CHAPTER IV
PEKIN
TIENTSIN is but a stepping‐stone to Pekin—one a mere modern growth, important only in view of the European commercial interests that have made it what it is; the other a fabled city weird, mysterious. The slowly‐beating heart of the vast feeble Colossus, that may be pierced and yet no agony, thrills through the distant members. Pekin, the object of the veneration of every Chinaman the world over. Pekin, which enshrines the most sacred temples of the land, within whose famous walls lies the marvellous Forbidden City, the very name of which is redolent of mystery; around it history and fable gather and scarce may be distinguished, so incredible the truth, so conceivable the wildest conjecture. The Mecca to which turn the thoughts of every Celestial. The home of the sacred, almost legendary, Emperor, whose word is law to the uttermost confines of the land, and yet whose person is not inviolate against palace intrigue; omnipotent in theory, powerless in reality, a ruler only in name. Worshipped by millions of his subjects, yet despised by the least among the mandarins of his court. The meanest eunuch in the Purple City is not more helpless than the monarch who boasts the proud title of Son of Heaven.
Pekin, the seat of all power in the land, whence flows the deadly poison of corruption that saps the empire’s strength; the capital that twice within the last fifty years has fallen before the avenging armies of Europe, and yet still flourishes like a noxious weed.
One morning as the train from Tong‐ku came into Tientsin Station and disgorged its usual crowd of soldiers of the Allied Forces, I stood on the platform with four other British officers, all bound for Pekin. We established ourselves in a first‐class carriage, which was a mixture of coupé and corridor‐car. The varied uniforms of our fellow‐passengers no longer possessed any interest for us; and we devoted our attention to the scenery on each side of the railway. From Tientsin to Pekin the journey occupies about five hours. The line runs through level, fertile country, where the crops stand higher than a mounted man; thus the actions on the way to the relief of the Legations were fought blindfold. Among the giant vegetation troops lost direction, corps became mixed, and the enemy could seldom be seen. As the train ran on, the tops of the tall stalks rose in places above the roofs of the carriages, and shut in our view as though we were passing through a dense forest. Here and there we rattled past villages or an occasional temple almost hidden by the high crops. There were several stations along the line; the buildings solidly constructed of stone, the walls loopholed for defence. On the platforms the usual cosmopolitan crowd of soldiers, and Chinamen of all ages offering for sale bread, cakes, Japanese beer, bottles of vin ordinaire bought from the French, grapes, peaches, and plums in profusion. In winter various kinds of game, with which the country teems, are substituted for the fruit. At Yangsun were a number of Chasseurs d’Afrique, whose regiment was quartered in the vicinity. Trains passed us; the carriages crowded with troops of all nations, the trucks filled with horses, guns and military stores, or packed with grinning Chinamen.
At last, between the trees, glimpses of yellow‐tiled roofs flashing in the sunlight told us that we were nearing the capital. Leaning from the windows we saw, apparently stretching right across the track, a long, high wall, with buttresses and lofty towers at intervals. It was the famous Wall of Pekin. Suddenly a large gap seemed to open in it; the train glided through, and we found ourselves in the middle of a large city as we slowed down alongside a platform on which stood a board with the magic word “Pekin.” We had reached our journey’s end. On the other side of the line was a broad, open space, through which ran a wide road paved with large stone flags. Over it flowed an incessant stream of carts, rickshas, and pedestrians. Behind the station ran a long wall which enclosed the Temple of Heaven, where, after General Gaselee’s departure, the British headquarters in Pekin were established.
On the platform we found a half‐caste guide waiting for us, sent to meet us by friends in the English Legation. Resigning our luggage to him and directing him to convey it to the one hotel the capital possessed, we determined to begin our sightseeing at once and walked towards the gateway of the enclosure in which stands the Temple of Heaven. On entering, we found ourselves in a large and well‐wooded demesne. Groves of tall trees, leafy rides, and broad stretches of turf made it seem more like an English park than the grounds of a Chinese temple. Long lines of tents, crossed lances, and picketed horses marked the camp of a regiment of Bengal cavalry; for in the vast enclosure an army might bivouac with ease. Here was held the historic British assault‐at‐arms, when foreign officers were roused to enthusiasm at the splendid riding of our Indian cavalry and the marvellous skill of the Royal Horse Artillery as they swung their teams at full speed round the marks in the driving competitions.
Apropos of the latter corps a story is told of Field‐Marshal Von Waldersee’s introduction to them at the first review he held of British troops at Tientsin. When the horse gunners came thundering down towards the saluting base in a cloud of dust, their horses stretching to a mad gallop, the guns bounding behind them like things of no weight but with every muzzle in line, the German Commander‐in‐Chief is said to have burst into admiring exclamation: “Splendid! Marvellous!” he cried. As they flew past the old man huddled up on his charger, he started in surprise and peered forward.
“Donnerwetter!” he exclaimed, “why, they actually have their guns with them!” The pace was so furious that he had been under the impression that they were galloping past with the teams only; for he had thought it impossible for artillery to move at such speed drawing their field‐pieces. The other officers of the Allied Armies were equally amazed at the sight.
“It is positively dangerous!” said a German.
“C’est incroyable! Ça ne peut pas!” cried an excited Frenchman.