must not be taken in a literal but in a transcendental and celestial sense. The Chinese have a fine faculty for inventing happy names.… Nor are such titles merely hollow sounds.… [T]o the Chinaman these titles have a vital significance, and the turn of a phrase will often influence his whole conduct towards the subject designated. No principle is more constantly enforced in the Chinese Classics.… When inquiry was made of Confucius as to what was the first thing necessary to improve the government, he answered, “What is necessary is to rectify names”; and very expressively he said, that “to have a bad name is to dwell in a low-lying situation, where all the evil of the world flows in upon one.”
Official recognition of the Ever Victorious Army only facilitated the development of Ward’s close personal ties to Wu Hsü and Yang Fang, and in these ties may lie the most logical explanation for Ward’s marriage to Chang-mei. By early 1862 Wu Hsü—one of the most powerful figures in Chinese Shanghai, a man who could outwit experienced foreign officials as easily as he could juggle account books—was referring to himself in letters to Ward as “your younger brother” and even “your foolish younger brother”: both Chinese terms denoting genuine humility and close friendship. The continued importance of Ward’s relationship with Wu cannot be overstated, for in imperial China personal connections were the key to control and hence success. Ward’s ties to the Shanghai taotai, not to mention his complete civil as well as military control over Sung-chiang, demonstrated the extent to which he had successfully manipulated the Chinese system to his benefit. Ever a man of caution, Wu was consistently aware that in tying himself closely to Ward he gave his young protégé influence over his own position. Yet such was his real belief in Ward’s capabilities and in the military (and financial) potential of the Ever Victorious Army that he willingly took the risk.
The same was even more true of Yang Fang. Ward’s relationship with Wu Hsü existed largely off the books, but with Yang he became an actual business partner. Officially, Yang was made co-commander of the Ever Victorious Army when it was formally recognized by Peking, although his activities continued to be confined to raising money and arms in Shanghai. Soon Ward and Yang had expanded their joint dealings by entering the steamship business together, buying and chartering river vessels for service with the Ever Victorious Army as well as for extracurricular shipping activities. Sometimes Ward’s brother, Harry, was used as a front for such operations, the management of which was generally left in Yang’s hands. Again, Ward’s preoccupation with military matters and his inattentiveness to business details probably cost him, for a man such as Yang Fang would not have been above juggling his accounts of dealings with even his closest associates.
Indeed, Harry Ward claimed after his brother’s death that Fred had given Yang Fang 150,000 taels to invest in the government salt monopoly, one of the most profitable schemes going in imperial China. Yang consistently denied that any such transaction had ever taken place, and this as well as other claims made against Yang by the Ward estate subsequently created much bitter feeling. But in truth, Yang’s denials of any debts to Ward or his heirs were less an indication that the friendship between the two men was false than a demonstration of the nature of friendship among Chinese merchants and officials. During Ward’s lifetime Yang was personally loyal to his young comrade and partner—loyal in friendship and, undoubtedly, duplicitous in his financial dealings. The only area in which Ward consistently called Yang to task was in paying the men of the Ever Victorious Army fully and promptly; to expect Yang to behave forthrightly in other areas without similarly stringent supervision would have been naive. Like so many Chinese of his caste, Yang cheated not out of malice but when and where he could; his personal attachment to Ward was nonetheless genuine.
For all of these reasons, Ward’s marriage to Chang-mei can be seen as a method not only of further tying the newly Chinese commander of the vital Ever Victorious Army to the imperial cause but of tightening the personal bonds between Ward and the Chekiang clique that Wu and Yang controlled in Shanghai. Emphasizing the importance of these interpretations, many analysts have ignored or downplayed any personal considerations that might have been involved in the marriage. After all, Chang-mei, living in a traditional Chinese household, would not have been permitted to see Ward very often during his visits; even if she had, her knowledge of English was almost certainly confined to some rudimentary pidgin, while Ward’s command of Chinese was never appreciable. Personal attachment between the two appears, on the surface, to have been unlikely.
But inconvenient details undermine any purely political or mercenary interpretation of Ward’s marriage. First, while union with a Chinese family might have been expected to heighten Peking’s trust in Ward, in fact it did not: The marriage was not a significant topic in memorials and imperial edicts written during Ward’s lifetime, probably because the specific Chinese woman he selected was the daughter of a non-Manchu known for his misuse of the imperial financial system. Ward’s elevation to a third-rank mandarinate and his original commission in the Army of the Green Standard occurred before Peking even knew of his marriage to Chang-mei, and his further promotion to brigadier general—made later in the spring of 1862—was based, as his colonelcy had been, on battlefield achievements.
Then, too, Ward’s ties to Wu Hsü and Yang Fang were already considerable and in place when the engagement was announced; while it is reasonable to suppose that all parties concerned might have desired a strengthening of those bonds, the marriage actually accomplished less in this direction than did the purchase of steamships and the expansion of the Ever Victorious Army. In addition, if Ward took a wife solely for business reasons or for appearances’ sake, it is safe to assume that he would not have removed her from the security of her family’s home in Shanghai to share his dangerous and uncomfortable life in Sung-chiang. Yet more than one Western witness claimed that Ward and Chang-mei spent the hot, perilous summer months of 1862 together at Ward’s headquarters.
But no single aspect of Ward’s marriage was more indicative of its complex genesis than his own behavior during the betrothal and the wedding itself—behavior so out of character it seems impossible that it was not a product of genuine emotion.
If Hallett Abend’s description of Chang-mei as a “pathetic” young woman seems at first unkind, it should be remembered that the lot of women in imperial China was not generally speaking a pleasant one. The case of Chang-mei’s nominal mother (who may or may not have been the girl’s biological parent) provides an apt example. According to Dr. Macgowan, Mrs. Taki, as she was known to foreigners, had been purchased during childhood along with her sister by a “Chinese Barnum.” She had then been “made to study the art of making riddles, of shining in conversation, and to be prompt in humorous repartee,” while her sister had been trained as an acrobat. Both girls exercised their talents publicly for their master’s profit, but they eventually became obstreperous and were resold, the acrobat to a district magistrate for three thousand taels and the “spirituelle” to Yang Fang for a much larger sum. Yang was free to enjoy the privilege of every successful Chinese man—concubines—hence the doubt as to whether his first wife actually gave birth to his daughter. It was not unusual that Chang-mei’s heritage should have been a subject of so little concern, for in a Chinese home the arrival of a female child was not an event worthy of particular note. When one adds to this dismal background the cloistered youth of a well-to-do Chinese girl, and the tragic conclusion of her first betrothal (which made her a virtual social pariah), Abend’s assessment of Chang-mei emerges as sadly appropriate.
Another early Ward biographer, Holger Cahill, claimed that Ward waged a “campaign for the hand of Chang-mei.” The assertion is impossible to prove or disprove, but it is true that the betrothal and wedding were the only times during which Ward indulged in traditional Chinese ceremonies. What scolding edicts from his new imperial masters in Peking could not achieve, deference to his young bride apparently could—and did. Acting through a go-
between, Ward provided Chang-mei’s family with a pa-tzu, or engagement card, on which were inscribed Chinese characters that detailed his birth down to the hour; Chang-mei and her parents supplied Ward with her pa-tzu, and both cards were examined by astrologers to determine the pair’s heavenly compatibility. (One early-twentieth-century American scholar speculated, quite plausibly, that Ward paid his astrologer to tailor his findings to ensure a perfect match.) While these divinations were in progress, Ward kept a steady stream of traditional gifts flowing to Chang-mei’s home: geese and other fowl, fruits, cakes and wine, money, and material for his bride’s wedding dress.
For his part, Yang Fang composed a letter to be sent to Ward’s father in New York, a copy of which has survived. In it, Yang expressed gratitude that Ward’s father would permit the marriage without being present to investigate his daughter-in-law’s family. Yang further revealed his genuine joy at the union. Addressing the elder Ward as “Your excellency Hua, elderly gentleman of noble character and high prestige,” Yang declared: “I am indebted for your kindness in not despising the poor and humble, and trusting in people’s words, and agreeing to my little daughter’s marriage to your son. What kind of happiness can compare to this? Now I am receiving formalities from you, and I am forced to accept all of the betrothal gifts. We wish that they will have a happy life for a hundred years, and that their offspring will be prosperous for five generations.”
The days before the actual wedding ceremony were filled, for Chang-mei, with sewing, worshiping at the altar of her ancestors, and weeping, as per Chinese custom. On the day of the ceremony she put on her multiskirted dress, gave final offerings to her ancestors, and entered a red sedan chair. She was borne to what has sometimes been referred to as “Ward’s house” but must have been a residence belonging to Yang and perhaps used by Ward and other officers of the corps, for Ward was at the time just beginning to build his own house in the French Concession. Holger Cahill’s description of Chang-mei’s reaction on entering her husband’s home is in all probability another apocryphal tale, but it is consistent with the young woman’s background and Chinese tradition. Chang-mei, said Cahill, “expected to pay homage to her husband’s ancestors and she found it strange that he had no ancestral altar in the house. She decided, however, that her foreign husband did not look un-Chinese, for he was as dark as a son of Han, and he wore his Chinese robes and the insignia of his rank for the wedding ceremony.”
Ward’s appearance in his mandarin’s costume offers considerable evidence of the importance he placed on the wedding. He might have felt scorn for many of the Western citizens of Shanghai, but according to Wu Hsü he had no desire to open himself to their ridicule—or to that of his trusted comrades in the foreign armies—by parading around Shanghai in Manchu garb. Wu told Hsüeh, who in turn informed Peking, that Ward fully intended to “change his clothes” when his corps reconquered Soochow (which, incidentally, offered evidence that as early as March Ward was making expansive plans for the Ever Victorious Army). But he refused to make such a change any earlier. On this one day, however, he endured bemusement and in all likelihood some taunting (good-natured and otherwise) in order to keep his bride from losing face in her own community. To those who knew Ward and were present at the ceremony—Westerners as well as Chinese—it must have been something of a shock to see the man who so habitually wore an unadorned blue frock coat appear in black Manchu boots, the unmistakable pillbox cap of a Chinese mandarin (complete with blue button and peacock’s feather), and a knee-length robe with an embroidered tiger across the torso. It was a moment to be remembered: The next time Ward would be similarly dressed he would be lying in his coffin.
According to Cahill, the wedding festivities lasted for two days, and as this too is in general keeping with Chinese custom it is reasonable to suppose that it is an accurate statement. Ward offered still more gifts to Chang-mei and her family, including one especially personal item: a small seal or chop, whose Chinese characters literally translated to “must not forget each other” but were in spirit much closer to the English “forget me not.” Because the exact date of the wedding is unknown, it has always been unclear whether the two-week honeymoon that many sources say followed it was interrupted by the battle for Ssu-ching or whether that battle preceded the wedding; whatever the case, by mid-March Ward—a man for whom women and romance had never played an evident role—was a married subject of the Chinese empire.
Ward and Chang-mei’s life together was destined to be short but, as several subsequent events and circumstances indicated, more intimate than many analysts have supposed. The fact that Ward decided to build his own house in Shanghai just at the time he was married is the first indication of this: Again, he could easily have left Chang-mei at her parents’ home rather than supplying her with what looked to be a very fine new residence in the city. Then there are the reports that the couple were together in Sung-chiang during the summer: A man such as Ward, who ran a very tight, professional military camp, would surely not have encumbered himself with a new Chinese bride in such a place for mere show. But the strongest testament to Ward and Chang-mei’s closeness comes from a biography—only recently brought to the West by Richard J. Smith—of one Shen Chu-jeng, a Chekiang native who claimed to have been adopted as a youth by the Wards.
Written by a close friend of Shen’s daughter, the biography relates a typical story of the Taiping rebellion: When the rebels reentered Hangchow in December 1861, the thirteen-year-old Shen witnessed the massacre of most of his family. Captured by the Taipings and impressed into military service (the rebels had whole units composed of young boys), Shen remained uncertain of his mother’s fate until he one day encountered his wet nurse, who had also been captured. The woman informed Shen that his mother had committed suicide by throwing herself down a well. Despondent, Shen followed the rebel force at knife point until it arrived at Sung-chiang. Finally able to slip away from the Taipings, he soon made a propitious acquaintance: “At this time, the Westerner General Ward had just defeated the Taipings at Ying-ch’i-pin. He thus came to meet Shen and adopted him. The general taught Shen his military tactics and strategy and enlisted him in the boys’ army. When Ward’s wife, who was from the notable Yang family in [Chekiang], realized Shen’s family background, she became very sympathetic to this poor orphan and tried her best to take care of him.”
This is the only known reference to Ward’s having any children, adopted or otherwise (Chang-mei bore no offspring), or to his having formed a detachment of young boys. But Shen claimed to have participated subsequently in several crucial battles and to have continued serving in the Ever Victorious Army after Ward’s death. Although he glorified his own role, the details of events he cited are consistent with known facts, and his story has credibility.
A final pair of incidents further—and perhaps fatally—contradict the political interpretation of Ward’s marriage to Chang-mei. When Ward lay mortally wounded and in tremendous agony, he spoke of just three people, expressing concern that they be taken care of: his brother, Harry, his sister Elizabeth, and his wife, Chang-mei. Politics and appearances were of no consequence at the time, for Ward had been told that he was near death. And within a year of his passing, Chang-mei succumbed to a mysterious illness; the only known explanation or identification of the malady came from Shen Chu-jeng’s biographer, who called it “extreme grief.”
To emphasize these facts is to probe for insight into Ward’s personal motivations as much as to seek a storied romance. And when we turn away from Ward’s Chinese connections to the subject of his Western friends and comrades, we find further evidence that those who count him simply a scheming mercenary both assign him skills he did not have and do him something of an injustice.
During the weeks he spent in Shanghai in the spring of 1862, and for months after his departure for Peking in midsummer, American minister Anson Burlingame played something of the role of spiritual godfather for Ward and his senior American officers. From Burlingame these
younger men sought news from home; for him they eagerly performed favors; and to him they proudly related tales of their exploits, seeking, it seems, validation from their senior compatriot. A man of tremendous vitality and insight, Burlingame did not disappoint the young adventurers, and many of the few real insights we have into their inner workings—particularly those of Frederick Ward—are available through the minister’s papers.
By the end of February Ward had conceived a plan in which Wu Hsü and other Chinese officials (it is unclear whether the imperial government was involved) would give Harry $200,000 to $300,000 with which to buy quality river steamers and other weapons in the United States and Great Britain. Harry was to begin his journey in early March, and on the seventh Burlingame obliged both Ward brothers as well as Wu Hsü by writing to Secretary of State William Seward:
I have given letters of introduction to the President and yourself, at the request of the Chinese authorities, to a young man called H. G. Ward[,] who goes out by this mail to purchase gunboats and arms for the Chinese Government. Ward has been … selected through the influence of his brother[,] called Col[.] Ward, but now I believe general, in the Chinese service.… His younger brother who goes out for the Government seems to be a sprightly young man. I know nothing of his ante ce dents [sic], and cannot vouch for him beyond what I have written.
As it turned out, Burlingame took quite a chance in vouching for Harry Ward at all: Although the younger Ward did commission the building of at least four steamers for the Chinese government in the United States, and may have purchased other arms for shipment to Shanghai, he subsequently ended up selling the boats to the Union Army for use during the American Civil War. Harry never returned to China. The question of what happened to much of the money he had been given was pursued by the Chinese government for many years but without real vigor, suggesting that the project may have been a private scheme of Yang Fang and Wu Hsü. Still, for Burlingame to have given the younger Ward letters of introduction to both Secretary of State Seward and President Lincoln demonstrates both that persuasive charm ran in the Ward family and that the American minister was quite susceptible to it.