CHAPTER XII—THE NINE DRAGON TEMPLE
The crossing of the Lanho—A dust storm—Dangers of a new inn—Locked in—Holy mountain—Ruined city—My interpreter—A steep hill—The barren woman—Unappetising food—The abbot—The beggar—Burning incense—The beauty of the way.
We were fairly in the mountains when we left Tsung Hua Chou. As we crawled along slowly, and I trust with dignity, though dignity is not my strong point, I looked up to the hills that towered above us, almost perpendicular they seemed in places, as if the slope had been shorn off roughly with a blunt knife, and I saw that one of these crags, that must have been about a thousand feet above the valley bottom, anyhow it looked it in the afternoon sunlight, was crowned by buildings; and not feeling energetic, nobody does feel energetic who rides for long in a Peking cart, I thanked my stars that I had not to go up there. I thought if it were the most beautiful temple in the world I would not go up that mountain to visit it. Which only shows that I did not reckon on my Chinese servant. There may be people who can cope single-handed with the will of a Chinaman. I can't. I know now that if my servant expresses a desire for a thing, he will only ask, of course, for what is perfectly correct and good for his Missie, he will have it in the end, so it is no good struggling; it is better to give in gracefully at first.
As we neared a river, the Lanho, or I suppose I should say the Lan, for “ho” means a river, the clouds began to gather for the first time since I had set out on my journey, and it seemed as if it were going to rain.
“Must make haste,” said Tuan looking up at the grey sky with the clouds scurrying across it, and making haste in a Peking cart is a painful process.
By the time we arrived at the river-banks it was blowing furiously, and a good part of the country, as always seems to be the case in China when the wind blows, was in the air. The river, wide and muddy and rather shallow, was flowing swiftly along, and the crossing-place was just where the valley was widest, and there was a large extent of sand on either bank, so there was plenty of material for the wind to play with. It used it as if it had never had a chance before and was bound to make the most of it. There were many other people on that sandy beach, there were other Peking carts, there were laden country carts with their heavily studded wheels cut out of one piece of wood, looking like the wheels Mr Reed puts on his prehistoric carts in Punch, there were laden donkeys and mules, there were all the blue-clad people in charge of the traffic, and there were tiny restaurants, rough-looking shacks where the refreshment of these people was provided for. They weren't refreshing when I arrived, the wind was blowing things away piecemeal, and every man seemed to be grabbing something portable, or putting it down with a stone upon it to anchor it. "Must make haste,” said Tuan again, as he helped me out of the cart, and the wind got under my coat, tore at my veil, and succeeded in pulling down some of my hair.