and peaceful a scene
as this?

By daylight we are anchored before another walled city, which I think is
Ki-shway, a city of considerable pretentions as to wall, but full of
social and moral rottenness and commercial decadence within, judging, at
least, from outward appearances. Few among the crowds that are permitted
free access to the yamen here do not betray, in unmistakable measure, the
sins of former generations; while, as regards trade, half the place is in
a ruinous, tumble-down condition.

The mandarin here is a fleshy, old-fashioned individual, with thick lips
and an expression of great good humor. He provides me with a substantial
breakfast of rice and pork, and fetches his wife and children in to enjoy
the exhibition of a Fankwae feeding, likewise permitting the crowd to
look in through the doors and windows. He is a phlegmatic, easy-going
Celestial, and occupies about two hours copying my passport and writing a
letter. At the end of this time he musters a squad of twelve retainers in
faded red uniforms and armed with rusty pikes, who lead the way back to
the river, followed by three yameni-runners, equipped, as usual, each
with an umbrella and a small string of tsin to buy their food. The
gentlemen with the mediaeval weapons accompany us to the river and keep
the crowd from pressing too closely upon us until I and the
yameni-runners board a Ki shway sampan that is to convey me to the next
down-stream city.

It now becomes apparent that my bicycling experiences in China are about
ending, and that the authorities have determined upon passing me down the
Kan-kiang by boat to the Yang-tsi-kiang. I am to be passed on from city
to city like a bale of merchandise, delivered and receipted for from day
to day.

A few miles down stream we overtake a fleet of some twenty war-junks,
presenting a most novel and interesting sight, crowded as each one is
with the gayest of flags and streaming pennants galore. The junks are
cumbersome enough, in all conscience, as utterly useless for purposes of
modern warfare as the same number of floating hogsheads; yet withal they
make a gallant sight, the like of which is to be seen nowhere these days
but on the inland waters of China. Each junk is propelled by a crew of
fourteen oarsmen, dressed in uniforms corresponding in color to the
triangular flags that flutter gayly in the breeze at the stern. Not the
least interesting part of the spectacle are these same oarsmen, as they
ply