Mount Omi
We reached Kiating in the morning, and set to work at once on our
preparations for the next day. The people there considered us very
extraordinary for wishing to make the ascent at such an unusual time
of year, and told us that it would be worse than useless, for we
should certainly see nothing at all from the top. They pointed out
how arduous an ascent it would be, as the snow would make climbing
extremely difficult. The weather had been cloudy for some time, and
we were in the land of mists, but nothing would deter us from our
intention. We had read discouraging accounts of other travellers who
had been up there, and it certainly sounded as if we should find the
ascent beyond our strength, but we determined, at all events, to
_try_. We arranged to take as little luggage as possible, but it was
necessary to take food for six days, as on the sacred mountain there
are no inns. There are plenty of monasteries, which give you reasonable
accommodation, but it was quite unlikely we should get food there. The
first day we travelled across the plain some twenty miles to the foot
of the mountain. The scenery was pretty, but nothing remarkable was to
be seen at this time of the year. One of the principal objects of
interest is the white wax tree, a sort of ash, called by the Chinese
“Pai-la-Shu.” The white wax insects are bred in the celebrated valley
of the Chien-ch’ang, some 200 miles away among the mountains. When
they reach the right stage of development they are put in paper boxes,
in bamboo trays, and brought to the plain of Kiating by the swiftest
runners. These men only travel by night, as it is essential that the
process of development should not proceed too rapidly. The boxes have
to be opened every day and ventilated, and the men secure the best
rooms in the inns, so that other travellers have much to suffer if they
are on the road at the same time. Finally, the education of the grub is
finished in the plain round Kiating.
[Illustration: POLICE BOATMAN: MIN RIVER]
[Illustration: SIGNBOARD OF INN]
We crossed a large river, and cliffs were pointed out to us containing
caves called Man-tsi dwellings, and we were told that they were
formerly inhabited by aborigines of that name. The banks of the Min
River are honeycombed with them, and it is only quite recently that
this Chinese tradition has been called in question. A resident in
that district, who was interested in the pottery mounds left by the
Man-tsi when they were driven farther west by the Chinese during the
Han dynasty (200 B.C.-200 A.D.), was told of the existence of an
earthenware coffin. He went to see it, and further investigation proved
that such coffins were to be found habitually in the caves, together
with fragments of household implements. He found also drawings of
architectural columns and figures of winged gods and winged animals
carved on the rock, of a totally different character from anything
Chinese. The caves differ very much in size, varying from small
ones, ten feet deep by seven broad and seven high, to large ones, a
hundred feet in depth and eight or ten feet broad and seven or more
high. Some of the larger ones have side compartments. Sometimes large
simple caves are to be found some thirty or forty feet square, and
they are supported by pillars of rock, with well-chiselled chapiters
and ornamental masonry above them. These caves have all the same kind
of doorways, but they vary considerably in fineness of design and
execution. Some of the lintels and sides are well carved. The entrances
have been built up, and sometimes so skilfully filled in with earth
that all external traces of them are obliterated.
As may be supposed, a large number of these caves have been broken
into by the Chinese and rifled of their contents. In a cave opened at
Penshau in 1908, two skeletons were found lying on either side of the
entrance, one with a long sword lying beside it, and the other with a
short sword. There were small images in niches at the upper end of the
cave, and a large jar full of cash, besides many household dishes. As
this was evidently the burying-place of a poor family, there were no
earthenware coffins; but in a similar one, evidently belonging to a
rich family, the corpses were all in earthenware coffins, the material
of which was the same as that now used in the district for making tiles
for the houses. In this cave there were a number of birds and domestic
animals in burnt clay, a variety of crockery, and various traces of
its former wealth, but it had evidently been robbed of such things as
the brass basins and cash which are found in these wealthier tombs.
The writer of the article in the _North China Herald_ (Dec. 26, 1908),
from whose account I have made this brief summary, goes on to say that
the coffins are made in two pieces, the main body and the lid. He
investigated a large number of these caves, which are being ruthlessly
destroyed by the natives, who have no idea of the value of what they
find in them, and will sell such things as swords for a few pence to
be used as old iron. Stone coffins are also not uncommon in them. The
caves were evidently closed about the beginning of the Christian era,
when the Man-tsi were still living on the banks of the Min River. It is
to be hoped that some capable archæologist will soon take up the study
of these caves before it is too late, as evidently there is much to
be learnt with regard to the history of the Chinese as well as of the
Man-tsi in that district.
Marco Polo, in referring to the Man-tsi district, mentions the
widespread culture of cinnamon, and what we procured in Chengtu was
certainly the most delicious we had ever tasted.
Rain began to fall as we neared the town of Omi, and we found there was
no chance of our getting farther that night. Fresh coolies had to be
engaged the next day, as it requires experienced men for going up the
mountain. The usual method of being carried is to sit on a wooden perch
attached to the shoulders of the coolies. A young American whom we met
had been carried up to the top in this way. At one point the coolie
stopped on the edge of a precipice to take a little rest, and suddenly
stooped down, so that the American hung over the abyss. On his uttering
a remonstrance, the coolie remarked quite unconcernedly, “Have no fear;
I am only picking up a pebble with my toes.” He was standing on one leg!
[Illustration: MOUNT OMI BRIDGE]
We arranged to start at our usual hour, 6.30; but we waited for a
long time in vain. A few coolies came and fussed round the luggage,
but while the others were being brought they disappeared, so that we
began to fear we should never do our stage. A great deal of scolding
and losing of one’s temper (no simulation in the present case, though
that is often necessary in China in order to make the coolies start)
had to be gone through before we started. At last we got off at 8
o’clock, with the understanding that the coolies were to get us as far
as Wan Yen Sz that day, for we had been told that we must be sure to go
to that place and stop at a comfortable monastery. There are seventy
monasteries on the mountain; some of them very large, but others
small and ill-kept. As soon as we left the plain the scenery became
more and more beautiful. At the foot of it magnificent banyans and
groups of sacred cedars formed a fine contrast to the slender trunks
of the other trees. Then we came to a charming crystal stream, shaded
by arching bamboos. The path was so narrow that whenever we met
any one, they had to stride across the stream to let us pass, or they
would scuttle away (if they were women) to some spot where there was
room to stand, for the chair-bearers never pause or give way to other
passengers; they simply ignore their being there and walk straight into
them. Maidenhair and every kind of lovely fern was reflected in the
green water. As we went up the valley the path led perilously round
lofty rocks; once my chair stuck fast, unable to be moved either way,
with the horrible precipice yawning below. My bearers yelled (from
anger, not fear, I think), and one of the soldiers happily came to the
rescue, for I cannot think what would have happened otherwise. Another
time one of the front coolies fell flat coming down a flight of steps,
so that on the whole we found that part of the journey very anxious
work, both going up and coming down. We soon abandoned our chairs and
began walking up endless flights of steps. We crossed an interesting
little bridge ornamented with a dragon facing up the stream, whose tail
projected from the farther side of the bridge, as in the sketch. These
dragons are a favourite ornament of bridges in this province, and are
there not merely for ornament but also to ward off the evil spirits.
That is why they always face up the stream. The person crossing the
bridge is a typical Szechwan woman.
We reached Wan Yen Sz much earlier than we expected. The bronze
elephant in the temple there is considered very interesting, but it is
certainly not ornamental. It is said to have come from India, and how
it was conveyed thence nobody can explain. It had been damaged by fire,
and there was a large hole in the under side, so a shrine had been made
there, and two little Buddhas put in it, with incense in front. The
tail was also extremely defective, so bits of incense like hairs had
been stuck at the end of it. The Chinese really have no sense of the
ludicrous in such matters, though they have a keen sense of humour, and
one is constantly tempted to laugh in the temples. Happily, they do not
mind this at all, and would not think that we were showing any lack
of reverence. In the adjoining temple the monks were chanting, while
two or three of them kept up a continuous beating on the Buddha fish
and other gongs, as seen in the sketch. In front of the Buddha, and
almost concealing him, was a large stone monument put up by an Indian
prince. Near here we were shown a piece of stone which was said to be
the Buddha’s tooth. It weighed several pounds, and is much venerated by
pilgrims.
We provided ourselves with stout pilgrim staves, which we found of
the utmost value on both our up ward and downward journeys. They have
quaintly carved dragons or tigers at the top, with a loose wooden pea
which rattles in their mouths. These sticks cost from a penny to 2½d.,
and after the pilgrimage has been performed it is the correct thing to
have them painted red and black and gold. The tiger is the mountain
god who was worshipped long before the existence of the Buddha, and
whose shrines are still to be seen all the way up the mountain, with
incense burning before them.
[Illustration: BUDDHIST MONK, CHANTING]
[Illustration: TIGER SHRINE]
It was interesting to find on Mount Omi the two great Chinese symbols
of power, the dragon and the tiger. As Laurence Binyon puts it: “In
the superstitions of literal minds the Dragon was the genius of the
element of water, producing clouds and mists; the Tiger the genius
of the Mountains, whose roaring is heard in the wind that shakes the
forest. But in the imagination of poets and of artists these symbols
became charged with spiritual meanings, meanings which we should regard
as fluid rather than fixed, and of imports varying with the dominant
conceptions of particular epochs. In the Dragon is made visible the
power of the spirit, the power of the infinite, the power of change; in
the Tiger the power of material forces.”
It is worthy of note that the Buddhists selected mountains already
sacred, where they might establish themselves and form Buddhist
sanctuaries. They tolerated the gods in possession, so that they still
continue to be worshipped simultaneously with the Buddha. The mixing
up of religions is seen everywhere in China, but nowhere did we notice
it so grotesquely carried out as here. We counted no fewer than twelve
tiger shrines on the way up the mountain, many of them with vivacious
beasts half out of their shrines, as if they were tired of their rôle
and were meditating a raid on their worshippers. In the evening the
Abbot had prepared a feast for us, but we declined it, so he sent in a
tray of nuts and sweets instead.
The following morning we set off betimes on foot, and very soon the
coolies left the carrying-poles behind, and were obliged to carry our
chairs on their backs. Soon the steps became almost continuous and
increasingly slippery. The longest flight was over 1200 steps, and
as the steps sloped downwards and were covered with ice the ascent
was most fatiguing and toilsome. The day was grey and cloudy, but the
shifting mists revealed crags and abysses, and all along our path there
was a wealth of lovely shrubs--camellias, rhododendrons, bamboos, and
ferns. The frost had coated everything, and the leaves were reproduced
in ice, looking exactly like clear glass; sprays of dead blossom, tall
grasses, delicate ferns, everything was duplicated in ice, and the
slight thaw early in the day detached this ice from the vegetation. We
were sorry not to see in full beauty the flowers and ferns for which
Mount Omi is justly celebrated, but it would have been impossible to
conceive anything lovelier than what we did see.
Our midday halt at a monastery was provokingly long, as the men’s
food had to be cooked, so that we did not start for a couple of
hours. The sight of fowls here was a pleasant surprise to us, as the
Buddhists obviously could have no use for them and our larder needed
replenishing. We secured some eggs, and asked for a fowl also. When
we came to pay for it, however, the monks said that they did not sell
anything. If we liked to put our names down on their subscription list
(which a monk forthwith produced) for the restoration of the monastery,
we should be welcome to a fowl as a gift, not otherwise. We set out
again, and found our way grow more and more precipitous and slippery.
We met Tibetan pilgrims, a wild and fierce-looking company, toiling
painfully upwards like ourselves, or slithering down. All these are
welcomed and entertained in the monasteries. Our soldier escort was
evidently very much afraid of them, and had a great deal to say of
their evil doings, warning us to keep close together and close to
himself. As I approached a group of pilgrims in one of the monasteries,
in order to watch a man blowing up his fire with a goatskin bellows,
one of them scowled at me and waved me away, as if he feared our
sharing his thieving propensities. This is the season for Tibetan
pilgrims, and many of them had travelled far, bringing their beasts of
burden with them. The Chinese pilgrims come in the spring, and there
was a big pilgrimage ten years ago--so a monk told us. The air grew
intensely cold and dense, and, as twilight fell, our men urged us
to halt about two miles short of the summit, where there was a good
monastery. To this we willingly agreed, the more so as my breathing had
grown extremely difficult, and I was beginning to feel at the end of
my strength. Our lofty room was clean and well built, and the ten beds
around it all stood empty. Soon a large glowing brazier was brought
in, and we were thankful not only to get warm, but also to dry our
clothes, which were heavy with mist.
Mount Omi is 11,000 feet high, and Kiating is only 1200, so we had come
into a wholly different temperature, and when we woke in the morning
it was to find everything frozen hard--sponges like boards, oranges
as hard as bullets, and the water in my sketching-bottle a lump of
ice. But the sun was shining brilliantly, and the mountain-top was a
dazzling vision of loveliness emerging from a vast ocean of clouds. It
took us about an hour to arrive at the summit, and the priest told us
that as the sun shone we were evidently good people. This was highly
satisfactory, as so many people thought us fools for attempting the
ascent at this time of year, telling us of all the people who had
toiled to the top and seen nothing. We anxiously inquired at what time
of day we could see “Buddha’s Glory,” a sort of Brocken spectre which
is rarely seen by travellers, and which we were told could not be seen
at all at this time of year. Standing on the edge of the summit, you
look down a precipice of more than a mile, and we could only feast our
eyes on the ever-changing scene, the clouds looking as if they were
boiling up from some hidden caldron, now concealing, now revealing the
peaks of distant mountains. On a clear day the far-distant snowy peaks
of Tibet are visible, and the glorious fertile plain out of which the
limestone peak of Mount Omi rises.
[Illustration: SUMMIT OF MOUNT OMI]
I established myself in a sunny nook under the temple eaves, and
sent for hot water with which to sketch the neighbouring crag of the
“10,000 Buddhas.” After lunch I sketched the interior of the Buddha
shrine with all its gaudy, squalid trappings, a harmony in reds. I
was amazed to see the brevity of the worshippers’ prayers; owing, I
think, to their fear of my introducing them into the sketch. The three
figures of the Buddha were behind a large red curtain, in which were
openings through which they could be dimly discerned. We went back to
our former quarters for the night, but had very little rest, as the
coolies went in for a night of revelry, in which we felt sure the monks
shared, although our suggestion to that effect next day was vehemently
repudiated. The descent of the mountain we found extremely arduous,
despite our being shod with straw sandals and having the support of
our pilgrim sticks; it was dreadfully slippery, and for six and a half
hours we toiled steadily down flights of steps, or glissaded down
them on our backs. We calculated the distance as not much less than
twelve miles. The stiffness produced was not quite so bad as I had
anticipated, but it makes you feel extremely foolish to have to watch
each step you take in order to be sure that your feet are obeying
your bidding. Then you see the coolies pick up the chairs and carry
you for another three hours after you are dead beat as if they had
done nothing. We spent the night at a clean new inn about three miles
from the town of Omi, and for the first time we occupied an upstairs
bedroom in a Chinese house. After this occasion we always used to try
and secure one, but our stiffness then made it extremely painful to get
up the steep staircase. It was like mounting into a loft, and was a
very pleasant variety from any inn we had yet encountered.
The following morning we made an early start, so as to have a little
time in Kiating to collect our belongings and go on board a boat to
take us to Sui Fu. Our temper was sorely tried by the delay of our men
and the changing of some of them at Omi Hsien, which delayed us about
an hour. By dint of offering extra pay, however, we made up some time,
and came upon an interesting sight to beguile us on the way--namely,
cormorants and an otter fishing. When we got to the Tong River--the
third river that we saw at the base of the mountain--we were rowed down
to Kiating, a distance of some four miles. We were curious to see what
the coolies would pay for the boat journey, as they had arranged the
matter. For the four chairs and the eighteen people, the whole cost was
thirty cash--namely, three farthings. We got back to Kiating soon after
four o’clock, and found that our friends had kindly got everything
ready for our departure. The thought of two quiet days on the boat was
not unacceptable after a somewhat laborious but entirely satisfactory
trip up Mount Omi, and it was many days before we recovered from our
stiffness. Owing to mist, we did not see the impressive view of Mount
Omi as it rises from the plain.