by Peter Watt
‘She is awake,’ a male voice called from behind her.
Naomi painfully turned her head to see a Boxer soldier lounging a few paces away before an open door.
‘Good,’ a voice grunted from within the building and a pockmarked Boxer appeared to join the soldier standing guard. He was a well-built man and, under the terrible scarring caused by the dreaded smallpox, was what once had been a handsome face. Naomi attempted to avoid his appraisal but when she did look into his face what she briefly saw in his dark, serpent-like eyes was chilling. She felt she had just seen the devil, and at that moment was swamped by an even greater fear than that she had experienced during the vaguely remembered ambush. For what she read in those eyes was torture and death. Surrounded by Boxer warriors, her situation appeared hopeless. And what she saw in the courtyard was worse than anything she could have imagined. Naomi had no delusions as to her treatment at the hands of the Boxers. The involuntary shudder that racked her body was followed by a fervent prayer for a quick death.
In his house outside the legation compound, George Morrison listened in horror to the man who had stumbled into his presence. The man was on the verge of total exhaustion and said that he had escaped from Changsintien where he had been with the headquarters of a Belgian railway construction crew.
‘They are tearing up the railway lines and bringing down the telegraph lines,’ the man said as he was helped to a chair by Morrison, who gestured to one of his staff to fetch water for the man. ‘The Fengtai railway station is ablaze and the Belgian families were besieged when I left them,’ he said, gratefully accepting the jug from the servant.
Morrison stepped back to consider what he was hearing. What he had feared – and what had been ignored by the diplomatic staff of the other foreign delegations – had come to pass. The dragon was awake and breathing fire. The Australian journalist took a deep breath. It was time for action.
Hours later Morrison received written reports from his sources in Chowcow that the Boxers were massacring Chinese identified as Christian converts while the prettier female Christians were being spared for prostitution. It was time to resume his role as the Times representative and investigate the situation himself. He fetched two European companions and, arming themselves, Morrison and the two men rode out across the nearby racecourse to see the pillar of smoke rising in the hot air over the Fengtai railway station. Their horses were jostled by an endless stream of refugees passing them when suddenly an armed Boxer appeared in front of Morrison and his companions, fearlessly brandishing a sword and shouting threats of death. Despite being armed the mounted men chose to keep their distance.
‘I think that you should return,’ Morrison said, swivelling in his saddle to face his two companions. ‘I have to go on to the western hills. I have friends up there who may need some help.’
His two companions gratefully bid Morrison their farewells, turned and rode back to the relative safety of the legation walls, leaving Morrison to ride on alone in dangerous territory through the crowds of terrified people streaming towards Pekin. His Yankee friend Herbert Squiers had sent his wife and children along with their governesses to the relative serenity and coolness of the hill country to escape the summer dust and heat of Pekin. Morrison also knew that a young lady from Boston, Polly Condit Smith, was with the Squiers family and although he was but one man he was at least armed. The fact that he was most likely outgunned and outnumbered did not factor in his consideration as he continued his journey. He only reflected on his duty to protect helpless women and children no matter the threat to his own life.
Of some slight reassurance was that Morrison knew a detachment of Chinese army soldiers had been assigned to escort the family to their mountain villa, a converted former Taoist temple. Not as reassuring was that the Chinese guard would be armed with little else than rusty spears. He also doubted that the Chinese army would stand up against the determined Boxer rebels – and at worst they might even join them.
Morrison pushed his little Chinese pony along the dusty valley, hoping that he would not be too late. But even as he approached the old temple he was not aware that he was being watched with great interest.
Lieutenant Robert Mumford had been fortunate, arriving safely in Pekin. He was back in the European legation after five days away, having seen at first hand the anarchy in the countryside as his train steamed back to the city. At Tientsin he had witnessed the masses of refugees desperately attempting to take passage on the train to Pekin. Fortunately for him, his uniform and side arm helped secure him a seat. In his possession were the documents quickly drafted by the diplomatic staff in Tientsin. Besides the leather satchel of government papers now in the officer’s possession was a canvas bag containing the rock with the fossil. He had taken the stone to the American geological team under the management of Mr Herbert Hoover only to have a harassed young geologist – preoccupied by thoughts of his possible demise at the hands of the Boxer warriors – give it a cursory look and dismiss the stone as of no real importance to the American geological team.
‘Had it been an anthracite sample I may have been more interested, Lieutenant Mumford,’ he had said with his head down, packing papers and rocks into wooden crates for transport out of the city. ‘Fossils are not of interest to Mr Hoover.’
Standing before the geologist, Robert had felt a little foolish.
‘Keep it,’ the American geologist said when he saw the expression on the English officer’s face. ‘Under the circumstances we have no room for unnecessary samples.’
And Robert did keep it. He did not know why but the rock and its little dragon seemed to be worth keeping – if only for sentimental reasons, or as a talisman. Maybe Naomi might like it as a paperweight, he had considered, slipping the rock into its bag and leaving the building flying the Stars and Stripes flag.
Upon his return to Pekin he had personally briefed Sir Claude MacDonald at the British legation offices about the situation developing in Tientsin. The aristocratic-looking British minister to Pekin had stood by a broad window, staring down at the parklands and listening with a grave expression, making little comment on what he was being told by the young liaison officer.
Robert understood why Sir Claude had said very little at his briefing; like so many other foreign delegations his own had been caught unawares when all the signs had shouted out that they would be attacked and besieged. An arrogant belief in the might of the British Empire had brought them to this current situation but the British Empire was somewhat overstretched with the disastrous war in far-off South Africa against the Dutch farmers. They all knew that they were on their own.
When Robert left the building he stood in the avenue of leafy trees which were drooping under a fierce summer sun. Now he was in a position to find Naomi and secure her a place within the strong walls of the foreign delegations. Around him were the signs of a city preparing for the worst. Missionaries and their Chinese converts poured into the relative safety of the legation grounds from the surrounding mission stations within Pekin. Mumford knew that he would not be a liaison officer for long. If nothing else his expertise as an infantry officer would be called on to assist in the defence of the legation. He had already made a cursory appreciation of the defences. The British compound was probably the best area for a defence as it had strong, high walls and was bordered on one side by the fetid, misnamed Jade River and the Imperial Carriage Park on the other. But to defend the compound would require seasoned troops and there were few of those from the German, Russian, American, Austrian, British, Japanese, Italian, French and Belgian diplomatic services within the European compound.
Robert asked staff members from the British diplomatic service if any of them had seen Miss Naomi Wong inside the legation. When he received a negative response Robert became worried, more so when a French missionary he knew informed him that the Boxers had already attacked foreigners on the streets.
Robert stood under the shade of one of the great, sprawling green canopies and felt sick
with apprehension. Surely Naomi would have sought safety here as she was a British subject? But he also knew that her father’s offices were in a strongly Chinese quarter, and no doubt now under the influence of the Boxer movement. The situation did not look good and Robert wondered what he should do next.
Outside the sanctuary of the city George Morrison rode slowly towards the temple on the hill. His approach was being noted by Miss Polly Condit Smith from a stone verandah of the temple. Her eyesight was excellent and she easily could tell that the man riding towards them and trailing puffs of dust was a European. She alerted Mrs Squiers and they met Morrison with sighs of relief when he rode into the temple grounds.
Morrison glanced around and noticed the absence of any Chinese guards.
‘I thought it my duty to ride here,’ Morrison said grimly, dismounting. ‘I am afraid that you are in the path of the advancing Boxers, Mrs Squiers.’
‘I am hoping that my husband will be able to come to us,’ Mrs Squiers answered. ‘He may be able to bring armed men with him. Our guards have deserted us, leaving only the terrified servants and ourselves.’
‘In the meantime I should examine how we can best defend the grounds,’ Morrison said, appraising the temple for its best points of defence.
‘You are a welcome visitor, Dr Morrison,’ Polly said, realising that she was blushing as she brushed away a strand of loose hair from her forehead. The handsome Australian was like an old-fashioned knight, arriving to rescue them. She found him very attractive and also knew that he was not married.
The Australian seemed to ignore her mild flirting as he strode away to begin his assessment of how they could defend the grounds against a Boxer attack. He was not optimistic but at least they would go down fighting and maybe even take a few of the attackers with them. He was carrying out his reconnaissance when he heard a joyous shout. Herbert Squiers had arrived, accompanied by an impressive-looking Russian Cossack in full uniform.
Morrison breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else the arrival of the American and his Russian bodyguard, lent by the Russian minister in Pekin, De Giers, added arms and further protection to the party of helpless women, children and servants.
Between the three men they spent the night fortifying the temple and taking turns standing guard.
By dawn they were ready to move and a caravan of wooden carts, ponies, mules and donkeys accompanied by forty Chinese servants left the temple to cross the dusty plains for Pekin. To Polly, the journey was reminiscent of the stories she had read of the pioneers of her country travelling in hostile Indian country.
The three armed men acted as outriders to provide protection for the flanks of the train. Four of the Chinese servants were armed and trudged alongside the carts. They had been briefed to circle the carts in the event of an attack from either marauding Boxers or renegade Chinese troops set on looting foreigners.
It would take five hours to travel the fifteen miles to Pekin but for the entire time the long train wound its way through countryside ominously deserted apart from the caravans of coal-carrying camels in the distance.
Morrison rode with his eyes constantly scanning the country ahead and flanking him. His nerves were on edge, as were those of the others deep in this hostile landscape. Although heavily armed, he knew a concerted attack would most probably result in their massacre.
But by mid-morning they were within comparative safety and able to dismount in Legation Street to be met by European friends. As Morrison handed the reins of his pony to a Chinese servant and stretched his legs he recalled an old saying: out of the frying pan and into the fire.
The vicious rape had been expected and afterwards Naomi lay in the courtyard in a world of pain and despair. The pockmarked Boxer had been first and the most brutal. Naomi had expected that they might interrogate her beforehand seeing that she wore European clothing, but this did not seem to interest the brutal man she had heard called Commander Han. His only interest in her seemed to be to degrade her.
She now lay naked under the hot sun, staring up at the blue skies and trying to forget the number of men who had taken their turn with her. None had understood what she had screamed when they ravished her. As the word ‘father’ had been in English it made no sense to them. Not that they cared, laughing at her pain. Naomi had not known a man before and as she lay alone on the stone slab courtyard in a daze, forcing her spirit to go beyond her physical self, she prayed for death. Her beloved father who had protected her for so many years had not come and only death could erase the shame she felt. Her despair-racked sobbing broke the silence after the Boxers had withdrawn into the shade of the house, leaving her with the other girls who appeared to have suffered the same fate.
‘They did not kill you,’ a female voice said nearby. ‘You are still alive, so be pleased for that.’
Naomi was almost beyond hearing earthly words and stared with empty eyes at the sky, ignoring the blunt words from a less than sympathetic speaker.
‘Come, drink some water,’ the voice persisted and Naomi felt her head being lifted and a cup placed to her cracked lips. Despite her pain she sipped the water and her spirit was drawn once again to rejoin her body and she focused on the face hovering above her – a plain, broad face of a Chinese girl bearing bruises and a swollen eye.
‘I am Meili,’ the girl said. ‘What is your name, foreign woman?’
‘Naomi.’
‘Are you a Christian?’ Meili asked.
‘I am,’ Naomi answered.
‘I am also a Christian,’ Meili answered. ‘That is why they took me from my family – after they killed my mother and father.’
Naomi struggled to sit up, realising that her hands were no longer bound. Meili passed Naomi the torn dress that had been stripped from her before the rape and Naomi struggled into it. Her nakedness covered and the water having helped, Naomi took stock of the reality of her situation. The pain remained as did the shame but Meili’s company made her aware that she was not alone in her despair, although the other girls remained aloof from both herself and Meili. They sensed that the foreign woman had been singled out for a particularly brutal fate, one they did not wish to share.
‘What will they do to us?’ Naomi asked.
Meili shook her head. ‘I do not know,’ she answered. ‘All I know is that they will keep us until they tire of us, and then I do not know.’
But both young women knew. They just did not want to answer their question. Naomi gave a silent prayer that at least their deaths would be quick and relatively painless.
Robert stood watching as the foreign contingents of soldiers marched into the legation grounds. American marines, tough and competent in their demeanour, contrasted with the young and cheerful British troops. The Americans were followed by the French, Russian and Italian soldiers.
Not enough troops to defend the legation, Robert thought, and observed that a protracted battle for the European compound would be complicated by the fact that each army had its own calibre of firearms that was not compatible with the other.
Robert had great faith in the use of the new weapon to the battlefield, the machine gun, but he was also aware that the single .45 multi-barrelled Nordenfelt they possessed had a bad habit of jamming after around four shots. The Austrian contingent possessed a more deadly Maxim machine gun while the Americans had a light Colt 236. The only artillery was a small one-pounder and 120 shells owned by the Italians. The Russians brought the ammunition for something a little more effective but had left their twelvepounder artillery gun at Tientsin railway station.
To the many civilians who greeted the arriving small contingents of troops the artillery was proof that the Boxers would be suitably impressed and desist from any further threatening actions. But Robert only groaned his despair, for he understood the practicalities of defending such a large area of ground.
When the soldiers peeled off to their respective legations the welcoming crowd of men, women and children departed for parties where, over glasses of cha
mpagne and tumblers of whisky, they could thank God for their deliverance. The situation appeared to be under control and surely the Boxers would melt back into the countryside.
Turning on his heel, Robert walked back to the British legation to meet his fellow officers who had arrived with the British force. As he walked along the tree-lined avenue he thought about Naomi; she had not been seen or heard of in days and he considered rounding up a small force to sally into the Chinese quarter where she had resided. He knew a request for assistance would be frowned on as the legation needed every armed man to remain in place while the threat prevailed. If he could not gain assistance he would arm himself and go alone. He also knew taking leave would not be granted. It might have been different if Naomi had been a European, Robert thought bitterly.
‘Mr Mumford,’ a voice called from the street. Robert glanced over at a well-dressed man he knew as one of the civil servants working for Sir Claude MacDonald. ‘Sir Claude has requested your presence at a meeting in his office.’
For the moment Robert dropped all thoughts of Naomi. If Sir Claude had summoned him then it must be important.
Robert was ushered into the office where the British minister for Pekin sat behind his desk.