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Beasts, men and gods

by Ferdynand Antoni Ossendowski · English · Gutenberg #2067 · 477,041 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Beasts, men and gods

Author: Ferdynand Antoni Ossendowski

Collaborator: Lewis Stanton Palen


        
Release date: May 14, 2006 [eBook #2067]
                Most recently updated: November 17, 2016

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2067

Credits: Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger


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Produced by Donald Lainson





BEASTS, MEN AND GODS

by Ferdinand Ossendowski




EXPLANATORY NOTE


When one of the leading publicists in America, Dr. Albert Shaw of
the Review of Reviews, after reading the manuscript of Part I of
this volume, characterized the author as “The Robinson Crusoe of the
Twentieth Century,” he touched the feature of the narrative which is at
once most attractive and most dangerous; for the succession of trying
and thrilling experiences recorded seems in places too highly colored
to be real or, sometimes, even possible in this day and generation.
I desire, therefore, to assure the reader at the outset that Dr.
Ossendowski is a man of long and diverse experience as a scientist and
writer with a training for careful observation which should put
the stamp of accuracy and reliability on his chronicle. Only the
extraordinary events of these extraordinary times could have thrown one
with so many talents back into the surroundings of the “Cave Man” and
thus given to us this unusual account of personal adventure, of great
human mysteries and of the political and religious motives which are
energizing the “Heart of Asia.”

My share in the work has been to induce Dr. Ossendowski to write his
story at this time and to assist him in rendering his experiences into
English.

LEWIS STANTON PALEN.




CONTENTS


PART I. DRAWING LOTS WITH DEATH


CHAPTER

I.      INTO THE FORESTS

II.     THE SECRET OF MY FELLOW TRAVELER

III.    THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE

IV.     A FISHERMAN

V.      A DANGEROUS NEIGHBOR

VI.     A RIVER IN TRAVAIL

VII.    THROUGH SOVIET SIBERIA

VIII.   THREE DAYS ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE

IX.     TO THE SAYANS AND SAFETY

X.      THE BATTLE OF THE SEYBI

XI.     THE BARRIER OF RED PARTISANS

XII.    IN THE COUNTRY OF ETERNAL PEACE

XIII.   MYSTERIES, MIRACLES AND A NEW FIGHT

XIV.    THE RIVER OF THE DEVIL

XV.     THE MARCH OF GHOSTS

XVI.    IN MYSTERIOUS TIBET



PART II. THE LAND OF DEMONS


XVII.    MYSTERIOUS MONGOLIA

XVIII.   THE MYSTERIOUS LAMA AVENGER

XIX.     WILD CHAHARS

XX.      THE DEMON OF JAGISSTAI

XXI.     THE NEST OF DEATH

XXII.    AMONG THE MURDERERS

XXIII.   ON A VOLCANO

XXIV.    A BLOODY CHASTISEMENT

XXV.     HARASSING DAYS

XXVI.    THE BAND OF WHITE HUNGHUTZES

XXVII.   MYSTERY IN A SMALL TEMPLE

XXVIII.  THE BREATH OF DEATH



PART III. THE STRAINING HEART OF ASIA


XXIX.    ON THE ROAD OF GREAT CONQUERORS

XXX.     ARRESTED!

XXXI.    TRAVELING BY “URGA”

XXXII.   AN OLD FORTUNE TELLER

XXXIII.  “DEATH FROM THE WHITE MAN WILL STAND BEHIND YOU”

XXXIV.   THE HORROR OF WAR!

XXXV.    IN THE CITY OF LIVING GODS, 30,000 BUDDHAS AND 60,000 MONKS

XXXVI.   A SON OF CRUSADERS AND PRIVATEERS

XXXVII.  THE CAMP OF MARTYRS

XXXVIII. BEFORE THE FACE OF BUDDHA

XXXIX.   “THE MAN WITH A HEAD LIKE A SADDLE”



PART IV. THE LIVING BUDDHA


XL.     IN THE BLISSFUL GARDEN OF A THOUSAND JOYS

XLI.    THE DUST OF CENTURIES

XLII.   THE BOOKS OF MIRACLES

XLIII.  THE BIRTH OF THE LIVING BUDDHA

XLIV.   A PAGE IN THE HISTORY OF THE PRESENT LIVING BUDDHA

XLV.    THE VISION OF THE LIVING BUDDHA OF MAY 17, 1921



PART V. MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES--THE KING OF THE WORLD


XLVI.   THE SUBTERRANEAN KINGDOM

XLVII.  THE KING OF THE WORLD BEFORE THE FACE OF GOD

XLVIII. REALITY OR RELIGIOUS FANTASY?

XLIX.   THE PROPHECY OF THE KING OF THE WORLD IN 1890


There are times, men and events about which History alone can record the
final judgments; contemporaries and individual observers must only write
what they have seen and heard. The very truth demands it.

TITUS LIVIUS.




BEASTS, MEN AND GODS




Part I

DRAWING LOTS WITH DEATH


CHAPTER I

INTO THE FORESTS


In the beginning of the year 1920 I happened to be living in the
Siberian town of Krasnoyarsk, situated on the shores of the River
Yenisei, that noble stream which is cradled in the sun-bathed mountains
of Mongolia to pour its warming life into the Arctic Ocean and to whose
mouth Nansen has twice come to open the shortest road for commerce from
Europe to the heart of Asia. There in the depths of the still Siberian
winter I was suddenly caught up in the whirling storm of mad revolution
raging all over Russia, sowing in this peaceful and rich land vengeance,
hate, bloodshed and crimes that go unpunished by the law. No one could
tell the hour of his fate. The people lived from day to day and left
their homes not knowing whether they should return to them or whether
they should be dragged from the streets and thrown into the dungeons of
that travesty of courts, the Revolutionary Committee, more terrible
and more bloody than those of the Mediaeval Inquisition. We who were
strangers in this distraught land were not saved from its persecutions
and I personally lived through them.

One morning, when I had gone out to see a friend, I suddenly received
the news that twenty Red soldiers had surrounded my house to arrest me
and that I must escape. I quickly put on one of my friend’s old hunting
suits, took some money and hurried away on foot along the back ways of
the town till I struck the open road, where I engaged a peasant, who in
four hours had driven me twenty miles from the town and set me down
in the midst of a deeply forested region. On the way I bought a rifle,
three hundred cartridges, an ax, a knife, a sheepskin overcoat, tea,
salt, dry bread and a kettle. I penetrated into the heart of the wood to
an abandoned half-burned hut. From this day I became a genuine trapper
but I never dreamed that I should follow this role as long as I did.
The next morning I went hunting and had the good fortune to kill two
heathcock. I found deer tracks in plenty and felt sure that I should not
want for food. However, my sojourn in this place was not for long. Five
days later when I returned from hunting I noticed smoke curling up out
of the chimney of my hut. I stealthily crept along closer to the cabin
and discovered two saddled horses with soldiers’ rifles slung to the
saddles. Two disarmed men were not dangerous for me with a weapon, so I
quickly rushed across the open and entered the hut. From the bench
two soldiers started up in fright. They were Bolsheviki. On their big
Astrakhan caps I made out the red stars of Bolshevism and on their
blouses the dirty red bands. We greeted each other and sat down. The
soldiers had already prepared tea and so we drank this ever welcome
hot beverage and chatted, suspiciously eyeing one another the while.
To disarm this suspicion on their part, I told them that I was a hunter
from a distant place and was living there because I found it good
country for sables. They announced to me that they were soldiers of
a detachment sent from a town into the woods to pursue all suspicious
people.

“Do you understand, ‘Comrade,’” said one of them to me, “we are looking
for counter-revolutionists to shoot them?”

I knew it without his explanations. All my forces were directed to
assuring them by my conduct that I was a simple peasant hunter and that
I had nothing in common with the counter-revolutionists. I was thinking
also all the time of where I should go after the departure of my
unwelcome guests. It grew dark. In the darkness their faces were even
less attractive. They took out bottles of vodka and drank and the
alcohol began to act very noticeably. They talked loudly and constantly
interrupted each other, boasting how many bourgeoisie they had killed
in Krasnoyarsk and how many Cossacks they had slid under the ice in the
river. Afterwards they began to quarrel but soon they were tired and
prepared to sleep. All of a sudden and without any warning the door of
the hut swung wide open and the steam of the heated room rolled out in
a great cloud, out of which seemed to rise like a genie, as the steam
settled, the figure of a tall, gaunt peasant impressively crowned with
the high Astrakhan cap and wrapped in the great sheepskin overcoat that
added to the massiveness of his figure. He stood with his rifle ready
to fire. Under his girdle lay the sharp ax without which the Siberian
peasant cannot exist. Eyes, quick and glimmering like those of a wild
beast, fixed themselves alternately on each of us. In a moment he took
off his cap, made the sign of the cross on his breast and asked of us:
“Who is the master here?”

I answered him.

“May I stop the night?”

“Yes,” I replied, “places enough for all. Take a cup of tea. It is still
hot.”

The stranger, running his eyes constantly over all of us and over
everything about the room, began to take off his skin coat after putting
his rifle in the corner. He was dressed in an old leather blouse with
trousers of the same material tucked in high felt boots. His face was
quite young, fine and tinged with something akin to mockery. His white,
sharp teeth glimmered as his eyes penetrated everything they rested
upon. I noticed the locks of grey in his shaggy head. Lines of
bitterness circled his mouth. They showed his life had been very stormy
and full of danger. He took a seat beside his rifle and laid his ax on
the floor below.

“What? Is it your wife?” asked one of the drunken soldiers, pointing to
the ax.

The tall peasant looked calmly at him from the quiet eyes under their
heavy brows and as calmly answered:

“One meets a different folk these days and with an ax it is much safer.”

He began to drink tea very greedily, while his eyes looked at me many
times with sharp inquiry in them and ran often round the whole cabin in
search of the answer to his doubts. Very slowly and with a guarded drawl
he answered all the questions of the soldiers between gulps of the
hot tea, then he turned his glass upside down as evidence of having
finished, placed on the top of it the small lump of sugar left and
remarked to the soldiers:

“I am going out to look after my horse and will unsaddle your horses for
you also.”

“All right,” exclaimed the half-sleeping young soldier, “bring in our
rifles as well.”

The soldiers were lying on the benches and thus left for us only the
floor. The stranger soon came back, brought the rifles and set them in
the dark corner. He dropped the saddle pads on the floor, sat down on
them and began to take off his boots. The soldiers and my guest soon
were snoring but I did not sleep for thinking of what next to do.
Finally as dawn was breaking, I dozed off only to awake in the
broad daylight and find my stranger gone. I went outside the hut and
discovered him saddling a fine bay stallion.

“Are you going away?” I asked.

“Yes, but I want to go together with these ---- comrades,’” he
whispered, “and afterwards I shall come back.”

I did not ask him anything further and told him only that I would wait
for him. He took off the bags that had been hanging on his saddle, put
them away out of sight in the burned corner of the cabin, looked over
the stirrups and bridle and, as he finished saddling, smiled and said:

“I am ready. I’m going to awake my ‘comrades.’” Half an hour after the
morning drink of tea, my three guests took their leave. I remained out
of doors and was engaged in splitting wood for my stove. Suddenly,
from a distance, rifle shots rang through the woods, first one, then
a second. Afterwards all was still. From the place near the shots a
frightened covey of blackcock broke and came over me. At the top of a
high pine a jay cried out. I listened for a long time to see if anyone
was approaching my hut but everything was still.

On the lower Yenisei it grows dark very early. I built a fire in my
stove and began to cook my soup, constantly listening for every noise
that came from beyond the cabin walls. Certainly I understood at all
times very clearly that death was ever beside me and might claim me
by means of either man, beast, cold, accident or disease. I knew that
nobody was near me to assist and that all my help was in the hands of
God, in the power of my hands and feet, in the accuracy of my aim and in
my presence of mind. However, I listened in vain. I did not notice the
return of my stranger. Like yesterday he appeared all at once on the
threshold. Through the steam I made out his laughing eyes and his fine
face. He stepped into the hut and dropped with a good deal of noise
three rifles into the corner.

“Two horses, two rifles, two saddles, two boxes of dry bread, half a
brick of tea, a small bag of salt, fifty cartridges, two overcoats, two
pairs of boots,” laughingly he counted out. “In truth today I had a very
successful hunt.”

In astonishment I looked at him.

“What are you surprised at?” he laughed. “Komu nujny eti tovarischi?
Who’s got any use for these fellows? Let us have tea and go to sleep.
Tomorrow I will guide you to another safer place and then go on.”


CHAPTER II

THE SECRET OF MY FELLOW TRAVELER


At the dawn of day we started forth, leaving my first place of refuge.
Into the bags we packed our personal estate and fastened them on one of
the saddles.

“We must go four or five hundred versts,” very calmly announced my
fellow traveler, who called himself “Ivan,” a name that meant nothing to
my mind or heart in this land where every second man bore the same.

“We shall travel then for a very long time,” I remarked regretfully.

“Not more than one week, perhaps even less,” he answered.

That night we spent in the woods under the wide spreading branches of
the fir trees. It was my first night in the forest under the open sky.
How many like this I was destined to spend in the year and a half of my
wanderings! During the day there was very sharp cold. Under the hoofs of
the horses the frozen snow crunched and the balls that formed and broke
from their hoofs rolled away over the crust with a sound like crackling
glass. The heathcock flew from the trees very idly, hares loped slowly
down the beds of summer streams. At night the wind began to sigh and
whistle as it bent the tops of the trees over our heads; while below it
was still and calm. We stopped in a deep ravine bordered by heavy trees,
where we found fallen firs, cut them into logs for the fire and, after
having boiled our tea, dined.

Ivan dragged in two tree trunks, squared them on one side with his ax,
laid one on the other with the squared faces together and then drove in
a big wedge at the butt ends which separated them three or four inches.
Then we placed live coals in this opening and watched the fire run
rapidly the whole length of the squared faces vis-a-vis.

“Now there will be a fire in the morning,” he announced. “This is the
‘naida’ of the gold prospectors. We prospectors wandering in the woods
summer and winter always sleep beside this ‘naida.’ Fine! You shall see
for yourself,” he continued.

He cut fir branches and made a sloping roof out of them, resting it on
two uprights toward the naida. Above our roof of boughs and our naida
spread the branches of protecting fir. More branches were brought and
spread on the snow under the roof, on these were placed the saddle
cloths and together they made a seat for Ivan to rest on and to take off
his outer garments down to his blouse. Soon I noticed his forehead was
wet with perspiration and that he was wiping it and his neck on his
sleeves.

“Now it is good and warm!” he exclaimed.

In a short time I was also forced to take off my overcoat and soon lay
down to sleep without any covering at all, while through the branches
of the fir trees and our roof glimmered the cold bright stars and
just beyond the naida raged a stinging cold, from which we were cosily
defended. After this night I was no longer frightened by the cold.
Frozen during the days on horseback, I was thoroughly warmed through
by the genial naida at night and rested from my heavy overcoat, sitting
only in my blouse under the roofs of pine and fir and sipping the ever
welcome tea.

During our daily treks Ivan related to me the stories of his wanderings
through the mountains and woods of Transbaikalia in the search for gold.
These stories were very lively, full of attractive adventure, danger and
struggle. Ivan was a type of these prospectors who have discovered in
Russia, and perhaps in other countries, the richest gold mines, while
they themselves remain beggars. He evaded telling me why he left
Transbaikalia to come to the Yenisei. I understood from his manner that
he wished to keep his own counsel and so did not press him. However, the
blanket of secrecy covering this part of his mysterious life was one day
quite fortuitously lifted a bit. We were already at the objective point
of our trip. The whole day we had traveled with difficulty through a
thick growth of willow, approaching the shore of the big right branch of
the Yenisei, the Mana. Everywhere we saw runways packed hard by the feet
of the hares living in this bush. These small white denizens of the wood
ran to and fro in front of us. Another time we saw the red tail of a fox
hiding behind a rock, watching us and the unsuspecting hares at the same
time.

Ivan had been silent for a long while. Then he spoke up and told me that
not far from there was a small branch of the Mana, at the mouth of which
was a hut.

“What do you say? Shall we push on there or spend the night by the
naida?”

I suggested going to the hut, because I wanted to wash and because it
would be agreeable to spend the night under a genuine roof again. Ivan
knitted his brows but acceded.

It was growing dark when we approached a hut surrounded by the dense
wood and wild raspberry bushes. It contained one small room with two
microscopic windows and a gigantic Russian stove. Against the building
were the remains of a shed and a cellar. We fired the stove and prepared
our modest dinner. Ivan drank from the bottle inherited from the
soldiers and in a short time was very eloquent, with brilliant eyes and
with hands that coursed frequently and rapidly through his long locks.
He began relating to me the story of one of his adventures, but suddenly
stopped and, with fear in his eyes, squinted into a dark corner.

“Is it a rat?” he asked.

“I did not see anything,” I replied.

He again became silent and reflected with knitted brow. Often we were
silent through long hours and consequently I was not astonished. Ivan
leaned over near to me and began to whisper.

“I want to tell you an old story. I had a friend in Transbaikalia. He
was a banished convict. His name was Gavronsky. Through many woods
and over many mountains we traveled in search of gold and we had an
agreement to divide all we got into even shares. But Gavronsky suddenly
went out to the ‘Taiga’ on the Yenisei and disappeared. After five years
we heard that he had found a very rich gold mine and had become a rich
man; then later that he and his wife with him had been murdered. . . .”
 Ivan was still for a moment and then continued:

“This is their old hut. Here he lived with his wife and somewhere on
this river he took out his gold. But he told nobody where. All the
peasants around here know that he had a lot of money in the bank
and that he had been selling gold to the Government. Here they were
murdered.”

Ivan stepped to the stove, took out a flaming stick and, bending over,
lighted a spot on the floor.

“Do you see these spots on the floor and on the wall? It is their
blood, the blood of Gavronsky. They died but they did not disclose the
whereabouts of the gold. It was taken out of a deep hole which they had
drifted into the bank of the river and was hidden in the cellar under
the shed. But Gavronsky gave nothing away. . . . AND LORD HOW I TORTURED
THEM! I burned them with fire; I bent back their fingers; I gouged out
their eyes; but Gavronsky died in silence.”

He thought for a moment, then quickly said to me:

“I have heard all this from the peasants.” He threw the log into the
stove and flopped down on the bench. “It’s time to sleep,” he snapped
out, and was still.

I listened for a long time to his breathing and his whispering to
himself, as he turned from one side to the other and smoked his pipe.

In the morning we left this scene of so much suffering and crime and on
the seventh day of our journey we came to the dense cedar wood growing
on the foothills of a long chain of mountains.

“From here,” Ivan explained to me, “it is eighty versts to the next
peasant settlement. The people come to these woods to gather cedar nuts
but only in the autumn. Before then you will not meet anyone. Also you
will find many birds and beasts and a plentiful supply of nuts, so that
it will be possible for you to live here. Do you see this river? When
you want to find the peasants, follow along this stream and it will
guide you to them.”

Ivan helped me build my mud hut. But it was not the genuine mud hut. It
was one formed by the tearing out of the roots of a great cedar, that
had probably fallen in some wild storm, which made for me the deep hole
as the room for my house and flanked this on one side with a wall of
mud held fast among the upturned roots. Overhanging ones formed also
the framework into which we interlaced the poles and branches to make
a roof, finished off with stones for stability and snow for warmth.
The front of the hut was ever open but was constantly protected by the
guardian naida. In that snow-covered den I spent two months like summer
without seeing any other human being and without touch with the outer
world where such important events were transpiring. In that grave under
the roots of the fallen tree I lived before the face of nature with my
trials and my anxiety about my family as my constant companions, and in
the hard struggle for my life. Ivan went off the second day, leaving for
me a bag of dry bread and a little sugar. I never saw him again.


CHAPTER III

THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE


Then I was alone. Around me only the wood of eternally green cedars
covered with snow, the bare bushes, the frozen river and, as far as I
could see out through the branches and the trunks of the trees, only
the great ocean of cedars and snow. Siberian taiga! How long shall I be
forced to live here? Will the Bolsheviki find me here or not? Will my
friends know where I am? What is happening to my family? These questions
were constantly as burning fires in my brain. Soon I understood why Ivan
guided me so long. We passed many secluded places on the journey, far
away from all people, where Ivan could have safely left me but he always
said that he would take me to a place where it would be easier to live.
And it was so. The charm of my lone refuge was in the cedar wood and
in the mountains covered with these forests which stretched to every
horizon. The cedar is a splendid, powerful tree with wide-spreading
branches, an eternally green tent, attracting to its shelter every
living being. Among the cedars was always effervescent life. There the
squirrels were continually kicking up a row, jumping from tree to tree;
the nut-jobbers cried shrilly; a flock of bullfinches with carmine
breasts swept through the trees like a flame; or a small army of
goldfinches broke in and filled the amphitheatre of trees with their
whistling; a hare scooted from one tree trunk to another and behind him
stole up the hardly visible shadow of a white ermine, crawling on the
snow, and I watched for a long time the black spot which I knew to be
the tip of his tail; carefully treading the hard crusted snow approached
a noble deer; at last there visited me from the top of the mountain the
king of the Siberian forest, the brown bear. All this distracted me
and carried away the black thoughts from my brain, encouraging me to
persevere. It was good for me also, though difficult, to climb to the
top of my mountain, which reached up out of the forest and from which I
could look away to the range of red on the horizon. It was the red cliff
on the farther bank of the Yenisei. There lay the country, the towns,
the enemies and the friends; and there was even the point which I
located as the place of my family. It was the reason why Ivan had guided
me here. And as the days in this solitude slipped by I began to miss
sorely this companion who, though the murderer of Gavronsky, had taken
care of me like a father, always saddling my horse for me, cutting the
wood and doing everything to make me comfortable. He had spent many
winters alone with nothing except his thoughts, face to face with
nature--I should say, before the face of God. He had tried the horrors
of solitude and had acquired facility in bearing them. I thought
sometimes, if I had to meet my end in this place, that I would spend my
last strength to drag myself to the top of the mountain to die there,
looking away over the infinite sea of mountains and forest toward the
point where my loved ones were.

However, the same life gave me much matter for reflection and yet more
occupation for the physical side. It was a continuous struggle for
existence, hard and severe. The hardest work was the preparation of the
big logs for the naida. The fallen trunks of the trees were covered
with snow and frozen to the ground. I was forced to dig them out and
afterwards, with the help of a long stick as a lever, to move them from
their place. For facilitating this work I chose the mountain for my
supplies, where, although difficult to climb, it was easy to roll the
logs down. Soon I made a splendid discovery. I found near my den a great
quantity of larch, this beautiful yet sad forest giant, fallen during
a big storm. The trunks were covered with snow but remained attached to
their stumps, where they had broken off. When I cut into these stumps
with the ax, the head buried itself and could with difficulty be drawn
and, investigating the reason, I found them filled with pitch. Chips of
this wood needed only a spark to set them aflame and ever afterward I
always had a stock of them to light up quickly for warming my hands on
returning from the hunt or for boiling my tea.

The greater part of my days was occupied with the hunt. I came to
understand that I must distribute my work over every day, for it
distracted me from my sad and depressing thoughts. Generally, after
my morning tea, I went into the forest to seek heathcock or blackcock.
After killing one or two I began to prepare my dinner, which never had
an extensive menu. It was constantly game soup with a handful of dried
bread and afterwards endless cups of tea, this essential beverage of the
woods. Once, during my search for birds, I heard a rustle in the dense
shrubs and, carefully peering about, I discovered the points of a deer’s
horns. I crawled along toward the spot but the watchful animal heard my
approach. With a great noise he rushed from the bush and I saw him very
clearly, after he had run about three hundred steps, stop on the slope
of the mountain. It was a splendid animal with dark grey coat, with
almost a black spine and as large as a small cow. I laid my rifle across
a branch and fired. The animal made a great leap, ran several steps and
fell. With all my strength I ran to him but he got up again and half
jumped, half dragged himself up the mountain. The second shot stopped
him. I had won a warm carpet for my den and a large stock of meat. The
horns I fastened up among the branches of my wall, where they made a
fine hat rack.

I cannot forget one very interesting but wild picture, which was staged
for me several kilometres from my den. There was a small swamp covered
with grass and cranberries scattered through it, where the blackcock
and sand partridges usually came to feed on the berries. I approached
noiselessly behind the bushes and saw a whole flock of blackcock
scratching in the snow and picking out the berries. While I was
surveying this scene, suddenly one of the blackcock jumped up and the
rest of the frightened flock immediately flew away. To my astonishment
the first bird began going straight up in a spiral flight and afterwards
dropped directly down dead. When I approached there sprang from the
body of the slain cock a rapacious ermine that hid under the trunk of a
fallen tree. The bird’s neck was badly torn. I then understood that the
ermine had charged the cock, fastened itself on his neck and had been
carried by the bird into the air, as he sucked the blood from its
throat, and had been the cause of the heavy fall back to the earth.
Thanks to his aeronautic ability I saved one cartridge.

So I lived fighting for the morrow and more and more poisoned by hard
and bitter thoughts. The days and weeks passed and soon I felt the
breath of warmer winds. On the open places the snow began to thaw. In
spots the little rivulets of water appeared. Another day I saw a fly
or a spider awakened after the hard winter. The spring was coming. I
realized that in spring it was impossible to go out from the forest.
Every river overflowed its banks; the swamps became impassable; all the
runways of the animals turned into beds for streams of running water.
I understood that until summer I was condemned to a continuation of my
solitude. Spring very quickly came into her rights and soon my mountain
was free from snow and was covered only with stones, the trunks of birch
and aspen trees and the high cones of ant hills; the river in places
broke its covering of ice and was coursing full with foam and bubbles.


CHAPTER IV

A FISHERMAN


One day during the hunt, I approached the bank of the river and noticed
many very large fish with red backs, as though filled with blood. They
were swimming on the surface enjoying the rays of the sun. When the
river was entirely free from ice, these fish appeared in enormous
quantities. Soon I realized that they were working up-stream for the
spawning season in the smaller rivers. I thought to use a plundering
method of catching, forbidden by the law of all countries; but all the
lawyers and legislators should be lenient to one who lives in a den
under the roots of a fallen tree and dares to break their rational laws.

Gathering many thin birch and aspen trees I built in the bed of the
stream a weir which the fish could not pass and soon I found them
trying to jump over it. Near the bank I left a hole in my barrier about
eighteen inches below the surface and fastened on the up-stream side a
high basket plaited from soft willow twigs, into which the fish came as
they passed the hole. Then I stood cruelly by and hit them on the head
with a strong stick. All my catch were over thirty pounds, some more
than eighty. This variety of fish is called the taimen, is of the trout
family and is the best in the Yenisei.

After two weeks the fish had passed and my basket gave me no more
treasure, so I began anew the hunt.


CHAPTER V

A DANGEROUS NEIGHBOR


The hunt became more and more profitable and enjoyable, as spring
animated everything. In the morning at the break of day the forest was
full of voices, strange and undiscernible to the inhabitant of the town.
There the heathcock clucked and sang his song of love, as he sat on the
top branches of the cedar and admired the grey hen scratching in the
fallen leaves below. It was very easy to approach this full-feathered
Caruso and with a shot to bring him down from his more poetic to his
more utilitarian duties. His going out was an euthanasia, for he was in
love and heard nothing. Out in the clearing the blackcocks with their
wide-spread spotted tails were fighting, while the hens strutting
near, craning and chattering, probably some gossip about their fighting
swains, watched and were delighted with them. From the distance flowed
in a stern and deep roar, yet full of tenderness and love, the mating
call of the deer; while from the crags above came down the short and
broken voice of the mountain buck. Among the bushes frolicked the hares
and often near them a red fox lay flattened to the ground watching his
chance. I never heard any wolves and they are usually not found in the
Siberian regions covered with mountains and forest.

But there was another beast, who was my neighbor, and one of us had
to go away. One day, coming back from the hunt with a big heathcock, I
suddenly noticed among the trees a black, moving mass. I stopped and,
looking very attentively, saw a bear, digging away at an ant-hill.
Smelling me, he snorted violently, and very quickly shuffled away,
astonishing me with the speed of his clumsy gait. The following morning,
while still lying under my overcoat, I was attracted by a noise behind
my den. I peered out very carefully and discovered the bear. He stood on
his hind legs and was noisily sniffing, investigating the question as
to what living creature had adopted the custom of the bears of housing
during the winter under the trunks of fallen trees. I shouted and struck
my kettle with the ax. My early visitor made off with all his energy;
but his visit did not please me. It was very early in the spring that
this occurred and the bear should not yet have left his hibernating
place. He was the so-called “ant-eater,” an abnormal type of bear
lacking in all the etiquette of the first families of the bear clan.

I knew that the “ant-eaters” were very irritable and audacious and
quickly I prepared myself for both the defence and the charge. My
preparations were short. I rubbed off the ends of five of my cartridges,
thus making dum-dums out of them, a sufficiently intelligible argument
for so unwelcome a guest. Putting on my coat I went to the place where
I had first met the bear and where there were many ant-hills. I made
a detour of the whole mountain, looked in all the ravines but nowhere
found my caller. Disappointed and tired, I was approaching my shelter
quite off my guard when I suddenly discovered the king of the forest
himself just coming out of my lowly dwelling and sniffing all around the
entrance to it. I shot. The bullet pierced his side. He roared with pain
and anger and stood up on his hind legs. As the second bullet broke
one of these, he squatted down but immediately, dragging the leg and
endeavoring to stand upright, moved to attack me. Only the third bullet
in his breast stopped him. He weighed about two hundred to two hundred
fifty pounds, as near as I could guess, and was very tasty. He appeared
at his best in cutlets but only a little less wonderful in the Hamburg
steaks which I rolled and roasted on hot stones, watching them swell out
into great balls that were as light as the finest souffle omelettes we
used to have at the “Medved” in Petrograd. On this welcome addition to
my larder I lived from then until the ground dried out and the stream
ran down enough so that I could travel down along the river to the
country whither Ivan had directed me.

Ever traveling with the greatest precautions I made the journey down
along the river on foot, carrying from my winter quarters all my
household furniture and goods, wrapped up in the deerskin bag which I
formed by tying the legs together in an awkward knot; and thus laden
fording the small streams and wading through the swamps that lay across
my path. After fifty odd miles of this I came to the country called
Sifkova, where I found the cabin of a peasant named Tropoff, located
closest to the forest that came to be my natural environment. With him I
lived for a time.

* * * * *

Now in these unimaginable surroundings of safety and peace, summing up
the total of my experience in the Siberian taiga, I make the following
deductions. In every healthy spiritual individual of our times,
occasions of necessity resurrect the traits of primitive man, hunter and
warrior, and help him in the struggle with nature. It is the prerogative
of the man with the trained mind and spirit over the untrained, who does
not possess sufficient science and will power to carry him through. But
the price that the cultured man must pay is that for him there exists
nothing more awful than absolute solitude and the knowledge of complete
isolation from human society and the life of moral and aesthetic
culture. One step, one moment of weakness and dark madness will seize
a man and carry him to inevitable destruction. I spent awful days of
struggle with the cold and hunger but I passed more terrible days in
the struggle of the will to kill weakening destructive thoughts. The
memories of these days freeze my heart and mind and even now, as I
revive them so clearly by writing of my experiences, they throw me
back into a state of fear and apprehension. Moreover, I am compelled
to observe that the people in highly civilized states give too little
regard to the training that is useful to man in primitive conditions, in
conditions incident to the struggle against nature for existence. It is
the single normal way to develop a new generation of strong, healthy,
iron men, with at the same time sensitive souls.

Nature destroys the weak but helps the strong, awakening in the soul
emotions which remain dormant under the urban conditions of modern life.


CHAPTER VI

A RIVER IN TRAVAIL


My presence in the Sifkova country was not for long but I used it in
full measure. First, I sent a man in whom I had confidence and whom I
considered trustworthy to my friends in the town that I had left and
received from them linen, boots, money and a small case of first aid
materials and essential medicines, and, what was most important, a
passport in another name, since I was dead for the Bolsheviki. Secondly,
in these more or less favorable conditions I reflected upon the plan for
my future actions. Soon in Sifkova the people heard that the Bolshevik
commissar would come for the requisition of cattle for the Red Army. It
was dangerous to remain longer. I waited only until the Yenisei should
lose its massive lock of ice, which kept it sealed long after the small
rivulets had opened and the trees had taken on their spring foliage.
For one thousand roubles I engaged a fisherman who agreed to take me
fifty-five miles up the river to an abandoned gold mine as soon as the
river, which had then only opened in places, should be entirely clear
of ice. At last one morning I heard a deafening roar like a tremendous
cannonade and ran out to find the river had lifted its great bulk of ice
and then given way to break it up. I rushed on down to the bank, where I
witnessed an awe-inspiring but magnificent scene. The river had brought
down the great volume of ice that had been dislodged in the south and
was carrying it northward under the thick layer which still covered
parts of the stream until finally its weight had broken the winter dam
to the north and released the whole grand mass in one last rush for the
Arctic. The Yenisei, “Father Yenisei,” “Hero Yenisei,” is one of the
longest rivers in Asia, deep and magnificent, especially through the
middle range of its course, where it is flanked and held in canyon-like
by great towering ranges. The huge stream had brought down whole miles
of ice fields, breaking them up on the rapids and on isolated rocks,
twisting them with angry swirls, throwing up sections of the black
winter roads, carrying down the tepees built for the use of passing
caravans which in the Winter always go from Minnusinsk to Krasnoyarsk on
the frozen river. From time to time the stream stopped in its flow, the
roar began and the great fields of ice were squeezed and piled upward,
sometimes as high as thirty feet, damming up the water behind, so that
it rapidly rose and ran out over the low places, casting on the shore
great masses of ice. Then the power of the reinforced waters conquered
the towering dam of ice and carried it downward with a sound like
breaking glass. At the bends in the river and round the great rocks
developed terrifying chaos. Huge blocks of ice jammed and jostled until
some were thrown clear into the air, crashing against others already
there, or were hurled against the curving cliffs and banks, tearing
out boulders, earth and trees high up the sides. All along the low
embankments this giant of nature flung upward with a suddenness that
leaves man but a pigmy in force a great wall of ice fifteen to twenty
feet high, which the peasants call “Zaberega” and through which they
cannot get to the river without cutting out a road. One incredible feat
I saw the giant perform, when a block many feet thick and many yards
square was hurled through the air and dropped to crush saplings and
little trees more than a half hundred feet from the bank.

Watching this glorious withdrawal of the ice, I was filled with terror
and revolt at seeing the awful spoils which the Yenisei bore away
in this annual retreat. These were the bodies of the executed
counter-revolutionaries--officers, soldiers and Cossacks of the former
army of the Superior Governor of all anti-Bolshevik Russia, Admiral
Kolchak. They were the results of the bloody work of the “Cheka” at
Minnusinsk. Hundreds of these bodies with heads and hands cut off, with
mutilated faces and bodies half burned, with broken skulls, floated and
mingled with the blocks of ice, looking for their graves; or, turning
in the furious whirlpools among the jagged blocks, they were ground and
torn to pieces into shapeless masses, which the river, nauseated with
its task, vomited out upon the islands and projecting sand bars. I
passed the whole length of the middle Yenisei and constantly came across
these putrifying and terrifying reminders of the work of the Bolsheviki.
In one place at a turn of the river I saw a great heap of horses, which
had been cast up by the ice and current, in number not less than three
hundred. A verst below there I was sickened beyond endurance by the
discovery of a grove of willows along the bank which had raked from the
polluted stream and held in their finger-like drooping branches human
bodies in all shapes and attitudes with a semblance of naturalness
which made an everlasting picture on my distraught mind. Of this pitiful
gruesome company I counted seventy.

At last the mountain of ice passed by, followed by the muddy freshets
that carried down the trunks of fallen trees, logs and bodies, bodies,
bodies. The fisherman and his son put me and my luggage into their
dugout made from an aspen tree and poled upstream along the bank.
Poling in a swift current is very hard work. At the sharp curves we were
compelled to row, struggling against the force of the stream and even in
places hugging the cliffs and making headway only by clutching the rocks
with our hands and dragging along slowly. Sometimes it took us a long
while to do five or six metres through these rapid holes. In two days we
reached the goal of our journey. I spent several days in this gold mine,
where the watchman and his family were living. As they were short of
food, they had nothing to spare for me and consequently my rifle again
served to nourish me, as well as contributing something to my hosts.
One day there appeared here a trained agriculturalist. I did not hide
because during my winter in the woods I had raised a heavy beard, so
that probably my own mother could not have recognized me. However, our
guest was very shrewd and at once deciphered me. I did not fear him
because I saw that he was not a Bolshevik and later had confirmation of
this. We found common acquaintances and a common viewpoint on current
events. He lived close to the gold mine in a small village where he
superintended public works. We determined to escape together from
Russia. For a long time I had puzzled over this matter and now my plan
was ready. Knowing the position in Siberia and its geography, I decided
that the best way to safety was through Urianhai, the northern part of
Mongolia on the head waters of the Yenisei, then through Mongolia and
out to the Far East and the Pacific. Before the overthrow of the Kolchak
Government I had received a commission to investigate Urianhai and
Western Mongolia and then, with great accuracy, I studied all the
maps and literature I could get on this question. To accomplish this
audacious plan I had the great incentive of my own safety.


CHAPTER VII

THROUGH SOVIET SIBERIA


After several days we started through the forest on the left bank of the
Yenisei toward the south, avoiding the villages as much as possible in
fear of leaving some trail by which we might be followed. Whenever we
did have to go into them, we had a good reception at the hands of the
peasants, who did not penetrate our disguise; and we saw that they hated
the Bolsheviki, who had destroyed many of their villages. In one place
we were told that a detachment of Red troops had been sent out from
Minnusinsk to chase the Whites. We were forced to work far back from
the shore of the Yenisei and to hide in the woods and mountains. Here we
remained nearly a fortnight, because all this time the Red soldiers were
traversing the country and capturing in the woods half-dressed unarmed
officers who were in hiding from the atrocious vengeance of the
Bolsheviki. Afterwards by accident we passed a meadow where we found the
bodies of twenty-eight officers hung to the trees, with their faces and
bodies mutilated. There we determined never to allow ourselves to come
alive into the hands of the Boisheviki. To prevent this we had our
weapons and a supply of cyanide of potassium.

Passing across one branch of the Yenisei, once we saw a narrow, miry
pass, the entrance to which was strewn with the bodies of men and
horses. A little farther along we found a broken sleigh with rifled
boxes and papers scattered about. Near them were also torn garments and
bodies. Who were these pitiful ones? What tragedy was staged in this
wild wood? We tried to guess this enigma and we began to investigate the
documents and papers. These were official papers addressed to the Staff
of General Pepelaieff. Probably one part of the Staff during the retreat
of Kolchak’s army went through this wood, striving to hide from the
enemy approaching from all sides; but here they were caught by the Reds
and killed. Not far from here we found the body of a poor unfortunate
woman, whose condition proved clearly what had happened before relief
came through the beneficent bullet. The body lay beside a shelter of
branches, strewn with bottles and conserve tins, telling the tale of the
bantering feast that had preceded the destruction of this life.

The further we went to the south, the more pronouncedly hospitable the
people became toward us and the more hostile to the Bolsheviki. At last
we emerged from the forests and entered the spacious vastness of the
Minnusinsk steppes, crossed by the high red mountain range called
the “Kizill-Kaiya” and dotted here and there with salt lakes. It is a
country of tombs, thousands of large and small dolmens, the tombs of the
earliest proprietors of this land: pyramids of stone ten metres high,
the marks set by Jenghiz Khan along his road of conquest and afterwards
by the cripple Tamerlane-Temur. Thousands of these dolmens and stone
pyramids stretch in endless rows to the north. In these plains the
Tartars now live. They were robbed by the Bolsheviki and therefore hated
them ardently. We openly told them that we were escaping. They gave us
food for nothing and supplied us with guides, telling us with whom we
might stop and where to hide in case of danger.

After several days we looked down from the high bank of the Yenisei upon
the first steamer, the “Oriol,” from Krasnoyarsk to Minnusinsk, laden
with Red soldiers. Soon we came to the mouth of the river Tuba, which
we were to follow straight east to the Sayan mountains, where Urianhai
begins. We thought the stage along the Tuba and its branch, the Amyl,
the most dangerous part of our course, because the valleys of these two
rivers had a dense population which had contributed large numbers
of soldiers to the celebrated Communist Partisans, Schetinkin and
Krafcheno.

A Tartar ferried us and our horses over to the right bank of the Yenisei
and afterwards sent us some Cossacks at daybreak who guided us to the
mouth of the Tuba, where we spent the whole day in rest, gratifying
ourselves with a feast of wild black currants and cherries.


CHAPTER VIII

THREE DAYS ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE


Armed with our false passports, we moved along up the valley of the
Tuba. Every ten or fifteen versts we came across large villages of from
one to six hundred houses, where all administration was in the hands of
Soviets and where spies scrutinized all passers-by. We could not avoid
these villages for two reasons. First, our attempts to avoid them
when we were constantly meeting the peasants in the country would have
aroused suspicion and would have caused any Soviet to arrest us and
send us to the “Cheka” in Minnusinsk, where we should have sung our
last song. Secondly, in his documents my fellow traveler was granted
permission to use the government post relays for forwarding him on his
journey. Therefore, we were forced to visit the village Soviets and
change our horses. Our own mounts we had given to the Tartar and Cossack
who helped us at the mouth of the Tuba, and the Cossack brought us in
his wagon to the first village, where we received the post horses. All
except a small minority of the peasants were against the Bolsheviki and
voluntarily assisted us. I paid them for their help by treating their
sick and my fellow traveler gave them practical advice in the management
of their agriculture. Those who helped us chiefly were the old
dissenters and the Cossacks.

Sometimes we came across villages entirely Communistic but very soon we
learned to distinguish them. When we entered a village with our horse
bells tinkling and found the peasants who happened to be sitting in
front of their houses ready to get up with a frown and a grumble that
here were more new devils coming, we knew that this was a village
opposed to the Communists and that here we could stop in safety. But,
if the peasants approached and greeted us with pleasure, calling us
“Comrades,” we knew at once that we were among the enemy and took great
precautions. Such villages were inhabited by people who were not the
Siberian liberty-loving peasants but by emigrants from the Ukraine,
idle and drunk, living in poor dirty huts, though their village
were surrounded with the black and fertile soil of the steppes. Very
dangerous and pleasant moments we spent in the large village of Karatuz.
It is rather a town. In the year 1912 two colleges were opened here and
the population reached 15,000 people. It is the capital of the South
Yenisei Cossacks. But by now it is very difficult to recognize this
town. The peasant emigrants and Red army murdered all the Cossack
population and destroyed and burned most of the houses; and it is at
present the center of Bolshevism and Communism in the eastern part of
the Minnusinsk district. In the building of the Soviet, where we came to
exchange our horses, there was being held a meeting of the “Cheka.” We
were immediately surrounded and questioned about our documents. We were
not any too calm about the impression which might be made by our papers
and attempted to avoid this examination. My fellow traveler afterwards
often said to me:

“It is great good fortune that among the Bolsheviki the good-for-nothing
shoemaker of yesterday is the Governor of today and scientists sweep
the streets or clean the stables of the Red cavalry. I can talk with
the Bolsheviki because they do not know the difference between
‘disinfection’ and ‘diphtheria,’ ‘anthracite’ and ‘appendicitis’ and can
talk them round in all things, even up to persuading them not to put a
bullet into me.”

And so we talked the members of the “Cheka” round to everything that we
wanted. We presented to them a bright scheme for the future development
of their district, when we would build the roads and bridges which would
allow them to export the wood from Urianhai, iron and gold from the
Sayan Mountains, cattle and furs from Mongolia. What a triumph of
creative work for the Soviet Government! Our ode occupied about an
hour and afterwards the members of the “Cheka,” forgetting about our
documents, personally changed our horses, placed our luggage on the
wagon and wished us success. It was the last ordeal within the borders
of Russia.

When we had crossed the valley of the river Amyl, Happiness smiled on
us. Near the ferry we met a member of the militia from Karatuz. He had
on his wagon several rifles and automatic pistols, mostly Mausers,
for outfitting an expedition through Urianhai in quest of some Cossack
officers who had been greatly troubling the Bolsheviki. We stood upon
our guard. We could very easily have met this expedition and we were
not quite assured that the soldiers would be so appreciative of our
high-sounding phrases as were the members of the “Cheka.” Carefully
questioning the militiaman, we ferreted out the route their expedition
was to take. In the next village we stayed in the same house with him. I
had to open my luggage and suddenly I noticed his admiring glance fixed
upon my bag.

“What pleases you so much?” I asked.

He whispered: “Trousers . . . Trousers.”

I had received from my townsmen quite new trousers of black thick
cloth for riding. Those trousers attracted the rapt attention of the
militiaman.

“If you have no other trousers. . . .” I remarked, reflecting upon my
plan of attack against my new friend.

“No,” he explained with sadness, “the Soviet does not furnish trousers.
They tell me they also go without trousers. And my trousers are
absolutely worn out. Look at them.”

With these words he threw back the corner of his overcoat and I was
astonished how he could keep himself inside these trousers, for they
had such large holes that they were more of a net than trousers, a net
through which a small shark could have slipped.

“Sell me,” he whispered, with a question in his voice.

“I cannot, for I need them myself,” I answered decisively.

He reflected for a few minutes and afterward, approaching me, said: “Let
us go out doors and talk. Here it is inconvenient.”

We went outside. “Now, what about it?” he began. “You are going into
Urianhai. There the Soviet bank-notes have no value and you will not
be able to buy anything, where there are plenty of sables, fox-skins,
ermine and gold dust to be purchased, which they very willingly exchange
for rifles and cartridges. You have each of you a rifle and I will
give you one more rifle with a hundred cartridges if you give me the
trousers.”

“We do not need weapons. We are protected by our documents,” I answered,
as though I did not understand.

“But no,” he interrupted, “you can change that rifle there into furs and
gold. I shall give you that rifle outright.”

“Ah, that’s it, is it? But it’s very little for those trousers. Nowhere
in Russia can you now find trousers. All Russia goes without trousers
and for your rifle I should receive a sable and what use to me is one
skin?”

Word by word I attained to my desire. The militia-man got my trousers
and I received a rifle with one hundred cartridges and two automatic
pistols with forty cartridges each. We were armed now so that we could
defend ourselves. Moreover, I persuaded the happy possessor of my
trousers to give us a permit to carry the weapons. Then the law and
force were both on our side.

In a distant village we bought three horses, two for riding and one for
packing, engaged a guide, purchased dried bread, meat, salt and butter
and, after resting twenty-four hours, began our trip up the Amyl toward
the Sayan Mountains on the border of Urianhai. There we hoped not to
meet Bolsheviki, either sly or silly. In three days from the mouth of
the Tuba we passed the last Russian village near the Mongolian-Urianhai
border, three days of constant contact with a lawless population, of
continuous danger and of the ever present possibility of fortuitous
death. Only iron will power, presence of mind and dogged tenacity
brought us through all the dangers and saved us from rolling back down
our precipice of adventure, at whose foot lay so many others who
had failed to make this same climb to freedom which we had just
accomplished. Perhaps they lacked the persistence or the presence of
mind, perhaps they had not the poetic ability to sing odes about “roads,
bridges and gold mines” or perhaps they simply had no spare trousers.


CHAPTER IX

TO THE SAYANS AND SAFETY


Dense virgin wood surrounded us. In the high, already yellow grass the
trail wound hardly noticeable in among bushes and trees just beginning
to drop their many colored leaves. It is the old, already forgotten Amyl
pass road. Twenty-five years ago it carried the provisions, machinery
and workers for the numerous, now abandoned, gold mines of the
Amyl valley. The road now wound along the wide and rapid Amyl, then
penetrated into the deep forest, guiding us round the swampy ground
filled with those dangerous Siberian quagmires, through the dense
bushes, across mountains and wide meadows. Our guide probably did not
surmise our real intention and sometimes, apprehensively looking down at
the ground, would say:

“Three riders on horses with shoes on have passed here. Perhaps they
were soldiers.”

His anxiety was terminated when he discovered that the tracks led off to
one side and then returned to the trail.

“They did not proceed farther,” he remarked, slyly smiling.

“That’s too bad,” we answered. “It would have been more lively to travel
in company.”

But the peasant only stroked his beard and laughed. Evidently he was not
taken in by our statement.

We passed on the way a gold mine that had been formerly planned and
equipped on splendid lines but was now abandoned and the buildings all
destroyed. The Bolsheviki had taken away the machinery, supplies and
also some parts of the buildings. Nearby stood a dark and gloomy church
with windows broken, the crucifix torn off and the tower burned, a
pitifully typical emblem of the Russia of today. The starving family of
the watchman lived at the mine in continuing danger and privation. They
told us that in this forest region were wandering about a band of Reds
who were robbing anything that remained on the property of the gold
mine, were working the pay dirt in the richest part of the mine and,
with a little gold washed, were going to drink and gamble it away in
some distant villages where the peasants were making the forbidden vodka
out of berries and potatoes and selling it for its weight in gold. A
meeting with this band meant death. After three days we crossed the
northern ridge of the Sayan chain, passed the border river Algiak and,
after this day, were abroad in the territory of Urianhai.

This wonderful land, rich in most diverse forms of natural wealth, is
inhabited by a branch of the Mongols, which is now only sixty thousand
and which is gradually dying off, speaking a language quite different
from any of the other dialects of this folk and holding as their life
ideal the tenet of “Eternal Peace.” Urianhai long ago became the scene
of administrative attempts by Russians, Mongols and Chinese, all of whom
claimed sovereignty over the region whose unfortunate inhabitants, the
Soyots, had to pay tribute to all three of these overlords. It was due
to this that the land was not an entirely safe refuge for us. We had
heard already from our militiaman about the expedition preparing to go
into Urianhai and from the peasants we learned that the villages along
the Little Yenisei and farther south had formed Red detachments, who
were robbing and killing everyone who fell into their hands. Recently
they had killed sixty-two officers attempting to pass Urianhai into
Mongolia; robbed and killed a caravan of Chinese merchants; and killed
some German war prisoners who escaped from the Soviet paradise. On the
fourth day we reached a swampy valley where, among open forests, stood a
single Russian house. Here we took leave of our guide, who hastened away
to get back before the snows should block his road over the Sayans. The
master of the establishment agreed to guide us to the Seybi River for
ten thousand roubles in Soviet notes. Our horses were tired and we were
forced to give them a rest, so we decided to spend twenty-four hours
here.

We were drinking tea when the daughter of our host cried:

“The Soyots are coming!” Into the room with their rifles and pointed
hats came suddenly four of them.

“Mende,” they grunted to us and then, without ceremony, began examining
us critically. Not a button or a seam in our entire outfit escaped their
penetrating gaze. Afterwards one of them, who appeared to be the local
“Merin” or governor, began to investigate our political views. Listening
to our criticisms of the Bolsheviki, he was evidently pleased and began
talking freely.

“You are good people. You do not like Bolsheviki. We will help you.”

I thanked him and presented him with the thick silk cord which I was
wearing as a girdle. Before night they left us saying that they would
return in the morning. It grew dark. We went to the meadow to look after
our exhausted horses grazing there and came back to the house. We were
gaily chatting with the hospitable host when suddenly we heard horses’
hoofs in the court and raucous voices, followed by the immediate entry
of five Red soldiers armed with rifles and swords. Something unpleasant
and cold rolled up into my throat and my heart hammered. We knew the
Reds as our enemies. These men had the red stars on their Astrakhan caps
and red triangles on their sleeves. They were members of the detachment
that was out to look for Cossack officers. Scowling at us they took
off their overcoats and sat down. We first opened the conversation,
explaining the purpose of our journey in exploring for bridges, roads
and gold mines. From them we then learned that their commander would
arrive in a little while with seven more men and that they would take
our host at once as a guide to the Seybi River, where they thought the
Cossack officers must be hidden. Immediately I remarked that our affairs
were moving fortunately and that we must travel along together. One of
the soldiers replied that that would depend upon the “Comrade-officer.”

During our conversation the Soyot Governor entered. Very attentively he
studied again the new arrivals and then asked: “Why did you take from
the Soyots the good horses and leave bad ones?”

The soldiers laughed at him.

“Remember that you are in a foreign country!” answered the Soyot, with a
threat in his voice.

“God and the Devil!” cried one of the soldiers.

But the Soyot very calmly took a seat at the table and accepted the cup
of tea the hostess was preparing for him. The conversation ceased. The
Soyot finished the tea, smoked his long pipe and, standing up, said:

“If tomorrow morning the horses are not back at the owner’s, we shall
come and take them.” And with these words he turned and went out.

I noticed an expression of apprehension on the faces of the soldiers.
Shortly one was sent out as a messenger while the others sat silent with
bowed heads. Late in the night the officer arrived with his other seven
men. As he received the report about the Soyot, he knitted his brows and
said:

“It’s a bad mess. We must travel through the swamp where a Soyot will be
behind every mound watching us.”

He seemed really very anxious and his trouble fortunately prevented him
from paying much attention to us. I began to calm him and promised on
the morrow to arrange this matter with the Soyots. The officer was a
coarse brute and a silly man, desiring strongly to be promoted for the
capture of the Cossack officers, and feared that the Soyot could prevent
him from reaching the Seybi.

At daybreak we started together with the Red detachment. When we had
made about fifteen kilometers, we discovered behind the bushes two
riders. They were Soyots. On their backs were their flint rifles.

“Wait for me!” I said to the officer. “I shall go for a parley with
them.”

I went forward with all the speed of my horse. One of the horsemen was
the Soyot Governor, who said to me:

“Remain behind the detachment and help us.”

“All right,” I answered, “but let us talk a little, in order that they
may think we are parleying.”

After a moment I shook the hand of the Soyot and returned to the
soldiers.

“All right,” I exclaimed, “we can continue our journey. No hindrance
will come from the Soyots.”

We moved forward and, when we were crossing a large meadow, we espied at
a long distance two Soyots riding at full gallop right up the side of a
mountain. Step by step I accomplished the necessary manoeuvre to bring
me and my fellow traveler somewhat behind the detachment. Behind
our backs remained only one soldier, very brutish in appearance and
apparently very hostile to us. I had time to whisper to my companion
only one word: “Mauser,” and saw that he very carefully unbuttoned the
saddle bag and drew out a little the handle of his pistol.

Soon I understood why these soldiers, excellent woodsmen as they were,
would not attempt to go to the Seybi without a guide. All the country
between the Algiak and the Seybi is formed by high and narrow mountain
ridges separated by deep swampy valleys. It is a cursed and dangerous
place. At first our horses mired to the knees, lunging about and
catching their feet in the roots of bushes in the quagmires, then
falling and pinning us under their sides, breaking parts of their
saddles and bridles. Then we would go in up to the riders’ knees. My
horse went down once with his whole breast and head under the red fluid
mud and we just saved it and no more. Afterwards the officer’s horse
fell with him so that he bruised his head on a stone. My companion
injured one knee against a tree. Some of the men also fell and were
injured. The horses breathed heavily. Somewhere dimly and gloomily
a crow cawed. Later the road became worse still. The trail followed
through the same miry swamp but everywhere the road was blocked with
fallen tree trunks. The horses, jumping over the trunks, would land in
an unexpectedly deep hole and flounder. We and all the soldiers were
covered with blood and mud and were in great fear of exhausting our
mounts. For a long distance we had to get down and lead them. At last we
entered a broad meadow covered with bushes and bordered with rocks. Not
only horses but riders also began to sink to their middle in a quagmire
with apparently no bottom. The whole surface of the meadow was but a
thin layer of turf, covering a lake with black putrefying water. When
we finally learned to open our column and proceed at big intervals, we
found we could keep on this surface that undulated like rubber ice and
swayed the bushes up and down. In places the earth buckled up and broke.

Suddenly, three shots sounded. They were hardly more than the report of
a Flobert rifle; but they were genuine shots, because the officer and
two soldiers fell to the ground. The other soldiers grabbed their rifles
and, with fear, looked about for the enemy. Four more were soon unseated
and suddenly I noticed our rearguard brute raise his rifle and aim
right at me. However, my Mauser outstrode his rifle and I was allowed to
continue my story.

“Begin!” I cried to my friend and we took part in the shooting. Soon the
meadow began to swarm with Soyots, stripping the fallen, dividing the
spoils and recapturing their horses. In some forms of warfare it is
never safe to leave any of the enemy to renew hostilities later with
overwhelming forces.

After an hour of very difficult road we began to ascend the mountain and
soon arrived on a high plateau covered with trees.

“After all, Soyots are not a too peaceful people,” I remarked,
approaching the Governor.

He looked at me very sharply and replied:

“It was not Soyots who did the killing.”

He was right. It was the Abakan Tartars in Soyot clothes who killed the
Bolsheviki. These Tartars were running their herds of cattle and horses
down out of Russia through Urianhai to Mongolia. They had as their
guide and negotiator a Kalmuck Lamaite. The following morning we were
approaching a small settlement of Russian colonists and noticed some
horsemen looking out from the woods. One of our young and brave Tartars
galloped off at full speed toward these men in the wood but soon wheeled
and returned with a reassuring smile.

“All right,” he exclaimed, laughing, “keep right on.”

We continued our travel on a good broad road along a high wooden fence
surrounding a meadow filled with a fine herd of wapiti or izubr, which
the Russian colonists breed for the horns that are so valuable in the
velvet for sale to Tibetan and Chinese medicine dealers. These horns,
when boiled and dried, are called panti and are sold to the Chinese at
very high prices.

We were received with great fear by the settlers.

“Thank God!” exclaimed the hostess, “we thought . . .” and she broke off,
looking at her husband.


CHAPTER X

THE BATTLE ON THE SEYBI


Constant dangers develop one’s watchfulness and keenness of perception.
We did not take off our clothes nor unsaddle our horses, tired as
we were. I put my Mauser inside my coat and began to look about and
scrutinize the people. The first thing I discovered was the butt end of
a rifle under the pile of pillows always found on the peasants’ large
beds. Later I noticed the employees of our host constantly coming into
the room for orders from him. They did not look like simple peasants,
although they had long beards and were dressed very dirtily. They
examined me with very attentive eyes and did not leave me and my friend
alone with the host. We could not, however, make out anything. But then
the Soyot Governor came in and, noticing our strained relations, began
explaining in the Soyot language to the host all about us.

“I beg your pardon,” the colonist said, “but you know yourself that now
for one honest man we have ten thousand murderers and robbers.”

With this we began chatting more freely. It appeared that our host knew
that a band of Bolsheviki would attack him in the search for the band of
Cossack officers who were living in his house on and off. He had heard
also about the “total loss” of one detachment. However, it did not
entirely calm the old man to have our news, for he had heard of the
large detachment of Reds that was coming from the border of the Usinsky
District in pursuit of the Tartars who were escaping with their cattle
south to Mongolia.

“From one minute to another we are awaiting them with fear,” said
our host to me. “My Soyot has come in and announced that the Reds are
already crossing the Seybi and the Tartars are prepared for the fight.”

We immediately went out to look over our saddles and packs and then took
the horses and hid them in the bushes not far off. We made ready our
rifles and pistols and took posts in the enclosure to wait for our
common enemy. An hour of trying impatience passed, when one of the
workmen came running in from the wood and whispered:

“They are crossing our swamp. . . . The fight is on.”

In fact, like an answer to his words, came through the woods the sound
of a single rifle-shot, followed closely by the increasing rat-tat-tat
of the mingled guns. Nearer to the house the sounds gradually came. Soon
we heard the beating of the horses’ hoofs and the brutish cries of the
soldiers. In a moment three of them burst into the house, from off
the road where they were being raked now by the Tartars from both
directions, cursing violently. One of them shot at our host. He stumbled
along and fell on his knee, as his hand reached out toward the rifle
under his pillows.

“Who are YOU?” brutally blurted out one of the soldiers, turning to us
and raising his rifle. We answered with Mausers and successfully, for
only one soldier in the rear by the door escaped, and that merely to
fall into the hands of a workman in the courtyard who strangled him.
The fight had begun. The soldiers called on their comrades for help.
The Reds were strung along in the ditch at the side of the road, three
hundred paces from the house, returning the fire of the surrounding
Tartars. Several soldiers ran to the house to help their comrades but
this time we heard the regular volley of the workmen of our host. They
fired as though in a manoeuvre calmly and accurately. Five Red soldiers
lay on the road, while the rest now kept to their ditch. Before long we
discovered that they began crouching and crawling out toward the end of
the ditch nearest the wood where they had left their horses. The sounds
of shots became more and more distant and soon we saw fifty or sixty
Tartars pursuing the Reds across the meadow.

Two days we rested here on the Seybi. The workmen of our host, eight in
number, turned out to be officers hiding from the Bolsheviks. They asked
permission to go on with us, to which we agreed.

When my friend and I continued our trip we had a guard of eight armed
officers and three horses with packs. We crossed a beautiful valley
between the Rivers Seybi and Ut. Everywhere we saw splendid grazing
lands with numerous herds upon them, but in two or three houses along
the road we did not find anyone living. All had hidden away in fear
after hearing the sounds of the fight with the Reds. The following day
we went up over the high chain of mountains called Daban and, traversing
a great area of burned timber where our trail lay among the fallen
trees, we began to descend into a valley hidden from us by the
intervening foothills. There behind these hills flowed the Little
Yenisei, the last large river before reaching Mongolia proper. About ten
kilometers from the river we spied a column of smoke rising up out of
the wood. Two of the officers slipped away to make an investigation.
For a long time they did not return and we, fearful lest something had
happened, moved off carefully in the direction of the smoke, all ready
for a fight if necessary. We finally came near enough to hear the voices
of many people and among them the loud laugh of one of our scouts.
In the middle of a meadow we made out a large tent with two tepees of
branches and around these a crowd of fifty or sixty men. When we broke
out of the forest all of them rushed forward with a joyful welcome
for us. It appeared that it was a large camp of Russian officers and
soldiers who, after their escape from Siberia, had lived in the houses
of the Russian colonists and rich peasants in Urianhai.

“What are you doing here?” we asked with surprise.

“Oh, ho, you know nothing at all about what has been going on?” replied
a fairly old man who called himself Colonel Ostrovsky. “In Urianhai an
order has been issued from the Military Commissioner to mobilize all
men over twenty-eight years of age and everywhere toward the town of
Belotzarsk are moving detachments of these Partisans. They are robbing
the colonists and peasants and killing everyone that falls into their
hands. We are hiding here from them.”

The whole camp counted only sixteen rifles and three bombs, belonging
to a Tartar who was traveling with his Kalmuck guide to his herds in
Western Mongolia. We explained the aim of our journey and our intention
to pass through Mongolia to the nearest port on the Pacific.
The officers asked me to bring them out with us. I agreed. Our
reconnaissance proved to us that there were no Partisans near the house
of the peasant who was to ferry us over the Little Yenisei. We moved off
at once in order to pass as quickly as possible this dangerous zone of
the Yenisei and to sink ourselves into the forest beyond. It snowed but
immediately thawed. Before evening a cold north wind sprang up, bringing
with it a small blizzard. Late in the night our party reached the river.
Our colonist welcomed us and offered at once to ferry us over and swim
the horses, although there was ice still floating which had come down
from the head-waters of the stream. During this conversation there was
present one of the peasant’s workmen, red-haired and squint-eyed. He
kept moving around all the time and suddenly disappeared. Our host
noticed it and, with fear in his voice, said:

“He has run to the village and will guide the Partisans here. We must
cross immediately.”

Then began the most terrible night of my whole journey. We proposed
to the colonist that he take only our food and ammunition in the boat,
while we would swim our horses across, in order to save the time of
the many trips. The width of the Yenisei in this place is about three
hundred metres. The stream is very rapid and the shore breaks away
abruptly to the full depth of the stream. The night was absolutely dark
with not a star in the sky. The wind in whistling swirls drove the snow
and sleet sharply against our faces. Before us flowed the stream of
black, rapid water, carrying down thin, jagged blocks of ice, twisting
and grinding in the whirls and eddies. For a long time my horse refused
to take the plunge down the steep bank, snorted and braced himself. With
all my strength I lashed him with my whip across his neck until, with a
pitiful groan, he threw himself into the cold stream. We both went all
the way under and I hardly kept my seat in the saddle. Soon I was some
metres from the shore with my horse stretching his head and neck far
forward in his efforts and snorting and blowing incessantly. I felt the
every motion of his feet churning the water and the quivering of his
whole body under me in this trial. At last we reached the middle of the
river, where the current became exceedingly rapid and began to carry us
down with it. Out of the ominous darkness I heard the shoutings of my
companions and the dull cries of fear and suffering from the horses. I
was chest deep in the icy water. Sometimes the floating blocks struck
me; sometimes the waves broke up over my head and face. I had no time to
look about or to feel the cold. The animal wish to live took possession
of me; I became filled with the thought that, if my horse’s strength
failed in his struggle with the stream, I must perish. All my attention
was turned to his efforts and to his quivering fear. Suddenly he groaned
loudly and I noticed he was sinking. The water evidently was over his
nostrils, because the intervals of his frightened snorts through the
nostrils became longer. A big block of ice struck his head and turned
him so that he was swimming right downstream. With difficulty I reined
him around toward the shore but felt now that his force was gone. His
head several times disappeared under the swirling surface. I had no
choice. I slipped from the saddle and, holding this by my left hand,
swam with my right beside my mount, encouraging him with my shouts. For
a time he floated with lips apart and his teeth set firm. In his widely
opened eyes was indescribable fear. As soon as I was out of the saddle,
he had at once risen in the water and swam more calmly and rapidly.
At last under the hoofs of my exhausted animal I heard the stones.
One after another my companions came up on the shore. The well-trained
horses had brought all their burdens over. Much farther down our
colonist landed with the supplies. Without a moment’s loss we packed
our things on the horses and continued our journey. The wind was growing
stronger and colder. At the dawn of day the cold was intense. Our soaked
clothes froze and became hard as leather; our teeth chattered; and in
our eyes showed the red fires of fever: but we traveled on to put as
much space as we could between ourselves and the Partisans. Passing
about fifteen kilometres through the forest we emerged into an open
valley, from which we could see the opposite bank of the Yenisei. It was
about eight o’clock. Along the road on the other shore wound the black
serpent-like line of riders and wagons which we made out to be a column
of Red soldiers with their transport. We dismounted and hid in the
bushes in order to avoid attracting their attention.

All the day with the thermometer at zero and below we continued our
journey, only at night reaching the mountains covered with larch
forests, where we made big fires, dried our clothes and warmed ourselves
thoroughly. The hungry horses did not leave the fires but stood right
behind us with drooped heads and slept. Very early in the morning
several Soyots came to our camp.

“Ulan? (Red?)” asked one of them.

“No! No!” exclaimed all our company.

“Tzagan? (White?)” followed the new question.

“Yes, yes,” said the Tartar, “all are Whites.”

“Mende! Mende!” they grunted and, after starting their cups of tea,
began to relate very interesting and important news. It appeared that
the Red Partisans, moving from the mountains Tannu Ola, occupied with
their outposts all the border of Mongolia to stop and seize the peasants
and Soyots driving out their cattle. To pass the Tannu Ola now would be
impossible. I saw only one way--to turn sharp to the southeast, pass
the swampy valley of the Buret Hei and reach the south shore of Lake
Kosogol, which is already in the territory of Mongolia proper. It was
very unpleasant news. To the first Mongol post in Samgaltai was not more
than sixty miles from our camp, while to Kosogol by the shortest line
not less than two hundred seventy-five. The horses my friend and I were
riding, after having traveled more than six hundred miles over hard
roads and without proper food or rest, could scarcely make such an
additional distance. But, reflecting upon the situation and studying my
new fellow travelers, I determined not to attempt to pass the Tannu Ola.
They were nervous, morally weary men, badly dressed and armed and most
of them were without weapons. I knew that during a fight there is no
danger so great as that of disarmed men. They are easily caught
by panic, lose their heads and infect all the others. Therefore, I
consulted with my friends and decided to go to Kosogol. Our company
agreed to follow us. After luncheon, consisting of soup with big
lumps of meat, dry bread and tea, we moved out. About two o’clock the
mountains began to rise up before us. They were the northeast outspurs
of the Tannu Ola, behind which lay the Valley of Buret Hei.


CHAPTER XI

THE BARRIER OF RED PARTISANS


In a valley between two sharp ridges we discovered a herd of yaks and
cattle being rapidly driven off to the north by ten mounted Soyots.
Approaching us warily they finally revealed that Noyon (Prince) of Todji
had ordered them to drive the herds along the Buret Hei into Mongolia,
apprehending the pillaging of the Red Partisans. They proceeded but
were informed by some Soyot hunters that this part of the Tannu Ola was
occupied by the Partisans from the village of Vladimirovka. Consequently
they were forced to return. We inquired from them the whereabouts of
these outposts and how many Partisans were holding the mountain pass
over into Mongolia. We sent out the Tartar and the Kalmuck for a
reconnaissance while all of us prepared for the further advance by
wrapping the feet of our horses in our shirts and by muzzling their
noses with straps and bits of rope so that they could not neigh. It
was dark when our investigators returned and reported to us that about
thirty Partisans had a camp some ten kilometers from us, occupying the
yurtas of the Soyots. At the pass were two outposts, one of two soldiers
and the other of three. From the outposts to the camp was a little over
a mile. Our trail lay between the two outposts. From the top of the
mountain one could plainly see the two posts and could shoot them all.
When we had come near to the top of this mountain, I left our party and,
taking with me my friend, the Tartar, the Kalmuck and two of the young
officers, advanced. From the mountain I saw about five hundred yards
ahead two fires. At each of the fires sat a soldier with his rifle and
the others slept. I did not want to fight with the Partisans but we
had to do away with these outposts and that without firing or we never
should get through the pass. I did not believe the Partisans could
afterwards track us because the whole trail was thickly marked with the
spoors of horses and cattle.

“I shall take for my share these two,” whispered my friend, pointing to
the left outpost.

The rest of us were to take care of the second post. I crept along
through the bushes behind my friend in order to help him in case of
need; but I am bound to admit that I was not at all worried about him.
He was about seven feet tall and so strong that, when a horse used to
refuse sometimes to take the bit, he would wrap his arm around its neck,
kick its forefeet out from under it and throw it so that he could easily
bridle it on the ground. When only a hundred paces remained, I stood
behind the bushes and watched. I could see very distinctly the fire and
the dozing sentinel. He sat with his rifle on his knees. His companion,
asleep beside him, did not move. Their white felt boots were plainly
visible to me. For a long time I did not remark my friend. At the fire
all was quiet. Suddenly from the other outpost floated over a few dim
shouts and all was still. Our sentinel slowly raised his head. But just
at this moment the huge body of my friend rose up and blanketed the fire
from me and in a twinkling the feet of the sentinel flashed through the
air, as my companion had seized him by the throat and swung him
clear into the bushes, where both figures disappeared. In a second he
re-appeared, flourished the rifle of the Partisan over his head and I
heard the dull blow which was followed by an absolute calm. He came back
toward me and, confusedly smiling, said:

“It is done. God and the Devil! When I was a boy, my mother wanted to
make a priest out of me. When I grew up, I became a trained agronome in
order . . . to strangle the people and smash their skulls. Revolution is
a very stupid thing!”

And with anger and disgust he spit and began to smoke his pipe.

At the other outpost also all was finished. During this night we reached
the top of the Tannu Ola and descended again into a valley covered
with dense bushes and twined with a whole network of small rivers and
streams. It was the headwaters of the Buret Hei. About one o’clock we
stopped and began to feed our horses, as the grass just there was
very good. Here we thought ourselves in safety. We saw many calming
indications. On the mountains were seen the grazing herds of reindeers
and yaks and approaching Soyots confirmed our supposition. Here behind
the Tannu Ola the Soyots had not seen the Red soldiers. We presented to
these Soyots a brick of tea and saw them depart happy and sure that we
were “Tzagan,” a “good people.”

While our horses rested and grazed on the well-preserved grass, we sat
by the fire and deliberated upon our further progress. There developed
a sharp controversy between two sections of our company, one led by a
Colonel who with four officers were so impressed by the absence of Reds
south of the Tannu Ola that they determined to work westward to Kobdo
and then on to the camp on the Emil River where the Chinese authorities
had interned six thousand of the forces of General Bakitch, which had
come over into Mongolian territory. My friend and I with sixteen of the
officers chose to carry through our old plan to strike for the shores
of Lake Kosogol and thence out to the Far East. As neither side could
persuade the other to abandon its ideas, our company was divided and the
next day at noon we took leave of one another. It turned out that our
own wing of eighteen had many fights and difficulties on the way, which
cost us the lives of six of our comrades, but that the remainder of us
came through to the goal of our journey so closely knit by the ties of
devotion which fighting and struggling for our very lives entailed
that we have ever preserved for one another the warmest feelings of
friendship. The other group under Colonel Jukoff perished. He met a big
detachment of Red cavalry and was defeated by them in two fights. Only
two officers escaped. They related to me this sad news and the details
of the fights when we met four months later in Urga.

Our band of eighteen riders with five packhorses moved up the valley
of the Buret Hei. We floundered in the swamps, passed innumerable miry
streams, were frozen by the cold winds and were soaked through by the
snow and sleet; but we persisted indefatigably toward the south end of
Kosogol. As a guide our Tartar led us confidently over these trails well
marked by the feet of many cattle being run out of Urianhai to Mongolia.


CHAPTER XII

IN THE COUNTRY OF ETERNAL PEACE


The inhabitants of Urianhai, the Soyots, are proud of being the genuine
Buddhists and of retaining the pure doctrine of holy Rama and the deep
wisdom of Sakkia-Mouni. They are the eternal enemies of war and of the
shedding of blood. Away back in the thirteenth century they preferred to
move out from their native land and take refuge in the north rather than
fight or become a part of the empire of the bloody conqueror Jenghiz
Khan, who wanted to add to his forces these wonderful horsemen and
skilled archers. Three times in their history they have thus trekked
northward to avoid struggle and now no one can say that on the hands
of the Soyots there has ever been seen human blood. With their love of
peace they struggled against the evils of war. Even the severe Chinese
administrators could not apply here in this country of peace the
full measure of their implacable laws. In the same manner the Soyots
conducted themselves when the Russian people, mad with blood and crime,
brought this infection into their land. They avoided persistently
meetings and encounters with the Red troops and Partisans, trekking off
with their families and cattle southward into the distant principalities
of Kemchik and Soldjak. The eastern branch of this stream of emigration
passed through the valley of the Buret Hei, where we constantly
outstrode groups of them with their cattle and herds.

We traveled quickly along the winding trail of the Buret Hei and in
two days began to make the elevations of the mountain pass between the
valleys of the Buret Hei and Kharga. The trail was not only very
steep but was also littered with fallen larch trees and frequently
intercepted, incredible as it may seem, with swampy places where the
horses mired badly. Then again we picked our dangerous road over cobbles
and small stones that rolled away under our horses’ feet and bumped off
over the precipice nearby. Our horses fatigued easily in passing this
moraine that had been strewn by ancient glaciers along the mountain
sides. Sometimes the trail led right along the edge of the precipices
where the horses started great slides of stones and sand. I remember
one whole mountain covered with these moving sands. We had to leave our
saddles and, taking the bridles in our hands, to trot for a mile or more
over these sliding beds, sometimes sinking in up to our knees and
going down the mountain side with them toward the precipices below. One
imprudent move at times would have sent us over the brink. This destiny
met one of our horses. Belly down in the moving trap, he could not work
free to change his direction and so slipped on down with a mass of it
until he rolled over the precipice and was lost to us forever. We heard
only the crackling of breaking trees along his road to death. Then with
great difficulty we worked down to salvage the saddle and bags. Further
along we had to abandon one of our pack horses which had come all the
way from the northern border of Urianhai with us. We first unburdened
it but this did not help; no more did our shouting and threats. He only
stood with his head down and looked so exhausted that we realized he
had reached the further bourne of his land of toil. Some Soyots with us
examined him, felt of his muscles on the fore and hind legs, took his
head in their hands and moved it from side to side, examined his head
carefully after that and then said:

“That horse will not go further. His brain is dried out.” So we had to
leave him.

That evening we came to a beautiful change in scene when we topped a
rise and found ourselves on a broad plateau covered with larch. On it we
discovered the yurtas of some Soyot hunters, covered with bark instead
of the usual felt. Out of these ten men with rifles rushed toward us as
we approached. They informed us that the Prince of Soldjak did not
allow anyone to pass this way, as he feared the coming of murderers and
robbers into his dominions.

“Go back to the place from which you came,” they advised us with fear in
their eyes.

I did not answer but I stopped the beginnings of a quarrel between an
old Soyot and one of my officers. I pointed to the small stream in the
valley ahead of us and asked him its name.

“Oyna,” replied the Soyot. “It is the border of the principality and the
passage of it is forbidden.”

“All right,” I said, “but you will allow us to warm and rest ourselves a
little.”

“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the hospitable Soyots, and led us into their
tepees.

On our way there I took the opportunity to hand to the old Soyot a
cigarette and to another a box of matches. We were all walking along
together save one Soyot who limped slowly in the rear and was holding
his hand up over his nose.

“Is he ill?” I asked.

“Yes,” sadly answered the old Soyot. “That is my son. He has been losing
blood from the nose for two days and is now quite weak.”

I stopped and called the young man to me.

“Unbutton your outer coat,” I ordered, “bare your neck and chest and
turn your face up as far as you can.” I pressed the jugular vein on both
sides of his head for some minutes and said to him:

“The blood will not flow from your nose any more. Go into your tepee and
lie down for some time.”

The “mysterious” action of my fingers created on the Soyots a strong
impression. The old Soyot with fear and reverence whispered:

“Ta Lama, Ta Lama! (Great Doctor).”

In the yurta we were given tea while the old Soyot sat thinking deeply
about something. Afterwards he took counsel with his companions and
finally announced:

“The wife of our Prince is sick in her eyes and I think the Prince will
be very glad if I lead the ‘Ta Lama’ to him. He will not punish me,
for he ordered that no ‘bad people’ should be allowed to pass; but that
should not stop the ‘good people’ from coming to us.

“Do as you think best,” I replied rather indifferently. “As a matter of
fact, I know how to treat eye diseases but I would go back if you say
so.”

“No, no!” the old man exclaimed with fear. “I shall guide you myself.”

Sitting by the fire, he lighted his pipe with a flint, wiped
the mouthpiece on his sleeve and offered it to me in true native
hospitality. I was “comme il faut” and smoked. Afterwards he offered his
pipe to each one of our company and received from each a cigarette, a
little tobacco or some matches. It was the seal on our friendship. Soon
in our yurta many persons piled up around us, men, women, children and
dogs. It was impossible to move. From among them emerged a Lama with
shaved face and close cropped hair, dressed in the flowing red garment
of his caste. His clothes and his expression were very different from
the common mass of dirty Soyots with their queues and felt caps finished
off with squirrel tails on the top. The Lama was very kindly disposed
towards us but looked ever greedily at our gold rings and watches. I
decided to exploit this avidity of the Servant of Buddha. Supplying
him with tea and dried bread, I made known to him that I was in need of
horses.

“I have a horse. Will you buy it from me?” he asked. “But I do not
accept Russian bank notes. Let us exchange something.”

For a long time I bargained with him and at last for my gold wedding
ring, a raincoat and a leather saddle bag I received a fine Soyot
horse--to replace one of the pack animals we had lost--and a young goat.
We spent the night here and were feasted with fat mutton. In the morning
we moved off under the guidance of the old Soyot along the trail that
followed the valley of the Oyna, free from both mountains and swamps.
But we knew that the mounts of my friend and myself, together with three
others, were too worn down to make Kosogol and determined to try to buy
others in Soldjak. Soon we began to meet little groups of Soyot yurtas
with their cattle and horses round about. Finally we approached the
shifting capital of the Prince. Our guide rode on ahead for the parley
with him after assuring us that the Prince would be glad to welcome the
Ta Lama, though at the time I remarked great anxiety and fear in his
features as he spoke. Before long we emerged on to a large plain well
covered with small bushes. Down by the shore of the river we made out
big yurtas with yellow and blue flags floating over them and easily
guessed that this was the seat of government. Soon our guide returned
to us. His face was wreathed with smiles. He flourished his hands and
cried:

“Noyon (the Prince) asks you to come! He is very glad!”

From a warrior I was forced to change myself into a diplomat. As we
approached the yurta of the Prince, we were met by two officials,
wearing the peaked Mongol caps with peacock feathers rampants behind.
With low obeisances they begged the foreign “Noyon” to enter the yurta.
My friend the Tartar and I entered. In the rich yurta draped with
expensive silk we discovered a feeble, wizen-faced little old man with
shaven face and cropped hair, wearing also a high pointed beaver cap
with red silk apex topped off with a dark red button with the long
peacock feathers streaming out behind. On his nose were big Chinese
spectacles. He was sitting on a low divan, nervously clicking the beads
of his rosary. This was Ta Lama, Prince of Soldjak and High Priest of
the Buddhist Temple. He welcomed us very cordially and invited us to
sit down before the fire burning in the copper brazier. His surprisingly
beautiful Princess served us with tea and Chinese confections and
cakes. We smoked our pipes, though the Prince as a Lama did not indulge,
fulfilling, however, his duty as a host by raising to his lips the pipes
we offered him and handing us in return the green nephrite bottle of
snuff. Thus with the etiquette accomplished we awaited the words of the
Prince. He inquired whether our travels had been felicitous and what
were our further plans. I talked with him quite frankly and requested
his hospitality for the rest of our company and for the horses. He
agreed immediately and ordered four yurtas set up for us.

“I hear that the foreign Noyon,” the Prince said, “is a good doctor.”

“Yes, I know some diseases and have with me some medicines,” I answered,
“but I am not a doctor. I am a scientist in other branches.”

But the Prince did not understand this. In his simple directness a man
who knows how to treat disease is a doctor.

“My wife has had constant trouble for two months with her eyes,” he
announced. “Help her.”

I asked the Princess to show me her eyes and I found the typical
conjunctivitis from the continual smoke of the yurta and the general
uncleanliness. The Tartar brought me my medicine case. I washed her eyes
with boric acid and dropped a little cocaine and a feeble solution of
sulphurate of zinc into them.

“I beg you to cure me,” pleaded the Princess. “Do not go away until
you have cured me. We shall give you sheep, milk and flour for all
your company. I weep now very often because I had very nice eyes and my
husband used to tell me they shone like the stars and now they are red.
I cannot bear it, I cannot!”

She very capriciously stamped her foot and, coquettishly smiling at me,
asked:

“Do you want to cure me? Yes?”

The character and manners of lovely woman are the same everywhere: on
bright Broadway, along the stately Thames, on the vivacious boulevards
of gay Paris and in the silk-draped yurta of the Soyot Princess behind
the larch covered Tannu Ola.

“I shall certainly try,” assuringly answered the new oculist.

We spent here ten days, surrounded by the kindness and friendship of the
whole family of the Prince. The eyes of the Princess, which eight years
ago had seduced the already old Prince Lama, were now recovered. She was
beside herself with joy and seldom left her looking-glass.

The Prince gave me five fairly good horses, ten sheep and a bag of
flour, which was immediately transformed into dry bread. My friend
presented him with a Romanoff five-hundred-rouble note with a picture
of Peter the Great upon it, while I gave to him a small nugget of gold
which I had picked up in the bed of a stream. The Prince ordered one of
the Soyots to guide us to the Kosogol. The whole family of the Prince
conducted us to the monastery ten kilometres from the “capital.” We did
not visit the monastery but we stopped at the “Dugun,” a Chinese trading
establishment. The Chinese merchants looked at us in a very hostile
manner though they simultaneously offered us all sorts of goods,
thinking especially to catch us with their round bottles (lanhon) of
maygolo or sweet brandy made from aniseed. As we had neither lump silver
nor Chinese dollars, we could only look with longing at these attractive
bottles, till the Prince came to the rescue and ordered the Chinese to
put five of them in our saddle bags.


CHAPTER XIII

MYSTERIES, MIRACLES AND A NEW FIGHT


In the evening of the same day we arrived at the Sacred Lake of Teri
Noor, a sheet of water eight kilometres across, muddy and yellow, with
low unattractive shores studded with large holes. In the middle of the
lake lay what was left of a disappearing island. On this were a few
trees and some old ruins. Our guide explained to us that two centuries
ago the lake did not exist and that a very strong Chinese fortress
stood here on the plain. A Chinese chief in command of the fortress gave
offence to an old Lama who cursed the place and prophesied that it would
all be destroyed. The very next day the water began rushing up from the
ground, destroyed the fortress and engulfed all the Chinese soldiers.
Even to this day when storms rage over the lake the waters cast up on
the shores the bones of men and horses who perished in it. This Teri
Noor increases its size every year, approaching nearer and nearer to the
mountains. Skirting the eastern shore of the lake, we began to climb a
snow-capped ridge. The road was easy at first but the guide warned us
that the most difficult bit was there ahead. We reached this point two
days later and found there a steep mountain side thickly set with forest
and covered with snow. Beyond it lay the lines of eternal snow--ridges
studded with dark rocks set in great banks of the white mantle that
gleamed bright under the clear sunshine. These were the eastern and
highest branches of the Tannu Ola system. We spent the night beneath
this wood and began the passage of it in the morning. At noon the guide
began leading us by zigzags in and out but everywhere our trail was
blocked by deep ravines, great jams of fallen trees and walls of rock
caught in their mad tobogganings from the mountain top. We struggled for
several hours, wore out our horses and, all of a sudden, turned up at
the place where we had made our last halt. It was very evident our Soyot
had lost his way; and on his face I noticed marked fear.

“The old devils of the cursed forest will not allow us to pass,” he
whispered with trembling lips. “It is a very ominous sign. We must
return to Kharga to the Noyon.”

But I threatened him and he took the lead again evidently without hope
or effort to find the way. Fortunately, one of our party, an Urianhai
hunter, noticed the blazes on the trees, the signs of the road which our
guide had lost. Following these, we made our way through the wood, came
into and crossed a belt of burned larch timber and beyond this dipped
again into a small live forest bordering the bottom of the mountains
crowned with the eternal snows. It grew dark so that we had to camp for
the night. The wind rose high and carried in its grasp a great white
sheet of snow that shut us off from the horizon on every side and buried
our camp deep in its folds. Our horses stood round like white ghosts,
refusing to eat or to leave the circle round our fire. The wind combed
their manes and tails. Through the niches in the mountains it roared and
whistled. From somewhere in the distance came the low rumble of a pack
of wolves, punctuated at intervals by the sharp individual barking that
a favorable gust of wind threw up into high staccato.

As we lay by the fire, the Soyot came over to me and said: “Noyon, come
with me to the obo. I want to show you something.”

We went there and began to ascend the mountain. At the bottom of a very
steep slope was laid up a large pile of stones and tree trunks, making
a cone of some three metres in height. These obo are the Lamaite sacred
signs set up at dangerous places, the altars to the bad demons, rulers
of these places. Passing Soyots and Mongols pay tribute to the spirits
by hanging on the branches of the trees in the obo hatyk, long streamers
of blue silk, shreds torn from the lining of their coats or simply tufts
of hair cut from their horses’ manes; or by placing on the stones lumps
of meat or cups of tea and salt.

“Look at it,” said the Soyot. “The hatyks are torn off. The demons are
angry, they will not allow us to pass, Noyon. . . .”

He caught my hand and with supplicating voice whispered: “Let us go
back, Noyon; let us! The demons do not wish us to pass their mountains.
For twenty years no one has dared to pass these mountains and all bold
men who have tried have perished here. The demons fell upon them with
snowstorm and cold. Look! It is beginning already. . . . Go back to our
Noyon, wait for the warmer days and then. . . .”

I did not listen further to the Soyot but turned back to the fire, which
I could hardly see through the blinding snow. Fearing our guide might
run away, I ordered a sentry to be stationed for the night to watch him.
Later in the night I was awakened by the sentry, who said to me: “Maybe
I am mistaken, but I think I heard a rifle.”

What could I say to it? Maybe some stragglers like ourselves were giving
a sign of their whereabouts to their lost companions, or perhaps the
sentry had mistaken for a rifle shot the sound of some falling rock
or frozen ice and snow. Soon I fell asleep again and suddenly saw in a
dream a very clear vision. Out on the plain, blanketed deep with snow,
was moving a line of riders. They were our pack horses, our Kalmuck and
the funny pied horse with the Roman nose. I saw us descending from this
snowy plateau into a fold in the mountains. Here some larch trees
were growing, close to which gurgled a small, open brook. Afterwards I
noticed a fire burning among the trees and then woke up.

It grew light. I shook up the others and asked them to prepare quickly
so as not to lose time in getting under way. The storm was raging. The
snow blinded us and blotted out all traces of the road. The cold also
became more intense. At last we were in the saddles. The Soyot went
ahead trying to make out the trail. As we worked higher the guide less
seldom lost the way. Frequently we fell into deep holes covered with
snow; we scrambled up over slippery rocks. At last the Soyot swung his
horse round and, coming up to me, announced very positively: “I do not
want to die with you and I will not go further.”

My first motion was the swing of my whip back over my head. I was so
close to the “Promised Land” of Mongolia that this Soyot, standing in
the way of fulfilment of my wishes, seemed to me my worst enemy. But I
lowered my flourishing hand. Into my head flashed a quite wild thought.

“Listen,” I said. “If you move your horses, you will receive a bullet in
the back and you will perish not at the top of the mountain but at the
bottom. And now I will tell you what will happen to us. When we shall
have reached these rocks above, the wind will have ceased and the
snowstorm will have subsided. The sun will shine as we cross the snowy
plain above and afterwards we shall descend into a small valley where
there are larches growing and a stream of open running water. There we
shall light our fires and spend the night.”

The Soyot began to tremble with fright.

“Noyon has already passed these mountains of Darkhat Ola?” he asked in
amazement.

“No,” I answered, “but last night I had a vision and I know that we
shall fortunately win over this ridge.”

“I will guide you!” exclaimed the Soyot, and, whipping his horse, led
the way up the steep slope to the top of the ridge of eternal snows.

As we were passing along the narrow edge of a precipice, the Soyot
stopped and attentively examined the trail.

“Today many shod horses have passed here!” he cried through the roar
of the storm. “Yonder on the snow the lash of a whip has been dragged.
These are not Soyots.”

The solution of this enigma appeared instantly. A volley rang out. One
of my companions cried out, as he caught hold of his right shoulder; one
pack horse fell dead with a bullet behind his ear. We quickly tumbled
out of our saddles, lay down behind the rocks and began to study the
situation. We were separated from a parallel spur of the mountain by a
small valley about one thousand paces across. There we made out about
thirty riders already dismounted and firing at us. I had never allowed
any fighting to be done until the initiative had been taken by the
other side. Our enemy fell upon us unawares and I ordered my company to
answer.

“Aim at the horses!” cried Colonel Ostrovsky. Then he ordered the Tartar
and Soyot to throw our own animals. We killed six of theirs and probably
wounded others, as they got out of control. Also our rifles took toll
of any bold man who showed his head from behind his rock. We heard the
angry shouting and maledictions of Red soldiers who shot up our position
more and more animatedly.

Suddenly I saw our Soyot kick up three of the horses and spring into the
saddle of one with the others in leash behind. Behind him sprang up the
Tartar and the Kalmuck. I had already drawn my rifle on the Soyot but,
as soon as I saw the Tartar and Kalmuck on their lovely horses behind
him, I dropped my gun and knew all was well. The Reds let off a volley
at the trio but they made good their escape behind the rocks and
disappeared. The firing continued more and more lively and I did not
know what to do. From our side we shot rarely, saving our cartridges.
Watching carefully the enemy, I noticed two black points on the snow
high above the Reds. They slowly approached our antagonists and finally
were hidden from view behind some sharp hillocks. When they emerged from
these, they were right on the edge of some overhanging rocks at the foot
of which the Reds lay concealed from us. By this time I had no doubt
that these were the heads of two men. Suddenly these men rose up and
I watched them flourish and throw something that was followed by two
deafening roars which re-echoed across the mountain valley. Immediately
a third explosion was followed by wild shouts and disorderly firing
among the Reds. Some of the horses rolled down the slope into the snow
below and the soldiers, chased by our shots, made off as fast as they
could down into the valley out of which we had come.

Afterward the Tartar told me the Soyot had proposed to guide them around
behind the Reds to fall upon their rear with the bombs. When I had bound
up the wounded shoulder of the officer and we had taken the pack off the
killed animal, we continued our journey. Our position was complicated.
We had no doubt that the Red detachment came up from Mongolia.
Therefore, were there Red troops in Mongolia? What was their strength?
Where might we meet them? Consequently, Mongolia was no more the
Promised Land? Very sad thoughts took possession of us.

But Nature pleased us. The wind gradually fell. The storm ceased. The
sun more and more frequently broke through the scudding clouds. We were
traveling upon a high, snow-covered plateau, where in one place the wind
blew it clean and in another piled it high with drifts which caught our
horses and held them so that they could hardly extricate themselves at
times. We had to dismount and wade through the white piles up to our
waists and often a man or horse was down and had to be helped to his
feet. At last the descent began and at sunset we stopped in the small
larch grove, spent the night at the fire among the trees and drank the
tea boiled in the water carried from the open mountain brook. In various
places we came across the tracks of our recent antagonists.

Everything, even Nature herself and the angry demons of Darkhat Ola, had
helped us: but we were not gay, because again before us lay the dread
uncertainty that threatened us with new and possibly destructive
dangers.


CHAPTER XIV

THE RIVER OF THE DEVIL


Ulan Taiga with Darkhat Ola lay behind us. We went forward very rapidly
because the Mongol plains began here, free from the impediments of
mountains. Everywhere splendid grazing lands stretched away. In places
there were groves of larch. We crossed some very rapid streams but they
were not deep and they had hard beds. After two days of travel over
the Darkhat plain we began meeting Soyots driving their cattle rapidly
toward the northwest into Orgarkha Ola. They communicated to us very
unpleasant news.

The Bolsheviki from the Irkutsk district had crossed the Mongolian
border, captured the Russian colony at Khathyl on the southern shore
of Lake Kosogol and turned, off south toward Muren Kure, a Russian
settlement beside a big Lamaite monastery sixty miles south of Kosogol.
The Mongols told us there were no Russian troops between Khathyl and
Muren Kure, so we decided to pass between these two points to reach Van
Kure farther to the east. We took leave of our Soyot guide and, after
having sent three scouts in advance, moved forward. From the mountains
around the Kosogol we admired the splendid view of this broad Alpine
lake. It was set like a sapphire in the old gold of the surrounding
hills, chased with lovely bits of rich dark forestry. At night we
approached Khathyl with great precaution and stopped on the shore of the
river that flows from Kosogol, the Yaga or Egingol. We found a Mongol
who agreed to transport us to the other bank of the frozen stream and to
lead us by a safe road between Khathyl and Muren Kure. Everywhere along
the shore of the river were found large obo and small shrines to the
demons of the stream.

“Why are there so many obo?” we asked the Mongol.

“It is the River of the Devil, dangerous and crafty,” replied the
Mongol. “Two days ago a train of carts went through the ice and three of
them with five soldiers were lost.”

We started to cross. The surface of the river resembled a thick piece
of looking-glass, being clear and without snow. Our horses walked very
carefully but some fell and floundered before they could regain their
feet. We were leading them by the bridle. With bowed heads and trembling
all over they kept their frightened eyes ever on the ice at their feet.
I looked down and understood their fear. Through the cover of one foot
of transparent ice one could clearly see the bottom of the river. Under
the lighting of the moon all the stones, the holes and even some of the
grasses were distinctly visible, even though the depth was ten metres
and more. The Yaga rushed under the ice with a furious speed, swirling
and marking its course with long bands of foam and bubbles. Suddenly I
jumped and stopped as though fastened to the spot. Along the surface of
the river ran the boom of a cannon, followed by a second and a third.

“Quicker, quicker!” cried our Mongol, waving us forward with his hand.

Another cannon boom and a crack ran right close to us. The horses
swung back on their haunches in protest, reared and fell, many of them
striking their heads severely on the ice. In a second it opened up two
feet wide, so that I could follow its jagged course along the surface.
Immediately up out of the opening the water spread over the ice with a
rush.

“Hurry, hurry!” shouted the guide.

With great difficulty we forced our horses to jump over this cleavage
and to continue on further. They trembled and disobeyed and only the
strong lash forced them to forget this panic of fear and go on.

When we were safe on the farther bank and well into the woods, our
Mongol guide recounted to us how the river at times opens in this
mysterious way and leaves great areas of clear water. All the men and
animals on the river at such times must perish. The furious current of
cold water will always carry them down under the ice. At other times a
crack has been known to pass right under a horse and, where he fell in
with his front feet in the attempt to get back to the other side, the
crack has closed up and ground his legs or feet right off.

The valley of Kosogol is the crater of an extinct volcano. Its outlines
may be followed from the high west shore of the lake. However, the
Plutonic force still acts and, asserting the glory of the Devil, forces
the Mongols to build obo and offer sacrifices at his shrines. We spent
all the night and all the next day hurrying away eastward to avoid a
meeting with the Reds and seeking good pasturage for our horses. At
about nine o’clock in the evening a fire shone out of the distance. My
friend and I made toward it with the feeling that it was surely a Mongol
yurta beside which we could camp in safety. We traveled over a mile
before making out distinctly the lines of a group of yurtas. But nobody
came out to meet us and, what astonished us more, we were not surrounded
by the angry black Mongolian dogs with fiery eyes. Still, from the
distance we had seen the fire and so there must be someone there. We
dismounted from our horses and approached on foot. From out of the yurta
rushed two Russian soldiers, one of whom shot at me with his pistol but
missed me and wounded my horse in the back through the saddle. I brought
him to earth with my Mauser and the other was killed by the butt end of
my friend’s rifle. We examined the bodies and found in their pockets
the papers of soldiers of the Second Squadron of the Communist Interior
Defence. Here we spent the night. The owners of the yurtas had evidently
run away, for the Red soldiers had collected and packed in sacks the
property of the Mongols. Probably they were just planning to leave, as
they were fully dressed. We acquired two horses, which we found in the
bushes, two rifles and two automatic pistols with cartridges. In the
saddle bags we also found tea, tobacco, matches and cartridges--all of
these valuable supplies to help us keep further hold on our lives.

Two days later we were approaching the shore of the River Uri when
we met two Russian riders, who were the Cossacks of a certain Ataman
Sutunin, acting against the Bolsheviki in the valley of the River
Selenga. They were riding to carry a message from Sutunin to
Kaigorodoff, chief of the Anti-Bolsheviki in the Altai region. They
informed us that along the whole Russian-Mongolian border the Bolshevik
troops were scattered; also that Communist agitators had penetrated to
Kiakhta, Ulankom and Kobdo and had persuaded the Chinese authorities
to surrender to the Soviet authorities all the refugees from Russia.
We knew that in the neighborhood of Urga and Van Kure engagements were
taking place between the Chinese troops and the detachments of the
Anti-Bolshevik Russian General Baron Ungern Sternberg and Colonel
Kazagrandi, who were fighting for the independence of Outer Mongolia.
Baron Ungern had now been twice defeated, so that the Chinese were
carrying on high-handed in Urga, suspecting all foreigners of having
relations with the Russian General.

We realized that the whole situation was sharply reversed. The route to
the Pacific was closed. Reflecting very carefully over the problem,
I decided that we had but one possible exit left. We must avoid all
Mongolian cities with Chinese administration, cross Mongolia from north
to south, traverse the desert in the southern part of the Principality
of Jassaktu Khan, enter the Gobi in the western part of Inner Mongolia,
strike as rapidly as possible through sixty miles of Chinese territory
in the Province of Kansu and penetrate into Tibet. Here I hoped to
search out one of the English Consuls and with his help to reach some
English port in India. I understood thoroughly all the difficulties
incident to such an enterprise but I had no other choice. It only
remained to make this last foolish attempt or to perish without doubt
at the hands of the Boisheviki or languish in a Chinese prison. When I
announced my plan to my companions, without in any way hiding from them
all its dangers and quixotism, all of them answered very quickly and
shortly: “Lead us! We will follow.”

One circumstance was distinctly in our favor. We did not fear hunger,
for we had some supplies of tea, tobacco and matches and a surplus of
horses, saddles, rifles, overcoats and boots, which were an excellent
currency for exchange. So then we began to initiate the plan of the new
expedition. We should start to the south, leaving the town of Uliassutai
on our right and taking the direction of Zaganluk, then pass through the
waste lands of the district of Balir of Jassaktu Khan, cross the Naron
Khuhu Gobi and strike for the mountains of Boro. Here we should be able
to take a long rest to recuperate the strength of our horses and of
ourselves. The second section of our journey would be the passage
through the western part of Inner Mongolia, through the Little Gobi,
through the lands of the Torguts, over the Khara Mountains, across
Kansu, where our road must be chosen to the west of the Chinese town of
Suchow. From there we should have to enter the Dominion of Kuku Nor and
then work on southward to the head waters of the Yangtze River. Beyond
this I had but a hazy notion, which however I was able to verify from a
map of Asia in the possession of one of the officers, to the effect that
the mountain chains to the west of the sources of the Yangtze separated
that river system from the basin of the Brahmaputra in Tibet Proper,
where I expected to be able to find English assistance.


CHAPTER XV

THE MARCH OF GHOSTS


In no other way can I describe the journey from the River Ero to the
border of Tibet. About eleven hundred miles through the snowy steppes,
over mountains and across deserts we traveled in forty-eight days.
We hid from the people as we journeyed, made short stops in the most
desolate places, fed for whole weeks on nothing but raw, frozen meat in
order to avoid attracting attention by the smoke of fires. Whenever we
needed to purchase a sheep or a steer for our supply department, we sent
out only two unarmed men who represented to the natives that they were
the workmen of some Russian colonists. We even feared to shoot, although
we met a great herd of antelopes numbering as many as five thousand
head. Behind Balir in the lands of the Lama Jassaktu Khan, who had
inherited his throne as a result of the poisoning of his brother at Urga
by order of the Living Buddha, we met wandering Russian Tartars who had
driven their herds all the way from Altai and Abakan. They welcomed us
very cordially, gave us oxen and thirty-six bricks of tea. Also they
saved us from inevitable destruction, for they told us that at this
season it was utterly impossible for horses to make the trip across the
Gobi, where there was no grass at all. We must buy camels by exchanging
for them our horses and some other of our bartering supplies. One of the
Tartars the next day brought to their camp a rich Mongol with whom he
drove the bargain for this trade. He gave us nineteen camels and took
all our horses, one rifle, one pistol and the best Cossack saddle. He
advised us by all means to visit the sacred Monastery of Narabanchi, the
last Lamaite monastery on the road from Mongolia to Tibet. He told us
that the Holy Hutuktu, “the Incarnate Buddha,” would be greatly offended
if we did not visit the monastery and his famous “Shrine of Blessings,”
 where all travelers going to Tibet always offered prayers. Our Kalmuck
Lamaite supported the Mongol in this. I decided to go there with the
Kalmuck. The Tartars gave me some big silk hatyk as presents and loaned
us four splendid horses. Although the monastery was fifty-five miles
distant, by nine o’clock in the evening I entered the yurta of this holy
Hutuktu.

He was a middle-aged, clean shaven, spare little man, laboring under the
name of Jelyb Djamsrap Hutuktu. He received us very cordially and was
greatly pleased with the presentation of the hatyk and with my
knowledge of the Mongol etiquette in which my Tartar had been long and
persistently instructing me. He listened to me most attentively and gave
valuable advice about the road, presenting me then with a ring which has
since opened for me the doors of all Lamaite monasteries. The name of
this Hutuktu is highly esteemed not only in all Mongolia but in Tibet
and in the Lamaite world of China. We spent the night in his splendid
yurta and on the following morning visited the shrines where they were
conducting very solemn services with the music of gongs, tom-toms and
whistling. The Lamas with their deep voices were intoning the prayers
while the lesser priests answered with their antiphonies. The sacred
phrase: “Om! Mani padme Hung!” was endlessly repeated.

The Hutuktu wished us success, presented us with a large yellow hatyk
and accompanied us to the monastery gate. When we were in our saddles he
said:

“Remember that you are always welcome guests here. Life is very
complicated and anything may happen. Perhaps you will be forced in
future to re-visit distant Mongolia and then do not miss Narabanchi
Kure.”

That night we returned to the Tartars and the next day continued our
journey. As I was very tired, the slow, easy motion of the camel was
welcome and restful to me. All the day I dozed off at intervals to
sleep. It turned out to be very disastrous for me; for, when my camel
was going up the steep bank of a river, in one of my naps I fell off
and hit my head on a stone, lost consciousness and woke up to find
my overcoat covered with blood. My friends surrounded me with their
frightened faces. They bandaged my head and we started off again. I only
learned long afterwards from a doctor who examined me that I had cracked
my skull as the price of my siesta.

We crossed the eastern ranges of the Altai and the Karlik Tag, which are
the most oriental sentinels the great Tian Shan system throws out into
the regions of the Gobi; and then traversed from the north to the south
the entire width of the Khuhu Gobi. Intense cold ruled all this time and
fortunately the frozen sands gave us better speed. Before passing the
Khara range, we exchanged our rocking-chair steeds for horses, a deal in
which the Torguts skinned us badly like the true “old clothes men” they
are.

Skirting around these mountains we entered Kansu. It was a dangerous
move, for the Chinese were arresting all refugees and I feared for my
Russian fellow-travelers. During the days we hid in the ravines, the
forests and bushes, making forced marches at night. Four days we thus
used in this passage of Kansu. The few Chinese peasants we did encounter
were peaceful appearing and most hospitable. A marked sympathetic
interest surrounded the Kalmuck, who could speak a bit of Chinese,
and my box of medicines. Everywhere we found many ill people, chiefly
afflicted with eye troubles, rheumatism and skin diseases.

As we were approaching Nan Shan, the northeast branch of the Altyn Tag
(which is in turn the east branch of the Pamir and Karakhorum system),
we overhauled a large caravan of Chinese merchants going to Tibet
and joined them. For three days we were winding through the endless
ravine-like valleys of these mountains and ascending the high passes.
But we noticed that the Chinese knew how to pick the easiest routes
for caravans over all these difficult places. In a state of
semi-consciousness I made this whole journey toward the large group of
swampy lakes, feeding the Koko Nor and a whole network of large rivers.
From fatigue and constant nervous strain, probably helped by the blow
on my head, I began suffering from sharp attacks of chills and fever,
burning up at times and then chattering so with my teeth that I
frightened my horse who several times threw me from the saddle. I raved,
cried out at times and even wept. I called my family and instructed them
how they must come to me. I remember as though through a dream how I was
taken from the horse by my companions, laid on the ground, supplied with
Chinese brandy and, when I recovered a little, how they said to me:

“The Chinese merchants are heading for the west and we must travel
south.”

“No! To the north,” I replied very sharply.

“But no, to the south,” my companions assured me.

“God and the Devil!” I angrily ejaculated, “we have just swum the Little
Yenisei and Algyak is to the north!”

“We are in Tibet,” remonstrated my companions. “We must reach the
Brahmaputra.”

Brahmaputra. . . . Brahmaputra. . . . This word revolved in my fiery
brain, made a terrible noise and commotion. Suddenly I remembered
everything and opened my eyes. I hardly moved my lips and soon I
again lost consciousness. My companions brought me to the monastery of
Sharkhe, where the Lama doctor quickly brought me round with a solution
of fatil or Chinese ginseng. In discussing our plans he expressed grave
doubt as to whether we would get through Tibet but he did not wish to
explain to me the reason for his doubts.


CHAPTER XVI

IN MYSTERIOUS TIBET


A fairly broad road led out from Sharkhe through the mountains and on
the fifth day of our two weeks’ march to the south from the monastery
we emerged into the great bowl of the mountains in whose center lay the
large lake of Koko Nor. If Finland deserves the ordinary title of the
“Land of Ten Thousand Lakes,” the dominion of Koko Nor may certainly
with justice be called the “Country of a Million Lakes.” We skirted
this lake on the west between it and Doulan Kitt, zigzagging between the
numerous swamps, lakes and small rivers, deep and miry. The water was
not here covered with ice and only on the tops of the mountains did we
feel the cold winds sharply. We rarely met the natives of the country
and only with greatest difficulty did our Kalmuck learn the course of
the road from the occasional shepherds we passed. From the eastern shore
of the Lake of Tassoun we worked round to a monastery on the further
side, where we stopped for a short rest. Besides ourselves there was
also another group of guests in the holy place. These were Tibetans.
Their behavior was very impertinent and they refused to speak with us.
They were all armed, chiefly with the Russian military rifles and were
draped with crossed bandoliers of cartridges with two or three pistols
stowed beneath belts with more cartridges sticking out. They examined
us very sharply and we readily realized that they were estimating our
martial strength. After they had left on that same day I ordered our
Kalmuck to inquire from the High Priest of the temple exactly who they
were. For a long time the monk gave evasive answers but when I showed
him the ring of Hutuktu Narabanchi and presented him with a large yellow
hatyk, he became more communicative.

“Those are bad people,” he explained. “Have a care of them.”

However, he was not willing to give their names, explaining his refusal
by citing the Law of Buddhist lands against pronouncing the name of
one’s father, teacher or chief. Afterwards I found out that in North
Tibet there exists the same custom as in North China. Here and there
bands of hunghutze wander about. They appear at the headquarters of the
leading trading firms and at the monasteries, claim tribute and after
their collections become the protectors of the district. Probably this
Tibetan monastery had in this band just such protectors.

When we continued our trip, we frequently noticed single horsemen far
away or on the horizon, apparently studying our movements with care. All
our attempts to approach them and enter into conversation with them were
entirely unsuccessful. On their speedy little horses they disappeared
like shadows. As we reached the steep and difficult Pass on the Hamshan
and were preparing to spend the night there, suddenly far up on a ridge
above us appeared about forty horsemen with entirely white mounts and
without formal introduction or warning spattered us with a hail of
bullets. Two of our officers fell with a cry. One had been instantly
killed while the other lived some few minutes. I did not allow my men
to shoot but instead I raised a white flag and started forward with
the Kalmuck for a parley. At first they fired two shots at us but then
ceased firing and sent down a group of riders from the ridge toward
us. We began the parley. The Tibetans explained that Hamshan is a holy
mountain and that here one must not spend the night, advising us to
proceed farther where we could consider ourselves in safety. They
inquired from us whence we came and whither we were going, stated in
answer to our information about the purpose of our journey that they
knew the Bolsheviki and considered them the liberators of the people of
Asia from the yoke of the white race. I certainly did not want to begin
a political quarrel with them and so turned back to our companions.
Riding down the slope toward our camp, I waited momentarily for a shot
in the back but the Tibetan hunghutze did not shoot.

We moved forward, leaving among the stones the bodies of two of our
companions as sad tribute to the difficulties and dangers of our
journey. We rode all night, with our exhausted horses constantly
stopping and some lying down under us, but we forced them ever onward.
At last, when the sun was at its zenith, we finally halted. Without
unsaddling our horses, we gave them an opportunity to lie down for a
little rest. Before us lay a broad, swampy plain, where was evidently
the sources of the river Ma-chu. Not far beyond lay the Lake of Aroung
Nor. We made our fire of cattle dung and began boiling water for our
tea. Again without any warning the bullets came raining in from all
sides. Immediately we took cover behind convenient rocks and waited
developments. The firing became faster and closer, the raiders appeared
on the whole circle round us and the bullets came ever in increasing
numbers. We had fallen into a trap and had no hope but to perish. We
realized this clearly. I tried anew to begin the parley; but when I
stood up with my white flag, the answer was only a thicker rain of
bullets and unfortunately one of these, ricocheting off a rock, struck
me in the left leg and lodged there. At the same moment another one of
our company was killed. We had no other choice and were forced to begin
fighting. The struggle continued for about two hours. Besides myself
three others received slight wounds. We resisted as long as we could.
The hunghutze approached and our situation became desperate.

“There’s no choice,” said one of my associates, a very expert Colonel.
“We must mount and ride for it . . . anywhere.”

“Anywhere. . . .” It was a terrible word! We consulted for but an
instant. It was apparent that with this band of cut-throats behind us
the farther we went into Tibet, the less chance we had of saving our
lives.

We decided to return to Mongolia. But how? That we did not know. And
thus we began our retreat. Firing all the time, we trotted our horses
as fast as we could toward the north. One after another three of my
companions fell. There lay my Tartar with a bullet through his neck.
After him two young and fine stalwart officers were carried from their
saddles with cries of death, while their scared horses broke out across
the plain in wild fear, perfect pictures of our distraught selves. This
emboldened the Tibetans, who became more and more audacious. A bullet
struck the buckle on the ankle strap of my right foot and carried it,
with a piece of leather and cloth, into my leg just above the ankle.
My old and much tried friend, the agronome, cried out as he grasped his
shoulder and then I saw him wiping and bandaging as best as he could his
bleeding forehead. A second afterward our Kalmuck was hit twice right
through the palm of the same hand, so that it was entirely shattered.
Just at this moment fifteen of the hunghutze rushed against us in a
charge.

“Shoot at them with volley fire!” commanded our Colonel.

Six robber bodies lay on the turf, while two others of the gang were
unhorsed and ran scampering as fast as they could after their retreating
fellows. Several minutes later the fire of our antagonists ceased and
they raised a white flag. Two riders came forward toward us. In the
parley it developed that their chief had been wounded through the chest
and they came to ask us to “render first aid.” At once I saw a ray
of hope. I took my box of medicines and my groaning, cursing, wounded
Kalmuck to interpret for me.

“Give that devil some cyanide of potassium,” urged my companions.

But I devised another scheme.

We were led to the wounded chief. There he lay on the saddle cloths
among the rocks, represented to us to be a Tibetan but I at once
recognized him from his cast of countenance to be a Sart or Turcoman,
probably from the southern part of Turkestan. He looked at me with
a begging and frightened gaze. Examining him, I found the bullet had
passed through his chest from left to right, that he had lost much blood
and was very weak. Conscientiously I did all that I could for him. In
the first place I tried on my own tongue all the medicines to be used on
him, even the iodoform, in order to demonstrate that there was no
poison among them. I cauterized the wound with iodine, sprinkled it with
iodoform and applied the bandages. I ordered that the wounded man be not
touched nor moved and that he be left right where he lay. Then I taught
a Tibetan how the dressing must be changed and left with him medicated
cotton, bandages and a little iodoform. To the patient, in whom the
fever was already developing, I gave a big dose of aspirin and left
several tablets of quinine with them. Afterwards, addressing myself to
the bystanders through my Kalmuck, I said very solemnly:

“The wound is very dangerous but I gave to your Chief very strong
medicine and hope that he will recover. One condition, however,
is necessary: the bad demons which have rushed to his side for his
unwarranted attack upon us innocent travelers will instantly kill him,
if another shot is let off against us. You must not even keep a single
cartridge in your rifles.”

With these words I ordered the Kalmuck to empty his rifle and I, at
the same time, took all the cartridges out of my Mauser. The Tibetans
instantly and very servilely followed my example.

“Remember that I told you: ‘Eleven days and eleven nights do not move
from this place and do not charge your rifles.’ Otherwise the demon of
death will snatch off your Chief and will pursue you!”--and with these
words I solemnly drew forth and raised above their heads the ring of
Hutuktu Narabanchi.

I returned to my companions and calmed them. I told them we were safe
against further attack from the robbers and that we must only guess the
way to reach Mongolia. Our horses were so exhausted and thin that on
their bones we could have hung our overcoats. We spent two days here,
during which time I frequently visited my patient. It also gave us
opportunity to bandage our own fortunately light wounds and to secure
a little rest; though unfortunately I had nothing but a jackknife
with which to dig the bullet out of my left calf and the shoemaker’s
accessories from my right ankle. Inquiring from the brigands about the
caravan roads, we soon made our way out to one of the main routes and
had the good fortune to meet there the caravan of the young Mongol
Prince Pounzig, who was on a holy mission carrying a message from
the Living Buddha in Urga to the Dalai Lama in Lhasa. He helped us to
purchase horses, camels and food.

With all our arms and supplies spent in barter during the journey for
the purchase of transport and food, we returned stripped and broken to
the Narabanchi Monastery, where we were welcomed by the Hutuktu.

“I knew you would come back,” said he. “The divinations revealed it all
to me.”

With six of our little band left behind us in Tibet to pay the eternal
toll of our dash for the south we returned but twelve to the Monastery
and waited there two weeks to re-adjust ourselves and learn how events
would again set us afloat on this turbulent sea to steer for any port
that Destiny might indicate. The officers enlisted in the detachment
which was then being formed in Mongolia to fight against the destroyers
of their native land, the Bolsheviki. My original companion and I
prepared to continue our journey over Mongolian plains with whatever
further adventures and dangers might come in the struggle to escape to a
place of safety.

And now, with the scenes of that trying march so vividly recalled, I
would dedicate these chapters to my gigantic, old and ruggedly tried
friend, the agronome, to my Russian fellow-travelers, and especially, to
the sacred memory of those of our companions whose bodies lie cradled
in the sleep among the mountains of Tibet--Colonel Ostrovsky, Captains
Zuboff and Turoff, Lieutenant Pisarjevsky, Cossack Vernigora and
Tartar Mahomed Spirin. Also here I express my deep thanks for help and
friendship to the Prince of Soldjak, Hereditary Noyon Ta Lama and to
the Kampo Gelong of Narabanchi Monastery, the honorable Jelyb Djamsrap
Hutuktu.




Part II

THE LAND OF DEMONS


CHAPTER XVII

MYSTERIOUS MONGOLIA


In the heart of Asia lies the enormous, mysterious and rich country of
Mongolia. From somewhere on the snowy slopes of the Tian Shan and from
the hot sands of Western Zungaria to the timbered ridges of the Sayan
and to the Great Wall of China it stretches over a huge portion of
Central Asia. The cradle of peoples, histories and legends; the native
land of bloody conquerors, who have left here their capitals covered
by the sand of the Gobi, their mysterious rings and their ancient nomad
laws; the states of monks and evil devils, the country of wandering
tribes administered by the descendants of Jenghiz Khan and Kublai
Khan--Khans and Princes of the Junior lines: that is Mongolia.

Mysterious country of the cults of Rama, Sakkia-Mouni, Djonkapa and
Paspa, cults guarded by the very person of the living Buddha--Buddha
incarnated in the third dignitary of the Lamaite religion--Bogdo Gheghen
in Ta Kure or Urga; the land of mysterious doctors, prophets, sorcerers,
fortune-tellers and witches; the land of the sign of the swastika; the
land which has not forgotten the thoughts of the long deceased great
potentates of Asia and of half of Europe: that is Mongolia.

The land of nude mountains, of plains burned by the sun and killed by
the cold, of ill cattle and ill people; the nest of pests, anthrax
and smallpox; the land of boiling hot springs and of mountain passes
inhabited by demons; of sacred lakes swarming with fish; of wolves, rare
species of deer and mountain goats, marmots in millions, wild horses,
wild donkeys and wild camels that have never known the bridle, ferocious
dogs and rapacious birds of prey which devour the dead bodies cast out
on the plains by the people: that is Mongolia.

The land whose disappearing primitive people gaze upon the bones of
their forefathers whitening in the sands and dust of their plains; where
are dying out the people who formerly conquered China, Siam, Northern
India and Russia and broke their chests against the iron lances of
the Polish knights, defending then all the Christian world against the
invasion of wild and wandering Asia: that is Mongolia.

The land swelling with natural riches, producing nothing, in need of
everything, destitute and suffering from the world’s cataclysm: that is
Mongolia.

In this land, by order of Fate, after my unsuccessful attempt to reach
the Indian Ocean through Tibet, I spent half a year in the struggle to
live and to escape. My old and faithful friend and I were compelled,
willy-nilly, to participate in the exceedingly important and dangerous
events transpiring in Mongolia in the year of grace 1921. Thanks to
this, I came to know the calm, good and honest Mongolian people; I
read their souls, saw their sufferings and hopes; I witnessed the whole
horror of their oppression and fear before the face of Mystery, there
where Mystery pervades all life. I watched the rivers during the severe
cold break with a rumbling roar their chains of ice; saw lakes cast up
on their shores the bones of human beings; heard unknown wild voices
in the mountain ravines; made out the fires over miry swamps of the
will-o’-the-wisps; witnessed burning lakes; gazed upward to mountains
whose peaks could not be scaled; came across great balls of writhing
snakes in the ditches in winter; met with streams which are eternally
frozen, rocks like petrified caravans of camels, horsemen and carts; and
over all saw the barren mountains whose folds looked like the mantle of
Satan, which the glow of the evening sun drenched with blood.

“Look up there!” cried an old shepherd, pointing to the slope of the
cursed Zagastai. “That is no mountain. It is HE who lies in his red
mantle and awaits the day when he will rise again to begin the fight
with the good spirits.”

And as he spoke I recalled the mystic picture of the noted painter
Vroubel. The same nude mountains with the violet and purple robes of
Satan, whose face is half covered by an approaching grey cloud. Mongolia
is a terrible land of mystery and demons. Therefore it is no wonder that
here every violation of the ancient order of life of the wandering nomad
tribes is transformed into streams of red blood and horror, ministering
to the demonic pleasure of Satan couched on the bare mountains and robed
in the grey cloak of dejection and sadness, or in the purple mantle of
war and vengeance.

After returning from the district of Koko Nor to Mongolia and resting a
few days at the Narabanchi Monastery, we went to live in Uliassutai, the
capital of Western Outer Mongolia. It is the last purely Mongolian town
to the west. In Mongolia there are but three purely Mongolian towns,
Urga, Uliassutai and Ulankom. The fourth town, Kobdo, has an essentially
Chinese character, being the center of Chinese administration in this
district inhabited by the wandering tribes only nominally recognizing
the influence of either Peking or Urga. In Uliassutai and Ulankom,
besides the unlawful Chinese commissioners and troops, there were
stationed Mongolian governors or “Saits,” appointed by the decree of the
Living Buddha.

When we arrived in that town, we were at once in the sea of political
passions. The Mongols were protesting in great agitation against the
Chinese policy in their country; the Chinese raged and demanded from the
Mongolians the payment of taxes for the full period since the autonomy
of Mongolia had been forcibly extracted from Peking; Russian colonists
who had years before settled near the town and in the vicinity of the
great monasteries or among the wandering tribes had separated into
factions and were fighting against one another; from Urga came the
news of the struggle for the maintenance of the independence of Outer
Mongolia, led by the Russian General, Baron Ungern von Sternberg;
Russian officers and refugees congregated in detachments, against which
the Chinese authorities protested but which the Mongols welcomed; the
Bolsheviki, worried by the formation of White detachments in Mongolia,
sent their troops to the borders of Mongolia; from Irkutsk and Chita
to Uliassutai and Urga envoys were running from the Bolsheviki to the
Chinese commissioners with various proposals of all kinds; the Chinese
authorities in Mongolia were gradually entering into secret relations
with the Bolsheviki and in Kiakhta and Ulankom delivered to them the
Russian refugees, thus violating recognized international law; in
Urga the Bolsheviki set up a Russian communistic municipality; Russian
Consuls were inactive; Red troops in the region of Kosogol and the
valley of the Selenga had encounters with Anti-Bolshevik officers; the
Chinese authorities established garrisons in the Mongolian towns
and sent punitive expeditions into the country; and, to complete the
confusion, the Chinese troops carried out house-to-house searches,
during which they plundered and stole.

Into what an atmosphere we had fallen after our hard and dangerous trip
along the Yenisei, through Urianhai, Mongolia, the lands of the Turguts,
Kansu and Koko Nor!

“Do you know,” said my old friend to me, “I prefer strangling Partisans
and fighting with the hunghutze to listening to news and more anxious
news!”

He was right; for the worst of it was that in this bustle and whirl of
facts, rumours and gossip the Reds could approach troubled Uliassutai
and take everyone with their bare hands. We should very willingly have
left this town of uncertainties but we had no place to go. In the north
were the hostile Partisans and Red troops; to the south we had already
lost our companions and not a little of our own blood; to the west raged
the Chinese administrators and detachments; and to the east a war had
broken out, the news of which, in spite of the attempts of the Chinese
authorities at secrecy, had filtered through and had testified to
the seriousness of the situation in this part of Outer Mongolia.
Consequently we had no choice but to remain in Uliassutai. Here also
were living several Polish soldiers who had escaped from the prison
camps in Russia, two Polish families and two American firms, all in
the same plight as ourselves. We joined together and made our own
intelligence department, very carefully watching the evolution of
events. We succeeded in forming good connections with the Chinese
commissioner and with the Mongolian Sait, which greatly helped us in our
orientation.

What was behind all these events in Mongolia? The very clever Mongol
Sait of Uliassutai gave me the following explanation.

“According to the agreements between Mongolia, China and Russia of
October 21, 1912, of October 23, 1913, and of June 7, 1915, Outer
Mongolia was accorded independence and the Moral Head of our ‘Yellow
Faith,’ His Holiness the Living Buddha, became the Suzerain of the
Mongolian people of Khalkha or Outer Mongolia with the title of ‘Bogdo
Djebtsung Damba Hutuktu Khan.’ While Russia was still strong and
carefully watched her policy in Asia, the Government of Peking kept the
treaty; but, when, at the beginning of the war with Germany, Russia was
compelled to withdraw her troops from Siberia, Peking began to claim the
return of its lost rights in Mongolia. It was because of this that the
first two treaties of 1912 and 1913 were supplemented by the convention
of 1915. However, in 1916, when all the forces of Russia were
pre-occupied in the unsuccessful war and afterwards when the first
Russian revolution broke out in February, 1917, overthrowing the
Romanoff Dynasty, the Chinese Government openly retook Mongolia. They
changed all the Mongolian ministers and Saits, replacing them with
individuals friendly to China; arrested many Mongolian autonomists and
sent them to prison in Peking; set up their administration in Urga and
other Mongol towns; actually removed His Holiness Bogdo Khan from the
affairs of administration; made him only a machine for signing Chinese
decrees; and at last introduced into Mongolia their troops. From that
moment there developed an energetic flow of Chinese merchants and
coolies into Mongolia. The Chinese began to demand the payment of taxes
and dues from 1912. The Mongolian population were rapidly stripped of
their wealth and now in the vicinities of our towns and monasteries you
can see whole settlements of beggar Mongols living in dugouts. All our
Mongol arsenals and treasuries were requisitioned. All monasteries
were forced to pay taxes; all Mongols working for the liberty of their
country were persecuted; through bribery with Chinese silver, orders and
titles the Chinese secured a following among the poorer Mongol Princes.
It is easy to understand how the governing class, His Holiness, Khans,
Princes, and high Lamas, as well as the ruined and oppressed people,
remembering that the Mongol rulers had once held Peking and China in
their hands and under their reign had given her the first place in
Asia, were definitely hostile to the Chinese administrators acting thus.
Insurrection was, however, impossible. We had no arms. All our leaders
were under surveillance and every movement by them toward an armed
resistance would have ended in the same prison at Peking where eighty
of our Nobles, Princes and Lamas died from hunger and torture after a
previous struggle for the liberty of Mongolia. Some abnormally strong
shock was necessary to drive the people into action. This was given by
the Chinese administrators, General Cheng Yi and General Chu Chi-hsiang.
They announced that His Holiness Bogdo Khan was under arrest in his
own palace, and they recalled to his attention the former decree of
the Peking Government--held by the Mongols to be unwarranted and
illegal--that His Holiness was the last Living Buddha. This was enough.
Immediately secret relations were made between the people and their
Living God, and plans were at once elaborated for the liberation of His
Holiness and for the struggle for liberty and freedom of our people. We
were helped by the great Prince of the Buriats, Djam Bolon, who began
parleys with General Ungern, then engaged in fighting the Bolsheviki
in Transbaikalia, and invited him to enter Mongolia and help in the war
against the Chinese. Then our struggle for liberty began.”

Thus the Sait of Uliassutai explained the situation to me. Afterwards
I heard that Baron Ungern, who had agreed to fight for the liberty
of Mongolia, directed that the mobilization of the Mongolians in the
northern districts be forwarded at once and promised to enter Mongolia
with his own small detachment, moving along the River Kerulen.
Afterwards he took up relations with the other Russian detachment of
Colonel Kazagrandi and, together with the mobilized Mongolian riders,
began the attack on Urga. Twice he was defeated but on the third of
February, 1921, he succeeded in capturing the town and replaced the
Living Buddha on the throne of the Khans.

At the end of March, however, these events were still unknown in
Uliassutai. We knew neither of the fall of Urga nor of the destruction
of the Chinese army of nearly 15,000 in the battles of Maimachen on the
shore of the Tola and on the roads between Urga and Ude. The Chinese
carefully concealed the truth by preventing anybody from passing
westward from Urga. However, rumours existed and troubled all. The
atmosphere became more and more tense, while the relations between the
Chinese on the one side and the Mongolians and Russians on the other
became more and more strained. At this time the Chinese Commissioner
in Uliassutai was Wang Tsao-tsun and his advisor, Fu Hsiang, both very
young and inexperienced men. The Chinese authorities had dismissed the
Uliassutai Sait, the prominent Mongolian patriot, Prince Chultun
Beyle, and had appointed a Lama Prince friendly to China, the former
Vice-Minister of War in Urga. Oppression increased. The searching of
Russian officers’ and colonists’ houses and quarters commenced, open
relations with the Bolsheviki followed and arrest and beatings became
common. The Russian officers formed a secret detachment of sixty men
so that they could defend themselves. However, in this detachment
disagreements soon sprang up between Lieutenant-Colonel M. M. Michailoff
and some of his officers. It was evident that in the decisive moment the
detachment must separate into factions.

We foreigners in council decided to make a thorough reconnaissance in
order to know whether there was danger of Red troops arriving. My old
companion and I agreed to do this scouting. Prince Chultun Beyle gave
us a very good guide--an old Mongol named Tzeren, who spoke and read
Russian perfectly. He was a very interesting personage, holding the
position of interpreter with the Mongolian authorities and sometimes
with the Chinese Commissioner. Shortly before he had been sent as
a special envoy to Peking with very important despatches and this
incomparable horseman had made the journey between Uliassutai and
Peking, that is 1,800 miles, in nine days, incredible as it may seem. He
prepared himself for the journey by binding all his abdomen and chest,
legs, arms and neck with strong cotton bandages to protect himself from
the wracks and strains of such a period in the saddle. In his cap he
bore three eagle feathers as a token that he had received orders to fly
like a bird. Armed with a special document called a tzara, which gave
him the right to receive at all post stations the best horses, one
to ride and one fully saddled to lead as a change, together with two
oulatchen or guards to accompany him and bring back the horses from the
next station or ourton, he made the distance of from fifteen to thirty
miles between stations at full gallop, stopping only long enough to have
the horses and guards changed before he was off again. Ahead of him rode
one oulatchen with the best horses to enable him to announce and prepare
in advance the complement of steeds at the next station. Each oulatchen
had three horses in all, so that he could swing from one that had given
out and release him to graze until his return to pick him up and lead or
ride him back home. At every third ourton, without leaving his saddle,
he received a cup of hot green tea with salt and continued his race
southward. After seventeen or eighteen hours of such riding he stopped
at the ourton for the night or what was left of it, devoured a leg of
boiled mutton and slept. Thus he ate once a day and five times a day had
tea; and so he traveled for nine days!

With this servant we moved out one cold winter morning in the direction
of Kobdo, just over three hundred miles, because from there we had
received the disquieting rumours that the Red troops had entered
Ulankom and that the Chinese authorities had handed over to them all the
Europeans in the town. We crossed the River Dzaphin on the ice. It is a
terrible stream. Its bed is full of quicksands, which in summer suck
in numbers of camels, horses and men. We entered a long, winding valley
among the mountains covered with deep snow and here and there with
groves of the black wood of the larch. About halfway to Kobdo we came
across the yurta of a shepherd on the shore of the small Lake of Baga
Nor, where evening and a strong wind whirling gusts of snow in our faces
easily persuaded us to stop. By the yurta stood a splendid bay horse
with a saddle richly ornamerited with silver and coral. As we turned
in from the road, two Mongols left the yurta very hastily; one of them
jumped into the saddle and quickly disappeared in the plain behind the
snowy hillocks. We clearly made out the flashing folds of his yellow
robe under the great outer coat and saw his large knife sheathed in a
green leather scabbard and handled with horn and ivory. The other man
was the host of the yurta, the shepherd of a local prince, Novontziran.
He gave signs of great pleasure at seeing us and receiving us in his
yurta.

“Who was the rider on the bay horse?” we asked.

He dropped his eyes and was silent.

“Tell us,” we insisted. “If you do not wish to speak his name, it means
that you are dealing with a bad character.”

“No! No!” he remonstrated, flourishing his hands. “He is a good, great
man; but the law does not permit me to speak his name.”

We at once understood that the man was either the chief of the shepherd
or some high Lama. Consequently we did not further insist and began
making our sleeping arrangements. Our host set three legs of mutton to
boil for us, skillfully cutting out the bones with his heavy knife. We
chatted and learned that no one had seen Red troops around this region
but in Kobdo and in Ulankom the Chinese soldiers were oppressing the
population, and were beating to death with the bamboo Mongol men who
were defending their women against the ravages of these Chinese troops.
Some of the Mongols had retreated to the mountains to join detachments
under the command of Kaigordoff, an Altai Tartar officer who was
supplying them with weapons.


CHAPTER XVIII

THE MYSTERIOUS LAMA AVENGER


We rested soundly in the yurta after the two days of travel which had
brought us one hundred seventy miles through the snow and sharp cold.
Round the evening meal of juicy mutton we were talking freely and
carelessly when suddenly we heard a low, hoarse voice:

“Sayn--Good evening!”

We turned around from the brazier to the door and saw a medium height,
very heavy set Mongol in deerskin overcoat and cap with side flaps and
the long, wide tying strings of the same material. Under his girdle
lay the same large knife in the green sheath which we had seen on the
departing horseman.

“Amoursayn,” we answered.

He quickly untied his girdle and laid aside his overcoat. He stood
before us in a wonderful gown of silk, yellow as beaten gold and girt
with a brilliant blue sash. His cleanly shaven face, short hair, red
coral rosary on the left hand and his yellow garment proved clearly that
before us stood some high Lama Priest,--with a big Colt under his blue
sash!

I turned to my host and Tzeren and read in their faces fear and
veneration. The stranger came over to the brazier and sat down.

“Let’s speak Russian,” he said and took a bit of meat.

The conversation began. The stranger began to find fault with the
Government of the Living Buddha in Urga.

“There they liberate Mongolia, capture Urga, defeat the Chinese army and
here in the west they give us no news of it. We are without action here
while the Chinese kill our people and steal from them. I think that
Bogdo Khan might send us envoys. How is it the Chinese can send their
envoys from Urga and Kiakhta to Kobdo, asking for assistance, and the
Mongol Government cannot do it? Why?”

“Will the Chinese send help to Urga?” I asked.

Our guest laughed hoarsely and said: “I caught all the envoys, took away
their letters and then sent them back . . . into the ground.”

He laughed again and glanced around peculiarly with his blazing eyes.
Only then did I notice that his cheekbones and eyes had lines strange to
the Mongols of Central Asia. He looked more like a Tartar or a Kirghiz.
We were silent and smoked our pipes.

“How soon will the detachment of Chahars leave Uliassutai?” he asked.

We answered that we had not heard about them. Our guest explained
that from Inner Mongolia the Chinese authorities had sent out a strong
detachment, mobilized from among the most warlike tribe of Chahars,
which wander about the region just outside the Great Wall. Its chief was
a notorious hunghutze leader promoted by the Chinese Government to the
rank of captain on promising that he would bring under subjugation to
the Chinese authorities all the tribes of the districts of Kobdo and
Urianhai. When he learned whither we were going and for what purpose,
he said he could give us the most accurate news and relieve us from the
necessity of going farther.

“Besides that, it is very dangerous,” he said, “because Kobdo will be
massacred and burned. I know this positively.”

When he heard of our unsuccessful attempt to pass through Tibet, he
became attentive and very sympathetic in his bearing toward us and, with
evident feeling of regret, expressed himself strongly:

“Only I could have helped you in this enterprise, but not the Narabanchi
Hutuktu. With my laissez-passer you could have gone anywhere in Tibet. I
am Tushegoun Lama.”

Tushegoun Lama! How many extraordinary tales I had heard about him.
He is a Russian Kalmuck, who because of his propaganda work for the
independence of the Kalmuck people made the acquaintance of many Russian
prisons under the Czar and, for the same cause, added to his list under
the Bolsheviki. He escaped to Mongolia and at once attained to great
influence among the Mongols. It was no wonder, for he was a close friend
and pupil of the Dalai Lama in Potala (Lhasa), was the most learned
among the Lamites, a famous thaumaturgist and doctor. He occupied an
almost independent position in his relationship with the Living Buddha
and achieved to the leadership of all the old wandering tribes of
Western Mongolia and Zungaria, even extending his political domination
over the Mongolian tribes of Turkestan. His influence was irresistible,
based as it was on his great control of mysterious science, as he
expressed it; but I was also told that it has its foundation largely
in the panicky fear which he could produce in the Mongols. Everyone who
disobeyed his orders perished. Such an one never knew the day or the
hour when, in his yurta or beside his galloping horse on the plains, the
strange and powerful friend of the Dalai Lama would appear. The stroke
of a knife, a bullet or strong fingers strangling the neck like a vise
accomplished the justice of the plans of this miracle worker.

Without the walls of the yurta the wind whistled and roared and drove
the frozen snow sharply against the stretched felt. Through the roar of
the wind came the sound of many voices in mingled shouting, wailing
and laughter. I felt that in such surroundings it were not difficult to
dumbfound a wandering nomad with miracles, because Nature herself had
prepared the setting for it. This thought had scarcely time to flash
through my mind before Tushegoun Lama suddenly raised his head, looked
sharply at me and said:

“There is very much unknown in Nature and the skill of using the unknown
produces the miracle; but the power is given to few. I want to prove it
to you and you may tell me afterwards whether you have seen it before or
not.”

He stood up, pushed back the sleeves of his yellow garment, seized his
knife and strode across to the shepherd.

“Michik, stand up!” he ordered.

When the shepherd had risen, the Lama quickly unbuttoned his coat
and bared the man’s chest. I could not yet understand what was his
intention, when suddenly the Tushegoun with all his force struck his
knife into the chest of the shepherd. The Mongol fell all covered with
blood, a splash of which I noticed on the yellow silk of the Lama’s
coat.

“What have you done?” I exclaimed.

“Sh! Be still,” he whispered turning to me his now quite blanched face.

With a few strokes of the knife he opened the chest of the Mongol and
I saw the man’s lungs softly breathing and the distinct palpitations of
the heart. The Lama touched these organs with his fingers but no more
blood appeared to flow and the face of the shepherd was quite calm.
He was lying with his eyes closed and appeared to be in deep and quiet
sleep. As the Lama began to open his abdomen, I shut my eyes in fear and
horror; and, when I opened them a little while later, I was still more
dumbfounded at seeing the shepherd with his coat still open and his
breast normal, quietly sleeping on his side and Tushegoun Lama sitting
peacefully by the brazier, smoking his pipe and looking into the fire in
deep thought.

“It is wonderful!” I confessed. “I have never seen anything like it!”

“About what are you speaking?” asked the Kalmuck.

“About your demonstration or ‘miracle,’ as you call it,” I answered.

“I never said anything like that,” refuted the Kalmuck, with coldness in
his voice.

“Did you see it?” I asked of my companion.

“What?” he queried in a dozing voice.

I realized that I had become the victim of the hypnotic power of
Tushegoun Lama; but I preferred this to seeing an innocent Mongolian
die, for I had not believed that Tushegoun Lama, after slashing open the
bodies of his victims, could repair them again so readily.

The following day we took leave of our hosts. We decided to return,
inasmuch as our mission was accomplished; and Tushegoun Lama explained
to us that he would “move through space.” He wandered over all Mongolia,
lived both in the single, simple yurta of the shepherd and hunter and in
the splendid tents of the princes and tribal chiefs, surrounded by deep
veneration and panic-fear, enticing and cementing to him rich and poor
alike with his miracles and prophecies. When bidding us adieu, the
Kalmuck sorcerer slyly smiled and said:

“Do not give any information about me to the Chinese authorities.”

Afterwards he added: “What happened to you yesterday evening was
a futile demonstration. You Europeans will not recognize that we
dark-minded nomads possess the powers of mysterious science. If you
could only see the miracles and power of the Most Holy Tashi Lama, when
at his command the lamps and candles before the ancient statue of Buddha
light themselves and when the ikons of the gods begin to speak and
prophesy! But there exists a more powerful and more holy man. . .”

“Is it the King of the World in Agharti?” I interrupted.

He stared and glanced at me in amazement.

“Have you heard about him?” he asked, as his brows knit in thought.

After a few seconds he raised his narrow eyes and said: “Only one man
knows his holy name; only one man now living was ever in Agharti. That
is I. This is the reason why the Most Holy Dalai Lama has honored me and
why the Living Buddha in Urga fears me. But in vain, for I shall never
sit on the Holy Throne of the highest priest in Lhasa nor reach that
which has come down from Jenghiz Khan to the Head of our yellow Faith. I
am no monk. I am a warrior and avenger.”

He jumped smartly into the saddle, whipped his horse and whirled away,
flinging out as he left the common Mongolian phrase of adieu: “Sayn!
Sayn-bayna!”

On the way back Tzeren related to us the hundreds of legends surrounding
Tushegoun Lama. One tale especially remained in my mind. It was in 1911
or 1912 when the Mongols by armed force tried to attain their liberty in
a struggle with the Chinese. The general Chinese headquarters in Western
Mongolia was Kobdo, where they had about ten thousand soldiers under the
command of their best officers. The command to capture Kobdo was sent
to Hun Baldon, a simple shepherd who had distinguished himself in fights
with the Chinese and received from the Living Buddha the title of Prince
of Hun. Ferocious, absolutely without fear and possessing gigantic
strength, Baldon had several times led to the attack his poorly armed
Mongols but each time had been forced to retreat after losing many of
his men under the machine-gun fire. Unexpectedly Tushegoun Lama arrived.
He collected all the soldiers and then said to them:

“You must not fear death and must not retreat. You are fighting and
dying for Mongolia, for which the gods have appointed a great destiny.
See what the fate of Mongolia will be!”

He made a great sweeping gesture with his hand and all the soldiers saw
the country round about set with rich yurtas and pastures covered
with great herds of horses and cattle. On the plains appeared numerous
horsemen on richly saddled steeds. The women were gowned in the finest
of silk with massive silver rings in their ears and precious ornaments
in their elaborate head dresses. Chinese merchants led an endless
caravan of merchandise up to distinguished looking Mongol Saits,
surrounded by the gaily dressed tzirik or soldiers and proudly
negotiating with the merchants for their wares.

Shortly the vision disappeared and Tushegoun began to speak.

“Do not fear death! It is a release from our labor on earth and the path
to the state of constant blessings. Look to the East! Do you see your
brothers and friends who have fallen in battle?”

“We see, we see!” the Mongol warriors exclaimed in astonishment, as they
all looked upon a great group of dwellings which might have been yurtas
or the arches of temples flushed with a warm and kindly light. Red and
yellow silk were interwoven in bright bands that covered the walls and
floor, everywhere the gilding on pillars and walls gleamed brightly;
on the great red altar burned the thin sacrificial candles in gold
candelabra, beside the massive silver vessels filled with milk and nuts;
on soft pillows about the floor sat the Mongols who had fallen in the
previous attack on Kobdo. Before them stood low, lacquered tables laden
with many dishes of steaming, succulent flesh of the lamb and the kid,
with high jugs of wine and tea, with plates of borsuk, a kind of sweet,
rich cakes, with aromatic zatouran covered with sheep’s fat, with bricks
of dried cheese, with dates, raisins and nuts. These fallen soldiers
smoked golden pipes and chatted gaily.

This vision in turn also disappeared and before the gazing Mongols stood
only the mysterious Kalmuck with his hand upraised.

“To battle and return not without victory! I am with you in the fight.”

The attack began. The Mongols fought furiously, perished by the hundreds
but not before they had rushed into the heart of Kobdo. Then was
re-enacted the long forgotten picture of Tartar hordes destroying
European towns. Hun Baldon ordered carried over him a triangle of lances
with brilliant red streamers, a sign that he gave up the town to the
soldiers for three days. Murder and pillage began. All the Chinese met
their death there. The town was burned and the walls of the fortress
destroyed. Afterwards Hun Baldon came to Uliassutai and also destroyed
the Chinese fortress there. The ruins of it still stand with the broken
embattlements and towers, the useless gates and the remnants of the
burned official quarters and soldiers’ barracks.


CHAPTER XIX

WILD CHAHARS


After our return to Uliassutai we heard that disquieting news had been
received by the Mongol Sait from Muren Kure. The letter stated that Red
Troops were pressing Colonel Kazagrandi very hard in the region of Lake
Kosogol. The Sait feared the advance of the Red troops southward to
Uliassutai. Both the American firms liquidated their affairs and all
our friends were prepared for a quick exit, though they hesitated at
the thought of leaving the town, as they were afraid of meeting the
detachment of Chahars sent from the east. We decided to await the
arrival of this detachment, as their coming could change the whole
course of events. In a few days they came, two hundred warlike Chahar
brigands under the command of a former Chinese hunghutze. He was a tall,
skinny man with hands that reached almost to his knees, a face blackened
by wind and sun and mutilated with two long scars down over his forehead
and cheek, the making of one of which had also closed one of his
hawklike eyes, topped off with a shaggy coonskin cap--such was the
commander of the detachment of Chahars. A personage very dark and stern,
with whom a night meeting on a lonely street could not be considered a
pleasure by any bent of the imagination.

The detachment made camp within the destroyed fortress, near to the
single Chinese building that had not been razed and which was now
serving as headquarters for the Chinese Commissioner. On the very day of
their arrival the Chahars pillaged a Chinese dugun or trading house not
half a mile from the fortress and also offended the wife of the Chinese
Commissioner by calling her a “traitor.” The Chahars, like the Mongols,
were quite right in their stand, because the Chinese Commissioner Wang
Tsao-tsun had on his arrival in Uliassutai followed the Chinese custom
of demanding a Mongolian wife. The servile new Sait had given orders
that a beautiful and suitable Mongolian girl be found for him. One was
so run down and placed in his yamen, together with her big wrestling
Mongol brother who was to be a guard for the Commissioner but who
developed into the nurse for the little white Pekingese pug which the
official presented to his new wife.

Burglaries, squabbles and drunken orgies of the Chahars followed, so
that Wang Tsoa-tsun exerted all his efforts to hurry the detachment
westward to Kobdo and farther into Urianhai.

One cold morning the inhabitants of Uliassutai rose to witness a very
stern picture. Along the main street of the town the detachment was
passing. They were riding on small, shaggy ponies, three abreast; were
dressed in warm blue coats with sheepskin overcoats outside and crowned
with the regulation coonskin caps; armed from head to foot. They rode
with wild shouts and cheers, very greedily eyeing the Chinese shops and
the houses of the Russian colonists. At their head rode the one-eyed
hunghutze chief with three horsemen behind him in white overcoats,
who carried waving banners and blew what may have been meant for music
through great conch shells. One of the Chahars could not resist and so
jumped out of his saddle and made for a Chinese shop along the street.
Immediately the anxious cries of the Chinese merchants came from the
shop. The hunghutze swung round, noticed the horse at the door of the
shop and realized what was happening. Immediately he reined his horse
and made for the spot. With his raucous voice he called the Chahar out.
As he came, he struck him full in the face with his whip and with all
his strength. Blood flowed from the slashed cheek. But the Chahar was in
the saddle in a second without a murmur and galloped to his place in
the file. During this exit of the Chahars all the people were hidden
in their houses, anxiously peeping through cracks and corners of the
windows. But the Chahars passed peacefully out and only when they met a
caravan carrying Chinese wine about six miles from town did their
native tendency display itself again in pillaging and emptying several
containers. Somewhere in the vicinity of Hargana they were ambushed by
Tushegoun Lama and so treated that never again will the plains of Chahar
welcome the return of these warrior sons who were sent out to conquer
the Soyot descendants of the ancient Tuba.

The day the column left Uliassutai a heavy snow fell, so that the road
became impassable. The horses first were up to their knees, tired out
and stopped. Some Mongol horsemen reached Uliassutai the following day
after great hardship and exertion, having made only twenty-five miles in
forty-eight hours. Caravans were compelled to stop along the routes. The
Mongols would not consent even to attempt journeys with oxen and yaks
which made but ten or twelve miles a day. Only camels could be used but
there were too few and their drivers did not feel that they could make
the first railway station of Kuku-Hoto, which was about fourteen hundred
miles away. We were forced again to wait: for which? Death or salvation?
Only our own energy and force could save us. Consequently my friend
and I started out, supplied with a tent, stove and food, for a new
reconnaissance along the shore of Lake Kosogol, whence the Mongol Sait
expected the new invasion of Red troops.


CHAPTER XX

THE DEMON OF JAGISSTAI


Our small group consisting of four mounted and one pack camel moved
northward along the valley of the River Boyagol in the direction of the
Tarbagatai Mountains. The road was rocky and covered deep with snow. Our
camels walked very carefully, sniffing out the way as our guide shouted
the “Ok! Ok!” of the camel drivers to urge them on. We left behind us
the fortress and Chinese dugun, swung round the shoulder of a ridge
and, after fording several times an open stream, began the ascent of the
mountain. The scramble was hard and dangerous. Our camels picked their
way most cautiously, moving their ears constantly, as is their habit in
such stress. The trail zigzagged into mountain ravines, passed over the
tops of ridges, slipped back down again into shallower valleys but ever
made higher and higher altitudes. At one place under the grey clouds
that tipped the ridges we saw away up on the wide expanse of snow some
black spots.

“Those are the obo, the sacred signs and altars for the bad demons
watching this pass,” explained the guide. “This pass is called
Jagisstai. Many very old tales about it have been kept alive, ancient as
these mountains themselves.”

We encouraged him to tell us some of them.

The Mongol, rocking on his camel and looking carefully all around him,
began his tale.

“It was long ago, very long ago. . . . The grandson of the great Jenghiz
Khan sat on the throne of China and ruled all Asia. The Chinese killed
their Khan and wanted to exterminate all his family but a holy old Lama
slipped the wife and little son out of the palace and carried them off
on swift camels beyond the Great Wall, where they sank into our native
plains. The Chinese made a long search for the trails of our refugees
and at last found where they had gone. They despatched a strong
detachment on fleet horses to capture them. Sometimes the Chinese nearly
came up with the fleeing heir of our Khan but the Lama called down from
Heaven a deep snow, through which the camels could pass while the horses
were inextricably held. This Lama was from a distant monastery. We shall
pass this hospice of Jahantsi Kure. In order to reach it one must cross
over the Jagisstai. And it was just here the old Lama suddenly became
ill, rocked in his saddle and fell dead. Ta Sin Lo, the widow of the
Great Khan, burst into tears; but, seeing the Chinese riders galloping
there below across the valley, pressed on toward the pass. The camels
were tired, stopping every moment, nor did the woman know how to
stimulate and drive them on. The Chinese riders came nearer and nearer.
Already she heard their shouts of joy, as they felt within their grasp
the prize of the mandarins for the murder of the heir of the Great
Khan. The heads of the mother and the son would be brought to Peking and
exposed on the Ch’ien Men for the mockery and insults of the people. The
frightened mother lifted her little son toward heaven and exclaimed:

“‘Earth and Gods of Mongolia, behold the offspring of the man who has
glorified the name of the Mongols from one end of the world to the
other! Allow not this very flesh of Jenghiz Khan to perish!’

“At this moment she noticed a white mouse sitting on a rock nearby. It
jumped to her knees and said:

“‘I am sent to help you. Go on calmly and do not fear. The pursuers of
you and your son, to whom is destined a life of glory, have come to the
last bourne of their lives.’

“Ta Sin Lo did not see how one small mouse could hold in check three
hundred men. The mouse jumped back to the ground and again spoke:

“‘I am the demon of Tarbagatai, Jagasstai. I am mighty and beloved of
the Gods but, because you doubted the powers of the miracle-speaking
mouse, from this day the Jagasstai will be dangerous for the good and
bad alike.’

“The Khan’s widow and son were saved but Jagasstai has ever remained
merciless. During the journey over this pass one must always be on one’s
guard. The demon of the mountain is ever ready to lead the traveler to
destruction.”

All the tops of the ridges of the Tarbagatai are thickly dotted with the
obo of rocks and branches. In one place there was even erected a tower
of stones as an altar to propitiate the Gods for the doubts of Ta Sin
Lo. Evidently the demon expected us. When we began our ascent of the
main ridge, he blew into our faces with a sharp, cold wind, whistled and
roared and afterwards began casting over us whole blocks of snow torn
off the drifts above. We could not distinguish anything around us,
scarcely seeing the camel immediately in front. Suddenly I felt a
shock and looked about me. Nothing unusual was visible. I was seated
comfortably between two leather saddle bags filled with meat and bread
but . . . I could not see the head of my camel. He had disappeared. It
seemed that he had slipped and fallen to the bottom of a shallow ravine,
while the bags which were slung across his back without straps had
caught on a rock and stopped with myself there in the snow. This time
the demon of Jagasstai only played a joke but one that did not satisfy
him. He began to show more and more anger. With furious gusts of wind he
almost dragged us and our bags from the camels and nearly knocked over
our humped steeds, blinded us with frozen snow and prevented us from
breathing. Through long hours we dragged slowly on in the deep snow,
often falling over the edge of the rocks. At last we entered a small
valley where the wind whistled and roared with a thousand voices. It
had grown dark. The Mongol wandered around searching for the trail and
finally came back to us, flourishing his arms and saying:

“We have lost the road. We must spend the night here. It is very bad
because we shall have no wood for our stove and the cold will grow
worse.”

With great difficulties and with frozen hands we managed to set up our
tent in the wind, placing in it the now useless stove. We covered the
tent with snow, dug deep, long ditches in the drifts and forced our
camels to lie down in them by shouting the “Dzuk! Dzuk!” command to
kneel. Then we brought our packs into the tent.

My companion rebelled against the thought of spending a cold night with
a stove hard by.

“I am going out to look for firewood,” said he very decisively; and at
that took up the ax and started. He returned after an hour with a big
section of a telegraph pole.

“You, Jenghiz Khans,” said he, rubbing his frozen hands, “take your
axes and go up there to the left on the mountain and you will find the
telegraph poles that have been cut down. I made acquaintance with the
old Jagasstai and he showed me the poles.”

Just a little way from us the line of the Russian telegraphs passed,
that which had connected Irkutsk with Uliassutai before the days of the
Bolsheviki and which the Chinese had commanded the Mongols to cut
down and take the wire. These poles are now the salvation of travelers
crossing the pass. Thus we spent the night in a warm tent, supped
well from hot meat soup with vermicelli, all in the very center of the
dominion of the angered Jagasstai. Early the next morning we found
the road not more than two or three hundred paces from our tent and
continued our hard trip over the ridge of Tarbagatai. At the head of
the Adair River valley we noticed a flock of the Mongolian crows with
carmine beaks circling among the rocks. We approached the place and
discovered the recently fallen bodies of a horse and rider. What had
happened to them was difficult to guess. They lay close together; the
bridle was wound around the right wrist of the man; no trace of knife or
bullet was found. It was impossible to make out the features of the man.
His overcoat was Mongolian but his trousers and under jacket were not of
the Mongolian pattern. We asked ourselves what had happened to him.

Our Mongol bowed his head in anxiety and said in hushed but assured
tones: “It is the vengeance of Jagasstai. The rider did not make
sacrifice at the southern obo and the demon has strangled him and his
horse.”

At last Tarbagatai was behind us. Before us lay the valley of the Adair.
It was a narrow zigzagging plain following along the river bed between
close mountain ranges and covered with a rich grass. It was cut into two
parts by the road along which the prostrate telegraph poles now lay, as
the stumps of varying heights and long stretches of wire completed
the debris. This destruction of the telegraph line between Irkutsk and
Uliassutai was necessary and incident to the aggressive Chinese policy
in Mongolia.

Soon we began to meet large herds of sheep, which were digging through
the snow to the dry but very nutritious grass. In some places yaks and
oxen were seen on the high slopes of the mountains. Only once, however,
did we see a shepherd, for all of them, spying us first, had made off
to the mountains or hidden in the ravines. We did not even discover any
yurtas along the way. The Mongols had also concealed all their movable
homes in the folds of the mountains out of sight and away from the reach
of the strong winds. Nomads are very skilful in choosing the places
for their winter dwellings. I had often in winter visited the Mongolian
yurtas set in such sheltered places that, as I came off the windy
plains, I felt as though I were in a conservatory. Once we came up to
a big herd of sheep. But as we approached most of the herd gradually
withdrew, leaving one part that remained unmoved as the other worked
off across the plains. From this section soon about thirty of forty head
emerged and went scrambling and leaping right up the mountain side. I
took up my glasses and began to observe them. The part of the herd that
remained behind were common sheep; the large section that had drawn off
over the plain were Mongolian antelopes (gazella gutturosa); while
the few that had taken to the mountain were the big horned sheep (ovis
argali). All this company had been grazing together with the domestic
sheep on the plains of the Adair, which attracted them with its good
grass and clear water. In many places the river was not frozen and in
some places I saw great clouds of steam over the surface of the open
water. In the meantime some of the antelopes and the mountain sheep
began looking at us.

“Now they will soon begin to cross our trail,” laughed the Mongol; “very
funny beasts. Sometimes the antelopes course for miles in their endeavor
to outrun and cross in front of our horses and then, when they have done
so, go loping quietly off.”

I had already seen this strategy of the antelopes and I decided to make
use of it for the purpose of the hunt. We organized our chase in the
following manner. We let one Mongol with the pack camel proceed as
we had been traveling and the other three of us spread out like a fan
headed toward the herd on the right of our true course. The herd stopped
and looked about puzzled, for their etiquette required that they should
cross the path of all four of these riders at once. Confusion began.
They counted about three thousand heads. All this army began to run
from one side to another but without forming any distinct groups. Whole
squadrons of them ran before us and then, noticing another rider, came
coursing back and made anew the same manoeuvre. One group of about fifty
head rushed in two rows toward my point. When they were about a hundred
and fifty paces away I shouted and fired. They stopped at once and began
to whirl round in one spot, running into one another and even jumping
over one another. Their panic cost them dear, for I had time to shoot
four times to bring down two beautiful heads. My friend was even more
fortunate than I, for he shot only once into the herd as it rushed past
him in parallel lines and dropped two with the same bullet.

Meanwhile the argali had gone farther up the mountainside and taken
stand there in a row like so many soldiers, turning to gaze at us. Even
at this distance I could clearly distinguish their muscular bodies
with their majestic heads and stalwart horns. Picking up our prey, we
overtook the Mongol who had gone on ahead and continued our way. In many
places we came across the carcasses of sheep with necks torn and the
flesh of the sides eaten off.

“It is the work of wolves,” said the Mongol. “They are always hereabout
in large numbers.”

We came across several more herds of antelope, which ran along quietly
enough until they had made a comfortable distance ahead of us and then
with tremendous leaps and bounds crossed our bows like the proverbial
chicken on the road. Then, after a couple of hundred paces at this
speed, they stopped and began to graze quite calmly. Once I turned my
camel back and the whole herd immediately took up the challenge again,
coursed along parallel with me until they had made sufficient distance
for their ideas of safety and then once more rushed across the road
ahead of me as though it were paved with red hot stones, only to assume
their previous calmness and graze back on the same side of the trail
from which our column had first started them. On another occasion I did
this three times with a particular herd and laughed long and heartily at
their stupid customs.

We passed a very unpleasant night in this valley. We stopped on the
shore of the frozen stream in a spot where we found shelter from the
wind under the lee of a high shore. In our stove we did have a fire and
in our kettle boiling water. Also our tent was warm and cozy. We were
quietly resting with pleasant thoughts of supper to soothe us, when
suddenly a howling and laughter as though from some inferno burst upon
us from just outside the tent, while from the other side of the valley
came the long and doleful howls in answer.

“Wolves,” calmly explained the Mongol, who took my revolver and went out
of the tent. He did not return for some time but at last we heard a shot
and shortly after he entered.

“I scared them a little,” said he. “They had congregated on the shore of
the Adair around the body of a camel.”

“And they have not touched our camels?” we asked.

“We shall make a bonfire behind our tent; then they will not bother us.”

After our supper we turned in but I lay awake for a long time listening
to the crackle of the wood in the fire, the deep sighing breaths of the
camels and the distant howling of the packs of wolves; but finally, even
with all these noises, fell asleep. How long I had been asleep I did not
know when suddenly I was awakened by a strong blow in the side. I was
lying at the very edge of the tent and someone from outside had, without
the least ceremony, pushed strongly against me. I thought it was one of
the camels chewing the felt of the tent. I took my Mauser and struck the
wall. A sharp scream was followed by the sound of quick running over the
pebbles. In the morning we discovered the tracks of wolves approaching
our tent from the side opposite to the fire and followed them to where
they had begun to dig under the tent wall; but evidently one of the
would-be robbers was forced to retreat with a bruise on his head from
the handle of the Mauser.

Wolves and eagles are the servants of Jagasstai, the Mongol very
seriously instructed us. However, this does not prevent the Mongols from
hunting them. Once in the camp of Prince Baysei I witnessed such a hunt.
The Mongol horsemen on the best of his steeds overtook the wolves on the
open plain and killed them with heavy bamboo sticks or tashur. A Russian
veterinary surgeon taught the Mongols to poison wolves with strychnine
but the Mongols soon abandoned this method because of its danger to
the dogs, the faithful friends and allies of the nomad. They do not,
however, touch the eagles and hawks but even feed them. When the Mongols
are slaughtering animals they often cast bits of meat up into the air
for the hawks and eagles to catch in flight, just as we throw a bit of
meat to a dog. Eagles and hawks fight and drive away the magpies and
crows, which are very dangerous for cattle and horses, because they
scratch and peck at the smallest wound or abrasion on the backs of the
animals until they make them into uncurable areas which they continue to
harass.


CHAPTER XXI

THE NEST OF DEATH


Our camels were trudging to a slow but steady measure on toward the
north. We were making twenty-five to thirty miles a day as we approached
a small monastery that lay to the left of our route. It was in the
form of a square of large buildings surrounded by a high fence of
thick poles. Each side had an opening in the middle leading to the four
entrances of the temple in the center of the square. The temple was
built with the red lacquered columns and the Chinese style roofs and
dominated the surrounding low dwellings of the Lamas. On the opposite
side of the road lay what appeared to be a Chinese fortress but which
was in reality a trading compound or dugun, which the Chinese always
build in the form of a fortress with double walls a few feet apart,
within which they place their houses and shops and usually have twenty
or thirty traders fully armed for any emergency. In case of need these
duguns can be used as blockhouses and are capable of withstanding long
sieges. Between the dugun and the monastery and nearer to the road I
made out the camp of some nomads. Their horses and cattle were nowhere
to be seen. Evidently the Mongols had stopped here for some time and
had left their cattle in the mountains. Over several yurtas waved
multi-colored triangular flags, a sign of the presence of disease. Near
some yurtas high poles were stuck into the ground with Mongol caps at
their tops, which indicated that the host of the yurta had died. The
packs of dogs wandering over the plain showed that the dead bodies lay
somewhere near, either in the ravines or along the banks of the river.

As we approached the camp, we heard from a distance the frantic beating
of drums, the mournful sounds of the flute and shrill, mad shouting.
Our Mongol went forward to investigate for us and reported that several
Mongolian families had come here to the monastery to seek aid from the
Hutuktu Jahansti who was famed for his miracles of healing. The people
were stricken with leprosy and black smallpox and had come from long
distances only to find that the Hutuktu was not at the monastery but had
gone to the Living Buddha in Urga. Consequently they had been forced to
invite the witch doctors. The people were dying one after another. Just
the day before they had cast on the plain the twenty-seventh man.

Meanwhile, as we talked, the witch doctor came out of one of the yurtas.
He was an old man with a cataract on one eye and with a face deeply
scarred by smallpox. He was dressed in tatters with various colored bits
of cloth hanging down from his waist. He carried a drum and a flute. We
could see froth on his blue lips and madness in his eyes. Suddenly he
began to whirl round and dance with a thousand prancings of his long
legs and writhings of his arms and shoulders, still beating the drum and
playing the flute or crying and raging at intervals, ever accelerating
his movements until at last with pallid face and bloodshot eyes he fell
on the snow, where he continued to writhe and give out his incoherent
cries. In this manner the doctor treated his patients, frightening with
his madness the bad devils that carry disease. Another witch doctor gave
his patients dirty, muddy water, which I learned was the water from the
bath of the very person of the Living Buddha who had washed in it his
“divine” body born from the sacred flower of the lotus.

“Om! Om!” both witches continuously screamed.

While the doctors fought with the devils, the ill people were left to
themselves. They lay in high fever under the heaps of sheepskins and
overcoats, were delirious, raved and threw themselves about. By the
braziers squatted adults and children who were still well, indifferently
chatting, drinking tea and smoking. In all the yurtas I saw the
diseased and the dead and such misery and physical horrors as cannot be
described.

And I thought: “Oh, Great Jenghiz Khan! Why did you with your keen
understanding of the whole situation of Asia and Europe, you who devoted
all your life to the glory of the name of the Mongols, why did you not
give to your own people, who preserve their old morality, honesty and
peaceful customs, the enlightenment that would have saved them from such
death? Your bones in the

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