The War of the Dragon Lady (6 page)

Sir Claude took off his plumed hat and wiped his brow. ‘Damned disappointing,’ he confided to Fonthill. ‘They must have been delayed repairing the line. But they will get here – and at least we didn’t have any actual trouble down there.’

The trouble came, however, that afternoon, as, back in the hotel, Jenkins was showing Simon the rifles. Once again it was Alice who was the harbinger. Her face was white.

‘It’s the Chancellor of the Japanese Legation,’ she said. ‘For some reason, he chose to go down to the station this afternoon. He went alone and was dressed formally wearing a tailcoat and bowler hat. Outside the Yung Ting Men Gate he was dragged from his cart,
by the Chinese troops
, and hacked to pieces, with the crowd all around urging them on.’ She gulped and went on, ‘His corpse was left lying in the gutter and they say that his heart was … was … cut out and sent to General Tung Fu-hsiang, the commander of the Muslim troops.’ She sniffed. ‘So much for the Empress’s troops protecting us.’

Chang had entered with Alice. He nodded his head. ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘I hear it from one of the guards at Japanese Legation. He say that commander of the guards was going to commit hara-kiri because of dishonour, but was persuaded against. It is frightfully distressing, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, I do, Chang,’ said Fonthill. ‘Frightfully distressing indeed.’

Alice looked up sharply at Simon. But there was no hint of sarcasm on his face. Instead, he took Chang by the arm. ‘Sit down … er … old chap,’ he said. ‘What do
you
think about all this?’

‘Well, old fellow,’ said the Chinaman, ‘I most disturbed that my countrymen should do this sort of thing. I know that they not Christians but this violence is not in Chinese religion. Confucius
would not approve, oh dear me no. Not approve at all. And Empress surely cannot approve. Very, very distressing.’

Simon studied the young man’s face intently. Chang looked, of course, completely Oriental. His face was oval-shaped and his eyes shone from slits set in the smoothest of skins, from which the bruises sustained in the affray with the Boxers had now disappeared. He wore a conventional pigtail and the customary white smock buttoned at the throat. A black skullcap completed the picture of a lower-
middle-class
Chinaman. Only the choice of the occasional, startlingly British phrase betrayed his upbringing. But these were strange times. Was he to be trusted? Fonthill decided to probe deeper.

‘Gerald,’ he said, ‘seems to have some sympathy with the Boxers. And, indeed, I can understand his position, to some extent. The Great Powers have not behaved very well in carving up large portions of China for themselves. Some sort of uprising, given the circumstances, is not unexpected.’

Chang shook his head vehemently, so that his pigtail swung behind him. ‘I not agree with Gerald,’ he said. ‘Manchu court has also behaved badly over years in trying to prevent intercourse with foreign traders … er … you would say, “intercourse”?’

‘Perhaps “discourse” would be a better word.’

‘Ah so. Discourse, yes. I must remember. Anyway, my father always say that she too old-fashioned for this year of 1900. Must move with … er … years.’

‘With the times?’

‘Precisely, cousin. She must move along with times.’

Simon stifled a smile at the young man’s earnestness. He was sure that there was no dissembling there. Chang was a true son of his father.

He turned back to the others. ‘Well that settles it,’ he said. ‘If there was any question of Aunt Lizzie returning to her home, that has gone now. It looks as though things are getting worse. I do hope that Sir Claude and his colleagues in the corps decide to pull their fingers out at last and begin to arrange some sort of defences. The Quarter is very vulnerable, as things stand now. And if he doesn’t know that, I’m afraid I shall have to tell him.’

Despite the murder of one of their number, however, all the members of the corps diplomatique seemed to remain sanguine and Sir Claude continued to shuttle back and forth to the Spanish Legation. The streets outside the Legation Quarter’s walls were now ominously quiet. From within the enclave, Chinese servants, grooms, gardeners and chair-bearers were slipping away, to be replaced by an influx of missionaries from the surrounding areas and from the many missions within the city itself. The Legation Quarter was now becoming crowded, with accommodation having to be found for the refugees, as well as the four hundred military who had arrived. The discomfort was compounded by the heat and the drought, still unbroken after many months.

Then, at last, the Boxers arrived. They burst through the Ha Ta Men Gate, to the east of the Legation Quarter. Here, there was no targeting of Christians. The red-sashed horde ran through the narrow streets, pillaging the shops and houses and killing any who stood before them. The shopkeepers and residents fled before them, crowding the streets and shrieking in fear as the Boxers began burning the buildings. The many missions, customs offices and the homes of the teachers at the Imperial University were fired and the
East Cathedral went up in flames, its old French priest and many of his flock perishing within.

The flames could be seen from the Legation and, as night fell, torches could be seen bobbing in the distance towards the Austrian Legation, which lay outside the walls of the Quarter. From the eastern wall of the enclave Fonthill, Jenkins and Chang watched the torches approaching.

‘Are the Austrians still within the legation building?’ Simon asked Chang, who had become the most reliable source of information about the city.

The young man nodded. ‘Oh yes. But they have seven guards there to protect the building – and a machine gun.’

Fonthill grunted. ‘That may not be enough. Go and get the rifles, 352. We must help them. But there is no need for you to come, Chang. It could be dangerous.’

The Chinaman looked offended. ‘Of course I come, cousin. May I have loan of one of your excellent revolvers, please?’

‘Er … yes. Do you know how to use it?’

‘I watch you in the wagon. You just point and fire, yes?’

‘Well, ah, something like that. I’ll show you. One Colt as well, then, Jenkins. Get a move on.’

The three, now armed, slipped through the Legation gate and ran up Custom Street towards where the Austrian building stood at the north-eastern corner of the Legation enclave. Could they get there before the Boxers? They did so, but it was a close thing, for the torches could be seen bobbing down the narrow street towards them.

‘Where’s the machine gun?’ demanded Fonthill of the young Austrian sergeant in charge of the guard.

‘On zer roof, sir.’

‘No. No good up there. Bring it down here. To shoot up the street. Quickly now. Er …
schnell jetzt!
’

The young man nodded, immediately responding to Simon’s air of authority, and he doubled away, taking two of his men with him.

The Boxers were now some three hundred yards away and the cries of ‘
Sha! Sha!
’ could clearly be heard. Fonthill clipped the old, triangular-shaped bayonet to the end of his rifle and nodded to Jenkins to do the same. With the lunger fitted, the rifle became a stabbing weapon six feet long, which even the Zulus had feared.

The Austrians had protected the door of the Legation with mealie bags. ‘Drag ’em out so that they give us some protection facing up the road,’ Simon shouted. ‘Quickly, before they are on us.’ The three laid aside their weapons and pulled six of the bags out into the road so that they formed a rough, low bastion.

As Fonthill knelt, resting his rifle on top of one of the bags, he had a momentary impression of Chang, standing very erect and extending his arm holding the Colt and pulling the trigger – with no result.

‘Safety catch,’ he yelled, ‘just by the trigger.’ Then, ‘Rapid fire!’

At one hundred yards they could not miss, and three of the leading figures fell, their torches scattering across the road before them, burning on the cobbles. The Boxers halted for a moment and then came on again. But their hesitation was enough for Fonthill and Jenkins each to thrust a round into the breech and fire again and then again. Four more of the red-banded figures fell again, causing the mob to stand irresolutely.

Except for one brave man. Screaming ‘
Sha!
’ and brandishing a large sword, he bounded forward, red bands at forehead, wrist and ankles
flying behind him, presenting a terrifying figure by the light of the burning brands. Simon was still fumbling to thumb another cartridge into the breech of his rifle and Chang was clumsily attempting to reload his revolver. Jenkins, however, put one hand on top of the mealie bag and vaulted over, in time to present his rifle and bayonet to the Chinaman, who stopped, puzzled with how to deal with this strange, crouching man with the large moustache.

‘Come on, yer yeller bugger,’ coaxed Jenkins. ‘Yer not so brave now it’s not a woman or child or some poor little bugger of a clergyman facing yer, are yer? Come on, boyo.’ And he made a feint to the right shoulder, which the Boxer clumsily countered with his sword. Immediately, the Welshman brought up the butt of his rifle and caught the Chinaman on the chin. As he staggered back, Jenkins reversed his rifle and plunged his bayonet into the man’s chest. For a moment the two stood, seemingly connected umbilically, before Jenkins twisted the bayonet and withdrew it, allowing the Boxer to slump to the floor with a sigh.

Fonthill heard a sound behind him and swung round in consternation. The three Austrians were staggering through the doorway, carrying the heavy machine gun.

‘Quick!’ shouted Simon. ‘On top of the bag. Come back, 352. We’re going to fire.’

Laboriously, the Austrians mounted the gun on its tripod and fed the ammunition belt into the breech, while the Chinese watched, unsure, it seemed, whether to charge or run away. Then the soldier at the handles depressed the trigger and the gun chattered into life. It was enough. The Boxers turned and fled, casting aside their torches and showing the white soles of their bare feet in the flickering light.
Fonthill watched, expecting the gun to cut a swathe through the running horde. Instead, telegraph poles in the distance were severed, falling and bringing down the wires.

‘You bloody fools,’ screamed Simon. ‘You’re firing too high!’

But the Austrians paid no heed. Exhilarated by the clatter of the bullets, the gunner kept firing, bringing tiles down from the buildings at the far end of the street and causing showers of plaster to rain down on the retreating Boxers. Soon the attackers were out of sight, leaving their dead lying on the rough surface, their blood soaking into their like-coloured ribbons and sashes.

Chang was looking at Jenkins with a mixture of horror and fascination. ‘You are indeed extremely good fighter, Mister Jenkins,’ he said. ‘You frighten me.’

Jenkins had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Well, son, it was ’im or me. I ’ad to go at ’im with the lunger ’cos I didn’t ’ave anythin’ up the spout, look you.’

The Chinaman was puzzled and turned his head around. ‘Where do I look, Mr Jenkins? Where is spout?’

Simon sighed. ‘Never mind, now, Chang. You did well.’ He turned to the Austrian sergeant, speaking slowly. ‘The Boxers might come back,’ he said. ‘Is your minister inside?’

‘No,
mein herr
. He is in der Legation Quarter.’

‘Very sensible of him. Well, tell him that I do not think it possible to defend this building here, outside the Legation walls. He should evacuate it.’

‘I will tell him. Excuse me,
mein herr
. Who are you?’

‘I am formerly a captain in the British infantry and this is my comrade, formerly a sergeant in the army. We are … er … advising
the British minister. I know what I am talking about, Sergeant, I assure you. Evacuate this Legation. It is indefensible. Oh, and tell your men to fire lower with that Maxim.’

‘
Ach so.
Very
gut,
sir.’

The three walked back down Custom Street, their weapons at the ready, but there was no sign of Boxers. They met, however, a small band of European civilians, armed with an assortment of sporting rifles and similar weapons. They were on their way, the Frenchman at their head explained to Fonthill, to the exposed South Cathedral, which seemed to lie directly in the path of the advancing Boxers. A cluster of Catholic missionaries were sheltering there who needed to be escorted to the Legation enclave, if it was not too late.

‘We’ll come with you,’ said Simon. ‘You may need us.’

In fact, the cathedral was not under immediate threat when they arrived. But the little party rounded up more than twenty Catholic missionaries sheltering within the venerable cathedral, plus five Sisters of Charity and twenty Chinese nuns. As they turned back towards the Legation walls they saw the glow of the Boxers’ torches to the north and heard the distant chanting, growing nearer. Hurrying through the silent streets back to the Legation gates, they saw the old cathedral go up in flames behind them.

Back in the Legation compound, they were met by an anxious Mrs Griffith and Alice. Of Gerald, once again there was no sight.

Alice put her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘The whole commercial quarter – the richest part of the city – has been burnt down,’ she said. ‘All those lovely pearl and jewellery shops, the beautiful textile stores, the silk and satin warehouses have been destroyed. Simon, I would
prefer it if you would not go out again outside the Legation walls. It is clear that the Boxers are starting now to infiltrate the city and, if they come at you from all sides, even you and the mighty 352 would not be able to defend yourselves. And I do not wish to be left alone in this strange country, if you don’t mind.’

Fonthill seized her hand and kissed it. ‘I’m afraid, darling, that we shall have to go again, although not tonight. We cannot give up the streets to the Boxers. They should be patrolled. I also think we shall have to start erecting some defences. The Quarter is very vulnerable, particularly from the south. I fear I must start laying down the law a bit with Sir Claude.’

So it was that the next morning Fonthill requested an interview with the British minister. He found the tall Scotsman very preoccupied.