Some Heroes of Travel / or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise

by W. H. Davenport Adams

III.

There is much to attract and impress in the scenery of the lakes of the Altai. Lake scenery in a mountainous country is always picturesque, always striking, from the variety of forms which it presents, and its endless contrasts of light and shade, and its magical combinations of colours. Moreover, it passes so rapidly from the calmly beautiful to the sublime! for at one moment the silver waters sleep as profoundly as a babe on its mother’s breast; at another, the storm-wind issues from the savage glen, and lashes them into a white wrath. In the genial days of summer it shines and sparkles with a peculiar radiance; a golden glory seems to hang upon the mountain sides, and a purple light rests on the bosom of the lake. In the dreary winter, nothing can be grander in its gloom; the hollows and the glens are heavy with an eery darkness, through which the white peaks show like sheeted phantoms. In truth, it appeals to us by its twofold features of the mountain and the water. The former awakens our awe, lifts us out of our commonplace lives, and fills us with a sense of the wonder and mystery of God’s work; it is an embodiment of majesty and power, a noble and sublime architecture, the study of which awakens the higher and purer impulses of the soul. Beauty of colour, perfection of form, an endless change in the midst of what seems to us an everlasting permanency—all those are the mountain’s; all these belong to that great cathedral of the earth, with its “gates of rock,” its “pavements of cloud,” its snow-white altars, and its airy roof, traversed by the stars. Then as to water; has it not a wonder and a beauty of its own? “If we think of it,” says Ruskin, “as the source of all the changefulness and beauty which we have seen in clouds; then as the instrument by which the earth we have contemplated was modelled into symmetry, and its crags chiselled into grace; then as, in the form of snow, it robes the mountains it has made, with that transcendent light which we could not have conceived if we had not seen; then as it exists in the foam of the torrent, in the iris which spans it, in the morning mist which rises from it, in the deep crystalline peaks which mirror its hanging shore, in the broad lake and glowing river; finally, in that which is to all human minds the best emblem of unwearied, unconquerable power, the wild, various, fantastic, tameless unity of the sea; what shall we compare to this mighty, this universal element, for glory and for beauty? or how shall we follow its eternal changefulness of feeling?” Bring the two together, the water and the mountain, and the landscape attains its highest character; the picture is then as consummate in its mingled beauty and grandeur as Nature can make it; and hence it is, I think, that lake scenery has always such a power over the imagination.

The Altin-Kool, or Golden Lake, measuring about one hundred versts in length, and from three to twelve in breadth, lies in an enormous chasm, with peaks and precipices all around it, some of them two thousand feet in height, and so perpendicular as to afford no footing even for a chamois. On the west side of the lake, the mountain pinnacles rise to 10,500 feet, and on the south several are even loftier. On the east side their elevation is less, but still they reach far above the line of vegetation into the region of perpetual snow. Having engaged some Kalmucks, or boatmen, Mr. Atkinson and his companions set out in canoes to explore the lake, beginning on the east. For the first ten versts the mountains do not rise very abruptly; they slope to the north, and green cedar forests cover them to the very summit, while the banks on the opposite side are almost treeless. Winding round a small headland, the lake expands into a splendid basin, with picturesque mountains grouped on either shore. Early in the evening the voyagers stopped near a torrent, which poured its foam and din down a narrow gorge, and the Kalmucks recommended it as a favourable site for an encampment. A bed of clean white sand, about fifteen feet wide, sloped gradually to the water-side. Between the upper rim of the sand and the rocks, large cedars were growing, and under these a bulayan, or wigwam, was constructed. Though consisting only of a few bare poles, covered with birch bark, open in front, and the ends filled up with branches, it was warm, and it kept out the mosquitoes; and within its welcome covert Mr. Atkinson and his party contentedly passed the night.

At daybreak, a fresh wind was blowing, and until this subsided the Kalmucks could not be induced to move. Satisfied at last with the promise both of sky and mountains, they pushed off, and doubling round a rocky point, entered a broad and beautiful bay, curving gracefully in the shadow of snow-capped mountains. At Tasck-tash, a bold headland, the lake turns directly south. Climbing to its summit, Mr. Atkinson enjoyed a noble view of the expanse of shining waters—one of those views which rests in the memory for ever, and is at all times a beauty and a joy. The general character of the landscape is boldness. Along the west shore the rocks dip to the east, at a very sharp angle, while upon their foundations the crags rise perpendicularly, and, above all, a snow-crowned summit shines like silver against the sapphire sky. On the east, as already stated, the mountains are less abrupt; but one, a conspicuous peak, rears a lofty and rounded crest far into the clouds, with white vaporous billows clinging to its rugged sides, and the eternal snow whitening its remote crest.

As the voyage progressed, the voyagers came upon such mysteries of colour as filled them with delight. Out of the chinks and clefts in the deep red granite bloomed bright plants and flowers with tropical luxuriance. Some slate rocks, grey, purple, and orange, intervened; the bright yellow of the birches lighted up the distant rocks; and the background was filled in with the deep purple mountains. The whole was a wonder of rich harmonious colouring, like a symphony of Beethoven’s. At another point a gleaming waterfall leaped boldly over a succession of picturesque rocky terraces, the colours of which were bright as those of the rainbow, green, yellow, purple, and glowing red. There was also a white marble, spotted with purple; another, white, with veins of bluish purple; and a mass of exquisite, deep plum-coloured jasper. On the third day of their exploration, the voyagers entered one of the wildest parts of the lake—a deep circular recess in the Karakorum Mountains, into which three streams fling their heedless waters, uniting near the brink of a mighty precipice, and then tumbling down from ledge to ledge, to pass through a natural arch and fall into the lake. Prom the summit of the cliff, where the water takes its first leap, to the level of the lake, is not less than two thousand feet. “Avalanches must sometimes sweep over this place, and large trees are bent down and stripped of their branches. Huge rocks are torn up and hurled along, crushing and grinding everything in their course, as they rush on into the lake. No man can conceive the chaotic confusion into which the mass of ice and rocks has been heaped. One enormous stone, weighing not less than a hundred and fifty tons, had been placed on its end, on the edge of the rock, in an overhanging position towards the lake.”

Various rivers flow into the Altin-Kool, such as the Tchoulishman, the Kamga, and the Karbou. They are navigated by the Kalmucks in light canoes, each constructed from the trunk of a single tree. The poplar is much used for this purpose; but, notwithstanding the softness of its wood, the labour of canoe-building is very great, owing to the rude character of the tools employed. The sides are cut down to a thickness of about three-quarters of an inch; but the bottom, which is usually made flat and without a keel, is nearly double the thickness.

Having completed his circumnavigation of the Altin-Kool, Mr. Atkinson, with his thirst for new scenes unquenched, started on a visit to the source of the river Katounaia. His route lay past Kolyvan, a town where the population is principally employed in cutting and polishing jasper and porphyry, and across the river Tchenish. He then crossed into the valley of the Koksa, and descended upon the Yabagan steppe, where he met with some Kalmuck auls, and was present at a curious pseudo-religious ceremony, the offering up of an annual sacrifice to the Kalmuck deity. A ram was presented by its owner, who desired a large increase to his herds and flocks. It was handed to an assistant of the priest, who duly killed it. Meanwhile, the priest, looking eastward, chanted a prayer, and beat on a large tambourine to attract the attention of his god, while he petitioned for multitudes of sheep and cattle. When the ram had been flayed, the skin was hoisted on a pole above the framework of the bulayan, and placed with its head to the east. The tambourine was loudly beaten, and the wild chant continued. Then the flesh was cooked in the large caldron, and all the tribe partook of the dainty—“there was a sound of revelry by night.”

The Kalmuck priest wears a leather coat, over the laps of which impend hundreds of strips, with leather tassels on the breast. He fastens a girdle round his waist; and an assortment of brass balls on his back, and scraps of iron in front, produces a continuous jingle. His crimson velvet cap is ornamented over the forehead with brass beads and glass drops, and at the back with feathers from the tail of the crane.

The Kalmucks who inhabit these steppes own large herds of horses and oxen, and flocks of sheep. Some of the men are sturdy fellows and perfect Nimrods; they live by the chase, and spend months alone in the mountain wilds. Mr. Atkinson speaks of them as brave, honest, and faithful. “I have slept at their bulayan, and partaken of their venison. A City alderman would be horrified to see the haunch of a fine buck cut into small pieces an inch square and half an inch thick, through twenty of which a sharp-pointed stick is run, and the thick end stuck into the ground in a leaning position near the fire. Every man here is his own cook, and attends to the roast. The upper piece is first done, when it is slipped off, dipped in salt, and eaten quite hot—without currant jelly.”

At Ouemonia Lake, the last village in the Altai, Mr. Atkinson halted in order to obtain a sufficient number of men and horses for his ascent to the source of the Katounaia, and the Bielouka, the highest point in the Altai chain. He was provided by the chief official, or magistrate, with an escort of six Kalmucks and two Russians (one of them a veteran hunter), and at seven o’clock on Wednesday morning sprang into his saddle and rode away. Including himself and his attendant, the party consisted of ten men, with sixteen horses and one dog. Crossing a little steppe, about six versts long, they entered the forest belt which surrounds the lower declivities of the forest-range, and through groves of pine, cedar, birch, and poplar, began their ascent of the first chain. Emerging from the thick leafy covert, they came upon the bare mountain-side, with a storm of rain and sleet beating in their faces, and pursued their way to the foot of a lofty acclivity, across which lay their track. Here they rested, in a “cedarn shade,” until the gale had subsided: then en avant! Through masses of fallen granite and jasper, interspersed with a few giant cedars, they slowly made their way, until they began in earnest to climb the great steep; a slow operation and a dangerous, for great crags, hurled from the upper heights, hung here and there so insecurely as, apparently, to need but a breath to send them crashing downwards in an avalanche, and at other places the ledges along which they rode were so narrow, that the slightest stumble on the part of their patient horses must have precipitated them into destruction! A painful ride of two hours brought them to the summit, which commanded a noble view of the Katounaia valley and the mountains to the north.

Their ride was continued over a high plateau, on which huge rocks, rugged and curiously wrought, the remains of shattered peaks, stood in their awful grandeur; carrying back the imagination through the dim shadows of the past to a period long before the present forms of life existed, and speaking eloquently of the vast changes which earth has undergone. Their aspect was often that of colossal castles, grim with tower and battlement, which fancy peopled with the demons of the mountain and the wilderness. But the travellers could not stay to study them; signs of a terrible tempest were visible, and they dashed forward at a hard gallop to seek shelter in the valley of the Tschugash. A group of cedars, with a patch of smooth turf, was found on the river bank, and there they bivouacked. The night passed without accident or adventure; and early next morning they were again on horseback, and across ridge and valley, through scenes of the strangest picturesqueness, pursued their track. Across ridge and valley, but in a lofty region always—just below the line of perpetual snow, but above the region of vegetation; the eye unrelieved by branch of moss or blade of grass; until, towards evening, they descended into the valley of the Arriga. Then they wound over a low wooded ridge, and struck into a rugged pass, at the head of which they encamped for the night. The tents were pitched; a huge fire blazed; and the hunter having shot a very fine deer, a savour of venison speedily perfumed the cool night air. What with venison and wodky, the travellers feasted gloriously, and the echoes rang with the wild songs of the Kalmucks.

The morning came, and with it the signal “Forward!” They ascended the bank of the Arriga to its source—a small circular basin of about thirty feet diameter, at the foot of a precipice seven or eight hundred feet in height. The basin was deep, with a bed of white pebbles; the water, clear as crystal, issuing forth in a copious stream, rolled downward in a series of small and shining cascades. The path, from this point, lay across a high mountain, the upper part of which was deep shrouded in snow, and it toiled up to the summit in about a hundred bends and curves; a summit like a razor-back, not more than twenty-five feet wide. The ascent was arduous and perilous, but still worse the descent on the other side, owing to the exceeding steepness. Accomplishing it in safety, Mr. Atkinson found himself in the valley of the Mein. The river rises at the foot of a precipice which reaches far above the snow line, and winds its course through a morass which, in the old time, has been a lake, shut in by a barrier of rocks, except at one narrow gap, where the little stream finds an exit in a fall of about fifty feet deep. At the head of the lake is another cataract, which throws its “sheeted silver’s perpendicular” down the precipice in one grand leap of full five hundred feet.

Crossing another chain, and still ascending, the explorers reached another little lake, the Kara-goll, or “Black Lake,” with its waters shining a deep emerald green. This effect, however, is not produced by any surrounding verdure, for the lake is almost encompassed by high mountains, and crags of red and yellowish granite, that rise up into the region of eternal snow. At the upper end a huge mass of basaltic rocks, of a deep grey colour, forms a fine contrast to the yellow castellated forms at their base. On the opposite side of the lake high precipices of granite are backed by grand mountain summits, white with the snows of uncounted ages.

Fording the Kara-sou, or “black water”—a stream issuing from the lake—and crossing a beautiful valley, the riders entered a thickly wooded region which stretches over the lower mountain range down to the Katounaia, and arrived on the bank of the river Bitchuatoo. Thrice had they changed from summer to winter in the course of a day’s ride. Turning to the south, they ascended a steep and lofty summit, from which it was supposed the Bielouka would be visible. It proved to be a rocky height that towered above all the mountains to the west of the Katounaia, even above the loftiest crests of the Chelsoun; and vast and magnificent was the panorama which it commanded. In the foreground, a ridge of huge granite crags, tinted with mosses of almost every hue. In all directions rolled chains of snowy peaks, like the storm-tossed waves of a suddenly frozen sea; and as they rolled, they gradually ebbed, so to speak, down to the far steppes of Chinese Tartary, and were lost in a vapour-shrouded horizon.

But the Bielouka was not to be seen, and Mr. Atkinson resumed his ride, keeping along the crest of the mountain for about two versts, and then striking into a little valley, watered by several lakelets. A dreary place! There were neither shrubs nor trees; and the barrenness of desolation was relieved only by a few patches of short mossy grass. Sharp edges of slate, projecting above the surface, showed that the upheaval of the strata had been effected perpendicularly. To the south rose “half a mountain” in a precipice of not less than 2500 feet above the lakes; while a similarly strange combination of cliffs faced it on the north. Between these precipices, at the head of the valley, towered what might be taken for a colossal dome; beyond which a forest of white peaks were sharply defined against the blue serene.

The travellers reached the head of the valley, and examined from a near point the enormous dome. From a distance the curve on its sides had appeared as regular as if wrought by human skill; but they now found that it was piled up with huge blocks of slate and granite, over which it would be impossible to take the horses. A steep ascent to the north brought them, however, to its summit. There the scene was sufficiently remarkable: you might have thought that the Titans had been at play, with great fragments of slate, granite, jasper, and porphyry for their counters. The horses and most of the men were sent round by the base of the cliffs, while Mr. Atkinson, with his servant and the village-hunter, scrambled through the chaos to the edge of a vast circular hollow, which proved to be a vast volcanic crater, not less than nine to twelve hundred feet in diameter, and fully fifty feet in depth. It was heaped up with blocks and boulders and fragments of all sizes, from a cube of twelve inches to a mass weighing half a hundred tons. It is a belief of the Kalmucks that this gloomy spot is inhabited by Shaitan, and they regard it with superstitious dread. Certainly, it is eery enough to be haunted by many a ghostly legend.

Next day, taking a different track, Mr. Atkinson descended the valley of the Tourgau, listening to the music of the stream as it raced over its rocky bed with the speed of a “swift Camilla.” At a point where it suddenly swept round the base of some cliffs of slate, the Kalmuck guide said that it might be forded, though the passage was very difficult. “We stood on the high bank a few minutes,” says Mr. Atkinson, “and surveyed the boiling and rushing water beneath, while immediately above were a succession of small falls, varying from six to ten feet in height. At the bottom of the last there was a rapid, extending about twenty paces down the river; then came another fall of greater depth; after which the torrent rushes onward over large stones until it joins the Katounaia. Across this rapid, between the falls, we had to make our passage—not one at a time, but five abreast, otherwise we should be swept away. As we could only descend the rocky bank in single file, and scarcely find room at the bottom for our horses to stand upon, it was no easy matter to form our party before plunging into the foaming water. Zepta was the first to descend; I followed; then came three others, with two led horses. To go straight across was impossible; we could only land on some shelving rocks a few paces above the lower fall. The brave Zepta gave the word, and we rode into the rushing waters, knee to knee. Our horses walked slowly and steadily on, as the water dashed up their sides; instinct making them aware of the danger, they kept their heads straight across the stream. The distance we forded was not more than twenty paces, but we were at least five minutes doing it; and it was with no small satisfaction that we found ourselves standing on the rocks, some twenty feet above the water, wishing as safe a passage to our friends. When I saw them drawn up on the little bank, and then dash into the stream, I felt the danger of their position more than when crossing myself. Their horses breasted the torrent bravely, and all were safely landed; the dog was placed on one of the pack-horses, where he lay between the bags in perfect security. I am certain that every man felt a relief when the enterprise was accomplished, which would have been impossible had the water been three inches deeper.”

Continuing their ride down the valley, in about ten hours the party reached the river Katounaia and the grassy valley through which it foams and flows. Their route lay up its banks, and speedily brought them to the broad swift stream of the Tourgau, which reflects in its water groups of cedars and birches, with rows of tall poplars decked in foliage of the richest colours. Fording the Tourgau, they soon afterwards came again upon the Katounaia, and crossing it, reached a bend in the valley, which presented to them the monarch of the Altai chain, the magnificent Bielouka. Its stupendous mass uplifts two enormous peaks, buttressed by huge rocks, which enclose a number of valleys or ravines filled with glaciers; these roll their frozen floods to the brink of the imposing precipices which overhang the valley of the Katounaia.

Mr. Atkinson determined on attempting the ascent of this regal height. It was a bright morning when he started, and the two white peaks shone grandly in the early sunshine, which gradually dipped down into the valley, and with its fringes of gold touched the sombre cedars. An hour’s ride carried him and his followers to the bifurcation of the Katounaia, and then they ascended the north-eastern arm, which rises among the glaciers of the Bielouka. When they had got beyond the last tree that struggled up the mountain’s side, they dismounted; and Mr. Atkinson, with the hunter, Zepta, and three Kalmucks, pressed forward on foot, leaving the others in charge of the horses. At first they clambered over the ruins of a mighty avalanche, which in the preceding summer had cloven its way down the precipices, until they reached the glacier, stretching far up the mountain, whence wells the Katounaia in two little ice-cold, transparent streams. There they halted for their mid-day meal. Turning to the west, they toiled up a terrific gorge, filled with fallen rocks and ice, and then climbed a rugged acclivity that, like an inclined plane, reached to the very base of one of the peaks of the Bielouka. Step after step they wearily but persistently ascended, until they reached the frozen snow, scaling which for about three hundred paces they reached the base of the peak, already at such a height as to overlook every summit of the Altai. Far away to the west the vast steppes of the Kirghiz were lost in the blue distance. To the west many a mountain-ridge descended towards the steppes on the east of Nor-Zaisan, and to the Desert of Gobi. The shimmer of a lake was visible at several points; while innumerable rivers, like threads of silver, traced their fantastic broidery through the dark green valleys.

About a hundred paces further, the adventurers found themselves at the head of another glacier, which stretched westward through a deep ravine. Beyond it lay the great hollow between the two peaks. This, in Mr. Atkinson’s opinion, it was possible for them to reach, though they could not hope to ascend either peak. They are cones, he says, from eight hundred to a thousand feet high, covered with hard frozen snow, with a few points of the green slate jutting through. We imagine, however, that to a member of the Alpine Club, to any one who has conquered the Matterhorn or the Jungfrau, they would offer no insuperable difficulties.

Mr. Atkinson retraced his steps in safety, gained the spot where the Kalmucks were waiting with the horses, and rode rapidly towards the place which he had selected for a camp. Next morning he proceeded to cross the mountains by a new route to the mouth of the river Koksa; it proved to be the most arduous of his many enterprises. Hour after hour, his Kalmuck guide led him through a wilderness of rocks and sand, and he rejoiced greatly when at last they descended towards the wooded region, and caught sight of the dark Katounaia winding in a deep valley three thousand feet below. They followed downwards a track made by animals, but, though easy for stags and deer, it was difficult for horses. In many places the only traject was a narrow ledge, with deep precipices beneath, and often steep, rugged acclivities above. In one place they had to ride over what the Kalmucks call a “Bomb”—a narrow ridge of rocks, passable only by one horse at a time. Should two persons meet on any part of these “Bombs,” one of the horses must be thrown over, as it is as impossible to turn round as to pass. On reaching the track by which the Kalmuck hunters ascend the mountains, Zepta called a halt, and sent one of his companions on foot to the other end of the fearful ridge, hidden from view by some high crags, round which the party had to ride. In less than half an hour he returned, but without his cap, which had been left as a signal to any hunters who might follow, that travellers were crossing the “Bomb.”

And now we shall allow Mr. Atkinson to speak himself:—

“Zepta and the hunter told me to drop the reins on my horse’s neck, and he would go over with perfect safety. The former led the van; I followed, as desired, at three or four paces behind him. For the first twenty yards the sensation was not agreeable. After that I felt perfect confidence in the animal, and was sure, if left to himself, he would carry me safely over. The whole distance was about five hundred paces, and occupied about a quarter of an hour in crossing. In some places it was fearful to look down—on one side the rocks were nearly perpendicular for five or six hundred feet; and on the other, so steep, that no man could stand upon them. When over, I turned round and watched the others thread their way across; it was truly terrific to look at them on the narrow and stony path—one false step, and both horse and rider must be hurled into the valley a thousand feet below! These are the perils over which the daring sable-hunters often ride. With them it is a necessity; they risk it to obtain food, and not for bravado, or from foolhardy recklessness—like that of some men who ride their horses up and down a staircase. Kalmuck and Kirghiz would laugh at such feats. I have seen men who would ride their horses along the roof of the highest cathedral in Europe, if a plank, eighteen inches wide, were secured along the ridge. Nor would they require a great wager to induce them to do it; theirs is a continual life of danger and hardships; and they never seek it unnecessarily.”

This ridge carried them across the valley, and they descended through a dense cedar forest to the bank of the river, where they supped splendidly on a fine fat buck that had fallen to the guns of Zepta and Mr. Atkinson. Next morning, they were again in the saddle en route for Ouemonia, where their safe return excited much popular enthusiasm. Bidding adieu to his faithful companions, he crossed the Katounaia, and with a new escort rode on towards the Koksa. Leaving it to the south, he struck the river Tschugash, encamped for the night in a clump of pines on its bank, and in a day or two arrived at his old quarters on the Tchenish.

Mr. Atkinson’s next expedition was to the great Desert of Gobi, sometimes called Scha-ho, or the Sandy River. Beginning upon the confines of Chinese Tartary, its vast expanse of sterile wilderness stretches over some twelve hundred and fifty miles towards the coasts of the Pacific. It consists in the main of bare rock, shingle, and loose sand, alternating with fine sand, and sparsely clothed with vegetation. But a very considerable area, though for a great part of the year not less monotonously barren, assumes in the spring the appearance of an immense sea of verdure, and supplies abundant pasturage to the flocks and herds of the Mongolian nomads; who wander at will over the wide “prairie-grounds,” encamping wherever they find a sheltering crag or a stream of water. The general elevation of the Gobi above the sea is about 3500 feet.

It must be owned that the Gobi is not as black as it is painted. There are fertile nooks and oases, where the sedentary Mongols, and especially the Artous, sow and reap their annual crops of hemp, millet, and buckwheat. The largest is that of Kami. The gloomy picture of “a barren plain of shifting sand, blown into high ridges when the summer sun is scorching, no rain falls, and when thick fog occurs it is only the precursor of fierce winds,” [211] is true only of the eastern districts, such as the Han-hai, or “Dry Sea,” or the Sarkha Desert, where, for instance, you meet with scarcely any other vegetation than the Salsoloe, or salt-worts, which flourish round the small saline pools. “In spring and summer,” says Malte Brun, “when there is no rain, the vegetation withers, and the sun-burnt soil inspires the traveller with sentiments of horror and melancholy; the heat is of short duration, the winter long and cold. The wild animals met with are the camel, the horse, the ass, the djiggetai, and troops of antelopes.”

It has been observed, and not without reason, that the great Asiatic desert has exercised a fatal influence on the destinies of the human race; that it has arrested the extension of the Semitic civilization. The primitive peoples of India and Tibet were early civilized; but the immense wilderness which lay to the westward interposed an impassable barrier between them and the barbarous tribes of Northern Asia. More surely even than the Himalaya, more than the snow-crowned summits of Srinagur and Gorkha, these desert steppes have prevented all communication, all fusion between the inhabitants of the north and those of the south of Asia; and thus it is that Tibet and India have remained the only regions of this part of the world which have enjoyed the benefits of civilization, of the refinement of manners, and the genius of the Aryan race.

The barbarians who, when the darkness of ruin hung over the Roman Empire, invaded and convulsed Europe, issued from the steppes and table-lands of Mongolia. As Humboldt says [212]:—“If intellectual culture has directed its course from the east to the west, like the vivifying light of the sun, barbarism at a later period followed the same route, when it threatened to plunge Europe again in darkness. A tawny race of shepherds—of Thon-Khiu, that is to say, Turkish origin—the Hiounguou, inhabited under sheep-skin tents the elevated table-land of Gobi. Long formidable to the Chinese power, a portion of the Hiounguou were driven south in Central Asia. The impulse thus given uninterruptedly propagated itself to the primitive country of the Fins, lying on the banks of the Ural, and thence a torrent of Huns, Avars, Chasars, and divers mixtures of Asiatic races, poured towards the west and south. The armies of the Huns first appeared on the banks of the Volga, then in Pannonia, finally on the borders of the Marne and the Po, ravaging the beautiful plains where, from the time of Antenor, the genius of man had accumulated monuments upon monuments. Thus blew from the Mongolian deserts a pestilential wind which blighted even in the Cisalpine plains the delicate flower of art, the object of cares so tender and so constant.”

IV.

With three Cossacks, seven Kalmucks, eight rifles, and a store of powder and lead, Mr. Atkinson passed into the Gobi. His Kalmucks had their hair cut close, except a tuft growing on the top of the head, which was plaited into a long tail, and hung far down their back. The chief was named Tchuck-a-bir, a stalwart, powerful fellow, with a fine manly countenance, large black eyes, and massive forehead. He wore a horse-skin cloak, fastened round his waist with a blood-red scarf. In warm weather he drew his arms from the sleeves, which were then tucked into his girdle, and the cloak draped around him in graceful folds, adding to the dignity of his tall and robust form.

Across the Kourt-Choum mountains the travellers took their way, directing their course towards the Tanguor chain, many of the peaks of which soar above the line of eternal snow. Ascending one of these summits, they enjoyed a noble prospect: immediately beneath them lay the Oubsa-Noor; to the south-west were visible the Oulan-Koum Desert and the Aral-Noor; to the south lay Tchagan Tala, and the ridges descending down to the Gobi; to the south-east the white crests of the Khangai Mountains. This was such a view of Central Asia as never before had European enjoyed.

Keeping far away to the east, they approached the sources of the Selenga and Djabakan, in the neighbourhood of which he hoped to meet with the Kalka tribes. In a rich green valley they came upon one of their auls, and were hospitably received by Arabdan, the chief, who, according to the custom of the desert, at once handed to Mr. Atkinson a bowl of tea. Not, indeed, tea as we English understand it, the clear thin fluid, sweetened with sugar and tempered with cream; but a thick “slab” mixture of tea, milk, butter, salt, and flour—tea-soup it might appropriately be called. Arabdan was tall and thin, between fifty and sixty years of age, dark-complexioned, with high cheek-bones, small black eyes, a prominent nose, and a scanty beard. His meagre figure was wrapped in a long dark-blue silk khalat, buttoned across his chest; in a leather girdle, adorned with a silver buckle, he carried his knife, flint, and steel. His helmet-shaped black silk cap was trimmed with black velvet, and looked very gay with its two broad red ribbons hanging down behind. This brave costume was completed by a pair of high-heeled, madder-coloured boots. As for the women, one wore a robe of black velvet, the other a khalat of red and green silk; the waist of each was defined by a broad red sash. Their hair was fantastically coiffured, falling upon their shoulders in a hundred small plaits, some of which glittered with coral beads, the principal toilette ornament of the Mongolian women. Their red leather boots were very short and high at the heels, so that they walked as badly and awkwardly as English ladies. The children wore little more than nature had provided them with; except that, by rolling in the mud, they contrived to coat their bodies with reddish ochre, in striking contrast to their elfin locks of jet black.

Externally the yourts of the Kalkas resemble those of the Kalmucks, but they differ in the arrangements of the interior. A small low table is placed opposite the doorway, and upon it the upper idols, or household gods, and several small metal vases, are set out. In some are kept grains of millet; in others, butter, milk, and koumis—offerings to the aforesaid deities. On the left side of this altar stand the boxes which contain the family property, and near them various domestic utensils and the indispensable koumis bag. Opposite lie several piles of voilock, on which the family take their rest.

Immediately on Mr. Atkinson’s arrival a sheep was slain to do him honour, and it was soon steaming in the iron caldron, with the exception of a portion broiled for his special delectation. Supper, however, was not served in the chief’s yourt, but in another; to which everybody repaired with appetites which suggested that they had fasted for weeks. When the completest possible justice had been done to the mutton, men, women, and children retired to their rude couches.

Next morning our indefatigable traveller was once more in the saddle. We cannot follow him in all the details of his daily journeyings, which necessarily bore a close resemblance to one another; but we may accompany him on a visit to the great Kalkas chief, Darma Tsyren. On entering his yourt, Mr. Atkinson was entertained with tea-soup as usual. Then, he says—

“The chief sat down in front of me, and the two young men who had conducted me sat near him—they were his sons. Beyond these sat ten or twelve other Kalkas, watching my movements with intense interest. I was undoubtedly the first European they had ever seen. My large felt hat, shooting jacket, and long boots, will be remembered for years to come—not that I think they admired the costume; theirs is far more picturesque. Presently a number of women came into the yourt, and at their head the wife of the chief. She sat down near him, and was joined by her daughter; the others got places where they could; but the gaze of all was upon me. No doubt it would have been highly amusing could I have understood their remarks, as they kept up an incessant talking.

“At this moment a Cossack brought my samovar into the yourt; and these people were much astonished to see the steam puffing out, with no fire under it. One man placed his hand on the top, and got his fingers burnt, to the great amusement of his friends. My dinner of broiled venison was brought in on a bright tin plate; this and the knife and fork excited their curiosity—such articles being quite new to them. They watched me eat my dinner, and nothing could induce them to move till the plates were taken away. Darma Tsyren had ordered a sheep to be killed, which had now been some time in the caldron. When the announcement was made that it was ready, I was soon left to myself; the whole aul, men, women, and children, were shortly enjoying the feast.”

From Darma Tsyren Mr. Atkinson obtained the loan of four Kalkas and twelve horses, and taking also two of his Kalmucks and two Cossacks, he started on a journey to the river Toss. In the evening he and his party encamped in a pretty valley, watered by a small lake, which supplied them with some snipes and ducks for supper. During the night a pack of wolves visited the encampment. On receiving warning of their approach by a distant howl, Mr. Atkinson loaded his double-barrelled gun and distributed ammunition among his people, in order to give the unwelcome visitors a warm reception. The horses were collected, and picketed in a spot between the camp and the lake. Nearer and nearer came the enemy; the tramp of their feet could be heard as they galloped forward. They reached the camp, and through the night air rang their ferocious howl. Some dry bushes flung on the fire kindled a sudden flame, which revealed their gaunt figures, with eyes flashing and ears and tails erect; and immediately a deadly volley crashed into their midst. With a yell of pain and terror they turned tail; and Mr. Atkinson and his party hastened to reload their guns, feeling certain they would return.

The fire flickered down among its embers, and for a time all was silent. Then arose a stir and an alarm among the horses; and it was discovered that the pack had divided, one division stealing upon the animals from the water side, the other interposing between them and the camp. A rush and a shout of the Kalmucks and Kalkas drove them back; and a Cossack and a Kalmuck wore posted on each flank, to guard the approaches and give the alarm. Moreover, the fire was replenished, and its glare lighted up the scene for miles around. A hush, and a moment of expectation! Then might you see the hungry pack advancing once more to the assault, with eyeballs glaring like red-hot iron. A crack of rifles on the right was followed by Mr. Atkinson’s two barrels, one of which brought down its victim, while the other, discharged into the midst of the pack, wounded two or three. Gradually the growling ceased; the wolves again retired; but both Kalkas and Kalmucks advised that a close watch should be kept, as they would certainly make a third effort.

There was little fuel left, and it was necessary, therefore, to be doubly vigilant. The night was one of deep darkness, without moon or stars, and nothing could be seen, even at a short distance, except towards the lake, where a shimmer of dubious light rested on the waters. Keen ears and eyes were on the alert, but no sight or sound of wolf rewarded their watchfulness. The Kalkas said the wolves were simply waiting until all was silent in the camp to make another dash at the horses. For a long time, however, no movement was made, when two of the horses grew uneasy, tugging at the thongs and snorting loudly. At the same time, the clouds cleared from the sky, and the stars peering forth threw more light upon the lake. Howling was heard in the distance, and Tchuck-a-bir declared that another pack of wolves was approaching. As they drew near, the former pack, still lurking in the shades, began to growl, and it seemed possible that a combined attack would be delivered. In order to renew the fire, four of the men, two being armed, crept along the margin of the lake, returning in about ten minutes, each with an armful of fuel. The embers were stirred into life, and the brushwood placed ready to be blown into a flame when wanted. Suddenly a great tumult arose; the other wolves had come on the scene, and the echoes rang with a medley of discordant sounds. Again the watchers waited; and after their patience had been tested for half an hour, the horses began to pull and plunge in frenzied terror. The bushes were lighted, and by their blaze Mr. Atkinson saw a group of eight to ten wolves within fifteen paces. He fired both barrels at them; his men also fired; and the herd, with a frightful howl, ignominiously fled. At daylight Mr. Atkinson examined the scene of action, and found the carcases of eight wolves. With their skins as trophies, he returned to Darma Tsyren’s aul.

A day or two later, Mr. Atkinson had an adventure with boars. Leaving four men to guard the camp, he had ridden out, with five followers, in search of sport. Plunging into a thick copse of long grass and low bushes, they started more than one boar from his lair, and tracing them by their motion in the herbage, galloped in hot pursuit. As they emerged into the open, they could see two large dark grizzly boars about a couple of hundred yards ahead, and spurred after them with might and main. Rapidly they gained upon the panting brutes, and when within about fifty yards, Mr. Atkinson and a Cossack sprang from their horses, fired, and wounded one of the boars. While they reloaded, the rest of the party galloped on, and presently other shots wore fired. The boars had separated: one, dashing across the valley, was followed up by two of the men; the other was pursued by Mr. Atkinson and his Cossack. After a splendid chase, they drew near enough to see the foam on his mouth, and his large tusks gnashing with rage. The Cossack fired; the ball hit him, but did not check his wild, impetuous course. Swiftly Mr. Atkinson urged on his horse, got abreast of the animal at about twenty paces distant, and lodged a bullet in his shoulder. This stopped him, but it took two more shots to kill him. He proved to be a noble fellow, weighing nine poods, or about 324 lbs., with long, sharp tusks, which would have been formidable weapons in a close encounter.

Leaving the Cossack and a Kalmuck to dress the prize and convey it to the camp, Mr. Atkinson, after reloading his arms, hastened to join the rest of his party, who were in full chase on the other side of the river, at a distance of about three versts. He rode briskly forward, but the hunt was at an end before he reached the river. His followers, on joining him, announced that they had killed a large boar, though not the one first started. He had escaped, and while they were searching for his trail amid some reeds and bushes, a large boar sprang in among them, and charged at a Cossack’s horse. When within three or four paces of his intended victim he was stopped by a bullet from Tchuck-a-bir’s rifle; but he got away before a second shot could be fired, and an animated chase began. He received several balls, but they seemed to have no effect on his impenetrable hide. Rushing into the river, he swam across, at a point where it expanded into a deep broad pool; the men followed him, and a ball from one of the Kalmucks inflicted a severe wound. Furious with rage and pain, he dashed full at the man who had wounded him; the Kalmuck dexterously wheeled his horse aside, and a ball from Tchuck-a-bir laid the monster dead. With two large boars as the spoils of their prowess, Mr. Atkinson and his “merry men” returned to camp triumphant.

Mr. Atkinson next travelled in a southerly direction for two days; after which he turned to the west, and struck upon the river Ouremjour; his object being to enter the Gobi to the north of the great chain of the Thian-Chan, or, as he calls them, Syan-Shan Mountains. These are the highest in Central Asia, and amongst them rises that stupendous mass, Bogda Oöla, with the volcanoes Pe-shan and Hothaou, to see which was his leading purpose and aim. He gives an animated description of his approach to the Syan-Shan. A bright sun was rising behind the wayfarer, but its rays had not yet gilded the snowy peaks in his front. As he rode onward he watched for the first bright gleam that lighted up the ice and snow on Bogda Oöla; presently the great crest reddened with a magical glow, which gradually spread over the rugged sides, and as it descended, changed into yellow and then into silvery white. For many minutes Bogda Oöla was bathed in sunshine before the rays touched any of the lower peaks. But in due time summit after summit shot rapidly into the brave red light, and at last the whole chain shone in huge waves of molten silver, though a hazy gloom still clothed the inferior ranges. In these atmospheric effects we cannot but recognize a marvellous grandeur and impressiveness; there is something sublimely weird in the sudden changes they work among the stupendous mountain masses. Onward fared the traveller, obtaining a still finer view of Bogda Oöla, and of some of the other peaks to the west; but, as the day advanced, the clouds began to fold around its head, and the huge peak was soon clothed with thick surging wreaths of vapour. The lower range of the Syan-Shan is picturesque in the extreme; jagged peaks stand out in bold relief against the snow-shrouded masses, which tower up some eight to ten thousand feet above them, while the latter are clothed with a luminous purple mist that seems not to belong to this world. Mr. Atkinson continued his route in a north-westerly direction, towards one of the lower chains which run nearly parallel with the Syan-Shan. Thence he could see the Bogda Oöla in all its grand sublimity, and the volcanic peak Pe-shan, with black crags outlined against the snow, still further to the west; while beyond these a long line of snow-capped summits melted into the vaporous distance.

In the course of his wanderings in Chinese Tartary, our traveller saw much of the Kirghiz chiefs, the Sultans of the steppes. On one occasion, while riding in the sterile desert, he fell in with the aul of Sultan Ishonac Khan—a stoutly built man, with strong-marked Kalmuck features, who, in right of his descent from the famous Genghiz Khan, wore an owl’s feather suspended from the top of his cap. His costume was gallant and gay; Chinese silk, richly embroidered.

About fifty versts to the south of Sultan Ishonac’s aul, lie the Barluck Mountains, situated between the Tarbagatai and the Alatou Mountains, and eastward of the small rocky chain of the Ala-Kool, which extends some sixty versts from east to west, and measures about twenty-five in breadth. The highest summit is not more than three thousand feet above the plain. Vegetation thrives on the lower slopes, but the upper parts are gloomily bare. From Sultan Ishonac Khan Mr. Atkinson obtained a loan of fresh horses, and of eight of his Kirghiz to escort him to the Tarbagatai. A dreary ride it was,—over sandy hills, through sandy valleys, where not even a blade of grass was green. In many places the ground was thickly covered with a saline incrustation, which the horses’ feet churned up into a pungent dust, that filled every mouth and caused intolerable thirst. Welcome was the glimmer of a lake that relieved by its sparkle the dulness of the landscape; but when horse and man rushed forward to drink of its waters, to their intense disappointment they found them bitter as those of Marah. Not till the evening of the fifth day, when they reached the river Eremil, did they enjoy the luxury of fresh water.

Next day they reached the Tarbagatai, in the neighbourhood of the Chinese town of Tchoubuchack, and encamped for the night at the foot of a great tumulus or barrow, about one hundred and fifty feet high, which is surrounded by many smaller barrows. They are the last resting-places of a Kirghiz chief and his people, who belonged to a remote generation, and to a race of which these tumuli are the only memorials. Another day’s ride, and they arrived at the aul of Sultan Iamantuck, of whom and his family Mr. Atkinson speaks as by far the most intelligent people he met with in this part of Asia. The aul was pitched among high conical tombs of sun-burnt bricks, the cemetery of the Sultan’s ancestors; and it appears that once a year it was regularly visited by their pious descendant and representative. With another relay of horses and a fresh Kirghiz escort, Mr. Atkinson dashed onward, undeterred by the dreariness of the sandy level, where neither water nor grass was to be found, and the only living things were tarantulas and scorpions. His course lay direct for the Alatou (“Variegated Mountains”), and he could see the shining peaks of the Actou (“White Mountain”), which forms its highest crest, and raises its summits fourteen to fifteen thousand feet above the sea. After fording the broad deep stream of the Yeljen-sa-gash, he arrived on the shore of Lake Ala-kool, measuring about sixty-five versts in length by twenty in width, with a rocky island near the north shore, erroneously described by Humboldt as the site of a volcano. It has no outlet, yet it receives the tribute of eight rivers; the water is carried off by evaporation.

Here Mr. Atkinson struck westward to find the aul of Sultan Bak, the Rothschild of the steppes; a man who owns ten thousand horses, and a proportionate number of camels, sheep, and oxen. Wealthy men are not always well disposed towards stranger guests, and Sultan Bak evinced his dislike of intrusion by sending Mr. Atkinson a diseased sheep! This was immediately returned, with an intimation that Mr. Atkinson wanted neither his company nor his gifts; he was the first Sultan who had shown himself so discourteous, and though he had a large body, it was clear his heart was that of a mouse. It is not surprising that a message of this kind provoked him to wrath. He ordered the intruders to quit his aul; if they did not, his men should drive them into the lake. But when he found that they were well armed, that discretion which is the better part of valour enabled him to subdue his temper; he sent one of his finest sheep as a peace-offering, with an assurance that they might stay as long as they liked, and should have men and horses when they left. Evidently the Kirghiz patriarch knew how to make the best of a bad situation.

Accompanied by his poet, he paid a visit to Mr. Atkinson’s camp, supped heartily off his own mutton, and exchanged the warmest professions of friendship. The minstrel, at his master’s bidding, sang wild songs to wilder tunes in glorification of the prowess and freebooting expeditions of the Sultan and his ancestors, to the great edification of the listening Kirghiz. So the evening passed peacefully, and the Sultan and the white man parted on cordial terms. Next day, Mr. Atkinson was riding towards the Karatou, a mountainous chain of dark purple slate; and six days later he visited Sultan Boubania, on the river Lepson. In the neighbourhood were many large tumuli, the largest being the most ancient. One of these was built up of stone, and formed a circle of 364 feet in diameter, with a dome-like mound thirty-three feet in height. Tradition has not preserved the name of the dead honoured with so extraordinary a memorial; the Kirghiz attribute it to demons working under the direction of Shaitan. Another kind of tumulus, of more recent construction, was circular in plan, but carried up to the height of fifty-four feet, in the shape of “a blast furnace,” with an aperture at the top, and lateral opening two feet square and four feet from the ground. In the interior were two graves covered with large blocks of stone. According to the Kirghiz, these tombs were built by the people who inhabited the country before the Kalmucks. A third kind, of sunburnt bricks, and Mohammedan in design, are ascribed to Timour Khan and his race.

Through the rocky gorge of the Balïïtz, Mr. Atkinson commenced his ascent of the Alatou. His eye rested with pleasure on the richly coloured rocks that composed the cliffs on either side—deep red porphyry, flecked with veins of white; slate, jasper, and basalt. He explored several of the valleys that break up the lower mass of the mountain chain, and rode along many of its elevated ridges. Sometimes the roar of torrents filled his ears; sometimes bright streams and sources sparkled in the sunshine; sometimes he saw before him a fair mosaic of wild flowers; sometimes the landscape was ennobled by the conspicuous figures of white mountain peaks, relieved by a background of deep blue sky; sometimes the distant vapours hovered wraith-like above the calm surface of Lake Tengiz. From a plateau not far beneath the line of perpetual snow he obtained a noble view of the Actou, and, to the south, of the lofty and picturesque peaks of the Alatou; while, nearer at hand, the river Ara poured its thunderous waters into a gorge some thousand feet in depth. The plateau was covered with tumuli; one of which, measuring two hundred feet in diameter and forty feet in height, was enclosed within a trench, twelve feet wide and six feet deep. On the west side stood four masses of large stones in circles; the altars, perhaps, on which, long ago, victims were sacrificed to appease some sanguinary deity. It is a tradition of the Kirghiz that these antiquities belonged to a native who, for some unknown cause, determined on a great act of murder and self-destruction, and that they were constructed before the terrible work was begun. They say that the father killed his wife and all his children, excepting the eldest son, on whom devolved the duty of killing, first his father, and then himself.

Mr. Atkinson visited, near the river Kopal, the Arasan, or warm spring, which wells up in the centre Of a ravine formed of yellow and purple marbles. Its temperature, all round the year, is 29′ R. or 97° F. Here, in a remote past, the Kalmucks built a bath, which is still frequented by Tartars, Kirghiz, and Chinese. The waters, it is said, are wonderfully beneficial for scurvy and other cutaneous disorders.

Another route carried him to the Tamchi-Boulac, or “Dropping Spring,” at the foot of the Alatou. The water oozes out of columnar cliffs in myriads of tiny streams that glitter like showers of diamonds; while in some parts they seem changed to drops of liquid fire by the reflected colouring of the rocks, which vary in colour from a bright yellow to a deep red.

For one hundred and three days Mr. Atkinson wandered among the Alatou Mountains, exploring peak, precipice, valley, and ravine; surveying torrent and river and waterfall; now ascending far above the line of perpetual snow, now descending into warm and sheltered woods, where the greensward was enamelled with blossoms. From the eastern end of the Alatou, a seventeen days’ ride over hill and steppe brought him to the Russian frontier and the comforts of civilization at Semipalatinsk. But, almost as strongly possessed with the spirit of continuous motion as the Wandering Jew in the grim old legend, he next set forth on a journey across Siberia, from its western boundary on the Irtisch, to its Oriental capital, Irkutsk. In the course of his long journey he visited the Saian Mountains; ascended the valley of the Oka; explored a bed of lava and a volcanic crater in the valley of the Ojem-a-louk; rode across the rugged shoulder of Nouk-a-Daban; and descended the little river Koultouk to Lake Baikal, or, as the natives call it, the Holy Sea. Hiring a small boat, with a crew of seven men, he crossed the lake to the mouth of the river Angara. Baikal is the third largest lake in Asia—about four hundred miles in length, and varying in breadth from nineteen miles to seventy. Though fed by numerous streams, it has only one outlet, the Angara, a tributary of the Yenisei. Lying deep among the Baikal Mountains, an off-shoot of the Altai, it presents some vividly coloured and striking scenery. Its fisheries are valuable. In the great chain of communication between Russia and China it holds an important place, and of late years its navigation has been conducted by steamboats. The native peoples inhabiting its borders are the Buriats and Tungusians.

Mr. Atkinson spent eight and twenty days in exploring this Alpine sea, and afterwards proceeded to Irkutsk. [228]

ALEXINA TINNÉ
AND HER WANDERINGS IN THE SOUDAN.

About 1862, letters from Khartûm, the capital of Nubia, stimulated the curiosity of European geographers by announcing that three courageous ladies had undertaken a journey into Central Africa, with the view of reaching those mysterious Sources of the Nile which, for generations, had been the object of Western research. At first the news was received with suspicion; many persons did not hesitate to speak of it as a hoax; but incredulity vanished as the information grew more copious and more precise, and it became known that the guiding spirit of the adventure was a certain Miss Alexandrina or Alexina Tinné, a lady of great personal charms and very wealthy. It was then unanimously agreed that she was one of those brave daughters of England who, in the Continental belief, will go anywhere and do anything that is hazardous or eccentric. And though of Dutch extraction she really did owe something to English influences. Her father was a Dutch merchant who, after acquiring an ample fortune in Demerara, was naturalised in England, and finally settled at Liverpool. He died while Alexina (born in October, 1835) was still a child, but the wealthy heiress was brought up by her mother as befitted her social position. What impelled her, in her young maidenhood, to plunge into the dangers of African exploration—whether her action was due to a love of adventure, a thirst after knowledge, a spirit rebelling against the conventionalisms of society, or to baffled hope and slighted affection—does not seem to be known. But it is certain that about 1859 she set out from the Hague, accompanied by her mother and aunt, and visited various parts of Egypt and Syria. For some months she resided at Beirut and Tripoli; next she repaired to Damascus; afterwards, to the ruins of Palmyra, haunted by the memory of Zenobia; and, finally, she dreamed of imitating the romantic career of Lady Hester Stanhope, and installing herself as Queen of the Lebanon. Her mood, however, changed suddenly; she returned to Europe, not to resume the monotonous habits of social life, but to make preparations for an expedition in search of the Sources of the Nile.

In this daring project she appears to have been encouraged partly by her own fearlessness of nature; partly by the example of Mrs. Petherick, wife of the English consul at Khartûm, whose fame had spread far and wide; and partly by the flattering thought that it might be reserved for her, a woman, to succeed where so many brave men had failed, and to be the first to solve the great enigma of the Nilotic sphynx. What immortality would be hers if she triumphed over every danger and difficulty, and stood, where no European as yet had stood, on the margin of the remote well-head, the long secret spring, whence issued the waters of Egypt’s historic river! It must be owned that in this ambitious hope there was nothing mean or unworthy, and that it could have been possible only to a high and courageous nature.

She set out in the month of July, 1861, still accompanied by her mother and her aunt, two ladies of mediocre character, who readily yielded to the influence of a stronger mind. A part of the winter was spent in a pleasant country house in one of the suburbs of Cairo—a kind of palace of white marble, situated in the midst of odorous gardens, and looking out upon the ample Nile and the giant forms of the Pyramids. There they made extensive preparations for the contemplated journey; while Alexina spent many thoughtful hours in studying the map of Africa, in tracing the sinuosities of the White Nile above its point of junction with the Blue, in laying down the route which should carry her and her companions into the regions of the great lakes.

It was on the 9th of January, 1862, that she and her companions directed their course towards Upper Egypt, voyaging in three boats, attended by a numerous train of guides, guards, and servants. In the largest and most commodious “dahabeeyah” were installed the three ladies, with four European servants and a Syrian cook. Alexina’s journal, it is said, preserves many curious details in unconscious illustration of the mixed character of the expedition, which might almost have been that of a new Cleopatra going to meet a new Mark Antony; we see the Beauty there as well as the Heroine—the handsome woman who is mindful of her toilette appliances, as well as the courageous explorer, who does not forget her rifle and cartridges.

Passing in safety the first cataract, Miss Tinné’s expedition duly arrived at Kousko; where she and her companions took a temporary leave of the Nile, tourists, and civilization, and struck across the sandy desert of Kousko to Abu-Hammed, in order to avoid the wide curve which the river there makes to the westward. The caravan, besides Miss Tinné’s domestics, included six guides and twenty-five armed men. Of camels loaded with baggage and provisions, and dromedaries which carried the members of her suite, there were a hundred and ten. The desert did not prove so dreary as it had been painted; sand and rock were often relieved by patches of blooming vegetation; the monotony of the plains was often broken by ridges of swelling hills. The camels every evening browsed contentedly on the herbage, and quenched their thirst in the basins of water that sparkled in the rocky hollows.

The time usually required for crossing the desert is eight to nine days; but as Alexina advanced very leisurely, by daily stages not exceeding seven or eight hours, she occupied nearly three weeks. In spite of this easy mode of travelling, her mother was so fatigued that, on arriving at Abu-Hammed, on the banks of the Nile, she insisted they should again take to the river. A dahabeeyah was accordingly hired, along with six stalwart boatmen, who swore on the Koran to keep pace with the swiftest dromedaries. So while the caravan tramped onwards through the burning, shifting sand, Alexina and her companions voyaged up the Nile; but the rowers soon proved false to their promises, slackened their oars, and allowed the caravan to outstrip them. When reproached with their lethargy, they excused themselves on the score of the arduousness of their work and the great heat of the sun.

Meanwhile, the caravan had made considerable progress, and at nightfall tents were pitched and fires lighted. As no dahabeeyah could be seen, men were sent in search of it; but in vain. No news of it was obtained until the following day, when it was ascertained that the Egyptian boatmen had at last laid down their oars in sullen indolence, and that Miss Tinné and her companions had been compelled to spend the night in a Nubian village. The misadventure taught them the lesson that in Eastern countries it is generally wiser to trust to brutes than to men; the boatmen were dismissed, and the travellers once more joined the caravan.

But the heat proved insupportable, driving them to make a second experiment of the river traject. A boat was again hired; again they embarked on the glittering Nile; and again an evil fortune attended them. Instead of reaching Berber, as they should have done, in four days, the voyage was extended to over a week; but it was some compensation for their fatigue when, at two hours’ march from the city, they were received by some thirty chiefs, mounted upon camels, and attended by janizaries in splendid attire, who, with much pomp and circumstance, escorted them to the gates of Berber. There they were received by the governor with every detail of Oriental etiquette, installed in pavilions in his gardens, and waited upon in a spirit of the most courteous hospitality. No longer in need of a complete caravan, Miss Tinné dismissed her camel-drivers; but, desirous of leaving upon their minds an enduring impression, she rewarded them with almost prodigal liberality. Her gold coins were so lavishly distributed, that the Arabs, in surprise and delight, broke out into unaccustomed salutations; and to this very day, remembering her largesses, they sing of her glory, as if she had revived the splendour of Palmyra.

There was a policy in this apparently thoughtless profusion. As a natural result, her reputation everywhere preceded her; hospitality was pressed upon her with an eagerness which may have been dictated by selfish motives, but was not the less acceptable to her and her companions. Women, gathering round her, prostrated themselves at her feet. The young girls danced merrily at her approach; they took her for a princess, or, at least, they saluted her as such.

After a residence of some weeks at Berber, the adventurous ladies hired three boats, and ascended the Nile to Khartûm, the capital of the Egyptian Soudan. Situated at the confluence of the White and Blue Nile, it is the centre of an important commerce, and the rendezvous of almost all the caravans of Nubia and the Upper Nile. Unfortunately, it is one of the world’s cloacinæ, a kind of moral cesspool, into which the filth and uncleanness of many nations pours—Italians, Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, whom their own countries have repudiated; political gamblers, who have played their best card and failed; fraudulent bankrupts, unscrupulous speculators, men who have nothing to hope, nothing to lose, and are too callous to fear. The great scourge of the place, down to a very recent date, was the cruel slave-traffic, at that time carried on with the connivance of the Egyptian Government. Recently the energetic measures of Colonel Gordon have done much towards the extirpation of this cancerous growth, and even the moral atmosphere of the town has been greatly purified. To Alexina Tinné the place was sufficiently loathsome; but a residence of some weeks’ duration, while preparations were made for the advance into Central Africa, was imperative. She did what she could to avoid coming into contact with the “society” of Khartûm, and exerted all her energies to stimulate the labours of her subordinates, so that she might depart at the earliest possible moment. At length, provisions were collected, and a supply of trinkets to be used as gifts or in barter; an escort of thirty-eight men, including ten soldiers fully armed, and all bearing a good character for trustworthiness, was engaged; and, finally, she hired for the heavy sum of ten thousand francs, a small steamboat, belonging to Prince Halim. With a glad heart she quitted Khartûm, and resumed the ascent of the White Nile, passing through a succession of landscapes fair and fertile. As for the river, its quiet beauty charmed her; and she compared it to Virginia Lake, the pretty basin of water that sparkles in the leafy shades of Windsor Forest. Its banks are richly clothed with trees, chiefly gumtrees, which frequently attain the dimensions of the oak. But the graceful tamarisk is also abundant, and myriads of shrubs furnish the blue ape with a refuge and a home. The air glitters with the many-coloured wings of swarms of birds. On the bright surface of the stream spread the broad leaves and white petals of colossal lilies, among which the hippopotamus and the crocodile pursue their unwieldy gambols.

How marvellous the effects of colour when this magical scene is bathed in the hot rays of the sunshine! Through the transparent air every object is seen with a distinct outline, and the sense of distance is overcome. Where a shadow falls it is defined as sharply as on canvas; there is no softening or confusing mist; you see everything as in a mirror. In the noontide heats all nature is as silent here as in a virgin forest; but when the cool breath of evening begins to be felt, and that luminous darkness, which is the glory of a summer night in Central Africa, spreads softly over the picture, the multiform life of earth swiftly re-awakens; birds and butterflies hover in the air, the monkeys chatter merrily, and leap from bough to bough. The sounds which then break forth—song and hum and murmur, the roll of the river, the din of insects, the cries of the wild beasts—seem all to mingle in one grand vesper hymn, proclaiming the might and majesty of the Creator. These are generally hushed as the night wears on; and then myriads of fireflies and glow-worms light their tiny torches and illuminate the dark with a magical display; while the air is charged with sweet and subtle odours exhaled from the corollas of the plants which open only during the cool and tranquil hours.

While slowly making her way up the river, Alexina encountered an Egyptian pasha, who was returning with a booty of slaves from a recent razzia. She eagerly implored him to set the unhappy captives free, and when her solicitations failed, purchased eight of the poor creatures, to whom she immediately gave their liberty, supplying them also with provisions. This has been termed an act of Quixotism; it was rather one of generous womanly enthusiasm, and to our thinking redeems the failings of Alexina Tinné’s character—compensates for the follies and frivolities which encumbered her enterprise. Her heart was true to every gentle impulse, and she ceased not to suffer keenly at the sight of the wretched condition of the poor negroes who fell victims to an unholy traffic.

This traffic had aroused such feelings of hatred and revenge in the breasts of the riverine tribes of the Nile, that the passage of the river had become very dangerous, and the journey by land almost impossible. The natives looked upon every white man as a Turk and a slave-dealer; and when a boat appeared on the horizon, mothers cried with terror to their children, “The Tourké, the Tourké are coming!” The scarlet tarbouch, or fez, added to the repulsion. “It is the colour of blood just spilled,” said a negro to his family. “It never fades,” they said; “the Turk renews it constantly in the blood of the poor black men.”

Fortunately, they were able to distinguish between the boats of the slave-dealers and Alexina Tinné’s steamer. Twice or thrice they approached the latter; at first not without fear, but afterwards with good courage. “Is the young lady who commands,” they asked, “the Sultan’s sister? Does she come to assist or to persecute us?” When fully informed of the object of her pacific expedition, they rapidly grew familiar and ventured on board her boat. “Since you mean no evil against us,” they cried, “we will do you no harm; we will love you!” They accepted from her hands a cup of tea, and courteously drank it without manifesting their repugnance; and they explained to her their usages and manners, and supplied her with interesting information respecting the surrounding country. Her reception was so much to her mind, that she would have remained for some time among this kindly people, had she not felt bound to prosecute her journey to the south.

Once more the sails were unfurled, the fires lighted, and the steamer ploughed its steady course towards the land of the Derikas. Two or three villages were seen on the river banks, but the landscape was bare and bland, and the adventurous Alexina pursued her voyage until she reached Mount Hunaya. There she landed and pitched her tents. When it was known to be her design to remain in this encampment during the rainy season, her followers raised a vehement opposition, protesting that they would be devoured by lions or trampled to death by elephants. Their mistress, however, remained firm in her intention; but as the steamer was in need of repair, she sent it back to Khartûm in charge of her aunt.

It was during this lady’s enforced residence at Khartûm that she made the acquaintance of an Englishman and his wife, whose names have become household words in every civilized nation—Sir Samuel and Lady Baker. Sir Samuel, who belongs to the illustrious company of African explorers, began his career of adventure by founding an agricultural colony at Nuvera Ellia—that is, six thousand feet above the sea, among the breezy mountain peaks of Ceylon. In 1855 he visited the Crimea, and afterwards he was engaged in superintending in Turkey the organization of its first railway. In 1861 he started with his wife on a journey of discovery in Central Africa, with the design of meeting the Government expedition, which, under Captain Speke, had been despatched in search of the Nile sources. In nearly a year he and his wife explored the Abyssinian highlands, which form the cradle of the Blue Nile, arriving at Khartûm in June, 1862. There he collected a large company to ascend the Upper Nile, and setting out in December, 1862, he reached Gondokoro in February, 1863, in time to meet Captain Speke and Grant returning victoriously from their discovery of the Victoria Nyanza. Baker furnished them with the means of transport to Khartûm, and then pushed forward across a district infested by slave-hunters, until he fell in with a great fresh-water basin, the Luta N’zize, which he christened the Albert Lake, or Nyanza, and ascertained to be one of the chief reservoirs or feeders of the Nile. He returned to England in 1866. Three years later, he accepted from the Khedive of Egypt the command of a military force, with unlimited powers, for the purpose of annexing savage Africa to the civilized world, and opening up its fertile lake-regions to the enterprise of legitimate commerce. The work, which was well done, occupied him until 1873, and was afterwards carried on by Colonel Gordon.

In all his adventures, which, as we shall see, were often of a most critical character, Sir Samuel was accompanied by his wife, whose sympathy consoled, while her example inspired him. This brave and chivalrous lady gave abundant proof of her heroic courage, her devoted affection, and her indomitable resolution.

When the repairs of her vessel were completed, Alexina Tinné returned to Gebel Hunaya. She was received with shouts of joy, and with a salute of several pieces of artillery, which awakened the greatest trepidation among the natives. Some few incidents had occurred during her absence, but none of a very notable character. One morning, Alexina was reading at a short distance from the camp. Feeling thirsty, she turned towards a rivulet which sparkled among the herbage close at hand; but as she approached it, the dog which accompanied her barked loudly with affright, and showed a manifest unwillingness to draw nearer to the rocks impending over the stream. Accepting this intimation of danger, Alexina stepped forward very cautiously, and soon discovered a young panther lurking behind the rugged boulders. She had the presence of mind to stand perfectly still, while she summoned her soldiers and servants to her assistance. They speedily came up, and, drawing a cordon round the animal, succeeded in capturing it alive. On another occasion, her men killed, before her eyes, a huge crocodile, which was duly stuffed as a trophy. They also caught a great ape, whose head was covered with long hair, mixed black and white. The animal would have been a valuable specimen of the African fauna, but, unfortunately, it died within a few months of its capture.

On the 7th of July, the steamer, which was heavily loaded and towed two boats, left Hunaya, to continue its course up the river. Between Hunaya and the confluence of the Bahr-el-Ghazal (the Gazelle river) the scenery is far from being attractive; the river banks are arid, and sunburnt. Here and there, however, grow clumps of whispering reeds and aquatic plants; while, at other points, the river overflows its limits for two or three thousand yards, creating, on each side, an inaccessible swamp.

The voyagers did not pause until they reached the settlement of an Arab chief, named Mohammed-Cher, who by his audacity had subjected the neighbouring tribes, and ruled supreme over this part of the Soudan. When, as frequently happened, he was in want of money, he exercised the right of the strong hand, and, at the head of his freebooters, sallied forth; destroying villages, slaying the male inhabitants, seizing upon the women and children, and carrying off the cattle. He loved to surround himself with barbaric pomp, and paraded upon a magnificent horse, the saddle of which was embroidered with gold and silver, and sparkled with precious stones. But when our voyagers arrived at his village, this great warrior showed signs of recreancy; he was terrified by the Turkish soldiers who occupied the steamer’s deck. It was supposed to be owing to this spasm of alarm that he received the ladies with royal honours, sending them sheep, oxen, fruit, vegetables, dancers, archæological curiosities; in short, he seemed anxious to offer them all he possessed. Afterwards, however, the secret of his ready liberality came out; the swarthy chieftain thought he was doing honour to the favourite daughter of the Grand Turk—in his zeal, he was anxious to proclaim her Queen of the Soudan.

When his visitors were taking leave, he strongly advised them not to advance further to the south. “Take care,” said he, “you do not come into collision with the Shillooks, who are our sworn enemies, and the enemies of all who cross their frontiers. Take care that they do not set fire to your boats, as they have already done to all vessels coming from Khartûm.”

In spite of these warnings, Alexina Tinné resolutely continued her voyage, and, a few days later, anchored off a Shillook village. The sailors, frightened by Mohammed’s story, would not approach it; she therefore landed with only an interpreter, an officer, and an escort of ten soldiers. But the news of the arrival of a daughter of the Sultan had preceded her, and instead of being received as an enemy, she was welcomed with every demonstration of respect. The Shillooks, as is the case with savage tribes in all parts of the world, endeavour to engage every stranger in their personal enmities; and they now hoped to secure the assistance of the expedition against that terrible Mohammed-Cher, who, only a few days before, had shown so much anxiety to proclaim the European lady Queen of the Soudan. When she refused to join in their campaign, their disappointment was extreme. All travellers speak warmly of this unfortunate tribe, who suffer scarcely less from Europeans than from Arabs. The conditions under which they live are very pitiful; wherever they turn, they are met by enemies. Constantly falling victims to the cruelty of the slave-hunters, it is no wonder that they regard with suspicion, and too often treat with ferocity, the strangers who come among them; naturally implicating them in the traffic by which they suffer so severely. The slave-hunting abomination is, we must repeat, the mortal wound of Central Africa; it impedes commercial enterprise, and paralyzes the efforts of the pioneers of Christian civilization. Let us hope that, in the lake regions, the vigorous action of Colonel Gordon has greatly diminished, if it has not absolutely rooted out, the evil.

Pressing southward with unshaken resolution, Alexina Tinné reached at length the junction of the Sobat with the Nile. She resolved to ascend that tributary as far as it was navigable, calculating that the excursus, going and returning, would occupy seven or eight days. The valley of the Sobat is more interesting in character than much of the course of the White Nile. Its broad pastures, stretching away to the distant horizon, teem with flocks of ostriches and herds of giraffes. The river banks are thickly indented by the heavy hoofs of elephants, and the colossal animals themselves wander freely over the uplands. For some weeks the voyagers lingered in the Sobat, well pleased with its succession of striking scenes; and then they steamed up the Nile again, until they reached the mouth of the Bahr-el-Ghazal, the majestic stream which, with slow current, traverses Lake Nû.

Here the Nile strikes sharply towards the south, forming a complete right angle; and broadens into an imposing expanse of shining waters.

The flora of the surrounding country is very picturesque: tamarinds, mimosas, climbing plants, the papyruses, and the euphorbias thrive in unchecked luxuriance, as they have thriven for countless centuries, and blend together their thick growth of various foliage. The colouring of the flowers is often so intense that the eye aches in contemplating it. It should be added that the euphorbia, which is very common in this region, yields a poisonous milky juice, in which the natives dip their arrows. A scratch from one of these envenomed weapons will rapidly prove mortal.

Beyond Lake Nû, the White Nile breaks into an intricate series of curves and meanders, pouring its waters downwards with violent swiftness. Such, indeed, was the strength of the flood, that the steamer was compelled to throw off the towing-rope of the two dahabiehs, and the sailors and servants landed in order to haul them against the stream. But in the greatest stress of the current the rope broke, and the boats, drifting away, were threatened with destruction. Osman Aga, a resolute and courageous soldier, who was on the deck of the steamer, seized another rope and leaped instantly into the river. With vigorous strokes he made for the shore. He had almost gained it, and had flung the rope to his expectant comrades, when he suddenly disappeared. After a while his dead body was found, and immediate preparations were made to give it an honourable burial. Wrapped round, according to the custom of the country, with twenty yards of calico, it was interred, in the presence of the whole crew, at the foot of a patriarchal tree, on the trunk of which was cut a commemorative inscription.

Some days after this melancholy event, the expedition ascended the river to Heiligenkreuz, where some Austrian Catholic missionaries have founded a settlement. Remaining there until the 15th of September, Alexina Tinné made a short excursion into the interior, crossing rivers, traversing forests, and meeting with numerous villages, half hidden in leafiness.

As the voyagers approached Gondokoro, they observed that the panoramas assumed a grander character; that the landscapes were on a loftier scale. Tropical forests extended their deep shades along the river banks; and sometimes in their recesses it was possible to catch sight of the remains of ancient buildings, at one time, perhaps, inhabited by a busy race. Gondokoro, long regarded as the Ultima Thule of the Nile Valley, was reached on the 30th of September. It proved to be the extreme southward limit of Alexina Tinné’s explorations. She ardently longed to advance—to share some of the glory resting upon the names of Speke and Grant, Baker and Petherick—to see with her own eyes the immense basin of the Victorian Sea—to trace to its well-head the course of the Nile; but the obstacles thrown in her way proved insurmountable. Moreover, most of her followers were seized with malarious fever, and she herself had an attack, which for some days held her life in danger. When she recovered, she began to study the habits and manners of the native tribes residing in the neighbourhood of Gondokoro. They are all Baris, and very ignorant and superstitious, but not naturally cruel. No trade flourishes among them like that of the sorcerer, who is also the medicine-man. When a Bari falls ill, he hastens to consult the Punok, who gives him some absurd but infallible recipe, and the cure is effected! One of these magicians succeeded in persuading the negroes that he was invulnerable. Oxen, sheep, and presents of all kinds were poured into his willing hands; but unluckily he declaimed against the expeditions of the Egyptians, who, not having any sense of humour, put him to death. His dupes, gathering round his dead body, waited patiently for his resurrection; and only began to doubt when the corpse putrefied.

Among the Bari sorcerers a high rank is held by the “rain-maker”—a personage of great repute, to whom the villagers bring oxen, fruits, and trinkets, in days of drought, to bribe him to invoke the clouds and their treasures of fertilizing rain. But his position is not without its inconveniences; if, after the performance of his rites, the drought continues, the people assemble at his house, drag him forth, and without more ado, cut open the stomach of the unfortunate Kodjour, on the plea that the storms must be shut up in it, as they make no external manifestation. Few are the years in which one of these rain-makers does not perish, unless he has the wit to escape out of danger before his deception is discovered.

From Gondokoro Alexina Tinné returned without delay to Khartûm, where she received the congratulations of the European community; but her rest was not of long duration. She had nothing of the lotos-eater in her temperament, and could find contentment only in action. Hers was the true traveller’s character—energetic, active, daring, tenacious, with an insatiable thirst for new scenes. Thwarted in her first design, she immediately took up another. She would ascend the great western tributary of the Nile, the Bahr-el-Ghazal, explore the streams which feed it, and penetrate into the land of the Nyam-nyam, of whom Doctor Heughlin has furnished so interesting an account. Her preparations were soon completed. This time she and her mother—her aunt remained at Khartûm—did not travel alone; their expedition was reinforced by three experienced travellers, Doctor Heughlin, the naturalist, Doctor Steudner, and Baron d’Ablaing. The first two started in advance, so as to open up the route for the adventurous Alexina, who, with her mother and Baron d’Ablaing, quitted Khartûm at the end of February, 1863, in command of a flotilla composed of a steamer, a sailing-vessel, and several small boats.

Heughlin, who had set out some days before, passed, on the 31st of January, the Gebel Tefafan, a lofty mountain which rises at no great distance from the river. He reached Lake Nû—a point from which the voyager has more than two hundred miles to accomplish across the Bahr-el-Ghazal. At that time of the year the river in many places is as narrow as a canal, though on both sides bordered by a swampy plain, which stretches further than the eye can see, and bears a thick growth of gigantic reeds. At other places it deepens into considerable lakes.

The natives navigate it in light canoes, which they manage with much dexterity. They sit astride the stem, with their legs hanging down in the water; and if they fall in with no branches capable of being converted into oars, they row with their hands. The Nouers, who inhabit this land of marsh and morass, furnish an apparent exemplification of the Darwinian theory: by a process of natural selection they have become thoroughly adapted to the conditions of a soil and climate which would rapidly kill off an unaccustomed population. Their muscular strength is remarkable; and they are a race of Anaks, averaging from six to seven feet in height. Alexina Tinné records that, in spite of the heat of a tropical sun, and the attacks of swarms of insects, they would stand erect, with lance in hand, on the summit of the mounds thrown up by termites, anxiously watching the steamer and the boats in tow as they passed by swiftly and steadily, against wave and current—a type, shall we say? of the irresistible progress of civilization.

While Doctor Heughlin, in the true scientific spirit, industriously explored the banks of the Bahr-el-Ghazal, Alexina Tinné was making a persistent effort to rejoin him. Innumerable difficulties assailed her. When only a few miles from Khartûm, her captain came to tell her, with signs of the utmost terror, that the steamer was leaking, and would shortly sink. Her alarm may easily be imagined; but fortunately she was never wanting in presence of mind. She gave orders that the cargo should be immediately unloaded; the leak was repaired, and the voyage resumed. A few hours later, and the vessel was again in danger, the water rushing in with greater violence than before. A close investigation was made, and then it was discovered that the pilot and captain had each agreed to bore a hole in the ship’s hull, with the view of putting a stop to a voyage which they, as well as the crew, dreaded. But our heroine was not to be conquered. She at once dismissed a part of the crew, and sent away both the captain and the pilot; then, with men pledged to be true to her, she sailed away resolutely for the Bahr-el-Ghazal.

At first, she made but slow progress, on account of the mass of tall dense grasses and aquatic plants that choked up the stream. In many places it was necessary to clear a way for the steamer with knife and axe. In the sun-baked mud grisly crocodiles swarmed; the snort of the hippopotamus rose from amid the reedy tangle; the elephant with calm eyes watched the movements of the strangers. The swamps of the Bahr-el-Ghazal are a paradise of wild beasts, and Mademoiselle Tinné saw thousands of them wandering to and fro. But though game is so abundant, to hunt it is very difficult. The sportsman cannot penetrate into the midst of the dry and withered vegetation without a crackling of leaves and a snapping of stems, which give instant alarm to vigilant and suspicious ears. No sooner does he set foot in the jungle, than, as if warned by some secret telegraphic agency, all its denizens take to flight. But while Mademoiselle Tinné’s followers were vainly attempting to pursue the trail of the great pachyderms, a huge elephant, which had probably entered too far into the river in the keenness of his thirst, was caught up in the current, and driven against one of the boats. The opportunity was not neglected; the boatmen immediately assailed the unfortunate animal, killed it, and cut it in pieces.

Lake Reg is the highest navigable point of the Ghazal. [249] Our heroine found here a fleet of five and twenty craft, some with cargoes of ivory, others with cargoes of dourra or millet. She was received with enthusiasm, which specially manifested itself in the discharge of three volleys of musketry—a compliment to which Alexina Tinné replied by hoisting the Dutch flag.

As soon as her little flotilla was safely moored among the trading craft, the enterprising lady prepared to undertake a journey into the interior. But as it was found impossible to collect a sufficient number of porters to carry the baggage, she arranged that Doctors Heughlin and Steudner should start in search of suitable winter-quarters. The two travellers set out, but the malarious climate broke down their health, and both were seized with a dangerous marsh fever. They suffered greatly; but, sustained by their strong will, they pushed forward, crossing, on the 2nd of April, the river Djur, and arriving, the same evening, at the village of Wau. Here Doctor Steudner rapidly grew worse. Before long he was unable to walk; he fell into a profound stupor, and passed away, almost without pain, on the 10th of April. Doctor Heughlin describes, with much pathos, the feelings of grief and melancholy which overpowered him when he buried his friend. The body was wrapped in Abyssinian cloth and covered with leaves; then interred in a deep trench dug at the foot of a clump of trees.

On the 17th of April, Doctor Heughlin quitted the lonely shades of Wau, and, having lured a large number of porters, returned to Lake Reg. Then, to complete the necessary arrangements for the projected expedition to the country of the Nyam-nyam, Baron d’Ablaing went on a trip to Khartûm, whence he brought back an abundant supply of provisions. During his absence, Alexina Tinné was visited by Mrs. Petherick, the wife of the English consul—a woman not less courageous than herself, who had accompanied her husband in most of his explorations. She claims the honour of having added numerous places to the map of Africa, and of having been the first European lady who had penetrated into those remote regions.

While Alexina Tinné represents Holland, and Mrs. Petherick England, Germany is represented by the wife of Sir Samuel Baker, to whom allusion has already been made. A woman of delicate and even feeble appearance, with a countenance of remarkable amiability of expression; she possesses, as Queen Elizabeth said of herself, “the heart of a man,” and of a brave and chivalrous man. Deeds worthy of the most famous knights have been accomplished by this lady, who, it might have been thought, would have sunk before the first breath of the Simoom. One may here be recorded. While out hunting, Sir Samuel Baker was attacked by a buffalo, which had sprung upon him unperceived through the high thick grasses, and was on the point of impaling him on its horns, when Lady Baker, with cool and steady aim, raised her rifle, and lodging a bullet between the animal’s eyes, stretched it dead on the ground. A moment’s hesitation, the slightest wavering or nervousness, and Sir Samuel would have been lost.

Alexina Tinné, with Mr. and Mrs. Petherick, made numerous excursions in the neighbourhood of Lake Reg, in one of which they were surprised by a terrible storm. In the memory of living man no such hurricane had been known; and it seemed to spend its worst fury upon the traveller’s caravan, which it threatened every moment to sweep from the earth. When it had somewhat subsided, other difficulties arose. The soldiers who formed the escort were not only inveterately idle, but irrepressibly dishonest; while as for the negroes, they were contumacious, and refused to follow the route indicated by their employer. A serious disturbance was on the point of breaking out, when the gale returned with fresh violence, tore down at least half of the encampment, and almost suffocated Alexina Tinné amidst the wreckage of her hut. While it lasted, terror prevented her followers from resorting to acts of open insubordination; but they regained their audacity as the tempest passed away, and, declaring that their supply of food was insufficient, demanded larger rations. A general mutiny seemed imminent; but the fair leader of the expedition was equal to the occasion. Though suffering from bodily pain and weakness, she boldly confronted the insurgents; with flashing eye, and in a fierce voice, addressed to them a severe reprimand, and ordered them to lay down their arms. Her intrepid demeanour awed them into submission, and the encounter ended in their humbly supplicating her forgiveness.

The crisis over, her overwrought system gave way. So serious was her illness that at one time recovery seemed impossible, and the deepest sorrow was manifested by the whole camp. Quinine, however, which is the sheet-anchor (so to speak) of African travellers, saved her. A gradual improvement took place, and by the 30th of May all danger had disappeared.

As soon as she was able to move, she gave orders for the expedition to advance. It travelled by short stages; and when, towards night, Miss Tinné came upon a village which promised convenient quarters, she sent for the sheikh, and the gift of a few beads was sufficient to make him expel from their huts the native families. Without striking a blow, the travellers got possession of the place, and in a few hours had settled themselves comfortably, while taking due care of their camels and cattle. As for the dispossessed inhabitants, they were left to find what shelter or accommodation they could, consoling themselves with the promise of ample compensation on the morrow.

The African villages are sometimes of considerable size. They are nearly always surrounded by a belt of cultivated ground, where dourra, sesamum, and culinary vegetables grow in profusion. The flocks scattered over the pastures often include some thousands of sheep, though they are never killed by the natives for purposes of food. Miss Tinné purchased several; but as soon as it was known that she slaughtered them for provision, their owners refused to sell. The natives apparently make the sheep the object of a superstitious cultus, as the Lapps do the hare. It is true, however, that their scruples vanished at the sight of Alexina Tinné’s trinkets; their religion proved unable to withstand the temptation of a bright ring or glittering bracelet. Yet who shall blame them when Christians have been known to forswear their faith for equally small bribes? It is a curious fact that each tribe has its favourite colour—that while one swears by blue beads, another has eyes only for green; so that a tribe which will violate its conscience for a handful of blue beads or yellow, will preserve it intact if tested by beads of any other colour. But no bribe is so powerful, will prevail over so many vows, will appease so many scruples, as a piece of blue or red cotton. This, however, was reserved as a gratification for the chiefs alone; and it was a sight to make you laugh or weep, according as your philosophy is that of Democritus or Heraclitus, to see them strutting through their villages, proud as peacocks in their gaudy attire, haughtier than a mayor with his official chain round his portly chest, happier than a Frenchman with the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in his button-hole.

The countries of Djur and Dör, traversed by our caravan, offered a succession of the most varied panoramas. For several days it passed through marshy lowlands, covered with a coarse hard grass: the herbage was besprinkled with rare flowers, many of which belonged to species unknown to European botanists. As they advanced trees became more numerous; groves developed into woods, and woods expanded into a luxurious forest, where the eye surveyed with delight a rich network of climbing plants and wild vines, spreading from tree to tree, while the dense cloud of verdure was lighted up profusely with starry blossoms. In this happy land the mosquito was never found; nor were there any injurious insects, except the termites or white ants.

The picture suddenly changed as the travellers penetrated further into the interior; immense plains stretched away to a remote horizon, where earth and heaven seemed to mingle. Occasionally, however, the monotonous level was broken pleasantly by clumps of graceful trees, forming so many isles of greenery, in which the calm bland air was perfumed by the sweet odours that rose, like a breath, from magnificent cactuses, orchids, and irises. Thousands of birds, surprised among the tall grasses by the passing caravan, sprang aloft and filled the air with the whir of winnowing wings.

Enraptured by the beauty of this fortunate and favoured region, Alexina forgot the sufferings she had endured, and, giving a free rein to her womanly enthusiasm, exclaimed—“This is a delightful country, a marvellous land, which compensates us for all our fatigue; yes, and for all our outlay!” These last words may be considered as a striking example of bathos, or “the art of sinking,” considering the circumstances under which they were pronounced; but it would appear that the enormous expenses of the expedition had by this time made a serious inroad even on Miss Tinné’s large fortune.

As for some years a marked diminution had taken place in the number of elephants inhabiting the valley of the White Nile, the ivory dealers pushed forward into the countries watered by the Bahr-el-Ghazal and the Djur. There they found themselves in a virgin region, which hitherto had not been contaminated by the influences of a corrupt civilization. It was a mine to be worked with the happiest results, and accordingly they established a series of stations, each in charge of a vakil or manager. In the month of November these were visited in person by the traders, who loaded their boats with ivory, too frequently adding to their cargoes of elephants’ tusks the unfortunate negroes who had served them as guides and hunters. As time went on, they extended their relations, and gave free course to their ambition. They armed the tribes one against another, promoted internecine contests, and in this way consolidated their cruel and unscrupulous despotism.

Our travellers nearly fell victims to one of these infamous speculators in the blood of the feeble and defenceless. Yielding to his repeated pressure, Alexina and her followers advanced to Bongo, where he exercised authority. They were received with a splendid welcome. On their arrival volleys of musketry woke all the surrounding echoes. Biselli (such was the name of their self-appointed host) met them at the entrance to the village, and conducted them into a spacious and convenient habitation, where, with the most courteous attention, they were served with sherbet, coffee, and other refreshing drinks. No one was forgotten in his profuse hospitality; masters and servants were entertained with equal liberality. The abrek, the delicious beer of the country, was freely circulated among the people, and generously distributed to the very porters.

As Biselli was absolute master in the village and its neighbourhood, and owned almost everything, Alexina Tinné requested him to sell some corn and oxen. He answered, like a true gentleman, that for twenty-four hours he was her host; that he had abdicated his position as a trader, and had no thought but her comfort, and to give her an honourable reception. His profuseness, far from diminishing, largely increased; and his European guests were almost ashamed to be the recipients of an hospitality so cordial, so unlimited, and so unexpected.

But unfortunately a change came over the spirit of the dream. Next day, clouds gathered on the horizon which had previously been so fair. The travellers wished to hire a small zoriba, or plantation, comprising two tents. Biselli named thirty thalers as the price. No objection was offered, and Miss Tinné’s people began to store the baggage, when he suddenly made a demand for two hundred thalers. This exorbitant sum was promptly and firmly refused; he then reduced it to forty thalers, which was paid. Soon afterwards the caravan was in need of dourra, and there was no help for it but to apply to Biselli. Well aware of their necessity, the scoundrel charged forty times more than they would have had to pay at Khartûm, and on every other article he put in like manner a tax of forty or fifty per cent. The ex-gentleman had resumed his old character as an unprincipled speculator.

Our travellers, however, felt that they could no longer endure his impositions, and abandoning Bongo and Biselli, returned to Lake Reg. Here Alexina’s mother was seized with an illness which carried her off in a few days (July 23rd). Two European servants were also attacked by fever, and succumbed to its fatal influence. Overwhelmed with grief, Miss Tinné abandoned her schemes of African exploration, and slowly and with difficulty made her way back to Khartûm, to find that her aunt, the Baroness van Capellan, had died during her absence (in May, 1864). As soon as she had recruited her strength, she removed to Cairo, where she took up her residence, and for four years made a conspicuous figure in its brilliant European circle.

The love of new scenes, however, had not been quenched by her adventures, and in her yacht she made frequent visits to Naples and Rome, Smyrna and Jaffa, Algiers and Tripoli. While at the latter port, a caravan arrived from the Sahara, with the products of the rich lands that lie beyond that famous desert. The incident suggested to her bold imagination the idea of an expedition which in romance and interest should eclipse her previous enterprise, and she traced the plan of a journey across Tripoli to the capital of Fezzan, thence to Kuka, and westward, by way of Wadai, Darfur, and Kordofan, to the Nile. As this route would carry her into the territory of the brave but treacherous Towaregs, a race to whom plunder and rapine seem the breath of life, she took care to provide herself with a sufficient escort, and on the 29th of January, 1869, set out from Tripoli at the head of a troop of fifty armed men. At Sokna, in Fezzan, which she reached on the 1st of March, she engaged the services of a Towareg chief, one Ik-nu-ken; but at the last moment he failed her, and she accepted as guides two chiefs of the same tribe, who professed to have been sent by Ik-nu-ken. These men, in conjunction with her attendant, Mohammed, a Tunisian, resolved upon murdering her in order to gain possession of her money and valuables. Soon after her departure from Sokna (it was on the 1st of August) they excited a quarrel among the camel-drivers, and when Alexina quitted her tent to ascertain the cause, one of the Towaregs shot her with a rifle-bullet, mortally wounding her. For four and twenty hours she lay dying at the door of her tent, no one venturing to offer assistance or consolation.

Such was the melancholy fate of Alexina Tinné! It is satisfactory to know that the murderers who, with their plunder, had escaped into the interior, were eventually captured, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment for life. [259]

MR. J. A. MACGAHAN,
AND CAMPAIGNING ON THE OXUS.