The face of Manchuria, Korea, & Russian Turkestan

by E. G. Kemp

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.

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.