Chapter XX The Battle of Moukden
Reservations—The Cupboard—Perfidious—“The Little More”—Winter Quarters—More Perfidy—Russians Concentrating—Captured Maxims—A Missing Messenger—The Battle Ground—Nogi dashes North—Hemmed In—Nogi cuts the Railway—The North Road—A Carnival of Blood
“You have sold us completely, Ivan Ivanovitch,” said Borisoff as they walked back towards the inn. “I suppose that rascally guide of ours led us into this trap.”
“All’s fair in war, you know. He is Wang Shih, Ah Lum’s principal lieutenant.”
“He deserves to be hanged!” growled the captain. “So do you, Mr. Brown.”
“We seldom get our deserts, Captain. But I think Lieutenant Borisoff had better make a round of the houses and tell your men of the surrender. I will send word to our man outside bidding him keep his Chunchuses in hand for the present. In a few minutes I will rejoin you at the inn.”
As the lieutenant visited house after house he recognized how hopeless resistance would have been. At the given signal every dwelling would have been rushed, and before the Cossacks could have realized what was happening they must have fallen to a man. The crestfallen troops were paraded and disarmed in the street; then by the light of flares the convoy was got ready, and an hour and a half later it set off from the village up the hillside, escorted by the Chunchuses, to join Ah Lum some fifteen miles away. Jack stood at the door of the inn beside Captain Kargopol as the convoy and prisoners filed past. Nearly a hundred pack-mules heavily laden with ammunition, winter clothing, and provisions, and a hundred and fifty Cossacks, formed the prize of his ingenuity.
Several mules and their loads were left behind for the benefit of the villagers who had assisted in the plot.
“You had better hide them,” said Jack to the headman. “There is a large Cossack force only ten miles away: they may be down upon you at any moment.”
He learnt later that hardly were the last of the ponies and their loads secured in caves and hollows among the hills when, shortly after dawn, a squadron of Cossacks galloped up—the advance guard of the twelve hundred men whom Captain Kargopol was to have joined with his convoy. The commander was furious when he heard the news, told him with much sympathy by the headman, who reserved none of the details save only the participation of the villagers. Finding the track followed by the Chunchuses, the commander sent a galloper back with the news and himself pushed on in pursuit. But after three hours’ hard riding his squadron was effectually checked by a handful of men in a defile, and by the time he had received sufficient support to force the pass the convoy had reached Ah Lum’s encampment, and nothing but a battle could recover it.
During the northward march Jack rode between Captain Kargopol and Lieutenant Borisoff. They were eager for the promised explanation of his partnership with brigands. Jack had already made up his mind to be chary of details. He would give no hostages to fortune in the shape of information that might be used against him later; nor would he say anything about the friends whose assistance had been so valuable to him. Of Gabriele Walewska and the missionary, of Herr Schwab and the compradore’s brother, he therefore said never a word. The gist of his explanation was that, being uncertain and suspicious in regard to his father’s fate, he had resolved to stay in the country, and found that he could only do so safely in disguise. This being penetrated by Sowinski’s acuteness, he had perforce taken refuge with Ah Lum, one of whose lieutenants was an old friend of his.
“That rascally guide of ours, I suppose,” said Borisoff. “Well, it happens that I can give you a little information——”
“About my father?’
“No, I know nothing about him. A few weeks ago a curious thing happened to that fellow Sowinski, a man I loathe. Kuropatkin received a telegram from Petersburg asking for particulars of the charges brought against your father, and for information as to his whereabouts. Your Foreign Office had apparently been making enquiries. Kuropatkin knew nothing about it, of course; after some delay he discovered that Bekovitch had dealt with the matter. Bekovitch produced a number of letters found in your father’s office conclusively showing that he had been in treasonable correspondence with the Japanese——”
“That’s a lie!” said Jack.
“Well, there were the letters,” said Borisoff with a shrug. “Kuropatkin asked if there was any independent evidence. Bekovitch at once sent Sinetsky for Sowinski. He couldn’t find the man, and though he left an urgent message he didn’t turn up. So he went to his house again early next morning. There was nobody about, the door was wide open, and he walked in. The house was empty, but he thought he heard a strange rustling in a big press in the dining-room; Sowinski had appropriated your house, by the way. He opened the door, and there was the Pole, gagged, tied hand and foot, and nearly dead from exhaustion. Sinetsky cut him loose; the poor wretch couldn’t speak for half an hour, his tongue was so much swollen. He’d been tied up by a Chinese servant, it appeared, though the job must have taken more than one man.”
“Yes—I was the other.”
“You!” The officers laughed heartily. “You’re a perfect demon of ingenuity, Ivan Ivanovitch. Why didn’t he say it was you?”
“He had his reasons, I suppose. What happened then?”
“He went to Kuropatkin and swore to all manner of things against your father. The information was telegraphed to Petersburg, and that’s all I know about it.”
“But where is my father?”
“I don’t know. Bekovitch didn’t know, or professed he didn’t. I fancy he had taken care not to know, in case any unpleasant questions were asked.”
“But someone must know. Confound it, Lieutenant, is the whole Staft a conspiracy of silence?”
“It appears that Bekovitch sent your father to Kriloff, and Kriloff is dead. I suppose enquiries were made, but so far as I know nothing has come to light.”
“I never heard of such villainy!” said Jack, his indignation getting the better of him. “I had always believed the Russian officer was a gentleman.”
“Oh, come now!” said Captain Kargopol, “you English haven’t a monopoly of the virtues. You can’t throw stones, after the dirty trick your government has played us.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t heard? I forgot: I suppose your Ah Lum doesn’t subscribe to the Manchurian Army Gazette. The Baltic Fleet was attacked by British torpedo-boats in the North Sea; Admiral Rozhdestvenski very properly fired and sank one or two. Some trawlers got in the way and were rather knocked about: unfortunately a few men were killed, and your canting press of course set up a howl and clamoured for war. But it’s we who are the injured party: you may be the ally of Japan, but that’s no excuse for an unprovoked attack on our fleet.”
“Really, Captain, pardon me, but the story’s absurd. When did this torpedo attack take place?”
“At night, of course; you don’t suppose they’d dare to attack battleships in broad daylight.”
“Then depend upon it there was a mistake. Someone was scared by the sight of a trawler. It’s ridiculous to suppose that our government sent torpedo-boats on such a silly errand as that.”
“Well, they might have hired Scandinavian boats, to save their face.”
Jack repressed a smile. It was evidently of no use to argue with the captain.
“Time will show,” he said. “By the way, Mr. Wang,” he added, seeing the Chunchuse a few paces away, “what did you do with Hu Hang?”
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Wang Shih with a look of sincere penitence. “It was quite a mistake—I was excited, and I squeezed too hard.”
“You strangled him?”
“Yes. It is a pity—a great waste. I fear the chief will be angry. Hu was a strong man—he would have lasted for days.”
“Oh!”
Understanding what he meant, Jack thought it just as well. He doubted whether his influence with Ah Lum and the band would have been enough to preserve the informer from the most gruesome and lingering tortures Chinese inventiveness could devise.
“And what became of Ch’u Tan?”
“He stabbed himself.”
“Anticipating a worse fate,” Jack explained to the officers.
“We are aware of our good fortune in falling into your hands, Ivan Ivanovitch,” said Borisoff gravely; “and if, when we are rescued, I can do anything——”
“Thanks, Lieutenant! I don’t owe much to the Russians,” he added bitterly, “my father less. When he is righted I shall hope perhaps to pick up my old friendships again.”
Towards the close of the day the convoy reached Ah Lum’s mountain fastness. The chief’s little eyes gleamed when he saw the great haul made by his son’s tutor.
“You are bold enough to stroke a tiger’s beard,” he said. “Where there is musk, there will of course be perfume.”
The supplies captured were very welcome. Ah Lum had found it necessary to lie low, to avoid the forces on the hunt for him. But after a few days he learnt that the troops from the Korean frontier had been recalled, and the only Russian column now in the mountains was nearly a hundred miles away. He could therefore afford to live on his gains for a time.
The band settled down to a period of quiet camp life. The Cossacks were distributed over the settlement and carefully guarded. Jack proceeded with the education of Ah Fu, and the further training of his men. There was considerable competition among the Chunchuses for enrolment in his corps; he was looked upon as lucky, a special favourite of heaven. For himself, he regarded his position differently. Harassed with anxiety as to his father’s fate; among uncongenial surroundings; an exile, without anyone to confide in as a friend; he felt anything but lucky. As week after week passed he grew terribly weary of his life; winter had settled down upon the hills; the snow lay inches thick, and even the warm clothing captured from the Cossacks—the fur caps, thick gray overcoats, felt-lined boots, ear gloves, and what not—proved but insufficient protection against the intense cold. He volunteered for what active work was going; but there was little, and he did not covet the command of any of the parties that went out from time to time to replenish the larder. Ah Lum was punctilious in giving receipts for the supplies he requisitioned from the country people, but Jack felt that they were little likely to be paid for: it was a mere form at the best. And the villagers could ill afford the contributions demanded, though after all they were better off than their countrymen living in the main current of the war. To all except the few merchants and contractors, who made huge profits by supplying the rival armies, the war had brought blank ruin.
Occasionally news of the progress of the war filtered through the country. Jack learnt that Admiral Alexeieff, after continual wrangling with Kuropatkin, had been recalled; that the combatants had gone into winter quarters on opposite sides of the Sha-ho, both Russians and Japanese living in dug-outs, called by the Russians zemliankas; that Port Arthur was still holding out, though from Chinese reports it seemed inevitable that the end must soon come; that fresh troops were continually arriving from Europe. One day a dirty copy of the Manchurian Army Gazette was brought into the camp; the Chinese are always loth to destroy anything written or printed. The most interesting item of news it held for Jack, and one on which he had a battle-royal of argument with the Russian officers, was the statement that the Ocean, a British battleship on the China station, had been sold to the Japanese, and would appear in the next naval fight as the Yushima, which the Russians declared had been sunk by a mine while blockading Port Arthur. Captain Kargopol stoutly maintained that this was another instance of British perfidy, and came very near to losing his temper when Jack refused to take the report seriously, and bantered him on his anti-British prejudice.
At last, one bright cold January day a Chinaman came in with the news that Port Arthur had fallen. Jack could not but sympathize with the captive officers. Personally they were the best of comrades; their distrust of England did not alloy the cordiality of their relations with Jack; and their air of hopeless dejection was distressing to one who bore neither to them nor to their nation any enduring ill-will.
A few days afterwards Ah Lum learnt that the Russian column which had been watching him had suddenly decamped. The inference was obvious. The fall of the great fortress had released a large number of Japanese troops, and Kuropatkin was concentrating against the forward movement now to be expected. This information had considerable importance for Ah Lum. He had been canvassing the desirability of moving towards Kirin, leaving only a small force in the hills to watch the Russians. Their sudden retreat, however, caused him to change his plan. He resolved to follow them. There was more chance of safety for him if he kept to the hills within a few marches of the combatant armies than if he was completely isolated and likely to be cut off by several mobile columns operating against him. It was hardly likely that the Russians would now spare any troops from the fighting line to interfere with him. He was only a mosquito after all, though his sting had more than once proved extremely irritating. His only concern was to be near enough without being too near. In the last resort he could go over to the Japanese; but he disliked the Japanese only less than the Russians, and preferred to keep aloof. It would be time enough to approach the Japanese when they were well on the road to Harbin and the area of his possible operations became more restricted.
The camp was therefore struck. By easy marches the band came to within eighty miles of Moukden. Then, having made complete arrangements for the approach of any Russian force to be signalled to him from point to point, Ah Lum encamped and awaited a favourable opportunity of cutting across the Russian line of communications.
To none was the change of scene more welcome than to Jack. He had been worrying for some time past at the absence of news from the compradore; that he had sent no message made Jack fear that the man had returned to Moukden and been made to suffer by Sowinski or General Bekovitch for his young master’s escape. Growing more and more restless, disappointed also that no news of his father had been gleaned by any of Ah Lum’s agents in different parts of the country, he at last made up his mind to venture once more into Moukden. It was necessary to ask leave of Ah Lum; and Jack, in his present state of mind, was not disposed to be fobbed off with maxims and proverbs.
As he expected, the chief looked very solemn and endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose.
“It is like a blind fowl picking at random after worms,” he said. “It is like attempting to carry an olive on the pate of a priest. You have already had a very narrow escape. You may not be so fortunate next time.”
“I must insist, Mr. Ah,” said Jack. “Anything is better than suspense.”
“I will send a man for you. A wise man never does himself what he can employ another to do for him.”
“Yes; but if one will not enter a tiger’s lair, how can he obtain her whelps?”
He cited the proverb with the utmost gravity. Ah Lum was taken aback. Were his own maxims to be turned against him? He pondered for a moment.
“All things are according to heaven,” he said with a resigned air. “Still, I will send a man with you; let him go before you into Moukden; then you must act as you think best on receipt of information. To die or to live is according to fate.”
When it became known in the camp that Jack, or Sin Foo as he was there known, was about to leave, many of the Chunchuses were eager to accompany him. He found his popularity, and the extraordinary belief in his luck, rather embarrassing. He thanked these willing volunteers, but declined their company: Hi Lo and the man selected by Ah Lum were to be his only attendants.
Soon after dark on a bitter February night Jack, with his two companions, rode up to the farm of Wang Shih’s people, some fifteen miles from Moukden. They were overjoyed to see him, and to hear news of their son and brother. Old Mr. Wang, when he learnt that his son was now Ah Lum’s chief lieutenant, rubbed his hands with delight and foretold that he would die a mandarin. It would not be the first time in the history of China that a successful brigand had been bought back to the cause of law and order by the bribe of high official rank. Mrs. Wang was garrulous about a second visit paid them about Christmas-time by Monsieur Brin, who had consoled himself for his failures as a war correspondent by studying Chinese social arrangements at first hand. The simple folk readily agreed to put Jack up for a few days; it would have been impossible to find more comfortable quarters during his period of waiting.
Next morning Ah Lum’s man went into Moukden. By mid-day he had returned. The compradore had never been seen in the city since he left for Harbin on the morning of Jack’s departure. But the Chunchuse agent Me Hong had learnt one trifling fact about Mr. Brown; he was surprised that his chief was still in ignorance of it. The English merchant had been seen and recognized among a gang of convicts at Kuan-cheng-tzü. Me Hong had sent off the news at once by a messenger to Ah Lum; the runner had vanished. He had not returned to Moukden; certainly he had never reached the Chunchuse camp. Sowinski was still in the city; so, the messenger believed, was the “Toitsche war-look-see man”; but there were so many of the fraternity living in Moukden that he was not sure that his information on that point was correct.
He brought other news. Another great battle was evidently impending. The Japanese had for weeks been steadily pushing forward. They had cut the railway-line south of Moukden; two regiments of their cavalry had crept round the Russian left, and had been seen within a few miles of Harbin; and it was reported among the Chinese that Generals Nogi and Oku were preparing a great turning movement on the right. The city was full to overflowing with refugees; many were streaming northward; the Russo-Chinese bank had packed up its chests and decamped; and the Chinese viceroy was in a terrible state of anxiety for the safety of the palace and the ancient tombs of the Manchu emperors.
This news almost tempted Jack to venture again within the city. But on second thoughts he decided to run no risks of meeting Sowinski. The imminence of another great battle, however, perhaps to prove the decisive battle of the war, created a keen longing to witness the scene; and next day, taking leave of his kind hosts, he set off with Hi Lo for a little village lying between the Moukden railway-station and Sin-min-ting. Hi Lo had relatives there with whom they could safely stay.
The battle-ground was in essentials a repetition of that of Liao-yang, though on a much larger scale. The Russians had thrown up an immense line of entrenchments extending in a rough semicircle from Sin-min-ting on the north-west of the city to Ping-ling on the east, with Moukden as the centre. Comprising a range of low hills for the greater part of its course, the position was naturally strong, and it had been fortified for months with all the devices known to the military engineer—pits, abattis, barbed-wire entanglements, forts of solid masonry bristling with huge guns. Snow lay upon the ground, frozen so hard that the passage of cavalry across it raised clouds of white dust. The plain to the west and south of the city was one vast whiteness: yet that peaceful scene was the arena on which three-quarters of a million of men were preparing to spill their blood in blind obedience to duty—to contend with desperate earnestness in one of the decisive battles of the world.
The Russian right wing was composed of the Second Manchurian Army under General Kaulbars, resting on an arc between Sin-min-ting and Moukden. The centre, south of the city, was held by General Bilderling with the Third Army; the left, thrown out as far south-east as Tsin-khe-chen, was entrusted to General Linievitch and the First Army. It was here that the first attack was made. On February 19 General Kawawura threw his right flank detachment against the Russian works, and, after a fight prolonged over five days, drove the Russians back towards Fa-ling. Meanwhile General Kuroki moved forward upon Kao-tu-ling, and succeeded in forcing his way northward, and General Nodzu, from his position on the Sha-ho, opened a furious bombardment on the exact centre of the Russian lines. By these movements General Kuropatkin was led to expect that the brunt of the fighting would fall upon his centre and left; in reality they were designed to hold his attention while more formidable operations were developed on his right.
It was on the last day of February that General Oku’s army deployed between the Sha-ho and the Hun-ho, and General Nogi started with incredible rapidity on his northward march. By the time General Kuropatkin became aware of the danger threatening his communications on the right, Nogi had made such progress and so skilfully disposed his forces that to crush him was out of the question; all that Kaulbars could do was to fall back towards Moukden and oppose as stubborn a resistance as possible. The assaults of Kuroki and Nodzu on the centre were so fierce and persistent that Kuropatkin had no troops to spare for the reinforcement of his jeopardized right flank. Doggedly, intrepidly, the indomitable Japanese pressed home their attack. The Russians clung heroically to their positions, and rolled back charge after charge; but still the enemy returned, seeming to gain in vigour and enthusiasm after each repulse. They charged with bayonets, with grenades, with shovels and picks; sometimes, when they penetrated the Russian entrenchments, flinging down their weapons and going to it with their fists. The trenches were filled with corpses; the frozen ground all around was dyed red with blood; there was no respite day or night; men fell, their places were filled, and foe met foe over the bodies of the slain.
For ten days the issue was in doubt. Then, on March 5, Kuroki was across the Sha-ho; Nogi had swept through Sin-min-ting towards the railway; Marshal Oyama’s huge army was flinging its octopus tentacles around the Russian position, vast as it was. Kuropatkin, most unfortunate of generals, on March 8 found it necessary to withdraw his centre and left behind the line of the Hun-ho, and collect every unit that could be spared by Kaulbars and Bilderling to stem the advance of Oku and Nogi.
Meanwhile the Russian left had opposed a bold front to Kuroki and Kawawura. Unable to make a successful offensive movement, Linievitch stubbornly retreated in good order beyond the Hun-ho, and entrenched himself in a new position there. But around Moukden the plight of the Russian army was becoming desperate. As the terrible enemy crept on towards the city from all sides save the north-east, the Russian troops, packed into a constantly diminishing space, and exposed to a converging fire, fell in thousands. More than once the Russians attempted to break through. The gallant Kuropatkin in person led a terrific attack on Oku at the head of sixty-five battalions, and his splendid men fought with such courage and determination that for a while it seemed the Japanese advance must be checked. But at this critical moment, when the Russians were at least holding their own on the right centre and left, and Oyama was concentrating to hurl them back, an event had taken place at the left centre that proved to be Fortune’s cast of the die. Early on the morning of March 9, Kuropatkin received the news that Kuroki had driven a wedge between Bilderling and Linievitch. Those generals in falling back on the Hun-ho had temporarily lost touch: and the Japanese general, who had never made a mistake throughout the war, was quick to seize this opportunity of breaking the enemy’s line. On the same day Nogi got across the railway between Moukden and Tieling; nothing but instant retreat could save the Second and Third Russian armies from annihilation or capture; and at nightfall on that fifteenth day of the battle the order to retreat was given.
Next day at ten in the morning the Japanese entered the city, and with their entrance burst the bubble of Russian domination in Manchuria. Scattered parties of Russians fought on for several days in the neighbouring villages; but with Nogi astride of the main line of retreat and every northern road, the Russians were forced to abandon everything and take to the hills. Two days afterwards the Japanese had chased their enemy full thirty miles to the north; Kuropatkin’s great army, broken, routed, had well-nigh ceased to be.
Jack is never likely to forget that terrible fortnight. During the first few days he witnessed nothing of the fighting; he heard the reverberations of the guns, and saw crowds of natives hastening from the villages in the line of the Japanese advance, bearing with them everything portable that could be saved from the impending ruin. At night, standing on the broken mud wall, he beheld in the far distance a dull glow in the sky that told of houses burning, and thought of the untold misery inflicted upon a peaceable and industrious people by the greed of rival governments. But as the tide of battle rolled northward, and the roar of the guns grew louder, other evidences of the terrific struggle came within his ken. Ever and anon a train would rumble northward along the line, with wagon-loads of wounded. The darkness of the nights was now illuminated with bursting star-shells, and the red flare of burning villages nearer at hand. One morning, in the twilight before dawn, he saw an immense column of smoke rise over the Russian settlement by the station. It was in flames. Venturing out with Hi Lo, he soon came upon stragglers from the army, and by and by upon a huge block of horse and foot and artillery, field-telegraph wagons, mess carts, ambulances—all in inextricable confusion, jammed in their frantic efforts to escape. Trains rolled along, crowded to the roofs of the carriages, even to the engine itself, with soldiers; carts lay overturned, broken, wheelless, on the roads and fields; the air was loaded with the acrid fumes from piles of blazing goods, clothing, and forage, burnt to prevent their falling into the hands of the conquerors.
The retreat from Liao-yang had been orderly and not uncheerful; the retreat from Moukden was an orgy of riot and misery. There was no order in the ranks: the officers made no efforts—made, they would have been in vain—to check the insubordination of their men. Some as they fled had looted the sutlers’ carts and roamed at large, defenceless, intoxicated, singing wild songs, dropping to the ground, to be frozen stiff in a few minutes. Others tramped along, moody, taciturn, mad, going blindly they knew not whither, they knew not why. Here a horse’s head could be seen above the crowd, its eyes bloodshot and haggard, its nostrils dilated. There a horse fell; the throng thickened around it; harsh voices were raised in imprecation; then the movement recommenced, and nothing was heard but the tramping of feet and the crunching of wheels. Wounded men dropped and froze in their blood; others staggered this way and that, having lost all power to govern their limbs; and still in the distance artillery boomed, flames crackled, and the smoke of burning homesteads rose into the sky.
Sick at heart, Jack returned to the village. That evening the Japanese entered it, bringing with them a number of Russian prisoners and wounded, these having been carefully tended by the Japanese ambulance corps. Jack lent what assistance he could in finding cottages where the more seriously injured could remain. “Strange,” he thought, “that war, which brings out the worst in men, should bring out also all that is best.”