Kitabı oku: «In the Yellow Sea», sayfa 12

There was an officer named Kosaki – a splendid fellow – who had done excellent service under fire before in a torpedo-boat, and he was attached to boat No. 6. There were ten boats employed, and the news was known that day, and there was talk of volunteers trying to proceed in her, for they all knew that "No. 6" was bound to do something! Tomi told me this. He had been ordered to carry a report to the main squadron, and suggested that I should accompany him.

"Perhaps you may have a chance to join the torpedo-boat," he said. I thanked him, and muffled up we were rowed to the flagship, where Tomi delivered his message. Then we perceived that the first squadron was closing in, and we waited on board the greater ship, which was firing at the Lui-kung Island as well as the smaller one. Lui-kung is precipitous and unassailable: the batteries were concealed, and some of the guns, I think, were depressed and raised, like the Moncrieff carriages at Woolwich long ago. The ships could not reach in close: the water is shallow, and the guns were well served. Meantime the Chinese rested behind the shelter of the boom.

"I hear we shall attack the boom to-night," said Tomi.

"Is there any chance of my finding a berth in the flotilla?" I asked.

"Ask the commander," said my friend. "The captain of No. 6 is a warrant officer. He might consent. Shall I try for you?"

I nodded assent. Perhaps it was a silly ambition! Tomi had a chance and grasped it. As the "captain" of the boat was descending the side Tomi arrested him, and made the request. Something was said, and then Tomi returned to me.

"Well?" I asked, feeling rather "half-hearted" about the result.

"You may join as a correspondent, but must not tell your experience till the place is taken – if you survive."

"He said so?"

"Yes. 'Let him come and die, if he wishes it,' he said."

"Then I just will go – and chance it!" I said boldly.

"All right. He is waiting. Good luck to you."

CHAPTER XVIII
ON BOARD THE TORPEDO-BOAT – BREAKING OF THE
BOOM – CAPTURE OF WEI-HAI-WEI – CONCLUSION

My first impressions regarding a torpedo-boat were, firstly, that the deck rests dangerously near the water; and secondly, that the craft itself is unsafe – at least, unsteady. Then the vessel, – or "ship," as I believe it is called, – is, if cabined, certainly "cribbed and confined." There is not much space to live in; perhaps the sailors who man her are not expected to live – much. Where they usually sleep, unless in the coal-bunkers or in the engine-room, I do not exactly know. They did not sleep at all while I was on board, and I understand that they never change nor wash (or "hardly ever"), under service conditions. So far as my rather limited experience goes, existence on board this ship is by no means enjoyable, save when in harbour, and then it is useless. When at sea in roughish weather, and on service particularly, the "pleasure" must be deadly-lively.

The torpedo-boat is about one hundred and twenty-five feet long, and perhaps twelve feet at beam. There are larger craft than this, I think, but these dimensions will suffice for the usual limits. The torpedoes are fixed from the tubes, which, in my "ship," extended one on each bow and astern. There is a steering-tower, or "conning-tower," fore and aft, and very small space for living in. There are no bulwarks to prevent one sliding away into the sea in a calm, only a rail with stanchions, upon which a wire rope is stretched as a protection. But in bad weather the sea does not wait for the sailor, it invades him, and washes everything overboard which may be loose, carrying the men off if they do not go below or lash themselves. The rolling is absolutely fearful, and I am informed that when the officers eat they must feed each other like infants, one holding the cup, or plate, while the other drinks, or eats, from it. All the services are tinware, and the food is also tinned, and water is plentiful inside and out, and leaks.

To this kind of experience I was quite new, and the haggard spectre of mal-de-mer presented itself all the time. How the sailors usually manage I do not know; they must suffer, I imagine, at sea. But a dozen sick men in that boat! Well – curtain!

*****

February the 3rd was the most anxious night I had hitherto passed. I was assisted on board, and I think Tomi introduced me to the officers as a British newspaper correspondent. At anyrate, I was politely received, fed, and entertained so far as possible, but the accommodation was decidedly very limited – much more than the welcome.

I managed to understand that we would not actually attack. The idea was to make the breach sufficient to admit other boats next time; so, after all, we should not run any fearful risk, I fancied. But I did not know then that we were to go inside the boom, – into the harbour, – as I had little opportunity to talk, even had I been acquainted with the Japanese tongue, I made only mental observations – I was afraid of making mistakes in my language again.

The day died; the moon rose and disappeared; then came the turn of "No. 6." When blackness fell upon the water – a darkness in which the boat was almost buried – the engines began to beat silently, the screws revolved almost noiselessly, and we skimmed away towards the places already determined upon. The men lay close, only the helmsman, the officer himself, was visible. I lay by him, by permission, and two men watched forward. This was no torpedo attack, it was a survey.

An hour passed. There was no spot at which an entry could be made on the west side, and a long search only revealed a small space between the rocks on the eastern side and that end of the enormous boom which stood up threatening us in the dark. This barrier seemed bigger than I had ever imagined, and its mass seemed, from our small craft, so enormous, that I almost despaired. Dynamite could not injure it from outside. Perhaps gun-cotton or powder would, if applied inside the harbour where the resistance was less.

At last! Searching closely, the boat found the spot where the barrier ceased, – a very small passage, through which it seemed almost impossible to drive the boat in safety. But the hands which held the helm were incapable of nervousness. No tremor shook those iron muscles as the boat's head was turned rock-wise. It was sink or swim then – a torpedo in the path would end it for us. But unheeding, or rather disdaining, the danger, the skipper turned the boat's head to the small space in the sea.

The rocks grumbled at us as we slowly and deftly passed. The sullen murmurs of the waves were supplemented by the swishing of the revolving screws, or drowned perhaps by the former. Still the boat skimmed on, and then almost noiselessly brought up in the harbour, within the range of the Chinese torpedo-squadron, which speedily perceived the intruder.

The situation was peculiar. We were in hostile waters; the ships and torpedo-boats, and even the forts, quickly woke up. Shells came whizzing in our direction. We could see them streaking the blackness, like meteors, then flying shrieking over our heads, and plunging or bursting in the sea beyond the boom, or within it. But not one touched the Japanese boat, which lay dark and silent by the boom, though had an electric searchlight been used by some approaching vessel we must have been discovered at once.

The cold was intense as the devoted vessel cracked the ice which lay on the agitated surface of the harbour, but we did not mind it. The sound of the ice, one imagined, must have announced our whereabouts to the Chinese, but as we moved swiftly the aim was not accurate, and we lay alongside the barrier, silently, to prepare for the charge which the master had determined to explode against it.

The mine was laid with great difficulty, not only because of the darkness and the penetrating cold, but because of the unsteadiness of the little craft, which surged against the boom, and crackled loudly at every concussion. At length the job was complete, the charge was laid, the battery by which it was intended to explode the powder was prepared, the wire already extended.

Now the critical moment approached. A few directions, a few words of warning, a caution to the engineers, an order to the steersman, then: Ready? Fire! Away! away! Get out of reach as quietly and as quickly as possible.

We made tracks, noisy ones too. The island fort burst into fire, and more shells came tearing around us, but nothing else happened. The mine had failed!

Investigation at once discovered the reason. We had not proceeded far under the star-shower of shells when the report was made. The wire was cut! cut by a fluke of the anchor, which had chafed through it. There was no alternative, we must return.

In a few moments the boat was heading back, careless of the meteoric display around us. The skipper sprang up from the wheel-shelter and refastened the wire, unheeding the increasing storm of projectiles, which flew around us and pitted the icy water like hail. But again he was met by failure. The charge refused to ignite, and there was no other chance now save handwork, – that is, by doing it himself, amid the greatest danger of death by shot or shell, or drowning from the boom, or explosion, – and all this in the black darkness, relieved only by the gleams of murderous shells. The crew worked well and bravely, excited, as one may say, perhaps, by the coolness of their chief. The shot came leaping, ricochetting over the harbour; the shells screamed most unpleasantly in our ears; fingers were numbed, and our breathing was like steam amid those exertions. But the skipper landed on the boom, fixed three very destructive charges, and resumed his post at the wheel, ready, when the engines were moved full speed ahead. The deed was done!

Then the line was pulled taut, the detonator exploded, the three charges flared, the boom was rent, and the torpedo-boat No. 6 sped away over the sea, past the staring flotilla at a distance, keeping her perilous course, past the narrow entrance, amid such a cannonade as I had had never dreamed of, – a duel now between the victors and the victims of the outrage. But the boat returned, unharmed, in the darkness, and in a short time showed her lights in the offing, out of reach of the hail of shot and flaming shell, to enjoy the rest which the gallant crew had fairly earned when the report had been received.

This was an expedition conducted with great intrepidity, and crowned with immediate success, the results of which proved most disastrous to the defence. Next night two flotillas penetrated the harbour through the wider breach No. 6 had made, and a fearful engagement ensued. In this two torpedo-boats were lost, and in No. 6 the tubes were frozen, so the torpedoes were not discharged. One of the first two boats referred to was blown up by a shell, but the great man-o'-war, Ting-yuen, was scuttled by a torpedo or torpedoes, and next day sank slowly in sight of the fleet. The Japanese had had two boats lost and two injured. The latter were sent to Port Arthur to repair. The boat I was in was struck fifty times, once by a shell.

This was "warm" work, but next night it became warmer still, for the leader of the expedition reported that the admiral, with tears in his eyes, had told him of the necessity of destroying the rest of the fleet, and the danger of it. On that second night, the 4th, we knew that many men had been killed by shot, that many besides had been scalded, and many actually frozen to death in the water, even under comparatively fortunate circumstances. The admiral and his captains knew the danger, and the latter fully appreciated it when next day a further attack was determined upon.

"You may be unable to return through the breach," said the admiral. "The Chinese will be prepared and alive to the danger."

"I am quite ready," replied the officer addressed, calmly.

"I am grieved to order the attack. But there is no help for it. It must be done for our country's sake. Do your best, as I am sure you will, and emblazon your name upon the scroll of fame."

With these words the admiral dismissed the commander of the flotilla, and with a touching farewell. They "could scarcely have expected to meet again," says the narrator of the interview.

When the officer rejoined his boat he communicated his orders, and did not hide the danger. Death was almost certain, there were no lanterns, no plans, no orders, no signals. The boats cast off everything not necessary for the attack, as a forlorn hope goes into action unfettered.

"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.