THE NANKOW PASS.
WE enter the Nankow Pass at about thirty miles distance from Peking. This pass is a bold, rocky defile, separating China proper from the lands of the barbarians beyond. I visited the place, and the Great Wall also, in the company of Mr. Wylie, a gentleman who, some years ago, brought to light the remarkable Buddhist inscription found in the arch at Kew-Yung-Kwan. There is a small hamlet at the Chinese end of the pass. It is here that we see the first spur of the Great Wall, or rather an inner wall or fortress which, in ancient times, would form the final barrier to the invading hordes. When we enter the defile, we are struck with its rugged and picturesque appearance, and with the absence of any road save the little that remains of the old Mongol causeway, which must have been a splendid work in its time. But its time has long past, and the ordinary trade route now-a-days lies along what looks like the bed of a stream, and over boulders into which steps have either been cut or worn. There are, however, some few parts of the ancient road which are still in comparatively good order. Here we find blocks of porphyry, marble of various colours, and granite polished with the traffic of generations long gone by. As we penetrate the pass, limestone rocks crop out on every side; but it is not till we are within four miles of the Great Wall that we come upon the scene presented to the reader in No. 55. At this point the pass narrows down considerably, and makes a sharp bend. On a rocky peak to the left rises a picturesque little edifice, dedicated to Kwei-Sing, the god of literature; on the opposite side of the ravine Is a small two-storied temple, approached by a steep staircase cut into th'e face of the rock. The lower story is consecrated to Kwan-te, the god of war, and the upper one is called the cave of Kwan-yin, the goddess of mercy. Inscriptions in Chinese, Thibetan, and Sanscrit characters are cut on the surface of the rock below.
One would imagine that the defile was all but impassable in some places which I have not pictured. Vain delusion! There is a constant traffic at the very worst parts. We look at them, and nothing whatever is to be seen save huge angular rocks jutting out of cairns, and patches of sand. We look again, and in a moment the scene is alive with donkey-men and muleteers who, leaping from rock to rock as they guide their sure-footed beasts through clefts and out of pit-falls, disappear at last among the stones; and so the traffic goes on from year to year, and no attempt is made to improve the route, or to help the weary trader on his journey.
