PA-U-RONG TO MULI
The Yalung river forms the western frontier of the dominions of the
king of Chala. Across the river lies the country generally known as
Huang Lama, which is governed by its own lama-prince. The guide whom
the king had deputed to accompany me thus far, and who had proved
himself a sturdy, honest fellow, had now to return to Tachienlu,
leaving me to the care of the three Chinese soldiers who had been
instructed to follow me all the way to the borders of the province of
Yunnan. Before leaving me, the king's man was obliging enough to cross
the river in order to explain to the people of the other side that I
was a harmless traveller and deserving of their assistance. This was a
necessary precaution, for the _ula_ privilege had been extended to me
only as far as the king of Chala's frontier.[199]
[Sidenote: LOLOS]
The king's brother had told me in Tachienlu that on the banks of the
Yalung I should find a colony of "White-bone" Lolos. The Lolos--to
whom I have already referred--were once a powerful non-Chinese race
inhabiting a great part of southern Ssuch'uan and the greater part
of Yunnan. A large remnant of them still maintains its independence
in the mountainous country between the Chien-ch'ang valley and the
Upper Yangtse. The so-called _Hei-Ku-t'ou_ or "Black-bones," are the
aristocrats of the race, the _Pai-Ku-t'ou_ or "White-bones" the "tame"
ones, who do what they are told by any one who has authority over
them, whether of their own race or not. The Lolos are an interesting
people from the European point of view on account of their obstinate
self-reliance, their dislike for the Chinese, and their mysterious
history. The 12,000 square miles or so of mountain-land which still
belong to them comprise one of the least-known corners of the Chinese
empire;[200] but this is only owing to the jealousy of the Chinese,
who object to Europeans going where they cannot and dare not go
themselves. A well-conducted European able to satisfy his hosts that
he had no hostile intentions would probably be well received in
Lolo-land, for the people seem to be as hospitable as those of Laos
and the Shan States, with whom, indeed, it is just possible that they
are ethnologically connected. The European students of their language
could be numbered on the fingers of one hand, and no one has yet
given a comprehensive account of it. It is evident from Paul Vial's
little hand-book[201]--which deals with some of the Lolo tribes of
Yunnan--that there are several dialects, which probably represent
several broad tribal cleavages. It is doubtful, indeed, whether
many of the Yunnan Lolos would be able to carry on an intelligent
conversation with the independent Lolos of the Ta Liang Shan.[202]
During the day's holiday which I gave my men at Pa-U-Rong--for I
remained there two nights--I made enquiries about the isolated Lolo
colonists of whom I had heard, and discovered that the information
given me was accurate. I had great difficulty in persuading one of
them to come to me and tell me something of their history; and the one
who finally accepted the bribe which I held out was not a brilliant
specimen of the attractive race to which he belonged. He was afflicted
with deafness, stupidity and extreme nervousness, had no knowledge
of Chinese, and was only partially acquainted with the local dialect
of Tibetan. I managed, however, to take down a small vocabulary from
him[203] and extracted hesitating answers to a few of my questions.
In Pa-U-Rong and its suburb villages there are some twenty-three
families of Lolos. They came from the independent Lolo country, east
of Yüeh-hsi, about the year 1850, the migration being due to a tribal
feud. They were well received by the local _t'u pai hu_, and lands
were allotted to them for which they pay an annual rent. In or about
the year 1864 they addressed a petition to the king of Chala in which
they begged to be enrolled among his subjects. The answer to this
petition was favourable, and they have since been treated with every
kindness, for which they are grateful. They use the Tibetan alphabet in
transcribing their language,[204] but only a few of them can read and
write. They call themselves _Drü_, which has the meaning of "comrades."
They worship a deity called Ba Le Nim Bu and another called San To. The
latter is supposed to reside on the top of one of the high mountains
overlooking Pa-U-Rong on the north-east. They neither bury nor burn
their dead: they tie a white veil over the dead man's face, swathe him
in a shroud, and throw him into the Yalung. The poorest among them
go barefooted and scarify the soles of their feet with a hot iron in
order to make them hard. When the head of a family dies his property
goes to his eldest son; if there is no son the widow adopts a boy, who
then takes the family surname and succeeds to the property--much as is
done in China. If there is no heir, the property goes to the lamas, in
accordance with Tibetan custom.
[Illustration: A HALT ON THE ROAD TO MULI. [_To face p. 188._]
[Sidenote: RELIGION AMONG LOLOS]
The statement regarding the deity on the mountain-top is interesting
as showing that when the Lolos migrate they take their gods with them
and give them a new residence in a locality convenient for acts of
worship. It seems to be an established fact that the Lolos have never
been converted to Buddhism. Mount Omei is to them a sacred mountain,
but it is to worship gods of their own and not Buddhas or Bodhisattvas
that they go thither on pilgrimage.[205] Considering their fondness
for mountains as religious centres, it does not seem rash to hazard the
prophecy that when their country has been explored the highest point
of the Ta Liang Shan will be found to be the Olympus of their gods.
The little colony of emigrants has no doubt been obliged to conform to
most of the social customs of those among whom they live, and this is
sufficient to explain why among them the lamas are regarded as _ultimus
haeres_ of their property. As time goes on it is probable that their
descendants will gradually forget their own language and the history of
their race.
An old man--not a Lolo--who said his name was Shou Ji Tseri, paid
me a visit in order to tell me that he was a Roman Catholic. He had
been converted by a French missionary in Tachienlu over twenty years
before, and though he had long since migrated to Pa-U-Rong, he and his
family had remained steadfast in the faith. He assured me that he was
not persecuted, and suffered no social disabilities through being a
Christian.
The landlord of my house was the _t'u pai hu_,[206] and he was
evidently a devout Buddhist, or rather lamaist. The room in which I was
quartered was a kind of private chapel, containing a small library of
Tibetan books grimy with age. More numerous than the books were bundles
of charms supposed to ward off disease and ill-fortune. They consisted
of small stiff cards, not unlike playing-cards in size and appearance,
covered with writing on one side, and crudely-painted pictures of
horses and other animals on the other.
On the eve of my departure from Pa-U-Rong I gave my returning guide a
letter in which I informed the king of my safe arrival at the limits of
his territory. The lack of startling adventures was perhaps a little
disconcerting after all that I had been told of the perils of the way,
but I was glad to know that I had not contributed to the collapse of
that amiable monarch's already rather insecure throne.
[Sidenote: ROPE-BRIDGE]
I made my exit from the kingdom of Chala by the undignified expedient
of sliding down a rope. The Yalung[207] is one of the greatest
tributaries of the Yangtse, but it is full of rapids and cascades, and
is unnavigable. At Pa-U-Rong it is about 70 or 80 yards broad, and the
current is very swift and strong. I heard that till recently it could
at the season of slack water be crossed by a raft;[208] but at the
time of my visit there was no raft or boat of any kind on the river
(the last one had been wrecked and lost), and a single stout cable of
twisted bamboo, stretched from bank to bank, afforded the only means of
crossing. The frontispiece to this book, which reproduces a photograph
taken by myself, shows one of my followers in the act of making the
passage. Bridges of this kind are common in Tibet, and in the Himālayan
gorges, but it is not often that the stream to be crossed is so wide
as the Yalung. The main roads--such as the highroad from Tachienlu to
Lhasa--are generally provided with good bridges or ferries; and, as a
rule, it is only when travelling by the "small roads" and by-ways of
Tibet that one is compelled to cross rivers and gorges by single ropes.
The abbé Huc admits that in the course of his long journey to Lhasa and
back he never ventured on bridges of this kind, though he frequently
saw them. Captain Gill[209] remarks that "this is a method of crossing
a river that must require a considerable amount of nerve"; but he too,
apparently, evaded the necessity of putting the matter to personal
test. In my case there was no possibility of evasion.
The first view of this primitive substitute for a bridge certainly does
not inspire one with confidence. There is one rope for crossing from
the left to the right bank, and another--some 30 yards off--for the
reverse proceeding. The banks on either side are high and steep, and
each rope-end is firmly bound round an immovable rock or boulder. The
arrangement is shown in the accompanying diagram.
[Illustration: Sketch of bridge substitute]
[Sidenote: CROSSING THE YALUNG]
On crossing from the left bank (Pa-U-Rong side) one starts at the point
A, reaching the right bank at the point B. Crossing in the opposite
direction one starts at C, reaching the left bank at D. The points A
and C are about 120 feet above the level of the water. B and D are
about 40 feet lower. The native of the district, when about to cross
the river, places a semicircular piece of tough wood, with two grooves
for the fingers, on the bamboo rope, clutches it with both hands and
lets himself go. He is not tied to the movable cylinder or to the rope,
and he has nothing to sit on. He simply holds on with his hands, his
legs hanging in the air. He descends with terrific speed to the point
where the rope sags or hangs lowest (the points E and F); and having
safely arrived there, he is only a few yards from the further bank,
and quickly hauls himself along the remaining distance. In this manner
the crossing is only a matter of a few exhilarating seconds. With us,
however, the operation was a longer one. Unfortunately, the proper rope
for leaving the left bank was old, and had been condemned as unsafe;
all my party, therefore, were obliged to use the rope that was only
intended for crossing in the opposite direction. The rope-end at the
point C, however, had been temporarily brought down to the point G, as
it would otherwise have been necessary for us to haul ourselves along
nearly the whole length of the rope in an ascending direction, which
would have been a task requiring great strength and endurance. Even
as it was, instead of a rapid rush through the air across almost the
whole width of the river, the weight of our bodies only took us about
two-thirds of the total distance, and from that point we had to proceed
by throwing our legs over the rope and pulling ourselves upwards inch
by inch, hand over hand. The work was exceedingly laborious. All my
party went across in this manner one by one, starting at D and arriving
at G. The point H represents the place at which we had to commence
hauling. In view of the fact that we were all novices at rope-climbing,
each of us submitted, before starting, to having a leather thong tied
under the arms, and made fast to the sliding cylinder, so that if loss
of nerve or other cause had made us let go we should not have fallen
into the river, but hung limply on the rope until rescued. There
was, therefore, no actual danger provided that nothing gave way. In
some places where these primitive bridges are in use, passengers are
provided with a swinging rope-seat which hangs from the cylinder. This,
of course, must relieve the strain on hands and arms very considerably.
But we were furnished with no such luxury. My dog Jim was sent across
by himself, his body being firmly tied up with strips of cloth
suspended from the cylinder, from which the unhappy beast hung like
a squirming fish at the end of a line. When he reached the point at
which upward hauling became necessary, one of the natives--who seemed
to delight in performing acrobatic feats above the swirling waters of
the Yalung--clambered along from the right bank with an extra rope
and tied it round him. He did this while he was hanging upside down
with his legs round the rope-bridge. The loose end of the spare rope
he took back with him to the right bank, and the dog was safely pulled
by several willing hands along the remaining distance. My baggage was
sent across in the same manner. I found the experience interesting and
somewhat exciting. The whole village turned out to watch us cross the
river, and I must confess that when I was being trussed up with the
leather thong my feelings were perhaps only comparable to those of
a condemned criminal who is being pinioned before execution. A fall
into the river would mean almost certain death. The water seethes and
bubbles in innumerable whirlpools, and is nearly as cold as ice, for it
largely consists of frozen snow.
[Sidenote: YALUNG RIVER]
I never heard the Yalung given that name by the natives. The word is a
Chinese approximation to the Tibetan Nya Rong ("Valley of the Nya").
The Tibetans all know the river as the Nya Ch'u or Nya river; but the
Chinese, so far as my experience goes, never give it any other name
than _Kin_ [_Chin_] Ho, which means "Gold River,"--so that "Yalung"
is really only a book-word. The number of rivers in western China, of
which the word "Gold" forms part of the Chinese name, might almost fill
a page. The Ta Tu river above Wa Ssu Kou[210] is the Chin Ch'uan ("Gold
Stream"), the Yangtse for hundreds of miles of its course is the Chin
Sha Chiang [Kin Sha Kiang], or "River of Golden Sand," and many streams
of less importance bear similar names. The reason of the popularity of
the name is not far to seek, for gold in larger or smaller quantities
is well known to exist in nearly all the rivers that take their rise
in eastern and northern Tibet, and the Tibetans--especially the
lamas--derive therefrom a very considerable profit.
Baber pointed out that the upper Yangtse, from its junction with the
Yalung to about P'ing-shan (above the mouth of the Min), is "never
called locally by any other name than _Kin-_[_Chin-_] _Ho_, or 'Gold
River.'" M. Cordier, in quoting this passage in his sumptuous edition
of Marco Polo's travels,[211] says that he imagines Baber to have made
a slight mistake in saying that this part of the great river is named
a _ho_, and that the word actually used is probably _kiang_. As both
words mean "river" the point is of small importance, but as a matter of
fact Baber is perfectly right. Not only is the Yangtse from the mouth
of the Min to the mouth of the Yalung called the Kin [Chin] Ho, as
Baber said, but it seems obvious that the natives regard the Yalung as
the main upper stream of the same river, just as they regard the Min as
the main upper stream of the Yangtse hundreds of miles lower down.[212]
Baber was no doubt unaware that the Yalung was known as the Kin Ho, or
he would have seen why it is that its junction with what we know as the
Yangtse effects a change in the name of the latter.
[Sidenote: RIGHT BANK OF YALUNG]
In official publications, however, the local names are disregarded.
In such works the Yangtse is given one name from its entrance into
Ssuch'uan down to Hsü-chou-fu, where it comes to an untimely end by
entering the Min:[213] and that one name is the Chin Sha Chiang.[214]
As regards its Tibetan course, the Chinese geographical authorities
attempt after their usual cumbrous fashion to give the sounds of
the various Tibetan names--they write of the _Mu-lu-ssŭ-wu-su_ for
instance--but they recognise it as the same river. In explanation
of the local idea that the Yalung is the principal stream it may be
mentioned that at the point of junction the Yalung has the appearance
of being larger than the Yangtse.[215]
We did not proceed far on our journey during the day on which we
accomplished the feat of crossing the Yalung. We clambered up the steep
slope to a height of about 1,500 feet and remained for the night in the
poor hamlet of Dju Mu. We were still well within sight of Pa-U-Rong,
having travelled only about 12 _li_. A change of language or dialect
perplexed my servant as soon as we had crossed the river, and though
it is rash to generalise from the appearance of the inhabitants of a
few isolated villages, there seemed to be racial changes as well. The
Tibetan-Man-tzŭ population of the kingdom of Chala seems to give place
to a race-group which might be described as Tibetan-Mo-so. The men are
shorter than those of the eastern watershed of the Yalung, the women
plainer and stouter and of heavier build. There is no great change
in the dress of the men, but the women--perhaps recognising their
deficiency of personal attractiveness--show an exaggerated fondness for
jewellery and trinkets, which make a ceaseless jingle as they walk.
[Sidenote: CHARMS AND AMULETS]
Many of the people--men as well as women--wear large earrings
consisting of plain circles of silver, from which, in the case of
girls, are suspended long strings of coloured beads. On both sides of
the Yalung--but not far from its banks on either side--the women also
wear curious silver plates or plaques which are fastened to their hair.
Unmarried girls wear one and married women two of these ornaments. Some
of the plaques--which vary in size from about 5 inches to more than a
foot in diameter--are adorned with dainty filigree work, which would do
credit to the silversmiths of any country, but the majority are simple
and of rude workmanship, such as the specimen which with difficulty I
succeeded in purchasing.[216] In the middle of each plaque is a silver
tube containing some red substance that from a distance looks like dark
coral. These little plates are regarded as ornaments, but they are also
charms to ward off a certain dread disease. From a description of the
ailment it would appear to be something like bubonic plague. I saw no
cases of it, but I was told that it devastates the valley of the Yalung
every autumn, and kills every one who does not wear a charm. It is
curious to note that nearly all the great trough-like river-valleys
of south-western China have acquired a similar reputation of extreme
unhealthiness. The Red River of Tongking and Yunnan is so much dreaded
by the Chinese on account of its deadly fevers that nothing will
induce them to spend a night on its banks.[217] The Salwen, the valley
of which forms a yawning chasm from north to south of the Yunnan
plateau, has an even worse reputation, as is well known to all who
have travelled from Talifu to Bhamo.[218] Charms against disease are
worn by the men of the Yalung valley as well as by the women, but they
do not take the same form. The men and boys carry a small charm-box
(_ga-u_[219]) hung round their necks like a locket by a string or
chain, and in the box they place little amulets[220] which they have
received from the lamas. The efficacy of the charms is supposed to be
impaired if they are removed from the person or put into the hands of
a stranger, so it is not often that one has an opportunity of close
examination.
[Sidenote: YAK AND BUFFALO]
The next day (28th April) we travelled a very short distance--about 6
miles. The path wound round the edge of a defile and up the mountain
side west and south-west through a pine forest. We halted at a place
called Tê Ben, a single house belonging to a headman, situated near
the edge of a bluff that commanded a fine view of the Yalung valley,
now far below us. Difficulties about transport prevented our making
a longer stage. Next day, these difficulties having been overcome,
our path led us over innumerable undulations, in the course of which
we gradually ascended another 2,000 feet. At the hamlet of Pa Sung,
which we reached during the morning, there were no animals to be
hired, and our baggage was carried for the rest of the day's march by
three women and a yak. One of my Chinese escort--not in love with his
mountaineering experiences--was much perturbed at the discovery that he
was expected to walk, and made himself so disagreeable to the villagers
that they had to bribe him to calmness by making him a present of a
live fowl. He accepted the fowl, and made one of the village damsels
carry it for him. This incident was not discovered by me until our
arrival at our destination that night, when I punished my soldier for
the impropriety of his conduct by paying for the fowl and eating it
myself. The yak caused us some trouble by losing itself in the forest
while we were having our midday _tsamba_. It was finally discovered by
its driver--a very little boy--and brought back by him triumphantly at
the end of a rope. The incident pleasantly recalled to my memory the
only poem in the English language, so far as I am aware, which sings
the exclusive praises of the yak, an animal which, however useful to
man, is indeed hardly of the kind that would naturally inspire a poet
to a lyrical outburst.[221] Tibetan and Man-tzŭ children seem to be
able to manage the clumsy beast with the same ease and dexterity as
are shown by Chinese children in controlling the cumbrous movements
of the water-buffalo; and the European who may prod a yak without the
least effect in accelerating its motion, and whose mere proximity
often rouses the water-buffalo to dangerous fury, can have nothing but
jealous admiration for the Oriental child whose lightest touch reduces
one or the other to complete docility.
From the hamlet of Pa Sung we dropped down to a deep ravine at the
bottom of which is a sparkling mountain stream spanned by a rustic
bridge. The ravine was full of wild-flowers--pink, red, purple and
white in a setting of rich green. I noticed also that ivy--not so
common a sight in the Far East as in England--clambered in great
profusion round the trunks of trees and over a small obo; and some
exquisite ferns, including maiden-hair, covered the steep banks of the
stream and fringed our path. After climbing up the further side of
the ravine our path again wound up and along the mountain-side, and
brought us finally to the hamlet of Ten Ba K'a, where we lodged in
the local chiefs house. Our host was a fine-looking man, whose long
black hair hanging down on each side of his face gave him an appearance
of ferocity that was belied by the gentleness of his manners. I was
accommodated in the family chapel--a large room on the first floor.
Close by was a small lamasery. The village is situated at the head of
a small valley which runs north-east and south-west, and from it we
had a magnificent view of the snowy mountains we had left behind us on
the other side of the Yalung. The valley itself--when one looks down
upon it from above--is of very peculiar formation, being split up by
a series of clearly-defined ridges. I could see nothing to indicate
that they were glacier moraines. Next morning we climbed one of the
ridges that lies immediately behind the village, and from its summit
we descended into a thickly-wooded ravine, bounded on the left by
lofty and picturesque cliffs. After descending a thousand feet or more
we emerged from the ravine into a small partially-cultivated valley
containing a village. After leaving this village, where we took our
midday rest, we began a long and rather wearisome up-hill climb past a
plantation of birches and through a thin forest. From the top of the
pass we made a gradual descent through similar country, and struck
into the valley of a large stream--the Dja Ch'u--issuing, apparently,
from some high snowy peaks visible in the distance.[222] This river
accompanied us from this point practically all the way to Muli. Our
path led us hundreds of feet above the river's left bank, and brought
us to our night's lodging in a solitary house. Other scattered houses
were visible some distance off, and I was told that they all bear the
collective name of Hu Dra. Our hostess brought me as a present the best
Tibetan cheese I had tasted.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN AND VALLEY ON THE ROAD TO MULI.
[_To face p. 202._]
[Sidenote: A QUARREL]
The next day, 1st May, we left our quarters at Hu Dra just as the sun
rose, on a beautiful fresh morning that reminded one almost too vividly
of early summer in England. Even the cuckoo was not wanting. The road
led us at first in a south-easterly direction high above the left bank
of the Dja Ch'u for about 3 miles, then turned with that river into
a valley running south-west. A mile or so beyond the bend I observed
a village on the right bank, but we kept to the left, still high
above the river. Nearly opposite that village we came to a couple of
tumbledown huts. While we were resting here, two of my soldiers took
the opportunity to disgrace May Day by indulging in a violent quarrel.
For the sake of cacophony I had previously given one of these men the
unmelodious name of Bloggins, owing to the singular irregularity of his
features. Certainly no one could have mistaken him for a reincarnation
of Plato's Charmides. To the other, for a different reason, I had given
the surname of Hoggins. Before I could learn the cause of the dispute
and settle it by friendly arbitration, Hoggins drew his sword and began
laying it about him in a manner suggestive of slaughter and blood. The
effects were not serious, as the blade of the sword, not being intended
for actual warfare, broke off at the hilt. Bloggins took shelter behind
a mule. The quarrel arose and subsided like a thunderstorm, for in half
an hour the combatants were again on the most amiable terms with each
other and drowning the memory of their disagreement in a bowl of tea.
From the scene of this bloodless combat the road continued to lead us
high above the left bank of the river-valley, giving us occasional
glimpses of the many windings of the stream. One has to ride with
caution, as the path frequently lies along the edge of a precipice.
The surface is sometimes very rough and rocky, and the road undulates
a great deal as it has to cross a number of deep ravines. After riding
about 65 _li_ from our starting-place we reached the neighbourhood
of an important lamasery, named Wa-chin Gompa,[223] well hidden in a
wooded dell. The lamas objected to receiving us here, so we went on to
a scattered hamlet called Ta K'oa. The Dja Ch'u here changes its name
to the Ya-Rong Ch'u.
[Sidenote: WILD-FLOWERS]
A great authority has told us that among the losses brought upon us
by the fury and vulgarity of modern life, one of the saddest is the
loss of a wish to gather a flower in travelling.[224] Perhaps it was
because I was so far from the beaten tracks of civilisation that on
that beautiful May morning the wish to gather flowers still asserted in
me its vigorous vitality. The wild-flowers during that day's journey
were indeed so numerous and beautiful that all the members of my party
yielded to the temptation of decking themselves out in blossoms pink
and white and blue. The dainty freshness of our summer garlands only
served, I fear, to throw into stronger relief the dirt and dust of our
travel-stained garments. Though there were three flower-bedecked women
among my party, I was moved by no impulse to crown any one of the three
as our Queen of May. It would be ungallant to give the reasons. But if
none of them was conspicuous for beauty of figure or feature, I think
it only fair to call to grateful remembrance the fact that one was the
possessor of an alluring smile and a not unattractive dimple.
On 2nd May a pretty road lined with "English" hedgerows bursting into
bloom, led us after a ride of 4 miles to a point from which we obtained
a fine view of the river--a long stretch of smooth water shining in the
sun, a rather violent rapid, and a series of graceful curves. From the
village of Dje Ru we descended for the first time to the river-bank and
crossed the stream--now called the Tong Yi--by a substantial wooden
bridge about 50 yards long. I have already referred to the variety of
names possessed by the rivers of this region. The stream which we knew
first on 30th April as the Dja Ch'u had changed its name at least seven
times before we finally left its banks three days later; but as in the
case of many other Tibetan rivers, the different names often represent
merely the tribal names of the various village communities that dwell
on its banks, or even the names of the valleys through which it flows.
In the interests of geography it would no doubt be more satisfactory if
every river were given one name only, by which it could be universally
known throughout the whole length of its course; but the convenience
of so doing would hardly appeal to people who never saw a map, and
never travel, and know nothing of their rivers except the short
stretches that flow by their doors. I did not meet a single inhabitant
of the Yalung watershed who was able to tell me whence any of their
rivers came, or whither it went. Such questions seemed to them merely
frivolous, the answers being regarded as beyond the range of possible
human knowledge.
[Sidenote: VALLEY OF LITANG RIVER]
About a mile beyond the wooden bridge the river becomes the Wo Pu
Tsong, and later on the Mi Ch'u. Not far beyond, a fairly large
tributary--the Ba Tsam Ch'u--enters by a valley in the east, and joins
the main stream at a point where, after flowing for some miles due
south, it turns sharply to the south-west. Our path, following the
right bank of the river, now turned into a narrow valley through which
we travelled for the rest of the stage, and from which we did not
emerge till the middle of the following day. This valley possesses,
perhaps, the most beautiful riverine scenery met with anywhere
throughout my journey, though it is not on the same grand scale as
the scenery of the Yangtse gorges or the valley of the Ta Tu. After
travelling along an undulating road for about 5 miles, we came to a
place which possesses the abrupt name of Wu, where--on the flat roof
of one of the two huts forming the hamlet--we had our midday meal. Just
before reaching this spot we passed a place where two landslips, one
on each side of the river, had very recently taken place. Part of the
subsiding banks having fallen into the water, a violent rapid had been
formed across the river.
[Illustration: A--Recess with miniature Buddha, on the S.E. side.
B--Conventional lions in relief, two on each of the four sides.]
In this extremely beautiful valley the river is known as the Li Ch'u.
It is an unnavigable stream containing a considerable body of water
sometimes nearly 100 yards broad, but occasionally narrowed to 30. An
easy walk through the most charming sylvan scenery brought us, a few
miles beyond Wu, to a wooded glade, where--as the moon had already
risen and there was no sign of a village--I decided to camp out. There
is here an obo covered with the usual inscribed slates; and close by
stands a square stone building with a wooden roof. This building serves
as a kind of canopy for a _ch'o-ten_[225] (ch'orten), or small lamaist
pyramid, which occupies the whole space inside. My sketch of this
ch'orten, which is of a type very common in Tibetan lands, will convey
an idea of its appearance.
The stone canopy--a plain, unpretentious building[226]--faces the
south-east. It has four doorways, one on each side. The ch'orten itself
is of stone, covered with plaster, and whitewashed, and stands about 20
feet high.
[Sidenote: TIBETAN CH'ORTEN]
Rockhill, describing similar structures met with elsewhere, remarks
that the word "ch'orten" means "offering-holder." "Great numbers" he
says "are built in the vicinity of lamaseries, and serve to point out
the roads leading to them. They are also something like the stations
in the Catholic 'Path of the Cross,' as pilgrims, when journeying to
a shrine, perform prostrations before each ch'orten met on the way
thither."[227] Colonel Waddell has an interesting note to explain the
symbolical character of this type of building. He says that ch'ortens
are "symbolic of the five elements into which a body is resolved upon
death: thus ... the lowest section, a solid rectangular block,
typifies the solidity of the _earth_; above it _water_ is represented
by a globe; _fire_ by a triangular tongue; _air_ by a crescent--the
inverted vault of the sky; and _ether_ by an acuminated circle, the
tapering into space."[228] The Tibetan ch'ortens may thus be regarded
either as the tombstones of dead lamas or as chambers for preserving
the relics of Buddhist saints. In the latter case they are analogous to
the far more imposing pagodas of China or the dagobas of Burma and of
Anuradhapura in Ceylon.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR'S CAMP, 2ND MAY. [_To face p._ 208.]
Outside the stone building containing the ch'orten I spent the night
of 2nd May. We were now in a sheltered ravine and in a fairly warm
latitude. We were therefore independent of walled shelter, and, as
we carried with us our own _tsamba_, we were in no want of food.
The spot we had chosen was indeed an ideal resting-place. The utter
peacefulness of our beautiful valley, the murmur of the stream only
a few yards away, the soft shimmer of moonlight interwoven with the
network of fresh foliage that curtained mysterious fairylands beyond,
combined to create an earthly paradise that might almost make one cease
to long for a heavenly one. If Shakespeare had visited the Far East,
he would surely have chosen just such a spot as this for the scene
of a new Midsummer Night's Dream. It was sad to reflect that until
æroplanes come into general use it could never be made accessible to
lovers of nature except those who were willing to cross the vast
ranges of snowy mountains that hem it in; but I could not restrain a
feeling of exultation at the thought that never--I hope this is no rash
prophecy--would the shriek of a steam-engine disturb here
"The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills,"--
and that our boisterous civilisation would be content to leave this one
nook of beauty for ever undefiled. If any of my readers is yearning
to seek in some quiet hermitage rest and release from the pains and
feverish joys of modern life, some home of ancient peace amid lovely
scenery, let him turn his pilgrim steps towards the far lands of the
Tibetan border, for his ideal would be surely realised in some such
valley as this.
[Illustration: RUSTIC BRIDGE CROSSING LITANG RIVER ON THE ROAD TO MULI.
[_To face p. 210._]
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT MULI]
It was with regret, not shared, I fear, by my unemotional companions,
that I left my camping-ground on the morning of the next day. For half
the day, however, our path still lay through the southern portion of
the same beautiful valley, and amid scenery no less charming than that
of the day before. A short distance beyond our camp a turn in the
path brought us opposite to a ravine opening towards the east, on the
river's left bank. The sun rose behind it as I passed, and shed a rich
glow on rocks and cascades and masses of pure green foliage. A walk
of 5 or 6 miles brought us to a crazy wooden bridge[229] over which
we crossed with some trepidation to the left bank, and about 3 miles
further on we again crossed to the right. Beyond this the scenery
becomes wilder, and the river-valley gradually opens out into a region
where rocks and hills lie about in fantastic confusion. Passing oboes,
prayer-flags and prayer-wheels in great numbers, we climbed up a steep
and winding path that gradually led us far away from the Li Ch'u and
brought us to a scattered mountain village named Ku-Dze, where we
rested. One of my men had gone in advance of us in order to arrange for
new means of transport; and when I arrived at the village I found that
the hospitable headman had converted four tumbledown, roofless walls
into a delightful arbour with a thick, soft carpet of green leaves and
walls of pine-branches, and a doorway festooned with feathery bamboo.
In this Arcadian retreat I was provided with an appropriate repast of
milk and eggs.
From this village to the lamasery of Muli--the capital, if it may
be called so, of the Huang Lama territory--is a distance of about
14 miles through pleasant undulating country and over an easy road.
At one point, however, we found the main path blocked by a huge
landslip, and for a distance of several miles we were obliged to take
a rough and rocky path that gave us a good deal of trouble. We did
not arrive at Muli till after sunset. There is nothing to show that
one is anywhere near a human habitation until suddenly, after turning
a corner, one comes in full view of a mass of white walls only a few
hundred yards away. This is the lamasery of Muli. To all appearance
it is a compact, unwalled town composed entirely of white-plastered
houses. In reality it is a large monastery and nothing else, for all
the buildings that look like ordinary houses are only the separate
cells or dwelling-places of the lamas. Two or three of them, in their
dark-red gowns, were waiting to receive me. These were the people who,
I had been led to understand, were fanatically anti-foreign, and whose
hostility rendered it a dangerous experiment to travel through their
country. If their feelings were of a hostile nature, they certainly
evinced a wonderful power of self-control, for their reception of me
was altogether courteous and friendly. They lodged me in a comfortable
two-floored building only a few yards from the lamasery, and sent me
presents of fuel and food.
FOOTNOTES:
[199] See Note 26 (p. 429).
[200] See Note 27 (p. 429).
[201] _Les Lolos_, by M. Paul Vial, Catholic missionary (Shanghai,
1898).
[202] See chap. xv. below, on the ethnology of the Lolos and other
border tribes.
[203] See Appendix A.
[204] There is, however, a system of written characters peculiar to the
Lolos. It appears to be unknown among these colonists.
[205] See above, p. 55.
[206] See Note 28 (p. 429).
[207] See Note 29 (p. 430).
[208] Mr Amundsen states that he crossed by a raft made of two pieces
of timber, with a plank in the middle to stand on.--(_Geographical
Journal_, vol. xv. p. 621).
[209] In Captain Gill's _The River of Golden Sand_ (John Murray), p.
121, where there is a good illustration of the single-rope bridges.
[210] See above, p. 128.
[211] Yule's _Marco Polo_, edited by Cordier. [London: John Murray.]
See vol. ii. p. 67.
[212] See above, pp. 43-44.
[213] 流入岷江. Similarly we read of the Han River (which flows into the
Yangtse at Hankow) _joining the Min_ (合岷江).
[214] See Note 30 (p. 430).
[215] This is on Mr Amundsen's authority. See _Geographical Journal_,
Nov. 1900, p. 534.
[216] See illustration, p. 152 (No. 2). The plaques may also be seen on
the women's heads, p. 188.
[217] I travelled up the valley of this river in 1902, and heard much
of its deadliness. Rocher, in his excellent history of Yunnan, remarks
that the only people who could live on the banks of the Red River
with comparative immunity were some indigenous non-Chinese tribes and
Cantonese merchants. As regards the Cantonese, the jealous Yunnanese
supposed that their immunity was derived from the fact that they
possessed a sovereign remedy for the disease, but kept the secret of
it to themselves so that they alone should obtain the benefit. Some of
the Yunnanese told Rocher that they would go into battle rather than
brave a visit to the banks of the Red River.--(_La Province Chinoise du
Yunnan_, vol. i. pp. 229, 230, and 286.)
[218] See below, pp. 305 _seq._
[219] གའུ་.
[220] Tibetan brTen (བརྟེན་) pronounced _ten_, or Srung-ba (སྲུང་བ་)
pronounced _sung-wa_, the original meaning of which is simply
"protection."
[221] The reader will not, I hope, require to be reminded of "The Bad
Child's Book of Beasts," in which the poem to which I refer finds an
honourable place.
[222] It would appear from the recent Indian Survey map prepared by
Major H. R. Davies, that this must be the Litang River, and therefore
starts its course much further north.
[223] See p. 216.
[224] Ruskin, _Proserpina_, II. IV.
[225] Spelt in Tibetan mCh'od-rTen.
[226] See illustration, p. 207.
[227] _Land of the Lamas_, p. 63.
[228] _Lamaism in Tibet_, pp. 263-264.
[229] See accompanying illustration.