Our onward route lay across many low passes, one I remember being crowned by a deserted fort, a memento of Yakub Beg, and clustered round this stronghold were many shrines—piles of stones adorned with wild sheeps’ horns and with poles on which fluttered countless rags, the idea being to remind the buried saint to intercede for the giver of the scrap of cloth or cotton. After this we traversed a district strewn with conglomerate rocks which assumed the most fantastic and weird shapes, and we wound through a long defile where the loess hills were crimped and frilled, looking much like rows of ballet skirts flung one upon another.
The ranges decreased in height as we proceeded, the sandy detritus moving down on barren valleys in which we saw very little sign of life. There were the pretty snow pigeons, the ubiquitous crows, and occasionally magpies standing on the backs of a few goats, pecking the ticks from their hair as the animals fed on almost invisible herbage or gnawed the bark from branches of willows that were cut down for the purpose.
Ever since we had crossed the Terek Dawan the weather had been cold and windy, with frequent dust-storms, the sand driving in great red clouds across the treeless wastes, and enveloping us and our caravan in grit that made the eyes smart.
Farther and farther the hills receded until we emerged on to the great Kashgar plain, where at Miniol, our last halting-place, the irrigated fields were green with crops, the trees in leaf, clumps of irises about to burst into flower, lizards darting among the stones, and frogs chanting loudly from the watercourses. To give some idea of the size of the Tian Shan Range it may be mentioned that nine out of the twelve stages of our journey lay through mountains.
On April 10, the thirty-sixth day after leaving England, we rode across the stony plain towards a long green line on the horizon that indicated the goal of our journey, passing on our way an old watch-tower erected in bygone days on the edge of the Oasis to give due warning of Kirghiz raiders. Some miles out of the city a fine saddle-horse and a rickety hooded victoria met us. My brother mounted the one and I got into the other, to be jolted over stones and in clouds of dust towards Kashgar. As we entered the Oasis with its avenues of willow, poplar and mulberry that surrounded the town for miles, Sir George Macartney and his children appeared to welcome us, and we also had a greeting from the Indians, when we entered a garden and sat down at a table on which a lavish meal had been spread. We halted farther on to exchange greetings with the Swedish missionaries, then drove in the red dust to where the Russian Consul-General and his staff hospitably entertained us, and afterwards to the Chinese reception, where more tea had to be sipped. This was the last stopping-place, and it was with joy that I heard the children who shared my carriage say, as we skirted the castellated city wall, that we were at last nearing the British Consulate.
We drove into a large garden planted with trees, where Lady Macartney came down the steps of a big, pleasing house and, giving us the kindest of greetings, led us into the dining-room. Here it was so delightful to be once more in an English atmosphere and to talk to a countrywoman that I could not resist partaking of afternoon tea, though it was for the fourth time since we had entered the Kashgar Oasis.
CHAPTER III
LIFE AT KASHGAR
For stalking about the streets (of Leh) or seated in silent rows along the bazaar, were men of a different type from those around. Their large white turbans, their beards, their long and ample outer robes, reaching nearly to the ground and open in front showing a shorter undercoat girt at the waist, their heavy riding-boots of black leather, all gave them an imposing air; while their dignified manners so respectful to others, yet so free from Indian cringing or Tibetan buffoonery, made them seem like men among monkeys compared with the people around them.—Visits to High Tartary, Yarkand and Kashgar—Robert Shaw.
On the second day after our arrival the Macartneys and their children left for England, but, busy though my hostess was, she found time to show me everything in the house and offices, giving me all sorts of hints that proved invaluable later on.