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54 Sunday, 9 August Saturday morning the manager opened the office long enough to tell us that the Ningshao had not left Shanghai until Friday night, and would not arrive here until Sunday. We stayed in the hotel because it was cheaper to pay $1.40 for a room for thirty hours than to pay $1.20 to go back home, and another $1.20 to return, and then be in complete uncertainty as to what the boats might be doing. In the hotel we could not miss them. Sunday the rumor was abroad that the Ningshao was further delayed and would not be in until evening. In the middle of the morning the Fu Lung was reported, and I went down to the office to inquire. It was said to belong to the same line, to be a kind of tramp steamer, with only one first class cabin [[strikethrough]] and to belong to the same line, [[strikethrough]] so that tickets were interchangeable. The Chinese assured me that it would arrive in Kiukiang before the Ningshao, and that it was a good boat, so we decided to take it. In five minutes we were packed and ready, and our stuff was piled aboard the crowded sampan. We regreted leaving old Ch'ensie, but he stayed on shore. After much argument, trying to get people to pay fares out to the boat, and making some do it, we got under weigh, poled up the shore a ways and dropped down to where the Fu Lung had come to anchor. The baggage coolies started telling us how many dollars we were to pay for handling our few pieces, and we informed them we could handle them ourselves. We drew up alongside of the steamer and such a fight began to get aboard as I never saw before. The coolies were still recalcitrant, but agreed to help us and talk price later when we picked up our own bags. Dorothy got up over the side onto the boat and I followed. The jam was terrific, and as I held back the crowd while she and the baggage got up the ladder to the deck I followed the Chinese tactics and had a sore arm for several hours as the result of remonstrating with one fellow who tried to force his way past. Truly the rough and tumble, vociferous excitement of a crowd getting on or off a train or boat is marvelous to behold, though a little irritating to participate in. We were soon established in the one first class cabin, however, and spent the rest of the day on the upper deck watching the yellow river, the junks, the forts and pagodas, the monasteries high on jutting rocks, and finally the ugly city of Wuhu, the largest rice exporting port in China, where every hill is crowned by a mission, and the old ruined pagoda stands dis-
