Jules Verne (18 page)

The Pamir, or Bam-i-Douniah, is commonly called the "Roof of the
World." From it radiate the mighty chains of the Thian Shan, of the
Kuen Lun, of the Kara Korum, of the Himalaya, of the Hindoo Koosh. This
orographic system, four hundred kilometres across, which remained for
so many years an impassable barrier, has been surmounted by Russian
tenacity. The Sclav race and the Yellow race have come into contact.

We may as well have a little book learning on the subject; but it is
not I that speak, but Major Noltitz.

The travelers of the Aryan people have all attempted to explore the
plateau of the Pamir. Without going back to Marco Polo in the
thirteenth century, what do we find? The English with Forsyth, Douglas,
Biddulph, Younghusband, and the celebrated Gordon who died on the Upper
Nile; the Russians with Fendchenko, Skobeleff, Prjevalsky,
Grombtchevsky, General Pevtzoff, Prince Galitzin, the brothers
Groum-Grjimailo; the French with Auvergne, Bonvalot, Capus, Papin,
Breteuil, Blanc, Ridgway, O'Connor, Dutreuil de Rhins, Joseph Martin,
Grenard, Edouard Blanc; the Swedes with Doctor Swen-Hedin.

This Roof of the World, one would say that some devil on two sticks had
lifted it up in his magic hand to let us see its mysteries. We know now
that it consists of an inextricable entanglement of valleys, the mean
altitude of which exceeds three thousand metres; we know that it is
dominated by the peaks of Gouroumdi and Kauffmann, twenty-two thousand
feet high, and the peak of Tagarma, which is twenty-seven thousand
feet; we know that it sends off to the west the Oxus and the Amou
Daria, and to the east the Tarim; we know that it chiefly consists of
primary rocks, in which are patches of schist and quartz, red sands of
secondary age, and the clayey, sandy loess of the quaternary period
which is so abundant in Central Asia.

The difficulties the Grand Transasiatic had in crossing this plateau
were extraordinary. It was a challenge from the genius of man to
nature, and the victory remained with genius. Through the gently
sloping passes which the Kirghizes call "bels," viaducts, bridges,
embankments, cuttings, tunnels had to be made to carry the line. Here
are sharp curves, gradients which require the most powerful
locomotives, here and there stationary engines to haul up the train
with cables, in a word, a herculean labor, superior to the works of the
American engineers in the defiles of the Sierra Nevada and the Rocky
Mountains.

The desolate aspect of these territories makes a deep impression on the
imagination. As the train gains the higher altitudes, this impression
is all the more vivid. There are no towns, no villages—nothing but a
few scattered huts, in which the Pamirian lives a solitary existence
with his family, his horses, his herds of yaks, or "koutars," which are
cattle with horses' tails, his diminutive sheep, his thick-haired
goats. The moulting of these animals, if we may so phrase it, is a
natural consequence of the climate, and they change the dressing gown
of winter for the white fur coat of summer. It is the same with the
dog, whose coat becomes whiter in the hot season.

As the passes are ascended, wide breaks in the ranges yield frequent
glimpses of the more distant portions of the plateau. In many places
are clumps of birches and junipers, which are the principal trees of
the Pamir, and on the undulating plains grow tamarisks and sedges and
mugwort, and a sort of reed very abundant by the sides of the saline
pools, and a dwarf labiate called "terskenne" by the Kirghizes.

The major mentioned certain animals which constitute a somewhat varied
fauna on the heights of the Pamir. It is even necessary to keep an eye
on the platforms of the cars in case a stray panther or bear might seek
a ride without any right to travel either first or second class. During
the day our companions were on the lookout from both ends of the cars.
What shouts arose when plantigrades or felines capered along the line
with intentions that certainly seemed suspicious! A few revolver shots
were discharged, without much necessity perhaps, but they amused as
well as reassured the travelers. In the afternoon we were witnesses of
a magnificent shot, which killed instantly an enormous panther just as
he was landing on the side step of the third carriage.

"It is thine, Marguerite!" exclaimed Caterna. And could he have better
expressed his admiration than in appropriating the celebrated reply of
Buridan to the Dauphine's wife—and not the queen of France, as is
wrongly stated in the famous drama of the
Tour de Nesle
?

It was our superb Mongol to whom we were indebted for this marksman's
masterpiece.

"What a hand and what an eye!" said I to the major, who continued to
look on Faruskiar with suspicion.

Among the other animals of the Pamirian fauna appeared wolves and
foxes, and flocks of those large wild sheep with gnarled and gracefully
curved horns, which are known to the natives as arkars. High in the sky
flew the vultures, bearded and unbearded, and amid the clouds of white
vapor we left behind us were many crows and pigeons and turtledoves and
wagtails.

The day passed without adventure. At six o'clock in the evening we
crossed the frontier, after a run of nearly two thousand three hundred
kilometres, accomplished in four days since leaving Uzun Ada. Two
hundred and fifty kilometres beyond we shall be at Kachgar. Although we
are now in Chinese Turkestan, it will not be till we reach that town
that we shall have our first experience of Chinese administration.

Dinner over about nine o'clock, we stretched ourselves on our beds, in
the hope, or rather the conviction, that the night will be as calm as
the preceding one.

It was not to be so.

At first the train was running down the slopes of the Pamir at great
speed. Then it resumed its normal rate along the level.

It was about one in the morning when I was suddenly awakened.

At the same time Major Noltitz and most of our companions jumped up.

There were loud shouts in the rear of the train.

What had happened?

Anxiety seized upon the travelers—that confused, unreasonable anxiety
caused by the slightest incident on a railroad.

"What is the matter? What is the matter?"

These words were uttered in alarm from all sides and in different
languages.

My first thought was that we were attacked. I thought of the famous
Ki-Tsang, the Mongol pirate, whose help I had so imprudently called
upon—for my chronicle.

In a moment the train began to slow, evidently preparing to stop.

Popof came into the van, and I asked him what had happened.

"An accident," he replied.

"Serious?"

"No, a coupling has broken, and the two last vans are left behind."

As soon as the train pulls up, a dozen travelers, of whom I am one, get
out onto the track.

By the light of the lantern it is easy to see that the breakage is not
due to malevolence. But it is none the less true that the two last
vans, the mortuary van and the rear van occupied by the goods guard,
are missing. How far off are they? Nobody knows.

You should have heard the shouts of the Persian guards engaged in
escorting the remains of Yen Lou, for which they were responsible! The
travelers in their van, like themselves, had not noticed when the
coupling broke. It might be an hour, two hours, since the accident.

What ought to be done was clear enough. The train must be run backward
and pick up the lost vans.

Nothing could be more simple. But—and this surprised me—the behavior
of my lord Faruskiar seemed very strange. He insisted in the most
pressing manner that not a moment should be lost. He spoke to Popof, to
the driver, to the stoker, and for the first time I discovered that he
spoke Russian remarkably well.

There was no room for discussion. We were all agreed on the necessity
of a retrograde movement.

Only the German baron protested. More delays! A waste of time for the
sake of a mandarin—and a dead mandarin!

He had to walk about and bear it. As to Sir Francis Trevellyan, he
merely shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say: "What management!
What couplings! We should not get this sort of thing on an Anglo-Indian
line!"

Major Noltitz was as much struck as I was at the behavior of my lord
Faruskiar. This Mongol, usually so calm, so impassible, with his cool
look beneath his motionless eyelid, had become a prey to a sort of
furious anxiety which he appeared incapable of controlling. His
companion was as excited as he was. But what was there in these two
missing vans which could be of interest to them? They had not even any
luggage in the rear van! Was it the mandarin, Yen Lou? Was it for that
reason that at Donchak they had so carefully watched the van which
contained the corpse? I could see clearly enough that the major thought
it all very suspicious.

The train began to run back as soon as we had taken our places. The
German baron attempted to curse, but Faruskiar gave him such a look
that he did not care to get another, and stowed himself away in the
corner.

Dawn appeared in the east when the two wagons were found a kilometre
off, and the train gently slowed up to them after an hour's run.

Faruskiar and Ghangir went to help in coupling on the vans, which was
done as firmly as possible. Major Noltitz and I noticed that they
exchanged a few words with the other Mongols. After all, there was
nothing astonishing in that, for they were countrymen of theirs.

We resume our seats in the train, and the engineer tries to make up for
lost time.

Nevertheless, the train does not arrive at Kachgar without a long
delay, and it is half-past four in the morning when we enter the
capital of Chinese Turkestan.

Kachgaria is Oriental Turkestan which is gradually being metamorphosed
into Russian Turkestan.

The writers in the
New Review
have said: "Central Asia will only be a
great country when the Muscovite administration have laid hands on
Tibet, or when the Russians lord it at Kachgar."

Well, that is a thing half done! The piercing of the Pamir has joined
the Russian railway with the Chinese line which runs from one frontier
of the Celestial Empire to the other. The capital of Kachgaria is now
as much Russian as Chinese. The Sclav race and the Yellow race have
rubbed elbows and live in peace. How long will it last? To others leave
the future; I am content with the present.

We arrive at half-past four; we leave at eleven. The Grand Transasiatic
shows itself generous. I shall have time to see Kachgar, on condition
of allowing myself an hour less than the time stated.

For what was not done at the frontier has to be done at Kachgar.
Russians and Chinese are one as bad as the other when there are vexing
formalities; papers to verify, passports to sign, etc., etc. It is the
same sort of meddling, minute and over-fastidious, and we must put up
with it. We must not forget the terrible threat of the formula the
functionary of the Celestial Empire affixes to his acts—"Tremble and
obey!" I am disposed to obey, and I am prepared to appear before the
authorities of the frontier. I remember the fears of Kinko, and it is
with regard to him that the trembling is to be done, if the examination
of the travelers extends to their packages and luggage.

Before we reached Kachgar, Major Noltitz said to me:

"Do not imagine that Chinese Turkestan differs very much from Russian
Turkestan. We are not in the land of pagodas, junks, flower boats,
yamens, hongs and porcelain towers. Like Bokhara, Merv and Samarkand,
Kachgar is a double town. It is with the Central Asian cities as it is
with certain stars, only they do not revolve round one another."

The major's remark was very true. It was not so long ago since emirs
reigned over Kachgaria, since the monarchy of Mohammed Yakoub extended
over the whole of Turkestan, since the Chinese who wished to live here
had to adjure the religion of Buddha and Confucius and become converts
to Mahometanism, that is, if they wished to be respectable. What would
you have? In these days we are always too late, and those marvels of
the Oriental cosmorama, those curious manners, those masterpieces of
Asiatic art, are either memories or ruins. The railways will end by
bringing the countries they traverse down to the same level, to a
mutual resemblance which will certainly be equality and may be
fraternity. In truth, Kachgar is no longer the capital of Kachgaria; it
is a station on the Grand Transasiatic, the junction between the
Russian and Chinese lines, and the strip of iron which stretches for
three thousand kilometres from the Caspian to this city runs on for
nearly four thousand more to the capital of the Celestial Empire.

I return to the double town. The new one is Yangi-Chahr: the old one,
three and a half miles off, is Kachgar. I have seen both, and I will
tell you what they are like.

In the first place, both the old and the new towns are surrounded with
a villainous earthen wall that does not predispose you in their favor.
Secondly, it is in vain that you seek for any monument whatever, for
the materials of construction are identical for houses as for palaces.
Nothing but earth, and not even baked earth. It is not with mud dried
in the sun that you can obtain regular lines, clean profiles and finely
worked sculptures. Your architecture must be in stone or marble, and
that is precisely what you do not get in Chinese Turkestan.

A small carriage quickly took the major and myself to Kachgar, which is
three miles round. The Kizil-Sou, that is to say the Red River, which
is really yellow, as a Chinese river ought to be, clasps it between its
two arms, which are united by two bridges. If you wish to see a few
ruins of some interest, you must go a short distance beyond the town,
where there are the remains of fortifications dating from five hundred
or two thousand years ago, according to the imagination of the
archaeologist. What is certain is that Kachgar submitted to the furious
assault of Tamerlane, and we will agree that without the exploits of
this terrible cripple the history of Central Asia would be singularly
monotonous. Since his time there have been fierce sultans, it is
true—among others that Ouali-Khan-Toulla, who, in 1857, strangled
Schlagintweit, one of the most learned and most daring explorers of the
Asiatic continent. Two tablets of bronze, presented by the Geographical
Societies of Paris and Petersburg, ornament his commemorative monument.