This precious furrow, playing the part of the little white pebbles of Tom Thumb, prevents them from going astray, and brings them, after many days’ wild roving over the desert, unerringly back to their tents. Armed so formidably as they appeared to be, sometimes with a bow and arrows, sometimes with a musket bristling with a spike, and always with a murderous-looking knife, these savage-looking rovers were calculated to fill one with misgiving as to their pacific intentions. After having escorted us for a few moments, and satisfied their curiosity by questioning our yemschik, they started off at full speed, sometimes standing upright on their stirrups, sometimes bending close over the neck of their courser, cleaving the air like the flight of a dart.
The Mongols, among whom we pulled up the next day, were too much like those of the preceding night to render it worth while to say anything about these. I found it impossible, however, to stay under their tent as soon as I discovered what kind of a repast these wretched creatures were crouched around. There was a dead camel lying on the ground at a few paces from their habitation: the cold had contributed no longer to its preservation, and all around there was a most repulsive odour. These poor creatures, by cutting off a slice of this carrion every day, hoped to have meals for some time to come. When I entered under their blackened roof in a cloud of smoke from the smouldering camel-dung, they were greedily devouring, without sauce, salt, or bread, this revolting, putrid mess, fresh from the pestiferous, reeking caldron of broth standing beside their horrible meal.
We took good care, M. Marine and I, not to boil the water for our tea in this pot; we therefore retired from its unsavoury proximity, and breakfasted on some mutton sausages, with which I had provided myself. Then I went to cleanse myself in the snow, a luxury I was, through the thaw, unhappily deprived of a few days subsequently, and, having emerged from it as clean as a new penny, I stretched myself on the ground till the horses had sufficiently rested and were ready to continue the journey.
Whilst thus musing I watched a Mongol, who came out of his tent, mounted a camel, and disappeared in a turn of the valley, singing joyfully all the way. I thought this incident worth the consideration of philosophers who speculate on the sources of happiness. Still, for my part, I would rather be any animal, however limited its enjoyment of life might be, than this jubilant Mongol.
Our attention was fully occupied the next day in searching intently the horizon to catch the faintest trace of our caravan, which we should now have been approaching. Between Kiachta and Urga, there is no marked way, and the traveller simply takes a southern course; obstacles, however, in his path, may cause a deviation of a few miles from the most direct.
We examined minutely with our telescopes the Mongol encampments, the troops of camels, and the least shadowy objects, and took long turns in every direction, with no other result than to discover that our eyes had been deceived by some phantasm, which we had taken for a group of vehicles and camels.
But, at last, two flags, waving in the wind at the head of a caravan, came into view and left us no longer in doubt that it was ours and really close at hand.
One of the flags bore the Russian eagles, and the other, containing a prayer, had been placed there by the Mongol guide as a protection for our journey. I was delighted to see my poor Pablo again, who appeared to me to be looking quite emaciated. He spoke in the highest terms of my other companions of the journey, with whom he was already on an excellent footing. Having heartily saluted and assured them that it would not be my fault if we were not the best friends in the world, and then having patted lovingly the poor ox drawing my empty vehicle, we continued our way.
A few hours afterwards and just as the darkness was closing in we saw, starting up before us, the dark outline of something very strange. On approaching we found it was an idol, quite open to the sky and to the desert, representing probably the deity of travellers. It was made of compressed bread, covered over with some bituminous substance, and perched on a horse of the same material, and held in its hand a lance in Don Quixote attitude. Its horrible features were surmounted with a shaggy tuft of natural hair. A great number of offerings of all kinds were scattered on the ground all around. Five or six images, formed also of bread, were bending in an attitude of prayer before the deity.
We looked slyly and cautiously all around the horizon, and, in spite of the supplication of our timid yemschik, we laid violent hands on the ample treasure. We at first snatched up several offerings, then seized a few idolaters, and finally, seeing no impediment, I wrung off the head of the god himself and threw it into my big bag. Having committed this sacrilege, we scampered off from the desecrated altar with all the precipitancy of guilty consciences pursued by an avenging spirit. I was not long after all in regretting my sacrilege, for the principal booty, the head of the god, crumbled away from the shocks of the vehicle so as to be no longer recognizable.