A Tour in Mongolia by Beatrix Manico Gull

"With coarse food to eat, water to drink, and the bended arm as a pillow, happiness may still exist."

-- _Chinese proverb_

So greatly had I enjoyed my experiences of travel in Inner Mongolia, that it was in a sanguine frame of mind I returned to Peking to engage in the pleasant task of making my preparations for a more extensive expedition. I had not, however, been long in the capital before I received from an authentic quarter news which made my prospects of carrying my plans into effect look somewhat dubious. Confirming the rumours I had heard at Ta-Bol, a Reuter's telegram was published to the effect that a battle in which 1200 Chinese soldiers had been routed had taken place immediately north of that place, and that the Hung-hu-tzes, once a robber band, now authorised Mongol soldiery, were plundering within a few hundred li of Kalgan, and killing Mongols and Chinese without distinction.

The next thing that happened was that one afternoon at the British Legation, forty-eight hours only after my return from the north, I met Mr. Edward Manico Gull, then of the Chinese Maritime Customs Service, who, like myself, undeterred by the question of risks, was keenly desirous of crossing the Gobi and of visiting Urga with a view of learning at first hand something of the political conditions which led up to the rebellion of Mongolia against Chinese rule. A few days later he propounded the very practical suggestion that it would be decidedly economical, and, what was of far greater importance, very much safer, if we joined forces in order to make the attempt. Plans then grew apace. Mr. Gull left for Kalgan almost immediately, and spent a weary fortnight in making strenuous efforts to secure first camels, and then a Mongol to accompany us as guide. Only people who have had this sort of experience can realise the constant disappointment, the promises, the breaking of promises, the endless procrastinations and delay that attend an endeavour to persuade the Asiatic into doing something concerning which he has misgivings -- it resolves itself into a perfect see-saw of anticipation and disillusion.

At extortionate rates, camels were commissioned over and over again; a southern Mongol undertook the duties of guide. When the time arrived for their appearance there were no camels. The Mongol backed out of his bargain. For my part, I undertook the purchase of stores -- a somewhat unknown quantity, for under the unsettled conditions of the country it was wise to be prepared for all emergencies, such as dodging the fighting forces, which conceivably might mean making a détour taking weeks. I also bought a capital pony -- alas! only to sell him back again to his owner a few days later. But I at Peking was less sanguine than my friend at Kalgan. The little experience I had already had of Mongolia had taught me something of the difficulties of the situation, and by then the frontiers were so tremendously guarded that there was never the ghost of a chance of getting out of China nor of our caravan going through the lines.

To the kindness of certain friends at Peking at this time I owe more even than perhaps they realise. Plans had of necessity to be kept private under the circumstances, and the sympathy as well as the practical assistance in preparing my outfit that were given to me in the most generous manner possible by the two people who were in my confidence can never be forgotten. But to cut a long, and to me a heartrending, story short, we had, after straining every nerve to achieve our object, to abandon the notion of crossing the Gobi, and, travelling by train in the most prosaic manner possible through Manchuria and Siberia, we arrived at Verkne-Oudinsk on the Eastern side of Lake Baikal. The journey thither, had not the vision of all we had missed in being forced to cut out the Gobi from our calculations loomed large on our horizon, would have been very interesting. As it was, I broke my journey by the South Manchurian Railway for twenty-four hours in order to see something of the old capital and metropolis of Manchuria, Moukden, while Mr. Gull travelled on to spend a few days with some friends at Harbin.

Moukden attracted me on several counts. I wanted to see with my own eyes something of the effect of the Japanese influence (the line from Peking to Ch'angch'un is Japanese) on the Chinese in Manchuria, as well as to visit what had been the scene of great slaughter during the Russo-Japanese war. Most of all was I anxious not to miss the opportunity of inspecting the small but fine collection of Ch'en Lung pictures which interested me deeply. These, together with an enormous collection of porcelain, are kept, thick with dust and but rarely seeing the light of day, in the old palace, the ancestral home of the late dynasty, perilously exposed, it seemed, to danger from fire, but perhaps safer as regards looting than they might be in China proper. One of these days one fears that a needy Government, if it continues to sail under Republican colours, will cast its predatory eye on this mass of treasure, and a long purse from the United States will replenish the coffers of the iconoclasts at the expense to the nation of some of the most precious heirlooms of the faded monarchy, the priceless possessions of Ch'en Lung the magnificent. The tombs of the Manchu sovereigns a few miles out of the city also helped to convince me that it had been well worth while to break my journey at Moukden.