They are a hard lot, these mafus. Force seems to be the only thing they understand and kindness produces no results. If the march is long and we stop for tiffin it is well-nigh impossible to get them started within three hours without the aid of threats. Once after a long halt when all seemed ready, we rode ahead only to wait by the roadside for hours before the caravan arrived. As soon as we were out of sight they had begun to shoe their mules and that night we did not make our stage until long after dark.
In the morning when we see the first loads actually on the horses we ride off at the head of the caravan followed by a straggling line of mules and horses picking their way over the jagged stones of the road. It is delightful in the early morning for the air is fresh and brisk like that of October at home, but later in the day when the sun is higher it is uncomfortably hot, and we are glad to find a bit of shade where we can rest until the caravan arrives.
The roads are execrable. The Chinese have a proverb which says: "A road is good for ten years and bad for ten thousand," and this applies most excellently to those of Yün-nan. The main caravan highways are paved with huge stones to make them passable during the rainy season, but after a few years' wear the blocks become broken and irregular, the earth is washed from between them and they are upturned at impossible angles. The result is a chaotic mass which by no stretch of imagination can be called a road. Where the stones are still in place they have been worn to such glasslike smoothness by the thousands of passing mules that it is well-nigh impossible to walk upon them. As a result a caravan avoids the paving whenever it can find a path and sometimes dozens of deeply-cut trails wind over the hills beside the road.
We are seldom on level ground, for ten per cent of the entire province is mountainous and we soon lost count of the ranges which we crossed. It is slow, hard work, toiling up the steep mountain-sides, but once on the ridges where the country is spread out below us like a great, green relief map, there is a wonderful exhilaration, and we climb higher with a joyous sense of freedom.
Yün-nan means "south of the cloud" and every morning the peaks about us are shrouded in fog. Sometimes the veil-like mists still float about the mountain tops when we climb into them, and we are suddenly enveloped in a wet gray blanket which sends us shivering into the coats tied to our saddles.
For centuries this road has been one of the main trade arteries through the province, and with the total lack of conservation ideas so characteristic of the Chinese, every available bit of natural forest has been cut away. As a result the mountains are desert wastes of sandstone alternating with grass-covered hills sometimes clothed with groves of pines or spruces. These trees have all been planted, and ere they have reached a height of fifteen or twenty feet will yield to the insistent demand for wood which is ever present with the Chinese.
The ignorance of the need of forest conservation is an illuminating commentary on Chinese education. Mr. William Hanna, a missionary of Ta-li Fu, told us that one day he was riding over this same road with a Chinese gentleman, a deep scholar, who was considered one of the best educated men of the province. Pointing to the barren hills washed clean of soil and deeply worn by countless floods, Mr. Hanna remarked that all this could have been prevented, and that instead of a rocky waste there might have been a fertile hillside, had the trees been left to grow.
The Chinese scholar listened in amazement to facts which every western schoolboy has learned ere he is twelve years old, but of which he was ignorant because they are not a part of Confucius' teachings. To study modern science is considered a waste of time by the orthodox Chinese for "everything good must be old," and all his life he delves into the past utterly neglectful of the present.
Every valley along the road was green with rice fields and this, together with the deforestation of the mountains, is responsible for the almost total lack of animal life. Night after night we set traps about our temple camps only to find them untouched in the morning. There were no mammals with the exception of a few red-bellied squirrels (Callosciurus erythræus subsp.) and now and then a tree shrew (Tupaia belangeri chinensis).
The latter is an interesting species. Although it is an Insectivore, and a relative of the tiny shrews which live in holes and under logs, it has squirrel-like habits and in appearance is like a squirrel to which it is totally unrelated. Instead of the thinly haired mouselike tails of the ordinary shrews the tupaias have developed long bushy tails and in fact look and act so much like squirrels that it is difficult to convince the white residents of Yün-nan, who are accustomed to see them run about the hedges and walls of their courtyards that the two are quite unrelated.