CHAPTER IX

THE STRONGHOLD OF WUCHANG

It was to Wuchang that the country was now looking. The Revolutionists knew it. Urged on by cleverly fashioned proclamations, they fought as men have rarely fought. The Imperialists knew it, and they, too, slept neither day nor night. The Revolution was spreading. Unable to ascertain what was to follow, foreigners from interior provinces came down to the coast and the treaty ports for safety. Foreign warships came up one after another, Japanese predominating in number, and at one time totalled no less than fifteen, under nominal command of Rear-Admiral Kawashima. Foreigners everywhere were doing volunteer duty. Barricades had been built up, and all tiptoed in expectancy. Fighting was desultory, with more Revolutionary losses than Imperial, for several days. Eleven days after the great battle of Kilometre Ten, more than the savage burning of the city, very little effective work had been done. Firstly, they had not done what they led the people to believe they would do. Promise after promise by Admiral Sah to bombard had been broken, the army had marched on Tachimen and captured it, Hankow had been shelled and the place left a mass of charred ruins with five hundred thousand helpless people cruelly turned adrift to seek shelter where they might--and there the accomplishment was _in extenso_. Although they had tried, the Imperialists had failed to capture Hanyang. Wuchang still stood {93} as the stronghold of the Revolutionary party, with ever-brightening prospects of power.

Those who had closely followed events here had been surprised greatly by the manner in which the Loyalist Army had worked out this campaign. Instead of smashing the Revolutionary Army in a few days, which at the outset, after the first battle, seemed an easy thing for them, they had dilly-dallied to such an extent that now they had a greater task before them than they ever had--partly because of the fact that trained rebel reinforcements had arrived from Hunan, and partly because the _esprit de corps_ among the Revolutionists, which, after their reverse, it would not have taken a great deal to have knocked entirely out of them, had again wonderfully revived.

Yuan Shih K'ai, cutest of all Chinese in China, probably foresaw this, and it may have been a part of his wisdom to stay his hand and wait. He was waiting, but he hardly knew for what. He had hoped probably that the first serious reverse would have knocked spirit out of the men to such an extent that the Revolutionary Army would soon have become disorganised, that the leaders would in true Chinese fashion have been quarrelling among themselves, and that soon, without money and supplies, the Revolutionary Army would have come again to its senses. Meantime, people were saying that General Li, the Revolutionary leader, was a fool, that he should have marched out his men and fought a good fight. They could not see that Chinese had met Chinese, and that both were playing their own game. Yuan was looked upon as being the great man who could make no false moves; Li was merely a trained soldier, and what could he know? He may not have known much, but he knew enough. He knew, at any rate, how to play his own game, and each night at sundown he congratulated himself upon having held the capital city yet another day--for Wuchang was still the stronghold, {94} and it was from Wuchang, as has been said, that other places were taking the cue.

At last Yuan saw this. He also saw that city after city, almost province after province, was falling into the Revolutionary line, and he conceived a plan to stop the whole sad business. He began then to parley. He wrote to General Li in most conciliatory terms.[1] {95} He promised a new Government on constitutional lines; he promised that the Manchu princedoms should be abolished; he promised free pardon to all offenders against law and order--he expressed himself ready to make any concession. But in his heart he realised that virtually he was in no position to dictate. He had to play the second fiddle, although trying to play thereon the notes of the first.

Li read his communique, smiled, joked about it with his second, tossed it to the floor, and declared that he would not concede a fraction. He did not concede. He replied that he would not then talk peace. Expressing his kindly felicitations, he urged upon Yuan Shih K'ai the necessity and wisdom of talking terms when the Revolutionary forces were marching upon Peking--and not before. He urged Yuan Shih K'ai to join the Revolutionary party, pointing out that this would immediately end the strife. Li Yuan Hung added that Yuan's previous history was such that no camp would fit him better, and, if he would come over, he would be made provisional President of the United States of China.

One must not expect, however, simply because Li would not talk peace that he was strong enough to enforce peace. He was not. As soon as Li's letter went {96} back to Yuan there was activity in the Imperial camp, soldiers were to be seen moving away towards Hanyang, batteries were shifted, trenching went on apace, a pontoon bridge was started by the Imperialists across the Han and knocked to pieces by the Hanyang Revolutionary guns, and it seemed as if a battle was immediately imminent. And then it commenced again. One cannot describe the conditions. The war was brought to our very doors. Fellows had bullets whizzing in their bedrooms, shells dropped all over the Foreign Concessions. It was never safe to be out on the Bund or in the roads of the settlement. Revolutionists were dying in thousands. All hospitals were full. The country was in utter devastation.

Up to an early hour on November 10th fighting still raged more or less fiercely. It was generally stated that the Revolutionists gave the enemy a thoroughly bad time, and had taken up an advanced position. The bombardment of Wuchang was hourly expected. Immediately behind the British Concession, not more than a hundred yards from the road dividing British from Chinese territory, three big guns of the Imperialists had their noses cocked most threateningly towards the capital city, and every one settled down to wait. A peculiar turn of events now was the organisation of night attacks. Invariably one's dinner hour was ushered in by the booming of cannon from either side of the river. But during these days the Imperialists again began indubitably to show their superiority as a fighting force. The great drawback of the Republican Army was that it was largely made up of nondescripts, as ignorant of warfare as is possible to imagine, whilst in the Northern Army there were none but highly trained men in whom were instilled strongly the absorbing lessons of the army. They knew nothing else. They did nothing else. They were fighting machines, and they fought on the same principle as machines in good order work. In making this {97} statement I am perfectly aware that there are certain great weaknesses in the Chinese military organisation that have yet to be removed. But with the Northern Army, that army which was founded by Yuan Shih K'ai himself--and he was looked upon as the greatest military reformer of the time--it had the minimum of these defects. The fact that the army of each province is for all practical purposes a separate body tells against efficiency. And it follows that the army that Yuan created, and which was now mainly engaged in fighting the Revolutionary enemy, was not so much a branch of the Chinese Army, but Yuan's Army, moulded as he wanted it. His soldiers, first of all, had been taught loyalty. What other soldiers in the world would have stood the test of loyalty as did those northern soldiers during the early days of November, when the only news they received was the report that a number of cities had gone over to the cause they themselves were fighting with their lives to quell?

They were primarily loyal--to what, as events later transpired, is quite another question. But they were, at any rate, loyal to Yuan. The photo of Yuan Shih K'ai was in every barrack-room, his name upon every lip. Again and again as I moved about among the men was I impressed with the hero-worship of man towards leader. Now, in comparing these armies, one should compare the two Viceroys under whom they served, for, with the independent provincial armies, the Viceroy brought his army up to that standard which he considered best. That is why the separateness about the branches of China's Model Army has worked against efficiency. Any one who knew would be ready to agree that, side by side and compared as armies, the Imperialist Army would knock spots off the Revolutionary Army under equal conditions, whilst the latter would not hit a target once in a hundred rounds. But the conditions were not quite equal. Into the argument, however, had to be brought another aspect. That aspect {98} was of all the most serious, and tended towards the termination of the war as much as any other factor. The Imperialists knew now that, no matter how many battles they would be able to win here, no matter how great their slaughter of the Revolutionists would be, the cause of the Revolution was destined to win. This slowly began to force itself upon them, and desertions were commonly reported.

Whilst people were talking about the promised bombardment the most arrant nonsense went the rounds as to the number and the size of the guns the Imperialists had at their disposal from the north. There were twelve-inch howitzers, forty six-inchers, thousands of smaller fry, such as three and four inch guns, and much more of the same kind. Whether just then they had any of their 7.5 Schneider-Canet guns here no one was in a position to know, but I believe they had not. In the Northern Army, however, there were some forty or more of these enormous guns--weapons so heavy that a team of twelve of the heaviest American horses would be insufficient to drag one of them. It is interesting to notice, as an authority recently tells us, in the Chinese Army there are at least six variety of Krupps, including 1905, 1904, 1888, and 1872 models, with a few 7.5 Japanese guns, Armstrongs, and Maxims. But when we come to the smaller arms we find confusion worse confounded. There are 1888-model Mausers, 1872-model Mausers, Mannlichers, and a few Lee-Metfords, and these again have to be subdivided. And it was seen throughout this war how the ammunition for presumably the same gun, captured by the enemy and used as the same weapon, had been absolutely useless in action; it wouldn't fit.

The nights were made hideous for foreign residents by the whizzing of overhead shells and the buzzing of bullets constantly about them. Several Chinese were shot dead in the streets of the British Concession, and others more or less seriously wounded, and the wonder {99} was not that any one was killed but that so many escaped with their lives in the midst of such danger. It was the common belief among the Chinese that the bullets had eyes. "See," they would yell, "'tis a heavenly inspiration that the shells do not touch us ... they have eyes ... they will not strike us!" And among Revolutionary admirers this was a common belief of the common people. They had never seen modern warfare before.

The Imperialists were now forging ahead towards the Han. Their task seemed an altogether impossible one. It took them three weeks to do it, and it needed only a stroll out each morning to see the truckloads of dead being taken along the railway line northward to realise at what cost their slow progress was being made. General Huang Hsuin[2] was now directing military operations against them. Each day junkloads of men were coming down from Hunan to join the Revolutionists--trained troops from the Hunan Army--and from them great things were expected. Everywhere one went he heard the boom of cannon, the whizz of shell, the ping of rifle shot. There was no escape. Foreigners were not allowed out of the Concessions, found it unsafe to go outside their houses, suffered shocks so great that all were on tenterhooks of excitement. Never before in any country were foreigners living as neutral parties to a war so near. But there is so much of general interest in the Revolution that much space cannot be devoted in this volume to battlefield descriptions. China was making history. Wars have often been described in history, but a Revolution such as this war was heralding had never been known. It was moving, and moving at one stroke, a quarter of the whole human family.

The battlefield was spread from Kilometre Ten to Hanyang on the left bank of the river, from the Kinshan Forts to Wuchang on the right side. One could hardly {100} believe it possible that in a fortnight such utter devastation could be wrought. Villages near by, with their inhabitants either routed or perished in the ruins, were burned to the ground; fields of crops were all trampled down, rice-beds were dug out for trenches, and now all was destruction for miles around in the country. Little black patches told the sad story of where a band of happy thriving villagers, once living at peace, was now deserted and devastated.

When in the early days of the war I used to wander down there and watch the operations I hardly thought it possible that an army professedly of forty thousand men could be removed from such an apparently formidable position. The railway was at hand, and the whole of Kilometre Ten was so strategically situated that it seemed an impossibility for the Imperialists, far away in the middle of flat country, to remove their enemy from such a strong position. But they