More and more as we went along the river was I reminded of my idea of Babylon—Babylon with the romance taken out of it, Babylon grown commonplace. At one place we stopped at, there came down to the ferry a short fat man in blue, in a large straw hat, leading a donkey. But he belonged to no age, he was Sancho Panza to the life. Again there came a gentleman mounted on a mule, his servant following slowly on a small grey donkey. He was nicely dressed in darkish petticoats, and his servant wore the usual blue. They stood on the river-bank and the servant hailed the ferry. With a little difficulty the beasts were got on board and the boat poled across. It was just a wupan like my own, decked in the middle so that the animals would not have to step down. The donkey came off as if it were all in the day's work, but the mule was obstinate, and it took the entire population of that little crossing-place, including Tuan and my boatmen, to hoist him off. The person most interested, the rider, never stirred a finger. True son of Babylon was he. “Let the slaves see to all things,” I imagine him saying. There was a little refreshment booth, and a man selling long fingers of paste, or rather fried batter. My captain handled one thoughtfully and then put it back.
“Doesn't he like it?” I asked Tuan. It seemed to me so much nicer than the pink radish.
“She like,” said Tuan, “too much monies. Very dear,” and I think I could have bought up the whole stock in trade for twenty cents, about fivepence, so the cash-box was a fraud after all.
Now the hills had receded into the dim distance there were no more rapids, and I was back on the great alluvial plain of Northern China once more. The sun came out in all his glory, there were innumerable boats, and the evening sunlight gleamed on their white sails. Many of them were full of people, with many women amongst them, and Tuan told me it was the Dragon Boat Festival.
And then, as the evening shadows were falling, we came to the port of Lanchou and my journey in a wupan was ended.