CHAPTER VII

A TRIP TO SHANHAIKWAN

The railways throughout North China and Manchuria were originally constructed chiefly by British capital; and England had consequently priority of claim upon them. The line from Pekin runs first to the sea at Tong‐ku, at the mouth of the Peiho River, thence branching off northward along the coast to Newchwang, the treaty port of Manchuria. Its continuation passes southward from Newchwang to Port Arthur. At the beginning of the campaign in North China it was seized by the Russians and held by them until diplomatic pressure loosened their grasp. Instead of restoring it direct to the British, they handed over to the Germans the railway as far north as Shanhaikwan, a town on the coast where the famous Great Wall of China ends in the sea; but they retained in their own possession that portion between Shanhaikwan and Newchwang. The Germans then held on to the remainder until they were eventually restored to the British.

Shanhaikwan thus became the natural boundary between the territory under the sway of the Russians and the country in the combined occupation of the Allies. The Czar’s servants had laid covetous eyes upon it; for its position and a number of strong and well‐armed forts which had been constructed by the Chinese rendered it an important _point d’appui_ whence to dominate North China. So a powerful Russian force was despatched by land to seize these fortifications; but it was forestalled by the smart action of the British Admiral, who sent a gunboat, the _Pigmy_, to Shanhaikwan. The captain of this little craft audaciously demanded and actually received the surrender of the forts; so that when the Russians arrived they found, to their intense surprise, the Union Jack flying from the ramparts. Eventually, to avoid dissensions, the various forts were divided among the Allies.

Previous to my departure on a long‐projected trip to Japan—seeing a little of Manchuria and Corea _en route_—I joined a small party of officers who had arranged to pay a flying visit to Shanhaikwan. With light luggage and the roll of bedding without which the Anglo‐Indian seldom travels in the East, we entrained at Tientsin. A couple of hours sufficed to bring us to Tong‐ku, where the railway branches off to the north. The platform was thronged with a bustling crowd of the soldiers of many nations, the place being the disembarkation port for the Continental, the American, and the Japanese troops. In the station buildings the British officers in charge of that section of the railway and of the detachments guarding it had established a mess. As we had some time to wait before the departure of the train to Shanhaikwan, they warmly welcomed us within its hospitable, if narrow, walls.

When the warning bell summoned us to take our places, we established ourselves in a comfortable first‐class carriage—partly saloon, partly coupé. I may mention that during the occupation of North China by the Allies the wearers of uniform travelled free everywhere on the railways. Among our fellow‐passengers were some Japanese naval officers, a German or two, a few Russians, and an old friend of mine, Lieutenant Hutchinson, of H.M.S. _Terrible_, who had served with the Naval Brigade in the defence of Tientsin. He had just returned from a trip to Japan, and was full of his adventures in the Land of the Geisha.

The railway to Shanhaikwan runs at first close to the sea through a monotonous stretch of mud flats, and then reaches a most fertile country with walled villages and substantially built houses. It was guarded by the 4th Punjaub Infantry, detachments of which occupied the stations along the line. Not long before, this fine regiment had been engaged in a punitive expedition against the brigands who had slain Major Browning. After a severe fight they captured the fortified villages held by 4,000 well‐armed banditti, and terribly avenged their officer. As the country was still infested by roving bands of robbers who raided defenceless villages, the station buildings were put in a state of defence, the walls loopholed and head‐cover provided by means of sandbags until each resembled a miniature fort. But the brigands, after practical experience of the fighting qualities of the gallant Punjaubis, evinced no desire to come in contact with them again; and the detachments along the line were left to languish in inglorious ease and complain bitterly of the want of enterprise on the part of the robbers.

For some distance alongside the railway runs a canal, which is largely used by the Chinese for transporting grain and merchandise. As our train rattled along, we passed numbers of long, shallow boats, fashioned like dug‐outs and loaded down until the gunwale was scarcely a few inches from the water. The half‐naked boatmen toiling at their oars paused to gaze with envy at the swift‐speeding iron horse, which covered the weary miles with such apparent ease.

The crops here were even more luxuriant than on the way to Pekin. Fields of ripe grain stretched away on either side of the line, interspersed with groves of trees or dotted with villages surrounded by high walls, significant of the continual insecurity of life and property in this debatable land. Here and there were deserted mud forts.

The journey from Tientsin to Shanhaikwan occupied about twelve hours. About midway the train stopped for a short time at Tongshan, a town important for the coal mines near, which are worked under the direction of Europeans. From the windows of our carriage we could see the tall buildings and the machinery at the mouths of the pits, which gave quite an English character to the landscape. For the convenience of travellers, the British officers quartered in the place had established a refreshment room in some Chinese buildings near the station, and lent some Indian servants to it. As our train was due to wait some little time, we all descended in search of lunch, and were provided here with quite a good meal at a very reasonable rate. Our German fellow‐passengers, ignorant of Hindustani, found some difficulty in expressing their wants to the Indian waiters, whose knowledge of English was very limited. We came to the rescue and interpreted, and gained the gratitude of hungry men.

As we journeyed on to Shanhaikwan the country began to lose its flat appearance. Low, tree‐clad eminences broke the level monotony of the landscape; and the train passed close to a line of rugged hills. In their recesses bands of brigands were reported to be lurking, so we had the pleasant excitement of speculating on the chances of the train being held up by some of these gentry. But without mishap we reached our destination about half‐past six o’clock in the evening.

The railway station of Shanhaikwan was large and well built, with roomy offices and a long platform. There were, besides, engine sheds, machinery shops, yards, and houses for the European employees, all of which had been seized by the Russians. We were met on our arrival by some officers of the Gurkha Regiment in garrison, to whom we had written from Tientsin to ask if they could find quarters for us. But as they were exceedingly short of accommodation for themselves, being crowded together in wretched Chinese hovels, they received us with expressions of regret that they were unable to find room for all our party. The two junior ones must seek shelter for themselves. I, unfortunately, was one. There was no hotel or inn of any sort. My companion in distress, luckily for himself, had a friend in a squadron of the 3rd Bombay Cavalry, quartered in one of the forts, and set off to request his hospitality. So our party separated; and I was left stranded on the platform with no prospect of a bed, and, worse still, not the faintest idea as to where to get a meal. On appealing to a British railway employee, I found that there were two military officers in charge of the station—one English, the other Russian; for the portion of the line held by the latter nationality began, as I have said, at Shanhaikwan. Both had quarters in the station, but both, unfortunately, had gone out to dinner; and there was no likelihood of their return before midnight. Taking pity on my distress, this employee promised to send me down a Chinese cane bed from his house, and then went off, leaving me to brood over the hopelessness of my situation. I sat down on a bench and cursed the name of Shanhaikwan. The lunch at Tongshan seemed by now a very far‐off memory; and I endeavoured to allay the pangs of hunger with a cigar. As I meditated on the inefficacy of tobacco as a substitute for food, I saw the door of a room marked “Telegraph Office” open and a smart bombardier of the Royal Marine Artillery emerge. On seeing me he saluted, and, snatching at every straw, I called him over and asked him if he knew of any place where I could get anything to eat. He told me of the existence of a low café, patronised by the Continental soldiers of the garrison, where I might possibly obtain some sort of a meal. I jumped eagerly at the chance; and, calling one of the Chinese railway porters to guide us, he offered to show me the way. Quitting the station, we entered a small town of squalid native houses and proceeded through narrow and unsavoury lanes until we reached a low doorway in a high wall. Passing through, I found myself in a small courtyard. On the muddy ground were placed a number of rickety tables and rough benches. Here sat, with various liquors before them, groups of Cossacks and German soldiers, who stared with surprise at the unusual sight of a British officer in such a den. At the far end of the court was a tumbledown Chinese house, on the verandah of which sat the proprietor and his wife, evidently Italian or Austrian. The lady, a buxom person of ample proportions, was attired in a very magnificent, but decidedly _décolleté_ evening dress. Her wrists were adorned with massive bracelets, her fingers covered with rings. Altogether she looked a very haughty and superb beauty and more fitted to adorn a café in the Champs Elysées than a rough drinking‐booth in the heart of China. Her husband came forward to meet me; and on my stating my wants in imploring tones, he seemed at first in doubt as to whether he could supply them. My heart sank. He turned to consult the lady. To my intense astonishment this magnificent personage sprang up at once, called to a Chinese servant to bring her a chicken, and then, pinning up the skirt of her rich dress, plunged into a kitchen which opened off the verandah, and then and there, with her own fair hands, spatch‐cocked the fowl, and served me with a welcome and appetising meal.

My hunger satisfied thus unexpectedly, I strolled back to the station in a contented frame of mind, indifferent to anything Fate had in store for me. Nothing could harm me; I had dined. I was quite ready to wrap myself in a blanket and sleep on a bench, or on the ground for that matter. But my star was in the ascendant. I found a comfortable camp‐bed of a Chinese pattern awaiting me, sent by the kind‐hearted employee. Placing it on the platform, I spread my bedding on it, undressed, and lay down to sleep.

But I had reckoned without the merry mosquito. I have met this little pest in many lands. I first made his acquaintance on the night of my arrival in India with a raw, unsalted regiment from home; when he could batten on seven hundred fresh, full‐blooded Britishers and feast to the full on their vital fluid unthinned by a tropical climate; when next morning the faces of all, officers and men alike, were swollen almost beyond recognition. I have remonstrated with him as to his claim to the possession of the interior of a mosquito net and failed to move him. I have scarcely doubted when a friend vowed that he had broken the back of a hairbrush over the head of one of the giant, striped species we knew as “Bombay tigers” or questioned the truth of the statement that a man had lain on his bed and watched two of them trying to pull open his curtains to get at him. I have cursed him in the jungle when sitting up in a _machân_ over a “kill” waiting for a tiger. I have wrestled with him when out on column and bivouacked beside a South China river, where his home was; but never have I seen him in such wonderful vigour and maddening persistence as during that night on the station platform of Shanhaikwan. In vain I beat the air with frenzied hands; in vain I smoked. I tried to cover my head with a sheet; but the heat was too great, and I emerged panting to find him waiting for me. As Thomas Atkins says: “It h’isn’t the bite of the beggar I ’ates so much as ’is bloomin’ h’irritatin’ buzz”; and the air was filled with his song. It was a concert with refreshments. _I_ was the refreshments. To make matters worse, I had the tantalising knowledge that I had mosquito curtains with me, which I had been unable to fix up as the bed was without poles.

At last, maddened by the persistent attacks of the irritating pests, I sat up and reviewed the situation until I hit upon a plan. I shoved the bed under the windows of a room which looked out on the platform and which happened to be the quarters of the British Railway Station Officer. The venetian shutters opened outward. About ten feet away was a telegraph‐pole; and a short distance from the foot of the bed stood a lamp‐post. Taking the cords of my Wolseley valise, the straps of my bedding and my luggage, and some string which I looted from one of the railway offices, I contrived to suspend my curtains from the shutters, the pole, and the lamp‐post. It was really an ingenious contrivance, and I lay down in triumph and security. The baffled mosquitoes uttered positive shrieks of rage.

Somewhere about midnight I was awakened by the sounds of revelry in a foreign tongue. Peering through the curtains, I saw by the dim light of the turned‐down station lamps two figures in uniform advancing along the platform. One was a very drunken but merry Russian officer, who was being carefully helped along by a sober and amused British subaltern. They suddenly caught sight of the white mass of my mosquito curtains, which swayed in ghostly folds in the wind and looked uncanny in the uncertain light.

“What the devil is that?” exclaimed the Englishman.

The Russian hiccoughed a reply in words that sounded like a sneeze.

The former, gently propping up his companion against the lamp‐post to which he clung lovingly, advanced to my bed. I recognised him by his uniform to be our Railway Station Staff Officer. Peering through the curtains, he asked me who on earth I was and what I was doing there. In a few words I explained myself and my situation. With a soldier’s ready hospitality he said—

“My dear fellow, I am so sorry that I was absent. Get up and move your bed into my quarters. I shall be delighted to put you up.”

I thanked him, but assured him that I was very comfortably fixed for the night.

“But you can have had no dinner. Did you get anything to eat?” he asked.

I recounted my successful search for a meal; whereat he laughed and again expressed his regret at his absence, explaining that he had gone to a dinner‐party given by the wife of a Russian colonel on her husband’s name‐day.

Meanwhile his companion, still clinging tightly to the lamp‐post, had been regarding with wonder my contrivance for the support of the mosquito curtains, shaking his head, and muttering to himself.

The Britisher, informing me that he was the Russian Railway Staff Officer, then spoke to him in his own language, and introduced me to him, mentioning a name that ended in —itch or —sky. I sat up in bed and bowed. But my new acquaintance, still holding to the friendly support of the post, stared solemnly at the network of straps and cords. At last he broke silence.

“Ver’ good! Ver’ practical! You English is ver’ practical nation.” Then he hiccoughed sadly, “I am ver’ _drink_!”

Thoroughly awakened, I got up, and we adjourned to the British officer’s quarters, where we drank to our better acquaintance in an iced whisky and soda; for the night was distressingly hot.

The hospitable Englishman was Lieutenant Kell, South Staffordshire Regiment. He was a good specimen of the linguists in our army who surprised our Continental allies. A passed Interpreter in Russian and Chinese, he spoke French, German, and Italian fluently; and, as I discovered afterwards, although he had never been to India, he was rapidly picking up Hindustani from the sepoys with whom he was brought in contact through his station duties. He had served on General Dorward’s staff during the hard fighting in Tientsin and had been mentioned in his despatches. His linguistic powers had caused him to be appointed as Railway Staff Officer at Shanhaikwan, where his ready tact and genial qualities endeared him to the Russians and contributed greatly to the harmonious working of affairs in that debatable garrison.

Before we parted for the night our Russian friend gave us both a cordial invitation to dine with him the following night and meet some of his comrades. And then I retired again to bed, feeling no longer a lost sheep and a homeless orphan.

In the morning I was awakened by Lieutenant Kell’s servant, who brought me my _chota hazri_, the matutinal tea and toast dear to the heart of the Anglo‐Indian. He had taken my luggage into his master’s quarters, where a bath and a dressing‐room awaited me. I found my host busily engaged in his railway work, interviewing soldiers of every nationality. As I was in the act of wishing him “Good morning” we suddenly observed a heavy transport waggon, drawn by two huge horses, being driven across the line and right on to the platform by a Cossack, who thus thought to save himself a _détour_ to the level crossing at the far end of the station. It was done in flat defiance of well‐known orders. Kell spoke to him in his own language, and told him to go back. The soldier, muttering some impertinent remark, took no notice and drove on. At that moment a Russian colonel entered the station. Kell immediately reported the man’s disobedience to him. The officer flew at the culprit, abused him in loud and angry tones; and if the Cossack had not been out of reach where he sat perched up on the waggon, I am sure he would have received a sound thrashing. Crestfallen, he turned his horses round and drove away; while the colonel apologised profusely to Kell for the fault of his subordinate and promised that the man would receive a severe punishment for his disobedience and impertinence to an English officer.

After breakfast one of my companions, Captain Labertouche, 22nd Bombay Infantry, who, like me, had been unable to find quarters among the Gurkhas the night before, but who had been given shelter by the officers of the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry, rode up to look for me. Sending away his horse, we set out on foot to hunt up the rest of our party in the Gurkha mess.

Our way lay first along the railway line. On the right‐hand side were the station yards, engine sheds, and machinery shops, all now in the hands of the Russians, who had removed the spare rolling stock and plant found there and sent them to Port Arthur. The Muscovite believes in war being self‐supporting. To the left, behind the station, lay the rookery of squalid Chinese houses, where I had hunted for a dinner the night before. Farther away lay Shanhaikwan. High battlements and lofty towers enclosed the city, the sides of which ran down to the Great Wall of China. For ahead of us, a mile away athwart the railway, lay a long line of grass‐grown earthworks, with here and there fragments of ruined masonry peering out among the herbage and bushes that clothed it. It was that wondrous fortification which stretches for more than a thousand miles along the ancient boundary of China, climbing mountains, plunging into valleys, and running through field and forest—a monumental and colossal work that has never served to roll back the tide of war from the land it was built to guard. Through a wide breach in it the railway passes on to the north, to Manchuria where the Russian Bear now menaces the integrity of the Celestial Kingdom. Before reaching the Wall our way turned off sharp to the right; so, leaving the railway, we followed a rough country road which led to the Chinese village that sheltered the Gurkhas. It was crossed by a broad stream two or three feet deep. As we were grumbling at the necessity of taking off boots and gaiters in order to wade it, a sturdy Chinaman strolled up and looked extremely amused at our distress. We promptly seized him, and made signs that we wanted him to carry us across. The Celestial smilingly assented, and kicked off his felt‐soled shoes. Hoisting my companion on his back, he waded with him to the other side, and then returned to fetch me. When we rewarded him with a small silver coin he seemed extremely surprised; and he made frantic signs, which we interpreted as meant to express his desire to remain on the spot in readiness to ferry us over on our return. Without further difficulty we reached the Gurkha mess, where we found our friends on the point of setting out to visit the Great Wall. So the whole party walked back along the road by which Labertouche and I had come, and at the stream found our ferryman awaiting us with a beaming smile. He eagerly proffered his services, and conveyed us all across in turn. Payment being duly made, he expressed his gratitude in voluble, if unintelligible, language.

Reaching the railway, we proceeded along it in the direction of the Wall. The country between it and us was flat and cultivated, though at its foot lay a strip of waste ground. To our left ran a rough road leading out, through the same gap as the line, towards some forts to the north. Along it, behind three sturdy little ponies harnessed abreast, sped a Russian _troiscka_, driven by a Cossack and containing two white‐coated officers.

Arrived at the inner face of the Wall, we climbed its sloping side and found ourselves on a broad and bush‐grown rampart. We were twenty or thirty feet above the ground. The outer face of this ancient fortification, which was begun in B.C. 241, was in a better state of preservation than the inner; though in places it bore little resemblance to a wall. From the ruins of an old bastion we had a splendid view of the surrounding country. Before us a level plain stretched away to the horizon, broken by the ugly outlines of forts or patched with cultivated fields and small woods. To the right the Great Wall ran to the cliffs above the sea, which sparkled in the distance under a brilliant sun. On its bosom lay the ponderous bulks of a number of Japanese warships; for their fleet had arrived unexpectedly at Shanhaikwan the night before. The Russian dinner‐party, which Lieutenant Kell had attended the previous evening, had been given in the open air, on the cliffs over the sea. The numerous guests, nearly all officers of the Czar, could look out over the blue water as they smoked the cigarettes with which every Russian meal is punctuated. While the feast was proceeding merrily trails of smoke, heralding the approach of a fleet, appeared on the horizon. The Russian officers gazed in surprise as the ships came into view, and wonder was expressed as to their nationality and the purpose of their coming. In those troublous times, when national jealousies were rife, no one knew that war might not suddenly break out among the so‐called Allies; and Slav, Teuton, Frank, and Briton might be called on without a day’s warning to range themselves in hostile camps. So something like consternation fell upon the dinner‐party when the approaching ships were seen to be the Japanese fleet. For the relations between Russia and Japan were very strained at the time; and all present at the table wondered if the unexpected arrival of this powerful squadron meant that the rupture had come. But no hostile signs were made by the ships; and, with the motto of the trooper all the world over—

“Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys, Whose business ’tis to die?”

the interrupted revelry was renewed.

Between us and the sea lay the strong and well‐armed forts that had fallen before the audacious challenge of the little _Pigmy_. From their walls floated the flags of the Allies; and Cossacks, German, Japanese, and Indian troops could be seen upon their ramparts. Behind us lay the ruins of what must have been a large fortified camp just inside the Wall.

To the left the town of Shanhaikwan lay penned in by its lofty but antiquated fortifications. Past it the Great Wall ran away to the west until lost to our sight among the slopes of a range of hills. Here and there the climbing line was seen topping the summit of a steep eminence, and one could appreciate the magnitude of the task of its builders when they set themselves to fence China from the ravaging hordes of the unknown lands.

And away north and south stretched the thin shining line of the railway, along which the soldiers of the Czar hope to swarm one day to plant their eagles once more in Pekin, never again to be removed. As we stood on the Great Wall flocks of snipe and duck flew past us to the south, already fleeing before the approach of the dread winter of Northern Asia.

We went on to pay a visit to the forts, which, when they were held by the Chinese, had been armed with powerful and modern guns. Concerning one of these forts an amusing story, illustrative of foreign guile, was told. The place was occupied by one Power, who had quartered in it a battery of artillery. In the re‐arrangement of the garrison of Shanhaikwan, at a council of the allied commanders, it was decided that this fort should be handed over to the English. But although the foreign General agreed at the time, all the subsequent endeavours of the British to induce him to name a day for the evacuation and transfer were fruitless. Regrets, excuses, indefinite promises were freely made; but some unexpected and insurmountable obstacle invariably intervened. At length when the surrender of the fort could no longer be refused, a certain date for the foreign troops to march out and the place to be handed over to the English was fixed. The day arrived. The relieving British garrison marched up to the gate. There they were met by the apparently bewildered foreign commander, who expressed considerable astonishment at their presence. When reminded that this was the day agreed upon, he smiled politely, and assured the British officers that they had made a mistake. He pointed out that they had apparently calculated by the modern style calendar, forgetting that the old style was still in vogue in some countries and had been adopted by him in his reckoning. Consequently the day had not yet come. Lost in unwilling admiration at this clever instance of duplicity, the British were obliged to withdraw.

On the eve of the day on which he declared that the fort would really be evacuated, the battery garrisoning it marched out with much pomp and publicity. The British smiled as they watched them go, well pleased at having got rid of them at last. They plumed themselves on their moral victory; and they marched up next morning to the fort in triumph. But the other flag was still flying, and inside they saw the same battery whose departure they had witnessed the evening before. They stared in bewilderment. They could recognise some of the officers and men. Then an explanation was angrily demanded. It was readily forthcoming. This was _not_ the same battery as before. Far from it. That was by this time well on its way to the North. But by an extraordinary coincidence another battery had suddenly and most unexpectedly arrived during the night to the foreign General’s utter astonishment, as no intimation of their coming had been vouchsafed him. And as he had no other place to quarter them in but the fort, he had been obliged most reluctantly to send them there. He was desolated at the unfortunate necessity. He offered his profoundest regrets, and trusted that his dear allies would realise that he was helpless. So the outwitted British had again to withdraw. As a matter of fact the battery had simply marched out of sight in the evening and come back during the night. So with baffling ingenuity the foreign General contrived to retain the fort for some time longer in his hands; though he was forced to surrender it in the end.

After inspecting several of the forts, some of our party went off to pay a visit to the town, while others walked down to the shore and gazed out at the Japanese fleet and the long hull of H.M.S. _Terrible_, which was lying at anchor. As we looked at the water sparkling in the bright sunlight, it was difficult to realise that in the winter the sea here is frozen for several miles out from the shore. From this fact one can form some idea of the intense cold of the winter months in North China. And yet the Indian troops, natives of a warm climate, suffered comparatively little and the percentage of admissions into hospital from our contingent was remarkably small, so well were they looked after by their officers and so generous was the free issue of warm clothing by the Indian Government.

In the afternoon some of us attended a cricket match between the crew of the _Terrible_ and the British garrison. Hardly had the stumps been drawn and the players gone into the refreshment tent when some snipe settled on the pitch. An officer quartered in a fort close to the cricket ground sent for his gun, and secured a couple then and there.

I dined that night with the Russian Railway Staff Officer in his quarters in the station. They consisted of two or three large and comfortable rooms. The furniture, which had been supplied to him by his Government, was almost luxurious, in marked contrast with the indifferent tables and the camp chairs with which Lieutenant Kell had to provide himself. All through the combined occupation the Continental Powers endeavoured to enable their officers to present a good appearance among the other nationalities. The Germans were especially generous in the pay and allowances they gave to the commissioned ranks of their expeditionary force.

The guests that evening comprised, besides Kell and myself, three Russian officers, one of whom spoke English, one French, while the third could converse only in his own language, so the conversation was of a polyglot character. The dinner began by the preliminary _sakouski_—that is the nearest approach I can make to its name—a regular little meal in itself of _hors d’œuvres_. Caviare, sturgeon’s roe, very salt ham, brawn, and a dozen other comestibles were served. My host asked me if I had ever tasted vodki, and although I assured him that I had, proceeded to make me try five differently flavoured varieties of the national liquor. With the regular dinner the nauseatingly sweet champagne, so much in favour with Continental peoples, was served. On my declaring that champagne was a wine I never drank, I was allowed to have a decanter of whisky and a syphon of soda‐water and permitted to help myself. Kell adhered faithfully to claret and soda throughout the evening; but our Russian comrades indiscriminately mixed champagne, beer, and red or white wines, with the result that they soon became exceedingly merry. We were served by Chinese and a Russian soldier, whose manner of waiting at table was perfection. The best‐trained London butler could not have moved with more noiseless tread, or decanted the wine more carefully.

As the meal wore on and the bottles were emptied, the conversation waxed somewhat noisy. Our friends were filled with the most generous sentiments towards England and lamented the estrangement of our nations. They confessed that they had come to China prepared to dislike the British officers intensely; but, in common with all their comrades who had been brought in contact with us, their feelings had entirely changed. They said frankly that the hostility to England was mainly owing to the continual opposition she offers to the natural desire of Russia to find an outlet to the sea. As they pointed out with truth, a great and rising nation like theirs will not submit to be confined for ever to the land; that it was intolerable that their vast Empire had not a single port free from ice all the year round or entirely at their own disposal. For Odessa is practically an inland harbour; and the Baltic is frozen in winter. Their ambition to reach the Mediterranean entangled them in the campaign against Turkey; and one can understand their indignation against England, who stepped in at the last moment when Constantinople was almost in their grasp and despoiled them of the fruits of victory achieved at the cost of many sacrifices and a long and bloody war. Foiled in the attempt to reach the open sea there, they embarked on the marvellous career of conquest which carried them across Asia to the Pacific. And there they found their first port, Vladivostock, useless in winter. And if other nations had had the courage of their convictions, they would never have been suffered to retain Port Arthur.

But although the talk was largely political, there was absolutely no bitterness on the part of our host and his comrades. The conversation passed on to a comparison of the various systems of the armies of the world and a frank criticism of our own as well as the other contingents of the Allied forces. They were not very much impressed by our Indian army. They admired the regiments they had seen, but pitied us for the necessity we were under of having coloured troops at all. They forgot that a large portion of their own army can scarcely be called European. Like all the Russians I have met, from a Grand Duke to a subaltern, they exhibited a rancorous hatred to Germany. What they had seen of her troops in this campaign had added neither to their respect nor their love for that nation. In fact, the Germans did not succeed in making themselves cordially liked by those with whom they were brought in contact; just as their country may find, when her day of trouble comes, that her friends are few. Our friends betrayed a contempt, not altogether unmixed with fear, for the Japanese; and they marvelled at our friendship for them. They acknowledged their bravery in the present campaign, but doubted if they would exhibit the same courage when pitted against white troops. Their doubts will be resolved when the time comes.

The wine passed freely between our Russian comrades; but with the truest hospitality they forbore to press us to drink against our wish. The dinner was extremely good, even luxurious; and Kell laughingly lamented to me his inability to entertain his friends as well as his Russian colleague could contrive to do. But here, again, I think he was helped by his Government, for I fancy that he received an entertainment allowance. As the wine circulated rapidly our companions became boisterous and showed some signs of inebriation.

Beside me sat an officer who filled the post of military director of the railway between Shanhaikwan and Newchwang. I had long been desirous of visiting Manchuria by this route, but had always been assured that the Russians were very unwilling to allow any foreigner, especially a British officer, to use it; that it was hopeless to try to obtain their permission. As my neighbour’s tongue seemed a good deal loosened by his potations, I determined to get him off his guard and sound him as to the possibility of my proceeding northward to Manchuria from Shanhaikwan. I began by telling him that I hoped to sail in a few days from Taku for Newchwang, and remarked that it was a pity that the Russian authorities were so averse to British officers visiting Manchuria. He waxed quite indignant at the idea, and assured me that they were sadly misrepresented.

“But,” said I, “we would not be allowed to travel from here to Newchwang by your railway.”

“Not be allowed? Absurd! Of course you would,” he replied. “I am the director of that section of the line; it is under my charge. Surely I know best.”

“Oh, come,” I said chaffingly, “you know that if I wanted to travel by it you would not permit me.”

“Most certainly I would. I should be delighted.”

I shall pin you to that, I thought. I felt very pleased at achieving a result that everyone had told me was impossible, Kell among them; so I glanced in triumph at him. He smiled.

“Do you mean to say that I could go to Newchwang whenever I liked by your line?” I continued to my neighbour.

“Certainly you could,” he replied, draining his glass, which I had taken care had not stood idle during our conversation. Wine in, wit out, I thought.

“Well, in that case,” said I, “I will cancel my passage by steamer and start by rail from here to‐morrow.”

“Eh? Oh! You are serious? You really wish to go by train?” he stammered, taken aback.

“Yes; I shall telegraph to the Steamship Company at Tientsin in the morning, and start by the first train I can get.”

For a second my friend seemed disconcerted. The other Russians had been following our conversation with interest. Suddenly sobered, my neighbour spoke to them in a low tone; and a muttered colloquy took place. Then he turned again to me and said, with a smile of innocent regret—

“I am _so_ sorry. It would be impossible for you to start so soon. The railway has been breached in several places by floods, and three bridges have been washed away. The line is broken and all traffic suspended. It is _most_ unfortunate.”

I realised that I had caught my Tartar.

“How soon do you think I could travel?” I asked.

“Oh, not for several days, I am afraid,” was the answer, in a tone of deep sympathy for my disappointment. “The repairs will take some time as the damage is extensive.”

I saw that I was no match for Russian wiliness, and retired from the contest.

“It is very unfortunate. But perhaps, after all, it would be best to go by sea.”

“Yes, yes,” he assented eagerly. “It would be very difficult, even dangerous, by the railway.”

Then the host interposed and changed the conversation. But at the end of the evening, when all the Russians had imbibed freely, my neighbour forgot his caution. When bidding me good‐night, he insisted on giving me his address in Newchwang, where he usually resided, being then only on a visit to Shanhaikwan. He cordially invited me to come and see him.

“But I fear that I shall have come and gone before you can possibly arrive there,” I said. “We leave Taku in three or four days; and it is not twenty‐four hours’ sail from there to Newchwang. So I shall have left before you can get there.”

“Oh, not at all,” he said unguardedly. “I am leaving Shanhaikwan for Newchwang to‐morrow morning by a train starting at ten o’clock. So be sure to come and see me.”

I smiled to myself as I shook his hand. No wonder Russian diplomacy prospers.

That dinner was the merriest function at which I had assisted for a long time. Our friends were excellent boon companions, and the conversation in divers tongues never flagged. Tiny cigarettes were handed round between each course; and the menu comprised many delicacies that came as a pleasant surprise in the wilds of China. When the meal was ended and cigars were lit, my host asked me whether I would prefer coffee or _thé à la Russe_. As I had always understood that this latter beverage was prepared from a special and excellent blend of tea and flavoured with lemons, I voted for it. To my horror, the soldier‐servant brought me a long tumbler filled with an amber‐coloured liquid and proceeded to stir a large spoonful of _jam_ in it. The mixture was not palatable, but courtesy demanded that I should drink it. I declared the concoction delicious, drained my glass and set it down with relief. The attendant promptly filled it up again, my host insisting that as I liked it so well, I must have more. It nearly sufficed to spoil my enjoyment of the whole dinner.

During the evening, whenever our companions were not observing me, I replenished my glass with plain soda‐water, and my brother officer had remained faithful to his weak beverage. Consequently, at the end of dinner we were perfectly sober; while our host and his friends who had imbibed freely were—well, the reverse. Conscious of their own state and contrasting it with ours, they gazed at us in admiration, and exclaimed, “These English officers have the heads of iron.” We parted at a late hour. With many expressions of mutual friendship and goodwill, the party broke up; and so ended a very interesting and enjoyable evening. No longer a homeless outcast, I retired to rest in the friendly shelter of Kell’s quarters.

During the night I was dimly conscious of heavy rain but slept on unregarding. When I rose in the morning I found that a change had come over the scene. A burning sun no longer blazed overhead. The sky was dark with leaden clouds; the rain was falling with tropical violence, and all the landscape beyond the station was almost invisible. Already the line was covered with water; and fears were expressed by the staff that a freshet might occur in the hills and the railway be rendered impassable and possibly be breached. As the day wore on, these apprehensions became intensified. In the afternoon the train from Tong‐ku steamed in, literally ploughing its way through the water. The driver reported that not many miles from Shanhaikwan the floods were out and as his engine passed through them the fires were nearly extinguished. Another hour would render the line impassable. Pleasant tidings these for me; for our party purposed returning to Tientsin on the morrow, and some of us were starting for Japan the day after.

My rambles that afternoon were confined to the station platform and the house of some friends of Kell’s, who, learning of my forlorn state, had most kindly asked him to bring me there for lunch and dinner. They were connected with the railway; and the ladies of the family had passed through an anxious time during the troubles, but had bravely refused to seek safety in flight.

Next day the rain still continued. Reports came in that the line was impassable. The station was completely isolated from the rest of the world. Those of my party who were living with the Gurkhas, ignorant of the fact that no train could start, essayed to drive down to it in native carts. The stream over which the friendly Chinaman had carried us was in flood; and as they endeavoured to cross it, horses, vehicles, and passengers were nearly swept away. One smaller cart with their luggage was carried some distance down from the ford; and kit‐bags and portmanteaus were only rescued with the greatest difficulty. An invaluable collection of films and negatives belonging to one of the party, who was an expert photographer, was entirely spoilt. It was a real loss, as they contained a complete pictorial record of North China.

The low ground behind the station was flooded. I watched with amusement the antics of a number of Cossacks, who, heedless of the rain, had got together planks and old doors torn off ruined houses, and, using them as rafts, had organised a miniature regatta on the pond thus formed. Exciting races took place; and a friendly dispute over one resulted in a naval battle full of comic incidents. Like schoolboys, they charged each other’s rafts and if capsized continued the struggle in the water. One, diving beneath the surface, would suddenly reappear beneath an enemy’s vessel, tilt it on end, and precipitate the occupants into the muddy flood, to be immediately grappled by them and ducked.

In the morning a letter from Captain Labertouche was brought me by a trooper of the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry, who had been forced to swim his horse across a swollen stream in order to reach the station. I chatted for some time with the man—a fine, lithe specimen of the Indian sowar. Anxious to hear every expression of the impression which the Russian troops had made upon our native rank‐and‐file, I asked him his opinion of them.

“They are not bad, sahib,” he replied in Hindustani. Then, with an expressive shrug, he added, “But they will never get into India.”

The remark was significant, for it showed not only what our men thought of the soldiers of the Czar, but also that the possibility of the Russian invasion is occasionally discussed amongst them, only to be dismissed with contempt.

Our Indian contingent, one and all, have conceived a wonderful disdain of most of the troops of the other nationalities with whom they were brought in contact in China. They had the greatest admiration and affection for the gallant little Japanese, but considered their training obsolete. The Russians they regarded with little respect and no dread, and looked upon them as scarcely civilised. The Infanterie Coloniale, of whom they saw a good deal, filled them with the greatest contempt, undeserved though it was, for the whole French army. And I wish that the armchair critics, who condemn our forces and hold up the Germans as models to be slavishly followed in every respect, could have heard the opinion formed of them by these shrewd fighting men, Sikh, Gurkha, and Punjaubi, whose lives have been passed in war.

An instance of the friendship existing between our sepoys and the Japanese came under my notice that day. On the railway platform some Gurkhas and a few of the 4th Punjaub Infantry were loitering or sitting about watching the heavy rain. Three or four Japanese soldiers came into the station and promptly sat down beside the Gurkhas, greeting them with effusive smiles. I was struck by the similarity in feature between the two races. Dressed in the same uniform, it would be difficult to distinguish between them. They are about the same height and build, and very much alike in face; though the Japanese is lighter coloured. Before long the mixed party were exchanging cigarettes and chatting away volubly; though the few words of English each knew, eked out by signs, could have been the only medium of intercourse.

A Pathan sepoy was sitting alone on a bench. To him came up another little white‐clad soldier of Dai Nippon. He proffered a cigarette and gesticulated wildly. Before I realised his meaning, he had removed the Pathan’s _pugri_ from his head, replaced it with his own cap, and donned the borrowed headgear himself. Then he strutted up and down the platform amid the laughing applause of his comrades and the Gurkhas. The Pathan, highly amused, joined in the merriment. I had noticed a Dogra sepoy standing by himself with eyes fixed on the ground, lost in deep thought. Suddenly a cheery little Japanese soldier, motioning to the audience on the benches not to betray him, stole up quietly behind the Dogra, seized him round the waist, and lifted the astonished six‐foot sepoy into the air. Then with a grin he replaced him on his feet, and with mutual smiles they shook hands.

When the day comes for our Indian army to fight shoulder to shoulder with its comrades of Japan, a bond stronger than a paper alliance will hold them; and their only rivalry will be as to which shall outstrip the other in their rush on the foe.

All that day reports of houses used as barracks half collapsing under the heavy rain reached the station. My friends who were living with the Gurkha officers were nearly washed out.

Once during the occupation of Shanhaikwan, when a similar deluge rendered the Chinese huts occupied by some foreign troops there untenable, their commander sought the aid of the colonel of the Gurkha Regiment, who offered to share the village in which his men were quartered with the others. The offer was gratefully accepted. The Gurkhas made their guests welcome; but the latter soon began to jeer at and insult them, and call them coolies—the usual term of reproach which the Continental troops hurled at our sepoys. Now, the Gurkhas are not naturally either pacific or humble; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that the fiery little soldiers were restrained from drawing their deadly _kukris_ and introducing the guests to that national and favourite weapon. On the conduct of his men being reported to the foreign commander, he sent a written, but not very full, apology to the Gurkha colonel.

Towards evening the rain ceased, and the floods subsided as rapidly as they had arisen. So the following day saw us on our way back to Tientsin. At one of the stations an old friend of mine entered our carriage. He was an officer of the 4th Punjaub Infantry, Captain Gray, the son of a well‐known and very popular Don of Trinity College, Dublin. He had just received a report from the native officer commanding a detachment in a village near the canal which runs beside the railway. This jemadar had been sitting in front of his quarters watching the boats pass, when something about one of them aroused his suspicion and caused him to order the boat to stop and come into the bank. Three Chinamen in it sprang out and rushed away into the high crops. The boat was laden with cases, which, on search, proved to contain eighty new barrels of Mauser and Mannlicher magazine rifles. Besides these there were five boxes of cartridges and several casks of powder. This is but a small instance of the enormous extent to which the smuggling of arms goes on. The brigands were provided with weapons of the latest pattern and excellent make. The Germans are the chief offenders here as in Africa and elsewhere.

Another officer of the 4th Punjaub joined our train later on. He was Lieutenant Stirling, who worthily gained the D.S.O. for his brave exploit when Major Browning, of his regiment, fell in an attack with eighty men on walled villages held by thousands of brigands. Stirling refused to abandon the body, and carried it back, retiring slowly over seven miles of open country, attacked by swarms of mounted robbers, who feared to charge home upon the steady ranks of the gallant Punjaubis. He was wounded himself in the fight.

In the evening we arrived at Tientsin.