CHAPTER XIII.

THE PHÖ.

Non-Chinese races of Western and South-Western

China--Imperfect knowledge regarding them--A traveller’s

difficulties--Phö language approaching extinction--The

Miao-tzŭ rebellion--Relationship of the Miao-tzŭ tribes--Art

among the Phö--Music and dancing--Characteristics of the Phö

language--English-Phö Exercises and Vocabulary 224

Note on Opium Cultivation in China and India 287

THREE YEARS IN WESTERN CHINA.

CHAPTER I.

UP THE YANG-TSZE TO WESTERN CHINA.

Western China and the interest attaching to it--The way thither--An

unsuccessful attempt to reach Ichang--Ichang at last--Difficulties

of navigation--Commercial importance of Ichang--My native

passenger-boat, opium-smoking skipper, and crew--The navigability

of the Upper Yang-tsze by steamers--Dangers and difficulties of the

Ching T’an Rapid--Up and down the rapid--The poppy--Ch’ung-k’ing.

The most interesting part of China, from a geographical and

ethnological point of view, is the West--geographically, because its

recesses have not yet been thoroughly explored, and ethnologically,

because a great part of it is peopled by races which are non-Chinese,

and one at least of which, though nominally owing allegiance to

the Great Khan, is in reality independent. It was my fortune to be

stationed in Western China from 1882 to 1884, and, during these three

years, I was enabled, in the performance of my duties, to collect

information regarding the country and its people; and it is in the hope

that this information may not be unacceptable that I venture to lay

the following pages before the public.

Reports of the journeys which I made in Western China during the above

years have already appeared in the shape of Parliamentary Papers[A];

but, written as they were without any idea of publication and intended

as mere trade notes, strung together from day to day on the march, they

are not sufficiently connected to present a fair picture of this remote

region.

[A] China, No. 1 (1883); China, No. 2 (1884); and China, No. 2 (1885).

That part of Western China, with which I am personally acquainted and

with which I propose to deal, lies to the south, and embraces the

provinces of Ssŭ-ch’uan, Kuei-chow and Yün-nan, which, interesting in

themselves, have become of considerable importance since the extension

of the Indian Empire to the frontier of China and the absorption of

Tonquin by the French.

[Sidenote: _THE WAY THITHER._]

The great highway to the West is the River Yang-tsze. By the Agreement

of Chefoo of September, 1876, the port of Ichang, situated on the

north bank of the Yang-tsze about a thousand miles from the sea, was

opened to foreign trade and foreign steam navigation; and, by the

same Agreement, the residence of a Consular Officer at the city of

Ch’ung-k’ing, in Ssŭ-ch’uan, to watch the conditions of British trade,

was provided for. It was to take up this post that I left Wuhu towards

the end of October, 1881. On arrival at Hankow, I discovered that the

steamer, which had for some years been employed to run to Ichang, was

undergoing extensive repairs at Shanghai, to better fit her for the

navigation of the Upper Yang-tsze, and that another and larger steamer

belonging to the same Company had just returned from Ichang with little

hope, owing to the sudden fall of the river, of being then able to make

another trip. A large quantity of cargo, however, which had accumulated

at Hankow, induced the Company, much against the captain’s will, to

send the steamer forward again; but, drawing only nine feet, she was

unable, after a day’s journey, to push her way through six feet of sand

and water, and had to return. After about a month’s delay, the smaller

steamer arrived at Hankow, and, laden to six feet, reached Ichang

with considerable difficulty on the 17th of December, the trip having

occupied eight days. On this section of the river, navigation commences

at daybreak, and, unless there is good moonlight, ceases at dark.

Owing to the shifting sands, which constitute the bed of the river,

the channel is constantly changing, and it is not uncommon to find the

passage, which the steamer took on the up passage, completely barred on

the down trip. The consequence is that soundings have constantly to be

taken, and delay is the result. This refers to the winter months only,

when the river is low, as, during high water, little difficulty exists,

and the distance has been covered in fifty hours.

The selection of Ichang as an open port has frequently been called in

question, and it has been pointed out that Sha-shih, a town farther

down the river and one of the six calling stations for steamers, would

have been a preferable choice. Much may be said for Sha-shih, which is

the principal terminus of the junk traffic between Ssŭ-ch’uan and the

eastern provinces of China, but statistics clearly prove that Ichang

has after all been a success. Although it is neither a producing nor a

consuming district of any importance itself, the net value of the trade

which has gravitated towards it has risen from £18,000 in 1878 to over

£1,000,000 in 1888. This, it should be remembered, represents the trade

in vessels of foreign build only.

After a few days bargaining at Ichang--passage by steamer being no

longer available--I succeeded in hiring a native passenger-boat to

convey myself, servants, and baggage the four hundred miles that still

lay between me and my destination for the exorbitant sum of one hundred

and eighty taels, or forty-five pounds. A larger sum was at first

demanded, and, there being only two or three boats of this class in

port, whose owners combined to “squeeze” me, I was ultimately obliged

to pay about a third more than the customary price. Travelling boats

on the Upper Yang-tsze are, as a rule, very roomy and comfortable.

They can usually be divided off into as many as four or five small

rooms by wooden partitions; and, travelling as I was in winter, I had

a stove fitted up, regulating the temperature by the windows which run

along the sides of what is really an oblong house placed on the boat’s

deck. In a good boat, the roof is over six feet in height, so that one

can walk about comfortably from end to end. A mast is shipped right

in front of and against the deckhouse, and this is utilized both for

sailing and tracking--the tracking line running through a noose fixed

near the top. In front of the mast is a broad deck, contracting towards

the bows, accommodating from ten to a dozen rowers, and convertible at

night into sleeping quarters for the crew. Over a well in the bows, and

attachable to the deck by a noose, hangs a long heavy spar by which the

boat can be speedily steered in any required direction--an absolute

necessity where, tracking being carried on, sunken rocks close in-shore

have to be avoided, or the tracking line gives way in a strong current.

[Sidenote: _SKIPPER AND CREW._]

In the agreement entered into between the skipper of the boat and

myself, it was stipulated that there should be seven of a crew and

fifteen trackers. The crew consisted of the skipper, the bowsman or

pilot, who stood at the bows all day long and sounded continually with

a long iron-shod bamboo, the steersman, three deck hands, and the cook,

who exercised his culinary art in a primitive kitchen constructed in an

opening in the deck near the bows.

[Sidenote: _AN AMUSING EPISODE._]

The skipper, being a confirmed opium-smoker, proved of little use; and

it was not until the second night from Ichang that I discovered his

smoking propensities. I lay with my head towards the bows and, being

awakened during the night by someone crying, I saw a light shining

through the chinks of the partitions. On calling my servant to see what

was the matter, I learned that the light was the light of an opium

lamp, and that the wife of the skipper was crying because her husband

would not come to bed. I got up and found him lying at full length

alongside his lamp. I bundled him into the little room which he, his

wife, and two children occupied over the stern, and blew out his lamp.

After this episode, the smoking was never carried on in any place

likely to attract my attention, although the sickening odour frequently

penetrated to my rooms from deck and stern, several of the crew

being also addicted to the drug. I had repeated conversations with

the skipper as to the craving he had contracted; and, one morning, I

overtook him on shore walking rapidly and in rather an excited state. I

asked him what was the matter, and he replied that the weather was so

cold that it was necessary to lay in a supply of coal at once, and that

in order not to delay the boat, he was hurrying to the next village to

make the purchase. I left him there and continued my walk.

On boarding the boat above the village, I asked my servant where the

coals had been stowed, when, to my surprise, he told me that no coals

had come aboard, but that the skipper had laid in a fresh supply of

opium, that his stock had been exhausted over night, and that he had

been dying all morning for a smoke! He fought shy of me for several

days after this, knowing that his tampering with the truth had been

discovered. Smoking had reduced him to such a state that he had really

no command over the boat or crew; when an accident happened--an event

of common occurrence--he used to crawl on to the top of the deckhouse

and find fault in a querulous voice, which was quickly suppressed by

the bowsman telling him to mind his own business. When high words

ensued, the cook, in addition to his own special functions, assumed the

part of mediator, and used to groan and plead for silence after each

explosion. When the trackers were on shore and the other hands were

all busy on deck, it likewise devolved on the cook to jump from his

lair and signal the trackers, who were nearly always out of calling

distance, by beating the small drum which lay at the foot of the mast.

The bickerings between the skipper and his crew sometimes reached a

climax. On one occasion, after dancing an angry jig on the roof of the

deckhouse to a stormy vocal accompaniment, he scrambled on deck and was

proceeding on shore to continue his harangue from _terra firma_, when

the plank gave way and he disappeared amid the boisterous laughter of

the crew, quickly reappearing like a drowned rat, and thoroughly cooled

for the rest of the day.

The trackers, too, deserve a word of mention. They were, with the

exception of the musician and the diver, almost all lithe young

fellows, always willing to jump on shore, never spending more than a

quarter of an hour over their rice and vegetables, and never out of

temper. The musician and the diver were somewhat aged. When there was

no tracking ground, and the oars had to be called into requisition,

the former used to sing his boat songs, the whole crew joining loudly

in the choruses, the echoes reverberating from cliff to cliff in the

gorges. If the tracking line got entangled among the rocks off the

shore, the diver would doff everything, slip overboard, and swim to

the rescue. I pitied this individual very much; he used to scramble

on board chattering with cold, and had no sooner got warm than his

services were again in demand. The boat was always moored before

dark, and, until supper was ready, the crew were busy rigging up the

roof-mats to form their night quarters. Then the beds with their coir

mattresses were produced from under the deck; and, with the exception

of two or three opium-smokers, these hard-working fellows dropped off

into well-earned sleep until daybreak, when the same round of toil

awaited them.

Such was the boat and crew with which I ascended from Ichang into

Western China, reaching Ch’ung-k’ing on the 24th of January, 1882,

after a passage of a month. It is unnecessary for me to describe this

journey in detail. Blakiston, Gill, Little, and others have given their

experiences; they have painted living pictures of the grand, majestic

gorges; they have brought the world within earshot of the hissing,

seething rapids; and it only remains for me to say a few words on a

subject which has of late years received no little attention--the

navigability of the Upper Yang-tsze by steamers. The question is about

to be put to the test in accordance with clauses in the Agreement of

Chefoo, which state that “British merchants will not be allowed to

reside at Ch’ung-k’ing, or to open establishments or warehouses there,

so long as no steamers have access to the port. When steamers have

succeeded in ascending the river so far, further arrangements can be

taken into consideration.”

[Sidenote: _NAVIGABILITY OF THE YANG-TSZE._]

Ever since I ascended the Upper Yang-tsze, I have not ceased, both in

China and England, to advocate the advisability, from a commercial

point of view, of steamers attempting the navigation of these waters.

Difficulties have been pointed out, but I have endeavoured to show

that these have been greatly exaggerated; and the “Upper Yang-tsze

Steam Navigation Company,” lately formed, would appear to be of like

mind. The obstacles that exist lie between Ichang and the Ssŭ-ch’uan

frontier, a distance of about one hundred miles: beyond the frontier,

all is plain sailing, not only as far as Ch’ung-k’ing but even to

Hsü-chou Fu, some two hundred miles further west. They consist of a

series of rapids, which prove very trying to native craft when the

river is low, that is, from the middle of November to the middle of

March or a little later--the very time when junks are best able to

ascend; as, during the rest of the year, the increased volume of

water, although obliterating the rapids altogether, flows with a

strong current, which renders tracking very difficult and frequently

impossible.

[Sidenote: _THE CH’ING T’AN RAPID._]

The season, then, that proves all but impossible for junks is the very

season when steamers could run, and _vice versâ_. During low water,

there is, in my opinion, one, and only one, insuperable obstacle to a

steamer--the Ch’ing T’an Rapid, the first serious rapid above Ichang.

It lies at the eastern entrance of the Mi-tsang or “Granary” Gorge.

When I passed down in the end of December, 1884, there were three

channels in the rapid--the chief or central channel never attempted

by ascending junks, and two side channels separated from the central

by masses of rock. The central was the only channel available for a

steamer, but it consisted of a clear fall of from six to eight feet.

The side channels were narrow, with a very much less volume of water

and fall. In ascending these, junks could be dragged over close to the

rocks, which would be impossible in the case of a steamer. In the

gorge itself, the current was very sluggish, and boats were passing

and re-passing just above the rapid. I stood a hundred yards to the

west of it, and saw junks disappearing one after the other. As their

masts are always unshipped in the down passage, they seemed to me to

be passing with their human freight into eternity. The strange sight

insensibly drew me to the rapid itself, and I stood facing it to watch

the movements of my own boat. It was pulled out into mid-stream, and

allowed to float stern down until about to enter the rapid, when it

was gently wheeled round and drawn into the fall. It is difficult to

describe what happened next: a sudden plunge, considerable confusion

on board, the junk herself floating helplessly stern down stream, the

skipper on the roof of the deck-house frantically waving his arms, one

of the three lifeboats, which are always stationed below the rapid,

approaching the boat and then rescuing the crew, the deserted junk

making for the scattered rocks which jut out from the right bank at

the second rapid two hundred yards below the fall, its safe passage

through the rocks and rapid, its salvage by our accompanying gunboat,

all presented a picture which will never be effaced from my memory.

The cause of the accident was thus described to me. In shooting the

rapid, several of the crew lost their heads and their oars, and the

others, unable to keep the bows down river or to control the boat, and

being afraid that she would be dashed against the rocks at the second

rapid, called for the lifeboat and abandoned her. Such accidents are

of frequent occurrence, and are very often accompanied with damage,

wreck, and loss of life. We were lucky in being able to continue our

journey after a couple of hours’ delay.

I have described the descent of the Ch’ing T’an Rapid in this place, in

order to show the different phases which it presents at the same season

in different years, for when I ascended it on almost the same day

(December 29th) in 1881, not a rock was visible above water, and we had

little difficulty, with the aid of some fifty additional trackers, in

being dragged over it. Were this rapid a race, as it is not, I should

have more hesitation in describing it as insuperable for a steamer

during low water; but I consider it extremely doubtful whether the

slow fall would be sufficiently powerful to raise a steamer’s bows off

the sunken rocks. It has been said that, if the Upper Yang-tsze were

navigated by steam, collisions would be of frequent occurrence, but not

more so than in the section between Hankow and Ichang. In ascending,

junks are tracked as close to the banks as possible, while in

descending, they keep to the middle of the river. In fact, collisions

should be of rare occurrence. West of the Ch’ing T’an Rapid, there is

nothing to interfere with the ascent of a steamer for more than five

hundred miles.

It was during my daily rambles along the banks of the river, that I

first made acquaintance with the poppy of commerce. Before entering the

province of Ssŭ-ch’uan, I spoke to the boatmen, and asked them to tell

me as soon as they saw the plant growing; and from Wan Hsien westwards

to Ch’ung-k’ing there was one continuous yell of _Ya-pien-yen_, which

means the opium! It shared the banks of the river with wheat, peas,

and beans. The spikelets were from four to five inches above ground,

and little did I think, when I looked at these tiny plants, that it

would be my lot at no distant date to wander through hundreds of

miles of beautiful poppy flowers. On arrival at the district city of

Yün-yang, I visited the picturesque temple that peeps through the dense

foliage which clings to the steep sides of the hill forming the right

bank of the river; and, in course of conversation with the head priest,

I remarked that there seemed to be less poppy here than farther east.

Raising his hand and pointing to the opposite hills, he replied, “There

is nothing but poppy beyond.”

[Sidenote: _THE CITY OF CH’UNG-K’ING._]

The city of Ch’ung-k’ing, in lat. 29° 33′ 50″ N. and long. 107° 2′

E., occupies the apex of the peninsula caused by the attempt of the

Yang-tsze on its north bank to pierce the sandstone cliffs under the

little walled town of Fu-t’ou-Kuan, and join its turbid waters with

the clear flow of the Chia-ling Chiang some four miles from the actual

junction of the two rivers. It is built on a slope which extends from

hill-tops overlooking the Chia-ling to the bed of the Yang-tsze.

Outside the walls there are no suburbs of any importance. A bird’s-eye

view from the opposite hills shows that there is scarcely a patch of

ground which is not built upon. One or two plots of vegetables inside

the north-west corner of the wall, and a few trees here and there,

are the only exceptions to the grey mass of buildings clinging firmly

to the hill-side. It contains a population estimated at some 200,000

souls, and may be described as the commercial metropolis of Western

China. This was the spot chosen for the residence of a Consular

Officer, to watch the conditions of British trade in Ssŭ-ch’uan; and

it was here that I took up residence in January, 1882. I do not intend

to weary my readers with trade statistics; those who are interested in

commerce will find some of the results of my enquiries and observations

in a subsequent chapter specially devoted to that subject. What I

propose to do is to carry them with me in my wanderings through Western

China, with Ch’ung-k’ing as a base, and endeavour to show them the

country and its people as they appeared to my eyes.

CHAPTER II.

CH’UNG-K’ING TO THE CAPITAL OF KUEI-CHOW.

My overland caravan--Harvesting opium--Field-fishing--Wood-oil--The

manufacture of paper--Salt carriers--Silk-worms and their

food--Rice or Pith paper, and its manufacture--The Kuei-chow

frontier--Minerals--First meeting with Miao-Tzŭ--Poetical

description of Chinese inns--T’ung-tzŭ, its poppy valley and

tunnelling--Ingenious bamboo water-wheels--Scant population

amid ruins of fine houses--Coal-dust as fuel--The Wu Chiang

river--Destruction of the iron suspension bridge--Northern

Kuei-chow, a Miao-tzŭ graveyard--Opium-sodden inhabitants--The

capital of the Province--An interview with the Governor of

Kuei-chow.

[Sidenote: _MY OVERLAND CARAVAN._]

Having acquainted myself with my surroundings, perused the records left

by my predecessors, and gained an insight into the duties expected

of me, I resolved to make a journey into the provinces of Kuei-chow

and Yün-nan. To this end, I obtained a general passport from the

Viceroy of Ssŭ-ch’uan, and a special passport from the authorities of

Ch’ung-k’ing covering the ground to be traversed, and proceeded to

make arrangements for the trip. As the greater part of the journey

was to be made overland, it was necessary to organize a caravan of

chair-bearers and porters. However willing one may be to walk, Chinese

etiquette demands, in a civil official, the presence of a sedan; and,

in visiting the native authorities--a part of my programme--a chair

is a _sine quâ non_. Ch’ung-k’ing being well supplied with chair

_hongs_ or establishments, I had no difficulty in collecting about a

score of coolies to accompany me to Yün-nan and back. This included a

headman, whose duty it was to maintain order, and supply the places of

those who, from sickness or other causes, might fall out on the march.

The terms were three hundred large copper cash per man per day, two

hundred to be paid while travelling, the balance to be handed over on

our return to Ch’ung-k’ing. On resting days, a sum of only one hundred

large cash was payable. A contract to this effect was duly drawn up and

signed, and it only remained to adjust the loads and assign the men

their respective places.

Cash being the only currency in China, I had to take with me a large

supply of silver ingots, each of the value of about ten taels or

Chinese ounces, which had to be sliced, weighed, and exchanged _en

route_. This is one of the many annoyances of Chinese travel, as each

place has its own weights and its own exchange. For example, when I

left Ch’ung-k’ing a tael was worth 1,480 large cash; further south

it was equivalent to only 1,200, while on one occasion in Yün-nan it

rose to 1,580 cash. The risk of carrying silver could not, however,

be avoided, for it would have required the services of all my men at

starting to lift the equivalent in cash of the silver necessary to pay

their wages for the journey, not including the balance to be handed

over to them on our return.

Rice and vegetables, supplemented occasionally by a little fish, or

pork and sauce, constitute the daily food of the Chinese; but they do

not commend themselves to the European palate. To ensure a fair measure

of comfort, therefore, I took with me some tinned provisions, to be

broached as necessity demanded.

April the 19th was the day fixed for our departure, and at daylight we

groped our way through the mist which, in Spring, hangs continually

over the city, and descended to the Great River--the local name of

the Yang-tsze--across which we were ferried in a couple of large

flat-bottomed boats. The river at this point is about eight hundred

yards in breadth, and flows with a current of from four to five knots.

The most conspicuous objects on the south or right bank, which consists

of a range of hills from seven to eight hundred feet in height, are

the temple of Lao-chün Tung, nestling amidst a grove of trees, and

Blakiston’s “Pinnacle Pagoda,” crowning the highest peak of the range.

The high-road to Kuei-chow winds up the bank between them, and, after

a slight descent, enters a limestone valley beyond. The bank itself is

composed of coal and lime, both of which were being quarried for use in

Ch’ung-k’ing.

[Sidenote: _HARVESTING OPIUM._]

In this valley, which extends for miles, I first made acquaintance with

the poppy in full bloom. Fields of white and purple equalled in number

the patches of wheat, barley, and rape. Where the flowers had fallen,

the peasants, principally women and children, were busy harvesting

the juice. The tools used in the operation are simple but effective.

Towards evening, the peasants may be seen moving in the poppy fields,

each armed with a short wooden handle, from one of the ends of which

protrude three and sometimes four points of brass or copper blades,

firmly inserted in the wood. Seizing a capsule with the left hand,

the operator, with his right hand, inserts the points of the blades

near the top of the capsule, and draws them downwards to the stem of

the plant. From the incisions thus made a creamy juice exudes, which

gradually becomes of a dark brown colour. This is scraped off in the

early morning by means of a short curved knife, and deposited in an

earthenware bowl, the contents of which are afterwards fired or left in

the sun to dry. In this way, the weight is reduced about one half, and

the opium is then ready for boiling. The whole process is simple, and

may be accomplished by the women and children of the family, thereby

permitting the more able-bodied to attend to the other farm duties,

thus reducing the price of labour and consequently the cost of the

drug. The bleeding of the capsule is continued until the flow of juice

is exhausted.

The remainder of the valley was occupied by rice fields, submerged

in preparation for the summer sowing. Sometimes they are allowed to

soak for months, their surfaces being frequently covered with floating

water-plants, which are afterwards utilized as manure. They are

likewise stocked with fish; in the early spring, reeds and rank grass

are cut from the hill sides and made up into small bundles, which are

then strung on bamboos, laid down in shallow water in the Yang-tsze,

and weighted with stones. Here the fish spawn, and the ova adhere to

the grass and reeds, which are then taken up and sold. The grass is

afterwards scattered in the higher fields, between which and the lower,

water-communication is kept up by digging small outlets, which can

easily be filled up at a moment’s notice. Here the ova are hatched, and

good fishing may be had after a few months.

The _modus operandi_ deserves a short description. Neither line nor

hook is used, the requisite gear consisting of a long bamboo and a

round wicker basket, open at the bottom with a hole at the top. The

fisherman wades into the field, the water usually reaching to the knee;

grasping the bamboo in his right, he sweeps the surface of the water

in front of him with a semicircular motion until a silver streak and a

dash into the mud meet his eye, when he plunges forward and caps the

spot with the basket which he has been carrying in his left hand. He

then gropes for his prey through the basket, and is, I may say, rarely

at fault. The fish--some six inches long--is then tossed over the

shoulder into a smaller basket strapped to the back, and the farmer

recommences his field-fishing.

The wood-oil tree--_Aleurites cordata, M. Arg._--was scattered about

among the fields. It seems to prefer thin-soiled, rocky ground, being

met with in great abundance on the banks of the Yang-tsze west of

Ichang. It grows to a height of about fifteen feet, and has large,

beautiful, shady green leaves, which were lighted up as we passed

with bunches of small pink-white flowers. It produces a large green

fruit like an apple, the large pips or seeds of which contain the

oil for which the tree is famous. The fruit is gathered in August

and September. Primitive wooden presses with wedges are used for

extracting the oil, which is sent to market in wooden tubs with

tight-fitting lids, and is employed for a variety of purposes, such as

the manufacture of paint, varnish, waterproof paper, umbrellas, as well

as for lighting. The seeds, if eaten, cause nausea and vomiting.

[Sidenote: _THE MANUFACTURE OF PAPER._]

Between Ch’ung-k’ing and Ch’i-chiang Hsien, the first city of any

importance on the southern road to Kuei-chow, there are a number of

factories for the manufacture of the ordinary coarse Chinese paper.

Here, too, the process is exceedingly simple. There is an entire

absence of machinery for washing and shredding rags; there are no

troughs of pulp, chemicals for bleaching, resin for watering, wire

moulds for receiving, and drums for firming the paper as it comes from

the pulp-troughs. Bamboo stems and paddy straw are steeped with lime

in deep concrete pits in the open air, and allowed to soak for months.

When nothing but the fibre remains, it is taken out and rolled with a

heavy stone roller in a stone well until all the lime has been removed.

A small quantity of the fibre is placed in a stone trough full of water

and the whole stirred up. A close bamboo mould is then passed through

the mixed fibre and water, and the film which adheres to it emerges as

a sheet of paper, which is stuck up to dry on the walls of a room kept

at a high temperature. The sheets are afterwards collected and made up

into bundles for market.

Ch’i-chiang Hsien is a city somewhat irregularly built along the foot

and on the slope of a hill which rises from the left bank of a river,

a tributary of the Yang-tsze and bearing the city’s name. It is of very

considerable importance as a trade depôt for north-eastern Kuei-chow,

and, being in water communication with the Yang-tsze, it is a valuable

inlet for the Ssŭ-ch’uan salt trade with that province. Kuei-chow,

unlike Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan, is unprovided with salt wells within

its borders, at least they have not yet been discovered, and the Lu

Chou junks have their terminus at Ch’i-chiang, whence the mineral is

distributed on the backs of bipeds.

This latter was to me a painful sight. Men and boys (children, I should

rather say, many of them being not more than eight years of age)

staggered on with enormous loads of cake salt packed in small creels

and on wooden frameworks projecting above them. Walking in Indian file

along the pathway that served as a road, they halted every few yards,

resting their loads on a crutch which each carried in his hand, and,

uttering that half whistle, half sigh, which proclaims the body’s utter

weariness and its gratitude for a moment’s relief, scraped from their

brows and faces, by a ring of split bamboo attached to the load by a

string, the sweat that literally gushed from them. Of a surety they

earn their bread by the sweat of their brow!

One expecting to find amongst such men a splendid development of muscle

would be sadly disappointed. Like the brick-tea carriers on their way

to Tibet, of whom I shall have occasion to speak hereafter, they were

painfully wanting in leg. Yet the maximum load is about two hundred

and forty pounds. For carrying the salt the distance of one hundred

miles between Ch’i-chiang and T’ung-tzŭ, the first district city across

the Kuei-chow border, they were paid at the rate of ten cash a catty,

or one and a third pounds. As the journey occupied them ten days, and

the return, empty-handed except for their wages in cash, two days, the

strongest man earned not more than sixpence a day. But rice and lodging

are cheap, and they are more or less happy at the end of each day’s

weary toil.

[Sidenote: _SILKWORMS AND THEIR FOOD._]

The hills around Ch’i-chiang were thickly clad with scrub-oak, on

the leaves of which silkworms had been placed to feed. In Ssŭ-ch’uan

sericulture is a most important industry; every homestead, where

mulberry leaves are procurable, is engaged in it. Small market-towns

are thickly dotted over the whole province, and at each place a market

is held every five days. Thither agents resort and buy up cocoons and

opium at their respective seasons. Besides the mulberry and the oak,

the leaves of the _Cudrania triloba, Hance_, are much in demand

for feeding the young worms; and near Chia-ting, the very centre of

silk culture in Ssŭ-ch’uan, I was informed that these leaves are

particularly suited to the infant palate, and that the silk produced

from this diet is superior in quantity and quality. Frequently have

I seen small wooden tubs filled with white and yellow cocoons--the

produce of a single little homestead--exposed by the roadside for sale.

The duty of nursing, rearing and feeding the worms and of collecting

their food devolves on the women and children, the former hastening the

hatching of the eggs by wearing them in their breasts.

South of Ch’i-chiang, the wood-oil tree was very abundant, and banyan

and pumelo trees were dotted about here and there; firs, cypresses,

palms, bamboos, and the mulberry were also to be seen. Of growing

crops, wheat, beans, and hemp--_Abutilon avicennae Gaert._--were

conspicuous. The small patches of land, into which Chinese crofts are

divided, give ample scope for careful agriculture. It is, I believe, an

established fact that wheat planted at intervals of from nine to twelve

inches produces a heavier crop than wheat sown broadcast. By planting,

which is here and in China generally the rule, not only is seed saved

but sufficient room is given for tillering, whereas in sowing, the

intervals are irregular and tillering is cramped. The wild rose,

honeysuckle, and strawberry crept along our path.

It was on leaving Ch’i-chiang on the morning of the 22nd of April

that my attention was arrested by a large white bundle on two legs

approaching the city. As it neared us, it developed into what appeared

to be a huge mass of long white candles half enveloping a human being,

and rising four feet above where, under ordinary circumstances, the

individual’s head ought to be. Questioning the bundle, I discovered

from a series of sounds that issued from its centre that it was the

pith from which the far-famed “rice” paper is manufactured. It is the

pith of the large-leaved bush-like _Fatsia papyrifera, Benth._ and

_Hook._, which grows luxuriantly in the province of Kuei-chow, whence

it is brought to Ch’ung-k’ing to be made into sheets. The plant also

grows in Ssŭ-ch’uan, but the stems are not so fully developed as those

produced in the more southern province. I may as well now describe the

process of manufacture, and save my readers a further reference to the

subject.

[Sidenote: _THE PITH WORKER._]

On my return to Ch’ung-k’ing from the journey now described, I was

invited to visit a worker in pith after nightfall. Although somewhat

surprised at the hour named, I accepted the invitation. On arrival,

I was ushered into a badly lighted room, where a man was sitting at

a table with his tools in front of him. These consisted of a smooth

stone, about a foot square and an inch and a half thick, and a large

knife or hatchet with a short wooden handle. The blade was about a

foot long, two inches broad, and nearly half an inch thick at the

back. It was sharp as a razor. Placing a piece of round pith on the

stone and his left hand on the top, he rolled the pith backwards and

forwards for a moment until he got it into the required position.

Then, seizing the knife with his right hand, he held the edge of the

blade, after a feint or two, close to the pith, which he kept rolling

to the left with his left hand until nothing remained to roll; for the

pith had, by the application of the knife, been pared into a square

white sheet of uniform thickness. All that remained to be done was to

square the edges. If the reader will roll up a sheet of paper, lay it

on the table, place the left hand on the top, and gently unroll it to

the left, he will have a good idea of how the feat was accomplished.

It seemed so easy that I determined to have a trial. Posing as a

professional worker, I succeeded in hacking the pith, and in nearly

maiming myself for life. A steady hand and a keen eye are required

for the work, and hence it is that the so-called “rice” paper is

manufactured only at night, when the city is asleep and the makers are

not liable to be disturbed.

The third day from Ch’i-chiang brought us to the Kuei-chow frontier,

the road following for the most part the banks of the Ch’i-chiang

River. Coal and iron are here found in abundance, and the market town

of Kan-shui, which lies within the Ssŭ-ch’uan border, is famed for the

manufacture of the iron pans, without one of which no house can be

looked upon as properly furnished. Copper is also found at no great

distance, and specimens of the ore, which I forwarded to Shanghai for

analysis, contained thirty per cent. of metal.

It was near the Kuei-chow border that I first came in contact with

the Miao-tzŭ, the aboriginal inhabitants of that province. I was

sauntering along in front of my followers when, at a bend in the road,

I was suddenly confronted by a couple of neatly-dressed figures which

turned out to be two Miao-tzŭ girls, about fourteen and sixteen years

of age as far as I could guess, arrayed in short jackets and kilts of

a greyish-black woollen material, with turbans to match. They were

very good looking, and, although somewhat coy, did not show that

abject terror which, under similar circumstances, would have betrayed

the Chinese female. With heads erect and black eyes lighted up with

astonishment, they passed me by with no uncertain gait. Although the

Miao-Tzŭ are generally supposed to be confined to Kuei-chow, not a

few families are settled in this corner of Ssŭ-ch’uan. Those who are

interested in this people will find another chapter specially devoted

to them.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE INNS._]

Seas of bare rocky mountains met my eyes as I sat on the borders

of Ssŭ-ch’uan and Kuei-chow, and gazed southwards. It was like a

transformation scene. From smiling fields of poppy, wheat, and beans,

we were suddenly brought face to face with hill-side patches of the

same crops sadly stunted. The poppy, which to the north was being bled,

had not even burst into flower, and the scanty soil looked barren and

profitless. The rich valleys were still invisible, and the prospect

was very depressing; nor was the feeling in the least minimised by the

appearance of our lodgings for the night. So bad were they, indeed,

that I had to ask the local authority of Sung-k’an whether he could not

find me more decent quarters. Another room was hunted up, but I failed

to discover any great improvement. I have occupied hundreds of Chinese

inns in the course of my travels, and I think that, on the whole, a

Chinaman’s own description which I found written on the wall of a room

which I once tenanted in Ssŭ-ch’uan, errs on the side of leniency. In

English garb it runs thus--

“Within this room you’ll find the rats

At least a goodly score,

Three catties each they’re bound to weigh,

Or e’en a little more;

At night you’ll find a myriad bugs

That stink and crawl and bite;

If doubtful of the truth of this,

Get up and strike a light.”

It must have been the poet’s up-bringing or his being overpowered by

other ills that prevented him from finishing the work so well begun.

Let me endeavour to complete the picture--

Within, without, vile odours dense

Assail the unwary nose;

Behind, the grunter squeaks and squeals

And baffles all repose;

Add clouds of tiny, buzzing things,

Mosquitoes--if you please;

And if the sum is not enough,

Why, bless me, there are fleas.

[Sidenote: _BAMBOO WATER-WHEELS._]

To reach T’ung-tzŭ, a range of mountains over three thousand feet high

had to be crossed. The summit was dotted with smooth, hollowed-out,

limestone rocks, between which the scanty soil was being turned over by

the peasants. On the south side of the range, a narrow valley, about

nine miles in length, down which flows a stream, leads to the district

city. As the latter is approached, the valley expands from a quarter

to half a mile in breadth, and runs with the stream for another five

miles until it is blocked by a low range of hills, through which the

stream finds its way by a series of caverns. In the narrower part of

the valley, I noticed a very ingenious contrivance for irrigating the

fields. The stream flows about ten feet below the surrounding plots,

and drains instead of watering them. To utilize it, a large light

bamboo wheel, from forty to fifty feet in circumference, and two feet

thick, was erected. Layers of split bamboo were inserted at short

intervals in the outside edge as float-boards, and the water rushing

against them caused the wheel to revolve. Short bamboos closed at

the outer end were fixed on the rim at a slight angle. As the wheel

revolved, these bamboos were immersed and filled with water, and on

reaching the top poured their contents into a wooden trough raised

nearly to the height of the wheel. Bamboo pipes led the water from the

trough to the fields requiring irrigation. No care was required, and

wheel after wheel was doing its work silently and alone.

Rice is hulled by a somewhat similar process. An ordinary water-wheel

is fitted with a long axle, through the centre of which two planks

at either side of the wheel are inserted at right angles and project

several feet. As the wheel revolves, the planks descend, catch,

depress, and release a lever, the far end of which is weighted with a

heavy blunt stone about two feet long. When the lever is released, the

stone descends and plunges into a hollow, usually lined with concrete,

into which the paddy is placed. By a single revolution of the wheel the

lever is depressed and released four times and, when the hulling is

completed, the lever can be drawn aside and the contents of the hole

removed and winnowed.

I took advantage of a day’s rest at T’ung-tzŭ to follow up the stream

to the point where it enters the range of hills. The whole valley and

the hill-sides were one mass of poppies in full bloom--white, mauve,

and white tipped with pink being the chief colours. The capsules were

less rounded, but more elongated than those of the Ssŭ-ch’uan plant.

The Ku-lu, as the stream is called, enters the hill by three caverns,

emerges through a single cavern some distance beyond, crosses another

valley a few hundred yards in breadth and at right angles to the

T’ung-tzŭ valley, again enters the hills and, after leaving by another

single cavern, discharges itself into the Ch’ih-shui River. As might

naturally be expected, both valleys are liable to inundation during the

rainy season and, at the time of my visit, an attempt was being made to

cut a tunnel behind the first range and induce the surplus waters to

seek a nearer passage to the larger river. A mile of tunnel had already

been completed, but a part had fallen in and hindered the progress

of the work. As it seemed to me, the passage through the first range

must always be liable to be choked by an increase in the volume of the

stream and by floating débris, and little would appear to have been

accomplished beyond scattering to the winds £10,000 to £12,000, and

giving employment to a large number of men.

There is little of interest to attract the eye of the traveller

between T’ung-tzŭ and Tsun-i Fu, the next city of any importance

on the way to the provincial capital. The road runs over hills and

through valleys, past coal mines and through poppy-fields, until a

few miles north of the city the country opens out and shows the usual

crops. The population, as everywhere in Kuei-chow, is scant; and if

a field is wanted to relieve the congested provinces of the Empire,

Kuei-chow and Yün-nan can easily accommodate millions, and feel all

the better for the increase. With the exception of the Miao-tzŭ, who

have been driven into the south of Kuei-chow, the inhabitants consist

of immigrants from Ssŭ-ch’uan, Hupeh and Hunan, who, for the most

part, are satisfied with scratching small parts of the ground and

disposing of the opium which they themselves are unable to consume to

the eastern province of Hunan. A lazier set of people it would be hard

to find anywhere. The mountainous character of the country renders

overland transport excessively difficult, the consequence being that

the products of the soil are exceedingly cheap and living inexpensive.

Ruins of superior stone buildings are everywhere to be met with, but,

instead of repairing these, the inhabitants are content to raise wattle

and mud walls on the solid foundations, and turn the floors of the

superfluous houses into vegetable gardens. The Miao-tzŭ must, indeed,

have had a hot time of it. Where forests of oak once stood, only black

charred roots and columns of dressed granite now remain, to tell the

tale of a well-to-do Miao-tzŭ peasantry in hand to hand conflict with

better-armed opponents.

[Sidenote: _COAL-DUST AS FUEL._]

How to utilize coal-dust as fuel has always been a fruitful topic of

discussion where coal mines are worked. I notice that the most recent

invention in England is the admixture of pitch with the dust. Here and

elsewhere in China, clay is the ingredient used; and the mixture, after

being reduced to the necessary consistency by the addition of water,

is placed in moulds, whence it issues, about two pounds in weight, in

the shape of the base half of a cone, and is then exposed to the sun to

dry. This fuel is fairly tenacious, and will bear considerable rough

transit. From personal experience in Peking, I may add that ignition is

not a difficult matter, and that a powerful heat results.

The walls of Tsun-i, which we entered on the afternoon of the 29th

of April, are said to contain a population of 45,000 souls. It is

a manufacturing city. Wild silk, gathered from the scrub-oak in the

neighbourhood, is spun and woven into a coarse fabric, which is largely

exported through Ssŭ-ch’uan to the central and eastern provinces. It

is a peculiarity of Kuei-chow towns that there are no suburbs outside

the walls; but, when the struggles that have taken place within the

province and the consequent insecurity are considered, their absence is

not a matter for surprise.

About forty miles to the south of Tsun-i, we struck the left bank of

the Wu Chiang, which here flows with a swift current through a deep

limestone gorge in an east-north-east direction. Looking down into

the gorge, I could make out on the opposite bank a solid platform of

masonry, over which dangled a row of iron chains or rods into the

river. Descending through accumulations of building materials, we soon

reached a similar platform, where I discovered that a great catastrophe

had recently occurred. Seven months before our visit the chains or

hooked rods--each about a yard long--for supporting the roadway, had

been successfully stretched, built into the masonry on either side and

the ends fixed into the solid rock. The side suspension chains, which

were carried over stone turrets on either side of the piers, were

in process of being stretched, when the whole structure collapsed,

carrying with it a large number of workmen, many of whom were drowned

or fatally injured. Their graves are to be seen on the left bank of the

river. The turrets were all carried away, and nothing remained but the

piers, the severed chains, and many of the planks which had formed the

roadway. In manufacturing the chains, which was done on the spot--the

workshops were still standing--local iron, which appeared to be of an

inferior quality and to have been insufficiently malleated, had been

used. The bridge was rebuilt in the year of our visit (1882), but iron

from Yün-nan was employed.

[Sidenote: _THE KUNG-T’AN RIVER._]

The Wu Chiang, or, as it is called near its mouth, the Kung-t’an River,

after a course of about five hundred miles, enters the Yang-tsze at

the city of Fu Chou, seventy-two miles to the east of Ch’ung-k’ing.

Owing to rapids, it is unnavigable until it approaches the province of

Ssŭ-ch’uan; but even in its short navigable course of over a hundred

miles above its junction with the Yang-tsze it is an important trade

highway. By this route, north-eastern Kuei-chow is supplied with salt

from Ssŭ-ch’uan, sending in return gall-nuts and other minor products.

At one time it formed part of the great commercial highway between

Canton and Western China, which has practically ceased to exist since

the opening of the Yang-tsze to steam navigation.

A brief glance across the Wu Chiang warned me that there was no time

to tarry on the left bank, for the road could be seen zig-zagging

up a gulley on the opposite shore. Collecting our forces, which had

scattered on a tour of inspection, we descended to the river, a stream

sixty yards in breadth, and were ferried across by detachments in a

rickety old boat. A weary climb of two hours, past disused iron mines

overgrown with brushwood, brought us to the Kuan-ai Customs barrier,

perched on the summit of the range. Beyond the barrier we obtained a

splendid view of the country to the south; barren, treeless peaks,

on the same level as ourselves--three to four thousand feet--lay

before us, cheerless, uninhabited, lifeless. What a picture! Where are

the Miao-tzŭ that used to till these fields and tend their herds on

the mountain sides? They were butchered and their bones are rotting

underneath. Northern Kuei-chow is a huge graveyard, with no monuments

to mark the fierce struggle against extortion and oppression, of rude

weapons against foreign arms of precision. Justice is a fine thing to

talk about and inculcate, but a hard thing to practise.

[Sidenote: _ARRIVAL AT KUEI-YANG._]

Three miles from the river my followers clamoured for a day’s rest.

Although only a three days’ journey from Kuei-yang, the capital of

the province, where I proposed to make a short stay, I was compelled

to accede to their request. Twenty miles may seem a poor day’s work;

but my readers should bear in mind that roads, in the proper sense

of the word, do not exist, and that the mountain paths which we have

been travelling have been sadly neglected. During the whole of my time

in Kuei-chow I never once saw a cart, the entire trade--such as it

is--being conducted on the backs of bipeds and quadrupeds. A nearer

acquaintance with the country between the Wu Chiang and Kuei-yang

failed to leave on my mind a livelier impression than that derived from

the panorama of desolation as seen from the Kuan-ai barrier. During the

day here and there a hut or a poppy-patch was the only sign of human

existence, and at night came the miserable village full of lethargic

opium-sodden inhabitants.

Ten miles of grassy downs and fifteen miles of barren mountain sides

constitute the approach to the provincial capital. At the village,

which lies between, an escort of eight soldiers, two mounted officers,

and a host of runners from the Magistrate’s Yamên, awaited us to

protect me from the dangers of the wilderness. The occasional huts give

place to guard-houses, which would seem to imply that the country is

not so safe as it looks. Passing through an archway bridging the road

between two steep mountain peaks, where the officer at the receipt of

customs glared greedily at our caravan; and, rounding a mountain side,

we soon caught a glimpse of Kuei-yang lying in a plain far below us. On

the left is the graveyard of the city, its white stones like glittering

specks dotting the hill side. A white wall surrounds the town; and

numerous green trees rising above the house-tops were suggestive of

coolness and shade. But all is not gold that glitters, and there was

soon revealed to us an ordinary Chinese city containing the usual marks

of decay.

On the morning of the 6th of May--the day after our arrival--I spent

a very pleasant half-hour with the Governor of the province, who was

courtesy itself. His Excellency was deeply interested in the subject

of the navigation of the Upper Yang-tsze by steam, and showed complete

familiarity with the sayings of the Shanghai vernacular press. He

pressed me to stay a few days; but the heat was oppressive, and I

determined to push on to Yün-nan without delay. To His Excellency I

owe much; he was good enough to send orders along the route that I was

to be accommodated in the official rest-houses as much as possible, so

that I was enabled to get rid of the crowds which collect and gaze

with glassy eyes at the unfortunate foreigner. It is difficult to

satisfy a Chinese crowd; one may sit or stand before one’s room-door

in an inn for hours, yet the inquisitiveness remains unabated. Enter

the room, and every crack in the woodwork of the walls is occupied

by peering eyes, while the paper windows are quickly converted into

sieves by moistened finger-tips, and black glittering orbs are glued to

them. A boot deftly aimed gives momentary, but only momentary, relief.

Kuei-chow is not a chief sinner in this respect. In Western China,

Ssŭ-ch’uan undoubtedly takes the palm.

During the afternoon of my stay in Kuei-yang I made a flying

perambulation of the city. In the southern part, the shops were large

and apparently prosperous, and the streets, which were fairly broad,

were crowded. Foreign cottons brought from Hankow by way of the

Tung-t’ing Lake and the Yuan River were plentifully displayed. I shall

have occasion to refer again to this route, which was followed by the

unfortunate Margary on his way across China to Burmah.

CHAPTER III.

WESTWARD TO YÜN-NAN.

White wax insects--Terrible hailstorm and its effects--Miao-tzŭ

houses and women--An-shun Fu--Limestone cave--Pai-shui

waterfall--Reception at Lang-t’ai T’ing--Lang-wang Mountain and

the “Cave of the Spirits”--Caught in a thunderstorm--The pebbly

strand of the Mao-k’ou River--Pack-animals and their treatment--The

Yün-nan frontier--A cart at last--Exploring a cave--Underground

rivers--Exceptional courtesy--Goître--Breeding ground of the

Yün-nan pony--Trade route to Tonquin--Marching knee-deep in mud

and water--Poverty of inhabitants--Queen’s birthday dinner in a

back-yard--Chinese inquisitiveness--The Sung-ming Lake--A local

escort--A glorious view--Yün-nan Fu.

On the morning of the 7th of May, we turned our faces westwards towards

the province of Yün-nan, the capital of which I hoped to reach before

the end of the month. Soon after leaving the west gate of Kuei-yang, we

met a number of carriers with long round baskets slung at the ends of

poles in the usual Chinese manner. The exceptional speed at which they

were going tempted me to examine their loads, and most unwillingly did

they submit, for they were bearing eastward to Hunan burdens of living

insects of great industrial value. They were white wax insects in their

scales, which had been collected in the An-shun prefecture further

west, packed in layers of trays to ensure a free current of air and

thus prevent their escape during their long journey. The lamps which

the owners, who accompanied the porters on foot, carried, told me that

the tiny insects were being hurried night and day to their destination.

The whole subject of white wax insects and their valuable product will

be found detailed in Chapter XI.

[Sidenote: _TERRIFIC HAILSTORM._]

Ten miles west of Kuei-yang is the main coal-field for supplying the

provincial capital with fuel. The road winds among and over low hills

untouched by the hoe of the peasant; rank grass and brushwood tell

the tale of a meagre population content to exist on the produce of

the narrow valleys--patches of barley or wheat, and poppy and rice in

their season. Beyond the hills, a valley leads to the district city of

Ch’ing-chên, and here a surprising sight met the eye. Up to the very

walls of the city stretched an immense poppy-field, the stems fresh

and erect, but hardly a capsule remaining. Here at last, thought I,

have the authorities in a fit of virtuous indignation advanced beyond

issuing proclamations laden with threats of punishment; here surely

must be a Magistrate who has a will of his own and the courage to carry

it into effect. Alas! I wronged him. ’Twas another celestial authority

that did the deed. On the night of the 2nd of May, a terrible hailstorm

burst over the district, destroying not only the growing crops but

even playing havoc within the walls. The streets were full of broken

tiles, many of the roofs having succumbed to the hailstones, which were

described to me as weighing as much as seven and even eight ounces. The

capsules, which were scattered on the ground, had all been collected

for the sake of the sweet cooking-oil which is obtained from the seed,

and of the cakes which are manufactured from the seed itself. Six miles

by six represented the area over which the hail had descended. The

stems and branches of the roadside trees, which were all but denuded of

leaves, looked as if they had been hacked with a blunt axe. Rapeseed,

beans, wheat, and barley, which were growing in scant patches to the

west of the city, were flattened with the ground.

In this part of the country, cultivation is confined to the

neighbourhood of towns and villages. The distance between Ch’ing-chên

and An-p’ing, the next district city, is twenty miles; and, if we

except the poppy which was growing abundantly near the latter, there

was no cultivation worthy of the name. Grass-covered plains, once

smiling fields, intercepted by curious conical hills partly clad with

brushwood and bracken, are happy hunting grounds for herds of tame

buffaloes. Truly, the land of the Miao-tzŭ was devastated, and its

inhabitants butchered and scattered. Poverty reigns along the highroad.

Three miles west of Ch’ing-chên, we stopped for breakfast at a hamlet

overlooking a tributary of the Wu Chiang. Neither chair nor table was

procurable; but they were hardly necessary, for it did not take long

to put away the remains of my dinner of the previous evening. Here I

found that the knowledge possessed by the local escorts is not above

suspicion. Sitting on the stone bridge which spans the stream just

mentioned, I asked them the name and destination of the latter; but I

failed to receive a satisfactory answer. One of the soldiers, however,

who volunteered the statement that the bridge on which I was sitting

had nine arches, was somewhat non-plussed to find, on being sent to

count, that it was two short of the number he gave.

An-p’ing has not yet recovered from the ravages of the civil war;

the walls are in a state of decay, and many of the houses which they

encircle are represented by heaps of ruins. The surrounding country is

almost entirely inhabited by Miao-tzŭ, whose hamlets are perched on

inaccessible hill-tops--stone refuges occupying the commanding heights.

When hard pressed, they drove their cattle into the latter for safety

and, sheltering themselves behind the walls, bade defiance to their

assailants.

The villages, through which the road passes between An-p’ing and

An-shun, are of a non-Chinese type. The walls of the houses are built

of loose stones and are very thick, the roofs being composed of broad

stone slabs. The inmates appeared to be of a degraded race, and have,

in all probability, a strain of Miao-tzŭ blood. The men were dressed in

sombre Chinese clothes, while the women were inclined to gaudy colours.

At one of these villages it was market day; herds of oxen, horses, and

pigs were on the ground, and the women, arrayed in all the colours of

the rainbow and ornamented with silver earrings, bangles and rings,

were hurrying in with baskets of eggs and vegetables. In the market

were four slender, sinewy Miao-tzŭ men, somewhat curiously dressed.

Black cloth bands encircled their foreheads, loose gowns of similar

material, fastened with girdles, covered them from neck to ankle, huge

silver earrings swung from their left ears and their feet were encased

in straw sandals. Bowls of opium were being hawked about the village,

and I was told that the Miao-tzŭ, although extensive cultivators of the

poppy, do not themselves smoke the drug.

[Sidenote: _AN SHUN-FU._]

An-shun is approached through a long valley, which contracts as the

city is neared. At the eastern end, the road, which is lined with

memorial stone archways, ascends a gentle slope--the graveyard of the

town--to the walls. From the gate we looked down into a broad street,

crowded with people engaged in business. On stalls at either side,

goods of all kinds were plentifully displayed, and the shops behind

them were large and apparently prosperous. Ponies laden with salt

jostled us in the gateway, and I found, on enquiry, that An-shun is

supplied with this necessity of life by way of the Yung-ning River,

which enters the Yang-tsze at the district city of Na-chi, and is the

most important trade highway to Western Kuei-chow. This route, which I

followed in 1883, will be found described in a subsequent chapter.

The main roads of China are each divided into stages, only one of which

can, with convenience and comfort to the traveller, be accomplished

in a day. The plan which I followed was invariably as follows. Rising

at daybreak, I had a cup of coffee or tea, pushed on to the first

hamlet or village, where we all breakfasted, travelled till noon when

we lunched at the most convenient spot, and arrived at the end of the

stage about four or five o’clock in the afternoon. Inns were not

always available during the day, and at our first halting place after

leaving An-shun, we took possession of a house which we shared with a

couple of carriers, who seemed to prefer a whiff of the opium pipe to

eating. On one occasion only, as far as I can recollect, was I refused

temporary lodgment, the inmates, as a rule, being only too willing to

shelter us for a few cash. As a matter of fact, they had little to

fear, for they had nothing to steal.

Chên-ning Chou, which was the end of the stage on the 10th of May, is

a poor city, built on a hill slope, and consists of one decent street

and a number of dilapidated thoroughfares. It lies at the western end

of a valley, which was filled with yellow wheat and barley, submerged

paddy-land, and poppy-fields. Our landlord told me that, previous

to the rebellion, the walls sheltered from seven to eight thousand

families, now, however, reduced to a thousand. A mile to the west of

Chên-ning we came upon a cave close to the highroad. It was formed of

a single limestone dome, which has been converted into a temple. To us

it presented the appearance of a poorhouse, for our entrance aroused a

crowd of squalid beggars, who had taken up their quarters in its cool

shade. They did not look as if they had a very close acquaintance with

the clear, limpid stream which flows through it and enters a limestone

hill fifty yards beyond. We were no longer the only travellers going

west; a number of men were carrying silver to Yün-nan to purchase

opium. The value of the drug, its small bulk and superiority, enable

it to be carried across the province of Kuei-chow to Hunan and other

provinces at a profit.

[Sidenote: _THE PAI-SHUI RIVER._]

The Pai-shui, or “White Water” river, spanned by a stone bridge of

five arches at the eastern end of the village of Huang-kuo-shu, goes

south to join the northern section of the Canton or West River. It is a

shallow stream thirty yards in breadth and forms a beautiful waterfall

in the rear of the village, creeping leisurely over the brown rocks and

falling about a hundred feet. In the temple of the “Dragon Prince” we

spread our mid-day meal, having had to fast since daybreak, the hamlets

on the road west of Chên-ning being unable to supply us even with a

single egg. A series of weary ascents and descents ultimately landed us

in the small village of P’o-kung, which had recently been the scene of

a conflagration. Ten days before our arrival it was all but consumed,

and the inhabitants were huddled together amidst its charred remains,

still wanting in courage or in funds to re-erect their homes.

Is there no level ground anywhere in the province of Kuei-chow? This

was the question that suggested itself to me as I gained the ridge

that rises to the west of P’o-kung. The answer lay ahead. Waves of

conical hills and mountain ranges beyond seemed to block the passage

to Yün-nan. Down and up, and down again, brought us to a valley,

extending for miles, at the far end of which rests the prosperous city

of Lang-t’ai T’ing, famous for the superiority of its opium. Some miles

from its walls we were met by two escorts, one sent by the Sub-prefect,

the other by the Colonel. As we approached, they dropped on their knees

and bade me welcome. The military escort, which was composed of five

soldiers armed with matchlocks and four with banners, had evidently

taken advantage of their excursion to do a little shooting. One man had

bagged half a dozen pigeons, and a bird of about the same size with a

perfect yellow plumage, which I failed to recognize. As every one is

aware, the Chinese do many things in a way the exact reverse of what we

consider right and proper. How should a soldier carry his musket? Is it

easier to carry the stock or the barrel over the shoulder? My escort

preferred to handle the barrel.

On arrival at Lang-t’ai, the Colonel, to whom I sent a message of

thanks for his foresight and precaution, pressed me to stay and

witness a review that was to be held in a couple of days; but the

comparatively cool weather, and the fact that I had already seen enough

of his soldiers and their little ways, decided me to decline the kind

invitation.

Lang-t’ai lies low, and by the eastern approach nothing is visible but

a part of the wall, the town itself being obscured by dense foliage.

A thick mist concealed everything from view as we left the following

morning. After struggling for two hours among the hills that overlook

the city on the north-west, we cleared the mist and entered a coal

district where the miners were hard at work. A splendid view was

obtained from the Wang-shan temple on the ridge where we breakfasted;

the Lang-wang Shan, the highest mountain in the province, towered

on our right. Under the summit, which is of bare rock, there is a

cave--the “Cave of the Spirits”--which has a very wide reputation, and,

as a consequence, is much visited by devotees. As we passed, pilgrims

were burning joss-paper far below it. Half-way down on the western

side we were overtaken by a terrific thunderstorm, which continued

far into the night. When we reached the grass-covered plain that lies

below, I took refuge in my chair; but the violent gusts of wind, which

accompanied the sheets of descending water, soon wrenched off the rain

covers and exposed us to the full blast of the storm.

[Sidenote: _THE VILLAGE OF MAO-K’OU._]

Wet to the skin we entered the village of Mao-k’ou, which consists

of one street, with numerous gardens surrounded by hedges of cactus,

on the left bank of a stream fifty yards in breadth, which issues

from a gorge a few hundred yards above the village. Here there was

no resisting the appeal for a day’s rest which was at once made to

me. A carrier’s luggage is of the lightest possible description; the

single suit of clothes in which he stands is, as a rule, all that he

possesses, and when that is reduced to a pulp, it has to be washed and

dried before he can again venture out.

I spent the morning of our day of rest on the pebbly strand of the

Mao-k’ou river, which goes south to swell the upper waters of the north

branch of the West River, in the province of Kwang-si. Numerous fossils

are to be found here, and I purchased three different specimens from

the landlord of our inn. The current of the river is very rapid.

On leaving Mao-k’ou on the following morning, we ascended its left bank

five hundred yards before attempting the crossing; our boats did not

reach the right bank until we were opposite the village. An undulating

upland stretches westward, covered with rank wild grass, affording

excellent cover for game, which was plentiful. Pheasants crowed all

round us, and took wing when we approached too close. In the middle

of this grassy waste we were caught up by a caravan of twenty ponies,

laden with bamboo hats, on their way from Kuei-yang to Yün-nan Fu. They

were strong, hardy little animals, game to the very last. Each had a

load of three hundred and sixty hats; and I found, when I afterwards

saw them turned loose to graze, that not one had a whole back. One

poor beast was a pitiful sight; it had a sore at least a foot long,

and down almost to its ribs. The flies, attracted by the smell in a

temperature of 90° F., rendered its life miserable, and I offered to

buy it at a reasonable price and put it out of agony, but the owner

was devoid of the least spark of humanity and would not listen to my

entreaties. He even grumbled loudly when I made him take off half the

load and distribute it amongst the others. The greed of the ordinary

Chinese leaves little room for kindness to man’s humbler assistants.

An instance occurs to me at the moment. I once visited the Great

Wall, and, as visitors do, hired a donkey to carry me up the rough

Nan-k’ou Pass. I had not proceeded far when a horrid stench assailed my

nostrils; its continuance baffled me until a sudden lurch of the saddle

revealed a sickening sight. Needless to say, I walked the rest of the

way.

Towards the western end of the grassy upland, the fir and the oak

are dotted about and relieve the monotony of the barren undulations,

which are succeeded by a coal-producing valley and two mountain ranges

following closely on each other, being separated by only a few rice

fields. The village of Kuan-tzŭ-yao, which lies behind the ranges,

marks the boundary of the bare, uncultivated hills. A reddish tilled

soil now covers immense carboniferous deposits. If my reader is as

tired of hearing of these uninteresting mountain ranges as I was in

crossing them, he will be relieved to know that the plateau of Yün-nan

will soon be reached.

[Sidenote: _THE YÜN-NAN FRONTIER._]

A journey of three days and a half from Kuan-tzŭ-yao along cultivated

valleys, and including two more ascents and descents, brought us early

in the afternoon of the 20th of May to the Yün-nan frontier. During

this time two new crops put in an appearance--buckwheat and oats. I

saw, too, a new method of manuring the fields. For some days I had

been puzzled to account for the peculiar growth of certain trees whose

branches were very short, and for which I could obtain no satisfactory

explanation; but all at once I came upon a peasant hacking off the

branches, and another ploughing them into the rice fields. A barren

waste leads up to the frontier town of Shên-ching-kuan, where we

were received with the usual Chinese salute of three guns. Stopping

for a rest, I discovered that the little town possesses, besides its

two memorial archways, four stone lions, two facing Kuei-chow, with

imitation scales to represent the rainy character of that province, and

two facing west, with imitation scales and dust, indicating the rainy

as well as the windy reputation of Yün-nan.

My Ssŭ-ch’uan followers entertained a wholesome dread of the latter

province. For some days they had been talking of the miseries that they

would have to endure in the matter of food and lodging, and they had

come to the conclusion that the only possible reason that could have

tempted me to travel in that remote region was to _chih Yün-nan k’u_,

or partake of the bitterness of Yün-nan. Often did they discuss, in my

hearing, the motive which led me to question everybody and everything,

and transfer the answers to my note-book; but all they seemed able to

arrive at was that I was not doing it for nothing.

The excitement of entering a new province raised the spirits of my

bearers, who hurried me along the red sandy road, which slopes past

several nullahs to a plain only partly cultivated, because liable to

inundation. Could it be possible? It seemed almost too good to be true.

Lumbering towards us came a couple of bullocks, dragging an apology

for a cart behind them. The faces of my men were a study; with one or

two exceptions, they had never seen this method of transport, and they

stood and gazed at this thing on wheels, which, proud as they were

of their province, was not in use among their Ssŭ-ch’uan hills. Rude

though the vehicle was, it was a welcome innovation, for it presaged

better roads and a level country. Two low, thick wooden wheels, joined

together by a ponderous beam, supported a small platform of planks

encircled by a framework about two feet in height, while a single short

shaft projected from the platform in front.

P’ing-i Hsien, the first district city across the Yün-nan frontier,

is built on the south face of a low hill overlooking an extensive

well-watered plain, which was covered with wheat, nigh unto harvest,

and poppies. It is a great wheat country, and the district is one of

the chief feeders of the provincial capital. Oats, too, were growing on

the hills which bound the plain on the eastern side; but there was a

decided want of straw, for the stalks had only shot a couple of inches

above ground.

[Sidenote: _EXPLORING A CAVE._]

Less than a mile beyond the city we came upon the cave mentioned by

Margary in his journal. Lighting our lamps, we explored it for a few

hundred yards in a straight line, from its mouth to the point where

it branches off to the right. In the far interior, huge stalactites

hung from the roof. The utter silence of the cavern, broken only by

our stumbling over the rough floor, and the weird appearance of the

contorted limestone lighted up by our dim lamps, did not tempt us to

tarry in the dank and cheerless atmosphere. It had thundered and rained

heavily over-night; and, about a mile and a half to the west of the

cave, the high-road was blocked by a deep, raging torrent, twenty yards

in breadth. My followers, always intent upon a rest, advocated a return

to P’ing-i, until the violence of the torrent had abated; but to this

I would not listen. Fortunately, a native of the place soon came upon

the scene, and mildly suggested that there was a path across some hills

farther east. Scouting the statement, they clamoured all the more for

a return to dry quarters. Seeing, however, that he was in earnest,

I resolved to try the hills, and told my men to follow me or remain

where they were till able to ford the torrent. As the rain increased

in violence and the atmosphere became sensibly colder, they agreed to

accompany me, stating, at the same time, their firm conviction that we

were going on a fool’s errand. The native proved to be right, however,

for we found an excellent pathway, and from the ridge overlooking the

other side of the plain I tried to make out the raging stream that

had just baffled us. It was nowhere to be seen, and I soon learned

that we had already crossed it by a natural bridge, for it entered a

cavern only a few hundred yards from the high-road, the entrance being

concealed by a bend in the hills. This adventure cost us our breakfast,

as it was noon ere we reached the first hamlet. These underground

rivers are very numerous in Kuei-chow and Yün-nan; the composition of

the rocks, which are of lime and sandstone, facilitates the drainage of

the valleys and plains, which would otherwise be converted into lakes.

In the hills to the west of the plain, coal is found in abundance, the

interstices in the walls of the houses being frequently filled with

black lumps instead of stone. The villagers told us that snow falls in

winter, and that the climate is exceedingly cold. On the bare treeless

highlands beyond, potatoes, buckwheat, oats, and a little poppy, were

being cultivated.

As a rule, a Chinese has little to gain by showing civility to a

foreigner, be he official, merchant, or missionary; and courtesy, even

of the barest description, is thoroughly appreciated in a land where

stone-throwing, mobbing, and threatening are too often indulged in with

impunity. The marked attention paid to us at Pai-shui, the end of the

first stage from P’ing-i Hsien, was a very pleasant surprise. The small

local officials, with an escort, met me some miles from their village,

and hurried on to receive me at the gate. A Taotai, who had been

travelling in my company on his way to Western Yün-nan, and with whom

I had afterwards a pleasant chat about those terrible Kuei-chow roads

and our struggles to get the best inns, had just preceded me, and taken

up his quarters in the official rest-house; but a comfortable room was

quickly procured for me, the authorities, much against my will, having

gone the length of ejecting a number of occupiers. As we left early

next morning, the authorities awaited us at the opposite gate of their

once-walled village, to speed us on our way. It would greatly lessen

the misery of travelling in China if such courtesy were more frequently

forthcoming.

[Sidenote: _THE TRANSPORTATION OF COPPER._]

The people in the neighbourhood of Pai-shui are very much afflicted

with goître, especially the women, and the idea is prevalent among them

that the impurities contained in the salt which they consume is the

cause of the malady. Here we came across a consignment of red copper

for the metropolis, transported on the backs of nearly four hundred

mules and ponies from the mines of Tung-ch’uan Fu to Pe-sê T’ing, the

head of navigation of the West River, in the province of Kwang-si. It

seemed a roundabout way of sending copper north, but I was informed

that on one occasion, when shipments used to be despatched by way

of the Yang-tsze, a great storm arose and overwhelmed more than a

hundred junks and their cargoes. I heard afterwards that peculation had

probably more to do with the loss than a storm.

The city of Chan-i Chou, fifteen miles to the west of Pai-shui, lies

in the north of an immense plain, famous throughout Western China as

the breeding ground of the sturdy Yün-nan pony. Brood mares and their

foals were grazing on the large grass fields, which occupied no mean

part of the plain. A stream, spanned by a good three-arched stone

bridge, flows south past the east gate of the city on its way to join

the northern branch of the West River. It was at one time a section

of the route by which lead was carried from the north of Yün-nan to

Tonquin. Consignments were conveyed by boat from Chan-i Chou to Ma-kai,

a place fifty miles to the south, and thence overland to Mêng-tzŭ

Hsien, on the head waters of the Song-koi, now the residence of a

French Consul.

Rain descended in torrents during the night of our stay in Chan-i, and

the dawn of the 23rd of May was not accompanied by the usual movements

and noises that betokened an early start. On the contrary, I was soon

waited upon by a deputation, which begged me, on account of the rains,

to defer my departure for a day; but the fact that I was almost in the

presence of my goal compelled me to resist their demand. After two

hours spent in arguing, we trooped sullenly out of the city. The plain,

which on the previous afternoon was bright with its golden crops of

wheat and barley, was now cold and cheerless; the road was one mass

of mud in which we sank to the knees; a great part of the surrounding

country was under water; and the rain fell in sheets.

The hamlets in the neighbourhood were poor in the extreme. Stopping for

breakfast, we borrowed a room and despatched a youngster to forage for

a table and eggs. The way in which these people live is astounding:

they occupy rooms begrimed with smoke--chimneys are considered

superfluous--willingly sharing them with dogs, pigs, fowls, and insect

pests.

The unceasing downpour obliged us to abandon the idea of completing a

day’s stage, which we broke at the market town of Mien-tien, having

accomplished only twelve miles, or half the distance necessary to

ensure decent accommodation. We were quartered in a loft over a stable,

where a dozen ponies, unable like ourselves to proceed farther, were

installed.

[Sidenote: _QUEEN’S BIRTHDAY DINNER._]

As the morrow was the anniversary of Her Majesty’s Birthday, I

determined to secure a good dinner for the occasion; my tinned

provisions had long since given out, and I was entirely dependent on

local supplies. I succeeded in purchasing a fowl and a few potatoes,

which we carried with us over the plain of yellow-ochre soil which lies

between Chan-i and Ma-lung Chou.

At the latter city, I experienced very considerable civility at the

hands of the chief civil official, who paid me a visit, and, being a

native of Ch’ung-k’ing, plied me with many questions regarding his

Ssŭ-ch’uan home. He also added considerably to our larder, which

was now in a very prosperous condition indeed. He complained of the

poverty of his jurisdiction, stating that the people over whom he ruled

were nearly all poor immigrants from Ssŭ-ch’uan, who, owing to the

barrenness of the soil, could hardly earn enough to keep clothes on

their backs.

We halted for the night at a hamlet ten miles from Ma-lung, where we

secured a single room for our whole party. After I had had a corner

of it partitioned off by a mat, the cooking of the dinner commenced;

but, there being no chimney, the interior soon became so thick as to

necessitate a removal into the fresh air. A table was brought and

placed outside a back door, and the meal spread under Heaven’s starry

vault. Here my little dog and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves; and even

now, after the lapse of some years, I have very pleasant memories

of that sumptuous dinner, probably because I took special care in

the catering. If there is a bitterness in the memory, it is that the

little, fearless, faithful, intelligent, amusing sharer of that repast,

the companion of all my travels, is no more.

The inquisitiveness of the Chinese is hard to bear with equanimity. I

sat down to breakfast the following morning in what I took to be an

uninhabited house, for it consisted of two gables and a roof without

a stick of furniture. The necessary chair and table we had, as usual,

borrowed. No sooner was the cloth spread, than all the goîtred old

women of the village trooped in, each carrying a tub of old garments

steeped in water, and proceeded in the most matter of fact way to

wash. The splashing and watching were endurable; but when one of them

proceeded to light a fire on the floor, I felt that we had reached the

last straw, and bundled them out without ceremony, tubs and all. They

looked upon the climax as a good joke.

Following the road over weary red highlands only partly cultivated, we

sighted, on the afternoon of the 26th of May, a large sheet of water,

which, as we approached, we found to be swarming with wild duck. At

Yang-lin, which is built on the south-western margin of the Sung-ming

Lake, we occupied a room in a new inn, and were regaled with excellent

fish from the clear water we had just passed. How easy it is for a

Chinese official to show his contempt for a foreigner. On the way to

Yang-lin, I was provided with an escort in the shape of a small boy of

thirteen, wearing a sword nearly as long as himself, who turned out to

be fonder of bird-nesting than of affording protection and assistance!

[Sidenote: _A GLORIOUS VIEW._]

A broad stone road, in excellent repair, leads from Yang-lin to the rim

of the plain in which lies the capital of Yün-nan. Half-way we caught

a glimpse of a lake to the south-west; but it was not till the rim

was reached that the glorious expanse of water, backed by a mountain

range, burst upon our view. The city itself was still concealed by

the north-eastern continuation of the rim, which juts into the plain,

dotted with houses and trees. Yün-nan Fu lies near the northern shore

of the Lake; and, after descending the low rim, we followed the road

westward for a short distance, then turned due north, and, after a

couple of miles, struck the south-eastern corner of the wall. No escort

met us; no attention was paid to us, beyond a demand for my card, as we

entered the south gate.

CHAPTER IV.

THROUGH NORTH-EASTERN YÜN-NAN TO THE YANG-TSZE.

The city of Yün-nan Fu--P’u-êrh tea--Opium-smoking chair-bearers

and personal care--Exposure of robbers’ heads--Chinese

school--Rainbow superstition--Entertainment at Tung-ch’uan Fu--A

successful ruse--Stopped by a mountain torrent--Lodged in a

byre--On the banks of the Niu-lan River--The Chao-t’ung plain and

its lakes--Stories of Lolo bloodshed--Down from the plain--Narrow

escape of a porter--Back to Ssŭ-ch’uan--Descent of the Nan-kuang

River--Down the Yang-tsze to Ch’ung-k’ing.

Yün-nan Fu is a walled city, over three miles in circuit, 6420

feet above the level of the sea and at a short distance from the

north-eastern shore of the lake, with which it was formerly connected

by a canal. The southern half of the square is thickly populated,

while the northern half consists of swamp and vegetable gardens. The

city was shorn of its ancient glory by the outbreak of the Mohammedan

rebellion, which raged for years round it and in the northern part

of the province. The old and extensive suburbs are gradually being

rebuilt from their ruins. Outside the south gate (there are six gates)

there is now a long street of depôts for the salt, which comes from

the wells to the north-west. The city itself is kept decidedly clean;

bullock carts daily go round and collect the garbage from the streets,

which are fairly broad for a Chinese town. What strikes the traveller

most, in passing through these streets thronged with well-dressed

and evidently well-to-do foot-passengers, is the large admixture of

non-Chinese features. Here Mohammedans, Chinese, Shans, and Lolos, and

mixtures of these races, jostle each other in the market place and in

the daily business of the world.

[Sidenote: _COURTESY OF MISSIONARIES._]

During my two days’ stay in the city, I received every possible

kindness at the hands of the members of the two missionary bodies at

work there--Les Missions Etrangères de Paris and the China Inland

Mission. At the handsome palace of the French Bishop, I met a Father

from Ta-li Fu, who gave me such a glowing account of Western Yün-nan,

that I at once made up my mind to visit that part of the province on a

future occasion, a resolution which I was fortunately able to carry out.

The good Bishop handed me a letter which he had just received from

Mr. Colquhoun, from P’u-êrh Fu, stating that his funds were all but

exhausted, and requesting a loan to enable him to proceed from Ta-li,

whither he was bound, to Bhamo. I at once arranged with the Bishop to

despatch a messenger with sixty taels of silver; but Mr. Colquhoun

succeeded in obtaining funds from the China Inland Mission at Ta-li,

and, ere my messenger reached that city, he and his companion, Mr.

Wahab, had left on their westward journey.

To speak of Yün-nan Fu without a reference to the famous tea, for

which it is the entrepôt, would be a serious omission. P’u-êrh tea, so

named from the department in which it is widely grown, is the leaf of

the _Camellia thea Link._, and for purposes of transit is steamed and

made up into cakes, which find their way to the remotest parts of the

Empire. Much of the leaf, however, is brought to the city of P’u-êrh

from the Shan States, beyond the southern frontier of Yün-nan. It

varies in price, according to quality, from tenpence to one shilling

and fivepence a pound; but the cost of overland transit is so great as

to virtually exclude it from the foreign market.

The lake, known in books as the Tien Ch’ih, and colloquially as the

K’un-ming--the name of the district in which the city of Yün-nan

is situated--is a fine expanse of water, said to be seventy miles

long, and in some places to attain a breadth of twenty miles. These

figures are, however, very much exaggerated. The lake drains into the

Yang-tsze, an artificial channel having been cut, to prevent flooding,

from a point on its south-western shore to the river which flows past

An-ning Chow, a city to the west of the provincial capital. Junks and

passenger boats of fair size navigate the lake between the cities and

villages that lie on and near its shores. In 1883 it was my own fate to

be a passenger on its waters.

At Yün-nan Fu a number of trade routes converge and connect it with the

Yang-tsze, Burmah, the Song-koi, and the West River; but I will not

dwell upon them now. They will be found discussed at some length in

Chapter XII., which is specially devoted to the trade of Western and

South-Western China.

I had now reached the place which I had fixed upon as my farthest

point, and, having attained the object of my journey, I resolved to

strike the Yang-tsze at Hsü-chou Fu, following in the main the route

traversed six years before by the Grosvenor Mission on its way to

Yün-nan Fu to enquire into the death of Margary. With an _au revoir_

to the city on the morning of the 31st of May, we began to retrace our

steps to Yang-lin, where the Kuei-yang and Hsü-chou roads to Yün-nan Fu

meet. For some days previous to our arrival in the provincial capital,

rain had considerably interfered with our progress, nor, when we

proceeded to return to Yang-lin, did the province belie its reputation.

[Sidenote: _A PRUDENT CHAIR-BEARER._]

It was during one of these downpours that an incident occurred which

deserves a passing notice. Several of my followers were opium smokers,

and one of my bearers had contracted a great craving for the drug.

He was somewhat disreputable in appearance, but a willing worker.

His baggage consisted of the clothes on his back and a small bundle,

containing his opium pipe and the necessary paraphernalia for smoking.

I observed when leaving Yün-nan Fu that the bundle had assumed larger

dimensions; but certain speculations which I had made as to its

contents were soon proved to be erroneous and altogether wide of the

mark.

A few miles to the west of Yang-lin, a halt was called for a rest and

the cakes on a roadside stall were quickly bought up and devoured.

Sitting apart on the edge of the stone road the opium smoker thus

addressed another of my bearers:--“How is it that you are all eating

and drinking, and I haven’t a single cash to follow your example?” The

other put his thumb to his mouth and, pretending to inhale, pronounced

the single word “Opium,” at which the smoker smiled and was silent.

Next day we were suddenly overtaken by a sharp rainstorm, and, when

the other bearers were searching for shelter, the smoker solemnly

produced his bundle and, gravely undoing the cover, unfolded and

donned a first-class waterproof coat which he had wisely purchased in

the capital. The astonishment visible on their faces, and the look

of triumph in which the smoker indulged, were a study. The latter,

notwithstanding his misfortune, had more respect for his back than his

belly.

An immense plain, beautifully irrigated, stretches north from Yang-lin;

and, as we passed through it northwards on the 2nd of June, it was

teeming with life. The numerous villages, nestling among trees which

dot the plain, had sent forth their able-bodied men and women to pluck

up the paddy shoots from the nurseries, make them into bundles, and

carry them to the submerged rice-fields, where they were being planted

out in rows. Truly a happy, sunny picture. Not cloudless, however;

for what are those high upright posts with balance beams near their

tops, which occur at somewhat regular intervals along the plain? They

are intended for suspending cages containing the heads of highwaymen,

who waylay travellers and traders and rob and murder without mercy.

Nor were the cages all empty. Two ghastly heads adorned the entrance

to the village, which sheltered us at the end of the first stage from

Yang-lin.

In the northern part of the plain, which is stony and unsuitable for

rice and which ultimately merges in the red-soiled uplands already so

familiar in the west of Kuei-chow and the east of Yün-nan, the potato

was growing abundantly between rows of withered poppy stems. Yellow

wheat and barley were being plucked up by the roots, for not even

the sickle was here in use. Patches of buckwheat and oats completed

the cultivation. Much of the land, however, was covered with wild

grass, on which herds of swine, goats, sheep, ponies, and oxen were

feeding. The whole country, from the immediate north of Yang-lin to the

southern edge of the large plain, wherein lies the prefectural city of

Tung-ch’uan Fu, may be described as a series of valleys barred by red

uplands, mountain ranges stretching away to the west to the Yang-tsze

and the home of the Lolo. The road is frequently the bed of a mountain

torrent, which has to be crossed and re-crossed many times a day.

[Sidenote: _INSECURITY AND DISTRUST._]

The people along the route seemed to entertain the greatest distrust of

us; small wonder, when robberies are of such frequent occurrence. They

even refused us house-room for our meals, which had often to be spread

in the shade of a pine tree. At one village we borrowed the public

school-room, an act which, I fear, gave a half-holiday to the scholars

who, five in number, divided their attention for a time between writing

their characters and watching the frolics of my dog. The master

himself disappeared, and the scholars were not slow to follow his

example, each, however, preparatory to leaving, carefully depositing

his books, paper, pens, and ink in his own basket hanging from a bamboo

partition in the room. A sixth basket was for the discarded written

characters.

It was just before entering this village that I was witness of a

curious superstition. We were caught in a drizzle, and, as the shower

clouds with a vivid rainbow approached us, my followers covered their

mouths with their hats, fearful of the poisonous vapour which, they

said are given forth by rainbows. I laughed at their superstition, and,

as luck would have it, was seized, a few hundred yards beyond, with a

sudden fit of vomiting. I received no sympathy, and my sickness gave

strength to their theory.

The city of Tung-ch’uan lies five miles from the edge of the plain,

down the west of which, through one of the most fertile fields of

Western China, flows the I-li River on its way to join the Yang-tsze.

The plain was one mass of green tints, from the light green of the

paddy in the nurseries to the dark green of the more matured shoots

in the fields. The town, which is nearly eight hundred feet above the

Yün-nan Fu plain, is not at all imposing, consisting, as it does, of

one main street; but the hills to the west impart to it its reputation

of being one of the wealthiest prefectures of the province. They

contain the most celebrated copper mines in the Empire.

A French Father, who resided here, welcomed me as if I had been a

compatriot, and insisted on my spending the whole of the 8th of June

in his company. He had a regular battery of rifles and fowling pieces,

and turned out to be a keen sportsman. He had a stable of two splendid

ponies, on whose backs we spent nearly the whole day careering through

the Tung-ch’uan plain. None but those who have spent years in solitude

in a strange land can realize what it is to meet a fellow European.

China was entirely forgotten in the discussions of French and British

politics, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could tear

myself away from his kind hospitality on the following morning. All

honour to men of surpassing ability who give up their lives for

heart-breaking work in China!

[Sidenote: _A SUCCESSFUL RUSE._]

On entering the hills which bound the Tung-ch’uan plain on the north,

and which were almost devoid of human habitations, we were overtaken by

a rainstorm, which continued throughout the day, and compelled us to

abandon the hope of reaching the end of the stage that night. The road

was soon reduced to a mass of pulp, bordering yawning chasms, whose

circumvention by chairs was a source of difficulty and delay. The roof

of the room in which we huddled together, in the wretched hamlet of

Pan-pien-ch’ing, leaked at every tile, and necessitated the erection of

a tent with our india-rubber sheeting. My troubles were only beginning,

however, for, the rain still continuing on the following morning, my

men refused to stir. My appeal that they were daily nearing Ssŭ-ch’uan,

and that they had just rested a whole day in Tung-ch’uan, moved them

not; and, seeing that the limit of concessions for their convenience

had been reached, I took up the small iron box containing my supply of

silver, and, calling my dog, set out alone. Plodding through a shallow

mountain torrent, which now occupied the valley, I proceeded until I

was out of sight of the hamlet, when I sat down upon a rock to wait the

issue of events. The ruse was thoroughly successful; in half an hour

the whole caravan turned up in the sullenest of tempers.

As luck would have it, our difficulties were just beginning. The

torrent was soon blocked by hills, its waters obliterated the

high-road, and we had to take to the hills on the left before it could

be regained. We had not proceeded a mile, after a late breakfast, when

we found the road effectually cut off by a raging torrent thirty yards

in breadth and reaching above the waist. A whole hour was wasted in

trying to find a shallow crossing, but in vain. The village of “Natural

Bridge” (what a mockery!) lay on the left bank, and we called in eight

of its most able-bodied to strip and assist in carrying our chairs

across.

The sensation of fording was not a pleasant one. Twelve men with hands

joined shouldered my chair, which rocked about like a boat in a stormy

sea, now up, now down, as this or that man was washed off his feet.

One of my servant’s bearers was carried away for a distance of thirty

yards, and was ultimately rescued more dead than alive by a cordon of

men from the opposite bank. Several strings of cash which he had round

his neck acted as an anchor to his head, and it was only when they

disappeared in the current that he was able to regain his footing.

Another who attempted to cross with the assistance of a pole had also

to be dragged ashore.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE HOSPITALITY._]

On a ridge five miles beyond is the hamlet of Liang-shui-ching,

which, as the name implies, is provided with a splendid well of cold,

clear water. Here the inhabitants had turned the middle of the road

into a kitchen, where sundry messes were being cooked for hungry

wayfarers. Sitting round a stove, presided over by a buxom young lady,

my followers regained their good humour in recounting the adventures

of the day; and, when a complaint was raised because salt was not

forthcoming, the beauty laughingly told them that travellers by this

route did not care for salt!

It is a trite but true saying, that misfortunes never come singly.

Owing to the numerous delays that had occurred during the day, it was

late in the afternoon before we reached the hamlet of Shan-hu-shu,

where, notwithstanding its uninviting appearance, we found it necessary

to put up for the night. There was no inn, and every room was already

occupied by its legitimate owners. The quest seemed hopeless when

I stepped into a mud hut of two rooms, one tenanted by a crowd of

natives, the other by a couple of cows and a pig. After a considerable

expenditure of argument and less money, we induced the owners to remove

and fraternize with their cattle for the night, and hand over the byre

for our accommodation. The pig was the only one who offered any serious

objection; his gruntings over-night and attacks on the intervening door

somewhat disturbed our slumbers, while sundry squeals told me that my

men found his familiarities too pronounced.

Trade had now begun to assume formidable dimensions; hundreds of

ponies, mules, and donkeys, laden with native cottons from the central

provinces and salt from Ssŭ-ch’uan, were daily hurrying southwards,

while P’u-êrh tea and lead kept us company. It was no great surprise

to us, when crossing the cultivated hills to the north of Shan-hu-shu,

to come upon carcases of beasts of burden that had succumbed to the

hardships of the route. Strong as these little ponies are, there comes

a time when they are tried beyond their strength by their merciless

drivers, and fall down never to rise again.

[Sidenote: _CHAIN BRIDGE OVER THE NIU-LAN._]

The delays that occurred during the first day north of Tung-ch’uan,

threw our marches into utter confusion; instead of striking the Niu-lan

River on the 11th June and resting for the night on its left bank, we

were compelled by darkness to stop at the hamlet of Tu-kê-t’ang, where

I occupied an underground mud chamber, certainly not an improvement on

the byre of the previous night. This was our consolation after a march

of thirty miles, begun at four o’clock in the morning and continued

till dark. Part of the road was exceedingly precipitous, and had to be

accomplished on all fours. Loud were the lamentations of my followers

when we attained the ridge overlooking the Niu-lan River; the road

zigzagged down a deep precipitous valley strewn with huge boulders,

while opposite rose an equally steep range of mountains, which had to

be overcome during the day. The Niu-lan rushed north-west, hurrying to

the Yang-tsze between two steep mountain ranges, which are connected at

the village of Chiang-ti, where we would fain have tarried for the day

and gazed into the roaring torrent from the windows of a promising inn,

by the chain bridge of “Eternal Peace.” Ten rows of iron rods linked

together are built into twenty yards of solid masonry at either end

of the bridge and into stone piers, one distant twelve yards from the

Chiang-ti, the other twenty yards from the opposite shore, leaving a

central span of thirty-five yards. Planks placed on the chains formed a

roadway four yards in breadth, and slight iron supports were suspended

on either side from a row of thick linked rods stretched over stone

supports erected on the piers. Thankful were we for the rest-houses

that dotted the opposite bank, which proved the steepest and most

difficult ascent we had yet encountered; and grateful we were for the

beverage compounded of water and brown sugar exposed to allay the

thirst of weary wanderers. Talk of railways by this route--as well talk

of railways to the moon! Both are equally feasible.

To compensate man and beast for their struggles on the banks of the

Niu-lan, a spring of deliciously cold water gushes from the highest

ridge that separates the river from the Chao-t’ung plain. It rises out

of an extensive coal-field. Beyond the spring a glimpse of the plain,

with several sheets of water, is obtained, and eagerly did we commence

the descent, which is comparatively easy. The city of Chao-t’ung Fu,

which is 6580 feet above the level of the sea, lies nearly twenty

miles from the southern edge of the plain, which ultimately stretches

westward and is bounded eight miles to the north of the city by low

hills. Flourishing villages dotted the plain, and the city itself

showed signs of being a great trade centre. Traffic was no longer

confined to man and beast, for the level ground had called the cart

into requisition. To reach the city with greater despatch we engaged a

number of small skiffs and crossed a large lake--shallow, and, to judge

from dykes appearing here and there, occupying former paddy land. These

lakes are numerous, and well stocked with fish.

The hills to the north of the plain are inhabited chiefly by Lolos,

who have not a very honourable reputation. Stories of bloodshed and

robbery committed by them poured from the lips of the villagers who

dwelt by the roadside, and an idea that I entertained of spending a day

with this degenerate branch of the tribe had to be abandoned. There

would appear to be some foundation for these roadside statements;

villages, and even single residences, were provided with watch-towers

and refuges, and ammunition in the shape of stones was piled on the

battlements to resist attacks.

The descent from the Chao-t’ung plain commences in earnest thirty miles

to the north of the city. In company with a caravan, consisting of one

hundred ponies laden with P’u-êrh tea and tin, we zigzagged in a dense

fog down the northern face of the plateau, over a stone road, rendered

all but impassable by over-night rain. In many places it skirts deep

chasms, down which mountain torrents were leaping and roaring. On the

edge of one of these a carrier narrowly escaped destruction; he lost

his footing, and was just in the act of falling over with his load,

when I succeeded in grasping the end of his carrying pole and dragging

him back to the pathway.

[Sidenote: _CITY OF TA-KUAN T’ING._]

On the afternoon of the 15th of June, we entered the sub-prefectural

city of Ta-kuan T’ing, which is barely 3000 feet below the plateau.

The tinkling of many bells, issuing from the inns which we passed on

the way to our hostel, announced that several caravans had already

taken up their quarters for the night. These bells are fixed in rows on

broad leather straps, which run over the necks and down the breasts of

the pack animals. In some caravans, only the leader is provided with

such a circlet. The head waters of the Hêng River, which we had struck

soon after our steep descent, flow northwards to the west of the city;

but, the current being very rapid and the bed strewn with boulders,

navigation is out of the question. Another descent of 2500 feet had

to be made before boat traffic commenced, the river meantime being

considerably augmented by an affluent from the west.

The road, which was execrable, follows the banks of the river to the

market-town of Lao-ya-t’an, or Lao-wa-t’an, which lies on the right

bank, and is the point of junction of the two trade routes from

Hsü-chou Fu, in Ssŭ-ch’uan, to Yün-nan Fu, by way of the Hêng and

Nan-kuang Rivers, which enter the Yang-tsze, the one to the west and

the other to the east of the former city, respectively. Lao-wa-t’an

is entered over a fine suspension bridge, the road following for

about sixty miles the left bank of the river through scenery of

considerable grandeur, resembling at some spots, though on a less

magnificent scale, the gorges of the mighty river it helps to swell.

Four, instead of two, suspension chains divide the bridge into a like

number of alley-ways, each of sufficient breadth to admit of the

passage of a single chair only. As the Grosvenor Mission had followed

the land route, by the banks of the Hêng River from the Yang-tsze to

Lao-wa-t’an, I resolved to strike east, cross the Yün-nan-Ssŭ-ch’uan

frontier and descend the Nan-kuang River. Only one range now lay

between us and Ssŭ-ch’uan, and from the summit we looked north-east on

range after range of mountains, which, happily for us, we had not to

cross.

[Sidenote: _RETURN TO CH’UNG K’ING._]

My men, who for the last few days had been unable to procure rice,

and had subsisted for the most part on bean-curd, rejoiced to find

themselves in a valley of their own province where paddy, maize,

tobacco, hemp, and beans were well advanced, where silk was being

reeled and tea-plantations abounded. A streamlet flows north-east down

the valley, and following its course for two days, we found ourselves

on the 24th of June in the village of Huang-shui-k’ou, where we soon

engaged a long empty cargo boat; and, shipping our whole caravan, sped

down the Nan-kuang River. On its upper course it is confined by rocky

hills, some eight hundred feet in height, and little wooded, while huge

boulders coop up its waters and cause numerous rapids, down which our

craft, guided by stern and bow sweeps, dashed four and five feet at a

bound. In its lower course the country opens out, and the boulders and

rapids disappear. A bed of rocks, over which the river falls, obstructs

navigation within a few hundred yards of its mouth, and we landed on

the 25th at the market town of Nan-kuang on its left bank, whence the

river derives its name. Had my followers known how to cheer they would

have made the welkin ring, when, just beyond Nan-kuang, the mighty

Yang-tsze in full flood burst upon us. For the present their work was

done; and, instead of carrying, they were now to be carried back to

their homes in Ch’ung-k’ing. Crossing in boats to Hsü-chou Fu, which

lies on the north bank at the junction of the Chin-sha Chiang--the

upper waters of the Yang-tsze--and the Min river, we at once proceeded

to hire a large travelling boat, and at 1 P.M. the following day we

were gliding eastwards to Ch’ung-k’ing, which we reached on the evening

of the 28th of June after an absence of sixty-eight days.

CHAPTER V.

FROM CH’UNG-K’ING TO THE CAPITAL OF SSŬ-CH’UAN.

Fu-t’ou-kuan--The country and its products--Chinese New

Year--Charcoal from bracken--Ramie fibre and grass-cloth--Down a

tributary of the T’o--The T’o and its commercial importance--The

salt wells of Tsŭ-liu-ching--Sugar and Safflower--The Chêng-tu

plain--Beggars--The capital of Ssŭ-ch’uan.

In February, 1883, I found myself at liberty to carry out the

resolution which I had made to visit Ta-li Fu and the west of

Yün-nan--all that remained for me to do was to decide what route I

should follow. Mr. Baber’s admirable description of that part of

Western Ssŭ-ch’uan which he had explored, induced me to endeavour to

penetrate Yün-nan through the valley of Chien-ch’ang, and accomplish

the journey which Baron von Richthofen had attempted, but, owing

to an unfortunate accident, had been compelled to relinquish. As a

preliminary to the execution of this scheme, it was necessary to reach

Chêng-tu, the capital of Ssŭ-ch’uan, and the present chapter will be

devoted to a description of the products and industries of the country

lying between Ch’ung-k’ing and that city.

My caravan was, owing to the length of the proposed journey, somewhat

larger than on the previous expedition. There was one pack animal

which, however, succumbed to the hardships of the route.

[Sidenote: _FU-T’OU KUAN._]

The small walled town of Fu-t’ou-kuan, some four miles to the west of

Ch’ung-k’ing, is perched on the sandstone shoulders of the peninsula

which divides the Yang-tsze from its northern tributary, the Chia-ling.

Midway, and near the entrance to the village of Hsin-p’ai-fang, is a

large Mohammedan cemetery, sloping towards the left bank of the Great

River. In Ch’ung-k’ing, the followers of the Prophet are reckoned by

thousands, and it is to their presence that the foreign resident owes

one or two of the daily luxuries--in more civilized parts of the world

they would be called the necessities--of life. With the exception of a

spacious temple, erected in honour of the Goddess of Sericulture, with

extensive grounds crowded with mulberry trees, just inside the west

gate, Fu-t’ou-kuan has little to boast of in the way of architecture;

but outside the gate a number of fine memorial stone portals arch the

roadway, which is also edged at short intervals with stone tablets

recounting the virtues of deceased officials, and acts of filial

affection.

To the west of Fu-t’ou-kuan the country is somewhat broken; low hills

alternate with plains dotted with farm-houses, nestling amid clumps

of bamboo--a proof that here at least there is security for life

and property. Nor are villages and market-towns wanting. The latter

frequently vie with walled cities in commercial importance. In the

plains, wheat, beans, rape, poppy, and peas were growing luxuriantly,

while many plots of paddy land were submerged in preparation for the

summer sowing. The hill-sides were also covered with beans, which seem

to thrive well on a scanty soil. The low, umbrageous wood-oil tree

was likewise scattered thickly on the rocky ground. Beneath the huge,

dark-green, spreading banyans by the road-side, houses and restaurants

spring, mushroom-like, and invite the traveller to tarry for a moment

and enjoy their cool shade. As pack animals are usually turned loose to

forage for themselves, the peasantry, whose lands adjoin the high-road,

have hit upon a novel plan to prevent their depredations. Wheat and

beans were thickly sprinkled with feathers, which, as might naturally

be supposed, are not a pleasant sauce.

For some days at the Chinese New Year, business of every description

comes to an absolute stand-still; houses and shops are shut, and in

semi-darkness the inmates eat, drink, and make merry. As we started

from Ch’ung-k’ing on the fourth day of the first moon (February 11th),

we found that the people were still bent on pleasure, and that dice and

theatrical performances were dividing the attention of those who had

escaped from their New Year’s imprisonment.

Although coal is found in abundance near the district city of

Yung-ch’uan--some sixty miles to the south-west of Ch’ung-k’ing--I

noticed in the streets large quantities of charcoal, prepared from the

stems of bracken. These are placed in a pit and covered over, so as to

prevent blazing after ignition.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE CLOTH MAKERS._]

The district city of Jung-ch’ang Hsien lies on the left bank of a

tributary of the T’o River, which enters the Yang-tsze at the city

of Lu Chou. It is distant forty miles west by north from Yung-ch’uan,

and is approached through the same broken hilly country. It is famous

for its breed of pigs, and is noted as a centre for the manufacture

of fans and grass-cloth. The bamboos, of which the framework of the

fans is made, are carefully cultivated along the banks of the river,

while the cloth is manufactured from Ramie fibre, _Boehmeria nivea_,

grown extensively in the district. The Chinese, unlike the home

manufacturers, have not yet been inflamed with the desire to possess

machinery capable of separating the fibre, and at the same time

preserving the silky gloss which adds so much to the beauty and value

of the cloth. Here it is entirely hand labour. The stems are cut down

in the fields and carried home for manipulation. The skin or bark is

first removed from the stems by hand and the branches and leaves from

the bark, which is steeped for a few minutes in water. The strips are

then taken one by one by the operator, who is provided with a thick

broad iron thumb ring on which a short blunt blade is fixed and a

curved knife equally blunt, and passed rapidly between the two blades,

which are held in the left hand. By this means the green or outer bark

is removed and the inner white fibre remains. The latter is afterwards

handed over to women, who shred and twist it into thread ready for

weaving.

The process of removing the bark from the stem has reached a higher

state of development in the seaboard provinces, and merits the

attention of cultivators in other countries. In the province of

Chê-kiang, where I am now writing, decortication is effected in the

field. The workman grasps the plant between the finger and thumb of his

left hand, about six inches above the ground, and drawing it slightly

towards him, seizes it two inches or more higher up, between the thumb

and forefinger of his right hand. A smart forward push with the right

at once causes a compound fracture of the stem; the forefinger of the

right hand is inserted at the point of fracture and drawn up to the

top of the plant, separating the bark on the left from the bark and

broken stem on the right; the bark on the left is then drawn down

and is easily detached at the root, the bark and stem on the right

being treated in the same manner. The stem is removed with ease, and

the branches and leaves give way when the strips of bark are passed

through the right hand. By this means a much longer fibre is obtained,

and the branches and leaves remain on the field to assist in manuring

the second and third crops. Care must be taken not to twist the plant

in giving the forward push; I spoiled at least a dozen stems before I

succeeded in causing the necessary compound fracture. In Chê-kiang, a

flat piece of wood takes the place of the blade on the thumb-ring, and

the curved knife is supplanted by an instrument resembling a shoe-horn

made of iron. The cloth, after it leaves the loom, has to undergo a

considerable amount of bleaching, before it attains the beautiful white

colour which it presents in the piece. It is of various qualities,

and ranges from one pound to two shillings and sixpence per piece of

forty-six Chinese feet long and eighteen inches broad.

Instead of crossing the handsome stone bridge of seven arches, the

“Lion’s Bridge,” which spans the river to the west of the city, we

took boat and dropped westward with the stream for a distance of five

miles. The river frequently expands to a breadth of one hundred yards;

but even in the short space it bore us, rocks project into it at two

places from the left and right bank respectively, leaving only a very

narrow channel just sufficient for one of these small boats to pass.

A little above our landing place on the right bank, a stone bridge of

thirty-eight arches runs across the river, rocks showing everywhere.

The arches are very low--only one is available for boat traffic--and

we slipped through with very little to spare between the roof of the

arch and the tops of our chairs. Excellent coal in large quantities was

being carried up river to Jung-ch’ang.

[Sidenote: _THE CITY OF LUNG-CH’ANG._]

On the afternoon of the 15th of February we entered the city of

Lung-ch’ang, which presented a picture of business both outside and

inside its walls. It is also famed for its grass-cloth. It lies in the

centre of a carboniferous region, about a hundred mines existing in the

neighbourhood. Many of them, however, have suffered that fate which

attaches to most mining industries in China: they have been flooded,

and the workmen are not supplied with the necessary appliances called

pumps.

The immense salt traffic, which we met going east, tempted us to leave

the main road to the capital and pay a visit to the celebrated salt

wells of Tzŭ-liu-ching, farther west. Two stages lay between us and the

wells, and we spent the first night on the left bank of the T’o River,

probably the busiest stream of its size in Western China. Rising to

the north-east of the provincial capital, it flows through the great

sugar region of the province, and to the south of the district city of

Fu-shun it is joined by a tributary which connects it with the salt

wells. In return for its salt and sugar, it absorbs enormous quantities

of raw cotton and cotton cloth, so that there is one continuous stream

of traffic on its waters. The sugar factories to the west of the river

were indeed merry; the din that came from them resembled very much the

music from an iron foundry, only louder.

On the following day we struck the left bank of the tributary, took

boat for a short distance, and again landed on the left bank before

ascending the low hill, on the slope of which the town of Tzŭ-liu-ching

is built.

This great salt belt stretches west to the left bank of the Min River

and south towards the Yang-tsze. In the Shê-hung district, a hundred

miles to the north-west, salt beds are also found and worked; but it is

from the former that the greater parts of the provinces of Ssŭ-ch’uan,

Kuei-chow, and the north-east of Yün-nan are supplied. I spent a whole

day in visiting the larger wells, which are situated inside the town,

and a short description of one of the greatest industries of Western

China cannot fail to be of some interest.

[Sidenote: _SALT WELLS._]

When I had prevailed on the immense crowd that accompanied me on my

round of sight-seeing, to leave an open space, so that I might be

observed to greater advantage, and that I might catch a glimpse of

what I had come so far to see, I found myself seated--a settle had been

procured for me--beside a square stone embedded in the ground, with a

central hole a few inches in diameter. From the hole there was issuing

a hempen rope, about an inch thick, which, ascending, passed over a

movable wheel fixed at the top of a staging some sixty feet high and

bearing a striking resemblance to the shears at a dockyard. On leaving

the shears, the rope descended and passed under another wheel fixed

a few feet above ground, whence for the moment it escaped from our

range of vision. After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, the top of a

tube, from nine to ten inches in circumference, attached to the rope,

made its appearance and was drawn up to within a foot of the wheel.

Meantime a workman, stationed at the mouth of the wheel, had thrown a

rope round the tube, which was composed of the stems of a number of

bamboos fixed together, and, immediately the lower end appeared, he

drew it to one side and over a wooden reservoir built into the ground.

Embracing the tube with his left arm, he plunged an iron rod which he

held in his right hand into the bottom, and raising a leather valve,

which was there adjusted, allowed the contents, consisting of black,

dirty-looking water, to escape into the reservoir. This was the brine.

The tube was again placed over the well, and descended with great

rapidity. Whence the motive power that raised the brine? Following the

rope after it left the second wheel, I found that it entered a large

shed, the floor of which was several feet underground. In the centre

of the building was an enormous bamboo wheel or drum, twelve feet in

height and sixty in circumference, placed on a vertical axis, to which

the rope was attached six feet from the ground. As I entered, four

huge water-buffaloes were being harnessed, at equal distances, to the

circumference of the drum; each buffalo had a driver, whose duty it

seemed to be to belabour the animal with a short, stout hempen rope to

induce it to break into a trot. As the drum revolved, the rope coiled

round it at a sufficient height not to impede the buffaloes. For a

quarter of an hour, that is, until the tube had been again raised,

this unmerciful beating went on, when the poor beasts, exhausted and

white with froth, were unharnessed and led back to their stable, whence

a fresh relay was brought. When the animals were unharnessed and the

signal given, the drum reversed with great velocity, creating a violent

wind all round. Forty animals were employed at this well, and each

relay raised the brine about ten times every twenty-four hours. They

are specially selected for the work, and cost from forty to fifty taels

apiece. The specimens I saw were fat and in excellent condition; but,

although they are carefully fed and attended to--each costing three

hundred cash a day--their staying power does not exceed five years.

Many even fail within the first year; nor is this to be wondered at,

for the make of the animal fits it for a slow plodding life only.

[Sidenote: _PROCESS OF EVAPORATION._]

Retracing my steps to the large reservoir by the well, I found that

the brine was being carried off in bamboo pipes laid down between it

and smaller wooden reservoirs in the evaporating sheds, which I next

visited. On the floors of the latter, rows of brick furnaces with

round openings at the tops were built. On each furnace rested a round,

shallow, iron pan, about four feet in diameter, filled with brine

conducted in open bamboo pipes from the reservoirs, which occupy one

side of each shed. Where was the fuel? Under each pan was a flame

blazing from a bamboo tube coated with lime and fitted with an iron

burner, while all round flames burst from smaller upright tubes and

lighted the sheds, for there is no cessation, night or day, in the work

of evaporation. I was next conducted to the “fire-well” whence the fuel

is procured. It was quite close to the brine well, and was carefully

built over, bamboo tubes covered with lime to prevent escape ramifying

from the cap covering the mouth to the evaporating sheds. There can

be little doubt that the “fire wells,” which are nearly all situated

within the town, contain petroleum from which the vapour or gas arising

supplies the natural fuel. They have, however, never been worked for

the oil. The stench which permeates the whole town reminds one forcibly

of a gasworks, but the gas has not, as in some parts of Ohio, been

utilized to light the streets. All the wells, which are worked by

private companies, are now under Government control, and there is an

office established at Tzŭ-liu-ching through which all salt transactions

are carried on. The actual cost price of the salt is thirteen to

fourteen cash a catty, but the Government manages to extract from

buyers twenty-two to twenty-three cash.

[Sidenote: _THE WORKING OF THE SALT WELLS._]

The salt is of two kinds--pan or lump, and granular salt. The former is

from two to three inches in thickness, and is of the same shape and

size as the evaporating pans. In preparing the latter, bean flour is

used to give it a whiter appearance. The work of evaporation occupies

from two to five days, according to the strength of the gas-flame. As

the salt wells number over a thousand, and the “fire wells” only about

a score, much of the brine is carried into the town for evaporation.

Pans are leased by the year, the privilege costing about forty taels

each. A contractor supplies the pans, which weigh 1600 lbs. apiece,

for from thirty to forty taels a year each--the old pans, which are

changed about once a fortnight, being the property of the contractor.

Brine is found at depths varying from 700 to over 2000 feet, and from

a dirty yellow in the shallower, becomes a deep black in the deepest

wells. Twice as much salt is evaporated from the black as from the

yellow brine--the deeper the well the stronger the solution. As the

region in which the wells are situated is of sandstone formation, the

difficulties of boring to these great depths, even with primitive

machinery, are not very great. A bamboo lever is erected over the

spot where the operations are to be carried on; an iron jumper over

one hundred pounds in weight is attached by a bamboo rope to the thin

end of the lever; on both sides of the thicker end, scaffoldings with

plankways are built; several men jump simultaneously from the planking

on one side to the planking on the other, using the lever as a stepping

stone; and the jumper is raised, released, and falls crushing the

stone, a rotary motion being imparted to the weight by a man who stands

by the mouth of the well, and twists the bamboo rope as the lever is

about to drop. The rope is lengthened as required by adding strips

of split bamboo. I have heard doubts expressed as to the depths of

these wells; but the figures given are unimpeachable. The well which I

visited was over 2000 feet in depth, and I arrived at this result by a

very simple calculation. The drum was sixty feet in circumference, and

thirty-four coils of rope were wound up before the tube reached the

mouth of the well. In boring in the vicinity of the town, at least, it

is impossible to predict whether petroleum or brine will be struck; but

as both are valuable, the result is always satisfactory.

The workmen presented a very worn and unhealthy appearance, and, to

judge from the alarming number of beggars in the town, life at the

wells must be very trying and short. Their wages range from 1200 to

1300 cash per month, with board--not a large sum for labour amid

noxious gases which permeate the whole place.

The history of this great industry is lost in antiquity; but salt is

said to have been worked at Tzŭ-liu-ching as early as the Minor Han

Dynasty, which was established in Ssŭ-ch’uan, A.D. 221-263.

We had found the inns on the main road comparatively comfortable; on

the branch road to Tzŭ-liu-ching we were confronted with wretched dens

specially intended for the accommodation of salt carriers. A bed-room

is easily described. A trestle framework, two feet high, ran the length

of the narrow cell; on the top was spread a straw mattress, an inch and

a half thick, covered with a rush mat. During the day the bedding,

which consisted of a long bag padded with cotton, was stowed in the

office, and was not issued till payment of the few cash necessary to

ensure a night’s lodging.

Daylight of the 19th of February found us marching northwards to regain

the high-road to the provincial capital. On leaving the salt area the

road winds round low hills terraced and cultivated, each terrace rising

above the other and faced by a wall of dark, bare sandstone. So much

did they resemble circular forts, that one felt inclined to look for

the embrasures and guns. These rocks were, however, fast crumbling

into soil, their colour being easily distinguishable in the adjacent

fields amid the beans and peas springing up from the old cane-brakes,

and the rape and wheat which occupied the rest of the arable land.

Farther north the yellow soil showed that hills had been entirely

disintegrated by the weather, assisted by the hoe. In other places the

hills were partly clad with stunted pines, while clumps of bamboo and

an occasional pumelo and banyan were to be seen. The poppy was not at

all prominent--it prefers a heavier soil than sandstone. The 20th of

February broke dull, and by noon, when we struck the right bank of the

T’o River, opposite the city of Tzŭ Chou, the day had fairly broken

down; and on a vote being taken whether we should proceed or spend the

afternoon and night within the walls, my followers to a man--just as I

expected--preferred the latter course. The river was of no great depth:

a bamboo proved sufficient to guide the movements of the small boats in

which we were ferried across.

[Sidenote: _SUGAR AND SAFFLOWER._]

Tzŭ Chou is an inviting city; it possesses broad streets of large,

prosperous-looking shops, and its numerous blue-brick houses give it

an air of substantiality. The district in which it is situated is a

great producer of sugar; while the soil, being light and sandy, is

likewise favourable to the growth of the ground-nut, _Arachis hypogæa

L._, whence a sweet cooking-oil is extracted. Coal is also found in the

immediate hills. The distance from this city to the provincial capital

is reckoned as four stages; but, although we succeeded in accomplishing

the first without mishap, rain and snow compelled us to distribute

the remainder over four days. Beyond the weather, no other difficulty

presented itself. The sandstone country extends a little to the

north of the district city of Tz’ŭ-yang Hsien, which, like Tzŭ Chou,

stands on the right bank of the T’o River, whose course the high-road

follows in the main. Bare, red hills then put in an appearance, and

cultivation, except at their bases, stops. This belt of hills extends

for twenty-five miles, when it gives place to a long, wide plain--the

plain of Chien Chou--famous for its opium. It is interesting to watch

the effect which one foreign industry has had on this remote spot.

Previous to the introduction of aniline dyes into China, the department

of Chien Chou was widely famed for its safflower, _Carthamus tinctorius

L._, which, with that grown within the Shun-ching prefecture, not

only sufficed to meet the wants of the province, but was annually

sent eastward in large quantities. All is now changed. Safflower has

been supplanted by “Pure Soluble Scarlet” in bottle, and the plain

of Chien Chou has been converted into a poppy garden. The plant is

still cultivated, but in very small quantities and almost entirely for

local use. The plain, which was dotted with farm-houses and homesteads

peeping out from bamboos and cypresses, runs due north and south. In

the north lies the city of Chien Chou, the approach to which is marked

by three pagodas, one of them thirteen storeys high. It occupies the

right bank of the river, which is joined to the immediate north of the

city by a tributary from the west. Crossing the latter by a five-arched

stone bridge, we followed the main river through orange groves and

copses of bamboo and cypress, which would have met with admiration but

for a low thermometer, a piercing north wind, and a drenching rain. A

few salt wells to the north of the city were being worked, charcoal

being the fuel used in evaporation.

[Sidenote: _A STARTLING CONTRAST._]

Leaving the river we struck west by north through the belt of low

hills which separates the Chien Chou and Ch’êng-tu plains. These hills

are rocky and little cultivated, the thin poor soil not holding out

that inducement which even a Chinese expects for his labour. Snow was

falling thickly when we reached the rim of the immense plain--the plain

_par excellence_ of the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan--and the imperfect

glimpses which we caught through the snow-flakes revealed flooded

paddy-fields and the ordinary winter crops, the most prominent of which

was the poppy. Over fifteen miles still separated us from the eastern

wall of the city, but we were fated, before reaching this centre of

wealth and luxury, to be reminded that riches and poverty always go

hand in hand. Under a memorial archway near the entrance of one of the

market-towns in the plain, lay a beggar stark and stiff. The yard of

matting, which was the only clothing he possessed and which covered his

loins, had proved insufficient to ward off the chill hand of death. A

few yards off sat some companions, listless shivering wretches, with

faces pinched and worn, outcasts from their kind. Hundreds of beggars

crowded the eastern suburb of the city, and it was with difficulty

that we pushed our way through the mass of rags and dirt that held the

bridge, which spans the stream flowing southwards under the eastern

wall. They seemed to have just returned from the public soup-kitchens,

which open in the large towns of China during winter, and dole out to

the most necessitous enough to keep them from actual starvation. We had

no sooner settled down in a comfortless inn than the underlings of the

various officials came to prey upon us. They came laden with offers of

assistance; they departed, each with a handful of cash, satisfied that

they had done their duty. We saw none of them again--the key to peace

and quietude was cheap at the price.

Ch’êng-tu, the capital of the largest and probably the richest province

in the Empire, is a splendid city, fifteen hundred feet above the

level of the sea, enclosed by an excellent wall about twelve miles in

circumference. It is the seat of a Viceroy, or Governor-General, whose

jurisdiction extends over the one province only. With the exception of

Chihli, it is the only province in China which is thus honoured. Of the

other sixteen, each is entrusted to the care of a Governor; but with

the exception of Shantung, which has no superintending Viceroy, and of

the three Provinces of Kiangsu, Kiangsé, and Anhui, which are under

one Viceroy, they are divided into groups of two, with a Viceroy over

each group. The city is divided into two parts, the quarter occupied by

the Tartar garrison and their families, and the Chinese or commercial

quarter. It is without exception the finest city I have seen in China;

Peking and Canton will not bear comparison with it. The streets in the

Chinese quarter are fairly broad, paved with stone, and slope gently

to either side. They were clean and in excellent repair. During my two

days’ sojourn I traversed many of the streets, and, notwithstanding

the fact that it rained heavily the whole time, they were crowded with

moving masses of bustling, gaily-dressed, well-to-do people. Chairs

with their passengers and ponies with their riders were everywhere on

the move. But the prettiest sight of all was the signboards. The reader

must bear in mind that these are not placed horizontally over the shop

doors as in Europe; they hang vertically from iron bars projecting

from the walls. In Ch’êng-tu they are one mass of gold and colour,

decorating the streets and proclaiming, at the same time, the names

of the shops--not the names of the owners--and the wares on sale. It

may be that the unfortunate weather prevented me from seeing anything

prepossessing or attractive in the Tartar quarter. Here the streets

were broad, unpaved, and muddy; the people, especially the women, were

badly, even slovenly, dressed; everything announced the presence of

parasites battening on Government pay, without affording any adequate

return. Much of the land in this quarter, which is thickly wooded, is

devoted to gardens; but I should question whether these slip-shod,

down-at-heel, lazy-looking Tartars possessed the energy to grow

sufficient vegetables to supplement their government rice.

Ch’êng-tu derives considerable importance from being the meeting point

of the great high-roads from the Eastern and Northern provinces, from

Yün-nan and Tibet, and it is undoubtedly the place whence the latter

may most easily be entered from the Chinese side.

[Sidenote: _A FRESH START MEDITATED._]

My aim was now to reach Ta-li Fu, in Western Yün-nan, by way of Ya-chou

Fu, the valley of Chien-ch’ang or Ning-yuan, and Yung-pei T’ing. In

undertaking a long and arduous journey such as this, it might have

been more advisable to take boat to Chia-ting on the Min River, or

even as far as Ch’êng-tu, and then start afresh; but in that case I

would have missed one of the most interesting sights and industries of

the province--the salt wells of Tzŭ-liu-ching. My men grumbled loudly

because I declined to stay longer than two days in Ch’êng-tu. Finding,

however, that I was inexorable, they gave in, and on the morning of

the 28th of February, we were all ready to penetrate the wilds and

backwoods of Western China.

CHAPTER VI.

THROUGH LOLODOM AND THE VALLEY OF CHIEN-CH’ANG.

A Tibetan criminal in a cage--The armed ruffians of Chiung Chou--A

floating bamboo bridge--Brick tea for Tibet--Fraternizing with

Tibetan pilgrims on the summit of the Flying Dragon Pass--Chinese

originality--Over the Ta Hsiang Ling Pass--A non-Chinese

race--Across the Ta-tu River under Sifan protection--In the

country of the Lolos--Lolo language--Sifan language--Asbestos

cloth--A dangerous country--Lolo rogues--Over the Hsiao Hsiang Ling

Pass--Lolo women--The valley of Chien-ch’ang--Ning-yuan Fu.

Leaving the city by the south gate and crossing the bridge which spans

the river flowing under the wall, we proceeded south-west through the

great plain of Ch’êng-tu. Here there is a perfect network of limpid

streams and irrigating canals rushing swiftly southwards, and fitted

with sluices to ensure the flooding of the plots which in summer and

autumn form one vast rice-field. As might be expected, this water-power

is not allowed to run to waste; tiny mills for hulling rice and

grinding wheat were to be seen on the banks of many of the streamlets.

Clumps of bamboo and plantations of fir encircled the farm-houses,

and a tree called by the Chinese _ching-mu_--probably a species of

beech--grew extensively along the narrow waterways. It is a tree of

rapid growth; it is allowed three years to develop, when it is cut down

for firewood and supplanted by a young sapling. The primitive Chinese

barrow was much in use in the plain for passenger and other traffic,

nor was the squeaking of the wheel absent.

[Sidenote: _A CAGED CRIMINAL._]

To the south of the small district city of Shuang-liu, we met a party

of Tibetans clad in their long, reddish, woollen gowns. They were

on foot, but each was leading his pony by the bridle. A few hundred

yards behind them was a large, wooden, barred cage, slung on a couple

of carrying-poles supported by a pair of bearers. In the chair sat

an individual heavily chained, and clothed in even a more pronounced

red than his guards. Although I was unable to get at the details of

the case, beyond the apparent fact that the gentleman in irons was a

criminal being escorted to Ch’êng-tu, yet the method of conveyance told

me that he was a criminal of no ordinary type.

Cotton spinning and weaving and the manufacture of looms and iron pans

were the chief industries of the plain. At many of the country villages

the raw cotton, which comes by water from the central provinces, was

being handed to the women, who brought in exchange yarn and cotton

cloth of their own spinning and weaving.

Before entering the district city of Hsin-ching, which lies about

fifteen miles south by west of Shuang-liu, we had to cross three

branches of a river, a tributary of the Min, by wooden bridges of

somewhat novel construction. Stones in bamboo baskets were piled on

both banks of the river, and on these the ends of the bridges rested.

On the stages supporting the floors, similar baskets of stones were

suspended, to keep them from being washed away by the rapid current.

Pigs’ bristles, which, the western farmer will be somewhat surprised

to learn, are highly prized as manure, formed an important item of the

trade seen on the plain.

From Hsin-ching the road runs west over a fine level tract of country

as far as the city of Chiung Chou. I must confess that I felt

considerable anxiety in approaching this place. Baron von Richthofen

has drawn a very dark picture of it. He says:--“All the men are armed

with long knives and use them frequently in their rows. I have passed

few cities in China in which I have suffered so much molestation

from the people as I did there; and travellers should avoid making

night quarters there, as it was my lot to do. The city is large and

overcrowded with people. They are badly dressed, and have repulsive

features.”

It was with the view of ascertaining whether the morals of the people

of Chiung Chou had improved since the Baron’s visit, and to impress

upon the inhabitants, if necessary, the words of their sage Confucius,

who preached “How pleasant a thing it is to be able to attract

strangers from afar,” that I resolved to spend the night of the 1st

of March within the walls. I was quite prepared to be greeted by a

population of armed ruffians; but, more fortunate than the Baron, I

was agreeably disappointed. The people were not more curious than in

other towns; and, as for knives, I failed to see any except in the

hands of innocent-looking butchers. My writer, however, declared that

he saw one young fellow with a knife, but he explained that only the

young blades carry such dangerous weapons. I did not observe any one

particularly well dressed or good looking, nor, on the other hand, did

I see any one with repulsive features. There were beggars and dirt as

a matter of course. What I did specially notice, however, was that the

place had a very sleepy atmosphere; the whole street of shops, which

strikes the main street at right angles and leads to the south gate,

remained closed as we left the city early next morning.

[Sidenote: _CELESTIAL MEDICINES._]

Chiung Chou lies on the south-western edge of the Ch’êng-tu plain. A

fine stone bridge of fifteen arches spans the river--the Nan Ho--which

flows eastwards to the south of the city. It is two hundred and fifty

yards long and twenty-four feet broad; at either end there is a stone

archway, and on the centre stands a pavilion, whence we caught a

glimpse of snow-clad mountains to the west. The piers of the bridge are

heavily buttressed. To the south of the river low uplands, well covered

with pine, succeed the plain, and stretch with two breaks of valleys,

wherein lie the market-town of Pai-chang-ch’ang, or Pai-chang-yi,

and the district city of Ming-shan, respectively, as far as the left

bank of the Ya Ho. In the Pai-chang valley a stream flows north-east

to join a larger affluent of the Min River. Here we met a number of

carriers with medicines from Yün-nan. The Chinese pharmacopœia is very

comprehensive; tigers’ bones and deer’s horns are well-known celestial

remedies, but dried armadillo skins as a drug had hitherto escaped our

ken. Bundles of rush wicks--the pith of the _Juncus effusus L._--were

also going north in large quantities from the Ming-shan district.

The road west of Ch’êng-tu was for the most part unpaved, but to the

south of Chiung Chou boulders from the bed of the Nan Ho were laid in

glorious disorder on the pathway. Even for the Chinese straw sandal

they proved impracticable, and one of my bearers slipped and fell

forward on his carrying pole, one of the brass spikes of which pierced

his temple. Now, thought I, had the time arrived to display my store

of foreign medicines, and I was looking forward to the effect which

an application of Friar’s Balsam would have on the patient and his

comrades, when there was a sudden call for tobacco. My pleadings to be

allowed to treat the case were in vain--a handful of cut tobacco was

placed over the wound, and all the assistance I was permitted to give

was the loan of my handkerchief to bind the head and keep the narcotic

in position.

From the low, rising ground to the west of Pai-chang-ch’ang we obtained

a good view of the country beyond; dark hills with a snow-clad range

in their rear lay before us. The white foamy crest of a huge billow

breaking on a darker sea would fairly represent the picture. The

Chin-chi pass, two thousand feet above the sea, divides the valley

in which Ming-shan is situated from the valley of the Ya Ho. The

cultivated terraces on the hill sides which bound the latter were built

up with rounded stones and baskets of shingle lying by the left bank

indicated that the valley is liable to inundation. We struck the river,

which flows east, five miles from Ya-chou Fu, the city on the right

bank from which it derives its name. Crossing a tributary by a wooden

bridge of seven arches, we were soon face to face with the main river,

which we passed over by a floating bridge, the first of its kind I

had seen in China. High cones of stones in baskets were piled on both

banks, and round these a huge cable of woven split bamboo was wound;

bundles of bamboos firmly tied together, about a foot apart, floated on

the surface of the water, each bundle being securely fastened to the

cable at its up-river end; planks were spread on the bundles to form

a roadway; and rails of bamboo ran along both sides of the plankway.

The city, which is picturesquely situated on rising ground, has broad

streets and possessed, what was indeed a luxury to us, a good inn. It

was altogether too tempting, and I determined to take a day’s rest, and

make some enquiries as to the trade in brick tea, of which it is the

centre.

[Sidenote: _BRICK TEA FOR TIBET._]

Within and on the borders of the prefecture of Ya-chou, all the brick

tea sent to Tibet is prepared. The tea-growing districts, in their

order of production, are Jung-ching, Ya-an, and Ti’en-ch’üan Chou.

Chiung Chou produces least. On the Mêng-shan Hills, which lie within

the Ming-shan district, a tea is grown exclusively for use in the

Imperial Palace, and is brought to Ya-chou for transmission to Peking.

The estimated total value of the tea grown within the prefecture is one

million taels, while the duties collected were given as forty thousand

taels. The best tea is picked by hand in the second moon; the coarse

tea is picked, or rather cut--a knife is used for the purpose--during

the third moon, when leaves and twigs are indiscriminately collected.

The growers sell to the tea hongs, fine leaf at from four to five taels

per picul (133⅓ lbs.), coarse leaf at about 1·8 taels for the same

quantity. Three qualities of tea are prepared, known respectively as

“Ku yü,” “Mao chien,” and “Sui fang,” the selling price being two,

one and a half, and one mace per catty. The leaf is steamed, and made

up into long, narrow, flat packages, having an inner casing of banana

leaf, and an outer casing of matting. A package of the finer tea weighs

eighteen catties, or twenty-four pounds, while a package of the coarser

tea frequently weighs only ten catties, or thirteen and a third pounds.

The standard of sale at Ya-chou is the sum of fifty taels, the number

of packages that can be bought for this sum varying according to the

state of the market.

The total value of the tea trade with Tibet amounts in round numbers

to between £150,000 and £200,000. All this tea is carried on the backs

of porters, piled on a wooden framework which curves forward over the

head, and is thus conveyed from Ya-chou to the town of Ta-chien-lu,

near the Tibetan frontier, the journey usually occupying fifteen days.

The number of packages in a load varies, of course, according to the

quality of the tea. I have counted as many as fourteen packages, but

the average load contained from eight to nine. The freight per package

between the two places was said to be three hundred cash, but as

loads varied as to the number of packages or bricks, and the bricks

themselves as to weight, there must be some more satisfactory method

of calculation in making payment. Like the salt carriers in Kuei-chow,

these porters, whom we counted by hundreds daily to the south of

Ya-chou, were wanting in leg, nothing beyond an ordinary development

being observable. During their arduous mountain journey they rest

frequently and long.

This tea differs altogether from the brick tea prepared in the Russian

tea hongs at Hankow. The latter is manufactured from the dust and

broken leaf of fine teas into hard, solid bricks, or into thin, ridged

cakes, an infusion of which is exceedingly palatable. The Tibetans, on

the other hand, eat the leaves churned up with butter, not even a twig

being lost.

But the products of the prefecture are not confined to tea; two

varieties of drugs are largely exported. They are called _Hou p’o_ and

_Huang lien_. The former is the bark of _Magnolia hypoleuca, S. et

Z_, and the latter consists of the rhizomes of _Coptis teeta Wall_. The

bark of the wild Magnolia being thicker, is preferred to the bark of

the cultivated tree and fetches a much higher price. Coal and iron are

also mined and worked.

[Sidenote: _THE FLYING DRAGON PASS._]

We spent the greater part of the 5th of March struggling in a dense

mist along the right bank of a small tributary of the Ya Ho. A pass,

called the “Flying Dragon,” 3580 feet above the sea, lies between this

and a larger tributary of the same river. A long pull over a frightful

road brought us to the summit, where we sat down and made friends with

a number of Tibetans of both sexes, who were engaged in a pilgrimage

to the sacred mountains of Western China. The women were sturdy and

good-looking, gaily ornamented with ear-rings and brooches, and had

none of that lifelessness and insipidity which characterize their

almond-eyed sisters. No mock-modesty debarred them from chaffing and

laughing at my European features and dress. Up the west side of the

pass scrambled about twenty ponies and mules, panting and blowing; not

without sufficient cause, for they were carrying heavy loads of copper

from Ning-yuan, and, from Yün-nan, the bark of a species of _Rhamnus_,

which is used for making a green dye.

Are the Chinese wanting in the faculty of invention? It is well known

that they will make an exact copy of any pattern that may be supplied

to them. A tailor has been known to produce a new coat duly patched to

match the exemplar; but the ability of the race to give an original

idea to the world has been hotly disputed. I think the water-wheels of

Kuei-chow, which I have described in a previous chapter, are novel and

ingenious, and south of Ya-chou I saw the water-wheel turned to two

skilful and, at the same time, practical uses. A part of the horizontal

axle of the wheel was removed, and an iron elbow inserted; to the elbow

a long iron rod was attached by an eye; to the lower end of the rod was

fixed a polisher, which, as the wheel revolved, was drawn backwards and

forwards over the surface of a stone pillar being prepared for building

purposes. On exactly the same principle, except that the axle of the

wheel was vertical instead of horizontal, the rod was made to blow a

blacksmith’s bellows.

[Sidenote: _TRUTH AT A DISCOUNT._]

Descending from the pass, we took up our head-quarters for the night

on the right bank of the Jung-ching River, as this tributary of the

Ya Ho is called. Great excitement now began to manifest itself among

my followers. We were only a day’s journey from the foot of the Ta

Hsiang Ling Pass, and carriers from Yün-nan, who came to our inn, were

cramming them with the difficulties that had to be surmounted. Snow, so

they said, was lying deep on the passes, and they had only just managed

to get through with their lives. Chinese statements have invariably

to be heavily discounted, and the problem as to how far a Chinese

believes his most intimate friend has been present with me for many

years, and still remains unsolved. Instead of following the hill road

along the right bank of the river to the city of Jung-ching, we crossed

to the left bank by a ferry a few miles from our night’s quarters,

and traversed a plain well watered and cultivated. We saw one or two

villages on the plain, but they were miserable places, and scarcely a

soul was visible as we passed through them. Recrossing the stream by a

plank bridge, we soon caught sight of the low stone walls of the city.

The universal clanging of the blacksmith’s anvil, loudly proclaimed

the local industry. Coal and iron are both found in the neighbourhood,

and agricultural implements, cooking pans, and crampoons were being

hammered into shape. South of Jung-ching the valley contracts,

frequently leaving room for the bed of the stream only, and the hills

are more precipitous, rocky, and uncultivated. They were not bare,

however, for the tea-tree was everywhere prominent.

The village of Huang-ni-p’u lies 1400 feet above the city of

Jung-ching, and 5640 feet under the summit of the Ta Hsiang Ling,

which was clad with snow. When we awoke on the morning of the 7th of

March, we found the whole mountain enveloped in a thick mist, which

became denser as we ascended. When we reached the Hsiao Kuan, or Lower

Pass (4800 feet), the snow lay thick by the roadside; but all around

was buried in white gloom. Huge icicles hung from rocks projecting

over the rugged path, and we frequently heard their crashing as they

fell, amid the din of roaring torrents, into the depths below. As

we ascended, the snow became deeper, increasing from two to three

inches above the Lower Pass to a couple of feet. The pathway, which

skirts the edges of ravines and precipices, was one continuous mass

of slush, snow, and ice--higher up, dry and crisp; and, starting from

Huang-ni-p’u at half-past six in the morning, we stood on the summit

(9366 feet) at half-past two in the afternoon, having indulged in two

short intervals of rest. A stiff, north wind was blowing over the

ridge, and I overheard one of the escort duly warning my followers that

shouting on the summit would most certainly provoke a storm. For a time

not a sound but that of our own footfalls on the crisp snow broke the

stillness of the gloomy scene. It became monotonous, and, when I took

to snowballing my dog in sheer desperation, my laughter and his joyous

barking made them hurry down the southern face of the Pass.

On leaving the clouds, we looked down into a plain shut in by lofty

ranges and broken by spurs bounding ravines washed out by mountain

torrents. On a plateau in the plain, stands the district city of

Ch’ing-ch’i Hsien, nearly four thousand feet below the summit of the

Ta Hsiang Ling. Down the plain, which runs almost due north and south,

flows a stream, nurtured by the melting snows on the surrounding peaks.

The city is of no great size; but it is exceedingly interesting, as

being the junction where the main high-road from Tibet to China and the

road from Yün-nan by the Chien-ch’ang valley meet. Here we parted with

the brick-tea carriers, sorry that it was not our fortune to accompany

them to Ta-chien-lu, and attempt the country beyond that famous border

town. From Ch’ing-ch’i the road goes south, descending to the bases of

the precipitous mountain ranges hemming in a valley, which expands and

contracts, and is plentifully strewn with stones and pebbles. Fifteen

miles to the south of the city, the road suddenly descends about two

hundred feet down into a wider valley. Far below us, we could see the

hamlet of Lung-tung, encircled by plots of yellow rape and green wheat

and poppy--a real oasis in the white stony valley. This descent leads

not only to a new country, but to a new race.

[Sidenote: _A NON-CHINESE RACE._]

At Lung-tung I noticed a marked difference in the features of the

people, especially the women. The faces were sharper and more pointed

than the ordinary Chinese type, while the foreheads were exceedingly

prominent. There was an undoubted mixture of foreign, probably Sifan,

blood. It is a peculiarity of all these non-Chinese races that the

women are the last to abandon their national dress, and they cling with

tenacity to profuse decoration. The women of Lung-tung backed up their

facial distinction with a lavish display of silver ornaments.

For some distance south of the hamlet there was no attempt at

cultivation in the stony wilderness; but gradually we found signs of

stones having been collected, patches of land dyked, and rivulets

diverted for irrigation purposes. Watercress was growing wild in the

limpid water. Trees, although not very numerous, were not wanting; the

mulberry, orange, red-date, and pear were to be seen. The orange was

a tall tree, bearing a small round fruit with a thick wrinkled skin,

which reminded me forcibly of a miniature “Buddha’s Hand”--_Citrus

sacrodactylus_. Cotton in small quantities was also growing in this

valley. Many of the houses were roofed with thin boards weighted with

stones, instead of the usual Chinese tiles, and the graves were covered

with mounds of rounded stones carefully whitewashed.

The garrison town of Fu-lin, whence a bridle-path leads over the

mountains to Ta-chien-lu, lies at no great distance from the left

bank of the Ta-tu River, the southern boundary of the valley. In the

immediate neighbourhood of the town were a few cultivated patches; but

agriculture, to judge from the precautions taken against inundation

from the waters of the Liu-sha, which was hurrying down the valley to

join the Ta-tu, would appear to be carried on under difficulties. A

line of white shingle, running east and west, backed by rising ground,

was the only visible indication of the presence of a watercourse, and

it was only on reaching the miserable village of Wa-wa, built on a

sandbank held together by bushes of luxuriant cactus, that we were able

to espy the green waters of the Ta-tu rushing violently eastward in

its pebbly bed, to be quickly lost in a gap in the mountains to the

south-east. Several forks, into which the river is divided, unite to

the west of Wa-wa.

[Sidenote: _AN EXCITING SCENE._]

Descending to the ferry, we found ourselves face to face with a

pure non-Chinese race. The boatmen, who were tall--one was over six

feet--wiry fellows, with level grey eyes, at once fraternized with me

and took me under their protection. They were Sifans, and spoke Chinese

with a decidedly foreign accent. One of them, with a fearlessness

impossible in a Chinese, asked me a few questions in a most respectful

manner, and answered with readiness and evident pleasure the queries I

put to him regarding the river. To a random question as to its breadth,

a Chinese by my side at once answered over a hundred _ch’ang_, or one

thousand Chinese feet, but my protector quietly rebuked him, remarking

that one should not answer such a question off-hand, and, after some

reflection, said the river was six hundred feet broad. I estimated

the breadth at nearly two hundred yards; but it was difficult to fix

distances with any accuracy in the presence of mountains which threw

everything else into insignificance. The Sifans smiled when I tried to

ascertain the depth by plunging a bamboo over the side of the boat in

mid river.

Owing to numerous falls and rapids, only rafts can be navigated the

entire distance to Chia-ting Fu, where the Ta-tu, after its junction

with the Ya Ho, enters the Min. Once a year there is a busy scene

on the banks of the Ta-tu River. In the end of April, thousands of

carriers have to cross the river at this very spot, with their precious

loads of white wax insects from the valley of Chien-ch’ang, on their

way to the prefecture of Chia-ting. As delay is injurious to their

living freight, they haste and race to be first at the ferry. Crossing

the Ta-tu as we did on the 9th of March, we were too early to witness

the flight of these carriers, which ceases not night or day. Trade, as

we saw it, was of a less exciting nature; copper and pine boards from

the south, met cotton and salt from the north.

In the walled town of Ta-shu-pao, less than a mile from the south bank

of the river, the fine tall men and sprightly women of an alien race,

could, without difficulty, be picked out from the Chinese. They wore

white turbans jauntily inclined to one side, and carried themselves

with a grace that savoured of independence. The Ta-tu River may be

looked upon as the southern limit of the region inhabited by Sifan

tribes, and the northern boundary of the Lolo country which stretches

southwards to the Yang-tsze and east from the valley of Chien-ch’ang

towards the right bank of the Min. I found a few Sifans to the south

of the Ta-tu, but they were isolated families who had lost touch with

their respective tribes. Amongst the Chinese they have an evil repute

for immorality; yet my experience of them, limited as it necessarily

was, proved that they possessed certain traits of character which are

altogether wanting in the Celestial, or, if not altogether wanting, at

least existing in a very rudimentary form only.

[Sidenote: _A “TAME WILD MAN.”_]

One instance will suffice to explain my meaning. I had expressed

a wish for a lengthened interview with a Sifan, and, on arrival at

P’ing-pa, the second stage south of the Ta-tu, word was brought to me

that there was a “tame wild man” in the village. With some difficulty

he was induced to come to our inn, the reason of his hesitancy being,

as he explained when alone with me in my room, that the Chinese might

treat him badly if they knew that he was talking with me. When I had

calmed his fears and elicited from him as much information as I could

regarding his language, I asked him before leaving to accept a couple

of hundred cash for the trouble I had caused him, and as a reward for

the knowledge which he had imparted. This he absolutely declined,

saying that he had rendered me no service deserving of reward. As, in

the course of conversation, he had informed me that his home was in the

hills three miles distant, and that he had come to P’ing-pa to make a

few purchases, I pointed out to him that, by accepting this trifling

sum, he would be able to secure a small present from me to his family.

More argument convinced him that there would be no harm in accepting it

on this condition, and he left after profuse thanks on behalf of the

other members of his household. Would a Chinese have hesitated? I trow

not.

[Sidenote: _LOLO LANGUAGE._]

South of P’ing-pa we found ourselves fairly in Lolodom. When we were

breakfasting at the hamlet of Shuan-ma-ts’ao on the morning of the 11th

of March, ten wild-looking fellows suddenly put in an appearance. They

were dressed in brown felt woollen cloaks from neck to knee, their legs

and feet were tightly bandaged with cotton cloth, they wore straw

sandals instead of shoes, and their hair was drawn forward in the shape

of a horn, projecting above the forehead and bound with cloth. Each

was armed with a long wooden javelin, fitted with a large broad iron

arrow-head. Some snatched a hasty meal, while others sharpened their

javelins on a stone by the side of the street. We began to think that

they had sinister intentions regarding ourselves or our property, but

they quickly disappeared in Indian file up a narrow path over the hills

to the south-west. Sheep were being driven in the same direction, and

these men were probably shepherds preparing to ward off the attacks of

wild animals from their flocks. At Hai-t’ang, which we reached after

a steep descent, we took up our quarters in a new inn just completed

and therefore clean. As the morrow was market-day, we resolved to be

present and swell the crowd. Snow fell heavily and somewhat dulled the

market, so I induced two out of the living mass of Lolos to come and

spend an hour or two with me at the inn. I jotted down their numerals

and a few common words, and can thus compare my transcription of the

sounds with those taken down by Mr. Baber from Lolos in other parts of

the country.

Lolos near Wa-shan. Lolos near Ma-pien. Lolos of Hai-t’ang.

(Mr. Baber.) (Mr. Baber.)

1. Ts’u Tchih Tzŭ

2. Ni Ni Ni

3. Su (or Soa) Su Swa

4. Erh Li Li

5. Ngu Ngu Ngou

6. Fo K’u Hu

7. Shih Shih Shih

8. Shie Hei Hei

9. Gu Gu Gu

10. Tch’ie (or Ts’e) Tch’e Tsei

It will be noticed that, with a very few exceptions, these numerals

are almost identical, and it may, without any great stretch of the

imagination, be taken for granted that the Lolos speak one language

with only slight dialectic differences. Unfortunately, the men whom I

met were unable to write--that they have a written language has been

distinctly proved--so that I was powerless to assist in deciphering

what up to the present moment remains a sealed book.

It will be appropriate in this place to compare the numerals of the

Sifans as taken down by different travellers at different places, and

the comparison, I think, shows that, as in the case of the Lolos, the

Sifan tribes have also one language, with local dialectic variations.

My Sifan told me that their written language resembles Tibetan, which

is very probably the case.