Tchukutchak is that town which in 1867, after a prolonged siege, fell into the hands of the Dungani, a Mongolian tribe, of Mohammedan faith, who had been for long in persistent insurrection against the Chinese rule. It was razed to the ground and no living creature spared. Of the thirty thousand souls who are said to have inhabited the town, over a third had found refuge in flight; the rest, confident in the success with which repeated assaults had been repulsed, remained to their destruction. When the Dungani succeeded in storming the town, they showed the same inhuman cruelty which the Chinese had shown to them. What the sword did not claim was destroyed by fire. When our escort, Captain Friedrichs, visited the place some fourteen days after the town had been stormed, the clouds of smoke had cleared from the charred ruins. Wolves and dogs, with bellies swollen from eating human flesh, slunk away sated, or refused to be disturbed in their horrible festival, and continued to gnaw at the bones of their old foes or masters. Eagles, kites, ravens, and crows shared the spoil. In places where the insurgents had made space for themselves, the corpses were thrown together in heaps, dozens and hundreds together; in other parts of the town, in the streets, courts, and houses, corpses lay singly, in couples, in tens,—husband and wife, great-grandparents, grandmothers, mothers, and children, whole families and neighbours who had sought refuge with them. Their foreheads were gashed with sword-cuts, their features decayed and burned, their limbs gnawed and torn by the teeth of dogs and wolves, their bodies headless and handless. Whatever horror the maddest imagination ever pictured was here realized.
At the present day there are at most a thousand inhabitants in Tchukutchak, and the newly-erected battlemented fort is actually under the protection of the small Russian picket of Bakti. That the Dungani have not yet laid down their arms nor been subdued, was sufficiently proved by the recent march of a Chinese army into the valley of the Emil, where insurrection is again threatened.
Under the escort of Major Tichanoff and his thirty Cossacks we traversed this valley without seeing a single Dungani, indeed without meeting a human being for days. The Emil, arising from the Zaur, flows between the Tarabagatai and Semistan—two mountain ranges which meet at an acute angle—and receives numberless small tributaries on either side. The genius which the Chinese have for irrigation had utilized all the streams, and made a fruitful garden of the whole valley till the Dungani broke into and devastated the fertile land, and surrendered it once more to the steppe-land from which it had been won. In the neighbourhood of the town we passed through several small villages, and we came across a Kalmuck aul, but apart from these we saw only the ruin of former possession, comfort, and industry. Over the fields Nature herself had drawn a veil with gentle hand, but the ruined villages, not yet destroyed by storm and tempest, cried aloud to heaven. When we visited these villages, the tragedy of bygone days was appallingly clear. Between the crumbling walls, whose roofs had been burnt and whose gables had wholly or partially fallen in, on the mouldering rubbish over which poisonous fungi ran riot, amid remnants of Chinese porcelain, and half-charred and thus preserved plenishings, we came everywhere on human remains, crumbling skulls, bones broken by the teeth of carnivores, and certain parts of the skeletons of domesticated animals, especially of the dog. The skulls still bore traces of the heavy blows which shattered them. The inhabitants had fallen before the rage of their murderous foes, and the dogs had shared the fate of their masters whom they may have been trying to protect; the other domestic animals had been driven away, plundered like the rest of the useful property, and the apparently useless residue had been broken up and burnt. Only two semi-domesticated animals remain, the swallow and the sparrow; the rest are replaced by ruin-loving birds.
We passed cheerlessly through the desolate valley. Not one of the Dungani was to be seen, for behind our thirty Cossacks was the great power of Russia. The first human beings we came across were Russian Kirghiz, who, though in Chinese territory, were pasturing their flocks and tilling their fields as usual, and had even erected a monument to one of their dead.
From the valley of the Emil we crossed the Tarabagatai by one of the lowest passes of the range, and thence descended to the almost flat plateau of Tchilikti, which lies over five thousand feet above the sea, surrounded by the Tarabagatai, Zaur, Manrak, Terserik, Mustau, and Urkashar. Crossing the plateau, passing some enormously large Kurgans or sepulchral mounds of the natives, we followed the serpentine valleys of the infinitely irregular Manrak mountains in order to reach the plain of Zaizan and the delightful town of the same name which had been erected as an outpost some four years previously. Here, close to the Chinese-Russian boundary, we found European comfort and civilization for the first time since leaving Lepsa. In the society which we enjoyed we seemed to be back again in St. Petersburg or Berlin. There was talking, playing, singing, and dancing both within the family circle and in the public gardens. The melody of nightingales accompanied the dance and song; one forgot where one was.
I used the time of our sojourn here to hunt “ullars”, mountain-fowl resembling partridges, but as large as black-cock, and in so doing not only became acquainted with the wild grandeur of the Manrak mountains, but saw the life of the poorer Kirghiz herdsmen in a light new to me, and returned much satisfied with my excursion.
On the afternoon of the 31st May we again set off in our wagon, making for the Black Irtish in order to meet General Poltoratski at an appointed rendezvous in the Altai mountains. We drove rapidly through the rich steppe-land, over coal-black soil, and afterwards over the drier high-steppes till we came to the river, whose rolling waves bore us next day to the lake of Zaizan. Hitherto all the Siberian rivers and streams had seemed rather tedious; but on the Black Irtish it was far otherwise. We got lovely views of the two great mountains—Zaur and Altai—and the adjacent ranges, while the fresh green banks, cheerful with singing birds, gladdened our eyes and ears. A rapid cast of the net brought us an abundant catch of delicious fishes, and proved that the river was as rich as it was beautiful. On the 2nd June we crossed the shallow and muddy lake, exceedingly rich in fishes, but attractive only in the peeps of distant scenery which were to be got from its surface, and on the next day we traversed the dreariest part of the steppe which we had yet seen. Here, however, we made the acquaintance of three most noteworthy steppe animals—the wild horse or kulan, the saiga antelope, and Pallas’ sand-grouse. Our Kirghiz secured a kulan foal and shot one of the birds. In the evening we rested among the spurs of Altai, and next day we met our former hosts at the appointed place, and continued our journey under their guidance.
It was a delightful journey, though wind, snow, and rain were all too frequent, and robbed the pleasant yurt (which we carried with us) of much of its comfort, though torrents barred our path, and though we had to find our way along precipitous slopes such as at home a chamois-hunter, but certainly no horseman would attempt. A Russian Governor does not travel like an ordinary mortal, least of all when he journeys through uninhabited territory. He is accompanied by the district-officers and their subordinates, by the elders and clerks of the community, by the elite of the district which he visits, by a troop of Cossacks and their officers including the captain, by his own servants and those of his escort, &c. And when, as in this case, the expedition is to a comparatively unknown country, when it is necessary to consult with Kirghiz communities, the cavalcade is enormously increased. For not only have yurts and tents to be carried, as is usual on steppe journeys, but flocks of sheep have to go on in front of the little army to feed the hundreds on their way through the barren wilderness. Since leaving the Zaizan lake we had been once more in China, and a journey of several days had to be faced before we could hope to come across human settlements, which are confined to the deeper valleys among the mountains.
At first we were accompanied by more than two hundred men, mostly Kirghiz, who had been summoned to receive an imperial order relating to the suspension of their pasture-rights in the crown-lands of the Altai, and to come to an agreement as to consequent changes in their wanderings. But even after the deliberations were ended, our retinue still numbered over a hundred horses and sixty men. In the early morning the yurts were raised from over our heads and sent on in front with the baggage; then we followed in companies, riding slowly until the ladies, the General’s amiable wife and daughter, overtook us. We breakfasted at some suitable spot, waited till the last of the pack-horses had gone ahead, and then went on, usually reaching our halting-place along with the daily dwindling flock of sheep which always started first. Thus, every evening, we had an opportunity of watching the pleasant picture of camp-life take form before us. Lovely verdant valleys full of spring’s fragrance invited us; from the lofty precipitous mountains, still snow-capped, we got glimpses of the distant highlands and of the steppe-land, which we had traversed, stretching to the Zaur and the Tarabagatai; and at last we caught sight of Markakul—the pearl among the mountain lakes of the Altai—and entered the highlands proper. For three long days we journeyed along the lake, hindered by bad roads and bad weather, and delayed by a Chinese embassy sent to the Governor; then we rode through dense forests and over scarce surmountable passes, and down by breakneck paths towards the Russian frontier, and into the fertile valley of the Buchtarma. There in the newly-established Cossack settlement the Altaiskaya-Stanitza, we were again able to enjoy Russian hospitality and to rest in comfort.
The officers of the Stanitza were kind enough to present us with samples of the produce of the district, and we continued our journey on the 12th of June. The sun shone cheerfully down from a cloudless sky on the splendid landscape, now for the first time unveiled. Immense park-like valleys, surrounded by steeply towering, snow-capped mountains, suffused with bewitching colours, beautiful trees on the meadows, blossoming bushes on the slopes, and an infinite wealth of flowers, beautiful beyond description, and as it were exultant in the sunlight long denied to them, newly unfolded wild roses, the call of the cuckoo and songs from a hundred throats, the auls of the Kirghiz in the broader valleys, and the Russian villages surrounded by green shrubs, grazing herds, fruitful fields, rushing brooks, and jagged rocks, mild air and the balmy fragrance breathing of spring—such were some of the elements which intoxicated the senses and made our journey a continual delight. Soon we crossed the boundaries of the crown-lands of the Altai, a property not much smaller than France! At the end of a day’s journey we reached the little town of Serianoffsk with its silver mines. After we had been hospitably entertained and had inspected all the works, we turned again to the Irtish, and were borne by the rapid stream through deep and picturesque gorges past Buchtarminsk to Ustkamenogorsk, whence we journeyed in wagons once more through these crown-lands which give promise of a rich future. Steppe-like plains adjoin the pleasant tracts which lie along the spurs of the mountains; extensive forests alternate with cultivated land. Large prosperous villages; valuable, fertile fields of coal-black soil; well-built men with a look of conscious prosperity, beautiful women in picturesque costume, both child-like in their inquisitiveness and in their good-nature; excellent, serviceable, untiring horses, and powerful, shapely oxen lying at ease in large herds; an endless succession of caravans bearing ore and coal along well-made roads, marmots on the slopes of the mountains, souslik on the plains, imperial eagles on the guide-posts by the highway, charming little gulls on the water-basins and about the townships—such cheerful pictures enlivened our route. We hastened through the country as if in flight, paying a passing visit to the mining town appropriately called Schlangenberg (Snake-town), and allowing ourselves but a short rest in the country-town of Barnaul. Thence we journeyed to the little hill-town of Zalair, and thence to the great government-town of Tomsk.