KALGAN TO PEKING.
A hearty welcome—Yambooshan—The Great Wall of China—American
missionaries—My mule-litter—From Kalgan to Peking—Scenery
on the road—Chinese inn—First experience of a Chinese
dinner—Amusing _rencontre_—The Nankaou Pass—The Second Parallel
of the Great Wall—First impressions of Peking—The entrance to
the city.
The town of Kalgan stands at the very entrance to China proper, for one
enters it through an archway in the Great Wall itself, and it is only,
therefore, when the venerable portals are passed that one is really
in the Celestial Empire. The suburb of Yambooshan, where the Russian
postmaster and tea merchants live, is quite a little town in itself,
outside the wall. As I had a letter of credit on one of these gentlemen,
a M. Bassoff, of the firm of Kargovine and Bassoff, I went straight to
his house, in order to get some Chinese money and to exchange the brick
tea I still had left, for this ponderous currency was now of no further
use to me. It is almost unnecessary for me to state, that I was received
with the usual Russian courtesy and hospitality. M. Bassoff was away,
I was informed by his representative, a gentleman clad in white silk,
who came out to meet me; but a letter had been received announcing my
probable arrival, so a room in the house had been prepared for me. Had
I been an old friend of the family it would have been impossible to do
more for me; and it may be imagined how welcome all this was after the
hardships I had just gone through. Nor was there in my mind any pang of
regret at saying good-bye to my camel-cart which had brought me so many
weary miles, safely, it is true, but shaken to pieces almost. My one
hope was that I should never set eyes on its like again. To have a good
warm bath, to get rid of the dust with which I felt literally saturated,
was my next move, and I then sat down with my host to the best meal I
had tasted since I left Irkutsk, and washed down by a capital bottle
of Burgundy. “Roughing it” has its charms, but after all commend me to
the comforts of civilization. My friends, the Cossacks, came in shortly
after, and I learnt from them that I should be able to spend two days in
Kalgan, as the mail would not be ready to start for Peking sooner. So I
was to be in clover for the next forty-eight hours.
[Illustration: STREET SCENE, YAMBOOSHAN: SHOWING THE “GREAT WALL” ON
MOUNTAIN IN THE BACKGROUND.
[_To face p. 332._]
Yambooshan is one of the quaintest little places I was ever in. It
looks more like some little far-away village nestling under the Alps
in Northern Italy than a Chinese settlement, the high mountains which
surround it, and amongst which the houses are perched here and there,
helping to carry out the illusion. It is so completely encircled, in
fact, by the mountains, that the cold wind from the desert but rarely
reaches it, and the temperature when I was there was simply delightful.
As I smoked my cigar while strolling round the garden of the house in the
genial sunshine after lunch, I felt a sense of enjoyment and physical
repose such as can only be experienced after a long spell of discomfort
has been endured. It was almost sufficient to compensate me for the
wearisome journey I had just finished.
During the afternoon, accompanied by a Chinaman as guide, I went for
a ride round the city. Before, however, describing Kalgan itself, I
suppose I ought to give my “impressions” of the Great Wall, this huge and
indelible record of a nation’s panic, and which is often spoken of as one
of the Seven Wonders of the World.
Although there are really two great walls, the one at Kalgan—the “First
Parallel,” as it is called—is, I believe, the only real and original one.
The other, at the top of the Nankaou Pass, which I shall have occasion to
describe later on, though in reality far and away finer, was evidently
of much later construction, and possesses real architectural beauty;
whereas the one at Kalgan looks at first sight more like an Irish stone
fence than anything else. I could hardly realize, on first being shown
it from the valley, that this almost shapeless mass of rubble, looking
not unlike some huge fossilized serpent, winding away over the tops
even of the highest mountains, had been raised as a serious defence of
the empire in bygone days. However, I took the trouble to climb up the
mountain to it, and it was only when I found how long it took to reach it
that I began to realize its size. Of course it is so dilapidated that one
can only conjecture what its original appearance was like; but although
undoubtedly big, its dimensions were, to me, very disappointing. The
base, of course, one cannot measure, as it follows the sinuosities of
the ground, and in some places, therefore, is much wider than in others.
The height also varies considerably from the same cause, but I should
think, at a rough guess, it averaged twelve feet on the inside; on the
outside it is in many places _à pic_ with the sides of the mountain. I
found I could sit astride the top, so it is not very wide. In shape the
Kalgan Wall is conical, its base being formed of huge boulders loosely
heaped together; at intervals of half a mile or so are rough towers, each
capable of containing a few soldiers.
I found Kalgan even more curious and interesting than I anticipated it
would be; in fact, I could never have imagined such a sight as met my
eyes. The streets were well-nigh impassable, not only on account of their
fearfully badly paved state, but on account of the immense amount of
traffic of all sorts. I don’t think I ever saw such a busy or novel scene
as presented itself to me on passing through the ponderous gateway,
with its huge paper lanterns swinging overhead. The principal street
was simply blocked, and I had to wait some little time before I could
advance my horse a step. My appearance attracted little or no attention,
for I was in a Russian costume, and my Cossack cap was alone sufficient
to guarantee me respect—such a wholesome dread have the Celestials of
interfering with a subject of the czar. I have not been able to get any
reliable figures as to the actual population of this frontier town, but
there seemed to be positively myriads of people about, and the first
impression was of being in some immense fair, the low-built houses, or
rather open booths, on all sides adding considerably to this appearance.
However interesting, though, the first visit to Kalgan was, the novel
impression caused by the strangeness of the surroundings soon wore off,
and then the dirt and abominations of the evil-smelling place were
apparent in all their barbarous hideousness. As a matter of fact, this
was my subsequent impression of all Chinese cities without any exception,
and I believe most travellers will agree with me.
I had learnt that there were two mission-houses in Kalgan, one English,
the other American. So I thought I would pay these gentlemen a visit,
if only to have a chat, for I had not spoken English for some months.
I therefore got my guide to take me first to the _envoyés_ of Uncle
Sam. The mission station was a large brick building, standing in its own
grounds, which were laid out as an attempt at a garden, and surrounded
by a high wall. I was received by a Mr. —— in the usual cold, distant,
narrow-minded manner which, so far as my own experiences are concerned,
seems peculiar to this particular profession; and after a few trivial
remarks about the weather and other everyday topics (for my arrival
seemed quite an ordinary occurrence to him), I was asked into the house
and introduced to Mrs. ——, and we made some further attempts at a
conversation. It was scarcely more than an attempt, however, for my visit
did not appear to gratify these worthy people over-much. After about
ten minutes of digging out syllables on my part, the gentleman left the
room, apologizing for having to get on with his work, or something of the
sort; and I took the hint, and my departure also. It is almost needless
to add they did not press me to remain or to call again. As I rode away
from this inhospitable abode I could not help mentally contrasting the
reception I had just received with the hearty welcome I had invariably
been shown throughout my travels amongst the Russians, who never can do
enough for the stranger within their gates.
A couple of days in dirty Kalgan were more than sufficient to see all
there was to see; therefore I was not at all sorry when Nicolaieff came
in the next afternoon and announced the departure of the mail for
Peking on the following morning; so I had to set to and make my further
preparations for the four days’ novel journey to the capital.
The Russian Heavy Mail is conveyed from Kalgan to Peking by donkeys
and mules, carts being almost impracticable owing to the mountainous
districts to be passed over. Travellers who do not care to ride the
whole distance have to provide themselves with what is known as a
“mule-litter.” This is not only a novel conveyance to the average
European, but owing to its subtle peculiarities affords also a continuous
vein of excitement, which is a great change after the monotony of the
bumping and shaking of a camel-cart. If the mules behave themselves and
don’t walk in step, the motion is simply delightful; but this state of
beatitude is unfortunately the exception, and the bad qualities of the
mule seem to develop themselves to an exasperating degree as soon as the
animals find themselves attached to one of these litters; and as the
occupant is completely at the mercy of the two animals carrying him, it
may be imagined what an exciting time he has of it. Before travelling
in a mule-litter I had always imagined, from what I had read, that the
mule was the most surefooted of animals, and that he was more at home,
so to speak, when passing along the very verge of a yawning precipice
or crossing the frailest of bridges than on a level track. I was not
long, however, in my litter before I was completely undeceived on this
point, for we had not proceeded many miles when down fell the leader on
a perfectly smooth road, and for a few seconds I had an uncomfortable
time of it, as it was quite an open question what would have happened
if he had started kicking, for I should not have had time to get out.
Fortunately for me, he was got on his feet pretty easily. Still,
the incident opened my eyes, and I realized long before we reached
the mountains that travelling in a mule-litter is not all “beer and
skittles.” What struck me particularly was the wonderful intelligence
of the mules, as they have no reins to guide them by, but are simply
directed occasionally by a word or two from the boy in charge, and are,
as a rule, allowed to pick their own way. I should certainly in many
cases have preferred their being led, more especially when we reached
the precipitous mountain-pass shown in my sketch; but such a procedure
would have been against all precedent, and the mules would probably have
resented any such implied doubt of their surefootedness, so used are
they to being left entirely to themselves on the most dangerous parts of
the road. Still, it was giddy work, for often on one side of the narrow
path the rocks rose precipitously as a wall, whilst on the other was a
sheer precipice, without the slightest rail to protect one. It was a
magnificent bit of scenery, but one which I felt could be appreciated
better when seen in a photograph than from the insecure position of a
mule-litter balanced on the very edge of the yawning gulf itself.
[Illustration: MY MULE-LITTER.
[_To face p. 338._]
However, to return to my departure from Kalgan. Punctually at the
appointed time our _cortége_ assembled at the postmaster’s house, and
without unnecessary delay a start was made. It makes me smile even now
to think what a grotesque procession it was. No saddles are provided
with the donkeys or mules, so the Cossacks have to make themselves as
comfortable as possible sitting astride the luggage the animals carry
pack-wise, so the effect may be imagined. It is simply astounding the
amount of weight they can carry; even the smallest donkey would jog gaily
along under a big camel-load, and a man seated on the top of that. It
took quite an hour to get through Kalgan from one side to the other, so
this will give a slight idea of the size of the place. Once past the
town, we pushed on without any halts at a good smart pace, for we had a
considerable way to go before we should reach the town of Sin Fou Fou,
our halting-place for the night.
The country we were passing through offered no particular interest, as
it differed but slightly from what I have previously described. Village
followed village so closely at times as to give the road the appearance
of passing through an immense street, whilst everywhere was the same
teaming population of blue-coated Celestials. Night was on us long
before we reached the crenelated walls of the city where we were to put
up till morning, and for miles and miles we had to skirt them till we
reached the entrance gateway.
There was something indescribably weird and uncanny in these seemingly
endless battlements, standing out in black and forbidding relief against
the starlit sky; and this gloomy impression was in no degree lessened
when we at length reached the frowning archway from which issued the
hoarse murmur of the congested barbaric life within its precincts, and
immediately after our entrance the iron-bound gates were closed with a
clattering and clanging which reminded me that the civilized world was
thus completely shut off from us till the next morning. Knowing what I
did of the uncertainty of the Chinese character, I could not help feeling
that in the event of any hostile feeling arising against the “white
devils” during the night, our chances of getting out of the place were
positively _nil_.
[Illustration: THE COURTYARD OF A CHINESE INN.]
It took some little time to reach the “inn,” for the streets were, as
usual, crowded—at times even quite blocked with traffic, and in the
uncertain flickering light of the paper lanterns presented a scene not
easily to be forgotten. At last, however, we reached our destination, and
I was able to form some idea of what a Chinese inn is like. I fancy I do
not run much chance of being contradicted by any one who has travelled
in these parts when I say that for filth and general discomfort the
average Chinese inn is probably without its equal in the world. As a rule
it consists of a dirty courtyard, surrounded by tumble-down, dilapidated
outhouses, some of which are partitioned off as “rooms,” whilst the
others are reserved for the mules and other animals. The place shown in
my sketch is a fair sample of its kind. Unfortunately one cannot produce
the smell pervading the place, without which no really accurate idea
can be formed of it, a smell which, as far as I could guess, seemed a
conglomeration of sewage, garlic, decomposed animal matter, and general
human uncleanliness all mixed up together. In my many and varied travels
I have always noticed how characteristic of the countries the different
smells were; and even now, after a lapse of many years, I feel sure I
could recognize a place I had visited long ago if its characteristic
odour were put under my nostrils. But of all the “perfumes,” the memory
of which still lingers in my olefactory organs, that of a Chinese inn
will, I feel sure, remain long after the others have vanished, for it is
the most pungent and unpleasant I ever experienced.
A description of one “room” in these inns will suffice for all, as the
difference was simply in the amount of dirt about them. The windows—if
the tissue-paper-covered apertures in the walls can be so called—usually
stretch the whole width of the room, and beyond preventing the full light
of day from coming in, were of no earthly use as a rule, for the paper
was generally hanging in shreds; so there was no privacy to be obtained.
Along one side also was the _kang_, or raised platform, covered with
matting, which serves as a sleeping-place, and under which, in winter, is
lighted a fire. A small table is placed on the kang, round which visitors
squat, tailor-fashion, to take their meals. There was seldom any other
furniture in the place.
With regard to the food in these inns, for those whose stomachs are
equal to Chinese cooking there is plenty of choice, and the stuff they
give you is plentiful and cheap at the price. I tried one meal, but the
experiment made me so ill for several days after, that I never desired
to repeat it. Till I had tasted Chinese cooking I had fondly imagined
that I had a “gem” of a digestion, and could eat almost anything. I was,
however, undeceived in North China. The mere recollection of that awful,
interminable dinner, washed down with a vile, lukewarm concoction, which
the Cossacks called “Chinese vodka,” and which had a taste like what I
imagine would be tepid methylated spirits, makes me shudder even now to
think of.
[Illustration: A “ROOM” IN A CHINESE INN.]
One look at the interior of our room decided me to sleep in my
mule-litter out in the yard, which, although it was crowded with all
sorts of vehicles and people, would be preferable to voluntarily
surrendering myself to the enemy, as I knew would be the case if I
slept on the dirty _kang_; and although my cramped bed was anything but
luxurious, owing to the fact that my legs, from the knees downwards,
protruded out into the cold night air, still, somehow I managed to sleep
as soundly as usual, and did not wake up till I was disturbed in the
early morning with the noise and bustle occasioned by the departure of
some of the many travellers who had stopped at the place over-night.
Sleep after this was impossible, so there was nothing for it but to get
out and while away the time as best I could with my sketch-book till we
were ready to start, after a makeshift sort of breakfast.
By the way, a rather amusing incident occurred one morning at one of
these inns. I was busy repacking my litter, when Nicolaieff came up and
told me, to my no little surprise, that an English gentleman and lady had
arrived during the night, and pointed out to me an individual who was
standing in a doorway close by as the _Angliski Gospodin_ in question.
This was quite an event for me, after not having seen any English people
for so long, so to go up and ascertain whether he really did hail from
the old country was naturally the impulse of the moment. His surprise at
meeting an Englishman in such an out-of-the-way place was equal to mine
at meeting him, for he had taken me for one of the Cossacks in charge
of the mail, he told me laughingly. I then learnt he was travelling
through with his wife to visit some missionary friends in North China,
and intended spending the summer there. I was then introduced to the
lady, who came out at that moment, on hearing English spoken. They both
naturally wanted to know what brought me in such outlandish parts alone,
and where I had come from (for they had not taken me for a missionary, so
they said—and I believed them!), and seemed much astonished when I told
them that I had just come from Siberia, and across the Gobi desert.
“I suppose you have not seen any of the London papers recently, then?”
said the gentleman; and, on my replying that it was many months since
I last saw one, he added that as I had just come through Siberia, it
would doubtless interest me very much to see a lot of pictures of prison
life in that country, which had been appearing for some time past in
the _Illustrated London News_; so many, in fact, that the paper seemed
to have devoted itself to Siberia, for some reason or other. It may be
imagined how this information tickled me; for it was positively the
first intimation I had got that my numerous batches of prison sketches
and manuscript had got through the Russian post-office, and reached
England safely. Without, however, giving my name or saying what I was,
I asked, as unconcernedly as I could, if he knew who they were by, as I
might, perhaps, have met the artist whilst in Siberia. “Price,” was the
name, he thought. With that I took out one of my cards, and presented, it
to him, and we had a hearty laugh at the incident.
After leaving Sin Fou Fou, the road passed through some really
magnificent mountain scenery, the wildest and grandest, I think, I have
ever seen. At times the track passed right along the very edge of awful
precipices, which made me feel quite sick to look down into, for one
false step of either of my mules would have been fatal. Yet the brutes
somehow would persist in keeping as near the edge as it was absolutely
possible to go, in spite of the endeavours of the boy to hold them back.
Knowing, from personal experience, that they were not so surefooted as
they seem to imagine they are, I felt anything but comfortable. However,
not the slightest incident of any kind occurred worth mentioning. To
the mountain passes succeeded valleys covered with rich plantations of
rice, their submerged state giving a curious and inundated appearance to
the landscape. Everywhere the industrious Celestials were hard at work
as though there was not a moment to lose. The whole scene was one of
great and incessant animation; in fact, I never saw anything to equal the
sight. The traffic along the road, which was of enormous width, seemed
simply endless, and resembled a continuous caravan of camels, donkeys,
and mules, and immense flocks of sheep, and the noise at times was
deafening.
[Illustration: A NASTY BIT OF ROAD.
[_To face p. 346._]
Many of the towns we passed through were evidently very old, and in most
cases their venerable crenelated walls showed signs of great antiquity.
One place in particular, Tchai Dar, the entrance to which was through
a sort of double archway in splendid preservation, was very fine, and
doubtless dating back very many hundreds of years. Once, however, inside
these magnificent relics, all illusion vanished; it was almost like going
behind the scenes of a theatre, for the cities were invariably squalid in
the extreme, and offered a striking and disappointing contrast to their
outer mediæval appearance.
On Friday, May 29, we reached the famous Nankaou Pass, and a little
before we reached the town of that name, the road passed under an archway
through what is generally known as the “Great Wall of China.” Some time
before reaching it, I could distinguish the mighty structure standing
out in bold relief against the sky, where in places it actually crossed
the very tops of the highest mountains. I had fully prepared myself for
something wonderful, but this marvellous work more than realized my
expectations, and fairly held me spellbound for a few minutes. One can
form some idea of the panic the Celestials must have been in when they
undertook such a gigantic barrier. The Kalgan wall, in my opinion, is not
worthy of being mentioned in the same breath even, and any one who first
saw this one, and then fancied he would find something finer at Kalgan,
would be grievously disappointed. What struck me most about it was its
wonderful state of preservation, the symmetrically hewn stones of which
it is composed showing but few signs of the ravages of time. I persuaded
Nicolaieff to halt the caravan long enough for me to make a rough sketch;
but it is too overpowering and colossal for an ordinary pencil to be able
to do justice to. How it could have ever been defended is a mystery, for
it would undoubtedly have been as difficult to hold as to attack. The
Nankaou Pass is very beautiful, and reminded me not a little of parts of
Wales or Ireland. Through the rocky gorge ran a sparkling torrent, and
the boulders on either side were clothed with the most brilliant lichen.
The town itself, where we arrived in time for our midday halt, offered
but little of particular interest, as it was very like all the others we
had passed through, except that it was market day, and the narrow streets
were, if possible, more crowded. I noticed here more women walking about
than hitherto, many of them not crippled with the hideous Chinese foot,
but wearing the more sensible Manchurian shoe.
[Illustration: THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA AT THE ENTRANCE TO NANKAOU PASS.
[_To face p. 348._]
Nankaou also impressed itself on my memory on account of the awful amount
of flies everywhere; in fact, they were positively maddening, as there
was no getting away from them. One’s food, if left exposed for only a few
seconds, became covered with what resembled a moving mass of jet. Up till
then I had been enjoying a comparative immunity from insect pests, but I
should now have to pay the penalty of having continuous warm weather and
sunshine. These flies were, however, insignificant, compared with what
I had to endure later on, when the mosquitoes and sandflies never for a
moment left me alone night or day.
We were now rapidly nearing the end of our long journey, and evidently
beginning to get in touch, so to speak, with the capital, the country
becoming if possible even more cultivated, and the stream of traffic
along the road more and more congested. I now began to get a slight
foretaste of what heat and dust in China really mean; for at times
everything within a few yards on either side was lost in a dense sort of
fog, through which the moving, perspiring masses of people appeared to be
groping their way tediously. At last on the horizon, not very far ahead,
I made out a long dark line just visible above the surrounding trees. At
the same moment Nicolaieff, who was riding close to my litter, pointed
to it, and, with a smile of satisfaction on his sunburnt face, informed
me that the walls of Peking were before us.
Our goal once in sight, the time did not seem so long in reaching it,
and in less than half an hour we were advancing in the midst of a dense
crowd, under the shadow of the massive crenelated battlements, towards
the entrance of the immense city. In comparison to its size, there are
but few entrances, and these far apart, and we had to follow the walls
quite a long way before we reached an archway, but not the entrance to
the city itself, for on the other side of the vast walls were the inner
walls enclosing the Tartar city, our destination, a wide expanse of waste
ground separating them from the outer _enceinte_. Along this dusty, stony
waste hundreds of caravans and vehicles and passengers were passing to
and fro. It was a strange scene, and rendered doubly so by the weird
hoarse murmur of the great city so close. The venerable walls seemed
almost endless, at any rate to me, for I was all impatience for the
wonders which I felt sure were coming.
At last we reached the principal entrance, a huge tunnel-like archway
through the thickness of the walls themselves. With difficulty, and
advancing but very slowly through the throng of people, we made our way
in, and I found myself in a vast open square paved with immense slabs of
stone. This square was surrounded on all four sides by the city walls,
archways through them leading to the different quarters—one to the
Chinese city; another, which was closed, to the imperial city; and in
front of me the principal entrance of all, the famous Tchien-Men gate,
leading into the Tartar city. And what an entrance! I don’t think I ever
in my life saw anything which made a more overpowering and indescribable
impression on me than did this huge archway, surmounted by its immense
donjen-like temple; it was more like a vision of ancient Babylon than
anything I had ever expected to see in the Celestial Empire. One seemed
so absolutely insignificant in comparison to this vast monument of a so
distant past, that it produced in me a feeling akin to awe as I passed
under the walls which had witnessed so many wonderful scenes and echoed
to so many hundreds of generations.
It would be almost impossible to describe the strange semi-barbaric crowd
which I saw around me. Accustomed though I was beginning to get to the
wonders of the Far East, I felt that Peking was the most wonderful of
all. It was almost like stepping back into the Middle Ages to find one’s
self in such surroundings. The wonderful impression caused by the first
view of the entrance to the Celestial city is, however, rudely dispelled
as soon as its portals are passed, for all illusion immediately vanishes.
The abominations of the northern cities are here magnified, for I don’t
think I was ever in a more hideously dirty place than Peking. In fact,
to say it is dirty is but to describe it mildly, for I can safely assert
that one does not know what dust and dirt really are unless one has been
to Peking.