IV The Capital of Manchuria
My surprise on first beholding the famous city of Mukden was as complete as it was agreeable. The scene before me was simply delightful. At first I could not distinguish anything clearly, neither lines nor forms. I was dazzled by the intensity of colour and light.
The façade of every house was ornamented with strange carvings and mouldings; never before had I seen such fantastic prodigality of human imagination. All the lines curve upward, and every house resembles a pagoda on a small scale. So many motives, so many different colours; red, yellow, green, blue, in endless profusion, the effect being increased by rich gilding.
In front of the houses are shops or booths, where are exposed—generally in the open—goods and merchandise of all kinds, arranged in fanciful pyramids in accordance with Oriental caprice. Embroideries, rich silks, artificial flowers, fans, and umbrellas, anything, in fact, to tempt the local taste or satisfy the daily demands. The displays of porcelain are particularly attractive, also the shows of silver and brass ware. Most fascinating are the stalls of the bric-à-brac dealers with their fine lacquer-work, fluted vases of priceless value, old porcelains, cloisonné boxes, and artistically designed snuff-bottles2.
Before every booth a tall mast or pole is dressed, from which floats a flag as signboard, and both are elaborately inscribed with advertisements of wares sold inside the shop. The bootmakers’ insignia are particularly artistic and only surpassed in splendour by the rich festoons of gold which mark the pawnbrokers’ shops. The main thoroughfare, with its endless variety of cabalistic design and rich colouring, is like an Oriental bazaar or the gorgeous scenery of a theatre. But what struck me most was the enormous vitality and activity of this marvellous city.
It was like watching an ants’ nest to see this surging tide of human beings incessantly flooding the squares and streets. Men and women, young and old, of all ranks and all nationalities, push and press past one another. Some are carried in beautiful chairs, others content themselves with a modest kind of wheelbarrow, in which six or seven persons can be accommodated on a narrow board, and which is pushed along by a famished-looking coolie. These wheelbarrows answer the purpose of omnibuses in the Manchu capital, and they take a person from one end of the city to the other for about a quarter of a halfpenny. “Rickshaws” have recently come into fashion; they are a great improvement on the old means of conveyance, for instead of being pushed they are pulled along. All true Manchus, however, prefer riding on horseback to any other mode of locomotion.
Whatever room is left in the street is taken up by pedestrians, labourers carrying enormous loads, and coolies going about their daily business. It is an impressive sight, and once more I came to the conclusion that the intrinsic character of a place is not expressed in the arrangement of its streets, or in the height and style of its buildings, but in the general manifestation of its activity.
While the eye takes in all these various details, the ear need not be idle. The air is full of sound. Strains of music proceeding from the tea-houses, costermongers’ cries, shrieks of quarrelsome children, and high-pitched voices in admonition; shouting and noise of all sorts and in endless variety are heard.
At every step there is a fresh surprise. Fortunately, so far, no guide-books have been written to describe the attractions of the Manchu capital, and no cumbersome descriptions spoil the effect of its genuine charms
To form an idea of the plan of the city, imagine an oblong chess-board. Like all Chinese towns, it is regular in the principal lines. There are two main streets in the form of a cross, intersected by innumerable narrow lanes, and in the middle of the town, where the two chief thoroughfares cross, stands a high tower from the top of which a drum and a gong announce the beginning and the close of the day. Also from this high vantage ground the alarm is given in case of danger, and a detachment of soldiers, stationed in a sort of pigeon-holes, spend the hours of their watch in peaceful slumber.
It would be difficult to enumerate all the places of interest which Mukden contains, for everything is interesting to the Western mind, even to the smallest cottage with its curiously shaped roof and quaint style. And the interest lies not only in their material conception or in their exterior, but also in their inner qualities, and especially in the fact that they give expression to the mental and artistic ideas of the nation. As has already been said, it is at first the general effect, the picturesqueness, and the novelty, which strike one as so charming. Some of the houses are very dilapidated, the walls lean over, and the roofs are covered with a tangled growth of moss and grass. But all this makes them the more attractive from an artistic point of view.
Among the most interesting public edifices are the yamens belonging to the Government, and occupied by the Governor and some others of the mandarins of high degree; one or two Lama monasteries; the large buildings where the Russian Consul and the Commander-in-Chief reside; and last, but not least, the building occupied by the famous Russo-Chinese Bank and its agents.
Naturally the Imperial Palace is a place of great interest. With its enclosure of walls it forms a city within the city. It is divided into various courts, and consists of a great many separate structures, detached houses, halls, and pavilions. Taken separately these are not of great importance, but the whole effect is very striking. The colonnades, beams, and brackets are of carved wood, richly painted and gilded. All the woodwork is painted dark purple, and the roofs, like those of all edifices connected with the Imperial Family, or dedicated to Confucius, are covered with yellow tiles. The greater part of the palace is now occupied by Russian troops.
Near the palace gate is a low building in which a whole detachment of soldiers is quartered, and the open court is lined with cannon. It was only on my showing them a special permission from the commander that the sentries allowed me to pass.
The interior of the palace is in a sad state of ruin. Since the Imperial Family departed for Pekin, it has never been inhabited, and the few art treasures still remaining are carelessly scattered about the place. There are some valuable panels, some precious jades, and exquisite porcelains, but the greater portion of them disappeared after the last war. Some say that these treasures have been stolen by the Boxers, but according to another version the thieves must be looked for elsewhere. I was told that the very rare collection of old manuscripts and official documents is now quietly reposing among the archives at St. Petersburg to be protected from destruction.
My eyes wandered from the reception-halls to the vestibules, from the terraces to the gardens. It was all so original, so quaint. But the thing which specially strikes the visitor is the incongruity of transforming this sacred cradle of the master minds of the Celestial Empire into a Cossack encampment. As I passed out through the principal entrance, a Muscovite warrior stood on guard by the Dragon’s door, and his white blouse contrasted strangely with the heavy bulk of the palace.
As the day advanced, the crowds in the city increased. Russian soldiers paraded the streets and patrolled the ramparts in small detachments. I saw officers on frisky ponies and ladies with their families going about in the national troïkas.
It is especially noteworthy that these Russian people not only feel perfectly at home among the Manchus, but that the conquered people associate on the most friendly terms with their conquerors in the taverns and inns. They sit amicably side by side and appear to be the best of friends. It is true that many of the enemies were born on the same soil; they are practically semi-Asiatics themselves; often have a common origin, and belong to the same race; above all, live the same primitive and uncultivated life.
The great difference which separates the European, whether of the Anglo-Saxon or the Latin race, from the Mongol and the Tartar, does not exist here. As soon as a fight is concluded, they settle down to their ordinary life; the greatest cruelties committed on either side are soon forgotten. Hatred may lurk in their innermost minds, but outwardly they live in peace together.
They have the same tastes, the same amusements, and agree particularly on the question of frugality. Contempt of comfort, indifference to refinement, and a very rudimentary degree of culture, are common to both of them. One thing which even more prevents any feeling of coldness arising between them is that, far from trying to transform and educate the conquered nation, the conquerors often stoop to the low level of the subjugated people.
With the exception of the railway I am not aware that any attempts have been made to civilize the Manchus. Commerce is not encouraged and international traffic does not exist, because all the towns have thus far been closed to foreigners. The Russian Government is even taking steps to get into its own hands the English and American mining operations which are being financed by some new loans. In spiritual matters the same restrictions prevail, and the difficulties which are put in the way of the missionary work increase from day to day.
In local government a semblance of the old forms is preserved. Manchuria is divided into three administrations, Tsi-tsi-kar, Kirin, and Mukden. Each province has a governor, and all three are under the authority of a viceroy or mandarin of the highest rank, who resides at Mukden.
The official yamen, and the staff of dignitaries of various degrees, are here exactly what they are everywhere else. They all appear extremely busy, writing extraordinary cabalistic signs on sheets of rice-paper. The small details of local affairs keep them occupied all day; probably they know nothing of matters of serious importance, but they seem admirably suited to fill a post which involves a minimum of responsibility and brings with it a good substantial salary. There appears to be a perfect entente cordiale between the Manchu mandarins and the Russian generals, and if perchance a difference of opinion should occur, the difficulty is generally smoothed over by the irresistible influence and the mysterious power of the Russo-Chinese Bank.
The important event of my first day was the official reception given by the Governor. I was carried to the palace in a chair, followed by an interpreter and my little major-domo. The canopy of the chair was covered with green silk, and four stalwart fellows carried me through the narrow, tortuous streets. The shaking was terrible, for where the pavement should have been there were big holes filled with liquid mud. I could forgive my bearers for their rough handling of my chair, but it was difficult not to resent being bumped on to the ground every time they changed shoulders, which they did without slackening their pace. It was not a great height to fall from, but the sensation was decidedly unpleasant. It was like a nightmare; the time occupied by the fall seemed interminable, and on reaching the ground I felt like being hurled to the bottom of a precipice.
At last we came to the principal entrance of the palace, at least what I supposed to be the principal entrance, judging from a group of queerly attired creatures, who presented arms—and such arms! It was an extraordinary collection, reminding me of the get-up of some old Chinese play. They were fierce-looking warriors, carrying halberds, javelins, and sickles on long poles, glittering and sparkling in the midday sun.
As seen from the outside, the palace is a poor structure. The massive wall which flanks the front gate is decorated with pictures of dragons to scare away, as I was told, evil spirits and “the white devils.” The first court I came to was not much more attractive. It seemed, in fact, no better than a stable yard. There were a few horses tied to their stalls and some shelters for the soldiers and servants. I had to cross several courts before I arrived at the court of honour, which was square like the others, and had halls on each side. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and shrubs. There were chrysanthemums, and dwarf orange, peach, and pear trees, especially cultivated for the purpose of ornamentation. The effect produced was exquisite, and though the surroundings are all more or less in a state of decadence, that inner court is a picturesque specimen of Chinese domestic architecture.
But I had no time to study it in detail, for the Mandarin stood there in the centre, surrounded by his court. He was in a robe of dark blue silk, magnificently embroidered, and his suite was no less gorgeously attired. When I appeared upon the threshold of the vestibule we exchanged profound bows, and repeated this salutation until we met half way. Then we shook hands in Western fashion, no easy task, considering that my host’s finger-nails were at least two inches long. The customary introductions over, he led the way to his private apartments.
The first room was entirely Chinese, and contained some exquisitely carved armchairs. The effect of the second room was spoiled by two easy chairs of Vienna manufacture, a hideous French clock, and a tablecloth, probably of Manchester make.
The preliminary compliments once exchanged—a formidable business here—His Excellency asked me some dozen questions which in the West would be considered most indiscreet, but are obligatory in the East. Then he conducted me to the dining-hall, where luncheon was set on a round table profusely decorated with flowers and sweetmeats.
Innumerable little dishes were scattered over the silk tablecloth, and saucers filled with raisins, grapes, almonds, olives, and a variety of dainties. Etiquette prescribes that the guest shall be placed on the left of his host, and that the first mouthful of food shall be put on to his plate by the host himself. After that the servants bring in dishes containing the most delicate productions of the Chinese culinary art. Fish soup and snail soup, sharks’ fins in unpalatable jellies, all kinds of minces and hashes, and patties with sauces most unpleasant to Western taste, composed the menu.
Custom, which regulates all public and social functions in this country, demands that no less than fifty different dishes be presented to a guest of distinction. All these concoctions are handed round on large trays, in series of eight at a time. They look different, but all taste alike, at least so it seemed to me. They are both sweet and sour, and whether they go by the name of minced birds’-nests, or croquettes of dog-flesh, I could detect no difference in taste. The other guests, however, fully made up for my want of appreciation.
As the meal proceeded, the conversation became more animated. When the subjects dictated by ceremony had been disposed of, the company expressed much interest in my researches and studies. My host questioned me on many points. He was decidedly clever, and although one was apt to forget the solemnity of the occasion on looking at his somewhat ridiculous costume and hat, formed in the shape of a pagoda surmounted by a precious stone the size of a potato, and adorned with waving peacock’s feathers—in which attire even the wisest man would look a fool—I could not help being impressed by his sagacity.
He was somewhat reserved, but seemed pleased to talk about his country, and gave me some valuable information when he saw how much interested I was in the ancient history of the land, and the origin of its inhabitants. For they, thousands of years ago, had proceeded from the same stock as the people of my own race, who had founded the kingdom in Pannonia. The foundation of the Manchu empire is connected even more closely than I thought with the migration of the Huns. It would, indeed, open a vast field of study for the historian to seek the connecting link and the affinity existing between the first Magyars and Manchus.
The repast over, the Governor proposed a visit to the imperial tombs, the chief sight of the country. Indeed, there is nothing the people venerate more deeply than those monuments of the defunct members of their dynasty; they are the pride of the nation.
We started without much delay. It was a glorious afternoon, and in the brightness of the autumn sun the country looked its best. Our cavalcade galloped across pasture land, where horses and cattle peaceably grazed together. Here and there a shepherd sought diversion in the consoling melody of some old song, like all human beings whose lives are spent in solitude, and in the contemplation of the immensity of nature. The music was simple and the instrument simpler still, an archaic flute cut out of a reed.
Skirting the far end of the pasture was a dark brushwood; my companions told me that this was the sacred grove containing the imperial tombs. The distance to the town might be about six or seven miles, but our little horses carried us quickly over the ground. The Manchu dignitaries, in their flowing silken robes, their pagoda-like hats, their embroideries and long pigtails, looked unquestionably most picturesque. My mount and my saddle were similar to theirs, pretty, but at the same time I must say that I never rode on anything more uncomfortable than a Chinese saddle of embossed wood, with stirrups in the shape of slippers, and fixed so high that knees and chin nearly meet.
Two large stone monuments flank the path which leads to the sacred grove. Forbidding-looking dragons guard the entrance. A deep cutting gives access to the place of interment, and this long alley is guarded on both sides by monsters of various descriptions. Elephants, camels, gigantic human figures, are placed at intervals facing each other, all cut in stone, and intended to ward off the evil spirits.
The beauty of the place is indescribable. The darkness of the foliage, the white stone statues, and the paved pathway winding through the woods, all help to give it the character of an enchanted forest, where solitude reigns, and the air is full of poetry.
Later we crossed some marble bridges of exquisite workmanship, their curiously sculptured balustrades softly reflecting themselves in the blue waters of the little streams flowing lazily between the flowering banks. I was told that the statues, the streams, and the bridges, have all of them some allegorical meaning in connexion with the spirits of the departed.
At length, passing through a porch, we stood face to face with an arch of such surpassing beauty, that for a moment I was dazed and lost in speechless admiration. Surely this must be one of the greatest, one of the most wonderful architectural creations of the Yellow Empire. Material, design, proportions, all the details, are so supremely beautiful. It is of marble, the arch resting on two huge blocks with cross-bars and buttresses supported by imperial dragons. The decorations are exquisite, and the carving of the friezes unique of its kind. Not even among all the marvellous monuments of Pekin, Nankin, or Hankow, did I find anything to rival it. The beauty of the conception, as well as the finished workmanship, impress one most forcibly, because of its being so perfectly in keeping with the signification of the whole triumphal arch, which symbolizes the passage of the spirit, after a life of strife and victory, to the abodes of their ancestors and everlasting peace. In this respect I know of nothing to compare with it, unless it be that pearl of Asiatic architecture, the Taj Mahal.
The tomb itself is enclosed by courts, halls, sacrificial temples, guard-houses, and sentry-sheds. We left our horses at the inner entrance, and the massive doors of red lacquer-work groaned on their hinges as they were slowly pushed open by half a dozen soldiers. We found ourselves in a square yard, a kind of court of honour, with avenues of trees many centuries old, giants and monsters in stone, and canals fenced in with marble balustrades and arched by bridges. These courts are divided by open galleries which lead to the central pagoda. This square building contains the commemorative tablet, a monument cut out of a single stone of about thirty feet high. The whole stands on a colossal tortoise, larger than two elephants.
Immense cauldrons, big enough to cook a whole ox at a time, for sacrificial purposes, are placed at short distances. Once a year a great ceremony is held in honour of the Great Ancestor. On this occasion the Emperor should be present in person, but for many years the imperial court has been represented by ambassadors; and considering what a journey from Pekin to Mukden involves, it is not surprising that the sovereign is content to be present by proxy. I was told that the mandarins selected to undertake this onerous pilgrimage are often persons whose presence is not desired at Pekin. Their adventurous journey often occupies many months, and often there have been cases in which the envoys never returned at all.
The Great Ancestor was one of the founders of the Manchu dynasty in China, and his real tomb is cut out in the heart of the mountain, but the exact spot is unknown. We spent the greater part of the afternoon among the tombs, and I made the best use I could of the permission to sketch and to take photographs. But the most perfect apparatus, and the pen of the most accomplished narrator, are bound to fail to do justice to the reality. Art and nature are blended so exquisitely here that it is impossible to give an adequate idea of the place. However beautiful the individual monuments may be—and they are very beautiful—the real charm of the ideal site lies in the perfect harmony of solitude and peace.
On the return journey we again passed through the muddy, dreary suburbs. Most of the houses along the dull, deserted roads, are built of clay and covered with straw. Rough planks close the entrance, and from the windows the rice-paper hangs down in tatters. We met several funeral processions, the huge black coffins being carried in front.
I have forgotten to mention that cholera was raging in the town; hundreds of people died daily, and the sanitary conditions of the place were so wretched that nothing could be done to stop it. Considering the manner in which the coolies live, it is only surprising that they do not all succumb. On this account the authorities at first had been averse to the idea of my visit to Mukden, but as there was smallpox in China and typhoid fever in Korea, there did not seem much to choose between the two; and, besides, I was firmly convinced that Providence would let me finish the work I had undertaken to do.
The epidemic broke out three months ago, and had claimed many victims among the Russian troops. The morale of the men was at a very low ebb in consequence. Upon the coolies and the Manchus the effect was different. Their innate fatalism teaches them to look upon death as a benevolent friend, and as they bear away the coffins with the remains of their loved ones, they look as unconcerned as if they were taking them to a place of joy. All the small objects cherished by the dead are placed upon the coffin to be burned at the grave-side, and when the smoke rises up to heaven, popular superstition has it that all these objects assume shape again in a higher sphere, for the gratification of their former owners. It is only right, however, to add, that as the heirs are solicitous to save anything that may be of value, counterfeits of the real things, in paper or cardboard, are often substituted, and so the auto-da-fé takes place only in effigy.
Having been entertained at luncheon by the Chinese Governor, to make the day complete I was the guest of the Russian Resident at dinner. We may criticize the Muscovite system of government, we may censure the ways and means employed by the Russian administration, but there is only one opinion as regards Russian hospitality. No matter what quarter of the globe one comes from, whether one be a political ally or a traditional foe, a Russian never fails in the duties of hospitality. As long as the guest is under his roof he is looked upon as a member of the family. Host and hostess, in fact all the household, go out of their way to show kindness to him. And it is all done on such a lavish scale! His room is overheated, rugs and furs are wrapped round him whether he desires them or not, and above all a special point is made of loading him with food and drink at all hours of the day and of the night.
The Russian Residence, or Consulate, as it is still sometimes called before the world, is a yamen like all other public buildings in China, only perhaps a little more ruinous than those I saw in the morning. The interior is greatly lacking in comfort and luxury. It gives rather the impression of a camp than of a home; there is no furniture beyond what is strictly necessary, and nothing has been done to make it pretty or attractive. The only redeeming feature is the table, which appears to be permanently set for meals. It is covered with quite as many little dishes as the table of the Mandarin, but instead of fruit and sweetmeats, they contain hors-d’œuvres, such as caviare, herrings, smoked salmon, cucumber, and all the innumerable varieties which compose the famous national Zakouska. There was a perfect array of bottles on the table; I do not remember ever seeing so many crowded on to one table. There were wines from the Crimea, various liqueurs, and vodka. During dinner the guests smoked perfumed cigarettes, and talked of their family affairs and distant homes. It was difficult to realize that the boundless plains of Siberia separated us from the banks of the Neva, for the picture before me was so typically Russian, in all its variety of shades and colours. I almost felt as if I were “in company with the gentlemen” of Tourgueniéff.
My visit to Mukden had certainly been full of interest. Not only the town itself, its famous monuments, and its strangely superannuated people, but the whole situation as it is at present, offers endless scope for speculation. Chinese mandarins and Russian generals, Cossacks and coolies, how oddly they are amalgamated in incoherent groups! What developments may not the future have in store? Truly this is a fascinating problem. Will Manchuria be more prosperous under the new régime? Will the people be able to rise to a higher level? As I took leave of the spot, now so desolate, where the mission settlement once stood, I asked myself whether it would ever be rebuilt and whether men would come forward to take the place of those martyrs who had sacrificed their life in the cause of the orphans and forsaken children of China. Casting one last lingering look upon the place, which I should probably never see again, the dismal outline of the ruined bell-tower seemed to rise up in pathetic protest against human intolerance and blind persecution.
THE RETURN JOURNEY
The city of Mukden contained so much that was of interest to me, that my stay there was prolonged beyond my original intentions. The Governor, to whom I had related all the difficulties and discomforts of my journey, very kindly placed a carriage at my disposal and gave me an escort to see me safely back to the station. But perilous as the outward journey had been, the return was no less full of various emotions.
It was a beautiful autumn day when I left the town. Nature seemed to be making one last effort to assert the power of her charms before falling into her winter sleep. As we passed through the precincts of the city, the gardens literally glittered with colour. All imaginable shades, from copper-tinted saffron to bronzed purple, were there displayed. These gardens are certainly most beautifully cultivated. Presently we emerged into the open plain, and now I had the opportunity, which I had missed before, of forming some idea of the fertility of this privileged land. Manchuria is undoubtedly one of the richest countries in the world. The soil is excellent, the hills are thickly wooded, the mountains abound in minerals. Along the route we passed farms where maize and beans seemed to be chiefly cultivated, and all the people, men, women, and children, were at work in the field.
The landscape is rather monotonous. We traversed a wide plain enclosed by mountains which touch the horizon; but although the scenery cannot be called picturesque, it is not devoid of a certain grandeur. It has a charm peculiar to itself, an atmosphere of vague melancholy. All vast plains, those of Egypt for instance, or of Rajputana, have this same undefinable, intangible characteristic, of which one is faintly conscious without being able to describe it. The people who live in such a free atmosphere are naturally affected by it, and the Manchus possess all the characteristics of a race inhabiting an exposed country.
The Manchu is attached to his native land; he loves to live in the open, and is never so happy as when galloping across the endless plain or hunting in the virgin forests. As we laboriously proceeded on the uneven road, my fancy had full play, and I received new ideas and impressions from these novel surroundings. Since I had explored the interior of the country more carefully, my ideas about Manchuria had certainly undergone a great change. Every now and then, however, my cogitations were rudely interrupted as we jumped over ditches, crawled up or ran down the inclines, and it was a wonder that my poor tarantass was not smashed in the attempt. It may be as well, perhaps, to give some idea of what a tarantass is like. Four small wheels, very far apart, and joined by wooden axles, were fixed in the centre to a long pole, on which the basket, in shape something between a boat and a bath, was fastened. The vibration of this pole takes the place of springs, although it would be incorrect to say that it performed the office of such civilized improvements. But the pole kept the wheels and the basket together, and this, after all, is an accomplishment to be proud of on the highroads of Asia. My carriage was not drawn by mules this time, but I had three horses harnessed abreast, in the Muscovite style. They were small Cossack horses, with long manes and tails, slightly larger than Shetland ponies, strong and lively. The middle one was somewhat bigger than the two others; it could trot, while the ponies to the right and left of it had to gallop all the time, their heads gracefully arched and held a little to one side. The harness was most eccentric, and consisted of straps without number, the use of which it was difficult to see, but the silver-nailed mountings, studded in Eastern fashion, looked decidedly picturesque.
My coachman was a Cossack, and evidently very much impressed with the importance of his mission. About fifteen men formed the escort, their white blouses and flat white caps forming a striking feature in the landscape. They are good-natured, simple-minded folk, these mujiks, with bright blue eyes, clear complexion, and a childlike expression. They are evidently quite at home in this far-away country, for the ways of life in their native land are primitive and patriarchal, and differ but little from those in this foreign land. It is difficult to believe that these men can ever be cruel, and in time of war commit the greatest atrocities in cold blood and almost unconsciously. When the war is over they at once make friends with the conquered people, and freely mix with the yellow tribes. A little two-wheeled cart, containing provisions, and with a young Cossack as driver, completed my escort.
If I were asked what were the most striking objects I passed on the road, I should mention two pagodas, one of which is particularly beautiful, seven storeys high, and richly carved. Monsters of Chinese mythology and all the embellishments which the sickly imagination of that ancient race could devise, have been lavishly represented upon it. We also passed some remarkable commemorative stones—massive blocks, resting on enormous tortoises—on which are inscribed the exploits of the defunct heroes of the country. The many farms on our route testified to the agricultural resources of the land, and the villages are not without interest from a sociological point of view. The houses are very shabby and dilapidated, but what amused me was the number of children there were playing about. There did not seem to be room enough to contain them all, and there were hardly any doors to be seen; the population appears to jump out of the ground like mushrooms. We met carts of various descriptions, pedestrians, strange equipages, and stranger horsemen, and to finish up with, a mandarin travelling in state. This personage was carried in a litter covered with embroidered silk, and the luggage packed, in cases of wonderful lacquer-work, was carried by his men on their backs. Suite and servants followed him in single file, and all the emblems of his dignity, flags, Chinese lanterns, umbrellas, and banners, with various inscriptions, were carried before him. His Excellency was guarded by a detachment of native soldiers, in crimson mantles with lozenge-shaped pieces of velvet let in at the front and back, and elaborately embroidered with Chinese characters. Of course, many of the details of this show were very shabby. The canopy of the litter was torn and faded, the velvet of the uniforms was caked with mud, the banners were in rags, and yet as a whole it was one of the most artistic displays I have ever seen. Asiatics certainly have the knack of making their pageants effective. A mandarin of secondary order, visiting a functionary about equal in rank to a tax-collector, has an escort of followers and soldiers amounting to several dozen men, while the highest Western officials are content with two footmen behind their carriage on grand occasions.
I have already said that the journey back to Mukden station was no improvement on the journey thence, and yet, as I write these lines, seated in my comfortable railway carriage, my adventure, now that it is a thing of the past, seems like a dream to me. To make the story more interesting I must begin at the end, namely, with the dramatic incident of the journey, and tell how we only just escaped being kidnapped or possibly killed by a band of brigands. Thanks to Providence, however, no more serious harm was done to us than the fall of the tarantass into the swollen river, a compulsory bath in full uniform for some of the Cossacks, various bruises and scratches, and a broken litter. The intended attack was changed into flight, and the tragedy turned into a comedy, to the satisfaction of all. I will briefly relate the facts.
When we arrived at the first village, the Cossacks declared that the horses were thirsty, and that a halt was therefore necessary. They all dismounted and hurried into the wayside inn, leaving me alone with the horses. But as I could see neither well nor bucket, I could do nothing for the poor beasts. After a while the men returned, and there was no mistaking the state of affairs. If the horses had had no water, the men had found plenty to drink. Presently we came to another village, and the same thing occurred there, only this time they did not trouble to invent any excuse, and never mentioned the thirsty horses. I need hardly say that after each halt the conversation waxed more animated, and the horses were pushed on more furiously. After the third stoppage the situation became alarming. They no longer talked, but all shouted at once, the clatter of their voices being intermixed with snatches of popular songs, while the trot of the horses changed to a gallop.
I felt desperate, for I knew that I was quite powerless against the inveterate national custom of these children of nature. They continued, however, to behave well towards me, and treated me with the greatest respect. They were only very hilarious, that was all. They shouted and sang and waved their red kerchiefs as we sped along.
The last hamlet passed, and there being no further chance of obtaining refreshment until Mukden station was reached, a steeplechase was proposed across country, to the station. I cannot tell what distance we thus covered, for the speed at which we went exceeded all my previous experiences. The race over the uneven ground caused me many different sensations. Across the plain it was rapid and exciting, and I fully participated in the exhilaration of these wild children. Across the cultivated ground it was pleasant enough for those on horseback, but to me, in my tarantass, it was like being on the rack. But it was in crossing the maize-fields that I suffered most.
The race increased in speed. Horses and men completely lost their heads, and it was no longer a question of restraining them. The horses took the bits between their teeth and simply went like the wind. We seemed to fly over the ditches and tore through the reed hedges. Some of the animals slipped and the men fell head over heels in the mud, while guns and swords described glittering circles in the air. Finally, in trying to clear a deep creek, one of the wheels of the provision-cart came off, and all the contents were scattered. Then, to my joy, I saw looming in the distance, like a haven of refuge, the miserable shed which is called Mukden station.
I lay down at the bottom of the tarantass, with a feeling of deliverance near at hand. I must explain that my straw seat had fallen to pieces at an early stage of our mad race, so that the only way to remain in the tarantass was by lying down at the bottom and holding on to the sides. But even this comparative degree of comfort was extended to me for only a short time, for suddenly I received a terrible shock; there was a grinding noise produced by the carriage, followed by an exclamation from the driver, unintelligible to me; the sound of horses struggling in the water; and finally I felt an icy wave dashing over me. I thought I was drowning, and instinctively raised myself in my basket. We were in the middle of a river which had overflowed its banks! My little horses were half submerged. Some of the Cossacks were still in the saddle; others were wading through the muddy stream up to their waists in water. They were all in a state of great excitement, talking and shouting, but all quite cheerful. Some were washing their scratches, others struggling desperately to rescue their belongings, which were floating away on the stream, and the horses, at last, with supreme contentment, were able to drink their fill of the water so long withheld and so fully deserved.
The steeplechase under ordinary conditions may be a noble sport and may have its charm and many dangers, but it cannot be compared with such a cross-country race in a tarantass, escorted by a detachment of Cossacks. And yet, in spite of all, I am indebted to these hardy companions, for their mad escapade and their wild merriment saved our lives. Whilst in full career, with horses neighing, Cossacks shouting, and swords flashing, we became aware of a body of men, who had presumably been hiding in the bushes, escaping towards the distant woods. Evidently they thought we were pursuing them, and they fled in disorder. I learnt afterwards that it was a band of those Chunchuses who have been the terror of the district for many years, and very likely the same I met on my previous journey. Not long ago they kidnapped Mr. Wetzel, the director of the East China Railway, whose adventures have been described at length in the newspapers. He was carried into the interior, underwent the most terrible tortures, and was on the verge of losing his mind when his ransom arrived.
If my Cossacks had not indulged in that steeplechase my journey might have had a tragic ending. Thanks to our furious riding, we startled the band lying in wait for a prey; but if they had seen us quietly proceeding like ordinary travellers along the highroad, they would undoubtedly have attacked us; and I will therefore conclude with the well-known proverb: “All’s well that ends well.”
Notes
2 The Chinese do not use boxes, but snuff-bottles of great value.
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