The population of Kachgar is Turkoman, with a considerable mixture of Chinese, who willingly fulfil the duties of domestics, artisans or porters.  Less fortunate than Chapman and Gordon, Major Noltitz and I were not able to see the Kachgarian capital when the armies of the tumultuous emir filled its streets.  There were none of those Djiguit foot soldiers who were mounted, nor of those Sarbaz who were not.  Vanished had those magnificent bodies of Taifourchis, armed and disciplined in the Chinese manner, those superb lancers, those Kalmuck archers, bending bows five feet high, those “tigers” with their daubed shields and their matchlocks.  All have disappeared, the picturesque warriors of Kachgaria and the emir with them.

At nine o’clock we are on our return to Yangi-Chahr.  There, at the end of the streets near the citadel, what do we see?  The Caternas in ecstatic admiration before a troop of musical dervishes.

Who says dervish says beggar, and who says beggar evokes the completest type of filth and laziness.  But with what an extraordinary combination of gestures, with what attitudes in the management of the long-stringed guitar, with what acrobatic swingings of the body do they accompany their singing of their legends and poetry which could not be more profane.  The instinct of the old actor was awakened in Caterna.  He could not keep still; it was too much for him.

And so these gestures, these attitudes, these swingings he imitated there with the vigor of an old topman joined to that of a leading premier, and I saw him as he was figuring in this quadrille of dancing dervishes.

“Eh!  Monsieur Claudius!” he said, “it is not difficult to copy the exercises of these gallant fellows!  Make me a Turkestan operetta, let me act a dervish, and you will see if I don’t do it to the very life.”

“I do not doubt it, my dear Caterna,” I replied; “but before you do that, come into the restaurant at the railway station and bid farewell to Turkestan cookery, for we shall soon be reduced to Chinese.”

The offer is accepted all the more willingly, for the reputation of the Kachgarian cooks is well justified, as the major made us remark.

In fact, the Caternas, the major, young Pan Chao and I were astonished and enchanted at the quantity of dishes that were served us, as well as at their quality.  Sweets alternated capriciously with roasts and grills.  And as the Caternas could never forget—­any more than they could forget the famous peaches of Khodjend—­there are a few of these dishes which the English embassy wished to retain in remembrance, for they have given the composition in the story of their journey:  pigs’ feet dusted with sugar and browned in fat with a dash of pickles; kidneys fried with sweet sauce and served with fritters.

Caterna asked for the first twice, and for the other three times.

“I take my precautions,” said he.  “Who knows what the dining-car kitchen will give us on the Chinese railways?  Let us beware of shark fins, which may perhaps be rather horny, and of swallows’ nests which may not be quite fresh!”