of ambition, and chafing at the subordinate position due to his birth,
he quarrelled with some of his brothers and killed one of them. Being
forced to flee, he made his way to Thibet, where he sought to obtain
admission to the ranks of the Buddhist clergy, but was refused by the
Dalai Lama on account of his deed of blood. But on his return to the
tents of his tribe he found himself in a new position. His crime was
forgotten or condoned, and the fact that he had dwelt in the palace and
under the holy influence of the Dalai Lama, the supreme religious power
in Buddhist Asia, gave him a high standing among his fellow-tribesmen.
The influence thus gained and his boldness and ruthlessness completed
the work he had in mind. The ruling khan was deposed, all members of his
family whose hostility was feared by Galdan were slain, and he found
himself at the head of the tribe, whose members were terrified into
submission.
His thirst for power now showed itself in encroachments upon the lands
of neighboring clans. The Manchus were at that time embarrassed by the
rebellion of Wou Sankwei, and the opportunity seemed excellent for an
invasion of the district of the Khalkas, firm friends of the Manchu
power. He also sent troops towards the Chinese frontier, fear of whom
forced many of the tribesmen to cross the border and seek the emperor's
aid. Kanghi could then only give them lands within his realm, being too
much occupied at home to be able to do more than send spies into the
steppes. From these he learned that Galdan had built up a formidable
power and that he evidently had in view the subjection of all the
tribes.
Kanghi, anxious to settle these difficulties amicably, spent a number
of years in negotiations, but his rival showed as much ability in
diplomacy as in the field, and succeeded in masking his designs while he
was strengthening his position and preparing for open hostilities.
Finally, with an army of thirty thousand men, he invaded the country of
the Khalkas, and in 1690 took his first open step of hostility against
China, by arresting the envoys who had been sent to his camp. This
insult put an end to all Kanghi's efforts to maintain peace. The
diplomatic movements were followed by a display of military energy and
activity, and the whole northern army, consisting of the eight Manchu
Banners, the forty-nine Mongol Banners, and a large force of Chinese
auxiliaries, was set in motion across the steppes.
Meanwhile Galdan, alarmed by the hostility he had provoked, sought to
make an alliance with the Russians, an effort which brought him hollow
promises but no assistance. Without waiting for the coming of all his
foes, he made a vigorous attack on the Chinese advance force and drove
it back in defeat, remaining master of the field. Yet, recognizing that
the enemy was far too strong for him, he sent an envoy to Peking,
offering concessions and asking for peace. The emperor listened, but the
army pushed on, and an attack in force was made upon the Eleuth camp,
which was located at the foot of a mountain, between a wood and a
stream. The post was a strong one, and the Eleuths fought stubbornly,
but they were too greatly outnumbered, and in the end were put to
flight, after having inflicted severe loss on their foes, an uncle of
the emperor being among the slain. Galdan now, finding that the war was
going against him, offered fealty and obedience to the emperor, which
Kanghi, glad to withdraw his army from its difficult position in the
desert, accepted, sending the chieftain a letter of forgiveness. Thus
ended the campaign of 1690.
It was a truce, not a peace. Galdan's ambition remained unsatisfied, and
Kanghi put little confidence in his promises. He was right: the desert
chief occupied himself in sowing the seeds of dissension among the
hordes, and in 1693, finding the Dalai Lama his opponent, took the step
of professing himself a Mohammedan, in the hope of gaining the
assistance of the Mussulman Tartars and Chinese. Yet he kept up
negotiations with the Dalai Lama, with the purpose of retaining the
Buddhist support. Meanwhile conflicts between the tribes went on, and in
1695 Kanghi, incensed at the constant encroachments of the ambitious
chief, which failed to sustain his peaceful professions, resolved to put
an end to the trouble by his complete and irretrievable overthrow.
The despatch of a large army into the recesses of Central Asia was a
difficult and hazardous enterprise, yet it seemed the only means of
ending the strained situation, and by 1696 a large force was got ready
for a protracted desert war, the principal command being given to a
frontier soldier named Feyanku, who in the preceding troubles had shown
marked ability.
On the eve of the great national holiday of China, the Feast of
Lanterns, the imperial court reviewed a section of the army, drawn up in
military array along the principal street of Peking. The emperor,
surrounded by the principal functionaries of the government, occupied a
throne on a raised platform from which the whole scene could be
surveyed, while strains of martial music filled the air. The culminating
scene in the ceremony took place when Feyanku approached the throne,
received on his knees from the emperor's hand a cup of wine, and retired
down the steps, at whose foot he quaffed the wine amid the shouts of
thousands of spectators. This ceremony was repeated with each of the
subordinate generals, and then with the lower officers of the army, ten
at a time. Success being thus drunk to the army, Feyanku left the
capital to assume the active command in the field, while Kanghi, bent on
complete success, set to work to recruit in all haste a second army,
which he proposed to command himself.
The whole force raised was an immense one, considering the character of
the country to be traversed and the limited resources of the enemy. It
marched in four divisions, of which that under Feyanku numbered about
thirty-five thousand men. Despite the great distance to be traversed,
the desert-like condition of much of the country, and the fact that
deficiency of resources cost thousands of lives and forced many
detachments to retreat, a powerful force at length reached the borders
of Galdan's territory. After a march of more than three months' duration
Feyanku pitched his camp near the sources of the Tula, his army being
reduced to twelve thousand available men. These were placed in a
fortified position within the Mongol camping-ground of Chowmodo.
Meanwhile how was Galdan engaged? He had sought, but in vain, to win the
alliance of a powerful Mongol tribe, and had conducted fruitless
negotiations with the Russians of Siberia. His only remaining hope lay
in the desert barrier which lay between him and his great enemy, and
this vanished when the Chinese army made its appearance in his
territories, though its success had been gained at a frightful loss of
life. The situation of the desert chief had become desperate, his only
hope lying in an attack on the advance body of the Chinese before it
could be joined by the other detachments, and while exhausted by its
long march across the desert of Gobi. He therefore made a rapid march
and vigorously assailed the Chinese intrenchments at Chowmodo.
In the interval the Chinese commanders had found themselves in a
perilous position. Their supplies had run low, they could not be
replenished in that situation, farther advance had become impossible,
and it seemed equally impossible to maintain their position. Retreat
seemed their only means of extricating themselves from their dilemma,
and the question of doing so was under discussion when the sudden
assault of Galdan happily relieved Feyanku from a situation which
threatened the loss of his military renown. Of the battle that followed
we know only that Feyanku remained on the defensive and sustained
Galdan's attacks for three hours, when he gave the signal for a charge.
The wearied Eleuths soon broke before the determined onset, a disordered
flight began, and Galdan, seeing that the day was lost, fled with a
small body of followers, leaving his camp and baggage to the victors and
two thousand of his men dead on the field.
This victory ended the war. Kanghi, on hearing of it, returned to
Peking, having sent word to Feyanku to pursue Galdan with unrelenting
vigor, there being no security while he remained at large. The recent
powerful chief was now at the end of his resources. He fled for safety
from camp to camp. He sent an envoy to Peking with an abject offer to
surrender. He made new overtures to the Russians, and sought in a dozen
ways to escape from his implacable enemies. But Feyanku kept up the
pursuit, ceasing only when word came to him that the fugitive was dead.
Anxiety, hardships, chagrin, or, as some say, the act of his own hand,
had carried off the desert chief, and relieved the emperor of China from
the peril and annoyance which had so long troubled him.
In Galdan died a man who, under more fortunate circumstances, might have
emulated some of the famous Tartar chiefs, a warrior of the greatest
skill, courage, and daring, a "formidable enemy" to the Chinese empire,
and one who, had the government of that empire been as weak as it proved
strong, might have gathered all the nomads under arms and overthrown the
dynasty.
A few words must suffice to end the story of the Eleuths. The death of
Galdan did not bring them to submission, and years afterwards we find
them hostile to Chinese rule, and even so daring as to invade Thibet,
which Kanghi had added to his empire, they taking its central city of
Lhassa, and carrying to the steppes a vast wealth in spoil. Eventually
they were subjected to Chinese rule, but before this took place an event
of much interest occurred. The Tourguts, an adjoining Kalmuck tribe,
were so imperilled by the enmity of the Eleuths that they took the
important resolution of migrating to Russia, marching across the Kirghiz
steppes and becoming faithful subjects of the czar, who gave them a new
abiding-place on the banks of the Volga. Many years afterwards, in 1770,
this tribe, inspired by a strong desire to return to their own home,
left the Volga and crossed Asia, despite all efforts to check their
flight, until they reached again their native soil. For the interesting
story of this adventurous flight see Volume VIII.
_THE RAID OF THE GOORKHAS._
During the past two and a half centuries the great empire of China has
been under foreign rule, its emperors, its state officials, its generals
and trusted battalions, being of Tartar blood, and the whole nation
being forced to wear, in the shaved head and pigtail of every man from
the highest to the lowest, a badge of servitude. The firm position
gained by the Manchu dynasty was largely due to the ability of two
emperors, Kanghi and Keen Lung, who stamped out the spirit of rebellion
in China, added Thibet to the empire, and conquered Mongolia, subduing
those restless tribes which for so many centuries had been a sword in
the side of the great empire of the East. Their able administration was
aided by their long reigns, Kanghi being on the throne for sixty-one
years, while Keen Lung abdicated after a reign of sixty years, that he
might not take from his esteemed grandfather the honor of the longest
reign. Keen Lung died three years afterwards, in 1799, thus bringing up
the history of China almost to the opening year of the nineteenth
century. His eventful life was largely devoted to the consolidation of
the Tartar authority, and was marked by brilliant military exploits and
zeal in promoting the interests of China in all directions. It is our
purpose here to tell the story of one of the famous military exploits of
his reign.
The conquest of Thibet had brought the Chinese into contact with the
bold and restless hill-tribes which occupy the region between China and
India. South of the Himalaya range there existed several small mountain
states, independent alike of Mogul and of British rule, and defiant in
their mountain fastnesses of all the great surrounding powers. Of these
small states the most important was Nepal, originally a single kingdom,
but afterwards divided into three, which were in frequent hostility with
one another. West of Nepal was a small clan, the Goorkhas, whose people
were noted for their warlike daring. It is with these that we are here
concerned.
In 1760 the king of Bhatgaon, one of the divisions of Nepal, being
threatened by his rival kings, begged aid from the Goorkha chief. It was
readily given, and with such effect as to win the allies a signal
triumph. The ease of his victory roused the ambition of Narayan, the
leader of the Goorkhas, and by 1769 the three kings of Nepal were either
slain or fugitives in India and their country had fallen under the
dominion of its recently insignificant and little-considered neighbor.
The Goorkhas differed essentially from the Nepalese in character. They
despised commerce and disliked strangers. War was their trade, and their
aggressions soon disturbed conditions along the whole Himalaya range.
The flourishing trade which had once existed between India and Thibet by
way of Nepal was brought to an end, while the raids of the dominant
clan on neighboring powers excited general apprehension. Twenty years
after their conquest of Nepal the incursions of the Goorkhas into Thibet
became so serious as to demand the attention of the Chinese emperor,
though no decided action was taken for their suppression. But in 1790 an
event occurred that put a sudden end to this supine indifference.
The temples and lamasaries of Thibet were widely believed to contain a
great store of wealth, the reports of which proved highly alluring to
the needy and daring warriors of the Goorkha clan. The Chinese had shown
no disposition to defend Thibet, and this rich spoil seemed to lie at
the mercy of any adventurous band strong enough to overcome local
opposition. In consequence, the Goorkhas prepared for an invasion in
force of the northern state, and, with an army of about eighteen
thousand men, crossed the Himalayas by the lofty passes of Kirong and
Kuti and rapidly advanced into the country beyond.
The suddenness of this movement found the Thibetans quite unprepared.
Everything gave way before the bold invaders, and in a short time
Degarchi, the second town of the state, fell into their hands. This was
the residence of the Teshu Lama, ranking next to the Dalai in authority,
and possessed the vast lamasary of Teshu Lumbo, rich in accumulated
wealth, which fell into the hands of the invaders. A farther advance
would undoubtedly have given them the chief city of Lhassa, since the
unwarlike population fled in terror before their advance, but their
success at Degarchi had been so great as to check their march, many
weeks being spent in counting their spoil and subduing the surrounding
country.
Meanwhile urgent petitions were sent to Peking, and the old emperor,
aroused to the necessity for prompt and decisive action, gave orders
that all available troops should at once be despatched to Lhassa and
vigorous preparations made for war. Within a few months a Chinese army
of seventy thousand men, armed with several pieces of light artillery,
had reached Thibet, where the Goorkhas, alarmed by the numbers of their
opponents, made hasty preparations for a retreat. But their spoil was so
abundant and bulky as to delay their march, and the Chinese, who were
well commanded, succeeded in coming up with them before they had crossed
the mountain passes. The movements of the Chinese commander were so
skilfully made that the retreat of the Goorkhas without a battle for the
safety of their treasures became impossible.
Sund Fo, the Chinese general, according to the usual practice of his
people, began by the offer of terms to the enemy, these being the
surrender of all their spoil and of a renegade lama whose tale of the
wealth of Thibet had led to the invasion. Probably also pledges for
better conduct in future were demanded, but the proud chief of the
Goorkhas haughtily refused to accept any of these conditions and defied
his foes to do their worst. Of the battle that followed nothing is known
except its result, which was the defeat and hasty retreat of the
invaders, much of whose baggage was left behind.
The Chinese do not seem to have suffered greatly, to judge from the
promptness of their pursuit, which was made with such rapidity that the
Goorkhas were overtaken and again defeated before they had reached the
Kirong pass, they being now obliged to abandon most of their baggage and
spoil. The pursuit continued with an energy remarkable for a Chinese
army, the Goorkhas, bold as they were by nature, growing demoralized
under this unlooked-for persistence. Every encounter resulted in a
defeat, the forts which commanded the mountain passes and defiles were
taken in succession by Sund Fo's army, and he still pressed relentlessly
on. At a strong point called Rassoa the Goorkhas defended for three days
a passage over a chasm, but they had grown faint-hearted through their
successive defeats, and this post too fell into the hands of their
enemy.
The triumphs of the Chinese had not been won without severe loss, both
in their frequent assaults upon mountain strongholds and a desperate
foe, and from the passage of the snow-clad mountains, but they finally
succeeded in reaching the southern slopes of the Himalayas with an
effective force of forty thousand men. Khatmandu, the Goorkha capital,
lay not far away, and with a last effort of courage and despair the
retreating army made a stand for the defence of the seat of their
government.
Their position was a strong one, their courage that of desperation, and
their valor and resolution so great that for a time they checked the
much stronger battalions of their foes. The Chinese troops,
disheartened by the courage with which the few but brave mountaineers
held their works, were filled with dismay, and might have been repulsed
but for the ruthless energy of their leader, who was determined at any
cost to win. Turning the fire of his artillery upon his own troops, he
drove them relentlessly upon the foe, forcing them to a charge that
swept them like a torrent over the Goorkha works. The fire of the guns
was kept up upon the mingled mass of combatants until the Goorkhas were
driven over a precipice into the stream of the Tadi that ran below. By
this decisive act of the Chinese commander many of his own men were
slain, but the enemy was practically annihilated and the war brought to
an end.
The Goorkhas now humbly solicited peace, which Sund Fo was quite ready
to grant, for his own losses had been heavy and it was important to
recross the mountains before winter set in. He therefore granted them
peace on humiliating terms, though these were as favorable as they could
expect under the circumstances. Any further attempt at resistance
against the overwhelming army of their foes might have ended in the
complete destruction of their state. They took an oath to keep the peace
with Thibet, to acknowledge themselves vassals of China, to send an
embassy with tribute to Peking every five years, and to restore all the
plunder taken from Teshu Lumbo.
Of the later history of the Goorkhas some words may be said. Their raids
into India led to a British invasion of their country in 1814, and in
1816 they were forced to make peace. The celebrated Jung Bahadur became
their ruler in 1846 through the summary process of killing all his
enemies, and in 1857, during the Indian mutiny, he came with a strong
force to the aid of the British, whose friend he had always remained. In
more recent wars the Goorkhas have proved themselves among the bravest
soldiers in the Indian army, and in the late war with the hill-tribes
showed an intrepidity which no part of the army surpassed. The
independence of their state is still maintained.
[Illustration: CHAIR AND CAGO CARRIERS.]
_HOW EUROPE ENTERED CHINA._
For four or five thousand years China remained isolated from the rest of
the civilized world, its only relations being with the surrounding
peoples of its own race, notably with the Tartars of the steppes. Then,
in the nineteenth century, the wall of isolation suddenly broke down,
and it was forced to enter into relations of trade and amity with Europe
and America. This revolution did not come about peacefully. The thunder
of cannon was necessary to break down the Chinese wall of seclusion. But
the result seems likely to prove of the greatest advantage to the
so-called Celestial Kingdom. It has swung loose from its moorings in the
harbor of conservatism, and it is not safe to predict how far it will
drift, but it is safe to say that a few years of foreign war have done
as much for it as hundreds of years of peace and isolation.
From time to time in the past centuries Europeans made their way to
China. Some were priestly envoys, some missionaries, some, as in the
case of the Polos, traders. Afterwards came the Jesuit missionaries, who
gained an important standing in China under the early Manchu emperors,
and were greatly favored by the emperor Kanghi. After his death a change
took place, and they were gradually driven from the land.
The first foreign envoy reached China from Russia in 1567. Another came
in 1653, his purpose being to establish freedom of trade. A century
later a treaty was made establishing a system of overland trade between
Russia and China, and since then a Russian missionary station has
existed in Peking. In 1516 came the first vessel to China under a
European flag, a Portuguese trader. Others followed, and trade began
through Canton and other ports. But the foreign traders soon began to
act rather as pirates than as peaceful visitors, and in the end the
Chinese drove them all away. About the middle of the sixteenth century a
foreign settlement was begun at Macao, on an island near the southeast
boundary of the empire, and here the trade grew so brisk that for a time
Macao was the richest trading-mart in Eastern Asia. But so hostile were
the relations between the Portuguese, Spanish, and Dutch, and so
brigand-like their behavior, that the Chinese looked upon them all as
piratical barbarians, and intercourse did not grow.
The English had their own way of opening trade relations. A fleet under
Captain Weddell came to Canton in 1637, and, as the Chinese fired upon a
watering boat, attacked and captured the forts, burnt the council-house,
carried off the guns from the forts, and seized two merchant junks.
About fifty years afterwards they were accorded trading privileges at
Canton and Ning-po.
To England, indeed, is due the chief credit of opening up China to the
world, though the way in which it was done is not much to England's
credit. This was by the famous--or infamous--opium war. But in another
way England was the first to break through the traditional ceremonies of
the Chinese court. All who approached the emperor's throne, foreign
ambassadors as well as Chinese subjects, were required to perform the
_kotow_, which consisted in kneeling three times before the emperor, or
even before his empty throne, and each time bowing the head until the
forehead three times touched the marble flooring. This was done by the
Russians and the Dutch, but the Earl of Macartney, who came as English
ambassador in 1792, refused to perform the slavish ceremony, and was
therefore not permitted to see the emperor, though otherwise well
received.
The first event of importance in the nineteenth century, that century so
vital in the history of China, was the hoisting of the American flag at
Canton in 1802, which marked the beginning of American trade with the
Celestial empire. From this time the trade of Canton rapidly grew, until
it became one of the greatest commercial cities of the world, while its
mercantile activity gave employment to millions of natives in all parts
of the empire in preparing articles of commerce, particularly tea. It
was also of great importance to the imperial government from the revenue
it furnished in the way of duty and presents. It is of interest to note,
however, that the emperor and his court looked upon these presents as
the payment of tribute, and the nations that sent them, unknown to
themselves, were set down as vassals of the Chinese crown.