CHAPTER XVI.

A TRIP INTO CHINA.

With the frontier of China so close, what was more natural than that the desire should spring up within me to penetrate, at any rate a little way, into that mysterious country? So far as I knew, and could gather, no European had yet crossed those mountain ranges into the valley of the Upper Yenesei, which runs between the Syansk range and the eastern slopes of the Altai.

[Illustration: OUR CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS.]

The delimitation of the boundary-line between Russia and China is one of those ludicrous things which only the wily Muscovite knows so well how to manage. Maps showed the boundary to run along the tops of the Syansk range, yet when I asked where was the actual frontier-line, not a man in the Minusinsk valley could tell me. Amongst the officials the idea of a frontier seemed to be a huge joke, and, penetrating deeper into the subject, the solution of the mystery was simply this: that the southern slopes of the Syansk Mountains were as rich in gold as the northern, with the additional qualification that they were less exposed to the rigour of the winter, and that the Russians coveted the district. In consequence of this, and mainly owing to the lax attitude of the Chinese Government, Siberian miners had penetrated beyond the geographical frontier, had opened mines, and were in quite a flourishing condition. The Russian officials meanwhile “winking the other eye,” and accepting the gold from the miners just as if it had been obtained from mines well within the border. Not only that, but enterprising miners had conceived the idea of penetrating even further towards the Altai range, which is well within Chinese territory; but owing to the treachery of some busybody the news of their programme reached official ears in Pekin. Complaints were lodged at St. Petersburg, and the diplomatic shuffle began.

Said the Russian, “Where is the frontier? If you know it to be at the top of the Syansk Mountains, why did you not prevent Russians from coming over into your country and operating?”

Said the Chinaman, “North-Western China is practically uninhabited. We cannot keep officials all along that frontier to prevent your people coming in!”

Said the Russian, “Well, what are you going to do? Our people have been there, have established themselves, and it would be a shame to oust them now. Suppose we arrange it this way. Let them go on working just as they are, and we will promise that no more Russians shall open mines in your country.”

To this Pekin agreed. No surveillance was or is kept, and the consequence is that gradually, but nevertheless surely, the Russian is creeping into North-Western China. On the very top of the Syansk Mountains, and quite half a mile over the boundary line, as marked geographically, I have myself seen no less than five shafts sunk at spots which are supposed to lead to quartz veins.

The ludicrousness of the situation is shown by the fact that the officials of the Russian Government are well aware of the whole business, as it is necessary that before a man can prospect he must lay before the Department exact details as to the locality in which he intends to operate.

Having some interest in geography, I made some searching inquiries into this matter, but, as I have hinted, everywhere I was met with evasive replies. One of the chief officials whom I met, said, in so many words, that the frontier was where you could not find a Russian, and then burst into a hearty laugh.

Beneath this supposed nonchalance, however, it is easy to detect the trace of Imperial designs. “It is absurd,” said one official, “to call the top of the range the frontier. The natural boundary is of course, the Yenesei River, which, as you see, after winding through the mountains, curves round in a semicircle to the mountains again.” Then, emphatically, “It _must_ be Russian.”

Again, I had an interesting conversation with a Russian official on the subject of the railway. The Mongolian map was spread before us, and I traced from memory the course the line would take over the north-eastern Gobi. “Do you think you will have difficulty with the natives in this province?” I asked. My official friend simply winked. “If we do,” said he, “we have plenty of Cossacks to keep them in order; and if the Cossacks are once in they won’t come out very soon. And,” continued he airily, “of course that part of the country north of the line _must_ eventually become Russian.”

Recent events tend considerably to corroborate these statements. One very singular fact about the matter is that the maps issued by the Russian Government to the officials close to the border do not show a single trace of the frontier-line. At present there is nothing to stop the slow but steady creeping of the Russian grey coats into Chinese Mongolia all along the frontier from west to east.

It was in order to find out more about this frontier business that I planned a little excursion to China, being aided and abetted by Scawell, who also had desires in that direction. We started out early one morning with one sledge, and with Schultz as our driver. For some distance the snow had been kept hard, and a decent road took us up the mountain-side. After an hour or two, however, the way got very precipitous, and perforce we had to abandon the sledge and continue our journey on snowshoes. Halfway up the mountain-side we passed though a dense forest, which obliterated, for the time being, all view of the surrounding country, and where it was terribly hard work pushing our snowshoes through the undergrowth which stuck out here and there through the deep snow. At length we got through the forest, and came out on the edge of a bluff which overlooked the whole surrounding country. The sight was one which no pen can describe.

Below us to the northward lay Siberia, a tumbled, mountainous country, which seemed to lie at our very feet--jagged masses of rock sticking out, cones of huge hills far below us, all silent, and white, and ghostly. Afar off we could just dimly see, by the aid of our field-glasses, the huts which formed our camp; beyond that, hills upon hills, clothed with fir, or pine, or birch, undulating away into space. To the south was a different scene, for here the mountains sloped away gently to a plain, and, singularly enough, here and there, instead of the great mass of white which was everywhere on the Siberian side, we detected patches of green and brown. We were some six thousand feet above the sea-level, and fleecy clouds at times swept around us, obliterating on one hand or the other the magnificent views which, as we stood, we drank in with keen enjoyment.

Our descent of the southern slopes of the Syansk was rapid and exciting. Only those who have travelled on snowshoes can realize what it means to go slithering down a slope with absolutely no prospect of stopping yourself except by falling backwards heavily. I am sorry to say, occasionally, and quite unintentionally, we did stop ourselves, and by this method. It had taken us the best part of a day to get up the northern heights. It took us less than an hour to get down three thousand feet on the southern side. To our surprise we found here not more than a few inches of snow, and we were safe in taking off our snowshoes in order to continue our journey, trailing them behind us in order to leave a mark in the snow which would show our direction for the return journey. Before us stretched almost a level plain, but, tapering away off to the right, we could dimly discern the blue tops of the Altai Mountains, in the intervening distance being occasional clumps of trees of much the same character as those on the Siberian side. Progressing on, we now and again came to patches of brown earth or grass with no more snow on them than might be seen in England at midsummer. This complete transition from the terrible cold, snow, and ice on the other side of the mountains was a revelation to us. The very air was warmer--in fact, it seemed as if in the space of a few hours we had jumped from the middle of an Arctic winter into spring. We doffed our fur caps and pelisses, carrying them over our shoulders, and weighty they seemed now, for the walking brought the sweat out.

We had paused by the side of a stream which was brawling away merrily, as innocent of ice as ever one could conceive, and, while sitting on its bank, partaking of a nip of spirit, Scawell espied, away across the plain, a tiny wreath of smoke curling upwards. Our first thought was that this probably came from one of the Russian mines which we had heard of, and so, anxious to see how the operations were being conducted, we immediately set out towards it.

An hour’s stiff walk brought the smoke much nearer, and we were able to see that instead of a mine we were coming upon an encampment of some sort. Through our field-glasses we could see several black tents, and around them some strange animals, which in the distance we could not make out, although it was clear they were neither horses nor oxen. Another half-hour and we were within hailing distance of the encampment, and saw that instead of Russians we had fallen in with some of the natives of the province, the aboriginal Syots. The strange animals, we now perceived, were reindeer. We held a little council of war as to what to do, and the outcome of it was to go on and see all we could.

Strange-looking beings appeared before their tents, shouting excitedly as we approached. They were attired in the most grotesque fashion, huge skins forming one garment from head to foot. Their faces were of the true Mongolian type, and far more hideous than the Chinese. The eyes were big, oblique to a degree, cheek bones very high, and the skin almost black. One of these individuals came running towards us and addressed us in Russian, and the words, “_Morjna kopeet saable, koreshee saable_,” gave us a hint. We had heard that the Syots are sable-hunters, and what they had said was a request to know if we had come to buy good sables. With nothing else to do, under the circumstances, we assented, and entered the encampment. One of the men, the chief evidently, conducted us to a tent which we entered with the gravity and solemnity due to the occasion. The tent was a primitive affair--merely undressed skins stretched over a few poles which tapered up to a point like the tepee of the red man. There was nothing inside except a few skins scattered over the earth of one corner, and which probably formed the resting-place of the inhabitant.

Our host, in broken Russian, made references to tobacco, tea, sugar, and gunpowder. Had we brought them? He had magnificent sables he would give in exchange--all the time that we, in the first novelty of our discovery, scarcely realized what it all meant. It was not long before we were surrounded by some twenty to thirty Syots, the dirtiest, ugliest crowd of humanity which it has ever been my lot to see. They looked at us curiously, evidently perceiving that we were not the same sort of Russians to which they had been accustomed. Their bewilderment at our intrusion became greater when it dawned upon them how little we knew of the Russian language, and I really began to fear that our hospitable reception would not end so peacefully as might have been anticipated at the outset. Scawell was for making tracks and getting out of it, and I, seconding his motion, rose to leave, but the chief bade us be reseated, and brought for our inspection some fifty skins, which even the unpractised eye could detect as being magnificent specimens of the sable. Had we got any tobacco, tea, gunpowder, or shot? Scawell had some cartridges, but these were useless for the weapons used by the Syots. They brought forward for our inspection one of the most unearthly looking guns, surely, that man has ever constructed. It was an arrangement consisting of a long piece of iron piping, plugged up at one end and fastened to the apex of a tripod; the tube had a hole bored about three inches from the plugged end, and this formed the touch-hole. Inquiries elicited the information that this is the usual instrument employed by the Syots in their capture of sables. How tenderly they caressed Scawell’s Mannlicher! what wondering eyes they cast upon its mechanism! while my revolver astonished them. They could not conceive that so small a weapon could have such deadly effect as I told them. They asked us who we were and where we had come from; but, think of it, ye Englishmen, these Syots knew of but two people--Mongolian and Russian!

Out there on the Chinese plain we sat in a tent endeavouring to explain to a crowd of swarthy aborigines that there was another country in the world called England, and that the whole of the earth’s inhabitants did not consist entirely of Chinamen and Russians. It was interesting to hear from the lips of a Mongolian nomad his ideas of things in general. He had heard, he said, that afar off there lived a being called the “Ruski Imperator,” who knew everything and could see everything. I asked the chief about the Emperor of China, but he looked in wonderment upon me, and it was clear he had never heard of him. I mentioned the name “Li Hung Chang,” but again there was no recognition. How far-reaching and how omniscient must be the power of a king, therefore, who, like the Czar of Russia, could be known to a man who has never heard of the existence of a king of his own country!

Fortunately, I had brought with me several handsful of cigarettes, and these I distributed amongst the crowd, telling them at the same time that if they cared to come over the mountains to our encampment I would purchase their sables from them. Of money they knew nothing, but I elicted that an ordinary sable was worth half a brick of tea, which would weigh something about half a pound. A handful of gunpowder and a handful of small shot would be its equivalent, and that the Russian traders never gave more. When one considers that in Moscow and St. Petersburg a single sable skin of good quality will fetch £10 to £15 sterling, the fur-traders of Siberia must be doing a rather lucrative business.

We were anxious to get back, for there was not much daylight remaining, and impressed this upon our hosts, who good naturedly suggested that we should ride some of the reindeer back to the mountains--an offer which we gladly fell in with, as the tramp to the slopes was over three miles. I have ridden some curious animals in my time, but the reindeer with its long, shambling stride is something peculiar. One has to keep a sharp look out for his horns, which he occasionally throws back with a sweep sufficient to knock your head off if you are not careful. It was not a very enjoyable ride, I must admit, encumbered as we were with our snowshoes and our heavy pelisses, and we were glad when the slopes of the mountain had been reached and we were able to dismount and thank our strange conductors for their courtesy.

At sunset we scrambled to the top of the Syansk again, and commenced our descent into the snow and ice of Siberia. It was then that we fully realized the great change between these two climes. On went our pelts, our gloves, and our fur caps; then slither, slither, slither, we careered through the forest; down and down until we came out into the open again, and discovered our faithful Schultz comfortably asleep in the sledge and our poor horse, which had somehow got out of the track, buried up to its neck in the snow. Night had fallen when we reached the camp, well pleased with our day’s excursion; for, if it yielded nothing else, it had given us an insight into the character of a people whose very existence is perhaps unknown to Europe.

[Illustration: A GOLD-MINE ON THE TOP OF THE SYANSK MOUNTAINS.]