PEKIN TO KALGAN.
WE had decided, upon leaving Pekin, to spend the greater part of the day
in the sedans. The very name of this vehicle has a luxurious sound, and
we looked forward to pleasant hours of travel at any rate as far as the
Great Wall of China. But man is doomed to disappointment. For fatigue
and discomfort, amounting at times to sheer physical pain, commend me to
a Chinese mule litter, which is simply a kind of box or covered chair,
hung on two long and slender poles. To it are harnessed, before and
behind, two mules gaily caparisoned with feathers, highly-coloured
trappings and bells. The latter, which keep up a loud and incessant
jingle, are supposed to relieve the monotony of the journey. To the
Chinese mind, perhaps, they do. The motion, to those not subject to
sea-sickness, is not disagreeable, nor would it be tiring, had not the
occupant to keep constantly in the same position, as in a canoe or
outrigger, for the slightest movement to the right or left overturns the
whole concern. Also, should the leading mule fall, a not unfrequent
occurrence, the passenger is almost certain to get a nasty fall; should
the hind one make a false step, he finds himself helpless, with his feet
in the air and at the mercy of the leader’s heels, for the front and
sides of the litter are open. With these trifling exceptions, the mule
litters have no discomforts, always excepting the vermin that infest
them.
We halted about two o’clock in the afternoon, at a wayside inn, on the
banks of a clear pebbly stream. In front of the inn, under the shade of
some willow-trees, were some twenty or thirty men and women, seated at
marble tables, drinking tea and a kind of white compound, in which
floated huge lumps of ice, out of pretty transparent porcelain cups.
Curiosity prompted me to taste the latter, which I found simply
delicious, and not unlike French “orgeat” or barley water. A troop of
cavalry passed while we were discussing our frugal meal, a little way
apart from the noisy, chattering crowd, who, after the usual inspection
of our clothes and arms, left us in peace. On the arrival of the
soldiers, tall, swarthy fellows, clad in dark blue uniform, flat round
hats, with streaming peacock feathers, and armed with rusty old
flintlocks, we prepared to start without delay. We had been warned at
Pekin and Shanghai against the Chinese military, had been told that they
invariably insulted and sometimes outraged Europeans, when out of the
protection of their legations. If so, these were a decided exception to
the rule, for not only would they not hear of our proceeding on our
journey till we had “chin-chind” with their officer, a cheery,
nice-looking lad of eighteen or twenty, but as we left, all shook hands,
Chinese fashion (clasping the hands and lifting them up and down in
front of the breast), and gave us rendezvous at Kalgan, whither they, as
well as we, were bound.
We were away again before four o’clock, by which time the heat had
lessened and the fierce heat of the sun somewhat decreased in power. A
ride of half an hour in the litters had convinced us that anything, even
walking, was preferable to those cranky conveyances; though, thanks to
our sturdy little steeds, we were never driven to take to Shank’s mare.
One of the pleasantest recollections I have retained of that weary
journey is that of the little beast who carried me so pluckily across a
third of Asia! I verily believe, had it been a question of stamina and
endurance, and not of time, I could have ridden him to Moscow in eight
months, or even less. Good as “Karra”[3] was in other ways, he was not
what is called a pleasant hack, having, like most Mongolian ponies, but
two paces: a walk and a canter, or rather gallop, for the instant he
broke into a canter he would take the bit in his teeth and bolt. It was
sheer fun, however, for unlike most of his breed, he had not an atom of
vice in his composition.
I have seldom seen lovelier scenery than we rode through that day. The
dark wooded mountains in the distance standing out in striking contrast
to the green plains of maize and barley, the clear sparkling streams,
spanned by picturesque bridges glittering with enamel and porcelain. The
park-like domain of some mandarin, fringed with belts of dark forest,
and relieved by patches of light green sward, on which the deer and
cattle were browsing, composed a very different picture to that with
which we had always associated these so-called uncivilized regions. The
country in North China is densely populated. The whole way from Pekin to
Kalgan one was never out of sight of human beings. We must have ridden
through at least twenty villages the first day——villages only in
name——for each must have contained quite four or five thousand souls,
though deserted when we passed through them, for the men and women were
out at work in the fields and the narrow streets given up to dogs and
naked children rolling about together promiscuously in the dusty
roadway. It was only towards sunset that we passed through avenues of
happy, contented-looking peasants, sitting at their doorways discussing
tea and iced drinks, and dreaming the hours away till bedtime, after the
heat and labour of the day. The agricultural labourer in China is better
off than his European brother.
The natives evinced but little surprise at our appearance the first day.
All seemed good tempered, friendly fellows, but (at the same time) not
at all the kind of people to stand any nonsense. They were the
finest-built men, physically speaking, I have ever seen, excepting
perhaps in parts of European Russia.
Towards the latter part of our first day’s journey, a great portion of
the road or pathway was paved with enormous blocks of granite in much
the same way as that on the outskirts of Tungchow, and described in a
former chapter. Here, however, it was in better repair——and presumably
not so old——for the road in parts was as smooth and unbroken as
asphalte. Bell, the traveller (1720), narrates that some eight hundred
years since, a terrible earthquake occurred here and laid waste the
whole of the country lying between Pekin and the Great Wall of China,
occasioning great loss of life. It seems curious that no shocks of
earthquake have ever been felt since in these latitudes, though they are
of frequent occurrence in other parts of the Chinese Empire, as many as
seven shocks having occurred at Shanghai alone in 1847.
It was past seven o’clock and nearly dark when we reached “Koo-ash,” our
first resting-place, a pretty Alpine-looking village nestling under a
chain of hills, about four hundred feet high, bare of trees and
vegetation, and composed of huge granite boulders. The heat of the day
and fatigue of a ten hours’ ride made the shelter of even a Chinese inn
acceptable, though the stench of the place was awful, and the flies
positively maddening. (The latter, though of the common household kind,
were the largest I have ever seen.) Floor and walls were black with
them, and one crushed them as one turned on the stone slab that did duty
for a bed. It may be as well to give the reader a brief description of
the hostelry in which we took our first night’s rest——for one native inn
is precisely like another throughout the Chinese Empire. The inn at
“Koo-ash” was, luckily for us, the best that exists on the road to the
Great Wall. Had it been as bad as the one we reached the next night at
“Kwi La Shaï,” I verily believe we should have turned tail, and returned
to Pekin without setting eyes upon that euphoniously named city. Coming,
so to speak, into shallow water before we tried deep, saved us from
ignominious defeat.
A Chinese inn, then, is usually constructed of dried mud, whitewashed,
and built round three sides of an open courtyard, as a rule knee deep in
filth and garbage, in which pigs, sheep, cows, and poultry roam about at
leisure. An open cesspool usually occupies the centre. The buildings on
the right and left are the kitchen, innkeeper’s room, cart-shed,
stables, &c., that at the farthest end, and facing you on entry, is that
set apart for the guests. It is usually a bare dirty room, about
eighteen feet by eighteen, a third of which is separated by a bamboo
screen or partition, four or five feet high, for more favoured guests
who wish to be separated from the common herd. Sometimes the screen is
dispensed with, and the partition made by a chalk mark on the floor!
This cheerless apartment is devoid of furniture save for a “K’ang” or
stove bed, a broad ledge of brick covered with matting. In winter a fire
is lit under the “K’ang,” which is built to accommodate ten to twelve
sleepers. The flooring of the room is of uncarpeted brick, and there is
no furniture of any kind. At Koo-ash, however, there were two inlaid
chairs of the most delicate and beautiful workmanship I have ever seen.
They would have fetched 50_l._ or 60_l._ in England. Most of these
gruesome apartments swarm with rats, a circumstance that annoyed me more
than all other discomforts put together, for I have always had a
loathing for this animal. But I had not then been to Siberia.
We had our own food, of course. No European stomach could stand the
_cuisine_ in these parts. Tea was the only thing drinkable——sweet, washy
stuff, as unlike our idea of that beverage as can well be, and drunk out
of tiny cups holding about a couple of tablespoonsful. Our greatest
difficulty was to obtain permission to use the kitchen in these
caravanserai to cook ourselves a tin of soup or preserved meat. It was
somewhat disheartening to have to put up with a biscuit smeared over
with a spoonful of jam after a hard day’s work in the blazing sun——but
this was often the case. There is no race in the world so obstinate as
the northern Celestial; and in these parts, unlike in the south, even
filthy lucre will not tempt them.
Still we had nothing to complain of on this score at Koo-ash. The
proprietor, a big, burly Chinaman, clad in a pair of short white drawers
(and nothing else), superintended our culinary arrangements himself, and
turned us out a smoking dish of Irish stew in no time, served upon
plates that would not have disgraced a dinner-table in the height of the
London season. I tried to buy one of them, of transparent, violet
porcelain of the most delicate tint imaginable. But mine host would not
part with it on any consideration. It was an heirloom. “Drop it on the
floor and break it,” whispered Jee Boo. “He will sell it you then, and
you can get it mended in England.” I admired the astuteness of the
Pekinite, but did not feel justified in risking the experiment. To say
nothing of my scruples, we were no longer within reach of English
protection!
A couple of glasses of whisky and water revived the inner man, and we
clambered into the “K’ang,” where, in spite of the hardness of this
novel kind of bed, we were soon in oblivion and back again in our dreams
to less desolate regions. I was somewhat startled in the middle of the
night by a dark, cold mass being thrust into my face until by the dim
light of the moon struggling in through the paper window, I realized
what the intruder was——a calf from the cattle-shed next door, who was
making a nocturnal expedition in search of food. I lay awake the
remainder of that night, for the enemy were upon me, and had evidently
been for some hours, judging from the intense irritation and itching of
my face and hands. Had it not been for them, however, I should have been
equally wakeful; for the cheering spectacle of a couple of large rats
disporting themselves on the further corner of the “K’ang” successfully
murdered sleep till the morning.
Splendid weather favoured our journey. Though the heat at mid-day was
intense, and the fierce sun compelled us to seek shelter in the litters,
the mornings and evenings were cool and delicious. We left Koo-ash the
following day at five a.m. Our bill for the night was certainly not
ruinous eighty cash, or something under 7_d._, for the whole party.
The road ceases after leaving Koo-ash, and our way the second day lay
through a succession of small paths or raised footways running in all
directions through rice and cotton-fields. How the muleteers kept on the
right track is a mystery to me, for there was apparently nothing to
guide them. The paths or boundaries of the fields seemed to have been
constructed with a view to leading wayfarers astray, like the maze at
Hampton Court. There seemed to be no lack of water, the plains being cut
up into squares of various sizes, and the water brought by means of
small canals or ditches from the nearest stream or river. The method of
pumping is the same as in Egypt: a couple of buckets worked by a swing
beam handled by one or two men. A sheet of water some inches deep, is by
this means kept over the surface of the rice-fields, which are so
numerous in parts as to give the country the appearance of being in a
state of inundation.
We reached the city of Nankow at mid-day, but did not halt there,
preferring to go straight through and take our mid-day meal (if a piece
of chocolate and a biscuit can so be called), in the open country. A
large wall runs through Nankow, often regarded by tourists as the Great
Wall of China. Many Europeans are brought here from Pekin, and return
thoroughly satisfied in their own minds, that they have seen the Great
Wall, when, in fact, they have done nothing of the kind. The wall at
Nankow is simply an offshoot of the real thing, and runs at right angles
to it; moreover, the former is not so high, and its stones are cemented,
which those of the Great Wall are not. I trust I am not a kill-joy to
those who, reading these pages, have seen the Nankow wall, but as a
matter of fact, the two are as different, both in construction and
appearance, as black to white.
We were forced to take refuge in our litters traversing the city (which
is one of some fifty thousand inhabitants), for the unwonted sight of
Europeans in their midst, appeared to give the Nankowites great umbrage
for some reason or other. Indeed, this was the sole instance of our
being treated with anything but courtesy and good temper. The streets
were so crowded as to make our progress extremely difficult, for it was
market-day, and half the roadway was taken up with canvas booths and
stalls for the sale of silks, tea, crockery, and hardware, or fish,
vegetables, and fruit, while every fifty yards or so, the fumes from
“Kabob” stalls poisoned the air with a sickly, greasy odour. We were not
sorry to get within sight of the outer gate. Near here was an open-air
theatre in full swing, adding its quota of drums, clashing cymbals, and
squeaky reed-pipes, to the general din. Some two or three hundred
struggling men and women occupied the partition in front of the stage,
meant to hold about half the number. No attempt had been made to shelter
the audience from the blazing sun, and the smell that arose from this
human cattle-pen, beggars description. Some six or seven performers in
grotesque garments and hideous masks, were twisting their bodies about,
singing through their noses, and endeavouring by their united efforts to
drown the instruments at the back of the stage, in which they were only
partly successful. The play, Jee Boo informed us, had been going on for
a week, and was only half over. We stopped for a few minutes to watch
the performance, the audience being too much engrossed with it to pay
any attention to us. Most of the action seemed to consist exclusively of
fighting and love-making. The scenes dealing with the latter, were
certainly more realistic than refined. There was no scenery, and
apparently no dressing-rooms. One of the performers, after being slain
by his adversary, got up again in a few seconds, and retiring to the
back of the stage, changed all his clothes in full view of the audience,
an operation that necessitated his appearing in a state of complete
nudity, after which he calmly returned to the front to represent another
part. There is apparently no Chinese Lord Chamberlain.
It took us nearly two hours to get clear of the city. Shortly
afterwards, we entered the Nankow Pass, one of the most beautiful bits
of scenery we passed through. The going was terribly rough, so much so
that we had to dismount and lead the ponies, while the mule-litters
plunged and rolled about among the boulders like ships in a storm. The
road is simply formed by a kind of water-bed, about 150 yards across,
which is in summer rendered almost impassable by the huge rocks and
boulders that bar the way at every step. In winter it becomes a raging
torrent, sweeping all before it, and after heavy rains does considerable
damage to life and property. The pass (which is a gradual ascent the
whole way, and about thirteen miles long) compares very favourably with
some of the grandest scenery in Switzerland or the Tyrol. Rugged,
precipitous rocks overhang the defile on either side, great crags of
granite that look as if a touch would send them crashing into the valley
a hundred feet below. Although not a leaf or tree is visible, the
different shades of colour taken by the rocks are even more beautiful
than any vegetation could make them. As we neared the end of the pass,
little bits of verdure became visible: oases of rich grass and
cultivated flower-gardens banked round with bamboos, looking almost as
if they were hanging perpendicularly on the steep grey walls; while tiny
streamlets seemed to spring up from under our very feet to lose
themselves a few yards lower down among the crevices formed by the huge
rocks and boulders. After two hours’ hard work, we emerged on a vast
plain again, a plain of waving corn and barley, relieved here and there
by brown villages and gaily coloured temples, while a glance behind
showed us the city of Nankow spread out like a map at our feet, the rice
and cotton plains we had passed through, and the distant village of
“Koo-ash,” its temples and pagodas sparkling like diamonds on the far
horizon.
A strange apparition appeared as we ate our solitary meal by the
roadway. A tall gaunt European, bestriding an attenuated-looking mule,
an individual who by his dress might have been anybody. A rough grey
coat with yellow facings, a red handkerchief tied round the head, a pair
of short thin cotton drawers reaching to the knee, and bare legs and
feet, is hardly the costume with which we are wont to associate a
courier of the Czar! but such the stranger proved to be. He eyed our
whisky bottle wistfully as he passed us, and reined up the melancholy
mule with a jerk. “Kouda?” (“whither?”) he asked. “Moscow,” we replied,
at the same time filling him a bumper of Glenlivat, a proceeding that
seemed to interest him much more than our probable destination.
“Franzouski?” (French). “Niete: Anglis-ki.” “Ah,” he replied, with a
shrug of the shoulders, and, tossing off the tumbler of raw whisky
without a wink, rode off again, with the remark, “Ya Pekin” (I am for
Pekin), but not a word of thanks. This was our first experience of the
Russian Cossack, and I was afterwards glad to find this rude boor an
exception even to the lowest orders of that cheery, hospitable
race,——better fellows than whom it would, as a rule, be hard to meet.
The country towards evening became flatter; the rice and cotton having
given way to a bare sandy plain, stretching away on either side as far
as the eye could reach without a break. The glare of the sun became very
painful after the first hour or two, and we suffered a good deal that
day from our eyes, a complaint that seems very prevalent among the
inhabitants of the villages in this sterile region. The people, too,
seemed very different in appearance and manner to those we had left in
the plains below Nankow. Instead of the cheery “good-day” and smile with
which many of the latter had greeted us, we were now looked upon only
with a sullen stare: a kind of ocular “What do you want here?” This was
all, however, for after Nankow we experienced no incivility whatsoever
up to the Great Wall.
This was perhaps the hardest day’s work we experienced throughout the
whole voyage. Leaving Koo-ash at 5 a.m., we travelled incessantly, save
for a halt of twenty minutes at mid-day, till eight at night. Over
fourteen hours’ hard work on a stick of chocolate and a glass of whisky
and water is not calculated to raise one’s spirits under ordinary
circumstances; but had we known what was before us we should have been
even more depressed than we were, when, towards seven o’clock the towers
and battlements of Kwi-La-Shaï appeared on the horizon, and we knew that
our day’s journey was nearly over.
The sun was setting as, crossing the river that flows past the walls of
Kwi-La-Shaï, we drew up at the eastern gate of the city and awaited the
permission of the guard to enter. But for fatigue and stiffness, I would
willingly have remained outside the walls till the sun had disappeared.
I have seldom seen a lovelier picture. It was like a scene from
fairyland. The broad, swift stream at our feet had caught the reflection
of the western sky, which, one glow of rose colour, brought out the
frowning walls and battlements of the city black and distinct as a
pen-and-ink drawing. The whole vault of heaven was one flush of
ever-changing hue, varying almost imperceptibly from the faintest shades
of pink and gold in the west to where in the east stars were already
glimmering in the steel-blue horizon. The black, frowning walls, the
desolate landscape around us, the confused and indistinct murmur of the
huge population of which one could see nothing, made one almost wonder
whether one was not dreaming and would not presently awake in a
comfortable bed resolving never again to commit the imprudence of a late
supper. It was not without a weird feeling that we rode into the city
and heard the heavy iron gates close with a crash behind us. One felt so
utterly at the mercy of the inhabitants of these remote cities, who, as
they have so often shown, are angels one minute and devils the next.
The streets were, as usual, crowded, for the night was hot, and the
population had apparently turned out _en masse_ to take the air, and
what air! Like many other beautiful things in this world, Kwi-La-Shaï is
best seen at a distance, for we found it on closer acquaintance worse
even than Pekin in point of stenches and filth. It is called in China a
“village,” which means that it is rather larger both as regards size and
population than Birmingham. Though the streets were unlit, we managed to
get to the inn by the aid of a guide, and once there, found no lack of
light——indeed the courtyard was one blaze of Chinese lanterns——nor of
society either, for there must have been at least fifty men crowded into
the small guest-room, to say nothing of camels, oxen, ponies, and carts,
that crowded the muddy courtyard.
We rode into the yard and waited while Jee Boo went to interview the
proprietor of this den, which for squalor and filth I have never seen
equalled in the worst slums of London or Paris. We soon saw by the light
of the lanterns that our fellow-lodgers were not Chinamen. Their quaint
barbaric dress, to say nothing of swarthy flat faces and beady black
eyes, at once proclaimed them Mongols. Twenty or thirty of them were
round us, in less than five minutes after our arrival, squatting on
their hams in the mud and passing their opinions on our appearance. Many
of them, Jee Boo said, had never seen a European before. They annoyed us
not a little, too, by continually feeling our clothes, boots, and even
faces, with their hot grimy hands, a proceeding that, tired and hungry
as we were, with no prospect of rest or food, did not tend to improve
the temper. A pair of velvet cord breeches that Lancaster wore came in
for the greater share of their attention, which I was (selfishly, I own)
not sorry for.
Two half-naked men, who had been attending to a couple of large
cauldrons in a kind of outhouse, now summoned our inquisitive friends,
much to our relief. We saw them enter the shed, where each man having
produced a wooden platter they set to and left us in peace, at any rate,
for a time.
Jee Boo returned soon after.
“Big caravan from Mongolia. No can have room,” was his first remark.
“Money no good,” he added, on my suggesting a few dollars as bribery;
anything for a fairly clean place to lay our weary bones. What was to be
done? We could not sleep in the courtyard, that was very certain, when a
bright thought suddenly struck me——the litters.
Alas! they, too, were gone, and the muleteers with them, in quest of
lodgings elsewhere. They had fortunately omitted to take our box of
provisions with them. Jee Boo had meanwhile disappeared, but soon after
returned with the information that on payment of $8 we could have the
room of the chief of the caravan. “A very good place,” urged our
interpreter, who, was evidently standing in with the Mongol. However, we
should have been only too glad to pay double the price for a dog-kennel
that night. Anything to lie down upon, and get away from the attentions
of the Mongols, who had by this time finished their meal, and were again
issuing from the kitchen, lighting their pipes, and preparing for
another examination of the “White Devils.”
It was only after a good deal of demur that the good gentleman I have
mentioned turned out of his lair——a place about nine feet square, with a
raised wooden platform upon which he had been reclining, and upon which
he was thoughtful enough to leave us several souvenirs which I need not
mention. To say the place was dirty conveys but a very poor impression
of the filth that lay thickly on the walls, and the nameless
abominations that strewed the sleeping-place——half a dozen rough boards
about a foot from the floor. There were luckily two large holes in the
rafters which would give us, at any rate, some ventilation, for the
glazed paper window was not made to open. Cooking was, of course, out of
the question, but we managed to boil some water in the spirit-lamp, and
get a basin of Liebig. Our Valentine meat-juice had, unluckily, gone on
with the other stores. It would have been priceless that night, and
never again will I embark on a journey of this kind without it.
We had reckoned without our host when we thought that bolting and
barring the door would ensure us privacy. First a finger, then a thumb,
then a whole hand was pushed through the paper window, notwithstanding
all our protestations. We did not like to use threats, or show firearms,
for an Englishman more or less would have been of little moment to the
good people of Kwi-La-Shaï. So we had to sit and suffer in silence,
until one of our tormentors, more pushing than the rest, who had climbed
upon the roof to obtain a bird’s-eye view, came crashing through the
rickety rafters on to our heads. We certainly _did_ bundle him out with
scant ceremony, and banging the door after him, blew out the light and
composed, or tried to compose ourselves, to slumber.
But no sooner was the light out than we were attacked by vermin in
myriads. A quarter of an hour of it nearly drove us mad, and we resolved
to strike a light, rising only to find that we had no matches, and that
all in the yard was now dark and silent as the grave. So, resigned to
our fates, we lay still, and, like the shipwrecked mariner, prayed for
dawn! Tired and worn out as we were, five minutes’ sleep was out of the
question. We had good cause to remember Kwi-La-Shaï; indeed, it was a
good three weeks before we were entirely free from the animal nocturnal
visitors of that unsavoury city.
The caravan had already started on its way to Pekin when we set off at
six the next morning. Our mule-driver and Jee Boo had evidently made a
night of it on the proceeds of their bargain, for the former only
arrived on the scene five minutes before the hour fixed for departure,
and our interpreter turned up hopelessly fuddled just as we were getting
the mules in and ponies saddled. We were amply avenged, though, for the
day was the hottest we had yet experienced, and Jee Boo suffered the
tortures of _mal de mer_ in a litter the greater part of it!
The road now lay through deep sand, in which, however, the caravan track
was distinctly discernible. A boisterous and hot wind made it very
unpleasant travelling, and we were not sorry to reach the village of
Tchuan-Ha-Ho at midday, where we insisted on a halt of five hours at
least, for the purpose of indulging in a “square meal,” as Americans
say, and a rest, of which we were much in need. Just before reaching the
town, we passed a string of over two hundred camels laden with Siberian
furs for Pekin. Also a drove of some three hundred or four hundred
Mongolian ponies. Some of the latter, though small, were remarkably
well-shaped and good-looking.
Tchuan-Ha-Ho is the only place I retain a pleasing recollection of,
lying between Pekin and the Great Wall of China. The inn was fairly
clean, and the proprietor not only suggested, but cooked us a dish of
excellent poached eggs. Rarely have I enjoyed a meal as I did that. One
must have fasted for nearly thirty-six hours as we had, to really
appreciate food. It is worth all the tonics in the world. We felt much
tempted to stay here the night, but our mule-drivers were inexorable.
They had contracted to get us to Kalgan by a certain date, and at
Kalgan, on that date, dead or alive, we must be!
The sandy desert ceased after leaving Tchuan-Ha-Ho, and we again entered
a fertile country, set apart apparently for the exclusive cultivation of
the poppy. White, red, and blue——poppies were everywhere——the plain
presenting a succession of waves of colour as far as the eye could
reach. Beyond this lay Ching-Ming-Ying, lying under a perpendicular rock
about 800 feet high. This village, which contains seven thousand
inhabitants, is strongly walled and fortified. The rock or mountain is
on three sides sheer precipice. Notwithstanding this, there are some
twenty or thirty houses on the extreme summit, built so near the edge
that their sides actually form part of the precipice. Seventy or eighty
human beings live on this eminence, though the path up is dangerous to
any but experienced mountaineers, and the area of the summit but three
hundred yards square. This was undoubtedly one of the most interesting
and curious sights of the whole voyage, for there are men and women over
forty years of age living upon this mountain that have never descended
to the plains below. Supplies and stores are taken up by men kept
specially for the purpose.
[Illustration: A MULE LITTER.]
Coal is worked out of the base of the Ching-Ming Ying mountain by the
Chinese Government, to whom the mines belong. It seemed to be put out in
a very desultory sort of way. Some thirty men only were engaged in the
mines, though with their usual contradictory spirit the Government had
provided the manager or overseer with a palatial residence at the foot
of the mountain, embowered in bright flower-gardens and willow-trees.
The weather, which had up till now been bright and clear, now grew
overcast, and, shortly after leaving Ching-Ming-Ying the rain came down
in torrents, rendering travelling very unpleasant, not to say dangerous.
Our way now lay along a road hewn out of the solid rock, by the banks of
a foaming torrent some hundred yards broad, which we followed the course
of till we reached our destination for the night——Tsiang-Shui-Poo. Here
we rode along now a foot or so above the water’s edge, anon at least
fifty feet above the water, in places where a false step or slip would
have sent one flying into the torrent below, for there was no
guard-rail, and the path, broken and rugged, was at times scarcely three
feet wide. I thought discretion the better part of valour after a time,
and led Karra till we got on to _terra firma_ again in the shape of a
broad stretch of sand, which brought us to the village of
Tsiang-Shui-Poo, wet through, and without any means of changing, but at
the same time relieved that the next day with any luck would see us at
Kalgan.
The village of Tsiang-Shui-Poo was _really_ a village, for it boasted of
some hundred inhabitants and thirty or forty houses. The inn (an open
shed in which cattle and men slept promiscuously) was at any rate clean,
and we managed to get a good sleep on a wisp of straw free from the
stench of sewage that had annoyed us so much everywhere else. Some of
the inhabitants came to look at us as we discussed the evening meal. The
men were cheery, good-looking fellows, and the women far prettier than
any I had yet seen, for their faces were devoid of paint——and they had
almost European complexions. Tsiang-Shui-Poo was to us an Elysium——a
haven of rest——which reminded one for all the world of the lovely
Kentish village of Farningham, which is no doubt known to many of my
readers. There was the trout stream at the bottom of the garden, the
clover meadows with their fresh, sweet scent, the corn ripening for the
sickle on the hill behind the inn——although, to be sure, two stunted
willows had to do duty for the famous chestnut-tree in front of that
cosy old inn, the “Red Lion;” and, I fancy, even the genial host of that
celebrated hostelry would have lost his temper at the fare set before
him by Boniface of the “Cattle-Shed Hotel” at Tsiang-Shui-Poo!
By next morning the rain had entirely disappeared, and with a blue sky
and cool breeze we left Tsiang-Shui-Poo, invigorated in mind and body by
a good long sleep. I cannot pronounce, much less write, the name of the
village we halted at at mid-day. It was evident we were nearing Kalgan,
for we passed at least a dozen large caravans during the morning, to say
nothing of carts, litters, and stray horsemen. The poppy-fields were now
superseded by rice-plains, irrigated as before by “shaloofs,” and
interspersed with enclosures of corn and maize.
We lunched in a fairly clean room of the inn at the town with the
unpronounceable name. Many Russians appeared to have visited it, for
their names (in Russian characters) were scrawled all over the place. In
one corner, in small capitals, we read:——“Bordeaux à Pekin par terre.
Sep. 4th, 1870.” Shortly before five o’clock a low chain of hills
appeared on the horizon. Had it not been specially pointed out to me, I
should never have noticed the thin serpentine thread winding its course
along their summit——an irregular white line lost to sight at times, in
places where it was broken into by forest or undergrowth: a very
different edifice from one’s preconceived ideas of the Great Wall of
China.
We entered Kalgan at half past six o’clock. It will give the reader some
idea of the size of the place when I say that it took us nearly two
hours to ride from the southern gate to the suburb of Yambooshan, where
the Russian tea-merchants lived, to whom we were provided with a letter
of introduction. The population of Kalgan is estimated at over one
hundred and fifty thousand.
Our mule-drivers suggested an immediate adjournment to the inn, for the
Russians, they said, lived outside the gates of Kalgan, at Yambooshan.
The gate was shut at seven, after which hour, no one, European or
otherwise, was permitted to enter or leave the city; but we stuck to our
determination of seeing M. Batouyeff before nightfall. Riding out of the
southern gate, we emerged on to a dry river-bed, on either banks of
which stood several substantial and well-built houses of Chinese
architecture. At the head of the valley stood apart from the others a
single dwelling _à l’Européenne_——a pretty two-storied house with
verandah and gaily coloured Venetians, standing in a spacious garden,
down the centre path of which, as soon as we came in sight, two
white-clad Europeans hurried to meet us.
One of these proved to be M. Ivanoff——partner of M. Batouyeff, who was,
he explained, at that time away at Chefoo for a couple of months,
enjoying the sea breezes after a residence of five years here without a
break. Luckily for us M. Ivanoff spoke English fluently, having spent
several years at Tientsin. He laughed outright when we asked him to
direct us to the inn. “Ah, gentlemen, I hope you have not such a poor
opinion of Russian hospitality as that,” said our friend, as he led the
way up the neat gravel walk, lined with rose and geranium beds, to the
house——where we found two large airy bedrooms, a sitting-room, and, best
of all, a large bath-room placed at our disposal. “I do not live here
myself, but my clerk will do anything for you. You have but to call
‘Michailof.’ He lives next door. Dinner will be served at eight o’clock.
Gentlemen, I wish you good evening, and will do myself the pleasure of
calling upon you again to-morrow.”
Here was luxury indeed. The sight of the bed was almost too much for me.
I felt inclined to forego dinner altogether, jump in, and revel in its
clean, soft sheets and white dainty curtains! A delicious warm bath, a
change of clothes, and we found ourselves seated at an open window,
looking down upon the moon-bathed valley of Yambooshan, enjoying an
excellent dinner _à la russe_, washed down by a still more excellent
bottle of Chateau Lafitte. “Here’s to the Russians,” said Lancaster, as
we tossed off for the first time a glass of that insidious though
delicious liqueur “Vodka.” “How the English do misunderstand them,” I
echoed: a sentiment I had occasion to repeat more than once during our
weary pilgrimage through the Asiatic realms of the White Czar.
—————
Footnote 3:
Mongol for black.
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