TACHIENLU
Tachienlu is surely _sui generis_; there can be no other town quite like
it. Situated eight thousand four hundred feet above the sea, it seems to
lie at the bottom of a well, the surrounding snow-capped mountains
towering perhaps fifteen thousand feet in the air above the little town
which, small as it is, has hardly room to stand, while outside the wall
there is scarcely a foot of level ground. It is wedged into the angle
where three valleys come together, the Tar and the Chen rivers meeting
just below the town to form the Tarchendo, and our first view of the
place as we turned the cliff corner that here bars the gorge, was very
striking, grey walls and curly roofs standing out sharply from the
flanking hillsides.
Within the walls of Tachienlu, China and Tibet meet. As we made our way
through the long, dirty main street, here running parallel with the Tar
which comes tumbling down from the snow-fields of the Tibetan range, I
was struck at once by the varied aspect of the people. The dense crowd
that surged through the streets, some on horseback and some on foot, was
more Tibetan than Chinese, but the faces that peered out from the shops
were unmistakably of the Middle Kingdom. Groups of fierce-looking
fellows, clad in skins and felt, strode boldly along, their dark faces
bearing indelible marks of the hard, wild life of the Great Plateau.
Many of them carried weapons of some sort, for the Chinese have scorned
to disarm them. Among them walked impassively the blue-gowned men of the
ruling race, fairer, smaller, feebler, and yet undoubtedly master. It
was the triumph of the organizing mind over the brute force of the lower
animal. Almost one man in five was a red-robed lama, no cleaner in dress
nor more intelligent in face than the rest, and above the din of the
crowd and the rush of the river rose incessantly weird chanting and the
long-drawn wail of horns from the temples scattered about the town.
Lamaism has Tachienlu in its grip, and I could have fancied myself back
in Himis lamassery, thousands of miles away on the western frontier of
Tibet. It was an extraordinarily picturesque scene, full of life and
sound and colour.
Marco Polo described the territory lying west of Ya-chou as "Thibeth,"
and a century ago the Chinese frontier stopped at Tachienlu, but to-day
Batang, a hundred and twenty-five miles to the west as the crow flies,
is the western limit of Szechuan. In actual fact, however, direct
administration by the Chinese stops at the Ta Tu, on the right bank of
the river the people being governed by their tribal chiefs. Tachienlu
is in the principality of the King of Chala, whose palace is one of the
two or three noteworthy buildings in the place, and the Tibetan
population of some seven hundred families, not counting the lamas, is
directly under his authority. But there is a power behind the throne,
and the town is really governed by the Chinese officials, for it is the
key to the country to the west, and the Imperial Government has long
been awake to the importance of controlling the great trade and military
road to Lhasa. What the effect of the Revolution will be upon the
relations of China and Tibet remains to be seen. Already Chao Erh Feng,
the man who as Warden of the Marches had made Chinese rule more of a
reality in Lhasa than ever before, has fallen a victim to Manchu
weakness; hated by Chinese and Tibetan alike, he met his death at the
hands of a rebellious soldiery in January, 1912.
[Illustration: A VIEW OF TACHIENLU]
[Illustration: TIBETANS]
Between Tachienlu and Lhasa lie many hundred miles of barren, windswept
plateaus and perilous mountain passes. There are, I believe, at least
ten of these passes higher than Mont Blanc. Connection between the two
places is over one of the most difficult mountain roads in the world,
yet it was by this route that the Chinese finally conquered Tibet in the
eighteenth century, and to-day most of the trade goes the same way.
Those who deny the Chinese all soldierly qualities must have forgotten
their achievements against the Tibetans, let alone the still more
extraordinary military feat of their victory over the Gurkhas of Nepal,
when a force of seventy thousand men of the Middle Kingdom crossed the
whole width of the most inaccessible country in the world, and, fighting
at a distance of two thousand miles from their base, defeated the crack
warriors of the East.
The China Inland Mission has a station at Tachienlu, but to my
disappointment the two missionaries were away at the time of my visit,
and although their Chinese helpers made me welcome, providing a place
for me in one of the buildings of the mission compound, I felt it a real
loss not to talk with men who would have had so much of interest to
tell. Moreover, I had been looking forward to meeting my own kind once
more after two weeks of Chinese society. Fortunately another traveller
turned up in Tachienlu about the time I did, an English officer of the
Indian army, returning to duty by a roundabout route after two years'
leave at home. As he too was installed in the mission compound we soon
discovered each other, and I had the pleasure of some interesting talk,
and of really dining again. Eating alone in a smelly Chinese inn cannot
by any stretch be called dining. I found that Captain Bailey had gone
with the Younghusband expedition to Lhasa, and was now on his way to
Batang with the hope of being able to cross Tibet from the Chinese side.
We had an enjoyable evening comparing experiences. I was impressed, as
often before, by the comfort a man manages to secure for himself when
travelling. If absolutely necessary, he will get down to the bare bones
of living, but ordinarily the woman, if she has made up her mind to
rough it, is far more indifferent to soft lying and high living,
especially the latter, than the man. One thing I had, however, that
Captain Bailey lacked,--a dog,--and I think he rather envied me my
four-footed companion. I know I begrudged him his further adventure into
the wilds beyond Tachienlu. Months later I learned that although he did
not reach Lhasa as he had hoped to do, his explorations in the
little-known region between Assam and Tibet and China had won him much
fame and the Gill Medal awarded by the Royal Geographical Society.
Thanks to Captain Bailey I suffered no inconvenience from the absence of
the missionaries on whom I had relied for help in getting a cheque
cashed, as he kindly introduced me to the postmaster, to whom he had
brought a letter from the English post-commissioner at Chengtu, and this
official most courteously gave me all the money I needed for the next
stage of my journey. The Imperial Post-Office was in 1911 still under
the same management as the customs service, and was marked by the same
efficiency. All over China it had spread a network of post-routes, and
by this time, unless the Revolution has upset things, as it probably
has, there should be a regular mail service between Tachienlu and Batang
and Lhasa. To be sure, the arrangements at Tachienlu were rather
primitive, but the surprising thing was that there should be any
post-office at all. When I went for my letters the morning after I
arrived, I was shown a large heap of stuff on the floor of the little
office, and the interpreter and I spent a good half-hour disentangling
my things from the dusty pile, most of which was apparently for members
of the large French mission in Tachienlu. I was sorry not to have a
chance to meet representatives of the mission, which has been
established for a long time, and works, I believe, among both Tibetans
and Chinese, the Protestants confining themselves to the Chinese
community. Nor was I more successful in learning about the Protestant
work, owing to the absence of the missionaries on a journey to Batang.
But I was greatly impressed by the truly beautiful face and dignified
bearing of a native pastor who called upon me at my lodgings. Fine,
serene, pure of countenance, he might have posed for a Buddha or a
Chinese St. John. In my limited experience of the Chinese, the men who
stand out from their fellows for beauty of expression and attractiveness
of manner are two or three Christians of the better class. Naturally
fine-featured and of dignified presence, the touch of the Christian
faith seems to have transformed the supercilious impassiveness of their
class into a serenity full of charm. It is a pity that it is not more
often so, but the zeal of the West mars as well as mends, and in
imparting Western beliefs and Western learning carelessly and needlessly
destroys Eastern ideals of conduct and manner, often more reasonable and
more attractive than our own. The complacent cocksureness of the
Occidental attitude toward Oriental ways and standards has little to
rest on. We have reviled the people of the East in the past for their
unwillingness to admit that there was anything we could teach them, and
they are amending their ways, but we have shown and show still a
stupidity quite equal to theirs in our refusal to learn of them. Take,
for example, the small matter of manners,--if it be a small matter. More
than one teacher in America has confessed the value of the object lesson
in good breeding given by the chance student from the East, but how few
Westerners in China show any desire to pattern after the dignified,
courteous bearing of the Chinese gentleman. I have met bad manners in
the Flowery Kingdom, but not among the natives.
It had been a long, hard pull from Ning-yuean-fu; two weeks' continuous
travelling is a tax upon every one, but at no place had we found
comfortable quarters for the whole of the party, and as the men
preferred to push on, I was not inclined to object. But usually a
seventh-day rest is very acceptable to them; so we were all glad for a
little breathing-space in Tachienlu. The servants and coolies spent the
first day in a general tidying-up, getting a shave, face and head, and
having their queues washed and combed and replaited. Some also made
themselves fine in new clothes, but others were content to wash the old.
As none of them, with the exception of the fu t'ou, had ever been in
Tachienlu before, they were as keen to see the sights as I was, and in
my rambles about the town the next two or three days, I was greeted at
every turn by my coolies, enjoying to the full their hard-earned
holiday.
There was less to see of interest in Tachienlu than I had expected. The
shops are filled mainly with ordinary Chinese wares, and my efforts to
find some Tibetan curios were fruitless, those shown to me being of
little value. I imagine it is a matter of chance if one secures anything
really worth while. At any rate, neither the quaint teapots nor the hand
praying-wheels that I was seeking were forthcoming. Nor could I find any
decent leopard skins, which a short time ago formed an important article
of commerce, so plentiful were they. But at least I had the fun of
bartering with the people, whom I found much the most interesting thing
in Tachienlu, and thanks to the indifference or the politeness of the
Tibetan I was able to wander about freely without being dogged by a
throng of men and boys. Chinese soldiers were much in evidence, for this
is naturally an important military post as well as the forwarding depot
for the troops stationed along the great western trade route to Batang
and Lhasa. The Chinese population under their protection, numbering some
four hundred families, mostly traders, looked sleek and prosperous.
Evidently they made a good living off the country, unlike the Tibetans
who were generally dirty and ragged and poor in appearance. I must
confess that I was disappointed at the latter. In spite of their hardy,
muscular aspect and bold bearing, I did not find them attractive as do
most travellers. They lacked the grotesque jollity of the Ladakhis of
Western Tibet, their cousins in creed and race, and I met nothing of the
manly friendliness which marked the people of Mongolia whom I had to do
with later. Never have I seen men of more vicious expression than some I
met in my strolls about Tachienlu, and I could well believe the stories
told of the ferocity shown by the lamas along the frontier. Very likely
the people are better than their priests, but if so, their looks belie
them. There is rarely a man--or a people--so low as to lack a defender,
and it is a pleasing side to the white man's rule in the East, that if
he be half a man he is likely to stand up for the weak folk he governs.
It may be due to pride of ownership, or it may be the result of a
knowledge born of intimate acquaintance, but whatever the cause, no
race is quite without champions in the white man's congress. Captain
Bailey who had had long experience of the Tibetans in administrative
work on the northeastern borderland of India, was no exception, and he
defended them vigorously. I had no knowledge to set against his, but
when he declared that they were a clean people it seemed to me he was
stretching a point, for I should have thought their dirt was as
undeniable as it was excusable in the burning sun or biting cold of
their high plateaus.
Practically all the traffic between China and its great western
dependency passes through Tachienlu, and the little town is full of
bustle and stir. From Tibet are brought skins and wool and gold and
musk, to be exchanged here for tobacco and cloth and miscellaneous
articles, but tea, of course, forms the great article of trade, the
quantity sent from Tachienlu annually amounting to more than twelve
million pounds. Conspicuous in the town are the great warehouses where
the tea is stored, awaiting sale, and there are numerous Tibetan
establishments where it is repacked for the animal carriage which here
replaces the carrier coolies from the east. Among the Chinese the trade
is mostly in the hands of a few great merchants who deal with the women
representatives of the Tibetan priesthood who practically monopolize the
sale in their country, deriving a large income from the high prices
they charge the poor people to whom tea is a necessity of life.
When I grew weary of the confusion and dirt of the narrow streets I was
glad to escape to the hillside above my lodgings. The mission compound
is small and confined, affording no room for a garden, although fine
masses of iris growing along the walls brightened up the severity of the
grey stone buildings; but a little climb behind the mission house
brought me to a peaceful nook whence I could get a glorious view over
the town and up and down the valley, here so narrow that it seemed
possible to throw a stone against the opposite hillside.
The first fine morning after my arrival I made an early start for the
summer palace of the King of Chala, situated about eight miles from
Tachienlu in a beautiful, lonely valley among the mountains. This is the
favourite camping-place of Chengtu missionaries, who now and then brave
the eleven days' journey to and fro to exchange their hothouse climate
for a brief holiday in the glorious scenery and fine air of these
health-giving uplands. We were mounted, the interpreter and I, on ponies
provided by the Yamen, one worse than the other, and both unfit for the
rough scramble. After traversing the town, first on one side and then on
the other of the river which we crossed by a picturesque wooden bridge,
roofed in but with open sides, we passed out at the South
Gate--Tachienlu has no West Gate--and found ourselves in a small suburb
with a few meagre gardens. A mile farther along we crossed the river
again by a striking single arch bridge, known as the "Gate of Tibet." We
were now on the great trade route to Lhasa, but between us and the
mysterious city lay many days of weary travel.
From time to time we met groups of Tibetans, men and women,
rough-looking and shy, with the shyness of a wild animal. Generally
after a moment's pause to reassure themselves, they answered my greeting
in jolly fashion, seeming quite ready to make friends. Occasionally the
way was blocked by trains of ox-like yaks, the burden-bearers of the
snow-fields, bringing their loads of skins and felt and musk and gold.
Astride of one was a nice old man who stuck out his tongue at me in
polite Tibetan fashion.
[Illustration: LAMA AND DOG AT TACHIENLU]
[Illustration: THE GATE OF TIBET]
After an hour's ride we left the highway and turned into a beautiful
green valley, following a very bad trail deeper and deeper into the
mountains, the soft meadows gay with flowers forming a charming contrast
to the snow-peaks that barred the upper end of the valley. We came first
to the New Palace, a large rambling building having no more
architectural pretensions than an ordinary Chinese inn. As the king's
brother, who makes his home there, was away, I saw nothing more of the
place than the great courtyard filled with mangy, half-starved dogs
and unkempt men. Not far off is one of the great attractions of the
place, at least to the natives,--a hot sulphur spring. To the
disappointment of my Tibetan guide I declined to visit it, preferring a
leisurely cold lunch on the bank of a rushing stream which was
vigorously turning a large prayer-wheel, a cylinder of wood inscribed
many times over with the mystic words of the Buddhist prayer, "Om mani
padme hum," oftenest repeated perhaps of all prayers. Each revolution of
the wheel was equivalent to as many repetitions of the words as there
were inscribed on the wood. So night and day, while the stream runs,
prayers are going up for the king,--and truly he needs them, poor man,
between the bullying of his Chinese overlords and the machinations of
turbulent lamas. Other indications of the Buddhist's comfortable way of
getting his prayers said for him are found all about Tachienlu. From
temple roof and wayside rock flags bearing the same legend wave in the
breeze, each flutter a prayer, and just outside the city we rode by a
long stone wall, much like those of New England, only its top was
covered over with inscribed stones. If you passed by, having the "mani"
wall on your right hand, each inscribed stone would pray for you; hence
the trail always forks to suit the coming and the going Buddhist, and I
remember well the insolent pride with which my Mohammedan servants
always took the right hand when passing these walls in Ladakh.
A mile farther up the valley we came to the Old Palace, a collection of
hovels banked with piles of manure. Far more attractive than the royal
residence were some tents not far off, where a band of Tibetans,
retainers of the prince, were encamped. They came out to greet us in
friendly fashion, pointing out a blind trail up the valley where we
could get better views of the snow-peaks; but we had to turn back, sorry
though I was to leave the spot, parklike in its beauty of forest and
meadow, a veritable oasis in a wilderness of rock and ice. It was more
like home than anything I had seen in West China, for there were
stretches of fine, grassy meadows where the royal herds of cattle were
grazing, and all at once I realized that it was weeks since I had seen a
field of grass or real cows. It is the great lack in this country. Pigs
abound, and fowls, but there is no place for cattle, and the horses live
on beans and corn, or more likely on leaves and twigs.
Priest-ridden Tachienlu boasts many temples and lamasseries, and the
last day of my stay I paid a visit to one of the largest, not far from
the South Gate. It was a wide, rambling, wooden building standing near a
grove of unusually fine trees, a sort of alder. The approach was not
unattractive, flowers growing under the walls and about the entrance.
Once inside the portal, we found ourselves in a large courtyard paved
with stone and surrounded by two-story galleried buildings. Facing us
was the temple, scarcely more imposing in outward appearance than the
others. On one side a group of half-naked lamas were gathered about an
older man who seemed to be relating or expounding something, whether
gossip or doctrine I could not tell, but I should judge the former from
their expressions. They paid little attention to us, nor did others
strolling about the yard, but the big dogs roaming loose were not
backward in their greeting, although to my surprise they did not seem at
all ferocious, and treated my imperturbable little dog with distant
respect. Earlier travellers recount unpleasant experiences, but perhaps
the lamas have learned better in late years, and fasten up their
dangerous dogs if visitors are expected. Afterwards I saw in another
inner courtyard a large, heavy-browed brute adorned with a bright red
frill and securely chained. He looked savage, and could have given a
good account of himself in any fight.
While I was waiting for permission to enter the temple, I inspected the
stuffed animals--dogs, calves, leopards--suspended on the verandah. They
were fast going to decay from dust and moth, but I was told that they
were reputed sacred. The temple, which we were forced to enter from a
side door, was large and high, hung with scrolls and banners and filled
with images, but it was so dark that I found it difficult to discern
much save a good-sized figure of Buddha, not badly done.
At the invitation of an old lama, a friend of our guide, I was invited
to a large, disorderly dining- or living-hall on the upper floor, where
we were very courteously served with tea, Chinese fashion. The old man
had a rather nice face, and I tried to learn a little about the place,
but conversation through two Chinese intermediaries, one speaking
imperfect English and the other bad Tibetan, was not very satisfactory,
and I soon gave up the attempt. I did succeed, however, in making the
lama understand my wish to hire some one to cut for me a praying-stone,
to which he replied that there were plenty outside, why did I not take
one of them? I had thought of that myself, but feared to raise a storm
about my ears. Now, acting on his advice, I made a choice at my leisure
and no one objected. Under the double restraint of an unusually strong
prince, backed by Chinese officials, the priests of Tachienlu are less
truculent than farther west, but at best Lamaism rests with a heavy hand
upon the Tibetans; it is greedy and repulsive in aspect and brutalizing
in its effects; wholly unlike the gentle, even though ignorant and
superstitious, Buddhism of China.