Act 3 War With France
The curtain rises on the third act of the drama in 1885. Peking was open to residence, and I had charge of a college for the training of diplomatic agents.
I was at Pearl Grotto, my summer refuge near Peking, when I was called to town by a messenger from the Board of Foreign Affairs. The ministers informed me that the French had destroyed their fleet and seized their arsenal at Foochow. “This,” they said, “is war. We desire to know how the non-combatants of the enemy are to be treated according to the rules of international law.” I wrote out a brief statement culled from text-books, which I had myself translated for the use of the Chinese Government; but before I had finished writing a clerk came to say that the Grand Council wished to have it as soon as possible, as they were going to draw up a decree on the subject. The next day an imperial decree proclaimed a state of war and assured French people in China that if they refrained from taking part in any hostile act they might remain in their places, and count on full protection. Nobly did the government of the day redeem its pledge. Not a missionary was molested in the interior; and two French professors belonging to my own faculty were permitted to go on with the instruction of their classes.
There was not much fighting. The French seized Formosa; and both parties were preparing for a trial of strength, when a seemingly unimportant occurrence led them to come to an understanding. A small steamer belonging to the customs service, employed in supplying the wants of lighthouses, having been taken by the French, Sir Robert Hart applied to the French premier, Jules Ferry, for its release. This was readily granted; and an intimation was at the same time given that the French would welcome overtures for a settlement of the quarrel. Terms were easily agreed upon and the two parties resumed the status quo ante bellum.
So far as the stipulations were concerned neither party had gained or lost anything, yet as a matter of fact France had scored a substantial victory. She was henceforward left in quiet possession of Tongking, a principality which China had regarded as a vassal and endeavoured to protect.
Act 4. War With Japan
China had not thoroughly learned the lesson suggested by this experience; for ten years later a fourth act in the drama grew out of her unwise attempt to protect another vassal.
In 1894 the Japanese, provoked by China’s interference with their enterprises in Korea, boldly drew the sword and won for themselves a place among the great powers. I was in Japan when the war broke out, and, being asked by a company of foreigners what I thought of Japan’s chances, answered, “The swordfish can kill the whale.”
Not merely did the islanders expel the Chinese from the Korean peninsula, but they took possession of those very districts in Manchuria from which they have but yesterday ousted the Russians. Peking itself was in danger when Li Hung Chang was sent to the Mikado to sue for peace. Luckily for China a Japanese assassin lodged a bullet in the head of her ambassador; and the Mikado, ashamed of that cowardly act, granted peace on easy conditions. China’s greatest statesman carried that bullet in his dura mater to the end of his days, proud to have made himself an offering for his country, and rejoicing that one little ball had silenced the batteries of two empires.
By the terms of the treaty, Japan was to be left in possession of Port Arthur and Liao-tung. But this arrangement was in fatal opposition to the policy of a great power which had already cast covetous eyes on the rich provinces of Manchuria. Securing the support of France and Germany, Russia compelled the Japanese to withdraw; and in the course of three years she herself occupied those very positions, kindling in the bosom of Japan the fires of revenge, and sowing the seeds of another war.[*]
[Footnote *: The Russo-Japanese war lies outside of our present programme because China was not a party to it, though it involved her interests and even her existence. The subject will be treated in another chapter.]
The effect of China’s defeat at the hands of her despised neighbour, was, if possible, more profound than that of her humiliation by the English and French in 1860. She saw how the adoption of Western methods had clothed a small Oriental people with irresistible might; and her wisest statesmen set themselves to work a similar transformation in their antiquated empire. The young Emperor showed himself an apt pupil, issuing a series of reformatory edicts, which alarmed the conservatives and provoked a reaction that constitutes the last act in this tremendous drama.
Act 5. The Boxer War
The fifth act opens with the coup d’état of the Empress Dowager, and terminates with the capture of Peking by the combined forces of the civilised world.
Instead of attempting, even in outline, a narrative of events, it will be more useful to direct attention to the springs of action. It should be borne in mind that the late Emperor was the adopted son of the Dowager Empress. After the death of her own son, Tung-chi, who occupied the throne for eleven years under a joint regency of two empresses, his mother cast about for some one to adopt in his stead. With motives not difficult to divine she chose among her nephews an infant of three summers, and gave him the title Kwangsu, “Illustrious Successor.” When he was old enough to be entrusted with the reins of government, she made a feint of laying down her power, in deference to custom. Yet she exacted of the imperial youth that he visit her at her country palace and throw himself at her feet once in five days—proof enough that she kept her hand on the helm, though she mitted her nephew to pose as steersman. She herself was noted for progressive ideas; and it was not strange that the young man, under the influence of Kang Yuwei, backed by enlightened viceroys, should go beyond his adoptive mother. Within three years from the close of the war he had proclaimed a succession of new measures which amounted to a reversal of the old policy; nor is it likely that she disapproved of any of them, until the six ministers of the Board of Rites, the guardians of a sort of Levitical law, besought her to save the empire from the horrors of a revolution.
For her to command was to be obeyed. The viceroys were her appointees; and she knew they would stand by her to a man. The Emperor, though nominally independent, was not emancipated from the obligations of filial duty, which were the more binding as having been created by her voluntary choice. There was no likelihood that he would offer serious resistance; and it was certain that he would not be supported if he did. Coming from behind the veil, she snatched the sceptre from his inexperienced hand, as a mother takes a deadly weapon from a half-grown boy. Submitting to the inevitable he made a formal surrender of his autocratic powers and, confessing his errors, implored her “to teach him how to govern.” This was in September, 1898.
Stripped of every vestige of authority, the unhappy prince was confined, a prisoner of state, in a secluded palace where it was thought he would soon receive the present of a silken scarf as a hint to make way for a worthier successor. That his life was spared was no doubt due to a certain respect for the public sentiment of the world, to which China is not altogether insensible. He having no direct heir, the son of Prince Tuan was adopted by the Dowager as heir-apparent, evidently in expectation of a vacancy soon to be filled. Prince Tuan, hitherto unknown in the politics of the state, became, from that moment, the leader of a reactionary party. Believing that his son would soon be called to the throne by the demise of the Emperor, he put on all the airs of a Tai-shang Hwang, or “Father of an Emperor.”
Here again the patria potestas comes in as a factor; and in the brief career of the father of the heir-apparent, it shows itself in its most exaggerated form. Under the influence of the reactionary clique, of which he was acknowledged chief, the Empress Dowager in her new regency was induced to repeal almost everything the Emperor had done in the way of reform. In her edict she said cynically: “It does not follow that we are to stop eating, because we have been choked!” Dislike to foreign methods engendered an ill-concealed hatred of foreigners; and just at this epoch occurred a series of aggressions by foreign powers, which had the effect of fanning that hatred into a flame.
In the fall of 1897 Germany demanded the cession of Kiao-Chao, calling it a lease for 99 years. The next spring Russia under the form of a lease for 25 years obtained Port Arthur for the terminus of her long railway. England and France followed suit: one taking a lease of Wei-hai-wei; the other, of Kwang-chou-wan. Though in every case the word “lease” was employed, the Chinese knew the transfer meant permanent alienation.
A hue and cry was raised against what they described as the “slicing of the melon,” and in Shantung, where the first act of spoliation had taken place, the Boxers, a turbulent society of long standing, were encouraged to wage open war against native Christians, foreigners and foreign products, including railways, telegraphs, and all sorts of merchandise.
Not until those predatory bands had entered the metropolitan province, with the avowed object of pushing their way to Peking[*] did the legations take steps to strengthen their guards. A small reinforcement of 207 men luckily reached Peking a few days before the railway was wrecked.
[Footnote *: On March 30, 1900, the following Boxer manifesto in jingling rhyme, was thrown into the London Mission, at Tientsin. It is here given in a prose version, taken from “A Flight for Life,” by the Rev. J. H. Roberts, Pilgrim Press, Boston.
“We Boxers have come to Tientsin to kill an foreign devils, and protect the Manchu dynasty. Above, there is the Empress Dowager on our side, and below there is Junglu. The soldiers of Yulu and Yuhien [governors of Shantung and Chihli] are an our men. When we have finished killing in Tientsin, we shall go to Peking. All the officials high and low will welcome us. Whoever is afraid let him quickly escape for his life.”]
With a view to protect the foreign settlement at Tientsin, then threatened by Boxers, the combined naval forces stormed the forts at the mouth of the river, and advanced to that rich emporium. The Court denounced this as an act of war, and ordered all foreigners to leave the capital within twenty-four hours. That meant slaughter at the hands of the Boxers. The foreign ministers protested, and endeavoured by prolonged negotiation to avoid compliance with the cruel order.
On June 20, the German minister, Baron von Ketteler, was on his way to the Foreign Office to obtain an extension of time, when he was shot dead in the street by a man in the uniform of a soldier. His secretary, though wounded, gave the alarm; and all the legations, with all their respective countrymen, took refuge in the British Legation, with the exception of Bishop Favier and his people who, with the aid of forty marines, bravely defended themselves in the new cathedral.
In the evening we were fired on by the Government troops, and from that time we were closely besieged and exposed to murderous attacks day and night for eight weeks, when a combined force under the flags of eight nations carried the walls by storm, just in time to prevent such a massacre as the world has never seen. Massacres on a larger scale have not been a rare spectacle; but never before in the history of the world had any government been seen attempting to destroy an entire diplomatic body, every member of whom is made sacred by the law of nations.[*]
[Footnote *: AN APPEAL FROM THE LION’S DEN
(Written four weeks before the end of the siege, this appeal failed to reach the outside world. It is now printed for the first time. Nothing that I could now write would show the situation with half such vividness. It reveals the scene as with a lightning flash.)
“British Legation, July 16, 1900.
“TO THE CHRISTIAN WORLD
“On the 19th ult. the Chinese declared war on account of the attack on the forts at Taku. Since then we have been shut up in the British Legation and others adjacent, and bombarded day and night with shot and shell. The defence has been magnificent. About 1,000 foreigners (of both sexes) have held their ground against the forces of the Empire. Some thousands of Chinese converts are dependent on us for protection. The City Wall near the legations is held by our men, but the Chinese are forcing them back and driving in our outposts. The mortality in our ranks is very great; and unless relief comes soon we must all perish. Our men have fought bravely, and our women have shown sublime courage. May this terrible sacrifice prove not to be in vain! We are the victims of pagan fanaticism. Let this pagan empire be partitioned among Christian powers, and may a new order of things open on China with a new century!
“The chief asylum for native Christians is the Roman Catholic Cathedral, where Bishop Favier aided by forty marines gives protection to four or five thousand. The perils of the siege have obliterated the lines of creed and nation, making a unity, not merely of Christians, but bringing the Japanese into brotherhood with us. To them the siege is a step toward Christianity.”
“(Signed) DR. W. A. P. MARTIN.”]
On August 14 Gen. Gaseles and his contingent entered the British Legation. The Court, conscious of guilt, fled to the northwest, leaving the city once more at the mercy of the hated foreigner; and so the curtain falls on the closing scene.
What feats of heroism were performed in the course of those eventful weeks; how delicate women rose to the height of the occasion in patient endurance and helpful charity; how international jealousies were merged in the one feeling of devotion to the common good—all this and more I should like to relate for the honour of human nature.
How an unseen power appeared to hold our enemies in check and to sustain the courage of the besieged, I would also like to place on record, to the glory of the Most High; but space fails for dealing with anything but general principles.1
On the day following our rescue, at a thanksgiving meeting, which was largely attended, Dr. Arthur Smith pointed out ten instances—most of us agreed that he might have made the number ten times ten—in which the providence of God had intervened on our behalf.
It was a role of an ancient critic that a god should not be brought on the stage unless the occasion were such as to require the presence of a more than human power. Nec deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus. How many such occasions we have had to notice in the course of this narrative! What a theodicæa we have in the result of all this tribulation! We see at last, a government convinced of the folly of a policy which brought on such a succession of disastrous wars. We see missionaries and native Christians fairly well protected throughout the whole extent of the Empire. We see, moreover, a national movement in the direction of educational reform, which, along with the Gospel of Christ, promises to impart new life to that ancient people.
The following incident may serve to show the state of uncertainty in which we lived during the interregnum preceding the return of the Court.
While waiting for an opportunity to get my “train (the university) on the track,” I spent the summer of 1901 at Pearl Grotto, my usual retreat, on the top of a hill over a thousand feet high, overlooking the capital. “The Boxers are coming!” cried my writer and servants one evening about twilight. “Haste—hide in the rocks—they will soon be on us!” “I shall not hide,” I replied; and seizing my rifle I rested it on a wall which commanded the approach. They soon became visible at the distance of a hundred yards, waving flambeaux, and yelling like a troop of devils. Happily I reserved my fire for closer range; for leaving the path at that point they betook themselves to the top of another hill where they waved their torches and shouted like madmen. We were safe for the night; and in the morning I reported the occurrence to Mr. O’Conor, the British chargé d’affaires, who was at a large temple at the foot of the hills. “They were not Boxers,” he remarked, “but a party we sent out to look for a lost student.”
Postscript
It is the fashion to speak slightingly of the Boxer troubles, and to blink the fact that the movement which led to the second capture of Peking and the flight of the Court was a serious war. The southern viceroys had undertaken to maintain order in the south. Operations were therefore localised somewhat, as they were in the Russo-Japanese War. It is even said that the combined forces were under the impression that they were coming to the rescue of a helpless government which was doing all in its power to protect foreigners. Whether this was the effect of diplomatic dust thrown in their eyes or not, it was a fiction.
How bitterly the Empress Dowager was bent on exterminating the foreigner, may be inferred from her decree ordering the massacre of foreigners and their adherents—a savage edict which the southern satraps refused to obey. A similar inference may be drawn from the summary execution of four ministers of state for remonstrating against throwing in the fortunes of the empire with the Boxer party. China should be made to do penance on her knees for those shocking displays of barbarism. At Taiyuan-fu, forty-five missionaries were murdered by the governor, and sixteen at Paoting-fu. Such atrocities are only possible among a half-civilised people.
Notes
1 See the author’s “The Siege in Peking,” New York: Fleming H. Revell Company.