The War of the Dragon Lady

by John Wilcox

  Alice bowed her head for the moment, so that Sir Claude could not see the moisture in her eyes. Then she looked up. ‘Of course, you would have told me if you had heard any news of my husband?’

  ‘Indeed. But it has been my experience so far in this highly unusual situation that bad news will almost always find its way to me quickly. I would expect to have heard if he had been intercepted. I have heard nothing. But I do know that there has been heavy fighting in Tientsin. I remain confident that we will be relieved.’

  ‘How long can we hold out, then?’

  He rose to his feet. ‘The answer to that question, my dear lady, depends upon too many imponderables, so forgive me if I do not attempt to answer it. And also forgive me if I ask you to excuse me now. There is much to do, I am afraid.’

  ‘Oh, of course, Sir Claude. It is good of you to give me so much of your time.’

  They shook hands. Then the minister held her hand for a moment or two longer. ‘I would like you to know, madam,’ he said in a low voice – one that seemed to contain a hint of embarrassment – ‘that I admire your courage in following that young scoundrel out of the Quarter and appreciate all that you do in the defence: your hospital work and the other, more … ah … active roles you play. You set a splendid example, madam.’

  Alice felt the colour rise to her cheeks. It was so unlike this withdrawn Scotsman to distribute compliments. She felt unable to speak, so she bowed, smiled and left him.

  She was relieved and glad, however, that the minister had rejected out of hand the proposal that the defenders should lay down their arms and allow themselves to be escorted to the coast by the Imperial army. She recalled similar instances – in Afghanistan and India not so many years ago – when such trust had been broken and massacres had resulted. She shuddered.

  Nevertheless, Alice did not need MacDonald to tell her that conditions were worsening within the Quarter. A rare batch of newly hatched eggs was offered for sale in the market on the lawn before the British Legation for five cents each. They were all snapped up within minutes. Dog meat, which had been the staple diet of the Chinese within the Quarter since the siege began, was now on offer to everyone. It was the many children, white, brown and yellow, within the compounds who were suffering the most and Alice became more and more depressed as she noticed how malnourished they were becoming. The Chinese converts, who crowded within the legations, were particularly hard hit. The men who worked on the barricades or who did other labouring work were granted extra rations but those who could not work were nearing a state of near-starvation. The trees in their corner of the Fu were stripped of leaves and bark to eke out their food. Marksmen contravened the order to conserve ammunition by firing at crows to help them.

  Small incidents played their part in lifting spirits. The British contingent heard with glee that the fiercely unpopular Monsieur Pichon, the French minister, had protested to Sir Claude that the Union Jack, which had always flown proudly from the Legation lawn, was attracting Chinese fire and was therefore a danger. He demanded that it should be removed. The demand was rejected curtly and the dapper little Frenchman was sent on his way, to the rejoicing of the British.

  Alice had struck up a friendship with Dr Morrison, the correspondent for The Times, and a faux rivalry had ensued between them, for both knew that the other was now keeping extensive notes of the siege, for publication at its end. Pichon, with his histrionic pessimism and complete inactivity, was a welcome source of amusement for them both, particularly when it was learnt that the Frenchman and his brave counterpart in the Russian Legation had both been seen burning their records.

  ‘Huh,’ said Morrison. ‘I’d give fifty thousand dollars for a sight of the Russian papers.’

  ‘How much for Pichon’s?’ asked Alice.

  Morrison grinned. ‘Possibly … maybe … perhaps, on a bad news day, I would run to five thousand.’

  Alice was not at all sure, however, that Sir Claude’s practice of publishing the list of killed and wounded was conducive to maintaining morale. The latest list showed that in the four weeks since the siege had begun, fifty-seven of the defenders had been killed and eighty-seven wounded. It was disconcerting to find that the British, with three killed and seventeen wounded, were among the highest casualties. The Japanese, who, as always, bore the brunt of the fighting at the Fu, the most vulnerable part of the defences, had suffered almost equally, with eight killed and thirteen wounded.

  She tried to comfort herself with the thought that, if Simon and Jenkins had stayed within the Quarter, they might well have been included in the casualty figures, given their energy and bravery. But it was of little solace. Where, oh where were they?

  Then, at last, a strange quiet fell over the Quarter once more. The defenders had been conserving their ammunition for some time now, only returning fire when it was absolutely necessary. But gradually the Chinese fire fell away, too, although there was no formal restoration of a truce. The Dowager Empress compounded the surrealism of the moment by sending Sir Claude a personal gift of melons and other fruits.

  Alice met the British minister when he was distributing the fruit to Chinese children. ‘What’s it all about, Sir Claude?’ she asked.

  The tall man shrugged his shoulders. ‘The unpredictability of the Chinese never fails to astound me,’ he said. ‘They must know that we are in a weakened state and yet they relax their attacks. My own feeling is that this must reflect the fact that our people in Tientsin have won some sort of victory. The old lady may have heard that a relief column is on its way and the pro-foreigners at the court have won a hearing at last. I don’t think it’s likely to last, but let’s enjoy it while we can.’

  And so they did. Spirits were sent soaring when it became known that a message had got through to Sir Claude to say that, in fact, the foreign settlements had been relieved, Tientsin had been taken by the Allied powers and that a relief column at last was on its way to Peking. So many false alarms had been sounded from various quarters but it was clear that this news was real. Alice clutched her hands together. Was Simon on his way, too?

  To the besieged within the defensive ring, the decline in the intensity of gunfire was somehow intrusive, as though a vital element in daily life had been withdrawn. Once again birds could be heard singing in the Quarter and, almost inevitably, the British began playing cricket on what was left of their Legation lawn. Even more surreal were the reports of fraternal exchanges now taking place between the Chinese and the defenders across the barricades.

  Alice had made friends with one of the student-interpreters in the consular service, Lance Giles, whom she met on his return from one such exchange.

  ‘Strange business, Mrs Fonthill,’ he said. ‘I went to the German Legation, which is very much of a wreck in parts, you know?’

  Alice nodded.

  ‘Well, the German and the Chinese positions there are separated only by a wall, seven or eight feet high and about two feet wide. It is loopholed and so can be a bit of a death trap. It’s probably the thinnest and most fragile of the interfaces between us and them in the whole of the perimeter. I took my camera to take advantage of the truce and climbed up the wall to take a picture.’

  ‘Bit of a risk, Lance.’

  The young man looked a little sheepish. ‘I suppose so, but it all seemed so peaceful. Anyway, at the top I looked down on some Chinese soldiers on the other side. They shouted, in Chinese of course, “What do you want?” I replied, “Yao chao hsiang” – I want to photograph you. They shouted back, “Yao k’ai ch’iang ma” – Do you want to shoot us? I told ’em I didn’t, of course, and showed them my camera, so the chaps stood there a bit sheepishly, posing for me. I would have had a good picture of them but suddenly one of their officers came out and shooed them away.’ He grinned. ‘It’s all a bit mad, this war, isn’t it?’

  The madness took another strange turn when the guns crashed out again with a noise that seemed all the more frightening because of the greater intensity of the firing.
It was as though the Chinese had suddenly become ashamed of their strange lethargy.

  Alice had half hoped, half feared that Gerald would show up during the comparative quiet with some cock-and-bull story about the reason for his absence and hope that his cousin’s affection for his mother might have prevented her from revealing his treachery. But there were no sightings of him, either in the legations or beyond the barriers. It was, then, partly with expectations of catching a glimpse of him, but also to see how Colonel Shiba and his gallant Japanese were resisting the renewed aggression, that Alice retrieved her Colt from under her bed and scrambled to the Fu hotspot. It was, of course, from there that she had caught sight of Gerald fighting with, or at least present among, the Chinese.

  She found that Shiba was, as ever, glad to see her, welcoming her with a full ceremonial bow. Resourceful as ever, she also found that the little colonel had commandeered the old muzzle-loaded gun to repel an attack by loading it with scrap iron. He reported that many, if not all, of Tung Fu-hsiang’s Kansu soldiers had left the Fu – presumably, he said, to take part in the fighting at Tientsin or even to oppose the relief force. It seemed another confirmation that help was on its way – as was, surely, the intensity of the new firings. But if Tung Fu-hsiang had left for the south, who was now influencing the Dragon Lady?

  While she was musing this, there was a cry of warning and Shibo rushed to the wall. The Japanese all began firing rapidly and it was clear that the Chinese had launched an attack. The wall of rubble was loosely loopholed and Alice suddenly realised that, in a far corner where the wall angled away, a rifle was being poked through from the Chinese side. She ducked away and ran towards it as fast as she could, drawing her revolver as she did. She arrived just as it fired and, from the corner of her eye, she saw one of the defenders twist around and fall.

  Alice seized the muzzle of the rifle and, in the same movement, presented her Colt through the loophole. She fired as she felt the Chinese gun being pulled away from her and then the rifle went limp in her hands and she pulled it through, throwing it to the ground. Without exposing herself, she fired twice more through the aperture then jammed a brick into the hole.

  She sat for a moment against the rubble, the perspiration running down her face, and realised that she was shaking. Ah, this would never do! She shook her head dismissively. She was in the middle of a war and this was not the first time she had killed a man, for goodness’ sake! Why else did she carry a heavy .45 calibre Navy Colt? Certainly not as a fashion accessory. She looked up into the smiling face of Colonel Shiba, who held out a hand to help her to her feet.

  ‘Very good, madam,’ he said. ‘Very quick. You have gained us a rifle and removed one of the enemy. I could not ask more. Now, please come away or they shoot you. That must not happen.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel. I am quite all right, thank you. Just the heat, you know. Made me want to sit for a moment. Now please get back to the wall.’

  ‘Attack over, madam. But we must watch.’

  ‘Indeed. Do go back to your post.’

  Alice retreated to one of the many ruined buildings in the Fu and cautiously climbed up the shifting rubble until she could see over the top of the barricade towards the Chinese line. Shielding her eyes against the glare, she looked to where, out of rifle range, the enemy soldiers were moving. She was searching for a white-coloured suit, but nothing stood out amongst the dun-coloured uniforms and occasional green jackets that moved there. But then she frowned. Was that …? Was it a man in a white – but now severely discoloured – jacket and trousers? She couldn’t be sure. She scrambled down the half-destroyed wall, disregarding a cut to her ankle, and ran to Colonel Shiba.

  ‘Colonel,’ she panted, ‘may I borrow your field glasses for a moment?’

  ‘Of course, lady.’

  Grabbing them less than courteously, Alice ran back to the ruin and clambered back up to the top of the wall. This time she rejected thoughts of safety and exposed herself, the better to get a view. She levelled the glasses and attempted to focus them. Yes, there he was. A man in a white suit! She adjusted the focus more delicately and Gerald’s face came into view, partially concealed by— Hell! He was looking at her through a pair of binoculars. They were undoubtedly studying each other. She resisted the ridiculous instinct to wave. Was he armed? She moved the glasses just a touch downwards and there, leaning against his leg, was a rifle. She put away the glasses for a moment and wiped her eyes. She must be sure. Then she focused the glasses again and held them steady. Gerald – it was undoubtedly him – had put down the glasses and was looking directly at her before turning to move away. There was no doubt about it, it was her cousin: tall and thin, the rather sallow face, and the mandarin moustache.

  And he had a rifle.

  That settled it. Whatever doubts Alice had about her cousin’s treachery – and very few remained – they were dispelled now by that fact. Carrying a rifle meant that he was actively taking part in the attacks on the Legation Quarter. He had now completely thrown in his lot with that of the Boxers and the Manchu court. The final count in his indictment had been proven.

  Alice climbed down the rubble with care this time but deep in thought. She must inform Sir Claude, of course, for there could now be no chance of allowing Gerald back into the Quarter. The question was, should she now tell Aunt Lizzie about her son’s treachery? She would have to know sooner or later. Better now than later? No. Alice shook her head. Leave it for the moment. Who knew what the future held? There might be some twist of fate in store that could affect the decision. She would let it lie – and she immediately felt better for having made the decision. But oh, Simon …!

  The enemy now seemed to have new energy. From all around the perimeter the Chinese trumpets blared and the old cries of ‘Sha! Sha!’ were heard from the other sides of the barricades. All day the fire poured down onto the defenders and, as dusk neared, a new sound was heard. It came from a two-inch, quick-firing Krupp, brought to an emplacement high up in the wall of the Imperial City – a site not used before. Immediately Sir Claude – the former subaltern now proving himself to be a skilled defensive soldier – ordered up his two machine guns, the American Colt and the Austrian Maxim, and had them trained on the gun. It was ten minutes before they could be set up to open fire and, in that time, the cannon had begun causing heavy damage – the worst of the siege. Once in situ, however, the two machine guns began firing over fixed lines, despite the fall of darkness, and, within minutes, the Krupp was silenced.

  The other firing, however, continued. Alice joined her aunt and the rest of the ladies in doing double duties at the hospital as the casualties mounted. Rumours reached the hospital that the defenders were running out of ammunition and Alice retrieved her Colt and tucked it into her waistband as a precaution. Would the relief, now said to be so near, come too late, right at the end? Alice and her hard-working companions in the sweltering heat of the hospital carefully avoided eye contact and got on with their jobs. So, too, did the defenders on the walls and barricades and, although those at the flimsiest defences who were linguists could hear the Chinese officers urging their troops forward, no breaks were made at any point in the perimeter.

  The fury continued for two days and, on the evening of the second, Alice was sitting on the ground taking a break outside the hospital, drinking a cup of brackish, lukewarm water, when a Chinese coolie approached her, bowed low and asked: ‘Mrs Fonthill?’ She nodded and he pressed an envelope into her hand, bowed and walked away quickly before she could question him.

  She opened it and read:

  Dear Alice,

  I must speak to you. The so-called relief column is still far away and is meeting strong opposition. It will not get through. My mentor, General Jung Lu, has lost influence and, as you have seen, the decision has been taken now to overwhelm the defences. Once the breakthrough has been made the Boxers will be given their head and I fear for your safety and that of my mother. There will be wide-scale slaughter. But I can save yo
u. I also have news of your husband. Meet me tonight at midnight (safest time) at the same tunnel as last time. It has been reopened. Come alone.

  Gerald.

  Alice put her hand to her head and sighed. Then she read it again. It was all almost certainly rubbish. And yet … Jung Lu, who seemed to have been a moderating influence, had obviously lost the ear of the Empress, if this new, fierce attack was any indication. And did Gerald really have news of Simon? She drew in her breath. She must know. So she would have to go. Tell Sir Claude? No. He would almost certainly try to stop her going or even try to arrest or perhaps even kill Gerald. And that would be disastrous for Aunt Lizzie. She would meet Gerald, for she had nothing to lose. He would not dare to try and restrain her.

  She got up, tossed her head and returned to the hospital. Luckily, she was not on the night shift and so, at ten-thirty she returned to the room she shared with her aunt, who was now fast asleep after a hard day at the hospital. Alice lay sleeplessly on her bed for just over an hour and then rose, pulled on her long riding boots, pushed the Colt into her midriff sash and set off. After ten paces, she returned, retrieved the little French automatic pistol and slipped it into the top and at the back of a riding boot and continued on her way.