It had
just been in requisition before we passed, for a small quantity of
newly-burned tobacco lay in the bowl; and a fresh patch of clay on
the mouthpiece had probably been added, either in the way of general
repairs or by some extra-fastidious traveller, who preferred having
a private mouthpiece of his own. After rather a severe march through
rocky mountain gorges, we reached Chungun, a little oasis of about
five acres of standing barley, with three or four flat-roofed houses
dotted about it in the usual Tartar style of architecture. It also
boasted four poplar-trees, standing in a stiff and reserved little
row, evidently in proud consciousness of their family importance
among such rugged, treeless, iron mountains.
It was altogether a refreshing little spot for a halt, after the
savage scenery we had marched through; and pitching our camp in it,
we were not long in introducing ourselves to the little brawling
stream of clear cold water to which it owed its existence.
AUGUST 4. -- Started this morning in a mountain mist.
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