Through Siberia

Outlook into Mongolia.—Town of Maimatchin without women.—Visit to a Chinese merchant.—Refreshments.—Attendants.—Purchases.—Tea bricks for coin.—The town.—Buddhist temple.—Chinese malefactors.—Their punishments.—Chinese dinner.—Food.—Intoxicating drinks.—Route to Peking.—Travellers.—Modes of conveyance.—Manners of the desert.—Postal service.

As we stood on the top of Kiakhta church, we could see, as already observed, the three towns of Troitzkosavsk, Kiakhta, and Maimatchin. The former two were like other Siberian towns, but southwards there lay before us something decidedly new. Just over the border was a veritable Chinese town; then came a broad plain, covered with sand and herbage, with the horizon bounded by the hills of Mongolia, beyond which the imagination was left to picture its capital, Urga, and, further south, the great wall of China. Before continuing our journey eastwards, therefore, I shall describe our visit to Maimatchin, and offer a few observations upon the route over the Mongolian frontier to Peking.

Mai-ma-tchin signifies, in Chinese, “buy and sell,” and so is applied to this border town as a “a place of trade.” It has a population, we were told, of 3,000, and differs in one respect, at all events, from all the cities upon the face of the earth, in that the inhabitants are all of the male sex. Not a woman is to be found in the town, a baby’s music is never heard there, and the streets are void of girls and boys. Not that the men, however, are all bachelors, for some of them have wives and families in China proper. Nor are they all woman-haters or henpecked husbands. We did indeed hear of one man, a British subject, who so far agreed with Solomon as to the undesirability of living with a brawling woman, even though it were in a wide house, that he had fled from his island home, and retired to a house-top in the wilds of Siberia, where he is living in prosperity, and whither his spouse has not pursued him. But the fact is, that among the curious arrangements of the Chinese at the time of their early treaties with the Russians, and in order that their celestial subjects might not become rooted to the soil, but consider themselves as sojourners only, they have forbidden that women should live in Maimatchin. Hence a paterfamilias of Maimatchin, if he wishes to visit his wife and children, must undertake a month’s journey across the desert on the back of a camel, and return by the same means; so that a few such journeys may well give wings to his desire speedily to make his fortune and return home.

We took the opportunity of paying an afternoon visit to Maimatchin on the first day of our arrival at Kiakhta, Mr. Koecher kindly accompanying us. After passing out of the wooden gate of Kiakhta we found ourselves on a piece of neutral ground, about 500 yards wide, between the two empires. On the south side is a palisade pierced for the principal gate, shielded from view by a high wooden screen some eight or ten paces from the wall. Behind this screen we entered Maimatchin, and found ourselves in a new world. The town is built inside a strong wooden enclosure, about 400 yards square, with four or five mud-paved streets. They are regular, however, tolerably clean, and, for China, wide,—wide enough perhaps to allow of a London omnibus being driven through them. The houses are of one storey, built of unburnt bricks of mud and wood, and are thus solid and tidy, and are surrounded by courtyards. At the entrances are screens that shut out the river from the street, which are painted with diabolical-looking figures, to frighten away evil spirits. This represents, however, the houses of the well-to-do merchants. Towards the southern part of the town are the mean, windowless houses of the poor, which have little of the neatness and propriety of the above.

We were taken first to visit one of the Chinese merchants named Van-Tchan-Taï; and on entering his courtyard we found it surrounded by a number of doors, some entering the warehouses, the kitchen, out-houses, etc., and one leading to the shop and dwelling-place of the merchant. The door consisted of a suspended transparent screen, admitting the air, and yet keeping out flies and insects. The window-frames were ornamented and covered with paper. None looked into the street, but all into the courtyard. Inside the house were two compartments, an outer and an inner. In the outer chamber we were seated on a raised platform, or divan, which serves for a sleeping-place for the clerks and assistants by night, and for a dining-place by day, when the bedding and cushions are neatly rolled up and ornamentally arranged. This platform is heated by a flue beneath, and on the edge in front is kept, always burning, a small charcoal fire, which serves for lighting pipes and heating grog. Round the wall hung illuminated texts, from the writings of Confucius, and various pictures, one of which we were told was a representation of the god of happiness. And a very stout personage he looked! But this is strictly in keeping with Chinese notions, for they delight to load their deities with collops of fat, prosperity and abundance of flesh in their eyes having great affinity. A number of little birds were in the room, not in cages, but on perches resembling those on which parrots are kept in England.

The merchant invited us to drink tea, and told us that the Chinese use this beverage without sugar or milk three times a day; namely, at rising, at noon, and at seven in the evening. They have substantial meals at nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. When they discovered I was English, they were curious to know all about us, making various inquiries, trying to imitate our words and sounds, even to laughing, and examining carefully such things as were shown them, as watches, pencils, and knives. We were no less curious to pry into their affairs, and learn of them all we could. The merchant employed 23 “clerks,” 18 in Maimatchin, and the remainder at a branch establishment in some other part of the world. We did not make out, however, whether this number included shop assistants, warehousemen, servants, cooks, etc., or whether it consisted only of actual writers. They seemed all dressed alike, from the master downwards; that is, in a suit of blue nankeen, and black skull caps. Suspended on the wall, and covered with paper to keep them from dust, were two or three white straw hats, of depressed conical shape, with a horsehair tassel on the top, seemingly reserved for summer use or gala days. One of the attendants had a black dress edged with white, and on inquiry he was found to be the coachman in half mourning. Chinese full mourning must not be of silk, is all white, and worn 100 days after the death of a relative, during which time the head is not shaved. Black and white is afterwards worn for three years, one of its features being a small white ball on the top of the cap. As the servants stood about waiting on us, their discipline appeared to be very much of the patriarchal character; none seemed greater or less than another, except it were the chief clerk, who received, we found, about £30 a year; whilst the “boys” received from £5 and upwards, their food being in all cases provided. This chief clerk cultivated a straggling moustache, which is the privilege of all Chinese men after they arrive at 30 years of age. He had also very long nails, protruding, perhaps, half an inch, which evidently were considered beautiful. It is the custom of Chinese gentlemen and ladies to have long nails, that other persons may be aware of their rank in society, for with such impediments they could not labour. This senior also seemed fond of his pipe, which held just so much tobacco as enabled him to take five good strong whiffs only, and he then blew out of the pipe, with a peculiar noise, the remainder of the tobacco and ashes.

Whilst sipping our tea we proceeded to make purchases. The principal articles of Chinese export into Russia are teas, cottons, nankeens, silks, good satins, rhubarb, and many articles of curiosity and ingenuity. The exports from Siberia are generally furs. As we sat in the merchant’s shop, it was a matter for conjecture as to where the merchandise was kept, for it was not visible. A number of articles, however, were brought forth from mysterious cupboards and drawers, and we heard that the Chinese allow as little of their property as possible to be seen by the authorities, lest they should be more highly taxed. So far, therefore, as appearances go in a Chinese shop, the American dealer’s window-notice would be eminently appropriate: “If you don’t see what you want, ask for it.” We did this, and found it successful. My first purchase was a piece of silk called Chin-chun-cha, supposed to be of sufficient measure for two suits of clothes. This silk is undyed, and washes and wears so well that it is a favourite material throughout Siberia for gentlemen’s summer suits, and sometimes for ladies’ dresses.

The Chinese are fond of having a couple of balls in the hand, at idle times, to roll and rub one over the other with the fingers, and so play with; for the same reason, probably, that the Turks like to have beads in the hand. Several of these balls were offered to me. One pair was of Chinese jade, which, on being rubbed together, emitted flashes of electric light. Gilt buttons, too, were shown as a rarity, but their marks betrayed that they came from Birmingham. We bought some embroidered purses of native workmanship, and cups and saucers. The saucers are of a lozenge-shape, and of metal, with an indentation fitted to receive the bottom of the cup, which has no handle. Hence, in drinking the tea, it was not necessary to finger the cup, but merely to hold the saucer and drink from the cup resting therein. Some of the drinking vessels were of wood, but lacquered and covered with a varnish which made them quite capable of holding boiling water. Our most comical purchase, perhaps, was a pair of furred ear-pockets, connected by a piece of elastic, for use in frosty weather.

After taking refreshment, we looked about the house and yard, into the kitchen, which was clean enough, and into the warehouse, with its piles of chests of tea, and were amused to see them take a hollow iron auger, something like a large cheese taster, and drive this into the corner of a tea-chest to bring thereout a sample handful of the fragrant herb. I contented myself, however, with buying a brick of tea, as a greater curiosity. It measures about nine inches by six, and is three-quarters of an inch thick, and might better be called, as it once was in Germany, “tile” tea. This article was formerly used for coin in certain parts of Siberia, and is so still in Mongolia. The owner of a circus, since my visit, made his way through Kiakhta to Urga. The stud and its riders greatly delighted the Mongolians, who are excellent horsemen, and, as the proprietor accepted the “current coin of the realm,” his cashier’s office presented the unusual appearance of being filled to overflowing with bricks of tea! We had cause, therefore, for congratulation, that we had not to carry a quantity of this very inconvenient form of cash.

After leaving the house we wandered through the streets, examining the wares exposed for sale, like those we had seen on the Chinese stalls in the market-place of Troitzkosavsk, and the looking round at which, in both places, gave us much amusement. We found all sorts of Chinese knick-knacks; and the poorest attempts at cutlery, in the shape of knives, scissors, and razors, that ever I saw. The razors bore a strong resemblance to miniature hatchets, and, on steaming across the Pacific, I observed that their use was not confined to men, for the Chinese women think so much of having the hair cut away smoothly from the back of the neck, that one female on board was seen thus acting the barber on behalf of her sister. Beads and hats were likewise exposed for sale, brushes and combs, pieces of flint and steel, and Buddhist rosaries; which last, evidently, were considered finely perfumed, but we thought the smell abominable. A piece of Chinese vanity we saw consisted of circular felt pads, highly dyed with rouge, with which the people rub, and so redden, their faces. Several of these curiosities we bought, bargaining for the price by signs, to the mutual amusement of buyers and salesmen.

We were taken to the Buddhist temple, the precincts of which appeared to comprise the houses of the governor (or, as he is called, the zurgutchay), and the chief priest; also a theatre, and something like a prison. In the court of the temple were placed two or three cannon, which are fired daily when the governor is going to sleep. The theatre, we found, was open only on fête days, and, if the report of travellers be true, the plays are sometimes grossly obscene. This, however, is only in keeping with the pictures seen in the houses, and sold openly in the streets, which are too licentious to bear description.

We saw in the court of the temple two malefactors, who had iron rings round their necks, attached to which were chains, about five feet long, with enormous links, and of great weight, weighing, I should judge, in all, upwards of 50 lbs. They had chains, too, upon their hands and legs, and, being exceedingly dirty and ill clad, they looked somewhat ferocious. One of them had his chain coiled about his shoulders for more convenient carriage, and when he saw that I was curious he allowed it to drop towards the ground, showing me the full length of his punishment. I bought the man’s rosary for a souvenir. We saw, also, in Maimatchin, another kind of Chinese punishment, in the shape of a wooden collar, made of 6-inch plank, about 2½ feet square, and put about a man’s neck. It was said to be more than 100 lbs. in weight, and the unfortunate wearer was prevented by its size from putting his hand to his mouth. He used therefore, in feeding himself, a long wooden spoon, but he looked anything but comfortable. His accusation was written on the collar, setting forth his name and family, and he was to wear his collar night and day for a month, and that for fighting! but I am not clear whether it was for an ordinary pugilistic encounter, or for attempted violence to a superior.

As we walked about the streets it was plain that, though we were distinctly in the Chinese empire and not in Russia, yet that the people of the two border towns were on the most friendly footing. Chinese merchants visit the Russians freely, drink tea, smoke cigarettes, and chatter,—not “pigeon English,” but “pigeon Russian.” To this good feeling I presume it was that we were indebted for an invitation to dine, two days after, with the merchant upon whom we called. We were particularly anxious to do this; for to eat a Chinese dinner at Maimatchin had been one of the curious treats I had promised myself when thinking of pushing on so far as Kiakhta. At the same time, Mr. Michie’s declaring that a Chinese dinner, to which Kiakhta merchants take their friends, was “a feast most Europeans would rather undergo the incipient stages of starvation than come within the smell of it,” had rather terrified me as to the horrors one might be expected to eat. I determined, however, to place bread on one side of my plate and water on the other, and then martyrise myself for the sake of gaining experience, to say nothing of showing myself a person of good breeding in Chinese eyes, by tasting everything; and I hoped that, if anything particularly nasty came into my mouth, it might be neutralized or speedily swallowed by the aid of a piece of bread or a draught of water. Things were not so bad, however, as I had feared, and we were none of us made ill. Calling on our way to dinner at Mr. Tokmakoff’s, I begged a small loaf of half-white bread; and, thus prepared, we presented ourselves at the house of Van Tchan Taï.

There were five in the party, which included Mr. Koecher, our Russian host; Mr. M——, our fellow-countryman; Mr. Interpreter; myself, and a Russian friend. We were shown first into the inner compartment, and seated on the divan, whilst they brought us tea, dried fruits, and confections, such as candied ginger, dried walnuts and Mandarin oranges, salted almonds, and sugared ditto, melon seeds, etc., etc. We then adjourned to the outer chamber, where the dinner was spread on a table. But what a table! It was just about three feet square, and on this were placed, as a commencement, no less than 10 dishes, besides our own plates. These dishes, or saucers, of meats were replaced to the number of 30. Further east I met a man who told me that when he dined at Maimatchin they gave him 64 dishes! At this tiny table we were seated, and each was provided with a small saucer, three inches in diameter, half filled with dark-looking vinegar, into which we were supposed to dip everything before carrying it to the mouth. Of this I soon got tired, and began to eat things au naturel, that is as far as possible; but most of the courses were so disguised by confectionery and culinary art that we had to ask of almost every plate, What is this? Happily the plates were so exceedingly small that to taste of each did not seriously strain one’s eating powers; and by tasting first, and then asking what it was, all prejudice was taken away till it was too late to have any. But we discovered that among the dishes we had eaten were beans, garlic, a kind of sea-weed cooked like seakale, and a green kind also; likewise radishes cut in slices, swallows’ eggs boiled, and rissoles of meat; various sorts of marine vegetables, and, I think, birds’ nests. Towards the end of the feast appeared a samovar, but not like the Russian article of that name,—the difference resembling that between an “outside” and an “inside” Dublin car, of which an Irishman said that, with an outside car the wheels were inside, whereas with an inside car the wheels were outside. So with the Chinese samovar, the boiling part was exposed to view, and contained the soup, in which were small pieces of meat, vermicelli, and rice puddings, the size of tennis balls, for the eating of which they brought us chop-sticks—I suppose, that we might try our hands, for at the earlier part of the meal they had given us knives and forks. Chop-sticks are a pair of cylindrical rods, rather longer, and not quite so thick as lead pencils, which are both held between the thumb and fingers of the right hand, and are used as tongs to take the food and carry it to the mouth—an operation by no means easy to the unpractised. Our host did not sit at table, or eat with us, but stood looking on, and giving orders to his boys or “clerks.” Each guest was provided with a tiny cup about an inch or a little more in diameter, and perhaps half an inch deep. Into this, at an early stage of the proceedings, was poured, from a diminutive kettle, hot mai-ga-lo, or Chinese brandy, tasting, it was said, somewhat like whisky. It is exceedingly strong, though not so potent as another kind of which we heard, called khanshin, and which not only makes a man intoxicated on the day he drinks it, but if he takes a glass of water only on the morrow, the intoxicating effect is repeated. When they came to pour me out brandy I declined, the propriety of which our host recognised at once; for when my friends told him I was a “lama,” or priest, he said that “their lamas were not allowed to drink brandy.” It was comforting, therefore, to find that we had at least one good thing in common.

Whilst we were in the house of Van Tchan Taï there came in a Mongolian lama, to whom I was introduced as an English lama. The Mongolian lamas do not confine themselves to spiritual functions; for this man was a contractor for the carriage of goods across the desert to and from China, which leads me to say something of this curious journey. The Kiakhta-Peking route was not that followed by the earliest embassies sent overland from Siberia, nor by Marco Polo in his marvellous travels in Tartary. In fact, it is remarkable how very little has been known, until lately, concerning this part of Central Asia, and how little is known still.⁠[1]

After the building of Kiakhta and Maimatchin, the route across the desert was of course extensively used by the caravans, though I am not aware that it was followed by any Englishman or celebrated traveller till within the past quarter of a century.⁠[2]

There are six Englishmen, four of whom I have met, who, as well as some ladies, have travelled this Mongolian route within the past 18 years.⁠[3] The traveller, however, who has given us the most solid and scientific information about the part of Mongolia of which we are speaking is the Russian Colonel Prejevalsky, who spent three years, beginning in 1870, by travelling first from Kiakhta to Peking, then turning northward to Manchuria, and afterwards following in the tracks of Huc not quite to Lhassa, but as far as the Blue River, or the Yang-tse-kiang; and then, turning back, did the most daring thing of all, crossing the desert of Gobi from Ala-shan to Urga and Kiakhta. This journey had never before been attempted by a European, and was accomplished in the height of summer, when sometimes the party could obtain neither pasture nor water.

The distance between Kiakhta and Peking is a thousand miles, and Europeans who wish to make the journey have the choice of two modes of conveyance, either by post-horses or by caravan camels engaged by special bargain with their owners. So, at least, says Colonel Prejevalsky, though Mr. Milne tells a different tale, for he had intended to cross Mongolia in company with a Russian officer by courier horses; but he found that, according to the agreement between the Russian and Chinese Governments, it was allowable only for such couriers as were Russian subjects to take the horse road, and therefore he was obliged to go the ordinary caravan route by camels. He made an agreement with some Mongol carriers, that they were to take him from Kiakhta to Kalgan, near the great wall of China, in 30 days, for which he was to pay them £15. For every day less than thirty he was to pay ten shillings extra; for every day beyond that time they were to pay him ten shillings. There was also a clause that a tent, fire, and water should be supplied. The ordinary procedure of the caravan in winter is to be on the move till about seven or eight in the evening, and then stop for tea, and travel on till midnight or two in the morning. A halt is then made for sleep, and all start again by eight or ten. They eat in winter only once a day, and, according to Mr. Milne’s account, a winter journey across the desert is anything but comfortable. Mr. Michie, however, and Captain Shepherd, who travelled in milder weather, give a very different account, and speak in pleasant terms of a nomad life. It is so utterly different from any European experience of motion and living that, though it has several drawbacks—and a month is rather too long to be wholly agreeable—yet those who have passed through such a phase of travel look back upon it as a pleasant change from the humdrum life of a homeward voyage in a P. and O. steamer.

The pace at which the caravan proceeds is provokingly slow, and the jolting of the rude, clumsy camel-cart makes walking, for a great part of the day, preferable to driving; but there is game to be shot, and the solitude of the desert is now and then relieved by arrivals at Mongolian yourts, or tents, where, conversation being the only form of newspaper they know, there is a general wagging of tongues, and a shower of questions to be asked. The Mongol’s one notion of wealth is the number of a man’s flocks and herds; and thus, if the Englishman is asked what he is worth, he has to translate his riches into thousands of sheep, horses, and bulls, and then explain his possessions. Again, the monotony of the way may be relieved occasionally by meeting with the Russian post.⁠[4]

The manners and customs of the Mongolians are, in many cases, exceedingly interesting, as taking one back to the habits of a nomadic and pastoral people. But it is not necessary to detail them here, as we shall have before us, in a subsequent chapter, the Buriats, who are a branch of the Mongolian race; and in treating of the one we shall be in many respects treating also of the other.