PRECAUTIONS AGAINST A SURPRISE.
When we left Tz’ŭ-chu-p’ing on the morning of the 1st of July, I observed that my escort had been very materially strengthened, and that the soldiers, instead of straggling hither and thither, kept close to our caravan. Rumours were current that a band of Lolos, some two hundred strong, were in the immediate hills ready to raid, but undecided as to their ultimate point of attack, and extra precautions were taken against our being made unwilling visitors to Lolodom.
Proceeding south-east we crossed a low range, and dropped into a narrow valley between low rocky heights clad with brushwood. Beyond the valley, waves of terraced hills crowned with fir and oak had to be surmounted, and early in the afternoon we looked down into a deep narrow gorge, wherein a stream flowing northwards suddenly turns east. On the north bank, on the only piece of level ground to be seen, stands the walled town of Chou-pa-ch’ang, facing precipitous cliffs on the opposite shore. Most of the houses were furnished with watch-towers on their roofs, and in these, round smooth stones from the stream’s shingly bed were piled to resist attack.
Here very poor quarters were available; my room was over a tenanted pig-sty, and the floor was full of holes. I awoke next morning, after a restless night, burning with fever, and scarcely able to leave my bed. In this wretched inn I lay five whole days, and had ample time to ponder over the discomforts which the traveller, who has been brought up under sanitary laws, has to endure in this land of dirt. Confinement ultimately became so irksome and depressing that, although unable to walk to my chair without assistance, on the morning of the 7th of July I determined to proceed, and trust to the invigorating influence of fresh air to effect a cure.
Chou-pa-ch’ang is the highest navigable point for small craft on the river which is known on Chinese maps as the Ching-shui, but is locally called the Ma-pien River, from the city of that name near its source. Two rapids to the south of the town obstruct navigation, except for descending rafts. Crossing a streamlet, which enters the Ma-pien four miles to the south of Chou-pa-ch’ang, by a narrow chain bridge, the road leaves the main river, where it makes an eastern bend and goes south through broken country fairly wooded with the mulberry, wood-oil, and tallow trees, and, after ascending some low heights, descends into a large basin, at the southern end of which we again struck the left bank of the river at the town of Ni-tien-ch’ang, with the usual miserable accommodation. Next morning we crossed the river, and after two days’ winding west and south-west along its right bank, reached the departmental city of Ma-pien T’ing. Our approach had been announced by one of the escort who had preceded us in search of an inn, and half the population lined the left bank, on which the city stands, and blocked the streets through which we had to pass to our quarters.
GUERILLA WARFARE.
A guerilla warfare had been waged with the Lolo mountaineers some time previous to the date of our arrival; detachments of fifty soldiers had been repeatedly sent to carry on the work of extermination, but had not returned to announce their success. Preparations were being made to conduct operations on a larger scale, and fifteen hundred troops were quartered in the city and its neighbourhood. It was forbidden to kill or dispose of cattle and live stock generally, except for the use of the soldiery, and we had considerable difficulty in procuring supplies of any sort.
My escort was now strengthened by a dozen men, mostly Hunan braves, armed with swords, to conduct me in safety to the Yang-tsze. To the south-east of the city the road enters the mountains, where not a single Lolo was to be seen; the few houses visible were in reality forts, built on most inaccessible heights. A solid square of masonry, ten to twelve feet in height, with only one opening to serve as a doorway, supported a storey with windows and frequently a watch-tower. On this stage there was great trouble about food; rice could not be had for money, and, when I was partaking of my frugal breakfast, which I had taken the precaution to carry with me from Ma-pien, I saw my writer triumphantly waving in his hand, to the envy of all my other followers, an egg which he had either purloined or purchased, and off which he was about to make as hearty a meal as circumstances would allow.
During the day I was told that we should be able to buy an ox at Ting-nan-pa, the end of the stage, and we hurried on to prepare the feast of which we were all so much in need. On arrival, it was suggested in answer to our enquiries that an ox might be had some miles further on; but this was little satisfaction to hungry men. A Good Samaritan at length came to the rescue, and sold us, at a fabulous price, a leg of some animal or other—to this day I have no idea what it was—which made an excellent repast.