sidewalks or none at all, streets
ankle-deep in dust one day, a bog the next; but the handful of fine
residences, and above all the great white church costing fabulous sums
in decorations, tell of Kiakhta's great commercial past, a history that
goes back two hundred years, when Gobi was alive with the long lines of
camel caravans coming and going between the Great Wall and the Russian
border. Those were the days when the great tea merchants of Kiakhta
heaped up huge fortunes, to squander them in ways common to the suddenly
rich all over the world. But with the building of the railway, trade
turned aside, and to-day the town bears the marks of decaying fortunes.
The storehouses are half empty, many of the great merchant families have
gone away or are ruined, and were it not for the regiments stationed at
this frontier post, Kiakhta would be wrapped in the silence of the
desert. It remains to be seen what will be the effect of the railway
Russia proposes to build between Verchneudinsk and Urga. It may give new
life to the town, but of course it is military and political in its
purpose rather than commercial. During my four days' trip from Urga
there was very little traffic coming or going, and unless Mongolia's
resources prove unexpectedly rich, the days of Kiakhta's prosperity are
gone beyond recall.

But I did not stop long to investigate either the past or the present
interest of Kiakhta, for by the next afternoon I was off again, finally
ending my tarantass journey some eighteen miles north of the town, in a
great lumberyard on the right bank of the Iro, the starting-point of
the steamer to Verchneudinsk. There, together with some scores of
people, mostly Russian officers and their families, I kicked my heels
among the lumber for ten hours, waiting for the belated boat. It rained
most of the time, and the two tiny waiting-rooms were crowded to
overflowing with people and luggage; there was no restaurant, and I
should have starved had not good Wang made friends with some Chinese
workmen and got me some eggs. Finally we were told the boat would not
come till morning, so each person tried to find a corner and go to
sleep. I had just curled up comfortably, at one end of a great,
unfinished shed where the horses had been put out of the rain, when a
cry sounded through the dark that the boat was coming. By one o'clock we
were off. Everything was in confusion and every one was cross. I had
secured a cabin beforehand, and the