The Min-chia, whose characteristic features seem to dissociate them from the Mo-so in spite of their proximity of habitation, are probably connected more or less closely with the Shans. M. Vial refers to them in a passage which I translate as follows. "In 1394, Hung Wu, emperor of the Ming dynasty, caused a map of the empire to be prepared in which the Yangtse is made to form the southern limit of China. In 1400, Chien Wên or Hui Ti, who was Hung Wu's successor,[344] was dispossessed by one of his uncles and withdrew to Yunnan, where he lay hidden for thirty years. A great number of Chinese followed him and established themselves there. They now form the basis of this Chinese population that we call pên-ti-jên or Min-chia. They allied themselves to women of the indigenous race.[345] All these pên-ti-jên say that they came from a place called Kao Shih Ch'iao of the province of Nanking."[346] The war between Hui Ti and his rebellious but too successful relative, the Prince of Yen, is a matter of history; and it is also stated in the Chinese chronicles that when the emperor was overtaken by hopeless defeat he escaped to Yunnan in the garb of a Buddhist monk. No doubt a number of faithful followers accompanied him into exile, but I am not aware of the evidence upon which M. Vial relies for his statement that they are the ancestors of the Min-chia. The Min-chia type is quite un-Chinese in appearance. That most members of the tribe speak Chinese is no strong argument in favour of their Chinese descent. It is a well-known fact that it was the deliberate policy of the Chinese emperors—especially in the early years of the present dynasty—to compel the conquered people of Yunnan to learn the language of northern China; and this policy was so wonderfully successful that at the present day nearly every one in Yunnan speaks a dialect which is easily intelligible to any one who has learned Pekingese. "The natives of Yunnan" as Baber said "were forced to learn the language of the north on pain of death." That a strain of pure Chinese blood must have mingled with that of the numerous races occupying Yunnan goes without saying; the mere presence of large Chinese armies on Yunnanese soil at times when campaigns lasted for a decade or more must of itself have tended to rub off the sharp edges of racial distinctions; but the special characteristics of the Min-chia are too well marked to justify the hasty adoption of the theory that they are the descendants of Chinese refugees from Nanking.
TRADITIONAL EASTERN ORIGIN
The number of different tribes who declare that they came originally from Nanking or elsewhere in the east is surprisingly large. I have already[347] referred to a tradition among the Chung-chia-tzŭ that they came from Kiangsi. The Miao-tzŭ of Kuei-chou apparently believe that they came "from the east." Prince Henry of Orleans records that the La'hu and Lolos both declared to him that they "came from Nanking ages ago,"[348] and mentions a similar tradition among the Li-so. That the Chung-chia-tzŭ, Miao-tzŭ, Lolo, La'hu, Li-so and Min-chia should have all come from the neighbourhood of Nanking seems scarcely credible, and the tradition with regard to most of them, if not all, may be dismissed as a fiction. But indeed I am aware of no theory about the Min-chia, or about Lolos, Mo-so, Li-so, Shans and the rest, that settles all difficulties and fits in with all the facts; and if one is tempted to put faith in any of the numerous hypotheses that have been advanced, it is only because a half-truth is not always "the worst of lies," and a permanent suspension of judgment is a source of discomfort to the mind that shuns the cheerless refuge of agnosticism.
[CHAPTER XVI]
TALI-FU TO BHAMO
At Tali-fu I found it impossible to hire mules or coolies for a journey to the Kunlon ferry, though during the cool weather the transport question would have presented no difficulty. To travel from Tali to Yün-chou, on the south of the Mekong, would have occupied, I was told, only seven days, and another twelve days' march would have brought me through the valley of the Nam Ting to the Salwen ferry at Kunlon, the boundary of British territory. From there it is but four or five easy stages through the jungle to the British post of Lashio,[349] the headquarters of the Superintendent of the North Shan States, and from that point I could have taken train to Mandalay. In summer, however, and especially after the commencement of the rains, the Tali muleteers regard a journey through the Nam T'ing valley and the Shan jungles of the frontier as very deadly, and I found that even an offer of treble the usual pay would not induce a single man to come forward. The crossing of the Salwen valley on the way to Bhamo is also considered a very dangerous performance in the hot season; but that, after all, is a matter of a few hours only, and there is no superstitious dread of any other part of the journey. I found it necessary, therefore, to abandon all idea of travelling to the Kunlon ferry, and rather reluctantly decided to take the well-known trade-route to Bhamo, through Yung-ch'ang and T'êng-yüeh.
So many Europeans in recent years have traversed this route that it is unnecessary for me to describe, in any detail, the characteristic features of a road which we all know so well from the graphic accounts of such experienced travellers as Baber, Colquhoun, Captain Gill and Dr Morrison. South-western China bears much the same appearance to-day as it did thirty years ago, and it may be doubted whether it was very different in the days of Marco Polo, though probably the roads were better. There is therefore very little need for me to describe this part of my journey with any minuteness.
I left Tali-fu on 25th May, and passed through the southern fortress-city of Hsia Kuan—where the trade is much brisker than at Tali-fu itself—after an easy ride of 6 or 7 miles. There my road left the lake and struck west into a ravine, and a few miles further on I reached the village of Ho Chiang-p'u. Next day we passed through Yang Pi, crossed a suspension bridge which was undergoing repair, and after a fairly stiff climb spent the night in a hamlet near the summit of a pass. On the 27th we crossed another pass of no great elevation, rode through T'ai-p'ing-p'u and one or two other small hamlets, and descended into a deep ravine in order to cross the Ch'ing Lien river by a suspension bridge, which, according to an inscription, was reconstructed in the eighteenth year of the present reign (1892), with funds raised by the public.[350] A few miles beyond, we halted for the night in the village of Huang-lien-p'u. Some arduous climbing the next day brought us to the small town of Yung P'ing, which, a year previously, had suffered terribly from the floods of a neighbouring river. As no inn was habitable, I was given accommodation in a schoolhouse.
TOWARDS THE MEKONG