As a general rule, the Chinese, as I have just remarked, abhor to eat or drink anything cold; but in Ta-li, snow mixed with sugar is eagerly devoured by the people in summer. This brings me to the question of perpetual snow on the Tsang-shan range, and, although snow is visible on the plain for only ten months, yet there can be no doubt that it is found during the other two months in the crevices near the summit, and can be bought in the streets throughout the whole year. The temperature even in summer is delightful; the wind sweeps down from the snows in sudden gusts and cools the atmosphere of the plain. Of these sudden gusts I had myself a somewhat startling experience. As we neared the city on the day of our arrival, the large heavy top of my official chair, weighted though it was with pens, ink, paper, and thermometers, was lifted up bodily and carried into an adjacent field. Another effect of the presence of the Tsang-shan is that the crops are always late, the early setting of the sun behind the range depriving the plain of two hours’ daily sunshine.
So pleasant had been our stay in Ta-li that I was troubled with a heavy heart when, on the morning of the 2nd of May, everything was ready for a fresh start, and I had to bid good-bye to my kind host, who worked at his remote station with a heartiness and a will that I have not seen surpassed. To me, Ta-li and its surroundings had become a kind of paradise, and had it not been that duty called me back to my post, I would fain have lingered there during the summer months. Passing through the south gate we entered a long-ruined suburb, which in former years must have been very extensive. Streets and cross streets are numerous; but the floors of the fallen houses have been converted into vegetable gardens. There is, indeed, a legend that in palmier days this suburb ran as far as Hsia-kuan, a busy town on the high-road which connects China and Upper Burmah, ten miles to the south of Ta-li. Frontier towns are noted, however, as the cradle of romance, and, if I could remember half the myths which were related to me about the White Prince of the “Country of the Golden Teeth,” of which Ta-li is a part, they would make a very interesting volume. The object of my journey was, fortunately or unfortunately, to collect facts, not fables; but to the student of folklore, untrammelled with trade statistics, I can confidently recommend the Ta-li plain as a happy hunting-ground. The lake is drained by a river which, leaving its south-western corner, divides Hsia-kuan into two parts, and then goes west and south to join the Mekong, or, as it is called in China, the Lan-tsang Chiang.
CHINESE TRADE WITH BURMAH.
Some days previous to my departure from Ta-li, I despatched my writer to Hsia-kuan to collect all available information on the subject of Chinese trade with Burmah; and, on my arrival there, I spent some time in overhauling the statistics which he had amassed, and in obtaining corroborative evidence. This, added to valuable information which I subsequently obtained from a gentleman in Bhamo, led me to the conclusion that the total annual value of the trade between Western China and Burmah amounted at that time to about half a million sterling. As we were discussing trade matters in the inn, a crowd of Canton peddlers turned up, and grinned from ear to ear at the strange apparition of a foreigner so far from the seaboard. They were a rough-looking lot; instead of the usual carrying pole, at the ends of which the loads are swung, each was provided with a wooden spear fitted with a long iron blade, from which dangled an antiquated horse-pistol. They were on their way to Ta-li to exchange their wares for new opium. Hsia-kuan lies much nearer to the nearest point on the Burmese frontier than to Yün-nan Fu, and, had I possessed the necessary authority, how gladly would I have gone west to Bhamo. It was not to be, and I had to content myself with walking to the western end of the town, and looking longingly in the direction of our Indian Empire, so near, and yet to remain unvisited.
There is little for me to add to the descriptions given by Margary, and by Messrs. Baber and Davenport of the Grosvenor Mission, of the country between Ta-li Fu and Yün-nan Fu. After our experiences of the Chien-ch’ang valley, it was so tame and monotonous that I resolved to push on with all despatch, and we succeeded in covering the distance of two hundred odd miles in thirteen days without resting. Of the six cities which lie on the high-road, the only one that may be singled out for special mention is Ch’ao Chou, the end of the first stage from Ta-li. It showed more promising signs of revival than any of the others. Chên-nan Chou, Ch’u-hsiung Fu, Kuang-t’ung Hsien, Lu-fêng Hsien, and An-ning Chou were in a very dilapidated condition. In most of them the walls, which were breached, had not been repaired; nor within the walls was there any marked indication of returning prosperity. In many of the villages, however, building operations were going forward apace. To say that the road was best where there was no road may seem paradoxical. It is nevertheless true, for, where the paving had disappeared, fine battened sand or clay gave an excellent foothold except when it rained. In many places paved mounds rose in the middle of the roadway, and these were carefully avoided by man and beast. Not unfrequently, too, so distorted was the paving that it had every appearance of having been convulsed by an earthquake.
CURIOSITY DOMINANT.
East of Ch’ao Chou the cities occupy valleys drained by streams, which go north to join the Yang-tsze. Between the valleys are hill ranges covered with pine, oak, and brushwood, affording excellent cover for game. It was no uncommon occurrence for half a dozen pheasants to rise from the cover by the roadside, startled at our approach, and drop within easy range. Poppy, wheat, and beans occupied the few patches of ground under cultivation among the hills. On the third day from Ta-li we skirted the southern shore of a large lake, called the Ch’ing-lung Hai, which was literally covered with duck. An incident which occurred the same evening photographed that picture on my mind. We lodged for the night in the miserable village of Yün-nan-yi, where, with an exhausted larder, I could get nothing to eat for love or money. It is not a very pleasant position to be stranded in the dark without food, and to know that only a few miles off there are thousands of duck cackling to their hearts’ content. On the whole, I thought it as well to take the matter philosophically, so I smoked vigorously for an hour to ward off hunger, and then went to bed. Next day at noon, while I sat in my chair in the street which constitutes the village of Shui-p’ang-p’u, breaking my fast by devouring a couple of hard boiled eggs, I found myself the object of intense attraction to the inhabitants, who were parading backwards and forwards with a business air that seemed somewhat out of harmony with their wretched surroundings. Their curiosity was still unsatisfied when the head, and gradually the ponderous body, of a camel appeared at the other end of the street. In a moment we were deserted, and as we left the village we looked back, and saw the whole population following the camel westwards.
On the seventh day from Ta-li we reached the remains of the prefectural city of Ch’u-hsiung, where we were received with marked attention and courtesy at the hands of the local authorities. A mile from the city a temporary reception room was erected, and a captain, with a file of soldiers, awaited our arrival, and conducted us to a spacious inn outside the west gate; and early next morning the same ceremony was repeated outside the east gate. On the 10th of May we lodged for the night in the village of Shê-tz’ŭ, to the immediate west of which branches a road to the chief salt wells in the province, about fifty miles to the north. Up to this point, nothing of commercial importance had been noticed going eastward; but from Shê-tz’ŭ to Yün-nan Fu there was one long string of caravans laden with pan salt. From the east came caravans of cut tobacco from Chao-chou Fu, in the Canton province, straw hats, and tin from the Kuo-chiu-ch’ang mines in the district of Mêng-tzŭ, in the south of the province. They were bound for Ta-li and the west of Yün-nan. The tobacco was said to be in exchange for tin exported from the above-named mines to Tonquin. Soon after leaving Shê-tz’ŭ we came upon a man carrying a sack, the contents of which—seven bundles of despatches, letters, and papers forwarded to me from Ch’ung-k’ing—were soon emptied by the road-side. At Ta-li, Père Leguilcher favoured me with a perusal of the latest telegrams which he had received by native post from Ch’ung-k’ing, where all the important items of news appearing in the Shanghai papers are translated by, and printed under the superintendence of, my friend Père Vinçot, and forwarded to the various Mission Stations throughout the West of China.
A ROADSIDE TRIAL.
While I was deep in the middle of my letters, my escort came up with a man they had made a prisoner, and I at once proceeded to hold a roadside investigation. The charge brought against him was that he had allowed one of the animals of his caravan to push one of my baggage waggons, with a bearer, down a gully which the road skirted, much to the damage of the baggage and the injury of the bearer. An examination of the former failed to prove any damage, while the latter had escaped with a few skin-deep bruises about the face. After a prolonged inquiry, I found that both parties were to blame; but I added a rider that I was of opinion that the chief blame lay with the local authorities, who allowed the road to remain in such a frightful condition. My own men grumbled at the decision; but I ordered the immediate release of the driver, and advised him to hurry back to his caravan as fast as his legs could carry him—which he did.