Chapter Thirty-Nine: Carving Rotten Wood Is Futile

Although the Battle of the Yalu River ended with the Beiyang Fleet's voluntary withdrawal, the engagement itself was indecisive—neither side lost any of their main warships.

After sunset, the Imperial Far Eastern Fleet also turned about and began its return voyage.

By this point, the Beiyang Fleet had not been defeated in battle; if only the previous errors could be corrected, there still remained a chance to overcome the Japanese fleet in future naval engagements.

The question was whether the Beiyang Fleet could muster its strength anew.

Two days later, upon returning to Jiaozhou Bay, Feng Chengqian received news from Richthofen: the Beiyang Fleet had retreated to Lushun, preparing to repair its damaged vessels.

When the Beiyang Fleet was first assembled, the Qing dynasty had developed Lushun as the fleet’s home port, building extensive infrastructure there.

Barely a day later, a reconnaissance ship dispatched a report: Itō Sukeyuki, commander of the Japanese Combined Fleet, had appeared just off Weihaiwei.

“This Japanese fleet commander is certainly bold, coming straight to our doorstep,” someone remarked.

“You think Itō Sukeyuki is brave?” Tirpitz nodded. “Without courage, how would he dare to come here?”

Feng Chengqian smiled. “All of the Beiyang Fleet’s repair facilities are in Lushun. Itō Sukeyuki must have deduced that the fleet went there instead of returning to Weihaiwei. If he truly had courage, he’d go to Lushun. I've heard Lushun is hailed as the strongest fortress in the Far East.”

“You mean to say…”

“Failing to annihilate the Beiyang Fleet at the Yalu, Itō Sukeyuki must be under immense pressure. Even with his main warships heavily damaged, he cannot simply lead the fleet home. He cannot retreat—his only choice is to press forward. He is very clever: by blockading Weihaiwei, he is clearly avoiding battle.”

Tirpitz considered this and nodded in understanding, grasping Feng Chengqian’s point.

“The Beiyang Fleet has not yet been defeated. If they can summon their courage and seize this opportunity, with the Japanese fleet isolated and overextended, they might still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.”

“Do you believe the Beiyang Fleet still has the will to fight?” asked Tirpitz.

“That is the greatest uncertainty.” Feng Chengqian sighed. “After the battle at the Yalu, the fleet’s spirit was utterly broken. From Li Hongzhang at the top to the ordinary sailors, none understood the true value of a fleet, nor how to wield such a powerful force.”

“So you mean…”

“I fear there will not be another great naval battle like at the Yalu.” Feng Chengqian paused. “If the Beiyang Fleet’s commander had understood how to utilize a fleet, there never would have been a battle at the Yalu in the first place. With their strength, they could have taken the initiative and driven the Japanese out of the Yellow Sea. Even if the Japanese fleet put up resistance, in the months prior, Japan could not have so recklessly reinforced its troops in Korea, and the situation on the Korean front would have been entirely different. Before the war even broke out, the outcome was already set—what point was there in fighting?”

“So, the Beiyang Fleet will just surrender without a fight?”

“Even if not outright surrender, they will sit and await destruction—there is no good end in sight,” Feng Chengqian said, glancing at Tirpitz. “The Japanese will certainly attack Lushun, using it as a springboard to seize the Liaodong Peninsula and realize their dream of advancing onto the continent. The Qing forces will certainly defend Lushun to the death, but it won’t be a true fight to the finish. If possible, the Japanese will also attack Weihaiwei to utterly destroy the Beiyang Fleet.”

“If that’s the case, this war might drag on for years.”

“At most, a few months.”

“So soon?”

Feng Chengqian nodded. “With the Beiyang Fleet cowering in port, Japanese shipping in the Yellow Sea is no longer threatened. There’s no need to advance by land; they can simply attack Lushun and Weihaiwei from the sea, bypassing the Qing defensive lines on the Yalu River.”

“If so, then a few months would indeed suffice.”

“Of course, this is only my conjecture,” Feng Chengqian exhaled. “The Qing army is equipped with the Maxim machine guns we provided. The Japanese have no such advanced weapons. If the Qing can deploy them wisely and make full use of their power, Lushun and Weihaiwei could become Japanese graveyards.”

“Do you believe the Qing have that capability?” Tirpitz asked.

Feng Chengqian merely smiled, offering no answer.

Even the British, the first to purchase the Maxim machine gun, did not realize its true power until the Boer War, more than a decade later. Not until the second year of the Great War did the Western powers understand how machine guns would transform warfare.

The Qing army’s weakness did not fundamentally stem from a lack of advanced weaponry.

As Feng Chengqian predicted, after seizing control of the Yellow Sea, the Japanese did not cross the Yalu. Instead, they launched a direct amphibious assault on Lushun.

What Feng Chengqian had not anticipated was the daring scope of their strategy.

On October 24th, with meticulous preparation and while the Beiyang Fleet dared not sortie, the Japanese simultaneously attacked both the Yalu River and Lushun.

Clearly, the Japanese had adopted a two-pronged offensive. According to Feng Chengqian’s assessment, the assault on the Yalu was a feint, meant to pin down the Qing forces withdrawing into Manchuria and relieve pressure on the attack against Lushun.

Feng’s supposition was quickly confirmed.

Within twelve days, over twenty thousand Japanese troops landed at Huayuan Kou near Lushun. Li Hongzhang had ordered Lushun to be defended to the death, yet the Qing army stood idle, allowing the Japanese to land unopposed.

Astonishingly, the only resistance to the landing came from local farmers who had organized themselves in desperation.

By early November, the Japanese had first seized Jinzhou, taking Dalian Bay.

After resting for ten days in Dalian Bay, the Japanese advanced on Lushun on November 18th. Along the way, Qing troops fled at the mere approach of the Japanese, and even their commanders deserted. On the 21st, the Japanese launched their final assault on Lushun, and within a single day, the so-called “strongest fortress in East Asia” fell.

Before Lushun’s fall, the Beiyang Fleet fled to Weihaiwei.

As most of their damaged warships had yet to be repaired, the fleet continued to shelter in port, forbidden by Li Hongzhang’s order from engaging the enemy at sea.

But could their ships truly be repaired while hiding in Weihaiwei?

In the area, only Jiaozhou Bay—controlled by the German Empire—possessed adequate facilities for ship repair, apart from Lushun.

On November 22nd, Feng Chengqian received an invitation from Li Hongzhang.

Evidently, Li Hongzhang’s summons concerned the Beiyang Fleet, most likely seeking Feng’s help in repairing the damaged ships.

After much deliberation, Feng Chengqian declined, citing illness as his excuse.

After the fall of Lushun, defeat for the Qing became a foregone conclusion; Feng Chengqian saw no reason to wade into such murky waters, much less to stand at the forefront.

Even if he helped the Qing preserve the Beiyang Fleet, what good would it do? Li Hongzhang was unwilling to admit defeat, but the rulers above him had already lost all confidence in victory. The Qing would soon sue for peace with Japan.

By this stage, however, the Japanese army was itself exhausted and had suffered heavy casualties. Though the Japanese claimed only a hundred casualties in the assault on Lushun, Richthofen’s intelligence revealed that over a thousand Japanese had died on the 21st alone—most cut down by Maxim guns, against which the Japanese had no effective countermeasures.

Worse than the casualties was the depletion of Japanese war materiel—their supplies were nearly exhausted.

With the Qing yet to surrender and the war not yet ended, a ceasefire at this stage would net Japan few gains.

For more than a month afterward, Japan focused its efforts on the home front. The Emperor himself called on the nation to donate supplies for the troops at the front.

It had to be admitted: this rapidly rising nation possessed remarkable cohesion.

For a time, from royalty to commoners, all Japanese tightened their belts and sent their savings to the front lines for the soldiers.

By late January 1895, after thorough preparations, the Japanese launched an assault on Weihaiwei.

By then, the main warships of the Beiyang Fleet had been repaired enough to put to sea, and the Qing army had made certain adjustments. Yet their fighting spirit and confidence in facing the Japanese had been utterly lost.

This battle unfolded not far from Jiaozhou Bay.

Feng Chengqian did not remain in the rear waiting for news; instead, he had Tirpitz arrange a guard detail and personally traveled to Weihaiwei to observe the fighting.

The battle proved even more ferocious than Feng had anticipated.

Within three days, the 25,000 men of the Japanese Second Division, led by Lieutenant General Sakuma Samata, and the Sixth Division, under Lieutenant General Kuroki Tamemoto, landed on Longxu Island. After a week’s rest, on the 30th, they launched a fierce assault on the southern batteries at Weihaiwei. Though only three thousand Qing soldiers defended the batteries, under the command of Battalion Commander Zhou Jia’en, they put up a tenacious resistance. In the end, all three thousand defenders perished, but at great cost to the Japanese: Major General Otani Yoshitsune was killed by Qing artillery—the only Japanese general to fall in this war.

On February 3rd, the Japanese captured Weihaiwei, leaving Liugong Island, where the Beiyang Fleet was anchored, isolated.

Although Itō Sukeyuki, the Japanese fleet commander, wrote to Ding Ruchang urging him to surrender, Ding refused.

On the 5th, the Beiyang Fleet flagship “Zhi Yuan” struck a mine and ran aground.

By the 11th, after all the main ships were sunk or gravely damaged, Ding Ruchang, pressed by his subordinate commanders, committed suicide.

On the 14th, Niu Changbing, the head of Weihai’s naval administration, signed the “Weihai Surrender Agreement” with Itō Sukeyuki, handing over all ships in the harbor, Liugong Island’s batteries, and all military supplies to the Japanese.

On the 17th, the Japanese landed on Liugong Island; the Weihaiwei naval base had fallen, and the Beiyang Fleet was annihilated.

With the fall of Weihaiwei, the Qing dynasty was utterly defeated.

Yet Li Hongzhang refused to acknowledge defeat. The Qing army launched four counterattacks on the Liaodong Peninsula, only to be repulsed each time by the Japanese, losing Niuzhuang, Yingkou, and Tianzhuangtai in succession. More than sixty thousand Qing troops east of the Liao River collapsed in utter rout.

By this time, it was already March.

Curiously, even before the war’s end, at the start of the year, the Qing sent Vice Minister of Revenue Zhang Yinheng and Hunan’s Shao Youlian to Japan to seek peace, with the U.S. Secretary of State as their advisor. At that moment, the Japanese were fiercely attacking Weihaiwei, enjoying successive military victories, their appetite growing and arrogance unchecked, while the Qing envoys had yet to comprehend their total defeat—thus the peace talks collapsed.

By the time Weihaiwei fell and the Qing forces retreated from the east bank of the Liao, only “unconditional surrender” remained.