It was with strange feelings that we rose on the morning of 16th August. In less than twenty-four hours the entire experience of our expedition had changed. The crowds had been greatly excited at our arrival the day before, but now people rushed to and fro in urgent, animated groups to discuss the latest news or probabilities. The whole place was in a turmoil; the trappings of battle were everywhere; guns, ammunition wagons, baggage trains, carts, clogged all the roads and passageways. The lawns and gardens were crowded with soldiers and civilians, every yard of space and every corner packed. The arrival of the relief force should have restored order and a sense of normality; for the moment, though, it seemed as if confusion and rumour were the orders of the day.
It was widely believed that the Dowager Empress, Cixi, disguised as a peasant woman, together with the emperor and several members of the court, had slipped out of the city in three wooden carts at the moment the allies entered. Her departure, along with the immediate subjugation suffered at the hands of the alliance forces, had triggered a total breakdown in morale and disciple amongst the Chinese, and the disintegration of the Boxer movement in the city.
The Chinese forces were in disarray, fleeing the city in their thousands; and the fire of numerous clearing skirmishes was a constant rumble as the Japanese worked their way around the north of the Imperial City, while the Americans and French were shelling the entrance to the Palace from the south by the Chien-men. The noise of a significant battle taking place some distance to the north could be heard all over the city, but nobody in our force knew what this was and it came as an enormous surprise to all of us when two runners came in and reported that the Catholic Cathedral at Peitang had been relieved. Japanese troops had engaged the Boxers surrounding the Cathedral and after a barrage lasting less than an hour, had put them to flight. They had then entered the Cathedral but, without a common language, they and the besieged were both confused. Shortly afterwards, however, French troops arrived and marched into the Cathedral to the cheers of the survivors. As the Cathedral was located inside the grounds of the Imperial City, about two miles from the Legation Quarter, nobody had any idea that during the siege, almost 4000 people had sought sanctuary within the stone walls, which had been defended for more than a month by only 41 French and Italian marines, led by two French officers.
At a conference of the generals on the afternoon of the 16th, the city area was divided up and sections allocated to the various forces for security and protection of the inhabitants. The 14th Infantry and the marines were assigned to the west half of the city, and to that section lying between the Chien-men gate and the south wall of the Imperial city. I would have been part of this activity but, now that the main fighting appeared to be behind us, I had other priorities than to continue my attachment with the US forces. After clearing my departure with General Chaffee, and bidding my farewells to the brave troops who had become my friends and brothers-in-arms, I set off with the notion of reporting on the developing situation inside the Legation quarter.
Making my way through the outer grounds, past the Italian, French, German and Japanese compounds, I met not a soul but saw that every wall and roof was down and the whole place levelled to the ground. There was nothing more than a vast field of smashed brick and rubble, in which it was difficult even to trace the ground plan of the houses. I passed a well that had been filled in; a dead body rotting in the drain. Nothing remained standing and not a tree, not a stick, not a shrub had survived; I was walking in a bare and empty wilderness. As I neared the larger and better defended American, Russian and British legations, however, I came across an occasional house or shop that was untouched, from where a few people came out professing friendliness and welcoming me like a lost brother, offering me tea and such-like tokens of goodwill. It was not difficult to see through their thinly veiled hypocrisy, or to guess why they had suffered no harm. I declined their offers but I did go into a large pawn-shop, where I surmised that a number of foreigners would have deposited their treasures for safe keeping. If, indeed, they had done so, their belongings were now lost. The shop was deserted, empty, looted. Nothing remained except heaps of paper, account books, pawn tickets, and other rubbish.
More and more people were around as I walked up South Bridge road, the track that separates the US Legation from the Russian and British compounds. Dozens of covered wagons, with horses straining at their load, were hurriedly leaving the US Legation; and in the Russian grounds there was much bartering and bickering over the price of looted goods. In full and open view of anybody who cared to look, two peaceable, well-dressed men were surrounded by a dozen or so Russian soldiers, suffering the crude but simple act of being made to undo their girdles and hold up their tunics whilst the soldiers felt all around their waists for watches or money; a blatant example of highway robbery in its most disgusting form.
Adjacent to the British Legation was the Carriage Park which housed the Field Hospital and a warren of troop quarters in the large halls, dim, cool, and dusty, where the Emperor's state sedans had been stored. By now, these had all been dragged into the open, and soldiers of many nationalities were busy clearing away the dust of ages and stripping the great chariots of their rich embroidered silks and the fineries of Imperial Majesty. In the bomb-proof shelter just outside the hospital, a large party of coolies had taken up quarters, spending their time gambling and, for small commissions sufficient to fund their wagers, selling the silk and silver treasures supplied to them by the soldiers.
In the British Legation no soldier was supposed to have private loot, but foraging parties were sent out under the command of an officer and brought in vast quantities of silk, furs, china, silver plate, and jewellery of all kinds, which was sold by public auction for the benefit of the soldiers. People were expecting to leave Peking within days and, consequently, those with funds were prepared to pay highly for their treasures and memorabilia. In my heart I knew that I should have challenged this behaviour, but I knew also that to do so would not have changed a thing; and to salve my conscience, I rationalised that I had come to the British Legation for a different purpose. I was here to find George Morrison, the China correspondent of the London Times; and the man with whom I had been jointly named as "missing in action" in the Washington Times report of 2nd August.
As I approached, both men were deep in conversation and had not yet seen or heard me. I drew to within just a few yards of them, where I could clearly hear their words, and my darkest suspicions were confirmed. These two supposed pillars of society; one with whom I had envisaged a satisfying, professional relationship; the other, feted as a hero and a saviour of souls, were squabbling over which of their "customers" would come up with the best financial return for their stolen goods. I stopped at this point, turned and re-traced my steps, my thoughts enveloped in a dark cloud of distaste, despair and disappointment ... sad but, at the same time, angry.
I had seen all of this before, of course, in Tientsin where, just a few short weeks before, the military occupation had turned into an orgy of looting and violence. Little did I realise, though, that the relief of Peking was about to become a bloodbath of human atrocity in which soldiers, civilians, diplomats, missionaries, and journalists all participated ...
It was widely believed that the Dowager Empress, Cixi, disguised as a peasant woman, together with the emperor and several members of the court, had slipped out of the city in three wooden carts at the moment the allies entered. Her departure, along with the immediate subjugation suffered at the hands of the alliance forces, had triggered a total breakdown in morale and disciple amongst the Chinese, and the disintegration of the Boxer movement in the city.
The Chinese forces were in disarray, fleeing the city in their thousands; and the fire of numerous clearing skirmishes was a constant rumble as the Japanese worked their way around the north of the Imperial City, while the Americans and French were shelling the entrance to the Palace from the south by the Chien-men. The noise of a significant battle taking place some distance to the north could be heard all over the city, but nobody in our force knew what this was and it came as an enormous surprise to all of us when two runners came in and reported that the Catholic Cathedral at Peitang had been relieved. Japanese troops had engaged the Boxers surrounding the Cathedral and after a barrage lasting less than an hour, had put them to flight. They had then entered the Cathedral but, without a common language, they and the besieged were both confused. Shortly afterwards, however, French troops arrived and marched into the Cathedral to the cheers of the survivors. As the Cathedral was located inside the grounds of the Imperial City, about two miles from the Legation Quarter, nobody had any idea that during the siege, almost 4000 people had sought sanctuary within the stone walls, which had been defended for more than a month by only 41 French and Italian marines, led by two French officers.
At a conference of the generals on the afternoon of the 16th, the city area was divided up and sections allocated to the various forces for security and protection of the inhabitants. The 14th Infantry and the marines were assigned to the west half of the city, and to that section lying between the Chien-men gate and the south wall of the Imperial city. I would have been part of this activity but, now that the main fighting appeared to be behind us, I had other priorities than to continue my attachment with the US forces. After clearing my departure with General Chaffee, and bidding my farewells to the brave troops who had become my friends and brothers-in-arms, I set off with the notion of reporting on the developing situation inside the Legation quarter.
Making my way through the outer grounds, past the Italian, French, German and Japanese compounds, I met not a soul but saw that every wall and roof was down and the whole place levelled to the ground. There was nothing more than a vast field of smashed brick and rubble, in which it was difficult even to trace the ground plan of the houses. I passed a well that had been filled in; a dead body rotting in the drain. Nothing remained standing and not a tree, not a stick, not a shrub had survived; I was walking in a bare and empty wilderness. As I neared the larger and better defended American, Russian and British legations, however, I came across an occasional house or shop that was untouched, from where a few people came out professing friendliness and welcoming me like a lost brother, offering me tea and such-like tokens of goodwill. It was not difficult to see through their thinly veiled hypocrisy, or to guess why they had suffered no harm. I declined their offers but I did go into a large pawn-shop, where I surmised that a number of foreigners would have deposited their treasures for safe keeping. If, indeed, they had done so, their belongings were now lost. The shop was deserted, empty, looted. Nothing remained except heaps of paper, account books, pawn tickets, and other rubbish.
More and more people were around as I walked up South Bridge road, the track that separates the US Legation from the Russian and British compounds. Dozens of covered wagons, with horses straining at their load, were hurriedly leaving the US Legation; and in the Russian grounds there was much bartering and bickering over the price of looted goods. In full and open view of anybody who cared to look, two peaceable, well-dressed men were surrounded by a dozen or so Russian soldiers, suffering the crude but simple act of being made to undo their girdles and hold up their tunics whilst the soldiers felt all around their waists for watches or money; a blatant example of highway robbery in its most disgusting form.
Adjacent to the British Legation was the Carriage Park which housed the Field Hospital and a warren of troop quarters in the large halls, dim, cool, and dusty, where the Emperor's state sedans had been stored. By now, these had all been dragged into the open, and soldiers of many nationalities were busy clearing away the dust of ages and stripping the great chariots of their rich embroidered silks and the fineries of Imperial Majesty. In the bomb-proof shelter just outside the hospital, a large party of coolies had taken up quarters, spending their time gambling and, for small commissions sufficient to fund their wagers, selling the silk and silver treasures supplied to them by the soldiers.
In the British Legation no soldier was supposed to have private loot, but foraging parties were sent out under the command of an officer and brought in vast quantities of silk, furs, china, silver plate, and jewellery of all kinds, which was sold by public auction for the benefit of the soldiers. People were expecting to leave Peking within days and, consequently, those with funds were prepared to pay highly for their treasures and memorabilia. In my heart I knew that I should have challenged this behaviour, but I knew also that to do so would not have changed a thing; and to salve my conscience, I rationalised that I had come to the British Legation for a different purpose. I was here to find George Morrison, the China correspondent of the London Times; and the man with whom I had been jointly named as "missing in action" in the Washington Times report of 2nd August.
| At the other side of the yard outside the hospital a group of about a dozen men were engaged in some animated discussion. I crossed towards them and was pleased to recognise the bearded features of Arthur Smith, the American missionary from whom I had learned so much about the siege when we met a couple of days previously. He welcomed me warmly and we chatted briefly before I enquired whether he knew of Morrison or his whereabouts. I was a little taken aback when, with an abrupt and what seemed like a somewhat sardonic laugh, he pointed me towards two people busily loading a small cart with what looked to me like coats and stoles of expensive fur, and said ... "he's over there with his friend Favier, arguing about prices, I would guess". I had never met Morrison but I was aware of his status and reputation as one of the most experienced journalists in the field. Neither was I acquainted with Monsignor Favier but I did know his name as that of the the Roman Catholic Bishop from the Cathedral at Peitang that had been relieved just hours earlier. |
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I had seen all of this before, of course, in Tientsin where, just a few short weeks before, the military occupation had turned into an orgy of looting and violence. Little did I realise, though, that the relief of Peking was about to become a bloodbath of human atrocity in which soldiers, civilians, diplomats, missionaries, and journalists all participated ...
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