". . . . and such other duty as may be assigned."—Old order.
On the morning of June 17, 1900, six gunboats, one English, one French, one German, and three Russian, engaged the Taku forts at a distance of about one mile in the second reach of the Peiho river; that is, around the first bend, a narrow neck of land intervening between them and the forts. This position was held from one o'clock, when the battle began, until daylight. Then about seven hundred sailors landed and made an unsuccessful attack upon the works. Things were beginning to look gloomy, ammunition was running short, and the guns of the forts were still firing as actively as at the beginning, when Captain Stewart, of the English gunboat, Algerine, proposed to the commanding officers to go around the bend and engage at close range—from one to two hundred yards. This bold plan was at once carried out; the machine guns drove the Chinese from the batteries, and under cover of this hot fire the landing party made a second assault and this time was successful. A lucky shot from the Algerine entered the magazine at the south fort, which blew up with a terrific report, killing hundreds of Chinese soldiers. This catastrophe seemed to dishearten the enemy, for soon after the flag was hauled down and the place was abandoned. Meanwhile, the Japanese, who had gained possession of one of the forts on the south side of the river, turned the big guns upon the north fort, still held by the Chinese, and drove them out. By half-past six the flags of England, Russia, Japan and Germany were flying over the works, and the enemy's troops were in full retreat to the southward. The Taku works were captured, and that day the Imperial troops threw off the mask, took the side of the Boxers, and attacked Tientsin.
The Japanese gunboat Atago and the U. S. S. Monocacy took no part in the bombardment, the former on account of being laden with ammunition and provisions for the allies, and the latter being held by instructions from the commander-in-chief, which, taking the ground that we were not authorized to initiate any act of war with a country with which we were at peace, confined our work to the protection of American interests. Accordingly, on the evening of the sixteenth, the residents and refugees of Taku and Tongku were directed to embark for safety at once on board the Monocacy, then lying in what was thought to be a sheltered berth at Tongku. Nothing loath, seven men, thirteen women, and sixteen children abandoned their homes and hurried on board.
W. Savage Landor, writing of the incidents of that time, speaks as follows: "On the bridge of the Monocacy stood her commanding officer, encouraging the women and children swarming the decks, who, all the same, felt some apprehension at the hissing and bursting of shells, fortunately high over head. He and his officers reassured the refugees and tried to convince them that the ship lay in a position of safety, when, much to everybody's surprise, she was hit by a shell that cut right through the bows."
To have regarded that stray shot as a declaration of war on the part of China, to be resented then and there, would have meant the casting off of lines and going into the fight with several dozen women and children on board, a somewhat unusual proceeding, a fact that even the most strenuous advocates of glory at any price would have to admit. It was equally out of the question to land the refugees and turn them over to the tender mercies of the roving bands of robbers who had already begun their work of looting, robbing, and killing. War, in one respect, is like a certain well-known institution, which, we are told, should not be "entered into lightly or unadvisedly," and, at any rate, should not depend for its cause upon the exact location, whether a few yards to the right or to the left, of the fall of a stray shot. There is no time to back and fill about boarding a train after the train starts. The question of going or staying should be settled long before the engine pulls into the station. Then, too, innocent onlookers at a street fight have themselves to blame if struck by missiles going wide of their mark. Their plain course, in that event, especially if they have children in their arms whom they are unwilling to throw away, is to get behind a bigger tree. The truth is, we had been given a role and had to stick to it. The commanding officer in his official report said: "I feel a natural regret, shared no doubt by the officers, that duty and orders prevented the old Monocacy from giving her ancient smooth-bores a last chance."
In this connection it may not be amiss again to quote from Landor: "It is pleasant to notice that, whatever the orders from the government in the matter of co-operating in the engagement at Taku, the feelings of the United States officers themselves on the gunboat did not differ from those of all the' other officers of the allies."
After the fall of the Taku forts, at a meeting of the admirals on board the Rossia, a protocol was signed that placed the commanding officer of the Monocacy in control, in the town of Tongku, of all the buildings, the railway station, the water supply, rolling stock, etc. In this he was to have the assistance of an officer from every nation for the purpose of transmitting orders to whatever detachment might be using the station.
Then our work, the work that compensated in a measure for our enforced inactivity in the early part of the trouble, began. Taku had fallen but Seymour's column was yet to be relieved, and Tientsin, defended by only seven hundred troops (including thirty from our gunboat), was hard pressed by several thousand Boxers. The problem (Chinese puzzle) was to send the fast-arriving allies to the front over the torn-up, single-track railway between Tongku and Tientsin. The commanding officer turned the duty over to me with the remark that "the road must be put in commission at once," a task simple enough, no doubt, for a railroad expert, but somewhat of an order for a seagoing man with seamen for his operating force! However, the time was short, and after a hurried inspection of the rusty locomotives and weather-beaten cars left in the yard, I called the short-handed crew about me and told them the story. In less than two days five locomotives were in commission ready for use, four manned by our people and one by the English. Trains began running with American conductors and brakemen, and the work was on.
That it was essentially an American service, the following extract from an official report will show: "The employees in this make-shift train service are all my own, with, at first, some English and German firemen and stokers . . . . I tried to induce a civilian employee of the railway to go out with the train which has just left. My men were on the engine. I tried my best, but he had recently escaped from Tientsin, and said positively he 'would not risk his skin again anywhere near those Chinese devils.'"
Following the good old service custom, before making any through runs with the locomotives we sent them on short shaking-down cruises, or trial trips, which were pronounced highly successful if the train kept the track and crept back into port without serious accident. The result was particularly pleasing, I remember, when the engines got back under their own steam, without the aid of the relief engine that was kept ready, night and day, to tow in any cripple suffering with leaky tubes, water famine, or hot boxes. The orders were to play for safety. We didn't break any records, nor, on the other hand, did we break any legs. A burst of speed would have meant a burst of boiler. I tried to impress upon the train crews that the race is not to the swift but to the careful. If any of our trains had been named Cannon-ball Express it would have been on account not of the speed but of the nature of the cargo.
Between trips search was made in the yard for anything that might be useful in our work. At first nothing came of it. Looted cars, scattered bales of goods, and scrap heaps could not be utilized. Finally, however, a private car, travel-stained and forlorn looking, was found, hauled to the front, and filled with coolies armed with brooms and scrubbing-brushes. That discovery solved the problem, which up to that time had bothered us, of providing suitable transportation for officers of high rank. Anticipating the time when the telegraph lines would be desirable, we loaded (while we were resting) several cars with telegraph poles found in the yard and along the road, so that when the Japanese volunteered to rebuild the telegraph line everything was ready. I remember that there were three, just three, poles left after the cars had been unloaded along the track between Tongku and Tientsin. Nor shall I forget the astonishment of the captain at my reply to his question, asked in the presence of the Japanese, as to how many days it would take to find poles and have them ready to distribute along the track. "They are ready now, sir; the relief engine can start up the road with them in ten minutes."
The rolling stock of that road not being designed for the transportation of military supplies, it was found necessary in many cases to change the style of architecture of the cars. Then was shown the advantage that sometimes comes from combining several departments under one head. Being chief of construction, of equipment, of supplies, and of the ship's carpenter gang, I found no red tape in the way of an easy solution of the problem. The carpenter's gang did it with axes and saws. When the openings were not wide enough for horses and carts, we made them wide enough. This was hard on the property, of course, and would have brought tears to the eyes of the railway men, but they were not there to protest, and something had to be done. It was a situation that demanded acts before words.
One of the plans that worked well was the sending of trains in two sections, the first with troops, the second, about fifteen minutes later, with horses, wagons, tents, stoves and ammunition, with orders to take the side-track near the terminus until the return of the emptied first section, and then proceed to the end of the line, where the waiting troops assisted in unloading. A few general, rules like the one just mentioned worked automatically in a few days, and gave us time for other things.
The value of the service rendered by the Monocacy in supplying fresh water to the troops cannot be overestimated. The captain in one of his official reports said: "I have also sent out two platform cars containing large fresh-water tanks, each with a capacity of about 5,000 gallons . . . . I have been especially careful that every train and every car carried drinking water in small utensils, breakers, buckets, cracker tins, as there is no potable water between here and Tientsin." The italics are mine, and tell of the greatest danger and difficulty with which we had to deal.
The asthmatic sentences of the log-book covering that period, together with the story between the lines always, in such books, plainly visible to the seagoing man, tell of busy watches, of obstacles overcome, of assistance given, of hard work done:
Midnight to 4 a. m.—Heavy-gun firing started at E'd at 12.45. At 1.30 the Iltis left harbor. At 2.35 a projectile struck 2d cutter, passed through stern and sides of same, then over the stbd. bulwarks and through port bulwarks at break of forecastle, five feet from deck, and did not explode. Small-arm firing occurring at intervals and singly from shore in vicinity of this vessel. Several shells passing over and bursting in vicinity.
8 a. m. to Merid.—Engaged cleaning locomotives and making up train. Refugees left ship, but finding conditions at Taku unsettled, returned. Surgeon gave assistance to three wounded (1 Chinaman, 2 Russians).
Distilling. Vice-Admiral Alexieff visited the ship. Despatched train of 28 cars with troops, horses, ammunition, and 10,000 gallons fresh water. Sent armed party up river and took possession of a large seagoing tug. At 9.35 Lieut. I., of this ship, left for Tientsin, with 22 men, gatling gun, carriage and tripod mounts.
Merid, to 4 p. m.—A train arrived at 3 and reported 2 locomotives disabled. Brought in same and made preparations for sending up another train. Filled water tank and sent to front together with a repair car_ Sent to train for use of English naval force I 3-in. B. L. R. and ammunition.
Midnight to 4 a. m.—Sent assistance to Japanese torpedo boat aground in the river. At 3.15 despatched train with Russian troops. Relief engine brought back disabled train. Distilling. Heavy firing in direction of Tientsin. Made special preparations to resist threatened attack of Boxers.
The log-book, too, served to tell when Sunday came. There was no church bell to ring out glad tidings of "peace on earth, goodwill toward men"; but this was just as well, perhaps, for the call of the bell would have been but faint in all that din telling a story so different.
Although things ran along smoothly, we were not wholly free from worries. The cares that infested the day, instead of folding their tents and stealing away, often remained over and stood the night-watches with us, when they took good care that we did not sleep on post. Indeed, our wrestling matches with the little god of sleep in that busy time were of the catch-as-catch-can variety. Trains were sent up the road at night as often as during the day. The situation was much like the one that called forth the old-time order of the boatswain to the busy crew, "Turn to while you are resting and break out the fore hold !"
However, we luffed through the blue days with thoughts of the compensations—the many letters of thanks and appreciation, official and private, received by our commanding officer from the commanding officers of the various bodies of troops we helped to the front; the remark of the English captain, made in the presence of a group of foreign officers, that Tientsin would not have been relieved, had it not been for the American gunboat; the satisfaction that comes with taking part in work that counts, work that grows in ease and interest; the remembrance that, although Napoleon's despatches always contained the word glory, Wellington's favorite word was duty—all these helped. Perhaps our satisfaction would have been even greater had we known then that our commanding officer was to be decorated by the Emperor of far-away Germany with the Third Order of the Red Eagle. To get the correct view of a picture, it is sometimes necessary to look at it from a distance.
The work, while trying and difficult, was not without its amusing incidents. I had an interpreter (a seaman from the Monocacy) close alongside all the time, who spoke all the known languages. He needed them. I sometimes thought he would lose his mind—or his tongue, but he lived through the trouble, and at last accounts was sorting out his languages in an attempt to get them straight again. His name should go on record, for it fitted him. It is Gold.
"Sir," said a foreign officer, "I should like to have a train Wednesday morning at six o'clock for seven hundred troops and one hundred horses."
"Very well, sir," was the reply, "the train will be ready." And then, in an undertone to my messenger, "Ask the engineer of. No. 3 if he thinks he can make one more trip without blowing up the boiler."
"Is this the ten o'clock train?" I was asked one busy morning.
"No, this is the Tuesday train." Ten o'clock train, indeed!
The noise of the moving cars was not so loud as to prevent the general manager from hearing some of the remarks of his subordinates. "Bill," said an engineer to the ordinary seaman then acting as stoker, "do you think we can make the run to Tientsin without a compass?" "Oh, ask the coxswain about that," said Bill, as he threw another shovelful of coal into the furnace. Fortunately these pleasantries were all in English and passed unnoticed by the busy strangers.
But underneath it all, those of us who knew those faithful men could detect the earnestness, the close attention to detail, the determination to succeed, that mark the bluejackets' conduct in time of trouble, and win their officers' confidence and regard. Cheerful, obedient and efficient, working night and day, they were a source of pride to their people and of wonder to all foreigners.
The operating of the Chinese railway under the conditions existing that memorable summer is more simple in the telling than it was in the doing. It involved more than appears on the surface. To keep the wheels turning, many things had to be thought of. The number and condition of the cars available for use; the number of troops, horses, carts, boxes of ammunition each would hold; the locomotives and the number of loaded cars each could pull; the position and length of the sidings; the water supply for the engines; the best means of loading and unloading horses and carts; the way to avoid giving offence and to preserve strict impartiality when two bodies of troops of different nations wanted a train at the same time—all these questions and many others clamored continually for prompt answers.
Under these conditions it was not conducive to clear thinking or quick decision to hear, as we often did, that the Chinese were assembling in the vicinity with the object of making an attack upon the yard. The train crews were always armed. The best excuse given for a late train was that of the boatswain's-mate conductor who said that he had stopped to get a few good shots at a body of Boxers intent upon placing obstructions on the track.
Our hammer-and-tongs measures afterwards met the approval of the real general manager of the road, who, on his return from exile, laughed heartily when told of the unique methods of nautical railroading, and remarked that "the system, though unusual, has evidently been successful."
No, it was just plain, very plain, every-day railroading, without fancy frills or flourishes, but it did the work given it to do. When, after several weeks, the breathing spell came, and we found time to get an all night in, it was pleasing to know that not a man had been delayed a minute, not a limb had been broken, not a car had run off the track, not a life of man or beast had been lost. Thirteen thousand troops, several hundred horses, camp equipage, ammunition, provisions, water—everything for the maintenance of the armies, had been sent up over a rickety, single-track railway, which, weeks before, had been abandoned by its people to the kind attentions of Boxers and roving bands of robbers—this by a group of bluejackets from our smallest gunboat.
Things, live interesting things, happened with sufficient frequency to drive away all traces of ennui. Soon after the capture of the forts the foraging party of one of the allies collided with the party of another ally and robbed them of their provisions. Whereupon the commanding officer of the defeated people buckled on his sword, went over to the neighboring fort, and asked questions. The accused, not to be outdone in promptness and politeness, then and there stood the identified offenders up against the mud wall of the fort and had them shot. That closed the incident. On another occasion a zealous officer asked for a coolie then acting as aid to one of our locomotive firemen, with the declared purpose of depriving him of his head. When refused on the ground that, for the time being, the coolie was an American, the officer went away shrugging his shoulders and wondering, no doubt, at the foolishness of those who do not in war time act upon the good old rule, "whenever you see a head, hit it." At another time a squad of six or seven held a merry little target practice of their own, the target being the head of a Chinaman swimming across the river. The exercise, from its deliberateness and the range finding shots, seemed to be record rather than battle practice. When ordered away the marksmen seemed unable to understand that the unarmed Chinaman was a non-combatant, and, as such, not eligible for use as a target. It was another case of hitting the head. A favorite custom of one of the allies was to scour the country for coolies for camp work, and to bring them in in squads, or bunches, of four or five with their queues tied together. This plan was somewhat awkward for the coolies but economical for the troops. One corporal could do the work of several men. The motto seemed to be, "United they come, divided they run." Kid gloves were not in fashion at Tongku. Owing to the scarcity of furniture in the home-made hospital at Tongku, where I served a short term, the only table did duty in both the dining-room and that other room for which hospitals are built. Often our meals were hurried in order that the table might be put to its legitimate use, which, of course, always had the right of way. There was no time for walnuts and wine. Turning from the table to the window, one looked in vain for the pleasant surroundings so helpful to hospital patients. There an ugly picture met the eye—a dreary, dust-covered, sun-scorched plain, and a sluggish river on which things unspeakable, seen only in war time, steadily growing in number and unpleasantness, turning lazily in the eddies, shining brightly in the sun, floated slowly, always slowly, until caught and held by projecting banks, where they became the prize of snarling, unclean, half-famished creatures. Truly, no day passed without incidents that brought to mind Sherman's terse definition of war.
The fatigue of the day was often driven away by the fine singing of the soldiers encamped for the night near the station. In the evening a single tenor voice, taking up the words of a song, usually those of a national hymn, would be joined by others at the more distant posts, until one grand volume of sweet sound was carried in the still night air far out on the plains, taking to the ears of the wondering Boxers news of the coming of the modern crusaders. Nor was this open-air concert without a proper stagesetting. The curtain rang down each night to the accompaniment of sweet music, soft twilight, and the soothing calm that comes with night-fall on the plains. But 0, what a difference in the morning! The rise of the curtain next day revealed the presence of the men with spears, the shield-bearers, the noise-makers, the soft music displaced by discordant sounds, while the crack of the rifle, the sound of the axe, the cry of the Chinaman, gave evidence that the work of benevolent assimilation, the march of civilization, had been resumed.
There was plenty of time to note the differences in equipment, discipline, and organization of the several companies that passed up the line—Sikhs from India, French from Annam, the First Regiment of Chinese from Wei-hai-Wei (fighting for the English under English officers), Germans and Italians, Japanese and Americans, Russians and Austrians—all against China, the West against the East, the newer civilization against the old. The bearing of the Russians was suggestive of strength and courage, and the Japanese, while not lacking in these qualities, were remarkable for their careful attention to detail, splendid discipline, and matchless organization. They were quiet, polite and observant. The Sikhs, once seen around their camp-fires, can never be forgotten. Tall, dark and mysterious, they have the faces of poets and the manners of masters of the occult sciences.
Although our bluejackets are not in need of testimony as to their fitness, some of the preceding paragraphs may serve to show what can be done by the crew of a small gunboat when suddenly confronted with problems not in the book. I dare say that all work that has to do with armed conflicts should be either war or magnificent. This task surely was not war, nor could we console ourselves with the thought that it was magnificent. Its service was that of the only bridge across a swollen stream to an army on a hurried march. The timbers, straining in the dark far from the lime-light, creaked and groaned, at times, under the weight of the martial hosts, but remained in place until the last man was over. Then. the work done, the bridge was dismantled, and the various parts were stowed away, but not too far away, I trust, to hear the next assembly call.