About the middle of April, in the year of grace one thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven, I was asked by Sir Roderick Runnimede to make one in a party of two, on a proposed journey to the rapids, gorges, and glens of the upper waters of the Yangtze. It was not a scientific excursion, there were no new countries to discover, no new people to trot out before the world, no new trade routes to open up; it was simply an excursion for health and pleasure combined, to wander anywhere and everywhere our fancy should lead or our caprice should guide, to explore some small portion of this wild romantic country, and in short to have a good and pleasant time generally.

It is seldom more than once in a lifetime that any ordinary mortal who has drifted on to the eastern coast of China has an opportunity of visiting the recesses of the vast Chinese empire; so, without the slightest hesitation, I at once accepted the offer. In three minutes the whole matter was settled, and in less than a week we were off.

Late one Saturday evening, at the time abovementioned, I followed my baggage up the ‘bund,’ bound for the steamer that was to take us over the first part of our trip, and which was lying securely moored off the Taku jetty. She was a fine boat, and coolies were busily engaged ‘Ahhoing!’ and carrying bales and packages to stow away in her capacious hold.