Chapter V: The Desert of Gobi (1)

THE population of Mongolia, an elevated plateau lying about four thousand feet above sea-level, is roughly estimated at between three and four millions, but the difficulties of obtaining anything like an accurate census of the tribes inhabiting this vast tableland are obvious. Of this number, over thirty thousand inhabit Urga, the capital and residence of the “Kootookta,” or living God of the Mongol religion, “Buddhism.” The power of this human deity is purely nominal. He is allowed to reign on sufferance by the Emperor of China, who governs, more or less nominally, the whole of Mongolia, from the Siberian frontier to the mountains of Tibet. The Mongol Tartars pay tax, though somewhat irregularly, to the Pekin Government, the native khans or princes being responsible for the revenues of their several “khanates” or districts.

The name “Gobi” is given by the Mongols to any district more or less destitute of water, but the desert, where we crossed it, presents but few of the characteristics with which we usually associate the name. It may better be described as a vast plain or steppe, extending from the northern side of the Great Wall of China to the Russian frontier-town of Kiakhta, a distance of over eight hundred miles. With the exception, however, of about fifty miles of sandy waste midway across, the north-western portion is seldom entirely devoid of vegetation of some sort or another, be it rich, luxuriant pasture, or dry withered scrub. Perhaps the most curious thing about this so-called desert is, that although grass is so plentiful, and in many places wild flowers grow in profusion, water is very scarce. In the summer months frequent and heavy rain storms do much to lessen this evil, but the Tartars suffer terribly at times from the drought, which sometimes lasts a year or more. Notwithstanding, the climate is healthy, and serious epidemics, such as cholera or typhus, unknown.

There are three caravan routes from the Great Wall to Urga. Along each of these wells have been dug eight to ten feet deep, and at intervals of twenty to thirty miles; but we found the water in most of them thick and brackish, in many undrinkable, and had every reason to be sorry, long before we reached Urga, that we had not laid in a larger stock of soda-water at Shanghai.

Our guides were not cheerful companions. Moses seldom spoke, Aaron never. Sylvia, however, was the life and soul of the caravan. His spirits never flagged for an instant, and whenever he could talk to no one else, he would hold long conversations in a loud tone with the camel he bestrode, occasionally bursting into song. The Mongols do not squeak when they sing, as the Chinese do, but their voices are as harsh and inharmonious as their songs, which are generally in the minor key, and very doleful and depressing.

I will not weary the reader with a daily description of the scenery passed between Kalgan and Urga. It may be described in very few words: Fourteen days of undulating grass plain, monotonous and unbroken, save by an occasional “Yourt”[6] or encampment, four days of deep, sandy desert interspersed with two ridges of rock, one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet high, so steep as to be almost impracticable for the carts. Five more days of green plain with intervals of gravel, thickly covered with the brightly coloured transparent stones, for which Gobi is famous. Such is a brief but sufficient description of the twenty-three days we occupied in reaching Urga. But for the tract of sandy desert half-way, nothing meets the eye, day after day, week after week, but one long dreary succession of waves of plain, which reminded me of nothing so much as the ocean. Not a solitary object, animate or inanimate, broke the dull, desolate landscape save when at rare intervals we sighted a Tartar tent, gleaming white in the sunshine, and looking in the far distance like some white sea-bird asleep on the billows of this huge sea of verdure. Beyond the capital, however, the country becomes more accentuated, and there are woods, mountains, and rivers, to gladden the eye after the long, monotonous desert journey, of which we were heartily sick long before we reached the sacred city of the Kootookta.

I fondly imagined I had reached the acme of discomfort and misery in a mule-litter, but the latter is a bed of roses compared to the boxes of human suffering in which we crossed Mongolia. Imagine a kind of oblong vehicle, eight feet long by three wide, and four feet high, the body of the cart of rough unpainted wood, the roof or covering of canvas, thickly smeared with Chinese varnish, which in wet, or very hot weather, exuded the most intolerable smell. Two doors with small square holes therein, let in the air and light (also occasionally the rain), while a mattress and a couple of large feather pillows acted as a buffer, without which one’s body and head would in a very short time have been one mass of bruises. To say that these somewhat primitive vehicles shake would be incorrect. They leap and bound even on a fairly good road, beating and pounding the wretched inmate into a jelly; over stony ground it is next to impossible to remain in them for any length of time without a splitting headache, and a feeling as if every individual bone in one’s body had been torn from its socket and put back again. I do not wish my bitterest enemy a worse fate than a night of rough caravan work in Mongolia. We often walked till one in the morning, in preference to the intolerable shaking, which affected the nerves and mind almost as much as it injured the body.

With the exception of a forty-eight hours’ rest at Urga, the day’s work never varied, from the time we left Kalgan till we rode through the Russian outposts at Kiakhta. At daybreak (between five and six a.m.) Sylvia would gallop off on a pony and bring in the camels which, turned loose at the halt, had strayed away in search of pasture till, at sunrise, some of them were mere specks on the horizon. Breakfast (a cup of cocoa and a biscuit) over, the caravan was usually well under weigh by half-past six. The pace was not exhilarating, it seldom attained the rate of three miles an hour, never exceeded it. We then travelled on, riding or walking, till two o’clock p.m., when tents were pitched, and, if near a well, the water-barrels filled. The midday meal consisted of a tin of preserved meat and rice, or, if in a game district, a duck or sand-grouse sometimes enlivened this somewhat sad meal. At five o’clock we were on the move again till one or two in the morning, only halting about nine o’clock for a quarter of an hour, to unsaddle the ponies and swallow a cup of Valentine’s meat juice. I do not know what we should have done without this preparation. On a journey of this kind, where the fatigue is so great and cooking impossible, it is simply invaluable.

We thus got about four hours’ actual rest in the twenty-four, for in the carts, while in motion, sleep was out of the question. I have often since wondered how the ponies stood it. Camels are, of course, used to such long exhausting journeys, though, strangely enough, the loss of a camel was our only casualty.

We got on fairly well for two or three days, but after the first week experienced a sense of oppression and weariness very hard to shake off, and the dull, dead monotony of the eternal green steppes began to tell upon the mind and spirits. We met but once a day as a rule, and even then, like the parrot, spoke little and thought much; indeed we had nothing to talk about, for with the exception of an occasional yourt there was not one solitary object to distract the mind for a moment, or interrupt the depressing aspect of the waves of plain that extend between Kalgan and Urga. We even welcomed the region of sand in mid-desert. It was a change, at any rate, and there were rocks to look at, though, on the other hand, the work was harder and the distance accomplished each day considerably less.

Perhaps the most striking peculiarity about Gobi is the dead silence that reigns over its vast surface. At night the bright, unwavering lights of the Great Bear, and soft glimmer of Cassiopeia and the Pleiades stood out with a distinctness rarely seen in other latitudes. I often lay awake and watched them, too tired to sleep, till the lightening horizon heralded the dawn of another dreary, uneventful day, and warned one that another hour at most would see us off again on our weary journey. I had never, till I spent a night out on the waste, thoroughly realized the words of the poet:——

And round me all in utter darkness lies,
No sound, no form, no message, and no sign,
Only the silence of the far-off skies
And stars that thro’ the darkness calmly shine.

It was not till the morning of the fifth day out from Saram Bolousar that we sighted a yourt on the horizon and encamped within a mile of it at dinner-time. There were but half-a-dozen tents in all, containing the filthiest and most repulsive beings I have ever beheld.

The majority were, unfortunately for us, not the least troubled with shyness, and took forcible possession of our tent and carts, notwithstanding the indignant protestations of Jee Boo. Remonstrance was useless. It would have been contrary to the rules of desert etiquette to turn them out, and might have got us into trouble. It was a hot day, and so closely were they packed about the tent-doorway that not a breath of air could reach us, yet we suffered in silence, though the smell from the greasy rags in which the poor wretches were clothed was well-nigh unbearable. We must have seen from first to last about a hundred natives, but I was sadly disappointed, I must own, in the Mongolian Tartar. I had pictured him a wild, fierce-looking fellow, bristling with knives and firearms, and leading a wild, romantic existence, of which privation and danger formed a daily part. I found him a mild, stupid-looking individual, lazy, good-tempered, dirty——not to say filthy——in appearance and habits, and addicted to petty theft when there was no fear of being found out.

The men are of middle size, muscular and stoutly built, with thick lips and small beady black eyes. Naturally fair, the combined effects of sun, argol smoke, and last, but not least, dirt give to most of them the hue of a negro. Their women are plain and, as a rule, virtuous. Infidelity is rare in Mongolia, and when it does occur the injured husband is easily consoled by payment of a few sheep or a camel or two. The Mongolian woman’s lot is not a happy one. Unlike their Kirghiz brothers, the Mongolian Tartars have no respect whatever for their wives, of which they are allowed any number, though the first married takes precedence over the others. They are treated more as slaves than companions, and do all the real hard work of the yourt, from catching the camels to disembowelling a sheep! The men, as a rule, live longer than the women. The latter suffer more from disease, although, with the exception of a kind of influenza prevalent in summer, epidemics are unknown in Mongolia.

The Mongol Tartar is essentially a nomad, and seldom stationary for more than a year at a time, but for ever on the move, roving hither and thither over the great plain in search of pasture and water for his flocks and herds. His “yourt” or tent is admirably adapted to his wild, erratic life, being so constructed that it can be taken down and packed on a camel’s back in less than an hour. The “yourts” are circular in shape, and simply consist of two layers of thick felt stretched over a wooden framework secured by stout leather thongs. They are about five feet high, and eighteen feet in diameter. A hole cut in the centre of the conical roof lets out the smoke of a fire, which day and night is kept alight for cooking purposes. The Mongol has no fixed time for his meals. He eats when he feels hungry, and as often in the middle of the night as the day. In winter the roof aperture is closed, and the smoke allowed to escape as best it may through the chinks and crannies in the felt. The fuel used is not wood (for no wood grows in Gobi), but “argol” or dried camels’ dung, the smoke of which is much more dense and pungent, and most of the Mongols suffer from sore eyes in consequence. The furniture of a yourt is simple enough; half-a-dozen sheepskin rugs, a flat iron pan to cook in, a large box containing the goods and chattels of the family, surmounted by an image of Buddha and two or three prayer-wheels; there is little or no room for more. Some of the yourts are better furnished than others, those for example belonging to the khans or princes. The latter are resplendent inside and out with gold, silver, and costly silks; but these are rarely met with by the casual traveller.

With the exception of gluttony the Mongol has few vices. Drunkenness is rare. It is only when the mares are milked and “airak” brewed that they exceed in this respect; but when they do, it is with a will, a whole yourt being given up to drunkenness and debauch for two or three days together. “Airak” is the only intoxicant known to the Mongols, if we except the strong fiery whisky sometimes imported among them by Chinese traders. Dirt is their other failing. I can safely say I have never seen, or even read of a race so loathsome in their appearance and habits as the Mongols. Men and women alike seem to revel in it, and most of them present more the appearance of perambulating bundles of filthy rags than human beings. It was not till we reached Urga, and met some of the better class, that we were able to distinguish what the Mongol costume really is, viz. a kind of loose dressing-gown reaching just below the knee, secured by an ornamented silver belt, a pair of baggy breeches stuffed into a pair of Chinese half-boots with felt soles, the whole surmounted by a broad-brimmed black felt hat, not unlike a sailor’s hat in shape, with long silk streamers. In winter the poor Mongol is smothered in sheepskins, the rich in furs from Siberia. At a distance the women are indistinguishable from the men, the only perceptible difference being that the former wear no belt (the Mongol name for woman signifies literally the “unbelted one”), while all wear a head-dress, a kind of tiara of Chinese manufacture, made of silver and red and blue stones, which look like, but are not, turquoises and coral. A Mongol lady never does her hair more than once every two months or so. It is kept in position by a kind of thick glue, and dressed so as to stand out two or three inches on either side of the head at right angles. The result of this practice in dwellings so infested with vermin as the Mongol yourts may be left to the imagination.

The wealth of a Mongol Tartar consists exclusively of camels, sheep, and ponies, for there is no industry, no manufacture of any kind in Mongolia. The ponies are wonderfully well suited to endure the long, distressing voyages their owners are continually making. Though small and slightly built, the amount of fatigue these little beasts will undergo is something incredible. Nothing seems to tire them, and our own, “Chow” and “Karra,” arrived at Kiakhta as fit and sound as when we left the Great Wall, although they had but five hours’ rest out of the twenty-four for over a month, and for nearly a quarter of that time were on a short allowance of water. The worth of a pony in Gobi varies from 8_l._ to 10_l._, or its equivalent in brick tea, for money is unknown in Mongolia, and the currency at present consists solely of this somewhat cumbersome article. We passed two or three droves of 400 or 500 ponies each on our way across, which were being sent to Kalgan for export to Pekin, Shanghai, and other parts of China. Accompanying one of these was a “Mongolized” German, Herr R————, who twenty years ago settled in Mongolia and has made a large fortune buying and exporting ponies. We should never have known him for a European, dressed as he was _à la Tartare_, and the “_Guten Tag_,” with which he greeted us, sounded strangely out of place.

The Mongols never shoe their ponies, nor do they groom them. The mane and tail is allowed to grow so long as to almost trail on the ground, the Tartars saying that the length of these appendages keeps them warm in winter, and wards off flies in the hot season; also, in case of a broken bridle or stirrup-leather, there is always the horsehair handy to mend it with!

The ways of these little beasts are at first somewhat confusing to a stranger. It took me some time to get used to “Karra’s” favourite tricks, such as stopping to scratch his ear with his hind-leg, sitting down like a dog, and occasionally rolling without a moment’s warning, when we came to a more than ordinarily tempting bit of grass. He was certainly the cleverest pony I have ever seen out of a circus, and as sweet-tempered as he was mischievous. I shall never forget when, the first day after antelope, I attempted to guide him through the rat-holes and mole-hills that thickly cover the central parts of the desert. We had not gone ten lengths before, getting his head well down, he set to kicking and bucking with such a will, that I expected every instant to see the girths snap and the saddle sent flying! Moses, galloping alongside, motioned me to drop the reins on his neck. The effect was instantaneous, for he immediately became as quiet as a lamb, and bounded away again with a snort and shake of his game little head, as much as to say, “The idea of this idiot trying to teach _me_ my way over the desert!” “Karra” never once gave me a fall, nor made a mistake, although this novel mode of riding at full gallop over rough ground, with one’s hands in one’s pockets, required some nerve at first.

We were later than usual in getting away the evening of our halt in the Tartar encampment, for a sheep was given us by our unwelcome guests in exchange for a couple of soda-water bottles. These are especially prized by the Mongols, probably on account of their, to them, strange shape. The task of slaying the animal was relegated to Sylvia, who proceeded to his work in true Tartar fashion. First making a huge gash in its side with his large clasp-knife, he thrust in his hand, and seizing the heart stopped its movements. The animal was then skinned, and the entrails, after being washed, carefully put aside; nothing was wasted. We reserved the legs for ourselves, and Moses and Co. proceeded to devour the rest. From the time it was killed to when they were licking the last remnants from the bones took them just two hours; they ate it half raw. The sheep on Gobi are small and pure white, with long pendent black ears, and an enormous tail weighing eight to ten pounds. This lump of fat is considered a delicacy, and always given to the favoured guest in a “yourt.” The mutton was excellent, not unlike Southdown.

We got but little rest that night. Our guests had left us a souvenir in the shape of certain nameless animals that stuck to us faithfully the remainder of our journey to Kiakhta. We had hitherto congratulated ourselves on there being no mosquitoes, but soon realized that a whole army of the latter would have been preferable to the noisome insects that, two or three days afterwards, swarmed in the carts, and gave us no peace, night or day. Their smell was worse than their bite, and I think this was, perhaps, the greatest discomfort we had to put up with on the desert journey, always excepting the fatigue and semi-starvation.

We passed and saw nothing for the following three days, although it was interesting to note the curious waves of vegetation and animal life that we crossed at intervals. For a couple of miles the ground would be a perfect network of rat-holes, to give place, in turn, to a district covered with bright black and yellow lizards. Then thousands of beetles covered the plain——large, long-legged things, with bodies as big as a cockroach, and striped with red and black bars; then rats again, and so on, but the rats were in the majority. In many places the plain was alive with them; you trod on them as you walked. The Gobi rat is peculiar to Mongolia. He is a soft, pretty little animal, with a feathery tail, and has none of the disgusting attributes of the common Norwegian or English rat.

It was the same with the vegetation. Each flower or herb seemed to have its own district, though one kind of weed was noticeable everywhere, in the barren as in the most fertile parts. Not being a naturalist, I cannot give its name, but in appearance it is exactly like the weed that grows in such luxuriance at the bottom of our fresh-water ponds and canals in England, where it is called “Babington’s curse,” from the fact that it was originally imported by a person of that name in America. When crushed it emits a sweet scent like thyme, and on clear, cool nights the scent was almost overpowering when the carts and camels had passed over it.

Another flower very common in Gobi is the white convolvulus, which grows almost everywhere like the herb mentioned above. Among the rarer sort were a pretty lilac-coloured daisy with a yellow centre, the common dandelion, and in some parts the English daisy. Rarest of any was a pink flower growing on a prickly bush about a foot high, exactly like a miniature hawthorn-tree in full bloom. It had a sweet but rather sickly perfume.

The seventh day out we met the heavy Russian mail——five camels in charge of two Cossacks and a Tartar. The latter were cheery, good-tempered fellows, and seemed to be taking it easy, each astride a camel, with red flannel shirts, bare legs and feet, and nothing to show they were Russian soldiers but the flat, white, peakless cap with which Vereschagin’s pictures have made us familiar. We gave them a drink apiece, and sent them on their way rejoicing, but with an expression of wonder on their jolly, sunburnt faces——wonder, not unmingled with pity, for the poor, mad Englishmen who were doing this journey for pleasure!

We entered at sunset a part of the desert literally covered with enormous mole-hills, some as much as two or three feet in height. Being pitch-dark, we had a rough time of it in the carts, for the feeble glimmer of the paper-lantern attached to each only sufficed to make darkness visible, and it was almost impossible to steer clear of the huge mounds. After several narrow escapes of an upset, we got out and walked, about ten o’clock, and had an uncomfortable night of it, for about 10.30 a fine, drizzling rain commenced to fall, which lasted till we encamped at midnight. Walking was little better, and resulted in some terrible croppers, for we could not see an inch before us. A good stiff glass of whisky and water and a rest of six hours soon put things right, though we felt a good deal beat the next morning, when at 6.30 we were roused by the inexorable Sylvia.

We encamped the next day near a yourt of considerable size. Moses having informed us that the chief or head-man was a Lama of some importance, we sent up to his tent, a gaudy-looking edifice, surmounted by half a dozen red and yellow prayer-flags, to ask if we might call and pay our respects, a request that was immediately granted. This was the largest yourt we saw, and was composed of over twenty tents.

We rode off after dinner, accompanied by Jee Boo, who, on the way, instructed us how to behave, for the forms and ceremonies that have to be gone through when visiting a Tartar domicile are, to a stranger, somewhat confusing. For instance, a Mongolian never dreams of walking up to a strange yourt. Not only is it contrary to custom, but dangerous, on account of the huge dogs kept about every tent for the protection of the women and children when the men are from home. A Russian Cossack, ignorant of this, went up to a yourt on foot a few years since, and was torn in pieces by the savage brutes, which are, in size and appearance, very much like an English mastiff.

Arrived within earshot of the yourt, we reined up, Jee Boo shouting out loudly, “Nohai Harai,” or “Tie up the dogs.” Several women then emerged from the lama’s tent, and secured the brutes, after which we rode up, and handing our ponies over to the care of a rather pretty, dark-eyed Tartar girl, entered the tent in somewhat undignified fashion on all fours. The door was too low to admit us in any other fashion. Our sticks, revolvers, and knives were laid on the ground outside. It would be as great a breach of good manners to enter a Mongol tent armed or with a stick in your hand as a drawing-room with your hat on, the idea being, that while under his roof, your host is responsible for your safety. You do not require to defend yourself. There were, save the lama, no men about, and we afterwards heard they were away on a hunting expedition in quest of antelope. It was some time before we could make out the lama, for the sunshine outside was dazzling, and the interior of the tent in almost total darkness. The great man, who was lying on a kind of divan, and surrounded by four or five women, did not rise when we entered, but lazily extended a moist and dirty hand as a sign that we might shake hands with him, which having done, we seated ourselves on his right and left. He was a fat, pasty-faced individual, clad in a long gown of faded yellow silk, the front of which was stiff with the grease and dirt of years. His bullet head was, after the manner of lamas, shaved; and round his neck was hung a huge brass ornament, of rough workmanship.

Having motioned us to a seat, the lama made a long speech, of which we could understand nothing, nor could, I believe, Jee Boo, although he told us it was replete with good wishes and compliments. The Mongol language is a difficult one, and even our interpreter, who had studied it for years, could only speak it in a very rudimentary way. One peculiarity of the Mongol tongue is that, unless you say a word _exactly_ as it is pronounced, you might as well address them in Sanskrit or double-Dutch. As an instance of this, an American missionary at Kalgan was good enough to teach me a word of the greatest importance in the desert: “Tie up your dogs.” He pronounced it “No high, Harū” (sic), but when I tried this, it failed signally, and the Mongols could make nothing of it for a long time. At last a light dawned on them. “Nohoi Haré, oh, we understand that!” I could not help thinking, after this, that the Gospel must have rather a poor chance in Mongolia!

The interior of the tent was comfortable enough, though the argol smoke got into one’s eyes and made them smart for days after. The floor was strewn with thick, soft Chinese rugs and tapestries, apparently of great value, while round the sides of the tent were hung large pieces of bright silk, covered with Chinese and Tibetan characters——probably prayers. Directly in front of the entrance was a kind of altar, painted red, upon which reposed a huge gilt image of Buddha surrounded by half-a-dozen prayer-wheels, to which whenever they passed them, the inmates of the yourt gave a vigorous turn. The amount of prayers they must have got through, even during our short visit, was something marvellous, for the wheels were incessantly on the go, from the time we entered the tent till we left it. In the centre, and directly opposite the entrance, a huge copper cauldron, three parts full of a dirty, yellow-coloured liquid, simmered on a brazier of argol, the only fuel used in this part of Mongolia, where no wood grows.

Having smelt and returned the inevitable snuff-bottle, we murmured “mendu” “good-day,” and relapsed into silence, waiting for the Lama to recommence the conversation. The snuff-bottle is an infallible sign of a Mongol’s wealth and position. No conversation is ever carried on without a preliminary sniff, which is more a matter of form than anything else, as they often contain nothing. From the head Lama to the poorest Mongol no Tartar is ever without one. Most are of Pekin manufacture, ranging in value from a few cash to two hundred taels or more, the best ones being of gold or jade encrusted with precious stones, the commoner sort of glass or china. Attached to the stopper is a small bone or ivory spoon with which the snuff (when there is any) is ladled into the nostrils.

A good ten minutes elapsed before the Lama showed any desire to enter into conversation, and we were about to take our departure when the pretty Tartar girl came bustling into the tent and brought us some tea (or a concoction of that name) out of the copper cauldron. Seeing that we looked at the greasy-looking stuff rather askance, the Mongol gave a sort of grunt and held his thumb up, an operation that was repeated by the women around him. This I learnt from Jee Boo means “good,” holding it down in the manner of the Romans when they desired the death of a gladiator “bad.” So we were forced to drink it, though with reluctance, especially as I had noticed that the Mongols, as a rule, follow Jack Sprat’s example and lick the platter clean! The shallow wooden cups, out of which we drank, were literally encrusted with dirt, but it would never have done to refuse, so we gulped the nauseous mixture of brick tea, millet, and mutton-fat down. Never shall I forget it. That was the only cup of real Mongol tea I ever tasted, but it was some days before I got the flavour out of my mouth. The Lama seemed to enjoy it, though, and put away quite a dozen cups during the interview.

The beverage had one good effect; it loosened his tongue, and the following somewhat erratic dialogue, through the medium of Jee Boo, now took place between us:——

Lama: “Who and what are you, and where do you come from?”

Jee Boo: “They are English, and come from a great country far away beyond the seas.”

Lama: “_What_ are you?”

Jee Boo: “English!”

Lama: “You mean they are Russian (Rooski).”

Jee Boo: “No; English (roaring).”

Lama: “What nonsense; they are white! and all white men are Russians, so they must be.” Silence; then, after a pause:——“_What_ do you say you are?”

Jee Boo: “English. A country (he adds parenthetically) ruled over by a woman.”

“Indeed!” replies the Lama, opening his little pig’s-eyes in astonishment; then thoughtfully, and after a very long pause, “How many sheep has she got?”

This involved a mental and mathematical calculation rather beyond me, so I merely replied that her Majesty’s wealth was so great, it could not be gauged by the domestic animal in question. My response was only met with a quiet smile of incredulity, and a remark that elicited loud laughter from the women. We inferred, as Jee Boo did not join in the merriment, and would not tell us what it meant, that it was not complimentary.

Seeing the lama smoking, I lit a cigarette, and was about to replace the case in my pocket when our merry old host took it from my hand, and after carefully examining it, transferred it calmly but firmly into his own breeches’ pocket. Presuming he would return it when we left, I thought no more of the matter, but at the close of our visit found he had every intention of keeping it as, he explained to Jee Boo, a _souvenir_ of me. In vain I expostulated. “You can’t possibly ask for it back,” said Jee Boo, “it is the custom.” The case was but a cheap leather one. Had it been of value, I should have rebelled, even though in mid desert. At any rate, I determined in future to make afternoon calls in Gobi with empty pockets. The name of this place, as far as I could gather, was “Ourouni.” It is very hard in the desert to get at the right name of even a permanent yourt. The Mongols have a superstition that if they tell a stranger the name of their habitation, it will bring bad luck to the place. I have frequently asked three or four of the inmates of a yourt its name, and been answered a different one by each. I gave it up at last as a bad job. The only yourt I was sure of throughout the journey was Toogoorook, and that was on our maps.

The sun was low in the heavens when we bid adieu to the Lama and took our departure. We were rather surprised to find on arriving in camp, the baggage on the ground, the ponies still unsaddled, the camels scattered about the plain in all directions, and Moses and Aaron clearly under the influence of “arak.” As for Sylvia, he had taken up a position behind one of the carts _tête-à-tête_ with the pretty Tartar, who was plaiting his pigtail, and carrying on in a way that would somewhat have disconcerted her spouse had he suddenly arrived on the scene. Benedick would probably, however, not have minded much, for, as I have said, the Mongols are not jealous of their women. They greatly differ in this respect from the Kirghiz tartars, who will not allow a stranger even to look upon their wives. Their respective religions, Mahometanism and Buddhism, of course, account for this. The Kirghiz woman is always more or less under supervision, the Mongol may do as she pleases, go where she likes, and alone. Nevertheless, there is but little immorality among the latter. As much cannot be said for the followers of the Prophet further west.

Our faithful little henchman’s face expanded into a broad grin as soon as he saw us. He was no bad judge of female beauty. The face and figure of the object of his affections would not have disgraced a European ball-room; while a fascinating half-savage half _naïve_ manner enhanced her attractions not a little. It was only with great difficulty and by threats of complaining to the Lama that we separated the love-sick camel-driver from his lady-love. But, even then, she would not forsake him. Jumping on a pony as soon as we started, she rode alongside the caravan till the moon had fairly risen, and we were some miles from her home. It was not till nearly ten o’clock that she left us, after a tender parting with Sylvia (during which the caravan was left to its own devices), to gallop home alone in the moonlight to her yourt and lawful master.

Moses’ pony showed such evident signs of breaking down that he exchanged it for a new one to-day. We witnessed the operation of selecting the animal from a drove of one hundred or so that were feeding within a quarter of a mile or so of the yourt. Armed with a long slender pole with a noose at the end, one of the men rode out and, after a smart gallop, succeeded in lassoing a wiry-looking little chestnut and bringing it back to camp, when it was at once saddled. It was scarcely three years old, and had never been backed, yet in less than half an hour from when Moses mounted it was walking alongside the caravan as quietly and demurely as its predecessor. The facility and rapidity with which the Mongols break in their horses is something marvellous.

The Mongols, men, women, and children, are passionately fond of riding, and almost their sole pastime is horse, or rather pony racing, which the women, who sit cross-legged, join in as well as the men. That they are splendid riders is hardly to be wondered at, for they are in the saddle from morning till night. A Mongol never dreams of walking, even when going the shortest distances, as from one tent to another in camp. To their animals they are kindness itself, and I never once saw them strike a pony. Their seat is peculiar and ugly. Most of them ride crouching, like monkeys, leaning well over their pony’s withers, and riding entirely with the left hand, while the right arm is waved wildly about at full extent when they wish to increase their speed. As a rule, though, they are very merciful in this respect, and let their ponies take it easy, the ordinary pace being a sort of amble. We fortunately took the precaution of bringing our own saddles, for those used by the Mongols are made entirely of wood, and are hard, uncomfortable things, in shape something like a Turkish demi-pique, but about half the size. The bit used is something like our English ring-snaffle, the reins being made of thin leather thongs.

The following day was without incident except that, about sunset, we passed a series of cairns stretching away at intervals of about four hundred or five hundred yards to the horizon on either side of us. These are about fifteen feet in height, and formed of stones of various sizes, bleached camel-bones, feathers, and bits of rug, while at the top of each a dilapidated prayer-flag fluttered. We took them (as we afterwards discovered, rightly) for the boundary between Inner and Outer Mongolia. Although they are not marked on any Russian or English map, Ivanoff had told us to look out for them, as we should then be getting about half-way to Ourga. As we passed them, Moses and Co. each cast a stone upon them as an offering to their divinity. No Mongol ever dreams of omitting to do this. Nothing else occurred to break the monotony of the day’s march, but an occasional shot at a duck or sand-grouse, for we were now approaching the game country. There was little cover at first, but the next and three following days the desert was covered for miles around with thick, prickly bushes somewhat resembling furze, and here it fairly swarmed with sand-grouse, a pretty fawn-coloured bird with a black ring round the neck, and hairy legs. Most were plump, and in excellent condition, and we found them excellent eating. We must have seen thousands, and managed to bag nine brace in a couple of hours with no difficulty, merely walking a few yards away on either side of the carts, for they were not at all wild. We saw no other game except the largest hare I have ever seen, which I shot. Her size was explained when on preparing her for the pot, we found she was about to present the hare population of Gobi with an addition of five! The game was a welcome change to the tinned meats we had had to subsist on since leaving Kalgan, especially as the smart Yankee storekeeper, from whom we had procured our stores at Shanghai, had managed to palm off a number of old and useless tins, some dating as far back as the year 1862, which were carefully packed away under the others, so that we did not open them till in mid desert. I can only trust, for his sake, that the wishes we expressed regarding his future state may never be realized.

With the exception of a kind of small antelope there is no big game in Mongolia proper, although hard by, in Manchuria, there are tiger and lion in plenty. The Gobi antelope is called by the Mongols literally, “Gooroosh,” by the Chinese “Wang Yang,” or yellow sheep. It is of a light fawn colour with white legs. We saw several herds of some hundreds each, but were only once able to get within shot, for owing to the flat nature of the ground they nearly always saw or heard us long before we could get near them. The only occasion on which we did so, was by the aid of a ridge of rocks. Our ponies, too, were not up to much galloping, although Karra was always ready, and keen as mustard for a hunt. But the Mongols declined to stay for us a moment, and the operation of keeping one eye on the game, and the other on the caravan was somewhat fatiguing. With a properly organized expedition a sportsman could, have any amount of fun in the Gobi, though I doubt if even the good sport would repay him the expense and discomfort.

On the morning of the 21st, patches of bright golden sand broke the green horizon, and on the evening of the same day we passed our first night _en plein desert_. The next morning showed us nothing but sand, drift upon drift, as far as the eye could see, in an unbroken horizon, save where to the north-west, in the middle distance, a ridge of abrupt, precipitous rocks glowed pink in the rays of the rising sun. By midday we encamped at their base after a hard morning’s work, for the sand was axle-deep, and the camels, at times, were unable to move the carts alone. We did but little more than a mile an hour all day. Although the ridge of rocks was little over two hundred feet high, the ascent and descent occupied nearly four hours. There was no path or track of any kind, and the ridge as rough and uneven as a heap of stones. Every moment I thought the carts would go to pieces. As for the ponies, taking off their bridles and saddles, we left them to their own devices. Chow was rather awkward, and got two or three nasty falls, but Karra scrambled about like a wild cat, and was not in the least put out. Five o’clock saw us encamped on the deep sandy plain the other side, where there should have been a well, but it was, alas! quite dry, and we had to put ourselves and the ponies on short allowance. All were thoroughly done up, when at eight o’clock p.m., the inexorable Moses made a fresh start. We then found that one of the camels was dead lame. The usual Mongol remedy of patching up the sole with small tin tacks and a piece of leather, much as a boot is cobbled, was found ineffectual, so his pack was removed, and he was untied and left to get on with the caravan as best he could. The poor brute’s struggles to keep up with us were painful to witness, for a camel will go on till he drops and dies, sooner than be left alone in the desert. I would have put a bullet through him, but that the Mongols are intensely superstitious, and have a belief that killing one of these animals brings bad luck on a caravan. The poor brute was still with us when we encamped, but died about half an hour after we started in the morning. Looking back a few moments after, I saw his carcase black with crows and carrion, though a moment before there was not a bird to be seen in the sky.

The Mongolian camel is peculiar to the country. It is two humped and very much smaller than camels found in other parts of the world. The average load of a caravan camel is 4 cwt., or four chests of tea of 1 cwt. each. It was often a source of wonder to me how these animals can exist as they do without water——indeed, they were supposed never to want it, and it was given them only when very plentiful. They ate the whole day, however, while on the plains, and the amount of food they got through _en route_ was surprising. Curiously enough they seemed to prefer dry scrub to good sweet grass. In winter a long, shaggy coat protects the Mongolian camel from the keen, icy blasts that sweep over the Gobi, but in summer this is shed, with the exception of a few coarse tufts on the head, neck, and legs. Our camels appeared to suffer terribly from the heat, and perspired profusely on hot days. On these occasions we found it impossible to remain in the carts. Indeed, at all times the stench was so bad that we had to lie with our heads at an angle that no amount of pillows would rectify. Any one with apoplectic tendencies would stand a poor chance crossing Gobi. The Mongolian camel is led in the ordinary way, i.e. by a thin plug of wood sharp at one end, and thrust through the nostril, and fastened to a string, which in turn is fastened to the camel or cart in front. The operation of drilling the hole through a young camel’s nose is painful in the extreme. I witnessed it once, and not being aware that nature has provided these beasts with a kind of reservoir of green, mucous substance, presumably for purposes of self-defence, stood close to it during the operation, and received a quantity of the stuff full in my face, much to Sylvia’s delight, who ducked just in time to avoid it. Beyond this, save on one occasion, I never saw a Mongolian camel show signs of temper. They are gentle, stupid creatures for the most part.

We suffered a good deal from heat and thirst our second day in the sandy desert. The work too was harder——so hard that at times we had to hitch an extra camel on to each cart, and even then could hardly get them through the deep, clinging sand. About 11 a.m., we overtook five Mongols, wild rugged-looking fellows, on their way to Ourga. Moses discovered, after a few minutes’ conversation, that it was thanks to them and their ponies that the well of yesterday was dry. They had a sheepskin half full of water with them, but resolutely refused to spare us a drop. I do not think I ever realized what the word thirst really meant till that moment, for it was now a case of share and share alike, our supply of claret and soda-water having become exhausted three days before this. Each of these men had a bundle of heavy wooden rods fastened to his saddle-bow, and trailing on the ground, thus scoring a deep trail or wake in the sand behind him. It is only by these means that in this part of the desert the Mongol is able to find his way from yourt to yourt, for there are no landmarks to steer by. They had no tent or travelling conveniences whatever, save a large brass pan for cooking purposes, and a supply of argol in a canvas sack, though what they could find to cook was a mystery to me. They accompanied us for a time, but, seeing that we had no bottles or anything else to give them, soon left us and struck off in a south-westerly direction, directly contrary to the place they told us they were bound for, Ourga. I did not inquire why, knowing that the ways of the Mongol are inscrutable, and not to be judged as are those of the ordinary run of mankind!

So the day wore heavily away, and we plodded on, nearly up to our knees in sand by the side of the caravan till four o’clock, when Sylvia sighted a large herd of gooroosh in the distance, but the glimpse we caught of them was only momentary, and the hurrying, indistinct brown mass had in a very few seconds disappeared below the horizon.

About half an hour later a loud scream attracted my attention, and, turning, I found Jee Boo flat on the ground in a dead faint, the effect, as I rightly guessed, of the sun. Moses even then was very loth to stop, and it was only by a judicious exposure of my revolver, of which Mongols have a wholesome dread, that I succeeded in halting the caravan. Pitching the tent, I soon had the wretched Chinaman inside, and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit. I found him quite unconscious, while the eyelid when opened disclosed a broad expanse of white, which was far from reassuring. Apart from the mere fact of losing the poor fellow, I could not help wondering what would become of us, in the event of his death, for we knew but half a dozen words of Mongol, and without an interpreter were helpless as the babes in the wood! The atmosphere of the tent soon became so stifling that I had to leave it for a few minutes, feeling quite sick and faint. We all know the value of water in such cases, but of this we could ill spare a drop, having but about half a gallon left. The next well, it was true, was but seven miles distant, but who could tell that it, like its predecessor, might not be dry and empty? Altogether the situation was about as awkward as it could well be, and I cursed (not for the first time) the unlucky fate that had ever brought me to the desert of Gobi! But something had to be done and quickly, so for the first time I opened our small medicine-chest, the furnishing of which I had carelessly taken but little trouble about. Of course, as usual, everything not required was handy. Rolls of diachylon plaster, Cockle’s pills, chlorodyne, menthol, Dover’s and seidlitz powders, came tumbling out in glorious confusion; but we fumbled about in despair for a remedy, while Jee Boo’s heavy, stertorous breathing warned us that not a moment was to be lost. I was determined that if he did die, I should not be the only one responsible for his demise, and insisted upon Lancaster’s giving his opinion as to treatment! If poor Jee Boo had known the state of doubt his medical advisers were in, I think he would have suffered even more than he did! But the course of treatment was at last decided upon, though we differed materially for some time, Lancaster insisting upon it that we should open a vein. As (when I pressed him) he seemed uncertain what vein, I felt in the interest of Jee Boo’s possible widow and orphans that this was unjust. Even my small experience in surgery told me that there are some veins the opening of which will kill the strongest man in under five minutes. So this course was (by Lancaster) reluctantly abandoned, and a huge dose of sal volatile and water administered. I shall never forget that moment or my state of mind during the working of the medicine. However (and no one was more surprised than myself) it had the desired effect, and at the end of about ten minutes we had the satisfaction of seeing our patient slowly open his eyes. In half an hour he was quite conscious again. I can scarcely recommend this treatment to my readers as an infallible one for sunstroke. Indeed, I have since been told by a physician, that had not my patient been a Chinaman, it would have killed him right off!