Manchuria

Its People, Resources and Recent History

Alexander Hosie

• Editorial: Routledge
• Año: 2018
• ISBN:
  9780429868610
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Storia
• Categoría: Storia dell'Asia

First published in 1901, this volume emerged in the aftermath of the Russian invasion of Manchuria. Its author had been in charge of the British Consulate at Newchwang in Manchuria for two periods between 1894 and 1900. The book contains an account of journeys in Eastern and Northern Manchuria, followed by chapters on recent events in Manchuria along with its climate, people, administration and industry.

CHAPTER I

A JOURNEY INTO CENTRAL MANCHURIA

ON the 28th of December, 1895, I received telegraphic instructions to proceed to Kirin, the capital of the Central province of Manchuria, to settle a long-standing missionary land case, and at 4.30 A.M. on the 2nd January, 1896, my little caravan passed through the gates of the British Consulate at Newchwang bound northwards. The town of Niu-chuang, where one of the very few fierce struggles between the Japanese and Chinese during the late war took place, lies thirty miles inland, and the fact that the port and this inland town are indiscriminately called Newchwang gave rise to considerable confusion as to the military operations during the winter of 1894-95. In the interior of Manchuria the port is spoken of as Ying-tzǔ, or more generally Ying-kow; but as outside Manchuria it is known only as Newchwang I shall continue to name it so, and always refer to the inland town as Niu-chuang. The caravan consisted of four carts—-one for Lieutenant Quayle, R.N., of H.M.S. Rattler, who was good enough to be my companion; one for my Chinese writer; one for provisions; and the fourth for myself. In addition to these we had three ponies to vary the monotony of cart travelling; but the weather was so cold that we rarely summoned up courage to rida An official messenger, a cook, a horse-boy, my writer’s servant, the four carters, and twelve mules and ponies completed the caravan. We were provisioned for a month, and provided with fur-lined clothing and boots and fur rugs to enable us to withstand the rigours of a Manchurian winter. These precautions were very necessary, for during the journey we experienced a temperature of 84° below zero, or 66° of frost. Mr. Quayle had a sextant, with the usual accompaniments, and a fowling-piece which on the only occasion on which it was really required—to resist an attack by mounted robbers—could not be unearthed from its case, the lock having got jammed by the jolting of the cart in which it was stowed away, and we each carried a revolver, and last, but not least, I had packed away in my cart an old battered iron despatch box—the trusty companion of my travels in Western China—filled with the more peaceful munitions of travel—broken silver ingots of various sizes, the only universal currency excepting copper cash in China.

As readers of this book may not be familiar with a Chinese passenger cart,—and in this they are extremely fortunate,—I may as well give a brief description of it and of the method of travel. Two stout planks of elm are joined together by crosspieces of the same wood, the shafts measuring four feet ten inches long and two feet ten inches apart. Behind the shafts comes the driver’s seat, some seventeen inches wide, extending across the cart and forming part of the bottom, which runs backwards for four feet two inches and is followed by a framework, twenty-one inches long, utilised for the stowage of baggage. The part between the driver’s seat and the rear framework is covered with lattice woodwork arched at the top and about three feet eight inches high, and over the whole of the latter is spread blue native cloth, the interior in winter being lined with cheap fur. In front there is a curtain which may be raised or closed at pleasure, with a small pane of glass in the centre, and there is a window of similar dimensions in each side of the cart. Firmly attached to the bottom is a massive axle-tree and two wheels, four feet in diameter, each with sixteen spokes, kept in position by steel linch-pins. The tire, which is of iron half an inch thick, consists of eight pieces eighteen inches long and frequently so knotted as to resemble a cog-wheel nailed on to the rim, which is one and a half inches wide. The cart, therefore, has no springs, and the jolting and bumping can be more readily imagined than described. To obviate this as much as possible cushions and mattresses are utilised; but even these get displaced and require constant attention. I found that I had a low easy arm-chair, which exactly fitted the breadth of the interior of the cart, and on this chair I sat for the greater part of the twenty-three days and nights of travel. Even this had its drawbacks, for, as I have not the advantage of being short, my feet projected on to the driver’s seat, and, although cased in fur-lined boots and covered with fur and other rugs, they were always excessively cold during the night and early morning. The very first morning the driver happened by accident to sit on one of my feet, and, finding that he imparted warmth, I edged in the other, and not unfrequently afterwards did I adopt the same tactics. Owing to the number of garments which he wore, he was not inconvenienced—at least he made no complaint, and I was a decided gainer. Another discomfort was from our moustaches, which were frozen at least a dozen times daily from start till sunrise, as well as towards sunset. The process of thawing the lumps of ice which clung to them was very painful, and, if I tried to avoid the cold by burying my face in my fur coat, I found that my moustache was invariably frozen to the fur collar. Better the ice than this ! I am giving a few of the discomforts now, and I am sorry to say that I cannot mention any comforts to counterbalance them, and this for a very simple reason—there were none!

The great trade highway from Newchwang to Central and Northern Manchuria passes through the inland town of Niu-chuang, and thence goes north-east to Liao-yang Chou and onwards to Moukden or Shên-yang, the capital of the southern province of Manchuria. It does not touch Hai-chfeng; but, as that district city played a very important part in the war between China and Japan, I determined to visit it on my way to Kirin. On the ten miles of the highway between the port and Shih-ch’iao-tzǔ (“Stone Bridge”), where the branch road leads to Hai-ch’eng, we saw nothing of the immense traffic of which I shall have to speak hereafter, for traffic in Manchuria is conducted on peculiar lines, the caravans of carts starting daily at any hour from two to four o’lock in the morning, and reaching their destination (a distance of about thirty miles) before nightfall. The caravans which had started south on the same day as ourselves had not yet reached Shih-ch’iao-tzǔ, and such as had started the previous morning had taken good care to reach Newchwang the same evening. As I shall have occasion to mention hereafter, accidents may retard a number of caravans in company, and delay their arrival at their proposed destination; and this is well provided for by solid inns or, rather, caravansaries—walled enclosures with buildings along the sides, and large compounds in the centre for the caravans— dotting the whole line of the highroads on which trade is conducted. There was a little local trade, and in the bright moonlight I noticed a number of carts bringing in the daily supply of firewood for the consumption of the port. This consists of millet stalks piled high in carts which come into Newchwang every morning and take up their position on the market-place adjoining, and to the west of, the Consulate, where the loads are disposed of and then distributed all over the town. I am loath to leave these millet stalks without a few more words regarding them. They are a very important factor in the trade of Manchuria, and deserve more than a passing notice. The most valuable use to which they are put is the manufacture of coarse mats of various sizes and shapes, according to the purpose for which they are intended. What must strike every traveller in Manchuria is the matting which rises high around every large cart bringing produce from the interior, and which contains the loose loads of beans and millet. It lines the bottom of the cart, encircles and covers the contents, and keeps them firmly in position. If he does not observe this, he will at least not fail to notice the mat spread on the stove bed in the Chinese inn in which he has to pass the night. I venture to say that, if he happens to be travelling in the hot weather, he will examine this mat very carefully, and, if he is a wise man, he will have it taken up, well shaken, dusted and cleaned before he ventures to seek repose. The finer mats are woven of reeds also grown in Manchuria. But I am wandering from the point, which is, that these mats are woven by hand from the outer sheaths of millet stalks. The stalks are also used for firewood, and, especially in the Fêng-tfien province, for fencing houses and compounds. They are also largely used in house building; stalks are woven together and plastered with mud to form walls and roofs. These are the poorer houses in the country. Large stacks of them may be seen in every farmyard, shaped exactly like peat-stacks in Scotland.

From Shih-ch’iao-tzǔ the road runs east by north over flat country to Hai-ch’eng, and the farther we travelled the nearer we approached the low range of hills which runs north from the Liao-tung peninsula. Clumps of trees, for the most part willows, elms and firs, marked the villages and graveyards, and the magnificent fields—a contrast to the cultivated patches of land in Central and Southern China—were one mass of drills, from which protruded the stubble of the various millets. These drills looked exceedingly neat and beautifully ploughed; but when crossed, as they often were, by cart to make a short cut or to avoid a bad part of the road, words fail me to express the disagreeable sensations experienced. Between Shih-ch’iao-tzü and Hai-ch’eng we passed through the village of Kan-wang-chai, the scene of the battle of 19th December, 1894, where the Japanese casualties were exceptionally heavy. Had the Chinese, who were posted behind the mud walls of the village, been able to use their guns there would undoubtedly have been still greater slaughter, for the approach from Hai-ch’êng, whence the latter came to the attack, is an exposed flat without any cover whatever. But the Chinese could not shoot, and retired in an undignified manner on Niu-chuang. The city of Hai-ch’êng is admirably adapted for defence, and the Japanese, who entered it by the south gate without any serious opposition on the forenoon of the 13th December, 1894, and evacuated it on the 30th November, 1895, took eager advantage of its natural environments to make it impregnable —at least against the Chinese. Low hills are found at short distances outside the four walls of the city, and these as well as an eminence—supposed to be an old Corean fort—in the southeastern quarter of the town itself were all fortified against possible attempts to re-occupy the position. When we crossed the plain to the west of the town, which we entered by the west gate, we came across from time to time remnants of earthworks which had oeen thrown up by the Japanese, and the fortifications which had been erected on the old Corean fort had evidently been destroyed by gun-cotton or dynamite. Of course all the guns had been removed at the time of the evacuation.

At Pa-li-ho-tzǔ, a hamlet some three miles to the southwest of Hai-ch’eng, and on the left bank of a stream which flows into the Hai-ch’eng river, we endeavoured to satisfy the cravings of hunger; but the innkeeper told us that he had lost everything at the hands of Chinese soldiers during the war, and had been unable to resume business. There was no help for it but to hurry on to Hai-ch’eng, which we reached at 3.30 P.M., having struck the ice-bound river opposite the west wall of the city. This river, which flows along the south, sweeps northwards along the western wall past the west gate, and flows west by north into the Hun Ho, an eastern branch of the Liao river, passing a little to the north of the inland town of Niu-chuang. Our wants were abundantly satisfied at the Mission House of the United Presbyterian Church of Scotland, where we passed the night on our way through the city. I noticed that great destruction had taken place, and it is safe to say that in every city occupied by the Japanese the same tale could be told, for houses foolishly deserted by their owners on the approach of the enemy were looked upon as legitimate spoil by the Chinese who remained.

I observed on this, the first stage of our journey, that water for household and other purposes was obtained from wells, and that the supply was drawn either by a windlass fixed over the mouth of the well or by the method, so common in Southern China, especially in the neighbourhood of Amoy, of a lever working on a pivot erected near the well, and having attached to the thin end a rope and a bucket and to the heavier end a weight of stone or iron. This latter is in fact the shadcnif of Egypt, the lot of Northern and the picottah of Southern India. The magistrate of Hai-ch’êng was absent; but, in accordance with a request sent to the Yamên, the north gate of the city was to be opened for us at four o’lock next morning, when we left for Liao-yang Chou, the next stage of our journey. Of course the warders were asleep when we reached the gate, and a quarter of an hour’s delay was the result. I did not blame them for preferring their beds to a bitterly cold atmosphere, but my followers grumbled loudly because they were less comfortable. It is exceedingly difficult to make reliable observations in the moonlight: a bank of snow by the roadside is magnified into the snowclad base of a hill represented by the darkness beyond, while a bed of snow in a valley is mistaken for a river. When daylight appeared, however, I found that low hills jutted into the plain from the range to the east, rendering the road, which goes north by east, less level than to the west of Hai-ch’eng. Here and there it lies between low embankments. In every village through which we passed traces, in the shape of ruined houses, were visible of the devastation caused by the Chinese forces which were massed during the war between Hai-ch’eng and Liao-yang to prevent the advance of the Japanese to Moukden. On nearing the hamlet of Tang-chih, or, as it is more generally called, Tang-kang-tzǔ, eighteen miles from Hai-ch’êng, low hills break into the plain from the east. They were lightly clad with snow, and a small temple presides over the few mud-houses which constitute the hamlet Here are situated the famous sulphur, I should rather say mineral, springs of the province. Some care has been taken of them, for three stone baths have been constructed and a house built over them, and outside there is a large circular bath for the general public. The water, which was tepid, was several feet deep, and there was a whitish efflorescence of sulphur on the encircling stones and withered herbage. The air was laden with an odour far from pleasant I was induced by a friend who was taking the waters internally and externally to join him in his morning draught; but I regretted my imprudence, and the companion of my journey, who declined the proffered cup, had his knowledge increased by my self-sacrifice. He acquired the knowledge; but I flatter myself that my knowledge was more perfect, gained as it was through pain. A few miles to the east of ‘Fang-kang-tzǔ are the Ch’ien Shan, a cluster of hills culminating in peaks, none appearing to rise higher than a thousand feet The name means “the Thousand Hills,” and there is a legend that the original number was 999, but, as this idyllic odd number was unsatisfactory, an artificial hill was added to make the thousand. I was surprised to hear it, for the Chinese are very fond of odd numbers, but to have to say Chiu pai chiu shih chiu shan (“the 999 Hills”) every time reference had to be made to them may have settled the necessity of adding a hill, and thereby curtailing the name to two characters. They looked very inviting even in winter, and I am informed by fellow-countrymen who have visited them that in spring they are clad with a great variety of beautiful flowers. There are temples, too, available for residence, and at one of these, Lung-ch’üan Ssü (“the Temple of the Dragon Spring”), there is an unceasing supply of crystal water. Four miles north by east of T’ang-kang-tzǔ is the village of An-shan-chan, the most northerly point reached by the Japanese during their invasion of Manchuria. Under pretence of advancing on Liao-yang from Hai-ch’êng they pushed forward as far as An-shan-chan, and then turned south-west to Niu-chuang, leaving the Chinese, who had fallen back on Sha-ho-tzǔ and Liao-yang, utterly bewildered as to their movements. The village, which is situated at the north end of a short valley near the right bank of a small stream flowing west by north to the eastern branch of the Liao River, consists of a long street in ruins, and at the north end a square, high walled enclosure, with a few houses inside, evidently a dilapidated camp. It derives its name from a hill immediately to the east of it—An-shan, or “Saddle Hill,” so called from a depression in its centre. To the west a few low hills of bare granite are to be seen. If Saddle Hill had been well fortified a handful of brave men who knew their duty could have held this road against an overwhelming force. North of An-shan-chan the country opens out into a broad level plain, and following this for ten miles we struck Sha-ho-tzǔ, a bustling town built on both banks of another tributary of the Eastern Liao. The day was well advanced when we crossed the frozen stream, and we had to push on to reach our destination for the night, still eleven miles distant. Six miles from Sha-ho-tzü a range of low hills (Shou Shan) creeps into the plain from the east, and separates it from the Liao-yang plain. On the low pass there were traces of earthworks which had been thrown up during the war, and to all appearances guns had been mounted here. Darkness was setting in as we passed through the large village of Pa-li-chuang, and the carters were unwilling to go on; but I knew that comfortable quarters awaited us at the mission station within the city walls, where we were kindly welcomed and hospitably entertained by friends at 7.30 P.M. We were thus fifteen and a quarter hours on the road from Hai-ch’êng to Liao-yang, and if two hours be deducted for rest and refreshment, thirteen hours’ actual travelling time remains. The distance covered was forty-four and one-third miles, and this agrees pretty closely with what we afterwards discovered, namely, that the average speed of a cart is ten fi, or three and a third miles an hour. Liao-yang, at one time the capital of Liao-tung, is a city with many historical associations, but into these I do not enter, for this chapter is intended to be a record of travel and nothing more. It is surrounded by a high wall of stone and brick, with a gate in each of its four sides. There is only one low eminence within the walls, and that is occupied by the Treasury. The population is estimated at 50,000. It is a great centre for distilling the native spirit called samshu. The neighbourhood is famous for its fruits, which include pears, grapes, peaches and cherries. The country is fairly well wooded, the willow, pine and elm predominating, and in the bare branches of the latter bunches of mistletoe were growing. We did not leave the North Gate of Liao-yang till 10 A.M. next morning, the 4th of January, being somewhat fatigued by our long journey the previous day. On our way to the gate we noticed the lofty pagoda, which lies outside the north-west angle of the city walls. Three roads, known as the west, middle and east roads respectively, lead from Liao-yang to Moukden, the capital of the Southern province of Fêng-t’ien. We selected the middle road, and, after covering a little less than three miles, struck the left bank of the Tai-tzǔ Ho. This stream, also called the Ch’a Ho, or Erh-tao Ho (“Two Branch River”), rises in the hills near the Eastern Palisade, flows west by south for some fifty miles, then west by north to the north-east angle of the walls of Liao-yang, where it turns north and west to join the Eastern Liao. It bifurcates on nearing the city, and again reunites to the north-west of Liao-yang at a place called Huang-lin-tzǔ. A distance of about a thousand yards separates their shingle beds, with wooden bridges thrown over them and layers of millet stalks spread on the top to form the roadway. The two branches were of course frozen and easily fordable on the ice. North of Liao-yang the range of hills to the east which we had in sight since starting recedes to a greater distance, leaving an immense agricultural district, dotted with farmhouses, embowered in trees, which also mark the positions of graveyards with their mud, cone-shaped mounds. Between Liao-yang and Hsiao-yen-fai, where, owing to our late start, we were obliged to spend the night, we met several large caravans with beans, tobacco, abutilón hemp (the fibre of Abutilón avicennae, Gaertn.) and frozen pigs lashed in every possible position around the laden carts. These pigs, which were all scraped and dressed, were usually of large size, weighing as much as 200 to 300 lb. apiece. They are fed in the province of Kirin on millet and the refuse of distilleries, killed in winter and brought down from the interior for consumption during the cold weather. As it would be too expensive to bring the millet itself, it is converted into spirits and pork, which find a ready sale everywhere. A single caravan often numbers as many as twenty large carts, each with a team of seven animals. In the best caravans, that is those which go into the provinces of Kirin and Hei-lung-chiang and into Mongolia, a team usually consists of a pony in the shafts and six tracing mules three abreast. In the case of caravans or carts going shorter distances, teams are all ponies, mixed mules and ponies, or a mixture of mules, ponies, donkeys, or even oxen.

Twenty miles still separated us from Moukden, the capital of the province, and at 3.45 A.M. on the 5th of January we proceeded north by east over the frozen fields, crossing drills and taking the mud boundary dykes at a canter. After covering thirteen miles we entered the village of Pai-t’a-p’u, where the middle and west roads unite. As the name implies, the village has a pagoda visible at some distance in this flat country. Four miles beyond we struck the left bank of the frozen Hun Ho, whose pebbly bed is of very considerable breadth. In the open season the Hun Ho is not navigable as far as Moukden: junks of any draught do not ascend beyond a distance of ten miles from the capital. At page 67 of Mr. James’s book, The Long White Mountain, there is a picture of a Lama monument not far from the south gate. As a matter of fact there are four of these, one outside each of the four angles of the city. We passed the Nan T’a (“Southern Pagoda”) on our right two miles from the river, and soon after struck the southern suburb, which we skirted eastward to the Scotch Mission Station, which we reached at 11 A.M., and where we were warmly welcomed and spent the ...