by Tom Anderson
King Gwangjong had no such fears. He sent both messengers away unanswered, but a few months later launched an attack on Yenzhang’s troops in Manchuria. The Coreans were aided in the fact that most of the Manchu Banner soldiers stationed there had already been shifted south to face Chongqian’s Green Standard Army as Yenzhang altered his strategy and launched an attack on Kaifeng. This surge, which began in late 1808 and continued throughout 1809, had several aims. Kaifeng was a former capital and had symbolic value, and furthermore it and the neighbouring town of Zhengzhou had vast strategic importance. By seizing them, Yenzhang could block off crucial canals and imperil the Yellow River supply route to Xi’an, starving the city he had failed to take by force. Furthermore, he would have an important stepping stone to moving against Jiangning itself. Of course Chongqian (or more likely Zeng Xiang) knew that perfectly well and therefore both sides concentrated their armies in Henan, pouring men into a meat grinder of a theatre of battle that, including civilians, is estimated to have claimed almost a million lives over the course of the war.
However, Gwangjong’s attack in early 1809 began to tip the balance of the war and it seemed that this would bring a southern victory for Chongqian’s forces sooner or later. The Corean army’s modernisation had been ahead of China’s for some decades now, primarily by acquiring modern artillery from La Pérouse’s exploration mission which had visited in 1791. Gwangjong had not stopped there, however. After his father’s opening of the port of Pusan in 1794 to further European trade (mostly by the Dutch East India Company), additional weapons and, more importantly, information on more modern tactics and training were obtained. Although the Coreans were still equipped with rather outdated muskets, they nevertheless had a considerable qualitative advantage, man for man, over the Chinese. Furthermore, there had been very low-level contact with the Russo-Lithuanian Pacific Company since at least 1803, with Moritz Benyovsky sending his lieutenant Adolfas Galdikas there to negotiate for direct trade. Even under Gwangjong, though, the Coreans had been cautious of this under even the ever more wayward gaze of China, and the trade had been very quiet and secretive – with Corean porcelain being the main export in exchange for the European military secrets. And so the Russo-Lithuanians cheerfully let yet another group in the Far East gain considerable military power in exchange for short-term trade advantage…
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…the invasion of Manchuria was slow and grinding but largely went the Coreans’ way, and for a time Chongqian thought his victory assured as Yenzhang faced an attack in his rear flank. Furthermore, this clearly showed that the Coreans were on his side, regardless of the fact that they had not directly replied to his messenger. And this assumption illustrates how conservative Chongqian’s own thinking was, the same kind of worldview that Jeong railed against in Corea, the idea that Corea would always be China’s lapdog and nothing more… for sometimes the enemy of your enemy is just the enemy of your enemy.
It transpires, in fact, that amid the more conventional trappings of royalty in King Gwangjong’s bedroom in Gyeongbokgung Palace was a map. A modern map, made by European cartographic techniques, charting the entire Corean peninsula and its environs. A valuable strategic tool in itself, surely, considering the Chinese dismissal of such notions, yet to understand what came to follow, one must look more closely at the map (the original still survives in the Museum of Corean History in Pyongyang). One will notice the particular detail given to the interior and north of Manchuria, and the names painstakingly placed there, the names of towns that in many cases either then bore alternate names or no longer existed at all. That part of the map had been drawn up from very ancient Corean documents, in contrast to the modern techniques that the information had been fed into, and it depicted the territory of the Kingdom of Balhae. Many years before, in the tenth century in fact, a Corean state had ruled almost all of Manchuria.
It has often been observed by Orientalists that in many ways Corea can be said to be ‘more Chinese than China’, historically speaking; more Confucian, more inward-looking at times, more hierarchical, even fonder of obscure protocol and poetry. And this claim may also apply here. For while it is true that China, with its multitudinous dynasties and strong literary tradition, had a very long memory, so, too, did Corea…
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From: “The Phoenix Men” by Karl Hofmann, (1948, English translation 1952) –
In the 1680s, the Kangxi Emperor had decided to open four cities in the south of China to European trade, primarily the city named Guangzhou in Chinese, which was generally known to Europeans as Canton (due to a transliteration via Portuguese). For the next century, while the volume of trade remained frustratingly less than what the various European East India Companies would prefer, it remained a valuable concern. Chinese goods were always in demand in Europe (and eventually in the New World), with exotic silks and porcelain remaining objects of high fashion even after European technical skill eclipsed that of the Chinese in the case of the latter. And of course there was tea. The latter is often supposed to be behind the rise of the British East India Company towards dominance over the other EICs in the China trade, though the reality naturally involves other factors as well. One in particular was that, alone of her fellow nations, Britain (or rather the Empire of North America) had a trade good which the Chinese desired. A lack of such a good was the major problem besetting all European traders, as the conservative Chinese government and civil service were dismissive of European technical innovation as trade goods. While food was always in demand, it was too much of a bulk commodity to be very profitable and preservation techniques were still primitive. The only really reliable trade good to import to China was silver bullion, and countries such as France and Portugal fell behind in being able to afford to buy up the ingots in the first place – the former owing to her repeated wars and borrowing that ultimately culminated in the Revolution, the latter due to the economic crisis caused by the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755.
Therefore Britain and the Netherlands were the major contributors to the China trade, with France, Portugal, Spain, Sweden and Denmark as minor players. However, things changed considerably in 1784 when the British first introduced their new wonder product: Appalachian ginseng.[152] The Chinese viewed ginseng as a panacea in their traditional medicine, and the Appalachian version from the Empire of North America was far more potent than the variety that grew in China itself. This trade rapidly saw the British East India Company – its Chinese offices staffed with a disproportionate number of Americans – push the Dutch into the same second-league place as the other Europeans. No-one else had access to the ginseng, and Britain’s then-friendly relationship with the newly independent United Provinces of South America meant that American trade ships could round the Horn and sail to China without fear. Things grew desperate enough among the others that in the early 1790s there were rumours of Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese ships from their East Indian possessions sailing under false flag to raid American trade convoys as pirates. Indeed, if the Jacobin Wars had not intervened, this might have been a catalyst for another War of Supremacy.
In any case, however, the explosion of trade alarmed the Chinese government even more than the other East India Companies. The Guangzhong Emperor came to the throne just three years after the introduction of Appalachian ginseng and he saw this sudden increase in trade with the foreign barbarians as a sign of all that had gone wrong under his father’s government. Guangzhong, and his eventual Prime Minister Zeng Xiang, saw trade with Europeans as both demeaning (they should be expected to bring tribute to their superiors!) and ultimately a sign of weakness, for should the Middle Kingdom not be able to provide for herself? Perhaps these oft-painted portraits of blind arrogance are somewhat unfair, for it would be difficult for such men to be open-minded towards the possibility of equal exchange, given the culture in which they grew up. Or perhaps one could claim that simply being reminded that there was an outside world made Guangzhong uncomfortable, and he would have been quite as discomfited if the Eur
opeans had been bringing tribute.
Guangzhong could not take as direct action as he liked due to the fact that Canton traders with Europeans (‘hongmen’) had built up an important position of power and influence in China over the years. However, as the other three cities were less important, he had all of them closed to European trade. Then, beginning in around 1799, he began leaning on the remaining Canton traders, pressuring them to raise tax barriers and generally provide other disincentives for the Europeans to continue trading. Looking at the writings of his government in Beijing, it seems that the mandarins’ vague conception of the Europeans was as itinerant locusts who might go away if one ignored them pointedly enough.
This, of course, naturally infuriated the East India Companies further. The ginseng trade was particularly targeted, meaning that Britain’s advantage collapsed. At home, the stock exchanges of London and New York[153] trembled in response and there was talk of a total collapse of the China trade if Guangzhong continued his policies further. It was around this time that some of the European traders in Canton’s Thirteen Hongs (or Factories), the area outside the city walls where they as foreigners were permitted to live, first began to have major discussions across national lines about what to do about the issue. It was obvious to everyone that this was no longer a case of nation competing against nation, for no amount of bribes and influence and backstabbing could change the bluntness of the walls that Guangzhong was throwing up before them. Indeed some of the Chinese mandarins could barely distinguish between the different European powers to begin with. Ironically then, while Europe was torn apart by the Jacobin Wars, the East India Companies’ top men in China played cards, smoked their cigars, and wondered whether they could do anything to change the situation if they worked together.
On the face of it, the answer seemed to be a definite no. Even if they could somehow obtain the backing of their home nations’ armed forces for a direct intervention (which was laughable), the sheer size and numbers involved in attacking China meant the operation would be doomed to failure. There could be no holding the Emperor hostage in exchange for the restoration of trade privileges, as might work on smaller powers.[154] The talk largely focused on whether it was enough to try to suborn local officials into looking the other way, or whether the Companies could try to set up illicit trading posts on unsettled islands, and how they would attract the customs of locals with boats. None of these plans really came to anything, but they highlighted the emergence of several powerful, experienced traders among the group, natural leaders in this odd little informal consortium that cared nothing for the bloody conflicts at home, or indeed in India. Among them were three destined to rise to a particular place in history.
Henry Watt was the third son of James Watt, the great British engineer who had been at the forefront of steam engine development in the mid-eighteenth century. Whereas his elder brothers had followed their father into the trade – and proved to be instrumental in the development of Project Whistler, ultimately perhaps saving Britain because of it – Henry had instead chosen to go into the exotic East India trade. He had served with distinction with the EIC in Bengal and Haidarabad, and now had spent eight years here, seeing the China trade rise and fall. Furthermore, he was respected by the large and influential American contingent, having taken their side against interference from the Board of Directors, who were sometimes alarmed at the transatlantic colonial influx into their tidy organisation.
Dirk de Waar was one of the Dutch East India Company’s most skilled operators when it came to negotiating with natives, having successfully managed the Dutch island of Deshima in Nagasaki bay for several years in the face of the political turmoil in Japan caused by tsunamis and, latterly, Moritz Benyovsky. Now he was here and turning those same skills to what he saw as the equally inscrutable Chinese, and finding they were not quite as united and homogenous as they seemed at first glance.
Finally, Michel Ouais was a Royal French patriot, readier to condemn Robespierre and Lisieux than any of the Company men whose home countries had been invaded by them (“regardless of their ravages, sir, know that it is my nation that suffers the most”) and whose convoy system was instrumental in helping protect Royal French trade from Canton running into the interceptors under Surcouf from Antipodea that had been intended to disrupt it. His charisma was undoubtedly vital in ensuring that the odd little compact did not fall apart over anger at the (Republican) French over European affairs. Years later, of course, he would also go on to play a minor, unintentional role in the creation of an ideology that would one day set the world aflame.
The other European trading nations were also part of the informal alliance, but became less important as time went on: the Swedes were of course merged into the Danish Asiatic Company, which mostly had given up China as a lost cause and was taking more interest in India; the Spanish withdrew in around 1809 due to disputes between the Portuguese-backed Kingdom of Castile and the Empire of New Spain over who was master of the colonies, which ultimately spiralled into the Philippine War of 1817-21; and the Portuguese were pouring most of their efforts into India due to their ambitious plan to seize influence over the entire Maratha nation by exploiting the Scindia-Holkar war. For that reason, it was the British (and Americans), French and Dutch (and eventually Flemings) who led the informal international effort into trying to reverse Guangzhong’s cuts on trade.
It was de Waar who first encountered the Sanhedui, the Heaven and Earth Society. The Europeans had heard vague rumours about the so-called “Chinese Freemasons” for years, but it was de Waar with his diplomatic skills who learned the root cause of all the secret rituals, the idea of Ming restorationism. Furthermore, he learned of just how far the Sanhedui extended up into Chinese society, especially in the south, and made contact with Hao Jicai, a senior local mandarin who turned out to be a member of the Sanhedui and a true believer in its cause. This was the kind of influence the Europeans needed – but it is doubtful whether de Waar or anyone else would, in their wildest dreams, guess how far that would take them…
Chapter #89: Building Babylon
From shore to shore the whole of the island is to be set as thick with chimneys as the masts stand in the docks of Liverpool; and there shall be no meadows in it; no trees; no gardens… the smoke having rendered the light of the sun unserviceable, you work always by the light of your own gas; that no acre of English ground shall be without its shaft and its engine…
- John Ruskin, The Two Paths, 1859 (OTL)
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From: “The Tortured Phoenix: Britain in the Marleburgensian Era” by P.C. O’Toole (1958)—
A nation whose transfer of power took place in a time of chaos and uncertainty often then faces a reactive imposition of authoritarian rule by those individuals who took power, both to consolidate their position and to assure the populace that that period of uncertainty is now past. Or as Philip Bulkeley (possessed of the benefit of hindsight) observed more succinctly, “out of the frying pan, into the gaol cell”. There are countless historical examples to illustrate this phenomenon, and perhaps the most obvious is that of the Revolutions in France; the initial overthrow of the monarchy which shook the world and eventually left Jean-Baptiste Robespierre as dictator, followed by the more conventional Double Revolution and the imposition of rule by Jean de Lisieux. However, as with many observations upon the Revolutionary period, the same can be applied just as appropriately to the Marleburgensian age[155] in the Kingdom of Great Britain, which of course ultimately owed its existence to that same Revolution.
The French invasion of 1807 had virtually cut the head from the body of the kingdom. Not only had both King and Prime Minister died, but the London holocaust had slain a significant portion of Parliament and many important Establishment individuals involved in Church, State and Trade. This produced a power vacuum into which the Duke of Marlborough stepped. Master of a collapsing nation, lord of a burning house, aided by the frightened rump of Parliament, an empty throne and a mass of uncertain so
ldiers and yeomanry, Churchill turned the tide and hurled the French single-handedly into the Channel; or at least that is the romanticised version purveyed in some quarters. Others, of course, contend that Churchill was a monster, a radical dictator wearing the stuffy, singed clothes of the establishment, a man who could have replaced his King’s Colour with a Bloody Flag and, lo and behold, become indistinguishable from the Lisieux he so hated.
