As the barometer of Ward's fortunes steadily rose, that of his native country began to fall, the dark cloud of secession hanging threateningly over the land. It has been said of Ward that he denationalized himself by marrying a Chinese wife and adopting a Chinese name, but there is no doubt that it was only his stern sense of duty which kept him at the task he had undertaken in China when the guns of Sumter boomed out the beginning of the Civil War. He immediately sent a contribution of ten thousand dollars to the Union war fund, however, with a message that his services were at the disposal of the North whenever they were required. At the time of the Trent affair, when war between England and the United States was momentarily expected, and the British in China had laid plans to seize American shipping and other property in the treaty ports, Ward effected a secret organization of American sympathizers and prepared to surprise and capture every British war-ship and merchant vessel in Chinese waters. In view of his success in equally daring exploits, there is good reason to believe that he would have accomplished even so startling a coup as this.

While recruiting his army to its newly authorized strength, Ward did not give the Taipings a moment's rest. He kept several flying columns constantly in the field, attacking the rebels at every opportunity, cutting up their outposts, harrying their pickets, breaking their lines of communication, and demoralizing them generally. One day Ward would be reported as operating in the south, and the Wang would draw a momentary breath of relief, but the next night, without the slightest warning, he would suddenly fall upon a city a hundred miles to the northward and carry it by storm. By such aggressive tactics as these Ward struck fear to the heart of the Taiping leader, who saw the despotism he had built up crumbling about him before the American's smashing blows. It was said, indeed, that the mere sight of Ward's white helmet in the van of a storming party was more effective than a brigade of infantry. With a thousand men of his own corps and six hundred royal marines he attacked and captured Tsee-dong, a walled city of considerable strength, and cleared the rebels from the surrounding region as though with a fine-tooth comb. The town of Wong-kadza was in the possession of the Taipings, and Ward decided to capture it. General Staveley, who had succeeded Sir James Mitchel in command of the British forces, offered to co-operate with him. It was agreed that they should rendezvous outside the town. Ward reached there first with six hundred of his men. Without waiting for the British to come up, he ordered his bugles to sound the charge, and after a quarter of an hour of desperate fighting he carried the stockade, and the rebels broke and ran, Ward's men killing more of them in the pursuit than they themselves numbered. When General Staveley arrived a few hours later he was chagrined to see the imperial standard flying over the city and to find that the impetuous American had done the work and reaped the glory. The allied forces now pressed on to the Taiping stronghold of Tai-poo, which was held by a strong and well-armed garrison. While the British engaged the attention of the rebels in front with a fierce artillery fire, Ward and his Chinamen made a détour to the rear of the city, and were at and over the walls almost before the garrison realized what had happened.

The Ever-Victorious Army now numbered nearly six thousand men. It was well drilled and under an iron discipline; it was fairly well armed; it was magnificently officered; it was emboldened with repeated successes. The man who was the maker and master of such a force might well go a long way. That Ward dreamed of eventually making himself dictator of China there can be but little doubt. Louis Napoleon, remember, climbed to a throne on the bayonets of his soldiers. By this time the American soldier of fortune had become by long odds the most popular figure in the empire; the army was with him to a man; he possessed the confidence of the great mandarins and merchant princes; and he had to his credit an almost unparalleled succession of victories. Dictator of the East! What American ever had a more ambitious dream and was within such measurable distance of realizing it? It is no exaggeration to say that, had Ward lived, the whole history of the Orient would have been changed, and China, rather than Japan, would doubtless have held the balance of power in the Farther East.

In April, 1862, Ward, the Viceroy Lieh, and the French and British commanders held a council of war in Shanghai. Ward suggested a plan of campaign designed to break the Taiping power in that part of China for good and all. Briefly put, his scheme was to capture a semicircle of cities within a radius of fifty miles of Shanghai and the coast. This would result in the rebels being held within their own lines by a cordon of bayonets, and, as they had utterly devastated the regions they had overrun, would mean starvation for them. Thus cut off from the seaboard, Ward argued, they would be unable to obtain ammunition and supplies, and the rebellion would soon wither. The series of operations was carried out as planned, Ward's corps being reinforced by three thousand French and British. It ended in the capture, in rapid succession, of the cities of Kah-ding, Sing-po, Najaor, and Tsaolin. In every case Ward insisted on being given the post of honor; he and his Chinamen, who fought with an appalling disregard for life, carrying the defences at the bayonet's point, while his European allies covered his advance with artillery fire and supported his whirlwind attacks. Leaving garrisons barely large enough to hold the captured cities, he pushed on by forced marches to Ning-po, which was a large and strongly fortified city. Twice his storming parties were driven back. The third time the men, exhausted by the continuous fighting in which they had been engaged and the long marches they had been called upon to perform, momentarily faltered in the face of the terrible fire which greeted them. Instantly Ward ordered the recall sounded, formed them into line within easy rifle-range of the city walls, and calmly put them through the manual of arms with as much precision as though they were on parade, while a storm of bullets whistled round them, and men were momentarily dropping in the ranks. Then, his men once more in hand, the bugles screamed the charge and the yellow line roared on to victory.

Ward gave his last order to advance—he had forgotten how to give any other—on September 21, 1862. With a regiment of his men he was about to attack Tse-Ki, a small fortified coast town a few miles from Ning-po. With his habitual contempt for danger he was standing with General Forester, his chief of staff, well in advance of his men, inspecting the position through his field-glasses. Suddenly he clapped his hand to his breast. "I've been hit, Ed!" he exclaimed, and fell forward into the arms of his friend. Very tenderly his devoted yellow men carried him aboard the British war-ship Hardy, which was lying in the harbor, but the naval surgeons shook their heads when an examination showed that the bullet had passed through his lungs. "Don't mind me," whispered Ward. "Take the city." So Forester, heavy at heart, ordered forward the storming parties. That night the great captain died. The last sound he heard was his Chinamen's shrill yell of triumph.

With extraordinary solemnity the dead soldier was laid to rest in the temple of Confucius in Sunkiang, the most sacred shrine in China and the very spot where he had established his headquarters after his first great victory. His body, which was followed to the grave by imperial viceroys, European admirals, generals, and consuls, and Chinese mandarins, was borne between the silent lines of his Ever-Victorious Army. By order of the emperor his name was placed in the pantheon of the gods. Temples to commemorate his victories were built at Sing-po and Ning-po, and a magnificent mausoleum was erected in his honor in Sunkiang. In it the yellow priests of Confucius still burn incense before his tomb. In all his history there can be found no hint of dishonor, no trace of shame. He was a great soldier and a very gallant gentleman, but he has been forgotten by his own people. To paraphrase the lines of Matthew Arnold:

"Far hence he lies,
Near some lone Chinese town,
And on his grave, with shining eyes,
The Eastern stars look down."

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