THE SHANSI FAMINE., February 14, 1878
THE SHANSI FAMINE.
In former letters I gave a general account of the famine in this province taken from official records, and also some particulars of the suffering in and around the provincial capital, from personal observation. It is my intention now to give some particulars concerning the central and southern part of the province. But the region is so extensive to travel over and the time so brief for inquiry, that the account must necessarily be very incomplete. Yet I have seen and heard enough. It is said that familiarity with suffering makes one less liable to be affected by it. Familiar as many kinds of famine suffering have been to me for the last two years, this last journey southwards made me sick, at least, that I wished I could return with my eyes closed and ears stopped. To see and hear was most painful to endure. I cannot write all. Some things are too horrible to be described except in general terms. But I begin:
January 28.—Stopped at an inn 10 miles south. A little before starting, I saw in a street of Fai Yuan Fu a man lying on the road about to die of starvation. The carts became blocked, and people had to go around by another way.
January 29.—Forty-five miles south there was a fall of an inch of snow in the night. Saw four dead on the road, and one unable to walk, moving about on his hands and knees; one of the dead was a boy about ten years old, carried by his mother on her shoulder; she was the only bearer, priest, and mourner; she laid him on the snow outside the city wall, and the last sight I got of them was, she standing at some distance off on one side, and a dog watching at some distance on the other.
January 30.—Ninety miles south saw two dead, apparently only just dead, and dressed in good clothes; he could not be a poor man. A few miles farther on saw one walking like a drunken man; after passing him I stopped and told my servant to get some cash out to give him; there was a little wind, and while we were getting the cash a puff a little stronger than the rest made him fall; to give him money there was useless, and we could not stay.
January 31.—One hundred and thirty miles south. To-day saw fourteen dead by the roadside; a stocking was all one had on; and so light was the corpse a middle-sized dog dragged it about; two of the dead were women. They had had a burial, but it consisted in nothing more than moving them from the road and placing them with their faces downward; that was all. Want or cupidity of the passers-by had dealt kindlier with one than the other, for they had left her her clothes. A third was a feast to a score of crows and magpies; one man had snow over him and was untouched—a proof that he had been there three days at least, and that no dogs nor wolves could be near. While the road was thus strewn with the dead, there were plenty of pheasants, fat enough, close by; a fox and a rabbit opposite where the poor woman had fallen; and wild ducks in the river appeared none the worse for the famine. Alas that man should bind himself and others to death by the iron chains of custom. Another painful contrast forced itself on me that day. A lot of magpies were making an unusual din, and some were picking up feathers. When I came up to them I saw one of their number dead. But how many dead men and women have I seen on the road without any weeping except the mother over her child. Yet what most affected me that day was what was said by an old man when we were climbing Ling Shan together. We had just passed a young man dead on the road; then he said in the most touching manner: “Our mules and our donkeys are all eaten up; our laborers are all dead. O, how is it that God lets us poor people die like this?” Saw two wolves in the twilight looking out for the dead. In one village was a notice put up that those who rob and steal shall be put to death without mercy. In another village a notice was put up that it was agreed by the villagers that should any one be “unruly” he should be put to death without mercy. People dare not travel through these hills singly.
February 1.—One hundred and fifty miles south. Traveled half a day, Saw six dead, of whom four were women; one in an open field by the roadside, with only a string about her waist. Another was in a river; but the water was not deep enough to cover and freeze over her, so what was exposed was at the cruel mercy of the fowls of the air. Another was half clad in rags, in one of the cave-houses which open into the road. Another, half clad and half eaten. Saw what appeared to be two brothers from fifteen to eighteen years old, moving at the rate of men of eighty, each leaning heavily on his staff. Saw a young man carrying his mother on his back. She was far gone—about to breathe her last. On seeing me observing them closely, he begged for a few cash, the first who had done so since I left Fai Yuan Fu. The regular beggars are all dead long ago. A mile or two farther on a woman about forty had fallen and was trying to rise, but could not, from her second knee. Saw two heads stuck up in cages, to be a warning to those who rob and steal. Saw hats and shoes here and there along the road, but no dead bodies near, perhaps all that was left between men and wolves.
February 2.—One hundred and eighty miles south. Saw twelve dead, all stripped of their clothes, but among them only one woman and two boys. At Hung-tung Hien a group of three were lying together. They appeared to be a boy, his father, and grandfather. My servant said he saw several more; but I only state what I saw myself On the snow we saw marks of a struggle and blood, but no dead body near; yet it was some justification of the warning to men not to travel singly along these narrow defiles. Two more heads hung up in cages on the trees. For some miles a large number of trees, on both sides of the road, as far as the eye could see on a level country, were stripped of their bark to a height of 5, 10, and 20 feet for food. Most were elm trees. There were also groups of several houses, with doors and windows open, and jars and other trifling utensils in them. Their occupants were either gone away or dead; but nothing was touched, for they could be turned to neither cash nor bread.
As a break to this long catalogue of misery, it was delightful to see (for the snow was all thawed here) wheat very extensively sown. Though there be drought elsewhere, they have abundance of water to irrigate here, and they seem to make the most of it. I could see in all the villages along the road considerable quantities of straw, indicating that they had had a good crop of grain; but on inquiry I was told the crop was very promising up to the time when the ears came out; then a sudden flood and mildew destroyed their hopes, leaving them nothing but straw. So, not by water alone, either, can a man live; but by every word which proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord. This abundance of water for irrigation extended only over ten miles.
February 3.—Two hundred and ten miles south. Saw seven dead, not one woman, but there was one old man with gray hairs and one infant just born. Again the trees were barked, but there was no wheat in the ground; but cart-loads of men, occasionally foot-travelers. These were armed, some with a shining bright sword, with a rusty old knife, others with spears and clubs, all with some weapon or other; even children in their teens carried them. Some were glad to keep close to us as we were riding. We did not feel any safer of their company. At Siang-Ling Hien, 10 miles south of Ping Yang Fu, there were many carts come from Pu Chou Fu for grain. There were forty carts altogether. To keep order volunteers are enrolled and paid by the government in that prefecture. This was told me by one of the volunteers themselves who had come to accompany the grain-carts; otherwise, they would be robbed. A woman at Ping Yang Fu came up to me in the street and asked me to go into a house. On asking what for, she said there are young girls here waiting to be taken away.
February 5.—Fresh ones dead on the road since we passed south two days ago. A mother and her son in the morning; in the afternoon at Hung Tung Hien, the dead were actually in heaps on each other. It was here we saw the group of three together a few days ago. To-day three more are heaped together, two women and one boy. On the main street there was a man dead, with the edge of a big stone between his teeth. If he lived could he possibly speak in such plain language? He had nothing better to eat, so he died biting the stone. Others were thrown into the river. One of the innkeepers to-day asked me if I had any medicine to cure the famine fever. It had commenced about the beginning of January.
February 6.—Other fresh ones on the road dead, one a young woman, another a middle-aged one. I will not describe. Suffice it to say they had not perished from want, but had been robbed and left to perish from cold. (?) The one I saw a few days ago on her knees was now dead; about a hundred yards off saw two men grinding something very dark. I went up to them; it was millet-husks mixed with old cotton from ragged garments. As coal rises in price, house timber is, in demand and people are pulling down their houses and splitting the wood for fuel.
February 7.—To-day is the worst of all; we saw abundant proofs of men eating stone or clay. I bought three stone cakes. The stone is the same as our soft-stone pencils. This is pounded to dust and mixed with millet-husks in more or less proportions, according to the poverty of the people, and then baked. It does not look bad, but it tastes like what it is—dust. The dead to-day number more than any other day. We did not reckon them in returning, but on seeing so many fresh ones we counted them again this afternoon. There were no less than twenty-nine in eighteen miles from Ling Shi Hien northwards, and the circumstances were more frightful, too. In one valley the road branched into two. One might take either side of the stream. Accidentally, I took one and my servant the other. We were in sight of each other though not within talking distance, and it was less than two miles before the road reunited again. On his road the servant saw a woman lying in a ditch after being robbed of all, like others. Although not conscious of any one passing by, yet she moved. Farther on we saw a man’s head cut clean off his body; a cruel murderer’s deed; and that is not all. We saw among the dead some wounded heads, not in such a way as we usually saw done by wolves and dogs and birds. Even the dogs were getting savage; they barked and howled at us when we were driving them away from the dead. Many of the former bodies had disappeared, but their places were more than supplied by fresh ones.
I need not say that we were terribly sick of this horrible journey. If we could give relief wherever we went, then it would be a joy, but, as it was, such scenes as I have not half described and such tales as I cannot venture to do more than hint at, repeated daily, and even several times a day, made me almost afraid to mention the subject. It was like reopening a painful wound to me; but how much more to the poor people themselves.
After being away fourteen days, on the 10th I reached—thank God—Tai Yuan Fu in safety.
The above is what I saw. Now I have to give a brief account of what I heard. Not that I heard less (it was far more), but I am sure no one cares to read much more of such terrible suffering. I met men from the province of Sze Ch’nau, en route for Peking, and they said that the whole way from Fêng Hien, in that province, there were dead men on the road, now and then. These men said that snow had fallen in Honan about a foot deep. I met others later who had come from Si Ugan Fu. There about a span of snow had fallen. I met others from Ning Hia, in North Kansu. There grain was cheap and in abundance, but scarcer each step as they came across the northern half of Shan Si. No snow worth mentioning had fallen on their route. The Yellow River, at the pass where they crossed over to Shan Si, on their way to Kiang Chow, had not before been passable by ice since the twenty-fifth year: of Tao Kuang (thirty-two years ago), so the poor people have had unusual cold as well as famine to contend with this winter. The soft stone is sold at prices varying from two to five cash per catty, according to distance of carriage. Bark is sold at from five to seven cents per catty at the places where I inquired. The roots of rushes are dug and eaten. This causes the face to swell, and the stone, when taken in large quantities, has the same effect as chalk; people die of constipation. The price of grain is three or four times the usual rate, and the price of turnips and cabbages five and six times. Flour costs seven, eight, or nine cash an ounce, according to the place at which it is bought.
In every city we passed through they said twenty, thirty, or forty people died there daily. At Ping Yang Fu they said that two “wan jên k’ïng” were filled, and that two carts were daily employed in carting the dead. One innkeeper told us that somebody, in three days, had counted no less than two hundred and seventy dead on the road.
The main road goes most of the way alongside the river Fên, and a good deal of the soil can be irrigated on one side or the other, but away a few miles east or west are the hills. The dead there are far more numerous. Whole families, old and young, die in their houses, and there they remain, unburied. At Kiei Hin Hien, in Fen Chow Fu, the innkeeper said that half of the people were either dead or gone away. Those from Lin Kin Hien and I Sz Hsien and Wan Chun Hien, in Pu Chow Fu, said that the number of the dead there was frightful. In one Hien a third were dead already; in another, six out of every ten. In cross-questioning, they insisted that in most of the hiens in Pu Chow Fu more than half were dead. Whoever I asked, from Ping Yang Fu, Pu Chow Fu, Kiang Chow, and Kiei Chow (for I met people from all these place, at some inn or other), I did not meet a single man who would admit that five out of ten remained, except that man who spoke of a third dead. The rest maintained that five or six or seven out of every ten were dead, and they gave instances of villages numbering three, four, and five hundred people last year, only numbering one hundred now.
Here in Yang Kü, nevertheless, judging from inquiries made last year, these statements are exaggerations—true indeed of certain places, but not of whole prefectures. But make a liberal discount and say that only five out of ten will remain at the end of the famine (this I fear is discounting too much), what a terrible and unprecedented famine will it be!
Consider the area. Grain is sent to every hien in Pu Chow Fu overland via Hwai-lu, a distance of about 6,500 miles, not to speak of what comes from Manchuria. If it could be obtained at a less distance, from any other direction, of course it would be done; so we have a radius, and can calculate the square miles. The population of Shansi is mostly in the south.
Now let us see what is done for their relief. Passing rapidly through each place, I could not possibly get very accurate information. It is only an approximation in this as in other matters I can hope to give. The lowest allowance I heard of was one hundred cash per month to each person (three and one-third cash per day), and the highest I heard of was three hundred cash per month (ten cash per day). A Wei Yuan told me that this place where ten cash was given was the best he had heard of, too, on his way from Fai Yuan Fu to Kian Chow and back. In many places grain was distributed instead of cash, and between two and three ounces was allowed for each person per day. There may be more given in some places, but I did not hear of full three ounces being given anywhere. Fai Yuan Fu is an exception. In the suburbs there are three large soup-kitchens, where altogether about twenty thousand people go. Food to the value of thirty to fifty cash is given to each adult daily—an abundant supply when the people are at home and earn money too. It is very different with the mass of the whole province. I have not heard of any means devised to enable the people to provide for themselves. They trust, or, rather are obliged, to be satisfied, with what is given them directly, and the first and second parts of this letter show with what results.
If what I have written is not enough, let me add that I have heard from several different sources that in many hiens men eat each other. When I said it was hard for me to believe, they were ill-pleased with my incredulity, and supported their statements with so many particulars that I no longer doubt it. I refrain from repeating them. When I inquired the reason for coal rising in price, I was told that none go singly to the coal-pits for it, for they will be stripped of their all, and their beasts, whether horses, cows, mules, or donkeys, eaten up. Among the mountains the people of one village dare not visit another; not only whole families die, but some of the smaller villages perish altogether; and that I hear even here in Yang Kü hien, where the provincial capital is. Houses are turned to sepulchers filled with the dead. I have asked myself more than once, am I among the living or the dead? Snow has not fallen; wheat is not sown; and I have just heard from highest authority that in the southern part of the province some who have money in their hands are dying because there is no grain to be bought.
Grain has been bought in abundance in Tientsin and elsewhere by the governor’s agents, but all the beasts of burden in Shansi and the adjoining provinces are not sufficient to carry the grain. When matters have come to such a pass it is a small thing to say that the roads are so narrow in the mountains that half the carriers are obliged to travel by night while the other half travel by day to prevent delay in waiting at the defiles.
All praise to those officials who try so many means with such vigor to relieve these poor people; but it would be hypocrisy and flattery to praise everything.” Alas! that there should be officials who will not adopt measures which are known to be of great service in other countries, out of sheer prejudice. The blood of the dead myriads must rest upon their unhappy heads. Though wise measures can afford much temporary relief, all human efforts are, after all, miserable patches. We must look to God and implore Him to have mercy upon us speedily.
A fall of snow would make the rich bring out their hoarded grain. But should it rain to-day, there still remain four months of dire famine and fever for these unhappy people.
So all thanks and blessings be unto those willing hearts who now contribute so generously to their relief.
Yours, very truly,