southwesterly direction with the thought in mind that, if big bean plantations and supplies of the oil were found in this region, the Chinese could easily bring the oil downstream in their single-masted junks. I had been told that I should find large plantations of soya beans in the neighbourhood of Hsin Ch'eng Fu or Petuna, a large trading centre located near the point where the Sungari bends round to the eastward, as it comes down from the mountains of Kirin. Consequently I took passage on the steamer Pogranitchnik for that place.
The Sungari has cut its course through layers of loess, this characteristic fertile, yellow Chinese soil, composed of the dusts of the north, the blowing sands from the Gobi, mud from the spring freshets and the remains of decaying vegetation and small organisms. As we made our way up against the swift yellow current, we frequently saw immense pieces of the yellow clay, sometimes carrying bushes and even trees, break off from the bank and sink into the undermining stream to be borne northward to help build up some new shoals in process of formation below or to be carried out and deposited on the bar at the mouth of the Amur.
We passed numerous small villages between the Chinese port of Harbin where we embarked, called Fu Chia Tien, and Petuna, numbering as a rule a few of the mud-coloured fang-tzu, or Chinese houses, and the inevitable shrine, built near the river bank in the shadow of the trees.
Often, when our steamer in its tortuous windings skirted close to the bank, the Chinese rushed out from their mud-plastered houses, stared at us curiously and voiced their comments in monosyllabic, incomprehensible words. Then, as we drew alongside and stopped at one of the larger villages to take on wood fuel for the engine,
