The Chinese battleship Zhen Yuan after its capture by Japan circa 1896 / Robert Neff Collection
As mentioned in the previous article, Captain Philo McGiffin has become a folk hero — especially to naval buffs — mainly because of his firsthand account of events surrounding the naval aspects of the first Sino-Japanese War of 1894-95.
In 1895, the Century Magazine published a long article he wrote about the 1894 Battle of the Yalu River. It is filled with fascinating details of the events surrounding the battle but it lacks the candidness found in his personal correspondences.
On Sept. 17, 1894, McGiffin was the executive officer aboard the Zhen Yuan and part of a fleet of warships escorting five transports filled with Chinese troops, 60 pieces of artillery and 600 horses to the China-Korea border. After the transports reached their destination safely, smoke was spotted on the horizon — it was the Japanese fleet.
In a letter to his brother, he said, “We had ten vessels, and as the Japanese squadron hove in sight we could count twelve. Still there was a good spirit among the men, who seemed cool and ready for the fight. It was a most impressive sight as the two fleets, each armed with the most terrible weapons that can be devised for destruction, streamed together.”
The Chinese fired the first shots, and these were answered with “a hell of shot and shell.” McGiffin was on the bridge taking pictures with his camera when a Japanese shell passed so close that the wind from its passing nearly ripped the camera from his hands. A shell struck the bridge just as he was leaving, almost causing him to be thrown from it.
A Japanese sketch of the Battle of the Yalu printed in “The War in the East’ by Trumbull White in 1895. Robert Neff Collection
At the conning tower, he learned that there were problems with the turrets and getting powder to the guns. He went to the turret and, in his letter home, praised the crew but in a later article published in The Navy League Journal — he presented the scene in a much different manner.
“On his way down [to the turret] someone caught him by the leg and called out: ‘There’s no room here for any more. You must hide somewhere else.’ He discovered there the lieutenant of navigation and several other panic-stricken men in hiding, and wrathfully drove them at the point of his sword to their post of duty.”
But after he resolved this issue, he learned of even more distressing news: the ship was on fire! In his letter, he wrote:
“I at once ordered an officer to organize a fire party and go to the place. He refused to go. There was no time to parley then, and I ordered another officer. He also refused to obey. It was certain death, he said, to go forward on deck, where shells were bursting every instant. One after another, the officers flatly declined to obey my order. I was in despair. The thought of the brave gunners fighting so splendidly at the guns came to me, and, though not a man could well be spared, I went down there and called for volunteers to follow me to the scene of the fire. A score of them volunteered.”
The Chinese battleship Ding Yuan circa 1894 / Robert Neff Collection
The Navy League Journal quoted McGiffin as saying:
“There were cowards present, as there have been on every battlefield, but here, as elsewhere, there were brave men to detest them.”
The officers’ fears were warranted. When McGiffin and his volunteers arrived at the fire, the air was full of fragments from the shells bursting all around them. “[Not] one of the fire party escaped injury and most of them were killed.” McGiffin was not spared. A splinter cut his wrist and thigh, and then, not long afterward, a shell exploded near him with “a grinding, blinding flash.” He was mercifully knocked unconscious.
When he regained consciousness a few minutes later, his men propped him up in a “somewhat sheltered position” where he could continue to give orders to these men. Looking around, however, he was startled to discover that he was in the firing path of one of his vessel’s big guns.
“Those in the turret could not see me, and I sent a messenger to tell them not to use that gun until the fire party had left the deck. That means of communication and the messenger’s head were both cut off by a shot from the Japanese. By a great effort I managed to roll out of range of the gun before it was fired. If I had been a little later, there would scarcely have been enough of me to bury.”
Once the fire was out, McGiffin and another wounded fireman attempted to make their way to the other side of the ship. Their efforts were thwarted by the explosion of another Japanese shell only a few meters from them. Once again, McGiffin was knocked unconscious.
When he regained consciousness, he was in his cabin.
“You wouldn’t have known me if you had seen me then. I was covered with blood and powder and burns, and my hair, moustache and eyebrows were singed down close. As for my clothing that was simply torn into rags. Both eyes were closed, and when I wanted to see, I had to hold them open with my hands.”
His letter was graphic and raw. Unlike some of his previous writing, there is a degree of humility to it. However, there is one part I question. He confided to his brother that because of his physical condition, “I was unfit to command the vessel, so I put [Lin Taizeng] in command.” To my understanding, McGiffin was the executive officer — the second in command.
According to a Japanese sailor, Zhen Yuan was on fire and the flames were rapidly increasing and “would have undoubtedly been sunk by us had it not been for the timely assistance of the [Ding Yuan], which came to the rescue and enabled her to escape.”
The battleship Ding Yuan played a key part in protecting the fleet:
“The Chinese lines had now become disordered, and all steamed quickly away and out of sight, with the exception of the [Zhen Yuan] and [Ding Yuan]. Our fleet kept up a constant fire, and the Tei Yuen, which was on fire, did not seem to be able to use her guns. The [Ding Yuan] came along side and ran between her and our lines, the distance between being a little over three thousand yards. Although every one of our shots struck the [Ding Yuan], they did not seem to have any effect upon her fourteen-inch steel armor.”
Yet, despite the formidable might of the Ding Yuan, the Chinese fleet was in serious trouble. Fortunately for the Chinese, the Japanese fleet “drew off just at the moment that the ammunition of the [Zhen Yuan] was about exhausted, and they made no attempt to renew the conflict during the night.”
The fleet was able to get to Port Arthur (part of modern Dalian, China). The Japanese government offered a reward of $5,000 for the capture of McGiffin but he was able to escape from the city aboard a “Chinese tug…under English colors” and was eventually taken to the U.S.S. Monocacy where, as he explained to his brother, “I got good American care and companionship.”
McGiffin wasn’t the only one the Japanese had offered a bounty for. John Wilde had a large bounty on his head — not for his proven naval expertise but for the dreams within his head.
Once McGiffin was “mended up somewhat,” he returned to duty. According to an article introduced by Bertrand W. Gearhart of California and reprinted in the Congressional Record of the 79th Congress (March 23 – June 8, 1945), McGiffin “could not secure the medical attention necessary for his wounds, and returned to the United States” in 1895. Yet, in the same paragraph, the writer hinted there might have been more to his return:
“It was the custom at that time for Chinese commanders to commit suicide when defeated, but Captain McGiffin refused and fell somewhat in disfavor with the Imperial Government.”
While it is true some of the officers did commit suicide, including Lin Taizeng, I believe it was the medical issues that were the key factor in McGiffin’s return to the United States.
According to The Navy League Journal:
“An abscess having developed in his head as the result of one of his injuries, he had to undergo an operation. This required the boring of a hole upward through his jaw to form an outlet, and his heart action was so feeble that he could not be given an [anesthetic.] He submitted patiently to the cutting, but his strength failed him and he fell into a faint, crying as he swooned away, ‘If the wind blows any harder, call me,’ his ruling passion, the love of the sea, asserting itself even in that moment of agony.”
The account portrays him in a most heroic light, but in truth, McGiffin was suffering more than anyone truly knew.
In a letter to his brother, just prior to the battle, McGiffin had written:
“You know, it is four killed to one wounded since the new ammunition came in. It is better so. I don’t want to be wounded. I prefer to step down or up and out of this world…. I hate to think of being dreadfully mangled and then patched up with half my limbs and senses gone.”
McGiffin’s worst nightmare had come true. He tried to function in society, but the pain was devastating, and he was rapidly losing his eyesight until he was nearly completely blind. His mental health was also deteriorating rapidly. In mid-January 1897, he became “violently insane” and had to be restrained with a straitjacket. He was transferred to the Post Graduate Hospital in New York. In the following weeks, his mental health seemed to recover somewhat, but on Feb. 11, he shot himself in the head with a pistol that he had smuggled in — hidden among his notes. He left a note in which he apologized to his friends and the hospital staff for the drastic act he felt compelled to take.
Unlike most victims of the Battle of the Yalu River, his memory is still alive.
My appreciation to Diane Nars for her invaluable assistance.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
login
who are we?
contact us
qosheapp
Toi Staff
Gideon Levy
Belen Fernandez
Andrew Mitrovica
Mort Laitner
Nikkei Editorial
Ali Fathollah-Nejad
Rami G Khouri
visit website
