Empires and Emperors of Russia, China, Korea, and Japan / Notes and Recollections by Monsignor Count Vay de Vaya and Luskod

by Péter Vay

The Manchu is attached to his native land; he loves to live in the open, and is never so happy as when galloping across the endless plain or hunting in the virgin forests. As we laboriously proceeded on the uneven road, my fancy had full play, and I received new ideas and impressions from these novel surroundings. Since I had explored the interior of the country more carefully, my ideas about Manchuria had certainly undergone a great change. Every now and then, however, my cogitations were rudely interrupted as we jumped over ditches, crawled up or ran down the inclines, and it was a wonder that my poor tarantass was not smashed in the attempt. It may be as well, perhaps, to give some idea of what a tarantass is like. Four small wheels, very far apart, and joined by wooden axles, were fixed in the centre to a long pole, on which the basket, in shape something between a boat and a bath, was fastened. The vibration of this pole takes the place of springs, although it would be incorrect to say that it performed the office of such civilized improvements. But the pole kept the wheels and the basket together, and this, after all, is an accomplishment to be proud of on the highroads of Asia. My carriage was not drawn by mules this time, but I had three horses harnessed abreast, in the Muscovite style. They were small Cossack horses, with long manes and tails, slightly larger than Shetland ponies, strong and lively. The middle one was somewhat bigger than the two others; it could trot, while the ponies to the right and left of it had to gallop all the time, their heads gracefully arched and held a little to one side. The harness was most eccentric, and consisted of straps without number, the use of which it was difficult to see, but the silver-nailed mountings, studded in Eastern fashion, looked decidedly picturesque.

My coachman was a Cossack, and evidently very much impressed with the importance of his mission. About fifteen men formed the escort, their white blouses and flat white caps forming a striking feature in the landscape. They are good-natured, simple-minded folk, these mujiks, with bright blue eyes, clear complexion, and a childlike expression. They are evidently quite at home in this far-away country, for the ways of life in their native land are primitive and patriarchal, and differ but little from those in this foreign land. It is difficult to believe that these men can ever be cruel, and in time of war commit the greatest atrocities in cold blood and almost unconsciously. When the war is over they at once make friends with the conquered people, and freely mix with the yellow tribes. A little two-wheeled cart, containing provisions, and with a young Cossack as driver, completed my escort.

If I were asked what were the most striking objects I passed on the road, I should mention two pagodas, one of which is particularly beautiful, seven storeys high, and richly carved. Monsters of Chinese mythology and all the embellishments which the sickly imagination of that ancient race could devise, have been lavishly represented upon it. We also passed some remarkable commemorative stones—massive blocks, resting on enormous tortoises—on which are inscribed the exploits of the defunct heroes of the country. The many farms on our route testified to the agricultural resources of the land, and the villages are not without interest from a sociological point of view. The houses are very shabby and dilapidated, but what amused me was the number of children there were playing about. There did not seem to be room enough to contain them all, and there were hardly any doors to be seen; the population appears to jump out of the ground like mushrooms. We met carts of various descriptions, pedestrians, strange equipages, and stranger horsemen, and to finish up with, a mandarin travelling in state. This personage was carried in a litter covered with embroidered silk, and the luggage packed, in cases of wonderful lacquer-work, was carried by his men on their backs. Suite and servants followed him in single file, and all the emblems of his dignity, flags, Chinese lanterns, umbrellas, and banners, with various inscriptions, were carried before him. His Excellency was guarded by a detachment of native soldiers, in crimson mantles with lozenge-shaped pieces of velvet let in at the front and back, and elaborately embroidered with Chinese characters. Of course, many of the details of this show were very shabby. The canopy of the litter was torn and faded, the velvet of the uniforms was caked with mud, the banners were in rags, and yet as a whole it was one of the most artistic displays I have ever seen. Asiatics certainly have the knack of making their pageants effective. A mandarin of secondary order, visiting a functionary about equal in rank to a tax-collector, has an escort of followers and soldiers amounting to several dozen men, while the highest Western officials are content with two footmen behind their carriage on grand occasions.

I have already said that the journey back to Mukden station was no improvement on the journey thence, and yet, as I write these lines, seated in my comfortable railway carriage, my adventure, now that it is a thing of the past, seems like a dream to me. To make the story more interesting I must begin at the end, namely, with the dramatic incident of the journey, and tell how we only just escaped being kidnapped or possibly killed by a band of brigands. Thanks to Providence, however, no more serious harm was done to us than the fall of the tarantass into the swollen river, a compulsory bath in full uniform for some of the Cossacks, various bruises and scratches, and a broken litter. The intended attack was changed into flight, and the tragedy turned into a comedy, to the satisfaction of all. I will briefly relate the facts.

When we arrived at the first village, the Cossacks declared that the horses were thirsty, and that a halt was therefore necessary. They all dismounted and hurried into the wayside inn, leaving me alone with the horses. But as I could see neither well nor bucket, I could do nothing for the poor beasts. After a while the men returned, and there was no mistaking the state of affairs. If the horses had had no water, the men had found plenty to drink. Presently we came to another village, and the same thing occurred there, only this time they did not trouble to invent any excuse, and never mentioned the thirsty horses. I need hardly say that after each halt the conversation waxed more animated, and the horses were pushed on more furiously. After the third stoppage the situation became alarming. They no longer talked, but all shouted at once, the clatter of their voices being intermixed with snatches of popular songs, while the trot of the horses changed to a gallop.

I felt desperate, for I knew that I was quite powerless against the inveterate national custom of these children of nature. They continued, however, to behave well towards me, and treated me with the greatest respect. They were only very hilarious, that was all. They shouted and sang and waved their red kerchiefs as we sped along.

The last hamlet passed, and there being no further chance of obtaining refreshment until Mukden station was reached, a steeplechase was proposed across country, to the station. I cannot tell what distance we thus covered, for the speed at which we went exceeded all my previous experiences. The race over the uneven ground caused me many different sensations. Across the plain it was rapid and exciting, and I fully participated in the exhilaration of these wild children. Across the cultivated ground it was pleasant enough for those on horseback, but to me, in my tarantass, it was like being on the rack. But it was in crossing the maize-fields that I suffered most.

The race increased in speed. Horses and men completely lost their heads, and it was no longer a question of restraining them. The horses took the bits between their teeth and simply went like the wind. We seemed to fly over the ditches and tore through the reed hedges. Some of the animals slipped and the men fell head over heels in the mud, while guns and swords described glittering circles in the air. Finally, in trying to clear a deep creek, one of the wheels of the provision-cart came off, and all the contents were scattered. Then, to my joy, I saw looming in the distance, like a haven of refuge, the miserable shed which is called Mukden station.

I lay down at the bottom of the tarantass, with a feeling of deliverance near at hand. I must explain that my straw seat had fallen to pieces at an early stage of our mad race, so that the only way to remain in the tarantass was by lying down at the bottom and holding on to the sides. But even this comparative degree of comfort was extended to me for only a short time, for suddenly I received a terrible shock; there was a grinding noise produced by the carriage, followed by an exclamation from the driver, unintelligible to me; the sound of horses struggling in the water; and finally I felt an icy wave dashing over me. I thought I was drowning, and instinctively raised myself in my basket. We were in the middle of a river which had overflowed its banks! My little horses were half submerged. Some of the Cossacks were still in the saddle; others were wading through the muddy stream up to their waists in water. They were all in a state of great excitement, talking and shouting, but all quite cheerful. Some were washing their scratches, others struggling desperately to rescue their belongings, which were floating away on the stream, and the horses, at last, with supreme contentment, were able to drink their fill of the water so long withheld and so fully deserved.

The steeplechase under ordinary conditions may be a noble sport and may have its charm and many dangers, but it cannot be compared with such a cross-country race in a tarantass, escorted by a detachment of Cossacks. And yet, in spite of all, I am indebted to these hardy companions, for their mad escapade and their wild merriment saved our lives. Whilst in full career, with horses neighing, Cossacks shouting, and swords flashing, we became aware of a body of men, who had presumably been hiding in the bushes, escaping towards the distant woods. Evidently they thought we were pursuing them, and they fled in disorder. I learnt afterwards that it was a band of those Chunchuses who have been the terror of the district for many years, and very likely the same I met on my previous journey. Not long ago they kidnapped Mr. Wetzel, the director of the East China Railway, whose adventures have been described at length in the newspapers. He was carried into the interior, underwent the most terrible tortures, and was on the verge of losing his mind when his ransom arrived.