Before going any further I must explain that I was travelling by goods train. The line, as already said, was not finished, the rails hardly laid, and there were no proper stations; guards and officials being accommodated in temporary huts and encampments. There was no regular tariff and no tickets were issued. Trains of trucks with materials for construction plied between the main junctions, and these same trains also conveyed the workmen and the persons connected with the undertaking, to their various destinations. It was necessary to get a special permission from the authorities to travel by this route. Of course I was prepared to rough it, and the directors had not disguised from me the fact that as yet no arrangements had been made for the convenience of passengers. They could not even promise that I should reach Port Arthur without delay, for some of the temporary bridges had been destroyed by the autumn rains, and the railway banks in various parts were washed away by the floods. But a special car was placed at my disposal for the whole journey across Manchuria, and this semi-saloon car became my domicile for several weeks. To give some idea of my movable house, I may say that although the exterior was extremely simple, the interior was comfortable enough. It consisted of a bedroom, a study, a passage, a lavatory, and a small balcony; besides these, there were a kitchen and sleeping accommodation for my servant. The balcony was my favourite resort: many a peaceful hour have I spent there in reading or writing, and looking out upon that dismal landscape unfolding itself in its monstrous immensity. Sometimes my home was shunted and I was left for days to amuse myself in the vicinity of some place of interest. Then it would be hooked on again behind trucks carrying bricks, iron, and all kinds of machinery. My carriage was my home, my stronghold. And indeed it was not unlike a fortified castle when it stood motionless near one of the stations, with sentries and watches patrolling round or halting in the neighbouring encampment. I was never quite sure whether they regarded me as a convict or whether they kept a kindly watch over me. Along the route various stations were in process of building, some already roofed. Unpretentious structures they were, never more than one storey high, and roofed with black tiles. Outwardly they resemble the Chinese houses, and the beams are curved in the "Ting" style. Although unfinished, they impress one as if encumbered with a weary past, rather than as having a bright future in store. Everything, in fact, has a doleful aspect here. There are no gardens and no cultivation of any kind worth mentioning. The station yards are swamps, or pools of mud. Here and there an attempt has been made to improve matters, and stones or planks are laid down at intervals to assist the traveller in crossing.