DOWN THE KAN-KIANG VALLEY.
The country is still nothing but river and mountains, and a sampan is
engaged to float me down the Kan-kiang as far as Kan-tchou-foo, from
whence I hope to be able to resume my journey a-wheel. The water is very
low in the upper reaches of the river, and the sampan has to be abandoned
a few miles from where it started. I then get two of the boatmen to carry
the wheel, intending to employ them as far as Kan-tchou-foo.
From the stories current at Canton, the reputation of Kan-tchou-foo is
rather calculated to inspire a lone Fankwae with sundry misgivings. Some
time ago an English traveller, named Cameron, had in that city an
unpleasantly narrow escape from being burned alive. The Celestials
conceived the diabolical notion of wrapping him in cotton, saturating him
with peanut-oil, and setting him on fire. The authorities rescued him not
a moment too soon.
Ere traversing many miles of mountain-paths we emerge upon a partially
cultivated country, where the travelling is somewhat better than in
Quang-tung. The Mae-ling Pass was the boundary line between the provinces
of Quang-tung and Kiang-se; my journey from Nam-ngan will lead me through
the whole length of the latter great province, between three hundred and
four hundred miles north and south.
The paths hereabout are of dirt mostly, and although wretched roads for a
wheelman in the abstract, are nevertheless admirable in comparison with
the stone-ways of Quang-tung. Gratified at the prospect of being able to
proceed to Kui-kiang by land after all, I determine at once that, if the
country gets no worse by to-morrow, I will dismiss the boatmen and pursue
my way alone again on the bicycle. This resolve very quickly develops
into an earnest determination to rid myself of the incubus of the
snail-like movements of my new carriers, who are decidedly out of their
element when walking, as I am very quickly brought to understand by the
annoying frequency of their halts at way-side tea-houses to rest and
smoke and eat.
Ere we are five miles from the sampan these festive mariners of the
Kan-kiang have developed into shuffling, shirking gormandizers, who peer
longingly into every eating-house we pass by and evince a decided
tendency to convert their task into a picnic. Finding me uncomplaining in
footing their respective "bills of lading" at the frequent places where
they rest and indulge their appetites for tid-bits, they advance, in the
brief space of four hours, from a simple diet of peanuts and bubbles of
greasy pastry to such epicurean dishes as pickled duck, salted eggs, and
fricasseed kitten!
Fricasseed kitten is all very well for people who have been reared in the
lap of luxury, and tenderly nurtured; but neither of these half-clad
Kan-kiang navigators was born with the traditional silver spoon. From
infancy they have had to thrive the best way they could on rice,
turnip-tops, peanuts, and delusive expectations of pork and fish; their
assumption of the delicacies above mentioned betrays the possession of
bumps of assurance bigger than goose-eggs. It is equivalent to a
moneyless New York guttersnipe sailing airily into Delmonico's and
ordering porter-house steak and terrapin, because some benevolent person
volunteered to feed him for a day or two at his expense. Fearful lest
their ambitious palates should soar into the extravagant and bankrupting
realms of bird-nest soup, shark's fins, and deer-horn jelly, I firmly
resolve to dispense with their services at the first favorable
opportunity.
Many of the larger villages we pass through are walled with enormously
massive brick walls, all bearing evidence of battering at the hands of
the Tai-pings. Owing to the frequent restings of the carriers we are
overtaken toward evening by a fellow boat-passenger, Oolong, who after
our departure determined to follow our enterprising example and walk to
Kan-tchou-foo. He comes trudging briskly along with a little white
tea-pot swinging in his hand and an umbrella under his arm.
The day is disagreeably cold by reason of the chilly typhoons that blow
steadily from the north. I have considerately encased the thinnest clad
carrier in my gossamer rubbers to shield him from the wind, but Oolong is
even thinner clad than he, and he has to hustle along briskly to keep his
Celestial blood in circulation.
No sooner do we reach the hittim where it is proposed to remain over
night than poor Oolong gets into trouble by appropriating to his own use
the quilted garment of one of the employes of the place, which he finds
lying around loose. The irate owner of the garment loudly accuses Oolong
of wanting to steal it, and notwithstanding his vigorous protestations to
the contrary he is denounced as a thief and summarily ejected from the
premises.
The last I ever see of Oolong and his white tea-pot and umbrella is when
he pauses for a moment to give his accusers a bit of his mind before
vanishing into outer darkness.
The morning is quite wintry, and the people are clad in the seasonable
costumes of the country. Huge quilted garments are put on one over
another until their figures are almost of ball-like rotundity; the hands
are drawn up entirely out of sight in the long, loosely flowing sleeves,
while the head is half-hidden by being drawn, turtle-like, into their
blue-quilted shells. Like the Persians, they seem nipped and miserable in
the cold; looking at them, standing about with humped backs and pinched
faces this morning, I wonder, with the Chinaman's happy nonchalance about
committing suicide, why they don't all seek relief within the nice warm
tombs at the end of the village. Surely it can be nothing but their
rampant curiosity, urging them to live on and on in the hopes of seeing
something new and novel, that keeps them from collapsing entirely in the
winter.
My epicurean carriers indulge largely in chopped cayenne peppers this
morning, which they mis liberally with their food.
The paths at least get no worse than they were yesterday, and to-day I
meet the first passenger-wheelbarrow, with its big wheel in the centre, a
bulky female with a baby on one side, and a bale of merchandise on the
other. Sometimes our road brings us to the banks of the Kan-kiang, and
most of the time, even when a mile or two away, we can see the queer,
corrugated sails of the sampans.
Once to-day we happen upon a fleet of fourteen cormorant fishers at a
moment when the excitement of their pursuit is at its height. About
seventy or eighty cormorants are diving and chasing about among a shoal
of fish in a big silent pool, while fourteen wildly excited Chinamen,
clad in abbreviated breech-cloths, dart their bamboo rafts about hither
and thither, urging each one his own cormorants to dive by tapping them
smartly with their poles. The scene is animated in the extreme, a unique
picture of Chinese river-life not to be easily forgotten.
About two o'clock in the afternoon we arrive at a city that I flatter
myself is Kan-tchou-foo; all attempts to question the carriers or anybody
else in regard to the matter results in the hopeless bewilderment of both
them and myself. The carriers are not such ignoramuses in the art of
pantomime, however, but that they are able to announce their intention of
stopping here for the remainder of the day, and night.
The liberality of my purse for a short day and a half, with its
concomitant luxurious living, has so thoroughly demoralized the
unaccustomed river-men, that they encroach still further upon my bounty
and forbearance by revelling all night in the sensuous delights of opium,
at my expense, and turning up in the morning in anything but fit
condition for the road. Putting this and that together, I conclude that
we have not yet readied Kan-tchou-foo; but the carriers have developed
into an insufferable nuisance, a hinderance to progress, rather than a
help, so I determine to take them no farther.
I tell them nothing of my intentions until we reach a lonely spot a mile
from the city. Here I tender them suitable payment for their services and
the customary present, attach my loose effects to the bicycle and about
my person, and motion them to return. As I anticipated, they make a
clamorous demand for more money, even seizing hold of the bicycle and
shouting angrily in my face. This I had easily foreseen, and wisely
preferred to have their angry demonstrations all to myself, rather than
in a crowded city where they could perhaps have excited the mob against
me.
For the first time in China I have to appeal to my Smith & Wesson in the
interests of peace; without its terrifying possession I should on this
occasion undoubtedly have been under the necessity of "wiping up a small
section of Kiang-se" with these two worthies in self defence. In the
affairs of individuals, as of nations, it sometimes operates to the
preservation of peace to be well prepared for war. How many times has
this been the case with myself on this journey around the world!
The barometer of satisfaction at the prospect of reaching Kui-kiang
before the appearance of old age rises from zero-level to a quite
flattering height, as I find the pathways more than half ridable after
delivering myself of the dead weight of native "assistance." Twelve miles
farther and I am approaching the grim high walls of a large city that
instinctively impresses me as being Kan-tchou-foo. The confused babel of
noises within the teeming wall-encompassed city reaches my ears in the
form of an "ominous buzz," highly suggestive of a hive of bees, into the
interior of which it would be extremely ticklish work for a Fankwae to
enter. "Half an hour hence," I mentally speculate, "the pitying angels
may be weeping over the spectacle of my seal-brown roasted remains being
dragged about the streets by the ribald and exultant rag, tag, and
bobtail of Kan-tchou-foo."
Reflecting on the horrors of cotton, peanut-oil, and fire, I sit down for
half an hour at a peanut-seller's stall, eat peanuts, and meditatively
argue the situation of whether it would be better, if seized by a
murderous mob, to take the desperate chances of being, like Cameron,
rescued at the last minute from the horrors of incineration, or to take
my own life. Fourteen cartridges and a 38 Smith & Wesson is the sum total
of my armament. Emptying my revolver among the mob, and then being caught
while reloading, would mean a lingering death by the most diabolical
tortures, processes that the heathen Chinee has reduced to a refinement
of cruelty unsurpassed in the old Spanish inquisition chambers.
The saucer of peanuts eaten, I pursue my way along the cobblestone path
leading to the gate, without having come to any more definite conclusion
than to keep cool and govern my actions according to circumstances. Ten
minutes after taking this precaution I am trundling along a paved street,
somewhat wider than the average Chinese city street, in the thick of the
inevitable excited crowd.
The city probably contains two hundred thousand people, judging from the
length of this street and the wonderful quantity and richness of the
goods displayed in the shops. Along this street I see a more lavish
display of rich silks, furs, tiger-skins, and other evidences of opulence
than was shown me at Canton. The pressure of the crowds reduces me at
once to the necessity of drifting helplessly along, whithersoever the
seething human tide may lead. Sometimes I fancy the few officiously
interested persons about me, whom I endeavor to question in regard to the
hoped-for Jesuit mission, have interpreted my queries aright and are
piloting me thither; only to conclude by their actions, the next minute,
that they have not the remotest conception of my wants, beyond reaching
the other side of the city. Now and then some ruffian in the crowd, in a
spirit of wanton devilment, utters a wild, exultant whoop and raises the
cry of "Fankwae. Fankwae." The cry is taken up by others of his kind, and
the whoops and shouts of "Fankwae" swell into a tumultuous howl.
Anxious moments these; the spirit of wanton mischief fairly bristles
through the crowd, evidently needing but the merest friction to set it
ablaze and render my situation desperate. My coat-tail is jerked, the
bicycle stopped, my helmet knocked off, and other trifling indignities
offered; but to these acts I take no exceptions, merely placing my helmet
on again when it is knocked off, and maintaining a calm serenity of face
and demeanor.
A dozen times during this trying trundle of a mile along the chief
business thoroughfare of Kan-tchou-foo, the swelling whoops and yells of
"Fankwae" seem to portend the immediate bursting of the anticipated
storm, and a dozen times I breathe easier at the subsidence of its
volume. The while I am still hoping faintly for a repetition in part of
my delightful surprise at Chao-choo-foo, we arrive at a gate leading out
on to a broad paved quay of the Kan-kiang, which flows close by the
walls.
Here I first realize the presence of Imperial troops, and awaken to the
probability that I am indebted to their known proximity for the
self-restraint of the mob, and their comparatively mild behavior. These
Celestial warriors would make excellent characters on the spectacular
stage; their uniforms are such marvels of color and pattern that it is
difficult to disassociate them from things theatrical. Some are uniformed
in sky blue, and others in the gayest of scarlet gowns, blue aprons with
little green pockets, and blue turbans or Tartar hats with red tassels.
Their gowns and aprons are patterned so as to spread out to a ridiculous
width at bottom, imparting to the gay warrior an appearance not unlike an
opened fan, his head constituting the handle.
As a matter of fact, the soldiers of the Imperial army are the biggest
dandies in the country; when on the march coolies are provided to carry
their muskets and accoutrements. As seen today, beneath the walls of
Kan-tchou-foo, they impress me far more favorably as dandies than as
soldiers equal to the demand of modern warfare.
Like soldiers the whole world round, however, they seem to be a
good-natured, superior class of men; no sooner does my presence become
known than several of them interest themselves in checking the aggressive
crowding of the people about me. Some of them even accompany me down to
the ferry and order the ancient ferryman to take me across for nothing.
This worthy individual, however, enters such a wordy protestation against
this that I hand him a whole handful of the picayunish tsin. The soldiers
make him give me back the over-payment, to the last tsin. The sordid
money-making methods of the commercial world seem to be regarded with
more or less contempt by the gallant sons of Mars everywhere, not
excepting even the soldiers of the Chinese army.
The scene presented by the city and the camp from across the river is of
a most pronounced mediaeval character, as well as one of the prettiest
sights imaginable. The grim walla of the city extend for nearly a mile
along the undulating bank of the Kan-kiang, with a narrow strip of
greensward between the solid gray battlements and the blue, wind-rippled
waters of the river. Along the whole distance, rising and falling with
the undulations of the bank, are ranged a continuous row of gayly
fluttering banners-red, purple, blue, green, yellow, and all these colors
combined in others that are striped as prettily as the prettiest of
barber-poles-probably not less than five hundred flags. These
multitudinous banners flutter from long, spear-headed bamboo-staves, and
of themselves present a wonderfully pretty effect in combination with the
blue waters, the verdant bank, and the gray walls. But in addition to
these are thousands of soldiers, equally gaudy as to raiment, reclining
irregularly along the same greensward, each warrior a bright bit of
coloring on the verdant groundwork of the bank.
Over variable paths and through numerous villages and hamlets my way now
leads, my next objective point being Ki-ngan-foo. At first a country of
curious red buttes, terraced rice-fields, and reservoirs of
mountain-drift water, serving the double purpose of fish-ponds and
irrigating reservoirs, it develops later into a more mountainous region,
where the bicycle quickly degenerates into a thing more ornamental than
useful.
On a narrow mountain-trail is met a gentleman astride of a chunky
twelve-hand pony. This diminutive steed is almost concealed beneath a
wealth of gay trappings, to which are attached hundreds of jingling bells
that fill the air with music as he walks or jogs along. In his fright at
the bicycle, or me, he charges wildly up the steep mountain-slope,
unseating his rider and making for the mountain-top like the
all-possessed. His rider takes the sensible course of immediately
pursuing the pony, instead of wasting time in unprofitable fault-finding
with me.
Few people of these obscure mountain-hamlets have ever seen a Fankwae;
many, doubtless, have never even heard of the existence of such queer
beings. They gather in a crowd about me when I stay to seek refreshments;
the general query of "What is he? what is he?" passed from one to
another, sometimes elicits the laconically expressed information of"
Fankwae" from some knowing villager or traveller passing through, but
often their question remains unanswered, because among the whole assembly
there is nobody who really knows what I am.
The wonderful industry of these people is more apparent in this
mountain-country than anywhere else. The valleys are very narrow, often
little more than mere ravines between the mountains, and wherever a
square yard of productive soil is to be found it is cultivated to its
utmost capacity. In places the mountain-ravines are terraced, to their
very topmost limits, tier after tier of substantial rock wall banking up
a few square yards of soil that have been gathered with infinite labor
and patience from the ledges and crevices of the rocky hills. The
uppermost terrace is usually a pond of water, gathered by the artificial
drainage of still higher levels, and reserved for the irrigation of the
score or more descending "steps" of the rice-growing stairway beneath it.
Notwithstanding the mountainous nature of the country and the dallying
progress through Kan-tchou-foo, so lightsome does it seem to be once more
journeying along, free and unencumbered, that I judge my day's progress
to be not less than fifty miles when nightfall overtakes me in a little
mountain-village. It is the first day's progress in China with which I
have been really satisfied. Nevertheless, it has been a toilsome day,
taken altogether, and when nothing but tea and rice confronts me at
supper the reward seems so wretchedly inadequate that I rise in rebellion
at once.
Neither eggs, fish, nor meat are to be obtained, the good woman at the
little hittim explains in a high key; neither loan, ue, nor ue-ah,
nothing but ch'ung-ch'a and mai. The woman is evidently a dear,
considerate mortal, however, for she surveys my evident disgust with
sorrowful visage, and then, suddenly brightening up, motions for me to be
seated and leaves the house. Presently the good dame returns with a smile
of triumph on her face and an object in her hand that, from casual
observation, might be the hind-quarters of a rabbit. Bringing it to me in
the most matter-of-fact manner, she holds it near my face and, pointing
to it with the air of a cateress proudly conscious of having secured
something that she knows will be unusually acceptable to her guest, she
explains "me-aow, me-aow!" The woman's naivete is simply sublime, and her
sagacity in explaining the nature of the meat by imitating a kitten's cry
instead of telling me its Chinese name stamps her as superior to her
surroundings; but, for all that, I conclude to draw the line at kitten
and sup off plain rice and tea. "Me-aow, me-aow" might not be altogether
objectionable if one knew it to have been a nice healthy kitten, but my
observations of Chinese unsqueamishness about the food they eat leaves an
abundance of room for doubt about the nature of its death and its
suitableness for human consumption. I therefore resist the temptation to
indulge.
A clear morning and a white frost usher in the commencement of another
march across the mountains, over cobbled paths for the greater part of
the forenoon. The sun is warm, but the mountain-breezes are cool and
refreshing. About noon I ferry across a large tributary of the Kan-kiang,
and follow for miles a cobble-stone path that leads down its eastern
bank.
According to my map, Ki-ngan-foo should be about fifty miles south of
Kan-tchou-foo, so that I ought to have reached there by noon to-day. All
due allowance, however, must be made for the map-makers in mapping out a
country where their opportunities for accuracy must have been of the
meagerest kind. Small occasion for fault-finding under the circumstances,
I think, for in the middle of the afternoon the gray battlements, the
pagodas, and the bright coloring of military flags a few miles farther
down stream tell me that the geographers have not erred to any
considerable extent.
It is about sunset when I enter the gates and find myself within the
Manchu quarter, that portion of the city walled off for the residence of
the Manchu garrison and their families. The hittim to which the quickly
gathering crowd conduct me is found to be occupied by a rather
prepossessing female, who, however, looks frightened at my approach and
shuts the door. Nor will she consent to open it again until reassured of
my peaceful character by the lengthy explanation of the people outside,
and a searching scrutiny of my person through a crack. After opening the
door again, and receiving what I opine to be a statement of the financial
possibilities of the situation from some person who has heard fabulous
accounts of the Fankwaes' liberality, her apprehensiveness dissolves into
a smile of welcome and she motions for me to come in.
The evening is chilly, and everybody is swollen out to ridiculous
proportions by the numerous thick-quilted garments they are wearing. All
present, whether male or female, are likewise distinguished by abnormally
protruding stomachs. Being Manchus, and therefore the accredited warriors
of the country, it occurs to ine that perhaps the fashionable fad among
them is to pad out their stomachs in token of the possession of
extraordinary courage, the stomach being regarded by the Chinese as the
seat of both courage and intelligence. In the absence of large stomachs
provided by nature, perhaps these proud Manchus come to the correction of
niggardly nature with wadding, as do various hollow-chested people in the
"regions of mist and snow," the dreary, sunless land whence cometh the
genus Fankwae.
But are the females also ambitious to be regarded as warriors, Amazonian
soldiers, full of courage and warlike aspirations. As though in direct
reply to my mental queries, a woman standing by solves the problem for me
at once by producing from beneath her garments a wicker-basket containing
a jar of hot ashes; stirring the deadened coals up a little she replaces
it, evidently attaching it to her garments underneath by a little hook.
Among the hundreds of visitors that drop in to see the Fankwae and his
bicycle is an intelligent old officer who actually knows that the great
country of the Fankwaes is divided into different nationalities; either
that, or else he thinks the Fankwaes have another name, said name being
"Ying-yun" (English). Some idea of the dense ignorance of the Chinese of
the interior concerning the rest of the world may be gathered from the
fact that this officer is the first person since leaving Chao-choo-foo,
upon whom the word "Ying-yun" has not been wholly thrown away.
Scenes of more than democratic equality and fraternity are witnessed in
this Manchu hittim, where silk-robed mandarins and uncouth ragamuffins
stand side by side and enjoy the luxury of seeing me take lessons in the
use of the chop-sticks. All through China one cannot fail to be impressed
with the freedom of intercourse between people of high and low degree;
beggars with unwashed faces and disgusting sores and well-nigh naked
bodies stand and discuss my appearance and movements with mandarins of
high degree, without the least show of presumption on the one hand or
condescension on the other.
Fully under the impression that Ki-ngan-foo has now peacefully come and
peacefully gone from the pale of my experiences, I follow along awful
stone paths next morning, leading across a level, cultivated country for
several miles. Before long, however, a country of red clay hills and
limited cultivable depressions is reached, where well-worn foot-trails
over the natural soil afford more or less excellent going. In this
particular district the women are observed to be all golden lilies,
whereas the proportion of deformed feet in other rural districts has been
rather small. Seeing that deformed feet add fifty or a hundred per cent,
to the social and matrimonial value of a Chinese female, one cannot help
applauding the enterprise of the people in this district as compared to
the apathy existing on the same subject in some others. The comparative
poverty of their clayey undulations has doubtless awakened them to the
opportunities of increasing values in other directions. Hence they
convert all their female infants into golden lilies, for whom some
prospective husband will be willing to pay a hundred dollars more than if
they were possessed of vulgar extremities as provided by nature.
The people hereabout seem unusually timid and alarmed at my strange
appearance; it is both laughable and painful to see the women hobble off
across the fields, frightened almost out of their wits. At times I can
look about me and, within a radius of five hundred yards, see twenty or
thirty females, all with deformed feet, scuttling off toward the villages
with painful efforts at speed. One might well imagine them to be a colony
of crippled rabbits, alarmed at the approach of a dog, endeavoring to
hobble away from his destructive presence.
In the villages they seem equally apprehensive of danger, making it
somewhat difficult to obtain anything to eat. At one village where I halt
for refreshments the people scurry hastily into their houses at seeing me
coming, and peep timidly out again after I have passed. Leaning the
bicycle against a wall, I proceed in search of something to eat. A basket
of oranges first attracts my attention; they are setting just inside the
door of a little shop. The two women in charge look scared nearly out of
their wits as I appear at the door and point to the basket; both of them
retreat pell-mell into a rear apartment, and, holding the door ajar, peep
curiously through to see what I am going to do. While my attention is
directed for a moment to something down the street, one daring soul darts
out and bears the basket of oranges triumphantly into the back room. For
this heroic deed I beg to recommend this brave woman for the Victoria
Cross; among the golden lilies of the Celestial Empire are no doubt many
such brave souls, coequal with Grace Darling or the Maid of Saragossa.
Baffled and out-generaled by this brilliant sortie, I meander down to the
other end of the village and invade the premises of an old man engaged in
chopping up a piece of pork with a cleaver. The gallant pork-butcher
gathers up the choicest parts of his meat and carries them into a rear
room; with a wary yet determined look in his eye he then returns, and
proceeds to mince up the few remaining odds and ends. It is plainly
evident that he fancies himself in dangerous company, and is prepared to
defend himself desperately with his meat-chopper in case he gets cornered
up.
Finally I discover a really courageous individual, in the person of a man
presiding over a peanut and treacle-cake establishment; this man, while
evidently uneasy in his mind, manfully steels his nerves to the task of
attending to my wants. Presently the people begin to gather at a
respectful distance to watch me eat, and five minutes later, by a
judicious distribution of a few saucers of peanuts among the youngsters,
I gain their entire confidence.
About four o'clock in the afternoon my road once again brings me to a
ferry across the Kan-kiang. Just previous to reaching the river, I meet
on the road eight men, carrying a sedan containing a hideous black idol
about twice as large as a man. A mile back from the ferry is another
large walled city with a magnificent pagoda; this city I fondly imagine
to be Lin-kiang, next on my map and itinerary to Ki-ngan-foo, and I
mentally congratulate myself on the excellent time I have been making for
the last two days.
Across the ferry are several official sampans with a number of boys gayly
dressed in red and carrying old battle-axes; also a small squad of
soldiers with bows and arrows. No sooner does the ferryman land me than
the officer in charge of the party, with a wave of his hand in my
direction, orders a couple of soldiers to conduct me into the city; his
order is given in an off-hand manner peculiarly Chinese, as though I were
a mere unimportant cipher in the matter, whose wishes it really was not
worth while to consult. The soldiers conduct me to the city and into the
yamen or official quarter, where I am greeted with extreme courtesy by a
pleasant little officer in cloth top-boots and a pigtail that touches his
heels. He is one of the nicest little fellows I have met in China, all
smiles and bustling politeness and condescension; a trifle too much of
the latter, perhaps, were we at all on an equality; but quite excusable
under the conditions of Celestial refinement and civilization on one
side, and untutored barbarism on the other.
Having duly copied my passport (apropos of the Chinese doing almost
everything in a precisely opposite way to ourselves may be pointed out
the fact that, instead of attaching vises to the traveller's passport,
like European nations, each official copies off the entire document), the
little officer with much bowing and scraping leads the way back to the
ferry. My explanation that I am bound in the other direction elicits
sundry additional bobbings of the head and soothing utterances and
smiles, but he points reassuringly to the ferry. Arriving at the river,
the little officer is dumbfounded to discover that I have no sampan--that
I am not travelling by boat, but overland on the bicycle. Such a
possibility had never entered his head; nor is it wonderful that it
should not, considering the likelihood that nobody, in all his
experience, had ever travelled to Kui-kiang from here except by boat.
Least of all would he imagine that a stray Fankwae should be travelling
otherwise.
At the ferry we meet the officer who first ordered the soldiers to take
me in charge, and who now accompanies us back to the yamen. Evidently
desirous of unfathoming the mystery of my incomprehensible mode of
travelling through the country, these two officers spend much of the
evening with me in the hittim smoking and keeping up an animated effort
to converse. Notwithstanding my viceregal passport, the superior officer
very plainly entertains suspicions as to my motives in undertaking this
journey; his superficial politeness no more conceals his suspicions than
a glass globe conceals a fish. Before they take their departure three
yameni-runners are stationed in my room to assume the responsibility for
my safe-keeping during the night.
An hour or so is spent waiting in the yamen next morning, apparently for
the gratification of visitors continually arriving. When the yamen is
crowded with people I am provided with a boiled fish and a pair of
chop-sticks. Witnessing the consumption of this fish by the Fankwae is
the finale of the "exhibition," and candor compels me to chronicle the
fact that it fairly brings down the house.
It is a drizzly, disagreeable morning as I trundle out of the city gate
over cobble-stones, made slippery by the rain. Walking before me is a
slim young yameni-runner with a short bamboo-spear, and on his back a
white bull's-eye eighteen inches in diameter; he is bare-footed and
bare-headed and bare-legged. In the poverty of his apparel, the all-round
contempt of personal appearance and cleanliness, and the total absence of
individual ambition, this young person reminds me forcibly of our
happy-go-lucky friend Osman, in the garden at Herat.
In striking contrast to him is the dandified individual who brings up the
rear, about ten paces behind the bicycle. He likewise is a yameni-runner,
but of higher degree than his compatriot of the advance; instead of a
vulgar and rusty spear, he is armed with an oiled paper parasol, a
flaming red article ornamented with blue characters and gilt women.
Besides this gay mark of distinction and social superiority, he owns both
shoes and hat, carrying the former, however, chiefly in his hand; when
fairly away from town, he deliberately turns his red-braided jacket
inside out to prevent it getting dirty. This transformation brings about
a change from the two white bull's-eyes, to big rings of stitching by
which these distinguishing appendages are attached.
A substantial meal of yams and pork is obtained at a way-side
eating-house, after which yet another evidence of the sybaritic tastes of
the rear-guard comes to light, in the form of a beautiful jade-stone
opium pipe, with which he regales himself after chow-chow. He is, withal,
possessed of more than average intelligence; it is from questioning him
that I learn the rather startling fact that, instead of having reached
Lin-kiang, I have not yet even come to Ki-ngan-foo. Ta-ho is the name of
the city we have just left, and Ki-ngan-foo is whither we are now
directly bound.
The weather at noon becomes warm, and the luxurious personage at the rear
delivers his parasol, and shoes, and jade-stone pipe over to the slender
and lissom advance guard to carry, to spare himself the weariness of
their weight. Tea and tid-bit houses are plentiful, and stoppages for
refreshing ourselves frequent. The rear guard assumes considerable
dignity when in the presence of a crowd of sore-eyed rustics; he chides
their ill-bred giggling at my appearance and movements by telling them,
no matter how funny I appear to them here, I am a mandarin in my own
country. After hearing this the crowd regard me with even more curiosity;
but their inquisitiveness is now heavily freighted with respect.
Some of the costumes of the women in this region are very pretty and
characteristic, and many of the females are themselves not devoid of
beauty, as beauty goes among the Mongols. Particularly do I notice one
to-day, whose tiny, doll-like extremities are neatly bound with red,
blue, and green ribbon; her face is a picture of refinement, her
head-dress a marvel of neatness and skill, and her whole manner and
make-up attractive. Unlike her timid and apprehensive sisters of
yesterday, she sees nothing in me to be afraid of; on the contrary, she
comes and sits beside ine on the bench and makes herself at home with the
peanuts and sweets I purchase, and laughs merrily when I offer to give
her a ride on the bicycle.
The sun is sinking behind the mountains to the west when we approach the
city of Ki-ngan-foo, its northern extremity marked by a very ancient
pagoda now rapidly crumbling to decay. The city forms a crescent on the
west bank of the Kan-kiang, the main street running parallel with the
river for something like half a mile before terminating at the walls of
the Manchu quarter.
The fastidious gentleman at the rear has betrayed symptoms of a very
uneasy state of mind during the afternoon, and now, as he halts the
procession a moment to turn the bull's-eye side of his coat outward, and
to put on his shoes, he gives me a puzzled, sorrowful look and shakes his
head dolefully. The trickiness of former acquaintances causes me to
misinterpret this display of emotion into an hypocritical assumption of
sorrow at the near prospect of our parting company, with ulterior designs
on the nice long strings of tsin he knows to be in my leathern case. It
soon becomes evident, however, that trouble of some kind is anticipated
in Ki-ngan-foo, for he points to my revolver and then to the city and
solemnly shakes his head.
The crescent water-front, the broad blue river and white sand, the plain
dotted with smiling villages opposite, the tall pagodas, the swarms of
sampans with their quaint sails, form the composite parts of a very
pretty and striking picture, as seen from the northern tip of the
crescent.
Near the old ruined pagoda the rear-guard points in an indifferent sort
of a way to a substantial brick edifice surmounted by a plain wooden
cross. Ah! a Jesuit mission, so help me Pius IX! now shall I meet some
genial old French priest, who will make me comfortable for the night and
enlighten me in regard to my bearings, distances, and other subjects
about which I am in a very thick fog. Instead of the fifty miles from
Kan-tchou-foo to Ki-ngan-foo indicated on my map, it has proved to be
considerably over a hundred.
The sole occupant of the building, however, is found to be a fat,
monkish-looking Chinaman, who knows never a word of either French or
pidgeon English. He says he knows Latin, but for all the benefit this
worthy accomplishment is to me he might as well know nothing but his own
language. He informs me, by an expressive motion of the hand, that the
missionaries have departed; whether gone to their everlasting reward,
however, or only on a temporary flight, his pantomimic language fails to
record. Subsequently I learn that they were compelled to flee the
country, owing to the hostility aroused by the operations of the French
in Tonquin.
Instead of extending that cordial greeting and consideration one would
naturally expect from a converted Chinaman whose Fankwae accomplishments
soar to the classic altitude of Latin, the Celestial convert seems rather
anxious to get rid of me; he is evidently on pins and needles for fear my
presence should attract a mob to the place and trouble result therefrom.
As we proceed down the street my appearance seems to stir the population
up to a pitch of wild excitement. Merchants dart in and out of their
shops, people in rags, people in tags, and people in gorgeous apparel,
buzz all about me and flit hither and thither like a nest of stirred-up
wasps. If curiosity has seemed to be rampant in other cities it passes
all the limits of Occidental imagination in Ki-ngau-foo. Upon seeing me
everybody gives utterance to a peculiar spontaneous squeak of surprise,
reminding me very much of the monkeys' notes of alarm in the tree-tops
along the Grand Trunk road, India.
One might easily imagine the very lives of these people dependent upon
their success in obtaining a glimpse of my face. Well-dressed citizens
rush hastily ahead, stoop down, and peer up into my face as I trundle
past, with a determination to satisfy their curiosity that our language
is totally inadequate to describe, and which our temperament renders
equally difficult for us to understand.
By the time we are half-way along the street the whole city seems in wild
tumult. Men rush ahead, peer into my face, deliver themselves of the
above-mentioned peculiar squeak, and run hastily down some convergent
alley-way. Stall-keepers quickly gather up their wares, and shop-keepers
frantically snatch their goods inside as they hear the tumult and see the
mob coming down the street. The excitement grows apace, and the same
wanton cries of "Fank-wae. Fankwae!" that followed me through
Kan-tchou-foo are here repeated with wild whoops and exultant cries. One
would sometimes think that all the devils of Dante's "Inferno" had gotten
into the crowd and set them wild with the spirit of mischief.
By this time the yameni-runners are quaking with fear; he of the paper
parasol and jade-stone pipe walks beside me, convulsively clutching my
arm, and with whiningly anxious voice shouts out orders to his
subordinate. In response to these orders the advance-guard now and then
hurries forward and peeps around certain corners, as though expecting
some hidden assailants.
Thus far, although the symptoms of trouble have been gradually assuming
more and more alarming proportions, there has been nothing worse than
demoniacal howls. The chief reason of this, however, it now appears, has
been the absence of loose stones, for no sooner do we enter an inferior
quarter where loose stones and bricks are scattered about, than they come
whistling about our ears. The poor yameni-runners shout deprecatingly at
the mob; in return the mob loudly announce their intention of working
destruction upon my unoffending head. Fortunately for me that head is
pretty thoroughly hidden beneath the thick pith thatch-work of my Indian
solar topee, otherwise I should have succumbed to the first fusillade of
stones at the instance of a cracked pate. Stones that would have knocked
me out of time in the first round rattle harmlessly on the 3/4-inch pith
helmet, the generous proportions of which effectually protect head and
neck from harm. Once, twice, it is knocked off by a stone striking it on
the brim, but it never reaches the ground before being recovered and
jammed more firmly than ever in its place. Things begin to look pretty
desperate as we approach the gate of the Manchu quarter; an immense crowd
of people have hurried down back streets and collected at this gate;
fancying they are there for the hostile purpose of heading us off, I come
very near dodging into an open door way with a view of defending myself
till the yameni-runners could summon the authorities. There is no time
for second thought, however; precious little time, in fact, for anything
but to keep my helmet in its place and hurry along with the bicycle. The
yameni-runners repeatedly warn the crowd that I am armed with a
top-fanchee (revolver); this, doubtless, prevents them from closing in on
us, and keeps their aggressive spirit within certain limits.
A moment's respite is happily obtained at the Manchu gate; the crowd
gathered there in advance are comparatively peaceful, and the mob, for a
moment, seem to hesitate about following us inside. Making the most of
this opportunity, we hurry forward toward the yamen, which, I afterward
learn, is still two or three hundred yards distant. Ere fifty yards are
covered the mob come pouring through the gate, yelling like demons and
picking up stones as they hurry after us. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom
for a horse." or, what would suit me equally as well, a short piece of
smooth road in lieu of break-neck cobble-stones.
Again are we overtaken and bombarded vigorously; ignorant of the distance
to the yamen, I again begin looking about for some place in which to
retreat for defensive purposes, unwilling to abandon the bicycle to
destruction and seek doubtful safety in flight. At this juncture a brick
strikes the unfortunate rear-guard on the arm, injuring that member
severely, and quickening the already badly frightened yameni-runners to
the urgent necessity of bringing matters to an ending somehow.
Pointing forward, they persist in dragging me into a run. Thus far I have
been very careful to preserve outward composure, feeling sure that any
demonstration of weakness on my part would surely operate to my
disadvantage. The runners' appealing cries of "Yameni! yameni!" however,
prove that we are almost there, and for fifty or seventy-five yards we
scurry along before the vengeful storm of stones and pursuing mob.
As I anticipated, our running only increases the exultation of the mob,
and ere we get inside the yamen gate the foremost of them are upon us.
Two or three of the boldest spirits seize the bicycle, though the
majority are evidently afraid I might turn loose on them with the
top-fanchee. We are struggling to get loose from these few determined
ruffians when the officials of the yamen, hearing the tumult, come
hurrying to our rescue.
The only damage done is a couple of spokes broken out of the bicycle, a
number of trifling bruises about my body, a badly dented helmet, and the
yameni-runner's arm rather severely hurt. When fairly inside and away
from danger the pent-up feelings of the advance-guard escape in silent
tears, and his superior of the jade-stone pipe sits down and mournfully
bemoans his wounded arm. This arm is really badly hurt, probably has
sustained a slight fracture of the bone, judging from its unfortunate
owner's complaints.
The Che-hsein, as I believe the chief magistrate is titled, greets me
while running out with his subordinates, with reassuring cries of "S-s-o,
s-s-o, s-s-o, s-s-o," repeated with extraordinary rapidity between shouts
of deprecation to the mob. The mob seem half inclined to pursue us even
inside the precincts of the yamen, but the authoritative voice of the
Che-hsein restrains their aggressiveness within partly governable
measure; nevertheless, in spite of his presence, showers of stones are
hurled into the yamen so long as I remain in sight.
As quickly as possible the Che-hsein ushers me into his own office, where
he quickly proves himself a comparatively enlightened individual by
arching his eyebrows and propounding the query, "French?" "Ying-yun," I
reply, feeling the advantage of being English or American, rather than
French, more appreciably perhaps than I have ever done before or since.
This question of the Che-hsein's at once reveals a gleam of explanatory
light concerning the hostility of the people. For aught I know to the
contrary it may be but a few days ago since the Jesuit missionaries were
compelled to flee for their lives. The mob cannot be expected to
distinguish between French and English; to the average Celestial we of
the Western world are indiscriminately known as Fankwaes, or foreign
devils; even to such an enlightened individual as the Che-hsein himself
these divisions of the Fankwae race are but vaguely understood.
After satisfying himself by questioning the yameni-runners, that I am
without companions or other baggage save the bicycle, the Che-hsein
ferrets out a bottle of samshoo and tenders me a liberal allowance in a
tea-cup. This is evidently administered with the kindly intention of
quieting my nerves, which he imagines to be unstrung from the alarmingly
rough treatment at the hands of his riotous townmen.
Riotous they are, beyond a doubt, for even as the Che-hsein pours out the
samshoo the clamorous howls of "Fankwae. Fankwae." seem louder than ever
at the gates. Now and then, as the tumult outside seems to be increasing,
the Che-hsein writes big red characters on flat bamboo-staves and sends
it out by an officer to be read to the mob; and occasionally, as he sits
and listens attentively to the clamor, as though gauging the situation by
the volume of the noise, he addresses himself to me with a soothing and
reassuring "S-s-o, s-s-o, s-s-o, s-o."
Shortly after my arrival the worthy-minded Che-hsein knits his brow for a
moment in a profound study, and then, lightening up suddenly, delivers
himself of "No savvy," a choice morsel of pidgeon English that he has
somehow acquired. This is the full extent of his knowledge, however; but,
feeble glimmer of my own mother tongue though it be, it sounds quite
cheery amid the wilderness wild of Celestial gabble in the office. For
although the shackles of authority hold in check the murderous mob,
howling for my barbarian gore outside, a constant stream of officials and
their friends are admitted to see me and the bicycle.
In making an examination of the bicycle, the peculiar "Ki-ngan-foo
squeak" finds spontaneous expression at every new surprise. A man enters
the room, peers wonderingly into my face-squeak!--comes closer, and looks
again--squeak!--notices the peculiar cut of my garments--squeak!--observes
my shoes--squeak!--sees helmet on table--squeak!--sees the
bicycle--squeak!--goes and touches it--squeak!--finds out that the pedals
twirl round--squeak! and thus he continues until he has seen everything
and squeaked at everything; he then takes a lingering survey of the room
to satisfy himself that nothing has been overlooked, gives a parting
squeak, and leaves the room.
The Che-hsein provides me with a chicken, boiled whole, head included,
for supper, and consumes his own meal at the same time. The difference
between the Che-hsein, eating little prepared meatballs and rice, with
gilded chop-sticks, and myself tearing the spraggly-looking rooster
asunder and gnawing the drum-sticks greedily with my teeth, no doubt
readily appeals to the interested lookers-on as an instructive picture of
Chinese civilization and outer barbarism as depicted in our respective
modes of eating, side by side.
More than once during the evening the tumult at the gate swells into a
fierce hubbub, as though pandemonium had broken loose, and the
blood-thirsty mob were determined to fetch me out. Every minute, at these
periodical outbursts, I expect to see them come surging in through the
doorway. A sociable young man, whose chief concern is to keep me supplied
with pipes and tea, explains, with the aid of a taper, that the crowd are
desirous of burning me alive. This cheerful piece of information, the
sociable young man imparts with a characteristic Chinese chuckle of
amusement; the thought of a Fankwae squirming and sizzling in the oil-fed
flames touches the chord of his risibilities, and makes him giggle
merrily. The Che-hsein himself occasionally goes out and harangues the
excited mob, the authoritative tones of his voice being plainly heard
above the squabbling and yelling.
It must be near about midnight when the excitement has finally subsided,
and the mob disperse to their homes. Six yameni-runners then file into
the room, paper umbrellas slung at their backs in green cloth cases, and
stout bamboo quarter-staves in hand. The Che-hsein gives them their
orders and delivers a letter into the hands of the officer in charge; he
then bids me prepare to depart, bidding me farewell with much polite
bowing and scraping, and sundry memorable "chin-chins."
A closely covered palanquin is waiting outside the door; into this I am
conducted and the blinds carefully drawn. A squad of men with flaming
torches, the Che-hsein, and several officials lead the way, maintaining
great secrecy and quiet; stout carriers hoist the palanquin to their
shoulders and follow on behind; others bring up the rear carrying the
bicycle.
Back through the Manchu quarter and out of the gate again our little
cavalcade wends its way, the officials immediately about the palanquin
addressing one another in undertones; back, part way along the same
street which but a few short hours ago resounded with the hoots and yells
of the mischievous mob, down a long flight of steps, and the palanquin is
resting at the end of a gang-plank leading aboard a little
passenger-sampan. The worthy Che-hsein bows and scrapes and chin-chins me
along this gang-plank, the bicycle is brought aboard, the six
yameni-runners follow suit, and the boat is poled out into the river. The
squad of torch-bearers are seen watching our progress until we are well
out into the middle of the stream, and the officer in charge of my little
guard stands out and signals them with his lantern, notifying them, I
suppose, that all is well. One would imagine, from their actions, that
they were apprehensive of our sampan being pursued or ambushed by some
determined party. And yet the scene, as we drift noiselessly along with
the current, looks lovely and peaceful as the realms of the blest; the
crescent moon, the shimmering water--and the slowly receding lights of the
city; what danger can there possibly be in so quiet and peaceful a scene
as this?
By daylight we are anchored before another walled city, which I think is
Ki-shway, a city of considerable pretentions as to wall, but full of
social and moral rottenness and commercial decadence within, judging, at
least, from outward appearances. Few among the crowds that are permitted
free access to the yamen here do not betray, in unmistakable measure, the
sins of former generations; while, as regards trade, half the place is in
a ruinous, tumble-down condition.
The mandarin here is a fleshy, old-fashioned individual, with thick lips
and an expression of great good humor. He provides me with a substantial
breakfast of rice and pork, and fetches his wife and children in to enjoy
the exhibition of a Fankwae feeding, likewise permitting the crowd to
look in through the doors and windows. He is a phlegmatic, easy-going
Celestial, and occupies about two hours copying my passport and writing a
letter. At the end of this time he musters a squad of twelve retainers in
faded red uniforms and armed with rusty pikes, who lead the way back to
the river, followed by three yameni-runners, equipped, as usual, each
with an umbrella and a small string of tsin to buy their food. The
gentlemen with the mediaeval weapons accompany us to the river and keep
the crowd from pressing too closely upon us until I and the
yameni-runners board a Ki shway sampan that is to convey me to the next
down-stream city.
It now becomes apparent that my bicycling experiences in China are about
ending, and that the authorities have determined upon passing me down the
Kan-kiang by boat to the Yang-tsi-kiang. I am to be passed on from city
to city like a bale of merchandise, delivered and receipted for from day
to day.
A few miles down stream we overtake a fleet of some twenty war-junks,
presenting a most novel and interesting sight, crowded as each one is
with the gayest of flags and streaming pennants galore. The junks are
cumbersome enough, in all conscience, as utterly useless for purposes of
modern warfare as the same number of floating hogsheads; yet withal they
make a gallant sight, the like of which is to be seen nowhere these days
but on the inland waters of China. Each junk is propelled by a crew of
fourteen oarsmen, dressed in uniforms corresponding in color to the
triangular flags that flutter gayly in the breeze at the stern. Not the
least interesting part of the spectacle are these same oarsmen, as they
ply. their long unwieldy sweeps in admirable unison; the sleeves of their
coats are almost as broad as the body of the garment, and at every sweep
of the oar these all flap up and down together in a manner most comical
to behold.
All day long our modest little sampan keeps company with this gay fleet,
giving me an excellent opportunity of witnessing its manoeuvres. Said
manoeuvres and evolutions consist of more or less noisy greetings and
demonstrations at every town and village we pass. In the case of a small
town, a number of pikemen and officials assemble on the shore, erect a
few flags, hammer vigorously on a resonant gong, shout out some sing-song
greeting and shoot off a number of bombs and fire-crackers. The foremost
vessel of the fleet replies to these noisy compliments by a salute of its
one gun, and mayhap throws in two or three bombs, according to the
liberality of the salutation ashore.
At the larger towns the amount of gunpowder burned and noise created is
something wonderful. Bushels of fire-crackers are snapping and rattling
away, the while gongs are beating, bombs exploding by the score, and
salvoes of artillery are making the mountains echo, from every vessel in
the fleet. Beneath the walls of a town we pass soon after noon are ranged
fifteen other junks; as the fleet passes, these vessels simultaneously
discharge all their guns, while at the same instant there burst upon the
startled air detonations from hundreds of bombs, big heaps of
firecrackers, and the din of many resonant gongs. Not to be outdone, the
fleet of twenty return the compliment in kind, and with cheers from the
crews thrown in for interest.
The fifteen now join the procession, adding volume and picturesqueness
to the already wonderfully pretty scene, by their hundreds of
brilliant-hued banners, and theatrically costumed oarsmen. About four
o'clock, as we are approaching the city of Hat-kiang, our destination for
the day, there comes to meet the gallant navy a pair of twin vessels
surpassing all the others in the gorgeousness of their flags and the
picturesqueness of the costumes. Purple is the prevailing color of both
flags and crew. At their splendid appearance our yameni-runners announce
in tones of enthusiasm and admiration that these new-comers hail from
Lin-kiang, a large city down stream, that I fancied, it will be
remembered, having reached at Ta-ho.
The officials are still abed when, in the early morning of the third day,
we reach Sin-kiang, and repair to the yamen. A large crowd, however,
gather and follow us from the market-place, swelling gradually by
reenforcements to a multitude that surges in and out of the shanty-like
office in such swarms that the frail board walls bulge and crack with the
pressure. When the crowd overwhelm the place entirely, the officials
clear them out by angry gesticulations and moral suasion, sometimes
menacingly shaking the end of their own queues at them as though they
were wielding black-snake whips. Having driven them out, no further
notice is taken of them, so they immediately begin swarming in again,
until the room is again inundated, when they are again driven out.
The permitting of this ebbing and flowing of the multitude into the
official quarters is something quite incomprehensible to me; the mob is
swayed and controlled--as far as they are controlled at all--without any
organized effort of those in authority; when the officials commence
screaming angrily at them they begin moving out; when the shouting ceases
they begin swarming back. Thus in the course of an hour the room will,
perchance, be filled and emptied with angry remonstrance half a dozen
times, when, from our own stand-point, a couple of men stationed at the
door with authority to keep them out would prevent all the bother and
annoyance. Sure enough the Chinaman is "a peculiar little cuss," whether
seen at home or abroad.
If the inhabitants of Ki-shway are scrofulous, sore-eyed, and mangy, they
are at least an improvement on the disgusting state of the public health
at Sin-kiang, as revealed in the lamentable condition of the crowd at the
yamen and in the markets. Scarcely is it possible to single out a human
being of sound and healthful appearance from among them all. Everybody
has sore eyes, some have horribly diseased scalps, sores on face and
body, and all the horrible array of acquired and hereditary diseases.
One's hair stands on end almost at the thought of being among them, to
say nothing of eating in their presence, and of their own cooking. Of my
new escort from Sin-kiang all three have dreadfully sore eyes, and one
wretched mortal is as piebald as a circus pony, from head to foot, with
the leprosy. Added to these recommendations, they have the manners and
instincts of swine rather than of human beings.
The same sampan is re-engaged to convey us farther down stream; beneath
the housing of bamboo-mats, the rice-chaff leaves barely room for us to
crowd in and huddle together from the rain and cold prevailing outside.
The worst the elements can do, however, is far preferable to personal
contact with these vile creatures; and so I don my blanket and gossamer
rubbers, and sit out in the rain. The rain ceases and the chilly night
air covers everything with a coating of hoar-frost, but all this is
nothing compared with the horrible associations inside, the reeking fumes
of opium and tobacco adding yet another abomination to be remembered.
At early morn we land and pursue our way for a few miles across country
to Lin-kiang, which is situated on a big tributary stream a few miles
above its junction with the Kan-kiang. Our way loads through a rich strip
of low country, sheltered and protected from inundations by an extensive
system of dykes. Here we pass through orchards of orange-trees bristling
with the small blood-red mandarin oranges; we help ourselves freely from
the trees, for their great plenteousness makes them of very little value.
On the stalls they can be purchased six for one cent; like the people in
the great peanut producing country below Nam-hung, the cheapness and
abundance of oranges here seems an inducement for the people to almost
subsist thereon.
Everybody is either buying, stealing, selling, packing, gathering,
carrying, or eating oranges; coolies are staggering Lin-kiang-ward
beneath big baskets of newly plucked fruit, and others are conveying them
in wheelbarrows; boats are being loaded for conveyance along the river.
Every orange-tree is distinguished by white characters painted on its
trunk, big enough so that those who run may read the rightful owner's
name and take warning accordingly.
Three more wearisome but eventful days, battling against adverse winds,
and we come to anchor in a little slough, where a war-junk and several
fishing vessels are already moored for the night. While supper is
preparing I pass the time promenading back and forth along a little
foot-trail leading for a short distance round the shore. The crew of the
war-vessel are engaged in drying freshwater shrimps, tiny minnows, and
other drainings and rakings of the water to store away for future use.
One of the younger officers stalks back and forth along the same path as
myself, brusquely maintaining the road whenever we meet, evidently bent
on showing off his contempt for the boasted prowess of the Fankwaes, by
compelling me to step to one side. His demeanor is that of a bully
stalking about with the traditional chip on his shoulder, daring me to
come and knock it off. Considering the circumstances about us, this is a
wonderfully courageous performance on his part; nothing but his ignorance
of my Smith & Wesson can explain his temerity in assuming a bellicose
attitude with only one man-of-war at his back. Out of consideration for
this ignorance, I studiously avoid interfering with the chip.
At length the river-voyage comes to an end at Wu-chang, on the Poyang
Hoo, when I am permitted to proceed overland with an escort to Kui-kiang.
Spending the last night at a village inn, we pursue our way over awful
bowlder paths next morning, for several miles; over a low mountain-pass
and down the northern slope to a level plain. A towering white pagoda is
observable in the distance ahead; thia the yameni-runner says is
Kui-kiang. At a little way-side tea-house, I find Christmas numbers of
the London Graphic pasted on the walls; yet with all this, so utterly
unreliable has my information heretofore been, and so often have my hopes
and expectations turned out disappointing, that I am almost afraid to
believe the evidence of my own senses. The Graphic pictures are of the
Christmas pantomimes; the good woman of the tea-house points out to me
the tremendous noses, the ear-to-ear mouths, and the abnormal growths of
chin therein depicted, with much amusement; "Fankwae," she says, "te-he,
te-he," apparently fancying them genuine representations of certain types
of that queer, queer people.
The paths improve, and soon I see the smoke of a steamer on the Yang-tsi
than which, it is needless to say, no more welcome sight has greeted my
vision the whole world round. Only the smoke is seen, rising above the
city; it cannot be a steamer, it is too good to be possible! this isn't
Kui-kiang; this is another wretched disappointment, the smoke is some
Chinese house on fire! Not until I get near enough to distinguish flags
on the consulates, and the crosses on the mission churches, do I permit
myself fully to believe that I am at last actually looking at Kui-kiang,
the city that I have begun to think a delusion and a snare, an ignis
fatuus that was dancing away faster than I was approaching.
The sight of all these unmistakable proofs that I am at last bidding
farewell to the hardships, the horrible filth, the soul-harrowing crowds,
the abominable paths, and the ever-present danger and want of
consideration; that in a little while all these will be a dream of the
past, gives wings to my wheel wherever it can be mounted, and ridden. The
yameni-runner is left far behind, and I have already engaged a row-boat
to cross the little lake in the rear of the city, and the boatman is
already pulling me to the "Ying-yun," when the poor yameni-runner comes
hurrying up and shouts frantically for me to come back and fetch him.
Knowing that the man has to take back his receipt I yield to his request,
follow him first to the Kui-kiang yamen, and from thence proceed to the
English consulate. Captain McQuinn, of the China Steam Navigation
Company's steamer Peking, and the consulate doctor see me riding down the
smooth gravelled bund, followed by a crowd of delighted Celestials.
"Hello! are you from Canton" they sing out in chorus. "Well, well, well!
nobody expected to ever see anything of you again; and so you got through
all safe, eh?"
"What's the matter? you look bad about the eyes," says the observant
doctor, upon shaking hands; "you look haggard and fagged out."
Upon surveying myself in a mirror at the consulate I can see that the
doctor is quite justified in his apprehensions. Hair long, face unshaved
for five weeks, thin and gaunt-looking from daily hunger, worry, and hard
dues generally, I look worse than a hunted greyhound. I look far worse,
however, than I feel; a few days' rest and wholesome fare will work
wonders.
An appetizing lunch of cold duck, cheese, and Bass's ale is quickly
provided by Mr. Everard, the consul, who seems very pleased that the
affair at Ki-ngan-foo ended without serious injury to anybody.
The Peking starts for Shanghai in an hour after my arrival; a warm bath,
a shave, and a suit of clothes, kindly provided by pilot King, brings
about something of a transformation in my appearance. Bountiful meals,
clean, springy beds, and elegantly fitted cabins, form an impressive
contrast to my life aboard the sampans on the Kan-kiang. The genii of
Aladdin's lamp could scarcely execute any more marvellous change than
that from my quarters and fare and surroundings at the village hittim,
where my last night on the road from Canton was spent, and my first night
aboard the elegant and luxurious Peking, only a day later.
A pleasant run down the Yang-tsi-kiang to Shanghai, and I arrive at that
city just twenty-four hours before the Japanese steamer, Yokohama Maru,
sails for Nagasaki. Taking passage aboard it leaves me but one brief day
in the important and interesting city of Shanghai, during which time I
have to purchase a new outfit of clothes, see about money matters, and
what not.