THE ALLIED ARMIES IN CHINA
To a soldier no city in the world could prove as interesting as
Tientsin from the unequalled opportunity it presented of contrasting
the men and methods of the Allied Armies. And the officers of the
Anglo‐Indian forces saw with pride that they had but little to learn
from their Continental brothers‐in‐arms. In organisation, training, and
equipment our Indian Army was unsurpassed. Clad in the triple‐proof
armour of self‐satisfaction, the soldiers of Europe have rested
content in the methods of 1870. The effects of the increased range
and destructive power of modern weapons have not been appreciated
by them. Close formations are still the rule, and the history of
the first few battles in the next European war will be a record of
terrible slaughter. The lessons of the Boer campaign are ignored. They
ascribe the failures and defeats of the British forces to the defective
training and want of _morale_ of our troops, and disdain to learn from
a “nation of farmers.”
The world has long believed that the German Army is in every respect
superior to all others. But those who saw its China expeditionary
force—composed though it was of picked troops and carefully selected
officers—will not agree with this verdict. Arriving too late for the
serious fighting—for there were no German troops in the Allied Army
which relieved the Legations—it could only be criticised from its
behaviour in garrison and on a few columns which did not meet with very
serious opposition. All nationalities had looked forward eagerly to the
opportunity of closely observing a portion of the army which has set
the fashion in things military to Europe during the past thirty years.
But I think that most of those who had hoped to learn from it were
disappointed.
The German authorities are still faithful to the traditions of close
formations and centralisation of command under fire. Unbroken lines in
the attack are the rule, and no divergence from the straight, forward
direction, in order to take advantage of cover lying towards a flank,
is authorised. The increased destructive power given by low trajectory
to modern firearms does not seem to be properly understood by them.
The creeping forward of widely extended and irregularly advancing
lines of skirmishers, seizing every cover available within easy reach,
is not favoured; and the dread of the effect of cavalry charges on
the flanks of such scattered formations still rules the tactics of
the attack. The development of the initiative of the soldier, of
his power of acting for himself under fire, is not striven after. In
steady, mechanical drill the German private is still pre‐eminent, but
in wide extensions he is helpless without someone at his elbow to give
him orders. One of the Prussian General Staff—sent out as a Special
Service Officer—argued seriously with me that even when advancing over
open ground against an entrenched enemy armed with modern rifles, it
would be impossible to extend to more than an interval of one pace, “as
otherwise the captain could not command his company.”
Those in high places in Germany probably appreciate the lessons of
the South African campaign. But the difficulty of frontal assaults in
close formations on a well‐defended position, the impossibility of
battalion or company commanders directing the attack in the firing line
at close ranges, the necessity of training men to act for themselves
when near the enemy, have not struck home to the subordinate grades.
Viewed in the light of our experiences in the Boer War and on the
Indian Frontier, their adherence to systems that we have proved
disastrous before modern weapons stamps their tactics as antiquated.
“Entrenching,” another staff officer said to me, “is contrary to the
spirit of the German Army. Our regulations now force us to employ the
spade, but our tradition will always be to trust to the bayonet.” And I
thought of another army, which also used to have a decided liking for
the same weapon, and which had gone to South Africa in the firm belief
that cold steel was the only weapon for use in war!
The German officers were very smart in their bearing and dress. Their
khaki uniforms were similar to ours, the coats well made; but the
clumsy cut of their riding breeches offends the fastidious eyes of the
horsey Britisher, who is generally more particular about the fit of
this garment than any other in his wardrobe. The product of despotic
militarism in a land where the army is supreme and the civilian is
despised, the German officers are full of the pride of caste. In
China they were scarcely inclined to regard those of the other allied
troops as equals. The iron discipline of their army does not encourage
intercourse between the various ranks. The friendly association of
English officers with their men in sports is inexplicable to them; and
that a private should excel his superior in any pastime is equivalent,
in their opinion, to the latter at once forfeiting the respect of
his subordinate. When a team of British officers in Tientsin were
training for a tug‐of‐war against those of the Pekin garrison in the
assault‐at‐arms at the Temple of Heaven, they used to practise with a
team of heavy non‐commissioned officers. A German captain said to a
British subaltern who was taking part:
“Is it possible that you allow your soldiers to compete against
officers even in practice?”
“Certainly,” replied the Englishman.
“But of course you always beat them?”
“Not at all,” was the answer. “On the contrary, they generally beat us.”
“But surely that is a mistake,” said the scandalised Prussian. “They
must in that case inevitably lose all respect for you.” And nothing
could convince him that it was not so.
As the German military officer does not as a rule travel much abroad,
the realisation of England’s predominance beyond the seas seemed to
come on those in China almost as a surprise. One remarked to a member
of the staff of our Fourth Brigade:
“Our voyage out here has brought home to most of us for the first time
how you English have laid your hands on all parts of the earth worth
having. In every port we touched at since we left Germany, everywhere
we coaled, we found your flag flying. Gibraltar, Malta, Aden, Colombo,
Singapore, Hong Kong—all British.”
[Illustration: FRENCH COLONIAL INFANTRY MARCHING THROUGH THE FRENCH
CONCESSION, TIENTSIN]
“Yes,” added another, “we have naturally been accustomed to regard
our own country as the greatest in the world. But outside it we found
our language useless. Yours is universal. I had said to myself that
Port Said, at least, is not British; but there, too, your tongue is
the chief medium of intercourse. Here in China, even the coolies speak
English, or what they intend to be English.”
[Illustration: GERMAN OFFICERS WELCOMING FIELD‐MARSHAL COUNT VON
WALDERSEE AT THE RAILWAY STATION, TIENTSIN
[_page_ 38]
The German organisation—perfect, perhaps, for Europe, where each
country is a network of roads and railways—was not so successful
in China. For the first time the leading military nation was
brought face to face with the difficulties involved in the despatch
of an expedition across the sea and far from the home base. And its
mistakes were not few. Their contingent found themselves at first
devoid of transport and dependent on the kindness of the other armies
for means to move from the railway. One projected expedition had to
be long delayed because the German troops could not advance for this
reason, until the English at length furnished them with the necessary
transport. The enormous waggons they brought with them were useless
in a country where barrows are generally the only form of wheeled
transport possible on the very narrow roads. Their knowledge of
horse‐mastership was not impressive, their animals always looking badly
kept and ill‐fed.
The first German troops despatched to China were curiously clothed.
Their uniform consisted of ill‐fitting tunics and trousers made of what
looked like coarse, bright yellow sacking, with black leather belts
and straw hats shaped like those worn by our Colonials, the broad brim
caught up on one side and fastened by a metal rosette of the German
colours. Later on all were clothed in regular khaki, and wore helmets
somewhat similar to the British pattern, but with wider brims. The
square portion covering the back of the neck was fastened by hinges, so
that the helmet was not tilted over the wearer’s eyes when he lay down
to fire, which is the great disadvantage of our style of headgear. Some
of the officers wore silver sashes and belts which looked out of place
on khaki, the embodiment of severe simplicity in campaigning dress.
The physique of the German soldiers was very good, but they were
members of a comparatively small contingent picked from an enormous
army. To those used to the smart and upright bearing of the British
private their careless and slouching gait seemed slovenly. But on
parade they moved like automatons. A curious phase in the relations
of the Allies was the intimacy which prevailed between the men of the
French and German troops. In the French Concession numbers of them were
to be constantly seen fraternising together, strolling arm‐in‐arm in
the streets, or drinking in the _cafés_. This was chiefly owing to the
fact that many in either army could speak the language of the other.
But this intimacy did not extend to the commissioned ranks.
The vast increase in their mercantile marine of late years enabled the
Germans to transport their troops in their own vessels. The Russians,
on the other hand, were frequently forced to employ British ships,
although the bulk of their forces in North China did not come from
Europe by sea, but was furnished by the Siberian Army.
The German Navy took a prominent part in the China imbroglio. The
_Iltis_ was well to the fore in the bombardment of the Taku forts
by the gunboats in the Peiho. In the assault by the storming parties
from the Allied Fleet 130 German sailors shared, and lost 6 killed
and 15 wounded; 200 more accompanied Seymour’s column on the advance
to Pekin. The Navy of the Fatherland possesses the immense advantage
of being very modern and homogeneous, and is consequently quite up to
date. Even at its present strength it is a formidable fighting machine.
If the Kaiser’s plans are realised, and it is increased to the size
he aims at, Germany will play a prominent rôle in any future naval
complications.
English officers are frequently accused of a lack of interest in their
profession from not acquainting themselves with the problems which
arise in contemporary campaigns, the course of which many persons
believe that they do not follow. But we found a singular want of
knowledge of the history and events of the South African campaign among
the commissioned grades of the Allied Armies. I understood the crass
ignorance of Continental peoples with regard to the Boer War after a
conversation with a foreign staff officer. I had asked him what he
thought had been the probable strength of the Republican forces at the
beginning of the campaign.
“Ah, that I know precisely,” he replied. “I have heard it from an
officer in our army, now in China, who served with the Boers. I can
state positively on his authority that your antagonists were never
able to put into the field, either at the beginning of the war or at
any other time, more than 30,000 men. The total populations of both
States could not produce any greater number capable of carrying a
rifle.”
“And how many do you think they have in the field now?” I asked. This
was in August, 1901.
“About 25,000.”
“But surely,” I argued, “after nearly two years of fighting their
losses must amount to more than 5,000 between killed, wounded, and
captured.”
“Not at all. Perhaps not even that.”
“Then you apparently do not know,” I said, “that we have about 30,000
or 40,000 prisoners or surrendered men in St. Helena, South Africa,
Ceylon, and India.”
“Oh, but you have not,” he said, with a politely incredulous smile;
“two or three thousand at most. In our army we are not ignorant of the
course of the campaign. We read our newspapers carefully.”
I ceased to wonder at the ignorance of his nation when he, a Staff and
Special Service Officer, was so ill‐informed.
The French Army in China suffered some loss of _prestige_ in the
beginning through their first contingent, composed of Infanterie
Coloniale and others sent up from _l’Indo‐Chine_. Long service in
unhealthy tropical climates had rendered the men debilitated and
fever‐stricken. They were by no means fair samples of the French
soldier, and certainly not up to the standard of the troops which
came out later from France. The Zouaves and Chasseurs d’Afrique,
particularly, were excellent. Both are crack corps, and were much
admired, the physique of the men being very good. The latter were fine
specimens of European cavalry, good riders, well mounted; but their
horses seemed too heavily weighted, especially for service in hot
climates.
The infantry were weighed down by an extraordinarily heavy pack, which
they carried on nearly all duties—mounting guard, marching, even in
garrison. They were trained in the same obsolete close formations as
the Germans; but, with the traditional aptitude for loose fighting
which dates from the days of Napoleon’s _tirailleurs_, they can adapt
themselves much more rapidly to extended order.
The French officers, though not so well turned out as the Germans, were
much more friendly and agreeable. There was a good deal of intercourse
between them and the Britishers. Their manner of maintaining discipline
was very different to our ideas on the subject. I have seen one of
them box the ears of his drunken orderly who had assaulted the Indian
servant of an English officer, and who, considering himself aggrieved
at being reprimanded by his master, had staggered up to him to tell him
so.
The training and organisation of the French Army has immensely improved
since the disastrous campaign of 1870. A soldier serves first in the
Active Army, then in the Reserve of the Active Army, where he is called
up for training somewhat on the lines of our Militia. He is then
passed into the Territorial Army, where he is not allowed to forget
what he has learned with the colours. Finally he is enrolled in the
Reserve of the Territorial Army, and is still liable to be summoned to
defend his country in emergency. A regiment has all its equipment and
stores in its own keeping; so that, when suddenly ordered on active
service, there is no rush to indent upon the Commissariat or Ordnance
Departments. Its reservists join at regimental headquarters, where they
find everything ready for them, and take their places as though they
had never quitted the colours. In marching powers, at least, no troops
in Europe surpass the French; and legs are almost as useful as arms in
modern warfare, where wide flanking _détours_ and extended movements
will be the rule in future.
France’s long experience of colonies and wars beyond the sea rendered
the organisation and fitting out of her expeditionary force an easier
task than some other nations found it. The men were always cheerful;
and the French soldier is particularly handy at bivouacking and fending
for himself on service.
The Russian troops were composed of big, heavy, rather fleshy men.
Unintelligent and slow, for the most part, they were determined
fighters, but seemed devoid of the power of initiative or of thinking
for themselves. I doubt if the Muscovite soldier is much more advanced
than his Crimean predecessor. The men of the Siberian army may be best
described as cheerful savages, obedient under an iron discipline, but
not averse to excesses when not under the stern hand of authority,
especially when their blood has been heated by fighting. The great
power of the Russian soldier lies in his wonderful endurance under
privations that few other European troops could support. I should be
sorry to offer Englishmen the meagre fare on which he manages to exist.
His commissariat rations were anything but lavish in China, and had to
be supplemented by the men themselves by foraging. Yet those whom I saw
in North China and Manchuria looked well fed and almost fat.
Their respect for, and faith in, their officers is admirable. Their
religion is a living force to their simple natures. Once, in Newchwang,
in Manchuria, I passed a small Russian church in which a number of
their troops were attending a Mass of the gorgeous Greek ritual. Their
rifles were piled outside under the charge of a sentry. Helmet in hand
he was devoutly following the service through the open window, crossing
himself repeatedly and joining in the prayers of the congregation
inside. I am afraid that such a sight would be very rarely seen at a
church parade in our army.
Of the courage of the Russians there can be no doubt. Their behaviour
during the stern fighting around Tientsin was admirable. The
European settlements owed their preservation largely to the timely
reinforcements which arrived from Port Arthur at a time of deadly
peril. When Admiral Seymour started on his desperate attempt to relieve
the Legations, he left behind at Tientsin a small number of British
sailors and marines under Captain Bayly, H.M.S. _Aurora_, with orders
to hold the town, so that his column, if defeated, might have some
place to fall back on. When, after his departure, the Concessions were
suddenly assailed, the commanding officers of the other Allies were of
opinion that the defence of the settlements was hopeless, and advocated
a retirement on Taku. Captain Bayly pointed out the peril to which the
Relieving Column would be exposed if repulsed and forced to fall back
only to find Tientsin in the hands of the Chinese. His remonstrances
had no effect. Then the dauntless sailor, with true British grit,
declared that the others might go if they wished. He had been ordered
to remain in Tientsin, and remain he would. He would not desert his
admiral even if left alone to hold the town with his handful of
Britishers. I have it on his own authority that the Russian commander
was the first to applaud his resolution and declare that he and his
men would stay with the English to the end. His action turned the
scale, and all remained to defend Tientsin and save Seymour’s gallant
but unfortunate column.
Though the Russian officers exceed even the Germans in the severity
with which they treat their men, there is, nevertheless, more of a
spirit of comradeship existing between the higher and lower ranks. This
is truer, perhaps, of the European army than the Siberian, which was
more employed in the China campaign, and is inferior to the former,
especially the splendid Guards corps. The officers were fine men
physically, but seemed in military training rather behind those of the
other Allies.
Profiting by the experience gained in their previous campaign against
China, the Japanese Army arrived well equipped in 1900. As long as road
or river was available, their transport system of carts and boats was
excellent; but when it came to flying columns moving across country the
Indian mule train was superior. Beginning the war in white uniform, the
disadvantages of such a conspicuous dress were soon evident, and khaki
was substituted. The men were well clothed, and carried a horsehide
knapsack containing the usual necessaries and an extra pair of boots.
The cavalry, consisting as it does of small men on undersized
animals, would be of little use in shock tactics. It would be far
more useful converted into mounted infantry, for their infantry
earned nothing but praise. Small, sturdy, easily fed, and capable of
enduring an extraordinary amount of hardship, they were ideal foot
soldiers. Recruited among an agricultural population, inhabitants of
a mountainous country, they were inured to toil and fatigue. Under
a load that few white men could carry they tramped long distances,
arriving at the end of the march apparently not in the least exhausted.
Their racial respect for superiors has bred a perfect spirit of
unquestioning discipline. Their high patriotism and almost fanatical
courage endow them with an absolute contempt of death, and their heroic
bravery extorted the admiration even of such unfriendly critics as
the Russians. Trained in German methods, their army suffers from all
the defects of the hide‐bound Teutonic system. In the attack on some
fortified villages held by banditti, after Major Browning’s death in a
preliminary skirmish, two Japanese companies advanced in line with the
4th Punjaub Infantry. Under a fierce fire from 4,000 brigands, armed
with Mannlichers and ensconced behind walls, the Indian troops extended
to ten or twelve paces. The Japanese came on in single rank, almost
shoulder to shoulder. They lost four times as many as the Punjaubis,
but never wavered for an instant, closing in mechanically as their
comrades fell, and almost outstripping our sepoys in the final charge
that carried the position. Though many of their officers have realised
that the day of close formations is past, they have not sufficient
confidence in the ability of their men to fight independently _yet_;
while they know that no amount of slaughter will dismay them in an
attack. Besides, in China they were anxious to blood them well and to
show to their European critics the splendid fighting quality of their
soldiers, and prove that they were worthy to combat with or against any
troops in the world.
The organisation, equipment, and material of the Japanese Army
leave little to be desired. Their engineers and artillery are well
trained, and both rendered good service to the Allies in 1900. Their
Intelligence Department had been brought to a high standard of
efficiency; and its perfection astonishes those who are permitted to
gain a glimpse of its working. The whole East is sown with its spies.
When the Legations were threatened, Japanese who had been working at
inferior trades in Pekin came in and revealed themselves as military
officers who for months or years had been acquainting themselves with
the plans, the methods, and the strength of China.
The discipline of Japanese soldiers in small things as well as great
is admirable. I have often watched crowded troop‐trains arriving at
the Shimbashi railway terminus in Tokio. The men sat quietly in their
places until the order to leave the carriages was given. Then, without
noise or confusion, they got out, fell in on the platforms, piled
arms, fell out, and remained near their rifles without chattering;
indeed, with hardly a word except in an undertone. Prompt and
unquestioning obedience in everything is the motto of the Japanese
soldier. Their courage at the storming of Tientsin city, on the march
to the capital, and at the capture of Pekin won the admiration of all
the Allies, and their behaviour and self‐restraint in the hour of
victory were equalled only by their gallantry in action. No charges
of cruelty to inoffensive peasants or women and children could be
substantiated against them; and they treated the conquered Chinese
with great kindness. They employed their prisoners to work for them
and paid them liberally for their labour. Their conduct in garrison
was admirable. Well armed and equipped, well officered and led, the
Japanese Army is now a powerful fighting machine, and would prove a
formidable enemy or a useful ally in the field.
Throughout the campaign a remarkable spirit of comradeship existed
between the Japanese and the Indian troops. The Gurkhas were their
especial friends. So like in appearance that it points to a common
ancestry in the past, they hailed each other as relatives, and seemed
quite puzzled to find no resemblance in the languages. This did not
seem to slacken their friendship; and it was amusing to see a mingled
group of the two races chatting together in an animated manner,
neither understanding a word of the other’s tongue.
[Illustration: UNITED STATES CAVALRYMAN]
The men of the American Army were equalled in physique only by
the Australian Contingent and our Royal Horse Artillery. Their
free‐and‐easy ideas on the subject of discipline, the casual manner
in which a private addressed an officer, astonished and shocked their
Continental critics. I heard the remark of a German officer who, after
a slight acquaintance with their ways, exclaimed, “_That_ an army? Why,
with the Berlin Fire Brigade I would conquer the whole of America!” The
speech was so typically German! But the men, accustomed to think and
act for themselves, were ideal individual fighters; and for scouting,
skirmishing, and bush‐whacking could not easily be surpassed. Their
troops in China consisted at first mainly of marines and regiments
diverted when on their way to the Philippines, and consequently were
not well equipped for a long campaign. But soon after the outset of
the expedition all deficiencies were made good and ample supplies were
forthcoming, their hospitals especially being almost lavishly furnished
with all requirements.
The new American Army, like their excellent go‐ahead Navy, is a force
to be reckoned with in the future. We hear much of the effects of
“influence” in our army. It is nothing compared to what goes on in
the American. With them to be the near connection of a Senator or a
prominent politician is infinitely more advantageous than to be the
scion of a ducal line or the son of a Commander‐in‐Chief with us.
If the Continental troops suffer from too rigid a discipline, which
destroys the power of thinking for themselves in the lower ranks, the
Americans, perhaps, err on the other side. They are too ready to act
on their own responsibility, to question the wisdom of the orders
they receive, and act, instead, as seems best to themselves. This was
particularly evident in the case of the volunteer regiments in the
Philippines; but instances of it were not wanting among the regulars
and marines in North China. Democracy is impossible in an army. But
the material at the service of the United States is unquestionably
magnificent; and when the pressure of events in the future has called
into being and welded together a really large army in America, there
are few nations that can hope to oppose it successfully in the field.
How rapidly the sons of the Star‐spangled Banner acquire the art of war
was evidenced in Cuba and in the more difficult and trying guerilla
campaign in the Philippines. Their faults were those of inexperience.
Of their courage there can be no doubt. At the taking of Tientsin
city nearly a thousand American infantry and marines served with the
British under General Dorward. In a letter to their commander this
officer warmly expressed the honour he, in common with all his men,
felt in serving alongside the American troops. In his own words, “they
formed part of the front line of the British attack, and so had more
than their fair share of the fighting. The ready and willing spirit of
both officers and men, their steady gallantry and power of holding on
to exposed positions, made them soldiers of the highest class.” What
greater praise could be given them? And well they deserved it! Two
companies of the 9th Infantry (U.S.A.), attacked in front and flank by
a merciless fire, held gallantly to their ground until nightfall with a
loss of half their number in killed and wounded, including their brave
leader, Colonel Liscum, who met a hero’s death at the head of his men.
In all the actions of the campaign the American troops distinguished
themselves by conspicuous bravery; and the British recognised with
pride and pleasure the gallantry of their cousins. May we always fight
shoulder to shoulder with, but never against, them!
Great _camaraderie_ existed between the Americans and the English
troops. The sons of the Stars and Stripes amply repaid the disdain of
the Continental officers with a contempt that was almost laughable.
They classified the Allies as white men and “Dagoes.” The former
were the Americans and the British, the latter the other European
contingents. They distinguished between them though, and the terms
“Froggie Dago,” “Sauerkraut Dago,” “Macaroni Dago,” and “Vodki Dago”
left little doubt in the hearer’s mind as to which nationality was
meant.
I heard a good story of an encounter between a young English subaltern
and an American in North China. I fancy the same tale is told of a
Colonial in South Africa; but it is good enough to bear repetition.
The very youthful Britisher, chancing to pass a Yankee soldier who was
sitting down and made no motion to rise, considered himself affronted
at the private’s failure to salute him. He turned back indignantly and
addressed the offender.
“Look here, my man, do you know who I am?”
“No—o—o,” drawled the American.
“Well, I’m a British officer.”
“Air ye naow?” was the reply. “Waal, sonny, you’ve got a soft job. See
you don’t get drunk and lose it.”
The subaltern walked on.
Of the Italian Expeditionary Force, which was not numerically
very strong, I saw little; but all spoke well of them. The famous
Bersagliere, the cocks’ plumes fluttering gaily in their tropical
helmets, were smart, sturdy soldiers.
I regret never having had an opportunity of seeing the contingent which
Holland, not to be outdone by the other European Powers, despatched
to the East. This nation was also determined to show its power to the
world. So a Dutch Expeditionary Corps was equipped and sent out. It
consisted of a sergeant and ten men.
The Indian Field Force was a revelation to Europe. Friend and foe
realised for the first time that in the Indian army England has a
reserve of immense value. While our Continental rivals fancied that
our hands were tied by the South African war, and that we could take
no part in the Chinese complication, they were startled to see how,
without moving a soldier from Great Britain, we could put into the
field in the farthest quarter of the globe a force equal to any and
superior to most. It was mobilised and despatched speedily and without
a hitch. The vessels for its transport were all available from the
lines that ply from Calcutta and Bombay, and no ship was needed from
England. The bluejackets and marines with half a battalion of the Royal
Welch Fusiliers, already on the spot, and two batteries with some
Engineers were all the white troops we had until gallant Australia sent
her splendid little contingent as an earnest of what she could and
would do if required.
Previous to the expedition of 1900, the Indian army was never allowed
to engage in war without a strong backing of British troops. And even
its own officers scarcely dared to allow themselves to believe that
without such leavening their men could successfully oppose a European
army. But now that they have seen them contrasted with the pick of
Continental soldiers, they know that they could confidently lead their
Sikhs, Gurkhas, Rajputs, Pathans, or Punjaubis against the men of
any other nation. Not only is the Indian army as well equipped and
organised as any it could now be called upon to face, but also the
fighting races of our Eastern Empire, led by their British officers,
are equal to any foe. The desperate battles of the Sikh War, when, as
in the fierce struggle of Chillianwallah, victory often hung wavering
in the balance, the determined resistance of the mutinous troops in
1857, show that skilful leadership is all that our sepoys need to
enable them to encounter the best soldiers of any nation.
[Illustration: GERMAN AND INDIAN SOLDIERS]
India is a continent—not a country—composed of many races that differ
far more than European nationalities. A Russian and an Englishman,
a Swede and an Italian are nearer akin, more alike in appearance,
manners, and modes of thought than a Gurkha and a Pathan, a Sikh and a
Mahratta, a Rajput and a Madrassi. It follows that the fighting value
of all these various races of India is not the same. No one would
seek among the Bengali _babus_ or the Parsees of Bombay for warriors.
The Madras sepoy, though his predecessors helped to conquer India
for British rule, has fallen from his high estate and is no longer
regarded as a reliable soldier. Yet the wisdom of the policy which
relegated him of late years altogether to the background during war
may be questioned. For the Madras sappers and miners, who alone of all
the Madras army have been constantly employed, have always proved
satisfactory. But the fiat has gone forth; and the Madrassi will be
gradually replaced even in his own presidency by the men of the more
martial races of the North. The Mahratta, who once struck terror
throughout the length and breadth of Hindustan, is considered by some
critics to be no longer useful as a fighting man. But they forget that
not so long ago in the desperate battles near Suakin, when even British
troops gave back before the mad rushes of fanatical Dervishes, the
28th Bombay Pioneers saved a broken square from imminent destruction
by their steadfast bravery. And they were Mahrattas then. Of the
excellence of the gallant warrior clans of Rajputana, of the fierce
Pathans inured to fighting from boyhood, of the sturdy, cheerful,
little Gurkhas, the steady, long‐limbed Sikhs, none can doubt. Hard to
conquer were they in the past; splendid to lead to battle now. To Lord
Roberts is chiefly due the credit of welding together the Indian army
and making it the formidable fighting machine it is.
One great factor of its efficiency is the excellence of its British
officers. Early placed in a position of responsibility, they rapidly
learn to rely on themselves and act, if need be, on their own
initiative. In a British regiment an officer may serve twenty years
without commanding more than a company; whereas the Indian army
subaltern, before he has worn a sword three years, may find himself
in command of his battalion on field‐days, in manœuvres, sometimes
even in war. In the stern fighting at the Malakand in the beginning of
the Tirah campaign, one Punjaub regiment was commanded by a subaltern,
who acquitted himself of his difficult task with marked ability. Unlike
the system of promotion that exists in the British army, the English
officers of the native corps attain the different grades after a
certain number of years’ service—nine for captain, eighteen for major,
twenty‐six for lieutenant‐colonel—and may occupy any position in their
regiments irrespective of the rank they hold.
An Indian infantry battalion consists of eight companies, each under
a native officer, termed a subhedar, with a jemadar or lieutenant
to assist him. He is responsible for the discipline and interior
economy of his company. The senior native officer is known as the
subhedar‐major. Instead of the terms lance‐corporal, corporal,
sergeant, and sergeant‐major, lance‐naik, naik, havildar, and
havildar‐major are the names of the corresponding grades.
The British officers practically form the staff of the regiment. The
former number of eight has been recently increased to eleven, twelve,
and thirteen, according to the presidency to which the corps belongs,
those of the Punjaub—being nearest the danger zone of frontier wars
and threatened invasion—possessing the largest number. The eight
companies are grouped in four double companies—the double company
commander (a British officer) having almost complete control of
his unit. The commanding officer of the battalion mainly restricts
himself to seeing that the training of each portion of the regiment is
identical and efficient. Each corps possesses a commanding officer,
four double company commanders, an adjutant, a quartermaster, and the
remainder are known as double company officers.
The organisation of a native cavalry regiment is very similar, the
terms squadron and squadron‐commander replacing double company and
double company commander. In most of the corps the _sowar_, as the
Indian cavalry private is called—_sepoy_ being employed to denote an
infantryman—is usually the owner of his horse; and direct commissions
to native gentlemen are of more frequent occurrence in the cavalry than
in the infantry. Regimental transport consists of baggage‐ponies or
mules, so that an Indian mounted corps is particularly mobile.
Foreign officers in North China at first made light of our Indian
soldiers; but they were not those who had seen them fight in the early
days of the campaign. For one arm, however, there was nothing but
praise. All agreed that our native cavalry was excellent. Even German
officers acknowledged that in smartness, horsemanship, and efficiency
it could not easily be surpassed. The work done by the 1st Bengal
Lancers in the advance on Pekin and afterwards could not be underrated.
With the exception of a few Cossacks and Japanese, they were the only
mounted troops available at first. They were in constant demand to
accompany columns of Continental troops, and they won the admiration
of all the foreign officers with whom they were brought in contact.
In fact, the only persons who failed to appreciate their merits were
the Tartar horsemen who ventured to oppose them in the march on the
capital. _Their_ opinion is not recorded, but I think that it would
not be fit for publication except in an expunged and mutilated form.
The 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry—as good a regiment as any that Bengal
can show—won many encomiums for its smartness from all who saw its
squadrons at Tientsin, Shanghai, or Shanhaikwan.
But Indian officers were at first surprised and puzzled at the
unflattering criticisms passed on our native infantry. Those who had
seen our sepoys in many a hard‐fought struggle on the frontier could
not understand the frequent remarks of foreign officers, that “our men
were very unequal.”
“Some of them,” they said, “are tall, well‐built, and powerful, and
should make good soldiers; but others are old, feeble, and decrepit.
We have seen in the streets of Tientsin many who could not support
the weight of a rifle.” But it was soon discovered that these critics
failed to comprehend the distinction between fighting men and
followers, since in China both were clad somewhat alike. The coolie
corps, bheesties, syces, and dhoolie‐bearers were all dressed in khaki;
and Continental officers were for a long time under the impression that
these were soldiers. The error was not unnatural, and it accounted for
the unfavourable reports on the Indian troops which appeared in many
European journals. But those who understood the difference were struck
by the fine physique and excellent training of our native army. When
we compared our Sikhs, Pathans, Gurkhas, and Punjaubis with the men of
most of the Allied forces, we recognised that, led by British officers,
they would render a good account of themselves if pitted against
any troops in the world. And our sepoys return to India filled with
immeasurable contempt for the foreign contingents they have seen in
China. As the ripples caused by a stone thrown into a lake spread over
the water, so their opinion will radiate through the length and breadth
of the land; and this unexpected lesson of the campaign will have a
far‐reaching and beneficial effect throughout our Eastern Empire.
India is essentially a soldier’s country. Its army is practically
always on a war footing, the troops near the frontier especially
being ready to move at a few hours’ notice. The rapid despatch of
the British contingent for Natal and the China expeditionary force
are object‐lessons. The peace establishment of a native regiment
is greater than the strength required for active service. Hence on
mobilisation no reserves have to be called up to fill its ranks;
recruits and sickly men can be left behind, and it marches with only
fully trained and seasoned soldiers. In India vast stretches of country
are available for manœuvres, which take place every winter on a
scale unknown in England. Not a year passes without its little war. In
consequence, the training of the troops is thorough and practical. The
establishment of gun and rifle factories is all that is needed to make
India absolutely self‐containing. It produces now all other requisites
of war. Ammunition, clothing, and accoutrements are manufactured in
the country, and it was able to supply, not only the needs of the
expedition in China, but also many things required for the troops in
South Africa.
To the pessimists in England and the hostile critics abroad, who talk
of the possibility of another mutiny, the answer is that a general
uprising of the Native army can never occur again. The number of
British troops in India has been more than doubled since 1857, and the
proportion between white and coloured regiments in each large station
more equalised. The artillery is altogether in English hands, with the
exception of the rank and file of a few mountain batteries and the
smooth‐bore guns maintained by native princes for show. Communication
has been enormously quickened by the network of railways that covers
the country, enabling a force to be moved in two or three days to a
point where formerly as many months were required.
And the Indian army is loyal to the core—loyal, not to the vague idea
of a far‐distant England, not to the vast impersonal _Sircar_,[2] but
loyal to itself; loyal to its British officers, who, to the limited
minds of the sepoys, represent in concrete form the Power whose salt
they eat. And those officers, speaking to each in his own tongue—be he
Sikh, Rajput, or Dogra—stand in the relation of fathers to their men.
To them in sorrow or perplexity comes the sepoy, sure of sympathy or
aid. In their justice he reposes implicit confidence. And as in peace
he relies on these men of alien race, so in war do they trust in him.
And the tales of the struggle of the Guides round Battye’s corpse, of
the gallant Sikhs who died at their post in Saragheri, of the men who
refused to abandon their dead and dying officers in the treachery of
Maizar, show that our trust is not misplaced.
[Footnote 2: _i.e._ Government.]