URGA TO KIACHTA.
Just as we came in sight of the river Tolla, and with our glasses could make out the houses in the Chinese settlement of Mai-machin beyond, a heavy, blinding shower of snow came on, which neither man nor beast could face, in the teeth of such a wind as was blowing. The camels were halted and tents hastily pitched, but not before the ground was covered with snow. The storm did not, however, prevent visitors from coming to us from the numerous caravans that were encamped round us in the valley. Eager inquiries were made as to the state of the river, and the information received was to us more gloomy, because more definite, than before. The stream was very rapid, and the water very high. The only boat they had fit to cross it had been swept away by the force of the current, and in an attempt to ford it, two men and a horse had been drowned that very day. Our informants were in a similar predicament to ourselves, and some of them had been waiting several days for an opportunity to cross.
We could no longer discredit these statements, and we acquiesced in our adverse fate to the best of our ability; but it was sorely trying to our patience to be stuck there in sight of Urga, the first great break in our journey through Mongolia, with only a little bit of a river between. We were consoled as usual under such circumstances by a good dinner, to the preparation of which we always devoted special care, when we were stopped by compulsion. A few hours' kindly converse with the Mongols in their tent served to while away the long evening. They are, in many things, very much like children, and easily amused. Our simplest plan was to select one of the company, generally the Kitat lama, and make him the subject of a series of imaginary stories that we had heard of him in distant parts. The Mongols are always ready to enjoy a joke at the expense of their friends, though the individual directly interested does not seem to appreciate it. It is a very tender point with a lama to be asked how his wife and family are, as their vows exclude them from matrimonial happiness (or otherwise). They have a long list of stereotyped salutations, which are hurriedly exchanged by travellers as they pass on the road, and more deliberately and sententiously delivered on entering a tent. Tender inquiries after the flocks and herds, wives and children, are among the number, but the latter of course is never addressed to lamas. We, in our ignorance, were not supposed to know the lama régime, and we could always shock the feelings of a strange lama by asking after the chuchung (wife), and thereby raise a laugh among the listeners.
During our night encampments it was considered necessary for one of the party to keep watch and ward over the goods and chattels, for the Mongols are not so honest as they usually get credit for. Foreigners are disposed to put more confidence in them than they do in each other, and they must surely know their own countrymen best. If a Chinaman were asked what he took such precautions for, he would probably say against wolves and tigers; but the plain-spoken Mongols bluntly tell you that thieves are their bugbear. The expression they generally use for thieves is mochung, "bad men," and it is questionable whether they recognise any other kind of badness. They don't break up the night into different watches, but one keeps guard the whole night through, the others taking it in turns on subsequent nights. The lama, by virtue of his position as head of the party, gave himself a dispensation, and the onus of watching fell on Tellig and the Kitat lama. When we had strapped down the door of our tent, made all snug for the night, and retired under the blankets with a book, a candle burning on the ground, we used to receive visits from Tellig in his rounds. Lying down on the ground, he would insinuate his large bullet head under the curtain of the tent, and scan us carefully to see if we were asleep. If awake, he would ask us for a light to his pipe, and for permission to smoke it in the tent, as, in the high wind, it would be difficult to keep it alight outside. He would then lie and smoke with half his body inside the tent and half out, and on such occasions he would become very confidential, giving us most interesting accounts of his family affairs. He had a yourt near Tsagan-tuguruk, and in that yourt he had a wife that he was greatly attached to, and two boys that he was very proud of,—one four years old and the other two. He had moderate possessions in cattle, which, in his absence, were cared for by his brother. He had been a long time separated from his family, and while we were at Tsagan-tuguruk he had stolen a few hours to ride over and see his "chickens and their dam"; but our impetuous haste to get away had cut his visit very short. Tellig's story brought qualms of compunction to our mind for what now seemed inconsiderate treatment; for he had, from the first, had all the hard work, and none of the indulgences; moreover he had always done for us cheerfully what he was in no wise bound to do.
The wind continued to howl eerily the whole night, and our canvas flapped about like the sails of a ship in stays. The morning was still bitterly cold, and the sky darkened by heavy snow clouds driving furiously. It required no small resolution to turn out of our warm beds that morning; and I am sure if either of us had been travelling alone, he would have been inclined to lie quiet till called for. But we were each afraid of showing the white feather, and of being twitted with impeding the progress of the journey; we therefore mutually forced ourselves to get up. The Mongols were making no move. As for Tellig, he had just gone to sleep after his night's watching, and it seemed nothing could ever be done without him. With considerable trouble we overcame the vis inertiæ of Mr. Lama, and persuaded him to ride down with us to the bank of the river to reconnoitre. The horses were brought in from the hill-side where they had spent the night trying to pick out a few blades of grass from among the stones. My "Dolonor" looked down in the mouth, and did not snort at his master, which heretofore he had never failed of doing on every occasion. The poor brute was completely doubled up with the cold, and could hardly move one leg past another. I immediately presented him to a Mongol, but I am afraid, with his old age and miserable condition, he could not last many more such nights.
A great concourse of people were assembled on the bank of the Tolla, many who wanted to cross, and many hangers-on, who make a living by assisting travellers to cross the river. Mongols kept riding backwards and forwards between the river and the various caravans encamped in Kul valley, all bent on the same errand as ourselves. But there was no crossing the Tolla that day. The stream was foaming and roaring like a cataract, with a current of nearly seven miles an hour. It was deep enough to take a man up to the neck, and the bottom was strewn with large round pebbles, making fording difficult, even had the current been moderate and the water shallower. What the boat was like that had been swept away I cannot say; but there was only left a raft made of hollow trees lashed together, and, in the present state of the river, inadequate to any purpose whatever. In the motley crowd there assembled, every one had some sage advice to offer; communications were carried on at the highest pitch of many stentorian lungs, and the place was like another Babel. All concurred in the impossibility of crossing; some thought it would be practicable to-morrow, others were less hopeful. There was nothing for us to do but to admire the truly magnificent scenery with which we were surrounded. The valley of the Kul runs north, and enters the larger valley of the Tolla at right angles. The general aspect of the mountains that overhang Urga is bare, the woods being scattered in small patches. The Tolla rushes out of a gorge in the mountains to the east, and is completely hidden by brushwood and willows, until it debouches on the opening formed by the Kul, its tributary. The Tolla hugs the left side of the valley, leaving a wide flat on the right, over which lies the road to Maimachin and Urga.
The day continued black and stormy till sunset. In the evening the wind moderated, and at night the stars shone out in all their splendour. The morning of the 21st of September was charming, a bright sun and a blue sky, with hard frost on the ground. The air was still, and the concert of mingled sounds, of cattle lowing, dogs barking, and the general hubbub among the wild Mongols who were in motion in all quarters, was soothing to the feelings. It felt like a summer day, in spite of the hard crust under our feet. I am persuaded that unbroken fine weather would become very tiresome and monotonous; it can only be thoroughly enjoyed by contrast with stormy antecedents.
We again left the caravan to ride to the river, and, like Noah's dove, we returned with the olive-branch in our mouth. The waters had subsided a little, and some camels had actually crossed. There was no doubt of it, for we saw them with our own eyes standing dripping on the bank. The lama of course made difficulties, but we forced him to the attempt, and got the caravan moved down to the water by 2 o'clock. There were two reasons why he felt reluctance to force a passage to-day; first, we had our carts to get through, which was, of course, much more difficult, and even risky, than merely walking a camel through the water with a load on his back. This objection we met by offering to leave our carts behind. The next objection, which the lama did not think it judicious to name to us, but which was nevertheless to him the more cogent of the two, was that he would require many assistants, and in the present condition of the ford, with so many people waiting to cross, they exacted onerous terms for their assistance; for even the simple unsophisticated Mongols understand the mercantile laws of supply and demand.
The regular ford was still too deep, and a more eligible spot was selected, half a mile higher up the stream, where it is divided into three branches, with low flat islands between. The three branches make up a breadth of several hundred yards, and the opposite shore is concealed from view by the small trees and underwood that grow on the islands. The scene at this ford was most animated and exciting. Before proceeding to do anything, a great deal of jabbering had to be gone through, but once the plan of action was settled, our assistants set to work energetically. The two ponies of my companion were taken possession of, each bestridden by a Mongol, with his nether garments either stripped off altogether, or tucked up to his hips. Each took the nose-string of a camel and plunged into the ice-cold water. The camels were wretched, turning their long necks every way to avert their timid eyes from the water, of which they have an instinctive dread. Moral suasion is vigorously applied to a camel's hind-quarters by half a dozen men armed with cudgels, but he still hesitates. The pony in his turn gets tired, standing in the cold water, and tries to back out just as the camel is feeling his way with his fore feet. The rider is equally impatient, with his bare legs dangling in the water, and plies his steed vigorously with his heels. It is all a question of time, and both animals are eventually launched into the stream. The camel's footing on the loose slippery stones is very insecure, and when the deep part is reached, it requires all his strength to prevent the current from floating him clean off his legs. He knows his danger, and trembles in every muscle. The same struggle occurs at each of the three branches, and we all watch the progress of the first detachment with breathless anxiety, as we see the pony gradually sinking till only his head and shoulders are above water. When they are safely landed on terra firma, the two camels are unloaded, and brought back in the same way to fetch the two carts. The carts have in the meantime been emptied of our bedding, and various small necessaries we usually kept there, which are lashed up in bundles, and covered with waterproof sheets, ready to put on the back of a camel. The passage of the carts was the most ticklish business of all. They were all wood, except the iron-work about the wheels. Would they sink or swim? If the latter, it would be impossible to cross them in such a current. One was actually floated away, camel and all, but luckily fetched up on a shoal place lower down, whence it was recovered with slight damage. We crossed with the last batch, two on a camel. A Mongol sat behind me, and made me lean over against the current, to give the camel a bias in that direction; but I confess to having felt momentarily nervous, as the poor beast staggered and hesitated in a strong eddying current that almost carried him off his legs. Four hours had been occupied in crossing the Tolla, during all which time the two ponies and their riders were in the water. The men's legs had become a bright red colour, and their teeth chattered audibly; but they were cheery and light-hearted, and only laughed at their hardships. A dram when it was all over made them as happy as kings. They are undoubtedly a fine hardy race, these Mongols; no wonder that they make such admirable soldiers. All sorts of people were crossing the Tolla with us, among whom were some very old men travelling on horseback. One old woman I observed also, infirm and almost blind, crossing on a pony, her son riding alongside of her and holding her on. These people all take off their boots and trowsers, and carry them on the saddle to put on dry at the other side.
FORDING THE TOLLA NEAR URGA.
(Page 147.)
We were now a good mile from the road, and it was getting dark. We could not travel further that night, and did not wish to put up our tent. We therefore accepted an escort, and the proffered hospitality of a Mongol, and galloped to his yourt, which was near the Urga road. The plain is grassy, but rather stony, and intersected by many small watercourses running out of the Tolla. Our host was none other than the Kitat, whom we had so summarily dismissed, or at least compelled to send in his resignation, at Tsagan-tuguruk. He received us with open arms in his yourt, and commended us to the good offices of the lady who presided over the cauldron. Whether she was his own wife, or somebody else's wife, we could not clearly determine, but she performed the household duties with exemplary assiduity. A piece of a sheep was immediately put on the fire, while the Kitat and the wife plied us with milk and cheese, and did their best to entertain us with their lively conversation, which turned chiefly on the passage of the Tolla, with an occasional allusion to Tsagan-tuguruk. We, all the while, tried to analyse the motives that actuated the Kitat in going out of his way to show us such civility, seeing we had last parted with him on very indifferent terms. Did he intend to heap coals of fire on our heads? or to show us that Mongols bear no malice? Or was he proud to show his friends that he had such distinguished guests in his tent? I believe he was moved by none of these considerations, but simply by the feeling of true hospitality that is natural to all Mongols. It turned out that the feast our host had prepared was solely for us, for he himself was already engaged to dine with our lama and his Tolla-river friends when they should come up. We were visited by many Mongols, some of whom appeared to belong to the family, and spent a very pleasant evening. When bed-time came, and the fire was out, the hole in the roof was covered over, and the yourt was cleared of all but ourselves, the Kitat and the lady.
Many valuable hours were lost next morning in settling with the Mongols for their services of the preceding day. It cost three taels in all—about a guinea—a sum which seemed to our lama exorbitant, and caused many rueful shakes of his shaven head. During the bustle of preparation, a heartless robbery was committed on me. A small pic-nic case, containing a drinking-glass, knife, fork and spoon, was stolen out of the cart. If they had stolen a horse, or our tent, or box of Sycee silver, I could have born it with equanimity, but the loss of articles so constantly in use was hard to bear. I missed them every hour of the day, and it was of course impossible to replace them. I was compelled, on emergencies, thereafter to use the ei-iga of some stray Mongol, which went much against the grain. They are so uncleanly in their habits that their wooden cups get frequently encrusted with dirt. Their usual mode of cleaning them is to give the inside of the cup a scrape with the back of the thumb-nail, or, when they mean to be very particular, they clean their cup in the same manner as a dog cleans a plate.
Having bought another pony for myself from the Kitat, first, because I wanted it; and second, because I wanted to acknowledge his hospitality, we formed the order of march, which was this: Tellig, mounted on a pony, to accompany us and pilot us to Maimachin and Urga, and then follow after the caravan, which was to take a short cut from Maimachin and cut off a corner at Urga, not passing through the town at all. Maimachin is a Chinese commercial settlement about two miles from the ford of the Tolla, established, as the Mongols believe, for the purpose of swindling them. It is a unique-looking place, built of wood for the most part, the outer wall enclosing the whole, as also the fences round each compound, being made of rough poles placed uprightly and close together. It is entered by a gate, which has the appearance of being in constant use. The mutual jealousies of the two races lead them both to seclude themselves for their own protection. The Chinese shopkeepers in the settlement are well-to-do people, mostly, I believe, Shansi men. We rode about the streets for some time trying to find a few necessaries we required, but were not very successful. At last we stopped at a blacksmith's shop to try and get our ponies shod. The artisan to whom we addressed ourselves did not understand us, but ran into the next shop and brought out a well-dressed young fellow, who at once addressed us in Russian. He could not comprehend our ignorance of that language; but he soon condescended to speak Chinese, which a Chinaman never will do if he can get on in any other language. We could not deal with the man, however, and being short of time we yielded to Tellig's importunity, and turned our heads towards Urga. The streets of Maimachin are canals of black mire, and so uneven that our beasts could with difficulty keep their legs. We were heartily glad to get out into the open air again.
On the way to Urga we passed a large house nearly finished, on a rising ground, and in a fine commanding position. It is the house of the Russian consul; but Tellig would not have it so,—said he knew the Russian house, and would take us there all right. He certainly did take us to a Russian piggery, where a few so-called merchants lived in the most barbarous and filthy condition. We could not even communicate with them, except in the little we had picked up of the Mongol language. To see the consul we had to go all the way back again to the big house we had passed. Mr. Shishmaroff, the vice-consul in charge, received us very hospitably, and treated us to a civilised breakfast on a clean white tablecloth. It was a greater luxury to us than probably even our host imagined, for we had not seen an egg for twenty-seven days, there being no fowls in Mongolia. Mr. Shishmaroff must lead a very solitary life in Urga, having no one with whom to associate but the high Chinese mandarin and the Mongol deputy-khan. His house-supplies are, for the most part, brought from Kiachta, the Russian frontier town, 175 miles distant. The Russian government keeps up a considerable establishment at Urga, the consul having a body-guard of twenty Cossacks, besides the twenty Russian carpenters who are at work on the new house, and other hangers-on. The object of such an expensive establishment, at a place like Urga, where Russia has no interests whatever to protect, can only be divined by the light of its traditional policy of progress in Asia. It has long been considered[5] that the Khingan chain of mountains running east and west past Urga to the head waters of the river Amoor forms the "natural boundary" of Siberia, and consequently advantage has been taken of disputes between the Mongol khans of former times and some Russian merchants who had penetrated as far as Urga, to gain a foot-hold there, which will certainly never be relinquished until the whole tract of country enclosed by these mountains and by the river Kerulun, the head stream of the Amur, to Lake Hurun or Dalainor, has been annexed to Siberia. After that, the "natural boundary" will be discovered to lie still farther to the south. Russia is in no hurry to enter on the possession of this new territory, but, in the mean time, the country has been surveyed, and is included in Russian maps of Eastern Siberia. The transfer will be made quietly, and without bloodshed, when the favourable moment comes, for none understand better than Russian diplomatists the suaviter in modo when it suits their purpose. No one will be much a loser by the change. The Emperor of China will lose his nominal suzerainty over a country that even now probably costs him more than it is worth. The Mongol tribes, with their chiefs, would merely become subjects of one autocrat instead of another; but everything else would probably go on as at present until time brought gradual changes. The Chinese merchants don't care a straw about who is king as long as they are left to their peaceful occupations; and the Russian government is too enlightened to throw any obstacles in the way of a trade which has done more than anything else to develop the resources of the Siberian deserts.
The name, Urga, or the camp, is not in common use. The Mongols call it Kuren or Ta Kuren, which Huc translates the "great enclosure." The situation of the town, or camp, or whatever it may be called, is romantic in the extreme. It stands on a wide plateau about a mile from the Tolla. Behind the Kuren is a bold and rugged mountain range which shelters it from the northerly gales, while in front there is never wanting a pleasing prospect for the eye to rest upon in the roughly wooded mountains beyond the Tolla, that hem in the valley of that river. The river itself is hardly seen from the town, being concealed by the growth of brushwood on its banks and on the low islands that lie in the stream.
The population is scattered over the plateau, without much reference to regularity of arrangement, and instead of streets the dwellings of the Mongols are separated by crooked passages. The only buildings in the place are temples, official residences, and the houses occupied by Chinese or Russians. The Mongols live in tents, as they do in the desert, with this difference, that each family surrounds itself with a wooden palisade as a protection from thieves, who are numerous among the pilgrims, who resort on pious missions to the Kuren.
A man was found to shoe our ponies, which he did well and expeditiously, and at a very moderate charge, about half the sum demanded at Maimachin. The shoeing-smith was a Chinaman—of course—for it seems the Mongols never do, under any circumstances, shoe their horses. They have no hard roads, it is true, to contend with, but even the gravelly sand of many parts of the desert does sometimes wear down the soles of their horses' feet, and particularly the toes, until the animal becomes useless. They seldom allow them to get so bad as that, however, as the large herds they possess afford them the means of frequently changing their saddle-horses.
There are no shops in the Kuren, that being contrary to the Mongol nature. All things necessary for desert life are to be purchased for bricks of tea in a large open space where a great bazaar is held under booths, principally by Mongol women. There you may purchase horses, cattle, tents, leather harness, saddles, beef, mutton, caps for lamas or black men, female ornaments, felt,—in short everything within the scope of Mongol imagination. Our small purchases were effected very satisfactorily—no attempt was made to impose on us because we were strangers, and we had reason to congratulate ourselves that we were not at the mercy of Chinese. In nothing is the contrast between Mongols and Chinese more marked than in the common honesty of shopkeepers or hawkers. It may indeed be said with truth that mercantile honesty allows a man to get as much as he can for his goods, but it is very doubtful whether such a maxim can properly be stretched so as to justify a shopkeeper in taking a customer at a disadvantage.
The nucleus of the Mongol settlement at Urga is the Great Lamasery of the Guison-tamba or Lama-king of the Mongols. In this monastery, and in the minor ones round it, it has been said that 30,000 lamas reside, which estimate, however, must be received with caution. The two great lamaseries of Dobodorsha and Daichenalon are built in an indentation of the mountains that form the northern valley which opens into the valley of the Tolla at Urga. As our route from Urga lay on the slope of the opposite side of the valley, and our time was exhausted, we had not the chance of visiting these temples. The buildings are of vast extent, as plain almost as if they were barracks; but what ornamentation there is about them is quiet and in good taste. They differ considerably from the Chinese style of architecture, and are no doubt Thibetan. An inscription in the Thibetan language has been placed on the slope of the hill above the monasteries. The characters are formed by means of white stones, and the size of them is such as to render the writing perfectly legible at the distance of a mile.
All good lamas esteem it an honour to be able to say they have made a pilgrimage to the Kuren, and these devotees come from enormous distances—some from the Manchurian wildernesses in the far east, and others from the frontiers of Thibet.[6] There are many small shrines on the plateau on which the town stands, erected for the convenience of those ascetics who are desirous of commending themselves to the favour of Bhudda and to the respect of their fellows. I observed one of these deluded people performing a journey to a shrine, which was then about a quarter of a mile from him. He advanced by three measured steps one stage, made sundry prostrations, falling flat on his face on the stony ground, repeated prayers, and then advanced again. I know not from what distance he had come, or how long it was since he had commenced this slow and painful march; but, on a rough calculation, we made out that it would take him two days more, at the same rate of progress, to reach the goal.
The Lama-king of the Kuren is regarded by the Mongols as a god. He can never die—he only transmigrates. The whole of the Kalkas tribes are under his sway, and this personage is consequently an object of constant jealousy to the emperors of China, who keep an anxious watch over his proceedings. The lama system has been greatly humoured by the Chinese emperors from early times, and the theocracy of Mongolia and Thibet is mainly of their creation. The secular sovereignty of these nations became spiritual by an accident or an after-thought, and does not, like the Japanese, trace back into the dawn of history its descent from the gods. The last independent king of Thibet finding himself in great trouble from within and from without, escaped from the cares of government by becoming a lama. This happened about the year 1100 A.D., and, in a few years afterwards, Thibet became subject to China. When Kublai became Emperor of China he made a lama of Thibet king, and the kings who succeeded the Mongols in China followed up the idea of conciliating the lama power by making eight of them kings. These afterwards (A.D. 1426) took the title of grand lama, and the chief of them became the Dalai-lama of Thibet,[7] who from that time to this has been the head of the Bhuddist religion and the vassal king of Thibet. It would have been impossible, under any circumstances, for the Dalai-lama to have maintained a real surveillance over the widely-scattered tribes who acknowledged his spiritual sway; and in fact his authority over his distant dependents began to be greatly relaxed from the time that the emperors of China completed the subjection of all the tribes who now inhabit what is called Chinese Tartary. The Emperor Kang-hi, under whose reign this was accomplished, promoted the independence of the lama-king of the Kalkas with a view to severing the tie that bound them to their neighbours the Eleuths or Kalmuks, and in order to accustom the vassal chiefs of the various tribes to look more and more to the Chinese emperors for government and protection. By this wise policy the Chinese government sought to divert the Mongols from forming any combination which might threaten the stability of the foreign rule to which the tribes had just been subjected. The Chinese ambassadors at the court of the Dalai-lama, men of great talent, and trained in diplomatic subtlety, furthered these purposes of their government by holding in check the pretensions of the Dalai-lama, while appearing to support him, and, by indirect means, neutralising his authority whenever the exercise of it seemed to clash with the Chinese policy. The lama-king of the Kalkas has therefore become virtually independent of his spiritual superior at Lassa, for whom he has about the same regard as Napoleon has for the Pope.
The "Urga" of the Kalkas has not always been where it stands now. In 1720,[8] it was on the river Orkhon, near its confluence with the Selenga, some distance north of the present Urga. But some time before that date the Kalkas had their head-quarters where the Urga now stands, for we read[9] of the Eleuths having "destroyed the magnificent temple, which the Kutuchtu had built near the river Tula, of yellow varnished bricks," about the year 1688.
The mountain fastnesses of the Khangai range, stretching south-west from Urga, and bordering the great desert, are eminently favourable to the assembling of armies, and afford a safe retreat for fugitive tribes. The richness of the pastures, and the abundance of water supplied by the larger rivers, and by the mountain streams that are found in every ravine, afford sustenance for unlimited herds and flocks. The first Huns had their head-quarters not far from Urga long before the Christian era. The site of the old Mongol capital of Kara Korum is about 160 miles from Urga in a south-west direction. Thence the Mongols issued forth to conquer Asia and Europe, and thither they returned, when driven out of China in 1368, to found the new empire of the Yuen of the north, under a Grand Khan of the Kalkas. There also flourished Ung-Khan, celebrated in the 12th century, from his name having been used by the Nestorians as a stalking-horse for perpetrating what has generally been considered as a gigantic hoax on the Pope and various European sovereigns. The Nestorians caused it to be reported that they had converted this potentate and his subjects to Christianity; and that the Khan had been by them baptised under the name of John. Letters were written in the name of this "Prester John" as he was called, to his royal brethren in the west. These seem to have been credited as genuine, for more than one mission was despatched from European courts to make the acquaintance of this most Christian king. There is, perhaps, as much reason to believe as to doubt the conversion of this prince. These expeditions, if they failed in their main purpose, were at least the means of giving to the world much curious information concerning the inhabitants of the Great Tartary.
"Prester John," or, to call him by his right name, Ung-Khan, was the most powerful Tartar prince of his day. Genghis, then called Temoujin, when a very young man, repaired to the court of Ung-Khan to seek aid to repress disturbances among his own tribes, and soon became commander-in-chief of Ung-Khan's armies, in which capacity he displayed the high military qualities which afterwards made him master of nearly the whole civilised world. He was a great favourite with the Khan, and all went on smoothly until the unlucky day when Ung-Khan's daughter fell in love with young Temoujin. The course of true love did not run smooth with him, for his rivals being fired with enmity, began to plot against him with the Khan, who in time yielded to their instigation, and betrayed his best friend. Temoujin remained true to his colours long after he lost the confidence of the Khan; but the discovery of a deeply-laid plot against his life at length brought him to an open rupture with his sovereign. They fought a pitched battle between the rivers Tolla and Kerlon, probably at a short distance eastward from the present Urga. Ung-Khan's forces had greatly the advantage in numbers, but the Khan was no match for his accomplished general. Temoujin gained a decisive victory. The Khan escaped from the field of battle, but was soon afterwards killed, and his dynasty destroyed. Temoujin now found himself master of the situation, and was installed at Kara-Korum in 1206, under the title of Genghis-Khan.
Having done our business at the Kuren, we started rather late in the afternoon in pursuit of the camels. The route lay about north through a valley. It was bad travelling, owing to the rough nature of the ground. It is naturally soft and boggy, and the melted snow in the low ground had greatly aggravated the evil. When past the great monasteries, we got on higher ground on the slope of the hills, but this was, if possible, more slippery than the low road, for the melting snow above kept up a continuous supply of moisture which made the road very difficult even for horses. We soon came upon the traces of camels, which we had no difficulty in identifying by the side-slips down the hill made by their broad splay feet. This is always dangerous work for camels, and we had some apprehension of accidents from "splitting," or dislocating the hip joints. We were in consequence not ill-pleased to come upon the caravan a little after sunset, encamped in a narrow ravine looking west, and at the foot of a steep pass. Several of the camels had fallen, but fortunately none were injured. It was a fine moonlight night, and we tried to get our people to proceed on the journey; but the camels could not draw the carts over the pass, steep as it was, and with such slippery roads. Bullocks had been sent for, and they were expected every hour, of course, but it might have been evident to us that they had no intention of coming before morning. Anyhow we would not be the occasion of delay, and therefore slept in our carts ready for a move at any moment. At daylight on the 23rd of September the bullocks came, two for each cart, accompanied by a young woman and a boy, who proceeded to harness them in a very slow and deliberate manner. The beasts did their work, but with difficulty, owing to the broken character of the road. On the top of the pass our lama paid his respects to an obon, by throwing a large piece of wood on it, and the bullocks took the carts safely down the other side of the pass, which was quite as steep as the ascent. We then proceeded with the camels through valleys and undulations, among fine mountain scenery, avoiding the main road, and striking off through various bye-paths, all apparently well known to our conductors. At 3 p.m. we halted off Narim valley to dine, intending to take advantage of the moonlight to resume our night travelling. But as bad luck would have it a snowstorm came on, and we had to remain where we were till morning. All hopes of mending our pace from Urga to Kiachta now vanished. We had already lost two good nights out of the four, or at most five days which is considered ample time for the journey; and if the stormy weather were to continue, which it looked very like doing, we might be the whole winter on the road. The beasts had little to eat but snow all night. In the morning the ground was white, but the storm was over. Our old enemy the wind began early in the day to stir the twigs of the trees, and though he came in like a lamb, we had but too sure a presentiment of what was coming. It blew fiercely all day, and we walked during the greater part of it. The slight covering of snow on the ground soon melted under the combined action of the sun and wind. The latter agency is certainly the more powerful of the two, when the atmosphere is above freezing temperature. Our nights were always very frosty, but the sun had still sufficient influence during the middle of the day to moisten the surface of the ground.
Over a steep pass and down into another valley we joined the main road, which is now very broad and good. Our march continued to be diversified by valleys and undulations, the scene constantly changing, and now and again opening out enchanting views of scenery, with every variety of rock and river, wooded hills and high mountain ranges tumbling on each other. The wind, that had blown bitterly cold all day, lulled at sunset; the sky continued clear, and we had a calm frosty night. Halted at 10 p.m. in Gurun-dsata, a broad rich valley, with abundant grass, and supporting vast herds of cattle, which the clear moonlight revealed to us. The beauties of this spot were only fully discovered at sunrise the next morning, which being calm and fine, we were in the best humour to enjoy the rocky, woody, and pastoral scenes around us. It was plain we had got into a country altogether different from the Mongol steppes. The valleys are all watered by streams, and the soil susceptible of high cultivation.
We are now frightened with another bugbear, in the shape of an unfordable river, the Khara-gol, or "black-river." It seemed we were destined to be delayed by every possible contrivance of nature, for these rivers are very rarely flooded. Were it otherwise, some device would certainly have been found to meet the emergency. It was all the more hard, therefore, that these paltry little Mongol rivers should get themselves up into such a state of fury just when we were passing through the country.
During our march towards Khara river, we struck the river Boro, a tributary of the Khara, which waters a fine broad valley containing the largest Mongol population we had seen anywhere collected in one place. As we followed the course of the Boro down the valley, we passed several apparently separate communities, all rich in cattle. A novel sight here met our eye, the cultivation of a coarse kind of rye, called by the Mongols, boota. They were harvesting this as we passed, carting it to the yourts in a rough sort of wooden cart, and stacking it up. This seems to show that the Mongols are not naturally averse to cultivation, when they are favourably circumstanced for carrying it out. Some of their tribes, such as those in Western Toumet, mentioned by Huc, do indeed systematically cultivate the ground. The sun had set before we got to the end of the valley, and we encamped in the evening not far from the left bank of the Khara-gol, sending out the lama with a native of the district to survey a crossing for the morning.
Early on the 26th we advanced to the river at a place higher up than the usual ford. Carts were unloaded, and the passage effected in the same way as the Tolla, but, the river being much smaller, less time was lost in the operation. There is always a busy scene at these fords, particularly when a drove of cattle have to be got over. One poor man spent the whole morning in fruitless endeavours to drive half-a-dozen cattle through the river, but the neighbours at last came to his assistance, and led them through one by one.
There was a steep pass before us, a few miles distant, and at a yourt near the Khara four sturdy little yaks were engaged to get our carts over. A young lama courier, well versed in the Russian language, whom we found in the yourt, where he had spent the night, afforded us no end of fun all the morning. He was a great wag, and affected to be a man of the world, travelling constantly as he did between the court of Peking and Kiachta. He chaffed our lama more than he liked, criticising his cattle, and offering to buy him out. As a specimen of how these couriers do their work, this young scamp had not only spent the whole night in a yourt, but waited in the morning for our party, and kept company with us till near mid-day.
The pass is up a steep and rugged ravine, thickly wooded with white-skinned birch-trees. The trees do not grow to any size before they rot in the heart, and become hollow, when the wind blows them over. Few of them have a proper trunk, but two or three strong suckers shooting up from the root. It makes excellent firewood, but is unfit for any other purpose.
In the ascent the view is entirely shut in by the woods, but on the top, near the Obon, is a clear space, from which an imposing view is obtained of the hills and dales behind and before us, with the Boro valley spread out at our feet. In the descent we plunge again into the thick woods, emerging at the foot into a long valley leading to Bain-gol. This is a very small river, with soft, boggy ground on either side, very bad walking for camels. The river, like the others we had crossed, runs westwards and northwards. On the north side of Bain-gol we halted from sunset till midnight, and at daylight entered another fine, long valley, through which runs the Shara-gol, the "yellow," or "sandy river," for it may be translated either way. In this valley the grass grew more luxuriantly than we had yet seen. Crowds of Mongols were settled here, and the valley was covered with enormous herds of cattle. The people were busy cutting the long grass with scythes, which they handle very skilfully, and stacking it up round their yourts. This grassy spot was selected for wintering in, and is no doubt less populous in the summer season, when the grass is green and abundant in the country. A steep pass takes us out of this valley, but we still follow to the left the course of the river for some distance. We halted about 4 o'clock, the lama having ridden to a distant yourt to buy a sheep. He could not bring it with him, but must needs return to our tent, and send Tellig, who was a "black man," to fetch the sheep, thereby losing much valuable time. The lama notions on this subject are absurd in the extreme. They will not kill an animal, nor will they carry it to be killed. But they will bargain for and purchase the animal for the purpose of getting it killed, and they will eat it after it is killed, thus becoming "accessory after the fact," as well as before it. I never could understand the logic of this practical application of the doctrine of transmigration, for it always appeared to me that on the hypothesis of the soul of Bhudda or any relative being in captivity in the body of a sheep, it would be a simple act of charity to release it by procuring the transmigration.
It rained a little at sunset, but no gale of wind followed, as on former occasions.
At midnight we proceeded over a stiff sandy pass, and got the carts through by putting an extra camel to each of them. This was followed by another stiff pass, a little sandy, but road pretty good, and so on through the night, till we descended about 9 o'clock next day to the banks of the Iro-gol, a smooth flowing river, 100 yards wide, and ten feet deep. Seeing hosts of caravans on both sides of the river we expected to have to "wait a wee" before we could get across, but were agreeably surprised to find a passage ready for us in a few hours. Rafts made of hollowed trees lashed together transport the baggage, the camels and horses, unloaded, are led from the boats, and swim across. The current of the Iro was about three miles an hour. The right bank of the river at the place we crossed is a great flat, but the left bank is hilly and well wooded, and apparently closed in by bluffs on the right bank above and below us, for the river is very tortuous. It forms altogether a very pretty valley. We had to spend a good many hours basking in the warm sunshine, waiting for all the force to get over. When the caravan was ready to start we induced the lama to ride ahead with us through Talabulyk, taking a sackful of mutton to be boiled at some yourt ready for Tellig and his friend when they came up. By this means we saved much time, and gave the Mongols no excuse for another halt. One long march would bring us to Kiachta, and we were the more anxious to lose no time, because a storm, or some other unforeseen event, might delay us again. We travelled hard all night over rough roads, through dense pine forests, and shortly after daylight we came out on a rather sandy open space, across which, at a distance of eight miles, Tellig pointed out two white specks, informing us, with an air of triumph, that that was Kiachta. They were two of the church spires that form landmarks for all Russian towns.
Here we were, then, at last, on the 29th of September, at the end of a journey which had sometimes seemed interminable. Thirty-four days in travelling 780 miles! Think of that, ye who fly about the country in express trains. Of course the high Russian officials who pass occasionally between Peking and St. Petersburg have a quicker mode of getting across Mongolia. The post horses kept for the couriers are at their disposal, and by some pre-arrangement they have relays all the way, and so they travel in their own comfortable carriages from Kiachta to Peking in twelve days or so.