It was difficult to realize that we had reached Khotan, the ancient Kingdom of Jade, and one of the most thriving oases of the Chinese Province of Hsin-chiang. The modern city with its covered bazaars and dusty lanes, hides the visage of ancient Khotan, once an important seat of Buddhist learning and emporium of central Asian trade.
In the oldest Chinese Annals, the town is known by the name of Yu-t'ien. The native name was Kustana, or Ch'iu-sa-tan-na in the Chinese transcription (another transcription is Ch'iu-tan).
Sir Aurel Stein, during his several archaeological expeditions in Khotan and its vicinity, has discovered a mass of tablets inscribed in Kharoshthi, an Indian alphabet current in the northwest of India about the beginning of our era. These documents give us valuable insight into the everyday life of the great trading oases along the southern caravan route, connecting Khotan with distant Tun-huang and the interior of China.
During the pre-Mohammedan period of central Asian history, Khotan was inhabited by an Iranian population, which spoke an Iranian dialect conditionally designated by the name of Oriental-Iranian.
The ancient city of Khotan and the other important oases along the trade route, had large colonies of Indian merchants, carrying on a considerable trade with northwestern India. It was probably these Indian colonies that introduced the Kharoshthi alphabet. The population of Khotan was Buddhist, professing the Mahayana form. Chinese pilgrims, who braved the dangers of the central Asian deserts in quest of knowledge from India, have left us detailed accounts of the thriving state of Buddhism in the Kingdom of Khotan and the wonderful religious zeal of its monarchs.
There is little to glean from Mohammedan sources about the medieval history of Khotan. It seems to have remained Buddhist even after the Mohammedan conquest of about 1000 A.D. The Mohammedan author, Gardizi, says that the people of Khotan were Buddhist but he also mentions a Mohammedan cemetery, north of Khotan, and two Christian churches in the town itself (neither Christian nor Manichean relics have so far been discovered in Khotan).
Ibn-al Athir mentions Kadir Khan Yusuf, who died in 1032 A.D., as the Mohammedan conqueror of Khotan.
During the period from the tenth century to the twelfth century A.D. Khotan was conquered by the Ilek-khans and the Kara-Khitai. From the thirteenth century the ancient kingdom owed allegiance to China and continued a semi-independent existence, under the overlordship of China, until the eighteenth century, when it formed part of the State of the Khodjas (saints). The Khodjas were followed by the Jungar Mongols, who held Khotan until 1758 A.D. when the Oirat power crumbled under the decisive blows delivered by the Chinese imperial troops. From that date, Khotan remained under Chinese control except for a brief period beginning in 1863-64 when the oasis was invaded by Yakub Beg. After his violent death in 1877 A.D. Khotan again accepted Chinese sovereignty and has remained ever since under the overlordship of China. Such are the outstanding historical facts in the life of the famous oasis.
The ruins of the pre-Mohammedan town lie some five miles west of the modern town. Sir Aurel Stein has gathered on its site important collections of small antiquities and coins. The insurmountable obstacle to systematic archaeological excavations lies in the fact that the ancient city is partly re-covered by a modern settlement and some Mohammedan cemeteries, which it is impossible to disturb.
From time to time landslides uncover terra cotta figurines and masses of ancient coins, which usually fall into the hands of local treasure-seekers. For the past few years the archaeological spoils have been very insignificant. The local people had quickly learned to imitate terra cotta figurines of stupas and even animals, and the Khotan market displays a good number of these spurious antiques. The profession of treasure-seekers has almost disappeared and very few people care to visit the desert tracts.
Some of the local notables, aware of the value of genuine antiques, accumulate for themselves considerable collections of smaller objects with an ultimate view of selling them to wealthy foreigners. In such cases the prices are usually very high and the story is told that the collection has been registered by the Indian Archaeological Department. During our stay in Khotan, the veteran Indian aasaqal, Badruddin Khan, once the local agent of Sir Aurel Stein, showed us a considerable collection of antiquities, gathered by him and his agents at Yotkan, Rawak, Niya, Mazar Imam Jafar Sadik, and distant Miran, all places explored by Sir Aurel Stein. This collection comprised well-preserved stucco heads of Buddhas, jars with handles adorned with human and animal heads, fragments of frescoes, objects in clay, such as votive stupas, offering lamps, animal figures, etc. The collection included several wooden tablets inscribed in Kharoshthi, torn fragments of a text in Oriental-Iranian, lists of Tibetan writings on paper from the Miran site, containing mostly leave permits for soldiers of the Tibetan garrison in the Miran Fort. (A curious detail is the constant use of the word dpa-o for "soldier"; in the present-day language, the word has the restricted sense of "hero.")
Badruddin Khan had also a large manuscript with leaves bound together, written in the central Asian slanting script, which was said to have come from some locality situated between Aksu and Kuchar.
The price he asked for the whole collection was exorbitant, and notwithstanding protracted negotiations we were unable to lower it. Our limited supply of silver and banknotes, the difficulty of obtaining a new supply from the outside, and the subsequent difficulties with local authorities, forced us to drop the matter. I have heard since that the collection has been acquired by some foreign travelers who visited Khotan after our departure.
The modern oasis of Khotan has about 150,000 inhabitants, with a considerable Chinese colony of officials, their families, traders, and soldiers. The city consists of two parts, the Kone-shahr or the Old City occupied by the Mohammedan population, and the Yangi-shahr or New City, also called Han-ch'eng, the Walled Chinese City, built in 1883. Throughout its history, Khotan was an important trading center on the ancient silk route. The fame of Khotan artisans lives to the present day. Khotan silks, carpets, felts, wool, furs, and jade are still in great demand, and command good prices throughout central Asia, India, and distant China. Before the Revolution of 1917 considerable trade was conducted with Russia through Irkeshtam.
Khotan silk manufacture is the largest in the country, and Khotanese silk fabrics are found in all the markets of Chinese Turkestan and a few years ago were exported in considerable quantity to Russian Turkestan through Kashgar and the frontier outpost of Irkeshtam. Besides silk fabrics, Khotan is noted for its cotton stuffs, which are exported in large quantities. The Khotanese silk and cotton factories are largely worked by female and child labor. We knew of several big Khotan merchants who owned some two hundred girls and obliged them to work in their factories. A mild form of slavery is still a distinct feature of Khotanese life. Parents usually have nothing against their daughters or sons being sold to a family of good social standing, where they are well cared for. Many have become slaves through being unable to pay their debts. The usual price for a girl of fourteen is from fifteen to thirty Mexican dollars. A child of four is often sold for a couple of dollars. Mohammedan merchants pay regular visits to the Kansu Province, where they buy children under the age of five and transport them to Turkestan to be sold to families. During our crossing of the Kansu Province we once came across a party of boys and girls, all under five, sold to a wealthy Mohammedan merchant. They all were sitting in a courtyard, learning to recite Mohammedan prayers.
Besides silk and cotton stuffs, Khotan produces a large quantity of carpets. The old art of carpet weaving was lost long ago and the modern factories produce imitations of Chinese and old Persian carpets. Khotan carpets are found throughout central Asia. The Kirghiz and Torgut traders from Jungaria and Karashahr pay yearly visits to Khotan, and carry away a considerable portion of the yearly produce in carpets, which are used in furnishing felt tents and monasteries.
In recent years, Khotan felts have been in great demand. These felts are manufactured all along the southern trade route between Yarkend and Khotan, but the center of manufacture is undoubtedly Khotan. These felts are often vividly colored and have a striking design. Most of the trade is done with India, where the felts are in growing demand, not only for Indian markets, but also for foreign markets. Khotan sheepskins are valued throughout Chinese Turkestan and are commonly used as winter lining for coats and winter caps. The skins are well tanned and compare favorably with the other fur-producing centers of Turkestan, such as Kashgar, Aksu, and Kuchar.
The present jade manufacture is very insignificant. The trade received a rude shock during the rule of Ma Fu-hsin, the Ti-t'ai of Kashgar, who ordered the exportation of a number of skilled artisans from Khotan for his jade works in Kashgar.
As an agricultural center, Khotan occupies an important place. It is well watered and the fertile beds of alluvial loess afford ample opportunity for agriculture.
Wheat, corn, barley, and rice are cultivated on an extensive scale. The oasis boasts of many fruit orchards, where apples, pears, apricots, grapes, melons, etc., are grown.
The sight of modern Khotan is unattractive for one who is accustomed to the rich coloring of the mountain tracts. For hours one rides along dusty lanes, lined with poplars. On either side are half-ruined clay structures—farm houses, mazars or tombs, roadside mosques, or endless brick walls which fence off plots of waste land. The covered bazaars are evil smelling and only the exceptional dryness of the climate prevents epidemics. The bazaar streets are narrow and are always blocked by fruitstands and hawkers, who wander through the dense crowd. Most of the shops are open, and the goods are displayed on the stands. Many of the shops are run by women who trade in the name of their husbands.
During the crowded bazaar hours, it is almost impossible to ride through the crowds that swarm through the streets. Caravans on horses, mules, donkeys, and camels may block the way for hours, and unbelievable clamor and shouts rise when two caravans collide in the narrow market place. The native manner of getting through a crowd is to beat one's way through, and this method is extensively used by the Chinese soldiery. Sometimes one hears a loud outcry and sees the crowd flee in all directions, overturning fruitstands. A moment later one sees a carriage approaching, preceded by several mounted soldiers who lash the throng with their long whips. It is surprising that no one takes objection to the treatment, accepting it as one of the prerogatives of official power.
By night the bazaars are lit with oil lamps and Chinese paper lanterns, making a very colorful picture.
As to the social life of Khotan, suffice it to say that the town and its populace has not changed since the time of Marco Polo. The account left by the great Venetian is still a true reproduction of Khotanese manners and customs.
Our sojourn in Khotan began with busy days. Visits had to be paid to the Tao-t'ai or Governor, the amban or city magistrate, and the tung-ling, officer commanding the Khotan garrison. We began our visits early in the morning of our first day in Khotan. First we went to the Tao-t'ai yamen. Professor Roerich and I rode on horseback, followed by our Chinese interpreter and preceded by several begs or headmen and Chinese soldiers, who cleared the way through the narrow streets of the Mohammedan section of the city. As soon as we appeared, a crowd formed and followed us to the gates of the Governor's residence. A detachment of infantry was lined up on either side of the large entrance gate. The men, in dark gray uniforms with red shoulder straps, presented arms. Then they rushed past us to the next gate, again lined up and again presented arms. This ceremony was performed three times at each of the three gates of the yamen. The Tao-t'ai met us in the inner courtyard of his residence.
Ma Shao-wu, the conqueror of Kashgar and the slayer of the Ti-t'ai, was a diminutive man with aquiline features and polite, quiet manners. After the usual ceremonial inquiries about health, the road, etc., he begged us to enter a large room reserved for the occasion. Here tea was served on a small table, around which we took our seats, the subordinate officials remaining standing all the time.
The room was furnished in a strange and incongruous combination of Chinese and European style. In the corner stood the usual large Chinese bed, and small Chinese black tables were placed along the wall. The room was full of arms, the presence of which evinced the warlike habits of the Governor. On the walls hung German Mauser pistols in wooden holsters, and Russian Cossack swords. One of the corners of the room was occupied by innumerable wrist watches, a unique collection gathered by the Governor from Russian refugees, when he was the officer commanding the garrison at Uch-Turfan, a city on the Russian Turkestan border.
Behind each of us stood an armed guardsman of the Governor's bodyguard; each man was armed with a sword, a pair of Mauser pistols, and heavy cartridge belts. An inquisitive crowd of Turki headmen and secretaries pressed in the doorway. The Governor delivered a brief speech of welcome, telling us how glad he was to honor such distinguished foreigners. He hoped that we would make a prolonged stay in Khotan and rest after all the hardships of the snowy route over the Karakorum. He was ready to grant us every assistance and was himself deeply interested in the past of Khotan. He had heard about the splendid work achieved by Sir Aurel Stein in this very region and it was his wish to assist scholars from foreign lands in their explorations. During this brief address, couched in such friendly and enlightened terms, I had time to examine the person of the Governor and recall to my mind the recent events of his troubled life.
Ma Shao-wu belonged to a great and distinguished family of Chinese Mohammedans. His father was once the Viceroy of the Yunnan Province and lost his life in a rebellion against the imperial throne of China. The present Governor of Khotan spent his younger days in distant Yunnan, then was exiled to the torrid desert tracts of western Kansu and Hsin-chiang. This family had produced several outstanding personalities, all of them occupying important posts in Chinese Provincial administration.
Ma Fu-hsin, the murdered Ti-t'ai of Kashgar, was one of them and the strong man of Sining, General Ma, belongs to the same line. For many years the present Governor of Khotan was the officer commanding the garrison of Kashgar and Uch-Turfan. It is during this period that a deep-rooted animosity was shown between him and his elder relative, the Ti-t'ai of Kashgar.
Ma Ti-t'ai was a characteristic figure in the Chinese administration of the New Dominion. He was a ruthless despot, who knew no mercy for either Chinese or native Turki. He built himself a huge palace in the Chinese town or Han-ch'eng of Kashgar, and had several summer houses in its vicinity. He constructed bridges and roads and planted trees along them. A native daring to hit a tree with his carriage would have the fingers of both hands cut off. The Ti-t'ai owned large enterprises outside the city, was interested in oil, and maintained a large jade factory for which he requisitioned the best artisans from Khotan.
He had a pitiless way of removing his competitors in commercial enterprises. The unfortunate men were summoned to the Governor's palace, and there were put to death or had their hands cut off. Now many of these unfortunate wretches are dead, but some are still begging in the bazaars of Kashgar, evidence of a cruel despot.
The Ti-t'ai was famous for his harem of some fifty wives. Any pretty peasant girl was in constant danger of being snatched away from her family and taken to the palace of the Governor. When tired of his wives, he used to present them to his friends and officers who had distinguished themselves in service. He was known for his lavish entertainments and for a special brand of strong Chinese brandy, which he served at his dinner parties.
For several years before his fall in 1924, he cherished hopes of becoming the independent ruler of Kashgaria and his relations with Yang Tseng-hsin, Governor-General of the Hsin-chiang Province, were very strained.
In 1924 the war clouds began to gather. It was rumored that the Ti-t'ai was planning a rebellion against the Governor-General of the Province and the Provincial Government realized the necessity of putting a stop to the dangerous activities of the Kashgar war lord. A large force of some 18,000 cavalry and infantry was mustered in Urumchi and the command was intrusted to Erh Tao-yin of Aksu, one of the ablest regional governors of Hsin-chiang. The force started on its march to Kashgar in February, 1924. One should not, however, think that all the 18,000 men were actually in the field. This large number of troops no doubt existed only on paper and the force that arrived in Kashgar amounted to only about five hundred men. In Hsin-chiang the authorities have a curious way of counting their troops. They are not counted by sabers or bayonets, but by their caps—not so many sabers or bayonets, but so many caps. Many of the regiment commanders have their soldiers only on paper. They have no soldiers, but keep caps for them and the caps are counted in official reports.
Ma Shao-wu, who was the officer commanding the garrison in Uch-Turfan, petitioned the Governor-General to be permitted to participate in the war expedition. In a spectacular dash, he covered the long stretch from Uch-Turfan to Urumchi, the capital of the Province, in seven days. His request was granted and he hurried back to take command of the vanguard of the expeditionary forces. By detour routes in the hills, the vanguard under Ma Shao-wu approached the Chinese city of Kashgar on June 1, 1924, and swept through it. The soldiers of the Ti-t'ai were unprepared for an attack and offered but little resistance. The Han-ch'eng was soon occupied by the invaders, who stormed the palace of the Governor. The Ti-t'ai's son, who occupied the post of Hsieh-t'ai, fought valiantly and fell dead in the courtyard of his citadel.
His father, the aged Ti-t'ai, is said to have offered firm resistance but was eventually overpowered and arrested in one of his private rooms. During the fighting his right arm was shot through by a bullet. The prisoner was led outside the main gate of the citadel, and there crucified on a wooden cross.
Ma Shao-wu personally commanded the firing squad. Eyewitnesses tell that before the execution the victorious Ma Shao-wu approached the crucified Ti-t'ai and shouted to him: "Do you recognize me, Ma Fu-hsin?" "Ma Shao-wu," groaned the wounded Ti-t'ai. After this very brief dialogue, Ma Shao-wu fired his pistol at the Ti-t'ai, and the blood from the wound is said to have spurted on his coat—a bad sign, according to the Chinese. In the excitement the soldiers of the firing squad shot at the Ti-t'ai without previous orders and almost killed Ma Shao-wu, who stood between them and the wounded man. He had a narrow escape.
For several days the corpse was exposed to the angry populace who came in thousands to avenge themselves. They spat in the face of the dead man, tore his beard, and threw refuse and stones. After this the body disappeared and its fate is unknown.
Ma Shao-wu remained master of the city, and foreign residents say that he acquitted himself well of the task and by a series of stern measures restored order and prevented looting. It was apparently a coveted desire of Ma Shao-wu to remain in Kashgar in place of the slain Ti-t'ai, but the Governor-General of the Province was well aware of the danger presented by the successful officer and resolved to appoint him to a more remote section. A separate governorship was accordingly created in Khotan, and Ma Shao-wu was appointed Tao-yin of the new district, which stretched from Karghalik to distant Tun-huang on the Kansu border.
Erh Tao-yin and his corps of 18,000 men never reached Kashgar and great hostility is said to exist between him and Ma Shao-wu.
During our stay in Khotan, it was commonly said that Ma Shao-wu had received orders from the Governor-General to send back his troops to Urumchi, but that the newly appointed Governor of Khotan disregarded the Governor-General's orders and kept the troops in Khotan. This explained the presence of the great number of troops there.
Such was the great deed of Ma Shao-wu, for which he became famous throughout the vast Province. It was a family feud of long standing and the last act of the drama is still to be enacted. All during our stay in Khotan, the Tao-t'ai was apprehensive of an advance by General Ma of Sining to avenge the death of his cousin. Troops were said to have been concentrated at Tun-huang and rumors were whispered that General Ma was negotiating with the Provincial Government at Lan-chou for a general advance on Hsin-chiang.
Such was the background of Ma Shao-wu when we first met him in Khotan. A man of considerable ability and personal courage, but an intriguer and revengeful, he found himself relegated to a distant province separated from the other inhabited places of Hsin-chiang by vast tracts of desert.
Our first meeting with the man was very friendly and we had all the prospects of a successful stay in Khotan. We took leave of the Governor and proceeded to the city magistrate—a typical Chinese official of the interior of China. A faithful instrument of the Governor, he echoed the same readiness to assist us. The tung-ling or officer commanding the garrison at Khotan, whom we visited next, was a young man of pleasant manners and during our subsequent troubles occupied a neutral position. Everywhere we were met with the same ceremonies and guards of honor.
After a strenuous morning we returned to our camp. In the afternoon we received the visit of Ma Tao-t'ai, who was followed by the chih-shih or magistrate and the tung-ling. The Governor arrived in a covered carriage painted green on the outside and lined with violet velvet, drawn by three horses. The cortège was followed by forty cavalrymen of the Governor's bodyguard on raven black horses. The bodyguard of forty men is said to be maintained by the Tao-t'ai at his own expense. All of the men were heavily armed and presented the pick of Chinese troops in Hsin-chiang. The Governor once more assured us of his good will and urged us to make ourselves comfortable in Khotan.
It was impossible to stay in the small garden of Badruddin Khan with our big caravan, and we therefore decided to find a suitable house with plenty of ground in which to establish our headquarters. In our search we encountered the first obstacle to be set in our way by the local authorities. We were fortunate in finding a beautifully situated summer house belonging to the late Afghan aqsaqal of Khotan, an ideal place for our headquarters, with extensive grounds, situated three miles from the city itself. We at once decided to rent the house and there establish the expedition headquarters. It was Persian in style and had stood empty since the death of its owner, as his widow lived in her town house. We made known our decision to a native interpreter, Kerim Beg, who was attached to our camp by the local authorities. He seemed very displeased at our choice, and hinted that the Governor would prefer to see us living closer to his residence. We thought it very strange and sent our Chinese secretary, Ts'ai, to the Governor's yamen to inquire. He soon came back and reported that the Governor had assured him that he had nothing against our living in the summer house of the former Afghan aqsaqal and that the beg had misconstrued his orders. We accordingly instructed Kerim Beg to call on the aqsaqal family to discuss terms. He refused to do so, saying that the family was a very difficult one to deal with.
After this conversation, several days elapsed without our being able to settle the matter. It was during this period that we made the acquaintance of a local trader, Khudai Berdi Bai, who became a trusted friend all through the period of our difficulties with local authorities. The matter of renting the house seemed to take a hopeless turn and we decided to negotiate directly with the Afghan aqsaqal's family. To our great surprise, we found them very eager to rent the house. Someone was trying to prevent us from establishing our headquarters there. Who this dark shadow was, whose hand we found in all our difficulties in Khotan, we were unable to ascertain. We signed an agreement, paid a month's rent, and took possession of the house and compound, to the great consternation of Kerim Beg.
Having established our headquarters, we began to plan our scientific and artistic activities in Khotan and its vicinity. The ancient site of Khotan—Yotkan, where from time to time landslides revealed miscellaneous objects and remains of old structures—had to be explored. We also planned for a brief expedition to Mazar Imam Jafar Sadik and to the site of the Rawak stupa where shifting sands had uncovered interesting new remains.
Our Ladakis, these wonderful hillmen, found it difficult to become accustomed to new surroundings and we decided to let them return to their native Ladak. They departed, well recompensed for their splendid services. We heard later on that all of them safely reached Leh, but encountered great snowdrifts on the Sanju Pass.
Besides his archaeological work, Professor Roerich intended to extend his artistic work, possibly toward the Karanghu Tagh Mountains and round Khotan. We also were planning our future route to inner China, and had to muster a new caravan of men and animals. Amid this organizing work, clouds gathered for a storm. Our friends, of whom we had many, both among the Chinese and native Chang-t'ou, began to warn us that the Tao-t'ai had been troubled by some of his counselors, who seemed to be conspiring against our expedition. Strange rumors filled the air and no one knew whence they came or who was spreading them.
For a time, everything was quiet. The Tao-t'ai arranged a dinner of some fifty courses in honor of Professor Roerich, at which all the local officials were present, and also Mr. K. Moldavak, an Armenian gentleman, who had long been living in Khotan and was one of the closest friends of the local Governor. Mrs. Roerich could not attend the function and the whole dinner of fifty courses was sent to her by an aide to the Governor. It was a long affair, which started about three o'clock in the afternoon and continued late into the evening. The Chinese played their usual table games, in which the loser had to drink a glass of strong Chinese brandy after each defeat. The Tao-t'ai entertained his guests with stories of his former exploits and showed photos of his tame leopards, of which he was very proud.
After dinner, some of the officials present sang Chinese ballads. Unfortunately none of the singers were experts, and we failed to appreciate their singing. The dinner ended late at night and we were led to the courtyard, the Governor heading the procession which was preceded by soldiers carrying Chinese paper lanterns. Our horses stood waiting for us at the inner gate of the yamen. Twenty horsemen of the Governor's bodyguard escorted us home. Each rider carried a lantern. We rode at quick pace through the streets of Khotan which were crowded, notwithstanding the late hour. The raven black horses of the escort shied and overthrew several fruitstands. It was a beautiful, cool evening and the usually hazy atmosphere of the desert gave way to a clear transparent sky, against the background of which we could see the sharp snowy outline of the Karanghu Tagh Mountains south of Khotan.
For several days more our relations with the authorities continued to be outwardly friendly, although there were signs of a growing uneasiness in the Governor and his subordinates.
A few days after the dinner party, the young son of the Governor became ill, and Mrs. Roerich had to go to help them. The boy recovered and the Governor afterward mentioned that this aid saved us from further difficulties in Khotan and on the way.
Khotan, a city of several scores of thousands, has not even a single doctor. The nearest European doctor lives in Yarkend. The usual practice was to send an urgent message inviting Dr. Nyström, of the Swedish Mission in Yarkend. It took the doctor about five days to reach Khotan, traveling day and night on a Chinese cart.
We applied to the magistrate of the city for permission to sketch and take photos in the city itself and its environs. Permission was refused in both cases, and we were told that they had written for instructions to the Governor-General of the Province. We decided to protest to the Tao-t'ai and remind him of his promise to assist the expedition in its work.
Meanwhile a new magistrate had arrived from Urumchi and Kashgar. Disquieting rumors were whispered about. The new magistrate was violently opposed to foreigners, although he boasted of his modernism.
A few days after his arrival, the Governor with all the Chinese officials came to thank Mrs. Roerich for her help during the illness of the Governor's son. They came accompanied by an armed escort. From the very beginning of the conversation we felt that the Tao-t'ai and the new magistrate had something on their minds. We invited them to tea in my room and closed the doors so as to prevent the noisy soldiers from entering. Ma Tao-t'ai and the magistrate seemed very uneasy and surly. They examined the room attentively and exchanged brief remarks about our pack cases that were piled along the walls. Suddenly the Tao-t'ai coughed three times, the door swung open and the room was filled with soldiers, who lined up along the walls. The room assumed the appearance of a tribunal. We were much surprised and expressed our astonishment at the conduct of the Governor. The Tao-t'ai smiled and begged us not to pay any attention. I feel sure that the Governor was afraid to remain alone in the room.
The conversation continued on general topics, when suddenly the new magistrate began to question us about our passports. We once more produced our Peking passports sent us to India from the Chinese Wai-chiao-pu, through Mr. Cheng Lo, the Chinese Ambassador in Peking. The attitude of the Chinese was inexplainable. They scoffingly remarked that our passports were not valid in this Province, that the Peking Government had nothing to say in Hsin-chiang and that Mr. Cheng Lo had no authority to issue letters of introduction. The Chinese assumed a threatening attitude, began to gesticulate, spit on the floor, and scoff. It was quite an unexpected change, but we decided to stand firm and pointed out to them that they had no right to threaten the expedition and disregard our passports. We warned them that we should at once communicate with the British Consul in Kashgar and ask him to request the Governor-General of Hsin-chiang for permission to continue our work unimpeded. After a very heated discussion, the Tao-t'ai and his companions rose and departed for Khotan.
Mr. Chang, the new magistrate, came the next day and said that a wire had been received from the Governor-General ordering our expedition to return to India via the Sanju Pass. This was an impossibility, for the pass was long since closed by the snow, and we at once understood that the telegram was a fraud which originated in the yamen of the Governor.
The visit of the magistrate was enlivened by an episode which caused considerable merriment among our servants. The magistrate had arrived in state with a considerable escort of policemen who waited outside the house. Our Tibetan mastiff, Tumbal, as a precaution was taken away and tied to a tree in the garden. In the midst of our conversation, we suddenly heard a loud outcry followed by a wild trampling of feet. The dog had broken his chain and was slowly and menacingly advancing toward the house door. The policemen, unable to stand the sight, fled, many barricading themselves in our bathroom. The door to the room where we were sitting was open, and we could see the dog coming up the steps of the terrace. The magistrate, pale and confused, quickly got on the chair on which he had been sitting and prepared to get on the table where tea was served. It took us some time to explain to the frightened man that the dog was harmless in our presence.
After this visit of the magistrate, we sent a letter to Major Gillan, the British Consul in Kashgar, asking him to assist the expedition. The letter was sent to the Khotan post office but was returned with a note that the Tao-t'ai had given orders to seize all our correspondence with the British Consul in Kashgar. Our letters, containing telegrams for New York, Paris, and Peking, were similarly returned. The situation was a very grave one, and we were fully aware that it was the beginning of a long period of persecution, endless negotiations, and insult. We were cut off from the outside world, and had to find means to send out messages with information of our position.
Several traders volunteered to carry our letters to the consulate at Kashgar. Besides this, two friendly Kalmucks offered their services. They devised a very ingenious plan, based on their thorough acquaintance with local official carelessness. Their plan consisted in waiting patiently with the letter in the street outside the post office. At the very last moment, when the postal messenger would be leading out his horse and fixing the saddlebags, one of the Kalmucks would step out and hand our letter addressed in Turki and Chinese to the British Consul. The Chinese postal official dispatching the mail, would angrily ejaculate, "Why are you always late?" and without looking at the address would throw the letter into one of the saddlebags. This stratagem invariably worked and our letters reached their destination. Evidently at Kashgar our letters were promptly delivered. It took us sixteen days to get an answer, which usually came through a private channel.
On December 29, 1925, the new magistrate and several minor military officers, representing the Tao-t'ai, came to search our baggage and house. We were said to possess a huge amount of ammunition and some kind of a "shooting wheel" with which we were able to annihilate the whole of the Khotan garrison and the population in less than ten minutes! Our square wooden boxes of preserves from the Cockburn Agency in Kashmir gave rise to the suspicion that we carried large supplies of ammunition with us. Our firearms, consisting of two rifles, one double-barreled gun and three revolvers, and one case of ammunition, were sealed and taken away. Professor Roerich, in his book, Altai-Himalaya, has given a detailed description of the ridiculous and fruitless search.
We decided to leave Khotan at once and go to Kashgar in order to negotiate by wire with the Governor-General for permission to proceed with our work. We also desired the return of our firearms, without which we could not attempt to cross the brigand-infested regions of the interior of China. The authorities gave their silent assent and we hired a camel caravan to carry our baggage to Kashgar. Once more the courtyard of the house and garden were filled with men and kneeling camels—a welcome sight to every explorer.
On January 1 everything was ready for the start, when suddenly an official from the Tao-t'ai arrived and coolly informed us, "The Tao-t'ai orders you to go to Tun-huang in Kansu and not through Kashgar." We tried to argue, pointing out the fact that our only firearms had been seized, that money orders were waiting for us at the Chinese post office in Kashgar, that we were expecting answers to our cables. All our words were of no avail, the man only repeated one and the same sentence, "Ma Ta-jen changed his mind, and orders your expedition to proceed through the desert to Tun-huang." He added, however, that we should go and speak to the Tao-t'ai personally. And so we went. A long and tedious conference followed, during which we persistently tried to obtain a written statement explaining the Tao-t'ai's actions. We sat at a small table facing the Tao-t'ai and could see his soldiers behind him making grimaces and pointing their fingers at the Tao-t'ai's head.
The Tao-t'ai was adamant in his decision to keep us in Khotan. It is difficult to say what had influenced his change of attitude. Some said that he was possessed by the spirit of the murdered Ti-t'ai of Kashgar and no longer could control himself. Others repeated the story that someone had sowed mistrust in the Tao-t'ai's mind. Whatever it might be, it was clear that the situation was a very serious one and that we had to find a solution.
We returned to our headquarters and drafted a letter to the Consul in Kashgar, informing him of the situation and requesting him to communicate with the Governor-General in Urumchi. From now on, we received frequent visits from Mr. Chang, magistrate of Khotan. Each day he had another astounding telegram to produce, ordering our immediate arrest and deportation. It so happened that every time he came we were able to confront him with a letter from Major Gillan or a telegram from America. Friends were acting to help us leave Khotan.
Our days were spent either working at the headquarters or negotiating with local authorities. These negotiations occupied most of the time, for each visit of the Governor or the magistrate meant five or six hours of continuous conversation.
On January 20 we received a welcome letter from Major Gillan, notifying us that following his efforts the Governor-General had sent immediate orders for our release from Khotan. This was a piece of welcome news and all in the expedition headquarters rejoiced at the prospect of a march to Kashgar.
On the evening of the same day, we received the visit of our friend Khudai Berdi Bai, who brought the news that a letter had been received from Urumchi with permission to travel to Kashgar. This was an unprecedented case—that an order from the Governor-General should be announced through a private person. The Governor "lost face" and could not deliver the order personally or through the magistrate. The authorities kept silent. Only the commander of the garrison and the old amban sent us their visiting cards with good wishes for our trip to Kashgar. A military officer with the rank of shao-wei or lieutenant came and inquired about the day of our departure. He was ordered to furnish a guard of mounted soldiers to accompany us to Yarkend. The Chinese seemed uneasy, and somehow conscious of the wrong committed toward the expedition. The actions of the local Khotan authorities had almost completely prevented us from carrying out our plans.
We hurried with our preparations. Most of the baggage had been packed long ago. We now only needed to engage a trustworthy caravan-bashi. Khudai Berdi Bai recommended us to Temur Bai, a wealthy caravaneer owning many horse caravans transporting goods between Khotan and Leh. Temur Bai undertook to furnish us with seventy-four pack horses for six Chinese dollars each, with the understanding that we should reach Kashgar on the fourteenth day. Besides pack animals we were obliged to hire two Chinese carriages or ma-fa at twenty-five dollars for the journey. In one of the carriages our Chinese interpreter Ts'ai had to travel, together with a case of firearms, which were returned to us sealed on the eve of our departure. Poor Ts'ai had taken to opium smoking, no doubt depressed by the insulting attitude of the local officials. The aged man was full of his old-time dignity and complained bitterly against the revolting methods of the local administration. As a result of the opium, he was so weak that he could not keep himself in the saddle and had to travel in the carriage. He was careful to conceal his habit and smoked only in the dark of the night.
In the second carriage our Tibetan mastiff, Tumbal, traveled in charge of a servant.
The three months of detention came to an end and we were looking forward to new regions. Our courtyard was filled with friendly Chang-t'ou who came to say goodbye to the expedition. During our three months' detention we had made many trusted friends; it is a pleasure to express here our gratitude to all who assisted the expedition during the difficult winter days in Khotan.