In the early morning of January 28, 1926, our courtyard and garden were crowded with pack horses and caravan men in heavy sheepskins and dark red charuqs—a scene familiar to anyone who has traveled in the caravan region of Asia. The bustle was great and it took us five hours to start the baggage caravan marching. The tents and the rest of the camp equipment had to go in advance, and for this purpose the best horses were given to the camp detachment. This detachment had to leave camp last, and arrive at the new camp first. The caravan men, mostly Turki from Khotan, were sadly lacking in initiative and performed their tasks with surprising carelessness.
Most of the pack horses were big animals from Yarkend, capable of carrying about two hundred pound loads. Their general condition was good and we could hope to arrive in Kashgar on time. The Turkestan pack saddle is much superior to the wooden pack saddles of Ladak and Tibet. It consists of two thick saddle cloths, on which is fixed the saddle cushion—U-shaped and made of sheepskin or cloth well stuffed with straw. The load is fixed to the saddle by ropes, made of camel's or sheep's wool. Travelers are warned not to use hemp ropes of Chinese or European make, for they are apt to cause sores. Ropes made of camel's wool are very good; those made out of sheep's wool are much inferior.
Several mounted soldiers in charge of an aged shao-wei or lieutenant were ordered to escort us as far as Yarkend, the next garrisoned oasis along the southern trade route. They all came and lined up in front of the house, the lieutenant holding the red visiting card of his superior officer in his raised hand. All the men were over fifty, and were dressed in voluminous gray coats and fur caps with large earflaps which, if necessary, could be buttoned in front of the face. Their arms consisted of old Mausers, and the officer had an old Chinese sword. We were much surprised at the age of these warriors, and inquired whether they intended to retire from service. The reply was that they had recently been promoted to the cavalry for gallant service! In Hsin-chiang a young soldier has to serve in infantry units, and only after he has passed an age limit or distinguished himself in service is he promoted to the grade of a mounted soldier or ma-p'ing. In Hsin-chiang, as in many other parts of China, a horse is only a means of transportation; a Chinese trooper is taught to sit on a horse, but never to ride it. A beg from Karakash and two daroghas were also delegated to attend to our needs on the journey. They were directed to accompany us to Guma Bazaar, the nearest administrative center on the Khotan-Yarkend route.
We started only about noon, and rapidly rode through the Mohammedan and Chinese sections of Khotan. It was a bazaar day and the streets were thronged with a multicolored crowd of villagers. Our first stage was Zawa. The baggage caravan arrived late at night and we were obliged to spend several hours waiting for it in the garden of the official resthouse. The night was cool and we warmed ourselves at a huge camp fire made by the local villagers.
Before starting from Khotan, our Chinese interpreter, Ts'ai ssu-yeh, had made a yellow flag marked with our name abbreviated to "Lo," stating the official designation of the expedition. This flag was intrusted to a darogha, who galloped ahead of us and planted the flag on the spot selected for our camp.
In Zawa we found the flag planted on the roof of the resthouse. Ts'ai ssu-yeh was very wise to prepare this flag, for it saved us from many troubles with petty officials, who were always found to respect it even more than our Peking passports.
In the evening we discovered that our soldiers and some of our Chinese servants were confirmed opium smokers. In the morning they were late getting up and considerably handicapped the work about the camp. An opium smoker is a great calamity in an expedition camp and we decided to avail ourselves of the next opportunity to get rid of them.
The route from Zawa to Pialma has already been described in this volume. A brief halt was made at the Shrine Kum-rabat Padshahim. The modern Mohammedan shrine is situated on the spot of an ancient temple dedicated to sacred rats, built by a king of Khotan to commemorate his victory over the Hiung-nu, in which he was miraculously assisted by rats which destroyed the ammunition of the enemies.
After the Pigeon Shrine, the trail left the sand dune belt and followed a broad gravel plain. A brief halt was made again to water the animals at Ak-langar—a desert resthouse built in the days of Yakub Beg. The resthouse has a well of brackish water.
Pialma, the terminal oasis on the Duwa River, was reached late at night. The stars shone brilliantly when we entered the village. The camp was pitched in a garden belonging to the house of a wealthy landowner. There was a scarcity of drinking water, as all the water supply had dried up, and we were obliged to thaw the snow. The horses had to be watered at a place four miles distant.
Late in the evening we had a visit from Dr. Nyström, of the Swedish Mission in Yarkend. He was hurrying to Khotan where two officers of the Governor's bodyguard had recently wounded each other. One of the men died shortly after the shooting, but the other recovered and was subsequently executed by order of the Governor. Dr. Nyström was traveling day and night in a Chinese cart, halting once in twenty-four hours to feed the horses.
The march from Pialma to Zanguya led over a gravel desert. We instructed the darogha, who daily galloped ahead of us with a notice of our arrival, to prepare quarters for us in houses of well-to-do villagers and to avoid Chinese official resthouses with their noise and squalor.
Shortly after our arrival in Zanguya, the lieutenant in charge of our guard arrived and requested me to look at their horses which had become unexpectedly ill. We found the animals lying in the stable, unable to stand on their feet. The fat animals, which were always kept in the stable and never given exercise, had succumbed to the fatigues of three days' marching. It was evident that they could go no farther and had to be left in Zanguya. I therefore advised the distressed lieutenant to hire horses from local peasants and to leave his own horses in charge of a soldier. He followed my advice and on the next morning he and his men were mounted on shaggy creatures with tremendous manes and tails. The local bronchos probably had seldom been ridden before and the escort had an exciting ride to Guma Bazaar. This is an important center with some seven hundred houses and the seat of a magistrate, who controls the vast mountain tracts around Sanju Oasis. It is renowned for its numerous orchards and mulberry groves. Its chief local industry is the manufacture of coarse paper. A spacious garden with a summer house was reserved for our camp. The gates of the garden were gaily decorated with red and yellow cloth and a group of local notables was waiting inside the garden.
Soon after our arrival, we received the visit of the local magistrate.
He was accompanied by his young son and a troop of armed policemen in strange uniforms and old muzzle-loading rifles. The magistrate was greatly concerned over our difficulties in Khotan and hinted that Ma Tao-yin was a man of dangerous habits. An authentic source had told him the story that the Governor of Khotan had stormed our headquarters and that he was repelled with heavy losses. How this story originated, it was impossible to learn. Rumors take strange shapes in Chinese Turkestan.
Our servant T'ang, who had fallen ill a few days before, had to be left in care of the local magistrate, who promised to send him back to Khotan, as soon as he should feel better. T'ang was a confirmed opium smoker and the last four days of marching through the desert had completely broken down his reserve strength.
In the evening we were visited by a traveling troop of actors. The tamasha or theatrical entertainment was illuminated with torchlights and Chinese paper lanterns. Most of the actors were local Turki, but the subjects of the scenes and the songs were Chinese. These tamasha are a feature of Turkestan life.
At Guma, we were given another beg and darogha to accompany us to Karghalik.
Our original plan was to camp at Cholak-langar, some eighteen miles from Guma, but fresh arrivals at Guma brought the news that the water supply at Cholak had completely dried up. We had to camp at Siligh-langar, some ten miles west of Guma. Siligh-langar consisted of several miserable mud hovels with a small inclosed courtyard filled with piles of firewood and bundles of hay. At night a large camel caravan bound for Tun-huang passed our camp and almost overturned some of our tents. The night was pitch dark and the camel drivers were sound asleep in their saddles. The droning sound of bells heralded the approach of the caravan column, marching at good pace. Before we were able to realize what was happening the dark silhouette of the huge caravan had entered our camp and the camels' feet were tearing our tent ropes. The energetic action of some of our men alone prevented further damage and a stampede of frightened animals.
Our next stop was Akin-langar, another relay station on the long thirty-four mile stage between Guma and Karghalik. So far we had enjoyed perfect weather, with warm days and cool nights. At Akin-langar the weather suddenly changed. A cold wind started up toward sunset and the temperature dropped below zero. Snow fell during the night and in the morning we found the desert covered by a thin layer of snow.
The day was dull and heavy clouds hovered over the graveled expanse of the desert. A bitterly cold northwest wind made progress difficult and we were relieved when we entered the cultivation zone of Besh-arik.
The city of Karghalik did not impress us as an important center. It is situated on one of the branches of the Tiznaf darya and through it passes the important Kokyar-Karakorum trade route. Most of the caravan owners on the Leh-Yarkend route are natives of Karghalik. The town was suffering from a scarcity of drinking water and we found the population breaking ice in a dirty pool in the very center of the bazaar. The local magistrate had arranged quarters for us in an official resthouse, but it was too small for such a large party as ours. We accordingly moved out and camped in a garden belonging to a well-to-do landowner. In the evening another group of actors entertained us with a tamasha, followed by a performance of two Chinese jugglers who demonstrated their art with swords and spears, handling the heavy swords with remarkable dexterity. It was late at night when we returned to our tents.
In the morning we experienced considerable difficulty with relay horses for our soldiers and camp servants. Strange to say, the soldiers always appealed to us in case of difficulty. That morning they were unable to find saddle horses, and we had to intervene for them with the local beg. After prolonged shouting and beating, during which two men were severely lashed by an infuriated headman, the horses were produced and our caravan started for Posgam.
At Posgam we encountered a group of Shikarpuri money lenders and several traders from Hoshiarpur, who led us to the private house of the local ming-bashi. The wooden carvings on the columns strikingly reminded me of the ancient fragments of wood carvings discovered by Sir Aurel Stein during his explorations in the ancient sites along the southern trade route. These Turkestan carvings closely resemble some of the wood carvings found in the old churches of South Russia. This particular style must have once had an immense spread along the greatest highway of Asia, passing through the belt of steppe and desert country and stretching from the Carpathian Mountains to the Great Wall of China.
On February 6, we started very early in order to reach Yarkend in the forenoon. Some five miles from Posgam, we met a servant of the Ladak aqsaqal who sent us a message inviting us to stay in his summer house situated in the suburb of Yarkend—an invitation which we gladly accepted. We crossed the Yarkend darya on rafts. It took us fully two hours to bring across our saddle horses and the detachment of pack horses with the camping outfit. We hurried to Yarkend through dusty lanes lined with toghraks or desert poplars on either side.
The house of the Ladak aqsaqal, Abdul Razak, proved an ideal place for our stay in Yarkend. It was clean and had a spacious garden with roomy courtyards and good stables. The owner had a very fluent knowledge of Lhasan Tibetan, having spent several years of his life in Lhasa. His family enjoyed a considerable reputation in the trading world of central Asia. His eldest brother was aqsaqal in Kashgar, another was aqsaqal in Leh, and a third one was at the head of a big trading establishment in distant Lhasa. The aqsaqal's assistance proved invaluable to us. We spent the evening with the aqsaqal, who possessed a vast experience with tribes and different regions of central Asia. The morning of the next day was occupied by official visits to the local authorities.
Yarkend impressed us as being a much more active and thriving place than Khotan. It is the chief entrepôt of Indian and Afghan trade and its roofed bazaars and chaikhaneh or restaurants were thronged by different nationalities. Yarkend is the largest oasis in the country. It is well watered by irrigation channels and has an extensive cultivation of rice, which is exported to Khotan and Kashgar. Besides rice, the oasis produces corn, wheat, barley, cotton, flax, hemp, sesamum, and tobacco. According to recent official estimates, the population of the oasis is over 200,000. The Mohammedan town or Kone-shahr is surrounded by a brick wall with several towers. The Han-ch'eng or Chinese section lies to the northwest of the native quarter. The Afghan Government maintains a consul at Yarkend who, although not recognized by the Chinese as such, supervises the Afghan colony and its interests in the oasis. The most costly products of Afghan export are opium and Badakhshani horses. The trade is clandestine and the offenders are usually punished. For the past few years the export of Badakhshani horses has been prohibited by the Amir, and Afghan traders, traveling to Chinese Turkestan or elsewhere, have to sign a document that they will return to the country with their horses. Notwithstanding these strict measures, Badakhshani horses are constantly seen on the Yarkend market, the horse trade being carried on through Kirghiz traders.
Most of the Yarkend trade is conducted with India and the Indian colony is the largest foreign colony in the oasis. The Chinese local authorities did their best to assist us with relay horses and travel arrangements. The local magistrate, a Cantonese by birth, was a superior type of official, keen to interest himself in the objects of geographical and archaeological research. The magistrate assured us that letters about our coming were received from Peking and that he could not understand the attitude of the Khotan authorities; according to him, Ma Ta-jen had become insane after the shooting at Kashgar.
After our official calls, we paid a visit to the Swedish Mission which occupies a spacious compound, inside which are situated the Mission church, school buildings, hospital, and quarters for the members of the Mission. It was our first touch with Europe after six months of travel in Ladak, Karakorum, and Khotan.
In the afternoon we received the return visit of the local magistrate who came accompanied by a detachment of cavalry, armed with Russian rifles and swords. The White Russian troops, retreating into Hsin-chiang, had left behind them a vast amount of arms and ammunition; and at the time of our visit, the Chinese troops in the Province were all armed with Russian weapons. The magistrate was very much interested in Professor Roerich's paintings, and showed a fine appreciation of paintings on Chinese subjects.
The busy day was followed by a quiet evening. The Chinese escort from Khotan came to take leave, and each man received a present of three dollars. They expressed their desire to continue their service with the expedition and insisted that we should write to the Governor-General about it. Their place was taken by a guard of black-turbaned soldiers from the local garrison.
It was a beautifully clear morning when we started from Yarkend. The snowy mountains west and northwest of the Yarkend Oasis were clearly visible against the pale background of the sky. There, beyond the snowy ramparts, lay the uplands of the great Pamirs and a fascinating border country, visited by only a few chosen ones.
Our first stage led past the cultivated fields and hamlets of Yarkend Oasis. We reached Kok-rabat early in the day. A large crowd of local peasants surrounded the camp and dispersed only at dusk. Some strange rumors had reached the village and local people were anxious to see the newcomers.
Next day we were in Kizil Bazaar—a half-ruined village with a vast desert plain called Karakum or "Black Sands."
The next stage to Yangi-hissar lay across a desert country intersected by hamlets with small patches of cultivation.
We reached Yangi-hissar late in the afternoon and were warmly welcomed by Dr. Anderson and his family. We spent the evening with the hospitable missionaries in an enlightening conversation on the conditions of life in the Province, and the vast mineral resources of the country round Yangi-hissar and the mountain tracts west of the oasis.
The distance from Yangi-hissar to Yapchan was covered in six hours. The proximity of a big thriving center began to be felt along the route. The traffic had considerably increased; long trains of Chinese carts loaded with merchandise, and numerous riders, were constantly passing our column. Yapchan is a considerable village and the last stage before Kashgar. We camped outside the village in a field, and an inquisitive but well-behaved crowd of native Turki stood watching us at a distance. A small boy with a native stringed instrument visited our camp and sang folk songs, many of which were composed in the days of the ill-fated Yakub Beg.
On the next day, February 12, our caravan men were up long before dawn and through the door of the tent one could see the camp fires in the dark and the burly figures of men taking their morning meal. It was the last day for Temur Bai's caravan and he and his men were anxious to reach Kashgar early in the day. We overtook our baggage train which was already well on its way toward Kashgar.
Not far from the Kashgar bridge we were greeted by several chaprassis or orderlies in scarlet uniforms, with a note from Major Gillan of the British consulate inviting us to luncheon. Outside the Chinese city we again met several riders who proved to be local begs and daroghas, sent from the Tao-yin yamen of Kashgar to welcome us.
We rode straight to the consulate, where we received a friendly welcome from Major and Mrs. Gillan. It was strange to behold our dusty selves in the civilized surroundings of a western home. The consulate, overlooking the Tumen River, has an ideal situation and commands a good view of its banks. Our first day in Kashgar passed in conversation. We had to relate the story of all our difficulties in Khotan and discuss our future plans. A telegram had to be sent to the Governor-General in Urumchi announcing our arrival in Kashgar, and Mr. George Chu, late interpreter with the Chinese Labor Corps in France during the Great War and now Chinese secretary to the consulate, promised to interview the Kashgar Tao-yin and Mr. M. Y. Tao, his foreign secretary, with the view of obtaining necessary permissions for us.
We established our headquarters in the spacious buildings of the Russo-Asiatic Bank, kindly put at the disposal of the expedition by the directors of the local branch.
The Consul and all the European residents were of the opinion that it was absolutely necessary for us to go to Urumchi and negotiate with the Governor-General personally. This meant quite a change in our previous plans—instead of Tun-huang and Kansu, Urumchi and the country north of the T'ien Shan Mountains. The force of circumstance is often greater than the will of man. The Province of Hsin-chiang was agitated by a smoldering unrest, and the Hsin-chiang-Kansu border was reported to be in a state of war. Marshal Feng Yu-hsiang was said to be advancing through Kansu Province and Ma Ch'i, Chinese High Commissioner in Sining, was joining forces with him. The atmosphere was charged with anxiety and people were wondering whether the ill-disciplined troops of Yang Tseng-hsin would be able to check the advance of Feng's army.
Kashgar is the true capital of Hsin-chiang south of the T'ien Shan Mountains. Before the revolution of 1917, it was the chief emporium of trade with Russian Turkestan. The virtual closing of the Russian border during the period of the Civil War had diverted trade to India across the difficult mountain route of the Karakorum. During our stay in Kashgar, the Irkeshtam route to Russian Turkestan was said to be reopening for trade and a steady stream of caravans and traders turned westward along the centuries-old route. Most of the horse caravans in Kashgar had been hired to ship goods from Kashgar to Andijan and we experienced some difficulty in finding horses for our further journey.
The thronged bazaars of Kashgar and the vast amount of European, Indian, and Chinese goods displayed in the shops attested the great commercial interchange of the oasis.
Every morning we went for a stroll or a ride in the Kashgar streets and bazaars. In the early hours of the morning, before the dust haze had enveloped the horizon, we could clearly see the Kashgar Range southwest of the city, towering from a height of some 18,000 feet to more than 25,000 feet. The city with its gardens and plantations of rice along the banks of the Tumen River and the background of snowy mountains presented a typical picture of a central Asian town.
The Kashgar bazaars, roofed with sacking and straw mats, were full of attractions to the visitor. These narrow, dark streets were a genuine ethnographical museum in which the student reveled in searching for new types. Here was a dark shop with Bukhara and Khiva wares and Samarkand carpets. A dark-bearded Andijani merchant sat among his colorfully ornamented coffers; these remind one of the early Renaissance coffers in Italy. The wonderful period of the early Italian Renaissance had many links with the countries of the distant Orient. In another shop a white-bearded Afghan offered the products of his native land and Indian spices. His neighbor was a Chinese trader selling large Chinese spectacles with massive frames. Unfortunately these old-time spectacles give way nowadays to the far more practical snow goggles from India. In remote parts of central Asia, the large Chinese spectacles are one of the attributes of official standing and Kirghiz and Mongol princes and headmen always wear them, regardless of whether they need them or not.
The next shop was a true monetary museum. The owner kept in stock various coins and banknotes from a dozen different countries. Indian rupees, old Russian rubles, different Chinese taels, and banknotes issued by the various regional governments of the time of the Russian Civil War—all were represented on the shelves and in the iron coffers of the shop. After the Russian revolution and the depreciation of the ruble, local traders had bought at low prices a tremendous amount of imperial Russian gold rubles and banknotes of different issues, with the hope that they might sometime regain their original value. They are all millionaires so far as the number of banknotes are concerned, and curiously enough they count these mythical millions in their business transactions. The next shop presented something quite out of the ordinary. The owner of this establishment specialized in a variety of uniforms, among which generals' uniforms with huge golden epaulets and a profusion of gold crown lace were prominent. Some of the local officials and Kirghiz headmen are said to be very fond of these queer attires. Among the exhibited uniforms, I found one of a Russian high school student and wondered whence it had come and to what mountain ail or nomad encampment it would ultimately find its way to bewilder a future explorer.
Kashgar boasts of a carriage factory which supplies covered carriages of an antiquated pattern to all officials throughout the vast Dominion. These strange looking carriages are usually painted in bright colors, such as vivid green, ochre, or blue, and as a rule are lined with violet or dark red velvet.
The crowd that thronged the bazaar streets became greater while we watched them. Here were Kirghiz tribesmen from the border, Andijan traders in colorful striped coats, dark-robed Chinese, and crowds of city traders in their long dark blue chapans. On a bazaar day the crowd is so dense that horsemen have no place to pass and the air resounds with a continuous yell and lashing of whips.
Kashgar is not rich in remains of the past. The few known sites and stupas have been visited and described by Sir Aurel Stein and the German expedition of Dr. Le Coq.
On February 15 we paid a formal visit to the local Tao-yin , a jovial fat man, who seemed intensely interested in our difficulties in Khotan. Notwithstanding the mediation of the British Consul, our arms were not returned, but remained sealed in their case, which was intrusted to our custody!
The permission for painting and excavations was not granted, but the Tao-yin hinted that we could proceed with our work and should refrain from painting or excavations only if asked to do so by the local authorities. Our passports were found correct, and Mr. Tao, the foreign secretary to the Tao-yin , drafted an additional letter of introduction, recommending us to the various authorities on the northern route.
On February 19 the much delayed reply came from the Governor-General. His Excellency expressed his earnest desire to make our personal acquaintance in his capital, to which we were cordially invited. Nothing was mentioned about the permission to continue our artistic and scientific work. In spite of all our efforts a sufficient number of pack horses was not to be found, and we had to have recourse to Chinese carts. These two-wheeled carts are pulled by four horses, three in one row and one in front, that usually take a good deal of nagging. The journey to Urumchi takes about seventy-four days by cart, each stage with an average length of eighteen to twenty miles. The owners of the carts from Kashgar undertook to carry our baggage to Kuchar, where we would have to hire new carts to Urumchi.
We were obliged to change our Indian rupees into Urumchi lans or liangs with the value of one-third of the Kashgar sar, for the oases or pei-lu along the northern route accept only the Urumchi lan. In buying Urumchi lans one has to be very careful to get genuine ones. Sometimes the banknotes are so torn that new pieces are pasted to them regardless of the serial numbers.
We were forced to leave Ts'ai ssu-yeh behind in Kashgar. The old man insisted on smoking opium, and as a result became so weak that he could hardly stand on his feet. We paid him a sum covering his traveling expenses by cart to China, in case he decided to return to his native province of Szu-ch'uan. To keep him with us was quite impossible, for he quarreled with the rest of the servants and was unable to look after himself.
We were able to hire ten pack ponies owned by two Ladaki men with an understanding to carry our camp outfit from Kashgar to Karashahr, a great horse center, where we hoped to be able to hire a new caravan of horses or mules for our camp. The expedition personnel now consisted of a variety of nationalities—one Orenburg Cossack, one Mongol, one Balti, one Chinese, four Ladakis, and three Turkis, one of whom proved exceptionally hard working and accompanied the expedition to the frontiers of Siberia.
On February 26 the whole of the European colony assembled to see us off. Our carts started in the early morning escorted by three mounted soldiers from the local garrison, who were to accompany us to Faizabad, the next garrisoned town on the route.