THE LESSER TRAIL
At Tachienlu I reached the western limit of my wanderings; not the
western boundary of China, nor yet of my desire, but my time was nearly
spent; in less than four months I had to be back in England; moreover,
late summer was not a favourable season for descending the Yangtse. So
with a longing glance up the great Lhasa trail I turned my face
eastwards; but it is always wearisome to retrace one's steps, and a
chance remark of Captain Bailey set me on the scent of an alternative
route to Ya-chou. As far as Lu Ting Ch'iao there was no choice; all
traffic across the Ta Tu must seek the great iron bridge both coming and
going, but at that point there turned off to the north and east a
shorter trail than the main packroad which we had struck near Ni T'ou.
Although more direct, it was less travelled owing to the difficulties of
the way, for there were two steep mountain-ranges to be crossed, and
path and bridges were often insecure, calling for a sure foot and a
steady head. It was not easy to get precise information as to the
condition of the road. Captain Bailey knew little save the mere fact of
its existence, and although Major Davies had taken this route, he notes
in his book "Yuennan" nothing more than that it is much too steep for
animals. Even the friendly postmaster failed us here; all he could tell
was that an official who had attempted to take ponies through lost them
all, swept away by the torrents. The interpreter wagged his head
doubtfully when I suggested my plan, but his opinion did not matter,
for, like all of his class in China, he was disinclined to active
exertion. And when I called the fu t'ou into council I found he had once
gone this way, and was not inclined to go again.
_Ku Niang_ (my title): "I wish to go to Ya-chou by the Lesser Trail."
_Fu t'ou_: "It is impossible."
_Ku Niang_: "I intend to go all the same, and I expect you to go with
me."
_Fu t'ou_: "Very well. I will guide the Ku Niang by the Lesser Trail,
but the pony cannot go, nor the chairs, nor the men, for it is
impassable for shoulder loads, and these are Ning-yuean men who know no
other way of carrying."
Apparently the fu t'ou and the cook, Jack and I were the only ones equal
to the trip, as I had already told the interpreter he might go by the
main road. But persistence conquers most things in the East. The pony
should be sent round by the longer way in charge of the ma-fu. As for
the interpreter, when he found I was ready to get along without him, he
decided to stay with me. I would not have the Ning-yuean men discharged
if they wished to go on with me to Ya-chou and Chengtu, as first
arranged but I was sure that by hiring two or three extra coolies, so as
to lighten the loads, they could get along; nor did the chairs present
any real difficulty. We would walk when the trail was bad, and surely
they could be taken empty wherever pack-coolies went. So it proved, all
was arranged as I planned, and in the end everything turned out
satisfactorily.
Our departure from Tachienlu was attended with the usual noise and
confusion; nothing is done quietly in China. Also there were the
customary delays. As we had only a short stage before us, I sat serenely
aloof on the steps of the mission house, enjoying for the last time the
wonderful views over the town to the snow peaks above, while things
gradually got themselves straight. After a long wait for the second
soldier, who never turned up, we were at last off, and the descent of
the valley was very enjoyable in the soft grey light of a misty day. As
the river had risen appreciably during our stay in Tachienlu, it rushed
along at a fine rate between the high, steep banks, and I held my breath
as I watched people pulling themselves over by the perilous rope
bridges. Halfway to Wa Ssu Kou we met a procession of six chairs, and
from each looked out the fair, smiling face of a French sister bound to
her mission station at Tachienlu. Already in thought the town seemed
purer and better for the presence of these noble women, who had probably
left their homes for good, to take up a work which they would lay down
only with life.
We found room in Wa Ssu Kou in the same "comfy" inn as before, and the
welcome we received gave me a truly homelike feeling. Soon after
starting the next morning we passed the funeral cortege of a Chinese
official of Tachienlu, making his last long journey to his distant home
two hundred li beyond Chengtu. The ponderous coffin in its red case,
upon which stood the usual white cock to avert disaster, was preceded by
men carrying flags and cymbals which they clashed in accompaniment to
the almost continuous chanting of the eight bearers. As they stopped for
frequent halts we had soon left them far behind, but late at night they
arrived at Lu Ting and were given quarters in the same temple where we
were lodged, for I had refused to try the inns again.
While it was still dark the next morning we were aroused by the sound of
chanting and clashing cymbals in the court outside. The bearers of the
dead were starting on another stage of their long journey, and at
quarter-past six we too were off, after a last parting injunction to the
ma-fu to take good care of the pony. Already the town was astir, the
marketplace, as we passed through, crowded with traders and their
produce, chiefly good-looking vegetables and fruit. For a few miles we
kept up the left bank of the Ta Tu, and then turned abruptly up the
mountain-side. Here my chair-men halted for breakfast and I did not see
them again until we reached our night's stopping-place. Alone with Jack
I kept on along the steep trail, revelling in my freedom. At first we
met few people, although later in the day the number increased, but
wherever the way seemed doubtful there was always some one to put me
straight by signs. After a little we dropped by a sharp descent into the
valley of a small wild river flowing into the Ta Tu from the east. We
kept up this, crossing the stream from side to side on planks and
stepping-stones. After passing through two tiny hamlets embowered in
walnut trees, we reached the head of the valley and faced a long, steep
zigzag. The climb was hard, hot work, but I found some diversion in a
friendly race with a good-looking woman going the same way; her unbound
feet kept up with mine while our dogs romped along gaily. Women with
unbound feet were far more common here than elsewhere in my travels, and
they seemed exceptionally alert and intelligent, but the population of
the region is scanty, many of the people being newcomers of Hakka stock.
Arrived at the top of the cliff we found ourselves on a narrow ridge,
and for the rest of the short stage our way led along the face of the
mountain, from time to time topping a wooded spur. Everywhere azaleas
made the air sweet and the steep slopes wonderful with colour. At length
we dropped without warning into a little village at the head of a
precipitous narrow ravine, where we spent the night in an unusually
interesting inn. Save for two or three private rooms, the best of which
was given to me, all life centred in a great hall open to the roof and
with merely a suggestion of partition in a few rough railings. Through
the open doors men, children, pigs and fowls, cats and dogs, strolled in
from the rain. Up in the roof our chairs were slung out of the way. Each
coolie, having secured a strip of matting, had found his place. Some
were cleaning off the sweat and dirt of the day's work with hot water:
not until they have done that can they obtain the quilts that are rented
for twenty cash each; others had already curled up for the afternoon
pipe of opium, while still others were busy preparing the evening meal
over the big semicircular range. In one pot bean-cake was being made, a
long, complicated process; in another, cakes were frying in oil; in
another, rice was boiling. One of my chair coolies seemed to be the
_chef par excellence_; brandishing a big iron ladle, he went from pot to
pot, stirring, tasting, seasoning, and generally lording it over two
others working under his orders. In full control of the whole was a
good-looking woman with bound feet, apparently the proprietor of the
inn; at least I saw no man to fill the post. Every one was
good-tempered and friendly, and I was glad to exchange the tiresome
seclusion of the town inns for the bustling scene in which I was
willingly included, tasting each dish, watching the men at their games,
making friends with the children.
The pouring rain of the night gave way to a soft drizzle at dawn, and we
were off before seven. As we ascended the valley we faced a solid green
wall flushed with masses of pink azaleas and cherry-red rhododendrons,
and broken by half a dozen streams which flung themselves over the lip
of the cliff to dash in feathery cascades from rock to rock below. Our
way led back and forth over rushing mountain streams. Riding was of
course out of the question, and I had long since left my chair-coolies
behind; but one of the Tachienlu men, a strong, active fellow with bits
of coral adorning his black queue, was very alert in looking out for me,
always waiting at a difficult place with a helping hand. We crossed the
Ma-An Shan Pass, about ten thousand feet high, by the middle of the
forenoon, having climbed more than five thousand feet since leaving Lu
Ting Ch'iao. Just before reaching the top we descended into a cup-like
hollow, a huge dimple lined with the rich greens and gay reds of the
rhododendron, and merry with the babble of many tiny waterfalls. I
exclaimed with delight at the vision of beauty, and even the coolies
grinned appreciatively. It would have been a place to dream away a day
had it not been as wet as a shower bath. Nearing the pass, we heard
weird sounds above us, not unlike the cries of rejoicing uttered by the
Ladakhis of Western Tibet when they have successfully surmounted a
difficult height, and I wondered if I was to find the same custom here.
But it turned out to be the lullaby with which two men were tooling ten
black pigs over the pass. Again, a little way down on the other side, my
path was suddenly barred by a man frantically gesticulating. I thought
at first that he was mad, but it was merely that he feared Jack would
attach a flock of geese that he was driving in the wake of the pigs, and
when I picked the dog up, the man prostrated himself at my feet in
gratitude.
[Illustration: A WAYSIDE REST HOUSE]
[Illustration: A FORTIFIED POST]
We ought to have had a fine view from the pass over the trackless
mountain tangle to the north, some of the peaks towering almost eighteen
thousand feet into the sky, but again the clouds and mist veiled
everything from sight. All the rest of the day we were making our way
down the steep east side, picking our steps laboriously along the wet
rocky trail. Our path led through a precipitous narrow gorge, its walls
draped with wonderful vegetation, and as we descended it, it grew wetter
and greener, and the thousand little brooks leaping down the sides of
the ravine rapidly swelled the main stream to an impassable torrent.
Now we crouched under overhanging ledges, now we slipped and sprawled
down a rough rock staircase, constantly crossing the stream from side to
side on planks placed from boulder to boulder, or on slippery logs with
insecure handrails or none at all. I found the descent far more tiring
than the climb on the other side. The soldier and the gallant coolie
fortunately kept always with me, one in front and one behind, and I was
often glad of a helping hand. At one time the path led straight into the
torrent, but while I was wondering as to the depth of the water and the
strength of the current, the coolie, hastily depositing his load,
motioned to me to get on his back, and the sturdy fellow carried me
safely around the projecting cliff. Still another time we were forced to
take to the river, and as I could get no wetter than I was, I proposed
to wade in, but again the man was at hand, insisting that I should ride,
and the strength and agility with which he made his way over the
slippery rocks, the swirling water rising above his knees, were really
wonderful; but then my weight was less than one hundred and thirty
pounds, while the ordinary load of the tea-carrier is two hundred. At
our heels came the soldier carrying Jack, whose short legs could hardly
have made headway against the strong current forcing him out into
midstream.
About the middle of the afternoon we forerunners of the caravan reached
Chang-ho-pa, the night's stop. The whole village turned out to greet us,
and their interest was not to be wondered at, as few Europeans and
perhaps no European woman had ever before come this way. The interpreter
did not arrive until two hours later, and what stories my two companions
made up about me to satisfy the curiosity of the villagers, I can only
imagine. As a rule, one stands to lose nothing in the mouths of one's
followers in the East Whatever reflected glory they may earn by exalting
their masters is generally theirs. Years afterward I learned that on a
journey I once made in Kashmir and Baltistan I travelled in the guise of
King Edward's sister. How much I profited by the dignity thus thrust
upon me I do not know, but I have often thought that my servants must
have been hard put to it sometimes to account for the simplicity of my
outfit.
The rest of the caravan straggled in toward the end of the afternoon,
wet and tired, but all in good spirits over the successful day, no loads
drenched, no one hurt. The great room of the rough little inn was noisy
and gay with the men drying their clothes and cooking their dinner, the
centre of an interested throng of village folk. I sat among them on a
low bench by the fire, watching the fun. Every one was heedful of my
comfort, poking the fire, bringing a fan to screen my face from the
heat, drying my shoes, rubbing Jack. The thoughtfulness and good will
of my men during all the journey were unfailing, and I never found that
friendliness on my part diminished in any way my authority over them.
After dinner the chair-bearers gathered round and with the aid of the
interpreter I took down as best I could some of their calls and
responses, a sort of antiphonal chorus handed down from generation to
generation of coolies. Thus the men in front cry, "Lao di!"--"Something
in the road!"--and those behind call back, "Ti chi!"--"Lift higher!" or
maybe it is "Chiao kao!"--"Something overhead!"--and then the answer
comes, "Keo yao!"--"Stoop lower!" When the way is very uneven, you hear
"Leo puh ping!"--"The road is not level!"--to which is replied, "Mon
tien hsin!"--"There are stones like stars!"--followed by "Tien shan hsin
To!"--"Many stars in the sky!"--with the response, "Ti hsia ken
to!"--"Many holes in the ground." Or perhaps at a bridge, "Hsio mo lan
chao!"--"Bridge bad, building for a thousand years!"--to which comes the
proverbial answer, "Chien mien wan lao!"--"Must last for ten thousand."
When there is a steep bit, one calls out, "Deo shan deo!"--"Steeper and
steeper!" and the others retort, "Kuan shan kuan!"--literally, "Official
upon official," but the meaning is plain, "As steep as the ladder of
promotion." In the villages one hears constantly, "Yu ti kou
yao!"--"There is a dog on the road,"--with the response, "Han lao-pan
lai chi tao!"--"Call the owner to chain it"; or else, "Tso shou wahwah
keo!"--"A child on the left hand,"--and then comes the answer, "Han ta
ma lah pao!"--"Call his mother to tend him."[2]
Every hundred yards or so on the road comes the cry, "Fan keo!"--"Change
shoulders!"--followed by a momentary stop to shift the pole. And you
always cross a town to the tune of "Pei-a, pei-a, pei-a!"--"Mind your
back, mind your back, mind your back!" And if a man does not mind, he is
likely to get a poke in the back from the chair pole.
The next day's journey was much the same thing as the preceding. We
started in the grey morning, and I and my two companions of the day
before had soon distanced the others. At first the trail was rough and
slippery, and all ups and downs. The vegetation was of almost tropical
density, and the moisture underfoot and overhead was so great that it
seemed to me I had never been wetter except in a bathtub. As we
descended to lower levels the valley broadened out, and the going
improved so that we were able to make very good time. At one point,
after passing through a little hamlet,--we came out on a high bluff
overlooking a good-sized stream flowing in from the south. Fifty feet
below roared the river, spanned at this place by a suspension bridge a
hundred and fifty feet long, constructed of three iron cables held
together by cross-chains at regular intervals. The footway was merely a
single row of boards not more than twelve inches wide, and there was no
handrail at all. The soldier at my side waved his hand significantly up
and down. I understood quite too well, and was shaking in my shoes at
the thought of walking that narrow, unsteady plank, when I espied my
knightly coolie, who, having deposited his load on the opposite bank,
was hurrying back to my assistance. Gripping Jack, who was as frightened
as I, under one arm, I seized the man's hand, and slowly we inched
across to safety. There we joined the people of a near-by hamlet, who
apparently found their pastime in watching the traffic across the
bridge, perhaps waiting for a chance to earn a few cash by carrying the
loads of the less sure-footed coolies. My chair-men came over
triumphantly, and Mercury almost ran with his baskets, but the
interpreter was glad of the fu t'ou's aid, and two of the coolies
balked, but were helped out by some of the others.
Later in the day we left the river, and crossing a head ridge or pass
affording beautiful views to the south, came out after a time in the
same valley, but now wider and more open. Though the mountains still
towered to left and right, we were getting down to lower levels, and the
change was marked in the palms, bamboos, and peach trees that began to
appear. But the villages were nothing more than hamlets, and the outlook
for dinner at the first stopping-place was so poor that I, now riding in
my chair, decided to go on to the next settlement; but here conditions
were even worse, the only inn being dismantled and abandoned. Although
it was getting late and the others were far behind, there was nothing
left but to travel on. Our last hope for the night proved to be a group
of four houses only with few supplies, but the people bade us welcome
and did their best to make us comfortable. Fires were lighted and
clothes were soon drying and rice a-boiling. After the arrival of the
interpreter I learned that we had been taken for missionaries, and that
it was expected we would hold a service.
The scenery grew even more beautiful as we descended the valley the next
day. Our trail led through fine groves high on the hillside, while below
us the river, now big enough to have a name, the Ya, turned and twisted
in splendid green swirls. Seen from a distance the villages were very
attractive, built usually of wood, their thatched roofs just putting
forth green shoots. A new feature in the landscape were tall spruce
trees, reminding me in their outlines of the rock pines of Italy. As the
road was now good, it was possible for me to ride in my chair once more,
for which I was glad, as the hard climbs and still more wearying
descents of the last three days had made me rather stale. The people
along the way were much interested in me and still more in Jack, but it
was the naive curiosity of a simple folk, and I did not find it irksome
like the hard stare of the townspeople. At one place where we halted for
tiffin, a lame man with an interesting face attached himself to us, and
presently I found myself and my belongings the subject of an explanatory
talk he was giving the bystanders. He told them how I kept my eyeglasses
on, expatiated on the advantages of my shoes, indicated the good points
of my chair, the like of which had never been seen before in these
parts, and finally expounded at length the character of my dog. If I
wished him to be bad he would bite, but since I was kind I would desire
him to be good, and he would be good. To illustrate, he patted Jack's
head rather gingerly. Fortunately the dog appreciated pats from any
quarter, so our characters did not suffer.
[Illustration: A ROADSIDE TEA-HOUSE]
[Illustration: TEA-COOLIE CROSSING A SUSPENSION BRIDGE
His load weighed about 160 lbs]
Toward the end of the day we were nearing Tien-chuean-chou, the one
largeish town on this road. The approach was one of the finest things I
have ever seen. We were now well down, having descended seven thousand
feet since crossing Ma-an-Shan. Everywhere there was careful
cultivation, the nearer hills being terraced to the top, and the
well-paved trail traversed long stretches of rice-fields just beginning
to show green above the mud. Here and there a group of farm buildings
stood on little knolls above the surrounding marsh, each in a charming
setting of trees. Do trees anywhere group themselves as picturesquely as
in China? Unsympathetic people tell me that no Chinese ever plant trees
save for severely utilitarian purposes. I am in no position to
contradict the verdict of these overpowering persons, the old residents
(fortunately they sometimes contradict each other); and yet why is it
that most temples are set in fine groves, put to no purpose that I can
see save to satisfy a sense of the beautiful, or why are so many Chinese
towns, looked at from a height, bowers of green beauty, the trees
serving neither for fuel nor for food? The truth is, it seems to me,
that the needs of life press so hard on the Chinese that they are forced
to look at things from a utilitarian point of view, but given the least
chance and their appreciation of the beautiful shows itself.
Near the town we struck down to a good iron suspension bridge over the
Ya, which here runs with a tremendous current, broken by curious reefs
thrusting out into the stream some twenty or thirty feet and at right
angles to the bank. Beyond the bridge we came in sight of the town, its
staring red walls draped with green creepers. Entering through a fine
stone gateway, we found ourselves in the single street, broad, well
paved, and wonderfully clean. The inhabitants were apparently well used
to foreigners, which is natural, as Ya-chou with its Roman Catholic and
Protestant missions is only twenty miles away.
The country through which we passed the next day was very varied, and
always beautiful. On leaving the town the path led along a low ridge
given over to graves. Living and dead dwell side by side in China, and
often it seems as though the rights of the one were sacrificed to the
claims of the other. The Chinese saying, "For every man that Heaven
creates, Earth provides a grave," takes on a new significance as one
looks over the land, the dead are so many, the living so hard put to
live. This was not an unattractive place, for the mounds of earth and
stone were overgrown with grass and ferns, while many were decorated
with a tuft of bamboo or a bush of wild roses. The free use of stone in
this district was very striking; pavements, often in good condition,
were general, the irrigating ditches were bridged by a single slab of
the red sandstone of Szechuan, perhaps ten feet in length, while at
every turn there were charming little stone shrines in place of the
shabby wooden ones found farther south.
After a bit we turned away from the plain and river and entered a more
broken country, hills and valleys, ridges and dells, rushing brooks
between banks of ferns, little tumbling cascades over mossy stones,
groups and avenues of fine trees, picturesque stone bridges, everywhere
painstaking tillage and ingenious irrigation. It was all charming, with
the artificial beauty of a carefully ordered park. Resting in my chair
in front of a tea-house where the coolies were refreshing themselves, I
noticed my knight of the bridges suddenly throw himself on the ground
before the interpreter, crying out something in beseeching tones, while
the other coolies standing about laughed unsympathetically. The poor man
was urging the interpreter to ask that I give him back his soul, of
which apparently I had deprived him when I took his picture an hour
back. Without his soul he would die, and then what would his mother, a
widow, do? After some talk he was consoled, the other men assuring him
that they had been photographed over and over again without suffering
harm. If only I had known at the time, I could have consoled him with
the information that there was no picture. Photographing in cloudy
Szechuan has many drawbacks, and I was ready to bark with the proverbial
dog of the province when I saw the sun. The feeling of the Chinese
toward the camera seems to vary. Children were sometimes afraid. One boy
old enough to carry a heavy load, having been induced by the promise of
a reward to stand still, burst into tears just as I was about to snap
him, and I had to send him off triumphant over his bits of cash, while I
was left pictureless. Some, too, of the older people made objection,
while on the other hand I was occasionally asked to take a picture.
Toward noon we found ourselves again in the valley of the Ya, sometimes
following a well-paved trail above the river, the ups and downs
carefully terraced in broad stone steps, occasionally threading our way
among the huge rush mats with which the village streets were carpeted.
The harvesting of the millet and barley crops was over, and the sheaves
had been brought into the village to dry and were spread out in the only
level space available, the highway. Men walked over the sheaves,
children and dogs romped among them, and no one said them nay. Twice we
were ferried across the river, and finally a short run over the low,
wide reefs that here narrow the channel brought us to Ya-chou and to the
end of the Lesser Trail. We had made the trip without any of the
prophesied mishaps, and for me it was far more comfortable and more
interesting than following the main track. To be sure, we took five days
to it, but it would not have been difficult to have saved a day, only
there was no object in doing it, for a wait at Ya-chou was inevitable
that the ma-fu and pony might catch us up there.
My enforced stay of one day in Ya-chou gave me a chance to see something
of the town. I had the good fortune to be entertained by members of the
American Baptist Mission, Dr. and Mrs. Shields, and there as elsewhere I
found the missionaries most helpful in giving the traveller an insight
into local conditions. There is one limitation to this, however, in the
gulf which seems fixed between Protestants and Roman Catholics in the
East, cutting off the chance of learning what the latter are doing; and
when one bears in mind that Rome has had her missionaries in China for
three hundred years and numbers her converts by millions, one would like
to know more of the work done.
But there is no doubt as to the reality of Protestant achievement. In
Ya-chou the relations of missionaries and townspeople seemed very
cordial and natural. Medical work is being carried on, and a hospital
was shortly to be opened. But more valuable, perhaps, than any formal
work may be the results from the mere presence in the town of Christian
men and women living lives of high purpose and kindly spirit.
If you listen to the talk of the treaty ports you will hear much
criticism of missionaries and their work, and since they are human it is
reasonable to suspect that they sometimes make mistakes; but after all
they are the only Europeans in China who are not there for their own
personal interests, and the people are quite shrewd enough to see this.
In spite of differences of views the Chinese who knows the missionary at
all generally respects him. A Chinese gentleman in no way friendly to
missions, speaking of the good relations that existed between Europeans
and Chinese in Nanking, declared it was all because the missionaries
came first. And Dr. Soothill tells the story of an Englishman who
applauded the harsh criticism of mission work by a Chinese river
captain, and met the retort, "That's all well enough, but if it were not
for the missionaries we should not know there were any good men in your
country."
The prefectural city of Ya-chou is the centre of a great tea-growing
district, while in the town itself are large establishments where the
article is made up for the Tibetan trade. The Szechuan tea for the most
part does not rank very high, little being exported from the province
save to Tibet, and for that market even the poorest is reckoned too
good, as the so-called tea carried by the thousands of coolies whom we
met bound for Tachienlu is everything save genuine tea leaves, being a
mixture of which the leaves and twigs of scrub oak and other trees form
the largest part. The Ya-chou tea, when gathered and dried, is bought up
and brought into the towns to be made into the brick tea of Tibetan
commerce. The preparation consists in chopping fine the tea and
adulterating leaves and twigs. After adding a little rice-water the
whole is packed in cylinders of bamboo matting, each package weighing
from sixteen to eighteen catties. It is estimated that the cost to the
manufacturers, exclusive of packing, is about thirty-two cash a catty,
somewhat less than a cent and a half gold the pound. By the time the tea
has reached Tachienlu it is sold at about five and a half cents a pound.
At Batang the price is doubled, and at Lhasa quadrupled. Thus the stuff
bought as tea by the Tibetans can scarcely be called cheap, and yet they
consume great quantities of it. To them it is not a luxury, but a real
necessity.
[2] An apology is due to those wise in Chinese for the blunders
that must be found in this attempt by an American who knows no word of
the vernacular and a Kiangsi man having a limited command of English to
catch and translate the "dirt talk" of Szechuan coolies.