Ho! for Canton--The Bombardment commences--Howling--Our Landing--The
rough March--Our first Brush with Johnny--The Bivouac--Our
strange Position--On Picket--Shells and Rockets--Hot Tea and
no Sleep!--What I thought about--Come on, my Lads--A nasty
Hero--The Rendezvous--Our Advance--Scaling the Walls--Jamming
a Frenchman--Five Pounds for a Flag!--Inside the Walls--Wanton
firing--A Charge--Wounded Natives--Scorching Explosions--Canton
ours--Marooning and Feasting--Cries of Distress--Chinese Girl--A
Rescue--The Provost-marshal--Stop! or I’ll fire--An Escape--Horrid
Prisons--Yeh’s Slaughter-ground--Competitive Headsmen--Mandarin
Funeral--A white Affair and rather jolly--Body-guard and
Musicians--A Good Son--On Board a Junk--Return to our Ship.
A flag of truce went up to Canton a day or two ago, and its bearers
reported that the Celestials appear to have made no preparations
whatever. On December 12th the French squadron also steamed up; as they
passed, we gave them three long and hearty cheers, which they readily
returned.
On the 28th, early in the morning, we embarked in a gun-boat, glad
at having something to do, and steamed away towards Canton, the
bombardment of which had commenced at daylight, the ships throwing in a
shot and shell alternately about every three minutes, causing ruin and
consternation in the city. At the commencement of the firing the people
of the small towns and villages adjacent set up a mournful howling,
accompanied by gongs, which coming across the lonely paddy-fields
in the gray of the morning sounded strange and unearthly. We landed
from our gun-boat about two P.M. a little below and to the north-east
of the city; and were quickly drawn up in sections, headed by our
respective officers, at the same time our day’s ‘scran,’ consisting
of raw pork and biscuit, was served out. Our party belonged to the
third division, and was commanded by Sir Robert M’Clure. I belonged
to the second section, third division, which numbered, I think, about
two hundred men, the section with which I marched being the centre.
Upon first marching off, each division took a different route, about
half a mile distant from each other. The route we had to take led
us three miles or so through a continuous burial-place, so that the
ground being lumpy and uneven it was rather toilsome work. By-and-by
we got into even cultivated country, with low trees and ponds about;
and were approaching the east gate of the city, having the river about
a mile distant on our left, when a few stray shots whizzed past,
giving us an inkling of the enemy’s whereabouts. We were now a mile
or so from the city, where the bombardment was still going on, our
shot and shell tumbling in pell-mell; and we passed numbers of dead
Chinamen who had fallen earlier in the day. About four o’clock we came
in front of a small gateway, through which many of the “Pilongs” (bad
men or ragamuffins) were crowding in retreat, armed with ginjalls;
and upon our approach a rather irregular, but annoying fire, was sent
into us. Opposite the gate we halted, and threw out skirmishers, who
advanced filing: a shell or two from the shipping falling amongst the
mob in the gateway occasioned some slaughter, but more scampering. We
then continued our advance, and the Long-tails retreated, yelling in
derision and waving their flags, but acting solely on the defensive; so
lowering our muskets at the order “charge,” we soon cleared the gate.
During the slight skirmish--which may have lasted half an hour--one
or two of our men were wounded; the stretcher-men immediately took
them up, and bore them to the hospital on the beach. As the valiant
Chinamen had been driven back, our skirmishers were called in, pickets
were posted, and the Naval Brigade bivouacked for the night. We soon
had fires blazing cheerily, and began cooking our pork, making tea, and
so on. We had to make the best of a short rest, for our section was the
next for picket-duty, and we had barely time to get supper before our
turn came.
The picket was stationed in a small clump of trees, to guard against
any sudden attack of the Braves--in fact, we were in a natural ambush.
It was now about nine o’clock, and quite dark; and the rocket party,
which was stationed on our right, began throwing their twelve and
twenty-four pound rockets into the city. Meanwhile, the rockets and
shells from the shipping flew hissing over us, and these, together with
the whistling of the returning shot from the walls, that ploughed up
the ground a few yards beyond our bivouac, formed a grand and startling
scene, in which our situation was rather queer. Fires were blazing
fiercely in different parts of the city, lighting up the loopholes
and yawning embrasures of the grim old wall, and giving us an idea of
the place we were destined to capture on the morrow. Our picket was
relieved soon after nine, and we could then go and lie by our fires
till two o’clock, when it would be again our turn. The night was fine,
but very chilly; and I was glad to be relieved, as I had had but little
time before to get ‘chow-chow’ (something to eat), so I boiled some
water, and made a pannikin of tea, and drank it to moisten my biscuit;
and then, feeling weary, I lay down, wrapped my blanket around me, and
tried to sleep. But I tried in vain; sleep kept aloof; so I lay and
thought, watching the hissing rockets as they flew past on their errand
of destruction, wondering where they would fall and whom they would
injure; what would be likely to befal us on the morrow; and then--what
are they doing at home? So I lay till twelve o’clock, when, unable to
sleep, I rose, stirred up and replenished one of the slumbering fires,
and made another refreshing pannikin of tea. One or two of my messmates
were like myself, and could not sleep; but the majority, wrapped snugly
in their blankets, slept as sound as tops. I walked about till two
o’clock, when we again went on duty: one half of a section formed a
picket, numbering sixteen or seventeen men, according to the strength
of the section.
At four o’clock the bivouac was broken up, and we marched silently
towards the city. It being yet rather dark, our march was rather
difficult, and we frequently stumbled; and a certain gallant
lieutenant, in his zeal to lead the way, hastened forwards, crying,
“Come on, my lads!” and fell head over heels into a reservoir of
filth and excrement. On being hauled out by myself and another man,
he swore most lustily, and stank so foully that his single advance
would have dispersed any enemy less hardened against noisome odours
than the Chinese; while we, of course, laughed at him as much as
discipline permitted. I don’t know what became of him afterwards; but
he disappeared. We also had dangers in other shapes, such as old wells
and deep hollows, which it behoved us to keep a good look-out for, if
we did not want to be trapped. After about an hour we came to a large
pile of buildings, which we determined upon attacking, as a portion
of the Imperial troops were said to be lodged there; but finding the
birds flown, we resumed our march to the rendezvous of the naval
forces. This was at a large temple, about which the shot and arrows of
the enemy were falling thickly, wounding many of our men. We waited
here till nearly nine o’clock, the hour named for the united attack
by the allies. Shortly before the time we were ordered to advance,
the gallant old admiral encouraging us by his example. The different
divisions seized their scaling-ladders, and made a rush for the walls:
close underneath was a ditch, which we had to cross, and it caused us
some inconvenience to get the ladder over. I was in the middle of the
party, with my head between the rounds of a ladder, which rested on my
shoulders, and managed to get as far as the middle of the trench, and
there I stuck, till assisted by some who had scrambled across. Soon
the ladders were raised against the different embrasures; ours was at
once crowded with marines; so seeing no chance of getting up by that,
I ran to the next, and swarmed up with the other fellows, whose weight
made the ladder creak and grumble, and threaten us with a fall. I had
mounted but two or three rounds, when a poor little bugler, belonging
to the marines, who expected to see the lot of us come down by the
run, caught hold of my leg, and held on like a leech. I shook him off,
however, got to the top of the ladder, jumped through the embrasure
upon the wall, and ran stem on to a Frenchman, and got a heavy fall
by the shock. I scrambled up somehow, and, looking round, saw the old
admiral on one of the scaling-ladders, shouting as he stepped up, “Has
any man of you a flag? Five pounds for a flag! Has nobody a flag?”
and doing his best to cheer us on by word and example. All our force
was now making for the north of the city along the wall, in disorder,
without any apparent regard for divisions; and keeping up an irregular
fire upon any poor helpless Chinaman they happened to spy out; many
firing for mere wantonness and devilment, thus wasting ‘Andrew’s’[1]
valuable ammunition. The Braves offered but a feeble resistance; they
didn’t dare to show out in fair fight; but skulked behind houses and
walls, firing when they thought they were likely to escape detection.
At one place near the north gate they made a stand, but we soon put
them to the right-about by a charge from our division; they didn’t
appear to relish cold steel at all. The ground by this time was
thickly sprinkled with dead and dying Chinamen; and it was hideous and
sickening to see many of them, so fearfully were they disfigured. They
invariably carry their powder loose in the same belt with a burning
match, by which they fire their ginjalls; and as they lay partially
doubled up, wounded or dying, the matches continuing to burn, set
fire to the powder, and the poor wretches were cruelly scorched by the
explosion, in addition to their other torments.
[1] The seamen’s synonym for government, or the authorities at home.
The fire, which had been pretty brisk at first, was now fast
slackening; in fact, the allies were in possession of the city, and
soon our flags blew out in the breeze, over the twice-captured city of
Canton.
But though the place was taken, we had now and then to send a shot at
the Braves, who annoyed us by their scattered and covert fire; and to
prevent useless risk, we were not allowed to go in among the houses,
but were divided along the wall, by which the means of escape from
within were cut off.
That night we were quartered in one of the streets near the wall,
and took possession of the half-ruinous houses, cooking our food in
native coppers, and otherwise asserting our prerogative as conquerors.
But martial law reigned paramount; we were only sailors in barracks,
instead of afloat. However, we did stray about for all that, then and
afterwards, braving the consequences, and often with impunity. We used
to go out ‘marooning,’ and many a batch of fowls and pigs was brought
in, on which we feasted, as an old salt said, like little kings. But
too often this prowling for poultry was but the pretext for robbery
and brutal violence. The Chinese well knew the barbarians’ propensity,
and sacrificed their own daughters and wives rather than let them fall
into European hands.
I was out on one day in a street near our quarters, when, hearing a
tremendous screaming, apparently of a woman in distress, I ran quickly
to the house whence the cries issued, and found a seaman ill-treating a
young native girl. I didn’t wait for apology or explanation, but simply
knocked him down with the butt of my pistol, asking him if he thought
his conduct was manly. He attempted no reply or retaliation, and walked
off. The poor girl looked very grateful at me for the unexpected
deliverance, and I took her into a neighbouring house, where plenty of
her own sex had congregated; they, seeing me lead her in, mistook my
intentions, and I was quickly surrounded by a mob, out of which I had
to escape, pursued by a volley of missiles, none of which, however,
were very weighty.
Of course the provost-marshal was a great man, and woe to the
inquisitive invaders whom he happened to catch straggling, for away
they were marched to his quarters, and ere long their backs bore
testimony of the harshness of military discipline.
I was once out near the east gate, on an exploring expedition, when I
espied this hated functionary and his myrmidons. They saw me. I took to
my heels, encumbered as I was with my cutlass and pistol; they after
me. “Stop, stop!” sung out the marshal. “Stop, or I’ll fire!” “Fire
away, old fellow!” said I, and continued running. “You’d better stop!”
But I didn’t; when--ping! whistled a bullet past me, striking the hilt
of my cutlass on its way. My pursuers were now close behind me, when,
seeing a house with open door ahead, I rushed in and slammed the door;
but, being hard pressed, had scarcely time to look round when they were
at the entrance. The door soon yielded, but just as they, infuriated
with the chase, rushed in, I jumped out at the window, a height of
about six feet, and skulking along among the ruins of shattered houses,
escaped from the clutches of the law, glad enough when I got back again
to our quarters. ‘Looting,’ or straggling, had been forbidden by the
admiral, but our superiors used to wink at it, for their own especial
benefit; so at least we thought.
Not a very great way from our quarters at Canton, and near the east
gate, among the riddled and half-burned houses, stood the remains
of some prisons, which, judging from their building and wretched
unaccommodations, could never have been used for important criminals.
They contained long rows of cells, barely big enough to hold one man
chained; badly roofed, and quite open to the gaze of the brutal public.
I never had the ill-luck to be shut up in a Chinese prison, but if all
the rest are like those I saw at Canton, any bungler who could pile up
bricks and mortar could build state prisons in China.
In the east quarter of the city is the execution-ground. From one of
the numerous eastern thoroughfares you suddenly come upon a dead wall,
which has one small doorway. Enter, and you have before you a dark
square, enclosed by four walls--the scene of Yeh’s atrocious massacres.
Here, within this blood-stained square, thousands of unfortunate
Celestials have fallen victims to that rascal’s insatiable thirst for
human blood. The place looks gloomy and foul, and we were glad to get
away from its sickening atmosphere and its suggestions of dying cries
and fruitless appeals for mercy.
The price given for taking off a human head, as I was told, is half
a dollar, which brings many applicants for the office of public
executioner. But he, like other public functionaries, has to pass an
examination in order to prove himself fit for the sanguinary duty, and
exhibit his skill with the sword in shaving a pumpkin into thin slices
with one cut of his weapon. If his first trial be not satisfactory,
he tries again and again till he “passes.” I never had the brutal
curiosity to witness an execution, but have been told that beheading
is a merciful death, the head being invariably severed at one blow. An
executioner who strikes more than once is immediately disgraced and
dismissed his office.
One day, just before we left the city, I had an opportunity of
witnessing a “white affair,” as the Chinese term their funerals.
Judging from the noise and irreverence that prevail, I should say
they have no notion of solemnity in connexion with a funeral, but,
on the contrary, regard it as something jolly. The one I saw was
the funeral of a mandarin, and was therefore on a grand scale, very
different from a poor fellow’s funeral. The procession was headed by
four coolies bearing on a bamboo a small miniature temple, tenanted by
Tien-Hows (Queens of Heaven) and Josses, and carved and gilt within
and without, according to the prevalent fashion. Next came on other
four coolies, bearing, on a slight stage, decorated with coloured
paper, a clean white cloth thrown over it, a huge roast pig, swimming
in fat, and garnished with sundry to me unknown ingredients, besides
small trays of confectionery, cakes, drinks, and so on. Following these
came an individual whom I put down as a priest, who was there for the
purpose of comforting, or imparting ghostly counsel, bearing on his
head what looked like a conical tin hat; he was accompanied by one of
the friends of the deceased, dressed also in white, carrying in his
hand a large bundle of pieces of white paper, cut into moderate-sized
squares, having a small gilt spot in the centre. At every few steps
he disengaged a few of these favours, throwing one to the right, one
to the left, as the procession travelled on. Next in order came the
deceased nobleman’s body-guard, in number about thirty, each bearing
his implement of office; for instance, the butcher a tremendously long
knife, which he flourished with evident delight; the gardener a hoe or
mattock; and the executioner a placard setting forth, doubtless, the
number of victims during the past or present week. The others carried
badges according to their office, and most of them were dressed in
fantastic garments. Following these came the musicians, making a
fearful noise with their various instruments, the principal of which
was a machine emitting sounds like those of a Scotch bagpipe, but not
quite so musical. Then the corpse, in one of the native manufactured
coffins, resembling a huge packing-case, profusely ornamented and
varnished, and carried by eight coolies in divers shabby coloured
garments. Then the mourners, chief among whom may have been the son,
apparently so much stricken with grief that two attendants supported
him. When the procession stopped to allow the bearers to rest, this
dutiful child suddenly changed his tone for one of great merriment,
laughing and talking with the followers, as if he were at a play
instead of his father’s funeral. So much for filial feeling! Among
the mourners were several women, all more or less habited in white,
according to their degree of relationship to the deceased. Several
mandarins on led horses followed them, laughing and joking loudly;
and a score or so of household dependants brought up the rear. All
the white garments looked very fusty, and were put on with studied
negligence, in order to give an idea of a total abandonment to grief.
And so the procession passed along, sometimes silently, sometimes
making a precious hubbub, till they arrived at one of the piers upon
the river, where, waiting for them alongside the pier, lay a large
well-built mandarin junk. The body was first put in, then the small
temple and pig, and lastly the mourners and musicians stepped on board.
Sail was made, and the junk glided away down the river, the white
favours being strewed at intervals upon the water. They were bound to
Whampoa, the deceased’s native place, and there he was to be buried
according to invariable Chinese custom.
At last, after fifteen days “hard laying,” as we said, and just as
we had got settled in our newly-pitched tents, we had to return to
our ship, having been away seventeen days. Our hammocks felt soft in
comparison with the Chinaman’s ground, but most of us felt sorry that
our campaign had been so brief and so unremunerative in excitement.