 beginning Part 3, with Chapter 29 of Beasts, Men, and Gods. Beasts, Men, and Gods, by Ferdinand Ossendowski. Part 3, The Straining Heart of Asia. Chapter 29. On the Road of Great Conquerors. The great conqueror, Genghis Khan, the son of sad, stern, severe Mongolia, according to an old Mongolian legend, mounted to the top of Karasutogol and with his eyes of an eagle looked to the west and the east. In the west he saw whole seas of human blood over which floated a bloody fog that blanketed all the horizon. There he could not discern his fate. But the gods ordered him to proceed to the west, leading with him all his warriors and Mongolian tribes. To the east he saw wealthy towns, shining temples, crowds of happy people, gardens and fields of rich earth, all of which pleased the great Mongol. He said to his sons, There in the west I shall be fire and sword, destroyer, avenging fate. In the east I shall come as the merciful great builder, bringing happiness to the people and to the land. Thus runs the legend. I found much of truth in it. I had passed over much of his road to the west and had always identified it by the old tombs and the impertinent monuments of stone to the merciless conqueror. I saw also a part of the eastern road of the hero, over which he traveled to China. Once when we were making a trip out of Uliasutai we stopped the night in Jagurgolantu. The old host of the Urtan, knowing me from my previous trip to Narabanshi, welcomed us very kindly and regaled us with stories during our evening meal. Among other things he led us out of the Yurta and pointed out a mountain peak, brightly lighted by the full moon, and recounted to us the story of one of the sons of Genghis, afterwards Emperor of China, Indochina and Mongolia, who had been attracted by the beautiful scenery and grazing lands of Jagurgolantu, and had founded here a town. This was soon left without inhabitants, for the Mongol is a nomad who cannot live in artificial cities. The plain is his house, and the world his town. For a time this town witnessed battles between the Chinese and the troops of Genghis Khan, but afterwards it was forgotten. At present there remains only a half-ruined tower, from which in the early days the heavy rocks were hurled down upon the heads of the enemy, and the dilapidated gate of Kublai, the grandson of Genghis Khan. Against the greenish sky drenched with the rays of the moon stood out the jagged line of the mountains and the black silhouette of the tower with its loopholes, through which the alternate scutting clouds and light flashed. When our party left Ulyassetai we traveled on leisurely, making thirty-five to fifty miles a day, until we were within sixty miles of Zain Shabi, where I took leave of the others to go south to this place, in order to keep my engagement with Colonel Kazagrandi. The sun had just risen as my single Mongol guide and I, without any pack animals, began to ascend the low, timbered ridges, from the top of which I caught the last glimpses of my companions disappearing down the valley. I had no idea then of the many and almost fatal dangers which I should have to pass through during this trip by myself, which was destined to prove much longer than I had anticipated. As we were crossing a small river with sandy shores, my Mongol guide told me how the Mongolians came there during the summer to wash gold, in spite of the prohibitions of the Lamas. The manner of working the placer was very primitive, but the results testified clearly to the richness of these sands. The Mongol lies flat on the ground, brushes the sand aside with a feather, and keeps blowing into the little excavation so formed. From time to time he wets his finger, and picks up on it a small bit of grain gold, or a diminutive nugget, and drops these into a little bag hanging under his chin. In such manner this primitive dredge wins about a quarter of an ounce, or five dollars worth, of the yellow metal per day. I determined to make the whole distance to Zane Shabby in a single day. At the Urtans I hurried them through the catching and saddling of the horses as fast as I could. At one of these stations, about twenty-five miles from the monastery, the Mongols gave me a wild horse, a big, strong white stallion. Just as I was about to mount him, and had already touched my foot to the stirrup, he jumped and kicked me right on the leg which had been wounded in the Machu fight. The leg soon began to swell and ache. At sunset I made out the first Russian and Chinese buildings, and later the monastery at Zane. We dropped into the valley of a small stream which flowed along a mountain on whose peak were set white rocks forming the words of a Tibetan prayer. At the bottom of this mountain was a cemetery for the Lamas, that is, piles of bones and a pack of dogs. At last the monastery lay right below us, a common square surrounded with wooden fences. In the middle rose a large temple quite different from all those of western Mongolia, not in the Chinese but in the Tibetan style of architecture, a white building with perpendicular walls and regular rows of windows in black frames, with a roof of black tiles and with the most unusual damp course laid between the stone walls and the roof timbers and made of bundles of twigs from a Tibetan tree which never rots. Another small quadrangle lay a little to the east and contain Russian buildings connected with the monastery by telephone. That is the house of the living god of Zane, the Mongol explained, pointing to the smaller quadrangle. He likes Russian customs and manners. To the north on a conical shaped hill rose a tower that recalled the Babylonian ziggurat. It was the temple where the ancient books and manuscripts were kept and the broken ornaments and objects used in the religious ceremonies together with the robes of deceased hutuktu's preserved. A sheer cliff rose behind this museum, which it was impossible for one to climb. On the face of this were carved images of the Lemaite gods scattered about without any special order. They were from one to two and a half meters high. At night the monks lighted lamps before them so that one could see these images of the gods and goddesses from far away. We entered the trading settlement. The streets were deserted and from the windows only women and children looked out. I stopped with the Russian firm whose other branches I had known throughout the country. Much to my astonishment they welcomed me as an acquaintance. It appeared that the hutuktu of Narabanshi had sent word to all the monasteries that, whenever I should come, they must all render me aid, in as much as I had saved the Narabanshi monastery, and, by the clear signs of the divinations, I was an incarnate Buddha beloved of the gods. This letter of this kindly disposed hutuktu helped me very much. Perhaps I should even say more that it saved me from death. The hospitality of my hosts proved of great and much needed assistance to me, because my injured leg had swelled and was aching severely. When I took off my boot I found my foot all covered with blood and my old wound reopened by the blow. A felcher was called to assist me with treatment and bandaging so that I was able to walk again three days later. I did not find Colonel Casagrandi at Zain Shabbi. After destroying the Chinese gammons who had killed the local commandant, he had returned via Vankuri. The new commandant handed me the letter of Casagrandi, who very cordially asked me to visit him after I had rested in Zain. A Mongolian document was enclosed in the letter, giving me the right to receive horses and carts from herd to herd by means of the Urga, which I shall later describe and that opened for me an entirely new vista of Mongolian life and country that I should otherwise never have seen. The making of this journey of over two hundred miles was a very disagreeable task for me, but evidently Casagrandi, whom I had never met, had serious reasons for wishing this meeting. At one o'clock, the day after my arrival, I was visited by the local very god, Zhenjin Pandita Hutaktu. A more strange and extraordinary appearance of a god I could not imagine. He was a short, thin young man of twenty or twenty-two years, with quick nervous movements and with an expressive face lighted and dominated, like the countenances of all the Mongol gods, by large frightened eyes. He was dressed in a blue silk-russian uniform with yellow epaulettes, with the sacred side of Pandita Hutaktu, in blue silk trousers and high boots, all surmounted by a white astericon cap with a yellow pointed top. At his girdle a revolver and sword were slung. I did not know quite what to think of this disguised god. He took a cup of tea from the host, and began to talk with a mixture of Mongolian and Russian. Not far from Maikure is located the ancient monastery of Erdanidzu, erected on the side of the ruins of Kerakoham, the ancient capital of Zhenjish Khan, and afterwards frequently visited by Kuble Khan for sanctuary and rest after his labors as Emperor of China, India, Persia, Afghanistan, Mongolia, and half of Europe. Now only ruins and tombs remain to mark this former garden of batific days. The pious monks of Barun Kure found in the underground chambers of the ruins manuscripts that were much older than Erdanidzu itself. In these my meetchikhatak found the prediction that the Hutaktu of Zayn, who should carry the title of Pandita, should be but twenty-one years of age, be born in the heart of the lands of Zhenjish Khan, and have on his chest the natural sign of the swastika. Such Hutaktu would be honored by the people in the days of a great war and trouble, would begin the fight with the servants of Red Evil, and would conquer them and bring order into the universe, celebrating this happy day in the city with white temples and with the songs of ten thousand bells. It is I, Pandita Hutaktu. The signs and symbols have met him me. I shall destroy the Bolsheviki, the bad servants of the Red Evil, and in Moscow I shall rest for my glorious and great work. Therefore I have asked Colonel Kazagrandi to enlist me in the troops of Baron Ungern and give me the chance to fight. The Lamas seek to prevent me from going, but who is the God here? He very sternly stamped his foot, while the Lamas and guard who accompanied him reverently bowed their heads. As he left he presented me with a hatik, and rummaging through my saddle-bags, I found a single article that might be considered worthy as a gift for a Hutaktu, a small bottle of Osmaridium, this rare natural concomitant of platinum. This is the most stable and hardest of metals, I said. Let it be the sign of your glory and strength, Hutaktu. The Pandita thanked me, and invited me to visit him. When I had recovered a little I went to his house, which was arranged in European style, electric lights, push-bells, and telephone. He feasted me with wine and sweets, and introduced me to two very interesting personages, one an old Tibetan surgeon with a face deeply pitted by smallpox, a heavy thick nose, and crossed eyes. He was a peculiar surgeon, consecrated in Tibet. His duties consisted in treating and curing Hutaktu's when they were ill, and in poisoning them when they became too independent, or extravagant, or when their policies were not in accord with the wishes of the Council of Lamas, of the living Buddha, or the Dalai Lama. By now Pandita Hutaktu probably rests an eternal peace on the top of some sacred mountain, sent thither by the solicitude of his extraordinary court physician. The martial spirit of Pandita Hutaktu was very unwelcome to the Council of Lamas, who protested against the adventuresomeness of this living God. Pandita liked wine and carts. One day when he was in the company of Russians and dressed in a European suit, some Lamas came running to announce that divine service had begun, and that the living God must take his place on the altar to be prayed to, but he had gone out from his abode and was playing carts. Without any confusion Pandita drew his red mantle of the Hutaktu over his European coat and long-gray trousers, and allowed the shocked Lamas to carry their God away in his palanquin. Besides the surgeon Poisner, I met at the Hutaktu's a lad of thirteen years, whose youthfulness, red robe, and cropped hair led me to suppose he was a Bandi or student servant in the home of the Hutaktu. But it turned out otherwise. This boy was the first Hubuljan, also an incarnate Buddha, an artful teller of fortunes and the successor of Pandita Hutaktu. He was drunk all the time and a great card-player, always making side-splitting jokes that greatly offended the Lamas. That same evening I made the acquaintance of the second Hubulgun, who called on me, the real administrator of Zain Shabbi, which is an independent Dominion subject directly to the living Buddha. This Hubulgun was a serious and ascetic man of thirty-two, well educated and deeply learned in Mongol lore. He knew Russian and read much in that language, being interested chiefly in the life and stories of other peoples. He had a high respect for the creative genius of the American people, and said to me, When you go to America, ask the Americans to come to us and lead us out from the darkness that surrounds us. The Chinese and Russians will lead us to destruction, and only the Americans can save us. It is a deep satisfaction for me to carry out the request of this influential Mongol, Hubulgun, and to urge his appeal to the American people. Will you not save this honest, uncorrupted but dark, deceived and oppressed people? They should not be allowed to perish, for within their souls they carry a great store of strong moral forces. Make of them a cultured people, believing in the verity of humankind. Teach them to use the wealth of their land, and the ancient people of Genghis Khan will ever be your faithful friends. When I had sufficiently recovered, the Hutuktu invited me to travel with him to Erdanitzu, to which I willingly agreed. On the following morning a light and comfortable carriage was brought for me. Our trip lasted five days, during which we visited Erdanitzu, Karakoham, Hotozedam, and Harabagasun. All these are the ruins of monasteries and cities erected by Genghis Khan and his successors, Ugeday Khan and Kublai in the thirteenth century. Now only the remnants of walls and towers remain, some large tombs, and whole books of legends and stories. Look at these tombs, said the Hutuktu to me. Here the son of Khan Uyek was buried. This young prince was bribed by the Chinese to kill his father but was frustrated in his attempt by his own sister, who killed him in her watchful care of her old father, the Emperor and Khan. There is the tomb of Sinilla, the beloved spouse of Khan Mangu. She left the capital of China to go to Karabagasun, where she fell in love with the brave shepherd Dhamcharan, who overtook the wind on his steed and who captured wild yaks and horses with his bare hands. The enraged Khan ordered his unfaithful wife strangled, but afterwards buried her with imperial honors and frequently came to her tomb to weep for his lost love. And what happened to Dhamcharan, I inquired. The Hutuktu himself did not know, but his old servant, the Real Archive of Legends, answered, With the aid of ferocious Chahar brigands he fought with China for a long time. It is, however, unknown how he died. Among the ruins the monks pray at certain fixed times, and they also search for sacred books and objects concealed or buried in the debris. Recently they found here two Chinese rifles and two gold rings and big bundles of old manuscripts tied with leather thongs. Why did this region attract the powerful emperors and Khans who ruled from the Pacific to the Adriatic, I asked myself. Certainly not these mountains and valleys covered with larch and birch, not these vast sands receding lakes and barren rocks. It seems that I found the answer. The great emperors, remembering the vision of Genghis Khan, sought here new revelations and predictions of his miraculous, majestic destiny, surrounded by the divine honors, obeisance, and hate. Where could they come into touch with the gods, the good and bad spirits? Only there were they abode. All the district of Zayn with these ancient ruins is just such a place. On this mountain only such men can ascend as are born of the direct line of Genghis Khan, the Pandita explained to me. Halfway up the ordinary man suffocates and dies if he ventures to go further. Recently Mongolian hunters chased a pack of wolves up this mountain, and when they came to this part of the mountain side they all perished. Thereon the slopes of the mountain lie the bones of eagles, big horn sheep, and the kabarja antelope, light and swift as the wind. There dwells the bad demon who possesses the book of human destinies. This is the answer, I thought. In the western Caucasus I once saw a mountain between Sukkoum-Kaili and Tuapse, where wolves, eagles and wild goats also perish, and where men would likewise perish if they did not go on horseback through this zone. There the earth breathes out carbonic acid gas through holes in the mountain side, killing all animal life. The gas clings to the earth in a layer about half a meter thick. Men on horseback pass above this and the horses always hold their heads way up and snuff and winny in fear until they cross the dangerous zone. Here on the top of this mountain where the bad demon peruses the book of human destinies is the same phenomenon, and I realize the sacred fear of the Mongols as well as the stern attraction of this place for the tall, almost gigantic descendants of Genghis Khan. Their heads tower above the layers of poisonous gas, so that they can reach the top of this mysterious and terrible mountain. Also it is possible to explain this phenomenon geologically, because here in this region is the southern edge of the coal deposits which are the source of carbonic acid and swamp gases. Not far from the ruins in the lands of Hun-Dap-Chin-Jumpso, there is a small lake which sometimes burns with a red flame, terrifying the Mongols and herds of horses. Naturally this lake is rich with legends. Here a meteor formerly fell and sank far into the earth. In the hole this lake appeared. Now it seems the inhabitants of the subterranean passages, semi-man and semi-demon, are laboring to extract this stone of the sky from its deep bed, and is setting the water on fire as it rises and falls back in spite of their every effort. I did not see the lake myself, but a Russian colonist told me that it may be petroleum on the lake that is fired either from the campfires of the shepherds or by the blazing rays of the sun. At any rate all this makes it very easy to understand the attractions for the great Mongol potentates. The strongest impression was produced upon me by Kerakohm. The place where the cruel and wise Genghis Khan lived and laid his gigantic plans for overrunning all the west with blood and for covering the east with a glory never before seen. Two Kerakohms were erected by Genghis Khan, one here near Tatsa Gol on the Keravan road, and the other in Pamir, where the sad warriors buried the greatest of human conquerors in the mausoleum built by five hundred captives, who were sacrificed to the spirit of the deceased when their work was done. The warlike Pandita Hutuktu prayed on the ruins where the shades of these potentates, who had ruled half the world, wandered, and his soul longed for the chimerical exploits and for the glory of Genghis and Tamerlane. On the return journey we were invited not far from Zayn to visit a very rich Mongol, by the way. He had already prepared the yurtas suitable for princes ornamented with rich carpets and silk draperies. The Hutuktu accepted. We arranged ourselves on the soft pillows and the yurtas as the Hutuktu blessed the Mongol, touching his head with his holy hand, and received the hatiks. The host then had a whole sheep brought in to us, boiled in a huge vessel. The Hutuktu carved off one hind leg and offered it to me, while he reserved the other for himself. After this he gave a large piece of meat to the smallest son of the host, which was the sign that Pandita Hutuktu invited all to begin the feast. In a trice the sheep was entirely carved or torn up and in the hands of the banqueters. When the Hutuktu had thrown down by the brazier the white bones without a trace of meat left on them, the host on his knees withdrew from the fire a piece of sheepskin and ceremoniously offered it on both his hands to the Hutuktu. Pandita began to clean off the wool and ashes with his knife, and, cutting it into thin strips, fell to eating this really tasty course. It is the covering from just above the breastbone and is called in Mongolian tarak or arrow. When a sheep is skinned, this small section is cut out and placed on the hot coals, where it is broiled very slowly. Thus prepared it is considered the most dainty bit of the whole animal and is always presented to the guest of honour. It is not permissible to divide it, such is the strength of the custom and ceremony. After dinner our host proposed a hunt for big horns, a large herd of which was known to graze in the mountains within less than a mile from the Yurtas. Horses with rich saddles and bridles were led up. All the elaborate harness of the Hutuktu's mount was ornamented with red and yellow bits of cloth as a mark of his rank. About fifty Mongol riders galloped behind us. When we left our horses we were placed behind the rocks roughly three hundred paces apart, and the Mongols began the encircling movement around the mountain. After about half an hour I noticed way up among the rocks something flash, and soon made out a fine big horn jumping with tremendous springs from rock to rock, and behind him a herd of some twenty oddhead leaping like lightning over the ground. I was vexed beyond words when it appeared that the Mongols had made a mess of it and pushed the herd out to the side before having completed their circle, but happily I was mistaken. Behind the rock right ahead of the herd a Mongol sprang up and waved his hands. Only the big leader was not frightened and kept right on past the unarmed Mongol while all the rest of the herd swung suddenly around and rushed right down upon me. I opened fire and dropped two of them. The Hutuktu also brought down one, as well as a musk antelope that came unexpectedly from behind a rock hard by. The largest pair of horns weighed about thirty pounds, but they were from a young sheep. The day following our return to Zain Shabi, as I was feeling quite recovered, I decided to go on to Vankure. At my leave taking from the Hutuktu, I received a large hatik from him, together with the warmest expressions of thanks for the present I had given him on the first day of our acquaintance. It is a fine medicine, he exclaimed. After our trip I felt quite exhausted, but I took your medicine and am now quite rejuvenated. Many, many thanks! The poor chap had swallowed my osmaridium. To be sure it could not harm him, but to have helped him was wonderful. Perhaps doctors in the Occident may wish to try this new, harmless, and very cheap remedy. Only eight pounds of it in the whole world, and I merely ask that they leave me the patent rights for it for Mongolia, Barga, Sinkiang, Kokonor, and all the other lands of Central Asia. An old Russian colonist went his guide for me. They gave me a big but light and comfortable cart hitched and drawn in a marvellous way. A straight pole four metres long was fastened a thwart the front of the shafts. On either side two riders took this pole across their saddle pommels and galloped away with me across the plains. Behind us galloped four other riders with four extra horses. CHAPTER 30 About twelve miles from Zane we saw from a ridge a snake-like line of riders crossing the valley, which detachment we met half an hour later on the shore of a deep, swampy stream. The group consisted of Mongols, Buryats, and Tibetans armed with Russian rifles. At the head of the column were two men, one of whom in a huge black astrakhan and black felt cape with red Caucasian cowl on his shoulders blocked my road, and in a coarse, harsh voice demanded of me, Who are you? Where are you from? And where are you going? I gave also a laconic answer. They then said that they were a detachment of troops from Baron Ungern under the command of Captain Vandaloff. I am Captain Bezrodnoff, military judge. Suddenly he laughed loudly. His insolent, stupid face did not please me, and bowing to the officers I ordered my riders to move. Oh, no! he remonstrated as he blocked the road again. I cannot allow you to go farther. I want to have a long and serious conversation with you, and you will have to come back to Zane for it. I protested and called attention to the letter of Colonel Kazagrande, only to hear a Bezrodnoff answer with coldness. This letter is a matter of Colonel Kazagrande's, and to bring you back to Zane and talk with you is my affair. Now give me your weapon. But I could not yield to this demand, even though death were threatened. Listen, I said. Tell me frankly, is yours really a detachment fighting against the Bolsheviki, or is it a red contingent? No, I assure you, replied the Buriat officer Vandaloff, approaching me. We have already been fighting the Bolsheviki for three years. Then I cannot hand you my weapon, I calmly replied. I brought it from Soviet Siberia, have had many fights with this faithful weapon, and now I am to be disarmed by white officers. It is an offence that I cannot allow. With these I threw my rifle and my Mauser into the stream. The officers were confused. Bezrodnoff turned red with anger. I freed you and myself from humiliation, I explained. Bezrodnoff in silence turned his horse. The whole detachment of three hundred men passed immediately before me, and only the last two riders stopped, ordered my Mongols to turn my cart round and then fell in behind my little group. So I was arrested. One of the horsemen behind me was a Russian, and he told me that Bezrodnoff carried with him many death decrees. I was sure that mine was among them. Stupid. Very stupid. What was the use of fighting one's way through red detachments, of being frozen and hungry and almost perishing in Tibet, only to die from a bullet of one of Bezrodnoff's Mongols? For such a pleasure it was not worthwhile to travel so long and so far. In every Siberian chaka I could have had this end so joyfully accorded me. When we arrived at Zane Shabbi, my luggage was examined and Bezrodnoff began to question me in minutest detail about the events in Ulyasitai. We talked about three hours, during which I tried to defend all the officers of Ulyasitai, maintaining that one must not trust only the reports of Domojirov. When our conversation was finished, the captain stood up and offered his apologies for detaining me in my journey. Afterwards he presented me a fine mouser with silver mountings on the handle and said, Your pride greatly pleased me. I beg you to receive this weapon as a momentum of me. The following morning I set out anew from Zane Shabbi, having in my pocket the Lese Pase of Bezrodnoff for his outposts. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Travelling by Urga Once more we travelled along the now known places, the mountain from which I aspired the detachment of Bezrodnoff, the stream into which I had thrown my weapon, and soon all this lay behind us. At the first Urtan we were disappointed because we did not find horses there. In the Urtas were only the host with two of his sons. I showed him my document and he exclaimed, Noyan has the right of Urga! Horses will be brought very soon! He jumped into his saddle, took two of my mongols with him, providing them and himself with long thin poles, four or five metres in length, and fitted at the end with a loop of rope, and galloped away. My cart moved behind them. We left the road, crossed the plane for an hour, and came upon a big herd of horses grazing there. The mongol began to catch a quota of them for us with his pole and noose, or Urga, when out of the mountains nearby came galloping the owners of the herds. When the old mongol showed my papers to them, they submissively acquiesced and substituted four of their men for those who had come with me thus far. In this manner the mongols travelled, not along the Urtan or station road, but directly from one herd to another, where the fresh horses are caught and saddled, and the new owners substituted for those of the last herd. All the mongols so affected by the right of Urga try to finish their task as rapidly as possible, and gallop like mad for the nearest herd in your general direction of travel, to turn over their task to their neighbour. Any traveller having this right of Urga can catch horses himself, and if there are no owners, can force the former ones to carry on and leave the animals in the next herd he requisitions. But this happens very rarely, because the mongol never likes to seek out his animals in another's herd, as it always gives so many chances for controversy. It was from this custom, according to one explanation, that the town of Urga took its name among outsiders. By the mongols themselves it was always referred to as Takure, the Great Monastery. The reason the Buriats and Russians, who were the first to trade into this region, called it Urga, was because it was the principal destination of all the trading expeditions which crossed the plains by this old method or right of travel. A second explanation is that the town lies in a loop whose sides are formed by three mountain ridges, along one of which the River Tola runs like the pole or stick of the familiar Urga of the plains. Thanks to this unique ticket of Urga I cross quite untraveled sections of Mongolia for about two hundred miles. It gave me the welcome opportunity to observe the fauna of this part of the country. I saw many huge herds of Mongolian antelopes running from five to six thousand. Many groups of big horns, Wapiti and Karbaga antelopes, sometimes small herds of wild horses and wild asses flashed as a vision on the horizon. In one place I observed a big colony of marmots. All over an area of several square miles their mounds were scattered with the holes leading down to their runways below, the dwellings of the marmot. In and out among these mounds the grayish yellow or brown animals ran in all sizes up to half that of an average dog. They ran heavily and the skin on their fat bodies moved as though it were too big for them. The marmots are splendid prospectors, always digging deep ditches, throwing out on the surface all the stones. In many places I saw mounds the marmots had made from copper ore, and farther north some from minerals containing wolfrum and vanadium. Whenever the marmot is at the entrance of his hole he sits up straight on his hind legs and looks like a bit of wood, a small stump or a stone. As soon as he spies a rider in the distance he watches him with great curiosity and begins whistling sharply. This curiosity of the marmots is taken advantage of by the hunters who sneak up to their holes flourishing streamers of cloth on the tips of long poles. The whole attention of the small animals is concentrated on this small flag, and only the bullet that takes his life explains to him the reason for this previously unknown object. I saw a very exciting picture as I passed through a marmot colony near the Orkan River. There were thousands of holes here so that my mongols had to use all their skill to keep the horses from breaking their legs in them. I noticed an eagle circling high overhead. All of a sudden he dropped like a stone to the top of a mound where he sat motionless as a rock. The marmot in a few minutes ran out of his hole to a neighbor's doorway. The eagle calmly jumped down from the top and with one wing closed the entrance to the hole. The rodent heard the noise, turned back and rushed to the attack, trying to break through to his hole where he had evidently left his family. The struggle began. The eagle fought with one free wing, one leg and his beak, but did not withdraw the bar to the entrance. Their marmot jumped at the rapacious bird with great boldness, but soon fell from a blow on the head. Only then the eagle withdrew his wing, approached the marmot, finished him off, and with difficulty lifted him and his talons to carry him away to the mountains for a tasty luncheon. In the more barren places with only occasional spears of grass in the plain, another species of rodent lives, called Imuran, about the size of a squirrel. They have a coat the same color as the prairie and, running about it like snakes, they collect the seeds that are blown across by the wind and carry them down into their diminutive homes. The Imuran has a truly faithful friend, the yellow lark of the prairie, with a brown back and head. When he sees the Imuran running across the plain, he settles on his back, flaps his wings in balance, and rides well this swiftly galloping mount, who gaily flourishes his long shaggy tail. The lark, during his ride skillfully and quickly catches the parasites living on the body of his friend, giving evidence of his enjoyment of his work with a short, agreeable song. The Mongols call the Imuran the steed of the gay lark. The lark warns the Imuran of the approach of eagles and hawks with three sharp whistles the moment he sees the aerial brigand, and takes refuge himself behind a stone or in a small ditch. After this signal no Imuran will stick his head out of his hole until the danger is passed. Thus the gay lark and his steed live in kindly neighborliness. In other parts of Mongolia, where there was very rich grass, I saw another type of rodent, which I had previously come across in Yuryanhai. It is a gigantic black prairie rat with a short tail, and lives in colonies of from one to two hundred. He is interesting and unique as the most skillful farmer among the animals in his preparation of his winter supply of fodder. During the weeks when the grass is most succulent, he actually mows it down with swift jerky swings of his head, cutting about twenty or thirty stalks with his sharp long front teeth. Then he allows his grass to cure, and later puts up his prepared hay in a most scientific manner. First he makes a mound about a foot high. Through this he pushes down into the ground four slanting stakes, converging toward the middle of the pile, and binds them close over the surface of the hay with the longest strands of grass, leaving the ends protruding enough for him to add another foot to the height of the pile, when he again binds the surface with more long strands, all this to keep his winter supply of food from blowing away over the prairie. This stalk he always locates right at the door of his den to avoid long winter halls. The horses and camels are very fond of this small farmer's hay, because it is always made from the most nutritious grass. The hay cocks are so strongly made that one can hardly kick them to pieces. Almost everywhere in Mongolia I met either single pairs or whole flocks of the grayish-yellow prairie partridges, salga, or partridge swallow, so-called because they have long sharp tails resembling that of swallows, and because their flight also is a close copy of that of the swallow. These birds are very tame or fearless, allowing men to come within ten or fifteen paces of them. But when they do break, they go high and fly long distances without lighting, whistling all the time quite like swallows. Their general markings are light gray and yellow, though the males have pretty chocolate spots on the backs and wings, while their legs and feet are heavily feathered. My opportunity to make these observations came from traveling through unfrequented regions by the Urga, which, however, had its counterbalancing disadvantages. The Mongols carried me directly and swiftly toward my destination, receiving with great satisfaction the presence of Chinese dollars which I gave them. But after having made about five thousand miles on my Cossack saddle that now lay behind me on the cart, all covered with dust like common merchandise, I rebelled against being wracked and torn by the rough riding of the cart, as it was swung heedlessly over stones, hillocks, and ditches by the wild horses with their equally wild riders, bounding and cracking and holding together only through its tenacity of purpose, in demonstrating the coziness and attractiveness of a good Mongol equipage. All my bones began to ache. Finally I groaned at every lunge, and at last I suffered a very sharp attack of ischus or sciatica in my wounded leg. At night I could neither sleep, lie down, nor sit with comfort, and spent the whole night pacing up and down the plain, listening to the loud snorings of the inhabitants of the Urta. At times I had to fight the two huge black dogs which attacked me. The following day I would endure the racking only until noon, and was then forced to give up and lie down. The pain was unbearable. I could not move my leg nor my back, and finally fell into a high fever. We were forced to stop and rest. I swallowed all my stock of aspirin and quinine, but without relief. Before me was a sleepless night about which I could not think without weakening fear. We had stopped in the Urta for guests by the side of a small monastery. My Mongols invited the Lama doctor to visit me, who gave me two very bitter powders, and assured me I should be able to continue in the morning. I soon felt a stimulated palpitation of the heart, after which the pain became even sharper. Again I spent the night without any sleep, but when the sun arose the pain ceased instantly, and after an hour I ordered them to saddle me a horse, as I was afraid to continue further in the cart. While the Mongols were catching the horses, there came to my tent Colonel N. N. Philippov, who told me that he denied all the accusations that he and his brother and Poletiko were Bolsheviki, and that Bezrodnoff allowed him to go to Vankure to meet Baron Ungern who was expected there. Only Philippov did not know that his Mongol guide was armed with a bomb, and that another Mongol had been sent on ahead with a letter to Baron Ungern. He did not know that Poletiko and his brothers were shot at the same time in Zaneshavi. Philippov was in a hurry, and wanted to reach Vankure that day. I left an hour after him. CHAPTER 32 An Old Fortune Teller From this point we began traveling along the Urton Road. In this region the Mongols had very poor and exhausted horses, because they were forced continuously to supply mounts to the numerous envoys of Dechin Van and of Kursal Kazagrandi. We were compelled to spend the night at the last Urton before Vankure, where a stout old Mongol and his son kept the station. After our supper he took the shoulder blade of the sheep, which had been carefully scraped clean of all the flesh, and, looking at me, placed this bone in the coals with some incantations and said, I want to tell your fortune. All my predictions come true. When the bone had been blackened he drew it out, blew off the ashes, and began to scrutinize the surface very closely, and to look through it into the fire. He continued his examination for a long time, and then, with fear in his face, placed the bone back in the coals. What did you see? I asked, laughing. Be silent! he whispered. I made out horrible signs. He again took out the bone and began examining it all over, all the time whispering prayers and making strange movements. In a very solemn quiet voice he began his predictions. Death in the form of a tall white man with red hair will stand behind you, and will watch you long and close. You will feel it and wait, but death will withdraw. Another white man will become your friend. Before the fourth day you will lose your acquaintances. They will die by a long knife. I already see them being eaten by the dogs, but where of the man with a head like a saddle he will strive for your death. For a long time after the fortune had been told we sat smoking and drinking tea, but still the old fellow looked at me only with fear. Through my brain flashed the thought that thus must his companions in prison look at one who is condemned to death. The next morning we left the fortune teller before the sun was up, and when we had made about fifteen miles, hove inside of Vancouver. I found Colonel Kazagrandi at his headquarters. He was a man of good family, an experienced engineer and a splendid officer, who had distinguished himself in the war at the defence of the island of Moon and the Baltic, and afterwards in the fight with the Bolsheviks on the Volga. Colonel Kazagrandi offered me a bath in a real tub which had its habitat in the house of the president of the local chamber of commerce. As I was in this house a tall young captain entered. He had long curly red hair, an unusually white face, though heavy and stolid, with large steel cold eyes and with beautiful, tender, almost girlish lips. But in his eyes there was such cold cruelty that it was quite unpleasant to look at his otherwise fine face. When he left the room, our host told me he was Captain Vassilovsky, the adjutant of General Razukhin, who was fighting against the Bolsheviks in the north of Mongolia. They had just that day arrived for a conference with Baron Ungern. After luncheon Colonel Kazagrandi invited me to his yurt and began discussing events in western Mongolia, where the situation had become very tense. Do you know Dr. Gaye? Kazagrandi asked me. You know he helped me to form my detachment, but Urga accuses him of being the agent of the Soviets. I made all the defences I could for Gaye. He had helped me and had been exonerated by Kolchak. Yes, yes, and I justify Gaye in such a manner, said the Colonel. But Razukhin, who has just arrived today, has brought letters of Gaye to the Bolsheviks which were seized in transit. By order of Baron Ungern, Gaye and his family have today been sent to the headquarters of Razukhin, and I fear that they will not reach this destination. Why? I asked. They will be executed on the road, answered Colonel Kazagrandi. What are we to do? I responded. Gaye cannot be a Bolshevik because he is too well educated and too clever for it. I don't know. I don't know. murmured the Colonel with a despondent gesture. Try to speak with Razukhin! I decided to proceed at once to Razukhin, but just then Colonel Philippov entered, and began talking about the errors being made in the training of the soldiers. When I had donned my coat, another man came in. He was a small-sized officer with an old green cossack cap with a visor, a torn gray Mongol overcoat, and with his right hand in the black sling tied round his neck. It was General Razukhin to whom I was at once introduced. During the conversation the General very politely and very skillfully inquired about the lives of Philippov and myself during the last three years, joking and laughing with discretion and modesty. When he soon took his leave, I availed myself of the chance and went out with him. He listened very attentively and politely to me, and afterwards, in his quiet voice, said, Dr. Gay is the agent of the Soviets, disguised as a White in order the better to see, hear, and know everything. We are surrounded by our enemies. The Russian people are demoralized, and will undertake any treachery for money. Such is Gay. Anyway, what is the use of discussing him further? He and his family are no longer alive. Today my men cut them to pieces five kilometers from here. In consternation and fear I looked at the face of this small, dapper man with such soft voice and courteous manners. In his eyes I read such hate and tenacity that I understood at once the trembling respect of all the officers whom I had seen in his presence. Afterwards, in Urga, I learned more of this General Rizukhin, distinguished by his absolute bravery and boundless cruelty. He was the watchdog of Baron Ungern, ready to throw himself into the fire and to spring at the throat of anyone his master might indicate. Only four days then had elapsed before my acquaintances died by a long knife, so that one part of the prediction had been thus fulfilled, and now I have to await death's threat to me. The delay was not long. Only two days later the chief of the Asiatic Division of Cavalry arrived, Baron Ungern von Sternberg. End of Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Death from the white man will stand behind you. The terrible general, the Baron, arrived quite unexpectedly, unnoticed by the outposts of Colonel Kazagrande. After a talk with Kazagrande, the Baron invited Colonel N. N. Philippoff and me into his presence. Colonel Kazagrande brought the word to me. I wanted to go at once, but was detained about half an hour by the Colonel, who then sped me with the words, Now God help you, go! It was a strange parting message, not reassuring, and quite enigmatic. I took my mouser and also hid in the cuff of my coat my cyanide of potassium. The Baron was quartered in the Yurta of the military doctor. When I entered the court, Captain Veselofsky came up to me. He had a Cossack's sword and a revolver without its holster beneath his girdle. He went into the Yurta to report my arrival. Come in, he said, as he emerged from the tent. At the entrance my eyes were struck with the sight of a pool of blood that had not yet had time to drain down into the ground, an ominous greeting that seemed to carry the very voice of one just gone before me. I knocked. Come in, was the answer in a high tenor. As I passed the threshold, a figure in a red silk Mongolian coat rushed at me with the spring of a tiger, grabbed and shook my hand as though in flight across my path, and then fell prone on the bed at the side of the tent. Tell me who you are! Hear about so many spies and agitators! He cried out in a hysterical voice as he fixed his eyes upon me. In one moment I perceived his appearance and psychology. A small head on wide shoulders, blonde hair in disorder, a reddish bristling mustache, a skinny, exhausted face like those on the old Byzantine icons. Then everything else faded from view save a big, protruding forehead overhanging, steely, sharp eyes. These eyes were fixed upon me like those of an animal from a cave. My observations lasted for but a flash, but I understood that before me was a very dangerous man ready for an instant spring into irrevocable action. Though the danger was evident, I felt the deepest offence. Sit down! he snapped out in a hissing voice as he pointed to a chair and impatiently pulled at his mustache. I felt my anger rising through my whole body, and I said to him without taking the chair, You have allowed yourself to offend me, Baron. My name is well enough known so that you cannot thus indulge yourself in such epithets. You can do with me as you wish, because force is on your side, but you cannot compel me to speak with one who gives me offence. At these words of mine he swung his feet down off the bed, and with evident astonishment began to survey me, holding his breath and pulling still at his mustache. Retaining my exterior calmness, I began to glance indifferently around the Urta, and only then I noticed General Rizucan. I bowed to him and received his silent acknowledgment. After that I swung my glance back to the Baron, who sat with bowed head and closed eyes, from time to time rubbing his brow and mumbling to himself. Suddenly he stood up and sharply said, looking past and over me, Go out! There is no need of more! I swung round and saw Captain Veselofsky with his white cold face. I had not heard him enter. He did a formal about face and passed out of the door. Death from the white man has stood behind me, I thought, but has it quite left me? The Baron stood thinking for some time and then began to speak in jumbled, unfinished phrases. I ask your pardon. You must understand there are so many traitors. Honest men have disappeared. I cannot trust anybody. All names are false and assumed. Documents are counterfeited. Eyes and words deceive. All is demoralized, insulted by Bolshevism. I just ordered Colonel Philippov cut down. He who called himself the representative of the Russian White Organization. In the lining of his garments were found two secret Bolshevik codes. When my officer flourished his sword over him, he exclaimed, Why do you kill me, Taverish? I cannot trust anybody. He was silent and I also held my peace. I beg your pardon. He began anew. I offended you, but I am not simply a man. I am a leader of great forces and have in my head so much care, sorrow and woe. In his voice I felt there was mingled despair and sincerity. He frankly put out his hand to me. Again silence. At last I answered. What do you order me to do now, for I have neither counterfeit nor real documents. But many of your officers know me and in Urga I can find many who will testify that I could be neither agitator nor no need, no need! interrupted the Baron. All is clear. All is understood. I was in your soul and I know all. It is the truth which Hutakhtu Narabanchi has written about you. What can I do for you? I explained how my friend and I had escaped from Soviet Russia in the effort to reach our native land and how a group of Polish soldiers had joined us in the hope of getting back to Poland and I asked that help be given us to reach the nearest port. With pleasure, with pleasure, I will help you all. He answered excitedly, I shall drive you to Urga in my motor-car. Tomorrow we shall start and there in Urga we shall talk about further arrangements. Taking my leave I went out of the Yurta. On arriving at my quarters I found Colonel Kazagrande in great anxiety walking up and down my room. Thanks be to God! he exclaimed and crossed himself. His joy was very touching, but at the same time I thought that the Colonel could have taken much more active measures for the salvation of his guest if he had been so minded. The agitation of this day had tired me and made me feel years older. When I looked in the mirror I was certain there were more white hairs on my head. At night I could not sleep for the flashing thoughts of the young, fine face of Colonel Philippov, the pool of blood, the cold eyes of Captain Veselowski, the sound of Baron Ungern's voice with its tones of despair and woe, until finally I sank into a heavy stupor. I was awakened by Baron Ungern who came to ask pardon that he could not take me in his motor-car because he was obliged to take Deitschen van with him. But he informed me that he had left instructions to give me his own white camel and two Cossacks' servants. I had no time to thank him before he rushed out of my room. Sleep then entirely deserted me, so I dressed and began smoking pipe after pipe of tobacco, as I thought, how much easier to fight the Bolsheviki on the swamps of Seibi and cross the snowy peaks of Ullantiga where the bad demons kill all the travelers they can. There everything was simple and comprehensible, but here it is all a mad nightmare, a dark and foreboding storm. I felt some tragedy, some horror in every movement of Baron Ungern, behind whom paced this silent, white-faced Veselowski, and death. End of Chapter 33 CHAPTERS 34 AND 35 OF BEASTS, MEN AND GODS This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. BEASTS, MEN AND GODS By Ferdinand Ossendeski CHAPTER 34 THE HORROR OF WAR At dawn of the following morning they led up the splendid white camel for me and we moved away. My company consisted of the two Cossacks, two Mongol soldiers, and one lama with two packed camels carrying the tent and food. I still apprehended that the Baron had it in mind not to dispose of me before my friends there in Vancouver, but to prepare this journey for me under the guise of which it would be so easy to do away with me by the road. A bullet in the back and all would be finished. Consequently I was momentarily ready to draw my revolver and defend myself. I took care all the time to have the Cossacks either ahead of me or at the side. About noon we heard the distant honk of a motor-car, and soon saw Baron Ungern whizzing by us at full speed. With him were two Adjutants and Prince Deitschen van. The Baron greeted me very kindly and shouted, Shall see you again in Urga! Ah, I thought. Evidently I shall reach Urga. So I can be at ease during my trip, and in Urga I have many friends besides the present thayer of the bold Polish soldiers whom I had worked with in Ulyasitay, and it would out-distance me in this journey. After meeting with the Baron my Cossacks became very attentive to me, and sought to distract me with stories. They told me about their very severe struggles with the Bolsheviki and Trans-Balkalia and Mongolia, about the battle with the Chinese near Urga, about finding communistic passports on several Chinese soldiers from Moscow, about the bravery of Baron Ungern, and how he would sit at the campfire smoking and drinking tea, right on the battle-line, without ever being touched by a bullet. At one fight seventy-four bullets entered his overcoat, saddle, and the boxes by his side, and again left him untouched. This is one of the reasons for his great influence over the Mongols. They related how before the battle he had made a reconnaissance in Urga with only one Cossack, and on his way back had killed a Chinese officer and two soldiers with his bamboo stick or tassure, how he had no outfit save one change of linen and one extra pair of boots, how he was always calm and jovial in battle, and severe and morose in the rare days of peace, and how he was everywhere his soldiers were fighting. I told them, in turn, of my escape from Siberia, and with chatting thus the day slipped by very quickly. Our camels trotted all the time, so that instead of the ordinary eighteen to twenty miles per day, we made nearly fifty. My mount was the fastest of them all. He was a huge white animal with a splendid thick mane, and had been presented to Baron Ungern by some Prince of Inner Mongolia, with two black sables tied on the bridle. He was a calm, strong, bold giant of the desert, on whose back I felt myself as though perched on the tower of a building. Beyond the Orkan River we came across the first dead body of a Chinese soldier, which lay face up and arms outstretched right in the middle of the road. When we had crossed the Burgut Mountains, we entered the Tola River Valley, further up which Urga is located. The road was strewn with the overcoats, shirts, boots, caps, and kettles which the Chinese had thrown away in their flight, and marked by many of their dead. Further on the road crossed a morass, where on either side lay great mounds of the dead bodies of men, horses, and camels with broken carts and military debris of every sort. Here the Tibetans of Baron Ungern had cut up the escaping Chinese baggage transport, and it was a strange and gloomy contrast to see the piles of dead besides the ever-vessing Awakening Life of Spring. In every pool wild ducks of different kinds floated about. In the high grass the cranes performed their weird dance of courtship. On the lakes great flocks of swans and geese were swimming. Through the swampy places, like spots of light, moved the brilliantly colored pairs of the Mongolian sacred bird, the Turpan, or Lama Goose. On the higher dry places, flocks of wild turkey gambled and fought, as they fed. Flocks of the Sauga, partridge whistled by. While on the mountain side not far away the wolves lay basking, and turning in the lazy warmth of the sun, whining and occasionally barking like playful dogs. Nature knows only life. Death is for her but an episode whose traces she rubs out with sand and snow, or ornaments with luxuriant greenery and brightly colored bushes and flowers. What matters it to nature if a mother at Chefou, or on the banks of the Yangtze, offers her a bowl of rice with burning incense at some shrine, and prays for the return of her son that has fallen unknown for all time on the plains along the tola, where his bones will dry beneath the rays of nature's dissipating fire and be scattered by her winds over the sands of the prairie. It is splendid this indifference of nature to death and her greediness for life. On the fourth day we made the shores of the tola well after nightfall. We could not find the regular ford, and I forced my camel to enter the stream in the attempt to make a crossing without guidance. Very fortunately I found a shallow, though somewhat mirey place, and we got over all right. This is something to be thankful for in fording a river with a camel, because when your mount finds the water too deep, coming up around his neck, he does not strike out and swim like a horse will do, but just rolls over on his side and floats, which is vastly inconvenient for his rider. Down by the river we pegged our tent. Fifteen miles further on we crossed a battlefield where the third great battle for the independence of Mongolia had been fought. Here the troops of Baron Ungern clashed with six thousand Chinese, moving down from Kyachta to the aid of Urga. The Chinese were completely defeated, and four thousand prisoners taken. However these surrendered Chinese tried to escape during the night. Baron Ungern sent the trans-bicycle Cossacks and Tibetans in pursuit of them, and it was their work which we saw on this field of death. There were still about fifteen hundred unburied, and as many more interred, according to the statements of our Cossacks, who had participated in this battle. The killed showed terrible sword wounds, everywhere equipment and other debris were scattered about. The Mongols with their herds moved away from the neighborhood, and their place was taken by the wolves which hid behind every stone and in every ditch as we passed. Packs of dogs that had become wild fought with the wolves over their prey. At last we left this place of carnage to the cursed god of war. Soon we approached a shallow, rapid stream where the Mongols slipped from their camels, took off their caps, and began drinking. It was a sacred stream which passed beside the abode of the living Buddha. From this winding valley we suddenly turned into another where a great mountain ridge covered with dark dense forests loomed up before us. Holy Bagdo Ol, exclaimed the Lama, the abode of the gods which guard our living Buddha. Bagdo Ol is the huge knot which ties together here three mountain chains, Gagil from the southwest, Gangin from the south, and Hantu from the north. This mountain covered with virgin forest is the property of the living Buddha. The forests are full of nearly all the varieties of animals found in Mongolia, but hunting is not allowed. Any Mongol violating this law is condemned to death, while foreigners are deported. Crossing the Bagdo Ol is forbidden under penalty of death. This command was transgressed by only one man, Baron Ungern, who crossed the mountain with fifty Cossacks, penetrated to the palace of the living Buddha where the pontiff of Urga was being held under arrest by the Chinese, and stole him. Chapter 35 In the City of Living Gods of 30,000 Buddhas and 60,000 Monks At last before our eyes the abode of the living Buddha. At the foot of Bagdo Ol behind white walls rose a white Tibetan building covered with greenish-blue tiles that glittered under the sunshine. It was richly set among groves of trees jotted here and there with the fantastic roofs of shrines and small palaces. While further from the mountain it was connected by a long wooden bridge across the Tola, with the city of monks, sacred and revered throughout all the east as Ta Kure or Urga. Here besides the living Buddha live whole throngs of secondary miracle workers, prophets, sorcerers, and wonderful doctors. All these people have divine origin and are honored as living gods. At the left on the high plateau stands an old monastery with a huge dark red tower, which is known as the Temple Lama City, containing a gigantic bronze gilded statue of Buddha sitting on the golden flower of the lotus. Tens of smaller temples, shrines, oboe, open altars, towers for astrology, and the gray city of the Lamas, consisting of single storied houses and yurtas, were about 60,000 monks of all ages and ranks dwell. Schools, sacred archives and libraries, the houses of Bandi and the ins for the honored guests from China, Tibet, and the lands of the Buryat and Kaomuk. Down below the monastery is the foreign settlement where the Russian, foreign and richest Chinese merchants live, and where the multicolored and crowded oriental bazaar carries forward its bustling life. A kilometer away the grayish enclosure of Mai Machen surrounds the remaining Chinese trading establishments, while farther on one sees a long row of Russian private houses, a hospital, church, prison, and last of all, the awkward four-storied red brick building that was formerly the Russian Consulate. We were already within a short distance of the monastery, when I noticed several Mongol soldiers in the mouth of a ravine nearby, dragging back and concealing in the ravine three dead bodies. What are they doing? I asked. The Cossacks only smiled without answering. Suddenly they straightened up with a sharp salute. Out of the ravine came a small, stocky Mongolian pony with a short man in the saddle. As he passed us, I noticed the epaulets of a kernel and the green cap with a visor. He examined me with cold, colorless eyes from under dense brows. As he went on ahead, he took off his cap and wiped the perspiration from his bald head. My eyes were struck by the strange undulating line of his skull. It was the man with the head like a saddle, against whom I had been warned by the old fortune-teller at the last urton outside Vankure. Who is this officer? I inquired. Although he was already quite a distance in front of us, the Cossacks whispered, Colonel Sepilov, commandant of Urga City. Colonel Sepilov, the darkest person on the canvas of Mongolian events. Formerly a mecanician, afterwards a gendarme, he had gained quick promotion under the Tsar's regime. He was always nervously jerking and wriggling his body and talking ceaselessly, making most unattractive sounds in his throat and sputtering with saliva all over his lips, his whole face often contracted with spasms. He was mad, and Baron Ungern twice appointed a commission of surgeons to examine him and ordered him to rest in the hope he could rid the man of his evil genius. Undoubtedly, Sepilov was a sadist. I heard afterwards that he himself executed the condemned people, joking and singing as he did his work. Dark, terrifying tales were current about him in Urga. He was a bloodhound, fastening his victims with the jaws of death. All the glory of the cruelty of Baron Ungern belonged to Sepilov. Afterwards Baron Ungern once told me in Urga that this Sepilov annoyed him, and that Sepilov could kill him just as well as others. Baron Ungern feared Sepilov, not as a man, but dominated by his own superstition, because Sepilov had found in Transbikalia a witch doctor who predicted the death of the Baron if he dismissed Sepilov. Sepilov knew no pardon for Bolshevik, nor for anyone connected with the Bolsheviki in any way. The reason for his vengeful spirit was that the Bolsheviki had tortured him in prison, and after his escape had killed all his family. He was now taking his revenge. I put up with a Russian firm and was at once visited by my associates from Ulyasitay, who greeted me with great joy because they had been much exercised about the events in Vankuri and Zainshabi. When I had bathed and spruced up, I went out with them on the street. We entered the bazaar. The whole market was crowded. To the lively colored groups of men buying, selling, and shouting their wares, the bright streamers of Chinese cloth, the strings of pearls, the earrings and bracelets gave an air of endless festivity. While on another side buyers were feeling of live sheep to see whether they were fat or not, the butcher was cutting great pieces of mutton from the hanging carcasses, and everywhere these sons of the plain were joking and jesting. The Mongolian women and their huge kuafirs and heavy silver caps, like saucers on their heads, were admiring the variegated silk ribbons and long chains of coral beads. An imposing big mongol attentively examined a small herd of splendid horses and bargained with the Mongol sahashin or owner of the horses, a skinny, quick, black Tibetan who had come to Urga to pray to the living Buddha, or maybe, with a secret message from the other god in Lihasa, squatted and bargained for an image of the Lotus Buddha carved in agate. In another corner a big crowd of Mongols and Buriats had collected, and surrounded a Chinese merchant selling finely painted snuff bottles of glass, crystal, porcelain, amethyst, jade, agate, and nephrite, for one of which made of a greenish milky nephrite with regular brown veins running through it, and carved with a dragon winding itself around a bevy of young damsels, the merchant was demanding of his Mongol inquirs Tanyang oxen. And everywhere Buriats and their long red coats and small red caps embroidered with gold helped the Tartars in black overcoats and black velvet caps on the back of their heads to weave the pattern of this oriental human tapestry. Lamas formed the common background for it all, as they wandered about in their yellow and red robes, with capes picturesquely thrown over their shoulders and caps of many forms, some like yellow mushrooms, others like the red frigium bonnets or old Greek helmets in red. They mingled with the crowd, chatting serenely and counting their rosaries, telling fortunes for those who would hear but chiefly searching out the rich Mongols, whom they could cure or exploit by fortune telling, predictions, or other mysteries of a city of 60,000 Lamas. Simultaneously religious and political espionage was being carried out. Just at this time many Mongols were arriving from Inner Mongolia, and they were continuously surrounded by an invisible but numerous network of watching Lamas. Over the buildings around floated the Russian, Chinese, and Mongolian national flags were the single one of the stars and stripes above a small shop in the market. While over the nearby tents and yurtas streamed the ribbons, the squares, the circles and triangles of the princes and private persons afflicted or dying from smallpox and leprosy. All were mingled and mixed in one bright mass strongly lighted by the sun. Occasionally one saw the soldiers of Baron Ungern rushing about in long blue coats, Mongols and Tibetans in red coats with yellow epaulets bearing the swastika of Genghis Khan and the initials of the living Buddha, and Chinese soldiers from their detachment in the Mongolian army. After the defeat of the Chinese army, two thousand of these braves petitioned the living Buddha to enlist them in his legions, swearing fealty and faith to him. They were accepted and formed into two regiments bearing the old Chinese silver dragons on their caps and shoulders. As we crossed this market, from around a corner came a big motorcar with the roar of a siren. There was Baron Ungern in the yellow silk Mongolian coat with a blue girdle. He was going very fast but recognized me at once, stopping and getting out to invite me to go with him to his yurta. The Baron lived in a small, simply arranged yurta, set up in the courtyard of a Chinese Hong. He had his headquarters and two other yurtas nearby, while his servants occupied one of the Chinese Fang Tzu. When I reminded him of his promise to help me to reach the open ports, the general looked at me with his bright eyes and spoke in French. My work here is coming to an end. In nine days I shall begin the war with the Bolsheviki and shall go into the Transbaikal. I beg that you will spend this time here. For many years I have lived without civilized society. I am alone with my thoughts, and I would like to have you know them, speaking with me not as the bloody mad baron as my enemies call me, nor as the severe grandfather which my officers and soldiers call me, but as an ordinary man who has sought much and has suffered even more. The Baron reflected for some minutes and then continued, I have thought about the further trip of your group, and I shall arrange everything for you, but I ask you to remain here these nine days. What was I to do? I agreed. The Baron shook my hand warmly and ordered tea. End of chapter. Chapter 36 of Beasts, Men and Gods This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Beasts, Men and Gods By Ferdinand Ossendoski Chapter 36 A Son of Crusaders and Privateers Tell me about yourself and your trip. He urged. In response I related all that I thought would interest him, and he appeared quite excited over my tale. Now I shall tell you about myself, who and what I am. My name is surrounded with such hate and fear that no one can judge what is the truth and what is false, what is history and what myth. Sometime you will write about it, remembering your trip through Mongolia and your sojourn at the Yurta of the Bloody General. He shut his eyes, smoking as he spoke, and tumbling out his sentences without finishing them as though someone would prevent him from phrasing them. The family of Ungern von Sternberg is an old family, a mixture of Germans with Hungarians, Huns from the time of Attila. My warlike ancestors took part in all the European struggles. They participated in the Crusades, and one Ungern was killed under the walls of Jerusalem, fighting under Richard Curdelion. Even the tragic Crusade of the Children was marked by the death of Ralph Ungern, eleven years old. When the boldest warriors of the country were dispatched to the eastern border of the German Empire against the Slavs in the 12th century, my ancestor Arthur was among them, Baron Hausa Ungern Sternberg. Here these border knights formed the Order of Muck Knights, or Teutons, which with fire and sword spread Christianity among the pagan Lithuanians, Estonians, Latvians, and Slavs. Since then the Teuton Order of Knights has always had among its members representatives of our family. When the Teuton Order perished in the Grunwald, under the swords of the Polish and Lithuanian troops, two barons Ungern von Sternberg were killed there. Our family was warlike and given to mysticism and asceticism. During the 16th and 17th centuries, several Barons von Ungern had their castles in the lands of Latvia and Estonia. Many legends and tales lived after them. Heinrich Ungern von Sternberg, called Axe, was a wandering knight. The tournaments of France, England, Spain, and Italy knew his name and lance, which filled the hearts of his opponents with fear. He fell at Cadiz, neath the sword of a knight who cleft both his helmet and his skull. Baron Ralph Ungern was a brigand knight between Riga and Reval. Baron Peter Ungern had his castle on the island of Dago in the Baltic Sea, whereas at privateer he ruled the merchant men of his day. In the beginning of the 18th century there was also a well-known Baron Wilhelm Ungern, who was referred to as the Brother of Satan because he was an alchemist. My grandfather was a privateer in the Indian Ocean, taking his tribute from the English traders whose warships could not catch him for several years. At last he was captured and handed to the Russian Consul, who transported him to Russia where he was sentenced to deportation to the Transbaikal. I am also a naval officer, but the Russo-Japanese War forced me to leave my regular profession to join and fight with the Zabaikal Cossacks. I have spent all my life in war or in the study and learning of Buddhism. My grandfather brought Buddhism to us from India, and my father and I accepted and professed it. In Transbaikalia I tried to form the order of military Buddhists for an uncompromising fight against the depravity of revolution. He fell into silence and began drinking cup after cup of tea as strong in black as coffee. Depravity of revolution! Has anyone ever thought of it besides the French philosopher Bergson and the most learned Tashi Lama in Tibet? The grandson of the privateer quoting scientific theories, works, the names of scientists and writers, the Holy Bible, and Buddhist books, mixing together French, German, Russian, and English, continued. In the Buddhistic and ancient Christian books, we read stern predictions about the time when the war between the good and evil spirits must begin. Then there must come the unknown curse which will conquer the world, blot out culture, kill morality, and destroy all the people. Its weapon is revolution. During every revolution, the previously experienced intellect creator will be replaced by the new rough force of the destroyer. He will place and hold in the first rank the lower instincts and desires. Man will be farther removed from the divine and the spiritual. The great war proved that humanity must progress upward toward higher ideals, but then appeared that curse which was seen and felt by Christ, the apostle John, Buddha, the first Christian martyrs, Dante, Leonardo da Vinci, Gurthi, and Dostoevsky. It appeared, turned back the wheel of progress, and blocked our road to the divinity. Revolution is an infectious disease, and Europe making the treaty with Moscow deceived itself and the other parts of the world. The great spirit put at the threshold of our lives karma, who knows neither anger nor pardon. He will reckon the account, whose total will be famine, destruction, the death of culture, of glory, of honor and of spirit, the death of states and the death of peoples. I see already this horror, this dark mad destruction of humanity. The door of the yurt has suddenly swung open, and an adjutant snapped into a position of attention and salute. Why do you enter a room by force? The general exclaimed in anger. Your Excellency, our outpost on the border has caught a Bolshevik reconnaissance party and brought them here. The Baron arose. His eyes sparkled and his face contracted with spasms. Bring them in front of my yurt! He ordered. All was forgotten. The inspired speech, the penetrating voice, all were sunk in the austere order of the severe commander. The Baron put on his cap, caught up the bamboo tassure which he always carried with him, and rushed from the yurt. I followed him out. There in front of the yurt stood six red soldiers, surrounded by the Cossacks. The Baron stopped and glared sharply at them for several minutes. In his face one could see the strong play of his thoughts. Afterwards he turned away from them, sat down on the doorstep of the Chinese house, and for a long time was buried in thought. Then he rose, walked over to them, and with an evident show of decisiveness in his movements touched all the prisoners on the shoulder with his tassure and said, You to the left and you to the right! As he divided the squad into two sections, four on the right and two on the left. Search those two! They must be commissars! Commanded the Baron, and turning to the other four, asked, Are you peasants mobilized by the Bolsheviks? It's just so, Your Excellency! cried the frightened soldiers. Go to the Commandant and tell him that I have ordered you to be enlisted in my troops! On the two to the left they found passports of commissars of the Communist Political Department. The General knitted his brows, and slowly pronounced the following. Beat them to death with sticks! He turned and entered the Yurta. After this our conversation did not flow readily, and so I left the Baron to himself. After dinner in the Russian firm where I was staying some of Ungern's officers came in. We were chatting animatedly when suddenly we heard the horn of an automobile which instantly threw the officers into silence. The General is passing somewhere near. One of them remarked in a strangely altered voice. Our interrupted conversation was soon resumed, but not for long. The clerk of the firm came running into the room and exclaimed, The Baron! He entered the door, but stopped on the threshold. The lamp had not yet been lighted, and it was getting dark inside, but the Baron instantly recognized us all, approached and kissed the hand of the Hostess, greeted everyone very cordially, and, accepting the cup of tea offered him, drew up to the table to drink. Soon he spoke. I want to steal your guest! He said to the Hostess, and then, turning to me, asked, Do you want to go for a motor-ride? I shall show you the city and the environs. Donning my coat I followed my established custom and slipped my revolver into it, at which the Baron laughed. Leave that trash behind. Here you are in safety. Besides, you must remember the prediction of Naribachi Hutaktu that fortune will ever be with you. All right, I answered, also with a laugh. I remember very well this prediction. Only I do not know what the Hutaktu thinks fortune means for me. Maybe it is death like the rest after my hard long trip, and I must confess that I prefer to travel farther and am not ready to die. We went out to the gate where the big fiat stood with its intruding great lights. The chauffeur officer sat at the wheel like a statue, and remained at salute all the time we were entering and seating ourselves. To the wireless station, commanded the Baron. We veritably leaped forward. The city swarmed, as earlier, with the oriental throng, but its appearance now was even more strange and miraculous. In among the noisy crowd, Mongol, Buriat, and Tibetan riders threaded swiftly. Caravans of camels solemnly raised their heads as we passed. The wooden wheels of the Mongol carts screamed in pain, and all was illumined by splendid great arc lights from the electric station which Baron Ungern had ordered erected immediately after the capture of Urga, together with a telephone system and wireless station. He also ordered his men to clean and disinfect the city which had probably not felt the broom since the days of Genghis Khan. He arranged an autobus traffic between different parts of the city, built bridges over the Tola and Orkan, published a newspaper, arranged a veterinary laboratory and hospitals, reopened the schools, protected commerce, mercilessly hanging Russian and Mongolian soldiers for pillaging Chinese firms. In one of these cases his commandant arrested two Cossacks and a Mongol soldier who had stolen brandy from one of the Chinese shops and brought them before him. He immediately bundled them all into his car, drove off to the shop, delivered the brandy back to the proprietor, and has promptly ordered the Mongol to hang one of the Russians to the big gate of the compound. With this one swung he commanded, now hang the other. And this had only just been accomplished when he turned to the commandant and ordered him to hang the Mongol beside the other two. That seemed expeditious and just enough until the Chinese proprietor came in dire distress to the Baron and pleaded with him, General Baron, General Baron, please take those men down from my gateway for no one will enter my shop. After the commercial quarter was flashed past our eyes, we entered the Russian settlement across a small river. Several Russian soldiers and four very spruce-looking Mongolian women stood on the bridge as we passed. The soldiers snapped to salute like immobile statues and fixed their eyes on the severe face of their commander. The women first began to run and shift about and then, infected by the discipline and order of events, swung their hands up to salute and stood as immobile as their northern swains. The Baron looked at me and laughed. You see the discipline, even the Mongolian women salute me. Soon we were out on the plane with the car going like an arrow, with the wind whistling and tossing the folds of our coats and caps. But Baron Ungern, sitting with closed eyes, repeated, Faster, faster! For a long time we were both silent. And yesterday I beat my adjutant for rushing into my yurta and interrupting my story. He said. You can finish it now, I answered. And are you not bored by it? Well, there isn't much left and this happens to be the most interesting. I was telling you that I wanted to found an order of military Buddhists in Russia. For what? For the protection of the processes of evolution of humanity and for the struggle against revolution. Because I am certain that evolution leads to the divinity and revolution to bestiality. But I worked in Russia. In Russia, where the peasants are rough, untutored, wild and constantly angry, hating everybody and everything without understanding why. They are suspicious and materialistic, having no sacred ideals. Russian intelligence live among imaginary ideals without realities. They have a strong capacity for criticizing everything, but they lack creative power. Also, they have no willpower, only the capacity for talking and talking. With the peasants they cannot like anything or anybody. Their love and feelings are imaginary. Their thoughts and sentiments pass without trace like futile words. My companions, therefore, soon began to violate the regulations of the order. Then I introduced the condition of celibacy, the entire negation of woman, of the comforts of life, of superfluities, according to the teachers of the yellow faith. And, in order that the Russian might be able to live down his physical nature, I introduced the limitless use of alcohol, hashish, and opium. Now, for alcohol I hang my officers and soldiers. Then we drank to the white fever, delirium tremens. I could not organize the order, but I gathered round me and developed three hundred men, wholly bold and entirely ferocious. Afterward they were heroes in the war with Germany, and later in the fight against the Bolsheviks, but now only a few remain. The wire, Excellency, reported the chauffeur. Turn in there! ordered the general. On the top of a flat hill stood the big, powerful radio station which had been partially destroyed by the retreating Chinese, but reconstructed by the engineers of Baron Ungern. The general perused the telegrams and handed them to me. They were from Moscow, Chita, Vladivostok, and Peking. On a separate yellow sheet were the code messages which the Baron slipped into his pocket, as he said to me. They are from my agents, who are stationed in Chita, Irkutsk, Harbin, and Vladivostok. They are all Jews. Very skilled and very bold men, friends of mine all. I have also one Jewish officer, Volkovich, who commands my right flank. He is as ferocious as Satan but clever and brave. Now we shall fly into space! Once more we rushed away, sinking into the darkness of night. It was a wild ride. The car bounded over small stones and ditches, even taking narrow streamlets, as the skilled chauffeur only seemed to guide it round the larger rocks. On the plane, as we sped by, I noticed several times small bright flashes of fire which lasted but for a second, and then were extinguished. The eyes of wolves, smiled my companion. We have fed them to satiety from the flesh of ourselves and our enemies. He quietly interpolated, as he turned to continue his confession of faith. During the war we saw the gradual corruption of the Russian army, and foresaw the treachery of Russia to the Allies, as well as the approaching danger of revolution. To counteract this latter, a plan was formed to join together all the Mongolian peoples which had not forgotten their ancient faiths and customs, into one Asiatic state, consisting of autonomous tribal units, under the moral and legislative leadership of China, the country of loftiest and most ancient culture. Into this state must come the Chinese, Mongols, Tibetans, Afghans, the Mongol tribes of Turkestan, Tartars, Buriats, Kyrgyz, and Kalmukhs. This state must be strong, physically and morally, and must direct a barrier against revolution and carefully preserve its own spirit, philosophy, and individual policy. If humanity, mad and corrupted, continues to threaten the divine spirit in mankind, to spread blood and to obstruct moral development, the Asiatic state must terminate this movement decisively and establish a permanent, firm peace. This propaganda even during the war made splendid progress among the Turkomans, Kyrgyz, Buriats, and Mongols. Stop! Suddenly shouted the baron. The car pulled up with a jerk. The general jumped out and called me to follow. We started walking over the prairie, and the baron kept bending down all the time as though he was looking for something on the ground. Ah! he murmured at last. He has gone away. I looked at him in amazement. A rich Mongol formerly had his yurta here. He was the outfitter for the Russian merchant Noskov. Noskov was a ferocious man as shown by the name the Mongols gave him, Satan. He used to have his Mongol debtors beaten or imprisoned through the instrumentality of the Chinese authorities. He ruined this Mongol, who lost everything and escaped to a place thirty miles away. But Noskov found him there, took all that he had left of cattle and horses, and left the Mongol and his family to die of hunger. When I captured Urga, this Mongol appeared and brought with him thirty other Mongol families similarly ruined by Noskov. They demanded his death. So I hung, Satan! I knew the motor-car was rushing along, sweeping a great circle on the prairie, and I knew baron Ungern with his sharp, nervous voice carried his thoughts round the whole circumference of Asian life. Russia turned traitor to France, England, and America, signed the Brest-Lifthofs Treaty and ushered in a reign of chaos. We then decided to mobilize Asia against Germany. Our envoys penetrated Mongolia, Tibet, Turkestan, and China. At this time the Bolsheviki began to kill all the Russian officers, and we were forced to open civil war against them, giving up our Pan-Asianic plans. But we hoped later to awake all Asia and with their help to bring peace and God back to earth. I want to feel that I have helped this idea by the liberation of Mongolia. He became silent and thought for a moment. But some of my associates in the movement do not like me because of my atrocities and severity, he remarked in a sad voice. They cannot understand as yet that we are not fighting a political party, but a sect of murderers of all contemporary spiritual culture. Why do the Italians execute the Black Hand Gang? Why are the Americans electrocuting anarchistic bomb-throwers? And I am not allowed to rid the world of those who would kill the soul of the people. I, a Tuten, descendant of crusaders and privateers, I recognize only death for murderers. Return, he commanded the chauffeur. An hour and a half later we saw the electric lights of Urga. Mark Smith of Simseville, South Carolina. Beasts, Men, and Gods. By Ferdinand Ossendowski, Chapter 37 The Camp of Martyrs. Near the entrance to the town, a motor-car stood before a small house. What does that mean? exclaimed the Baron. Go over there! Our car drew up beside the other. The house-store opened sharply, several officers rushed out and tried to hide. Stand! commanded the general. Go back inside. They obeyed and he entered after them, leaning on his tessure. As the door remained open I could see and hear everything. Woe to them! whispered the chauffeur. Our officers knew that the Baron had gone out of the town with me, which means always a long journey and must have decided to have a good time. He will order them beaten to death with sticks. I could see the end of the table covered with bottles and tin things. At the side two young women were seated, who sprang up at the appearance of the general. I could hear the hoarse voice of Baron Ungern, pronouncing sharp, short, stern phrases. Your native land is perishing. The shame of it is upon all you and you cannot understand it nor feel it. You need wine and women, scoundrels, brutes, 150 tessure for every man of you. The voice fell to a whisper. And you, Madame, do you not realize the ruin of your people? No, for you it is of no moment. And have you no feeling for your husbands at the front who may even now be killed? You are not women. I honour woman who feels more deeply and strongly than man, but you are not women. Listen to me, Madame. Once more and I will hang you. He came back to the car and himself sounded the horn several times. Immediately Mongol horsemen galloped up. Take these men to the commandant. I will send my orders later. On the way to the Baron's yurt we were silent. He was excited and breathed heavily, lighting cigarette after cigarette, and throwing them aside after but a single puff or two. Take a supper with me, he proposed. He also invited his chief of staff, a very retiring, oppressed but splendidly educated man. The servants spread a Chinese hot course for us, followed by cold meat and fruit compote from California with the inevitable tea. We ate with chopsticks. The Baron was greatly distraught. Very cautiously I began speaking of the offending officers and tried to justify their actions by the extremely trying circumstances under which they were living. They are rotten through and through, demoralized, sunk into the depths, murmured the general. The chief of staff helped me out and at last the Baron directed him to telephone the commandant to release these gentlemen. The following day I spent with my friends, walking a great deal about the streets and watching their busy life. The great energy of the Baron demanded constant nervous activity from himself and everyone round him. He was everywhere, seeing everything, but never interfering with the work of his subordinate administrators. One was at work. In the evening I was invited by the chief of staff to his quarters, where I met many intelligent officers. I related again the story of my trip and we were all chatting along animatedly when suddenly Colonel Sepolov entered, singing to himself. All the others at once became silent and one by one under various pretexts they slipped out. He handed our host some papers and, turning to us, said, I shall send you for supper a splendid fish pie and some hot tomato soup. As he left my host clasped his head in desperation and said, Who is such scum of the earth are we now forced after this revolution to work? A few minutes later a soldier from Sepolov brought us a terrine full of soup and the fish pie. As the soldier bent over the table to set the dishes down, the chief motioned me with his eyes and slipped to me the words, Notice his face! When the man went out my host sat attentively listening until the sounds of the man's steps ceased. He is Sepolov's executioner who hangs and strangles the unfortunate condemned ones. Then to my amazement he began to pour out the soup on the ground beside the brazier and, going out of the urta, threw the pie over the fence. It is Sepolov's feast, and though it may be very tasty, it may also be poison. In Sepolov's house it is dangerous to eat or drink anything. Distinctly oppressed by these doings I returned to my house. My host was not yet asleep and met me with a frightened look. My friends were also there. God be thanked! they all exclaimed. Has nothing happened to you? What is the matter? I asked. You see, began the host, after your departure a soldier came from Sepolov and took your luggage, saying that you had sent him for it. But we knew what it meant, that they would first search it, and afterwards... I at once understood the danger. Sepolov could place anything he wanted in my luggage and afterwards accuse me. My old friend the agronome and I started at once for Sepolov's, where I left him at the door, while I went in and was met by the same soldier who had brought the supper to us. Sepolov received me immediately. In answer to my protest he said that it was a mistake, and asking me to wait for a moment went out. I waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, but nobody came. I knocked on the door but no one answered me. Then I decided to go to Baron Ungern and started for the exit. The door was locked. Then I tried the other door and found that also locked. I had been trapped. I wanted at once to whistle to my friend but just then noticed a telephone on the wall and called up Baron Ungern. In a few minutes he appeared together with Sepolov. What is this? he asked Sepolov in a severe threatening voice, and without waiting for an answer struck him a blow with his tessure that sent him to the floor. We went out and the general ordered my luggage produced. Then he brought me to his own yurta. Live here now, he said. I am very glad of this accident, he remarked with a smile, for now I can say all that I want to. This drew from me the question, may I describe all that I have heard and seen here? He thought a moment before replying. Give me your notebook. I handed him the album with my sketches of the trip and he wrote therein, After my death Baron Ungern. But I am older than you and I shall die before you, I remarked. He shut his eyes, bowed his head and whispered, Oh no, one hundred thirty days yet and it is finished. Then, nirvana, how wearied I am with sorrow, woe, and hate. We were silent for a long time. I felt that I had now a mortal enemy in Colonel Sepolov and that I should get out of Urga at the earliest possible moment. It was two o'clock at night. Suddenly Baron Ungern stood up. Let us go to the great good Buddha. He said with accountants held in deep thought and with eyes aflame, his whole face contracted by a mournful, bitter smile. He ordered the car brought. Thus lived this camp of martyrs, refugees pursued by events to their trist with death, driven on by the hate and contempt of this offspring of tutans and privateers, and he, martyring them, knew neither day nor night of peace. Fired by impelling, poisonous thoughts, he tormented himself with the pains of a titan, knowing that every day in this shortening chain of one hundred thirty links brought him nearer to the precipice called death.