Sifan of Tzŭ-ta-ti. Sifan of (?) Lu-ku. Sifan of P’ing-pa.

( Mr. Baber.) (Mr. Hodgson.)

1. Tu Ta Ta

2. Nu Na Na

3. Si Si Hsi

4. Jro Rê Ro

5. Ngei Nga Nga

6. Tch’u Tru Ch’u

7. Shun Skwi Shön

8. Jih Zi Ris

9. Ngo Gu Anga

10. Tch’i-tch’i Chê-chi Chei-chei

I agree with Mr. Baber that the sound given by Mr. Hodgson for seven is

impossible. The former follows Sir Thomas Wade, who, in transliterating

Chinese characters, uses the letter _j_ to represent a semi-_r_ sound;

and this will account for the seeming difference, which does not

actually exist, in the words for four and eight. To my ear the sound

was sufficiently broad to warrant a full _r_.

White and brown cloaks appeared to be worn indiscriminately by the

Lolos, and during the whole of my passage through their country I

noticed only one exception, and that was a blue cloak with red fringes.

Of this divergence from the usual custom I was unable to find any

satisfactory explanation. When we were strolling in the market at

Hai-t’ang, several loads of China-root--_Pachyma cocos_--passed us on

the way north. This product is found in great abundance in the hills of

Ssŭ-ch’uan, and Yün-nan and is highly esteemed as a medicine.

At Hai-t’ang I thought I had made a discovery that would revolutionize

the whole world of dress. On returning from the market to my inn, I

caught sight of a piece of cloth of somewhat loose texture in the hands

of one of the waiters, and, when examining it, was astonished to learn

that, instead of being washed when dirty, it was thrown into the fire,

which consumed the dirt and left the material itself intact. Shades of

angry washerwomen rose before my mental vision and seemed to curse the

age of invention. Nothing deterred, I promptly put the statement to

the test, and had the pleasure of seeing the cloth extracted from the

fire clean and again ready for use. It was described to me as being

manufactured from the fibrous roots of a grass which grows in the

gullies of the mountains in the neighbourhood. With that inconsistency

which characterises the Chinese, it was called “fire-consuming,” not

“fire-proof” cloth. Reader, it is sometimes very hard to be rudely

undeceived. Must I confess that the only discovery I made was, that

asbestos exists in Western Ssŭ-ch’uan? Washerwomen, your career is not

yet ended!

[Sidenote: _LOLO MARAUDERS._]

An additional escort of Lolos joined us at Hai-t’ang. They wore their

national dress, and the petty officer in command was further ornamented

with a thin oval brass plate, fixed in his left ear by a brass ring. We

left our comfortable quarters to face a snowstorm, and plodded all day

through snow and slush half a foot in depth. Garrisons, each supposed

to be thirty strong, lined the road at intervals of a mile with

guard-houses between. This part of the country, skirting as it does the

western border of independent Lolodom, is the scene of frequent Lolo

raids, whole caravans--goods, animals, and men--being swept off, and

carried into the inaccessible mountains to the east.

Our escorts were now relieved at each garrison, and the men were armed

with swords. Just before entering the Yüeh-hsi plain, a soldier pointed

out the spot where, a few years previously, an army of five thousand

men had invaded Lolodom to punish marauders, and he added that not

a man had returned to tell their fate. The buildings on the plain,

which runs north-east and south-west, are more like watch-towers than

dwelling houses; they have two storeys, but no windows on the ground

floor. We saw numbers of Lolos in the city of Yüeh-hsi T’ing, many

of them nominally in official employ, though, in reality, salaried

hostages for the good behaviour of their tribes. Here our escort was

again strengthened, and, when we left the city on the morning of the

15th of March, we were preceded by an army of gaily-dressed soldiers

armed with flags, pikes, and halberts. The south of the plain is

divided into two valleys by a range of hills; that to the south-east

leads to independent Lolodom, where no Chinese dare venture; through

the other to the south-west runs the road to Ning-yuan Fu and Yün-nan.

The latter gradually narrows, being bounded on the east by precipitous

rocky cliffs, and on the west by sloping heights to a certain extent

amenable to cultivation. In the bed of the valley, which is rough and

stony, were garrisons and guardhouses fully tenanted. Treble stockades

of wooden piles were thrown up round them, but they would be perfectly

useless against a determined raid, there being no escape in case of

defeat except by steep paths leading up the mountain sides into the

country of the Lolos.

During our stay at the small town of Hsiao-shao, which lies at the

end of the valley and at the northern entrance of a narrow pass,

many of my followers were struck down by fever, and I passed a most

uncomfortable night amidst their groans--hardly a suitable preparation

for the morrow, when the Hsiao Hsiang Ling Pass had to be surmounted.

Here I found that there were rogues even among the Lolos. Soon after

our arrival, four ruffian-looking fellows turned up, and announced that

they had been deputed to form my Lolo escort next day. I told them that

I was much gratified at the forethought of their officials, and asked

them to come on the morrow; but they were persistent in their demands

for a gratuity beforehand. This I declined, until their persistence

became an absolute nuisance, when I was weak enough to make them a

small present and trust to their word. Needless to say, they broke it.

Having mounted my sick on ponies, we passed through the south gate

of Hsiao-shao and entered the pass, our approach being heralded by a

musket-shot from the sentry of the Chinese and Lolo guardhouses, which

mark the entrance. A couple of guardhouses could be made out on rocky

heights up the pass to the south-west, and their sentries, warned

by the report of the musket-shot, could be seen standing out darkly

against the snowy mountain behind. The same signal was given by each

sentry as we advanced.

[Sidenote: _ASCENT OF HSIAO HSIANG LING._]

Turning south-west, we soon began the actual ascent of the Hsiao

Hsiang Ling, which, though less precipitous than the Ta Hsiang Ling,

was somewhat troublesome, owing to the greater depth of snow. On the

summit, which is 9800 feet above the level of the sea, we were shrouded

by a white gloom which entirely hid the surrounding country from our

view. The southern slope is gentle, the path, after a short descent,

entering a gorge which leads to the garrison town of Têng-hsiang,

lying at the feet of lofty mountains and occupying the head of a

narrow valley running north and south. Here the soldiery were busy

strengthening the walls at the north gate. When we left by the south

gate next morning, accompanied by an additional escort of bearers

of flags, spears, swords, tridents, and muskets, the peaks of the

mountains bounding the valley on the west side were lit by the rising

sun, throwing the steep pine-clad sides of the eastern range into

gloom. The bed of the valley was wild and uncultivated, but the full

bloom of some wild fruit trees helped to brighten the scene and the

silence was broken only by the humming of bees in search of food. A

range running east and west soon blocks the valley, and the road goes

west through the sub-district of Mien-shan till again intercepted, when

it turns south-west along the left bank of a branch of the An-ning

River. A rocky gorge, with just sufficient room for the stream, then

supervenes, and the road is cut out of the solid rock to within a short

distance of the town of Lu-ku, which lies close to the north-eastern

corner of the great plain of Ning-yuan.

While we were watching the cormorant fishers at the point where the

stream leaves the gorge, a bevy of Lolo women, who had been marketing

at Lu-ku, came up, and afforded us the rare opportunity of a close

inspection. They were chatting and laughing on the way back to their

mountain homes. They wore large round caps of black cloth, _à la_ “Tam

O’ Shanter,” short jackets, and petticoats just long enough not to

conceal their bare feet. A pink strip let into the skirt in front from

waist to foot seemed to be the fashion. Their bodices were fastened

at the neck by embroidered collars decked with silver ornaments and

clasps. Most of them were pretty, but some suffered from loss and

decay of the front teeth. They might, without any great stretch of the

imagination, have been taken for a group of Italian peasant women.

[Sidenote: _ENTRY INTO NING-YUAN._]

On the morning of the 18th of March we left Lu-ku, and, ascending a

low plateau, found ourselves on an immense plain stretching southwards.

The stream which flows by the town is joined, a little to the west,

by another from the north, and the two combined form the An-ning

River, which goes south down the plain and enters the Ta-ch’ung or

Ya-lung, a large tributary of the Yang-tsze, or, as it is here called,

the Chin Chiang--the “Golden River.” Only about twenty miles now

separated us from the prefectural city, but, owing to the sickness of

my followers, who were happily beginning to recover in the face of the

southern breezes blowing the very breath of life into their fevered

and toil-worn frames, we had to divide the distance over a couple of

days. Early in the afternoon of the 19th of March, we crossed the

last spur which projects into the plain from the hills which form its

eastern boundary and, passing through the beautifully cultivated and

well-wooded gardens in the suburbs and then through a busy thoroughfare

alive with pack-animals laden with long hollow cones of salt, we

entered the west gate of Ning-yuan, more generally known in Western

China as Chien-ch’ang Fu.

CHAPTER VII.

THROUGH CAINDU TO CARAJAN.

Earthquakes--The reception of foreigners at Ning-yuan--The

fertility of the Ning-yuan plain--Goître and the salt

supply--Historical hailstorm--A Tibetan caravan--Crossing the

Ya-lung River--A riot at Hang-chou--Reception at Yen-yuan and

increased protection--Brine wells of Pai-yen-ching--Driven back

by mountain barriers--The Yün-nan frontier--A sight of the

Yang-tsze--Results of the Mohammedan Rebellion--The Lake of the

Black Mist--On the banks of the Golden River--A deserted town--The

plague--First glimpse of the snow-capped Tsang-shan--A magnificent

view--On the shores of the Erh Hai--Ta-li Fu at last.

History records that a terrible earthquake visited the plain of

Chien-ch’ang in the early years of the Ming Dynasty, and that the old

city of Ning-yuan sank bodily into the ground, and gave place to the

large lake which lies to the south-east of the present city. In 1850,

again, according to the information supplied to Mr. Baber, Ning-yuan

was reduced to ruins by a similar catastrophe. If the former tradition

be true, the lake had no existence when Marco Polo passed through

Caindu, and yet we find him mentioning a lake in the country in which

pearls were found. Curiously enough, although I had not then read the

Venetian’s narrative, one of the many things told me regarding the

lake was that pearls are found in it, and specimens were brought to me

for inspection.

[Sidenote: _RECEPTION OF FOREIGNERS AT NING-YUAN._]

Previous to my arrival only two foreigners had visited Ning-yuan, and

that, too, both in 1877. The first, a Roman Catholic French Father,

was stoned and driven from the city. Two months later came Mr. Baber,

who, fortified with instructions issued by a new Viceroy, commanded

the respect of the very official who had incited the attack on the

unfortunate missionary. When I appeared upon the scene, I had the

greatest difficulty in securing quarters, and, while search was being

made, spent an hour the target for thousands of black eyes. But fortune

did not forsake me. As soon as I reached the inn, which was at last

found, a thunderstorm burst over the town, and brought nourishment

to the plain which had been athirst for a month. The arrival of a

foreigner and a copious rainfall were two events which, to their

superstitious minds, could only be cause and effect, and I was soon

waited upon by a deputation of townspeople, who came to thank me for my

timely visit. From an intruder, I was suddenly raised to the rank of a

benefactor.

I took advantage of the presence of the deputation to gather

information regarding the products of the plain and the mineral

resources of the prefecture. Rice, poppy, cotton, safflower, a variety

of fruits, medicines and dyes, cassia, beans, wheat and maize are grown

in their respective seasons, while copper, zinc, and iron are found in

the neighbouring hills. Mulberry trees abound, and silk is produced and

exported to Yün-nan. But the chief product of the plain is white-wax

insects, to which allusion has already been made and which will be

found treated at length in Chapter XI. Pine boards are also a special

export from this region. Immense trees are found deeply embedded in the

soil on the hills, their positions being discovered from lines of pine

sprouts. They are dug up, sawn, and sent north in large quantities.

When I made it known that, instead of proceeding south through Hui-li

Chou to Yün-nan Fu, I was about to attempt the road through Yen-yuan

Hsien to north-western Yün-nan and Ta-li Fu, hundreds of objections

were at once forthcoming. The road was a mere bridle-path impassable

for chairs, there were no inns, no rice, nothing but wilderness. A very

little experience in an Eastern land teaches the traveller to discount

native statements, and I told my men that one of the objects of my

journey was to establish facts, and that I considered it my duty to go

and test the validity of the objections raised.

Leaving Ning-yuan on the 21st of March, we skirted the western edge of

the lake, which is some eight miles long and two to three broad, and

made for the low hills which bound the plain to the south-west. Eight

miles from the city we struck the left bank of the An-ning River, and

having effected a passage at the ferry, we proceeded south over a sandy

waste, whereon close reed fences were erected to keep the sand from

being blown over the cultivated ground. Farther south, the plain was

dotted with mud houses and villages, and the plots of arable land by

which they were surrounded were thickly edged with mulberry trees.

[Sidenote: _FERTILITY OF THE NING-YUAN PLAIN._]

The plain from Lu-ku southwards is noted throughout Western China for

its fertility; but from that point until south of Ning-yuan, the river

flows along the base of the lofty hills bounding the western edge of

the plain, which slopes gently from east to west, and its waters are

little available for purposes of irrigation. The plain, therefore,

depends for the most part upon the rainfall for its water supply, and,

owing as we have seen to the fact that rain had not fallen for a month

previous to our arrival, the cracked and arid ground, with its stunted

crops of poppy, wheat, and beans, presented a striking contrast to the

glowing description we had received of this happy Eldorado. South of

Ning-yuan, however, the plain is perfectly level and the river winding

about in it is extensively utilised for irrigating the fields.

Although fortune usually smiles upon the valley of Chien-ch’ang, the

inhabitants of its many villages are not to outward appearances a

happy race. What strikes the traveller most with regard to them is the

prevalence of the unsightly goître, from which neither sex nor age is

exempt. The natives attribute it to the impure salt from the brine

wells of Pai-yen-ching, within the jurisdiction of Yen-yuan Hsien, and

their belief is, that north of Ning-yuan Fu the salt supply comes from

the northern salt springs, and that where this salt is consumed, goître

is exceedingly rare, while south of Ning-yuan only local salt is used

and goître is excessively common. This can hardly be reconciled with

the statements made to me by the inhabitants of the mountainous regions

of the province of Kuei-chow, where goître is likewise remarkably

prevalent. They were unanimously of opinion that the disease is due

to the salt from the northern springs of Ssŭ-ch’uan, which supply the

entire province of Kuei-chow. But the true origin of the disease is

doubtless to be ascribed to calcareous and other substances held in

solution in the water supply of the districts.

The small town of Ho-hsi, “West of the River,” the first stage from

Ning-yuan, lies in a bend at the foot of a mountain range, which forms

the divide of the An-ning and Ya-lung rivers. It, too, has its story

of war with nature. A small stream from the western mountains flows

through the town on its way to join the river in the plain. In 1881, a

terrific hailstorm swept over mountain and plain; the stream became a

roaring torrent and annihilated nearly the whole town--the number of

killed and drowned being estimated at a thousand souls.

Following up the stream towards its source, we attained, after a few

hours’ climb, the ridge of the mountain, where the roads are worn

out of the solid limestone to a depth of twelve feet by the constant

traffic between the salt springs to the south-west and Ning-yuan Fu.

The steep eastern slope of the mountain was covered with rank coarse

grass, nor did cultivation appear until the ridge was crossed. Even

then there were only a few clearings here and there, and these were

occupied by the large-leaved privet, the pear and other fruit trees,

while the uncultivated ground was clad with stunted pine. Beyond

the ridge, the road, a mere bridle-path, runs west by south along

the mountain side, whence we could make out to the south the green

waters of the Ya-lung River flowing north-east and suddenly bending

southwards, its progress in the former direction being obstructed

by a mountain barrier. As might be expected in such a country,

the population is very scant, and only an occasional hut for the

refreshment of the traveller was to be seen during a day’s journey.

[Sidenote: _A TIBETAN CARAVAN._]

While resting at a solitary tea-house on the mountain side, and

speculating on the advisability and wisdom of attempting this route

in chairs, I perceived in the far south-west a long line of moving

objects coming towards us. Red flags and gaily-caparisoned mules and

ponies warned me that something more than ordinary was approaching.

The red-clad muleteers, armed with swords and spears, and the large

powerful dogs trotting at the heads of the pack-animals, told us that

we were face to face with a Tibetan caravan. It consisted of some fifty

animals laden with medicines, musk, and sundries. Our spirits rose as

we heard that the road was open for pack-animals.

Our resting-place during the night of our second stage from Ning-yuan

was the village of Tei-li-pao, overlooking the Ya-lung River, which we

reached by a steep descent on the following morning. Ascending its left

bank for four miles through dense hedges of prickly pear, growing with

a profusion I have not seen elsewhere in Western China, we crossed it

at the ferry of Ho-pien Hsün, a customs station on its right bank. The

river itself, which is about two hundred yards in breadth, is deep,

and flows with an even current until it reaches the sharp bend which

I have already mentioned, when it lashes itself into foamy billows

against submerged rocks. The Ya-lung is unnavigable, and the only craft

on its green waters were three ferry boats, each about thirty feet

long. From the bed of shingle which lies below the customs station, we

followed for a short distance the right bank, which is here lined with

huge boulders, and then turned south-west up a gully, down which flows

a streamlet to the main river. The country gradually opens out, and

cultivation, which had practically ceased since we left the Ning-yuan

plain, began to reappear on the gentler slopes of the mountain sides to

the south-east.

[Sidenote: _INHOSPITABLE HANG-CHOU._]

Our struggles through the day on the precipitous banks of the Ya-lung

had, we imagined, earned a good night’s repose at the little town of

Hang-chou, which lies on the left bank of the streamlet. In this,

however, we were sadly disappointed. Surmounting a low eminence we

beheld, to our surprise, little but its charred remains, the town

having been destroyed by fire only a few days before. On entering,

we found, as might have been expected, wretched accommodation. The

homeless inhabitants were huddled together in the few houses that had

escaped the ravages of the fire. The mass of idlers seemed to require

some outlet for the superfluous energy which had not yet been expended

in the rebuilding of their homes. Our arrival was their opportunity. No

sooner had we settled down in the apartment which we had the greatest

difficulty in procuring, than we were surrounded by a gaping and

insolent crowd. So insolent and threatening indeed did they become,

that we had to solicit the intervention of the local authority in

suppressing what, to every appearance, was fast becoming a riot. He

came, but his presence was powerless and his commands were unheeded.

He left, and matters assumed a still more serious aspect. A free fight

thereupon resulted between the rioters and my followers. At this point

my intervention became necessary, and, for the first and only time

during my wanderings in China, I was compelled to show my revolver.

Happily for all, the sight of the weapon was sufficient, and, under

its awe-inspiring muzzle, four of the ringleaders, who had threatened

me with death, were arrested. This quelled the riot for the night, but

threats were thrown out of vengeance on the morrow. The local authority

was duly warned, and he was good enough to promise us all available

protection, and to accompany us on the next stage. When day dawned he

was duly present, and we were glad to shake the dust of inhospitable

Hang-chou and its riotous inhabitants from our feet.

The valley in which Hang-chou lies contracts towards the south-west.

Recrossing the stream, the road runs along the mountain side for

some distance; but the mountains soon recede, leaving an undulating

stretch of country rising as we advanced. This we ascended amid low

pines and dense underwood, past numerous unworked copper-mines, until

at its highest point the road is at an elevation little below the

mountain peaks on both sides, now white with snow. Here a thunderstorm

delayed our progress; the brilliancy of the lightning, and the roar

of the thunder echoed and re-echoed from the surrounding mountains,

reflecting credit on the forgers of Zeus. But the chilly hail and the

rude mud hut in which we were compelled to seek shelter for the night,

speedily turned our thoughts from the dreams of classical romance

to the stern actualities of a wanderer’s life. The local authority

of Hang-chou, however, pressed on with his prisoners to the city of

Yen-yuan Hsien, where our non-arrival excited no little consternation

among the authorities, who, anxious as to our safety, sent messengers

and soldiers to ascertain the cause.

With the exception of a short distance where the road zigzags, the

descent to Yen-yuan is easy. We followed a small mountain stream down

a valley for some time, leaving it by a fine level road to the west,

and soon entered the city, which lies on the north-east side of a

plain, backed by a range of high hills running east and west. Here

due satisfaction was given to us for the outrage at Hang-chou, whose

inhabitants, through their unwilling representatives, were taught a

practical, if a painful, lesson as to the treatment of strangers from

the West. The officials were profuse in their apologies and in their

attention to our wants, promising absolute protection as far as the

first city across the Yün-nan frontier--a promise which was faithfully

carried out.

The city of Yen-yuan, though small, is the capital of the district

which borders on the province of Yün-nan, a district rich in copper and

salt, and one of the chief habitats of that industrious and interesting

creature, the white wax insect, which is propagated on the branches

of the _Ligustrum lucidum_, or large-leaved privet. The brine wells

from which the salt is derived lie at Pai-yen-ching, fourteen miles to

the south-west of the city, which we reached by a good road across the

plain, down which one or two rivulets flow north-westwards. The way in

which the farmers manipulate these rivulets for purposes of irrigation

is truly wonderful--here the water ripples in one direction, there in

exactly the opposite. This plain is one of the very few places in the

province of Ssŭ-ch’uan where carts can be utilised for transport.

[Sidenote: _SALT MAKING._]

The brine wells of Pai-yen-ching, mentioned above, are only two in

number, and comparatively shallow, being only fifty feet in depth.

Bamboo tubes, ropes and buffaloes are here dispensed with, and small

wooden tubs, with bamboos fixed to their sides as handles for raising,

are considered sufficient. At one of the wells a staging was erected

half way down, and from it the tubs of brine were passed up to the

workmen above. Passing from the wells to the evaporating sheds, we

found a series of mud furnaces with round holes at the top, into which

cone-shaped pans, manufactured from iron obtained in the neighbourhood,

and varying in height from one to two and a half feet, were loosely

fitted. When a pan has been sufficiently heated, a ladleful of the

brine is poured into it, and, bubbling up to the surface, it sinks,

leaving a saline deposit on the inside of the pan. This process is

repeated until a layer, some four inches thick and corresponding to the

shape of the pan, is formed, when the salt is removed as a hollow cone

ready for market. Care must be taken to keep the bottom of the pan

moist; otherwise the salt cone would crack, and be rendered unfit for

the rough carriage which it experiences on the backs of pack animals. A

soft coal, which is found just under the surface of the yellow-soiled

hills seven miles to the west of Pai-yen-ching, is the fuel used in the

furnaces. The total daily output of salt at these wells does not exceed

two tons a day, and the cost at the wells, including the Government

tax, amounts to about three-halfpence a pound. The area of supply,

owing to the country being sparsely populated, is greater than the

output would lead one to expect.

At the time when Marco Polo passed through Caindu, this country was in

the possession of the Sifans, and there can be little doubt that the

salt cakes, which then constituted the currency, were evaporated at

these very wells. Nor are the Sifans wanting at the present day; they

occupy the country to the west, and are known under the generic name of

Man-tzŭ.

Our progress--I hardly like to use the word--during the five days from

the brine wells of Pai-yen-ching to the frontier of the province of

Yün-nan, a distance of less than forty miles as the crow flies, is

one long story of mountain travelling. Several times did we approach

the frontier, but as often were we driven back, south and south-east,

by impenetrable mountain barriers covered with pine forests. To the

south, the ranges run east and west, and a day’s work, sometimes

lasting as long as thirteen hours, consisted in climbing and descending

steep mountain sides, and in endeavouring, with but poor success, to

circumvent the huge boulders which lay in the beds of streams in the

bottom lands between the mountain ranges, where the road should have

been. Cultivation, as can readily be imagined, was not conspicuous in

such a country; but here we found in abundance the animal best suited

to rugged mountains, the goat. Its flesh, too, was greatly appreciated

where rice could not be procured, and where our supplies had long since

run short. To the west of our route, we found many places inhabited by

Man-tzŭ tribes, whose districts, however, lie principally beyond the

frontier.

[Sidenote: _CLOSE PROXIMITY OF ALIEN RACES._]

At Shao-shang, on the last ridge which has to be crossed before

reaching Yün-nan, six Lolos, deputed by their chief, who had been

apprised of our approach by the Chinese authorities, awaited us to pay

their respects, and as we stood looking at the mountain ranges within

the southern province, one of them, tall and powerful, every inch a

king, stepped forth and did us homage. Here, then, on the very borders

of Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan, we find the Lolo from the east, the Man-tzŭ

from the west, and the Chinese holding the narrow strip of land which

separates these alien races. Alien races, and what a contrast! On the

east the Lolo, still retaining his distinctive costume, one of a nation

hemmed in, but not absorbed, by the Chinese--on the contrary, able to

raid and carry off into slavery the people of the country bordering

on his territories; on the west the Man-tzŭ, clad in a garb differing

little from that of his conquerors, timid, and ready to flee at the

approach of a stranger. The Man-tzŭ women, however, like the women of

all these different tribes scattered through Western China, retain the

costume of their race, and, though on a less elaborate scale, dress

very much like their European sisters. But the latter have not yet

donned the turban, nor do they care to walk about with unshod feet. The

turbans, which were mostly of brown cloth, were in many cases adorned

with circlets of hogs’ tusks. As among the Lolo women, strings of beads

were the favourite ear-rings.

[Sidenote: _YUNG-PEI T’ING._]

The little border town of Hui-lung-ch’ang, or Mien-hua-ti as it is

locally called, lies at the base of a high mountain range running east

and west. From the summit of the range, which was attained after a five

hours’ climb, we could make out to the south-west seven other ranges

with similar directions, and in the far south a clear glittering ribbon

marked the position of the Chin Chiang, the head-waters of the mighty

Yang-tsze. The tops of these sandstone ranges were clad with dark

pines, while the slopes were covered with rank grass and shrubbery,

among which herds of ponies and water buffaloes and flocks of sheep

and goats were feeding. From Chiu-ya-p’ing, a mud-walled town of some

five thousand inhabitants, surrounded by the two Man-tzŭ tribes--the

Li-su and the Pai-yi--two stages to the south of the Ssŭ-ch’uan-Yün-nan

frontier, where I was most hospitably entertained by a French

missionary on the 3rd of April, two roads lead to Yung-pei T’ing,

the first departmental city within the latter province. Although we

selected what was described to us as the easier road, we were obliged

to make a long detour, and, instead of entering the city from the

north, we actually approached it from the south. It lies in the centre

of a plain some five miles long and two broad, bounded on the north

by a semi-circle of mountains, on the east by a lofty range running

north and south, on the west by gentle hills, and on the south by low

sandstone ridges, fast disintegrating and drifting into the plain. To

the south and east of these ridges were numerous pools of water and a

rivulet, whose edges and banks were covered with thin coatings of soda.

The sturdy little Yün-nan pony which I rode, champed at the bitterness

of the water. Yung-pei itself is a city of very little importance. The

plain on which it stands has a stiff clayey soil, and the beans and

poppy were decidedly below the average of Ssŭ-ch’uan crops. It is,

however, the point where the Burmese trade with Yün-nan by way of Ta-li

Fu stops, and as such deserves mention.

From Yung-pei the road runs south-west to the edge of the plain, and

then over hills clad with pine and oak, until a large expanse of

water lying in a plain running north and south comes into view. On

the hill-side east of the plain we saw the first traces of the great

highway which, prior to the Mohammedan rebellion, is said to have

connected Ta-li with Ssŭ-ch’uan; but wild grass and brushwood have all

but obliterated the remains of the broad paved roadway. The lake, a

fine sheet of clear water, is ten miles long, and at its broadest part

about five miles across, and the road, here also paved, skirts its

eastern shore. On Chinese maps the lake is called the Ch’êng Hai; but

the only name known to the villagers living on its shores is the Hei-wu

Hai-tzŭ, the “Lake of the Black Mist.” Numerous mud villages and

houses dot the plain, but they are all in an advanced stage of decay,

and their inhabitants are evidently well acquainted with poverty, and

are miserably clad even for a hot climate.

We crossed and re-crossed the plain to the south of the lake in

search of the river, which is represented on all maps of China that I

have seen as connecting the lake with the Chin Chiang, the Brius of

Marco Polo. We searched in vain; we crossed one or two deep nullahs

containing a little water, trickling not from, but to the lake. Further

south, however, a brooklet rising in the east of the plain, and

strengthened by another from the west, flows down to the Chin Chiang.

As the river is approached, the plain, a great part of which was lying

waste, while the remainder was growing crops of sugar-cane, cotton,

poppy, and beans, contracts, and is blocked to the south by low hills,

on reaching which the road turns west and south-west to the market-town

of Chin-chiang-kai, on the left bank of the Golden River.

At this point the river presents a striking contrast to its appearance

as it flows through the central and eastern provinces of China. About

three hundred yards in breadth, its clear waters flow gently east over

a bed of shingle, soon, however, to be cooped up in wild mountain

gorges, and ultimately to issue as a turbid, muddy river, to become

more turbid and muddy as it nears the sea. The river was still low;

the melted snows from the Tibetan Mountains had not yet descended to

stir the quietude of its crystal waters; but the granite foundations on

which the houses of Chin-chiang-kai are built, strongly shored as they

are with wooden planks at a height of fifty feet above the shingle-bed,

indicate the addition which the present waters may annually expect.

[Sidenote: _DEVASTATION AND DISEASE._]

Mr. Baber has already disposed of the question of the navigability of

the river at a point very much farther east, and I need only remark

that the queries put by me to the ferrymen on this subject were met

with the answer “impossible.” A few hundred yards to the west of the

town of Chin-chiang-kai, where we had been warmly received by the local

authorities on the previous evening (April 10th), and where we enjoyed

a good night’s repose undisturbed by the low murmurings of the waters

on the pebbly strand, we crossed the river at a point where, flowing

northwards, it bends sharply to the east. The road runs south along the

soft shingle forming the right bank of the river, which is frequently

concealed in its deep sandy bed as it skirts the western edge of the

plain. Anon it touches the eastern edge, and at this point we looked

up a long reach of the river as it flows from the west eastward, till,

blocked by bold rocky heights which have repulsed its attacks, it has

been compelled to seek a northern course. The roadway crosses these

rocky heights and descends to the right bank of a stream, which is lost

in the mighty river at the bend.

The plain or valley down which the stream flows has a most unenviable

notoriety. Little can be seen in it but the ruins caused by the

Mohammedan rebellion. Here a town enclosed by four walls, with open

gates and streets covered with wild grass, deserted, desolate; there,

the remains of houses and villages concealed under a luxuriant growth

of shrubbery and cactus. Notice, too, the blackened walls which have

been licked by the flames that accompanied the sword of the Mohammedans

or their conquerors. Sad enough truly, but not all. A dreadful plague

annually sweeps down the valley and mows down its inhabitants. Can

it be wondered that few people care to risk their existence in the

plague-stricken hollow, and that accommodation unworthy of the name is

all that can be obtained? I managed to distribute my followers over

the small village of Huang-chia-p’ing; but I was unfortunate enough to

be laid up with an attack of fever, which compelled us to remain for a

couple of days in a small mud stable without door or window.

But we were within three days’ journey of Ta-li Fu, and the hope of

reaching a state of comparative comfort spurred us on in spite of our

enfeebled condition. From Huang-chia-p’ing the road at first runs

west through uncultivated ground. Stone dykes peeping out here and

there through rank grass and cactus, were the only traces of former

cultivation; but as the road turns south-west, patches of poppy and

wheat began to appear along the banks of the stream flowing north-east

down the valley, and the farther we advanced the more numerous became

the signs of tillage, while the slopes of the mountains flanking the

valley were covered with tall grass and dwarf fir and oak. As we

approached Ta-wang-miao, our eyes were gladdened, though the picture

was blurred and imperfect, by the first glimpse, through the white-hot

haze of the afternoon sun, of the summits of the Tsang-shan range

capped with snow, at the base of which lies Ta-li Fu, the capital of

Marco Polo’s Western Carajan.

[Sidenote: _PICTURESQUE SCENERY._]

Dense hedgerows of sweetbriar and bramble in full bloom lined the

pathway to the north and south of Ta-wang-miao and greatly impeded our

advance. At a distance from the pathway, patches of ground were bright

with the purple and white flowers of the poppy, while high up, white

shining gravestones peeped out from the tall grass with which the hills

on both sides of the valley were covered. A ridge still hid all but the

summits of the Tsang-shan from our view; but when we had traversed the

reddish flat which stretches north-west from the brow, a magnificent

panorama of plain, mountain, and lake lay before us. We struck the

eastern rim of the plain near the northern shore of the Erh Hai, in

whose crystal waters, stretching southwards, the snow-capped summits

of the range bounding the western edge of the plain were clearly

reflected. We felt, as we gazed on the brilliant picture, that we were

more than rewarded for our toilsome journey. Descending the eastern

rim, we soon reached the northern margin of the lake, in skirting which

we crossed a couple of streams which enter it from the north. A small

temple, perched on a rocky height, stands clear out of the waters in

the northern part of the lake. Than such a spot it would have been hard

to find a better vantage ground from which to view the picture. The

valleys to the north were full of poppies, and the white fields, which

stretched along the western shore, confused the eye as they merged and

were lost in the glitter of the lake.

The villages to the north of Shang-kuan--the “Upper Fortress”--are

inhabited by a race called the Min-chia, no doubt Shans, who differ in

manners, language, and, to a certain extent, in dress from the Chinese.

Like the Man-tzŭ, they are timid in the extreme, and afraid that by

fraternizing with a stranger they might compromise themselves with the

Chinese. As we entered the gates of Shang-kuan on the 15th of April, I

thought of the members of the French Commission, who, in 1868, narrowly

escaped from it with their lives, and of the stout-hearted missionary

who braved the anger of the Sultan on their behalf. Père Leguilcher

still lives; he no longer hides in caves and woods, but spends a

peaceful life within the very walls of Ta-li itself. At Shang-kuan we

made the acquaintance of several Ku-tsung, a Tibetan tribe inhabiting

the country to the north-west of Li-chiang Fu; but the term Ku-tsung

is also applied by the people of Ta-li to Tibetans generally, and is

synonymous with the Hsi-tsang of other parts of China. The road from

Shang-kuan runs south along the plain, dividing the cultivated land,

which stretches east to the edge of the lake, from the stony and

rougher ground, which stretches west to the bases of the Tsang-shan,

near which it is covered with mounds--the resting-places of the

Mohammedan dead. Passing through the ruins which line the approach to

the city, we entered the north gate of the capital of Western Carajan,

and were welcomed by the Chinese authorities and no less heartily by

the French and English missionaries within its walls.

CHAPTER VIII.

TA-LI FU TO YÜN-NAN FU.

A view from the walls of Ta-li--The Mohammedan Rebellion--A dying

patriot’s prayer--Tibetan dogs--Amherst pheasants--A visit to

the marble quarries--False musk--Min-chia maidens--The Ta-li

plain--Playful gusts from the Tsang-shan--Good-bye, Ta-li--A

folklore hunting ground--The Erh Hai and the Mekong--Trade

with Upper Burmah--Canton peddlers--Hsia-kuan, or the “Lower

Fortress”--Ruined cities--Wretched roads--Half-starved--The

foreigner and the camel--Marked courtesy at Ch’u-hsiung Fu--Yün-nan

salt wells--A sackful of mails--A roadside trial--Across the

Yün-nan lake--Three days in Yün-nan Fu--Trade with Western China,

and the introduction of railways.

“The pen is mightier than the sword.” But the pen has not yet been

manufactured which is able to present a living picture of Ta-li Fu and

its environs. I have read the few published descriptions of the scene,

and, good though some of them undoubtedly are, how short, how far short

they all fall of the reality! I would fain throw down this worthless,

halting pen, and leave the grandeur to the imagination of the reader,

and, if I venture to daub a few rough outlines on the canvas, I must

beg that full play be given to the imagination in adding the finishing

touches.

On the afternoon of a day towards the end of April 1883, I stood on the

north-west angle of the walls of the city of Ta-li. Overhead, white

fleecy clouds were floating eastward across the azure blue, veiling,

at short intervals, the warm glow of the declining sun. To the north

stretched a plain studded with villages peeping through the light green

of encircling trees, beginning to array themselves in the garb of

summer. Three miles to the west the Tsang-shan range, serrated, capped

with snow, towered seven thousand feet above the plain, itself nearly

seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Three miles to the

east, the western shore of a fine sheet of water, which runs the whole

length of the plain and is backed by high hills which rise from its

eastern margin, was lost among the glistening white poppy fields, which

seemed to merge in the silver beyond; and specks of white, favoured

by the cool breezes from the snows, were skimming over the bosom of

the glorious lake. Wait a moment. The sun is now half hidden by the

white belt of snow. He is gone. Darker and yet darker grows the face of

the giant range, throwing into still greater prominence the numerous

gullies down which flow the icy rills to nurture the plain and then

lose themselves in the waters of the Erh Hai. How calm, how peaceful!

From these I am loth to turn to the city itself and account for its

ruined condition. Within this walled square of about four miles in

circumference there are only two good streets, which cross each other

at right angles and terminate at the four gates. What of the rest?

It consists of ruined and dilapidated houses and cultivated plots of

land. During the Mohammedan rebellion, Ta-li was the centre round which

the fiercest struggle raged. When the rebellion broke out, it was

seized by the insurgents and held by them until they surrendered to the

Imperialist forces which beleaguered the city. Then occurred that scene

of bloodshed, butchery, and destruction, the like of which, happily, is

to be witnessed in uncivilised countries only. Extermination was the

order passed along the ranks of the besiegers, and the streets of Ta-li

were quickly turned into shambles ankle-deep in blood. Men, women,

and children who managed to elude the murderers fled into the fields

bordering on the lake, into which they were ultimately hunted like wild

beasts, preferring death by drowning to mutilation, defilement, and

massacre.

[Sidenote: _A DYING PATRIOT’S PRAYER._]

This, then, was the answer to the prayer of the Mohammedan leader,

Tu Wên-hsiu, when he surrendered to the besiegers. The interview

is graphically described by Mr. Baber:--“When the Mohammedans had

surrendered and given up their arms, Tu Wên-hsiu, the so-called

‘Sultan,’ came into the camp of the besiegers, borne in a sedan chair,

and inquired for Ma, the Imperialist commander. Being introduced into

his presence, he begged for a cup of water, which being given him,

he said, ‘I have nothing to ask but this--spare the people.’ He then

drank the water and almost immediately expired. It appears that he had

taken poison, which was suddenly brought into action by the water.

His head was immediately cut off and exposed, and, heedless of his

prayer--probably the most impressive and pathetic ever uttered by a

dying patriot--the victors proceeded to massacre the helpless garrison

and townsfolk.”

More fortunate than the members of the Grosvenor Mission, who were

lodged in an inn where a thousand Mohammedans were cooped up and

butchered in cold blood, I was, through the kindness and hospitality

of Mr. George Andrew, of the China Inland Mission, provided with a

comfortable room in his house, where I rested a fortnight before

turning my face toward Ch’ung-k’ing. During my stay I visited the lake,

the marble quarries in the Tsang-shan, and the annual fair which was

being held outside the west gate. I was also fortunate in being able

to witness a review of about five thousand troops, which took place on

the parade ground close to the Mission House. I was most courteously

received by the Commander-in-chief of Western Yün-nan, and the Taotai,

who claimed to be an old friend--having travelled in my company to

Yün-nan Fu the previous year--was kindness itself.

As to the fair, I can add little to the description of it given by

Mr. Baber. The Ku-tsung, or Tibetan men and women, were present with

their encampments and wares in great numbers, and I was so charmed

with their fine powerful dogs that I endeavoured to procure one. The

idea had, however, to be abandoned, for the animal brought to me for

inspection required the whole strength of a Tibetan to keep him in

check. Had I bought the dog, which was offered for ten taels, I should

have had to engage his keeper also. I succeeded in purchasing a tiger

and two leopard skins, unprepared of course, for a sum equivalent to

a little over two guineas, and, for several hundred cash, a couple of

live Amherst pheasants, which I carried in baskets to Ch’ung-k’ing.

This beautiful variety of _phasianidae_, now common enough in Europe,

is very abundant in Western Yün-nan, where its tail-feathers are highly

prized for decking pack-animals. They are inserted, several together,

in the brow of the bridle, and wave over the animal’s head. Trade

is dear to the Chinese heart. I found that, while I was buying, my

followers were rapidly disposing, at an immense profit, of a bundle of

razors which they had carried all the way from Ch’ung-k’ing.

[Sidenote: _MARBLE QUARRIES._]

Small slabs of white marble streaked with dark green, and supposed

to represent trees, mountains, and lakes, were extensively exposed

for sale in the shops and on street stalls. Their abundance pointed

to a very considerable industry, the working of which I resolved to

see for myself. One morning, taking a few men with me and a guide, I

left the city by the north gate, and, proceeding over the plain in a

north-westerly direction, struck, in a couple of hours, the base of

the mountains where the ascent to the quarries begins. A stiff climb

of over three thousand feet through a botanist’s paradise landed us at

the mouth of a quarry, where a number of men were bringing out blocks

of pure white marble. I told the workmen that I was anxious to see

streaked marble in the rough; but they innocently replied that such

marble was rare indeed, and that they considered themselves lucky if

they came across such a block in the course of a year. Whence, then,

all the streaked marble? The villagers on the plain can answer the

question, for to them is confided the polishing, painting, and baking

of the slabs, and the filling up of inequalities with bees’ wax.

A scene to suit a purchaser’s taste can be ordered in advance. The

inhabitants of the Ta-li plain are not behind their brothers on the

eastern seaboard. A couple of pods of musk, which had been purchased

for a trifle at the fair, were brought to me to look at; although to

outward appearances they were intact, a close inspection revealed that

they had been opened, and again carefully closed by means of a needle

and thread. Their buyer probably paid a high price for all the musk

which they contained.

From the quarries a splendid panorama of plain and lake stretched

below us. To the north lay Shang-kuan, with its extended southern wall

connecting the lake with the western mountains--the northern defence

of the city and plain. Hsia-kuan--the “Lower Pass or Fortress”--was

concealed by mountain spurs, which creep into the plain to the south

of the city. The two pagodas, each of thirteen storeys, which grace

the plain between the city and the Tsang-shan, and which are built of

bricks stamped with Tibetan characters, looked in the distance like

inverted clubs. As we sat drinking in this never-to-be-forgotten scene,

a number of Min-chia maidens, with bundles of pine branches on their

backs, passed swiftly down the mountain side. The most striking part

of their dress was a close-fitting black cloth cap, shaped very like a

fireman’s helmet, and adorned with rows of white beads. Our appearance,

I regret to say, somewhat hastened their movements.

As might naturally be expected, the half of the Ta-li plain which lies

near the foot of the Tsang-shan range, is less fertile than the eastern

half. It consists of stones, pebbles, and gravel, which have been

quickly dropped by the mountain streams, while the finer particles of

mud have been carried along to add to the soil of the half bordering

on the lake. The shores of the lake itself are composed of fine yellow

sand thickly scattered with a variety of large shells. Cold water,

whether for drinking or washing, is abhorrent to the Chinese; and when,

on reaching the lake one day, I expressed my desire to engage a small

boat at a fishing hamlet to take me out for a swim, my local escort

stood aghast and tried to dissuade me with all sorts of imaginary

dangers. The end of it was that we were soon, escort included, at a

distance from the shore; and my little dog and I, followed by our

guardians in the boat, disported ourselves for a quarter of an hour,

chasing each other in the clear cool lake. The fish in the lake, to

judge from the specimens I saw caught, belong to the carp family.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE PREJUDICE._]

As a general rule, the Chinese, as I have just remarked, abhor to eat

or drink anything cold; but in Ta-li, snow mixed with sugar is eagerly

devoured by the people in summer. This brings me to the question of

perpetual snow on the Tsang-shan range, and, although snow is visible

on the plain for only ten months, yet there can be no doubt that it is

found during the other two months in the crevices near the summit, and

can be bought in the streets throughout the whole year. The temperature

even in summer is delightful; the wind sweeps down from the snows in

sudden gusts and cools the atmosphere of the plain. Of these sudden

gusts I had myself a somewhat startling experience. As we neared the

city on the day of our arrival, the large heavy top of my official

chair, weighted though it was with pens, ink, paper, and thermometers,

was lifted up bodily and carried into an adjacent field. Another effect

of the presence of the Tsang-shan is that the crops are always late,

the early setting of the sun behind the range depriving the plain of

two hours’ daily sunshine.

So pleasant had been our stay in Ta-li that I was troubled with a heavy

heart when, on the morning of the 2nd of May, everything was ready for

a fresh start, and I had to bid good-bye to my kind host, who worked

at his remote station with a heartiness and a will that I have not

seen surpassed. To me, Ta-li and its surroundings had become a kind

of paradise, and had it not been that duty called me back to my post,

I would fain have lingered there during the summer months. Passing

through the south gate we entered a long-ruined suburb, which in

former years must have been very extensive. Streets and cross streets

are numerous; but the floors of the fallen houses have been converted

into vegetable gardens. There is, indeed, a legend that in palmier

days this suburb ran as far as Hsia-kuan, a busy town on the high-road

which connects China and Upper Burmah, ten miles to the south of Ta-li.

Frontier towns are noted, however, as the cradle of romance, and, if I

could remember half the myths which were related to me about the White

Prince of the “Country of the Golden Teeth,” of which Ta-li is a part,

they would make a very interesting volume. The object of my journey

was, fortunately or unfortunately, to collect facts, not fables; but

to the student of folklore, untrammelled with trade statistics, I can

confidently recommend the Ta-li plain as a happy hunting-ground. The

lake is drained by a river which, leaving its south-western corner,

divides Hsia-kuan into two parts, and then goes west and south to join

the Mekong, or, as it is called in China, the Lan-tsang Chiang.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE TRADE WITH BURMAH._]

Some days previous to my departure from Ta-li, I despatched my writer

to Hsia-kuan to collect all available information on the subject of

Chinese trade with Burmah; and, on my arrival there, I spent some time

in overhauling the statistics which he had amassed, and in obtaining

corroborative evidence. This, added to valuable information which

I subsequently obtained from a gentleman in Bhamo, led me to the

conclusion that the total annual value of the trade between Western

China and Burmah amounted at that time to about half a million

sterling. As we were discussing trade matters in the inn, a crowd of

Canton peddlers turned up, and grinned from ear to ear at the strange

apparition of a foreigner so far from the seaboard. They were a

rough-looking lot; instead of the usual carrying pole, at the ends of

which the loads are swung, each was provided with a wooden spear fitted

with a long iron blade, from which dangled an antiquated horse-pistol.

They were on their way to Ta-li to exchange their wares for new opium.

Hsia-kuan lies much nearer to the nearest point on the Burmese frontier

than to Yün-nan Fu, and, had I possessed the necessary authority, how

gladly would I have gone west to Bhamo. It was not to be, and I had

to content myself with walking to the western end of the town, and

looking longingly in the direction of our Indian Empire, so near, and

yet to remain unvisited.

There is little for me to add to the descriptions given by Margary,

and by Messrs. Baber and Davenport of the Grosvenor Mission, of the

country between Ta-li Fu and Yün-nan Fu. After our experiences of the

Chien-ch’ang valley, it was so tame and monotonous that I resolved to

push on with all despatch, and we succeeded in covering the distance

of two hundred odd miles in thirteen days without resting. Of the six

cities which lie on the high-road, the only one that may be singled

out for special mention is Ch’ao Chou, the end of the first stage

from Ta-li. It showed more promising signs of revival than any of the

others. Chên-nan Chou, Ch’u-hsiung Fu, Kuang-t’ung Hsien, Lu-fêng

Hsien, and An-ning Chou were in a very dilapidated condition. In

most of them the walls, which were breached, had not been repaired;

nor within the walls was there any marked indication of returning

prosperity. In many of the villages, however, building operations were

going forward apace. To say that the road was best where there was no

road may seem paradoxical. It is nevertheless true, for, where the

paving had disappeared, fine battened sand or clay gave an excellent

foothold except when it rained. In many places paved mounds rose in

the middle of the roadway, and these were carefully avoided by man and

beast. Not unfrequently, too, so distorted was the paving that it had

every appearance of having been convulsed by an earthquake.

[Sidenote: _CURIOSITY DOMINANT._]

East of Ch’ao Chou the cities occupy valleys drained by streams,

which go north to join the Yang-tsze. Between the valleys are hill

ranges covered with pine, oak, and brushwood, affording excellent cover

for game. It was no uncommon occurrence for half a dozen pheasants

to rise from the cover by the roadside, startled at our approach,

and drop within easy range. Poppy, wheat, and beans occupied the few

patches of ground under cultivation among the hills. On the third day

from Ta-li we skirted the southern shore of a large lake, called the

Ch’ing-lung Hai, which was literally covered with duck. An incident

which occurred the same evening photographed that picture on my mind.

We lodged for the night in the miserable village of Yün-nan-yi,

where, with an exhausted larder, I could get nothing to eat for love

or money. It is not a very pleasant position to be stranded in the

dark without food, and to know that only a few miles off there are

thousands of duck cackling to their hearts’ content. On the whole, I

thought it as well to take the matter philosophically, so I smoked

vigorously for an hour to ward off hunger, and then went to bed. Next

day at noon, while I sat in my chair in the street which constitutes

the village of Shui-p’ang-p’u, breaking my fast by devouring a couple

of hard boiled eggs, I found myself the object of intense attraction

to the inhabitants, who were parading backwards and forwards with a

business air that seemed somewhat out of harmony with their wretched

surroundings. Their curiosity was still unsatisfied when the head, and

gradually the ponderous body, of a camel appeared at the other end of

the street. In a moment we were deserted, and as we left the village

we looked back, and saw the whole population following the camel

westwards.

On the seventh day from Ta-li we reached the remains of the prefectural

city of Ch’u-hsiung, where we were received with marked attention

and courtesy at the hands of the local authorities. A mile from the

city a temporary reception room was erected, and a captain, with a

file of soldiers, awaited our arrival, and conducted us to a spacious

inn outside the west gate; and early next morning the same ceremony

was repeated outside the east gate. On the 10th of May we lodged for

the night in the village of Shê-tz’ŭ, to the immediate west of which

branches a road to the chief salt wells in the province, about fifty

miles to the north. Up to this point, nothing of commercial importance

had been noticed going eastward; but from Shê-tz’ŭ to Yün-nan Fu

there was one long string of caravans laden with pan salt. From the

east came caravans of cut tobacco from Chao-chou Fu, in the Canton

province, straw hats, and tin from the Kuo-chiu-ch’ang mines in the

district of Mêng-tzŭ, in the south of the province. They were bound for

Ta-li and the west of Yün-nan. The tobacco was said to be in exchange

for tin exported from the above-named mines to Tonquin. Soon after

leaving Shê-tz’ŭ we came upon a man carrying a sack, the contents of

which--seven bundles of despatches, letters, and papers forwarded to me

from Ch’ung-k’ing--were soon emptied by the road-side. At Ta-li, Père

Leguilcher favoured me with a perusal of the latest telegrams which he

had received by native post from Ch’ung-k’ing, where all the important

items of news appearing in the Shanghai papers are translated by,

and printed under the superintendence of, my friend Père Vinçot, and

forwarded to the various Mission Stations throughout the West of China.

[Sidenote: _A ROADSIDE TRIAL._]

While I was deep in the middle of my letters, my escort came up with

a man they had made a prisoner, and I at once proceeded to hold a

roadside investigation. The charge brought against him was that he had

allowed one of the animals of his caravan to push one of my baggage

waggons, with a bearer, down a gully which the road skirted, much to

the damage of the baggage and the injury of the bearer. An examination

of the former failed to prove any damage, while the latter had escaped

with a few skin-deep bruises about the face. After a prolonged inquiry,

I found that both parties were to blame; but I added a rider that I was

of opinion that the chief blame lay with the local authorities, who

allowed the road to remain in such a frightful condition. My own men

grumbled at the decision; but I ordered the immediate release of the

driver, and advised him to hurry back to his caravan as fast as his

legs could carry him--which he did.

A noble stone bridge of seven arches--the most substantial and

artistic I have seen in Western China--spans a stream which flows

southwards to the west of the district city of Lu-fêng, on its way to

swell the Song-koi. The city itself is badly ruined; but the plain in

which it lies contrasts very favourably in an agricultural point of

view with the valley occupied by the next city to the east--An-ning

Chou. The latter suffered severely during the rebellion. The walls

lie where they fell, the gates are wanting, and the whole scene was

dreary, desolate, and dead. There is, indeed, a local industry of

inconsiderable proportions. In the eastern part of the city are three

wells, about a hundred feet deep, containing weak brine, which, on

being passed through earth, leaves a saline deposit. From this, which

is collected and placed in water, salt is evaporated and consumed

locally. The river which drains the Yün-nan Fu lake flows north under

the eastern wall of the ruined city to the Yang-tsze. The village and

tax-station of Pi-chi-kuan crowns the last ridge that has to be crossed

before descending into the large plain, wherein lie the provincial

capital and the lake. Instead of following the high-road we made for

the north-western margin of the lake, and at the fishing village of

Kao-ch’iao engaged a couple of junks, which bore us eastward, with

the aid of a stiff breeze, past beds of tall reeds sheltering teal,

duck, and geese, to within a short distance of the western wall of the

capital.

In Yün-nan Fu I found Mr. Mesny, of the Chinese Military Service, whom

I had met eleven weeks before in Ch’êng-tu. He had now made up his mind

to proceed to Canton by way of the West River, and he was good enough

to give me the first offer of his horse and mule, which he could easily

have disposed of to Chinese. I closed with his offer, and a bargain

was soon struck. The same kind hospitality was held out to me by the

members of the French and China Inland Missions as on my previous

visit, and I spent three very pleasant days with old and new friends.

Three roads lead from Yün-nan Fu to Ch’ung-k’ing; there is the road by

way of Tung-ch’uan and Chao-t’ung to the Yang-tsze, and the road by way

of Kuei-yang, the capital of the province of Kuei-chow. Both of these

routes I traversed in 1882. But there is an intermediate road which,

leaving the high-road to Kuei-yang at Chan-i Chou, goes north and east

through the north-west corner of Kuei-chow to the Yung-ning River and

the Yang-tsze, and this route I now decided to follow.

[Sidenote: _PROSPECTIVE TRADE OUTLOOK._]

Before giving a description of this country, however, I must say a

word about the West of Yün-nan, and the prospects of trade across

the Burmese frontier. The most casual reader will have observed that

the province of Yün-nan is covered with ruined cities, towns, and

villages; that its soil, fruitful without a doubt, is only partly

cultivated; and that its population is exceedingly scant. True it is,

immigration is taking place from the northern province of Ssŭ-ch’uan,

and lands laid waste by the rebellion are being taken up; but the

process is very slow, for, among the hardy Ssŭ-ch’uanese, Yün-nan

has an evil name, and they are loth to quit their own productive

fields to till what is at present inferior land. Room must, however,

be found for the ever-increasing population of Ssŭ-ch’uan, which is

surely destined to develop both Kuei-chow and Yün-nan; yet many years

must elapse before such a happy consummation can be effected. Until

that time comes, no great development of our trade with Western China

through Burmah need be looked for. It will be said that these are the

views of a pessimist, and that the introduction of railways would put

new life into the country. Granted that there are people foolish

enough to furnish capital for the construction of railways through an

impossible country--that is, supposing the necessary permission to have

been obtained--I have yet to learn that there can be trade without

trade-products, and that shareholders would expect no remuneration

from their capital. It will be time enough to think of railways when

half the province of Yün-nan is under cultivation and some of its dead

industries have been revived.

CHAPTER IX.

THROUGH THE WEST OF KUEI-CHOW TO THE YANG-TSZE.

The advantages of scholars _en route_ for examination--High-road

converted into a reservoir--Quartered in a chimney--Intolerable

inquisitiveness--Travellers, beware of T’ang-t’ang!--The

Yün-nan-Kuei-chow border--Lakes and their drainage--Again among the

Miao-tzŭ--The valley of the Ch’i-hsing River--Bark paper--“Heaven’s

Bridge” and its mining catastrophe--The copper traffic--Across the

Ch’ih-shui River into Ssŭ-ch’uan--Over the Hsüeh-shan Pass--A child

of nature--A refractory roadside deity--Down the Yung-ning River--A

narrow escape--Down the Yang-tsze to Ch’ung-k’ing.

Having in a previous chapter described the country between Kuei-yang

Fu and the capital of Yün-nan, I need offer no apology for requesting

my reader to accompany me once more into the plain of Chan-i Chou, now

yellow with golden wheat, and thus obviate the necessity of describing

another weary ride over the red uplands of Eastern Yün-nan. Yet I would

fain impart that confidence which was placed in me by some scholars who

were my companions during these five stages; and, to this end, I must

first say a few words on the subject of competitive examinations in

China.

With few exceptions, these examinations are open to any candidate who

thinks he possesses sufficient ability to pass. The lowest degree is

that of licentiate, and the examination takes place at the capital of

the prefecture within which the candidate’s district happens to be.

The next degree is that of provincial graduate, the examination for

which is also triennial, and is held in the capital of the province.

The candidates for this second degree are mostly those who have taken

the degree of licentiate in open competition. The competition for

the highest degree, that of metropolitan graduate, takes place at

Peking in the year following the examinations for provincial graduates

throughout the Empire, to whom alone it is open. Success in this final

examination is always a certain stepping-stone to official employment.

I speak of the civil, not of the military service. To provincial

graduates proceeding to compete at the metropolis, passes are issued

on application, and these, pasted on their cases, exempt their baggage

from examination and taxation _en route_. This is no small matter,

for a graduate’s effects usually consist of some of the products or

manufactures of his province, for which he can find a ready market

in Peking. My companions were three in number, and they were jointly

interested in a caravan of seventeen pack-animals laden with protected

cases, which they unhesitatingly told me contained opium and marble

from Ta-li. It would be a consideration to many a Scotch student if,

in going up to London to compete in the Civil Service Examinations,

they were allowed to carry with them as baggage a few kegs of duty-free

whiskey!

[Sidenote: _QUARTERED IN A CHIMNEY._]

In parts of the Chan-i plain, which we entered on the afternoon of the

22nd of May, some little anxiety was being manifested as to the supply

of water for irrigation purposes. At one spot we found the high-road

dammed, and my followers had to doff their nether garments before they

could get through. The luckless peasants did not escape considerable

abuse. “How dare you,” rose the angry shouts, “turn the roads into

reservoirs?” A low undulating plateau, only partly cultivated, succeeds

the plain to the north-east. The few villages dotted about were partly

concealed in groves of walnut trees, and the encircling crops of

oats, potatoes, beans, buckwheat, Indian corn, wheat, and poppy were

decidedly inferior. What else could be expected of a light clay soil?

There was one redeeming feature about this plateau, however, which

should not be passed over. The roads were available for cart-traffic.

Would our quarters be sufficiently comfortable to detain us over the

24th of May? was the question that occupied my mind as I rode into the

village of Lai-yuan-p’u on the evening of the 23rd, drenched to the

skin, and far in advance of my followers. We had been overtaken in the

open by a tremendous rain-storm, and I left the caravan and pushed on

for shelter. I immediately selected the loft as my share of the inn,

and everything promised well until my men turned up, when a fire had to

be lit to dry their clothes and cook our food. It was only then that I

discovered that the smoke had no outlet except through the loft, that

I had, in fact, taken up my quarters in the chimney of the inn. The

loft had to be abandoned for a mud cell on the ground floor, and the

morrow’s holiday had to be dispensed with.

To the north of Lai-yuan-p’u the road passes through a short barrier

of rocky heights, and enters a small plain containing a village and

a lakelet to the north-east of it. To this succeeds an undulating,

all but uncultivated, rain-washed plateau, where the road was in many

places swept away--deep nullahs showing the direction the torrents had

taken. This plateau was not altogether without value, for it contained

numerous wells or pits whence coloured clays for the manufacture of

earthenware were being extracted.

Here the people were of a very inquisitive turn of mind. To have to

take one’s meals in a chair is bad enough--infinitely preferable,

nevertheless, to a smoky, dirty, mud cell; but to be surrounded by a

mob of gaping men, women, and children, watching every mouthful, does

not tend to the preservation of temper, and it required all the banter

I could command to make even a temporary impression and keep the peace.

This was our experience a few miles to the south of Hsüan-wei Chou, the

last city through which we had to pass before entering the province of

Kuei-chow.

This city, which is of very little importance, lies on the left bank

of a stream flowing south-east to swell the West River, and not the

Yang-tsze, as some map-makers would try to make us believe. Coal and

iron are both found in the neighbourhood, and a coolie, with a load of

the latter on his back, asked us whether it was the case, as he had

heard, that the Governor-General of Yün-nan and Kuei-chow was in want

of all the available metal for the manufacture of guns. I regretted my

inability to satisfy the curiosity of this would-be trader. Lime is

also found and was being extensively used as manure.

[Sidenote: _TRAVELLERS, BEWARE OF T’ANG-T’ANG!_]

T’ang-t’ang, the terminus of the first stage from and to the north-east

of Hsüan-wei, is approached through a series of narrow valleys

separated by precipitous hills. It lies on a hill-side near the meeting

of two streams. How well I remember the miserable village! Travellers,

beware of T’ang-t’ang! Its bugs were ravenous, and a sorry figure we

all cut next day as we hurried to the Kuei-chow frontier.

From T’ang-t’ang the road ascends northwards to the hamlet of

Mu-kua-shao, whence commences a steep descent to a narrow valley which

leads to the K’o-tu River flowing east. On the way down, we passed

through the hamlet of Shui-t’ang-p’u, insignificant in itself, but

destined at some future time to be of greater importance.

A few hundred yards to the south-east of the hamlet there is a silver

mine, which may some day prove productive. The owners bewailed to me

their inability to make the mine do more than pay the expenses of

working. Yet what could be expected from the ordinary Chinese furnace

which was employed to smelt the ore?

Although a narrow strip of land on the north bank of the river is

within the jurisdiction of Yün-nan, the K’o-tu may, for all practical

purposes, be considered the boundary at this point of the Yün-nan and

Kuei-chow provinces.

A plaited bamboo rope was stretched across the river--about sixty feet

broad--and used by the ferrymen for hauling their boat backwards and

forwards. High cliffs, up which the road zigzags, form the north bank

and tower above the river. This borderland is very rich in metals;

silver, as I have just said, is found to the south of the river, and to

the immediate north copper and lead are both worked. The copper reefs

would appear to run right across Southern Ssŭ-ch’uan and north-eastern

Yün-nan into the west of Kuei-chow.

Wei-ning Chou, the first city within the Kuei-chow borders, is

picturesquely situated on rising ground, a few hundred yards from the

northern margin of the eastern portion of a large lake, which, like

the smaller basins a few miles to the north, would appear to have

no outlet. The same phenomenon, if it may be called a phenomenon,

is observable in the Chao-t’ung plain in north-eastern Yün-nan. We

have already seen, however, that underground rivers are very common

in Kuei-chow and Yün-nan, and it is not impossible that the surplus

waters of the lake may find their way by underground channels into the

head-waters of the K’o-tu River, which is over a thousand feet below

the level of the Wei-ning plain. To reach the city we skirted the

eastern shore of the lake, crossing a small three-arched stone bridge

which spans a rivulet draining a valley to the south-east and entering

the lake. To the north-east of Wei-ning, the paved road, which runs

through small basins full of coal, was in such an excellent state of

repair that our animals fought shy of it, preferring the rough grassy

ground through which it passes. Here we found ourselves again among

Miao-tzŭ, busy tilling their fields. The women were as usual clad in

their native dress, while the men wore coarse hempen clothes in Chinese

style.

[Sidenote: _“LEATHER” PAPER._]

Twenty miles north of Wei-ning, the road goes east for four days

through rough mountainous country to the busy city of Pi-chieh Hsien,

on the left bank of a tributary of the Wu Chiang, and nearly 5000 feet

above the level of the sea. Twenty-five miles to the east of the city

is the second depression of any importance on the road from Yün-nan

Fu to the Yang-tsze. This depression forms the bed of the Ch’i-hsing

River, one of the two main branches of the Wu Chiang, and is little

more than four thousand feet above the level of the sea. The river is

crossed by a stone bridge of two arches, with spans of eighteen and

fifteen yards respectively, with a centre pier five yards broad, so

that the total breadth of the Ch’i-hsing at this point is thirty-eight

yards. The bridge is roofed and adorned with three pavilions, one at

either end and one on the centre pier. Although the wooden floor is

thirty feet above the river, I was told that it was by no means safe

during floods, and that the water frequently swept over it. Fifty yards

to the north of the present structure are the two piers of a former

stone bridge, which came to grief during a flood. Pi-chieh is a great

depôt for Ssŭ-ch’uan salt, which finds its way to Western Kuei-chow by

the Yung-ning River as far as Yung-ning Hsien, and thence overland by

pack animals and carriers. In Pi-chieh I saw a quantity of that famous

tough paper which is manufactured in the province of Kuei-chow, and

which is wrongly called “leather” paper. The mistake is pardonable, for

the character which means “leather” also means “bark;” and the paper

is made from the fibrous inner bark of the _Broussonetia papyrifera,

Vent._

There is considerable romance in the names which the Chinese apply

to their cities and villages. At the end of the first stage from

Pi-chieh is the village of Chin-yin-shan, the characters for which,

literally translated, mean “Gold-silver-mountain.” True, the street

occupies the face of a hill; but the precious metals, to judge from the

surroundings, were conspicuous by their absence.

It not unfrequently happens, however, that the name is in

strict accordance with actual facts. On our second stage from

Wei-ning Chou we passed through a village called T’ien-ch’iao, or

T’ien-shêng-ch’iao--“Heaven’s Bridge,” “Heaven-born Bridge,” or

“Natural Bridge”--which is really built on the top of a limestone

cavern through which a stream has pushed its way. Some twenty years

ago this latter village was the scene of a dreadful catastrophe. Gold

and silver, so runs the story, were both found in a mountain a little

to the east of the high-road, and one day, when the miners were all at

work, the tunnelling collapsed and buried every soul. Since that time

all attempts to find the ore have failed.

Squalid though the villages were, evident signs of improvement were

manifesting themselves, and the following proclamation, which had

lately been issued by the Financial Commissioner of the province of

Yün-nan, and which was widely posted along the whole route, may have

accounted for the unwonted energy which we observed:--“The copper,

which the mines in Yün-nan are bound to supply annually for use in

Peking, was in former years conveyed to Lu Chou for export, and at

that time there was a flourishing trade along the route. Within recent

years the sea route has been attempted, with the result that this

trade has dwindled into insignificance. The Board of Revenue has now

decided that the copper shall be carried by the old route, so that

people and traders of Yün-nan and Kuei-chow may look forward to more

prosperous times. The copper from the prefectures of Tung-ch’uan and

Chao-t’ung will go to Hsü-chou Fu [Sui Fu], and from the district of

K’un-ming [within which the capital of Yün-nan lies] to Hsü-yung T’ing

[the highest navigable point on the Yung-ning River, which enters the

Yang-tsze to the west of Lu Chou]. On these two important routes, by

which the copper is to be conveyed into Ssŭ-ch’uan, make all haste to

open hostelries for the accommodation of these consignments of copper

and their carriers. This will cause a development of trade generally,

and traders and people along these roads may depend on a profitable

business.”

[Sidenote: _A PLEASURE IN STORE._]

In many places to the north of Pi-chieh the high-road reminded me of

a country lane at home. It was frequently hedged with dense bushes of

sweetbriar and hawthorn laden with blossom, and had it not been for the

universal poppy, the resemblance would have been far more complete.

The 6th of June was a day of great excitement amongst my followers,

as we were to cross the Kuei-chow frontier and rest for the night

within the Ssŭ-ch’uan border. A dense mist obscured everything at the

start, and it was not till the great event of the day--the descent to

the Ch’ih-shui River--began, that we were enabled to get a view of

the country that lay before us. The village of Kao-shan-p’u stands

on the southern rim of the third great depression between Yün-nan Fu

and the Yang-tsze. Beyond the deep defile lies the Hsüeh-shan range

running east and west, over 5000 feet above the level of the sea and

at least a thousand feet higher than the southern rim. Up its face

zigzags the narrow stone road, visible almost to the summit of the

range. Down from the southern rim runs the roadway for a distance of

ten _li_--equal to nearly three miles--to the right bank of the river

flowing swiftly eastward. The river, which is eighty yards broad, is

about two thousand feet above the level of the sea, and, as it enters

the Yang-tsze at the city Ho-chiang Hsien ninety-five miles to the

south-west of Ch’ung-k’ing, it is not navigable in its upper waters,

there being a fall of about thirteen hundred feet. Few facilities are

provided for the passage of the immense traffic which exists between

the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan and the provinces of Kuei-chow and Yün-nan;

a couple of ferry-boats, each sixty feet long, and capable of carrying

ten pack-animals and their drivers, afford the only means of crossing.

The white-washed houses of the village of Ch’ih-shui Hsün or Ho-pei

Hsün, as it is also called, on the north bank straggle from the

mountain foot a short distance up, and here we found shelter for the

night. Next morning, we ascended by a series of steps for a distance of

twenty-five _li_--nearly eight miles--to a solitary temple crowning a

ridge which the road surmounts.

If I assume--and it is no great assumption--that the river forms the

apex of a right-angled triangle with sides three and eight miles long

respectively, a simple mathematical calculation will give the distance

in a straight line from rim to rim. Now, this is the route by which

it has been proposed to carry a railway from Burmah through the Shan

States and Yün-nan to Ssŭ-ch’uan, and, granting that the necessary

permission could be obtained, who will undertake to bridge the chasm

and who will pay the piper?

[Sidenote: _A CHILD OF NATURE._]

The descent of the Hsüeh-shan on the north side is very precipitous,

the road winding downwards to the hamlet and coal mines of Lan-ma-lu,

where a somewhat curious spectacle attracted my attention. Seated near

the mouth of one of the two tunnels was a begrimed and dirty miner clad

in the garb of Eden prior to the Fall, and in his hands clasping a tiny

red flower, which he was caressingly applying from time to time to his

olfactory organ. Here, surely, was a case in which a man was to be

judged not by his exterior, but by his inclinations and actions.

It was on the following day, when we were making our way through the

ridges which bar the path to the north of the Hsüeh-shan, that we

came up with a refractory roadside deity. His tongue, which slightly

protruded, had been lavishly smeared with opium, and, as might

naturally be supposed, he appeared to object strongly to the drug in

its crude form, for it had trickled down and disfigured his neck and

breast!

From the market-town of Mo-ni-ch’ang, our resting place for the night

after the passage of the Hsüeh-shan, the road runs northwards for two

days through valleys and hilly country to the Yung-ning River and the

city of Yung-ning Hsien, from which the river derives its name. In one

or two of the valleys there was no natural outlet for the streams to

which the encircling hills gave birth, and exits had been cut through

the solid rocky heights. Yung-ning Hsien and Hsü-yung T’ing occupy

the right and left banks of the river respectively, a stone bridge

connecting the two cities. Here we found ourselves in the centre of

bustle and business, and, what delighted us more than anything else,

in direct water communication with the Yang-tsze and Ch’ung-k’ing. Our

overland journeying was, for the present, at an end.

In Chapter IV., I referred to the Hêng River and described our descent

of the Nan-kuang River, which is blocked near its entrance to the

Yang-tsze by a rocky reef barring navigation. On reaching the district

city on the 9th of June, I immediately proceeded to make arrangements

for our conveyance to Lu Chou, a great trade centre on the north bank

of the Yang-tsze, a few miles to the east of its junction with the

Yung-ning. I had little difficulty in engaging for a small sum a boat

which had just discharged its cargo of salt and was about to descend.

It lay with a number of others of the same class under the walls of

the city, and on the morning of the 10th of June we embarked, leaving

our animals to be walked overland to Ch’ung-k’ing in charge of the

horse-boy. Although our boat, which was narrow and about fifty feet in

length, drew little water, we had no sooner got her bows down stream

than she grounded in mid-river, necessitating several of the crew

jumping overboard and pushing her off the shallows.

[Sidenote: _A PERILOUS POSITION._]

For some miles north of Yung-ning Hsien the river retains its breadth

of fifty yards, flowing between low hills which were well cultivated.

These give place to a rocky country, huge boulders lining the banks

and encroaching on the river’s bed to such an extent as to leave only

sufficient breadth for one boat to pass. This cooping-up of the waters

and declivity in the bed give rise to a series of rapids, two of which

are really dangerous. In this, what may be called, mid-section of the

river, oars were abandoned (there not being room to use them), and the

navigation was conducted by means of a long spar which projected over

the bows, and had often as many as six of the crew hanging on to its

butt end. At one of the dangerous rapids we narrowly escaped being

dashed to pieces. The boat was rushing down at full speed through huge

boulders to a four foot fall, when the bow spar snapped in two, the

projecting part falling into the river, the butt end rolling on deck

and the crew sprawling over and under it. Amid their frantic yells

the steersman, fortunately, did not lose his head, and succeeded in

bringing us up alongside the rocks just above the fall. We were now

perfectly helpless, and the greater part of the afternoon of the 11th

was spent by the skipper in visiting adjacent villages in search of a

new spar. He was at length successful, and over the fall we went, the

planks of the boat quivering under us.

To the north of the rocky section the country opens out, gently

undulating and cultivated; the sloping banks of the river, which

here attains a breadth of a hundred yards, were fringed with feathery

bamboos, the current became actually sluggish, and trackers were sent

on shore to expedite the descent. The Yung-ning loses itself peacefully

in the Yang-tsze at the district city of Na-ch’i Hsien, which lies

on the right bank of both rivers. Under the busy market-town of

Lien-ch’ien-tzŭ, which occupies the bend opposite Na-ch’i, lay a fleet

of about fifty salt junks ready to ascend to Yung-ning Hsien. They were

summoning their crews by beat of gong, when we issued from the river on

the morning of the 12th of June.

I must not leave the Yung-ning River without saying a few words as

to its importance as a trade route. By it, Western Kuei-chow is

supplied with salt from Ssŭ-ch’uan, principally from the Tzŭ-liu-ching

wells, and it is the main thoroughfare for the distribution of native

cottons, manufactured in Ssŭ-ch’uan from raw cotton from the Central

Provinces of China, required by Western Kuei-chow and Eastern Yün-nan.

Foreign cottons go as far as Sui Fu, and thence by way of the Hêng and

Nan-kuang Rivers to Northern and Eastern Yün-nan.

At noon we lay under the walls of Lu Chou, and soon found a comfortable

passenger boat, into which I forthwith transhipped all my followers,

and early next morning we were off. The swollen waters of the Yang-tsze

carried us swiftly eastward, and, on the afternoon of the 14th of June,

we moored under the southern wall of Ch’ung-k’ing, after an absence of

one hundred and twenty-four days.

CHAPTER X.

TO THE WHITE WAX COUNTRY, THE SACRED MOUNT O-MEI, AND THE HIGHEST

NAVIGABLE POINT ON THE YANG-TSZE.

An unfortunate start--North to Ho Chou--Chinese Soy--Varnish

and its collection--Young trees from the old--Light-hearted

peasants--The garden of Ssŭ-ch’uan--Otter fishing--Man-tzŭ caves--A

great sugar country--Glimpse of O-mei--Chief silk country in

Western China--Ascent of O-mei--Sweet tea of O-mei--The Golden

Summit--The Glory of Buddha--Pilgrims and their devotions--O-mei

beggars--A difficult descent--Official obstruction--Sick

followers--On the banks of the Ta-tu--Man-tzŭ raids--Down with

fever--Guerilla warfare--Hard up for food--An exhausting march--The

welcome Yang-tsze--Its highest navigable point--Down the upper

rapids--Death of my horse-boy--Back to Ch’ung-k’ing.

In the spring of 1884, I received instructions from the Foreign

Office to report fully, for the information of the Director of the

Royal Gardens at Kew, on the subject of Chinese Insect White Wax, and

to collect and transmit specimens illustrative of this remarkable

industry. In China, so much of the marvellous is always mixed up with

fact that, in order to gain trustworthy information on anything that

savours of obscurity, personal observation is essential. To comply

with my instructions, therefore, I found it necessary to pay a visit

to the centre of this wax culture in the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan, and I

resolved to combine with my researches the ascent of the Sacred Mount

O-mei, from whose summit the famous Glory of Buddha is to be seen, and

to strike on my way back the highest navigable point on the Yang-tsze.

I was, fortunately, able to carry out this programme, and the present

and subsequent chapters are devoted to an account of the journey and

its results.

In the two preceding years, I had been able so to regulate my departure

from Ch’ung-k’ing as to enjoy comparatively cool weather during my

journeys, but the fact that the white wax industry is carried on and

completed during the summer months, compelled me to delay starting till

June. My caravan was much the same as on previous occasions. Had I so

willed, I might have ascended the Yang-tsze by boat to Sui Fu and its

tributary the Min to Chia-ting, and thus saved myself much overland

toil; but, as every explorer knows, the thirst for new fields becomes

after a time irresistible and must be satisfied. Boat-travelling

would have been altogether too monotonous and uninteresting. My plan,

briefly, was to make for Ho Chou, a trade centre on the Chia-ling,

which enters the Yang-tsze at Ch’ung-k’ing, strike west in as direct

a line as possible to the Min River and Chia-ting, go west to Mount

O-mei, then proceed south along the eastern borders of Lolodom to the

Yang-tsze, and return, if possible, by water.

The evening of the 1st of June, which was an excessively hot day even

for Ch’ung-k’ing, saw all our arrangements completed for a start the

following morning. Overnight, thunder and rain raised some doubts

whether my followers would be willing to proceed until the weather had

settled, and when the rain was still descending heavily at daylight, my

doubts became almost a certainty. They turned up, however, and begged

for delay; but I succeeded in persuading them, by a series of rather

doubtful arguments, that the heavens had all but exhausted themselves,

and that the sun would show his face before noon. Unfortunately,

my prognostications did not come true, and by the time we reached

Fu-to’u-kuan we were all drenched. But a start had been effected, and

there was no turning back.

[Sidenote: _A FERTILE DISTRICT._]

At Fu-to’u-kuan the road to Ho Chou leaves the highway to the capital,

and goes north by west through broken country to avoid the windings

of the Chia-ling, which twists and turns from east to west and west

to east in its hurry to reach the Yang-tsze. In the bottom lands, on

terraced hill-sides, and wherever water could be retained, paddy was

planted out; Indian corn, tall millet, [_Sorghum vulgare_], tobacco,

melons, ginger, taros [_Arum aquaticum_], indigo, beans, and hemp or

China grass were everywhere growing luxuriantly. Amid these plots were

the farm-houses, the homesteads nestling in clumps of bamboo and fir.

Here and there rose a fan-palm and a banyan, and the wood-oil tree was

at home on rocky ground. Bushes of scrub-oak occupied uncultivated

hill-sides, and plantations of mulberry trees and orange groves were

occasionally to be seen. Coal and lime were everywhere abundant.

Several small streams flow through this country and swell the Chia-ling.

On the afternoon of the 4th of June, we stood on the northern brink of

this broken country, to the north-east and not far below us stretched

a plain, while four miles to the north rose a thirteen-storied pagoda,

which marks the approach to the city of Ho Chou. On reaching the

pagoda, we found ourselves near the right bank of the Fu Chiang, one

of the chief tributaries of the Chia-ling. The busy market town of

Nan-ching-kai, which stands on the right bank, seemed to be almost

entirely devoted to cotton-weaving; the click-clack of the loom

was heard in every street through which we passed to the ferry. Ho

Chou occupies low rising ground just above the junction of the two

rivers; to it come for distribution the rich and varied products of

north-eastern Ssŭ-ch’uan--salt, silk, safflower, lumber, rape-oil,

tobacco, grass-cloth, vegetables, spirits, and a whole catalogue of

medicines.

A special industry of the city is the manufacture of a soy, which is

famous, not only in Ssŭ-ch’uan, but in other provinces. Chinese soy,

as is well known, is imported into England in large quantities, and

is, I believe, used in the manufacture of sauces. In China itself

there is amongst foreigners a decided prejudice against soy, and a

fresh arrival is often solemnly assured that it is made of boiled down

cockroaches; yet, to the best of my information, it contains nothing

more deleterious than the juice of a bean.

[Sidenote: _THE VARNISH TREE._]

On leaving Ho Chou we were again ferried across the Fu Chiang, and

soon reached the western rim of the plain. Beyond stretches the same

broken hilly country, where I noticed, besides the trees already

mentioned, the varnish tree--_Rhus vernicifera_--growing to a height

of about twenty feet. To obtain the varnish, incisions are made in

the bark near the foot of the tree in July and August and slips of

bamboo inserted. As in the case of the poppy, the incisions are made

at night and the sap collected next morning. On exposure to the air,

it quickly assumes a dark brown and ultimately a jet-black colour, and

becomes very sticky. It is used for a great variety of purposes, and I

may state for the information of those interested in the subject that

pure varnish is an excellent natural cement. The chief objection to its

employment for this purpose is its black colour; but chemical science

might come to the rescue and make it white or colourless.

In this fertile land every available spot is utilised; even on the low

dykes which divide the paddy fields, mulberry trees and beans spring

up. Great though the quantity of silk produced in the province of

Ssŭ-ch’uan is, the output might be quadrupled if some means could be

devised for delaying the hatching of the silkworm eggs. The silk season

is over, and the trees are still laden with leaves. Here I observed

an ingenious device for obtaining young trees from the old; round a

promising branch of a tree a piece of bamboo about a foot in length,

which has previously been divided into two parts along its length, is

tied, and the hollow between the branch and the interior of the bamboo

filled with mould. In a short time suckers leave the branch and descend

into the mould, and, when they are sufficiently developed, the branch

is cut off and planted, the suckers forming the roots of the young tree.

The Ssŭ-ch’uanese are essentially a light-hearted and merry race. I

have already mentioned how the boatmen on the Upper Yang-tsze give

vent to their feelings in song as they toil upwards through the gorges.

In the paddy fields I frequently noticed as many as twenty men and boys

advancing in line, nearly knee-deep in mud and water, removing with

their toes the weeds from the roots of the young shoots, and firming

the latter in the ground. A song with a rousing chorus invariably

accompanied the work.

Six miles to the south of T’ung-liang Hsien, the first district city

through which we passed to the west of Ho Chou, there is a range of

hills, about two thousand feet above the surrounding country, where tea

is grown in considerable quantities. The summits of the range, in which

coal, iron, and lime are all found, were fringed with firs. On leaving

T’ung-liang, which is a centre of cotton-weaving, we succeeded in

accomplishing a stage of about twenty miles in a burning temperature,

which towards night culminated in a thunder and rain storm, bringing

down the thermometer from 90° F., at which it stood at 9 P.M. on the

6th, to 69° F. at noon the following day. So pitilessly did the rain

continue to descend on the 7th of June, that we had to break the day’s

march at eleven o’clock at the city of Ta-tsu Hsien, having only

covered ten miles. We were all wet, cold, and dispirited; the only

living things that seemed to be positively enjoying themselves were

the ducks flapping their wings and wagging their tails on the edges,

the bull frogs croaking in the centres, and the swallows skimming low

over the surfaces of the flooded paddy-fields. To the east of Ta-tsu we

crossed, by a fine stone bridge of five arches, that tributary of the

T’o River on which we took boat for a short distance last year at the

city of Jung-ch’ang farther south.

[Sidenote: _A CHARMING SPOT._]

A long march of nearly thirty miles from Ta-tsu, through a beautiful

country, brought us on the evening of the 8th of June to the

market-town of Hsing-lung-ch’ang, on the left bank of the Ching-liu,

another tributary of the T’o. A slight sketch of this splendid country

is applicable to the whole of eastern Ssŭ-ch’uan. On the slope of a

red-soiled hill is a clump of bamboos bending their feathery heads

before the breeze. Creeping down the bank is the melon with its mottled

leaves and large yellow star-shaped flower; and on the edge is a

framework supporting ripe cucumbers. Beneath is a plot of taros, with

their graceful heart-shaped leaves lowering their tips to the water

which half covers their stems, while underneath, terrace after terrace

of flooded plots of young paddy, divided by fringes of beans, stretches

into the valley, and miniature foamy cascades dash from terrace to

terrace to join the gurgling brook below. Frame the picture with tall

firs, straight young water-oaks, low umbrageous wood-oil trees, and

the palm with fan-shaped leaves, and, if the peasantry of this part of

Ssŭ-ch’uan are not content with all this beauty, we will add a rich and

fertile soil, and an abundant water supply.

At the western end of Hsing-lung-ch’ang a large stone bridge of

seven arches spans the river, here sixty yards in breadth. Instead

of crossing the bridge, we hired four small boats, and dropped down

stream for a distance of ten miles, where a waterfall, with a drop of

from fifteen to twenty feet, obstructs navigation. The river teemed

with fish, and otter-fishing was in full swing. The net was circular

and fringed with sinkers, and the fisherman, standing in the bows of

the boat, cast his net with a semicircular sweep, covering a large

surface of water. The net disappeared, the fisherman holding on to a

rope attached to the centre of the net, where there was also a small

circular opening. Drawing the rope gently until the centre of the net

appeared above the surface, he seized the otter, which was chained to

the boat, and dropped it into the opening. After allowing the otter a

short time to rout out the fish from the bottom and drive them upwards,

net, fish, and otter were all drawn up together into the boat. The

results were fairly successful.

Two miles south-west of the waterfall we again took boat, and descended

for seven miles between boulders backed by cliffs full of Man-tzŭ

caves. I had already explored similar caves on the right bank of

the Chia-ling above Ch’ung-k’ing; but my followers, who had never

previously heard of their existence, listened breathlessly to the

boatman, who described them as the ancient dwelling-places of the

aborigines of the country. These cave-dwellings extend westward to the

Min River, along the banks of which they are particularly numerous.

Landing on the right bank, we proceeded westward, and soon entered

a busy market-town on the left bank of the T’o River, opposite the

important district city of Nei-chiang Hsien. This city lies on the

high-road from Ch’ung-k’ing to the capital of the province, but,

as last year I made a detour in order to visit the salt wells of

Tzŭ-liu-ching, it did not at that time come within our ken. Before

striking the river, I noticed a few patches of a plant very much

resembling _Abutilon Avicennae_, or Ssŭ-ch’uan hemp. There was this

important distinction, however, the stems were dark brown, almost

black. It was locally called _T’ung-ma_. Ropes and sacking are

manufactured from its disintegrated bark.

[Sidenote: _AN EXTENSIVE SUGAR REGION._]

Nei-chiang, where we rested for a day, is the centre of an extensive

sugar region, and, being in water communication with the Yang-tsze,

it has the great advantage of being able to distribute its produce

speedily and cheaply. It also exports opium, a little cotton,

excellent grass-cloth, silk, wood-oil, and bean-sauce. To the west

of the T’o, the soil is lighter than to the east, and there was the

necessary adjustment of crops; paddy, of course, filled the valleys,

while sugar-cane, ground-nuts, tall millet, buckwheat, and sweet

potatoes--_Batatas edulis, Chois_--covered the hill slopes. Tobacco

was also prominent and growing luxuriantly; the tops of the stems had

recently been plucked to cause a greater development of the large under

leaves.

It took us six days to cross from the T’o to the Min; the country

is very similar throughout, the existence of reservoirs showing,

however, that the water supply is not so good to the west as to the

east of the former river. The crops were the same; but a number of new

trees put in an appearance, including the tallow tree--_Stillingia

sebifera_, or _Sapium sebiferum, Roxb._, a bushy thorn some fifteen

feet in height--_Cudrania triloba, Hance_, and the wax tree--_Fraxinus

Chinensis_--a species of ash. A belt of salt wells extends for some

miles to the east of the left bank of the Min, where the brine was

being raised much in the same way as at Tzŭ-liu-ching.

Two days before reaching the Min, we caught sight of Mount O-mei

towering away to the westward. As the river is neared, the road winds

between stone cliffs full of ancient cave-dwellings, which are still

more numerous on the left bank of the Min itself. Beautiful relief

carvings adorned the entrances of many of them. The city of Chia-ting

Fu stands on the right bank of the Min at its junction with the T’ung,

which consists of the waters of the Ya Ho and Ta-tu, both of which I

crossed in their upper reaches last year, and which unite a little to

the west of the city. It is the greatest centre of sericulture and

silk-weaving in the province, and it marks the eastern boundary of

the white wax industry. I spent the 17th of June among the wax trees

to the north-east of the city; but, finding that I could conduct my

investigations with greater ease and quietude farther west, I resolved

to proceed at once to the district city of O-mei Hsien, some twenty

miles distant and near to the base of the Sacred Mountain.

[Sidenote: _PILGRIMS TO MOUNT O-MEI._]

We passed through the west gate of Chia-ting soon after daybreak of

the 18th of June, accompanied by hundreds of pilgrims of both sexes

from all parts of Ssŭ-ch’uan on their way to visit the sacred shrines

of O-mei. The road follows the left bank of the Ya Ho till the latter

bends southwards, when it crosses a mile of sand and shingle, and again

strikes the river at the ferry. From the right bank we entered one of

the prettiest and most fertile plains in Western China, watered by

streamlets which, rising in the mountains to the west, go to join the

Ya and Ta-tu Rivers, are easily available for purposes of irrigation,

and fill a perfect network of canals surrounding the plots of land

into which the plain is divided. On the divisions of the plots rows of

wax trees grew thickly. In the city of O-mei Hsien I spent four days,

pursuing my investigations into the subject of wax culture and the

general trade of the whole district; and at daylight on the morning of

the 23rd, I left with a few of my followers to ascend the mountain. As

it was impossible to obtain meat in the sacred precincts of Buddha, we

purchased and killed a goat and carried the carcase with us. A stream

of pilgrims, each provided with a bundle of joss-sticks, candles in

baskets, and small pieces of sandalwood slung in a yellow bag over

the shoulder, bore us company. The mountain lies to the south-west

of the city; and, issuing from the west gate, we proceeded under the

western wall to the south gate, which, at the time of our visit, was

closed against a lengthened drought. The road then runs south-west

over the plain. Banyans--some of them of immense size--lined the road,

and, farther west, wax trees took their place. Shrines and temples

were thickly dotted on both sides, and at each of these the pilgrims

made obeisance, lighted joss-sticks or candles, and passed on. There

was an impressive solemnity in the worship which I have not observed

elsewhere in China. No levity broke the living cord of gravity which

stretched from shrine to shrine and temple to temple. The wax trees

increased in numbers as we advanced, and the under sides of the boughs

and twigs were here and there silvered with the wax; they appeared as

if a gentle snowstorm had recently passed over and scattered its flakes

on the branches. But trees and temples were not the only things that

lined the roadway; beggars, mostly women and girls, were obstinate

in their demands for alms, and no sooner had one gone than another

appeared. Mount O-mei towered above the other ranges that bound the

plain to the south-west, itself the highest point in a range which

descends southwards with giant strides and blocks the plain. The gray,

rocky, rugged, precipitous face lit up by the morning sun seemed to bid

defiance to the pilgrim, while the lower slopes that hid the giant’s

feet were dark with pine, broken occasionally by bare patches where

cultivation had encroached. Gradually the plain began to undulate, and

we soon entered the mountains under pine woods, through patches of tall

millet, beans, and Indian corn, and up stone steps--ladders would be a

more appropriate term--until at a distance of nearly twenty miles from

the city we reached Wan-nien-ssŭ--the “Temple of a Myriad Ages”--where

we spent the night.

No sooner had we settled down in the fine clean quarters which the

temple affords than the priests came to pay their respects, and regaled

me with the “sweet tea,” which the discovery of Mr. Baber has rendered

famous. All the way up the mountain side, I had been making enquiries

regarding this tea and its preparation, but the evidence was decidedly

conflicting. Some said that it was prepared in the ordinary way;

others, that the leaves were first steeped in molasses. Although the

infusion was extremely sweet, I must confess that I failed to detect

any flavour of tea. Be it remembered that the Chinese never take sugar

in their tea. The priests told me that the plant, whence the leaves

are picked, grows in only one gorge in the mountain. The leaves are

large and do not bear the slightest resemblance to the tea-leaf. I

subsequently forwarded a packet of this “tea” to Hankow to be tasted,

and the reply of an expert came back prompt and concise, “I never

tasted such muck in all my life!” But all doubts have recently been set

at rest, for the plant which provides the leaves has been identified as

the _Viburnum phlebotrichum_.

[Sidenote: _ASCENT OF MOUNT O-MEI._]

A glance at a map showing the comparative heights of mountains, will

give a good idea of how the top of the giant has to be reached. Peak

rises behind peak, and each of these has to be surmounted on the way

to the summit. Beyond Wan-nien-ssŭ, which is more than 3000 feet above

the plain, the road is so steep that no means of conveyance is possible

and cultivation soon ceases. Starting at five o’clock on the morning of

the 24th, we ascended this steep winding ladder and gained the summit

in twelve hours after many a weary step and many a rest. In fact, had

it not been that British pluck was in the balance, I should have given

in long before. As it was, drenched with perspiration and mist, I just

succeeded in dragging my weary aching limbs into the temple that crowns

the summit, 11,100 feet above the sea.

A few hundred yards above Wan-nien-ssŭ we entered the clouds, and from

that point upward nothing but impenetrable whiteness was visible. The

road, if I may use the word, ascends through dense pine and brushwood,

and here and there a gulf of whiteness warned us that we stood on the

verge of a precipice.

At the rear of the temple on the “Golden Summit” is the terrible

precipice which is seen from even beyond the Min. On its very brink

once stood a temple of bronze, which has twice succumbed to lightning

shafts and fire. It was built during the Ming Dynasty, and rebuilt

after its first fall; but on the second occasion portions of it

fell over the precipice, and the only parts still in their original

positions are three small bronze pagodas, bearing unmistakable traces

of fire. Their tops have been melted and twisted. Beautifully carved

bronze doors, pillars, tiles, and other pieces of what must have been

a magnificent building, lay about in heaps. It is from the terrace on

which the three pagodas stand that the celebrated “Glory of Buddha”

is to be seen. A low fence of boulders of iron ore prevents the too

anxious sightseer from precipitating himself into the terrible abyss.

If the future traveller should be as unfortunate as I was, he will

stand by this fence with white clouds overhead and around him, and gaze

down eastwards into impenetrable whiteness, in the vain hope of seeing

the sun burst through the clouds overhead, and reveal his image on the

clouds below. Not once did this occur during the day of the 25th of

June, and we left the spot in the belief that the “Glory of Buddha” was

not for us. But a single gaze into this impenetrable white gloom was to

me as impressive as a thousand “Glories of Buddha” could possibly have

been.

[Sidenote: _PRIESTLY RAPACITY._]

The pilgrims in their penance--for it is a penance to ascend the

mountain--frequently appealed to the Great Buddha of O-mei as they

scrambled up the steep steps polished by the feet of myriads. On the

summit they paid their devotions to Buddha, lighted their joss-sticks

and candles, prostrated themselves on long stools covered with

palm-coir, threw their incense into the flames, and gazed to see the

“Glory of Buddha.” This ceremony over, they took from their pockets a

few cash and polished them on the bronze pagodas and doors. These they

carry back to their homes as charms and souvenirs of their visit to the

Golden Summit of O-mei. The pilgrims come from their native places in

groups, accompanied by one who can read. The latter is the mouthpiece

of his comrades, and recites their prayers to the Great Buddha.

I have already said that beggars lined the road to the mountain; but

greater and still more importunate beggars dwell on the mountain side

and on the summit. The priests, smooth-tongued and polite, draw from

the pockets of the pilgrims money to repair the temples and the road.

I did not escape their rapacity. The appeal was, however, made in such

a pleasant way that it could not be resisted. A few potatoes grown on

the acre which forms the summit were presented to me, and had to be

paid for by a sum much in excess of their value. The workmanship of

the temples, which are numerous and built of pine from the forests by

which they are surrounded, is often excellent, the artificers being

the priests themselves. The mountain is credited as being the home of

various kinds of wild animals--among them the tiger. Fortunately for

us, he did not put in an appearance, and we saw nothing more deadly

than a couple of large monkeys, one of which had just leaped from a

tree on one side of a chasm to a tree on the other, while the second

was arrested in his pursuit by our sudden appearance. Medicines of

several sorts, including a species of wild ginseng, were exposed for

sale on the stalls which clung to the mountain side. As the day of

the 26th of June broke as gloomy as its predecessor, and there was no

hope of catching even a glimpse of the “Glory of Buddha,” I resolved

to delay no longer on the chance of a struggle with the unseen. The

descent was more difficult than the ascent, and I must confess to three

fair falls on the slippery steps, rendered still more slippery by mist

and rain, which accompanied us half-way down to Wan-nien-ssŭ. Two

hundred yards above the temple, I succeeded in placing my right foot

between two stones forming a step, and so twisting it that a tendon

behind the knee refused to perform its duty and, with excruciating

pain, I managed to crawl down a hundred yards of precipitous steps,

where a small chair could reach me from below.

On the morning of the 27th we continued the descent by a different

road from that by which we ascended, previously, however, purchasing a

couple of curiously-carved alpenstocks from the priests, their makers.

A snake in relief twined upwards round the stock, ending in a head

surmounted by a couple of horns.

The road wound eastward down a gorge between high precipices, from

which numerous cascades leaped and bounded into a stream flowing

eastward, over a narrow bridge of iron rods spanning the stream near

the end of the gorge, and, after crossing several small plains, joined

the high-road to O-mei Hsien.

[Sidenote: _CHINESE DUPLICITY._]

On my return to the city, I found that every possible obstacle was

being raised to prevent the completion of my journey. The magistrate

sent his secretary to inform me that there was no road southwards to

the Yang-tsze, and even those of my own men who had been left behind

were unwilling to proceed. It was suggested that I should return to

Chia-ting, take boat to a point farther south, and then strike inland.

I thereupon sent in search of a trader, who quickly appeared, and

gave me the names of the different stages to the next city of Ma-pien

T’ing. Arming my writer with the list, I packed him off post haste

to the magistrate with a demand for a double escort to enable me to

penetrate this unknown country. He at once complied with my demand.

Had I been told, what the magistrate himself probably did not know,

that a desultory warfare was being waged with the aborigines to the

west near Ma-pien, I should have reconsidered my route, so as not to

embroil responsible officers in case of any accident to my party;

but so palpable was the untruth told me that I did not hesitate for

a moment about proceeding. The unwillingness of my own men, as I

subsequently learned, was due to the fact that two of my bearers were

struck down by typhoid fever during my absence; and, on my return, they

had to be sent back to Chia-ting, and thence shipped to Ch’ung-k’ing.

It is well that the future is not revealed to us, for, had I known

then that one human life was to be sacrificed to the privations of the

route, I should at once have relinquished further exploration, and

left to others the honour of descending the Yang-tsze from its highest

navigable point.

The O-mei plain stretches south and south-east for some fifteen miles

to within a short distance of the left bank of the Ta-tu River, when

it is bounded by a spur which projects south-east from a low range

of hills which lies to the south and east of the chief O-mei range.

The southern half of the plain was in as high a state of cultivation

as the northern, while the wax tree was still more thickly grown. On

descending to the river we found it in full flood; junks and rafts were

being hurried along by the current at lightning speed, and on the right

bank trackers were dragging their craft up river at snail’s pace. The

road followed for two days first the left and then the right bank of

the Ta-tu--which we crossed at the market-town of Fu-lu-ch’ang--till,

baulked in its eastern course by hilly ground to the south of the

walled village of Tung-kai-ch’ang, the river flows northwards under

precipitous rocky heights forming its left bank.

Leaving the Ta-tu at the bend, we struck south over the mountains to

Tz’ŭ-chu-p’ing, which, like every other town and village, is surrounded

by a wall and provided with a garrison. Great excitement was visible

everywhere; the defences of even the meanest hamlet were conspicuously

displayed; rusty gingalls, mounted on tripod stands and loaded, were

placed within the gates ready to resist attack. But why all this

excitement? A raid by Lolos--Man-tzŭ they were called--was recently

successfully organised and carried out, a village was burned to the

ground, and many of its male inhabitants carried off into the mountains

to the west, to be utilised as shepherds or to await ransom. What the

Chinese greatly resented, however, was the slaughter of a harmless

blind man. The Lolos had swept him off with the crowd; but, finding

after a time that he was sightless, they did him to death. “Might

it not be that they mistook his blindness for unwillingness to be a

slave?” “No,” said the Chinese, “the Lolos have no mercy.”

There must be something very unhealthy about this part of the country.

At the end of the first stage from O-mei Hsien, two more of my men were

struck down with fever; one of them had to be left behind, the other

determined not to leave us and soon recovered under repeated doses of

quinine. Little did I think when I was acting the _rôle_ of physician

that I was to be the fifth victim.

[Sidenote: _PRECAUTIONS AGAINST A SURPRISE._]

When we left Tz’ŭ-chu-p’ing on the morning of the 1st of July, I

observed that my escort had been very materially strengthened, and

that the soldiers, instead of straggling hither and thither, kept

close to our caravan. Rumours were current that a band of Lolos, some

two hundred strong, were in the immediate hills ready to raid, but

undecided as to their ultimate point of attack, and extra precautions

were taken against our being made unwilling visitors to Lolodom.

Proceeding south-east we crossed a low range, and dropped into a

narrow valley between low rocky heights clad with brushwood. Beyond

the valley, waves of terraced hills crowned with fir and oak had to

be surmounted, and early in the afternoon we looked down into a deep

narrow gorge, wherein a stream flowing northwards suddenly turns east.

On the north bank, on the only piece of level ground to be seen, stands

the walled town of Chou-pa-ch’ang, facing precipitous cliffs on the

opposite shore. Most of the houses were furnished with watch-towers

on their roofs, and in these, round smooth stones from the stream’s

shingly bed were piled to resist attack.

Here very poor quarters were available; my room was over a tenanted

pig-sty, and the floor was full of holes. I awoke next morning, after

a restless night, burning with fever, and scarcely able to leave my

bed. In this wretched inn I lay five whole days, and had ample time to

ponder over the discomforts which the traveller, who has been brought

up under sanitary laws, has to endure in this land of dirt. Confinement

ultimately became so irksome and depressing that, although unable to

walk to my chair without assistance, on the morning of the 7th of July

I determined to proceed, and trust to the invigorating influence of

fresh air to effect a cure.

Chou-pa-ch’ang is the highest navigable point for small craft on the

river which is known on Chinese maps as the Ching-shui, but is locally

called the Ma-pien River, from the city of that name near its source.

Two rapids to the south of the town obstruct navigation, except for

descending rafts. Crossing a streamlet, which enters the Ma-pien four

miles to the south of Chou-pa-ch’ang, by a narrow chain bridge, the

road leaves the main river, where it makes an eastern bend and goes

south through broken country fairly wooded with the mulberry, wood-oil,

and tallow trees, and, after ascending some low heights, descends

into a large basin, at the southern end of which we again struck the

left bank of the river at the town of Ni-tien-ch’ang, with the usual

miserable accommodation. Next morning we crossed the river, and after

two days’ winding west and south-west along its right bank, reached the

departmental city of Ma-pien T’ing. Our approach had been announced by

one of the escort who had preceded us in search of an inn, and half the

population lined the left bank, on which the city stands, and blocked

the streets through which we had to pass to our quarters.

[Sidenote: _GUERILLA WARFARE._]

A guerilla warfare had been waged with the Lolo mountaineers some time

previous to the date of our arrival; detachments of fifty soldiers had

been repeatedly sent to carry on the work of extermination, but had not

returned to announce their success. Preparations were being made to

conduct operations on a larger scale, and fifteen hundred troops were

quartered in the city and its neighbourhood. It was forbidden to kill

or dispose of cattle and live stock generally, except for the use of

the soldiery, and we had considerable difficulty in procuring supplies

of any sort.

My escort was now strengthened by a dozen men, mostly Hunan braves,

armed with swords, to conduct me in safety to the Yang-tsze. To the

south-east of the city the road enters the mountains, where not a

single Lolo was to be seen; the few houses visible were in reality

forts, built on most inaccessible heights. A solid square of masonry,

ten to twelve feet in height, with only one opening to serve as a

doorway, supported a storey with windows and frequently a watch-tower.

On this stage there was great trouble about food; rice could not be had

for money, and, when I was partaking of my frugal breakfast, which I

had taken the precaution to carry with me from Ma-pien, I saw my writer

triumphantly waving in his hand, to the envy of all my other followers,

an egg which he had either purloined or purchased, and off which he was

about to make as hearty a meal as circumstances would allow.

During the day I was told that we should be able to buy an ox at

Ting-nan-pa, the end of the stage, and we hurried on to prepare

the feast of which we were all so much in need. On arrival, it was

suggested in answer to our enquiries that an ox might be had some miles

further on; but this was little satisfaction to hungry men. A Good

Samaritan at length came to the rescue, and sold us, at a fabulous

price, a leg of some animal or other--to this day I have no idea what

it was--which made an excellent repast.

[Sidenote: _A FATIGUING JOURNEY._]

According to the record of stages which I had procured in Ma-pien,

we were still a three days’ journey from the Yang-tsze; but so many

difficulties were crowding around us--no food, and my horse-boy very

sick--that I determined to make a forced march and avoid at least

one day of misery. When we left Ting-nan-pa on the morning of the

11th of July, I at once abandoned my chair, proceeded with my escort

on foot, and, after a brisk walk of four hours, reached the hamlet

which was marked on my list as the end of the stage. It was a dismal

place, and without waiting for my followers, who were still miles in

our rear, I pushed on to the next stage. I was duly warned that the

road was difficult, but the traveller in this land is accustomed to

prevarication, and invariably finds it hard to elicit the truth.

For some distance east and south-east, the road was all that could be

desired for a Chinese road, and I was beginning to chuckle to myself

at the exposure of the imaginary difficulties, when it descended to

the right bank of a stream which we had struck and crossed early in

the morning. Here it was studded with huge boulders, over which we had

literally to crawl. After an hour of this work, I stopped to allow my

men to catch us up. When they arrived they were bursting with anger.

Having breakfasted off a couple of boiled Indian corn cobs, I followed

my tactics of the morning and went ahead with my escort. There is no

language strong enough to describe the road that we had then to follow;

it wound with the right bank of the stream through a mountain gorge and

ultimately descended into a stony plain, through which we made our way

to the market-town of Chung-tu-ch’ang, the end of the stage. I arrived,

dead beat, at five o’clock in the afternoon, after a walk of thirty

miles over a frightful road and under a broiling sun. The whole caravan

did not turn up till long after dark; my chair was battered, torn, and

tattered; and my horse and mule were hopelessly lame. The only thing

that saved us from utter collapse was the knowledge that we were only

one short stage from the left bank of the Yang-tsze, where our overland

journeying would probably be at an end.

With as light hearts as we could muster, on the morning of the 12th

of July we left Chung-tu-ch’ang and the stream which flows behind

it, and struck south-east and south over high hills. To the north

towered confused mountain ranges, peak rising behind peak, dark

and cloud-capped as we passed. On reaching the southern edge of an

undulating plateau we looked into a deep ravine, down which flowed the

stream; and far away to the south-east a yellow spot could be made

out at the base of a dark mountain range. “What is that yellow spot?”

I asked the keeper of a solitary inn shaded by a large banyan, just

under the brow of the plateau. “That is the Chin Chiang,” was the

welcome reply--the Golden River, the upper waters of the Yang-tsze. For

a long time we sat under that shady banyan, indulging recklessly in

rice-broth to strengthen and cheer us in our hour of joy. There was no

laggard now; down the steep mountain side we hurried to the stream, and

followed its right bank for four miles to the town of Man-i-ssŭ, which

clings to the steep face of the left bank of the Golden River, and is

about fifty miles higher than the highest point reached by the Upper

Yang-tsze Expedition in 1861. Here, after a vain search for suitable

night quarters, we engaged three small boats which were moored under

the town, and dropped down river for a distance of twelve miles to

the town of Fu-kuan-ts’un on the right bank and within the province of

Yün-nan.

To my surprise, I found that the Yang-tsze is the boundary of the

provinces of Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan to within a short distance of the

mouth of the Hêng River, which enters it opposite the town of An-pien,

on the left bank, sixteen miles west of Sui Fu. Fu-kuan-ts’un was

crowded with agents buying up native opium, and it was only with the

assistance of the local authorities that I was able to secure a small

room in an inn. At the back, however, I soon discovered an outhouse

which I much preferred to the room, and where I was removed from the

glassy eyes of crowds.

[Sidenote: _PREPARING TO SHOOT THE RAPIDS._]

Two courses were now open to me--to proceed overland to P’ing-shan

Hsien and there take junk to Sui Fu and Ch’ung-k’ing, or to risk

the descent of two dangerous rapids in a boat from Fu-kuan-ts’un. I

decided to adopt the latter alternative; but, as trade so far west

is insignificant and boats do not attempt the descent unless heavily

laden, I had to wait three days till sufficient cargo had been

collected for the craft which I had engaged. It was so hot on shore

that I spent the night of the 15th on board, for the double purpose of

catching any stray breeze on the river, and of being able to start at

daylight on the morrow.

Our boat was of considerable length, deeply laden, and fitted with long

sweeps at both ends, weighted with large stones to balance the outlying

portions. At daylight we shipped a special crew of ten men, including a

pilot, to help us down the rapids. They took entire possession of the

fore part of the boat, while the regular crew, also numbering ten,

were relegated to the stern, to work the sweep and a side spar which

four men kept pumping up and down in front of the sweep. The pilot was

a small wizened man of about sixty, with grizzled beard and moustache,

and a keen piercing eye. His crew of nine--all young active fellows--at

first took to the oars, the bow sweep being fastened to the deck by

a noose. Six men hung on the stern sweep, and four worked the side

spar. The descent was comparatively easy for twelve miles as far as

Shih-ch’i-ch’ang, a market-town on the Yün-nan side, where we moored

above a rapid, and my followers, with the exception of my writer,

personal servant, and one of the soldiers who had special instructions

never to lose sight of me, took eager advantage of the skipper’s order

to go on shore. I also landed my horse and mule.

Casting off our moorings, we soon slid into the Chi-kan-shih, which

is a long confused mass of water stretching across the whole breadth

of the river. Currents rush in all directions, causing waves and

whirlpools. The moment we entered the rapid, the pilot shouted out the

order, “To the bow sweep!” Seven of the oars were quickly thrown aside,

and the seven rowers with the pilot clung round the sweep. With his

left hand on its butt end, the pilot gave his orders to the steersmen

by means of an old fan which he carried in his right, for the noise

and hissing of the waters drowned his shrill voice. The difficulty

was to keep the boat’s bows with the stream through the currents and

whirlpools. This we accomplished, shipping only a little water.

[Sidenote: _A SKILFUL PILOT._]

From this rapid the river rushes with considerable force south-east

and south, till it is barred in the latter direction by a mountain

whose bare cliffs, which have successfully resisted the attacks of

the current, rise sheer from the angry waters. Foiled in its southern

onset, it rushes east and at right angles to its former course, causing

the most dangerous of all the rapids--of which the boatmen enumerate

twenty--on this section of the river. It is called the _Wan-wan T’an_,

or “Winding Rapid,” and well does it deserve the name. The river rushes

swiftly to the cliffs, seemingly bent on carrying all with it. The

confusion caused by the rush, the sharp bend and the sudden contraction

is terrible, and we were, to all appearances, being swiftly hurried

to destruction. But the eye of the pilot wavered not. His crew on the

bow sweep and his old fan saved us from the cliffs. Once, however, the

steersmen were slow in obeying an order, when the old man threw his

fan on the deck, and with his clenched right hand repeatedly struck

his left palm. The boat’s stern was within arm’s length of the cliffs!

Our soldier fired a shot from a horse-pistol as we entered each rapid,

whether in its honour or in its defiance I know not. The rapids passed,

the pilot and his crew left us, and we re-shipped our men, escort, and

animals, and proceeded to Sui Fu, which we did not reach till dark.

We spent the greater part of the 17th of July in hiring and inspecting

a passenger boat to convey us to Ch’ung-k’ing, and in the afternoon

everything was arranged for a start next morning. Towards night, word

was brought to me that my horse-boy, who occupied a room in the inn

immediately underneath my own, and who, I noticed, left the boat very

much exhausted the previous night, was dangerously ill with dysentery,

brought on by the hardships of the route. I at once consulted his

wishes as to proceeding or remaining to recruit with one of my

servants, who was a relative, to attend to him. He expressed a desire

to proceed, and I ordered a chair to be in waiting next morning to take

him on board. At two o’clock in the morning I was roused from my sleep

by what appeared to be a shout in Chinese, “Your horse-boy is dead.”

I got up and lit my candle; but there was neither sound nor movement

anywhere. I went to bed again, and at daybreak my servant announced

the poor man’s death. After the funeral--I buried him at Sui Fu--we

embarked, and before noon of the 21st of July we lay off Ch’ung-k’ing,

glad that our overland struggles were at an end.

CHAPTER XI.

CHINESE INSECT WHITE WAX.

References to insect white wax in Europe and China--Area

of production--Chief wax-insect producing country--The

insect tree--The insect “buffalo” beetle, or parasite--The

insect scales--The transport of insects to the wax-producing

districts--Method of transport--The wax tree--How insects are

placed on the wax trees--Wax production--Collection of the wax--An

ignominious ending--Insect metamorphosis--Uses of the wax--Quantity

and value.

Although the substance called Chinese Insect White Wax has long been

known in Europe, it is only within recent years that the mystery which

has surrounded this remarkable industry has been cleared up. Amongst

Europeans, we find Martini in his _Novus Atlas Sinensis_--a work

descriptive of the Chinese Empire, published in 1655--mentioning _alba

cera_ as a product of the Hu-kwang provinces, and of the province of

Kwangsi. Again, Gabriel de Magalhaes, in his “Nouvelle Rélation de

la Chine,” published in 1668, states that white wax is produced in

the provinces of Hunan, Hupeh, and Shantung; while in the “Lettres

Edificantes,” published in 1752, Père Chanseaume has a “Memoire sur

la cire d’arbre,” or tree wax. In the “Comptes Rendus de l’Académie

des Sciences” of 1840, Stanislas Julien adds some notes on tree wax

and the insects which produce it, and quotes from Chinese authors on

the same subject; and in volume XII. of the Pharmaceutical Journal,

published in 1853, there is an article by Daniel Hanbury entitled “The

Insect White Wax of China.” More recently, Fortune, the two delegates

of the Shanghai General Chamber of Commerce who ascended the River

Yang-tsze into Western China in 1868, Baron von Richthofen, and Gill,

have all alluded to the subject; and Mr. Baber, while he held the post

of Her Majesty’s Agent in Western China, wrote a special and very

interesting report on Insect White Wax, to which, as his successor, I

had free access. In 1880, Père Rathouis published at Shanghai a short

memoir on the white wax insect.

As early as 1522, this wax is mentioned in Chinese books; but at that

time the idea seems to have been prevalent that the insects, by some

mysterious process of metamorphosis, were themselves converted into a

white substance and did not excrete the wax.

Although the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan has always been recognized as the

chief breeding country of the white wax insect, and the great field

for the production and manufacture of the white wax of commerce, the

wax is found and manufactured in several other provinces, notably in

Kuei-chow, Hu-nan, Fuh-kien, Chê-kiang, and An-hui, and in reality

exists in small quantities from Chih-li in the north to the island of

Hainan in the south of China.

[Sidenote: _INSECT WHITE WAX._]

In the spring of the year 1884, I received instructions from the

Foreign Office to procure for Sir Joseph Hooker dried specimens

of the foliage and flowers of the trees on which the insects are

propagated and excrete the wax; specimens of the twigs incrusted with

the wax; samples of the cakes in the form in which the wax occurs in

commerce; and Chinese candles made from the wax. I was also instructed

to obtain, if possible, information on the whole subject of wax

production, in addition to that furnished in Mr. Baber’s Report. My

report on this interesting subject was published as an Appendix to a

Parliamentary Paper in February, 1885; but at the time that that Paper

was written and despatched I had not completed my investigations,

and, unfortunately, some further notes which I sent to the Foreign

Office were too late for publication with the Parliamentary Paper. As,

therefore, the information already made public is but fragmentary,

and as there are some mistakes into which, owing to my distance from

scientific advice, I have fallen, I think it right that I should take

the first opportunity that has offered since my arrival in England of

supplying details and correcting mistakes.

If we glance at a map of China, we will find that the upper Yang-tsze,

or Golden River as it is there called, is joined by a river called

the Ya-lung or Ta-ch’ung, a little to the west of the one hundred and

second degree of longitude, and that the united waters flow south-east

below the twenty-sixth degree of latitude, and again turn north,

forming, as it were, a loop towards the province of Yün-nan. Between

these two rivers flows another smaller river called the An-ning, which

joins the Ya-lung before the latter unites with the Golden River.

The An-ning flows down a valley called the valley of Chien-ch’ang,

the local name of Ning-yuan Fu, the principal town within the river

loop. This valley, the northern boundary of which is lat. 29° 20′,

and southern boundary, lat. 27° 11′, is the great breeding ground of

the white wax insect. In the valley, which is about 5000 feet above

the level of the sea, and on the hills which bound it, there is one

very prominent tree, called by the Chinese of that region the _Ch’ung

shu_, or “Insect Tree.” It is known under different names in the

same province of Ssŭ-ch’uan; it is called the _Tung-ching shu_, or

“Evergreen Tree,” and the _Pao-kê-ts’ao shu_, or “Crackling-flea Tree,”

from the sputtering of the wood when burning. It is an ever-green

with leaves springing in pairs from the branches. They are thick,

dark-green, glossy, ovate, and pointed. In the end of May and beginning

of June, the tree bears clusters of small white flowers, which are

succeeded by fruit of a dark purple colour. From the specimens of the

tree which I forwarded to Kew Gardens, the authorities there have come

to the conclusion that it is _Ligustrum lucidum_, or large-leaved

privet.

In the month of March 1883, I passed through the Chien-chang valley;

but, knowing that Mr. Baber had already furnished a report on the

subject of white wax, I confined myself to a mere cursory examination

of the insect tree. In that month, however, I found attached to the

bark of the boughs and twigs, numerous brown pea-shaped excrescences.

The larger excrescences or scales were readily detachable, and, when

opened, presented either a whitey-brown pulpy mass, or a crowd of

minute animals like flour, whose movements were only just perceptible

to the naked eye.

[Sidenote: _THE WHITE WAX INSECT._]

In the months of May and June 1884, when I was called upon for

more detailed information on the subject, I had the opportunity of

examining these scales and their contents with some minuteness in

the neighbourhood of Ch’ung-k’ing, and also within the jurisdiction

of Chia-ting Fu, the chief wax producing country in the province of

Ssŭ-ch’uan. Ten miles to the east of Ch’ung-k’ing, I plucked the

scales from the trees--the _Ligustrum lucidum_--and on opening them

(they are very brittle) I found a swarm of brown creatures, crawling

about, each provided with six legs and a pair of _antennae_. Each of

these moving creatures was a white wax insect--the _coccus pe-la_

of Westwood. Many of the scales also contained either a small white

bag or cocoon covering a pupa, or a perfect imago in the shape of a

small black beetle. This beetle is a species of _Brachytarsus_. For

this information I am indebted to Mr. McLachlan, to whom the insects

forwarded by me to Kew were submitted for examination.

If left undisturbed in the broken scale, the beetle, which, from

his ungainly appearance, is called by the Chinese the _niu-êrh_, or

“buffalo,” will, heedless of the _cocci_ which begin to crawl outside

and inside the scale, continue to burrow in the inner lining of the

scale, which is apparently his food. The Chinese declare that the

beetle eats his minute companions in the scale, or at least injures

them by the pressure of his comparatively heavy body; and it is true

that the scales from Chien-ch’ang in which the beetles are numerous

are cheaper than those in which they are absent. But, although Chinese

entomology is not to be trusted, there is, after all, a grain of truth

in the statement. The genus _brachytarsus_ is parasitic on _coccus_,

and the grub, not the imago, is the enemy of the white wax insect. The

Chinese, therefore, are not far wrong when they pay a lower price for

the beetle-infested scales.

When a scale is plucked from the tree, an orifice where it was attached

to the bark is disclosed. By this orifice the _cocci_ are enabled to

escape from the detached scales. If the scales are not detached, but

remain fixed to the bark, it may be asked, “How are the _cocci_ to

find their way out?” It has been stated by entomologists that they

know not of any species of the family _Coccidae_ that cannot find

their way from underneath the mother-scale without assistance. This

may also hold good in the present case; but all I contend for is, that

the _cocci pe-la_ take eager advantage of the opening pierced from

inside the scale by the beetle to escape from their imprisonment. In

addition to the branches with intact scales, which I carried home with

me for examination, I closely observed the scales that had been left

undetached on the _ligustrum_, and found only one orifice in each

scale--a circular hole similar in every respect to the orifice pierced

by the beetles in the scales which I had beside me. At Chia-ting I

examined scales that had been brought from the Chien-ch’ang valley.

They were suspended on the wax trees and were for the most part empty.

They had only one orifice--that by which they had been attached to the

bark of the _ligustrum_, and by which the _cocci_ had no doubt escaped.

In the very first scale I opened there, however, I found a solitary

beetle.

The Chien-ch’ang valley is the great insect-producing country; but the

insects may be, and are, propagated elsewhere, as in Chien-wei Hsien to

the south of Chia-ting Fu, and even as far east as Ch’ung-k’ing. These

insects are, however, declared by the Chinese to be inferior, and they

fetch a lower price.

Two hundred miles to the north-east of Chien-ch’ang, and separated from

it by a series of mountain ranges, is the prefecture of Chia-ting,

within which insect white wax as an article of commerce is produced.

In the end of April, the scales are gathered from the _ligustrum_ in

the Chien-ch’ang valley, and collected for the most part at the town of

Tê-ch’ang, on the right bank of the An-ning River, which I have already

mentioned, in latitude 27° 24′.

[Sidenote: _TRANSPORT OF THE INSECTS._]

To this town porters from Chia-ting annually resort in great

numbers--in former years they are said to have numbered as many as ten

thousand--to carry the scales across the mountains to Chia-ting. The

scales are made up into paper packets, each weighing about sixteen

ounces, and a load usually consists of about sixty packets. Great care

has to be taken in the transit of the scales. The porters between the

Chien-ch’ang valley and Chia-ting travel only during the night, for, at

the season of transit, the temperature is already high during the day,

and would tend to the rapid development of the insects and their escape

from the scales. At their resting places, the porters open and spread

out the packets in cool places. Notwithstanding all these precautions,

however, each packet, on arrival at Chia-ting, is found to be more

than an ounce lighter than when it started from Chien-ch’ang. In

years of plenty, a pound of scales laid down in Chia-ting costs about

half-a-crown; but in years of scarcity, such as last year, when only a

thousand loads are said to have reached Chia-ting from Chien-ch’ang,

the price is doubled.

In favourable years, a pound of Chien-ch’ang scales is calculated to

produce from four to five pounds of wax; in bad years, little more than

a pound may be expected, so that, taken as a whole, white wax culture

has in it a considerable element of risk.

[Sidenote: _THE WHITE WAX TREE._]

West from the right bank of the Min River, on which the city of

Chia-ting lies, stretches a plain to the foot of the sacred O-mei

range of mountains. This plain, which runs south to the left bank of

the Ta-tu River, which forms the northern boundary of the Chien-ch’ang

valley farther west, is an immense rice-field, being well-watered by

streams from the western mountains. Almost every plot of ground on

this plain, as well as the bases of the mountains, are thickly edged

with stumps, varying from three or four to a dozen feet in height,

with numerous sprouts rising from their gnarled heads. These stumps

resemble, at a distance, our own pollard willows. The leaves spring

in pairs from the branches; they are light green, ovate, pointed,

serrated, and deciduous. In June, 1884, when I visited this part of the

country, some of the trees were bearing bunches apparently of fruit

in small pods; but, as no flowering specimens were then procurable,

there still exists a little uncertainty as to this tree. I am informed,

however, that it is, in all probability, the _Fraxinus Chinensis_, a

species of ash. The tree is known to the Chinese as the _Pai-la shu_,

or “white wax tree.”

It is to this, the great home of the wax tree, that the scales are

carried from the Chien-ch’ang valley. On their arrival, about the

beginning of May, they are made up into small packets of from twenty

to thirty scales, which are enclosed in a leaf of the wood-oil tree.

The edges of the leaf are tied together with a rice-straw, by which the

packet is also suspended close under the branches of the wax tree. A

few rough holes are drilled in the leaf with a blunt needle, so that

the insects may find their way through them to the branches.

On emerging from the scales, the insects creep rapidly up the branches

to the leaves, among which they nestle for a period of thirteen days.

They then descend to the branches and twigs, on which they take up

their positions, the females, doubtless, to provide for a continuation

of the race by developing scales in which to deposit their eggs, and

the males to excrete the substance known as white wax. Whether or not

the wax is intended as a protection to the scales, I am not prepared

to say. I have frequently observed, however, scales far removed from

any deposit of white wax, and it may be asked whether or not it is

in these scales at a distance from the wax that the female beetles,

cuckoo-like, deposit their eggs. The Chinese in Chia-ting have learned

to distinguish the wax-producing from the non-wax-producing insects.

They divide them into two classes, called respectively, the _la-sha_,

or “wax sand,” and the _huang-sha_, or “brown sand.” The former, which

are of a reddish-white colour, are declared to be the wax producers,

while the latter, which are of a brownish colour, are said to produce

no wax. These are, without doubt, the males and females respectively.

During the thirteen days after their escape from the scales, and their

future life when studded on the bark, the insects must derive their

nourishment from the sap of the tree, although to the unaided eye there

is no visible impression on leaves or bark. From the absence of any

such marks, the Chinese declare that the insects live on dew, and that

the wax perspires from their bodies.

The wax first appears as a white coating on the under sides of the

boughs and twigs, and resembles very much sulphate of quinine, or a

covering of snow. It gradually spreads over the whole branch, and

attains, after three months, a thickness of about a quarter of an inch.

When the white deposit becomes visible on the branches, the farmer may

be seen going the round of his trees, carefully belabouring each stump

with a heavy wooden club, in order, as he says, to bring to ground

the _la-kou_, or “wax dog,” a declared enemy of the wax insect. This

probably refers to the beetle-mother. This clubbing of the stumps was

done during the heat of the day, when the wax insects are said to have

a firm hold of the bark.

After the lapse of a hundred days from the placing of the insects on

the wax tree, the deposit is complete. The branches are then lopped

off, and as much of the wax as possible removed by hand. This is

placed in an iron pot of boiling water, and the wax, melting, rises

to the surface, is skimmed off and placed in a round mould, whence it

emerges as the white wax of commerce. Where it is found impossible to

remove the wax by hand, twigs and branches are thrown into the pot,

so that this wax is darker and inferior. Finally, not satisfied that

all the wax has been collected, the operator takes the insects, which

have meantime sunk to the bottom of the pot, and placing them in a bag,

squeezes them until they have given up the last drop of their valuable

product. They are then--an ignominious ending to their short and

industrious career--thrown to the pigs!

[Sidenote: _WAX INSECT METAMORPHOSIS._]

On the 27th of August, 1884, branches of the _ligustrum_ coated with

wax were brought to me. On removing the wax I found, close to the

bark, a number of minute brown bags, evidently the male _cocci_ in a

state of metamorphosis. I examined the undisturbed branches from day

to day, and on the 4th September I observed quite a number of white

hair-like substances rising above the surface of the wax deposit. These

ultimately proved to be the white forked tails of the male insects

forcing their way up from the bark, and dislodging, as they emerged,

small quantities of the wax. They were now provided with long wings,

and, after tarrying for a time on the branches, flew away. By the 13th

of September they had all disappeared, leaving visible the tunnels from

the bark, upwards, by which they had escaped.

It will be seen from the above remarks that, as the branches of the

wax tree are boiled with the wax, the scales are destroyed, and hence

it is necessary to have recourse annually to the Chien-ch’ang valley

for fresh scales with eggs or insects.

When the branches are lopped off a wax tree, a period of three years

is allowed to elapse before the scales are suspended under the new

branches of the same tree. Wind and rain are greatly dreaded at the

season of suspending the insects, and the sprouts of one and two years’

growth are considered too weak to resist a gale.

So much for the wax insect and its product. I come now to the subject

of the quantity produced, its value and uses.

Since the introduction of kerosene oil into China, and its almost

universal use in the remotest provinces of the Empire, the demand for

white wax has declined considerably, and the supply has decreased in

a corresponding ratio. Not many years ago, as I have already stated,

ten thousand porters were required to carry the scales from the

Chien-ch’ang valley to the wax tree country, and in 1884 we find that

a thousand porters were able to transport the Chien-ch’ang supply. In

many homesteads in Ssŭ-ch’uan, where candles were formerly the only

lights, kerosene has been introduced, and it is now only when lighting

is required outside--for there is no public lighting in China worthy of

the name--that candles are employed by those who find it necessary to

leave their homes after nightfall. I find, however, from the returns

of the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs for 1884, that the quantity

of Insect White Wax imported into Shanghai in foreign vessels from the

ports on the Yang-tsze, amounted to 7,628 piculs, or 454 tons, valued

at 381,440 taels, or about £95,000--say on an average £200 a ton.

The value, like the demand, has also declined. Not many years ago it

was quoted at double the prices realized at present.

[Sidenote: _USES OF INSECT WAX._]

Various uses are ascribed to this wax; but in Western China, as far as

I have been able to gather, its sole use is for coating the exteriors

of animal and vegetable tallow candles, and for giving a greater

consistency to these tallows before they are manufactured into candles.

Insect White Wax melts at 160° F., whereas animal tallow melts at

about 95° F. Vegetable and animal tallow candles are therefore dipped

into melted white wax; a coating is given to them, and prevents them

guttering when lighted. It is also said to be used in other parts of

China as a sizing for paper and cotton goods, for imparting a gloss

to silk, and as a furniture polish. Chemists are likewise declared to

utilize it for coating their pills; but, being in all probability of

more value than the pills, the coating is removed before the latter are

administered. In the Fuh-kien and Chê-kiang provinces it is employed to

impart a polish to steatite, or soapstone ornaments, after the carving

is completed.

Such, then, is a brief history of the production, manufacture, and uses

of Chinese Insect White Wax--a substance interesting from a biological,

as well as from a commercial, point of view.

CHAPTER XII.

THE TRADE OF WESTERN AND SOUTH-WESTERN CHINA.

The waterways, trade-routes, condition, and commercial prospects

of Yün-nan--Trade-routes to Kuei-chow, and the mineral wealth

of the province--The waterways of Ssŭ-ch’uan--General trade

of Ssŭ-ch’uan--Foreign trade of Ssŭ-ch’uan and how it is

conducted--The defects in the present system and the remedy--The

rapids and the difficulties they present--Advantages to be

gained from the opening of Ch’ung-k’ing--The Yang-tsze the only

route--Trade bound to the Yang-tsze.

I felt very highly honoured by a recent invitation, which was addressed

to me by the Chamber of Commerce of the great manufacturing city of

Manchester, to speak on the subject of trade with China; but I confess

that I had the greatest diffidence in appearing before a commercial

audience, before men who make trade the business of their lives. A

residence of ten years in a country like China does not necessarily

imply an acquaintance with its trade, and, were this the only

qualification that I possessed, I should have hesitated to accept the

invitation. The trade of China, like the Empire itself, is vast and

varied, and to examine and discuss it in anything like an exhaustive

manner would have occupied far too much time. Instead, therefore, of

speaking of the general trade of China, I drew their attention to that

part of the country which has of late attracted considerable notice

from its proximity to Upper Burmah, now incorporated in our Indian

Empire.

South-western China was not unfamiliar to the audience I then

addressed, its trade and trading capabilities having been brought

before the principal Chambers of Commerce in Great Britain by Mr.

Colquhoun and Mr. Hallett, two gentlemen who took great interest in

the subject--an interest, too, which they tried to instil into the

commercial world. The part of China, then, of which I spoke embraced

Ssŭ-ch’uan, Yün-nan, and Kuei-chow, and the observations I made were

based on a three years’ residence and recent journeys, covering some

five thousand miles in these three provinces.

[Sidenote: _PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS._]

It is impossible to arrive at any definite conclusion regarding

the trade of a country without some knowledge of the geography of

that country; it is therefore necessary, at the outset, to note the

physical characteristics of Western China. The hundred and tenth degree

of longitude divides China Proper into two almost equal parts. It

does more; it divides the level from the mountainous half. Yün-nan,

Kuei-chow, and Ssŭ-ch’uan, constitute the southern section of the

latter or mountainous half. Let us, then, deal with these three

provinces in the above order.

[Sidenote: _CONDITION OF YÜNNAN._]

Yün-nan is bounded on the north by the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan, on the

west by Upper Burmah and the Shan States, on the south by the Shan

States and Tonquin, and on the east by the provinces of Kwang-si and

Kuei-chow. It is the birth-place of several well-known rivers. On

the west are the Ta-ping and Shweli, tributaries of the Irrawady; the

Salwen and Mekong flow through its whole length; the Song-koi, or Red

River, and the Hsi Chiang, or West River, take their rise in the south

and east of the province respectively. The Chin Chiang, or Chin-sha

Chiang, as the upper waters of the Yang-tsze are called, flows through

the north-western corner, and for a considerable distance divides

Yün-nan from Ssŭ-ch’uan. In the north-east there is one small river,

the Ta-kuan, or Hêng Chiang, a tributary of the Yang-tsze. Of all these

rivers, the only two that are navigable into Yün-nan are the Song-koi

and the Yang-tsze, with its tributary the Ta-kuan, and these not

without some difficulty.

Here, then, we have two water-routes into Yün-nan, one in the south and

the other in the north. But the West River is navigated from Canton

to Pe-sê, close to the south-eastern frontier of the province, and is

a very important trade highway to southern and eastern Yün-nan. In

default of a waterway in the west, communication is kept up by the

Bhamo-Ta-li Fu route, which, being now partly within our Indian Empire,

has attracted no little attention, and raised considerable expectations

for British trade.

It is indeed a pity that these expectations are doomed to

disappointment. The total import and export trade by this route three

years ago did not exceed half a million sterling. I entered very

minutely into the question of this trade when I visited Ta-li Fu in

1883, and I am thus well acquainted with the area which this route

supplies. Ta-Li Fu and Yang-pei T’ing form its eastern and northern

boundary respectively, and it is from it that the Ta-ping valley draws

its requirements. The country east of Ta-li Fu is supplied from Yün-nan

Fu, the capital of the province, which again draws both from Canton by

the West River, and from Shanghai by the Yang-tsze. The difficulties of

the Bhamo route are so great that no great improvement is possible, and

no great development of trade can result. Yün-nan has been described

as a rich province. I have no hesitation in saying that it is; but it

contains a poor population, and, until the condition of the latter is

improved, no great development of trade need be looked for in that

direction. It is estimated to contain a population of from five to six

millions, the great mass of which is engaged in agricultural pursuits.

True, there are copper mines in the north and east, and tin and lead

mines in the south of the province; but mining industries are so

hampered by official interference as to profit little the owners or

the workmen. Agriculture, too, is carried on under a system of small

farms, and the absence of good roads and the impossibility of greatly

improving those that exist, owing to the mountainous character of the

province, do not tend to the enrichment of the peasantry. Nor is this

all; immense tracts in the north and west of the province have lain

waste since the Mohammedan rebellion, and owing to the antipathy of

the Chinese to settle on lands which they look upon as the property

of people who may still be living, or whose descendants may still be

living, it must be many years before the agriculture of the province

is properly developed. It will be said that I take a gloomy view of the

south-western corner of China; and I am indeed sorry, for the sake of

our own commerce, that I cannot present a brighter picture.

I turn now to the province of Kuei-chow, which, owing to its proximity

to the great waterway of China, is better situated for trade than

Yün-nan, but which, from causes which I shall presently describe, is

even less developed than that province. Kuei-chow has not inaptly been

called the “Switzerland” of China. The greater part of the province,

which is exceedingly mountainous, was formerly peopled by a non-Chinese

race, called by the Chinese, _Miao-tzŭ_; but some twenty years ago a

struggle arose between the aboriginal tribes and the Chinese, in which

the latter from their superior equipment proved victorious, and drove

the conquered into the southern half of the province, although even in

the northern half scattered families may still be found. The struggle,

which lasted for years, was a desperate one; and, at the present

time, traces are everywhere to be seen in the shape of ruined towns

and villages and lands lying waste and desolate. The waterways that

lead to the province of Kuei-chow, with one exception, flow through

Ssŭ-ch’uan. That exception is the Yuan River, which, rising in the

east of the province, flows east and north-east into the Tung-t’ing

Lake, which debouches into the Yang-tsze, one hundred and twenty-three

miles to the west of Hankow. This river, which, although obstructed by

numerous rapids, is navigated to within one hundred and thirty miles

of Kuei-yang Fu, the capital of the province, is _the_ trade highway

to Eastern Kuei-chow.

[Sidenote: _A PROSPEROUS PROVINCE._]

The trade of the rest of the province is intimately bound up with that

of Ssŭ-ch’uan, through which, owing to its remaining waterways, it

naturally passes. The population of Kuei-chow is estimated to equal

that of Yün-nan. It consists of immigrants from other neighbouring

provinces, who seem to have left behind them whatever energy they may

have at one time possessed. Like Yün-nan, Kuei-chow is rich in the

variety of its mineral wealth. Coal, iron, copper, and quicksilver

exist in large quantities; but they are very imperfectly worked.

What it lacks is salt, a necessary which binds it and its trade to

Ssŭ-ch’uan, which is able to supply not only its own wants, but those

of the southern province, the north of Yün-nan, and parts of other

eastern provinces.

I am happy to be able to pass from these two provinces, half

depopulated by internecine struggles, only partly cultivated and partly

developed, to a brighter picture. Ssŭ-ch’uan is really a picture of

what peace, contentment, industry, and consequent trade are able to

accomplish. When Yün-nan and Kuei-chow were convulsed by civil wars,

the Ssŭ-ch’uanese were peacefully journeying up and down the Great

River, as the section of the Yang-tsze in the east of the province is

called, disposing of their surplus produce, and bringing back not only

what they required to satisfy their actual wants, but also luxuries in

the shape of goods of foreign manufacture. There have been, and still

are, skirmishings in the far west of the province; but rebellions have

been short-lived, and have little affected the commercial section which

lies to the east of the Min River. It is of the trade of this province,

itself as large as France, and as populous, that I wish particularly to

draw attention. I shall endeavour to point out the value of that trade,

the conditions under which it is carried on, and the means that should

be taken for its development.

Although Ssŭ-ch’uan is hilly in the east and centre and mountainous

in the west, cultivation has been carried to a state bordering on

perfection. The dense population of the province has no doubt largely

contributed to this end; but its fine waterways have greatly helped

the energy of the people. The river Yang-tsze, which flows through the

province, is the great trunk, having for its northern branches the Min

with its tributaries, the T’o, and the Chia-ling with its affluents. On

the south are the Ta-kuan, the Nan-kuang, the Yung-ning, the Jên-huai

or Ch’ih-shui, the Ch’i-chiang, and the Kung-t’an Rivers.

On all these rivers there is one constant stream of traffic, and it

will be asked, in what does that traffic consist? No other province

in China can vie with Ssŭ-ch’uan in the richness and variety of its

products, and I will refer only to those of them which constitute the

chief articles of eastern export. They are, in the order of their

value, opium, silk, salt, sugar, and medicines. Of these, silk is the

only article that reaches Europe; but, amongst the minor exports,

tobacco, hides, musk, and rhubarb are well-known in this country. The

total value of the export trade of Ch’ung-k’ing, which is situated on

the north bank of the Yang-tsze, at the mouth of the Chia-ling River,

and is the great trade emporium of the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan, amounts

to more than five million sterling annually. This must not be assumed

to represent the total value of the surplus produce of the province.

There are several important trade centres that lie between Ch’ung-k’ing

and the western frontier of the province of Hupeh, such as Fu Chou,

Fêng-tu Hsien, Wan Hsien, and K’uei Fu, each of which contributes its

quota to the large export trade of Ssŭ-ch’uan. Moreover, the west of

the province supplies Tibet with brick-tea, and the south-western

corner, known as the valley of Chien-ch’ang, sends its silk into

Yün-nan and even into Burmah.

[Sidenote: _THE COTTON TRADE._]

What, then, does Ssŭ-ch’uan purchase with these surplus millions? What

does this rich province lack? The answer is easy. Cotton will not

flourish in Ssŭ-ch’uan, and the greater part of her surplus wealth is

consumed in the purchase of raw cotton, native cottons, and, what is of

great importance to British commerce, foreign cotton and woollen goods.

But what proportion do these imports bear to each other? Raw cotton

exceeds, while native cottons and foreign piece goods range, each about

one million sterling. I should state, however, that all this cotton is

not consumed in the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan. The Ssŭ-ch’uanese are a

great manufacturing people, and cottons manufactured from the imported

raw material form an important export from Ssŭ-ch’uan to Yün-nan and

Western Kuei-chow.

But it is the import of foreign goods into Western China that is of

paramount interest to the people of this country. Let us, then, look

back for a period of years and see how this branch of trade has been

conducted. In the various treaties concluded between this country and

China, it is agreed that goods of British manufacture may, on payment

of the tariff import duty and of a transit duty, be carried into the

interior for sale; but the transit certificates which were issued to

the owners of the goods on payment of the transit duty were by no

means respected. Not only were these certificates not respected, but

the rules and conditions under which they were issued differed at each

port, and this want of uniformity proved a great hindrance to the

development of the trade. It was not till 1876 that the transit pass

system was placed upon a solid footing.