From the Arctic Ocean to the Yellow Sea

by Julius M. Price

The Russian Heavy Mail is conveyed from Kalgan to Peking by donkeys and mules, carts being almost impracticable owing to the mountainous districts to be passed over. Travellers who do not care to ride the whole distance have to provide themselves with what is known as a “mule-litter.” This is not only a novel conveyance to the average European, but owing to its subtle peculiarities affords also a continuous vein of excitement, which is a great change after the monotony of the bumping and shaking of a camel-cart. If the mules behave themselves and don’t walk in step, the motion is simply delightful; but this state of beatitude is unfortunately the exception, and the bad qualities of the mule seem to develop themselves to an exasperating degree as soon as the animals find themselves attached to one of these litters; and as the occupant is completely at the mercy of the two animals carrying him, it may be imagined what an exciting time he has of it. Before travelling in a mule-litter I had always imagined, from what I had read, that the mule was the most surefooted of animals, and that he was more at home, so to speak, when passing along the very verge of a yawning precipice or crossing the frailest of bridges than on a level track. I was not long, however, in my litter before I was completely undeceived on this point, for we had not proceeded many miles when down fell the leader on a perfectly smooth road, and for a few seconds I had an uncomfortable time of it, as it was quite an open question what would have happened if he had started kicking, for I should not have had time to get out. Fortunately for me, he was got on his feet pretty easily. Still, the incident opened my eyes, and I realized long before we reached the mountains that travelling in a mule-litter is not all “beer and skittles.” What struck me particularly was the wonderful intelligence of the mules, as they have no reins to guide them by, but are simply directed occasionally by a word or two from the boy in charge, and are, as a rule, allowed to pick their own way. I should certainly in many cases have preferred their being led, more especially when we reached the precipitous mountain-pass shown in my sketch; but such a procedure would have been against all precedent, and the mules would probably have resented any such implied doubt of their surefootedness, so used are they to being left entirely to themselves on the most dangerous parts of the road. Still, it was giddy work, for often on one side of the narrow path the rocks rose precipitously as a wall, whilst on the other was a sheer precipice, without the slightest rail to protect one. It was a magnificent bit of scenery, but one which I felt could be appreciated better when seen in a photograph than from the insecure position of a mule-litter balanced on the very edge of the yawning gulf itself.

MY MULE-LITTER.

[To face [p. 338].

However, to return to my departure from Kalgan. Punctually at the appointed time our cortége assembled at the postmaster’s house, and without unnecessary delay a start was made. It makes me smile even now to think what a grotesque procession it was. No saddles are provided with the donkeys or mules, so the Cossacks have to make themselves as comfortable as possible sitting astride the luggage the animals carry pack-wise, so the effect may be imagined. It is simply astounding the amount of weight they can carry; even the smallest donkey would jog gaily along under a big camel-load, and a man seated on the top of that. It took quite an hour to get through Kalgan from one side to the other, so this will give a slight idea of the size of the place. Once past the town, we pushed on without any halts at a good smart pace, for we had a considerable way to go before we should reach the town of Sin Fou Fou, our halting-place for the night.

The country we were passing through offered no particular interest, as it differed but slightly from what I have previously described. Village followed village so closely at times as to give the road the appearance of passing through an immense street, whilst everywhere was the same teaming population of blue-coated Celestials. Night was on us long before we reached the crenelated walls of the city where we were to put up till morning, and for miles and miles we had to skirt them till we reached the entrance gateway.

There was something indescribably weird and uncanny in these seemingly endless battlements, standing out in black and forbidding relief against the starlit sky; and this gloomy impression was in no degree lessened when we at length reached the frowning archway from which issued the hoarse murmur of the congested barbaric life within its precincts, and immediately after our entrance the iron-bound gates were closed with a clattering and clanging which reminded me that the civilized world was thus completely shut off from us till the next morning. Knowing what I did of the uncertainty of the Chinese character, I could not help feeling that in the event of any hostile feeling arising against the “white devils” during the night, our chances of getting out of the place were positively nil.

THE COURTYARD OF A CHINESE INN.

It took some little time to reach the “inn,” for the streets were, as usual, crowded—at times even quite blocked with traffic, and in the uncertain flickering light of the paper lanterns presented a scene not easily to be forgotten. At last, however, we reached our destination, and I was able to form some idea of what a Chinese inn is like. I fancy I do not run much chance of being contradicted by any one who has travelled in these parts when I say that for filth and general discomfort the average Chinese inn is probably without its equal in the world. As a rule it consists of a dirty courtyard, surrounded by tumble-down, dilapidated outhouses, some of which are partitioned off as “rooms,” whilst the others are reserved for the mules and other animals. The place shown in my sketch is a fair sample of its kind. Unfortunately one cannot produce the smell pervading the place, without which no really accurate idea can be formed of it, a smell which, as far as I could guess, seemed a conglomeration of sewage, garlic, decomposed animal matter, and general human uncleanliness all mixed up together. In my many and varied travels I have always noticed how characteristic of the countries the different smells were; and even now, after a lapse of many years, I feel sure I could recognize a place I had visited long ago if its characteristic odour were put under my nostrils. But of all the “perfumes,” the memory of which still lingers in my olefactory organs, that of a Chinese inn will, I feel sure, remain long after the others have vanished, for it is the most pungent and unpleasant I ever experienced.