For the next few days there was the greatest activity on both sides—among the Revolutionists and the Loyalists. With wildest enthusiasm the Revolutionists prosecuted their aims in Wuchang, in Hanyang, and in Hankow. The Government banks were ransacked of all silver and burned to the ground, all Government offices were looted, Revolutionary troops were stationed in the three cities, and for some days there was no doubt about the sovereignty of the rebels in this neighbourhood. The two armies touched for the first time on October 19th, but even this was a one-sided affair, because General Chang Piao, the head of the Hupeh army, had but a handful of men, and stood from the first no chance whatever against the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. Foreigners were able only to see in this a local revolt, but it very soon became apparent that the Revolution had taken hold of China and that the rebelling forces of Hupeh were soon to gather many other provinces under their banner. Such unity was never seen in China before as the first days of the revolt brought to light.
Then the war began.
After this first slight engagement there was a rare ado with the Revolutionary army and supporters as the victorious regiments marched into the city, and this victory over Chang Piao and his men, apart from having the effect of completely routing the enemy, added a tremendous stimulus to the fighting line of the Republicans, and they were then itching for another scrap. The Loyalists had come down from Peking. They were expected to turn over to the Revolutionists. But they did not—they intended to fight, and to fight hard. In the first engagement, however, after having had taken from them their bullion with which the troops were to be paid, their rice and supplies by which the men were to be fed, the ammunition by which the throne was to be kept secure, and much else in the way of impedimenta of warfare, they retired crestfallen and moved some considerable distance down the river.
TYPICAL REVOLUTIONARIES.
Changed by love of country and passion for freedom
from downtrodden coolies to enthusiastic soldiers.
Before dawn on the morning of October 20th I took my launch down towards Kilometre Ten, the Revolutionary base, where the Loyalists were said to have crept up during the night. It looked as if they had regained courage, and were to put up another fight. I found a party of Revolutionary recruits and regulars, all having a good time, whilst lessons were being given to the raw material in the art of using the rifle. The target was a couple of pigs, and into the hides of these two innocent porkers the recruits were endeavouring to discharge their bullets. Passing them, I followed on through a road which at one time had been the main entrance to the station, all being now in anything but perfect order, into the station, where some fifteen hundred troops were assembled on the platform and in the adjoining ground—the scene of the recent battle.
To my companion (representing the New York Herald) and myself the Revolutionists were most courteous. Whilst we preferred to stand, they bade us to be seated, a couple leading us to a point on the platform where was seated the Commander-in-Chief of the Field Forces, a portly fellow, full and hearty, typically Chinese, delighted to see us. Down below were the field-guns and the dark-clad troops, battered railway trucks, officers' horses grazing by the line, men rushing hither and thither, all enthusiastic upon getting something done and wasting no time. But here was the Commander-in-Chief—the Buller of the campaign—calm, quiet, courteous, extending to me with the simplicity of a boy the usual Chinese felicities. He was seated in his official war-chair, had upon him all the paraphernalia of war, and waited as he talked with me for his scouts to return before he could make up his mind what the day's programme was to be.
Allow us to take his photograph?—certainly he would, and stood up and put on a straight face purposely for the occasion, waving back a scout who hurriedly came in whilst I snapped a picture. Then he attended to the scouting parties, taking careful notes of all that they told him. I wished to exchange cards—delighted, he would do it in a moment, and wrote his full name on the back. He laughed over the simplest incident, was exceedingly solicitous on my behalf, assured me that they would win; when he spoke of battle his face hardened, his keen eyes sparkled, full of fire. His aide-de-camp, quite a youngster, dressed in a foreign tweed suit—queueless, of course—and bearing no traces whatever that he was an army official, gave us all the news he could. He waved his hands to the captured railroad trucks, containing the captured supplies, and asked us blandly if we could solve the problem of living without food—because he couldn't, and he didn't suppose that the Loyalists could. "And they won't," he vociferated. But that was in the early days of the war. During those days it was interesting to any fair-minded foreigner to watch the intensity of feeling displayed by the Revolutionary Army as opposed to the downhearted attitude of the small Imperial force which took the field.
On the same morning that I interviewed the Revolutionary Commander of the Field Forces I was successful in discovering that General Chang Piao was on board a launch down-river. I immediately made off by launch to see him. As I sat soon afterwards by the side of this Chang Piao, the man in all Hupeh who had been entrusted with the authority of the Model Army, and looked at a medium-sized Chinese who gave no evidence of being a common soldier by anything in his dress, and as I looked at his unshaven head and bloodshot eyes, I could not find it in my heart to extend to him anything but genuine pity. He recently had been a strong man, high in office, and dazzled with braid and buttons and all official paraphernalia which to-day is thought so much of in military China; now he was a crestfallen man, knowing that he had lost, cut off from all supplies, with a helpless army on his hands, and himself knowing that fifty thousand Chinese dollars were being offered for his head. With some little difficulty I had jumped on board, asked for Chang Daren, and was shown into the cabin aft, where I found some dozen or so officers eating their morning rice. Towards me came a man dressed in an ordinary teacher's garb; he extended his nervous hand, and with ceremony bade me enter. His name he told me was Chang—this, then, was the man, General Chang Piao, erstwhile Commander-in-Chief of the Hupeh Model Army.