THE MEKONG AND SALWEEN RIVERS--HOW TO TRAVEL IN CHINA.
To-day, May 7th, we crossed the River Mekong, even at this distance from
Siam a broad and swift stream. The river flows into the light from a
dark and gloomy gorge, takes a sharp bend, and rolls on between the
mountains. Where it issues from the gorge a suspension bridge has been
stretched across the stream. A wonderful pathway zigzags down the face
of the mountain to the river, in an almost vertical incline of 2000ft.
At the riverside an embankment of dressed stone, built up from the rock,
leads for some hundreds of feet along the bank, where there would
otherwise have been no foothold, to the clearing by the bridge. The
likin-barrier is here, and a teahouse or two, and the guardian temple.
The bridge itself is graceful and strong, swinging easily 30ft. above
the current; it is built of powerful chains, carried from bank to bank
and held by masses of solid masonry set in the bed-rock. It is 60 yards
long and 10ft. wide, is floored with wood, and has a picket parapet
supported by lateral chains. From the river a path led us up to a small
village, where my men rested to gather strength. For facing us were the
mountain heights, which had to be escaladed before we could leave the
river gulch. Then with immense toil we climbed up the mountain path by
a rocky staircase of thousands of steps, till, worn out, and with
"Bones" nearly dead, we at length reached the narrow defile near the
summit, whence an easy road brought us in the early evening to Shuichai
(6700ft.).
In the course of one afternoon we had descended 2000ft. to the river
(4250ft. above the sea), and had then climbed 2450ft. to Shuichai. And
the ascent from the river was steeper than the descent into it; yet the
railway which is to be built over this trade-route between Burma and
Yunnan will have other engineering difficulties to contend with even
greater than this.
My soldier to-day was a boy of fifteen or sixteen. He was armed with a
revolver, and bore himself valiantly. But his revolver was more
dangerous in appearance than in effect, for the cylinder would not
revolve, the hammer was broken short off, and there were no cartridges.
Everywhere the weapon was examined with curiosity blended with awe, and
I imagine that the Chinese were told strange tales of its deadliness.
Next morning we continued by easy gradients to Talichao (7700ft.),
rising 1000ft. in rather less than seven miles. It was bitterly cold in
the mists of the early morning. But twenty miles further the road dipped
again to the sunshine and warmth of the valley of Yungchang, where, in
the city made famous by Marco Polo, we found comfortable quarters in an
excellent inn.
Yungchang is a large town, strongly walled. It is, however, only a
remnant of the old city, acres of houses having been destroyed during
the insurrection, when for three years, it is said, Imperialists and
Mohammedans were contending for its possession. There is a telegraph
station in the town. The streets are broad and well-paved, the inns
large, and the temples flourishing. One fortunate circumstance the
traveller will notice in Yungchang--there is a marked diminution in the
number of cases of goitre. And the diminution is not confined to the
town, but is apparent from this point right on to Burma.
Long after our arrival in Yungchang my opium-eating coolie "Bones" had
not come, and we had to wait for him in anger and annoyance. He had my
hamper of eatables and my bundle of bedding. Tired of waiting for him, I
went for a walk to the telegraph office and was turning to come back,
when I met the faithful skeleton, a mile from the inn, walking along as
if to a funeral, his neck elongating from side to side like a camel's, a
lean and hungry look in his staring eyes, his bones crackling inside his
skin. Continuing in the direction that he was going when I found him, he
might have reached Thibet in time, but never Burma. I led him back to
the hotel, where he ruefully showed me his empty string of cash, as if
that had been the cause of his delay; he had only 6 cash left, and he
wanted an advance.
This was the worst coolie I had in my employ during my journey. But he
was a good-natured fellow and honest. He was better educated, too, than
most of the other coolies, and could both read and write. His dress on
march was characteristic of the man. He was nearly naked; his clothes
hardly hung together; he wore no sandals on his feet; but round his neck
he carried a small earthenware phial of opium ash. In the early stages
he delayed us all an hour or two every day, but he improved as we went
further. And then he was so long and thin, so grotesque in his gait, and
afforded me such frequent amusement, that I would not willingly have
exchanged him for the most active coolie in China.
[Illustration: INSIDE VIEW OF A SUSPENSION BRIDGE IN FAR WESTERN CHINA.]
On the 9th we had a long and steep march west from the plain of
Yungchang. At Pupiao I had a public lunch. It was market day, and the
country people enjoyed the rare pleasure of seeing a foreigner feed. The
street past the inn was packed in a few minutes, and the innkeeper had
all he could do to attend to the many customers who wished to take tea
at the same time as the foreigner. I was now used to these
demonstrations. I could eat on with undisturbed equanimity. On such
occasions I made it a practice, when I had finished and was leaving the
inn, to turn round and bow gravely to the crowd, thanking them in a few
kindly words of English, for the reception they had accorded me. At the
same time I took the opportunity of mentioning that they would
contribute to the comfort of future travellers, if only they would pay a
little more attention to their table manners. Then, addressing the
innkeeper, I thought it only right to point out to him that it was
absurd to expect that one small black cloth should wipe all cups and
cup-lids, all tables, all spilt tea, and all dishes, all through the
day, without getting dirty. Occasionally, too, I pointed out another
defect of management to the innkeeper, and told him that, while I
personally had an open mind on the subject, other travellers might come
his way who would disapprove, for instance--he would pardon my
mentioning it--of the manure coolie passing through the restaurant with
his buckets at mealtime, and halting by the table to see the stranger
eat.
When I spoke in this way quite seriously and bowed, those whose eyes met
mine always bowed gravely in return. And for the next hour on the track
my men would tell each other, with cackles of laughter, how Mô Shensen,
their master, mystified the natives.
From Pupiao we had a pleasant ride over a valley-plain, between hedges
of cactus in flower and bushes of red roses, past graceful clumps of
bamboo waving like ostrich feathers. By-and-by drizzling rain came on
and compelled us to seek shelter in the only inn in a poor
out-of-the-way hamlet. But I could not stop here, because the best room
in the inn was already occupied by a military officer of some
distinction, a colonel, on his way, like ourselves, to Tengyueh. An
official chair with arched poles fitted for four bearers was in the
common-room; the mules of his attendants were in the stables, and were
valuable animals. The landlord offered me another room, an inferior one;
but I waved the open fingers of my left hand before my face and said,
"_puyao! puyao!_" (I don't want it, I don't want it). For I was not so
foolish or inconsistent as to be content with a poorer quarter of the
inn than that occupied by the officer, whatever his button. I could not
acknowledge to the Chinese that any Chinaman travelling in the Middle
Kingdom was my equal, let alone my superior. Refusing to remain, I
waited in the front room until the rain should lift and allow us to
proceed. But we did not require to go on. It happened as I expected. The
Colonel sent for me, and, bowing to me, showed by signs that one half
his room was at my service. In return for his politeness he had the
privilege of seeing me eat. With both hands I offered him in turn every
one of my dishes. Afterwards I showed him my photographs--I treated him,
indeed, with proper condescension.
On the 10th we crossed the famous River Salween (2600 ft.). Through an
open tableland, well grassed and sparsely wooded, we came at length to
the cleft in the hills from which is obtained the first view of the
river valley. There was a small village here, and, while we were taking
tea, a soldier came hurriedly down the road, who handed me a letter
addressed in Chinese. I confess that at the moment I had a sudden
misgiving that some impediment was to be put in the way of my journey.
But it was nothing more than a telegram from Mr. Jensen in Yunnan,
telling me of the decision of the Chinese Government to continue the
telegraph to the frontier of Burma. The telegram was written by the
Chinese operator in Yungchang in a neat round hand, without any error of
spelling; it had come to Yungchang after my departure, and had been
courteously forwarded by the Chinese manager. The soldier who brought it
had made a hurried march of thirty-eight miles before overtaking me, and
deserved a reward. I motioned Laotseng, my cash-bearer, to give him a
present, and he meanly counted out 25 cash, and was about to give them,
when I ostentatiously increased the amount to 100 cash. The soldier was
delighted; the onlookers were charmed with this exhibition of Western
munificence. Suppose a rich Chinese traveller in England, who spoke no
English, were to offer Tommy Atkins twopence halfpenny for travelling on
foot thirty-eight miles to bring him a telegram, having then to walk
back thirty-eight miles and find himself on the way, would the English
soldier bow as gratefully as did his perishing Chinese brother when I
thus rewarded him?
We descended by beautiful open country into the Valley of the Shadow of
Death--the valley of the River Salween. No other part of Western China
has the evil repute of this valley; its unhealthiness is a by-word. "It
is impossible to pass," says Marco Polo; "the air in summer is so impure
and bad and any foreigner attempting it would die for certain."
The Salween was formerly the boundary between Burma and China, and it is
to be regretted that at the annexation of Upper Burma England did not
push her frontier back to its former position. But the delimitation of
the frontier of Burma is not yet complete. No time could be more
opportune for its completion than the present, when China is distracted
by her difficulties with Japan. China disheartened could need but little
persuasion to accede to the just demand of England that the frontier of
Burma shall be the true south-western frontier of China--the Salween
River.
There are no Chinese in the valley, nor would any Chinaman venture to
cross it after nightfall. The reason of its unhealthiness is not
apparent, except in the explanation of Baber, that "border regions,
'debatable grounds,' are notoriously the birthplace of myths and
marvels." There can be little doubt that the deadliness of the valley is
a tradition rather than a reality.
By flights of stone steps we descended to the river, where at the
bridge-landing, we were arrested by a sight that could not be seen
without emotion. A prisoner, chained by the hands and feet and cooped in
a wooden cage, was being carried by four bearers to Yungchang to
execution. He was not more than twenty-one years of age, was
well-dressed, and evidently of a rank in life from which are recruited
few of the criminals of China. Yet his crime could not have been much
graver. On the corner posts of his cage white strips of paper were
posted, giving his name and the particulars of the crime which he was so
soon to expiate. He was a burglar who had escaped from prison by killing
his guard, and had been recaptured. Unlike other criminals I have seen
in China, who laugh at the stranger and appear unaffected by their lot,
this young fellow seemed to feel keenly the cruel but well-deserved fate
that was in store for him. Three days hence he would be put to death by
strangulation outside the wall of Yungchang.
[Illustration: THE RIVER SALWEEN, THE FORMER BOUNDARY BETWEEN CHINA AND
BURMA.]
Another of those remarkable works which declare the engineering skill of
the Chinese, is the suspension bridge which spans the Salween by a
double loop--the larger loop over the river, the smaller one across the
overflow. A natural piece of rock strengthened by masonry, rising from
the river bed, holds the central ends of both loops. The longer span is
80 yards in length, the shorter 55; both are 12ft. wide, and are formed
of twelve parallel chain cables, drawn to an appropriate curve. A rapid
river flows under the bridge, the rush of whose waters can be heard high
up the mountain slopes.
None but Shans live in the valley. They are permitted to govern
themselves under Chinese supervision, and preserve their own laws and
customs. They have a village near the bridge, of grass-thatched huts and
open booths, where travellers can find rest and refreshment, and where
native women prettily arrayed in dark-blue, will brew you tea in
earthenware teapots. Very different are the Shan women from the Chinese.
Their colour is much darker; their head-dress is a circular pile formed
of concentric folds of dark-blue cloth; their dress closely resembles
with its jacket and kilt the bathing dress of civilisation; their arms
are bare, they have gaiters on their legs, and do not compress their
feet. All wear brooches and earrings, and other ornaments of silver
filigree.
From the valley the main road rises without intermission 6130 feet to
the village of Fengshui-ling (8730 feet), a climb which has to be
completed in the course of the afternoon. We were once more among the
trees. Pushing on till I was afraid we should be benighted, we reached
long after dark an encampment of bamboo and grass, in the lonely bush,
where the kind people made us welcome. It was bitterly cold during the
night, for the hut I slept in was open to the air. My three men and the
escort must have been even colder than I was. But at least we all slept
in perfect security, and I cannot praise too highly the constant care of
the Chinese authorities to shield even from the apprehension of harm one
whose only protection was his British passport.
All the way westward from Yunnan City I was shadowed both by a
yamen-runner and a soldier; both were changed nearly every day, and the
further west I went the more frequently were they armed. The
yamen-runner usually carried a long native sword only, but the soldier,
in addition to his sword, was on one occasion, as we have seen, armed
with the relics of a revolver that would not revolve. On May 10th, for
the first time, the soldier detailed to accompany me was provided with a
rusty old musket with a very long barrel. I examined this weapon with
much curiosity. China is our neighbour in Eastern Asia, and is, it is
often stated, an ideal power to be intrusted with the government of the
buffer state called for by French aggression in Siam. In China, it is
alleged, we have a prospective ally in Asia, and it is preferable that
England should suffer all reasonable indignities and humilities at her
hands rather than endanger any possible relations, which may
subsequently be entered into, with a hypothetically powerful neighbour.
On my arrival in Burma I was often amused by the serious questions I was
asked concerning the military equipment of the Chinese soldiers of
Western Yunnan. The soldier who was with me to-day was a type of the
warlike sons of China, not only in the province bordering on Burma, but,
with slight differences, all over the Middle Kingdom. Now, physically,
this man was fit to be drafted into any army in the world, but, apart
from his endurance, his value as a fighting machine lay in the weapon
with which the military authorities had armed him. This weapon was
peculiar; I noted down its peculiarities on the spot. In this weapon the
spring of the trigger was broken so that it could not be pulled; if it
had been in order, there was no cap for the hammer to strike; if there
had been a cap, it would have been of no use because the pinhole was
rusted; even if the pinhole had been open, the rifle would still have
been ineffective because it was not loaded, for the very good reason
that the soldier had not been provided with powder, or, if he had, he
had been compelled to sell it in order to purchase the rice which the
Emperor, "whose rice he ate," had neglected to send him.
An early start in the morning and we descended quickly to the River
Shweli.
[Illustration: THE RIVER SHWELI AND ITS SUSPENSION BRIDGE.]
The Salween River is at an elevation of 2600 feet. Forty-five li further
the road reaches at Fengshui-ling a height of 8730, from which point, in
thirty-five li, it dips again to the River Shweli, 4400 feet above sea
level. There was the usual suspension bridge at the river, and the
inevitable likin-barrier. For the first time the Customs officials
seemed inclined to delay me. I was on foot, and separated from my men by
half the height of the hill. The collectors, and the underlings who are
always hanging about the barriers, gathered round me and interrogated me
closely. They spoke to me in Chinese, and with insufficient deference.
The Chinese seem imbued with the mistaken belief that their language is
the vehicle of intercourse not only within the four seas, but beyond
them, and are often arrogant in consequence. I answered them in English.
"I don't understand one word you say, but, if you wish to know," I said,
energetically, "I come from Shanghai." "Shanghai," they exclaimed, "he
comes from Shanghai!" "And I am bound for Singai" (Bhamo);--"Singai,"
they repeated, "he is going to Singai!"--"unless the Imperial
Government, suspicious of my intentions, which the meanest intelligence
can see are pacific, should prevent me, in which case England will find
a coveted pretext to add Yunnan to her Burmese Empire." Then, addressing
myself to the noisiest, I indulged in some sarcastic speculations upon
his probable family history, deduced from his personal peculiarities,
till he looked very uncomfortable indeed. Thereupon I gravely bowed to
them, and, leaving them in dumb astonishment, walked on over the bridge.
They probably thought I was rating them in Manchu, the language of the
Emperor. Two boys staggering under loads of firewood did not escape so
easily, but were detained and a log squeezed from each wherewith to
light the likin fires.
A steep climb of another 3000 or 4000 feet over hills carpeted with
bracken, with here and there grassy swards, pretty with lilies and
daisies and wild strawberries, and then a quick descent, and we were in
the valley of Tengyueh (5600ft.). A plain everywhere irrigated, flanked
by treeless hills; fields shut in by low embankments; villages in
plantations round its margin; black-faced sheep in flocks on the
hillsides; and, away to the right the crenellated walls of Tengyueh. A
stone-flagged path down the centre of the plain led us into the town. We
entered by the south gate, and, turning to the left, were conducted into
the telegraph compound, where I was to find accommodation, the clerk in
charge of the operators being able to speak a few words of English. I
was an immediate object of curiosity.