The Chinese and the “Outer Barbarians.”
China, and questions of Chinese policy—which only two years ago were the battle-field of fierce political contention, the subject of debates which menaced a Ministry with downfall, dissolved a Parliament, violently agitated the whole community at home, and engaged the controversies of the whole civilized world—seemed again to have been delivered over to that neglect and oblivion with which remote countries and their concerns are ordinarily regarded; but after the lull and the slumber, come again the rousing and the excitement, and China occupies anew the columns of the periodical press, and awakens fresh interest in the public mind.
The startling events which have taken place on the Tien-tsin river in China—popularly, but erroneously, known by the name of the Pei-Ho[1]—have re-kindled such an amount of attention and inquiry, that we feel warranted in devoting some of our earliest pages to the consideration of a topic involving our relations with a people constituting more than one-third of the whole human family, and commercial interests even now of vast extent, and likely to become in their future development more important than those which connect us with any other nation or region of the world. A brief recapitulation of the events preceding this last manifestation of Chinese duplicity will enable the reader to understand the character and objects of the Chinese government in their dealings with other nations.
A series of successful military and naval operations led to the treaties with China of 1842. The arts and appliances of modern warfare—the civilization of a powerful western nation—were directed against armies and defenses which represented the unimproved strategy of the middle ages,[2] and against regions pacific in their social organization, yet disordered, and even dislocated by internecine dissensions, which the enfeebled imperial authority was wholly incompetent to subdue or to control. The reigning dynasty was little able to resist a shock so overwhelming to its stolid pride, and so unexpected to its ignorant shortsightedness. Its hold upon the people being rather that of traditional prestige than of physical domination, the humiliation felt was all the more intolerable because inflicted by those “barbarians,” who, according to Chinese estimate, are beyond “heaven’s canopy.” It is currently believed in China that our earlier intercourse with the “central land” had only been allowed by the gracious and pitying condescension of the “son of heaven” to supplications that China might be permitted, from her abounding superfluities, to provide for the urgent necessities of the “outer races,” which could not otherwise be supplied. “How,” said the benevolent councillors of the Great Bright Dynasty, “how, without the rhubarb of the Celestial dominions, can the diseases of the red-haired races be cured? how can their existence be supported without our fragrant tea? how can their persons be adorned, unless your sacred Majesty will allow their traders to purchase and to convey to them our beautiful silk? Think how far they come—how patiently they wait—how humbly they supplicate for a single ray from the lustrous presence. Let not their hearts be made disconsolate by being sent empty away.”
Even after the severe lessons which the Chinese received in the war, and the sad exhibitions of their utter inability to offer any effectual resistance to our forces, the reports made by Keying, the negotiator of our first treaty, as to the proper manner of dealing with “barbarians,” are equally amusing and characteristic. These reports were honoured with the autograph approval of the emperor Taou-Kwang, written with “the vermilion pencil,”[3] and were found at Canton among the papers of Commissioner Yeh, to whom they had been sent for his guidance and instruction. In the end they proved fatal to the venerable diplomatist; for he having been sent down from the capital to Tien-tsin in order to meet the foreign ambassadors, and there to give practical evidence that he knew how to “manage and pacify” the Western barbarians, the documents which proved his own earlier treacheries were produced; he was put to open shame, and the poor old man, though a member of the Imperial family, was condemned to be publicly executed: a sentence which the emperor, in consideration for his high rank and extreme age, commuted into a permission, or rather a mandate, that he should commit suicide. Keying gratefully accepted this last favour from his sovereign, and so terminated his long and most memorable career.
It is withal not the less true that these reports represent the concentrated wisdom of the sages of China, and are fair and reasonable commentaries upon the teachings of the ancient books in reference to the proper mode of subduing or taming the “outside nations;” and as they throw much light upon the course of the mandarins, and give us the key by which their policy may be generally interpreted, some account of them will be neither superfluous nor uninstructive.
After stating that the English “barbarians” had been “pacified” in 1842, and the American and French “barbarians” in 1844, Keying goes on to report that it had been necessary to “shift ground,” and change the measures by which they were to be “tethered.” “Of course,” he says, they must be dealt with “justly,” and their “feelings consulted;” but they cannot be restrained without “stratagems”—and thus he explains his “stratagems.” Sometimes they must be “ordered” (to obey), and “no reason given;” sometimes there must be “demonstrations” to disarm their “restlessness” and “suspicions;” sometimes they must be placed on a footing of “equality,” to make them “pleased” and “grateful;” their “falsehoods must be blinked,” and their “facts” not too closely examined. Being “born beyond” (heaven’s canopy), the barbarians “cannot perfectly understand the administration of the Celestial dynasty,” nor the promulgation of the “silken sounds” (imperial decrees) by the “Great Council.” Keying excuses himself for having, in order “to gain their good-will,” eaten and drunk with “the barbarians in their residences and ships;” but he was most embarrassed by the consideration shown by the barbarians towards “their women,”[4] whom they constantly introduced; but he did not deem it becoming “to break out in rebuke,” which would “not clear their barbarian dulness.” He urges, however, the increasing necessity of “keeping them off, and shutting them out.” He takes great credit for refusing the “barbarians’ gifts,” the receipt of which might, he says, have exposed him to the penalties of the law. He did accept some trifles; but, giving effect to the Confucian maxim of “receiving little and returning much,” he gave the barbarians in return “snuff-bottles, purses,” and a “copy of his insignificant portrait.”
He says the “barbarians” have “filched Chinese titles for their rulers:” thus “assuming the airs of great authority,” which he acknowledges to be “no concern of ours;” but they will not accept any designation denoting dependency, nor adopt the lunar calendar, nor acknowledge patents of royalty from the “son of heaven.” They are so “uncivilized,” so “blindly ignorant” of propriety, that to require them to recognize becoming “inferiority” and “superiority,” would “lead to fierce altercation;” and after all, he recommends disregarding these “minor details,” in order to carry out “an important policy.” He presents to the “sacred intelligence” this hasty outline of the “rough settlement of the barbarian business.”[5] On the general character of the official papers seized in Yeh’s yamun, Mr. Wade reports:—
“The foreigner is represented as inferior in civilization, unreasonable, crafty, violent, and in consequence dangerous. The instructions of the court are accordingly to lecture him fraternally or magisterially, and by this means it is hoped to keep in hand his perpetual tendency to encroach and intrude. A stern tone is to be adopted on occasion, but always with due regard to the avoidance of an open rupture.”
There were grave omissions in Sir Henry Pottinger’s treaty of 1842. It left the shipping and commercial relations of the British colony of Hong Kong in a very unsatisfactory state, encumbering them with regulations to which it was found impossible to give effect; and the trade emancipated itself by its own irresistible energies to the common advantage of China and Great Britain. The treaty contained no clause declaring the British text to be the true reading, and the consequence was, various and embarrassing interpretations of the intentions of the negotiators; the Chinese naturally enough contending for the accuracy of their version, while, quite as naturally, our merchants would abide only by the English reading.[6] There is no condition providing for the revision of the treaty, and it is only under “the most favoured nation” clause, which concedes to us everything conceded to other powers, that we have a claim to a revision; but we cannot demand such revision, unless and until it is granted to the French or the Americans.
But the most fatal mistake of all was that which fixed on Canton as the seat of our diplomatic relations with China. It removed our influence from the capital to the remotest part of the empire—to a province always looked upon with apprehension and distrust by the supreme authorities at Peking, and among a population remarkable alike for their unruly disposition and their intense and openly proclaimed hatred to foreigners. It had been Keying’s calculation (and his assurances were most welcome to the court) that the emperor would thus get rid of all annoyance from Western “barbarians,” who would be kept in order by the indomitable spirit of the Cantonese. No provision was made for personal access to the high commissioner charged with the conduct of “barbarian affairs,” still less for communication, even by correspondence, with the capital. This was the first great triumph of Chinese policy, and has been fertile in producing fruits of mischief and misery.
Sir Henry Pottinger never visited Canton; he never examined the ground on which he placed the future representatives of Great Britain; he listened to the declarations of Keying, that the difficulties in the way of a becoming reception there were then insuperable; that they would be removed by time, which might render the turbulent Cantonese population more reasonable; he relied on the assurance that everything would be done to prepare the way for a happier state of things. No doubt there were difficulties; but they were not invincible: they ought, then and there, to have been surmounted. Pottinger little knew with what a faithless element he had to deal, and little dreamed that delay would be taken advantage of, not to lessen, but increase the resistance; that it would be employed not to facilitate, but to thwart our object—not to soothe, but to exasperate the people. Pottinger deemed his treaty a bridge to aid—Keying meant it to be a barrier to resist—our entrance into China. But Sir Henry, before his death, acknowledged his error, and deeply lamented that his confidence had been misplaced. Abundant evidence has since been furnished that the treaty was signed, not with the purpose of honestly giving effect to its conditions, but to get rid of the “barbarian” pressure, and to bide the time, when the treaty obligations could be got rid of altogether.
Proofs were not wanting of this dishonest purpose, and, in consequence, after some hesitation, it was deemed necessary by the British Government to remind the Chinese that their obligation to admit her Majesty’s subjects into Canton had not been fulfilled; and they were advised that the Island of Chusan, which we held as a guarantee, would not be surrendered until security was given for the compliance with the treaty stipulation. A short delay was asked by the Chinese, and the assurance, under the authority of the “vermilion pencil,” was renewed, that arrangements would be made for our having access to the city. Chusan was in consequence given up to the Chinese authorities; but no steps were taken to prepare the “public mind” to receive us as friends and allies within the walls of Canton. On the contrary, incendiary placards, breathing the utmost enmity to foreigners, continued to be promulgated and pasted on the walls. In 1847, Sir John Davis, naturally impatient at Keying’s procrastination and subterfuges, determined to capture the Bogue forts, to move with military forces upon Canton, and to threaten the city into compliance with obligations so long trifled with and disregarded. Keying asked for time, and entered into a formal written engagement that the city should be opened in April, 1849. When the time was at hand, Sir George Bonham, who had succeeded to the governorship of Hong Kong, sought an interview with Seu, who had replaced Keying as imperial commissioner. Seu did not hesitate to say that the ministers had been engaged in a common purpose of deception—that the Chinese and British were both aware the gates were not to be opened—that each had avoided the responsibility of bringing the matter to issue, and had left it to their successors. Seu said he would refer the question to the emperor. The emperor’s reply was the stereotyped instruction to all mandarins, who have any relations with foreigners: “Keep the barbarians at a distance if you can—but above all things keep the peace.” Now, though we had a large fleet at Hong Kong, the imperial commissioner had undoubtedly obtained information, from some quarter or other, that the fleet would not be employed hostilely, and that he might “resist the barbarian” without compromising the public tranquillity. So he negatived the demands of the British.
That our forbearance was a grievous mistake there can be little hesitation in affirming. But the importance of the concession then made was little understood, except by the Chinese, and to it may be attributed the embarrassments which have since entangled our negotiations with China. As the British Government determined to leave the Canton question in a state of abeyance, Sir George Bonham prohibited the Queen’s subjects from attempting to enter the city—a prohibition which was taken immediate advantage of by the mandarins, who proclaimed that our right to enter the city had been finally and for ever withdrawn. By the orders of the emperor, who wrote to the high commissioner that he had read “with tears of joy” the report, which showed with what sagacity and courage he had, without the employment of force, thwarted “the seditious demands of the barbarians,” six triumphal arches were erected at the various entrances of the city of Canton, to celebrate the wisdom and valour of the authorities; and the names of all the distinguished Cantonese who had contributed to so glorious a consummation were ordered to be inscribed upon the monuments for immortal commemoration, while dignities and honours were showered down upon the principal actors. A grand religious ceremonial, in which all the high authorities took part, was also ordered to be celebrated in the Temple of Potoo, which is dedicated to a foreign deified idol, who is supposed to control the affairs of “Western barbarians.” These triumphal arches—magnificently built of granite—were blown up by the Allies after the capture of the city.
It had indeed been long evident that it was the fixed purpose of the Chinese authorities to escape from treaty obligations as soon as they fancied that they were menaced by nothing more than a remote and uncertain danger; the bow returned to its original bent as the tightness of the string was relaxed. It was only while the pressure of our presence was felt that any disposition was shown to respect imperial engagements. The consuls of the United States and of France had at first been received becomingly in Canton, by the viceroy; but, in 1849, on the arrival of Consul Bowring, very subordinate mandarins were appointed to visit him: the imperial commissioner altogether refused any interview at any place. No official reception was therefore given by the high mandarins to the British consular authorities, who were utterly excluded from personal intercourse with them. The stipulation of the treaty that the mandarins should, in conjunction with the foreign authorities, assist in the arrangement of differences between Chinese and British subjects, was absolutely a dead letter; and the obligation on the part of the mandarins to aid officially in the recovery of debts due to foreigners was utterly disregarded, when the Chinese debtor was in a condition to bribe the native functionaries.
The alienation and repulsion which had become the system and the rule of the Chinese authorities, had been productive of consequences most detrimental to their amicable relations with foreigners. Personal intercourse affords the greatest facilities for the arrangement of difficulties; and, even had the correspondence with the mandarins been of the most frank and friendly character, the settlement of all questions would have been greatly aided by frequent interviews. But these were always avoided, and often on pleas the most untenable: sometimes it was said that the weight of administrative business prevented the granting an audience—sometimes that the viceroy was preparing to attack the rebels, and might be visiting the interior—sometimes that an auspicious day must be waited for. Replies were sometimes long delayed; sometimes never given; and it was seldom that an answer was otherwise than evasive or unsatisfactory. There were many occasions on which the cabinets of the treaty powers directed their representatives to make communications, through the imperial commissioner, to the court of Peking; but only one instance occurred of any attention being paid to such communications: it was that connected with our entrance into the city, and the imperial reply was such as to encourage the viceroy in his perverse and perilous policy. The impossibility of obtaining personal access to the imperial commissioner was, in fact, not only a great grievance in itself, but it was the cause of the non-redress of every other grievance. It is not in the field of diplomatic controversy that European functionaries can have any fair chance with those who, preserving all the forms of courtesy, will deny facts, or invent falsehoods to suit the purposes of the moment.
So great had been the disposition of the Chinese authorities to bring back matters to their position anterior to the treaties of 1812, that in Foochow Foo, the only other provincial city to which we had a right of access, and in which a viceregal government exists, the high authorities had refused all personal intercourse with the representatives of Great Britain, though the consular offices are established within the city walls. The superior officers of the great provincial cities have the right of direct intercourse with the court of Peking and with the emperor himself,—a right not possessed by any of the functionaries in the ports of Shanghae, Ningpo, or Amoy, but confined to those of Canton and Foochow, the one being the capital of the province of Kwantung, the other of the province of Fookien. The importance of our being in direct communication with those through whom alone we can communicate with the ministers, or the sovereign, at Peking, can hardly be over-estimated. Sir John Bowring visited Foochow, in 1853, in a ship of war, and after much resistance from the viceroy, was finally and officially received by him with every mark of distinction; and the result of that friendly reception was the amicable and satisfactory arrangement of every question—and there were many—then pending between British and Chinese subjects in the Fookien province. It is true that on more than one occasion the viceroy of Canton offered to receive the British plenipotentiary, not in his official yamun, but in a “packhouse” belonging to Howqua; and there were those who held that Sir John Bowring should have been satisfied with such condescension on the part of the Chinese commissioner. It should be remembered that in all the treaties with foreigners, the emperor has engaged that the same attentions shall be shown to foreign functionaries which can be claimed and are invariably shown to mandarins of similar rank. It was always a part of the policy of the Chinese to maintain in the eyes of the people that superiority of position which national pride and vanity had for ages rendered habitual; and the recognition of the right of foreign authorities to be elevated to the same height was one of the most important of the treaty concessions. But it was a treaty concession, and ought never to be allowed to become a dead letter. In our relations with Oriental governments, the only security for the observance of treaty engagements, is to be found in their rigid, but quiet and determined enforcement. To be considerate as to what you exact, is the dictate alike of prudence and of policy; but the attempt to disregard or violate any formal treaty stipulation should be resisted at its very earliest demonstration.
Whatever grounds of complaint the British authorities might have against the Chinese, nothing was left undone to conciliate the good opinion of the mandarins. In 1854 an application was made by Yeh to this effect: he feared a rupture of the public peace, and feeling himself too weak to protect Canton from the invasion of the rebels, he asked for the assistance of the naval forces of the treaty powers. Sir John Bowring accompanied the admiral and the British fleet to the neighbourhood of that city, and in co-operation with the Americans, took such effectual measures for its security, that the intended attack was abandoned, and general tranquillity remained uninterrupted. This intervention was gratefully acknowledged by the people of Canton; but there is every reason to believe that the commissioner represented our amicable intervention as an act of vassalage, and the assistance rendered as having been in obedience to orders issued by imperial authority. Notwithstanding this and many other evidences of friendly sentiment and useful aid on our part, Yeh did not hesitate to represent to the court that the rebels and Western “barbarians” were acting in union, and he expressed his conviction that his policy would lead to the extermination of both.
No one, in fact, who had attended to the progress of public events, could be unaware of the insecure position of our relations with the Chinese. Lord Palmerston said, in 1854:—
“So far from our proceedings in China having had a tendency to disturb the peaceful relations between the British government and the Chinese empire, and to lead to encroachments upon their territory, we had, on the contrary, acted with the greatest forbearance. Ever since the conclusion of the treaty of Nanking the conduct of the Chinese authorities had been such as would have justified a rupture with that government. They had violated the engagements into which they had entered; and if any desire existed on the part of the British government to proceed against them, abundant cause had existed, almost since the termination of the last war. They had refused, on divers pretences, to admit us to parts of Canton to which we ought to have access, avoided their engagements with respect to the Hongs, and nullified their stipulations in regard to the Tariff. In point of fact, there was scarcely a single engagement they had not broken.”[7]
Wearied with so many evasions, difficulties and delays, the ministers of the treaty powers, in 1854, determined to approach the capital, in order to represent to the court the unsatisfactory state of foreign relations with the imperial commissioner at Canton, and the necessity of redressing the many grievances of which they had to complain, and thus putting an end to a policy essentially unfriendly, which could not but lead to a fatal crisis, and which imperilled alike the interests of China and of all the nations who came into contact with her. It was hoped that the strong and united representations of the three ministers might alarm the emperor, or at all events obtain his serious attention to the dangers with which he was menaced. The attempt failed.[8] It could not but fail, through the incredible misrepresentations made to the Chinese court by the commissioners who were sent down by the emperor to meet the foreign envoys. As regards the outward forms of courtesy, the latter had perhaps no special ground of complaint. Tents were erected for their reception in the neighbourhood of the Takoo forts; and they were invited to a repast, in which, it may be worth notice, there was a display of ancient European steel knives and forks, with handsome porcelain handles, apparently of the age of Louis XIV. They were met on terms of equality, and the posts of honour were graciously conceded to them. But the urbane manners of the mandarins did not mislead the foreign ministers, who left them with the declaration that they were insuring for their country days of future sorrow. On the subject of their reports to the court of Peking, Mr. Reed says: “They illustrate the habitual faithlessness of Chinese officials.... They were certainly the most painful revelations of the mendacity and treacherous habits of the high officials of this empire ever given to the world. They cannot be read without contemptuous resentment.”[9]
There was only one possible termination to a state of things so obviously unsatisfactory, menacing, and untenable. Everything that could be said or done, in the shape of friendly counsel, had been exhausted. The American commissioner, Mr. M‘Lane, reports to his government,[10] that on leaving China, he addressed to Keih,[11] the governor of Kiangsoo, the following memorable warning:—
“Now, as my parting words, I say to you, if something is not done, our relations will become bad, our amity be disturbed. I believe that but for the officers of both governments there now might have been a state of things that might have led to a war; but we have exerted ourselves to prevent it.” [Governor Keih—“Yes.”] “I have done well, and on the eve of my departure am most disinterested in what I say. I do not think it is in the power of either officers of either government long to preserve the peace. If the emperor does not listen, and appoint a commissioner to adjust the foreign relations, so sure as there is a God in the heavens, amity cannot be preserved. I say it in sincerity, as my parting words.”
The personal character of Yeh tended greatly to complicate every international question. He represented the pride, presumption, and ignorance of a high mandarin, without the restraints which fear of imperial displeasure generally places upon Chinese functionaries. He was the instrument, and for some time the successful instrument, for carrying out the imperial policy as regarded foreign nations. He had a great reputation for learning, had won the most eminent literary grades, was a distinguished member of the highest college (the Hanlin), and the guardian of the heir apparent—indeed, on one occasion he called himself the fourth personage of the empire. Moreover, his despatches were much admired for their perspicuity and purity of language. He was strangely unacquainted with the geography, institutions, and policy of remote nations, and even made his ignorance a ground for self-congratulation. When questions of commercial interest were brought before him, he treated them as altogether below his notice, and on one occasion abruptly terminated a conversation by saying, “You speak to me as if I were a merchant, and not a mandarin.” He devoted himself to the study of necromancy, and relied on his “fortunate star;” believing that the city of Canton was impregnable, he made no serious arrangements for its defence.
What Ke-ying preached, Yeh-ming practised; but Ke was a man of a gentle, Yeh of a ferocious nature; and the cautious cunning which often marked the course of the one was wholly wanting to the other. Yeh, armed as he was with powers of life and death, exercised them with a recklessness of which there is no equal example in history. He turned the execution-ground at Canton into a huge lake of blood; hundreds of rebels were beheaded daily. When he was asked whether he had really caused seventy thousand men to be decapitated, he boastingly replied that the number exceeded a hundred thousand; and to an inquiry whether he had inflicted upon women the horrible punishment called the cutting into ten thousand pieces, he answered, “Ay! they were worse than the men.”[12]
It was the affair of the Arrow which brought about the inevitable crisis. The question of Sir John Bowring’s action on that occasion was entangled with the party politics of the day, and little more need now be said than that the verdict of the country reversed the condemnatory decision of the House of Commons. Certain it is that the very build of a lorcha, so altogether unlike any Chinese junk in its external appearance, ought to have led the local authorities in Canton to be very cautious in their interference with her crew; and that the fact of her papers being in the hands of the British consul, and not of the Chinese custom-house, was primâ facie evidence of her nationality. Since the brutal character of ex-Commissioner Yeh has been better understood, even those most forward to censure Sir John Bowring, for refusing to deliver over to that savage and sanguinary personage men who at all events believed themselves to be entitled to the protection of British authority,[13] cannot but have felt that they ought to have been more indulgent to his hesitation. That he carried with him the sympathy of the representatives of the treaty powers,—that Yeh’s policy was condemned by his colleagues and by the people in general,[14]—and that Yeh himself was finally degraded and disgraced by his own sovereign for his proceedings, are matters of historical record. Yeh, there is little doubt, would have been publicly executed, had he returned to China, notwithstanding the efforts of his father, who betook himself to Peking with a very large sum of money, hoping to be able—but failing—to propitiate the court.[15]
The war was carried on by the Chinese according to their usual mode of dealing with foreign nations.[16] They had no chance of success in open combat, so they had recourse to the ordinary stratagems adopted by uncivilized races. An “anti-barbarian committee” was formed among them, under the auspices of the mandarins. They offered premiums from 100 up to 100,000 ounces of silver for assassinations of “the barbarians,” according to the gradation of rank, and similar graduated rewards for the capture of vessels, for acts of incendiarism, for denouncing those who sent provisions to Hong Kong. Intercourse was prohibited under pain of death; and provision was promised to be made for the families of those who might perish in any desperate enterprise against the “foreign devils.” But so well was the government of Hong Kong served, that only one of many attempts to injure the colony had any success. In this, however, 360 persons of all nations were poisoned; but, happily, from the excess of arsenic employed, which led to an immediate perception of the danger, very few lost their lives. No less than 25,000 of the inhabitants fled to the mainland in consequence of the menaces of the mandarins; yet, though there were not 400 effective men in the garrison, such was the efficiency of the naval department, so active the police, and so well-disposed the mass of the Chinese population, that scarcely any damage was inflicted on the colony.
Canton was taken on the 29th of December. The resistance was ridiculous.[17] The walls were scaled by a handful of men, and Yeh, who had concealed himself, was captured. Why British authority, which would have been welcomed by the respectable part of the population, was not established under military law, and the whole administration of the public revenues taken into our hands, it is very difficult to explain. But at the meeting in which the English and French ambassadors informed the high Chinese authorities that the city had been captured and was held by the allied forces, both the governor of Kwang-tung and the Tartar general were allowed to be seated on the same elevation with the foreign ambassadors, and above the positions occupied by the naval and military commanders-in-chief who were left in charge of the city. Subordinate to these, an hermaphrodite government was created, called “the Allied Commissioners,” who were to be consulted on all occasions by the mandarins charged to carry on the administration of public affairs.
A grand opportunity was thus lost of exhibiting to the Cantonese the benefits of a just and honest, however severe, administration: they could not but have been struck with the difference between the humane and equitable laws of foreigners, as contrasted with the corrupt and cruel dealings of the mandarins. The Elgin Papers throw little light upon the atrocities which were perpetrated by the Chinese, long after our possession of the city. The prisons continued to be scenes of horrible tortures. It was thought necessary to destroy whole streets, in order to convey terror into districts where assassinations of the subjects of allied powers had taken place: all the eastern suburb of the city was razed to the ground, and not a respectable inhabitant was left amidst the desolation. There can be no doubt that Governor Pehkwei considered himself invested with supreme authority over Chinese subjects. He complains bitterly, in a despatch to Lord Elgin, of 31st January, 1858, of Consul Parkes’ interference—of his “overbearing” and unreasonably oppressive “conduct in disposing of Chinamen confined in the gaols of Canton. I ask, whether Chinese officers would be tolerated in their interference with British subjects confined in British gaols?” Lord Elgin does not, in his reply, assert British jurisdiction over the prisons in Canton; but says, Pehkwei will be required to release all prisoners entitled to the benefits of the amnesty; and in another despatch (p. 178), distinctly throws upon Pehkwei the responsibility of preserving the public peace. This anomalous state of matters awakened the attention of our Government at home: a despatch of Lord Malmesbury (14th June, 1858), says: “It will be a disgrace to the allied powers if they do not prevent such enormities as are practised in the prisons of Canton.” ... The “British name must be relieved from the disgrace and guilt of having connived at a state of things so monstrous and revolting.” As to the mixed authority of native mandarins and allied commissioners, Lord Malmesbury says: “It is wholly inefficient for all objects of administration and policy, and should be replaced by a military government acting under the rules of martial law.” He recommended that the allies should take possession of the custom-house revenues, and hold the balance after the payment of the local expenses. It is much to be regretted that these measures were not adopted. Undoubtedly, Lord Elgin exercised a sound discretion in not proceeding to Peking until “a lesson” had been given to Yeh’s obstinacy. Had he gone to the North it would have been deemed a confession that he had been foiled in the South, and compelled to appeal to the emperor, in order to relieve himself from the difficulties in which Yeh had placed him; for Yeh—who had chosen to represent the English “barbarians” as making common cause with the rebels, and in fact, being themselves in a state of rebellion against imperial authority—gave the court the assurance that, as he had been so successful in breaking up the native insurrection, so he would not fail “to drive the foreign ‘barbarians’ into the sea.” In short, there could be little doubt, that had his calculations proved correct, a hostile policy would have pursued us in all the other parts of China, and our immense interests there have been placed in jeopardy.
For some time the court ventured to dream that by Yeh’s indomitable bravery China might be wholly rid of the presence of the intrusive strangers.[18] It is known that the emperor was much displeased with a mandarin, who, having lived in Canton, and being acquainted with the power of the English, ventured to express doubts as to the trustworthiness of Yeh’s representations that he could bridle and extirpate the English barbarians;[19] and nothing less than the taking the Takoo forts by the allied forces, and an advance upon the capital (even after Yeh’s capture and humiliation) was likely to bring the court of Peking to a sense of its own weakness, and the necessity of listening to our representations and remonstrances.
Every effort had been made to obstruct the progress of the allied ambassadors towards Peking; but they wisely determined not to delay their voyage to the Gulf of Pecheli, and, on the 24th April, they announced to the Chinese prime minister their arrival, at the mouth of the Tien-tsin river. The usual evasions were brought into play; and it was soon discovered that the commissioners sent down had no sufficient powers. On the 18th May, therefore, after consultation with the admirals, it was determined to “take the forts,” and to “proceed pacifically up the river;” on the 19th, notice was given to the Chinese, and on the 20th, the forts were in the hands of the Allies. On the 29th, the ambassadors reached Tien-tsin. On the same day they were advised that “the chief secretary of state,” and the president of one of the imperial boards, were ordered to proceed without delay “to investigate and despatch business.” After many discussions the Treaty was signed on the 26th June.
The progress and the result of these negotiations only demonstrate that where our policy has failed, and where it will always fail in China, is in placing confidence in the Chinese. Our distrust must be the groundwork: it is the only sound foundation of our security. When the four ambassadors were at Tien-tsin, and had extorted from the fears of the Chinese treaties more or less humiliating to Chinese pride, according to the amount of pressure employed, it should have been foreseen that on the removal of that pressure the Chinese mind would resume its natural obstinacy. A treaty with China will always be waste paper, unless some security is obtained for giving it due effect. It is, therefore, greatly to be regretted that the ambassadors should have left the most difficult of questions, one most wounding to Chinese pride—the reception of foreign ministers at Peking, and the initiation of their constant residence at court—to be settled by their successors, who had neither the same high diplomatic position, nor the same large naval and military forces at their disposal. It may, indeed, be a question whether it was desirable to force upon the Chinese the recognition of our right to have an ambassador permanently fixed at the capital; but if we thought fit to insist on such recognition, there should certainly have been no vacillation—no disposition shown to surrender in any shape or on any terms the right which had been conceded. We could not plead want of experience, for we had abundant evidence of the determination of the Chinese to repudiate and deny every concession, the enjoyment of which was either rediscussed or deferred. We should have avoided, above all things, the transfer of the Canton question to Peking. Our right to enter Canton was incontestable. Shufflings and subterfuges on the part of the Chinese, hesitation and an erroneous estimate of the importance of the question on the part of the British Government and the British functionaries in China, led to one delay after another, and ended by an absolute denial of our treaty right, and an arming of the Chinese population to enforce that denial, accompanied at the same time by a Chinese proclamation mendaciously averring that we had withdrawn our claims. A similar course has been pursued at Peking. The Chinese, who have no notion—what Oriental has?—of privileges possessed and not exercised, saw in the willingness to give way to their representations, not, as we might have supposed, a consideration for their repugnancy, and a magnanimity in refraining from the enjoyment of a privilege distasteful to them, but an infirmity of purpose—a confession that we had asked for something we did not want, and which they felt to be a degradation needlessly and gratuitously imposed upon them. There is, in fact, neither safety nor dignity in any course but the stern, steady persistence in the assertion and enforcement of whatever conditions are the subject of imperial engagements.
Lord Elgin returned to England, and Mr. Bruce was appointed his successor. It was at first announced that he had been furnished with ambassadorial powers, but as such powers would have entitled him to demand a personal reception by the emperor, it was, on reconsideration, very judiciously thought better to avoid a question which might lead to great embarrassments, and he was accredited as Minister Plenipotentiary to the Peking court. To our judgment it appears the instructions of Lord Malmesbury were too peremptory as to the course Mr. Bruce was to pursue; and if that course was to be insisted on, most inadequate means were provided.[20] It is but another example of those in the distance imagining they see more clearly than those who are near, and assuming an acquaintance with local circumstances—subject every hour to change—which, without the attributes of omnipresence and omniscience, it is impossible they should possess. Whatever may have been the views of the Cabinet at home, it is obvious that the forces which accompanied Mr. Bruce were as superfluous for peace as they were insufficient for war, and that he was placed in the embarrassing dilemma either of disobeying his orders, or of incurring great risk in the attempt to execute them. That the Admiral singularly overrated his own force, and under-estimated that of the Chinese, admits now of no controversy. But an indulgent judgment should be awarded to one so personally brave and self-sacrificing, and who was entitled to confide in the indomitable bravery of those he commanded; whose experience, too, of the general character of Chinese warfare was not likely to teach them prudence or caution.
The first and the most natural inquiry is, what is likely to be the result of these disastrous events? If negotiations are wisely conducted, the probability is that the emperor will throw the blame on the local authorities, attribute to the misrepresentations which have been made any approval he may have given to those who attacked the Allies, and repudiate any intended complicity in the mismanagement of foreign relations. For it has hitherto been the invariable policy of the Chinese government to localize every quarrel, and to avoid any general war. There is no scruple about sacrificing any mandarin whose proceedings, though lauded and recompensed at first, have in the sequel proved injudicious or injurious.
We cannot look forward, however, without apprehension—apprehension not from the possible defeat of our arms—they will be too strong, too efficient for defeat by any Chinese forces—but from their successful advance and overthrow of all resistance. Nothing can arrest their course to Peking, nor prevent the capture of that vast capital; but its possession may prove our great embarrassment. If the emperor, accompanied by his court, should retreat into Manchuria—if Peking be deserted, as Canton was, by all that is respectable and opulent—the Allies may find themselves amidst vacant streets, abandoned houses, a wandering, a starving population, too poor to migrate with their betters. Winter will come—the cruel, bitter winter of northern China; the rivers will be frozen, communications cut off; and with no war-ship in the Gulf of Pecheli, supplies must be inaccessible. Peking may even prove another Moscow to its conquerors.
The condition of the French and Spanish expedition in Cochin China is full of present instruction. They are acting against a miserable and despised enemy. They have been for more than a year in possession of Turon, the principal harbour of the country; but they have not ventured to attack the adjacent capital. Disease has thinned their ranks; victories have brought no results, but ever new disappointment: every calculation of success having been thwarted by a patient but stubborn “no surrender.” It is a resistance that cannot be reached by strength of arms, nor dealt with by the cunning of diplomacy. May it serve as a warning in that wider field upon which we are entering in China!
How is the social edifice to be constructed out of crumbling ruins? To overthrow the existing dynasty of China may be easy enough; indeed, the difficulty, as with that of Turkey, is its maintenance and preservation: its very feebleness cries to us for pity and mercy. It may yet totter on for generations, if not harshly shaken; but if it—fall—fall amidst its wrecked institutions—China, inviting as it is to foreign ambition and the lust of conquest, may become the battle-field of contending interests. Russia, moving steadily and stealthily forward in its march of territorial aggression; France, charged with what she fancies herself specially called upon to represent—the missionary propagand, with the Catholic world behind her; England, with those vast concerns which involve about one-ninth of the imperial and Indian revenues, and an invested capital exceeding forty millions sterling; and the United States, whose commerce may be deemed about one-third of that of Great Britain, to say nothing of Holland and Spain, who are not a little concerned, through their eastern colonies, in the well-being of China;—will then be engaged in a struggle for power, if not territory, the result of which cannot be anticipated; indeed we scarcely venture to contemplate such portentous complications.
No thoughtful man will deny the necessity of teaching the Chinese that treaties must be respected, and perfidy punished. Duty and interest alike require this at our hands; but this is but one of many duties—one of many interests; and we would most emphatically say, Respice finem—look beyond—look to the end. The destruction of hundreds of thousands of Chinese, the ravaging of their great cities, may fail to accomplish the object we have in view. They have been but too much accustomed to such calamities, and their influences soon pass away from a nation so reckless of life. But it may be possible to exact penalties in a shape which will be more sensible to them, and more beneficial to us: for example, the administration of their custom-house revenues in Shanghae and Canton, and the payment out of these of all the expenses of the war.
But is there nothing to hope from the Taiping movement? Nothing. It has become little better than dacoity: its progress has been everywhere marked by wreck and ruin; it destroys cities, but builds none; consumes wealth, and produces none; supersedes one despotism by another more crushing and grievous; subverts a rude religion by the introduction of another full of the vilest frauds and the boldest blasphemies. It has cast off none of the proud, insolent, and ignorant formulas of imperial rule; but, claiming to be a divine revelation, exacts the same homage and demands the same tribute from Western nations, to which the government of Peking pretended in the days of its highest and most widely recognized authority.
We cannot afford to overthrow the government of China. Bad as it is, anarchy will track its downfall, and the few elements of order which yet remain will be whelmed in a convulsive desolation.