The Old Navy Page 3

  Sakota, the queen or royal consort, had had only one child. This was not surprising as the emperor, in spite of his youth, was so worn out from dissipation and probably venereal infection that he was virtually impotent. Unluckily for Sakota, the lone child was a girl.

  Tzu, however, soon gave birth to a child who was (luckily for her) a boy. The baby was almost certainly the son of the handsome, capable captain of the Palace Guard, Jung Lu, but no one dared to suggest this possibility. Certainly Jung Lu was the only person Tzu ever seemed to care for throughout her long career. So even though Tzu was only a concubine, and a concubine of the fourth class at that, she was now elevated to the rank of queen mother as her son would inherit the throne.

  Soon Tzu was virtually running the country. The court lived in the Sacred City, a walled section of Pekin where only a few select individuals were allowed to enter. The Sacred City was run by hundreds of eunuchs who controlled even the emperor. Their power lay in the fact that all the nobles were suspicious of each other, each fearing that his peers might have the emperor assassinated and then seize the throne. A eunuch could not be emperor as they were incapable of founding a dynasty and China was dedicated to ancestor worship, so they were allowed to dominate the government. Many of these eunuchs had willingly had themselves emasculated so they could achieve high positions. They were utterly unscrupulous and lived for wealth and power. Tzu was able to gain their favor by giving them a completely free hand. Her favorite eunuch was a man named Li Lien-ying who was second only to her. I saw him once. He looked exactly like a fat old woman and terrified me although I didn’t know why.

  In 1860 came the so-called Opium War. England was making a fortune by selling Indian opium to the Chinese and finally the court in Pekin tried to stop the trade. England declared war on China and a number of other European nations joined her. Tzu had the amazing effrontery to insist that all European embassies enter Pekin through a gate reserved for subject states; this to give credence to the Chinese claim that China was the supreme world power and all other nations were her vassals. As the European countries were busy cutting up China at the time, this was equivalent to a woman being raped demanding that her attackers first bow to her. The European powers quickly captured the Taku forts by sending landing parties to attack them from the rear, and then, sailing up the Pei-ho River, sacked Pekin and burned the beautiful Summer Palace built on a lake and one of the great architectural wonders of the world. The court fled to Jehol, some 150 miles away. Here a conspiracy was formed to overthrow the weak Hsien-Feng but Tzu frustrated it by stealing the royal seal without which no edict could be made. Soon afterwards Hsien-Feng died. Tzu made a treaty with the Europeans giving them all they demanded and returned to Pekin with her five-year-old son. She promptly declared herself regent until her boy was old enough to rule.

  Father never despised the Chinese as did most Europeans but he bitterly resented their attitude toward the military. Just as the Chinese worshipped the scholar, Father worshipped the fighting man. It outraged him to see a general magnificently attired riding ahead of unshaven, dirty troops who kept no formation and were armed with a museum collection of spears, blunderbusses, halberts, and pikes. These men’s idea of warfare was to blow trumpets, beat gongs, wave banners, give their war cries, and fire off rockets. As for me, I learned at this early age what happens to a country that allows her armed forces to deteriorate. After the First World War, an epidemic of pacifism swept the United States. There were to be no more wars, the League of Nations would insure peace, wars were caused only by munition makers, and such like nonsense. I wish these pacifists could have seen China as I did. Once a nation weakens her defenses, others fall on her like wolves on a crippled animal. China with her awe of scholars, reverence for diplomacy, and hatred of militarism learned her lesson too late.

  The imperial court’s troubles were by no means confined to foreigners. The Chinese peasants rose in rebellion against their Manchu overlords. They banded together under the title of Taiping (General Peace), refused to wear pigtails, let their hair grow (the Manchus contemptuously referred to them as the “long hairs”), and prepared to take over the country. They believed in a strange mixture of Chinese conceptions and the Christianity introduced by the missionaries. Their leader, a man named Hung, claimed to be Jesus Christ and surrounded himself by a general staff called the Twelve Apostles. Most Chinese conceived of Christianity as some sort of magic that made the white man powerful and adopted it to give them supernatural strength. I don’t think the well-meaning missionaries ever realized how confusing their doctrines were to a people with entirely different ways of thought.

  The Manchus had once been great fighters but they had so deteriorated that the Taipings won victory after victory. Then Li Hung-chang took the field against them. Li was a Manchu and a noted scholar — to the Chinese the highest of all callings — but he became a soldier — to the Chinese the lowest of the low. Li was wise enough to know his own limitations as a military man so he put a professional soldier in charge of his hastily organized army: an American named Ward. If the United States had supported Ward, we could have controlled Asia, but our government was too provincial to realize this great opportunity. Ward was killed in the fighting so Li put another foreign professional in command: an Englishman named Gordon who was ever afterwards called “Chinese Gordon”. Gordon was a highly capable fighting man and soon his force came to be known as the “ever victorious army”. The Taipings made a last stand in Soochow in 1864. When they saw that it was all over, Hung killed himself and the Twelve Apostles surrendered to Gordon with his promise that their lives would be spared.

  Li Hung-chang was having none of that. As soon as Gordon’s back was turned, he had all twelve men beheaded. Gordon was furious when he heard the news. He stormed into Li’s presence, denounced him for having betrayed the word of an English gentleman. To Li, keeping one’s promises was ridiculous. No one in China ever kept his promise. When Gordon stamped out of the room, Li remarked casually to one of his aides, “He can say what he will but he can’t bring those accursed Twelve Apostles back to life.” This was one of Father’s favorite stories and he often told it, chuckling. Father, being a practical man, sympathized with Li. Still Li paid a high price for the death of his enemies. Gordon left his service and went to Egypt where a few years later he was to die in Khartum. Tzu made Li viceroy of Chihli, although I don’t think the empress ever really trusted him. He was too sympathetic to foreign ideas and the empress hated foreigners and all their works.

  In 1873, Tzu’s son, T’ung Chih, was declared emperor. He was a weak young man, dissipated like all the emperors, and dominated entirely by his terrible mother. He died in 1875. Many believe that his mother had him poisoned as he was married and his wife was pregnant. If his wife, the royal consort, gave birth to a son, she would have been more powerful than Tzu.

  Now there was no ruler. In this emergency, Tzu appealed to Li Hung-chang and his troops. With Li’s backing, she seized power, declared a baby boy (her nephew) the emperor and again established herself as regent. T’ung Chih’s widow either committed suicide or was murdered, leaving Tzu with a free hand. The new emperor, although only a child who owed his position to Tzu, hated her. When he was nine years old (in 1880), he had an open break with her. It was at this time the Ticonderoga came to China and fired its historic torpedo which made Father head of the Chinese Torpedo School and introduced the United States to Chinese affairs.

  It was extremely difficult for Chinese and white men to work together as they had no idea of each other’s culture. The Chinese were hopelessly confused as to the nature of white men, simultaneously regarding them as savages yet crediting them with more than mortal powers. Once an American cruiser put into Taku with a petty officer on board who had some talent as an artist. This man made a number of sketches and a local mandarin saw one. He was greatly interested as it was so different from Chinese art and demanded to go on board the cruis
er to meet the artist. He was piped over the side with great ceremony as he was an important man and after being given a chair — there was some problem finding one large enough to fit his ample stern — he explained that he wanted the petty officer to make a painting of his father. The petty officer was flattered and asked when he could see his subject. “Oh, that is impossible,” the mandarin explained. “He’s been dead many years. That’s why I want a picture of him because none were made during his life.”

  This was a puzzler. The captain tried to explain the difficulties involved but the noble wasn’t having any of it. “If you people can perform so many miracles, surely it would be a small matter for you to go to heaven and see my father,” he said angrily. The captain solved the problem in the age-old manner of the Navy. Turning to the petty officer he snapped, “Draw a picture of this gentleman’s father. That’s an order!” The petty officer made the only possible answer. He said, “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Lacking any other model, the artist used a newspaper picture of William Howard Taft as a subject. When the painting was completed, the mandarin was invited on board the cruiser for the unveiling. After the cloth was withdrawn from the painting, the mandarin stood staring at it in astonishment for some time. Then with a deep sigh he remarked, “My, how father has changed!”

  In addition to her other shortcomings, the empress was wildly extravagant. She had a passion for elaborate theatricals which Li Lien-ying, her head eunuch, staged for her, and she was busy rebuilding the Summer Palace in even greater elegance than before. I don’t believe that she knew anything about money and quite probably had no knowledge of even simple mathematics. As far as she was concerned, it was enough that she desired unlimited funds to have them supplied. Li Lien-ying was only too happy to oblige as he took a hefty “squeeze” from all sums he collected for her.

  Father soon discovered that much of the funds that Li Hung-chang was raising for the new Torpedo School was being stolen by the head eunuch for the empress. Li Hung-chang also knew it but he did not dare oppose “the old Buddha” as the people affectionately called the empress. Father called her “the old devil” openly which was a dangerous thing to do. He realized that she was imperiling the whole country by her extravagance, something the empress was incapable of grasping with her ignorance of finance and her inborn conviction that a ruler could do no wrong.

  The empress had spies everywhere and of course she soon knew how Father felt. She ordered Li Hung-chang to bring him to Pekin for an interview. I remember well how distraught Mother was; she was positive the empress was going to have him killed. I believe Li was also alarmed. Father was only angry and actually seemed to look forward to meeting his enemy face to face and telling her what he thought of her which would have been a very bad idea. The United States wasn’t strong enough to protect him and the empress must have known it.

  Off they went and were gone for several days during which time Mother was nearly out of her head with anxiety, and my sister and I crept around like mice to avoid bothering her. Father returned late one evening. After Mother had flown into his arms, I piped up, “How was the old devil, sir?” sure that I was saying the right thing.

  Father strode over to me and stood staring down from his great height with a savage frown on his face while I cowered with terror, wondering what I had done. At last Father spoke in his most menacing quarterdeck voice. “Never refer to that noble old lady like that again,” he admonished me fiercely. Then turning to Mother he said proudly, “She has tendered me a decoration of the third class, second rank Order of the Imperial Double Dragon.” While we were still recovering from this, a file of coolies supervised by a minor court official entered carrying packages. When opened, they revealed a magnificent silver service set. The teapot was in the shape of a dragon, there were silver cups and saucers, sugar bowl and cream pitcher. The tray on which all these wonders stood also had a dragon engraved on it and was so heavy it took two men to carry it. “Notice all the dragons are five-clawed,” Father pointed out delightedly. A five-clawed dragon was a symbol of nobility.

  After that, no one dared to say anything against the empress in Father’s presence. I heard him telling Li Hung-chang what a brilliant person she was. Li replied briefly, “She certainly understands men.”

  The empress had bestowed another honor on Father which seemed to give him even more satisfaction than his new rank. She had confided to him, in the strictest confidence, that only Americans really understood the Chinese. “The Europeans are nothing but stupid bullies — especially the English,” she told him. “But you are a sensitive people with whom we can communicate. You are the only foreigners with whom China can be friends.”

  A few days after this great event, Father and Mother attended a dinner party at the British Embassy. Father was subdued for a long time after and one afternoon I heard Mother telling Philo Norton McGriffin, a young American who held a commission in the newly created Chinese Navy, the reason. The British ambassador had had a little too much to drink that evening and in a very un-British burst of exuberance, had taken Father into his confidence. “I say, old chap,” the ambassador had explained, “I was speaking to her nibs, Tzu Hsi, and she told me, quite openly, that only we English understood her people. ‘You have a long history of dealing with Asians,’ she said. ‘In you alone I feel the deep sensitivity needed to know our people. The Americans are too raw and new to grasp our ancient culture.’ So you are simply wasting your time here, trying to nudge your way in between us and the Chinese.”

  Yes, Li Hung-chang had been right. The empress certainly knew how to handle men.

  I’ve mentioned Philo McGriffin. He had graduated from Annapolis in the Class of ‘82. In those days, the Navy was so small that only the first fifteen men in each class were commissioned in the Navy or Marine Corps; the remainder were given an Honorable Discharge, one thousand dollars, the blessing of the Academic Board and were set adrift. Philo was one of those set adrift.

  Somehow or other, Philo had reached China where he taught seamanship and gunnery at Tientain. He had even managed to persuade Li Hung-chang to build some modern warships. I remember him especially because he was always so nice to my sister and me and spent a lot of time with us, playing games and telling us stories. One of his yarns was about an American businessman visiting China for the first time and being dined and wined by a Chinese associate. One particular dish took his fancy, he found it so delicious that he fairly stuffed himself. He could not identify it so, turning to his host, he asked interrogatively, “Quack, Quack?” His host shook his head and replied, “Bow Wow!”

  Philo, like Father, stood in great awe of the Japanese. They had thoroughly modernized both their army and navy and were a most dangerous adversary. Father, Philo, and Li Hung-chang often discussed the Japanese menace and how to protect China against it. Lying in bed in the next room I listened to their conversations although most of it was over my head. Li believed in diplomacy for he knew China would stand no chance against Japan in a war. Father and Philo reluctantly agreed although Philo felt that the new navy Li was having built with whatever funds the empress let him keep could give the “dwarf bandits” as the Chinese called their enemies a good fight. I remember they made up a doggerel verse about it:

  King Solomon couldn’t have been so wise

  or he’d never have married a thousand wives.

  He had trouble with his wives perhaps

  but he was wise enough not to fight the Japs.

  Politically, the situation grew constantly more tense. Japan coveted Korea and encouraged the king to revolt against his Chinese overlord. The empress was furious and ordered Li to send troops to put down the rebellion. This Li was very reluctant to do. He knew it would mean war with Japan, and China was not ready for such a war.

  Execution of Korean bandits in China.

  Father also knew that such a war would be suicidal. He had been willing to fi
ght with China against the French but not against the Japanese. He resigned his position at the Torpedo School and made plans to return to the United States.

  Philo McGriffin came to bid us good-bye. Father urged him to leave too but Philo refused. “I’ve been made second in command of the new battleship Chen Yuen,” he explained. “Admiral Ting in command of the fleet is an honest, capable man and his staff are first-rate officers. We have good ships and crews and don’t need to be afraid of the Japs.”

  “Remember King Solomon,” said father, only half joking.

  Philo laughed. “I haven’t any thousand wives so I’m smarter than he was.”

  In September 1885 we left on a German tea steamer, the Mossa. We were the only passengers. The route was across the Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, Suez Canal, and the Mediterranean. As we had sailed for China from San Francisco, this meant a circumnavigation of the world, which not many people had done in those days.

  We went on to Washington where Father reported to the Marine Barracks for further duty. He had several long conferences with the State Department and I believe his account of the situation in the Far East influenced our government’s thinking. I do know that a short time later he was sent on a cruise to the South Pacific on the Brooklyn, one of the first — if not the first — such tours sent out by the United States to obtain information about this potentially important area.