January 6, 1876

THE ATHENS MESSENGER

Letter From China

On a bright morning in October, 1875, I left Kiukiang in company with Mr. Lovatt, an English gentleman connected with the Customs, for a trip to the Lee San Mountains. We followed the narrow, dirty street which wound around through the native suburbs, distinguished for the absence of everything agreeable to the eye, ear, or nostrils, and the presence of everything of a contrary character. Men were busy killing hogs for the market; ill-favored dogs barked at us from every corner; the atmosphere reeked with the smell of filth. Gladly we emerged from the offensive aroma which exudes from the crowded habitations of the heathen Chinese, and struck one of the paths which led through the open country.

There are no roads in this part of China, but the numerous paths are traversed so incessantly by people on foot, that they are worn quite smooth. Those who wish to ride take sedan chairs or wheelbarrows, the latter vehicle being the nearest approach to an express train that the Celestials have yet made. The country through which we passed was all laid out in terraces for farming purposes, the lowest being left for the cultivation of rice. There were no fences or hedges to keep stray animals from trespassing; in fact but very few animals are left to run at large, and these never give any trouble. Even the hog, which is so often the pest of farmers in Ohio, in this part of the world seems never to have developed its rooting, prying, troublesome disposition, and is a perfectly harmless and inoffensive creature. We passed little fields of buckwheat in full blossom, which diffused a delightful fragrance through the morning air, and gave promise of a plentiful harvest.

But traveling in China is on the whole very monotonous, and nothing relieves the tedium of the way so much as good conversation. In this my companion was an adept, being an unusually well-read man, who had seen a great deal of the world, and in addition to his sterling integrity of character, possessed an inexhaustible fund of good humor and animal spirits. Being a member of the Established Church, and having imbibed freely of military sentiments during his services in the Sepoy rebellion and in the last Anglo-Chinese war, he had his own ideas of carrying on missionary work, which formed the principal theme of our discourse. He did not believe in the slow process of moral suasion. "Give me an army of 20,000 Englishmen," he said, "and I'll convert this whole country in a few months. There's nothing like the sword and the bayonet in convincing men of their errors. I would go through every Province like good old Mahomet used to do, and offer the people their choice -- either submission or extermination. I would have a large cross set up in every city, with a Bible hung on it, call every heathen Chinee around it, and make'em kneel down and swear allegiance; then I would say, 'Now all you take care to be good Christians from this day on, or I'll scalp every mother's son of you.' Ah, you would see -- in six months' time there wouldn't be an idolator left in China."

I ventured to remark that such a method of producing converts might be very expeditious among a people with so little military powers as the Chinese, but that it was doubtful if converts made in that style would really amount to much.

"Bosh!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "In three generations they would all be sincere Christians, no matter what they were at first. First get 'em converted outwardly, and the inward work will take care of itself. I would have a big bell hung up in every town in China, and rung precisely at 12 o'clock every day; and as soon as it began to ring, I would make every Chinaman get down and repeat the Lord's Prayer and sing Hallelujah or something. No, sir! Your way is all too slow; you preach and argue and talk, and get a convert in half a dozen years or so; but I say go at 'em with the sword, and you'll have the millennium here at once!"

Before we had finished discussing the subject (upon which neither of us was at all likely to be converted to the views of the other), we had traversed the nine miles which lay between Kiukiang and base of the mountains, and were beginning to ascend into a deep gorge. The Lee San Mountains form a remarkable range 5,000 feet high and fifteen miles in length, lying parallel with the Yangtse River, and being washed on the eastern extremity by the Poyang Lake. We reached the bungalow which was to be the terminus of our excursion about 9 A.M. It stood in the bottom of a narrow and romantic ravine, with precipitous hills rising on each side, and a large pool of crystal water just behind it. Here we found a party of missionaries who had come out the day before to get a sniff of mountain air, and who were expecting us for breakfast. All except two were to return home in the afternoon; and as those two were going up on the summit the next day, I resolved to stay and accompany them, and let my friend Mr. Lovatt return with the rest of the party to Kiukiang.

The next morning we three took an early breakfast, and having secured a guide set out on the ascent. My companions were Rev. Mr. Cook, of my own mission, and Rev. Mr. Nightingale, a young Wesleyan missionary from Hankow. Two hours and a half of steady climbing brought us to the top of a peak about 3,000 feet high, from which we could look almost straight down into the broad valley of the Yangtse. The river itself, a majestic stream of a mile and upwards in width, was ten miles distant, and looked like a narrow, muddy streamlet, winding back and forth. Towards the east lay the Poyang Lake, sparkling in the rays of the morning sun. We were still an hour and a half from the summit, which was separated by a deep valley, and a long, bony ridge. We crossed over, and at 11 1/2 A.M. sat down on the very highest part of the range, and partook of a hearty lunch which had been carried up for us by the guide.

The trip from the bungalow to the summit and back is usually regarded as one good day's work; but Mr. Cook and I were not tired, and as it was only noon, and the day was bright and warm, we were inclined to have a little tramp before we began the descent. Mr. Nightingale, however, was not a "mountain bird" and was so exhausted with climbing that he had no desire to extend his tour of observation. From where we stood we were in full view of the extreme southern side of the range, consisting of a long, smooth ridge, the farther side of which appeared to be one continuous precipice. The irregular outlines of the ridge afforded us glimpses here and there of the black walls of rock reaching down to an unknown depth, and indented occasionally by tremendous fissures and chasms. This ridge Mr. Cook and I were extremely anxious to visit, especially as there was only a single valley between us and it. There were two routes to take; one was a straight course down into the valley and up the other side; the other a roundabout way towards the right, along a series of connecting ridges, some three or four miles in circuit. We decided to cut right across the valley, as that was the nearest course, and we concluded it could not be more than an hour's walk across and back. Out guide told us there was no path, and as we had no particular use for him, we let him stay with Mr. Nightingale. The valley did not seen very deep, and nothing but grass appeared to cover the bottom, while the two sides were comparatively smooth and bare. So we left our companion for an hour's repose, and at just 12 o'clock started off on our little jaunt, as we regarded it.

Never were two green mountain boys more thoroughly sold. The valley must have been near a thousand feet in depth, and we were three quarters of an hour in getting fairly down into it. Instead of the long, dry grass which we had expected to wade through, we found a dense thicket of underbrush, higher than our heads, at places almost impenetrable, and extending in every direction. At first we were lucky enough to strike a path, but after following it some distance found that it led down the valley instead of across it, so that we were compelled to abandon it. There was no way now but to plunge headlong into the jungle, and grope our course towards the foot of the ridge on the opposite side. This we accordingly did, tearing our way through brush and briers and tangled vines, and stones and rocks, until we were ready to lie down from exhaustion.

-- The width of the valley was well proportioned to its depth, and about the center we crossed a large stream of water. When we reached the other side we were very much fatigued, and our hearts began to fail us at the thought of the fearful climb yet before us, together with a possible return over the same route. But we resolved to go on, and so without stopping to rest began the ascent.

But now our difficulties began in earnest. Hitherto we had picked our way through the dense underbrush over comparatively level ground; but now we found that the jungle extended up the side of the ridge two thirds of the way to the top. And what had appeared, from the summit of the range, to be a sloping and easy ascent, proved to be a steep mountain side, which it would have required great exertion to climb had it been entirely bare of bushes. Had we known beforehand all the obstacles of that climb, we should have given up in despair; but as it was, we were buoyed up with the hope of soon emerging from the tangled brushwood, and finding the greater part of the ascent comparatively smooth. Besides any course seemed better than to return into that horrible valley again, to which we were resolved to give as wide a berth as possible on our way

back. So we clambered on, stopping every few minutes to rest, and at last were fortunate enough to get out of the brush and to find ourselves within a short distance of the top of the ridge. But I was so exhausted when I reached the summit, that I threw myself on the ground, with my feet on the edge of the precipice, and lay there for some time perfectly helpless.

After resting for some fifteen minutes, I crawled to the verge of some rocks that overhung the precipice, and gazed down with mingled feelings of sublimity and terror into the awful depths below. As nearly as I could conjecture, there was a sheer descent of 800 to 1000 feet, the solid walls of rock rising in solemn grandeur on either hand for the distance of perhaps a mile. Just below me, a little distance separating it from the perpendicular wall of the precipice, there rose a steep and inaccessible peak, which must have been several hundred feet in height, but which resembled a puny anthill beside the gigantic cliffs on either side. It is impossible, in a pen and ink sketch to convey but the faintest idea of the wild grandeur of those stupendous walls of rock, with their jagged edges and yawning chasms, overlooking in grim and silent majesty the still, awestruck landscape spread out at their feet. Both my companion and myself felt that we had been fully repaid for the two hours' fatigue and exhaustion which it had cost us to reach the place.

We could have lingered for hours, but the sun was already sinking towards the west, and we had to reach the bungalow if possible by dark. -- Before coming away we rolled some stones over the edge of the beetling crags, but the height was so great that the echo of their fall entirely failed to reach us. We now began to plan for our return. Nothing would have induced us to descend into the valley of the Shadow of Death again; so we followed the line of ridges which led us by a circuitous route back to where we had started from. But the way was long, and we had to cross several ravines; so that we were in worn and weary condition when we reached the place where we had left Mr. Nightingale. The poor fellow had neither seen nor heard anything of us since we had parted, and he became quite anxious as the day wore away without our return. We had a three hours' descent before us from the summit to the bungalow, and we somehow or other accomplished it. -- Our guide took us back by a new path, which brought us down into a tremendous ravine, the scenery of which I should have admired intensely if I had not been so deathly tired. We arrived at the bungalow after dark, completely exhausted, two of us having put in ten solid hours of alternate climbing and descending since morning. It was the hardest day's work of our lives. My limbs were so stiff and sore that I could scarcely walk back to Kiukiang the next day; and it was a whole week before I recovered fully from the effects of that fatiguing but interesting mountain excursion.

S.