“And you expect?” the Mandarin Li Hung-chang asked curtly.
“As I agreed with your tame barbarian, the barbarian you hire to do your fighting. The rewards promised.”
“I know of no rewards,” the Mandarin replied, “except for one unimportant matter.”
“By God, we were promised gold! And what’s this minor matter?”
“Your lives, Kao. I was saying when you interrupted that you apparently labored under a misapprehension. My servant Gordon warned me you would claim that he promised to spare your lives. I regret that is not possible. Allowing murderers and traitors to live would corrupt my army. Your existence is a reproach to my conscience.”
“Your joke is in bad taste, Governor Li,” Magnanimous Kao protested shrilly. “No man of honor can renege on a sworn promise. I cannot believe it!”
“You will, Kao,” the victor said lightly. “You will, I assure you.”
The Mandarin Li Hung-chang chopped his right hand down on his knee, and his personal guard surrounded the escort of Holy Soldiers. The eight Taiping generals stood alone in their garish robes in the square of blue-clad troops. Groups of three soldiers, each led by an executioner flourishing a broad scimitar, closed on the rebel officers. Two soldiers thrust each Taiping general to his knees, while a third pulled his long hair forward over his forehead. Eight scimitars flashed high in the sunlight and fell simultaneously.
The Mandarin watched until blood no longer pumped from the severed necks. Eight heads lay in crimson pools, their features frozen in incredulous terror. Some had dropped neatly a few inches from their trunks. Others had fallen wide when inexperienced executioners’ assistants pulled their hair too hard. The assassin Wang An-chun’s face grinned ingratiatingly beside his flexed knees, and the Eternally Magnanimous Kao’s enormous head was cradled in his outstretched arm.
“I regret the necessity,” the Mandarin murmured to David. “But it was mercifully quick, a minute from sentence to execution. Bury them together, trot horses over the grave so no one will know where they lie. The Disciple King’s head—his body if you can find it—dispatch to Nanking for burial. And, David, send all the troops into the city. Soochow must be scourged!”
As dusk crept over the plain, the Lee brothers stood again on the knoll overlooking the Imperial camp. A mile away, Soochow glowed red against a darkening horizon. The most beautiful city of the Yangtze Delta was being scourged by bloodshed, arson, and pillage as the Commander-in-Chief had ordered.
“Remember the South City burning almost ten years ago?” Aaron asked. “Very like this, wasn’t it?”
“Only not so big, and not so many rebels killed. The last report was twenty thousand dead.”
“Not so much looting, either.”
“Well, the South City is smaller.”
“Tell me, Little Brother,” Aaron demanded. “Did you know he was going to kill the generals? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Aaron, it wasn’t my secret, but the chief’s. He trusts you, too. But not absolutely—not yet.”
“My God, I’m tired of killing.”
“A little while, and it’ll be over. But you’ve got to fight harder than ever if we’re to win a pardon for our father.”
“I know that, David.”
“Is there any chance Lionel’s survived?”
“Maybe he got away. Maybe we’ll know otherwise when we search the Water Gate. But I doubt it.”
CHAPTER 62
September 1, 1864
SHANGHAI
“I think I’ve cleared up most of the mysteries.” Fronah offered her father a paper-bound pamphlet and, looking down at the flagstone terrace beneath her long chair, added: “Though there’s one other mystery. I wonder if I’ll ever know the answer to that one.”
“You mean, I suppose, about …” Saul Haleevie uncharacteristically did not finish.
“Yes, Papa,” Fronah replied after a moment. “The terrible mystery of Lionel. Oh, God, how I wish I knew. It’s nine months now. At least I have my work, but that’s not enough.”
“It’s an enigma, my dear.” Saul’s response was infinitesimally delayed. “No word, no sign at all. But we’re still trying to find some clue. I’ve made so many inquiries—and I’m still trying.”
“I know that, Papa, and I’m grateful. I can only wait—and hope.” She paused and resumed with forced cheerfulness. “But aren’t you going to look at my magnum opus?”
Saul slipped on his black-rimmed reading glasses in relief, opened the pamphlet, and read the title page aloud: “An account of the Suppression of the Late Rebellion in the Manchu Empire, Relating Particularly to the Army of Huai under the Command of the Earl of Su Yi, Mandarin of the First Grade Li Hung-chang, Governor of Kiangsu Province. Compiled in English by F. Haleevie-Henriques from State and Private Papers Made Available by the Said Governor, as Well as Documents seized from the Rebels of the So-called ‘Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace’ and the Confessions of Certain Taiping Wangs or ‘Princes.’ Published by the Kiangsu Translation Bureau at Shanghae in September, 1864.”
Saul looked up quizzically while reading the beginning of the Preface: “‘This account has been prepared on the author’s own responsibility and does not represent an official Chinese view. The author is herself responsible for any errors or omissions, despite the constant guidance of the Mandarin Li Hung-chang.’”
Saul removed his glasses and cocked an eyebrow interrogatively while polishing their lenses.
“I think I’ve made it quite clear,” she said defensively. “As clear as I could. I want the reader to know I couldn’t write exactly as I wished, since the Mandarin was looking over my shoulder. But he’s very clever. He gave me a lot of leeway because he knows nobody will believe his propaganda if it’s too one-sided.”
“It is an official view, isn’t it?” Saul persisted.
“Well, not quite. Call it semi-official, if you must. Why don’t you read the final chapter first? I’ve made it clear there. Besides, you may find something new in it.”
Adjusting his glasses on his high-bridged nose, Saul began reading the final chapter: “‘The Collapse of the Rebellion from the Fall of Soochow on December 6, 1863, to the Execution of the “Loyal King” on August 7, 1864, after the Fall of Nanking. This account, written with the generous assistance of the Chinese authorities, must unavoidably reflect an official point of view, despite the author’s striving for objectivity and her use of Taiping documents.’”
Saul Haleevie felt paternal pride in his daughter’s accomplishment and her concern for historical accuracy. Though forced to use veiled language, she had candidly warned her readers that she was not a free agent. He wished he could be as candid with her, but regretfully concluded once again that it would be unwise.
“I didn’t want to overstate the role of the foreign forces, particularly the Ever Victorious Army.” She was still defensive. “Under Frederick Townsend Ward or Charles George Gordon, I’m convinced it was helpful, but not decisive. It certainly wasn’t indispensable, no matter what they say in the treaty ports. Besides, Colonel Gordon acted very strangely after the execution of the Taiping generals.”
Her father did not reply, but skeptically read aloud the passage she indicated:
Colonel Gordon maintains that he guaranteed the conspirators their lives in return for surrendering the city. He is justly proud of his diplomatic skill, which undermined Taiping resolve. He has, therefore, rejected the Mandarin Li Hung-chang’s explanation that the execution was necessary because the captives plotted new treachery and insolently demanded major alterations in the terms previously agreed.
Saul glanced up as if to ask precisely what case she was trying to make before reading on:
Colonel Gordon was not present when the traitors gave themselves up. The following day, he returned to the Imperial camp and behaved most intemperately, making fantastic threats and allegations while flourishing his pistol. He was with difficulty prevented from intruding violently upon the Mandarin Li
Hung-chang, who was planning the next stage of the campaign with his staff. Finally, Colonel Gordon was prevailed upon to withdraw. He did so only after writing a note which consisted of the single word: Treachery!
During the following month, the British officer seconded to the Chinese service raged in public at his Commander-in-Chief. He demanded that the Mandarin Li Hung-chang restore Soochow to the rebels and, further, resign the governorship of Kiangsu—as if that faithful official were to be penalized for committing a foul in a football match. Otherwise, Colonel Gordon threatened, he would marshal the Ever Victorious Army to reconquer all the territories taken by the Army of Huai, including Soochow, and restore those territories to the rebels. He subsequently demanded that the Mandarin Li Hung-chang be executed.
“You think Gordon couldn’t have carried out his threat?” Saul asked. “That’s not what they were saying in the Settlement.”
“It was patent nonsense, Papa,” she responded. “Look here, the Ever Victorious Army was only five thousand strong. How could it fight the Army of Huai, ten to twenty times larger? Besides, Gordon was an officer in the Imperial Army, sworn to obey his superiors, above all the Mandarin. Anyway, if the Mandarin had cut off his army’s supplies and pay, he’d have faced a mutiny, just like Henry Burgevine. But the Settlement cheered Gordon’s bravado.”
“A sham, then, Gordon’s indignation?”
“Papa, why should he have been so emotional about a parcel of murderers if he didn’t stand to gain from his performance? Anyway, many Taiping officers were loyal, not like those treacherous generals.” Fronah paused and looked down at the wedding ring on her finger. “When I think of Lionel … Lionel staying at his post even when Aaron wanted him to desert Oh, Papa, I’m sure he escaped and he’ll come back soon.”
Saul Haleevie removed his glasses and again polished the lenses with his linen handkerchief. It would be not only unwise to tell her now, but dangerous. If her hopes were destroyed, she could again suffer mortal depression. He had talked at length with Aaron and David before deciding not to tell Fronah that they had searched the Water Gate and found Lionel Henriques’s gold signet ring on a body so charred it was otherwise unidentifiable. Though Sarah questioned their decision, she promised not to tell Fronah. Some day, Saul conceded, it might be necessary to show his daughter her dead husband’s half-melted gold ring, but not just yet.
“That’s a good point about Colonel Gordon,” he observed instead. “That he happily served under the Mandarin again after making such a fearful row. You don’t think you’ve been too sarcastic? Here, where you write: “The British officer obviously realized later that he had mistaken his Commander in Chief’s presumed pledge to preserve the traitors’ lives. Colonel Gordon is an honorable man. Since he is concerned with his honor, rather than his glory, he would not otherwise have served again under the Mandarin, whom he had denounced as a butcher. He could not have been mollified merely because Li Hung-chang publicly exonerated him of blame and presented him with a most substantial honorarium, as well as the Yellow Riding Jacket, the Manchus’ equivalent of an order of chivalry.’ Isn’t your irony a little heavy?”
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But I’ve explained that the Mandarin knew—from Aaron, incidentally—that the Taiping generals intended to repudiate their surrender and go back to the rebels. Besides, he couldn’t give in to their demands. They were insolent, as well as treacherous. They refused to disband their forces, and they ‘required’ him to commission them as Manchu generals. They also ‘informed’ him that they would retain control of half of Soochow ‘to quarter their troops.’ It was a mock surrender.”
“Come now, Fronah, don’t get swept away by your own propaganda,” Saul chided. “What do you really think?”
“I suspect the arguments on both sides are largely nonsense,” Fronah smiled. “Gordon was piqued—and the chief was furious.”
“You know they say on the Bund that, say, fifty thousand Taipings in Soochow were no real threat, and the generals were already Li Hung-chang’s prisoners. They’re saying the Mandarin killed the generals out of hand because he wanted no hostile witnesses to his sack of Soochow.”
“Certainly greed was a factor,” she conceded. “He looted Soochow unmercifully. But he was entitled to the spoils of war by European as well as Chinese law.”
Saul continued to read aloud:
The Holy Soldiers still fought fiercely, but the Taipings’ spirit was flagging. Nonetheless, the Heavenly King, wholly isolated from reality, harshly rejected the advice of the Loyal King to send his heir, the Junior Lord, to a safe refuge.
“Since you’re afraid of death,” the Taiping monarch stormed at his commander-in-chief, “you’re certain to die soon!”
Though the Heavenly King apologized, he commanded his troops to hold the Heavenly Capital to the death. More than four thousand Imperial Braves died as counter-mines destroyed thirteen tunnels undermining the city wall. However, Nanking was totally surrounded. No reinforcements could pierce the screen of Imperial troops, and all provisions were running out.
The Heavenly Kingdom was in chaos. Corruption, in theory extirpated, flourished as avaricious officials struggled to preserve their wealth and their lives. Only one Taiping prince remained faithful. Though the Heavenly King declared that the people could live on “sweet dew,” meaning grass and weeds, the Loyal King fed them from his own store of rice until those, too, were exhausted. He also permitted noncombatants to depart. However, that act of mercy caused great loss of life, for men and women fought to be among the hundred thirty thousand civilians who finally escaped.
On June 1, 1864, the Heavenly King died at the age of fifty-one of an unknown illness aggravated by malnutrition. He had relied upon prayer alone, refusing to take either food or medicines. Though his son, the Junior Lord, formally succeeded, the spirit of the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace died with its founder.
Saul broke off to light a cheroot. When he was comfortably wreathed by smoke, he observed, “It’s awe-inspiring, isn’t it? The wrath of God. Even in the Bible there’s nothing quite like that much slaughter.”
“It’s almost impossible to conceive,” Fronah agreed in subdued tones. “I’ve reckoned that more than forty million died in the rebellion, not only soldiers but innocent men, women, and children. I feel very small when I worry about what could have become of Lionel. But no need to read on. The rest of the tale is soon told. The Taipings held out for another month and a half under the inspired leadership of the Loyal King. On July 19, after a last counterattack failed, a gigantic mine demolished a great stretch of the city wall. The Loyal King couldn’t hold the tens of thousands pouring through the breach and retreated to save the Junior Lord. The Heavenly Capital finally fell after more than a decade. Not so long as Troy, perhaps, but one of the longest sieges of history.”
“And then the sack, eh?” Saul asked.
“Naturally, Papa.” Fronah smiled wryly. “The Viceroy Tseng Kuo-fan and his younger brother took immeasurably more booty than the Mandarin had at Soochow. Both became multimillionaires in a twinkling, and twenty of their generals became millionaires. Even scores of colonels acquired fortunes worth hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling. And some people criticize my chief! But the saddest part was the end.”
“Your hero, the Loyal King, Fronah?”
“Yes, Papa, the one man who comes out of the tragedy untarnished. I wrote about him with complete fairness. I told the Mandarin otherwise no one would believe his propaganda. Why don’t you read the end? It’s short.”
Even his enemies honor the Loyal King for his courage, his warcraft, and his devotion throughout the conflict and, particularly, at its close [Saul read aloud again]. Knowing the Holy City doomed, the Loyal King concealed the Junior Lord in his own palace, which was defended by a thousand men of his personal bodyguard. Since he could not break out through the heavily guarded gates, the Loyal King dressed the Junior Lord, himself, and a few hundred followers in captured Imperial uniforms and ro
de boldly through the breach in the city wall. However, he first exchanged his own powerful charger for the tired nag on which the Junior Lord had been mounted.
That decrepit animal fell behind, and the Loyal King found himself alone in a hostile countryside while his master rode to safety on his own favorite mount. Seeking refuge in a ruined temple, he was discovered by villagers. They took his sword and his purse before turning him over to the Imperialists for a large reward.
After composing a lengthy confession, which purged his soul, the Loyal King was executed by the Viceroy Tseng Kuo-fan on the 7th of August, 1864, at the age of forty. The Viceroy took that summary action because he feared the redoubtable Loyal King might escape—or be rescued by his faithful followers—and rally resistance that would wreak misery on the land for many more years.
“That is piffle, the only outright piffle in my entire account,” Fronah declared bitterly. “I wrote it on the Mandarin’s express instructions to defend his mentor. Even the Imperials admit the Loyal King was totally honest. If he’d been sent alive to Peking, as the Court ordered, he would have revealed the immense treasure the Viceroy stole, including the Emperor’s proper share of the loot. So the Viceroy killed the Loyal King—against Yehenala’s direct orders. The Court had to accept his report that Nanking was a ‘barren city’—except for one jade seal and two gold seals he sent to Peking—because he had destroyed all contrary evidence. Yehenala swallowed her disappointment and made him a Marquis ‘in recognition of his exemplary services.’ Well, it was no worse than Lord Elgin’s looting and burning the Summer Palaces, was it?”
“So the new day dawns a bit gray, doesn’t it? Nothing’s really changed, has it?”
“That’s too cynical, Papa,” she protested. “The mass slaughter has ended. I’m sure we’ll all see better days now. If I only knew where Lionel was, I could be very happy too. I’m certain he’ll come back to me. You know, sometimes I think I’m a fool caring so much. But I do.”
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