{321}
_The difficulties of the laundry--A friend in need--A strange picnic
party--The authority of the parent--Travelling in a mule litter--Rain--A
frequented highway--Yellow oiled paper--Restricted quarters--Dodging the
smoke--“What a lot you eat!”--Charm of the river--Modest Chinamen--The
best-beloved grandchild--The gorges of the Lanho--The Wall again--Effect
of rain on the Chinaman--The captain's cash-box--A gentleman of
Babylon--Lanchou._
|And now it was time to bid farewell to my kind hosts and start back to
Peking. Thank goodness it was going to be fairly easy. Instead of the
abominable cart I was going to float down the River Lan in a wupan, a
long, narrow, flat-bottomed boat.
First I sent my servant with my card to the Tartar General to thank him
for all his kindness. This brought Mr Wu down again with the General's
card at the most awkward hour of course, in the middle of tiffin, and Mr
Wu, much to my surprise, was dignified and even stately in full Chinese
dress. He was all grey and black. His petticoat or coat or whatever
it is called was down to his ankles and was of silk, he wore a little
sleeveless jacket, and his trousers were tied in with neat black bands
at his neat little ankles. So nice did he look, such a contrast to the
commonplace little man I had seen before, that I felt obliged to admire
him openly. Besides, I am {322}told that is quite in accordance with
Chinese good manners.
He received my compliments with a smile, and then explained the reason
of the change.
“Must send shirt, collar, Tientsin, be washed. I very poor man, no more
got.”
And Tientsin was three or four days by river, sometimes much more, as
well as five hours by train! I felt he had indeed done me an honour when
he had used up his available stock of linen in my entertaining, and to
think I had only admired him when he was in native dress!
Another Chinese gentleman came in that day and was introduced to me. He
contented himself with Chinese dress, and he had more English, though it
was of a peculiar order.
“But I hate to hear people laugh at Mr Chung's English,” said the
missionary who was a man of the world. “He was a good friend to me and
mine. If it hadn't been for him, I doubt if I or my wife or children
would be here now.”
It was the time of the Boxer trouble, and the missionary was stationed
at Pa Kou where Mr Chung had charge of the telegraph station. The
missionaries grew salads in their garden, which the head of the
telegraphs much appreciated, and even when he felt it wiser not to be
too closely in touch with the foreigners, he still sent down a basket
for a salad occasionally. One day in the bottom of the basket he put
a letter. “The foreign warships are attacking the Taku Forts,” it ran,
“better get away. I am keeping back the news.”
But the missionary could not get away. Up and down the town he went,
but he could get no carts. {323}All the carters raised their prices to
something that was prohibitive, even though death faced them. And then
came the basket again for more salads and in the bottom was another
letter.
“The foreign ships have taken the Taku Forts,” it said. “I am keeping
back the news. Go away as soon as possible.”
And then the missionary spoke outright of his dilemma, and Mr Chung went
to the Prefect of the town and enlisted him on their side. The carters
were sent for.
“You would not go,” said the Prefect, “when this man offered you a great
sum of money,” it sounded quite Biblical as he told it. “Now you will go
for the ordinary charge or I will take off your heads.”
So two carts were got, and the missionary, his wife, and children, and
as much of their household goods as they could take, were hustled into
them, and they started off for the nearest port.
“If ever I am in a hole again I hope I travel with such women,” said the
missionary; “they were as cheerful as if it was a picnic-party.”
All went well for a couple of days, and then one day, passing through a
town, a man came up and addressed them, and said he was servant to some
Englishmen, a couple of mining engineers, who were held up in this town,
because they had heard there was an ambush laid for all foreigners a
little farther down the road. And the missionaries had thought they were
the last foreigners left in the country!
They promptly sought out the Englishmen, who confirmed the boy's
story. It was not safe to go farther. The little party decided to stick
together, {324}and finally the missionary went to the Prefect and told
him how the Prefect at Pa Kou had helped them, and suggested it would
be wise to do likewise, especially as the foreigners were sure to win in
the end.
The Prefect considered the matter and finally promised to help them,
provided they put themselves entirely in his hands and said nothing,
no matter what they heard. It seemed a desperate thing to do to put
themselves entirely in the hands of their enemies, but it was the
only chance, that chance or Buckley's and Buckley, says the Australian
proverb, never had a chance. They agreed to the Prefect's terms; he set
a guard of soldiers over them, and they travelled surrounded by them.
But at first they were very doubtful whether they had been wise in
trusting a man who was to all intents and purposes an open enemy.
“Where did you get them?” asked the people of the soldiers as they
passed. And the soldiers detailed at length their capture.
“And what are you going to do with them?” And the soldiers always said
that, by the orders of the Prefect of the town where they had been
captured, they were taking them on to be delivered over to the proper
authorities, who would know what to do with them, doubtless the least
that could happen would be that they would have their heads taken off.
And the man who told me the story had lived through such days as that.
Had seen his wife and children live through them!
But the Prefect was as good as his word, the soldiers saw them through
the danger-zone to safety.
“But if it had not been for Mr Chung in the first {325}instance-------”
says the missionary, and his gratitude was in his voice.
And Mr Chung had his own troubles. He was progressive and modern, not,
I think, Christian, and he had actually himself taught his daughters to
read. Also he had decided not to bind their feet. And then, the pity
of it--and the extraordinary deference that is paid to elders in
China--there came orders from his parents in Canton--he must be a man
over forty--the daughters' feet were to be bound.
I was glad indeed to have heard the story of Mr Chung before I set out
on my journey.
The Lanho is seven miles, a two hours' journey by mule litter or cart
from Cheng Teh Fu, and I decided to go by litter and send my things by
cart, for, not only did I object to a cart, but I thought I would like
to see what travelling by mule litter was like. I am perfectly satisfied
now--I don't ever want to go by one again.
I had to get in at the missionary compound, because it takes four men to
lift a litter on to the mules, and there was only one to attend to
it. It was early in the morning, only a little after six, but all the
missionaries walked about a mile of the way with me--I felt it was
exceedingly kind of them, because it was the only time I ever saw men
and women together outside the compound--then they bade me good-bye,
and I was fairly started on my journey. I sat in my litter on a spring
cushion, lent me for the cart by a Chinese gentleman, and I endeavoured
to balance myself so that the litter should not--as it seemed to me to
be threatening to do--turn topsy-turvy. It made me rather uncomfortable
at first, because once in there is no way of getting out without
{326}lifting the litter off the mules. You may indeed slip down between
it and the leading mule's hind legs, but that proceeding strikes me as
decidedly risky, for a mule can kick and his temper does not seem to be
improved by having the shafts of a litter on his back.
It was a cloudy morning and it threatened rain. I had only seen one
day's rain since I had been in China. The scenery was wild and grand. We
went along by the Jehol River, on the edge of one range of precipitous
mountains, while the other, on the other side of the river, towered
above us. We were going along the bottom of a valley, as is usual in
this part of the world, but as the Jehol is a flowing river and takes up
a good part of the bottom, we very often went along a track that was
cut out of the mountain-side. The white mule in front with the jingling
bells and red tassels on his collar and headstall, always preferred the
very edge, so that when I looked out of the left-hand side of my litter,
I looked down a depth of about thirty or forty feet, as far as I could
guess, into the river-bed below. I found it better not to look. Not that
it was very deep or that there was any likelihood of my going over. I am
fully convinced, in spite of the objurgations showered upon him by the
driver, that that white mule knew his business thoroughly. Still it made
me uncomfortable to feel so helpless.
And the way was very busy indeed, even thus early in the morning. All
sorts of folk were going along it, there were heavy country carts drawn
by seven strong mules, they were taking grain to the river to be shipped
“inside the Wall,” and the road that they followed was abominable. Every
now and {327}again they would stick in the heavy sand or ruts, or stones
of the roadway--everything that should not be in a road, according to
our ideas, was there--and the driver would promptly produce a spade and
dig out the wheels, making the way for the next cart that passed worse
than ever. Two litters passed us empty, and we met any number of donkeys
laden, I cannot say with firewood, but with bundles of twigs that in any
other country that I know would not be worth the gathering, much less
the transport, but would be burnt as waste. And there were numberless
people on foot, this was evidently a much-frequented highway, since it
was busy now when it was threatening rain, for no Chinese go out in the
rain if they can help it. I thoroughly sympathise, I should think twice
myself before going if I had but one set of clothes and nowhere to
dry them if they got wet. The hill-sides were rocky and sterile, but
wherever there was a flat place, wherever there was a little pocket of
fertile ground, however inaccessible it might appear, it was carefully
cultivated, so was all the valley bottom along the banks of the river,
and all this ground was crying out for the rain. And then presently
down it came, heavy, pouring rain such as I had only seen once before
in China. It drove across our pathway like a veil, all the rugged hills
were softened and hidden in a grey mist, and my muleteer drew over and
around me sheets of yellow oiled paper through which I peered at the
surrounding scenery. I wasn't particularly anxious to get wet myself,
because I did not see in an open boat how on earth I was ever to get
dry again, and three or four days wet or even damp, would not have been
either comfortable, or healthy.
[Illustration: 0462]
{328}At last we arrived at the river, a broad, swift-flowing, muddy river
running along the bottom of the valley and apparently full to the brim,
at least there were no banks, and needless to say, of course, there was
not a particle of vegetation to beautify it. There was a crossing here
very like the ferrying-place I had crossed on my journey up, and there
were a row of long boats with one end of them against the bank. It was
raining hard when I arrived, and the litter was lifted down from the
mules, but the only thing to do was to sit still and await the arrival
of Tuan and my baggage in the Peking cart.
They came at last, and the rain lifting a little Tuan set about
preparing one of the boats for my reception.
I must confess I looked on with interest, because I did not quite see
how I was going to spend several days with a servant and three boatmen
in such cramped quarters. The worst of it was there was no getting out
of it now if I did not like it, it had to be done. Though I do worry so
much I always find it is about the wrong thing. I had never--and I might
well have done so--thought about the difficulties of this boat journey
until I stood on the banks of the river, committed to it, and beyond the
range of help from any of my own colour. For one moment my heart sank.
If it had been the evening I should have despaired, but with fourteen
good hours of daylight before me I can always feel hopeful, especially
if they are to be spent in the open air. The wupan is about thirty-seven
feet long, flat bottomed, and seven feet wide in the middle, tapering of
course towards the ends. In the middle V-shaped sticks hold up a ridge
pole, and {329}across this Tuan put a couple of grass mats we had bought
for this purpose, then he produced some unbleached calico--and when
I think of what I paid for that unbleached calico, and how poor the
Chinese peasants are, I am surprised that the majority of them do not
go naked--and proceeded to make of it a little tent for me right in the
middle of the awning. I stood it until I discovered that the idea was
he should sleep at one end and the boatmen at the other, and then I
protested. What I was to be guarded from I did not know, but I made him
clearly understand that one end of the boat I must have to myself. There
might be a curtain across the other end of the awning, that I did not
mind, but I must be free to go out without stepping on sleeping servant
or boatmen. That little matter adjusted, much to his surprise, the next
thing we had to think about was the stove. I wanted it so placed that
when the wind blew the matting did not make a funnel that would carry
the smoke directly into my face. But that is just exactly what it
did do, and I've come to the conclusion there is no possible way of
arranging a stove comfortably on a winding river. We tried it aft, and
we tried it for'ard, and when it was aft it seemed the wind was behind,
and when it was for'ard the wind was ahead, and whichever way the smoke
came it was equally unpleasant, so I decided the only thing to be done
was to smile and look pleasant, and be thankful that whereas I required
three meals a day to sustain me in doing nothing, my boatmen who did
all the work and had a stove of their own, apparently, sustained life on
two. The ideal way would be to have a companion and two boats, and
then the trip would be delightful. {330}As it was I found it well worth
doing.
The rain stopped that first day soon after we left the crossing-place,
and from the little low boat the mountains on either side appeared to
tower above us, rugged, precipitous, sterile; they were right down to
the waters edge and the river wound round, and on the second day we were
in the heart of the mountains, and passed through great rocky gorges.
It was lonely for China, but just as I thought that no human being could
possibly live in such a sterile land, I would see far up on the hills a
little spot of blue, some small boy herding goats, or a little pocket
of land between two great rocks, carefully tilled, and the young green
crops just springing up. And then again there were little houses, neat,
tidy little houses with heavy roofs, and I wondered what it must be
like to be here in the mountains when the winter held them in its grip.
Somehow it seemed to me far more lonely and desolate than anything I had
seen on my way across country.
We always tied up for the men to eat their midday meal, and we always
tied up for the night. But we wakened at the earliest glimmer of dawn.
They evidently breakfasted on cold millet porridge, and I, generally,
was up and dressed and had had my breakfast and forgotten all about it
by five-thirty in the morning. My bed took up most of the room in my
quarters, I dressed and washed on it, a bath was out of the question,
and pulling aside the curtains sat on it and had my breakfast, the
captain of the boat, the gentleman with the steering-oar, looking on
with the greatest interest.
He spoke to Tuan evidently about my breakfast, and I asked him what he
said.
“She say what a lot you eat,” said Tuan. “Not in ten days she have so
much.”
{468}And I was surprised, because I had thought my breakfast exceedingly
frugal. I had watched the eggs being poached, and I ate them without
butter or toast or bacon, I had a dry piece of bread, tea, of course,
and some unappetising stewed pears. But by and by I was watching my
captain shovelling in basinsful of millet porridge, about ten times as
much as I ate, and I came to the conclusion it was the variety he was
commenting on, not the amount.
They were things of delight those early mornings on the river. At first
all the valley would be wrapped in a soft grey mist, with here and there
the highest peaks, rugged and desolate, catching the sunlight; then
gradually, gradually, the sun came down the valley and the mists melted
before his rays, lingering here and there in the hollows, soft and grey
and elusive, till at last the sunlight touched the water and gave this
muddy water of the river a golden tint, and all things rejoiced in
the new-born day. The little blue kingfishers preened themselves, the
blue-grey cranes with white necks and black points that the Chinese call
“long necks” sailed with outspread wings slowly across the water, and
the sunlight on the square sails of the upcoming boats made them gleam
snow white. For there was much traffic on the river. Desolate as the
country round was, the river was busy. The boats that were going down
stream were rowed, and those that were coming up, when the wind was
with them, put out great square sails, and when it was against them were
towed by four men. They fastened the towing rope to the mast, stripped
themselves, and slipping a {332}loop over their heads fixed it round
their chests and pulled by straining against a board that was fast
in the loop. The current was strong, and it must have been hard work
judging by the way they strained on the rope. The missionaries were
afraid I would be shocked at the sight of so many naked men, but it
was the other way round, my presence, apparently the only woman on the
river, created great consternation, for the Chinaman is a modest man.
Badly I wanted to get a photograph of those straining men, for never
have I seen the Chinese to greater advantage. In their shabby blue
cotton they look commonplace and of the slums, you feel they are
unwashed, but these suggest splendid specimens of brawny manhood. They
don't need to be washed. However, as we approached, boatmen and servant
all raised their voices in a loud warning singsong. What they said, I
do not know, but it must have been something like: “Oh brothers, put on
your clothes. We have a bothering foreign woman on board.” The result
would be a wild scramble and everybody would be getting into dirty blue
garments, only some unfortunate, who was steering in a difficult part or
had hold of a rope that could not be dropped was left helpless, and he
crouched down or hid behind a more lucky companion. If there had been
anybody with whom to laugh I would have laughed many a time when we met
or passed boats on the Lanho. But I never got a really good photograph
of those towing men. My men evidently felt it would be taking them at
a disadvantage, and the production of my camera was quite sufficient
to send us off into mid stream, as far away from the towing boat as
possible.
Occasionally the hills receded just a little and left a small stretch
of flat country where there were always exceedingly neat-looking huts.
There were the neatest bundles of sticks stacked all round them, just
twigs, and we landed once to buy some, for the men cooked entirely with
them, and my little stove needed them to start the charcoal. But oh, the
people who came out of those houses were dirty. Never have I seen such
unclean-looking unattractive women. One had a child in her arms
with perfectly horrible-looking eyes, and I knew there was another
unfortunate going to be added to the many blind of China. She ran away
at the sight of me, and so did two little stark-naked boys. I tempted
them with biscuits, and their grandfather or great-grandfather, he might
have been, watched with the deepest interest. He and I struck up quite
a friendship over the incident, smiling and laughing and nodding to one
another, as much as to say, “Yes, it was natural they should be afraid,
but we--we, who had seen the world--of course knew better.” Then he went
away and fetched back in his arms another small shaven-headed youngster
whom he patted and petted and called my attention to, as much as to say
this was little Benjamin, the well-beloved, had I not a biscuit for him?
Alas I had been too long away from civilisation and I had given away all
I had. But when I think about it, it is always with a feeling of regret
that I had not a sweet biscuit for that old Chinaman up in the mountains
and his best-beloved grandson.
I saw one morning some men fishing in the shallows by a great rock, and
I demanded at once that we buy a fish. They were spearing the fish and
{334}we bought a great mud-fish for five cents, for I saw the money
handed over, and then the unfortunate fish with a reed through his gills
was dragged through the water alongside the boat. When I came to eat a
small piece of him, which I did with interest I was so tired of chicken,
he was abominable, and I smiled a little ruefully when I found in the
accounts he was charged at thirty-five cents! Judging by the nastiness
of that fish one ought to be able to buy up the entire contents of the
Lanho for such a sum. However, the boatmen ate him gladly, and I suppose
if I lived on millet for breakfast, tiffin, and dinner, and any time
else when I felt hungry, I might even welcome a mud-fish for a change.
Their only relish appeared to be what Tuan called “sour pickle.” There
was one most unappetising-looking salted turnip which lasted a long
while, though every one of the crew had a bite at it.
Gorge after gorge we passed, and the rocks rising above us seemed very
high, while the sun beating down upon the water in that enclosed space
made it very hot in the middle of the day, and I was very glad indeed of
the mat awning, though, of course, it was of necessity so low that even
I, who am a short woman, could not stand up underneath, but it kept
off the sun, and the air, coming through as we were rowed along, made a
little breeze. There were rapids, many rapids, but they did not impress
me. I couldn't even get up a thrill, sometimes indeed the boat was
turned right round, but it always seemed that the worst that might
happen to me would be that I should have to get out and walk, and of
course get rather wet in the process. Tuan made a great fuss about
them all, “must take care” but the worst {335}one of all he was so
exceedingly grave over that I felt at least we were risking our valuable
lives. It was inside the wall and was called “Racing Horse Rapid” but it
wasn't very bad. I have been up much worse rapids on the Volta, in
West Africa, and nobody seemed to think they were anything out of the
ordinary, but then the negro has not such a rooted objection to water as
the Chinaman apparently has. My crew had to get wet, up to their waists
sometimes, and it was a little rough on them--I remembered it in their
_cumshaw_--that having a woman on board their modesty did not allow them
to strip, and they went in with all their clothes on.
The Wall, broken for the passing of the river, is always a wonder, and
here it was wonderful as ever. We stopped here for a little in order,
as far as I could make out, that Tuan might get some ragged specimens of
humanity to pluck a couple of chickens, being too grand a gentleman
to do it himself, and for a brief space the foreshore was white with
feathers, for the thrifty Chinaman, who finds a use for everything, once
he has made feather dusters has no use for feathers. Feather pillows he
knows not. But for once Tuan's skill in putting the work he was paid for
doing, off on to other people, failed either to amuse or irritate me.
I had eyes for nothing but the Wall--the Wall above all other walls
still--for all it is in ruins. As we went down the river it followed
along the tops of the highest hills for over a mile. Always the Wall
cuts the skyline. There is never anything higher than the Wall. And
here, as if this river valley must be extra well guarded, on every
accessible peak was a watch-tower. They are all in ruins now, but they
speak {336}forcibly of the watch and ward that was kept here once.
There was one square ruin on the highest peak. As evening fell, heavy,
threatening clouds gathered and it stood out against them. As we went
far down the valley it was always visible, now to the right of us, now
to the left, as the river wound, and when I thought it was gone in the
gathering gloom, a jagged flash of lightning, out of the black cloud
behind it, illumined it again, and for the moment I forgot that it was
ruined, and thought only what an excellent vantage-point those old-time
builders had chosen. All the country round must see the beacon fire
flaring there. And again I thought of the signals that must have gone
up, “The Mongols are coming down the river. The Manchus are gathering in
the hills.”
Those heavy clouds bespoke rain, and that night it came down, came down
in torrents, and if there is a more uncomfortable place in which to be
rained upon than a small boat I have yet to find it. Those grass mats
kept off some of the rain, but they were by no means as water-tight as I
should have liked. I spread my burberry over my bed, put up my umbrella,
and stopped up the worst leaks with all the towels I could spare, and
yet the water came in, and on the other side of my calico screen I could
hear the men making a few remarks, which Tuan told me next day were
because, “she no can cook dinner, no can dry clothes.” I had lent them
my charcoal stove, but it was small and would only dry “littee, littee
clothe” so everybody including myself got up next morning in a querulous
mood, and very sorry for themselves. The others at least were earning
their pay, but I wondered how I was {337}going to make money out of
it, and again I questioned the curious fate that sent me wandering
uncomfortably about the world, and sometimes actually--yes actually
getting enjoyment out of it.
I didn't enjoy that day, however. We went on a little and at length
we stopped, all the country was veiled in soft moist grey mist, the
perpetual sunshine of Northern China was gone, and Tuan and the boatman
came to me. They proposed, of all the Chinese things in this world to
do, to go back! Why I don't know now, for to go back meant going against
the stream and towing the boat! A very much harder job than guiding it
down stream, where it would go of its own weight. I have not often put
my foot down in China. I have always found it best to let my servants,
or those I employed, go about things their own way, but this was too
much for me. I made it clearly understood that the boat belonged to me
for the time being, and that back I would not go.
Tuan murmured something about some place “she get dry” and I quite
agreed looking at the shivering wretches, but that place had got to be
ahead, not behind us. However, go on they would not, so we pulled up
against the bank and all four of them cowered over the little charcoal
stove till I feared lest they would be asphyxiated with the fumes. I got
in my bed, pulled my eiderdown round me, and thanked Providence I had
it, a sleeping bag, and a burberry, and then as best I could I dodged
the drops that came through the matting, but I knew I wasn't nearly so
uncomfortable as my men. At last the rain lifted a little, and three
rueful figures pulled us down to a small, a very {338}small temple
wherein they lighted a fire and cooked themselves a warm meal. By that
time the rain had gone, and they were smiling and cheerful once more.
As the result of that rain the river rose three feet, the rapids were
easier than ever to go over, only of course there was the risk of
hitting the rocks that were now submerged, and the waters were muddier
than ever. I felt as if all those mountain-sides were being washed down
into the Lanho, as they probably were. All along the banks, too, the
people were collected gathering--not driftwood, for there was none, but
driftweed, gathering it in with rakes and dipping-in baskets, holding
them out for the water to run away and using the residuum “for burn,” as
Tuan put it. It was dreary, wet, grey, cold. The country grew flatter
as we came down the river, the hills receded; we were in an agricultural
country which was benefiting, I doubt not, by this rain, but with the
mountains went the stern grandeur, and cold rain on a flat country is
uninspiring. Besides breakfast before five-thirty leaves a long day
before one, and the incidents were so small. I watched the captain
steering and refreshing himself with a bite at a pink radish as large
and as long as a parsnip, and it looked cold and uninviting. Surely I
ought to be thankful that Fate had not caused me to be born a Chinese of
the working classes.
The captain had a large cash-box which reposed trustfully at the end of
my bed. Not that I could have got into it, for it was fastened with
the sort of padlock that I should put on park gates, and I certainly
couldn't have carried it away, at least not unbeknownst, for it was a
cube of at least eighteen inches. It gave me the idea of great wealth,
for never in my life do I expect to require a cash-box like that. If I
did I should give up story writing and grow old with a quiet mind. But
then I do not take my earnings in copper cash.
[Illustration: 478]
More and more as we went along the river was I reminded of my idea
of Babylon--Babylon with the romance taken out of it, Babylon grown
commonplace. At one place we stopped at, there came down to the ferry
a short fat man in blue, in a large straw hat, leading a donkey. But he
belonged to no age, he was Sancho Panza to the life. Again there came
a gentleman mounted on a mule, his servant following slowly on a small
grey donkey. He was nicely dressed in darkish petticoats, and his
servant wore the usual blue. They stood on the river-bank and the
servant hailed the ferry. With a little difficulty the beasts were got
on board and the boat poled across. It was just a wupan like my own,
decked in the middle so that the animals would not have to step down.
The donkey came off as if it were all in the day's work, but the
mule was obstinate, and it took the entire population of that little
crossing-place, including Tuan and my boatmen, to hoist him off. The
person most interested, the rider, never stirred a finger. True son
of Babylon was he. “Let the slaves see to all things,” I imagine him
saying. There was a little refreshment booth, and a man selling long
fingers of paste, or rather fried batter. My captain handled one
thoughtfully and then put it back.
“Doesn't he like it?” I asked Tuan. It seemed to me so much nicer than
the pink radish.
“She like,” said Tuan, “too much monies. Very dear,” and I think I could
have bought up the whole {340}stock in trade for twenty cents, about
fivepence, so the cash-box was a fraud after all.
Now the hills had receded into the dim distance there were no more
rapids, and I was back on the great alluvial plain of Northern China
once more. The sun came out in all his glory, there were innumerable
boats, and the evening sunlight gleamed on their white sails. Many of
them were full of people, with many women amongst them, and Tuan told me
it was the Dragon Boat Festival.
And then, as the evening shadows were falling, we came to the port of
Lanchou and my journey in a wupan was ended.