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THE FACE OF CHINA

THE AUTHOR AS CHINESE “FEMALE TRAVELLING SCHOLAR”

THE FACE OF
CHINA

TRAVELS IN EAST, NORTH, CENTRAL AND WESTERN CHINA ¶ WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THE NEW SCHOOLS, UNIVERSITIES, MISSIONS, AND THE OLD RELIGIOUS SACRED PLACES OF CONFUCIANISM, BUDDHISM, AND TAOISM THE WHOLE WRITTEN & ILLUSTRATED BY E. G. KEMP, F.R.S.G.S.

NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1909

All rights reserved

THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO THE FRIEND

TO WHOSE SUGGESTION AND ENCOURAGEMENT
IT OWES ITS EXISTENCE

PRINCIPAL MARCUS DODS, D.D.

PREFACE

Every intelligent person that I have met whose good fairy has led him to the Celestial Empire has fallen under the spell of that marvellous people and marvellous land. I am fired with the ambition to cast that spell even on those who have never been there, by showing them as accurately and vividly as I can, with pen and brush, what the face of China actually is.

People may describe with success the soul of a people, provided it is sufficiently near the surface, but the foreigner who has known and loved China for a lifetime would be the first to repudiate the possibility of doing this in the case of China. I would rather take Browning’s view—“Nor soul helps body more than body soul”—and try to set down faithfully the things I have seen, that they may lead others to study China for themselves.

It may be objected that the picture is too much couleur de rose, because I have not dwelt on the dark side of things: but there is a use for eyelids as well as for eyes.

This book is the result of a year spent in Shansi, 1893–94, and six months spent in travel through the provinces of Shantung, Chili, Hupeh, Szechwan, and Yünnan during 1907–8. The former visit was mainly spent at a medical mission at Taiyüanfu, which was then remote from Western influences; now everything has changed, and I travelled from north-east to south-west of the Empire and found no village untouched by the great awakening. On the first occasion I was always conscious of a certain hostility in the attitude of the people towards foreigners; this time it was quite the reverse. Considering the behaviour of many travellers towards the Chinese, this seems to me really astonishing; but they are very sensitive in their appreciation of mental attitude, and they responded unhesitatingly to the call we made on their chivalry by placing ourselves unreservedly in their hands. We were repeatedly warned not to do this, but our confidence was justified by the event. In no European country could we have been more courteously treated, and in very few have I travelled so happily and so free from care.

The journey was one long series of pleasant surprises, and my friend expressed the feelings of both of us when, on crossing the frontier into Burma, she exclaimed: “If only we could turn round and go all the way back again!” If any one is induced by reading this book to make personal acquaintance with China, it will not have been written in vain.

NOTE

There is so little in this volume which is drawn from other sources than personal observation, and information obtained from our Chinese and missionary friends on the spot, that I have thought well not to burden the reader with foot-notes. The various details as to the religions of China are mainly drawn from an interesting little volume by Giles, “Religions of Ancient China,” Smith’s “Uplift of China,” and Hackmann’s “Buddhism as a Religion”; while the account of the railways is from Kent’s “Railway Enterprise in China.”

The spelling of Chinese names is according to the most recent standard map, giving the orthography of the Chinese Imperial Post Office.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE FACE OF CHINA

CHAPTER I
Shanghai

My first voyage to China was unspeakably distasteful, and as we neared Hong Kong we were suddenly caught up in the tail of a typhoon and carried for forty-eight hours wherever it pleased to take us. Most of that time we were without food, and could not even get a cup of tea; while we found it hard work to cling to a seat. When we emerged from the storm, and steamed into the wonderful bay of Hong Kong, it seemed like Paradise; it looked to my eyes the most beautiful harbour I had ever seen: and I have seen nearly all the most celebrated ones, without feeling tempted to change my opinion. The first introduction to a new country, if it happens to be when the faculties are specially quickened, makes an indelible impression, and from this time China has been to me a land of infinite charm and beauty. The more I have seen of it, the more I have realised its fascination; even its ugliness is interesting.

Hong Kong lies along the shore, with a steep cliff rising abruptly behind it, called the Peak, and the typhoon had laid parts of it in ruins, and unroofed many of the houses, so that it was by no means looking its best. British pride swelled within me as I thought of the transformation that had taken place in half a century. When it was ceded to the British it was a barren island, with a population of 5000 inhabitants; now it is the second largest port in the Empire, with a population of 238,724. There is an immense boat population; whole families have lived from generation to generation in their boats along the shore. In Hong Kong, East and West live happily together, learning to appreciate one another. Chinese merchants are members of its council and take an active part in its government. It has become not only the greatest shipping but also the greatest banking centre of the East, and it is a significant fact that it contributes annually £20,000 to the British Treasury as its military contribution.

From Hong Kong to Shanghai is but a step, and at first sight the latter seems almost as European as the former. The landing, after coming up one of the mouths of the Yangtze River, is in the centre of a promenade, with broad grass borders between it and the road, along which lie the finest commercial buildings of the city for the distance of more than a mile. This is the Bund, the most imposing part of the concession. It may be well to mention what a “concession” is, as this is a term continually used with regard to the treaty ports, such as Tientsin, Hankow, and Shanghai. It is a right granted to Europeans to inhabit a certain defined area, to possess property in it (no private individual except a Chinaman has the right to buy land for building on, in China, although it is occasionally done in the interior), to live under European law, to have their own police and manage their own affairs. The Shanghai concession was mapped out in 1843 by Sir George (then Captain) Balfour, and is on a broad cosmopolitan basis: later on the French obtained one adjoining it, and then the Americans. Many Europeans live outside the concession, especially in a quarter where the English have laid out a charming shady road, perhaps the most tortuous in existence—so as to avoid desecrating graves; it is called the Bubbling Well Road. The concessions have their own post-offices, where you call for letters, if you happen to expect any from the country to which they belong. We found the Russian post-office up a staircase in a thoroughly unofficial-looking house.

The traveller, however, on landing at Shanghai ought not to drive along the Bund to the pleasant Astor House Hotel, but should make a détour into the Chinese streets Nankin Loo, or Foochow Loo, densely thronged streets, where nineteen out of every twenty people wear blue robes, varying in shade from deepest ultramarine to palest aquamarine. One is accustomed to think of the Chinese as quiet, slow-going people, but the traffic of Shanghai is so great that I know no place where you are more conscious of business bustle. The crowd in the streets is almost entirely composed of men and boys, so that it is hard to imagine where room is found for the women and children, even the balconies and shops as well as streets being packed with men. It is estimated that Shanghai has 160,000 inhabitants to the square mile. It is necessary to visit old Shanghai really to see what it can be, and it is a mistake to be deterred from doing this (as many visitors are) on account of its special squalor and dirt, or by the absurd statement that all Chinese cities are alike.

You pass into the real Shanghai through two low gateways, set at right angles from one another, where no vehicle is ever allowed to enter; indeed, such a thing is practically impossible. The streets are so narrow and tortuous that it is hard even for carriers to force a passage through the crowd. The houses are fairly high, and innumerable signboards (long, narrow boards covered with gilt characters which read from bottom to top) hanging overhead block out the light and hinder any current of air from driving away evil smells. The entrances to the shops are lined with Chinese lanterns of every shape, size, and colour: when lit, they cast a kindly glamour over the celestials below, very different from the pitiless glare of electric light. There is no gaudy display of goods in shop windows, for there are no windows; just an open counter on which a few specimens may be lying, probably in a glass case. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with shallow drawers, filled with endless little parcels containing the rest of the stock-in-trade. Despite the squalid surroundings and the tininess of the shops, this may be very valuable (for the Chinese are great lovers of curios), jade, bronze, ivory, china, or silver. Along with such things are mixed the most absurd rubbish, mainly European goods. Many shops contain a row of finely carved chairs to accommodate purchasers, and elaborately decorated woodwork, such as screens with beautiful groups of figures at one end. We should have liked to buy many things, but this is not to be done lightly, and several days of diplomatic dealing are required before purchaser and seller can come to terms in the orthodox way. No Eastern would be satisfied with the monotony of our Western methods. The whole street is interested in the performance, and looks on as at a play. The amount of business transacted appears to be in inverse proportion to the number of shops.

We threaded our way through a maze of lanes till we came to the centre of the town—the original of the celebrated willow pattern[1]—and as picturesque a spot, in the mellow evening light, as you could possibly imagine. A weed-covered pond, fringed by willows, surrounds the group of tea-houses, which are reached by a zigzag bridge, across which passes a ceaseless stream of blue-robed passengers: gentlemen carrying their birds out for an airing; mothers with babies in their arms, wearing gaily coloured caps surmounted by scarlet tufts; coolies with heavy loads; children dangling sundry purchases, such as a bit of meat or vegetables, from the end of a string or blade of grass—a fascinating throng to watch, if not to be absorbed into!

Close to the garden is a mandarin’s palace, into which we gained admittance after much hammering. The reception-rooms were lofty and dignified, furnished only with Chinese lanterns, some handsomely carved chairs, alternating with little tables (just large enough to accommodate tea-things) set in two rows facing one another, and scrolls on the walls. The garden was entirely composed of rockwork, with the greatest possible length of pathway comprised in the smallest possible area. One of the stairways led up to a handsome summer-house with a balustrade consisting of a sinuous dragon, some forty feet long, carved in stone. Beside his gaping jaws sat a little stone frog, preparing to leap in—a good specimen of the humour which makes Chinese art so attractive. A few willows and shrubs adorned the garden, but no flowers—a feature characteristic of Chinese gardens, where design and architectural work such as summer-houses, bridges, and walls are the most important matters. On different parts of the inner walls of this garden were stone medallions, representing scenes in the Mandarin’s life.

TEA-HOUSE IN OLD SHANGHAI

On emerging from the garden by a different door from the one we came in at, we were confronted by a row of images, and found it was a joss (= worship) house; the few worshippers present were prostrating themselves—two at a time—before the altar, behind which stood the gods. The air was laden with the smell of incense, joss-sticks burning in a stand on the altar; and huge stone lions guarded the door. It was apparently the quietest and least frequented part of the city.

In the courtyard was a fine bronze monument, said to be over 2000 years old, round which a market was going on; the people sitting on the ground, surrounded by their wares, mainly vegetables. By way of variety there was a man with a large assortment of coal-black tresses of hair for sale, as even the poorest Chinaman is not above improving his queue with a false addition: also there was a large basket full of grasshoppers in cages about an inch square, “shrilling” at the top of their voices. From this courtyard ran a street full of shops of cooked meats. Above the counters hung split dried ducks, which looked as if they had been petrified in the act of flying with outstretched necks and wings. Below them were baskets full of eggs, black with age, preserved in a mixture of straw and lime, esteemed a great delicacy, as also seaweeds and sea-slugs—the most revolting, evil-smelling things—like fat caterpillars. Rows of little dishes contained various kinds of relishes, and there were piles of white square steamed flour dumplings, which is the Chinese form of bread.

Passing up the street, you come to a vegetable stall, the most exquisite harmony in reds and yellows; scarlet persimmons, bananas, pomeloes like yellow cannon-balls, yellow and scarlet capsicums, all sorts of nuts, a yellowish fruit shaped like a hand and called “Buddha’s fingers,” and baskets of dingy-coloured grapes, were some of the things for sale. Rotten pears cut in half seemed to find a ready sale; and à propos of pears, I must tell how a lady in Peking peeled one for my sister with her finger-nail! and how another, in describing the shocking extravagance of her neighbour, ended as a climax with the statement, “She actually throws away her pear skins!”

The next street was full of coffin shops, particularly dear to the Chinese heart, as a coffin is a complimentary gift from a son to his father. They were mostly black, and would probably be ornamented with gilt lettering; but in Canton scarlet coffins are the fashion.

Nauseous smells rose from the open gutters. Myriads of mosquitoes are wont to settle upon hapless visitors, but a solution of eau de Cologne and pyrethrum rubbed over face, ankles, and other vulnerable spots kept us fairly immune.

Leaving old Shanghai, you come into a whirling throng of carriages, wheelbarrows, and rickshas, of which there are thousands darting about. When an Englishman happens to be the occupant, the speed of the ricksha is automatically accelerated. Whole families of Chinese women and children, dressed in every colour of the rainbow, manage to pile themselves on the barrows. At the street corners stand Sikh policemen, tall handsome men with dazzling white turbans, who contrast finely with the celestials. There is a greater variety of vehicles in use here than in any other place that I have visited in the East, and they all go much too fast for the safety of passengers, considering the narrowness of the roads. The slightest push upsets a barrow. The swiftest of all the vehicles is a sort of low victoria, drawn by a rat-like pony. This is specially used by stockbrokers, who dash out of an office into it, one foot in the carriage and one on the step: they never think of sitting down, but are whisked away to another office, into which they dash like lunatics, and so on ad infinitum. A feverish activity seems to possess all the business population, and every movement says “Time is money.” It is only in the evening that the business folk of Shanghai may be seen strolling along the Bund or sitting on the benches, which are labelled “Europeans only.” Hard by is the public garden, where no Chinaman is allowed to enter—an offensive piece of insolence as long as other Eastern races can strut about in it; but it is in keeping with the attitude, unfortunately, of a large number of Europeans towards the race among whom they dwell. Not long ago a notice might have been seen, “No Chinamen or dogs admitted.”

It may seem strange that the Chinese post-office is in the foreign concession, but the reason is that it is under European management together with the customs, which are under the same roof. If you wish to send off a parcel to Europe, you must first take it to the Customs House, where it has to be opened for examination. If you happen to be a lady you are shown into a division marked “Ladies only,” and the Chinese officials save you all further trouble: they do your parcel up with a dexterity which makes you envious, and seal it according to regulation; and it is all accomplished with a swiftness and courtesy that might well be copied at home.

One day we drove to the fine American college of St. John’s, about five miles from the city. We passed along the Nanking Road, where the most beautiful Chinese shops are. The façades are of handsome carved gilt woodwork, with balconies in which there were parties of men drinking tea. Unfortunately, these shops are gradually being replaced by European shops with plate-glass windows, and soon this part of the city will be quite spoilt. Gay carriages were following the same direction as our own, the Bubbling Well Road, and we were amused to see in one a party of Chinese girls evidently returning from school, and with their little handmaiden hanging on to the perch behind, where you would expect to see a boy in livery. Inside the carriage was a mirror and a sort of dressing-table and a flower-vase, as the custom is at Shanghai. On arrival at the college, we were taken first to see the orphanage, where tiny little creatures of about two or three years old came and solemnly bowed to us, with folded hands. The two youngest members of the establishment were babies, one of whom had been rescued from destruction. The father and mother had both been born on unlucky days, and when the baby girl had the same misfortune they utterly refused to have anything to do with it. She was accordingly taken to St. John’s at two days old, and has thriven capitally. We visited successively the boys’ and girls’ schools, and finally were taken round the college by the principal, Dr. Pott, to whom is mainly due the great success it has achieved. There are about 120 scholars, all of whom have to pass an entrance examination in English, and they pay what are considered somewhat heavy fees, so that the bulk of the expense has not got to be met from mission funds (American Episcopal). At present the only two final schools of the college are theology and medicine, but many of the students go on to America for further college courses. We visited the dormitories, and were interested to compare the boys’ belongings with those of English schoolboys. Each boy has his own teapot, and can always get a supply of boiling water. Many of them had musical instruments, some flowers, some birds, some crickets. They are fond of having “cricket matches”—that is to say, with live crickets. In winter the boys all bring hand-warmers into class, and Nelson’s ink-bottles are the most approved for this purpose.

As regards games, Dr. Pott said that it was with the utmost difficulty that Chinese boys can be got to exert themselves; but they are gradually getting keener, and the average of attainment is steadily rising. On a board in the college they have a list of honours won, and this keeps up the interest. In answer to a geography examination question, “What are the five principal races?” the answer was, “Fifty yards, hurdle race, &c.”! The college has a fine library, alumni hall, chapel, and playing grounds, but the laboratory leaves much to be desired. It is affiliated to an American university, and has the highest reputation of any educational establishment in China. Certainly, to judge by one of its students, who travelled with us for six months as interpreter, it is worthy of the highest praise.

Since our visit a new hall has been added to it, and there will be accommodation for another 100 students when the building is completed. The cost is being largely defrayed by Chinese well-wishers, £600 having been already contributed by them.

CHAPTER II
Shantung, the German Sphere of Influence

We left Shanghai by steamer on October 2nd, and reached Tsingtao (the port of Kiaochow) at about 8 P.M. on the 3rd. We were grateful to be allowed to stop on board for the night, as our train started from a station close at hand at 7 A.M., and we were saved the trouble of going to an hotel. The harbour is picturesquely situated at the mouth of the bay, surrounded by hills which have all received German names since the occupation. We were up betimes, and rather disturbed by the non-appearance of the Customs House official, without whose presence we could not go ashore. However, he appeared in time to let us get to the little wayside station, and we found other passengers waiting there, seated on the line with their luggage in a haphazard way. The Germans have not only got the concession known as Kiaochow, but also thirty miles on each side of the railway line which they have built from Tsingtao to Tsinan, the capital of the province, a distance of about 250 miles, through the centre of the province. The port is laid out just like a German town, and has hotels, statues, a post-office, commercial buildings, and private houses. The place is a fashionable summer resort, consequently the prices are high, and have gone up at least 50 per cent. since the coming of the Germans, who spend money lavishly.

The German Government has just decided to build a High School for Chinese boys of the upper class, at a cost of £30,000.

The rail is the dearest and dirtiest I have ever seen. The officials treat foreigners with indifference, and the Chinese with brutality—at least, so we heard at every place at which we stayed, and from the people who most appreciated the coming of the railway. One can only hope that things may be improved later, and a better class of officials put in charge of the line. There was but one train per day going in each direction, and the journey from Tsingtao to Tsinan takes about twelve hours. Occasional trains run on sections of the line. Although money has been poured out like water to make the German occupation a success, the object has so far not been accomplished, perhaps owing to lack of harmony between the three principal German officials in China—the Governor of Kiaochow, the Ambassador, and the Commander of the Fleet. The bulk of the trade on the line is still in Chinese hands, and the merchants have succeeded in getting permission to build a branch line from the treaty port, Chefoo, to Weihsien, which will be a great advantage to them. Naturally the Germans, after spending so much on their port, do not like to see trade diverted to another. They not only refuse to build the line themselves, but have memorialised the Throne to prevent the Chinese from being allowed to build one either: however, their representations have failed.

The province of Shantung is considerably larger than England, and is the most densely populated of any in China—557 persons to the square mile. Although it is well cultivated and prosperous in appearance, the partial failure of the crops has the immediate effect of throwing 50,000 of the inhabitants into a state of beggary. When this happens, the Government grants each beggar daily a bowl of rice. It is hard to realise this state of affairs when you pass through such a prosperous-looking country; the crops are wheat, different kinds of millet, sorghum, maize, sweet potatoes, beans, peas, hemp, and indigo. A large quantity of fruit is also grown—pears, apples, apricots, peaches, cherries, grapes, persimmons, &c. Every now and then you pass brilliant patches of vegetables of various sorts. A villager’s plot of land usually contains all the requisites of life—cotton (for clothes and bedding), wheat, potatoes, a fruit-tree, and last, but not least in China, a castor-oil plant; a few fowls and pigs will give him what most he loves in the way of food. I have known a Chinese woman eat fifteen eggs at a sitting, and she was surprised at the fit of indigestion which followed this meal! There is a curious specimen of fowl cultivated in this province, called the Cottonwool fowl; it is small, white and fluffy, looking just like a toy out of a cardboard box, and is exclusively used as medicine, especially for the diseases of women. Its flesh is dark, and the bones black; the chickens are the sweetest-looking objects. In contrast, the pigs of this part are black and hairy.

After leaving Tsingtao the train travelled slowly, stopping at every station, and these stations are all alike except a few large ones. There was a ticket office, and a row of five wooden-looking Chinese policemen standing at attention and drawn up in line as long as the train was in the station. They wear black sailor-hats, and hold batons as if they were rifles. For all the world they look like toy soldiers at 11¾d. per dozen, made in Germany. There are no platforms on these stations, and passengers squat on the line surrounded by their bedding, teapots, and birdcages. The Chinese take to railway journeys like ducks to water, so the trains are well filled. A woman may be seen approaching on her donkey, which travels at about the same rate as the train, so she stands a good chance of catching it even if she has started rather late. She is a picturesque object sitting astride on the top of her bedding, attired in a blue coat and pink trousers, tied in at the ankle with pea-green ribbons over white socks; the finishing touch of the costume being the coyest imaginable little pointed embroidered shoes.

A SUBURB OF WEIHSIEN

At Weihsien, which we reached after some five and a half hours’ travelling, we were met by a friend, and passing out of the station, we found on the “cab-stand” a row of wheelbarrows waiting to take passengers to the town, about half a mile distant. The country is dotted with a good number of trees, mainly willows, poplars, cypresses, and mulberries, above which tower the walls of the city. We were carried in chairs, and were charmed with the view, as a lovely clear stream flowed at the base of the walls, reflecting a deep blue sky. Weihsien is an important business city, and its streets are named after the trades plied in them, such as Forge Street, Gold Street, and Silversmith Street. To us they appeared picturesque, but some people might call them squalid, and it is certainly wisest to look up, not down. We passed through the outskirts of the town to a fine-looking mission station, mainly built and worked by American Presbyterians who had recently coalesced with the English Baptists. This mission station was completely destroyed by Boxers in 1900, but now there is a fine group of buildings, including boys’ and girls’ schools, hospitals, a church, college buildings, and houses for workers (who number about twenty), and the whole is enclosed within a high wall. So far the teaching, even of Western science, has been entirely carried on in Chinese, but the demand for the knowledge of English is so pressing that it has recently been added to the curriculum.

From Weihsien we went next day to Tsingchowfu by rail, a journey of about two hours, and this is one of the great historical centres of the Empire. Here, again, the railway station was at a little distance from the town, and we found chairs waiting to convey us thither. The town has an imposing position on the hill, with a stream flowing round the greater part of it; consequently the walls look an astonishing height from the outer side, at least twice as high as from within, and the main entrance is across a bridge.

Within the gloomy north gate hangs a group of cages containing magistrates’ boots, but it is probable that they were originally used to hold something very different, namely, criminals’ heads. In Les derniers Jours de Pékin, Pierre Loti describes those he saw just after the siege, all with the queue hanging down between the bars.

There are many fields within the city, and if time had allowed I should willingly have stayed several weeks sketching there. The ruins of the palace belonging to the Ming dynasty are fast falling to decay, and as, unfortunately, the Government does not take any interest in the preservation of national relics,[2] it is not unlikely that they may entirely disappear one of these days.

Both here and at Weihsien we were struck with what we heard of the village girls’ mission schools, showing the stability of character and also the capacity of Chinese girls. When a village wishes to establish a school, its inhabitants ask some mission to supply a teacher, and they make themselves responsible for the rest. The girl teacher is probably lodged in the home of the village elder, and he makes arrangements for the schoolroom, &c., and acts as guardian to the teacher. She organizes work, and has entire control as long as she manages it properly. About twice a year a missionary goes to inspect it and examine the scholars. We felt it would be interesting to see one of these schools, so our hostess offered to arrange the matter, and took us one day to the village of Wang Mu Chiang Chwang, some ten miles distant, which she was intending to visit for the purpose of inspection.

CHAPTER III
A Day in the Country (Shantung)

Days in early October are perfect for visiting the country. The thermometer stands at 70° to 80°. We set out one clear, fresh morning at about eight o’clock. I went in a sedan-chair, and the two others in a wheelbarrow—not such an uncomfortable conveyance as might be supposed, except when the roads are very rough. The occupants recline on each side of the wheel, and parallel to it, in a padded seat with back rests and cushions, their feet extended full length in front; the barrow is wheeled from behind, and has a man harnessed like a beast in front. As this was a heavy barrow there were two additional men pulling, one on each side of it. The sedan-chair travelled quicker than the barrow, and had the advantage of taking short cuts across the fields. It was carried by four men, two in front and two behind; the front ones carried by means of a pole, to which the shafts were suspended—which ran parallel to them—while the carriers at the back were in the shafts themselves. When the men wished to shift the weight from one shoulder to the other, they supported the pole by means of an upright one which they carry for the purpose. Owing to these arrangements the chair can be equally well carried by three men as by four, two in front and one behind, in which case the back carrier is much farther from the chair than the front men.

I was soon well ahead, and did not witness the catastrophe that happened to the barrow shortly after starting. Going round a corner rather too fast, the barrow was upset, and one of my friends was tipped out into the dust; but the other, on the upper side, managed to hold on. Happily, no damage was done, as the fall was into a soft, clean heap of dust. But it was not so pleasant a matter for another friend to whom this happened when she was travelling the same road earlier in the year. She was tipped over into a sea of mud, and as she happened to be carrying a basket full of eggs, she suddenly found herself in a “Yellow Sea.”

Leaving the city behind us, we passed through open country where every one was still busy harvesting in the fields. Some fields were already ploughed, in others green wheat stood a few inches high; it would not be much higher before the snow came to cover it for winter. Much of the foliage looked more like spring green than autumn, and many of the villages lay embowered in trees—willows, aspens, cryptomerias, the last-named always belonging to temples or adjoining graves. The threshing-floors were filled with golden grain being prepared for winter storage. Bean pods were being broken up by means of stone rollers, worked by donkeys, blindfolded with neat straw goggles. On one occasion I saw a donkey wearing a pair of ornate blinkers, bright blue cotton with protuberant black eyes surrounded by a white line. The Chinese love to decorate the things in common use, and it is a perpetual joy to see the skill and ingenuity expended on simple objects. After the bean pods have been crushed the different parts of the plant are raked into separate heaps on the threshing floor—bean, husk, stalk, and chaff—for every particle is used in one way or other. If one were asked to state what was the most striking feature of this great empire, I almost think it would be this: the carefulness which prevents waste, the ingenuity which finds a use for everything. Even the green weed covering the ponds is used as fodder for pigs. When the fields look quite empty after harvest, the women and girls gather together the few remaining straws. Every inch of ground is cultivated, except the endless mounds, the graves of countless generations.

The country was a scene of delightfully cheerful energy, whole families working together; a tiny child lying naked, basking in the sun, the women (despite their bound feet) as busy as the men. Barrows passed along, groaning under loads so heavy that it needed a friend to drag in front, while at the end of some five yards of traces a donkey trotted along, waiting to give its assistance till it was more urgently needed, as, for instance, going uphill or over difficult ground. The reins were attached to each side of the barrow, and could only be manipulated by a dexterous twist of the wrists. Occasionally a man rode by on a pony, whose coming was heralded by a tinkling of bells. As the country is covered with crops, not many cattle are to be seen, and any there may be are mainly fed on bean cakes. We were swiftly borne through village after village, and my men only set me down for one ten minutes’ rest during the ten miles, which we covered in two hours and forty minutes.

As we entered Wang Chia Chuang (Wang = family village), the whole community, headed by the Wang family, turned out to meet us, having been warned the day previous of our intended arrival, and we were ceremoniously led to the Guest Chamber. On the outside of the entrance to the house little strips of red or orange paper were pasted up, and in the inner courtyards as well. On these papers are sayings from the writings of Confucius, or other mottoes, such as the following:

When you sit quietly, think of your own fault;

When you chat together, mention not another man’s.

In teaching children, good must be taught;

To win a reputation, study may be required.

Diligence and frugality are the principal thing in maintaining a house;

Humility and mildness are the boat for crossing this world.

Honesty keeps the family great;

Classics make the generation long.

These couplets are renewed at the beginning of the year, and the village schoolmaster has a busy time writing them.

Tea was brought in, and not only the family and schoolgirls, but also the neighbours came to see us, pouring out a flood of talk, of which we understood nothing. Then we went into the schoolroom across the courtyard, and found it and the girls as clean as soap and water could make them. The certificated teacher was about twenty years of age, and in this case happened to be Mr. Wang’s daughter. Her room opened out of the schoolroom, and was a pattern of neatness—it was ornamented with photos. Her salary is £3 per annum. The curriculum of these village schools consists of the three R’s, singing, drill, and sewing, and it is wonderful to see the difference in the appearance of the girls after they have been a short time under training, the awakened intelligence showing to a marked degree. The more promising students get drafted on to the boarding-schools for further training, with a view to their becoming teachers. The largest of these schools only contain thirty scholars, but they have two teachers for that number of scholars. An official who happened to visit one of these schools was filled with astonishment at the behaviour of the girls; as soon as he entered they all stood up, and answered the questions he put to them with modesty and clearness. He said how different this was from the behaviour in the national schools for boys, and sent a large sum of money (comparatively speaking) to be divided among the scholars, as a mark of his appreciation. In the large towns Government schools for girls are being started, but in the country there are only mission ones. Dating from the new year (1909) school attendance is compulsory for boys throughout the Empire, therefore the Government is responsible for the establishment of the requisite number of schools—at least one in every village. At first there was a difficulty in starting village girls’ schools; now they are in great demand, and sufficient teachers cannot be obtained.

A VILLAGE SCHOOL

After we had heard the children sing and had inspected their writing and sewing, &c., we watched Mr. Wang doling out medicine in a patriarchal way in the courtyard. Several people had taken the opportunity of our visit for killing two birds with one stone, namely, seeing foreigners and obtaining medicine. One of them showed us her unbound feet with great pride, as she had just achieved the process of unbinding, and she presented us with her old shoe, much worn, but beautifully embroidered, in which she used to work in the fields. The Chinese naturally have remarkably small feet, and in this village most of them are unbound, as the majority are Christians, but the feet are so tiny that in many cases it is difficult to believe that they are not bound. The women wear white linen socks, and their wide trousers are neatly fastened over them with different coloured braids. Village life here looks eminently patriarchal. The sons do most of the work, all living with their families under the same roof. One of the daughters-in-law had a beautiful Madonna-like face, as she sat nursing her baby, with other youngsters crowding round her knees. No one could have failed to admire the saintly expression and graceful pose. The two married daughters of the house were living in a neighbouring camp with their husbands, who are Manchu officers. All the prefectural towns have Manchu garrisons, but it would not be possible for a foreigner to tell the difference between Manchu and Chinese soldiers.

Our visit came to rather an abrupt close, as we were warned that we must reach the city before sundown or the gates would be closed. Mr. Wang brought in preserved pears and tomatoes strewn with sugar, which are esteemed a great delicacy, and then we started on our homeward way. Work in the fields was ended for the day, but for many of the Chinese work is never ended. Until all the grain is housed, watch must be kept by day and night. Small huts are erected in the fields for this purpose, sometimes perched on tall poles, from which a wide outlook can be kept over the country, or on the threshing-floors adjoining the farms.

CHAPTER IV
Shantung Silk

The next morning we pursued our railway journey as far as Chowtsun, but we had great difficulty in getting tickets. Before leaving Shanghai we inquired at the bank what sort of money we should take for Shantung, and were told that notes would go everywhere, so we accepted what the bank gave us. On the railway they demurred at every place where we offered notes, and at Chowtsun they absolutely refused to take them. In vain I expostulated in German. The Chinaman pretended not to understand. Nothing would induce him to say a word or give us tickets, but he said in Chinese that he must have Mexican dollars. Finally, we left the office, and when the train arrived we had our luggage put in, and got in ourselves. The man came out of his office, and looked surprised. He then poured forth a flood of German. I told him that he would be reported for incivility at the station to which we were going, and where we would pay for our tickets. He had evidently imagined we should be intimidated and should produce the dollars. Chowtsun is a charming place, and we found plenty of the now fashionable Shantung silk to be bought there, but much finer in quality than one sees in London shops. We were taken to look at it in an inner room, and provided with tea. The merchant said that the Shantung silk blouse which I was wearing was very poor quality, and he showed us some lovely stuffs, all hand-woven. On the counter were lying Manchester cotton goods, which are imported all over the Empire. It is interesting to learn that Shantung has been noted for its silks since 2640 B.C. In the Chinese classics of that date silk is referred to as being made in the south-west of the province, where the mulberries grow well.[3] At the present time the silkworms are fed on dwarf oak in the eastern part of the province, and pongée is made from their silk; but all the finer silks come from the west. From the time of Yu (who flourished B.C. 2640) there is continual reference made in the classics to sericulture. A later writer says that in his time it was forbidden to rear more than one breed of silkworms in a season, because astrologers had discovered that horses and silkworms belonged to the same constellation, and therefore must be of the same origin. Later on, in a classical book of the Han dynasty (B.C. 204), the ceremonies connected with it are described, and how the Empress herself took part in it, none of her ladies being allowed to wear jewelry when picking mulberry leaves to feed the young insects, and “none dare indulge in indolence”; “lewd conversation” was said to disturb the worms. From this time onwards it appears that successive empresses had to take a ceremonial part in the rearing of silkworms. Silk was the most interesting product of the province to us, but the main interest of the country to others lies in its mineral worth. The Germans have got mining rights, and have carried a branch line of the railway down to the coalfields at Poshan.

From Chowtsun we went on a barrow, through interesting country, to the town of Tsowping to visit a friend, and as the roads were good we quite enjoyed our four hours’ ride. Specially careful barrow-men had been selected, so that we might run no risk, and certainly this was desirable, as the path often lay along the edge of steep banks. We found a good mission hospital up there, where we heard astonishing stories of the recuperative powers of the Chinese. The Scotch doctor said that when he told them to his friends at home, one would remark, “I am not a bad liar myself, but I would not dare to go so far as that.” My own experience at a hospital in China makes me think that it is impossible to beat the reality, no matter how exaggerated the story sounds!

From Tsowping we returned by barrow to Chowtsun, and thence by rail to Tsinan, which boasts three railway stations.

The accompanying illustration gives an idea of what is worn by officials. The self-complacent pose of a Chinese official’s feet is eminently characteristic. Much has been written about character as seen in the human hand, but I think a character study of feet might still be written, even when the feet are disguised by boots or shoes.

OFFICIAL (COURT DRESS)

CHAPTER V
Tsinan

The capital of Shantung is a large city, containing a population of about 150,000 inhabitants. Tsinan is a city of real beauty, owing to the fact that there are bubbling streams in all parts of it, so that the trees grow well. The water is singularly bright and sparkling, and looks attractive even in the dirtiest gutters. As it comes bubbling up in every direction there is a radiance about it which seems untarnishable. In the very centre of the town is a temple, standing on a terrace with fine carved balustrades round it, in front of which is a large pond full of this bubbling water, overhung by willows—a typical Chinese picture. On the other side of the pond is a busy market, whence crowds soon collected round us to watch our sketching and photographing. They were quiet and polite, and it was quite unnecessary for the policeman to come and keep them at a distance. But then that manœuvre gave him the advantage of an excellent view for himself! Everywhere we found a Chinese crowd of spectators preferable to one composed of Europeans. The market interested us greatly, having every kind of ware for sale, from rags and silk scraps, out of which elegant shoes are made, to all sorts of weird medicines, of which the emblem was a life-sized, double-headed fowl, planted in the centre of the counter. Hard by the medicine stalls was an enclosed space, where a woman was telling a story to an interested crowd. The professional story-teller is quite an institution here, as elsewhere in the East, but it is rarely that a woman is seen in that capacity. In fact, women take but small part in the business life of the country, and men do all the selling in shops.

Not far from the market, but situated on the outskirts of the town, is the University, a recent institution (1902), and built mainly in European style; the professors’ houses being of two stories and entirely un-Chinese. The entrance, however, is the usual native one with carved and painted woodwork decorations; facing it, and crossing a little bridge over an empty tank, was the guest-room, supposed to be purely Chinese, but full of European lapses, in the shape of lace curtains, wall-papers, European carpet, chairs, clock, electric bells, and, most striking of all, a centre candelabra for the electric light. There are lecture-rooms, libraries, museum, laboratory, and dining-rooms, and thirty-two baths with hot and cold water laid on; these are so popular that their use has had to be limited. Amongst the institutions may be named a fife and drum band, and the latest novelty is a brass band. The University is only open to the students of the province of Shantung, and naturally the standard of Western knowledge is still low; but there are professors of English, German, French, and Japanese, though the respective numbers of their classes are seven, five, five, two. At present Japanese is not so popular as it used to be. Indeed, in the Imperial College in Kaifeng the Educational Board has just cut out Japanese: whether this is an exceptional case I cannot say.

The English section includes a study of European history (Freeman’s) and political economy, but other subjects, such as geography, are popular among students, to judge by their use of the small English library. Curiously enough, the most popular book both here and elsewhere is “Little Lord Fauntleroy.” Half the lectures are devoted to Western knowledge and half to the Chinese classics, and the course of study at present covers three years.

In connection with the scheme of education, and under the same jurisdiction, are normal schools, secondary and primary schools. One of the principal ones has an English headmaster, so that there will soon be a set of students prepared to profit much better by university training, and fitted to go to some European university later. There are no fewer than fifteen schools and colleges, with about two thousand five hundred students. Another interesting feature of the education question is the opening of a girls’ school for the daughters and wives of the officials. It was built three years ago by two Chinese gentlemen, and they have an English teacher there. The school was formally opened by the Literary Chancellor, and on entering he saluted the girls deferentially, and gave them an admirable address. In the south of China many ladies learn reading in private, but in the north this is extremely rare, and so lately as 1902 there was not a single girls’ school in the Empire, except the mission schools; now they are cropping up in all directions, and the Government is taking an active interest in all their concerns. Possibly it may be thought that it shows this in somewhat exaggerated fashion, for a recent order has been issued from the Education Department in Peking prohibiting the wearing of a long fringe of hair, or “bang” as our American friends call it, in any of the girls’ schools throughout the Empire. This fashion had become rather general last year. It would have been of much more practical value if all scholars had been forbidden to paint, as this is one of the most time-wasting processes. At Tsinan the school hours have been obliged to be fixed late because the scholars require some hours for the morning toilette. In the girls’ schools they are now very anxious to learn English, music, and drawing; “accomplishments” are more valued than serious study. It is quite evident that there is no lack of ability to learn, though the girls are called “wooden-heads” sometimes in contempt. In the American Board School at Peking the girls gave an admirable rendering of Wagner’s and Mendelssohn’s music in part-singing. The piano is also very popular among the girls. Like the boys, they have astonishing memories, and think nothing of reciting a whole Gospel; it is even not ranked as a feat by the Chinese to know the whole of the Bible by heart.

Tsinan is a most progressive town: it has a British postmaster, who has organised, not to say revolutionised, the postal system of the province. Letters now go to Peking in four days, and to Tientsin in three and a half days; the runners carrying them reckoning to do fifty or sixty miles at a stretch, with an average speed of three and a half miles per hour. They receive about five shillings a week as wages. Sir Robert Hart is responsible for the selection of postmasters, and even in a remote place we found a very nice one who could speak a little English. Sir Robert Hart was appointed head of the Customs Department in 1862, and the Customs and Post-Office form part of one system.

One of the prettiest places at Tsinan is the lake, the main pleasure resort of the Chinese. After threading our way in chairs through incredibly dirty and narrow lanes, filled with a jostling crowd and traffic, often brought to a standstill by a hopeless-looking impasse of rickshas, barrows, beasts, and chairs, we came to a gateway, and stepped thereout straight on to the edge of the lake, where boats, with graceful latticed-work windows, and a broad couch to lie on in the front, awaited passengers. Tea was ready on the table, and we set off along one of the water highways through the tall reeds and beds of lotus. Gorgeous kingfishers darted to and fro like a flash of light; tiny wild-ducks bobbed up out of the water, and then scuttled into the reeds, as we slowly made our way to the various points of interest. The lake has been chosen as a place for putting up memorial monuments to distinguished people, and they are certainly a singular contrast to ours. They stand like temples on little islands, and to the uninitiated appear to be such, with their tablets of incense and altars. For instance, there is a fairly recent one erected in memory of a former Governor of Shantung. Above the altar, and almost hidden by the inscribed tablet, is a life-size seated figure of the Governor. The head is a photograph, and the rest is a painting, but in the dim light it required close inspection to ascertain this fact. Incense is offered before it by any one, and not only by the members of his family, as in ancestral worship. Opposite this building, and as part of the memorial, is an ornate theatre, where plays are acted on public occasions. Another recent memorial has been put up to Li Hung Chang, and it is extremely strange. It includes a little summer-house and a rock-garden (without rock-plants), a theatre, a house containing a tablet, altar, &c., and a guest-house where distinguished visitors can be lodged. This last building is two-storied, and quite European in style, perched on an elevation with a well-built wall below it, surmounted by barbed wire. Another little group of buildings had corrugated iron walls; on another was a Taoist temple, where we found a travelling showman who was exhibiting a popular cinematograph in the neighbourhood. The Chinese frequent the lake for pleasure parties, and a good deal of drinking goes on, not of tea only. A visit by moonlight is as enchanting as anything that could be imagined. On one of the islands we noticed the most fascinating of all the fascinating birdcages we had yet seen. It was the usual round shape made in bamboo, but the centre of the roof inside was a well-executed portrait of the handsome, black talking bird which inhabited it. The seed- and water-pots were of different colours and shapes, and fastened in with tiny figures of men carved into wooden buttons. I have never been in any country where there were so many caged birds, and where they were so well looked after. Every cage has its well-made night-cover, and often this is fastened down the side with neat little buttons. We continually saw men carrying cages along the streets, taking their birds for walks, as we do dogs. At one place we saw a man take the cage to a stream, and after he had cleaned it out with a sort of tooth-brush, he left it in the stream for the bird to have its bath, after which he hung it up to dry, and whistled to the bird. The fashion of carrying birds about is said to be for the purpose of showing that the owner is a man of leisure; as this is now creating a good deal of ridicule, the custom is likely to go out of fashion.

One of the interesting sights of Tsinan, which is quite up to date, is a large camp, lighted by electricity, about two miles outside the city. It is built like rows of little cottages; the men are well drilled, and have to attend lectures. We found them, when they acted as our military escort through the province, very civil, and in every way pleasant and obliging men. A party of them was brought by an officer to visit the mission museum, and the men were much interested in having the various kinds of natural history and geological specimens, models of architecture, electrical machines, steam-engines, &c., explained to them. Visitors are surprised to see a model of an English cemetery, but it throws a new light on English character when the Chinese receive an explanation of our views with regard to the dead, and the care lavished on their last earthly dwelling-place. Models are of great value when wisely used for dispelling misconceptions, but we are often prevented by our insular pride from taking the trouble to disabuse foreigners of false impressions they may have conceived of us. One of the most attractive models is a dredge worked by electricity, for the province of Shantung suffers terribly from the inundations of the Yellow River, and the means used to cope with this difficulty are wofully inadequate.

This museum was originally started by Mr. Whitewright, of the Baptist Mission at Tsingchowfu, where the prefectural examinations used to take place, attracting to it 10,000 or more students from all parts of the province. When the old examination system was abolished the city of Tsingchowfu was no longer of importance from this point of view, and it was decided to move the Institute to the capital, Tsinan, a treaty port whose importance, on the other hand, was rapidly increasing. The Mission obtained an excellent site, and put up a lecture-hall to seat six hundred persons, reception-rooms for men and for women, a reading-room, and the museum. The first block of buildings was opened in 1905 by the Governor, and ever since then the place has attracted an increasing number of visitors of all kinds. In the second year of its existence there were 187,000 admittances; at the great annual religious festivals it is specially crowded, as thousands of pilgrims pass through Tsinan on their way to the sacred mountain, Tai Shan. From 8.30 A.M. till 6 P.M. preaching goes on without intermission, a specially selected staff of native preachers assisting the missionaries in this work; for the Chinese prove themselves more able than Europeans to win converts to Christianity.

Many of the students from the university and the schools frequent the museum and lecture-hall, the walls of which are hung with charts and diagrams calculated to give the thoughtful Chinaman much food for reflection. After studying the comparative tables of commerce, population, &c., a visitor is said to have exclaimed, “Why! the only thing that China is ahead in is population!” Lectures on history, science, and religion are given in the hall, and are largely attended by university students on Sunday, as, in imitation of our Western custom, they have no classes at the university that day.

One day a week the museum is open to ladies only, and we met the wife of the retiring Governor of the province just leaving the building after an exhaustive examination of its contents. She was accompanied by a considerable retinue on horseback and in chairs, not to mention a motley crowd composed of the rag-tag and bobtail of the town, carrying absurd little flags.

It has now been decided to attach a medical school to the Institute, as there is none in the province, and a church is also to be built. The American Presbyterians and the English Baptists are combining for this medical school. The former society has had medical work here for the last twenty-eight years, and for many years they have had a hospital and dispensary in the eastern suburb. There is also a free dispensary in the city, a Government affair, where the patient is at liberty to choose either Eastern or Western treatment. The majority choose the latter, and are treated by a German naval doctor; they are indebted for his services to the German Government, who have lent him for this purpose. There are already classes for medical students in connection with several of the mission hospitals in the province, who will form an excellent nucleus with which to start the new college. The importance of medical mission work in China is great, not only for its own sake, but also for the purpose of familiarising the Chinese in the most remote corners of the Empire with the benefits of Western science and the goodwill felt towards them by Europeans and Americans, of which this is the practical demonstration. The two continents are about equally represented, and there are over three hundred doctors scattered throughout the Empire: their fame extends far beyond the limits of the neighbourhoods where they happen to be residing. They are training numbers of intelligent young Chinamen to carry on their work, but the establishment of colleges to complete the training of these students is now becoming increasingly necessary.

The work already achieved by medical missionaries in China is by no means small or unimportant. They form an association, by means of which the task of fixing the terminology of medical science has already been accomplished. They have published a standard dictionary in Chinese, as well as the latest American and English text-books on this subject. The Chinese medical student, therefore, is not entirely dependent on oral teaching, if he has no knowledge of English. Another branch of this work is the organised labour of their research committee. The geographical distribution of disease, the various forms of it prevalent in different districts, and the methods of treatment come under this heading. Men of undoubted ability and with the highest medical qualifications are engaged in this work.

The Chinese Government has recognised the value of what has been already done by its official sanction of the Union College at Peking—the first attempt made in China to give a full medical education.[4] The late Dowager Empress contributed to its initial cost, and the Government has pledged itself to grant degrees to the students who have successfully passed its examinations. There are about seventy to a hundred students in it at the present time.

This is a somewhat long digression, but I think it will not be without interest to readers to have a general idea of the scope of medical mission work in China at the present time.

There is an arsenal near Tsinan, where an English officer, who had just been allowed to see over it, told us they seemed thoroughly expert, and able to reproduce anything they tried. They were busy making locks for a canal, and less than a hundred miles away we passed another large arsenal where they were busy making ammunition. The smoky chimneys were quite suggestive of home!

The most interesting feature of our stay at the capital was an interview with the Governor of the province, to whom we had an introduction. His Excellency Lord Wu is an intellectual-looking man, but worn and bowed with age. He had granted us an audience one afternoon, and on our arrival at his yamen (= official residence) we were led through a circular doorway in the wall, into the gardens, in which were little ponds and bridges, and an arbour made in the shape of a boat. We waited the Governor’s coming in a summer-house, a terrible European erection, furnished with a crimson and “Reckitt’s blue” plush sofa and revolving chairs to match. On the table were glasses and plates, with proverbs inscribed round them, and cups of the type seen at a Sunday-school caterer’s. Cake, champagne, and tea were set out on a parti-coloured table-cloth, which was ornamented with a florid design in chain-stitch composed of every colour of the rainbow. His Excellency soon made his appearance, accompanied by an exquisite-looking interpreter who spoke English well—better than he understood it, I fancy. For nearly an hour he plied us with all sorts of questions as to my education (he had been much exercised by F.R.S.G.S. on my Chinese visiting-card), occupation, our past and future travels. He not only gave us good advice with regard to our journey, but practical assistance—as we afterwards discovered—by sending word to the magistrates on our route through the province. An interested but somewhat ragged audience watched us from the doorway, and the Governor’s personal attendant played with his queue, but somehow nothing could disturb the dignified impression of the old man. He had known Gordon, and at the time of the Boxer troubles he had sent the missionaries safely out of the province, in direct opposition to the orders he had received from his Government. He is a strong, good man, and I much regretted that our conversation had to be carried on through an interpreter, for that process is paralysing to thought, not to mention that one had grave doubts as to the accuracy of the interpretation. The interview lasted about an hour, and was terminated by His Excellency inviting us to drink champagne or tea, after which he escorted us back through the garden to our chairs.

CHAPTER VI
The Sacred Shrine of Tai Shan

Shantung is the most interesting (historically) of all the provinces in the Empire, and we determined to visit two particularly sacred spots which were not far from the capital—Tai Shan (one of the four sacred mountains of China) and Küfow, the home of Confucius.

We started on a beautiful autumn morning, with quite an imposing cortège. First came our mounted military escort, then ourselves in two light mountain chairs, each carried by two men and with two to relieve them. Next came the cart, with our interpreter (a minute person clad in khaki, boasting the name of Fergus Summer—though a Chinaman), the cook, some baggage, and the men’s bedding. Finally a mule brought up the rear, carrying our baggage, some one’s bedding, and our other servant perched cross-legged on the top. It was a delightfully exhilarating day, and not less so the thought that we were really beginning our adventures off the beaten track, and had said good-bye to the railway for at least three weeks, to try far pleasanter, if slower, means of transit. The chairs were light frames with a hanging foot-rest, quite comfortable when padded with our bedding, and with an awning fastened on light bamboo rods above us. We were well manned, so we comforted ourselves as to the fact of their carrying us between twenty and thirty miles a day by remembering that they were only too pleased to get the job. They were pleasant, cheery fellows, with fine mahogany-coloured backs, and did not seem the least bit jaded at the end of the day’s march. They go lightly clad, the most solid part of their clothing being the pig-tail curled round their heads. The rest of their garments were well ventilated, and sometimes seemed in danger of falling to pieces altogether. Their food seemed most inadequate—a chunk of bread, an onion (alas for the passenger who hates the smell of an onion!), endless cups of tea at wayside restaurants, and frequent whiffs of smoke from their tiny pipes. They are wonderfully good-tempered, always ready for a laugh, and most attentive and careful for one’s comfort.

MOUNTAIN CHAIR

The first day passed without any adventure, but was pleasantly spent in charming scenery, and we passed a somewhat uneasy night trying to accustom ourselves to our new beds (light camp mattresses with an air pillow under the hips—an excellent arrangement) and strange surroundings in an inn. It was an easy task to get up early next day, and we started at 6 A.M., so as to do a four hours’ stage before breakfast—fifteen miles. The country was full of interesting sights: one hamlet we passed through seemed to have a monopoly of whips; every shop was full of them and of nothing else. In another plaited straw for hats was the only article for sale. Farther on, we came to a district where each village had large bunches of maize hanging in golden clusters from the trees, looking like fruit. As we turned a corner into a deep gully we came into a bevy of barrows in full sail—like a fleet of blue-sailed boats—bearing down upon us. They were the only ones we saw, as there was not much wind, but it was an unforgettable sight.

As we approached the city of Tai An we were met by a fine soldier in red plush breeches, but the rest of his costume was not to match! He had come six miles from the city to act as our escort, and told us of a noted Buddhist temple that we must stop and visit. There was an extraordinary seated gilt Buddha, with a broad grin on his face, and another grave one standing, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy, as far as we could see. The soldier told us that preparations had been made for our entertainment at the inn, but we had arranged to stay with a hospitable American lady, who had lived out here for over fifty years, and as soon as we arrived she sent to engage chairs to take us next day up the holy mountain. Chinese books say that it has been the holy mountain of the East for the last 4000 or 5000 years; it is certainly one of the most frequented to-day, and at the usual times of pilgrimage (February and March) as many as 10,000 will go up in a day. Most of the pilgrims go up on foot, a few on their knees, and the wealthy ones in chairs.

We started betimes in chairs—there is a special guild of chair-bearers, and they are simply wonderful—they are called “climb-mountain tigers,” and as soon as they saw my size they demanded an extra man. I was quite willing to comply with the demand, though they would not have suggested it to a Chinaman of twice my bulk! It was a lovely morning, worthy even of such an expedition. We were carried about two miles across the fields before we came to the foot of the mountain, and from there to the top the way is well paved or made in flights of granite steps, some ten to twelve feet wide, up to the top of the mountain. There is even a well-built wall of cut stone on either side, the cost of this road being defrayed (as well as the upkeep of the temples) by the gifts of worshippers. The road was not very steep at first, and was lined by houses, where no doubt a profitable trade is plied by the sellers of paper money, shoes to be presented to the goddess P’i-Hsia Yuam-Chun, incense, and “light refreshments.” There are many temples on the mountain—in fact, there seems to be one every few yards—but we had not time to spend in visiting them; and we set our faces to walk up a large part of the 6600 steps which lead to the top. It took us some five and a half hours to climb up, and as we neared the Gate of Heaven (the pink gateway in the sketch) the steepness grew, the last flight being over 1000 steps (I counted them), most of which were so narrow that not more than part of the foot could be accommodated: the steps were much higher than they were wide, so that it was more like a ladder than a staircase. Heavy iron chains were suspended at the sides for the worshippers to drag themselves up by, and a Chinese woman with us went up on all-fours. The way towered above us in contrast to the “Peaceful Mile,” a shady part of the road lower down; but it was very lovely, with its scent of wild thyme, fragrant grasses, and yellow chrysanthemums. Earlier in the year it is bright with violets, forget-me-nots, and honeysuckle, and the cypresses and pine trees give great dignity to the landscape. We followed the rocky bed of the stream, which becomes a brawling torrent after rain. We only halted for half-an-hour on our way up, and the “tigers” did their work well. After we had passed through the Gate of Heaven we came on to a comparatively flat piece of tableland with thatched cottages, which might have been a Scotch moor. On the top were several temples, one to Confucius, in which was a replica of his big statue in the temple of Küfow; another to Yu-Huang, the Taoist Emperor of the Sky, who first drained the Empire; and—most sacred of all—a rough block of granite, said to have been erected there by the conqueror Ch’in Shih-Nuang.

TAI SHAN

The great Emperor Shun (B.C. 2255–2205) is said to have visited Tai Shan, “where he presented a burnt offering to God and sacrificed to the Mountains and Rivers.” Certainly he could not have selected a better spot for the purpose: from the summit you look down upon a vast expanse of hilltops, like the waves of the ocean, and the lovely shining rivers below wind away like silver threads between them. This represents the oldest form of worship in China, existing before the rise of Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism. The earliest sacrifices are said by Chinese writers to have been organised by Fu Hsi, nearly 3000 years B.C. His successor built a temple for the worship of God, where sacrifices were offered to the mountains and rivers. This was followed by the worship of the sun, moon, and five planets, and there are traces of this still to be found in Chinese Buddhism, which has incorporated so many alien ideas from other religions.

The great sacrifices to God and to earth were offered at the winter and summer solstices by the Emperor: he also sacrificed to the four quarters and to the mountains and rivers of his Empire. The nobility sacrificed each to their own quarter, with its rivers and mountains. The royal sacrifice was a young ox of one colour, which had been specially reserved for the purpose. The sacrifices of the people varied according to rank and to the season of the year—a bull, a ram, a boar, scallions and eggs, wheat, fish, millet, a sucking pig, unhulled rice, a goose.

The sacrifices in early times consisted of meat and drink; those offered to heaven were burnt, and those to earth were buried, accompanied by the beating of an earthen drum. But sacrifices were not very frequent; in the “Book of Rites” it says: “Sacrifices should not be frequently repeated. Such frequency is indicative of importunateness; and importunateness is inconsistent with reverence. Nor should they be at distant intervals. Such infrequency is indicative of indifference, and indifference leads to forgetting them altogether. Therefore the superior man, in harmony with the course of nature, offers the sacrifices of spring and autumn. When he treads on the dew, which has descended as hoarfrost, he cannot help a feeling of sadness which arises in his mind, and cannot be ascribed to the cold. In spring, when he treads on the ground, wet with the rains and dews that have fallen heavily, he cannot avoid being moved by a feeling as if he were seeing his departed friends. We meet the approach of our friends with music, and escort them away with sadness, and hence at the sacrifice in spring we use music, but not at the sacrifice in autumn” (Legge’s translation).

Such a poetic description of worship is worthy of the scene which greeted our gaze on the mountain after we had passed through the Gate of Heaven, the fine culminating point of the steep ascent. The view from the summit, which is but a gentle ascent from the Gate of Heaven, was absolutely glorious—range upon range of mountains, countless villages dotted over the forty miles of plain and in the folds of the hills, and above all the winding, shining river, going away, away, away, till it was lost in infinite space. Was it that the effect of such a vision unhinged the minds of worshippers, since this became the place where people cast themselves down into the abyss? There were so many deaths that the authorities have had it walled in, and the place is called “Cliff of the Love of Life.”

When we began our descent we resolved to do the correct thing—despite the terror it inspired in us—and be carried down the almost perpendicular stairway. The men carry the chairs sideways, because of the narrowness of the steps, and run down, pitter-patter, as hard as they can go. I had my watch in hand and timed them—a thousand steps in six minutes. The most horrible moment was when they flung the chair, with a dexterous turn of the wrist, from one shoulder to the other. One false step and we should all have been killed together; but the “tigers” never make a false step. Really the only danger is that the carrying poles may snap. The whole return journey—reckoned at thirteen miles—took only two and a half hours. The height of the mountain is 5500 feet, whereas Tai-an is only 800 feet above sea-level. Stones are carried from it to all parts of the province, and when a house is built with an unlucky aspect—namely, facing a cross-road or a turning—one of these stones is built into the wall, with an inscription, “The stone from Tai Shan accepts the responsibility.”

CHAPTER VII
The Home of Confucius: Küfow

The next morning we were just about to start, when the magistrate of the city was announced (imagine a ceremonious call at 7 A.M.!), and he was ushered in, together with his present to us—a tray containing fine pears, pomegranates, dates, and nuts. We accepted part (in Chinese etiquette this stands for “gratitude for his generosity”), and returned part (“humility of the recipient”). He was immediately served with tea and cakes, and explained to us that, owing to a message from the Governor of the province, he had been expecting our arrival and had prepared an inn for us. Understanding that we were just setting out on our journey, he only stayed a short time after we had thanked him for his hospitality, so that we were able to do our day’s stage in good time.

The following day we started at 6 A.M., and managed our thirty-six miles in twelve hours, as the roads were in good condition. At midday we halted for lunch at an inn, where we were told that the magistrate had made preparations for our entertainment. A scarlet curtain was hung in front of the door; there were mats and carpet on the floor of the two rooms, coverlets on the khangs (= brick bedsteads), a good table and European chairs, scrolls on the walls, a white table-cloth, and, to complete all—a champagne lunch! We declined the champagne, lager-beer, and most of the “plats,” but enjoyed the chicken and eggs. The advantage of having the inns cleaned up and fresh mats put down is great. Our military escort, varying from one to four, is highly diverting, and they are usually mounted on shaggy ponies, on which they look quite fine, especially when they have their scarlet or yellow umbrellas up.

As we approached our destination, Küfow, a man came dashing across the plain at full gallop, and flung himself off his horse at our feet, announcing that the magistrate had ordered a private house in the city to be prepared for our reception, to which he would conduct us. Just outside the gates we found four soldiers standing at attention: they gave us a military salute, bobbing down till their right hands touched the ground and then emitting a startling yell. Accompanied by them (they remained with us in attendance till we left Küfow) we soon reached our quarters, a characteristic Chinese gentleman’s house, very nice and clean, in which a suite of three rooms was placed at our disposal (the block seen in the sketch). A major-domo received us at the entrance and led us ceremoniously to the inner courtyard, where tea was at once served, and we were told that dinner would be ready shortly, and that the magistrate would call on us as soon as we had dined.

PRIVATE HOUSE: KÜFOW

Our interpreter, Mr. Summer, had informed us that he was the son of an official and knew exactly what ought to be done; so we placed ourselves in his hands, and our visiting-cards and thanks were at once despatched to the magistrate. After dinner the chairs were arranged in rows, and tea and cakes set on the table in readiness for his arrival. He asked particularly if we had enjoyed our dinner, which he had ordered to be cooked in European style, and it was quite good and palatable, especially as we had the best of sauces after our long day’s march. It appeared that our host had provided three cooks (trained in European ways), three other servants, four soldiers, and two policemen to look after us, but our own men undertook all the personal attendance.

Next morning we went in procession to the temple—the Holy of Holies of Confucianism—for all the establishment seemed to think they should accompany us. We decided to make a détour in order to approach it from the most picturesque side, and the view was certainly charming as we walked along the moat outside the city wall, where lotus leaves floated on the still water, and tall rushes and flags rustled under the leafy trees. Nothing was needed to enhance the beauty of the spot, and a few minutes’ walk brought us to the celebrated avenue of cypresses leading to the south gate of the city, within which is the fine entrance to the temples. They are enclosed in a park which occupies a whole quarter of the town, and has plenty of trees to form a worthy setting for the large groups of buildings connected with Confucianism, temples not only to Confucius but to his parents, followers, and to the other great sages, Mencius and Yentzu. The buildings are some of the finest in the Empire, and very lofty, with their double-storied roofs covered with orange and green tiles. The eaves are heavily decorated with fine coloured woodwork, protected with netting from the vast flocks of birds and bats that hover round them, and the pillars of the Hall of Perfection are magnificently carved monoliths. In the first courtyard are many interesting stone tablets, eight or ten feet high, standing on the backs of stone tortoises or mythical beasts of similar shape in picturesque little temples with yellow-tiled roofs and Venetian red woodwork. Hoary cypresses towered above them. In the next courtyard was a preaching hall (not in use for that purpose, however), from which we ascended by a long steep flight of stairs, with folding gates half-way up, to a dark upper chamber. Another flight of steps took us to a room surrounded by a balcony, from which we had a splendid view over the many temples clustered round a great central one, which appears above the orange and green tiled temple in the sketch which I took from this point of view. It is the most imposing of the group of buildings, and is entirely tiled with orange, none but Confucian temples being allowed to have this colour. Flocks of crows, pigeons, and other birds were circling round it; indeed, we had been awakened by the deafening noise they made in the early morning. In the courtyard as well as in the temples were fine old bronzes; carved marble steps led up to the principal hall, a lofty building with pillars and red painted woodwork. Here Confucius sits under a canopy, with handsomely embroidered curtains partly shrouding him, and an altar bearing bronze incense bowls in front. On either side, at right angles, are the figures of two other great Chinese sages, Mencius and Tze-Sze, seated in shrines, and behind them again are six disciples seated against the walls on either side.

CONFUCIAN TEMPLE

The sacrifices to Confucius were formally established by an emperor (A.D. 59), who also ordered that the teaching of Confucius should be studied in all schools throughout the Empire. This is still done everywhere, even in the new universities, but the actual sacrifices—pigs, sheep, and cattle—are reserved for temple worship. These take place before dawn in the second and eighth month. There is plenty of room in the grounds belonging to the temple for pasturage, even for the vast number of animals required, as it is about 8000 acres in extent. More than 500 years elapsed after the death of Confucius before he was universally worshipped, but the worship had the royal sanction, for his teaching is aristocratic in character, whereas that of the yet greater but less noted sage, Mencius, was as thoroughly democratic.

Confucianism is rather a system of ethics than a religion. Confucius merely accepted (and that only to a limited extent) the religion of the age and country in which he lived, and he added to it a code of morals dealing largely with the government of the State. He said, “I am not an originator, but a transmitter.” Confucius lived contemporaneously with the Buddha, but no two great teachers of mankind could have differed more widely from one another than did these, both in character and in teaching. In the Buddha, love and pity for the sorrows of humanity drowned every other feeling, and he resolutely refused to use his powerful intellectual faculties for any other purpose than to lessen suffering, and eventually to rid the world of it. Confucius, on the other hand, allowed his intellect free play, and it appears to have led him to look with tolerance, and a certain measure of acquiescence, on the religious beliefs of the age. There is a famous saying of his, “Respect the spirits, but keep them at a distance.” At the same time, he was conscious of his mission as a teacher sent by God; he says, when threatened by the people of K’uang: “After the death of King Wen, was not wisdom lodged in me? If God were to destroy this wisdom, future generations could not possess it. So long as God does not destroy this wisdom, what can the people of K’uang do to me?” Confucius seems to have been a superstitious man; he was apt to turn pale at a thunderclap, and he sanctioned the practices of the village folk for driving away evil spirits.

The most important features of his teaching are the high ideals which he inculcated for the ruling of the State, and the stress he laid on the obligations of men to their fellow-men, even more than on their obligations towards God. One of his fundamental doctrines was that all men are born radically good. This doctrine is not accepted—at all events, at the present day—with regard to women; the Chinese would be more inclined to say, “All women are born radically stupid,” or, as the women themselves frequently put it, “We are only wooden-heads.” Confucius also strongly advocated the duty of reverence and sincerity, and “protested against any attempt to impose on God.” He rose from his seat in the presence of any one dressed in mourning. The five cardinal virtues taught by Confucius are righteousness, benevolence, politeness, discernment of good, and sincerity.

It will be readily understood from the above brief account of Confucianism that it is quite possible to combine it as a religion either with Buddhism or Taoism, and in point of fact it is not unusual for a Chinaman to profess all three religions at the same time, or by turns. I was told in Shansi that sometimes a village would feel aggrieved at their gods not having protected them from some disaster, or given them sufficiently good crops, so they would decide to try another religion for a time. The transformation in a village temple is easily effected.

Not only were divine honours paid to Confucius, but his family also were promoted to places of honour in the cult, and had adjoining temples raised to them, though only his father was granted a statue. In one of the temples is a fine series of stones engraved like brasses, descriptive of the life of Confucius. These are so greatly admired that it has been found necessary for their preservation to have papers pasted across them intimating that rubbings are not to be taken from them. Some of these tablets are fine specimens of writing—for Küfow is above all places the home of Chinese literature—and the inscriptions aim at being brief, telling, and enigmatic. Their value depends also on beauty of style and calligraphy.

The temples are only about two hundred years old, as they have twice been destroyed by lightning. The first time it happened, a thrill of terror ran through the whole Empire: nothing further happened, so the next time the nation took it quite calmly. There are no priests to look after the place, and, to judge by its neglected appearance, the five families exempted from taxation by some bygone emperor, in order that they might devote themselves to the care of it, have become extinct. The emperor used formerly to come at stated times in order to offer sacrifices, as being the visible head of Confucianism, but now he contents himself with sending every two or three years to decorate the temple and keep it in repair.

As we were leaving it began to rain a little, so the soldiers and police put on their hats, till then slung on their backs: when it rains heavily they put up the scarlet umbrella as well!

CEMETERY OF CONFUCIUS

After lunch we called on the magistrate to thank him for his hospitality and to take leave of him, attended by all our retinue, plus the rag-tag and bobtail of the town, with our card-case (measuring 11½ inches by 6½ inches) carried in front by the servant; then came “Mr. Summers,” who had managed to raise a horse for the occasion. Tea and cigarettes were handed round, and we were placed in seats of honour on a sort of platform. We did not linger, as we were anxious to complete our pilgrimage by visiting the grave of Confucius, situated in a park a short distance outside the town. It is approached through a series of gateways of varying sizes and importance. Long avenues of cypresses lead from one gateway to another, and at last a spot is reached from which every one is commanded to approach the grave on foot. This is simple and dignified, as befits a sage—nothing but a tablet bearing an inscription, set up on a plain low pedestal, shaded by trees. Near it are the graves of other members of the family of Confucius, which are much less modest. His grandson’s tablet has two curious tall stone figures of servants on each side. This descendant wrote a celebrated treatise called the “Doctrine of the Mean.”

In the evening the ladies of the family of the official to whom the house in which we were staying belonged asked permission to call on us. We entertained them and asked all the polite questions we could think of, such as their names, where they came from (Chinese officials always seem to be moving about the country), number of children, their age, &c., and we were asked similar questions in return. Suddenly a hitherto silent member of the party asked in a shrill tone, “What is your rank?” a most difficult question to answer so that they could understand, except in an ambiguous way. They were much pleased to drink “English” tea, which is quite different from what is prepared for the Chinese market, and to eat English cakes, some of which they carried away in their handkerchiefs.

The following morning we took our leave, hoping that our guide would prove his official skill by correctly tipping the various members of the establishment, and the same ceremonies were gone through as on our arrival. The guide sent the cook to “buy cash,” which was carried after him, as he felt far too important to carry it himself. The money worry was beginning to grow acute, as its value varies every day, and at Küfow we found two complete systems of coinage in use, one reckoning only half as much as the other; the 100 cash meaning anything between 80 and 97, but never by any chance meaning 100. The Government, not to mention banks and officials, reckons to get a “squeeze” out of everything, so it is lucky that money is subdivided into infinitesimally small values; 100 cash being worth about twopence-halfpenny.

On leaving Küfow we took a somewhat different route from what we did in coming, as we wished to visit a Buddhist monastery, and again we were entertained by hospitable magistrates on the road. Evidently they have found former travellers thirsty for something else than the national beverage, so Münchenes Bier was provided. On the second day we had a long stage—38 miles—to do, so we got up at 4.30. Alas! No sooner were we ready than down came the rain, in a most uncompromising way, and the men refused to set out. After waiting a couple of hours it seemed to be clearing; we made a feeble start, but the men crept along like snails, and their steps were so uncertain on the slippery ground as to make us quite nervous. We got safely across the ferry, though the water had risen a good deal considering how little rain had fallen. Our soldier escort galloped away under his red umbrella, and we saw him no more. The men set us down in an inn doorway on the farther side of the river, provided themselves with hot sweet potatoes from an itinerant vendor who happened to be passing, and refused to go any farther in the rain. By dint of persuasion and the promise of sixpence each extra (exorbitant sum!) if they would do the stage that day, we got them to make a fresh start. We plodded slowly on for five hours, and found we had done twenty miles by the time we reached our midday rest; we halted for an hour, and the rain stopped, so that we got on much better afterwards. During the rain there was not a creature to be seen except ourselves in all the wide landscape, but the minute it stopped the people appeared in every direction as if by magic. In the village streets we found great difficulty, as the rain had converted them into one big puddle, and the men tried to hop about from stone to stone. When it grew dark we were terrified, and I clutched a large eider-down pillow in readiness to cover my face when I should take the seemingly inevitable plunge into the morass. However, we escaped all disaster, and the men walked without stumbling through dry water-courses and over rough boulders, and the cart jogged along over impossible places. When the moon rose it was like fairyland; and at eight o’clock we triumphantly trudged into our inn.

The following morning we started at six o’clock for the celebrated Buddhist monastery of Lu, and reached it about 11.30. This monastery is situated up a solitary valley about six miles from the high-road, and the situation was splendid. It nestled in a hollow of lofty hills, its tall pagoda standing out sharply from the trees. There was a pylon part way up, and two stone bridges with yew-trees overarching them. The buildings round the temple are not at all imposing, but the entrance gate has a gilt Buddha seated in the centre, surrounded by four huge statues, each of a different colour, representing tutelary deities belonging to the Taoist religion; and back to back with Buddha was another god.

MOUNTED MILITARY ESCORT

The first temple we came to contained three seated Buddhas with a curious rockwork background, but beyond it and up a flight of steps was a much more imposing temple, of which both design and colouring were a facsimile of what we had just seen at Küfow, only on a smaller scale. It was impossible, judging by the exterior, to tell that it was Buddhist and not Taoist or Confucian, but inside there was no mistake. Buddha sat enthroned on a large lotus blossom, with a halo behind him and a thousand little seated gilt Buddhas on shelves all round the hall. Life-size figures of the 42 Lo Han were seated against the walls, and amongst them were the two emperors, pointed out to us by one of the monks. We discovered for ourselves a figure who we felt sure was Marco Polo: he had the face of an Arab and wore a drapery over his head, unlike any of the other figures; the monk could only tell us that he was a man from the West. What would Marco Polo have said if he could have foreseen that he would be placed among the Buddhist “holy ones”?

The rest of our journey back to Tsinan was accomplished safely in two and a half days.

CHAPTER VIII
The Yellow River and Grand Canal

We had little difficulty in deciding which route to take from Tsinan to Tientsin, as the railway journey to Tsingtao and by ship thence were both equally disliked by us. We determined to strike across country (travelling in the same way as to Küfow) as far as Tehchow on the Grand Canal, and to go up it by boat to Tientsin—in all, a week’s journey. The country is flat and not nearly so varied as the rest of the province, but it contained one most interesting experience for us, the crossing of the Yellow River. When we reached its banks we saw a far more turbulent flood than that of the Yangtze, and of the same dull mud colour. It took a little time to arrange for us to be ferried across and then to get our cart and mules on board, and we had time to study the route to be taken, as there was a large amount of traffic at this point. It seemed strange that there was no bridge across, especially when we saw the difficulty of navigating it; but it may be that, as the river is so capricious in its choice of a bed, the authorities consider it not worth while to build a bridge. The enormous amount of silt and mud which it brings down with it soon fills up the bed and causes frightful inundations. Dikes have to be built, and when they are broken through by flood a most extraordinary method of repairing them is used. A sort of gigantic pad of earth and stones, in a basket-work made of kaoliang (= sorghum) stalks and roots, is prepared and lowered into the breach by means of ropes, thousands of coolies being employed on the task. None but Chinese could devise or manage to execute such a work. On one occasion over 4000 people were drowned by the breaking down of a dike. Now the Government is seriously considering how to deal with the difficulty of controlling the course of the river. When we were safely on board the large ferry-boat, the boatmen towed us up the river-bank for about half-an-hour till we came to a point at which we could start, and then they came on board to row. It taxed their powers to the utmost, and by dint of straining every nerve they landed us at a point just opposite to that from which we originally started. Their work looked the most arduous I have ever seen.

In the year 1852 the Yellow River took a new course (which was still further changed in 1887) from the south of the province of Honan, in a north-east instead of a south-east direction, so that now it falls into the Gulf of Chili instead of into the Yellow Sea, to the south of the province of Shantung. Its present mouth is some three hundred miles distant from its former one. It has with good reason been named “China’s Sorrow.” Like the Yangtze, it rises in the mountains of Tibet, and follows a devious course of 2500 miles through northern China; but unlike the Yangtze, the main highway of commerce, the Yellow River or Hwang Ho is of no use for trade purposes. A decree has just been issued granting ten sticks of great Tibetan incense to be burnt at the altar of the Dragon King Temple (riverine deity) in token of Imperial gratitude because there was a peaceful river last year. This is done in response to the report of the Governor of Chili; and rewards have been given to a number of officials for their vigilance in connection with the Yellow River conservancy.

The following day we wanted to visit an American hospital a little more than a mile off the high-road to Tehchow, and had no end of difficulty in first persuading the men to permit the visit and then in finding the road. We decided to let “Mr. Summer” and the luggage go straight on to Tehchow, to get arrangements made for the boat, the kind Irish postmaster at Tsinan having sent word to his subordinate there to get us one. We progressed but slowly, asking every creature we met which was the way. The Chinese peasant is a stolid being, doing his task and taking little account of anything else, but at last we did arrive, and spent a couple of hours seeing school, hospital, &c. The result of our slow progress in the morning was that we did not reach Tehchow till it was pitch-dark, and by mistake our men were not told to go to the post-office for “Mr. Summer,” while we waited at the mission-room of the people whom we had just visited. In vain we tried to make the servant understand, and the evangelist’s household was equally uncomprehending, but kindly brought us tea. After much consultation over our affairs they fetched a young man who spoke English beautifully, and he at once set about finding “Mr. Summer” and getting food for us. He was a student from Peking, and asked what we should have done if no one had been found who knew English, and after a short time “Mr. Summer” and the postmaster turned up. They had been hunting for us outside the city, and somehow had missed us in the dark.

OUR HOUSEBOAT, GRAND CANAL

Next morning we went on board the house-boat, and had a comfortable but somewhat tame journey up the Grand Canal, which hardly comes up to its name. I spent nearly an hour sketching our house-boat in the rosy light of sunrise before the men were ready to start; certainly the spot was not very picturesque. This was by no means the first canal to be made in China, though it is the one best known to Europeans. I shall venture to quote at length an interesting description of a much earlier canal from a paper read to the China Society in London by H. E. Lord Li Ching-Fong, the Chinese Ambassador[5] to our own Court: “Once during an inundation in China artificial channels were cut in order that the nine rivers might carry all the surplus water to the sea. Even mountains were tunnelled for the purpose of constructing canals. Henceforth the ground was cultivated again and the havoc was avoided. To the sagacity of Yew we attribute the merit of this undertaking, which we regard as one of the most remarkable works of man. It was begun in 2283 B.C. and ended in 2272 B.C.” The Grand Canal was begun in the thirteenth century, and is over 2000 miles long, but where we entered it it is really a small natural river, and we were either towed or rowed most of the way to Tientsin, with not much assistance from the sail. It was formerly used for the transport of grain (the imperial tribute), but since 1900 the sea route has been used instead, and the value of the canal decreases daily, owing to the continually increasing facilities of transport, both by rail and by sea. We passed many villages, but only one of the forty-one cities which lie on its banks. On the fourth day we came to the custom-house outside Tientsin at 9 A.M., and asked “Mr. Summer” to inquire if we could not go by ricksha to our destination, as that would save time. He came back with the information that it could not be done, so we resigned ourselves to wait. Afterwards we learnt that it is always done, and that it would have taken us less than an hour to go by ricksha or steam tram, and saved us six hours of passing through the dirtiest conceivable waterway, which our noses told us was the sewer of the town! It is impossible to describe the disgustingness of what we saw, really quite the nastiest thing in China, and one could only feel thankful that at least a good deal of the native quarter had been destroyed during the siege.

Tientsin is one of the most Europeanised towns of China, and it is not only an active commercial port but is the centre of the Chinese educational movement. This was vigorously and successfully organised by Yuan Shih Kai. He made a complete system of primary and secondary schools for both sexes, and besides the middle schools there are special schools of engineering, languages, medicine, &c., including a medical training-college for women, with a well qualified Chinese lady doctor at the head of it, who was trained in America.

There is also an excellent Anglo-Chinese Mission College, founded in 1902, of which Dr. Lavington Harl, M.A., D.Sc., is the principal. Last year the students numbered 320, of whom sixty were boarders and the remainder day scholars. The curriculum now includes full training for chemical analysts and a school of electrical engineering, while it is intended to open a law school during the current year, 1909. Yuan Shih Kai gave evidence of his broad-mindedness by contributing 6000 taels to the building fund of the last block, opened in 1907. Some of the students have found this college an excellent preparation for school life in England.

Tientsin is the first city in the Empire to boast of municipal government on Western lines, and for this also Yuan Shih Kai is responsible. The Chinese are a wonderfully law-abiding people, and it is only necessary to look at our neighbouring port of Wei-hai-wei to see a remarkable instance of this. With an area of 285 square miles and a population of 150,000 inhabitants, a force of fifty-seven native police and three English inspectors is found quite sufficient to keep perfect order.

It can be no matter for surprise that Tientsin is now to be made the capital of the province of Chili instead of Paoting-fu, a city of much less importance under the changed conditions produced by recent events.

Here we took leave of “Mr. Summer,” having already made arrangements for another Chinaman to go with us from Peking to Burma.

CHAPTER IX
Journey into Shansi in 1893

I now must go back to my first coming to Tientsin in 1893. From Shanghai I came in a coasting steamer, and it was after starting that I made the rather disconcerting discovery that I was the only woman on board. Nevertheless it was the pleasantest voyage I ever had, as my cabin had a proper bed in it and its own bathroom, and I made the happy discovery that Chinese servants could be the best in the world, while the officers all conspired to amuse me. The voyage lasted a week, and the slow passage up the mouth of the Peiho (ho means “river”) was quite a new experience. We ran into the soft banks pretty frequently, and they crumbled like dust; sometimes we were in imminent danger of carrying away a hut as well, but happily that did not occur. One dreadful object kept recurring again and again—a tall pole on the river-bank with a basket on the top, containing a criminal’s head.

At Tientsin I was met by one of my sisters and her husband, who had come to take me into Shansi. The European town was very dull and prosaic, and the native city abjectly squalid, but now the former is well laid out and there are plenty of large houses, shops, schools, colleges, and tramways. I was not sorry to get away from it, however, as I was anxious to see the real China, and we soon got our things accommodated in a small house-boat to travel up the river to Paoting-fu. Three little compartments were all we had, but we spent a good part of each day walking on the banks and admiring the lovely autumn colouring of the rushes. On my return a year later we were not so fortunate, as the war with Japan was in full swing, so that the country was too disturbed for us to walk about, and we had to take whatever could be got in the way of a boat, namely, one infested with cockroaches and other vermin. For three days and nights we sat in misery, scarcely able to eat or sleep, and when we opened our trunks at Tientsin we found them simply swarming with cockroaches. They had eaten all the straw of a bonnet, leaving nothing but lining and trimmings!

CAMEL INN

At Paoting-fu we left the river, and I had a mule litter while the others rode. These litters are the most horrible invention, as the mules perpetually tumble down, and even though you pad the sides with your bedding you get much shaken. When we came to a river we had to ford it or be ferried across, for there are no bridges in this part, and often the rivers are very dangerous. On the roads we met long strings of camels carrying packs, the tail of one animal being attached to the nose of the one behind. They have inns of their own, being cantankerous beasts, and are supposed to travel at nights, because of being such an obstruction to traffic. Certainly if you lie awake you can generally hear the tinkle of their bells. They are a most attractive feature of the landscape in the north, whether seen in the streets of Peking, or on the sandy plains of Chili. My sketch was taken in the summer when the camels were changing their coats, so that the one in the front has a grey, dishevelled look, corresponding with Mark Twain’s description. He says that camels always look like “second-hand” goods; but it is clear that he cannot know the fine stately beast of North China.

The road leading to Taiyüanfu—our objective—was always thronged with traffic, men on foot, on horseback, in chairs, or in carts. The official messengers wore yellow, and dashed along faster than any one else; but one day we met six mandarins in four-bearer chairs, carrying an important document from the Emperor at Peking into Szechwan, the western province. They were received everywhere ceremoniously, and crackers sent off in their honour; they were accompanied by a military escort and gorgeous banners.

At nights we often had to put up in wretched inns. The cold was extreme at this time of year (November), and the brick bedsteads were heated from underneath by a fire. This was all very well if it was properly regulated, but sometimes it was allowed to get too hot, and then you woke to find yourself baked like a biscuit. The nights were short, for we often arrived after dark and had to get up at 4.30. Even then it was difficult to get the men started at six, sometimes only at seven o’clock. The clear cold moonlight mornings were very lovely, and I was glad enough to walk to keep warm.

One day my brother-in-law made a détour to visit a village where there is an interesting Christian community, whose history is a remarkable one. It was the home of a thief, who in his wanderings happened to go into a mission hall and heard the story of the life of Christ. The next time he returned home, amongst other items of news he retailed what he could remember of this strange story, and so deeply interested the listeners that they found his knowledge far too meagre to satisfy them; they decided to send two of their most respected seniors to learn more about it. These men went to the mission station, were carefully instructed and became Christians. They returned to their village in course of time, taking a supply of Christian literature, and thenceforward they have given themselves entirely to the work of evangelisation at their own cost. Occasionally a missionary goes round to see them—as in the present instance—but otherwise they work steadily and successfully, without any assistance from Europeans. This is an example of a fact which holds good in China generally, namely, that the people do not leave mission work to be done only by the missionaries, but become the best workers themselves when they have accepted Christianity. What Mr. James (of the Bombay Civil Service) says of the work of the Presbyterians in Manchuria exemplifies this same fact: “Of 600 people who have been baptized since Mr. Ross came to Manchuria, not more than a dozen owe their conversion primarily or chiefly to the foreign missionaries; the others have become disciples of these converts, and this spiritual seed has produced within a dozen years the sixth or seventh generation.” This is the experience of workers throughout the Empire, and was expressed by a Chinese lady visiting England in a pathetic appeal for more missionaries: “If only you will send us teachers now—for a few years—we will do the rest.”

To return to our narrative, my brother-in-law brought the two Chinese elders with him when he rejoined us on the road, and they greeted us like old friends, with radiant happiness. It was inspiring to see their simple, heartfelt piety and their absolute realisation of Christian brotherhood. We chanced to come across them again a year later on my return journey to the coast, and again I saw their simple, joyous faith, the sincerity of which could not be doubted by the most cynical sceptic. It was the one bright spot in an otherwise very trying and anxious journey, for the country was much disturbed, owing to the war with Japan, and one of our party was ill with fever—a boy of seven—and growing daily worse, so that when we at last reached Tientsin he had a temperature of 107°.

When we approached the province of Shansi we got into a hilly district, and crossed several ridges called “the Heavenly Gates.” In some cases the ascent was pretty steep (2860 feet), and there were temples at the bottom where the coolies prayed for a safe journey up. When I stopped to sketch it aroused much interest, and spectators always treated me with respect. It was explained to them that I desired to show my mother the beauties of their country, so I became the type of English “filial piety”!

The dangers of the road are numerous, and crossing the rivers is often a very perilous proceeding: sometimes it is possible to ford them, but the river-beds are so changeable that it was usually necessary to have the guidance of experienced men. Sometimes we had to be carried across on men’s backs, and it is not altogether a pleasant experience to cling on to a bare, greasy back in a kneeling position, with your arms round a most unwashed neck! Sometimes we were ferried over, which was much the safest and pleasantest way of crossing, and the charge is infinitesimally small.

Another danger of the road arises from the nature of the soil, which is largely a loess formation. The road runs through deep gulleys, often over 100 feet deep and quite narrow, but the loess walls are apt to give way, especially after rain. One day we were walking quietly along under a high cliff, when a deafening thunderclap close behind us made us start and look back, to see a dense cloud of dust where the cliff had fallen right across the path we had just traversed. We had a very close shave that time. About a year later my cousin was killed by the similar breaking down of a road alongside a river; she was riding in a cart, and was buried under it in the river. A friend who was with her had just got out to walk a little, and consequently escaped.

During the rains travellers are often drowned by the sudden rush of water down the gullies, and there are places of refuge in the high banks—little caves or hollows. In some of the villages where we had to stop the night the houses were dug in these cliffs, and were really caves. The smells were atrocious, as there was but little ventilation. The chimneys form danger traps to the unwary traveller walking along the top of the cliffs; he may easily step into one, if he is not looking carefully where he is going.

The day before we reached Tai Yuänfu, the capital of Shansi, we stopped at a mission station in the charge of a delightful, courtly old Chinese evangelist, whose hospitality I enjoyed several times. He treated us royally, cooking dinner for us in European style, and would have been sorely grieved had we offered him any remuneration. When the troubles came later, not only he but every member of his little flock—forty-one in all—were “faithful unto death,” refusing to accept life at the price of recantation.

The journey from the coast took altogether a fortnight, and I was glad when at last we reached the wide plain in which Tai Yuänfu is situated. In May it is a vision of loveliness with its crops of millet, sorghum, and poppy—white and puce colour—but now it was one monotonous expanse of dust. The dust storms which blow across the plain are terribly trying; they are as bewildering and as blinding as a fog, and they sometimes go on daily for weeks during the early part of the year.

Shansi is one of the worst provinces of all as regards opium-smoking, and the poppy is largely cultivated. In the accompanying sketch a group of patients is seen, who have come to a mission refuge to try and break off the habit. They are allowed to smoke tobacco, but are mostly resting or sleeping on the khang; the brick bed seen in every inn and in most private houses. On the floor in front of it is seen a small round aperture, where the fire is fed, which heats the whole khang. The present Governor of Shansi is taking active steps to put down opium cultivation, and the prospect seems hopeful. Revenons à nos moutons. When we reached the city gate there was a slight delay, as carts are apt to get jammed in it. Though the gateway is large it is considerably blocked by stones, set up by a former governor to prevent carts of above a certain gauge from entering the city: this was to encourage the trade of the wheelwrights. Now there is a railway right up to the walls of the city, but from what I have already said it will be easily understood how difficult a task it has been to construct a safe line. The railway joins the Péhan line at Cheng Ting.

OPIUM REFUGE

CHAPTER X
Taiyüanfu

Taiyüan is surrounded by a lofty wall, with a gateway at each of the four points of the compass. The Chinese always use these terms when we should use “right” and “left”: they speak of the position of furniture in a room, for instance, as being north, south, east, or west, and can always tell you the relative positions of places and things in that way. It is the seat of the Government of the province, and was the first place in the Empire to have a Western university after the 1900 troubles.

The finest of all its temples—whether Confucian, Buddhist, Mohammedan, or Taoist—is the temple of Heaven and Hell. The entrance is magnificent in colouring, with roof and walls covered with turquoise-coloured tiles peculiar to this province, which make its temples so much more beautiful than those in the west. There are interesting but repulsive statues within, mostly depicting the torments of hell. In one temple, however, there is a deity to which childless women especially come to pray. She is a hideous figure about life size, with a gaping mouth, into which they stuff raw eggs by way of offering. On the adjoining wall is a fresco representing people receiving babies out of a cash-bag full of them, which a man carries over his shoulder.

I visited the temple at the time of a large fair, which was held in its courtyards (a common custom in China), and had one of the teachers in attendance, to his great disgust, as it is not the correct thing for Chinese ladies to go to fairs, and European manners had not yet penetrated to this part of the Empire. It was a very fine sight, notwithstanding the absence of the élite, for the women and children were most gaily attired—and then the setting! They were all perfectly civil to us and ready to talk. A woman was feeding her five-year-old baby, not yet weaned. Family parties kept arriving on donkeys, and women had their feet tied up in bags to protect their dainty shoes from the dust of the road. At one side theatricals were going on, to a loud and ceaseless accompaniment of drums. The theatres are all connected with the temples, a visible sign of their origin in the East as well as in the West; and the theatre and temple dues are collected together. Actors are looked down on, and none is allowed to compete in the literary examinations; they are in the lowest grade of society. The accompanying sketch gives some idea of the beautiful colour scheme of temple and theatre eaves. It is the open-air stage of a theatre at Showyang, about sixty miles from Taiyüan. The little figures of beasts on the roof are a characteristic feature.

THEATRE STAGE

The stalls were full of interesting objects from all parts of the province, and we went round buying various things that took our fancy. There were handsome embroideries and lovely silks, and I was surprised to find that we could take whatever we liked without paying for it; it was sufficient to say, “Come to the mission hospital to-morrow and the doctor will pay.” No Chinaman could have had better credit, and few, I think, as good, in this city.

From the temple of Heaven and Hell we returned past the barracks, and saw the men practising walking on stilts; apparently that was part of their drill, as finally they all filed off into the yard on them. The soldiers are quite a decent set of men, and one of the officers frequently sent them to the hospital to be broken of the opium habit. It is terribly common here. In a neighbouring town it is estimated that 90 per cent. of the population (men, women, and children) are smokers.

From Taiyüanfu we made an interesting little excursion to a place to the south-west called Tsinssu, where there is a magnificent old temple on the rocky hillside dominating the village. The temple is overshadowed by hoary trees, and has remarkable golden dragons twisted round the pillars of the façade. In the grounds are hot springs, and the water flows under an ornamental bridge leading to the terrace on which the temple stands. Had it not been for the hot water it would have been impossible to sketch, as the water froze on the surface of the paper, and every few minutes I had to put my paint-box in the stream to thaw the coating of ice formed on the colours. The subject, however, was so charming that I could not waste the one chance I had of sketching, and in the afternoon I made a rapid drawing of a pagoda, with the little bells hung on each story tinkling in the breeze; an adjacent tower looked precisely like an English church, but its real use was as a granary. The hot springs are valuable in enabling the people to grow rice, which is not grown elsewhere so far north, and it is the motive-power of many paper-mills in the district. In a recent expedition roe-deer, leopards, boars, and David squirrels have been found in this neighbourhood, but we saw nothing more interesting than a beautiful pastoral scene—a shepherd lad piping a melancholy ditty to his sheep under the clear blue sky. I should like to have sketched him, but the shadows were already lengthening, and we had to hasten our return before the city gates were closed.

PAGODA

We attended a review one day, and saw the old régime in its full glory, now already a thing of the past. We started at 7 A.M. in the cart, and although the parade-ground was only a quarter of a mile away we were none too early. The soldiers were already mustered, and two gorgeously arrayed officials were seated in state under a canopy waiting for the Governor, with a fine sort of helmet on a stand behind them. He arrived shortly after we did, and although there was a drizzling rain the numberless banners looked lovely, bowing down while the Governor passed, and then floating proudly up again. Many of them were pale-blue silk and carried on long bamboo rods. There were a good many soldiers mounted on smart ponies that scampered along bravely; but the black turbans surmounting the blue or red uniforms made them look rather like women. Some of them were armed with bows and arrows, slung on their backs; others had prehistoric guns which required two men to work them, one to hold and the other to fire off by means of a lighted stick of incense, which at other times was thrust (lighted) into the soldier’s chest, where also he carried his powder!

One regiment was a great contrast to the others—the celebrated tiger braves. They were clad cap-à-pie in yellow cloth striped with black, even the boots and cap being of the same material. The latter was most cunningly made, with little pink-lined ears which stood erect, and ferocious black eyes, and white fangs, and a red tongue hanging out. This alarming costume was supposed to render all further equipment unnecessary, and I asked one of the “braves” if he had no weapon, on which he showed me merely an ordinary knife stuck in his waistband. I asked if he would sell me his uniform, but as he could not do that he lent it, and I had an exact copy made. On my return home Mr. Chamberlain saw it, and was struck with the idea that the braves scared away the enemy by their uniform and their roaring, and made a telling use of it later on in describing the tactics of “the opposition”!

Yet a step farther back in history, it is interesting to learn how the soldiers used to travel in earlier times. A model has recently been constructed (by Professor Hopkinson) of the chariot used to convey eighteen soldiers. This chariot was in use about a thousand years ago in China, and registered distance, a gong sounding at the end of every “li” (about one-third of a mile), and a bell at the end of every ten “li.” This vehicle was called the “measure-mile drum carriage,” and it is from the description of the mechanism given in the writings of the period that the professor has made his model. An ode was written in its honour. The chariot was drawn by four horses.

TIGER BRAVE

The main features of the review were the sword exercises, varied with turning somersaults, the charging of soldiers with two-pronged pikes, accompanied by roaring—and various feats of horsemanship. The men rode about clinging to their horses from underneath, or jumped on them going at full gallop. The review lasted all day, and we got tired long before it was over. The military examinations of officers were on the old lines, and success in getting promotion depended on the strength shown in drawing a bow, or lifting a weight. Two officers came to hospital for treatment on account of having overstrained themselves by their exertions, and were anxious lest they should be disqualified in consequence. Now everything is changed. There are military colleges springing up, where everything is modelled on the military systems of the West, and students go in increasing numbers to Europe to study these at first hand. The Ministry of War has decided to adopt the same gradations of rank as those of the British army and navy respectively; thus a second lieutenant in the navy will be of equal rank with a senior lieutenant in the army, and so on. In the past, military service was one of the two only ways in which it was possible in China to climb the social ladder.

In September 1904 I saw one of the last great triennial examinations, to which students came from all parts of the province. It opened with a great procession, headed by the Governor and examiners who had come from Peking. Some of the big men rode in chairs, preceded by scarlet umbrellas, and boys carrying boards enjoining silence, many banners and discordant drums. It seemed as if all the rag-tag and bobtail of the city had been collected to grace the occasion; they were decked out in magenta felt hats and scarlet cloaks which by no means covered their rags and dirt. Some wore scarlet and gilt, others green and gilt caps, but no shoes on their feet. The three principal men were carried on chairs, raised on little platforms and covered with yellow rugs, supposed to represent the imperial dragon. The imperial letters were carried (wrapped in yellow cloth) across the shoulders of men on horseback, and the imperial seals under gay canopies. The examination buildings are extensive, and are well seen from the city wall. There are 10,000 cells, arranged in rows of 100 each in alleys closed by a door. Each cell is about 6 feet high, 4 feet wide, and 5 feet deep, and is provided with a sliding seat and a board for writing on, which the student can slide into the same groove as the seat to curl up on at night, for he has to spend three days and nights without leaving it. The cell is open in front, and an invigilator walks up and down to see that no cheating goes on. If the student is taken ill he may not leave, and if he dies (not an infrequent occurrence at examination times) his body is simply put over the wall at the outside end of the alley. These examinations are competitive, and there may be only thirty or forty vacancies for thousands of students. At Canton there are 25,000 cells in the examination hall, and each province has its own examination, to which students of other provinces may not come. There are characters at the end of the rows of cells, drawn from one of the classics, which are used as numerals, to distinguish the rows from one another.

It is interesting to observe what supreme importance is attached by the Chinese to learning and to morals. Learning is the main road to eminence; the only other one—the military service—is quite subsidiary. The highest grade of the people is the Sze, the scholar, and from it all public servants are drawn. There is no bar to prevent men of other grades passing into this class, provided they fit themselves to do so and pass the necessary examinations. There are six examinations possible.

OLD EXAMINATION BUILDINGS

The first examination is held yearly by the district magistrate; it lasts for three days, and the candidate has to write two essays, one on poetry. The second examination is held (generally a few months later) in a prefectural town, and is therefore called Fu Kau, or country examination. The students who pass this examination are called Shu Tsai. The third examination (only open to those who have passed the previous one) is the triennial one, which takes place in the capital of each province, as above described, and is called the Ju Jen degree. This time the candidate has to write several more essays than for the Shu Tsai degree; the quality most valued in these essays is skill in quotation, both as to the number of quotations made from the classics and the way in which they are combined—this might aptly be compared to a string of pearls. The candidates who obtain the Ju Jen degree are alone eligible for the degree of Tsin Sze. This fourth examination takes place triennially at Peking. The candidate is confined for nine days in a small compartment in the examination building. No matter how great the discomfort of this confinement may be, he has to write nine essays. I obtained the most fascinating little crib containing the whole classics, not larger than one inch square, which would offer a severe temptation under such circumstances to the most conscientious student! If the candidate is successful with his nine essays he receives the title of Tsin Sze, but if not, he may be appointed to a clerkship of a more or less important nature, according to the merit of his essays.

A yet higher degree may be obtained called the Tien Sze, because it is held in one of the buildings of the Imperial Palace. The student at the head of the list is called Cheong Yuan; the second is Paun Yien; the third is called Tua Hwa, and the fourth Chuan Lo To. Their official title, which is also given to other successful candidates in this examination, is Han Lin Yuan Shu Chi Sze, and they are obliged to study for the next three years at the Han Lin Yuan for the next examination. The successful candidates are retained at the Han Lin, and the unsuccessful ones receive posts of lesser importance, such as magistracies and other civil appointments. They are considered to have a first claim to all such appointments.[6]

This old examination system is being replaced by one in which Western subjects are to a large extent taking the place of the classics. Since 1904 the degrees of the Ju Jen and Han Lin have been granted in this way to students educated abroad and examined on their return to China. At the present time there are about 300 Chinese students in England, studying mainly law, medicine, engineering, and manufactures: some are still in public schools, grammar schools, &c.; others are at the English or Scotch universities.

SOUTHERN SERVANT

SCHOLAR

In the accompanying sketch of a scholar, the gold square worn on the chest and a corresponding one on the back are equivalent to the hoods granted by our universities, and the different designs on them indicate the kind of degree. Wives of scholars have also the right to wear the same insignia as their husbands.

The city of Taiyüanfu as described in this chapter is already a thing of the past. Now a railway comes to its very gates. New European-looking buildings are springing up in every direction; the streets are being widened and properly paved, officials drive about in smart broughams, and there is a daily delivery of letters instead of a private post once a fortnight.

I return to Tientsin and take up the thread of my narrative in 1907. No sooner had we arrived there than a Chinese friend, clad in a beautiful maize-coloured silk gown, came to call. He had come from Peking expressly to meet us, and escorted us there next day, being an old friend of my Taiyüanfu days. We were seen off in the Chinese railway (so much preferable to the German and Belgian lines) next day by one of the directors, who had kindly ordered a special reserved carriage for us. A few hours of pleasant travel, with tea served on board, brought us to the special goal of our ambition—Peking.

CHAPTER XI
Peking

We reached Peking after dark, which was fortunate, as the glamour of all one’s youthful dreams was not at once dispelled by being brought face to face with the prosaic European Legations which lie just within the gates. At the railway station, which is close to the great gate leading to the Summer Palace, we emerged into a shouting, jostling Chinese crowd, and were put into rickshas by the friends—Chinese and American—who had come to meet us. Police were keeping order after a fashion most necessary, for I saw a pushing fellow seize an unlucky man who was having a dispute and fling his ricksha to the ground as if it were a dirty rag. When we and our luggage had been safely packed into a ricksha we were swiftly drawn over the most shocking roads, through the great gloomy gates, into the city. Everywhere we seemed surrounded by towering walls of vast thickness. Over the chief gateway is a large temple containing the tutelary deities, which may give some idea of this thickness. It rises tier above tier and is painted a beautiful Venetian red, and the tiles are a bright blue-green; the overhanging eaves are of carved woodwork, painted blue and green and gold. Opposite this entrance is that of the imperial palace, above which one sees its orange-coloured tiles. From the top of the wall one gets a fine view of the long approach to the palace, gateway beyond gateway, in true Chinese style, and stretching on every side an endless vista of trees and roofs of the city. Formerly this was a favourite point de vue for watching royalties when they drove out, but now no one is allowed to do this, and notice is sent to the various embassies requesting foreigners to stay indoors when the royal family is taking an airing!

CITY WALL OF PEKING

From the great gate eastward, part of the wall was held during the siege by the Americans, aided by twenty British and twenty Russian soldiers. One morning they awoke to find that during the night the Chinese had built a tower on it, of about twenty feet high, overlooking them. All the next day they had to lie close under their criss-cross defences, but it was clear that unless the tower were seized the Chinese would soon be masters of the situation. Captain Myers planned its capture, inviting volunteers to help him, and naturally the twenty British soldiers responded promptly. It was arranged that the Americans and British should get round it from the outer side of the wall, and the Russians join them from the inner side. When the time came for the plan to be carried out it was quite successful, except for the fact that no Russians took part in it, and that Captain Myers was severely wounded. As we stood listening to the story from one of the besieged we saw a touching scene in the American barracks below us. A man entered carrying home mails, and shouted out the fact. In a moment men came flying from every quarter of the hitherto empty yard with hands outstretched; one could almost see the throb of delight with which the letters were seized. But this was in time of peace, and we could but dimly realise what far greater excitement was caused by the arrival of a messenger from Tientsin during the siege, after the sickening suspense of hope deferred. How deadly must have been the disappointment when the brief message ran that help was coming, but not a word as to when, merely the egoistic remark that in Tientsin they also had been besieged!

My sketch is taken on the top of the wall, and shows the part held by the Americans: it extends from the spot where I was standing as far as the building over the great gate, and the embassies are close below the wall on the right-hand side.

The accounts of the siege which we heard from all those who had lived through it agreed in one respect—the singular defencelessness of the besieged, and the ease with which they might have been wiped out—leading one to conceive the probability of what a Chinese resident told me, that their commander-in-chief determined that this should not be done. The time that followed the siege seems to have been really in many ways worse than the siege itself for those who remained in Peking.

Far the most impressive monument here is the altar of Heaven, which lies at a short distance outside the inner city in an ancient park, surrounded by a high wall. Passing through a simple doorway, you drive in your ricksha up an avenue of acacias for a short distance till you come to another wall, and here you must get out before entering the inner park. The trees were already beginning to look autumnal (November) as we made our way across the coarse grass into another high-walled enclosure, surrounded by a moat; we had to knock for admittance to a large courtyard, where the Emperor spends the night once a year before offering the great national sacrifice to Heaven. All the roofs of the buildings round the courtyard were of brilliant green tiles, and contrasted beautifully with the marble terrace, balustrades, and bridges. From here the Emperor goes at 5.30 A.M., accompanied by his courtiers, to the great marble altar of Heaven, about one-fifth of a mile distant across the park. Fine stone pylons lead to the altar, but the paths are overgrown with grass, and there is a look of desolation brooding over the place. The altar is a high circular platform of marble, with three short flights of steps leading up from each of the four points of the compass. The Emperor ascends these steps, accompanied by his courtiers, but only those over seventy years of age may go up the top flight and remain with him while he kneels in the centre, under the vault of Heaven, to offer his sacrificial prayer. No spectator is ever allowed to be present. At the foot of the steps the sacrifice is offered, but the Emperor is no longer obliged to slay the bullock himself, as in the old days. This act is delegated to a high official. The sacrificial beasts are reared and kept in the surrounding park. Twelve bales of cloth are burnt in great braziers as an offering to Heaven; they are placed at short distances from one another, and each time there is a new emperor a new brazier is erected. Everything is round, as being emblematic of Heaven, while in the temple to Earth everything is square, because the earth is supposed to be square, and in the latter the sacrifices are buried instead of being burnt, so that they may go down instead of up!

Close to the altar of Heaven is a small round enclosure containing a temple roofed with gorgeous lapis-lazuli blue tiles, like the adjoining temple of Heaven, which is erected on a marble platform exactly similar to the altar of Heaven.

TEMPLE OF HEAVEN

There are two particularly fine Buddhist temples at Peking, one outside and the other inside the walls, the former being a monastic establishment and swarming with degraded-looking monks. It has the imperial double-storied roofs of a noble orange colour, and it was a picturesque sight to see the orange-robed monks trooping into the courtyard to evening prayer. There were many young boys amongst them, probably sent from Manchuria as a thank-offering for the recovery of a father from severe illness, and consequently doomed to a life of idleness and ignorance. The Buddhist monks are notorious in this city for their low morals, and the signs of it are unmistakably stamped upon their faces; they do no work of any kind, and live upon the alms given by worshippers or which they have begged, according to the rules of the order. It is comic to see the Buddhist monks strutting along under huge orange umbrellas, nose in air, followed by a servant carrying the compulsory begging bowl! The head of the monastery is an incarnate Buddha. In the chief temple of this monastery is a gigantic standing figure of Buddha, and you can go up a staircase to inspect the head, which is otherwise hardly visible in the gloom of the lofty building, whose only light comes from the doorway. In the smaller buildings are other Buddhas of various kinds, and the Bodhisattwa, the 1000-handed goddess Kwanyin.

In the Lama temple, three miles outside the city, there are figures of the goddess of mercy, beside the three seated Buddhas, and she is to be found in many of the temples. She was originally a man, but had the heart of a woman! Here we were dreadfully pestered by dirty children, whom the priest tried ineffectually to keep in order. Each courtyard we came to had to be unlocked, but he always let them pass through with us, clamouring for money. The great feature of the yellow temple is a marble monument to the memory of a lama who came from Tibet and died of smallpox. It is composed of white marble, and the centre has a fine series of carvings round it illustrating scenes from the life of the Buddha. Unfortunately, after the siege of Peking French soldiers were quartered here, and they are said to have amused themselves by knocking off the head of every single figure. The effect of the white marble and gold in the midst of hoary cypresses is very fine. This is where the Dalai Lama was lodged during his stay in Peking.[7] It must have been a picturesque scene on his arrival, when he entered the sacred precincts, passing between two long rows of yellow-clad monks. Would that we had been there to see it, instead of at such a dreary season! We had come in the face of considerable difficulties, but it was well worth while; the wind blowing when we started in rickshas soon developed into a typical Chili dust-storm, and soon after leaving the city the men declared they could go no further. Having no other chance of visiting the place, we determined not to be baulked and set out on foot. We struggled bravely forward through stinging, blinding dust till we got under the lee of its high wall. The return journey was not so bad, as the wind was behind us, and we could enjoy watching other passengers whom we met in the city lying as flat as they could in rickshas, and with handkerchiefs spread over their faces. We were almost unrecognisable when we got in, and it was a well-nigh hopeless task to get rid of the dust from hair and clothes.

For once a Chinese cart seemed a desirable thing, and we were glad to find one waiting to take us to a Chinese friend’s house, where we were to spend the remainder of our time at Peking. The streets are broad and fairly well policed, but their roughness is extraordinary, and when you sit cross-legged in the place of honour at the back of a springless cart you are tossed from side to side like a ball, and your head bumped unmercifully, till you have learned how to avoid it. You get much more exercise than if you walk; the only compensation is that you know you are doing the correct thing. Our host, who is a successful young doctor, explained that he was obliged to go in a cart to visit high-class patients, instead of on his bicycle, though it took up a great deal more time.

We were glad to have a Chinaman to take us shopping, for our mouths watered to see the attractive things in the native shops. The minute that a European enters, up go the prices to at least double, if not treble; so we had an amusing but not very successful time in them. Our kind host could not bear to see us being cheated, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I persuaded him to get me a black spotted leopard-skin coat lined with lovely blue silk, on which I had set my heart, as the shopman refused to come down to what he considered a reasonable price. He begged us to let him in future get what we wanted and have the things brought to his house for inspection: the main difficulty lay in the fact that we did not know what we wanted, for the most part; but about one thing I had no doubt, and that was specimens of the noted nail paintings. There was only one celebrated artist, and he was about to retire to his native province of Szechwan, but by great good luck we secured a book containing nine paintings done with the finger-nail, and two white silk scrolls. The designs are excellent, and it is difficult to see any difference from that of a brush in execution. The book is bound in Chinese style, simply between two wooden boards, with a plain band of gold running down one side for about three-quarters of its length, but no title on it.

A comparison between Chinese and Japanese art shows plainly their close connection, and if the Japanese excel in certain qualities, they have not the virility which characterises the Chinese, from whom all their art is derived. It was towards the close of the fourth century A.D. that a systematic criticism of art and a history of painters was begun in China. The canons of pictorial art were laid down, and it will help us to understand and appreciate Chinese art better if we remember that the first and most important of their six canons is “the Life movement of the Spirit through the Rhythm of Things.” Though their art is mainly decorative, it possesses marvellous vitality and poetic imagination. At the Chinese Court there were fifteen artists in attendance, ready to depict anything that the Dowager Empress might wish to have painted.

AN OFFICIAL

A LADY OF QUALITY

A distinguished lady, closely allied to the Empress, kindly gave me a sitting one morning; but as she was at the time exempted from attendance at Court on account of ill-health, she was unable to wear full dress—namely, the large Manchu coiffure—which is so heavy that the Empress decided to allow it to be replaced by large black satin bows. It is difficult to fasten the framework securely to the head, over which the hair is arranged, so the coiffure is usually made with false hair, and it is funny to see withered old hags in the streets wearing these, with a large flower stuck jauntily at the side. I found my sitter a very difficult one to paint, as she was heavily painted (in a different sense), and the square scarlet under-lip and absence of line in the upper eyelid gave a wooden expression to the whole face, which was unusually large, and surmounted by a perfect flower-bed. It would have been easier to express the dignity of her carriage had she been standing, but although she offered to do so, I felt it was impossible to take advantage of her good-nature when I knew she was ill. Her hands were slender and beautifully shaped, but she wore no rings; her feet were very small and shod in artistically embroidered Manchu shoes with white soles—nearly two inches thick (the Manchus never bind their feet). Unfortunately, the handsome heliotrope gown and short jacket were trimmed with European braid, and owing to the cold weather they were wadded, which lends a clumsy appearance to the whole figure. Her charming little black pug belongs to the celebrated palace breed.

It was not till after we had enjoyed tea and cakes that I was allowed to begin the portrait; and the prince came in to make our acquaintance, so that a good deal of time was taken up, and I was only able to make a hasty sketch, to be finished later on. Then the lady said we must certainly be hungry and insisted on our stopping to dinner, saying she herself was very hungry—how much more so must we be, who had worked while she did nothing. My friend protested that she had done nothing at all, being reduced to silence by her ignorance of the language, to which came the charming retort, “You will be fatigued, then, by your good intentions!” All our protests as to other engagements were overruled, and we sat down, at the other end of the room from where we had been sitting before, to a sumptuous repast, consisting of every kind of meat and vegetable, served in small pieces in innumerable little dishes. In the centre of the table there was a charming set of nine dishes, which are generally used for sweetmeats, but which our hostess had thought would be equally nice for meat—an innovation we thoroughly appreciated, as they looked so much prettier than separate ones. From these dishes we were continually helped to cold chicken, duck, sausage, pigeons, eggs, ham, and other less recognisable dainties. Round these were more dishes of hot vegetables, pickled meat and vegetable, rissoles, fried meat balls, stewed meat, cabbage and meat, &c., &c., from all of which our hostess continued to serve us with her own chopsticks, eating but little herself, according to the Chinese etiquette. We were given spoons and forks, as she shrewdly suspected our inability to wield chopsticks. Little bowls of rice were also handed round, and as soon as we stopped eating she did the same. Next came bowls of soup, each containing two eggs, and this concluded the solid part of the feast; as soon as we had retired to the other end of the room tea was brought, with preserved crab-apples, apple jam, and peanuts. Part of the dinner, we were told, was prepared by men and part by women cooks.

Before we took leave the children came in to be introduced. All the young people are learning English, and shook hands in English style—namely, with us, instead of with themselves. Many polite questions were asked as to our families, our clothes, and the price of the Viennese gown I was wearing, and my amethyst pendant. Silk is considered the only material for a handsome dress in China, and precious stones are practically unknown, jade being the only one worn.

Finally we made our adieux, accompanied to the outermost courtyard by our kind hostess; and the next day she sent me a fascinating assortment of Chinese paints, each done up separately in the neatest little parcel, containing either a bottle or a little box. We came away much impressed by the indescribable charm of Chinese manners, and many a time afterwards I felt how gauche we were in comparison. We drove away in our cart for politeness’ sake, but a short ride in it after such a feast would have had disastrous consequences, so we quickly transferred ourselves to rickshas as soon as we were out of sight of the palace.

It would be wearisome to the reader to describe all the interesting places we saw in Peking, but there is still one that I must mention—the Hall of the Classics. It is the centre of the great examination system of the past, and probably will never again have its old importance. Here the final examination took place of all the students, from every part of the vast Empire, who had succeeded in passing all other examinations. The Emperor himself presided, and received the homage of successful candidates, seated upon a handsome carved throne. Round the walls of the great court are tablets on which are inscribed the whole of the classics. The old examination system has been abolished, and already at Peking the very building where the provincial examinations were held has been destroyed.

Before leaving Peking our host introduced us to the friend whom he had found to act as our interpreter during our long journey from north-east to south-west of the Empire. Mr. Ku was a young man of official family, who had been trained at St. John’s College, Shanghai, and spoke English well. He was essentially a scholar, of gentle and amiable manners, honourable and guileless. During our five months together we never found him lacking in tact or discretion, and we were able without hesitation to place our affairs entirely in his hands. Fortunate is the traveller who likes his companions better at the end of such a journey than at the beginning!

BOXER

KACHIN WOMAN

Mr. Ku’s father had a narrow escape for his life, like many other Chinese officials, during the troubles of 1900. He was seized one day by Boxers, who prepared to kill him: when he asked why they were doing this they said it was because he was a Christian. He assured them he was not, but they refused to believe it, and it was only after repeated remonstrances that they said they would put it to the proof. This was done by means of lighting a piece of paper: if it burnt away entirely, the Boxers said that would show he was not a Christian, but if it didn’t, then he should be put to death. Happily the paper was dry and burnt up, but the Boxers, although they spared life in this case, demanded a heavy sum of money and a quantity of rice. Although the Boxers began by being patriotic fanatics, they soon turned into mere plunderers. The sketch gives the costume of a Peking Boxer, with upraised hand making a military sign; but they had no regular uniform, and merely wore red as a distinctive mark.

We only spent six days at Peking, as we felt we must hurry on, much as we should have liked to spend weeks there instead of days.

CHAPTER XII
The Péhan Railway: from Peking to Hankow

This line extends a distance of 700 English miles from Peking to Hankow. The railway was constructed by a Belgian syndicate, but it is really a combination of French, Belgian, and Russian interests, which were successful in outbidding American proposals. The Belgians proved themselves more successful diplomatists than the Americans, and struck a bargain with the Chinese, in 1897, of such a nature that it had to be completely altered afterwards. The arrangement certainly does not bear a creditable aspect. Indeed, the whole history of railway enterprise in China makes sorry reading. British protests were ignored, and a working agreement was made, giving the Belgian syndicate full rights over the line for forty years. In the prospectus which they issued they professed to have obtained the right to carry the railway through from Hankow to Canton, but events have conclusively proved that, although they attempted to obtain this right, it was refused. An American combination won the concession in 1898, but it was cancelled in 1905—little progress having been made—and it is to be a Chinese line from Hankow to Canton. An English engineer had already strongly advocated the value of such a line, and the Chinese are made to realise more clearly every day the advisability of keeping the railways as far as possible in their own hands.

MR. KU

One of the most striking drawbacks of the Péhan railway is that no goods can safely be sent by it. Our luggage was fortunately so small that we had it all in the carriage with us—two suit-cases, two bed-bags, and a hold-all being all that we allowed ourselves for the journey through the interior. We had sent our other luggage round from Shanghai to Burma, so that we might travel as lightly as possible. During the whole of our journey we never lost a single article, and it was a disheartening consideration that it was only when we came in contact with Europeans that we had any need for care.

Together with the right to build the Péhan line, the Belgian syndicate obtained a mining concession of great value at Lincheng in the province of Chili. So much with regard to the Chinese railways.

We started in the grey dawn to take the 7 A.M. train to Hankow, and as the only weekly express started the wrong day for us, we decided to go by the ordinary mail. According to continental custom, there is a considerable difference in price between the two, and we paid the same price for first-class ordinary tickets as we should have done for second-class by the express. The carriages are not so good, but we found them comfortable, and infinitely cleaner than on the German line. In fact, a man came round periodically with a feather brush to dust us out, and this was sadly needed across the dusty plains of Chili and Honan, which it took us two days to traverse. The carriages are broad, and we had one to ourselves, next door to a handy little kitchen. Perhaps it was with this fact in view that mine host’s cook brought us two live chickens, tied by a string, as provision for the journey! But we had started in such excellent time that the doctor sent him off from the station post-haste to get cooked ones instead, and he returned triumphant with two well-spiced creatures packed in a basket, covered with leaves. We were only dependent, therefore, on the kitchen for hot water, and it was a great boon to have as much as we wanted both for drinking and washing. Our servant Liu—who had been found for us and partially trained by the doctor—was allowed to come along and wash up for us and do any odd jobs we might want.

The train only runs during the day, but we got permission to stay in it at night, and having bedding with us, we were able to be quite comfortable. It was much less fatiguing than having to turn out and go to an inn, especially as we started again at 6 A.M. The vast plains that we passed through looked very deserted, as the harvest is practically over: the persimmon trees were nearly bare of fruit, but the Indian corn still made vivid patches of colour on the threshing-floors, and occasionally we saw monkey-nuts being sifted from the sandy soil, which is particularly adapted to their culture.

THE BRAKEMAN ON THE PÉHAN RAILWAY

We found the stations on the Péhan railway more varied and amusing than those in Shantung; we could really have supplied all our needs in the way of food at them, as there were excellent bread, chickens, eggs, various kinds of fruit, and many Chinese delicacies to be had; but naturally we preferred carrying our own supplies.

On the second day we came to the most interesting point in the journey—the crossing of the Hwang Ho (Yellow River). It is a single-line bridge, nearly two miles long, and looks far too fragile to withstand the swirl of the waters when the river is full. It is a screw-pile erection, and was extremely difficult and costly to build, owing to the shifting sands and depth of mud.

The choice of a spot for a bridge has been criticised somewhat severely on account of changes in the course of the river, but its nine changes during 2000 years make an engineer study the matter with very great care, and one must hope that the right spot has been chosen. The bed of the river is simply a quicksand, and it proved extremely difficult to reach any solid foundation. The rock and stone at first used to strengthen the foundations was simply swallowed by the quicksand, and it was necessary to make a foundation of what can only be described as matting, made by twisting together the branches of trees, on which tons of stones were piled round the screw-piles, and these were again protected from the down-flowing tide by triangular arrangements of wooden piles. The screw-piles are placed in sets of four, six, eight, and ten, and joined together by powerful stanchions and girders, and they reach a depth of some forty-four feet. The train crawled across the bridge in a most gingerly way, and one would certainly hesitate to risk crossing it at flood-tide. As one looked down on the water (more like chocolate cream than anything else) eddying round the supports, there was an evil fascination about it. An Indian engineer explained to us that the Chinese method of damming the river is exactly the opposite to ours—namely, they dam it below the bridge, and we above. It was a relief to get safely across its interminable length: the time went so slowly that one might almost forget the notice-board at one end, saying, “Fleuve jaune, rive nord,” before reaching the one at the other end, “Fleuve jaune, rive sud.” At this point in the journey we left the Great North China Plain extending to the farther side of Peking, came into more varied country, and approached the hills, which before we had only seen at intervals looming in the distance. The railway goes through a tunnel, the first to be made in China, and emerges into the Yangtze valley.

GREAT WALL

On the third day the scenery we passed through was beautiful, and we came to quite a different vegetation. The Scotch firs on the steep loess hillsides reminded us pleasantly of home, and even a view of the Great Wall at one point did not altogether dispel the illusion. Why the Great Wall extends down here it would be hard to say, for it could scarcely be of much use in its shrunken dimensions to keep out invaders. The Great Wall was erected along the northern frontier of China for a distance of about 1500 miles, in the year 214 B.C. by Chin Hwang Tu. The amount of material required to build it is said to be seventy times as much as that required for building the largest of the pyramids. The part of the wall we saw was a spur running down from the Great Wall between the provinces of Shansi and Chili; there are other similar spurs from the Great Wall. At the foot of the hill are rice-fields.

As we came farther south the vegetation changed. Instead of cornfields we saw rice-fields, mostly under water; and more and more the water increased in volume, till we found ourselves skirting large lagoons, with countless little boats on their surface, and large fishing-nets, which brought up a shining harvest of little fish. Many huts are built on land which must frequently be submerged, as is the case along the Yangtze valley.

Sometimes we saw beds of bamboos, for which the climate is too cold farther north. Water buffaloes replaced the other cattle, for the obvious reason that they are much better suited to work in swampy grounds.

At sunset we reached Hankow (so called because it is on the Han river), and were kept waiting a long time at the first station, close to the banks of the Yangtzekiang, so that it was dark by the time we reached the town. We drew up alongside a crowd of people, dimly illumined by the gay Chinese lanterns they were carrying, and found it difficult to distinguish the friends who had come to meet us. Nearly every one carries a lantern, or has a servant to do it, for the place is miserably lighted. The station is in the middle of the foreign concession, and you might easily imagine yourself in a poorly lighted London suburb, as you pass big warehouses and shops and suburban villas. It is the centre of the commercial life of the place, and there is a large European population.

All along the river-bank the city stretches for miles, and across the river is the town of Wuchang, to which ferries ply continually. If the wind is against you it may take an hour or more to get across, and you could easily imagine yourself on the sea. Indeed, it is nothing uncommon to go across in calm weather to pay a call, and for the wind to rise suddenly and prevent your coming back for a couple of days. At Wuchang there are various missions with hospitals and schools. At one of these we saw a slave girl who had been almost burnt to death with incense sticks by an enraged mistress, and then bricked up in a wall to die of starvation. She will probably never entirely recover the shock to the system. Large boat-loads of girls are continually passing down the river from the province of Szechwan, we were told, for sale at the ports; and although there has recently been an edict prohibiting the traffic, that edict is a dead letter. Many slave girls are not badly treated, but in fits of passion a Chinese mistress becomes capable of diabolical cruelty. One child was brought to the hospital at Taiyüanfu, some years ago when I was there, almost dead. She had been beaten and knocked about and bitten till she was one mass of bruises and sores, and was almost blind and quite lame. She screamed at first if any one came near her, and it was plain that kindness was a thing unknown. Soon she learnt that she had come into a new world, and responded beautifully to the new treatment. Her face lighted up with joy at any small gift, a flower or a sweet, and the necessary suffering caused by dressing her wounds was borne in heroic silence. Her one dread was lest she should recover so as to have to return to her old mistress. Several months of diplomatic negotiations passed before her mistress was persuaded to make her over as a gift to the hospital, on account of her incurable lameness and blindness, which rendered her practically useless.

So much has been said about the cruelty of the Chinese as a race, that I cannot forbear pointing out one or two things that have struck me. The Chinaman never appears to be cruel from innate love of cruelty for its own sake of sport, and I have never seen or heard in China of the atrocities which make travelling in southern Italy and Spain a misery to any one who loves animals. Cruelty for the love of money—such as that witnessed on the Congo and elsewhere—is not to be found in China, except in isolated cases, such as in the gaols. If it were not for the humanising influences of Christianity, I believe that we should be a more brutal race than the Chinese, for unhappily the sporting instinct, which we so strongly possess, is closely allied to cruelty. A Chinaman looking on at many a football match in Lancashire or Yorkshire might reasonably have much to say on the subject of kicking, for instance, as a proof of our brutality. Another point that is apt to be overlooked is that the Chinese are extraordinarily insensitive to pain; witness every operating theatre in the country, where anæsthetics are much less used or required than for Europeans. There is no denying that the Chinese can be unspeakably cruel when under the influence of passion, but not more so than Europeans; and that Chinese punishments are barbarous in the extreme; but there is little doubt they will soon be altered and brought into line with Western ideas, if one may judge from other changes now taking place.

There is a Bund at Hankow running along the river-side as at Shanghai, but it is not nearly so fine a one. Large ships pass daily between the two cities; for Hankow is a most flourishing place, the centre of the tea trade, and in its warehouses is packed all the tea for the Russian market which can be despatched to Russia without transhipment.[8] Immediately to the east of Hankow, and only separated from it by the Han river, is the large town of Han-Yang, and this and Wu Chang form one big city with Hankow.

We had to wait a few days before we could get a steamer going to Ichang, and though small, we found it remarkably comfortable, so that we enjoyed our three days’ trip. The country at first was flat, but there was always something to see—long, V-shaped flights of geese, or solid blocks of ducks. Herons, too, and many other kinds of birds we saw; and wild turkeys we ate, as well as pheasants.

The river was unusually high, but not too high, we ascertained, for us to get up the rapids. In consequence of the height of the river the tiny steam-launch had to be let down at one point, as well as continual soundings to be made to test the depth of the river-bed. This is always changing, especially during the fall of the river, and is one of the main difficulties of river navigation in China, making it most tiresome and dangerous.

Wet weather set in next day and lasted more or less for a week, so that the crags overhanging the banks near Ichang looked grand and forbidding as we steamed up to it.

CHAPTER XIII
On the Yangtze: Ichang to Wanhsien

We reached Ichang on Sunday afternoon, and were glad to be in time for a service in the Presbyterian church, the last really homelike church we attended till we reached Burma. In all other churches there were things to remind us that we were in China, but here we were in Scotland once more, and this is the only station of the Scotch Established Church in China proper: they have a flourishing work, however, in Manchuria.

Ichang has quite a colony of Europeans. They were anxious to have a good road outside the town for the sake of exercise, and when we visited the tennis club we saw the one they had made. The whole surface of the ground for miles and miles is covered with mounds (= graves), so closely packed together that it is impossible to help treading on them if you leave the path. The Europeans knew there would be great difficulty in obtaining permission to make the road they wanted, so they subscribed the requisite funds among themselves and took French leave to make it. Before the Chinese had recovered from their surprise, or had decided what to do, the road was made. Then the Chinese acted in a truly magnanimous way. Instead of simply seizing it, as they had every right to do (according to my informant’s story), they paid the Europeans all they had spent upon it, saying they must have the road in their own hands.

CHINESE GRAVES

From my sketch some idea may be formed of the vast multitudes of graves outside Ichang: some have sticks planted in them with little paper streamers. Wherever we travelled we saw the same sight—endless graves speaking of the innumerable dead.

It took some time to make an agreement for a house-boat to take us from Ichang to Wanhsien, as the boatmen prefer to go as far as Chungking, where they can usually secure a fresh cargo for the return journey; but eventually the matter was satisfactorily settled. A nice clean boat was engaged, with three compartments and a good space for cooking at the back, above which a little god sat in a shrine. We decided to inhabit the two front rooms, and Mr. Ku and Liu the back one, and we hung up curtains to supplement the flimsy partitions, as they consisted of a few loose planks, with gaps of one or two inches wide between them, and at quite a slight touch they fell down.

It was a great convenience that our interpreter and our servant (who had also formerly been his servant) shared a room and always had their meals together. This is quite a usual arrangement in China, as there never seems to be any desire for privacy amongst the Chinese, and servants are on a much more intimate footing with their masters than is the case with us.

The agreement for the boat was drawn up in writing, and the crew was to consist of nineteen men: the sum to be paid for the whole trip was 95 taels (about £14). As Hosie mentions in his book that he had to pay £45 for his boat to Chungking (about twice the distance, though the latter half is much the least arduous and dangerous), we were not dissatisfied with our bargain, although we were told we were paying quite too much.

The captain received 75 taels at starting, ten taels when half-way, and the remaining ten on arrival. Though the bargain was struck on Tuesday, we did not succeed in starting till Saturday morning, and in the mean time both we and the captain were busy with our preparations. We got wadded Chinese clothes, for it was beginning to get cold, and we thought (though in this we proved to be mistaken, for no curiosity was exhibited about us at any place we visited in European clothes) that they would save us from much inquisitive inspection in the western provinces. Long fur-lined silk coats we had got in Peking (about £3. 10s.), tall black velvet felt-lined boots (7s. 6d.), wadded silk jackets (7s. 6d.), black cloth (European) skirt, described on the bill in Mr. Chang’s best English as “brewen fine cloth beetticoat” (£1. 2s. 6d.). Our heating and cooking apparatus had to be made—two impromptu charcoal stoves made out of packing-cases lined with bricks, a little oven to stand on the top, three pans with lids (made out of the ubiquitous kerosene tin), two tins, and a zinc kettle, all for the modest sum of 6s. 6d. As our servant’s cooking capacity proved to be very limited—he proudly announced he could cook both a chicken and a pudding—we decided to trust rather to my experience, and we laid in a supply of stores, which are easily obtainable at Ichang.

The next point was to secure a red-boat (= lifeboat), for which we applied to the British Consul, and he again had to apply to the Chinese General, who is always willing to provide one gratis to foreign travellers. The Consul—like many of his class in China—at once suggested every possible difficulty, and seemed to think that at his request we should meekly turn round and go home again. He told us that he had just refused to give the bishop a passport for some ladies travelling into Szechwan, and we were thankful that we had got ours—though not without difficulty and vexation—elsewhere. As we were backed up by advice received at the British Embassy at Peking with regard to our journey, the Consul could not refuse to apply for the red-boat escort, though later in the day he had the satisfaction of telling us that none was available. Happily, however, one came in before we started, so that we had No. 48 assigned to us on Friday evening. It was very wet all day, but I found an interesting subject to paint in a family ancestral tablet. On the right-hand side is a drum for worship, and on the altar in front of the tablet is a bronze vase in which burning sticks of incense are placed. On certain days the members of the family prostrate themselves before it, and offerings of cakes and fruit are presented by them.

Ancestral worship dates from the earliest times, and has even to the present time the strongest hold upon people of all classes. The Emperor possesses seven shrines, representing his various ancestors; the nobles are allowed five shrines, and ordinary people have only one. The offerings are by no means costly or lavish, but at the same time they must not be mean; and it is related of a certain high official, with censure, that the sucking pig which he offered for his father was not large enough to fill the dish! Closely allied with ancestral worship is that greatest virtue of the Chinese, filial piety; and Confucius lays stress in his teaching on the spirit in which its duties are to be carried out, pointing out that it is best seen in endeavouring to realise the aims of the forefathers.

After dinner we made our way through the rain down the slippery bank to our boat, across a most shaky plank. The bare boards looked rather dull quarters for the night, and the wind whistled dismally, so our kind hosts offered to lend us deck-chairs and a good supply of newspapers to keep out draughts—an offer we thankfully accepted. Soon we had everything ship-shape, and began to accustom ourselves to the lullaby provided by nineteen snorers, packed like herrings into the few yards composing the forepart of the boat.

ANCESTRAL TABLET

We made a pretence of starting the next morning between seven and eight o’clock, heralded by a tremendous trampling overhead on our little roof, which must have been remarkably tough not to have given way. The mats used as an awning over the boatmen at night were stacked on our roof during the day. We slowly made our way by the aid of a sail for about half a mile up the river, alongside the town; then the men stopped for breakfast, and we were told that the captain had gone ashore to buy more bamboo towing-ropes. This took another hour or two. Again we started, but after another half-mile we drew up beside an island for a very long spell. Festina lente was evidently the watchword, and it took a great many exhortations through Mr. Ku, as interpreter, before we got the men started again. Eventually we succeeded in reaching the custom-house (ten miles up the river) by dusk, and there tied up for the night.

From that time we always started soon after daylight, and there was no lack of interest. The scenery became very grand—the banks were nearer to each other, and lofty crags rose precipitously from the river-side, often to a considerable height, 200 or 250 feet. Though the colour of the water is ugly and muddy, the vegetation is most beautiful, and the foliage of the azalea added greatly to the charm of the landscape. There was so little wind that the sail was practically useless, and the men shouted for the wind in vain. It is curious how much faith they have in shouting, despite their frequent failure. They were obliged to row, or go ashore and track. There is one long oar on each side of the boat, and it is worked by five or six men, who twist it to the accompaniment of a hoarse vocal noise—it can hardly be called a chant—and it sometimes rises to a veritable howl! Not infrequently one of the rowers stands on a plank on the outer side of the oar—namely, above the river—fixed at right angles to the boat. When the current is strong the men work in a sort of frenzy and stamp like elephants, their voices rising to a deafening din, assisted by those of the rest of the crew. Despite the cold they strip to the waist, and only put on their thin blue cotton coats when they go on shore to track.

BLUE DAWN

One of the men, clad in a long coat, utilised an unwonted lull in his labours to wash his nether garment in the rice-tub which had just been emptied by the hungry men! His teeth were chattering with cold, and he shivered wofully in the raw air. The ten men who act as trackers and tow the boat are as nimble as cats and scale the rocks with marvellous rapidity, keeping up a rapid trot over the most uncompromising boulders, while two men follow them to clear the rope from obstructions. The ropes are made of bamboo, and look little qualified to stand the heavy strain of pulling the laden junks up the rapids. To these ropes the men are harnessed by short ropes, which they detach at pleasure. The trackers are often a quarter of a mile distant from the boat, for the river is very wide and winding in places, and frequently extra men have to be hired, augmenting their numbers up to one hundred or more for the worst rapids. Many a time a tracker has to dash into the swirling waters to free the rope, and his scanty clothing is flung off in the twinkling of an eye. Our red-boat was quite useful in taking the trackers on and off the shore, where the water was too shallow for us to go—and the red-boat men were friendly creatures, continually hovering round us night and day, ready for service. By means of little offerings of hot tea, &c., we soon got on the pleasantest terms, and often had little dumb-show conversations. These boats are very light, and have long narrow blue sails and blue-and-white striped awnings; the boat and military uniform are scarlet, so that they are readily distinguishable from all other craft on the river. Even their chopsticks are red: altogether they look extremely smart, and the boatmen are skilful and experienced men. Parcel-post boats have blue-and-white striped sails and a yellow sort of box in the centre of the boat to distinguish them. The letters do not go by water, but are carried by men overland.

There have been so many accidents on the river this season, owing to its fulness, that we determined to go ashore whenever we came to a rapid, and to take our luggage with us. We duly instructed the captain and also the red-boat men on the subject, but, to our surprise, on the third day we discovered that we had already come up one rapid, and before we knew it we were into a second. The fact is that the current is so strong, and the river altogether so tumultuous and vicious-looking, that to the uninitiated the rapids are not always different in appearance from the rest of the Yangtze, and most of the way through the gorges seems full of rapids. Getting round the sharp bends of the river is a difficult matter, and they frequently tie a rope from the boat round a boulder, while the trackers hold on to another fastened to the top of the mast, from which it can be lowered at will by means of a slip rope. The trackers strain every nerve, and frequently go on all-fours, and yet can’t budge an inch. Sometimes they are obliged to let go, and then the junk slips back in the swirl of water, to the great danger of any others that may be in the rear.

The fourth day after leaving Ichang we had a very narrow escape of this sort. I had been admonishing the captain about his stupidity in following close behind a heavy large junk, and told him we ought to have been in front of it, by starting a little earlier in the morning. He was surly, and complained that it would have been necessary to get up so very, very early; but he was soon brought to repentance by something much more unpleasant than my words. We were waiting our turn to get round a sharp corner, and were moored to the bank, so we had no means of escape when the big junk suddenly swooped down upon us. A horrible grinding, tearing, crashing sound ensued, accompanied by violent yells from the men; but we gasped with relief to see our walls still intact, though our windows were shivered and the shutters torn off. The damage done was quite small, but it delayed us several hours that day, and caused us to be at the end of a long string of boats for getting up the big rapid next day.

YEH TAN RAPID

The Yeh Tan rapid (nicknamed Mutton Point by the prosaic foreigner) is one of the most dangerous, and we made great preparations in case of accident, packing up our things carefully in oiled paper—a most useful Chinese article, as it is a very cheap kind of waterproof. Our men made quite other preparations, which they firmly believed in. A quantity of special sacred paper was waved—burning—over the front of the boat; incense sticks were fixed up and lighted; finally a cock was killed, and its blood and feathers plentifully bespattered around. This was extremely distracting to me, as I was well embarked on a sketch when it took place under my very eyes. The subject of the sketch was quite characteristic—a beautiful rosy russet hillside, with a temple peeping out of the trees, and a long narrow line of village above the high-water mark of the river. On the shingly river-bed were temporary booths used as restaurants.

Finding ourselves tied to the bank for an indefinite time, we began to cook our lunch; but no sooner was the pot boiling than our red-boat men appeared saying they had got up the rapid (they were not obliged to wait their turn like ordinary boats), and were come to escort us on shore. We asked if our boat was allowed to take precedence of the big junks, and were told that it was; and as our trackers had already gone ashore, it lent colour to the fiction, and we started off cheerfully enough. The boatmen shouldered our suit-cases, which we were afraid to risk, as they contained not only clothes and sketches, but money in the shape of lumps of silver called “tings,” that were to last us for several weeks, and which weighed many pounds. It is really tiresome to have to carry money in this form and have it cut up and weighed in little bits, with which to buy the cash of the district, before you can purchase anything. In the more Europeanised East, Mexican dollars are used, also bank-notes; but from this time on we were obliged to use only the rough silver lumps and copper cash. Sometimes the reckoning was by taels and sometimes by dollars. The tael is an ounce of silver—namely, one and one-third English ounces—but there is no coin to represent the tael. The silver shoe is about fifty taels, but the taels vary in value at different places—the Peking tael is not the same, for instance, as the Hankow tael: altogether, the money system is hopelessly complicated. It made us feel, however, that we had got beyond the pale of civilisation, and we never attempted after this to do any purchasing ourselves, but were fortunate enough to be able to leave our money matters with perfect confidence in Mr. Ku’s hands. The result was that we did our journey much more economically than other similar travellers, and were saved all worry.

It may be of interest to the reader to see one of the latest Government edicts on the subject of the currency, and to know that it has decided in favour of a uniform tael, the value of which is fixed at the astonishing figure of 1549 cash. According to the reports of the governors of the eighteen provinces, there were eleven provinces in favour of the tael as against eight in favour of the dollar currency. As the tael has never existed in coin form, and dollars are largely used, there is much to be said in favour of the latter; but the Chinese stick tenaciously to their own peculiar belongings, and in all financial transactions with foreign countries the tael has been the term used in the past.

The following edict appeared in the Peking Gazette, October 5, 1908:

“An Imperial Decree in response to a memorial of Prince Ching and other Ministers of the Government Council, and of Prince P’u-lun and other Members of the Senate, who, in obedience to our Commands, have deliberated upon the subject of a uniform national currency.

“A standard currency is the fundamental principle of public finance, and various countries have adopted a gold coin as their unit of value, with the subsidiary currency of silver and copper tokens. Under well-framed regulations such currencies have been found convenient and profitable. But it requires years of preparation to be ready for such a measure, which can by no means be attained at one step. The finances of China are in confusion, and the standardising of the currency is an urgent necessity. If actual gold coin were to be taken as the standard unit, it would be difficult to raise the necessary amount; while if gold were merely taken nominally as the standard unit, grave dangers would be incurred. It is evident, therefore, that we should first standardise and render uniform the silver currency, and then carefully proceed to take measures for a further advance; with a view to assuring the adoption of a gold standard in the future.

“The memorialists have pointed out that the use of the tael and its fractions has been so long established that it would be difficult to substitute any other denomination in its place. The Committee of Finance in a previous memorial also recommended the determination of the tael as the silver coin to be used.

“We, therefore, command that a large silver coin shall be struck weighing one K’up’ing tael, and that large quantities of silver coins weighing .5 of a K’up’ing tael shall also be minted for general convenience in use. Also there shall be small pieces of one mace and of five candareens, of less pure silver, which will serve as subsidiary currency. The two silver coins aforesaid shall be .980 fine, while the two small silver pieces will be .880 fine.

“This silver currency, except in so far as calculations under treaties and agreements with the Foreign Powers will require to be made as before, shall be uniformly used by all Yamens, great or small, in Peking or the provinces in all their Treasury transactions, and all allowances for differences of weight or touch, or meltage fees, &c. &c., shall henceforth be perpetually forbidden.