Chapter X: Some Chinese Seaports and Commerce 205 (4)

After spending a few days at Ten-ten we continued our journey northwards, but were somewhat tried by the difficulty of getting any guide. One of the tribes-people took us a certain distance across the mountains, but the path was not only steep and rough, but the lanes were so narrow and thorny that we thought our chairs would be torn to pieces, and our clothes to ribbons: the thorns and brambles overhanging the path made it difficult to get the chairs along. We found it decidedly preferable to walk, and enjoyed the glorious scenery up hill and down dale, the air laden with the scent of roses and sweetbrier, and the hill-sides carpeted with mauve-coloured orchids and primulas.

We soon lost our way, and there was no one to be seen in all the wide landscape to set us right. We wandered on for hours till we came to a tiny hamlet, where we found a pottery in full swing. With much persuasion and the promise of a good tip, we barely succeeded in coaxing a boy to show us the way to the village of I-mei, where we proposed spending the night. We set off again in more cheerful mood, but alas! for our hopes: after about two hours the lad admitted that he didn’t know the way. We wandered on down a tiny valley, watered by a charming stream, where countless wagtails and other little birds beguiled us by their chatter. As we emerged from the valley into some fields the lad suggested this must be I-mei, but when we asked some women at work in the fields they said “Oh no! it is far away.” They went on to tell us that if we succeeded in reaching it that night, we should probably find no accommodation. There was a comfortable-looking farm-house within sight, and they thought we might get put up there, so we sent to inquire. They were friendly folk, who were willing to vacate a room for us and to lodge the rest of the party somewhere; so we were quite pleased to have this new experience. I had never slept in a Chinese farm-house before, and in point of fact we did not get a great deal of sleep, as the partitions were thin and there was plenty of animal life, both large and small, to share the building, all living on the most intimate terms with the owners. A cat was very put out about it, and hurried to and fro in our room in the middle of the night. We tried to shoo her away, and then heard a reproachful voice from the other side of the partition calling gently “Mimi, Mimi!” upon which the pussy-cat quickly sidled away to her master.

Next day we were up betimes, and our host said his white-haired brother would act as our guide. These two old gentlemen still wore attenuated queues, almost the only ones we saw on the journey. We found the whole family kind and interested in their visitors. I feel sure no other Europeans had ever visited the little valley. We gave the lady a piece of soap, evidently quite a novelty to her: it seems strange to have to explain the use of such a thing. But this province has curious natural resources in the way of soap. One tree, the Sapindus mukorossi, has round fruit, which have only to be shaken in water to make it quite soapy, and the pods of the Gleditschia sinensis are to be found for sale in most of the markets: they are used in washing clothes. European firms have started the soap industry in China, and there is certainly a good opening for the trade.

We had a long climb up a lovely mountain pass, well named in Chinese “Climbing to the Heavens,” and came across magnolia and other delicious shrubs. After a stage of about fourteen miles we reached the town of Pingüan, and stayed there till next day, as it was such a pleasant, clean-looking place. Our room had varnished walls—quite a novelty—and small panes of glass among the paper ones. We had a larger crowd of interested spectators than usual, but at intervals Yao came out like a whirlwind and scattered the chaff. Our hostess brought us a bunch of camellias and peonies as an excuse for consulting the doctor about her cough!

We left Pingüan early next morning, and facing the gateway by which we went out was a typical bit of landscape—in the foreground a bridge leading to a little poppy-covered plain, out of the centre of which rose a steep rock crowned with a pagoda and a temple. At the foot of the rock were several shrines. It seemed impossible for the Chinese to miss making use of any such natural feature of the landscape for a religious purpose in past days; though now the shrines are so neglected, except under the stress of plague, famine or rapine, which incites the worshippers to devotion. The crops in this district were entirely opium poppy.

At our next halting-place, Ch’a-tien, we had to put up with miserable quarters: our tiny room looked on to the street, so that we had a large and interested audience all the time; they lined up on the window-sill across the road, a good point of vantage, while the small fry discovered quite a unique point of observation. There was a hiatus at the bottom of the woodwork of the wall about a yard long and six inches deep, so by lying with their faces flat on the ground and close to the opening they could get a fair view of our doings. The row of bright eyes and gleaming teeth was quite uncanny. Our thermometer registered 66°, so we felt it rather stuffy with every breath of air excluded.

During the day we had passed most attractive newly-built houses in lath and plaster. They had small oval windows in the gable ends with simple but effective designs in them. The contrast was very striking with the other villages in this district, where the inhabitants wore the filthiest-looking rags I have ever seen, and had a most degraded look.

At the entrance to every village is at least one little shrine, which generally has a god and goddess sitting side by side in it; but in this neighbourhood we noticed a good many shrines without images. They had inscriptions instead, such as “The only true God, from ancient to present times.” They looked very neglected as a rule, and hardly ever did we see a newly-erected one.

Our next inn at Ch’a Tsang had a highly decorated wall about eighteen feet high, facing the chief guest-rooms. There was a large parti-coloured mosaic made out of broken crockery at the top, below which were two hares rampant in stucco, supporting a shield between them; they were flanked by ornamental plants in pots. It was interesting to find so elaborate a decoration in so humble an inn, but that is one of the charming surprises on the road, even in the by-ways of China.

Ta-ting was our next important stopping-place, as word had been sent to the mission there, requesting them to summon as many tribes-people as possible to meet us. It is the centre of work among them, and there is a flourishing boys’ school and also a training school for evangelists. The whole school had turned out in our honour, and made a gay show on the hill-side, waving boughs of crimson rhododendrons, which contrasted with their bright blue gowns. They had come by a winding road two or three miles outside the city wall, headed by one of the ladies on horseback: the welcome was as picturesque as it was cordial, and they had learned an English greeting for us, which they gave in great style, as soon as we got out of our chairs. Then they turned back, and we brought up the rear of their procession in single file, passing through a fine gateway before we reached the entrance to the city.

Ta-ting is a Chinese town, although it is in the centre of a district full of tribes-people, with whom they have always been in conflict. A mission station was opened there many years ago especially for work amongst the aborigines, and at the present time is manned by four German ladies, of whom two were on furlough at the time of our visit. When the order came from the Chinese Government that all Germans were to leave the country, as China was joining the Allies, the magistrate of Ta-ting begged that these ladies be allowed to remain, as there had been so much less trouble with the tribesmen since they had come under their influence. This request was granted, and I take this opportunity of stating my firm conviction that the direct result of mission work is to bring these warring races into friendly relations with one another and with the Chinese. The Chinese despise them on account of their illiteracy and low morality, and both these objections are changed by Christian teaching.

We spent a few days very happily at Ta-ting, but it was long enough to see how isolated a life the missionaries must lead, and under most trying climatic conditions. The city lies in a hollow surrounded by mountains at an altitude of 5,100 feet, continually shrouded in mist. The sun is only visible one day in four all the year round, and then perhaps only for a few minutes. We did not see the complete outline of the mountains while we were there, and we were constantly reminded of Scotch mists, rolling up for a few moments and then obliterating everything again. This was the only place where we heard so dismal a report of the weather.

Some Chinese ladies came to call on us and brought us charming embroidered spectacle-cases and puffed rice as gifts, but practically all our time was devoted to studying the aborigines and hearing about them. They were extraordinarily friendly, and one old hunch-back, who came from a village more than thirty miles away, had brought two fine fowls as gifts to the ladies and ourselves. I presented her with a woollen jacket, as the people suffer much from the cold, and when she next came to service on a broiling August day she was still wearing it with great pride!

I should like to have spent months making studies of these people, and tried in vain to make notes of all the details possible of such interesting and various types; but the people were anxious to get back to their homes, and after one day spent almost continuously in meetings and classes, the gathering broke up. It was a great thing to be able to study them at such close quarters, and to find them willing to be sketched and photographed. About two hundred and fifty were present, so that one could get a good idea of the various tribes.

We left Ta-ting by the same gate as we entered it, and followed our former route for about fifteen miles. By dint of making rather long stages we reached Kwei Yang, the capital, on the fifth day, instead of the usual time, the sixth day. While on the journey we passed some pleasant-looking homesteads, which no doubt belonged to wealthy Chinese, as we heard that it was not at all unusual for people living in towns to have country houses as well. Later on I visited two such country houses near Swatow, and was much impressed by their air of refinement, not to mention the beautiful works of art with which they were decorated. Country life appeals strongly to the Chinese. While on this part of the journey we came to a fine five-span bridge with a gateway at each end and decorative carved stonework balustrades, but alas! it was in so ruinous a condition that it probably no longer exists. It is one of the most disappointing things in China that nothing architectural is kept in repair; yet the Chinese are such past masters in the art of restoration when forced to do it for reasons of safety or economy!

The roads were worse than ever, and incredibly slippery and muddy. On the outskirts of Lan-ni-Kou, which we reached on the second day, we saw people busily engaged picking nettles, their hands protected by thick gloves. We were glad to find an unusually good inn there, where we got a brazier and were able to dry our sopping clothes. We had walked a good deal in pelting rain, for the stage was long and arduous, up and down precipitous hills: we did sixty miles in two days. On the third we had to descend the face of a cliff by a steep stone staircase covered with slippery mud. There were long strings of pack animals heavily laden, and they jolted down in front of us, sliding and slithering in a most precarious way. The scene was magnificent—masses of roses hanging in long festoons from the rocks, and the narrow verdant plain far below, with the shining river, Ya-chih-ho, flowing through it. We did not reach it without several tumbles, and found a custom station on the bank, where a lot of mail-bags were waiting to be ferried across. There was a motto over the custom house urging every one to advance the trade of the country. The valley was full of flowering trees; catalpa, orange, azalea, iris, all added to the wealth of scent and colour. The little village on the further side of the river had particularly attractive gardens with hedges of spindle cactus, but the rain still poured down, and it was a weary climb for the next two hours.

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Compensation awaited us, however, at Wei Shang, in the form of a really clean inn, where our room was like a glass case, the whole of one side being glazed, and a few panes missing, which afforded necessary ventilation. There was a slight lack of privacy, but we were in an inner courtyard and could manage to rig up some shelter from the public gaze.

As we neared the capital, things looked more prosperous, and the amount of opium-poppy cultivation decreased. The road was decidedly better and the weather improved. The immediate approach to the city is decorated with no less than twenty-seven memorial arches, many of which are put up to the memory of good mothers and widows. Kwei Yang is a city of a hundred thousand people, and most attractive both in its surroundings and in itself. We enjoyed the hospitality of the only missionaries in the station, Mr. and Mrs. Pike (Australians), of the China Inland Mission. No one realizes how delightful such hospitality is unless they have had an equally arduous journey—to find bright airy rooms, with little intimate touches to welcome you, preparations for a hot bath, freshly-made cakes, all the kindly thought above all, to make you happy and at home: this is an experience of infinite charm, and practically universal in missionary circles. It has often been taken advantage of by unsympathetic travellers, and yet happily it persists.

We were presently asked to say what our plans were, and what places we wished to visit in the neighbourhood, that everything might be arranged; and indeed everything was beautifully arranged for us in a way that could not have been done without help. Mr. Li was dispatched with our cards and a letter of thanks to Mr. Liu, the Postal Commissioner, who had so befriended us (_see_ page 91). He proved to be a friend and supporter of the mission, and came to call on us—a man speaking excellent English who has been Commissioner for twenty-three years. He lives in English style, which, by the way, is much cheaper than Chinese. Unfortunately his wife was ill, so we could not call on her; but we made friends with her sister, a lady doctor who had come the long journey from Fukien to give her medical assistance. We saw her several times; she played the harmonium for the Sunday service in church, and in the afternoon she and her brother-in-law joined us in an excursion to the top of a hill overlooking the town, which was crowned with the usual Buddhist monastery. The view was superb: below we saw thousands of graves, taking up the whole ground-space of the hill-side. Mr. Liu told us he and a friend had once carefully examined a great number of the tombstones, but found none dating back more than eighty years. It seemed a pity that so much valuable land should be taken up by the dead so close to the city. As we walked back in the lovely evening light, kite-flying was in full swing and crowds were taking the air.

Another thing to be done was to arrange for our further journey, and Mr. Pike got a personal interview for our interpreter with the Governor, to whose yamen he has the _entrée_. The Governor is of the old school—does not encourage progress. When Sir John Jordan telegraphed to inquire about the opium cultivation, he replied evasively, “With me there is none”; but it is a question whether that would be accurate, even if applied only to the yamen! Mr. Liu told us that one official made $50,000 on it last year, and whereas the price of opium two years ago was six dollars per ounce, it has fallen to forty cents and will probably fall much lower owing to the bumper harvest now being reaped. The Governor agreed that we might proceed to Chen Yüen, but absolutely refused to allow us to go off the main road to visit the district where the black Miao live. Mr. Liu had already told us that his postal runners had been robbed less than a fortnight before, and two hundred bags of silk had nearly been captured from them. His escort of twenty men had been attacked by six hundred robbers, it was said, but they put up a plucky fight and reinforcements arrived in time to save the situation. The Governor said we must have an escort of thirty men, and promised they should be ready to start on Monday morning—this being Saturday.

We visited a remarkable Buddhist monastery, a little distance outside the city, where the bodies of deceased monks are always cremated. This is a most unusual practice, and there is a stone crematorium just outside the temple precincts, near to a paved cemetery. Here are handsome stone tombs of varying importance, in which the ashes are placed. We saw a monk going the round of these tombs, burning incense before each one and genuflecting with great apparent earnestness. Sometimes it was done twice, sometimes three times, according, no doubt, to the importance of the dead man; we were informed that this takes place always twice a day. The monastery was most beautifully situated amongst the trees on a hill-side. There are now eight sects of Buddhists in China, and probably cremation of monks is peculiar to one of them.

It was with regret that we left Kwei Yang, for evidently the shops were worth visiting, and we got some silk which was quite different in design and colouring from any we had seen elsewhere. Beautiful silk covers are made here for bedding, and the province is noted for its “wild” silk. In leaving the city we passed through streets full of embroidery shops; other trades were to be seen, each in their own locality, and we longed for time to make fuller acquaintance with this most attractive city. As we crossed one handsome bridge we saw another with nine arches and a prolongation across a road where the archway was much finer. There are large tanneries on the outskirts and an agricultural college, whose activities we saw in plantations further along the road. As Kweichow is particularly rich in different kinds of trees, this ought to be a most useful institution. There are many beautiful pine trees, especially the Cunninghamia; Liquidambar formosano (from which the tea chests are made); the Rhus vernicifera (already mentioned); the Boehmeria nivea (of which grass cloth is made, which is so universally used in China for hot-weather clothes and which is now largely imported to Europe and America in the shape of embroidered tablecloths and d’oyleys); the Gleditschia sinensis (the soap tree); Sapium sebiferum (the vegetable tallow tree); the Aleurites Fordii (wood-oil tree); the Sapindus mukorossi (paper mulberry); the Broussonetia; the Agle sepiaria, a kind of orange tree, with curious divided leaf, and many others.

We set off from Kwei Yang accompanied by thirty armed soldiers (some of those we had previously with us were not armed, and few had any ammunition even when they carried rifles) and three policemen under the command of a Captain, who certainly was a pattern of inefficiency and slovenliness. His dress was in keeping with this: he wore white puttees, always dirty and generally wreathed loosely round his fat calves. When it rained he wore a long macintosh, which had to be held up like a lady’s skirt in the old days. He kept no discipline, and when we neared the most dangerous part of the road he travelled in a chair, so as to be thoroughly rested before a possible attack! The men carried with them a banner with which they go into battle, and had a little military flag, which was always set up outside the inns where we halted. These soldiers were a noisy, cheerful crew, and rather spoilt the comfort of the journey, but probably saved us from having our belongings looted, if from nothing worse.

The discipline of our escort left much to be desired, and they prepared for the expected fray with the brigands by constant brushes between themselves! Having a doctor in the party must have seemed quite a fortunate thing to them. One evening Li asked her to put a few stitches in a soldier’s cut head; next came one with a sore arm by too heavy use of a stick on it. I drew the line at this, and forbade any more such cases to be brought to the doctor, remarking that next they would ask to be cured of stomach ache! In point of fact, this happened the very next morning, and our burst of laughter discouraged them from further requests for medical attendance. We heard more and more gruesome stories as we proceeded, and I found it difficult to decide whether the fear expressed was simulated or real. The soldiers begged for a pork feast at a point of great danger (?) to give them the necessary courage. As it was important to keep them in good temper with ourselves, I agreed; and great preparations went on that evening. Some chickens instead of pork having been procured at the market, the whole inn yard seemed full of flying feathers. The result was a thoroughly chicken-hearted crew next day: that is, I feel sure, in accordance with proper Chinese theory! One of the men applied to M. for treatment of a sore foot, and as it appeared probable that the swelling on the sole would develop into an abscess, she ordered him to remain behind. He appeared very disappointed and said that he had come determined to fight, even if it cost him his life. One of the soldiers, we were told, was of the utmost bravery and equal to fighting ten robbers. We were informed later on that two men had been killed on the road just after we had passed, but I had a shrewd suspicion that all these stories were told to enhance the value of the escort when it came to giving the _pourboire_ at the end of the journey.

One most unpleasant thing happened which might well have proved a much more serious affair. The men were very careless in their behaviour when they thought there was no immediate danger, and straggled along the road at irregular distances, a fact which pleased us, as we were not so annoyed by their ceaseless chatter. They would hand their rifles to one another (they were never loaded), and often one man would carry three. Yao, our admirable cook, being a willing fellow, was carrying a rifle nearly all day. He continued to do so when he went ahead at midday, as he always did, to secure our rooms at the halting-place for the night. When we were entering the town, the Captain, who had preceded us, turned back and told us not to go any further, as he was going to the yamen to see about quarters and that all the inns were full. Li saw that something was the matter, but we decided to go on and see for ourselves. Soon we found Yao sitting weeping on a doorstep and our luggage scattered along the main street. He blurted out somewhat incoherently that he had been set upon by the soldiery of the place, because he was carrying a rifle, and accused of being a robber. In vain he asserted that he was the servant of foreigners, who were with a military escort; they beat him and kicked him. Yao reported further that our escort had taken all the rooms in the inn for themselves. We made our way there and found his story correct, and that they had left a dark little room for our use. I felt that it would never do to give in to this, and showed my indignation plainly: but as the officer was not present it was rather difficult to see what was the best plan of procedure. To leave the inn might have given them an excuse for saying they had been relieved of responsibility. I said we would look at the upper rooms, which are only used as storerooms, and happily we found a nice large loft which only needed sweeping out. We said the soldiers were to bring our things up the rickety ladder, for Yao was still in a collapsed state, and they did so with good will. He was considerably comforted by a rubbing down with Elliman, and was allowed to “coucher” (one of his few French words): I heard later that he might have lost his life for his offence in being found with a military rifle, so we had cause to congratulate ourselves that things were no worse. The soldier’s offence in being found without a rifle was an offence punishable with death. Next day Yao was fit for duty again, but a very chastened-looking object.

When we came near to the special danger zone, the escort became more careful, and our party grew daily larger till it reached at last a hundred persons, many people taking advantage of our escort. On all the points of vantage dotted along our road were beacon towers, from which danger signals are flashed in times of rebellion. I could not resist having a joke at Li’s expense when we came to a wooded ravine, where he said the robbers were certainly lurking; “Then I _must_ sketch it,” I told him, and called a halt, to his obvious dismay. I was merciful, however, and we didn’t stop more than a few minutes, while I did an outline of the robbers’ haunt.

This escort went with us till we reached Chen Yüen, whence we travelled by boat. Although it was somewhat risky to be without one, we decided that it would be intolerable to have it in the restricted quarters of a small house-boat. Our courage was rewarded by our immunity from disaster, whereas a missionary party who took the Yangtze route in order to escape it fell into the hands of brigands. Our friends, the Pikes, at Kwei Yang had a most unfortunate experience on their last journey. Their luggage was seized and all the contents emptied on to the muddy road, and the robbers took whatever pleased their fancy; the remainder of the things were not improved by their handling, and when they reached their destination it was found that odd shoes, broken objects, and a dirty collection of clothes filled the boxes. The good temper with which they took their losses was remarkable, considering the difficulty and delay in replacing necessary things, such as shoes.

One of the most interesting places in Kweichow is the town of Chen Yüen, and I was glad we kept to the road instead of going by boat from Seh Ping, although the rapids are said to be very fine. The distant view of Chen Yüen as it first appears to the traveller through a gap between the mountains is impressive: it seems to lie in a complete cul-de-sac, lofty cliffs surrounding it on every side, with the river like a deep jade-green ribbon winding between the serried ranks of sepia-coloured roofs. Tempestuous clouds filled the sky as we approached the city, but the setting sun lighted up a lofty crag studded with temples which blocked up the end of the valley. The cliffs are so precipitous that the people have built the city wall starting from the edge of a precipice at a point some hundred feet above the city, saying that the Almighty had protected it so far, and certainly His protection was of a very different quality from that of the wall!

High up the cliffs we climbed to a temple, from which a tocsin sounds in case of fire: it is certainly a splendid point of view, commanding the whole city, which winds along the banks of the serpentine river. It seems strange to see big junks with white-winged sails so far inland, and to reflect that you can go the whole distance to Shanghai without setting foot on shore, some fifteen hundred miles. It is a much quicker way of travelling when going down stream, but terribly slow in the other direction, not infrequently a three months’ journey.

The temples at Chen Yüen contain some of the finest wood carvings I have seen in China, and are wonderfully situated up the face of a cliff, with magnificent creepers hanging down from its crags and forming a background to the zigzag stairways which lead from terrace to terrace. The situation of the temples is chosen with consummate skill, and from each balcony a new and lovely view is obtained, stretching farther and farther up the valleys. The whole of the province is composed of mountains, with the exception of three districts in the centre and north, where there are plains of a limited size. Considering that the province is sixty-seven thousand square miles in extent, this is a remarkable fact, and a large part is inhabited by the aboriginal tribes: it is extraordinary that the average population is a hundred and twenty-two to the square mile.

Our altitude varied from 1,400 to 5,700 feet, and the highest pass we crossed was 7,200; our average was about 3,200, as we usually stopped at villages hidden in the depths of the valleys, and continually crossed over mountain passes.

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We were quite sorry to leave the province, and I should like to have visited the southern part, which we were told was even more beautiful than the north, though it is hard to believe it. We were so anxious, however, to visit Changteh, that we refused to be persuaded to change our route, and found no cause to regret our decision.

We saw a curious detail in one village—a lamp at the top of a lofty stand—with long cords by which to lower and raise it for lighting purposes. Below it are ancestral tablets in a shrine and it stands in the centre of the street. The use of the lamp is to act as a beacon to wandering spirits who died away from home. It is only lighted on certain festivals, and there is one at each end of that village—query, was there great loss of life of the inhabitants during some absence from home? I have only seen this spirit beacon on one other occasion, and that was in the neighbouring province of Yünnan.

_Chapter V_

_Some Aboriginal Tribes in Kweichow_

“I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If such belief from Heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan;
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man.”

—W. WORDSWORTH.

_Chapter V_

_Some Aboriginal Tribes in Kweichow_

Kweichow is supposed to be the original home of the Miao stock. The mountainous character of the province with its rugged fastnesses and deep valleys is admirably suited to be the refuge for the many tribes who have continually been driven back throughout the centuries by their enemies, the Chinese. Many have taken refuge in the neighbouring province of Yünnan and even in French territory south of the Red River. The hostility of the Chinese to them is due to three causes, as far as I can gather: (_i_) to the low morality of the tribes, (_ii_) to their illiteracy, and (_iii_) to their dissimilarity of character to the Chinese. The first two points are very vital to the Chinese: they are at the root of all their civilization, for no ancient race has laid greater stress on the necessity of morality and learning. Their contempt for the Miao is unbounded and out of all proportion. Our interpreter was astonished to find how different they were from all that he had ever heard, and decided that he must enlighten Peking on the subject when he returned home!

The character of the people is in striking contrast to that of the Chinese. They are warlike, frank, lawless, primitive, open-hearted, opposed to trading and city life: some are great riders, but we never saw one on horseback. This was due to their poverty, and we heard of no rich ones: no doubt the headmen have a certain relative wealth. In the north of Yünnan we heard of their having curious horse-races, when the course would be strewn with feathers. The men wore capes, which gave them a weird look of being birds of prey, as they swept along the course with outstretched arms in clouds of dust and feathers. It is like the Caucas Race in _Alice in Wonderland_: nobody wins.

The Miao are all agriculturists. They cultivate everything they require for food and clothing except salt, which is a Chinese Government monopoly: they only enjoy this luxury about twice a year, we were told at Ta-ting.

In self-defence they live in villages, many of which are almost inaccessible to the outside world and are only penetrated by missionaries. One of our friends describes her descent from one such village, with a man on each side holding her on to the saddle, while a third held on to the pony’s tail to prevent him going down headlong! The Miao huts are small and dark, and their love of colour is entirely confined to personal adornment. Red, white and blue are the dominant colours in their dress, and the material is hempen, the hemp for which is grown, spun, woven and dyed by themselves. The dyes are vegetable, and are of vivid colour. The different tribes have various designs, but, roughly speaking, all the women wear short full kilts and jackets.

The Ta Wha Miao (Great Flowery Tribe) are the gayest in colour that we saw: their designs are bold and effective, the colours used are scarlet and dark blue on a whitish ground, and very exact in line. The design consists of simple geometrical outlines, but these are often filled in with colour, and use is made of a roughly-stencilled pattern which is tacked on the material and worked over in coarse thread. I succeeded in purchasing a partly-worked piece of embroidery from one of the men of this tribe, his wife being away from home, though he evinced some anxiety as to what she would say on finding out that he had done so when she returned. The women seem very strong and independent, do most of the work in the fields, and I can fancy she might have a heavy hand! Also they are thoroughly feminine in their love of clothes. Many of them make quite an elaborate wardrobe, and when a girl is going to a festival of any sort she will take as much as forty pounds weight of clothes, which her young swain will carry for her, so as to have a variety of costume! One kilt I possess weighs nearly four pounds, and some kilts will have as many as thirty-one breadths of material in them. They swing their kilts with all the jauntiness of a Harry Lauder. Although the men are only about five feet in height and the women about half an inch less and very sturdy, their erect carriage lends them a certain attractive dignity. The women cling tenaciously to their national dress, but not infrequently the men discard their loose-flowing clothes for Chinese trousers, and many of them speak the local Chinese dialects.

Formerly these people had no distinctive names and kept no count of their age. Probably it is due to Western influence that they now have adopted them. Sometimes the Chinese would take the women as wives and settle down among them, but no Miao was allowed to marry a Chinese wife. One of them told this to my interpreter.

As a rule they wear nothing on their feet; but some of those who could afford it wear sandals, and the wealthier Miao (if so they can be called) had prettily embroidered ones for special occasions, with an embroidered band along the outer side of the foot, and fastened across the instep with a scarlet thread. The Miaos of both sexes wear stout puttees wound round and round their legs till they look like pillars; or a piece of felt tied with a white band. They are generally dyed a dark blue colour. Sometimes the girls’ unprotected feet get the skin cracked or cut with the stones on their rough mountain paths. They think nothing of sewing them up with needle and thread, as if they were stockings.

The style of hairdressing among the Great Flowery Miao is quite different from those of other Miao tribes. Their coarse black hair is very abundant; as long as they are unmarried girls they wear it in two plaits, hanging from close behind the ears to well below the waist. When a girl marries she coils her hair into a long horn, which stands out just above, and in a line with the shoulder. When she becomes a proud mother her horn is exalted into a lofty pyramid, rising straight upwards from the crown of her head.

The men wear the same kind of embroideries as the women, placed like a shawl across their shoulders, and a sort of long hempen garment falling below the knees and girded in at the waist. Their upper garment has loose sleeves, looped up about the elbow with ornamental braid, which they make on primitive little looms. Round their heads they wind cloth turbanwise, or else wear nothing. They live on the simplest diet, nothing but flour cooked before grinding, which they mix with water into a kind of porridge and eat twice a day: this, with some vegetables or herbs, is their staple food. They are addicted to drinking and fed no shame in it; both sexes have drinking bouts. No Chinese woman is ever seen drunk, and it is a most unusual vice among them: but if she should be drunk, she would be far too proud to be seen out of doors in such a condition. Morally the Ta Wha Miao seem to be at the bottom of the scale, and the Heh (black) Miao at the top.

Considering their extreme poverty we were much touched by these people asking Mr. Slichter to express to us their regret at not being able, on that account, to offer us hospitality. This was in reply to a message he had given them from us, expressing our pleasure at being with them and regret at not being able to visit their various villages, or talk to them in their own language.

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There are supposed to be a very large number of different Miao tribes; the Chinese put the number at seventy. No one has yet attempted to classify them. Their language is practically the same throughout the tribes, with considerable local variations; but none of them have any written language, so that unless a careful study is soon made of it, there will be no lasting record kept. As they become assimilated with the Chinese, such a study will become increasingly difficult. The language seems to be limited in range, as one might expect. There is no word to express joy, gaiety, and it almost seems as if the reason may be that they experience so little happiness under usual conditions. All those we met in markets or on the road looked extremely dull and sullen, in marked contrast to the Chinese. I watched carefully and never saw a smile; yet those who have become Christians are the very reverse. A merrier crew it has never been my lot to see, and they beam from ear to ear. The Great Flowery Miao are never to be seen away from their own villages unless they are on the road to religious services. When they come to these services they often travel long distances, sixty or seventy miles, and bring their food in a bag on their backs; as they receive nothing from the missionaries of a material nature, it is evident that they are not “rice Christians.”

The Little Flowery Miao are so called because their clothes are embroidered in the finest little designs and remarkably beautiful both in design and colour. There are subtle touches of spring green introduced into a harmony of brown, black, white and yellow. There are no less than thirty-four rows of cross-stitch to the inch, and as accurate as though they had been ruled. To heighten the value of this delicate design there are long narrow rows of different-coloured superimposed folded pieces of material, sometimes as many as eight in number in the following order—orange, red, white; or orange, green, red, bright blue, indigo, orange, red, white. The last three colours are especially used in conjunction, sometimes as a sort of small panel of _appliqué_ work in the midst of cross-stitch designs.

It is most interesting to note the complete contrast in design of the needlework of all these tribes with that of the Chinese. The latter is exclusively naturalistic, more so in fact than that of any other people, and includes the widest possible range of subject. The inexhaustible fertility of Chinese imagination is shown in their treatment of landscape, life in all its many forms, the unseen world, human and demonic passion; and everything depicted by the needle just as much as by the brush is full of life and action. The tribes-people, on the other hand, depict nothing naturalistic; all their designs are geometrical and of no mean quality. The fact that in primitive art elsewhere the naturalistic comes first and in course of time becomes conventionalized and geometric makes the work of these tribes an interesting problem. The only figures in their work are little rows of men and animals in cross-stitch. These are worked in red, blue, yellow, white and black on a black ground, only two or three stitches of each colour together, and other little designs mixed in with it. The result is ineffective. The figures are so small and inconspicuous that you only see them on close scrutiny.

The material on which the embroidery is made is a fine hempen native-made cloth, and it takes at least two years to complete the making of a garment, from the time the hemp is grown till the workmanship is finished. The general material worn is remarkably like the hessian cloth used in our kitchens, only more closely woven.

The Black Miao form a very striking contrast to the Flowery Miao. They are so called because their clothes, even the head-dress, are practically all black, and the embroidery on them is so small, so fine, so subdued in colour that the general effect is sombre. The men wear also very dark brown or black clothes. They live mostly in the south-eastern part of the province, but we met them in various places, and they looked decidedly more intelligent and less sulky than the others. They are quite a different type, though they all have very broad faces and black hair.

We met a large number of the “Wooden Comb” Miao at Tenten. They are much taller than the other Miao. They are so called because both men and women wear their long black hair rolled up and fastened on the top of the head with a wooden comb. These combs are mostly plain and unvarnished, but I have one which is very prettily decorated in several colours. They have quite a peculiar type of face, large Semitic noses, and the men wear a thickly-folded white band round their head. Their clothes are for the most part white, with a touch of blue, for instance, in the waistband, on to which a pocket is slung in front. The women dress mainly in dark blue, with an occasional touch of red in the skirts. The girls wear their jackets open down to the waist; but married women wear a kind of felt apron suspended from just above the breast. This felt is made of wool, which is beaten until it reaches the required thickness and density and becomes a solid mass. The cloth of which the jacket is made has a shiny surface like sateen, which also is produced by beating. Some of them wear thick twisted coils of scarlet thread wound twice round the head and fixed with a scarlet wooden comb.

I got my interpreter to make a list of the different Miao tribes living in the part of the province we visited. He did this at the dictation of one of their number. The various Miao-chia (chia means “family”) are mainly named on account of differences of clothing, especially as regards colour, but also sometimes by their occupation, as the “Shrimps” (Sa Miao), so called because they sell fresh-water fish and shrimps; the “Magpies,” called after the birds, because their dress is black and white; and the “West of the Water Miao” (Hsen-hsi Miao) because they live on the west of the river that we crossed between Anshunfu and Ta-ting: they are said to number only six villages.

Pei Chun Miao (they wear aprons on their backs).
Ta Hsiang ” ( ” ” broad sleeves).
Hsiao Hsiang ” ( ” ” small sleeves).
Ching ” ( ” ” green clothes).
Ching[24] ” ( ” ” large combs).
Yi Chun ” ( ” ” their clothes tucked up into their belts).
Wu Chian ”
Chuan ” (= River Miao).
Fu Tu ”
Han ”

In S. R. Clarke’s book, _Among the Tribes in South-West China_, much useful information is given about these tribes, under the headings of four groups, the Miao, the Heh-lao, the Chung-chia and the I-chia, or Lolo, or Nosu. Having lived for thirty-three years in China, mainly in Kweichow, he has collected many legends and details of their beliefs. The most interesting group to me was the I-chia, of whom my interpreter made a long list at the dictation of an evangelist, who was an I-chia. The tribes seem to have kept pretty distinct from one another up to the present time, but if peace reigns and they all become civilized, it is likely that the barrier to intermarriage will tend to break down.

The “Wooden Combs” are ancestor worshippers like the Chinese, and we had the good fortune to be given three of their “dooteepoussas” (I do not know how this word should be spelt, but have written it phonetically), namely sections of bamboo, each containing “a soul,” wrapped in cotton wool and fastened with a thread. A wooden pin runs crosswise through the bamboo, which prevents the “soul” being drawn out by a tiny bunch of grass, which protrudes from the top of the soul-carrier. As will be seen by the illustration, these are exactly in the shape of crosses and they have little cuts on the bamboo varying in number, which refer to the deceased. The Lolos also have these soul-carriers. In Yünnan Province the shape of these soul-carriers approximates to the Chinese ancestral tablets and Clarke gives another form of them which he calls a spirit hamper. The name “lolo” given to these tribes by the Chinese is said to come from this fact, lolo meaning a basket. The Lolos consider the name to be a term of terrible reproach, but do not object to be called Nosu or I-chia. They keep these spirits in their houses, or a tree, or hidden in a rock. The ones I possess are kept in a long box fastened against the outer wall of a house, with a shelter over it like a shrine: sometimes more than one family keeps their soul-carriers in the same box. The funeral rites of these people are very elaborate and extend over a whole year. Dr. A. Henry has kindly given me permission to quote his account of these people and their language from the _Journal of the Anthropological Society_ for 1903. He spent much time studying their habits and language in Yünnan, and brought back from there large quantities of MSS., ancestral tablets and dresses.

“The ceremonies and rituals in case of death and burial are numerous and complicated. After death a hole is made with a pole in the roof of the house to enable the breath or soul to escape. A cow is brought to the door of the house, and from its head is extended a white cord, which is fastened to the hand of the corpse lying inside the coffin, and a ritual called Su-pu is read. If the death is unclean (all cases of death by accident, childbirth, suicide, etc., are impure, also a death is considered impure unless some one has been present when it occurred), a preliminary purificatory ritual is necessary, after which the usual rituals can be recited. On the second and third days after death two important rituals, the meh-cha and wu-cha, are read. When the coffin is being carried out for burial, a paper effigy is placed on it, which represents clothes for the soul of the dead man. At this time also the priest recites the “Jo-mo” or road ritual, and he accompanies the coffin a hundred paces from the house. The ritual begins by stating that as in life the father teaches the son, and the husband the wife, it is only the priest who can teach the dead man the road that his soul must travel after death. The threshold of the house is first mentioned, then the various places on the road to the grave, and beyond that all the towns and rivers and mountains that must be traversed by the soul till it reaches the Taliang Mountain, the home of the Lolo race. (The Lolos come mainly from Szechwan and the borders of Tibet.) Here the priest says that he himself must return, and entreats the dead man to pursue his way beyond the grave alone. The dead man then enters Hades, and stands beside the Thought Tree and the Tree of Talk, and there he thinks of the dear ones left behind and weeps bitterly. After this ritual is read, the priest returns to the house, and the coffin goes on to the grave.

The Lolos believe that for each person on earth there is a corresponding star in the sky. So when a man is ill, a sacrifice is often made of wine in cups to his star, and four-and-twenty lamps are lighted outside his room. On the day after a funeral a hole is dug in the death-chamber at a spot indicated by rolling an egg on the ground till it stops. A ritual is recited praying the star of the dead man to descend and be buried in this hole. If this were not done the star would fall and possibly hurt some one.