CHAPTER II
DAYS IN YUNNAN-FU
The
situation of Yunnan's capital is extraordinarily picturesque.
It stands in a wide plain, its northern wall running along a low rocky ridge
from which there is a charming view over city and lake to the great mountains
that skirt the plain on all sides. Lying at an elevation of nearly seven
thousand feet, it is blessed with a white man's climate. Eighty-five degrees in
the shade marks the highest summer temperature, and the winters are just
pleasantly bracing. Europeans who have experienced the biting winds of Peking,
the damp heat of Canton, or the gray skies of Chengtu find in the bright days
and cool breezes of Yunnan some mitigation of their exile to this remote corner
of the empire. The city itself is not very attractive in spite of its many
trees, for it seems a network of narrow lanes, only broken here and there by a
temple enclosure or a stretch of waste land, the whole shut in by sound thirty-foot
high walls; nor are there any sights of special interest, with the exception of
a rather fine Confucian temple. But the country roundabout affords many
charming excursions. The waters of the lake, some twenty-three miles in length,
once perhaps washed the west wall, but it is
gradually silting up, and to-day it is five miles away and is reached by heavy
sampans which ply the narrow canals that intersect the rice-fields. Farm
buildings, tea-houses, and temples buried in groves of bamboo are dotted over
the plain, which is crossed at intervals by high, stone-paved dykes lined with
trees. The rich cultivation of the lowland is in sharp contrast with the
surrounding hills, bare and barren save where the presence of a temple has
preserved the forest.
Yunnan-fu, with a population of some eighty thousand,
seems a fairly prosperous town. Copper is found on the neighbouring hills, and
the metal-work of the place is famous, although by law all copper mined must be
sent to Peking. But the importance of the city depends mainly upon its trade.
It is the centre of a large though rather scantily populated district abounding
in the great staples, rice, beans, and millet, as well as in fruit and
vegetables. Formerly Yunnan stood in the forefront of opium-producing provinces,
but when I was there not a poppy-field was to be seen. The last viceroy, the
much respected Hsi Liang, the one Mongol in the Chinese service, himself not an
opium smoker, had shown great determination in carrying out the imperial edicts
against its use or production, and rather unwillingly Yunnan was brought into
line with the new order. Under his successor, Li Ching Hsi, a man known to be given over to the use of the drug, unwilling converts
hoped for better days, only to be disappointed. After a more or less serious
effort to reform, he announced that he was too old to change, but the province
had a long life before it, and must obey the law. So he made amends for his own
short-comings by enforcing the restrictions almost as vigorously as his
predecessor had done. What was true at that time in Yunnan was also the case in
Szechuan. Although always on the watch for the poppy, nowhere did I see it
cultivated. Probably in remote valleys off the regular trails a stray field
might now and then have been found, innocently or intentionally overlooked by
the inspector, but in the main poppy-growing had really been stamped out; and
this where a generation ago that careful observer, Baber, estimated that
poppy-fields constituted a third of the whole cultivation. Credit where credit
is due. Manchu rule may have been weak and corrupt, but at least in respect of
one great popular vice it achieved more than any Western power ever thought of
attempting. Certainly not last among the causes for its overthrow was the
discontent aroused by its anti-opium policy. And now it is reported that
individualism run mad among the revolutionary leaders has led to a slackening
in the enforcement of the rules, and the revival of poppy cultivation.
For half a century Yunnan has known little peace. Twenty years long the terrible Mohammedan rebellion
raged, and the unhappy province was swept from end to end with fire and sword.
Marks of the devastation of that time are everywhere visible. Hardly had it
been put down when the war with the French in the eighties again involved
Yunnan. Later came the outbreak of the tribesmen, while the Boxer movement of
the north found a vigorous response here. Bloodshed and disorder have given the
country a set-back from which it is only beginning to recover.
But the coming of the railway has brought fresh life
to Yunnan, and the prospects for the future economic development are very
promising. In the capital there were many signs of a new day. The Reform
movement had taken good hold in this remote corner of the empire. A hospital
with eight wards and under Chinese control was doing fine work. Schools were
flourishing, and there was even a university of sorts. The newly organized
police force pervaded the whole place and was reputed quite efficient. But it
was the new military spirit that most forced itself upon you; you simply could
not get away from it. Bugle practice made hideous night and day. Everywhere you
met marching soldiers, and the great drill ground was the most active place in
the town. Dread of the foreigner underlies much of the present activity and
openmindedness towards Western ideas. The willingness to adopt our ways does
not necessarily mean that the Chinese prefer them to
their own, but simply that they realize if they would meet us on equal terms
they must meet us with our own weapons. Writing of the Boxer rising, Sir
Charles Eliot summed up the Chinese position in a sentence, "Let us learn
their tricks before we make an end of them." Now it might read, "Let
us learn their tricks before they make an end of us." The drilling
soldiers, the modern barracks, the elaborately equipped arsenals, as well as
the military schools found all over China to-day, show which one of the Western
"tricks" seems to the man of the Middle Kingdom of most immediate
value. At the military school of Yunnan-fu they have a graphic way of enforcing
the lesson to be learned. A short time ago the students gave a public dramatic
performance, a sort of thing for which the Chinese have decided talent. One of
the scenes showed an Englishman kicking his Hindu servant, while another
represented an Annamese undergoing a beating at the hands of a Frenchman. The
teaching was plain. "This will be your fate unless you are strong to
resist." The English and French consuls protested formally, and the proper
apologies were made, but no one believes that the lesson was forgotten.
It is not to be wondered at that the people of Yunnan
are alive to the danger of foreign interference, for they see the British on
the west and much more the French on the south, peering with greedy eyes and clutching hands over the border. In the last
fifteen years commissions of the one and the other have scoured the province
with scarcely so much as "by your leave," investigating the mineral
resources and planning out practicable railway routes. Within the capital city
the French seem entrenched. A French post-office, a French hospital, French
shops, hotels, missions, and above all the huge consulate, are there like
advance posts of a greater invasion. There is an ominous look to these
pretentious establishments holding strategic points in this or that debatable
territory. Take the French consulates, here in Yunnan-fu and in Hoi-hou, or the
Russian in Urga, the North Mongolian capital, they have more the aspect of a fortified
outpost in a hostile country than the residence of the peaceful representative
of a friendly power.
And Yunnan is beginning to move. For some time past
the Government has been considering seriously the project of a railway across
the province on the east to the Si Kiang and Canton, and just before I arrived
in Yunnan-fu two engineers (significantly enough Americans) started northwards
to make the preliminary surveys for a line connecting the capital with the
Yangtse. If these two schemes can be carried through under Chinese control,
good-by to the hopes of the French. Just at the time that I was in Yunnan there
was much excitement over the Pien-ma matter, a boundary question between the
province and Burma. A boycott of British goods had
been started which would have been more effective if there had been more goods
to boycott, but it indicated the feeling of the people, and the viceroy, Li
Ching Hsi, was winning golden opinions for the stand he took in the matter,
which, however, did not save him from ignominious deportation by the
Revolutionary party only a few months later.
But whatever the feeling towards foreigners in the
mass, the individual foreigner seemed to meet with no unfriendliness on the
part of the people in Yunnan-fu, and apparently official relations were on a
cordial footing. I found the Bureau of Foreign Affairs ready to do all it could
to smooth my way across Yunnan, but perhaps that was due in part to the fact
that the chief of the bureau had been for several years consul in New York. By
arrangement I called one afternoon, in company with a missionary lady, upon his
wife. Threading our way through narrow, winding streets, our chairs turned in
at an inconspicuous doorway and we found ourselves in a large compound,
containing not so much one house as a number of houses set down among gay
gardens. The building in which we were received consisted apparently of two
rooms, an anteroom and a reception room. The latter was furnished in the usual
style (invariable, it seems to me, from country inn to prince's palace), heavy
high chairs, heavy high tables ranged against walls decorated with kakemonos and gay mottoes; only in the centre of the
room was a large table covered with a cloth of European manufacture on which
were set out dishes of English biscuits and sweets. Our hostess, dressed in a
modified Chinese costume, received us with graceful dignity. Her fine-featured
face bore a marked likeness to many that one meets on the street or in the
church of an old New England town, and its rather anxious expression somewhat
emphasized the resemblance. She spoke with much pleasure of the years she had
spent in America, and her daughter, who had been educated in a well-known
private school in New York, looked back longingly to those days, complaining that
there was no society in Yunnan-fu; but she brightened up at a reference to the
arrival of a new and young English vice-consul, hoping that it might mean some
tennis. It was an unexpected touch of New China in this out-of-the-way corner.
Before we left, two younger children were brought in, both born in America, and
one bearing the name "Daisy," the other "Lincoln," but
already they were forgetting their English.
During my three days in Yunnan-fu, through the kindness of the British
Consul-General I was given a chance to make one or two excursions into the
surrounding country. An especially charming trip
that we took one afternoon was to Chin Tien, or "Golden Temple," a
celebrated copper temple about five miles out. Near the town our chairs were
borne along the narrow earth balk between the bean- and rice-fields, but
farther on our way led over the top of a high dyke lined with trees. We mounted
by a charming winding road to the temple, set high on the hillside among its
own groves of conifers, the courts of the temple, which rose one behind the
other, being connected by long, steep flights of steps. In the upper court we
were met by the friendly priests, the quiet dignity of their reception being
somewhat disturbed by the din of the temple dogs, goaded almost to madness at
Jack's imperturbable bearing. Chinese temples rarely offer much of interest;
the construction is usually simple and their treasures are few, but everything
is freely shown, there are no dark corners, and the spacious courts gay with
flowers are full of charm. The sacred images which they contain are generally
grotesque or hideous. Not often does one show a trace of the gracious serenity
that marks the traditional representations of Buddha; on the other hand, they
are never indecent.
MY SEDAN CHAIR AND BEARERS
A MEMORIAL ARCH NEAR YUNNAN-FU
While I was seeing a little of Yunnan-fu and its
people, the preparations for my overland trip were moving forward, thanks
chiefly to the kind helpfulness of Mr. Stevenson, of
the China Inland Mission. For many years a resident of the province, and wise
in the ways of the country and of the country-folk, his advice served me at
every turn. Engaging the coolies was of course the matter of chief importance. On
them would depend the success of the first stage of my journey, the two and a
half or three weeks' trip to Ning-yüan-fu in the Chien-ch'ang valley. A
representative of the coolie "hong," or guild, a dignified,
substantial-looking man, was brought to the inn by Mr. Stevenson. After looking
over my kit carefully (even the dog was "hefted" on the chance he
might have to ride at times), he decided the number of coolies necessary. As I
wished to travel fast if need came, I threw in another man that the loads might
be light. The average load is seventy or eighty catties, a catty equalling
about one pound and a quarter. In Yunnan the coolies generally carry on the
shoulder the burden, fairly divided, being suspended from the two ends of a
bamboo pole. For myself I had four men, as I had a four-bearer chair, the
grandest of all things on the road save the mandarin's chair with its curved
poles raising the occupant high above the common herd. At first I did not
realize the significance of the number, although I marked the interest with
which my interpreter inquired how many bearers I should have. What I did
appreciate was the extreme comfort of my travelling arrangements. Seated in my chair, which was open above and enclosed
below, and furnished with a water-proof top and with curtains that could be
lowered to protect me against sun or rain, wind or importunate curiosity, I
felt as though on a throne. Under the seat was a compartment just large enough
for dressing-bag, camera, and thermos bottle, while at my feet there was ample
room for Jack. For my interpreter there was a two-bearer chair, with which he
was vastly discontented, and I, too, had my doubts about it, although our
reasons were not the same. He felt it beneath his dignity to travel with two
bearers only; I feared that it was too great a burden for two men, even though
the chair was light and the Chinese literatus, small-boned and lacking in
muscle, is no heavy burden. Anyway, the arrangement did not work well, and at
Ning-yüan-fu the interpreter was provided with a closed chair and three
bearers, to his own satisfaction and to mine also, again for different reasons.
A sedan-chair is too luxurious to be long endurable,
so I added a pony to our caravan, purchased, from a home-going Dane of the
customs service, for forty-four dollars Mexican. The Yunnanese ponies are small
and sturdy, and as active as cats. They are all warranted to kick, and mine was
no exception. Although he was described as a gentleman's steed, he had the
manners of a pack-horse. I doubt if any one of our party escaped the touch of
his hoofs, and it was a joy to see him exchange
salutations with the ponies we met on the trail. However, he was sure-footed
and willing, and although hardly up to so long a trip as mine, yet with care he
came out very well at the end. But it required constant watchfulness to make
sure that he was properly watered and fed, even though most of the time I took
along a coolie for no other purpose save to look after the horse, and lead him
when I was not riding. And to the very last it meant an order each time to
insure that the girths were loosened and the stirrups tied up when I was out of
the saddle. When we started from Yunnan-fu our caravan was made up of thirteen
coolies, — six chair-men, six baggage-carriers, and a "fu t'ou," or
head coolie, whose duty it was to keep the others up to their work, to settle
disputes, or to meet any difficulty that arose. In short, he was responsible
both to me and to the hong for the carrying-out of the contract which had been
duly agreed upon. In my limited experience, the fu t'ou is a great blessing. I
found mine capable, reliable men, adroit in smoothing away difficulties and
very ready to meet my wishes. As for the contract, that was a serious matter.
Each detail was carefully entered in a formidable document, the route, the
stages, the number of men, the amount to be paid, and the how and where of
payment. The hong had one copy and I another which was handed over to the fu
t'ou at the end of the trip, that he might show it
to the chief of the hong as proof that he had carried out the contract. Each
coolie was to receive $7.00 Mexican, or about $3.50 gold, for his journey from
Yunnan-fu to Ning-yüan-fu, reckoned usually as sixteen stages. About one third
the amount was to be paid before starting, the remainder in specified sums at
stated intervals en route. I had no concern with the men's daily food, but from
time to time I was expected to give them "pork money" if they behaved
well. It would have been cheaper, I believe, to have hired coolies off the
street, but far less satisfactory, for the hong holds itself responsible to you
for the behavior of its men. And in their turn the coolies pay a definite
percentage of their earnings to the hong.
My stores and bedding and other things were packed in
large covered baskets insecurely fastened with padlocks. As time went on,
covers became loose and padlocks were knocked off by projecting rocks, but
nothing was ever lost or stolen. To keep out wet or vermin I had the baskets
lined with Chinese oiled cotton, perishable but cheap, and effective as long as
it lasts. Other sheets of the same material were provided for use in the inn.
One was laid on the floor and my camp-bed set up in the middle of it, while
others were spread over the wooden Chinese beds with which the room was
generally well supplied, and on them my clothes, saddle, etc.,
were placed. When new the oiled cotton has a strong, pungent odour, not
pleasant but very effective against vermin.
A most important item was the money to be used on the
journey. I had an account with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank at Shanghai, and
wherever there were Europeans it was possible to get checks cashed, but from
Yunnan-fu to Ning-yüan, a journey of two and a half weeks or more, I should be
quite off the track of foreigners. Fortunately Yunnan is waking up in money
matters as well as in other ways, and has a silver coinage of its own;
moreover, one that the inhabitants are willing to accept, which is not always
the case, as I found later to my cost. With the help of native bankers I was
duly furnished with a supply of Yunnan dollars, akin to Mexican dollars in
value, and I obtained also some Szechuan coins to use when I entered that
province. In addition I became the proud possessor of some seventy dollars in
Hupeh money. This I was told would pass anywhere after crossing the Yangtse.
When I reached Ning-yüan-fu, however, I found that no one would take it save at
a heavy discount. Unwilling to burden myself with it longer, I decided to let
the Chinese bankers have it, even though at a loss, but when they discovered
that the money was in twenty-cent pieces they would have nothing to do with it
at any price. So I carried it some two thousand miles
farther, to Hupeh itself. But even there it was not willingly accepted. In the
railway offices at Hankow not more than forty cents would be received in small
coins. If your ticket cost $10.50, you paid for it in unbroken dollars, giving
the railway a chance to unload some of the undesirable change upon you. In the
end I found myself reduced to peddling twenty-cent pieces among friends and
friends of friends. For small change on my journey I carried rolls of copper
cents, while the cook festooned himself with long ropes of copper
"cash," about twenty to the American cent.
By the arrangement of the Foreign Office two soldiers
were detailed to escort me across Yunnan. It is by the wish of the officials
rather than at the traveller's request that this escort is given. The Chinese
have learned through an experience not wholly to our credit that injury or even
annoyance to the European may bring a punishment quite out of proportion to the
harm done; so to avoid difficulties the official is inclined to insist upon
sending soldiers with the foreigners passing through his district, and the
traveller as a rule perforce accepts the arrangement. If he refuses, he will
find it more difficult to secure redress for any loss or injury suffered. For
my part I did not feel inclined to object. The expense is borne by the
Government, save for the customary tip, and in more ways than one I found my
escort useful. At irregular intervals they were
changed. When we reached the end of the last stage for which they were
detailed, I gave them my card to carry to the proper local official. This was
replied to by sending a new pair bearing the official's card.
Some of the men were old-time soldiers, hardly to be
distinguished from yamen runners in their untidy black and scarlet jackets
decorated with bold lettering on the back; and their weapons consisted simply
of something that might be described as a small sword or a huge carving-knife
in a leather sheath. After entering Szechuan I was usually accompanied by quite
real soldiers, men of the new service, fairly shipshape in khaki and putties
and carrying up-to-date guns. But whether of the old order or of the new, I
found the men at all times very courteous and friendly, and ready to do any
little service that came their way. It was the duty of one man to stay with me,
while the other looked after the baggage coolies. As more at home in the
particular district through which we were passing, they were often very helpful
to my coolies in pointing out a short cut or in finding our intricate way
across the fields. Sometimes one was sent in advance to make sure of the best
quarters the village where we were to pass the night could afford, and they
often showed great zeal in tidying up the room for my coming. The preparations
consisted usually in stirring up the dust of ages on the floor,
a proceeding I did not like, and in ruthlessly tearing out the paper that
covered the lattice opening, of which I much approved. Glass is rarely seen in
West China, and the paper excluded both light and air, but never the gaze of
the curious, as a peephole was very easily punched. On the march my escort,
quick to notice my interest in the flowers, were active in bringing me huge
nosegays gathered along the trail, so that my chair was often turned into a gay
flowery bower; and they sometimes showed their love for dogs, or perhaps sought
to prove their zeal in my service, by picking up Jack and carrying him for the
half-hour, to his great disgust, as his sturdy legs were untiring, and equally
so was his desire to investigate every nook and corner. "Little fu
t'ou," the coolies called him, because of the careful watch he kept for
any stragglers of the caravan.
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