My second day's journey from Li-chiang took me through a large number of villages, of which the names of the most important will be found in the itinerary. At midday we reached the departmental city of Chien-ch'uan-chou, a small town which sits among a crowd of small centres of population, like a hen among her chickens. It is surrounded by a battlemented wall of the usual type, which gives it an appearance of compactness, but in origin it was probably merely an agglomeration of villages. Its population is mainly employed in tilling the surrounding fields. A few miles further we passed near the shores of a small shallow lake, from which flows a small river called the Hai Wei.[272] Just beyond the village of Han Têng, where a market was being held, we crossed the river by a handsome bridge, and almost immediately afterwards arrived at the last village of the long valley through which we had been riding all day. This was the village of Tien Wei, where we spent the night. Good quarters were provided for us in a hostelry which was quite new and therefore comparatively clean.
TALI-FU MOUNTAINS
Since leaving the high mountains north of Li-chiang we seemed to have entered a new climate. Riding and walking during the day under a blazing sun, and with a shade temperature of 80° F., proved to be much more exhausting than climbing snowy mountains. We were now on the high Yunnan plateau, at an average elevation of about 7,000 feet; but we were gradually approaching a tropical latitude, and the season—just before the breaking of the rains—was the hottest of the year. I had long since discarded the thick garments which in the mountains near the Yalung had seemed none too warm. The nights and early mornings, however, were always deliciously cool, and I was well aware that in the steaming plains of Burma I should long for the comparative coolness of the Yunnan plateau. At Tien Wei the temperature an hour before our early start sank as low as 54°, and we made haste to get well on the road before the sun rose high in the heavens. Out of the valley our road lay over a picturesque range of low hills over-grown chiefly with dwarf pines. On leaving these behind we found ourselves in a small valley studded with a few villages, from which we ascended another and a higher range. From its northern slopes I had a last view of Li-chiang's snow-clad peaks, and half a mile further on we came within sight of another range of snow-crowned hills to the south. This was the lofty range—never perhaps absolutely free from snow in spite of its latitude[273]—which forms the magnificent background to the city of Tali-fu, now little more than two days distant. At the foot of the hills from which we had this view we came to a small temple and an eating-house, close to a stream crossed by a bridge called Hao Shou. The first word is the Chinese for a crane, a bird which is emblematic of longevity, and shou is the ordinary word for "long life"; so it is evidently intended that this bridge should last for ever. Here we halted for lunch, I secluding myself from public observation within the little temple.
About 8 miles further on we passed through the village of Niu Kai,[274] which means Ox Village, just beyond which we passed close to a curious hill which has the appearance of a truncated cone. It is flattened at the top, and there is a small pagoda. Hot springs issue from the base of this hill, which bears the name of Huo Yen Shan ("Fiery Flame Hill"). Perhaps it was once a miniature volcano. I may mention, by the way, that the valley through which we travelled the previous day has within the last fifteen years suffered from a disastrous earthquake, which is said to have destroyed many villages and dozens of lives.[275] A short distance beyond the hot-spring hill we halted at a good inn in the small market town of San Ying, the name of which (meaning Three Camps) seems to indicate that it was once a military centre, perhaps in the days of the Mongol invasions. In this town I bought myself an umbrella for the sum of 600 cash—about one shilling. It professed to be of English make, and to have come from Rangoon in Burma; but the mis-spelling of the name of a well-known Anglo-Indian firm, and the obvious inferiority of the manufacture, showed that it was only a crude imitation. If this is the kind of article that passes current for English goods in the west of China it is little wonder that the trade between Burma and Yunnan is not showing the elasticity which is desirable from the point of view of the material interests of both China and Great Britain.
THE WHITE SAND RIVER
Next day we continued our march through the valley in which San Ying is situated, passing numerous farm-houses and small villages surrounded with rice and poppy-fields. The rosebushes which had so frequently lined our path since we entered the Li-chiang plain had by this time shed all their blossoms. The poppy-flowers, too, were rapidly vanishing. Under the brilliant sunshine the country still looked very charming; the landscapes being very often of the kind that would have delighted the heart of a Corot. After passing through the village of Ch'ang Ying (Long Camp) a few miles' ride brought us to the southern termination of the valley, and thence the road wound gradually up the slope of low hills, mostly consisting of barren moorland. We passed a small lake or tarn, and after this the road turned south-west and brought us to the large village of Ying-shan-p'u, situated in a confined valley lying between two ranges of hills. We skirted the left side of this village close under a temple and small pagoda. We then went southwards into a ravine, near the entrance of which is a fine single-arch bridge spanning a large stream called the Pai Sha or White Sand. Our road did not lie across the bridge, but continued to lead us along the stream's left bank. The scenery in the gorge is picturesque, but the hills on both sides are barren. Little besides the prickly pear seems to thrive on them. About 3 miles beyond the bridge we emerged from the ravine into a plain. Here the Pai Sha flows with a much slower current, and in size attains the dignity of a small river. Its waters have been brought under complete control by the formation of well-constructed embankments. For a distance of several miles, indeed, the river becomes a canal, suitable for barge-traffic. Our road led us along the embankment, and for a distance of over a mile—all the way to the village of Chung So—the road is not unlike the Magdalen Walks at Oxford. The foliage is thicker and the vegetation more luxuriant and diversified than at Magdalen, but the road bears a general resemblance to Addison's Walk, and the river is very similar to the Cherwell in its width, in the laziness of its current, and—be it confessed—in its colour.[276] At a poor inn in the village of Chung So we made our midday halt. A plague of flies drove me away from it sooner than was pleasing to my muleteers; but not before I had been cajoled into entering my name in a subscription book as a contributor towards the cost of rebuilding the Tê Yüan Bridge which spans the Pai Sha close by.
THE PLAIN OF TALI
After crossing this river and passing through or within sight of several other villages we arrived at the small departmental city of Têng-ch'uan-chou. Our road took us in at one gate and out at another. It seemed to be a sleepy town and somewhat decadent. It lies not far from the northern extremity of the famous Tali lake, the Erh Hai, a great part of which came into view as soon as we had ascended some rising ground, mostly consisting of red clay, a short distance beyond Têng-ch'uan. The lake is said to be annually decreasing in volume, and to judge from the appearance of the land beyond its northern extremity this seems very likely to be true. Near Têng-ch'uan there are a number of little isolated ponds which evidently once formed part of the great lake, and there is a great deal of marshy land not yet fit for cultivation.
We spent the night of 21st May in a good inn near the lake side in the village of Sha P'ing. Next day we passed through Shang Kuan, the fortified village, now partly in ruins, which once formed one of the main bulwarks of the city of Tali-fu. Between the base of the high mountains on the west and the waters of the lake on the east lies a strip of land between 20 and 30 miles long, and about 3 miles broad. At each extremity of this plain is—or rather was—a fortress. The northern extremity is protected by Shang Kuan, the southern by Hsia Kuan—the two words meaning the Upper and Lower Passes or Gates. Tali-fu itself lies at the foot of the mountains about 18 miles from the former and 7 miles from the latter, and used to be absolutely safe from attack so long as those two fortified points remained intact. The plain, which was once in all probability under water, is very rich and grows every kind of grain that a beleaguered garrison could require. It was always safe against starvation, therefore, in the event of a long siege. It was only when artillery cast by Frenchmen in Yunnan-fu was brought to bear upon the walls of the two "Kuans" that the Mohammedan rebels were forced at last to yield the city.
The plain was not, when I rode through it on my last stage to Tali-fu, devoted exclusively to cereals. Hundreds of acres were given up to the opium-poppy, and thousands of men and women were at that time employed in harvesting the drug. Much of the work was carried on by Min-chia girls, who turn their healthy bronzed faces, shaded by great straw sun-bonnets, to peer curiously at the novel sight of a Western stranger. Some of the women in this district wear turbans of dark blue cloth, the front band studded with silver knobs, which from a distance make it appear as if their foreheads were crowned with some kind of tiara. Beyond Shang Kuan the road lies at a distance of about 3 miles from the lake all the way to Tali-fu. Between the road and the lake lies an endless series of cultivated fields, which even in this dry season were plentifully irrigated by streams from the mountain. The plain is dotted with villages which generally lie half buried in foliage. On the right of the road[277] the cultivation is much more scanty. There is a good deal of barren moorland, and much ground is occupied by graves. Just before reaching Tali-fu we passed some lofty thirteen-story pagodas. I entered the city by the north gate and found good quarters on the upper floor of a quiet and commodious inn.