Chusan
Page 27
Yet with just two months to go before any handover became due there was still deep unease. On October 18th, Sir James Graham asked the prime minister what was to be done. The prospect of a French Chusan was haunting him, and Martin’s arguments had begun to rub off. ‘We must religiously observe our engagements with China,’ he admitted, ‘but I fear that Hong Kong is a sorry possession and Chusan is a magnificent island admirably placed for our purposes.’ Peel in turn wrote to Lord Aberdeen, reminding him that if France obtained Chusan it would make their entente cordiale ‘the laughing stock of Europe.’ The foreign secretary attached not the slightest credence to the reports. Still, ‘ridicule so overwhelming’ justified watchfulness; a French occupation would mean not just an end to the entente — it would mean war. That was why he had had such difficulty in broaching the subject tactfully to the French ambassador. But broach it he had, and France was now aware that Governor Davis in Hong Kong was authorised to attack any foreign power who tried to occupy Chusan; the British forces in India were at his disposal. If there were proof positive of a Chinese plot to cede Chusan to a third party, he was authorised — nay, required — to retake and retain it permanently. King Louis-Philippe’s diplomats assured Britain that France had no plans to take her place. This satisfied Graham, who thought Aberdeen’s instructions most judicious, balancing perfect good faith over Nanking with prudent precaution toward Britain’s rivals. The foreign secretary himself saw in his instructions to Davis a glimpse of the new order which would come to bind the Qing:
It is a very strong measure, to say that our own interests forbid us to acquiesce in the cession of the island by the Emperor of China to any other power…. This interference with an independent state, although in our case quite necessary, is so difficult of explanation that I have thought it desirable to obtain from the Chinese government some assurance or pledge which would give us a better right to act. [25]
In other words, Britain needed something in writing from China, a piece of paper which it might run up to the masthead if ever it had to justify invading Chusan for a third time. [26]
With time running out, Lord Aberdeen familiarised Governor Davis with his government’s position: it had, he said, been urged on no account to give up possession of Chusan. But regardless of the arguments put forward by Martin and others, the Treaty of Nanking was imperative, and good faith required that Britain give up Chusan as agreed, provided the Chinese for their part had fulfilled their treaty obligations. ‘Such therefore must be our course,’ was the foreign secretary’s simple conclusion. [27]
So, although Martin did not yet know it, his lobbying had already failed. Still, by October he was in England to lobby in person. (Before leaving Canton he had been attacked and robbed by a mob shouting ‘Kill! Kill!’, an experience which had, unsurprisingly, turned him even farther against that city and the pestilential Hong Kong at its river mouth.) Meetings with the colonial secretary, the foreign secretary and Viscount Palmerston followed, but by the time Martin had had the chance to put his arguments face-to-face the deadline for the final payment of the $21,000,000 had already passed.
20. No news could have given us such joy
That last payment had been accompanied by much controversy. The beginning of a great but jealous people’s intercourse with the civilised world was, it seemed, to be conducted in tentative, untrusting steps. A flurry of official letters had passed between Governor Davis in Hong Kong and Commissioner Qiying in Canton. The English version of the Treaty of Nanking, it transpired, had specified the end of 1845 as the deadline for the last payment, but the Chinese version had mistakenly translated this as the end of the corresponding Chinese year, which in fact concluded in late January of 1846. Qiying, understandably reluctant to deviate a hair’s breadth from the agreement for fear of perfidy, informed Davis that China would hand over the silver by January 26th as specified in the Chinese text. Besides, Davis’ offer to return the islet of Gulangyu in Amoy harbour a full year early, both a gesture of goodwill and a practical response to the death toll there, had unnerved Kiying: was this a ploy to hand back the smaller island but hold on correspondingly longer to the bigger? He had rejected the offer, explaining that for the sake of ten thousand years of harmony between the two nations he was willing to wait a little longer for both islands’ joint return. (Even then, while pointing out the oversight in the drafting, Qiying asserted that the last day of 1845 corresponded to the 17th of the 10th month of that Chinese year. In fact it was the 3rd day of the 12th month, making his calculations inexplicably a month and a half out. His assumption that December, like all Chinese months, had thirty days, only added to the diplomatic confusion.) [1]
The year 1846 was rung in across the harbour to the chimes of Big Ben, the striking mechanism having been installed on one of HM warships, and dawn revealed the Union Jack still flying on Chusan. Everything had been on track, with Governor Davis informing Qiying on December 8th that the island was ready to be handed back. But that same letter mentioned that there was no point in Qiying’s men crossing Kintang Sound until a date had been set, adding with a degree of menace that entry into Canton could no longer be postponed. His implication was clear. Qiying again insisted that the treaty specified full payment and access to five ports, not entry into the defiant walled city of Canton: ‘Chusan might be just a small piece of land in a corner of China, yet in its relevance to the good faith continuing between our two nations it is the largest.’ Davis in turn clarified his position: he would not have been liaising so closely with Qiying if he did not intend to hand back Chusan, but he had been clearly instructed by his political masters to obtain access to Canton just as to the other treaty ports. Even Davis himself, Queen Victoria’s plenipotentiary, could not enter Canton, a situation he described as ‘a disgrace and a slight’. Lord Aberdeen, his opinion of Chusan coloured if not swayed, it seems, by both Martin and Gützlaff’s glowing reports, had at the eleventh hour entrusted to Davis the latitude to win as much as possible from the Chinese — and that explicitly included the retention, if practicable, of an island which was innately more desirable than Hong Kong. [2]
‘Although it is possible that the Chinese government are looking forward eagerly to the time which shall restore Chusan to their sole authority,’ Lord Aberdeen had written,
and that it would be difficult to offer to them any consideration sufficiently valuable to induce them to cede that island to us in perpetuity, I do not think it right to leave you without such authority as would enable you to take advantage of any willingness which they might possibly show to entertain the question of our retention of Chusan as a British possession. You will understand, therefore, that seeing how many and how great are the commercial advantages of Chusan, and how much superior, so far as our experience has gone, to those of Hong Kong, or of any of the ports to which we have access, Her Majesty’s Government would consider favourably any arrangement which you might propose, and which might lead to a cession of the former island. [3]
Aberdeen doubted that the Chinese government would be disposed to listen to such a proposition; rather than give Davis detailed instructions, it was enough that he felt himself authorised to negotiate if he perceived an opportunity to keep Chusan. Yet Davis, from months of dealing with Qiying, knew though that the Chinese were desperate to reassert control over the island. Rather than complicate negotiations by putting forward a request he knew to be unacceptable, he chose to use his position of power to lever what concessions he could on the subject of entry to Canton. [4]
On New Year’s Eve 1845, Governor Davis received a letter, a long strip of paper folded like a concertina into sixteen pleats. Qiying’s hefty seal was imprinted in red ink no less than four times upon it. The commissioner expressed himself forcefully, praising the high esteem in which Davis clearly held the virtues of sincerity and righteousness, but then asking in feigned incomprehension how the insertion of new articles into a solemn treaty could possibly be anything but an obstacle to their relationship. The final $2,000,000 of the inde
mnity would soon be ready to collect, and if the British chose not to accept it then China would not meet the 5% interest due for late payment. He once more insisted that entry to Canton had not explicitly been linked to the return of Chusan and, seemingly aware that he had no way of forcing a withdrawal if Britain refused, made one final observation; it struck Governor Davis’ Achilles’ heel — the ‘certain and deserved imputation of bad faith’ which the China Mail had predicted:
If on account of the piffling matter of access to a city Britain breaks its word on the greater point of returning Chusan in good faith, I think it likely that your Excellency will have to weigh up the effect on opinion in the other nations of the West. [5]
His ploy worked. Davis reiterated his anxiety that other powers might take control of Chusan after the withdrawal — he had mentioned as much in passing a few months before — and suggested that a formal agreement might be desirable, a document without the publicity of a conventional international treaty but with all of its binding force. When next Qiying wrote, it was to confirm that it was unthinkable that Chusan could ever be ceded to any other nation. Still, he was willing to enter into an agreement, and if a public document was inconvenient then something might be arranged in secret. With a week still to run before the deadline according to the Chinese calendar, the last of the opium indemnity was loaded onto a British steamer. Now, Qiying demanded, Chusan must be restored. [6]
And yet the first rays of the Year of the Horse fell upon on a Union Jack. The stalemate dragged on into early February, with Qiying unable, despite his promises that the matter would in time be settled, to guarantee entry into a ferociously antagonistic Canton but Davis under orders to obtain just that. Qiying had talked himself into a ‘rather false position’, thought Davis, who suspected that any promises over entry to Canton would vanish as soon as Chusan were safely in Chinese hands. [7]
‘What if your Excellency were to issue a proclamation to the citizens of Canton, telling them that their obstinacy was the cause of Britain’s continued occupation of Chusan?’ Davis suggested usefully. Qiying was at his wit’s end: ‘I have written to you over and again on the subject. I have exhausted the ways of saying it, yet still you maintain your position.’ It was all very well for Davis to say that he had been instructed to gain entry to Canton, but how could his sovereign, 80,000 li from Canton, possibly appreciate the situation? Davis suggested that the use of force might bring the Cantonese to their senses, but with a population of several million to contend with it was more likely, observed Qiying, to rouse them into a rebellion which could only harm what Western trade they currently suffered to continue. The commissioner, tired of playing games, began to use decidedly undiplomatic language: Davis’ behaviour was ‘a charade of broken faith’:
If, despite having received all the money due, you now set aside the established treaty and delay returning Chusan, using as a pretext the right of access to Canton, world opinion will understand that I cannot be laughed at on account of some criticism of bad faith on my part. [8]
Only on March 1st was the stalemate broken. The emperor himself issued an edict, decreeing that entry to Canton was not part of the treaty and that Chusan’s return hung solely on the payment of the indemnity. To have argued further would have been to accuse the Son of Heaven of ignorance. Davis was versed enough in the ways of China to know when to back down. The Canton question would need to be shelved. Still, Britain had de facto control of Chusan, and this at least held open the possibility of wresting a guarantee over its future fate. On March 14th, Davis wrote to assure Qiying of the sincere friendship which existed between their two nations, and suggested that this be celebrated in a special treaty which would lead to a swift handover. On April 3rd the two men met halfway between Canton and Hong Kong. Qiying showed himself to be anxious for a settlement, and Davis for his part made it clear that until an agreement was reached the affair would remain unsettled and Chusan occupied. The next day they met again aboard the steam frigate Vulture, and Davis produced two slim volumes bound in rich yellow silk. By signing this, the Davis Convention, the two sides agreed that Britain had not abandoned its claim to full access to Canton, but that it was better to wait until the population was more peacefully disposed before British merchants pressed their claim home. As to Chusan, China agreed that once the British had evacuated the island it would never be ceded to any other foreign power. The British, in return, promised that if any power invaded Chusan they would come to China’s aid and restore the island to China with no expectation of reward. On the final page of the Convention the Daoguang Emperor himself added, three weeks later and in neat vermilion brushstrokes, the words ‘Let all agreed herein be implemented forthwith!’ Imperial riders rushed it from Peking to Canton at top speed and (although Qiying at the last minute rather naïvely tried to fool Davis into evacuating Chusan without sending him a signed copy of the Convention) early on the morning of May 16th the SV Pluto dropped anchor in Hong Kong harbour with copies aboard. So long as the Chinese denied Chusan to any other power, Great Britain would forcefully reoccupy and restore the island to the emperor if it were invaded. But if God forbid the island were ever ceded, or if even China intended to cede it, the friendly alliance would end and the forcible reoccupation would be followed by no such restoration. Either way, the Son of Heaven had accepted that there was a portion of his vast empire which he could no longer dispose of as he wished. Unnoticed by the rest of the world, China had set another small precedent for the treaties which through into the twentieth century would see her territories divided between foreign powers like so many slices of a watermelon. [9]
The British copy of the Davis Convention reached London to find a new prime minister, Lord Russell, in Downing Street and Palmerston once more at the Foreign Office. With it was a letter from Davis. ‘A new era has commenced,’ he wrote in a mood of optimism,
in which the chances of irritation are greatly lessened by the mutual fulfilment of engagements. We set out, moreover, in the novel relation of admitted allies of China, and an identity of interests and engagements in respect to Chusan, which is calculated to remove fears and jealousies regarding that territory. One means of positive coercion may perhaps have quitted us with the restoration of the island; but it may be hoped that at least an equivalent advantage has accrued to us, in the increase of mutual confidence, and in the contraction of more intimate ties. [10]
The Chinese, as ever, saw things in a wholly different light. It was as though the two sides were describing a different event. Qiying boasted to the emperor of how he had managed the barbarian chief Davis: ‘I commanded him no longer to raise complications which were outside the scope of the treaty,’ he assured Daoguang, ‘but to go about his trading in a law-abiding manner.’ The entry into Canton, Qiying had apparently told Davis, could not be allowed, since Britain had already been graciously permitted to trade at other ports. ‘He accepted this promptly and respectfully, and was most tame and obedient.’
When the ratified Davis Convention reached Whitehall, a perceptive official at the Foreign Office appended a short note and passed it to his superior:
What shall be done with respect to laying this Convention before Parliament and publishing it? Such is the usual practice, but might there not be some inconvenience in giving to the world (the French and American world especially) the 3rd and 4th articles of this instrument, which, in truth, ought to have been separate, or secret, articles?
These were the articles which in effect blocked France and America from ever gaining possession of Chusan. It would be most embarrassing if Britain were ever required to look its allies in the eye and explain to them that a British convention had bound the Tuileries and the White House without their even knowing it. The next day, Palmerston added his instruction: ‘This should not be laid before Parliament nor be published.’ The Davis Convention was filed away and not mentioned again. It survives, bound now between red leather covers in a cardboard box in the vast underground vaults of the National Archiv
es in the leafy London suburb of Kew. [11]
Friday, June 5th, 1846, the day set for the handover of Chusan, turned out to be so blustery that the Chinese delegation found itself trapped in Ningbo, unable to make the crossing by sail. The indomitable steamer Nemesis was sent for, and it was aboard her that a diplomat named Xian Ling (he was a familiar face, having been amongst Commissioner Qiying’s underlings at the treaty negotiations in 1842) entered harbour with an entourage of local mandarins who were to take up the reins of power. Xian Ling’s party was received with as much pomp as could be mustered, the Madras Artillery firing a salute as the Chinese stepped ashore to the sound of the regimental band. Governor Campbell was present with a guard of honour, and at 2pm without further ado he gave a short speech, informing the islanders that they were once more under Qing rule. When Xian Ling read aloud a proclamation avowing the imperial favour and enjoining the people to ‘await soothing’, ‘there were none,’ he later reported to Peking with pride (and possibly a little exaggeration), ‘who were not moved to dance with joy and sing out in praise.’ [12]
The former governor accompanied the delegation to his residence, where Xian Ling publicly thanked Campbell for his mild and equitable rule and praised the discipline of the troops who had lived alongside the Chinese in perfect harmony. Under Campbell, he said, there had been no instances of insult or violence between the British troops and the islanders. A meal was laid on at the officers’ mess, and in the evening the Chinese were treated to a guard of honour and a salute. When three weeks later Qiying learned of the smooth handover, he commented that ‘no news could have given us such joy.’ After almost four years as an imperial commissioner, he had finally achieved his aim of pacifying the British. ‘For several years now,’ he informed the emperor,
we have been managing the ten thousand entangled strands of barbarian affairs, tortuous like branches and knots thrown forth in all directions. These barbarians are by nature cunning, and so frequently tried to break the treaty that there remained almost no solution. But, trusting in Your Majesty’s farsighted abilities, we received your instructions attending to the minutest detail. [13]