t outside. The bearers of the
dead were starting on another stage of their long journey, and at
quarter-past six we too were off, after a last parting injunction to the
ma-fu to take good care of the pony. Already the town was astir, the
marketplace, as we passed through, crowded with traders and their
produce, chiefly good-looking vegetables and fruit. For a few miles we
kept up the left bank of the Ta Tu, and then turned abruptly up the
mountain-side. Here my chair-men halted for breakfast and I did not see
them again until we reached our night's stopping-place. Alone with Jack
I kept on along the steep trail, revelling in my freedom. At first we
met few people, although later in the day the number increased, but
wherever the way seemed doubtful there was always some one to put me
straight by signs. After a little we dropped by a sharp descent into the
valley of a small wild river flowing into the Ta Tu from the east. We
kept up this, crossing the stream from side to side on planks and
stepping-stones. After passing through two tiny hamlets embowered in
walnut trees, we reached the head of the valley and faced a long, steep
zigzag. The climb was hard, hot work, but I found some diversion in a
friendly race with a good-looking woman going the same way; her unbound
feet kept up with mine while our dogs romped along gaily. Women with
unbound feet were far more common here than elsewhere in my travels, and
they seemed exceptionally alert and intelligent, but the population of
the region is scanty, many of the people being newcomers of Hakka stock.
Arrived at the top of the cliff we found ourselves on a narrow ridge,
and for the rest of the short stage our way led along the face of the
mountain, from time to time topping a wooded spur. Everywhere azaleas
made the air sweet and the steep slopes wonderful with colour. At length
we dropped without warning into a little village at the head of a
precipitous narrow ravine, where we spent the night in an unusually
interesting inn. Save for two or three private rooms, the best of which
was given to me, all life centred in a great hall open to the roof and
with merely a suggestion of partition in a few rough railings. Through
the open doors men, children, pigs and fowls, cats and dogs, strolled in
from the rain. Up in the roof our chairs were slung out of the way. Each
coolie, having secured a strip of matting, had found his place. Some
were cleaning off the sweat and dirt of the day