Chapter VII: The Day’s Work

Many suppose that because the special war correspondents achieved so little they had a comparatively easy life, pleasantly passed under the Sun-flag in the beauteous isles of the Orient. This was not so for those whose luck it was to be accredited to the Russian army in Manchuria, and still less for those newsgatherers who hovered on the frontier of the neutral territory.

There the day’s work was long, often arduous, and seldom satisfactory. It had its dangers. Mr. Etzel, of the _Daily Telegraph_, the only correspondent shot during this war, was of us, and I intend now to describe the life we two led together at Yingkow, in the months of March and April. We were not alone, from first to last more than two score correspondents used Yingkow as temporary or permanent headquarters.

If we had not been disturbed during the night we would be out early, and from a glance at the main roads east and west ascertain whether there had been any movement of troops during the hours of darkness. If there were tracks, we followed up the clue after breakfast. We had also to visit the hotels to see whether there were new arrivals from Port Arthur or the north, as the Russian train usually arrived very early in the morning, and the Chinese train left the station on the opposite side of the river at seven o’clock, so it was sometimes possible for a through passenger to travel from one station to the other without a stay in Newchwang, and correspondents could not afford to allow one to slip by unquestioned.

In the forenoon we rode out to the Russian settlement, to Niuchatun, to the Russian fort on the south-west, or to their entrenchments further out, near the salt-pans at the river mouth. Etzel was an excellent scout. On several occasions I was out with him alone, tracking Russian movements, reconnoitring their outposts, or observing what changes they were about to make in the disposition of their military forces around the town. The facility with which he got from point to point without being observed was as excellent as the inimitable manner in which he carried through the examination of the particular business he had set himself to investigate. He had an acute perception of military movements which might have an important bearing on the plan of campaign, and foresight so remarkable that it seemed to me he had a special faculty which enabled him to divine the intentions of the Russian officers directing the troops and superintending the construction of defensive works. Then, in scouting, he found the right clues quickly and followed them with unerring accuracy and admirable precision.

In the afternoon we usually tried to see people who were in a position to have news, and when we saw them we worked to get the news. Between four and five o’clock the couriers came in by the west gate, and they had to be met personally or by a trustworthy Chinaman in our service.

Last of all we wrote our telegrams and took them to the office at the Chinese railway station. This apparently simple matter was sometimes the most difficult part of the day’s work. When the river was hard frozen and the weather fair, we went on a _piza_, that is, a pair of sledge runners connected by some rough boards upon which a few reeds are fastened. The sledge is propelled by a Chinaman who stands with each foot on one runner and propels the contrivance with a boat hook. In this way, the two miles, in most favourable circumstances, might be accomplished in fifteen minutes. Then there was only the discomfort, the terrible cold and the incessant jolting over the rough ice to be endured but when the ice was bad, when there were cracks and pools to be avoided, and the probability of the ice breaking at any moment, then the journey had its dangers as well as discomforts. It might require forty minutes, or more, and as happened more than once to myself, the rider might slip through a crack in the ice and have an unrequired ducking. The risks were always increased when the crossing was made in the darkness, as ours were.

By way of variety one might walk across the ice, or even ride over on horseback, or send a messenger. But the messenger could always be held up by a European, and the message be read before it was returned to him. Another way, if we were in time, was to post our messages across the river through the Imperial Chinese Post Office.

When the river broke, great masses of packed ice and large floes floated up and down stream for weeks. The only possible way to cross then was by boat; a strong sampan hauled and pushed through the loose ice by three to half a dozen men--that done in the darkness was as unpleasant as it was dangerous. It was very slow, often requiring hours, and with tide and ice both against the boat almost impossible. The cost of the ferry instead of being the usual few cents amounted to dollars. Etzel on the night of March 27 had to pay seven dollars to be ferried across with his message; I was the last correspondent to cross the ice on a _piza_ and the first to be ferried over the river in a boat, and the highest charge I had to pay was six dollars for a ferry after dark.

With the despatch of the telegram our day’s work was over, and that of the next began. There was the crossing of the river to be made again, people to be interviewed, and when the tired correspondent got to bed, he might be disturbed by the noise of passing artillery or troops--movements we deemed it a part of our duty to watch--of rifle fire, even the booming of big guns. One morning I was aroused at two o’clock by a knocking at my door and the startling information that the expected bombardment of Newchwang had at last commenced. I was out in the dark, in the salt marshes, tumbling into mudholes and tiring myself needlessly until daybreak. It was a false alarm. The Russians mistook a pilot’s flare on the bar for the enemy, and fired so furiously that they sunk a helpless Chinese junk with thirty-five hands, killed three men and wounded seven on another, and succeeded in working the native population into a state of panic.

By unflagging energy and unceasing vigilance we were able to keep ourselves _au courant_ with local changes and passing events in our immediate neighbourhood. This was insufficient. We wished to be informed as to the progress of the war. Many rumours reached us of the propinquity of the Japanese forces, and as the Russians would not permit us to wander beyond the neighbouring villages we were forced to rely upon native newsmongers.

Messrs. Bush Bros. had agents and correspondents throughout Southern Manchuria, and such news as they received they generously placed at the disposal of all newspaper representatives. Generally this news was ahead of that which reached Newchwang by other means, and as often as any it was correct. But it was insufficient in detail, and too irregular in appearance to satisfy all needs of impatient news correspondents. We determined to have our own men investigating, and our own messengers. I do not know what arrangements Etzel made. My relations were with two respectable business men in the town, both Englishmen, and neither acquainted with what the other was doing in the matter. Both had an intimate knowledge of Chinese methods, one was the most proficient Anglo-Chinaman in the country, and they, if any, knew where to get trustworthy Chinese and how to deal with them advantageously. Both sent out men in different directions. These men wrote back what they saw on their journey, and their letters were posted to Newchwang or conveyed by messengers. They were written in Chinese, and had to be translated on arrival.

Here are some extracts from the letters of Kongkwang-tsa, who left Yingkow for the Yalu, on the 27th of the first moon: “I see four Russian guns at Yuan-Pao mountain; I see many troops of Russians there; I see guns at An-chu, and troops; and troops at mouth, at Chang-tien, and 700 at Takushan, and 800 at Talung-kow. There was bobbery; the merchants of Antung-Hsien district have been pleased that Magistrate Kao has suppressed rioting. I see twenty li from Hsiu-yen, twenty Russian carts, with men and material--there they put up a telegraph. I go to----”

From another: “Near Fen shui huan I meet blacksmith; he tell me Russian messenger pass his forge every day. I go Yalu, at Chala cheng; I see all Russians cross river; I see Japanese spies, see Japanese troops.”

And this from another correspondent: “I see one or two Japanese soldiers; Russians see many. Suddenly see many Japanese soldiers; look again, but none there. Went ----; there Russian soldier cross Yalu river, come back this side. He no wait. He go thirty in small sampan; no can; boat lost; Russian man all lost. Russian man take big boat; make him very full; big boat lost; only one Russian man come this side. Russian man take another big boat, make too much full; Russian man all drown. Russian man no can wait.”

In the hurried crossing of the Yalu after the battle of Pin-yang, more than three hundred Russians were lost at this ferry.

The following are of later date (May 2): “The Russians have posted everywhere placards explaining away the advance northwards of the Japanese troops who crossed the Yalu, and give accounts of the successes the Russians have gained in fighting the Japanese army elsewhere, and saying that soon they will attack and drive back the Japanese far from these places, for Russia is strong. The Chinese do not believe these placards, because the Japanese are every day coming farther and farther into the country.”

Then I received accounts of the landing of Japanese troops at Takushan; and at Pitsewo, and acting in conjunction with the force landed at Kinchow, on the other side of the peninsula, succeeded in cutting the line, and isolating Port Arthur. Here the forces joined, captured a train from Port Arthur; stopped another, but allowed it to proceed when the Red Cross flag was shown, and tried ineffectually to stop it again by rifle fire when they found they had been deceived, and that it was the special train used by Admiral Alexeiev. It was known afterwards that both H.I.H. the Grand Duke Boris and H.E. the Viceroy were in the train, and narrowly escaped capture. The Japanese have never ceased blaming themselves for their laxity in allowing this train to pass them. We got news of the Japanese movements, of the forward rush of the Takushan army after the battle of Puliantien, but it must be stated that the cross marching of the Japanese between Takushan and Kinchow completely baffled the Chinese reporters. They were marching towards Tashichiao not Kaiping, and keeping to the east of the railway instead of taking the shorter route to Newchwang.

This scheme of newsgetting worked excellently for some weeks. The agents went right on to the Yalu, and fell back as the invasion of Manchuria progressed, and they reported intelligently and frequently. On the whole matters went well until the agents got shot, or were taken prisoner, or wanted to come home, or were recalled.

In addition to all this, there were Chinese constantly arriving in Newchwang from Port Arthur, Dalny, and other places where fighting was going on, and these always had some news to sell--something which if not worth telegraphing, was worth knowing. The American consulate was a great centre for news and for newspaper men, both British and American, but the British consulate was like a shooting man’s fox coverts, always drawn blank. It was MacCullagh of the _New York Herald_ who first discovered a new variety of lady missionary from the north who had a fund of entertaining conversation and plenty of interesting information, so, quite outside of the usual official channels, we had numerous sources of news and spent much time in collecting the best.

The newspaper correspondents themselves were, often without intending it, the most frequent cause of my troubles. Only once did I call upon the Russian administrator; it was a small matter of routine business he had to adjust for me, and he volunteered the information incidentally that in a few days he thought it would be his duty--he did not qualify it with “unpleasant”--his duty, to order me out of Newchwang. As a matter of fact I stopped long enough to see him turned out--by the Japanese. I thought it advisable to keep quiet for a few days, for I was not ready just then to pass out of the Russian lines.

At this critical juncture I had a disturbing message from Dr. Morrison: “Greener, Yingkow.--Japanese Legation disbelieves Carter’s story and proximity forces.” The Russian authorities inspected all our telegrams, and for it to be known to them that what I sent was submitted to the Japanese at Peking did not improve my position or make it easier for me to extract news from Russians in authority.

The next disturbing incident was far more easily settled. One morning an officer from H.M.S. _Espiègle_ came to me post haste to know what I meant by a telegram in the _Times_ of February 17, then just received in Newchwang. I had my horse saddled and rode up the river bank to the gunboat’s dock, when the following was read to me:--

“YINGKAU, _February 16_.*

“The Civil Administrator of Newchwang with his family is
proceeding to Tientsin. He has been making every effort
to arrest the Russian soldiers guilty of offences against
foreigners, and has assured Mr. Miller, the United States
Consul, and Commanders Barton and Sawyer of the British sloop
_Espiègle_ and the American gunboat _Helena_ against whom
menacing demonstrations have been made, that full reparation
shall be made.”

“What of it?” I asked.

“There has been no menacing demonstration, therefore no reparation can be made--that is all.”

“Not quite,” I answered. “If you will look you will see an asterisk after the date, and at the bottom of the column you are informed that it is a Reuter’s message. You have called the wrong man.”

It was too much to expect me to be answerable for what was sent to the paper by the news agencies, but soon afterwards I was called to book over a paragraph in a message sent from Peking on March 4, and published in the _Times_ of March 7, as follows:--

“All the coal supply at Newchwang has been purchased by the
Russians, including 22,000 tons belonging to the chief British
firm. A contract was signed on the very eve of the war, when
war was assured. Delivery is not yet complete, and has been
taking place daily ever since the war began. The Russians speak
favourably of the assistance thus rendered at a critical time,
when coal was urgently needed for the Manchurian railway, by a
British firm, who, unless the port is blockaded, can presumably
render equally valuable service in the future by importing food
stuffs for the Russian troops.”

This is with reference to a matter which Dr. Morrison might have stated differently. In the first place _all_ the coal stocks at Newchwang were not then purchased: in April the late United States Marshal sold some large parcels, and there were others. The 22,000 tons of Kaiping dust formed a portion of a consignment from the Chinese Engineering and Mining Company. It was in Newchwang, which was ice-bound. That coal, and all other supplies in store, could have been commandeered by the Russians after the war began under the martial law they proclaimed. The Russian authorities would not buy the dust from the British firm of Bush Bros., who sold it before the war to the Danish East-Asiatic Company, a Copenhagen firm of shipowners and traders, from whom the Russians acquired that portion which was being delivered when Dr. Morrison was at Newchwang. The Russians may have spoken favourably of the assistance thus rendered by a British firm--which was avowedly, openly and consistently pro-Japanese throughout--but I never heard them, though I did hear many abuse the firm very often. The Russian authorities showed their appreciation by _not buying_ food stuffs from Messrs. Bush, who had them at a time the Russians wanted them badly, and Mr. McGlew, a member of the firm and brother-in-law of its principal, was the only foreign resident the Russian authorities requested to leave Newchwang. The firm had to dispense with his services until the Japanese occupation of the treaty port had been effected.

The war provoked correspondents into making mistakes, the most careful and capable were at times at fault, and those who trusted to official information probably more often than any. Only the agencies can reveal how many times their distraught correspondents have telegraphed in such manner as--“Kill dispatch, given officially but untrue.” “Suppress after ---- last message, official now untalk.”

Obtaining an exact and truthful account of any occurrence even from an eye-witness of the event is a matter of great difficulty, as Sir Walter Raleigh experienced, but the difficulty is exceedingly great with reference to all things connected with the war, as every informant is more or less biassed in favour of one of the belligerents. Sift, and probe, and examine, and compare as carefully as we might, we were rarely quite satisfied that we had the real unvarnished plain statement of fact. On the few occasions we did succeed we did not always get credited even. I know that once I met a man of learning and position, one of the best informed, most intelligent and highly respected foreign residents in Vladivostok. He was on his way from that town to communicate something of importance to his Legation at Peking. We had long been acquainted, and although, as he explained, he could not give me all the information he had about Vladivostok yet he would give me something of general interest respecting the recent Japanese bombardment of that port, and of the extent of the damages. Part of that information I cabled home at once--to be informed curtly from Peking, “You are not justified in wasting _Times’_ money upon wild reports reaching you from Vladivostok.”

The newspaper men had no opportunities for lotus eating in the wilderness of Newchwang, but some of them had not enough of danger there to satisfy them and must needs seek extra risks by attempting extraordinary adventures. There was Colonel Emerson, an American, who with insufficient papers pushed on to the Russian headquarters at Liaoyang, and there got his marching orders to proceed home by way of Moscow and report himself to the authorities at Mukden, Harbin and other places _en route_. He went as far as Mukden, did not report himself, but got carried through the Russian lines to Hsinmintun by one of the Chinamen in the employ of Bush Brothers, a man who has rendered other correspondents signal service but whose identity must not be revealed as long as any are liable to need his assistance. The Russians, missing Emerson, concluded that he must have tried to escape and consequently must be dead, for nobody _could_ pass out of the Russian lines. So his death was reported in the _Harbinski Viedomosti_, and the authorities telegraphed in Emerson’s name for his effects to be forwarded to Mukden. As it happened, Emerson, who had not sent the telegram, was back again in Newchwang at the time.

There was another American who determined to go from Newchwang to Port Arthur in a junk, and told so many people about it that the junk was stopped; and there was Etzel, who did get away, but only to be shot before he was out of Chinese waters. That disastrous termination put an end to similar enterprises, but only for a time.

In Newchwang we had General Kondoratovich, the youngest man of his rank in the army. The Commandant of our division was a good type of officer, intrepid, resourceful, open-hearted and open-handed; the correspondents just made him tired, but he was always courteous to them. He was a free liver, absolutely disregardful of public opinion and capable of minding his own affairs and of guarding Russian interests.

Newchwang was also visited by General Linevich, the leader of the Russian expedition to Peking; by the Commander-in-Chief General Kuropatkin, who reviewed the local troops numbering about 6,000, and decided that the port must be evacuated. Newchwang was also visited by the Grand Duke Boris, who viewed its defences, inspected the port, and after being bored by the authorities as a matter of duty was fêted by them as a token of their esteem, and enjoyed himself in his usual manner.

On Palm Sunday, March 27, the authorities suddenly announced that the treaty port of Newchwang was under martial law. All residents must remain within the gates of the town; the Russian settlement, Niuchatun, and other villages in the suburbs were out of bounds, and not to be visited without special permission. The Chinese railway station in neutral territory could be visited between sunrise and sunset; during the hours of darkness all river traffic was prohibited. The Chinese, who, until that day, if they were found after dark without carrying a lantern were fined, were fined now if they had a lantern, or if the least glimmer of light showed through their doors, windows, or cracks in the walls of their compound.

All the foreign consuls with the exception of the British acquiesced in the order. The British consul would not do so without instructions of the British Minister at Peking to whom he had referred the matter, and who, naturally, never gave instructions. It was a mere verbal quibble, all British subjects were advised to accept the situation; the protection of the consuls could indeed be claimed, but as they had relinquished their power, their consulates were no longer legal sanctuaries for their own nationals.

The work of correspondents was made more difficult; and they were regarded with increased suspicion by the authorities. Colonel Telshin and Lt.-Col. Dabovsky were appointed censors, and the Chinese Imperial Railway Telegraph offices were placed in charge of Mr. Pancheka, who had with him a commissioned officer and a squad of Cossacks.

It cannot be said that the regulations were severe, or that they pressed heavily upon the foreign residents. As with all Russian ordinances there was laxity in enforcing the provisions of the proclamation. The correspondents found certain liberties curtailed. We certainly did ride out without permits to Russia-town, the flats by the forts, and to different villages. Sometimes we were stopped by a sentinel, but more often than not passed unchallenged. Only once, when I was re-entering by the south gate from a ride to the fort, did the guard go so far as to stop me by seizing my bridle. I urged the horse forward, and the bold man went with her a short way, then he and his rifle fell to the earth. I went on, expecting a shot to be fired after me, but hearing only the loud laughter of the guards at their comrade’s discomfiture.

The censorship was somewhat of a nuisance. Etzel submitted a test message which the censor obligingly amended: the revised copy was presented and passed, but it was not sent, for the message which went was of quite different import and uncensored. There were also ways of getting a censor’s stamp and signature on a blank form, or by writing in or altering the censored message, news of a somewhat different character could be substituted. But there were so many ways of getting news out without the authorities knowing of it, that troubling the censor was quite unnecessary, and done only in order to keep on good terms with the officials.

The order against crossing the river was the most irksome restriction. The bank was patrolled, and the sentinels fired at whatever they saw moving, and inquired afterwards. When there was good cause to cross over, a permit could be obtained, and the passenger took the risk; or even a ferry could be obtained in one of the official launches, the privileged boats, which were not fired upon. There were no steam launches or tug-boats in private hands.

We did not often ask for special permits from the authorities, because we did not care to be constantly worrying them, and because if the official happened to be asleep, or obfuscated, there were delays, and the attendants rather expected that something unusual would be attempted, and the guards thus made unusually alert. We went up the river beyond the guard boat, and down it below the fort; sometimes I was challenged, generally not, and the restrictions were only a subject to grumble at openly, and ignore in secret. By taking my horse across the river and working the opposite bank I was never subjected to any annoyance or question, and I crossed beyond the prescribed limits whenever I wished. Still, it was not easy to get the Chinese boatmen to contravene the regulations. Once when it was necessary for me to cross from Liao-tse to the town in the night, I had to go to the village opium joint, seize a sampan man, drag him to the water-edge, put him in the sampan and push it off into the stream myself, then set him to scull the boat across. Of course he grumbled, and worked hard and in mortal fear, but no shot was fired that time. At others we were shot at, and over, but luckily not fired upon.

Finding by experience that when I answered the sentinel’s challenge with the usual pass-word “Svoi” (literally, “self-same” = friend) it invariably led to further questioning and vexatious delay whilst explaining my business, I asked a Russian official how I could avoid the annoyance.

“Oh, say ‘K’chortu’ (to the devil), I always do.” That never failed me.

We had our little worries day by day. Whenever we needed roubles, they were at a big premium in Newchwang, when we wanted Mexican dollars roubles were at a discount, and as Mexicans were not forthcoming we were loaded up with Pei-yang coins, Kirin currency and small money, whilst the fiction of the Haikwan tael was rammed down our throats, and was as hard to swallow as stories of Russian successes on the field of battle. An American journalist got no war news worth a cent, but of his experiences he made an article on the “financial pirates of the east,” which justified the expense his paper incurred by his expedition. One correspondent thought it was time to learn Russian, and having got the one word “Good-day” at the end of his tongue, he tried it upon the first sentry who challenged him. There followed a one-sided conversation, the sentry becoming choleric and the correspondent answering “Good-day” calmly to every phrase the other uttered. Another bought a pair of English riding boots across the river and carried them home. Wrapping-up paper was not procurable, and the correspondent with his boots attracted the attention of the police. As he was unable to explain matters, either in Chinese or Russian, he had difficulty in continuing his journey homeward. If the police had known how many pairs of riding boots that correspondent had in his room, they would undoubtedly have considered themselves justified in detaining him indefinitely.

There was one correspondent, representing a journal of world-wide renown, who whenever he got into a difficulty never gave his name, but always that of his paper. Riding along the native bund one day, his pony seized some carrots from the stall of a Chinese market man and munched them. The correspondent tendered some money, but he was mobbed by the Chinese and Russians, and the police wanted some other explanation than _Weekly Post_, which he kept on repeating. As he told the story: “Sure, Greener, there’s nae body heerd o’ the _Weekly Post_ in these parts, and I made bould to mintion your peeper,--wi’ nae’ bitter effect. Then I sae ain o’ those enamelled signs o’ the _Daily Telegraph’s_; it’s just bent round a forge fire. An’ I went to’t, and tapped it with me whip, and signed wi’ my hands that I was it. But they wouldna’ understand! I think maybe they thought I wanted the sign just as my pony wanted the carrots, an’ I doant nae what might have happened me had na’ one o’ the coostoms men passed by and exthricated me. Sich fules! What is’t you say for War Correspondent? Eh? Say it again.”

Busy bodies amongst the Russian officials hauled down the American flag from the correspondents’ mess, and wished to remove the British ensign from their compound. They had to be made re-hoist one and allow both to remain. Then there were foreign residents who thought Newchwang the centre of the universe, and believed that through the correspondents the people of the British Empire could be made to take a real interest in the protection of their private property in Newchwang. And in this wise were we kept occupied, and whilst seemingly devoted to these things, or apparently idling, and waiting, and holding ourselves at the pleasure of our Russian authorities, we were forced to make time in which to do our real work unknown and unobserved.