Feng-hoang-cheng is about thirty miles, or two days’ march from Antung. We left the treaty port on Wednesday the 11th, and halted for the night at Tang-chan-cheng which is midway on the Imperial Pekin Road. Crossing the ridge that forms the Northern boundary of the river Yalu, we descended into a broad valley shut in by mountains. The land is rich and well cultivated, and on every side were the charred ruins of substantial homesteads. The Russians in their retreat had set fire to every building and but for their haste would have given Antung to the flames. This destruction of private property was wanton and senseless and had not even the pretext of being directed against combatants. In this two days’ journey I saw more ruined houses than in six months’ trek in the Transvaal, and I wondered if the Continent of Europe would be as deeply agitated over these acts of war against a harmless and peaceful peasantry as they were over the firing of houses used as trenches with the white flag over them. Away to the East of this desolated valley rose a range of hills dominated by a mountain that springs from the plain like a huge knife with the edge of the blade toward the sky. The summit is sharp and precipitous and the slopes are dark and rugged. It was near this razor-like ridge that the Russian guns were lost and a regiment was decimated. It is said that the Chinese care nothing for the provinces of Manchuria. They form no part of the Eighteen Provinces which fill the Chinaman’s conception of his native land, though they gave birth to the ruling dynasty. This indifference may be real and may account for the ease with which the Russians have overrun the country: yet Manchuria is a land worth fighting for. It covers an area of 336,000 square miles: it produces grain of all kinds, vegetables in plenty, tobacco, hemp, indigo, and opium; silk culture flourishes in the South: the forests and mountains supply skins, furs, and timber: on the Eastern steppes sheep, cattle, and horses are reared in inexhaustible numbers: gold is found in the North and along the Eastern frontier to the Upper Sungari in the South: the climate is good, though somewhat rigorous: and the inhabitants are a fine, hardy, industrious people, much more friendly toward foreigners than the people of China proper. And it is a beautiful country, with rich valleys, clear streams, and mountains clothed with forests of pine and oak. Our camp at Tan-chan-cheng was pitched in an orchard, and pear blossoms fell upon our tents like flakes of snow. The homestead was foul and neglected: the farmer and his family were dirty and indifferent to comfort, yet the fields were carefully cultivated and there were evidences of abundant prosperity.