In the evening the ladies of the family of the official to whom the house in which we were staying belonged asked permission to call on us. We entertained them and asked all the polite questions we could think of, such as their names, where they came from (Chinese officials always seem to be moving about the country), number of children, their age, &c., and we were asked similar questions in return. Suddenly a hitherto silent member of the party asked in a shrill tone, “What is your rank?” a most difficult question to answer so that they could understand, except in an ambiguous way. They were much pleased to drink “English” tea, which is quite different from what is prepared for the Chinese market, and to eat English cakes, some of which they carried away in their handkerchiefs.

The following morning we took our leave, hoping that our guide would prove his official skill by correctly tipping the various members of the establishment, and the same ceremonies were gone through as on our arrival. The guide sent the cook to “buy cash,” which was carried after him, as he felt far too important to carry it himself. The money worry was beginning to grow acute, as its value varies every day, and at Küfow we found two complete systems of coinage in use, one reckoning only half as much as the other; the 100 cash meaning anything between 80 and 97, but never by any chance meaning 100. The Government, not to mention banks and officials, reckons to get a “squeeze” out of everything, so it is lucky that money is subdivided into infinitesimally small values; 100 cash being worth about twopence-halfpenny.

On leaving Küfow we took a somewhat different route from what we did in coming, as we wished to visit a Buddhist monastery, and again we were entertained by hospitable magistrates on the road. Evidently they have found former travellers thirsty for something else than the national beverage, so Münchenes Bier was provided. On the second day we had a long stage—38 miles—to do, so we got up at 4.30. Alas! No sooner were we ready than down came the rain, in a most uncompromising way, and the men refused to set out. After waiting a couple of hours it seemed to be clearing; we made a feeble start, but the men crept along like snails, and their steps were so uncertain on the slippery ground as to make us quite nervous. We got safely across the ferry, though the water had risen a good deal considering how little rain had fallen. Our soldier escort galloped away under his red umbrella, and we saw him no more. The men set us down in an inn doorway on the farther side of the river, provided themselves with hot sweet potatoes from an itinerant vendor who happened to be passing, and refused to go any farther in the rain. By dint of persuasion and the promise of sixpence each extra (exorbitant sum!) if they would do the stage that day, we got them to make a fresh start. We plodded slowly on for five hours, and found we had done twenty miles by the time we reached our midday rest; we halted for an hour, and the rain stopped, so that we got on much better afterwards. During the rain there was not a creature to be seen except ourselves in all the wide landscape, but the minute it stopped the people appeared in every direction as if by magic. In the village streets we found great difficulty, as the rain had converted them into one big puddle, and the men tried to hop about from stone to stone. When it grew dark we were terrified, and I clutched a large eider-down pillow in readiness to cover my face when I should take the seemingly inevitable plunge into the morass. However, we escaped all disaster, and the men walked without stumbling through dry water-courses and over rough boulders, and the cart jogged along over impossible places. When the moon rose it was like fairyland; and at eight o’clock we triumphantly trudged into our inn.

The following morning we started at six o’clock for the celebrated Buddhist monastery of Lu, and reached it about 11.30. This monastery is situated up a solitary valley about six miles from the high-road, and the situation was splendid. It nestled in a hollow of lofty hills, its tall pagoda standing out sharply from the trees. There was a pylon part way up, and two stone bridges with yew-trees overarching them. The buildings round the temple are not at all imposing, but the entrance gate has a gilt Buddha seated in the centre, surrounded by four huge statues, each of a different colour, representing tutelary deities belonging to the Taoist religion; and back to back with Buddha was another god.

MOUNTED MILITARY ESCORT

The first temple we came to contained three seated Buddhas with a curious rockwork background, but beyond it and up a flight of steps was a much more imposing temple, of which both design and colouring were a facsimile of what we had just seen at Küfow, only on a smaller scale. It was impossible, judging by the exterior, to tell that it was Buddhist and not Taoist or Confucian, but inside there was no mistake. Buddha sat enthroned on a large lotus blossom, with a halo behind him and a thousand little seated gilt Buddhas on shelves all round the hall. Life-size figures of the 42 Lo Han were seated against the walls, and amongst them were the two emperors, pointed out to us by one of the monks. We discovered for ourselves a figure who we felt sure was Marco Polo: he had the face of an Arab and wore a drapery over his head, unlike any of the other figures; the monk could only tell us that he was a man from the West. What would Marco Polo have said if he could have foreseen that he would be placed among the Buddhist “holy ones”?

The rest of our journey back to Tsinan was accomplished safely in two and a half days.

CHAPTER VIII
The Yellow River and Grand Canal

We had little difficulty in deciding which route to take from Tsinan to Tientsin, as the railway journey to Tsingtao and by ship thence were both equally disliked by us. We determined to strike across country (travelling in the same way as to Küfow) as far as Tehchow on the Grand Canal, and to go up it by boat to Tientsin—in all, a week’s journey. The country is flat and not nearly so varied as the rest of the province, but it contained one most interesting experience for us, the crossing of the Yellow River. When we reached its banks we saw a far more turbulent flood than that of the Yangtze, and of the same dull mud colour. It took a little time to arrange for us to be ferried across and then to get our cart and mules on board, and we had time to study the route to be taken, as there was a large amount of traffic at this point. It seemed strange that there was no bridge across, especially when we saw the difficulty of navigating it; but it may be that, as the river is so capricious in its choice of a bed, the authorities consider it not worth while to build a bridge. The enormous amount of silt and mud which it brings down with it soon fills up the bed and causes frightful inundations. Dikes have to be built, and when they are broken through by flood a most extraordinary method of repairing them is used. A sort of gigantic pad of earth and stones, in a basket-work made of kaoliang (= sorghum) stalks and roots, is prepared and lowered into the breach by means of ropes, thousands of coolies being employed on the task. None but Chinese could devise or manage to execute such a work. On one occasion over 4000 people were drowned by the breaking down of a dike. Now the Government is seriously considering how to deal with the difficulty of controlling the course of the river. When we were safely on board the large ferry-boat, the boatmen towed us up the river-bank for about half-an-hour till we came to a point at which we could start, and then they came on board to row. It taxed their powers to the utmost, and by dint of straining every nerve they landed us at a point just opposite to that from which we originally started. Their work looked the most arduous I have ever seen.