Chapter I: Secret Agents, Correspondents and Spies

Secret agents as practical workers in the field of journalism are little known to the public. The character and scope of my operations may be gathered from these pages, but it is not my intention to disclose here any details of the inner workings of newspaper offices. Much of the information which reaches the editorial offices of a great journal is neither published nor intended for publication. A foreign correspondent may desire the suppression of news he sends, yet require leading articles and the policy of the paper to be shaped upon a knowledge such as he possesses of events of no immediate concern to the public. Special circumstances and extraordinary conditions sometimes require services which cannot be rendered adequately by resident foreign contributors, or known special correspondents. In my case the instructions were simple and definite. I was to journey through Russia, Siberia and Manchuria; make myself acquainted with certain facts; obtain what information I could on the subjects specified; communicate same to my paper in the manner directed; and report myself at Peking for further instructions at a given date.

War between Russia and Japan was believed to be imminent; much of the information I sought related more or less closely to military affairs, but reports on these matters were neither published nor divulged. The _Times_ office wished to obtain the truth, and to be the best informed--in that following a policy which has grown into a custom.

The status of the secret agent is that of a special correspondent travelling incognito. Amongst men of our own race whom I met on terms of absolute equality the chief were: officers of the British Intelligence Department; inquiry agents of the State Department, Washington; reporter-detectives of the U.S. Customs; paid spies of foreign governments, and tourists. Those of us who had a common object cultivated most the society of Russian naval and military officers and their associates; the Custom’s agents sought the shippers of contraband goods and immigrants intended for the United States, and the tourists all places of interest. When war began, the Intelligence officers withdrew to neutral territory; the secret agents and spies became avowed newspaper correspondents, and the tourists disappeared.

In the earlier stages of the war the distinction between spies and newspaper correspondents was a fine one. The difference consisted chiefly in the nature of the employment, but it mattered little to the power spied upon whether the reporter was paid by a newspaper or by the enemy. It was important that naval and military movements should be kept secret, and a plan was marred if a fleet were reported seen by a press despatch-boat or tramp steamer, or one of the enemy’s scouts. The presence of all newspaper men, and most civilians, was irksome to commanders. It is not surprising that newspaper correspondents were denied the facilities they expected, before an adequate censorship had been established; for, as a matter of fact they not infrequently acted as spies without intending to do so. For instance, in June, a correspondent landed at Port Arthur from a junk; he saw little there, and was sent back to Chifu at the first opportunity. He stated, amongst other things, that fresh provisions were not scarce in the besieged fortress, and immediately afterwards the junk supplies there appreciably diminished, for the Japanese watched the coast with greater vigilance.

The spies who acted as newspaper representatives do not call for special condemnation, since a spy is expected to do whatever will effect his purpose; and although his presence and behaviour may hamper the genuine correspondent, it is the newspaper which the spy pretends to represent that alone has a substantial grievance. Spies and correspondents are equally eager to obtain every item of information that has any interest, and in order to succeed one takes the same risks as often as does the other.

The treatment which would be accorded a spy and a correspondent by the military authorities would differ, but the difficulty has been to detect the spy and exculpate the correspondent. By the Russians it was, at first, deemed most satisfactory to regard both as though all were spies.

Some weeks after hostilities were commenced the Viceroy’s staff drew up regulations which were approved at St. Petersburg, and enforced. Their object was to lessen the number of newspaper representatives with the Russian army at the theatre of war, and to control them effectually apart from the restraint exercised by the censorship which was then established. The conditions imposed cannot be too widely known, as they show exactly some of the difficulties with which accredited correspondents had to contend.

Art. IV. Each war correspondent on arrival at the scene of
action must sign a written compact binding himself:

(i.) Not to interfere in any way with preparations for
war, or with the plans of the Staff, nor to divulge
anything which should be kept secret, such as, _the
result of the action of the enemy_, damages done to
fortifications, losses of guns, etc.

(ii.) Not to communicate any information about the enemy,
which, not being proved, nor having any foundation in fact,
could awaken public uneasiness.

(iii.) Not to insert in any correspondence _any criticism
whatever_ concerning the decisions, or acts, of members of
the Staff, but limit reports to facts.

(iv.) To carry out exactly all orders of the higher
military authorities given through the officers appointed
to explain to correspondents, and of those in charge of the
censorship.

Art. V. The violation of any of the above published
regulations, the non-observance or the disregard of the rules
issued by the military authorities, immodesty, (indiscretion)
lack of tact, will entail a caution in minor cases, or
expulsion from the scene of military activity if serious,
providing always that the correspondence or conduct does not of
itself constitute a criminal offence.

Art. VI. Correspondents are bound to fulfil absolutely all the
requirements specified in Arts. IV. and V., with regard to
the acts, movements, and work of the fleet, during which all
correspondents, without exception, are forbidden absolutely
to enter the Admiralty, the docks, workshops, and other
buildings of the Marine Administration, or _be in boats_ in the
harbour, or roads of the ports of Vladivostok and Port Arthur.
Correspondents _must not apply_ to the Admirals in command for
any relaxation of this rule.

Art. VIII.... Each correspondent must be furnished with
written permission to keep horses, vehicles, and servants,
and these also must have a written certificate of identity.
Correspondents are responsible for themselves and also for
their servants.

Art. IX. Correspondents are bound to apply to the Chief of
a detachment for permission to remain with that corps. In
case the chief may find the presence of the correspondent
undesirable for military considerations, the correspondent is
bound to leave without delay.

Art. XI. Correspondents must carry always on their person their
permits and those for their servants.

Art. XII. Correspondents must wear always on the left arm a
broad red band with the letters B.K. in black.

Art. XV. Correspondence is permitted (_a_) in telegram form;
(_b_) as separate articles, with marks and signs as intended
for publication. Cipher messages are prohibited.

Art. XVI. Correspondents must endeavour to supply without delay
to the Viceroy’s Staff two copies of each newspaper in which
their correspondence is printed.

Some correspondents, following the instructions of their papers, signed the above conditions and more or less conscientiously adhered to them. Others were unwilling to forgo the privileges of the ordinary correspondent, and, in preference to being formally attached to the Russian army, awaited developments and remained within the Russian lines near the border of the neutral territory, where they were tolerated. No foreign correspondents were permitted to remain at Port Arthur. At Newchwang those who made a practice of dodging the censorship, and in their messages betrayed an unintelligent anticipation of events, were requested to leave. The newspaper free-lances for the most part frequented the territory between the Great Wall and the river Liao, and the treaty ports of Chifu and Newchwang, where the newspapers and news agencies already had their own permanent resident representatives.

The free correspondents might telegraph as news accounts of things seen, reports of things heard, and statements of imagined events. They were in a better position during the early stages of the war than the accredited correspondents accepted by either the Russian or the Japanese authorities, who were restricted to official communications. Of the actual fighting, most of these saw nothing at all until the battle of Liaoyang at the end of August; there were only Reuter’s representative, Lieut.-Col. Norris-Newman of the _Daily Mail_, and myself at Port Arthur on the occasion of the first bombardment, and only the _Daily Mail_ representative, Col. Emerson and myself, at the battle of Tashichiao. Neither Etzel, who was shot, nor Middleton, who died, ever saw an engagement between the Russians and Japanese, only guerilla encounters of Russians and Chinese, which were of almost daily occurrence.

The treatment of the war correspondents by the authorities on both sides indicates that their presence on the field of battle is not only undesired but will not be tolerated. The men who wish to study the human side of the war at first hand, those who wish to witness how the soldiers advance under fire, carry a position, waver, or retreat, will have only accidental opportunities, as their views are not wanted by commanders any more than are the criticisms of independent military experts present at the engagements. In a word, the occupation of the war correspondent has gone. The foreign military _attachés_ do not appear to have been afforded facilities denied to correspondents, and their accounts also must be based largely upon what they hear, supported by topographical knowledge gained by subsequent visits to the lines where the real fighting took place.

An American correspondent on the Japanese side informed me that he estimated the newspaper representatives there to have cost their papers in the aggregate over half a million yen, and it is certain that those on the Russian side cost theirs a quarter of a million roubles, in all £75,000--an outlay quite disproportionate to the value received.

It must be remembered that the expenses of a correspondent are very heavy, and that ordinarily he is well remunerated for his services. Even in the China coast ports, for instance Chifu, where there is no likelihood of attack and war prices consequently do not rule, the out of pocket expenses of a news-gatherer exceeded £300 in one month, and this exclusive of the cost of telegraphing. The remuneration of a correspondent at the port--not a man sent out specially, but a merchant’s clerk appointed in lieu of a journalist of experience--is £50 a month. This may seem high pay, but in North China salaries are at a higher level than at home and a well educated, competent, trustworthy man, if a British subject, rarely expects less, for even a soldier appointed as a railway guard receives from £15 to £18 a month, and has free quarters at each end of his day’s run and free meals whilst on his train.

In the war area, at Yingkow for instance, within the Russian lines, although Newchwang is a treaty port, provisions and all necessaries were at war prices, owing to the Russians buying all they could secure for transmission to Liaoyang. The cost of living was double and treble that current at Tientsin and Chifu, or even the much nearer Shanhaikwan--all being outside the war area. Some correspondents--indeed most--received the salaries of correspondents at the theatre of war, usually upwards of £100 a month, whilst the representatives of American newspapers, weekly periodicals, and even monthly magazines, received very much more.

The American newspapers are sending out additional men for the approaching campaign, but judging from the results already obtained it would appear at first sight that for the accounts of events the public must depend upon the official telegrams and the reports given by the news agencies’ services. This should not be so. I have proved that the official notifications can be beaten in time to even such near points as the China Treaty ports, and official messages to America and Europe require so much longer for transmission that the difference in point of time would be even more appreciable.

It is pardonable of Admiral Sir J. C. D. Hay to congratulate the shareholders of Reuter’s Telegram Company on the valuable character of the company’s news, and to instance what it has achieved, but it must not be presumed that perfection has yet been reached. Mr. John Cowen, of the _China Times_, which throughout the war has had the best service of any paper, remarks that, “Sir John Hay might have added, if he had prophetic vision, that Reuter’s Agency would first record, as it did on June 23, the capture of Liaoyang by the Japanese (not taken until September 3); also that Kaiping has been captured three times by the Japanese according to the same authority. The fact remains however, that without such services we should be very badly off.”

The war correspondents who had been through several campaigns, well-known authorities such as Mr. Bennet Burleigh, Mr. E. F. Knight, Mr. George Lynch, Mr. Douglas Story and Mr. H. F. Wigham, are to be counted amongst the smartest and most enterprising Britons it has ever been my fortune to meet, and their inability to surpass their former achievements is due entirely to the official restrictions they had no choice but to accept. Amongst the Americans, Mr. J. Archibald, Mr. R. H. Little, and Mr. F. Palmer are in the fore front as news correspondents, and they have the knowledge, the abilities, and the energy requisite to keep there. Of the other men, it may be said that most were of more than average ability, though some could not ride, others not write, and one was unable even to distinguish between the national flags of France and Russia. They lacked most a competent knowledge of the technics of their profession. Even those who did send perfect messages probably had learnt the knack from practical study of the best cables arriving at their offices, and knew not why they were cast in a particular form. This was a point on which the representatives of American newspapers had full knowledge.

If the reader imagines that a correspondent having seen an engagement, rushes to a telegraph office, scribbles out an account and straightway hands it in for transmission, he is very much mistaken. The man who acted in that way would be beaten by the expert every time. Mr. Bennet Burleigh drafts his messages with the greatest care, and accurate and precise though he is, he never fails to revise in a quite wholesale fashion before dispatching what may appear to be only a hurried account after all. Dr. Morrison writes and rewrites, and revises and rewrites and weighs the value of every word--the use of the exact word characterizes his style--then when he is finished the draft is usually type-written by his secretary. Even then, by the time the Chinese telegraph operators have completed their work upon it, the message may be in such a state as to need its reconstruction almost before it is fit to be forwarded to the next relay station. Hours are often spent by competent correspondents in drafting even a moderately long telegram, and the time required to write a serviceable message a column in length is much more than proportionately greater. The longest message I wired was immediately after my return from Port Arthur, and it consisted of only two hundred words--many correspondents rarely send important news in any telegram of more that half that length.

Possibly one of the most interesting personalities in the journalistic world of to-day is that of Dr. G. E. Morrison, the _Times_ correspondent at Peking. He is an Australian by birth and education, a doctor of medicine by profession, an investigator by nature and a diplomat by predilection. Every one knows that he was born at Geelong in 1862, that he has walked across Australia and China, practised medicine in Spain, and is fond of shooting. In appearance he is unlike the average North China resident, though he is of medium height and build, is clean shaven and wears his ashen grey hair cropped short. There is something distinguished about Dr. Morrison, something he does not derive from his immaculate attire, from the nabob stick with which he toys as he walks, or from the forward inclination of his head, characteristic of thinkers. Indeed his manner at first suggests the pedagogue, but when you see the man you know you have something more; you have a man who can and does think for himself, a man who can scheme, and with dogged pertinacity peg away until that upon what he has set his heart upon having is obtained. He is hard as a Manitoba winter; a man of resolution and of power, a man devoted to an idea, or a principle, or a rule of life; a man who will go long lengths to gain a point, who will find out means with which to accomplish his self-set task, who will get at the right people and use them; a man who is unlikely to be generally loved, but may be esteemed, and cannot but be admired for what he is; a man who may not possess many real friends, but is certain to have enemies, and himself be an implacable foe. Though he has a nature which certainly is not running over with sweetness, there is probably no one in China for whom British residents there have more genuine respect, or one whom they understand so little. Dr. Morrison delights to puzzle the ordinary person, so that by some his commonest talk is regarded as a cryptic utterance, to be treasured and studied lest its true inner meaning escape observation. He is not a sinologue and has only a nodding acquaintance with Chinese, but is better informed than most people, has a trained power of observation and the gift of insight. Accustomed also to think, and being of a contemplative temperament, he reads signs which are to others without significance, so is able to surprise them, and cause them to ask of each other what it is he means. He is credited with having had a share in the work of bringing about the Anglo-Japanese alliance, and throughout the Far East the present hostilities are known as “Morrison’s War.” He cannot be said to be popular at Peking, and his visits to the Legations are so quickly followed by matters of moment, that he is regarded there as a very harbinger of unrest.

Dr. Morrison lives alone in a large, rambling, quaint Chinese house situated off the great boulevard and about midway between the east wall of the Forbidden City and the Telegraph Office. As do all the houses in Peking, his home faces south, and occupies the greater portion of a small and cheerless compound. There is a little room at the extremity of the west wing which serves as a study. In the main building there is a dining-room hung with Chinese built-up pictures, and crowded with curios and black-wood furniture. The larger part of the ground floor is devoted to his library, which is one of the finest collections of books on China in private hands. There are books on shelves, books in cases, books covered up, and books loose; there are rows and rows of books, and book tables and indexes and library fittings without end. Never until amongst them did I realize how cold, cheerless, and uninviting too many books render a dwelling house, how completely they destroy its homeliness. A near neighbour of Dr. Morrison, who is also a literary man living in a Chinese house, has improvised from even less promising media originally, a home suggesting cosiness, luxury, and real loveliness. The difference is that he has books everywhere in his home, whilst the other cannot find his home for the books. But books are to Dr. Morrison merely tools; he is not inordinately proud of his library; still less does he love it; but is full of regard for it as the means to an end.

Dr. Morrison speaks rapidly, using short words and somewhat long sentences, and there is an evenness in the tone of his voice which betrays that sentiment is lacking in his temperament. His address is somewhat stiff, but his phrases are never without point, and have the saving grace of being pertinent. I met him one day unexpectedly as he stepped from the train at Yingkow, and this was his salutation: “Hallo, Greener, what are these Cossacks doing here? How many are there of them? How’re you?”

People think that Dr. Morrison takes himself too seriously, and is too devoted to his work--it is that for which he lives--but none doubt his sincerity, and all admire his patriotism, which is deep, genuine, and predominant. The one trait in his character which makes him close kin with all is his sincere and undisguised liking for young children. The infants of his serving-men run loose about his rooms and are sure that he will pet them. Occasionally he will treat himself to real entertainment. He gives a children’s party, to which all are welcome. The courtyard is roofed over with sun-mats; there are flowers and sweets, music and games, jugglers, conjurers, tumblers and tricksters, and not one of the merry party enjoys the romp more than does the staid journalist who thus momentarily forgets his cares, his Chinese pictures, his curios, and even himself--a mandarin entitled to have twelve bearers for his chair and several clangs on the gong at the entrance gate.