Seoul to Dalny
The slowness and discomfort of the journey from Manchuria by railway to
Seoul determined us to take another route on our return, and as there was
a boat going from Chemulpo to Dalny about the time we wanted to start we
decided to take it. We booked our places in good time, paid for tickets,
and the agent promised to wire at once to Yokohama to have the berths
reserved for us. On our return to Seoul, however, after our trip across
the country, we saw that another steamer was advertised to sail the day
following the one for which we had booked. This was not only a larger
steamer, but also boasted European food, instead of Japanese, no small
matter when one is sea-sick. We at once decided to change our tickets if
possible, and went to the agent from whom they had been obtained. He said
it was impossible to make any alteration as the berths had been already
secured on the other steamer; however, after some demur, he telephoned
to the agent at Chemulpo to ascertain what answer he had received from
Yokohama. The agent declared that he had never been asked to secure any
berths, and that none had been reserved. This made the way plain for
us, and we were glad for once of the hopelessly unbusinesslike habits
prevailing in Korea. I have related this incident to show how difficult
it is to travel comfortably; for our friends said that ours was no
uncommon experience, and that various of their friends, with places
already engaged, had gone to take their boat at Chemulpo, as we should
have done, and found that all the berths were full, so that they were
obliged to return to Seoul and wait for the next. As boats only run to
Dalny once in three or four weeks this is a serious matter.
We started in the early afternoon and found a large crowd of passengers
waiting to go by the train; it duly came into the station, and the
luggage was put in the van, but the passengers were kept cooped up within
railings for fifteen minutes, actually to within five minutes of the
starting of the train. When they were at last allowed on the platform
there was a perfect stampede, and the discovery was made that there were
no first-class carriages, though we and other passengers had first-class
tickets. The officials were applied to, but they said if we wanted
first-class accommodation we could wait a couple of hours and take the
next train. We were not sorry when our short journey of one and three
quarter hours came to an end to think that it was our last experience of
Korean railways. On arrival at Chemulpo we passed through a door labelled
“wicket,” which was surely strangely unlike the wicket gate with which
we are all so familiar by name from the days of our childhood, though we
certainly felt like pilgrims.
Chemulpo is a cosmopolitan sort of place and has an unenviable
reputation, but it has certain charming features. The first is that there
is always a cool breeze; the second is that it extends up a hill-side,
and from the British Consulate, perched on the edge of the cliff,
there is a fine view over the harbour. From there a group of thrilled
spectators watched the dramatic opening of the war between Russia and
Japan. They saw the two gallant Russian warships steam out of the inner
bay to meet the Japanese fleet and certain destruction. Whatever may
be thought of the action, no one can fail to admire the unflinching
courage—so characteristic of both armies—which dictated it.
As we climbed up the hill we saw towering above us a fine red church
belonging to the Roman Catholics, and we reached the mission hospital of
the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. No one who is unacquainted
with Eastern seaports can understand the arduous character of the work
carried on by the tiny handful of workers stationed at such places; but
where could there be a greater need of that Christian demonstration which
a hospital affords? Only once a month an ordained clergyman comes down
to take the services; at other times the doctor has to conduct them, as
well as attend to all the medical work. It is difficult for him to get
an occasional holiday of even a couple of days, for at the present time
the medical work among the Koreans has not progressed far in the training
of assistants. The hospital is small and lacking many of the things
which our ordinary general practitioners would consider essential to a
hospital, but the results are nevertheless satisfactory.
As we left the doctor’s house we found that a boatman had dogged our
steps, and been waiting a couple of hours to secure possible passengers
on the way to the S.S. _Santo Maru_, for he had no doubt seen Mr. Chiao
taking our luggage from the station to the ship. We could not resist such
pertinacity, and after some half-hour’s rowing in his sampan, we reached
the outer harbour where the _Santo Maru_ lay.
Next morning at 5 A.M. punctually we started for Dalny in heavy rain,
which thickened into fog in the course of the day. The Nippon Yusen
Kaisha is at present the best Japanese line of steamers, and has ships
plying all round the world. The accommodation was quite comfortable,
and the staff, from the captain downwards, most kind and polite to the
passengers. There was an excellent Chinese _chef_ on board, and he
prepared an elaborate Sunday dinner for the thirteen passengers—composed
of Americans, Spaniards, Australians, and ourselves—such as would have
been more suitable for Christmas Day; the menu included roast beef,
turkey, and plum-pudding. Tiny birds kept haunting the ship all day long,
so tame that they alighted on people’s shoulders, and sea swallows came
darting into the saloon during dinner.
We were grateful for a smooth sea, even though the fog delayed our
passage somewhat, and we only reached Dalny twenty-five hours after
leaving Chemulpo. The rain was gone, and was followed by “clear shining”
as we drew up beside the wharf. The agent of the pleasant Yamato
hotel took charge of our things, and put us into a comfortable little
carriage with india-rubber tyres in which we drove through the town.
How delightful it is after roughing it to meet once again such simple
home comforts (too simple even to be noticed at home), and to drive over
well-made roads! Dalny, or Dairen as it is called by the Japanese, is
pre-eminently a new town, full of handsome buildings, from the Sailors’
Rest to the Yokohama Specie Bank, situated in wide, well-made roads, and
showing plain proof of the nascent prosperity of the place. The shops
are not quite up to what might be expected, but that is only a matter
of time, and well-known firms such as Butterfield and Swire, and Samuel
Macgregor & Co. are already established there. Dalny is an interesting
and remarkable place. Ten years ago it did not exist, but was merely a
dream in some Russian brain; and how that brain conceived it, it is hard
to imagine. Dalny lies at the base of the Liaotong Peninsula, a rocky,
barren spot without any shelter from the tempests; but having the great
advantage over its nearest neighbouring seaport, Newchwang, of being open
all the year round, whereas Newchwang is ice-bound four months in the
winter. _This_ is the reason why Russia was willing to pour out money
like water to convert the wilderness into a great commercial port at the
southern terminus of the railway line. The harbour alone has been an
enormous expense, for the bank is very shelving, and there are now dry
docks, moles, breakwaters, and warehouses, with a vast amount of space
available for the requisites for that commerce which Russia expected to
obtain. But it is not Russia, but Japan, who is now the owner of Dalny;
it is Japanese ships that ply between China, Korea, and Japan, not to
mention the trade with more distant countries, which is steadily growing.
As it is the only port north of Hong Kong where large steamers can
conveniently discharge their cargoes, it ought to have good prospects,
and the increasing exports from Manchuria are certain to pass through it.
Not only did Russia expend its money upon making Dalny a fine port, but
also in making it a fine city and pleasant to live in. The residential
quarter has been hewn out of the hill-side for about a couple of miles,
and handsomely laid out, while a beautiful shady drive of seven or eight
miles leads to the seashore facing the ocean.
The town is full of little carriages and rickshas, and a network of trams
takes the passenger for an hour’s drive for the lordly sum of twopence,
first class, and a penny farthing second class. As we drove in a tram
to Chinatown in order to view the outskirts, we saw the beginnings of
a park, a golf course, a baseball ground, a chrysanthemum garden, and
various other things, but more amusing were the little bazaars and shops
with their English notices—“To sell Flesh,” “Boots and Shoesmakea,” “High
Barber,” “Royal House Hair Cutting,” &c. &c. English is the one European
language which makes its way into every corner of the earth, and will
with ever-increasing rapidity tend to become the universal means of
communication. As an instance of this fact, the Chinese Government has
just issued an order that henceforth English is to be the language in
which science shall be taught throughout the Chinese Empire. This will,
I fear, be a severe blow to our German friends, who were confidently
expecting China to follow the example of Japan and take German as the
scientific medium of instruction.
We left Dalny by the evening train for Liao Yang, _en route_ for Ashiho,
which forms the subject of the next chapter.