YUNG-NING TO LI-CHIANG
At Yung-ning I parted with some regret from my three Chinese
soldiers--including Hoggins and Bloggins--who had acted as my escort
all the way from Tachienlu. They had carried out their orders to the
letter in seeing me safely into Yunnan, and in many ways had rendered
me faithful and valuable service. Attended by such men a traveller in
the wilds of Chinese Tibet has indeed but little to complain of. They
were always cheerful, obedient and respectful, never once grumbled
at the hardships of the road or the difficulties that we sometimes
had about obtaining food, and at the end of a day's journey were
always busy about my personal requirements before they looked after
themselves. I rewarded them with treble the pay I had promised them at
Tachienlu, and still felt that I was in their debt. They started off on
the return journey in the company of the lama who had acted as my guide
from Muli, and I was glad to learn some months afterwards that they had
arrived safely at Tachienlu. The lama, of course, left them at Muli.
The Tibetan servant whom I had engaged at Tachienlu remained in my
service for some weeks longer, until I had arrived at T'êng-yüeh near
the frontier of Burma.
[Sidenote: DEPARTURE FROM YUNG-NING]
I started from Yung-ning on 10th May, with an unusually large retinue.
The mountain pass that separates the Yung-ning plain from the Yangtse
was said to be one of the most dangerous roads in western China, owing
to the presence of large bands of Lolo robbers. The Yung-ning chief
was therefore kind enough to send no less than twelve armed men to
escort me to the banks of the river. Two of the twelve were soldiers in
uniform; the rest were honest rustics who were probably less afraid of
the Lolos than of their borrowed firearms, which on their own admission
they had never been taught to use. Our general direction during the
morning was W.S.W., over an undulating road that at first led us
through cultivated fields and afterwards gradually ascended the side
of a wooded mountain. Early in the afternoon we reached, after a long
climb, the summit of the Ge Wa pass or Ge Wa Ya K'ou, the height of
which is about 13,000 feet. From the summit there was no view towards
the south as it was hidden by forests, but a backward glance afforded a
beautiful view of the Yung-ning plain, the afternoon shining brightly
on its many shades of green. We descended the west side of the pass
by a bad road, and all distant views were concealed until we had gone
down about 3,000 feet. Then a panorama of very lofty mountains, crowned
with snow, opened out before us in the south-west. After passing one
or two log cabins and a few fields of scanty vegetation we reached
our night's quarters in a sorry hut. The whole of the next morning
was occupied in continuing the long descent to the Yangtse valley.
The road is not very steep, but the surface is crumbling and rocky.
We first caught sight of the great river when we were between 2,000
and 3,000 feet above it. The glimpse revealed to us a tortuous channel
of which the general direction was from north-west to south-east. The
mountains slope almost to the water's edge on both sides, but there
are several small villages perched above the banks, and there is a
considerable amount of cultivation. Yet it is curious to observe that
the Chinese, as distinct from the natives, are convinced that this
broad valley--like all other river-valleys in the west--is dangerous
to the health of "civilised" beings. We had our midday meal outside
a solitary house called Lan Ga Lo, not far from which is a village.
Thence we descended, always in full view of the river, to the village
of La Ka Shi, which lies close to a small stream called the Si Dji or
Si river. From there we proceeded along the left bank of the Yangtse,
two or three hundred feet above it, for a distance of half a mile, then
descended to the water's edge by a very steep zig-zagged path.
[Illustration: THE YANGTSE RIVER, NEAR YUNG-NING, ABOVE THE FERRY.
[_To face p. 236._]
[Illustration: THE YANGTSE RIVER, NEAR YUNG-NING, ABOVE THE FERRY.
[_To face p. 236._]
The crossing of the river was effected by means of a ferry-boat; but,
as there was only one boat and we had mules to take across, it was not
till two hours afterwards that we were all safely deposited with our
baggage on the right bank. It was difficult work to get the animals
into the boat. The second boat-load (consisting of two of them)
nearly found a watery grave, for a mule became panic-stricken when the
boat was only a third of the way across, and stamped about so much that
the rather crazy craft sprang a leak and had to be hurried back. The
current was much less swift than that of the Yalung, and we were not
carried down stream more than about 30 yards during the passage; but
we were told by the ferryman that the water had only recently begun
to rise above the usual winter level. The melting snows in summer
naturally make a great difference in the speed of the current and the
level of the water. Where we crossed, the river was more than 100 yards
broad, but just above that point it forces its way through a narrow
channel formed by some jutting rocks.[261] The rapids render the river
quite unnavigable. The height of the Yangtse above sea-level at this
point is about 5,200 feet. A local Chinese name for this portion of the
river is Pai Shui Ho ("White Water River"), but, like all rivers fed by
melting snows and glaciers, it was very brown and muddy when we crossed
it. The Mo-so name is Gi Dji, which simply means "The River."
It is only within the last ten years that geographers have known
anything about the great bend in the Yangtse that brings it to within
a day's journey of Yung-ning. The bend is, of course, caused by the
vast mountain range that extends to the north of Li-chiang--a range
that proved impenetrable even to the turbulent waters of the greatest
river in China, and forced it to take a northerly course that added
scores of miles to its total length. M. Bonin was, I believe, the
first traveller to make this discovery, and his observations were
subsequently confirmed by Major Davies and Major Ryder.[262]
On reaching the right (south) bank of the Yangtse, we at once commenced
a stiff uphill climb. Close to the river's edge I noticed some of the
small artificial caves or recesses mentioned above,[263] in connection
with the burial customs of the Mo-so. Not far from these, but not quite
so close to the river's edge, were a number of holes, large enough to
admit a man, and partly covered by loose planks. These, I was told,
were the shafts of gold-mines, but I could get no information as to the
output, and no doubt the methods of working are exceedingly primitive.
When I asked my guides whether the gold of this district had not
attracted Chinese miners, they told me a naïve story of how some years
ago some Chinese "from the east" came and set up a mining establishment
there, ruthlessly driving the natives to the neighbouring mountains.
Soon afterwards the Chinese miners found themselves harassed day and
night by continuous showers of stones and rocks, which killed not a few
of their number and wrecked their huts. After patiently enduring these
calamities for a few days, without hope of being able to retaliate,
they picked up their belongings and quietly fled away, doubtless
regretting their foolhardiness in tampering with the prescriptive
rights of the quarrelsome barbarians.[264]
[Illustration: THE YANGTSE RIVER AT THE FERRY. [_To face p. 238._]
[Sidenote: MO-SO AND LI-SO]
Several hundred feet above the gold-mines I passed some old
graves--not unlike a type of grave often seen in China proper. One
of my mule-drivers, a Mo-so, could only tell me that they were the
tombs of _pên-ti-jên_, which means nothing but "the natives," and
is therefore not a very enlightening expression to use in a country
inhabited by three or four different races, none of which has any
exact knowledge of how it came there. The predominant races between
the Yunnan frontier, north of Yung-ning, and the town of Li-chiang are
undoubtedly Mo-so and Li-so, but that there are tribal differences
among them seems to be evident from the fact that the Mo-so north of
the Yangtse are under the rule of the chief whom I met at Yung-ning,
while south of that river they are subject to another chief who resides
at Li-chiang. At one time, indeed, it is well known that all the Mo-so
were governed by a king whose capital was at Li-chiang, but the present
Li-chiang chief--whose influence is gradually waning owing to Chinese
encroachments--is not the representative of the ancient Mo-so king.
After climbing about 2,000 feet above the river, we halted for the
night in the flourishing village of Fêng K'o, where I found excellent
quarters in the upper story of an empty house. Next day we crossed
the little upland valley in which Fêng K'o is situated, and gradually
ascended along the mountain-side in a south-westerly direction,
following to some extent the course of the river now far below us.
About 3 miles from Fêng K'o we turned west into a defile, having in
front of us, to the south and south-west, a range of rocky mountains
with snowy peaks probably over 18,000 feet high. Another 2 or 3 miles
brought us to a brisk, clear stream, which we followed up to a little
temple or shrine close by which the water bubbles out of a fountain in
a rock. The water is excellent, and there is good camping-ground for
a small party. I strongly recommend travellers who may traverse this
route hereafter to make this a stage if possible. Lightly-equipped
travellers might make it the second stage from Yung-ning, and
heavily-laden caravans might make it the third. From this attractive
spot we marched steadily uphill for a few miles and rested outside a
couple of cottages. Thence, after a luncheon of eggs, we resumed our
upward journey for several hours, finally following an undulating track
along one of the mountain ridges. It began to cloud over about this
time. The tops of the neighbouring mountains were hidden in mist, and
towards evening rain fell heavily. This part of the country is a dreary
waste of wild mountains without a trace of human habitation. We went
on till nightfall, then camped in the forest. As we had no tent, and
were sheltered only by the gaunt arms of fir-trees, the prospects of a
comfortable night were somewhat dismal; but fortunately the rain ceased
to fall before midnight and we were troubled only by the dripping
branches. In one respect the rain was useful, as it afforded us all the
water we required for drinking and cooking purposes. We had found no
spring-water in this part of the forest.
[Sidenote: CAMP IN THE FOREST]
The rain began to fall again next day while we were at breakfast, and
continued off and on all the morning. In the afternoon it cleared up,
and for the rest of the way to Li-chiang the weather was perfect.
Our road gradually led us uphill, and took us over the pass known by
the Mo-so as Go Ka A, the height of which is about 15,000 feet. The
descent is steep and rocky. Both sides of the pass are well wooded.
All the afternoon we continued to descend, and towards evening reached
a cultivated valley surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. Here
there was a scattered hamlet named T'o Ko Sho--the first village we
had seen since we left Fêng K'o. While we were resting outside one of
the cottages I saw a man going out to shoot pheasants with a bow and
arrows.[265] As we did not await his return I am unable to give any
opinion as to his skill. A few miles beyond T'o Ko Sho we camped in the
forest at the end of a marshy meadow, which gave pasture to our beasts
and supplied (from a brook) good water for ourselves. The forest is
said to be infested with panthers; but they gave us no trouble. I was
somewhat disturbed, however, by a very large and obstinate species of
mosquito. Next day the road undulated in a southerly direction through
the forest. We soon caught sight of some lofty and magnificent snowy
peaks to the south-west--the mountains that tower some 10,000 feet
above the Li-chiang plain which itself lies at an elevation of over
8,000 feet. A few more miles brought us to the village of Ming Yin
Chi,[266] which with its almost-Chinese architecture, its likin-station
and familiar official notices (the first seen since the first day's
journey from Tachienlu), reminded us that we were entering a country
where the direct influence of China succeeded in making itself felt.
[Sidenote: ON THE ROAD TO LI-CHIANG]
The houses of Ming Yin Chi are mostly built of wood, but there are a
few tiled roofs. The dress of the people is hardly distinguishable
from that of the Chinese, except in the massive ear-rings and other
ornaments worn by the women. Their feet, of course, are unbound.
Outside the village likin-station I saw a versified proclamation
in Chinese, referring to the dangerous state of the roads of the
neighbourhood owing to the prevalence of brigandage, and offering
rewards for the capture of the robbers. Leaving this village behind
us we soon passed again into the forest, the road lying through a
fairly level park-like country studded with noble pines. We continued
our journey till sunset and again camped in the forest. So still and
peaceful was the night that my candle burned with as steady a flame
as if it were inside a lantern. Next morning we began by climbing
uphill out of the hollow in which we had camped to a _col_ rather
over 10,000 feet in elevation. The road then led rapidly downhill for
about 3 miles and brought us to a narrow valley through which flows a
stream called the Hei Shui ("Black Water"). Here I observed a sight
which unfortunately is only too rare in China--the building of a new
bridge. It was in fact one of three new bridges crossed during this
day's journey. A party of workmen was busily engaged in top-dressing
the surface of the bridge, which was almost finished, and as it is
considered unlucky in China to use a new bridge before it is opened
to traffic, I crossed by a temporary wooden structure a few yards
lower down. The inevitable tablet commemorating the erection of the
bridge and the names of the givers--for it had nothing to do with
Government--was already in position on the right bank of the river.
Beside this tablet is a smaller one dedicated to the Spirit of the
Road. Soon after crossing the Black Water the road turns to the right,
southwards.
Another road, which looks like a continuation of the old one, descends
through the valley of the stream, and as I was then on foot and far
ahead of my caravan I followed this road for some _li_ without guessing
it was the wrong one. So I had to retrace my steps, to find that the
road to Li-chiang climbs over three successive small passes, divided
from each other by a series of ravines. I expected when I reached each
summit--the highest being about 11,000 feet in elevation--to find the
city of Li-chiang lying at my feet, but I beheld only forests and the
great snowy peaks. The descent from the third pass led into a barren
stony valley which was once, in all probability, the bed of a glacier.
If appearances are not very deceptive the shrunken glacier can still be
seen high up on the mountains, some distance below the snow-line. The
stony valley is the northern section of the Li-chiang plain, but though
we had no more climbing we had a long and rather wearisome march of
between 10 and 20 miles before we reached the city. The first section
of the valley--absolutely bare and uninhabited--is approximately rather
less than 2 miles broad, and on each side are scantily-wooded hills.
The snowy summits towered above us on our right. The valley seems
almost level, and one can gaze over its whole extent from almost any
point, but it has a gentle slope towards the south. After traversing a
belt of shrubby wilderness the desert gradually transformed itself into
a delightful garden. The principal crop in the cultivated part of the
Li-chiang plain is opium, and the pure white flower of the poppy-plant
was in full bloom. Among the most attractive features of the plain are
its hedges and wild-flowers--especially its luxuriant white wild-roses,
the most beautiful I have ever seen. The air was deliciously fresh
and warm and laden with the scent of flowers, and it was only when we
caught sight of the huge wintry mountains gazing icily down upon us
from the sky that we were forced to remember that "it is not always
May."
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT LI-CHIANG]
An excellent broad road--one of the very best I have seen in
China--traverses the greater part of the cultivated portion of the
valley. A dogcart might be driven over it with perfect safety, and
in many places it is broader than a good English country road. It is
lined on both sides with luxuriant untrimmed hedges, beyond which lie
beautiful Gardens of Sleep--acres of white poppy. Villages are numerous
in the plain, but our road did not take us through many of them.
One--the village of Pei Sha--through which we rode just as the sun was
setting, was very picturesque with its wild-flowers and palm-trees. The
road degenerated as we approached the city. It had once been paved and
was no doubt an excellent causeway in time past; but as usual in China
the paving-stones had sunk crookedly and had not been repaired. It was
dark before we arrived at the end of our unusually long day's journey,
and in the hedges of the suburbs glimmering glow-worms took the place
of the wild-roses that night had rendered invisible.
Li-chiang is a small unwalled town, only dignified by the name of
a city because it is the administrative centre of a prefecture and
a district magistracy. As the capital of the old Mo-so kingdom its
situation was well chosen, for in the days of border warfare the
strategic importance of its position must have been considerable.
It stands on a small hill commanding the greater part of the plain,
and is within comparatively easy reach of the Yangtse ferries, both
on the east and on the west. No doubt the Mo-so, in the days of
their strength, made a point of holding the crossings at both places.
Li-chiang is still the residence of a Mo-so or Nashi (Lashi) chief, but
his influence is steadily waning. The great majority of the inhabitants
are of mixed race, the predominating types being Mo-so, Li-so, Lolo and
Min-chia.[267] There is also a pure Chinese element, which is gradually
tending to increase. Li-chiang is a considerable centre of trade, and
is visited by large numbers of Tibetans and "Ku-tsung" from Atuntzŭ and
the valley of the Mekong, and also by traders from Tali-fu, Yunnan-fu,
Yung Pei and the Chien-ch'ang valley. There is a broad marketplace
in the middle of the town, almost constantly occupied by loquacious
crowds of buyers and sellers of many races. There is a good deal of
green foliage in the outskirts, and much deflected water which flows
through some of the streets like little canals. To a casual observer
the streets are not very unlike those of an ordinary town in China: the
shops have much the same outward appearance, and the same charactered
sign-boards hang above their doors.
[Sidenote: REST AT LI-CHIANG]
The morning after my arrival at Li-chiang, where I found accommodation
in a very bad inn, I heard the surprising and welcome news that there
were two Englishmen staying in the town, one of them being a consular
official and the other a railway surveyor. As I had no idea that the
British Government of Burma had any present intention of extending
their railway system to northern Yunnan I decided to call upon my
compatriots and ascertain if such were the case. In the course of my
enquiries into their place of residence I discovered that one of the
Englishmen had left the town some days before, and that the other was a
Frenchman! It finally turned out that the former was a Mr Forrest, the
adventurous botanist to whose narrow escape from torture and death at
the hands of the lamas I have already referred.[268] He had been making
a short stay in Li-chiang, and had just left on a botanical expedition
to the neighbouring hills. The Frenchman was M. Gaston Perronne, a
merchant, who was engaged in the purchase of musk. He had taken a
Chinese house in Li-chiang for the period of his residence there, and
when I called upon him he most kindly insisted upon my staying with
him until I left Li-chiang. Instead of leaving on the following day,
therefore, as I had intended, I remained in Li-chiang from the evening
of the 15th May to the morning of the 18th.
FOOTNOTES:
[261] See illustration _to face page 236_.
[262] A similar great bend, only recently discovered, occurs in the
course of the Yalung. In travelling between Mien-ning-hsien, north of
Ning-yuan-fu, and Muli, the Yalung must, on account of this bend, be
crossed no less than three times. The bend was discovered by Major H.
R. Davies.
[263] See page 233.
[264] A similar story, apparently, was told to Mr Amundsen with
reference to a locality in the Muli territory.
[265] This is, I have been told, a common practice among the people of
the Upper Mekong valley, especially about Atuntzŭ.
[266] 鳴音汲.
[267] See Note 38 (p. 435).
[268] See above, p. 150.