FROM TONKIN TO INDIA 



itself was sixty-six paces in length, but, reckoning from the edge 

 of the wood where the piers commenced, the width of the river at 

 this point was about seventy-six yards. Going northward up stream 

 this is the last bridge on the Mekong before those which span the 

 two arms at Tsiamdo, on the main road between Pekin and Lha^a. 

 After crossing the river a large gateway confronted us, through 

 which we entered the street of the village of Fey-long-kiao. On 

 either side the regular white buildings with their grey roofs, backed 

 by the darker hills and coffee-coloured water, imparted quite a 

 charming air to the place. Within, it was the same as other Chinese 

 towns, squalid and dirty, like a woman who hides the ugliness 

 of age beneath a showy dress. 



We put up in a room above the gateway, reached by a narrow 

 ladder stair. The basement was given up to idols. But instead 

 of the tawdry images we had grown used to, with grotesque 

 features staring at you in ranks like dolls at a fair waiting the 

 day ot destruction, I was astonished to find myself before deities 

 of a much more venerable aspect. On the right was a little old 

 figure, with a cowl like a monk's upon a gilded head adorned with 

 a flowing white beard. He reminded me of Father Christmas. 

 In the middle of the altar was another, indistinguishable save for 

 some traces of a former gilded splendour in the dark wood of 

 which he was graven. At the feet of the laro;e ones were minor 

 divinities, or they may have been priests, in a sort of cassock, and 

 black with age. These austere gods seemed to watch with the 

 same air of immovable disdain the damage of the wasting years, 

 while the river without repeated in its ceaseless roar the unchang- 

 ing tale of centuries which rolled before their feet. 



Naturally, our first care at Fey-long-kiao was to put questions 

 regarding the route. The replies were uniformly discouraging. 



152 



