From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

We were astir betimes the following morning, and after a hasty breakfast and a final stirrup-cup with our host, the caravan was fairly got under way, and we were once more en route for the Celestial Empire. We were now over the top of the hill, so to speak, and every step brought us nearer our destination, though we still had many weary days before us. So few incidents worthy of note occurred during the next week that I will pass over the remainder of the journey through the Gobi itself. Suffice it to say that from one side to the other of it, with the exception of an occasional oasis, its desolate aspect remained unchanged. I might here mention how curiously everything in the desert became charged with electricity; my furs simply crackled like biscuits when touched.

At length, on May 23, there were signs that we were at last reaching vegetation once more, for grass began to show itself, and in a short time, as though we had passed an invisible line, we were crossing rolling prairies, which were an agreeable change after the stony waste. Just on the confines of the desert we passed the Mongol Monastery of Holfer-Sum, a curious-looking group of buildings of Thibetan architecture; we were, however, too far away for me to be able to pay it a visit. This was my last glimpse of Mongolia; and it was certainly with no feelings of regret that I bid adieu to the most dreary and wearisome country I have ever visited.

Early the next morning we were in sight of the little Chinese frontier town of Saham-Balhousar, and shortly after drew up outside the station, where we had to change our camels for mules. The long and tedious desert journey was over at last, a journey on which I had anticipated meeting with difficulties, not to say dangers, considering I was quite alone; but the whole time I was in Mongolia I never had any serious molestation—as a matter of fact, I can only recall one incident which might have had an unpleasant ending, and that was the adventure on the road to Ourga.

YE GENTLE SHEPHERDESS OF YE STEPPE.

[To face [p. 324].

Saham-Balhousar is quite a rising little place, and, although only called a village, is of very respectable dimensions. It was my first glimpse at China proper, for, though some distance from the Great Wall, it is thoroughly Chinese in character. As a matter of fact, it impressed me much more favourably than many places I passed through after; the style of its buildings also struck me very much, for they were quite distinct from anything I had as yet seen, and had an almost Egyptian appearance in the bright sunlight.

It was here that I first saw that most hideous of mutilations, the small foot of the Chinese women. The custom of crippling their female infants is, I believe, gradually dying out, and slowly but surely the Manchurian shoe is coming more into use. To see the wretched women hobbling about on their high heels is, I fancy, more painful to the European beholder than it is to the victims themselves, who have doubtless become quite accustomed to their crippled condition. I have a pair of shoes belonging to a full-grown woman, and they only measure three inches in length! The highest class of Chinese ladies are absolutely unable to walk about at all on account of the smallness of their feet.

It was in Saham-Balhousar that I had for the first time a real glimpse of what over-population means. Although I had, of course, often heard of the teeming millions of China, I had never until then really formed any accurate idea of what that meant. This first Chinese town I visited opened my eyes, for I saw everywhere such crowds of people and children that I could not help wondering where they all managed to live in the place, and the curious part of it was, how much they all resembled one another; they all seemed part of one huge family. The children throughout China were simply stunning, and quite pictures in themselves.

Our caravan drew up in the courtyard of the house, and the baggage was transferred from the camels to several curious-looking carts, built expressly for the road through the mountain-pass to Kalgan, a distance of some sixty miles. It was well on in the afternoon by the time our preparations were complete and we were ready to start again. I forgot to mention that my cart still remained with us, though it was now only a camel telega in name, for, instead of a “ship of the desert,” two diminutive mules were harnessed tandem fashion in the shafts. The mail-carts were drawn by mules and donkeys, harnessed together anyhow, driven by Chinese “boys.” It was certainly a grotesque procession, and one scarcely worthy of so high sounding an appellation as the “Russian Heavy Mail,” and very out of place did the Cossacks with their official caps look, seated on the top of the heap of heterogeneous baggage.