In the Yellow Sea

"Our boats and our bodies are the enemy's." This was the signal. But little hope, and less alarm, was displayed. At a quarter to three a.m. (February 6th) the boats left the fleet to destroy Chinese ships, but our torpedo-boat came back, having collided with the boom in the dark. So I returned unharmed.

We, outside, could not see the results until daylight, but the roar of the cannon, the flashing of the sweeping search-lights, and the bursting of the shells could be perceived in the darkness. We saw rockets signalling in the harbour, but until the boats returned great anxiety was felt. At daybreak they all returned safely, and reported three ships sunk. These were the Wei-yuen, Lai-yuen, and Pao-Hwa.

On the 5th I had rejoined the Naniwa, by permission, and saw that the contest could only end in one way soon. When the news came on the 6th February that the three ships had been sunk there was great rejoicing, and many congratulations were exchanged in the squadron. On the 7th we all took part in "the ball," shelling the forts and firing for a couple of hours until my head seemed splitting, and I was perfectly deaf for a while after.

We were in the middle of the smoke and din when a signal was made high above the vapour that the Chinese torpedo-boats were escaping by the western passage in the direction of Chefoo. The First Flying Squadron was ordered to pursue them – the Yoshino leading us. She is a very fast cruiser, her speed being twenty-three knots, the rest being not much more than eighteen. We spun along, full speed, and some alarm was caused in the Naniwa by a shell which plumped into the coal-bunker. Fortunately the protection afforded by the coal prevented any serious damage being done, and the Chinese boats were all destroyed save two, which managed to elude the pursuers, though crippled, and to reach the treaty port – Chefoo.

I was anxious to go there too, as I believed I could find protection, but of course the Naniwa could not land me at that time. The ship returned to the blockade; the attack and bombardment was resumed on the 8th February, when the combined squadrons, having silenced the fort on Sih Island, destroyed some hundreds of yards of the terrible boom, and cut it up.

These tactics were continued during the next three days, when the ships attacked with flags flying as if in anticipation of victory. The severe bombardment was continued, the Chinese pluckily replied; they did considerable damage to the enemy; and the attack was continued until night. Still the Chinese admiral resisted, though the losses he had sustained in ships and boats were most serious. The once large and formidable Peiyang Fleet had dwindled away, and now only four ships and a few gunboats represented the former powerful array. The end was at hand.

We heard afterwards some particulars of the concluding days of the contest, which must have been severely trying for the Celestials. In our fleet the termination of the war was everywhere discussed. Port Arthur captured, its forts denuded of guns, Kinchow, and other places inland in Japanese hands; Wei-hai-Wei on the brink of destruction – what chance had the Chinese admiral and generals? Better had they accepted the offer of the Japanese and surrendered at first.

We were all awake early in the morning of the 12th February, because experience told us that the enemy must either resist to the death that day or capitulate. The blockade was so close, the odds against the Chinese so great, that we had already wondered at the sustained resistance, The extreme limit of Celestial endurance had been reached, though we did not anticipate the result as it actually happened.

As the grey winter day rose out of the sea to port, all eyes were fixed upon the batteries and the ships in harbour. Telescopes swept the hills and platforms, the traces of the wrecked boom, the almost deserted islands, the shattered forts. As men gazed in silence, broken only at intervals by duty orders, a sense of depression fell upon me, as if something unpleasant awaited us. Yet precautions had been taken – nothing could harm us. Nevertheless one felt something was approaching. The snowclad hills lay silent and cold over all – a shroud spread over dying Wei-hai-Wei. Surely that small Chinese gunboat cleaving the lumpy water had nothing to do with the dénouement. One boat amongst so many ironclads and torpedo-boats could not do any harm. It was only eight o'clock then. "What do you say, Tomi? A white flag! Surrender! Never! never!"

"Yes it is," said Tomi, laughing. "Hurrah! you would say in England. The admiral has surrendered. There goes the message of peace. He is making for the Matsushima. We win! we win!"

We looked again. All the ships' companies were on the alert, but though every mind had at once grasped the position, scarce a mouth yet betrayed the feelings of delight and satisfaction that must have been experienced. What would the admiral's reply be? Three torpedo-boats at once came to escort the stranger, and to make inquiry concerning her business – at least so we interpreted the conversation which seemed, judging from gestures, to be proceeding. A boat left the Chinese vessel, and the messenger was carried on board the Japanese flagship.

The message must have been important, because some officers were quickly summoned from other of our fleet. Subsequently a steamer quitted the squadron for the eastern shore, presumably to acquaint the Commander-in-Chief of the army of the incident, but these were only surmises at the time, though afterwards verified.

That afternoon the news ran through the ships that the Chinese had surrendered, and Admiral Ito had accepted the offer. He trusted fully to Admiral Ting to act as he desired, promising safe-conduct. But when next day the gunboat again appeared she carried her flag "half-mast." Ting and his generals had committed suicide. They could not face the disgrace, – a disgrace which they knew would be visited upon all their families, for in China retribution is exacted from all the family for the fault of one. Ting had taken opium.

The melancholy signal to the fleet was received with honest regret. There was no exultation over the fallen enemy, no music brayed out triumphal strains of victory, only the wailing notes of funeral marches in saddened plaints echoed across the water. The gunboat was returned to the Chinese so that it might convey the admiral's body to China, and the place surrendered with all its contents, its troops, sailors, ships, and material, to the Japanese, who will retain it till the English come.

Thus fell the fortunes of Wei-hai-Wei, the details of which may be read in many published books and Eastern newspapers.

The Chinese troops were sent to Chefoo or to other places of safety; and the ships captured, not including the released gunboat, ten in all, were manned by Japanese sailors, and proceeded under these prize-crews to Japan. The released boat, Kwang Tsi, was employed as a transport, and in this way I found safety at last.

As soon as the arrangements had been concluded, I made application to be sent to Chefoo, where I anticipated to meet Captain Goldheugh. I had had no messages from home for some time save those delivered to friend Tomi, and now that the excitement of war and adventure had subsided I was anxious to leave. Perhaps had I made application to the British commander he would have given me a passage to Shanghai, but I had been expecting to meet my captain at Chefoo, and determined to proceed thither. As the gunboat was sailing I requested a "lift" in her, but was warned not to go.

"Your life would not be safe," said one of the officers. "Try a junk, the distance is nothing, and a junk is safe enough. You pay him when he returns with a letter saying you are safe."

"But I have no money – at least, hardly any."

"Quite so," replied Tomi cheerfully. "That is my affair. You will see your captain, no doubt, and he will assist you. We will signal a junk somehow – presently. The fleet is returning westward."

I thanked my kind entertainers heartily, and protested against their thus paying the piper. But Tomi was a favourite, and the captain's nephew. The captain himself at once "shut me up," good-naturedly, and though he could not send me in one of his boats to Chefoo, he managed to procure me transport to the port, and sent a sailor with me as surety for my safety.

Having taken a regretful farewell of my kind friends I embarked on a junk in the harbour, such a queer craft she seemed. Tomi was in command of the ship's boat which put me on board, and we had quite an affecting parting. But both hoped to meet again, promising to write, – a promise since kept up, when newspapers do not sometimes take the place of letters. (Tomi has sent me much information since, and has translated several articles accompanied by pictures.[9]) However, we parted rather sadly, and on the 19th February I lost sight of the fleet, and reached Chefoo before dark.

A cruise in a junk is not unpleasant, but she seems to a European a very queer boat. The size varies, of course, from a thousand tons downwards; the particular craft I engaged was about half that burden, or perhaps less, teak-built, and carrying a high poop; she had two masts, the mainmast with a large sail was very lofty indeed; and she carried a crew of, I think, twenty men – I believe there are more at sea. At anyrate she suited me, and so I came to Chefoo in the Ching King, and was landed near the English houses.

Chefoo or Chifu is the name of the treaty port, which is in fact the "European" settlement as distinguished from Yen Tai the native town. The port is open all the year, and being also a healthy place is more or less frequented by others than business men. The English settlement is on the left, the Chinese town on the right, and in the centre rises the "signal hill" which divides them. When we reached the "stranger" town we found several vessels sheltered there, and numerous junks, boats, and small craft lying darkly in the water, while the hills above were thickly covered with snow, giving quite an Alpine aspect to the surroundings. Chefoo is a kind of "suburb" of Shanghai, though "outside the radius," and hither come the ships to their haven under the hill, to the sandy shore, to deal in cottons and "shirtings" with the Celestial inhabitants of the (as usual) dirty Chinese town.

My heart beat more rapidly than usual when I stood upon the poop-deck of the junk and surveyed the harbour. The signal was greatly in evidence, but the trim, even, respectable houses of the English quarter fixed my attention first, and then my eyes wandered to the shipping, particularly to the agitated red ensigns, which made me thrill with the hope of seeing English faces and clasping English hands, speaking the familiar language, – very familiar in ships, – and of once more meeting Captain Goldheugh late of the Fêng Shui.

*****

I was landed safely, and sent my acknowledgment by the junk, which at once made her way back. As I watched her gradually disappearing, now lost, now evident, amid the vessels, I reflected upon my late adventures, and made up my mind to write them down, and, in the familiar words of the hymn, to make "Bethel" out of "my stony griefs," to improve the occasion and to profit by the trouble I had endured. Then I turned half sadly to the hotel, and was almost immediately hailed loudly in unmistakably British accents.

"Young Julius! ahoy! Hallo there, ye half-bred Jap! – come alongside and speak me, or I'll run ye down. My stars! here's a caper. By the powers o' Moll Kelly! is it yourself? It is so!"

The speaker was standing behind me. Had I not sheered off to port I must have collided with him. I had gone ahead and left him in my wake, when I was suddenly brought up all standing. My assailant was Goldheugh himself. Good Paddy Goldheugh! I was truly delighted, though not greatly surprised, because I had been expecting to find him at Chefoo. Still the meeting was most cordial. We shook hands in the most hearty manner, and when, after some moments of this exercise, we adjourned to the hotel, I told all my news, and awaited his – after I had made a few inquiries for letters, and for Tim, who had gone home.

No black edges! Thank goodness! No ill news? No! In fact, the contrary. My captain was in command of a tidy steamer belonging to his old company, and temporarily on the coast. He had the berth of first mate for me with him, and a "lump of compensation," he said, for shipwreck. He had been satisfied, and hoped I would be. I was!

When he reached his ship he handed me a batch of letters and papers of domestic interest, and a welcome draft upon the Shanghai Bank. All these composed a sort of pastoral symphony which made me feel contented and happy amid the voices and murmurs of congratulation and admiration at my experience. Three days passed in perfect peace, reading, writing, and adding up my ideas – and funds. Then we quitted Chefoo, and steamed past Wei-hai-Wei, then in Japanese hands, toward Shanghai, and my war experience 'twixt Jack and Jap – 'twixt China and Japan – was ended.

We heard that the Japanese fleet sailed to the Pescadores, and annexed them, and the campaign was continued after a while in Manchuria. A treaty of peace was agreed upon by which Japan was to receive an immense indemnity to retain Formosa, the Pescadores, and the possession of Port Arthur and Wei-hai-Wei. But Western ideas could not admit this in all its bearings. Russia induced France and Germany to force Japan to relinquish the Liao-tung Peninsula or face war. Japan retired from Port Arthur, and, as will be seen, – indeed it is already evident, – that the kind "protectors of the Chinese Empire," the wolves from the north of Europe, are now about to enjoy the dismembered carcass of the most ancient kingdom, when they have bled it to death.

Captain Goldheugh brought me back safely to Shanghai, and there I at intervals succeeded in putting my experiences on paper. Even while I have been revising these pages news has come concerning various advances made by Russian diplomacy, which, having ousted the Japanese from Port Arthur, has apparently decided to occupy the place itself for the Czar, "to show there is no ill-feeling." What may be the issue of this intention one need not opine. What the Chinese think of any such advance, was expressed, when I was there, in fear, if not trembling. Japan, I think, will have a few words to say unless she be "squared." But these political ideas may be suppressed. My narrative must close here.

Perhaps this experience may interest some youthful readers in England, where the serious aspect of matters in the East is always discussed. Before this tale is in type the whole aspect of these events may have changed, but the facts remain as I have attempted to picture them in the foregoing pages. The story is told – my tale is ended; but the final word is yet to be written concerning the struggle of 1895. The end is not yet.

1

Cash is very ancient, it dates to 2300 B.C. The "sword cash" was in use about 221 B.C.; the circular, with square cut, is of David's time in Israel. Value, 1800 cash = 1 oz. silver.

2

The wealthy Chinese are yearly becoming less conservative in their habits, and their wives are now in evidence in carriages.

3

Now "Marquis" Ito, Prime Minister of Japan.

4

Chefoo or Chifu. – H.F.

5

It was ascertained afterwards that the wires of the "mines" were cut there. – H.F.

6

Should any reader need evidence of these days let him see the illustrated papers of the time.

7

Pronounced Way-hi-Way. – H.P.

8

An Englishman led the sailors that time.

9

These are mentioned in the Preface. – H.F.