, for it would be too fatiguing to ride on a
camel all the way, they go so long at a stretch--sixteen to eighteen
hours without stopping. The carts are built on the same principle as
those in use about Peking and Tientsin, but larger. They are drawn
by camels. We essayed to make these purchases, and soon found one
cart in good order, barring the wheels. We then asked a wheelwright
to make a pair of wheels for it, but he would have charged more for
the wheels than the cost of a new cart, completely furnished.
It was evident that we could not manage these matters without being
shamelessly imposed upon, and we therefore begged our good friends,
the Russians, to take our business in hand. Everything now went
smoothly. Two carts were quickly found, second-hand, and at moderate
prices. When we had got them we found they wanted harness, that
is, sundry strips of leather thongs, attached to the points of the
shafts, and which are secured in a very primitive, but effective,
way to the saddle gear of the camels. Then the covers of our carts
looked rather weather-beaten, and it would be cold in Mongolia. New
felt covers had therefore to be obtained, and for extra warmth,
nailed on over the old ones. Our wheels would want oiling. We must
therefore have five catties of oil, cost 500 cash. But how to carry
it? A pot was requisite--cost 150 cash more. There was really no end
to the small things that suggested themselves. We had ponies--extra
felt saddle cloths were wanted to protect their backs. And how were
we to catch them when turned out to graze during our halts? Hobbles
must be got for this. We also took some dry food for our ponies
to eat when the grass was very thin, but they would not look at
it, and we had eventually to throw it away to lighten our camels.
What with extra rope, a bag of charcoal, covers for our baggage in
case of rain, lanterns, and a variety of other things, we made up
a formidable list of odds and ends. The account rendered filled
a sheet of foolscap, but the whole amount of our purchases at
Chan-kia-kow, exclusive of the first cost of two carts, came to less
than six pounds, and this included several pairs of felt boots and a
couple of goat-skin jackets. No one travelling that way (unless it
be in the early summer), should omit to procure a couple of pairs of
these felt boots. There is nothing like them for warmth, and they
can be got large enough to pull over your other boots. I used mine
nearly all the way to Moscow, and rarely experienced the sensation
of cold feet, though exposed in all sorts of carriages, and in
severe weather.
On the 25th of August, the Mongol gave notice that the camels were
at hand, and on the 26th they came into the courtyard, uttering
that disagreeably plaintive cry that is peculiar to the camel, and
more particularly to the juveniles. The camels looked very large
and ungainly in the small enclosure, but the Mongols soon made room
by making them kneel down close together, when they immediately
commenced chewing the cud. The Mongols manage their camels by means
of a tweak passed through the nose, with a thin string attached.
They pull the string with a slight jerk, saying "Soh, Soh," and the
animal, screaming the while, falls on his knees, and with three
oscillating movements he is flat down with his belly on the ground.
The Mongols had already tackled our baggage and arranged it to their
own satisfaction, so as to suit not only the weight each camel was
to carry, but to balance one side equally with the other. Each
package is well lashed up with stout rope, leaving a short loop. In
loading, a package is lifted up on each side simultaneously, the
loops crossed over the camel's back between the humps, one loop
passed through the other, and secured by a wooden pin. The load is
then allowed to fall, the weight comes on the wooden pin, and so
keeps it in its place. The back of the camel is protected by a
series of pieces of thick felt, ingeniously laid round the humps, on
the sides, and very thickly over the hollow between the humps. This
mass of felt is kept in its place by means of a frame-work of wood
on each side, lashed together across the camel's back.
Some hours were occupied in adjusting the camel loads and getting
all ready for the start. We did not hurry, as we could not afford
to forget anything now, as we were about to plunge into the desert,
where we would be as entirely thrown on our own resources as if we
were in a ship at sea.
Horses had to be hired to take our carts through the pass, a
distance of fifteen miles, the camels being unequal to the task.
The camel has little strength in proportion to his size. His
formation peculiarly adapts him to carry weight, his whole strength
being concentrated in the arch of his back; and yet in proportion
he carries much less than a mule, that is, considerably less than
double. For draught purposes, as I have already mentioned, the camel
is ill adapted. His pace is remarkably slow, and in short he is
only fit to work in deserts where, comparatively speaking, no other
animal can live. His faculty of going for many days without food or
water, and of nourishing himself on any sort of vegetable growth
that comes in his way, is invaluable to his nomad masters.