The result of this bitter feeling was the creation of a secret and patriotic society which concealed the nature of its propaganda under a name with a double meaning. The Boxer Society was, as its name suggests, apparently an athletic society—a society which had for its object the encouragement of the art of self-defence. But the name had another signification. Its real object, as a Chinaman explained to me, was to "knock the heads of the foreigners off." It was a religious as well as a political movement, however. It had its prophets, who did wonders or were thought to do them, and its disciples were believed to be invulnerable to any Western weapon. It protested against the movement towards Western ideas, which it regarded as immoral; it condemned and destroyed everything Western, from straw hats and cigarettes to mission houses and railways; its disciples believed that the spirits that defend China were angry at the introduction of Western things, that they were withholding the rain so necessary to the light loess land of that district, and that the only way they could be propitiated was by the sacrifice of a Western life or by the destruction of a Western building. One of the things that precipitated the siege of Peking was the apparent success of such an action. In pursuance of their faith, the Boxers set a light to the rail-head station of the half-made Hankow-Peking railway, a place called Pao-ting-fu; the station was a mere wooden barrack, and blazed up merrily with an imposing column of smoke; hardly had the smoke reached the heavens, when the sky was overcast with heavy thunder-clouds, and in a short time the thirsty land received the long-wished-for rain, and the Boxer prophets pointed with sinister effect to the heavenly confirmation of their doctrine.
It is necessary to remind the reader of the religious aspect of Boxerdom, so that he shall realise what its fall meant to many Chinese. Really their faith in it was wonderful. A Boxer, for instance, at the siege of Peking walked composedly in front of the Legation, waving his sword and performing mystic signs; the soldiers first of one then of another Legation fired on him with no effect; probably his coolness put out their aim. Another example of their credulity was told me at Newchwang. The Russians had occupied Newchwang, and, more suo, were pacifying it; they were shooting all the Boxers on whom they could lay hands, and, I am afraid, a great number who were not Boxers. They chained one of these fanatics to a stone seat with the intention of executing him; but they thought they might get some useful information out of him, so they asked an Englishman who spoke Chinese perfectly to make inquiries of him, giving him authority to offer a respite as a reward. He went to the prisoner, and sitting down by him, tried to induce him to save his life by giving information, but he was met by a contemptuous refusal; and when he pointed out that the firing party was there, the misguided man merely said, "I am a Boxer, and their bullets cannot hurt me." Another minute, of course, proved his error. But his firmness showed the reality of his conviction.
Sometimes this fanaticism had curious results. A Boxer prophet assured the village that no works of the West could hurt him, no bullet could harm him, no train could crush him. As a railway ran near the village, he and all the inhabitants adjourned thither to put his invulnerability to the test. The daily train came puffing along, as the Boxer, waving his sword, stood right in its path. The driver was a European, and seeing some one on the line, pulled up his train to avoid running over him. The Boxer pointed to the train triumphantly, and the astonished villagers became Boxers. There was, however, a sceptic who refused to believe, so next day they repaired again to the line, and the Boxer again made his passes and uttered his charms. Alas for him! this time the driver was a Chinaman, and he was not going to stop his master's train because a coolie fellow got in the way, so he put on full steam and cut him to pieces, and the village deserted the Boxer faith to a man.
With the relief of Peking, the Boxer Society fell; but the popular view was not that Boxer teaching was false, but that the spirits behind Western religion were stronger than those behind Boxerdom. So one of the immediate results of the fall of the Boxers was to establish the spiritual prestige of Christianity; the second result was to inspire the Chinese with a respect for the military power of the foreigner. The Boxers had failed, the foreign powers had taken Peking, the Son of Heaven had become a fugitive; all this was gall and wormwood to the Chinaman. The sack of Peking was especially felt, both because of the wanton destruction that was committed—one informant told me he saw a vase worth £200 smashed into a thousand atoms by a drunken soldier—and because the enlightened Chinese knew very well that no civilised city is sacked at the present time, and that they were being treated as no other race is now treated.
Yet the old spirit of pride prevented them learning completely the full truth. The thinking Chinaman was still disposed to attribute the victory of the West to the superior fighting powers of Western men. A Chinese gentleman, explaining the fear his people have of Europeans, said, "They regard you as tigers." The troops who sacked Peking were to the thinking Chinaman but another example of the well-known truth, that those nearer the savage state fight better than civilised men, and really, considering the behaviour of some of the European troops, no surprise can be felt at this conclusion; it needed another lesson to make them finally and thoroughly realise the superiority of our civilisation.
The bitterness of their next humiliation made them ready to learn as they had never been before in the whole of their history, and events provided them with teachers who taught them that the cause of this humiliation was their refusal to accept Western ideas, and that if they would maintain their independence they must learn the art of war from their conquerors.
After the siege of Peking came the Russo-Japanese war. The Russians had long been known and feared by the Chinese; they were to the Chinese mind the embodiment of the warlike and blood-thirsty spirit of the West; they were hated for their cruelty and feared for their prowess. The awful story of the massacre of Blagovestchensk in 1900 was still present to the popular mind. The story was this. The Amur divides China from Siberia. When the Boxer movement broke out the Russians required all the Chinese to go to their side of the river; but with sinister intent, they removed all the boats, so that no one could cross. The Chinese pointed this out, and the respectable merchants of the town presented a petition saying they were ready to obey the Russian Government in everything, but without the boats they could not do so; but the Russians insisted that boats or no boats, they must cross the Amur; they protested, but in vain; a half-circle was formed round them by the soldiery, and the whole Chinese population of the city was driven into the river at the point of the bayonet.
The Japanese were also well known to the Chinese; they had been till lately, when the Western movement had altered everything in Japan, their pupils in civilisation. The Japanese believed in Confucius, used Chinese characters, worshipped in Buddhist temples, sacrificed to ancestors, in fact were in Chinese estimation a civilised race, though inferior of course to themselves.
When these two antagonists met in Manchuria, the war could not fail to make a deep impression on China. To begin with, it was an insult surpassing that of the sack of Peking to the Chinese amour propre, to have the war carried on in Manchuria. Russia and Japan were disputing over Korea, and both nations were at peace with China. Russia might have invaded Japan; Japan might have invaded Russia, or both might have met in Korea, but what they did was to select a province of a neutral State and decide that there should be the scene of conflict. What made this more striking was that they agreed to respect the neutrality of the rest of China; in fact they selected their battle-ground with the same equanimity as if China and her national rights did not exist.
But the deepest impression made on the Chinese was by the victory of the Eastern over the Western. The Japanese demonstrated that there was no essential inferiority of the East to the West, and that when an Eastern race adopted Western military methods it proved itself superior to the most powerful of the Western races. This was the lesson the battle of Mukden taught the Chinese, and which convinced the anti-foreign party in China, that however much they might hate the foreigner, they must adopt Western methods if they would retain their independence. The result was that the progressive and anti-foreign parties found themselves at one. Both agreed that Western ideas were necessary. The first, because they believed in Western progress; the second, because they felt that the only way to preserve China from the hated foreigner was to learn the secret of his military power. The first thing to be done was to study Western education, and then they could hope to hold their own against the Western races, as Japan had more than held her own against the Russians.