HSIEN FÊNG
Hsien Fêng came to the throne at the age of nineteen, and found
himself in possession of a heritage which showed evident signs of
going rapidly to pieces. His father, in the opinion of many competent
Chinese, had been sincerely anxious for the welfare of his country;
on the other hand, he had failed to learn anything from the lessons
he had received at the hands of foreigners, towards whom his attitude
to the last was of the bow-wow order. On one occasion, indeed, he
borrowed a classical phrase, and referring to the intrusions of the
barbarians, declared roundly that he would allow no man to snore
alongside of his bed. Brought up in this spirit, Hsien Fêng had
already begun to exhibit an anti-foreign bias, when he found himself
in the throes of a struggle which speedily reduced the European
question to quite insignificant proportions.
A clever young Cantonese, named Hung Hsiu-ch'üan, from whom great
things were expected, failed, in 1833, to secure the first degree at
the usual public examination. Four years later, when twenty-four
years of age, he made another attempt, only, however, to be once more
rejected. Chagrin at this second failure brought on melancholia, and
he began to see visions; and later on, while still in this depressed
state of mind, he turned his attention to some Christian tracts which
had been given to him on his first appearance at the examination, but
which he had so far allowed to remain unread. In these he discovered
what he thought were interpretations of his earlier dreams, and soon
managed to persuade himself that he had been divinely chosen to bring
to his countrymen a knowledge of the true God.
In one sense this would only have been reversion to a former
condition, for in ancient times a simple monotheism formed the whole
creed of the Chinese people; but Hung went much further, and after
having become head of a Society of God, he started a sect of
professing Christians, and set to work to collect followers, styling
himself the Brother of Christ. Gradually, the authorities became
aware of his existence, and also of the fact that he was drawing
together a following on a scale which might prove dangerous to the
public peace. It was then that force of circumstances changed his
status from that of a religious reformer to that of a political
adventurer; and almost simultaneously with the advent of Hsien Fêng
to the Imperial power, the long-smouldering discontent with Manchu
rule, carefully fostered by the organization of the Triad Society,
broke into open rebellion. A sort of holy war was proclaimed against
the Manchus, stigmatized as usurpers and idolaters, who were to be
displaced by a native administration, called the T'ai P'ing (great
peace) Heavenly Dynasty, at the head of which Hung placed himself,
with the title of "Heavenly King," in allusion to the Christian
principles on which this new departure was founded.
"Our Heavenly King," so ran the rebel proclamations, "has received a
divine commission to exterminate the Manchus utterly, men, women, and
children, with all idolaters, and to possess the empire as its true
sovereign. For the empire and everything in it is his; its mountains
and rivers, its broad lands and public treasuries; you and all that
you have, your family, males and females alike, from yourself to your
youngest child, and your property, from your patrimonial estates to
the bracelet on your infant's arm. We command the services of all,
and we take everything. All who resist us are rebels and idolatrous
demons, and we kill them without sparing; but whoever acknowledges
our Heavenly King and exerts himself in our service shall have full
reward,--due honour and station in the armies and court of the
Heavenly Dynasty."
The T'ai-p'ings now got rid of the chief outward sign of allegiance
to the Manchus, by ceasing to shave the forepart of the head, and
allowing all their hair to grow long, from which they were often
spoken of at the time--and the name still survives--as the
long-haired rebels. Their early successes were phenomenal; they
captured city after city, moving northwards through Kuangsi into
Hunan, whence, after a severe check at Ch'ang-sha, the provincial
capital, the siege of which they were forced to raise, they reached
and captured, among others, the important cities of Wu-ch'ang,
Kiukiang, and An-ch'ing, on the Yang-tsze. The next stage was to
Nanking, a city occupying an important strategic position, and famous
as the capital of the empire in the fourth and fourteenth centuries.
Here the Manchu garrison offered but a feeble resistance, the only
troops who fought at all being Chinese; within ten days (March, 1853)
the city was in the hands of the T'ai-p'ings; all Manchus,--men,
women, and children, said to number no fewer than twenty
thousand,--were put to the sword; and in the same month, Hung was
formally proclaimed first Emperor of the T'ai P'ing Heavenly Dynasty,
Nanking from this date receiving the name of the Heavenly City. So
far, the generals who had been sent to oppose his progress had
effected nothing. One of these was Commissioner Lin, of opium fame,
who had been banished and recalled, and was then living in retirement
after having successfully held several high offices. His health was
not equal to the effort, and he died on his way to take up his post.
After the further capture of Chinkiang, a feat which created a
considerable panic at Shanghai, a force was detached from the main
body of the T'ai-p'ings, and dispatched north for no less a purpose
than the capture of Peking. Apparently a fool-hardy project, it was
one that came nearer to realization than the most sanguine outsider
could possibly have suspected. The army reached Tientsin, which is
only eighty miles from the capital; but when there, a slight reverse,
together with other unexplained reasons, resulted in a return (1855)
of the troops without having accomplished their object. Meanwhile,
the comparative ease with which the T'ai-p'ings had set the Manchus
at defiance, and continued to hold their own, encouraged various
outbreaks in other parts of the empire; until at length more
systematic efforts were made to put a stop to the present impossible
condition of affairs.
Opportunity just now was rather on the side of the Imperialists, as
the futile expedition to Peking had left the rebels in a somewhat
aimless state, not quite knowing what to do next. It is true that
they were busy spreading the T'ai-p'ing conception of Christianity,
in establishing schools, and preparing an educational literature to
meet the exigencies of the time. They achieved the latter object by
building anew on the lines, but not in the spirit, of the old. Thus,
the Trimetrical Classic, the famous schoolboy's handbook, a veritable
guide to knowledge in which a variety of subjects are lightly touched
upon, was entirely rewritten. The form, rhyming stanzas with three
words to each line, was preserved; but instead of beginning with the
familiar Confucian dogma that man's nature is entirely good at his
birth and only becomes depraved by later environment, we find the
story of the Creation, taken from the first chapter of Genesis.
By 1857, Imperialist troops were drawing close lines around the
rebels, who had begun to lose rather than to gain ground. An-ch'ing
and Nanking, the only two cities which remained to them, were
blockaded, and the Manchu plan was simply to starve the enemy out.
During this period we hear little of the Emperor, Hsien Fêng; and
what we do hear is not to his advantage. He had become a confirmed
debauchee, in the hands of a degraded clique, whose only contribution
to the crisis was a suggested issue of paper money and debasement of
the popular coinage. Among his generals, however, there was now one,
whose name is still a household word all over the empire, and who
initiated the first checks which led to the ultimate suppression of
the rebellion. Tsêng Kuo-fan had been already employed in high
offices, when, in 1853, he was first ordered to take up arms against
the T'ai-p'ings. After some reverses, he entered upon a long course
of victories by which the rebels were driven from most of their
strongholds; and in 1859, he submitted a plan for an advance on
Nanking, which was approved and ultimately carried out. Meanwhile,
the plight of the besieged rebels in Nanking had become so unbearable
that something had to be done. A sortie on a large scale was
accordingly organized, and so successful was it that the T'ai-p'ings
not only routed the besieging army, but were able to regain large
tracts of territory, capturing at the same time huge stores of arms
and munitions of war. These victories were in reality the death-blow
to the rebel cause, for the brutal cruelty then displayed towards the
unfortunate people at large was of such a character as to alienate
completely the sympathy of thousands who might otherwise have been
glad to see the end of the Manchus. Among other acts of desolation,
the large and beautiful city of Soochow was burnt and looted, an
outrage for which the T'ai-p'ings were held responsible, and
regarding which there is a pathetic tale told by an eye-witness of
the ruins; in this instance, however, if indeed in no others, the
acts of vandalism in question were committed by Imperialist soldiers.
It is with the T'ai-p'ing rebellion that we associate _likin_, a tax
which has for years past been the bugbear of the foreign merchant in
China. The term means "thousandth-part money," that is, the
thousandth part of a _tael_ or Chinese ounce of silver, say one
_cash_; and it was originally applied to a tax of one _cash_ per tael
on all sales, said to have been voluntarily imposed on themselves by
the people, as a temporary measure, with a view to make up the
deficiency in the land-tax caused by the rebellion. It was to be set
apart for military purposes only--hence its common name "war-tax";
but it soon drifted into the general body of taxation, and became a
serious impost on foreign trade. We first hear of it in 1852, as
collected by the Governor of Shantung; to hear the last of it has
long been the dream of those who wish to see the expansion of trade
with China.
Tsêng Kuo-fan was now (1860) appointed Imperial War Commissioner as
well as Viceroy of the Two Kiang (= provinces of Kiangsi and Kiangsu
+ Anhui). He had already been made a _baturu_, a kind of order
instituted by the first Manchu Emperor, Shun Chih, as a reward for
military prowess; and had also received the Yellow Riding Jacket from
the Emperor Hsien Fêng, who drew off the jacket he was himself
wearing at the time, and placed it on the shoulders of his loyal and
successful general. In 1861 he succeeded in recapturing An-ch'ing and
other places; and with this city as his headquarters, siege was
forthwith laid to Nanking.
The Imperialist forces were at this juncture greatly strengthened by
the appointment, on Tsêng's recommendation, of two notable men, Tso
Tsung-t'ang and Li Hung-chang, as Governors of Chehkiang and Kiangsu
respectively. Assistance, too, came from another and most unexpected
quarter. An American adventurer, named Ward, a man of considerable
military ability, organized a small force of foreigners, which he led
to such purpose against the T'ai-p'ings, that he rapidly gathered
into its ranks a large if motley crowd of foreigners and Chinese, all
equally bent upon plunder, and with that end in view submitting to
the discipline necessary to success. A long run of victories gained
for this force the title of the Ever Victorious Army; until at length
Ward was killed in battle. He was buried at Sungkiang, near Shanghai,
a city which he had retaken from the T'ai-p'ings, and there a shrine
was erected to his memory, and for a long time--perhaps even
now--offerings were made to his departed spirit. An attempt was made
to replace him by another American named Burgevine, who had been
Ward's second in command. This man, however, was found to be
incapable and was superseded; and in 1863 Major Gordon, R.E., was
allowed by the British authorities to take over command of what was
then an army of about five thousand men, and to act in co-operation
with Tsêng Kuo-fan and Li Hung-chang. Burgevine shortly afterwards
went over to the rebels with about three hundred men, and finally
came to a tragic end.
Gordon's appointment to the work which will always be associated with
his name, was speedily followed by disastrous results to the
T'ai-p'ings. The Ever Victorious troops, who had recently been
worsted in more than one encounter with their now desperate enemies,
began to retrieve their reputation, greatly stimulated by the regular
pay which Gordon always insisted upon. Towards the close of the year,
the siege of Soochow ended in a capitulation on terms which Gordon
understood to include a pardon for the eight T'ai-p'ing "princes"
engaged in its defence. These eight were hurriedly decapitated by
order of Li Hung-chang, and Gordon immediately resigned, after having
searched that same night, so the story goes, revolver in hand, for Li
Hung-chang, whose brains he had determined to blow out on the spot.
The Emperor sent him a medal and a present of about £3,000, both of
which he declined; and Imperial affairs would again have been in a
bad way, but that Gordon, yielding to a sense of duty, agreed to
resume command. Foreign interests had begun to suffer badly; trade
was paralysed; and something had to be done. Further successes under
Gordon's leadership reduced the T'ai-p'ings to their last extremity.
Only Nanking remained to be captured, and that was already fully
invested by Tsêng Kuo-fan. Gordon therefore laid down his command,
and was rewarded with the title of Provincial Commander-in-Chief, and
also with the bestowal of the Yellow Riding Jacket. A month or so
later (July, 1864), Nanking was carried by storm, defended bravely to
the last by the only remaining "prince," the Heavenly King himself
having taken poison three weeks beforehand. This prince escaped with
the new king, a boy of sixteen, who had just succeeded his father;
but he was soon caught and executed, having first been allowed time
to write a short history of the movement from the T'ai-p'ing point of
view. The boy shared his fate. The Imperial edicts of this date show
clearly what a sense of relief came over the Manchu court when once
it could be said definitively that the great rebellion was over. On
the other hand, there were not wanting some foreigners who would have
liked to see the Manchus overthrown, and who severely blamed the
British Government for helping to bolster up a dynasty already in the
last stage of decay; for it seems to be an indubitable fact that but
for British intervention, the rebellion would ultimately have
succeeded in that particular direction.
During a great part of the last eight years described above, an
ordinary observer would have said that the Manchus had already
sufficient troubles on hand, and would be slow to provoke further
causes of anxiety. It is none the less true, however, that at one of
the most critical periods of the rebellion, China was actually at war
with the very power which ultimately came to the rescue. In 1856 the
Viceroy of Canton, known to foreigners as Governor Yeh, a man who had
gained favour at the Manchu court by his wholesale butchery of real
and suspected rebels, arrested twelve Chinese sailors on board the
"Arrow," a Chinese-owned vessel lying at Canton, which had been
licensed at Hongkong to sail under the British flag, and at the same
time the flag was hauled down by Yeh's men. Had this been an isolated
act, it is difficult to see why very grave consequences need have
followed, and perhaps Justin M'Carthy's condemnation of our Consul,
Mr (afterwards Sir Harry) Parkes, as "fussy," because he sent at once
to Hongkong for armed assistance, might in such case be allowed to
stand unchallenged; but it must be remembered that Yeh was all the
time refusing to foreigners rights which had been already conceded
under treaty, and that action such as Parkes took, against an
adversary such as Yeh, was absolutely necessary either to mend or end
the situation. Accordingly, his action led to what was at first an
awkward state of reprisals, in which some American men-of-war joined
for grievances of their own; forts being attacked and occupied, the
foreign houses of business at Canton being burned down, and rewards
offered for foreigners' heads. In January, 1857, an attempt was
actually made in Hongkong to get rid of all foreigners at one fell
stroke, in which plot there is no doubt that the local officials at
Canton were deeply implicated. The bread was one day found to be
poisoned with arsenic, but so heavily that little mischief was done.
The only possible end to this tension was war; and by the end of the
year a joint British and French force, with Lord Elgin and Baron Gros
as plenipotentiaries, was on the spot. Canton was captured after a
poor resistance; and Governor Yeh, whose enormous bulk made escape
difficult, was captured and banished to Calcutta, where he died. On
the voyage he sank into a kind of stupor, taking no interest whatever
in his new surroundings; and when asked by Alabaster, who accompanied
him as interpreter, why he did not read, he pointed to his stomach,
the Chinese receptacle for learning, and said that there was nothing
worth reading except the Confucian Canon, and that he had already got
all that inside him. After his departure the government of the city
was successfully directed by British and French authorities, acting
in concert with two high Manchu officials.
Lord Elgin then decided to proceed north, in the hope of being able
to make satisfactory arrangements for future intercourse; but the
obstructive policy of the officials on his arrival at the Peiho
compelled him to attack and capture the Taku forts, and finally, to
take up his residence in Tientsin. The lips, as the Chinese say,
being now gone, the teeth began to feel cold; the court was in a
state of panic, and within a few weeks a treaty was signed (June 26,
1858) containing, among other concessions to England, the right to
have a diplomatic representative stationed in Peking, and permission
to trade in the interior of China. It would naturally be supposed
that Lord Elgin's mission was now ended, and indeed he went home; the
Emperor, however, would not hear of ratifications of the treaty being
exchanged in Peking, and in many other ways it was made plain that
there was no intention of its stipulations being carried out. There
was the example of Confucius, who had been captured by rebels and
released on condition that he would not travel to the State of Wei.
Thither, notwithstanding, he continued his route; and when asked by a
disciple if it was right to violate his oath, he replied, "This was a
forced oath; the spirits do not hear such."
By June, 1859, another Anglo-French force was at the mouth of the
Peiho, only to find the Taku forts now strongly fortified, and the
river staked and otherwise obstructed. The allied fleet, after
suffering considerable damage, with much loss of life, was compelled
to retire, greatly to the joy and relief of the Emperor, who at last
saw the barbarian reduced to his proper status. It was on this
occasion that Commander Tatnell of the U.S. navy, who was present,
strictly speaking, as a spectator only, in complete violation of
international law, of which luckily the Chinese knew nothing at that
date, lent efficient aid by towing boat-loads of British marines into
action, justifying his conduct by a saying which will always be
gratefully associated with his name,--"Blood is thicker than water."
By August, 1860, thirteen thousand British troops, seven thousand
French, and two thousand five hundred Cantonese coolies, were ready
to make another attempt. This time there were no frontal attacks on
the forts from the seaward; capture was effected, after a severe
struggle, by land from the rear, a feat which was generally regarded
by the Tartar soldiery as most unsportsmanlike. High Manchu officials
were now hurriedly dispatched from Peking to Tientsin to stop by fair
promises the further advance of the allies; but the British and
French plenipotentiaries decided to move up to T'ung-chow, a dozen
miles or so from the capital. It was on this march that Parkes, Loch,
and others, while carrying out orders under a flag of truce, were
treacherously seized by the soldiers of Sêng-ko-lin-sin, the Manchu
prince and general (familiar to the British troops as "Sam
Collinson"), who had just experienced a severe defeat at the taking
of the Taku forts. After being treated with every indignity, the
prisoners, French and English, numbering over thirty in all, were
forwarded to Peking. There they were miserably tortured, and many of
them succumbed; but events were moving quickly now, and relief was at
hand for those for whom it was not already too late. Sêng-ko-lin-sin
and his vaunted Tartar cavalry were completely routed in several
encounters, and Peking lay at the mercy of the foreigner, the Emperor
having fled to Jehol, where he died in less than a year. Only then
did Prince Kung, a younger brother of Hsien Fêng, who had been left
to bear the brunt of foreign resentment, send back, in a state too
terrible for words, fourteen prisoners, less than half the original
number of those so recently captured. Something in the form of a
punitive act now became necessary, to mark the horror with which this
atrocious treatment of prisoners by the Manchu court was regarded
among the countrymen of the victims. Accordingly, orders were given
to burn down the Summer Palace, appropriately condemned as being the
favourite residence of the Emperor, and also the scene of the
unspeakable tortures inflicted. This palace was surrounded by a
beautiful pleasance lying on the slope of the western hills, about
nine miles to the north-west of Peking. Yüan-ming Yüan, or the
"Bright Round Garden," to give it its proper name, had been laid out
by the Jesuit fathers on the plan of the Trianon at Versailles, and
was packed with valuable porcelain, old bronzes, and every
conceivable kind of curio, most of which were looted or destroyed by
the infuriated soldiery.
The ratification of the Treaty of Tientsin (1858) was now completed,
and before the end of the year the allied forces were gone, save and
except garrisons at Tientsin and Taku, which were to remain until the
indemnity was paid.