Having motioned us to a seat, the lama made a long speech, of which we could understand nothing, nor could, I believe, Jee Boo, although he told us it was replete with good wishes and compliments. The Mongol language is a difficult one, and even our interpreter, who had studied it for years, could only speak it in a very rudimentary way. One peculiarity of the Mongol tongue is that, unless you say a word exactly as it is pronounced, you might as well address them in Sanskrit or double-Dutch. As an instance of this, an American missionary at Kalgan was good enough to teach me a word of the greatest importance in the desert: “Tie up your dogs.” He pronounced it “No high, Harū” (sic), but when I tried this, it failed signally, and the Mongols could make nothing of it for a long time. At last a light dawned on them. “Nohoi Haré, oh, we understand that!” I could not help thinking, after this, that the Gospel must have rather a poor chance in Mongolia!
The interior of the tent was comfortable enough, though the argol smoke got into one’s eyes and made them smart for days after. The floor was strewn with thick, soft Chinese rugs and tapestries, apparently of great value, while round the sides of the tent were hung large pieces of bright silk, covered with Chinese and Tibetan characters——probably prayers. Directly in front of the entrance was a kind of altar, painted red, upon which reposed a huge gilt image of Buddha surrounded by half-a-dozen prayer-wheels, to which whenever they passed them, the inmates of the yourt gave a vigorous turn. The amount of prayers they must have got through, even during our short visit, was something marvellous, for the wheels were incessantly on the go, from the time we entered the tent till we left it. In the centre, and directly opposite the entrance, a huge copper cauldron, three parts full of a dirty, yellow-coloured liquid, simmered on a brazier of argol, the only fuel used in this part of Mongolia, where no wood grows.
Having smelt and returned the inevitable snuff-bottle, we murmured “mendu” “good-day,” and relapsed into silence, waiting for the Lama to recommence the conversation. The snuff-bottle is an infallible sign of a Mongol’s wealth and position. No conversation is ever carried on without a preliminary sniff, which is more a matter of form than anything else, as they often contain nothing. From the head Lama to the poorest Mongol no Tartar is ever without one. Most are of Pekin manufacture, ranging in value from a few cash to two hundred taels or more, the best ones being of gold or jade encrusted with precious stones, the commoner sort of glass or china. Attached to the stopper is a small bone or ivory spoon with which the snuff (when there is any) is ladled into the nostrils.
A good ten minutes elapsed before the Lama showed any desire to enter into conversation, and we were about to take our departure when the pretty Tartar girl came bustling into the tent and brought us some tea (or a concoction of that name) out of the copper cauldron. Seeing that we looked at the greasy-looking stuff rather askance, the Mongol gave a sort of grunt and held his thumb up, an operation that was repeated by the women around him. This I learnt from Jee Boo means “good,” holding it down in the manner of the Romans when they desired the death of a gladiator “bad.” So we were forced to drink it, though with reluctance, especially as I had noticed that the Mongols, as a rule, follow Jack Sprat’s example and lick the platter clean! The shallow wooden cups, out of which we drank, were literally encrusted with dirt, but it would never have done to refuse, so we gulped the nauseous mixture of brick tea, millet, and mutton-fat down. Never shall I forget it. That was the only cup of real Mongol tea I ever tasted, but it was some days before I got the flavour out of my mouth. The Lama seemed to enjoy it, though, and put away quite a dozen cups during the interview.
The beverage had one good effect; it loosened his tongue, and the following somewhat erratic dialogue, through the medium of Jee Boo, now took place between us:——
Lama: “Who and what are you, and where do you come from?”
Jee Boo: “They are English, and come from a great country far away beyond the seas.”
Lama: “What are you?”
Jee Boo: “English!”
Lama: “You mean they are Russian (Rooski).”