This occurrence, I daresay, is a sufficient excuse for my never having again entered Sam-chun, though often passing it. The General commanding her Majesty’s forces at Canton got, at our complaint, the Governor of Kwang-tung to issue a proclamation warning against the recurrence of similar outrages; but the Governor-General exercises very little power in that part of the country. Sam-chun is a place of very bad general repute, and even Chinese travellers carefully avoid it, so I had no desire to experiment as to the actual effect of the proclamation. Aheung was with me when this perilous incident occurred; but he carefully disappeared, and only turned up again towards evening, carrying a basket, which he had saved, as the excuse for his absence. After we are fairly past Sam-chun on this our present excursion, he turns round to look at it, grins at me, and draws his hand significantly across his throat. We stop this night at his own village of San-kong, a little further on, and sleep in the schoolhouse, which is large and airy. Moved by the report of my coolie, the people there were particularly civil; and Aheung insisted on providing the morning and evening repast, with abundance of hot t’san, or Chinese wine, at his own expense. He also brought his very aged mother to see me, and she would have kow-towed had I allowed her. Frequently the Chinese are accused of ingratitude, but I must say I have always found a very strong desire on their part to reciprocate favours. At this place a rather curious proposal was made by a Chinese traveller who was halting at a tea-house in front of the village. On seeing me he took off his coat and displayed to the people his bare back, which was cruelly scored by the strokes of a rattan. “See,” he said, “how the foreign devils in Hong-Kong treat a respectable Chinaman: now that we have got this foreign devil amongst us, let us tie him up and flog him, and see how he will like it.” Immediately on this Aheung’s inarticulate voice rose in vehement protest, and the people would not listen to the proposal for a moment; but it made my back shiver, for had it been advanced in a village where I was unknown, it might very possibly have been carried into execution—which would have been neither profit nor glory, and would have been all the harder because I strongly disapproved of the way in which such punishments were carried out by the police. It used to be a most horrid spectacle to see, as often might be done, a poor wretch, with his back all raw and bloody, exposed in Queen’s Road, the most crowded thoroughfare of the town, trembling from pain, shame, and cold, and trying to conceal his face from the passers-by. I could not wonder if a man who had so suffered tried to murder a dozen Europeans, especially if he had suffered unjustly, as was nearly as likely to be the case as not, or for some trivial offence, such as stealing three hairs from a horse’s tail, for which I have known a flogging with the rattan inflicted.
Our next day’s journey was also a short one of only twelve miles. Shady paths along the side of a stream led us to Pu-kak, a large Hakka village, where the German missionaries had formerly a station in the hue, or marketplace, but were forbidden to enter the village itself, or to walk on a neighbouring hill, lest they should disturb the dragon beneath, who could not be supposed to stand the insult of foreigners trampling upon his neck! At the outbreak of hostilities at Canton, the Rev. Messrs Lobschied and Winnes, who were labouring here, were assailed by the people, and had to barricade themselves in their house. The former gentleman got out at night by a back window; and, being pursued, escaped by concealing himself in the water and among the lotus-leaves of a small pond, enjoying the pleasure, while lying there, of hearing the Chinese thrusting their long spears close to him. Mr Winnes was held to ransom for 240 dollars, and was released; but it is doubtful whether that would have taken place had a small military force not been despatched from Hong-Kong for his relief.
At Li-lang, or the village of “Flourishing Plums,” which we next reached, I was glad to find Mr Winnes, and to stay with him. He had been residing there alone, most of the time, for nearly six months, in a small room above a very small chapel and schoolhouse, which were built before the commencement of the war. All his attempts to get a suitable site for a house had been unsuccessful, owing to the geomantic fears of the Hakkas. At one place they were afraid that the White Tiger, whatever that may be, would be disturbed by his building. Another suitable site was refused because the spirits of the ancestors wandering about the graves on the opposite hill would be disturbed by any change of the aspect of the scene, such as a new house would cause. This geomancy is a rather mysterious and difficult subject, which has its own priests, and exercises much influence over the minds of the Chinese. One of the converts of the missionary had been a geomancer, and had written an essay on the subject, in which he makes mention of such awful things as the Deadly Vapour around the dwelling, the Fiery Star which brings destruction, the Nightly Dog who causes apparitions, the Abandoned Spirits who promote ignorance, the White Tiger of the Heavenly Gate, the Seven Murderers, the Gate of Death, the Pestilential Devil, the Hanging Devil, the Strangler, the Poisoner, the Knocker at the Door, the Lamenting Devil, the Scatterer of Stones, the Barking Dragon, the Ravenous Heavenly Dog, and the Murderer of the Year. Talk of the Chinese not being an imaginative people! Why, these mere names suggest a whole world of terror; they are enough to make one shudder and have recourse immediately to a solemn study of the seventy-two principles of the mysterious laws of the efficacious charm for protecting houses.
Another interesting subject on which Mr Winnes gave me novel information was the practice of Spirit-Writing among the Chinese, which has existed from an early period, and strikingly resembles the Western Spirit-Rapping of modern times. I have pretty full notes on this Geister Shrift, as the German called it, but must avoid tedious details. It is sometimes had recourse to by mandarins and educated persons, as well as by the ignorant, for the purpose of gaining information as to the future intentions of Heaven, which are otherwise hid from human beings. One of the most frequent inquiries put is as to whether the questioner will have a number of male children, but all sorts of subjects are inquired into, both personal and political; and many volumes exist, both in prose and verse, alleged to have been written by spirits; so the Seer of Poughkeepsie has been anticipated in the Flowery Land. The Spirit-Writing is called by the Chinese Kong-pit, or “Descending to the Pencil,” and the first step is to cut a bent twig from an apricot tree, affixing at the same time to the tree certain characters which notify that the twig or magic pencil is taken, because the spirit will descend in order to reveal hidden things. Having thus consoled the tree for its loss, the twig is cut into the shape of a Chinese pen, and one end is inserted at right angles into the middle, not the end, of a piece of bamboo, about a foot long and an inch thick, so that were this bamboo laid upon a man’s palms turned upwards, the twig might hang down and be moved over a piece of paper. In a temple, a schoolhouse, or an ancestral hall, chairs are then set apart for the spirit to be summoned, and for the god or saint of the temple or village under whose power the summoned spirit is supposed to be wandering. One table is covered with flowers, cakes, wine, and tea for the refreshment and delectation of the supernatural visitors, while another is covered with fine sand, in order that the spirit may there write its intimations. In order to add to the solemnity of the scene, proceedings are not commenced till after dark, and the spectators are expected to attend fasting, in full dress, and in a proper frame of mind.
The usual way of communicating in China with the higher supernatural powers is by writing supplications or thanksgivings on red or gold-tissue paper, and then burning the paper, the idea being that the characters upon it are thus conveyed into a spiritual form. In order to spirit-writing, a piece of paper is burnt containing some such prayer as this to the tutelary deity or saint of the place:—“This night we have prepared wine and gifts, and we now beseech our great Patron to bring before us a cloud-wandering spirit into this temple, in order that we may communicate with him.” After the saint has had sufficient time to find a spirit, two or three of the company go to the door to receive him, and the spirit is conducted to the seat set apart for him, with much honour, with many genuflexions, and the burning of gold paper. The bamboo is then placed in the palms of a man, so that the apricot twig touches the smooth sand upon one of the tables; and it is usually preferred that the person in whose hands the magic pen is thus placed should be unable to write, as that gives some guarantee against collusion and deception. It is then asked if the spirit has arrived from the clouds; on which, if he is there, the spirit makes the bamboo shake in the hands of the individual who is holding it, so that the magic twig writes on the sand the character to, or “arrived.” When it is thus known that the supernatural guest is present, both he and the tutelary deity are politely requested to seat themselves in the arm-chairs which have been provided, the latter, of course, being on the left, or in the post of honour according to Chinese ideas. They are then refreshed by the burning of more paper, and by the pouring out of wine, which they are thus supposed spiritually to drink; and those who wish to question the ghost are formally introduced to it, for nothing would be considered more shocking than for any one suddenly and rudely to intrude himself upon its notice. After these ceremonies, it is thought proper that the visitor from the clouds should communicate something about himself; so inquiries are made as to his family and personal names, the period at which he lived, and the position which he occupied. The question as to time is usually made by asking what dynasty he belonged to, a few hundred years more or less not being thought anything of among this ancient people, and a ghost of at least a thousand years old being preferred to younger and consequently less experienced persons. The answers to these questions are given as before, the spirit, through the medium, tracing characters upon the sand.
After that, those who have been introduced to the invisible guest put their inquiries as to the future. The questions and the name of the questioner are written upon a piece of gold paper, as thus:—“Lee Tai is respectfully desirous to know whether he shall count many male children and grandchildren.” “Wohong would gladly know whether his son Apak will obtain a degree at the examination at Canton next month.” The paper with the question is then burned, and the spirit moves the magic pen until an answer, most frequently in verse, is traced upon the sand. If the bystanders cannot make out the answer, the ghostly interpreter will sometimes condescend to write it again, and to add the word “right” when it is at last properly understood. After the sand on the table is all written over, it is again rolled smooth, and the kind spirit continues its work. When the answer is in verse, the bystanders often take to flattery, and say, “The illustrious spirit has most distinguished poetical powers.” To which the illustrious spirit usually replies, in Chinese—“Hookey Walker!” Whenever a question is put, the paper is burned and wine is poured out; for Chinese ghosts appear to be thirsty souls, and are not above reprimanding those who neglect to give them wine, or do not regard their utterances with sufficient respect. It is believed that the man in whose hands the magic pen lies has nothing to do with its movements, and its motions can be easily seen, and cause some little noise, thumping down on the table.
These operations go on till shortly after midnight, when, according to the principles of Chinese physical science, the yung, or male principle of life, gains the ascendancy. I am not aware that any covert satire is intended in thus making the ghost loquacious only when under the influence of the yong, or female principle; but it may be so, or there may be something in common in this respect between Chinese spirits and the ghosts of our own land, which used to vanish at the first crowing of the cock. At all events, soon after midnight, the celestial visitor, who is not less formally polite than Chinese still in the flesh, writes on the table—“Gentlemen! I am obliged for your liberal presents, but now I must take my departure.” The gentlemen reply to this, still through the medium of burned paper—“We beseech the illustrious ghost still to remain with us a little longer, and still further to enlighten our minds.” “Permit me to go,” politely answers the spirit, “for I am urgently required elsewhere;” whereon the whole assembly rises, and, advancing to the door with burning papers, escort the ghost out, complimenting him, bowing to him, and begging for his pardon if they have at all failed in doing him honour. At the door they respectfully take leave of him, and allow him to wander on into the darkness and the clouds.
It is curious to find that this supposed modern form of delusion, or else of communication with the spirit world, has been in existence in the Middle Empire for centuries, and it is only one of many things recently springing up in Europe which have been anticipated by the Celestials. A good deal of faith is attached to these ghostly utterances, and the ceremonies are conducted with solemnity. It may be observed that communication with the supernatural world by means of burned papers is not an isolated notion in the circle of Chinese ideas. Everything is considered as having an existence beyond that which it presents to the bodily eye. Even inanimate objects may be said to have a soul; and things (to use the word in its widest sense) have the same relationships to each other in their spiritual as in their visible existence. Thus, the spirits of the dead must eat, whether they be in heaven or hell, in clouds or sunshine. They devour not spiritual turnips, rice, and pork, but the soul or spiritual existence of visible turnips, rice, and pork; and, like other Chinese, they prefer fowl, ducks, and birds’-nest soup, when they can get these luxuries. So far is this carried, that in the “Universal Rescue,” to which I have already referred, separate bathing-rooms are set apart for spirits of the different sexes, in which they are supposed to perform their spiritual ablutions. Thus the present and the past, the visible and the invisible, are inseparably connected, while both are seen to shape the unformed future.
At Li-long Mr Winnes had a small congregation of converts from among the peasantry, and a few intelligent young men whom he was training for missionary or educational purposes; hymns were sung in Chinese, but set to German music. Besides conveying instruction, the missionaries—who have all studied medicine more or less—give medicine and medical treatment to many of the Chinese with whom they come in contact, and try to cure inveterate debauched opium-smokers by taking them in charge for two or three weeks, keeping them under their own eye, and supplying such drugs as are necessary to prevent the system from breaking up when the narcotic food on which it has been accustomed to depend is withdrawn. Credit is due to these educated and intelligent men who thus cut themselves off from the enjoyments of their own civilisation, and devote themselves to the improvement of a somewhat rude and wild people like those who inhabit these mountainous districts of Kwang-tung. In many respects their work is important, and especially as acting as a “buffer,” to use a railway phrase, between two antagonistic races and antagonistic civilisations. In ordinary circumstances they are treated not merely with respect, but also with a friendly confidence rarely extended to foreigners, though when war is abroad and the minds of the people are exasperated their services may be forgotten. By mingling with the people, speaking their language, sympathising with their humble joys and sorrows, and alleviating their sufferings, they present the foreigner in a new and beautiful light to the Chinese, and dissipate the prejudice which has attached itself to his name.
On leaving Li-long next day the German missionary asked me to visit a village called Ma-hum, in the Yeang-tai Mountains, to which I was bound, as it had suffered severely in a prolonged clan-fight, and he thought that the advent of a foreigner would give its inhabitants some little prestige which might save them from the utter destruction with which they were threatened by the neighbouring and more powerful village of Schan-tsun. As the day was warm and the way was long, I engaged a chair and a couple of coolies, who went on sturdily through narrow valleys between low hills frequently covered with pine-apple trees or rather bushes. After passing the large wealthy village of Tsing-fer, or “Clear Lake,” where there are some enormous trees, and, among others, a bastard banian, the trunk of which is forty feet in circumference, we began to enter the Yeang-tai Mountains, where the Throne of the Sun is supposed to be situated. At first they appeared not nearly so beautiful and striking as when I had visited them the previous summer. At that time the orchards of peach, plum, pear, and apple trees, which form the main attraction of the valleys, were loaded with leaves, blossoms, and fruit; the grass was everywhere green; the red sides of the more barren hills were diversified by numerous waterfalls and foaming streams; while fantastic clouds, here dark and threatening, but there lit golden by the sunlight, wreathed the summits of the mountains. In this dry season the more western portions of the Yeang-tai looked bare and unsatisfactory. The spring was not sufficiently advanced for the trees to show more than barely visible, though budding knobs; the grass on the hills was dry and yellow, and our path wound away through interminable small valleys, where the slopes around seemed neither solid rock nor fruitful earth, but ridges of decayed granite which the rains had washed bare and the sun had bleached to a dirty reddish-white. It was like finding a once fair lady in a faded condition and a dubious undress. The fruits which form the product of this district are not particularly satisfactory to European judgment. The plums, apricots, and peaches, though small, are much the best; but it is difficult to get them in good condition, as the Chinese seem to prefer them either unripe or rotten; and they are always gathered too soon, partly on this account and partly to preserve them from the ravages of birds and thieves. The large juicy pears are exceedingly coarse-grained, and have not much taste; the pulp feels dry and gritty in the mouth, and the only way to enjoy them properly is to eat them stewed. The dry leathery apples are miserable indeed. Those fruits in the south of China which belong to the tropical zone are much better than those whose proper place is in the temperate. The pine-apples, the custard-apples, the guavas, the pomegranates, and the olives are very good indeed; but the mangos are small, and much inferior to those of India, Manilla, and the Straits. Some fruits are indigenous and peculiar to the country, as the whampee, which tastes not unlike a gooseberry; and the lychu (whose trees form a fragrant and agreeable feature in the landscape), which is about the size of a large strawberry, and has, within a rough red skin, a white sweet watery pulp, somewhat resembling that of the mangosteen, and not unpleasant to the taste, though the flavour suggests a faint suspicion of castor-oil. It is scarcely necessary to make mention of the numerous varieties of the orange, which is the most abundant and perfect fruit in the south of China.