PEKING TO ICHANG
The first part of my journey was accomplished with great rapidity,
and my description of it will not occupy long in the telling. I had
no desire to spend a longer time than was absolutely necessary in
northern China, and was glad enough to avail myself of every facility
for reaching Ichang--the port on the Yangtse where steam navigation
ceases--as soon as possible. The recent completion of the northern
section of the great trunk railway of China has rendered it possible
to travel from Peking to Hankow in four days,[2] and so makes it
unnecessary to undertake a long and somewhat dreary journey on
horseback or in springless carts over hundreds of miles of dusty plains
and impossible roads.
I left Wei-hai-wei on 6th January 1906 in the steamer _Shuntien_,
and reached the ugly and depressing little port of Chin-wang-tao on
the 8th. In the evening of the following day, after a night spent
in Tientsin, I reached the capital, and was glad to exchange the
discomfort of a monotonous railway journey for the luxury of that
excellent Peking hostelry the "Hôtel des Wagons Lits." The next four
days were spent in paying visits at the British Legation and elsewhere,
and in fighting ineffectual battles against an unusually aggressive
dust-storm. No one, except perhaps a traveller in the desert of Gobi
or over the sand-dunes of Khotan, can form any conception of the
penetrating power of Peking dust. Parched throats, husky voices,
bloodshot eyes, are the price that must be paid for the pleasure of a
walk through the streets of Peking during a dust-storm; even one's own
residence is no sanctuary, for double window-sashes and padded doors
are alike powerless to withstand the scourge. Most of the legations are
fairly well protected by their lofty park-walls, but how to keep an
ordinary Peking house or hotel free of dust is as insoluble a problem
as that which baffled Alice's Walrus and Carpenter.
[Illustration: A FLEET OF JUNKS. [_To face p. 10._]
[Sidenote: PEKING]
Peking being now one of the ordinary objectives of the modern
globe-trotter, I will not encroach upon the province of the compiler
of tourist guidebooks by attempting a description. Even the Englishman
who has never left his native soil knows something of the city
that defied all the Powers of Europe seven years ago, and paid so
bitterly for her defiance. There have, of course, been great changes
in Peking since those dark days; but away from the railway stations
and the legation quarter, with its bristling guns, its battlemented
walls and its heterogeneous army of foreign guards, there is little
to show that Peking was so recently in the grip of a victorious and
remorseless enemy. Its streets, temples, shops and palaces are very
much as they were in 1900, showing the same mixture of grandeur and
sordidness, splendour and decay. As for its people, who will venture
to say how much or how little they have changed? That they love the
people of Europe no better than they did eight years ago may be taken
for granted: I am not aware that we have done anything to win their
affections. That they have learned something of the secret of European
prowess, and have realised why our arms were resistless, even against
their Boxer champions, is no doubt true; and if this lesson does not,
for some strange reason, fill them with admiration and reverence for
Europe, it is certainly teaching them where to seek a cure for the
ills of their own country. Events are now making it clearer every day
that a true spirit of national feeling is rising among the people, and
that the best minds in China are devoting themselves to the problem
of their country's salvation. Nowhere is this state of things more
obvious than in Peking, but it is not only in the capital that the
new spirit is working strange wonders among the Chinese people. China
is, indeed, rapidly growing to be more than a mere geographical term.
The racial solidarity that is the underlying cause of her wonderful
power of passive resistance shows no signs of disintegration at the
present time, and it will form the best possible foundation for a
new national patriotism. Only ten years ago an English traveller and
politician, predicting the partition of China, explained that he used
the word "China" only for convenience, for "there is really no such
thing as 'China' at all."[3] For such a view there was some excuse at a
time when humbled China was lying wounded and helpless at the feet of
victorious Japan, but few, I fancy, will be inclined to endorse it now.
[Sidenote: CHINESE POLITICS]
The position of Peking at the present time is one of peculiar interest,
for all the different forces that are now at work to make or mar China
issue from, or converge towards, the capital. There, on the Dragon
Throne, beside, or rather above, the powerless and unhappy emperor, the
father of his people and their god, sits the astute and ever-watchful
lady whose word is law to emperor, minister, and clown alike. There
dwell the heads of the Government boards, the leaders of the Manchu
aristocracy and the great political parties, the drafters of new
constitutions and imperial decrees, and the keen-witted diplomatists
who know so well how to play against European antagonists the great
game of international chess. To Peking come the memorials of viceroys
and provincial governors; indictments and denunciations against high
officials for ultra-Conservatism or for Radicalism; bulky petitions
from visionary students who have studied Western politics, and hope
against hope that their proposed measures of reform may chance to
come under the imperial eye. And there the great Powers of the West,
reproducing in miniature the mighty armed camps of Europe, watch each
other with jealous eyes from the gates of their embattled legations.
The Lu-Han railway, by which I left the Capital on 13th January,
brought me to Hankow on the evening of the 16th. The total distance
is 1,223 kilometres, or about 759 miles. The provinces traversed by
this great trunk line are Chihli, Honan, and Hupei. The line for the
most part lies through a rich, flat country, studded with innumerable
trees, villages, and farmsteads, but presenting no features of special
interest to the ordinary traveller. The train stopped every evening,
and resumed the journey early each morning, the first stage being
completed at Shun-tê-fu, in Chihli. The second day we entered the
province of Honan and crossed the Yellow River by the great bridge
which has been the subject of so much criticism and discussion in
engineering circles in the East. The construction of this bridge--a
screw-pile structure almost two miles long--was by far the most serious
and costly work that faced the French and Belgian engineers in the
course of their labours, the chief difficulties consisting in the
enormous rise and fall in the river and the shifting sands and almost
fathomless mud of its bed. What must strike most travellers who are
devoid of any technical knowledge of engineering are the great length
of the bridge, the flimsiness of its appearance (for its massive
supports are sunk far below the bed of the river), and its narrowness.
Whether it is really fit to stand the strain of an abnormal summer
flood, and whether its piers have been sunk sufficiently deep to ensure
permanent stability, are questions which time and experience alone can
solve. It had only been opened a few weeks before I crossed it, and
since then traffic has had to be suspended more than once. Only one
train could pass over the bridge at a time, and each was taken across
by a special light engine.
[Illustration: SOUTH BANK OF YELLOW RIVER, WITH VIEW OF RAILWAY BRIDGE.
[_To face p. 14._]
[Sidenote: RAILWAY-TRAVELLING IN CHINA]
The second day's journey was completed at Chêng-chou, half an hour's
journey from the south bank of the Yellow River. Here I found a
quasi-European inn named the "Hotel Pericles," kept by an Italian
ex-railway employee. Macaroni and chianti and the genial conversation
of our host, Mr P. Mouchtouris, and two of his compatriots, afforded a
cheerful interlude in a somewhat monotonous journey.
At the close of the third day we found ourselves at a place called Chu
Ma-tien--a railway depôt only, not within sight of any large centre
of population. On the following day we passed through the mountainous
country that divides the provinces of Honan and Hupei, with scenery the
most picturesque to be found anywhere between the two railway termini.
Hankow itself, which was reached a few hours later, lies on the flat
banks of the Yangtse, at a distance of about 600 miles from Shanghai.
On the opposite bank of the great river lies the provincial capital,
Wu-ch'ang, the seat of Government of the viceroy or governor-general;
while on the same side of the river as Hankow, but separated from it by
the Han river, lies Han-Yang. These three places together form what is
practically one vast city of something like two million inhabitants: a
city so favourably situated in the heart of China that it can hardly
fail to become a commercial capital of pre-eminent importance. The
large European trading community is fully alive to this fact, and
building land is rapidly increasing in value. It is the terminus of the
ocean-going vessels, and the starting-point of the smaller cargo and
passenger-steamers bound for Ichang, about 390 miles further up the
river. Hankow also derives great advantage from its position--denoted
by its name--at the mouth of the Han, one of the Yangtse's greatest
tributaries, itself navigable for native cargo boats for no less than
1,200 miles. Finally, Hankow is at present the terminus of China's
only trunk railway, that by which I travelled from Peking, and it will
soon be similarly connected with Canton in the south. It is perhaps no
exaggeration to say that there is hardly a city in the whole world that
has a greater commercial and industrial future before it than Hankow.
[Sidenote: RAILWAYS IN CHINA]
That the railway will pay, and pay enormously--especially when the
connections with Canton and Kowloon are completed--is a matter beyond
all possibility of doubt. That it will be of real benefit to the people
of China is more to the point. It will undoubtedly enable the native
merchants and farmers to send their goods and produce to markets which
were formerly unattainable by them, and will go far towards minimising
the misery caused by local famines. There is plenty of evidence that
the Chinese are everywhere anxious and delighted to avail themselves of
the wonderful new force that has been introduced into their country:
the old days when the Shanghai-Wusung railway had to be sold by the
foreign owners to the Chinese Government, and was then deliberately
wrecked and abolished to appease the prejudices of anti-foreign
mobs,[4] have passed for ever away. The final proof--if one were
needed--that the Chinese Government has definitely surrendered its
old anti-railway policy, lies in the fact that it is itself promoting
the construction of purely Chinese lines such as that from Peking to
Kalgan; lines not only owned by Chinese capitalists, but actually
engineered and constructed by Chinese engineers and contractors.
The recent opposition of the Government to the construction of such
lines as that from Kowloon to Canton, or from the Burmese frontier
to T'êng-yüeh, lies simply in the rapidly-growing national hostility
to the monopolisation of Chinese industrial enterprises by foreign
capital, and the interference of foreign Powers--based on their
subjects' pecuniary stake in the country--in the internal affairs of
the empire. Therefore, though we hear a great deal just now about the
difficulties placed by Chinese officialdom in the way of the employment
of foreign engineers and foreign capital in railway construction
and the exploitation of mines, this must not be interpreted as a
reluctance on the part of China to have railways built or to have
the mineral wealth of the country opened up. It is merely that the
Chinese wish to build their own railways, and to work their own
mines, in order that international disputes and political dangers may
be avoided and that China may be exploited for the primary benefit
of the Chinese Government and people, rather than for the benefit of
foreign Governments and foreign capitalists. The European points out
that the Chinese, either from want of money or from lack of technical
knowledge and experience, are incapable of giving effect to these
admirable ideals, however much they might wish to do so; to which the
Chinese retort that rather than tolerate foreign interference, they
prefer to wait until these disadvantages can be obviated, even if the
country's advance in wealth and civilisation is thereby retarded. This
attitude, even if economically unsound, is quite a natural one in
the circumstances; but, unfortunately, there are a number of people
in Europe and in the Far East who seem to regard any attempt made by
China to keep or regain control of her own resources as a kind of
international crime, which must, if necessary, be punished by gun-boats
and bayonets. We resent the introduction of a Chinese element into
British Columbia, Australia, and South Africa, but we make bitter
protests against the "anti-foreign feeling in China" if the responsible
statesmen of that country refuse to silence the cry of "China for the
Chinese."
[Sidenote: CHANG CHIH-TUNG ON RAILWAYS]
The Viceroy Chang Chih-tung--one of those able statesmen who prevented
the spread of Boxerism in the Yangtse valley and so saved foreign
commercial interests there from a serious disaster--was one of the
first high officials in China to realise the benefit that would accrue
to all classes of the community from the construction of railways.
"Is there any one power," he wrote, "that will open the door of
learning for the scholar, the farmer, the workman, the merchant, and
the soldier? To this question we reply emphatically, there is, and it
is the Railway. The potentialities of the scholar lie in extensive
observation; of the farmer, in finding a ready sale for farm products;
of the workman, in the increase of machinery; of the merchant, in
cheap and rapid transit; and of the soldier, in the quick despatch of
the munitions of war.... The Railway is the source of the wealth and
power of Western countries.... How can the people of our Flowery Inner
Land progress, or even exist, without railways?"[5] This emphatic
declaration by one of the greatest and most patriotic of Chinese
officials is significant in more ways than one. China is to have
railways, not merely as a means of rapid transport for merchandise and
produce, but for the purpose of consolidating the military strength of
the empire.
It must be a matter of serious regret to Chinese statesmen that
the resources of the country--both in capital and in engineering
skill--were not sufficient to enable China to undertake the whole
financing and construction of the great trunk railway; and there can be
little doubt that as soon as China is in a position to act upon Article
V. of the Belgian Agreement, which she is entitled to do any time
after 1907, she will refund all the Franco-Belgian capital advanced to
her under the terms of that Agreement, and take over entire control of
the whole northern section of the railway. It would probably be to the
entire advantage of legitimate foreign trade and enterprise in China
that she should do so, and the eventual benefit to be derived by China
herself would be incalculable--provided, of course, that she honourably
fulfilled her commercial treaties with the Western Powers.
* * * * *
On arrival at Hankow I spent two days in making such meagre
preparations as I considered necessary for my long journey into the
interior; for Hankow--being only four days distant by steamer from
Shanghai--is the last town where it is possible to purchase European
stores at a reasonable price.
[Sidenote: AN UNLUCKY STEAMER]
Shallow-draft steamers with excellent accommodation for both Chinese
and Europeans leave Hankow for Ichang two or three times a week. The
traffic is divided among British, Chinese and Japanese companies. It
was by a Japanese steamer that I started for the Upper Yangtse on 18th
January. Our journey was not devoid of unforeseen incident. All went
well until the 21st, when we ran on a shoal. All our efforts to get off
proved unavailing till the 23rd, when by means of the process known
to naval men, I understand as kedging, we hauled ourselves into deep
water. This, however, was not effected without breaking a chain-cable
and losing a valuable anchor, which sank irrecoverably in the mud.
Our Japanese captain then announced that the vessel drew so much water
that he could not then attempt the only available channel, and that
there was no alternative but to return to Hankow and discharge some of
the cargo. This caused intense dissatisfaction among the hundreds of
Chinese passengers, most of whom were on their way to their homes to
spend Chinese New Year's Day (which fell on 25th January) with their
families. Some of the passengers, I was informed, actually threatened
to use force to compel the captain to proceed, and were only pacified
when they were given the option of going ashore in the ship's boats,
and finding their own way to their several destinations. Twenty or
thirty passengers availed themselves of this offer, and were packed
into a single boat towed by the ship's steam-launch. On their way to
the shore some unfortunate accident caused the boat--which was by no
means over-crowded--to upset, and all the passengers were thrown into
the water. I never learned the exact number of those who were drowned,
for no proper tally of the passengers who had embarked appears to have
been kept, but it was almost certainly not more than three. The rescued
passengers were all bundled into the steam-launch, the boat (which was
bottom upwards) temporarily abandoned, and the survivors brought back
to the ship. The families of the poor fellows who paid so severe a
penalty for their anxiety to reach their homes were doubtless waiting
to welcome them with all the exuberant joy that the New Year festival
brings into even the poorest Chinese household; and it was sad to
reflect that in all probability no word of the tragedy would reach them
until those whom they were waiting to greet were laid down at the doors
of their homes in their coffins.
This sad event did not complete the chapter of our accidents. After
we had anchored for the night some miles lower down the river, on our
return journey to Hankow, our vessel was swung round by a back-eddy
and crashed into several junks moored close to the shore. The damage,
fortunately, was not very serious, and was promptly paid for by the
captain of our ship. On the following day the ship's compradore came to
me and asked if I could give him any medicine for a Chinese passenger
who was showing signs of lunacy or delirium. As I had no remedies of
the kind required, I could only recommend him to keep his patient
under careful control until we reached Hankow. But about the middle
of the day the poor man eluded the vigilance of those who, I presume,
were looking after him, and deliberately jumped overboard. The ship
was immediately stopped, a boat lowered with great promptitude, and
the man rescued: he had never sunk below the surface, and it was
obvious that he owed his safety entirely to his thickly-wadded winter
garments, which were tied tightly at the waist and ankles and served
as a temporary life-buoy. The cold waters of the wintry Yangtse had a
more beneficial effect upon him than any drug, for on our arrival at
Hankow he appeared to be completely restored to health. Just before
we dropped anchor off the Hankow bund, one of the Chinese crew fell
down the companion and damaged his ankle. Whether any further disasters
occurred on board this unlucky vessel is unknown to me, as the same
evening I hastily transferred my luggage, my dog and myself to the ship
_T'ai Yuan_, which was due to leave for Ichang early the following
morning. I was not surprised to hear that the loss to the owners owing
to this unfortunate journey was estimated at not less than $10,000.
Fortunately for the shareholders, the company is subsidised by the
Japanese Government.
[Sidenote: ACCIDENTS ON THE YANGTSE]
The _T'ai Yuan_, which was the property of the same company, was
evidently smiled upon by a less malevolent star, for nothing except an
hour's fog on the second morning interfered with our passage to Ichang.
On arriving at the little treaty port of Sha-shih, on the morning
of 30th January, I found from conversation with one of the Customs
officials stationed there that the news of the tragedy described above
had reached that port in a very distorted form. He asked me if it were
true that twenty passengers had been drowned! In the evening of the
same day we cast anchor at Ichang, where the number of the men reported
to have lost their lives had risen to thirty.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Since reduced to thirty-six hours.
[3] _The Far East_, by Sir Henry Norman, p. 593.
[4] But there is another side to this story which does not reflect much
credit on the foreigners concerned. This aspect of the matter has been
fully detailed by Mr Chester Holcombe, in _The Real Chinese Question_,
chap. i.
[5] _China's Only Hope_, by Chang Chih-tung, translated by S. I.
Woodbridge, 1901.