It took us six days to cross from the T’o to the Min; the country is very similar throughout, the existence of reservoirs showing, however, that the water supply is not so good to the west as to the east of the former river. The crops were the same; but a number of new trees put in an appearance, including the tallow tree—Stillingia sebifera, or Sapium sebiferum, Roxb., a bushy thorn some fifteen feet in height—Cudrania triloba, Hance, and the wax tree—Fraxinus Chinensis—a species of ash. A belt of salt wells extends for some miles to the east of the left bank of the Min, where the brine was being raised much in the same way as at Tzŭ-liu-ching.
Two days before reaching the Min, we caught sight of Mount O-mei towering away to the westward. As the river is neared, the road winds between stone cliffs full of ancient cave-dwellings, which are still more numerous on the left bank of the Min itself. Beautiful relief carvings adorned the entrances of many of them. The city of Chia-ting Fu stands on the right bank of the Min at its junction with the T’ung, which consists of the waters of the Ya Ho and Ta-tu, both of which I crossed in their upper reaches last year, and which unite a little to the west of the city. It is the greatest centre of sericulture and silk-weaving in the province, and it marks the eastern boundary of the white wax industry. I spent the 17th of June among the wax trees to the north-east of the city; but, finding that I could conduct my investigations with greater ease and quietude farther west, I resolved to proceed at once to the district city of O-mei Hsien, some twenty miles distant and near to the base of the Sacred Mountain.
PILGRIMS TO MOUNT O-MEI.
We passed through the west gate of Chia-ting soon after daybreak of the 18th of June, accompanied by hundreds of pilgrims of both sexes from all parts of Ssŭ-ch’uan on their way to visit the sacred shrines of O-mei. The road follows the left bank of the Ya Ho till the latter bends southwards, when it crosses a mile of sand and shingle, and again strikes the river at the ferry. From the right bank we entered one of the prettiest and most fertile plains in Western China, watered by streamlets which, rising in the mountains to the west, go to join the Ya and Ta-tu Rivers, are easily available for purposes of irrigation, and fill a perfect network of canals surrounding the plots of land into which the plain is divided. On the divisions of the plots rows of wax trees grew thickly. In the city of O-mei Hsien I spent four days, pursuing my investigations into the subject of wax culture and the general trade of the whole district; and at daylight on the morning of the 23rd, I left with a few of my followers to ascend the mountain. As it was impossible to obtain meat in the sacred precincts of Buddha, we purchased and killed a goat and carried the carcase with us. A stream of pilgrims, each provided with a bundle of joss-sticks, candles in baskets, and small pieces of sandalwood slung in a yellow bag over the shoulder, bore us company. The mountain lies to the south-west of the city; and, issuing from the west gate, we proceeded under the western wall to the south gate, which, at the time of our visit, was closed against a lengthened drought. The road then runs south-west over the plain. Banyans—some of them of immense size—lined the road, and, farther west, wax trees took their place. Shrines and temples were thickly dotted on both sides, and at each of these the pilgrims made obeisance, lighted joss-sticks or candles, and passed on. There was an impressive solemnity in the worship which I have not observed elsewhere in China. No levity broke the living cord of gravity which stretched from shrine to shrine and temple to temple. The wax trees increased in numbers as we advanced, and the under sides of the boughs and twigs were here and there silvered with the wax; they appeared as if a gentle snowstorm had recently passed over and scattered its flakes on the branches. But trees and temples were not the only things that lined the roadway; beggars, mostly women and girls, were obstinate in their demands for alms, and no sooner had one gone than another appeared. Mount O-mei towered above the other ranges that bound the plain to the south-west, itself the highest point in a range which descends southwards with giant strides and blocks the plain. The gray, rocky, rugged, precipitous face lit up by the morning sun seemed to bid defiance to the pilgrim, while the lower slopes that hid the giant’s feet were dark with pine, broken occasionally by bare patches where cultivation had encroached. Gradually the plain began to undulate, and we soon entered the mountains under pine woods, through patches of tall millet, beans, and Indian corn, and up stone steps—ladders would be a more appropriate term—until at a distance of nearly twenty miles from the city we reached Wan-nien-ssŭ—the “Temple of a Myriad Ages”—where we spent the night.
No sooner had we settled down in the fine clean quarters which the temple affords than the priests came to pay their respects, and regaled me with the “sweet tea,” which the discovery of Mr. Baber has rendered famous. All the way up the mountain side, I had been making enquiries regarding this tea and its preparation, but the evidence was decidedly conflicting. Some said that it was prepared in the ordinary way; others, that the leaves were first steeped in molasses. Although the infusion was extremely sweet, I must confess that I failed to detect any flavour of tea. Be it remembered that the Chinese never take sugar in their tea. The priests told me that the plant, whence the leaves are picked, grows in only one gorge in the mountain. The leaves are large and do not bear the slightest resemblance to the tea-leaf. I subsequently forwarded a packet of this “tea” to Hankow to be tasted, and the reply of an expert came back prompt and concise, “I never tasted such muck in all my life!” But all doubts have recently been set at rest, for the plant which provides the leaves has been identified as the Viburnum phlebotrichum.
ASCENT OF MOUNT O-MEI.
A glance at a map showing the comparative heights of mountains, will give a good idea of how the top of the giant has to be reached. Peak rises behind peak, and each of these has to be surmounted on the way to the summit. Beyond Wan-nien-ssŭ, which is more than 3000 feet above the plain, the road is so steep that no means of conveyance is possible and cultivation soon ceases. Starting at five o’clock on the morning of the 24th, we ascended this steep winding ladder and gained the summit in twelve hours after many a weary step and many a rest. In fact, had it not been that British pluck was in the balance, I should have given in long before. As it was, drenched with perspiration and mist, I just succeeded in dragging my weary aching limbs into the temple that crowns the summit, 11,100 feet above the sea.
A few hundred yards above Wan-nien-ssŭ we entered the clouds, and from that point upward nothing but impenetrable whiteness was visible. The road, if I may use the word, ascends through dense pine and brushwood, and here and there a gulf of whiteness warned us that we stood on the verge of a precipice.
At the rear of the temple on the “Golden Summit” is the terrible precipice which is seen from even beyond the Min. On its very brink once stood a temple of bronze, which has twice succumbed to lightning shafts and fire. It was built during the Ming Dynasty, and rebuilt after its first fall; but on the second occasion portions of it fell over the precipice, and the only parts still in their original positions are three small bronze pagodas, bearing unmistakable traces of fire. Their tops have been melted and twisted. Beautifully carved bronze doors, pillars, tiles, and other pieces of what must have been a magnificent building, lay about in heaps. It is from the terrace on which the three pagodas stand that the celebrated “Glory of Buddha” is to be seen. A low fence of boulders of iron ore prevents the too anxious sightseer from precipitating himself into the terrible abyss. If the future traveller should be as unfortunate as I was, he will stand by this fence with white clouds overhead and around him, and gaze down eastwards into impenetrable whiteness, in the vain hope of seeing the sun burst through the clouds overhead, and reveal his image on the clouds below. Not once did this occur during the day of the 25th of June, and we left the spot in the belief that the “Glory of Buddha” was not for us. But a single gaze into this impenetrable white gloom was to me as impressive as a thousand “Glories of Buddha” could possibly have been.
PRIESTLY RAPACITY.