14 THE FATHER OF RIVERS 



at first one can see nothing of the banks which 

 confine it, save a few scattered clumps of trees. 

 Higher up it decreases to two or three miles, and 

 at Wuchang-fu, opposite Hankow, is but a mile or 

 so across. As the steamer draws nearer to one 

 bank or the other a thick wall of reeds, rising to a 

 height of twelve or fifteen feet, fronts the river. 

 They are used for winter fuel, thatch, fences, and 

 a dozen other things. Beyond the reeds are low 

 mud huts and bright green strips of cultivated 

 land. Much of the country was flooded, for the 

 river had risen forty-four feet at Hankow. In 1910, 

 at Chungking, it rose no less than one hundred 

 and eight feet. 



The reeds near a village are often cut in long 

 strips. On their margin the current flows swiftly 

 in a line of bubbling, brown rapids. From the 

 thicket beyond, peering curiously from between 

 the stems, come cautiously treading yellow-brown 

 forms almost impossible to detect, bright black 

 eyes all aglow. They gain corn-age as the steamer 

 slowly forges ahead against the current, and it is 

 then that you see them — little children come to 

 wonder at the strange fire-junk which churns the 

 waters of their river so loudly. As the voyage 

 lengthens — and indeed each day is more pleasant 

 than the last — the river seems to dwindle to a nar- 

 row channel. Mile after mile goes by between low 

 banks but a few hundred yards apart, still with 

 the reed frontage, patches of cultivation, and low 

 thatched huts beyond. Then far off, the chocolate 

 sail of a junk, or the red funnel of a steamer 

 shows amid the huts. The channel widens, the 

 island drops astern, and the broad main stream is 



