The War of the Dragon Lady

by John Wilcox

  ‘Ah.’ Simon nodded his head, seeing the point of the interview at last. ‘And you want someone to take this message to the relief column?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  A silence hung in the heavy air for a moment. It was broken by Fonthill. ‘But why me? Wouldn’t it be better – safer and more effective – to send the request via a Chinese messenger? Someone who would be better equipped to slip through the enemy lines and a hostile countryside. Surely, a European would stand out like a sore thumb?’

  ‘Quite so. These seem the obvious points. But there are strong reasons why I do not wish to entrust this communiqué to a Chinese.’

  He leant forward in his chair. ‘I have sent four separate messages, containing questions, to Tientsin since we have been besieged. They have been carried by native Chinese whom I thought I could trust. It seems clear to me now that none of these messages has been delivered, for this message now received seems to be singularly relaxed about the urgency of our position here and it answers none of my questions. I am sure that if these messengers had been captured, then I would have heard. There would certainly have been some references to them in this strange dialogue I continue to hold with the Manchu court.’

  ‘So – what happened to them, do you think?’

  ‘I believe that the messengers just absconded with them without making any attempt to deliver them. The Chinese are like that, you know.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘No. This time, I want someone reliable – someone resourceful – to get through to the relief column. There is an additional point in this context. I want the messenger to have a strategic appreciation of our position here. Someone with military – not diplomatic – experience, who can advise the commander of the relief column on the best way to enter the city and to attack our besiegers. I can’t think of anyone who could do this better than you, my dear fellow. After all, you got through the Mahdi’s hordes surrounding Khartoum to get a message through to Gordon, did you not?’

  Fonthill smiled wryly. ‘I was a bit younger then, sir.’

  MacDonald sighed. ‘My dear Fonthill, in the last few weeks you have led at least two bayonet charges against the enemy, you have climbed a forty-five-foot tower and destroyed two large guns and you have worked seemingly non-stop to keep our defences in good order. Indeed, I am told that when you received my request to come to the office, you were working with the coolies digging out a trench. I can’t think of a fitter, more qualified man for this dangerous mission.’

  ‘Well, thank you, sir. There is, however, the question of appearance. A European surely would be recognised quickly in this countryside. It would be particularly difficult to get through the besiegers here and at Tientsin.’

  ‘I have thought of that. Both you and your man – er … 352, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well done, sir. Yes.’

  Sir Claude gave a distant smile. ‘Yes. I presume that you would wish to take him with you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Well, both you and he have high cheekbones and are not extraordinarily tall. That’s a good start. I suggest that we disguise the pair of you as Kansu soldiers from the north. They are more Mongolian than indigenous Chinese and their facial features change considerably from man to man. We have captured several of these chaps and their uniforms are quite distinctive. They straight away proclaim that the fellows wearing them are Kansu. We can dress you up quite well.’

  ‘What about a guide? Jenkins and I just don’t know the territory.’

  The minister stirred in his chair, a trifle uncomfortably. ‘I can offer you your choice of a dozen or more reasonably reliable Chinese. Trouble is, I fear they are not completely to be trusted. But I agree you must have someone.’

  ‘Ah!’ Simon slapped his thigh. ‘I have it! We will take Chang, the Reverend Griffith’s adopted son. He is as keen as mustard, speaks the language like a native, of course, and I know has made the journey to and from Tientsin several times.’

  ‘Good.’ The faint smile returned to Sir Claude’s long features. ‘You will accept, then?’

  ‘Of course. I see the importance of it, although,’ he frowned, ‘I know my wife won’t like it.’ He leant forward. ‘And I have to confess that I am worried about leaving her here. Without myself and Jenkins, who would protect her if the worst comes to the worst?’

  ‘On that point, Fonthill, you must be assured. I will personally undertake responsibility for her safety, even if the Chinese do break through. She will be as important to me as is my wife. She will be part of my family, so to speak, and, in any case, I am confident that the Empress will not wish to see any of the ministers, or their families, harmed, in the unlikely event of there being a breakthrough. It would mean the end of the Manchu court, for the revenge of the Western powers would be punitive. The Empress will know that.’

  Fonthill was not convinced but he decided to say nothing. ‘Very well. When do you wish us to go?’

  ‘As soon as possible. We have garments for you. I suggest you leave the Quarter at night, perhaps tomorrow, just after sunrise? The safest way, I suggest, is through the sewer hole in the wall. Not pleasant, I fear, but, as far as we can see, it is not guarded by the Chinese. It is quite small but men singly can slip through it easily.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Tomorrow night it shall be.’ Fonthill and the minister rose and shook hands.

  As he predicted, Alice was incensed at the news. She argued strongly that two Occidentals would easily be detected, from their physical appearance and their language. Capture would be inevitable and it simply would not be possible to talk their way out of it. If they insisted on undertaking the mission, then she would go with them. A woman with the party would reduce the risk of being taken for spies and, anyway, she was damned if she was going to be left behind to become another widow holed up in Peking!

  It took all of Simon’s persuasive powers to induce her to change her stance. It would be far more difficult to disguise her appearance, with her fair hair and grey eyes. And the worry of having her with them, he argued, would adversely affect his ability to lead the mission.

  Then the problem arose of how to explain Chang’s absence to his mother. The youth was anxious enough to take part but, if Gerald, for all his new seeming affection for Alice, was, in fact, relaying information to the enemy, then he must not be made aware of the mission. In the end, it was agreed that Chang would leave a message for Mrs Griffith, explaining that he had been seconded to the American Legation for special duties and that, long after their departure, Alice would find a way of explaining, as diplomatically as possible, the real reason for his absence.

  The next morning, the trio assembled in the privacy of MacDonald’s office to be fitted by Lady MacDonald with their disguises. The minister’s wife, tall and as elegant as her husband, bestowed as much enthusiasm for getting their costumes right as she did for dressing the participants in her very popular annual pantomimes.

  None of the garments, which had been stripped from prisoners and washed carefully, fitted, but they were sufficiently voluminous for this not to matter. Each wore a canvas cap reminiscent of that of a scullery maid in an upper-class British house; long, smock-type coats, emblazoned with Chinese symbols proclaiming their allegiance to their leader, Tung Fu-hsiang; baggy cotton trousers; and single-strap sandals, through the front of which their toes poked. Heavy bandoliers were carried, either crossways or around their waists, and straight, short swords were thrust through their belts.

  ‘What about rifles?’ asked Jenkins. ‘I don’t fancy going halfway across China without our Henry-Martinis.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ replied Fonthill. ‘Carrying two British rifles would betray us straightaway. We take the two Mausers we picked up at the tower. And Chang still has one of our two Colts. I wish to leave the other with Alice.’

  ‘What if we are stopped?’ asked Chang. ‘What do I say about you not speaking Chinese? And where do I say we are going? This could be frightfully difficult, don’t you think?’

  Sir Clau
de, who had been an interested observer of the dressing-up, smiled at the young man’s colloquialism. ‘Some of these Kansus,’ he said, ‘are really Tartars from over the northern frontier who don’t speak any of the Chinese tongues. I suggest you explain this and say that you are anxious to take part in the fighting at Tientsin and that you are guiding them there.’

  Chang nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, sir. I think I could do that jolly well.’

  ‘You look Oriental enough at a quick glance,’ said Lady MacDonald, standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘Just keep your hats well down over your foreheads. And if you, Mr Jenkins, could grow the ends of your moustache so that they trail down either side of your mouth, in the Chinese style, that would help.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try, milady. But this moustache has had a life of its own for nearly forty years, now, and it takes no notice of me, see.’

  ‘Yes, well try, there’s a good fellow.’

  They all shook hands, wrapped up their Chinese clothes into bundles and went to their bunks to try and gain some sleep before their departure. Then, as desultory firing marked the end of the daylight, they followed the open sewer down to where it swept through a passage in the Legation wall. Alice, who had accompanied them this far, held her nose and then kissed her husband goodbye.

  ‘If you don’t come back, I shall kill you,’ she whispered into his ear.

  Then to Jenkins: ‘352, if it looks as though he’s going to try something heroic, shoot him in the leg.’ She was smiling but also crying as she spoke.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The trio were able to pick their way through the tunnel on the banks on either side of the odiferous water and crawl round the low gates. There, they paused. The moon had not risen and the street was dark. To the right, in the distance, figures could be seen but there was no one to their left.

  ‘That way,’ said Fonthill. ‘Stride purposefully, as though we know where we are going.’

  ‘Mind you don’t trip over my moustache,’ said Jenkins. ‘I’m growin’ the ends, yer see,’ he explained helpfully to Chang.

  ‘No talking,’ hissed Simon. ‘Take the lead, Chang. Get us out of the city as quickly as you can. Will the gates be guarded?’

  ‘I do not know, cousin. But if they are, I think they only question people coming in, not going out.’

  ‘Good.’

  Even though the hour was late, they met many people as they made their way through the narrow streets, including small groups of Boxers, distinguished by their youth and the red bands they wore round their foreheads, midriffs and ankles. They also had to thrust their way through milling crowds of garishly uniformed Imperial soldiers. But they kept their heads down and no one accosted them. In fact, they were given respectful passageway whenever there was a crowd and Simon recalled being told that the Kansu soldiery had a reputation for fierceness – to friend and foe alike.

  They passed through the Tung Pien Men Gate as the moon rose, and Fonthill hardly recognised the countryside from what he remembered from their entry into the city less than a month ago. The rains, although short, had been very heavy and the fields had blossomed as a result. The road had become muddy and the ditches were now running with water.

  There had been no time for a proper consultation about their route. Chang had been relied on to find the best and quickest way to Tientsin, some eighty miles away. Although making haste was imperative, it had not been possible to provide them with transport. There were now only nine ponies left within the Quarter. But there would have been no way for them to have ridden out through the defensive perimeter and, anyway, the mounts were needed for food. It was presumed that they would walk to Tientsin and somehow pick up either the relief column limping back to the town or the new one marching – for the railway link had been broken – to the north-west to relieve the legations.

  Now, however, lifting one muddy foot after another, Simon had another idea.

  ‘Where are we making for?’ he asked Chang.

  ‘We make for my home village. It is on the way to Tientsin. Perhaps we can shelter for the night in our home.’

  ‘No. Too dangerous. You might be recognised. We march through the night and lie up somewhere during the day. It will be safer that way. But Chang, tell me: the River Pei Ho is somewhere quite near, to our left as we look now. Is that right?’

  ‘Oh yes. Quite precisely, cousin.’

  ‘And the river has traffic on it? Trading junks and so on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where does the river come out at the coast?’

  ‘At Taku, where ships of Great Powers lie.’ Chang frowned in concentration, perspiration running down his face as they walked, for the humidity remained high. ‘It is about twenty miles past Tientsin. Everyone think Tientsin is big seaport. But, in fact, it is river port, lying inland.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Yes, I know. Well, Chang,’ he spoke deferentially, ‘if you agree, I think we’ll change our plans. It will take us a long time to walk to Tientsin at this rate and we are likely to be picked up and questioned at any time.’

  ‘Quite so. Oh, I agree. But … er … what do we do?’

  ‘We make for the river on our left. I have money. We hire a junk that is sailing south-east, towards the coast. We get off when we have news of either the old expedition retreating or of a new one advancing. With the current taking us to the sea we will be much quicker and,’ he frowned, ‘time is of the essence.’

  Jenkins looked up and beamed. ‘What, sail instead of walk? What an incredibly good idea, bach sir. ’Ere, just a minute. Are there any crocodiles in this river, Changy?’

  ‘No, Mr Jenkins. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good. Not that I was worried, mind you. But they … er … do tend to clog the river, look you. And we want to get a move on.’

  Chang smiled. ‘I think it excellent idea, cousin. We are here, I think, about six, seven miles to river. Turn off at next crossing.’

  It took them, however, about another three hours of trudging through the mud before they found the turning, onto a smaller track that now wound through fields of kaoliang that stood well over head high following the rains. At first, this gave Fonthill a feeling of security, for visibility was now considerably reduced and he did not feel as exposed as when on the open plain. This was soon replaced, however, by unease as he realised that they could stumble upon a Chinese patrol in the darkness without warning. He called a halt.

  ‘We are all tired,’ he said, ‘so I think we will try and get a couple of hours’ sleep before we go on. Let us try and find sufficient space among the maize to lie down. It should be safe enough on this little road to walk in daylight, so we will press on at dawn.’

  They found a gap in the kaoliang, on slightly higher and drier ground, big enough for them to lie down, wrapped in their waterproof capes. Before trying to find sleep, Simon had second thoughts on their story, if stopped.

  ‘We must change our explanation now if we are accosted,’ he told Chang. ‘Say that we are going to the river to pick up a junk to take us to Tientsin because we have a message from our general, what’s his name?’

  ‘Tung Fu-hsiang.’

  ‘That’s the fellow. Say that we are taking a message from him to the general commanding the Imperial forces at Tientsin and that we are taking a boat at the river.’ He smiled at the young man. ‘If we do get stopped, Chang, we must rely on you to talk us out of it.’

  ‘Oh yes. I do that well, I think, cousin. Rely on me.’

  Simon nodded and offered up a silent prayer that the missionary’s son’s Chinese was less stilted than his English. Their reliance on him was total.

  That reliance was called into play far quicker than he would have liked after they rose, shortly after dawn, and continued their journey. Within minutes they rounded a bend in the path and came upon three horsemen, dressed in the flamboyant colours of the Imperial cavalry, topped by black turbans, walking their horses towards them.

  Taking the lead, Fonthill stepped to one side
deferentially, into the maize, to allow the horsemen to pass. He gave a stiff incline of the head to acknowledge the seniority of the lead horseman and kept his eyes to the ground.

  The horseman, seemingly an officer, pulled to a stop and addressed a question to Simon, who gestured mutely to Chang. The two exchanged words for a moment and Fonthill clutched to himself a half-forgotten statistic that less than nought point one per cent of Chinese people had ever seen, let alone talked to a European. He just hoped that this cavalry officer was part of that majority.

  The conversation went on interminably, or so it seemed to Fonthill. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jenkins, his black eyes gleaming from underneath his cap – no subservience here – slowly unsling his rifle.

  Then, with a grunt, the officer kicked in his heels and the three horsemen rode away slowly, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Simon put his finger to his lips then gestured with his head and the three walked on.

  After two minutes, Fonthill called a halt. ‘What did he say?’ he asked Chang.

  A thin line of perspiration had appeared on the young Chinaman’s upper lip. ‘He don’t seem to believe me,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘He said that he had served in Peking and knew that Kansu soldiers were manning northern parts of the legations’ defence and fighting particularly in the Fu, and that Kansu soldiers not allowed in the southern part of city. He asked me name of Chinese commander in Tientsin to whom we take the message.’

  ‘Oh Lord. What did you say?’

  ‘I invent a name – in Chinese like English Smith. I very afraid he would know man. But he rode away.’