Liao Yang was the ancient capital of the Liao Tong province of Southern Manchuria, and it is the most beautiful of Manchurian cities, for within the walls are orchards of plum, cherry, apricot, and pear, which look radiantly lovely against the sombre background of the walls. Originally it was not Manchu but Chinese, as I have pointed out on page 15. The Manchus tried to gain possession of it, but, failing in the attempt, they built a city for themselves on the other side of the river, which is called the New Liao Yang. In addition to the four usual gateways into the city—north, south, east, and west—there is one which is quite different in appearance, called the Korean Gate, through which the Korean envoys used to pass when bringing tribute. Through it there is a lovely view on to the river, with low-lying hills in the distance: the sketch is looking not out of the city, but inwards. Just within the gate is a dusty sort of waste place at the foot of the wall, frequented by scavenger dogs, and you may see, as we did, a wisp of straw in which a dead baby has been wrapped and cast out, for the Chinese do not bury them, in the hopes that the ill-luck caused by the death of the child may be averted.[4] To this day the cart may be seen going round Peking to collect the little corpses, just like a scavenger’s cart.

Just outside the Korean Gate we saw a cadet corps marching along in good style, with drums beating, and creating just as much interest as a similar one does at home. These city walls were in existence before the Manchu dynasty came (in 1644), and yet the bricks look as new in most parts as if they had just been built, and it is only where the Russians made breaches in them that they are at all ruinous; we found this to our cost when we wanted to climb down them after seeing the view. The dust had accumulated somewhat on the outer side, so we climbed up with comparatively little difficulty, and were well rewarded by the glorious panorama illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. The Liao River runs just outside the east wall, and the fields and distant hills wore the lovely golden colour of an Egyptian scene. Just below us the ferry-boat was conveying passengers, carts, mules, cows, donkeys, &c., from one shore to the other, and we watched a carter first getting his cart up the steep bank and then returning to carry his fare, an old lady, up the bank on his back. A recalcitrant cow had to be hauled aboard by a cord tied to its front leg and by its bridle, but most of the animals seemed quite accustomed to the job. After watching them awhile we turned southward to where a range of hills bounded the horizon, ending with a peak loftier than the rest, and known by the Japanese as “Kuropatkin’s eye.” This ridge was held by the Russians during the war, and for six months previous to the battle of Liao Yang they were busy making defences between the hills and the city. The trenches and barbed wire entanglements were admirably executed, and it cost seven days of hard fighting before the Japanese were able to enter the city. Point after point was taken and retaken; the Russian ranks were mowed down like standing corn, and the Japanese displayed an equal courage, so that during those seven days the loss of the two armies was reckoned at 25,000 men left dead on the field. The Japanese general sat in a temple some miles away from the scene of action, directing the operations, but with the information coming steadily in from all points by telephone. He had pushed forward, leaving no means of retreat, and by the end of the battle he was at the end of his resources, victorious, but unable to follow up the victory. In England few people realised the tremendous struggle that was going on, and the magnificent prowess of the two nations. The Russian soldier mournfully asked, “Why do we come out here to fight?” but he fought valiantly all the same. Eighteen months ago Kitchener sent a party of forty young officers from India to visit these battlefields, with Japanese lecturers to instruct them daily, while they sat taking notes on the hill-sides overlooking the plain. There was always one Japanese soldier present, who had taken part in the action, to describe his own personal experiences, which must have added a vivid touch to the technical details. The Japanese travelled lightly, and, fortunately for them, the standing crops rendered cavalry practically useless. The principal crop is millet, which grows fifteen feet in height, and the Russians crushed it down by means of improvised rollers drawn by horses. In the Japanese army everything is utilised, and is as compact as possible. A general was seen lost in study one day, and he explained that he had found a use for the little boxes in which the rations were carried and for the paper in them, but he could not think what to do with the string! During a plague of rats in the north the Japanese all provided themselves with ear-muffs, which they manufactured out of the rat skins.

One of the interesting sights at Liao Yang is the Fox Temple, which stands on a little hill, and is reached by a fine flight of steps. The worship of the fox is a purely indigenous form of worship in China; but it is mixed up with the other religions, and fox shrines may be seen in Buddhist or Taoist temples.

In the principal building was a Buddha, before which worshippers were offering cakes and incense, and there was also a large bag of paper money on the altar. In an adjoining shrine were three large figures of the fox family, dressed as officials, with literary badges on the front of their robes. The old priest came in to remove some of the offerings for his midday meal, and on inquiry said he had often seen the fox come in, and that it was white. In one of the side doors is a hole, just like those to be seen for cats in old French castles, through which the fox is supposed to enter.

As we returned from the walls we watched a man flying a wonderful centipede kite, some sixty feet in length. The head was that of a dragon, with wide open jaws, and a red tongue; its eyes rotated in their sockets with a whirring sound, and it was painted gold, and pink, and blue. The sections of the body were round discs of green and pink paper on a light bamboo framework, with a stick about four feet long protruding on each side, and a tuft of feathers at the ends to represent the legs of the beast. This kite is a graceful object serpentining in the sky, and when at a considerable height, a messenger kite was sent up to it, which discharged a shower of crackers (?) on its arrival and then sped swiftly down the string again, having accomplished its errand. These kites sometimes require as many as six men to hold them, and a very strong cord is necessary.

Passing along the street we came to an interesting medicine stall, where four bears’ paws and some stags’ antlers were the most prominent goods. The latter are in great request when they are in velvet, and hunters dig pits for the deer in the eastern mountains of Manchuria. Sometimes the hunter is robbed of his prey by the wily bear, who finds the antlers a tasty morsel, and gnaws them off before the hunter comes round to visit the pit. As medicine the antlers are dried and ground into powder. Other medicines on the stall were eagles’ claws, deers’ hoofs, and dried centipedes, about four inches long, attached to bits of bamboo. We bought one of these, and inquired what disease it is used for; “wind in the stomach,” was the reply.

All diseases in China seem to have their root in an evil temper, and it is not uncommon for patients so afflicted to come for medicinal treatment to the dispensary. The prescription of one of the lady doctors is as follows: “Go into a room alone, take a mouthful of mixture (a nice pleasant one), and hold it in the mouth twenty minutes before swallowing.” This remedy has excellent effects, and may be used in England with equal efficacy.

We were so charmed with the city of Liao Yang, that it required small persuasion to induce us to return there a month later in order to visit the neighbouring mountains of Chang Shan (a thousand peaks), and I shall let the account of it follow the present chapter. It was the last week in April, and all the fruit-trees and the elms were bursting into blossom and leaf, as we walked from the station outside the gate to the mission premises within it, embowered among orchards, and the scent of lilac filling the air. The mission gardens were beginning to show signs of the loveliness which has won them a well-deserved reputation among travellers, and we returned like old friends to our former quarters. Life on the mission field soon cements friendship, and medical mission work must appeal even to the stubbornest heart. We had already visited the two hospitals, models of practical, unostentatious usefulness, with the excellent native staff trained by Dr. Westwater, whose name is a household word in the land. To him was due the fact that the town was saved from the horrors of bombardment by the Russian troops, and one has but to walk through the streets of Liao Yang with him to see how universal is the respect in which he is held.

There are various temples of different religions in Liao Yang, and we visited the Temple of Hell, where are depicted all the horrors of future punishment, than which nothing could be more ghastly than the Chinese conception. The grotesqueness of their realistic execution in coloured plaster fortunately took away some of the gruesomeness, and in one of the side shrines we found the extraordinary figure of the popular deity, called the “Ten Parts Imperfect One.” The sketch in Chapter XII. hardly does justice to the hideousness of the figure, which represents the main woes to which flesh is heir in China—lameness, blindness, dropsy, harelip, boils, &c. &c., and to this deity the people come to pray in all cases of sickness.

We also visited a picturesque Buddhist shrine, where an old blind nun lives, the owner of much property, and of the orchards adjacent to the mission property. We found her seated on the khang immediately behind the figure of the Buddha, where she has spent many, many years in meditation. She welcomed us with cordiality, and made us sit down beside her, while she entered into a long and intimate conversation with our host, whom she had not met for some years. The nun had a remarkable head, closely shaven, of course, under her black cap, and looked more like a man than a woman. She told us that she became blind when she was only six years old, and now she was seventy-nine. She felt our hands with the subtle, searching touch of the blind, and had not a little to say on them; we much regretted our ignorance of Chinese, as our feminine curiosity to know what she said was left ungratified. The conversation then turned on the great problems of life, both this life and the next, but she seemed entirely ignorant of Buddhist philosophy, and took refuge in futile platitudes; as regards the future she said, “We die, and there is nothing more.” It is disappointing to find how utterly ignorant they are of anything beyond the externals of their religion. The Taoist monks, on the contrary, boast many men of learning, and have more conception of real religion. I understand this is also the case in other parts of the Chinese Empire.

In contrast with the various temples nothing more charming could be found than the simple beauty of the mission church. It is always difficult to arrange for parts of a building to be screened off without spoiling the effect of it as a whole; at the present time this is still considered necessary in China, so that the men and women may be separated from one another, also they have separate entrances. In the Liao Yang church the difficulty was ingeniously conquered by making the transept the women’s part, and diminishing the space of the nave where it joins the transept, by erecting a smaller arch on either side containing a screen. The pulpit, being in the centre, commands the whole building. This church was designed by an architect specially sent out by the mission committee, and it is of no small importance that such buildings should be carefully designed to be in harmony with the architecture of the country, and not to seem European. At the great World Missionary Conference at Edinburgh, stress was laid by speakers from all lands on the growing desire of native Christians to have their own national churches. To this end every detail must be studied; not only must religion be taught them in their own language, but the churches in which they worship must have a homelike feeling, so that nothing may suggest to them that Christianity is a foreign religion. When all is said and done it came from the East and not from the West, so that its externals at least should have as little Western colouring as possible.