CHINESE ESCAPADE

By LAURANCE TIPTON

LONDON

MacMillan & Co. Ltd

1949.

Part ONE

January 1940 to February 1942

CHAPTER I

JAPANESE INQUISITION

JANUARY 1940: A bitterly cold north-east wind from the bleak Mongolian Plateau swept down the Nankow Pass, scouring the gullies of dead leaves, twigs and sand and hurling them against the windows of the compartment. The sun, a dull red disc in the dust-laden atmosphere, had already slipped below the horizon; in half an hour it would be dark. Slowly, and with much laborious effort, the train was pushed up the steep incline, through tunnels and around hairpin bends, over viaducts, from one side to the other of the pass that led from the plains of Peking to the vast expanses of Mongolia. With the exception of the recumbent figure in the opposite corner seat, the carriage was empty. Dinner, consisting of fried rice and an assortment of vegetables, had already been served in the dining-car. Cold as it was, I stretched out on the seat and prepared to sleep.

"Passport ― baggage examination!" shouted the Japanese frontier guard, noisily opening the compartment door. We had crossed the border into Mongolia. Getting no response from myself or the bundle of fur in the opposite corner, the guard became considerably more fluent. This had the desired result and my companion emerged from his slumbers for sufficient length of time to point out that he was Japanese. After profuse apologies and no little bowing and sucking of breath, the guard and his attendant gendarme turned their attention to me and examined my passport. In their haste to depart they overlooked the examination of my baggage and were bowing their way backwards through the compartment door when my Japanese travelling companion bestirred himself sufficiently to point out that they had overlooked this integral part of their duty.

Taking down my suitcase from the rack, I opened it for them. They made a hurried examination and were half-way out of the compartment again when the bundle in the corner indicated that I had another suitcase under the seat. Apart from treading heavily on his toes as I replaced the baggage on the rack, there was little that I could do and the remaining three hours were spent in a distinct atmosphere of hostility.

Just before midnight the train pulled into the station at Kalgan, capital of the State of Mengchiang and seat of the newly organised Federal Autonomous Government of Mongolia, which functioned under Japanese tutelage. Descending from the train I was surrounded by Chinese friends from our office who had come to meet me. They were clad in heavy fur-lined coats and hats and wore high Mongolian boots of thick felt. After the exchange of greetings, my friends led me to the passport examination office and discreetly disappeared, promising to await me at the station exit. At a desk in the office sat a Military Police Lieutenant and a young sandy-haired Russian, who introduced himself as Nikoli. Checking my travelling pass and passport, he told me to report to the Japanese Military Police, the Consular Police and the Japanese Consul-General on the following morning and to apply for a residential permit from the Foreign Affairs Department of the Municipal Government. After delivering a neat little speech on the freedom of travel in Mengchiang, with a rider to the effect that, if I ever considered it necessary to travel, I was to be sure and seek his advice and assistance in obtaining a travelling pass, he bade me a somewhat alcoholic farewell and implied that he would be seeing a lot of me in the future.

It did not take me long to realise that this was not the Mongolia I had known some five years earlier. Although this area had never shown a favourable balance of trade, there had been always the outward appearance of prosperity and trade common to most frontier towns: the streets blocked by strings of camels laden with wool and furs from the Mongolian wastes and attended by strapping, greasy sons of the Mongolian plateau; groups of Mongolian merchants in their colourful red, purple and magenta robes, and high felt boots, strolling through the main streets followed, at a respectful distance, by their womenfolk. The latter were usually clad in long gowns of all shades of red; their hair, ears, neck and wrists heavily adorned with ornaments of silver inlaid with coral, lapis and cornelian; around the waist a girdle of embossed silver, inlaid with coral and trimmed with red silk tassels. Sometimes this picturesque attire would be crowned with a brand-new felt hat straight from the store hat-box, with undented crown, placed on the head with the precision only to be achieved by the novice. Lama priests, rosary in hand, mingled with the crowd, and over all fell a constant rain of dust from the traffic on the dirt roads.

Japanese soldiers now strolled in the streets; camel caravans were no longer allowed within the town, and only a few were to be seen at the inns on the outskirts, while noisy delivery trucks hooted their way up and down the main road. Occasionally a small group of Mongols were to be seen, but seldom nowadays were they accompanied by their women-folk. Now and again a Packard or Buick would pass in a cloud of dust, and with difficulty one could see the heads of the occupants, little men lost in the depths of American super-upholstery: the Japanese rulers of Mongolia.

The town had been replanned. Hundreds of cheap, square concrete buildings had appeared, new shoddily constructed roads had been built, and government offices were already showing signs of wear. Broken windows were covered with paper, tin stove-pipes projected through windows from stoves that had replaced the already defunct steam-heating systems. Inside these offices each department was crowded with be-spectacled Japanese clerks, their friends who had dropped in to pass the time of day, and very plain stumpy-legged office girls who were kept on a continual round refilling the inevitable glasses of tea.

I spent the following year in an unequal struggle with the so-called "Autonomous " government to maintain our business in this newly-formed State. For more than thirty years we had done a thriving business consigning cigarettes to North-West China, Kansu and Sinkiang by camel caravan, but with the retreat of the Chinese troops westwards to the borders of Ninghsia, this flourishing trade had been cut and our distribution was confined within the boundaries of Mengchiang. Bankrupt as this area was, owing to the closing of trade routes to the North-West, to Sinkiang and to Urga, and the consequent lack of exports, imports were restricted to essentials such as building materials and machinery, with which the Japanese planned to make the area self-supporting by the expansion of tanneries, woollen mills and agricultural implements for the development of grain production. Ex-change permits were handled by the government and import permits were almost impossible to obtain.

The government, torn between their desire to exclude this capitalistic "tobacco trusto", and their revenue from the enormous taxes levied on our goods, took a middle course and restricted our imports to one hundred million cigarettes a month. Import permits were granted, together with exchange remittance permits, but, more often than not, they failed to give us exchange facilities, which resulted in the accumulation of millions of useless Mengchiang dollars.

In the meantime the government had started to build their own cigarette factory. Acres of land were bought from farmers by forced sales at prices well below current land values and the cultivation of tobacco was started. Early in '41 the government-sponsored factory was opened, our quota was immediately cut by half and import permits became even more difficult to obtain. The government approached us to sell our property; we refused. The Japanese military authorities then called and informed us that our premises, being adjacent to the railway, were in a strategic area and therefore were required for military purposes and we must sell. Again we refused, but added that if the military would build us identically similar premises on a desirable site, we might consider the matter. Our imports dwindled practically to nothing and we were eventually refused import permits altogether. By this time I had managed to reduce our funds through devious channels and, giving up the possibilities of further business in Mengchiang, I returned to Tientsin, leaving a junior member of the staff in charge.

Not feeling sufficiently sure of themselves to occupy our property by force, but determined to wipe us off the slate legally, Japanese Army officials started an enquiry into my black-market activities. Their first step was to have the wife of one of our Chinese advisers, whom they called to Kalgan by a fictitious message reporting that her husband was seriously ill, kidnapped by the Military Police. Following this, they confiscated all our office records and a message was sent to me in Tientsin, requesting that I visit Kalgan for a few days to attend to matters of "importance" relating to the Company's business. This I ignored. However, M― whom I had left in Kalgan, developed a serious case of dysentery necessitating treatment, but he was refused permission to leave for Peking. I caught the next train for Peking, and as M― was an American citizen, called at the American Embassy, where an urgent phone call was put through to the Japanese Consulate in Kalgan, demanding that M― be allowed to return to Peking at once. Two days passed but he did not appear, and finally, having discussed the situation with the British Consul, who, as usual, was entirely non-committal, I decided the only thing to do was to go up to Kalgan myself.

On arrival everything appeared outwardly normal and the following morning I called at the Japanese Consulate and requested that they obtain a pass for M― who, although by now somewhat better, was still in need of treatment. Apart from his health, it was quite obviously no place for an American to be stationed under the existing conditions. The Consul was apologetic, blaming the Military Police for the refusal to issue a travelling pass. I next called on Nikoli, who issued a pass for M― immediately, and he left the same night for Peking.

The next morning Nikoli called and advised me that the Military Police wished to interrogate me on matters pertaining to our business. Refusing to go, I pointed out that I would not leave the house, unless by force, until they had released the wife of our Chinese adviser. Were the Military Police suitably equipped to deal with maternity cases? Could they not see she was in an advanced state of pregnancy? (She was an extremely fat woman and consequently the deception was not discovered.) Surely I must be mistaken he had never heard of her. Nevertheless, within two hours she was released with apologies — merely a case of mistaken identity.

Meanwhile I had telegraphed to Tientsin for our Japanese adviser, Mizuno-san. A very likeable man, he was educated in America, had travelled in Europe and was married to a German wife. As a hobby he bred champion Alsatians, and, for a Japanese, had quite a sense of humour. On his arrival we discussed the prospects for the morrow over several whiskies, of which he had brought up a couple of bottles to fortify us against what was likely to be an unpleasant interlude.

On presenting ourselves at the Military Police Head-quarters the next morning, and after some delay in the lobby, we were led down the inevitable dingy, pickle-smelling corridor and ushered into a room brilliantly lit by one powerful bulb. An elderly and poorly dressed Chinese, his head drooping, was bound to a chair with his arms outstretched on a table; a Japanese was sitting on either side of him and a third standing at his back. The tips of his index and middle fingers were still bleeding and the table was a mess of blood. The Japanese were smoking cigarettes, one of them was casually toying with a pair of pliers; a small blood-stained towel, two empty cigarette packets and a saucer full of cigarette stubs littered the table. The vivid green of the empty packets contrasted strangely with the crimson mess in which they lay. With a great show of embarrassment and profuse apologies, we were hurriedly pushed to the door and bowed into the adjoining room, this time the right one. A small plump Japanese, spotlessly dressed in the uniform of the Military Police, was sitting at the table surrounded by our account books and a mass of notes. He looked somewhat perplexed and, at the same time, relieved to see us. I was not unduly worried; I felt quite confident that he would find nothing in our books on which to base charges of violation of currency regulations. For six hours we answered questions, arguing and explaining to the accompaniment of alternate shrieks and groans and appeals for mercy from the room next door. Whilst genuine enough, it was clearly staged for our benefit. It would have been impossible for one individual to have withstood this long period of torture Chinese, like other men, have only ten finger-nails. Human beings under terror, pain and torture, shriek and groan in much the same manner, particularly the Chinese. It was hard to tell, but at least three or four individuals must have been dealt with during the six hours that we were being questioned.

Upsetting as it was, I was determined not to show any outward reaction. Mizuno had paled to a grey-green and I remember hoping that I had not done the same. After the third hour, even with the help of endless cigarettes and glasses of tea, one's ability to concentrate on the repeated questions lagged, and there was the continual anticipation of the shrieks of pain. Sometimes there would be quiet for half an hour, then the tension of waiting was relieved by almost inhuman noises. At the end of five and a half hours I was literally soaked with sweat, which ran down my legs and squelched and oozed as I moved my toes inside my shoes. Long since ceasing to make any further explanations, I merely replied "yes" or "no". Our inquisitor also seemed to have lost some of his original interest in the affair, and finally closing the books, he handed them to us and announced that the investigation could be considered as finished. As he rose he apologised for the inconvenience he had caused us and instructed a servant to see us off the premises.

Returning to the mess, Mizuno and I finished a bottle of brandy between us and then retired. The next day I made an application for a travelling pass to Peking, which was accepted, and I was told that the pass would be sent to me. Expecting a delay of a day or two, I was not particularly disturbed when it did not arrive after the second day.

That evening we received a visit from Lieutenant Nakamura, who in pre-war days was a Tokyo lawyer and now acted as secretary to the Chief of Staff of the Imperial Japanese Army Headquarters at Kalgan. We talked about the weather, the possibility of a Japanese-Russian war, the bonds of friendship between Japan and America, the breeding of dogs and children, and, eventually, about our property. Now that we had more or less closed our business, was there any longer a reason why we should not dispose of this property? Firmly I stated that we were not interested, whereupon Nakamura became somewhat truculent and, hinting that it was not advisable to thwart His Imperial Japanese Majesty's Army, departed.

Two more days passed. It was late autumn and I had some pleasant walks in the country; the weather was perfect, days of warm, brilliant sunshine with the early autumn promise of cold nights to come. It was a delightful change from the heavy, soot-laden atmosphere of Tientsin.

Eventually I visited Nikoli at the pass-issuing office and was bluntly referred to the Military Police, where I was told that the Army had forbidden my departure. That night I prepared a good dinner and we invited Nakamura. Yes, he regretted that it was impossible for me to leave just now. It was well known that I had been active in the black market, thereby undermining the economic stability of the Mengchiang Government, a criminal offence which must be investigated. Certain people were being arrested and the investigation would probably take some time, but, with such a spacious house, he felt sure I would be comfortable, and, of course, with such a large garden and a tennis court, it would not be necessary for me to leave the premises for recreation.

A week, ten days passed, and still nothing happened. Mizuno paid various calls and got little information, so I sent him back to our Tientsin office to report. Fortunately, I was still able to telephone Tientsin from my house and was in touch with the office practically every day.

After Mizuno's departure I saw Kageyama frequently. He was an unhappy specimen. Born and educated in America, he had fallen for Japanese propaganda and had given up his job in the States to join the Great Crusade which would bring a New Order to Asia. His American manner-isms were regarded with suspicion by the Japanese Army, for whom he worked as English interpreter, and, completely disillusioned; he appeared to live both physically and mentally upon recollections of happier clays. After Mizuno's departure, he always accompanied Nakamura on his not infrequent visits.

In another week the situation became clear. I was either to hand over our property to the Imperial Japanese Army, or I would be arrested and put in gaol pending trial, on charges of violation of currency laws and espionage. Finally, knowing perfectly well that I had no authority to do so, I signed away our property to the Kwan Tung Branch of His Imperial Japanese Majesty's Army. This was followed by a jovial dinner, with the prospective tenants wandering around between courses trying out the beds, flushing the water-closets and making themselves thoroughly familiar with their new home.

Escorted to the station in the Chief of Staff's car, I found a sleeping-compartment reserved for my use and, to the accompaniment of much bowing and sucking of breath, entrained for Peking.

A few weeks later I had the great satisfaction of forwarding a very curt missive from our Legal Department to Lieutenant Nakamura, for attention Chief of Staff, refuting my authority to lease the property and advising that this illegal occupation of British property had been referred to the Foreign Office of His Imperial Majesty's Government in Tokyo through the British Ambassador. I had the gratification of knowing that at least ex-lawyer Nakamura would appreciate this move.

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