The Face of Manchuria, Korea, & Russian Turkestan by Emily Georgiana Kemp

Next morning we made an early start for the Changsha Valley, in which is an interesting group of monasteries, both Taoist and Buddhist. The former do not admit women visitors, but the latter do. The carts containing our luggage and bedding had started about 3 A. M., as we were to do the first few miles by rail across a monotonous plain. There was only a goods train at that early hour, 7.25, but one car is attached to it for passengers, and in this we travelled for nearly an hour. It contains but one small seat at each end, occupied by Japanese and guards, so the rest of the company mainly squatted on the floor. Some had nice skin rugs or parcels on which to sit, and looked eminently comfortable, but we had to make the best of narrow window ledges, and were glad enough to reach the roadside station where we got out. There was a little waiting-room in which we sat, as the cart had not yet arrived, but thanks to the care of a charming hospital assistant, who came to look after us from Liao Yang, we were promptly invited into the booking-office, where several smart Japanese officials were seated round a stove, and European chairs were given to us. A bullfinch was piping cheerfully in a corner, and they brought us tea to beguile the time. In about half-an-hour the carts turned up, but our hearts sank at the thought that they had required four hours to do considerably less than half the journey. We were soon packed into the carts, each with our bedding and various odds and ends. We promptly became aware that the more padding we had the better, as the jolts of the carts grew worse as time went on. For three hours we crossed the plain and then halted for lunch. This was our first experience of a Manchurian inn, which certainly falls far short of Chinese inns. The kitchen and guest-room are always combined, the khang running along each side of the room, and the fires are at one end of it, at right angles to the khangs.

We were installed comfortably on one side of the room, and enjoyed a discreet investigation by the other guests and villagers from the other side of the room. Dr. Westwater's excellent servant acted as vigilant guardian, and made us quite break the tenth commandment before the end of our excursion. It took nearly another two hours before we came to the mouth of the valley, where the monasteries lay, and the dull monotony of the plain gave way to a ravishing scene of craggy and abrupt hills clothed with vegetation.

The wild flowers were beginning to come out, purple anemones, white violets, &c., but nothing like the wealth of the woods we had just left in Korea. The monasteries were pitched aloft in inaccessible-looking spots, terrace above terrace. When we reached the gorge where we were to stay, it looked well-nigh impossible for the carts to make the ascent. At the entrance gate they halted, and a group of men came forward to help push them up over the rocks. Each cart had two mules, and they pulled with right goodwill, so that in a few minutes of pushing, pulling, and shouting, the carts had been rushed up through the second gateway on to the platform where they were to be housed. Much disappointment was shown by the monks at the non-appearance of our friend the doctor, who was evidently a favourite here as everywhere, but heavy work at the hospital and other reasons had prevented his accompanying us. Up and up the rock-cut steps we climbed to the guest-room, which had been bespoken for our use, and a more attractive spot it would have been impossible to find. Far below the mountain torrent murmured, and wild pigeons and kites added their notes to the music of the brook. I sat down to sketch shortly after our arrival, and the scene was precisely the one to charm a Chinese artist of the old school. I found myself insensibly imitating the reproductions I possess of work done by noted artists of three hundred years ago.

A tiny bright green bird perched on a tree close by, and soon the gong began to sound for evening worship. A few monks made their way up the flights of steps to where a faint glimmer of light showed from within the main temple, bowing and kneeling at intervals on the way. Evening settled down and we repaired to our cell, thinking of the lovely rose-coloured dawn when I would paint the scene. Alas! next morning showed a leaden sky, and by the time we had finished breakfast large snowflakes came floating down. The scene melted away before our eyes, and soon the ground was white with snow, and the weather showed no signs of clearing. The disappointment was a bitter one; our one day, our only opportunity gone, and the long cold hours of the day without any occupation to fill them. Fidus Achates brought us a charcoal brazier, but it was poor comfort. After lunch, however, the clouds broke and the snow ceased falling, so we went out to prospect. We were guided by our servant Jim down the gorge and up another, where we came to a long flight of steps leading up to a small Taoist temple, with beautiful wooden carvings round the shrines, and a thoroughly picturesque little courtyard with various plants in it, and brass ornaments brilliantly polished. Altogether it formed a charming picture, and had all the appearance of being carefully tended. A curious sundial and various ornamental tablets were arranged in the court, and there were also the conventional pair of trees on either side of the steps leading to the principal shrine. The sun began to shine fitfully, and the snow to melt from sunny spots, so we hastened back to sketch.