In all the yurtas I saw the diseased and the dead and such misery and physical horrors as cannot be described.
And I thought: "Oh, Great Jenghiz Khan! Why did you with your keen understanding of the whole situation of Asia and Europe, you who devoted all your life to the glory of the name of the Mongols, why did you not give to your own people, who preserve their old morality, honesty and peaceful customs, the enlightenment that would have saved them from such death?
Your bones in the mausoleum at Karakorum being destroyed by the centuries that pass over them must cry out against the rapid disappearance of your formerly great people, who were feared by half the civilized world!" Such thoughts filled my brain when I saw this camp of the dead tomorrow and when I heard the groans, shoutings and raving of dying men, women and children.

Somewhere in the distance the dogs were howling mournfully, and monotonously the drum of the tired witch rolled.
"Forward!" I could not witness longer this dark horror, which I had no means or force to eradicate.

We quickly passed on from the ominous place.

Nor could we shake the thought that some horrible invisible spirit was following us from this scene of terror.

"The devils of disease ?" "The pictures of horror and misery ?" "The souls of men who have been sacrificed on the altar of darkness of Mongolia ?" An inexplicable fear penetrated into our consciousness from whose grasp we could not release ourselves.