The trackers, too, deserve a word of mention. They were, with the exception of the musician and the diver, almost all lithe young fellows, always willing to jump on shore, never spending more than a quarter of an hour over their rice and vegetables, and never out of temper. The musician and the diver were somewhat aged. When there was no tracking ground, and the oars had to be called into requisition, the former used to sing his boat songs, the whole crew joining loudly in the choruses, the echoes reverberating from cliff to cliff in the gorges. If the tracking line got entangled among the rocks off the shore, the diver would doff everything, slip overboard, and swim to the rescue. I pitied this individual very much; he used to scramble on board chattering with cold, and had no sooner got warm than his services were again in demand. The boat was always moored before dark, and, until supper was ready, the crew were busy rigging up the roof-mats to form their night quarters. Then the beds with their coir mattresses were produced from under the deck; and, with the exception of two or three opium-smokers, these hard-working fellows dropped off into well-earned sleep until daybreak, when the same round of toil awaited them.
Such was the boat and crew with which I ascended from Ichang into Western China, reaching Ch’ung-k’ing on the 24th of January, 1882, after a passage of a month. It is unnecessary for me to describe this journey in detail. Blakiston, Gill, Little, and others have given their experiences; they have painted living pictures of the grand, majestic gorges; they have brought the world within earshot of the hissing, seething rapids; and it only remains for me to say a few words on a subject which has of late years received no little attention—the navigability of the Upper Yang-tsze by steamers. The question is about to be put to the test in accordance with clauses in the Agreement of Chefoo, which state that “British merchants will not be allowed to reside at Ch’ung-k’ing, or to open establishments or warehouses there, so long as no steamers have access to the port. When steamers have succeeded in ascending the river so far, further arrangements can be taken into consideration.”
NAVIGABILITY OF THE YANG-TSZE.
Ever since I ascended the Upper Yang-tsze, I have not ceased, both in China and England, to advocate the advisability, from a commercial point of view, of steamers attempting the navigation of these waters. Difficulties have been pointed out, but I have endeavoured to show that these have been greatly exaggerated; and the “Upper Yang-tsze Steam Navigation Company,” lately formed, would appear to be of like mind. The obstacles that exist lie between Ichang and the Ssŭ-ch’uan frontier, a distance of about one hundred miles: beyond the frontier, all is plain sailing, not only as far as Ch’ung-k’ing but even to Hsü-chou Fu, some two hundred miles further west. They consist of a series of rapids, which prove very trying to native craft when the river is low, that is, from the middle of November to the middle of March or a little later—the very time when junks are best able to ascend; as, during the rest of the year, the increased volume of water, although obliterating the rapids altogether, flows with a strong current, which renders tracking very difficult and frequently impossible.
THE CH’ING T’AN RAPID.
The season, then, that proves all but impossible for junks is the very season when steamers could run, and vice versâ. During low water, there is, in my opinion, one, and only one, insuperable obstacle to a steamer—the Ch’ing T’an Rapid, the first serious rapid above Ichang. It lies at the eastern entrance of the Mi-tsang or “Granary” Gorge. When I passed down in the end of December, 1884, there were three channels in the rapid—the chief or central channel never attempted by ascending junks, and two side channels separated from the central by masses of rock. The central was the only channel available for a steamer, but it consisted of a clear fall of from six to eight feet. The side channels were narrow, with a very much less volume of water and fall. In ascending these, junks could be dragged over close to the rocks, which would be impossible in the case of a steamer. In the gorge itself, the current was very sluggish, and boats were passing and re-passing just above the rapid. I stood a hundred yards to the west of it, and saw junks disappearing one after the other. As their masts are always unshipped in the down passage, they seemed to me to be passing with their human freight into eternity. The strange sight insensibly drew me to the rapid itself, and I stood facing it to watch the movements of my own boat. It was pulled out into mid-stream, and allowed to float stern down until about to enter the rapid, when it was gently wheeled round and drawn into the fall. It is difficult to describe what happened next: a sudden plunge, considerable confusion on board, the junk herself floating helplessly stern down stream, the skipper on the roof of the deck-house frantically waving his arms, one of the three lifeboats, which are always stationed below the rapid, approaching the boat and then rescuing the crew, the deserted junk making for the scattered rocks which jut out from the right bank at the second rapid two hundred yards below the fall, its safe passage through the rocks and rapid, its salvage by our accompanying gunboat, all presented a picture which will never be effaced from my memory. The cause of the accident was thus described to me. In shooting the rapid, several of the crew lost their heads and their oars, and the others, unable to keep the bows down river or to control the boat, and being afraid that she would be dashed against the rocks at the second rapid, called for the lifeboat and abandoned her. Such accidents are of frequent occurrence, and are very often accompanied with damage, wreck, and loss of life. We were lucky in being able to continue our journey after a couple of hours’ delay.
I have described the descent of the Ch’ing T’an Rapid in this place, in order to show the different phases which it presents at the same season in different years, for when I ascended it on almost the same day (December 29th) in 1881, not a rock was visible above water, and we had little difficulty, with the aid of some fifty additional trackers, in being dragged over it. Were this rapid a race, as it is not, I should have more hesitation in describing it as insuperable for a steamer during low water; but I consider it extremely doubtful whether the slow fall would be sufficiently powerful to raise a steamer’s bows off the sunken rocks. It has been said that, if the Upper Yang-tsze were navigated by steam, collisions would be of frequent occurrence, but not more so than in the section between Hankow and Ichang. In ascending, junks are tracked as close to the banks as possible, while in descending, they keep to the middle of the river. In fact, collisions should be of rare occurrence. West of the Ch’ing T’an Rapid, there is nothing to interfere with the ascent of a steamer for more than five hundred miles.
It was during my daily rambles along the banks of the river, that I first made acquaintance with the poppy of commerce. Before entering the province of Ssŭ-ch’uan, I spoke to the boatmen, and asked them to tell me as soon as they saw the plant growing; and from Wan Hsien westwards to Ch’ung-k’ing there was one continuous yell of Ya-pien-yen, which means the opium! It shared the banks of the river with wheat, peas, and beans. The spikelets were from four to five inches above ground, and little did I think, when I looked at these tiny plants, that it would be my lot at no distant date to wander through hundreds of miles of beautiful poppy flowers. On arrival at the district city of Yün-yang, I visited the picturesque temple that peeps through the dense foliage which clings to the steep sides of the hill forming the right bank of the river; and, in course of conversation with the head priest, I remarked that there seemed to be less poppy here than farther east. Raising his hand and pointing to the opposite hills, he replied, “There is nothing but poppy beyond.”
THE CITY OF CH’UNG-K’ING.
The city of Ch’ung-k’ing, in lat. 29° 33′ 50″ N. and long. 107° 2′ E., occupies the apex of the peninsula caused by the attempt of the Yang-tsze on its north bank to pierce the sandstone cliffs under the little walled town of Fu-t’ou-Kuan, and join its turbid waters with the clear flow of the Chia-ling Chiang some four miles from the actual junction of the two rivers. It is built on a slope which extends from hill-tops overlooking the Chia-ling to the bed of the Yang-tsze. Outside the walls there are no suburbs of any importance. A bird’s-eye view from the opposite hills shows that there is scarcely a patch of ground which is not built upon. One or two plots of vegetables inside the north-west corner of the wall, and a few trees here and there, are the only exceptions to the grey mass of buildings clinging firmly to the hill-side. It contains a population estimated at some 200,000 souls, and may be described as the commercial metropolis of Western China. This was the spot chosen for the residence of a Consular Officer, to watch the conditions of British trade in Ssŭ-ch’uan; and it was here that I took up residence in January, 1882. I do not intend to weary my readers with trade statistics; those who are interested in commerce will find some of the results of my enquiries and observations in a subsequent chapter specially devoted to that subject. What I propose to do is to carry them with me in my wanderings through Western China, with Ch’ung-k’ing as a base, and endeavour to show them the country and its people as they appeared to my eyes.