“I know that search would be made for me, and my hope now lay in some one coming to the lake. It did not require long deliberation to determine me to remain in the vicinity of the water. As long as I was near it I could not perish of thirst; and moreover, the Mongols, who probably knew of the lake, might be attracted here for water, and, if looking for me, would be likely to take the lake in the way. Tying my kerchief to my ramrod, which I fixed in the ground, I lay down on the grass and slept, as near as I could estimate, for more than two hours.
“Seeing some water-fowl a short distance away, I walked in their direction, and luckily found a nest among the reeds, close to the water’s edge. The six or eight eggs it contained were valuable prizes; one I swallowed raw, and the others I carried to where I left my gun. Gathering some of the dry grass and reeds, I built a fire and roasted the eggs, which gave me a hearty meal. The worst of my hardships seemed over. I had found water—bad water, it is true—but still it was possible to drink it; by searching among the reeds I could find an abundance of eggs; my gun could procure me game, and the reeds made a passable sort of fuel. I should be discovered in a few days at farthest, and I renewed my determination to remain near the lake.
“The day passed without any incident to vary the monotony. Refreshed by my meal and by a draught from a small pool of comparatively pure water, I was able to sleep most of the afternoon, so as to keep awake during the night, when exercise was necessary to warmth. About sunset a drove of antelopes came near me, and by shooting one I added venison to my bill of fare. In the night I amused myself with keeping my fire alive, and listening to the noise of the birds that the unusual sight threw into a state of alarm. On the following morning, as I lay on my bed of reeds, a dozen antelopes, attracted by my kerchief fluttering in the wind, stood watching me, and every few minutes approaching a few steps. They were within easy shooting distance, but I had no occasion to kill them. So I lay perfectly still, watching their motions and admiring their beauty.
“All at once, though I had not moved a muscle, they turned and ran away. While I was wondering what could have disturbed them I heard the shout of two Mongol horsemen, who were riding toward me, and leading my pony they had caught a dozen miles away. A score of men from the caravan had been in search of me since the morning after my disappearance, and had ridden many a mile over the desert.”
The Mongols are a strong, hardy, and generally good-natured race, possessing the spirit of perseverance quite as much as the Chinese. They have the free manners of all nomadic people, and are noted for unvarying hospitality to visitors. Every stranger is welcome, and has the best the host can give; the more he swallows of what is offered him, the better will be pleased the household. As the native habits are not especially cleanly, a fastidiously inclined guest has a trying time of it. The staple dish of a Mongol yourt is boiled mutton, but it is unaccompanied with capers or any other kind of sauce or seasoning. A sheep goes to pot immediately on being killed, and the quantity that each man will consume is something surprising. When the meat is cooked it is lifted out of the hot water and handed, all dripping and steamy, to the guests. Each man takes a large lump on his lap, or any convenient support, and then cuts off little chunks which he tosses into his mouth as if it were a mill-hopper. The best piece is reserved for the guest of honor, who is expected to divide it with the rest; after the meat is devoured they drink the broth, and this concludes the meal. Knives and cups are the only aids to eating, and as every man carries his own “outfit,” the Mongol dinner service is speedily arranged. The entire work consists in seating the party around a pot of cooked meat.
MONGOL DINNER TABLE.
The desert is crossed by various ridges and small mountain chains, that increase in frequency and make the country more broken as one approaches the Tolla, the largest stream between Pekin and Kiachta. The road, after traversing the last of these chains, suddenly reveals a wide valley which bears evidence of fertility in its dense forests, and the straggling fields which receive less attention than they deserve.
The Tolla has an ugly habit of rising suddenly and falling deliberately. When at its height, the stream has a current of about seven miles an hour, and at the fording place the water is over the back of an ordinary pony. The bottom of the river consists of large boulders of all sizes from an egg up to a cotton bale, and the footing for both horses and camels is not specially secure. The camels need a good deal of persuasion with clubs before they will enter the water; they have an instinctive dread of that liquid and avoid it whenever they can. Horses are less timorous, and the best way to get a camel through the ford is to lead him behind a horse and pound him vigorously at the same time. When the river is at all dangerous there is always a swarm of natives around the ford ready to lend a hand if suitably compensated. They all talk very much and in loud tones; their voices mingle with the neighing of horses, the screams of camels, the roaring of the river, and the laughter of the idlers when any mishap occurs. The confused noises are in harmony with the scene on either bank, where baggage is piled promiscuously, and the natives are grouped together in various picturesque attitudes. Men with their lower garments rolled as high as possible, or altogether discarded, walk about in perfect nonchalance; their queues hanging down their backs seem designed as rudders to steer the wearers across the stream.
