From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

A MONGOL.

The curious fashion of the women fixing their hair in a sort of circle round their faces by means of massive silver ornaments has often a very incongruous effect, as I have seen old hags, dressed in a mass of rags which a professional London rag-picker would pass in disgust, with quite a little fortune on their heads, in many cases even among the poorer classes to the value of £30 or £40! All the family savings go first towards providing a wife with the orthodox jewellery, as a girl is not spoken of as a “woman” till her hair is dressed properly—never mind the rest of her wardrobe. Among the very poorest classes I have occasionally seen strips of wood used when silver could not be afforded, but this is very exceptional. Of course, in their dress, as in their dwellings, there are social class differences, and the rich or noble Mongols wear clothes of the finest silks of the most gorgeous hues, their wives and daughters being decorated with costly silver jewellery of exquisite workmanship. Among women of the higher classes are to be found actual beauties, and the curious method of arranging the hair is really very becoming when it encircles a pretty face with sparkling eyes and pearly teeth. I remember on one occasion seeing a princess riding through Ourga who was so startlingly beautiful that the apparition simply took my breath away; it was like a vision from the “Arabian Nights,” and for several days after I felt quite “smitten” with the lovely unknown one, and my appetite suffered considerably in consequence!

Although as a distinct nation the Mongols are slowly disappearing, owing to gradual fusion with the Chinese, still there are many amongst the descendants of the old princes who yet cling to the idea that the glorious times of Genghis Khan will again return, and that some day another such leader will appear and restore to this once so mighty race its old prestige. In fact, there is one sect amongst the people who believes that Genghis Khan is not dead at all, but has only disappeared for a time, and will on some not very distant date again return to earth; and in the national songs the name of this hero and his great deeds are continually appearing. En attendant this millennium, however, the Mongols have lost all trace of the formidable warriors they were in the past, and have lapsed into such quiet and inoffensive beings that it is hard to realize they are descendants of the mighty horde which once conquered Russia, and threw all Europe into a state of panic. Of their old national characteristics but one really remains—their wonderful horsemanship; for I believe that the Mongols as a nation enjoy the undisputed reputation of being the finest horsemen in the world, and this in spite of their, to European ideas, somewhat ungainly seat in consequence of the use of a short stirrup. One can imagine what magnificent cavalry these men must have made under their old leaders. However, revenons a nos moutons.

As we gradually neared the confines of this “steppe,” trees appeared on either side, till we were in a sort of open forest when we reached the foot of the hills. Out on the plains, in the brilliant sunshine, there had not been the slightest trace on the ground of the recent heavy falls of snow; but among the trees and on the higher ground it still lay thickly, and gave a very cold and wintry appearance to the scene. The extreme mildness of the temperature was, however, rapidly doing its work, and under the genial rays of the sun the remaining vestiges of winter fast disappearing. The road, in consequence, was in an awful state, in many places the water and mud being so deep as to render it almost impassable. Our three game little horses, however, struggled bravely on, and, without any further excitement than the waving of the driver’s puny whip, managed to get us along.

With the exception of a couple of hours’ rest in the middle of the day, we pushed on steadily till nightfall, when we reached the station where the halt for the night was to be made—a couple of yourts close together forming a sort of Mongol farm, where my driver from experience knew he was certain to be able to get hay and water for the horses. I do not think I was ever in a more gloomy or depressing spot. It was a sort of narrow valley between two high hills, with scarcely a trace of vegetation. Heavy clouds, gradually coming up, now quite obscured the sky, and the deadly stillness of the air betokened some approaching change in the weather during the night. All around were curious looking objects lying on the ground. In the twilight I could not at first distinguish what they were, but on a nearer inspection I discovered that these were dead oxen. I counted fourteen lying within a few yards of the huts; and, judging from the odour, I imagine they must have been dead some considerable time. On inquiring of my driver the reason of so wholesale a slaughter, he told me that they had not been killed, but had died from starvation, owing to the severe winter. The wretched inhabitants of the two yourts, in the apathy caused by their misfortunes, had not the energy to remove the decomposing carcases out of sight. I could not help feeling thankful that we had encamped far enough away to be clear of the perfume of this pestilent farmyard.

The night I passed comfortably enough wrapped up in my dacha in the tarantass, whilst my driver, used to the peculiarities of Mongol life, sought his couch inside one of the yourts. Towards morning it came on to blow and rain, and in a short time such a tornado burst over us, that I expected every minute the ramshackle vehicle would be blown bodily over; fortunately, however, it was heavy enough to withstand the gale, which abated almost as suddenly as it had arisen, and when towards five o’clock we made a start, it was a beautifully clear morning, with every promise of a fine day. The country presented now, if anything, a more desolate appearance than any we had hitherto passed through—it was a “desert” in every respect. All around were low sandy hills, without even a bush to break their monotonous appearance; not even a blade of grass was to be seen on the wide expanse of stone and sand. The aspect was uninteresting in the extreme, so I got my driver to “hurry up a bit,” so as to get out of the dreary surroundings as quickly as possible. We had to do the next eight hours with scarcely any stoppage, as there was no sign of any human habitation anywhere in this solitude, and no human beings meant no water or hay for the horses, so we were obliged to push on at any cost. About one o’clock we at length sighted a few wretched yourts, and in a few minutes drew up at the station, after the longest stage we had yet made. The horses did not seem very fatigued, however; as long as they got plenty to eat and drink, the distances between the stations affected them but little—the hard work they were used to. Four hours we had to pass in this dreary uninteresting place. I managed somehow to while away the time with my pipe and sketch-book, and very glad was I when we at last started preparations for continuing the journey.

OUR MIDDAY HALT.

The day, which had commenced so brightly, had not fulfilled its early promise; the sky had gradually become obscured, and, as on the previous afternoon, the wind also showed signs of renewed activity; so when the yemschik told me that we had forty versts (twenty-eight miles) to do before we reached the next station, and that on the way a nasty bit of river had to be crossed, I was still more anxious to push on, so as to reach our encampment before dark if possible. For several miles the road now lay along a level plain, intersected here and there by small brooks, swelled into rushing torrents owing to the recent rains, and which in many cases were only with great difficulty crossed, as the banks were generally very steep. Owing to the many delays and the frequent big détours we had to make, night was upon us when we at last reached the river the yemschik had told me of in the afternoon. By this time the wind, which fortunately was at our backs, had changed to a piercing cold gale from the north, and snow was beginning to fall heavily. There was every prospect of an extremely dirty night, and one which I should not have cared to be out in anywhere under any circumstances, still less in a rickety tarantass on the desolate steppes of Mongolia. In the darkness I could hear the rushing sound of the swollen river as it raced by, and I could just manage to discern its turbid stream by the large masses of ice floating by like ghosts in the gloom.

It was anything but an encouraging spectacle, and had there been the slightest sign of anything to afford a kind of shelter, I should have persuaded the driver to wait until daybreak before crossing; but all around was bleak, open plain, over which the merciless wind blew with ever increasing force, and the driving snow felt like so many needles, so there was absolutely nothing for it but to chance getting across the river, as the man said the station was only some ten versts off. The horses, however, evidently took a different view of the matter, and it was some time before they could be got to advance even to the water’s edge, and still longer before they would venture into it. It was an awkward moment, for they started plunging and kicking to such an extent, that I expected every moment to find myself in the water with the tarantass on the top of me. We had nearly got over, and without any incident, for the water was barely four feet deep, when my saddle horse was seized with ungovernable fear, and managed to break loose somehow, and bolted back as fast as he could. A few minutes after and we were safe on the opposite bank.