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 courage 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 



