PART II

THE FACE OF

MANCHURIA

KOREA

& RUSSIAN TURKESTAN

[Illustration: TAMERLANE’S TOMB]

THE FACE OF

MANCHURIA

KOREA

& RUSSIAN

TURKESTAN

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED WITH

XXIV PLATES BY E. G. KEMP, F.R.S.G.S.

AUTHOR OF “THE FACE OF CHINA”

NEW YORK

DUFFIELD & COMPANY

1911

_All rights reserved_

DEDICATED TO MY THREE SISTERS

PREFACE

Less than three years ago I made a journey with a friend, Miss

MacDougall, across the Chinese Empire from north-east to south-west,

and while my interests in the changes going on there was intensified,

a profound anxiety took possession of my mind as to the effect these

changes would produce in the national life. The European and other

Powers who had wrangled over the possibility of commercial and political

advantages to be obtained from the Chinese Government (after the Boxer

troubles) have withdrawn to a certain extent, but like snarling dogs

dragged from their prey, they still keep covetous eyes upon it, and both

Russia and Japan continue steadily but silently to strengthen their

hold upon its borders. These borders are Manchuria and Korea, and it is

in this direction that fresh developments must be expected. I read all

the available literature bearing on the subject, but so rapidly had the

changes occurred that books were already out of date, and they failed to

make me _see_ the country as it now is.

As an instance of this, let me quote Whigham’s (correspondent to the

_Morning Post_) “Manchuria and Korea,” published in 1904.[1] “One cannot

seriously believe that Japan would ever invade Manchuria, unless,

indeed, she be caught by the madness with which the gods first visit

those whom they wish to destroy; but if ever her army did occupy Moukden

she would only find another Moscow in the ancient capital of the Manchus,

and when all is said and done what would be the use? She could never hope

to hold the Liao valley for ever against Russia; Great Britain might just

as well try to hold Normandy again against France.... The conclusion is

that as far as Manchuria is concerned, Russia is even now more or less

invulnerable,” &c. &c. This was published the year the Russo-Japanese war

took place.

Taking heart of grace by the kind reception of my former book on China,

I determined to visit Manchuria and Korea, and to try and describe

them by pen and brush as I had described the Face of China. My former

fellow-traveller was willing and eager to repeat our wanderings, so

we set out on February 1st of this year, 1910, via the Trans-Siberian

Railway. Much has been written by various travellers about this part of

the journey, but the questions that I wanted answered are mostly ignored

by them. Baedeker is wholly inadequate. I begin therefore my tale from

the point where we crossed the border into Manchuria, so as to give more

continuity to the narrative and avoid repetition. On our return journey

across Siberia I give details which may possibly be of service to those

who intend travelling on that line, and also the general information

about the condition of the country at the present time, which I have

gathered from reliable sources since my return.

When we started for our four months’ tour we had no intention of

extending it to Turkestan, but finding that a railway line connected it

with the one on which we were travelling, and that it could be reached in

three days from Samara on the Trans-Siberian line, we decided to include

it in our programme and so vary the journey home. It proved to be of

extraordinary artistic interest, not to mention its historical importance

both as the centre of Moslem learning and of Russian experiments in

civilizing Central Asia. Russia looks with a jealous eye upon the

traveller, and a special permit has to be obtained in order to travel

through Turkestan, even on the railway line. Not only is it necessary

to apply for this through the British Embassy at St. Petersburg, but

several weeks elapse before a notification can be received that the

Russian Government graciously permits the traveller to cross Turkestan.

We were informed also that when all these formalities had been duly

observed, the traveller was still liable to be stopped by the police on

the ground that they (the police) had not received official notice of the

traveller’s coming, and in that case he would be ordered to return by the

way he came. Despite this discouraging information we determined to try

our luck, and in due course received a “note verbale” from the Ministry

of Foreign Affairs at St. Petersburg, addressed to the British Embassy,

permitting us to visit Tashkent, Samarkand, and Bokhara. In point of

fact our difficulty proved to be not that of getting _in_, but that of

getting _out_ of Russian territory, as will be seen later on.

Despite the difficulties, Russian Turkestan is well worth visiting, and

had the scope of this book permitted, I should like to have added further

illustrations of Samarkand. All the illustrations suffer from lack of

time, and the earlier ones from the inclemency of the weather, but they

are an attempt to show as accurately as possible what the countries and

people are like, and especially to give correct colouring, in this way

supplementing the photographs with which many previous works on these

countries have been illustrated.

We were warned before undertaking the journey that great dangers would

lie in our path. I should indeed regret depriving the arm-chair critic

of the pleasure of threatening us with tigers, brigands, Hun Hutzes, and

the lowest class of Japanese ruffian, or of his special satisfaction

in shaking his head over the follies of those who run into unnecessary

danger; but in the interest of other travellers I must confess that we

met none of these things, though doubtless it would have added to the

piquancy of the narrative to have done so. The only striped beasts we saw

in the forests were chipmunks, and the only people who were to be feared

were the monks in a certain Buddhist monastery.

I cannot omit a word of thanks to the many missionaries who helped to

make our journey such a pleasant one, and without whose kindly aid we

should have missed a large part of its interest. The Medical Mission

work of the Irish and Scotch Presbyterians in Manchuria, and the various

branches of work of American and Australian Presbyterians in Korea have

been briefly described in this book, but their profound value can only

be appreciated by those who have come in personal contact with them. In

the troublous times of the last decade they have proved their worth, and

I only hope that the ominous cloud still overhanging the land may be

dispersed and a time of prosperous growth succeed the trials which they

have triumphantly endured.

As I write these words the June number _World’s Work_ falls into my

hands, and I read what Japanese writers have to say upon the Manchurian

question. Adachi Kinnosuke points out that, despite the immense

financial strain of the war with Russia, Japan has trebled her army and

strengthened her navy to an equal extent during the few years that have

elapsed since that struggle, which cost her the lives of 300,000 men. The

reason which he assigns for these military preparations is the necessity

of being able to face China. At the close of the Russo-Japanese war

Baron Komura tried to induce the Chinese Government to open Manchuria

to Japanese colonists, but as Manchuria is imperatively needed by China

for her own surplus population, which are pouring into it daily by

thousands in the early spring, it was only natural that she should resent

the proposal, and refuse to grant the desired permission. Hence the

present attitude of Japan. “If you do not allow our people to colonise

Manchuria peacefully, there is only one thing for us to do: to enter it

anyhow.” Yet the density of population in Japan at the present time is

considerably less than that of Great Britain, of Belgium, of Holland,

of Saxony, of Alsace Lorraine, of Hesse, of Baden; not to mention other

non-European countries. The new Russo-Japanese Alliance is concerned

mainly with their railways, and Japan insists on China relinquishing

her project of a railway into Mongolia. Now it is an open secret that

Russia is to have a railway direct from Irkutsk to Peking—the inference

is obvious. The situation is an interesting one; but I have neither the

knowledge nor the impertinence requisite for prophesying the course

of events. My object will be attained if I can in any way succeed in

describing the condition of affairs at the present moment.

The latest step in advance is the annexation of Korea, the highroad into

Manchuria.

_August 26, 1910._

CONTENTS

Preface vij

PART I

The Face of Manchuria

I. Hulan 3

II. Moukden 11

III. Hsin Muntun 34

IV. Liao Yang 42

V. A Visit to the Thousand Peaks 51

VI. From Moukden to Korea 58

XIV. Ashiho 141

(For narrative purposes included in Part II.)

PART II

The Face of Korea

VII. Pyöng Yang 67

VIII. Sunday at Pyöng Yang 74

IX. The History of Roman Catholicism in Korea 84

X. Seoul 93

XI. Fusan 107

XII. The Diamond Mountains 113

XIII. Seoul to Dalny 134

XIV. Ashiho 141

PART III

The Face of Russian Turkestan

XV. Through Siberia 151

XVI. Into Turkestan 171

XVII. Tashkent 178

XVIII. The Home of Tamerlane 188

XIX. Samarkand 201

XX. Bokhara 220

XXI. Through the Caucasus 230

Index 241

Map _To face page_ 248

ILLUSTRATIONS

Tamerlane’s Tomb _Frontispiece_

Foo Ling Tomb _To face page_ 12

Imperial Tomb, Moukden 28

Manchu Ladies’ Greeting 36

Korean Gate, Liao Yang 42

Blind Buddhist Nun 49

Buddhist Monastery 53

Korean in Mourning 69

Coy Korean Maiden 76

Korean Woman 94

Empress’s Tomb 102

Korean Graves 103

(A) Fusan; (B) Korean Village 108

(A) Devil Posts; (B) “Ten Parts Imperfect One” 118

North Gate, Seoul 131

Mohammedan Mosque 145

Prayer at a Saint’s Tomb 184

Tamerlane’s Tomb (Interior) 190

Samarkand 211

Hazréti Shah Zindeh 215

Mosque at Bokhara 226

Baku 231

(A) Tiflis; (B) A Persian 233

Mount Kasbec 236

PART I

The Face of Manchuria

CHAPTER I

Hulan

There is always a thrill of expectation for the genuine traveller on

crossing the frontier into an unknown country, which even the sight

of the custom-house fails to dispel. In the case of Manchuria we were

fortunate enough to escape the custom-house altogether, as having no

registered luggage we only received a perfunctory visit from the politest

of officials in our railway carriage at about 11 P.M. While all the

rest of the travellers had to turn out and spend an hour or more in an

offensive-smelling office, we comfortably went to bed and awoke next

morning to find a glorious, dazzling sun shining on the snowy plain

between Manchuria (town) and our terminus, Kharbin. The railway station

is in the Russian town, which has been built up round it, and still

looks painfully new: it lies on the banks of the great Sungari River,

at the junction of the Trans-Siberian line with the line to Moukden and

Peking. After a night’s rest in the Russian hotel we started for Hulan,

a Chinese town about sixteen miles to the north of Kharbin.

No Chinese vehicle is allowed in the Russian quarter, so we were obliged

to take a droshky to the Chinese town, about a half mile distant,

where our belongings were transferred to the sleigh, which was the

only possible vehicle for crossing the open country. It was of a most

primitive description, a sort of raft on runners, with a little straw

on it covered with a rug. Our luggage was somewhat insecurely corded

on, and we seated ourselves in the midst of it, only too soon to become

acutely aware of the extraordinary number of corners which it possessed.

Between the shafts, which consisted of two sapling birches denuded

of their branches, was a shaggy pony, and another little pony ran

alongside to give what further assistance he could, both animals having

a miscellaneous harness of bits of old cord, which looked incapable of

enduring any strain, though the event proved quite the contrary. We

passed through the old town, which was gay with New Year decorations, the

doors all bright with tutelary deities, freshly pasted up. Already the

streets were filled with traffic, heavily-laden waggons of corn drawn

by teams varying from four to eight, stacks of straw on rafts, fitted

with runners similar to those of the one we were on, and all the various

equipages likely to be found in such a nondescript place. The drollest

of all was a little wooden house on runners, with a tall chimney, which

we supposed to be on its way to some other permanent position. This,

however, proved to be the bus plying daily between Kharbin and Hulan,

the place of our destination. It contained eleven passengers inside, and

a stove. Outside was a heap of bedding on a wooden box tied on a narrow

ledge at the back, upon which lounged another passenger.

It was desperately cold and almost impossible to keep one’s extremities

warm, but the Chinese cope successfully with this difficulty. Nearly

every one wears ear muffs (some of them beautifully embroidered and

fur-lined), or big turned-up collars as high as their heads, or caps

coming over the ears, and at the other extremity large felt boots.

Passing through the busy town we plunged down into the river-bed of

the Sungari, a most perilous descent, as the sledges slither away and

sometimes turn completely round, unless the driver dexterously contrives

to push them into a convenient rut. We passed one heavy cart that had

turned completely on to its side, while yet another was being dug out

of a rut with a pickaxe. The ponies show their mettle, and though they

have the worst of tempers, and not infrequently give a sudden bite to the

passers-by, they work with a will to drag their often too heavy loads

over the difficult ground. We passed the landing-stage, whence in summer

the steamers ply daily up to Hulan.

After struggling up the farther bank we passed over a bumpy plain for

several hours, with various incidents to mark the road. Our umbrellas

soon disappeared, then a collision sent a basket flying. Sometimes we

were in imminent peril as some passing vehicle would skid violently;

once I thought escape was impossible, as a large cart crashed into our

side, missing my arm by a hair’s-breadth, but we strove—I hope not

unsuccessfully—to imitate the Chinese imperturbability of appearance.

During one of our halts for repairs we were overtaken by the

above-mentioned bus, and, behold! there was the Chinaman still on the

back of it, trying to take a nap. We passed and repassed the vehicle, and

he was always in the act of _trying_ to sleep in some different attitude,

but apparently never succeeding—the only Chinaman I have ever met who

failed to sleep in any attitude whatever!

These plains are very fertile, and as soon as spring comes there is

a steady stream of workers to be seen arriving from China proper,

especially from the province of Shantung, to which they return when the

harvest is ended. Many come to accumulate enough money during eight or

nine years to buy land and bring their families up to live here. In fact

we met some emigrants already arriving with all their scanty possessions.

The Chinese Government is now waking up to the importance of colonisation

on the borders of the empire, in order to check the sure and steady

pressure of the Russians from without.

As we approached Hulan we came to another river to be crossed, but not

nearly so large a one as the Sungari. Few foreigners come to such an

out-of-the-way corner of the empire, so people came hurrying out to see

us, calling to one another, “Come and see the shaggy women!” “These

shaggy women are tip-top!” The expression “shaggy” seems to have been

first applied to the Russians, who wear their hair somewhat loose

and long, but it is now the common designation for foreigners of all

nationalities.

We travelled slowly, though occasionally our little ponies would break

into a trot; then the driver would leap into the air, fold his legs

beneath him and alight seated cross-legged on the cart, with a solid

thud, like some gigantic frog. Hulan is quite a Chinese town, and indeed

Manchuria is rapidly becoming populated with the Chinese, for whom its

fertile plains offer an excellent home. The old Manchu towns are in

a decadent condition, and can only hope for a fresh lease of life by

new blood being introduced from the south. No wonder the Japanese cast

covetous eyes on the land where crops produce an increase of 100 per

cent. The crops are mainly wheat and beans, both of which are being

largely exported to Britain. Great quantities of oil are obtained from

the beans, and the refuse is made into large flat cakes, nearly as big as

cart wheels, which form excellent fuel. The price of beans in the north

is three times as great as it was a year ago, and the people in Manchuria

are on the whole more prosperous than elsewhere in the Chinese Empire.

On Sunday morning we attended service in the Mission Hall, and received

a warm welcome from the people, to whom we were formally presented at

the conclusion of the service. The Mission is still in its infancy, but

promises well, and when the medical side is started will make more rapid

progress. The next day “the faithful of Hulan” sent us gifts of cakes,

and asked when we were leaving, that they might speed us on our way. We

left too early, however, to go and thank them in person, as we had a

four hours’ sleigh ride in order to catch the express at Kharbin, which

only goes twice a week direct to Moukden. Unfortunately we had mistaken

the day, and we doubly regretted that we had not waited to return the

courtesies shown to us.

The first section of the railway line running southwards is still in

the hands of Russia, and one’s attention is continually arrested by the

large numbers of soldiers who are kept all along the line to guard it.

Kwan-cheng-tze is the terminus of the Russian line: it is not quite

half-way from Kharbin to Moukden. The Japanese call their station at

Kwan-cheng-tze Changchun, which is rather puzzling to the traveller who

is unaware that the place boasts two names. All passengers have to change

trains here.

We had a leisurely journey across the plains, and arrived at

Kwan-cheng-tze about 8.30, our halting-place for the night. It boasts a

brand new Japanese hotel just opposite the station, which was radiantly

clean and fresh, such a contrast to the Russian one at Kharbin. There

was no lack of attention, for the Chinese boys flew to do our bidding,

and fetched us tea unbidden. In the morning we started at 8.30 on the

Japanese section of the line. The cars are long open corridor ones,

and kept admirably clean, but one misses the privacy so dear to the

Englishman. All day long we slowly wended our way southward, stopping

at many stations of a mushroom growth: it requires no imagination to

fancy yourself back in Europe as far as the houses are concerned, but

the people are quite out of keeping with them. The train had a sonorous

bell attached to the engine, absolutely like that of a church, which

heralded our approach to the stations. At almost every station there is

a little house where hot water is to be obtained; the moment the train

stops out dash numbers of Chinese, carrying their teapots, which they get

replenished. We had no need to bestir ourselves, as the conductor was

most attentive and kept us well supplied. The trains always have Japanese

military officials on board, who usually go only short stages, being

replaced by others whenever they get out. The trains are very crowded,

and in the third class they are packed like monkeys in cages: some of the

carriages have three shelves one above the other, on which the passengers

lie, and as they are lighted at the top by a single dim candle, at night

the top man certainly has the best of it.

At 6 P.M. we steamed into Moukden punctual to the minute, and found a

deafening crowd ready to lay hold of the passengers. We were greeted by

a man possessing a few words of English, and able to understand where we

wanted to go, so we were glad to entrust ourselves to his care. He even

satisfied any curiosity we might have had as to the personal appearance

of our host, whose main feature, judging from the description, was a

huge moustache. The drive was thrilling, and the five miles were none

too long; it was the New Year festival, and all sorts of things were to

be seen in the thronged streets. Brilliant moonlight illuminated the

city from above, and lanterns and fireworks lit it up intermittently

from within. A short drive brought us near a thoroughly Burmese dagoba

of old times, and then through a horrible iron archway of the worst type

of modern times. Farther on we passed through the gloomy gateway in the

big city wall, and found an almost impenetrable throng of sightseers.

Our driver had no longer a chance of pointing out interesting buildings,

and giving us details of his faith, &c., with which he had varied the

earlier part of the drive, for he was obliged to keep up a monotonous

shout of “hech! hech! hech!” only varied by what sounded like “hurry on,

hurry on!” a much needed injunction to his steed. After about an hour’s

drive we reached the group of Mission buildings, hospitals, schools, and

dwelling-houses situated on the river bank, which is radiant with lotus

blossom in the summer-time. But I must not begin describing the charms

of Moukden at the end of a chapter: it demands one to itself. As the

relation of Manchuria to China is but little known, it may be of interest

to the reader to have the brief account which forms the beginning of the

next chapter, but after this warning it is easy for those who are not

interested to skip the next four pages.

CHAPTER II

Moukden

The story of the rise of the Manchu dynasty is like a romance, and no

parallel to it is to be found in the pages of history. In the middle

of the sixteenth century there was no Manchu Empire, and the Manchus

themselves were wild, uncultured barbarians without any written language,

living in caves which they hollowed in the earth, and engaged in constant

warfare with other tribes living like themselves in the northern part of

that country which we call Manchuria, the central and southern part being

inhabited by the Chinese. In the year 1559 Noorhachu was born, with the

prospect of becoming ruler over six little hamlets; by the year 1616 he

had conquered all the adjacent tribes and founded the Manchu kingdom,

receiving from the “great Ministers” the title of Ying Ming—“brave and

illustrious.” Noorhachu’s military conquests and singular political

sagacity alarmed the Chinese, whose frequent attacks and whose murder of

his father and grandfather had roused his deep-seated enmity. He prepared

an army of picked men, and drew up a paper of “seven hates,” addressed

to the Emperor of China. Instead of despatching it to the Emperor, he

addressed it to Heaven, burning the document with full sacrificial rites,

after which he started his campaign (1617) by attacking the Chinese in

the territory east of Moukden. In the midst of this campaign he was

recalled to his capital, Hingking, by the news that a Chinese army of

200,000 men was approaching. On reaching Moukden this force divided into

four armies of equal size: they were all in turn defeated by the smaller

forces of Noorhachu within the space of five days, the number of killed

being computed at 45,000. After one month’s rest he led his victorious

troops to the conquest of Moukden and Liao Yang, and at the latter place

he built a palace for himself and made it the seat of government.

Noorhachu, or as he was afterwards styled, Taidsoo = the Great Ancestor,

was far-sighted enough to recognise that his only means of holding the

large territory which he had won was by wise and good administration,

and in this he was successful. In 1625 he retired to Moukden and made it

his capital; in the following year he died there, after an unsuccessful

campaign against the Chinese. They were led by a determined general who

brought (for the first time) “terrific western cannon” against him, which

had been cast by Jesuit missionaries.

[Illustration: FOO LING TOMB, MOUKDEN]

Noorhachu was buried in the Foo Ling tomb, east of Moukden, a fitting

resting-place for the great founder of the Manchu dynasty. It was during

his son’s reign that the Manchu dynasty was firmly placed upon the

throne of China in the person of Noorhachu’s grandson, a boy of five

years old (1644). His father had been summoned by the Chinese to aid them

against several hordes of rebels who had devastated the empire, and he

sent a powerful army led by his brother. The Manchus, after defeating

the rebel army, marched on Peking, where Li Dsuchung, the most noted

rebel leader, had entrenched himself, and where the last of the Ming

Emperors had in consequence committed suicide. Li Dsuchung had indeed

proclaimed himself Emperor in his stead, but after a reign of one day

he fled from the city at the approach of the Manchus, was pursued by

them, and severely defeated. The Manchu general at once sent for his

nephew—the ninth son of the reigning monarch, a child of five years

old—and placed him upon the throne, himself acting as Regent. The new

Emperor received the title of Ta-tsing, or “Great Pure”—the name of the

present dynasty. The Regent was an able ruler, and soon succeeded in

dispersing the rebels and restoring order throughout the empire. At the

end of six months comparative peace had been established, and the Regent

issued a proclamation that all who submitted to the new rule would enjoy

the same rank, position, and emoluments, as they had done under the Ming

dynasty.[2] He ordered sacrifices to be offered at the Ming tombs, and

that a tomb should be erected for the last of them, where sacrifices

should also be offered. He postponed the enforcement of the humiliating

law requiring change of dress, the shaving of the head, and wearing of

the queue and Manchu cap, and he promised those who complained of the

neglect of etiquette and music among officials, that proper attention

should be given to this matter as soon as war was at an end. It is an

interesting fact that the Manchus should afterwards have so completely

succeeded in imposing their dress on the Chinaman, the wearing of the

queue becoming universal; but equally interesting is it to observe that

the women never could be made to adopt it. The Manchu woman’s dress

is to this day quite different from the Chinese, from its wonderful

wing-like head-dress down to its large shoes. The Chinese woman refused

to unbind her feet, and was in consequence never admitted within the

precincts of the palace at Peking. In fact it may be stated that whereas

it is impossible to distinguish between a Chinaman and a Manchu, there

is no part of a Chinese woman’s dress which is quite the same as a

Manchu’s. The latter have different styles of arranging their hair from

the spreadeagle style, so commonly seen in Peking, to the curious one

shown in the sketch (see next chapter), and also wear different kinds of

shoes—some with a heel attached to the centre of the sole, others with a

flat white sole some two inches thick.

The foregoing historical details are mainly drawn from Dr. Ross’s book,

“The Manchus, or the Reigning Dynasty of China.” The uniqueness of the

story lies in the fact that when the Manchus conquered China they were

merely a horde of savages attacking a highly educated people, infinitely

their superiors in number and resources. They not only conquered them,

but for centuries they imposed their yoke upon them, always hated, yet

always obeyed. As the centuries elapsed the Manchus grew weaker in their

own country, and never fused with the conquered race. In China proper

they still live apart; walled Manchu cities may be found within many

walled Chinese cities; and it is only last year that the stringent rule

forbidding Manchu women to marry Chinese husbands has been rescinded.

It needs no explanation to see why the opposite rule held with regard

to Manchu men marrying Chinese wives, who, _ipso facto_, lost their

nationality.

I have tried to show in the foregoing pages how the Manchus won their

position in China, and also how the southern part of Manchuria, including

Moukden, was originally Chinese. Those who wish to wrest it from China

are seeking to take an integral part of the empire. No one who visits

Moukden can fail to see that it is a thoroughly Chinese city, with its

magnificent walls and gateways, and the big drum tower and bell, like

the one at Peking. Alas for the modern utilitarian spirit! Already they

are beginning to pull down the fine old gateways, and to replace the

inimitable shop fronts with shabby imitations of European ones.

It was cold weather when we walked through those fascinating streets,

and in the fish shops we saw quantities of frozen as well as dried

comestibles. Game was plentiful and cheap, and the frozen deer had quite

a life-like appearance, standing waiting for a customer. In one street

nothing but boots was being sold, and the fact was evident from afar, for

outside the shops were hung gaily painted effigies of boots, some two

feet in length. Above some shops were dragons, over others tigers, or the

phœnix, or lotus blossoms all painted in every colour of the rainbow, and

hanging from them signboards bearing the name of the shopkeepers. The

cash shops have almost a screen of strings of gigantic cash dependent

from the eaves. The curio shops still contain things to charm the soul

of the artist, though every day sees their treasures diminishing, to

be replaced by modern imitations. The glorious jade that used to be

obtainable is scarcely to be found, and the bronzes have mostly been

carried off to the West; still one hopes for the best, and carries off

a few things, which if not so old as they boast to be, have at least an

air of antiquity and some noble suggestion of the glory of the art of the

Ming dynasty.

Our first expedition at Moukden was naturally to the Foo Ling tombs to

see where the great founder of the Manchu dynasty lies buried. It is

disappointing to be unable to gain information as to the date of the

tomb, but no doubt the Manchus adopted the architecture and arts of China

at an early stage of their conquest.

It was by no means a promising morning when we set out, but our time was

limited, and we had persuaded the doctor to take an unwonted holiday from

his strenuous labours, so delay was impossible. Where no guide-books

are obtainable, it is doubly valuable to have kind friends willing to

place their knowledge at your disposal, and doctors are skilful at

smoothing other things as well as pillows; in fact I can give no better

advice to travellers than to try and secure the help of the medical

missionary—the busier the better—as a guide to all that is best worth

seeing in the foreign field. Dr. Young had kindly procured for us the

requisite permit to visit the tombs, which can only be obtained through

the British Consul. We set out in a weird glass chariot, quite suggestive

of Cinderella’s coach; it had windows the whole way round, and was lined

with mouse-coloured plush, not to mention a fine mirror opposite to us.

We had a retainer standing on a step behind, who spent all his time

jumping on and off, as he required to lead the horse round every corner

and over every obstacle in the road. Passing outside the city we saw an

endless stretch of graves beyond graves; then we came to a beautiful

park-like place where lilies of the valley grow thickly in the spring—but

alas! people are digging them up so ruthlessly, that it is to be feared

there will soon be none left. The trees seemed to grow finer and finer as

we neared the tombs. The wall surrounding them has been damaged by its

occupation during the war, when the Japanese troops took possession and

were attacked by the Russians: the wall is riddled by bullets, but it is

astonishing how comparatively little damage had been done. The gateway

is beautifully decorated with green tiles, and there are handsome large

green medallions set in the Venetian red wall. Inside is a fine avenue of

hoary trees leading to the main avenue, in which are some curious stone

animals; these are so familiar to us by photos and by the description

of other travellers, that it is unnecessary for me to attempt it. They

form but a detail of the fine effect which is created by the lofty

buildings among the trees, enclosed within a high wall. The colouring of

the building—mellowed by time—is superb, and as we saw it under the fast

falling snow, was most impressive.

Some difficulty attended our entrance despite the permit, but the

doctor’s tact overcame it, and once inside they were most civil to us,

and became quite interested when I began to sketch. The actual grave

of Noorhachu, or Taidsoo, the grandfather of the first Manchu Emperor

of China (Ching dynasty 1644), is a lofty mound at the far end of the

enclosure, and surrounded by a wall of its own. The entrance by which

the ruling Emperor approaches the tomb is very fine, a handsomely carved

marble pailow surrounded by trees, and as we looked at the whole group

of buildings from the top of the wall, along which there is an excellent

walk, they form a most impressive sight. The trees are full of mistletoe,

but of a different species from ours; it has either yellow or scarlet

berries, and in some trees we saw both varieties.

There are many interesting monuments in Moukden, but I venture to think

this is the finest of all. The design is copied from the Ming tombs near

Peking, and it is said that it was originally planned to carry away

the stone animals from the former in order to use them for the Moukden

tombs. This design was frustrated, however, for a descendant of the

Mings accidentally heard of it, whereupon he at once went and mutilated

all the stone beasts, knocking off the ear of one and the beard from

another, and thereby rendering them useless. While this explanation is

merely a tradition, the fact remains. The Ming tombs, forty miles north

of Peking, are designed on a much larger scale than the Moukden ones, and

cover a distance of several miles in length, as compared with acres in

the case of the latter. In my opinion this detracts considerably from the

effect, as only one detail can be properly seen at a time; first the fine

marble pailow of five gateways, then at varying distances other gateways

(very dilapidated), then a square tower containing a stone tablet on a

tortoise, then a dromos of stone animals and warriors facing one another,

with a considerable space between each couple, so that the sixteen

couples extend over a space nearly a mile in length. Between them and the

tombs is a considerably greater distance, and whereas the above-mentioned

memorials are all in a straight line, the thirteen tombs are arranged in

a fan shape at the base of the hills which enclose the end of the valley.

These Peking tombs date back to the time of the Ming dynasty, which ended

in 1644, and the Moukden tombs are considerably later. Their whole design

is taken direct from the former, and there is no attempt to introduce any

Manchu characteristics. The reason for this is obvious; the Manchus were

emerging from a state of barbarism, and possessed no architecture worthy

of the name.

After the tombs the most interesting building at Moukden is the palace,

for which also an order has to be obtained through the Consul. We visited

it twice.

This palace is thoroughly Chinese in appearance (I failed to ascertain

its date, but it is at least some centuries old), with its gorgeous

golden roofs and Venetian red walls. The façades are decorated with

coloured tiles of great beauty and infinite variety of detail: they

challenge comparison with some of the majolica most highly prized in

Europe. Under the wide eaves there are finely carved dragons, stretching

their sinuous length from end to end. The buildings are ranged court

beyond court, with a fine staircase leading to the innermost one at

the back. But the main object of the visitor is to see the priceless

treasures locked up in its rooms, for they contain the most valuable

possessions of the Chinese throne. Unfortunately, when admittance

has been obtained, it is not easy to see the treasures, for they are

carefully wrapped up in cases, or stacked in hopeless confusion in

cupboards, and are taken out one by one and laid on a table for the

visitor to see them, and then put away again. First we were shown

imperial robes, studded with pearls and jewels, then jade-mounted swords.

Jade is considered by the Chinese to be the most precious of all stones,

and it is one of the hardest to cut. “It was first brought to England

from Spanish America by Sir Walter Raleigh,” says Bushnell (“Chinese

Art,” p. 134), and he derived the word “jade” from the Spanish _piedra

de hijade_—“stone of the loins.” Vessels of jade are always used in

the Chinese Imperial ritual worship, and must be of various colours,

according to the particular ceremonial in which they are employed.

After showing us these things the officials began to lose their

distrust, and invited us to come inside the enclosure and peer into the

dark cupboards, whence we picked out things that looked particularly

attractive, but found that the waning light prevented our doing justice

to the opportunity.

It was on our second visit that we were shown the much more valuable

collection of bronzes and porcelain, the door to which could only

be unlocked after prolonged effort, and in the presence of special

officials. Other visitors besides ourselves were anxious to enter, but

a special permit was required, and they were sent away disappointed.

The porcelain was piled in endless heaps in glass cases, which

probably remained unopened for decades, and there was no attempt at

classification. The beauty of colour and design could be but imperfectly

realised, as sets of bowls or dishes were all piled in one another, so

as to occupy the least possible space, and there was but little variety

in proportion to the large quantity of china displayed. A visit to the

British Museum gives a much better conception of this form of Chinese

art. It was much the same case with the bronzes, and it was even more

difficult to see them than the china. There was one fine example of the

“gold splash,” which is so well represented at the South Kensington

Museum in Mr. Behren’s collection. To my great disappointment there

was little variety of design. It is to be hoped that the Chinese may

be sufficiently imbued by the modern spirit to make them copy (to a

certain extent) the arrangement of our museums, so that the art treasures

contained in the palace may be more accessible to visitors. Outside the

palace were the curious fences known as “deer’s horns,” which are also to

be seen at the great tombs and outside official buildings. They are long

pieces of wood set at right angles to one another as closely as possible,

and running through a long heavy beam. The lower ends of the cross pieces

are heavy, and are set into the ground, the upper ones taper to a point:

altogether the “deer’s horns” form a strong, though simple, barrier. They

are usually painted red.

After seeing the palace we visited the fine church, built by the native

Christians after the destruction of the former one by the Boxers in

1800. It seats several hundred people, and has a native pastor. It

may interest readers to know that among the State papers found during

the Russian occupation of Moukden was a description of the destruction

of the property of the Christians. This was written in Manchu, which

is quite different from Chinese writing, and bound in imperial yellow

silk, enclosed in a yellow silk box and sent to Peking. There it was

countersigned by the late Emperor and late Dowager Empress, and sent back

to Moukden to be placed in the State archives. Could any more conclusive

proof be found that the Boxer outrages were sanctioned by the Court at

Peking? We were privileged to see this interesting historical document.

At the time of the Boxers all the missionaries in Manchuria were obliged

to flee, some without time to take even necessary clothing with them.

One of the most popular doctors learnt afterwards that the robbers in a

certain village had planned to carry him off in order to save him from

the Boxers! It is impossible to overestimate the influence of the medical

missionary, and no mission field has been more favoured in this respect

than Manchuria. The medical mission work was started at Moukden in 1882

by Dr. Christie, who has steadily built up the work there, and whose new

hospital is the model for what such institutions should be. Despite the

prejudices of the people, the work has steadily grown. The renown of the

foreign doctor has spread for hundreds of miles, and the message which is

nearest to his heart has been carried into remote villages in the Long

White Mountains by patients who return from the hospital not only cured,

but also imbued with the missionary spirit which has brought a new life

to them. The respect which is felt for this work is shown in no way more

clearly than in the fact that when the hospital was obliged to be left

for ten months during the war between China and Japan, the buildings with

their contents were left absolutely unharmed.

Not so fortunate, however, was the hospital during the Boxer time, for

all the buildings were destroyed by fire, and when they might have been

rebuilt, another desolating war swept over the country. The missionaries

had returned and had their hands more than full, for Moukden was the

refuge to which crowds of destitute Chinese were driven. No less than

seventeen refuges, containing some 10,000 people, were under the care of

the missionaries, for the officials thankfully recognised their efforts

and cooperated with them, doing similar work themselves. There were as

many as four hospitals being carried on at the same time, for not only

were there numbers of wounded, but epidemics of smallpox and fever spread

among the refugees.

When at last the time came for building the new hospital, the money

granted as an indemnity for the destruction of the former ones by the

Boxers was wholly inadequate, for the price of everything was more than

quadrupled. The Chinese were not slow to show their sense of indebtedness

for the unstinted labours on their behalf, and the new buildings, owing

to their generosity, were built on a larger scale than before. The

Japanese, too, came forward with most generous aid, in return for the

work that had been done for their wounded during the war. Marshal Oyama

sent a donation of about £100 for the Red Cross work, and ordered all the

wood required for the buildings to be sent up by rail, free of charge,

from Newchwang. This was of the greatest importance, as there was no

seasoned wood to be obtained in Moukden, and it meant a saving of several

hundred pounds. The Viceroy sent a gift of over £600, to which he added

another £150 when he opened the new hospital. Another friend carted all

the bricks and tiles; a director of the Chinese railway ordered all the

requisite Portland cement and floor tiles to be brought up free of charge

from Tang Shan to Hsin Muntun, and others helped in various ways. No

wonder the hospital is such a splendid success, when it has such workers

and such friends! It has several wings radiating out from a long central

corridor, with a fine operating theatre at the end. There is an X-ray

apparatus and other special furnishings.[3] There are outbuildings for

students, &c., a laboratory and class-rooms, besides the preaching hall,

where service goes on daily.

But what, it may be asked, is the staff for this large work? The

surprising answer is _one_ man; only last year has a second been

appointed, to give a part of his time to assisting Dr. Christie. He has,

of course, trained Chinese assistants to help him in the work, and very

efficient some of them are, and two Chinese hospital evangelists, who

follow up the cases, but the bulk of the work falls on himself. What

would our doctors at home think of having to perform ten operations in a

day, after handing over nine minor ones to the assistants? But that was

the case the day we visited the hospital. It accommodates 110 patients,

and the beds do not lack occupants. The attendance of out-patients is

frequently 200 or 300 per morning, so that the attendance for the year is

very large, last year numbering over 26,000. After the recent visit of

the Naval Commission returning from Europe, a request came for medical

aid for 200 men with badly frost-bitten ears, as the soldiers are not

allowed to wear ear-muffs when on parade. It is not etiquette to wear

ear-muffs or spectacles when speaking to any one, and the curious custom

is now coming into fashion of touching the glasses instead of removing

them. The hospital is a free one, but poor as are many of the patients,

few of the in-patients leave without giving an offering, and many

out-patients do the same. Some of the beds are supported from home, and

it only requires £5 per annum to support one.

It will be seen from these figures how requisite it is to have a larger

staff, and to undertake (what is now being planned) a training college

for the Chinese. The late Viceroy promised a yearly sum of about £420 for

this purpose, but as he has been replaced by an anti-foreign Viceroy,

it was feared that his promise would not be ratified by his successor.

Despite the further fact that the new buildings are not yet begun,

when the matter was placed before him he promised to consider it, and

shortly afterwards sent word that the sum had been duly placed in the

bank to the credit of the mission. The college will be a union one of

the Irish Presbyterians and the United Free Church of Scotland, and may

draw students also from the Danish Lutheran stations, the only other

missionary society working in Manchuria. As there are now some 40,000

Christians there will be no difficulty in finding students, though it

will not be entirely confined to Christians.

The course will be a thorough one, extending over five years after the

preliminary examination, and diplomas will be given. The estimated

cost of the new buildings and equipment is £2500, and two houses for

professors £1500. An excellent site has already been obtained through the

generosity of the Chinese, which is close to the hospital.

I have described at some length the medical mission here, and yet have

done scant justice to it; of the women’s work a word must also be said.

There are two fully qualified women doctors, and their hospital, with

accommodation for seventy patients, is so crowded, that a new wing is

now being added. They do a large amount of work in the people’s homes,

as many of the ladies are not to be reached otherwise, also they do work

as far as time allows in the district round Moukden. When it is known

that the doctor is coming, patients crowd to see her; and one realises a

little the magnitude of the work when one chances to see the missionary

come back utterly worn out by a two days’ visitation, having interviewed

over 900 patients in that short space of time.

Women’s work in Moukden is not merely medical, but also educational.

Besides the training of Bible women there is an excellent girls’ boarding

school, for which new buildings (badly needed) are in course of erection.

Great excitement was caused in the little community by the girls being

taken, for the first time in their lives, to see an exhibition. It is

rather disappointing to the traveller who thinks he is going to the

genuine Far East to find it invaded by industrial exhibitions and school

excursions, but alas, such is the prosaic fact.

We devoted a day to visiting the imperial tombs on the north of the city,

and although it was the end of March, we suffered intensely from the

cold, and had not the advantage of going in a glass coach as we did on

the occasion of visiting the eastern tombs. The road was too rough, and

even the solid droshky built in Odessa, and drawn by two sturdy beasts,

was severely tested by the frightful ruts into which we were frequently

plunged. The Russian driver was a capital, good-tempered fellow, and

never hesitated to drive through a quagmire or up a bank into a ploughed

field when necessity compelled. After three hours’ driving we approached

a fine bluff crowned with pine-trees, among which gleamed the golden

roofs of the tombs, so we knew that our destination was at hand.

[Illustration: IMPERIAL TOMB, MOUKDEN]

“Deer’s horns” palisades enclosed the wood at the base of the cliff, and

we turned up a gully to the left of it. The road soon became very steep,

and we left the carriage to climb up on foot. The view of the entrance

gate among the trees as seen in the accompanying sketch, was peculiarly

striking after the long drive over the dun-coloured plain, for as yet

there was no sign of spring. Passing through the gateway we soon came

to the lofty façade of the main enclosure, and a surly old guardian of

the place came to challenge our entry. We produced the permit, which

we had obtained through the Consul, and were kept a long time waiting

before we were allowed to enter, but there was plenty to interest us in

the scene. It was a sort of square, with the dwellings of the officials

on either side, and at the lower end a small temple facing the plain

below, down to which were long flights of steps, and then a steep paved

incline the same width as the steps and with balustrades at the sides.

Lofty pine-trees surrounded the place, and scattered amongst them at the

bottom were stone animals and figures. At a short distance from the steps

was the State entrance gateway, but that was closed. One could imagine

how fine the effect would be to see a gorgeous royal procession enter

the gateway from the plain, cross the short level space under the avenue

of pine-trees, and mount the long ascent to the towering, golden-roofed

temples behind which the imperial tomb stands. The colouring in the

brilliant sunlight looked very rich as it gleamed among the dark

pine-trees.

Before leaving, we asked the man who had showed us round if we could have

some hot water for tea, but he said there was none, so we took our things

outside, and sat down to sketch and lunch. At first I could not think

what was the matter, for the paint seemed thoroughly intractable; then

it suddenly dawned on me that no sooner was a wet wash laid on the paper

than it froze. Yet this was the last week of March, and midday, with

the sun shining full on us. Sketching generally seems to be done under

difficulties, and this trip more so than ever. It will be understood

how doubly welcome was the sight of our guide returning to say that he

had got hot water for us, and he took away our teapot and filled it,

for all Chinese understand the right making of tea. As we were drinking

it shortly afterwards, a pitiable figure came creeping up the hill,

evidently suffering acutely from asthma. When we offered him a cup of hot

tea a look of intense gratitude shone in his eyes, and when he had drunk

it, still speechless, he drew himself up and made a European military

salute, then passed slowly on to the gateway.

As we returned to the city we agreed that no one should fail to visit

the tombs who comes to Moukden. It is of course tiresome to have to get

permits, and takes a little time, but there is nothing within the city

that is half so picturesque as these two groups of tombs, to each of

which a whole day should be devoted. Some inscriptions at the Foo Ling

tomb, we were told, are quite unique, but the heavy snow when we were

there prevented our doing justice to the fine details of architecture.

There is an unpromising-looking hotel at Moukden called the Astor House,

but Americans who stayed there assured us it was quite comfortable, and

every one passing through Moukden ought certainly to stop and see it,

especially in view of its being so rapidly modernised. The old temples

seem to be in a state of utter disrepair, and the most interesting one,

the Fox Temple, will soon cease to exist. The worship of the fox is

very common in Manchuria, and is especially incumbent upon officials,

all Mandarins being supposed to do it, as the fox is the keeper of

the seals of office. Doolittle, in his “Social Life of the Chinese,”

says: “There is in connection with some of the principal civil yamens

a small two-storied building devoted to the worship of his Majesty,

Master Reynard. There is no image or picture of a fox to be worshipped,

but simply an imaginary fox somewhere. Incense, candles, and wine are

placed upon a table in the room of the second storey of this building,

and before this table the Mandarin kneels down and bows his head in the

customary manner, as an act of reverence to Reynard, the keeper of his

seals of office. This sacrifice, it is affirmed, is never performed by

deputy. The Chinese believe the official seal of the Mandarin, after he

has arrived at his yamen, to be in the keeping of the fox. They assert

with great earnestness, and apparent sincerity, that if the Mandarin did

not worship the fox on his arrival at his residence, his seal of office

would shortly disappear in some inexplicable way, or some singular and

strange calamity would certainly befall him or his yamen.”

We visited the Temple of Hell, where all sorts of horrible penalties are

vividly depicted in stucco, and these are more terrible as indicating

what Chinese punishments have been, than in suggesting what may be

expected in the future world. The temples seem to be little frequented

by the people, and it is only on certain occasions that the people flock

to them. The ancestral tablets in his own home have the main part of a

Chinaman’s devotions.

On our second visit to Moukden we had rather a rickety droshky, and were

amused to see the way the driver arranged the luggage. The Chinese never

make any difficulty about the quantity, for fear by so doing of losing

a fare. The man therefore entirely filled his footboard with luggage,

and seated himself on it with a large bag of bedding on his lap. We had

not gone far when a wheel rolled off into the gutter, and we waited some

time for it to be put on again, the luggage meanwhile being deposited

in the road. The job was not satisfactorily managed, for we had to go

very, very slowly, and have the wheel continually hammered on. It began

to rain, and in order to put up the hood most of the luggage had to be

piled on the top of ourselves, and we found it, to say the least, both

hot and heavy. At last our driver gave up in despair, and by means of

signs made us understand that he would go and fetch another vehicle. When

he returned with a cart the transfer was soon made, and our driver with

great secrecy explained that he had bargained with the carter to take

us to our destination for a certain sum. The difficulty then arose as

to how we were to pay him, for we only possessed Japanese and Pekingese

money, which he eyed with distrust, and declined to accept. We gave him,

however, a rather liberal fare, and pointed to him to take it to a big

shop, opposite which we were standing. There he was reassured as to its

value, and came back smiling; he thrust his head into the cart with a

final rejoinder to us only to pay the right fare to the carter, evidently

feeling that we were liable to spend our money too lavishly.

CHAPTER III

Hsin Muntun

From Moukden we made a flying visit to Peking and into Shansi, but as

that does not come within the scope of this book, I shall take up my

narrative from the point where we re-entered Manchuria on our return by

the South Manchurian Railway. We were astonished to see the hundreds of

emigrants going north: every train was packed with them. There was an

accident on the line, a young lad of twenty having his leg badly crushed

by the train preceding ours. First aid was rendered by the officials, who

are trained to give it, and by means of a chunk of coal and some cord

the bleeding was stopped, the ligature being so tight as completely to

stop the circulation. The lad was put on a big sort of door and placed in

the luggage van of our train, and the conductor came round as soon as we

had started again to see if a doctor was aboard to give further aid. Our

party provided one, and there were all necessary requisites in the shape

of bandages, splints, permanganate of potash, &c., in the surgery at the

junction farther up the line, so that the patient was made as comfortable

as possible when he arrived there, and a message was telegraphed to the

medical mission at Hsin Muntun, which happened to be both his and also

our destination. On arrival the doctor and assistants were waiting, and

the young man was carried away at once to the hospital. Amputation was

necessary, but the lad would not at first agree to it; however, just as

we had finished dinner a message came to say that his friends had been

summoned, and that both they and he were willing for the operation to

take place, so no time was lost in performing it.

Next morning we visited him in the hospital, and found him looking quite

comfortable, and not at all pale even.

In the early days of the railway there were countless accidents; people

would drop things on to the line, and then creep under the train to

pick them out, or step in front of it just as it was starting. We

were surprised to find blue glass windows in many of the trains, but

the explanation of that was, that being unaccustomed to glass, people

were continually putting their heads through them as long as they were

uncoloured! Even now the trains all approach and leave the stations

extraordinarily slowly, and there is a great bell ringing in order to

warn people off the line. Of course there are no overhead or underground

passages for crossing the line, so that it makes accidents almost

inevitable. They are taken with the usual Chinese stolid imperturbability.

Hsin Muntun is an interesting little town not far distant from Moukden,

which we visited in order to see the admirable mission work carried on

there by members of the Irish Presbyterian Mission, having received a

cordial invitation from one of the staff whom we happened to meet on the

railway as we travelled south. The Irish and Scotch Presbyterians may

be said to have federated in Manchuria, and work together with hearty

goodwill. Though Hsin Muntun offered no striking characteristics, I had

the good fortune to make sketches of the women there, with their curious

head-dress, similar to that worn throughout the country.

In the women’s hospital were two widows, acting as assistants; they

donned their best garments for my benefit, and may be seen in the

accompanying sketch, saluting one another in the Manchu style. The

Manchus always wear the hair dressed over a metal framework, either as in

the sketch, or like a wide flat bow, and with both styles of head-dress

a large bunch of artificial flowers is worn, and gold ornaments in

addition. In winter a cap is worn out of doors, with fur round it, and

embroidered strings hanging down behind, not to mention ear-muffs, an

imperative necessity where the cold is so intense. We found that in the

women’s hospital they decided to have the bulk of the accommodation in

the shape of heated khangs, as in the homes of the people; these are

brick platforms, used instead of bedsteads: they are greatly preferred by

the patients. It may not be so sanitary, but the people feel much more

at home on the khang, and as physical health is not the main object of

medical mission work, it is obvious that due regard must be paid to the

likings or prejudices of the people among whom the missionary is working.

The cost of medical mission work is heavy, and we were touched by the

efforts to utilise to the utmost the money which had been sent from home

for the buildings. The funds had not been sufficient to provide for a

porch or front door, so a mat shed had been erected till the requisite

money should be forthcoming. Efficiency does not depend on these things,

but workers would be much encouraged if their supporters were more

numerous, or more generous.

[Illustration: MANCHU LADIES’ GREETING]

The men’s hospital is larger, and is complete—very simple, but thoroughly

practical, and attracting patients from all the country round. Our visit

took place at rather a slack time of year, and it was undergoing a New

Year’s cleaning, as that is the occasion when all patients, if possible,

return to their own homes. After visiting both the men’s and the women’s

hospitals we went to the girls’ school, and met with a great surprise.

Three years ago the school was not in existence, and when the children

first came, mostly from Christian homes in neighbouring villages, they

were absolutely ignorant of reading and writing. Now we saw them examined

in geography, arithmetic, algebra, singing, and drilling. There are about

fifty boarders: they are under the charge of a Chinese matron, with four

senior girls as monitors to help her. These girls were examined last

term along with the boys, who had been studying many years. The best

girl pupil obtained an average of 84 per cent. marks, coming out ahead

of the boys in arithmetic, Scripture, and algebra. She got 100 per cent.

for arithmetic, 95 for an essay, 96 for Chinese classics (memorised),

and 85 for explaining the Chinese classics. The children’s sums were as

neat and the figures as well written as one could wish to see, their maps

excellent, and they answered the questions in geography on all parts

of the world, pointing out the places on the charts on the wall. I am

forced to admit that the examination in geography was more painful to

us than to the examined, for we were required, without book or map, to

ask questions on Australasia and South America, parts of the world with

which I was sadly unfamiliar. We happened to go back into the schoolroom

after school had been dismissed, and found a child who had not been able

to point out on the map the way from Shanghai to England now receiving

a lesson on it from the monitor. The Irish master told us the girls are

“tigers” for work, and far keener than the boys, to whom education has

always been open. We went into the courtyard to watch them drill, and

here again we were struck with the success of the monitress, who had

learnt the exercises from a book, with merely an explanation from the

foreign teacher when she failed to understand it. The singing is entirely

taught on the sol-fa system, and the children have already learnt to sing

creditably simple part music. They are nearly all Chinese, but apparently

there is little appreciable difference between the intellectual ability

of Chinese and Manchus. Morning school closed with two or three short

prayers by the girls, and the repetition of the Lord’s Prayer: they

always dismiss themselves. The education is free, but the children’s food

is provided by the parents: they looked thoroughly well and happy, and

comparatively clean, and none are allowed to have bound feet. They have

a large measure of freedom, except that they are not allowed outside the

large compound. The money for the building came in a way as unexpected

as welcome. The missionary received word that an official desired him to

come to the railway station to see him on his way through Hsin Muntun,

and when they met, the official presented him with a cheque for 3000

taels in aid of the excellent educational work that he was doing. This

enabled him to start building the girls’ school, of which he had to be

not only the founder, but also the architect. In the same way the doctor

had to design his house and hospitals, and superintend the building of

them; no doubt the labour is far greater for a man without architectural

training; otherwise the buildings seem to be quite as well done as the

majority of houses, and at considerably smaller cost.

Leaving Hsin Muntun we started for Moukden, where the Chinese

stationmaster had been asked to give us assistance in changing stations,

so that we might not miss the train. He spoke a little English, and sent

a man with us to look after our luggage in one cart, while we went in

another. The road was indescribable, for a thaw had set in, and oceans

of mud added to the horrors of the way, emitting a stench which had lost

nothing by six months’ frost. We were flung to and fro in the cart, and

it seemed an endless drive. On arrival we rejoiced to see that the clock

had not yet struck, though it was just approaching the hour for the train

to start. As this was the Japanese line (the one which extends from Dalny

to Kwan Chengtze), we had to get our money changed into Japanese yen

before we could buy tickets, and were then told there was no train for

three and a half hours. As our friends had sent to the station at Hsin

Muntun to inquire, and been told that this train was running, we felt

rather provoked, but found the explanation in the fact that it only ran

three times a week, and this was not the right day. A pleasant little

fellow took us to a comfortable waiting-room, and fetched us a kettle

of hot water to make tea, but no sooner had we done this than another

official came and turned us out in order to prepare a meal for a Japanese

family, and we had to retire to a miserable little office. The Japanese

line is well managed and clean: the Chinese attendant comes round at

intervals with his feather brush, and is ready to provide you with hot

water whenever you want it, and comes to brush you down before you leave

the train. We were thankful to betake ourselves to the train as soon as

it came in, although there was still an hour before it was due to start

for Liao Yang. The journey is only thirty miles, but the ordinary trains

take nearly three hours, and one finds it rather slow and monotonous.

When one thinks, however, of the pre-railway days, when you might not

infrequently take the same length of time to do three miles, thanks to

the ocean of mud which constitutes a road as soon as the spring thaw sets

in, ten miles an hour seems wild speed.

CHAPTER IV

Liao Yang

Liao Yang was the ancient capital of the Liao Tong province of Southern

Manchuria, and it is the most beautiful of Manchurian cities, for within

the walls are orchards of plum, cherry, apricot, and pear, which look

radiantly lovely against the sombre background of the walls. Originally

it was not Manchu but Chinese, as I have pointed out on page 15. The

Manchus tried to gain possession of it, but, failing in the attempt, they

built a city for themselves on the other side of the river, which is

called the New Liao Yang. In addition to the four usual gateways into the

city—north, south, east, and west—there is one which is quite different

in appearance, called the Korean Gate, through which the Korean envoys

used to pass when bringing tribute. Through it there is a lovely view on

to the river, with low-lying hills in the distance: the sketch is looking

not out of the city, but inwards. Just within the gate is a dusty sort of

waste place at the foot of the wall, frequented by scavenger dogs, and

you may see, as we did, a wisp of straw in which a dead baby has been

wrapped and cast out, for the Chinese do not bury them, in the hopes

that the ill-luck caused by the death of the child may be averted.[4] To

this day the cart may be seen going round Peking to collect the little

corpses, just like a scavenger’s cart.

[Illustration: KOREAN GATE, LIAO YANG]

Just outside the Korean Gate we saw a cadet corps marching along in

good style, with drums beating, and creating just as much interest as a

similar one does at home. These city walls were in existence before the

Manchu dynasty came (in 1644), and yet the bricks look as new in most

parts as if they had just been built, and it is only where the Russians

made breaches in them that they are at all ruinous; we found this to

our cost when we wanted to climb down them after seeing the view. The

dust had accumulated somewhat on the outer side, so we climbed up with

comparatively little difficulty, and were well rewarded by the glorious

panorama illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. The Liao River runs

just outside the east wall, and the fields and distant hills wore the

lovely golden colour of an Egyptian scene. Just below us the ferry-boat

was conveying passengers, carts, mules, cows, donkeys, &c., from one

shore to the other, and we watched a carter first getting his cart up

the steep bank and then returning to carry his fare, an old lady, up

the bank on his back. A recalcitrant cow had to be hauled aboard by a

cord tied to its front leg and by its bridle, but most of the animals

seemed quite accustomed to the job. After watching them awhile we turned

southward to where a range of hills bounded the horizon, ending with a

peak loftier than the rest, and known by the Japanese as “Kuropatkin’s

eye.” This ridge was held by the Russians during the war, and for

six months previous to the battle of Liao Yang they were busy making

defences between the hills and the city. The trenches and barbed wire

entanglements were admirably executed, and it cost seven days of hard

fighting before the Japanese were able to enter the city. Point after

point was taken and retaken; the Russian ranks were mowed down like

standing corn, and the Japanese displayed an equal courage, so that

during those seven days the loss of the two armies was reckoned at 25,000

men left dead on the field. The Japanese general sat in a temple some

miles away from the scene of action, directing the operations, but with

the information coming steadily in from all points by telephone. He had

pushed forward, leaving no means of retreat, and by the end of the battle

he was at the end of his resources, victorious, but unable to follow

up the victory. In England few people realised the tremendous struggle

that was going on, and the magnificent prowess of the two nations. The

Russian soldier mournfully asked, “Why do we come out here to fight?” but

he fought valiantly all the same. Eighteen months ago Kitchener sent a

party of forty young officers from India to visit these battlefields,

with Japanese lecturers to instruct them daily, while they sat taking

notes on the hill-sides overlooking the plain. There was always one

Japanese soldier present, who had taken part in the action, to describe

his own personal experiences, which must have added a vivid touch to

the technical details. The Japanese travelled lightly, and, fortunately

for them, the standing crops rendered cavalry practically useless. The

principal crop is millet, which grows fifteen feet in height, and the

Russians crushed it down by means of improvised rollers drawn by horses.

In the Japanese army everything is utilised, and is as compact as

possible. A general was seen lost in study one day, and he explained that

he had found a use for the little boxes in which the rations were carried

and for the paper in them, but he could not think what to do with the

string! During a plague of rats in the north the Japanese all provided

themselves with ear-muffs, which they manufactured out of the rat skins.

One of the interesting sights at Liao Yang is the Fox Temple, which

stands on a little hill, and is reached by a fine flight of steps. The

worship of the fox is a purely indigenous form of worship in China; but

it is mixed up with the other religions, and fox shrines may be seen in

Buddhist or Taoist temples.

In the principal building was a Buddha, before which worshippers were

offering cakes and incense, and there was also a large bag of paper

money on the altar. In an adjoining shrine were three large figures of

the fox family, dressed as officials, with literary badges on the front

of their robes. The old priest came in to remove some of the offerings

for his midday meal, and on inquiry said he had often seen the fox come

in, and that it was white. In one of the side doors is a hole, just like

those to be seen for cats in old French castles, through which the fox is

supposed to enter.

As we returned from the walls we watched a man flying a wonderful

centipede kite, some sixty feet in length. The head was that of a dragon,

with wide open jaws, and a red tongue; its eyes rotated in their sockets

with a whirring sound, and it was painted gold, and pink, and blue.

The sections of the body were round discs of green and pink paper on a

light bamboo framework, with a stick about four feet long protruding on

each side, and a tuft of feathers at the ends to represent the legs of

the beast. This kite is a graceful object serpentining in the sky, and

when at a considerable height, a messenger kite was sent up to it, which

discharged a shower of crackers (?) on its arrival and then sped swiftly

down the string again, having accomplished its errand. These kites

sometimes require as many as six men to hold them, and a very strong cord

is necessary.

Passing along the street we came to an interesting medicine stall, where

four bears’ paws and some stags’ antlers were the most prominent goods.

The latter are in great request when they are in velvet, and hunters

dig pits for the deer in the eastern mountains of Manchuria. Sometimes

the hunter is robbed of his prey by the wily bear, who finds the antlers

a tasty morsel, and gnaws them off before the hunter comes round to

visit the pit. As medicine the antlers are dried and ground into powder.

Other medicines on the stall were eagles’ claws, deers’ hoofs, and dried

centipedes, about four inches long, attached to bits of bamboo. We bought

one of these, and inquired what disease it is used for; “wind in the

stomach,” was the reply.

All diseases in China seem to have their root in an evil temper, and

it is not uncommon for patients so afflicted to come for medicinal

treatment to the dispensary. The prescription of one of the lady doctors

is as follows: “Go into a room alone, take a mouthful of mixture (a

nice pleasant one), and hold it in the mouth twenty minutes before

swallowing.” This remedy has excellent effects, and may be used in

England with equal efficacy.

We were so charmed with the city of Liao Yang, that it required small

persuasion to induce us to return there a month later in order to visit

the neighbouring mountains of Chang Shan (a thousand peaks), and I

shall let the account of it follow the present chapter. It was the last

week in April, and all the fruit-trees and the elms were bursting into

blossom and leaf, as we walked from the station outside the gate to the

mission premises within it, embowered among orchards, and the scent of

lilac filling the air. The mission gardens were beginning to show signs

of the loveliness which has won them a well-deserved reputation among

travellers, and we returned like old friends to our former quarters.

Life on the mission field soon cements friendship, and medical mission

work must appeal even to the stubbornest heart. We had already visited

the two hospitals, models of practical, unostentatious usefulness, with

the excellent native staff trained by Dr. Westwater, whose name is a

household word in the land. To him was due the fact that the town was

saved from the horrors of bombardment by the Russian troops, and one

has but to walk through the streets of Liao Yang with him to see how

universal is the respect in which he is held.

There are various temples of different religions in Liao Yang, and we

visited the Temple of Hell, where are depicted all the horrors of future

punishment, than which nothing could be more ghastly than the Chinese

conception. The grotesqueness of their realistic execution in coloured

plaster fortunately took away some of the gruesomeness, and in one of

the side shrines we found the extraordinary figure of the popular deity,

called the “Ten Parts Imperfect One.” The sketch in Chapter XII. hardly

does justice to the hideousness of the figure, which represents the

main woes to which flesh is heir in China—lameness, blindness, dropsy,

harelip, boils, &c. &c., and to this deity the people come to pray in all

cases of sickness.

[Illustration: BLIND BUDDHIST NUN]

We also visited a picturesque Buddhist shrine, where an old blind nun

lives, the owner of much property, and of the orchards adjacent to the

mission property. We found her seated on the khang immediately behind the

figure of the Buddha, where she has spent many, many years in meditation.

She welcomed us with cordiality, and made us sit down beside her, while

she entered into a long and intimate conversation with our host, whom

she had not met for some years. The nun had a remarkable head, closely

shaven, of course, under her black cap, and looked more like a man than

a woman. She told us that she became blind when she was only six years

old, and now she was seventy-nine. She felt our hands with the subtle,

searching touch of the blind, and had not a little to say on them; we

much regretted our ignorance of Chinese, as our feminine curiosity to

know what she said was left ungratified. The conversation then turned

on the great problems of life, both this life and the next, but she

seemed entirely ignorant of Buddhist philosophy, and took refuge in

futile platitudes; as regards the future she said, “We die, and there is

nothing more.” It is disappointing to find how utterly ignorant they are

of anything beyond the externals of their religion. The Taoist monks, on

the contrary, boast many men of learning, and have more conception of

real religion. I understand this is also the case in other parts of the

Chinese Empire.

In contrast with the various temples nothing more charming could be found

than the simple beauty of the mission church. It is always difficult to

arrange for parts of a building to be screened off without spoiling the

effect of it as a whole; at the present time this is still considered

necessary in China, so that the men and women may be separated from one

another, also they have separate entrances. In the Liao Yang church the

difficulty was ingeniously conquered by making the transept the women’s

part, and diminishing the space of the nave where it joins the transept,

by erecting a smaller arch on either side containing a screen. The

pulpit, being in the centre, commands the whole building. This church was

designed by an architect specially sent out by the mission committee,

and it is of no small importance that such buildings should be carefully

designed to be in harmony with the architecture of the country, and not

to seem European. At the great World Missionary Conference at Edinburgh,

stress was laid by speakers from all lands on the growing desire of

native Christians to have their own national churches. To this end every

detail must be studied; not only must religion be taught them in their

own language, but the churches in which they worship must have a homelike

feeling, so that nothing may suggest to them that Christianity is a

foreign religion. When all is said and done it came from the East and

not from the West, so that its externals at least should have as little

Western colouring as possible.

CHAPTER V

A Visit to the Thousand Peaks

Next morning we made an early start for the Changsha Valley, in which is

an interesting group of monasteries, both Taoist and Buddhist. The former

do not admit women visitors, but the latter do. The carts containing

our luggage and bedding had started about 3 A.M., as we were to do the

first few miles by rail across a monotonous plain. There was only a

goods train at that early hour, 7.25, but one car is attached to it for

passengers, and in this we travelled for nearly an hour. It contains but

one small seat at each end, occupied by Japanese and guards, so the rest

of the company mainly squatted on the floor. Some had nice skin rugs or

parcels on which to sit, and looked eminently comfortable, but we had

to make the best of narrow window ledges, and were glad enough to reach

the roadside station where we got out. There was a little waiting-room

in which we sat, as the cart had not yet arrived, but thanks to the care

of a charming hospital assistant, who came to look after us from Liao

Yang, we were promptly invited into the booking-office, where several

smart Japanese officials were seated round a stove, and European chairs

were given to us. A bullfinch was piping cheerfully in a corner, and

they brought us tea to beguile the time. In about half-an-hour the carts

turned up, but our hearts sank at the thought that they had required

four hours to do considerably less than half the journey. We were soon

packed into the carts, each with our bedding and various odds and ends.

We promptly became aware that the more padding we had the better, as the

jolts of the carts grew worse as time went on. For three hours we crossed

the plain and then halted for lunch. This was our first experience of

a Manchurian inn, which certainly falls far short of Chinese inns. The

kitchen and guest-room are always combined, the khang running along each

side of the room, and the fires are at one end of it, at right angles to

the khangs. We were installed comfortably on one side of the room, and

enjoyed a discreet investigation by the other guests and villagers from

the other side of the room. Dr. Westwater’s excellent servant acted as

vigilant guardian, and made us quite break the tenth commandment before

the end of our excursion. It took nearly another two hours before we

came to the mouth of the valley, where the monasteries lay, and the dull

monotony of the plain gave way to a ravishing scene of craggy and abrupt

hills clothed with vegetation.

[Illustration: BUDDHIST MONASTERY]

The wild flowers were beginning to come out, purple anemones, white

violets, &c., but nothing like the wealth of the woods we had just left

in Korea. The monasteries were pitched aloft in inaccessible-looking

spots, terrace above terrace. When we reached the gorge where we were to

stay, it looked well-nigh impossible for the carts to make the ascent. At

the entrance gate they halted, and a group of men came forward to help

push them up over the rocks. Each cart had two mules, and they pulled

with right goodwill, so that in a few minutes of pushing, pulling, and

shouting, the carts had been rushed up through the second gateway on

to the platform where they were to be housed. Much disappointment was

shown by the monks at the non-appearance of our friend the doctor, who

was evidently a favourite here as everywhere, but heavy work at the

hospital and other reasons had prevented his accompanying us. Up and up

the rock-cut steps we climbed to the guest-room, which had been bespoken

for our use, and a more attractive spot it would have been impossible

to find. Far below the mountain torrent murmured, and wild pigeons and

kites added their notes to the music of the brook. I sat down to sketch

shortly after our arrival, and the scene was precisely the one to charm

a Chinese artist of the old school. I found myself insensibly imitating

the reproductions I possess of work done by noted artists of three

hundred years ago. A tiny bright green bird perched on a tree close by,

and soon the gong began to sound for evening worship. A few monks made

their way up the flights of steps to where a faint glimmer of light

showed from within the main temple, bowing and kneeling at intervals on

the way. Evening settled down and we repaired to our cell, thinking of

the lovely rose-coloured dawn when I would paint the scene. Alas! next

morning showed a leaden sky, and by the time we had finished breakfast

large snowflakes came floating down. The scene melted away before our

eyes, and soon the ground was white with snow, and the weather showed no

signs of clearing. The disappointment was a bitter one; our one day, our

only opportunity gone, and the long cold hours of the day without any

occupation to fill them. Fidus Achates brought us a charcoal brazier,

but it was poor comfort. After lunch, however, the clouds broke and the

snow ceased falling, so we went out to prospect. We were guided by our

servant Jim down the gorge and up another, where we came to a long flight

of steps leading up to a small Taoist temple, with beautiful wooden

carvings round the shrines, and a thoroughly picturesque little courtyard

with various plants in it, and brass ornaments brilliantly polished.

Altogether it formed a charming picture, and had all the appearance of

being carefully tended. A curious sundial and various ornamental tablets

were arranged in the court, and there were also the conventional pair of

trees on either side of the steps leading to the principal shrine. The

sun began to shine fitfully, and the snow to melt from sunny spots, so we

hastened back to sketch.

Scarcely were we settled when the gorge began to resound with periodic

whistle calls, and then we saw men in a kind of blue uniform, and each

with a scarlet blanket slung across one shoulder, beginning to ascend

the temple steps. They continued to arrive till the whole place was

swarming with them, and finally we saw our little platform invaded. It

seemed time to interfere, so my friend went back and told our servant

we could not possibly have them established in our outer room, which

was already full of their things, and strewn with orange peel; for the

time being remonstrance was effectual, but after a short evacuation they

returned and took fresh possession. I then went to the charge and told

Jim to send them away. He went instead to fetch an official in European

tourist’s dress, with field-glasses slung over his shoulder, and to my

surprise he spoke excellent English. He explained that this was a party

of one hundred students from a commercial college at New Chwang who had

come for an excursion, and were going to spend three days here. I pointed

out that these rooms had been engaged for us before we came, and that

it was impossible for us to have people filling the outer one, our only

means of exit. He asked if we should object to having a party of little

boys in it, and we said we certainly did object, and that for this night

they must sleep elsewhere. He promised to arrange it so, and all their

things were taken away, leaving us in peace and content. Alas! it was

only for an hour; then he returned to say that they had sent to try and

find accommodation in another monastery but in vain; that the carts had

arrived bringing the little boys who were _very_ tired, and he begged

they might have our outer room, promising they should be quite quiet. We

were compelled to give in, though sorely against our will, as the next

day we were starting on a long journey to Kharbin, not to mention the

fatiguing six hours’ cart journey. I must admit that the boys behaved

perfectly: they came in like mice, and were sound asleep before we knew

they had arrived: only gentle snores proclaimed their presence. In the

morning they were up and out by 5.30 in perfect silence. As we started at

6 o’clock we could only admire the excellent discipline and good manners

which they displayed, and almost regret that we had not seen more of them.

It was a lovely morning, and we were sorry to quit the peaceful valley,

the more so as we emerged into a raging dust-storm on the plain. Our

return journey was much more rapid than the previous one, and we reached

the station one and a half hours before the train started. The tiny

waiting-room was already crowded, and the atmosphere dense, for the

people have the vaguest conception of time, and are accustomed to wait

hours at the station. We had no longer our previous escort to find us

more comfortable accommodation, so we had to exercise patience. The

bookstall does not yet form part of the equipment of a Chinese railway

station; we were reduced to the study of humanity. We returned to Liao

Yang for the third and last time, and found the same kind welcome and

sense of home-coming which is familiar to all visitors at Liao Yang.

We were told that the good monks at Changsha had refused to take any

remuneration for our accommodation, but had sent word to the doctor that

it was time to think of it when he came again. Perhaps that was a gentle

hint for him to come soon, but it was a different experience from the one

we had in the Buddhist monastery that we visited in Korea.

A few hours later we took the bi-weekly express train for the north, and

reached Kharbin in about eighteen hours.

I must now take my narrative back to the time after our first visit

to Liao Yang when we returned to Moukden, as the base from which to

go to Korea. In the map at the end of the volume it will be seen that

the single line from the north to Moukden is replaced by three lines

spreading out fan shape, one to Korea, one to Dalny (both of these are

Japanese), and one to Tientsin, which is Chinese.

CHAPTER VI

Moukden to Korea

We left Moukden at 8 A.M. by the ordinary Japanese train, but the

permanent line to Antung is only completed for a short distance. In

our carriage there was a framed notice in Japanese, of which there was

apparently an abbreviated form in English below, which ran, “Hands off

the rope, please.” No rope or check-string was visible, so the order

was rather a dead letter. After travelling two and a half hours we had

to change to the light railway on which are no first-class carriages.

The accommodation was limited in every way, and the narrow benches made

us long for the “cushioned seats” which Maggie’s brothers found so

reposeful in “What every woman knows.” Despite the beauty of the scenery

the way seemed long: hour after hour passed by, while still we crept up

the mountain gorges. The Manchurian side showed little vegetation on

the crags, except some stunted pine-trees. On all the Japanese lines we

were struck with the large number of soldiers hanging about. The Chinese

Government granted permission for one soldier to every ten miles of

railway; but there are 15,000 men to 703 miles of railway, according to

Mr. Tyenaga’s reckoning in an article entitled “Manchuria’s Strategic

Railway.” They are quartered in various places. Yet Japan notified to the

Powers the withdrawal of her troops from Manchuria only a few months ago!

At midday we made a short halt, and the Japanese officers had tea served

to them, and produced their “luncheon baskets.” These consisted of three

neat little trays, a paper serviette, and chopsticks: the top tray was

filled with rice, the next with a vegetable salad, and the third with

rissoles, fish, and other savouries. Another Japanese passenger produced

from his sleeve a toothpick, knife, fruit, &c. It was a continual source

of interest to us to see what came out of that receptacle—note-book,

pencil, handkerchief, cigarettes, matches, a veritable box of tricks;

finally he selected a lump of coal from a truck attached to the rear of

the carriage, wrapped it in paper, and added it to the other treasures up

his sleeve, or perhaps it would be more correct to say down his sleeve,

for it formed a sort of pouch. He was an interesting specimen of the

indeterminate Jap, so common in Manchuria; his clothes, the first day

of the journey, were a mixture of European, Chinese, and Japanese, but

next day he appeared in a sort of European clerical black suit and white

shirt, a costume which was by no means adapted to his mode of sitting.

He took off his elastic-sided boots, climbed on to the narrow seat on

which he had previously placed a folded blanket, gathered his clothing

carefully together, and sat down cross-legged. If it had not been for

the large felt wideawake hat which rested on his ears, he would have

looked, with his folded arms, like some contemplative Buddha. Much of the

time he spent in sleep, but every now and then he woke up, and at once

set to work with feverish energy, writing rapidly in his note-book.

As we zig-zagged up the mountain the air grew colder and denser, for our

carriage was full, and every one smoked but ourselves. We managed to

light the stove with the remains of the luncheon boxes, and fortunately

there was a scuttle of coal with which to replenish it. The main drawback

was the difficulty of escaping being burnt owing to the narrow space, and

one’s dress paid with a couple of holes.

At 7.40 P.M. the train stopped for the night, and we betook ourselves

to a Japanese inn tinctured with Europeanism. It consisted of a squat

tower with ten sides, of which the centre, also ten-sided, formed the

parlour. Each of these inner walls formed a door, seven of which opened

into bedrooms. As they were all alike, no one seemed able to remember

which was his room, so we had to barricade our door if we wanted to

exclude visitors. The other guests were led off in turns to have a

bath, and returned in due course arrayed in hotel dressing-gowns and

slippers to sit before the stove and smoke. Next morning we started again

at 8 o’clock, and spent a similar day to the previous one, climbing

through mountain gorges and crossing and recrossing the same river.

The hill-sides boasted more vegetation, and the brown autumn leaves

still clung to the trees, of which a number are wild mulberry, which

grows freely in these mountains. We reached Antung soon after 6 o’clock,

and went to a Japanese inn, recommended by the proprietor of the one

where we had spent the previous night: he telegraphed to them to meet

us at the station. Antung is a considerable place, and the Japanese

town is situated quite apart from the Chinese; the railway and ferry

were near the hotel, and we started betimes for the latter, which runs

in connection with the train at Wiju on the south bank of the Yalu

River. We took our tickets, but they possessed literally no change at

the ticket-office. I was able to pay almost the correct sum, only three

farthings in excess of the full price, and the man offered to give me

the change later on. It did not seem worth while struggling through a

dirty crowd for this magnificent sum afterwards, so I did not return,

but an hour later, when we were seated in the train at Wiju, an official

solemnly presented the three farthings to me!

The river was full of ominous-looking blocks of ice, and the tug looked

sadly unequal to making its way through it: in fact it had missed

running on that account more than one day the same week, so we thought

ourselves fortunate in getting across the river at once. There is often

considerable delay, both at the time of the freezing and of the thawing

of the river, and unfortunately there is no bridge of any kind. The

permanent line will necessitate the building of a bridge, but it is not

expected to be ready within the next two years, though the Japanese

are straining every nerve to complete the line. The tug was wretchedly

small and crowded, but performed its journey valiantly, crunching

through the ice, and landing us in about a quarter of an hour on the

Korean bank of the Yalu, where a well-appointed train awaited us. Never

was a first-class carriage more welcome to weary travellers, never

was an excellently cooked lunch which was served in due course more

highly appreciated, and the attendant gave the finishing touch to our

contentment by administering a much-needed brush down before our arrival

at Pyöng Yang. Everything was a strange contrast from what we had left;

the cold colouring of Manchuria was replaced by a warm red soil, through

which the first tokens of spring green were beginning to appear. Instead

of the blue clothing to which we had been accustomed, every one here

was clad in white, both in town and country. Rice fields greet the eye

at every turn, for this is the main cereal grown. The only things that

were the same were the Japanese line and the Japanese official, no more

conspicuous here than in Manchuria, and apparently firmly rooted in both.

Korea is somewhat larger in extent than Great Britain, about 80,000

square miles in size, and the population is estimated at about twelve

to thirteen millions. Owing to the mountainous character of Korea, a

large part of it, especially in the north, is uninhabitable; in fact

some people estimate that only one quarter is occupied. No census of

the population was taken till that made by the Japanese in 1904. As

the people feared that this was preliminary to a tax, they made every

effort to prevent correct numbers being ascertained, and consequently the

returns were less than nine and a half millions. Another census is now

being taken, which, in all probability, will be much more accurate.

Korea is a country abounding in valuable products, one of the chief

of which is gold. There are also excellent anthracite coal and other

minerals, but as yet these resources have been little utilised. At the

present time no less than one hundred and eighty-four mining concessions

have been granted to British, American, German, and French companies, and

their prospects are thoroughly encouraging. Korea is the fifth largest

cotton producing country in the world, and now that it is opening up

to trade, with fresh facilities of transport by land and sea, it is

likely to make rapid progress. The people are naturally peaceful and

diligent, and under a wise rule the land ought to become an ideal one.

Christianity and education are spreading rapidly, the former being said

to have already 200,000 adherents. The written language is alphabetical,

and consists of twenty-five letters, but the literate Koreans use Chinese

characters, and all of them are expected to know that language. The

missionaries decided to use the _Un Mum_, the native script, and most

of the Christian literature is published in that form. The Protestant

Missions have been working only about twenty-five years in Korea, but the

Roman Catholics were there long ago, and the terrible persecutions they

underwent form one of the most striking chapters in Korean history. The

former have had remarkable success, and have introduced fresh methods

of missionary enterprise, which will be described in the next chapter,

as they are likely to have great influence on the future development

of missions in other countries. Nowhere have the people of a country

more thoroughly recognised their duty of handing on the gift they have

received, or of accepting their personal responsibility for evangelising

their own people.

PART II

The Face of Korea