The difficulties of the laundry—A friend in need—A strange picnic party—The authority of the parent—Travelling in a mule litter—Rain—A frequented highway—Yellow oiled paper—Restricted quarters—Dodging the smoke—“What a lot you eat!”—Charm of the river—Modest Chinamen—The best-beloved grandchild—The gorges of the Lanho—The Wall again—Effect of rain on the Chinaman—The captain\'s cash-box—A gentleman of Babylon—Lanchou.

And now it was time to bid farewell to my kind hosts and start back to Peking. Thank goodness it was going to be fairly easy. Instead of the abominable cart I was going to float down the River Lan in a wupan, a long, narrow, flat-bottomed boat.

First I sent my servant with my card to the Tartar General to thank him for all his kindness. This brought Mr Wu down again with the General\'s card at the most awkward hour of course, in the middle of tiffin, and Mr Wu, much to my surprise, was dignified and even stately in full Chinese dress. He was all grey and black. His petticoat or coat or whatever it is called was down to his ankles and was of silk, he wore a little sleeveless jacket, and his trousers were tied in with neat black bands at his neat little ankles. So nice did he look, such a contrast to the commonplace little man I had seen before, that I felt obliged to admire him openly. Besides, I am 322told that is quite in accordance with Chinese good manners.

He received my compliments with a smile, and then explained the reason of the change.

“Must send shirt, collar, Tientsin, be washed. I very poor man, no more got.”

And Tientsin was three or four days by river, sometimes much more, as well as five hours by train! I felt he had indeed done me an honour when he had used up his available stock of linen in my entertaining, and to think I had only admired him when he was in native dress!

Another Chinese gentleman came in that day and was introduced to me. He contented himself with Chinese dress, and he had more English, though it was of a peculiar order.

“But I hate to hear people laugh at Mr Chung\'s English,” said the missionary who was a man of the world. “He was a good friend to me and mine. If it hadn\'t been for him, I doubt if I or my wife or children would be here now.”

It was the time of the Boxer trouble, and the missionary was stationed at Pa Kou where Mr Chung had charge of the telegraph station. The missionaries grew salads in their garden, which the head of the telegraphs much appreciated, and even when he felt it wiser not to be too closely in touch with the foreigners, he still sent down a basket for a salad occasionally. One day in the bottom of the basket he put a letter. “The foreign warships are attacking the Taku Forts,” it ran, “better get away. I am keeping back the news.”

But the missionary could not get away. Up and down the town he went, but he could get no carts. 323All the carters raised their prices to something that was prohibitive, even though death faced them. And then came the basket again for more salads and in the bottom was another letter.

“The foreign ships have taken the Taku Forts,” it said. “I am keeping back the news. Go away as soon as possible.”

And then the missionary spoke outright of his dilemma, and Mr Chung went to the Prefect of the town and enlisted him on their side. The carters were sent for.

“You would not go,” said the Prefect, “when this man offered you a great sum of money,” it sounded quite Biblical as he told it. “Now you will go for the ordinary charge or I will take off your heads.”

So two carts were got, and the missionary, his wife, and children, and as much of their household goods as they could take, were hustled into them, and they started off for the nearest port.

“If ever I am in a hole again I hope I travel with such women,” said the missionary; “they were as cheerful as if it was a picnic-party.”

All went well for a couple of days, and then one day, passing through a town, a man came up and addressed them, and said he was servant to some Englishmen, a couple of mining engineers, who were held up in this town, because they had heard there was an ambush laid for all foreigners a little farther down the road. And the missionaries had thought they were the last foreigners left in the country!

They promptly sought out the Englishmen, who confirmed the boy\'s story. It was not safe to go farther. The little party decided to stick together, 324and finally the missionary went to the Prefect and told him how the Prefect at Pa Kou had helped them, and suggested it would be wise to do likewise, especially as the foreigners were sure to win in the end.

The Prefect considered the matter and finally promised to help them, provided they put themselves entirely in his hands and said nothing, no matter what they heard. It seemed a desperate thing to do to put themselves entirely in the hands of their enemies, but it was the only chance, that chance or Buckley\'s and Buckley, says the Australian proverb, never had a chance. They agreed to the Prefect\'s terms; he set a guard of soldiers over them, and they travelled surrounded by them. But at first they were very doubtful whether they had been wise in trusting a man who was to all intents and purposes an open enemy.

“Where did you get them?” asked the people of the soldiers as they passed. And the soldiers detailed at length their capture.

“And what are you going to do with them?” And the soldiers always said that, by the orders of the Prefect of the town where they had been captured, they were taking them on to be delivered over to the proper authorities, who would know what to do with them, doubtless the least that could happen would be that they would have their heads taken off.

And the man who told me the story had lived through such days as that. Had seen his wife and children live through them!

But the Prefect was as good as his word, the soldiers saw them through the danger-zone to safety.

“But if it had not been for Mr Chung in the first 325instance———-” says the missionary, and his gratitude was in his voice.

And Mr Chung had his own troubles. He was progressive and modern, not, I think, Christian, and he had actually himself taught his daughters to read. Also he had decided not to bind their feet. And then, the pity of it—and the extraordinary deference that is paid to elders in China—there came orders from his parents in Canton—he must be a man over forty—the daughters\' feet were to be bound.

I was glad indeed to have heard the story of Mr Chung before I set out on my journey.

The Lanho is seven miles, a two hours\' journey by mule litter or cart from Cheng Teh Fu, and I decided to go by litter and send my things by cart, for, not only did I object to a cart, but I thought I would like to see what travelling by mule litter was like. I am perfectly satisfied now—I don\'t ever want to go by one again.

I had to get in at the missionary compound, because it takes four men to lift a litter on to the mules, and there was only one to attend to it. It was early in the morning, only a little after six, but all the missionaries walked about a mile of the way with me—I felt it was exceedingly kind of them, because it was the only time I ever saw men and women together outside the compound—then they bade me good-bye, and I was fairly started on my journey. I sat in my litter on a spring cushion, lent me for the cart by a Chinese gentleman, and I endeavoured to balance myself so that the litter should not—as it seemed to me to be threatening to do—turn topsy-turvy. It made me rather uncomfortable at first, because once in there is no way of getting out without 326lifting the litter off the mules. You may indeed slip down between it and the leading mule\'s hind legs, but that proceeding strikes me as decidedly risky, for a mule can kick and his temper does not seem to be improved by having the shafts of a litter on his back.

It was a cloudy morning and it threatened rain. I had only seen one day\'s rain since I had been in China. The scenery was wild and grand. We went along by the Jehol River, on the edge of one range of precipitous mountains, while the other, on the other side of the river, towered above us. We were going along the bottom of a valley, as is usual in this part of the world, but as the Jehol is a flowing river and takes up a good part of the bottom, we very often went along a track that was cut out of the mountain-side. The white mule in front with the jingling bells and red tassels on his collar and headstall, always preferred the very edge, so that when I looked out of the left-hand side of my litter, I looked down a depth of about thirty or forty feet, as far as I could guess, into the river-bed below. I found it better not to look. Not that it was very deep or that there was any likelihood of my going over. I am fully convinced, in spite of the objurgations showered upon him by the driver, that that white mule knew his business thoroughly. Still it made me uncomfortable to feel so helpless.

And the way was very busy indeed, even thus early in the morning. All sorts of folk were going along it, there were heavy country carts drawn by seven strong mules, they were taking grain to the river to be shipped “inside the Wall,” and the road that they followed was abominable. Every now and 327again they would stick in the heavy sand or ruts, or stones of the roadway—everything that should not be in a road, according to our ideas, was there—and the driver would promptly produce a spade and dig out the wheels, making the way for the next cart that passed worse than ever. Two litters passed us empty, and we met any number of donkeys laden, I cannot say with firewood, but with bundles of twigs that in any other country that I know would not be worth the gathering, much less the transport, but would be burnt as waste. And there were numberless people on foot, this was evidently a much-frequented highway, since it was busy now when it was threatening rain, for no Chinese go out in the rain if they can help it. I thoroughly sympathise, I should think twice myself before going if I had but one set of clothes and nowhere to dry them if they got wet. The hill-sides were rocky and sterile, but wherever there was a flat place, wherever there was a little pocket of fertile ground, however inaccessible it might appear, it was carefully cultivated, so was all the valley bottom along the banks of the river, and all this ground was crying out for the rain. And then presently down it came, heavy, pouring rain such as I had only seen once before in China. It drove across our pathway like a veil, all the rugged hills were softened and hidden in a grey mist, and my muleteer drew over and around me sheets of yellow oiled paper through which I peered at the surrounding scenery. I wasn\'t particularly anxious to get wet myself, because I did not see in an open boat how on earth I was ever to get dry again, and three or four days wet or even damp, would not have been either comfortable, or healthy.



0462

328At last we arrived at the river, a broad, swift-flowing, muddy river running along the bottom of the valley and apparently full to the brim, at least there were no banks, and needless to say, of course, there was not a particle of vegetation to beautify it. There was a crossing here very like the ferrying-place I had crossed on my journey up, and there were a row of long boats with one end of them against the bank. It was raining hard when I arrived, and the litter was lifted down from the mules, but the only thing to do was to sit still and await the arrival of Tuan and my baggage in the Peking cart.

They came at last, and the rain lifting a little Tuan set about preparing one of the boats for my reception.

I must confess I looked on with interest, because I did not quite see how I was going to spend several days with a servant and three boatmen in such cramped quarters. The worst of it was there was no getting out of it now if I did not like it, it had to be done. Though I do worry so much I always find it is about the wrong thing. I had never—and I might well have done so—thought about the difficulties of this boat journey until I stood on the banks of the river, committed to it, and beyond the range of help from any of my own colour. For one moment my heart sank. If it had been the evening I should have despaired, but with fourteen good hours of daylight before me I can always feel hopeful, especially if they are to be spent in the open air. The wupan is about thirty-seven feet long, flat bottomed, and seven feet wide in the middle, tapering of course towards the ends. In the middle V-shaped sticks hold up a ridge pole, and 329across this Tuan put a couple of grass mats we had bought for this purpose, then he produced some unbleached calico—and when I think of what I paid for that unbleached calico, and how poor the Chinese peasants are, I am surprised that the majority of them do not go naked—and proceeded to make of it a little tent for me right in the middle of the awning. I stood it until I discovered that the idea was he should sleep at one end and the boatmen at the other, and then I protested. What I was to be guarded from I did not know, but I made him clearly understand that one end of the boat I must have to myself. There might be a curtain across the other end of the awning, that I did not mind, but I must be free to go out without stepping on sleeping servant or boatmen. That little matter adjusted, much to his surprise, the next thing we had to think about was the stove. I wanted it so placed that when the wind blew the matting did not make a funnel that would carry the smoke directly into my face. But that is just exactly what it did do, and I\'ve come to the conclusion there is no possible way of arranging a stove comfortably on a winding river. We tried it aft, and we tried it for\'ard, and when it was aft it seemed the wind was behind, and when it was for\'ard the wind was ahead, and whichever way the smoke came it was equally unpleasant, so I decided the only thing to be done was to smile and look pleasant, and be thankful that whereas I required three meals a day to sustain me in doing nothing, my boatmen who did all the work and had a stove of their own, apparently, sustained life on two. The ideal way would be to have a companion and two boats, and then the trip would be delightful. 330As it was I found it well worth doing.

The rain stopped that first day soon after we left the crossing-place, and from the little low boat the mountains on either side appeared to tower above us, rugged, precipitous, sterile; they were right down to the waters edge and the river wound round, and on the second day we were in the heart of the mountains, and passed through great rocky gorges. It was lonely for China, but just as I thought that no human being could possibly live in such a sterile land, I would see far up on the hills a little spot of blue, some small boy herding goats, or a little pocket of land between two great rocks, carefully tilled, and the young green crops just springing up. And then again there were little houses, neat, tidy little houses with heavy roofs, and I wondered what it must be like to be here in the mountains when the winter held them in its grip. Somehow it seemed to me far more lonely and desolate than anything I had seen on my way across country.

We always tied up for the men to eat their midday meal, and we always tied up for the night. But we wakened at the earliest glimmer of dawn. They evidently breakfasted on cold millet porridge, and I, generally, was up and dressed and had had my breakfast and forgotten all about it by five-th............