The War of the Dragon Lady (14 page)

‘I don’t know but I’ll think of something. Come on, into the woods.’

They rested through the darkest hours, although only Jenkins slept well. As dawn was lightening the sky to the east, they rose, rubbed down the horses as best they could and mounted. The firing had not yet recommenced. They sat uncertainly for a moment.

Then: ‘Have you got a spare vest in your pack?’ Simon asked Jenkins.

The Welshman’s jaw dropped. ‘A what?’

‘A spare undervest. And is it white?’

‘Well, sort of. I washed it before we left.’

‘Good. Get it out and tie it to this rifle.’

Jenkins shook his head in disbelief. ‘Blessed and wonderful are the ways of the officer class,’ he muttered as he unrolled his slender pack. He had attended Sunday school chapel as a child.

One arm of the vest was tightly knotted round the muzzle of Fonthill’s Mauser and the other to the breech just before the trigger guard. Simon nodded in approval but held the rifle low so that the vest hung downwards.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘this is no longer the disgusting undergarment of a very dirty Welsh Kansu soldier—’

‘’Ere, steady on,’ interrupted Jenkins.

‘… but a flag of truce, although it won’t be raised until we get to the front line. There, we will ride in a V formation towards the gate of the arsenal, you two behind me, sitting very upright, and me in the lead, carrying the flag, as though we are an official delegation come to parley.’

‘Ah,’ nodded Chang.

‘Brilliant, bach,’ said Jenkins.

‘Until we get to the front, though,’ continued Fonthill, ‘we will not display the flag and, Chang, you will lead. We shall be stopped, I’m sure, and you will explain that we have come with a message to the commander from our general in Peking, General … what’s his name again?’

‘Tung Fu-hsiang.’

‘That’s the chap. Explain that it is urgent and we can’t be delayed. Then, when we reach the line, we will raise the flag and ride straight
ahead – cantering, not galloping, mind you. Straight to the main gate of the arsenal and there we will explain that we are English and ask to be admitted.’

‘What?’ asked Jenkins. ‘Stand there an’ ’ave a chat while we get shot in the back by the Chinks and in the front by the Brits?’

‘Something like that.’ He grinned. ‘It’s risky, I admit. But I think that it’s a fair bet that the English will be wary, but they won’t defile a flag of truce and once they hear my voice they will let us in. As for the Chinese, I am gambling that everyone but the commander will think that it’s a parley that has been ordered from on high. And once
he
realises what’s up we shall be inside the arsenal.’

‘Then do I get me vest back?’

‘Of course. But it could have bullet holes in it. Come on, gentlemen. Let’s advance.’

Once again, Fonthill’s confidence was only reflected outwards. He would have felt happier if he could have reconnoitred the ground – particularly the Chinese lines – for himself. The main danger, he felt, would be getting through those lines. Chang’s story would not stand up to much interrogation. Their main hope would be that the young man would argue with, not only conviction, but also with the superiority and arrogance that stemmed from being a general’s messenger. He sighed. Once again, it would be a case of dipping a toe in the water to see how hot it was.

They rode back to where they had met the sentry the previous evening. He had been replaced and the new man made no attempt to stop them as they rode by. Confidence, reflected Fonthill, was all under these circumstances.

They rode on through scattered contingents of troops and heard intermittent firing from directly ahead of them. Luckily, they met no cavalry and no other Kansu troops, for they would surely never have survived interrogation from ‘one of their own’. The dead cavalryman must have been correct in saying that these Muslim soldiers were restricted to fighting on the north of the Peking legations’ perimeter.

They were stopped by one sentry, however, who was beginning to engage in a conversation with Chang when Simon interrupted, curtly gesturing them forward with an air of command that only an ex-British public schoolboy could call upon. They rode on and halted at the edge of a sad little thicket.

Before them loomed the huge, high walls of the arsenal, looking impregnable in the early-morning light. Stone outbuildings skirted the foot of the walls and these were manned by the defenders, who were directing a desultory fire at a line of hastily dug trenches some thirty yards away from the thicket and which curled down to the river. Smoke and cooking smells came from the trenches, as the Chinese soldiers prepared their breakfasts. The gap between the outbuildings and the trenches was some two hundred and fifty yards. The muzzles of light artillery pieces poked out from gaps in the line of outbuildings but Fonthill could see no artillery in place behind the Chinese lines. In any case, he mused, it would have taken very heavy guns to have made any impression in the walls of the arsenal.

He drew a deep breath. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘no point in waiting. We will ride straight ahead towards that gap where the cannon is pointing out. Rifles slung behind us so that they don’t threaten. We ride at a stately canter, now, and backs very straight. We are elite Chinese cavalry.’

‘Even though we are Mussulmen who ’aven’t said their prayers this mornin’,’ muttered Jenkins through clenched teeth.

They cantered out of the thicket, Fonthill in the lead, carrying his rifle high, with Jenkins’s vest fluttering at its muzzle. They took the narrow trench in a leap, startling the troops below them huddled around their braziers, and set off across no man’s land, in stately fashion as though they were leading the trooping of Her Majesty’s colour in Whitehall, London.

Two bullets hissed by Fonthill’s head from the direction of the British lines. He immediately removed his cap, coiled the reins around the thumb of his left hand and held it palm extended towards the British, in the universal sign of peace, and raised his ‘flag’ even higher. He heard someone bark a command from the outbuildings and the firing ceased.

They continued to ride in an eerie silence, for all firing had ceased along the lines. It was as though both sides were watching a tableau being staged for their entertainment.

When the trio had reached about sixty yards from the outbuildings, close enough to see the faces of the British soldiers, a Chinese voice rang out sharply.

‘They say, come no further,’ shouted Chang.

Fonthill rose in the stirrups. ‘I am an English officer,’ he cried. ‘My name is Fonthill. I have come from Peking with a message for your commander from Sir Claude MacDonald, the British minister in the capital. We have ridden through the Chinese lines in disguise.’

Silence fell. Then a voice displaying authority came from behind the cannon: ‘If you are an English officer, state your rank and regiment.’

Fonthill muttered a curse and then responded loudly: ‘I was
commissioned in the 24
^th
Regiment of Foot in 1876. I fought at Rorke’s Drift and Isandlwana and I am a Commander of the Bath. If we are left sitting out here much longer presenting three fine targets to the enemy I shall make bloody sure that you are cashiered. Now, let us in. Quickly.’

There was another silence and then the voice – this time carrying an edge – ordered: ‘Very well. But ride in slowly and do not touch your rifles or your packs.’

Thankfully, Simon kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and the three of them walked forward to the gap in the line. Just before they reached it, a shout rang out from the Chinese lines and a ragged volley sent bullets singing past their ears. With alacrity, they urged their steeds forward and sprang through the gaps on either side of the cannon.

Hurriedly dismounting, Simon faced a ring of rifles and a
haggard-faced
young subaltern, who looked at him with some unease.

‘Good morning,’ he said, cheerfully, extending his hand. ‘Simon Fonthill. Sorry to have seemed rude but I was expecting a bullet up the arse at any minute.’

The young man shook hands, still a little warily, and then waved down the rifles. ‘Good morning … er … sir. I’m afraid you took us all rather by surprise.’

‘Yes. Had no time or the wherewithal to send you a letter. Ran out of stamps. Now, who is in command here?’

‘Admiral Seymour.’

‘Admiral?’

‘Yes. We are the relief mission that set out to relieve Peking. The lieutenant took out a tattered handkerchief and ran it across his brow. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had rather a rough time. We’ve had to fight
every inch of the way back from Langfang …’

‘Langfang!’
Fonthill’s jaw dropped. ‘But that’s only about thirty miles from Peking. You got so near.’

The young man smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, we all know that. But I think you had better see the admiral, if you say you have a message for him.’

‘Yes please, right away. Oh – I wonder if it would be possible to rustle up some breakfast for my two companions? May I introduce 352 Jenkins and Chang Griffith. I wouldn’t have been able to move an inch without them.’

The lieutenant shook their hands – just a little uncertainly in the case of Chang – and gave quick orders to a sergeant. Then he walked with Simon back through a small post door set in the giant gate in the walls of the arsenal. They climbed a stone stairway and then Fonthill was kept waiting outside a semi-open door while a conversation took place within. Then he was ushered into a grand room, which, situated at the heart of the stone fortress, was blessedly cool. At the far end stood a tall, thin, bearded man, dressed in what was once the white ducks of an admiral of the British navy. Now they were creased, dirty and still covered in dust.

Seymour advance to meet Fonthill and held out his hand. His face was drawn beneath the beard and his eyes tired. ‘Fonthill?’ he asked. ‘Are you the Fonthill of Khartoum and Matebeleland?’

Simon nodded and then grinned. ‘I suppose I am, Admiral, though for the last two days, as you see, I have been a Kansu soldier.’

The grin was returned. ‘So I see. No wonder we wouldn’t let you into the lines. Congratulations on your disguise. We’ve been fighting Kansus for days and they and their general, Tung Fu-hsiang,’ he
pronounced it perfectly, ‘have been giving us hell.’

‘Really? I thought the Kansus and their general have been restricted to the siege at Peking.’

‘Certainly not. They’re down here in force. Now please don’t tell me –
please
don’t tell me – that you have come to announce that Peking has fallen?’

‘No, sir. At least not when I left two days ago.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘No. But I have come to urge you to make all haste to relieve the legations. They are holding out, but only just, and I don’t know how much longer they can defend the Legation Quarter. Can you turn around and march on Peking? You could be there in a few days.’

‘My dear fellow, do sit down.’ The admiral gestured to a chair and took the one opposite. ‘Fonthill,’ he spoke wearily and with heavy emphasis. ‘There is no question of that. We can’t relieve anyone. It is
we
who need relieving. You see, we ourselves are besieged here. And, from what I can hear, so are our people in Tientsin. I fear that, at the moment, we are losing this damned war with the Dragon Lady.’

Simon Fonthill stared blankly at the admiral. ‘But,’ he said, ‘we were told that you had set out with two thousand men.’

‘So I did.’ Seymour’s face was expressionless but his eyes were those of a man who realised that his career had come to an end. ‘Because of the need for haste, we decided that the railway was the obvious and quickest way to advance – after all, Peking was only some eighty miles away and we were being faced not by a regular army but just a bunch of peasant rebels. Well,’ he smiled sadly, ‘it wasn’t quite like that, I’m afraid.

‘Of course, we were strung out along the line in a succession of trains and we had to keep repairing the line ahead to remedy the damage done by the Chinese, so our progress was painfully slow. The Boxers first attacked us on the third day. They came on at our lead trains just a touch north of Langfang.’ The admiral’s voice was
soft and low, as though he were telling a fairy story to a child, but Fonthill could sense the agony behind the words. ‘They attacked us with supreme courage, although they were only armed with swords and spears. We brought down about sixty of them and they retreated but then they came on again, making it impossible for our chaps to get out to repair the line. In these subsequent attacks there were more of them and better armed.

‘We began to run low on ammunition and water and it was damned hot. You see, as we had advanced, we had been forced to garrison every station we passed to prevent the enemy tearing up the line behind us. We were on half rations and stretched out like a thin piece of string …’ Seymour suddenly shook his head. ‘I am forgetting my manners. You would like some tea, of course?’

‘That would be kind, sir. But what about your supplies?’

The admiral waved his hand. ‘That is the good news. We have found that this place is stacked with weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, fifteen tons of rice and a seemingly endless supply of tea. All left by the Chinese when we shooed them off.’ He shouted and a bluejacket appeared. ‘A pot of tea for two, please, Jackson. Now, where was I?’

‘You were stretched out like a piece of string.’

‘Yes, so we were. Then the Chinese destroyed the bridge at Yangtsun and we were cut off from our supply trains, which had to retreat back to Tientsin. We thought long and hard about pushing on to Peking overland but there was no major road, we had no transport and a growing number of wounded to care for. We decided to fall back on Yangtsun, commandeer junks for our wounded and supplies, and advance up the river to the capital. But there the German force
we had left as a garrison was attacked by about four thousand of the enemy and their train was pursued for some miles as it retreated back to Tientsin, from which we could now hear gunfire.’

Wearily, Seymour rose and poured tea. ‘The important point here, however,’ he continued, ‘is that the force attacking the Germans were not Boxers but well-led contingents of the Imperial army. In other words, this rebellion was now being backed by the Chinese army, presumably on the orders of the Empress. So it was no longer a rebellion, it was war.’ He sighed. ‘This meant that it was impossible for us to continue towards Peking, with our wounded and cut off, as we were, from our supplies. So we took four junks and turned back for Tientsin. We have had to fight every inch of the way, deploying men at every village to take them at bayonet point and often pulling the junks containing our guns and wounded off the shoals as they grounded. We were under attack all the time. Then, suddenly, looming up out of the dusk we came upon this place, of which we had no knowledge at all. We mounted a night attack and, although it was fiercely defended, we managed to break through and send the garrison packing.’

Fonthill nodded, not quite knowing what to say, for his thoughts were beginning to turn to Alice and the beleagured defenders at Peking. But the admiral was not finished.

‘Our pursuers, of course, closed in all around us, cutting us off. Here, we are only about six miles from the foreign settlements at Tientsin and we can hear gunfire from there, so they are clearly under siege. But we have not been able to make contact with them, of course. You see, Fonthill,’ Seymour leant forward, ‘we are dead beat. Of what was left of my small force when we were cut off north of Yangtsun, we have lost sixty-two dead and two hundred and thirty-two wounded.
We have successfully fought off a series of counter-attacks but we are simply not strong enough to break out.’

He sat back. ‘There. That’s our story. Every step of the way I have thought about our people in Peking and, since turning back, I have half expected to hear that they have been overwhelmed.’ He smiled wanly. ‘You can imagine the frustration and even the feeling of guilt. So please tell me how things were when you left and also how you were able to get through the lines.’

Simon relayed the message from Sir Claude MacDonald and then told his own story of how he and his two companions were able to reach the arsenal. At the end, both men fell silent.

It was Seymour who broke the silence. ‘You’ve shown remarkable courage and resource, Fonthill,’ he said, offering his sad smile, ‘and when the people back home hear about it, you will surely get rather more plaudits than I. But that is of no account. What matters now is that we have to get out of this place.’

‘Quite so.’ Fonthill’s mind raced. The story of the relief expedition was undoubtedly an unmitigated disaster. Surely someone – someone, that is, with some experience of land warfare, not an admiral, for God’s sake! – should have realised how vulnerable to attack would be an advance through enemy territory
by train
. Cutting the advance into segments by pulling up the line and then attacking each exposed segment would be as easy as snipping a piece of string here and there. His mind flashed again to the vulnerability of Alice now and of how the defenders of the Legation Quarter had been relying on relief and expecting it daily, scanning the sky to the south-east for searchlights and listening for the distant rumbles of guns to show that a column was near. Indignation flared within him at the incompetence of it all.
Then a look into the sad eyes of the man before him, a man who had tried his best and who knew that his long and distinguished career had now ended in disastrous failure, rid him of thoughts of blame. What to do now, indeed!

‘You have tried to get help, presumably, from Tientsin?’

‘Oh yes. Only a Chinaman, of course, could get through and all of the reliable native people with me have refused to attempt it. I have to say that I don’t blame them. Reports have come in that Tung Fu-hsiang – a vicious bandit, by all accounts – is torturing and then beheading any of his countrymen found helping the enemy. We shall just have to lick our wounds here until we are strong enough to break out.’

‘Hmm.’ Fonthill thought hard. ‘We can tell by the sound of the guns, of course, that the Tientsin settlements are still holding out. If only we could link the two forces – here and there, I mean – then we would have a much stronger unit to attack the Kansus. Is there hope of reinforcements coming to Tientsin from the sea?’

Seymour’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes indeed, that is my hope. Before I left, the Foreign Powers were being asked to send troops to reinforce us from their possessions in Asia. The Russians, of course, are the nearest.’

‘Good.’ Simon fumbled within his long jacket and produced the rough map that Sir Claude had given him. He moved the teapot and spread the paper out on the table before them. He jabbed the map with a grimy forefinger. ‘You are presumably about here,’ he said, ‘on the riverbank, some six miles or so from the settlements?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the river flows from here downstream directly past the settlements?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Then that is the route for a messenger to follow.’

The admiral shook his head. ‘But a boat would never get past the Chinese, who are watching every inch of the river. Then, of course, there is the question of getting through the ring of Tung Fu-hsiang’s troops who are besieging the settlements.’

‘It should be possible for someone in disguise to get through the Chinese lines around the settlements. We have done it here. And I would not use a boat to go downriver.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I presume you have access to the river?’

‘Yes, after dark.’

‘I have seen that there is plenty of driftwood that floats down the river with the current. It should be possible to pull some such detritus to the shore, take cover under it, in or out of the water, and float downstream, swimming ashore when the settlements are reached – all under cover of darkness.’

The admiral scratched at his beard. ‘It’s ingenious, but highly dangerous, I would have thought. But who would …? You are not suggesting that
you
would go?’

‘Of course.’

‘But, my dear fellow. You don’t know the territory, you would not be able to control your means of travel, you would not know when you had reached your destination … I can think of a dozen reasons why the whole thing would be ridiculously hazardous.’

Fonthill leant forward. ‘I have to confess, Admiral,’ he said, ‘that I have a vested interest in getting you out of here. You see, I had to leave my wife behind in the Legation Quarter in Peking. I don’t know
how long the defenders can hold out there but their resources are running low and unless help comes soon they will be overwhelmed. If that happens, I do not wish to think of what could happen to her. If the fit remnants of your column and the defenders at Tientsin are merged – plus, of course, any reinforcements that have been able to land from the sea – then it should be possible to mount another attempt to relieve our people in the capital. But all this will take time, of course, and we have precious little of that. So I intend to leave tonight.’ He paused for a moment. Then he added slowly but with emphasis, ‘I need to go myself to impress the authorities of the need for haste and for care in the planning of this second relief column. It needs to go quickly –
and it must get through
.’

The two men sat gazing at each other in silence for a moment. Then the admiral stood. ‘I admire your courage and your determination, Fonthill,’ he said. ‘Of course, I will do all I can to help. Now come over here and I will show you a better map.’

The two walked to the admiral’s desk, where he unrolled a
large-scale
chart. ‘This arsenal is not marked but we are roughly here on the right bank of the river, as you have indicated. The river flows more or less straight for about three miles, then it gets a bit complicated. Just above the Chinese City of Tientsin here, you see that the river bends back on itself and the Lu-T’ai Canal comes in from the left. Then the river itself becomes like the head of a buffalo, facing north; you come in on the right horn, so to speak, and the left horn goes to your right and becomes the Grand Canal, flowing past the city. You must not be swept into the canal because that takes you away from the settlements, which are down here, sou’-sou’-west, about another mile away. If you can get ashore at the northern extremity of the
settlements, here, with the railway station on your left, that would be best. Do you speak French?’

‘Yes. Well, reasonably.’

‘Good, because the French concession occupies the northern end of the settlements and I assume that French sailors will be occupying this part of the defences. Now, do you intend to go alone?’

‘Yes, I cannot ask my companions to undertake such a journey.’

‘Very well. I suggest that you strip down but carry your Kansu clothing tightly wrapped in a waterproof. Rub down if you can find cover on the riverbank and then dress. You can’t wander naked through the lines. Ah, one more thing.’ He rolled the map up again. ‘Just on the edge of the arsenal here, where it comes down to the river, there is a promontory, which juts out and collects driftwood. We should be able to find material for some sort of transport there.’

Simon nodded in appreciation. ‘Splendid! I am most grateful for your help and advice. Now, I would welcome the chance to have something to eat and to talk to my companions.’

‘Good Lord! Of course. I have been most neglectful.’

Moments later, Fonthill joined Jenkins and Chang, who were finishing a plate of rice and meat of indeterminate origin and drinking from large tin mugs of tea. Similar fare was provided for him and, between mouthfuls, he related the story of the relief column to his companions.

‘Barmy, goin’ by train,’ said Jenkins. ‘Did they think they were goin’ on ’oliday to the seaside?’

Chang nodded and concurred. ‘It is jolly regretful that they should go that way.’

Jenkins mopped up the remains of the rice with a crust. ‘What’s the
plan now, then, bach sir?’ He looked around him. ‘I could quite enjoy this postin’, out of the sun, like, an’ with a bit of decent somethin’ to eat. I suppose we will stay ’ere for a bit to get our breath back, so to speak?’

‘Yes, well certainly you two will.’ He then explained his plan to them. Chang, as usual, was imperturbable but Jenkins listened with mounting horror.

‘What!’ he exclaimed, his nose wrinkling and his eyebrows nearly meeting his moustache. ‘We float down that bleedin’ river on a bit o’ wood, with the crocodiles nippin’ at our balls and lettin’ the Chinks take potshots at us? It’s barmy, look you.’

Simon sighed. ‘No, my dear old comrade.
We
don’t go.
I
do. Two of us certainly would present a target and, anyway, you can’t swim and you are afraid of crocodiles. I love them. Nice creatures.’

Chang broke his silence. ‘Three too many, cousin. I quite agree. But you need interpreter. And I can swim and I love crocodiles too. So I come.’ He grinned. ‘Mr Jenkins stay behind because he is not family.’

Jenkins blew out his cheeks. ‘If you go, I go. Or I shoot you in the leg, as instructed by Miss Alice. I think this counts under the ’eadin’ of “stupid, brave thing”, or whatever it was she said.’

Fonthill shook his head slowly. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but I do this one on my own. Three of us are too big a party. And it is far too dangerous, anyway.’