Читать книгу China's Revolution, 1911-1912: A Historical and Political Record of the Civil War - Edwin John Dingle - Страница 10

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After these first hostilities men and things began to move with lightning rapidity. By October 27th the Loyalists, strongly reinforced by Imperial troops from the north, held the situation fairly well, fighting with remarkable persistence. What passed during that day and those immediately ensuing should prove a lesson to the Western world. Warfare opened at dawn, and the Imperialists, fighting against a strongly entrenched army of Revolutionists numerically superior but not so well commanded, won a complete victory. The Revolutionists fought bravely, and their losses were heavy.

As will be seen in detail later in this volume, the Revolutionists were expecting the Imperial troops to join them as soon as the real cause of the fighting became known to them, for it was a vital part of the Imperial policy to keep the northern troops in ignorance of the nature of the revolt. The Revolutionists openly declared themselves disappointed. But as a matter of fact, even if the Imperialists had been willing to join, there was no opportunity presented to them. The arrangement of their troops was such that the Honan and Shantung soldiers were in front with the Manchus directly behind them. This was a cleverly designed manoeuvre on the part of the Manchu officers that worked for the success of the Loyalists. The Honan men could neither lay down their arms nor turn back—even if they so wished. An attempt to join the enemy would have brought upon them the fire of the Manchus, and the steady advance of the latter prevented any reverse movement.

Foreign military observers who witnessed the battle of Kilometre Ten unite in saying that the Imperialists made their attack and continued it in the face of stubborn resistance and in the most scientific manner, advancing steadily under the cover of their artillery. From a position some quarter of a mile south of the Kilometre Ten station, the Revolutionary base, I watched for some three hours hardest musketry and artillery fire. The deadly warfare raged across a wide stretch of country lying to the north-east of the Revolutionary headquarters, over swampy ricefields and half-cultivated ground. Big four-inchers opened fire just before seven on a cold, grey morning, and both armies, having moved slightly to the front, were within easy rifle fire of each other. The Revolutionary Army had spread itself in the shape of a right angle, with the bigger guns at either point, and strong lines of enthusiastic infantry entrenched on the north side of the railway line and well fortified behind stone embankments and undergrowth along the river abreast of Kilometre Ten and for some distance below on towards the oil-tanks of the Asiatic Petroleum Company, Ltd.

The Imperialists, returning the Revolutionary gun-fire with marked precision, found their range with the fourth shrapnel, the Revolutionists taking much longer, and having nothing more than the ordinary 1¾ and 3 inch explosives—their great need was shrapnel.

Far across the field was one bank of ever-increasing smoke, and of necessity shooting was vague. But both armies, with an earnestness and energy that one was not accustomed to see in Chinese, kept up smart riflery for two hours, with hardly a moment's lull, showing that the Chinese Model Army, if boasting little else, can boast of men who face battle without flinching. For two hours, at the very edge of the field, I watched operations through my glasses, and then saw Admiral Sah's fleet coming up-river slowly—it had been creeping up for some time. At first it was thought that the Revolutionary guns known to be at Kinshan, a point on the other side of the river almost opposite Yanglo, would open fire upon the fleet, but this did not happen, and not during the whole of the day was there any firing from that side of the river. Shells from both camps were being sent out at a terrific rate. Those from the Imperial Army were seen to be bursting with deadly effect in the Revolutionary ranks, and the poor fellows who were willing to seal the Republic with their blood were seen to fall in hundreds.

THE FLIGHT OF THE GUN-JUNKS. These old-style revolutionary gunboats scudded away at the Battle of Kilometre Ten when Admiral Sah opened fire.

For some half-hour it was impossible in the din and the smoke from the firing, added to the fact that both armies were magnificently entrenched, to tell which side was doing the more deadly work, but for more than two hours the rattle of musketry, of Rexer machine guns, of Maxims, and three and four inch guns told one that the death-roll must be tremendous. Such incessant rattle was not known even in the Russo-Japanese War. Suddenly the fleet moved upwards. No one seemed to take notice of the move or to attach great importance to it. A small village below the Japanese Bund was as peaceful as if battle was removed a thousand miles from it, and the villagers, preparing their morning rice, paid but little heed to the gradually nearing musketry. To myself there came a fear that from my temporary resting-place I should soon have to shift. Down behind the stones at the Kilometre Ten station I could then see the Revolutionary troops beginning to rise and prepare for a withdrawal. Simultaneously, from the railway away to the north, three companies of regular troops, well in command and meaning business, came down, orderly enough, marched out into the open field, knelt, and prepared for fire. But what at? Eyes had been taken from the gun-boats, which were now within such distance that their operations could easily be seen with the naked eye. They were evidently preparing to sweep the decks of the cruisers with rifle-shot if they came within firing distance. Field-guns appeared to be all forward with the main fighting line, and this batch of infantry was all that was available.

The Revolutionary army was drawn up over a very wide area, stretching from the river bank above Kilometre Ten to a point far over away from the other side of the railway, the whole forming a right angle with three main fortified points, and in between were companies of infantry entrenched. The shells from the Loyalists, put in from several guns over the whole of the enemy's right angle, were tearing the ranks to pieces. This could be seen through the glasses. But gradually the fighting came nearer. The men who were fighting for the establishment of their Republic were being slowly driven back. First one company would move a little back, kneel again, and whole-heartedly recommence musketry fire. But the moment came, not much after 9.30 a.m., when it became apparent that the ships were going to add their quota—and all too deadly a quota as it transpired—to rout the Revolutionists. First came a terrific boom, which rent the air, even though all the firing round about ceased not for a moment. There seemed then in the air to be for a single moment a silence boding terrible evil. There was another bang; the shell burst right in the railway—just in the station which had been the pride of the Revolutionary forces as their formidable base—a flame was seen to go up from one of the buildings in the front, and the Admiral saw that he had got his range.

THE EFFECT OF A NAVAL BOMBARDMENT. This populous village was burned to the ground in the first engagement of Admiral Sah's fleet with revolutionary army.

For an army well trained in the arts of war, old veterans of modern warfare, it would be a brave thing, perhaps foolhardy, to endeavour to stand before an army equal to itself and a naval force whose strength was unknown. Much more would it be to expect it of an army, a great percentage made up of raw recruits, who had hardly handled a rifle before this Revolution broke out. At the time of which I am writing this was the position of the Revolutionary Army. From the land forces they could expect as much as they could tackle with the forces they had then at their base. It had been a good fight, and they had held their ground well, feeling the need of trained troops. In addition to that, many of the trained troops were shot down by their own men—recruits who had been placed in the rear lines and had shot down the regulars at the front—a most regrettable feature for the Revolutionists during the whole campaign.

Now that warships began to pelt shells into the Revolutionary camp with alarming precision, it seemed hopeless for them. The great majority, however, with marked coolness stuck to their guns.

Over the land came the whistle of Admiral Sah's shells—their effect was terrific. Soon it was seen that the Revolutionists would have to evacuate. To stay in their present situation would have meant only utter disaster, and they saw it was a hopeless task. Many of them came slowly from the ranks, all muddy and disordered, tired and forlorn, and made their way back through the sympathetic villages and along the railway line towards Hankow native city. Then they came away pellmell, and the Imperialists pelted them with shells as they fled. Peking men crept up through the trenches with capital skill, being officered splendidly, and showing by all that they did—gunners and infantry—that they were a modern army, and to be reckoned with. They then came away to the Racecourse; were temporarily beaten back by a ragtail and bobtail crowd of Revolutionists, more ardent than skilful, who had taken up a fresh stand. Firing was recommenced, and the Imperialists, despite the fact that Maxims were turned on them with terrific force, came up through the trenches. Their bravery was one of the wonderful features of the day, and will be handed down in history. Hopelessly were they mown down, brutally were they knocked out by Maxim fire, but they stuck to it and came along in a style British regiments would not look down upon.

"Brothers!" they would exclaim in their ignorance, "we are fighting a pack of robbers and hooligans. We must fight to save our country from unworthy men."

Towards two o'clock, after scouting parties had been working from both sides, they again came to close quarters by the side of the Japanese Concession, and it was feared that the Foreign Concessions would be rushed on the first day's fight. These settlements, however were guarded splendidly—American, Austrian, British, French, German, and Japanese naval contingents being stationed all over the place, with the roads all barricaded, and every measure taken to preserve peace and order.

The number of dead in this battle, as in most of the others, was not known.

Following on the Imperial success earlier in the day, Admiral Sah then sent official intimation to British Rear-Admiral Winsloe, who was nominally in charge of the foreign defences, that he would commence to bombard Wuchang on the morrow at three p.m. A consular circular was sent round to that effect, strongly advising that all women and children should leave. It further said that the foreign gunboats might drop down river, but that full guards would be landed and kept in the Concessions for defence. The volunteers also would remain on duty.

PREPARED FOR EVENTUALITIES. The Americans on guard at the Foreign Concession while heavy fighting was going on close by. It was feared by the foreign community that either side, when beaten, might make for cover in the Concession.

It was during these days that Admiral Sah played a remarkable game of bluff. The promised bombardment did not come off, and it was afterwards learned that it had never been intended. On board the cruisers there was a shortage of ammunition, among the crew the greatest dissatisfaction was openly expressed; the Admiral was not quite sure that if he bombarded Wuchang he would cause a surrender; he also entertained the feeling that this was a squabble of the land forces, and told the Imperial leaders he thought they should be strong enough to end the affair themselves—and so the days passed by without any serious interference in Wuchang of General Li Yuan Hung's policy of sitting tight. The added moral effect of his holding Wuchang to the Revolution was tremendous: each day brought news of either provincial capitals or "fu" cities throwing in their lot with the Revolution, and Li, far-seeing and tremendously capable, held back the attack the Wuchang garrison was anxious to commence, and concentrated his army on the Hankow side.

Here fighting was being carried on with a pluck which astounded all beholders. The Imperial Army was for the first time since the Chinese Model Army had been organised plunged into real warfare. The Revolutionists—a teeming multitude, it is true—were for the most part raw recruits, men who had never stood before gun-fire, whom one could reasonably have expected to be "gun-shy." But their bravery, because they believed their fight was one for emancipation, from what very few of the raw recruit element knew probably, would have made many an Occidental regiment blush with envy.

Truly were those first days of the war a season of intense excitement and surprise.

By November 1st the Imperialists, already in possession of Kilometre Ten and the whole line from Peking, by persevering and undaunted behaviour, excellent discipline, and military common sense, had won their way to the Tachimen, the railway station behind the French Concession. That morning I was in the camp at the station. Foreigners had been looked upon with suspicion, and as I entered the station some of the officers looked askance at me. No other army would have allowed me to pass the barrier without having seen a pass. But pass I had none. As I sat chatting to a crowd of well-knit northern fellows, who seemed perfectly at ease and to have all they wished for—except cigarettes, for which they were constantly making inquiries—it was difficult to believe that one was in the very centre of the topical world. The eyes of every one were turned towards this great struggle between Chinese and Chinese. Every newspaper in London and New York was concentrating upon the war. China's Revolution was on the far political horizon, for what affected China just then affected the world. And as those Imperial fellows at their military base congratulated each other that at least they had the chance of being actually in war, they had but little idea of the importance attaching to the conflict. Shells that dropped around me, however, were bringing messages of a China that was to be.

Not a hundred yards from where I sat were four field-guns—deadly four-inchers, the modern Krupp—sending shells into Hanyang as fast as the gunners were able to work. The booming shook the whole city, sending frightened children to their mothers, themselves at their wits' ends with fear. Revolutionary batteries at Hanyang, not yet silenced or showing any signs of giving up the fight, dropped its shells sometimes nearer, sometimes farther, never into the battery here on the railroad.

As an interested spectator, I sat on a few sleepers and watched where the shells dropped from both sets of guns. It was a casual pastime, and no one seemed to mind my being there. The gunners would, with highest glee, explain how the four-inchers were worked, would point away towards Hanyang Hill and tell you they were trying to pot the temple overlooking the Yangtze, and when a shell from the enemy dropped anywhere near there was a shout of enthusiastic mirth. They would look at one astutely, smile, inquire into one's family associations in characteristic Chinese style, and were highly delighted if relevantly one could carry on conversation with them in Chinese. The average military observer would probably have declared the Imperial Army to be a peculiar military force. Into the daily routine the extravagant Chinese etiquette was worked in conjunction with a discipline quite strange to Chinese, and on the face of things it would not seem, viewed from camp life, that China's army was in any way a modern army. But that this Model Army of China is as much of a myth as some would have us believe, I, now in it all, could not for a moment endorse. The foreigner has always looked upon the Chinese as a man who would not fight him with the weapons of war; his main attack would be the weapons of commerce, of boycott, or of trust. But the Chinese Army to-day is certainly no myth. It is strong enough to preserve peace with other countries, if not to enter into any external strife with the idea of winning.

That the Revolutionists had the numbers I would have been the first to admit, but the trained fighter is the man who wins in battle. Not one-fifth of their troops were trained soldiers; they have been seen to come out into the fighting line, wearing the uniform of the military it is true, to put the butts of their pieces upon their hips and let fly, until they saw their own men falling dead in front of them, shot from behind. But with the Northern Army it needed only a stroll round their camp to convince the most casual of observers that the Revolutionary's enemy was an army, doing things as an army should. The army defending the Throne was the product of twelve years of strenuous work by a great genius. The Northern Army was founded upon principles set down by Yuan Shih K'ai, the genius of things military in China, and that genius, using his brains but seeing nothing of the fight, was just then directing the operations as they proceeded.

Whether the Imperialists were getting to know more about that for which they were fighting, whether a great many in the rank and file were anxious to throw up the sponge and go back to their homes, whether a certain section of them were anxious to change coats and go over to the other ranks and shoot down those by whose side they had been trained did not affect the general position. The Imperialists were the cogs of the machine, and for their life they could not stop fighting. They might have been half-hearted, as many said they were, but their organisation was almost perfect.

FOES MEETING AS FRIENDS. A regiment of soldiers casting in their lot with the Revolutionists against whom they had lately fought.

As I sat on the railway sleepers a crowd of soldiers soon gathered. Some held their rice-bowls up to me, and with their chopsticks as they ate asked me to chi-fan, and when I took a hard piece of bread from one of the infantry and began to munch at it to show that there was not the slightest ill-feeling they all screamed with laughter, and each swore that I was a good all-round sort of fellow. And then we fell to talking. "Ah!" indignantly yelled the officer, when I asked him why Chinese were fighting Chinese, "these men are rebels—ding kuai, ding kuai tih ren![1] They are making it nasty for the foreign Concessions, and our Government are going to put it down. They are not real soldiers. They are only robbers and wicked men; they can't fight. We [and the man stroked himself down] are the fighters." And then he invited me to go a little way with him, until we came in sight of the guns then sending out the shells. "We have guns here that would blow those fellows into that great river, and if they don't give up soon that's what we are going to do. We are not going to leave a house standing; it is Yuan Shih K'ai's orders, and in a few days it will all be over, and we shall all go back to Peking and have a holiday. Yuan Shih K'ai," he softly said, "is down at Kilometre Ten,[2] and he will not come up farther. He is a wonderful fellow. He has his fingers on the situation, and is merely waiting his time. The Revolutionists think that he is afraid because our men are not fighting to-day, but you wait; presently you will see all the people in this city killed. We are killing anybody we can see, and shall kill many, many more yet."

"But don't you think that that's a funny sort of tao li for Chinese to kill Chinese?" Then the man turned his head away and did a half-hearted smile. "Ah! that's altogether another question. That was the old style. We are a new army, and we are told to fight for a New China. We don't want our country to fall into the control of all those wicked men."

"Yes, I can see that right enough. But these poor fellows that your crack shooting is knocking over are good fellows, and are all fighting for the good of their country too——"

But he interrupted me. He would have none of it. He thought that I was myself a Revolutionist, and ceased talking. "That's what they tell you," he finally remarked. "If they get into power, it will be totally different."

Again I approached him as he walked from me. "I'm afraid that you have not got the truth of the story. These men think that they are in the right. They are not the robbers you think them, surely. Probably you have been misinformed, and——"

"We're not misinformed. Our officers are all good men, and our men are the best that could be sent. We are the best in the army, and that is the reason we were sent...."

* * * * *

It soon became evident that a threat of the Imperialists would be carried out. Their first threat was that they would get Hankow the first day, Hanyang the second, Wuchang the third. Hankow would soon be taken. Everybody knew that. Whether Yuan Shih K'ai would allow his army to burn it to the ground, as was stated was his intention, was, however, another matter. None believed that such savagery would be allowed; but that was the threat, and, after all, fires are common in wartime.

TACHIMEN, WITH IMPERIALISTS IN OCCUPATION. This was the Imperialist headquarters till the withdrawal of the Northern Army from the Wuhan centre.

The Rev. A. J. McFarlane, Headmaster of the Griffith John College, who remained some distance from Hankow during most of the heavy fighting, gave me the following account of a somewhat dangerous ride he had along the road at the back of the city. It will serve to show the conditions around the country during the time the fusillading was hardest:—

"On Sunday, October 29th, the Imperial troops had fought their way all along the railway line from the Sing Seng Road to the River Han at Ch'iaokow, and from the College we heard the bark of the Maxims for the first time on Sunday evening, and that night there were fires in nine places around the railway line. But by Monday evening a counter-attack of Hunan troops seemed to have carried the tide of battle back again to the Tachimen Station; and local rumours said that the Imperialists were all cut to pieces, or had surrendered. Certainly it was evident from the firing that they had fallen back a long way, and as we had had no news from Hankow for four days, and were in need of silver for salaries, and for the scholars' food, I decided on Tuesday to try and get through to the Concessions. (We had continued a few classes regularly till Saturday, but on Sunday the last two Chinese masters left.)

"The three-mile ride to the beginning of the native city was marked by the signs of recent fighting, and I had to make a detour where some Imperialists were said to be concealed in a hut, and sniping was going on. I got to the Ma-loo, on the old city wall, and found the whole place deserted; even the mud huts of the beggars were empty and half-burnt; and in place of the usual crowd of foot-passengers, bearers, and rickshaws there was not a human being, not even a stray dog in sight. Hankow native city seemed like a city of the dead—it was not burned till the next day, Wednesday—and there must have been still thousands hidden away in the houses. After about a mile of the road, where signs of the stern resistance—shell holes in houses and strewn cartridge-cases—were on every side, I came to five or six Hunan soldiers, lying in the shelter of the parapet by the roadside, waiting for snipe-shots at Imperial soldiers, who were in possession of the railway bank, running parallel to the Ma-loo, about half a mile away. They waved me forward in a friendly way, evidently not wishing to reveal their presence to the enemy. So I continued the lonely ride, and passed the mangled body of a black-coat, covered with flies, and a heap of unused shells, telling their tale of defeat and hasty retreat. The silent air was heavy with the smell of death, and the odour of burned flesh and wood was everywhere. Suddenly a flash and the bang of a rifle from the railway bank, and as I did not know whether it was meant for me I dismounted and walked forward a little to show myself as a foreigner, but as nothing more followed I cycled on again, and soon passed another ten black-coats, lying by the roadside, waiting for pot-shots at the railway bank, and a few more in the shelter of a house, firing through the ruined windows. There were one or two more dead Revolutionists, and a half-burned pony or cow among some ruined huts, and farther on a dead woman by the roadside, evidently of the beggar class, lying half-naked in a pool of blood. As I neared the Water Tower there were two or three small stalls open, and a few people about; and I caught the first glimpse of a squad of grey-coats, moving, some way off, among the huts. The Marines, at the end of the Ma-loo, helped my bicycle over the barrier of sacks and bricks there, and the report of a cannon firing close by just at that moment emphasised the heavenly sense of safety and relief as one trod once more on Concession soil, where all was peace and quiet.

"At 3 p.m. as the conditions seemed much the same, and I had done my business and secured the needed dollars, I rode back again the same way without any adventures, save for a jumpy, tightening feeling round the heart as a few sniping shots passed backwards and forwards again, till I got beyond the city to the comparative safety of the deserted countryside, and to a hearty welcome from the School."

[1] "Very bad men" in the literal Chinese.

[2] It was about this time that Yuan Shih K'ai, in compliance with a strong invitation from the Throne, took office. He was appointed Viceroy of the Hu-kwang, and was instructed to quell the rebellion. The report was that he was now at Kilometre Ten, but he was really at Siaokan. Perhaps readers would care to read the chapter dealing with Yuan at this juncture.