OMEI-HSIEN TO TACHIENLU
An easy journey of four days from Omei-hsien brought me to the
prefectural city of Ya-chou-fu. During the first day the road lay
through the northern portion of the same well-cultivated plain that
stretches to the south-east as far as Chia-ting. Large areas were
devoted to the cultivation of the small ash-tree which is used to
assist in the production of the insect-wax. The yellow blossom of
the rape was everywhere in bloom, and pervaded the air with the most
delicate of perfumes; while the wheat-fields were just beginning to
wear their spring raiment of bright green. Towards evening my road lay
across the river Ya to the small magisterial town of Chia-chiang, where
I spent the night. Next day, soon after starting, we again crossed
the Ya in a ferry-boat and thence proceeded for a few miles along the
right bank. Near the ferry-crossing I noticed on the left bank numerous
shrines and small caves hollowed by nature and by art out of the face
of a cliff. Sticks of incense were burning in front of several of the
miniature images contained in them. From this point onward the road lay
through a very picturesque district studded with groves of fine trees
and two or three good pagodas, and beautified by the fresh blossom
of peach and cherry and by wild primroses that seemed to grow out of
the solid rock. In the afternoon we again crossed to the left bank of
the river in order to reach the magisterial town of Hung Ya, the main
street of which we passed through. Another six miles brought us to
the poor village of Chih-kuo-chên. The accommodation was very bad, as
I had passed beyond the ordinary stage. The whole river-valley from
Chia-chiang upwards is the resort of great numbers of wild-duck, a few
of which fell to my gun, though the season was late, and they were not
at that time plentiful.
[Sidenote: BASKET-BRIDGES]
A curious feature of the shallower waterways of this district is the
basket-bridge. Large wicker baskets are filled with loose stones and
deposited in the bed of the river at even distances of about 10 feet.
Planks of that length are placed on the top of them and constitute
the bridge. This device has the merit of cheapness, but as soon as
the basket is rotted by the action of the water, the stones gradually
subside, and the planks are submerged. The Ya river, here as elsewhere,
is too full of rocks and rapids for navigation. Long timber rafts,
however, make the journey from Ya-chou to Chia-ting at all seasons
of the year, except in the height of the rainy season, and serious
accidents are rare.
Next day the road led tortuously through the river-valley and crossed
the stream several times. After one ferry-crossing I was faced by a
stiff climb of about 800 or 1,000 feet leading to a pass where there
is a primitive tea-house. A corresponding descent on the other side
soon led us back to the river's edge, at a point where the stream
is very turbulent. We crossed by a bridge called the "Bridge of the
Goddess of Mercy" (Kuan Yin Ch'iao), formed of long slabs of stone, and
immediately afterwards passed through the village of the same name.
Another 4 or 5 miles brought me to the small town of Ts'ao Pa, where I
spent the night. This town lies in a plain surrounded by hills in every
direction except the east and north-east. It lies on the left bank of
the river at a point where the current is gentle and the bed very broad
and shallow.[137]
On the morning of the following day, 14th March, I reached Ya-chou-fu,
the seat of government of a taotai, whose jurisdiction extends to
the Tibetan border. The town is important as being on the "mandarin"
road from Peking to Lhasa, and also as being the centre of a great
tea district.[138] It is in the plains surrounding Ya-chou that the
inferior tea which is considered good enough for the Tibetan market is
grown, and from here it is carried in long, narrow bundles on the backs
of coolies to Tachienlu. There it is cut into cakes or bricks, packed
in yak-hides, and carried by Tibetans all the way to Lhasa, and even to
the borders of India.
[Sidenote: AMERICAN BAPTIST MISSION]
At Ya-chou I was most hospitably entertained by the members of the
American Baptist Mission, who, judging from the friendliness with which
they were greeted in the streets, were evidently on excellent terms
with the people. The Mission has established a dispensary and a school,
and at the time of my visit was engaged in the construction of a large
hospital. To make invidious comparisons between different missionary
bodies in China is unbecoming for a traveller who has been treated by
all with every possible courtesy; but if I venture to refer to the
American Baptist Mission with special praise, it is only because the
members of that Mission whom I have had the good fortune to meet happen
to have been persons of broad sympathies and more than ordinary culture
and refinement.
The hospitalities of Ya-chou induced me to break my journey here for
one day, which I spent in exploring the town and neighbourhood. It
is situated in a rather confined plateau nearly surrounded by hills,
including one mountain, the Chou Kung Shan, which, as a place of
pilgrimage, is a humble rival of Omei.[139] At Ya-chou I paid off the
somewhat uncouth "boy" whom I had engaged at Ch'êng-tu, and found a
successor to accompany me to Tachienlu. I also engaged a new set of
coolies. A sedan-chair which I had bought on leaving the Yangtse at
Wan-hsien had been with me the whole way, but I very seldom used it,
except when entering and leaving large towns. At Ya-chou I might as
well have left it behind, and so reduced the number of my coolies
by half; for I did not enter it after the day I left that city. I
abandoned it finally at Tachienlu.
Almost immediately on leaving Ya-chou on the next portion of my journey
I entered into the mountainous region that fringes the Tibetan plateau.
Marco Polo evidently passed through the Ya-chou plain on his journey
from Ch'êng-tu to Yunnan-fu _viâ_ the Chien-ch'ang valley. In his day
Ya-chou must have been a frontier town on the extreme west of Cathay,
for all the mountainous region beyond belonged to Tibet. Like most
border regions this district was the scene of constant warfare, and
Messer Marco draws a pitiful picture of its utter desolation. It was
infested, apparently, by wild beasts, as well as by wild men. But
since his day the political boundary of China has been moved steadily
westwards, and the province of Ssuch'uan now nominally includes a
vast tract of country that was once, and still to a great extent is,
inhabited by Tibetans or allied tribes.
[Sidenote: GREAT ELEPHANT PASS]
On 16th March, a few miles' walk from Ya-chou brought me to the Flying
Dragon Pass (Fei Lung Ling), about 3,600 feet high. Hosie, describing
this road, says that "a long pull over a frightful road brought us
to the summit";[140] but the weather must have been against him, for
I experienced no difficulty, and found the road no worse than roads
in China usually are. About 65 _li_ (barely 20 miles) from Ya-chou
brought me to the village of Shih-chia Ch'iao, where I spent the night
in a rather good inn. Next day I went up the right bank of a stream
that flows north-east to meet the Ya, and after twice crossing it
reached the small district town of Jung-Ching, in the streets of which
I smashed a carved Buddha-headed mountain-pole that I had bought on
Mount Omei, in my efforts to beat off a dog that presented every
appearance of insanity. Late in the afternoon I reached the end of
the stage at Huang-ni-p'u, a small straggling village on the slopes
of the mountain range that was to be crossed on the following day.
The pass, which is known as the Great Elephant (Ta Hsiang Ling) is
9,200 feet high--less than 2,000 feet lower than the summit of Mount
Omei. Huang-ni-p'u lies at a height of about 3,870 feet; so the actual
climb that faced us on the 18th March was about 5,330 feet. The pass,
according to one interpretation, derives its name from the elephant on
which P'u Hsien rode from India to Mount Omei; but that legend, as we
have seen, has no basis in fact.[141] I started the ascent early in
the morning, amid the glorious weather that had smiled upon me ever
since I entered Ssuch'uan; and my dog Jim and I climbed the pass amid
slush and snow with a rapidity which entirely baffled the efforts of
the two soldiers who formed my escort to keep up with us. I reached
the summit about midday, and rested in one of the numerous refreshment
shanties that cater for the tea-coolies, of whom I passed many hundreds
during the journey from Ya-chou to Tachienlu. The weights that these
men carry on their backs are enormous. A single man carries as much
as 300 and sometimes 400 pounds weight.[142] They receive twenty or
thirty cents a day each, according to the weight carried, and spend
about three weeks on the journey. An unburdened traveller traverses
the same distance in eight days. The coolies walk very slowly, as a
slip might have dangerous consequences. My own greatest difficulty in
making the ascent of the Ta Hsiang Ling was to pass these people on the
narrow path, especially when a string of them stood sideways to rest
their burdens on their wooden props: for they never unload themselves
on the road, owing to the great difficulty of getting the burden on to
their backs again. I saw only one man meet with an accident. He was
passing under an overhanging ledge of rock, and tried to dodge a long
ice stalactite. This unbalanced him, and he fell on the path with his
huge load uppermost. Till we had extricated him I saw nothing but his
legs; but he rose up smiling, and some friendly hands assisted him in
replacing his burden.
The temperature at the summit was not lower than 43° in the shade,
according to my thermometer, but that was at midday. The snow was
melting fast under a hot sun. The view from the ridge was on both
sides magnificent. There was no mist, and the bright sunshine made the
distant peaks with their white caps stand out with marvellous vividness
against the deep-blue sky.
[Illustration: TEA-CARRIERS ON THE ROAD TO TACHIENLU.]
[Illustration: APPROACH TO TACHIENLU. [_To face p. 118._]
[Sidenote: BORDER WARFARE]
Having descended from the snowy heights of the Great Elephant Pass,
and so having left the plains of China out of sight for many weeks to
come, I found myself in the little city of Ch'ing-ch'i-hsien, which in
spite of its diminutive size and remoteness from Western influences
is so far advanced in civilisation as to possess a girls' school.
There is also a temple dedicated to Kuan-Ti (the so-called "God of
War"), which was an appropriate circumstance, as soldiers and military
supplies were being duly hastened through the town in connection with
the border warfare that was being carried on between the Chinese and
Tibetans south of Batang. I noticed a versified proclamation in the
streets warning the people not to be alarmed at the sight of the
soldiers, and promising that all supplies required for their use would
be paid for at current market rates. I passed several small bodies of
troops between Ya-chou and Tachienlu, and as far as I could observe
they were very well-behaved. There were no foreign-drilled troops
among them, and they carried the old-fashioned firearms that China is
now rapidly learning to discard. What was perhaps a more noteworthy
circumstance was the fact that the troops were being regularly paid,
and that the commissariat arrangements worked without a hitch. I heard
few details of what was actually taking place at the front until I
reached Tachienlu, but it was evident that the provincial authorities
were dealing with the trouble in a thoroughly energetic manner. The
difficulties of sending military supplies and munitions of war from
Ch'êng-tu to the borders of Tibet must have been enormous. Ta Hsiang
Ling was only one of a number of great passes that had to be crossed
before the scene of warfare could be reached. The dragging of field
artillery over a succession of wild mountains where the highest of the
passes rises to more than 15,000 feet, is a feat which can perhaps be
best appreciated by those who helped to perform a similar one during
the British march to Lhasa.
Ch'ing-ch'i-hsien was at one time a city of great strategic importance,
and was the scene of many a fierce struggle between the Chinese and the
Lolos--who have now retired many miles to the south. At other times,
too, the Chinese have been hard put to it to defend themselves against
the quasi-Tibetan tribes and Mantzŭ who still inhabit the mountains
to the west. Its natural position, at the edge of a ravine or natural
moat, is a very strong one, and a besieging force armed with primitive
weapons would have very little chance of taking it by storm unless they
first secured the Great Elephant Pass: for on that side only the city
has no natural protection except the mountain range itself.[143]
Immediately on leaving Ch'ing-ch'i by the west gate we descended
into the ravine which protects it on the west and south, and crossed
the sparkling mountain stream from which the city derives its name.
The road then gradually ascends along the flank of some bare hills,
picturesque but with little cultivation. It then descends and passes
between high hills, issuing thence into a broad valley in which flows
the stream Liu Sha ("Shifting Sands"). On its left bank is the village
of Fu Chuang.[144] A little further on the valley gradually contracts,
leaving only an insignificant area for cultivation. What there is of it
is said to be very rich, chiefly owing to the periodical inundations,
which render it suitable for rice. The hills are mostly bare, and trees
are few except in the neighbourhood of houses. The next place of any
importance is known as Ni (or I) T'ou Courier Stage, which is a large
village of comparative importance, and contains excellent inns. Here we
spent the night to recuperate our energies in anticipation of the pass
that lies just beyond.
[Sidenote: THE FEI YÜEH LING]
Ni T'ou lies about 4,900 feet above the sea-level, and the summit of
the Fei Yüeh Ling is 9,000 feet high, only slightly less than the
Great Elephant. For a considerable part of the way the path led up the
valley of the Liu Sha, which rises in the mountains on the east side
of the pass. Above Ni T'ou it is simply a turbulent mountain stream
rushing downwards through a picturesque gorge.[145] The final climb of
1,500 feet is very steep, but the dangers and difficulties of the pass
have been much exaggerated not only by the Chinese chroniclers--who,
like all the _literati_ of their country, are sure to have been bad
pedestrians--but also by at least one European. The _Hsi Tsang T'u
K'ao_ quite unnecessarily describes it as "the most dangerous place in
China."[146] The view from the top--which is a narrow ridge--is less
grand than that from the Ta Hsiang Ling, owing to the proximity of
other lofty ranges.
One of the poets of the present dynasty (Hsü Chang) has declared in a
pleasant poem that the ascent of this mountain is like the soaring of
a swan, the descent like the swooping of a hawk. This is a picturesque
description, but it could hardly be applied with appositeness to a
certain Buddhist monk who was met on the pass some years ago by a
Western traveller.[147] The monk was doing a pilgrimage from P'u T'o
(Chusan) to Lhasa, and had already been seven years on the road. His
somewhat slow progress was accounted for by the fact that at every
two steps of his journey he prostrated himself at full length on the
ground. He was quite cheerful, and anticipated that in two or three
years more he would reach Lhasa. Without assuming that there was
anything either swanlike or hawklike in my movements I may claim to
have crossed the Fei Yüeh Ling rather more rapidly than the monk, and I
reached the end of the day's stage--the village of Hua-lin-p'ing--early
in the afternoon.[148] Shortly before arriving there I turned off the
road to visit a picturesque temple which I espied embowered in a grove
of trees on the right bank of a mountain torrent. It is dedicated to
Kuan Yin, but the Guardian Deity of the Kao Shan ("Lofty Mountain")
also has a shrine in the temple grounds. Behind the main hall, which
contains the eighteen lo-han in miniature, and a cast-iron bell dated
the second year of Tao Kuang (1822), there is a timber-built monastery
in which a few monks reside. Higher up is a pavilion which contains
among other things a black wooden tablet recording the names of those
who had subscribed towards the restoration of the building after its
destruction by wind and rain. The grounds of the temple are well laid
out, and there is a fine view.
[Sidenote: MOUNTAIN SCENERY]
Hua-lin-p'ing is a village of two streets, one of them broader and
cleaner than is usual in Chinese villages. Most of the inhabitants,
however, are not pure Chinese. A proclamation on the walls stated
that a large number of coolies were being employed by Government on
transport service, in connection with the border war, and that if any
such coolie used any military supplies for his own purposes or sold
them to civilians he would be punished with relentless severity; and
that a like fate would befall any civilian who bought such goods from
him.
There is great abundance of coal in the hills about Hua-lin-p'ing,
and it is freely used by the poorest peasants for heating and cooking
purposes. Judging from the coal which was brought to me in a brazier
it appeared to be of excellent quality, for it burned well, and gave
out considerable heat with hardly any smoke. The temperature in
these mountain villages was generally low enough to make artificial
warmth very desirable; but the fumes of charcoal are not conducive to
cheerfulness or to health, and coal was a welcome surprise.
For the remaining three days of my journey to Tachienlu the scenery
was of great beauty and grandeur. I have seldom seen anything more
magnificent than the view of mighty mountains that greeted me as I
left Hua-lin-p'ing, and continued to face me nearly all the rest of
the way. The lustre of the snow, the rich azure of the sky and the
sombre shadows of the gorges and ravines combined to make a series
of pictures which no words can describe, and which time can never
efface from the memory. There are scenes which an artist could never
be weary of painting, a poet never weary of describing: yet both would
assuredly fail to communicate the secret of their loveliness to those
who had never seen. There are times, of course, when the glories of
the scenery are hidden by clouds or dimmed by rain and mist, and many
a traveller must have gone through this country with very little idea
of the wonderful sights that were hidden from him; but the good fortune
that accompanied me to the summit of Mount Omei did not forsake me for
even half a day during my long walk to Tachienlu, for the sun was never
eclipsed by a cloud, and the lustrous peaks that towered skyward never
once robed themselves in fog.
[Sidenote: LU TING BRIDGE]
From Hua-lin-p'ing the road descends steeply till it reaches the
beautiful valley of the Ta Tu. This great river I had not seen since I
left Chia-ting, where it joins the Min. Like the Ya river, its current
is too swift and the rapids are too dangerous to admit of navigation.
Between Lu Ting Ch'iao (which I reached the same day) and the junction
with the Min the fall of the river is no less than 3,750 feet.[149]
The road to Lu Ting keeps to the left bank of the river, sometimes at
a height above it of several hundred feet, and sometimes (as at the
village of Lêng Chi) close to the river bank. Lu Ting, which gives
its name to an important suspension bridge, is about 20 miles from
Hua-lin-p'ing. Shortly before reaching it I passed safely over a
somewhat dangerous section of the road, where from a steep bank rocks
and stones frequently crash down over the path and into the river,
with disastrous results to unwary passengers. Hosie describes how a
large stone the size of his head narrowly missed striking him, and how
he saw the body of a man who had been struck dead, his weeping wife
and friends trying to remove the corpse without endangering their own
lives. The vicinity of Lu Ting must be beautiful at all seasons, but
it was particularly so at the time of my arrival there, on account
of the wonderful display of myriads of fruit-tree blossoms. Had I
come at a later season I should no doubt have been able to endorse
Rockhill's verdict as to the excellence of the peaches.[150] The
town itself is small and dirty, but its position renders it of some
commercial importance, for through it all the trade that follows this
main route between China and Tibet must pass. The iron suspension
bridge towards which all the streets of the town converge affords the
only means of crossing the Ta Tu. This fine bridge, which has been
several times repaired since its construction more than two hundred
years ago, is about 120 yards long. It may now be regarded as the
iron chain that connects China and Chinese Tibet.[151] Geographically
and ethnologically the Ta Tu river is the eastern boundary of Tibet,
for, though the steady advance of Chinese influence has caused the
political boundary to be moved further and further west, the races
that inhabit the western side of the Ta Tu are still predominantly
Tibetan, Mantzŭ, or Hsi Fan,[152] and the tribal chiefs are still left
in complete control of their mountainous territories. The Chinese have
indeed driven a wedge into this region as far as Tachienlu in order to
maintain control over the high-road to Lhasa; but they interfere very
little with the government of the country. Beyond the Ta Tu the country
is not divided into magisterial districts, and the jurisdiction of the
Ch'ing-ch'i magistrate extends only as far as Lu Ting. Recent maps of
China make the province of Ssuch'uan extend further west even than
Batang, but the whole of the region I have referred to should properly
be marked on the maps as Chinese Tibet,[153] or as Tibetan Ssuch'uan.
There is, of course, an extraordinary mixture of races and languages
in this wild border region, but the prevailing type is anything but
Chinese; and in religion, history and social customs the people who
inhabit this territory obviously belong to one of the numerous allied
races of which Tibet is composed to-day.[154]
[Sidenote: TIBETAN PILGRIMS]
After crossing the bridge the road leads along the right bank of the
Ta Tu for a distance of nearly 20 miles. Villages are few and the
population is scanty. In the hamlet of Ta P'êng Pa I rested in an
eating-house kept by a Chinese, who, to my surprise, greeted me in
Pekingese. As I sipped my tea he cheerfully informed me that he had
been a Boxer, and had left Peking immediately after the allies had
entered it. I fancy he must have done so under a cloud; but I did not
press the subject, and amiably accepted his assurance that, in spite
of troublesome political estrangements, he was sentimentally attached
to all foreigners. After Ta P'eng Pa there is a long upward climb,
followed by a short and sudden descent to a wooden bridge crossing a
mountain stream. From here there is a magnificent view of the snowy
mountains in the south-west.
As this road is frequently tramped by Tibetan pilgrims on their way to
Mount Omei, I was not surprised to find a number of wayside shrines.
If the name of Thomas Atkins is--I hope it is not-scribbled over the
walls of the Lhasa cathedral, it is satisfactory to know that Tibetan
feelings cannot have been outraged thereby; for no more inveterate
wall-scribbler exists than your Tibetan pilgrim. I found abundant
evidence of this in the shrines just referred to, as well as in the
temples of Chia-ting and Mount Omei.
Twenty-five _li_ beyond Ta-P'êng Pa the road suddenly branches off
to the left, leaving the valley of the Ta Tu, and entering that of
its tributary the Lu, or, as the Tibetans call it, the Do river. A
steep descent soon led us to our resting-place, the village of Wa
Ssŭ Kou ("The Ravine of the Tile-roofed Monastery"). It consists of
one street, behind which are a few small maize-fields, orchards and
walnut trees in the level ground between the village and the water's
edge. A small temple, presumably that from which the village is named,
overlooks a rather cranky iron suspension bridge. This bridge crosses
the Lu to a steep path which climbs along the opposite mountain side
in the direction of the valley of the Ta Tu, or Chin Ch'uan ("Gold
Stream")[155]--as the Ta Tu is called above the junction with the Lu.
The path leads into the territory of a tribal chief, subordinate to the
Tibetan prince who rules at Tachienlu. Hosie states that respectable
Chinese settling there are allowed to take unto themselves temporary
native wives, on payment to the chief of three taels (less than half a
sovereign) per wife. "They are free," he adds, "to leave the country
when they choose, but the wives and children must remain."[156] I spent
an afternoon exploring the fringe of this region, the northern part of
which was in the eighteenth century the scene of a long and terrible
struggle between the imperial troops and the Chin Ch'uan chiefs. Near
the summit of the steep path that creeps along the precipitous face
of the cliff opposite Wa Ssu Kou, there is a small shrine dedicated
to Kuan Yin, who is here regarded as the protectress of a road which,
without her protection, might subside into the turbulent river hundreds
of feet below.
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT TACHIENLU]
The next day I walked the remaining distance --about 15 miles--to
Tachienlu.[157] The road keeps to the right bank of the river the whole
way, and gradually ascends from 5,300 feet at Wa Ssŭ Kou to 8,400 feet
at Tachienlu. This is sufficient to indicate that the Lu river is a
wild torrent with many waterfalls. In summer, after the melting of the
snows, it must present the appearance of a continuous white cascade;
even in spring its waters are turbulent enough. I reached Tachienlu
early in the afternoon about five hours in advance of my sluggish
followers, and found a warm welcome in the hospitable house of Mr and
Mrs Moyes, well known by name to those who have studied the interesting
history of missionary enterprise among the Tibetans.[158]
Tachienlu is a long, narrow little city which has had to adapt its
shape to that of the mountains by which it is hemmed in. The summits of
these mountains are covered with snow all the year round, and some are
very lofty. According to Bretschneider's map, one of them is estimated
at 25,592 feet, and another at 24,900 feet. Outside the walls of the
city there is hardly a foot of level ground, except along the banks of
the river, which, on entering the city, cuts it into two parts. It is
the great emporium of trade between China and Tibet, being the point at
which Tibetans and Chinese come from west and east, respectively, to
exchange the produce of the two countries.[159] The contribution of
China to this trade is chiefly tea, with limited quantities of tobacco
and cotton; that of Tibet mainly consists of musk, gold-dust, skins
and various mysterious concoctions used for medicines. The population
of the town is predominantly Tibetan, there being about seven hundred
Tibetan families to about four hundred Chinese.[160] In addition to
the Tibetan families, however, must be reckoned a great number of
lamas, most of whom live in large lamaseries outside the city walls.
Many of the houses--especially the large inns--are of the well-known
two-storied Tibetan type, and on their flat roofs flutter innumerable
prayer-flags giving to the winds the universal Tibetan hymn of praise,
_Om mane padme hom_. The streets are generally noisy with the sounds
that always accompany buying and selling in Eastern countries; but
rarely so noisy as to stifle the pious murmurings of red-frocked lamas.
For Tachienlu, like all Tibet, is priest-ridden. Even the Chinese seem
to succumb, after a few years of residence there, to the wiles of
priest-craft, and constantly seek the assistance of lamas in exorcising
demons and invoking the protection of the saints of lamaism. Many of
the lamas make a good deal of money by securing temporary engagements
as domestic chaplains; and the deep, sonorous voices (assiduously
cultivated from youth upwards) in which they intone their dirge-like
spells and unintelligible prayers, penetrate far beyond the walls of
their improvised chapels.
FOOTNOTES:
[137] From here a road leads direct to the capital, Ch'eng-tu, which
can be reached in three stages.
[138] See Note 13 (p. 421).
[139] See Note 1 (p. 411).
[140] _Three Years in Western China_, p. 95.
[141] See Note 14 (p. 421).
[142] Baber mentions an instance of a coolie who "must have had, at the
lowest computation, more than 400 English pounds on his back."
[143] See Note 15 (p. 422).
[144] Also known as Man Chuang (蠻庄).
[145] See Note 16 (p. 422).
[146] 內地第一險阻也.
[147] Rockhill, _The Land of the Lamas_, p. 305.
[148] See Note 17 (p. 422).
[149] See Note 18 (p. 423).
[150] _Land of the Lamas_, p. 304.
[151] See Note 19 (p. 423).
[152] See chap. xv.
[153] I observe that it is so marked in Waddell's map attached to his
recent book on the British expedition to Lhasa.
[154] For a brief discussion of the ethnology of this country, see
chap. xv.
[155] Gold-washing is carried on here to a considerable extent, as in
nearly all the rivers of western Ssuch'uan.
[156] _Journey to the Eastern Frontier of Tibet_, pp. 24-25.
[157] See Note 20 (p. 424).
[158] Mrs Moyes (then Mrs Rijnhart) is the well-known author of the
book, _With the Tibetans in Tent and Temple_, in which she ably
describes the life of adventure and hardship which she led in the far
interior of Tibet, where she lost both husband and child.
[159] See Note 21 (p. 425).
[160] Hosie, _Journey to the Eastern Frontier of Tibet_.