But these things did not move fast enough for the settled ambition of Japan, which she with diligence, unanimity, and wonderful secrecy determined to develop by force of arms. It would be idle to seek for the causes of the war elsewhere than in this forward national policy of Japan. Alert as she had been to seize every chance that offered of detaching Korea from her allegiance to China, her preparations were not sufficiently complete to justify her unmasking her whole policy until 1894, when the grand opportunity for which she had been waiting, if she did not actively assist in bringing it about, presented itself. What proved to be an ill-advised interference of China in the internal affairs of Korea furnished the occasion. An insurrection had broken out in the southern part of the peninsula, and the king had no forces to put it down. Various versions had been circulated of the extent and character of the insurrection; but when it had continued for some time, and nothing was done to check it, the advisers of the Chinese Government became apprehensive of interference by some foreign Power for the restoration of order. Strangely enough, Japan was the very last quarter from which this danger was anticipated. The Chinese at length summoned resolution to send a force to the king's assistance to put down the insurrection, but whether the king in his heart desired this armed interference it is impossible for us to say.
Li Hung-chang was personally opposed to any such expedition, and when goaded to action from Peking, where the bellicose spirit had been generated, he pointed out that no request had been received from the king. This omission was also remarked upon by the practical Admiral Ting, and both may have hoped that the absence of so important a link in the chain would enable them to avoid the overt action which they had the best grounds for deprecating. Such a hope, if it existed, was of brief duration; for the King of Korea was induced, by influences brought to bear on him, "to place himself in order" and implore his suzerain for assistance, which the suzerain could no longer withhold. Then was Li Hung-chang pressed by that body whose characteristic was the negation of initiative, the Tsungli-Yamên, and like a sluggish horse which once takes the bit in its teeth, the Yamên became as impatient for action as in all its previous history it had been resolute in evasion. When but a few days had elapsed since the issue of the order, and the troops were not yet embarked, the Ministers, quite ignorant of what was involved in sending a military force across the sea, began to jeer Li Hung-chang on his delay, hinting that he was perhaps growing stale with age. The troops were, nevertheless, despatched all too soon. On their landing at Yashan in Southern Korea, the insurrection immediately collapsed: such was the prestige of the imperial authority.
In order to comply with the letter of the Li-Ito convention China notified Japan officially of the despatch of these troops, some 2000 in all, and of the purpose for which they were sent. But Japan had no need to wait for any such formal intimation. She had her Intelligence Department, remarkably alert. Japanese—not perhaps always known as such—were employed in the Chinese official bureaus, even in the most confidential departments, while Japanese in disguise swarmed in all the military centres. The Chinese telegraph service has no secrets from any one who thinks it worth his while to possess them. Consequently every detail of the preparation, every point in the discussion, and every step in embarkation, was punctually telegraphed by the Japanese consul to the Foreign Office in Tokio. Hence it was that Japanese troops arrived in Korea simultaneously with the Chinese, only they numbered 10,000 against 2000, and instead of being assigned to the region of the insurrection, in accordance with the provisions of the Li-Ito convention, they marched straight to the capital and took possession of the king. The insurrection having collapsed, the Chinese troops were under orders of withdrawal, and would have returned home in the same transports that conveyed them to Korea but for the unaccountable, and of course illegitimate, presence of Japanese troops at the capital. Notwithstanding the provocation to retain the Chinese troops in Korea as a counterbalance to those, five times more numerous, which had been sent by Japan, the Chinese authorities were advised by their best friends to recall their troops, even though the Japanese should thereby be apparently left in possession of the field. The Chinese would in that case have maintained an unassailably correct position, and Japan would have had to dispense with her pretexts for war. Evacuation by the Chinese had been actually decided upon, and the steamer Kowshing was chartered for the purpose of bringing back the troops. Before the measure was carried out, however, other counsels prevailed, and that very ship was employed in conveying more troops to reinforce the first expedition, and in the midst of pretended negotiations for an arrangement between the two Powers, the Japanese sank the Kowshing on the high sea with all on board.
It is usual, as a matter of form, if nothing else, to assign some specific cause for a war; but though many able writers have essayed to explain the Japanese action in 1894, they have all of them left the question in greater obscurity than they found it. Nor did the formal declaration of war by the Mikado throw any light on the subject. A Japanese statesman being asked what the war was about, replied bluntly, "It is to defeat China," and the most elaborate exposition of motives or policy does not carry us perceptibly further than this concise and straightforward statement. The Chinese Government itself held precisely the same view as to the object of the war, though its perceptions were so obscured that it was quite unaware of its incapacity for defence. Neither did it during the actual progress of hostilities realise the cause of its defeat. Indeed there is no evidence to show that China has even to this day discovered the secret of her impotence.
The course and immediate consequence of the war itself have been set forth in many books, and are so well known as to render it superfluous to enter into any detail here. A few general points only need be mentioned as a key to what followed.
1. Russia took unusual pains to dissuade Japan from engaging in the war, pointing out in clear terms that her interests would not allow her to be an indifferent spectator of any changes on the continent of Asia.
2. Great Britain next endeavoured to patch up the supposed quarrel—which could never be defined in words—between China and Japan, and on the day on which her agent in Tokio expressed himself confident that the differences, so far as he understood them, would be arranged without recourse to war, the British chartered transport Kowshing was sunk with 1200 men on board.
3. The solution of the question which would have reconciled the views of the four Powers more immediately concerned was the neutralisation of Korea. Great Britain, Russia, and Japan were of one mind on this subject, and China would have hailed such an escape from her chronic embarrassment respecting Korea. Why, then, was no attempt made to bring about such a solution? Want of co-ordination, it would appear; diplomatic paralysis. Though the views of each Power separately ascertained were identical, none of them would speak first, and there was no fifth party to assume the initiative in bringing them to a common understanding. The blame of this must be equally distributed, though in point of fact there were degrees of responsibility which it would be useless now to recall. It is only one example the more of the great gap which often yawns between professional diplomacy and practical politics.
The issue of the war was a foregone conclusion, both by sea and land. China had no army, and the more numerous her levies the more helpless they were before a disciplined enemy. The navy failed precisely where it was expected to fail. It was an incomplete machine, neglected and in disorder, deficient in many essential things. Worst of all, there was no heart in it. Captain Lang, R.N., and other British officers had been expelled from the service through a conspiracy of the captains in 1890, and thenceforth its deterioration became rapid. The efficiency of the navy for its main purpose was the last thing considered by the cabal. They relied absolutely on the diplomatic resources of Li Hung-chang to save them from any possible trial of strength, and refused to face an alternative even by way of argument. Bravery was by no means lacking in the ranks, nor professional education among the officers. There were some who had Nelson's maxims at the tip of their tongue, and there were some who added to a thorough naval training the spirit of devotion which makes heroes. But these qualities were isolated and incoherent; there was no tradition to render them fruitful, no martial spirit, no disgrace for the coward, no honour for the valiant. The fleet was a body, defective enough at that, but without a soul. The minds of the captains being set on quite other objects than the efficiency of their service, when the crisis threatened they were intent only on evading collisions. The valour of the admiral, the fine sense of duty of individual officers, and the fighting qualities of a considerable body of the seamen, were swamped in the prevailing pusillanimity of the service; the choice spirits were discouraged by the fatuous neglect at headquarters to supply the ordinary necessaries of warfare. It was the writer's fortune to make a passage in a Chinese protected cruiser in September 1894, a few days before the great naval action off the Yalu, and it was most pathetic to hear the defects pointed out by the captain and first lieutenant—defects in ammunition for the guns mounted, absence of gun crews, so that in action men would have to be taken from one gun to another and put to work for which they had no training, everywhere the ship spoiled for want of the ha'porth of tar. That particular vessel was not disgraced in the Yalu fight, but was brought into Port Arthur by the superhuman exertions of her officers, her iron deck beams twisted by the fire and her plates red hot. A second conversation with the captain and first lieutenant after the action was but a painful commentary on that of the week before. The one was prediction, the other fulfilment. Perhaps the state of the navy could not be more forcibly illustrated than by the fact that the fleet was led into action at the Yalu by a German military officer.
China was indeed defeated, amid the applause of Europe and the whole world, and the primeval law of violence received a new consecration. This is the one outcome of the war which seems likely to leave a permanent impress on the surface of our civilisation, for the spontaneous outburst from the four corners of the earth cannot be referred to any venal or wire-pulling agency. There had been foreign wars in China before, wars entered upon after long discussion and accumulating causes of quarrel. Their merits divided the opinion of the world—they divided even the nations that waged them; and the opposition was on one occasion strong enough to overturn a British Government that had actually entered into hostilities against China. But in 1894 there was not a dissentient voice. The cause of the war was not known and not inquired into, the universal enthusiasm was simply for the victor, as such, without regard to anything but his military prowess. That was what the world fell down and worshipped. Not any righteous cause, or racial sympathy, or community of interest, inspired their acclamations; for none of these things were considered or understood by the masses who chorussed the triumph of the conqueror of China. English pens and tongues beyond all others urged the victorious Power to make crushing conditions of peace, and in the clamour traditional landmarks were forgotten. The policy of saving China, the great English milch cow, from destruction, which had been patiently followed by Great Britain for forty years, was thus suddenly submerged in a wave of warlike enthusiasm.