fifty or sixty students are admitted annually. Numbers of well-trained
men have passed through this school, but it is hampered by lack of
funds, and the premises and gardens are quite inadequate for the number.
Girls, too, I saw hard at work in the classrooms. One most interesting
part of the work was the series of workshops, in which disabled
patients are employed on all sorts of trades connected with the needs
of the hospitals. No doubt it is not only a boon to the workers, but
a great economy for the hospital, especially in these dear times. It
is astonishing to see the metal work done there, not to speak of the
carpentering, matting and brushmaking. All wooden cases coming to the
place are rapidly transformed into useful pieces of furniture, and
everything seems to be capable of being transformed into something useful.
In the afternoon in pouring rain we set off in rickshas to visit another
series of hospitals for lepers, incurables, and isolation cases. It was
a long drive to the lonely hill-side overlooking the city, where these
pleasant homes are situated, for they are indeed _homes_, as attractive
and comfortable as they can be made for lifelong sufferers. It needs
something stronger than humanitarianism to tackle such a work, and the
spirit of a Father Damien is needed to make it a success. Well may the
poor patient say:
“My body, which my dungeon is.”
But they seemed wonderfully content, and eagerly welcomed the doctor’s
visit. The expenses of these homes were only 2,788 dollars for the year.
In cases of epidemics it is a special boon to have an isolation hospital
outside the city, and the Home for Incurables needs no weak words of mine
to commend it. All these buildings are newer than the hospitals in the
city, and built on very hygienic principles.
From the hospitals we drove to the lovely lake-side, where we had tea
in a charming house recently built by Dr. Main for the doctors. The
lake-side was glorious, with great beds of water-lilies just coming into
blossom. What a staff is required for work like the above described!
and what an opportunity for men of noble ambitions! The staff is mainly
Chinese, but Englishmen are greatly needed as well, and are sadly
lacking. The Church Missionary Society is responsible for this important
piece of work.
Close to this house is another new and charming one built for
convalescent Chinese ladies, and it stands in a pretty little garden. It
was empty at the time I was there, but had been used for the Conference
of the China Continuation Committee. It will be interesting to see
whether the ladies make use of it; it is in the nature of an experiment,
being the only one I saw in China. But Chinese ideas are so rapidly
changing and the position of women is so different from what it was even
ten years ago, that they will welcome the possibility of such a home for
convalescence. The rooms devoted to women, even in big houses, are often
miserable, and this experiment may promote a better state of affairs.
On the other side of the West Lake is the latest creation of Dr. Main,
which was opened next day. It is a rest-house for Chinese workers, and
ought to be valuable in connexion with so large a mission work. The funds
have all been raised by Dr. Main.
Next day I got a glimpse of the old world before leaving Hangchow. I was
escorted up a steep hill to visit a group of temples and to get a view
over the wonderful West Lake. Magnificent old trees cast their welcome
shade on the buildings, and a curious serpentine stone pathway which had
a symbolical meaning leads up the hill. On the top is a group of stones
of curious shapes, which are said to represent the twelve requisites of
agriculture, but it required a great deal of imagination to trace the
resemblance. The air was scented with wild roses, and the view from the
top of the ridge was superb—on one side lay the shimmering lake, with its
delicate tracery of raised pathways and bridges leading across certain
parts of it, and a fine old red sandstone pagoda; on the other side the
busy city and the river leading to the sea. It is an ideal spot for
artists, and there is the _West Lake Hotel_ on the margin of the lake,
where it is quite pleasant to stay if you are not too exacting.
Hangchow is the starting-place for that wonder of the world, the Grand
Canal, which stretches nine hundred miles, and part of which was built
nearly five hundred years B.C., with solid stone walls. It is spanned
in places by beautiful bridges, sometimes a single arch and sometimes
several. The bridges of China are very varied and most beautiful; in no
other part of the world have such remarkable blocks of stone been used
in their construction, and it is impossible to understand how some of
them were placed in their present position. The heavy floods in Fukien
prevented my visiting the most celebrated one near Chuan Chow, called
Lo-yung-kio; it is three thousand six hundred feet in length and fifteen
feet wide. Some of the granite monoliths stretching from one abutment
to another actually measure as much as sixty feet in length, so we were
told by an English captain who had measured them. As there are only
twenty abutments, it is obvious they must be very wide apart. In all such
bridges that I have seen, the spaces between the abutments vary in size.
Even small bridges, like one on the West Lake near Hangchow, are often
quite interesting because of their architectural qualities, the artist’s
touch being very marked. The Chinese never seem to grudge labour in the
beautifying of things great or small, important or unimportant, which
gives one great joy in using the common things of daily life. It is as if
the workman worked for sheer creative joy and regardless of recompense.
If a man, for instance, engraves a line drawing in the hinge of a door,
where it will practically be always out of sight, what motive can he have
save the creative faculty?
Hangchow is situated at the mouth of the Tsientang-kiang, a most
important waterway for the trade from Kiang-si, which comes down on
peculiar junks, sixty feet long and ten feet wide.
There is a remarkable tide bore at the river’s mouth; at full tide there
is a column of water six feet high which rushes furiously in from the
sea, and which is a source of great danger to shipping. This is a sight
well worth seeing.
From Shanghai we went down the coast by the steamer _Sinkiang_ to Hong
Kong, only putting into Amoy on the way, and enjoying a few hours ashore
with friends. They urged us to come and stay with them, an invitation
which I gladly accepted later on. The sea was kind to us most of the
way, and we accomplished the journey in four days, reaching Hong Kong
at 8 a.m. Here we found the housing problem as acute as at home, and
were thankful to be taken in at a delightful house for ladies, called
the Helena May Institute. It was the greatest boon to me not only then,
but when I returned in July to join the ship for England. The house is
beautifully situated and strongly to be recommended to ladies travelling
alone.
We were delayed some ten days waiting for a boat to Haiphong, as coasting
steamers seem peculiarly uncertain in their sailings.
The journey to Haiphong took three nights and two days. When we finally
started we found that no Hong Kong money (Hong Kong has a coinage of its
own, being British, and admits no other) would be accepted in Indo-China,
and that we must re-bank there before starting inland. Haiphong is a most
dull and unprogressive little French town: an intelligent young Frenchman
at the custom-house told us that red tape rules everything and makes
progress impossible.
We were obliged to stay there two days, the bank not being open on
Sunday. The train only runs by day up to Yünnanfu, and starts at a
very early hour: the carriages are primitive in the extreme and badly
arranged. There is only _one_ corridor coach for first-, second- and
third-class passengers, the first-class being in the middle and the
passengers for the others passing to and fro through the carriage all
the time. Besides this one coach there were a number of seatless luggage
vans, in which were herded large numbers of fourth-class passengers, with
their belongings. Their legs might frequently be seen dangling out of the
unglazed windows. The line was opened in 1910, and is about 150 miles in
length.
The scenery was fascinating and varied during our three days’ journey
to Yünnanfu. At first it was sub-tropical, passing through forests with
great tree-ferns and bamboos, or ricefields where water-buffaloes toiled.
Lovely rose bushes and brilliant canna were the chief flowers visible,
and tall trees full of crimson blossom. From seven in the morning till
8.30 p.m. we travelled slowly towards the Chinese frontier, and spent the
night at Laokay, in a not too bad little French hotel. There was food
served on the train, but we mostly relied on our own provisions. The
frontier town was quite attractive, at the junction of two rivers; we
were supposed to have our luggage examined, but both French and Chinese
let us off, and I had time to sketch from the dividing bridge while our
less lucky interpreter, Mr. Li,[5] underwent searching examination. It is
most difficult for any Chinese to get passports for going through French
territory, and you can never foresee what difficulties the officials
will put in the way, even when everything is _en règle_. Li was taken
off to the police station and put through an elaborate interrogatory.
We had been rather anxious about our own passports, as Sir John Jordan
was not able to authorize our having them from Peking, on account of
the political division between North and South. He very kindly arranged
that the British Consul at Canton (if he considered it safe for us to
prosecute our journey) should supply us with them, and we experienced a
great sense of relief on finding them awaiting us at Hong Kong. As an
illustration of the strictness of French rule, no one is allowed to take
more than two dollars out of Indo-China in their coinage; at Haiphong we
had obtained Chinese dollars suitable for the province of Yünnan.
One of the most serious questions for China to-day is that of finance,
and I was told by a reliable business man that the unification of the
coinage would have been settled long ago, but for the fierce opposition
of the banking community, who make unheard-of profits by the present
system. It is extremely tiresome and injurious to trade, and adds greatly
to the difficulty of travelling.
As soon as we had crossed the frontier the scenery changed and became
grander. The railway passes through malarious districts, and its
construction was impeded (at one time even entirely suspended) on account
of the number of deaths which took place among the workmen. It is a
narrow-gauge single line, and there are so frequently obstructions and
accidents that the train only runs by daylight; it takes therefore three
days to accomplish the journey; but it is so interesting that one is glad
to go slowly. The stations on the line are few, and the only important
town is Mongtsze, a big trading centre. The province is considered one of
great natural wealth and beauty, and I was glad to be in it once more,
having already traversed it from north-east to west (a distance of over
a thousand miles) on foot or carried in a chair. On the second day we
passed through glorious wooded gorges, gradually rising to a height of
two thousand seven hundred feet. The hill-sides were terraced up to the
very summits in places, and despite the sparse population the land was
well cultivated wherever possible. We reached the town of Amichow soon
after five o’clock, and found a decent little French hotel. Strolling
out to watch the glorious sunset, we came to a barracks, where men were
drilling in orthodox German style and singing a monotonous sort of chant.
Next morning when we came to pay our seven-dollar bill with the Yünnanese
notes we had bought at Haiphong, we had an unusual experience with regard
to the exchange, for we found that it only meant three Yünnanese dollars.
While I attended to this, my niece went ahead to secure the window
seats, for you see very little otherwise. There were other travellers
who had secured them the previous day, and we knew the scenery would be
magnificent. The line is really a remarkable one, running in and out of
the rock, crossing rivers far below, and wholly unlike the tame railway
lines at home. One part was singularly beautiful as we emerged from a
tunnel at a high level; we saw a lovely jade-coloured lake spread below
us, melting away into the far distance. As we approached the capital,
Yünnanfu, we left the mountains behind and passed through well-cultivated
lowlands, already clad in shining green, or reflecting the blue sky in
watery ricefields. We were not sorry, however, to say good-bye to the
railway for many weeks to come. Friends had arranged for us to stay at a
comfortable French hotel, the _Terminus_, outside the city wall and with
a fine view across the fields to distant hills.
We eagerly inquired as to the prospects of being allowed to go eastwards,
and were informed that the robbers were most aggressive and had taken
prisoners three missionaries, besides securing much loot from other
quarters. I confess my spirits sank low that night, despite our having
got a much-longed-for mail, and it was with some misgivings we set off
to the British Consulate next morning. The postal commissioner, a portly
Frenchman, had told us that he didn’t consider it at all dangerous to go
eastward, but it was true that he had ceased to send money orders, owing
to the number of robbers! He could transmit no money for us, but promised
to see what could be done in the matter through merchants.
We found that the British Consul, Mr. Otterwell, remembered me as an old
traveller. I had been his guest at Tengyueh twelve years before, though
he was at the time absent in the district. He was quite encouraging, and
promised at once to have our passports visé-ed and a military escort
obtained for the following week. Our further doings in Yünnan Province
are chronicled in Chapter III. Suffice it to say that from Yünnanfu
we set off in carrying-chairs, and travelled north-eastward into the
province of Kweichow—a wild and beautiful mountainous country, far from
railways and steamboats and all the busy bustle of the West. There we
were to make friends with strange aboriginal tribes in their native
haunts and to see unadulterated China once more.
Kweichow (the Land of Demons) surpassed our most sanguine hopes. It was
far more beautiful and interesting than we had been told, and not nearly
so difficult to travel in as I had been led to expect. We had provided
ourselves with tinned meats, as we were told that we could expect to get
no meat or chickens or vegetables in so poor a province, whereas we found
all these things in abundance, and every mission station to which we came
most hospitable in supplying us with bread and cakes. It is true we only
came to five stations in the next seven weeks, that is in crossing the
whole province. There is no road in any part of it—sixty thousand square
miles, roughly speaking—suitable for wheeled traffic; so no wonder it
must be considered as one of the most backward parts of China, and has
rarely been visited by travellers. To carry a load of rice for a hundred
miles more than doubles its cost.
[Illustration: A Chinese Ritz.
_Page 40_]
From Yünnanfu we took the ordinary route via Malong, Kütsingfu, and the
Yünnan Pass into Kweichow Province. It has been admirably and fully
described in Sir A. Hosie’s latest book _On the Trail of the Opium
Poppy_, so it is unnecessary for me to do it, and I shall merely describe
the things which struck us as of special interest.
The journey from Yünnanfu to Anshun took us seventeen days—a distance
altogether of about three hundred miles.[6] From Anshunfu we struck
north, through much wilder and less-frequented country, in order to visit
the haunts of aboriginal tribes, and made a wide detour, returning to
the main road near Kwei Yang, the capital. We greatly wished to visit
other tribes in the eastern part of the province, but that was absolutely
vetoed by the governor, and we were obliged to follow the high road
through Ping-yüe and Huang Ping Chow to Chen Yüen. Here we took to the
waterway, from which we did not once swerve till we reached Shanghai.
The first part of the journey, up the Yüen Kiang, is a distance of four
hundred and forty-six miles, and one may go down it in five days, if it
is in flood, with a fair chance of getting drowned! We took ten days, but
a good deal of time was spent at places on the way. Coming up stream the
journey is long and tedious: it may extend to months instead of days. The
natural superstition of the Chinese is displayed on such a journey by the
lavish use of crackers[7] and incense to ward off evil spirits. These
superstitions will die hard: nothing less vital than genuine Christianity
can displace them.
We entered Hunan on May 14, having spent forty-two days in Kweichow
Province. The frontier is indicated by two elaborate archways, as we saw
on entering the province from Yünnan. Although Hunan is within fifteen
days’ reach of Shanghai, it has so far no facilities for travel better
than by water. It is true there is a short railway line on its western
border, but we were not encouraged to try it, and in summer there is
always a good steamship line from the capital Changsha to Hankow—a
distance of two hundred and twenty miles. The railway is part of the
projected line from Hankow to Canton, and will be of great trade value
when it is completed, as there is no good route to connect this part of
the country with the south. We intended going from Changsha into Kwangsi
Province on account of the beautiful scenery, but unfortunately that
was impossible owing to the fighting going on between the troops of the
north and the south exactly in the region where our road lay. It might be
supposed that we could have taken an alternative route through so vast a
country, but such is not the case. If you leave the great high road (and
what a misnomer that is!) there is no way except by devious paths through
endless mountain ranges, where no accommodation and little food would be
obtainable. In a province of 83,398 square miles there appear to be only
two main roads running from north to south, and three from east to west;
yet it has a population of over twenty-one millions. The two main roads
running from north to south are near the eastern and western borders, and
all the central part of the province has none. We crossed the province
entirely by water, first in a house-boat as far as Changteh, thence in a
miserable little native steamer across the Tong Ting Lake to Changsha;
from Changsha up the Siang-kiang,[8] across the Tong Ting on to the
Yangtze, which bounds the province on the north.
We had no choice, therefore, of leaving Hunan except by going to Hankow,
and we found good accommodation on a British steamer, the _Sinkiang_.
There are six good lines between Changsha and Hankow—two British, a
Japanese, and several Chinese steamship companies, whose ships run in
the summer; owing to the extraordinary subsidence of the lake in winter
(_see_ Chapter VI) it has to be discontinued then for several months.
The journey from Changsha to Hankow takes about thirty-two hours: at
Hankow we transhipped for Shanghai on a most comfortable steamer (with
nice beds), the _Nganking_, belonging to Messrs. Butterfield & Swire.
It is quite easy for travellers knowing no Chinese to penetrate by this
route into the very centre of China. I am so often asked about the
possibilities of doing this that I can only recommend this as a wholly
charming and easy way of getting about and much to be preferred to
railway travelling.
Hankow itself is a big bustling cosmopolitan town, with a rapidly
increasing volume of commerce. It is a link between old and new, and
has no less than thirty-six associations, called “hangs,” for different
kinds of goods. It has its foreign concessions like the seaports, and the
important trading companies have their own floating wharves, where the
big ocean liners moor, six hundred miles away from the coast. There are
said to be 25,000 junks engaged here in river traffic, and they connect
Hankow with all the central and western provinces, often travelling as
much as a hundred miles a day.
Hankow is a great centre of educational and missionary activity, and
many European nationalities are engaged in it. The great viceroy, Chang
Chih Tung, ardently promoted education here when he was in office. He
said in his book, _China’s Only Hope_ (p. 61), “In order to render China
powerful, and at the same time preserve our own institutions, it is
absolutely necessary that we should utilize Western knowledge. But unless
Chinese learning is made the basis of education and a Chinese direction
is given to thought, the strong will become anarchists, and the weak
slaves.” It is most deplorable that this is ignored by so many Chinese
of the present day.[9] He urged that old Buddhist and Taoist temples,
falling into decay, be transformed into schools, and he estimated that
seven out of ten, with their property, might well be devoted to this
purpose. This is quite in accordance with what is now being done,
especially in Northern China. He argued that the temples are national
property, and should be used for the common good.
Hankow is wonderfully situated as the internal trade centre of China,
being the meeting-point of its main railways as well as waterways (when
the former shall have been completed), linking up north, south, east and
west. There are three cities in the angles formed by the junction of the
Yangtze and the Han rivers—Hanyang, Hankow and Wu-chang; the last was
far the most important in the past, and is the capital of Hupeh, but now
Hankow rivals Shanghai in commercial importance, and is rapidly growing.
The three cities have a joint native population of 1,150,000, of which
Hankow has 800,000, and as its native quarter was completely destroyed
by fire during the civil war in 1911, the fine old monuments of the past
were destroyed with it. Its whole interest is modern.
Between Hankow and Shanghai are several important cities which must
be most interesting to visit, several of them being treaty ports with
foreign concessions, such as Chin-kiang and Wu-hu; the steamers stop
at least fourteen times on the way. It is delightful to spend the days
sitting in comfortable chairs on deck, watching all the varied life on
the river, hearing the “honk-honk” of the wild geese soaring overhead, or
watching the wedges of ducks crossing the river on strong wing to the big
marshes, or lakes, into which it pours its overflow.
From time to time the steamer draws to the riverside and loads or unloads
its cargo. One of the most interesting stopping-places is Nanking;
indeed, it is said to be one of the most interesting in China, and is
only about two hundred miles from Shanghai. It has an hotel kept by an
Englishman. We greatly enjoyed the river scenery of the Yangtze: there
are so many picturesque monuments in this lower part on the numerous
islands and along its banks; although it has not the wild charm of the
gorges, it is well worth making the trip. Now there is a steam service
all the way up to Chunking, so that travellers can easily do one of the
most beautiful journeys in the world at reasonable cost, in reasonable
comfort and in reasonable time, going about a thousand miles up the
finest of the great rivers of the world.[10]
On reaching Shanghai I had to part with my travelling companion and start
the journey home alone, but as events proved my steamer was delayed, and
I had several weeks in which to visit the coastal provinces of Chekiang,
Fukien and Kwantung, and to study the student movement, as described in
the concluding chapters of this book.
[Illustration]
_Chapter II_
_The Model Governor—Yen Hsi-Shan_
“Who is the true and who is the false statesman?