A Tour in Mongolia by Beatrix Manico Gull

"The Great Way is very easy, but all love the by-paths"

-- _Chinese proverb_

The sheer discomfort of our crowded tarantass could not quench the glorious optimism with which on the last day of June we sallied forth on the highway to Urga. Our driver, though he looked a ruffian, was not unpromising on further acquaintance, and we ended up by liking him very much. On the day previous to our departure he had called to see exactly how much luggage we wanted to take with us, and this he was inclined to limit severely. Needless to say it had expanded considerably during the night, and we cudgelled our brains as to how to get it into the tarantass without exciting his criticism too much. The Jamschik was all smiles in the morning however, and took no notice as package after package was stowed away. The awful thought passed through my mind that perhaps he was in league with the Hung-hu-tzes and felt that the more the stores the better the booty. We were far too crowded to be comfortable. Experience, however, had taught us that in due course one shakes down to anything, and anyhow we were feeling altogether too pleased with life to worry much at this juncture. With us, surrounding us, and suspended above our heads from the roof of the tarantass, making hard corners and lumps when we tried to sit on or lean against them, were our food supplies for the double journey (which as regards time limit was exceedingly vague), a modicum of personal baggage, our bedding, and, not least, our cameras, firearms and cartridges. The weapons had to be so arranged as to be immediately available. We had but one desire -- to get to Urga.

The tarantass was drawn by three horses abreast with a fourth tied up and trotting alongside always -- in the way, poor little chap, being crowded up banks when the road narrowed and coming in for the sharpest cuts from the long whip on account of his ill-luck every time. Our last stop, long before we had shaken down into anything like comfort, was at Mai-mai-ch'eng, just across the frontier, where we had hoped to lay in a stock of cigarettes, to purchase fresh bread, and to post final letters. But, Russian influence prevailing, Mai-mai-ch'eng had not waked up, the post-office and bakers' shops were still shut, and our sole catch was cigarettes. Once out of Kiachta and through Mai-mai-ch'eng we were actually in Mongolia proper, speeding over undulating country on tracks rather than on roads, driving across flowery prairie, having said good-bye to all civilisation and houses for the time being. At midday we fetched up at the first Russian resthouse, a new and therefore fairly clean log-hut, and congratulated ourselves upon the prospect of simple comfort when a blue-eyed, blue-bloused young Russian produced the ubiquitous _samovar_ and made for us even here tea the like of which you can get neither for love nor money outside Russia. While we ate our lunch the Jamschik amused himself by detaching and thoroughly oiling the wheels of the tarantass, a business which delayed us considerably and which it seemed to us might very well have been performed before we started.

The day which had begun so well grew dull, and grey clouds turned into steady rain which made us anxious as to what the night might have in store for us. Through pretty country, grassy and well sprinkled with flowers, a small species of scarlet and yellow tiger-lily growing in abundance everywhere, we drove on for four or five hours before pulling up in a torrent of rain at dusk, at an unexpected shanty surrounded by three or four yourts out of which several Mongols promptly appeared. On further acquaintance we came to the conclusion that they were Buriats, but be their nationality what it may, they gave us a warm welcome; the woman who appeared to rule the roost there did her best to make us comfortable, dusting the rain from us and even going so far as to wipe the mud from Mr. Gull's mackintosh with my sponge which I had unfortunately unpacked a thought too soon. The family appeared to be extensive, both numerically and in size. They all helped to carry in, and were eager to unpack, our belongings. The good lady soon had a _samovar_ bubbling cheerily and a fire crackling in the mud stove which occupied quite a third of the floor space. She conveyed to us, entirely by pantomime and we afterwards verified her statement that she had once been in the Russian consul's service, that she was a Christian -- there was an icon in the corner of the room to which she pointed -- and that therefore she loved us very much and would do anything she could for us.