DEPARTURE FROM MULI
In manners and customs there does not seem to be any particular in which Muli-land stands alone. The dead bodies of both lamas and laymen are disposed of by cremation. In the case of lamas the ashes are carefully collected from the funeral pyre, ground into fine powder and preserved in urns. The cremated bodies of laymen are treated with less respect, for the ashes are merely thrown over precipices or into mountain caverns.[251] In some parts of the eastern Tibetan states—including those which like Chala and Muli have been annexed to the Chinese empire—the bodies of the dead are left exposed on the mountain sides until every particle of flesh has been torn off the bones by vultures and beasts of prey;[252] and elsewhere—especially in the case of the very poor, who cannot afford the expense of cremation—the corpses are simply thrown into the nearest river, without any ceremony.
I rested at Muli from the 3rd of May—the day of my arrival—till the morning of the 6th, when I resumed my march towards Yunnan. From Muli to Yung-ning, which is situated a few miles beyond the border, is a journey of three stages, and up to that point—or rather to the frontier of Yunnan—my path continued to lie through the territory of Muli. The lamas did everything possible to render this part of my journey pleasant. They granted me the privilege of ula (for which I paid the same rates as in the territory of Chala), sent an avant-courier to warn the villagers to give me proper treatment, and deputed one of their probationers or tra-pa to escort me to Yung-ning. Our first stage was a short one. We began by going up the valley of the Rong Ch'u towards the S.S.W. About 4 miles from Muli we descended to the bed of the river, and crossed to the right bank. A winding path led us up the steep slope of the south side of the valley, and while we were still not more than 7 miles from Muli we halted. The prospect of a steep climb over a pass on the following day seemed to break the spirit of my followers, as they declared it was impossible to proceed further that day. The pass is apparently a notorious haunt of robbers. There was a solitary farmhouse at the place where we halted; but as it was rather more squalid and filthy than usual, I decided to camp out of doors. Towards evening a thunderstorm drove me into the house, but I was speedily expelled again by the smoke and charcoal fumes, and established myself under an improvised awning on the roof.
THE AUTHOR'S MULETEERS, NEAR YUNG-NING.
On the following day we had a long and somewhat arduous march over the pass of Shi Li La, the height of which is about 15,500 feet.[253] The path bears at first towards the east and south-east, and gradually ascends to a ridge, which is separated from the true summit by a narrow valley running north-east and south-west. From this point to the summit the climb would be easy in dry weather, but the thawing snows made the path slippery and disagreeable. From the summit we found the descent at first steep and rocky, but, as soon as we had left the snow behind us, we found ourselves descending an easy road through a forest containing many magnificent firs. Some of them measured 15 feet in circumference, 5 feet above the ground. Between 3,000 and 4,000 feet below the summit of the pass, we crossed a stream, and went uphill for a few hundred feet, thereafter descending into a broken and very picturesque valley, in the middle of which we found the first inhabited spot we had seen in the course of a 30-mile ride. This was the hamlet of Li She Tzŭ, the inhabitants of which are Mo-so, a race of which I shall have more to say below.[254] From this point to Yung-ning, and some distance beyond it, we found every village inhabited almost exclusively by people of this race.
FRONTIER OF YUNNAN
Leaving Li She Tzŭ at dawn on 8th May, we rode over an undulating road, generally wooded, and at about 5 miles changed mules at the village of Li Rang Tzŭ. This proved to be the last village of Muli-land, and of the province of Ssuch'uan, for a march of barely 4 miles beyond it led us across the boundary of the province at the top of a low range of wooded hills. We were then in Yunnan. The descent into the next plain was steep, and the road execrable. There we entered the first of the Yunnanese villages—Djo-Dji—where I was received by the local headman. Though a Mo-so, he was acquainted with Chinese, as well as his own language, and was attired in a Chinese long coat with bright brass buttons that had once adorned the uniform of a British soldier. From a metal case which he held in his hand he drew one of his cards. As he presented it to me, he told me that he was well acquainted with Western foreigners, for he had seen two besides myself. They, he added, were two Frenchmen, who had passed through the village quite recently, and who—judging from his description—must have been engaged in surveying.[255] He spoke of them with great warmth of feeling, for it appeared that they had presented him with a valuable memento in the shape of an empty sardine-tin. This was the metal box which he had converted into a card-case, and of which he was evidently very proud. The district in which this village is situated is fairly rich and well populated. A series of cultivated plains, divided from each other by rounded hills, extends the whole way from the frontier of the province to the town of Yung-ning, which we reached after passing through a number of prosperous villages, inhabited by Mo-so, of which the largest were Wo La, Yi Ma Wa, A-ko Am-ni Wa, and A-gu Wa. In these villages the houses were nearly all mere cabins, built of pine-logs, the roofs being thin wooden boards weighted with heavy stones to keep them from blowing away; but the dress of the women is in striking contrast with the poverty of their dwellings. Their hair, which is roped round the head, is lavishly adorned with strings of beads and silver ornaments, and their skirts are brilliantly coloured.[256] But while wife and daughter are allowed to array themselves in all the finery that the family possesses, the husband is content to wear the meanest sackcloth, and carries no ornaments. Some of the men, in imitation of the Chinese, shave the front of their heads and wear queues.