Bhamo was then the headquarters of the district which included the country bordering on China and Tibet, all the present Myitkyina district, Mogaung, and the Jade Mines. The column under Major C. H. E. Adamson, which visited Mogaung and the Jade Mines, had just returned, having secured the submission of Kansi La and Kansi Naung, the Kachin chiefs of the Jade Mines tract.[204] Soon afterwards occurred the assault on Mogaung, gallantly repulsed by Gurkha military police under Captain Hugh O’Donnell[205] and Mr. Lawrence Eliott. Close to China, from which it is separated by a range of hills, Bhamo is filled by a strange variety of races. Chinese, stalwart traders of Yunnan; Panthays, survivors of the great rebellion; Shans, Shan-Chinese, Shan-Burmans, Kachins of many divers tribes, give life and colour and speak a Babel of tongues in the bazaar. Driving along one of the roads leading out of the town, the traveller is impressed by a sign-post bearing the legend-- TO CHINA. Not many miles away the peaks of the Kachin Hills rise in the eastern sky. Across these hills come caravans[206] from T’Êngyüeh (Momien) and Manwaing, in those days paying toll to the Kachins for leave to pass. Through these hills marched the ill-fated Margary before he attempted his fatal return journey. Through them in later days, with happier omens, walked Dr. Morrison at the end of his adventurous pilgrimage. A few miles below the town of Bhamo the Irrawaddy runs through a narrow, rock-bound gorge known as the Second Defile. Conspicuous on the right bank looms the tall Elephant Rock, crowned by a small golden pagoda. I have had the rare experience of passing through the defile by the light of the full moon. The silver light on the towering crags, the silence and the solitude, created an effect full of mystery and charm. Emerging from the defile, we reach the town of Shwegu, whence, gazing on the sunset painting with gorgeous colours the western hills, one realizes “the incomparable pomp of eve.” Above Bhamo the river pierces a still more gloomy, precipitous, whirlpool-haunted gorge, the First Defile. In the dry months, from November to April, this defile is navigable by launches, and with reasonable care the passage can be made without risk. In the rains it is closed to all traffic except that of country boats and timber rafts. Once, long ago, two gallant officers came through in a launch as late as May. They had no wish to repeat the experiment. When in full flood, to traverse the defile even in a boat is an adventure requiring nerve and skill. On the upward course the boat is towed laboriously for many weary days. If the rope slips, the work of days may be lost in a few minutes. Down-stream the journey is far more rapid and even more hazardous. I do not think any British officer has been drowned in the defile, but several of my friends have lost their baggage. At least one launch lies in its fathomless depths.