To return for a better guide was clearly the safest course, but this was no easy matter; the animals had got so frightened at finding themselves surrounded with such a body of water, that they would not stir. The young guide was at his wits end; it was in vain that he beat the horse, and pulled the bridle this way and that; the horse struggled and splashed up the water, and that was all; not an inch would it move, one way or the other. The young man, no better horseman than guide, at last lost his balance and fell into the water; he disappeared for a moment, to our increased consternation, and then rose at a little distance, just where he could stand and have his head above water. Samdadchiemba grew furious, but at last, seeing no other alternative, he quietly took off all his clothes as he sat on the camel, threw them into the boat, and slipped down the camel’s side into the stream. “Take that man into your boat,” cried he to our boatman; “I’ll have nothing more to do with him. I’ll go back and find some one who can guide us properly.” He then made his way back through the water, which sometimes rose up to his neck, leading the animals, whose confidence returned when they saw themselves preceded by the Dchiahour.
Our hearts were filled with gratitude at observing the devotion and courage of this young neophyte, who, for our sakes, had not hesitated to plunge into the water which, at that season, was bitterly cold. We anxiously followed him with our eyes until we saw him close upon the shore. “You may now,” said the boatman, “be quite at your ease; he will find in my hut a man who will guide him, so as to avoid the least danger.”
We proceeded on our way, but the navigation was by no means so agreeable as before; the boatman could not find again the clear path on the waters which he was pursuing when we returned to
aid Samdadchiemba; and hampered with aquatic plants, the vessel made but very slow progress. We tried to mend matters, by turning to the right and then to the left, but the difficulty only grew greater; the water was so shallow that the boat, in its laboured advance, turned up the mud. We were compelled ourselves to take the sculls, while the boatman, getting into the water and passing across his shoulders a rope, the other end of which was tied to the boat, tried to pull us along. We applied our united efforts to the task of moving the vessel, but all in vain; it scarcely advanced a foot. The boatman at last resumed his seat and folded his arms in utter despair: “Since we cannot get on by ourselves,” said he, “we must wait here until the passage-boat comes up, and then follow in its course.” We waited.
The boatman was evidently altogether disconcerted; he loudly reproached himself for having undertaken this laborious business; while we, on our parts, were angry with ourselves for having permitted a consideration of economy to deter us from proceeding with the ferry-boat. We should have got into the water and waded to the shore, but, besides the difficulty connected with the baggage, the undertaking was dangerous in itself. The ground was so irregular that, while at one moment you passed through water so shallow that it would scarcely float the boat, in the next moment you came to a hole, deep enough to drown you three times over.
It was near noon when we saw three passage-boats passing us, which belonged to the family who enjoyed the monopoly of the ferry. After having, with infinite labour, extricated ourselves from the mud and attained the channel indicated by these boats, we were quietly following their course when they stopped, evidently awaiting us. We recognised the person with whom we had tried to bargain for our passage over, and he recognised us, as we could easily perceive by the angry glances which he directed against us. “You tortoise-egg,” cried he to our boatman, “what have these western men given you for the passage? They must have handed over a good bagful of sapeks to have induced you to trespass upon my rights! You and I will have a little talk about the matter, by-and-by; be sure of that.” “Don’t answer him,” whispered the boatman to us; then raising his voice and assuming an air of virtuous indignation, he cried to the ferryman: “What do you mean? You don’t know what you’re talking about. Consult the dictates of reason, instead of getting into a fury about nothing. These Lamas have not given me a sapek; they have cured my leg with one of their western specifics, and do you mean to say that in gratitude for such a benefit I am not to carry them over the Paga-Gol? My conduct is perfectly right, and in conformity with
religion.” The ferryman grumbling between his teeth, pretended to accept the statement thus made.
This little altercation was succeeded by profound silence on both sides. While the flotilla was peaceably advancing, pursuing the thread of a narrow current, just wide enough to admit the passage of a boat, we saw galloping towards us, along the shallows, a horseman whose rapid progress dashed aside the water in all directions. As soon as he came within call he stopped short: “Make haste,” cried he, “make haste; lose no time, row with all your might! The Prime Minister of the King of the Ortous is yonder on the prairie with his suite, waiting the arrival of your boat. Row quickly.” He who spoke was a Tartar Mandarin, his rank being indicated by the blue button which surmounted his hair cap. After issuing his orders he turned round, whipped his horse, and galloped back the same way he had come. When he was out of sight, the murmurs which his presence had restrained burst out. “Here’s a day’s labour marked out! A fine thing, truly, to be employed by a Mongol Toudzelaktsi (Minister of State), who’ll make us row all day, and then not give us a single sapek for our pains.” “As to that, it need not so much matter; but the chances are that this Tcheou-ta-dze will break every bone in our bodies into the bargain.” “Well, row away, it can’t be helped; after all, we shall have the honour of ferrying over a Toudzelaktsi.” This little piece of insolence excited a laugh, but the prevalent expression was that of furious invective against the Mongol authorities.
Our boatman remained silent; at last he said to us; “This is a most unfortunate day for me. I shall be obliged to carry some of this Toudzelaktsi’s suite perhaps to Tchagan-Kouren itself. I am by myself, I am ill, and my boat ought this evening to be engaged in fishing.” We were truly afflicted at this unlucky turn of affairs, feeling as we did that we were the involuntary occasion of the poor fisherman’s misfortune. We knew very well that it was no trifling matter to be called into the service, in this way, of a Chinese or Tartar Mandarin, for whom every thing must be done at once, unhesitatingly and cheerfully. No matter what may be the difficulties in the way, that which the Mandarin desires must be done. Knowing the consequences of the meeting to our poor boatman, we determined to see what we could do to relieve him from the dilemma. “Brother,” said we, “do not be uneasy; the Mandarin who awaits the passage boats is a Tartar, the minister of the king of this country. We will endeavour to manage matters for you. Go very slowly, stop now and then; while we are in your boat no one, attendants, Mandarins, not even the Toudzelaktsi himself will venture to say a word to you.”
We stopped short in our course, and meanwhile the three passage-boats reached the landing-place where the Mongol authorities were waiting for them. Soon two Mandarins, with the blue button, galloped towards us; “What are you stopping there for?” cried they. “Why do you not come on?” We interposed: “Brother Mongols,” said we, “request your master to content himself with the three boats already at the shore. This man is ill, and has been rowing a long time; it would be cruel to prevent him from resting himself awhile.” “Be it as you desire, Sirs Lamas,” replied the horsemen, and they galloped back to the Toudzelaktsi.