A TIBETAN CARAVAN.
While resting at a solitary tea-house on the mountain side, and speculating on the advisability and wisdom of attempting this route in chairs, I perceived in the far south-west a long line of moving objects coming towards us. Red flags and gaily-caparisoned mules and ponies warned me that something more than ordinary was approaching. The red-clad muleteers, armed with swords and spears, and the large powerful dogs trotting at the heads of the pack-animals, told us that we were face to face with a Tibetan caravan. It consisted of some fifty animals laden with medicines, musk, and sundries. Our spirits rose as we heard that the road was open for pack-animals.
Our resting-place during the night of our second stage from Ning-yuan was the village of Tei-li-pao, overlooking the Ya-lung River, which we reached by a steep descent on the following morning. Ascending its left bank for four miles through dense hedges of prickly pear, growing with a profusion I have not seen elsewhere in Western China, we crossed it at the ferry of Ho-pien Hsün, a customs station on its right bank. The river itself, which is about two hundred yards in breadth, is deep, and flows with an even current untilit reaches the sharp bend which I have already mentioned, when it lashes itself into foamy billows against submerged rocks. The Ya-lung is unnavigable, and the only craft on its green waters were three ferry boats, each about thirty feet long. From the bed of shingle which lies below the customs station, we followed for a short distance the right bank, which is here lined with huge boulders, and then turned south-west up a gully, down which flows a streamlet to the main river. The country gradually opens out, and cultivation, which had practically ceased since we left the Ning-yuan plain, began to reappear on the gentler slopes of the mountain sides to the south-east.
INHOSPITABLE HANG-CHOU.
Our struggles through the day on the precipitous banks of the Ya-lung had, we imagined, earned a good night’s repose at the little town of Hang-chou, which lies on the left bank of the streamlet. In this, however, we were sadly disappointed. Surmounting a low eminence we beheld, to our surprise, little but its charred remains, the town having been destroyed by fire only a few days before. On entering, we found, as might have been expected, wretched accommodation. The homeless inhabitants were huddled together in the few houses that had escaped the ravages of the fire. The mass of idlers seemed to require some outlet for the superfluous energy which had not yet been expended in the rebuilding of their homes. Our arrival was their opportunity. No sooner had we settled down in the apartment which we had the greatest difficulty in procuring, than we were surrounded by a gaping and insolent crowd. So insolent and threatening indeeddid they become, that we had to solicit the intervention of the local authority in suppressing what, to every appearance, was fast becoming a riot. He came, but his presence was powerless and his commands were unheeded. He left, and matters assumed a still more serious aspect. A free fight thereupon resulted between the rioters and my followers. At this point my intervention became necessary, and, for the first and only time during my wanderings in China, I was compelled to show my revolver. Happily for all, the sight of the weapon was sufficient, and, under its awe-inspiring muzzle, four of the ringleaders, who had threatened me with death, were arrested. This quelled the riot for the night, but threats were thrown out of vengeance on the morrow. The local authority was duly warned, and he was good enough to promise us all available protection, and to accompany us on the next stage. When day dawned he was duly present, and we were glad to shake the dust of inhospitable Hang-chou and its riotous inhabitants from our feet.
The valley in which Hang-chou lies contracts towards the south-west. Recrossing the stream, the road runs along the mountain side for some distance; but the mountains soon recede, leaving an undulating stretch of country rising as we advanced. This we ascended amid low pines and dense underwood, past numerous unworked copper-mines, until at its highest point the road is at an elevation little below the mountain peaks on both sides, now white with snow. Here a thunderstorm delayed our progress; the brilliancy of the lightning, and the roar of the thunder echoed andre-echoed from the surrounding mountains, reflecting credit on the forgers of Zeus. But the chilly hail and the rude mud hut in which we were compelled to seek shelter for the night, speedily turned our thoughts from the dreams of classical romance to the stern actualities of a wanderer’s life. The local authority of Hang-chou, however, pressed on with his prisoners to the city of Yen-yuan Hsien, where our non-arrival excited no little consternation among the authorities, who, anxious as to our safety, sent messengers and soldiers to ascertain the cause.
With the exception of a short distance where the road zigzags, the descent to Yen-yuan is easy. We followed a small mountain stream down a valley for some time, leaving it by a fine level road to the west, and soon entered the city, which lies on the north-east side of a plain, backed by a range of high hills running east and west. Here due satisfaction was given to us for the outrage at Hang-chou, whose inhabitants, through their unwilling representatives, were taught a practical, if a painful, lesson as to the treatment of strangers from the West. The officials were profuse in their apologies and in their attention to our wants, promising absolute protection as far as the first city across the Yün-nan frontier—a promise which was faithfully carried out.
The city of Yen-yuan, though small, is the capital of the district which borders on the province of Yün-nan, a district rich in copper and salt, and one of the chief habitats of that industrious and interesting creature, the white wax insect, which is propagated on thebranches of theLigustrum lucidum, or large-leaved privet. The brine wells from which the salt is derived lie at Pai-yen-ching, fourteen miles to the south-west of the city, which we reached by a good road across the plain, down which one or two rivulets flow north-westwards. The way in which the farmers manipulate these rivulets for purposes of irrigation is truly wonderful—here the water ripples in one direction, there in exactly the opposite. This plain is one of the very few places in the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan where carts can be utilised for transport.
SALT MAKING.
The brine wells of Pai-yen-ching, mentioned above, are only two in number, and comparatively shallow, being only fifty feet in depth. Bamboo tubes, ropes and buffaloes are here dispensed with, and small wooden tubs, with bamboos fixed to their sides as handles for raising, are considered sufficient. At one of the wells a staging was erected half way down, and from it the tubs of brine were passed up to the workmen above. Passing from the wells to the evaporating sheds, we found a series of mud furnaces with round holes at the top, into which cone-shaped pans, manufactured from iron obtained in the neighbourhood, and varying in height from one to two and a half feet, were loosely fitted. When a pan has been sufficiently heated, a ladleful of the brine is poured into it, and, bubbling up to the surface, it sinks, leaving a saline deposit on the inside of the pan. This process is repeated until a layer, some four inches thick and corresponding to the shape of the pan, is formed, when the salt is removed as a hollow cone ready for market. Care must be taken to keepthe bottom of the pan moist; otherwise the salt cone would crack, and be rendered unfit for the rough carriage which it experiences on the backs of pack animals. A soft coal, which is found just under the surface of the yellow-soiled hills seven miles to the west of Pai-yen-ching, is the fuel used in the furnaces. The total daily output of salt at these wells does not exceed two tons a day, and the cost at the wells, including the Government tax, amounts to about three-halfpence a pound. The area of supply, owing to the country being sparsely populated, is greater than the output would lead one to expect.
At the time when Marco Polo passed through Caindu, this country was in the possession of the Sifans, and there can be little doubt that the salt cakes, which then constituted the currency, were evaporated at these very wells. Nor are the Sifans wanting at the present day; they occupy the country to the west, and are known under the generic name of Man-tzŭ.
Our progress—I hardly like to use the word—during the five days from the brine wells of Pai-yen-ching to the frontier of the province of Yün-nan, a distance of less than forty miles as the crow flies, is one long story of mountain travelling. Several times did we approach the frontier, but as often were we driven back, south and south-east, by impenetrable mountain barriers covered with pine forests. To the south, the ranges run east and west, and a day’s work, sometimes lasting as long as thirteen hours, consisted in climbing and descending steep mountain sides, and in endeavouring, with but poor success, to circumvent the hugeboulders which lay in the beds of streams in the bottom lands between the mountain ranges, where the road should have been. Cultivation, as can readily be imagined, was not conspicuous in such a country; but here we found in abundance the animal best suited to rugged mountains, the goat. Its flesh, too, was greatly appreciated where rice could not be procured, and where our supplies had long since run short. To the west of our route, we found many places inhabited by Man-tzŭ tribes, whose districts, however, lie principally beyond the frontier.
CLOSE PROXIMITY OF ALIEN RACES.
At Shao-shang, on the last ridge which has to be crossed before reaching Yün-nan, six Lolos, deputed by their chief, who had been apprised of our approach by the Chinese authorities, awaited us to pay their respects, and as we stood looking at the mountain ranges within the southern province, one of them, tall and powerful, every inch a king, stepped forth and did us homage. Here, then, on the very borders of Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan, we find the Lolo from the east, the Man-tzŭ from the west, and the Chinese holding the narrow strip of land which separates these alien races. Alien races, and what a contrast! On the east the Lolo, still retaining his distinctive costume, one of a nation hemmed in, but not absorbed, by the Chinese—on the contrary, able to raid and carry off into slavery the people of the country bordering on his territories; on the west the Man-tzŭ, clad in a garb differing little from that of his conquerors, timid, and ready to flee at the approach of a stranger. The Man-tzŭ women, however, like the women of all these different tribesscattered through Western China, retain the costume of their race, and, though on a less elaborate scale, dress very much like their European sisters. But the latter have not yet donned the turban, nor do they care to walk about with unshod feet. The turbans, which were mostly of brown cloth, were in many cases adorned with circlets of hogs’ tusks. As among the Lolo women, strings of beads were the favourite ear-rings.
YUNG-PEI T’ING.
The little border town of Hui-lung-ch’ang, or Mien-hua-ti as it is locally called, lies at the base of a high mountain range running east and west. From the summit of the range, which was attained after a five hours’ climb, we could make out to the south-west seven other ranges with similar directions, and in the far south a clear glittering ribbon marked the position of the Chin Chiang, the head-waters of the mighty Yang-tsze. The tops of these sandstone ranges were clad with dark pines, while the slopes were covered with rank grass and shrubbery, among which herds of ponies and water buffaloes and flocks of sheep and goats were feeding. From Chiu-ya-p’ing, a mud-walled town of some five thousand inhabitants, surrounded by the two Man-tzŭ tribes—the Li-su and the Pai-yi—two stages to the south of the Ssŭ-ch’uan-Yün-nan frontier, where I was most hospitably entertained by a French missionary on the 3rd of April, two roads lead to Yung-pei T’ing, the first departmental city within the latter province. Although we selected what was described to us as the easier road, we were obliged to make a long detour, and, instead of entering the city from the north, we actually approached it from thesouth. It lies in the centre of a plain some five miles long and two broad, bounded on the north by a semi-circle of mountains, on the east by a lofty range running north and south, on the west by gentle hills, and on the south by low sandstone ridges, fast disintegrating and drifting into the plain. To the south and east of these ridges were numerous pools of water and a rivulet, whose edges and banks were covered with thin coatings of soda. The sturdy little Yün-nan pony which I rode, champed at the bitterness of the water. Yung-pei itself is a city of very little importance. The plain on which it stands has a stiff clayey soil, and the beans and poppy were decidedly below the average of Ssŭ-ch’uan crops. It is, however, the point where the Burmese trade with Yün-nan by way of Ta-li Fu stops, and as such deserves mention.
From Yung-pei the road runs south-west to the edge of the plain, and then over hills clad with pine and oak, until a large expanse of water lying in a plain running north and south comes into view. On the hill-side east of the plain we saw the first traces of the great highway which, prior to the Mohammedan rebellion, is said to have connected Ta-li with Ssŭ-ch’uan; but wild grass and brushwood have all but obliterated the remains of the broad paved roadway. The lake, a fine sheet of clear water, is ten miles long, and at its broadest part about five miles across, and the road, here also paved, skirts its eastern shore. On Chinese maps the lake is called the Ch’êng Hai; but the only name known to the villagers living on its shores is the Hei-wu Hai-tzŭ, the “Lake of the Black Mist.” Numerousmud villages and houses dot the plain, but they are all in an advanced stage of decay, and their inhabitants are evidently well acquainted with poverty, and are miserably clad even for a hot climate.
We crossed and re-crossed the plain to the south of the lake in search of the river, which is represented on all maps of China that I have seen as connecting the lake with the Chin Chiang, the Brius of Marco Polo. We searched in vain; we crossed one or two deep nullahs containing a little water, trickling not from, but to the lake. Further south, however, a brooklet rising in the east of the plain, and strengthened by another from the west, flows down to the Chin Chiang. As the river is approached, the plain, a great part of which was lying waste, while the remainder was growing crops of sugar-cane, cotton, poppy, and beans, contracts, and is blocked to the south by low hills, on reaching which the road turns west and south-west to the market-town of Chin-chiang-kai, on the left bank of the Golden River.
At this point the river presents a striking contrast to its appearance as it flows through the central and eastern provinces of China. About three hundred yards in breadth, its clear waters flow gently east over a bed of shingle, soon, however, to be cooped up in wild mountain gorges, and ultimately to issue as a turbid, muddy river, to become more turbid and muddy as it nears the sea. The river was still low; the melted snows from the Tibetan Mountains had not yet descended to stir the quietude of its crystal waters; but the granite foundations on which the houses of Chin-chiang-kaiare built, strongly shored as they are with wooden planks at a height of fifty feet above the shingle-bed, indicate the addition which the present waters may annually expect.
DEVASTATION AND DISEASE.
Mr. Baber has already disposed of the question of the navigability of the river at a point very much farther east, and I need only remark that the queries put by me to the ferrymen on this subject were met with the answer “impossible.” A few hundred yards to the west of the town of Chin-chiang-kai, where we had been warmly received by the local authorities on the previous evening (April 10th), and where we enjoyed a good night’s repose undisturbed by the low murmurings of the waters on the pebbly strand, we crossed the river at a point where, flowing northwards, it bends sharply to the east. The road runs south along the soft shingle forming the right bank of the river, which is frequently concealed in its deep sandy bed as it skirts the western edge of the plain. Anon it touches the eastern edge, and at this point we looked up a long reach of the river as it flows from the west eastward, till, blocked by bold rocky heights which have repulsed its attacks, it has been compelled to seek a northern course. The roadway crosses these rocky heights and descends to the right bank of a stream, which is lost in the mighty river at the bend.
The plain or valley down which the stream flows has a most unenviable notoriety. Little can be seen in it but the ruins caused by the Mohammedan rebellion. Here a town enclosed by four walls, with open gates and streets covered with wild grass, deserted, desolate;there, the remains of houses and villages concealed under a luxuriant growth of shrubbery and cactus. Notice, too, the blackened walls which have been licked by the flames that accompanied the sword of the Mohammedans or their conquerors. Sad enough truly, but not all. A dreadful plague annually sweeps down the valley and mows down its inhabitants. Can it be wondered that few people care to risk their existence in the plague-stricken hollow, and that accommodation unworthy of the name is all that can be obtained? I managed to distribute my followers over the small village of Huang-chia-p’ing; but I was unfortunate enough to be laid up with an attack of fever, which compelled us to remain for a couple of days in a small mud stable without door or window.
But we were within three days’ journey of Ta-li Fu, and the hope of reaching a state of comparative comfort spurred us on in spite of our enfeebled condition. From Huang-chia-p’ing the road at first runs west through uncultivated ground. Stone dykes peeping out here and there through rank grass and cactus, were the only traces of former cultivation; but as the road turns south-west, patches of poppy and wheat began to appear along the banks of the stream flowing north-east down the valley, and the farther we advanced the more numerous became the signs of tillage, while the slopes of the mountains flanking the valley were covered with tall grass and dwarf fir and oak. As we approached Ta-wang-miao, our eyes were gladdened, though the picture was blurred and imperfect, by the first glimpse, through the white-hot haze of the afternoonsun, of the summits of the Tsang-shan range capped with snow, at the base of which lies Ta-li Fu, the capital of Marco Polo’s Western Carajan.
PICTURESQUE SCENERY.
Dense hedgerows of sweetbriar and bramble in full bloom lined the pathway to the north and south of Ta-wang-miao and greatly impeded our advance. At a distance from the pathway, patches of ground were bright with the purple and white flowers of the poppy, while high up, white shining gravestones peeped out from the tall grass with which the hills on both sides of the valley were covered. A ridge still hid all but the summits of the Tsang-shan from our view; but when we had traversed the reddish flat which stretches north-west from the brow, a magnificent panorama of plain, mountain, and lake lay before us. We struck the eastern rim of the plain near the northern shore of the Erh Hai, in whose crystal waters, stretching southwards, the snow-capped summits of the range bounding the western edge of the plain were clearly reflected. We felt, as we gazed on the brilliant picture, that we were more than rewarded for our toilsome journey. Descending the eastern rim, we soon reached the northern margin of the lake, in skirting which we crossed a couple of streams which enter it from the north. A small temple, perched on a rocky height, stands clear out of the waters in the northern part of the lake. Than such a spot it would have been hard to find a better vantage ground from which to view the picture. The valleys to the north were full of poppies, and the white fields, which stretched along the western shore, confused the eye as they merged and were lost in the glitter of the lake.
The villages to the north of Shang-kuan—the “Upper Fortress”—are inhabited by a race called the Min-chia, no doubt Shans, who differ in manners, language, and, to a certain extent, in dress from the Chinese. Like the Man-tzŭ, they are timid in the extreme, and afraid that by fraternizing with a stranger they might compromise themselves with the Chinese. As we entered the gates of Shang-kuan on the 15th of April, I thought of the members of the French Commission, who, in 1868, narrowly escaped from it with their lives, and of the stout-hearted missionary who braved the anger of the Sultan on their behalf. Père Leguilcher still lives; he no longer hides in caves and woods, but spends a peaceful life within the very walls of Ta-li itself. At Shang-kuan we made the acquaintance of several Ku-tsung, a Tibetan tribe inhabiting the country to the north-west of Li-chiang Fu; but the term Ku-tsung is also applied by the people of Ta-li to Tibetans generally, and is synonymous with the Hsi-tsang of other parts of China. The road from Shang-kuan runs south along the plain, dividing the cultivated land, which stretches east to the edge of the lake, from the stony and rougher ground, which stretches west to the bases of the Tsang-shan, near which it is covered with mounds—the resting-places of the Mohammedan dead. Passing through the ruins which line the approach to the city, we entered the north gate of the capital of Western Carajan, and were welcomed by the Chinese authorities and no less heartily by the French and English missionaries within its walls.
TA-LI FU TO YÜN-NAN FU.
A view from the walls of Ta-li—The Mohammedan Rebellion—A dying patriot’s prayer—Tibetan dogs—Amherst pheasants—A visit to the marble quarries—False musk—Min-chia maidens—The Ta-li plain—Playful gusts from the Tsang-shan—Good-bye, Ta-li—A folklore hunting ground—The Erh Hai and the Mekong—Trade with Upper Burmah—Canton peddlers—Hsia-kuan, or the “Lower Fortress”—Ruined cities—Wretched roads—Half-starved—The foreigner and the camel—Marked courtesy at Ch’u-hsiung Fu—Yün-nan salt wells—A sackful of mails—A roadside trial—Across the Yün-nan lake—Three days in Yün-nan Fu—Trade with Western China, and the introduction of railways.
A view from the walls of Ta-li—The Mohammedan Rebellion—A dying patriot’s prayer—Tibetan dogs—Amherst pheasants—A visit to the marble quarries—False musk—Min-chia maidens—The Ta-li plain—Playful gusts from the Tsang-shan—Good-bye, Ta-li—A folklore hunting ground—The Erh Hai and the Mekong—Trade with Upper Burmah—Canton peddlers—Hsia-kuan, or the “Lower Fortress”—Ruined cities—Wretched roads—Half-starved—The foreigner and the camel—Marked courtesy at Ch’u-hsiung Fu—Yün-nan salt wells—A sackful of mails—A roadside trial—Across the Yün-nan lake—Three days in Yün-nan Fu—Trade with Western China, and the introduction of railways.
“The pen is mightier than the sword.” But the pen has not yet been manufactured which is able to present a living picture of Ta-li Fu and its environs. I have read the few published descriptions of the scene, and, good though some of them undoubtedly are, how short, how far short they all fall of the reality! I would fain throw down this worthless, halting pen, and leave the grandeur to the imagination of the reader, and, if I venture to daub a few rough outlines on the canvas, I must beg that full play be given to the imagination in adding the finishing touches.
On the afternoon of a day towards the end of April 1883, I stood on the north-west angle of the walls ofthe city of Ta-li. Overhead, white fleecy clouds were floating eastward across the azure blue, veiling, at short intervals, the warm glow of the declining sun. To the north stretched a plain studded with villages peeping through the light green of encircling trees, beginning to array themselves in the garb of summer. Three miles to the west the Tsang-shan range, serrated, capped with snow, towered seven thousand feet above the plain, itself nearly seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Three miles to the east, the western shore of a fine sheet of water, which runs the whole length of the plain and is backed by high hills which rise from its eastern margin, was lost among the glistening white poppy fields, which seemed to merge in the silver beyond; and specks of white, favoured by the cool breezes from the snows, were skimming over the bosom of the glorious lake. Wait a moment. The sun is now half hidden by the white belt of snow. He is gone. Darker and yet darker grows the face of the giant range, throwing into still greater prominence the numerous gullies down which flow the icy rills to nurture the plain and then lose themselves in the waters of the Erh Hai. How calm, how peaceful!
From these I am loth to turn to the city itself and account for its ruined condition. Within this walled square of about four miles in circumference there are only two good streets, which cross each other at right angles and terminate at the four gates. What of the rest? It consists of ruined and dilapidated houses and cultivated plots of land. During the Mohammedan rebellion, Ta-li was the centre round which the fierceststruggle raged. When the rebellion broke out, it was seized by the insurgents and held by them until they surrendered to the Imperialist forces which beleaguered the city. Then occurred that scene of bloodshed, butchery, and destruction, the like of which, happily, is to be witnessed in uncivilised countries only. Extermination was the order passed along the ranks of the besiegers, and the streets of Ta-li were quickly turned into shambles ankle-deep in blood. Men, women, and children who managed to elude the murderers fled into the fields bordering on the lake, into which they were ultimately hunted like wild beasts, preferring death by drowning to mutilation, defilement, and massacre.
A DYING PATRIOT’S PRAYER.
This, then, was the answer to the prayer of the Mohammedan leader, Tu Wên-hsiu, when he surrendered to the besiegers. The interview is graphically described by Mr. Baber:—“When the Mohammedans had surrendered and given up their arms, Tu Wên-hsiu, the so-called ‘Sultan,’ came into the camp of the besiegers, borne in a sedan chair, and inquired for Ma, the Imperialist commander. Being introduced into his presence, he begged for a cup of water, which being given him, he said, ‘I have nothing to ask but this—spare the people.’ He then drank the water and almost immediately expired. It appears that he had taken poison, which was suddenly brought into action by the water. His head was immediately cut off and exposed, and, heedless of his prayer—probably the most impressive and pathetic ever uttered by a dying patriot—the victors proceeded to massacre the helpless garrison and townsfolk.”
More fortunate than the members of the Grosvenor Mission, who were lodged in an inn where a thousand Mohammedans were cooped up and butchered in cold blood, I was, through the kindness and hospitality of Mr. George Andrew, of the China Inland Mission, provided with a comfortable room in his house, where I rested a fortnight before turning my face toward Ch’ung-k’ing. During my stay I visited the lake, the marble quarries in the Tsang-shan, and the annual fair which was being held outside the west gate. I was also fortunate in being able to witness a review of about five thousand troops, which took place on the parade ground close to the Mission House. I was most courteously received by the Commander-in-chief of Western Yün-nan, and the Taotai, who claimed to be an old friend—having travelled in my company to Yün-nan Fu the previous year—was kindness itself.
As to the fair, I can add little to the description of it given by Mr. Baber. The Ku-tsung, or Tibetan men and women, were present with their encampments and wares in great numbers, and I was so charmed with their fine powerful dogs that I endeavoured to procure one. The idea had, however, to be abandoned, for the animal brought to me for inspection required the whole strength of a Tibetan to keep him in check. Had I bought the dog, which was offered for ten taels, I should have had to engage his keeper also. I succeeded in purchasing a tiger and two leopard skins, unprepared of course, for a sum equivalent to a little over two guineas, and, for several hundred cash, a couple of live Amherst pheasants, which I carried in baskets toCh’ung-k’ing. This beautiful variety ofphasianidae, now common enough in Europe, is very abundant in Western Yün-nan, where its tail-feathers are highly prized for decking pack-animals. They are inserted, several together, in the brow of the bridle, and wave over the animal’s head. Trade is dear to the Chinese heart. I found that, while I was buying, my followers were rapidly disposing, at an immense profit, of a bundle of razors which they had carried all the way from Ch’ung-k’ing.
MARBLE QUARRIES.
Small slabs of white marble streaked with dark green, and supposed to represent trees, mountains, and lakes, were extensively exposed for sale in the shops and on street stalls. Their abundance pointed to a very considerable industry, the working of which I resolved to see for myself. One morning, taking a few men with me and a guide, I left the city by the north gate, and, proceeding over the plain in a north-westerly direction, struck, in a couple of hours, the base of the mountains where the ascent to the quarries begins. A stiff climb of over three thousand feet through a botanist’s paradise landed us at the mouth of a quarry, where a number of men were bringing out blocks of pure white marble. I told the workmen that I was anxious to see streaked marble in the rough; but they innocently replied that such marble was rare indeed, and that they considered themselves lucky if they came across such a block in the course of a year. Whence, then, all the streaked marble? The villagers on the plain can answer the question, for to them is confided the polishing, painting, and baking of the slabs, and thefilling up of inequalities with bees’ wax. A scene to suit a purchaser’s taste can be ordered in advance. The inhabitants of the Ta-li plain are not behind their brothers on the eastern seaboard. A couple of pods of musk, which had been purchased for a trifle at the fair, were brought to me to look at; although to outward appearances they were intact, a close inspection revealed that they had been opened, and again carefully closed by means of a needle and thread. Their buyer probably paid a high price for all the musk which they contained.
From the quarries a splendid panorama of plain and lake stretched below us. To the north lay Shang-kuan, with its extended southern wall connecting the lake with the western mountains—the northern defence of the city and plain. Hsia-kuan—the “Lower Pass or Fortress”—was concealed by mountain spurs, which creep into the plain to the south of the city. The two pagodas, each of thirteen storeys, which grace the plain between the city and the Tsang-shan, and which are built of bricks stamped with Tibetan characters, looked in the distance like inverted clubs. As we sat drinking in this never-to-be-forgotten scene, a number of Min-chia maidens, with bundles of pine branches on their backs, passed swiftly down the mountain side. The most striking part of their dress was a close-fitting black cloth cap, shaped very like a fireman’s helmet, and adorned with rows of white beads. Our appearance, I regret to say, somewhat hastened their movements.
As might naturally be expected, the half of the Ta-li plain which lies near the foot of the Tsang-shan range, is less fertile than the eastern half. It consistsof stones, pebbles, and gravel, which have been quickly dropped by the mountain streams, while the finer particles of mud have been carried along to add to the soil of the half bordering on the lake. The shores of the lake itself are composed of fine yellow sand thickly scattered with a variety of large shells. Cold water, whether for drinking or washing, is abhorrent to the Chinese; and when, on reaching the lake one day, I expressed my desire to engage a small boat at a fishing hamlet to take me out for a swim, my local escort stood aghast and tried to dissuade me with all sorts of imaginary dangers. The end of it was that we were soon, escort included, at a distance from the shore; and my little dog and I, followed by our guardians in the boat, disported ourselves for a quarter of an hour, chasing each other in the clear cool lake. The fish in the lake, to judge from the specimens I saw caught, belong to the carp family.
CHINESE PREJUDICE.
As a general rule, the Chinese, as I have just remarked, abhor to eat or drink anything cold; but in Ta-li, snow mixed with sugar is eagerly devoured by the people in summer. This brings me to the question of perpetual snow on the Tsang-shan range, and, although snow is visible on the plain for only ten months, yet there can be no doubt that it is found during the other two months in the crevices near the summit, and can be bought in the streets throughout the whole year. The temperature even in summer is delightful; the wind sweeps down from the snows in sudden gusts and cools the atmosphere of the plain. Of these sudden gusts I had myself a somewhat startling experience.As we neared the city on the day of our arrival, the large heavy top of my official chair, weighted though it was with pens, ink, paper, and thermometers, was lifted up bodily and carried into an adjacent field. Another effect of the presence of the Tsang-shan is that the crops are always late, the early setting of the sun behind the range depriving the plain of two hours’ daily sunshine.
So pleasant had been our stay in Ta-li that I was troubled with a heavy heart when, on the morning of the 2nd of May, everything was ready for a fresh start, and I had to bid good-bye to my kind host, who worked at his remote station with a heartiness and a will that I have not seen surpassed. To me, Ta-li and its surroundings had become a kind of paradise, and had it not been that duty called me back to my post, I would fain have lingered there during the summer months. Passing through the south gate we entered a long-ruined suburb, which in former years must have been very extensive. Streets and cross streets are numerous; but the floors of the fallen houses have been converted into vegetable gardens. There is, indeed, a legend that in palmier days this suburb ran as far as Hsia-kuan, a busy town on the high-road which connects China and Upper Burmah, ten miles to the south of Ta-li. Frontier towns are noted, however, as the cradle of romance, and, if I could remember half the myths which were related to me about the White Prince of the “Country of the Golden Teeth,” of which Ta-li is a part, they would make a very interesting volume. The object of my journey was, fortunately or unfortunately, to collectfacts, not fables; but to the student of folklore, untrammelled with trade statistics, I can confidently recommend the Ta-li plain as a happy hunting-ground. The lake is drained by a river which, leaving its south-western corner, divides Hsia-kuan into two parts, and then goes west and south to join the Mekong, or, as it is called in China, the Lan-tsang Chiang.
CHINESE TRADE WITH BURMAH.
Some days previous to my departure from Ta-li, I despatched my writer to Hsia-kuan to collect all available information on the subject of Chinese trade with Burmah; and, on my arrival there, I spent some time in overhauling the statistics which he had amassed, and in obtaining corroborative evidence. This, added to valuable information which I subsequently obtained from a gentleman in Bhamo, led me to the conclusion that the total annual value of the trade between Western China and Burmah amounted at that time to about half a million sterling. As we were discussing trade matters in the inn, a crowd of Canton peddlers turned up, and grinned from ear to ear at the strange apparition of a foreigner so far from the seaboard. They were a rough-looking lot; instead of the usual carrying pole, at the ends of which the loads are swung, each was provided with a wooden spear fitted with a long iron blade, from which dangled an antiquated horse-pistol. They were on their way to Ta-li to exchange their wares for new opium. Hsia-kuan lies much nearer to the nearest point on the Burmese frontier than to Yün-nan Fu, and, had I possessed the necessary authority, how gladly would I have gone west to Bhamo. It was not to be, and I had to content myself with walking tothe western end of the town, and looking longingly in the direction of our Indian Empire, so near, and yet to remain unvisited.
There is little for me to add to the descriptions given by Margary, and by Messrs. Baber and Davenport of the Grosvenor Mission, of the country between Ta-li Fu and Yün-nan Fu. After our experiences of the Chien-ch’ang valley, it was so tame and monotonous that I resolved to push on with all despatch, and we succeeded in covering the distance of two hundred odd miles in thirteen days without resting. Of the six cities which lie on the high-road, the only one that may be singled out for special mention is Ch’ao Chou, the end of the first stage from Ta-li. It showed more promising signs of revival than any of the others. Chên-nan Chou, Ch’u-hsiung Fu, Kuang-t’ung Hsien, Lu-fêng Hsien, and An-ning Chou were in a very dilapidated condition. In most of them the walls, which were breached, had not been repaired; nor within the walls was there any marked indication of returning prosperity. In many of the villages, however, building operations were going forward apace. To say that the road was best where there was no road may seem paradoxical. It is nevertheless true, for, where the paving had disappeared, fine battened sand or clay gave an excellent foothold except when it rained. In many places paved mounds rose in the middle of the roadway, and these were carefully avoided by man and beast. Not unfrequently, too, so distorted was the paving that it had every appearance of having been convulsed by an earthquake.
CURIOSITY DOMINANT.
East of Ch’ao Chou the cities occupy valleys drainedby streams, which go north to join the Yang-tsze. Between the valleys are hill ranges covered with pine, oak, and brushwood, affording excellent cover for game. It was no uncommon occurrence for half a dozen pheasants to rise from the cover by the roadside, startled at our approach, and drop within easy range. Poppy, wheat, and beans occupied the few patches of ground under cultivation among the hills. On the third day from Ta-li we skirted the southern shore of a large lake, called the Ch’ing-lung Hai, which was literally covered with duck. An incident which occurred the same evening photographed that picture on my mind. We lodged for the night in the miserable village of Yün-nan-yi, where, with an exhausted larder, I could get nothing to eat for love or money. It is not a very pleasant position to be stranded in the dark without food, and to know that only a few miles off there are thousands of duck cackling to their hearts’ content. On the whole, I thought it as well to take the matter philosophically, so I smoked vigorously for an hour to ward off hunger, and then went to bed. Next day at noon, while I sat in my chair in the street which constitutes the village of Shui-p’ang-p’u, breaking my fast by devouring a couple of hard boiled eggs, I found myself the object of intense attraction to the inhabitants, who were parading backwards and forwards with a business air that seemed somewhat out of harmony with their wretched surroundings. Their curiosity was still unsatisfied when the head, and gradually the ponderous body, of a camel appeared at the other end of the street. In a moment we were deserted, and as we leftthe village we looked back, and saw the whole population following the camel westwards.
On the seventh day from Ta-li we reached the remains of the prefectural city of Ch’u-hsiung, where we were received with marked attention and courtesy at the hands of the local authorities. A mile from the city a temporary reception room was erected, and a captain, with a file of soldiers, awaited our arrival, and conducted us to a spacious inn outside the west gate; and early next morning the same ceremony was repeated outside the east gate. On the 10th of May we lodged for the night in the village of Shê-tz’ŭ, to the immediate west of which branches a road to the chief salt wells in the province, about fifty miles to the north. Up to this point, nothing of commercial importance had been noticed going eastward; but from Shê-tz’ŭ to Yün-nan Fu there was one long string of caravans laden with pan salt. From the east came caravans of cut tobacco from Chao-chou Fu, in the Canton province, straw hats, and tin from the Kuo-chiu-ch’ang mines in the district of Mêng-tzŭ, in the south of the province. They were bound for Ta-li and the west of Yün-nan. The tobacco was said to be in exchange for tin exported from the above-named mines to Tonquin. Soon after leaving Shê-tz’ŭ we came upon a man carrying a sack, the contents of which—seven bundles of despatches, letters, and papers forwarded to me from Ch’ung-k’ing—were soon emptied by the road-side. At Ta-li, Père Leguilcher favoured me with a perusal of the latest telegrams which he had received by native post from Ch’ung-k’ing, where all the important items of newsappearing in the Shanghai papers are translated by, and printed under the superintendence of, my friend Père Vinçot, and forwarded to the various Mission Stations throughout the West of China.
A ROADSIDE TRIAL.
While I was deep in the middle of my letters, my escort came up with a man they had made a prisoner, and I at once proceeded to hold a roadside investigation. The charge brought against him was that he had allowed one of the animals of his caravan to push one of my baggage waggons, with a bearer, down a gully which the road skirted, much to the damage of the baggage and the injury of the bearer. An examination of the former failed to prove any damage, while the latter had escaped with a few skin-deep bruises about the face. After a prolonged inquiry, I found that both parties were to blame; but I added a rider that I was of opinion that the chief blame lay with the local authorities, who allowed the road to remain in such a frightful condition. My own men grumbled at the decision; but I ordered the immediate release of the driver, and advised him to hurry back to his caravan as fast as his legs could carry him—which he did.
A noble stone bridge of seven arches—the most substantial and artistic I have seen in Western China—spans a stream which flows southwards to the west of the district city of Lu-fêng, on its way to swell the Song-koi. The city itself is badly ruined; but the plain in which it lies contrasts very favourably in an agricultural point of view with the valley occupied by the next city to the east—An-ning Chou. The latter suffered severely during the rebellion. The walls liewhere they fell, the gates are wanting, and the whole scene was dreary, desolate, and dead. There is, indeed, a local industry of inconsiderable proportions. In the eastern part of the city are three wells, about a hundred feet deep, containing weak brine, which, on being passed through earth, leaves a saline deposit. From this, which is collected and placed in water, salt is evaporated and consumed locally. The river which drains the Yün-nan Fu lake flows north under the eastern wall of the ruined city to the Yang-tsze. The village and tax-station of Pi-chi-kuan crowns the last ridge that has to be crossed before descending into the large plain, wherein lie the provincial capital and the lake. Instead of following the high-road we made for the north-western margin of the lake, and at the fishing village of Kao-ch’iao engaged a couple of junks, which bore us eastward, with the aid of a stiff breeze, past beds of tall reeds sheltering teal, duck, and geese, to within a short distance of the western wall of the capital.
In Yün-nan Fu I found Mr. Mesny, of the Chinese Military Service, whom I had met eleven weeks before in Ch’êng-tu. He had now made up his mind to proceed to Canton by way of the West River, and he was good enough to give me the first offer of his horse and mule, which he could easily have disposed of to Chinese. I closed with his offer, and a bargain was soon struck. The same kind hospitality was held out to me by the members of the French and China Inland Missions as on my previous visit, and I spent three very pleasant days with old and new friends.
Three roads lead from Yün-nan Fu to Ch’ung-k’ing; there is the road by way of Tung-ch’uan and Chao-t’ung to the Yang-tsze, and the road by way of Kuei-yang, the capital of the province of Kuei-chow. Both of these routes I traversed in 1882. But there is an intermediate road which, leaving the high-road to Kuei-yang at Chan-i Chou, goes north and east through the north-west corner of Kuei-chow to the Yung-ning River and the Yang-tsze, and this route I now decided to follow.