The dancing wound up with a display of fireworks (Pekin made) in the grounds, and though of native manufacture the most loyal English subject could not have found fault with the excellent portrait of her Majesty (in fireworks) that drew forth enthusiastic applause from the crowd of natives at the gates and wound up the proceedings. Though day was dawning, dancing was still in full swing when we left the Embassy and took leave of our kind host and charming hostess, without whose kindly aid and hospitality we should indeed have felt lost those long weary days of delay and ennui in the dusty capital.
Though advised not to attempt it, we resolved to ride as much as possible across the Gobi Desert. We had not yet seen a camel cart, but had heard quite enough of its miseries to determine us never to occupy it longer at a time than was absolutely necessary. So having taken the trouble to bring saddles out with us, we resolved to chance the loss of the ponies, and managed to get two strong wiry-looking Mongolian ones, about fourteen hands high, for 8l. English apiece. We tried many before pitching on the right sort. Lancaster’s first attempt at a purchase was not a lucky one. The brute lay on its side the moment he mounted, and resolutely refused to move, much to the delight of the crowd who had assembled to see what the “Yang Qweitze” were about. However, after many and varied experiences he managed to pick up a smart-looking bay pony only four years old. Mine was considerably older, but they were both sturdy, plucky little beasts; looked up to any amount of fatigue——and as we afterwards found by no means belied their appearance.
Our host rushed in one bright sunny morning with a beaming countenance, before we were out of bed. “Courage, messieurs, your boy has arrived,” at the same time handing me a blue envelope containing a note from the Embassy. “Boy will arrive to-day from Tientsin.” This was welcome news indeed, and I turned round for another snooze with a blessed feeling of relief and gratitude. All would now be well. To-morrow morning would see us en route for the Great Wall. We had saved, by the skin of our teeth, detention in Siberia. With any luck November would see us in Moscow.
At 5.30 “the boy” arrived; a tall, forbidding-looking Chinaman, with a sullen, hang-dog expression that inspired but little confidence. I saw in five minutes the kind of gentleman we had to deal with. Sulky, obstinate, and as sly as a fox, with a shifty, restless eye that could not look you in the face for two seconds together.
“Well, so you’ve come at last! What has kept you so long at Tientsin?”
“Jubilee!”
The bare idea of this human scarecrow assisting at a festival of any sort was too funny. But I knew the man lied.
“Will you come with us to Kiakhta?”
“All depend what get. No can go for less than $300. If no take me, master get no one. All afraid go desert. Afraid Mongol man.”
The insolent, swaggering tone of the man annoyed, nearly as much as the exorbitant price he asked surprised, me. I knew it was out of all reason. But the wretch was well aware of our helpless position, and all my hopes of a speedy start for the desert sank below zero. To give the price he named would have been not only absurd but fatal. We should have been mercilessly swindled at every village we came to, if not attacked by robbers, when the news of our liberality and wealth became known, as things do in China in an incredibly short space of time. We had besides this reason, a far better one; we could not afford it.