Nothing of particular interest occurred during the next few days after leaving Tcho-Iyr. To the low range of rocky hills surrounding it succeeded a monotonous expanse of endless gravel-coloured plain, which was positively depressing to one’s spirits. Day after day would find us surrounded by the same unbroken horizon, while, with the regularity of clockwork, at eleven o’clock every morning the piercing cold north-easterly wind would commence blowing, and continue until late in the afternoon, very often with the force of a strong gale. Owing, I believe, to its being some four thousand feet above the sea-level, the temperature of the great plateau of Mongolia is never high, even in summer; but in winter the cold is excessive, almost as great as in any part of Siberia, and the desert is covered with several feet of snow.
IN THE GOBI DESERT—A TEA CARAVAN ON ITS WAY TO SIBERIA.
(From a Kodak photograph.)
Although I had a Winchester rifle and a fowling-piece with me, and a store of ammunition, the sport I managed to get never compensated me for the bother of carting the heavy load about. During the whole time I was in the desert I did not fire off more than one hundred rounds, and these with but a very poor result; still, what I did get was large, and helped to increase our larder. From what I saw, it struck me that there is really very little sport to be got in the Gobi. It is true one often saw in the distance many herds of antelope, but, owing to the flatness of the country and the entire absence of cover, it was almost impossible to get even within range of them. If I had been a dead shot at, say, eight hundred or nine hundred yards, I might perhaps have done some execution, but, unfortunately, I am not. There was also a species of bird something like a very large wild goose, which the Cossacks called “Kuritze,” which was splendid eating, not unlike venison. I managed to get some of these with my rifle, as they were not so shy—one in particular must have weighed twenty or thirty pounds, and it lasted us several days. Some districts abounded with a curious animal not unlike a rabbit, which the Mongols called “Tarbargan.” These were easily got, probably because they were no good for eating purposes, even the Mongols refusing a couple I shot. Other parts of the desert were simply covered with large mounds, which the Cossacks told me were made by “Koshki,” a sort of wild cat which burrows in the ground. I never, however, saw any of the animals, though we were passing through their haunts for days. Small green lizards seemed to thrive everywhere, even in the most arid places; in fact, I don’t think I ever saw so many before. A peculiar kind of beetle, which covered the ground in great numbers, seemed confined to a certain district or undefined zone, for once out of it they disappeared. Often in the early morning, when the sleeping caravan was aroused to prepare for the start, wolves would be seen prowling around at a short distance from us; but they always got away before I could get the sleep out of my eyes and my rifle ready. So it cannot be said that animal life in the Gobi is extensive enough to be considered good sport, or sufficient to enliven the monotony of travelling across it. Of course, I am speaking only from my experience on the caravan route; possibly in the more remote districts of the vast waste, on the Manchurian side, are animals in abundance, but they are too far away to be “get-at-able.”
On May 15 we reached a post-station which stands at a place called “Oud-en,” exactly in mid-desert, consisting of a couple of yourts in charge of a Russian. It would be impossible to imagine anything more unutterably lonely and dreary than this little station. For miles before we reached it the desert was simply a vast expanse of bare rocks, without the slightest sign of vegetation to break the monotony of their dull muddy-grey colour. It almost appeared as if the most bleak and wretched spot had been purposely chosen for the “post-station,” for there was not even a Mongolian yourt within miles, and even the nearest water was some distance away. I could not help thinking that exile to the most far-away Siberian villages would be preferable to the awful existence here, while the life of the Cossacks in charge of the mail, continually on the march, was one of positive gaiety compared to it. Still, the man living thus, of his own free will, was no old, broken-down individual, looking as though he were sick of the world, but a smart young fellow, with very little of the hermit in his outward appearance; yet this is what to all intents and purposes he is, and for the wretchedly small pay of thirty roubles (£3 10s.) per month, out of which he had to keep himself! I learned that, with the exception of a Mongolian servant, he was quite alone, and never saw a soul except when the homeward or outward-bound mail passed once a month. He had not got even a horse or a gun to help while away the time, and his stock of books, the poor fellow told me, he had read through and through many times during the three years he had spent in the station.
What an existence! It has often struck me that there are certain types of men whose intelligence is so little above that of animals that, so long as they can manage to exist somehow and without too much exertion, it is all they require; to them, such words as discontent or ambition are unknown; like the blind horse turning a wheel, they plod on day after day in the same well-worn groove, with no other prospect but the respites for food or sleep. And it is, doubtless, fortunate it is so, for these are the men who uncomplainingly pass away their lives in distant lighthouses and other lonely and far-off places where other men would simply go raving mad in a short time. We stayed the night here, for our fresh camels had not arrived, and did our best to make a merry time of it, the postmaster giving us quite a feast, and producing a large bottle of some awful stuff, which I learned was “Chinese vodka,” to wash it down with. Somehow, though, laughter seemed out of place in this remote solitude; for, to me at any rate, the death-like silence outside seemed as if endeavouring to reassert itself during every pause in the conversation. The Gobi is no place for frivolity.
IN THE GOBI DESERT: LADY VISITORS TO OUR ENCAMPMENT.
[To face [p. 323].