The boat in which we continued our journey down the Min River was rather larger than the one we had previously, but still we could not stand upright in it. It is not always easy to get just what you want in the way of boats, especially at this time of year; but it was not a long journey, although our men took about four times as long as they ought to have done, and it was only by offering extra payment that we managed to do it in two days. We had one piece of good luck on the way. Our kind friends at Chengtu, when replenishing our stores, had lamented the non-arrival of a large case of biscuits sent out by friends in England, mentioning the name of the firm from which they were coming. As we neared Sui Fu we were watching divers getting up cases which had evidently been shipwrecked, and conspicuous amongst them was a large case bearing the name referred to. On arrival at Sui Fu we reported this at the mission station where we stayed, and learnt that they had heard of the wreck and sent to inquire whether the case had been got up. Shortly afterwards their messenger returned, saying that it could not be found. Our information being explicit, we described exactly the spot where we had seen the wreck, a few miles above the town; the man was sent again and told that he must bring the case, as we had seen for ourselves that it had been got up. This time he returned in triumph with it. Probably the divers thought that they would get a better price by selling the contents, and if we had not seen it our friends would not have seen it either.

The town of Sui Fu is most charmingly situated, lying at the junction of the Yangtze and the Min rivers, and is enclosed in a fork between the two, with beautiful hills rising above it. Its name is both spelt and pronounced in various ways, to the great bewilderment of those who address letters. It is Sui Fu, or Hsui Fu, or Sú Cheo, or Schow, or Su Chau, or it may be rendered in various other ways. Well might the London telegraph clerk say to my sister, “If you send a wire it is only at your own risk,” in answer to my wire from Peking giving the Pekinese spelling. It is a busy and flourishing place, and possesses a Roman Catholic cathedral as well as a convent.

A Roman Catholic priest is deeply interested in the local divinity, which is certainly an interesting specimen of art, if nothing more; but the priest is firmly persuaded that it is St. Thomas, and takes all his friends to see it. The god is enshrined in a temple on a hillside overlooking the town. It is a most beautiful situation, but somewhat spoilt by the fact that it is entirely covered with graves. Hills are frequently utilised for this purpose, and contain thousands of graves. The gaudily painted figure is 18 feet high and 5½ feet broad, made of fine red copper. It stands on a large bronze turtle, from which, unfortunately, a good part has been stolen; the head alone is in excellent preservation. It was erected some hundreds of years ago by the Lolos or Ibien, an aboriginal tribe who then held possession of this part of the country. They believed that he was a saint who came over the seas on a turtle, and this certainly corresponds with the legend of St. Thomas going to India. It is a very truculent-looking saint, not lightly to be parted from his sword. The figure is well fenced off from view by large bars, though one has been removed, so that people can push through and get a closer look at him. While I was busy sketching, a priest came up to look, with his long hair fastened on the top of his head by a carved wooden pin. The priests do not plait their hair, but simply twist it up into a sort of “bun.” A woman came up with offerings—fowl, sweets, &c.—which, after they had been offered to the god, she would take home and eat with the greater relish. This is certainly a way of killing two birds with one stone, as she was too poor to have eaten chicken on ordinary occasions. As we came down the hill we met the chief mourner of a funeral, wearing the coarsest sackcloth, which he could scarcely prevent from falling off, as it is incorrect on such occasions to gird it round the waist.

We left Sui Fu on January 14th, en route for Yünnan Fu, and felt that the seasons had got strangely mixed up, as we wended our way along the banks of the Yangtze. This part of it is called the “river of the golden sand.” It is quite a misnomer, for it is as mud-coloured as ever. The peas were in various stages of growth in the part of the river-bed from which the water had subsided. Some looked lovely with their white, pink, or plum-coloured blossoms; others were quite small, only a few inches high; and others again we enjoyed for our evening meal. The people were all busy harvesting the sugar-cane, and we seemed to be the only persons here not chewing it. Our soldiers surreptitiously stole it from the loads that were being carried along the road. Beautiful orange groves on the steep slopes above the river were full of ripe fruit. Men were busy preparing the soil for other crops by breaking the sods with mallets after they had been ploughed. The whole land is one great ceaseless field of labour, where every one works from early childhood to extreme old age.

On the fourth day’s journey we reached the borders of the province of Yünnan. Our road parted from the Yangtze and ran for many days parallel with a lovely river (of a deep blue-green colour like those in the Pyrenees), whose course we followed from the point where it fell into the Yangtze up to its birthplace in the mountains. Sometimes the pathway winds high up the hillsides, and sometimes almost down to the river’s edge. The cormorants were busy fishing—not for John Chinaman, but for themselves. We had the merriest set of sturdy carriers, who treated our weight as if it were a mere joke, and laughed and ran with us, despite the roughness of the way, and rather to our terror sometimes. They are much stronger than the ordinary Szechwan coolies. Indeed, that is a necessity in the case of these roads, which are no better than sheep-tracks in the Cumberland fells, despite their being the great trade-route between the two largest provinces of Western China. Day by day we revelled in the beauty of the scenery and its ever-varying charms. There was subtler charm in them than there would have been when the flowers are in blossom, for it was the moment when the earth was awakening after its winter sleep; every twig was beginning to change colour; the buds were swelling; the delicate fronds of innumerable ferns were uncurling; the birds were hesitatingly trying their notes; and the sun had not yet given the dazzling blue to the sky which comes later on. It only illuminated and irradiated, but did not dazzle the eyes. We felt that we had come exactly at the right moment, for the weather was perfect for walking, and it was not nearly so cold as we expected. The inns are not so bad as they have been described, and we came on one where there was a beautiful large window—above the pig-sty—overlooking the country, and the unwonted light had encouraged travellers to make remarks on the walls in French, German, and English, as well as Chinese.

After entering Yünnan we came to a substantial suspension-bridge, made of eight parallel iron chains, and with chain hand-rails; but the planks on it were strewn about in a desultory way, calculated to upset unseasoned travellers. At either end of the bridge was a solid block of masonry, surmounted by a temple through which the chains passed and were buried deep into the ground. These bridges are often a considerable length, and do not hang at a natural swing, but are drawn up as tightly as possible with hawsers; which, of course, makes a heavy strain upon the chains. This kind of bridge is to be found throughout the province, and they always seem in good condition. We cannot help wishing that a little of the engineer’s skill had also been expended on the steep rough track which led up from the bridge. The roads are apparently never mended, and in some places had fallen away, or had been covered by a small landslip.

It was curious to see the change of vegetation when we crossed the border, the poppy replacing the pea to a large extent. Yünnan is the greatest opium-growing province in the Empire, and the best; but there is already a perceptible diminution since the new anti-opium Acts. We saw peas of various kinds, and one that is grown for making oil is quite peculiar: the peas grow three together like a berry. As we approached a somewhat barren district the men had to have a feast at our expense, and in view of the future scarcity of their much-esteemed pork, our soldiers had provided themselves with a large joint, which I found in one of the coolies’ hats attached to the back of my chair. They never scrupled to hang their dainties, besides an extensive wardrobe, pipes, &c., on to our chairs, and as the day proceeded they peeled off their coats till they had shed three or four at the least.

We noticed an odd procession one day wending its way along the opposite river-bank. First came a white banner with apparently two mourners; then a few people carrying little pennons of various colours; then a pig borne aloft on a shutter; then more boys and men carrying pennons; the whole accompanied by the beating of drums. The procession was on its way to a grave to pay homage to a dead ancestor, in which ceremony the pig would be the pièce de résistance at a sort of perennial feast for the dead. Later on we met a procession carrying a corpse on a stretcher, with no signs of mourning beyond a man strewing paper money after it.

We followed the beautiful river Laowat’an as far as the village of that name, and up to this point we were continually accompanied by the unmelodious cries of trackers pulling large junks up the rapids; beyond that point navigation is impossible. Laowat’an means “Cormorant rapid,” and although it is quite a good-sized village, we found that the only room at the inn was very small, filled with four dirty beds, with no window, and close to the most noxious open drain. Having seen in Little’s pamphlet about this journey that he had stayed at a native evangelist’s house here, we took the hint and sent to see if we could do likewise. We received an answer in the affirmative, and found that the house was close by. Though the evangelist himself was not at home, we were warmly welcomed by his wife. She took us to a nice large upper room, with a most attractive window overlooking the street, which was full of an amusing crowd busy marketing. One man’s occupation appeared to be carrying a pipe round, from which people had a whiff or two. We found our new quarters vastly more entertaining than the inn, and held an interesting conversation with our hostess by means of pictures and dumb-show, as we had no one to interpret. I hope we did not tell many lies by mistake, but fear that it is not improbable. The next morning we felt quite sorry to leave these nice people, who had been so friendly to us. We were greatly struck with the fine poultry all through this district. My Aberdonian poulterer would with great justice describe them as “some fine beasts.” There are the handsomest pure white and coal-black hens, besides fowls of various colours. The eggs, too, are a splendid size, and are to be obtained everywhere. The peculiarity of the fowls is that many of them have black skins and black bones, which are most unappetising to look at, but they are considered the best kind for eating. There were plenty of vegetables, pears, oranges, and peanuts to be had, and so far we could see no signs of the dearth of food of which we had heard such alarming accounts. There are everywhere pigs in abundance: some of them are a curious fawn colour.

We crossed a fine suspension-bridge after leaving Laowat’an, and took a path leading upwards for about a couple of hours over the mountains. A light for the “orphan spirits” might well be needed on such a road. The chair-carriers found it difficult work, and we got on much more quickly on our own feet; though the coolies made no suggestion that we should walk, despite the fact that we had authorised them to do so whenever the road was difficult. They are so willing and attentive in performing any little service—such as cleaning one’s boots after walking through a quagmire—that one the more gladly saves them when the road is stiff. One coolie fell and wrenched his knee rather badly, but he went on most uncomplainingly, and showed intense gratitude on getting it bathed and bandaged. In fact, from this time on he was our devoted slave. We were interested to meet quite a new god in this region. He has three faces, and often wears a large stone hat. He is carved in stone, and stands by the roadside like a little milestone at intervals all along the way; but frequently there are no signs of worship about him. He is called by the Buddhist formula “O mi to fu,” and is worshipped by the coolies to prevent their getting sore feet, so they frequently burn sandals (quite new ones) before him, and incense sticks may be seen in front of his image. Day by day we went up and down the most precipitous places, gradually rising to the Yünnan plateau. The road grew worse and worse, being much injured by the long trains of pack-animals. Ponies, mules, and donkeys are driven in parties of from ten to thirty; and not only do they make the road full of little round holes, but also they are a dreadful hindrance, frequently completely blocking the way. The path, besides, has large round stones embedded in it, which are polished by the coolies’ sandals till they shine like porphyry. One day we met dozens of mules going down a breakneck zigzag staircase in the rocks, and we were bespattered by them with mud from head to toe, being compelled to wait while they went past. How they keep their footing it is hard to tell, and it is sad to see their sore backs when their loads are off. The loads being carried are of a most varied description: copper, tin, coal, salt, skins, spices, chillies, armadillo skins, paper, bowls, opium, and later in the season large quantities of the wax insect “larvæ.” In a recent official report the road from Sui Fu to Chaotung is described as one of the worst in the Empire, but it is good compared with others in the north of the same province. The Chinese have given picturesque names to some of these bad ones, such as “The King of Hell’s Slide,” the “Gate to Hell,” the “Last Look at Home,” the “Place where the Soul is Lost.” Describing this road on the borders of Babuland, where the Lolos live, S. Pollard writes that from one spot he counted no fewer than sixty towers of refuge.

For ten days we followed the course of the Laowat’an, or Taquan River, till at last we traced it to its source where it gushes out of a hole from the bowels of the mountain as quite a large, brawling stream in a sort of cul-de-sac of the hill. Its banks are frequented by the ubiquitous wagtail, the fierce-eyed cormorant, and the most cheery little blackbird with a white cap and black-tipped chestnut tail, which it flirts as assiduously as the water wagtail does. In one part there was a fine limestone crag overshadowing the river, and high up in its ledges there are still to be seen dilapidated fragments of coffins, said to date back as far as the time of the Ming dynasty. How they were conveyed to such a position it is difficult to conceive. For an hour after leaving the stream we climbed laboriously up the hillside till we were swallowed in the mist, and at last emerged into quite a different and much more familiar landscape, a bog moorland, on which were scattered thatched cottages from which a pleasant smell of burning peat greeted our nostrils. We felt as if we were suddenly transported to Ireland. We sat down to rest by a cottage where a woman was selling inviting-looking sweets, and she was as pleased as our men were when we distributed them among the party. They were made of the nuts and sugar grown in the neighbourhood. Not an hour before, we had left groups of bamboos and tall fan palms, and the contrast of the new country was certainly very startling. The cottagers looked poor and scantily clad, and from this point on they seemed to be poorer and poorer looking.

All the next day we gradually descended towards the city of Chaotung, and it appeared to be a specially auspicious day for pig-killing (the people are very particular in such matters), in preparation for their New Year festivities. Every house almost that we passed that morning was the scene of these preparations, and the keenest interest and expectation was depicted on every face but our own. Our coolies would have dearly loved to stop to watch the entertainment, but, as may be supposed, we did not allow this.

The prefectural town of Chaotung was reached after passing through a dull plain, across which a piercing wind was blowing, which is characteristic of this district. It is an interesting little place, and is much frequented by many of the Miao (aboriginal tribes) in their picturesque dress. The Wha Miaos (= flowery Miao) are so called because of the colour of their dress, which is dyed blue and red by an ingenious method of stencilling the cloth, using beeswax to make the design. They are totally unlike the Chinese, the only point of similarity being the wearing of the pigtail by the men; but they have a religion and language of their own, and keep absolutely aloof from the Chinese. The women, when married, wear their hair erected into a horn, which sticks out from the side of the head; but as soon as they have children the horn is erected straight up from the top. They are very shy people, but as I was anxious to get a sketch of a woman, I got the missionary to persuade her to sing while I made a few notes. She was dressed in a pretty red and blue garment, with a large felt cape over it, and wore a full short petticoat of blue and white. Both men and women wear gaiters and loose leather boots, and the men’s sleeves are looped up in a picturesque way as in the accompanying sketch. The women carry their babies slung on their backs.