The morning mists gather into a thin vapour and roll upwards, showing miles of fields, cultivated like kitchen gardens, interspersed with mud villages, where the houses are made of wattles plastered over with the earth they stand on, with chimneys formed of a cone of mud, and paper windows. In wet weather and floods these houses often partially dissolve, or subside altogether. But then they are so easily rebuilt. Here the urchins come out and revel in the murky wash in our wake, whilst the sampan propellers push hurriedly off from the bank, lest we land them, as indeed we did one, high and dry after our swell had subsided. Hundreds of coolies are trudging along, with their bamboo poles slung across their shoulders, whilst others squatted on the ground occupied with that B.C., or ancient Eastern method of irrigation, the automatically worked water-wheel.
We now have the disagreeable excitement of going aground, a gentle bump on a flat bank, where we stick fast, and recall all the stories which we have been hearing, of steamers staying aground for a week or ten days. Meanwhile the screw churns away at the liquid mud, and a crowd collects on the causeway above, and yet we remain fast. It is after half an hour's manœuvring that we get off and proceed through the few more perilous bends still left, with a few more hair-breadth escapes. We see the tall chimneys, covering a large area, of the Arsenal, and then the Pagoda, with its white umbrellas, overlooking the fort and military exercise ground for the troops, and then we are nearing Tientsin. It is pleasant in the first view of Tientsin to be greeted by a familiar remembrance of England, in the towers of a miniature Windsor Castle, the Victoria Hall of the English Settlement, that tower above the dust-coloured hovels. It is in strange contrast to the two cages on the banks, fixed on the top of tall bamboo poles, where are seen the heads of two criminals. Doubtless they were executed on the spot where the crime was committed, as is the Chinese custom.
We anchor in the river, and amid a deafening roar, and the shoving, scraping and pushing of hundreds of filthy sampans, we land on the Bund of Tientsin, and are settling into the somewhat uninviting quarters of the Astor House, when Mr. Byron Brennan, H. M.'s Consul, kindly sends for us, and in an hour we are installed in luxury, and have washed away the unpleasant reminiscences of our journey across the Yellow Sea in a collier.
The English Consulate looks out over the Bund, but it is such a different Bund to the usual one of handsome houses and gardens touching the water's edge. This one is piled up with merchandise; great bales of goods, covered with matting, are stacked under the trees or strewn about the ground, and through the wide-opened windows come all day the shouts and cries of the strong-limbed coolies, as they lade and unlade the ships. A strange silence falls over the busy scene of the day, at night. But in another month or two the Bund will be a model of neatness, swept and clean, and all this bustling scene will be hushed under the spell of winter, for the Peiho freezes in the end of November or beginning of December. Merchants are now hurrying to send away the last of their merchandise, and residents are receiving their last supplies before the river is closed. During those winter months Tientsin is entirely cut off from the outer world, save for the mails which are brought overland. No one can enter or leave the town to go south, and business is at a standstill until spring breaks up the ice. This isolation comes suddenly, for we heard of a steamer that went aground below Tientsin, and in one night was frozen in by a coat of ice a foot thick. A British gunboat is anchored under the Consulate, sent up since the late riots at Wuhu, and it is a great comfort to the English residents to feel that she is to spend the winter here.
We passed a quiet forenoon with a regular feast of the Times and of home news. Then in the evening Mrs. Brennan took me for a walk round the European Concession, down Consulate Road, where the consulates of the various nations are situated, to the Gordon Hall and Victoria Gardens. Five years ago this was a mud-dried waste—strange contrast to these pretty zoological gardens, with its tennis courts, and well laid out paths, and Chinese band playing. The Hall is the centre of social life, where dances and public entertainments are held, and it has a capital Library and Reading-room. At the entrance are stands of guns, belonging to the Volunteer corps of foreign gentlemen, who are ready to come to arms should necessity arise.
Like so many other places of this kind, Tientsin has but one drive out into the country, and along this we go up on to the city wall. We stand on the high elevation of the deeply arched bridge, and look out on the flat swamps of mudland, on the surrounding marshy and unhealthy pools. It is mud in some shape or form whichever way you look, it is seen alike in houses, walls and roads, and it is certainly very like what I pictured China from reading books of travel.
The Europeans on their small spotty Chinese ponies, or driving in their cabriolet carriages, are returning from their evening exercise. Tientsin seems to be a pleasant place socially, particularly in the cold though bright winter, when business is slack on account of the frozen river, and the little community join together to amuse themselves with skating and sailing of ice-boats. And so soon as the first dust storm spoils the river ice, they enclose this pond we are passing, and make a covered skating rink.
My husband has just returned from a visit to the great Viceroy, Li Hung Chang, who sent soon after our arrival to say that he would be glad to see him. So at five o'clock he and Mr. Brennan started out in state-green palanquins, the official colour being green in distinction to the ordinary blue, with a numerous retinue and an outrider on a white horse to clear the way, and present the Chinese card, a single sheet of long pink paper. On arrival at the Viceregal Yâmen, exterior and surroundings of which were little in keeping with the high offices of state held by His Excellency, the chairs were carried into an inner courtyard, flanked by wooden shields, bearing all the titles of the Viceroy. The visitors were conducted to the small foreign reception rooms, where His Excellency immediately joined them.
Li Hung Chang is a tall handsome man of seventy, six feet four inches high, and was dressed in a grey plush robe. He is frequently styled the Bismarck of China, and is certainly the most prominent and influential statesman of this vast Chinese Empire. For many years Li, the Viceroy, has held his present post of Governor-General of the large Province of Chihli, and unites with it that of Grand Secretary, Guardian of the Heir Apparent, and what is most important of all to us, Commissioner for Trade, in which capacity all Foreign Affairs are referred to him from Peking. In the conversation, His Excellency placed great stress upon his sincere desire to develop closer trade relations with England, and took great interest in the details of the trade of the British Empire which C. gave him. The interview lasted about an hour, the Viceroy conducting his guests back to their chairs, and sending me his photograph.
