FOOTNOTES:

THE MANG-TAO TREE (see p.384).

A HALT IN YÜ-CHIA-K'UANG DEFILE (see p.18).

It must have been the treelessness of the district and the waterless condition of the mountains as viewed from the harbour and the sea-coast that prompted the remark made in an official report some years ago that Weihaiwei is "a colder Aden"; and indeed if we contemplate the coast-line from the deck of a steamer the description seems apt enough. A ramble through the Territory among the valleys and glens that penetrate the interior in every direction is bound to modify one's first cheerless impressions very considerably. Trees, it is true, are abundant only in the immediate neighbourhood of villages and in the numerous family burial-grounds; but the streams are often lined with graceful willows, and large areas on the mountain-slopes are covered with green vegetation in the shape of scrub-oak. At certain seasons of the year the want of trees is from an æsthetic point of view partly atoned for by the blended tints of the growing crops; and certainly to the average English eye the waving wheat-fields and the harvesters moving sickle in hand through the yellow grain offer a fairer and more home-like spectacle than is afforded by the marshy rice-lands of the southern provinces. On the whole, indeed, the scenery of Weihaiwei is picturesque and in some places beautiful.[10]The chief drawback next to lack of forest is the want of running water. The streams are only brooks that can be crossed by stepping-stones. In July and August, when the rainfall is greatest, they become enormously swollen for a few days, but their courses are short and the flood-waters are soon carried down to the sea. In winter and spring some of the streams wholly disappear, and the greatest of them becomes the merest rivulet.

The traveller who approaches Weihaiwei by sea from the east or south makes his first acquaintance with the Shantung coast at a point about thirty miles (by sea) east of the Weihaiwei harbour. This is the Shantung Promontory, the Chinese name of which is Ch'êng Shan Tsui or Ch'êng Shan T'ou. Ch'êng Shan is the name of the hill which forms the Promontory, whileTsuiandT'ou(literally Mouth and Head) mean Cape or Headland. Before the Jung-ch'êng magistracy was founded (in 1735) this extreme eastern region was a military district like Weihaiwei. Taking its name from the Promontory, it was known as Ch'êng-shan-wei.

Ch'êng Shan, with all the rest of the present Jun-ch'êng district, is within the British "sphere of influence"; that is to say, Great Britain has the right to erect fortifications there and to station troops: rights which, it may be mentioned, have never been exercised.

The Shantung Promontory has been the scene of innumerable shipwrecks, for the sea there is apt to be rough, fogs are not uncommon, and there are many dangerous rocks. The first lighthouse—a primitive affair—is said to have been erected in 1821 by a pious person named Hsü Fu-ch'ang; but long before that a guild of merchants used to light a great beacon fire every night on a conspicuous part of the hill. A large bell was struck, so the records state, when the weather was foggy. The present lighthouse is a modern structure under the charge of the Chinese Imperial Customs authorities. Behind the Promontory—that is, to the west (landward) side—there is a wide stretch of comparatively flat land which extends across the peninsula. It may be worth noting that an official of the Ming dynasty named T'ien Shih-lung actually recommended in a state paper that a canal should be cut through this neck of land so as to enable junks to escape the perils of the rock-bound Promontory. He pointed out that the land was level and sandy and that several ponds already existed which could be utilised in the construction of the canal. Thus, he said, could be avoided the great dangers of the rocks known as Shih Huang Ch'iao and Wo Lung Shih. The advice of the amateur engineer was not acted upon, but his memorial (perhaps on account of its literary style) was carefully preserved and has been printed in the Chinese annals of the Jung-ch'êng district.

These annals contain an interesting reference to one of the two groups of rocks just named. Wo Lung Shih means "Sleeping dragon rocks," and no particular legend appears to be attached to them, though itwould have been easy to invent one. But the Shih Huang Ch'iao, or Bridge of the First Emperor, is regarded by the people as a permanent memorial of that distinguished monarch who in the third centuryB.C.seized the tottering throne of the classic Chou dynasty and established himself as the First Emperor (for such is the title he gave himself) of a united China. Most Europeans know nothing of this remarkable man except that he built the Great Wall of China and rendered his reign infamous by the Burning of the Books and the slaughter of the scholars. Whether his main object in the latter proceeding was to stamp out all memory of the acts of former dynasties so that to succeeding ages he might indeed be the First of the historical Emperors, or whether it was not rather an act of savagery such as might have been expected of one who was not "born in the purple" and who derived his notions of civilisation from the semi-barbarous far-western state of Ch'in, is perhaps an impossible question to decide: and indeed the hatred of the Chineseliteratifor a sovereign who despised literature and art may possibly have led them to be guilty of some exaggeration in the accounts they have given us of his acts of vandalism and murder.

During his short reign as Emperor, Ch'in Shih Huang-ti (who died in 210B.C.) is said to have travelled through the Empire to an extent that was only surpassed by the shadowy Emperor Yü who lived in the third millenniumB.C.Yü was, according to tradition, the prince of engineers. He it was who "drained the Empire" and led the rivers into their proper and appropriate channels. The First Emperor might be said, had he not affected contempt for all who went before him, to have taken the great Yü as his model, for he too left a reputation of an ambitious if not altogether successful engineer. The story goes that he travelled all the way to the easternmost point of Shantung, and having arrived at the Promontory, decided to build a bridge from there to Korea, or tothe mysterious islands of P'êng-lai where the herb of immortality grew, or to the equally marvellous region of Fu-sang.

The case of the First Emperor affords a good example of how wild myths can be built up on a slender substratum of fact. Had he lived a few centuries earlier instead of in historic times, his name doubtless would have come down the ages as that of a demi-god; even as things are, the legends that sprang up about him in various parts of northern China might well be connected with the name of some prehistoric hero. The Chinese of eastern Shantung have less to say of him as a monarch than as a mighty magician. In order to have continuous daylight for building the Great Wall, he is said to have been inspired with the happy device of transfixing the sun with a needle, thus preventing it from moving. His idea of bridge-building had the simplicity of genius: it was simply to pick up the neighbouring mountains and throw them into the sea. He was not without valuable assistance from persons who possessed powers even more remarkable than his own. A certain spirit helped him by summoning a number of hills to contribute their building-stone. At the spirit's summons, so the story goes, thirteen hills obediently sent their stones rolling down eastwards towards the sea. On came the boulders, big and little, one after another, just as if they were so many live things walking. When they went too slowly or showed signs of laziness the spirit flogged them with a whipuntil the blood came.

The truth of this story, in the opinion of the people, is sufficiently attested by the facts that one of the mountains is still known as Chao-shih-shan or "Summon-the-rocks hill," and that many of the stones on its slopes and at its base are reddish in hue.[11]The Emperor was also helped by certain Spirits of the Ocean (hai-shên), who did useful work in establishing the piers of his bridge in deep water.[12]The Emperor, according to the story, was deeply grateful to these Ocean Spirits for their assistance, and begged for a personal interview with them so that he might express his thanks in proper form. "We are horribly ugly," replied the modest Spirits, "and you must not pay us a visit unless you will promise not to draw pictures of us." The Emperor promised, and rode along the bridge to pay his visit. When he had gone a distance of fortylihe was met by the Spirits, who received him with due ceremony. During the interview, the Emperor, who like Odysseus was a man of many wiles, furtively drew his hosts' portraits on the ground with his foot. As luck would have it the Spirits discovered what he was doing, and naturally became highly indignant. "Your Majesty has broken faith with us," they said. "Begone!" The Emperor mounted his horse and tried to ride back the way he had come, but lo! the animal remained rigid and immovable, for the Spirits had bewitched it and turned it into a rock; and his Majesty had to go all the way back to the shore on foot.[13]

THE TEMPLE AT THE SHANTUNG PROMONTORY (see p.23).

This regrettable incident did not cause the cessation of work on the bridge, though the Emperor presumably received no more help from the Spirits of the Ocean. But on one unlucky day the Emperor's wife presumed without invitation to pay her industrious husband a visit, and brought with her such savoury dishes as she thought would tempt the imperial appetite. Now the presence of women, say the Chinese, is utterly destructive of all magical influences. The alchemists, for example, cannot compound the elixir of life in the presence of women, chickens, or cats. The lady had no sooner made her appearance at Ch'êng Shan than the bridge, which was all but finished, instantaneously crumbled to pieces. So furious was her imperial spouse at the ruin of his work that he immediately tore the unhappy dame to pieces and scattered her limbs over the sea-shore, where they can be seen in rock-form to this day. The treacherous rocks that stretch out seawards in a line from the Promontory are the ruins of the famous bridge, and still bear the name of the imperial magician.

Legends say that a successor of the First Emperor, namely Han Wu Ti (140-87B.C.), who also made a journey to eastern Shantung, was ill-advised enough to make an attempt to continue the construction of the mythical bridge; but he only went so far as to set up two great pillars. These are still to be seen at ebb-tide, though the uninitiated would take them to be mere shapeless rocks. Han Wu Ti's exploits were but a faint copy of those of the First Emperor. Ch'êng Shan Tsui has for many centuries been dedicated to that ruler's memory, and on its slopes his temple may still be visited. The original temple, we are told, was built out of part of the ruins of the great bridge. In 1512 it was destroyed by fire and rebuilt on a smaller scale. Since then it has been restored more than once, and the present building is comparatively new.

There is no legend, apparently, which associates the First Emperor with the territory at present directly administered by Great Britain, but there is a foolish story that connects him with Wên-têng Shan, a hill from which the Wên-têng district takes its name. It is said that having arrived at this hill the Emperor summoned his civil officials (wên) to ascend (têng) the hill in question and there proclaim to a marvelling world his own great exploits and virtues; but this story is evidently a late invention to account for the name Wên-têng. Among other localities associated with this Emperor may be mentioned a terrace, which he visited for the sake of a sea-view, and a pond(near Jung-ch'êng city) at which His Majesty's horses were watered: hence the nameYin-ma-ch'ih(Drink-horse-pool). But the Chinese are always ready to invent stories to suit place-names, and seeing that every Chinese syllable (whether part of a name or not) has several meanings, the strain on the imaginative faculties is not severe.

The feat performed by the Emperor close to the modern treaty-port of Chefoo—only a couple of hours' steaming from Weihaiwei—may be slightly more worthy of record than the Wên-têng legend. His first visit to Chih-fu (Chefoo) Hill—by which is meant one of the islands off the coast—is said to have taken place in 218B.C., when he left a record of himself in a rock-inscription which—if it ever existed—has doubtless long ago disappeared. In 210, the last year of his busy life, he sent a certain Hsü Fu to gather medicinal herbs (or rather the herbs out of which the drug of immortality was made) at the Chefoo Hill. In his journeys across the waters to and from the hill Hsü Fu was much harassed by the attacks of a mighty fish, and gave his imperial master a full account of the perils which constantly menaced him owing to this monster's disagreeable attentions. The Emperor, always ready for an adventure, immediately started for Chefoo, climbed the hill, caught sight of the great fish wallowing in the waters, and promptly shot it dead with his bow and arrow.

It is natural that the Shantung Promontory and the eastern peninsula in general should have become the centre of legend and myth. We know from classical tradition that to the people of Europe the western ocean—the Atlantic—was a region of marvel. There—beyond the ken of ships made or manned by ordinary mortals—lay the Fortunate Islands, the Isles of the Blest. The Chinese have similar legends, but their Fairy Isles—P'êng-lai and Fu-sang—lay, as a matter of course, somewhere in the undiscovered east, about the shimmering region of the rising sun. Many andmany are the Chinese dreamers and poets who have yearned for those islands, and have longed to pluck the wondrous fruit that ripened only once in three thousand years and then imparted a golden lustre to him who tasted of it. The Shantung Promontory became a region of marvel because it formed the borderland between the known and the unknown, the stepping-stone from the realm of prosaic fact to that of fancy and romance.

The coast-line from the Promontory to Weihaiwei possesses no features of outstanding interest. It consists of long sandy beaches broken by occasional rocks and cliffs. The villages are small and, from the sea, almost invisible. Undulating hills, seldom rising above a thousand feet in height, but sometimes bold and rugged in outline, form a pleasant background. There are a few islets, of which one of the most conspicuous is Chi-ming-tao—"Cock-crow Island"—lying ten miles from the most easterly point of the Weihaiwei harbour. All the mainland from here onwards lies within the territory directly ruled by Great Britain. On the port side of the steamer as she enters the harbour will be seen a line of low cliffs crowned by a lighthouse; on the starboard side lies Liukungtao, the island of Liukung.

As in the case of Hongkong, it is the island that creates the harbour; and, similarly, the position of the island provides two entrances available at all times for the largest ships. The island is two and a quarter miles long and has a maximum breadth of seven-eighths of a mile and a circumference of five and a half miles. The eastern harbour entrance is two miles broad, the western entrance only three-quarters of a mile. The total superficial area of the harbour is estimated at eleven square miles. Under the lee of the island, which might be described as a miniature Hongkong, is the deep-water anchorage for warships, and it is here that the British China Squadron lies when it pays itsannual summer visit to north China. On the island are situated the headquarters of the permanent naval establishment, the naval canteen (formerly a picturesque Chinese officialyamên), a United Services club, a few bungalows for summer visitors, an hotel, the offices of a few shipping firms, and several streets of shops kept chiefly by natives of south China and by Japanese. There are also the usual recreation-grounds, tennis-courts, and golf-links, without which no British colony would be able to exist. The whole island practically consists of one hill, which rises to a point (the Signal Station) 498 feet above sea-level. On the seaward side it ends precipitously in a fringe of broken cliffs, while on the landward side its gentle slopes are covered with streets and houses and open spaces.

Photo by Ah Fong.WEIHAIWEI HARBOUR, LIUKUNGTAO AND CHU-TAO LIGHTHOUSE.

The name Liukungtao means the Island of Mr. Liu, and the records refer to it variously as Liu-chia-tao (the Island of the Liu family), as Liutao (Liu Island), and as Liukungtao. Who Mr. Liu was and when he lived is a matter of uncertainty, upon which the local Chinese chronicles have very little to tell us. "Tradition says," so writes the chronicler, "that the original Mr. Liu lived a very long time ago, but no one knows when." The principal habitation of the family is said to have been not on the island but at a village called Shih-lo-ts'un on the mainland. This village was situated somewhere to the south of the walled city. The family must have been a wealthy one, for it appears to have owned the island and made of it a summer residence or "retreat." It was while residing at Shih-lo-ts'un that one of the Liu family made a very remarkable discovery. On the sea-shore he came across a gigantic decayed fish with a bone measuring one hundredchangin length. According to English measurement this monstrous creature must have been no less than three hundred and ninety yards long. Liu had the mighty fishbone carried to a temple in the neighbouring walled city, and there it was reverently presented to the presiding deity. The only way to get the bone into the temple was to cut it up into shorter lengths. This was done, and the various pieces were utilised as subsidiary rafters for portions of the temple roof. They are still in existence, as any inquirer may see for himself by visiting the Kuan Ti temple in Weihaiwei city. Perhaps if Europeans insist upon depriving China of the honour of having invented the mariner's compass they may be willing to leave her the distinction of having discovered the first sea-serpent.[14]

From time immemorial there existed on the island a temple which contained two images representing an elderly gentleman and his wife. These were Liu Kung and Liu Mu—Father and Mother Liu. They afford a good example of how quite undistinguished men and women can in favourable circumstances attain the position of local deities or saints: for the persons represented by these two images have been regularly worshipped—especially by sailors—for several centuries. The curious thing is that the deification of the old couple has taken place without any apparent justification from legend or myth. Perhaps they were a benevolent pair who were in the habit of ministering to the wants of shipwrecked sailors; but if so there is no testimony to that effect. When the British Government acquired the island and began to make preparations for the construction of naval works and forts, which were never completed, the Chinese decided to remove the venerated images of Father and Mother Liu to the mainland. They are now handsomely housed in a new temple that stands between the walled city and the European settlement of Port Edward, and it is still the custom for many of the local junkmen to come here and make their pious offerings of money and incense, believing that in return for these gifts old Liu and his wife willgraciously grant them good fortune at sea and freedom from storm and shipwreck.

IMAGES OF "MR. AND MRS. LIU"(see p.27).

It is on the island that the majority of the British residents dwell, but Liukungtao does not occupy with respect to the mainland the same all-important and dominating position that Hongkong occupies (or did till recently occupy) with regard to the Kowloon peninsula and the New Territory. The seat of the British Government of Weihaiwei is on the mainland, and the small group of civil officers are far more busily employed in connexion with the administration of that part of the Territory and its 150,000 villagers than with the little island and its few British residents and native shopkeepers. The British administrative centre, then, is the village of Ma-t'ou, which before the arrival of the British was the port of the walled city of Weihaiwei, but is gradually becoming more and more European in appearance and has been appropriately re-named Port Edward. It lies snugly on the south-west side of the harbour and is well sheltered from storms; the water in the vicinity of Port Edward is, however, too shallow for vessels larger than sea-going junks and small coasting-steamers. Ferry-launches run several times daily between the island and the mainland, the distance between the two piers being two and a half miles. Government House, the residence of the British Commissioner, is situated on a slight eminence overlooking the village, and not far off are situated the Government Offices and the buildings occupied, until 1906, by the officers and men of the 1st Chinese Regiment of Infantry. At the northern end of the village, well situated on a bluff overlooking the sea, is a large hotel: far from beautiful in outward appearance, but comfortable and well managed. A little further off stands the Weihaiwei School for European boys. It would be difficult anywhere in Asia to find a healthier place for a school, and certainly on the coast of China the site is peerless.

Elsewhere in the neighbourhood of Port Edward there are well-situated bungalows for European summer visitors, natural sulphur baths well managed by Japanese, and a small golf course. Other attractions for Europeans are not wanting, but as these pages are not written for the purpose either of eulogising British enterprise or of attracting British visitors, detailed reference to them is unnecessary.

It may be mentioned, however, that from the European point of view, the most pleasing feature of Port Edward and its neighbourhood is the absence of any large and congested centre of Chinese population. The city of Weihaiwei is indeed close by—only half a mile from the main street of Port Edward. But it is a city only in name, for though it possesses a battlemented wall and imposing gates, it contains only a few quiet streets, three or four temples, an officialyamên, wide open spaces which are a favourite resort of snipe, and a population of about two thousand.

The reader may remember that when the New Territory was added to the Colony of Hongkong in 1898 a clause in the treaty provided that the walled city of Kowloon, though completely surrounded by British territory, should be left under Chinese rule. This arrangement was due merely to the strong sentimental objection of the Chinese to surrendering a walled city. In the case of Kowloon, as it happened, circumstances soon made it necessary for this part of the treaty to be annulled, and very soon after the New Territory had passed into British hands the Union Jack was hoisted also on the walls of Kowloon. When the territory of Weihaiwei was "leased" to Great Britain in the same eventful year (1898) a somewhat similar agreement was made "that within the walled city of Weihaiwei Chinese officials shall continue to exercise jurisdiction, except so far as may be inconsistent with naval and military requirements for the defence of the territory leased." So correct has been the attitude of the Chinese officials since theWeihaiwei Convention was signed that it has never been found necessary to raise any question as to the status of the little walled town.

A VIEW FROM THE WALL OF WEIHAIWEI CITY(see p.31).

Nominally it is ruled by the Wên-têng magistrate, whose resident delegate is ahsün-chienor sub-district deputy magistrate;[15]but as thehsün-chienhas no authority an inch beyond the city walls, and in practice is perfectly ready to acknowledge British authority in such matters as sanitation (towards the expenses of which he receives a small subsidy from the British Government), it may be easily understood why thisimperium in imperiohas not hitherto led to friction or unpleasantness.

A walk round the well-preserved walls of Weihaiwei city affords a good view of the surroundings of Port Edward and the contour of the sea-coast bordering on the harbour. At the highest point of the city wall stands a little tower called the Huan-ts'ui-lou, the view from which has for centuries past been much praised by the local bards. It was built in the Ming dynasty by a military official named Wang, as a spot from which he might observe the sunrise and enjoy the sea view. From here can be seen, at favourable times, a locally-celebrated mirage (called by the Chinese a "market in the ocean") over and beyond the little islet of Jih-tao or Sun Island, which lies between Liukungtao and the mainland. The view from this tower is very pleasing, though one need not be prepared to endorse the ecstatic words of a sentimental captain from the Wên-têng camp, who closed a little poem of his own with the words "How entrancing is this fair landscape: this must indeed be Fairyland!"

Many of the most conspicuous hills in the northern portion of the Territory can be seen to advantage from the Huan-ts'ui-lou. The small hill immediately behind the city wall and the tower is the Nai-ku-shan.[16]

Like many other hills in the neighbourhood and along the coast, it possesses the remains of a stone-built beacon-tumulus (fêng tun), on which signal fires were lighted in the old days of warfare. To the northward lie Ku-mo Shan, the hill of Yao-yao, and Tiao-wo Shan, all included in the range that bears in the British map the name of Admiral Fitzgerald.

The highest point of the range is described in the local chronicle as "a solitary peak, seldom visited by human foot," though it is nowadays a common objective for European pedestrians, and also, indeed, for active Chinese children. The height is barely one thousand feet above sea-level. Tiao-we Shan and a neighbouring peak called Sung Ting Shan were resorted to by hundreds of the inhabitants of Weihaiwei as a place of refuge from the bands of robbers and disorganised soldiers who pillaged the homes and fields of the people during the commotions which marked the last year of the Ming dynasty (1643). To the northward of the Huan-ts'ui-lou may be seen a little hill—not far from the European bungalows at Narcissus Bay—crowned with a small stone obelisk of a kind often seen in China and known to foreigners as a Confucian Pencil. This was put up by a graduate of the present dynasty named Hsia Shih-yen and others, as a means of bringing good luck to the neighbourhood, and also, perhaps, as a memorial of their own literary abilities and successes. It bears no inscription.

A loftier hill is Lao-ya Shan, which is or used to be the principal resort of the local officials and people when offering up public supplications for rain. Its name (which means the Hill of the Crows) is derived from the black clouds which as they cluster round the summit are supposed to resemble the gathering of crows. An alternative name is Hsi-yü-ting—the Happy Rain Peak. The highest point in this section of the Territory lies among the imposing range of mountains to the south of Weihaiwei city, and isknown to the Chinese as Fo-erh-ting—"Buddha's Head"—the height of which is about 1,350 feet. This range of hills has been named by the British after Admiral Sir Edward Seymour.

The enumeration of all the hills of so mountainous a district as the Weihaiwei Territory would be useless and of little interest. Some of them, distinguished by miniature temples dedicated to theShan-shên(Spirit of the Hill) and to the Supreme God of Taoism, will be referred to later on.[17]The loftiest hill in the Territory—about 1,700 feet—lies fourteen miles south of Port Edward, and is known to Europeans as Mount Macdonald, and to the Chinese as Chêng-ch'i Shan or Cho-ch'i Shan.[18]The Chinese name is derived from a stone chessboard said to have been carved out of a rock by ahsien-jên, a kind of wizard or mountain recluse who lived there in bygone ages. Most of the more remarkable or conspicuous hills in China are believed by the people to have been the abode of weird old men who never came to an end like ordinary people, but went on living with absurdly long beards and a profound knowledge of nature's secrets. There are endless legends about these mysterious beings, many of whom were in fact hermits with a distaste for the commonplace joys of life and a passion for mountain scenery.[19]

On the rocky summit of the Li-k'ou hill (situated in the range of which Fo-erh-ting is the highest point) there is a large stone which is symmetrical in shape and differs in appearance from the surrounding boulders. Legend says that a hermit who cultivated the occult arts brewed for himself on the top of the hill the elixir of life. An ox that was employed in grinding wheat at the foot of the hill sniffed the fragrant brew and broke away from his tether. Rushing up the hill in hot haste, he dragged after him the great grindstone. Arriving at the summit, he butted against the cauldron in which the hermit had cooked the soup of immortality, and eagerly lappedup the liquid as it trickled down the side. The hermit, emulating an ancient worthy called Kou Shan-chih who was charioted on the wings of a crane, jumped on the ox's back, and thereupon the two immortal beings, leaving the grindstone behind them as a memorial, passed away to heaven and were seen no more. This is only one of many quaint stories told by the old folks of Weihaiwei to explain the peculiar formation of a rock, the existence of a cave in a cliff, or the sanctity of some nameless mountain-shrine. Thus even the hills of Weihaiwei, bare of forests as they are and devoid of mystery as they would seem to be, have yet their gleam of human interest, their little store of romance, their bond of kinship with the creative mind of man.

FOOTNOTES:[5]The three characters in question are depicted on the binding of this book.[6]The following list of distances by sea to the principal neighbouring ports may be of interest. The distance is in each case reckoned from the Weihaiwei harbour.Shantung Promontory, 30 miles;Chefoo, 42 miles;Port Arthur, 89 miles;Dalny, 91 miles;Chemulpo, 232 miles;Taku, 234 miles;Shanghai452 miles;Kiaochou, 194 miles;Nagasaki, 510 miles.[7]"The magistrate is the unit of government; he is the backbone of the whole official system; and to ninety per cent. of the population he istheGovernment."—Byron Brenan'sOffice of District Magistrate in China.[8]England and Wales contain 58,000 square miles, with a population perhaps slightly less than that of Shantung.[9]As early as the seventh centuryB.C.deforestation had become a recognised evil in the State of Ch'i (part of the modern Shantung), chiefly owing to the lavish use of timber for coffins and grave-vaults. (SeeDe Groot'sReligious System of China, vol. ii. pp. 660-1.)[10]Especially some of the sea-beaches, the defiles that lie between Yü-chia-k'uang and Shang Chuang, and the valleys in which are situated Ch'i-k'uang, Wang-chia-k'uang, Pei k'ou, Chang-chia-shan, and Ch'ien Li-k'ou.[11]The story is quoted in theT'ai P'ing Huan Yü Chi(chüan20).[12]With regard to this assistance from spirits, cf. the Jewish legend that King Solomon by the aid of a magic ring controlled the demons and compelled them to give their help in the building of the great Temple.[13]SeeT'ai P'ing Huan Yü Chi,loc. cit.[14]For accounts of other appearances of the "sea-serpent" in Chinese waters, see Dennys'sFolk-lore of China, pp. 109, 113-4.[15]See pp.53and36.[16]Shanis the Chinese word for "Hill."[17]See pp.391seq.[18]See pp.397-8.[19]See pp.393seq.

[5]The three characters in question are depicted on the binding of this book.

[6]The following list of distances by sea to the principal neighbouring ports may be of interest. The distance is in each case reckoned from the Weihaiwei harbour.Shantung Promontory, 30 miles;Chefoo, 42 miles;Port Arthur, 89 miles;Dalny, 91 miles;Chemulpo, 232 miles;Taku, 234 miles;Shanghai452 miles;Kiaochou, 194 miles;Nagasaki, 510 miles.

[7]"The magistrate is the unit of government; he is the backbone of the whole official system; and to ninety per cent. of the population he istheGovernment."—Byron Brenan'sOffice of District Magistrate in China.

[8]England and Wales contain 58,000 square miles, with a population perhaps slightly less than that of Shantung.

[9]As early as the seventh centuryB.C.deforestation had become a recognised evil in the State of Ch'i (part of the modern Shantung), chiefly owing to the lavish use of timber for coffins and grave-vaults. (SeeDe Groot'sReligious System of China, vol. ii. pp. 660-1.)

[10]Especially some of the sea-beaches, the defiles that lie between Yü-chia-k'uang and Shang Chuang, and the valleys in which are situated Ch'i-k'uang, Wang-chia-k'uang, Pei k'ou, Chang-chia-shan, and Ch'ien Li-k'ou.

[11]The story is quoted in theT'ai P'ing Huan Yü Chi(chüan20).

[12]With regard to this assistance from spirits, cf. the Jewish legend that King Solomon by the aid of a magic ring controlled the demons and compelled them to give their help in the building of the great Temple.

[13]SeeT'ai P'ing Huan Yü Chi,loc. cit.

[14]For accounts of other appearances of the "sea-serpent" in Chinese waters, see Dennys'sFolk-lore of China, pp. 109, 113-4.

[15]See pp.53and36.

[16]Shanis the Chinese word for "Hill."

[17]See pp.391seq.

[18]See pp.397-8.

[19]See pp.393seq.

Though Chinese historians have never set themselves to solve that modern European problem as to whether history is or is not a science, they have always—or at least since the days of Confucius—had a strong sense of its philosophical significance and its didactic value. Of the writings with which the name of Confucius is connected, that known as theCh'un Ch'iuor "Spring and Autumn Annals" is the one that he himself considered his greatest achievement, and Mencius assures us that when the Master had written this historical work, "rebellious ministers and bad sons were struck with terror." The modern reader is perhaps apt to wonder what there was in the jerky, disconnected statements of theCh'un Ch'iuto terrify any one, however conscience-stricken; but Mencius's remark shows that history was already regarded as a serious employment, well fitted to engage the attention of philosophers and teachers of the people.

For a long time, indeed, practice lagged a long way behind theory. There is some reason to suppose that Confucius himself was not above adapting facts to suit his political opinions, which shows that history had not yet secured for itself a position of great dignity. The oldest historical work in the language is theShu Ching, which is believed to have been edited by Confucius. Certainly the sage's study ofthis work does not seem to have inspired him with any lofty theories as to how history ought to be treated, for his own work is considerably balder and less interesting than the old one. The Confucian who wrote the historical commentary known as theTso-chuanimproved upon his master's methods very greatly, and his work can be read with pleasure at the present day; but the first great Chinese historian did not appear till the second centuryB.C.in the person of Ssŭ-ma Ch'ien. For several reasons it would be incorrect to style him the Herodotus of China, but he may at least be regarded as the father of the modern art of historical writing in that country.[20]

Yet his example did not bring about the abolition of the old methods of the dry-bones annalists; for while the writers of the great Dynastic Histories have been careful to imitate and if possible improve upon his advanced style and method, and have thus produced historical works which for fidelity to truth, comprehensiveness, and literary workmanship will often bear comparison with similar productions in Europe, the compilers of the innumerable local histories have almost invariably contented themselves with legends, fairy-tales, and the merest chronicle of notable events arranged under the heads of successive years. The enormous quantity of these local histories may be realised from the fact that each province, prefecture and district, as well as each famous lake and each celebrated mountain, has one of its own.

These works are often very voluminous: an account of a single famous mountain, with its monasteries, sometimes extends over a dozen separate books; and the account of Ssŭch'uan, a single province, is not far short of two hundred volumes in length. These productions are not, indeed, only of an historical and legendary nature: they include full topographical information, elaborate descriptions of cities, temples, and physical features, separate chapters on local customs, natural productions and distinguished men and women, and anthologies of the best poems and essays descriptive of special features of interest or inspired by the local scenery.

On legends and folk-lore and anything that seems in any way marvellous or miraculous, the compiler lingers long and lovingly; but when he comes to the narrative of definite historical facts he is apparently anxious to get over that dry but necessary part of his labours as rapidly as possible, and so gives us but a bare enumeration of the events in the order of their occurrence, and in the briefest and most direct manner possible.

As a rule, his succinctly-stated matters of fact may be regarded as thoroughly reliable. When a Chinese annalist states that in the year 990 there was a serious famine at Weihaiwei, the reader may take it for granted that the famine undoubtedly occurred, however uninstructive the fact may be in the opinion of those who live nearly a thousand years later. What is apt to strike one as inexplicable is the occasional appearance, in a list of prosaic details which may be accepted as generally reliable, of some statement which suggests that the compiler must have suddenly lost control of his senses. For instance, we read in theWên-têng Chihor Annals of the district in which the greater part of Weihaiwei is situated, that in the year which corresponds with 1539 there were disastrous floods, and that in the autumn a large dragon suddenly made its appearance in a private dwelling. "It burst the walls of the house," says the chronicler, "and so got away; and then there was a terrifichailstorm." Why such startling absurdities are introduced into a narrative that is generally devoid of the least imaginative sparkle, may be easily understood when we remember that such animals as dragons, phœnixes and unicorns and many other strange creatures were believed in (or at least their existence was not questioned) by educated Chinese up to a quite recent date; and the writer of theWên-têng Chih, when noting down remarkable occurrences as they were brought to his notice, saw no reason whatever why he should doubt the appearance of the dragon any more than he should doubt the reality of the floods or the hailstorm. That the dragon episode could not have happened because dragons did not exist was no more likely to occur to the honest Chinese chronicler than a doubt about the real existence of a personal Devil and a fiery Hell was likely to beset a pious Scottish Presbyterian of the eighteenth century, or than a disbelief in the creation of the world in six days in the year 4004B.C.was likely to disturb the minds of the pupils of Archbishop Ussher.

The Chinese chronicles from which we derive our knowledge of the past history of Weihaiwei and the adjacent country are those of Wên-têng in four volumes, Jung-ch'êng in four, Ning-hai in six and Weihaiwei (that is, the Wei of Weihai) in two. The first three are printed from wooden blocks in the usual old-fashioned Chinese style, and this means that recently-printed copies are far less clear and legible than the first impressions, which are unfortunately difficult to obtain; the last (that of Weihaiwei) seems to exist in manuscript only, and is consequently very rare. It is from these four works chiefly, though not solely, that the information given in the rest of this chapter, as in many other parts of the book, has been culled; and while endeavouring to include only such details as are likely to be of some interest to the European reader, I trust there will be enough togive him an accurate idea not only of the history of Weihaiwei but also of that prodigious branch of Chinese literature of which these works are typical.

The traditions of Weihaiwei and its neighbourhood take us back to the days of myth. The position of this region at the end of a peninsula which formed, so far as China knew, the eastern limit of the civilised world, made it, as we have seen, the fitting birthplace of legend and marvel. Not content with taking us back to the earliest days of eastern Shantung as a habitable region, the legends assure us of a time when it was completely covered by the ocean. Thousands of years ago, it is said, a Chinese princess was drowned there.[21]She was then miraculously turned into a bird called aching wei, and devoted herself in her new state of existence to wreaking vengeance on the cruel sea for having cut short her human life. This she did by flying to and fro between land and sea carrying stones in her beak and dropping them into the water one by one until, by degrees, they emerged above the surface and formed dry land. Thus her revenge for the drowning incident was complete: she punished the sea by annihilating it.

For many centuries—and in this matter history and legend coincide—the peninsular district of Shantung, including Weihaiwei, was inhabited by a non-Chinese race of barbarians. Not improbably they were among the aboriginal inhabitants of the central plains of China, who were driven west, south and east before the steady march of the invading Chinese, or—if we prefer to believe that the latter were an autochthonous race—by the irresistible pressure of Chinese expansion. The eastward-driven section of the aborigines, having been pressed into far-distant Shantung, perhaps discovered that unless they made a stand there they would be driven into the sea and exterminated; so they held their ground and adapted themselves to the new conditions like the Celts in Wales and Strathclyde, while the Chinese, observing that the country was hilly, forest-clad, and not very fertile, swept away to the richer and more tempting plains of the south-west.

This may or may not be a correct statement of what actually occurred: all we know for certain is that at the dawn of the historical epoch eastern Shantung was still inhabited by a people whom the Chinese regarded as uncouth foreigners. The name given to them in theShu Chingis Yü I, words which, if they are to be translated at all, may be rendered as "the barbarians of the hill regions." The period to which theShu Chingassigns them is that of the more or less mythical Emperors Yao, Shun and Yü, whose reigns are assigned to the twenty-third and twenty-fourth centuriesB.C., the Chinese Golden Age. An alternative view of the Yü I is that they were not the people of eastern Shantung, but the inhabitants of one of the Japanese islands. Dr. Legge, again, took the view that Ch'ing Chou, one of the nine provinces into which the Emperor Yü divided the Empire, included the modern kingdom of Korea. As the Yü I are always referred to as inhabiting the most easterly portion of the Empire, Dr. Legge was obliged to assign them to some part of the Korean peninsula[22]; following certain Chinese writers, moreover, he took Yü I to be a place-name, though this surely can only have been by the transference of the name or nickname of a people to their place of habitation. The whole question is hardly worth discussing, for it is almost impossible to disentangle fact from myth in respect of any of the alleged events of that far-off age; though, on the whole, it seems improbable that Yü's Empire—presumingthat Yü was an historical personage—ever extended as far as some patriotic Chinese commentators would like to make out, or ever included any portion of either Korea or Japan. The great K'ang Hsi dictionary definitely states that the Yü I country "is the present Têng-chou," which includes the north-eastern section of Shantung all the way to the Promontory. The dictionary also describes it as "the place where the sun rises." An interesting point in connection with the Yü I is that it was to their country that the Emperor Yao (2357B.C.) is said to have sent one of the Imperial Astronomers to "observe the heavens." The heavens of those days must have been well worth observing, for Chinese legends say there were then ten suns,[23]which all rose out of a prodigious abyss of hot water. At one time, it was said, nine of the suns sat every day in the lower branches of a great tree that grew in the land of Fu-sang, and one sat on the topmost branch; but in the time of Yao all the suns climbed up together to the top of the tree and made everything so uncomfortably hot that the Emperor shot at them and succeeded in destroying nine. Since then the world has had to content itself with a single sun.[24]

Assuming that the ordinary interpretations of theShu Chingare correct, it appears that in the Golden Age of Yao the office of Astronomer-Royal, as we should say, was an exclusive perquisite of two families surnamed Hsi and Ho. Four members of theseprivileged families were sent to establish observatories in the four quarters of the Empire, east, west, south, and north, in order that they might "deliver respectfully the seasons to the people." The passage of theShu Chingin which this matter is mentioned[25]is of great scientific interest on account of its astronomical details, and of great importance as establishing the reliability of early Chinese records. The only point that concerns us here is that one of the astronomers—namely, the second of three of the privileged Ho brothers—was sent to a tract of country called Yang Ku—"the Valley of Sunlight"—in the territory of the Yü I. His special duty it was to "receive as a guest the rising sun, and to adjust and arrange the labours of the Spring." Monopoly and absence of competition seem to have had their inevitable result; the privileged families of Hsi and Ho fell into utter disgrace, and were charged with having "neglected the ordering of the seasons and allowed the days to get into confusion,"—and all this because they gave themselves up to the pleasures of wine and female society instead of keeping a careful watch on the movements of the heavenly bodies. The Hsi and Ho had evidently become magnates of no small importance, for it was necessary to send an army to punish them. Their main offence, as we gather from theShu Ching,[26]was that they made some sad blunder in connection with an eclipse, and the penalty attached to an offence of this nature was death. The only point with reference to all this that bears upon our subject is that the eastern observatory, presided over by one of the Ho family, was probably situated somewhere in the extreme eastern part of the Shantung peninsula: and though it is open to sceptics to declare that the astronomer, the observatory, and the Emperor himself were all figments of the Chinese imagination, it is equally open to any one to hold, though quite impossible for him to prove, that the Yang Ku—the Vale of Sunlight—was no other than the sandy strip of sun-bleached territory that lies between the sombre rocks of the Shantung Promontory and the most easterly hills of Weihaiwei.[27]

Whether the people of this district were or were not called the Barbarians of the Hill Regions at the dawn of Chinese history, or whether in their territory there was or was not a place called the Vale of Sunlight, does not affect the undoubted truth of the statement that the Shantung peninsula was up to historic times inhabited by a race, or the remnants of a race, that was not Chinese. We may be sure, from what we know of the boundaries and inter-relations of the various Chinese states in the Confucian epoch (that is, the sixth centuryB.C.), that if Confucius himself had travelled from his native state of Lu through that of Ch'i and so on in a north-easterly direction until he reached the sea, he would have been obliged to engage an interpreter to enable him to communicate with the inhabitants of the district we now know as Weihaiwei.

We may presume without rashness that as time went on these Eastern barbarians gradually assimilated themselves with, or were assimilated by, their civilised Chinese neighbours. The process was probably a long one, for we do not hear of the establishment of ordinary Chinese civil government until the epoch of the Han dynasty, about 200B.C.Perhaps the legendary journeys of Ch'in Shih Huang-ti, the "First Emperor," which, as we have seen, are supposed to have taken place a few years earlier, really represent some great military achievement whereby the far-eastern barbarians were for the first time brought under the Chinese yoke. The localannals mention the fact that during the Chou dynasty, which preceded that of Ch'in Shih Huang-ti and held the throne of China from 1122B.C.to 255B.C., the present district of Wên-têng (including Weihaiwei) formed part of the Mou-tzŭ country; but it must have been an independent or semi-independent state, for no Chinese administrators are mentioned. Later on there was an hereditary marquisate of Mou-p'ing, which extended over much of the country we are considering.

The dynasty founded by the "First Emperor" divided the whole Empire as it then was into thirty-sixchünor provinces, and Wên-têng formed part of the Ch'i province. At last, in the sixth year of Kao Tsu of the Han dynasty (201B.C.), a Chinese magisterial district was founded in the eastern peninsula for the first time, though the city chosen as the centre of government was not Wên-têng but a place called Pu-yeh-ch'êng, and thehsienor magisterial district was accordingly known as Pu-yeh-Hsien. This city, which is said[28]to have been founded by one Lai-tzŭ in the "Spring and Autumn" period twenty-five centuries ago, is now a small village in the modern Jung-ch'êng district, a short distance from the British frontier on the Chinese side, and whatever glory it may once have possessed has totally departed. The origin of the name, which means "Nightless," is unknown, though naturally one would like to connect it in some way with the Sunlit Vale of the astronomer Ho. The newhsiencity was assigned to the prefecture of Tung-lai, then the most easterly prefecture in the province.

From this time onward all the north-eastern part of Shantung, including the districts with which we are specially concerned, remained under the civil administration of China. From time to time various changes were made in the seat of district-government and in the boundaries of the prefectures, but these it would be superfluous to follow in detail. In the fourth year of T'ien T'ung (568 of our era), Wên-têng city became the magistrate's headquarters, and the district was placed in the Ch'ang-kuang prefecture under the name of Wên-têng-shan Hsien. Early in the period K'ai Huang (581-600), the abolished Ch'ang-kuang prefecture gave place to Mou Chou, and Wên-têng was placed in the Tung-lai prefecture, to which Pu-yeh had formerly been assigned. Passing over many similar administrative changes of no special significance we come to the Ming dynasty, which began to reign in 1368. In the ninth year of Hung Wu (1376) the present prefecture of Têng-chou was created. Both Wên-têng and Ning-hai districts were assigned to the new prefecture and have remained under its jurisdiction ever since.

Before Jung-ch'êng (in the neighbourhood of the Shantung Promontory) was made a separate magistracy, which was not till 1735, the position of Wên-têng was most responsible and often perilous, for it faced the sea on three sides—north, east, and south. The chronic danger that menaced these shores came from the restless Japanese. From the time of the Northern Wei dynasty (401 of our era) onwards, the Chinese Government found it necessary to take special measures for the protection of the Shantung coasts from Japanese pirates. Elaborate military precautions, say the records, were taken in 742, during the epoch of the mighty T'ang dynasty, and again in 1040 (Sung dynasty) and in 1341 (Yüan dynasty). The failure of the warlike Mongols (who founded the last-named dynasty) when they took to over-sea expeditions, is no less remarkable than their wonderful successes on land. The armadas despatched in 1274 and in 1281 by the great Kublai Khan for the purpose of reducing to obedience the refractory Japanese has been spoken of as an unwarranted attack on the liberty of a free and gallant people, which met with well-deserved failure; but when we know how the pirates of Japanhad repeatedly harassed the coasts of China and, more particularly, had made innumerable murderous attacks on the helpless farmers and fishermen of the eastern coasts of Shantung, an entirely new light is thrown upon Kublai's Japanese policy.

The whole history of Asia and of the world might have been changed (perhaps for the worse, but not necessarily so) if the mighty Mongol fleet that set sail for Japan in 1281 had not been scattered by hostile winds and waves and defeated by its brave human adversaries. This was the only serious attempt ever made by China to conquer Japan, and though the Chinese dynasty of that day had carried its victorious arms through a great part of the Euro-Asiatic continent it utterly failed in its efforts to reduce to vassalage the island Empire of the East. Yet it was not always Japan that represented enlightenment and civilisation: it was not always China that stood for stagnation and barbarism. When Kublai sent envoys to Japan in 1275 and in 1279 they were not treated with the courtesy that the world has in more recent years learned to expect from the natives of Japan: they were simply deprived of their heads.

The disasters to their fleets appear to have discouraged the Chinese from again trying their fortunes on the ocean; while the Japanese, always intrepid sailors and fighters, re-entered with zest into the profitable occupation of raiding the coasts of China and robbing her of her sea-borne merchandise. "The spacious days of great Elizabeth," made glorious for England by knightly freebooters and gentleman pirates, were to some extent anticipated in the north-western Pacific during the twelfth and succeeding centuries of our era. Japan took more than ample revenge for the insult offered her by the great Kublai. The whole coast-line of China lay open to her attacks and she utilised the situation to the utmost, but it was north-eastern Shantung that suffered most of all. For a long time the people of Wên-têng and neighbouringdistricts, who were only poor fisher-folk and farmers, sparse in numbers, vainly implored the Government to save them from their miseries and protect them from the sea-rovers. The measures hitherto fitfully employed to safeguard the coast had been repeatedly shown to be inadequate. Soon after the commencement of the Ming period (1368) the Imperial Government at last began to make a serious effort to keep inviolate the shores of the Empire and to succour the people who "had in the past suffered grievous hurt," so runs a Chinese account of the matter, "from the pestilent outrages committed by the rascally Dwarfs."

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