Chapter 1

Chapter 13,709 wordsPublic domain

ACROSS ASIA ON A BICYCLE

THE JOURNEY OF TWO AMERICAN STUDENTS FROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO PEKING

BY THOMAS GASKELL ALLEN, JR. AND WILLIAM LEWIS SACHTLEBEN

NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1894

_All rights reserved._

THE DEVINNE PRESS.

_THOSE AT HOME_

WHOSE THOUGHTS AND WISHES WERE EVER WITH US IN OUR WANDERINGS

PREFACE

This volume is made up of a series of sketches describing the most interesting part of a bicycle journey around the world,—our ride across Asia. We were actuated by no desire to make a “record” in bicycle travel, although we covered 15,044 miles on the wheel, the longest continuous land journey ever made around the world.

The day after we were graduated at Washington University, St. Louis, Mo., we left for New York. Thence we sailed for Liverpool on June 23, 1890. Just three years afterward, lacking twenty days, we rolled into New York on our wheels, having “put a girdle round the earth.”

Our bicycling experience began at Liverpool. After following many of the beaten lines of travel in the British Isles we arrived in London, where we formed our plans for traveling across Europe, Asia, and America. The most dangerous regions to be traversed in such a journey, we were told, were western China, the Desert of Gobi, and central China. Never since the days of Marco Polo had a European traveler succeeded in crossing the Chinese empire from the west to Peking.

Crossing the Channel, we rode through Normandy to Paris, across the lowlands of western France to Bordeaux, eastward over the Lesser Alps to Marseilles, and along the Riviera into Italy. After visiting every important city on the peninsula, we left Italy at Brindisi on the last day of 1890 for Corfu, in Greece. Thence we traveled to Patras, proceeding along the Corinthian Gulf to Athens, where we passed the winter. We went to Constantinople by vessel in the spring, crossed the Bosporus in April, and began the long journey described in the following pages. When we had finally completed our travels in the Flowery Kingdom, we sailed from Shanghai for Japan. Thence we voyaged to San Francisco, where we arrived on Christmas night, 1892. Three weeks later we resumed our bicycles and wheeled by way of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas to New York.

During all of this journey we never employed the services of guides or interpreters. We were compelled, therefore, to learn a little of the language of every country through which we passed. Our independence in this regard increased, perhaps, the hardships of the journey, but certainly contributed much toward the object we sought—a close acquaintance with strange peoples.

During our travels we took more than two thousand five hundred photographs, selections from which are reproduced in the illustrations of this volume.

CONTENTS

PAGE I. BEYOND THE BOSPORUS 1 II. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT ARARAT 43 III. THROUGH PERSIA TO SAMARKAND 83 IV. THE JOURNEY FROM SAMARKAND TO KULDJA 115 V. OVER THE GOBI DESERT AND THROUGH THE WESTERN GATE 149 OF THE GREAT WALL VI. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE PRIME MINISTER OF CHINA 207

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THROUGH WESTERN CHINA IN LIGHT MARCHING ORDER. [Frontispiece] BICYCLE ROUTE OF Messrs. Allen & Sachtleben ACROSS ASIA. [p. 4 and 5] THE DONKEY BOYS INSPECT THE ’DEVIL’S CARRIAGE.’ [p. 6] HELPING A TURK WHOSE HORSES RAN AWAY AT SIGHT OF OUR BICYCLES. [p. 8] AN ANGORA SHEPHERD. [p. 9] 1, THE ENGLISH CONSUL AT ANGORA FEEDING HIS PETS; 2, PASSING A CARAVAN OF CAMELS; 3, PLOWING IN ASIA MINOR. [p. 11] A CONTRAST. [p. 12] A TURKISH FLOUR-MILL. [p. 13] MILL IN ASIA MINOR. [p. 15] GIPSIES OF ASIA MINOR. [p. 16] SCENE AT A GREEK INN. [p. 19] EATING KAISERICHEN (EKMEK) OR BREAD. [p. 20] GRINDING WHEAT. [p. 21] A TURKISH (HAMAAL) OR CARRIER. [p. 22] TURKISH WOMEN GOING TO PRAYERS IN KAISARIEH. [p. 23] THE ’FLIRTING TOWER’ IN SIVAS. [p. 25] HOUSE OF THE AMERICAN CONSUL IN SIVAS. [p. 26] ARABS CONVERSING WITH A TURK. [p. 29] A KADI EXPOUNDING THE KORAN. [p. 30] EVENING HALT IN A VILLAGE. [p. 32] PRIMITIVE WEAVING. [p. 33] A FERRY IN ASIA MINOR. [p. 38] A VILLAGE SCENE. [p. 40] [Rural scene without caption.] [p. 42] WHERE THE ’ZAPTIEHS’ WERE NOT A NUISANCE. [p. 50] READY FOR THE START. [p. 53] PARLEYING WITH THE KURDISH PARTY AT THE SPRING. [p. 56] THE KURDISH ENCAMPMENT. [p. 59] OUR GUARDS SIT DOWN TO DISCUSS THE SITUATION. [p. 65] HELPING THE DONKEYS OVER A SNOW-FIELD. [p. 67] LITTLE ARARAT COMES INTO VIEW. [p. 69] THE WALL INCLOSURE FOR OUR BIVOUAC AT ELEVEN THOUSAND FEET. [p. 72] NEARING THE HEAD OF THE GREAT CHASM. [p. 74] ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT ARARAT—FIRING THE FOURTH OF JULY SALUTE. [p. 78] HARVEST SCENE NEAR KHOI. [p. 84] LEAVING KHOI. [p. 86] YARD OF CARAVANSARY AT TABREEZ. [p. 88] LUMBER-YARD AT TABREEZ. [p. 88] THE CONVEYANCE OF A PERSIAN OFFICIAL TRAVELING IN DISGRACE TO TEHERAN AT THE CALL OF THE SHAH. [p. 91] A PERSIAN REPAIRING THE WHEELS OF HIS WAGON. [p. 94] LEAVING TEHERAN FOR MESHED. [p. 96] IN A PERSIAN GRAVEYARD. [p. 98] PILGRIMS IN THE CARAVANSARY. [p. 99] A PERSIAN WINE-PRESS. [p. 100] CASTLE STRONGHOLD AT LASGIRD. [p. 102] PILGRIM STONE HEAPS OVERLOOKING MESHED. [p. 104] RIDING BEFORE THE GOVERNOR AT MESHED. [p. 105] FEMALE PILGRIMS ON THE ROAD TO MESHED. [p. 106] IN THE GARDEN OF THE RUSSIAN CONSULATE AT MESHED. [p. 107] WATCH-TOWER ON THE TRANSCASPIAN RAILWAY. [p. 108] GIVING A ’SILENT PILGRIM’ A ROLL TOWARD MESHED. [p. 109] AN INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL KUROPATKINE AT THE RACES NEAR ASKABAD. [p. 111] MOSQUE CONTAINING THE TOMB OF TAMERLANE AT SAMARKAND. [p. 112] CARAVANSARY AT FAKIDAOUD. [p. 113] A MARKET-PLACE IN SAMARKAND, AND THE RUINS OF A COLLEGE. [p. 114] A RELIGIOUS DRAMA IN SAMARKAND. [p. 116] OUR FERRY OVER THE ZERAFSHAN. [p. 118] PALACE OF THE CZAR’S NEPHEW, TASHKEND. [p. 121] A SART RESCUING HIS CHILDREN FROM THE CAMERA OF THE ’FOREIGN DEVILS.’ [p. 123] VIEW OF CHIMKEND FROM THE CITADEL. [p. 125] ON THE ROAD BETWEEN CHIMKEND AND VERNOYE. [p. 129] UPPER VALLEY OF THE CHU RIVER. [p. 132] KIRGHIZ ERECTING KIBITKAS BY THE CHU RIVER. [p. 134] FANTASTIC RIDING AT THE SUMMER ENCAMPMENT OF THE COSSACKS. [p. 138] STROLLING MUSICIANS. [p. 141] THE CUSTOM-HOUSE AT KULDJA. [p. 143] THE CHINESE MILITARY COMMANDER OF KULDJA. [p. 145] TWO CATHOLIC MISSIONARIES IN THE YARD OF OUR KULDJA INN. [p. 146] A MORNING PROMENADE ON THE WALLS OF KULDJA. [p. 148] THE FORMER MILITARY COMMANDER OF KULDJA AND HIS FAMILY. [p. 151] VIEW OF A STREET IN KULDJA FROM THE WESTERN GATE. [p. 153] OUR RUSSIAN FRIEND AND MR. SACHTLEBEN LOADED WITH ENOUGH CHINESE ’CASH’ TO PAY FOR A MEAL AT A KULDJA RESTAURANT. [p. 155] A STREET IN THE TARANTCHI QUARTER OF KULDJA. [p. 158] PRACTISING OUR CHINESE ON A KULDJA CULPRIT. [p. 160] THE HEAD OF A BRIGAND EXPOSED ON THE HIGHWAY. [p. 161] A CHINESE GRAVEYARD ON THE EASTERN OUTSKIRTS OF KULDJA. [p. 163] SPLITTING POPPY-HEADS TO START THE OPIUM JUICE. [p. 165] THE CHIEF OF THE CUSTOM-HOUSE GIVES A LESSON IN OPIUM SMOKING. [p. 167] RIDING BEFORE THE GOVERNOR OF MANAS. [p. 168] MONUMENT TO A PRIEST AT URUMTSI. [p. 170] A BANK IN URUMTSI. [p. 171] A MAID OF WESTERN CHINA. [p. 173] STYLISH CART OF A CHINESE MANDARIN. [p. 174] A CHINESE PEDDLER FROM BARKUL. [p. 176] CHINESE GRAVES ON THE ROAD TO HAMI. [p. 178] SCENE IN A TOWN OF WESTERN CHINA. [p. 179] A LESSON IN CHINESE. [p. 180] A TRAIL IN THE GOBI DESERT. [p. 182] IN THE GOBI DESERT. [p. 183] STATION OF SEB-BOO-TCHAN. [p. 185] A ROCKY PASS IN THE MOUNTAINS OF THE GOBI. [p. 187] A WASTE OF BLACK SAND IN THE GOBI. [p. 188] A ROAD MARK IN THE GOBI DESERT. [p. 189] WITHIN THE WESTERN GATE OF THE GREAT WALL. [p. 191] RIDING BY THE GREAT WALL ON THE ROAD TO SU-CHOU. [p. 193] A TYPICAL RECEPTION IN A CHINESE TOWN. [p. 196] A CHINAMAN’S WHEELBARROW. [p. 199] MONUMENT TO THE BUILDER OF A BRIDGE. [p. 201] TWO PAGODAS AT LAN-CHOU-FOO. [p. 203] MISSIONARIES AT LAN-CHOU-FOO. [p. 205] LI-HUNG-CHANG. [p. 206] OPIUM-SMOKERS IN A STREET OF TAI-YUEN-FOO. [p. 209] MISSIONARIES AT TAI-YUEN-FOO. [p. 210] ENTERING TONG-QUAN BY THE WEST GATE. [p. 211] MONUMENTS NEAR ONE-SHE-CHIEN. [p. 212] MONUMENT NEAR CHANG-SHIN-DIEN. [p. 215] ON THE PEI-HO. [p. 217] A CHINAMAN SCULLING ON THE PEI-HO. [p. 218] SALT HEAPS AT THE GOVERNMENT WORKS AT TONG-KU. [p. 220] WINDMILLS AT TONG-KU FOR RAISING SALT WATER. [p. 221] FURNACE FOR BURNING WASTE PAPER BEARING WRITTEN CHARACTERS. [p. 225] MR. LIANG, EDUCATED IN THE UNITED STATES, NOW IN THE SHIPPING BUSINESS. [p. 228] A CHINESE SEEDING-DRILL. [p. 230] A CHINESE BRIDE. [p. 233]

ACROSS ASIA ON A BICYCLE

THE JOURNEY OF TWO AMERICAN STUDENTS FROM CONSTANTINOPLE TO PEKING

BEYOND THE BOSPORUS

On a morning early in April the little steamer conveying us across from Stamboul touched the wharf at Haider Pasha. Amid the rabble of Greeks, Armenians, Turks, and Italians we trundled our bicycles across the gang-plank, which for us was the threshold of Asia, the beginning of an inland journey of seven thousand miles from the Bosporus to the Pacific. Through the morning fog which enveloped the shipping in the Golden Horn, the “stars and stripes” at a single masthead were waving farewell to two American students fresh from college who had nerved themselves for nearly two years of separation from the comforts of western civilization.

Our guide to the road to Ismid was the little twelve-year-old son of an Armenian doctor, whose guests we had been during our sojourn in Stamboul. He trotted for some distance by our side, and then, pressing our hands in both of his, he said with childlike sincerity: “I hope God will take care of you”; for he was possessed with the thought popular among Armenians, of pillages and massacres by marauding brigands.

The idea of a trip around the world had been conceived by us as a practical finish to a theoretical education; and the bicycle feature was adopted merely as a means to that end. On reaching London we had formed the plan of penetrating the heart of the Asiatic continent, instead of skirting its more civilized coast-line. For a passport and other credentials necessary in journeying through Russia and Central Asia we had been advised to make application to the Czar’s representative on our arrival at Teheran, as we would enter the Russian dominions from Persia; and to that end the Russian minister in London had provided us with a letter of introduction. In London the secretary of the Chinese legation, a Scotchman, had assisted us in mapping out a possible route across the Celestial empire, although he endeavored, from the very start, to dissuade us from our purpose. Application had then been made to the Chinese minister himself for the necessary passport. The reply we received, though courteous, smacked strongly of reproof. “Western China,” he said, “is overrun with lawless bands, and the people themselves are very much averse to foreigners. Your extraordinary mode of locomotion would subject you to annoyance, if not to positive danger, at the hands of a people who are naturally curious and superstitious. However,” he added, after some reflection, “if your minister makes a request for a passport we will see what can be done. The most I can do will be to ask for you the protection and assistance of the officials only; for the people themselves I cannot answer. If you go into that country you do so at your own risk.” Minister Lincoln was sitting in his private office when we called the next morning at the American legation. He listened to the recital of our plans, got down the huge atlas from his bookcase, and went over with us the route we proposed to follow. He did not regard the undertaking as feasible, and apprehended that, if he should give his official assistance, he would, in a measure, be responsible for the result if it should prove unhappy. When assured of the consent of our parents, and of our determination to make the attempt at all hazards, he picked up his pen and began a letter to the Chinese minister, remarking as he finished reading it to us, “I would much rather not have written it.” The documents received from the Chinese minister in response to Mr. Lincoln’s letter proved to be indispensable when, a year and a half later, we left the last outpost of western civilization and plunged into the Gobi desert. When we had paid a final visit to the Persian minister in London, who had asked to see our bicycles and their baggage equipments, he signified his intention of writing in our behalf to friends in Teheran; and to that capital, after cycling through Europe, we were now actually _en route_.

Since the opening of the Trans-Bosporus Railway, the wagon-road to Ismid, and even the Angora military highway beyond, have fallen rapidly into disrepair. In April they were almost impassable for the wheel, so that for the greater part of the way we were obliged to take to the track. Like the railway skirting the Italian Riviera, and the Patras-Athens line along the Saronic Gulf, this Trans-Bosporus road for a great distance scarps and tunnels the cliffs along the Gulf of Ismid, and sometimes runs so close to the water’s edge that the puffing of the _kara vapor_ or “land steamer,” as the Turks call it, is drowned by the roaring breakers. The country between Scutari and Ismid surpasses in agricultural advantages any part of Asiatic Turkey through which we passed. Its fertile soil, and the luxuriant vegetation it supports, are, as we afterward learned, in striking contrast with the sterile plateaus and mountains of the interior, many parts of which are as desolate as the deserts of Arabia. In area, Asia Minor equals France, but the water-supply of its rivers is only one third.

One of the principal agents in the work of transforming Asia Minor is the railroad, to which the natives have taken with unusual readiness. The locomotive is already competing with the hundred and sixty thousand camels employed in the peninsula caravan-trade. At Geiveh, the last station on the Trans-Bosporus Railway, where we left the track to follow the Angora highway, the “ships of the desert” are beginning to transfer their cargoes to the “land steamer,” instead of continuing on as in former days to the Bosporus.

The Trans-Bosporus line, in the year of our visit, was being built and operated by a German company, under the direct patronage of the Sultan. We ventured to ask some natives if they thought the Sultan had sufficient funds to consummate so gigantic a scheme, and they replied, with the deepest reverence: “God has given the Padishah much property and power, and certainly he must give him enough money to utilize it.”

A week’s cycling from the Bosporus brought us beyond the Allah Dagh mountains, among the barren, variegated hills that skirt the Angora plateau. We had already passed through Ismid, the ancient Nicomedia and capital of Diocletian; and had left behind us the heavily timbered valley of the Sakaria, upon whose banks the “Freebooter of the Bithynian hills” settled with his four hundred tents and laid the foundation of the Ottoman empire. Since leaving Geiveh we had been attended by a mounted guard, or _zaptieh_, who was sometimes forced upon us by the authorities in their anxiety to carry out the wishes expressed in the letters of the Grand Vizir. On emerging from the door of an inn we frequently found this unexpected guard waiting with a Winchester rifle swung over his shoulder, and a fleet steed standing by his side. Immediately on our appearance he would swing into the saddle and charge through the assembled rabble. Away we would go at a rapid pace down the streets of the town or village, to the utter amazement of the natives and the great satisfaction of our vainglorious zaptieh. As long as his horse was fresh, or until we were out of sight of the village, he would urge us on with cries of “Gellcha-buk” (“Come on, ride fast”). When a bad piece of road or a steep ascent forced us to dismount he would bring his horse to a walk, roll a cigarette, and draw invidious comparisons between our steeds. His tone, however, changed when we reached a decline or long stretch of reasonably good road. Then he would cut across country to head us off, or shout after us at the top of his voice, “Yavash-yavash” (“Slowly, slowly”). On the whole we found them good-natured and companionable fellows, notwithstanding their interest in _baksheesh_ which we were compelled at last, in self-defense, to fix at one piaster an hour. We frequently shared with them our frugal, and even scanty meals; and in turn they assisted us in our purchases and arrangements for lodgings, for their word, we found, was with the common people an almost unwritten law. Then, too, they were of great assistance in crossing streams where the depth would have necessitated the stripping of garments; although their fiery little steeds sometimes objected to having an extra rider astride their haunches, and a bicycle across their shoulders. They seized every opportunity to impress us with the necessity of being accompanied by a government representative. In some lonely portion of the road, or in the suggestive stillness of an evening twilight, our Turkish Don Quixote would sometimes cast mysterious glances around him, take his Winchester from his shoulder, and throwing it across the pommel of his saddle, charge ahead to meet the imaginary enemy. But we were more harmful than harmed, for, despite our most vigilant care, the bicycles were sometimes the occasion of a stampede or runaway among the caravans and teams along the highway, and we frequently assisted in replacing the loads thus upset. On such occasions our pretentious cavalier would remain on his horse, smoking his cigarette and smiling disdainfully.

It was in the company of one of these military champions that we emerged on the morning of April 12 upon the plateau of Angora. On the spring pasture were feeding several flocks of the famous Angora goats, and the _karamanli_ or fat-tailed sheep, tended by the Yurak shepherds and their half-wild and monstrous collies, whose half-savage nature fits them to cope with the jackals which infest the country. The shepherds did not check their sudden onslaught upon us until we were pressed to very close quarters, and had drawn our revolvers in self-defense. These Yuraks are the nomadic portion of the Turkish peasantry. They live in caves or rudely constructed huts, shifting their habitation at will, or upon the exhaustion of the pasturage. Their costume is most primitive both in style and material; the trousers and caps being made of sheepskin and the tunic of plaited wheat-straw. In contradistinction to the Yuraks the settled inhabitants of the country are called Turks. That term, however, which means rustic or clown, is never used by the Turks themselves except in derision or disdain; they always speak of themselves as “Osmanli.”

The great length of the Angora fleece, which sometimes reaches eight inches, is due solely to the peculiar climate of the locality. The same goats taken elsewhere have not thriven. Even the Angora dogs and cats are remarkable for the extraordinary length of their fleecy covering. On nearing Angora itself, we raced at high speed over the undulating plateau. Our zaptieh on his jaded horse faded away in the dim distance, and we saw him no more. This was our last guard for many weeks to come, as we decided to dispense with an escort that really retarded us. But on reaching Erzerum, the Vali refused us permission to enter the district of Alashgerd without a guard, so we were forced to take one.

We were now on historic ground. To our right, on the Owas, a tributary of the Sakaria, was the little village of Istanas, where stood the ancient seat of Midas, the Phrygian king, and where Alexander the Great cut with his sword the Gordian knot to prove his right to the rulership of the world. On the plain, over which we were now skimming, the great Tatar, Timur, fought the memorable battle with Bajazet I., which resulted in the capture of the Ottoman conqueror. Since the time that the title of Asia applied to the small coast-province of Lydia, this country has been the theater for the grandest events in human history.

The old mud-houses of modern Angora, as we rolled into the city, contrasted strongly with the cyclopean walls of its ancient fortress. After two days in Angora we diverged from the direct route to Sivas through Yüzgat, so as to visit the city of Kaisarieh. Through the efforts of the progressive Vali at Angora, a macadamized road was in the course of construction to this point, a part of which—to the town of Kirshehr—was already completed. Although surrounded by unusual fertility and luxuriance for an interior town, the low mud-houses and treeless streets give Kirshehr that same thirsty and painfully uniform appearance which characterizes every village or city in Asiatic Turkey. The mud buildings of Babylon, and not the marble edifices of Nineveh, have served as models for the Turkish architect. We have seen the Turks, when making the mud-straw bricks used in house-building, scratch dirt for the purpose from between the marble slabs and boulders that lay in profusion over the ground. A few of the government buildings and some of the larger private residences are improved by a coat of whitewash, and now and then the warm spring showers bring out on the mud roofs a relieving verdure, that frequently serves as pasture for the family goat. Everything is low and contracted, especially the doorways. When a foreigner bumps his head, and demands the reason for such stupid architecture, he is met with that decisive answer, “Adet”—custom, the most powerful of all influences in Turkey and the East.