CHAPTER VII
RAILWAYS AND RIVERS
The rivers and railways of China form a very marked contrast. The rivers represent the old means of communication, the railways the new, and the comparison between the river and the railway enables the traveller to compare new with old China and to realise the great changes that are taking place there and the transitional character of the phase through which the country is now passing.
Ancient China, as compared to ancient Europe, was a most progressive country, a very essential point to remember when we have to consider what will be the attitude of the Chinese with regard to modern progress. Theoretically they have always been progressive; practically they have passed through an age of progress and reached the other side. That age of progress improved very much their means of communication. China is naturally well endowed with rivers, and those rivers were infinitely extended by a system of canals. Of these the Grand Canal is the most perfect example. The traveller cannot sail along the Grand Canal and look at the masonry walls of that great work, or the high bridges that span it, without realising that in its time it was one of the greatest works the world had ever seen. That canal, typical of modern China, is now in disrepair, but the spirit of the men who built it is not gone; it is the same spirit that now welcomes railways all over China.
The greatest of China's natural waterways is the Yangtsze-Kiang; it cuts right through the centre of China from the sea to Chungking and further; it has many important tributaries, which lead through great lakes and afford a very useful means of communication to vast districts in Central China.
Along that great river for six hundred miles, ships of the largest size can sail in the summer; battleships, though not of the largest class, can ascend to Hankow. Beyond Hankow the river is much shallower, and communication with Ichang is often interrupted in the winter by want of water. A thousand miles from the sea begin those wonderful gorges of the Yangtsze which are among the greatest wonders of the world.
Up to Ichang, the Yangtsze is still a big, rather dull yellow river, a vastly overgrown Thames, a mass of sandbanks, running through almost consistently uninteresting country; but after that thousand miles, it develops into a sort of huge Rhine. The river is still yellow, but it runs through green mountains and grey rocks. At times it swirls along with an oily surface dented here and there by whirlpools which tell of some sunken rock; at other times the grey rocks creep closer together and the yellow Yangtsze foams itself white in its effort to squeeze through the narrow opening left. In quieter reaches of the river a house-boat or luban can be rowed or sailed. The rowing is rather jerky, the sailing delightful, and so the advance of the traveller is pleasant and uneventful; but when the boat reaches the rapids, the only way to get her through is by towing.
There is a temptation always to delay putting men ashore to tow—a temptation which ended in our house-boat being bumped upon a rock.
Our captain (we call him "lowdah" in China) had cleverly devised, by creeping along the side of the river under shelter of projecting rocks and then by dodging round the points, everybody shrieking and yelling as they strained at the oar, to avoid the necessity of towing; but a more malign whirlpool than the rest twisted us round till the oars on one side of the boat could not row because they were fouled on the rocks, and then another twisted us sideways on to a submerged rock, and there the current held us till the police-boat the Chinese Government supplies to foreign travellers kindly took our rope ashore and we were hauled off without apparently having suffered any damage.
These police-boats, or "red boats," are a great feature in travelling on the Yangtsze. They add enormously, to begin with, to the artistic effect, as they are furnished with an art-blue sail, which would rejoice the heart of an artist, but the nervous traveller regards them with feelings of a warmer nature than those their æsthetic effect would arouse. They guarantee, if not the safety of boats and goods, at least the safety of his person amidst the terrible rapids of the river. If his boat should be wrecked and his goods become the property of the fishes, he knows that the "red boat" will dart into the rapids, and owing to its peculiar construction and the skill of the boatmen, will be able to rescue and return him, a washed and grateful traveller, to Ichang.
The excitement of passing the rapids is intense. It is a pleasurable sensation when you watch from the shore some one else passing through them; it is more exciting but less pleasurable to be on the boat itself at that moment. The excitement is largely a question of the size of the boat, whence the wisdom of taking a small boat even if it is less comfortable. To watch an eighty-ton junk being hauled through a narrow passage of foaming water is intensely thrilling. It is a matter of great difficulty owing to the rocky nature both of the channel and the shore.
The Yangtsze rises and falls some hundreds of feet in the year, and at low water the banks are a mass of rough rocks which remind one more of the sea than of a river. The men who tow are called trackers, and they have to climb over these rocks tugging and straining at the rope while a certain number of them, stripped to nudity, try to keep the rope clear of the rocks which constantly entangle it both on shore and in the water. It is splendid to watch these men as they bound from rock to rock to disengage the rope from some projecting point, or as, leaping into the stream, they swim across to isolated rocks and extricate it from all sorts of impossible situations. Meanwhile the junk creeps up inch by inch, at times standing almost still while the water surges past her and makes a wave at her bow which would not misbecome a torpedo-destroyer in full steam. Woe betide the junk if the rope should foul and break in spite of the efforts of these men, for then she would be at the mercy of the current, and if it should so happen that there was no wind, the mariners on board have no command over her, and she must drift as chance will guide her till quieter water is reached. Of course if there is a wind they can haul up their sail, and then, though they will descend backwards down the stream, they will do it with dignity and safety. We passed a junk doing this. Her rope had apparently broken, her huge sails were set to a stiff breeze; as you watched her by the water she seemed to be sailing at a good rate forwards; as you watched her by the land she was travelling a good steady pace down stream. If she cannot hoist her sail because the wind is unfavourable, then she will rush back, inadequately guided by three huge strange-looking oars. The one at the bow, worked by six men, can twist her round like a teetotum, so that as she dashes down stream, the captain can select which part of her shall bump against the submerged rocks, which after all is but a poor privilege, when you remember that eighty tons of woodwork banged against massive granite rock must be resolved into its constituent boards, whatever part of it strikes the rock first. The two other oars are even less helpful. With eight men at each, they can propel the boat at the rate of about three miles an hour; but what use is that when the stream is bearing the junk to destruction at twenty miles an hour. If the rope breaks, it is rather a question of good luck than good guidance. If there is no rock in the way, the junk happily sails down and is brought up in the quieter waters below the rapids. If there is a rock in the way, the junk arrives at the end of the rapid in a condition which would please firewood collectors but no one else. Those of the crew who can swim get ashore, and those who cannot are either picked up by the "red boat," or if there is not one there, they disappear; their bodies are recovered several days later lower down the river. From a Chinese point of view this is all a small matter; what is important is that a junk containing a valuable cargo has been lost. So frequent have been these losses that five per cent. insurance is demanded for cargoes going above Ichang.
GORGES OF THE YANGTSZE: AN AWKWARD MOMENT. JUNK NEGOTIATING RAPIDS. (Notice coils of bamboo rope)
Perhaps I ought to say one word about the rope on which the safety of the junk depends. It is made of plaited bamboo, which is extraordinarily light, and does not fray, though it is so stiff that it behaves like a wire rope. Its great lightness allows of the use of ropes of enormous length. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that some of them are a quarter of a mile long. They are very strong, and therefore can be of wonderfully narrow diameter, but apparently they last but a short time, and every boat is furnished with coil after coil of bamboo rope ready for all emergencies. A horrible accident happens when owing to bad steering the trackers are pulled back off the narrow ledges cut into the face of the precipices, which at times border the river, so that they fall into the rapid.
They are an attractive body of men, these trackers. They leap over the most incredible chasms in the rocks, they climb like cats up the precipices, they pull like devils, while one master encourages them by beating a drum on board the junk, and another belabours them on shore with a bit of bamboo rope, which makes an excellent substitute for a birch rod, and yet withal they are cheerful. When it rains or snows they are wet through; when the sun is hot—and remember the Yangtsze is in the same latitude as North Africa—they expose their bent backs to the scorching sun; yet apparently they never grumble, but they wile away the hours of their labour with cheerful song. When they row or pull easily, the song is a weird antiphonal chant—it seems to be sometimes a solo and a chorus, sometimes two equally balanced choruses; but when the work becomes hard, the song changes into a wild snarl and they laugh a savage laugh as they strain and sweat to the uttermost. I will complete their description by saying that their views of decency are those of Adam before the Fall, and that they preserve their strength by a diet of rice and beans with a handful of cabbages as a relish. At night they sleep on the deck of the junk on their rough Chinese bedding with only a mat roofing to keep the rain off them. And as I watched their cheerful demeanour, I felt more convinced than ever that the natural virtues of the Chinese are of the very highest order.
Perhaps I ought to say one word about the beauty of the gorges. I think in two points they excel. First, in the height of the massive cliffs, through which the Yangtsze has cut its way like a knife; the size of the river and the size of the cliffs are so much in proportion that the eagle circling above the gorge looks like a swallow, and the crowd of trackers appears as a disturbed ant colony. The other way in which the gorges excel in beauty is in colouring; at one point especially it was most remarkable—the rocks were red, the mountains when we saw them were purple, and the purple and red harmonising with the fresh green foliage of early summer and the deep yellow of the river, made a rich combination of tints in the landscape which could hardly be surpassed. It is typical of the state in which China is at the present day that a scheme should be on foot for building a railway which no doubt will render the gorges of the Yangtsze a silent highway, and, instead of hearing the wild song of the tracker or the savage beating of the tom-tom, the lonely eagle will circle above a silent river on which the fisherman's bark alone will sail in the future.
For all schemes to tame the wild and fierce Yangtsze are clearly impossible. The river rises and falls more than a hundred feet with great rapidity, and no human hand could ever throw a dam across this mass of surging water. Possibly it might be used as a source of power for electrical work, but it is far more probable that the smaller rivers which fall into the Yangtsze will be chosen for that purpose. This district may be a tourist resort, and dwellers in the plains of China may seek coolness and beauty on one of the crags that overhang the river; the modern hotel may perch itself beside the ancient Buddhist temple; but the days of the river as a great commercial route of China are numbered as soon as the railway linking far-western Szechuan to the rest of China is completed. One wild scheme proposes that the railway should come from Russia straight down from Szechuan, in which case more than probably Szechuan will fall completely under the influence of the Russian Government.
One of the results of Westernising China must be to produce an industrial revolution. All those men, for instance, who make a living by leaping from crag to crag, from rock to rock, and swimming, struggling, rowing in that river Yangtsze will find their living gone. But not only will the railway make many poor who had a competence, but it must make many rich who before were poor. In this case, for instance, all those commodities which are now extremely dear in Szechuan, because of the cost of transit, will fall in price, and there will be a period when there will be a wide margin of profit between the cost of importation and the conventional price the people are used to pay, and those who live by trade will grow rich.
What has happened in the West must also happen in the East. The introduction of steam did not make the official classes or even the working classes immediately rich. The people who immediately profited by improved means of production and communication were the great middle class; afterwards as the working class realised that the margin of profit would allow of larger wages, they compelled the masters to share these advantages with them. So it will probably happen in China. With the railway will come a rich middle class who will be a factor of growing importance in future China.
A great contrast between the Yangtsze and its wild gorges is the great trunk line from Peking to Canton which runs at right angles through the Yangtsze north and south, and must make Hankow, the place where it crosses the Yangtsze, one of the greatest cities in the whole world. The railway is only completed as far as Hankow. It runs from Peking right across the plains of China, which are so desolate in the spring and so fertile in the summer, and which depend for their fertility on the July rains. At every station a great Chinese inn is erected—that is to say, a big courtyard with rooms round. At first, of course, trade was small; the Chinese village community has but little that it wants either to buy or sell; each community is to a great extent self-supporting. A farmer reckoned, I was told by a Chinese official, that if he had made 30s. a year, he had done well. That does not mean that he lived on 30s. a year, though in a country where men are paid threepence a day, one would almost have been ready to believe it; but it means that he had fifteen dollars a year to spend on things outside his daily food. His farm supplies him with food and drink and his vicious luxury, opium; his women make his clothes; it only remains for him to buy material for the clothes and the little extras that they cannot make, besides salt. He pays for the few things that he has bought, probably with the opium he produces, or in Manchuria with beans; but the trade has been of microscopical dimensions owing to the difficulties of transit.
When the railway is made he finds at the railway inn the Chinese merchant ready to buy and sell anything that he on his part is ready to trade. At first, such things as sewing cotton and cigarettes are the things that are traded against silk or opium, and then comes Chinese medicine and mineral oil, and so trade begins, and soon the Chinese inn becomes a market-place, and the railways begin carrying goods.
Of course the full development of the railway system must depend on the feeding lines and in what we had in Europe before the railway system, and what the Chinese have not got, the feeding roads. In Manchuria—for China, like England, is more go-ahead in the north than in the south—they are already moving in this direction. The Russian railways, possessed now by the Japanese, are very busy carrying beans to Dalny, and soon the Japanese lines from Mukden to Antung will be equally busy, and the line from Mukden to Tientsin also will carry this crop. What they are now considering at Mukden is how they can arrange a feeding system of light railways, by which a bigger area of ground can be brought within reach of the railway system. To give some idea of the energy and progressive character of the officials in those parts, I may mention that they are already making inquiries as to the mono-rail system for such railways.
The Chinese have made up their minds to welcome railways, and though they would far prefer railways to be built with Chinese capital, they are of necessity compelled to accept European capital, since their fellow-countrymen want very high interest for their money. The Germans have taken very full advantage of the Chinese desire for railways, and have linked Kiauchau with the railway system of China.
The effect of all this must be very far reaching. To begin with, it will alter the influence of foreign powers. As the railway service is completed, Kiauchau will become a very much more important centre than it is now. If a railway that links Peking to Nanking, or, to be accurate, to a town on the Yangtsze opposite to Nanking, is cut by a railway from Kiauchau, the result will be that Kiauchau will become the nearest ice-free port for an enormous district of China. This cannot fail to strengthen the German influence, and the German influence is connected, as we have already explained, too much with that political side of missions which has caused them to be distrusted by peace-loving Chinese. The Chinese will ask themselves, will there not soon be a missionary incident which will justify a further aggression by Germany along the railway, which lies so handy for a military advance, and they will be suspicious of any German missionary effort in that quarter.
But the effect of the railways is much more far reaching than any casual advantage that it may give to various powers, whether it be to Germany in Shantung, or to Russia or Japan in Manchuria, or to France in Yunnan, or to Russia in Szechuan. It will have two main effects. First and foremost it must place the whole of China in the same position that Shanghai and Tientsin occupy at the present moment—that is, it must make the whole of China a mixture of Eastern and Western civilisation. It may be urged that the rivers of China have already been the means of bringing East and West into close contact with one another, and yet that China remains still a separate and different country to the treaty ports.
The answer is, firstly, that it is comparatively only a short time since the river has been opened to foreign trade, and that a great advance has been made in the treaty ports, so much so that a man in the customs service living by the gorges of the Yangtsze described the difference between the treaty ports and the rest of China by saying, "A man who has only seen Shanghai and Hankow has never seen China." Secondly, a railway has a great educational effect. When a railway is first opened the Chinese crowd to see it; they get in the way of the engine, they are run over, they accuse it of malign powers, and then they come to the conclusion that it is after all only a machine, and they take readily to travelling by rail.
For instance, the railway from Tientsin up to Manchuria has already completely altered the conditions of culture in the north. It has enabled a large number of labourers to migrate every year to cultivate the fertile but icy districts of Manchuria, so that it is quite a sight to see truck-load after truck-load of farm labourers travelling like cattle, going up from the south to the districts of the north at the rate of three dollars for a twenty-two hours' journey.
Not only does the railway carry the Tientsin labourer in a truck to the Manchurian beanfield, but it also carries first-class the Chinese merchant who will buy the crop of beans to the advantage of the farmer and to his own greater advantage. The Chinese are rich in traders, and such an opportunity would never be allowed to pass. Every year will produce a greater number of wealthy Chinese merchants, many of them very ignorant both of Western and Eastern knowledge, but probably some of them owning a respect for that knowledge whose lack they have felt in proportion to their own ignorance, for there is no man more inclined as a class to endow educational institutions than he who in his youth has felt the need of them.
China now needs help to found a University teaching Western knowledge. Once it is formed, there is every reason to believe that it will be endowed by the same class that has endowed similar institutions in our own country.