That evening we stopped at a very comfortable inn in a little town called Salaki. Everywhere were signs that we were approaching the capital; the streets were better looked after, and the inn was quite the best we had yet seen.
All Chinese inns seem to be built on the same principle. One passes through a wide entrance, on one side of which is the kitchen, on the other a sort of eating-house, into the courtyard, which varies in size according to the traffic. Opposite the entrance are the best rooms, kept for distinguished guests, and all round are smaller rooms for people of less importance, carters and servants. Every room is furnished with a k'ang or stove bed, and the better class inns have cupboards, tables, and chairs, but only in the best rooms. As long as one can get into these one can make oneself fairly comfortable, but should they be occupied one's lot is not an enviable one. Perhaps the most noticeable sign of civilization was glass windows, which we saw for the first time in Pao T'eo, and always daily afterwards. It was no longer necessary to carry large stores of provisions—these were obtainable everywhere; but in their place we had to carry an almost equal weight of cash, fifteen thousand of which, weighing no less than ninety pounds, we brought from Pao T'eo.
ON THE ROAD FROM PAO T'EO TO PEKIN.
Next morning we started soon after sunrise. The shopkeepers were just taking down their shutters as we left the inn, and the city was waking up to its daily life; most of the people appeared to be engaged in the silk trade, so I suppose the worm is cultivated somewhere in the neighbourhood. Unfortunately, as we strolled on ahead of the carts we took a wrong turning, and had to retrace our steps almost to the inn before we found out where we had made the mistake. We then hurried after the carts, only to find that their road and ours joined almost at the very spot from which we had turned back. A stern chase is proverbially a long one, and this was no exception to the rule.
Just outside the walls we saw a coffin which was being conveyed to the corpse's native place for interment, and this was the means of our learning a rather interesting Chinese custom. Every Chinaman has three souls, and on death one of these returns to the city temple, one to Hades, and one goes to the grave. With the last of these three a cock is always carried, no matter how far the coffin may have to be conveyed. In Southern China it is always a white cock, but in the north there appears to be no hard-and-fast rule as to colour. When the corpse is finally buried the unfortunate rooster is slain, and his spirit goes to keep company with the soul in the coffin.
Every one has heard of the importance, in the eyes of the Chinaman, of being buried in his own home, and the ships' companies do not fail to take advantage of it, the passage-money for a dead man being many times that of a live one. Before starting on one of these journeys the greatest care is taken to ascertain an auspicious day, months often elapsing before a sufficiently favourable opportunity will occur.
On the 16th November we arrived at Kuei Hua Cheng. As we approached the town we passed a "big man." He was accompanied by three attendants, one riding in front and two behind, and we were told that anybody of importance generally rode in this fashion. Kuei Hua Cheng is a very large town, and is remarkable for the absence of any sort of city wall, a deficiency for which we could discover no reason. Instead of the customary wall we found an extremely dirty entrance, for the road was at least a foot deep in mud. It hardly seems credible that a town of such importance—for besides being a large market it is utilised as the point of departure for numerous caravans—should be so wanting in this most essential respect. If this road were ever supplanted by a railway, Kuei Hua Cheng would become a centre of immense commercial interest. The sun was setting as we entered the town, and we had to make the most of the short time remaining before the shops shut to lay in stores for the next few days, when we should be crossing the Mongolian grass country, and unable to purchase anything. Meat, bread, and kua mien were easily procurable, although the latter was very much dearer than it had been in Kansu, so it was still early when we had finished our supper and turned in for the night. It had been our original intention to visit the missionaries of this place, where I know we should have met with that warm-hearted hospitality which they are ever ready to bestow upon travellers. But supper over, the visions of an early start the next morning and the cold outside our inn were arguments too strong to be thrown aside.
Our carters met many friends at the inn, and determined to enjoy themselves accordingly; much wine was drunk, and one of them indulged in the luxury of a fight, all of which, though perhaps pleasant at the time, tended to prevent a very early start in the morning; further delay being caused by the carters suddenly thinking that they would like to take a pickaxe with them, with which they could improve the road in bad places. This delay enabled me to take a photograph of a very curious Buddhist temple, which stands just at the main eastern entrance to the town. To do this Rijnhart had to give me a leg-up on to the wall, and it was not without some difficulty that I attained my object.