[Transcriber's Note: The index of this book lists general subject page numbers after sub-entry pages. 

 Incorrect page numbers in the Illustrations list have been changed. ]

 A WAYFARER IN CHINA

[Illustration: THE LITTLE "FU T'OU" (CARAVAN HEADMAN)]

 A WAYFARER IN CHINA

 IMPRESSIONS OF A TRIP ACROSS WEST CHINA AND MONGOLIA

 BY ELIZABETH KENDALL

 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

 BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge

 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY ELIZABETH KENDALL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 _Published February 1913_

 TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF MY MOTHER THE ONE WHO ALWAYS UNDERSTOOD

PREFACE

A word of explanation may help to an understanding of this record of abrief journey in China, in 1911, in the last quiet months before therevolution. 

No one who has ever known the joy of hunting impressions of strangepeoples and strange lands in the out-of-the-way corners of the world canever feel quite free again, for he hears always a compelling voice that"calls him night and day" to go forth on the chase once more. Years ago, for a beginning, I pursued impressions and experiences in the Far Weston the frontier, --there was a frontier then. And since that time, whenever chance has offered, that has been my holiday pastime, among theKentucky mountains, in the Taurus, in Montenegro, in India. Everywherethere is interest, for everywhere there is human nature, but whoever hasonce come under the spell of the Orient knows that henceforth there isno choice; footloose, he must always turn eastwards. 

But really to see the East one must shun the half-Europeanized town andthe treaty port, must leave behind the comforts of hotel and railway, and be ready to accept the rough and the smooth of unbeaten trails. Butthe compensations are many: changing scenes, long days out of doors, freedom from the bondage of conventional life, and above all, thefascination of living among peoples of primitive simplicity and yet of acivilization so ancient that it makes all that is oldest in the Westseem raw and crude and unfinished. So when two years ago my feet soughtagain the "open road, " it was towards the East that I naturally turned, and this time it was China that called me. I did not go in pursuit ofany information in particular, but just to get for myself an impressionof the country and the people. My idea of the Chinese had been derived, like that of most Americans, from books and chance observation of thehandful of Kwangtung men who are earning their living among us bywashing our clothes. Silent, inscrutable, they flit through the Americanscene, alien to the last. What lies behind the riddle of their impassivefaces? Perhaps I could find an answer. Then, too, it was clear, even tothe most unintelligent, that a change was coming over the East, thoughfew realized how speedily. I longed to see the old China before I madeready to welcome the new. But not the China of the coast, for there theWest had already left its stamp. So I turned to the interior, to thewestern provinces of Yunnan and Szechuan. Wonderful for scenery, important in commerce and politics, still unspoiled, there I could findwhat I wanted. 

Of course I was told not to do it, it would not be safe, but that iswhat one is always told. A long, solitary summer spent a few years agoamong the Himalayas of Western Tibet, in Ladakh and Baltistan, gave meheart to face such discouragement, and I found, as I had found before, that those who knew the country best were most ready to speed me onward. And as the following pages show, there was nothing to fear. I had nodifficulties, no adventures, hardly enough to make the tale interesting. 

It is true, I had some special advantages. I was an American and awoman, and no longer young. Chinese respect for grey hair is a very realthing; a woman is not feared as a man may be, and hostility is oftennothing more than fear; and even in remote Szechuan I met men who knewthat the American Government had returned the Boxer indemnity, and wholooked kindly upon me for that reason. If the word of certain foreignersis to be trusted, I gained in not knowing the language; the people wouldnot take advantage of my helplessness. That seems rather incredible; ifit is true, the whole Western world has something to learn of China. 

But I could not have done what I did without the wise and generous aidof many whom I met along the way, Europeans and Chinese, officials, merchants, and above all missionaries, everywhere the pioneers. To themall I tender here my grateful thanks. And to the representatives of theHong Kong and Shanghai Bank wherever I met them, and also to those ofthe Russo-Asiatic Bank I would express my gratitude for many courtesiesshown me. 

As I look back I know it was worth while, all of it. Half a dozen monthscount for little toward the real understanding of a strangecivilization, but it is something to have seen a great people in itshome, to have watched it at work and at play, for you have been forcedonce again to realize that although "East is East and West is West, " thething that most matters is the nature of the man, and that everywherehuman nature is much the same. 

 THE ORCHARD, WELLESLEY, MASSACHUSETTS, November, 1912. 

 CONTENTS

 I. ACROSS TONKING 3

 II. DAYS IN YUNNAN-FU 24

 III. ACROSS YUNNAN 41

 IV. THE CHIEN-CH'ANG 71

 V. ON THE MANDARIN ROAD 101

 VI. TACHIENLU 123

 VII. THE LESSER TRAIL 139

 VIII. ACROSS CHENGTU PLAIN 161

 IX. OMEI SHAN, THE SACRED 180

 X. DOWN THE YANGTSE 202

 XI. FROM THE GREAT RIVER TO THE GREAT WALL 221

 XII. THE MONGOLIAN GRASSLAND 236

 XIII. ACROSS THE DESERT OF GOBI 256

 XIV. URGA, THE SACRED CITY 276

 XV. NORTH TO THE SIBERIAN RAILWAY 289

 XVI. A FEW FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF CHINA 308

 INDEX 323

 ILLUSTRATIONS

 THE LITTLE "FU T'OU" (CARAVAN HEADMAN) (p. 6) _Frontispiece_

 MAP OF CHINESE EMPIRE 3

 A YUNNAN VALLEY 6

 OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF YUNNAN-FU 6

 MY SEDAN CHAIR AND BEARERS 32

 A MEMORIAL ARCH NEAR YUNNAN-FU 32

 MAP OF WEST CHINA 42

 ON A YUNNAN ROAD: MY CARAVAN--THE MILITARY ESCORT 44

 WU-TING-CHOU: TEMPLE GATEWAY--TEMPLE CORNER 60

 LOLO GIRLS 80

 "TAME, WILD" LOLOS 80

 A MEMORIAL ARCH. SZECHUAN 92

 FORTIFIED VILLAGE IN THE CHIEN-CH'ANG VALLEY 92

 "MERCURY, " MY FLEET COOLIE 106

 CARRIER COOLIES 106

 A GROUP OF SZECHUAN FARMHOUSES 114

 A VIEW OF TACHIENLU 124

 TIBETANS 124

 LAMA AND DOG AT TACHIENLU 134

 THE GATE OF TIBET 134

 A WAYSIDE REST-HOUSE 146

 A FORTIFIED POST 146

 A ROADSIDE TEA-HOUSE 152

 TEA COOLIE CROSSING A SUSPENSION BRIDGE 152

 A FARMHOUSE IN CHENGTU PLAIN 162

 MEMORIAL ARCH TO A "VIRTUOUS WIDOW, " CHENGTU PLAIN 168

 THE "REJECTION OF THE BODY" (CLIFF A MILE HIGH), MOUNT OMEI, WEST SZECHUAN 196

 IN THE YANGTSE GORGES 218

 TARTAR WALL, PEKING 230

 CARAVAN OUTSIDE THE TARTAR WALL 230

 A POOR MONGOL FAMILY AND YURT 248

 JACK AND HIS LAMA FRIEND 258

 MY CARAVAN ACROSS MONGOLIA 258

 HORSEMEN OF THE DESERT, NORTH MONGOLIA 268

 A LAMA BOUND FOR URGA 278

 A MONGOL BELLE, URGA 278

 MY MONGOL HOSTESS 284

 THE MONGOL HOUSE WHERE I STAYED IN URGA 284

 LAMA AND HIS "WIFE" 298

My thanks are due to Robert J. Davidson, Esq. , of Chengtu, Szechuan, forkind permission to use the photograph of the Yangtse Gorges. Also toMessrs. Underwood & Underwood, of New York, for the photographs of theTartar Wall, Peking. With these exceptions the illustrations are fromphotographs made by myself on the journey. I should like to express heremy appreciation of the care and skill shown by the staff of the KodakAgency, Regent Street, West, in handling films often used under veryunfavourable conditions. 

 E. K. 

SUGGESTIONS FOR PRONOUNCING CHINESE NAMES IN THE TEXT

In general vowels are pronounced as in Italian. 

 _a_ preceded by _w_ and followed by _ng_ is like _a_ in _fall_. _ü_ like the French _u_. _ai_ like _i_ in _mine_. _ao_ like _ou_ in _proud_. _ei_ like _ey_ in _they_. _ie_ like _e-e_ in _re-enter_. _ui_ with vowels distinct. _ou_ with vowels distinct and stress on _o_. 

Of the consonants, _ch_, _k_, _p_, _t_, _ts_ are softer than in English, approaching respectively _j_, _g_, _b_, _d_, _dz_. 

_hs_ is approximately _sh_ (hsien = she-en). 

MONEY, WEIGHTS AND MEASURES

 Tael, roughly two-thirds of a dollar gold. Dollar or dollar Mex. , about fifty cents gold. Cash, about the twentieth part of a cent gold. Li, a scant third of an English mile. Catty, about one and one-third pounds avoirdupois. 

A WAYFARER IN CHINA

_For the wander-thirst is on me And my soul is in Cathay. _

[Illustration: CHINESE EMPIRE]

A WAYFARER IN CHINA

CHAPTER I

ACROSS TONKING

Three years ago West China seemed at the back of beyond. To make yourway in you had either to traverse the length of Upper Burma and thencross the great rivers and ranges of western Yunnan, a weary month-longjourney, or else spend tedious weeks ascending the Yangtse, the monotonyof the trip tempered by occasional shipwreck. To-day, thanks to Frenchenterprise, you can slip in between mountain and river and find yourselfat Yunnan-fu, the provincial capital, after a railway journey of onlythree days and a half from Haiphong, the port of Tonking. 

When first planning a visit to West China, I set my heart on going infrom the west, for I had long wished to see the wild, picturesquecountry that lies between the Burmese frontier and the Yangtse. Yearsbefore, I had looked across the border and promised myself that some dayI would find out what lay on the other side. But when the time came thedifficulty of securing a Chinese interpreter in Burma forced me to goto Hong Kong, and once there, lack of time made it necessary that Ishould choose the shortest route into West China, and that was by way ofHaiphong and the Red River railway. After all, there were compensations. Even a fleeting vision from the windows of a railway carriage gives someidea of what the French are doing in their great Eastern colony. Moreover, there could be no better starting-point for such a trip as Ihad before me than the free port of Hong Kong, and the comfort ofarranging an outfit in a place where East and West meet untrammelled bycustom-houses is not to be despised. As a rule it is a mistake to bringan elaborate outfit from home. Generally each place has worked out justthe devices that best serve its particular needs, and much of Westerntravelling equipment does not fit in with the conditions of Easternlife. Shoes and saddles the traveller from the West wisely brings withhim, and of course all scientific apparatus is best provided in Europe. But in the main I found all that I needed, whether of Eastern or Westernmanufacture, in Hong Kong, and at surprisingly low prices. Interpreterand cook I had secured from Shanghai. The former, a Kiangsi man, was theproduct of mission schools and a year in an American Western college. Hespoke English fairly well, and was sufficiently at home in the variousforms of Mandarin to get on in Yunnan and Szechuan. The cook had comedown the "Great River" from Chung-king with an English family returninghome, and was glad to work his way back, even though by a roundaboutroute. Although he spoke no English, he understood European ways and wasquick to comprehend my wishes. And he proved a faithful, hard-workingfellow, and a very passable cook. 

By the end of March my preparations were complete. The boat for Haiphongwas to leave at nine o'clock on the morning of the 29th, and the eveningbefore two sampans took me and my kit, together with the interpreter andthe cook, out to where she lay at her moorings. My belongings lookedrather formidable as they lay heaped up on the deck of the Sikiang, ofthe Est Asiatique Français line, but, after all, there was only amoderate supply of stores, such as tea, jam, biscuit, sugar, cereals, tinned meats and tinned milk, together with a few enamelled iron dishesand the cook's stew-pans, all packed in wooden boxes. The bedding-rolland clothing were put in camp-bags of waterproof canvas, while thenecessary maps and cameras and films were carried in suit-cases forsafe-keeping. An English cross saddle brought from Shanghai proved moresatisfactory for the small Yunnan ponies than would have been theMexican saddle which I had tried in vain to secure. Acting on a timelyword of warning I bought in Hong Kong a most comfortable sedan-chair, a well-made bamboo affair fitted with a top and adjustable screens andcurtains to keep out either rain or sun. I had been told that I shouldhave no use for a tent, but that a camp-bed was a necessity, and so itproved. The bed I took with me was of American manufacture; compact andlight, and fitted with a mosquito frame, it served me throughout all myjourneyings and was finally left in Urga in North Mongolia, on thechance that it might serve another traveller a good turn. An importantpart of my outfit, a small Irish terrier, arrived from Japan the nextmorning, when I had about given him up. He was dropped into my waitingsampan as his ship, homeward bound to Calcutta from Kobe, came into hermoorings, and we climbed up the side of the Sikiang not fifteen minutesbefore she was off. All's well that ends well. We were safe on board, and I had secured a gay little comrade in my solitary journeying, whilebefore Jack lay a glorious run of two thousand odd miles. 

The mail boat to Haiphong, due to make the trip in fifty-three hours, had once been a royal Portuguese yacht, but the only remaining traces ofher former glory were the royal monogram, "M. R. P. , " conspicuous in glassand woodwork, and her long, graceful lines, charming to look at, but notwell fitted to contend with the cross-currents of the China Sea. As theonly lady passenger I had very comfortable quarters, and the kindestattention from French officers and Annamese stewards. The secondafternoon there came a welcome diversion when the boat put intoKwang-chou-wan, two hundred miles southwest of Hong Kong, to visit thenew free port of Fort Bayard, the commercial and military station whichthe French are creating in the cession they secured from China in 1898, and which, if all goes well, is some day to rival Hong Kong. The Bay ofKwang-chou is very fine, affording a safe harbour to the two or threeships that were riding at anchor, or to two or three navies if needcame, but Fort Bayard displays as yet few signs of the prophesiedgreatness. To while away the hours of waiting I went on shore andwandered about the empty, grass-grown roads of the tiny settlement. Tothe right as one walked up from the beach stretched a long line ofsubstantial-looking barracks, and many of the houses were of Europeanappearance, attractively set in large gardens. Above the whole towered arather pretentious two-spired church. The one native and business streetrunning parallel with the beach showed little life; people did not wakeup even at the coming of the fortnightly mail from Hong Kong, and thenative population seemed no more than sufficient to serve the needs ofthe foreign element. 

[Illustration: A YUNNAN VALLEY]

[Illustration: OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF YUNNAN-FU]

We were joined here by two or three French officials attended by anescort of Annamese policemen. These latter had a decidedly ladylike, genteel air with their hair smoothly brushed and twisted in a low knotat the back of the neck, the whole bound round with a black kerchieflaid in neat folds. Their uniform was of dark blue woollen set off byputties of a lighter blue, and their appearance was decidedly shipshape. I talked with one of the Frenchmen returning from an official visit toFort Bayard. He seemed to have little faith in the new settlement, declaring the Government had poured in money like water, and with noadequate return. 

It is more than a century since France began to interest herself in thispart of the world, dreaming dreams of an Eastern empire to offset theone she had just lost in America. Then came the French Revolution, andthe dream went the way of many more substantial things, and it was notuntil the days of the Second Empire that Napoleon III, looking east andwest, again took up the question. Little by little the Frenchstrengthened their hold upon the Indo-China peninsula, and the finalcontest came in the eighties, a part of the universal game of grab thengoing on in Africa and Asia. Although China gave up her claim to theterritory a quarter of a century ago, it took many years longer topacify the country, and there is still something to be done. The cost inmen and money has been very great, and at one time the whole policy ofcolonial expansion became so unpopular that it spelled political ruinto the man most identified with it, Jules Ferry, "l'homme de Tonking. "

The real history of Tonking dates from the administration of M. Doumer, Governor-General of Indo-China from 1897 to 1902. During these fiveyears the Parisian printer, turned Radical politician and administrator, showed what one able and determined man could do. When he arrived in theEast, piracy and brigandage were rife, there was an annual deficit ofsome three million francs, and the feeble administration had donenothing to develop the possibilities of the country. When he left, thecolony was upon its feet, lawlessness had been suppressed, theadministration reformed, and the deficit turned into a substantialsurplus. He had built towns and telegraphs, encouraged the nativeindustries of rice planting and silk culture, and by offering specialinducements to French enterprise had developed tea, coffee, and rubbergrowing. 

Nor did the energetic imperialist stop here. Believing that "a nation tobe great should be always striving to be greater, " he began to develop avigorous forward policy which seemed to have as its goal nothing lessthan the control of Yunnan and Southeast China. Colonial expansion wasnecessary to the continued existence of France, he declared. In his lastreport, looking back to the achievements of a past generation, heconcluded, "We are the same men, but we no longer believe in ourselves. We act as if we were a vanquished people, and in any case we appear soto the world. This is the result of our policy of effacement for whichmust be substituted at all costs a policy of action which will permit usto hold our rank. "

It is true the forward policy did not originate with M. Doumer, for thevalue of Tonking as the key to China had been recognized by Frenchstatesmen before ever he put foot in the colony, but it was his task tomake that policy something more than a pious aspiration. Not only did heset about making the French possessions the needed commercial andindustrial base for such an undertaking, but he also initiated the nextmove in the game, the development of railway systems which would bringFrench traders, and if need be French soldiers, into the heart of thecoveted territory. He worked out all the plans, urged them upon theGovernment, and did more than any other man to secure the necessarysupport of the French financiers; to-day railways linked up with Hanoiand Haiphong have crossed the Chinese frontier at two points, Dong Dangand Ho-k'ou. 

The colony, to call it by its correct name, of Kwang-chou held animportant place in M. Doumer's scheme, and he predicted for it a"brilliant future as a port of commerce. " Like the rest of his party heregretted the mistaken moderation of the Government in not acquiring atthe same time a lease of the island of Hainan. Something is being donenow to repair this unfortunate error by industriously developing Frenchhold upon that territory, and the big consulate and the Frenchpost-office and hospital at Hoi-hou, the chief port, are significant offuture hopes, even if not justified by present conditions. 

The following noon, after we left Kwang-chou, we were approachingHaiphong through muddy red channels between the low-lying meadow landswhich here border the river Cua-Cam, on the right bank of which lies thechief commercial centre of Tonking. But its days as a shipping port aresaid to be numbered, because of the difficult approach. Much money hasbeen spent in efforts to improve the waterway, but with no satisfactoryresults, and now it is proposed to create a new port in the beautifulBaie d'Along, a little farther east. There was some doubt in my mind asto the reception awaiting us. We had been told that the customsinspection was severe, and we had many packages; no Chinese would beadmitted without passports, and I had neglected to provide any for mymen; there was a strict muzzling law on, and Jack had not even a collar. But the graceful courtesy of the French officials smoothed away everydifficulty. We were bowed out of the custom-house with our packagesunopened. At the police headquarters, where I at once reported myselfwith my Chinese men, we were met by one of my fellow passengers fromKwang-chou who had hurried ahead to explain the situation, and thanks tohis efforts the lack of passports was kindly overlooked. As for Jack, hewas quickly furnished with all the equipment of the civilizeddog--muzzle, collar, chain--at one of the large outfitting-shops, ofwhich there seemed quite enough for the needs of the place. 

Haiphong is an attractive town of some twenty thousand inhabitants, ofwhom perhaps one thousand are Europeans. It is planned with an eye tothe future, like all French colonial centres, with broad streets andimposing public buildings. But a deep calm brooded over everything;there was no bustle in the thoroughfares, and the shops seemedunvisited, nor did their proprietors show interest in attracting custom. In one of the largest I offered a piastre, fifty cents gold, in paymentfor a few picture post-cards, but they could not change the coin, andseemed disinclined to make the effort to do it, so I went without mycards. The Annamese, who form the bulk of the population, are attractivein appearance, finer in feature and gentler in manner than the Chinese. Save for a serious cast of face, they are much like the Burmese. Theirdress is quieter in tone than that of either their Burmese cousins ortheir Chinese neighbours, and is severely utilitarian in cut, differinglittle for men or women. The working dress of Haiphong was full, long, square-cut trousers over which fell a sort of prolonged shirt slashed tothe waist. When at work the front panel was tucked up out of the way. All alike wore huge straw hats tied under the chin. 

But I saw little of Haiphong, as I left the same evening, and even lessof Hanoi, the capital, where we arrived at half-past ten, starting offagain before eight o'clock the next morning. I was sorry not to see moreof the latter place, for it is one of the finest cities in the Far East. But I carried away a vision of a good hotel, an imposing capitol, and apretentious station, all set on wide streets lined with European-lookinghouses surrounded by real green grass lawns. A twenty-minute run in arickshaw soon after dawn showed fine chaussées leading out into thecountry and filled, even at this early hour, with crowds of country-folkbringing their produce to market. I believe there are over one hundredmiles of metalled roads in the capital and the suburbs, all due tountiring M. Doumer. But his most enduring monument in Hanoi is the fineexposition buildings. When he went home to raise a second loan of twohundred million francs for the development of the colony, the men towhom he appealed naturally asked what were the resources of the country. His convincing reply was the famous exposition of 1902. 

There is one through train daily each way between Haiphong andYunnan-fu. The distance is about six hundred miles, and it took threedays and an evening to make the trip. There is no traffic by night, andthis seems to be the rule on these adventurous railways, for I met thesame thing on the Anatolian and Bagdad lines between Constantinople andEregli. The corridor trains are equipped with four classes. The firstwas inferior to the same class on Continental lines, but that seemed tomatter little, for it was usually empty. As a gay young Englishman inYunnan-fu remarked, no one went first-class unless he was travelling atsome one's else expense. The second and third class were very good oftheir kind, and the fourth was far and away the most comfortablearrangement of the sort I had ever seen, with benches along the sidesand large unglazed window openings. Most of the passengers and all thejollity went in this class. Everywhere there were other than humantravellers; birds, dogs, goats, and pigs were given room, always oncondition of having a ticket. I paid four dollars gold for my dog'sticket from Haiphong to Yunnan-fu, but having paid, Jack's right in thecarriage was as unquestioned as mine, and I found this true in all myrailway travel in China. 

The Tonking-Yunnan railway is a remarkable undertaking, and shows theseriousness with which the French are attacking the problems of FarEastern colonization. The lower half of the line, which here follows upthe Red River valley, presented few serious engineering difficulties, although calling for at least one hundred and seventy-five bridges onthe section south of Lao-kai, but it was almost impossible to securelabourers for the construction work. Annamese refused to lend a hand, and the Chinese died like flies from the malarial conditions. For a timework was at a standstill, and in the end it had to be suspended duringthe summer months. The upper part, on the other hand, especially thatsection which runs through the Namti valley, tested to the utmost theskill of the French engineers. And the cost was correspondingly great. Even as it is, much of the embanking seems to be of a rather slightcharacter, and quite unfit to stand the tremendous tropical downpours ofthe early summer months. After leaving China I learned that I had passedover the line just in time, for the rains set in very early in thesummer of 1911, and for weeks traffic was fearfully interrupted bylandslips and broken bridges. 

Whether the line will prove a financial success depends on some thingsnot wholly under control. The present customs regulations certainly tendto check the development of trade in Tonking, and the transportationrates are perhaps more than traffic can bear. The French, however, canchange their policy in these respects if they think best. But theproposed construction by the Chinese Government of a railway connectingYunnan-fu and the West River valley would cut the ground out from undertheir feet. For the moment, the Revolution has stopped the enterprise, but it is certain to be taken up again, as there are no insuperableengineering obstacles in the way, and every economic and politicalreason for giving Yunnan an outlet to the sea through Chinese territory. 

On leaving Hanoi in the early morning light we struck across a widefertile plain, beautifully cultivated; fields of rice alternating withmaize stretched away to a wall of feathery bamboo broken by statelypalms and glossy mangoes. After a little the country became more broken, rolling near by, mountainous in the distance. The vegetation, dense andtropical, hemmed in the line on both sides, but here and there charmingtrails led away through the jungle to villages on higher land; adelightful region to pass through, perhaps to live in if one were aduck, but for human beings the steamy heat must be very depressing. AtYun Bay the valley narrowed, and we drew nearer the mountains, but therewas no change in the atmosphere, and had not the sky been cloudy, weshould have suffered greatly from the heat. 

My fellow travellers were chiefly officials of the civil administrationor connected with the railway, who chatted or slept or quietly drankaway the weary hours; for them there was no novelty in the trip to dullthe feeling of discomfort. At one small station a man who might havebeen a planter got in, followed by an attractive-looking Annamese womancarrying a little child. She cried bitterly as she waved good-bye to agroup of natives on the station platform. The man seemed well known onthe line, and was soon the centre of a group of his fellows who paid noattention to the woman. After a while the trio went to sleep, the man onthe carriage bench, the woman and child on the floor. She was what iseuphemistically called a "cook" in Tonking; just another name for anarrangement so often resulting from the lonely life of Europeans among aslack-fibred dependent alien population. It is the same thing thatconfronts the stray visitor to the isolated tea plantations of the Assamhills, where young English lads are set down by themselves, perhaps aday's journey from the next European. What wonder that they find itdifficult to hold fast to the standards and principles of the home thatseems so far away, or that if they once ignore their inheritedtraditions, no matter in how slight a thing, there seems to be nonatural stopping-place short of the abyss. As once said to me an agedAmerican missionary, who perhaps had never worn an evening coat a dozentimes in his life, "A nice young fellow, clean in body and soul, comesout from England, and finds himself shut up for the year on one of theseplantations, no one of his kind within reach. He means well, but thetest is too great. First he stops dressing for dinner. What's the use?Then he gets careless about his manners. And the end of it all isblack-and-tan babies in the compound. " Here in Tonking the woman isperhaps as well off as in her native hut until the planter goes home orbrings out a European wife, but in some way or another there is usuallyan untoward ending. As for the children, they go to swell the class thatis neither here nor there, and their lot is probably happier than thatof the unfortunate Eurasians of India, since race prejudice is far lessstrong among the French than with the Anglo-Saxon. 

At Lao-kai on the Tonking frontier I stopped over for a day's rest, having learned that it boasted a comfortable European inn. The littletown is built on the opposite high banks of the Red River near itsjunction with the Namti. Just across the latter stream lie China and theChinese town of Ho-k'ou. There is a distinct European aspect to Lao-kai, and as a frontier post it has a good-sized garrison of the AnnameseTirailleurs and the French Foreign Legion. The latter did not look asblack as they are painted, and it was hard to realize that behind theirfriendly, courteous bearing were ruined careers; but the contrast oftheir sturdy forms and weather-beaten faces with the slender figures anddelicate features of the Tirailleurs was very striking. I did not wonderthat the French soldiers have dubbed their Annamese companions-in-armsthe "Young Ladies. " The inn, which was most efficiently managed by twoFrenchwomen, served as a sort of club for the Europeans of both Lao-kaiand Ho-k'ou, and incidentally also for innumerable dogs and cats. Atdinner each person was the centre of an expectant group of thefour-footed habitués of the inn, and no one seemed to object. Justanother instance of the liking of the most civilized peoples of the Westand the East, English, French, and Chinese, for pet animals. 

A small church on the right bank of the river showed white among thebamboos, and in the early evening the bells rang with a homelike sound. Crossing by the ferry I found the place empty save for two Annamesesoldiers kneeling quietly and reverently. In going back and forth on theferry-boat as I did several times, I had a chance to observe the people. As in the case of the Burmans the difference between men and women isnot marked; indeed, among the younger ones it is often difficult to tellthem apart. The great palm-leaf hat generally worn took me back to hotSunday afternoons in an old church in the Berkshire hills ofMassachusetts, when my restless little mind busied itself with wonderingwhat palm leaves looked like when they were not fans. I now had a chanceto see, for I was in the land of palms, and the church-going fans of mychildhood seemed to have transformed themselves into a universalheadgear. In shape the Annamese hat resembles a tea-tray with edgesthree inches deep, and of the size of a bicycle wheel. In addition tothe band passing under the chin a small crown fits the head snugly, andhelps to keep the huge thing in place. Primarily it is a head-covering, a protection against sun or rain, but incidentally it serves as awindbreak, a basket-cover, a tray, or a cradle. Often French soldierscrossed with me, and I noticed that they usually spoke Annamesefluently, unlike Tommy Atkins in India, who rarely knows a word of thevernacular; also they seemed to be on a friendly, not to say familiarfooting with the natives. 

After a comfortable week-end's rest, I left Lao-kai in the earlymorning, helped on my journey by those courtesies that so often instrange lands convince one that "less than kin more than kind" quiteunderstates the truth. An Italian on his way down the river wired thelandlord of the best inn in Yunnan-fu of my coming, that I might beproperly met. That I had already done so myself did not at all take fromhis kind thoughtfulness. Still another Italian of the Chinese customsservice joined me as we left Lao-kai, having come over from Ho-k'ou toescort me across the frontier, that I might have no bother with myluggage. Yet another of these kind strangers wired ahead to warn thesolitary American on the line of my coming, thus giving the twocompatriots a chance to exchange a few words at the station as thetrain went through. 

On leaving Lao-kai our way led up the valley of the Namti, a smallmountain river coming in from the east. The scenery was now much wilder, and as we rose to higher levels the vegetation changed, the pathlessjungle which comes up to the very doors of Lao-kai gave way to sparselycovered grass slopes, and they in turn to barren, rocky walls. It washere that the French engineers encountered their most difficultproblems. We wound up the narrow valley in splendid loops and curves, turning upon our tracks, running through numerous tunnels, and at onetime crossing a chasm so narrow and with sides so steep and precipitousthat it was found necessary to build the bridge in two parts, eachagainst the face of the cliff, and then gradually lower them until theymet above the river, three hundred and fifty feet below. Finally by analmost intolerable gradient we topped the divide and found ourselvesoverlooking a wonderful, well-watered plain five thousand feet above thesea, and cultivated as far as the vision could carry with the care andprecision of a market-garden. 

That night I spent at A-Mi-chou in a semi-Chinese inn. The cooking wasgood, and, thanks to the thoughtfulness of a railway official who wiredahead, I had one of the two good rooms of the house, the others beinggiven over to rats. This was truly China, and the European railway withits Frenchified trains and stations seemed indeed an invasion, a worldapart. The French officials apparently shared this feeling, and had anice way of regarding themselves as your hosts and protectors. 

All the next day we were crossing the great plateau of Yunnan, nowclimbing a pass in the mountain-ranges that tower above the level, nowmaking our way up a narrow rocky valley, the gray limestone cliffs gaywith bright blue flowers and pink blossoming shrubs. Just what they wereI could not tell as the train rolled by. Mostly the road led throughlong stretches of tiny garden-like fields, broken here and there byprosperous looking villages half concealed in bamboo groves. The scenerywas very fine and varied; above, the rocky hills, below, the greenvalleys. The mingling, too, of tropical and temperate vegetation wasstriking. We were in latitude 24° and 25°, about the sameas Calcutta, but at an elevation of nearly seven thousand feet, and thecombination seemed to work confusion among the growing things, for riceand wheat were found not far apart, and here at last Heine's palm andpine had come together. 

Late on the second afternoon after leaving Lao-kai we were approachingYunnan-fu. Seen across the plain, the capital of the province lookedvery imposing as it lay stretched along a low ridge running east andwest. Rice-fields interspersed with ruins, sad reminders of theterrible Mohammedan rebellion of a generation ago, crowd up to the verywalls on the near side of the town. Outside the South Gate is thestation, and not far distant the Chinese house which an enterprisingFrench couple had turned into a very comfortable inn, where I stayed thethree days needed for arranging my caravan and seeing the sights of theplace. 

CHAPTER II

DAYS IN YUNNAN-FU

The situation of Yunnan's capital is extraordinarily picturesque. Itstands in a wide plain, its northern wall running along a low rockyridge from which there is a charming view over city and lake to thegreat mountains that skirt the plain on all sides. Lying at an elevationof nearly seven thousand feet, it is blessed with a white man's climate. Eighty-five degrees in the shade marks the highest summer temperature, and the winters are just pleasantly bracing. Europeans who haveexperienced the biting winds of Peking, the damp heat of Canton, or thegray skies of Chengtu find in the bright days and cool breezes of Yunnansome mitigation of their exile to this remote corner of the empire. Thecity itself is not very attractive in spite of its many trees, for itseems a network of narrow lanes, only broken here and there by a templeenclosure or a stretch of waste land, the whole shut in by soundthirty-foot high walls; nor are there any sights of special interest, with the exception of a rather fine Confucian temple. But the countryroundabout affords many charming excursions. The waters of the lake, some twenty-three miles in length, once perhaps washed the west wall, but it is gradually silting up, and to-day it is five miles away and isreached by heavy sampans which ply the narrow canals that intersect therice-fields. Farm buildings, tea-houses, and temples buried in groves ofbamboo are dotted over the plain, which is crossed at intervals by high, stone-paved dykes lined with trees. The rich cultivation of the lowlandis in sharp contrast with the surrounding hills, bare and barren savewhere the presence of a temple has preserved the forest. 

Yunnan-fu, with a population of some eighty thousand, seems a fairlyprosperous town. Copper is found on the neighbouring hills, and themetal-work of the place is famous, although by law all copper mined mustbe sent to Peking. But the importance of the city depends mainly uponits trade. It is the centre of a large though rather scantily populateddistrict abounding in the great staples, rice, beans, and millet, aswell as in fruit and vegetables. Formerly Yunnan stood in the forefrontof opium-producing provinces, but when I was there not a poppy-field wasto be seen. The last viceroy, the much respected Hsi Liang, the oneMongol in the Chinese service, himself not an opium smoker, had showngreat determination in carrying out the imperial edicts against its useor production, and rather unwillingly Yunnan was brought into line withthe new order. Under his successor, Li Ching Hsi, a man known to begiven over to the use of the drug, unwilling converts hoped for betterdays, only to be disappointed. After a more or less serious effort toreform, he announced that he was too old to change, but the province hada long life before it, and must obey the law. So he made amends for hisown short-comings by enforcing the restrictions almost as vigorously ashis predecessor had done. What was true at that time in Yunnan was alsothe case in Szechuan. Although always on the watch for the poppy, nowhere did I see it cultivated. Probably in remote valleys off theregular trails a stray field might now and then have been found, innocently or intentionally overlooked by the inspector, but in the mainpoppy-growing had really been stamped out; and this where a generationago that careful observer, Baber, estimated that poppy-fieldsconstituted a third of the whole cultivation. Credit where credit isdue. Manchu rule may have been weak and corrupt, but at least in respectof one great popular vice it achieved more than any Western power everthought of attempting. Certainly not last among the causes for itsoverthrow was the discontent aroused by its anti-opium policy. And nowit is reported that individualism run mad among the revolutionaryleaders has led to a slackening in the enforcement of the rules, and therevival of poppy cultivation. 

For half a century Yunnan has known little peace. Twenty years long theterrible Mohammedan rebellion raged, and the unhappy province was sweptfrom end to end with fire and sword. Marks of the devastation of thattime are everywhere visible. Hardly had it been put down when the warwith the French in the eighties again involved Yunnan. Later came theoutbreak of the tribesmen, while the Boxer movement of the north found avigorous response here. Bloodshed and disorder have given the country aset-back from which it is only beginning to recover. 

But the coming of the railway has brought fresh life to Yunnan, and theprospects for the future economic development are very promising. In thecapital there were many signs of a new day. The Reform movement hadtaken good hold in this remote corner of the empire. A hospital witheight wards and under Chinese control was doing fine work. Schools wereflourishing, and there was even a university of sorts. The newlyorganized police force pervaded the whole place and was reputed quiteefficient. But it was the new military spirit that most forced itselfupon you; you simply could not get away from it. Bugle practice madehideous night and day. Everywhere you met marching soldiers, and thegreat drill ground was the most active place in the town. Dread of theforeigner underlies much of the present activity and openmindednesstowards Western ideas. The willingness to adopt our ways does notnecessarily mean that the Chinese prefer them to their own, but simplythat they realize if they would meet us on equal terms they must meet uswith our own weapons. Writing of the Boxer rising, Sir Charles Eliotsummed up the Chinese position in a sentence, "Let us learn their tricksbefore we make an end of them. " Now it might read, "Let us learn theirtricks before they make an end of us. " The drilling soldiers, the modernbarracks, the elaborately equipped arsenals, as well as the militaryschools found all over China to-day, show which one of the Western"tricks" seems to the man of the Middle Kingdom of most immediate value. At the military school of Yunnan-fu they have a graphic way of enforcingthe lesson to be learned. A short time ago the students gave a publicdramatic performance, a sort of thing for which the Chinese have decidedtalent. One of the scenes showed an Englishman kicking his Hinduservant, while another represented an Annamese undergoing a beating atthe hands of a Frenchman. The teaching was plain. "This will be yourfate unless you are strong to resist. " The English and French consulsprotested formally, and the proper apologies were made, but no onebelieves that the lesson was forgotten. 

It is not to be wondered at that the people of Yunnan are alive to thedanger of foreign interference, for they see the British on the west andmuch more the French on the south, peering with greedy eyes andclutching hands over the border. In the last fifteen years commissionsof the one and the other have scoured the province with scarcely so muchas "by your leave, " investigating the mineral resources and planning outpracticable railway routes. Within the capital city the French seementrenched. A French post-office, a French hospital, French shops, hotels, missions, and above all the huge consulate, are there likeadvance posts of a greater invasion. There is an ominous look to thesepretentious establishments holding strategic points in this or thatdebatable territory. Take the French consulates, here in Yunnan-fu andin Hoi-hou, or the Russian in Urga, the North Mongolian capital, theyhave more the aspect of a fortified outpost in a hostile country thanthe residence of the peaceful representative of a friendly power. 

And Yunnan is beginning to move. For some time past the Government hasbeen considering seriously the project of a railway across the provinceon the east to the Si Kiang and Canton, and just before I arrived inYunnan-fu two engineers (significantly enough Americans) startednorthwards to make the preliminary surveys for a line connecting thecapital with the Yangtse. If these two schemes can be carried throughunder Chinese control, good-by to the hopes of the French. Just at thetime that I was in Yunnan there was much excitement over the Pien-mamatter, a boundary question between the province and Burma. A boycottof British goods had been started which would have been more effectiveif there had been more goods to boycott, but it indicated the feeling ofthe people, and the viceroy, Li Ching Hsi, was winning golden opinionsfor the stand he took in the matter, which, however, did not save himfrom ignominious deportation by the Revolutionary party only a fewmonths later. 

But whatever the feeling towards foreigners in the mass, the individualforeigner seemed to meet with no unfriendliness on the part of thepeople in Yunnan-fu, and apparently official relations were on a cordialfooting. I found the Bureau of Foreign Affairs ready to do all it couldto smooth my way across Yunnan, but perhaps that was due in part to thefact that the chief of the bureau had been for several years consul inNew York. By arrangement I called one afternoon, in company with amissionary lady, upon his wife. Threading our way through narrow, winding streets, our chairs turned in at an inconspicuous doorway and wefound ourselves in a large compound, containing not so much one house asa number of houses set down among gay gardens. The building in which wewere received consisted apparently of two rooms, an anteroom and areception room. The latter was furnished in the usual style (invariable, it seems to me, from country inn to prince's palace), heavy highchairs, heavy high tables ranged against walls decorated with kakemonosand gay mottoes; only in the centre of the room was a large tablecovered with a cloth of European manufacture on which were set outdishes of English biscuits and sweets. Our hostess, dressed in amodified Chinese costume, received us with graceful dignity. Herfine-featured face bore a marked likeness to many that one meets on thestreet or in the church of an old New England town, and its ratheranxious expression somewhat emphasized the resemblance. She spoke withmuch pleasure of the years she had spent in America, and her daughter, who had been educated in a well-known private school in New York, lookedback longingly to those days, complaining that there was no society inYunnan-fu; but she brightened up at a reference to the arrival of a newand young English vice-consul, hoping that it might mean some tennis. Itwas an unexpected touch of New China in this out-of-the-way corner. Before we left, two younger children were brought in, both born inAmerica, and one bearing the name "Daisy, " the other "Lincoln, " butalready they were forgetting their English. 

During my three days in Yunnan-fu, [1] through the kindness of theBritish Consul-General I was given a chance to make one or twoexcursions into the surrounding country. An especially charming tripthat we took one afternoon was to Chin Tien, or "Golden Temple, " acelebrated copper temple about five miles out. Near the town our chairswere borne along the narrow earth balk between the bean- andrice-fields, but farther on our way led over the top of a high dykelined with trees. We mounted by a charming winding road to the temple, set high on the hillside among its own groves of conifers, the courts ofthe temple, which rose one behind the other, being connected by long, steep flights of steps. In the upper court we were met by the friendlypriests, the quiet dignity of their reception being somewhat disturbedby the din of the temple dogs, goaded almost to madness at Jack'simperturbable bearing. Chinese temples rarely offer much of interest;the construction is usually simple and their treasures are few, buteverything is freely shown, there are no dark corners, and the spaciouscourts gay with flowers are full of charm. The sacred images which theycontain are generally grotesque or hideous. Not often does one show atrace of the gracious serenity that marks the traditionalrepresentations of Buddha; on the other hand, they are never indecent. 

[Illustration: MY SEDAN CHAIR AND BEARERS]

[Illustration: A MEMORIAL ARCH NEAR YUNNAN-FU]

While I was seeing a little of Yunnan-fu and its people, thepreparations for my overland trip were moving forward, thanks chieflyto the kind helpfulness of Mr. Stevenson, of the China Inland Mission. For many years a resident of the province, and wise in the ways of thecountry and of the country-folk, his advice served me at every turn. Engaging the coolies was of course the matter of chief importance. Onthem would depend the success of the first stage of my journey, the twoand a half or three weeks' trip to Ning-yüan-fu in the Chien-ch'angvalley. A representative of the coolie "hong, " or guild, a dignified, substantial-looking man, was brought to the inn by Mr. Stevenson. Afterlooking over my kit carefully (even the dog was "hefted" on the chancehe might have to ride at times), he decided the number of cooliesnecessary. As I wished to travel fast if need came, I threw in anotherman that the loads might be light. The average load is seventy or eightycatties, a catty equalling about one pound and a quarter. In Yunnan thecoolies generally carry on the shoulder the burden, fairly divided, being suspended from the two ends of a bamboo pole. For myself I hadfour men, as I had a four-bearer chair, the grandest of all things onthe road save the mandarin's chair with its curved poles raising theoccupant high above the common herd. At first I did not realize thesignificance of the number, although I marked the interest with which myinterpreter inquired how many bearers I should have. What I didappreciate was the extreme comfort of my travelling arrangements. Seated in my chair, which was open above and enclosed below, andfurnished with a water-proof top and with curtains that could be loweredto protect me against sun or rain, wind or importunate curiosity, I feltas though on a throne. Under the seat was a compartment just largeenough for dressing-bag, camera, and thermos bottle, while at my feetthere was ample room for Jack. For my interpreter there was a two-bearerchair, with which he was vastly discontented, and I, too, had my doubtsabout it, although our reasons were not the same. He felt it beneath hisdignity to travel with two bearers only; I feared that it was too greata burden for two men, even though the chair was light and the Chineseliteratus, small-boned and lacking in muscle, is no heavy burden. Anyway, the arrangement did not work well, and at Ning-yüan-fu theinterpreter was provided with a closed chair and three bearers, to hisown satisfaction and to mine also, again for different reasons. 

A sedan-chair is too luxurious to be long endurable, so I added a ponyto our caravan, purchased, from a home-going Dane of the customsservice, for forty-four dollars Mexican. The Yunnanese ponies are smalland sturdy, and as active as cats. They are all warranted to kick, andmine was no exception. Although he was described as a gentleman's steed, he had the manners of a pack-horse. I doubt if any one of our partyescaped the touch of his hoofs, and it was a joy to see him exchangesalutations with the ponies we met on the trail. However, he wassure-footed and willing, and although hardly up to so long a trip asmine, yet with care he came out very well at the end. But it requiredconstant watchfulness to make sure that he was properly watered and fed, even though most of the time I took along a coolie for no other purposesave to look after the horse, and lead him when I was not riding. And tothe very last it meant an order each time to insure that the girths wereloosened and the stirrups tied up when I was out of the saddle. When westarted from Yunnan-fu our caravan was made up of thirteen coolies, --sixchair-men, six baggage-carriers, and a "fu t'ou, " or head coolie, whoseduty it was to keep the others up to their work, to settle disputes, orto meet any difficulty that arose. In short, he was responsible both tome and to the hong for the carrying-out of the contract which had beenduly agreed upon. In my limited experience, the fu t'ou is a greatblessing. I found mine capable, reliable men, adroit in smoothing awaydifficulties and very ready to meet my wishes. As for the contract, thatwas a serious matter. Each detail was carefully entered in a formidabledocument, the route, the stages, the number of men, the amount to bepaid, and the how and where of payment. The hong had one copy and Ianother which was handed over to the fu t'ou at the end of the trip, that he might show it to the chief of the hong as proof that he hadcarried out the contract. Each coolie was to receive $7. 00 Mexican, orabout $3. 50 gold, for his journey from Yunnan-fu to Ning-yüan-fu, reckoned usually as sixteen stages. About one third the amount was to bepaid before starting, the remainder in specified sums at statedintervals en route. I had no concern with the men's daily food, but fromtime to time I was expected to give them "pork money" if they behavedwell. It would have been cheaper, I believe, to have hired coolies offthe street, but far less satisfactory, for the hong holds itselfresponsible to you for the behavior of its men. And in their turn thecoolies pay a definite percentage of their earnings to the hong. 

My stores and bedding and other things were packed in large coveredbaskets insecurely fastened with padlocks. As time went on, coversbecame loose and padlocks were knocked off by projecting rocks, butnothing was ever lost or stolen. To keep out wet or vermin I had thebaskets lined with Chinese oiled cotton, perishable but cheap, andeffective as long as it lasts. Other sheets of the same material wereprovided for use in the inn. One was laid on the floor and my camp-bedset up in the middle of it, while others were spread over the woodenChinese beds with which the room was generally well supplied, and onthem my clothes, saddle, etc. , were placed. When new the oiled cottonhas a strong, pungent odour, not pleasant but very effective againstvermin. 

A most important item was the money to be used on the journey. I had anaccount with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank at Shanghai, and whereverthere were Europeans it was possible to get checks cashed, but fromYunnan-fu to Ning-yüan, a journey of two and a half weeks or more, Ishould be quite off the track of foreigners. Fortunately Yunnan iswaking up in money matters as well as in other ways, and has a silvercoinage of its own; moreover, one that the inhabitants are willing toaccept, which is not always the case, as I found later to my cost. Withthe help of native bankers I was duly furnished with a supply of Yunnandollars, akin to Mexican dollars in value, and I obtained also someSzechuan coins to use when I entered that province. In addition I becamethe proud possessor of some seventy dollars in Hupeh money. This I wastold would pass anywhere after crossing the Yangtse. When I reachedNing-yüan-fu, however, I found that no one would take it save at a heavydiscount. Unwilling to burden myself with it longer, I decided to letthe Chinese bankers have it, even though at a loss, but when theydiscovered that the money was in twenty-cent pieces they would havenothing to do with it at any price. So I carried it some two thousandmiles farther, to Hupeh itself. But even there it was not willinglyaccepted. In the railway offices at Hankow not more than forty centswould be received in small coins. If your ticket cost $10. 50, you paidfor it in unbroken dollars, giving the railway a chance to unload someof the undesirable change upon you. In the end I found myself reduced topeddling twenty-cent pieces among friends and friends of friends. Forsmall change on my journey I carried rolls of copper cents, while thecook festooned himself with long ropes of copper "cash, " about twenty tothe American cent. 

By the arrangement of the Foreign Office two soldiers were detailed toescort me across Yunnan. It is by the wish of the officials rather thanat the traveller's request that this escort is given. The Chinese havelearned through an experience not wholly to our credit that injury oreven annoyance to the European may bring a punishment quite out ofproportion to the harm done; so to avoid difficulties the official isinclined to insist upon sending soldiers with the foreigners passingthrough his district, and the traveller as a rule perforce accepts thearrangement. If he refuses, he will find it more difficult to secureredress for any loss or injury suffered. For my part I did not feelinclined to object. The expense is borne by the Government, save for thecustomary tip, and in more ways than one I found my escort useful. Atirregular intervals they were changed. When we reached the end of thelast stage for which they were detailed, I gave them my card to carry tothe proper local official. This was replied to by sending a new pairbearing the official's card. 

Some of the men were old-time soldiers, hardly to be distinguished fromyamen runners in their untidy black and scarlet jackets decorated withbold lettering on the back; and their weapons consisted simply ofsomething that might be described as a small sword or a hugecarving-knife in a leather sheath. After entering Szechuan I was usuallyaccompanied by quite real soldiers, men of the new service, fairlyshipshape in khaki and putties and carrying up-to-date guns. But whetherof the old order or of the new, I found the men at all times verycourteous and friendly, and ready to do any little service that cametheir way. It was the duty of one man to stay with me, while the otherlooked after the baggage coolies. As more at home in the particulardistrict through which we were passing, they were often very helpful tomy coolies in pointing out a short cut or in finding our intricate wayacross the fields. Sometimes one was sent in advance to make sure of thebest quarters the village where we were to pass the night could afford, and they often showed great zeal in tidying up the room for my coming. The preparations consisted usually in stirring up the dust of ages onthe floor, a proceeding I did not like, and in ruthlessly tearing outthe paper that covered the lattice opening, of which I much approved. Glass is rarely seen in West China, and the paper excluded both lightand air, but never the gaze of the curious, as a peephole was veryeasily punched. On the march my escort, quick to notice my interest inthe flowers, were active in bringing me huge nosegays gathered along thetrail, so that my chair was often turned into a gay flowery bower; andthey sometimes showed their love for dogs, or perhaps sought to provetheir zeal in my service, by picking up Jack and carrying him for thehalf-hour, to his great disgust, as his sturdy legs were untiring, andequally so was his desire to investigate every nook and corner. "Littlefu t'ou, " the coolies called him, because of the careful watch he keptfor any stragglers of the caravan. 

[1] The words "fu" and "chou" and "hsien, " attached to so manyChinese place-names, are terms denoting administrative divisions. "Fu"may be translated prefecture, "chou, " department, and "hsien, " adistrict. The towns having these terminations are the headquarters ofthe respective divisions. 

CHAPTER III

ACROSS YUNNAN

My departure was set for the 8th of April, and by half-past four of thatmorning the coolies, marshalled by the hong man, were at the door; butit was after nine before we were really under way. It is always atriumphant moment when one's caravan actually starts; there have been somany times when starting at all seemed doubtful. Mine looked quiteimposing as it moved off, headed by Mr. Stevenson on his sturdy pony, Ifollowing in my chair, while servants and coolies straggled on behind, but, as usual, something was missing. This time it was one of the twosoldiers detailed by the Foreign Office to accompany me the first stagesof my journey. We were told he would join us farther on. Fortunately Mr. Stevenson was up to the wiles of the native, and he at once scented thefavourite device for two to take the travelling allowance, and then, bysome amicable arrangement, for only one to go. So messengers were sentin haste to look up the recreant, who finally joined us with cheerfulface at the West Gate, which we reached by a rough path outside thenorth wall. 

[Illustration: WEST CHINA]

Here I bade Mr. Stevenson good-bye, and turned my face away from thecity. Once more I was on the "open road. " Above me shone the bright sunof Yunnan, before me lay the long trail leading into the unknown. Sevenhundred miles of wild mountainous country, six weeks of steadytravelling lay between me and Chengtu, the great western capital. Theroad I planned to follow would lead nearly due north at first, traversing the famous Chien-ch'ang valley after crossing the Yangtse. But at Fulin on the Ta Tu I intended to make a détour to the west as faras Tachienlu, that I might see a little of the Tibetans even though Icould not enter Tibet. I did not fear trouble of any sort in spite of alast letter of warning received at Hong Kong from our Peking Legation, but there was just enough of a touch of adventure to the trip to makethe roughnesses of the way endurable. Days would pass before I couldagain talk with my own kind, but I was not afraid of being lonely. "Thescene was savage, but the scene was new, " and the hours would be filledfull with the constantly changing interests of the road, and as I lookedat my men I felt already the comradeship that would come with long daysof effort and hardship passed together. These men of the East--Turk, Indian, Chinese, Mongol--are much of a muchness, it seems to me; paythem fairly, treat them considerately, laugh instead of storm at theinevitable mishaps of the way, and generally they will give youfaithful, willing service. It is only when they have been spoiled byoverpayment, or by bullying of a sort they do not understand, that theforeigner finds them exacting and untrustworthy. And the Chinese is aneminently reasonable man. He does not expect reward without work, and heworks easily and cheerfully. But as yet he was to me an unknownquantity, and I looked over my group of coolies with some interest and alittle uncertainty. They were mostly strong, sound-looking men; two orthree were middle-aged, the rest young. No one looked unequal to thework, and no one proved so. All wore the inevitable blue cotton of theChinese, varying with wear and patching from blue-black to bluish-white, and the fashion of the dress was always the same; short, full trousers, square-cut, topped by a belted shirt with long sleeves falling over thehands or rolled up to the elbow according to the weather. About theirheads they generally twisted a strip of cotton, save when blazing sun orpouring rain called for the protection of their wide straw hats coveredwith oiled cotton. Generally they wore the queue tucked into the girdleto keep it out of the way, but occasionally it was put to use, as, forexample, if a man's hat was not at hand to ward off the glare of thesun, he would deftly arrange a thatch of leaves over his eyes, bindingit firm with his long braid of black hair. On their feet they wore theinevitable straw sandal of these parts. Comfortable for those who knowhow to wear them, cheap even though not durable (they cost only fourcents Mexican the pair), and a great safeguard against slipping, theyseemed as satisfactory footwear as the ordinary shoes of thebetter-class Chinese seemed unsatisfactory. Throughout the East it isonly the barefooted peasant or the sandalled mountaineer who does notseem encumbered by his feet. The felt shoe of the Chinese gentleman andthe flapping, heelless slipper of the Indian are alike uncomfortable andhampering. Nor have Asiatics learned as yet to wear proper Europeanshoes, or to wear them properly, for they stub along in badly cut, ill-fitting things too short for their feet. Why does not the shoemakerof the West, if he wishes to secure an Eastern market, study the foot ofthe native, and make him shoes suited to his need?

Our order of march through Yunnan varied little from day to day. We allhad breakfast before starting at about seven, and we all had much thesame thing, tea and rice, but mine came from the coast; the cooliesbought theirs by the way. At intervals during the forenoon we stopped atone of the many tea-houses along the road to give the men a chance torest and smoke and drink tea. Sometimes I stayed in my chair by theroadside; more often I escaped from the noise and dirt of the village tosome spot outside, among the rice- and bean-fields, where the pony couldgather a few scant mouthfuls of grass while I sat hard-by on a turfbalk and enjoyed the quiet and clean air. Of course I was often foundout and followed by the village-folk, but their curiosity was not veryoffensive. Generally they squatted down in a semi-circle about me, settling themselves deliberately to gaze their fill. If they came toonear I laughed and waved them back, and they always compliedgood-naturedly. The little children were often really quite charmingunder the dirt, but until they had learned to wash their faces and wipetheir noses I must confess I liked them best at a distance. 

[Illustration: ON A YUNNAN ROAD: MY CARAVAN]

[Illustration: ON A YUNNAN ROAD: THE MILITARY ESCORT]

At noon we stopped at a handy inn or tea-house for tiffin and a longrest. I was ordinarily served at the back of the big eating-room open tothe street in as dignified seclusion as my cook could achieve. Riceagain, with perhaps stewed fowl or tinned beef, and a dessert of jam andbiscuit, usually formed my luncheon, and dinner was like unto it, savethat occasionally we succeeded in securing some onions or potatoes. Thesetting-forth of my table with clean cloth and changes of plates was ofnever-failing interest to the crowds that darkened the front of theeating-house, and excitement reached a climax when the coolie, whom mycook had installed as helper, --there is no Chinese too poor to lack someone to do his bidding, --served Jack his midday meal of rice in his owndish. Then men stood on tiptoe and children climbed on each other'sshoulders to see a dog fed like--the Chinese equivalent of Christian. They never seemed to begrudge him his food; on the contrary, they oftensmiled approvingly. We were thousands of miles away from thefamine-stricken regions of eastern China, and through much of thecountry where I journeyed I saw almost no beggars or hungry-lookingfolk. In the afternoon we stopped as before at short intervals at someroadside tea-house, for the coolies generally expect to rest every hour. 

Our day's stage usually ended in a good-sized town. I should havepreferred it otherwise, for there is more quiet and freedom in thevillages. But my coolies would have it so; they liked the stir andbetter fare of the towns, and the regular stages are arrangedaccordingly. Our entrance was noisy and imposing. My coming seemedalways expected, for as by magic the narrow streets filled with staringcrowds. Through them the soldiers fought a way for my chair, borne atsmart pace by the coolies all shouting at the top of their voices. Itried to cultivate the superior impassiveness of the Chinese official, but generally the delighted shrieks of the children at the sight of Jackat my feet, and his gay yelps in response, "upset the apple cart. " Therewas a rush to see the "foreign dog. " I gripped him tighter and onlybreathed freely when with a sharp turn to right or left my chair waslifted high over a threshold and borne through the inn door into thecourtyard, the crowd in no wise baffled swarming at our heels, sometimes not even stopping at the entrance to the inner court, sacred(more or less) to the so-called mandarin rooms, the best rooms of theplace. I could not but sympathize with the innkeeper, the order of hisestablishment thus upset, but he took it in good part; perhaps theturmoil had its value in making known to the whole world that thewandering foreigner had bestowed her patronage upon his house. I am surehe had some reward in the many cups of tea drunk while the crowdlingered on the chance of another sight of the unusual visitor. Anywaywe were always made welcome, and no objections were offered when my mentook possession of the place in very unceremonious fashion, as it seemedto me, filling the court with their din, blocking the ways with thechairs and baskets, seeking the best room for me, and then testing thedoor and putting things to rights after a fashion, while the ownerlooked on in helpless wonder. 

In the villages one stepped directly from the road into a largeliving-room, kitchen, and dining-room in one, and out of this opened theplaces for sleeping. The inns in the towns are built more or less afterone and the same pattern. Entrance is through a large restaurant open tothe street, and filled with tables occupied at all hours save early dawnwith men sipping and smoking. From the restaurant one passes into astone-paved court surrounded usually by low, one-story buildings, although occasionally there is a second story opening into a gallery. Here are kitchens and sleeping-rooms, while store-rooms and stables aretucked in anywhere. In the largest inns there is often an inner courtinto which open the better rooms. 

While the cook bustled about to get hot water, and the head coolie sawto the setting-up of my bed, I generally went with the "ma-fu, " or horseboy, to see that the pony was properly cared for. Usually he was handy, sometimes tethered by my door, often just under my room, once overhead. Meanwhile the coolies were freshening themselves up a bit after theday's work. Sitting about the court they rinsed chest and head and legswith the unfailing supply of hot water which is the one luxury of aChinese inn. I can speak authoritatively on the cleanliness of theChinese coolie, for I had the chance daily to see my men scrubthemselves. Their cotton clothing loosely cut was well ventilated, eventhough infrequently cleansed, and there hung about them nothing of theodour of the great unwashed of the Western world. I wish one could sayas much for the inns, but alas, they were foul-smelling, one and all, and occasionally the room offered me was so filthy that I refused tooccupy it, and went on the war-path for myself, followed by a crowd ofperplexed servants and coolies. Almost always I found a loft or astable-yard that had at least the advantage of plenty of fresh air, andwithout demur my innkeeper made me free of it, although I expect it cuthim to the heart to have his best room so flouted. 

Generally I went to bed soon after dinner; there was nothing else to do, for the dim lantern light made reading difficult, and anyway my bookswere few. But while the nights were none too long for me, the Chinese, like most Asiatics, make little distinction between day and night. Theysleep if there is nothing else to do, they wake when work or pleasurecalls, and it was long after midnight when the inn settled itself torest, and by four o'clock it was again awake, and before seven we wereonce more on the road. 

In Yunnan, or "South of the Clouds, " as the word signifies, you are in aland of sunshine, of wild grandeur and beauty, of unfailing interest. Its one hundred and fifty-five thousand square miles are pretty much onend; no matter which way you cross the country you are always going upor going down, and the contrasts of vegetation and lack of it are justas emphatic; barren snow-topped mountains overhang tiny valleys, veritable gems of tropical beauty; you pass with one step from a wasteof rock and sand to a garden-like oasis of soft green and ripplingwaters. Yunnan's chequered history is revealed in the varied peoplesthat inhabit the deep valleys and narrow river banks. Nominally annexedto the empire by Kublai Khan, the Mongol, in the thirteenth century, ever since the Chinese people have been at work peacefully andirresistibly making the conquest real, and now they are found all overthe province, as a matter of course occupying the best places. But theyhave not exterminated the aborigines, nor have they assimilated them toany degree. To-day the tribes constitute more than one half thepopulation, and an ethnological map of Yunnan is a wonderful patchwork, for side by side and yet quite distinct, you find scattered aboutsettlements of Chinese, Shans, Lolos, Miaos, Losus, and just what someof these are is still an unsolved riddle. To add to the confusion thereis a division of religions hardly known elsewhere, for out of thepopulation of twelve millions it is estimated that three or fourmillions are Mohammedans. To be sure, they seem much like the others, and generally all get on together very well, for Moslem pride ofreligion does not find much response with the practical Chinese, and theBuddhist is as tolerant here as elsewhere. But the Mohammedan rebellionof half a century ago has left terrible memories; then add to that theill-feeling between the Chinese and the tribesmen, and the generaldiscontent at the prohibition of poppy-growing, and it is plain thatYunnan offers a fine field for long-continued civil disorder with allthe possibility of foreign interference. 

The early hours of our first day's march led us along the great westerntrade route, and we met scores of people hurrying towards the capital, mostly coolies carrying on their backs, or slung from a bamboo poleacross their shoulders, great loads of wood, charcoal, fowls, rice, vegetables. Every one was afoot or astride a pony, for there was nothingon wheels, not even a barrow. The crowd lacked the variety in colour andcut of dress of a Hindu gathering; all had black hair and all wore blueclothes, and one realized at once how much China loses in not having apicturesque and significant head covering like the Indian turban. Butthe faces showed more diversity both in hue and in feature than I hadlooked for. In America we come in contact chiefly with Chinese of oneclass, and usually from the one province of Kwangtung. But the men ofYunnan and Szechuan are of a different type, larger, sturdier, of bettercarriage. It takes experience commonly to mark differences in face andexpression among men of an alien race, and to the Asiatic all Europeanslook much alike, but already I was discerning variety in the faces I metalong the trail, and they did not seem as unfamiliar to me as I hadexpected. I was constantly surprised by resemblances to types andindividuals at home. One of my chair coolies, for example, a young, smooth-faced fellow, bore a disconcerting likeness to one of my formerstudents. But fair or dark, fine-featured or foul, all greeted me in afriendly way, generally stopping after I had passed to ask my cooliesmore about me. My four-bearer chair testified to my standing, and mymen, Eastern fashion, glorified themselves in glorifying me. I was a"scholar, " a "learned lady, " but what I had come for was not so clear. Amissionary I certainly was not. Anyway, as a mere woman I was not likelyto do harm. 

The road after crossing the plain entered the hills, winding up anddown, but always paved with cobbles and flags laid with infinite painsgenerations ago, and now illustrating the Chinese saying of "good forten years, bad for ten thousand. " It was so hopelessly out of repairthat men and ponies alike had to pick their way with caution. Longflights of irregular and broken stone stairs led up and down thehillsides over which my freshly shod pony slipped and flounderedawkwardly, and I always breathed a sigh of relief when a stretch of hardred earth gave a little respite. It was neither courage nor pride thatkept me in the saddle, but the knowledge that much of the way would beworse rather than better, and I would wisely face it at the outset. Ifit got too nerve-racking I could always betake myself to my chair and, trusting in the eight sturdy legs of my bearers, abandon myself toenjoying the sights along the way. 

Our first day's halt for tiffin was at the small hamlet of P'u chi. Theeating-house was small and crowded, and my cook set my table perforcein the midst of the peering, pointing throng. I was the target of scoresof black eyes, and I felt that every movement was discussed, everymouthful counted. As a first experience it was a little embarrassing, but the people seemed good-humoured and very ready to fall into place ormove out of the way in obedience to my gestures when I tried to takesome pictures, not too successfully. Here for a moment I was again intouch with my own world, as a runner, most thoughtfully sent by Mr. Stevenson with the morning's letters, overtook me. According toarrangement he had been paid beforehand, but not knowing that I knewthat, he clamoured for more. The crowd pressed closer to listen to thediscussion, and grinned with a rather malicious satisfaction when theman was forced to confess that he had already received what they knewwas a generous tip. Chinese business instinct kept them impartial, evenbetween one of their own people and a foreigner. 

That night we stopped, after a stage of some sixty li, about nineteenmiles, at Erh-tsun, a small, uninteresting village. The inn was verypoor, and I would have consoled myself by thinking that it was well toget used to the worst at once, only I was not sure that it was theworst. My room, off the public gathering place, had but one windowlooking directly on the street. From the moment of my arrival theopening was filled with the faces of a staring, curious crowd, pushingeach other, stretching their necks to get a better view. My servants putup an oiled cotton sheet, but it was promptly drawn aside, so there wasnothing for me to do but wash, eat, and go to bed in public, like aroyal personage of former times. 

It was a beautiful spring morning when we started the next day. We werenow among the mountains, and much of our way led along barren hillsides, but the air was intoxicating, and the views across the ridges werecharming. At times we dropped into a small valley, each having itslittle group of houses nestling among feathery bamboos and surrounded bytiny green fields. Dogs barked, children ran after us, men and womenstopped for a moment to smile a greeting and exchange a word with ourcoolies. As a rule, the people looked comfortable and well fed, but hereand there we passed a group of ruined, abandoned hovels. The explanationvaried. Sometimes the ruin dated back more than a generation to theterrible days of the Mohammedan rebellion. In other cases the troublewas more recent. The irrigating system had broken down, or water wasscant, or more frequently the cutting-off of the opium crop had driventhe people from their homes. But in general there was little tillableland that was unoccupied. In fact, the painstaking effort to utilizeevery bit of soil was tragic to American eyes, accustomed to longstretches of countryside awaiting the plough. At the close of thetroubles that devastated the province during the third quarter of thenineteenth century it is said that the population of Yunnan had fallento about a million, but now, owing in part to the great natural increaseof the Chinese, and in part to immigration chiefly from overpopulatedSzechuan and Kwei-chou, it is estimated at twelve million. At any rate, those who know the country well declare there is little vacant land fitfor agriculture, that the province has about as many inhabitants as itcan support, and can afford no relief to the overcrowded easterndistricts. This is a thing to keep in mind when Japan urges her need ofManchuria for her teeming millions. 

We stopped for tiffin at Fu-ming-hsien, a prosperous-looking town ofsome eight hundred families. As usual, I lunched in public, the crowdpressing close about my table in spite of the efforts of a real, khaki-clad policeman; but it was a jolly, friendly crowd, its interesteasily diverted from me to the dog. Here we changed soldiers, for thiswas a hsien town, or district centre. Those who had come with me fromYunnan-fu were dismissed with a tip amounting to about three cents golda day each. They seemed perfectly satisfied. It was the regulationamount; had I given more they would have clamoured for somethingadditional. That afternoon we stopped for a long rest at a tiny, lonelyinn, perched most picturesquely on a spur of the mountain. I sat in mychair while the coolies drank tea inside, and a number of childrengathered about me, ready to run if I seemed dangerous. Finally one, taking his courage in both hands, presented me with the local substitutefor candy, --raw peas in the pod, which I nibbled and found refreshing. In turn I doled out some biscuits, to the children's great delight, while fathers and mothers looked on approvingly. The way to the heart ofthe Chinese is not far to seek. They dote on children, and children theworld over are much alike. More than once I have solved an awkwardsituation by ignoring the inhospitable or unwilling elders and devotingmyself to the little ones, always at hand. Please the children and youhave won the parents. 

We stopped that night at Chê-pei, a small town lying at an elevation ofabout six thousand feet. My room, the best the inn afforded, was dirty, but large and airy. On one side a table was arranged for the ancestralfamily worship, and I delayed turning in at night to give the people achance to burn a few joss sticks, which they did in a verymatter-of-fact fashion, nowise disturbed at my washing-things, whichLiu, the cook, had set out among the gods. 

Our path the next day led high on the mountain-side and along abeautiful ridge. We stopped for an early rest at a little walledvillage, Jee-ka ("Cock's street"), perched picturesquely on the top ofthe hill. Later we saw a storm advancing across the mountains, andbefore we could reach cover the clouds broke over our heads, drenchingthe poor coolies to the skin, but they took it in good part, laughing asthey scuttled along the trail. The rain kept on for some hours, and theroad was alternately a brook or a sea of slippery red mud; the pony, with the cook on his back, rolled over, but fortunately neither washurt; coolies slid and floundered, and the chair-men went down, greatlyto their confusion, for it is deemed inexcusable for a chair-carrier tofall. Toward the end of the day it cleared and the bright sun soon driedthe ways, and we raced into Wu-ting-chou in fine shape, the cooliespicking their way deftly along the narrow earth balks that form thehighway to this rather important town. Our entrance was of the usualcharacter, a cross between a triumphal procession and a circusshow, --people rushing to see the sight, children calling, dogs barking, my men shouting as they pushed their way through the throng, while I satthe observed of all, trying to carry off my embarrassment with abenevolent smile. I am told that the interest of a Chinese crowd usuallycentres on the foreigners' shoes, but in my case, when the gaze got downto my feet, Jack was mostly there to divert attention. 

Rain came on again in the night and kept us in Wu-ting-chou over thenext day. The Chinese, with their extraordinary adaptability, can standextremes of heat and cold remarkably well. Hence they are goodcolonizers, able to work in Manchuria and Singapore, Canada and Panama. But rain they dislike, and a smart shower is a good excuse for stopping. Fortunately for all, the inn was unusually decent. Steps led from thestreet into an outer court, behind which was a much larger second court, surrounded on all sides by two-story buildings. My room on the upperfloor had beautiful views over the town, more attractive at close rangethan most Chinese towns. The temples and yamen buildings wereexceptionally fine, while the houses, of sun-dried brick of the colourof the red soil of Yunnan, had a comfortable look, their tip-tiltedtiled roofs showing picturesquely among the trees. 

I spent the rainy forenoon in writing and in leaning over the gallery towatch the life going on below. After the first excitement people wentabout their business undisturbed by my presence. At one side cooking wascarried on at a long, crescent-shaped range of some sort of cement, andcontaining half a dozen openings for fires. Above each fire was abowl-shaped depression in the range, and into this was fitted a big ironpot. The food of the country is generally boiled, and is often seasonedwith a good deal of care. Barring the lack of cleanliness, the chiefobjection to the cooking of the peasant-folk is the failure to cookthoroughly. The Chinese are content if the rice and vegetables arecooked through; they do not insist, as we do, that they be cooked soft. In the smaller inns my men prepared their food themselves, and someshowed considerable skill. One soldier in particular was past-master inmaking savoury stews much appreciated by the others. 

Wu-ting-chou being a place designated for the payment of an instalmentof wages, and also the time having come for pork money, my coolies had agrand feast, after which they devoted themselves to gambling away theirhard-earned money in games of "fan t'an. " As they played entirely amongthemselves the result was that some staggered the following day underheavy ropes of cash, while others were forced to sell their hats to payfor their food. I could only hope that the next pay-day would mean areadjustment of spoils. 

In the afternoon it cleared, and I went out in my chair, escorted by twopolicemen, to a charming grove outside the walls, where I rested for atime in a quiet nook, enjoying the views over the valley and thankful toget away from the din of the inn. Curling up, I went fast asleep, towake with an uncomfortable sense of being watched; and sure enough, peering over the top of the bank where I was lying were two pairs ofstartled black eyes. I laughed, and thereupon the owners of the eyes, who had stumbled upon me as they came up the hill, seated themselves infront of me and began to ply me with questions, to which I could onlyanswer with another laugh; so they relapsed into friendly silence, gingerly stroking Jack while they kept a watchful eye on me. What doesit matter if words are lacking, a laugh is understood, and will oftensmooth a way where speech would bring confusion. Once, years ago inWestern Tibet, I crossed a high pass with just one coolie, in advance ofmy caravan. Without warning we dropped down into a little village abovethe Shyok. Most of the people had never before seen a European. I couldnot talk with them nor they with my coolie, --for he came from the otherside of the range, --nor he with me. But I laughed, and every one elselaughed, and in five minutes I was sitting on the grass under the walnuttrees, offerings of flowers and mulberries on my lap, and while thewhole population sat around on stone walls and house roofs, the villagehead man took off my shoes and rubbed my weary feet. 

When I emerged from my retreat I found that a priest from theneighbouring temple had come to beg a visit from me. It turned out to bea Buddhist temple on the usual plan, noteworthy only for a rather goodfigure of Buddha made of sun-dried clay and painted. The priest wasinclined to refuse a fee, saying he had done nothing, but he was keen tohave me take some pictures. 

[Illustration: WU-TING-CHOU: TEMPLE GATEWAY]

[Illustration: WU-TING-CHOU: TEMPLE CORNER]

The next three days our path led us across the mountains separating theYangtse and Red River basins. We were now off the main roads; villagesand travellers were few. To my delight we had left for a time the pavedtrails over which the pony scraped and slipped; the hard dirt made asurer footing, and it was possible to let him out for a trot now andthen. The start and finish of the day were usually by winding narrowpaths carried along the strips of turf dividing the fields or over thetop of a stone wall. I learned to respect both the sure-footedness ofthe Yunnan pony and the thrift of the Yunnan peasant who wasted no bitof tillable land on roads. From time to time we crossed a stone bridge, rarely of more than one arch, and that so pointed that the ponies on theroad, which followed closely the line of the arch, clambered up withdifficulty only to slide headlong on the other side. The bridges ofthese parts are very picturesque, giving an added charm to thelandscape, in glaring contrast to the hideous, shed-like structures thatdisfigure many a beautiful stream of New England. 

Our way led alternately over barren or pine-clad hills, showingeverywhere signs of charcoal burners, or through deep gorges, or dippeddown into tiny emerald valleys. At one point we descended aninterminable rock staircase guarded by soldiers top and bottom. Formerlythis was a haunt of robbers, but now the Government was making avigorous effort to insure the safety of traffic along this way. Ourstay that night was in a tiny hamlet, and a special guard was stationedat the door of the inn to defend us against real or fancied danger frommarauders. 

It was still early in April, but even on these high levels the flowerswere in their glory, and each day revealed a new wonder. Roses wereabundant, white and scentless, or small, pink, and spicy, and the groundwas carpeted with yellow and blue flowers. From time to time we passed agroup of comfortable farm buildings, but much of the country had adesolate look and the villages were nothing more than forlorn hamlets, and once we stopped for the night in a solitary house far from anysettlement. A week after leaving Yunnan-fu we entered the valley of theTso-ling Ho, a tributary of the Great River, and a more fertile region. As I had been warned, the weather changed here, and for the nexttwenty-four hours we sweltered in the steamy heat of the Yangtse basin. From now on, there was no lack of water. On all sides brooks large andsmall dashed down, swelling the Tso-ling almost to the size of the mainriver itself. At one spot, sending the men on to the village, I stoppedon the river bank to bathe my tired feet, and was startled by thepassing of a stray fisherman, but he seemed in no wise surprised, andgreeting me courteously went on with his work. China shares with us thebad fame of being unpleasantly inquisitive. Would the rural American, happening upon a Chinese woman, --an alien apparition from her smoothlyplastered hair to her tiny bound feet, --by the brookside in one of hishome fields, have shown the same restraint?

At five o'clock that same day we reached the ferry across the Yangtse, too late to cross that night. I was hot and weary after a long march, and the only place available in the village of Lung-kai was a cramped, windowless hole opening into a small, filthy court, the best room of theinn being occupied by a sick man. Through an open doorway I caught aglimpse into a stable-yard well filled with pigs. On one side was asmall, open, shrine-like structure reached by a short flight of steps. In spite of the shocked remonstrances of my men I insisted on takingpossession of this; the yard, though dirty, was dry, and at least I wassure of plenty of air. Fresh straw was spread in the shrine and my bedset up on it; the pigs were given my pony's stable, as I preferred hiscompany to theirs; and I had an unusually pleasant evening, spite of thefact that the roofs of the adjoining buildings were crowded withonlookers, mostly children, until it grew too dark for them to seeanything. 

We crossed the Yangtse the next day on a large flat-bottomed boat intowhich we all crowded higgledy-piggledy, the men and their loads, ponyand chairs. The current was so swift that we were carried some distancedownstream before making a landing. At this point, and indeed from Tibetto Suifu, the Yangtse is, I believe, generally known as the KinshaKiang, or "River of Golden Sand. " The Chinese have no idea of thecontinuing identity of a river, and most of theirs have different namesat different parts of their course, but in this case there is somereason for the failure to regard the upper and the lower Yangtse as oneand the same stream, for at Suifu, where the Min joins the Yangtse, itis much the larger body of water throughout most of the year, and isgenerally held by the natives to be the true source of the Great River. Moreover, above the junction the Yangtse is not navigable, owing to theswift current and obstructing rocks, while the Min serves as one ofChina's great waterways, bearing the products of the famous Chengtuplain to the eastern markets. 

After leaving the ferry we followed for some miles the dry bed of ariver whose name I could not learn. The scene was desolate and barren inthe extreme, nothing but rock and sand; and had it not been cloudy theheat would have been very trying. But we were now among the CloudMountains, where the bright days are so few that it is said the Szechuandogs bark when the sun comes out. After a short stop at a lonely innnear a trickle of a brook we turned abruptly up the mountain-side, by azigzag trail so steep that even the interpreter was forced to walk. AsI toiled wearily upward, I looked back to find my dog riding comfortablyin my chair. Tired and hot, he had barked to be taken up. The cooliesthought it a fine joke, and when I whistled him down they at once puthim back again, explaining that it was hard work for short legs. At oneof the worst bits of the trail we met some finely dressed men onhorseback, who stared in a superior way at me on foot. The Chinese seesno reason for walking if he has a chair or pony. What are the chair andthe pony for? They must lack imagination, or how can they ride down theawful staircases of a West China road, the pony plunging from step tostep under his heavy load? I doubt if they realize either the pony'ssuffering or the rider's danger. I did both, and so I often walked. After a climb of three thousand feet we came out on a wide open plateau, beautifully cultivated, which we crossed to our night stopping-place, Chiang-yi, nearly seven thousand feet above sea level. 

We started the next morning in the rain, which kept up pretty much allday. The country through which we now passed was rather bare ofcultivation and of inhabitants, but the wealth and variety of flowersand shrubs more than made amends. Nowhere have I seen such numbers offlowering shrubs as all through this region, a few known to me, but mostof them quite new. It was with much gratification that I learned at alater time of the remarkable work done in connection with the ArnoldArboretum near Boston in seeking out and bringing to America specimensof many of China's beautiful trees and plants. At the head of one smallvalley we passed a charming temple half buried in oleanders andsurrounded by its own shimmering green rice-fields, and a little fartheron we came to a farmhouse enclosed in a rose hedge some twelve feet highand in full bloom. There was no sign of life about, and it might haveserved as the refuge of the Sleeping Princess, but a nearer inspectionwould probably have been disillusioning. 

We stopped that night at Ho-k'ou, a small place of which I saw little, for the heavy rain that kept us there over a day held me a prisoner inthe inn. I had a small room over the pony's stable, and I spent theforenoon writing to the tune of comfortable crunching of corn and beans. The rest of the day I amused myself in entertaining the women of the innwith the contents of my dressing-case, and when it grew cold in my openloft I joined the circle round the good coal fire burning in a brazierin the public room. Every one was friendly, and persistent, men andwomen alike, in urging me to take whiffs from their long-stemmed tobaccopipes. All smoke, using sometimes this long-stemmed, small-bowled pipe, and sometimes the water pipe, akin in principle to the Indianhubble-bubble. In this part of Szechuan I saw few smoking cigarettes, but thanks to the untiring efforts of the British American TobaccoCompany, they are fast becoming known, and my men were vastly pleasedwhen I doled some out at the end of a hard day. 

From Ho-k'ou it was a two days' journey to Hui-li-chou, the first largetown on my trip. The scenery was charmingly varied. At times the trailled along high ridges with beautiful glimpses down into the valleys, oraffording splendid views to right and left, to the mysterious, forbiddenLololand to the east, and to the unsurveyed country beyond the Yalung, west of us, or again it dropped to the banks of the streams, leading usthrough attractive hamlets buried in palms and bamboo, pines and cactus, while the surrounding hillsides were white or red with masses ofrhododendron just coming into flower. Entering one village I heard asound as of swarming bees raised to the one hundredth power. On inquiryit turned out to be a school kept in a small temple. While the coolieswere resting I sent my card to the schoolmaster, and was promptlyinvited to pay a visit of inspection. It proved to be a private schoolof some thirty boys and one girl, the master's daughter. They were ofall ages from six years upwards, and, I was told, generally stayed fromone to five years at school. Instruction was limited to reading andwriting, and two boys were called up to show what they could do. Toignorant me they seemed to do very well, reading glibly down theirpages of hieroglyphics. 

At another stop I had a talk with the village headman. He was electedfor one year, he told me, by the people of the hamlet, comprising aboutforty families. He confessed his inability to read or write, but hisface was intelligent and his bearing showed dignity and self-respect. Petty disputes and breaches of the peace were settled by him accordingto unwritten custom and his native shrewdness; and he was alsoresponsible for the collection of the land tax due from the village. 

The people in this part of Szechuan seemed fairly prosperous, but theprevalence of goitre was very unpleasant. The natives account for it invarious ways, --the use of white salt or the drinking of water made frommelting snow. 

On the 20th of April we reached Hui-li-chou. The approach to the town orgroup of towns which make up this, the largest place in southernSzechuan, was charming, through high hedges gay with pink and whiteflowers. In the suburbs weaving or dyeing seemed to be going on in everyhouse. Sometimes whole streets were given over to the dyers, naked menat work above huge vats filled with the inevitable blue of China. Aftercrossing the half-dry bed of a small river we found ourselves under thegreat wall of Hui-li proper. Turning in at the South Gate we rapidlytraversed the town to our night's lodging-place near the North Gate, thecrowds becoming ever denser, people swarming out from the restaurantsand side streets, as the news spread of the arrival of a "yang-potsz"(foreign woman). The interest was not surprising, as I was only thethird or fourth European woman to come this way, but it was my firstexperience alone in a large town, and the pressing, staring crowd wasrather dismaying; however, I found comfortable companionship in thesmiling face of a little lad running beside my chair, his swift feetkeeping pace with the carriers. I smiled back, and when the heavy doorsof our night's lodging-house closed behind us, I found the small gaminwas inside, too, --self-installed errand boy. He proved quick and alertbeyond the common run of boys, East or West, and made himself veryuseful, but save when out on errands he was always at my side, watchingme with dog-like interest, and kowtowing to the ground when I gave him asmall reward. The next morning he was on duty at dawn, and trottedbeside my chair until we were well on our way, when I sent him back. Ishould have been glad to have borrowed or bought or stolen him. 

Hui-li-chou, with a population of some forty thousand, is in the middleof an important mining region, both zinc and copper ore being found inthe neighbouring hills in good quantity; but the bad roads andgovernment restrictions combine to keep down industry. In spite of itsbeing a trading centre the inns are notoriously bad, and we werefortunate in finding rooms in a small mission chapel maintained by ahandful of native Christians. In the course of the evening some of thempaid me a call. They seemed intelligent and alert, and although in thepast the town has had an unpleasant reputation for hostility tomissions, conditions at the present time were declared to besatisfactory. 

CHAPTER IV

THE CHIEN-CH'ANG

The second day after leaving Hui-li-chou we entered the valley of theAnning Ho, a grey, fast-flowing stream whose course runs parallel withthe meridian like all the others of that interesting group of riversbetween Assam and eastern Szechuan, the Irrawaddy, the Salween, theMekong, the Yangtse, the Yalung. The Anning, the smallest of these, liesenclosed in a wilderness of tangled ranges, and its valley forms theshortest trade route between Szechuan and the Indo-Chinese peninsula. For about eight marches, north and south, it runs through a districtknown as Chien-ch'ang, celebrated throughout China for its fertility andthe variety of its products. At the lower end the valley is very narrow, and level ground is limited, but the gentle slopes on either side arebeautifully cultivated in tiny terraced fields. Farther north, however, in the neighbourhood of Ning-yüan-fu, the valley widens out into abroad, open plain. Apparently in this favoured region tropics andtemperate zone meet, for I never saw before such motley vegetation. Riceand cotton alternate with wheat and maize and beans, while saffron andindigo fit in anywhere. Fruits, too, of many kinds are abundant. Ashort time ago the poppy made every turn brilliant, but to-day imperialedicts, ruthlessly enforced, are saving the Chinese unwillingly fromthemselves, and the poppy has disappeared from sight. In spite ofcomplaints it would seem as though the Chien-ch'ang farmers, better thanmany in West China, could support the loss of that remunerative crop, for their resources, properly exploited, seem almost exhaustless. Mulberry trees are grown about every village and farmhouse, and the silkexport is of considerable value to the community. 

But one of the most interesting products of this region has lost much ofits importance in late years. All over China, but especially in thispart of Szechuan, there grows a tree of the large-leaved privet species. On the bark of the branches and twigs are discovered attached littlebrown scales of the size and shape of a small pea. When opened in thespring they are found to contain a swarming mass of minute insects. Toward the end of April, the time when I passed through this region, these scales were being carefully gathered and packed in small parcels, and already the journey northward was beginning. Porters bearing loadsof about sixty pounds were hurrying up the valley, often travelling onlyby night to save their precious burden from the burning sun's rays whichwould cause too rapid development. Their destination was Chia-ting, which lies on the Min River at the eastern edge of a great plain, thehome of the so-called "pai-la shu, " or "white wax tree, " a species ofash. The whole countryside is dotted over with this tree, so cut as toresemble the pollard willow. On arrival the scales are carefully made upinto small packets of twenty or thirty scales each, wrapped in leavesand attached to the branches of the white wax tree. After a shortinterval the insects emerge from the scales and secrete a waxlikesubstance, covering the boughs and twigs with a white deposit about aquarter of an inch thick. This is carefully gathered, and afterpurification by boiling is made up into the small cakes of commerce tobe put to various uses. It forms an important ingredient in sizing andpolish, and also in giving a gloss to silk; but especially it is valuedas imparting a greater consistency to tallow for candles, as it meltsonly at a temperature of 160° Fahrenheit. But the Standard Oilactivities have dealt a serious blow to the white wax industry. Keroseneis now in general use where there is any lighting at all, and whereasformerly ten thousand coolies annually hurried up the valley carryingscales to Chia-ting, we now saw only a few hundred. 

A generation ago Chien-ch'ang was perhaps the least known part of allChina to the outside world. About the middle of the thirteenth centurythe Mongol, Kublai Khan, acting as general of the forces of hisbrother, Genghis Khan, went through here to the conquest of Tali, thenan independent kingdom in the southwest, and the untiring Venetianfollowing in his train noted a few of the characteristics of Caindu, thename he gave both to the valley and the capital city. Six centurieselapsed before the next traveller from the West came this way. In thelate seventies Colborne Baber, Chinese Secretary of the BritishLegation, traversed the valley from north to south, being the firstEuropean since the time of Marco Polo to enter Ning-yüan-fu, save for anunfortunate French priest who arrived a few months earlier, only to bedriven out with stones. At that time, according to Baber, "two or threesentences in the book of Ser Marco to the effect that after crossinghigh mountains he reached a fertile country containing many villages andtowns, and inhabited by a very immoral population, " constituted the onlyexisting description of the district. 

In spite of the importance of this route it remained until a few yearsago very insecure. Overhung almost its entire length by the inaccessiblefastnesses of Lololand, the passing caravans dared journey only withconvoy, and even then were frequently overwhelmed by raiders from thehills, who carried off both trader and goods into the mountains, theformer to lifelong servitude. The Ta Liang Shan, or "Great ColdMountains, " the country of the independent Lolos, is a mountainousregion extending north and south some three hundred miles, whichconstitutes to this day an almost impenetrable barrier between east andwest, crossed voluntarily by no Chinese, unless in force, and from whichbut one European party has returned to tell the tale. On the outskirtsof this territory a little mission work has been undertaken with somesuccess, but as yet no real impression has been made upon the people. Chinese hold upon the country is limited to an occasional more or lessineffective punitive expedition organized after some unusual outrage, such as the murder, a few years back, of Lieutenant Brooke, the Englishexplorer. Naturally the Government does not care to assume anyresponsibility for the foolhardy foreigner bent on risking his life. Lieutenant Brooke went without permission, and during my stay inNing-yüan I learned that two French travellers had just sought in vainfor leave to attempt the crossing of the mountains to Suifu. 

Within Lololand, of course, no Chinese writ runs, no Chinese magistrateholds sway, and the people, more or less divided among themselves, areunder the government of their tribal chiefs. The little that is known ofthis interesting race has been learned from the so-called tame Lolos whohave accepted Chinese rule, and are found scattered in small villagesin the western part of Szechuan and Yunnan, being perhaps most numerousin the neighbourhood of the Anning and Yalung rivers, where anappreciable proportion of the population is of aboriginal or mixedaboriginal and Chinese stock. Accepting Chinese rule does not generallymean accepting Chinese customs. They hold to their own language andreligion, one a dialect akin to Tibetan, and the other a form ofanimism. It is very easy to distinguish conquerors and conquered, forthe Lolos are darker as well as taller and better formed than theChinese. Their features are good and they have a frank, directexpression which is very attractive. In dress also they have notconformed to the ways of their masters. Instead of a queue the men wearthe hair in a horn above the forehead, while the women hold firmly tothe feminine petticoats, surrounded though they are by the trouseredChinese women. Nor do they bind their feet, but stride bravely along onthe feet nature gave them. 

What these people really are is one of the unsettled ethnologicalproblems of the East, but probably they are of the same stock as theShans and Burmese. Even their proper appellation is in doubt. TheChinese call them Lolos, which means simply "barbarians" or "wild men. "By the people themselves the term is regarded as insulting, and oneshould avoid using it before them; but they are not agreed amongthemselves on a common name, and use ordinarily local tribal names. 

Half a dozen years ago travellers were warned against the dangers of theroad, but since then matters have been taken vigorously in hand by theChinese authorities. Guard-houses have been erected at short intervals, the passes are strongly fortified, and a large force of well-trained menis stationed permanently in the valley. The journey can now be made inentire safety, but there are numerous signs of past dangers, and theprecautions taken are very evident. Perhaps I was made especiallyconscious of possible danger because, as my interpreter said, though theofficials were careful to secure the safety of every one of us, theywere particularly anxious that nothing should happen to me; not, ofcourse, from any personal concern for the foreigner, but because theforeigner's Government has such a way of making things unpleasant ifanything happens to him. 

From Hui-li-chou northwards I was escorted by real soldiers, quite ofthe new service. They looked rather shipshape in khaki suits andputtees, and their guns were of a good model, but they handled them incareless fashion at first, belabouring laden ponies and even coolies whowere slow in getting out of the way of my chair. I am told that they arevery ready to lord it over their countrymen when escorting Europeans, taking advantage of the fearful respect in which the foreigner is held. I checked them vigorously at the time, and before the next morning'sstart I called them up, and with the aid of the interpreter haranguedthem to the effect that I was pleased to see that they knew how to usetheir guns, and if need came I hoped they would give a good account ofthemselves in China's defence, but in the mean time they should be veryslow to use their weapons on men or beasts, and if I saw them do itwhile they were with me they would get no "wine money. " The soldierstook my orders very meekly, and the bystanders (there are alwaysbystanders in China) grinned approvingly. 

The first two marches out from Hui-li led over the range into the Anningvalley, a high, rocky trail without much vegetation for the most part, but after we struck the river, cultivation was almost continuous, onehamlet following fast on another. This part of the valley is availablefor irrigation, and the skill and ingenuity shown in making use of thewater supply is nothing short of marvellous. At one point we ascended along, wide, gentle slope all laid out in tiny fields, and well wateredfrom two large, fast-flowing streams. But where did they come from, forthe slope ended abruptly in a sharp, high precipice overlooking a gorgethrough which flowed the Chin Ch'uan, a tributary of the Anning. But onturning a corner at the head of the slope we saw that from high up onthe mountain-side an artificial channel had been constructed withinfinite labour, bringing water from the upper course of the stream tothe thirsty fields below. 

Late on this same day the trail crossed a bare, rocky hillside, at onepoint passing between masses of stone ruins; something like a tower tothe right, and on the left a sort of walled enclosure. I had lingeredbehind to gather a nosegay of the small blue flowers that marked theday's march. As I approached I saw some twenty or thirty men clad inlong white or black cloaks hanging about the ruins, and my big chaircoolie, who had constituted himself my special protector, coming to meetme, hurried me by without stopping. When I joined the interpreter, whowas waiting for me at a discreet distance, I learned that the men wereLolos, "half-tame wild men, " employed by merchants and others to guardthis rather dangerous place where the trail approached somewhat closelythe territory of the independent Lolos. In spite of protests I wentback, accompanied by the big coolie and a soldier, to take somepictures. A few of the men ran away, but most made no objection andgood-humouredly grouped themselves at my direction while I photographedthem as best I could in the waning light. Their independent bearing andbold, free look interested me, and I should have been glad to talk withthem, but the interpreter was disinclined to come near, and it wasdoubtful, too, if they could have spoken Chinese well enough to havebeen understood. 

The 25th of April was our last day into Ning-yüan-fu, and I was glad; itwas getting very hot, and the coolies were tired from their longjourney. Several were hiring substitutes from the village-folk, payingless than half what they received from me. To avoid the heat we were offbefore sunrise. Often on that part of the trip we started in thehalf-light of the early dawn, and there was something very delightful inour unnoticed departure through the empty, echoing streets of thesleeping town where, the evening before, the whole population had beenat our heels. And outside the stifling walls the joy of another day'sride through a new world was awaiting me. 

For a time we followed up the narrow, winding valley, gradually openingout until we turned off to cross the low hills that barred the southernend of the Ning-yüan plain. Every inch of ground was under cultivation, but as yet few crops were up. Mulberries, however, were ripening fast, forerunners of the abundant fruit of this region. Shortly before tiffinwe crossed a stream over which the bridge of stone was actually beingrepaired. In China, as elsewhere in Asia, it is a work of merit toconstruct a new building or road, but waste of time to repair the old. Iwondered if by any chance some high official was expected, for the Eastfulfils quite literally the Scriptural injunction, "Prepare ye the wayof the Lord, make straight his path before him"; more than once Irealized the advantage of following in the footsteps of the great. 

[Illustration: LOLO GIRLS]

[Illustration: "TAME, WILD" LOLOS]

Toward the end of the day we crossed a spur of the hills, and descendedabruptly into the Ning-yüan plain; half concealed among the trees laythe town, while off to the southeast sparkled the water of the lakenoted by Marco Polo. As we sat resting for a few moments at a tea-house, I saw galloping towards us two horsemen, Europeans, the first I had seenfor nearly three weeks. They turned out to be Mr. Wellwood and Dr. Humphreys, of the American Baptist Mission, who had ridden out to makeme welcome. An hour later we crossed the parade ground outside the citygate, and shortly, turning in by a building of unmistakable Europeanarchitecture, found ourselves in the mission compound. It was mostdelightful to be again among my own kind, and the three days spent inNing-yüan while I was reorganizing my little caravan for the next stagewere very enjoyable, barring the excessive heat. 

Ning-yüan-fu is the largest town in this part of Szechuan, having apopulation of perhaps fifty thousand. It is surrounded by a well-builtwall, high and broad and nearly three miles in length. Within are fewbuildings of interest, due perhaps to the fact that about fifty yearsago it was almost demolished by an earthquake. According to tradition, the same thing happened in the early part of the Ming period, when thetown, which, so it is said, then stood in the hollow where the lake nowlies, was first shaken by an earthquake and then overwhelmed by a rushof water from underground. Later a new city was built on the presentsite. If the natives are to be believed, the ruins of the drowned citymay still be seen on calm days lying at the bottom of the lake, whileafter a storm beds and chairs of strange patterns are sometimes foundfloating about on the water. 

Even this remote corner of China shows the influence of the newmovement, and Western ideas are making their way. Something had beendone to improve the city schools, and I can testify to the desire of themilitary force stationed at Ning-yüan to form itself on European models, for the morning's sleep was broken by the vigorous bugle practice of theband, and at every turn one met soldiers, marching along with a gooddeal of vim. The large parade ground was given over in the afternoon tothe testing and speeding of ponies. We rode out there one day, and I waspleased to see that the interest and wise ways of the missionaries inhorseflesh were much appreciated by the owners of the ponies, men of aclass not easily reached by the ordinary channels of mission work. 

As my contract with the Yunnan hong was only to Ning-yüan-fu, it wasnecessary to make new arrangements here. My old men had expressed a wishto go on with me, but in the end only one did so, the others dislikingthe détour to Tachienlu which they knew I had in mind. Moreover, itwould have been necessary for them to register in the Ning-yüan hong, which they were not anxious to do, nor was the hong anxious to havethem. So I let them go, well contented with their "wine money, " whichwas, indeed, outrageously large. Soon after starting from Yunnan-fu Ihad realized that the men were inclined to ask for a day's halt morefrequently than I liked, as I was anxious to push ahead, knowing thatthe spring rains were shortly due. I did not know then the custom of theroad, which decrees no payment at all if it is the coolies who insist onstopping, although a small payment, usually five cents gold, is the rulefor each day of halt for your convenience. So I felt that my only checkupon the men was to hold out a reward. Accordingly I offered them adefinite tip and a good one, if they would get me to Ning-yüan-fu at acertain day, which they did, making the journey, as I learned later, simply in the ordinary time. I was advised not to pay them the sumpromised, as they were profiting by my ignorance, and it might make metrouble afterwards. But I reasoned that my ignorance was my own fault;they had not asked, I had offered the reward, and I was sure the evil ofa broken promise was greater than any bad precedent. So the men gottheir tip, and I am certain I gained by the reputation I thus acquiredof keeping my word. I never again gave such rewards, but I always hadgood service. 

I was sorry to see the Yunnan men go; they were sturdy, willing fellows, quick to learn my ways. In particular, one of my chair coolies, the bigfellow called Liu, I should have been glad to keep on, in spite ofunexpected revelations at Ning-yüan. He had made the trip from Yunnanwith Mr. Wellwood a few weeks earlier, behaving well, but afterreceiving his pay he got gloriously drunk and was expelled from the inn, whereupon he turned up at the mission, still drunk. As he was not takenin, he proceeded to tear up the chapel palings and make himself anuisance. So after repeated warnings he was turned over to the police, who shut him up for a night and then gave him a whipping. Probably hehad learned a lesson, for he made me no bother. This was the only casewithin my own knowledge of a coolie's giving trouble through drinking. Out-of-the-way travel in the East is much simpler for being amongnon-drinking people. Years ago I made a canoeing trip in northern Mainewith two friends. Almost we were forced to rob the traditional cradleand grave to secure guides warranted sober--the only sort safe for aparty of women; but in the East that question is scarcely considered, and personally I have never had any difficulty. 

The men that I took on at Ning-yüan were on the whole younger andsmaller than the Yunnan men, but they too did their work well. The newfu t'ou was a Chengtu man of a type quite unlike the others, tall, slender, well made, and with decidedly good features. He seemed youngfor his post, but soon showed himself quite equal to the task of keepingthe men up to the mark, and of meeting any difficulty that arose. 

To my surprise I was able to buy oil for our lanterns on the streethere. One does not think of the Standard Oil Company as a missionaryagency, but it has certainly done a great deal to light up the darkcorners of China, morally as well as physically, by providing the peoplewith a cheap way of lighting their houses. Formerly when darkness fell, there was nothing to do but gamble and smoke. Now the industriousChinese can ply his trade as late as he chooses. 

I was sorry to say farewell to my kind hosts, but it was good to getaway from the trying heat of Ning-yüan plain, all the more oppressivebecause of the confined limits of the mission quarters set in the heartof the city. The only escape for the missionaries during the hot monthswas to a temple on one of the surrounding hills. I was glad to learnthat land had been secured at a little distance from the presentcompound for more spacious accommodations. People at home do not realizethe difficulty of getting fresh air and exercise in a Chinese town. Walking inside the walls is almost impossible because of the dirt andcrowds, while near the city all unoccupied land is usually given over tograves. In Ning-yüan really the only chance for exercise short of ahalf-day's excursion, perhaps, was on the city wall, where I had adelightful ride one afternoon. 

It was the morning of April 29, when we finally started, my caravanbeing now increased to seventeen men, as I had advanced the interpreterto a three-bearer chair and given his old one to the cook, who as aSzechuan man should have been able to walk. But he seemed hardly up toit, --in fact he gave me the impression of an elderly man, although heowned to forty-one years only. It needs a trained eye, I imagine, tojudge of the age of men of an alien race. 

On passing out from the suburbs of the town, charmingly embowered infruit orchards, we struck across the open, treeless plain. There waslittle land that could be cultivated that was not under cultivation, butas yet the fields lay bare and baked in the burning sun, waiting thebelated rain, as this part of the valley cannot be irrigated, owing tothe lie of the land. Rain fell the first night, and after that neitherthe soil nor I could complain of dryness. Our first stop was at Li-chou, a small, comfortable town at the head of the valley, with a bad inn. It, not Ning-yüan, which lies a little off the main trail, is the centre ofthe carrying business between Yunnan and the north, and from this timeon, we found the village population everywhere chiefly occupied ascarrier coolies. 

Our first day from Li-chou was a short stage, and we had a long, leisurely tiffin at Sung-lin, where there was an exceptionally good inn. The proprietor was away, but his wife, who was in charge, seemed verycompetent and friendly, and took me into their private rooms, fairlyclean and airy, and quite spacious. In one was a large, grave-shapedmound of cement-like substance. On inquiry I learned that it enclosedthe coffin and body of the mother of the proprietor. She had been dead ayear, but the body could not receive final burial until his return. TheChinese custom of keeping unburied their dead awaiting a propitiousmoment strikes one as most unpleasant and unwholesome, but the worstconsequences are usually avoided by hermetically sealing the ponderouscoffin. In Canton the House of the Dead is visited by all travellers. Itis a great stretch of small buildings set in flower gardens, each roomcommanding a definite rent, and usually occupied by the waiting dead, whose fancied wants are meantime carefully supplied. The dead hand restsheavy on China. Not merely is much valuable land given over to graves, and the hills denuded of forest to make the five-inch coffin boards, butthe daily order of life is often unduly sacrificed to the departed. 

On my way from Calcutta to Hong Kong there joined us at Singapore theChinese Consul-General at that place. He was returning with his familyto Canton to attend the funeral of his mother. In talk with him Ilearned that he had been one of that famous group of students who cameto America in the seventies, only to be suddenly recalled by the ChineseGovernment. He had since acted as Secretary to the Chinese Legation inWashington, and was quite at home in Western ways. In his dress hecombined very effectively both Chinese and occidental symbols ofmourning, his white coat-sleeve being adorned with a band of blackcrape, while in the long black queue he wore braided the white mourningthread of China. He expected to be at home for some months, and duringthat time, so he told me, it would be unsuitable for him to engage inany sort of worldly business. 

We were now leaving behind the close cultivation of the Chien-ch'ang;the valley grew narrower, hemmed in by higher and more barren mountains, but the wild roses made beautiful every turn. One village that we passedwas quite surrounded by a hedge of roses several feet high, and all infull bloom. My second night from Ning-yüan-fu was not much better thanthe first, for the inn at Lu-ku, a rather important little town, wasmost uncomfortable; but a delightful hour's rest and quiet on the riverbank before entering the town freshened me up so much that the nightdid not matter. One march to the north of Lu-ku, up the valley of theAnning, lay the district town of Mien-ning, reached by a rough trailthat finally wandered off into the inextricable gorges of the Ta Tu Ho. It was in these wild defiles that the last contests of the Taipingrebellion were fought. I looked longingly up the valley, but my wayturned off to the right, following the pack-road to the ferry at Fulin. At once on starting the next morning we passed out of the main valleyinto a narrow gorge with precipitous sides opening from the east. Thetrail wound upwards along the mountain-face, often hewn out of the rockand scarcely more than five feet wide, and at one point it was barredeffectually by heavy gates. They opened to us, but not on that day halfa century ago when the Taiping leader, Shih Ta-k'ai, failing to forcehis way through, turned back to meet defeat in the wilds aboveMien-ning-hsien. 

All along the road we met signs of our nearness to the country of theLolos. There was much uncultivated land, and the population seemedscanty, but officials and soldiers were numerous, while guard-housesdominated the trail at short intervals. The village type was not alwayspure Chinese, and occasionally we met people unmistakably of anotherrace. At Teng-hsiang-ying, or "Strong-walled Camp, " where we stopped forthe night, both soldiers and Lolos were much in evidence. We were hereabout two thousand one hundred feet below the summit of the great passthrough which the raiders in times not far past made their way intofertile Chien-ch'ang. After getting settled in the inn, I went for awalk, carefully guarded by two soldiers especially detailed for thepurpose by the Yamen. In one alley I noticed Lolo women spinning in thedoorways, and with the aid of the soldiers, who seemed to be on veryfriendly terms with them, I succeeded in getting a picture of two. Infeature and colour they might have passed for Italians, and their dresswas more European than Chinese in cut. On their heads they wore the Tamo' Shanter-like cap of black stuff, common among these people, bound onwith their long braids, and their coats were of the usual felt. Theirskirts, homespun, were made with what we used to call a Spanish flounce. According to Baber, the Lolo petticoat is of great significance. No onemay go among the independent Lolos safely save in the guardianship of amember of the tribe, and a woman is as good a guardian as a man. Beforesetting out she puts on an extra petticoat, and the traveller thusescorted is sacred. But if the guarantee is not respected she takes offthe garment, spreading it on the ground, and there it remains, tellingto all the outrage that has been committed, and appealing to Heaven forredress. Altogether the women that I saw had a rather attractive, feminine look, and their manner, though timid, was not cringing. Peoplewho know them best have a good word for the Lolos, but few Europeanshave come much in contact with them. Those I saw looked miserably poor. Missionaries declare that the hand of the official is heavy upon them, and of course the persistent, hard-working Chinese are certain to haveacquired the best land. 

The next day we crossed the Hsiao Hsiang Ling, or "Little ElephantPass, " fortunately in fine weather. The approach from the south was verybeautiful. For a number of li our road led through a deep, narrow gorge, following up a fine rocky stream. The flowers and blossoming shrubs werewonderful; masses of white and of pink azaleas clothed the lower slopes, and there appeared now for the first time a bush bearing long, feather-like sprays of fragrant white blooms. From time to time wepassed a guard-house, and soldiers were everywhere, some on guard, others practising exercises, others lounging. At one place a group hadgathered about a fellow who was playing rather nicely an instrumentresembling a mandolin. He seemed gratified at my interest, and readilyrepeated his music for me. As seen in passing, the guard-houses lookedclean and substantial, vastly superior to the ordinary Chinese abode. But the country had a rather forbidding aspect as we marched farther upthe valley, fit setting for deeds of outrage and bloodshed; itscharacter seemed symbolized in the head of a Lolo robber set up by thewayside. 

The final climb to the pass was over gentle, grassy slopes. At the top, nearly ten thousand feet above sea level, the way led through a stronglyfortified post where I stopped for a few moments to enjoy the wide view, northwest to the nearer mountains of the Tibetan range, and east to thedark peaks of the Ta Liang Shan. On the northern side of the pass thedescent is long and tiring, a succession of steep zigzags and rockystaircases. At the time of day when I crossed, the lines of carriers andbaggage ponies were almost continuous. There were guard-houses atintervals of three li, and at each a special detail of two soldiers cameout, and, saluting me properly, fell into position, one in front and onebehind, to be replaced at the next post by two others. As we descendedto lower levels the valley widened out slightly, giving room for a fewhard-wrung fields surrounded by broad stone walls reminding one of NewEngland, and now and then we passed a lonely farmhouse built of stonesand enclosed in a rather ineffective defence of wattles. But villageswere few, hardly more than hamlets that had grown up about the militaryposts. All were walled, and where the highway passed through thevillage, dividing it in two, each half was enclosed in its own high wallof mud and stones. Moreover, many of the houses were of fortress-likeconstruction, three stories high, and with only a few slits forwindows. Once or twice we passed through an open bazaar strongly walledand with a fortified gate at either end, serving as a briefresting-place for the caravans hurrying over this dangerous stretch ofroad. 

[Illustration: A MEMORIAL ARCH. SZECHUAN]

[Illustration: FORTIFIED VILLAGE IN THE CHIEN-CH'ANG VALLEY]

As we travelled northward we saw fewer of the fine stone bridges of thesouth; the construction was now generally of wood, not unlike in outlinethe disfiguring structures of New England, but improved by open sidesand a picturesque curly roof of tiles. Usually they were approached by aflight of steps, showing conclusively, if proof were needed, that therewere no wheeled vehicles to consider. And, indeed, traffic generally wasof limited character after we left the pass. Occasionally we overtookcoolies hurrying along with their precious loads of white wax insects, or bending under long, thick pine or cypress boards, sometimes toweringhigh above their heads or else strapped across their shoulders, forcingthem to move crab-fashion along the narrow trails. On inquiry I learnedthat deeply embedded in the soil of the hills are found huge trees, rowsof sprouts marking their location. These are dug up with much effort andsawn into boards which are in great request for the ponderous Chinesecoffins. It would seem as though the supply must be inexhaustible, forwhen Sir Alexander Hosie came this way, a generation ago, he noted thesame traffic and received the same explanation. With the prohibition ofthe poppy, the region has for the moment little export trade, while theimports seem to consist mainly of military supplies for the Chien-ch'anggarrisons. However, the road is in unusually good condition, for thewhole way from Teng-hsiang-ying to Yüeh-hsi, our next stop, a distanceof perhaps thirty-five miles, is well paved with broad flags. As we drewnear to the town the valley opened a little, affording a glimpse of asnow peak to the north, while toward the southeast we look up a narrowgorge into Lololand, the border being but some fifteen miles away. Thisis almost the only break in the flanking hills that wall in theForbidden Land. Yüeh-hsi itself lies in the centre of a rock-strewnplain broken by a few rice-and maize-fields, and is important as amilitary post guarding the trade route against this easy way of attack. The best room of the inn smelt to heaven, but on investigation I foundan open loft which proved very possible after ejecting a few fowls. 

The following day our march led us through a narrow valley bare ofpeople and cultivation. Following this was a welcome change to steepclimbs over grass-covered slopes broken by picturesque ravines. I triedto get a picture of a coolie, bearing a huge nine-foot-long coffinplank, whom we overtook on the trail. A handful of cash and cigaretteswon his consent, but in spite of my men's efforts to calm his fears, the poor fellow cringed and trembled so, as I got my camera intoposition, that I gave it up. I felt as I might feel if I kicked a dumbanimal. 

Our night's stop was at Pao-an-ying, --like so many other hamlets of thisregion, little more than a camp-village, and showing its origin in thetermination "ying" or "jin, " meaning regiment. My room at the inn lookedout directly on the street, and there was neither quiet nor privacy tobe had, so I went out for a walk, escorted by a soldier and a coolie. Discovering a secluded screened place in a graveyard, I fell asleep onthe top of a tomb, and my men near by did the same; but presently I wasawakened by Jack's barking, to find myself the centre of a crowd of somefifty men silently watching me, and down the hillside I saw otherscoming, so I gave it up and took a stroll through the town, inspectingthe provision shops. 

We were off the next morning in the dark. At first the road was wild andpicturesque. The track was unusually good, and steep, well-constructedzigzags carried us up and down the hills. Later the valley opened, andwe ascended gradually over beautiful slopes gay with rhododendron andiris. The clouds above the mountains were very fine, but presently raincame on, continuing off and on all day. 

Late in the afternoon we came in sight of Haitang, a walled town perchedpicturesquely on the side of a hill. A temple outside the wall lookedattractive, and I should have visited it had it not been for the rainwhich now set in in good earnest. So, instead, I inspected the inn, which seemed unusually interesting. There was the ordinary entrancecourt roofed over, and behind that an inner court open to the sky andsurrounded by galleried buildings. Off from this led a long, highpassage into which opened a number of superior rooms. Mine was quiteelaborately furnished with carved bedstead and chairs and tables, andbest of all, it had a door opening directly on to the city wall, where Icould step out and get a breath of fresh air free from observation. 

Here I had my first experience of the "squeeze. " On directing theinterpreter to give the fu t'ou the coolies' pork money, I learned thaton the previous occasion the man had kept an undue proportion of it. Apparently a certain squeeze was regarded as legitimate, but he hadtransgressed the accepted bounds. I hardly knew how to meet thedifficulty. Of course I could have paid the coolies directly, but it wasmost desirable to maintain the fu t'ou's authority over them. Finally, in true Chinese fashion, the interpreter worked out a scheme by whichthe fu t'ou's "face" might be saved, and yet the coolies not bedefrauded. Going out into the court where the men were lounging, hecalled loudly to the fu t'ou to come for the coolies' money, naming thesum I intended to give, about one hundred cash to a man. In the face ofthis there was nothing for the fu t'ou to do but give to each hisrightful share, which he did with a very sulky air. Afterwards I had atalk with the man, telling him that my idea of a good fu t'ou was onewho kept the men up to their work, and at the same time did not bully ormulct them of their hard-earned money. Such a man would get a goodreward at the end. My reputation for lavishness stood me here in greatstead, for henceforth there was no difficulty on this score. I might be"squeezed, " but at least my coolies were not. The fu t'ou, however, tried to get even with the man who told, by discharging him. FortunatelyI learned of this, again through the interpreter, and put a stop to it. The idea of the squeeze seems to be ingrained in the Chinese. Howdifficult it is to eradicate was shown by the delight of a missionary atChung-king over the low price for which his trusty Christian clerk hadsecured a boat for me. For once he felt sure no commission could havebeen taken. 

During all this part of my trip I carried no coined silver, only roughlumps of bullion of varying size, converting them into cash as I needed. The rate of exchange varied from place to place, and I was sometimeswarned to put off visiting the money-changers until the next town. Ofcourse the visitor stands to lose anyway, and I am sure that in thecourse of a long journey through China you would see your money vanishin the mere process of change, quite aside from the money you spent. 

Rain fell all the next day, but it could not take from the charm of theroad, which led much of the time along the bottom of a deep, narrowgorge, the steep sides clothed to the very top with tropical greenflecked with splendid splashes of pink and white azaleas, while by theside of the path were masses of blue iris, and of small yellow and redflowers. We reached our night's resting-place, P'ing-i-p'u, early in theafternoon, and in spite of the rain I went for a walk. By dint ofperemptory commands, reënforced by the rain, I shook off my militaryescort, who for the last few marches had dogged my steps at every turn, moving when I moved, stopping when I stopped. To be sure, they had beenvery thoughtful of my comfort, helping me in and out of my chair, gathering the new flowers which appeared each day, keeping up a brazierfire in my room when it was damp, but I was tired of being treated aseither a suspect or a royal personage, and as we were now well beyondthe limit of Lolo raids I demanded the freedom of being alone. I foundquiet in an overgrown graveyard, with charming views down stream and upthe near hillsides cultivated in tiny scallops to the very top, althoughthe slopes were so steep that each plot was shored up with a strongstone wall to keep the crop of maize and buckwheat from slipping downinto the river. 

As we passed out of the village the next morning at six o'clock we heardthe hum of the boys in the government school already at work. ApparentlyYoung China was wasting no time. For perhaps twenty li we followed downa fine stream, the way rather dangerous from the rocks which now andthen detached themselves from the steep overhanging hillsides. After atime an ascent of one thousand feet brought us in sight of the Ta Tu, which we reached some time after noon by a gradual descent of twothousand feet, through a narrow valley to Ta-shu-p'u. Fine clumps ofbamboo and groups of palm now cheered our sight, and fruit of severalsorts--cherries, pears, loquats--was becoming abundant. It was veryrefreshing, although scarcely of a fine quality, and usually gatheredbefore it was ripe. The place looked quiet and attractive, but half acentury ago the last scenes of the Taiping rebellion were enacted here, when the remnants of Shih Ta-k'ai's force were surrounded andslaughtered. 

Later in the day I went for a stroll to inspect the shops, accompaniedby my interpreter, and it was on this occasion that I met with the onlyinstance of unfriendliness (that I recognized) in all my journeying inWest China. At one shop I noticed an interesting bronze dragon. Theinterpreter, who had a rather objectionable habit of fingering thewares, began examining it. Thereupon the merchant came forward andsnatched it from his hands, and when we passed that way again on ourreturn, he came out before his shop and waved us off vigorously with hisflapping sleeves. The interpreter said that the man disliked foreigners, but admitted that he did not wish to have his things handled. 

CHAPTER V

ON THE MANDARIN ROAD

For once the sun was shining gloriously as we descended the one longstreet of Ta-Shu-p'u, lined with food-shops, to the ferry across the TaTu Ho, here about six hundred feet wide. Unlike the crossing of theYangtse at Lung-kai, where we were the only ones to be ferried over, wefound ourselves here in a crowd of coolies and ponies impatientlywaiting their turn, for we were now on a main travelled road. The twogreat flat-bottomed boats were loaded to the brim, and the crossing wassafely accomplished to the tune of much shouting and kicking (by theponies). Sitting at ease in my chair I enjoyed the grand views up anddown the river, which here swings out from the cliffs in a splendidcurve. Above and below the ferry the Ta Tu runs through a wild, little-known region. Few trails cross the precipitous mountains that hemin its turbulent waters, which are navigable for short distances only bytimber rafts, and even on these the dangers of the journey are so greatthat the owners of the timber are expected to bind themselves to providecoffins in case of a fatal accident. 

On the farther side we landed on a stretch of shingle, across which wepicked our way for a mile to the prosperous trading centre of Fulin, lying on the right bank of the Liu Sha, or "River of Flowing Sand, " asmall stream flowing into the Ta Tu from the north. Our path led outsidethe town on the top of a narrow earth embankment, which bordered anirrigating ditch carried along the side of the hill. I should gladlyhave got off, but there was no chance to dismount save into the water onthe one hand or into the valley thirty feet down on the other. But Ithink you can trust the Yunnan pony anywhere he is willing to go, andmine did not hesitate. In fact, he never balked at anything asked of himsave once at a shaky "parao, " or footway, constructed along the face ofthe cliff on timbers thrust into holes bored in the solid rock, andanother time when he refused a jump from a boggy rice-field to the topof a crumbling wall hardly a foot wide with another bog on the otherside. 

Fulin was crowded with coming and going coolies and I could hardly forcemy way through, but one gets used to staring crowds, and I had longsince abandoned the practice of taking refuge in my chair on entering atown, save at the largest ones. Then it was certainly pleasanter andperhaps safer to make my way through the throng enthroned high on theshoulders of my coolies, but in the villages I walked or rode my pony aschance served. Even in the smallest places our entrance was the signalfor an uproar. The scores of dogs--big, gaunt pariahs--that infestedevery village, greeted us as we passed through the gate with a chorus ofbarks, sending the word down the line. To his credit be it said, Jackpaid little attention to them, tittupping along, head up, tail up, onlywhen they came too close turning on them with a flash of white teeththat sent the cowardly brutes flying and brought cries of delight fromthe village folk who crowded nearer to inspect the strange dog, sosmall, so brave, and so friendly. 

Seen from within, Fulin was not attractive and I escaped outside leavingmy men to get their breakfast, which they generally had at about nineo'clock, for the Szechuan order of day is not like that of Yunnan. Wewere on the road often before six o'clock, and my cook always succeededin getting me some tea before starting, but the coolies fasted untileight or after, when they stopped for a hearty breakfast. At noon therewas usually a second long halt, this time for me and the pony, but thecoolies took nothing more save the hourly cups of tea until we reachedour night's stopping-place about the middle of the afternoon. The startat dawn was delightful; less so getting into the town with half anafternoon before me, and I made it the rule to stop a mile or so outsidethe town for a nap in peace and quiet, but the quiet was hard to find. Generally there was a retired nook not too far from the trail, mosttimes a graveyard, but then came the difficulty of getting thereunobserved, for if seen we were sure to be tracked. Oh, the races I haverun, playing hide-and-seek with the crowd, stealing under a village walllike a thief, hiding behind a little shrine, and the end was always thesame, --to be wakened from my first nap by Jack barking at a large bluespot a little distance off, which slowly resolved itself into a stolidline of villagers. 

For a few miles we followed up the left bank of the Liu Sha, whosewaters were turbid with the red soil of Szechuan. The fertile bottomlands were carefully cultivated with rice, and on the higher groundmaize and sugar-cane were growing. Dotted about the fields were clumpsof mulberry and orange trees, and the flanks of the enclosing mountainswere covered with a sparse growth of oak and pine. 

After a time we climbed by a long, steep rock staircase to anothervalley some fifteen hundred feet above the level of Fulin and intocooler weather and clearer air. Just before entering Han Yüan Kai, wherewe spent the night, we passed under a very beautiful "pailou, " ormemorial arch, built of stone and elaborately carved with spiritedfigures representing historic scenes. The workmanship and variety ofthese arches are very remarkable. They abound all over Szechuan, especially in the Chengtu plain, and usually commemorate the good deedsof an official (his best act, perhaps, was setting up this memorial tohimself), or the virtues of some woman whose merit lay almost invariablyin many years, or many children, or above all in remaining a widow. Ihave heard of a pailou in Kwangtung province in honour of a woman markedout among women for her years, her goodness, and above all for her manydescendants, who numbered six sons, forty grandsons, one hundred andtwenty-one great-grandsons and two great-great-grandsons. 

Han Yüan Kai is on the mandarin road that connects Chengtu and Ya-chouwith the frontier. Here we entered a new magistracy, and it wasnecessary to send to Ch'ing Ch'i, the district headquarters, for a freshrelay of soldiers. One of those who had come with me from Ta-shu-p'ustarted at once on our arrival at Han Yüan Kai about the middle of theafternoon, and made the journey, twenty-five li each way, to Ch'ingCh'i-hsien and back before night, bringing with him the two men who wereto go on with me. Truly the West China man is no weakling. 

During the next day we were following the great tea-road, the road bywhich most of the twelve million pounds of brick tea consumed by theguzzling Tibetans is carried to the frontier market at Tachienlu. At allhours of the day straggling lines of men or ponies or mules were insight, toiling along under their precious burdens. Between Ya-chou, thestarting-point of this traffic, and Tachienlu there are two high passesto cross, seven thousand feet above the level where the journey begins, and the whole length of the road is a wearisome succession of ups anddowns. And the loads carried are extraordinary. Baron von Richthofensays, "There is probably no road in the world where such heavy loads arecarried by man across high mountains. " The oblong package, called "pao, "in which the tea is made up, weighs perhaps eighteen pounds, and, according to the German traveller, ten or eleven form an average load. But Baber declares that he had often seen a coolie carrying eighteenpao, and on one occasion a man with a load of twenty-two, certainlyequivalent to four hundred pounds. I saw nothing like that, but I passedmany a poor wretch sweating under a burden of two hundred andtwenty-five or two hundred and fifty pounds. Day after day they creepalong, rarely covering more than six or seven miles a day. Every fourhundred yards they rest, but the loads are taken off only at noon andnight. At other times they relieve themselves for a moment from theintolerable strain by placing an iron-shod crutch under the load. On themarch they carry this in the hand, tapping the ground as they go, andall along the road the granite pavement is worn into holes from the tapsof centuries. The load, which is fastened to a framework attached tothe carrier's back, towers high over his head, and is usually surmountedby his wide-brimmed hat fastened at such an angle as to give himprotection against rain and sun. Even Chinese ingenuity has failed todevise a way by which he can wear it properly on his head. Some of themfanned themselves vigorously as they walked, with respectable black, old-lady fans, and the contrast with their hard, begrimed faces andsturdy frames was very comical. The men looked worn and exhausted, andtheir work is killing, although I believe they outlast thechair-bearers; but they were patient and cheerful like the rest, readyto laugh and share their cold lunch of corn-cake with the little foreigndog who begged so prettily. 

[Illustration: "MERCURY, " MY FLEET COOLIE]

[Illustration: CARRIER COOLIES]

I wondered how many of them were opium smokers. To the untrained eye thesigns were not very plain. Among my coolies was one whom I dubbed"Mercury, " so untiring and fleet of foot was he, carrying his load ofeighty pounds or so with apparent ease, and showing much pride inkeeping near my chair, while usually the carrier coolies lagged farbehind. I was told he was the worst smoker of the whole lot. In mycaravan of seventeen men, seven, including the fu t'ou, used opium. As arule they limited themselves to one pipe at night, while five years agotravellers complained that a long halt at noon was demanded by thesmokers. The fu t'ou was making a valiant effort, with the aid ofanti-opium pills, to break off the habit; it was getting too expensive, he said, especially for a married man. In a number of towns places werepointed out where these pills were sold by the Government. Those whoknow, say they are often as pernicious as the drug itself. 

The majority of my men, eleven to be precise, were married, and eighthad children. I was interested to note the discreet and indirect way inwhich this information was procured for me by the interpreter. Suchmatters are not mentioned in public in China, any more than in India. 

My own chair-men, so it happened, were all gay young bachelors, ready tosquander their earnings on anything that took their fancy, --beads ortobacco, hats or cakes, especially cakes. There was a particular sort, very sweet with pink frosting, that was a great delicacy, costing twocents Mexican apiece. I had to speak pretty emphatically to one of themen who was trying to win Jack's favour by feeding him with the costlycookies. "But the little dog likes them, " he said. 

The Chinese generally, unlike the Hindu, is very ready to spend on hisfood if he has the money. He will live on less than nothing if put toit, but given the chance he does not stint himself. At short intervalson the road were tea-houses and restaurants of the simpler sortespecially planned to cater to the coolie class, but they were oftennot unattractive. Sometimes they were substantial buildings open to thestreet, and set out with tables on which were ranged dishes ofvegetables and curries and cakes, while in the background was a bigcauldron of rice cooking over the fire. Occasionally the tea-house wasnothing more than a section of the highway roofed over with mats orleafy boughs. On a handy bench was placed a basin of steaming water forthe visitor to bathe hands and face before drawing up to the table. Itgave me a pleasant surprise to see the Chinese making of the dailyrepast a jolly social function, instead of each squatting on the groundin a corner, devouring his solitary bowl of rice as is the fashion ofmost Eastern peoples. 

I found much interest in noting the food of my men, the variety and costof it, and I whiled away many an hour of waiting, in questioninginnkeepers and provision dealers. A good bowl of rice, called "cat'shead" and costing twenty cash, or one cent gold, was usually the _piècede résistance_. This in hand, a man fished out with his chopstickstidbits from various dishes set out on the table, --beans, cabbage, lettuce, peppers, etc. , all cooked. Good hot boiled potatoes in theirjackets were sometimes to be had at four cash each, or a bowl of stewedturnips at the same price. Beans in some shape were an important part ofevery menu. You could get a basin of fresh beans for ten cash, driedbean-cake for five, beans cooked and strained to a stiff batter formaking soup for seven cash the ounce, while a large square of whitebean-cake was sold for one copper cent. A saucer of spun rice or millet, looking much like vermicelli, with a seasoning of vinegar, cost fivecash. Bowls of powdered grain mixed with sugar were much in demand. So, too, for those who could afford them, large round cakes at thirty cashfor two. Ground pepper (the Chinese are very fond of pepper in any form)was sold at one cash the tiny package, and sugar for three cash thesquare inch. Almost every coolie had tucked in about his load a largeflat cake of coarse corn-meal or maize mixed with water, which hemunched as he went along. In Tachienlu, my supply of biscuits havinggiven out, I had my cook buy some of these; split open and toasted, theywere not at all bad. Tea, of course, was to be had everywhere; a pinchof tea-leaves in a covered cup and unstinted boiling water cost fromfive to twenty cash a cup, and most refreshing I found it. On the whole, the food looked attractive, and the fact that whether liquid or solid itwas almost invariably boiled must have much to do with saving the peoplefrom the legitimate consequences of their sins against sanitary laws. The Chinese have no principles against eating between meals if they canfind anything to eat, and there was temptation all along the road. Beside a wayside well, under a spreading tree, would be placed a smalltable tended perhaps only by a tiny maiden, and set out with pieces ofsugar-cane or twigs of loquats or carefully counted clusters of peanutsor seeds, five pieces for a cash. 

Our second night from the ferry was spent at Ni T'ou, a rather importantfrontier village, and attractive with picturesque red temples andpailous. A good sleep in an unusually comfortable inn prepared us forthe stiff climb to come. The morning broke grey and the clouds restedlow on the mountains, but at least we were spared a start in the rain. The road was so steep and rough that I preferred to walk, and soongetting ahead of my men I did not see them again until midday, and I hada good morning all to myself among the hills. Occasionally I passedthrough a little hamlet, people and dogs all turning out to greet my dogand me. Once a whole village emptied itself into the fields to show methe way up the hillside. My cold lunch I ate at the head of a wild gorgeby a solitary shrine half buried in clumps of bushes, and beautiful withmasses of iris. The last part of the climb to Fei Yüeh Ling, or "FlyBeyond Pass, " led through an uninhabited glen down which rushed a finestream turning the horizontally placed wheels of a ruined mill. Hurryingup the rocky zigzag I stood alone at the top of the pass, nine thousandfeet above the sea. Before me I knew towered range upon range, peakabove peak, one of the finest views the earth affords, but alas, everything was blotted out by thick white clouds, and I could scarcelysee ten feet away. 

It was maddening to think of the wonders that lay behind thatimpenetrable wall, but there was nothing to do but to descend by a trailas steep and slippery as the one by which I had just climbed, for thecold, drenching mist showed no signs of lifting. It was on this slopethat Rockhill, the American explorer, met a pilgrim on his way to Lhasa. Starting in the Chusan archipelago near Ning-po, he had already spentseven years on the way, and it would be two more before he could attainhis goal, which was not to be wondered at, as with every two steps heprostrated himself full length on the ground before the little altar hecarried with him. With this primitive mountain world his act was inweird harmony, but there was an incongruity almost stunning in the sightof a Hindu carrying out a similar vow in one of the crowded businessstreets of Europeanized Calcutta. I nearly stepped on him as I came outone day from the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. 

Just before reaching Hua-lin-ping, or "Phoenix" Flat, where we were tospend the night, I espied across the narrow valley to our right apicturesque temple perched at the top of a high wooded cliff. As it wasstill early in the afternoon, I turned off from the trail, and, accompanied by the interpreter, scrambled down the slope, gay with pinkazaleas, to a charming wooden bridge spanning the torrent. After a sharppull through a fine forest, we came out in front of the temple, whichwas dedicated to Kuan Yin: by the way, it is rather significant thatChina's favourite deity is the Goddess of Mercy. The place seemeddeserted, and we wandered about at will. Apparently extensive repairswere going on, and roofs and gods alike were being refurbished. After atime an old priest turned up, who took us through the timber-builtmonastery behind the temple. Here, he told us, well-to-do people of theneighbourhood often spent a few weeks in summer, to escape the damp heatof the valley. The practical Chinese do not hesitate to put their sacredplaces to use, and they serve in turn for schools, political gatherings, summer resorts. 

I was half a mind to cry a halt, the place looked so attractive, and allthe more when on stepping out of a door there opened before me awonderful vision of heaven-kissing mountains. While we were inside theclouds had lifted, revealing the whole line of the great peaks thatstand as sentinels at the eastern end of the vast Tibetan plateau. Westward from that snow-topped line there is no low land until you reachthe plains of India. For a few minutes we stood spellbound, and then theclouds shut down again, leaving only a glorious memory to cheer thedescent through a grey, dripping world. 

A generation ago Hua-lin-ping was an important frontier post, but to-dayits broad, barrack-lined street is deserted and grass-grown, for thevanguard of effective Chinese occupation is steadily pushing westwardinto the tribes country. We started the next morning under clouds ofmore than one sort; rain was falling, the ma-fu, whom I had been dosingfor a day or two, had given out, and had to be left behind as well asone of the coolies, and the fu t'ou was cross at having to shoulder thelatter's load. Early on this day we again came to the Ta Tu, havingdescended five thousand feet from the top of the pass; and for the restof this stage and all the next one we followed up the wild valley ofthis beautiful river, which may be said to form the real geographicaland ethnographical boundary between China and Tibet. Wherever the valleyopened out a little, there was the invariable garden-like cultivation ofthe Chinese; fruit and nut trees abounded, mulberry, peach, apricot, andwalnut, and the fields showed good crops of maize, beans, andsugar-cane. But up from the narrow fertile strip of river bank toweredon either hand barren mountains, their precipitous granite sides gashedhere and there by deep gorges in and out of which the trail wound withsharp turns and steep descents. The grey, forbidding mountains, showinghardly a foothold for man or beast, tree or house, matched the grey, swirling river, here unnavigable even for rafts. Thrust back by theland, offered only a watery grave by the river, it seemed no country forman to seek a home, and yet the scattered Chinese hamlets were gay andfull of life, and the tea-houses at every turn were doing a goodbusiness. 

[Illustration: A GROUP OF SZECHUAN FARMHOUSES]

At Leng Chi, where we stopped for breakfast, I fled from the noisyrestaurant to a small temple across the road, its outer court filledfull of coffins, whether occupied or not, I could not say. A nice oldpriest promptly found me out, and taking me into an inner room made mecomfortable with cups of tea. The buzz of voices told that a school wasin session near by, and at the request of the teacher, a good-lookingyoung man, I paid it a visit. Some twenty boys were hard at work on theclassics and mathematics, undisturbed by the weird-looking gods aroundthem. They seemed wide awake, and showed real disappointment that Icould not stop to see a display of their skill in gymnastics. Everygood-sized village seems to boast a school of sorts, and not a few dosomething for the girls. 

The rain was falling as we approached Lu Ting Ch'iao, and that meant along evening cooped up in a noisy, ill-smelling inn, so in desperation Itook refuge under a large tree just outside the town where bushesscreened me from the passers on the road. My men had long since made uptheir minds that I was rather mad, so they left me in peace, onlyposting one of the soldiers in a temple near by to keep watch and ward;but there was no need, for most of the people hereabouts are Tibetan, and they have little of the pertinacious curiosity of the Chinese, whether because of better manners or because less alert I do not know. And it was well I cut short my stay in the inn, for it was about theworst I had come across, as I took pains to inform the landlord the nextmorning. But there was no choice. Lu Ting Ch'iao, or the "Town of theIron Bridge, " derives its importance as well as its name from itslocation, and it was crowded to overflowing with east- and west-boundtravellers, officials, merchants, soldiers, coolies, for all trafficmust cross the Ta Tu here, the one point spanned by a bridge. Indeed, according to Mr. Archibald Little, this is the only bridge across anyone of the many large rivers that unite to form the Great River. It isof the suspension sort, built in 1701, in the reign of that energeticruler, Kang Hi, and is three hundred and eleven feet long. The ninecables of charcoal-smelted iron that compose it are anchored at the endsin the usual Chinese fashion. On these are laid loose planks to serve asa footway, while the only guard is a shaky chain on either hand. Whenthe wind swoops down the gorge, as it does most afternoons, the wholestructure swings uncomfortably, and I wondered at the nonchalance withwhich heavily laden coolies and ponies crossed. But such as it is, thisis the one connecting link between China and Tibet, for ferrying acrossthe upper reaches of the Ta Tu is impracticable most of the year. 

After passing the bridge we kept up a narrow trail that clung to theface of the cliff, often cut out of the granite rock. There were novillages, but we passed through one or two hamlets set in a smallalluvial fan such as is often seen in Western Tibet, only there the fanended with a steep precipice two or three hundred feet above the river, while here it sloped gently down to the water's edge. 

Occasionally we saw across the Ta Tu on the left bank a villageunmistakably Tibetan: no trees; grey, flat-roofed, fortress-like houses, often reached only by a ladder; with few signs of life to be seen evenwith a glass, there was a forbidding aspect to these places in markedcontrast to the bustle of a Chinese village. 

We were now skirting the lower slopes of the Ta Shueh Shan, or "GreatSnow Mountains, " the outposts of the Tibetan plateau, but we were toohemmed in to catch a glimpse of the higher ranges, save once, when abreak in the mountain wall afforded a brief, magnificent view of thesnowy peaks towering more than fifteen thousand feet above our heads. Then another turn in the road shut us in again between grey cliff andgrey river and grey sky. Toward the end of the day a sharp bend to theleft took us away from the Ta Tu into the wild gorge through whichflows the Tarchendo, and with a rough scramble we dropped down into thepretty little village of Wa Ssu Kou, the "Ravine of the Tile RoofMonastery. " At the extreme western end of the one long street we foundcomfortable quarters in a new, clean inn. Like so many of these villagesof wood with shingled roofs, Wa Ssu Kou seems to burn down once in sooften, which has at least the advantage that there is less chance fordirt to accumulate. 

Strolling out from the inn after a wash, I found myself in the finegardens that border the river, separated from the water, here level withthe bank, only by a narrow strip of shingle. Men and women were hard atwork even after nightfall. Each plant is brought up by hand, as it were, and there is no waste of fertilizer; by spoonfuls the precious stuff isapplied to each root instead of being scattered over the ground. Justacross the river towered a precipitous cliff two thousand feet high, quite overshadowing the village, which looked very small and helpless bycontrast. Up the face of the cliff zigzagged a steep trail, finallydisappearing over the top, and I looked longingly after it, for on thisside the river direct Chinese government ends. The other bank is thecountry of the tribesmen, people of Mantzu stock living under the ruleof their tribal chiefs. Northwards from Wa Ssu Kou the Ta Tu changes itsname to Chin Ch'uan, or "Golden Stream, " and the whole region is knownas the Chin Ch'uan country, and is famous in Chinese history as thescene of one of the most hardly fought campaigns against the tribes. 

On my return to Wa Ssu Kou a week later a free half-day gave me a chancefor a little run over the border. Guided by a respectable villager Icrossed the rickety bridge over the Tarchendo and after a breathlessclimb came out on the top of the cliff, where I overlooked a widerolling plateau sloping steeply to the Ta Tu on the east, and enclosednorth and west by high mountains. The country seemed barren and almostuninhabited, as though removed by hundreds of miles from the hard-wonprosperity and swarming life of the line of Chinese advance toTachienlu. Only occasionally did we meet any one, Chinese or Mantzu, andthere was no stir about the few dwellings that we passed, all high, fortress-like buildings of stone. This whole region is almost unknown toEuropeans, and the few Chinese who go there are generally passingtraders. According to Hosie, they are allowed to take temporary wivesfrom the women of the country on payment of a sum of money to the tribalhead, but they must leave them behind when they depart. 

The next day we ascended the valley of the Tarchendo to Tachienlu, adistance of about twenty miles. There is a rise of thirty-five hundredfeet on this stage, but so gradual is the ascent that one realizes itonly in watching the stream, which is almost continuous rapid andcataract. For miles there was scarcely a square yard of smooth water. The only means of crossing from one bank to the other is by the ropebridges, of which I saw three. Several times I had a chance to watchsome one making the trip. From a bamboo rope securely anchored on eitherbank with heavy rocks, a sling-seat is suspended by means of a sectionof bamboo which travels along the rope. Seated in the sling the weightof the voyager carries him more than halfway across, but after that hemust haul himself up by sheer force. A slip would mean certain death, and it is said that often on reaching the middle of the stream theimpulse to let go is uncontrollable. Hardy Western explorers havefrequently confessed their dread of these bridges, which are foundthroughout the mountains of eastern Asia, but I saw men and womencrossing as though it were all in the day's work. But then the Chinesehave no nerves, you know. 

Fortunately the need of crossing here did not seem very imperative, forthere was little sign of life on the north bank of the Tarchendo. Indeed, on our side there were no villages for the whole distance, onlya few hamlets and now and then a solitary rest-house. The river is soclosely shut in by the mighty rock walls on either hand that there isscarcely room for more than the narrow trail. There were a good manywalnut trees and willows, and I occasionally saw a meagre patch ofbarley or Indian corn, but even the Chinese would be hard put to wring aliving here were it not for the coolie trade. In fact, every other houseseemed to be a restaurant or tea-house. At one the soldier who hadescorted me from Ni T'ou covered himself with disgrace by getting into aquarrel. Rain was falling, so I stayed in my chair while the coolieswere drinking their everlasting cups of tea. Suddenly there was a greatoutcry, every one pitching in, and I saw the soldier seize the innkeeperby the queue, belabouring him vigorously with the flat of his shortbroad sword. I called to the interpreter to interfere, but either he didnot hear me or would not obey; so I scrambled out of my chair as best Icould (a woman, as an inferior being, must always step over the sidepole; to touch the pole that rests on the coolie's shoulder would causehim to have sores), and, throwing myself into the fray, hauled thesoldier off. I knew, for I had tested it, that the edge of his sword wassharp. When the excitement had died down, I learned that the wholetrouble rose from the innkeeper's demanding payment for four cakes, while the soldier insisted that he had eaten only three. Who had theright of it I do not know, but I read the man a lesson at so misbehavinghimself when escorting a lady, a truly Western point of view which wasprobably Greek to him, but anyway he seemed greatly downcast at myrebuke, and for the rest of the day hung about in an apologetic way, occasionally mutely laying a bunch of flowers on the arm of my chair asa peace offering. 

CHAPTER VI

TACHIENLU

Tachienlu is surely _sui generis_; there can be no other town quite likeit. Situated eight thousand four hundred feet above the sea, it seems tolie at the bottom of a well, the surrounding snow-capped mountainstowering perhaps fifteen thousand feet in the air above the little townwhich, small as it is, has hardly room to stand, while outside the wallthere is scarcely a foot of level ground. It is wedged into the anglewhere three valleys come together, the Tar and the Chen rivers meetingjust below the town to form the Tarchendo, and our first view of theplace as we turned the cliff corner that here bars the gorge, was verystriking, grey walls and curly roofs standing out sharply from theflanking hillsides. 

Within the walls of Tachienlu, China and Tibet meet. As we made our waythrough the long, dirty main street, here running parallel with the Tarwhich comes tumbling down from the snow-fields of the Tibetan range, Iwas struck at once by the varied aspect of the people. The dense crowdthat surged through the streets, some on horseback and some on foot, wasmore Tibetan than Chinese, but the faces that peered out from the shopswere unmistakably of the Middle Kingdom. Groups of fierce-lookingfellows, clad in skins and felt, strode boldly along, their dark facesbearing indelible marks of the hard, wild life of the Great Plateau. Many of them carried weapons of some sort, for the Chinese have scornedto disarm them. Among them walked impassively the blue-gowned men of theruling race, fairer, smaller, feebler, and yet undoubtedly master. Itwas the triumph of the organizing mind over the brute force of the loweranimal. Almost one man in five was a red-robed lama, no cleaner in dressnor more intelligent in face than the rest, and above the din of thecrowd and the rush of the river rose incessantly weird chanting and thelong-drawn wail of horns from the temples scattered about the town. Lamaism has Tachienlu in its grip, and I could have fancied myself backin Himis lamassery, thousands of miles away on the western frontier ofTibet. It was an extraordinarily picturesque scene, full of life andsound and colour. 

Marco Polo described the territory lying west of Ya-chou as "Thibeth, "and a century ago the Chinese frontier stopped at Tachienlu, but to-dayBatang, a hundred and twenty-five miles to the west as the crow flies, is the western limit of Szechuan. In actual fact, however, directadministration by the Chinese stops at the Ta Tu, on the right bank ofthe river the people being governed by their tribal chiefs. Tachienluis in the principality of the King of Chala, whose palace is one of thetwo or three noteworthy buildings in the place, and the Tibetanpopulation of some seven hundred families, not counting the lamas, isdirectly under his authority. But there is a power behind the throne, and the town is really governed by the Chinese officials, for it is thekey to the country to the west, and the Imperial Government has longbeen awake to the importance of controlling the great trade and militaryroad to Lhasa. What the effect of the Revolution will be upon therelations of China and Tibet remains to be seen. Already Chao Erh Feng, the man who as Warden of the Marches had made Chinese rule more of areality in Lhasa than ever before, has fallen a victim to Manchuweakness; hated by Chinese and Tibetan alike, he met his death at thehands of a rebellious soldiery in January, 1912. 

[Illustration: A VIEW OF TACHIENLU]

[Illustration: TIBETANS]

Between Tachienlu and Lhasa lie many hundred miles of barren, windsweptplateaus and perilous mountain passes. There are, I believe, at leastten of these passes higher than Mont Blanc. Connection between the twoplaces is over one of the most difficult mountain roads in the world, yet it was by this route that the Chinese finally conquered Tibet in theeighteenth century, and to-day most of the trade goes the same way. Those who deny the Chinese all soldierly qualities must have forgottentheir achievements against the Tibetans, let alone the still moreextraordinary military feat of their victory over the Gurkhas of Nepal, when a force of seventy thousand men of the Middle Kingdom crossed thewhole width of the most inaccessible country in the world, and, fightingat a distance of two thousand miles from their base, defeated the crackwarriors of the East. 

The China Inland Mission has a station at Tachienlu, but to mydisappointment the two missionaries were away at the time of my visit, and although their Chinese helpers made me welcome, providing a placefor me in one of the buildings of the mission compound, I felt it a realloss not to talk with men who would have had so much of interest totell. Moreover, I had been looking forward to meeting my own kind oncemore after two weeks of Chinese society. Fortunately another travellerturned up in Tachienlu about the time I did, an English officer of theIndian army, returning to duty by a roundabout route after two years'leave at home. As he too was installed in the mission compound we soondiscovered each other, and I had the pleasure of some interesting talk, and of really dining again. Eating alone in a smelly Chinese inn cannotby any stretch be called dining. I found that Captain Bailey had gonewith the Younghusband expedition to Lhasa, and was now on his way toBatang with the hope of being able to cross Tibet from the Chinese side. We had an enjoyable evening comparing experiences. I was impressed, asoften before, by the comfort a man manages to secure for himself whentravelling. If absolutely necessary, he will get down to the bare bonesof living, but ordinarily the woman, if she has made up her mind torough it, is far more indifferent to soft lying and high living, especially the latter, than the man. One thing I had, however, thatCaptain Bailey lacked, --a dog, --and I think he rather envied me myfour-footed companion. I know I begrudged him his further adventure intothe wilds beyond Tachienlu. Months later I learned that although he didnot reach Lhasa as he had hoped to do, his explorations in thelittle-known region between Assam and Tibet and China had won him muchfame and the Gill Medal awarded by the Royal Geographical Society. 

Thanks to Captain Bailey I suffered no inconvenience from the absence ofthe missionaries on whom I had relied for help in getting a chequecashed, as he kindly introduced me to the postmaster, to whom he hadbrought a letter from the English post-commissioner at Chengtu, and thisofficial most courteously gave me all the money I needed for the nextstage of my journey. The Imperial Post-Office was in 1911 still underthe same management as the customs service, and was marked by the sameefficiency. All over China it had spread a network of post-routes, andby this time, unless the Revolution has upset things, as it probablyhas, there should be a regular mail service between Tachienlu and Batangand Lhasa. To be sure, the arrangements at Tachienlu were ratherprimitive, but the surprising thing was that there should be anypost-office at all. When I went for my letters the morning after Iarrived, I was shown a large heap of stuff on the floor of the littleoffice, and the interpreter and I spent a good half-hour disentanglingmy things from the dusty pile, most of which was apparently for membersof the large French mission in Tachienlu. I was sorry not to have achance to meet representatives of the mission, which has beenestablished for a long time, and works, I believe, among both Tibetansand Chinese, the Protestants confining themselves to the Chinesecommunity. Nor was I more successful in learning about the Protestantwork, owing to the absence of the missionaries on a journey to Batang. But I was greatly impressed by the truly beautiful face and dignifiedbearing of a native pastor who called upon me at my lodgings. Fine, serene, pure of countenance, he might have posed for a Buddha or aChinese St. John. In my limited experience of the Chinese, the men whostand out from their fellows for beauty of expression and attractivenessof manner are two or three Christians of the better class. Naturallyfine-featured and of dignified presence, the touch of the Christianfaith seems to have transformed the supercilious impassiveness of theirclass into a serenity full of charm. It is a pity that it is not moreoften so, but the zeal of the West mars as well as mends, and inimparting Western beliefs and Western learning carelessly and needlesslydestroys Eastern ideals of conduct and manner, often more reasonable andmore attractive than our own. The complacent cocksureness of theOccidental attitude toward Oriental ways and standards has little torest on. We have reviled the people of the East in the past for theirunwillingness to admit that there was anything we could teach them, andthey are amending their ways, but we have shown and show still astupidity quite equal to theirs in our refusal to learn of them. Take, for example, the small matter of manners, --if it be a small matter. Morethan one teacher in America has confessed the value of the object lessonin good breeding given by the chance student from the East, but how fewWesterners in China show any desire to pattern after the dignified, courteous bearing of the Chinese gentleman. I have met bad manners inthe Flowery Kingdom, but not among the natives. 

It had been a long, hard pull from Ning-yüan-fu; two weeks' continuoustravelling is a tax upon every one, but at no place had we foundcomfortable quarters for the whole of the party, and as the menpreferred to push on, I was not inclined to object. But usually aseventh-day rest is very acceptable to them; so we were all glad for alittle breathing-space in Tachienlu. The servants and coolies spent thefirst day in a general tidying-up, getting a shave, face and head, andhaving their queues washed and combed and replaited. Some also madethemselves fine in new clothes, but others were content to wash the old. As none of them, with the exception of the fu t'ou, had ever been inTachienlu before, they were as keen to see the sights as I was, and inmy rambles about the town the next two or three days, I was greeted atevery turn by my coolies, enjoying to the full their hard-earnedholiday. 

There was less to see of interest in Tachienlu than I had expected. Theshops are filled mainly with ordinary Chinese wares, and my efforts tofind some Tibetan curios were fruitless, those shown to me being oflittle value. I imagine it is a matter of chance if one secures anythingreally worth while. At any rate, neither the quaint teapots nor the handpraying-wheels that I was seeking were forthcoming. Nor could I find anydecent leopard skins, which a short time ago formed an important articleof commerce, so plentiful were they. But at least I had the fun ofbartering with the people, whom I found much the most interesting thingin Tachienlu, and thanks to the indifference or the politeness of theTibetan I was able to wander about freely without being dogged by athrong of men and boys. Chinese soldiers were much in evidence, for thisis naturally an important military post as well as the forwarding depotfor the troops stationed along the great western trade route to Batangand Lhasa. The Chinese population under their protection, numbering somefour hundred families, mostly traders, looked sleek and prosperous. Evidently they made a good living off the country, unlike the Tibetanswho were generally dirty and ragged and poor in appearance. I mustconfess that I was disappointed at the latter. In spite of their hardy, muscular aspect and bold bearing, I did not find them attractive as domost travellers. They lacked the grotesque jollity of the Ladakhis ofWestern Tibet, their cousins in creed and race, and I met nothing of themanly friendliness which marked the people of Mongolia whom I had to dowith later. Never have I seen men of more vicious expression than some Imet in my strolls about Tachienlu, and I could well believe the storiestold of the ferocity shown by the lamas along the frontier. Very likelythe people are better than their priests, but if so, their looks beliethem. There is rarely a man--or a people--so low as to lack a defender, and it is a pleasing side to the white man's rule in the East, that ifhe be half a man he is likely to stand up for the weak folk he governs. It may be due to pride of ownership, or it may be the result of aknowledge born of intimate acquaintance, but whatever the cause, norace is quite without champions in the white man's congress. CaptainBailey who had had long experience of the Tibetans in administrativework on the northeastern borderland of India, was no exception, and hedefended them vigorously. I had no knowledge to set against his, butwhen he declared that they were a clean people it seemed to me he wasstretching a point, for I should have thought their dirt was asundeniable as it was excusable in the burning sun or biting cold oftheir high plateaus. 

Practically all the traffic between China and its great westerndependency passes through Tachienlu, and the little town is full ofbustle and stir. From Tibet are brought skins and wool and gold andmusk, to be exchanged here for tobacco and cloth and miscellaneousarticles, but tea, of course, forms the great article of trade, thequantity sent from Tachienlu annually amounting to more than twelvemillion pounds. Conspicuous in the town are the great warehouses wherethe tea is stored, awaiting sale, and there are numerous Tibetanestablishments where it is repacked for the animal carriage which herereplaces the carrier coolies from the east. Among the Chinese the tradeis mostly in the hands of a few great merchants who deal with the womenrepresentatives of the Tibetan priesthood who practically monopolize thesale in their country, deriving a large income from the high pricesthey charge the poor people to whom tea is a necessity of life. 

When I grew weary of the confusion and dirt of the narrow streets I wasglad to escape to the hillside above my lodgings. The mission compoundis small and confined, affording no room for a garden, although finemasses of iris growing along the walls brightened up the severity of thegrey stone buildings; but a little climb behind the mission housebrought me to a peaceful nook whence I could get a glorious view overthe town and up and down the valley, here so narrow that it seemedpossible to throw a stone against the opposite hillside. 

The first fine morning after my arrival I made an early start for thesummer palace of the King of Chala, situated about eight miles fromTachienlu in a beautiful, lonely valley among the mountains. This is thefavourite camping-place of Chengtu missionaries, who now and then bravethe eleven days' journey to and fro to exchange their hothouse climatefor a brief holiday in the glorious scenery and fine air of thesehealth-giving uplands. We were mounted, the interpreter and I, on poniesprovided by the Yamen, one worse than the other, and both unfit for therough scramble. After traversing the town, first on one side and then onthe other of the river which we crossed by a picturesque wooden bridge, roofed in but with open sides, we passed out at the SouthGate--Tachienlu has no West Gate--and found ourselves in a small suburbwith a few meagre gardens. A mile farther along we crossed the riveragain by a striking single arch bridge, known as the "Gate of Tibet. " Wewere now on the great trade route to Lhasa, but between us and themysterious city lay many days of weary travel. 

From time to time we met groups of Tibetans, men and women, rough-looking and shy, with the shyness of a wild animal. Generallyafter a moment's pause to reassure themselves, they answered my greetingin jolly fashion, seeming quite ready to make friends. Occasionally theway was blocked by trains of ox-like yaks, the burden-bearers of thesnow-fields, bringing their loads of skins and felt and musk and gold. Astride of one was a nice old man who stuck out his tongue at me inpolite Tibetan fashion. 

[Illustration: LAMA AND DOG AT TACHIENLU]

[Illustration: THE GATE OF TIBET]

After an hour's ride we left the highway and turned into a beautifulgreen valley, following a very bad trail deeper and deeper into themountains, the soft meadows gay with flowers forming a charming contrastto the snow-peaks that barred the upper end of the valley. We came firstto the New Palace, a large rambling building having no morearchitectural pretensions than an ordinary Chinese inn. As the king'sbrother, who makes his home there, was away, I saw nothing more of theplace than the great courtyard filled with mangy, half-starved dogsand unkempt men. Not far off is one of the great attractions of theplace, at least to the natives, --a hot sulphur spring. To thedisappointment of my Tibetan guide I declined to visit it, preferring aleisurely cold lunch on the bank of a rushing stream which wasvigorously turning a large prayer-wheel, a cylinder of wood inscribedmany times over with the mystic words of the Buddhist prayer, "Om manipadme hum, " oftenest repeated perhaps of all prayers. Each revolution ofthe wheel was equivalent to as many repetitions of the words as therewere inscribed on the wood. So night and day, while the stream runs, prayers are going up for the king, --and truly he needs them, poor man, between the bullying of his Chinese overlords and the machinations ofturbulent lamas. Other indications of the Buddhist's comfortable way ofgetting his prayers said for him are found all about Tachienlu. Fromtemple roof and wayside rock flags bearing the same legend wave in thebreeze, each flutter a prayer, and just outside the city we rode by along stone wall, much like those of New England, only its top wascovered over with inscribed stones. If you passed by, having the "mani"wall on your right hand, each inscribed stone would pray for you; hencethe trail always forks to suit the coming and the going Buddhist, and Iremember well the insolent pride with which my Mohammedan servantsalways took the right hand when passing these walls in Ladakh. 

A mile farther up the valley we came to the Old Palace, a collection ofhovels banked with piles of manure. Far more attractive than the royalresidence were some tents not far off, where a band of Tibetans, retainers of the prince, were encamped. They came out to greet us infriendly fashion, pointing out a blind trail up the valley where wecould get better views of the snow-peaks; but we had to turn back, sorrythough I was to leave the spot, parklike in its beauty of forest andmeadow, a veritable oasis in a wilderness of rock and ice. It was morelike home than anything I had seen in West China, for there werestretches of fine, grassy meadows where the royal herds of cattle weregrazing, and all at once I realized that it was weeks since I had seen afield of grass or real cows. It is the great lack in this country. Pigsabound, and fowls, but there is no place for cattle, and the horses liveon beans and corn, or more likely on leaves and twigs. 

Priest-ridden Tachienlu boasts many temples and lamasseries, and thelast day of my stay I paid a visit to one of the largest, not far fromthe South Gate. It was a wide, rambling, wooden building standing near agrove of unusually fine trees, a sort of alder. The approach was notunattractive, flowers growing under the walls and about the entrance. Once inside the portal, we found ourselves in a large courtyard pavedwith stone and surrounded by two-story galleried buildings. Facing uswas the temple, scarcely more imposing in outward appearance than theothers. On one side a group of half-naked lamas were gathered about anolder man who seemed to be relating or expounding something, whethergossip or doctrine I could not tell, but I should judge the former fromtheir expressions. They paid little attention to us, nor did othersstrolling about the yard, but the big dogs roaming loose were notbackward in their greeting, although to my surprise they did not seem atall ferocious, and treated my imperturbable little dog with distantrespect. Earlier travellers recount unpleasant experiences, but perhapsthe lamas have learned better in late years, and fasten up theirdangerous dogs if visitors are expected. Afterwards I saw in anotherinner courtyard a large, heavy-browed brute adorned with a bright redfrill and securely chained. He looked savage, and could have given agood account of himself in any fight. 

While I was waiting for permission to enter the temple, I inspected thestuffed animals--dogs, calves, leopards--suspended on the verandah. Theywere fast going to decay from dust and moth, but I was told that theywere reputed sacred. The temple, which we were forced to enter from aside door, was large and high, hung with scrolls and banners and filledwith images, but it was so dark that I found it difficult to discernmuch save a good-sized figure of Buddha, not badly done. 

At the invitation of an old lama, a friend of our guide, I was invitedto a large, disorderly dining- or living-hall on the upper floor, wherewe were very courteously served with tea, Chinese fashion. The old manhad a rather nice face, and I tried to learn a little about the place, but conversation through two Chinese intermediaries, one speakingimperfect English and the other bad Tibetan, was not very satisfactory, and I soon gave up the attempt. I did succeed, however, in making thelama understand my wish to hire some one to cut for me a praying-stone, to which he replied that there were plenty outside, why did I not takeone of them? I had thought of that myself, but feared to raise a stormabout my ears. Now, acting on his advice, I made a choice at my leisureand no one objected. Under the double restraint of an unusually strongprince, backed by Chinese officials, the priests of Tachienlu are lesstruculent than farther west, but at best Lamaism rests with a heavy handupon the Tibetans; it is greedy and repulsive in aspect and brutalizingin its effects; wholly unlike the gentle, even though ignorant andsuperstitious, Buddhism of China. 

CHAPTER VII

THE LESSER TRAIL

At Tachienlu I reached the western limit of my wanderings; not thewestern boundary of China, nor yet of my desire, but my time was nearlyspent; in less than four months I had to be back in England; moreover, late summer was not a favourable season for descending the Yangtse. Sowith a longing glance up the great Lhasa trail I turned my faceeastwards; but it is always wearisome to retrace one's steps, and achance remark of Captain Bailey set me on the scent of an alternativeroute to Ya-chou. As far as Lu Ting Ch'iao there was no choice; alltraffic across the Ta Tu must seek the great iron bridge both coming andgoing, but at that point there turned off to the north and east ashorter trail than the main packroad which we had struck near Ni T'ou. Although more direct, it was less travelled owing to the difficulties ofthe way, for there were two steep mountain-ranges to be crossed, andpath and bridges were often insecure, calling for a sure foot and asteady head. It was not easy to get precise information as to thecondition of the road. Captain Bailey knew little save the mere fact ofits existence, and although Major Davies had taken this route, he notesin his book "Yünnan" nothing more than that it is much too steep foranimals. Even the friendly postmaster failed us here; all he could tellwas that an official who had attempted to take ponies through lost themall, swept away by the torrents. The interpreter wagged his headdoubtfully when I suggested my plan, but his opinion did not matter, for, like all of his class in China, he was disinclined to activeexertion. And when I called the fu t'ou into council I found he had oncegone this way, and was not inclined to go again. 

_Ku Niang_ (my title): "I wish to go to Ya-chou by the Lesser Trail. "

_Fu t'ou_: "It is impossible. "

_Ku Niang_: "I intend to go all the same, and I expect you to go withme. "

_Fu t'ou_: "Very well. I will guide the Ku Niang by the Lesser Trail, but the pony cannot go, nor the chairs, nor the men, for it isimpassable for shoulder loads, and these are Ning-yüan men who know noother way of carrying. "

Apparently the fu t'ou and the cook, Jack and I were the only ones equalto the trip, as I had already told the interpreter he might go by themain road. But persistence conquers most things in the East. The ponyshould be sent round by the longer way in charge of the ma-fu. As forthe interpreter, when he found I was ready to get along without him, hedecided to stay with me. I would not have the Ning-yüan men dischargedif they wished to go on with me to Ya-chou and Chengtu, as firstarranged but I was sure that by hiring two or three extra coolies, so asto lighten the loads, they could get along; nor did the chairs presentany real difficulty. We would walk when the trail was bad, and surelythey could be taken empty wherever pack-coolies went. So it proved, allwas arranged as I planned, and in the end everything turned outsatisfactorily. 

Our departure from Tachienlu was attended with the usual noise andconfusion; nothing is done quietly in China. Also there were thecustomary delays. As we had only a short stage before us, I sat serenelyaloof on the steps of the mission house, enjoying for the last time thewonderful views over the town to the snow peaks above, while thingsgradually got themselves straight. After a long wait for the secondsoldier, who never turned up, we were at last off, and the descent ofthe valley was very enjoyable in the soft grey light of a misty day. Asthe river had risen appreciably during our stay in Tachienlu, it rushedalong at a fine rate between the high, steep banks, and I held my breathas I watched people pulling themselves over by the perilous ropebridges. Halfway to Wa Ssu Kou we met a procession of six chairs, andfrom each looked out the fair, smiling face of a French sister bound toher mission station at Tachienlu. Already in thought the town seemedpurer and better for the presence of these noble women, who had probablyleft their homes for good, to take up a work which they would lay downonly with life. 

We found room in Wa Ssu Kou in the same "comfy" inn as before, and thewelcome we received gave me a truly homelike feeling. Soon afterstarting the next morning we passed the funeral cortège of a Chineseofficial of Tachienlu, making his last long journey to his distant hometwo hundred li beyond Chengtu. The ponderous coffin in its red case, upon which stood the usual white cock to avert disaster, was preceded bymen carrying flags and cymbals which they clashed in accompaniment tothe almost continuous chanting of the eight bearers. As they stopped forfrequent halts we had soon left them far behind, but late at night theyarrived at Lu Ting and were given quarters in the same temple where wewere lodged, for I had refused to try the inns again. 

While it was still dark the next morning we were aroused by the sound ofchanting and clashing cymbals in the court outside. The bearers of thedead were starting on another stage of their long journey, and atquarter-past six we too were off, after a last parting injunction to thema-fu to take good care of the pony. Already the town was astir, themarketplace, as we passed through, crowded with traders and theirproduce, chiefly good-looking vegetables and fruit. For a few miles wekept up the left bank of the Ta Tu, and then turned abruptly up themountain-side. Here my chair-men halted for breakfast and I did not seethem again until we reached our night's stopping-place. Alone with JackI kept on along the steep trail, revelling in my freedom. At first wemet few people, although later in the day the number increased, butwherever the way seemed doubtful there was always some one to put mestraight by signs. After a little we dropped by a sharp descent into thevalley of a small wild river flowing into the Ta Tu from the east. Wekept up this, crossing the stream from side to side on planks andstepping-stones. After passing through two tiny hamlets embowered inwalnut trees, we reached the head of the valley and faced a long, steepzigzag. The climb was hard, hot work, but I found some diversion in afriendly race with a good-looking woman going the same way; her unboundfeet kept up with mine while our dogs romped along gaily. Women withunbound feet were far more common here than elsewhere in my travels, andthey seemed exceptionally alert and intelligent, but the population ofthe region is scanty, many of the people being newcomers of Hakka stock. Arrived at the top of the cliff we found ourselves on a narrow ridge, and for the rest of the short stage our way led along the face of themountain, from time to time topping a wooded spur. Everywhere azaleasmade the air sweet and the steep slopes wonderful with colour. At lengthwe dropped without warning into a little village at the head of aprecipitous narrow ravine, where we spent the night in an unusuallyinteresting inn. Save for two or three private rooms, the best of whichwas given to me, all life centred in a great hall open to the roof andwith merely a suggestion of partition in a few rough railings. Throughthe open doors men, children, pigs and fowls, cats and dogs, strolled infrom the rain. Up in the roof our chairs were slung out of the way. Eachcoolie, having secured a strip of matting, had found his place. Somewere cleaning off the sweat and dirt of the day's work with hot water:not until they have done that can they obtain the quilts that are rentedfor twenty cash each; others had already curled up for the afternoonpipe of opium, while still others were busy preparing the evening mealover the big semicircular range. In one pot bean-cake was being made, along, complicated process; in another, cakes were frying in oil; inanother, rice was boiling. One of my chair coolies seemed to be the_chef par excellence_; brandishing a big iron ladle, he went from pot topot, stirring, tasting, seasoning, and generally lording it over twoothers working under his orders. In full control of the whole was agood-looking woman with bound feet, apparently the proprietor of theinn; at least I saw no man to fill the post. Every one wasgood-tempered and friendly, and I was glad to exchange the tiresomeseclusion of the town inns for the bustling scene in which I waswillingly included, tasting each dish, watching the men at their games, making friends with the children. 

The pouring rain of the night gave way to a soft drizzle at dawn, and wewere off before seven. As we ascended the valley we faced a solid greenwall flushed with masses of pink azaleas and cherry-red rhododendrons, and broken by half a dozen streams which flung themselves over the lipof the cliff to dash in feathery cascades from rock to rock below. Ourway led back and forth over rushing mountain streams. Riding was ofcourse out of the question, and I had long since left my chair-cooliesbehind; but one of the Tachienlu men, a strong, active fellow with bitsof coral adorning his black queue, was very alert in looking out for me, always waiting at a difficult place with a helping hand. We crossed theMa-An Shan Pass, about ten thousand feet high, by the middle of theforenoon, having climbed more than five thousand feet since leaving LuTing Ch'iao. Just before reaching the top we descended into a cup-likehollow, a huge dimple lined with the rich greens and gay reds of therhododendron, and merry with the babble of many tiny waterfalls. Iexclaimed with delight at the vision of beauty, and even the cooliesgrinned appreciatively. It would have been a place to dream away a dayhad it not been as wet as a shower bath. Nearing the pass, we heardweird sounds above us, not unlike the cries of rejoicing uttered by theLadakhis of Western Tibet when they have successfully surmounted adifficult height, and I wondered if I was to find the same custom here. But it turned out to be the lullaby with which two men were tooling tenblack pigs over the pass. Again, a little way down on the other side, mypath was suddenly barred by a man frantically gesticulating. I thoughtat first that he was mad, but it was merely that he feared Jack wouldattach a flock of geese that he was driving in the wake of the pigs, andwhen I picked the dog up, the man prostrated himself at my feet ingratitude. 

[Illustration: A WAYSIDE REST HOUSE]

[Illustration: A FORTIFIED POST]

We ought to have had a fine view from the pass over the tracklessmountain tangle to the north, some of the peaks towering almost eighteenthousand feet into the sky, but again the clouds and mist veiledeverything from sight. All the rest of the day we were making our waydown the steep east side, picking our steps laboriously along the wetrocky trail. Our path led through a precipitous narrow gorge, its wallsdraped with wonderful vegetation, and as we descended it, it grew wetterand greener, and the thousand little brooks leaping down the sides ofthe ravine rapidly swelled the main stream to an impassable torrent. Now we crouched under overhanging ledges, now we slipped and sprawleddown a rough rock staircase, constantly crossing the stream from side toside on planks placed from boulder to boulder, or on slippery logs withinsecure handrails or none at all. I found the descent far more tiringthan the climb on the other side. The soldier and the gallant cooliefortunately kept always with me, one in front and one behind, and I wasoften glad of a helping hand. At one time the path led straight into thetorrent, but while I was wondering as to the depth of the water and thestrength of the current, the coolie, hastily depositing his load, motioned to me to get on his back, and the sturdy fellow carried mesafely around the projecting cliff. Still another time we were forced totake to the river, and as I could get no wetter than I was, I proposedto wade in, but again the man was at hand, insisting that I should ride, and the strength and agility with which he made his way over theslippery rocks, the swirling water rising above his knees, were reallywonderful; but then my weight was less than one hundred and thirtypounds, while the ordinary load of the tea-carrier is two hundred. Atour heels came the soldier carrying Jack, whose short legs could hardlyhave made headway against the strong current forcing him out intomidstream. 

About the middle of the afternoon we forerunners of the caravan reachedChang-ho-pa, the night's stop. The whole village turned out to greet us, and their interest was not to be wondered at, as few Europeans andperhaps no European woman had ever before come this way. The interpreterdid not arrive until two hours later, and what stories my two companionsmade up about me to satisfy the curiosity of the villagers, I can onlyimagine. As a rule, one stands to lose nothing in the mouths of one'sfollowers in the East Whatever reflected glory they may earn by exaltingtheir masters is generally theirs. Years afterward I learned that on ajourney I once made in Kashmir and Baltistan I travelled in the guise ofKing Edward's sister. How much I profited by the dignity thus thrustupon me I do not know, but I have often thought that my servants musthave been hard put to it sometimes to account for the simplicity of myoutfit. 

The rest of the caravan straggled in toward the end of the afternoon, wet and tired, but all in good spirits over the successful day, no loadsdrenched, no one hurt. The great room of the rough little inn was noisyand gay with the men drying their clothes and cooking their dinner, thecentre of an interested throng of village folk. I sat among them on alow bench by the fire, watching the fun. Every one was heedful of mycomfort, poking the fire, bringing a fan to screen my face from theheat, drying my shoes, rubbing Jack. The thoughtfulness and good willof my men during all the journey were unfailing, and I never found thatfriendliness on my part diminished in any way my authority over them. 

After dinner the chair-bearers gathered round and with the aid of theinterpreter I took down as best I could some of their calls andresponses, a sort of antiphonal chorus handed down from generation togeneration of coolies. Thus the men in front cry, "Lao di!"--"Somethingin the road!"--and those behind call back, "Ti chi!"--"Lift higher!" ormaybe it is "Chiao kao!"--"Something overhead!"--and then the answercomes, "Keo yao!"--"Stoop lower!" When the way is very uneven, you hear"Leo puh ping!"--"The road is not level!"--to which is replied, "Montien hsin!"--"There are stones like stars!"--followed by "Tien shan hsinTo!"--"Many stars in the sky!"--with the response, "Ti hsia kento!"--"Many holes in the ground. " Or perhaps at a bridge, "Hsio mo lanchao!"--"Bridge bad, building for a thousand years!"--to which comes theproverbial answer, "Chien mien wan lao!"--"Must last for ten thousand. "When there is a steep bit, one calls out, "Deo shan deo!"--"Steeper andsteeper!" and the others retort, "Kuan shan kuan!"--literally, "Officialupon official, " but the meaning is plain, "As steep as the ladder ofpromotion. " In the villages one hears constantly, "Yu ti kouyao!"--"There is a dog on the road, "--with the response, "Han lao-panlai chi tao!"--"Call the owner to chain it"; or else, "Tso shou wahwahkeo!"--"A child on the left hand, "--and then comes the answer, "Han tama lah pao!"--"Call his mother to tend him. "[2]

Every hundred yards or so on the road comes the cry, "Fan keo!"--"Changeshoulders!"--followed by a momentary stop to shift the pole. And youalways cross a town to the tune of "Pei-a, pei-a, pei-a!"--"Mind yourback, mind your back, mind your back!" And if a man does not mind, he islikely to get a poke in the back from the chair pole. 

The next day's journey was much the same thing as the preceding. Westarted in the grey morning, and I and my two companions of the daybefore had soon distanced the others. At first the trail was rough andslippery, and all ups and downs. The vegetation was of almost tropicaldensity, and the moisture underfoot and overhead was so great that itseemed to me I had never been wetter except in a bathtub. As wedescended to lower levels the valley broadened out, and the goingimproved so that we were able to make very good time. At one point, after passing through a little hamlet, --we came out on a high bluffoverlooking a good-sized stream flowing in from the south. Fifty feetbelow roared the river, spanned at this place by a suspension bridge ahundred and fifty feet long, constructed of three iron cables heldtogether by cross-chains at regular intervals. The footway was merely asingle row of boards not more than twelve inches wide, and there was nohandrail at all. The soldier at my side waved his hand significantly upand down. I understood quite too well, and was shaking in my shoes atthe thought of walking that narrow, unsteady plank, when I espied myknightly coolie, who, having deposited his load on the opposite bank, was hurrying back to my assistance. Gripping Jack, who was as frightenedas I, under one arm, I seized the man's hand, and slowly we inchedacross to safety. There we joined the people of a near-by hamlet, whoapparently found their pastime in watching the traffic across thebridge, perhaps waiting for a chance to earn a few cash by carrying theloads of the less sure-footed coolies. My chair-men came overtriumphantly, and Mercury almost ran with his baskets, but theinterpreter was glad of the fu t'ou's aid, and two of the cooliesbalked, but were helped out by some of the others. 

Later in the day we left the river, and crossing a head ridge or passaffording beautiful views to the south, came out after a time in thesame valley, but now wider and more open. Though the mountains stilltowered to left and right, we were getting down to lower levels, and thechange was marked in the palms, bamboos, and peach trees that began toappear. But the villages were nothing more than hamlets, and the outlookfor dinner at the first stopping-place was so poor that I, now riding inmy chair, decided to go on to the next settlement; but here conditionswere even worse, the only inn being dismantled and abandoned. Althoughit was getting late and the others were far behind, there was nothingleft but to travel on. Our last hope for the night proved to be a groupof four houses only with few supplies, but the people bade us welcomeand did their best to make us comfortable. Fires were lighted andclothes were soon drying and rice a-boiling. After the arrival of theinterpreter I learned that we had been taken for missionaries, and thatit was expected we would hold a service. 

The scenery grew even more beautiful as we descended the valley the nextday. Our trail led through fine groves high on the hillside, while belowus the river, now big enough to have a name, the Ya, turned and twistedin splendid green swirls. Seen from a distance the villages were veryattractive, built usually of wood, their thatched roofs just puttingforth green shoots. A new feature in the landscape were tall sprucetrees, reminding me in their outlines of the rock pines of Italy. As theroad was now good, it was possible for me to ride in my chair once more, for which I was glad, as the hard climbs and still more wearyingdescents of the last three days had made me rather stale. The peoplealong the way were much interested in me and still more in Jack, but itwas the naïve curiosity of a simple folk, and I did not find it irksomelike the hard stare of the townspeople. At one place where we halted fortiffin, a lame man with an interesting face attached himself to us, andpresently I found myself and my belongings the subject of an explanatorytalk he was giving the bystanders. He told them how I kept my eyeglasseson, expatiated on the advantages of my shoes, indicated the good pointsof my chair, the like of which had never been seen before in theseparts, and finally expounded at length the character of my dog. If Iwished him to be bad he would bite, but since I was kind I would desirehim to be good, and he would be good. To illustrate, he patted Jack'shead rather gingerly. Fortunately the dog appreciated pats from anyquarter, so our characters did not suffer. 

[Illustration: A ROADSIDE TEA-HOUSE]

[Illustration: TEA-COOLIE CROSSING A SUSPENSION BRIDGE

His load weighed about 160 lbs]

Toward the end of the day we were nearing Tien-chüan-chou, the onelargeish town on this road. The approach was one of the finest things Ihave ever seen. We were now well down, having descended seven thousandfeet since crossing Ma-an-Shan. Everywhere there was carefulcultivation, the nearer hills being terraced to the top, and thewell-paved trail traversed long stretches of rice-fields just beginningto show green above the mud. Here and there a group of farm buildingsstood on little knolls above the surrounding marsh, each in a charmingsetting of trees. Do trees anywhere group themselves as picturesquely asin China? Unsympathetic people tell me that no Chinese ever plant treessave for severely utilitarian purposes. I am in no position tocontradict the verdict of these overpowering persons, the old residents(fortunately they sometimes contradict each other); and yet why is itthat most temples are set in fine groves, put to no purpose that I cansee save to satisfy a sense of the beautiful, or why are so many Chinesetowns, looked at from a height, bowers of green beauty, the treesserving neither for fuel nor for food? The truth is, it seems to me, that the needs of life press so hard on the Chinese that they are forcedto look at things from a utilitarian point of view, but given the leastchance and their appreciation of the beautiful shows itself. 

Near the town we struck down to a good iron suspension bridge over theYa, which here runs with a tremendous current, broken by curious reefsthrusting out into the stream some twenty or thirty feet and at rightangles to the bank. Beyond the bridge we came in sight of the town, itsstaring red walls draped with green creepers. Entering through a finestone gateway, we found ourselves in the single street, broad, wellpaved, and wonderfully clean. The inhabitants were apparently well usedto foreigners, which is natural, as Ya-chou with its Roman Catholic andProtestant missions is only twenty miles away. 

The country through which we passed the next day was very varied, andalways beautiful. On leaving the town the path led along a low ridgegiven over to graves. Living and dead dwell side by side in China, andoften it seems as though the rights of the one were sacrificed to theclaims of the other. The Chinese saying, "For every man that Heavencreates, Earth provides a grave, " takes on a new significance as onelooks over the land, the dead are so many, the living so hard put tolive. This was not an unattractive place, for the mounds of earth andstone were overgrown with grass and ferns, while many were decoratedwith a tuft of bamboo or a bush of wild roses. The free use of stone inthis district was very striking; pavements, often in good condition, were general, the irrigating ditches were bridged by a single slab ofthe red sandstone of Szechuan, perhaps ten feet in length, while atevery turn there were charming little stone shrines in place of theshabby wooden ones found farther south. 

After a bit we turned away from the plain and river and entered a morebroken country, hills and valleys, ridges and dells, rushing brooksbetween banks of ferns, little tumbling cascades over mossy stones, groups and avenues of fine trees, picturesque stone bridges, everywherepainstaking tillage and ingenious irrigation. It was all charming, withthe artificial beauty of a carefully ordered park. Resting in my chairin front of a tea-house where the coolies were refreshing themselves, Inoticed my knight of the bridges suddenly throw himself on the groundbefore the interpreter, crying out something in beseeching tones, whilethe other coolies standing about laughed unsympathetically. The poor manwas urging the interpreter to ask that I give him back his soul, ofwhich apparently I had deprived him when I took his picture an hourback. Without his soul he would die, and then what would his mother, awidow, do? After some talk he was consoled, the other men assuring himthat they had been photographed over and over again without sufferingharm. If only I had known at the time, I could have consoled him withthe information that there was no picture. Photographing in cloudySzechuan has many drawbacks, and I was ready to bark with the proverbialdog of the province when I saw the sun. The feeling of the Chinesetoward the camera seems to vary. Children were sometimes afraid. One boyold enough to carry a heavy load, having been induced by the promise ofa reward to stand still, burst into tears just as I was about to snaphim, and I had to send him off triumphant over his bits of cash, while Iwas left pictureless. Some, too, of the older people made objection, while on the other hand I was occasionally asked to take a picture. 

Toward noon we found ourselves again in the valley of the Ya, sometimesfollowing a well-paved trail above the river, the ups and downscarefully terraced in broad stone steps, occasionally threading our wayamong the huge rush mats with which the village streets were carpeted. The harvesting of the millet and barley crops was over, and the sheaveshad been brought into the village to dry and were spread out in the onlylevel space available, the highway. Men walked over the sheaves, children and dogs romped among them, and no one said them nay. Twice wewere ferried across the river, and finally a short run over the low, wide reefs that here narrow the channel brought us to Ya-chou and to theend of the Lesser Trail. We had made the trip without any of theprophesied mishaps, and for me it was far more comfortable and moreinteresting than following the main track. To be sure, we took five daysto it, but it would not have been difficult to have saved a day, onlythere was no object in doing it, for a wait at Ya-chou was inevitablethat the ma-fu and pony might catch us up there. 

My enforced stay of one day in Ya-chou gave me a chance to see somethingof the town. I had the good fortune to be entertained by members of theAmerican Baptist Mission, Dr. And Mrs. Shields, and there as elsewhere Ifound the missionaries most helpful in giving the traveller an insightinto local conditions. There is one limitation to this, however, in thegulf which seems fixed between Protestants and Roman Catholics in theEast, cutting off the chance of learning what the latter are doing; andwhen one bears in mind that Rome has had her missionaries in China forthree hundred years and numbers her converts by millions, one would liketo know more of the work done. 

But there is no doubt as to the reality of Protestant achievement. InYa-chou the relations of missionaries and townspeople seemed verycordial and natural. Medical work is being carried on, and a hospitalwas shortly to be opened. But more valuable, perhaps, than any formalwork may be the results from the mere presence in the town of Christianmen and women living lives of high purpose and kindly spirit. 

If you listen to the talk of the treaty ports you will hear muchcriticism of missionaries and their work, and since they are human it isreasonable to suspect that they sometimes make mistakes; but after allthey are the only Europeans in China who are not there for their ownpersonal interests, and the people are quite shrewd enough to see this. In spite of differences of views the Chinese who knows the missionary atall generally respects him. A Chinese gentleman in no way friendly tomissions, speaking of the good relations that existed between Europeansand Chinese in Nanking, declared it was all because the missionariescame first. And Dr. Soothill tells the story of an Englishman whoapplauded the harsh criticism of mission work by a Chinese rivercaptain, and met the retort, "That's all well enough, but if it were notfor the missionaries we should not know there were any good men in yourcountry. "

The prefectural city of Ya-chou is the centre of a great tea-growingdistrict, while in the town itself are large establishments where thearticle is made up for the Tibetan trade. The Szechuan tea for the mostpart does not rank very high, little being exported from the provincesave to Tibet, and for that market even the poorest is reckoned toogood, as the so-called tea carried by the thousands of coolies whom wemet bound for Tachienlu is everything save genuine tea leaves, being amixture of which the leaves and twigs of scrub oak and other trees formthe largest part. The Ya-chou tea, when gathered and dried, is bought upand brought into the towns to be made into the brick tea of Tibetancommerce. The preparation consists in chopping fine the tea andadulterating leaves and twigs. After adding a little rice-water thewhole is packed in cylinders of bamboo matting, each package weighingfrom sixteen to eighteen catties. It is estimated that the cost to themanufacturers, exclusive of packing, is about thirty-two cash a catty, somewhat less than a cent and a half gold the pound. By the time the teahas reached Tachienlu it is sold at about five and a half cents a pound. At Batang the price is doubled, and at Lhasa quadrupled. Thus the stuffbought as tea by the Tibetans can scarcely be called cheap, and yet theyconsume great quantities of it. To them it is not a luxury, but a realnecessity. 

[2] An apology is due to those wise in Chinese for the blundersthat must be found in this attempt by an American who knows no word ofthe vernacular and a Kiangsi man having a limited command of English tocatch and translate the "dirt talk" of Szechuan coolies. 

CHAPTER VIII

ACROSS CHENGTU PLAIN

Thoroughly set up by the day's rest in Ya-chou, my men were on hand atfive o'clock on the morning of May 24, in good spirits for the rest ofthe trip. Even the ma-fu, whom we had left behind at Hua-lin-ping, turned up with the coolie and pony sent round from Lu Ting. 

Two missionaries going down the river to Chia-ting, at the junction ofthe Min and the Ta Tu invited me to take a turn at rafting, and I wasglad to go with them for a few li. The Ya Ho joins the Ta Tu just westof Chia-ting, the fall from Ya-chou being about six hundred and fiftyfeet in a distance of ninety miles. So swift is the current and sotortuous and rocky the bed of the stream that the only navigationpossible is by means of bamboo rafts fifty or sixty feet long, with acurled prow. Amidships is a small platform partly roofed over withmatting. In spite of the rapids, which at times make the trip vastlyexciting, there is no danger save the certainty of getting wet. Thescenery on either hand is very beautiful; the great mountains recede inthe distance, fading out in the soft light, but the fine red sandstonecliffs, alternating with the brilliant green of bamboo groves andrice-fields on the lowland, afforded a charming picture at every turn. 

My men were waiting for me at the appointed place, and ten minutes'precarious scrambling along the narrow dykes between the fields broughtme to the great highway leading to the capital, four days' march away. All this day and the three succeeding ones we were travelling through adistrict park- or garden-like in its exquisite artificial beauty. Thetrail, which was at first fairly good, ran now along the top of anembankment some six feet broad constructed across the swimming paddyfields, then dropped into a little valley shaded with fine "namti"trees, and again it wound along a low ridge. Far off against the westernhorizon stretched the splendid snow-line of the Tibetan range from whichI had just come, but now more than a hundred miles away. Every inch ofland that could be irrigated was under cultivation, save where asubstantial looking farmhouse set in groves of fine trees, bamboos, cypress, and namti, occupied a little knoll laboriously built up abovethe encircling marsh. Last year their crumbling walls testified to thesecurity of the country, but I wonder what has been the fate of thesesolitary houses in the recent months of lawlessness. Toward the end ofthe day a soft mist settled down upon the earth, outlining the nearerhills and throwing up against the sky the distant peaks. 

[Illustration: A FARMHOUSE IN CHENGTU PLAIN]

We had tiffin at the little town of Ming Shan-hsien. About five mileswest of here rises from the plain the Ming Shan, a small mountain famousthroughout China for its tea, which is grown by the priests of aBuddhist temple on the summit. According to tradition the seeds fromwhich this tea is produced were brought centuries ago from India by aChinese pilgrim. Only a few pounds are gathered annually and these arealways sent as tribute to Peking for the use of the imperial household. To whom will they now fall? There is a saying current in China that tomake a first-rate cup of tea you must take "leaves from the Ming Shanand water from the Yangtse. " No one believes for a moment that theturbid water of the Great River is meant here, and yet no one couldexplain what it did mean. But De Rosthorn, in his interesting pamphleton "Tea Cultivation in Szechuan, " gives what seems to him the trueexplanation. Crossing the bay at Chen-kiang he saw men in boats fillingbuckets with water. Asking what they were doing, he was told that therewas a famous spring at the bottom of the river well known from the timewhen the riverbed was dry land. Here, then, was the Yangtse water which, combined with leaves brought from Ming Shan two thousand miles away, made the best tea in the world. 

We stopped for the night at the village of Pai-chang, where I spent atiresome evening trying to arrange for a pony to take the place ofmine, left behind at Ya-chou, as he seemed in need of a longer rest. Theweather was now too hot for walking, but all day in the chair wasunendurable, so I hoped here to hire a pony for half a stage. I refusedto engage one without seeing its back, but nothing appeared to beinspected, why, I could not tell. The shifts and turns of the orientalmind are not our shifts and turns, so I finally gave up trying to findout, and went to bed, telling the fu t'ou he must have something readyin the morning, only if its back was sore I would not take it. Butmorning came and no pony. I was told it was waiting for me outside thetown, and there it was, sure enough. Ordering off saddle and blanket Iinspected its back to make certain that all was right, as it was. Butthe strange ma-fu seemed quite overcome with consternation at the sightof me, while the fu t'ou collapsed on a stone wall near by, doubled upwith laughter. At last an explanation was made. When the fu t'ou triedto get a pony for me from the pony hong he was met by a refusal. Noforeigner should ride one of their horses; they had let one to a foreigngentleman not long before, and he had abused it and gone so fast thatthe ma-fu could not keep up, and nearly lost the pony; nor were they tobe moved. Anyway, the fu t'ou told them, he must have one himself. Whenit was brought to the inn at dawn he mounted and rode outside the town. There, finding he had forgotten something, --me, --he went back for it, while pony and ma-fu waited. In true Chinese fashion the ma-fu acceptedthe inevitable and walked quietly at my side, but he had an anxiousexpression at first, as though he expected me at any moment to whip upmy steed and vanish. I am not wise in horseflesh, but at least I try tobe merciful to my beasts. When I got off, as I did now and then, to savethe horse over a particularly bad place, the man began to cheer up, andfinally when, according to my custom, I took the pony outside thevillage to graze a bit while the men had their breakfast, --a veryunsuitable proceeding, I was later told, --his surprise broke forth. "What sort of a foreign woman was this?" At noon I sent the pony back, paying for the half day one hundred and forty cash, about seven centsgold. 

Just before reaching Cheung-chou, where we were to spend the night, wecrossed the Nan Ho by a fine stone bridge of fifteen arches. The Nan isone of the lesser waterways of West China connecting this corner ofSzechuan with the Great River, and many cumbersome boats laden withproduce were slipping down with the rapid current on their wayeastwards. 

I entered the gate of the town with some doubt as to my reception. Baronvon Richthofen, who passed through here a generation ago, wrote of theplace: "All the men are armed with long knives and use them frequentlyin their rows. I have passed few cities in China in which I havesuffered so much molestation from the people as I did there; andtravellers should avoid making night quarters there as it was my lot todo. " Time enough has elapsed since the good baron went this way to havechanged all that, but the missionaries at Ya-chou had also cautioned meagainst the temper of the people, relating some unpleasant experiencesof recent date. They had kindly given me a note of introduction to twomissionaries who had their headquarters at Cheung-chou who would make mesafe and comfortable in their house. I had sent this ahead only to learnthat the mission was closed, as the people were touring in the district;and so there was nothing to do but go to the inn as usual. 

In the narrow streets of the town there was of course the everlastingpushing, staring crowd, but I saw no signs of unfriendliness, and Jack'sgay yaps in response to pointing fingers and cries of "K'an yang kou!k'an yang kou!" ("Look at the foreign dog! look at the foreign dog!")brought the invariable grins of delight. Later in the day, wearying ofthe confinement of the inn, and not unwilling to test the temper of thepeople a bit, I went marketing with the cook. Of course a crowd of menand boys dogged my steps, but it was a good-natured crowd, making wayfor me courteously, and when they found that I was looking for apricotsthey fairly tumbled over each other in their eagerness to show us thebest shop. 

Cheung-chou lies on the southwestern edge of the great plain of Chengtu, which, although only some ninety miles long by seventy miles wide, supports a population of four millions, so kindly is the climate, sofertile the soil, and so abundant the water supply. Two of theseblessings are the gift of nature, but the last is owed to the ingenuityof Li Ping and his nameless son, known only as the "Second Gentleman, "two Chinese officials who worked and achieved and died more than twothousand years ago. At Kwan-hsien there is a temple, perhaps the mostbeautiful in China, erected in their memory, but their truest monumentis this beautiful plain, blossoming like a Garden of Eden under theirrigation system which they devised, and which will endure so long asmen obey their parting command engraved on a stone in the temple, "Digthe channels deep; keep the banks low. "

The people of the plain were as friendly as the mountain folk I had beentravelling amongst, but they displayed less of the naïve curiosity ofthe out-of-the-way places. Evidently the foreigner was no novelty, northe camera either. At one village I stopped to photograph a fine pailou, not to the "virtuous official" this time, but to the "virtuous widow. "A little group of villagers gathered to watch, and would not besatisfied until I had taken a picture of another local monument, abeautiful three-storied stone pagoda rising tall and slender above theflat rice land. These picturesque structures add much to the charm ofthe level plain which tends to become monotonous after a while. As faras one can see stretches the paddy land in every stage of development. Some fields are hardly more than pools of water mirroring the cloudsoverhead. Others are dotted over with thin clumps of rice through whichthe ducks swim gaily, while still others are solid masses of green, andtransplanting has already begun. 

Although we were now approaching the largest city of West China, and thecapital of the empire's richest province, the roads went steadily frombad to worse. Made with infinite labour centuries ago, they had beenleft untouched ever since, and weather and wear had done their work. Forlong stretches the paving was quite gone; elsewhere you wished it were. The people have their explanation of these conditions in the saying, "The hills are high and the emperor far. " It remains to be seen if thatwill hold good of the new government. Certainly nothing will mean somuch in the development of the country as good roads. We were now oncemore on the line of wheeled traffic, and the wheelbarrow was never outof sight or hearing. Enormous loads were borne along on the largeflat-bottomed freight barrow, while on every hand we saw substantiallooking farmer folk, men, women, and children, going to town in the sameprimitive fashion. 

[Illustration: MEMORIAL ARCH TO A "VIRTUOUS WIDOW, " CHENGTU PLAIN]

To save the journey a little for my chair-men, and also for the fun of anew experience, I bargained with a barrow-man to carry me for a fewmiles. My coolies took it as a fine joke, and after starting me offtrotted on behind, but my military escort looked troubled. No longerstriding proudly in front, he showed a desire to loiter behind, althoughso long as my grand chair kept close at my heels he could save his faceby explaining my strange proceeding as the mad freak of a foreigner. Butfinally, when I bade the chair-men stop for a smoke at a rest-house, knowing they could easily overtake my slow-moving vehicle, he toodisappeared, and only took up his station again at the head of theprocession when I went back to my chair after dismissing the barrow witha payment of eighty cash for a ride of twenty-five li. Barrow travellingis not as bad as it seems, for there is a chair-back, and rests for thefeet are fixed on either side of the wheel. But in spite of thedexterity with which the coolie trundled me over the rough places andthrough the deep ruts, an upset into an unsavoury rice-patch seemedunpleasantly possible, and more than all, you can never loseconsciousness of the straining man behind. 

I thought the last stage into Chengtu would never end; the passing ofpeople became more and more incessant and tiring, while the hot-housetemperature of this rich lowland was most exhausting, and the occasionaldownpours only made the roads more impassable without cooling the air. My coolies, coming from higher altitudes, were almost used up. Theystopped often to rest, and hardly one was doing his own work, making anexchange with another man, unless he had given up entirely, sweating outhis job to some one hired on the way. So we straggled along, adisorderly, spiritless crowd, showing a little life only when Jack, whomnothing daunted, created a diversion by chasing the village dogs alongthe narrow earth balks between the fields, their favouriteresting-places. Then the whole party waked up, cheering the little dogon with gay cries, and laughing impartially when hunter or huntedslipped into the muck of a rice-patch, while the toilers by the roadsidethought we had all gone mad until they saw what it was, and then theytoo joined in with chuckles of delight. There is something quitechildlike in the way in which this old Chinese people welcomes anylittle break in the grey days of grinding drudgery. 

As the day wore on, one could guess that a great centre of governmentand trade was near at hand; the traffic was continuous, --coolies bentalmost double under their heavy burdens, laden barrows creakingdolefully as they moved, foot travellers plodding wearily along, groupsof wild Tibetans from the distant frontier, gorgeous mandarins returningfrom an inspection tour, all were hurrying towards the capital. Yes, wewere nearing Marco Polo's "large and noble" city of Sindin-fu and it isto-day again a "large and noble" city, only now it is known as Chengtu, and the days are not so very far in the past when it was hardly a cityat all. 

Szechuan's later history begins with the troubled times that marked thefall of the Ming dynasty. While the Manchus were busy establishingthemselves at Peking, the outlying provinces of the empire were givenover to brigandage and civil strife. Here in Chengtu an adventurercalling himself the Emperor of the West succeeded in getting the upperhand for a short time, and when his end came there was little left torule over save ruins and dead men, which was hardly to be wondered at, seeing his idea of ruling was to exterminate all his subjects. Baber hasmade from De Mailla's "History of China" the following summary of hismeasures: "_Massacred_: 32, 310 undergraduates; 3000 eunuchs; 2000 of hisown troops; 27, 000 Buddhist priests; 600, 000 inhabitants of Chengtu; 280of his own concubines; 400, 000 wives of his troops; everybody else inthe province. _Destroyed_: Every building in the province. _Burnt_:Everything inflammable. "

Since that time Szechuan has been repeopled and to-day the capital has apopulation of quite three hundred and fifty thousand, although thewalls, that in the thirteenth century extended twenty miles, are now nomore than twelve in length and enclose a good deal of waste land. Thewonderful bridges described by Marco Polo, half a mile long and linedwith marble pillars supporting the tiled roof, no longer exist, but thecity still abounds in bridges of a humbler sort, for it is crossed bythe main stream of the Min as well as by many smaller branches andcanals, all alive with big and little craft. Chengtu is proud of itsstreets, which are well paved and broader and cleaner than common, andon the whole it is an attractive, well-built city. 

The viceroy of the province has his seat here, and Szechuan shares withthe metropolitan province of Chihli the honour of having one all toitself, and he is more truly a viceroy than the others, for the Mantzuand Tibetan territories lying to the west are administered through theprovincial government and are in a way tributary to it. Even from farNepal on the borders of India come the bearers of gifts to therepresentative of the emperor. 

Ser Marco speaks of the "fine cloth and crêpes and gauzes" of Chengtu, and still to-day the merchants unroll at your feet as you sit on yourverandah exquisitely soft, shimmering silks and wonderful embroideries. It was these last that caught my fancy, and the British Consul-General, himself a great collector, kindly sent to the house his "second-best"man and then his "first-best, " and between the two I made a few modestpurchases at even more modest prices. Imagine getting two strips ofwonderful silk embroidery for twenty cents gold, or two silk squaresingeniously ornamented and pieced with gold for the same contemptiblesum. That was what the men wanted at the missionary house where I wasstaying; at the Consul-General's they asked me twenty-five cents: thatis the price of being an official. 

I liked even better to go to the shops, and Chengtu is so progressivethat that is quite possible. One section is given over to brass andcopper dishes, another to furs, another to porcelains, and so on. Indeed, the town seems to be a very good place for "picking up" things, for hither come men from the far distant Tibetan lamasseries, andpatient effort is often rewarded with interesting spoil, while Chineseproductions of real value sometimes drift into the bazaar from thecollections of the ever-changing officials. 

But I did not spend all my days bargaining for curios, although theywere tempting enough, for there were other things to do more worthwhile. The European community of Chengtu is surprisingly large for sofar inland. In numbers, of course, the missionaries lead, and besidesthe Roman Catholic mission there are representatives of English, American, and Canadian churches, all working together to give to thisout-of-the-way corner of the empire the best of Christian and Westerncivilization. Their latest and most interesting undertaking is auniversity on Western lines, the outcome of the combined effort of theFriends', Baptist, and Methodist societies of Chengtu. The economy andefficiency secured by coöperation must be of even less value than theforce of such a lesson in Christian harmony to the keen-witted Chinese. Indeed, all over China one is impressed by the wisdom as well as thedevotion of most of the mission work. And however it may be in theeastern seaports, where I did not spend much time, inland there seems tobe the best of feeling between the different elements of the Europeancommunity, official, missionary, and merchant. Perhaps because they area mere handful in an alien people they are forced to see each other'sgood points, and realize that neither side is hopelessly bad norimpossibly good. 

There is quite a large Tartar population in Chengtu, and the Manchuquarter is one of the most picturesque parts of the city, with the charmof a dilapidated village set in untidy gardens and groves of fine trees. Loafing in the streets and doorways are tall, well-built men and women, but they had a rather down-at-heel air, for their fortunes were at alow ebb when I was in Chengtu. The military service they once renderedhad been displaced by the new modern trained troops, and three years agotheir monthly rice pension of four taels, about $2. 50, was cut down by aviceroy bidding for popular support. Although Chengtu is two thousandmiles from the sea, it is one of the most advanced cities of China, andhas no mind to put up with outgrown things, such as Manchu soldiers andManchu pensions. It boasts to-day a mint turning out a very respectablecoinage, a large arsenal, and a university of more promise, perhaps, than achievement; and the pride of the moment was a new arcade of shopswhere the goods were set out with all the artifice of the West in largeglazed windows. Although Japanese and Europeans are employed, yet theseare all truly native undertakings, and that, to my mind, is the bestpart of Chengtu's progress; it shows what the Chinese can do forthemselves, not simply following Western leadership. And on the wholethey seemed last year to be doing a number of things very well. Itargued real efficiency, I think, that the officials at Chengtu knew atevery moment the whereabouts of the travelling foreigners in a provincelarger than France. To be sure, we were only two, Captain Bailey andmyself, but all the same they could not have done it save by a veryup-to-date use of the telegraph. And again, the Chengtu police arereally guardians of the peace. I had a chance to see the order that waskept one night when my chair-men lost their way taking me to a dinner atthe house of the French Consul-General, quite across the city from whereI was staying. For more than an hour we wandered about, poking into allsorts of dark corners, finally reaching the consulate at half-past nineinstead of an hour earlier, and nowhere, either in thoroughfare oralley, was there any rowdyism, and this though it was the night of theDragon Festival when all the people were making holiday. But then underordinary conditions the Chinese is a peaceable man; he has his owninterpretation of the rule of life: in order to live, let others live. Imet an example of that in Peking. Opposite the hotel door stood a longline of rickshaws. You soon had a favourite man, and after that theothers never thrust themselves forward, but, instead, at once set up ashout for him if he failed to note your appearance. However, the Chineseindividual is one thing, the Chinese mob another. It was not many yearssince an infuriated crowd stormed through the streets of Chengtu seekingthe lives of the foreigners, and in even fewer weeks after my visitother crowds would besiege the viceroy's yamen demanding justice fortheir wrongs. For even when I was there the undercurrent of discontentin the province was visible. The students of the university, like thosein Yunnan-fu, had more than once got out of hand; people complainedthat the new educational system lacked the discipline of the old, andindeed Young China seems to outdo even Young America in self-assurance, and in the spring of 1911 the university was just beginning to recoverfrom the turmoil of a strike of the students for some real or fanciedslight by the Government. 

And there was more serious trouble afoot. The Szechuan merchants andgentry, wealthy and enterprising, had contributed generously (for China)to the building of a railway connecting the western capital withWan-hsien and Ichang, but now they were hearing that the money had beensquandered and the railway was to be built with foreign capital. It wasbad enough to lose their money, but the evil that might come in thetrail of the foreigner's money was worse. So people were talking hotlyagainst the new "railway agreement, " and it proved in the end theproverbial straw, for three months later the Railway League of Szechuanset in motion the revolution which overthrew the Manchus and the empire. 

But these things were still on the knees of the gods, and my stay inChengtu was altogether delightful, save for the thought that here myout-of-the-way journeying ended. Henceforth I should go by ways oftentravelled by Europeans. And then I was leaving so much behind. Of mycaravan only three would go on with me, the interpreter, the cook, andthe Yunnan coolie, who was ready to stay by me a little longer. The restI had paid off, giving to all a well-earned tip, and receiving from eachof my chair-men in turn a pretty, embarrassed "Thank you, " learned fromhearing me say it. The pony, too, would go no farther, for most of thenext month my travelling would be by water, so I handed him over to ahorse-loving missionary, and I only hope he proved worthy of his master. My chair, which had been such a comfort for so many weeks, was left inChengtu waiting a chance to be sent to Ning-yüan-fu, where I trust itarrived in time to serve Mrs. Wellwood on her hurried journey toYunnan-fu at the outbreak of the Revolution. Even the little dog camenigh to ending his travels at Chengtu, for the Post Commissioner putforward a claim of common Irish blood, which I could hardly deny becauseof the many kindnesses received from him. But I could not make up mymind to part with my little comrade, and I said a determined nay. 

It was early June when I started on the next stage of my journey, athree days' trip down the Min River to Chia-ting. The sun was sinking asI went on board the "wu-pan" or native boat lying in the stream outsidethe South Gate, and after carefully counting heads to make sure that thecrew were all there, and that we were carrying no unauthorizedpassengers, we pushed off and the current took us rapidly out of sightof Chengtu. 

The trip to Chia-ting was very delightful. I was tired enough to enjoykeeping still, and lying at ease under my mat shelter I lazily watchedthe shores slip past; wooded slopes, graceful pagodas crowning theheadlands, long stretches of fields yellow with rape, white, timberedfarmhouses peeping out from groves of bamboo and orange and cedar, itwas all a beautiful picture of peaceful, orderly life and industry. Eachnight we tied up near some village where the cook and boat people couldgo a-marketing, generally coming back after an hour with one vegetableor two. As the river was high, we made good speed, and on the morning ofthe third day after starting, the picturesque red bluffs oppositeChia-ting came in sight. 

CHAPTER IX

OMEI SHAN, THE SACRED

The rose-red city of Chia-ting lives in my memory as a vision of beauty, the most charming (at a distance) of the many charming (always at adistance) Chinese towns that I have seen. Built on a sandstone ledge atthe junction of the Ta Tu and Ya with the Min, its crenellated red wallsrise almost directly from the water, which, when in flood, dashes highagainst the foundations. On the northwest the city rises to nearly threehundred feet above the level, and standing on the wall one looks downupon a sea of living green from which rise temple and pagoda, or westacross Chia-ting plain, perhaps the loveliest and most fertile spot inthe Chinese Eden, and then farther west still to where on the horizontowers Omei Shan, the Holy of Holies of Buddhist China, often, alas, shrouded in mist from base to summit, for this is a land of clouds andrain and floods. 

Looking across the river to the great cliffs opposite the town, onediscerns dimly, carved on the face of the rock, the wonder of theregion, a colossal Buddha more than three hundred feet in height, sitting serenely with his hands on his knees, and his feet, or whatought to be his feet, laved by the rushing water of the Ta Fo Rapid. Asthe tale runs, this was the work of a good monk of the eighth century, who spent his life over the undertaking in the hope that by this piousact he might avert the terrible floods that devastated the region. Amighty task boldly conceived and patiently carried out, but still therain pours down, and still the rivers rise and drown the land. 

Baber tells the dramatic story of one of the greatest of the floods. Itoccurred in 1786 when the fall of a cliff in the Ta Tu dammed the rivercompletely for a time. Warnings were sent to the villages along thebanks, and many fled to the hills, but the people of Chia-ting, trustingto their open plain over which the water could spread itself, scoutedthe warning, and the cry, "Shui lai-la" ("The water is coming"), becamethe catchword of the hour. Let Baber tell the rest:--

"It was holiday in Chia-ting some days after the receipt of the notice, and the light hearted crowds which gathered on such occasions werechiefly attracted by a theatrical representation on the flat by thewater-side. One of the actors suddenly stopped in the middle of hisrôle, and gazing up the river, screamed out the now familiar by-word, 'Shui lai-la!' This repetition of the stock jest, with well-simulatedterror, as it seemed to the merry-makers, drew shouts of laughter; butthe echoes of the laugh were drowned in the roar of a deluge. I wastold how the gleeful faces turned to horror as the flood swept on like amoving wall, and overwhelmed twelve thousand souls. "

While in Chia-ting I crossed the river one day to see the great Buddhafrom near by, but it is very difficult to get a good view of the image. The river runs at the foot of the cliff at such a rate that it was allthe boatmen could do to keep us off the rocks, and looking down fromabove, the overhanging shrubs and grasses almost hide it from sight. There is an interesting monastery on the summit of the hill, called the"Monastery of the Voice of the Waters. " Here I spent a delightful hourwandering through the neglected garden and looking over the treasures ofthe place, a rather remarkable collection of drawings and inscriptionsengraved on slate, the work of distinguished visitors of past times, some dating back even to the Sung period. There were landscapesextremely well done, others were merely a flower or branch of a bloomingshrub, but all bore some classic quotation in ornamental Chinesecharacter. I bought of the priest for a dollar a bundle of really finerubbings of these engravings. At another monastery a gallery full ofimages of the "Lo-han, " the worthiest of Buddha's disciples, was beingtidied up. The variety of pose and expression in these fifty-oddlife-size images was extraordinary, and some of them were wonderfullygood, but the workmen handled them without respect as they cleaned andpainted. It is a Chinese proverb that says, "The image-maker does notworship the gods; he knows what they are made of. "

There is one drawback to the delights of Chia-ting, and that is theclimate. To live and work in the damp heat that prevails much of thetime must test the strength, and I imagine the Europeans stationed herefind it so. Chia-ting boasts two strong Protestant missions, AmericanBaptist and Canadian Methodist, well equipped with schools and ahospital, and they are hard at work making Chia-ting over, body andsoul. At the time of my visit they were engaged in a strenuous contestwith the representatives of the British American Tobacco Company, andboth sides were placarding the town with posters setting forth the evilsor the benefits of cigarette-smoking. 

Chia-ting is the great point of departure for Mount Omei, thirty milesaway, and I stayed only long enough to rearrange my kit and hire cooliesfor the trip. Again I had a chance to see the strength that the Chinesehave through organization. Each quarter of Chia-ting has its cooliehong, and woe betide you if you fall out with your own; you will havedifficulty in getting served elsewhere. Fortunately my host was on goodterms with his proper hong, and after a good-humored, long-drawn-outdiscussion I secured the men I wanted. 

It was raining when we started from Chia-ting and it kept on all day. Nevertheless, as soon as I was outside the West Gate of the city Iexchanged my closed chair for one specially devised for the mountainclimb, simply a bamboo chair furnished with a swinging board for afoot-rest. It gave of course no protection against sun or rain, butthere was nothing to cut off the view. The closed chair affected by theChinese seemed to me intolerable, a stuffy box half closed in front, andwith mere loopholes on the sides. But fifteen years ago no Europeanwoman could ride in anything else without danger of being mobbed. 

All the first day we were crossing the beautiful Chia-ting plain, seamedand watered by many rivers and streams. The path wound in and out amongsplendid fields of maize and fine fruit orchards, and the comfortablelooking villages were densely shaded with oak and mulberry trees. Itought to be a prosperous district, for not only is it rich in naturalresources, but the throngs of pilgrims that pass through here on theirway to the Sacred Mountain must bring a lot of money into the towns. 

At the start we kept above the Ta Tu, but later we crossed the Ya, now astrong-flowing tranquil river, and farther along still at the littletown of Süchi ("Joyous Stream"), famous for its silk, we came to theOmei, which has its sources on the lower slopes of the Great Mountain. After this the country was more broken, but everywhere there was thesame careful cultivation, and on all sides we heard the plash of fallingwater and the soft whirr of the great Persian wheels busily at workbringing water to the thirsty land; and occasionally we saw men workingwith the foot a smaller wheel by which the next higher levels wereirrigated. 

Chen Chia Ch'ang, a small market-town a few miles east of Omei-hsien, made a charming picture, its walls shining white against the darkbackground of the mountain as we approached it across the greenrice-fields. Entering its broad, crowded street we found a theatricalperformance going on in an open hall opposite the temple. While mycoolies were drinking tea I joined the crowd in front of the stage, which was raised several feet above the street. The play, which was inhonour of the village idol, was beyond my comprehension, but thepantomime of the actors was very good. This sort of thing is dearlyliked by the Chinese. The players are usually maintained by the village, and a good deal of the unpopularity of the Christian converts arises, Iam told, from their unwillingness to contribute because of the so-calledidolatrous character of the performance. 

The town of Omei where we spent the night seems to exist chiefly for thesake of the thousands of pilgrims who make a last halt here before theybegin the ascent of the mountain. Mindful of the many Tibetans who passthrough here in the spring, I made a raid upon the shops, but in vain;all that I found was two good pieces of Chinese bronze. The owner and Icould not agree on a price, so I left him to think it over until I cameby again, and then he was away and his wife did not dare unlock hiscases, although I offered her what he had asked. The rain poured down, but a crowd gathered to offer sympathy and suggestions, while my men andI argued with her. Would she not fare worse if her husband found she hadmissed a sale than if she disobeyed orders? All to no purpose, so I wentaway empty-handed. That evening it rained brass pots, but alas, nothingthat I wanted. 

Usually in these small places the woman seems a very active member ofthe establishment, and I am told that a man often wishes to consult hiswife before making a large deal. The Chinese woman, perhaps, lacks thecharm of the Japanese or Indian, but in spite of her many handicaps sheimpresses the outsider with her native good sense and forcefulness, andI should expect that even more than the other two she would play a greatpart in the development of her people when her chance came. 

It was again raining when we started the next morning; indeed, it seemeda long time since I had felt really dry, but the grey day harmonizedperfectly with the soft English beauty of the country that lies betweenOmei-hsien and the foot of the mountain, wooded lanes and glens, littlebrooks rippling between flowery banks, fine stone bridges spanning theswift green Omei, red temples overhung by splendid banyan trees, andover all the dark mysterious mountain, lifting its crown ten thousandfeet above our heads. Did ever pilgrim tread a more beautiful path tothe Delectable Mountains? And there were so many pilgrims, men andwomen, all clad in their best, and with the joy of a holiday shining intheir faces. There were few children, but some quite old people, andmany were women hobbling pluckily along on their tiny feet; themajority, however, were young men, chosen perhaps as the most able toperform the duty for the whole family. They seemed mostly of acomfortable farmer class; the very poor cannot afford the journey; andas for the rich--does wealth ever go on a pilgrimage nowadays? Allcarried on the back a yellow bag (yellow is Buddha's colour) containingbundles of tapers to burn before the shrines, and in their girdles werestrings of cash to pay their way; priests and beggars alike must beappeased. 

After an hour or so we left behind the cultivation of the valley, andentered the wild gorge of the Omei, and after this our path led upwardsthrough fine forests of ash and oak and pine. The road grew steeper andsteeper, often just a rough staircase of several hundred steps, overwhich we slipped and scrambled. Rain dripped from the branches, brooksdashed down the mountain-side. We had left behind the great heat of theplain, but within the walls of the forest the air was warm and heavy. But nothing could damp the ardour of the pilgrim horde. A few were inchairs; I had long since jumped out of mine, although as Liu complained, "Why does the Ku Niang hire one if she will not use it?" He dearly lovedhis ease, but had scruples about riding if I walked, or perhaps hisbearers had. Some of the wayfarers, old men and women, were carriedpick-a-back on a board seat fastened to the coolie's shoulders. Itlooked horribly insecure and I much preferred trusting to my own feet, but after all I never saw an accident, while I fell many times comingdown the mountain. 

The beginnings of Mount Omei's story go back to the days before writingwas, and of myth and legend there is a great store, and naturallyenough. This marvel of beauty and grandeur rising stark from the plainmust have filled the man of the lowlands with awe and fear, and hisfancy would readily people these inaccessible heights and gloomy forestswith the marvels of primitive imagination. On the north the mountainrises by gentle wooded slopes to a height of nearly ten thousand feetabove the plain, while on the south the summit ends in a tremendousprecipice almost a mile up and down as though slashed off by the swordof a Titan. 

Perhaps in earliest times the Lolos worshipped here, and the mountainstill figures in their legends. But Chinese tradition goes back fourthousand years when pious hermits made their home on Omei. And there isa story of how the Yellow Emperor, seeking immortality, came to one ofthem. But Buddha now reigns supreme on Omei; of all the many temples, one only is Taoist. According to the legend, at the very beginning ofBuddhist influence in China, P'u-hsien Bodhisattva revealed himself to awandering official in that wonderful thing known as "Buddha's Glory, "and from this time on, Mount Omei became the centre from which the lightof Buddhist teaching was spread abroad over the entire country. 

The land now belongs to the Church, and there are not many people on themountain besides the two thousand monks scattered about in the differentmonasteries which occupy every point where a flat spur or buttressoffers a foothold. Each has its objects of interest or veneration, and Ibelieve that to do one's duty by Omei, one must burn offerings beforesixty-two shrines. Judging by the determined look on some of thepilgrims' faces, they were bent on making the grand tour in the shortesttime possible; in fact, they almost raced up the breakneck staircases. To save expense, some make the whole ascent of one hundred and twenty lifrom Omei-hsien in a day. Even women on their bound feet sometimes dothis, I am told. I would not believe it on any authority had I not seenfor myself the tramps these poor crippled creatures often take. 

As I was in no hurry, we stopped for the night at Wan-nien Ssu, or the"Monastery of Ten Thousand Years, " one of the largest on the mountainand with a recorded history that goes back more than fifteen hundredyears. We were made very welcome, for the days have passed whenforeigners were turned from the door. Their patronage is eagerly soughtand also their contributions. After inspecting our quarters, whichopened out of an inner court and were spacious and fairly clean, Istarted out at once to see the sights of the place, for daylight diesearly in these dense woods. Like all the rest Wan-nien Ssu is plainlybuilt of timbers, and cannot compare with the picturesque curly-roofedbuildings one sees in the plains below. Indeed, it reminded me of theTibetan lamasseries about Tachienlu, and it is true that thousands ofTibetans find their way hither each spring, and the hillsides reëchotheir mystic spell, "Om mani padme hum, " only less often than theChinese, "Omi to fo. "

Behind the building where I was quartered is another, forming part ofthe same monastery, and within is concealed rather than displayed thetreasure of the place, and indeed the most wonderful monument on themountain, a huge image of P'u-hsien enthroned on the back of a life-sizeelephant, all admirably cast in bronze. Although dating from the ninthcentury, the wonderful creation remained unknown to the "outsidebarbarian" until Baber came this way a generation ago. He speaks of itas probably the "most ancient bronze casting of any great size inexistence. " It is a sad pity that no one has succeeded in getting a goodpicture of this notable work, but not merely is it railed about with astone palisade, but the whole is enclosed in a small building of heavybrick and masonry with walls twelve feet thick, which secure it againstwind and rain, but also keep out most of the light. 

Wan-nien Ssu boasts another treasure more readily displayed, a so-calledtooth of Buddha weighing about eighteen pounds. The simple pilgrimslooked on reverently as the priests held it before me, but the latterhad a knowing look when I expressed my wonder at the stature of thebeing who had teeth of such size. Probably they knew as well as I thatit was an elephant's molar, but they were not above playing on thecredulity of the ignorant folk. 

Out of respect for the feelings of the monks I had brought up no freshmeat, and of course there is none to be obtained on the mountain, so Idined rather meagrely. Although the people generally do not hesitate toeat meat when they can get it, the priests hold stiffly to the Buddhistdiscipline which forbids the taking of life, and it is only unwillinglythat they have acquiesced in foreigners' bringing meat into themonastic precincts or even onto the mountain. But at least they didtheir best to make good any lack by sending in dishes of Chinesesweetmeats, candied seeds, ginger, dried fruits. After dinner one of theyounger priests sat for a long time by my brazier, amusing himself withJack, the like of whom he had never seen before, and asking many simplequestions. What was I writing? How did I live? Where would I go when Iwent away? Where was my husband?--the same questions asked everywhere bythe untutored, be it in the mountains of Kentucky or on the sacredheights of Mount Omei. 

On leaving the next morning the "Yuan-pu, " or "Subscription Book of theTemple, " a substantial volume in which one writes one's name anddonation, was duly put before me. Being warned beforehand I knew what togive, and I was not to be moved even though my attention was called tomuch larger sums given by other visitors; but I had also been told ofthe trick practised here of altering the figures as served theirpurpose, so I was not moved even by this appeal. 

The next day brought us to the summit after a wearying pull upinterminable rock staircases as steep as the steepest attic stairs, andhundreds of feet high. Most of the time we were in thick woods, onlyoccasionally coming out into a little clearing, but even when the treesfell away, and there ought to have been a view, nothing was to be seen, for the thick mists shut out all above and below. We passed byinnumerable monasteries, most of them looking prosperous and wellpatronized; they must reap a rich harvest in cash from the countlesspilgrims. Everywhere building was going on, indicating hopeful fortunes, or, more likely, recent disaster, for it is the prevailing dampnessalone that saves the whole mountain-side from being swept by fires, andthey are all too frequent as it is. 

It is one of the many topsy-turvy things in topsy-turvy China that thisprosaic people is so addicted to picturesque and significant terms. Ifound the names of some of the monasteries quite as interesting asanything else about them. From the "Pinnacle of Contemplation" youascend to the "Monastery of the White Clouds, " stopping to rest in the"Hall of the Tranquil Heart, " and passing the "Gate to Heaven" you enterthe "Monastery of Everlasting Joy. "

Toward the summit the forest dwindled until there was little save scrubpine and oak, a kind of dwarf bamboo, and masses of rhododendron. Atlast we came out into a large clearing just as the sun burst from theclouds, lighting up the gilded ball that surmounts the monastery where Ihoped to find shelter, the Chin Tien, or "Golden Hall of the TrueSummit, " a group of low timbered buildings, quite without architecturalpretensions. Entering the open doorway I faced a large shrine beforewhich worshippers were bending undisturbed by our noisy entrance. Stairson either hand of the shrine led to a large grassy court surrounded onall four sides by one-story buildings, connected by a broad corridor orverandah, and back of this, steep steps led to a temple perched on thevery edge of the great cliff. 

A young priest came to meet me and very courteously showed me theguest-rooms, allowing me to choose two in the most retired corner, onefor myself and another for the interpreter and cook, while the cooliesfound comfortable quarters near by. View there was none, for my room, though adorned with real glazed windows, looked out on a steep bank, butat least it had an outside door through which I might come and go atwill. The furniture was of the usual sort, only in better condition thanordinarily; heavy beds, chairs, tables, but everything was surprisinglyclean and sweet-smelling. 

Here in this Buddhist monastery on the lofty summit of China's mostsacred mountain I spent three peaceful days, happy in having a part inthe simple life about me. Chin Tien is one of the largest and mostprosperous of Omei's monasteries, and it is also one of the bestconducted. Everything was orderly and quiet. Discipline seemed wellmaintained, and there was no unseemly begging for contributions as atWan-nien Ssu. It boasts an abbot and some twenty-five full-fledged monksand acolytes. All day long pilgrims, lay and monastic, were coming andgoing, and the little bell that is rung to warn the god of the presenceof a worshipper tinkled incessantly. Some were monks who had come longdistances, perhaps from farthermost Tibet, making the great pilgrimageto "gain merit" for themselves and for their monastery. Many of thehouses on Omei gave to these visitors crude maps or plans of themountain, duly stamped with the monastery seal, as proof that thejourney had been made, and on my departure one such, properly sealedwith the Chin Tien stamp, was given to me. 

One day was like another, and all were peaceful and full of interest. Iexpect the weather was as good as one could look for at this season ofthe year; although the mists rolled in early in the forenoon shuttingout the plain, yet there was little rain, and the night and dawn wereglorious. Each morning I was out before sunrise, and standing on thesteps of the upper temple saw the whole western horizon revealed beforemy enchanted eyes. A hundred miles away stretched the long line of theTibetan snow-peaks, their tops piercing the sky. It seemed but a stepfrom earth to heaven, and how many turn away from the wonderful sight totake that step. Two strides back and you are standing awestruck on theedge of the stupendous precipice. The fascination of the place isoverpowering, whether you gaze straight down into the black depths orwhether the mists, rolling up like great waves of foam, woo you gentlyto certain death. No wonder the place is called "The Rejection of theBody, " and that men and women longing to free themselves from the wearyWheel of Life, seek the "Peace of the Great Release" with one wild leapinto the abyss below. 

At every hour of the day pilgrims were standing at the railed-in edge ofthe cliff, straining their eyes to see into the uttermost depths below, or looking skywards for a sight of "Buddha's Glory, " that strangephenomenon which has never been quite explained; it may be akin to theSpectre of the Brocken, but to the devout Buddhist pilgrim it is thecrowning marvel of Mount Omei. 

Looking off to the north and east one saw stretched out, nearly tenthousand feet below, the green plains and silver rivers of Szechuan. Southward rose the black peaks and ranges of Lololand, buttressed on thenorth by the great, table-shaped Wa Shan, second only to Omei in heightand sacredness. 

Before the first day was past every one had become accustomed to mypresence, and I attracted no attention as I came and went. My wants werelooked after, and one or the other of the little acolytes spent manyhours in my room, tending the fire in the brazier, or playing with Jack, or munching the sweetmeats with which I was kept supplied. They werenice little lads and did not bother me, and rarely did any one elsedisturb my quiet; it was such a comfort after the living in public ofthe last month. 

[Illustration: THE "REJECTION OF THE BODY"

Cliff a mile high. Mount Omei, West Szechuan]

The second morning of my stay I attended an early service in the lowertemple near my room. Some twelve monks took part; one, the abbot, was alarge, fine-looking man, and all had rather agreeable faces, quiteunlike the brutal, vicious look of the lamas of Tachienlu. There wasmuch that recalled the ritual of the Roman Catholic Church, --processions, genuflexions, chanting, burning of incense, lighting of candles, tinklingof bells, --all centring round a great figure of Sakyamuni. The words Icould not understand, but the reverent expression on the monks' faces, their orderly bearing as they circled slowly round, keeping always thebared right shoulder toward the image, made the service very impressivein spite of the pranks of the little acolytes and the loud talk ofpassing men and women. 

In turn I visited the near-by temples, but few were of any specialinterest. The hilltop has been burnt over several times, the last timewithin a generation, and all the buildings on the summit are of recentdate. The most famous of all, the great bronze temple dating from thefifteenth century, which after being struck by lightning several timeswas finally destroyed, has never been restored, thus giving the lie tothe popular belief that what the lightning destroys the gods willreplace. The fragments of castings that are left are really fine, and itis a marvel how they ever were brought from Chengtu where they weremade, for many are of great weight. A little below the trail by which wecame was the pewter-roofed monastery, very appropriate here, as pewteris the only metal the Buddhist pilgrim is supposed to use or possess. 

But after all, the charm of the place lay not in this or that buildingor relic, but in the beauty of the surroundings and in the peace ofspirit that seemed to abide here. No need to cast one's self over theprecipice to secure freedom from the body. Here on the high mountain-topamong these simple minds, the cares and bothers of the life of the plainseemed to fall off. If I came as a sight-seer I went away in the mood ofa pilgrim. Turning my back upon the crowded paths I spent long hours ofquiet under the pines on the western slope, facing always toward themountains. Sometimes the clouds concealed them wholly, at other timesjust one peak emerged, and then perhaps for a moment the mists rolledaway, and the whole snowy line stood revealed like the ramparts of agreat city, the city of God. 

And the best of all was not the day, but the night. The monastery wentearly to bed, and by ten o'clock bells had ceased to ring, the lightswere out. Then came my time. Slipping out of my room I stole up theslope to the overhanging brow of the cliff. The wind had died down, thebirds were still, not a sound broke the great silence. At my feet werethe depths, to the west rose height on height, and on all lay the whitelight of the moon. Close by hundreds of weary pilgrims were sleepingheavily on their hard beds. Day after day and year after year theyclimbed these steeps seeking peace and help, pinning their hopes toburning joss stick and tinkling bell and mystic words, and in Westernlands were other pilgrims entangled likewise in the mazes of dogma andform. But here among the stars, in the empty, soundless space of thewhite night, the gods that man has created seemed to vanish, and therestood out clear the hope that when time has ceased, --

 "When whelmed are altar, priest, and creed; When all the faiths have passed; Perhaps, from darkening incense freed, God may emerge at last. "

Finally the day came when I was forced to turn away from the miracles ofOmei. Our stores were almost gone, and the coolies had burnt their lastjoss sticks; so I took farewell of the kindly monks of Chin Tien andstarted down the mountain. The sun shone as we set off, but as wedescended, the clouds gathered and the rain fell in torrents. Eachsteep, straight staircase was a snare to our feet. Sprawling andslithering we made our way down. No one escaped, and the woods resoundedwith gay cries, "Have a care, Omi to fo! Hold on tight, Omi to fo! Now, go ahead, Omi to fo!" There was no going slowly, you stood still or wentwith a rush. Women tottering along on crippled feet pointed cheerily atmy big shoes. I dare say the difference in size consoled them for alltheir aches and pains. 

It was almost dark when we reached Omei-hsien, soaked to the skin. I hada big fire made for the coolies and we all gathered round incompanionable fashion for the last time. The return journey the next dayacross the plain was as charming as ever, but the steamy heat of the lowlevel was very depressing, and we were all glad to take to a boat forthe last twenty-two li. 

I had one more day in Chia-ting, visiting one or two temples and makingthe last arrangements for the trip down the river to Chung-king. Wiselyhelped by one of the American missionaries I secured a very comfortablewu-pan, for which I paid twenty-five dollars Mexican. It was well fittedout, and equipped with a crew of seven, including the captain's wife, and a small dog known as the "tailless one. " We started down the riverlate in the afternoon. There was just time for one look at the GreatBuddha as the current hurled us almost under his feet, then a lastglance at the beautiful town, all rose and green, and a wonderfulchapter in my journeying had come to an end. Only three months later andChia-ting was aflame with the fires of revolution, for it was the firstcity in all Szechuan to declare for the Republic, and there was many afierce contest in its narrow, winding streets. 

CHAPTER X

DOWN THE YANGTSE

After the toilsome life of the last three months it was good to lookforward to ten days or so of laziness, for surely river travel may bethe most luxurious of any sort of journeying, and even a humble nativeboat on the Yangtse affords many delights. You make yourself comfortablewith your own bed and chair, stop at your pleasure, go as you choose, without hurry and without noise through charmingly varied scenery, nowsoft and cultivated, now wild and grand. 

My own little apartment occupied the middle of the boat, screened offwith mats and curtains from the ends occupied by the boat people and mymen, and though it was necessarily a thoroughfare, my privacy was alwaysrespected and no one attempted to enter without permission. By aningenious arrangement of the mat roof I could lie at ease on my camp-bedand watch the shores slip past, but toward evening when the sun wassetting, I often sat out on the extreme prow of the boat where I couldenjoy the full sweep of the view up and down. Liu, the cook, hadprovided himself with a little cement cooking arrangement on which heprepared me very savoury messes. He and the Yunnan coolie and theinterpreter and the boat people all chummed together very amicably, andI was impressed again, as so many times before, by the essentialdemocracy of China. The interpreter was several pegs above the others, socially, but he showed no objection at going in with them, and morethan once, when the inns were crowded, took up his quarters with thecoolies, but--he always got well waited upon. Nor was the captain's wifekept in seclusion (it would have been hard, indeed, to get it in athirty-foot wu-pan), but all day long I could hear her chatting with themen in cheerful give-and-take fashion. 

By the way, the name which Europeans give to the river down which I wasfloating, the Min, is quite unknown to the Chinese, and it may haveoriginated with the Jesuits, the first men from the West to make theirhome in Szechuan. By the natives the river is sometimes called the "Fu"because of the three "fu" towns on its banks, Chengtu, Chia-ting, andSuifu, and sometimes they speak of it as the Ta-kiang, regarding it asthe upper waters of the Yangtse. 

Below Chia-ting the river, by whatever name called, flows through asmiling, open country, with gently varied scenery. The soft slopes oneither hand were richly cultivated with maize and rape, and namelesslittle villages, picturesque with black timbered houses and red temples, peeped out of groves of banyan and bamboo and orange. Then the hillsclosed in on the river and the current ran like a millrace. Often apromontory was crowned with one of the many-storied white "chuman"pagodas of Szechuan, while in the face of a cliff I could now and thendiscern openings which I knew were the famous, mysterious cave-dwellingsof a bygone time and an unknown people found all about Chia-ting. Ivisited one that had been converted into a miniature temple, and thereare several in one of the mission compounds. I believe they are knownonly in this region. They have been excavated by an expert hand, showingtraces, it is thought, of Indian influence. Much conjecture has beenexpended upon them, and as yet there is no advance upon Baber'sconclusion "that these excavations are of unknown date, and have beenundertaken for unexplained purposes, by a people of doubtful identity. "

As the river was now high, the current carried us along at a good speed, but I was in no hurry and we made many stops, when I got out to stretchmy legs along the bank. At night we always tied up, and it took someeffort to secure a place to the liking of us all. I wanted air andquiet, but the desire of my boat people was set on a chance to goa-marketing or to do a little visiting. Sometimes I got what I wished, sometimes they did, but they did their best, I think, to gratify mystrange whims. 

One night when they had their way and we were tied up to a shinglealongside some forty or fifty junks and small craft, we had all to turnout on a grand hunt for the "tailless one" who had gone astray. As soonas the plank was down, I went ashore followed by the dogs. As it grewdark I sat down on a rock not far away, and Jack curled up by me, butthe other one went back to the boat. Presently I saw the men come ashoreand walk up and down swinging their paper lanterns and sending out long, loud cries. The little dog was missing, and they were afraid he wasbeing kept concealed on one of the other boats, for, so they said, people liked to steal little dogs. I asked if they thought it would helpif I went with them along the beach and they called out that I waslooking for the dog. They were sure it would, so we paraded up and downthe long line of junks, flashing out our lanterns while the men called, not to the junk people, for "face" must be saved, but to the little doghimself, "O tailless one, come home, O tailless one, come home, theforeign devil is seeking thee. " And presently there was a joyful shoutfrom our boat. The "tailless one" had come walking up the gangplank, quietly returned under cover of darkness. The men were immenselypleased, and said it was all due to me; the people were afraid to stealfrom a foreigner. 

Three days after leaving Chia-ting, we came in sight of Suifu, mostpicturesquely set on a rocky slope at the junction of the Min and theYangtse. But how changed was the Great River since I crossed it atLung-kai, four hundred miles to the west. There it dashed furiouslyalong, dammed in between precipitous cliffs and fretted to foam by rockyreefs. Now it flowed broad and deep and quiet between soft wooded banks, bearing many craft on its strong current. 

The streets of the prosperous city of Suifu, the starting-point of alloverland traffic to Yunnan, are broad and attractive, and there was agreat display of fruit and vegetables in the open shops, but it needsmuch faith in the cleansing power of boiling to overlook the sights ofthe river front where vegetables and feet are washed side by side, whileas to the fruit, that had been gathered green, as is so often the casein China, why I could not learn. Some said the Chinese preferred it so, others that if it were kept on the trees it would be stolen long beforeit ripened. But to tell the truth, the goodness of Chinese fruit seemsto be all on the outside. I never saw finer-looking peaches than inSzechuan, but they proved worm-riddled and tasteless. Apparently allthat the Chinese can teach themselves has been learned, infruit-growing as well as in other things. Now if they are to advancethey must begin to borrow, and much else besides money. I was glad tolearn that one of the American missionaries at Ya-chou is in close touchwith the Department of Agriculture at Washington on a basis of give andtake that ought to be to the advantage of both sides. 

We covered the distance of nearly two hundred miles between Suifu andChung-king in good time; the weather was favourable, and the river nowran so high that the troublesome rapids had disappeared. The scenery wascharming as ever, but I was wearying of inactivity and it was a reliefto see the crenellated walls of Chung-king come in sight. I paid off myboatmen, who had lived up to their agreement (not written this time) inevery particular, and in an hour I had ferried across the river andfound myself once more being carried over the steep hills that here formthe south shore of the Yangtse, to meet a kind welcome from the friendsof friends to their charming summer refuge high above the depressingheat of the Yangtse valley. 

Chung-king, which has been dubbed the Chicago of West China, --Hankowclaims the name in East China, --is one of a trio of cities that clusteraround the junction of the Chia-ting and the Yangtse, and it is easilythe chief, with a population of close on half a million. The approachfrom upstream is very striking, a grey city perched on a huge grey reefand enclosed in a strong, crenellated grey wall. The narrow strip ofshore outside the walls is filled with poor, rickety buildings easilyremoved when the river rises or as easily swept away if not taken downin time. Broad, steep flights of steps lead up from the river to thecity gates, and over these stairs all the water used by hundreds ofthousands is carried in buckets. 

In 1895 Chung-king was declared open as a treaty port, and since thenits commerce has grown in true modern fashion by leaps and bounds, andthere seems no limit to its development, for it is in a position tocontrol the up-country trade. The fleets of junks lie closely packedthree deep along the shore, and within the walls the multiplyingthousands are even more densely crowded, for the room to expand is setby the limits of the great rock on which Chung-king stands, andapparently every square foot of land within or without the city isalready occupied by the living or the dead. Nowhere did I see suchcrowded streets, and nowhere missionaries living in such crampedquarters as in Chung-king, a confinement all the more unendurablebecause of the long months of damp heat. 

The large foreign community of Chung-king has many elements, missionary, merchant, and officials of the customs, post-office, and consularservices. And lying in the river opposite the city are generallyEnglish, French, or German gunboats. The relations between all theseseem more cordial and helpful than in some treaty ports. So, too, Europeans and Chinese are on an unwontedly friendly footing inChung-king; perhaps something may be due to the fine standard set in themercantile community by that pioneer trader, Archibald Little, whoboldly established himself here eight years before the town was made atreaty port. And on the Chinese side there seemed readiness toappreciate what the West has to offer; in fact the town has a distinctlygo-ahead air. It has already held one commercial exhibition on Westernlines, and is planning another, and it is now lighted by electricity, boasting the best plant west of Shanghai, which it sets up againstChengtu's mint and arsenal. There is, in fact, a real Western flavourabout the rivalry of the two Szechuan cities, recalling the relations ofChicago and St Louis. 

As a purely trading centre Chung-king lacks some of the interest of thecapital, but the merchant class, the backbone of China, is wellrepresented here, and is famed for its intelligence and initiative. Through the kindness of Mr. Warburton Davidson, of the Friends' Mission, I was given a chance to meet members of this class, and also to seesomething of a very interesting experiment he had recently started. Realizing the importance of making known to this influential element thebest that Christian civilization has to offer, but well aware of thedifficulty, indeed, the impossibility, of meeting them through theordinary channels of missionary effort, Mr. Davidson hit upon the ideaof starting a social club where men of standing, Christian andnon-Christian, European as well as Chinese, might mingle on an equalfooting. The plan proved successful from the start. Largely through theinterest of a Chinese gentleman of Chung-king an attractive house hasbeen put up and equipped with newspapers, books, games, and thebeginnings of a museum, and here in the reading and recreation roomssome of the best business men of the city meet for social intercourse, discussions, and occasionally a lecture on such up-to-date subjects asX-rays, tuberculosis, and, very recently, the American Constitution. Itis now open every day and evening except Sunday, and already it ismaking itself felt in the life of the city. 

Mr. Davidson kindly planned for me to visit the Friends' Institute, asthe club is called, and to meet some of the Chinese committee by whichit is managed, for very wisely things are left as far as possible in thehands of the natives. For two hours or more I had the pleasure oftalking with these gentlemen, and I was much impressed with their keeninterest in outside matters. All were of a type new to me, quiet, dignified, interested, with the fine manners of the Chinese gentleman, but without the rather lackadaisical superciliousness of someofficials, nor was there anything Western about them; they were notcopying Europe, but learning how to be a new, fine sort of Chinese. Among those whom I met were Mr. Yang, president of the Institute, and aprominent business man of Chung-king, and Mr. Cheo, the elderly head ofthe Chinese Imperial Telegraph, who has now been succeeded by anothermember whom I also met. When I left they all escorted me mostcourteously to my chair, the passers-by stopping to gape with surprise. So far as I know the club is a new departure in mission work, and mostworthy of support as a rational and hopeful method of presenting thebest of Christian civilization to a class often repelled by missionarypropaganda. 

In Chung-king I parted with the faithful coolie who had come with me allthe way from Yunnan-fu. As carrier or as cook's helper he had workedwell; indeed, on more than one occasion he had cooked my dinner when Liuwas under the weather, and he had become so dexterous in waiting on thetable that he had grown ambitious and was now looking out for a place ina restaurant. I wrote him a "chit, " or letter of recommendation, which Ihope served his purpose if he could get any one to read it. At least Imade it look as imposing as possible. How would the wheels go round inthe East without "chits"? You are called upon to write them for everysort of person and every kind of service or none. On one occasion therecovery of a stolen necklace brought upon my head demands for a wholesheaf of letters, every one concerned, no matter how remotely, wantedone, --hotel proprietor (it was at a hotel that the affair occurred), hotel manager, clerk, servants, chief of police, ordinary policemen. Finally in desperation I offered one to the thief for allowing himselfto be caught so promptly. But I think the strangest one I was evercalled upon to write was for a tiger-tamer in the employ of an Indianrajah. I protested I knew nothing about such things, but he would nottake no, and as he had reduced the big brute that he brought to mybungalow to the point of drinking milk from a china bowl that I putbefore him, I agreed to recommend him as a trainer of tigers. But for myYunnan coolie I wrote a good letter most willingly in spite of the factthat he was a confirmed opium-smoker; in all the long journey that hemade with me I could not see that it weakened his wits or his muscles. Iwas told that such journeyings were not at all uncommon, the cooliestaking work wherever offered, and going on and on as new jobs turned up. With all its shortcomings the Manchu Government did not make the blunderof imposing artificial restraints upon the movements of the people, andsince no passports were required within the empire, men could come andgo at their own will. The part of the commercial traveller in creatingthe American nation has been noted. Who can tell what the Chinese coolieis doing in the same way?

At Chung-king I had to arrange for the trip down the river. I might takepassage on the wonderful new steamer plying with some regularity betweenthe city and Ichang; but that went too fast for my liking, besidesgiving me no chance to go ashore. Or I might engage a houseboat; but atthis season of the year the charges were high, as it might be weeksbefore the return trip could be made, and one hundred taels was the bestrate offered. So in spite of the fact that "nobody travelled that way, "or perhaps because of it, I, being a nobody, decided to try the humblewu-pan again, and through the efforts of one of the Christian helpers inthe Friends' Mission I secured a very comfortable boat to take me and myreduced following to Ichang for twenty-five dollars Mexican. The boatwas all that could be desired, and the captain, or "lao-pan, " provedskilful and obliging, but unfortunately he was not, as is usually thecase, the owner of the boat, and still more unfortunately, one of theowners, a rather old man, was serving with the crew. Nothing happened, but I had at times an uncomfortable feeling that nobody was in authorityover any one. 

I started down the river at noon on a fine day at the end of June, and alittle over forty-eight hours brought us to Kwei-fu at the head of thegorges. For the most part it was a country of soft undulating slopes andcomfortable farmhouses, with here and there a little hamlet or abustling town, framed the last part of the way by strange-lookingpyramidal hills. On we went, hurried along by the strong current, stopping for an hour's marketing at Foo-chou at the mouth of theKung-tan Ho, navigable for one hundred and fifty miles by boats ofstrange shape known as the "Crooked Sterns, " and again at Wan-hsien, famous for its cypress-wood junks, then on past the City of the CloudySun, attractive with broad streets and lovely temples, past the Mountainof the Emperor of Heaven, where for a few cash you may have a passdirect to Paradise, past Precious Stone Castle, a curious rock threehundred feet high standing out boldly from the shore and surmounted by atemple which contains gruesome paintings of the horrors of hell, throughthe Goddess of Mercy Rapid and the Glorious Dragon Rapid, and severalsmaller ones that I did not even know were rapids, for with the highwater these tend to disappear, while wicked-looking bays of swirlingwater showed the peculiar danger of the summer, the great whirlpools. The nights were very hot, and all our efforts did not avail to get theair which alone could make sleep possible. Before this the mosquitoeshad given little trouble, but now they sang outside my net all nightlong, while the poor, unprotected boatmen, robbed of their hard-earnedsleep, kept up an accompaniment of slapping on the other side of thecurtain. The river was falling again, leaving long stretches of mudbankover which I had to clamber if I tried to leave the boat for a littlechange, but I always managed to go on shore for a while when the menwere cooking and eating their supper. They took an interminable timeover it, and I never could see why they did not burn us all up, fortheir cooking was done in the tiny hold in an unprotected brazier. Infact, we did catch fire one day, but of course there was plenty of waterat hand. 

The third day about noon we tied up for a short time to cook some sortof a meal, and the rain coming on, the captain thought it best to wait. To escape the bad air of the boat, where all the mattings were down, Isat under an umbrella on the bank. A huge junk slowly pulling upstreammoored close at hand, and I watched with interest the trackers makingfast. They were men of all ages and sizes, but mostly young and wellgrown. Their naked bodies were well developed and muscular, but oftencut or scarred with falling on the rocks. Having made all secure theytoo got under cover on the junk, and fell to eating, naked and wet asthey were. It seemed to me that I sat for hours on that mudbank whilethe rain fell in torrents and the river rose higher and higher, for thechanges in level are extraordinarily rapid. It was almost dark before wecould set off again, and then we got no farther than Kwei-fu, thetrackers' Paradise. Perhaps that was the reason why we could not startthe next morning, but I fancy it was the truth that the water was toohigh to be safe, for there were double rows of junks moored under thewalls of Kwei-fu, and I saw no boats starting down. When the watercovers the great rock at the mouth of the Windbox Gorge, two miles downthe river, the authorities forbid all passing through. And anyway therewas nothing to do but make the best of it. 

Kwei-fu is a pleasant-looking town set in maize-fields which grow quiteup to the walls. A few years ago it was notorious for its hostility toforeigners. No missionaries were admitted, and when Mrs. Bird Bishopcame this way in 1897 she did not attempt to go inside the town. Now allis changed; the China Inland Mission has a station here, and I wentabout freely. But I did not see much of Kwei-fu, as I preferred to enjoythat Paradise from afar; so we pulled a little way downstream, tying upnear some maize-fields in which I promptly got really lost, so tall andthick was the growth. 

The next morning dawned clear, and the lao-pan declared we could start, as the water was falling, but he professed unwillingness to take methrough the dreaded Hei Shi Tan, or "Black Rock Rapid, " near thewestern end of the first gorge; so I carried two two-carrier chairs formyself and the interpreter, paying one thousand cash for thirty li. Atstarting, the road made a bend away from the river, passing through asuccession of hamlets, the homes of the trackers. Leaving my men at atea-house I walked on, following a well-made path which led me finallyinto the White Emperor's Temple, beautifully set on the very edge of anangle of the cliff, affording wonderful views down the gorge. It wasclean and light, and the priests who came to greet me in the usualkindly Buddhist fashion had rather nice faces. It was a place to dreamaway a glorious day. At our feet the rippling water just revealed thedreaded Goosetail Rock, now almost submerged, but in winter standinglike a sentinel forty feet tall at the mouth of the gorge; and over ourheads towered, on both sides the narrow waterway, grey vertical cliffs, fifteen hundred to two thousand feet high. I hated to leave, but as Ihad plainly lost my way there was nothing to do but go back and seek toovertake the men who were pounding along on the right path, trying tocome up with me. 

It is here that the great Szechuan road begins, a pathway galleried intothe solid rock for the whole length of the gorge at about one hundredand fifty feet above the winter level of the river. It is a fine pieceof road, the gift, I believe, of a rich Kwei-chou merchant. Thesurprising thing, of course, is not that it is good--the Chinese havebuilt many good roads--but that it is new. At present it stops at theSzechuan frontier, but there is talk of extending it across Hupeh. 

The day and a half that I spent in going through the gorges of theYangtse were the most exhausting part of my whole trip; from the merestrain of seeing and feeling, one's senses were all the time on therack. Scenes of overpowering savagery and grandeur that held onespellbound, were relieved by beautiful bits of cultivation, littlehamlets of brown houses and red temples half concealed in groves ofgolden bamboo and the glossy green of orange trees; moments when theboatmen lounged on the deck or hung exhausted over their oars werefollowed by grief, fierce struggles against the dreadful force of awhirlpool that threatened to engulf us. 

But, after all, that which most often comes back to me as I recall thosedays is the feeling of the ruthless human will grappling with nature andwinning the mastery. Who can call China aged and in decay face to facewith her success in conquering a passage up these gorges? Who canquestion the vitality of the Chinese, that has watched the trackers atwork pulling a huge junk against a current like the rapids of Niagara, clambering over wet, rough boulders, creeping like cats along a threadof a trail overhanging the gulf, clinging to the face of rocks that donot seem to offer a foothold to a mountain goat, and all the timestraining with every muscle at a thousand-foot rope. An inhuman taskwhere men take great risks for a pittance, where death by drowning or bybeing dashed to pieces on the rocks confronts them at every turn, andwhere, at best, strains and exposure bring an early end. In my dreams Isee them, the long lines of naked men, their strong bodies shining withwet and bleeding from many a cut, keeping time in a wild chant as theytug at the taut line; a rope breaks and the toil of hours is lost; onemisstep and a life has ended. 

[Illustration: _R. J. Davidson. _

IN THE YANGTSE GORGES]

But this is the sole highway to Szechuan; all the trade of China'slargest province, the one best endowed by nature, must pass up and downhere. Any people less prodigal of their strength, less determined andless resourceful than the Chinese, would have given up the strugglebefore it was begun, and Szechuan would have slumbered undeveloped andforgotten, instead of being as it is now the richest and most advancedpart of the empire. 

And the next step is assured; before many years have passed, a railwaywill connect the western capital with Wan-hsien and Hankow, the desertedgorges will no longer reëcho the cries of the trackers, and the upwardtrip that now takes six weeks will be a matter of two or three days. Itwill be a different Szechuan then, with its resources exploited, withmines and factories, good roads and fine hotels, a power in the world'smarket, the goal of the tourist, and--I am glad I saw Szechuan beforethe railway came. 

CHAPTER XI

FROM THE GREAT RIVER TO THE GREAT WALL

At Ichang, a thousand miles from Shanghai, I met the West, moderncomforts, bad manners, and all. Situated at the eastern end of thegorges, this town of thirty thousand Chinese inhabitants and a handfulof Europeans is just where all the merchandise going upstream must beshifted from the light-draft steamers of the lower Yangtse to the nativejunks of forty to a hundred tons which are still the only freight boatsthat venture regularly through the rapids and whirlpools of the upperwaters of the Great River. So the water front of Ichang is a busy sceneat all times, and in the winter season the boats are packed togethersardine fashion. When the railway is put through, all the river trafficwill cease, but Ichang proposes to control the new route as it has theold, and already an imposing station has been completed, even thoughonly a few miles of iron rail have been laid down. 

I shifted my belongings directly from the wu-pan to the Kweilu, aButterfield & Swire boat leaving the same evening. It was verycomfortable, although crowded, as everything seems to be in China. Ichang stands at the extreme eastern edge of the tangle of mountainsthat stretch across Szechuan to the Tibetan plateau, and just below thispoint the scenery changes, the hills dwindle, and the valley opens intothe wide flat plains of the lower Yangtse. It is a merciful arrangement, allowing the eyes and brain a chance to recover their tone after thestrain of trying to take in the wonders of the gorges, and I was gladfor the open, vacant land, thankful that there was nothing to look at. 

The second morning in the early dawn we moored off Hankow, where Iplanned to stay a day or two before turning northward. Hankow, Hanyang, Wuchang, these three cities lie at the junction of the Han and theYangtse, having, all told, a population of some two millions. Located onthe Yangtse, at the mouth of the Han, one of the great waterways ofChina, halfway between Shanghai and Ichang, and a little more thanhalfway from Peking to Canton, and at present the terminus of the Pekingrailway, which in good time will be extended to Canton, the future ofthese cities is assured. Each of the three has some special claim topreëminence, but the greatest of them is Hankow. Hanyang's chimneys arepreparing to rival those of Bombay, and it boasts the largest ironworksin China. Wuchang is the provincial capital, and the seat of the viceroyor governor, as it happens, and its mint and arsenal are the mostimportant in the south, while Hankow is the trading centre, and theheadquarters of the great banking and shipping concerns. 

When I was there in early July of last year I noticed only the look ofsubstantial prosperity about the place, and the comfortable bustle andstir in the streets. Chinese and Europeans alike seemed intent on makingmoney, pound-wise or cash-wise. The one matter of concern was the highwater in the river, here nearly a mile wide. Already it was almost up tothe top of the "bund"; a few inches more and it would flood the lowland, destroying life and property, and stopping all business. There were nooutward signs of commotion underneath, but in about three months theviceroy's yamen was in flames, shops and offices were looted, and themint and arsenal in the hands of the Revolutionary party. One stroke hadput it in possession of a large amount of treasure, military stores, anda commanding position. 

I planned to stay in Hankow just long enough to pack a box for England, and efface a few of the scars of inland travel before confrontingwhatever society might be found in Peking in midsummer, but rather to mydismay I found the weekly express train left the day after my arrival. It was out of the question to take that, and apparently I would have towait over a week unless I dared try the ordinary train that ran daily, stopping two nights on the road. But there seemed many lions in the way. It would be quite impossible to go by this train unless I could takeall my things into the carriage with me; nothing was safe in the luggagevan. It would be a long and tedious journey, and I could get nothing toeat on the way, and of course it would be impossible to put up atChinese inns at night. But face the Eastern lions and they generallyturn to kittens. Travelling by way trains had no terrors for me, itwould give me a chance to see the country, and it was for that I hadcome to China, and I knew I could manage about my things; but theChinese inn was something of a difficulty, as I was leaving interpreterand cook in Hankow. I jumped into a rickshaw and by good luck found thegenial superintendent, M. Didier, at the station. _Mais oui_, I mightstop in the train at night; _mais oui_, the little dog could be with me;_mais oui_, I could certainly manage a trunk in my compartment. And hedid even better than his word, wiring ahead to the nights'stopping-places, Chu-ma-tien and Chang-te-ho, and when the train pulledin at each place, I was charmingly welcomed by the divisionsuperintendent with an invitation from his wife to put up with them; andso instead of two nights in the stuffy sleeping-compartment of theexpress train, I had two enjoyable evenings in French homes, and longnights in a real bed. It was indeed a bit of France that thesedelightful Frenchwomen had created in the plain of Central China; booksand journals, dogs and wines from home, and French dishes skilfullyprepared by Chinese hands. But the houses where they lived opened out ofthe strongly walled station enclosure; it would not take long to put itin condition to stand a siege. No one in China forgets the days of 1900. 

The train was of the comfortable corridor sort. Most of the time I wasthe only European, and the only person in the first class, but thesecond and especially the third were crowded full, although thepassengers did not seem about to flow out of the windows, feet foremost, as so often on an Indian railway. The Chinese is beset by many fears, superstitious fears or real mundane ones, but he has the wit to know agood thing when he sees it, and it does not take him long to overcomeany pet fear that stands in the way of possessing it. In 1870 the firstChinese railway was built by the great shipowners of the East, Jardine, Mattheson & Co. It was only twelve miles long, connecting Shanghai withWoosung. At first there was no trouble, then certain native interests, fearing the competition, stirred up the people by the usual methods, finally clinching the opposition by a suicide (hired) under a train; soin the end the Government bought out the English firm and dismantled therailway. That was forty years ago, and to-day all that stands in the wayof gridironing China with iron highways is the lack of home capital andthe perfectly reasonable fear of foreign loans. The Chinese wantrailways, and they want to build them themselves, but they have not gotthe money, and for the moment they prefer to go without rather than putthemselves in the power of European capitalists and Europeangovernments. And who can blame them?

The Six Power Railway Loan of 1908 proved the undoing of the Manchus, and the inevitable sequence, the appointing of European and Americanengineers, --to the American was assigned the important section betweenIchang and Chengtu, --was bringing matters to a head before I left China. The Changsha outbreak in the early summer was directed against theGovernment's railway policy, represented for the moment in the newlyappointed Director of Communications, the Manchu Tuan Fang, who visitedthe United States in 1906 as a member of the Imperial Commission. Manywill remember the courteous old man, perhaps the most progressive of allthe Manchu leaders. I had hoped to meet him in China, but on inquiringhis whereabouts when in Shanghai I was told that he had been degradedfrom his post as Viceroy of Nanking and was living in retirement. A fewweeks later the papers were full of his new appointment, extolling hispatriotism in accepting an office inferior to the one from which he hadbeen removed. But delays followed, and when the rioting occurred inChangsha he had not yet arrived at headquarters in Hankow. It was saidopenly that he was afraid. On my way north the train drew up one eveningon a siding, and when I asked the reason I was told a special train wasgoing south bearing His Excellency Tuan Fang to his post. He had justcome from a conference at Chang-te-ho with Yuan Shih Kai, who was livingthere in retirement nursing his "gouty leg. " If only one could haveheard that last talk between the two great supporters of a fallingdynasty. 

And one went on his way south to take up the impossible task of stemmingthe tide of revolution, and before four months were past he was dead, struck down and beheaded by his own soldiers in a little Szechuan town, while the other, biding his time, stands to-day at the head of the newRepublic of the East. 

The Lu-Han railway, as the Peking-Hankow line is called, crosses threeprovinces, Hupeh, Honan, and Chihli. Save for low hills on the Hupehfrontier, it runs the whole way through a flat, featureless country, cultivated by hand, almost every square foot of it. Seven hundred milesof rice- and millet-fields and vegetable gardens unbroken by wall orhedge; nothing to cast a shadow on the dead level except an occasionalwalled town or temple grove! And the horrible land was all alive withswarming, toiling, ant-hill humanity. It was a nightmare. 

On the second day we reached the Hoang Ho, China's sorrow and theengineer's despair. The much-discussed bridge is two miles long, crossing the river on one hundred and seven spans. As the train moved atsnail's pace there was plenty of time to take in the desolate scene, stretches of mudflats alternating with broad channels of swirling, turbid water; and, unlike the Yangtse, gay with all sorts of craft, thestrong current of the Yellow River rolled along undisturbed by sweep orscrew. 

Once across the Hoang Ho and you enter the loess country, dear to thetiller of the soil, but the bane of the traveller, for the dust is oftenintolerable. But there was little change in scenery until toward noon ofthe following day, when the faint, broken outlines of hills appeared onthe northern horizon. As we were delayed by a little accident it wasgetting dark when we rumbled along below the great wall of Peking intothe noisy station alive with the clamour of rickshaw boys and hoteltouts. In fifteen minutes I was in my comfortable quarters at the Hôteldes Wagons Lits, keen for the excitement of the first view of one of theworld's great historic capitals. 

Peking is set in the middle of the large plain that stretches onehundred miles from the Gulf of Pechihli to the Pass of Nankow. On thenorth it is flanked by low hills, thus happily excluding all evilinfluences, but it is open to the good, that always come from the south. So from a Chinese point of view its location is entirely satisfactory, but a European might think it was dangerously near the frontier for thecapital city of a great state. Years ago Gordon's advice to the TsungliYamen was, "Move your Queen Bee to Nanking. " And just now the same thingis being said, only more peremptorily, by some of the Chinesethemselves. But for the moment lack of money and fear of Southerninfluences have carried the day against any military advantage, and thecapital remains where it is. Perhaps the outsider may be permitted tosay she is glad, for Nanking could never hope to rival the Northern cityin charm and interest. 

The most wonderful thing in Peking is the wall. That is what first holdsyour attention, and you never for a moment forget it. There it stands, aloof and remote, dominating the city it was set to defend, but not apart of it. Huge, massive, simple, it has nothing in common with thegaudy, over-ornamented, unrestful buildings of the Chinese, and as youenter its shadow you seem to have passed into a different world. 

Often before breakfast I climbed to the top of the wall beyond the WaterGate for a run with Jack before the heat of the day set in. It was aglorious place for a morning walk. The wall is some forty feet high, and along the top runs a broad path enclosed by crenellated parapets. From here your vision ranges north and south and east and west; nosmoke, no tall chimneys, no towering, hideous buildings to break andspoil the view. 

North you look over the Tartar City, which is really three cities, allwalled, and one within the other like the boxes of a puzzle, the TartarCity enclosing the Imperial City, and that in turn the Forbidden City. If you stand under the many-storied tower that surmounts the Chien-Men, you look straight along the road that leads through the vermilion walls, right into the Purple City, the heart of Peking. In Marco Polo's timethe middle door of the great portal was never opened save to admit theemperor, and that was still true a few months ago, but last winter a daycame when the bars rolled back, and there entered no emperor, no ruler, but the representative of the People's Assembly, and then a placard wasposted announcing that hereafter the door was open to every one, for allChina belonged to the people. For a matter-of-fact man the Chinese has avery dramatic way of doing things. 

Turning southwards from the top of the wall you look beyond the ChineseCity, which is nothing but a walled suburb, to the gleaming white wallsof the Temple of Heaven, half buried in the trees. There each year theemperor comes to offer sacrifices to his ancestors, the crowningexpression of China's truest religion, ancestor worship. In a few monthsonly, Prince Ch'un, the Regent, whom you have just met driving in statethrough the Imperial City, standing among his ministers, and acting forthe baby emperor, will take the oath, not to the people of China, nor toany representative assembly, but to the imperial ancestors to accept andobey the new constitutional principles. "I, your descendant, P'u Yi, " hewill say, "have endeavoured to consummate the constitutional programme, but my policy and my choice of officials have not been wise. Hence therecent troubles. Fearing the fall of the sacred dynasty I accept theadvice of the National Assembly, and I vow to uphold the nineteenconstitutional articles, and to organize a Parliament. .. . I and mydescendants will adhere to it forever. Your Heavenly Spirits will seeand understand. "

[Illustration: _Underwood & Underwood_

TARTAR WALL, PEKING]

[Illustration: _Underwood & Underwood_

CARAVAN OUTSIDE THE TARTAR WALL]

There is unfailing charm and interest in the view over Peking from thetop of the wall. Chinese cities are generally attractive, looked downupon from above, because of the many trees, but here the wealth offoliage and blaze of colour are almost bewildering; the gracefuloutlines of pagoda and temple, the saucy tilt of the roofs, yellow andgreen, imperial and princely, rising above stretches of soft brownwalls, the homes of the people, everything framed in masses of livinggreen; and stretching around it all, like a huge protecting arm, thegreat grey wall. You sigh with satisfaction; nowhere is there a jarringnote; and then--you turn your eyes down to the grounds and buildings ofthe American Legation at your feet, clean, comfortable, uncompromising, and alien. Near you paces to and fro a soldier, gun on shoulder, histrim figure set off by his well-fitting khaki clothes, unmistakablyAmerican, unmistakably foreign, guarding this strip of Peking's greatwall, where neither Manchu nor Chinese may set foot. And then your gazetravels along the wall, to where, dimly outlined against the horizon, you discern the empty frames of the wonderful astronomical instrumentsthat were once the glory of Peking, now adorning a Berlin museum, set upfor the German holiday-makers to gape at. After all, there arediscordant notes in Peking. 

Down in the streets there is plenty of life and variety. Mongol andManchu and Chinese jostle each other in the dust or mud of the broadhighways. The swift rickshaws thread their way through the throng withamazing dexterity. Here the escort of a great official clatters by, withjingling swords and flutter of tassels, there a long train of camelsfresh from the desert blocks the road. The trim European victoria, inwhich sits the fair wife of a Western diplomat, fresh as a flower in hersummer finery, halts side by side with the heavy Peking cart, its curvedmatting top framing the gay dress and gayer faces of some Manchu women. And the kaleidoscopic scene moves against a background of shops andhouses gay with paint and gilding. The life, the colour, the noise arebewildering; your head begins to swim. And then you look away from itall to the great wall. There it stands, massive, aloof, untouched by thepetty life at its foot. And you think of all it has looked upon; whattales of men and their doings it could tell. And you ask the firstEuropean you meet, or the last, --it is always the same, --about the placeand its history, and he says, "Oh, yes, Peking is full of historicalmemorials which you must not fail to see"; but they always turn out tobe the spots made famous in the siege of the legations. To the averageEuropean, Peking's history begins in 1900; you cannot get away from thattime, and after a while you tire of it, and you tire, too, of all thebustle and blaze of colour. And you climb again to the top of the wallthat seems to belong to another world, and you look off toward the greatbreak in the hills, to Nankow, the Gate of the South. On the other sidethe road leads straight away to the Mongolian uplands where the windsblow, and to the wide, empty spaces of the desert. 

So you turn your back upon Peking, and the railway takes you to Kalganon the edge of the great plateau. It is only one hundred and twenty-fivemiles away, but you spend nearly a whole day in the train, for you areclimbing all the way. And time does not matter, for it is interesting tosee what the Chinese can do in railway building and railway managing, all by themselves. The Kalgan-Peking railway was the first thing of thekind constructed by the Chinese, and the engineer in chief, Chang-Tien-You, did the work so well (he was educated in America, one ofthe group that came in the early seventies) that he was later put incharge of the railway that was to be built from Canton northwards. Itseems to be an honest piece of work; at any rate, the stations had asubstantial look. 

At the grand mountain gateway of Nankow you pass under the Great Wall, which crosses the road at right angles, and as you slowly steam acrossthe plateau on the outer side, you see it reappearing from time to timelike a huge snake winding along the ridges. Old wall, new railway; whichwill serve China best? One sought to keep the world out, the othershould help to create a Chinese nation that will not need to fear theworld. 

My first impression of Kalgan was of a modern European station, and manylines of rails; my last and most enduring, the kindness of the Westerndweller in the East to the stray Westerner of whose doings he probablydisapproves. Between these two impressions I had only time to gain apassing glimpse of the town itself. It is a busy, dirty place, enclosedin high walls, and cut in two by the rapid Ta Ho. A huddle of palaces, temples, banks lies concealed behind the mud walls that hem in thenarrow lanes, for Kalgan has been for many years an important tradingcentre, and through here passes the traffic across the Gobi Desert. Inthe dirty, open square crowded with carts are two or three incongruousWestern buildings, for the foreigner and his ways have found the townout. Of the small European community, missionaries of differentnationalities and Russians of various callings form the largest groups. The energetic British American Tobacco Company also has itsrepresentatives here, who were my most courteous hosts during my twodays' stay. 

Kalgan stands hard-by the Great Wall; here China and Mongolia meet, andthe two races mingle in its streets. Nothing now keeps them in or out, but the barrier of a great gulf is there. Behind you lie the depressingheat and the crowded places of the lowlands. Before you is the untaintedair, the emptiness of Mongolia. You have turned your back on thewalled-in Chinese world, walled houses, walled towns, walled empire; youlook out on the great spaces, the freedom of the desert. 

CHAPTER XII

THE MONGOLIAN GRASSLAND

My stay in Peking was not all pleasure and sight-seeing, for it wasnecessary to decide there upon the next steps. Within a few weeks Iwould have to be on the Siberian railway homeward bound. Should I spendthe time left me in seeing Shantung, the Sacred Province, with all ithad of interest to offer, or should I make a hurried run through thedebatable land of Manchuria? One or the other seemed the natural thingto do, but I had an uneasy feeling that either would mean conventionaltravel, so far as that is possible in China, railways, and maybe hotels. Then Shantung is now a much-visited country, while Manchuria, dominatedby Russia and Japan, was hardly likely to offer "an open door" toanything more than the most cut-and-dried guidebook travel. 

But Mongolia seemed to afford a way out of my doubts. Post-roads andtrade-routes crossed the country from the Great Wall, sooner or laterstriking the Siberian railway near Lake Baikal. That would set meforward some five days on the overland journey to Moscow, cutting offjust so much of railway travel, and as far as I could learn there wereno hotels, not even Chinese inns, in Mongolia, so I would not need tofear being too comfortable. But above all, there was the charm in thevery word Mongolia. Out of that great, little known plateau, almost aslarge as all of China proper, had come in days past horde upon horde ofsavage warriors, the scourge of God, the terror of the West, carryingnorth and south, from Peking to Budapest, from the Volga to the Hugli, their victorious banners. What was the land that bred such a race? Whatof the Mongols nowadays? Even a few weeks would tell me something. 

Having made up my mind to go, I set about learning the how and thewhere, with the usual results; much advice asked and unasked of a verycontradictory sort. The American Legation with fine courtesy offered nocounsel, but gave every possible help, securing for me the proper visésfor my passports, even speeding the wheels of the slow-moving Wai-wu-puso that I might not be delayed. The matter of getting a servant provedrather difficult. One who was proposed declined to go with a lady, forhe "would have to be braver than she"; others were daunted by the soundof Mongolia; but finally, through the kind help of Captain Reeves, theAmerican military attaché, I got hold of my invaluable Wang, interpreter, cook, and general factotum in one, and faithfullest ofChinese. Dr. Morrison, the famous _Times_ correspondent, gave memuch-needed encouragement at just the right moment. He had long hopedto do it himself, he said, and of course I could do it; and speaking ofhis own recent extended trip the length of Mongolia and ChineseTurkestan, he flung out a remark which was very comforting to my soul:Did I not hate to have people tell me that I could not do a thing, thatit was too difficult or too dangerous? If they would only stop withgiving you the facts as they knew them, and keep their opinions tothemselves. Well, I thought, if people dare to tell Dr. Morrison what hecan and cannot do, I must not mind if I am treated in the same way. 

But I needed to take that comfort to my heart more than once in thosedays. A request for some bit of information so often met with no facts, but simply the stern remark that it was not a thing for a woman to do. And when I did get precise statements they could not all be facts, theywere so very contradictory. I could go from Kalgan to Urga in eighteendays; I must allow twenty-four or thirty; it usually took thirty days tothe railway; I must not expect to do it under forty-five. I must buyponies to cross from Kalgan; camels were the only thing to use; nocamels could be had in summer. Beyond Urga I must hire a droshky; theonly way to travel was by steamer; I could never stand a cart; I couldnever sit so many hours in the saddle. There would be no water; I couldnot drink it if there were. The weather would be intolerably hot; Imust expect snowstorms and sandstorms; there would be heavy rains makinggoing impossible. My transport would give out; my men would desert me;brigands would waylay and rob my caravan. 

One gentleman to whom I wrote began his reply by saying that he answeredmy inquiries "with much pleasure"; and then continued, "Frankly, I donot think the trip from Kalgan to Urga should be taken by a lady aloneat any time. " Then followed ten good reasons why I should not go, andfirst and foremost that I should have to leave behind me all inns, andwould have to camp out. 

That settled it. There was nothing I should be so glad to leave behindas inns, and for months I had been longing to sleep in a tent. So I fellto making my preparations with good heart. But the enemy had not reachedthe end of his resources (the enemy was usually a well-bred, intelligentEuropean or American with charming manners and the kindest intentions. )An English officer just returned from Mongolia assured me I could neverget my dog across, the savage Mongol brutes would tear him in pieces;but I knew my dog and he did not, so I put that aside. The last shot wasthe hardest to meet: "It will not be worth while. " Almost I gave in, butI had reached the pig-headed stage, and I could not, though I wantedto. 

And now the crossing of Mongolia is a thing of the past, and I am notprepared to deny anything that any one asserted about the journey, onlysomehow I managed to slip through between all the dangers anddifficulties. I did the trip from wall to railway, not counting thestops I made for my own pleasure, in twenty-eight days; the weather wasgenerally a joy, and I bade my Mongols good-bye in Urga with realregret. I had no troubles, I met with no accidents, and it was worthwhile--for once. 

It is surprising how well one gets on with makeshifts. As Peking is nota treaty port there are few European shops, and it would seem asunsatisfactory a place for making up a camping-outfit as Hong Kong wassatisfactory, but with the help of kind friends I managed to gettogether something that would pass muster. There were the usual stores, but with much more in the way of tinned meat and smoked fish than I tookin West China, for there would be no handy fowls along our road acrossMongolia, only now and then a sheep; and, as always, I laid in a fairsupply of jam. I understand now why England sent tons of jam to the armyin South Africa; the fruitiness of it is most refreshing when freshfruit and vegetables are short. But of all my supplies, nothing provedso comforting as two bottles of lime juice and a tin of so-called grapenuts. The latter mixed with milk helped out the early starts when thefuel was so damp that a fire was out of the question, while the limejuice made drinkable the roiliest and warmest water. The only time whenI felt like losing my temper with good Wang was when he smashed the lastbottle. I had to gallop off to keep from saying things. By good luck Isucceeded in hiring an old American army saddle, and it proved just whatI wanted. There is nothing like that sort of saddle for long tours onhorseback, easy for rider and beast. 

The question of money required careful planning; it always does inout-of-the-way travel; but finally, through the kindness of theofficials of the Russo-Asiatic Bank, everything was arranged. I woulduse little money in crossing the desert, and of course the less Icarried the better, but a good sum must be forthcoming when I reachedUrga and the railway, so the bank furnished me with drafts on the nativebanks and their own branches, and I had no difficulty, while from PekingI carried dollars and taels to meet expenses at the start. I felt likePilgrim freed from his burden, to be quit of carrying a lot of smallchange, for a dollar's worth of cash is almost twenty pounds in weight. 

Fortunately my arrangements were so complete when I arrived in Kalganthat during my two days' wait for letters I had little to do, for myvarious activities in Peking, combined with the damp heat, had ratherdone me up, and I was glad to take my ease while my kind young host ofthe British American Tobacco Company turned the place upside down in hisefforts to provide for the comfort of my journey. My saddle wasoverhauled, a charming saddle-cloth of Mongolian work was supplied, agreat package of cigarettes put up to cheer my men on the road, and forme a box of soda water. 

One very important thing had been omitted from my stores. I hadneglected to bring onions and potatoes from Peking, most desirablesupplies in the country for which I was starting, a land where nothingis grown; and neither potatoes nor onions were to be had in Kalgan. Evenmy host could not help; he was out of them himself. But when I bewailedthe omission to resourceful Wang he looked wise and said quietly, "Madamwants potatoes and onions; she shall have potatoes and onions"; and Ihad, a good bag of each, and such fine ones that a missionary lady, seeing my supplies, asked if she might inquire of my "boy" where he hadgot them; never had she seen the like in Kalgan. I hope she found out; Idid not. Most likely it was one of those back-stair arrangements commonin the East, and I hope no Chinese official or Russian merchant had togo short because of it, but I am sure my need was greater than his. Theytell a delightful story in Peking of an occasion when a group of youngmen attached to a certain legation, as student interpreters, wishing togive a dinner party found themselves short of silver, but the servantsrose to the situation, and when the night came the dinner table wasresplendent with massive silver decorated with the armorial bearingsof--another legation. 

Just before I left Kalgan my larder was enriched from another andunexpected source. Thanks to the friendly introduction of an Americangentleman in Peking, His Excellency, Hou Wei Têh, the SeniorVice-President of the Wai-wu-pu, most courteously sent instructions toChinese officials along my route, especially at Kalgan and Urga, to giveme every assistance. And soon after my arrival in Kalgan three officialsof the Bureau of Foreign Affairs made me a formal call, and the next daythey came again, followed by a coolie bearing a basket of stores whichproved to be of great value before my journey was over. One feels rathershabby at accepting courtesies for which one can make no return. I didmy best by writing appreciative letters to all concerned, beginning withHis Excellency, the Senior Vice-President. I hope he got the letter, butthe next thing I heard of His Excellency was his sudden appearance overthe wall of the American Mission Compound at Peking, fleeing before themutinous soldiers. 

On the morning of July 26, I was rumbling over the broken pavements ofKalgan streets in a Peking cart guided by the trusty Mongol of a friend, and escorted by soldiers sent by the Foreign Office. My kit was packedin around me, or I should certainly have whacked my brains out againstthe sides of the cover. As it was, my hair came down, my hat rolled fromside to side, and it was a miracle that anything stayed in the cart. AndI did not long, for as soon as we were outside the walls and making ourway along the dry bed of the Sha Shin Ho, I jumped out, and for most ofthat day I either walked or rode the Mongol's pony. A Peking cart mayhave other and better uses, but as an instrument of torture it isunrivalled. Just as the thing was in Marco Polo's time, so it is to-day. You crawl in on hands and knees, and then painfully screw yourselfround, and so sit cross-legged, or with feet outstretched if there isroom, your head only escaping the top as you crane your neck to catchthe view or to get a bit of fresh air. The driver sitting on the shaftshas much the best of it, and more than once I joined him, --veryunsuitable, of course. 

The main trails that cross Mongolia from Kalgan to Urga are two. One, the longer and better known, tends a little to the west, and is calledby various names, the "Mandarin Road" or "Relay" or "Cart Road. " Alongits course are markets and Mongol settlements, and there are post orrelay stations at regular intervals. Hence it is preferred by theChinese caravan men as well as by the great, or those in a hurry, whouse relays. The other, known as the "Camel Road, " turns northward fromKalgan and after a hundred miles takes a northwestward course to Urga. There are no Mongol settlements after you have passed the fringe ofvillages bordering the Great Wall, and wells are few and far between, but it is one hundred miles shorter than the more western route, and byso much the better for those who go through with the same animals. Muchof the way is marked by the telegraph wire that now stretches its manymiles across the desert, but it would be rather unwise to trust entirelyto this guidance, for at times it leads where only winged things canfollow, and above all it never swerves to point out the wells along theway, and missing one you might not reach another for twenty-four hours, or perhaps never. As I was neither hurried nor privileged, I chose thisroad. 

Over one or the other of these trails pass thousands of carts and cameltrains each year, carrying north or south tea and cloth and notions andhides and furs, to the value of many millions of taels. But most ofMongolia's exports go on their own feet, ponies or cattle or sheep. 

Under the treaties of 1858 and 1860 a post-route between the Russianfrontier and Kalgan was established, and in spite of the competingrailway through Manchuria, a horse-post still crosses the desert threetimes a month each way. The Mongols who are employed for the work gothrough from city to city in seven days, galloping all the way, withfrequent changes of horses and, less frequent, of men. And once a montha parcels-post makes its slow way across, guarded by Cossacks. 

Just why the Russians persist in this costly and slower method offorwarding mails when the railway would do it in about half the time, Icannot understand. One reason given me was that they might not care totrust their mails to the Japanese, who control the southern section ofthe Manchurian railway. And in case of trouble between the two powersthe Russians might find it convenient to have a connection of their ownwith China. It seemed to me more like a part of Russia's plan of"peaceful penetration, " of extending her influence over Mongolia even tothe Great Wall. Kalgan seems already an outpost of Russia, with itsgroups of Russian merchants, its Russian church, bank, post-office, andconsulate, one as much as the other representative of the White Tsar. 

Toward the end of the first day from Kalgan we passed under the towerswhich are all that is left here of the Great Wall, save the pile ofstones which marks the line where it stood. Built of mud faced withstone, it has crumbled away, leaving the solid masonry towers standinglike giant sentinels to guard the road. 

Here I stood face to face with another world. China lay behind me andbelow, for we had risen some fifteen hundred feet since leaving Kalgan. Before me stretched the great Mongolian plateau. The wind that cooled myface had blown over thousands of miles of prairie and desert. The longlines of stately, shambling camels, the great droves of sheep herded bywild-looking men on sturdy little ponies told of an open country. Eachmile led deeper and deeper into the rolling grassland and the barrenwaste of Gobi, and between me and the next town lay nearly seven hundredmiles of treeless plain and barren sand. 

For four days we were crossing the grassland, wide stretches of gentlyundulating country covered with thick rich grass; wave upon wave itrolled like a great ocean up to the ramparts of China. As far as the eyecould reach there was nothing but living green untouched by plough orspade, unbroken save where little lines of settlement stretched likeclutching fingers into the sea of grass, the menacing advance of theChinese, the tillers of the soil. 

Much of the time I walked; the air of the uplands almost carried mealong, and it was joy to feel my feet on real grass once more. Over theopen country short cuts were easy to find, and I generally kept inadvance of the others. The groups of Mongols hurrying to the towngreeted me in friendly fashion; the look of the desert was in theirfaces, bold, hardy, burnt, and lined by sun and wind and biting cold. Like and yet unlike the Tibetans I had seen in Tachienlu, they wereslighter of build and gayer and more open of expression; they attractedme as the others had repelled me. Scrambling over the grassy slopes, Imore than once lost my way, but some Mongol always turned up to put mestraight. 

Our first stops at noon and at night were at wayside inns built muchlike a Turkish khan on two or three sides of an enclosure of mud andstones, and furnished with a strong gate. At one, the small private roomoff a large common hall was given to me and to a neat-looking Chinesewoman who apparently was travelling alone and on horseback. Two thirdsof the room was taken up by a "kang, " or plaster furnace, raised somethree feet above the floor, and on this our beds were spread. But thatwas my last sight of a house for many a day; henceforth there wasnothing but tents and "yurts. "

Our stop the next night was at a small Mongol settlement of severalyurts. One of these was vacated for me. Judging from those I stayed inlater, it was unusually large and clean. 

[Illustration: A POOR MONGOL FAMILY AND YURT]

Here I was in the unchanging East, if it be anywhere to-day. More thansix centuries ago an observant Venetian passed this way, and his briefdescription of a Mongol abode fits as well now as it did then. "Theirhuts or tents, " says Marco Polo, "are formed of rods covered with felt, and being exactly round and neatly put together, they can gather theminto one bundle. " But since his description is so brief, it may besupplemented by a more modern traveller, genial Abbé Huc, whose visitdates back only sixty-five years:--

"The Mongol tent, for about three feet from the ground, is cylindricalin form. It then becomes conical, like a pointed hat. The woodwork ofthe tent is composed below of a trellis-work of crossed bars, which foldup and expand at pleasure. Above these, a circle of poles, fixed in thetrellis-work, meets at the top, like the sticks of an umbrella. Over thewoodwork is stretched, once or twice, a thick covering of coarse linen, and thus the tent is composed. The door, which is always a folding door, is low and narrow. A beam crosses it at the bottom by way of threshold, so that on entering you have at once to raise your feet and lower yourhead. Besides the door there is another opening at the top of the tentto let out the smoke. This opening can at any time be closed with apiece of felt, fastened above it in the tent, which can be pulled overit by means of a string, the end of which hangs by the door. Theinterior is divided into two compartments; that on the left, as youenter, is reserved for the men, and thither the visitors proceed. Anyman who should enter on the right side would be considered excessivelyrude. The right compartment is occupied by the women, and there youfind the culinary utensils: large earthen vessels of glazed earth, wherein to keep the store of water; trunks of trees, of different sizes, hollowed into the shape of pails, and destined to contain thepreparations of milk, in the various forms which they make it undergo. In the centre of the tent is a large trivet, planted in the earth, andalways ready to receive the large iron, bell-shaped cauldron that standsby, ready for use. "

And that is just what I found, but the tent covering was always of felt, not linen, and there were often two tents, one for the men and one forthe women, instead of a tent with two divisions; and alas, more oftenthan not, the hollow tree trunk was replaced by Standard Oil tins. Butas the Mongol lived in Marco Polo's time, and Huc's, so he does still, and so he will continue to live until Chinese colonization or Russianrule forces him to give up his nomadic ways and settle down andcultivate the soil. 

Around the yurt gathered women and children, dogs and calves. They werefriendly, almost too much so, and the women interested me as much as Idid them. All alike were clad in long, shapeless woollen garments thatmight have been any colour, so grimy were they, but the dirt and rags oftheir dress only set off the more the splendour of their headgear; abroad bandeau, elaborately fashioned of silver and set with brightstones, turquoise, and coral, encircled the head, and from this hunglong chains and pendants falling to the shoulders. This is the woman'sdowry, with which she never parts, wearing it apparently day and night. The women themselves, in spite of the dirt, were good-looking; fineeyes, rather good though heavy features, a skin darkened by the sun andwind, gave them the look of peasants of southern Europe. In bearing theywere much gayer and more unconstrained than the Chinese. 

Mongolia, the land of many names, with a great past and perhaps with afuture, but to-day merely a pawn in the world's game, is a great plateaurising some four thousand feet above the sea, the eastern extension ofthe T'ien-Shan, or "Heavenly Mountains. " It stretches east and westnearly two thousand miles, but its north and south width is only aboutnine hundred. In the central part of the plateau is a huge depressionwhich the Mongol calls Gobi, the "Desert, " or Shamo, the "Great Sand, "and the Chinese, Han-Hai, or "Rainless Sea. " To the north the high landrises and breaks into the wooded hills and mountains of the Altai Range, and there are many streams, most of them finding their way sooner orlater into the Amur. To the south the land rolls in great grassy wavesup to the foot of the mountain barrier along the Chinese frontier, butthe forests have all been swept away, and the few streams quickly losethemselves in the ground. Over most of the seven hundred miles betweenKalgan and Urga there are no trees save half a dozen scrub elms, and theonly rivers are the Sha Ho, or "Rivers of Sand. " But the grassland, after the summer rains have set in, is like the rolling prairies of theWest, and even in Gobi there are only about fifty miles quite withoutvegetation. Elsewhere there is a sparse growth of coarse scrub broken bystretches of rock and sand. 

In crossing Gobi one sees here and there a marsh or shallow salt lake, telling of a different climate in a bygone time, but to-day the passingcaravan depends on wells of varying depth, and found at irregularintervals, --ten, twenty, even fifty miles apart. They date back beyondthe tradition of living men, and each has its name and character. Insome the water is never-failing, in others it quickly runs dry. Occasionally it is slightly brackish, but usually it is clear and cold. Without these wells the three hundred miles of Gobi would impose analmost impassable barrier between North and South Mongolia. As it is, the desert takes its toll from the passing caravan; thirst, hunger, heat, and cold count their victims among the animals by thousands, andthe way is marked by their bleaching bones. 

This great, featureless, windswept plateau keeps but a scantypopulation of less than three millions. On the northern and southernborders a few among the people have adopted the settled ways of theChinese; but elsewhere they live as their fathers lived before them, their fields the land where the flocks are grazing, their home the spotwhere the yurts are temporarily set up. Nomads they are, but withindefinite limits, moving no long distance nor very often. Over them ruletheir native princes or khans, subject, up to last year, nominally toChina; but Chinese interference has mostly been confined to the exactionof a tribute--and a good part of that stuck to the fingers of theprinces through whose hands it passed--and to occasional demand forpolice or military service. The head of the Chinese administration is orwas the Amban at Urga, and his duties seemed to consist in looking afterthe Chinese traders there and keeping a watchful eye on the LivingBuddha, the spiritual and maybe now the political head of Mongolia. Butin spite of his many rulers, or perhaps because of them, the Mongolseems to know little of the evils or benefits of government. It is faraway, it does little for him, but in turn its demands are small. 

The Mongol's wealth consists in his herds; horses, cattle, sheep, camels. In our sense he owns no land, but if he digs a well, which, Ibelieve, he rarely does, he has certain rights over it, and his claimsto the water and grass near his yurt should be respected. His friendshave to admit that the Mongol is lazy. His chief duty is to keep an eyeon his herds, but mostly they take care of themselves. Each drove ofhorses is in the charge of a stallion which looks sharply after themares, fighting savagely with any other stallion which attempts to jointhe herd. I am told that the owner only needs to count his stallions tobe sure that all the mares have come home. There is almost nothing ofMongolian manufacture, --just rugs and felt and saddles; and most of thework is done by the women. Nor does the Mongol till the soil; nothing isfound growing near his yurt. Unlike the rice-eating people just acrossthe Great Wall, his diet is almost wholly meat, and milk in some form orother, --cheese, curds, koumiss. The tea which he drinks in enormousquantities, so that even my "boy" opened his eyes, is brought by theChinese traders. 

The Mongol has great endurance; days in the saddle are nothing to him, and he sleeps as soundly on his camel as on the ground. Nor does he seemto mind heat or cold. I have seen them wearing sheepskin coats in theblazing summer sun, and at night the men on the march would throwthemselves down without a rug or mat under the open sky, and the nightswere often cold. If he must, the Mongol can go a long time withouteating, but when the chance comes he is a great glutton, boltingenormous quantities of half-cooked meat. Drunkenness, I am told, is aMongol failing. By preference he gets drunk on whiskey; failing that, ona sort of arrack of soured mare's milk. On the other hand, the opiumhabit does not seem to have crossed the frontier. Very rarely is aMongol addicted to that. But they all smoke tobacco, --men, women, andchildren, --just as they all ride. To appreciate the Mongol you must seehim on horseback, --and indeed you rarely see him otherwise, for he doesnot put foot to ground if he can help it. The Mongol without his pony isonly half a Mongol, but with his pony he is as good as two men. It is afine sight to see him tearing over the plain, loose bridle, easy seat, much like the Western cowboy, but with less sprawl. 

The Mongol of to-day is the degenerate son of the conquering warriors ofa thousand years ago. Once his name carried terror to the shores of theMidland Sea. Now those who do not like him can say with some truth thathe lives the life of an animal, mating rather than marrying, his warlikespirit gone, his home a lair, his chief pleasures gorging and gettingdrunk; but those who do like him--and they are the ones who know himbest--declare he is a good fellow, gay, good-tempered, independent, hospitable. 

CHAPTER XIII

ACROSS THE DESERT OF GOBI

Toward the end of the third day from Kalgan we were following a blindtrail among low, grass-covered hills, all about us beautiful pasturelanddotted over with herds of horses and cattle. A sharp turn in the roadrevealed a group of yurts like many that we had passed, but two khakitents a little at one side showed the European, and in a few minutes Ifound myself among the new friends that so speedily become old friendsin the corners of the world. 

Here I was to make the real start for my journey across the desert, andby good luck it turned out that one member of the little settlement, aman wise in ways Mongolian, was leaving the next morning for a trip intothe heart of Mongolia, and if I went on at once we could journeytogether for the two or three days that our ways coincided. There wasnothing to detain me, fortunately, and by noon the next day I was againon the road. 

I looked with some complacency at my compact but wholly adequate littlecaravan. My luggage, including a capacious Chinese cotton tent, wasscientifically stowed away in a small Russian baggage cart, a strong, rough, two-wheeled affair drawn by two ponies, and driven by the Mongolwho was to guide me to Urga. My boy bestrode rather gingerly a strong, wiry little Mongol pony, of the "buckskin" sort, gay with Western saddleand red cloth. Wang bravely said he would do his best to ride the ponywhen I did not care to use him, but he added pathetically that he hadnever before mounted anything save a donkey. As for me, I sat proudly inan American buggy, a "truly" one, brought from the United States toTientsin and then overland to Kalgan. It was destined for a Mongolprince in Urga, and I was given the honour of taking it across thedesert. There are various ways of crossing Mongolia, in the saddle, bypony, or camel cart; one and all are tiring; the desert takes its tollof the body and the spirit. But here was a new way, and if comfort inGobi is obtainable it is in an American buggy; and with a pony forchange, no wonder I faced the desert without dismay. 

The combined caravans looked very imposing as we moved off. All told, wewere one Swede, one American, one Chinese, seven Mongols, one Irishman(Jack), and twelve horses. Three of the Mongols were lamas, the restwere laymen, or "black men, " so called from their unshorn black hairworn in a queue. They were all dressed much alike, although one of thelamas had clothes of the proper red colour, and all rode their sturdyponies well, mounted on high-peaked saddles. 

After the first day we fell into our regular course, an early start atsix o'clock or so, long halt at noon, when tents were set up, and allrested while the horses grazed, and then on again until the sun wentdown below the horizon. During the hotter hours I took my ease in thebuggy, but in the early morning, and at the end of the day I rode. TheMongols were gay young fellows, taking a kindly interest in my doings. One, the wag of the party, was bent on learning to count in English, andeach time he came by me he chanted his lesson over, adding number afternumber until he reached twenty. The last few miles before getting intocamp was the time for a good race. Then, riding up with thumbs held highin greeting, they would cry to me "San?" ("All right?") and answeringback "San!" I touch my horse and we are off. Oh, the joy of thosegallops with the horsemen of the desert! For the moment you are mad. Your nomad ancestors--we all have them--awake in you, and it is touchand go but you turn your back forever on duties and dining, on all thebonds and frills that we have entangled ourselves in--and then youremember, and go sadly to bed. 

The weather was delightful; whatever there might be in store for me, thepresent was perfect. A glorious dawn, no severe heat but for a shorttime in the middle of the day, which cooled off rapidly in the lateafternoon, the short twilight ending in cold, starlit nights. The wonderof those Mongolian nights! My tent was always pitched a little apartfrom the confusion of the camp, and lying wrapped in rugs in my narrowcamp-bed before the doors open to the night wind, I fell asleep in thesilence of the limitless space of the desert, and woke only as the starswere fading in the sky. 

[Illustration: JACK AND HIS LAMA FRIEND]

[Illustration: MY CARAVAN ACROSS MONGOLIA]

At first we were still in the grassland; the rolling country was coveredwith a thick mat of grass dotted with bright flowers, and yurts and menand herds abounded. Happenings along the road were few. The dogs alwaysrushed out from the yurts to greet us. They looked big and savage, andat first, mindful of warnings, I kept close guard over Jack; but heheeded them as little as he had the Chinese curs, and hardly deigned aglance as he trotted gaily along by the horses who had captured hisIrish heart. Once we stopped to buy a pony, and secured a fine "calico"one, unusually large and strong. Again a chance offered to get a sheep, not always possible even though thousands are grazing on the prairie, for a Mongol will sell only when he has some immediate use for money. The trade once made, it took only a short time to do the rest, --to kill, to cut up, to boil in a big pot brought for the purpose, to eat. 

Two hundred miles from Kalgan we passed the telegraph station ofPongkiong manned by two Chinese. It is nothing but a little woodenbuilding with a bit of a garden. The Chinese has his garden as surely asthe Englishman, only he spends his energy in growing things to eat. Atlong intervals, two hundred miles, these stations are found all the wayto Urga and always in the charge of Chinese, serviceable, alien, homesick. It must be a dreary life set down in the desert withoutneighbours or visitors save the roving Mongol whom the Chinese look downon with lofty contempt. Indeed, they have no use for him save as a birdto be plucked, and plucked the poor nomad is, even to his last feather. It is not the Chinese Government but the Chinese people that oppress theMongol, making him ready to seek relief anywhere. Playing upon his twogreat weaknesses, lack of thrift and love of drink, the wandering traderplies the Mongol with whiskey, and then, taking advantage of hisbefuddled wits, gets him to take a lot of useless things at cut-throatprices--but no bother about paying, that can be settled any time. Onlywhen pay-day comes the debts, grown like a rolling snowball, must bemet, and so horses and cattle, the few pitiful heirlooms, are swallowedup, and the Mongol finds himself afoot and out of doors, another enemyof Chinese rule. 

Whenever we halted near yurts, the women turned out to see me, invadingmy tent, handling my things. They seemed to hold silk in high esteem. Mysilk blouses were much admired, and when they investigated far enough todiscover that I wore silk "knickers, " their wonder knew no bounds. Inturn they were always keen to show their treasures, especially of coursetheir headdresses, which were sometimes very beautiful, costing fifty, one hundred, or two hundred taels. 

A wife comes high in Mongolia, and divorce must be paid for. A man'sparents buy him a wife, paying for her a good sum of money which isspent in purchasing her headgear. If a husband is dissatisfied with hisbargain he may send his wife home, but she takes her dowry with her. Iam told the woman's lot is very hard, and that I can readily believe: itgenerally is among poor and backward peoples; but she did not appear tome the downtrodden slave she is often described. On the contrary, sheappeared as much a man as her husband, smoking, riding astride, managingthe camel trains with a dexterity equal to his. Her household carescannot be very burdensome, no garden to tend, no housecleaning, simplecooking and sewing; but by contrast with the man she is hard-working. Vanity is nowise extinct in the feminine Mongol, and, let all commercialtravellers take note, I was frequently asked for soap, and nothingseemed to give so much pleasure as when I doled out a small piece. Perhaps in time even the Mongol will look clean. Asiatics as a rule knowlittle about soap; they clean their clothes by pounding, and themselvesby rubbing; but sometimes they put an exaggerated value upon it. AKashmir woman, seeing herself in a mirror side by side with the fairface of an English friend of mine, sighed, "If I had such good soap asyours I too would be white. "

But there is a good deal to be said against washing, at least one'sface, when crossing Gobi. The dry, scorching winds burn and blister theskin, and washing makes things worse, and besides you are sometimesshort of water; so for a fortnight my face was washed by the rains ofheaven (if at all), and my hair certainly looked as though it werecombed by the wind, for between the rough riding and the stiff breezesthat sweep over the plateau, it was impossible to keep tidy. But, thanksto Wang, I could always maintain a certain air of respectability inputting on each morning freshly polished shoes. 

Of wild life I saw little; occasionally we passed a few antelope, andtwice we spied wolves not far off. These Mongolian wolves are big andsavage, often attacking the herds, and one alone will pull down a goodhorse or steer. The people wage more or less unsuccessful war upon themand at times they organize a sort of battue. Men, armed with lassoes, are stationed at strategic points, while others, routing the wolvesfrom their lair, drive them within reach. Sand grouse were plentiful, half running, half flying before us as we advanced, and when we werewell in the desert we saw eagles in large numbers, and farther north themarmots abounded, in appearance and ways much like prairie dogs. 

At first there were herds on every side. I was struck by the number ofwhite and grey ponies, and was told that horses are bred chiefly for themarket in China, and this is the Chinese preference. Cattle and sheepare numbered by thousands, but I believe these fine pasture lands couldmaintain many more. Occasionally we saw camels turned loose for thesummer grazing; they are all of the two-humped Bactrian sort, and canendure the most intense winter cold, but the heat of the summer tellsupon them severely, and when used in the hot season, it is generallyonly at night. 

From time to time we passed long baggage trains, a hundred or moretwo-wheeled carts, each drawn by a bullock attached to the tail of thewagon in front. They move at snail's pace, perhaps two miles an hour, and take maybe eight weeks to make the trip across the desert. Once wemet the Russian parcels-post, a huge heavily laden cart drawn by a cameland guarded by Cossacks mounted on camels, their uniforms and smartwhite visored caps looking very comical on the top of their shamblingsteeds. Most of the caravans were in charge of Chinese, and theythronged about us if a chance offered to inspect the strange trap;especially the light spider wheels aroused their interest. They tried tolift them, measured the rim with thumb and finger, investigated thesprings, their alert curiosity showing an intelligence that I missed inthe Mongols, to whom we were just a sort of travelling circus, honoursbeing easy between the buggy, and Jack and me. 

We were now in the Gobi. The rich green of the grassland had given wayto a sparse vegetation of scrub and tufts of coarse grass and weeds, andthe poor horses were hard put to get enough, even though they grazed allnight. The country, which was more broken and seamed with gullies andrivers of sand, Sha Ho, had taken on a hard, sunbaked, repellent look, brightened only by splendid crimson and blue thistles. The wells werefarther apart, and sometimes they were dry, and there were anxious hourswhen we were not sure of water for ourselves, still less for the horses. One well near a salt lake was rather brackish. This lake is a landmarkin the entire region round; it seems to be slowly shrinking, and manycaravans camp here to collect the salt, which is taken south. Theweather, too, had changed; the days were hotter and dryer, but thenights were cool and refreshing always. 

For eleven days we saw no houses but the two telegraph stations, saveonce early in the morning when we came without warning upon a lamasserythat seemed to start up out of the ground; the open desert hides as wellas reveals. It was a group of flat-roofed, whitewashed buildings, onelarger than the rest, all wrapped in silence. There was no sign of lifeas we passed except a red lama who made a bright spot against the whitewall, and a camel tethered in a corner, and it looked very solitary anddesolate, set down in the middle of the great, empty, dun-colouredplain. 

I had now separated from my travelling companions, cheering the friendlyMongols with some of my bountiful supply of cigarettes. As they rode offthey gave me the Mongol greeting, "Peace go with you. " I should havebeen glad to have kept on the red lama to Urga, for he had been veryhelpful in looking after my wants, and had befriended poor Jack, who wasquite done up for a while by the hot desert sands; but I let him go wellpleased with a little bottle of boracic acid solution for his sore eyes. The Mongols, like so many Eastern peoples, suffer much from inflammationof the eyes, the result of dirt, and even more of the acrid argol smokefilling the yurts so that often I was compelled to take flight. I expectthe stern old Jesuit would say of them as he did of the Red Indian, "They pass their lives in smoke, eternity in flames. "

For about eight days we were crossing the desert, one day much likeanother. Sometimes the track was all up and down: we topped a swell ofground only to see before us another exactly like it. Then for manymiles together the land was as flat and as smooth as a billiard table, no rocks, no roll; and we chased a never-ending line of telegraph polesover a never-ending waste of sand. Another day we were traversing fromdawn till sundown an evil-looking land strewn with boulders and ribs ofrock, bleak, desolate, forbidding. 

Nowhere were there signs of life, nothing growing, nothing moving. Fordays together we saw no yurts, and more than one day passed without ourmeeting any one. Once there appeared suddenly on the white track beforeus a solitary figure, looking very pitiful in the great plain. When itcame near it fell on its face in the sand at our feet, begging for food. It was a Chinese returning home from Urga, walking all the seven hundredmiles across the desert to Kalgan. We helped him as best we could, buthe was not the only one. 

An old red lama, mounted on a camel and bound for Urga, kept near us fortwo or three days, sleeping at night with my men by the cart, andsometimes taking shelter under my tent at noon, where he sat quietly bythe hour smoking my cigarettes. He was a nice old fellow with pleasantways, nearly choking himself in efforts to make me understand howwonderful I was, travelling all alone, and what splendid sights I shouldbehold in Urga. 

And so time passed; tiring, monotonous days, refreshing, gloriousnights, and then toward the end of a long, weary afternoon I saw for amoment, faintly outlined in the blank northern horizon, a cloud? amountain? a rock? I hardly dared trust my eyes, and I looked again andagain. Yes, it was a mountain, a mountain of rocks just as I was told itwould loom up in front of me for a moment, and then disappear; and itdisappeared, and I rejoiced, for at its base the desert ended; beyondlay a land of grass and streams. 

We camped that evening just off the trail in a little grassy hollow. Inthe night rain fell, tapping gently on my tent wall, and for hours theremingled with the sound of the falling rain the dull clang of bells, as along bullock train crawled along in the dark on its way to Urga. 

The next day rose cloudless as before. My landmark could no longer beseen, but I knew it was not far off, "a great rock in a weary land, " andalready the air was fresher and the country seemed to have put on atinge of green. 

In the afternoon a little cavalcade of wild, picturesque-looking mendashed down upon us in true Mongol style, trailing the lasso poles asthey galloped. With a gay greeting they turned their horses about, andkept pace with us while they satisfied their curiosity. This was myfirst sight of the northern Mongol, who differs little from his brotherof the south, save that he is less touched by Chinese influence. Indress he is more picturesque, and the tall, peaked hat generally wornrecalled old-time pictures of the invading Mongol hordes. 

The great mountain had again come in sight, crouching like a huge beastof prey along the boulder-strewn plain. But where was the famouslamassery that lay at its foot? Threading our way through a wildernessof rock, heaped up in sharp confusion, we came out on a little ridge, and there before us lay Tuerin, --not a house but a village, built in andout among the rocks. It was an extraordinary sight to stumble upon, hereon the edge of the uninhabited desert. A little apart from the rest werefour large temples crowned with gilt balls and fluttering banners, andleading off from them were neat rows of small white plastered cottageswith red timbers, the homes of the two thousand lamas who live here. Thewhole thing had the look of a seaside camp-meeting resort. A few herdsof ponies were grazing near by, but there was no tilled land, and thesehundreds of lamas are supported in idleness by contributions extortedfrom the priest-ridden people. A group of them, rather repulsive-lookingmen, came out to meet us, or else to keep us off. As it was growinglate, and we had not yet reached our camping-place, I did not lingerlong. 

[Illustration: HORSEMEN OF THE DESERT, NORTH MONGOLIA]

We camped that night in the shadow of the mountain. The ground wascarpeted with artemisia, which when crushed gave out a pungent odouralmost overpowering. Before turning in we received a visit from aChinese trader who gave us a friendly warning to look out forhorse-thieves; he had lost a pony two nights back. Here, then, were thebrigands at last! For the next three nights we kept sharp watch, campingfar off the road and bringing the ponies in around my tent before wewent to sleep. One night, indeed, the two men took turns in sitting up. Fortunately my Chinese boy and the Mongol hit it off well, for theMongol will not stand bullying, and the Chinese is inclined to lord itover the natives. But Wang was a good soul, anxious to save me bother, and ready to turn his hand to anything, putting up tents, saddlingponies, collecting fuel, willing always to follow the Mongol'slead--save only in the matter of getting up in the morning. Then it wasWang who got us started each day, lighting the fire before he fell uponTchagan Hou and pulled him out of his sheepskin; but once up, the Mongoltook quiet and efficient control. 

At Tuerin country and weather changed. There was now abundance of grass, and the ponies could make up for the lean days past. Thousands ofcattle and sheep again gladdened our eyes, and the pony herds were asplendid sight; hundreds of beautiful creatures, mostly chestnut orblack, were grazing near the trail or galloping free with flowing maneand tail. 

We had been warned that the rainy season was setting in early, and forthree days we met storm after storm, delaying us for hours, sometimeskeeping us in camp a day or more. We stopped for tiffin the first dayjust in time to escape a drenching, and did not get away again until sixo'clock. As some Chinese pony traders had encamped alongside of us, andthere were two or three yurts not far away, I did not lack amusement. The Mongolian women camped down in my tent as soon as it was up, makingthemselves much at home. One was young and rather good-looking, and allwore the striking headdress of North Mongolia. Like that of the south, it was of silver, set with bright stones, but it was even more elaboratein design, and the arrangement of the hair was most extraordinary. Parted from brow to nape of the neck, the two portions were arranged inlarge plastered structures like ears on either side of the head; theseextended out almost to the width of the shoulder, and were kept in placeby bars of wood or silver, the two ends of hair being braided andbrought forward over the breast. This is the style of head-dressingadopted at marriage and rarely meddled with afterwards. The dress, too, of these northern Mongol women was striking. Over their usual loose, unbelted garment (the Mongol for "woman" means "unbelted one") they woreshort coats of blue cotton with red sleeves, and the tops of these wereso raised and stiffened that they almost raked the wearer's ears. Ontheir feet they had high leather boots just like their husbands', and ifthey wore a hat it was of the same tall, peaked sort. The sight of aMongol woman astride a galloping pony was not a thing to be forgotten;ears of hair flapping, high hat insecurely poised on top, silverornaments and white teeth flashing. 

It was nine o'clock before we camped that night, but we did not get offthe next day until afternoon because of the rain, and again it was ninein the evening when we pitched our tent in a charming little dellbeautiful with great thistles, blue with the blue of heaven in thelantern light. 

The next day I was getting a little desperate, and against Tchagan Hou'sadvice I decided to try bullying the weather, and when the rain came onagain I refused to stop. As a result we were all soaked through, andafter getting nearly bogged, all hands of us in a quagmire, I gave it upand we camped on the drenched ground, and there we stayed till themiddle of the next day--spending most of our time trying to get dry. Theargols were too wet to burn, but we made a little blaze with the woodof my soda-water box. For two days we had tried in vain to buy a sheep, and the men's provisions were running short. If it had not been for thegenerous gift of the Kalgan Foreign Office, we should have fared badly, but Mongols and Chinese alike seemed to be free from inconvenientprejudices, and my men, whom I called in to share the tent with me, feasted off tins of corned beef, bologna sausage, and smoked herring, washed down by bowls of Pacific Coast canned peaches and plums; and thenthey smoked; that comfort was always theirs, and if the fire burned atall, it smoked, too, and occasionally a drenched traveller stopped in tobe cheered with a handful of cigarettes. And then all curled up in theirsheepskins and slept away long hours, and I also slept on my littlecamp-bed, and outside the rain fell steadily. 

But at last a morning broke clear and brilliant; the rain was reallyover. The ponies looked full and fit after the good rest, and if allwent well we should be in Urga before nightfall. We were off at sunrise, and soon we entered a beautiful valley flanked on either hand byrespectable hills, their upper slopes clothed with real forests of pine. These were the first trees I had seen, except three dwarfed elms inGobi, since I left behind the poplars and willows of China. Yurts, herds, men were everywhere. Two Chinese that we met on the road stoppedto warn us that the river that flowed below Urga was very high andrising fast, hundreds of carts were waiting until the water went down, and they doubted if we could get across. This was not encouraging, butwe pushed on. It was plain that we were nearing the capital, for thescene grew more and more lively. At first I thought it must be aholiday; but, no, it was just the ordinary day's work, but all sopicturesque, so full of _élan_ and colour, that it was more like a playthan real life. 

Now a drove of beautiful horses dashed across the road, the herdsmen infull cry after them. Then we passed a train of camels, guided by twowomen mounted on little ponies. They had tied their babies to thecamels' packs, and seemed to have no difficulty in managing theirwayward beasts. Here a flock of sheep grazed peacefully in the deepgreen meadows beside the trail, undisturbed by a group of Mongolsgalloping townwards, lasso poles in hand, as though charging. Two womenin the charge of a yellow lama trotted sedately along, their quaintheaddresses flapping as they rode. Then we overtook three camels led byone man on a pony and prodded along by another, actually cantering, --Ifelt I must hasten, too, --but unhurried, undisturbed, scarcely makingroom for an official and his gay retinue galloping towards the capital, a bullock caravan from Kalgan in charge of half a dozen blue-coatedCelestials moved sedately along, slow, persistent, sure to gain the goalin good time, --that was China all over. 

And then the valley opened into a wide plain seamed by many rivers, andthere before us, on the high right bank of the Tola and facing BogdaOla, the Holy Mountain, lay Urga the Sacred, second to Lhasa only in theBuddhist world. 

But we were not there yet; between us and our goal flowed the riversthat criss-cross the valley, and the long lines of carts and horses andcamels and bullocks crowded on the banks bore out the tale of theChinese. We push on to the first ford; the river, brimming full, whirlsalong at a great rate, but a few carts are venturing in, and we venturetoo. Tchagan leads the way, I follow in the buggy, while the boy on thepony brings up the rear, Jack swimming joyously close by. The first timeis great fun, and so is the second, but the third is rather serious, forthe river gets deeper and the current swifter each time. The water isnow almost up to the floor of the buggy, and the horse can hardly keephis footing. I try to hold him to the ford, cheering him on at the topof my voice, but the current carries us far down before we can make theopposite bank. 

Four times we crossed, and then we reached a ford that seemedunfordable. Crowds are waiting, but no one crosses. Now and then someone tries it, only to turn back, and an overturned cart and a drownedhorse show the danger. But we decide to risk it, hiring two Mongols, alama and a "black man, " to guide our horses. One, on his own mount, takes the big cart horse by the head; the other, riding my pony, leadsthe buggy horse. Wang comes in with me and holds Jack. The crowds watcheagerly as we start out; the water splashes our feet. First one horse, then another, floundering badly, almost goes down, the buggy whirlsround and comes within an ace of upsetting, the little dog's excitedyaps sound above the uproar. Then one mighty lurch and we are up thebank. Four times more we repeat the performance, and at last we findourselves with only a strip of meadow between us and Mai-ma-chin, theChinese settlement where we plan to put up. Clattering along thestockaded lane we stop before great wooden gates that open to Tchagan'scall, and we are invited in by the Mongol trader who, warned of ourcoming, stands ready to bid us welcome. 

CHAPTER XIV

URGA, THE SACRED CITY

Urga the Sacred City, the home of the Gigin, the Living God, third inthe Buddhist hierarchy, is not so much one city as three, all located ona high ridge above the Tola. Each is distinct, separate, entrenched. Arriving from the south, the one you reach first is Mai-ma-chin, theChinese trading settlement, a tangle of small houses and narrow laneshemmed in by stockades of wooden slabs and unbarked fir trees. Here arethe eight or ten thousand Chinese who control the trade of NorthMongolia. Apparently they make a good living, for there is a prosperousbustle about the place, and as you pick your way over the mud and filthof the streets, through open doorways you catch glimpses of courts gaywith flowers and gaudily decorated houses such as the well-to-do Chinesebuild. But for the most part dull blank walls shut you out--or in. TheChinese is an unwelcomed alien in Mongolia, and he knows it. 

A strip of waste, treeless land, bare of everything save a group of"chortens, " that look like small pagodas, and a few yurts and sheds, separates Mai-ma-chin from the Russian settlement which occupies thehighest part of the ridge, dominating everything in a significant way. It centres in the consulate, a large white building surrounded by highwalls, but more prominent is the tall red Russo-Asiatic Bank close by. Other buildings are a church and a few houses and shops. The RussianConsulate also is well fortified, with the last contrivances fordefence, --walls, ditches, wire entanglements, --and it looks fit to standa siege. 

Before reaching Urga proper, the Mongol or lama city, which lies aboutthree miles farther west, shut off from the others by a branch of theTola, you pass the headquarters of the Chinese governor, and he, too, has entrenched himself behind strong earthworks. Ta Huren, the "GreatEncampment, " as the Mongols call Urga, which is not a Mongol word atall, but merely a modification of the Russian "urgo, " a camp or palace, is a network of palisaded lanes enclosing, not comfortable houses andoffices and banks, as in Mai-ma-chin, but temples and lamasseries. Andwell within these is the most sacred spot of all, the lamassery wheredwells enthroned Bogdo or the Gigin, the Living Buddha ranking after theDalai Lama and the Tashi Lama only. 

To Bogdo the Mongol millions look up as a god; he is the livingrepresentative of the divine one; and the city where he lives is thegoal of thousands of pilgrims each year. And what do they see?--untillate years, just a feeble, untaught child. When the Bogdo dies, his soulis reincarnated in the body of a newly born male child. For a hundredyears or more that child has been always Tibetan, not Mongolian;probably the Chinese Government knows why. And the lamas who swarm thesacred encampment, debased representatives of a debased religion, probably could tell, if they would, why, in the past, the child hasnever lived to be a man. Furthermore, the Russian Consul-General at Urgaprobably knows the secret of the long life of the present incumbent, whois well past the time that has proved so fatal to his predecessors. 

Politics sordid and gruesome are active within the gaily decorated wallsof the sacred lamassery. But all that the outsider sees is a weak, debased-looking man whose vices should soon end his days even if heescapes the lamas' villainy. Formerly he amused himself with Westerntoys, photography, and especially motor-cars. It is true the millions ofMongols look to the Gigin as their divine leader, but after all thereare ranks even in divinityship, and when the Dalai Lama, fleeing fromLhasa before the Younghusband expedition in 1904, took refuge here, theypromptly forgot the smaller god to worship at the shrine of a first-rateone, and the Gigin's nose was put out of joint, and stayed so until hisdistinguished guest had departed. It was to appease his wounded vanitythat a Russian official presented him with a motor-car which had beenbrought to Urga at vast expenditure of effort and money. When I askedwhat he could have been expected to do with it, for roads there werenone, the answer was that to the divine one with fifteen thousand lamasto do his bidding, anything was possible. A road was, indeed, constructed to the Bogdo's summer retreat, a few miles away, but alas!no chauffeur was supplied with the motor-car, and it would not run ofitself. When I passed through Urga last year I was told that theundaunted Bogdo had ordered a second car, fully equipped with chauffeurand all, from America, which was even then at Tientsin, so by now he maybe getting stuck in the muddy lanes of the Sacred City, --unless he hasput away such childish things to take up the farce of governing Mongoliaunder Russian guidance. 

[Illustration: A LAMA BOUND FOR URGA]

[Illustration: A MONGOL BELLE, URGA]

For more than three hundred years Lamaism has held Mongolia in its grip, checking the development of the country, sapping the vitality andself-respect of the people. More even than every other man you meet is alama, for it is estimated, by those who know the situation best, thatfive eighths of the men are lamas, red or yellow, and the evil is on theincrease. At least, two generations ago Abbé Huc placed the proportionat one in three. But lamas are not all of one sort. There are those wholive in community, permanently attached to some one of the hundreds oflamasseries. They represent probably the abler or more ambitious in thepriesthood, and are better versed and more regular in the observances oftheir order, living a life perhaps not unlike that in Westernmonasteries in their period of decline. It is this class that rulesMongolia--under Russia. Still another group might be compared to thebegging friars when their brief, glorious day was past; they wanderabout the country, east, west, south, to Lhasa, to Omei Shan, to Peking, with little purpose or plan. As Huc says, "vagabondizing about likebirds of passage, " finding everywhere food and a tent corner, if not awelcome. They neither teach nor heal, and represent the most worthlessthough perhaps not the most vicious among the lamas. 

A third class, and the largest, has no parallel, I think, in any Westernchurch at any period. These are the lamas who, sent like the others tothe lamasseries at an early age, after having received the prescribedtraining, --taking their "degrees, " as Huc calls it, --return to theirhomes to live the life of the ordinary Mongol, in no wise to bedistinguished from the "black man" save by their shorn heads and the redand yellow dress, which they do not always wear. They marry after afashion, at least they take wives, though without even the ordinaryscanty formalities, and probably the tie is as enduring as the "blackman's" marriage. In Southwest Mongolia I was told a lama marries justlike other people, while in some northern districts he has no right tohis wife, and if a "black man" takes her away he has no redress. TheMongol who attended me on the first stages from Kalgan was a lama withwife, children, and home, faithful and hard-working, at least for aMongol, and a useful member of society. 

The question one naturally asks is, Why do these men become lamas; dothey do it willingly or under compulsion? Apparently the matter isdecided for them by their parents, who send them when boys to somelamassery where they are duly and meagrely trained; but they do not seemto chafe at their condition when they grow up, for the advantages arevery real. The parents save in not having to buy wives for their sons, while the lama himself is always sure of support if he goes back to hislamassery, and he is free from all demands by the Government formilitary service. 

It is said that the Chinese Government has encouraged Lamaism with theidea of keeping down the population; in this way it would avert thedanger of Mongol invasion. But Lamaism has already done that in anotherway, by killing the vigour and warlike temper of the people. The memoryof Genghis Khan still lives in the land where he was born; traditionholds that the Great Conqueror lies buried on the summit of Bogda Ola, the mountain that towers over Urga, and no one may climb the height lesthis sleeping be disturbed. But it is the vicious weakling who holdsuncertain sway in the Sacred City, not the spirit of the mighty warrior, that dominates the Mongol of to-day. 

Buddhism takes on many forms. On one side you have the gentle, intelligent monk of Burma, and the kindly superstitious bonze of China. But that black travesty of Buddhism, Lamaism, seems to offer noredeeming feature; brutish in Ladakh, vicious and cruel in Tibet, it isdebasing and weakening in its effects upon the Mongol, who comes offiner and stronger stock than either Ladakhi or Tibetan. But hesometimes succeeds in being a good fellow in spite of his religion. 

The first day of my stay in Urga I devoted to repairing the damages ofthe journey across the desert. Oh, the luxury of plenty of hot water, ofleisure, of privacy. I scrubbed and I mended, but above all I rested. And if I tired of that, there was always plenty to see just outside mydoor. The house where I was so kindly entertained was the home of a richMongol trader, a man of many deeds and few words. It was built around alarge courtyard enclosed in a strong stockade some twelve feet high, thebuildings forming part of the enclosing wall. On the long side of thecourt was a roofed-over space where carts and horses and fuel were kept. To the right hand and to the left were kitchen, godowns, servants'quarters, while on the side facing the great entrance gates boldlydecorated with the swastika symbol were the family and guest rooms. Along this front was a narrow verandah roofed by the overhanging eavesof the one-story buildings. Most of the windows were of the ordinaryChinese style, --wooden lattices covered with paper, --but a few wereglazed. My room was about fourteen feet by ten in size, one half or moreof the space being taken up by a platform some three feet high, on whichwere a large gaudy rug and two or three tiny tables and chests ofdrawers. The rest of the furnishing was a rough bench and two decoratedcabinets. The ceiling of the room was covered with a gaily floweredEuropean paper, and on the walls hung some cheap Chinese kakemonos. 

The state rooms, which were next to mine, were evidently held in greatesteem, and my hostess displayed them with the reverent pride of a goodNew England woman showing her parlour. There were three of them, openingone into the other. In each there was the invariable platform covered byrugs, and big Chinese vases stood about on small tables. 

The life that went on in the courtyard was simple and ratherpatriarchal. Servants, children, horses, everything was under the eye ofthe master, a good-looking, dignified man. I found it rather difficultto distinguish servants and family; everybody seemed to be on a familiarfooting. But the joy of the place was a small boy, the son and heir, whoplayed with Jack or sat in my room inspecting my things by thehalf-hour. According to Western ideas children in the East are not"brought up, " and it is true they are abominably spoiled, but at leastone's heart is not often wrung by seeing them slapped and beaten. 

One of my first rides abroad was to the Russo-Asiatic Bank where I metmuch courtesy and helpfulness. Thanks to the bank officials in Peking Iwas expected, and I found a warm welcome, and a house ready prepared forme, which, however, I could not use, as I was already settled where Iwas. There is a community of about five hundred Russians in Urga, mostlytraders and officials, and a fifth as many soldiers protecting them. Thelook of the Russian quarter takes you across the sea, for many of thehouses are of logs set in a grass yard, the whole surrounded by a highboard fence, almost a stockade in strength. Far East and Far West havemet, and the homes of the Russian pioneer and American frontiersman aremuch alike. 

For many decades Russia has been extending her influence into NorthMongolia, patiently and persistently, and now through trade andemployment she has the country in her grasp. Almost the only foreignpeople the Mongol knows are the Russians, and as a rule he seems to geton with them rather well, although a Russian official told me he doubtedif there was much to choose between the Chinese and the Russian traders;both fleeced the poor nomad. However, European onlookers, who knowMongolia well, declare that if it came to war between China and Russia, the Mongols would take sides, --and with the Russians. 

[Illustration: MY MONGOL HOSTESS]

[Illustration: THE MONGOL HOUSE WHERE I STAYED IN URGA]

When I was in Urga there was much talk among the Chinese about therailway that was surely coming, and the Kalgan officials said the samething. One only wonders that it was not done half a dozen years ago;there are no serious difficulties. Once outside the Great Wall, therails could be laid down on the top of the ground almost as fast as aman could walk. Only as you approach Urga, north of the desert, wouldthere be much in the way of bridging and embanking. And it would soonpay for itself, for the millions of taels' worth of trade done betweenNorth Mongolia and China would easily be doubled if once freed from thehandicap of the costly and uncertain journey of to-day. But moreimportant than all else is the political side of the question. TheChinese Government must have known for years that its hold on NorthMongolia was insecure; it has pushed forward colonization by the Chinesewith much more than its usual vigour, and, given time, that would havesettled the matter. But it had no right to count on having time, while arailway across the desert, taking not long to build, would have boundall Mongolia to the empire with bands truly of steel, that even theRussians could not break. And now--is it too late?

 * * * * *

The hours were quite too short which I had to spend in Urga, the Urga ofthe Mongols; the other settlements were merely frontier posts, oneChinese style and the other Russian, new and uninteresting. But Urga, TaHuren, was another story. To reach it we forded the river, the strongcurrent washing my feet as we rode through. There may be some other way, but that sort of thing is part of the ordinary day's work with theMongol, and I believe he is rather shy of the one or two bridges theRussians have built. 

Ta Huren has a temporary look that suits its name; fire or flood couldeasily sweep it away. And there is nothing of any architectural interestsave two or three temples and lamasseries, and having seen one you haveseen all, for there is little of beauty or fine workmanship about them. The broad main street and the open spaces above the river were much moreattractive, for there the life of the settlement had gathered, and againyou had the impression of a holiday. There was too much leisure, toomuch jollity, and too much colour for the work-a-day crowd of the Westor of China. People came and went, stopped to talk, stopped to stare. Noone seemed in a hurry except one or two self-important officials andtheir white-jacketed retinue. Only in the horse-market was there anyreal business going on. There the crowd seemed really intent onsomething, but buying and selling horses is a serious matter the worldover, in Kentucky or in Mongolia. Indeed, the whole scene reminded me ofnothing so much as "Court Day" in Kentucky, done in colour. But thecolour made all the difference. Everywhere there were lamas, ofcourse, --lamas in red dress and red hats, or lamas with blue-blackshaven heads set off by yellow or flame-coloured garments. Women cameand went on foot or on horseback, alone or in groups, just as much athome in the motley crowd as the men. Some of them were gorgeouslyattired, and the flashing of their silver headgear was quite dazzling. Now and then I caught sight of one more soberly clad and with a shavenhead, a widow, perhaps, or an old woman who had become the family priestto the extent of performing the daily simple observances. 

Mingling with the gay, happy-go-lucky throng of Mongols were two alienelements: one, the quiet, purposeful, observant, blue-gowned Chinese, each intent on his business; the other, the blue-eyed Cossacks in whitecaps and the big, bearded, belted Mujiks, looking tremendouslysubstantial as they lounged heavily along, lazily watching the shiftingcrowd. I thought of the Afghan Amir Abdur Rahman's comparison of Russiato an elephant, "who examines a spot thoroughly before he places hisfoot down upon it, and, when once he puts his weight there, there is nogoing back and no taking another step in a hurry until he has put hiswhole weight on the first foot and smashed everything that lies underit. " But the Chinese are like the tide, coming in noiselessly, gently, filling each hole and crevice, rising unnoticed higher and higher untilit covers the land. Will it sweep away the elephant?

CHAPTER XV

NORTH TO THE SIBERIAN RAILWAY

One should spend weeks, not days, in Urga, but alas, time pressed and Ihad to be "moving on. " Just how to move on was a question, for theponies and buggy with which I had crossed Gobi could go no farther. Ifinally arranged with a Russian trader for a tarantass and baggage cartto take me the two hundred and twenty-five miles to the head of rivernavigation beyond Kiakhta. Innumerable cigarettes were smoked while thediscussion went on in my room, and at times there seemed much more smokethan progress, for the trader knew only his own tongue and Mongolian, but one of the two Russians who were to go with me spoke a very fewwords of German, so he and I made shift to understand each other. MyMongol host was on hand, looking after my interests, but he could talkwith me only through the medium of Tchagan Hou, who spoke a littleChinese, and Wang, who knew even less English. 

My spirits were rather low as I said good-bye to my kind hosts onebright morning in August. I was sorry to leave Urga with so much unseen, sorry to see the last of Tchagan Hou, who had piloted me so skilfullyacross the desert--blessings on his good face! I hope luck is with himwherever he is--and I was sorry to part with my Chinese tent, my homefor weeks, and with my little camp-bed, on which I had slept so manydreamless nights. A few days and nights in a tarantass were all that nowlay between me and the uninteresting comforts of Western hotels andtrains. 

With great inward objection I climbed into the tarantass, like nothingso much as a huge cradle on wheels, drawn by three horses, one, thelargest, trotting between the shafts, and the other two galloping oneither side. At the very outset I had a chance to realize the differencebetween dealing with the Asiatic pure and simple, and the Asiaticdisguised as a European. We had been told that it would be necessary tomake an early start to cover the first day's stage before dark. I was onhand, and so was Wang, but it was afternoon before we were finally off. Luggage had to be packed and repacked, wheels greased, harness mended, many things done that ought to have been attended to the day before. Nowof course that happens in China, --though nowhere else in my journeyingsdid I encounter such dawdling and shiftlessness, --but there at least youmay relieve your feelings by storming a bit and stirring things up;these people, however, looked like Western men, and one simply could notdo it. 

So I kicked my heels for hours in the Russian merchant's lumberyard, drinking innumerable cups of tea and refusing as many more, and gettinglight on several things. I had been told that the Russians have littleof the Anglo-Saxon's race pride, but I did not suppose they ignored allother distinctions. I was drinking a last glass of tea with the merchantin his pleasant little sitting-room, attractive with many blossomingplants, when Wang came in to collect my things. He was at onceboisterously urged to draw up to the table between us. He refused, butthe Russian insisted, trying to force him down into a chair. I watchedwithout saying anything as my boy quietly took a glass of tea and achair and withdrew to the other side of the room. He understood what wassuitable better than the Russian. 

Passing out of the little Russian trading settlement, like nothing somuch as a thriving, hideous Western village, we drove through the mainstreet of the Mongolian quarter, where all the life of Lama-town seemedto have drifted, for the gaiety and colour were intoxicating. Half anhour took us away from the river and into the hills. The track was roughand boggy and often blocked by interminable trains of bullock cartsladen with logs or dressed lumber, Urga's important exports. Toward theend of the day the way became steeper and wilder, ascending betweenslopes well wooded with spruce and pine and larch and birch. It was ajoy to be in a real forest again. The flowers that grew in greatprofusion were more beautiful than any I had seen before in NorthMongolia, especially the wonderful masses of wild larkspur of a blue sointense that it dazzled the eyes. 

A storm was gathering and we pushed on as fast as we could; but the roadwas too rough for speed and we were a long way from our camping-placewhen a tremendous downpour burst upon us, and in the twinkling of an eyeour path was a rushing mountain torrent. Dry under my tarpaulin I couldenjoy the scene, splendid masses of blue-black clouds shot with vividflashes of lightning that served only to show the badness of the way andthe emptiness of the country. I will say for Ivan, the tarantass driver, that he knew his business and kept the horses on their feet and in theroad better than most men could have done. 

We drove on until nine, when the driver declared he could go no farther, and proceeded to make camp by the roadside, not far from a couple ofyurts. A light shone out, and there was the sound of angry voices andwrangling, but I could not find out what was the matter. Nicolai'sGerman always gave out, as the Indian babu said his presence of minddid, "in the nick of time. " Finally, the Russians sulkily turned theirhorses loose and set up the little shelter tent where the three men wereto sleep. Apparently there was no fuel to be had, and we all wentsupper-less to bed. 

My first night in a tarantass was very comfortable. The body of thecart, made soft with rugs and sheepskins, was long enough for me tostretch out at full length if I lay cornerwise, and the hood protectedme against rain and wind. When I waked in the morning the whole land wasdrenched, but the sun shone brilliantly. I started out on my own accountto get a a little dry fuel from the Mongols, but was rather brusquelyrepulsed. And I now found out what was the matter. The people hadobjected the night before to our camping near the yurts, for it wastheir hayfield, theirs by the custom which forbids encroaching on theland near a settlement, but the Russians had persisted, and now, intheir helpless anger, --they were an aged lama and an old woman, --theyrefused to sell us wood. They stood aloof looking ruefully at theirtrampled meadow as we made ready to start, hardly brightening up at allwhen I tried to make good their loss. An Englishman or an American wouldscarcely have asked my boy to sit at table with us, but on the otherhand he would have spared the Mongol's poor little hayfield. 

The experience of the first day was repeated all the following days; alate start in the morning, tedious halts at noon, getting into camp longafter dark. Indeed, I do not know when we should have been off in themorning had it not been for Wang. He it was who roused the men, and didhis best to get a fire started, collecting fuel for the whole camp. Although it rained every day, I do not think it ever occurred to theRussians to avail themselves of a chance to get dry wood against thenext meal, and Wang remarked sadly that the Russians spent even moretime than the Mongols in drinking tea. 

After the first day we left behind the wooded hills and were again inrolling grassland like South Mongolia, but there was much more water;indeed, the streams and bogs often forced us to make long détours, andfinally we came to a deep, strong-flowing river that could not beforded; but there was a ferry-boat made of four huge, hollowed logssecurely lashed together and covered with a loose, rough flooring. Thehorses were taken out and made to swim across, while the Mongolferrymen, all lamas and big fellows, went back and forth, taking us andthe carts over. 

The second morning we started again without our breakfasts, --there wasno dry wood. Ivan, the tarantass driver, and the only one of the partywho knew the road, cheered us with the prospect of something hot at aRussian colonist's house an hour farther on, but it was four hours' harddriving before we reached the place, which then, however, more than madegood all he had claimed for it. 

The two families that formed the little settlement were engaged incattle raising, and seemed prosperous and contented. Their houses andsheds were built of timber and mud, and looked substantial and wellsuited to stand the cold and winds of North Mongolia. We were given ahearty welcome and taken at once into a large whitewashed room, kitchen, living-room, and bedroom in one. Everything was spotlessly clean; evenunder the bed there was no dust. I can testify to that, for I pursuedJack there. The mistress of the house was a very good-looking, dark-browed woman in a neat red gown with a red kerchief tied over herhead. She promptly served us with delicious tea from the invariablesamovar, and the freshest of eggs and good black bread, while a chicken, for me to take away, was set roasting on a spit before the fire. Twolittle tow-headed boys, put out of the way on the bed, stared stolidlyat us as they munched raw parsnips, and a baby cradled in a basketsuspended by a rope from the ceiling was kept swinging by a touch fromthe mother as she went to and fro. The people seemed to be on friendlyterms with their Mongol neighbours, two or three of whom came in while Iwas there, but it must be a lonely life, a day's ride away from thenearest Russian family. When I asked Nicolai what the children did forschool, he laughed scornfully. "Why should they learn to read? Theirfather and mother cannot. "

Such homes as these are Russia's advance posts in Mongolia, but given afair field and she would stand no chance, for the Chinese colonists mustoutnumber the others a hundred to one. From this time on we saw more andmore signs of cultivation, the pasture land was broken by great fieldsof rye and barley, and the yurts of the Mongol were often replaced byChinese houses, looking on the outside much like the one just described, save that the window openings were filled with paper instead of glass. 

Board signs, not unlike "Keep off the grass" ones of the West, were setup here and there, showing a Chinese holding. With or without governmentaid the Chinese are coming in. They get land from the Mongols very much, I imagine, as did the first English settlers in America, buying for asong what the owner does not know he is selling. And once establishedthey are not easily dislodged, for they are good farmers, thrifty anduntiring. In the end they will oust the Mongol from the best lands assure as fate, unless Russia first ousts them, as apparently she isdoing. I am sorry for the Mongol; he is a happy-go-lucky, likeablefellow, but it is all nonsense for the Russian Government to talk aboutthe way the Chinese settlers are wronging him, taking away the tillablelands. He does not want them to till, but to pasture his herds, and thatis just the difficulty. It is not China but civilization that is drivingthe Mongol to the wall, just as the Red Indian was driven. Nowadays thepeople that will not make the best use of the land must give it up tothose who will. 

The next day promised to be a long, hard one, and proved even harderthan I had expected. First the little dog was run over by my own baggagecart. I thought surely he was dead, and then I feared the first use ofthe revolver I had brought from America would be to end his gay littlelife. The Russians shook their heads dolefully and gave no help, butWang lent a hand with his cheerful "all right, " and in twenty-four hoursJack was able to bark at the horses, even though he was too much bungedup to stand. 

My other trouble was the behaviour of the man Ivan. He was in fact athoroughly bad sort, lazy, stupid, sullen, and brutal to his horses. Hewas supposed to take orders from the other Russian, but he refused toobey him or any one. Only when by signs I could make clear what I wantedcould I do anything with him; then I could sometimes put enoughperemptoriness in my voice to bring him to heel. Added to the naturalbad temper of the man he was drinking constantly, and was quite beyondcontrol. 

The country where we now were was a succession of beautiful valleyswatered by many streams and enclosed by barren, treeless hills, --a rich, uninteresting district. We stopped for tiffin by a broad streambordered by willows. The grass was good, but the flies were so maddeningthat the poor ponies hardly grazed at all. Hot as it was, I thought theywere better off moving than in this pestilential spot, but it wasimpossible to get Ivan started. For hours he slept and drank, while thehorses twitched their skins and switched their tails and stamped theirfeet, and between times tried to snatch a bite. Poor-looking women andboys from some yurts crept over to our camp, and sought eagerly throughthe grass for any finds in the way of tins or bottles. They were quitethe most miserable natives that I saw on my trip. As for me, I sat onthe ground, comforting Jack and longing for a Chinese or a Mongol oranything that had learned to obey. 

Finally at half-past five the driver roused from his drunken doze and westarted off again. On and on we go, over a tedious, uninterestingstretch; the sun goes down, the twilight deepens into night, and thestars come out. At half-past eight I ask how much longer we must drive, and am told two hours. At half-past eleven I try to make the manunderstand he must stop, but he pays no attention. And it is one o'clockwhen I see the river in front of us, glimmering in the misty moonlight. In a minute we are in the water; two steps more and the swift current isup to the horses' sides, and the tarantass begins to turn over. Ivan, now thoroughly awake, jumps out, the other Russian helps, and withmuch pushing and floundering the horses manage to struggle back toshore. This is plainly no ford, and as there is no help in sight we campon the bank for the rest of the night, no grass for the horses, nothingto make a fire. After a bite of black bread and a tea-cup of the ForeignOffice Bordeaux, I curl up in the tarantass, shivering with damp rivercold, and Wang, rolled up in his sheepskin, sleeps on the groundunderneath. As for the Russians, I commit them cheerfully to all thejoys of rheumatism. 

[Illustration: LAMA AND HIS "WIFE"]

For once every one is up at dawn. A passing lama directs us to a ferrydown the river, where we cross by means of a flat-bottomed boat workedby an iron cable. On the other side the men start a fire and we get somehot tea. Again I am struck by the familiar way in which the Russianshobnob with the Mongols. Anglo-Saxons of their class would not do it. Iwonder if the "hail-fellow-well-met" treatment offsets the injustice andrough handling the natives often get from their northern neighbours, andif on the whole they like it better than the Anglo-Saxon's fairness whencoupled with his reserve. A distinguished Indian, not a reformer, oncesaid to me, "My countrymen prefer sympathy to justice. " Perhaps that istrue of other Asiatics also. 

For three or four hours after starting off again we traversed much thesame sort of country as the day before, crossing fertile valleys, climbing rough hillsides to avoid bogs. There were not many signs ofcultivation, but along the horizon we could see the dark line of aforest, a welcome change. Just before reaching it we turned off acrossthe plain to the yurts of the helpful lama of the morning. We wereexpected and given a warm welcome in more senses than one, for the yurtinto which I was at once taken was so hot that I thought I should faint. How those people in their woollen clothes could endure the heat was amystery. 

The lama, a well-appearing, elderly man, seemed completely fitted outwith wife and children and yurts and herds. He was plainly a person ofsubstance, and the head of quite a settlement. The yurt where I wasreceived was very spacious, and was furnished precisely as Huc describedsixty years ago. There was one novelty, a stove-pipe connected with asort of cement stove, but perhaps this was merely for ornament, as mydinner was cooked in a pot placed upon a tripod over a fire of wood andargols. I was given the seat of honour, a sort of divan, and milk wasplaced on a small, low table before me. But I at once espied somethingmore interesting than food. Round the walls of the yurt were ranged oneor two tables and chests of drawers. On one were some books, detachedleaves in leather covers with clasps. These were the lama's sacredbooks. Very stupidly, for I had been told that no secular hand maytouch them, I started to pick one up, but the man courteously but veryfirmly waved me back; hardly would he allow me to look at them from adistance. He assured me he could read them, but that is not true of mostlamas. A little altar set out with small images and pictures of Buddha, and among them a cheap photograph of the Gigin of Urga, did not seemhalf so sacred, for the lama displayed them freely, even allowing me toinspect the dozen or so small metal pots containing oil and otherofferings which were ranged in front of the images. 

When our food was ready, the lama carried off the Russians to eat in themen's tent; that is the rule, but the neighbours, men and women, who hadflocked in, stayed to watch me. Various strange dishes were put beforeme; best of all, some hard curds decorated with lumps of sugar. Sugar isa great delicacy with the Mongols. 

As we were nearing the land of hotels, I emptied my tiffin basket here, making my hosts and their friends happy with tins of jam and marmaladeand sardines and beef extract, not to mention enamelled cups and platesand stew-pans. Everything was eagerly taken, even empty jars andbottles, and they seemed as pleased as children with a new toy. 

The country changed abruptly after leaving the last Mongol settlement. Houses of Russian colonists occurred frequently, and presently weentered the remnants of a fine pine forest, and from this time on therewas no lack of trees. We were now almost at the Russian frontier, and Iwas becoming uneasy about the fate of my little revolver. It had alreadyundergone various vicissitudes; discovered by the customs officials atConstantinople, they had threatened to fine me for violating the lawabout bringing in firearms, but finally decided to remit the fine butconfiscate the weapon. When remonstrated with on the ground that I was alady going to Asiatic Turkey and might need it, they made mattersstraight by returning the revolver, but kept the ammunition. I had paidduty on the thing in Bombay, I had spent hours fitting it withcartridges in Shanghai, many miles it had been carried, kept handy incase of need, although I could not imagine what the need could be, andnow I was assured it would be seized and I would be fined if I tried totake it over the Russian frontier. No firearms of any sort may bebrought into the empire without a permit procured beforehand. No, theRussians should not have my little revolver. We passed a small pond; onetoss and it was gone. 

The sun was setting as looking across the valley I caught the whitegleam of the great church in Kiakhta, but it was after eleven when werumbled through Mai-ma-chin, the frontier post of China, and, crossingthe Russian boundary unchallenged, drove quietly down the long mainstreet of the town. I was too sleepy to notice anything, until I heardthe men chuckling softly, and I waked up to find that we were past thecustom house. "It would be too bad to disturb the sleepy sentinels, sowe took off the bells, " they explain. I imagine they had added to theirother misdeeds by doing a bit of smuggling. 

It seemed to me that we drove for hours through the dark, echoingstreets of Kiakhta, but at last we stopped before the white wall of along, low building, and in a moment I was in another world. Behind mewere the wide, open plains of Mongolia and the starlit nights in tent ortarantass. Here was Russia, half Europe, half Asia, and whollyuninteresting. But at least there was a good bed awaiting me, and themost wonderful little supper ever served at midnight on short notice, delicious tea, good bread and butter, and the most toothsome smallbirds, served hot on toast in a casserole. Where in a Western frontiertown could one find the like?

But it was not until I waked the next morning that I realized how veryWestern Kiakhta is: humble log houses side by side with pretentiousstuccoed buildings, rickety wooden sidewalks or none at all, streetsankle-deep in dust one day, a bog the next; but the handful of fineresidences, and above all the great white church costing fabulous sumsin decorations, tell of Kiakhta's great commercial past, a history thatgoes back two hundred years, when Gobi was alive with the long lines ofcamel caravans coming and going between the Great Wall and the Russianborder. Those were the days when the great tea merchants of Kiakhtaheaped up huge fortunes, to squander them in ways common to the suddenlyrich all over the world. But with the building of the railway, tradeturned aside, and to-day the town bears the marks of decaying fortunes. The storehouses are half empty, many of the great merchant families havegone away or are ruined, and were it not for the regiments stationed atthis frontier post, Kiakhta would be wrapped in the silence of thedesert. It remains to be seen what will be the effect of the railwayRussia proposes to build between Verchneudinsk and Urga. It may give newlife to the town, but of course it is military and political in itspurpose rather than commercial. During my four days' trip from Urgathere was very little traffic coming or going, and unless Mongolia'sresources prove unexpectedly rich, the days of Kiakhta's prosperity aregone beyond recall. 

But I did not stop long to investigate either the past or the presentinterest of Kiakhta, for by the next afternoon I was off again, finallyending my tarantass journey some eighteen miles north of the town, in agreat lumberyard on the right bank of the Iro, the starting-point ofthe steamer to Verchneudinsk. There, together with some scores ofpeople, mostly Russian officers and their families, I kicked my heelsamong the lumber for ten hours, waiting for the belated boat. It rainedmost of the time, and the two tiny waiting-rooms were crowded tooverflowing with people and luggage; there was no restaurant, and Ishould have starved had not good Wang made friends with some Chineseworkmen and got me some eggs. Finally we were told the boat would notcome till morning, so each person tried to find a corner and go tosleep. I had just curled up comfortably, at one end of a great, unfinished shed where the horses had been put out of the rain, when acry sounded through the dark that the boat was coming. By one o'clock wewere off. Everything was in confusion and every one was cross. I hadsecured a cabin beforehand, and then found I was expected to share itwith a young Russian officer going home on leave. I quite regretted myairy, quiet corner in the open shed. 

All the next day we were steaming in leisurely fashion down the Iro, making long stops at little hamlets in the forest, where all theinhabitants of the half-dozen log houses clustered round the invariablewhite church with green domes turned out to meet us, often bringingbottles of delicious milk to sell. They were mostly of the peasant type, large, fair, and stolid-looking. The scenery along the river was dulland monotonous, low, heavily wooded banks, broken now and then by alittle clearing. It was a sodden, unkempt, featureless country, and Ifound myself longing for the journey's end. 

On the boat the third-class passengers were mostly Russian peasants anda few Chinese, with a little group of frightened-looking Mongols. Ifancy they wished themselves back in the desert; I know I did. In thefirst and second class there were almost none but military people, themen all in full uniform of bewildering variety. Most of them were talland large, but rather rough in manner. I imagine one does not find thepick of the Russian army on the frontier. 

We reached Verchneudinsk well after dark, and a queer little tumble-downphaeton took us to the inn chosen because of its German-speakinglandlord. Here I spent two days waiting for the Moscow Express. After Ihad started my invaluable Wang off on his journey back to Peking by wayof Harbin and Mukden, I had nothing to do but rest and enjoy thecharming courtesies of the officials of the Russo-Asiatic Bank. Verchneudinsk has little of interest, however; it is just a big, newtown, raw and unfinished, half logs and half stucco, with streets thatare mostly bog, and several pretentious public buildings and an uglytriumphal arch marking the visit of the Tsar a few years ago. Civilization has some compensations, but half-civilization is notattractive; and it was a happy moment when I found myself with Jack inmy own little compartment on the Moscow Express, westward and homewardbound. 

CHAPTER XVI

A FEW FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF CHINA

It is rather presumptuous for the strolling Westerner who can count onlymonths in China to have any impressions at all of anything so huge, soold, so varied, so complicated as China and its people, and still moreinexcusable to put these impressions before the world. And yet it may bepossible to find some sort of an excuse if one is bent on doing it. 

We live to-day in a time of surprises. Turkey is reforming, China wakingup, the self-satisfied complacency of the white race has received ashock, and more are feared. Most of us of the West are anxious to getover the wall, or look around it, --we are told it is there, --and seewhat that other man is really like. We read books written by those whohave spent years in China, in Japan, in India, and we realize that theyknow thoroughly this or that corner of the whole. We talk with the manwho has lived his life among the people of the East, and we feel that hehas plumbed them to the core--along one line. He has preached to them, he has healed them, he has traded with them, and he knows them as thedoctor or the trader knows his community. The men and women of the Westwho have spent their lives in the East have usually gone there withdefinite purpose and compelling duties. They rarely see more than onepart of the whole country, their work holds them fast, and they areprone to see it from the point of view of the interest that took themthere. Out of these chapters of intimate knowledge can be put together agreat exhaustive study of the whole, but no one has done that yet; thetime has not come, perhaps. 

Now the traveller with no preoccupying purpose, and fresh from a bird'seye view of large sections of the country, is likely to talk a good dealof nonsense, and yet he may tell some things of interest that the oldresident has ceased to see from very familiarity. If you mention them, he says, "of course, " but to those at home they are not "of course, " andsometimes they are worth telling. 

My first and my most lasting impression of the Chinese was how very likethey are to us. I had been told it was a mistake to approach China fromthe east: you touched twelve at once. Nowhere would you find anothercountry and people so strange, so different from anything beforeimagined. Rather you should approach China from the west, then with eachstage as you travelled eastward stranger and ever stranger worlds wouldopen before you. That is what I did; it just happened so. India wasalready somewhat known to me, and on this trip I stopped there only afew weeks, seeing each day more that was difficult to understand, andthen I went on to China, and to my great surprise felt myself almost athome. 

Of course at first sight most things were queer, that is to say, different from what they are in the West. The men wore their hairbraided down their backs, and the women dressed in trousers, and bothmourned in white. The seat of honour was on the left, not on the right, and when people greeted you they shook hands with themselves. All thatone is prepared for, but being prepared does not take away from theimpression of queerness. But even from the beginning, and the feelinggrew stronger as the days lengthened into weeks and the weeks intomonths, underneath this surface difference the Chinese seemed to me morelike ourselves, or maybe our ancestors, more like us at one stage oranother, than any other people of the East that I had known. 

In India, as every one knows, religion dominates the life of the people. A man is first of all a follower of a certain creed, a Hindu or aMoslem, and the observances of that creed control his daily acts in away to which there is no parallel in the West--or in China. Theprinciples of Christianity underlie the best of Western civilization, but the majority of men in Europe or America pay little conscious heedto Christ's teachings as they make the daily round of work andpleasure, and generally they confine their formal religious observancesto one day of the week, if as often. The Chinese, to be sure, is one ofthe most superstitious of men, but there is little more religion in hisfears than is implied in the practices of many a Westerner. He neverbuilds a straight entrance into his house, for he believes that evilspirits cannot move in a curved line; and across the world, people whocall him names because of this refuse to sit down thirteen at table. Themalign influences appeased, the average Chinese goes his way untroubledor unconsoled by any thought concerning that which is to come, or atmost he strives to acquire merit, not for a week only, but for the wholeyear, by some pilgrimage much more strenuous than church-going. Like theWestern man of to-day he also is impatient of priestly control, and isapt to say slighting things of his spiritual leaders. His mind is set, not on things above, but on the bread-and-butter, or, more precisely, rice, aspect of life. The scale of rewards is different, but themainspring of daily living is much the same in the Far East and the FarWest. 

Or put it in another way: with Chinese and man of the West alike, national standards, national aims, all bear the mark of the industrialworld. In America and in Europe the chief concern is industry, --industryin the large sense, agriculture, manufacture, commerce. These are theinterests that concern the people, that control their policy. In Indiareligion holds this place, while in Japan the ideals of the old socialorder were military, and in a measure that is still true of the new. Butin China material interests have full possession of the field, and thestrong man of the Chinese nation is not the soldier or the priest, butthe merchant. 

And there is something very Western, very American, as America used tobe, in the small part played by the Government in the life of theordinary Chinese. If he does not misbehave and keeps out of a lawsuit, he rarely comes in contact with his rulers. He is acquainted with thesaying of Mencius that "the people are of the highest importance, thegods come second, the sovereign is of lesser weight, " and he knows theplace of the Government, but he expects little from it, and neither doeshe fear it. 

It is the district officer who represents to the ordinary Chinese theGovernment, and there are about fifteen hundred of these in the eighteenprovinces, about one to every two hundred and fifty thousand of thepopulation. The headman of the village is the only official of whom theChinese really knows much, and he is one of the village folk, governingby homemade rules of very ancient date, and never interfering if he canhelp it. Policemen are few, and the various inquisitorial boards andofficers that make us clean and sanitary and safe in spite of ourselvesare simply non-existent. No one inspects the Chinese garbage pail exceptthe pig, or sniffs about for defective drains, or insists upon a man'skeeping the roadway in front of his house in order, or compels him tohave his children vaccinated. The tyranny of the majority may exist inChina, but it is not exercised through the Government. The Chinese as heis to-day has been fashioned and shaped by long-inherited custom, andthe dead hand rests heavily upon him, but he is not a governmentproduct, nor is he likely to be just yet. 

And the Chinese is democratic in very much the same way that theAmerican is. If there has been an aristocracy at all, it has beenessentially one of race, the conqueror and the conquered, and hereditarydistinctions have played a very small part in the past outside Pekingand the Manchu circle. An official career is, in theory, and in goodmeasure in practice, open to the man who is fit, no matter what hisantecedents; and the poor boy has quite as good a chance to make himselffit for all save the highest posts as in America. Nor is there alwaysmuch to choose between the American and Chinese standard of fitness. Toregard success as commander in a small war as qualifying a man for thecivil headship of a great industrial state does not seem much morereasonable than to make skill in writing a literary essay the test fora high military post. And one thing more, the Chinese, in so many thingsessentially democratic, abases himself before the power of riches asmuch as the American, and far more than any other Asiatic. 

Now, since the Chinese expects little of the government, he has learnedto rely upon himself and his fellows. Like the Englishman and theAmerican, and unlike the Frenchman and the German, he takes theinitiative. The Government is weak, the individual or group ofindividuals strong; the Government does little, so the other side doesmuch. All over the East, --in Burma, Indo-China, the Malay States, thePhilippines, wherever he can force an entrance, --you find the Chinesemerchant and the Chinese coolie, and it is no state-managed enterprisethat takes them there. Just as the British workmen emigrate, or theBritish merchants seek out new markets, so the Chinese make their waywithout leading or assistance. And they succeed; throughout all thatterritory that lies between the China Sea and the Bay of Bengal, whetherunder British or French rule, unless actually barred out, the Chinese isentrenching himself and prospering. Heavy poll-taxes alone keep him fromcontrolling trade and the labour market in Indo-China; in the MalayStates he is ousting the native and running the British merchant andbanker hard; in Burma he is getting more and more control of trade, andhas even succeeded in convincing the Burmese woman that he makes abetter sort of husband than her charming but indolent countryman. 

To turn to smaller matters. I am sure I had once known, but I hadcertainly quite forgotten, that the Chinese, like ourselves and unlikeother people of the East, sit on chairs in preference to sitting ontheir heels. For it gave me a little comfortable shock of surprise whenI saw my coolies at dinner sitting on benches around the table, "justlike folks, " instead of squatting on the ground after the fashion of myIndian servants. It is a small thing, but it marks the Chinese off fromall other Asiatics, and brings him a little nearer the West; and I donot wonder at the touch of pride in the answer of the Chinese student ata New England college when some one remarked on seeing her sitting onthe ground, college-girl fashion, with a number of her classmates, thatit probably came easier to her to do that, as she was used to it, "Oh, no; I think you must be confusing us with the Japanese. We Chineselearned to sit on chairs two thousand years ago. "

But not only do the Chinese sit on chairs like ourselves, but they"dine, " just as the West does. Not merely are they ready to spend freelyon the pleasures of the table, but they make of dinner a socialfunction, longer and more elaborate, and sometimes even more deadly dullthan grand dinners at home. The un-Europeanized Indian, rich or poor, isabstemious; he eats simply to satisfy hunger, and dining is with him nomore a social occasion than taking a bath at home, --much less, indeed, than his own bathing, which seems to be often both a religious and asocial act. He would not think of entertaining his friends at a dinnerparty. But my coolies at the wayside inns spent jovial hours over theirmeals, and the gay Manchu or Chinese diners that I watched at the Pekinghotel might have been Americans at the Waldorf-Astoria, barring a fewdetails. And it seemed very Western, only it was quite Chinese, for thechief of the Kalgan Foreign Office to express his regrets that my staywas too short for him to arrange a dinner party for me. 

So much has been said of the differences that exist in China, of thewide separation between North and South and West, that I had expected tofind repeated there the conditions of India. But externally nothing ofthe sort was observable. To begin with, almost all Chinese have blackhair, almost all wear blue clothes, and almost all eat rice. And theobvious differences between the natives of Chihli and the natives ofKwangtung, for example, are no greater than you would note in passingfrom Maine to Mississippi; while in Yunnan and Szechuan, just as in theWestern States of America, you seem to be among people from "back East, "only slightly modified by different conditions of climate and life. 

The estimate given me by the Chinese Consul-General at Singapore, aKwangtung man, as to the proportion of the whole population speakingsome form of Mandarin, was about three hundred millions out of apossible three hundred and sixty millions, and this agrees with otherstatements that I have seen. If this be so, then the enormous majorityof the people have the bond of a common tongue. And more than that, allthe educated--a small proportion, of course, although many more know afew symbols--have a common written language. 

But as Confucius said thousands of years ago, "not all words are inbooks, nor all thoughts in words, " and the traditions of nature worship, Taoism, Buddhism, of Confucius himself, have all put their stamp uponthe Chinese, whether of the North or South, and the journeying coolie(and it must be remembered he is a great wanderer), no matter where hegoes in China, will find himself among men who recognize the sameobligations, cringe under the same superstitious fears, and strivetoward the same goal of material well-being as himself. Fundamentaldifferences do certainly exist; North and South China are divided inspeech, and the people are unlike, physically and mentally, but I wonderif the separation is really deeper than that between the Northern andthe Southern States in America to-day. 

We talk of China as in decay, of the Chinese as aged, and the countryas exhausted. It is true the soil has been man-handled for ages, likethe soil of India, but over great areas it constantly renews itsfertility, and, anyway, most of China's resources are underground, untouched. The Government of last year was rotten to the core; it hadoutlived its day. But the Government was not the people, and the Chineseare neither worn out nor unsound. 

I think it must be because everything seems finished in China thatpeople talk about her decay. The whole thing impresses you as havingbeen made and completed, after a fashion, a long time ago. Nowhere, savewhere the touch of the West has been felt, do you see things being triedfor the first time. Everything has been done in China so many, manytimes, for so many centuries, and the results have spread abroad allover the empire; everywhere, in the remotest corners, you find the sameingeniously contrived commercial system, the same symmetrical andcomplicated social order. Being a very clever and resourceful peoplethat has lived a long time, the Chinese have found out a great manythings for themselves, and as there was no other clever and resourcefulpeople at hand to incite them to other and better ways of doing somethings, they went on as they were, neither spending their strength norsharpening their wits in trying experiments. Indeed, experimentingstopped centuries ago; each natural difficulty, every social andeconomic problem had been met and answered in some sort of way, and sothe people lived year after year, doing things just as their fathers haddone them. And now they impress one as very experienced, thoughold-fashioned; but not aged, --no, not at all. 

On the contrary, face to face with the Chinese at home, one isoverwhelmed by an impression of power, --actual power, potential power, power of the individual, power of the group, power well used, powermisspent. The impression is almost stunning. You seem to be watching acommunity of ants, persistent, untiring, organized, only the ant-hill isa town, and the ants are men physically strong, gluttons for work, resourceful, adaptable, cheerful. Then multiply such ant-hills bythousands and you have China. For not merely is the Chinese the bestworker in the world, but he also leads in organization. No Chinesestands alone; behind him is the family, the clan, the guild. He does notconfront life naked and solitary, he is one of a group; that gives himconfidence, and keeps him under control. It makes it both easier andmore difficult to deal with him. Treat him unjustly, and you arefighting, not a man but a group. But if he wrongs you, you have a holdupon him, you can call him to account through his group. 

And the power of organization smooths greatly the daily machinery ofliving in China. As I leaned over the side of the steamer in SingaporeHarbour, watching the seven hundred coolies come aboard that we weretaking home to Kwangtung province, the chief officer remarked to me, "Athousand Chinese make us less trouble than one Indian"; and he went onto explain, "When we enter here, half a dozen Chinese boarding-housekeepers come on board and ask how much deck-room we have. They agree onwhat they want, and then each stakes out his claim, as it were, withbits of red paper emblazoned with Chinese characters. A little latercoolies come, bringing the luggage of the home-going Chinese, each thingmarked with a piece of red paper with the same black lettering. They askno questions, but look about until they have found the correspondingmarks on the deck, and there they unload. And later the Kwangtung menarrive, each with a red ticket, and they too ask no questions, but justhunt up their things all properly marked, and then proceed to makethemselves comfortable. And no one is bothered. "

Or to turn to larger things, what was it but this same power oforganization that made ready a great revolutionary movement, permeatinga population of three hundred odd millions, and spreading over an areaof a million and a half square miles, and all so well and secretly donethat, though suspected, it could not be discovered? The TurkishRevolution seemed a triumph of secret preparation, but there the taskwas to convert an organization already made; here it was necessary bothto arouse and to organize. 

But then China has ages of experience, both in organizing and inrebelling, back of to-day. Establishing a Republic, however, issomething new; the Chinese have never before tried their hand at that, but if they will only bring into play now all their undoubted power oforganization, of resource, of moderation, they will certainly make asuccess of their new experiment in government. Given time, and they willdo it. Perhaps my view of China's future is rose-coloured. But the thingseen and felt is of tremendous force, and the impression of power thatthe Chinese made upon me was rather overwhelming. And, anyway, afriendly opinion may be pardoned in one who, during months of solitarytravel in China, never met anything but courtesy and consideration fromall, whether coolie on the road, villager or innkeeper, official orpriest. 

THE END

INDEX

 Abdur Rahman, Amir of Afghanistan, quoted, 288. 

 Agriculture, U. S. Department of, 207. 

 Amban, the, 253. 

 American Baptist Mission, 81, 85, 158, 183. 

 American engineers, surveying in Yunnan, 29. 

 American Legation, the, at Peking, 232, 237. 

 A-Mi-chou, 21, 22. 

 Amur River, 251. 

 Annamese, in Haiphong, appearance and dress of, 12, 13; and the Red River R. R. , 15. 

 Annamese police, 7, 8. 

 Annamese Tirailleurs, 18, 19. 

 Anning River, valley of, the shortest trade-route between Szechuan and Indo-China, 71; 78, 89. 

 Arnold Arboretum, 66. 

 Assam hills, life on tea-plantations of, 17, 18. 

 Baber, Colborne, in Chien Ch'ang, 74; cited, 90, 106, 171, 181, 182, 191, 204. 

 Baikal, Lake, 236. 

 Bailey, Captain, English officer at Tachienlu, 126 _ff. _; his later explorations, 127; defends Tibetans, 132; 139, 175. 

 Barrow, riding in a, 169. 

 Batang, 124, 126, 128, 131, 160. 

 Bayard, Fort, 7, 8. 

 Beggars, absence of, in West China, 46. 

 Bishop, Mrs. Bird, 216. 

 Black Rock Rapid, 216, 217. 

 Bogda Ola (Holy Mountain), 274, 282. 

 Bogdo, the Living Buddha, status of, 277; superstitions concerning, 278; a second-rate god, 278; his motor-cars, 279. And see Gigin, the. 

 Bonze, the, his Buddhism, 282. 

 Boxer rising (1900), 28, 225, 233. 

 Brick tea, transportation of, 105, 106; how prepared, 159, 160. 

 Bridges in Yunnan, 61. 

 British American Tobacco Co. , 67, 183, 235, 242. 

 Brooke, Lieutenant, murder of, by Lolos, 75. 

 Buddha, colossal figure of, at Chia-ting, 180, 181, 182, 200, 201; reigns supreme on Omei, 189; his tooth at Wan-nien Ssu, 191. 

 Buddha, the Living, 253, 277. And see Bogdo and Gigin. 

 "Buddha's Glory, " 189. 

 Buddhism, and lamaism, 138; many forms of, 282; lamaism a "black travesty" of, 282; 317. 

 Buggy, an American, in Mongolia, 257, 264. 

 Burma, Upper, 3. 

 Burmese, the, 12. 

 Caindu (Chien Ch'ang), 74. 

 Calcutta, 112. 

 Camel Road, Kalgan to Urga, 245 _ff. _

 Camels, in Mongolia, 263. 

 Cameras, feeling of Chinese toward, 156, 157. 

 Canadian Methodist Mission, 183. 

 Canton, House of the Dead at, 87; 24, 29, 222. 

 Cart Road, Kalgan to Urga, 244. 

 Catty, the, 33. 

 Cave-dwellings, 204. 

 Chair-bearers, their traditional calls, 149, 150 and n. 

 Chala, King of, his summer palace, 133, 134-136; his troubles, 135; 125. 

 Chang-ho-pa, 148-150. 

 Changsha, outbreak at, 226, 227. 

 Chang-te-ho, 224, 227. 

 Chang-Tien-You, railway engineer, 234. 

 Chao Erh Feng, death of, 125. 

 Chen River, 123. 

 Chen Chia Ch'ang, theatrical performance at, 185. 

 Chengtu, missionaries from, 133; under the "Emperor of the West, " 171, 172; the modern city, 172 _ff. _; its fine silks and embroidery, 172, 173; its shops, 173, 175; British Consul-General at, 173; European community of, 173, 174; missionaries at, 174; Tartar population of, 174; the Manchu quarter, 174, 175; one of the most advanced cities of China, 175; police of, 176; French Consul-General at, 176; university of, and its students, 176, 177; railway question and the revolution at, 177; rivalry between Chung-king and, 209; 24, 42, 105, 198, 203, 226. 

 Chengtu, plain of, 167 _ff. _; its people, 167; its bad roads, 167. 

 Cheng-kiang, 163. 

 Cheo, Mr. , 211. 

 Chê-pei, 56. 

 Cheung-chou, Richthofen quoted concerning, 165, 166, 167. 

 Chiang-yi, 65. 

 Chia-ting, seat of white-wax industry, 73; the "rose-red city, " 180 _ff. _; the flood of 1786, 181, 182; its insalubrious climate, 183; Protestant missions at, 183; warfare over cigarette-smoking at, 183; coolie _hongs_ in, 183; the first city in Szechuan to declare for the Republic, 201; 161, 178, 179, 203, 204. 

 Chia-ting plain, beauty of, 180; subject to floods, 181; 184. 

 Chien-Ch'ang, district of, diversity of crops in, 71, 72; poppy banished from, 72, 94; white-wax industry of, 72, 73; almost unknown to Western world until lately, 73, 74; dangers of travelling in, due to neighbourhood of Lolos, 74, 75; recent steps of government to ensure safety in, 77. 

 Chien-Ch'ang valley, 33, 42. 

 Chien-Men, the (Peking), 230. 

 Chihli, province of, 227, 316. 

 Children in the East, how "brought up, " 284. 

 Chin Ch'uan, region of, almost unknown to Europeans, 119. 

 Chin Ch'uan River, 78, 118. 

 Chin Tien (Golden Temple), 32. 

 Chin Tien Monastery, on summit of Omei Shan, 193-199. 

 China, and Tibet, meet in Tachienlu, 123; western boundary of, 124; revolution in, effect of, on relations between China and Tibet, uncertain, 125; grouping of trees in, 154; status of missionaries in, 158, 159; fruit and vegetables in, 206; and Mongolia, meet at Kalgan, 235; hold of, on North Mongolia, insecure, 285; is she in decay? 317, 318; impression produced by, 318, 319; her future, 321. And see Chinese and Chinese Government. 

 China, West. See West China. 

 China Inland Mission, 126, 216. 

 Chinese, the, characteristics of, 42, 43; their footwear, 44; of Yunnan and Szechuan, physical characteristics of, 51; dote on children, 56; climatic susceptibilities of, 58; and their dead, 87, 88; spend freely for food, 108; how sacred places are used by, 113; their lack of nerves, how illustrated, 120; in Tachienlu, 124, 131; military achievements of, 125, 126; good manners of, 129; their feeling toward the camera, 156, 157; ordinarily peaceable, 176; their fondness for theatrical performances, 185; friendly relations of Europeans and, in Chung-king, 209; their dramatic ways, 230; their interference in Mongolia, 253; unwelcome aliens there, 276; how like they are to us! 309 _ff. _; their self-reliance, 314; found all over the East, 314; slight outward variations in, in different parts of the Empire, 316; a vast majority of, have a common tongue, 317. And see Coolies. 

 Chinese city, the, in Peking, 230. 

 Chinese funeral, a, 142. 

 Chinese Government, projects of railways in Yunnan, 29; said to encourage lamaism in Mongolia, 282. 

 Chinese inns. See Inns. 

 Chinese laborers, on the Red River R. R. , 15. 

 Chinese mob, the 176. 

 Chinese revolution. See Revolution. 

 Chinese temples. See Temples, Chinese. 

 Chinese women. See Women, Chinese. 

 Ch'ing Ch'i, 105. 

 Chit (letter of recommendation), the, 211, 212. 

 "Chou, " meaning of, in place-names, 31n. 

 Christians, Chinese, in Hui-li-chou, 70; superiority of, to their fellows, 128, 129. 

 "Chuman" pagodas, of Szechuan, 204. 

 Chu-ma-tien, 224. 

 Ch'un, Prince, Regent, 231. 

 Chung-king, the Chicago of West China, 207-213; a treaty port, 208; no limit to its development, 208; missionaries in, 208; foreign community in, 208, 209; friendliness of Europeans and Chinese in, 209; rivalry between Chengtu and, 209; Merchant class of, 209, 210; cosmopolitan club at, 210, 211. 

 Cigarettes, 67, 183. 

 Cloud Mountains, the, 64, 65. 

 Cloudy Sun, City of the, 214. 

 Coffins, Chinese, 93, 94. 

 Colborne Baber. See Baber. 

 Colonial expansion, sought by Doumer, 9. 

 Confucius, 317. 

 Constitution of the U. S. , lecture on at Chung-king Men's Club, 210. 

 Cooking, in Yunnan, 58. 

 Coolies, for overland journey, importance of, 33; contract for, 35, 36; their wages, 36; their character and dress, 43; their cleanliness, 48; long journeys often undertaken by, 212, 213; 203, 204, 205. See Fu t'ou and Hong. 

 Coolies of the author's caravan (_hired at Yunnan-fu_), 51, 52, 56, 57, 59, 65, 67, 79, 80, 83, 84; (_hired at Ning-yüan-fu_), 85, 96, 97, 103, 107, 108, 115, 121, 129, 130, 141, 143, 144, 148, 156, 162, 169, 170; their thoughtfulness and good-will, 149; dismissed at Chengtu, 178; (_hired at Chia-ting_), 183, 185. 

 "Crooked sterns, " 214. 

 Cua-Cam River, 11. 

 Customs regulations, tend to check development of trade in Tonking, 15. 

 "Daisy, " 31. 

 Dalai Lama, the, 277, 278. 

 Davidson, Warburton, 209, 210. 

 De Mailla, his _History of China_, 171. 

 Dead, the, kept unburied in China, 87. 

 Didier, M. , 224. 

 Dogs, in Mongolia, 259. 

 Dong Dang, 10. 

 Doumer, M. , Governor General of Indo-China, his energetic forward policy, 9-11; and the exposition of 1902, 13. 

 Dragon Festival, 176. 

 East, characteristics common to, different races of, 42, 43. 

 Eliot, Sir Charles, quoted, 28. 

 Emperor of Heaven, Mountain of the, 214. 

 "Emperor of the West, " the, at Chengtu, 171, 172. 

 Erh-tsun, 53, 54. 

 Escort of soldiers, 38-40; why urged upon travellers, 38; vagaries of, 41, 121, 122; change of, 55; in Szechuan, 77, 78, 98. 

 Europeans, and native women, 17, 18; and Chinese, in Chung-king, 209. 

 Exchange, varying rate of, 97. 

 Fan t'an, played by coolies, 59. 

 Fei Yüeh Ling, 111. 

 Ferry, Jules, "l'homme de Tonking, " 9. 

 Flowers, profusion of, in mountains of Yunnan and Szechuan, 62, 65, 66; in the Ta Tu valley, 144, 145; north of Urga, 292. 

 Foo-chou, 214. 

 Food, method of cooking in Yunnan, 58, 59; some details concerning, 108, 109-111. 

 Forbidden City, the, in Peking, 230. 

 Foreign Legion, French, 18, 19. 

 France in China, 18 _ff. _; 224, 225. 

 French, race-prejudice among the, 18; in Yunnan, 29. 

 French consulates in Yunnan, like fortified outposts, 29. 

 French troops in Indo-China, familiar with vernacular, 20. 

 French sisters, 141, 142. 

 Friends' Institute, club at Chung-king, visit to, 210, 211; a new departure in mission work, 211. 

 Friends' Mission, the, at Chung-king, 209, 210, 213. 

 Fruit-growing in China, 206, 207. 

 "Fu, " meaning of, in place-names, 31n. 

 Fu River, the Min sometimes so-called, 203. 

 Fulin, 42, 89, 102, 103. 

 Fu-ming-hsien, 55, 56. 

 Fu t'ou (head coolie), and "the squeeze, " 96, 97; an opium-smoker, 107, 108; 35, 36, 48, 85, 130, 140, 151, 164, 165. 

 Gardens, in Mongolia, 260. 

 Genghis Khan, 74, 281, 282. 

 Gigin, the (the Living Buddha), Urga the home of, 276, 277. And see Bogdo. 

 Glass, rarely seen in West China, 40. 

 Glorious Dragon Rapid, 214. 

 Gobi Desert, crossing the, 256 _ff. _; the outfit, 256, 257; an American buggy in, 257; the party, 257, 258; fine weather in, 258, 259; gardens in, 260; disadvantages of bathing while crossing, 262; wild life in, 262, 263; vegetation in, 264; no houses in, 264, 265; 235, 251, 252, 304. 

 Goddess of Mercy. See Kuan Yin. 

 Goddess of Mercy Rapid, 214. 

 Goitre, in Southern Szechuan, 68. 

 Golden Sand, River of, the Yangtse so called, 64. 

 Golden Stream, the, 118. 

 Golden Temple, the, 32. 

 Goosetail Rock, 217. 

 Gordon, Charles G. ("Chinese"), 229. 

 Grape-nuts, in China, 240, 241. 

 Great Cold Mountains, the (Lololand), 75. 

 Great Encampment, the. See Ta Huren. 

 Great Snow Mountains, 117. 

 Great River, the. See Yangtse. 

 Great Wall of China, the, at Nankow, 234; 246, 285, 304. 

 Gurkhas of Nepal, beaten by Chinese, 126. 

 Hainan, island of, 11. 

 Haiphong, difficult approach to, 11; customs officials at, 11; at police headquarters in, 12; described, 12, 13; 3, 4, 5, 10. 

 Haitang, 95, 96. 

 Hakka, 142. 

 Han River, and Yangtse, three cities at junction of, 222. 

 Han Yüan Kai, 104, 105. 

 Han Hai. See Gobi Desert. 

 Hankow, the Chicago of East China, 207; and its sister cities, 222; the trading centre of the three, 222; the revolution at, 222; preparing for journey to Peking at, 223, 224; 38, 219, 227. 

 Hanoi, capital of Tonking, 10; one of the finest cities in the Far East, 13. 

 Hanyang, rival of Bombay in manufactures, 222. See Hankow. 

 Heavenly Mountains. See T'ien-Shan. 

 Hei Shi Tan, 216, 217. 

 Himis lamassery, 124. 

 Hoang River, bridge across, 228; contrast between, and Yangtse, 228. 

 Hoi-hou, 11, 29. 

 Ho-k'ou, 10, 18, 19, 20, 66, 67. 

 Honan, province of, 227. 

 Hong (guild), coolie, 33, 35, 36. 

 Hong Kong, where East and West meet, 4; essentials of outfit procurable cheap at, 4, 5; 240. 

 Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, 37. 

 Horse thieves, warning against, 269. 

 Horses, in Mongolia, 263. 

 Hosie, Sir Alexander, 93, 94, 119. 

 Hou Wei Têh, 243. 

 Hsi-Liang, and the opium trade of Yunnan, 25. 

 Hsiao Hsiang Ling, 91. 

 "Hsien, " meaning of, in place-names, 31n. 

 Hua-lin-ping, 112, 114, 161. 

 Huc, Abbé, quoted, 249, 250, 279, 280. 

 Hui-li-chou, European women rare visitors to, 69; native Christians in, 70; 67, 68. 

 Humphreys, Dr. , missionary, 81. 

 Hupeh, province of, 38, 218, 227. 

 Hupeh money, 37, 38. 

 Ichang, from Chung-king to, by river, 213 _ff. _; a busy place, and why, 221; its location, 221, 222; 177, 226. 

 Impedimenta, advice as to, 4-6; all essentials procurable at Hong Kong, 4. 

 Imperial City, the, in Peking, 230. 

 Imperial Post-Office, efficiency of, 127, 128. 

 India, 310. 

 Indo-China, French rule in, 8, 9; under Doumer, 9, 10; little outward difference between men and women of, 19. 

 Inns, in villages, 47; in towns, 47, 48; plenty of hot water the one luxury of, 48; foul-smelling, 48; in Mongolia, 248. 

 Intemperance, absence of, in East, simplifies travel there, 84. 

 Interpreter, the, a Kiangsi man, 4, 5; his democratic instincts, 203; dismissed at Hankow, 224; 34, 77, 78, 79, 86, 96, 97, 99, 100, 108, 121, 133, 140, 151, 152, 156, 178. 

 Iro River, travelling on, 305, 306. 

 Irrawaddy River, 71. 

 Ivan, tarantass driver, 292, 294, 297, 298, 299. 

 Jack (terrier), 6, 11, 12, 32, 33, 34, 40, 45, 46, 60, 61, 95, 103, 104, 108, 127, 140, 143, 146, 147, 149, 151, 153, 166, 170, 178, 192, 205, 224, 229, 239, 259, 264, 265, 274, 275, 295, 297, 298, 307. 

 Jam, in praise of, 240. 

 Japan, and the Manchurian railway, 246. 

 Japanese, at Chengtu, 175. 

 Jardine, Mattheson & Co. , 225. 

 Jee-ka, 56. 

 Kalgan, China and Mongolia meet at, 235; main roads from, to Urga, 244, 245; an outpost of Russia, 246; 233, 238, 239, 241, 242, 243, 252, 257, 266, 273, 281. 

 Kalgan-Peking R. R. , the first railway constructed by Chinese, 234. 

 Kang (furnace), 248. 

 Kang Hi, 116. 

 Kerosene, white wax superseded by, for lighting, 73. 

 Kiakhta, "very western, " 303, 304; its great commercial past, 304; 289. 

 Kinsha Kiang. See Yangtse River. 

 Ku Niang (author's title), 140. 

 Kuan Yin (Goddess of Mercy), temple to, 113. 

 Kublai Khan, 49, 74. 

 Kung-tan, 214. 

 Kwang-chou-wan, 7, 9; bay of, 7. 

 Kwangtung, province of, 51, 105, 316. 

 Kwei-chou, 55. 

 Kwei-fu, the "trackers' Paradise, " 216; change in attitude toward foreigners at, 216. 

 Kweilu, the, river-steamer, 221. 

 Ladakhis, the, effect of lamaism on, 282; 131, 146. 

 Lamaism, in Tachienlu, 124; aspect and effects of, 138; strength of, in Mongolia, 279, 280; said to be encouraged by Chinese Government, 281; its effect on the people, 281, 282; a "black travesty" of Buddhism, 282. 

 Lamas, ferocity of, 131; different kinds of, 279, 280, 281. 

 Lamassery, in the Gobi, 265; at Tuerin, 268; of Bogdo, at Urga, 277, 278. 

 Lao-kai, 18-20. 

 Lao-pan (boat-captain), the, 213, 215, 216. 

 Laughter, the universal solvent, 60. 

 Leng Chi, 115. 

 Lesser Trail, the, 140 _ff. _

 Lhasa, road to, 125, 134; 126, 127, 128, 131, 160, 274, 280. 

 Li Ching Hsi, and the opium trade of Yunnan, 26; and the Pien-ma question, 30. 

 Li Ping, 167. 

 Li-chou, 86, 87. 

 Lime juice, merits of, 240, 241. 

 "Lincoln, " 31. 

 Literatus. See Interpreter. 

 Little, Archibald, 116, 209. 

 Liu, chair coolie, 79, 84. 

 Liu, cook, from Chung-king, 5; dismissed at Hankow, 224; 38, 45, 48, 56, 86, 103, 110, 140, 178, 188, 202, 203, 211. 

 Liu Sha River, 104. 

 Loess country, the, 228. 

 Lo-han, 182. 

 Lololand, the mysterious, 67, 74, 75; neighborhood of, complicates travel in the Chien Ch'ang, 75; measures taken by government thereanent, 77; 92. 

 Lolos, in Yunnan, 50; "tame, " 75, 76; their ethnological status a problem, 76, 77; their proper appellation uncertain, 76, 77; 89, 90, 91, 92, 98, 189. 

 Losus, in Yunnan, 50. 

 Lu-Ting Ch'iao, bridge at, the only connecting link between China and Tibet, 116, 117; 115, 139, 142, 145, 161. 

 Lu-Han R. R. , 225, 227, 228. 

 Lu-ku, 88. 

 Lung-kai, scanty accommodations at, 63; 101, 206. 

 Ma-An Shan Pass, 145, 154. 

 Ma-fu (horse-boy), 48, 157, 161, 164, 165. 

 Mai-ma-chin, one of the three cities in Urga, 275, 276; the Chinese trading settlement, 276. 

 Mai-ma-chin, on the Siberian frontier, 302. 

 Manchu rule, its anti-opium policy one of the causes of its overthrow, 26. 

 Manchuria, 55, 236. 

 Manchus, downfall of, and the Six-Power loan of 1908, 226. 

 Mandarin language, some form of, spoken by five sixths of the people of China, 317. 

 Mandarin Road, the, 104 _ff. _

 Manners, in China, 129. 

 Mekong River, 71. 

 Mencius, quoted, 312. 

 "Mercury, " coolie, 107. 

 Miaos, in Yunnan, 50. 

 Mien-ning, 89. 

 Military schools, in Yunnan, 28. 

 Military spirit, in Yunnan, 27. 

 Min River, travelling on, 202 _ff. _; name unknown to the Chinese, 203; native names for, 203; scenery on, 203, 204; 64, 73, 178, 180. 

 Ming dynasty, fall of, 171. 

 Ming Shan (mountain), famous for tea, 163. 

 Ming Shan-hsien, 163. 

 Missionaries, at Ya-chou, 158; status of, in China, 158, 159; at Chengtu, 174; at Chung-king, 208. 

 Mohammedan rebellion, 50, 54. 

 Mohammedans in Yunnan, 50. 

 Monasteries on Omei Shan, picturesque names of, 193. 

 Monastery of Ten Thousand Years. See Wan-nien Ssu. 

 Monastery of the Voice of the Waters, 182. 

 Money, arrangements for, 37, 38; Yunnan dollars, 37; Szechuan coins, 37; Hupeh money, 37, 38; difficulties concerning, 97, 98; for the Mongolian journey, 241. 

 Mongol city, in Urga, 277. 

 Mongolia, and China, meet at Kalgan, 235; prospective attractions of, 236, 237; preparing for travelling in, 237 _ff. _; stores, 240, 242, 243; money, 241; on the road from Kalgan, 243 _ff. _; the "Camel Road" chosen, 245; exports of, mostly animals, 245; post-routes across, 245, 246; Russian influence in, 246; first impressions of, 247; the grassland, 247 _ff. _, 259; inns in, 248; tents or huts ("yurts") in, 248-250; "the unchanging East, " 248; the women and children of, 250, 251, 260, 261; topographical description of, 251, 252; population of, 253; government of, 253; opium habit in, 255; wives come high in, 261; Chinese unwelcome aliens in, 276; lamaism in, 279, 280. And see Gobi Desert and Mongolia, Northern. 

 Mongolia, Northern, rainy season in, 270-272; trade of, controlled by Chinese of Mai-ma-chin, 276; extension of Russian influence in, 284, 285; railway connection would be advantageous to, 285; hold of Chinese Government on, insecure, 285, 286; colonization of, by Chinese, 285, 286. 

 Mongolian plateau, the, 247 _ff. _

 Mongolian Road, 244. 

 Mongolian tents. See Tents. 

 Mongolian women. See Women, Mongolian. 

 Mongols, material position of, 253; lazy, 254; their herds, 254; neither manufacturers nor tillers of the soil, 254; as tea-drinkers, 254; great endurance of, 254; intemperate, 254, 255, 260; fine horsemen, 255; degenerate sons of a conquering race, 255; oppressed by Chinese, not by China, 260; eye-diseases of, 265; effect of lamaism on, 282; prefer Russians to Chinese, 285; not China, but civilization is driving them to the wall, 296, 297. 

 Mongols, of the author's Mongolian expedition, 257, 258, 265. 

 Mongols, Northern, 268, 270. 

 Monks, of Burma, their Buddhism, 282. 

 Morrison, George B. , 237, 238. 

 Moscow, 236. 

 Namti River, 18, 21; valley of, 15, 21. 

 Nan River, 165. 

 Nanking, as the possible capital of China, 229; 159, 226. 

 Nankow, 233, 234. 

 Nankow, Pass of, 228. 

 Napoleon III, 8. 

 Ni T'ou, 111, 121. 

 Nicholas II, Tsar, 306. 

 Nicolai, 292, 295. 

 Ning-yüan-fu. 33, 34, 37, 71, 74, 75, 80-82, 83, 85, 86, 178. 

 Omei (town), and its pilgrims, 185; its shops, 186. 

 Omei, Mount. See Omei Shan. 

 Omei River, 184, 187. 

 Omei Shan, the holy of holies, 180; ascent of, 187 _ff. _; myths and legends concerning, 188, 189; monasteries on, 190, 193, 194; memories of a three days' stay on the summit of, 194-199; wherein its charm consists, 198, 199, 280. 

 Opium habit, among coolies, 107, 108; rare in Mongolia, 255. 

 Opium trade, in Yunnan, 25, 26; Manchu government adverse to, 26. 

 Pai-chang, hiring a pony at, 163-165. 

 Pai-la shu (white-wax tree), 73. 

 Pailou (memorial arch), 104, 105. 

 Palm-leaf hats, 19, 20. 

 Pao-an-ying, 95. 

 Paper, substitute for glass in West China, 40. 

 Passports, lack of, 11; not required within Chinese Empire, 212; for Mongolia, 237. 

 Pechihli, Gulf of, 228. 

 Peking, arrival at, 228; situation of, 228, 229; the Tartar Wall, 229 _ff. _; the divers cities of, 230; viewed from the Wall, 231, 232; the American Legation, 232; the streets, 232; to the average European its history begins in 1900, 233; preparing for Mongolian journey at, 237 _ff. _; 24, 163, 176, 222, 223, 280. 

 Peking cart, an instrument of torture, 243, 244. 

 Peking railway, the. See Lu-Han R. R. 

 People's Assembly, the, 230. 

 Photographing, in Szechuan, 156. 

 Pien-ma boundary question, 29, 30. 

 Pilgrim to Lhasa, the, 112. 

 Pilgrims to Omei Shan, 185, 187, 189, 193, 195. 

 P'ing-i-p'u, 98, 99. 

 Polo, Marco, 74, 81, 124, 171, 172, 230, 244, 248, 250. 

 Pongkiong, 260. 

 Ponies, Yunnanese, 34, 35. 

 Poppies, not now cultivated in Yunnan, 26; banished from Chien Ch'ang, 72, 94. 

 "Pork money, " 36, 96, 97. 

 Post-routes, between Kalgan and Siberian frontier, 245, 246. 

 Praying-Stones, 138. 

 Precious Stone Castle, 214. 

 Protestant missions in China, achievement of, 158, 159. 

 P'u-chi, 53. 

 P'u-hsien Bodhisattva, 189, 190, 191. 

 P'u Yi, the baby Emperor, and the new government, 231. 

 Purple City, the, in Peking, 230. 

 Queue, the, 43. 

 Railway, projected by Chinese Government, 15, 16. 

 Railways in China, history of, 225, 226; the Kalgan-Peking line the first one built by Chinese, 234. 

 Rainy season, the, in No. Mongolia, 270-272. 

 Rats, 21. 

 Red lama, the, 258, 265. 

 Red River R. R. , from Hanoi to Yunnan-fu, 14-23; no night traffic on, 14; accommodations on, 14; a remarkable undertaking, 14, 15; engineering difficulties of, 15; rates on, excessive, 15; 4. 

 Reeves, Captain, 237. 

 Reform movement, in Yunnan, 27. 

 "Relay, " the. See Mongolian Road. 

 Religion, in India, 310; in China, 311. 

 Religions, great diversity of, in Yunnan, 50. 

 Revolution, Chinese, effect of, on railway project, 16; 27, 28, 125, 177, 201, 222. 

 Richthofen, Baron von, 106, 165, 166. 

 Rivers of Sand. See Sha Ho. 

 Rockhill, Mr. W. W. , American explorer and diplomat, 112. 

 Roman Catholic missions in China, 158. 

 Roman Catholic missionaries at Chengtu, 174. 

 Rosthorn, A. De, his _Tea Cultivation in Szechuan_, 163. 

 Russia, and the Mongolian postal service, 246; her policy of "peaceful penetration, " 246; extension of her influence in No. Mongolia, 284, 285. 

 Russian Consulate at Urga, 277, 278. 

 Russian frontier. See Siberian frontier. 

 Russian settlement in Urga, 277, 291. 

 Russians, in Urga, 284. 

 Russo-Asiatic Bank (Urga), 241, 277, 284. 

 Sacred City, the. See Urga. 

 Salween River, 71. 

 Sandals, 43, 44. 

 "Second Gentleman, " the (son of Li Ping), 167. 

 Sedan-chair, method of travelling in, described, 34. 

 Sha Ho, 252. 

 Sha Shen Ho, 244. 

 Shamo. See Gobi Desert. 

 Shanghai, 4, 222, 225, 226. 

 Shans, in Yunnan, 50. 

 Shantung, 236. 

 Shields, Dr. , 158. 

 Shields, Mrs. , 158. 

 Shih Ta-k'ai, Taiping leader, 89, 99. 

 Shyok River, 60. 

 Si Kiang, the, 29. 

 Siberian frontier, post-routes from Kalgan to, 245, 246; arrival at, 301-303. 

 Siberian Railway, 236, 306, 307. 

 Sikiang, the, river steamer, from Hong Kong to Haiphong on, 5-11. 

 Sinden-fu, Marco Polo's name for Chengtu, 171. 

 Singapore, Chinese Consul-General at, his mourning, 88. 

 Six-Power Loan of 1908, proved the undoing of the Manchus, 226. 

 Soap, in Mongolia, 261, 262. 

 Soothill, Dr. , 159. 

 "Squeeze, " the, 96, 97. 

 Standard Oil Co. , and the white-wax industry, 73; 85. 

 Standard Oil tins, use of, in Mongolia, 250. 

 Stevenson, Owen, missionary, 33, 41, 53. 

 Süchi, 184. 

 Sugar, a great delicacy in Mongolia, 301. 

 Suifu, 64, 75, 203, 206. 

 Sung-lin, inn at, 87. 

 Szechuan province, natives of, 51; travelling in, 63 _ff. _; the Cloud Mountains, 64; private school in, 67, 68; condition of people in, 68; western boundary of, 124; beginning of its later history, 171, 172; viceroy of, 172; Railway League of, and the revolution, 177; "chuman" pagodas of, 204; the river the sole highway to, 219; future of, 219, 220; 5, 26, 37, 39, 55. 

 Szechuan dogs, and the sun, 64. 

 Szechuan money, 37. 

 Szechuan road, the, 217, 218. 

 Ta Ho, 235. 

 Ta Fo Rapid, 181. 

 Ta Huren, the Mongol city of Urga, 277, 286-288; alien elements in, 287, 288; 291. 

 Ta Liang Shan (Lololand), 74, 75, 92. 

 Ta Shueh Shan, 117. 

 Ta Tu Ho, the limit of direct Chinese administration, 124; its only bridge, 116, 117, 139; its change of name, 118, 119; valley of, 114, 115, 144, 145; 42, 89, 99, 101, 143, 161, 180, 181, 182, 184. 

 Tachienlu, _sui generis_, 123; situation of, 123; China and Tibet meet in, 123; in the grip of lamaism, 124; principality of King of Chala, 125; government of, 125; key to the western country, 125; meeting Capt. Bailey at, 126 _ff. _; postal arrangements at, 128; the people the most interesting feature of, 130, 131; practically all China-Tibet traffic passes through, 132, 133; visit to a temple at, 136-138; priests of, 138; 105, 106, 110, 119, 141, 160, 248. 

 Tailless dog, hunt for the, 205. 

 Taiping rebellion, the, 89, 99. 

 Ta-kiang, the Min sometimes so-called, 203. 

 Taoism, 317. 

 Tar Ho, 123. 

 Tarantass, travelling in a, 289-304. 

 Tarchendo River, 118, 119, 120, 123, 141, 142; valley of, 119, 120, 121. 

 Tartar City, the, in Peking, 230. 

 Tartar Wall, the, at Peking, 229 _ff. _

 Tashi Lama, the, 277. 

 Ta-shu-p'u, unique instance of native unfriendliness at, 99, 100; 101, 105. 

 Tchagan Hou, 269, 271, 274, 289. 

 Tea, on the Mandarin Road, 105 _ff. _; heavy loads of carriers of, 105; of Ming Shan, 163. And see Brick tea. 

 Tea, Szechuan, 159. 

 Tea-houses, on the Mandarin Road, 108, 109; 44. 

 Temple of Heaven, the, 230, 231. 

 Temples, Chinese, generally uninteresting, 32. 

 Teng-hsiang-ying, 89, 90, 92. 

 Tents, in Mongolia, described by Marco Polo and by Abbé Huc, 248-250. 

 Tibet, and China, meet in Tachienlu, 123; frontier of, 124; relations with China, how affected by Chinese revolution, 125; Chinese conquest of, 125, 126. 

 Tibet, Western, adventure in, 60. 

 Tibetan Mountains, 92, 123, 162. 

 Tibetans, consume vast quantities of brick-tea, 105, 160; in Tachienlu, 124, 131, 134; defended by Captain Bailey, 132; in Omei, 190; and Mongols, 248; effect of lamaism on, 282. 

 Tien-chüan-chou, approach to, 153, 154; 155. 

 Tien-Shan, 251. 

 Tientsin, 257, 279. 

 Tobacco, use of, universal, 66, 67. 

 Tola River, 274, 275, 276. 

 Tommy Atkins, in India, and the vernacular, 20. 

 Tonking, under Doumer, 9-11; its value as the key to China, 10. 

 Tonking-Yunnan R. R. See Red River R. R. 

 "Trackers" on the Yangtse, 215, 216, 218, 219. 

 Travellers on Red River R. R. , 16, 17. 

 Tso-ling Ho, 62. 

 Tsungli Yamen, 229. 

 Tuan Fang, 226, 227. 

 Tuerin, 268, 269. 

 Urga, the Sacred City, approach to, 273, 274; first sight of, 274; arrival at, 275; three cities in one, 276, 277; Chinese government of, 277; described, 277; worship of Bogdo in, 277; pilgrimages to, 278; a wealthy Mongol household in, 282-284; railway prospects of, 285; difficult departure from, 289-291; 6, 29, 238, 239, 240, 241, 243, 244, 245, 252, 253, 257, 304. 

 Vegetables, washing, in China, 206; fresh, for Mongolian journey, 242. 

 Verchneudinsk, 304, 305, 306, 307. 

 Villages, in Yunnan, 45. 

 Wa Ssu Kou, 118, 119, 141, 142. 

 Wagons Lits, Hôtel des, at Peking, 228. 

 Wai-wu-pu, the, 237, 243. 

 Wang, interpreter, cook, and general factotum, for the Mongolian journey, 237, 241, 242, 257, 262, 269, 275, 289, 290, 291, 294, 297, 299. 

 Wan-hsien, 177, 214, 219. 

 Wan-nien Ssu, 190, 191. 

 Water, a serious problem in the Gobi Desert, 264. 

 Water Gate (Peking), 229. 

 Wellwood, Mr. , missionary, 81, 84. 

 Wellwood, Mrs. , 178. 

 Wells, in Gobi Desert, 252, 264. 

 West, the, zeal of, mars as well as mends, 129. 

 West China, former ways of reaching, 3; now simplified by French enterprise, 3. 

 West River valley, 16. 

 White Emperor's Temple, the, 217. 

 White Tsar, the, 246. 

 White-wax industry, the, 72, 73; wrecked by Standard Oil Co. , 73. 

 Wild life, in the Gobi Desert, 262, 263. 

 Windbox Gorge, 216. 

 "Wine money, " 83, 84. 

 Wives, come high in Mongolia, 261; their status, 261. 

 Wolves, Mongolian, 262, 263. 

 Women, Chinese, qualities of, 86. 

 Women, Mongolian, their vanity, 261, 262; their dress, 270, 271; 250, 251. 

 Woosung, 225. 

 Wuchang, provincial capital of Hupeh, 222. See Hankow. 

 Wu-pan (boat), down the Min and Yangtse in, 202 _ff. _

 Wu-ting-chou, 57-60. 

 Ya Ho, difficult navigation of, 161; scenery on, 161, 162; valley of, 157; 152, 154, 180, 184. 

 Ya-chou, 105, 106, 139, 140, 155, 157, 158, 159, 161, 166, 207. 

 Yalung River, 67, 71. 

 Yang, Mr. , 211. 

 Yangtse River, crossing, 63; its swift current, 63, 64; the "River of Golden Sand, " 64; at Suifu, 206; travelling on, 206 _ff. _; gorges of, 218; at Ichang, 221; and Han, three cities at junction of, 222; contrast between, and the Hoang, 228; 3, 37, 42, 71, 116, 163, 165. And see Min River. 

 Yellow Emperor, the, 189. 

 Yellow River. See Hoang. 

 "Young Ladies. " See Annamese Tirailleurs. 

 Younghusband expedition to Lhasa, 126. 

 Yuan Shih Kai, 227. 

 Yuan-pu, the, 192. 

 Yüeh-hsi, 94. 

 Yun Bay, 16. 

 Yunnan, province of, effects of Mohammedan rebellion in, 27; the railway brings new life to, 27; the Reform movement in, 27, 28; new military spirit in, 27, 28; significance of adhesion to western ideas, 27, 28; dread of foreign interference in, 28, 29; French encroachments in, 29; French consulate in, 29; government projects of railways in, 29; Bureau of Foreign Affairs and its chief, 30, 31, 38; travelling across, 42 _ff. _; meaning of the name, 49; a "land of sunshine, " 49; varied inhabitants of, 49, 50; conquest of, by Kublai Khan, 50; proportion of tribes in population of, 50; ethnological map of, a wonderful patchwork, 50; variety of religions in, 50; a fine field for civil discord, 50; natives of, 51; hill-roads in, 52; travelling among the mountains in, 54 _ff. _; estimated population of, 55; 3, 9, 22. 

 Yunnan dollars, 37. 

 Yunnan pony, 102. 

 Yunnan-fu, from Haiphong to, by rail, 13, 14; approach to, 21, 22; its picturesque situation, 23; its climate, 23; an unattractive city, 24; its lake, 24, 25; famous for its metal work, 25; opium trade banished from, 25, 26; military school in, 28; French predominance in, 29; a native official hostess at, 31; excursions from, 32; hiring coolies at, 33-35, 36; departure from, 41, 42; 3, 21. 

 Yurts (Mongolian huts), 248, 249. 

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