The letter referred to was as follows:—
"The general appearance of the country lately wrested from the Ti-pings by the British, and again given up to Imperial rule, cannot be passed without a feeling of pity for its sad alteration. Throughout the whole extent of this country, Europeans are now exposed to insult, the natives being as constrained and repulsive as is usual in Mandarin localities. Indeed, they are a vagabond and scanty lot, many large villages now exhibiting hardly one person to each house. The crops alone are in a flourishing condition—reared by Ti-pings for the Imperial commissariat—a rich harvest indeed.
"Custom-houses, or rather squeeze-houses, are springing up in every direction, and the poor Chinese trader is in a perfect whirlwind of mystification as to whom he ought to pay and whom not. The baneful effect of all this is very visible. There is an indescribable gloom and stagnation over the land, and everything on it. Even the birds appear less happy, for they do not chirp as of old. Of trade—there is none. The extensive village of Loo-chee, about sixty miles from Shanghae by water, is the last Imperialist station in this direction. When I was last here, some two and a half years ago, all was joyous as a marriage feast. It was a place of much trade and importance; now the only things to be remarked are a few piratical war-boats, with their usual villanous-looking crews, under the Imperial flag. Where formerly exuberant life and happiness were found, all now is wretchedness. Between Loo-chee and the nearest Ti-ping station comes a neutral ground of some ten miles in extent. This is almost a desert, and well it may be, when the Imperialists scour over it. At last we reached the first Ti-ping outpost. What a contrast! Now, indeed, all is smiling happiness. In place of insult we meet kind looks and salutations of welcome. Even the children run along the banks with cries of delight. Poor little things, they know not but that they may soon be homeless, bereft, perhaps, of parents, or even life itself."
When the above letter was written, the Imperialists, with the assistance of foreigners, had only lately succeeded in recapturing the village of Loo-chee; shortly afterwards I again passed the place, and the only change to be observed was a new Buddhist temple in course of erection upon the ruins of the old. A striking example of the effect of British intervention: the Ti-pings destroy the heathen temples and establish the Holy Scriptures on their sites, but the Manchoos build them up again, and exterminate the worshippers of the True God.
So great a confidence had my friend, the Captain, in the Ti-pings, that directly we came to their territory he told me I might discharge and clean all our arms, and put them away until we re-entered the Imperialist lines.
Before arriving at our destination, we passed many villages, all thriving and apparently doing considerable trade; one especially attracted my attention—it was a very large walled village, named San-zar, and seemed to be the centre of an immense commerce. This place was fortified and well garrisoned. We stopped there and took in a supply of provisions, which were very cheap. I particularly remember San-zar, because I found in it the best sponge cake I ever tasted in China. The village was very extensive, containing upwards of five thousand houses; the shops were numerous, and at the time I first visited it every article of Chinese consumption was to be found in abundance. I passed through it lately—upon my return to England—and found everything sadly changed; the Imperialists were close at hand, and the inhabitants had fled away; the shops were closed, excepting here and there where some trader, more venturesome or avaricious than his fellows, seemed determined to drive his business till the last; the streets were silent and trafficless; in some parts the depopulation was so complete as to strongly remind me of Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."
Shortly after leaving San-zar, we arrived at San-le-jow, the termination of our voyage, a fortified position, three Chinese miles (one English) from the city of Pim-bong. San-le-jow is situated within the silk district, into which we should have proceeded further, but the creek was spanned by a bridge too small for our vessel to pass. We were therefore compelled to remain at anchor, and send boats in for the silk. All the specie was placed in them, comparatively unprotected, only the supercargo and two of our crew going in charge of it; and yet it was taken into the very heart of Ti-pingdom in perfect safety.
We remained about three weeks at San-le-jow, while our supercargo was absent purchasing silk; and during this time I determined to see as much of Ti-pingdom and the Ti-pings as possible. I constantly visited the neighbouring villages to endeavour to ascertain what feeling the country people entertained for the Ti-ping rule. I was pleased to find them in every instance completely happy and contented; and was particularly struck by the gratified manner in which they would attract my notice to their long hair—the emblem of the Ti-ping and freedom, as opposed to the Manchoo and the shaven-headed, tail-wearing badge of slavery they inflict upon the Chinese. During my rambles I took my servant, A-ling, with me, and, as he was a capital interpreter, I was enabled to fully investigate all I cared for or found interesting.
As San-le-jow was only about twenty miles distant from the important provincial capital, Soo-chow, I engaged a boat, took A-ling with me, and, reaching the city, spent seven or eight days there very pleasantly.
I have visited many parts of Asia, but never in my life, not even amongst people of my own race, have I met with the kindness, hospitality, and earnest friendship I experienced from the Ti-pings. I shall never forget the deep impression I received at the moment I first met them: it was instantaneous, I required no further knowledge or explanation; I felt a mysterious sympathy in their favour, and, from that day to this, my frequent intercourse with them has only strengthened and cemented my first opinions.
The testimony of persons who have themselves seen the Ti-pings is unanimous as to their striking superiority over the Imperialists. Not only is their personal appearance infinitely more pleasing, but their entire character, physically and morally, exhibits the same wonderful superiority.
All Europe has for many years considered the Chinese the most absurd and unnatural people in the world; their shaven head, tail, oblique eyes, grotesque costume, and the deformed feet of their women, have long furnished subjects for the most ludicrous attempts of caricaturists; while the atmosphere of seclusion, superstition, and arrogance, with which they delight to surround themselves, has always excited the ridicule and contempt of Europeans. Now, among the Ti-pings, these things, with the exception of the physiognomy, have all disappeared, and even their features seem improved—probably through their mental and bodily relief from thraldom.
One of the most remarkable contrasts between the Ti-pings and their enslaved countrymen, the Imperialists, and the first to attract the observation of foreigners, is their complete difference of appearance and costume. The Chinese are known as a comparatively stupid-looking, badly-dressed race; the disfigurement of the shaved head not a little causing this. One presents a type of the whole—a dull, apathetic countenance, without expression or intelligence, except what resembles the half-cunning, half-fearful manner of slaves; their energies seem bound, their hopes and spirits crushed by wrong and oppression. The Ti-pings, on the other hand, immediately impress an observer by their intelligence, continual inquisitiveness, and thirst for knowledge. It is, indeed, utterly impossible, judging from their different intellectual capacities, to come to the conclusion that they are both natives of the same country—a difference more marked cannot be conceived. The Ti-pings are a clever, candid, and martial people, rendered peculiarly attractive by the indescribable air of freedom which they possess. Where you would see the servile Tartar-subdued Chinamen continually cringing, the Ti-pings exhibit, even in the face of death, nothing but the erect, stately carriage of free men.
It is a singular fact that the handsomest men and women in China are to be seen in the Ti-ping array. This may possibly be partly the result of their difference of dress and of wearing the hair, but the main cause is undoubtedly the ennobling effect of their religion and freedom. The dress consists of very broad petticoat trousers, mostly of black silk, bound round the waist with a long sash, which also contains their sword and pistols; a short jacket, generally red, reaching just to the waist and fitting tight to the body, forms their upper garment. But it is the style in which they wear their hair that forms their principal ornament: they allow it to grow without cutting, it is then plaited into a queue at the back of the head, into which is worked a tail of red silk cord, and it is always worn wound round the head