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0072 Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1
Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1 / Page 72 (Grayscale High Resolution Image)

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doi: 10.20676/00000231
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The twelfth day brought its promised reward,—
arrival at Kashgar,—historic, populous, wide-scat-
tered. Nearly three hours we marched our dusty
way, past farms and villages, without interval; past
Mohammedan cemeteries whose coffined citizens
were slipping down into the great rut which is the
main highway; past groups of Turki workmen,
ditch-digging under Chinese bosses; past a great mud
fortification wall into the heart of the town, focus
of the oasis that breeds half a million souls—nay,
for what do I know of souls?—half a million bodies.
The small ones—this year's crop—are rolling about
under our horses' hoofs, splashing naked into the
little ditches that wondrously combine the office of
aqueduct and sewer, and in fatal rhythm generate
and destroy the brown masses that can suffer, enjoy,
and die. Looking at lovely white women, elabor-
ately covered, one may doubt a little that crude
saying, "Dust thou art"; but here!—Bah! there 's
the dust, there 's the water. You feel that any one
might have rolled the muck into the little bifurcated
trunks which sprawl everywhere in the spawning
sun.
And now where shall we go? Caravanserais there
doubtless are, but that Europeans should lodge
among natives — that is infra dig., super-dirty,
vexatious to all. Ordinarily you go to any resi-
dent European, if such there be, and ask advice;
or, if you know him, you bluntly ask a roof. My
letter to M. Petrovsky should help us; and as to
Anginieur, is not France friend and ally to great
Russia? The caravan is discreetly halted a little
way from the consular compound. We enter, are