16 THE FATHER OF RIVERS 



which crowns its summit and a crowd of cormor- 

 ants. It is known as the " little Orphan." 



But the junks were what pleased me most, for 

 they are the most distinctive feature of a Chinese 

 river. You come across them first at Woosung in 

 the sliape of a fleet of warships, which carry the 

 mind back to the high-pooped vessels of Henry V., 

 with their low waists, stern lanterns, and old cannon. 

 One flies the red flag of the admiral, and on all are 

 painted leering eyes below the prow, which show 

 the vessel her path upon the waters. Up the river 

 they are ubiquitous. Of every shape and size, 

 great or small, they always, at a distance, charmed 

 the eye. Here would be a big three-masted vessel, 

 with broad brown sail, bowling at a brisk speed 

 down the channel, little sampans bobbing in her 

 wake. There, a fleet of salt-junks lay anchored 

 to the bank, or rested like a flock of tired birds 

 in some self-centred lagoon. Brown, chocolate, 

 grey, or blue, their sails blotted the sky, slipping 

 quietly up some hidden channel amid the reeds, 

 lighting their way inch by inch up stream, 

 or sweeping down upon the full bosom of the 

 flood, broad sails bellying to the breeze, the 

 muddy water churned to yellow foam before 

 their bows. 



On the banks a crowd of patient villagers toiled 

 like a swarm of ants to repair some weak spot in a 

 dyke, the breaking of wliich would mean the loss 

 of their seed for next year's rice crop. One tiny 

 islet a few yards across held a couple of huts and 

 three horses, which looked forlornly out across a 

 turbid waste of water. 



Beggars swarm in China, and even on the river 



