Our struggles through the day on the precipitous banks of the Ya-lung had, we imagined, earned a good night’s repose at the little town of Hang-chou, which lies on the left bank of the streamlet. In this, however, we were sadly disappointed. Surmounting a low eminence we beheld, to our surprise, little but its charred remains, the town having been destroyed by fire only a few days before. On entering, we found, as might have been expected, wretched accommodation. The homeless inhabitants were huddled together in the few houses that had escaped the ravages of the fire. The mass of idlers seemed to require some outlet for the superfluous energy which had not yet been expended in the rebuilding of their homes. Our arrival was their opportunity. No sooner had we settled down in the apartment which we had the greatest difficulty in procuring, than we were surrounded by a gaping and insolent crowd. So insolent and threatening indeed did they become, that we had to solicit the intervention of the local authority in suppressing what, to every appearance, was fast becoming a riot. He came, but his presence was powerless and his commands were unheeded. He left, and matters assumed a still more serious aspect. A free fight thereupon resulted between the rioters and my followers. At this point my intervention became necessary, and, for the first and only time during my wanderings in China, I was compelled to show my revolver. Happily for all, the sight of the weapon was sufficient, and, under its awe-inspiring muzzle, four of the ringleaders, who had threatened me with death, were arrested. This quelled the riot for the night, but threats were thrown out of vengeance on the morrow. The local authority was duly warned, and he was good enough to promise us all available protection, and to accompany us on the next stage. When day dawned he was duly present, and we were glad to shake the dust of inhospitable Hang-chou and its riotous inhabitants from our feet.
The valley in which Hang-chou lies contracts towards the south-west. Recrossing the stream, the road runs along the mountain side for some distance; but the mountains soon recede, leaving an undulating stretch of country rising as we advanced. This we ascended amid low pines and dense underwood, past numerous unworked copper-mines, until at its highest point the road is at an elevation little below the mountain peaks on both sides, now white with snow. Here a thunderstorm delayed our progress; the brilliancy of the lightning, and the roar of the thunder echoed and re-echoed from the surrounding mountains, reflecting credit on the forgers of Zeus. But the chilly hail and the rude mud hut in which we were compelled to seek shelter for the night, speedily turned our thoughts from the dreams of classical romance to the stern actualities of a wanderer’s life. The local authority of Hang-chou, however, pressed on with his prisoners to the city of Yen-yuan Hsien, where our non-arrival excited no little consternation among the authorities, who, anxious as to our safety, sent messengers and soldiers to ascertain the cause.
With the exception of a short distance where the road zigzags, the descent to Yen-yuan is easy. We followed a small mountain stream down a valley for some time, leaving it by a fine level road to the west, and soon entered the city, which lies on the north-east side of a plain, backed by a range of high hills running east and west. Here due satisfaction was given to us for the outrage at Hang-chou, whose inhabitants, through their unwilling representatives, were taught a practical, if a painful, lesson as to the treatment of strangers from the West. The officials were profuse in their apologies and in their attention to our wants, promising absolute protection as far as the first city across the Yün-nan frontier—a promise which was faithfully carried out.
The city of Yen-yuan, though small, is the capital of the district which borders on the province of Yün-nan, a district rich in copper and salt, and one of the chief habitats of that industrious and interesting creature, the white wax insect, which is propagated on the branches of the Ligustrum lucidum, or large-leaved privet. The brine wells from which the salt is derived lie at Pai-yen-ching, fourteen miles to the south-west of the city, which we reached by a good road across the plain, down which one or two rivulets flow north-westwards. The way in which the farmers manipulate these rivulets for purposes of irrigation is truly wonderful—here the water ripples in one direction, there in exactly the opposite. This plain is one of the very few places in the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan where carts can be utilised for transport.
SALT MAKING.
The brine wells of Pai-yen-ching, mentioned above, are only two in number, and comparatively shallow, being only fifty feet in depth. Bamboo tubes, ropes and buffaloes are here dispensed with, and small wooden tubs, with bamboos fixed to their sides as handles for raising, are considered sufficient. At one of the wells a staging was erected half way down, and from it the tubs of brine were passed up to the workmen above. Passing from the wells to the evaporating sheds, we found a series of mud furnaces with round holes at the top, into which cone-shaped pans, manufactured from iron obtained in the neighbourhood, and varying in height from one to two and a half feet, were loosely fitted. When a pan has been sufficiently heated, a ladleful of the brine is poured into it, and, bubbling up to the surface, it sinks, leaving a saline deposit on the inside of the pan. This process is repeated until a layer, some four inches thick and corresponding to the shape of the pan, is formed, when the salt is removed as a hollow cone ready for market. Care must be taken to keep the bottom of the pan moist; otherwise the salt cone would crack, and be rendered unfit for the rough carriage which it experiences on the backs of pack animals. A soft coal, which is found just under the surface of the yellow-soiled hills seven miles to the west of Pai-yen-ching, is the fuel used in the furnaces. The total daily output of salt at these wells does not exceed two tons a day, and the cost at the wells, including the Government tax, amounts to about three-halfpence a pound. The area of supply, owing to the country being sparsely populated, is greater than the output would lead one to expect.
At the time when Marco Polo passed through Caindu, this country was in the possession of the Sifans, and there can be little doubt that the salt cakes, which then constituted the currency, were evaporated at these very wells. Nor are the Sifans wanting at the present day; they occupy the country to the west, and are known under the generic name of Man-tzŭ.
Our progress—I hardly like to use the word—during the five days from the brine wells of Pai-yen-ching to the frontier of the province of Yün-nan, a distance of less than forty miles as the crow flies, is one long story of mountain travelling. Several times did we approach the frontier, but as often were we driven back, south and south-east, by impenetrable mountain barriers covered with pine forests. To the south, the ranges run east and west, and a day’s work, sometimes lasting as long as thirteen hours, consisted in climbing and descending steep mountain sides, and in endeavouring, with but poor success, to circumvent the huge boulders which lay in the beds of streams in the bottom lands between the mountain ranges, where the road should have been. Cultivation, as can readily be imagined, was not conspicuous in such a country; but here we found in abundance the animal best suited to rugged mountains, the goat. Its flesh, too, was greatly appreciated where rice could not be procured, and where our supplies had long since run short. To the west of our route, we found many places inhabited by Man-tzŭ tribes, whose districts, however, lie principally beyond the frontier.
CLOSE PROXIMITY OF ALIEN RACES.
At Shao-shang, on the last ridge which has to be crossed before reaching Yün-nan, six Lolos, deputed by their chief, who had been apprised of our approach by the Chinese authorities, awaited us to pay their respects, and as we stood looking at the mountain ranges within the southern province, one of them, tall and powerful, every inch a king, stepped forth and did us homage. Here, then, on the very borders of Ssŭ-ch’uan and Yün-nan, we find the Lolo from the east, the Man-tzŭ from the west, and the Chinese holding the narrow strip of land which separates these alien races. Alien races, and what a contrast! On the east the Lolo, still retaining his distinctive costume, one of a nation hemmed in, but not absorbed, by the Chinese—on the contrary, able to raid and carry off into slavery the people of the country bordering on his territories; on the west the Man-tzŭ, clad in a garb differing little from that of his conquerors, timid, and ready to flee at the approach of a stranger. The Man-tzŭ women, however, like the women of all these different tribes scattered through Western China, retain the costume of their race, and, though on a less elaborate scale, dress very much like their European sisters. But the latter have not yet donned the turban, nor do they care to walk about with unshod feet. The turbans, which were mostly of brown cloth, were in many cases adorned with circlets of hogs’ tusks. As among the Lolo women, strings of beads were the favourite ear-rings.