AT FUKIANG-FU 99 



came in for a lot of attention. One old gentleman 

 at whose inn we stopped for breakfast, declared he 

 had lived for eighty years and never seen anything 

 like it. George told him that I was tattooed all 

 over — a gross libel — when the poor old boy nearly 

 collapsed from over - excitement. Fearing his 

 curiosity might get tlie better of him on recovering, 

 I left hurriedly. 



On the hills above every town of any size stood 

 walled refuges or forts, built of mud, to which the 

 inhabitants fled wlien danger threatened. During 

 the great rebellion the rebels lit fires of capsicum, 

 and under cover of the smoke undermined the 

 walls. When the wretched fugitives went to 

 ground in their caves, they smoked them out like 

 rabbits and knocked them on the head. 



On August 30 we reached Fukiang-fu, where 

 we stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Mann, who were in 

 charge of the mission station. By the city gates 

 hung some little wooden cages containing the 

 shoes of popular officials who had left the district. 

 This is a mark of great popularity. 



An oily and diseased-looking scoundrel in leg- 

 irons appeared on the evening of our arrival with 

 " rascal " written all over him. He told us a long 

 and complicated story, explaining that he had been 

 mixed up, very much against his will while trying 

 to do a friend a good turn, in some illegal marriage 

 contract or divorce. According to his own account, 

 he had been made the scapegoat, and while all the 

 other parties in the transaction had come off with 

 flying colours, he had dropped in for ten years' 

 banishment— a fate which, judging from his ap- 

 pearance, he richly deserved. 



