Jules Verne (8 page)

As to these travelers who are not going across the frontier, they are
of most perfect insignificance in my eyes. But among my companions I
have not yet found the hero of my chronicle! let us hope he will
declare himself as we proceed.

My intention is to take notes hour by hour—what did I say? To "minute"
my journey. Before the night closes in I go out on the platform of the
car to have a last look at the surrounding country. An hour with my
cigar will take me to Kizil Arvat, where the train has to stop for some
time. In going from the second to the first car I meet Major Noltitz. I
step aside to let him pass. He salutes me with that grace which
distinguishes well-bred Russians. I return his salute. Our meeting is
restricted to this exchange of politeness, but the first step is taken.

Popof is not just now in his seat. The door of the luggage van being
open, I conclude that the guard has gone to talk with the driver. On
the left of the van the mysterious box is in its place. It is only
half-past six as yet, and there is too much daylight for me to risk the
gratification of my curiosity.

The train advances through the open desert. This is the Kara Koum, the
Black Desert. It extends from Khiva over all Turkestan comprised
between the Persian frontier and the course of the Amou Daria. In
reality the sands of the Kara Koum are no more black than the waters of
the Black Sea or than those of the White Sea are white, those of the
Red Sea red, or those of the Yellow River yellow. But I like these
colored distinctions, however erroneous they may be. In landscapes the
eye is caught by colors. And is there not a good deal of landscape
about geography?

It appears that this desert was formerly occupied by a huge central
basin. It has dried up, as the Caspian will dry up, and this
evaporation is explained by the powerful concentration of the solar
rays on the surface of the territories between the Sea of Aral and the
Plateau of the Pamir.

The Kara Koum is formed of low sandy hills which the high winds are
constantly shifting and forming. These "barkans," as the Russians call
them, vary in height from thirty to ninety feet. They expose a wide
surface to the northern hurricanes which drive them gradually
southward. And on this account there is a well-justified fear for the
safety of the Transcaspian. It had to be protected in some efficacious
way, and General Annenkof would have been much embarrassed if provident
Nature had not, at the same time as she gave the land favorable for the
railway to be laid along, given the means of stopping the shifting of
the barkanes.

Behind these sand hills grow a number of spring shrubs, clumps of
tamarisk, star thistles, and that
Haloxylon ammodendron
which
Russians call, not so scientifically, "saksaoul." Its deep, strong
roots are as well adapted for binding together the ground as those of
Hippophaë rhamnoides
, an arbutus of the Eleagnaceous family, which is
used for binding together the sands in southern Europe.

To these plantations of saksaouls the engineers of the line have added
in different places a series of slopes of worked clay, and in the most
dangerous places a line of palisades.

These precautions are doubtless of use; but if the road is protected,
the passengers are hardly so, when the sand flies like a bullet hail,
and the wind sweeps up from the plain the whitish efflorescences of
salt. It is a good thing for us that we are not in the height of the
hot season; and it is not in June or July or August that I would advise
you to take a trip on the Grand Transasiatic.

I am sorry that Major Noltitz does not think of coming out on the
gangway to breathe the fresh air of the Kara Koum. I would offer him
one of those choice regalias with which my case is well provided. He
would tell me if these stations I see on my time-table, Balla-Ischem,
Aïdine, Pereval, Kansandjik, Ouchak, are of any interest—which they do
not seem to be. But it would not do for me to disturb his siesta. And
yet his conversation ought to be interesting, for as a surgeon in the
Russian army he took part in the campaigns of Generals Skobeleff and
Annenkof. When our train ran through the little stations that it honors
only with a whistle, he could tell me if this one or that one had been
the scene of any incident of the war. As a Frenchman I am justified in
questioning him about the Russian expedition across Turkestan, and I
have no doubt that my fellow passenger will be pleased to gratify me.
He is the only one I can really trust besides Popof.

But why is Popof not in his seat? He also is not insensible to the
charms of a cigar. It would seem that his conversation with the
engineer has not finished yet.

Ah! Here he is coming from the front of the luggage van. He comes out
of it and shuts the door; he remains for a moment and is about to take
a seat. A hand which holds a cigar, is stretched out toward him. Popof
smiles and soon his perfumed puffs are mingling voluptuously with mine.

For fifteen years I think I said our guard had been in the Transcaspian
service. He knows the country up to the Chinese frontier, and five or
six times already he has been over the whole line known as the Grand
Transasiatic.

Popof was on duty on the section between Mikhailov and Kizil Arvat when
the line opened—a section which was begun in the December of 1880 and
finished in ten months, in November, 1881. Five years later the
locomotive entered Merv, on the 14th July, 1886, and eighteen months
later it was welcomed at Samarkand. Now the road through Turkestan
joins the road through the Celestial Empire, and the ribbon of iron
extends without interruption from the Caspian Sea to Pekin.

When Popof had given me this information, I asked if he knew anything
of our fellow travelers, I meant those who were going through to China.
And in the first place of Major Noltitz?

"The major," said Popof, "has lived a long time in the Turkestan
provinces, and he is going to Pekin to organize the staff of a hospital
for our compatriots, with the permission of the Czar, of course."

"I like this Major Noltitz," I said, "and I hope to make his
acquaintance very soon."

"He would be equally pleased to make yours," replied Popof.

"And these two Chinese, do you know them?"

"Not in the least, Monsieur Bombarnac; all I know is the name on the
luggage."

"What is that?"

"The younger man's name is Pan-Chao, the elder's is Tio-King. Probably
they have been traveling in Europe for some years. As to saying where
they come from, I cannot. I imagine that Pan-Chao belongs to some rich
family, for he is accompanied by his doctor."

"This Tio-King?"

"Yes, Doctor Tio-King."

"And do they only speak Chinese?"

"Probably; I have not heard them speak any other language together."

On this information from Popof, I will keep to the number nine I have
given to young Pan-Chao, and to the ten with which I have labelled
Doctor Tio-King.

"The American," began Popof.

"Ephrinell?" I exclaimed, "and Miss Horatia Bluett, the Englishwoman?
Oh! You can tell me nothing about them I don't know."

"Shall I tell you what I think about that couple, Monsieur Bombarnac?"

"What do you think?"

"That as soon as they reach Pekin, Miss Bluett will become Mrs.
Ephrinell."

"And may Heaven bless their union, Popof, for they are really made for
each other."

I saw that on this subject Popof and I held similar ideas.

"And the two French people, that couple so affectionate." I asked, "who
are they?"

"Have they not told you?"

"No, Popof."

"You need not be anxious, Monsieur Bombarnac. Besides, if you wish to
know their profession, it is written at full length on all their
luggage.

"And that is?"

"Stage people who are going to a theater in China."

Stage people! If that explains the attitudes, and mobile physiognomy,
and demonstrative gestures of Caterna, it does not explain his maritime
allusions.

"And do you know what line these players are in?"

"The husband is comic lead."

"And the wife?"

"She is leading lady."

"And where are these lyrical people going?"

"To Shanghai, where they have an engagement at the French theater."

That is capital. I will talk about the theater, and behind the scenes,
and such matters, and, as Popof said, I shall soon make the
acquaintance of the cheery comedian and his charming wife. But it is
not in their company that I shall discover the hero of romance who is
the object of my desire.

As to the scornful gentleman, our guide knew nothing beyond that his
luggage bore the address in full: Sir Francis Trevellyan, Trevellyan
Hall, Trevellyanshire.

"A gentleman who does not answer when he is spoken to!" added Popof.

Well, my number eight will have to be dumb man, and that will do very
well.

"Now we get to the German," said I.

"Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer?"

"He is going to Pekin, I think."

"To Pekin and beyond."

"Beyond?"

"Yes; he is on a trip round the world."

"A trip round the world?"

"In thirty-nine days."

And so after Mrs. Bisland who did the famous tour in seventy-three
days, and Train who did it in seventy, this German was attempting to do
it in thirty-nine?

True, the means of communication are more rapid the line is more
direct, and by using the Grand Transasiatic which puts Pekin within a
fortnight of the Prussian capital, the baron might halve the old time
by Suez and Singapore—but—

"He will never do it!" I exclaimed.

"Why not?" asked Popof.

"Because he is always late. He nearly missed the train at Tiflis, he
nearly missed the boat at Baku—"

"But he did not miss the start from Uzun Ada."

"It doesn't matter, Popof. I shall be much surprised if this German
beats an American at globe trotting."

The train arrived at Kizil Arvat, two hundred and forty-two versts from
the Caspian, at thirteen minutes past seven in the evening instead of
seven o'clock. This slight delay provoked thirteen objurgations from
the baron, one for each minute.

We have two hours to wait at Kizil Arvat. Although the day is closing
in, I could not employ my time better than in visiting this little
town, which contains more than two thousand inhabitants, Russians,
Persians and Turkomans. There is not much to see, however, either
within it or around it; there are no trees—not even a palm tree—only
pasturages and fields of cereals, watered by a narrow stream. My good
fortune furnished me with a companion, or I should rather say a guide,
in Major Noltitz.

Our acquaintance was made very simply. The major came up to me, and I
went up to him as soon as we set foot on the platform of the railway
station.

"Sir," said I, "I am a Frenchman, Claudius Bombarnac, special
correspondent of the
Twentieth Century
, and you are Major Noltitz of
the Russian army. You are going to Pekin, so am I. I can speak your
language, and it is very likely that you can speak mine."

The major made a sign of assent.

"Well, Major Noltitz, instead of remaining strangers to each other
during the long transit of Central Asia, would it please you for us to
become more than mere traveling companions? You know all about this
country that I do not know, and it would be a pleasure for me to learn
from you."

"Monsieur Bombarnac," replied the major in French, without a trace of
accent, "I quite agree with you."

Then he added with a smile:

"As to learning from me, one of your most eminent critics, if I
remember rightly, has said that the French only like to learn what they
know."

"I see that you have read Sainte Beuve, Major Noltitz; perhaps this
sceptical academician was right in a general way. But for my part, I am
an exception to the rule, and I wish to learn what I do not know. And
in all that concerns Russian Turkestan, I am in a state of ignorance."

"I am entirely at your disposal," said the major, "and I will be happy
to tell you all about General Annenkof, for I was all through the work
with him."

"I thank you, Major Noltitz. I expected no less than the courtesy of a
Russian towards a Frenchman."

"And," said the major, "if you will allow me to quote that celebrated
sentence in the
Danicheffs
, 'It will be always thus so long as there
are Frenchmen and Russians.'"

"The younger Dumas after Sainte Beuve?" I exclaimed. "I see, major,
that I am talking to a Parisian—"

"Of Petersburg, Monsieur Bombarnac."

And we cordially shook hands. A minute afterwards, we were on our way
through the town, and this is what Major Noltitz told me:

It was towards the end of 1885 that General Annenkof finished, at Kizil
Arvat, the first portion of this railway measuring about 140 miles, of
which 90 were through a desert which did not yield a single drop of
water. But before telling me how this extraordinary work was
accomplished, Major Noltitz reminded me of the facts which had
gradually prepared the conquest of Turkestan and its definite
incorporation with the Russian Empire.

As far back as 1854 the Russians had imposed a treaty of alliance on
the Khan of Khiva. Some years afterwards, eager to pursue their march
towards the east, the campaigns of 1860 and 1864 had given them the
Khanats of Kokhand and Bokhara. Two years later, Samarkand passed under
their dominion after the battles of Irdjar and Zera-Buleh.

There remained to be conquered the southern portion of Turkestan, and
chiefly the oasis of Akhal Tekke, which is contiguous to Persia.
Generals Sourakine and Lazareff attempted this in their expeditions of
1878 and 1879. Their plans failed, and it was to the celebrated
Skobeleff, the hero of Plevna, that the czar confided the task of
subduing the valiant Turkoman tribes.