This chapter concludes Part 1. Coming up next, war!
Our Gates to the Glorious and the Unknown
Railway termini are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through them we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them, alas! we return.
— E. M. Forster
In China the railway question is one of the most vital importance.
— Edwin John Dingle, China’s Revolution 1911-1912: A Historical and Political Record of the Civil War
, 1912
From
Iron Qi Lines and Fire Chariots: The Railways of China by Benjamin T. Dunn, 1993
Advertisement for the North China Imperial Railways published in the December 1910 issue of the Far Eastern Review.
The history of railways in China had begun—or rather, inauspiciously enough, not begun—in 1863, when a group of mostly British and American businessmen had petitioned Li Hongzhang (then the governor of Jiangsu) for the right to build a rail line between Shanghai and the ancient city, and major silk-producing center, of Suzhou. Although a co-founder of the Self-Strengthening Movement, Li was at that early stage unconvinced of China’s need for rail transportation and had turned down the request. Undeterred, the businessmen had invited the railroad engineer Sir Macdonald Stephenson (no relation to George Stephenson), who had already overseen the development of India’s first rail lines. The following year, Stephenson had submitted to the Chinese government a far-reaching project for a network radiating from Hankou in the middle Yangzi valley, with lines to Beijing and Tianjin in the North, Shanghai in the East, Canton and Hong Kong in the South, and going all the way across the Himalayas to Burma and Calcutta in the West. Too ambitious, and too obviously designed to serve British economic interests in China, the project had another critical shortcoming which turned even Sir Frederick Bruce, the British ambassador, against it: it failed to factor in the fact that Chinese law had few provisions for eminent domain, which would make the expropriation of the necessary tracts of land a slow and expensive affair. Bruce had warned Stephenson in the following terms:
Do not reason about China according to your experience of India. The [Chinese] government does not concern itself with civil law and it is particularly mindful of land property rights, to which the people are highly attached. It will be a long time before it takes an expropriation decree on behalf of the public good.
Stephenson had ignored Bruce’s warning and founded the China Railway Company in order to put forward various projects for regional rail lines, but none of them came to fruition and the company folded four years later.
However, in the following decade, a number of progressive officials had gradually warmed to the idea of Chinese railways and were lobbying the central government in favor of it. Li Hongzhang, among others, was now a supporter of rail transportation, as he had in the meantime sponsored the development of a modern coal mine in Kaiping (in order to provide the nascent Chinese steam-powered commercial fleet and his own future Beiyang Navy with domestically-produced fuel) and reasoned that transporting the coal would be cheaper by rail; from there he had come to understand the advantages of rail as an instrument both of economic development and strategic defense. In a memoir to the imperial court in 1880, he wrote “Our country faces unprecedented challenges; we should therefore address them with unprecedented methods”. The cause of Chinese railways suffered a temporary setback when a 16-kilometer line was built by British businessmen between Shanghai and Wusong in 1876; intended as a practical example of the advantages of rail transportation, the initiative backfired since, a fait accompli of dubious legality, it was perceived as a unilateral encroachment on Chinese sovereignty, and operations had to be discontinued. But a symbolic watershed was crossed in 1881 when Claude W. Kinder, the British engineer hired by Kaiping mine manager Tang Jingxing, assembled with the latter’s connivance the first locomotive ever built in China, using a boiler and other parts from a portable steam winding engine borrowed from the colliery. This modest 2-4-0 machine, christened the
Rocket of China and decorated with gilded dragons on its sides, would remain in operation until 1920, and enjoy a second lease on life at the beginning of the Second Sino-Japanese War in 1934, when shortages in locomotives caused it to be brought out of retirement (its long career ended for good in 1945, and it is now displayed in the Nanjing Museum of Trains and Railroads) [1]. As for the workshop it was assembled in, it grew into Tangshan Locomotive and Rolling Stock Works (唐山机車車輛廠), China’s first such company.
The Kaiping railroad was extended in two installments over the following years: it linked Tangshan and Tianjin in 1888, and Tangshan and Shanhaiguan in 1894; meanwhile, Taiwan governor Liu Mingchuan had built a line between Jilong and Xinzhu via Taibei, but on the eve of the First Sino-Japanese War the total length of railroads on Chinese territory was an unimpressive 502 km. The defeat against Japan removed all lingering domestic objections to the development of a Chinese railway network, and Kang Youwei had accurately captured the new national consensus when he wrote in his 1895
Manifesto to the Emperor:
There is a way to shrink a journey of ten thousand li to a short distance and bring the decade and the month to the length of a night and a day, thus facilitating the transport of troops and weapons, also facilitating the deployment of relief in case of famine, river transport, contacts between administrations, the studies of scholars, the transport of freight for merchants, the work of those who carry loads for a living, and the unification of [regional] cultures. All these improvements, far from costing the country money, could in fact generate tens of millions of taels in profits. For all this, railroads are second to none. The advantages of railroads are known throughout the empire: some have been operating for a while beyond the Shanhai Pass [in Manchuria]. Today their effectiveness has been proven anew for troop transport. If they have not been built in other provinces yet, it is simply because of the huge amounts of capital required, which are difficult to gather.
Even more importantly, Japan’s victory had given the signal for a “scramble for China” in which every imperialist power sought to expand its area of influence in that country, using railway concessions as the primary method of penetration into the inland provinces. In 1898, during the Hundred Days reform movement, Kang Youwei had set up a Central Board of Mines and Railroads to allow the Chinese government a degree of oversight on the fast-accelerating pace of railway construction (by then, foreign powers had obtained the rights on 6,750 km of lines, most of which would be operational by 1912), and its prerogatives survived Cixi’s crackdown on the reformists. The Boxer Rebellion in 1900 dampened foreign schemes about a possible carve-up of China, but the “soft imperialism” of leased railway development continued unhindered: Chinese Eastern Railway in Manchuria (linking Chita and Vladivostok, and branching off at Harbin to Port-Arthur) by Russia, Yunnan Railway (linking Haiphong and Kunming) by France, Shandong Railway (linking Qingdao to Jinan) by Germany, etc. , and after its victory against Russia, Japan started work on the South Manchuria Railway. Meanwhile, by 1905 the Chinese had developed enough local expertise to start building railways without relying on foreign engineers, and the Chinese business community was increasingly taking the initiative of gathering capital to invest in railway construction. Thomas Millard,
New York Herald correspondent for China, wrote in his 1906 book
The New Far East:
I think it probable that during the next twenty years more miles of railways will be built in China than in any other part of the world; and while foreigners may assist in providing the capital to finance this tremendous industrial evolution, the prime movers will be the Chinese themselves, who will insist, as far as they are able, upon retaining substantial control. This disposition supplied one of the forces which led to the reclaiming of the Canton-Hankow road, and it is safe to say that hereafter no important commercial or industrial concession will be willingly granted by the Chinese government in which Chinese capitalists are not interested, or in which the government does not reserve the right to take it over under equitable conditions, especially if public utilities are involved. The chief reason is that the Chinese have discovered that railroads are convenient and valuable in the development of the country. (…) Wealthy Chinese in all parts of the Empire are now willing, even anxious to invest in railroads. In fact, a disposition to exclude foreigners from these enterprises is growing, and would probably be put into effect did not internal conditions at present make the foreigners a practical necessity. (…)
The Chinese are rapidly arriving at the point where they will practically be able to dispense with foreigners in the operations of their railroads. The entire northern division of the Imperial Railways of North China had not, the last time I travelled over it, a single white employé. Station agents, train despatchers, conductors, guards, locomotive drivers, road inspectors, etc., were all Chinese. It will be a revelation to many Westerners to make a stop at Tong-shan [Tangshan], where are the principal work-shops of this railroad, and where with Chinese workmen the company is building many of its own locomotives, all its own rolling stock, pump machineries and similar necessities. (…) The impulse acquired by modern industries in China within the past ten years is really remarkable.
The first major railroad designed, financed and built entirely by the Chinese was the Beijing-Kalgan line. Kalgan (now Zhangjiakou) is a city 200 km northwest of Beijing, at the gate to Mongolia, and was a regional trading emporium where products from Central Asia arrived on camelback to be sold on the Chinese market. Britain had intended to build the railroad in 1902, but Russia had opposed such a move into its own area of influence in China, and in 1905 the Chinese decided to build it themselves. The chief engineer of the project was Zhan Tianyou (1861-1926), known to Westerners as Jeme Tien Yow, who would go down in history as “the father of Chinese railways”. Zhan had been sent as a twelve-year-old kid on a government program to the United States to receive a Western education, and by 1881 had received a degree in civil engineering from Yale University. He later interned with Kinder, honed his skills participating to the construction of the Beijing-Mukden line, and in 1902 was appointed by Yuan Shikai (then Viceroy of Zhili) to build a 32-km line to be used by the Dowager Empress when visiting the imperial ancestors’ tombs, an assignment he completed within budget and ahead of schedule. The Beijing-Kalgan line would be a technical challenge, as its route took it across the rugged Yanshan mountains (on the crest of which runs a section of the Great Wall), but even though Zhan had to build a switchback system and dig a tunnel, he still managed to complete the project in 1909, fully two years ahead of schedule and with funding to spare.
Aside from starting to build its own railways, China in the last years of the Qing dynasty was also conducting a policy of repurchase of the ones built by foreigners, as well of renegotiation of earlier agreements, using increasingly fired-up domestic public opinion as a lever against foreign interests. When work on the Beijing-Hankou line, leased to a French-Belgian consortium, had begun in 1898, the Chinese government had inserted a clause in the agreement that would allow it to buy the railroad after ten years, and when the line was inaugurated in 1905, it notified its intention to do so. The line had proved highly profitable, generating a net profit of 5,047 million taels in its first year of operation, and increasing from there (all the more so as, in the perspective of the repurchase, the consortium had cynically slashed all expenses on maintenance). The transfer of ownership was completed in January 1909, although the loan taken up by the Chinese government for the transaction did not do its financial situation any good. As for the policy of renegotiation, it was spelled out by the Chinese vice-minister of foreign affairs, Liang Dunyan, in 1906:
This government does not consider itself bound by agreements concluded under duress prior to 1900, and the definitive contracts shall be established on modified bases in order to give satisfaction to public opinion in China.
This was the first instance of a practice that the following dynasty would resort to much more systematically, that of invoking patriotic public opinion in its dealings with foreign interests; but one must admit that it was not a question of choice, as the Chinese population was, in this formative period of modern Chinese nationalism, more and more hostile to real and perceived imperialist encroachments on Chinese sovereignty, and the government ignored such sentiment at its peril. The first agreement to be renegotiated concerned the construction of the Beijing-Pukou line by a British-German consortium in 1908: both the British and the German delegates yielded to Chinese pressure, resulting in the construction to be done under Chinese supervision and by engineers chosen by China, with ulterior control of the line going to the Chinese government. This set a precedent for later renegotiations. Another change at the end of the decade was the relative decline of purely national projects, with multinational banking consortia becoming the dominant players in the Chinese railway game, a shift welcome by the Chinese government as it removed the risk of any one country using new rail lines to expand further its area of influence, although it further increased China’s budgetary woes.
In the meantime Chinese civil society, which as we have seen was becoming increasingly vocal in its nationalism, was seeing a number of local initiatives take place to develop rail lines at the provincial level. Led by businessmen and provincial officials, and relying on locally raised capital rather than on foreign loans, those met with mixed success due to mismanagement and a series of corruption scandals, but they resulted in the population, especially in the southern provinces, opposing the Chinese government’s decision to take on more loans of its own. Such borrowing, no matter its justifications, was widely unpopular, as it led to tax increases and led the population to conclude that China’s assets were being taken over by Western banking consortia. In the process, railways became a volatile political issue, one that pitted both provincial governments against Beijing, and Chinese civil society against foreigners; riots were beginning to break out, to the cries of “No foreign control on Chinese railways!” Things came to a boil in January 1911, when Sheng Shuanhuai was appointed Minister of Communications and put in charge of straightening out the financially murky situation of China’s domestically-managed railways: Sheng was notoriously corrupt and, worse still, was seen (not altogether inaccurately) as overly friendly with foreign interests. The last straw was when he announced his intention to nationalize the provincial railways and, simultaneously, agreed to yet another loan: together, the two decisions were perceived as evidence that Sheng was going to sell the railways to foreign bankers. Provincial associations sprang up to defend the railways, especially in Sichuan, where the movement was placed under the leadership of two members of Kang’s organization, and received the support of anti-Manchu secret societies. When the central government tried to crush the movement, protests flared up throughout the province and snowballed into a general uprising. Military reinforcements were brought in from neighboring Hubei, where a local Tongmenghui cell took advantage of the situation to spark a mutiny in the Wuchang garrison and seize control of the city; the revolution that would bring down the Qing dynasty had begun, and it was over railways.
The railway network in North China, 1912.
The collapse of the Qing dynasty did not result in the pace of railway construction slowing down: lines in the process of being laid down by foreign interests were completed without hindrance even as the revolution was taking place, and likewise the political horse-trading of the Interregnum Republic had little short-term impact on railways. Indeed, it was one of the issues the republicans and neo-monarchists saw eye to eye on; Sun Yixian, for one, was such a railway enthusiast that after he had requested the portfolio of transportation in the Kang-Liang provisional government, and although he had resigned in May 1912 when Kang began the preparations for imperial restoration, he had in his three months as transportation minister designed a highly ambitious project for laying some 160,000 km of railroads throughout China. While this project, in its utter lack of realism, shows that Sun was seriously out of touch with basic facts of Chinese geography (note, in particular, the density of rail lines in virtually uninhabited parts of Mongolia, Xinjiang and Tibet, including some that would have been running at altitudes of over 6,000 meters), it shows how committed the republicans were to improving the country’s rail network, which as of 1912 comprised 9,820 km of lines—comparing favorably in absolute if not relative numbers with Japan, whose own rail network at the time had a total length of 7,840 km—with more in the process of being laid down. It is, incidentally, ironic that Sun’s project inadvertently bore the same name (Build the Nation) that Kang would choose for himself when he proclaimed himself emperor.
Because the previous dynasty’s reckless policy of loan-taking had been a significant factor in its overthrow, the new one was more careful in its approach to capital acquisition. Having successfully negotiated the emergency “reorganization loan” in March 1912, which gave it some breathing room, the provisional republican government and its neo-imperial successor were in a more confident position to borrow funds on less disadvantageous terms than had usually been the case until then [2]. In September 1912, this policy shift was concretized by the signing of the Longhai Contract with a Franco-Belgian consortium, the
Compagnie Générale des Chemins de fer et Tramways en Chine, for a loan of 250 million francs (at 5% interest) for the prolongation to the East and West of the Luoyang-Kaifeng line, which the firm had obtained in 1903 and built between 1906 and 1909 to Yinghao. The agreement included the absorption of the existing line into this new one, which would link Lanzhou (Gansu) to Lianyungang (Jiangsu) via Xi’an, Zhengzhou (where it would intersect the Beijing-Hankou line), Kaifeng, and Xuzhou (where it would intersect the Tianjin-Pukou line); this made it, at 1,800 km, the longest line in China. As Jean Ullens de Schooten wrote in
The Railways of China in 1928,
The Lung-hai Contract was the first one signed between a foreign firm and the government of the Tsien [Qian] dynasty. It constituted a brand new procedure which has since then become the norm. A single document deals with issues of borrowing, construction and exploitation. It is, compared with its predecessors, much more streamlined and transparent.
This was largely the work of Robert De Vos, former Belgian consul in Tianjin and Kobe, who after leaving the diplomatic corps, had become a freelance lobbyist and middleman for Western banking consortia in China. He met with further success by negotiating on behalf of the
Société Belge des Chemins de fer en Chine and the
Société Française de Construction et d’Exploitation des Chemins de fer en Chine a loan of 10 million pounds (an identical amount as the previous agreement) for the construction of a North-South line going from Datong to Chengdu.
However, the new Chinese regime had as little control as the previous one over the extension of railways under respective Japanese and Russian ownership in the Manchurian provinces, having no meaningful leverage over either power, and both the (Japanese-owned) South Manchurian Railway and the (Russian-owned) China Eastern Railway continued adding new lines with only cursory acknowledgements to Chinese national sovereignty. This was an especially acute concern for China, as both countries had common borders with it, and their respective national networks were linked with the lines they kept building on Chinese soil, blurring the distinction between “soft” and “hard” imperialism. When, in late 1913, Russia started work on a rail line between Verkhneudinsk on the Trans-Siberian and Urga in Mongolia, the initiative was universally perceived in Chinese political circles as the first step towards Russian satellization of the territory in the same manner as Manchuria, where Harbin had become a Russian city in all but name; but diplomatic protestations notwithstanding, there was nothing China could do to oppose the move, all the more so as Russia and France were then in the friendliest of terms, and the Qian dynasty could not afford to antagonize the latter, being dependent on its continued goodwill in too many ways.
This concern was one of the reasons the new regime embarked on an ambitious policy of railway construction, using the profits generated by existing lines under central government management to finance the building of new ones, in a self-reinforcing cycle of capital investment and generation, and completing the shortfall with the emission of national bonds. Already, in the wake of the narrowly averted Mongolian secession in the spring of 1912, the decision had been taken to establish a rail link between the territory and the Chinese home provinces in order to tie it more closely to the rest of the empire and, if necessary, make troop deployment in the region easier. This priority assignment was entrusted to Zhan Tianyou in person, with the line starting in Kalgan (already linked to Beijing thanks to Zhan’s earlier work), following a westerly route through Datong, Guisui, Baotou and Wuyuan, and from there going due North to Urga. Preliminary work started in early 1913 and the line was completed at the end of 1917. In the South, the construction of the Chengyu line between Chengdu and Chongqing, begun in 1909 but interrupted in 1911, was completed in 1914; and Changsha was linked to Shaoguan on the one hand (thus making train travel between Canton and Beijing possible) and with Nanning via Guilin and Liuzhou on the other; both lines were inaugurated in 1916. The nationalization of the provincial lines, which as seen above had proved an explosive issue in the last year of Qing rule, was postponed until tempers had cooled and, more importantly, until capital was available to fund the operation, as relying on a foreign loan to that purpose would be politically imprudent. A new emission of bonds was considered in 1914, but the outbreak of World War 1 resulted in the project being shelved until further notice. However, communications minister Liang Shiyi (whose portfolio included railways after the Transportation Ministry was merged with his own following Sun’s resignation) did set up a Railroad Standardization Board in April 1913, in order to address the issue of wildly varying standards throughout China’s rail network. Indeed, rail lines had up to now been run with no consideration for any coherent nationwide norm, each country using its own on the lines it operated, and even the provincial governments unilaterally choosing their own standards, interoperability be damned. About the only constant was the use of the standard gauge, and even that came with exceptions, namely the Yunnan and Shanxi lines (which used narrow gauge) and the Russian lines in Manchuria and Mongolia (which used broad gauge). Some 40 different types of freight cars were in use when, by Kinder’s estimate, six would have been enough; signalization was non-uniform; rolling stock from certain countries could not even be attached to that of others without modifications; and the rates and accounting methods varied from line to line. Liang Shiyi appointed Yale graduate Wang Jingjun as Board director, and hired as a technical advisor Charles Francis Adams, former Pacific Union Railroad president (and grandson of John Quincy Adams), who had dealt with a similar problem in his home country [3]. Although the complete standardization of China’s railways would not be achieved until 1945, by 1916 the more glaring interoperability problems on domestically-managed lines had been satisfactorily addressed, and a relatively coherent national rate and accounting system was in place.
The development of railways, as Millard had observed in 1906, had the added bonus of encouraging the growth of the domestic industrial base, whether primary industries (coal and iron mines, iron foundries) and transformation ones (manufacturing plants for locomotives, rolling stock and other equipment): even though China kept importing much of its railroad supplies, through no choice of its own in the case of foreign-controlled rail lines, it was increasingly relying on domestic suppliers. A company like Tangshan Locomotive and Rolling Stock Works, which had started out humbly enough with the assembly of the aforementioned
Rocket of China, was already employing some 3,000 workers in 1905, and by 1915 its size had more than doubled to respond to increasing demand from the rapidly-expanding domestic train transportation network. This growing manufacturing capability would soon come in handy.
[1] See Doctor What’s “The Road to Yakutia”.
[2] See “The Years of Salt and Rice”.
[3] Misidentified as his younger brother Henry Adams in Joseph Marchisio’s otherwise excellent Les Chemins de fer chinois: Finance et diplomatie (1860-1914).