A story is told of a War Office official who, ignorant of the mountainous character of Hong Kong, wished to add a regiment of British cavalry to its garrison. The general in command at the time, being possessed of a keen sense of humour, gravely requested that the men should be mounted on goats, pointing out that no other animal would prove useful on the Hong Kong hills. But even in the mountainous country of the mainland mounted infantry would be of great use to enable commanding points to be speedily gained. When stationed in Kowloon I organised mounted infantry on mules captured in North China—splendid animals most of them, one standing fifteen hands high. Even in that broken and rugged country I found that the men could move swiftly around the bases of the hills, across the narrow valleys, and up the easier slopes at a speed that defied all pursuit from their comrades on foot. In an advance overland to Canton, mounted infantry would be invaluable when the flat and cultivated country past Samchun was reached; for cavalry would be useless in such closely intersected ground.
CHAPTER IX
ON COLUMN IN SOUTHERN CHINA
A SHALLOW, muddy river running between steep banks. On the grassy slopes of a conical hill the white tents of a camp. Before the quarter‐guard stands a Bombay Infantry sentry in khaki uniform and pugri, the butt of his Lee‐Metford rifle resting on the ground, his eyes turned across the river to where the paddy‐fields of Southern China stretch away to a blue range of distant hills. Figures in khaki or white undress move about the encampment or gather round the mud cooking‐places, where their frugal meal of chupatties and curry is being prepared. A smart, well‐set‐up British officer passes down through the lines of tents and lounging sepoys spring swiftly to attention as he goes by. On the hilltop above a signaller waves his flag rapidly; and down below in the camp a Madrassi havildar spells out his message to a man beside him, who writes it down in a note‐book. Coolies loaded with supplies trudge wearily up the steep path. Before the tents four wicked‐looking little mountain guns turn their ugly muzzles longingly towards a walled town two thousand yards away across the stream, where spots of red and blue resolve themselves through a field‐glass into Chinese soldiers. All around on this side of the river the country lies in never‐ending hills and narrow valleys, with banked paddy‐fields in chess‐board pattern. And on these hills small horseshoe‐shaped masonry tombs or glazed, brown earthen‐ware pots containing the bones of deceased Chinamen fleck the grassy slopes. Across the stream the cultivation is interspersed with low, tree‐crowned eminences or dotted with villages. There on the boundary line, between China and the English territory of the Kowloon Hinterland, a small column guards our possessions against rebel and Imperial soldier, both possible enemies and restrained from violating British soil by the bayonets of the sepoys from our distant Eastern Empire. Twenty miles away Hong Kong lies ringed in by sapphire sea. From the land it has no danger to dread while a man of this small but resolute force guarding its frontier remains alive.
The outburst of fanaticism in North China, the attacks on the foreign settlements in Tientsin and Pekin, the treachery of the Court, had their echo in the far‐off southern provinces. Canton, turbulent and hostile, has ever been a plague‐spot. Before now English and French troops have had to chasten its pride and teach its people that the outer barbarian claims a right to exist even on the sacred soil of China. In the troublous summer of 1900 10,000 Black Flags, the unruly banditti who long waged a harassing war against the French in Tonkin, were encamped near this populous city. Fears were rife in Hong Kong that, fired by exaggerated accounts of successes against the hated foreigners in the North and swelled by the fanatical population of the provinces of the two Kwangs, they might swarm down to the coast and attack our possessions on the mainland, or even endeavour to assail the island itself. Li Hung Chang, the Viceroy of Canton, had sounded a note of warning. Purporting to seek the better arming of his soldiery to enable him to cope with popular discontent, he induced the colonial authorities to allow him to import 40,000 new magazine rifles through Hong Kong; but there was no security that these weapons might not be turned against ourselves. As it was well known that the Imperial troops in the North had made common cause with the Boxers, the wisdom of permitting this free passage of modern arms may be questioned. Rumours of a rising among the Chinese in Victoria itself, of threatened invasion from the mainland, were rife; and the inhabitants of our colony in the Far East were badly scared. The first Indian brigade under General Gaselee passed up to the more certain danger in the North; but representations made to the home authorities caused the stopping of his two line‐of‐communication regiments, the 3rd Madras Light Infantry and 22nd Bombay Infantry, to strengthen the denuded garrison of Hong Kong. This and the subsequent detention of his 2nd Brigade to safeguard Shanghai left his command in the Allied Armies on the march to Pekin numerically weak and forced him into a subordinate position in the councils of the Generals. Hong Kong was by no means in such imminent peril; and the troops thus diverted would have made his force second only to the Japanese in strength, and enabled him to assert his authority more emphatically among the Allies.
Pekin fell on August 14th, 1900. But long after that date this was not credited in Canton; and the wildest rumours were rife as to the splendid successes of the Chinese, who were represented as everywhere victorious. This large southern city is situated well under a hundred miles from Hong Kong, either by river or by land. It has constant intercourse with our colony; and large, flat‐bottomed steamers with passengers and cargo pass between the two places every day. Yet it was confidently stated in the vernacular newspapers, and everywhere believed, that two regiments from India arriving in Hong Kong Harbour had heard such appalling tales of the prowess of the Chinese braves that the terrified soldiers had jumped overboard from the transports and drowned themselves to a man. They had preferred an easy death to the awful tortures that they knew awaited them at the hands of the invincible Chinese. Long after the Court had fled in haste from Pekin and the capital had been in the hands of the Allies for months, their columns pushing out everywhere into the interior, it was asserted that all this apparent success was but a deep‐laid plan of the glorious Empress‐Dowager. She had thus enticed them into the heart of the land in order to cut them off from the sea. She now held them in the hollow of her hand. The luckless foreigners had abjectly appealed for mercy. Her tender heart had relented, and she had graciously promised to spare them in return for the restoration of all the territory hitherto wrested from China. Tientsin, Port Arthur, Kiao‐Chau, Shanghai, Tonkin, even Hong Kong, were being hastily surrendered. And such preposterous tales were readily believed.
But another confusing element was introduced into the already sufficiently complicated situation. Canton and the South contains, besides the anti‐foreign party, a number of reformers who realise that China must stand in line with modern civilisation. Only thus will she become strong enough to resist the perpetual foreign aggression which deprives her of her best ports and slices off her most valuable seaboard territory. The energetic inhabitants of Canton freely emigrate to Hong Kong, Singapore, Penang, Australia, and America. There they learn to take a wider view of things than is possible in their own conservative country. When they return they spread their ideas, and are the nucleus of the already fairly numerous party of reform, who justly blame the misfortunes of China on the effete and narrow‐minded Government in Pekin and work to secure the downfall of the present Manchu dynasty. In the southern provinces they have their following; and rumours of a great uprising there against the corrupt officialdom, and even the throne itself, were rife in the autumn of 1900. The much‐talked‐of but little‐known Triad Society—who claimed to advocate reform, but who were regarded with suspicion, their tenets forbidden, and their followers imprisoned in Hong Kong—started a rebellion in the Kwang‐tung province. They were supposed to be led, or at least abetted, by Sun Yat Sen, an enlightened reformer. As the revolt began close to the Kowloon frontier, fears were expressed lest, despite their advertised views, the rebels should prove unfriendly to foreigners and invade our territory. Little was known of the progress of the movement. The Chinese Imperial Government, through the Viceroy of Canton, sent Admiral Ho with 4,000 troops to Samchun to suppress the rising. The rebels, hearing of his coming, moved farther inland. The soldiers, having no great stomach for bloodshed, generously forebore to follow, and settled themselves comfortably in and around the town. Lest either party should be tempted to infringe the neutrality of our territory, the Hong Kong newspapers urged the Governor to take immediate measures to safeguard our frontier. After some delay a small, compact column was despatched to the boundary under the command of Major E. A. Kettlewell, an officer of marked ability and energy, who had seen much service in Burma and in the Tirah, and who had had long and intimate connection with the Imperial Service troops in India. The composition of the force, known as the Frontier Field Force, was as under:—
Commanding Officer.
Major E. A. Kettlewell, 22nd Bombay Infantry.
Staff Officer.
Lieutenant Casserly, 22nd Bombay Infantry.