The rain began to fall again next day while we were at breakfast, and continued off and on all the morning. In the afternoon it cleared up, and for the rest of the way to Li-chiang the weather was perfect. Our road gradually led us uphill, and took us over the pass known by the Mo-so as Go Ka A, the height of which is about 15,000 feet. The descent is steep and rocky. Both sides of the pass are well wooded. All the afternoon we continued to descend, and towards evening reached a cultivated valley surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. Here there was a scattered hamlet named T'o Ko Sho—the first village we had seen since we left Fêng K'o. While we were resting outside one of the cottages I saw a man going out to shoot pheasants with a bow and arrows.[265] As we did not await his return I am unable to give any opinion as to his skill. A few miles beyond T'o Ko Sho we camped in the forest at the end of a marshy meadow, which gave pasture to our beasts and supplied (from a brook) good water for ourselves. The forest is said to be infested with panthers; but they gave us no trouble. I was somewhat disturbed, however, by a very large and obstinate species of mosquito. Next day the road undulated in a southerly direction through the forest. We soon caught sight of some lofty and magnificent snowy peaks to the south-west—the mountains that tower some 10,000 feet above the Li-chiang plain which itself lies at an elevation of over 8,000 feet. A few more miles brought us to the village of Ming Yin Chi,[266] which with its almost-Chinese architecture, its likin-station and familiar official notices (the first seen since the first day's journey from Tachienlu), reminded us that we were entering a country where the direct influence of China succeeded in making itself felt.
ON THE ROAD TO LI-CHIANG
The houses of Ming Yin Chi are mostly built of wood, but there are a few tiled roofs. The dress of the people is hardly distinguishable from that of the Chinese, except in the massive ear-rings and other ornaments worn by the women. Their feet, of course, are unbound. Outside the village likin-station I saw a versified proclamation in Chinese, referring to the dangerous state of the roads of the neighbourhood owing to the prevalence of brigandage, and offering rewards for the capture of the robbers. Leaving this village behind us we soon passed again into the forest, the road lying through a fairly level park-like country studded with noble pines. We continued our journey till sunset and again camped in the forest. So still and peaceful was the night that my candle burned with as steady a flame as if it were inside a lantern. Next morning we began by climbing uphill out of the hollow in which we had camped to a col rather over 10,000 feet in elevation. The road then led rapidly downhill for about 3 miles and brought us to a narrow valley through which flows a stream called the Hei Shui ("Black Water"). Here I observed a sight which unfortunately is only too rare in China—the building of a new bridge. It was in fact one of three new bridges crossed during this day's journey. A party of workmen was busily engaged in top-dressing the surface of the bridge, which was almost finished, and as it is considered unlucky in China to use a new bridge before it is opened to traffic, I crossed by a temporary wooden structure a few yards lower down. The inevitable tablet commemorating the erection of the bridge and the names of the givers—for it had nothing to do with Government—was already in position on the right bank of the river. Beside this tablet is a smaller one dedicated to the Spirit of the Road. Soon after crossing the Black Water the road turns to the right, southwards.
Another road, which looks like a continuation of the old one, descends through the valley of the stream, and as I was then on foot and far ahead of my caravan I followed this road for some li without guessing it was the wrong one. So I had to retrace my steps, to find that the road to Li-chiang climbs over three successive small passes, divided from each other by a series of ravines. I expected when I reached each summit—the highest being about 11,000 feet in elevation—to find the city of Li-chiang lying at my feet, but I beheld only forests and the great snowy peaks. The descent from the third pass led into a barren stony valley which was once, in all probability, the bed of a glacier. If appearances are not very deceptive the shrunken glacier can still be seen high up on the mountains, some distance below the snow-line. The stony valley is the northern section of the Li-chiang plain, but though we had no more climbing we had a long and rather wearisome march of between 10 and 20 miles before we reached the city. The first section of the valley—absolutely bare and uninhabited—is approximately rather less than 2 miles broad, and on each side are scantily-wooded hills. The snowy summits towered above us on our right. The valley seems almost level, and one can gaze over its whole extent from almost any point, but it has a gentle slope towards the south. After traversing a belt of shrubby wilderness the desert gradually transformed itself into a delightful garden. The principal crop in the cultivated part of the Li-chiang plain is opium, and the pure white flower of the poppy-plant was in full bloom. Among the most attractive features of the plain are its hedges and wild-flowers—especially its luxuriant white wild-roses, the most beautiful I have ever seen. The air was deliciously fresh and warm and laden with the scent of flowers, and it was only when we caught sight of the huge wintry mountains gazing icily down upon us from the sky that we were forced to remember that "it is not always May."
ARRIVAL AT LI-CHIANG
An excellent broad road—one of the very best I have seen in China—traverses the greater part of the cultivated portion of the valley. A dogcart might be driven over it with perfect safety, and in many places it is broader than a good English country road. It is lined on both sides with luxuriant untrimmed hedges, beyond which lie beautiful Gardens of Sleep—acres of white poppy. Villages are numerous in the plain, but our road did not take us through many of them. One—the village of Pei Sha—through which we rode just as the sun was setting, was very picturesque with its wild-flowers and palm-trees. The road degenerated as we approached the city. It had once been paved and was no doubt an excellent causeway in time past; but as usual in China the paving-stones had sunk crookedly and had not been repaired. It was dark before we arrived at the end of our unusually long day's journey, and in the hedges of the suburbs glimmering glow-worms took the place of the wild-roses that night had rendered invisible.
Li-chiang is a small unwalled town, only dignified by the name of a city because it is the administrative centre of a prefecture and a district magistracy. As the capital of the old Mo-so kingdom its situation was well chosen, for in the days of border warfare the strategic importance of its position must have been considerable. It stands on a small hill commanding the greater part of the plain, and is within comparatively easy reach of the Yangtse ferries, both on the east and on the west. No doubt the Mo-so, in the days of their strength, made a point of holding the crossings at both places. Li-chiang is still the residence of a Mo-so or Nashi (Lashi) chief, but his influence is steadily waning. The great majority of the inhabitants are of mixed race, the predominating types being Mo-so, Li-so, Lolo and Min-chia.[267] There is also a pure Chinese element, which is gradually tending to increase. Li-chiang is a considerable centre of trade, and is visited by large numbers of Tibetans and "Ku-tsung" from Atuntzŭ and the valley of the Mekong, and also by traders from Tali-fu, Yunnan-fu, Yung Pei and the Chien-ch'ang valley. There is a broad marketplace in the middle of the town, almost constantly occupied by loquacious crowds of buyers and sellers of many races. There is a good deal of green foliage in the outskirts, and much deflected water which flows through some of the streets like little canals. To a casual observer the streets are not very unlike those of an ordinary town in China: the shops have much the same outward appearance, and the same charactered sign-boards hang above their doors.
REST AT LI-CHIANG
The morning after my arrival at Li-chiang, where I found accommodation in a very bad inn, I heard the surprising and welcome news that there were two Englishmen staying in the town, one of them being a consular official and the other a railway surveyor. As I had no idea that the British Government of Burma had any present intention of extending their railway system to northern Yunnan I decided to call upon my compatriots and ascertain if such were the case. In the course of my enquiries into their place of residence I discovered that one of the Englishmen had left the town some days before, and that the other was a Frenchman! It finally turned out that the former was a Mr Forrest, the adventurous botanist to whose narrow escape from torture and death at the hands of the lamas I have already referred.[268] He had been making a short stay in Li-chiang, and had just left on a botanical expedition to the neighbouring hills. The Frenchman was M. Gaston Perronne, a merchant, who was engaged in the purchase of musk. He had taken a Chinese house in Li-chiang for the period of his residence there, and when I called upon him he most kindly insisted upon my staying with him until I left Li-chiang. Instead of leaving on the following day, therefore, as I had intended, I remained in Li-chiang from the evening of the 15th May to the morning of the 18th.