THE CITY OF WANHSIEN, AND THE JOURNEY FROM WANHSIEN TO CHUNGKING.
At daylight, on March 1st, we were abreast of the many storied pagoda,
whose lofty position, commanding the approach to the city, brings good
fortune to the city of Wanhsien. A beautiful country is this--the
chocolate soil richly tilled, the sides of the hills dotted with
farmhouses in groves of bamboo and cedar, with every variety of green in
the fields, shot through with blazing patches of the yellow rape-seed.
The current was swift, the water was shallow where we were tracking, and
we were constantly aground in the shingle; but we rounded the point, and
Wanhsien was before us. This is the half-way city between Ichang and
Chungking. My smart laoban dressed himself in his best to be ready to go
ashore with me; he was jubilant at his skill in bringing me so quickly.
"Sampan number one! goddam!" he said; and, holding up two hands, he
turned down seven fingers to show that we had come in seven days. Then
he pointed to other boats that we were passing, and counted on his
fingers fifteen, whereby I knew he was demonstrating that, had I gone in
any other boat but his, I should have been fifteen days on the way
instead of seven.
An immense number of junks of all kinds were moored to the bank, bow on.
Many of them were large vessels, with hulls like that of an Aberdeen
clipper. Many carry foreign flags, by which they are exempt from the
Chinese likin duties, so capricious in their imposition, and pay instead
a general five per cent. _ad valorem_ duty on their cargoes, which is
levied by the Imperial Maritime Customs, and collected either in
Chungking or Ichang. From one to the other, with boathooks and paddle,
we crept past the outer wings of their balanced rudders till we reached
the landing place. On the rocks at the landing a bevy of women were
washing, beating their hardy garments with wooden flappers against the
stones; but they ceased their work as the foreign devil, in his uncouth
garb, stepped ashore in their midst. Wanhsien is not friendly to
foreigners in foreign garb. I did not know this, and went ashore dressed
as a European. Never have I received such a spontaneous welcome as I did
in this city; never do I wish to receive such another. I landed at the
mouth of the small creek which separates the large walled city to the
east from the still larger city beyond the walls to the west. My laoban
was with me. We passed through the washerwomen. Boys and ragamuffins
hanging about the shipping saw me, and ran towards me, yelling: "_Yang
kweitze, Yang kweitze_" (foreign devil, foreign devil).
Behind the booths a story-teller had gathered a crowd; in a moment he
was alone and the crowd were following me up the hill, yelling and
howling with a familiarity most offensive to a sensitive stranger. My
sturdy boy wished me to produce my passport which is the size of an
admiral's ensign, but I was not such a fool as to do so for it had to
serve me for many months yet. With this taunting noisy crowd I had to
walk on as if I enjoyed the demonstration. I stopped once and spoke to
the crowd, and, as I knew no Chinese, I told them in gentle English of
the very low opinion their conduct led me to form of the moral
relations of their mothers, and the resignation with which it induced me
to contemplate the hyperpyretic surroundings of their posthumous
existence; and, borrowing the Chinese imprecation, I ventured to express
the hope that when their souls return again to earth they may dwell in
the bodies of hogs, since they appeared to me the only habitations meet
for them.
But my words were useless. With a smiling face, but rage at my heart, I
led the procession up the creek to a stone bridge where large numbers
left me, only to have their places taken on the other bank by a still
more enthusiastic gathering. I stopped here a moment in the jostling
crowd to look up-stream at that singular natural bridge, which an
enormous mass of stone has formed across the creek, and I could see the
high arched bridge beyond it, which stretches from bank to bank in one
noble span, and is so high above the water that junks can pass under it
in the summer time when the rains swell this little stream into a broad
and navigable river.
Then we climbed the steep bank into the city and entering by a dirty
narrow street we emerged into the main thoroughfare, the crowd still
following and the shops emptying into the street to see me. We passed
the Mohammedan Mosque, the Roman Catholic Mission, the City Temple, to a
Chinese house where I was slipped into the court and the door shut, and
then into another to find that I was in the home of the China Inland
Mission, and that the pigtailed celestial receiving me at the steps was
Mr. Hope Gill. It was my clothes I then learnt that had caused the
manifestation in my honour. An hour later, when I came out again into
the street, the crowd was waiting still to see me, but it was
disappointed to see me now dressed like one of themselves. In the
meantime I had resumed my Chinese dress. "Look," the people said, "at
the foreigner; he had on foreign dress, and now he is dressed in Chinese
even to his queue. Look at his queue, it is false." I took off my hat to
scratch my head. "Look," they shouted again, "at his queue; it is stuck
to the inside of his hat." But they ceased to follow me.
There are three Missionaries in Wanhsien of the China Inland Mission,
one of whom is from Sydney. The mission has been opened six years, and
has been fairly successful, or completely unsuccessful, according to the
point of view of the inquirer.
Mr. Hope Gill, the senior member of the mission, is a most earnest good
man, who works on in his discouraging task with an enthusiasm and
devotion beyond all praise. A Premillennialist, he preaches without
ceasing throughout the city; and his preaching is earnest and
indiscriminate. His method has been sarcastically likened by the
Chinese, in the words of one of their best-known aphorisms, to the
unavailing efforts of a "blind fowl picking at random after worms."
Nearly all the Chinese in Wanhsien have heard the doctrine described
with greater or less unintelligibility, and it is at their own risk if
they still refuse to be saved.
During the cholera epidemic this brave man never left his post; he never
refused a call to attend the sick and dying, and, at the risk of his
own, saved many lives. And what is his reward? This work he did, the
Chinese say, not from a disinterested love of his fellows, which was his
undoubted motive, but to accumulate merit for himself in the invisible
world beyond the grave. "Gratitude," says this missionary, and it is the
opinion of many, "is a condition of heart, or of mind, which seems to be
incapable of existence in the body of a Chinaman." Yet other
missionaries tell me that no man can possess a livelier sense of
gratitude than a Chinaman, or manifest it with more sincerity. "If our
words are compared to the croaking of the frog, we heed it not, but
freely express the feelings of our heart," are actual words addressed by
a grateful Chinese patient to the first medical missionary in China. And
the Chinaman himself will tell you, says Smith, "that it does not follow
that, because he does not exhibit gratitude he does not feel it. When
the dumb man swallows a tooth he may not say much about it, but it is
all inside."
Since its foundation in 1887, the Inland Mission of Wanhsien has been
conducted with brave perseverance. There are, unfortunately, no
converts, but there are three hopeful "inquirers," whose conversion
would be the more speedy the more likely they were to obtain employment
afterwards. They argue in this way; they say, to quote the words used by
the Rev. G. L. Mason at the Shanghai Missionary Conference of 1890, "if
the foreign teacher will take care of our bodies, we will do him the
favour to seek the salvation of our souls." This question of the
employment of converts is one of the chief difficulties of the
missionary in China. "The idea (derived from Buddhism) is universally
prevalent in China," says the Rev. C. W. Mateer, "that everyone who
enters any sect should live by it.... When a Chinaman becomes a
Christian he expects to live by his Christianity."
One of the three inquirers was shown me; he was described as the most
advanced of the three in knowledge of the doctrine. Now I do not wish to
write unkindly, but I am compelled to say that this man was a poor,
wretched, ragged coolie, who sells the commonest gritty cakes in a
rickety stall round the corner from the mission, who can neither read
nor write, and belongs to a very humble order of blunted intelligence.
The poor fellow is the father of a little girl of three, an only child,
who is both deaf and dumb. And there is the fear that his fondness for
the little one tempts him to give hope to the missionaries that in him
they are to see the first fruit of their toil, the first in the district
to be saved by their teaching, while he nurses a vague hope that, when
the foreign teachers regard him as adequately converted, they may be
willing to restore speech and hearing to his poor little offspring. It
is a scant harvest.
After a Chinese dinner the missionary and I went for a walk into the
country. In the main street we met a troop of beggars, each with a bowl
of rice and garbage and a long stick, with a few tattered rags hanging
round his loins--they were the poorest poor I had ever seen. They were
the beggars of the city, who had just received their midday meal at the
"Wanhsien Ragged Homes." There are three institutions of the kind in the
city for the relief of the destitute; they are entirely supported by
charity, and are said to have an average annual income of 40,000 taels.
Wanhsien is a very rich city, with wealthy merchants and great salt
hongs. The landed gentry and the great junk owners have their town
houses here. The money distributed by the townspeople in private charity
is unusually great even for a Chinese city. Its most public-spirited
citizen is Ch'en, one of the merchant princes of China whose
transactions are confined exclusively to the products of his own
country. Starting life with an income of one hundred taels, bequeathed
him by his father, Ch'en has now agents all over the empire, and
mercantile dealings which are believed to yield him a clear annual
income of a quarter of a million taels. His probity is a by-word; his
benefactions have enriched the province. That cutting in the face of the
cliff in the Feng-hsiang Gorge near Kweichou-fu, where a pathway for
trackers has been hewn out of the solid rock, was done at his expense,
and is said to have cost one hundred thousand taels. Not only by his
benefactions has Ch'en laid up for himself merit in heaven, but he has
already had his reward in this world. His son presented himself for the
M.A. examination for the Hanlin degree, the highest academical degree in
the Empire. Everyone in China knows that success in this examination is
dependent upon the favour of Wunchang-te-keun, the god of literature
(Taoist) "who from generation to generation hath sent his miraculous
influence down upon earth", and, as the god had seen with approbation
the good works done by the father, he gave success to the son. When the
son returned home after his good fortune, he was met beyond the walls
and escorted into the city with royal honours; his success was a triumph
for the city which gave him birth.
A short walk and we were out of the city, following a flagged path with
flights of steps winding up the hill through levelled terraces rich with
every kind of cereal, and with abundance of poppy. Splendid views of one
of the richest agricultural regions in the world are here unfolded. Away
down in the valley is the palatial family mansion of Pien, one of the
wealthiest yeomen in the province. Beyond you see the commencement of
the high road, a paved causeway eight feet wide, which extends for
hundreds of miles to Chentu, the capital of the province, and takes rank
as the finest work of its kind in the empire. On every hill-top is a
fort. That bolder than the rest commanding the city at a distance of
five miles, is on the "Hill of Heavenly Birth." It was built, says
Hobson, during the Taiping Rebellion; it existed, says the missionary,
before the present dynasty; discrepant statements characteristic of this
country of contradictions. But, whether thirty or two hundred and fifty
years old, the fort is now one in name only, and is at present occupied
by a garrison of peaceful peasantry.
Chinamen that we met asked us politely "if we had eaten our rice," and
"whither were we going." We answered correctly. But when with equal
politeness we asked the wayfarer where he was going, he jerked his chin
towards the horizon and said, "a long way."
We called at the residence of a rich young Chinese, who had lately
received it in his inheritance, together with 3000 acres of farmland,
which, we were told, yield him an annual income of 70,000 taels. In the
absence of the master, who was away in the country reading with his
tutor for the Hanlin degree, we were received by the caretakers, who
showed us the handsome guest chambers, the splendid gilded tablet, the
large courts, and garden rockeries. A handsome residence is this,
solidly built of wood and masonry, and with the trellis work carved with
much elaboration.
It was late when we returned to the mission, and after dark when I went
on board my little wupan. My boys had not been idle. They had bought new
provisions of excellent quality, and had made the boat much more
comfortable. The three kind missionaries came down to wish me Godspeed.
Brave men! they deserve a kinder fortune than has been their fate
hitherto. We crossed the river and anchored above the city, ready
against an early start in the morning.
The day after leaving Wanhsien was the first time that we required any
assistance on our journey from another junk; it was cheerfully given.
Our towrope had chafed through, and we were in a difficulty, attempting
to pass a bad rapid among the rocks, when a large junk was hauled bodily
past us, and, seeing our plight, hooked on to us and towed us with them
out of danger. On this night we anchored under the Sentinel Rock
(Shih-pao-chai), perhaps the most remarkable landmark on the river. From
two hundred to three hundred feet high, and sixty feet wide at the base,
it is a detached rock, cleft vertically from a former cliff. A
nine-storied pagoda has been inset into the south-eastern face, and
temple buildings crown the summit.
It was surprising how well my men lived on board the boat. They had
three good meals a day, always with rice and abundance of vegetables,
and frequently with a little pork. Cooking was done while we were under
way; for the purpose we had two little earthenware stoves, two pans, and
a kettle. All along the river cabbages and turnips are abundant and
cheap. Bumboats, laden to the rail, waylay the boats _en route_, and
offer an armful of fresh vegetables for the equivalent in copper cash of
three-eighths of a penny. Other boats peddle firewood, cut short and
bound in little bundles, and sticks of charcoal. Coal is everywhere
abundant, and there are excellent briquettes for sale, made of a mixture
of clay and coal-dust.
All day long now for the rest of our voyage we sailed through a
beautiful country. From the hill tops to the water's edge the hillsides
are levelled into a succession of terraces; there are cereals and the
universal poppy, pretty hamlets, and thriving little villages; a river
half a mile wide thronged with every kind of river craft, and back in
the distance snow-clad mountains. There are bamboo sheds at every point,
with coils of bamboo towrope, mats, and baskets, and huge Szechuen hats
as wide as an umbrella.
On the morning of March 5th I was awakened by loud screaming and yelling
ahead of us. I squeezed out of my cabin, and saw a huge junk looming
down upon us. In an awkward rapid its towline had parted, and the huge
structure tumbling uncontrolled in the water, was bearing down on us,
broadside on. It seemed as if we should be crushed against the rocks,
and we must have been, but for the marvellous skill with which the
sailors on the junk, just at the critical time, swung their vessel out
of danger. They were yelling with discord, but worked together as one
man.
In the afternoon we were at Feng-tu-hsien, a flourishing river port, one
of the principal outlets of the opium traffic of the Upper Yangtse. Next
day we were at Fuchou, the other opium port, whose trade in opium is
greater still than that of Feng-tu-hsien. It is at the junction of a
large tributary--the Kung-t'-an-ho, which is navigable for large vessels
for more than two hundred miles. Large numbers of the Fuchou junks were
moored here, which differ in construction from all other junks on the
river Yangtse in having their great sterns twisted or wrung a quarter
round to starboard, and in being steered by an immense stern sweep, and
not by the balanced rudder of an ordinary junk.
The following day, after a long day's work, we moored beyond the town of
Chang-show-hsien. Here I paid the laoban 2000 cash, whereupon he paid
his men something on account, and then blandly suggested a game of
cards. He was fast winning back his money, when I intervened and bade
them turn in, as I wished to make an early start in the morning. The
river seemed to get broader, deeper, and more rapid as we ascended; the
trackers, on the contrary, became thinner, narrower, and more decrepit.
On March 8th, our fourteenth day out, disaster nearly overtook us when
within a day's sail of our destination. Next day we reached Chungking
safely, having done by some days the fastest journey on record up the
Yangtse rapids. My captain and his young crew had finished the journey
within the time agreed upon.
[Illustration: THE RIVER YANGTSE AT TUNG-LO-HSIA.]
[Illustration: MEMORIAL ARCHWAY AT THE FORT OF FU-TO-KUAN.]