“The location of the spot is striking,The beauty of a thousand hills is centred here. Ah!And the Dragon coils around to guard it.A winding stream spreads vast and wide. Ah!And the egrets here collect in broods.Rest here in peace for aye. Ah!The sighing firs above will make you music.For ever rest in this fair city. Ah!Where pines and trees will come and cheer you.”
“The location of the spot is striking,The beauty of a thousand hills is centred here. Ah!And the Dragon coils around to guard it.A winding stream spreads vast and wide. Ah!And the egrets here collect in broods.Rest here in peace for aye. Ah!The sighing firs above will make you music.For ever rest in this fair city. Ah!Where pines and trees will come and cheer you.”
“The location of the spot is striking,The beauty of a thousand hills is centred here. Ah!And the Dragon coils around to guard it.A winding stream spreads vast and wide. Ah!And the egrets here collect in broods.Rest here in peace for aye. Ah!The sighing firs above will make you music.For ever rest in this fair city. Ah!Where pines and trees will come and cheer you.”
“The location of the spot is striking,
The beauty of a thousand hills is centred here. Ah!
And the Dragon coils around to guard it.
A winding stream spreads vast and wide. Ah!
And the egrets here collect in broods.
Rest here in peace for aye. Ah!
The sighing firs above will make you music.
For ever rest in this fair city. Ah!
Where pines and trees will come and cheer you.”
Much more than that in which lies the tomb of Shelley is the situation of some of these Celestial graves fitted to make one “in love with death,” and there is much consoling in the thought which the Chinaman can entertain, that when the cold hand has stilled the beatings of the troubled heart, his disembodied spirit does not want a home, his name and memory are perpetuated in the ancestral hall, his wants are provided for, and the daughter whom he left a child feels that he is near her even to her old age. How different these convictions from the melancholy complaint of Abd-el-Rohaman, the Arab poet, as, fancying himself in the grave, forsaken and forgotten by all his kin, he wrote:—
“They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way,—A guest, ’twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe.My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away,Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.“My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away;On me they left the weight, with me they left the sin.That night within the grave, without hoard or child, I lay:No spouse, no friend was there, no comrade and no kin.“The wife of my youth soon another husband found;A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire;My son became a slave, though unpurchased, unbound,The hireling of a stranger who begrudged him his hire.”
“They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way,—A guest, ’twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe.My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away,Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.“My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away;On me they left the weight, with me they left the sin.That night within the grave, without hoard or child, I lay:No spouse, no friend was there, no comrade and no kin.“The wife of my youth soon another husband found;A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire;My son became a slave, though unpurchased, unbound,The hireling of a stranger who begrudged him his hire.”
“They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way,—A guest, ’twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe.My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away,Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.
“They threw upon me mould of the tomb and went their way,—
A guest, ’twould seem, had flitted from the dwellings of the tribe.
My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away,
Without thanks, without praise, with a jest and with a jibe.
“My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away;On me they left the weight, with me they left the sin.That night within the grave, without hoard or child, I lay:No spouse, no friend was there, no comrade and no kin.
“My gold and my treasures, each his share, they bore away;
On me they left the weight, with me they left the sin.
That night within the grave, without hoard or child, I lay:
No spouse, no friend was there, no comrade and no kin.
“The wife of my youth soon another husband found;A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire;My son became a slave, though unpurchased, unbound,The hireling of a stranger who begrudged him his hire.”
“The wife of my youth soon another husband found;
A stranger sat at home on the hearthstone of my sire;
My son became a slave, though unpurchased, unbound,
The hireling of a stranger who begrudged him his hire.”
The Celestial does not regard death as the termination of delights or separation of companions, and he comforts himself with the thought that the affectionate wishes of all his kin will follow him into Dead Man’s Land, that he will there enjoy companionship, that his spirit may hover for ever over the village and the stream, reverenced to latest generations, influencing the fruitfulness of the all-nourishing earth, the sweep of the winds of heaven, and the courses of the life-giving streams. Until some better ideas be introduced, it would be a pity were this belief disturbed, as it exercises a powerful influence for good by leading the Chinese mind from things seen and temporal—for which it is apt to have too much respect—towards those which are unseen and eternal. It gives to his horizon the awe of another world, and has much effect in preserving those family relationships which lie at the foundation of Chinese social success. It also has a singular effect in consoling the bereaved, and
“Doomed as we are, our native dust,To meet with many a bitter shower,It ill befits us to disdainThe altar, to deride the faneWhere simple sufferers bend, in trustTo win a happier hour.”
“Doomed as we are, our native dust,To meet with many a bitter shower,It ill befits us to disdainThe altar, to deride the faneWhere simple sufferers bend, in trustTo win a happier hour.”
“Doomed as we are, our native dust,To meet with many a bitter shower,It ill befits us to disdainThe altar, to deride the faneWhere simple sufferers bend, in trustTo win a happier hour.”
“Doomed as we are, our native dust,
To meet with many a bitter shower,
It ill befits us to disdain
The altar, to deride the fane
Where simple sufferers bend, in trust
To win a happier hour.”
At the same time, it must be admitted that there is a great deal of confusion and contradiction in Chinese ideas as to the state of the dead. While they speak of the departed spirit as still retaining a full personality of its own, they also, or at least many of them, believe in the separation and return to the primal elements of the various spirits of which the human being is composed. Thus the animal spirit, for instance, would return to and be lost in the great reservoir of animal existence, just as a drop of water in the ocean, and the mind or intellect return to that of mind. Yet their ideas on this subject, however contradictory, and all their feelings, point to death as not an evil in itself, or an event to be dreaded. Hence, in fact, their indifference to life and extreme fondness for suicide. Almost every Chinaman lives in the spirit of their proverb, “The hero does not ask if there be evil omens; he views death as going home.”
At Ma-hum I had a letter of introduction to one of the elders, and found that village small, much impoverished, and greatly dilapidated. Long warfare with Schan-tsun had exhausted its resources; many habitations were empty; the temple and schoolhouse were in ruins; there were very few women—some, I fear, having been sold from distress—and the people had a crushed, desponding air. These clan-fights in the south of China are rather curious, and attention has not been called to them. I never could master all their intricacies, but they occur sometimes between people of different family names, and sometimes between those of different villages and districts. Two villages having the same patronymic sometimes fight, but most usually it is the clanship which determines and guides the quarrel. People of another name visiting the parties are very seldom interfered with, unless it is by the hired combatants, who are generally bad characters, and are sometimes employed by wealthy villages. At one place to which I came, the elders sent out word they would not allow us to enter, as they had more than a thousand mercenary soldiers there, and they could not insure our safety. It is no unusual thing for notice to be given when a battle is to come off, and on these occasions I have seen the hills lined with hundreds of spectators from other places, who entertained no fears for their own safety, were not interfered with, and applauded both parties impartially according to the valour or energy displayed. I say energy, because at one of the most vigorous fights I have seen there was no enemy in sight, or within several miles. Files of men gathered in groups and stretched into line; they ran down hills and up hills again, waving huge flags; they shook their spears, made ferocious attacks upon an imaginary foe, poured out volleys of abuse, and now and then a single brave, half naked, with a turban or napkin round his head, would heroically advance before his comrades, throw himself into all sorts of impossible postures, and indulge in a terrific single combat; but though all this was done, the opposite side never made its appearance at all. Another time I got up into a tree close to two villages, about a couple of hundred yards, from each other, which were doing battle with gingalls. The marksmen protected themselves behind trees and walls and the roofs of houses. Every ten minutes or so, some one would come out and show himself, making derisive insulting gestures; on which a shot or two was fired at him, and the gingall-men on his side tried in their turn to pick off the marksmen. Before any one was wounded, however, I had to descend from the tree and beat a retreat. These fights go on sometimes for days and even weeks in this way, without any more serious loss on either side than a vast expenditure of time, powder, and bullets; but woe to the unfortunate who happens to fall into the hands of the opposite clan or village! If his head is not taken off at once, and his heart cut out, which frequently happens, he may perhaps be exchanged against some prisoner; but it is just as likely that he is put to death in a prolonged and painful way, such as being disjointed or sliced. When a feud has gone on for some time, when all attempts at mediation have proved abortive, and great irritation exists, then the combatants usually come to closer quarters, sometimes in the daytime, but more usually at night. The stronger side in such circumstances relaxes its hostility, and tries to lull its opponents into a feeling of false security. When it has succeeded in doing so, then a strong party will make a sudden dash at the hostile village during the daytime, and kill and carry away as many persons as it possibly can. More frequently, however, a midnight attack is organised. When the enemy are supposed to feel themselves tolerably secure, a vigorous attempt is made to crush them altogether. Some dark night the inhabitants of the doomed village suddenly awake to find themselves surrounded by armed men who have scaled their walls, and set fire to their houses by throwing in among them a number of blazing stink-pots, which also confuse by their fumes and smoke. Then rise to heaven the yell of fury and the shriek of despair. Quickly the fighting-men seize their spears and gingalls, but, distracted by the surprise and by their blazing houses, they are soon shot, pinned down with those terrible three-pronged spears, or driven back into the flames. Little or no mercy is granted to them. Terrified women seek to strangle their children, and themselves commit suicide; but as many of these as possible are saved, in order that they may become servants to the victors. Where the golden evening saw a comfortable village and happy families, the grey dawn beholds desolation and ashes, charred rafters and blackened corpses.
It may be asked whether the Government exercises no control over these local feuds; but in those districts where they exist the mandarins rarely interfere, except by way of mediation and advice. Their power is not so great that they can afford to do more; and, besides, it is not in accordance with Chinese ideas that they should do so. Notwithstanding its nominally despotic form of government, China is really one of the most self-governing countries in the world. Each family, village, district, and province is to a very great extent expected to regulate or “harmonise” itself. In order to this end, great powers are allowed within these limits. The father, or the head of a family, can inflict most serious and even very cruel punishments on its members, without his neighbours thinking they have any right to interfere with him; and, on the other hand, he is held responsible for the misdeeds of his children, and when these have offended against public justice, and are not to be got hold of, he often suffers vicariously in their place. In like manner, villages are allowed great power in the settling of their internal affairs through their elders. Within certain wide limits the district is left to preserve its own peace, without troubling the higher authorities of the province; and if it choose to indulge in the expensive luxury of clan-fights, why that is its own loss. The mandarin of Nam-taw, the capital of the district, had told both the Ma-hum and Schan-tsun people that they were very foolish to go on fighting as they were doing, and he had ordered the latter, as the aggressors, to desist, but there his interference ended: there ought to be virtue enough in the district to put down such a state of matters, but there was not; and by late news from China it appears that the warlike inhabitants of Schan-tsun have been continuing and flourishing in their career of violence; for about a couple of months ago their “young people”—the frolicsome portion of the population—made a night-attack upon the neighbouring village of Sun-tsan, sacked every house, carried off provisions, destroyed the whole place except the temple, and killed at random men, women, and children to the number of 150, no less than 75 of the latter having been destroyed. It is, in fact, this local weakness of the Government which causes the rebellions that devastate the country. A gentleman thoroughly acquainted with the language, writing to me by last mail from the centre of China, truly remarks on this subject: “The causes of the rebellion are, so far as I can see, the overpopulation of the country, the inefficiency of the mandarins, and the indifference of the people. The Chinese enjoy an amount of freedom and self-government which, I suppose, is nowhere surpassed, if equalled; and their social system, which is the result of so many centuries’ experience of what human life is, is sufficient to meet most of their requirements. But it is not sufficient to suppress the uprising of the dangerous classes. To do this the power of the country must be organised into some sort of shape, and then wielded with energy and honesty. Unfortunately, the present mandarins neither have the one nor the other. But the beginning of great changes in China is at hand. I am convinced that any attempt at foreign interference in the civil government of the provinces would do great mischief.”
It will illustrate the sort of democratic feeling which prevails in China, to mention that the elder with whom I stayed had Aheung and my stranger chair-coolies as well as myself to sit down at dinner with him in the evening. The extreme politeness of the Chinese prevents this being disagreeable, and I never saw the commonest coolie either inclined to presume upon such contact, or particularly pleased by it. The German and the Catholic missionaries have their meals in this way when travelling, and I found it, upon trial, to be much the best. In its then condition the resources of Ma-hum were limited, and the house we were in was a mere hovel of sun-dried bricks; but our host produced at dinner fresh and salt fish, pork and turnip soup, boiled pork and salted eggs, fine pork and small white roots like potatoes, with cabbage, bean-paste, and rice, apologising for not having had warning to prepare a better repast. When unafflicted by famine or rebellion, I should say that the labouring Chinese live better than any other people of the same class, except in Australia and the United States. Though they only take two meals a day, yet they often refresh themselves between with tea and sweet cakes; and at these meals they like to have several dishes, among which both fish and pork are usually to be found; often eggs, ducks, and fowls; in some parts of the country mutton, and in others beef. Their cookery is also very good; I never met anything veryoutréin it, except on one single occasion, chips of dog-ham, which were served out as appetisers, and are very expensive, and come from the province of Shan-tung, where the animal is fed up for the purpose upon grain. The breeding of fish in ponds is one of the most plentiful and satisfactory sources for the supply of food in China, and attempts are being made at present to introduce it into France. The great secret of their cookery is that it spares fuel and spares time. In most of their dishes the materials are cut up into small pieces before being placed upon the fire, and some are even cooked by being simply steamed within the pan in which the invariable rice is cooked. The rice tastes much more savoury than that which we get in this country, and is not unpleasant to eat alone, steam rather than water being used in preparing it for the table—a sea voyage exercising some damaging effect upon its flavour. The great drawback of the food of the lower Celestials is that the vegetables are often salt, and resemble sour kraut; the pork is too fat, and the salt fish is frequently in a state of decay. Bean-paste also—a frequent article among the poor—cannot be too strongly condemned; nor is it redeemed by the fact that it is in much use among the holy men of the Buddhist monasteries, for they have a decided preference for “vegetables of the sea.”
At Ma-hum I got a small empty cottage to sleep in, with only the company of aphoong quei, or “wind box,” used for preparing corn, and exactly the same in construction and appearance as the “fanners” which used to be employed in Scottish barns. My trip, so far as it was by land, ended next day at Nam-tow, the district capital, a large walled town of, I should think, not less than a hundred thousand souls. This place had been bombarded about eighteen months before by our gunboats, in consequence of the mandarins stopping the supplies of Hong-Kong, and withdrawing the native servants; so I was rather afraid of being mobbed, or otherwise ill-treated, if I delayed in it, or turned on my footsteps when looking for the passage-boat to Hong-Kong. Even when there is no positive danger, a Chinese mob is rather trying to a solitary European; but China is a civilised country, and fortunately there were two boats and competition. The consequence of this was, that the touter of one of them waylaid us about a mile and a half from the town, and led me direct to his junk, in which I at once embarked, to the disappointment of the crowd which had begun to gather upon our heels.
I used to find it safer to go about that part of the coast in passage-boats rather than in one of my own, and of course in that way saw much more of the people. These vessels usually go two and two in company, in order to assist one another against the not unfrequent attacks of pirates; and are pretty well armed with stink-pots, two or three small cannon, and spears innumerable. When not crowded they do very well, and a small sum procures the sole use of a small matted cabin without any furniture, if it is not pre-engaged. On this occasion the extra cabin was occupied, and in that of the supercargo, which is also usually available, there was a portion of his family; so I had to content myself with the deck and the “first-class” cabin, which was occupied by shopkeepers and small merchants. The Chinese are not very clean, especially in cold weather, when they put on coat over coat without ever changing the inner one: in the poorer houses the dirt and water are not properly “balanced,” and they have a saying which associates “lice and good-luck;” but, most fortunately for travellers, theirpediculi, like horses in Japan, appear to participate in the national antipathy for foreigners. There were about fifty passengers in this boat bound for Hong-Kong, and the cargo consisted of vegetables and sugar-cane. One little boy on board appeared to have been told off to do the cooking and religion. He would suddenly stop in his task of cutting up fish or turnips, and burn a red joss-paper with a prayer upon it, for the success of our voyage; then as suddenly utter an exclamation and dive down again among the pots. This little wretch of a cook, though chaffed at by the sailors and afflicted by a severe cold, appeared perfectly contented, happy, and even joyful—which may be a lesson to some other doctors elsewhere. The Universe, acting under the Chinese system, had found a place which suited him, work adapted to his nature, and such small enjoyments as he could appreciate. He always found time, every five minutes, to snatch a chew at sugar-cane, and even lost five cash by gambling. In these passage-boats the fare is not, and cannot be expected to be, very good; but our diminutive artist prepared for dinner stewed oysters, fried and boiled fish, fat pork, salt eggs, rice, greens, turnips, and onions.
The British sailor adorns his bunk with a rude portrait of lovely Nancy, but our junk had inscriptions savouring of a lofty kind of poetry and morality. In the cabin there was written up in Chinese characters, “The virtue which we receive from Heaven is as great as a mountain;” and also, “The favour (grace) received from the Spirit of the Ocean is as deep as the ocean itself.” On the roof we were informed that Heaven, and not only wood, was above us, by the inscription, “The virtue of the (divine) Spirit illuminates everything.” These were intelligible, but this one, which was on the mainmast, requires interpretation—“There is majesty on the Eight Faces.” It must be understood to mean that there is majesty, or glory, everywhere around. The paper on the rudder exclaimed—“Keep us secure, Tai Shon!” or “Great mountain,” a very holy and “powerful” hill in Schan-tung, to which Confucius has alluded, and to which pilgrimages are made. At the bows there was the cheering assurance, “The ship’s head prospers,” which in our passage was not falsified.
These evidences of high moral feeling, however, were hardly borne out by the conduct of the crew. As ‘Punch’s’ footman observed of the leg-of-mutton dinner, they were “substantial, but coarse;” quite without the politeness of the peasantry; friendly enough, but indulging in rough play, such as giving each other, and some of the passengers, sundry violent pats on the head. The captain, as is everywhere usual at sea, gave his orders roughly, and required them to be promptly obeyed. They don’t think much of firing into another boat, by way of amusement or gentle warning; and are not altogether averse to a quiet little piece of piracy when it comes in their way. On leaving the Canton river the wind and tide in the Kup-shui-moon pass or strait were so strong that we ran in-shore, anchored, and spent the night there. Most of the crew and some of the passengers sat up most of the night gambling, which surely did not look as if their virtue was quite the size of a mountain, and indulged in some violent disputes. Their playing-cards were more elaborate than ours, having many characters and devices upon them, but not a fourth of the size. Being scarcely half an inch broad, though about the same length as ours, and with more distinctive marks, they were held and handled with much greater ease. Instead of being dealt out, they were laid down on their faces between the players, and each man helped himself in order.
The Kup-shui-moon is a great place for pirates, and as I was courting sleep some of the passengers were discussing the probability of our being taken by them, and hung up by the thumbs and great toes to make us send for an outrageous ransom. They did not useHai traák, the Chinese word for “sea-robbers,” butPi-long, which is a Chinesified form of the English word “pirate,” andLa-lì-loong, which is doubtless their form of the Portuguese wordladrone. Like the Italians with theirbifsteccafor our abrupt “beefsteak,” the Chinese, when they adopt or use European words, throw them into an extended mellifluous form, in which it is difficult to recognise the original sound.La-lì-loongis a good illustration of this, and so also ispe-lan-dia, by which they mean “brandy.” The estuary of the Pearl river and the neighbouring coast have long been famous for pirates, and the passengers were not without some cause of apprehension. I have seen these professional pirate junks watching in the Kup-shui-moon at one time, and only a few mails ago there came out accounts of an attempt to take an English steamer in or close to it. Not less than their names,Pi-longandLa-lì-loong, the pirates of China are a result of foreign contact, and as yet give no signs of diminishing either in numbers or in power.
However, no sea-robbers disturbed our repose. Next morning I found we had passed the strait, and were drawing under the shadow of Victoria Peak.