I therefore resist the temptation to
indulge.
A clear morning and a white frost usher in the commencement of another
march across the mountains, over cobbled paths for the greater part of
the forenoon. The sun is warm, but the mountain-breezes are cool and
refreshing. About noon I ferry across a large tributary of the Kan-kiang,
and follow for miles a cobble-stone path that leads down its eastern
bank.
According to my map, Ki-ngan-foo should be about fifty miles south of
Kan-tchou-foo, so that I ought to have reached there by noon to-day. All
due allowance, however, must be made for the map-makers in mapping out a
country where their opportunities for accuracy must have been of the
meagerest kind. Small occasion for fault-finding under the circumstances,
I think, for in the middle of the afternoon the gray battlements, the
pagodas, and the bright coloring of military flags a few miles farther
down stream tell me that the geographers have not erred to any
considerable extent.
It is about sunset when I enter the gates and find myself within the
Manchu quarter, that portion of the city walled off for the residence of
the Manchu garrison and their families. The hittim to which the quickly
gathering crowd conduct me is found to be occupied by a rather
prepossessing female, who, however, looks frightened at my approach and
shuts the door.
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