CHAPTER XVI._An Australian in China

THE JOURNEY FROM YUNNAN CITY TO TALIFU.

I sold the mule in Yunnan City, and bought instead a little white pony

at a cost, including saddle, bridle, and bells, of _£3 6s._ In doing

this I reversed the exchange that would have been made by a Chinaman. A

mule is a more aristocratic animal than a pony; it thrives better on a

journey, and is more sure-footed. If a pony, the Chinese tell you, lets

slip one foot, the other three follow; whereas a mule, if three feet

slip from under him, will hold on with the fourth.

My men, who had come with me from Chaotong, were paid off in Yunnan; but

it was pleasant to find all three accept an offer to go on with me to

Talifu. Coolies to do this journey are usually supplied by the coolie

agents for the wage of two _chien_ a day each (_7d._), each man to carry

seventy catties (93lbs.), find himself by the way, and spend thirteen

days on the journey. But no coolies, owing to the increase in the price

of food, were now willing to go for so little. Accordingly I offered my

two coolies three taels each (_9s._), instead of the hong price of _7s.

9d._, and loads of fifty catties instead of seventy catties. I offered

to refund them 100 cash each (_2-1/2d._) a day for every day that they

had been delayed in Yunnan, and, in addition, I promised them a reward

of five mace each (_1s. 6d._) if they would take me to Tali in nine

days, instead of thirteen, the first evening not to count. To Laohwan,

who had no load to carry, but had to attend to me and the pony and pay

away the cash, I made a similar offer. These terms, involving me in an

outlay of _36s._ for hiring three men to go with me on foot 915 li, and

return empty-handed, were considered liberal, and were agreed to at

once.

The afternoon, then, of the 19th April saw us again _en route_, bound to

the west to Talifu, the most famous city in western China, the

headquarters of the Mohammedan "Sultan" during the great rebellion of

1857-1873.

By the courtesy of the Mandarin Li, two men were detailed to "sung"

me--to accompany me, that is--and take the responsibility for my safe

delivery at the next hsien. One was a "wen," a chairen, or yamen runner;

the other was a "wu," a soldier, with a sightless right eye, who was

dressed in the ragged vestiges of a uniform that reflected both the

poverty of his environment and, inversely, the richness of his

commanding officer. For in China the officer enriches himself by the

twofold expedient of drawing pay for soldiers who have no existence,

except in his statement of claim, and by diverting the pay of his

soldiers who do exist from their pockets into his own.

[Illustration: THE GIANT OF YUNNAN.]

As I was leaving, a colossal Chinaman, sent by the Fantai to speed the

foreign gentleman on his way, strode into the court. He was dressed in

military jacket and official hat and foxtails. He was the Yunnan giant,

Chang Yan Miun, a kindly-featured monster, whom it is a pity to see

buried in China when he might be holding _levées_ of thousands in a

Western side-show. For the information of those in search of novelties,

I may say that the giant is thirty years of age, a native of Tongchuan,

born of parents of ordinary stature; he is 7ft. 1in. in his bare feet,

and weighs, when in condition, 27st. 6lb. With that ingenious

arrangement for increasing height known to all showmen, this giant might

be worth investing in as a possible successor to his unrivalled

namesake. There is surely money in it. Chang's present earnings are

rather less than _7s._ a month, without board and lodging; he is

unmarried, and has no incumbrance; and he is slightly taller and much

more massively built than a well-known American giant whom I once had

permission to measure, who has been shown half over the world as the

"tallest man on earth," his height being attested as "7ft. 11in. in his

stockings' soles," and who commands the salary of an English admiral.

We made only a short march the first evening, but after that we

travelled by long stages. The country was very pretty, open glades with

clumps of pine, and here and there a magnificent sacred tree like the

banyan, under whose far-reaching branches small villages are often half

concealed. Despite the fertility of the country, poverty and starvation

met us at every step; the poor were lingering miserably through the

year. Goitre, too, was increasing in frequency. It was rarely that a

group gathered to see us some of whose members were not suffering from

this horrible deformity. And everywhere in the pretty country were signs

of the ruthless devastation of religious war. That was a war of

extermination. "A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed

every house, destroyed every temple."

Crumbling walls are at long distances from the towns they used to guard;

there are pastures and waste lands where there were streets of

buildings; walls of houses have returned whence they came to the mother

earth; others are roofless. In the open country, far from habitation,

the traveller comes across groups of bare walls with foundations still

uncovered, and dismantled arches, and broken images in the long grass,

that were formerly yamens and temples in the midst of thriving

communities. Yet there are signs of a renaissance; many new houses are

being built along the main road; walls are being repaired, and bridges

reconstructed. When an exodus takes place from Szechuen to this

province, there is little reason why Yunnan should not become one of the

richest provinces in China. It has every advantage of climate, great

fertility of soil, and immense mineral resources hardly yet developed.

It needs population. It needs the population that dwelt in the province

before the rebellion involved the death of millions. It can absorb an

immense proportion of the surplus population of China. During, and

subsequent to, the Taiping rebellion the province of Szechuen increased

by 45,000,000 in forty years (1842-82); given the necessity, there seems

no reason why the population of Yunnan should not increase in an almost

equal proportion.

On the 22nd we passed Lu-feng-hsien, another ruined town. The finest

stone bridge I have seen in Western China, and one that would arrest

attention in any country in the world, is at this town. It crosses the

wide bed of a stream that in winter is insignificant, but which grows in

volume in the rains of summer to a broad and powerful river. It is a

bridge of seven beautiful arches; it is 12 yards broad and 150 yards

long, of perfect simplicity and symmetry, with massive piers, all built

of dressed masonry and destined to survive the lapse of centuries.

Triumphal archways with memorial tablets and pedestals of carved lions

are befitting portals to a really noble work.

On the 23rd we reached the important city of Chuhsing-fu, a walled city,

still half-in-ruins, that was long occupied by the Mohammedans, and

suffered terrible reprisals on its recapture by the Imperialists. For

four days we had travelled at an average rate of one hundred and five li

(thirty-five miles) a day. I must, however, note that these distances as

estimated by Mr. Jensen, the constructor of the telegraph line, do not

agree with the distances in Mr. Baber's itinerary. The Chinese distances

in li agree in both estimates; but, whereas Mr. Jensen allows three li

for a mile, Mr. Baber allows four and a-half, a wide difference indeed.

For convenience sake I have made use of the telegraph figures, but Mr.

Baber was so scrupulously accurate in all that he wrote that I have no

doubt the telegraph distances are over-estimated.

We were again in a district almost exclusively devoted to the poppy; the

valley-plains sparkled with poppy flowers of a multiplicity of tints.

The days were pleasant, and the sun shone brightly; every plant was in

flower; doves cooed in the trees, and the bushes in blossom were bright

with butterflies. Lanes led between hedges of wild roses white with

flower, and, wherever a creek trickled across the plain, its

willow-lined borders were blue with forget-me-nots. And everywhere a

peaceful people, who never spoke a word to the foreigner that was not

friendly.

On the evening of the 24th, at a ruined town thirty li from Luho, we

received our first check. It was at a walled town, with gateways and a

pagoda that gave some indication of its former prosperity, prettily

situated among the trees on the confines of a plain of remarkable

fertility. Near sundown we passed down the one long street, all battered

and dismantled, which is all that is left of the old town. News of the

foreigner quickly spread, and the people gathered into the street to

see me--no reception could be more flattering. We did not wait, but,

pushing on, we passed out by the west gate and hastened on across the

plain. But I noticed that Laohwan kept looking back at the impoverished

town, shaking his head and stuttering "_pu-pu-pu-pu-hao! pu-pu-pu-hao!_"

(bad! bad!) We had thus gone half a mile or so, when we were arrested by

cries behind us, and our last chairen was seen running, panting, after

us. We waited for him; he was absurdly excited, and could hardly speak.

He made an address to me, speaking with great energy and gesticulation;

but what was its purport, _Dios sabe_. When he had finished, not to be

outdone in politeness, I thanked him in English for the kindly phrases

in which he had spoken to me, assured him of my continued sympathy, and

undertook to say that, if ever he came to Geelong, he would find there a

house at his disposition, and a friend who would be ever ready to do him

a service. He seemed completely mystified, and began to speak again,

more excitedly than before. It was getting late, and a crowd was

collecting, so I checked him by waving my left hand before my face and

bawling at him with all my voice: "_Putung_, you stupid ass, _putung_ (I

don't understand)! Can't you see I don't understand a word you say, you

benighted heathen you? _Putung_, man, _putung_! Advance Australia, _dzo_

(go)!" And, swinging open my umbrella, I walked on. His excitement

increased--we must go back to the town; he seized me by the wrists, and

urged me to go back. We had a slight discussion; his feet gave from

under him and he fell down, and I was going on cheerfully when he burst

out crying. This I interpreted to mean that he would get into trouble if

I did not return, so, of course, I turned back at once, for the tears

of a Chinaman are sadly affecting. Back, then, we were taken to an

excellent inn in the main street, where a respectful _levée_ of the

townsfolk had assembled to welcome me. A polite official called upon me,

to whom I showed, with simulated indignation, my official card and my

Chinese passport, and I hinted to him in English that this interference

with my rights as a traveller from England, protected by the favour of

the Emperor, would--let him mark my word--be made an international

question. While saying this, I inadvertently left on my box, so that all

might see it, the letter of introduction to the Brigadier-General in

Tengyueh, which was calculated to give the natives an indication of the

class of Chinese who had the privilege to be admitted to my friendship.

The official was very polite and apologetic. I freely forgave him, and

we had tea together.

He had done it all for the best. A moneyed foreigner was passing through

his town near sundown without stopping to spend a single cash there. Was

it not his duty, as a public-spirited man, to interfere and avert this

loss, and compel the stranger to spend at least one night within his

gates?

This was what I wrote at the time. I subsequently found that I had been

sent for to come back because the road was believed to be dangerous,

there was no secure resting-place, and the authorities could not

guarantee my safety. Imagine a Chinese in a Western country acting with

the bluster that I did, although in good humour; I wonder whether he

would be treated with the courtesy that those Chinamen showed to me!

On the 25th an elderly chairen was ready to accompany us in the morning,

and he remained with us all day. All day he was engrossed in deep

thought. He spoke to no one, but he kept a watchful eye over his charge,

never leaving me a moment, but dogging my very footsteps all the

hundred li we travelled together. Poorly clad, he was better provided

than his brother of yesterday in that he wore sandals, whereas the

chairen of yesterday was in rags and barefoot. He was, of course,

unprovided with weapon of any kind--it was moral force that he relied

on. Over his shoulder was slung a bag from which projected his

opium-pipe; a tobacco pipe and tobacco box hung at his girdle; a green

glass bottle of crude opium he carried round his neck.

The chairen is the policeman of China, the lictor of the magistrate, the

satellite of the official; the soldier is the representative of military

authority. Now, China, in the person of her greatest statesman, Li Hung

Chang, has, through the secretary of the Anti-Opium Society, called upon

England "to aid her in the efforts she is now making to suppress opium."

If, then, China is sincere in her alleged efforts to abolish opium, it

is the chairen and the soldier who must be employed by the authorities

to suppress the evil; yet I have never been accompanied by either a

chairen or a soldier who did not smoke opium, nor have I to my knowledge

ever met a chairen or a soldier who was not an opium-smoker. Through all

districts of Yunnan, wherever the soil permits it, the poppy is grown

for miles, as far as the sight can reach, on every available acre, on

both sides of the road.

But why does China grow this poppy? Have not the _literati_ and elders

of Canton written to support the schemes of the Anti-Opium Society in

these thrilling words: "If Englishmen wish to know the sentiments of

China, here they are:--If we are told to let things go on as they are

going, then there is no remedy and no salvation for China. Oh! it makes

the blood run cold, and we want in this our extremity to ask the

question of High Heaven, what unknown crimes or atrocity have the

Chinese people committed beyond all others that they are doomed to

suffer thus?" (Cited by Mr. S. S. Mander, _China's Millions_, iv., 156.)

And the women of Canton, have they not written to the missionaries "that

there is no tear that they shed that is not red with blood because of

this opium?" ("China," by M. Reed, p. 63). Why, then, does China, while

she protests against the importation of a drug which a Governor of

Canton, himself an opium-smoker, described as a "vile excrementitious

substance" ("Barrow's Travels," p. 153), sanction, if not foster, with

all the weight of the authorities in the ever-extending opium-districts

the growth of the poppy? To the Rev. G. Piercy (formerly of the W.M.S.,

Canton), we are indebted for the following explanation of this anomaly:

China, it appears, is growing opium in order to put a stop to

opium-smoking.

"Moreover, China has not done with the evils of opium, even if our hands

were washed of this traffic to-day. China in her desperation has invoked

Satan to cast out Satan. She now grows her own opium, vainly dreaming

that, if the Indian supply lapse, she can then deal with this rapidly

growing evil. But Satan is not divided against himself; he means his

kingdom to stand. Opium-growing will not destroy opium-smoking."

(Missionary Conference of 1888, _Records_, ii., 546.)

"Yet the awful guilt remains," said the Ven. Archdeacon Farrar on a

recent occasion in Westminster Abbey, "that we, 'wherever winds blow and

waters roll,' have girdled the world with a zone of drunkenness, until I

seem to shudder as I think of the curses, not loud but deep, muttered

against our name by races which our fire-water has decimated and our

vice degraded." (_National Righteousness_, December 1892, p. 4.)

And this patriotic utterance of a distinguished Englishman the Chinese

will quote in unexpected support of the memorial "On the Restriction of

Christianity" addressed to the Throne of China in 1884 by the High

Commissioner Pêng Yü-lin, which memorial stated in severe language that

"_since the treaties have permitted foreigners from the West to spread

their doctrines, the morals of the people have been greatly injured_."

("The Causes of the Anti-Foreign Disturbances in China." Rev. Gilbert

Reid, M.A., p. 9.)

Forty li from our sleeping place we came to the pretty town of

Shachiaokai, on some undulating high ground well sheltered with trees.

Justice had lately been here with her headsman and brought death to a

gang of malefactors. Their heads, swinging in wooden cages, hung from

the tower near the gateway. They could be seen by all persons passing

along the road, and, with due consideration for the feelings of the

bereaved relatives, they were hung near enough for the features to be

recognised by their friends. Each head was in a cage of its own, and was

suspended by the pigtail to the rim, so that it might not lie upside

down but could by-and-by rattle in its box as dead men's bones should

do. To each cage a white ticket was attached giving the name of the

criminal and his confession of the offence for which he was executed.

They were the heads of highway robbers who had murdered two travellers

on the road near Chennan-chow, and it was this circumstance which

accounted for the solicitude of the officials near Luho to prevent our

being benighted in a district where such things were possible.

[Illustration: THE "EAGLE NEST BARRIER," ON THE ROAD BETWEEN YUNNAN AND

TALIFU.]

Midway between Shachiaokai and Pupêng there was steep climbing to be

done till we reached Ying-wu-kwan, the "Eagle Nest Barrier," which is

more than 8000 feet above the sea. Then by very hilly and poor country

we came to Pupêng, and, pursuing our way over a thickly-peopled plateau,

we reached a break in the high land from which we descended into a wide

and deep valley, skirted with villages and gleaming with sheets of

water--the submerged rice-fields. At the foot of the steep was a poor

mud town, but, standing back from it in the fields, was a splendid

Taoist temple fit for a capital. In this village we were delayed for

nearly an hour while my three men bargained against half the village for

the possession of a hen that was all unconscious of the comments,

flattering and deprecatory, that were being passed on its fatness. It

was secured eventually for 260 cash, the vendors having declared that

the hen was a family pet, hatched on a lucky day, that it had been

carefully and tenderly reared, and that nothing in the world could

induce them to part with it for a cash less than 350. My men with equal

confidence, based upon long experience in the purchase of poultry,

asserted that the real value of the hen was 200 cash, and that not a

single cash more of the foreign gentleman's money could they

conscientiously invest in such a travesty of a hen as _that_. But little

by little each party gave way till they were able to _tomber d'accord_.

A pleasant walk across the busy plain brought us to Yunnan Yeh, where we

passed the night.

On the 27th we had an unsatisfactory day's journey. We travelled only

seventy li over an even road, yet with four good hours of daylight

before us my men elected to stop when we came to the village of

Yenwanshan. We had left the main road for some unknown reason, and were

taking a short cut over the mountains to Tali. But a short-cut in China

often means the longest distance, and I was sure that this short-cut

would bring us to Tali a day later than if we had gone by the main

road--in ten days, that is, from Yunnan, instead of the nine which my

men had promised me. Laohwan, who, like most Chinaman I met, persisted

in thinking that I was deaf, yelled to me in the presence of the village

that the next stopping place was twenty miles distant, that "_mitte

liao! mitte liao!_" ("there were no beans") on the way for the pony, and

that assuredly we would reach Tali to-morrow, having given the pony the

admirable rest that here offered. As he stammered these sentences the

people supported what he said. Obviously their statements were _ex

parte_, and were promoted solely by the desire to see the distinguished

foreign mandarin sojourn for one night in their hungry midst. So here I

was detained in a tumble-down inn that had formerly been a temple. All

of us, men and master, were housed in the old guest-room. Beds were

formed of disused coffin boards, laid between steps made of clods of dry

clay; the floor was earth, the windows paper. The pony was feeding from

a trough in the temple hall itself, an armful of excellent grass before

it, while a bucket of beans was soaking for him in our corner. Other

mules and ponies were stationed in the side pavilions where formerly

were displayed the scenes of torture in the Buddhist Hells.

As I wrote at a table by the window, a crowd collected, stretching

across the street and quarrelling to catch a glimpse of the foreign

teacher and his strange method of writing, so different from the

Chinese. Poor sickly people were these--of the ten in the first row

three were suffering from goitre, one from strabismus, and two from

ophthalmia. All were poorly clad and poorly nourished; all were very

dirty, and their heads were unshaven of the growth of days. But, despite

their poverty, nearly all the women, the children as well as the

grandmothers, wore silver earrings of pretty filigree.

Now, even among these poor people, I noticed that there was a

disposition rather to laugh at me than to open the eyes of wonder; and

this is a peculiarity of the Chinese which every traveller will be

struck with. It often grieved me. During my journey, although I was

treated with undeniable friendliness, I found that the Chinese, instead

of being impressed by my appearance, would furtively giggle when they

saw me. But they were never openly rude like the coloured folk were in

Jamaica, when, stranded in their beautiful island, I did them the honour

to go as a "walk-foot buccra" round the sugar plantations from Ewarton

to Montego Bay. Even poor ragged fellows, living in utter misery, would

laugh and snigger at me when not observed, and crack jokes at the

foreigner who was well-fed, well-clad, and well-mounted in a way you

would think to excite envy rather than derision. But Chinese laughter

seems to be moved by different springs from ours. The Chinaman makes

merry in the presence of death. A Chinaman, come to announce to you the

death of a beloved parent or brother, laughs heartily as he tells

you--you might think he was overflowing with joy, but he is really sick

and sore at heart, and is only laughing to deceive the spirits. So it

may be that the poor beggars who laughed at that noble presence which

has been the admiration of my friends in four continents, were moved to

do so by the hope to deceive the evil spirits who had punished them with

poverty, and so by their apparent gaiety induce them to relax the

severity of their punishment.

To within two or three miles of this village the road was singularly

level; I do not think that it either rose or fell 100 feet in twenty

miles. Forty li from where we slept the night before, having previously

left the main road, we came to the large walled town of Yunnan-hsien.

The streets were crowded, for it was market day, and both sides of the

main thoroughfares, especially in the vicinity of the Confucian Temple,

were thronged with peasant women selling garden produce, turnips, beans

and peas, and live fish caught in the lake beyond Tali. Articles of

Western trade were also for sale--stacks of calico, braid, and thread,

"new impermeable matches made in Trieste," and "toilet soap of the

finest quality." I had a royal reception as I rode through the crowd,

and the street where was situated the inn to which we went for lunch

speedily became impassable. There was keen competition to see me. Two

thieves were among the foremost, with huge iron crowbars chained to

their necks and ankles, while a third prisoner, with his head pilloried

in a _cangue_, obstructed the gaze of many. There was the most admirable

courtesy shown me; it was the "foreign teacher" they wished to see, not

the "foreign devil." When I rose from the table, half a dozen guests

sitting at the other tables rose also and bowed to me as I passed out.

Of all people I have ever met, the Chinese are, I think, the politest.

My illiterate Laohwan, who could neither read nor write, had a courtesy

of demeanour, a well-bred ease of manner, a graceful deference that

never approached servility, which it was a constant pleasure to me to

witness.

As regards the educated classes, there can be little doubt, I think,

that there are no people in the world so scrupulously polite as the

Chinese. Their smallest actions on all occasions of ceremony are

governed by the most minute rules. Let me give, as an example, the

method of cross-examination to which the stranger is subjected, and

which is a familiar instance of true politeness in China.

When a well-bred Chinaman, of whatever station, meets you for the first

time, he thus addresses you, first asking you how old you are:

"What is your honourable age?"

"I have been dragged up a fool so many years," you politely reply.

"What is your noble and exalted occupation?"

"My mean and contemptible calling is that of a doctor."

"What is your noble patronymic?"

"My poverty-struck family name is Mô."

"How many honourable and distinguished sons have you?"

"Alas! Fate has been niggardly; I have not even one little bug."

But, if you can truthfully say that you are the honourable father of

sons, your interlocutor will raise his clasped hands and say gravely,

"Sir, you are a man of virtue; I congratulate you." He continues--

"How many tens of thousands of pieces of silver have you?" meaning how

many daughters have you?

"My yatows" (forked heads or slave children), "my daughters," you answer

with a deprecatory shrug, "number so many."

So the conversation continues, and the more minute are the inquiries the