Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [124]
The veins on Prince Kung’s neck grew thick, and his eyebrows twisted into a gingerroot. He jumped on Su Shun, knocking him to the ground, and started punching him.
“Manners!” Emperor Hsien Feng called. “Su Shun had my permission to express himself.”
His Majesty’s words crushed Prince Kung. He dropped his hands and threw himself down on his knees. “My Imperial brother, nothing will be achieved by taking their ambassador. I will bet my head on it. The situation will only go against us. Instead of backing down, they will send their fleets to our shores. I have studied long enough to know their ways.”
“Of course.” Su Shun got back on his feet, his long sleeves fluttering in the air. “Long enough to develop connections and long enough to forget who you are.”
“One more word, Su Shun,” Prince Kung clenched his jaws, “and I’ll pull your tongue out!”
Despite Kung’s warnings, an edict was issued to capture the ambassador of Britain. For the next few days the Forbidden City was quiet. When the news came that the ambassador had been taken, Peking celebrated. Su Shun was hailed as a hero. Almost immediately, reports of foreign attacks along the coastline took away the excitement. The documents sent to His Majesty from the frontier smelled of smoke and blood. Soon the papers were piled high against the walls. I had no way of sorting them. The situation went exactly as Prince Kung had predicted.
August 1, 1860, was the worst day for Emperor Hsien Feng.
Nothing now could stop the barbarians. Prince Kung was denounced and his Tsungli Yamen dismissed. Calling themselves “the Allies,” the British came with 173 warships and 10,000 soldiers, the French with 33 ships and 6,000 soldiers. Then the Russians joined in. Together, the three landed a force of 18,000 men on the shores of the Gulf of Chihli.
Going against the immense fortified earthworks that straddled the mouth of the Yellow River and the seaboard, the Allies scrambled ashore, sinking knee-deep in slime, and shot their way to dry ground. They then began to move toward Peking. General Seng-ko-lin-chin, the commander of Imperial forces, sent word to the Emperor that he was prepared to die—in other words, all hopes of protecting the capital were fading.
Other reports depicted bravery and patriotism, which filled me with sadness. China’s ancient way of fighting wars had become an embarrassment—only barriers made of bamboo stakes defended our forts and their complex of dikes and ditches. There was no chance for our soldiers to display their masterly martial-arts combat skills. They were shot down before they were even in sight of the enemy.
The Mongolian cavalry was known for its invincibility. Three thousand vanished in one day. The Westerners’ cannons and guns swept them away like dry leaves in a late-autumn wind.
Emperor Hsien Feng was soaked in sweat. A high fever had consumed so much of his energy that he could no longer eat. The court feared his collapse. When his fever broke, he asked me to draft five edicts to be delivered immediately to General Seng-ko-lin-chin. In His Majesty’s voice I informed the general that troops were being gathered from all over the country, and that in five days there would be a rescue led by the leg-endary General Sheng Pao. Nearly twenty thousand more men, including seven thousand cavalry, would arrive and join the counterattack.
In the next edict, I wrote as His Majesty spoke to his nation.
The treacherous barbarians were willing to sacrifice our faith in humanity. They advanced toward Tungchow. Shamelessly they announced their intention to compel me to receive them in audience. They threatened that any further forbearance on our part would be a dereliction of duty to the Empire.
Although my health is in a grievous state, I saw myself doing nothing else but fighting until my last breath. I have realized that we could no longer achieve peace