CHINA AS A FIGHTING POWER--THE KACHINS--AND THE LAST STAGE INTO BHAMO.
We now left the low land and the open country, the pastures and meadows,
and climbed up the jungle-clad spurs which form the triangular dividing
range that separates the broad and open valley of the Taiping, where
Manyuen is situated, from the confined and tropical valley of the
Hongmuho, which lies at the foot of the English frontier fort of
Nampoung, the present boundary of Burma. Two miles below Nampoung the
two rivers join, and the combined stream flows on to enter the Irrawaddy
a mile or two above Bhamo.
No change could be greater or more sudden. We toiled upwards in the
blazing sun, and in two hours we were deep in the thickest jungle, in
the exuberant vegetation of a tropical forest. We had left the valley of
the peaceful Shans and were in the forest inhabited by other "protected
barbarians" of China--the wild tribes of Kachins, who even in Burma are
slow to recognise the beneficent influences of British frontier
administration. Nature serenely sleeps in the valley; nature is
throbbing with life in the forest, and the humming and buzzing of all
insect life was strange to our unaccustomed ears.
A well-cut path has been made through the forest, and caravans of mules
laden with bales of cotton were in the early stages of the long
overland journey to Yunnan. Their bells tinkled through the forest,
while the herd boy filled the air with the sweet tones of his bamboo
flute, breathing out his soul in music more beautiful than any bagpipes.
Cotton is the chief article of import entering China by this highway.
From Talifu to the frontier a traveller could trace his way by the
fluffs of cotton torn by the bushes from the mule-packs.
The road through the forest reaches the highest points, because it is at
the highest points that the Chinese forts are situated, either on the
road or on some elevated clearing near it.
The forts are stockades inclosed in wooden palisades, and guarded by
_chevaux de frise_ of sharp-cut bamboo. The barracks are a few native
straw-thatched wooden huts. Perhaps a score or two of men form the
garrison of each fort; they are badly armed, if armed at all. There are
no guns and no store supplies. Water is trained into the stockades down
open conduits of split bamboo. To anyone who has seen the Chinese
soldiers at home in Western China, it is diverting to observe the
credence which is given to Chinese statements of the armed strength of
Western China. How much longer are we to persist in regarding the
Chinese, as they now are, as a warlike power? In numbers, capacity for
physical endurance, calm courage when well officered, and powers
unequalled by any other race of mankind of doing the greatest amount of
labour on the smallest allowance of food, their potential strength is
stupendous. But they are not advancing, they are stationary; they look
backwards, not forwards; they live in the past. Weapons with which their
ancestors subdued the greater part of Asia they are loath to believe
are unfitted for conducting the warfare of to-day. Should Japan bring
China to terms, she can impose no terms that will not tend towards the
advancement of China. Victories such as Japan has won over China might
affect any other nation but China; but they are trifling and
insignificant in their effect upon the gigantic mass of China. Suppose
China has lost 20,000 men in this war, in one day there are 20,000
births in the Empire, and I am perfectly sure that, outside the
immediate neighbourhood of the seat of operations, the Chinese as a
nation, apart from the officials, are profoundly ignorant that there is
even a war, or, as they would term it, a rebellion, in progress.
Trouble, serious trouble, will begin in China in the near future, for
the time must be fast approaching when the effete and alien dynasty now
reigning in China--the Manchu dynasty--shall be overthrown, and a
Chinese Emperor shall rule on the throne of China.
At a native village called Schehleh there is a likin-barrier. The yellow
flag was drooping over the roadway in the hot sun. The customs officer,
an amiable Chinese Shan, invited me in to tea, and brought his pukai for
me to lie down upon. Like thousands of his countrymen, he had played for
fortune in the Manila lottery. Two old lottery tickets and the prize
list in Chinese were on one wall of his room, on the other were a number
of Chinese visiting cards, to which I graciously permitted him to add
mine.
Soldiers accompanied me from camp to camp, Chinese soldiers from
districts many hundreds of miles distant in China. Some were armed, some
were unarmed, and there was equal confidence to be reposed in the one as
in the other; but all were civil, and watched me with a care that was
embarrassing.
At the first camp beyond Schehleh the gateway was ornamented with
trophies of valour. From two bare tree-trunks baskets of heads were
hanging, putrefying in the heat. They were the heads of Kachin dacoits.
And thus shall it be done with all taken in rebellion against the Son of
Heaven, whose mighty clemency alone permits the sun to shine on any
kingdom beyond his borders. Kachin villages are scattered through the
forest, among the hills. You see their native houses, long bamboo
structures raised on piles and thatched with grass, with low eaves
sloping nearly to the ground. In sylvan glades sacred to the _nats_ you
pass wooden pillars erected by the roadside, rudely cut, and rudely
painted with lines and squares and rough figures of knives, and close
beside them conical grass structures with coloured weathercocks. Split
bamboos support narrow shelves, whereon are placed the various
food-offerings with which is sought the goodwill of the evil spirits.
The Kachin men we met were all armed with the formidable _dah_ or native
sword, whose widened blade they protect in a univalvular sheath of wood.
They wore Shan jackets and dark knickerbockers; their hair was gathered
under a turban. They all carried the characteristic embroidered Kachin
bag over the left shoulder.
The Kachin women are as stunted as the Japanese, and are disfigured with
the same disproportionate shortness of legs. They wear Shan jackets and
petticoats of dark-blue; their ornaments are chiefly cowries; their legs
are bare. Unmarried, they wear no head-dress, but have their hair cut in
a black mop with a deep fringe to the eyebrows. If married, their
head-dress is the same as that of the Shan women--a huge dark-blue
conical turban. Morality among the Kachin maidens, a missionary tells
me, is not, as we understand the term, believed to exist. There is a
tradition in the neighbourhood concerning a virtuous maiden; but little
reliance can be placed on such legendary tales. Among the Kachins each
clan is ruled by a Sawbwa, whose office "is hereditary, not to the
eldest son, but to the youngest, or, failing sons, to the youngest
surviving brother." (Anderson.) All Kachins chew betel-nut and nearly
all smoke opium--men, women and children. Goitre is very prevalent among
them; in some villages Major Couchman believes that as many as 25 per
cent. of the inhabitants are afflicted with the disease. They have no
written language, but their spoken language has been romanised by the
American missionaries in Burma.
We camped within five miles of the British border at the Chinese fortlet
of Settee, a palisaded camp whose gateway also was hung with heads of
dacoits. A Chinese Shan was in command, a smart young officer with a
Burmese wife. He was active, alert, and intelligent, and gave me the
best room in the series of sheds which formed the barracks. I was made
very comfortable. There were between forty and fifty soldiers stationed
in the barracks--harmless warriors--who were very attentive. At
nightfall the tattoo was beaten. The gong sounded; its notes died away
in a distant murmur, then brayed forth with a stentorian clangour that
might wake the dead. At the same time a tattoo was beaten on the drum,
then a gun was fired and the noise ceased, to be repeated again during
the night at the change of guard. All foes, visible and invisible, were
in this way scared away from the fort.
Hearing that I was a doctor, the commandant asked me to see several of
his men who were on the sick list. Among them was one poor young fellow
dying, in the next room to mine, of remittent fever. When I went to the
bedside the patient was lying down deadly ill, weak, and emaciated; but
two of his companions took him by the arms, and, telling him to sit up,
would have pulled him into what they considered a more respectful
attitude. In the morning I again went to see the poor fellow. He was
lying on his side undergoing treatment. An opium-pipe was held to his
lips by one comrade, while another rolled the pellet of opium and placed
it heated in the pipe-bowl, so that he might inhale its fumes.
In the morning the officer accompanied me to the gate of the stockade
and bade me good-bye, with many unintelligible expressions of good will.
His eight best soldiers were told off to escort me to the frontier,
distant only fifteen li. It was a splendid walk through the jungle
across the mountains to the Hongmuho. We passed the outlying stockade of
the Chinese, and, winding along the spur, came full in view of the
British camp across the valley, half-way up the opposite slope. By a
very steep path we descended through the forest to the frontier fort of
the Chinese, and emerged upon the grassy slope that shelves below it to
the river.
There are a few bamboo huts on the sward, and here the Chinese guard
left me; for armed guards are allowed no further. I was led to the ford,
my pony plunged into the swift stream, and a moment or two later I was
on British soil and passing the Sepoy outpost, where the guard, to my
great alarm, for I feared being shot, turned out and saluted me. Then I
climbed up the steep hill to the British encampment, where the English
officer commanding, Captain R. G. Iremonger, of the 3rd Burma Regiment,
gave me a kind reception, and congratulated me upon my successful
journey. He telegraphed to headquarters the news of my arrival. It was
of no earthly interest to anybody that I, an unknown wanderer, should
pass through safely; but it was of interest to know that anyone could
pass through so easily. Reports had only recently reached the Government
that Western China was in a state of disaffection; that a feeling
strongly anti-foreign had arisen in Yunnan; and that now, of all times,
would it be inexpedient to despatch a commission for the delimitation of
the boundary. My quiet and uninterrupted journey was in direct conflict
with all such reports.
The encampment of Nampoung is at an elevation of 1500 feet above the
river. It is well exposed on all sides, and has been condemned by
military experts. But the law of fortifications which applies to any
ordinary frontier does not apply to the frontier of China, where there
is no danger whatsoever. The palisade is irregularly made, and is not
superior, of course, to any round the Chinese stockades.
The houses are built of bamboo, are raised on piles, and thatched with
grass. A company of the 3rd Burma Regiment is permanently stationed here
under an English officer, and consists of 100 men, who are either Sikhs
or Punjabis, all of splendid stature and military bearing. A picket of
six men under a non-commissioned native officer guards the ford, and
permits no armed Chinese to cross the border.
There are numbers of transport mules and ponies. In the creek there are
plenty of fish; the rod, indeed, is the chief amusement of the officers
who are exiled on duty to this lonely spot to pass three months in turn
in almost uninterrupted solitude. There is a telegraph line into Bhamo,
and it is at this point that connection will be made with the Imperial
Chinese Telegraphs.
At the ford from fifty to one hundred loaded pack-animals, mostly
carrying cotton, cross into China daily. A toll of six annas is levied
upon each pack-animal, the money so collected being distributed by the
Government among those Kachin Sawbwas who have an hereditary right to
levy this tribute. The money is collected by two Burmese officials, and
handed daily to the officer commanding. No duty is paid on entering
Burma. Chinese likin-barriers begin to harass the caravans at Schehleh.
Beautiful views of the surrounding hills, all covered with "lofty forest
trees, tangled with magnificent creepers, and festooned with orchids,"
are obtained from the camp. All the country round is extremely fertile,
yielding with but little labour three crops a year. Cultivation of the
soil there is none. Fire clears the jungle, and the ashes manure the
soil; the ground is then superficially scratched, and rice is sown.
Nothing more is done. Every seed germinates; the paddy ripens, and,
where one basketful is sown, five hundred basketfuls are gathered. And
the field lies untouched till again covered with jungle. Thus is the
heathen rewarded five-hundred-fold in accordance with the law of Nature
which gives blessing to the labour of the husbandman inversely as he
deserves it.
In the evening the officer walked down with me to the creek, where I
bathed in the shadow of the bank, in a favourite pool for fishing. As we
crossed the field on our return, we met the two Burmese
tribute-gatherers. They had occasion to speak to the officer, when,
instead of standing upright like a stalwart and independent Chinaman,
they squatted humbly on their heels, and, resting their elbows on their
knees in an attitude of servility, conversed with their superior. How
different the Chinaman, who confesses few people his superior, and none
of any race beyond the borders of China!
From Nampoung to Bhamo is an easy walk of thirty-three miles. This is
usually done in two stages, the halting place being the military station
of Myothit, which is fourteen miles from Nampoung. On leaving Nampoung,
an escort of a lance-corporal and two soldiers was detailed to accompany
me. They were Punjabis, men of great stature and warlike aspect; but
they were presumably out of training, for they arrived at Myothit, limp
and haggard, an hour or more after we did. There is an admirable road
through the jungle, maintained in that excellent order characteristic of
military roads under British supervision. My Chinese from time to time
questioned me as to the distance. We had gone fifteen li when Laotseng
asked me how much farther it was to Santien (Myothit). "Three li," I
said. We walked ten li further. "How far is it now?" he asked. "Only
five li further," I replied, gravely. We went on another six li, when
again he asked me: "Teacher Mô, how many li to Santien?" "Only eight
more li," I said, and he did not ask me again. I was endeavouring to
give him information in the fashion that prevails in his own country.
At Myothit we camped in the dâk bungalow, an unfurnished cottage kept
for the use of travellers. The encampment is on the outskirts of a
perfectly flat plain, skirted with jungle-clad hills and covered with
elephant grass. Through the plain the broad river Taiping flows on its
muddy way to the Irrawaddy. One hundred sepoys are stationed here under
a native officer, a Sirdar, Jemadar, or Subadar (I am not certain
which), who called upon me, and stood by me as I ate my tiffin, and, to
my great embarrassment, saluted me in the most alarming way every time
my eye unexpectedly caught his. I confess that I did not know the
gentleman from Adam. I mistook him for an ornamental head-waiter, and,
as I regarded him as a superfluous nuisance, I told him not to stand
upon the order of his going but go. I pointed to the steps; and he went,
sidling off backwards as if from the presence of royalty. Drawing his
heels together, he saluted me at the stair-top and again at the bottom,
murmuring words which were more unintelligible to me even than Chinese.
During the night our exposed bungalow was assailed by a fearful storm of
wind and rain, and for a time I expected it to be bodily lifted off the
piles and carried to the lee-side of the settlement. The roof leaked in
a thousand places, rain was driven under the walls, and everything I had
was soaked with warm water.
Next day we had a pleasant walk into Bhamo, that important military
station on the left bank of the Irrawaddy. We crossed the Taiping at
Myothit by a bridge, a temporary and very shaky structure, which is
every year carried away when the river rises, and every year renewed
when the caravans take the road after the rains.
Bhamo is 1520 miles by land from Chungking; and it is an equal distance
further from Chungking to Shanghai. The entire distance I traversed in
exactly one hundred days, for I purposely waited till the hundredth day
to complete it. And it surely speaks well of the sense of responsibility
innate in the Chinese that, during all this time, I never had in my
employ a Chinese coolie who did not fulfil, with something to spare, all
that he undertook to do. I paid off my men in Bhamo. To Laotseng I gave
400 cash too many, and asked him for the change. At once with much
readiness he ranged some cash on the table in the form of an abacus,
and, setting down some hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper, he worked out
a calculation, by which he proved that I owed _him_ 400 cash, and,
therefore, the accounts were now exactly balanced. For my own expenses I
gave him 1175 cash in Tengyueh and 400 more in Bhamo, so that my entire
personal expenses between two points nine days distant from each other
were rather more than _3s._ My entire journey from Shanghai to Bhamo
cost less than _£20_ sterling, including my Chinese outfit. Had I
travelled economically, I estimate that the journey need not have cost
me more than _£14_. Had I carried more silver with me, I would still
further have reduced the total cost of my tour. The gold I bought in
Yunnan with my surplus silver, I sold in Burma for 20 per cent. profit,
the rupees which I purchased in Tengyueh for _11d._ were worth _13d._ in
Bhamo. For some curios which I purchased in the interior for _£2 5s._ I
was offered when I reached civilisation _£14_. Without doubt the journey
across China is the cheapest that can be done in all the world.
I was sorry to say good-bye to my men, who had served me so faithfully.
And I cannot speak more highly of the pleasure of my journey than to
declare that I felt greater regret when it was finished than I ever felt
on leaving any other country. The men all through had behaved admirably,
and it is only fair to add that mine was the common experience of
travellers in far Western China. Thus a very great traveller in China
and Thibet (W. W. Rockhill), writing in the _Century_, April, 1894, on
the discomforts of his recent journey, says:
"But never a word of complaint from either the Thibetans or my Chinese.
They were always alert, always good-tempered, always attentive to me,
and anxious to contribute to my comfort in every way in their power. And
so I have ever found these peoples, with whom I am glad to say, after
travelling over 20,000 miles in their countries, I have never exchanged
a rough word, and among whom I think I have left not one enemy and not a
few friends."
Two days after their arrival in Bhamo my three men started on their
return journey to Talifu. They were laden with medicines, stores,
newspapers, and letters for the mission in Tali, which for months had
been accumulating in the premises of the American Mission in Bhamo, the
missionary in charge, amid the multifarious avocations pertaining to his
post, having found no time to forward them to their destination to his
lonely Christian brother in the far interior. And, had I not arrived
when I did, they could not have been sent till after the rains. A coolie
will carry eighty pounds weight from Bhamo to Tali for _12s._; and I
need hardly point out that a very small transaction in teak would cover
the cost of many coolies. Besides, any expenditure incurred would have
been reimbursed by the Inland Mission. My three men were pursued by
cruel fate on their return; they all were taken ill at Pupiao. Poor
"Bones" and the pock-marked coolie died, and Laotseng lay ill in the
hotel there for weeks, and, when he recovered sufficiently to go on to
Tali, he had to go without the three loads, which the landlord of the
inn detained, pending the payment of his board and lodging and the
burial expenses of his two companions.