PARTING FROM LOBSAN—STARTING FOR LANCHEO—A RUINED SUBURB—GOOD DONE BY MISSIONARIES—WE TAKE LEAVE OF MR. RIDLEY—OUR FIRST CHINESE INN.

Next morning, the 19th of October, was decidedly a busy one; our throng of friends had to be settled up with, and our fresh mules had to be started off for Lancheo. In China, when travelling with pack mules, one's baggage is first tied on to arched wooden frames, which, when everything is ready, are simply lifted up and placed across the saddle, and, if necessary, a man can ride on top of his baggage. This is an excellent arrangement, as the mules are never kept standing with their loads on, and, on arriving at one's inn at the end of a day's journey, the frames are simply lifted off the saddles and carried, just as they are, straight into one's room. Those things that are required can then be undone, while the remainder are ready for loading again the following morning; the only drawback is that, as the frames ride entirely by balance, great care must be taken in making up the loads.

The weights these mules carried came rather as a revelation to us, the regulation being 240 Chinese pounds, which is equivalent to 320 English pounds, and if a man is to ride his weight is always reckoned as one hundred Chinese pounds. In India some of the mountain-battery mules carry loads as heavy, or even heavier, than these, but they are as a rule far bigger mules, and are much better looked after; moreover they are very rarely, if ever, called upon to do the marches that a mule does in China, where the average stage is ninety li, or thirty miles, a day.

About 11 o'clock the baggage started in charge of our Duffadar, who also took Esau and Shukr Ali with him, to assist in looking after the muleteers; although neither of these men knew a word of Chinese, we had no more anxiety in sending them off by themselves in the province of Kansu, than we should have had in India; in many parts of the country it might have been a somewhat risky proceeding, but away in the north-west corner of the empire, the people are so much in the habit of mixing with Tibetans, Mongols, and others, that they take comparatively little notice of foreigners.

Meanwhile the Mongols had been getting the balance of pay due to them, and, as they had done us good service, we gave them some extra baksheesh, or "wine-money," as they call it, and also the old pony we had bought from the Tibetan merchant. This put them all in high good humour; they said that if we ever again came to their country they hoped that we would employ them, Lobsan adding that his real name, by which he could always be found, was "Dsun Choni Lama,"[13] by this he was known to everybody, whereas Lobsan was only his nickname. As soon as they had got their pay they went off into the town, where, I have no doubt, they were very soon relieved of the greater part of it by the wily Chinese.

Our business indoors was now finished and we were able to accompany Ridley round the town. First of all we went to see about hiring animals to take us to Lancheo, but the replies we received were not encouraging. We were told that there were a large number of soldiers leaving Sining, and that it was very hard to procure carriage of any sort, in fact, although quite civil, the officials, who could have helped us had they wanted to, made it clear that they scarcely thought it worth while doing so; they contented themselves with taking a copy of our passport, a very lengthy and somewhat useless proceeding.

Another obstacle in the way of our departure was that the official intimation of our having left Tankar had not arrived, for it is the custom, whenever travellers of importance leave a Chinese town, with carriage supplied by the yamen, for intimation to be sent to the next place on their route, where this carriage will have to be changed. In the present case notice had certainly been sent off from Tankar, but had not reached Sining, at least, so we were told. After leaving the yamen we wended our way through the city towards the eastern suburb, meeting on our way numbers of mounted soldiers. They had escorted a high military official, who had left Sining that morning, and were now returning to the city. A very motley crew they were, mounted on miserable little rats of ponies, and carrying numbers of banners, the colour and device of which will, they believe, strike terror into the hearts of the enemy; even the Japanese war seems to have been powerless to disabuse them of this idea.

On our arrival at the eastern gate of the city we mounted the city walls, and looked down upon the suburb, which had once been the home of 10,000 Chinese Mohammedans. Not a roof was left; of a big mosque which used to stand between the city wall and the outskirts of the suburb scarcely a trace was visible—only a few pillars remained to mark the spot where all those followers of the Prophet used to assemble for worship. From looking down on this scene of desolation, one was able to imagine what would have occurred had the rebels got the upper hand, and been able to wreck the city. Had this happened, it is terrible to think what the fate of our fellow-countrymen within the walls would have been. It is just possible that, having remained neutral, their lives might have been spared, but in the awful confusion there would have been, this is more than doubtful.

We spent some time on the wall, while Ridley showed us all the different points of interest—the road by which the soldiers came in to relieve the city, the path by which reinforcements and supplies used to reach the rebels, the place where the defenders' only serviceable big gun was mounted, and many spots where encounters had occurred. At one time there had been an order that every man entering Sining had to bring in a stone, and piles of these were lying on the ramparts, ready to be hurled down on the heads of the insurgents. There were some soldiers of the garrison lying about on the wall, where, also, their huts were. Some of these were indebted to the missionaries for medical treatment and nursing when wounded; they seemed glad to see Ridley, and to be grateful for the kindness they had received. On our way back to the mission-house, and on other occasions, we were able to ask Ridley how the work of the mission was progressing.

There has been a mission-station at Sining for about ten years, but, unfortunately, the work has not been continuous. On at least one occasion the station has been given up, and from time to time breaks have occurred. This has naturally militated very strongly against the success of the mission, and the result has been that the number of converts has been small, and, moreover, one or two of those who were looked upon as firm believers have fallen away.

Thus the missionaries have met with considerable disappointment, and it is no wonder that there should again be talk of giving up the station. Mr. and Mrs. Ridley, as well as Mr. Hall, who has had a very long experience of Sining, were, however, greatly opposed to this. During the rebellion they had been able to do a great deal of good among the townspeople. Numbers had been wounded, and knowing that they would find friends in need, they had come to the mission-house for treatment. In this, and in many other ways, they had been able to gain the confidence of the people in a way they had never been able to do before, and, as they all say, now, if ever, is the time we shall be able to do good. Mr. Ridley, in October, 1896, had just been offered a transfer to another station, where there was a church and a fairly large congregation of Christians, but it was not hard to see that his heart was set on staying at Sining, and I am glad to think that he got his wish. Some people may be inclined to ask whether it is worth while keeping up a mission-station when the results attained are so small, but it is scarcely fair to judge merely from the returns of converts and inquirers that are sent in annually. A great deal of good may be done which does not come to the surface, and, whatever one's private opinion and convictions may be, one cannot but admire the devotion of those who give up everything for the cause they consider to be right.

On our return to the mission-house we found that in our absence Hall and Rijnhart had been able to arrange for mules to take us to Lancheo on the following morning, and as Ridley had business to settle at the headquarters of the mission, he agreed to accompany us. We made every preparation for an early start; Ridley gave us each a "mantsi," or "priest's begging-bowl," as a memento of our visit, and Mrs. Ridley filled our saddle-bags with cakes and other luxuries.

In spite of all our forethought, it was late before we had said our last farewells to Mrs. Ridley and her children, and further delay was caused by a doubt as to whether the ferry near the north gate of the city was plying or not. No one was quite sure, so we decided to leave by the west gate, where we knew for certain that we should find boats to take us to the north bank of the Si Ho, along which runs the road, though by doing so we added about three miles to the day's journey. We had not gone far before a boy ran after us from the mission-house, bringing the little terrier "Ruby," who had followed us so far; she seemed to realize that there was more marching in store for her, and not to appreciate leaving the quarters where she had been so comfortable, for before long she again disappeared in the crowd. This time she was not so easily recovered; first one of the muleteers and then Hall went back to look for her. The former returned without any news, and I had just given up hope of ever seeing her again when Hall rode up with her in his arms, greatly to my delight I need scarcely say. Meanwhile Ridley and Malcolm had crossed by the ferry and were some distance on their way, so Rijnhart and I had to push on hard to overtake them.

Travelling on a road like this, any little landmarks mentioned by other travellers are eagerly looked for, and on this day's march there were two such landmarks, or more correctly speaking, there should have been two; the first, thirty li from Sining, a bridge over the Si Ho, mentioned by Mr. Littledale in his lecture before the Royal Geographical Society on his return from Pekin; the second, another thirty li on, was the "Peh Ma SsÏ," or "White Horse Temple," mentioned by Mr. Rockhill in both his books.[14] Unfortunately, these are now things of the past; the bridge was swept away in a flood very soon after Mr. Littledale saw it, and the White Horse Temple was utterly wrecked by the fanatical Mohammedans.

Owing to our late start, we were only able to do eighty li, darkness having overtaken us before we got to the stage, the name of which was Chang Kia Tsai. This was our first experience of the Chinese inn, and we had certainly struck a very poor sample of the article; like everything in the neighbourhood, it had suffered heavily in the rebellion, and was only just beginning to recover itself. There was, however, stabling for the animals, and a room with four walls and parts of a roof for ourselves, containing, of course, a k'ang, or stove-bed, without which no Chinese room is complete. We were all ready for bed, and as we had a long day before us, we had a hasty supper and then turned in.

The next morning, the 21st October, we were up long before daylight, having made up our minds to get to Shang Tan (140 li) by night. We had left our two remaining mules with Hall, at Sining, and were now very glad that we had been able to do so, as looking after and feeding them on the road would have been a great nuisance, and the further we took them the less they would have been worth. Ridley and Rijnhart each rode sturdy little country ponies of their own, excellent, sure-footed hacks over the rough roads, but Malcolm and I were both rather uncomfortable, and decidedly insecure, perched up on top of our blankets, on pack saddles; Lassoo, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy, and, like nearly all Asiatics, was quite content to sit all day on his mule, never dismounting unless told to do so, or unless it were to get something to eat.

All along the road we were able to buy most excellent bread, which is made in various shapes, with beautifully white flour; the kinds we appreciated most were the "Ko kuei," which is made in large round flat loaves, weighing about three pounds apiece, and the "Huei huei," or, Mohammedan bread, so called because only the Mohammedans make it in this shape, which resembles that of the ordinary cake; these loaves weigh about two pounds, and have a very nice crust. These larger loaves are sold by the weight; rolls and smaller loaves are sold at so many cash each. Bread was dear in 1896, costing thirty to forty cash a pound (1d. to 1¼d.); in ordinary years it will not be more than half that price.

Ninety li (thirty miles) from Chang Kia Tsai, we got to Lou Ya. From here there are two roads to Lancheo, the cart road going off to the left by Ping-Fang, while the mule track, which is the shorter, follows the river, and at this point enters the Ta Hsia, the "great gorges," so called in contradistinction to the "Hsiao Hsia," or "little gorges," which are about ten miles east of "Sining." The sun was setting as we entered these gorges, so we missed seeing some very beautiful scenery at its best; we could, however, realise how difficult, not to say dangerous, a journey Mrs. Ridley must have had along this track, when she had come through in a mule litter a few months previously, being too ill to travel any other way. For a man on foot, or for a pack animal, the road was easy enough, even in the dark, but getting a litter and two mules round some of the very sharp bends must have been a decidedly risky proceeding.