ordered the erection of a flag of defiance against the Roman empire, the
Christian Church, and all the Christian kingdoms of the West, unless
they would do homage to him; and with this abrupt termination to their
embassy they were dismissed. After "travailing all winter long,"
sleeping on snow without shelter, and suffering other hardships, they
reached Europe in June, 1247, where they were "rejoiced over as men that
had been risen from death to life."
Carpini was the first European to approach the borders of China, or
Cathay, as it was then called, and the story he told about that
mysterious empire of the East, gathered from the Tartars, was of much
interest, and, so far as it went, of considerable accuracy. He was also
the first to visit the court of those terrible warriors who had filled
the world with dismay, and to bring to Europe an account of their
barbaric manners and customs.
Shortly after (in 1253) a friar named Rubruquis, with two companions,
was sent to Tartary by Louis IX. of France to search for Prester John,
an imaginary Christian potentate supposed to reign in the centre of
Asia, to visit Sartach, a Tartar chief also reported a Christian, and to
teach the doctrines of Christianity to all the Tartars he should find.
Rubruquis did his work well, and, while failing to find Prester John or
to convert any of the Tartars, he penetrated to the very centre of the
Mongol empire, visited Karakorum, the capital of the Great Khans, and
brought back much valuable information, giving a clear, accurate, and
intelligent account of the lands he had seen and the people he had met,
with such news of distant China as he could obtain without actually
crossing the Great Wall.
After his visit information concerning these remote regions ceased until
the publication of the remarkably interesting book of Marco Polo, the
first to write of China from an actual visit to its court. The story of
his visit must be left for a later tale.
_THE SIEGE OF SIANYANG._
In the year 1268 the army of Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis the famous
conqueror, made its appearance before the stronghold of Sianyang, an
important city of China on the southern bank of the Han River. On the
opposite side of the stream stood the city of Fanching, the two being
connected by bridges and forming virtually a single city. Sianyang, the
capital of a populous and prosperous district, was the most important
stronghold left to China, and its fall would be almost fatal to that
realm. Hence Kublai, who had succeeded to the empire of the Kins in
Northern China, and was bent on making the rest of that country his own,
made his first move against this powerful city, which the Chinese
prepared with energy to defend. In all the history of its wars China
showed no greater courage and resolution than in the defence of this
important place.
The army of Kublai consisted of sixty thousand veterans of the Mongol
wars, with a large body of auxiliary troops, an army large enough to
occupy all the neighboring heights and form an intrenched camp around
the city ten miles in length. This done, and all communication by land
cut off, steps were taken to intercept all supplies sent by water. The
Mongols had no vessels, but they set themselves with their usual
activity to build a fleet, and in a short time had launched upon the Han
fifty junks larger than those used by the Chinese.
Meanwhile Lieouwen Hoan, governor of the two cities, was strengthening
their works and vigorously repelling every assault of his foes. The city
was surrounded by thick and lofty walls and a deep fosse, was amply
garrisoned, and was abundantly supplied with provisions, having
food-supplies, it was said, sufficient "for a period of ten years." Thus
provided, the gallant commandant, confident in his strength and
resources, defied the efforts of the enemy. Threatened by the Mongols
with massacre if he should continue a vain defence, he retorted by
declaring that he would drag the renegade general in command of their
troops in chains into the presence of the master to whom he had proved a
traitor.
These bold words were sustained by brave deeds. All the assaults of the
Mongols were valiantly repulsed, and, although their army was constantly
reinforced by fresh troops, the siege made very slow progress. The
position of the besiegers was several times changed, their lines were
here extended and there withdrawn, but all their efforts proved vain,
they being baffled on every side, while the governor held out with
unyielding fortitude.
A flotilla of store-ships on the Han was met by the Mongol fleet and
driven back with serious loss, but this success was of no great service
to the besiegers, since the cities were still well supplied. Thus for
three years the siege went on, and it was beginning to languish, when
new spirit was given it by fresh preparations on the part of the two
contestants. Kublai, weary of the slow progress of his armies, resolved
to press the siege with more vigor than ever, while the Chinese minister
determined to do something for the relief of the garrison.
A large Chinese army was put into the field, but it was placed under the
command of an incapable officer, whose dilatory movements promised
little for the aid of the valiant defenders. Nothing would have been
done had not abler and bolder spirits come to the assistance of the
beleaguered host. Litingchi, governor of Ganlo, a town on the Han south
of Sianyang, incensed by the tardy march of the army of relief, resolved
to strike a prompt and telling blow. Collecting a force of three
thousand men, from which he dismissed all who feared to take part in the
perilous adventure, he laid his plans to throw into Sianyang this
reinforcement, with a large convoy of such supplies as he had learned
that the garrison needed.
The attempt was made successful through the valor of the Chinese troops.
Several hundred vessels, escorted by the band of devoted warriors,
sailed down a tributary of the Han towards Sianyang. The Mongols had
sought by chains and other obstacles to close the stream, but these were
broken through by the junks, whose impetuous advance had taken the
besiegers by surprise. Recovering their spirit, and taking advantage of
the high ground above the stream, the Mongols soon began to regain the
ground they had lost and to imperil the success of the expedition.
Seeing this, and fearing the defeat of the project, Changchun, at the
head of one division of the escort of troops, devoted himself and his
men to death for the safety of the fleet, charging so vigorously as to
keep the Mongols fully occupied for several hours. This diversion gave
the other Chinese leader an opportunity to push on to Sianyang with the
store-ships, where they were joyfully received by the people, who for
three years had been cut off from communication with the outside world.
So great were the excitement and joy of the garrison that they flung
open the city gates, in bold defiance of their foes, or as if they
thought that the Mongols must be in full retreat. Their enthusiasm,
however, was somewhat dampened when the mutilated body of the heroic
Changchun came floating down the stream, in evidence of the continued
presence and barbarity of their foes. The work of reinforcement done,
Changkone, the other leader of the party of relief, who had succeeded in
bringing to the garrison certain needed supplies, felt that he was not
wanted within its walls. Outside, Litingchi was hovering near the enemy
with a force of five thousand men, and the gallant admiral of the fleet
resolved to cut his way out again and join this partisan band.
Calling together his late followers, he extolled the glory they had won
and promised them new fame. But in the midst of his address he perceived
that one of the men had disappeared, and suspected that he had deserted
to the Mongols with a warning of what was intended. Changkone, however,
did not let this check him in his daring purpose. Gathering the few
war-junks that remained, he set sail that night, bursting through the
chains that crossed the stream, and cutting his way with sword and spear
through the first line of the Mongol fleet.
Before him the river stretched in a straight and unguarded course, and
it seemed as if safety had been won. But the early light of the dawning
day revealed an alarming scene. Before the daring band lay another
fleet, flying the Mongol flag, while thousands of armed foes occupied
the banks of the stream. The odds were hopelessly against the Chinese,
there was no choice between death and surrender, but the heroic
Changkone unhesitatingly resolved to accept the former, and was seconded
in his devotion by his men. Dashing upon the Mongol fleet, they fought
on while a man was left to bend bow or thrust spear, continuing the
struggle until the blood of the whole gallant band reddened the waters
of the stream. The Mongol leader sent the body of Changkone into the
city, either as a threat or as a tribute of admiration. It was received
with loud lamentations, and given a place in burial beside that of
Changchun, his partner in the most gallant deed that Chinese history
records.
This incident, while spurring the garrison to new spirit in their
defence, roused the Mongols to a more resolute pressure of the siege. As
yet they had given their attention mainly to Sianyang, but now they drew
their lines around Fanching as well. The great extent of the Mongol
dominion is shown by the fact that they sent as far as Persia for
engineers skilful in siege-work and accustomed to building and handling
the great catapults with which huge stones were flung against fortified
places in the warfare of that age. By the aid of these powerful engines
many of the defences of Sianyang were demolished and the bridge between
the two cities was destroyed.
This done, the siege of Fanching was vigorously pressed, and, after a
severe bombardment, an assault in force was made. Despite the resolute
resistance of the garrison, the walls were forced, and the streets
became the scene of a fierce and deadly fight. From street to street,
from house to house, the struggle continued, and when resistance had
become utterly hopeless the Chinese officers, rather than surrender,
slew themselves, in which they were imitated by many of their men. It
was a city of ruins and slaughtered bodies that the Mongols had won.
The engines were now all directed against the fortifications of
Sianyang, where the garrison had become greatly dispirited by the fall
of Fanching and the failure of the army of relief to appear. Lieouwen
Hoan still held out, though he saw that his powers of defence were
nearly at an end, and feared that at any moment the soldiers might
refuse to continue what seemed to them a useless effort.
Kublai at this juncture sent him the following letter: "The generous
defence you have made during five years covers you with glory. It is the
duty of every faithful subject to serve his prince at the expense of his
life; but in the straits to which you are reduced, your strength
exhausted, deprived of succor, and without hope of receiving any, would
it be reasonable to sacrifice the lives of so many brave men out of
sheer obstinacy? Submit in good faith, and no harm shall come to you. We
promise you still more, and that is to provide all of you with honorable
employment. You shall have no grounds for discontent: for that we pledge
you our imperial word."
This letter ended the struggle. After some hesitation, Lieouwen Hoan,
incensed at the failure of the army to come to his relief and at the
indifference of the emperor to his fate, surrendered, and thenceforth
devoted to the service of Kublai the courage and ability of which he had
shown such striking evidence in the defence of Sianyang.
_THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF CHINA._
Never in its history has China shown such unyielding courage as it did
in its resistance to the invasion under Kublai Khan. The city of
Sianyang alone held back the tide of Mongol success for full five years.
After its fall there were other strongholds to be taken, other armies to
be fought, and for a number of years the Chinese fought desperately for
their native land. But one by one their fortified cities fell, one by
one their armies were driven back by the impetuous foe, and gradually
the conquest of Southern China was added to that of the north.
Finally the hopes of China were centred upon a single man, Chang Chikie,
a general of unflinching zeal and courage, who recaptured several towns,
and, gathering a great fleet, said to have numbered no fewer than two
thousand war-junks, sailed up the Yang-tse-Kiang with the purpose of
attacking the Mongol positions below Nanking. The fleet of the Mongols
lay at that point where the Imperial Canal enters the Kiang on both
sides. Here the stream is wide and ample and presents a magnificent
field for a naval battle.
The attack of the Chinese was made with resolution and energy, but the
Mongol admiral had prepared for them by sending in advance his largest
vessels, manned with bowmen instructed to attach lighted pitch to their
arrows. The Mongol assault was made before the Chinese fleet had emerged
from the narrow part of the river, in which comparatively few of the
host of vessels could be brought into play. The flaming arrows set on
fire a number of the junks, and, though the Chinese in advance fought
bravely, these burning vessels carried confusion and alarm to the
thronging vessels in the rear. Here the crews, unable to take part in
the fight and their crowded vessels threatened with the flames, were
seized with a fear that soon became an uncontrollable panic. The result
was disastrous. Of the great fleet no less than seven hundred vessels
were captured by the Mongols, while a still greater number were burnt or
sunk, hardly a fourth of the vast armament escaping from that fatal
field.
The next events which we have to record take us forward to the year
1278, when the city of Canton had been captured by the Mongol troops,
and scarcely a fragment of the once great empire remained in the hands
of the Chinese ruler.
The incompetent Chinese emperor had died, and the incapable minister to
whose feebleness the fall of Sianyang was due had been dismissed by his
master and murdered by his enemies. The succeeding emperor had been
captured by the Mongols on the fall of the capital. Another had been
proclaimed and had died, and the last emperor of the Sung dynasty, a
young prince named Tiping, was now with Chang Chikie, whose small army
constituted his only hope, and the remains of the fleet his only
empire.
The able leader on whom the last hopes of the Chinese dynasty now rested
selected a natural stronghold on an island named Tai, in a natural
harbor which could be entered only with a favorable tide. This position
he made the most strenuous efforts to fortify, building strong works on
the heights above the bay, and gathering troops until he had an army of
nearly two hundred thousand men.
So rapidly did he work that his fortifications were completed before the
Mongol admiral discovered his locality. On learning what had been done,
the Mongols at once hurried forward reinforcements and prepared for an
immediate and vigorous assault on this final stronghold of the empire of
China. The attack was made with the impetuous courage for which the
Mongols had become noted, but the works were bravely held, and for two
days the struggle was maintained without advantage to the assailants. On
the third day the Mongol admiral resumed his attack, and a fiercely
contested battle took place, ending in the Chinese fleet being thrown
into confusion. The result would have been utterly disastrous had not a
heavy mist fallen at this opportune moment, under cover of which Chang
Chikie, followed by sixteen vessels of his fleet, made his way out to
sea.
The vessel which held the young emperor was less fortunate. Caught in
the press of the battle, its capture was inevitable, and with it that of
the last emperor of the Sung dynasty. In this desperate emergency, a
faithful minister of the empire, resolved to save the honor of his
master even at the sacrifice of his life, took him in his arms and
leaped with him into the sea. This act of desperation was emulated by
many of the officers of the vessel, and in this dramatic way the great
dynasty of the Sung came to an end.
But the last blow for the empire had not been struck so long as Chang
Chikie survived. With him had escaped the mother of the drowned prince,
and on learning of his loss the valiant leader requested her to name
some member of the Sung family to succeed him. But the mother,
overwhelmed with grief at the death of her son, was in no mood to listen
to anything not connected with her loss, and at length, hopeless and
inconsolable, she put an end to her own existence by leaping overboard
from the vessel's side.
Chang Chikie was left alone, with the destinies of the empire dependent
solely upon him. Yet his high courage sustained him still; he was not
ready to acknowledge final defeat, and he sailed southward in the double
hope of escaping Mongol pursuit and of obtaining means for the renewal
of the struggle. The states of Indo-China were then tributary to the
empire, and his small fleet put in to a port of Tonquin, whose ruler not
only welcomed him, but aided him to refit his fleet, collect stores, and
enlist fresh troops.
Thus strengthened, the intrepid admiral resolved to renew the war
without delay, his project being to assault Canton, which he hoped to
take by a sudden attack. This enterprise seemed desperate to his
followers, who sought to dissuade him from what might prove a fatal
course; but, spurred on by his own courage and a hope of retrieving the
cause of the Sungs, he persisted in his purpose, and the fleet once more
returned to the seas.
It was now 1279, a year after Tiping's death. The Mongols lay in fancied
security, not dreaming that there was in all China the resolution to
strike another blow, and probably unsuspicious that a fleet was bearing
down upon one of their captured ports. What would have been the result
had Chang Chikie been able to deliver his attack it is impossible to
say. He might have taken Canton by surprise and captured it from the
enemy, but in any event he could not have gained more than a temporary
success.
As it was, he gained none. Fate had destined the fall of China, and the
elements came to the assistance of its foes. A sudden and violent
tempest fell upon the fleet while near the southern headland of the
Kwantung coast, hurling nearly or quite all the vessels on the shore or
sinking them beneath the waves. The bold leader had been counselled to
seek shelter from the storm under the lee of the shore, but he refused,
and kept on despite the storm, daring death in his singleness of
purpose.
"I have done everything I could," he said, "to sustain the Sung dynasty
on the throne. When one prince died I had another proclaimed. He also
has perished, and I still live. Should I be acting against thy decrees,
O Heaven, if I sought to place a new prince on the throne?"
It appeared so, for the winds and the waves gave answer, and the last
defender of China sank to death beneath the sea. The conquest of China
was thus at length completed after seventy years of resistance against
the most valorous soldiers of the world, led by such generals as
Genghis, Kublai, and other warlike Mongol princes. In view of the fact
that Genghis had overrun Southern Asia in a few years, this long and
obstinate resistance of China, despite the incompetence of its princes
and ministers, places in a striking light the great military strength of
the empire at that period of its history.
[Illustration: MARKET SCENE IN SHANGHAI.]
_THE PALACE OF KUBLAI KHAN._
In the middle of the thirteenth century two eminent Venetian merchants,
Nicolo and Matteo Polo, of noble birth and adventurous spirit, left
their native city for a long journey to the East, their purposes being
those of ordinary travel and also of barter, for which they took with
them a stock of jewels, as the commodity of most worth with least
weight. Visiting Constantinople and several Russian cities, they
journeyed to the capital of the khan of Kaptchak, where they remained
three years, trading and studying the Mongol language. Subsequently they
met in Bokhara a Persian ambassador on the way to the court of Kublai
Khan, and were persuaded to keep him company as far as Kambalu (the
modern Peking), the capital of the Mongol emperor of Cathay, or China.
Their journey led them through Samarcand, Cashgar, and other cities of
the far East, a whole year passing before they reached the capital of
the great potentate, by whom they were graciously received. Kublai asked
them many questions about their country, and was very curious about the
pope, to whom he in the end sent them as ambassadors, bidding them
return to him with a hundred Europeans learned in the arts and sciences,
for the instruction of his people. They reached Venice in 1269, after
an absence of fifteen years.
In 1271 they set out again for China, bearing despatches from the pope,
but without the learned Europeans they were to bring. Marco, the young
son of Nicolo, accompanied them on their journey, which occupied three
and a half years. Kublai, though he had nearly forgotten their
existence, received them as graciously as before, and was particularly
pleased with young Marco, giving him a high office and employing him on
important missions throughout the empire. In truth, he took so strong a
fancy to his visitors that they were not suffered to leave China for
years, and finally got away in 1291 only as escort to a Mongol princess
who was sent as a bride to Persia.
Twenty-four years had elapsed from the time they left Venice before they
appeared in that city again. They were quite forgotten, but the wealth
in precious stones they brought with them soon freshened the memory of
their relatives, and they became the heroes of the city. Marco took part
in a war then raging with Genoa, was taken prisoner, and long lay in a
dungeon, where he dictated to a fellow-prisoner the story of his
adventures and the wonderful things he had seen in the dominions of the
Great Khan of Cathay. This was afterwards published as "Il Milione di
Messer Marco Polo Veneziano," and at once gained a high reputation,
which it has preserved from that day to this. Though long looked on by
many as pure fable, time has proved its essential truth, and it is now
regarded as the most valuable geographical work of the Middle Ages.
We cannot undertake to give the diffuse narrative of Marco Polo's book,
but a condensed account of a few of his statements may prove of
interest, as showing some of the conditions of China in this middle
period of its existence. His description of the great palace of Kublai,
near his capital city of Kambalu, much the largest royal residence in
the world, is of sufficient interest to be given in epitome. The palace
grounds included a great park, enclosed by a wall and ditch eight miles
square, with an entrance gate midway of each side. Within this great
enclosure of sixty-four square miles was an open space a mile broad, in
which the troops were stationed, it being bounded on the interior by a
second wall six miles square. This space, twenty-eight square miles in
area, held an army of more than a hundred thousand men, nearly all
cavalry.
Within the second wall lay the royal arsenals and the deer-park, with
meadows and handsome groves, and in the interior rose a third wall of
great thickness, each side of which was a mile in length, while its
height was twenty-five feet. This last enclosure, one square mile in
area, contained the palace, which reached from the northern to the
southern wall and included a spacious court. Though its roof was very
lofty, it was but one story in height, standing on a paved platform of
several feet elevation, from which extended a marble terrace seven feet
wide, surrounded by a handsome balustrade, which the people were allowed
to approach.
Carved and gilt dragons, figures of warriors and animals, and
battle-scenes ornamented the sides of the great hall and the
apartments, while the roof was so contrived that only gilding and
painting were to be seen. On each side of the palace a grand flight of
marble steps ascended to the marble terrace which surrounded the
building. The interior contained an immense hall, capable of serving as
a banqueting-room for a multitude of guests, while the numerous chambers
were all of great beauty and admirably arranged.