We had been told that the country districts were quite unsafe on account of Japanese vagrants, but we saw nothing of them, and as far as we could judge there is excellent order everywhere. Although Mr. Chiao was unable to communicate directly with the Koreans, his presence was of undoubted value to us in more ways than one. It lent prestige to our small party, for the Koreans hold the Chinese in great respect; and for them to see such a man as Mr. Chiao in a subordinate position to us, was equivalent to raising us to high rank.
CHAPTER XIII
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.