From Pekin to Calais by Land

by Harry De Windt

We were later than usual in getting away the evening of our halt in the Tartar encampment, for a sheep was given us by our unwelcome guests in exchange for a couple of soda-water bottles. These are especially prized by the Mongols, probably on account of their, to them, strange shape. The task of slaying the animal was relegated to Sylvia, who proceeded to his work in true Tartar fashion. First making a huge gash in its side with his large clasp-knife, he thrust in his hand, and seizing the heart stopped its movements. The animal was then skinned, and the entrails, after being washed, carefully put aside; nothing was wasted. We reserved the legs for ourselves, and Moses and Co. proceeded to devour the rest. From the time it was killed to when they were licking the last remnants from the bones took them just two hours; they ate it half raw. The sheep on Gobi are small and pure white, with long pendent black ears, and an enormous tail weighing eight to ten pounds. This lump of fat is considered a delicacy, and always given to the favoured guest in a “yourt.” The mutton was excellent, not unlike Southdown.

We got but little rest that night. Our guests had left us a souvenir in the shape of certain nameless animals that stuck to us faithfully the remainder of our journey to Kiakhta. We had hitherto congratulated ourselves on there being no mosquitoes, but soon realized that a whole army of the latter would have been preferable to the noisome insects that, two or three days afterwards, swarmed in the carts, and gave us no peace, night or day. Their smell was worse than their bite, and I think this was, perhaps, the greatest discomfort we had to put up with on the desert journey, always excepting the fatigue and semi-starvation.

We passed and saw nothing for the following three days, although it was interesting to note the curious waves of vegetation and animal life that we crossed at intervals. For a couple of miles the ground would be a perfect network of rat-holes, to give place, in turn, to a district covered with bright black and yellow lizards. Then thousands of beetles covered the plain——large, long-legged things, with bodies as big as a cockroach, and striped with red and black bars; then rats again, and so on, but the rats were in the majority. In many places the plain was alive with them; you trod on them as you walked. The Gobi rat is peculiar to Mongolia. He is a soft, pretty little animal, with a feathery tail, and has none of the disgusting attributes of the common Norwegian or English rat.

It was the same with the vegetation. Each flower or herb seemed to have its own district, though one kind of weed was noticeable everywhere, in the barren as in the most fertile parts. Not being a naturalist, I cannot give its name, but in appearance it is exactly like the weed that grows in such luxuriance at the bottom of our fresh-water ponds and canals in England, where it is called “Babington’s curse,” from the fact that it was originally imported by a person of that name in America. When crushed it emits a sweet scent like thyme, and on clear, cool nights the scent was almost overpowering when the carts and camels had passed over it.

Another flower very common in Gobi is the white convolvulus, which grows almost everywhere like the herb mentioned above. Among the rarer sort were a pretty lilac-coloured daisy with a yellow centre, the common dandelion, and in some parts the English daisy. Rarest of any was a pink flower growing on a prickly bush about a foot high, exactly like a miniature hawthorn-tree in full bloom. It had a sweet but rather sickly perfume.

The seventh day out we met the heavy Russian mail——five camels in charge of two Cossacks and a Tartar. The latter were cheery, good-tempered fellows, and seemed to be taking it easy, each astride a camel, with red flannel shirts, bare legs and feet, and nothing to show they were Russian soldiers but the flat, white, peakless cap with which Vereschagin’s pictures have made us familiar. We gave them a drink apiece, and sent them on their way rejoicing, but with an expression of wonder on their jolly, sunburnt faces——wonder, not unmingled with pity, for the poor, mad Englishmen who were doing this journey for pleasure!

We entered at sunset a part of the desert literally covered with enormous mole-hills, some as much as two or three feet in height. Being pitch-dark, we had a rough time of it in the carts, for the feeble glimmer of the paper-lantern attached to each only sufficed to make darkness visible, and it was almost impossible to steer clear of the huge mounds. After several narrow escapes of an upset, we got out and walked, about ten o’clock, and had an uncomfortable night of it, for about 10.30 a fine, drizzling rain commenced to fall, which lasted till we encamped at midnight. Walking was little better, and resulted in some terrible croppers, for we could not see an inch before us. A good stiff glass of whisky and water and a rest of six hours soon put things right, though we felt a good deal beat the next morning, when at 6.30 we were roused by the inexorable Sylvia.

We encamped the next day near a yourt of considerable size. Moses having informed us that the chief or head-man was a Lama of some importance, we sent up to his tent, a gaudy-looking edifice, surmounted by half a dozen red and yellow prayer-flags, to ask if we might call and pay our respects, a request that was immediately granted. This was the largest yourt we saw, and was composed of over twenty tents.

We rode off after dinner, accompanied by Jee Boo, who, on the way, instructed us how to behave, for the forms and ceremonies that have to be gone through when visiting a Tartar domicile are, to a stranger, somewhat confusing. For instance, a Mongolian never dreams of walking up to a strange yourt. Not only is it contrary to custom, but dangerous, on account of the huge dogs kept about every tent for the protection of the women and children when the men are from home. A Russian Cossack, ignorant of this, went up to a yourt on foot a few years since, and was torn in pieces by the savage brutes, which are, in size and appearance, very much like an English mastiff.

Arrived within earshot of the yourt, we reined up, Jee Boo shouting out loudly, “Nohai Harai,” or “Tie up the dogs.” Several women then emerged from the lama’s tent, and secured the brutes, after which we rode up, and handing our ponies over to the care of a rather pretty, dark-eyed Tartar girl, entered the tent in somewhat undignified fashion on all fours. The door was too low to admit us in any other fashion. Our sticks, revolvers, and knives were laid on the ground outside. It would be as great a breach of good manners to enter a Mongol tent armed or with a stick in your hand as a drawing-room with your hat on, the idea being, that while under his roof, your host is responsible for your safety. You do not require to defend yourself. There were, save the lama, no men about, and we afterwards heard they were away on a hunting expedition in quest of antelope. It was some time before we could make out the lama, for the sunshine outside was dazzling, and the interior of the tent in almost total darkness. The great man, who was lying on a kind of divan, and surrounded by four or five women, did not rise when we entered, but lazily extended a moist and dirty hand as a sign that we might shake hands with him, which having done, we seated ourselves on his right and left. He was a fat, pasty-faced individual, clad in a long gown of faded yellow silk, the front of which was stiff with the grease and dirt of years. His bullet head was, after the manner of lamas, shaved; and round his neck was hung a huge brass ornament, of rough workmanship.