MUSIC IN THE GRAND CANYON?
It is absurd to imagine for a moment that a sucking infant could own, or could be really supposed to own, a lute. The Chinese text does not say that the musical instrument is "his." And yet, curiously enough, it does declare that the baby-prince left or abandoned (k'i) a Lute or Lyre in the Canyon.
Why should such a matter be mentioned? Supposing that a fiddle was left behind, or a drum, or a rattle, why should the trivial fact be gravely recorded?
If a Lute was left in the mighty chasm, its remains might be there still. But how could an infant be said to leave or abandon a Lute? Would he not try, so well as our memory serves, to first get it into his mouth? Would not his chubby hands, quite stout enough for destructive arts, tear the strings apart and feed the music to the nearest cat? Would it be a lute at all when ultimately relinquished? And if the babe derived pleasure from ill-treated and squalling strings, why should he leave the lute behind? As well say that the suckling abandoned there a fishing-rod! Would not a milk-bottle be a much readier fount of ecstacy than either a lute or a flute? Why, neither one nor the other could be heard within the Canyon.
A Chinese commentator, however, relieves us from the necessity of seeking for a literal lute between the resounding jaws of the mighty chasm (note 23.) He says it is erroneous (ngo) to suppose that the baby emperor (ju ti) grasped (ping,) or left behind (chi) or abandoned in the place of midnight darkness (huen) any lutes or lyres (kin seh.) In hyperbolical language (wu wu)—which is never true when taken literally—a clear limpid river (shuh) would be the lute (kin.)
But how could a clear stream serve as a lute?
The running water might produce limpid notes. Thus Moore, in his ode on "Harmony," uses the following words:
"Listen!—when the night-wind dies
Down the still current, like a harp it sighs!
A liquid chord in every wave that flows."
Here is a current of water likened to the string of a harp, and the playing of winds compared to music.
Mrs. Sigourney calls Niagara a "Trump," and we accept the assertion (although literally it is quite untrue.)
But if the Chinese account placed a Trump in the Ontario chasm there would be considerable difficulty in finding it.
Fortunately, in the case immediately before us, it is a Chinese author who tells us that we are to seek for limpid streams rather than for literal lutes or lyres.
The mention of the latter would probably imply that the sounds of some stream or streams in the Great Canyon are of a remarkably soft and musical character.
Streams may produce delightful tones. Thus one observer (at Yellowstone) tells of the "mysterious music of the distant falls" "like the tremulous vibration of a mighty but remote harp-string." (note 24)
If falling water under certain peculiar acoustic circumstances can produce notes like those struck off from harp-strings, the tones can also be compared to those of lutes or lyres (for all are stringed instruments.)
The very volume which places lutes and lyres in the Great Canyon, also tells of a forest elsewhere, which is a "Forest of Lutes and Lyres" (note 25.)
Of course sounds merely resembling those of the stringed instruments, are here referred to. A forest is composed of trees rather than musical instruments, but it may produce musical tones like those of Lutes and Lyres.
And similarly the notes arising from the Grand Canyon may be of a lute-like character. This is the teaching of the Ancients. We have found the Bottomless stream and it is certain that visitors should return with accounts of melody arising from the Canyon. Future explorers should listen for musical notes. They will certainly not be disappointed.
One visitor says: "The waters waltz their way through the Canyon, making their own rippling, rushing, roaring music." We further read of innumerable cascades adding their wild music to the roar of the river."
What are these innumerable cascades but the strings of the Lute which was heard ages ago by enraptured ears and which has kept on resounding ever since. The concert in the Canyon drowns even the basic roar of the river. The music is there.
"We sit on some overhanging rocks, and enjoy the scene for a time, listening to the music of falling waters away up the canyons." (n. 26.)
It appears that the acoustic properties of the Grand Canyon are calculated to produce most notable effects: "Great hollow domes are seen in the eastern side of the rock.... Our words are repeated with startling clearness, but in a soft mellow tone, that transforms them into magical music."
Elsewhere an immense grotto "was doubtless made for an academy of music by its storm born architect; so we name it Music Temple." (n. 27.)
Lutes and Lyres are there, say the Ancients.
A Temple of Music is there, say the Moderns.
It will be noticed that the Chinese annotater calls the Great Canyon—the Ta Hoh—a place of (huen) midnight darkness and declares that it is erroneous to suppose that the Lute played down there (where it could not possibly be heard) was an instrument held by a human hand (the hand of a suckling!). Now, although the great gorge is wonderfully beautiful, it must be conceded that its basic part (within which human beings might dwell) is decidedly dark. Here "it is necessary to 'lie down upon one's back in order to see the sky,'—as I once heard General Crook express it. Into much of this deep gorge no ray of sunshine ever falls, and it well deserves the name of the 'Dark Canyon.'" (n. 28). Often in midday, stars are seen shining overhead; and it may well be called a place of midnight darkness (huen.)
In the following passage a modern visitor notices the "dark and frowning" walls of the chasm, but still enlarges on their beauty:—"One would think that after traveling through six hundred miles of those canyons, one would be satisfied with beauty and grandeur, but in this fact lies the charm. Of the six hundred miles no two miles are alike. The picture is ever changing from grandeur to beauty, from beauty to sublimity, from the dark and frowning greatness of its granite walls, to the dazzling colors of its upper cliffs. And I stood in the last few miles of the Grand Canyon spellbound in wonder and admiration, as firmly as I was fixed in the first few miles in surprise and astonishment." (note 29.)
Nature has done her best to adorn the walls of the mighty gorge. We are told of "thousands of rivulets" that "dropped farther and farther down, till the whole of the bright scarlet walls seemed hung with a tapestry of silver threads, the border fringed with white fleecy clouds which hung to the tops of the walls, and through which the points of the upper cliffs shone as scarlet tassels."
Nor was Dame Nature completely satisfied with her tapestry and fringe of tassels. Other embroidery was displayed. "As the sun broke through some side gorge, the canyon was spanned from side to side, as the clouds shifted their position, with rainbow after rainbow, vying to outdo in brilliancy of color the walls of the canyon themselves."
The ancient account declares, that in "the Region beyond the Eastern Sea," a Bottomless river traverses a Great Canyon. And this stream, remarkable for its ledges (chu) or rapids and falls, rushes onward and downward, and grows or enlarges into a Gulf. And the Canyon, the River, and the Gulf are all reported to be Kan—or Beautiful.
And visitors today return from all three, declaring that they are Beautiful! Beautiful!! Beautiful!!!
And some are entranced by strains of music arising from the mouth of the Canyon and declare that it holds an "orchestra." In one place the thousands of streamlets, glistening and gleaming like silvery cords, stretch downward from the edge of the painted chasm; and the resounding, melodious precipice is called "the Cliff of the Harp." (note 30.) What is this but an echo of the ancient declaration that the royal Lute in the Canyon was merely a musical stream. Similar ideas have occurred to poets. Coleridge in his "Ancient Mariner," tells of
"A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
Which to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune."
And Moore has heard the notes of harp-strings sounding forth from melodious streams. What wonder, then, that ancient poets (and the translation states that the particular work which makes mention of the "Bottomless Kuh" or valley, is a "poem") should have likened a collection of falling streams or cascades to the chords of a tuneful Lute and then, to distinguish it from others less excellent, have applied to the stringed instrument the name of their Prince. Americans today gravely talk of visiting or seeing "St. Luke's Head" (in California!) And we possess a mere natural formation which is supposed to resemble a nose and is religiously called "St. Anthony's Nose." In truth this "nose" is no more a literal nose than the "Lute" in the Canyon is a literal stringed instrument made by men. Then we have "Cleopatra's Bath" and "Pompey's Pillar." (Next tell us in the interest of chaos and confusion that Pompey left here "his" Pillar.)
In the grand caves at Pikes Peak there is an "organ," which is really no organ at all. It is a natural formation or production from which charming melodies are fetched by skilled musicians. Now if we ourselves can gravely call a musical, highly-strung rock an "Organ," may not the Ancients be excused for calling a combination of musical streams a Lute? Contemplating the "Cliff of the Harp," we can readily understand how old-time visitors found down there the tuneful string of a "Lute" and how an imperial Child of the Sun was unable to lug along "his" notable musical toy. There it remains and melodious notes still come floating up.
Lutes and Lyres are there, say the Ancients.
"An Academy of Music!" say the Moderns.
The Chinese annotater remarks that the lieh tsze (a class of sages or teachers—the literati) are unacquainted (pu chi) with the sheu-hai or Gulf situated toward the east (chi tung.)
The Chinese scholars of the writer's time knew little or nothing of our Gulf of California (or Sheu-hai). However, it was known to some; and we are now informed that it is ki (a few; nearly about, approximately) yih (to guess, to bet; 100,000; an indeterminate number) wan (10,000) le.
A single wan le should measure about 3,000 miles, and a few (to "guess") separate China from the Ta-Hoh which connects with the Bottomless kuh or valley ("Ta-Hoh shih wei wu ti chi kuh.)
Evidently the Great Canyon lies more than one wan le (3,000 miles) to the east of China. We find indeed that the number may well be referred to as "a few" (ki.)
Nor can the Gulf be more than about 30,000 le to the east, seeing that this Gulf of California is in "the region beyond the Eastern Sea" along with the Fu-Tree which has a trunk of 300 le. The Gulf to the east is connected with the mountain system whose Branches exhibit the gorgeous spectacle of Ten Suns. In short, the Gulf and Canyon are along with Fu-Sang; and Fu-Sang is only 30,000 le to the east of China, and merely 10,000 wide. Accordingly, the Gulf is but "a few" wan le to the east of the Flowery Kingdom.
To look for the Canyon and Tree within the Philippine Islands, contiguous to China, is simply impossible. The islands have been pretty well thrashed over lately, and no one has met with the Tree! It has a "Trunk of 300 le," and collectors of curios or strange plants should keep wide awake and see that they don't pass it in the dark. And yet with its Ten Moons, how miss it? How fail to notice our glittering, gleaming, glorious candelabrum? It couldn't have fallen or drifted over to the Panama ditch? It can't possibly be now stuck in any South American Flower-pot? Catching the Tree seems to be as slippery as catching Tartars, and perhaps when the first is found, the others won't be very far off.
The Chinese commentator, of course, never saw either the Gulf or Canyon but he quotes from earlier writers who were well acquainted with our "region beyond the Eastern Sea;" and one of these named Chwangtsze, is quoted to the effect that in the Ta Hoh or Great Canyon high winds (yuen fung) occur (yu) or come unexpectedly upon one.
Do storms arise suddenly in the neighborhood of the mighty chasm?
One modern explorer says: "I go up to explore the alcove. While away a whirlwind comes scattering the camp fire among the dead willows and cedar spray and soon there is a conflagration, the men rushing for the boats, leaving all they cannot readily seize at the moment, and even then they have their clothing burned and hair singed." (note 31.)
Storms occur in all parts of the world. Is there anything peculiar about the tempests which are said to suddenly arise in the Great Canyon?
One visitor says: "Storms were not infrequent and these occurring where the canyon walls were a mile high and close together produced an effect that was almost supernatural in its awfulness. The deep thunder echoed sharply between the cliffs, producing a roaring sound that was almost deafening." (note 32.)
It should be remembered that the vast caverns here multiply the bellowings of thunder and also help to confine and intensify the raging and imprisoned whirlwinds.
One eye or ear witness tells of a storm both seen and heard within the Canyon and adds: "I have seen the lightning play and heard the thunder roll among the summit peaks of the Rocky Mountains, as I have stood on some rocky point far above the clouds, but nowhere has the awful grandeur equalled that night in the lonesome depths of what was to us death's canyon.... Again all was shut in by darkness thicker than that of Egypt. The stillness was only broken by the roar of the river as it rushed along beneath me. Suddenly as if the mighty cliffs were rolling down against each other, there was peal after peal of thunder striking against the marble cliffs below, and mingling with their echoes, bounding from cliff to cliff. Thunder with echo, echo with thunder, crossed and recrossed from wall to wall of the canyon," etc. (note 33.)
Surely sudden and dreadful storms rage here. The loudest in North America, says an expert.
Observe that the visitor just quoted notices the "roar of the river" in connection with the fury of the tempest.
Now, the ancient visitor does the same. After directing attention to the sudden high winds, he says that a decidedly curious sight or spectacle (king shun) is the keang (a large main stream which receives tributaries) spreading abroad (fu) the noise of flowing water (tsung) in the Ta-Hoh or Great Canyon.
The noise of the great river or Keang is thus noticed by the ancient visitor, who also declares that the Ta-Hoh or Great Canyon constitutes a decidedly fine or curious sight.
And such in truth it actually is. "Imagine a chasm that at times is less than a quarter of a mile wide and more than a mile deep, the bed of which is a tossing, roaring, madly impetuous flood.... What an imposing spectacle; what a sublime vision of mightiness!" (n. 34).
A great sight! say the Ancients.
A Wonder of the World! say the Moderns.
The roar of the river has never ceased since the ancient scribe, or his informant, passed that way. A modern visitor says: "The threatening roar of the water is loud and constant."
Again, "The roar of its waters was heard unceasingly from the hour we entered it until the time we landed here. No quiet in all that time." (n. 35).
One navigator tells of a "bore" in connection with the resounding stream. "In the stillness of the night, the roaring of the huge mass could be heard reverberating among the windings of the river.... This singular phenomenon of the 'bore,' as it is called, is met with but at few places in the world.... In the course of four or five hours the river falls about thirty feet" (n. 36.)
Another explorer pauses at one spot in his amphibious career to note that "high water mark" can be seen "fifty, sixty, or a hundred feet above its present stage;" and "when a storm bursts over the canyon, a side gulch is dangerous, for a sudden flood may come and the inpouring waters will raise the river, so as to hide the rocks before your eyes" (n. 37).
Another navigator, who never was without a life-belt,—which he found of vital use when righting his too often overturned ark,—tells with amazement of "the waves, torrents, and cataracts of this wildest of rivers."
A ceaseless basic roar is there,—deadened at times by floods of music, yet nevertheless eternally there.
The sea connected with the Great Canyon is elsewhere called a Puh hai (the latter term signifying "sea.")
A Puh hai is said to be a "Gulf," and we find a Gulf—the Gulf of California—at the mouth of the Colorado.
It should, however, be observed that the term Puh by itself stands for "an arm of the sea." A Puh hai is a Gulf which forms "an arm of the sea." The Gulf or sea should be shaped like an arm—an arm of the ocean (see Williams' dict. p. 718.)
Now, a glance at the map shows that in a very peculiar sense the Gulf of California is a hai or "sea" which meets the requirements of being shaped like an arm. It is a sea and a gulf and at the same time "an arm" of the ocean. Truly it is a Puh hai.
A great many "gulfs" are quite unlike "arms," being too broad to admit of such a comparison. But our Gulf of California is comparatively narrow and is truly an "arm" of the sea. And notice how the water of the river—our Colorado—"accumulates and so forms a gulf." Such are the words of the existing translation and they apply completely to the American situation. Here we find the water of the Colorado accumulating or widening out until it becomes a great body of water—a Gulf. Indeed this development or process of expansion is so gradual that it is impossible for navigators to tell where the river ends or the gulf begins.
In the Chinese comment immediately before us, however, the hai or sea to the Canyon's river mouth is called a Sheu.
Now this term signifies "to rinse the mouth, to scour; to wash out a thing; to purify." (Williams, p. 757.)
The word Sheu is written by combining the characters for "water" and "to suck in."
It is evident that our Gulf of California is "an arm of the sea" and no less a Sheu. A "mouth" it undoubtedly has, and this mouth is being ceaselessly "washed," "scoured," and "purified." Even a dentist would be satisfied! The immense stream rushes out, and tides from the Pacific rush in. Moreover the Colorado "sucks in" the tidal wave known as the Bore. Surely we have here the Eastern Gulf sea which is both a Puh and a Sheu.
The water of the noisy, restless, purifying stream within the Ta-Hoh was it is said,—
1. Yu (which means "used or employed.")
2. Wuh (to water or irrigate; to soften with water; to enrich.)
3. Tsiao (scorched, burned, singed, dried up.)
4. Chi (referring to or denoting.)
5. Tsze (here or this.)
Evidently the water of the Colorado was used to irrigate some ground or vegetation which was dried up or scorched.
Such a remark implies a high temperature (during the period of growth) between the walls of the chasm, and also leads us to look for some soil—some scorched or dried up soil (sadly in need of irrigation)—between the jaws of the Canyon. Is there parched or desert soil on the banks of the Colorado?
Here is the answer: "The region through which the chafing waters of the Colorado run is forbidding in the extreme, a vast Sahara of waste and inutility; a desert too dreary for either vegetable or animal life; a land that is haunted with wind-storm, on which ride the furies of desolation.... The earth is parched to sterility.... It is like the moon, a parched district, save for the single stream which, instead of supplying sustenance, is eating its vitals." (note 38.)
Another traveler visited Fort Yuma, on the Colorado, and says: "The ride to the fort was through a flat and desolate looking country.... It was a dreary eight hours ride." Other remarks are made concerning "the barrenness of the surrounding region and" "the intense heat of its summer climate." (note 39.)
In some spots, however, water produces magical effects. In the Mojave valley, for instance, "the annual overflow of the river enables the Mojaves, to raise with little labor, an abundant supply of provisions for the year.... During one season, a few years since, the Colorado did not overflow its banks; there were consequently no crops and great numbers of the Mojaves perished from starvation." (note 40.)
Curiously enough, although rain fell furiously within the Canyon, it was observed by a traveler that "such rain-storms were invariably confined to the immediate vicinity of the Canyon, the territory lying two or three miles east or west continuing parched with hardly a cloud above it." And the explorer wonders how some ancient inhabitants, whose buildings are now in ruins, "managed to exist, situated as they were in a desolate country, where there was great scarcity of both vegetable and animal life."
The ancient Chinese account connects a baby king, a supreme ruler, with the Great Canyon and now states that water was used within the gorge to irrigate the soil, which is represented as being dried up or scorched. Is the Canyon remarkable for its heat? Surely it ought to be cool down there?
One visitor says: "That Canyon was the sultriest place I have ever struck, and my experience includes some of the hottest sections this side of the equator.
The oppressive heat in the chasm was felt at a "point fifty times as deep as the great chasm at Niagara." (note 41.)
"But despite the terrible heat, despite the discomfort of the situation, I was compelled to wonder and admire, For,"—
The Ta-Hoh should constitute a magnificent sight, but it is also said to contain some scorched or dried up soil. Is such to be seen?
An explorer reached the Colorado at a point where it is 266 yards wide, and adds that the "soil" "bore nothing but dry weeds and bushes and the whole scene presented the most perfect picture of desolation I have ever beheld, as if some sirocco had passed over the land, withering and scorching everything." (note 42.)
Withered and scorched! say the Ancients.
Withered and scorched! say the Moderns.
In one favored spot, "to the limit of vision, the tortuous course of the river (the Colorado) could be traced through a belt of alluvial land varying from one to six miles in width, and garnished with inviting meadows, with broad groves of willow and mezquite and promising fields of grain." The visitor remarks that the valley appears most attractive in the spring—"at this season of the year before the burning heat has withered the freshness and beauty of the early vegetation." (note 43.)
We are informed that the valley south of the Bend of the Colorado near the "Needles," there is in the spring a "most brilliant array" of flowers; but, "after the ephemeral influence of the few spring showers has passed, the annual plants are soon burned up by the sun's heat and perfect sterility prevails throughout the remainder of the season." (note 44.)
It is sufficiently apparent that the soil when properly watered can produce abundant vegetation and sufficient nourishment for, of course, limited numbers of human beings. Deprived of water, the soil is unable to sustain desirable plants, and presents a sterile aspect. Surveying its present condition or appearance of barrenness, a modern visitor wonders how the ancient inhabitants contrived to exist, or find food, within the withered, unfruitful chasm. But one of the ancients, Mr. Chwang Tsze, writing about this very Ta-Hoh or Great Chasm, says that they used water to irrigate the otherwise scorched or dried up soil. Then, if such a somewhat belated answer is true, the question arises, where are the proofs?
A chief of the Ethnological Bureau very properly furnishes the answer. Standing in the abyss of the Ta-Hoh, on the bank of the roaring river, he beholds some ancient buildings and perceives how their vanished occupants formerly contrived to subsist. He says: "We can see where the ancient people who lived here—a race more highly civilized than the present—had made a garden, and used a great spring" [or feeder of the Colorado], "that comes out of the rocks for irrigation," etc. (n. 45.)
We irrigated the soil, say the Ancients.
They irrigated the soil, say the Moderns.
Next comes the statement of some trusted early sage or scholar who was certainly acquainted with our Ta-Hoh (containing the ruin and irrigated soil just noticed.) It is an observer or scribe named Tu-tsan, who says:—
10. Seay (to paint, to draw, to sketch.)
11. yih (to spread abroad, to diffuse.)
12. tung (a gorge, ravine, canyon, a cave, a grotto.)
13. hueh ("a hole in the earth or side of a hill,—they are used for dwellings;" a den, a grotto, a cavern.)
Something called seay is here said to be spread abroad, or diffused over rocky walls or caves. Williams (p. 796) says that seay (or sie as it is also spelled) stands for a sketch or design, and adds that it means to draw, to compose, to write. Morrison, in his dictionary, says that seay signifies "to paint," etc.
Of course there is no use looking for anything so absurd as pictured or painted rocky walls or caves; and we accordingly feel disappointed when the ancient text seems to notice such. The pictures or paint should be "spread abroad" freely or lavishly in the vicinity of caverns, and we know positively that no "paint" or pigment of human composition can be seen on the canyon walls. No artificial pictures are there, and we are compelled to admit that the ancient account here stands falsified.
We have, however, found the caves. Music Temple, for instance measures two hundred feet from floor to roof, and is "a vast chamber carved out of the rock." There are caverns in all directions. And the noisy, roaring river is certainly there as well. One explorer says: "Imagine a chasm that at times is less than a quarter of a mile wide and more than a mile deep, the bed of which is a tossing, roaring, madly impetuous flood, winding its way in a sinuous course along walls that are painted with all the pigments known to nature. What an imposing spectacle!" (n. 46.)
Of course we must object that the "walls" are really not walls and that the "paint" so lavishly spread upon them is not paint at all. The ancient assertion is delusive, but equally so is the modern. Just compare them.
The Virgin River enters the Colorado, and at the place of junction are the "resplendently painted temples and towers of the Virgin. Here the slopes, the serpentine ledges, and the bosses of projecting rock, interlarded with scanty soil, display all the colors of the rainbow, and in the distance may be likened to the painter's pallete. The bolder tints are of maroon, purple, chocolate, magenta, and lavendar, with broad bands of white laid in horizontal belts. (n. 47.)
Is this so-called "paint" lavishly "spread abroad"?
Certainly; one section of the mighty and wondrous gorge is known as "the painted canyon."
Of course the chasm is not really "painted" by artists or human agents, and we need not look for painted cliffs anywhere. Nevertheless modern observers echo the language of the ancients, and we are told today of "the painting of the rocks" and of "deep, painted alcoves" and "painted grottos" (n. 48.)
The term yih (see Williams' dict. pp. 781, 1092) is composed of the characters for "fluid" and "vessel," and signifies "A vessel full to the brim; ready to overflow, to run over; abundant; to spread abroad, to diffuse." As seay, the word which precedes yih in our Chinese note, signifies "to paint," we perceive how the additional term yih teaches that the paint made use of has been applied to extensive surfaces, so that it presents the appearance of having "overflowed" or "run over" the rocky walls and caverns dealt with.
Of course neither writing nor literal pictures could overflow or drench—and adhere to—walls or cliffs. But seay yih might cover the motion of applying paint in a most lavish, copious, overflowing manner. Here are cliffs so "rich with parti-coloring as to justify the most extravagant language in describing them."
It looks as though the gnomes on the job, in the Canyon, just emptied their paint-pots down dizzy cliffs and then went back for more. And such extravagance is in harmony with the symbols which stand for painting and vessels and spreading abroad or overflowing! Mineral paints were freely used and sometimes apparently with considerable care and skill. Thus we read of a red sandstone cliff "unbroken by cracks or crevices or ledges" exhibiting "extensive flat surfaces beautifully stained by iron, till one could imagine all manner of tapestry effects."
Here are painted imitations of tapestry.
It should further be remembered that there are actual picture writings spread abroad on extensive painted or stained surfaces. The author just quoted beheld ancient dwellings which "exhibited considerable skill on the part of the builders, the corners being plumb and square." And just here "there were also numerous picture writings." (note 49.)
An amazed visitor exclaims: "Grand, glorious, sublime, are the Pictorial cliffs of vermillion hue!"
"Pictorial" answers to seay (the 10th character in our list.)
Pictured and painted! say the Ancients.
Pictured and painted! say the Moderns.
We have seen that our Gulf (of California) has been called a Puh-hai, or "arm of the sea."
Professor Hoith, the celebrated student of Chinese, in his work on "Chinese History" (p. 49, footnote) says that a puh hai is "an estuary."
Webster says that an "estuary" is "an arm of the sea; a firth; a narrow passage, or the mouth of a river or lake, where the tide meets the current, or flows and ebbs."
Plainly our Gulf of California is a Puh hai or Estuary.
It may further be remarked that Puh is written in Chinese by putting together two characters, one standing for "water," and the other signifying "Suddenly; hastily; flurried, disconcerted, as when caught doing wrong; to change color, confused" (Williams' dict. p. 718.)
It is superfluous to say that our Gulf or Estuary is a very "confused" or "flurried" body of water. It is truly a Puh-hai.
Moreover, it "changes color." As though "caught doing wrong," it changes color and blushes at times a rosy red. This is the hue of multidunious veins: "A thousand streams rolling down the cliffs on every side, carry with them red sand; and these all unite in the canyon below, in one great stream of red mud" (n. 50.) But sometimes the color below Yuma is yellow or black (n. 51.)
The name "Colorado" is a Spanish term conveying the idea of redness, and undoubtedly this hue predominates throughout the course of the boisterous stream; but other colors due to the dye or wash of variously painted cliffs, are also met with. Moreover a section may exhibit one color to-day and something different to-morrow. And so it is with the gulf, which receives the Colorado, and on which floating patches of color are frequently seen. Truly our Gulf or Estuary is remarkable for both its coloring, blue, red, etc., and its changes of color. In all respects it is plainly a Puh-hai.
Our Gulf or Estuary is also called a yuen. Farther on (see Chinese version) we read that the Canyon river produces or grows into (shang) a beautiful (kan) yuen.
This term yuen stands for a "gulf, an abyss; an eddy, a whirlpool or place where the back water seems to stop."
A whirling, violent, or impetuous body of water is evidently referred to. Fernando Alarchon, in 1540, found the Colorado "a very mighty river, which ran with so great a fury of stream that we could hardly sail against it.
One voyager tells how his ark, the "Emma" was "caught in a whirlpool, and set spinning about." Here is a yuen.
Again, "The men in the boats above see our trouble but they are caught in whirlpools, and are spinning about in eddies."
What have we here but Yuen—multiplied whirlpools?
Through "Whirlpool Canyon" and all the way to the Gulf, the waters dance around and about. We read of "dancing eddies or whirlpools." There are more than 600 rapids and falls in the Colorado (n. 52.)
The waters waltz their way and even furnish their own "rippling, rushing, roaring music." And we are in addition told of "innumerable cascades adding their wild music" (n. 53).
Surely the entire inlet traversed by the bore or reached by ocean tides is in precisely the condition of commotion which may well be designated by the term yuen.
We are informed that the kan (or beautiful) yuen approaches (tsih) with vapor (hi hwo) and bathes (yuh) the sun's place (ji chi su).
It is evident that the mighty stream which traverses the Great Canyon in the region beyond the Eastern Sea, should flow from a Bottomless valley to a Gulf, and reach to the Sun's Place. And we find that the current of the Colorado extends to the Tropical line of Cancer, which crosses and marks the mouth of the Gulf of California.
Vapor or fog is noticed in connection with the beautiful (even if restless or reeling) Yuen.
Are fogs a noticeable feature along the coast of California? If so, they might hide the entrance or mouth of the Gulf.
One visitor says: "Westward toward the setting sun and the sea," was a "filmy fog creeping landward, swallowing one by one the distant hills."
Again, we read of "hilltops that thrust their heads through the slowly vanishing vapor."
Here "you may bask in the sunshine of gardens of almost tropic luxuriance or shudder in fogs that shroud the coast" (n. 54.)
We need not wonder that such vapors should appear within the confines of the charming Gulf of California and at times veil its shores. A recent visitor says: "The island and mountain peaks, whose outlines are seen from the Gulf, had been somewhat dimmed by a light haze, appeared surprisingly near and distinct in the limpid medium through which they were now viewed. The whole panorama became invested with new attractions, and it would be hard to say whether the dazzling radiance of the day or the sparkling clearness of the night was the more beautiful and brilliant" (n. 55).
Hazy and Beautiful, say the Ancients.
Hazy and Beautiful, say the Moderns.
The haze is not dense enough to blind our eyes to the manifest fact that those people of old who were acquainted with the position of our Gulf of California, must also have been acquainted with Mexico and its inhabitants.
Tropical America was considered by its people to be particularly under the influence of the Sun. Uxmal was in "the Land of the Sun" (n. 56), and the Mexicans called themselves "Children of the Sun."