A Tour in Mongolia by Beatrix Manico Gull

"Better good neighbours than relations far away"

-- _Chinese proverb_

Our proximity to Urga became now apparent in the increasing traffic over the prairie. From the hill-side on which we halted at breakfast time we watched the life of the plains -- little groups of horsemen sitting casually in their saddles, turning round to stare at us, standing in their stirrups, sped quickly past. A settlement was in process of striking camp; the trellis and felt of the yourts were folded up and piled on the backs of the unwilling camels. A splendid Mongol riding proudly at the head of a string of camel carts came along from the west, dismounted, stretched himself, and climbed up to see what we were doing. By unmistakable signs he invited us to descend to his caravan below. In the first cart were his wife and two little sons, the jolliest little creatures imaginable. In pukka Oriental style I admired and fingered the headdress of the lady, and then dandled the children, expressing my appreciation of their weight and beauty. The man quite grasped the photographic idea, and posed his family for my benefit. Afterwards he surprised us greatly by asking for money; despite the fact that one string of his wife's pearls would have fetched far more than we were able to raise between us. But he did not resent our refusal, and hailed us with the cheery greeting of "San bainu" when we overtook him later in the day.

Moving on from the plains which stretched away into the mountains and valleys on all sides, we soon began the steep ascent of the Urga Pass when the subtlety of our Jamschik showed itself in suggesting that in the bordering woods hereabouts there was any amount of game. We jumped out of the tarantass -- which was soon out of sight -- in a sanguine frame of mind, and guns over our shoulders we trudged and trudged up that mountain side. Tiring it was, in the fierce July sun, beyond expression, and we got -- never a shot. But the scenery here was well worth the fag of the climb. Range upon range of mountains disclosed themselves as we ascended among a perfect wilderness of flowers. Peonies, roses, and delphiniums, Japanese anemones, blue columbines, red and yellow lilies -- a background of dark pine forest, and away in the distance, blue mountains beneath a canopy of soft masses of rolling clouds.

Half-way up, we were overtaken by a number of Russian officers who looked, as well they might, in astonishment at the sight of a couple of English people, apparently without belongings or conveyance, calmly strolling up a mountain in the heart of Mongolia. We met them again at the summit of the Altai Berg. Their Mongols were having a rest, and incidentally, I dare say, "gaining merit" by adding a few stones to the great cairn, from which numbers of dirty rags serving as prayer flags fluttered. I think the officers were waiting in order to discover what on earth we were doing there and what was our object in going to Urga. They did not, however, make much headway with us. Their knowledge of German was very limited and we on our side did not see the force of burdening them at this juncture with our confidences. They, needless to say, had remained in their conveyances all the way up. The latter were being drawn Orton fashion by four mounted Mongols. A pole is fixed across the thin ends of the shafts, and is carried by the Mongols between the pummel of their saddles and their stomachs. Usually a couple of men ride on either side of the shafts. Six to eight Mongols accompany each carriage, women as well as men taking turn and turn about. They laugh and fool about all the time, tearing up hill and down dale, the tarantass swaying about with plenty of play at the other end of the shafts. They are absolutely reckless and care not one straw what happens -- as we learned to our cost later on.

Our Jamschik greeted us cheerily when we met him again at the top of the pass, and at once "took on" the Mongol outriders for a race down into Urga. We did not know the Russian for "not so quick" or "steady," and we flew over the ground holding on like grim death, our three horses galloping and taking the most reckless short cuts at breakneck speed. Down, down we tore, over the roughest and most impossible tracks to an accompaniment of terrific jolts and bangs. The Mongols kept up, yelling and laughing as they rolled about in their saddles. It was no less terrifying than it was painful, but personally I was far too tired to care much what happened, or to feel as alarmed as I do even now in retrospect. But we got in ahead of the Russians, which was a great crow over for us.