The pilgrims in their penance—for it is a penance to ascend the mountain—frequently appealed to the Great Buddha of O-mei as they scrambled up the steep steps polished by the feet of myriads. On the summit they paid their devotions to Buddha, lighted their joss-sticks and candles, prostrated themselves on long stools covered with palm-coir, threw their incense into the flames, and gazed to see the “Glory of Buddha.” This ceremony over, they took from their pockets a few cash and polished them on the bronze pagodas and doors. These they carry back to their homes as charms and souvenirs of their visit to the Golden Summit of O-mei. The pilgrims come from their native places in groups, accompanied by one who can read. The latter is the mouthpiece of his comrades, and recites their prayers to the Great Buddha.
I have already said that beggars lined the road to the mountain; but greater and still more importunate beggars dwell on the mountain side and on the summit. The priests, smooth-tongued and polite, draw from the pockets of the pilgrims money to repair the temples and the road. I did not escape their rapacity. The appeal was, however, made in such a pleasant way that it could not be resisted. A few potatoes grown on the acre which forms the summit were presented to me, and had to be paid for by a sum much in excess of their value. The workmanship of the temples, which are numerous and built of pine from the forests by which they are surrounded, is often excellent, the artificers being the priests themselves. The mountain is credited as being the home of various kinds of wild animals—among them the tiger. Fortunately for us, he did not put in an appearance, and we saw nothing more deadly than a couple of large monkeys, one of which had just leaped from a tree on one side of a chasm to a tree on the other, while the second was arrested in his pursuit by our sudden appearance. Medicines of several sorts, including a species of wild ginseng, were exposed for sale on the stalls which clung to the mountain side. As the day of the 26th of June broke as gloomy as its predecessor, and there was no hope of catching even a glimpse of the “Glory of Buddha,” I resolved to delay no longer on the chance of a struggle with the unseen. The descent was more difficult than the ascent, and I must confess to three fair falls on the slippery steps, rendered still more slippery by mist and rain, which accompanied us half-way down to Wan-nien-ssŭ. Two hundred yards above the temple, I succeeded in placing my right foot between two stones forming a step, and so twisting it that a tendon behind the knee refused to perform its duty and, with excruciating pain, I managed to crawl down a hundred yards of precipitous steps, where a small chair could reach me from below.
On the morning of the 27th we continued the descent by a different road from that by which we ascended, previously, however, purchasing a couple of curiously-carved alpenstocks from the priests, their makers. A snake in relief twined upwards round the stock, ending in a head surmounted by a couple of horns.
The road wound eastward down a gorge between high precipices, from which numerous cascades leaped and bounded into a stream flowing eastward, over a narrow bridge of iron rods spanning the stream near the end of the gorge, and, after crossing several small plains, joined the high-road to O-mei Hsien.
CHINESE DUPLICITY.
On my return to the city, I found that every possible obstacle was being raised to prevent the completion of my journey. The magistrate sent his secretary to inform me that there was no road southwards to the Yang-tsze, and even those of my own men who had been left behind were unwilling to proceed. It was suggested that I should return to Chia-ting, take boat to a point farther south, and then strike inland. I thereupon sent in search of a trader, who quickly appeared, and gave me the names of the different stages to the next city of Ma-pien T’ing. Arming my writer with the list, I packed him off post haste to the magistrate with a demand for a double escort to enable me to penetrate this unknown country. He at once complied with my demand. Had I been told, what the magistrate himself probably did not know, that a desultory warfare was being waged with the aborigines to the west near Ma-pien, I should have reconsidered my route, so as not to embroil responsible officers in case of any accident to my party; but so palpable was the untruth told me that I did not hesitate for a moment about proceeding. The unwillingness of my own men, as I subsequently learned, was due to the fact that two of my bearers were struck down by typhoid fever during my absence; and, on my return, they had to be sent back to Chia-ting, and thence shipped to Ch’ung-k’ing. It is well that the future is not revealed to us, for, had I known then that one human life was to be sacrificed to the privations of the route, I should at once have relinquished further exploration, and left to others the honour of descending the Yang-tsze from its highest navigable point.
The O-mei plain stretches south and south-east for some fifteen miles to within a short distance of the left bank of the Ta-tu River, when it is bounded by a spur which projects south-east from a low range of hills which lies to the south and east of the chief O-mei range. The southern half of the plain was in as high a state of cultivation as the northern, while the wax tree was still more thickly grown. On descending to the river we found it in full flood; junks and rafts were being hurried along by the current at lightning speed, and on the right bank trackers were dragging their craft up river at snail’s pace. The road followed for two days first the left and then the right bank of the Ta-tu—which we crossed at the market-town of Fu-lu-ch’ang—till, baulked in its eastern course by hilly ground to the south of the walled village of Tung-kai-ch’ang, the river flows northwards under precipitous rocky heights forming its left bank.
Leaving the Ta-tu at the bend, we struck south over the mountains to Tz’ŭ-chu-p’ing, which, like every other town and village, is surrounded by a wall and provided with a garrison. Great excitement was visible everywhere; the defences of even the meanest hamlet were conspicuously displayed; rusty gingalls, mounted on tripod stands and loaded, were placed within the gates ready to resist attack. But why all this excitement? A raid by Lolos—Man-tzŭ they were called—was recently successfully organised and carried out, a village was burned to the ground, and many of its male inhabitants carried off into the mountains to the west, to be utilised as shepherds or to await ransom. What the Chinese greatly resented, however, was the slaughter of a harmless blind man. The Lolos had swept him off with the crowd; but, finding after a time that he was sightless, they did him to death. “Might it not be that they mistook his blindness for unwillingness to be a slave?” “No,” said the Chinese, “the Lolos have no mercy.”
There must be something very unhealthy about this part of the country. At the end of the first stage from O-mei Hsien, two more of my men were struck down with fever; one of them had to be left behind, the other determined not to leave us and soon recovered under repeated doses of quinine. Little did I think when I was acting the rôle of physician that I was to be the fifth victim.