ESAU AND I SET OFF—RECEPTION FROM THE BANAS—WE ARRIVE AT TANKAR—A FRIENDLY GUIDE—AN ABSURD TIP—DR. RIJNHART—TEA WITH LHASSA OFFICIALS—ARRIVAL OF MALCOLM AND THE MONGOLS—CHEN-LAO-PAN—CHINESE ETIQUETTE.

At daybreak on the 12th October, Esau and I, after filling ourselves with tea and tsampa, mounted the strongest two of the Mongol ponies. Our saddlebags were filled with food such as we had eaten at breakfast and a supply of cold meat. We also carried some rugs, for it was probable that we should have to spend two more nights in the wilds before reaching Tankar.

After riding some ten miles quietly over the prairie land, we entered a large camp of Bana men, with whom were living several lamas, who came out to inquire who we might be and were friendly enough in their conversation; most of the Bana men were away tending their flocks.

We rode on again for a considerable distance before we could find the wherewithal to boil some tea. There were the remnants of a very old Mongol encampment, where we gathered together some argols and a few sticks, and close by was water in the shape of a patch of snow, which even then had not melted. Before leaving we made an erection of mud, into which we placed a stick with a note fastened to it. This was to let Malcolm know that we were getting along all right.

We rode on till late in the afternoon, when we came to the foot of a pass which forms the watershed of the Koko Nor and the Sining Ho. Here were grass, water, and dried argols, and fearing darkness might be on us before we could cross the pass, we unsaddled and prepared to spend the night. A few miles south of us lay the small salt lake of Baga Nor, quite close to the Koko Nor; to the west of us there were large camps of the Bana men, who were ignorant of our existence, for we had encamped in a depression of the ground and our two ponies grazed in secrecy.

While Esau was busy preparing the tea I collected a large sack of argols, that we might keep up a fire throughout the night, for there was a bitterly cold wind which blew down upon us from the north-east.

We saddled our ponies early the next morning, and found we had a nine-mile ride before reaching the top of the pass. There were two passes some five or six miles apart, and here were living more Bana people, with immense flocks as usual. It was certainly a chilly abode at this time of the year. We experienced this to our discomfort, for we were caught in a heavy snowstorm. At the second pass we met a large party of Tibetan lamas dressed in gay garments of red and yellow, the colours standing out particularly bright against the falling snow.

As soon as we commenced the descent we followed a small stream, the Sining Ho, and after twenty-two miles stopped to make tea in a large grassy valley dotted with more black tents and flocks. Whilst busily engaged with our breakfast an old shepherd came to see us, from whom we inquired whether we could reach Tankar that same evening. "Yes," he replied, "if your ponies are good enough, you will get there this evening," which was certainly wisdom.

We journeyed on till after sunset with no signs of Tankar; we had still followed the Sining Ho, which flowed between precipitous hills, with only space enough for the narrow track on its right bank. We were just moving along looking for a suitable camp when we found a few more Bana tents in front of us. Our reception was anything but civil, and we had some anxiety that the nomads might steal our ponies during the night, for it was impossible for us to travel along in the dark. We chose a spot on the lower ground by the water's edge, out of sight, and met with no mishap. With the first streak of daylight we were drinking our tea, and were soon on the move again. After marching for one mile we had to cross the river, which, by reason of the recent storms, had swollen considerably, and a dry passage could not be made; the water rose up over our ponies' hips, and the bottom of the river was uneven and uncertain, with big boulders.

We then entered what is called the grass country, whither the inhabitants of Tankar send their flocks to fatten. After six miles we passed a compact little village planted on the other side of the river. The land here and all down the river had been cultivated, in fact, every inch of ground. Some of the crops grew close up by the walls of the village, while others grew on the hillsides and slopes, where it looked impossible for crops to grow. Most of them had been cut, and the villagers in their blue garments were busily engaged in gathering them in.

We still followed the stream, the pathway being uneven with rocks and boulders, whilst the hills on our side rose close from the water's edge. After a short while we came to a pretty rustic-looking bridge, which invited one over the river to a snug monastery that nestled amongst the trees and bushes. The name of this monastery is Gompa Soba, and had I followed my own inclination and visited the place, kindness and hospitality would alone have been exhibited, as we afterwards learnt.

From here the road to Tankar, such as it is, passes through a cultivated district with a continuation of straggling villages and tall poplars. Being very hungry, and over-anxious to reach Tankar, the road in consequence appeared to be interminable. Perhaps this is what made Rockhill state that the distance from Tankar to Gompa Soba was thirteen miles, whereas, in reality, it is not much more than half the distance.

As we proceeded, the number of passers-by increased, and they appeared to take as much interest in little Ruby as they did in Esau and myself.

I told Esau to address some of these people in the Tibetan language, to try and find out how much further Tankar was, and any other information about the place. Many were thus accosted, and many without success, till at length we met a nice-looking elderly Chinaman, who was a merchant. He told us, to our great delight and astonishment, that there were two white doctors, one a lady, living at Tankar. He also told us of the little inn where we could get some sort of accommodation.

It was noon when we at length entered the town by the western gate, a great relief to our weary ponies. We began to ride through the main street, busy, dirty, and narrow, with a large crowd of Chinese, and a sprinkling of Mongols and Tibetans too. As we wended our way, observed by all, I told Esau to shout out in the Tibetan tongue for somebody to show us the way to the inn. Without avail we traversed the whole length of Tankar, and then tried a new expediency. We retraced our steps as far as the busiest corner we had seen, and calling a halt there, Esau in a loud voice again and again repeated the question.

This proceeding of ours naturally attracted a large crowd, and so pressed were we on all sides, that I thought it wise to back out of it. As soon as we had almost got ourselves clear, we found a man alongside of us who replied in Tibetan, "I'll show you the way to the inn." I smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of his kindness, and we moved off, followed by a crowd filled with wonderment as to where we had sprung from, especially as we were unaccompanied by any following or baggage animals.

We very shortly entered the door of the inn, which we found consisted of a very dirty square yard surrounded on all sides by stables or tiny rooms void of any furniture. Having been so far successful in finding it, the next thing was to procure food for the ponies and then for ourselves. Curiously enough, I could discover no innkeeper, for I had hoped to find a hearty welcome from the same man who had helped Rockhill, but what I considered of more importance at that moment was the discovery of a small stack of green grass at the further end of the yard. I at once went for it and began pulling out some of the grass, but this operation did not last very long, for I was caught hold of from all sides and was given to understand that the grass was not for my use. Just then our Tibetan speaking friend returned, whom I sent with Esau carrying a rupee to try and buy some grass. Now that I was left alone with Ruby we both attracted much attention from the people, all of whom, in turn, felt my hat, my coat, and my pants, to see of what material they were made, whilst others still more inquisitive felt my knees, for a Chinaman imagines we are blessed with no knee-caps. Esau was not long away, but had been unsuccessful on his errand, for no one would change the rupee because there was a crown on the Queen's head. I therefore selected a crownless one, which was more suited to their taste. This very soon produced a bundle of hay and a handful of small brass coins called "cash." This was, indeed, a windfall, and we felt we already had a firmer footing in the land. As a matter of fact, the few rupees we had left were not sufficient to pay off our Mongols, so without assistance we should have fared badly. Our friend then volunteered to run off and tell the white man of my arrival. He could not have lived very far away, for he was soon back again.

I then ordered Esau to reward the Chinaman for all the trouble he had taken for us, so Esau, straightway pulling forth his coins, offered him a single cash. To our surprise he declined it with a smile, while Esau and I remarked that these Chinese were by no means the money-loving race they were generally represented to be. The narration of our first experience in Chinese money matters caused many a laugh amongst the good missionaries we afterwards came across, for the man we had offered a single cash to was a merchant of Tankar of no small importance, whilst the value of a single cash is equal to about the thirtieth portion of a penny. One might as well have offered sixpence to a head keeper at home after a big shoot.

I was just about to sally forth to try and purchase some bread, for I had noticed some at the corner only a short distance from the inn, when some one hurriedly trotted in and at once dismounted from his pony. He was somewhat better dressed than the ordinary crowd around, and on seeing me he came straight towards me. I could hardly make up my mind whether he was a European or a Chinaman, and when he addressed me in a mixture of French and Chinese I was still more mystified, so to simplify matters I replied, "I'm an Englishman," and held my hand out to him. He eagerly seized it and gave me the heartiest shake I had received for many a long day, and I felt thankful that we had found a European and a friend anxious to help us in this out-of-the-way place.

Mr. Rijnhart, for that was his name, was a Dutch missionary, and had only taken up his abode in Tankar within the last three months. He said, "You must come at once and live with me and my wife." In thanking him, I replied that it was impossible for me to do that, for I had nothing but what was on my back. With genuine hospitality he remarked that if such was the case it was more imperative than ever that I should come and live in his house. In another moment we were trotting through the street in single file, chatting all the while, when, suddenly turning to the left, we very shortly afterwards drew up at Rijnhart's little house. One step up out of the narrow lane landed us in an open courtyard, where his kind-hearted wife, Dr. Rijnhart, was waiting to welcome us, as well as Mr. Hall, of the China Inland Mission, who had come over to Tankar from Sining, and had only just returned with the Rijnharts from making a trip to the sea of Koko Nor. So it was indeed fortunate not to have arrived in Tankar during their absence. The Rijnharts had a small house; there were rooms and stables all round the four sides of the yard. Great honour was shown to me in the eyes of the Chinese by allotting to my use the room that faced the entrance. The Rijnharts, when by themselves, lived in Chinese fashion, and were on the most friendly terms with all the Chinese and Tibetan officials in the town. Besides being engaged in the great aim of all missionaries, these two good people administered bodily medicine as well; in fact, their sole means of existence arose from the small sums and kind they received in return. They were, indeed, leading a hard, unselfish life, yet they were a very happy couple, for they knew they were doing good.

The fact of their receiving payment for their doctoring may meet with censure from some people, but the results should be looked at. At Tankar the Rijnharts had entirely won over the hearts of the Chinese, and in consequence of this, we ourselves were treated with courtesy and civility by the officials. The customary hatred of foreigners by the Chinese had disappeared from Tankar.

During the afternoon some Lhassa officials dropped in for a chat and a cup of tea, or, more correctly speaking, a small bowl of tea. They were pleasant fellows with nice faces, and had been stationed at Tankar to see that justice was done to all Tibetans passing through this frontier town. There were four officials altogether, the most influential being called Sherchichaba, and the fourth Lusam Kindum. They took great interest in our journey, and were evidently pleased to meet me.

When they had departed, a very stout and hearty Chinaman stepped in. He was Chen-Lao-Pan, an agent for Forbes & Co., the wool merchants. He could only speak a few words of English, but as he laughed so frequently and so heartily, there was no feeling of awkwardness when with him. That night the many little homely comforts attended to by Dr. Rijnhart herself were highly appreciated by me, and I slept soundly.

The next morning we had leisure to look round before the arrival of Malcolm with the Mongols. Tankar is a busy little town of some 10,000 inhabitants, and owes its importance, not to its being a market centre, but to the fact that it is the first and last Chinese town passed by caravans journeying to and from Lhassa and Mongolia. It is a kind of depÔt, for the merchandise is taken further in to the larger towns. We walked through the main street, and peeped into all the shops, most of which contained nick-nacks and a great deal of rubbish. We then mounted the walls on the western side, and noticed that great heaps of stones had been collected there for the people to throw down on to the heads of the Mohammedan rebels. Several mud houses had also been erected, where the soldiers had to sleep and keep watch in turn. From these walls a fine view of the surrounding country is gained. Tankar appears to be situated in a kind of hollow, with rising ground and hills on all sides. One of the principal hills lies north-west, and is called Ho La, or Ta Sand, and another hill lying south-east is called Ts'ai T'a by Tartars and Wupu by Tibetans. From the summit of one of the south-eastern hills, where a single tree has been planted, the town of Sining can be seen, a distance of ninety li. This tree is a useful landmark for travellers, as it can be seen for a long distance along the road. We could see, too, the river, which is here called the Ta Ho by the Chinese, and Ch'enkook by Mongols of the Tsaidam, running merrily through a land of cultivation, the most plentiful crops being wheat, barley, oats, millet, pease, and a little linseed and opium.

We had no sooner returned to Rijnhart's little house when Malcolm and the Mongols arrived, so our party was once more reunited. Since leaving Leh we had travelled over 1,983 miles, and for between three and four months had been at a height of about 1,600 feet above the sea level. In spite of the pressing invitations of our hosts, we decided to remain only one day at Tankar. It was now the middle of October, and before very long the severe winter of these parts would be upon us; furthermore, we were already due back in India some six weeks ago. We agreed to make the most of our short stay, so in the afternoon we visited the Yamen, in order to pay our respects to the "ting," or mayor, of Tankar. We spent some minutes in the first outer courtyard, which was decorated with some huge imitation stone lions, while our visiting card was being taken to this chief official. The people, as usual, took advantage of the delay to feel and inspect our clothes, and the state they were in would alone have warranted this scrutiny, let alone the curiosity these people exhibited with regard to the texture of the cloth. We were glad at length to escape and be ushered into the presence of the "ting," where all respect and attention was shown to us. We were given the great seat of honour, and provided with some delightful tea. We apologised for the dilapidated state we were in, but the "ting" replied that he had carefully read our passport, and knew we were great military officials from India, and quite understood our present circumstances; in fact, he wondered we had arrived with anything at all. Whilst chatting away, we inquired how many soldiers were in the town. None now, he replied, for all had been disbanded since the rebellion had been quelled. When our visit had lasted as long as was polite, we rose to depart, and the "ting," in order to show his great respect for us, accompanied us as far as the big gates, walking at a slow rate. These had been thrown open wide, as a still further sign of respect, where, amidst much bowing and raising of the hands to the head, we eventually got off.

We then made our way to the house of the Hsieht'ai, or Colonel, and why there should be a Colonel with no soldiers seemed ridiculous. However, this was no business of ours, but as he was the next important official in Tankar, it was our duty to visit him. He was a rather enfeebled, elderly gentleman, but very kind to us, and that very evening we received presents from him, consisting of a sheep for ourselves, and grass and liou or pease for our ponies. He asked many questions with regard to the Indian revenue, its army, etc., and asked how many men we ourselves commanded, and, in order to do ourselves justice, we calculated a single Englishman was equal to a great number of Chinamen, which he evidently did not.

Our third visit was to Chen-Lao-Pan, who lived in luxury and comfort and on the fat of the land. He sent us forth rejoicing with a bottle of Chinese wine and a packet of tobacco from Lancheo, the capital of Kansu, so famous for its tobacco grown and manufactured there.

At afternoon tea it is polite manners for the host to take some bread or cake from the guest's plate and place it on the table before him, and before drinking tea to raise the cup in both hands and nod to one's friends, who return the salutation in the same manner. It is also considered polite for a guest, when offered the seat of honour, to refuse it, when the host will at once try and put his guest into it. A show of resistance is at once made in return. The consequence is, that before the seat is eventually occupied by the guest, as it always is, a struggle of a few minutes duration is carried out against its occupation.