MONGOLIA--_continued_
The grass was still copiously sprinkled with onions. As we advanced
we crossed some marshy ground with a good deal of water, enough to
make it necessary to pick the way judiciously, for the camel hates
water or slippery mud. Their broad soft feet don't sink into the mud
sufficiently to enable them to get a good foot-hold like a horse,
and their long weedy legs are so loosely knit together, that they
run a great risk of splitting up when their feet slip. A caravan
of seventeen camels, that had accompanied us since morning, took a
wrong road across the marshes and stuck, the camels being unable
to proceed. Our lama took a round-about road, for which we abused
him at the time; but when he saw the other caravan brought up all
standing on the short cut, he merely pointed it out to us with a
triumphant chuckle, and quietly asked, "Who knows the road?"
A 60-camel caravan was passed encamped near the marsh. It was from
Urga, and probably from Kiachta, loaded with merchandise for China,
and for account of Chinese. Two celestials were in charge of the
goods, jolly roystering fellows, with whom we stopped awhile and
held such conversation as to the road, the state of the pastures,
time occupied, &c., as will usually occur to travellers in such
regions. It was curious to notice how untruthful these travellers'
stories generally were. They seemed to say whatever came uppermost
in their minds, as a man of a happy disposition will often say,
"It is a fine day," when it is raining cats and dogs. But yet if
you are to believe _nothing_ of what you hear on the road, you
will deprive yourself of a great deal of information which might
be valuable; and if you believe _all_, you will keep yourself and
your people constantly in hot water. It is difficult to steer a safe
course between too much credulity on the one hand, and too little
faith on the other.
We halted again at 2 o'clock at _Taryagi_, a region unpeopled; but
we were near a shallow lagoon, with thick chalk-coloured water.
It was most unpalatable, but the Mongols seemed to like it. It is
easier for them to draw their water from a pool than to fetch it
from a distant well; and to cover their indolence, they invariably
assure you that the wells are salt. You are of course obliged to
accept their explanations, for if they were to assert that there
were no wells at all, you would not be a bit the wiser. Although the
pastures were pretty fair at Taryagi, our camels were not allowed to
graze, the reason being, that in their condition, they would blow
themselves out in a couple of hours to such an extent, that they
would not be fit to work.
It was pitch dark before we got ready to start. We had difficulty in
collecting the beasts, particularly the ponies, and a young unruly
camel. Our two Chan-kia-kow lanterns were sufficient to make the
darkness visible, but no more. The Mongols, when looking for cattle
in the dark, stoop down to the ground and scan the horizon round. In
a steppe, this plan is very useful, for if the animal is not very
far off, his outline can be descried against the horizon.
At daylight we were in the steppe _Butyn-tala_, where another large
caravan was encamped. This steppe has also a great deal of surface
water in it, and in the small valleys round it. The grass is pretty
good, and cattle abundant. Game was again met with in Butyn-tala.
Our next halt was near _Sain-kutul_, where there were good
pastures, but shocking water. We really could not drink it, and,
as the day was still hot, we had to suffer from thirst. Milk was
of no use, and only aggravated our sufferings. At Sain-kutul, a
strange Mongol (a lama) rode up on a camel, and after the usual
greetings, he undid his camel's load, and took up his quarters in
the tent of our people. On inquiry, we found he was going to _Kuren_
(Urga of the Russians), and gave us to understand we might have
his company if we liked. He had started from his home with his one
camel to perform a long journey, without any of the necessaries
usually carried on such a journey, trusting that Bhuddha would
furnish a table for him in the wilderness, and a covering as well,
by directing him to the tent of some travellers who were better
provided than himself. He was a man of a mean character. Our first
impressions of him were decidedly unfavourable, and subsequent
experience confirmed them. Not that the man ever did anything wrong;
on the contrary, his conduct was regulated by the strictest rules
of propriety. But that merely served to aggravate his offence,
for it gave us no excuse for disliking him. On the first day of
our acquaintance I lent a hand to lash up his gear, not from any
desire to help him, but from the same motive that induces people to
twirl their thumbs for want of some more intellectual amusement; or
children to pull and haul at anything they can lay hands on, more
especially where they have a chance of doing mischief. As I was
pulling at his ropes, the fellow looked up in my face, and, with the
most abject expression, but with great gravity, said, "_Sain chung!
Sain chung!_" Good man! Good man! The Mongols use this expression
in two senses, one with a meaning, and one without. Now, in which
sense soever this individual used it, it was equally bad, and I much
fear I never forgave him for it. Indeed if he had asked forgiveness
(which he did not) I could not have believed him sincere. And this
man was to stick to us like the old man of the sea all the way
to Urga! He affected great learning too--knew all the lama books,
according to his own account, and had been to Tangut. Whether by
Tangut the Mongols mean the old country of Tangut, or whether it
means Thibet, I am unable to say. It is most probably the latter,
and the confusion of names is very likely to have occurred from the
fact that Tangut was peopled with a Thibetian race.
After leaving Sain-kutul, we were joined by a Russian courier, a
lama, mounted on a camel, a very unusual thing, for they generally
ride horses, changing them every twenty or thirty miles. The
courier, knowing Russ, tried to get up a conversation with us in
that language, which we evaded, for we had already discovered the
advantage of passing for Russians. It would, indeed, have been
useless to explain to the lama that we were not Russians. It would
probably have staggered his belief to begin with, for I am persuaded
that more than half the Mongol population believe Mongolia to be in
the centre of the world, with Russia at one end, and China at the
other. The Russian courier or postal service through Mongolia is all
done by lamas, whom an idle roaming life seems to suit better than
it does the black men. They perform the distance from Chan-kia-kow
to Kiachta, 780 miles, in eleven or twelve days easily, by means of
their relays of horses. This seems very fast travelling, compared
with our weary thirty days' journey; but it is really very slow, and
if the courier were pushed, he could do the distance in six days
even, with the same facilities as they have at present, excepting,
perhaps, that the rider should be relieved once. We met several
of them on the road, and they travel as if time were no object to
them; for example, the courier now alluded to kept company with us
at our two mile an hour pace from 6 o'clock in the evening till 10
next day. Others of them on ponies have done the same thing, and I
know they spend their time in yourts, gossiping and drinking tea
for hours together. In short, the couriers to and from Kiachta take
matters exceedingly easy. There are three couriers monthly; one
for the Russian government, starting from Peking, and two for the
Kiachta merchants; the latter go to and from Tientsin. The Russian
government courier is entirely under the control of the Chinese
government, and is also, I believe, at its expense. The merchants'
posts are managed by themselves.
Near _Ichi Khapstil_ we encamped in rather good pastures, and near a
large pond of very dirty water, with wild fowl on it. A large kind
of duck, nearly all white, and dab-chicks, were the tenants of this
pond, but we elsewhere saw many species of wild fowl.
Six of our camels were now allowed to eat and drink, after fasting
for four days, to our knowledge, and perhaps a couple of days before
they were brought to us.
The water from the pond was nauseous. I could not touch it, and
suffered severely from thirst in consequence. In the afternoon, when
we had started the caravan, I rode all over the country on every
side looking for water, but could not find any, except a mere puddle
where horses and cattle had pitted the wet mud with foot-prints.
Into these holes a little water had collected, and we were fain
to stoop down and drink with eagerness the filthy liquid that, at
another time, would have turned my stomach. But we were happily
getting out of the watery region, and before night we got into a
yourt to make tea, and found delicious spring-water.
The camel that was drawing my cart did a very unusual thing during
this evening. He set to kicking so violently that at first I was
afraid he would smash everything to pieces, but, as every blow was
delivered on the solid part of the machine, no damage was done,
except to the camel's own legs. He would not desist until he had so
mauled himself that he could hardly stand on his legs. And when
the pain had a little subsided he would resume the kicking, but
with less and less energy, until he was fairly defeated. During
the fits he was dangerous to approach, for, by the formation of a
camel's hind legs, the lower extremities spread out widely from the
hocks, and the feet, in kicking, project considerably beyond the
perpendicular of the shaft. Tellig did, in fact, get knocked over
in this way. This was the only instance in my experience of one of
these patient animals getting out of temper.
The face of the country was now fast changing its character, being
broken up into irregular elevations, and was more grassy. We hoped
the worst part of the desert had been left behind, as we gradually
got into an inhabited region. Passing _Sharra-sharatu_, where
there were many yourts, we proceeded to _Shibetu_, in the middle
of a hilly country. Our next stage took us to the _Ulin-dhabha_
mountains, the only ones worthy the name we had seen in Mongolia.
The road rises gradually towards the mountains from 3700 feet to
4900 feet, which is the elevation of the pass. The pass is an
easy one, and forms a deep cutting into the mountains. The pass
opens out a fine valley on the north, which was alive with men
and beasts moving about; yourts packed up and laid on the backs
of cows, camels, &c., and on rude wooden carts; flocks of sheep,
and droves of cattle being driven here and there. The Mongols were
moving to winter quarters. In the summer season they spread all
over the desert and find enough food to support their beasts, but
in the winter they try to get into some sheltered place where there
is enough grass to keep their beasts alive during those dreary
months. The few touches of north wind we had lately felt warned the
inhabitants of the steppes of the approach of winter, and of the
necessity of seeking a more hospitable region.
Near _Bombatu_, where we halted, the grass was luxuriant, and our
half-starved ponies enjoyed it thoroughly. But, unfortunately, when
our beasts are in clover our men are fagged out. Tellig especially,
who has had most of the work, is nearly done for want of sleep and
from constant exposure on the back of his camel.
There was no end to the ox-cart caravans that passed us on the way
to China. There are between 100 and 200 carts in each, and they
followed so close on one another that it seemed as if there was a
continuous line of them for the whole length of a night's march.
Their tinkling bells have a strange, but not unpleasant, effect as
they move slowly along.
On the 15th September the lama made an excuse of buying sheep for
himself and us, to halt at 9 a.m. some miles south of the steppe
_Guntu-gulu_. We had been but two days without meat, but the Mongols
had eaten nothing for six days. We had made several ineffectual
attempts to buy sheep, and that very morning we had concluded a
bargain for one, but the owner in catching the sheep missed his
mark as he sprang forward to clutch it, and fell sprawling on his
face. Of course we laughed, in common with the Mongol spectators,
and whether the fellow was angry at being the occasion of merriment
to us, or whether he considered his accident as a providential
intimation that he was to sell no sheep that day, I cannot tell; but
he obstinately declined to have anything more to say to us on the
subject of sheep-selling.
The pony I had got at Tsagan-tuguruk had gone all to the bad with
his feet. The roads had been very stony all the way, and his
hoofs were too far gone to bear rough travelling. I bartered him,
therefore, for two good sheep, and now I had only the skeleton of
Dolonor left.
High mountains appeared fifteen miles east of us (if one may
venture to estimate distance in such a country), and we began to
hope for something like scenery. It blew fresh and cold from S.-W.,
and in the afternoon it came round to N.-W., a regular _choinar
salchin_, or north wind, a word of horrible signification to
Mongols. And if dreaded in September what must it be in January? I
often wondered how the wretches get through their dreary winter.
They are taken very suddenly with these cold northers. The day may
be fine, and almost oppressively warm. A cloud comes over, and drops
as much water as you would get out of a watering-pan. Then the north
wind pipes up, and in a few hours you have made the transition from
a tropical summer to worse than an Arctic winter, for the biting
wind cuts into the bone.
In the face of a sharp norther we entered on the steppe
_Guntu-gulu_, which seemed to be about five miles broad, but it
proved the best part of a day's march, so deceptive are distances
without prominent marks. A scene occurred in the steppe which
delayed us a night, and might have proved serious enough to arrest
our progress altogether. One of our guns went off in the cart (we
always kept them loaded and handy), the charge went through some
bedding, then the wooden back of the cart, and ricochetted from
a wooden bar outside, miraculously clearing the camel that was
following within two yards of the cart, and describing a curve over
the whole line; one of the pellets hit the lama who was bringing
up the rear, at a distance of full sixty yards, and made a groove
on the outside of the flap of his ear. It bled profusely; in fact,
the first notice he had of the injury was the streams of blood that
suffused his neck and shoulders. He roared in terror, thinking
he was _at least_ killed; stopped the caravan; dismounted from
his camel, and committed himself to the care of Tellig and the
Kitat lama. The tent was hastily put up, and all made ready for a
halt. Tellig and the others were greatly alarmed, and disturbed
in their minds, and we were somewhat uncertain of the view their
superstitious fanaticism might lead them to take of the affair.
Luckily we had just got clear of another very large caravan, and
were spared the officious assistance of a crowd of people. There
was a pool of water close by, and we sent for repeated supplies of
it, washing the ear, and letting it bleed freely. The wound was
nothing at all, but the profuse bleeding frightened the Mongols.
Our policy was to look wise; and my companion being provided with
a neatly got-up little case containing various articles of the
_materia medica_, it was produced, and inspired a proper amount
of blind faith in the minds of our Mongol friends. The wound was
washed with arnica, and a piece of sticking-plaster put on it so
successfully, that it completely stopped the bleeding, and made
a very neat finish. The Mongols looked on with much wonder and
reverence at our proceedings, and if any idea at retaliation for the
injury had crossed their minds, it was now giving place to a feeling
of gratitude for our surgical assistance. The lama was helpless
from fright, and we had him lifted to his tent, where we made him
recline on a bed that had been extemporised for him with boxes and
things packed behind him on the windy side. A towel was tied round
his head to keep the cold out, and he was made as comfortable as
our means would allow. He looked sad and woe-begone, and we could
with difficulty suppress a smile at the utter prostration of mind
that the sight of his own blood had induced. He now imagined he had
pains in his head, throat, and chest, and seeing him so entirely
a victim to his fears, we were obliged to humour them a little,
prescribing for his various symptoms with great care. The first
thing we ordered him was a measured glass of brandy, knowing him
to be partial to that liquor. This roused him a little, and his
pluck began to return. We then prescribed tea, which was soon made,
and, as he improved in spirits, we ordered mutton, knowing they
had some scraps left from their morning's feast. All that done, we
allowed him to smoke, and finally prescribed a good night's rest.
In the morning we inquired for our patient and found him well,
but much inclined to remain in his shell till the north wind was
over. This was a little too much of a good thing; so when we had
carefully examined him all over, and scrutinised all his symptoms,
we were compelled to pronounce him fit to travel. He could not get
out of it, but reluctantly mounted his camel, his head still tied
up in a white towel, to the wonderment of the wandering Tartars we
encountered on our march. It certainly never was my fortune to be so
well treated by a doctor, but as the faculty in this country depend
so much on popularity, a similar mode of treatment with the majority
of their patients would be well worth their consideration. I may
here observe that the Mongols have their ears very protuberant, like
an elephant's.
The accident to the lama was a godsend to us in procuring us a
night's rest. The wind blew mercilessly across the steppe, so
that sleeping in our carts with their backs turned to the wind,
we could not keep warm. What it would have been, marching in the
teeth of it with our front exposed, may be imagined by those who
have experienced these cutting winds, for the fronts of our carts
were, with all our care, but indifferently closed by sheets of felt,
fastened as securely as we could manage, but utterly ineffective to
keep out a gale of wind.
Most of the steppes in the desert are inhabited by a small marmot,
like a rat, which burrows in the ground. Its custom is to sit on
its haunches (it has only a rudimentary tail) beside its hole,
uttering a chirping noise when alarmed, and then dropping into its
hole, turning round immediately with only its head out to see if the
apprehended danger is imminent, and then disappearing altogether.
Each hole has several roads to it, extending to about twenty or
thirty yards from the hole. The little animal seems never to stray
from the beaten track, and is so secure of reaching its retreat,
that it will allow you almost to tread on it before it begins to
scamper home. Where these animals abound, the ground is furrowed
in all directions by their roads. On the margins of their holes a
heap of grass and herbs is piled up, which Huc thought was for the
purpose of sheltering the animals from the winter winds. I have
too much faith in their instinct to believe that, however, for,
once in their burrows underground, no wind can touch them. It is
more probable that the stores of vegetable matter so collected are
intended for winter forage, which they collect with great industry
during the autumn. Our ponies were very fond of nibbling at these
heaps of drying grass, and turning them over with their noses, a
practice which we did our best to discourage. It was in fact a kind
of sacrilege to destroy wantonly the stores of food that these
interesting creatures had with so much forethought and months of
patient labour accumulated against the evil day.
In Guntu-gulu we met with another marmot of nearly similar habits,
but much larger. It is in size and colour like a hare, but heavier
and clumsier in its movements. Its burrows are as large as a
rabbit's. It is found at a considerable distance from its hole,
and is more easily alarmed than its neighbour, because less easily
concealed. When slightly alarmed, it makes rapidly for its hole, and
there sits till the danger approaches too near. Then, cocking up
its short tail and uttering a chirp, it disappears into its hole.
We could never get within shot of these animals. As to the little
fellows, we got so close to them that it would have been cruelty to
shoot them, as we had no means of preserving the skin. The larger
ones burrow in stony places, and with their short legs, strong
claws, and wiry hair, somewhat resemble the badger or racoon. They
might be the _Lepus pusillus_, or "calling hare," if it were not
that that species is positively said never to be found farther east
than the Oby.
The wind lulled at sunset, and we had a fine frosty night. The
morning of the 17th September showed us the first _bonâ fide_
ice, and from that time we had frost during all the remainder of
the journey. It was a moonless night, the roads were indifferent,
the Mongols hungry and tired, and they therefore took it on
themselves to halt for some hours before daylight to make tea near
_Khulustu-tologoi_. From there we crossed the steppe _Borelju_,
meeting the usual array of ox-cart caravans, and encamped at 10
o'clock near the entrance to a pass leading through a ridge of
hills. The sharp clear outline of _Bain-ula_ (rich mountain), ten to
sixteen miles distant on our right, and the modest elevations at the
foot of which we were encamped, made a pretty bit of scenery after
such a monotonous succession of steppes. We had now been twenty-two
days in Mongolia, and had become strongly imbued with the habits of
the people we were living amongst. To have imagined that we were
_travelling_ at such a slow pace would have been misery. But there
was nothing to make us believe we were travelling. Now and then
a vague idea would cross our minds that some day we ought to see
Kiachta, but that was of short duration, and our daily routine all
went to keep up the illusion that we were dwellers in the desert.
There was nothing to mark our daily stages, no church spires or
road-side inns, not even a mile post. Those fine euphonious names
of places I have given indicate nothing. They might with as much
propriety be given to various parts of the ocean. We had entirely
identified ourselves with the wandering Tartars, and were content to
live in the desert with much the same feeling that the Israelites
must have experienced during their desert journeyings, that there
was a promised land dimly figured out to them--that is to say,
their apprehension of the reality of it was dim; but the thought of
ever arriving there had but slight influence on their daily life.
The regular supply of manna was to their minds much more important
than the bright future to which their leaders looked forward. And so
it is with the greater part of mankind.
With all its drawbacks, there is a charm about desert life which is
worth something to a man who has undergone the worry of incessant
occupation. You are safe there from the intrusions of mail steamers
and electric telegraphs, and "every day's report of the wrong
and outrage with which earth is filled." The longer you live in
such quiet solitudes the more independent you feel of the great
struggling world without. It is a relief to turn your back on it for
a while, and betake yourself to the children of nature, who, if they
lack the pleasures, lack also many of the miseries, and some of the
crimes, which accompany civilisation.
The day turned out very warm, so much so, that we were glad to get
shelter from the sun under our canvas until 3 o'clock, when we were
again in the saddle. The pass proved a fine valley, rich in grass.
Another long string of caravans was met with, most of the carts
empty, and bound from Urga to Dolonor. Why they were empty we could
not ascertain, but conjectured that they could not get loaded before
winter, of which the late severe weather had given them warning, and
that they were bound at all hazards to get home to winter quarters.
Some days before this we had picked up a young pilgrim, a lama, on
a journey to the great lamasery at Urga, there to pass a certain
time in study. The boy was performing a journey of between 200
and 300 miles alone and on foot. He carried nothing in the world
with him except the clothes on his back and a few musty papers
containing lama prayers, carefully tied up between two boards which
he carried in his bosom. He had no provisions with him, still less
any money, but depended solely on the well-known hospitality of his
countrymen for his daily bread and his night's lodging. I thought
there was something heroic in a boy of fifteen undertaking such a
journey under such circumstances, but the Mongols thought nothing
of it. Our caravan offered him a good opportunity of performing his
journey comfortably, which he at once and without ceremony availed
himself of. His first appearance was in one of our halts, where he
was discovered in the tent of our Mongols, as if he had dropped from
the clouds, and our three Mongols had thenceforth to fill two extra
mouths, which must have been a considerable tax on them. The boy
was at once placed on our effective staff, and we christened him
_Paga-lama_, or "Little Lama," a name not much relished at first,
but he soon became reconciled to it. The little lama had left his
mother's tent in summer, a few days before; winter had now overtaken
him--for there is no autumn or spring in Mongolia--and he was all
too thinly clad for such inclement weather. Our lama, seeing the
boy pinched with cold in these biting north winds, with the genuine
hospitality of a Mongol gave up one of his coats to him, thus
unconsciously practising a Christian precept to which few Christians
in my experience pay so much practical respect. The little lama's
loose leather boots, and particularly the felt stockings inside of
them, were considerably travel-worn; and, with all his management,
he could not keep his red toes covered from the cold. But he was
patient and enduring, and very thankful for what he had got. He
had no more long marches to make on foot, for our lama generally
contrived to put him on a camel.
On the morning of the 18th of September, we found ourselves starting
from a halt at 6 o'clock, which caused a row between us and the
Mongols; for though the night had been cold and dark enough to give
them an excuse, we admitted no excuses for extra stoppages, and we
had been stopped most of the night. It was a cold, raw morning, with
a heavy leaden sky, and a fresh southerly wind, very unusual weather
in Mongolia. We soon came to a point where the road seemed to
terminate abruptly on the brow of a precipice, and it was now plain
that we could not have proceeded further without good daylight.
From our elevated position we came suddenly on a view of scenery of
surpassing magnificence. An amphitheatre of mountains lay before
us, rising up in sharp ridges, and tumbled about in the wildest
confusion, like the waves of the sea in a storm. The crests of many
of them were crowned with patches of wood, and to us, who had lived
so long in the flat, treeless desert, the effect of this sudden
apparition was as if we had been transported to fairy land.
We had to cross a wide valley that lies half encircled at the foot
of the mountains, and our descent was almost precipitous for 500
feet. We had to get out and walk, and the camels had enough to do to
get the empty carts down safely.
On the top of the high ground, and at the beginning of the descent,
is a large _obon_, or altar, consisting of a cairn of stones.
There are many of them in different parts of Mongolia. They are
much respected by the Mongols, and have a religio-superstitious
character. It is considered the duty of every traveller to
contribute something to the heap, the orthodox contribution being
undoubtedly a stone. Our lama seldom troubled himself to dismount,
and find a stone, but contented himself with plucking a handful
of hair from the hump of his camel, and allowing it to be wafted
to the _obon_, if the wind should happen to take it there. At the
same time he saved his conscience by mumbling a few words from
the form of prayer prescribed for such occasions. At the more
important _obons_, however, such as the one which has led to these
remarks, which are always placed at difficult or dangerous passes,
he rode a-head of the caravan, dismounted, and with solemn words
and gestures propitiated the good genius of the mountain. The
Mongols have a great horror of evil spirits, and have strong faith
in the personality, not of one, but many devils. In this respect,
they are like the Chinese Buddhists, but I never could detect that
they worshipped the devil, as their neighbours do, the whole drift
of whose religious ceremonies always seemed to me to be to charm
away or make terms with evil spirits. This is, of course, only
negative evidence as regards the Mongols, and that from a very
slight experience, but the tone of religious sentiment among them
is more healthy and elevating, encouraging the belief that devils
are not among their objects of worship. They don't speak of the
_tchutgour_, or devil, in the same flippant way as the Chinese do of
their _kwei_, and although they attribute diseases and misfortunes
to _tchutgour_ influences, only to be counteracted by lama
incantations, they hold that good men, and especially good lamas,
never can _see_ a _tchutgour_. I have tried to joke with them on the
subject, and turn their _tchutgour_ notions into ridicule, but the
Mongols, though easily amused on any other subject, were sensitively
anxious on this, and never spoke of it without serious concern. The
rapid and complete recovery of our lama from what seemed to him and
his friends a deadly wound, was the cause of no small congratulation
to them as establishing the moral excellence of his character, by
means of a severe ordeal--as it were a hand-to-hand contest with the
powers of evil.
As we advanced across the valley a few drops of rain fell. A halt
was summarily ordered, and the Mongols began to run about, hastily
unloading camels and unrolling tents, with horror depicted on
their faces, muttering to themselves, "_borro beina_," "the rain
is coming." There is so little rain in Mongolia, that no great
preparations are made for it, and a smart shower disconcerts
travelling Mongols as if they were poultry. Before our tents were
got up, the rain was falling heavily, and we were all well drenched,
but when we had got safely under the canvas, the real misery of
our situation flashed upon us--the argols were wet, and we could
get no fire! The poor Mongols resigned themselves to their fate
with enviable philosophy, looking on their misfortune as one of
the chances of war. We were not so well trained in the school of
adversity, however, and could not tolerate the idea of sitting
in our wet clothes during that cold, rainy day. Besides, past
experience had taught us to look for the dreaded north wind after
rain, and how could we abide its onset in such a condition? There
was but one source from which we could obtain fuel, and that was
to break up one of our cases of stores, and burn the wood. This
was also wet, but not saturated like the argols, and after some
difficulty we lighted a fire in our tent, and gave the Mongols
enough to make them a fire also, by which to boil their tea. We were
richly rewarded by their looks and expressions of gratitude for such
an unexpected blessing. The rain continued all day till sunset,
when it cleared up, and the wind came round to N.-W., piping up in
the usual manner. We got our tent shifted round, back to wind, and
made ourselves exceedingly comfortable. With waterproof sheets and a
light cork mattress, the wet ground was of no account, and we could
always manage to keep our blankets dry. In the morning the ground
was white with snow, and the north wind blowing more pitilessly
than ever. A few driving showers of snow fell for some hours after
sunrise, and we waited till 10 o'clock before resuming our journey
towards the mountains _Tsagan-dypsy_ which bounded the plain in
our front. _Tsagan_ meaning "white," we thought the name highly
appropriate, as we gazed the live-long day on their snow-clad
slopes. It was a trying day to all of us, and I never suffered so
much from cold. The sun seldom showed his face, and the air was
charged with black, heavy snow-clouds, which only the violence of
the wind prevented from falling. It was impossible to endure the
wind, either in cart or on horseback. There was nothing for it but
to walk, but that was no easy performance in the teeth of such a
gale, and we were fain to take shelter behind the carts, supporting
ourselves by holding on to them. I estimated that I walked twenty
miles in that way. The camels breasted the storm bravely, and even
seemed to enjoy it. The Bactrian camel, at least the Mongol variety,
is peculiarly adapted for cold climates. In a hot day he is easily
fatigued, and seems almost to melt away in perspiration under his
load (hence our constantly travelling at night, in the early part
of our journey, and resting in the heat of the day), but in cold
weather he braces himself up to his work, and the colder it gets,
the better he is.
We were entertained by the few travellers we met with alarming
accounts of the state of the river Tolla, which was said to be in
flood, and impassable. We paid little heed to such Job's comforters,
knowing the Asiatic proneness to figurative language; but our lama
was disconsolate, and began to look like a man who feels that some
great calamity is hanging over him.
On gaining the Tsagan-dypsy mountains we enter a long, narrow,
but very pretty valley, watered by the small river _Kul_, which
runs into the _Tolla_. The mountains on both sides of us were well
wooded, chiefly with fir with yellow feathery leaves, and small
birch. The fir grows to no great size, probably because it is in too
great demand for sale in China. Several wood-cutting stations were
observed in this valley of the Kul, where the timber is collected
and the ox-carts loaded, of which we met so many in the desert.
With the woods, several new birds appear, conspicuous among which
are magpies, jackdaws, and pigeons.
The _Yak_, or "long-haired ox," or "grunting ox" (_Poëphagus
grunniens_), also now appear in considerable numbers. They are
smaller than the average Mongol ox, but seem to be very strong
and hardy. They are used solely for draught purposes. It has been
supposed that these animals are peculiar to Thibet, but they appear
to be also indigenous in Mongolia.
Passing through the Kul valley, our lama purchased two small trees
for firewood, giving in exchange half a brick of tea. It was
joyfully intimated to us that we should want no more argols, but
should find wood all the rest of the journey. The intelligence
pleased us not so much on account of the prospect of a more
civilised fuel to burn than argols, for, cooking as we did, in
the open air, there was not much to choose between the two; but
we received it as a tangible evidence that we had really passed
the great desert, and were henceforth to travel in a country of
mountains and "shaggy wood."