“We shall to-day pass the Yellow River to Tchagan Kouren, and then journey westward through the country of the Ortous.” “You are not Mongols, apparently?” “No; we are from the West.” “Well, it seems we are both of one trade; you, like myself, are Tartar-eaters.” “Tartar-eaters! What do you mean?” “Why, we eat the Tartars. You eat them by prayers; I by commerce. And why not? The Mongols are poor simpletons, and we may as well get their money as anybody else.” “You are mistaken. Since we entered Tartary we have spent a great deal, but we have never taken a single sapek from the Tartar.” “Oh, nonsense!” “What! do you suppose our camels and our baggage came to us from the Mongols?” “Why, I thought you came here to recite your prayers.” We entered into some explanation of the difference between our principles and those of the Lamas, for whom the traveller had mistaken us, and he was altogether amazed at our disinterestedness. “Things are quite the other way here,” said he. “You won’t get a Lama to say prayers for nothing; and certainly, as for me, I should never set foot in Tartary but for the sake of money.” “But how is it you manage to make such good meals of the Tartars?” “Oh, we devour them; we pick them clean. You’ve observed the silly race, no doubt; whatever they see when they come into our towns they want, and when we know who they are, and where we can find them, we let them have goods upon credit, of course at a considerable advance upon the price, and upon interest at thirty or forty per cent., which is quite right and necessary. In China the Emperor’s laws do not allow this; it is only done with the Tartars. Well, they don’t pay the money, and the interest goes on until there is a good sum owing worth the coming for. When we come for it, they’ve no money, so we merely take all the cattle and sheep and horses we can get hold of for the interest, and leave the capital debt and future interest to be paid next time, and so it goes on from one generation to another. Oh! a Tartar debt is a complete gold mine.”
Day had not broken when the Yao-Tchang-Ti (exactor of debts) was on foot. “Sirs Lamas,” said he, “I am going to saddle my horse, and proceed on my way,—I propose to travel to-day with you.” “’Tis a singular mode of travelling with people, to start before they’re up,” said we. “Oh, your camels go faster than my horse; you’ll soon overtake me, and we shall enter Tchagan-Kouren (White Enclosure) together.” He rode off and at daybreak we followed him. This was a black day with us, for in it we had to mourn a loss. After travelling several hours, we perceived that Arsalan was not with the caravan. We halted, and Samdadchiemba, mounted on his little mule, turned back in search of the
dog. He went through several villages which we had passed in the course of the morning, but his search was fruitless; he returned without having either seen or heard of Arsalan. “The dog was Chinese,” said Samdadchiemba; “he was not used to a nomadic life, and getting tired of wandering about over the desert, he has taken service in the cultivated district. What is to be done? Shall we wait for him?” “No, it is late, and we are far from White Enclosure.” “Well, if there is no dog, there is no dog; and we must do without him.” This sentimental effusion of Samdadchiemba gravely delivered, we proceeded on our way.
At first, the loss of Arsalan grieved us somewhat. We were accustomed to see him running to and fro in the prairie, rolling in the long grass, chasing the grey squirrels, and scaring the eagles from their seat on the plain. His incessant evolutions served to break the monotony of the country through which we were passing, and to abridge, in some degree, the tedious length of the way. His office of porter gave him especial title to our regret. Yet, after the first impulses of sorrow, reflection told us that the loss was not altogether so serious as it had at first appeared. Each day’s experience of the nomadic life had served more and more to dispel our original apprehension of robbers. Moreover, Arsalan, under any circumstances, would have been a very ineffective guard; for his incessant galloping about during the day sent him at night into a sleep which nothing could disturb. This was so much the case, that every morning, make what noise we might in taking down our tent, loading the camels, and so on, there would Arsalan remain, stretched on the grass, sleeping a leaden sleep; and when the caravan was about to start, we had always to arouse him with a sound kick or two. Upon one occasion, a strange dog made his way into our tent, without the smallest opposition on the part of Arsalan, and had full time to devour our mess of oatmeal and a candle, the wick of which he left contumeliously on the outside of the tent. A consideration of economy completed our restoration to tranquillity of mind: each day we had had to provide Arsalan with a ration of meal, at least quite equal in quantity to that which each of us consumed; and we were not rich enough to have constantly seated at our table a guest with such excellent appetite, and whose services were wholly inadequate to compensate for the expense he occasioned.
We had been informed that we should reach White Enclosure the same day, but the sun had set, and as yet we saw no signs of the town before us. By-and-by, what seemed clouds of dust made their appearance in the distance, approaching us. By degrees they developed themselves in the form of camels, laden with western
merchandise for sale in Peking. When we met the first camel-driver, we asked him how far it was from White Enclosure. “You see here,” said he with a grin, “one end of our caravan; the other extremity is still within the town.”
The cameleers had stamped upon their features, almost blackened with the sun, a character of uncouth misanthropy. Enveloped from head to foot in goatskins, they were placed between the humps of their camels, just like bales of merchandise; they scarcely condescended to turn even their heads round to look at us. Five months journeying across the desert seemed almost to have brutified them. All the camels of this immense caravan wore suspended from their necks Thibetian bells, the silvery sound of which produced a musical harmony which contrasted very agreeably with the sullen taciturn aspect of the drivers. In our progress, however, we contrived to make them break silence from time to time; the roguish Dchiahour attracted their attention to us in a very marked manner. Some of the camels, more timid than others, took fright at the little mule, which they doubtless imagined to be a wild beast. In their endeavour to escape in an opposite direction they drew after them the camels next following them in the procession, so that, by this operation, the caravan assumed the form of an immense bow. This abrupt evolution aroused the cameleers from their sullen torpidity; they grumbled bitterly, and directed fierce glances against us, as they exerted themselves to restore the procession to its proper line. Samdadchiemba, on the contrary, shouted with laughter; it was in vain that we told him to ride somewhat apart in order not to alarm the camels; he turned a deaf ear to all we said. The discomfiture of the procession was quite a delightful entertainment for him, and he made his little mule caracole about in the hope of an encore.
The first cameleer had not deceived us. We journeyed on between the apparently interminable file of the caravan, and a chain of rugged rocks, until night had absolutely set in, and even then we did not see the town. The last camel had passed on, and we seemed alone in the desert, when a man came riding by on a donkey. “Elder brother,” said we, “is White Enclosure still distant?” “No, brothers,” he replied, “it is just before you, there, where you see the lights. You have not more than five lis to go.” Five lis! It was a long way in the night, and upon a strange road, but we were fain to resign ourselves. The night grew darker and darker. There was no moon, no stars even, to guide us on our way. We seemed advancing amid chaos and abysses. We resolved to alight, in the hope of seeing our way somewhat more clearly: the result was precisely the reverse; we would advance a few steps gropingly and slowly; then, all of a sudden, we threw back our
heads in fear of dashing them against rocks or walls that seemed to rise from an abyss. We speedily got covered with perspiration, and were only happy to mount our camels once more, and rely on their clearer sight and surer feet. Fortunately the baggage was well secured: what misery would it have been had that fallen off amid all this darkness, as it had frequently done before! We arrived at last in Tchagan-Kouren, but the difficulty now was to find an inn. Every house was shut up, and there was not a living creature in the streets, except a number of great dogs that ran barking after us.