"That's where we are going now. You can see for yourself. Here we are."
He turned into a narrow lane. As he did so the pungent odour of disinfectants reached their nostrils. Another sharp turn and he stopped at the door of a long, low, but well-built house of durable burned brick. They had approached it from the back. On the other side two long buildings extended from each end of the main structure, at right angles to it, with it forming three sides of a square and enclosing a large paved courtyard. The fourth side had been shut in by a high fence of interwoven bamboos. But this had been cleared away. Now the courtyard opened directly on a beautiful, swift-flowing stream, a branch of the Tamsui River. Mountains clothed with verdure from base to summit rose from the farther shore. A soft breeze blew up the river and, eddying in the courtyard, modified the intense heat. A clump of feathery bamboos nodded gracefully over the buildings.
On the earthen floor of the houses, on the cobblestones which paved the courtyard, on the ground outside, quicklime had been plentifully scattered. A strong odour of carbolic told that other precautions had been taken.
Sinclair passed through the building with long, swift strides, his eyes seeing everything. He paused when he reached the river bank and noted the means provided for the disposal of sewage. Then he turned to MacKay:
"Had any provision been made for this before you arrived?"
"None."
"Had the Chinese done nothing to care for their wounded?"
"Nothing."
"Did their doctors help you to get this hospital in shape?"
"No. They opposed me all they could."