CHASING PIRATES IN THE CHINA SEA
Tales of Modern Pirate Hunting
IT must not be supposed that all pirates lived in the far distant past, or that there are no pirates nowadays. It is true that the picturesque gentlemen whose acquaintance we have made so far have disappeared from the high seas, but fellow rogues of theirs still ply their trade far away in the East. The coasts of China have always been infested by pirates; of course, they are not so numerous or so open in their methods to-day as they were, say, forty or fifty years ago, for China has awakened from her lethargy of ages, and her ancient civilisation is being supplanted by a newer one which will not tolerate pirates. As a matter of fact, the old Chinese civilisation did not tolerate them; but the officials were so slack, and so cowardly, that the freebooters laughed at them and their efforts to suppress piracy. It was for this reason that Great Britain had gunboats in the Far Eastern waters whose mission it was to destroy the pirates—rout them out of their strongholds, and sink or capture their junks.
The Gulf of Tonquin, the island of Hainan, and the length of coast from that point to Macao, were—and are—what might be termed the hunting-ground of the Chinese pirates. Macao, as a glance at the map will show, is on the opposite side of the Canton River to Hong-Kong, the British naval base. The trading was done chiefly from Hong-Kong to the northward, the country below Macao being practically unknown to Europeans. The British steamer Takon was held up on April 27th, 1914, by pirates off Kian, to the north of Macao. It was late at night, and the captain was on his bridge. The pirates swarmed along the deck, killing as they went, and instantly all was confusion. There were two hundred and thirty people on board, including passengers and crew, and it was a bold attempt the pirates made. The officers and crew opposed them nobly, and tried to force them back; but nothing could stop them. Across the deck they went towards the bridge where the captain stood, revolver in hand, blazing away at them as fast as he could. Here so good a stand was made, that the pirates found they would be unable to win, and, while some kept the captain and his few men engaged, others rushed below and set fire to the ship. Very soon the vessel was a blazing mass, with women and children screaming, pirates jumping overboard to escape capture, the crew launching boats and trying to get the women and children off.
Naturally, after the turmoil of the fight, there was much confusion, for people had lost their heads, and though incoming steamers rescued over a hundred and fifty from the ship, which was burnt to the water’s edge, when the toll was taken next morning it was found that a hundred and eighty were missing, including the chief officer, Evans, who had been last seen clinging to a floating oar. Of the rescued, some showed signs of the encounter with the pirates, several of whom had been killed and a number of others wounded.
To go farther back, in 1865, a large junk, with a fine cargo of opium, left the port bound for Swatow in the north. Now, as the junk was well armed and well manned, having no fewer than a dozen 12- to 18-pounder guns and some forty-five men on board, it seemed unlikely that she would be molested by the pirates. For this reason a number of people sailed in her, thinking themselves safe. The better not to be noticed by any prowling piratical craft, the junk slipped out of harbour at evening, but, the wind falling, she had to anchor about nine o’clock a few miles from the outer roads of Hong-Kong, the crew, despite their strength, and the passengers, despite the crew, feeling anything but at ease in their minds; at any moment they knew they might be swooped down upon by a number of pirate junks, and then—well, here is the “then.”
At midnight, while the passengers were tossing about uneasily, a dark shape loomed out of the night, there was a grating of ship’s side against ship’s side, the patter of running feet on deck, and before the crew or the passengers could gather themselves together—before they even knew what was afoot—they were clapped under the hatches, prisoners to pirates. Eighty-three people had been captured by, perhaps, half that number!
Once having secured their prisoners, the pirates set the junk’s sails, and under cover of the darkness took her back towards Hong-Kong, keeping well away from the coast until they were on the south side of the island. Here, at daybreak, they ordered the prisoners to come up on deck one by one.
They came; and as each one showed head above the hatch, he or she—for there were women and children aboard—was seized by the pirates, bound hand and foot, and pitched headlong into the sea; these ruffians didn’t trouble about planks! A man stood too much chance of being saved if he walked off a plank, and very little if flung overboard with his feet and hands tied.
Eighty-two of the batch were treated in this way, the sole exception being a child of twelve years of age, whom they decided to keep and turn into ship’s boy. Then away went the pirates to a snug little harbour near Macao, where they shared their spoil—no little lot, either, for the ship had been well laden. Then the captured junk was burnt, and the pirates broke up into little companies and went anywhere they felt inclined, to spend their ill-gotten gains, and then to return to their trade.
Seven of the rogues, taking the little boy with them, boarded a steamer bound for Hong-Kong. The pirates, used to such ventures, maintained a fine pose, but the poor little laddie, scared out of his wits and wondering what was likely to happen to him, attracted the attention of the captain.
“What’s the matter?” asked the captain. And, with nervous glances about him, lest a pirate should catch him confiding to the kind-hearted man, the boy told him the story of the tragic night on the junk. Telling him to say nothing to anyone else, the captain, when the steamer arrived at Hong-Kong, stopped in the middle of the river, and hailed the police-boat. This arriving, the whole batch of passengers, numbering over a hundred, was lined up, and the boy made to pick out the seven pirates, who were taken prisoners and sent to the lock-up.
The people of Hong-Kong were in a fine stew over the matter already, for the previous evening one of the men who had been flung overboard had, by a miracle, succeeded in getting his hands and feet free, and, being a good swimmer, made his way to a small island near at hand, whence he took a fishing-boat to Hong-Kong and told his story. But though the authorities made inquiries none of the pirates were captured, except the seven mentioned, who were duly tried and hanged.
The terror which the pirates struck into the inhabitants of the small coast towns—and large ones, too—is clearly shown in the following story, told by Captain St. John, R.N., who commanded one of the gunboats detailed to tackle the rovers. He was cruising about the coast in 1865, shortly after the incident above-mentioned, when a sampan hailed him, and the fisherman in it cried excitedly:
“Have got pilong!” (pirate).
“Where?” he was asked.
“Can makee see,” was the answer. And he pointed to a couple of junks which were making out to sea. That was enough for St. John. After them he went, and the junks had no chance against the steam gunboat, which rapidly overhauled them. Before the British vessel could get alongside, however, a number of other junks swung out from the shore, and there began a miniature battle—much noise, much smoke, though probably not much damage on the part of the official junks, anyhow; for it was left to Captain St. John to effect the capture of the pirate junks. Anchoring off shore with his prisoners, the captain interviewed the mandarin who came aboard. In true Oriental fashion the latter thanked the Britisher for what he had done, considering it a vast achievement to have captured a couple of junks and twenty-one men.
“These two junks,” he said, “have given me a great deal of trouble for four days; they have blockaded the place; neither a fishing nor a trading junk has been able to get out!”
Naturally, Captain St. John was surprised that two miserable junks, with twenty-one men and a two-pounder gun, could have effectively shut up a port in such a way. The mandarin excused himself and his people by saying that they were very, very scared of pirates, and on being asked if he hadn’t any soldiers, replied that he had eight hundred ashore. Eight hundred soldiers, and a hundred or so junks knocking about the harbour, and yet the two pirate craft could hold up a whole port’s trade for over half a week! And the port had 4,000 inhabitants!
“Well,” said the captain to the mandarin, “if I were a Chinaman, I think I would turn pirate at once. They must lead very jolly, independent lives!”
“Yes, they do,” answered the mandarin, not appreciating the captain’s humour. “The only things they fear are English gunboats.”
Pickshui, one of the strongholds of the pirates, had already been burned down twice by Captain St. John; but, having been rebuilt, it was determined that once and for all it should be razed to the ground. A large expedition, consisting of fifty-three war-junks, sixteen hundred Chinese troops, four English gunboats and a steamer was detailed to do this, Captain St. John being in command, though the part of his own little force was rather to encourage the Chinese than anything else. The armada arrived off Pickshui, which from its situation was as good a place for the pirates to lurk in as could be found. The way in was through a channel between two islands, and vessels passing through were at the mercy of the pirate junks inside. The mandarin in charge of the Chinese section of the expedition knew this, and was pathetic in his refusal to venture in, or allow his own ships to do so, unless an English gunboat led the way. So in went the English, followed by the Chinese, who, indicative of their dread of the pirates, directed a heavy fire upon the village before they dared land a single man. Then, when they had plucked up sufficient courage, the celestial warriors leaped ashore, and a great mass of them rushed at the village, from which the inhabitants fled in terror. Then looting began; and afterwards the village was burned to the ground—for the third time.
But the work was not done; large numbers of pirates were hidden amongst the trees, and kept up a continual fire upon the Chinese troops who were told to clear them out of the woods. Eight hundred of the soldiers were detailed for this task, and for a time they kept up a brisk, though useless, because ill-directed, fire upon the pirates. Then they refused to advance a single inch; it was only courting death, they said.
“My troops cannot take the place!” cried the mandarin to Captain St. John, in an awful agony of spirit.
“Go in at them,” exclaimed the captain, “and they’ll run as fast as their legs can carry them!”
A blank refusal was the only answer, and the captain realised that if the expedition was to be a success, he would have to make it so. He therefore promised to help, and, taking one sailor and one marine, he landed and went to where the Imperial cowards were waiting. The mandarin, fear written all over his face, took his stand with his men, but the captain and his two companions went forward alone, getting close up to where the pirates were concealed.
These three intrepid men opened fire upon the lurkers, and what all the desultory firing of the Imperial troops had failed to do, they did; they alone sent the pirates fleeing for their lives!
And that little affair upset the ruffians at Pickshui!
How scared the pirates were of a handful of Englishmen is shown by an encounter which Captain St. John had with them in another little bay, where the gunboat could not enter, the entrance being too narrow and the water too shallow. As the pirate junks would be lined up inside, ready to meet with a heavy fire any attacking boats, some other way had to be devised, and the captain hit on a method which, as it turned out, was successful. He landed at a spot some distance from the entrance, taking seven men with him, and arranging for another boat to put out when the gunboat reached the entrance of the channel.
The way to the pirates’ rendezvous lay through a quarter of a mile of scrubby bush and long grass, and up the side of a hill. Cautiously this ground was covered and the summit of the hill reached. Down in the bay lay three large junks, broadside on to the entrance, ready to give a good fight to any who tried to get in. Their men were at the guns, twenty-six in all—a fair armament, and one likely to cause havoc in any boats which dare attempt to enter. As for men, there were about ten to one against the English; but the job had to be done.
Grounded on the shore was a small sampan, hidden from the junks by some trees; and Captain St. John resolved that he would have this sampan. Just as he had made up his mind to obtain it, the gunboat appeared at the entrance and the pirates began to get to business. But before they had a chance to fire, St. John and three of his men had scrambled into the sampan, pushed off, and took them in the rear. They were seen immediately, before ever they got near enough to board, and the three other men, who were coming along the shore, were also seen.
Never were mortals so scared as were those poor pirates! Seven men—white men, Englishmen! So vast an army had come out against them! It was more than piratic endurance and pluck could stand; and over the side went the raiders, some being fortunate enough to drop into the boats alongside, others tumbling headlong into the water. Such a scene you never saw! Such yells of fear you never heard!
And four of those seven men were in a sampan that simply refused to be steered, but spun round and round and round, so that they could neither get aboard nor grab any of the pirates. Then, to add to the consternation of the ruffians, another boat, with more Englishmen, appeared in the entrance; and there were no men at the guns to fire the grapeshot which they had hoped would blow the sailors from the sea!
And instead of doing that the pirates splashed and scrambled about in frantic efforts to reach shore, all of them managing to do so except about half a dozen who were taken prisoners. Then the Englishmen had a bonfire, the junks forming the fuel for it.
Truly, pirate-hunting in the Far East is a fine sport!