But the products of the prefecture are not confined to tea; two varieties of drugs are largely exported. They are called Hou p’o and Huang lien. The former is the bark of Magnolia hypoleuca, S. et Z, and the latter consists of the rhizomes of Coptis teeta Wall. The bark of the wild Magnolia being thicker, is preferred to the bark of the cultivated tree and fetches a much higher price. Coal and iron are also mined and worked.
THE FLYING DRAGON PASS.
We spent the greater part of the 5th of March struggling in a dense mist along the right bank of a small tributary of the Ya Ho. A pass, called the “Flying Dragon,” 3580 feet above the sea, lies between this and a larger tributary of the same river. A long pull over a frightful road brought us to the summit, where we sat down and made friends with a number of Tibetans of both sexes, who were engaged in a pilgrimage to the sacred mountains of Western China. The women were sturdy and good-looking, gaily ornamented with ear-rings and brooches, and had none of that lifelessness and insipidity which characterize their almond-eyed sisters. No mock-modesty debarred them from chaffing and laughing at my European features and dress. Up the west side of the pass scrambled about twenty ponies and mules, panting and blowing; not without sufficient cause, for they were carrying heavy loads of copper from Ning-yuan, and, from Yün-nan, the bark of a species of Rhamnus, which is used for making a green dye.
Are the Chinese wanting in the faculty of invention? It is well known that they will make an exact copy of any pattern that may be supplied to them. A tailor has been known to produce a new coat duly patched to match the exemplar; but the ability of the race to give an original idea to the world has been hotly disputed. I think the water-wheels of Kuei-chow, which I have described in a previous chapter, are novel and ingenious, and south of Ya-chou I saw the water-wheel turned to two skilful and, at the same time, practical uses. A part of the horizontal axle of the wheel was removed, and an iron elbow inserted; to the elbow a long iron rod was attached by an eye; to the lower end of the rod was fixed a polisher, which, as the wheel revolved, was drawn backwards and forwards over the surface of a stone pillar being prepared for building purposes. On exactly the same principle, except that the axle of the wheel was vertical instead of horizontal, the rod was made to blow a blacksmith’s bellows.
TRUTH AT A DISCOUNT.
Descending from the pass, we took up our head-quarters for the night on the right bank of the Jung-ching River, as this tributary of the Ya Ho is called. Great excitement now began to manifest itself among my followers. We were only a day’s journey from the foot of the Ta Hsiang Ling Pass, and carriers from Yün-nan, who came to our inn, were cramming them with the difficulties that had to be surmounted. Snow, so they said, was lying deep on the passes, and they had only just managed to get through with their lives. Chinese statements have invariably to be heavily discounted, and the problem as to how far a Chinese believes his most intimate friend has been present with me for many years, and still remains unsolved. Instead of following the hill road along the right bank of the river to the city of Jung-ching, we crossed to the left bank by a ferry a few miles from our night’s quarters, and traversed a plain well watered and cultivated. We saw one or two villages on the plain, but they were miserable places, and scarcely a soul was visible as we passed through them. Recrossing the stream by a plank bridge, we soon caught sight of the low stone walls of the city. The universal clanging of the blacksmith’s anvil, loudly proclaimed the local industry. Coal and iron are both found in the neighbourhood, and agricultural implements, cooking pans, and crampoons were being hammered into shape. South of Jung-ching the valley contracts, frequently leaving room for the bed of the stream only, and the hills are more precipitous, rocky, and uncultivated. They were not bare, however, for the tea-tree was everywhere prominent.
The village of Huang-ni-p’u lies 1400 feet above the city of Jung-ching, and 5640 feet under the summit of the Ta Hsiang Ling, which was clad with snow. When we awoke on the morning of the 7th of March, we found the whole mountain enveloped in a thick mist, which became denser as we ascended. When we reached the Hsiao Kuan, or Lower Pass (4800 feet), the snow lay thick by the roadside; but all around was buried in white gloom. Huge icicles hung from rocks projecting over the rugged path, and we frequently heard their crashing as they fell, amid the din of roaring torrents, into the depths below. As we ascended, the snow became deeper, increasing from two to three inches above the Lower Pass to a couple of feet. The pathway, which skirts the edges of ravines and precipices, was one continuous mass of slush, snow, and ice—higher up, dry and crisp; and, starting from Huang-ni-p’u at half-past six in the morning, we stood on the summit (9366 feet) at half-past two in the afternoon, having indulged in two short intervals of rest. A stiff, north wind was blowing over the ridge, and I overheard one of the escort duly warning my followers that shouting on the summit would most certainly provoke a storm. For a time not a sound but that of our own footfalls on the crisp snow broke the stillness of the gloomy scene. It became monotonous, and, when I took to snowballing my dog in sheer desperation, my laughter and his joyous barking made them hurry down the southern face of the Pass.
On leaving the clouds, we looked down into a plain shut in by lofty ranges and broken by spurs bounding ravines washed out by mountain torrents. On a plateau in the plain, stands the district city of Ch’ing-ch’i Hsien, nearly four thousand feet below the summit of the Ta Hsiang Ling. Down the plain, which runs almost due north and south, flows a stream, nurtured by the melting snows on the surrounding peaks. The city is of no great size; but it is exceedingly interesting, as being the junction where the main high-road from Tibet to China and the road from Yün-nan by the Chien-ch’ang valley meet. Here we parted with the brick-tea carriers, sorry that it was not our fortune to accompany them to Ta-chien-lu, and attempt the country beyond that famous border town. From Ch’ing-ch’i the road goes south, descending to the bases of the precipitous mountain ranges hemming in a valley, which expands and contracts, and is plentifully strewn with stones and pebbles. Fifteen miles to the south of the city, the road suddenly descends about two hundred feet down into a wider valley. Far below us, we could see the hamlet of Lung-tung, encircled by plots of yellow rape and green wheat and poppy—a real oasis in the white stony valley. This descent leads not only to a new country, but to a new race.
A NON-CHINESE RACE.
At Lung-tung I noticed a marked difference in the features of the people, especially the women. The faces were sharper and more pointed than the ordinary Chinese type, while the foreheads were exceedingly prominent. There was an undoubted mixture of foreign, probably Sifan, blood. It is a peculiarity of all these non-Chinese races that the women are the last to abandon their national dress, and they cling with tenacity to profuse decoration. The women of Lung-tung backed up their facial distinction with a lavish display of silver ornaments.