The Peking races came off on the 4th inst. They were a great success. The course was made at a place called Wang-ho-lou, about three miles outside the city. It is the bed of an old lake dried up; a pretty spot surrounded by hillocks, and with the mountains in the background. Every mound was covered with thousands of Chinese who had come to gape and wonder at the barbarian sports. Two of the ministers of the Foreign Office, Hêng and Chung, came to the grand stand. Old Chung had brought with him his grandson, a smart little fellow of eight years old, as dignified as a judge, and far graver than his grandfather. I made the little fellow sit by me at breakfast, and plied him with good things, of which he expressed his approbation with the solemnity of a Burleigh. Wine I could not get him to touch, not even champagne. Altogether, considering the means, or rather want of means, at our disposal, we managed to have a capital day’s sport. Our little ponies are very fast. An old pony that Saurin gave me, “Kwan-du,” won the half-mile race, running it in one minute and five seconds, without training, and with 11 stone on his back. Between our races the two ministers made the officers of their escort show off their ponies; one, a small gray pony of Hêng’s, was a regular little beauty, and would have been much admired in Rotten Row. But I think that the prettiest pony on the course was a little bay pony that I call “Hop-o’-my-thumb”—a little fellow that I bought some time ago to replace my cob, which, according to my usual luck, went lame in the shoulder without hope of cure. The Chinese on the race day were not so civil as usual; we had much ado to keep the course, and when we were going away they yelled, shouted, and shrieked at us like a pack of wolfish fiends. They even went so far as to throw a few stones, none of which struck any one; of course, in such a crowd it was impossible to identify all the offenders; however, one or two got well thrashed. A little while ago I was riding with Sir Rutherford and a lady to the Temple of Heaven, when at the bottom of the main street of the Chinese city we were mobbed and attacked with stones and brickbats, one of which struck our escort. It is no use complaining to the authorities—we get no redress. I have begun to think for some time past that the bonhomie of the Chinese, which was so taking to me at first, is only a mask to cover hatred and disgust, happily tempered by the most abject terror and cowardice. However that may be, we are the masters for the present, and they know it—that is all that is required.
We are enjoying lovely spring weather now, warm and genial, with a little rain to remind one of home. The town is beginning to show a little green from the wall, on which dog-violets and vetches, very much dried up and sapless, are putting their noses out of the crannies between the bricks.
13th April.
Mail-day. No letters from home for a month past, and we hear that the mail has broken down at Galle.
LETTER XXV
Peking, 22nd April 1866.
Since I last wrote I have done nothing and seen nothing that I have not told you about over and over again. However, to-morrow morning I am off for a three weeks’ trip into Mongolia with Dr. Pogojeff of the Russian Legation. We shall go out of China by the Nan Ko̔u Pass, and come in by my former route of Ku-Pei-Ko̔u. I am looking forward with immense interest to seeing a little of Mongol life for the first time. It will be a new experience. I am afraid that one mail must pass without taking you any news of me; but when I return I hope to make amends. We had a great field-day at the Tsung-Li Yamên last week. Railroads, telegraphs, violation of treaties, etc., all the old stories that have been trotted out a hundred times. The Prince of Kung was very nervous and fidgety. He twisted, doubled, and dodged like a hare. At last when Sir Rutherford had him, as he thought, fairly in a corner, I saw a gleam of hope and joy come over the Prince’s face. He had caught a sight of his old friend and refuge in trouble, my eyeglass. In a moment he had pounced upon it, and there was an end of all business. The whole pack of babies were playing with it, and our Chief, who was furious, saw his sermons scattered to the wind. It does not signify, though, for these tricksters will promise anything. It is the performance which is lacking. By the bye, when the Prince of Kung calls at a Legation he leaves a card in the shape of a slip of red paper with his name and title upon it—Kung Chi̔n Wang.[13] But he never signs his name to documents; he subscribes them, Wu ssŭ hsin—“No private heart,” i.e. “disinterested.”
A Cantonese named Ma, whom I know and who has come up to Peking on business, was anxious to buy a little Pekingese slave-girl, and I was present at the negotiations. The child, a bright little creature eight years of age, was brought by her parents to Ma’s lodging, and as she gave satisfaction, the question resolved itself into one of price, and here the fun began, for the little thing was so keen to go that she eagerly took part with the purchaser in beating down the vendors; and, finally, a bargain was struck at 28 dollars. At that price she was handed over to her new owner, together with a bill of sale, of which here is a translation:—
“This is a deed of sale. Wan Chêng, of the village of Wan Ping, has a child the offspring of his body, being his second daughter and his seventh child, aged eight years. Because his house is poor, cold, and hungry, relying on what has passed between a third person and his wife, he has determined to sell his daughter to one named Ma. He sells her for twenty-eight dollars, every dollar to be worth seven tiaos and a half. The money has been paid over in full under the pen” (i.e. at this time of writing). “The girl is to obey her master and to depend upon him for her maintenance. In the event of any difficulties or doubts arising on the part of the girl’s family, the seller alone is responsible, it does not regard the buyer. It is to be apprehended that calamities may occur to the child, but that is according as Heaven shall decree; her master is not responsible. None henceforward may cross the door to meddle in her affairs. This agreement has been made openly face to face. In case of any inquiries being made this document is to serve as proof.” (Here follow the signatures or rather marks of the vendor, the middleman, and a third person as witness, and the date.) “The child’s birthday is the 11th day of the 6th month, she was born between the seventh and eighth hours.”
Ma declares that as soon as the girl is grown up he shall let her marry. He says, “My no wanchee do that black heart pidgin.” I believe he will keep his word—it is a matter of business, and in business the southern Chinese trader is scrupulously honest.