by Emily Hahn
The Chinese press, on the other hand, was mousy-quiet. Not having the Communists to harry, it suffered a little from paucity of printable material. Yet the propaganda that had been working for years throughout the backwoods had at last made itself felt. Coolies and farmers far from the Coast were learning not only to smoke less and to wash more in order to please their idol, the Generalissimo, but they knew now that there was an enemy coming from the ocean. Blond foreigners traveling inland were sometimes greeted with cries of anger and the word, “Japanese!” The Chinese knew no better; their enemy was foreign, not like themselves, and that was evidence enough.
North China felt the strain in a special way. Japan had been taking the upper hand for so long in Peking that by a process of attrition the populace had got used to the idea of Japanese domination and could not be stirred, generally speaking, to the frenzy of horror that was felt by the public in other more southerly provinces. Generally speaking; but there were, of course, plenty of people ready and willing to fight as soon as they could clear away the hampering influences of unpreparedness and Nanking’s advice to wait. The Japanese were rulers in Manchuria in fact, and in Peking they acted as if they were rulers.
The pitcher took its fatal errand to the well on July seventh, 1937, when some Japanese troops decided to hold maneuvers at Lukuochiao, or Marco Polo Bridge, twelve miles from Peking. Though many of the powers were in the habit of drilling near town, the Chinese felt that Lukuochiao was dangerously far inland. Under pretext of looking for one of their number, the Japanese tried to enter Wangpinghsien, where some of the Twenty-ninth Army was stationed. The Chinese resisted; there was a skirmish; the Japanese retired. In Peking and in Japan they hastily put the finishing touches on preparations that had been waiting for weeks. They did not declare war, but the Sino-Japanese war was on.
The Central Government was in residence at Kuling when the news came. Only a few of the highest officials were not guessing cynically that Chiang’s reaction would be true to form. He would counsel patience; he would promise resistance when the limits of China’s patience had been reached; he would declare that China’s territory must not be lost, while all China watched the northern provinces sliced off and added to the gains of the aggressive little Island Empire . . . . Meanwhile the Twenty-ninth Army began to put up a considerable fight in the district about Peking and there were brisk encounters between troops. A Japanese newspaperman who found himself outside the city wall and surrounded by Chinese soldiery spent an exciting two or three days. His first impulse was naturally to hide from any Chinese he might meet, but hunger drove him into a little town where the peasants were very hospitable. They could not understand his speech, but their good nature had not yet been spoiled by experience; he was fed and clothed and sent on his way wondering. He lived to be pulled over the wall by rope and tell his story.
In those early days even the propaganda of Nanking and Kuling was powerless to battle the innocence of many Chinese peasants. A Japanese aviator who made a forced landing in a field far in the interior found dozens of willing helpers to repair his plane and send him off again. It did not take long, however, for the most ignorant peasant to learn the difference between his own nation’s air force and those others. Today even the Szechwanese are, unhappily, experts in distinguishing the noise of a pursuit from that of a bomber.
Sixteen days after the battle of Marco Polo Bridge, Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek put an end to the speculation and muttering that had filled Nanking and the treaty ports as well as his own office. He had been closeted in conference with generals and officials for days. He looked tired and yet relieved, younger by years, vigorous for the first time since his vacation after the Sian kidnaping, as he gave the address to the educational and technical leaders who had gathered in Kuling to hear him. For sheer simple statement of fact, sober realization of the trials ahead, and Chinese dignity this speech should live forever in proud contrast to the mouthings of most statesmen:
When China was carrying out its cardinal policy of maintaining external peace and internal unity the Lukuochiao incident suddenly broke out, throwing the nation into a state of profound indignation and causing great concern to the whole world. The consequences of this incident threatened the very existence of China and the peace of East Asia. At this juncture, in answer to many inquiries, I wish to state the following:
First: The Chinese race has always been peace loving. The internal policy of the National Government has always been directed toward maintaining internal unity and, in our foreign relations, mutual respect and co-existence with other nations. In February of this year, at the Plenary Session, a manifesto was issued in which these points were clearly emphasized. For the last two years, as actual facts show, the National Government, in its policy toward Japan, has constantly sought to confine all pending problems to proper, recognized channels of diplomacy in order that just settlement could be reached. Our people should understand our national position. As people of a weak nation we should evaluate justly the degree of our own strength. For the past few years we have bent all our efforts towards patient endeavors to insure peace in the face of grave difficulties and grievous pain in order that we may achieve national reconstruction. For this reason in my report of foreign affairs at the Fifth Plenary Session the year before last, I stated that “while there is the slightest hope for peace we will not abandon it; so long as we have not reached the limit of endurance we will not talk lightly of sacrifice”; and the subsequent explanation at the Central Executive Session shows beyond cavil our anxiety to maintain for peace. But, although a weak country, if unfortunately we should have reached that last limit, then there is only one thing to do, that is to throw the last ounce of energy of our nation into the struggle for national existence. And when that is done neither time nor circumstance will permit our stopping midway to seek peace. We should realize that to seek peace after war has once begun means that the terms would be such that the subjugation of our nation and the complete annihilation of our race would be encompassed. Let our people realize to the full the meaning of “the limit of endurance” and the extent of sacrifice thereby involved, for once that stage is reached we have to sacrifice and fight to the bitter end, though always with the expectancy of eventual victory. Should we hesitate, however, and vainly hope for temporary safety, then we shall perish forever.
Second: There may be people who imagine that the Lukuochiao incident was a sudden and unpremeditated step. But already a month ago there were symptoms that an incident would ensue because of statements from the other side, made both through their press and directly and indirectly through diplomatic channels. Besides, before and after the incident we received news from various sources to the effect that the opposite side was aiming to expand the Tangku Agreement; enlarge the bogus “East Hopei Government”; drive out the Twenty-ninth Army; force out General Sung Cheh-yuan; and try to impose other similar demands. From the foregoing it can easily be seen that the Lukuochiao incident is not a sudden and accidental development. From this incident we must realize that the other side has a very definite purpose toward us and that peace is not to be secured easily. According to our reports the only way by which the Lukuochiao incident could have been avoided was to allow foreign armies to come and go freely within our territory without limitation while our own army must abide by imposed restrictions upon its movements, or to allow others to fire upon our soldiers and for us not to return fire. Any country in the world that has the least self-respect could not possibly accept such humiliation. The four Northeastern provinces have already been lost to us for six years; following that there was the Tangku Agreement, and the point of conflict — Lukuochiao — has reached the very gates of Peiping. If we allow Lukuochiao to be occupied by force, then the result will be that our ancient capital of five hundred years, and the political, cultural and strategic center of our entire North would be lost. The Peiping of today would then become a second Mukden; the Hopei and Chahar provinces would share the fate of the four Northeast
ern provinces. If Peiping could become a second Mukden what is there to prevent Nanking from becoming a second Peiping. The safety of Lukuochiao is therefore a problem involving the existence of the nation as a whole, and whether it can be amicably settled comes within the comprehension of our term “the limit of endurance.” If finally we reach the stage where it is impossible to avoid the inevitable, then we cannot do otherwise than resist and be prepared for the supreme sacrifice. This resistance is forced upon us; we are not seeking war, we are meeting attacks upon our existence.
Our people must realize that today the Central Government is in the midst of preparing measures to defend ourselves. Weak nation as we are, we cannot neglect to uphold the integrity of our race and insure the very existence of our nation. It is impossible for us not to safeguard to our utmost. Let us realize, however, that once war has begun, there is no looking backward; we must fight to the bitter end. If we allow one inch more of our territory to be lost, then we would be guilty of committing an unpardonable offence against our race. What would be left to us other than to throw every resource of our nation into a struggle for final victory?
Third: At this solemn moment Japan will have to decide whether the Lukuochiao incident will result in a major war between China and Japan. Whether or not there is left any vestige of hope for peace between China and Japan depends upon the action of the Japanese army. Even at the very last second before we abandon all hope of peace we would still be hoping for peace; we would still be seeking a solution through proper diplomatic channels.
The following four points will show clearly on what we stand on this issue:
1. Any kind of settlement must not infringe upon the territorial integrity and the sovereign rights of our nation.
2. The status of the Hopei-Chahar Political Council is fixed by the Central Government; we should not allow any illegal alteration.
3. We will not agree to the removal by outside pressure of those local officials appointed by the Central Government, such as the Chairman of the Hopei-Chahar Political Council.
4. We will not allow any restriction being placed upon the positions now held by the Twenty-ninth Army.
These four points constitute the minimum conditions possible as a basis for negotiation for any nation, no matter how weak it may be. And if the opposite side will place herself in our position and have due regard for maintaining peace in the Far East, and if she does not desire to force China and Japan into hostilities and to make them enemies forever, she will realize that these conditions are the minimum that can be considered.
To sum up, during the Lukuochiao crisis the Central Government, in insuring the very existence of our nation, has taken a clear, unequivocal stand. But let us realize we are one nation. We seek for peace, but we do not seek for peace at any cost. We do not want war but we may be forced to defend ourselves. During this grave crisis the Government may be counted upon to guide the nation with calmness and restraint; the people likewise must show sobriety and discipline. In discharging our obligations to our race let there be no distinction between north and south, age or youth, but let all implicitly and with iron discipline follow the guidance of the Government.
I hope you gentlemen will explain what I have said to all those you meet in order that they will understand the situation and appreciate our policy.
CHAPTER XXV
Eling and Mayling Plunge In
It is not the writer’s intention to give a detailed account of the struggle which followed Chiang’s statement. The book China Struggles for Unity, by Pringle and Rajchman, supplies an admirable outline of the events of the war in the earlier days, and as a background to this record of the Soongs’ activities we cannot do better than to quote it.
Negotiations with the Chinese officials in North China continued until July 28, interspersed by more “incidents” and clashes between the troops of both sides, but it never seemed as if the Japanese Government had any intention of accepting a peaceful solution. The delay between the first incident and the start of major operations on July 28 merely gave the Japanese time to bring up sufficient troops and supplies for the invasion. There is, however, still a genuine doubt as to whether the Japanese Government hoped to restrict the war to North China or whether it even then realised that a general war between the two nations was inevitable. Nor is it certain that the Government was in complete agreement with the Army and Navy or they with each other.
On the Chinese side there was at first some hesitation and indecision. In North China especially there was a strong party in favour of compromise led by General Sung Cheh-yuan, chairman of the Autonomous Council of Hopei and Chahar. But the nation as a whole, as represented by the Nanking Government, seemed to realise that the time had at last come when no more concessions were possible. The indecision of the generals in North China had one disastrous result: the Chinese troops in the North, deprived of leadership, not knowing the truth and torn between patriotism and loyalty to their officers, were caught unprepared and swept aside by the Japanese army when the invasion began. As a result the whole defence of North China was unbalanced and two provinces lost almost before the war had properly begun.
If there existed any doubts that the war would spread to other parts of China they were soon dispelled. The tense atmosphere in Shanghai soon produced the requisite “incident” and the Japanese navy, not to be outdone, made the most of it. It is just possible that a serious clash might have been averted for a few weeks at least and quite probable that the Japanese would have preferred such a delay while they were still occupied in North China; but the recklessness of the Japanese naval landing party and the resolution of the Chinese Government left no room for compromise. On August 13 hostilities were in full swing on land and sea and in the air round Shanghai. The Japanese naval force paid dearly for its impulsive action and was nearly annihilated before the army (a little reluctantly it seemed) sent reinforcements to rescue it from its plight. By then the Chinese troops, massed in a narrow area and strongly entrenched, had the upper hand, and it was not until October that the Japanese began to make any real headway. This effort cost the Japanese thousands of pounds and thousands of lives.
Madame Kung remained in Shanghai until the last possible moment. Though she had not yet conquered the shyness which in those days made public speaking almost impossible for her, she started work once more on the hospitals. She asked the Chairman of the Red Cross if they were sure, this time, that they were adequately prepared. In the first days of the war there was still a strong belief among the Chinese that foreign influence would scare the Japanese away from Shanghai, and the Chairman was quite sincere in his reply that everything was ready for the war. Then the incident of the airfield on Hungjao Road took place, war flamed up in Chapei, and in a week the hospitals of Greater Shanghai were in a desperate condition of overcrowding and lack of supplies.
Madame Kung was not taken by surprise this time. For the interim she bought, from her own funds, three ambulances and thirty-seven military trucks to be used as necessity should dictate. She donated twenty more trucks to Madame Chiang’s Aviation Corps to transport machinery and pilots and to be distributed to various division commanders who were stationed at the districts around Shanghai. Several were sent to the Yih Garden after Japanese bombing there had destroyed every one of the army trucks and cars garaged in that district, and they arrived just in time to save a store of ammunition and gasoline that the soldiers were vainly attempting to salvage by carrying it away on their shoulders. The Japanese had intended to hijack and confiscate these trucks when they were loaded; Madame Kung foresaw the possibility and carried out the coup well in advance of their attempt. Other trucks she sent to Chenju and to the division commanders of Sungkiang, small cities near Shanghai. When the eight trucks arrived full of gasoline and completely ready for transportation, the commanders thought their appearance nothing short of a miracle — it was one of the first examples of the development of Chinese efficiency in the war. Bedraggled tired soldiers who had b
een carrying loads all day had reason to bless Eling’s inspiration. She had realized the immense significance of gasoline in modern warfare.
She also ordered and personally paid for five hundred leather coats for the aviators. It was her first venture into this sort of personally executive work, but she developed and exhibited a remarkable talent for it.
The Lido Cabaret was a large building in the International Settlement, hitherto very popular with young people, particularly men who went without partners and spent their evenings with the “taxi-dancers” whose pretty faces are familiar to tourists. Madame Kung inspected the two big buildings, the waxed dance floor and the dining room, and then started to work and make plans. In forty-eight hours the cabaret had been converted into a well-equipped, modern hospital of three hundred beds. Madame Kung’s private funds were responsible for this. New clothing, equipment, food and money were given to all soldiers discharged from her hospitals. Later, when these institutions were removed to the interior at the Generalissimo’s orders, the equipment was saved and taken along.
Connaught Road, a long street running near the limits of the International Settlement that are marked by Soochow Creek, was the scene for the installation of another hospital, a Children’s Hospital with a hundred beds. It was carried on for eight months, partially filling one of the most crying needs of war, until the Municipal Council and other organizations found the time and the funds to set up hospitals of their own. For this venture, too, Madame Kung’s own money was used.