Held by Chinese Brigands
by Charles Gilson · English · Gutenberg #39254 · 420,609 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Held by Chinese Brigands
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Held by Chinese Brigands
Author: Charles Gilson
Illustrator: John De Walton
Release date: March 24, 2012 [eBook #39254]
Most recently updated: May 9, 2015
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39254
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HELD BY CHINESE BRIGANDS ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: "'I AM CHEONG-CHAU,' HE CRIED." _See page_ 63.]
HELD BY CHINESE BRIGANDS
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES GILSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN DE WALTON, A.R.W.A.
HUMPHREY MILFORD
THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPETOWN, BOMBAY
1921
To
BARBARA PARTRIDGE
----
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--HOW HENNESSY K. WALDRON "TRIPPED AROUND"
CHAPTER II--OF AH WU'S OPIUM DEN
CHAPTER III--OF THE TIGER AND THE FOXES
CHAPTER IV--HOW CHEONG-CHAU CAME FORTH OF THE TOWN OF PINGLO
CHAPTER V--HOW CHEONG-CHAU STRUCK AT DEAD OF NIGHT
CHAPTER VI--HOW CHEONG-CHAU STATED HIS TERMS
CHAPTER VII--HOW THE LETTER WAS WRITTEN
CHAPTER VIII--AND HOW FRANK RESOLVED TO FOLLOW IT
CHAPTER IX--OF THE HOSPITALITY OF THE TEA-GROWER
CHAPTER X--HOW FRANK WAS IN LUCK'S WAY
CHAPTER XI--OF THE REAPPEARANCE OF LING
CHAPTER XII--HOW MEN-CHING ESCAPED
CHAPTER XIII--HOW FRANK WAS CAUGHT IN THE TOILS
CHAPTER XIV--HOW LING SNUFFED THE CANDLE
CHAPTER XV--OF CHEONG-CHAU'S MESSENGER
CHAPTER XVI--OF THE REPENTANCE OF YUNG HOW
CHAPTER XVII--HOW LING WAS TOO LATE
CHAPTER XVIII--OF THE SPIDER AND THE WEB
CHAPTER XIX--HOW LING READ CONFUCIUS
CHAPTER XX--HOW THE TIGER SPRANG
CHAPTER XXI--OF THE GLADE OF CHILDREN'S TEARS
CHAPTER XXII--OF THE CAPTURE OF THE JUNK
CHAPTER XXIII--HOW THE TREASURE ARRIVED
CHAPTER XXIV--HOW THE TIGER VANISHED IN THIN AIR
CHAPTER XXV--AND HOW CHEONG-CHAU VANISHED ALTOGETHER
CHAPTER XXVI--OF GREED OF GOLD
CHAPTER XXVII--HOW LING DRIFTED TO THE STARS
----
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'I am Cheong-Chau,' he cried" . . . . . . _Frontispiece in colour_
(_see page_ 63)
"Mr Waldron never moved an inch"
"Ling snatched the boathook from his hand"
"There came a roar like that of a charging lion"
"He himself was hurled after it"
CHAPTER I--HOW HENNESSY K. WALDRON "TRIPPED AROUND"
We have heard it said, by those who are widely travelled, that there are
three beautiful harbours in the world: Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil; Sydney
Harbour, and--most beautiful of all--the harbour of Hong-Kong.
The famous Peak rises above the town of Victoria and, at a height of
about two thousand feet, buries its crest in the clouds. The harbour
itself is in the shape of a crescent, enclosing the red, bare hills of
Kow-lung. By day, from Lyemun to Stonecutter's Island, ferry-boats,
_sampans_, _wupans_ and launches scurry here and there, in and out among
the great anchored men-of-war, like so many mice romping in a cage of
sleeping tigers.
The slopes of the mountain are green with palm-trees, mango, orange and
lichen, in the midst of which can be seen innumerable white, flat-roofed
villas, each with its upper-story verandah and green-latticed windows.
To the east the hills are more rugged; streams, traced through the glens
by straggling brushwood, descend in a succession of waterfalls to the
level of the sea. In the Pass of Lyemun the traveller finds himself in
the midst of an inhospitable grandeur, similar to that of the western
Scottish isles.
It is, however, by night that Hong-Kong Harbour is at its best. With a
sky of a million stars, and the pale, round China moon hanging like a
lantern in the midst of the heavens, reflecting its light upon the
surface of the dark, tranquil water, the moving lights upon the
_sampans_ and the countless lanterns in the streets of China town, this
place is surely one of the most romantic in the world. Here the Far
East and the West touch; it is the one place in all China where the
foothold of the European is secure.
Upon this beautiful island, with its rugged hills and feathery palms,
the white man stands, under his own flag--as it were, upon the very
threshold of the mysterious, eternal "Middle Kingdom." Over the way, to
the north-west, is the great estuary of the Canton river, the
Chau-kiang--the main trade highway of the south. Canton itself, a city
of two and a half million inhabitants, lies at the junction of three
rivers, which meet almost at right angles: the first flowing from the
east, the second from the north, and the third--and greatest---from the
west. Canton is a city of mysteries and marvels; it is a city of many
industries, insufferable heat, intolerable smells, and almost
unbelievable devilry and crime.
The whole of the great province of Kwangsi and the eastern portion of
Yunnan is drained by the West River and its hundreds of tributaries.
These tributaries for the most part find their sources upon the
watershed of the Nan-ling Mountains, which extend from the Tung-ting
Lake to the city of Kin-yuen, a distance of over five hundred miles.
Of that great stretch of country little or nothing is known. Thanks to
the early Jesuit explorers, we are provided with excellent maps. But a
map is no more than a coloured piece of paper which--at the best--is
backed with linen. Names in themselves convey nothing. Though you study
the map of China for a fortnight you will know less of the Si-kiang, or
West River, than the naval lieutenant who ran his gunboat past Wu-chau,
and blew the mud huts of a pirate village into a dust-heap with the
pound-and-a-half shells of his Maxim-Nordenfeldt. For, if to this day
there are wild men anywhere upon the face of the earth, who know neither
mercy nor pity nor the laws of God or man, they are to be found in the
tract of country that lies between the West River and the Nan-ling
Mountains to the north. And thither we are about to journey, into the
midst of a land that is by no means a wilderness, but which is populated
for the most part by peaceable, hard-working peasants.
There are, however, certain members of the community who are neither
peaceable nor industrious, who care no more for the gunboats of His
Britannic Majesty upon the wide reaches of the river than they do for
the _yamen_ of the Viceroy of Canton, who so terrorise the province that
each honest man knows that it is more than his life is worth to give
information against them.
The chiefs of these pirates or brigands are, as often as not, highly
educated Chinese, sometimes entitled to wear the blue or red button of a
mandarin. They hold sway by dint of their cruelty and their cunning.
Such a man was Cheong-Chau, whose headquarters were established in the
town of Kong-chin, at the foot of the mountains. Thence he and his men
were wont to descend to Pinglo, where they would board a sea-going junk,
in which they would steal past Wu-chau to Canton, and thence to the open
sea, to rob fishing-junks and sometimes even cargo ships. If they passed
a gunboat or destroyer upon the broad waters of the estuary they were
simple fishermen, on a cruise to Macao or Amoy. But under their fishing
nets and tackle was always a veritable armoury of blood-curdling
cutlasses and knives.
For the time being we will leave this cutthroat resting on his
ill-gotten wealth, dazed from opium in a filthy den in the city of
Pinglo, and return to the sublime and tranquil beauty of the harbour of
Hong-Kong. There we are to meet a gentleman of appearance more
personable, and personality more engaging, than the redoubtable
Cheong-Chau. We refer to Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City,
Nevada, U.S.A.
Mr Waldron was engaged upon what he termed a "trip around." He had made
a pile of money out of cattle, silver, a patent egg-whisk, and pigs.
His "trip around" had already lasted two and a half years. He had been
to London, Paris, Switzerland, and Venice. He knew the height of the
dome of St Paul's Cathedral, the number of bricks in the Mont Cenis
tunnel, and the names of all the famous Venetian painters. He had gazed
at the Pyramids, he had contemplated the Coliseum, and standing upon the
Bridge of Sighs in Venice, he had quoted Byron, sentimentalising over
the narrow stretch of water that divides the Doges' Palace from the
gloomy dungeon to the right.
And wherever Hennessy K. Waldron had been he had been well received.
Before leaving New York he had taken the precaution of arming himself
with so many letters of introduction to influential persons in all parts
of the world that he was obliged to carry them about with him in a large
tin-lined box. He had not been two hours in Hong-Kong before he had
called upon his Excellency the Governor, _Sir_ John Macintosh--with the
accent, according to Mr Waldron, on the "Sir."
He had also a letter from the British Ambassador in Washington to Sir
Thomas Armitage, the Chief Justice of the Colony, upon whose verandah he
was now seated, with his legs sprawled out in front of him, a Manila
cheroot in the corner of his mouth and a whisky-and-soda at his elbow.
Hennessy K. Waldron believed in "tripping around" in comfort.
"Judge," said he, "I've scheduled Hong-Kong for a six weeks' stay.
Calculate I can do South China in that time?"
Sir Thomas smiled and shook his head.
"Mr Waldron," he replied, "you can't 'do' South China in six years, and
you'll know precious little about it even at the end of sixty."
"Waal, I guess I'm not slow in the uptake. I can run my eye over the
Tower of London, the Matterhorn, or the Louvre, in less time than a New
York elevator would take to conduct you to the thirteenth story of the
Flat Iron Building. And, sir, I'm speaking of things I know. Guess
I've got face value out of every dollar's worth of shoe leather I ever
purchased, or I never knew the difference between glue and honey."
"That may very well be," said the judge, "but there is so much about
China to learn, so much that is confusing, and even contradictory, that
I must confess, even after thirty years in the country, I know very
little about it."
"Reckon," observed Mr Waldron, "the lingo would twist the tongue of a
rattlesnake. I'm not referring to that."
"Whilst you are in China," asked Sir Thomas, "what is it, Mr Waldron,
you most desire to see?"
For some moments Mr Hennessy K. Waldron appeared to be deep in thought.
It was as if he considered the question worthy of earnest consideration.
"Temples," said he, at last. "Judge, I'm just crazy on temples."
"It so happens," said Sir Thomas Armitage, "that I'm interested in the
same subject. For many years I have made a study of the religions of
China--a vast, and to me an absorbing subject, upon which I am writing a
book."
"Waal, now," exclaimed Mr Waldron, "that's very interesting, Judge. I
always understood the Chink worships the spirits of his ancestors, and
that's about as far as he gets."
"That is by no means correct," said the judge. "There are many
religions in China. The upper classes are, practically without
exception, Confucianists. It is true Confucianism is scarcely a
religion; it is a system of moral philosophy which, however, serves its
purpose. There are few Mohammedans in China, though great numbers of
Buddhists--Chinese Buddhism differing in several interesting particulars
from the corruption of the religion which exists to-day in India.
However, the great bulk of the people, especially in the rural
districts, are Taoists. Taoism is extremely difficult to understand,
and even harder to explain. The original Taoist doctrine was a
philosophy of fatalism; it has deteriorated, however, into a belief in
evil spirits, alchemy, black magic, and so forth. Taoism and Buddhism
have become confused; in the Taoist temples images can be seen of Buddha
and his disciples."
"Guess that's what I want to see," cut in Mr Waldron.
The judge was silent a moment.
"I am about to undertake a long and somewhat arduous journey," he
continued. "I have had a great deal of work of late, and am taking a
six weeks' vacation. In pursuit of my hobby I intend to journey up the
West River, to visit a very famous and ancient Taoist temple, situated
in the hills, not far from the town of Pinglo. If you would like to
accompany me, Mr Waldron, I am sure I shall be delighted. I warn you,
however, that it will be no picnic. The heat will be excessive--for the
summer is here--and we shall be called upon to undergo certain
inconveniences and even hardships."
"Sir," exclaimed the American, "I began life as a cow-puncher in Texas.
I have consorted, in the course of my career, with Mexican caballeros,
bar tenders and pugilists. I'm not likely to get cold feet at the sight
of a mosquito or a heathen god."
The judge laughed, and rose to his feet. Mr Waldron knocked the ash
from the end of his cigar.
The moonlit harbour lay immediately beneath them. The mast-head
signalling-lights upon the anchored cruisers winked their dots and
dashes from one to the other. The round Chinese lanterns upon the
_sampans_ moved restlessly, like fire-flies, upon the dark surface of
the water. Somewhere, to the right, in the midst of the trees, a
military band was playing; now and again they caught the strains of
_Light Cavalry_ or _The Pilgrim's March_, from _Tannhaeuser_. To the
left, the flaming lights in the streets of the Chinese quarter threw
their reflection upon the dark foliage of the palms and orange-trees on
the slopes of Mount Davis. Strange two-stringed instruments and shrill
Chinese voices, heard faintly in the distance, conveyed to Mr Hennessy
K. Waldron the impression that he was thousands of miles away from
Paradise City.
"That's settled, then," said the judge. "We travel together, Mr Waldron.
I shall be delighted to have the pleasure of your company."
"Judge," said Mr Waldron, "the pleasure is mine, sure. If it's temples,
I'm your man. If there's going to be danger, I carry a six-shooter; and
I can handle a gun as well as any."
"I trust," said the other, "that no such necessity will arise. However,
in the region of the Nan-ling Mountains anything may happen. I myself
will go unarmed."
At that moment a boy of about sixteen years of age entered the verandah
from the dimly lighted drawing-room beyond, where he had been seated for
some time engrossed in a book. Though he was a good-looking and
well-built lad, he had the yellow complexion similar to that of the
Chinese themselves, which sooner or later comes to every European who
has lived for any length of time in the Far East.
"Are you talking about your journey up the West River, uncle?" he asked,
with his eyes upon the heavy Colt revolver that Mr Waldron had produced
from the hip-pocket of his trousers.
"Yes," said Sir Thomas. "Mr Waldron has agreed to come with me. I have
promised him that the expedition will be full of interest."
"I am going too?" asked the boy.
The judge laid a hand upon his nephew's shoulder. "I believe," said he,
"that was arranged. Here, Mr Waldron," he added, turning to the
American, "is our interpreter. I have studied the Chinese language all
my life and can speak a little in the Mandarin dialect. But Frank is
lucky. He learnt the language from his amah, or Chinese nurse. He could
talk Cantonese before he knew fifty words of English. When I am
travelling on the mainland I always take Frank with me. The Chinese are
extraordinary people. If you speak their language badly they will not
attempt to understand you, but Frank can talk the Southern dialect as
well as the peasants themselves."
"I'm in luck's way," observed Mr Waldron. "In the old days in Texas, if
I was prospecting for gold, I struck oil; if I was looking for oil, I
found gold. That's how I made my pile. I guess there're not many
globe-trotters who get such an opportunity of leaving the beaten track,
of seeing China from the inside. And, Judge, I'm no good on the stump,
but let me tell you, sir, I appreciate the honour; and if ever you find
yourself in Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A., you'll find my name a free
pass to anything that's going, from a ten-cent circus to a pocketful of
cigars. And that's a bargain, Judge."
Whilst Mr Waldron was expressing, in his own peculiar fashion, his sense
of obligation, there appeared, in the shadows of the room that gave upon
the verandah, a tall, dark-eyed Cantonese servant, a man of about thirty
years of age, with a black glistening pigtail which reached almost to
his knees.
Wearing soft, felt-soled shoes, he glided across the room as noiselessly
and as stealthily as a cat. At the casement window he caught sight of
the shining barrels of Mr Waldron's nickel-plated revolver. And at once
he disappeared--behind a curtain.
"And now, Judge, may I ask when you intend to start?" asked the
American.
"In a week's time," said Sir Thomas. "That will give you a few days in
which to see the sights of Hong-Kong. Bring no more baggage than one
man can carry. We are going into a country where there are no roads,
only a few footpaths between the ricefields. And above all, Mr Waldron,
I must request you to say nothing about it to anyone. Our destination
must remain a secret. I do not trust even my own personal attendants."
"Your wishes will be obeyed, Judge," said Mr Waldron. "But may I ask,
sir, why these precautions are essential?"
"They are not essential," said the judge, "but I think you will agree
with me they are wise when I tell you that the West River abounds with
pirates, and there are several gangs of Chinese bandits in the Nan-ling
Mountains, especially in the neighbourhood where we are going. The town
of Pinglo has an exceptionally bad reputation. You yourself, Mr
Waldron, are a wealthy man, and I have a position of some importance in
this colony. It might be well worth the while of some rascal who is in
touch with the West River pirates to give information against us."
"I get your meaning, Judge," said Mr Waldron, returning his revolver to
his hip-pocket. "I'm as dumb as a dewberry pie. And now I must get back
to my hotel. Good-night, and, sir, I'm pleased and honoured to have met
you."
"One moment," said the judge. "Let me send for a ricksha. I am afraid
my own chair coolies have gone to bed."
Sir Thomas entered the drawing-room, unconscious of the fact there was a
man not five paces away from him hiding behind the curtain. He rang a
small bronze hand-bell and returned to the verandah.
The man behind the curtain dropped down upon his hands and knees, and
keeping in the shade of the various chairs and tables he gained the
door, opened it, and passed through silently.
Two seconds afterwards he re-entered, standing at his full height, with
an expression of profound dignity, even of contempt, upon every feature
of his face.
He closed the door with a bang, marched with a stately stride across the
room, and presented himself at the window.
"Master rang," said he.
"Yes," said Sir Thomas. "Yung How, please order a ricksha for Mr
Waldron, to take him to the King Edward Hotel."
The man bowed--if an almost imperceptible downward movement of the head
may be so described.
"Yes, master," said he.
Stepping upon the verandah, he picked up the empty glass which had
contained Mr Waldron's whisky-and-soda. Holding this in his hand, as if
it were something sacramental, Yung How stalked gravely from the room.
That night, tossing restlessly upon his bed in the stifling heat of the
breathless tropic night, Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nev.,
dreamed of heathen gods.
CHAPTER II--OF AH WU'S OPIUM DEN
The small river-launch steamed away from the narrow creek which divides
Canton city from the island of Shamien. The Chinaman at the wheel
navigated the little craft into the very midst of the clustered
shipping, the mass of junks and river-boats that thronged the entrance
to the creek. Her prow cutting the water in a long, arrow-shaped,
feathery wave, the launch gained the fairway of the main river, and
thence worked up-stream. Seated in a comfortable chair in the bows, a
cigar in his mouth and a pair of field-glasses in his hand, was Mr
Hennessy K. Waldron, of Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A.
Sir Thomas Armitage drew a basket-chair into the shade afforded by an
awning. There he produced his spectacles and, opening a book, settled
himself to read. His nephew, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled
up, was occupied with an oil-bottle in the little engine-room.
In the stern of the launch stood Yung How, with folded arms. His dark
face was expressionless. For all that, his eyes were fixed upon the
northern bank of the river, where the houses of the city were so
close-packed that a man standing with outstretched arms in one of the
narrow streets could have touched with his finger-tips the walls on
either side.
At the extremity of one of these dark, stifling lanes stood a Chinaman,
wearing a faded scarlet coat. This man was an old man, with a grey tuft
of hair upon his chin, and a queue that was white and short and thin as
a monkey's tail. He stood motionless, shading his eyes with the palm of
a hand and looking out across the river. As the launch hove into sight
he drew back a little, hiding himself in the doorway of an adjacent
house. The launch passed within fifty yards of the shore.
He observed Mr Waldron and he observed Sir Thomas Armitage, who was
engrossed in his reading. Moreover, he observed Yung How, who slowly
raised his right hand and laid it upon the shaven forepart of his head.
At that the man disappeared. He vanished into the gloom of an even
narrower side street. Five minutes afterwards he appeared in the open
space on the western side of the Temple of the Gods. Here a coolie was
standing, holding the bridle of a thick-necked, short-legged Mongolian
pony, of the breed common in the north of China but seldom seen in the
south. The man with the faded scarlet coat flung himself into the
saddle.
"It is the West River!" he cried, and he was off like the wind, riding
due north, leaving the suburbs of the great city to his right.
Such an extraordinary incident stands, perhaps, in need of explanation.
The judge's party had spent a week in Canton, during which time Mr
Waldron had inspected the Five-Story Pagoda, the Water Clock, the
temples of the Five Genii and the Five Hundred Gods; he had witnessed
theatrical performances and a public execution; he had smelled the
smells of Canton.
As for Yung How, he also had not been idle. He had gone by night to a
certain opium den in the vicinity of the Mohammedan mosque--the opium
den of Ah Wu. Thither we must accompany him if we are to make head or
tail of the narrative that follows.
Yung How had appeared before Sir Thomas Armitage. "Master," said he, "I
have a brother in Canton."
The judge smiled. He had lived many years in China. He knew that
Chinese servants always have brothers and aunts and grandmothers.
"And you want a day's leave, Yung How?" he asked.
"No, master," said Yung How. "Go away to-night, after dinner-time. Come
back to-morrow morning."
Sir Thomas guessed that Yung How's "brother" was nothing more or less
than an opium pipe. He knew, however, that it would be useless to
refuse the man leave. Yung How was sadly addicted to opium; in
Hong-Kong he often appeared in the morning with the pupils of his eyes
no bigger than pinheads. And Sir Thomas knew also that, once a Chinese
has become a slave of the opium pipe, nothing will ever cure him. The
judge shrugged his shoulders.
"Very well, Yung How," said he, "you can go."
"Thank you, master," said Yung How. And he stalked in a majestic manner
from the dining-room of the Shamien Hotel, where the judge and his party
were staying.
Yung How crossed the little bridge of boats that connects the island
with the main part of the city to the north. He found himself in
narrow, twisting streets densely packed with people, the majority of
whom were of the coolie class and wore little or no clothes. The shops
and booths were ablaze. Everyone was shouting at once, swearing,
wrangling, bargaining till they were hoarse. The heat was insufferable,
the atmosphere humid. The foul smells of the city would have sickened a
European, but they did not seem to affect the Oriental nostrils of Yung
How, the Cantonese.
He walked slowly with long strides, turning to the left, then to the
right, then to the left again. He was evidently familiar with the city.
Brushing past half-naked, gesticulating coolies, and thrusting children
aside, he came presently upon a great sow, sleeping in the middle of the
street. Since there was no room to pass on either side he kicked the
animal violently. As the pig got grunting to its feet, Yung How swept
past with an expression of contempt upon his face.
He found himself, at last, outside the Mohammedan Mosque. Crossing what
the Europeans call "West Street," he entered a dark thoroughfare, a
blind alley, at the end of which was a solitary, blood-red Chinese
lantern, suspended above a door.
Yung How did not knock. He walked straight in and found himself in the
presence of Ah Wu.
Now Ah Wu was a notorious character; he was also a notorious scoundrel.
He was a little, fat man, with a round, smiling, cherubic
countenance--except that there was nothing cherubic about his eyes,
which were small and evil, and glittered like those of a snake.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, the moment he set eyes upon Yung How. "You have
returned to Canton! Ah Wu bids you welcome. If he eats rice under the
roof-tree of Ah Wu, Yung How shall have of the best. He shall smoke the
finest Chung-king opium."
"I desire none of these things," said Yung How.
Ah Wu looked disappointed, for Yung How was a rich man as Chinamen went,
who paid for his night's entertainment in brand new Hong-Kong dollars.
"Ah Wu," said Yung How, in a low voice, "I desire to speak with you upon
a matter which is private. It will be worth your while to help me if
you can."
Ah Wu's eyes glistened. He rubbed his hands together. "Come with me,"
said he.
He drew aside a heavy, richly embroidered curtain and, passing through,
they found themselves in the opium den. This was a room of two stories,
with a flight of stairs in the middle leading to the upper story, which
was a kind of balcony. All around the walls, both upstairs and
downstairs, were couches, and by the side of each couch was a small
lacquer table. Upon every table was an opium pipe, a small bowl
containing a substance that resembled treacle, and a little spirit-lamp.
And upon each couch was a man, stretched at full length, wearing no more
clothes than a kind of towel tied around his waist, for the heat of the
room was like that of a Turkish bath.
Some of these men were engaged in smoking, rolling the opium into little
pills, holding these pills over the flame of the spirit-lamp until they
frizzled in the heat. Some were lying flat upon their backs, with their
arms folded behind their heads, staring with eyes wide open at the
ceiling. Others were motionless, insensible, asleep--drugged into
oblivion. The room reeked with the pungent smell of the drug.
Yung How, taking no notice of the occupants of the den, followed the
proprietor into a small room under the stairs. There a paraffin lamp of
European manufacture burned upon a table. Ah Wu offered his guest a
chair and seated himself on the opposite side of the table. He produced
a matchbox from the sleeve of his coat, struck a match, and lighted a
small spirit-lamp. This, together with a bowl of opium and a large
ivory pipe, he shoved across the table.
"You will smoke?" he asked.
Yung How could not resist the temptation. He snatched up the little
skewer and dived it into the brown glutinous substance.
"Thank you," said he. "I can think better when I smoke. The matter of
which I have to tell you, Ah Wu, is of some importance. It may be very
profitable to me, and also, in some degree, to you--if you are able to
assist me."
Ah Wu's little almond-shaped eyes glistened more than ever. His face
became wreathed in smiles. He got to his feet and went to a cupboard,
from which he produced his own opium pipe. Then he seated himself again
at the table, and with their heads very close together these two sleek,
shaven, unmitigated rascals rolled their little pills and filled the
room with bitter-smelling smoke.
And as they fell under the influence of the wonderful and subtle drug
that holds sway over the whole of the Far East, from Shanghai to Bombay,
they discussed in low voices the affairs of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, of
Paradise City, Nevada, U.S.A.
"Tell me," asked Yung How, "do you ever see anything of Cheong-Chau, the
robber?"
"He himself," said Ah Wu, "comes often to Canton. He invariably stays
here. He is a great smoker. He smokes opium by day and walks abroad by
night. He will not show himself in the streets by daylight, in case he
should be recognised by the soldiers of the Viceroy."
"He is a brave man," said Yung How--avoiding, after the manner of the
East, the point at issue.
"He fears not death," said Ah Wu. "But the day will come when he will
be led to his execution, to the Potter's Yard, where they will cut off
his head, and the heads of all his followers."
"How many men has he?" asked Yung How.
Ah Wu shrugged his shoulders.
"Some say twenty," said he; "some say thirty. Men-Ching, his
second-in-command, is always here. He is one of my oldest patrons." Ah
Wu nodded his head towards the door. "He is in there now," he added,
"sound asleep. I saw him as we passed."
It is not the custom of a Chinese to convey surprise, satisfaction or
displeasure, or any other emotion, upon the features of his face. Yung
How's countenance remained expressionless. He did not raise an eyebrow.
And yet he was delighted. He was in luck's way, and he knew it.
"What sort of a man is this Men-Ching?" he asked.
"He is an old man," said Ah Wu, "a grandfather. He wears a small grey
beard, and his pigtail is almost white."
Yung How leaned across the table and whispered in Ah Wu's ear:
"I know of a party of Europeans," said he, "who are going up one of the
rivers--I am not sure which. I have not yet discovered their
destination. They are rich men. How much will Cheong-Chau give, do you
think, if I deliver them into his hands?"
Ah Wu chuckled. Then, very carefully, he rolled another opium pill and
puffed the smoke from his mouth.
"This can be arranged," said he, rising to his feet. "I will fetch
Men-Ching. He returns to Pinglo to-morrow."
Ah Wu entered the opium den and, ascending the stairs, awakened a man
who was sleeping upon one of the couches. This was an old man with a
small grey beard and so little hair upon his head that his pigtail was
not six inches long.
Men-Ching listened to Ah Wu's apologies, and then got slowly to his
feet. He put on his faded scarlet coat and followed the proprietor down
the stairs. In the little room below, he was introduced to Yung How,
and a Chinese introduction is a serious and ceremonious occasion. For
the better part of five minutes the two men paid each other compliments,
which were neither the truth nor intended to be such. Then all three
seated themselves at the table, and presently the smoke from three opium
pipes, instead of two, was filling the room with the bitter, pungent
smell.
They discussed the matter in every detail; they regarded it from every
aspect. They calculated the risk and speculated upon their own share of
the plunder. They tried to estimate the illimitable wealth of Mr
Hennessy K. Waldron. Perhaps Ah Wu had visions of retiring from
business and settling down in his native town of Chau-chau, on the banks
of the Han river, where the rice is the best in China.
At all events they were three great scoundrels, and although Cheong-Chau
himself may have been a greater one, there was a certain man who--even
whilst they were closeted together--had entered the opium den, who was
without doubt the greatest villain in all the thirteen provinces, in all
that land of thieves and knaves and cut-throats, from the Great Wall of
China to the Shan States, upon the borderland of Burmah.
And this man was Ling. He burst into the opium den with such violence
that the outer door was in danger of being broken from its hinges. He
thrust aside the embroidered curtains so roughly that several of the
wooden rings that secured them at the top were broken. Once inside the
room, he bellowed for Ah Wu, the proprietor of the establishment, and
his voice was so great that he awakened many of the sleepers.
Being informed that Ah Wu was privately engaged, he strode into the
little room beneath the stairs, and there found himself confronted by
Men-Ching, whom he knew well by sight and reputation, and Yung How, whom
he had never seen before.
For some moments he stood regarding the three men. Then he
laughed--just as a jackal laughs.
"What's this?" he cried. "Three such heads were never brought together
to discuss Confucius or the writings of the learned Lao Tzu. An old
fox, Ah Wu--one of Cheong-Chau's paid assassins, and a smooth-faced
Hong-Kong 'boy'! Vulgar men, all three, who breathe from their throats,
and walk in fear and trembling. Fetch me a pipe, Ah Wu, and take us
into your council. I have a mind to learn the reason of these
whisperings."
We have said that the Oriental does not betray his innermost feelings
upon his features. We have stated that the Chinese countenance is
incapable of expression. The case was overstated, for all three of
them, the moment they set eyes upon this self-confident intruder, became
visibly alarmed. It is true that to no small extent the personal
appearance of Ling may have been responsible for this.
The man was a giant. Yung How was a tall man; but when he stood at his
full height, the shaven top of his head was not level with the shoulders
of the new-comer, who must have been at least six feet eight inches in
height. His complexion was so sallow as to be almost green; his cheeks
were hollow like those of a human skull. At the same time, he had
enormous features: a great hooked nose; a square, massive chin; a mouth
that almost reached to his ears when he grinned. He had coal-black
eyebrows which met upon the bridge of his nose, and slanted slightly
upwards. Upon his upper lip was a long black moustache, the ends of
which hung down below his chin. His bones were mammoth-like; he had
enormous fists; and when he walked, his great shoulder-blades could be
seen moving under his long blue silken robe. Ah Wu looked up at him,
with the glint of fear in his little fox-like eyes.
"We were discussing the rice crop," said he.
"_Liar!_" roared Ling.
And he brought down his fist upon the table with such force that the
opium bowls jumped, and one of the spirit-lamps went out.
"Liar!" he repeated. "Fetch me a pipe, as I bid you, and speak true
talk. This is a human affair and concerns me as much as you. Were it a
question of divine philosophy, I should be the last to intrude. Come, I
propose to give you advice."
Thereupon, without the least warning, he seized Yung How by the scruff
of his neck, and lifted him bodily out of his chair.
"This foreign devil's flunkey shall increase the wisdom of the mighty
Ling," he shouted. "He shall tell me in his Hong-Kong jargon why he
holds conference with one of Cheong-Chau's bandits, and one who has
grown so old in wickedness, and so rich in ill-gotten gains, that his
eyes are sunk in the wrinkled fat of his face."
He dumped Yung How back into his chair, and for once the habitual
expression of serene dignity had departed from that gentleman's
countenance. Indeed, he looked terribly frightened--but not more so
than Ah Wu himself, who now came forward, holding in his trembling hand
an opium pipe, which he offered politely to this gigantic Oriental
swashbuckler.
Ling examined the pipe critically; and then, apparently satisfied with
the appearance of it, proceeded to roll opium pills in his huge,
flat-tipped fingers.
"I smoke," said he, "not like fools, to dream. I smoke to fight, to
think, and to make fools of others."
As he said these words he flung off his long coat. Underneath he was
wearing a thin vest of the finest Chifu silk. Around his waist was a
belt, attached to which was a great knife--a Malay _kris_--the handle of
which was studded lavishly with jewels.
CHAPTER III--OF THE TIGER AND THE FOXES
Ling was a Northerner. He hailed from the province of Honan, a land of
rugged hills and dark, inhospitable valleys, through which flows the
unnavigable Hoang-Ho, the turbulent Yellow River that thrashes its way
into the Gulf of Pe-chili, over cataracts and rocks, through dark,
precipitous ravines.
The Honanese are a warlike race. From this province the viceroys of the
north were wont to recruit the majority of their soldiers--wild,
raw-boned men who, in the old days, guarded the sacred presence of the
Emperor.
The pirates of the West River may be compared to wolf-packs that roam
the southern provinces in search of plunder. But Ling may be likened to
a solitary beast of prey, a man-eating tiger, or a rogue elephant--than
which there is no more dangerous beast in all the world. He lived by his
wits, his great strength and cunning. He had established such a
reputation for himself in the provinces of Kwang-si and Kwei-chau that
he was feared alike by peasants, priests, and mandarins. He committed
crime openly and gloried in it; for in China there are no police, and
prefects and magistrates can be bought with silver _taels_.
And Ling was a man of great wealth. He employed bribery when that was
likely to succeed. Otherwise he relied upon his Malay kris, or his
great hands, with which he could strangle the life out of an ordinary
man in no more time than it would take to wring the neck of a hen.
The wonder of this man was that he was a great scholar. He had passed
several of the public examinations in which the candidates could be
numbered by the thousand. He was learned in the classic books: _Spring
and Autumn_, _The Doctrine of the Mean_, _The Analects of Confucius_,
and the books of History, Rites and Music, and the Odes.
He was in the habit of quoting Confucius and the writings of the sages;
and he could always, by twisting the meaning of the proverbs of
antiquity, find excuses for his crimes.
"To the good I would be good," he would quote, adding: "As there are no
good on this earth, there is no necessity to be other than I am."
In no other country in the world would such a man have been allowed to
walk at large in the streets of a populous city. Everyone knew him, and
everyone feared him; but no one had the courage to step across his path.
He came and went at his pleasure, laughing in his loud, boisterous
manner, quoting from the writings of Confucius, Mencius, and the learned
Lao Tzu, the founder of the Taoist religion. It must be remembered that
China is a country in which everyone minds his own affairs. The sages
have taught the Chinese to believe that the destiny of every man is in
his own hands, and that whether he lives foolishly or wisely, whether he
does evil or good, is a question solely between that man himself and the
Spirit of the Universe. No one has the right to interfere.
In this world there are those who talk and those who act. Ling did
both. He bullied and threatened and stormed; he was childishly vain of
his learning, and in seven dialects he scattered his knowledge
broadcast. At the same time, he was a man of action; he was resolute
and brave, and without scruples or a sense of pity.
But neither courage nor brute strength nor wisdom, nor a combination of
the three, can accomplish all things. And in Ah Wu's opium den, the
mighty Ling found himself in the presence of three subtle,
smooth-tongued Cantonese; and the whole world across, from San Francisco
to Yokohama by way of Port Said, there is no more capable and fluent
liar than the lemon-skinned, almond-eyed Chinese who hails from the
province of Kwang-si. It is difficult to say who could lie most
gracefully, who was the greatest hypocrite--Ah Wu, Yung How, or
Men-Ching, the brigand. Each in his own way was a past master in the
craft of falsehood.
Moreover, they had no intention of taking Ling into their confidence.
They may have been frightened of the man, but not even fear could make
them behave like imbeciles. They knew that if Ling gained knowledge of
the presence of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron upon the upper reaches of one of
the rivers, there would be but little booty left for themselves. And so
they lied--gracefully, easily, pleasantly, and with admirable
consistency.
What that lie was is immaterial to the skein and texture of this story.
It was a presentable and passable falsehood, you may be sure, but it was
not good enough to deceive Ling, who, however, professed that he
believed every word they had told him, whilst he complacently smoked
pipe after pipe of opium--at Ah Wu's expense.
And then he left the opium den, paying for nothing, quoting from Mencius
in regard to the virtue of hospitality. In the dark streets of the
mammoth city his colossal figure became lost in the shadows; but he left
behind him, in the opium den, in the little room beneath the stairs, an
atmosphere of tension--a feeling that a great typhoon has passed, which
by a miracle had caused but little damage. The three conspirators
continued to discuss their plot, but they were no longer conscious of a
sense of security. Once or twice Ah Wu, who was the most nervous of the
three, glanced anxiously over his shoulder, whenever a heavy footstep
was heard in the room beyond.
They had lied to Ling to the best of their ability--which was saying
much. For all that, they had no reason to suppose that the gigantic
Honanese had believed a single word of what they had told him. In
consequence, they feared him all the more. The tiger was on the prowl,
and the three foxes, their heads close together, whispered in the ears
of one another and rolled their little pills.
They arranged matters to their satisfaction. Yung How was to attempt to
discover the destination of Sir Thomas Armitage and the wealthy
American. Men-Ching would lie in wait upon the river bank. Yung How
would signal to him as the launch went by. If their destination was the
North River, Yung How was to place his left hand upon the shaven
fore-part of his head. If it was the West River, he was to raise his
right hand. In either case, Men-Ching was to take horse and ride to
Pinglo, where he would inform Cheong-Chau that the fish were swimming
into his net. As for Ah Wu, at a later date, he was to play a certain
part for which--on account of his cunning and secretive nature--he was
eminently suited.
It was an exceedingly well-arranged plot, which will be duly explained
in the appointed place. There was some discussion in regard to what sum
it would be possible to obtain; but in the end it was decided that
twenty thousand dollars would be sufficient, allowing that Cheong-Chau
would take the bulk of it himself.
It was long past midnight when they came to the end of their
deliberations. By then they were heavy with opium, and their eyes
glazed from the drug. They threw themselves down upon the soft matted
couches in the outer room, and slept and dreamed--as Chinese will--of
things celestial, transcendental, such as cannot be expressed in words.
For all that, the following morning Yung How presented himself at the
breakfast-table of Sir Thomas Armitage in the Shamien Hotel.
"Well, Yung How," said the judge, "did you see your brother in Canton?"
"Yes, master," said Yung How, without moving a muscle of his face. "He
makes bobbery with his wife."
"You mean," said Sir Thomas, for the edification of Mr Waldron, "that he
and his wife have quarrelled?"
"Yes, master. She does not like that he smokes opium--once a week."
The judge made a wry face. "A nasty habit," said he.
"Yes, master," said Yung How; "only bad men smoke opium."
Sir Thomas looked at Yung How's eyes. The pupils were shrunken to the
size of little beads.
"Yes," said he. "You are right, Yung How; only bad men smoke opium."
"Opium does harm," said Yung How, who, five minutes later, appeared in
the hotel kitchen. Several coolies were eating rice upon a doorstep,
and one of these was the engineer of Sir Thomas's river-launch. It is
not pleasant to watch lower-class Chinese eat rice. They hold the bowl
about two inches from their mouths, which they open very wide, and then
they scoop up the rice with their fingers in much the same manner as one
might brush pieces of fluff from the sleeve of a coat.
"Ah Su," said Yung How, to the engineer, "has the judge told you where
we are going?"
"No," said Ah Su.
"The weather," said Yung How, "is very hot."
He then departed to the vestibule of the hotel, where he encountered the
comprador. In China, the comprador knows everything.
"Are there any letters for the judge?" asked Yung How, in a lordly
manner.
"He has them," said the comprador. "He himself took them into the
breakfast-room."
"We leave to-day," said Yung How casually.
"So I understand," said the other.
"I suppose letters will be forwarded?"
"The judge has given instructions. All letters and parcels are to be
forwarded to the British Consulate at Wu-chau."
"In Wu-chau," said Yung How, "I have a brother."
He turned away and went upstairs, where he entered the bedroom of Mr
Waldron. In one of the small drawers of the dressing-table he
discovered the millionaire's cheque-book; and since he could read
English tolerably well, he spent a pleasant five minutes studying the
counterfoils. Then quite suddenly Mr Waldron came in.
"Say," said he, "what are you doing here?"
"Have cleaned hairbrushes," said Yung How, without a moment's
hesitation.
"Then, git!" cried Mr Waldron. "Guess I can fill my own grip-sack. When
I want a slit-eyed son of Satan hanging around my boudoir, I'll send for
him. So, git!"
And Yung How "got." He walked gravely from the room with his head held
proudly in the air, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. He appeared
grossly insulted.
He knew very well, however, that the great city of Wu-chau lies upon the
West River, and is not so far--as the crow flies--from the town of
Pinglo, where Cheong-Chau was in the habit of smoking opium.
CHAPTER IV--HOW CHEONG-CHAU CAME FORTH OF THE TOWN OF PINGLO
Mr Waldron appreciated the journey up the West River even more than the
sights of Canton. Stretched comfortably upon his deck-chair, he
surveyed through his binoculars the rich, prosperous landscape of
Southern China. He interested himself in the straw-hatted peasants at
work in the tea-gardens and the ricefields. As the launch steamed upon
its way, he inspected river-side villages, temples, gateways and
pagodas.
The party arrived at Wu-chau, spent two or three days seeing the sights,
and then proceeded up-river. A few days later, the launch arrived at
the town of Pinglo--three days after Men-Ching, seated astride his
little Mongolian pony, had ridden in from the East.
Since there was little or nothing to see in Pinglo, Sir Thomas Armitage,
Frank and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron, accompanied by Yung How and one other
personal servant, set out on a journey across country towards the north.
They carried knapsacks upon their backs, and proceeded by way of the
narrow paths separating the ricefields. The heat was excessive, but as
they progressed, and reached higher altitudes, it became cooler, and at
the end of three days' march the Nan-ling Mountains stood out before
them like a great wall.
They found the Taoist temple, surrounded by trees, tucked away in the
corner of a picturesque valley, where there were great numbers of birds
of brilliant plumage.
Mr Waldron was delighted. The temple was deserted, and appeared to have
been neglected for centuries. The plaster had crumbled from the walls
and lay in heaps upon the floor. The place consisted of one huge hall,
with several smaller rooms on either side. Everything of value had been
stolen; but the architecture remained, solid and fantastic, and of the
greatest antiquity.
Ranged around the walls were the figures of scores of gods and
goddesses, chief amongst whom was Buddha. Sir Thomas was able to
identify several of the images, one of whom he recognised as Mohammed,
another as St Paul, and a third as Marco Polo. That Marco Polo should
have risen in China to the dignity of a deity is conceivable, since this
dauntless adventurer was the first European to reside in the ancient
Tartar kingdom of Kublai Khan. But it was indeed remarkable that the
fame of such great preachers as St Paul and the founder of the
Mohammedan religion should have reached--across the whole of Asia--the
heart of the Chinese Empire. This is no treatise on Chinese theology,
else we could write much concerning the Taoist temple on the southern
slopes of the Nan-ling Mountains, at the very back of the beyond. It is
sufficient to say that the judge took copious notes, and Mr Hennessy K.
Waldron was delighted. As a memento of the expedition he knocked off a
stone gargoyle from above the porchway of the temple.
In many ways the expedition resembled a delightful picnic, in a country
that was charming and romantic. The ruined temple was surrounded by
flowering shrubs and queer-shaped deciduous trees, and there were
moss-grown banks upon which one could lie at ease during the heat of the
day or sleep tranquilly by night, when thousands of frogs were croaking
in the valley below, and crickets were singing in the long _kiao-liang_
that grew upon the mountain-side.
The place was a natural garden, scented with almond and mimosa. During
the heat of the day there was shade in plenty; after sunset the
temperature was cool and refreshing. Yung How and his assistant
attended to their wants; gave them four-course luncheons and dinners,
produced from a saucepan and a frying-pan by means of a small wood fire
laid between two bricks. Neither Mr Waldron nor the judge himself
showed the slightest inclination to return to the steaming valley of the
river. As for Frank, he was happy all day long, exploring the
neighbourhood, climbing to the crest-line of the hills, whence he could
survey a vast panorama of terraced paddy-fields, winding rivers,
scattered villages and towns, each with its joss-houses and its temples
and its great horseshoe graveyards.
On the second day of their visit, whilst his uncle and the American were
occupied in inspecting the temple, Frank Armitage ascended a steep
bridle-path which crossed the mountains at a narrow pass. To the north
he found his view obstructed by another and even more rugged range of
mountains. Anxious to gain a more commanding position, the boy left the
bridle-path and climbed, on hands and knees, the steep face of the
adjacent peak.
It took him the greater part of an hour to gain the top, but there he
found his efforts rewarded by a view that reminded him of many scenes
pictured by Gustave Dore, illustrating _Don Quixote_ or _Paradise
Lost_--pictures that had fascinated and frightened him as a child.
Immediately before him was a second valley, at right angles to the one
dividing the parallel ranges, resembling a huge, deep sword-cut in the
barren, savage hills. This valley narrowed as it rose to a higher
altitude, and finally became lost in mountain mist. There were few
trees upon the steep, glistening slopes, and such as were to be seen
were stunted and deformed. There were no roads or paths; no sign of
life or civilisation. The sun itself appeared to have been shut out for
ever from this stretch of desolation.
Frank turned and looked towards the south. In this direction were green
trees, green fields--a plain, rich, fertile, well-watered and thickly
populated. It was almost impossible to believe that a narrow watershed
could divide landscapes so different that they might have been scenes
from different planets. He glanced again at the dark sinister valley;
and as he did so he caught a glimpse of something red, moving slowly
across the spur that formed the angle of the two valleys immediately
below.
He could not at first make out what this could be, for the moving object
almost at once disappeared behind a hillock. When it appeared again,
however, it was in mid-valley; and he recognised a party of men dressed
in scarlet coats, who were marching in close formation, making in the
direction of the pass across the range.
Frank knelt down behind a boulder and watched with interest, and not
without apprehension, the approaching figures. A natural instinct
warned him that it would not be wise to show himself. There was
something in the forbidding nature of the valley itself that warned him
that its sole occupants were not likely to be men whom one could trust.
They climbed the bridle-path, gaining at last the pass whence Frank
himself had ascended to the hill-top. They were now easy to
distinguish. The party numbered about thirty. They were brown-skinned
Chinese, evidently mountain-born; all were armed with scythe-like spears
or long, curved knives, and one or two carried pistols in their belts.
All wore scarlet coats, some of which were bright and new, others being
so faded that they were a kind of dirty pink. At the head of the party
marched a little shrivelled man, whose scarlet coat was trimmed with
gold. Frank Armitage did not know it--though within eight hours he was
to learn the truth--but this was the redoubtable Cheong-Chau
himself--the brigand chief who plundered the southern provinces from the
Nan-ling Mountains to the sea.
As they passed, swinging on their way, these men sang a low, wailing
chant that might have been a funeral dirge, but which was, in fact, a
pirate song of blood and lust and murder. At the rear of the party was
an old man, seated upon the back of a short-necked Mongolian pony. This
was Men-Ching, who had ridden post-haste from the city of Canton,
bringing greetings to Cheong-Chau from Ah Wu, who kept an opium den in
the vicinity of the Mohammedan mosque.
Men-Ching had seen Yung How in the city of Wu-chau, and had there heard
news of the ancient Taoist temple upon the southern slopes of the
mountains. And Cheong-Chau had shaken off the sleep of opium and,
gathering his men, had issued from the town of Pinglo, and had marched
by night into the mountains, the sovereignty of which he shared with the
eagles and the kites.
CHAPTER V--HOW CHEONG-CHAU STRUCK AT DEAD OF NIGHT
It was late by the time Frank returned to the temple, where he found his
uncle and Mr Waldron engaged in an animated discussion upon the subject
of the untapped resources of China. The boy had taken some time to
climb down the mountain-side. Having no wish to fall into the hands of
the scarlet-coated band who had descended into the valley to the south,
he had given the bridle-path a wide berth, with the result that he had
been obliged to go down upon all fours, and descend stealthily foot by
foot.
He lost no time in relating to his uncle all that he had seen. The
judge was somewhat surprised, but he did not show any signs of being
nervous.
"I trust they didn't see you, Frank?" he asked.
"I have no doubt as to that," replied the boy. "I remained hidden all
the time. Besides, they were immediately below me, and I should have
noticed if any man had looked up."
The judge shrugged his shoulders.
"All's well that ends well," said he. "Nevertheless we may consider
ourselves lucky. There can be no question that the party you saw was
one of the brigand bands that are said to infest these mountains. We
are far from civilisation. We could expect neither mercy nor
consideration if we fell into the hands of such desperate rascals."
"Judge," said Mr Waldron, "it looks as if I may have a use for my
six-shooter after all."
"I don't think so," said the judge. "Frank was wise enough not to show
himself, and the men went down into the valley. There is no reason why
they should know anything about our presence in the neighbourhood."
It was then that Yung How appeared, silently, from the midst of the deep
shadows beneath the temple ruins. He moved stealthily and with
something of the supple grace of a cat.
"Master," said he, "dinner is served."
"Thank you," said the judge. But Yung How remained, his features calm
and expressionless, a table-napkin thrown over his left forearm, after
the manner of waiters all the world across.
"Guess," said Mr Waldron, "I shall sleep with my gun ready loaded."
"That is no more than a wise precaution," said the judge, "and we should
be well advised to post a sentry. We could divide the night into three
watches of three hours each. Frank, as the youngest, shall take the
first watch, from nine to twelve; I myself propose to take the middle
watch, from twelve to three--unless you, Mr Waldron, would prefer it?"
"As you like, Judge," replied the American. "Early morning suits me
well enough. In the old days in Texas, six days out of seven I was in
the saddle before sunrise."
"Master," repeated Yung How, "dinner is served."
The judge whipped round upon his servant. "What are you doing here?" he
demanded. "You have announced dinner already. We are all hungry enough
not to forget it."
"Very good dinner," said Yung How, lapsing into pidgin-English, and
without moving a muscle of his face. "Hot soup, all belong one piece
tin; number one fish, all belong river; two piece chicken and top-side
apricots, all belong tin, all same soup."
"And a very good dinner too," said the judge. "The sooner we get to
work the better."
They dined by the light of a Chinese lantern suspended from one of the
branches of an almond-tree, beneath the temple wall, where they were
sheltered from the cool evening breeze that was blowing from the west.
The thin mountain air, after the insufferable, humid atmosphere of the
river valley, had served to give them a healthy appetite. The soup was
half cold, the chickens were very tough, and the West River fish tasted
horribly of mud; for all that, hungry men, encamped in a wilderness many
miles from the nearest outpost of civilisation, will regard such fare as
delicacies. They ate with a relish everything that Yung How placed
before them, and washed down their meal with pannikins of crystal-clear
water from the mountain spring that flowed past the temple.
After dinner the judge lighted his pipe, and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron one
of his choice Manila cheroots. They talked of many things, but above
all of China, of its immensity and mystery, its wealth, vitality, and
future. And then the judge and Mr Waldron spread their blankets and
laid them down to sleep.
There is no life in the world to compare with that which is lived in the
open air. A moss-grown bank supplied a bed as comfortable as any spring
mattress. The wind, gently stirring the leaves of the trees, the
distant croaking of the frogs, and the singing of the crickets, combined
to form a sort of lullaby that soothed and enticed the wayfarers to
slumber. There was no moon that night; but in a sky unbroken by a
single cloud, a gorgeous canopy of stars illumined a scene that might
have made a fitting setting for a fairy-tale.
Frank Armitage selected his sentry-post at the foot of a great tree
immediately before the temple steps. Hence he was able to obtain a fair
view both of the bivouac and the mountain slope to the south. Knowing,
however, that it would be wise not to neglect the northern side of the
temple, he decided to patrol the entire building at least once every
quarter of an hour. Armed with Mr Waldron's revolver, he kept well in
the shade, knowing that a good sentry is one who observes without
himself being seen.
An hour passed and then another hour, without the occurrence of anything
unusual. The judge and Mr Waldron were both sound asleep, the latter
snoring loudly. Yung How and his companion lay in the shadow of the
temple wall: the former curled up in his blankets, the coolie lying flat
upon his back, his mouth wide open, dreaming, perhaps, that he was back
in the Chinese quarter of Hong-Kong, where lived his wife and seven
children, all of whom he supported upon the astonishing sum--expressed
in English coinage--of nineteen shillings a month.
Frank, as he went his rounds, frequently paused to listen. The frogs
and the crickets continued their uproar. The wind murmured in the
trees; once or twice he could hear wild-duck flying high in the night
sky towards the north, towards the great marshes of the Yangtsi and the
Yellow River. But no other sound disturbed the silence of the night.
In course of time he came to consider the utmost vigilance unnecessary.
He began to interest himself in trivial things. Mr Waldron had ceased
to snore and Yung How was engaged in a kind of duet with the coolie.
They snored alternately, the one on a deeper note than the other. Frank
paused upon one of his rounds and stood for a moment looking down upon
the two sleeping Chinese, thinking how vastly different from himself
they were. Then he passed on upon his way, conscious that as the hour
grew later the air was becoming colder. On that account, it was
advisable to keep moving. He walked round the front of the temple,
across the great stone steps leading to the entrance, and found himself
on the farther side of the ruined, rambling building. There, in the
deep shadow of a tall, gabled gateway, he stopped quite suddenly,
thinking that he had heard a twig snap underfoot.
He was so sure of this that almost at once he became aware that his
heart was beating rapidly. He held the revolver in his hand, gripping
the handle tightly. The starlight enabled him to see a considerable
distance, except where the shadows were deep under the temple wall
itself and beneath the trees.
At his right hand was a massive stone pillar that supported the roof of
the gateway. He stood stock-still, listening; and then, close to him,
he heard a sound that might have been the wind, but which, on the other
hand, might have been the heavy breathing of a man. As quick as
thought, he stepped behind the pillar, and at once, quite suddenly, and
yet without noise or violence, his revolver was taken from his hand.
For the fraction of a second he was too astonished to cry out. He took
a quick step backward, which brought him into the starlight, and at that
moment both his wrists were grasped, and he beheld before him a face,
sinister, fierce, and yet expressionless. It was the face of Yung How,
his uncle's servant.
He let out a shout, a loud cry for help--a shout that was stifled in a
second. Someone had seized him from behind. The palm of a hand was
placed so tightly upon his mouth that he found it difficult to breathe.
For a moment he endeavoured to struggle, but soon realised the
uselessness of an attempt to extricate himself by physical force. He
had been seized by at least three men; and almost before he had time to
recover from his surprise, he was thrown violently upon the ground, his
hands bound behind his back, and a gag thrust between his teeth.
He lay quite motionless, wondering what had happened, and what would
happen next. Men were talking in whispers in harsh Cantonese voices,
but too softly for him to catch the meaning of their words.
He was bidden rise. He hesitated a moment, and was then lifted bodily
to be dumped down upon his feet. He found himself confronted by a
Chinaman who was small in stature, the skin of whose face was wrinkled
and weather-beaten. This man wore a scarlet coat, richly embroidered
with gold thread that glittered in the starlight. He came quite close
to Frank, and peered into the boy's face, grinning from ear to ear,
showing dirty, fang-like teeth--teeth that resembled those of a dog.
The boy turned away in disgust, and looked straight into the face of
Yung How. Yung How neither smiled nor lowered his eyes. He appeared to
be neither delighted nor ashamed. His features were expressionless; his
eyes looked straight into Frank's. Behind Yung How stood some twenty
men, all dressed in scarlet coats. Frank took them in at a glance, and
the thought flashed across his mind that it would be difficult to select
from the party the one who appeared the greatest villain, whose
countenance was the most hideous and repulsive. They were Cantonese of
the coolie class, high of cheek-bone, with low, receding foreheads, and
cruel, snake-like eyes.
The man who was wearing the gold embroidered coat turned and walked
rapidly towards the temple steps, ordering the others to follow him.
Frank was led forward, a great raw-boned Chinaman on either side of him,
each of whom grasped him tightly by an arm. He was made to ascend the
steps, and was brought to a halt in the shadow of the porchway of the
temple.
Hence he could look down upon the sheltered glade where he and his
friends had been encamped for two days. In the starlight he could see
the figures of his uncle and Mr Waldron, both of whom were still fast
asleep.
So far, all that had happened had come to pass so rapidly that Frank had
not had time to feel alarmed. But now, when he beheld his uncle--as he
had every reason to believe--in the greatest danger, he was filled with
apprehension. He made a lurch forward as if he would escape--for his
feet had not been bound--but he was at once roughly thrown back by the
men who guarded him, one of whom struck him a violent blow in the face.
At that moment it was as if the boy was incapable of feeling physical
pain or moral indignation. He was filled with remorse. He had been
given a position of responsibility and trust--and he had failed
pitifully. And now, perhaps his uncle's life was in danger.
He was obliged to remain an impotent and conscience-stricken spectator
of the scene that followed. He could neither cry out nor hasten to the
assistance of his friends. He saw both his uncle and Mr Waldron seized
whilst they were sound asleep, handled roughly by savage, lawless men;
gagged and bound, and then led into the great hall of the temple.
As soon as they were all inside, about a dozen torches were lit, and
these were planted upright between the stone flags that paved the floor;
so that they resembled as many candles, illuminating that fantastic,
mediaeval chamber.
Indeed, it is almost impossible to imagine a scene more weird and
dream-like. The three captives in the centre of the hall; the
evil-looking, criminal faces of the brigands, made to look even more
alarming and sinister by the flickering light of the torches; and around
that great, dingy room, the implacable, sedate, inevitable figures of
the Chinese gods and goddesses, over whom presided the huge Buddha,
seated cross-legged upon a stone plinth, immediately opposite the
entrance.
Frank Armitage caught his uncle's eye. He tried his utmost to convey in
a glance the remorse and anguish he endured. Sir Thomas must have
understood him, for he slowly shook his head. Then someone from the
back of the room commanded that everyone should be seated; and when this
order had been complied with, one man alone remained upon his feet.
This was he whose scarlet coat was embroidered heavily with gold, who
now stepped into the centre of the circle, where he stood in the full
light of the torches.
"I am Cheong-Chau," he cried. "And those who fall into the hands of
Cheong-Chau must pay in silver _taels_ or else in blood."
CHAPTER VI--HOW CHEONG-CHAU STATED HIS TERMS
The situation in which the judge and his companions found themselves was
certainly not of the pleasantest. It so happened that Sir Thomas knew
nothing of the reputation of the redoubtable Cheong-Chau. However, the
man's character was made evident upon every feature of his face.
Standing in the centre of the hall, gesticulating wildly, he harangued
his audience for the better part of twenty minutes without once pausing
for breath. Sir Thomas was sufficiently acquainted with the Cantonese
language to follow the drift of the man's speech, whereas Frank was able
to understand every word. Mr Waldron, of course, comprehended nothing.
The American was under the impression that he was about to be put to
death. He regarded, with a kind of timorous curiosity, the murderous
weapons of the bandits and the villainous facial contortions of
Cheong-Chau. The man held forth in the flowery language of the Chinese
of the southern provinces. He talked a great deal about his own power
and cruelty. He did not seem to care in the least whether or not anyone
listened to him. He boasted in regard to his past crimes; he spoke of
his courage and audacity; he uttered innumerable threats. And in the
end the captives were led away into one of the smaller rooms that gave
upon the great hall of the temple.
There they remained until late the following evening, when the whole
party--with the exception of Yung How, who returned to Canton--set out
across the mountains, traversing the narrow pass from above which Frank
Armitage had first beheld the brigands. They entered, at dead of night,
the bleak, desolate valley extending towards the north. Cheong-Chau
himself led the way, following a path, carrying in his hand a large
Chinese lantern suspended from a pole about six feet long.
Daylight found them still upon the line-of-march. They had by then
ascended to a high altitude, where the atmosphere was both cold and
damp. The crests of the mountains were wreathed in a thin white mist,
similar to that which is found in Scotland, which drenched them to the
skin.
They were brought to a halt at the mouth of a certain cave, in a very
desolate, inhospitable region--a country of sheer barren slopes, rugged
peaks and turbulent mountain streams that descended thousands of feet in
series of roaring cataracts. They had been conducted to a spot upon the
globe's surface where, in all probability, no white man had ever been
before.
The entrance to the cave was hidden behind an enormous boulder, almost
as big as a fair-sized house, which balanced itself upon the very brink
of a steep slope that descended at an angle of about forty-five degrees.
Upon these slopes a few withered shrubs were growing: leafless, twisted
things, tortured by the bitter east winds that swept those cheerless
valleys.
Inside, the cave was comparatively comfortable. In the centre a wood
fire was burning brightly, and though this filled the place with smoke,
it served to introduce both light and warmth into that gloomy prison;
for indeed the cave was destined, for many days to come, to play the
part of a prison. For all that, some attempt had been made to give this
place a homely aspect. Several Chinese mats were spread upon the floor,
and there were wooden shelves loaded with provisions: dried fish, rice,
and bags of green China tea.
To give so redoubtable a rogue as Cheong-Chau the little justice he
deserves, it must be stated that his captives were treated with every
consideration. They were well fed, on simple Chinese food, which must
have been carried miles across the desolate mountains upon the backs of
coolies. They were given straw mattresses upon which to sleep, and were
allowed to warm themselves by the fire. Mr Waldron--as the only member
of the party who was a stranger to the country--expressed the greatest
anxiety in regard to their fate. His mind was filled with vague fears
to the effect that their lives were being preserved in order that they
might eventually be tortured. He had interested himself in all manner
of gruesome subjects; he had heard of the "death by a thousand cuts,"
the Chinese "corkscrew," and the wholesale manner in which Cantonese
executions were usually carried out. None the less, he was not afraid.
He was a man who had led a hard life, who had faced danger more than
once, and who had learnt--in spite of his riches--to regard his own
existence as by no means an essential part of the great scheme of
universal things. He speculated in regard to his destiny after the
manner of a man who backs horses without knowing anything whatsoever
about what--for some reason or other--has been called "the sport of
kings."
"Say, Judge," said he, "I don't cotton to this notion of a thousand
cuts. Guess one cut's enough for me. If they're going to kill us, why
don't they do it and have done with it, instead of stuffing us full of
rice and rotten fish?"
Sir Thomas shook his head.
"There is every reason to suppose," he answered, "that this is a case of
ransom. If this rascal had meant to murder us he would have done so
before emptying our pockets of all the money, watches and valuables in
our possession. You may be sure, Mr Waldron, he has brought us here for
a purpose. That is not troubling me in the least."
"It troubles me," said the American. "I left Paradise City with the
idea of seeing the world; but I guess, Judge, this is one side of human
experience that it was not my original intention to investigate. Wish I
was back in Nevada."
Frank Armitage laughed aloud. It was the first time he had done so
since the calamity had befallen them. Sir Thomas sat cross-legged by
the fire, stirring the embers with a stick, his brows set in a frown.
"Even now," said he, in a quiet voice, "even now I can't realise that
Yung How is the unmitigated villain he is."
Frank bit his lip. "If I ever get the chance," said he, "I'll be even
with that scoundrel."
"He has been in my service," continued Sir Thomas, "for nearly seven
years. During the whole of that period he has never once given me cause
to suspect or to mistrust him. That shows you very clearly, Mr Waldron,
what a subtle rascal a Chinaman can be. For seven years he has been
obedient, faithful, and even honest; and yet--it is now apparent--all
that time he was but waiting his chance."
Mr Waldron made a wry face.
"Guess he might have waited another seven years," said he, "or at least
till I was clear of Hong-Kong. Why his chance should have come the
moment I arrive in the colony is a mystery to me."
"I am sorry to say, Mr Waldron," said Sir Thomas, "I can't regard that
coincidence in the light of a mystery. I have a very shrewd suspicion
that your wealth is the sole cause of all our trouble."
"Not the first time," added Mr Waldron, "by a long chalk, that money has
led to disaster. I tell you frankly, I was a happier man in the old
days--when I lived on fifteen dollars a week--than after I had made my
pile."
"I can very well believe it," said Sir Thomas. "That, however, doesn't
alter the situation in the least. Mark my words, very soon Cheong-Chau
will show his hand."
It is clear that the judge had correctly estimated both the
circumstances of the case and the character of Cheong-Chau; for scarcely
had the last words left his lips when the brigand chieftain himself
entered the cave, accompanied by Men-Ching, his second-in-command.
Cheong-Chau seated himself cross-legged upon the ground, and for a few
moments warmed his hands by the fire, without uttering a word. Then he
spoke in the Cantonese language, addressing himself to the judge:
"Those who fall into the hands of Cheong-Chau," said he, "must purchase
their freedom in silver _taels_ or in blood."
The judge did not reply. After a pause Cheong-Chau continued. Though
he was a little man, his voice was both deep and guttural. He spoke
slowly and with great deliberation, as if particularly desirous that his
words should not be misunderstood.
"I make you a fair offer," said he. "It is not my habit to mince
matters. I hold you captive. You are my prisoner. I can do with you
what I like. No one will ever find you here. Neither can you escape;
day and night there are sentries at the mouth of the cave. They tell me
that you have the reputation of being a wise man. If that is so, you
cannot fail to see that you and your companions are in my power--birds
caught in the fowler's net."
He paused again and looked at the judge, who merely nodded his head.
"This is my offer," he continued. "After I have explained matters I
shall give you ten minutes in which to make up your mind. You are to
write a letter to the Governor of Hong-Kong, or to anyone else you may
choose. In that letter you are to say that your life, and the lives of
those who are with you, are in the hands of Cheong-Chau, and that
Cheong-Chau demands, as the price of your freedom, the sum of twenty
thousand Hong-Kong dollars, to be paid in cash before the new moon."
Having laid down his conditions, the man remained silent whilst the
judge explained the meaning of his words to Mr Waldron.
"It is as I told you," said Sir Thomas. "Twenty thousand dollars. The
rascal certainly cannot be accused of being modest."
Mr Waldron snapped his fingers.
"So far as I am concerned," said he, "he can have it. Don't let the
money worry you, Judge. I've paid that for a picture."
The judge turned to Cheong-Chau and asked him to continue. The man
grinned--an unholy grin of fiendish satisfaction. To him and his
cut-throats the sum was more than a fortune; it would serve to keep the
whole gang of them in luxury for the rest of their lives.
"The matter," said he, "is quite simple to arrange. Write your letter,
and I will undertake to have it conveyed to Hong-Kong. The moon is but
three days old. We have therefore twenty-five days. Together with your
letter I will send one of my own, in which I propose to demand that the
money be left hidden in a certain place upon the Sang River, not far
from Canton. If the whole of this sum is safely deposited in the proper
place before the conclusion of the waning of the moon, you and your
friends shall be set at liberty. If, however, for any reason, the
ransom is not paid, I swear by the Five Sacred Books that all three of
you will be put to death. Concerning the manner of your death," he
added, "I say nothing--beyond a warning that those who die by order of
Cheong-Chau die neither easily nor swiftly."
The man got to his feet.
"And now," said he, "you have ten minutes in which to discuss the
question with your friends, in which to make up your mind. Say that you
agree, and my messenger leaves for Hong-Kong within an hour. Refuse, and
you die before another sun has risen."
With that Cheong-Chau turned upon his heel and, followed by Men-Ching,
shuffled from the cave.
CHAPTER VII--HOW THE LETTER WAS WRITTEN
Neither the judge nor Mr Waldron desired so much as ten minutes in which
to arrive at a decision. Twenty thousand dollars is by no means an
impossible sum to a man who is a millionaire. Even the judge himself
would have found little difficulty in producing the money with a few
days' notice.
Cheong-Chau, and even Yung How, who was more conversant with the manners
and customs of Europeans, had underestimated the wealth of Mr Waldron.
To them twenty thousand dollars represented almost fabulous wealth. It
never occurred to them that they might have asked twice as much, and
secured it with no greater difficulty; for we meet the real miser more
in fiction and in fable than in real life, and there are few men who
will not part readily with the whole of their fortune in exchange for
the most valuable of all human possessions: life, the right to walk upon
the face of the earth, to breathe the air of heaven.
Cheong-Chau re-entered the cave, holding in the palm of his hand the
gold watch he had stolen from Mr Waldron.
"Ten minutes," said he. "I trust you are ready with your answer."
Men-Ching stood at his side, and behind his back was a score of his
ruffians, each man with a naked sword.
"We have considered your proposal," said the judge, "and we agree to
it." He spoke the Cantonese language with difficulty, and his
pronunciation was faulty. However, there is little doubt that
Cheong-Chau understood him, for the man nodded his head with an air of
satisfaction.
"You are wise," said he. "Rumour has not lied."
"One moment," said Sir Thomas, taking him up. "There is one question we
would ask you. If the money is sent from Hong-Kong, and taken in safety
to your hiding-place, what guarantee do you propose to give us that you
will set us at liberty or even spare our lives?"
"How would I gain by killing you?" asked the bandit, with a shrug of his
narrow shoulders.
"I have lived in China," said the judge, "for more than thirty years. I
know that there are men in this country--and I see no reason why you
should not be numbered amongst them--to whom murder is a pastime, who
kill for the sake of killing, who derive a fiendish pleasure from
torturing the innocent."
Cheong-Chau carried a hand to his face and stroked his wrinkled chin.
"I see that you are prudent," said he. "For myself, I never bargain
with fools."
"Do you mean," asked the judge, "if the conditions are fulfilled on our
part, you will guarantee our safety?"
"I mean no such thing," said Cheong-Chau. "I guarantee nothing."
"Then we have naught to rely upon," the judge answered, "but your
oath--the oath of a robber?"
"That is so," said the other.
"And may I ask," said the judge, "how much Cheong-Chau reverences the
Five Sacred Books?"
The Chinese answered nothing, but stretched forth a hand, and
deliberately snapped his fingers.
Sir Thomas shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
"We must make the best of a bad business," said he to Mr Waldron. "I
tell you frankly, I don't trust these men. I know what such scoundrels
are."
He spoke in English, and whilst he did so was conscious of a gentle
touch upon the shoulder. He turned and beheld Men-Ching, who presented
him with a brass Chinese ink-box, a large piece of rice-paper and a
writing-brush. "Write your letter," said the old man, "to the English
Viceroy of Hong-Kong. Tell him that the sum of twenty thousand dollars,
in silver, must be hidden under the red stone in the Glade of Children's
Tears, before the waning of the moon."
"Where is this place?" asked Sir Thomas.
"On the Sang-kiang, five Chinese _li_ to the north of the city of
Canton. A narrow path leads due north from the Five-Storied Pagoda.
This path crosses the hills and descends into the valley of the Sang
River--a very beauteous place."
"Are they long _li_?" asked Sir Thomas, understanding well the vagueness
of all Chinese measurements, "or short _li_?"
"They are short _li_," answered Men-Ching, "for the road runs up-hill
until you come to the last _li_, where the traveller descends into a
wide valley of ricefields and fruit trees, li-chi and mango. In the
Sang valley there is a tall tower, from the top of which, in days gone
by, fathers were wont to throw the she-children they could not afford to
keep. A woman child is no use in the world. From the day of her birth
to the day of her death she does little else but talk. On the west side
of the tower is a small wood, and in the centre of this wood is a glade
where the birds sing in summer-time, whilst the water of the river makes
sweet and pleasant music. In the glade are rocks; but in one place
there is a great red stone, almost round. Two strong men can roll it
away from the place where it is; but they must use all their strength.
And when the red stone is rolled away, it will be seen that it rests
upon a great hole in the ground. It is like the lid of a kettle.
Inside this hole there is room enough for twenty thousand dollars."
The judge had listened intently, committing each detail to memory. A
little after, Men-Ching left the cave, and the three white men found
themselves together. Sir Thomas turned to his nephew.
"Did you hear what the rascal said, Frank?" he asked.
"Every word," replied the boy.
"And you remember it all?"
Frank nodded.
"Then," said the judge, "help me to write this letter. It will be by no
means easy to write. I shall have to explain matters very clearly to
Sir John, and I've got to write it with a brush."
In the temple they had been deprived of their pencils and notebooks, and
everything else their pockets contained, and these had not been brought
by Cheong-Chau to the cave. Otherwise Sir Thomas might have asked for
his own fountain pen. As it was, he was now obliged to write in English
characters with a Chinese brush, and this was a tedious business. In
the end, however, the letter was written, covering in all five pages of
Chinese rice-paper, in shape longer than foolscap, but not so broad.
Sir Thomas had written fully. He had explained where and by whom they
had been captured; he even went so far as to give the name of the bandit
chieftain and to relate how he had been betrayed by his own personal
servant, Yung How. He said that he had not the slightest doubt that, if
the rascals were not paid in full upon the stroke of time, the three of
them would be ruthlessly put to death. He ended the letter by
explaining the exact whereabouts of the "Glade of Children's Tears,"
describing the red stone beneath which the ransom money was to be
hidden. He also expressed the opinion that it would be useless to
endeavour to capture the brigands in the neighbourhood of the glade
itself, and he strongly advised the Governor not to attempt to lay an
ambush. He pointed out that such a plan would most assuredly fail,
since the Chinese were sure to exercise the utmost caution, and to have
spies in the neighbourhood. Moreover, the discovery of such a plan
would undoubtedly lead to the immediate death of Sir Thomas himself and
his companions. It would be time enough to think of reprisals, of
taking steps to track down the brigands, after the judge and his party
had returned safely to the island.
As the judge wrote, aided by the flickering light of a torch, Frank and
Mr Waldron looked over his shoulder, each offering occasional
suggestions.
"Do I understand," asked Mr Waldron, "that you don't trust these
fellows?"
"I am afraid I am very far from trusting them," replied the judge. "Men
of this type, in this mysterious, savage country, are as often as not
without honour, cruel beyond description, and incapable of showing
mercy. Moreover, in moments of delight--I know for a fact--they are
capable of committing the most terrible atrocities. I don't wish to
alarm you unnecessarily, Mr Waldron, but I tell you honestly that I fear
the future. Sir John will send the money, provided the letter reaches
him in safety--which I have no doubt it will. But once the money is in
Cheong-Chau's possession, it is quite possible he will kill us, out of
sheer devilry, in the moment of his triumph."
Mr Waldron thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and shaped his
lips as if he desired to whistle. No sound, however, came from his
lips. He paced backwards and forwards in the cave like a wild beast
that is hungry. For all that, upon his clear-cut, regular features
there was no sign of apprehension. His manner suggested impatience more
than fear.
"It's just cruel luck," said he, as though he were speaking to himself.
"Guess I can't look upon it in any other light. Why did I leave
Paradise City!"
"There's not much paradise about this," said Frank, taking in his hand a
burnt stick and stirring the embers of the fire. A flame sprang forth
that illumined the rugged walls of the cave. Here and there upon the
hard rock were narrow, streaky grooves, where the moisture had trickled
down.
"We're helpless," Mr Waldron burst out, "helpless as the little children
these fiends used to throw from the top of that tower. That's what gets
me on the raw, Judge. I never before felt helpless. In the course of
my life, I have found myself in a great many awkward places; but I have
always been able to see a way out and I have made good in the end. This
thing's different. Hennessy K. Waldron may be a great man in the state
of Nevada; but in this blamed country I guess he don't count more than a
copper cash."
And Mr Hennessy K. Waldron was about right--a copper cash, in the
coinage of China, having the approximate value of the fifth part of a
farthing.
CHAPTER VIII--AND HOW FRANK RESOLVED TO FOLLOW IT
That same evening, Men-Ching, accompanied by another man, set forth upon
his journey to the south. It was calculated that he could reach the
river in five days, though to do so he would have to travel by night as
well as day. The prisoners had little doubt that he would find a
river-junk at Pinglo or at some other river-side village where the
brigands had established outposts. With the help of the current and a
favourable wind, he could reach Canton in a few days, and thence the
last stage of the journey could be completed by steam-boat--ships
leaving Canton for Hong-Kong at least twice a day.
There was, therefore, plenty of time--provided no mishap befell him--for
Men-Ching to fulfil his mission. Cheong-Chau, who knew his business,
had taken steps to convince the Governor that the plight of the judge
was genuine. He had included in the envelope containing his own letter
a gold signet ring, which he himself had taken from the finger of Sir
Thomas.
When Men-Ching left the cave it was raining hard. He brought the two
letters to the fireside, desiring in all probability to satisfy the
prisoners that there was to be no mistake, that he was not going to take
any risks. He took off his faded scarlet coat, ripped up the lining
with a sharp knife, and sewed the letters inside. That done, he tied a
sash around his waist, threw a straw raincoat across his shoulders, and
put on a large straw hat such as the coolies wear when at work in the
southern ricefields. Then he and his companion departed, Men-Ching
carrying in his hand a long stick. They followed the narrow path that
traversed that bare, desolate region, at one moment on the crest-line of
a watershed, at another upon the very brink of a precipice.
The rain descended in torrents, shutting out completely the last rays of
the setting sun. A great darkness descended upon the wilderness. The
water in the gullies and ravines mounted with the rapidity of
quicksilver; and presently the night was alive with savage, discordant
sounds: the wind howling amongst the rocks, the roar of cataracts,
turbulent streams plunging, as if demented, down the mountain-side. But
in spite of the darkness and the rain, Men-Ching and his companion
continued to move rapidly towards the south. He was an old man, as we
know, but he was by no means inactive. Also, he knew every inch of the
road. It was probably for that reason that Cheong-Chau had selected him
to undertake the journey.
They did not halt to rest until many hours after daybreak, and then
snatched only a few hours' sleep, after eating a handful of rice. The
storm had cleared. Men-Ching took off his raincoat, and stretched it
out upon the ground, in order that it might dry in the sun. Placing
both his hands upon his faded scarlet coat, he expressed the greatest
satisfaction to find that it was absolutely dry. The letters were safe;
he could feel them inside the lining. There was no chance that the rain
had washed out the ink. Indeed, in the whole world, there is probably
no more efficient waterproof garment than the straw raincoat of the Far
East.
In course of time Men-Ching gained the southern extremity of the
Nan-ling Mountains, at a place not far from the town of Pinglo. The
rich, fertile valley lay before him, extending as far as the eye could
reach. He had left behind him China, the desolate, the barbarous, the
unknown; before him lay China, the civilised, the prosperous, the land
of ceaseless industry and untold wealth.
And there, for the time being, we may leave him, still travelling
towards the south upon his robber's errand. We will leave him to his
fate, to the mercy of the heathen gods he may or may not have
worshipped. His destiny was already sealed, though little did Men-Ching
dream that that was so.
In the cave, day followed day, so far as the captives were concerned,
with the same dreary monotony; the same fears and half-foolish hopes.
They could take no exercise, and they had no books to read. There was
nothing for them to do but to talk, to discuss amongst themselves the
tragedy of their position.
And as time passed they had less and less reason to trust Cheong-Chau,
to think that they could rely upon his word. The man proved himself a
reprobate. He was an opium drunkard; and that is a thing not so common
in China as the majority of Europeans imagine.
It is true that opium is smoked throughout the length and breadth of the
East. Indeed, the opium pipe in China is the equivalent to the British
workman's glass of beer, and opium dens in that country are as common as
public-houses in this.
At the same time, most Chinese are only moderate smokers. They do not
smoke enough opium even to injure their health. The reason for this is
obvious: opium, even in China, is very expensive, and the ordinary man
cannot afford to buy much of it. Neither does opium happen to be a drug
that does a great deal of harm unless it is taken in excess; it probably
does infinitely less harm than alcohol. If taken in large doses,
however, its results are disastrous and terrible.
For some reason or other--never explained by physiologists--repeated
doses of opium sap the moral fibre. A man begins to smoke opium in a
small way, but after a time he finds that he has to smoke double the
quantity of pipes in order to get the desired result. And so on, until
he finds himself taking doses that would kill one who was not inured to
the drug. By that time he has lost everything a man should value most:
his sense of honour, his will power, much of his physical strength, and
his power of concentration. He is a degenerate whose mind is filled
with the foulest, most perverted fancies, who is a stranger to truth,
and who delights as often as not in committing the most fiendish of
crimes.
Now Cheong-Chau was evidently such a man; for one night he rolled into
the cave, awakening his captives--who for many hours had been fast
asleep--by the blasphemy and violence of his language. His gait was
unsteady; the pupils of his eyes, visible in the bright light of the
fire, were small as pinheads. He carried in his hand a naked sword.
"I am Cheong-Chau," he shrieked. "Death to all foreign devils who dare
set foot upon the sacred soil of China!"
Bursting into a loud laugh, he raised his sword as if he would strike
down Mr Waldron, who had risen to his feet.
"Stay," cried the judge. "Have we not your oath--that if the money is
paid you will not stain your hands in blood?"
"Oath!" cried the robber. "What are oaths and blood to me? Am I a
Canton flower-girl or a Buddhist priest that I should not shed blood
when the fancy takes me? Know that I am Cheong-Chau, the robber, who
cares for neither oaths nor gods nor men."
For some reason or other he had singled out the American; and it looked
most certain that, at that moment, the life of Mr Hennessy K. Waldron
was in the greatest danger. However, Mr Waldron never moved an inch; he
neither drew back nor showed the slightest sign of alarm. He held his
ground, staring the villain boldly in the face.
[Illustration: MR. WALDRON NEVER MOVED AN INCH.]
It was, in all probability, solely his courage that saved him. The
Chinese was so low down in the scale of humanity that he was not far
removed from the beasts; and it is well known that no animal can for any
length of time look a strong man in the eyes. The eyes of Mr Waldron
were those of one who had carved a way for himself in the world,
who--starting life in a very humble sphere--had conquered a thousand
difficulties; thereby proving himself a strong man who could not fail to
be conscious of his strength.
Cheong-Chau was unable to maintain his threatening and defiant attitude
before that steel-grey, steady gaze. Slowly his sword descended; his
eyes dropped to the ground. Mr Waldron, with admirable calmness,
deliberately placed a hand upon the man's shoulder, and addressed him in
the English language in a tone that was even kindly.
"Say, old cockolorum," said he, "you ought to retire from business.
You're doing yourself no good, you know. Guess you want a good six
weeks at some quiet seaside resort, where there's no more excitement
than a dance-hall or a merry-go-round. Take the missus and the kids."
Cheong-Chau turned away with an oath. No doubt he supposed that Mr
Waldron had delivered a brief speech, somewhat in the tragic vein,
suitable to the occasion; for neither in the expression upon the
American's face nor in the serious tones of his voice was there anything
to convey the intelligence that Mr Waldron was disposed to be frivolous.
For all that, they could not overlook the fact that, whether or not the
ransom were paid, their lives were in the greatest danger. The man who
held them in his power was subject to ungovernable fits of wrath, during
which his mental condition bordered upon that type of insanity which is
inseparable from the truly criminal character. At such times--which
invariably followed a debauch of opium smoking--Cheong-Chau was
certainly not responsible for his actions; and discussing the question
among themselves, they came to the conclusion that at any moment the
order to murder them might be issued. By no such act of treachery could
the brigand forfeit the ransom, since both the prisoners and Cheong-Chau
himself had no means of direct communication with Hong-Kong. Men-Ching
should be now well upon his way, approaching the city of Canton.
It was Mr Waldron who suggested that one of them should endeavour to
escape. At first, this idea struck the judge as a piece of outrageous
folly, since if one of the three even did succeed in getting away from
the cave and crossing the mountains--a very unlikely contingency--the
murderous Cheong-Chau would be so furious that he would probably not
hesitate to make short work of the unfortunate two who remained. On
debating the matter, however, Mr Waldron was able to throw quite another
light upon the situation.
He explained that if a survivor reached Hong-Kong who could not only
identify Cheong-Chau himself and the majority of his men, but who could
actually guide an avenging expedition to the neighbourhood of the cave,
the brigands would be hunted from pillar to post, and if not captured,
certainly driven from the province. The robber could not be unaware
that in the British colony were both English and Indian troops, whilst a
large fleet lay at anchor in the harbour, and he must have known enough
of the British Government to remember that the cold-blooded murder of
British citizens was an act not likely to be overlooked. He could not
wish to involve both himself and the members of his gang in
international complications. He would therefore, in all probability,
hesitate to do away with his captives.
It is true that an attempt to escape might fail, in which case the
plight of the prisoners would be, if anything, somewhat worse. But in
any case, as day succeeded day, they became more and more convinced that
Cheong-Chau intended to kill them. He did but bide his time, waiting to
hear news of Men-Ching to the effect that the ransom had been duly paid.
For these reasons it was eventually decided that one of them should
endeavour to escape.
It was next necessary to settle who should go. The judge himself was
too old to attempt to cross the mountains alone upon so long and
hazardous a journey. The choice, therefore, lay between Frank Armitage
and Mr Waldron.
The American--who had already proved himself a man of the greatest
courage, both physical and moral--was naturally anxious to take the risk
himself. However, he could not be blind to the fact that he laboured
under several very serious disadvantages.
In the first place, he was entirely ignorant of both the language and
the country. He knew neither the habits and customs of the people nor
the topography of Southern China. Frank, on the other hand, had been
born and had lived all his life in China; on many a former occasion he
had proved himself quite capable of conversing even with the most
untutored and obstinate peasants. Moreover, the boy was the most active
member of the party: he was a good runner; he could climb, if necessary,
to the top of mountain peaks, and he was an adept at swimming--an
important item, since he might have to cross the West River, as well as
several tributaries, in order to reach Canton or the coast.
It was this consideration that settled the question in the mind of Mr
Waldron. The American was obliged to confess that he could not swim
except for a short distance in salt water. If he endeavoured to cross
the strong current of a great river without even taking his clothes off,
he would most assuredly drown.
"And in that case," he observed, "I might as well have stayed here to
have my throat cut in my sleep, or sample the death by a thousand cuts."
He spoke of such atrocities as if they were nothing. He was so calm
about it all that the judge looked at him, wondering whether he was one
of the few really brave men in the world, or whether he was entirely
devoid of imagination. In any case, Mr Waldron withdrew his claim to be
allowed to undertake the adventure; and the choice fell upon Frank.
Once this all-important question was settled, it was obvious that there
was nothing to be gained--indeed, there was much to lose--by putting off
Frank's departure. The sooner he was away the better, though they did
not then realise the supreme importance of time, the alarming fact that
the lives both of Sir Thomas and Mr Waldron were to hang upon the thin
thread of a few seconds.
It was decided that Frank should endeavour to make his escape from the
cave that night. It was in the act of passing the sentries, posted at
the entrance, that the bulk of his danger would lie. Once the boy
succeeded in getting away from the cave, his absence would probably not
be discovered until the following morning. He would, in that case, have
several hours' start of any pursuers whom Cheong-Chau might think fit to
send after him.
Frank had already considered the contingency of making a dash for
liberty. He had, so far as he had been able to do so from the interior
of the cave, studied the lie of the land. He had noticed that the
sentries were not particularly vigilant and that they were armed with
old-fashioned, out-of-date fire-arms which they possibly knew not how to
use. One of these was a Martini-Henry carbine, and Frank had on one
occasion seen a Chinese trying in vain to lower the lever, which was so
rusted on to the lock that it was quite certain that the breech could
never be opened.
Immediately before the entrance to the cave was the huge boulder, or
rock, which has already been described. On either side of this rock a
sentry was always posted. But these men did not necessarily face the
cave. Indeed, as often as not, they looked the other way, interesting
themselves in the wide panorama extended before them. None the less,
since the two passages on either side of the boulder were very narrow,
one could never hope to pass without being seen. Escape that way,
therefore, was impossible without a struggle, which meant that the alarm
would be given and a party would immediately start in pursuit of the
fugitive.
This was what Frank most wanted to avoid. He knew that his attempt was
doomed to failure if he did not succeed in getting well away. He
therefore examined the rock itself, and saw at once that it would be
quite easy to climb to the top of it. Since he could not pass _round_
this obstacle he would have to go _over_ it. On the other side, as he
knew, was the steep mountain slope descending hundreds of feet to the
bed of the valley. Whether he could climb down the slope at all, much
less do so silently, so as not to be overheard by the sentries, was
another question. He was resolved, however, to take the risk. It was
clear that there was no other alternative. It was a perilous business,
but he must make the best of it, trusting to Providence, as well as his
own agility and presence of mind.
CHAPTER IX--OF THE HOSPITALITY OF THE TEA-GROWER
They waited until nearly midnight, when Cheong-Chau and his ruffians
were sound asleep, and only the sentries awake. That day, both Sir
Thomas and Mr Waldron had eaten no food since the morning meal, so that
Frank might not set forth upon his journey unprovided. He would
certainly not be able to procure anything to eat in the desolate
mountain region, though with his intimate knowledge of the Chinese
language the boy should not experience any difficulty in procuring rice,
millet, or even fish, in the valley of the main river.
The most precarious part of the whole business, however, was to escape
unseen from the cave. In this, neither of the older men could render
the slightest assistance to the boy, who would have to rely solely upon
his own initiative. All three lay down upon their straw mattresses, and
pretended to sleep, breathing heavily and even snoring, in order to
arouse no suspicion on the part of the two sentries. They had purposely
allowed the fire to burn down quite low, so that there was only an
exceedingly dim and somewhat fitful light in the cave.
Choosing a moment about an hour after the sentries had been relieved,
Frank Armitage rose stealthily upon his hands and knees, and slowly
began to crawl towards the entrance to the cave. Neither his uncle nor
Mr Waldron moved. The latter continued to snore.
Frank approached the entrance from an angle, whence he peered cautiously
round the corner. He was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, by the
exceeding brightness of the night. The sky was wonderfully clear; a
full, round moon illumined the rugged mountain ridges, making them
appear so white that they might have been snow-clad, whereas the valleys
seemed by contrast to be buried in the deepest shadow. By reason of the
firelight in the cave, the brightness of the moon, attended by a
solitary and gorgeous planet, had not been noticeable from within.
The light, however, enabled Frank to take stock of the sentry who was on
the same side of the boulder as himself. He was able to observe the man
at his leisure, since he himself was in the shade.
The man was evidently wide awake, for he was moving his arms backwards
and forwards with a kind of rocking gesture. His back was turned. He
sat cross-legged upon the ground, upon a plaited mat of straw, surveying
the magnificent scene that extended before him. Perhaps, despite his
brutal features, and low, receding forehead, there was at least a spark
of sensibility, a small power to appreciate the beautiful in nature and
the most wonderful works of God, in the untutored mind of this Chinese
robber and cut-throat. At any rate, he seemed in a kind of ecstasy, for
he was talking softly to himself.
Frank silently crawled across the entrance. And there was the other
man, walking slowly to and fro, stamping his feet from time to time, as
if he suffered from the cold. Clearly, it would be madness to attempt
to escape until this fellow had settled down. He was far too wide
awake.
The boy lay flat upon his face, in a position not exposed to the
moonlight. Here he was sure he could not be seen, whereas he was well
able to observe the walking sentry.
Five minutes elapsed, ten, a quarter of an hour. Frank was becoming
anxious. Perhaps the man never would sit down; perhaps he did not
intend to relax his vigilance until another came to relieve him of his
duties.
Even as the thought crossed the boy's mind, the man stopped, yawned
loudly, and then, seating himself upon the ground with his back resting
against the great central rock, produced an opium pipe and proceeded to
roll a pill.
Frank's heart was in his mouth. He knew that the moment of his great
ordeal had come. The man had played into his hands; for not only was
the opium bound to make him drowsy, but he had planted himself in the
very situation that gave the boy his best opportunity. Frank intended
to climb over the central boulder, and had already satisfied himself
that the ascent would be a matter of no difficulty at all.
What lay beyond was another question. He had never had any means of
ascertaining whether or not he would be able to climb down the other
side of the rock, much less make the descent of the slope. He who is
over-cautious will, however, accomplish nothing. The traveller who
considers the pitfalls in his way and the many dangers that lurk upon
the highroad makes little or no progress, and as often as not fails to
arrive at his destination. He who would gain all must risk all; he who
will risk nothing gains nothing--or, at least, does not deserve to do
so.
Frank glanced back into the cave. By the dim light of the fire he was
able to see that both his uncle and Mr Waldron were stretched at full
length upon their mattresses, looking up. No doubt each was unable to
bear the continued suspense, the silence that had endured so long, but
must take one last look at him who carried with him the fortunes of all
three.
The boy glided into the shadow of the rock. There he paused a moment,
waiting breathlessly to learn whether or not he had been observed whilst
he was crossing the narrow strip of moonlight. A minute passed, and as
nothing happened Frank knew that he was still safe.
Then, very slowly, he began to climb. He had taken off his boots, and
these were suspended by means of the laces around his neck. He was
careful not to make the slightest sound; he was fearful almost to
breathe. He knew that the whole enterprise was in jeopardy, that at any
moment a loose stone might fall from the rock, thus attracting the
attention of the sentries.
He succeeded in gaining the top, and there lay flat upon his face.
Knowing that the utmost caution was of far more importance than haste,
he did not move for some time. Then, slowly lifting his head, he took
in his surroundings.
The sentry on the right had not shifted his position. He still rocked
his arms and sat staring straight at the moon. The man on the left was
invisible to Frank, being immediately under the rock. He had probably
smoked his pipe of opium, and was now in that semi-dazed, self-satisfied
condition that invariably follows an administration of the drug. The
boy wormed himself forward, until he had gained the furthermost edge of
the rock, which was flat-topped, like a table. Thence he was able to see
into the second cave, where Cheong-Chau and his men were fast asleep,
lying close as dogs around the dying embers of a great charcoal fire.
When Frank peered over the edge of the rock, in order to decide upon the
most suitable means of descent, his heart for a moment failed him. It
was as if he was gazing down into one of the uttermost pits of Hades.
The cliff appeared to be perpendicular, which the boy knew was not the
case. Moreover, it seemed to descend to eternity, to fade away into a
great expanse of darkness that was like the sea. It occurred to him
that if by any chance he slipped and fell, his body would be dashed to
atoms thousands of feet below.
Then fortunately he had the strength of mind to remember that
imagination makes cowards of us all. It was no affair of his what lay
at the bottom of the valley; his immediate business was to descend from
the top of the rock, and he had therefore best confine his attention to
the few square yards in front of him.
Immediately he did so he saw that he was confronted by a proposition by
no means difficult of solution. To descend was easy enough. In the
face of the rock was a narrow cleft down which it would be quite easy to
climb. Without hesitating an instant, he lowered himself, and in a few
seconds found himself at the base of the rock, where he again paused and
listened.
He was so close to the man whom he had seen light the opium pipe that he
could actually hear him breathing. Neither, however, could see the
other, since the sharp corner of the rock intervened. However, the
situation was so dangerous that Frank was resolved to have no more of it
than he need; and almost at once he began to descend on all fours the
steep face of the cliff.
He realised that in the first ten yards or so his greatest danger lay.
He could not tell for certain whether or not he was within sight of
either of the men. He could but take the only possible precaution.
Lying almost flat upon his face, he slid, very slowly indeed, at about
what seemed to him a snail's pace, down the smooth, rocky slope.
In three minutes he knew that he was out of immediate danger. He had
escaped. Moreover, no alarm had been given.
Two courses now lay open to him: he might continue to descend until he
eventually reached the bottom of the valley, or he might work his way
along the cliff, parallel to the bridle-path above, until, having gained
comparative safety, he could ascend to the higher level and then follow
the road to the south.
He wisely selected the latter alternative, since he knew not whether the
slope was accessible lower down. Besides, it might so happen that there
was neither path nor road in the valley.
Owing to the steepness of the slope, he could not stand upright, nor was
there any need to do so. He could progress, if not with comfort, at
least at a very tolerable pace, on all fours.
He had traversed in this way a distance that, was probably about a
quarter of a mile, when he deemed that it would be safe to ascend to the
path above by means of which he and his fellow-captives had been
conducted to the cave. This he gained without difficulty, it being
easier to mount the slope than to progress transversely across it.
Once upon the bridle-path he found the moonlight of the greatest
possible assistance; for having put on his boots he was able to set
forward running, knowing full well that every step lengthened the
distance between himself and those who he knew would certainly, sooner
or later, set forth in pursuit.
It would be wearisome to describe in detail Frank Armitage's adventurous
journey across the mountains. Sunrise found him still upon the road,
alternately walking and running, hurrying forward for life itself.
The fact that for three whole days he saw not a single soul speaks for
itself in regard to the desolation of this wilderness. On the morning
of the fourth day he found himself in the midst of the foot-hills, with
a clear view before him of the fertile valley of the West River. By
then he had consumed all the provisions he had brought with him from the
cave. He was, indeed, almost famishing, and felt tempted to take almost
any risk to procure something to eat. That afternoon he encountered
several peasants, who all regarded him with undisguised curiosity.
Knowing that Cheong-Chau was sure to have despatched a party in pursuit,
and realising the supreme importance of time, he considered that it
would be advisable to ask one of the inhabitants of the country the
shortest route to the nearest main tributary of the river.
He selected his man with care, and after a considerable amount of
hesitation, addressed himself to a little thin, prosperous-looking
Chinaman of the middle class whom he overtook upon the narrow mule-track
he had followed for several miles.
On being interrogated, the Chinaman was not a little surprised, though
he was far too well-bred and polite to say so. He was surprised at two
things: first, he had never expected to meet with a European in such an
out-of-the-way corner of the province; secondly, he was amazed that the
young Englishman should address him so fluently in his own language.
"You have travelled far?" he asked.
"From Hong-Kong," answered Frank.
"That is a long way."
"It is of the greatest importance," said Frank, "that I return without
delay."
"Many days' journey is before you," said the Chinese. "I should be
greatly honoured if you would deign to accept such hospitality as my
miserable self is in a position to offer. I am a tea-grower," he
continued. "My house is not far from here. I should be deeply
gratified if you would eat rice under my dilapidated roof."
It immediately occurred to Frank that the tea-grower might be able to
assist him in more ways than one. He readily accepted the man's offer
in the manner duly approved by Chinese etiquette and custom.
"Such a despicable, beggarly foreigner as myself," said he, "would be
inexpressibly delighted to partake, in your palatial residence, of such
nourishing and delicious provender as, I am sure, it is the custom of
yourself and your honoured family to consume."
The Chinaman smiled.
"You speak our language to perfection," he remarked. "Few foreigners
are able to do so. But what is even more extraordinary to me is that
you appear to be acquainted with our forms of ceremony. As a general
rule, the European cannot speak to you for five minutes without being
guilty of a dozen breaches of etiquette, defying every canon of good
behaviour."
"You see," said Frank, "I have lived in China for many years."
"Come with me," said the tea-grower. "Allow me to have the honour of
conducting you to my hovel of a dwelling."
Together they followed the mule-track for about a quarter of a mile, and
then the Chinese turned to the left, walking along a narrow bank that
separated two flooded ricefields. Beyond they passed through a field of
_kiao-liang_, in the midst of which the crickets were singing merrily,
and then found themselves in an extensive tea-garden.
In the centre of the garden was a considerable house, built after the
manner of all better-class houses in China--that is to say, a
one-storied rambling building, together with several outhouses and a
fair-sized yard, the whole surrounded by a mud wall about eight feet in
height. The building was situated upon a gentle slope that faced due
south, and from the outer gate it was possible to survey the greater
part of the plantation.
Here the tea-grower entertained Frank Armitage. He gave him green tea
to drink and a cup of alcoholic beverage--called _samshu_--which is made
from fermented rice. And then came a dinner of about fourteen courses.
There were various kinds of fish, sharks' fins, larks' tongues,
birds'-nest soup, small pieces of meat on little skewers, rice, millet
and edible seaweed from Japan. Frank devoured all these delicacies with
a relish. It was not the first time that he had eaten a Chinese dinner.
Although the tea-grower lived in the wilds of the province he was
evidently a rich man. He had the true gift of hospitality, and with
more sincerity than is usually the case in China he offered his guest
everything that his house contained.
Now Frank might have refused this offer. In fact, the rules of ceremony
decreed that he should do so. He had a mind, however, to disguise
himself, and he therefore begged the tea-grower to be so good as to
provide him with a suit of Chinese clothes.
The man did not hesitate. He supplied the boy with a long robe, a pair
of white trousers and a pair of felt-soled shoes. Thus attired, Frank
Armitage bade his host adieu and crossed the tea-garden late that night,
when the moon, which had guided him throughout the past three or four
days, was rising in the east.
The tea-grower seemed to have taken a fancy to the boy, for he
accompanied Frank almost a mile upon his journey, putting him upon the
road which led to the village in which the majority of his coolies, or
workpeople, lived. In bidding good-bye to him, Frank thanked the man
from his heart for all his hospitality and kindness. He shook hands
with himself in the approved Chinese fashion, and bowed so low that his
nose almost touched his knees. Then he was about to set forward alone
when the tea-grower cried out to him, asking him if he had any money.
Frank replied that he was without a cent in the world, telling the
truth--that he had been robbed of all he possessed in the mountains.
Whereupon the tea-grower took from his neck a long string of copper
cash. These he threw over the boy's head, at the same time quoting
Confucius: "_Be charitable to the stranger from a far country! so that,
when thou thyself art a stranger, doors may be opened to thy knock._"
CHAPTER X--HOW FRANK WAS IN LUCK'S WAY
Frank found the village without any difficulty. Although it was then
almost midnight, there were lights in the majority of houses, and
several shops were open. The Chinese are a singular race. One of the
first things that strikes a visitor to that remarkable country is the
fact that the inhabitants never appear to go to bed. No people in the
world work harder by day, and no people in the world are more inclined
to talk, laugh, quarrel and gamble throughout the night, into the small
hours of the morning.
Frank marched boldly into a barber's shop, where he expressed a desire
to have the forepart of his head shaven. The barber could scarce
contain his astonishment when he observed that his patron had no
pigtail. He was vastly curious with regard to the matter, asking
several questions as he sharpened his big Chinese razor--which was
something after the shape and about the size of the business-end of a
Dutch hoe. Frank informed the man that he had been robbed, and no doubt
the fellow presumed that the robbers had cut off their victim's queue.
The boy rightly supposed that he could talk quite frankly about his own
affairs in a village which was populated almost exclusively by honest
men who worked in the tea-gardens. But what most surprised him, and at
the same time afforded him the greatest possible satisfaction, was that
no one in the barber's shop appeared to notice the fact that he was a
European.
Now a Chinaman can suffer no greater disgrace than the loss of his
pigtail. Viewed historically, this is a strange circumstance. The
mediaeval Chinese did not wear pigtails. It was the Manchu race, who
conquered the Chinese in the fifteenth century, who grew their hair long
and plaited it in the well-known manner. The Manchus were horsemen of
whom it might be said that they almost worshipped their horses, and the
queue was originally grown in imitation of a horse's tail. For the same
reason the Manchu warriors adopted those wide coat-sleeves, which even
to this day are called "horseshoe sleeves." It was mainly by means of
their excellent cavalry that the Tartar warriors were able to overcome
the Chinese foot-soldiers.
A conquering race invariably enforces certain obligations and
restrictions upon the vanquished, and one of the first Manchurian
imperial edicts issued was to the effect that all Chinese should adopt
the pigtail as a symbol of their submission to the dominant people. In
the course of a few centuries what was originally a token of defeat
became a source of national prejudice and pride. The Chinaman of the
nineteenth century was as loth to part with his pigtail as his
forefather had been to adopt it.
The barber sympathised with Frank. Moreover, his sympathy took a
practical turn. He undertook for a few copper cash to supply the boy
with a new pigtail, and also to attach it to his head in such a manner
as would make it appear to be natural. All this, however, took time,
and it was past one o'clock in the morning when Frank Armitage left the
village and continued on his way, downhill, through tea-gardens and the
ricefields, following the narrow path which, he had been told, would
conduct him to the river.
What the name of the river was he had not been able to ascertain.
Everybody he asked told him a different name. That is usually the case
in China. One man will say a village is called the Village of the Wu
family; another will say it is the Village of the Chin family; and a
third will be equally certain that it is called One-Tree Village. And
when you get there, you will find it is called Bad-Weather Village, or
the Village of Starving Dogs. Knowing this, Frank did not bother
himself about the name of the river. Provided he came to it, he would
be satisfied, since the water of that river must eventually find its way
into the main stream which flowed past Wu-chau to Canton, and thence to
the great estuary, at the mouth of which was the island of Hong-Kong.
He reached the river at about midday. By then the heat in the valley
was excessive, and the boy thoroughly exhausted. He had been travelling
day and night for several days. With the exception of the almost regal
banquet he had enjoyed at the house of the tea-grower, he had had
insufficient nourishment. There had been few nights when he had had
more than three or four hours' sleep. He felt quite unable to progress
farther on foot.
He therefore hailed a fisherman whom he observed approaching down the
stream in a small _sampan_, or river-boat. The man--so soon as he
understood that a bargain was afoot--drew in to the bank and undertook
for an exceedingly small sum of money to take Frank down-stream to a
certain large town to which he himself was going. Frank got into the
boat, and lying down beneath the matted awning that sheltered the stern
part from the fierce rays of the sun, he was soon fast asleep. Whilst
he slept, he covered several miles of his journey. The fisherman had
hoisted a sail, and the wind being from the north, and the strength of
the current great, the boat travelled at a considerable velocity.
When the boy awoke, refreshed from his sleep, he found to his surprise
that the sun had set. Darkness was spreading rapidly, and a thick white
mist clung to the river-valley. The atmosphere, however, was
exceedingly close and humid, and the air was alive with myriads of
mosquitoes and gnats.
Frank asked the fisherman where they were, and the man replied, with
Oriental vagueness:
"We come soon to Kwang-Chin," said he. "That is the end of my journey!"
"And where is Kwang-Chin?" asked Frank.
"Very nice town," replied the man, evading the question. "Plenty
cooked-dog shops. Little Kwang-Chin dogs are very good to eat, better
than little Canton dogs."
Frank knew the uselessness of trying to get anything definite out of the
fisherman. He therefore lay back in a comfortable attitude, and gave
himself up to thoughts of the perilous situation in which he had left Mr
Waldron and his uncle.
He wondered how far Men-Ching had progressed upon his journey to the
coast. So far as he could guess, the rascal should be already in
Canton. At the same time, though he did not know where the town of
Kwang-Chin was, he believed that he himself could not be far from the
great capital of Southern China. Canton was but a few hours by river
steamboat from Hong-Kong. The boy had therefore completed the greater
part of his journey.
They arrived at Kwang-Chin in the small hours of the morning, and Frank
could not persuade the fisherman to take him any farther. He was
therefore obliged to go ashore and attempt to find a lodging for what
remained of the night.
This was no easy matter, for the town appeared to consist of nothing but
opium dens. It was an old walled city, the ramparts and gateways of
which must have been built centuries before, in the days when China was
harassed and ravaged by continual internecine wars. Frank, who did not
feel capable of travelling farther that night, decided to wait till
morning, when he might be able to find another fisherman who would
consent to take him down-stream, probably as far as the main river, if
not to Canton itself. In the meantime, he realised that he could do
nothing better than snatch a few hours' additional rest, recognising the
fact that he would still be called upon to undergo considerable
hardships and dangers.
He therefore plucked up courage, and entered the first opium den he came
to, in the doorway of which he had observed a light. He found himself
in an establishment similar in all respects to that which has already
been described as nourishing in the slums of Canton under the
proprietorship of Ah Wu. This place, however, was very much dirtier,
and--with the exception of Cheong-Chau's brigands--Frank had never seen
a more villainous collection of men than the habitues of the place, who
were sprawled in all manner of attitudes upon the various couches. And
then he was astounded, and at the same time considerably alarmed, to
observe that several of these coolies were wearing scarlet coats,
similar in all respects to those worn by the bandits. But, once inside,
he could not very well beat a hasty retreat. He summoned to his aid all
his presence of mind and addressed himself to the proprietor, a
venerable-looking man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a white
goat's-beard.
"I desire, for a few hours," said the boy, speaking in his best
idiomatic Cantonese, "a couch upon which to sleep. I am a poor man," he
added, "but I will pay you to the best of my ability."
"You will not smoke opium?" asked the host, opening his eyes in
surprise.
"I have not the habit," said Frank.
The proprietor adjusted his spectacles upon the very tip of his nose and
regarded the boy from over the top of the glasses.
"How very remarkable!" he observed. "Every man, however, can please
himself. You may certainly sleep here. My charge is forty _cash_."
Now forty cash is the equivalent of two-pence, and this does not appear
to the European mind to be an exorbitant charge for a night's lodging.
But Frank Armitage knew the Chinese character. He had a part to act,
and he knew how to act it. He remembered that a Chinaman loves a
bargain.
"I will give you thirty cash," said he.
The old man pointed to the couch. "It is an excellent bed," said he.
"The hangings are of silk, and I guarantee that the mattress is free
from vermin. I will let you have it for thirty-eight cash."
"I offer you thirty-two," said Frank. "Remember, I require it for a few
hours only."
"In that case," said the landlord, "we will say thirty-six."
"I will give you thirty-four."
"Good!" cried the landlord. "We will call it thirty-five and have done
with the matter."
Thereupon Frank counted out thirty-five of the little copper coins which
the tea-grower had given him and which he carried upon a string slung
around his neck like a necklace. Indeed each _cash_ has a little square
hole in the middle of it for this purpose.
Having settled his account, the boy took off his coat, for the heat of
the room was intense and the atmosphere foul with the mingled odour of
paraffin oil, opium smoke and Chinese garlic He arranged the pillow,
then stretched himself at full length upon the couch. A group of three
or four men at the other end of the room were talking loudly, and it was
the constant sound of their voices that made it difficult for the boy to
fall asleep.
He was dozing off, and in that blissful state which lies midway between
slumber and consciousness, when he was startled by a remark that came to
his ears very distinctly from the other end of the room.
"They tell me that Cheong-Chau has returned to the mountains."
The answer was a chuckle.
"Cheong-Chau is never idle," came the reply. "Rumour has it that there
are fine fish in his net. Do you know that Men-Ching passed through
here late yesterday afternoon?"
"Indeed! And where was he going?"
"He did not say."
"Some secret business," said the other. "Men-Ching is no more than the
coolie of Cheong-Chau. He does all the dirty work. He runs the
errands."
It was here that the voice of a third man joined in the conversation.
"I know where Men-Ching was going," said he. "I made it my business to
find out. He goes to Canton to the opium den of Ah Wu, which lies near
the Mohammedan Mosque. He did not leave this place till nearly ten
o'clock to-night, after having smoked several pipes of opium. He is a
great smoker, Men-Ching. He went down the river on a _wupan_ that was
taking a cargo of rice to Canton. The _wupan_ calls at Sanshui, to take
on board certain chests of tea."
The man who had spoken first laughed loudly.
"You know everything, Hsien-Lu," said he. "You are always prying into
other people's affairs. For myself, though I wear the scarlet coat, I
think it well to give Cheong-Chau as wide a berth as possible. He will
have his head cut off some day. That is beyond all doubt. And on that
occasion I should prefer not to accompany him. And now, good-night. I
desire to sleep. The opium has made me drowsy."
After that there was silence. Frank gave them about ten minutes in
which to prepare themselves for slumber. Then he got up from his couch,
put on his coat and, unobserved, left the opium den.
Outside he took in a deep breath of the fresh night air, then hurried in
the direction of the river. He realised that fortune had played in a
remarkable manner into his hands. Men-Ching was but a few hours in
front of him. He intended, if possible, to overtake the man and possess
himself of the letters. He might be able to do this by stealth if he
could not succeed by force. He could, at any rate, make sure that the
letters reached their destination, since the lives of both his uncle and
Mr Waldron depended upon their delivery into the hands of the Governor
of Hong-Kong.
CHAPTER XI--OF THE REAPPEARANCE OF LING
Walking rapidly, the boy soon found himself upon the right bank of the
river. Though there was as yet no sign of daybreak in the east, several
people were already abroad, for the Chinese begin their day's work early
in the morning and do not cease till late at night. Parties of men were
engaged in loading the junks and _wupans_ which were moored to the
wharves and jetties.
Frank walked along the river-side until he found a junk about to sail.
He hailed the captain, a tall, sun-burnt Chinaman with his pigtail
coiled round the top of his head, who wore hardly any clothes at all.
This man informed him that the junk was bound upon a fishing cruise upon
the open sea. He readily agreed to take Frank as far as Canton for a
small consideration in the way of copper cash; and a minute later, the
boy was on board, whilst the junk moved down-stream under full canvas.
Nearly all the relatives of the captain and his crew had come down to
the wharf to bid them good-bye. There were small-footed Chinese women,
and little round-faced, naked children, each of whom appeared to have
eaten so much rice that he looked in danger of bursting. There was much
wailing and gnashing of teeth--for the Chinese on occasion can be
exceedingly emotional--and no sooner was the junk clear of her moorings
than the silence of the morning was disturbed by a veritable fusillade
of Chinese squibs, rockets and crackers.
Indeed it might have been an Eastern Fifth of November. A great bundle
of gunpowder crackers, tied to the poop of the vessel, went off in a
kind of _feu de joie_, sending out so many sparks in all directions that
it appeared that the ship was in danger of catching fire. The idea and
object of this custom, which is universal throughout China from Tonkin
to the Great Wall, is to scare away the evil spirits which might be
disposed to embark on board the departing ship. The Chinese believe in
the potency and the ubiquity of evil spirits. A European--commonly
called "a foreign devil"--is invariably accompanied by a host of such
attendant ghosts. Indeed, it is extremely difficult for any man, even a
virtuous Chinese, to avoid being shadowed by malignant spooks who desire
nothing more than to lead him into calamity and misfortune. There is,
as every Chinese is well aware, but one method of driving away these
evil spirits, and that is by exploding so much gunpowder and creating
such a noise, that they flee in all haste back to the spirit land whence
they come.
Frank Armitage observed this ceremony from the forepart of the boat. He
had often witnessed such a scene before in the Chinese quarter of the
harbour of Hong-Kong, but he had seldom seen such an expensive and
gorgeous display. It was evident that the master and owner of the junk
was a rich man who could afford to insure his property at the maximum
premium. Also, this particular junk had an unusually large pair of eyes
painted upon the bows. As the captain himself explained later in the
day, if a junk has no eyes it cannot see where it is going. If a junk
cannot see where it is going, it will probably, sooner or later, strike
a rock or another ship, or run ashore. That would be a disaster for
both the junk and its owner. Hence a junk must have eyes the same as a
man. This argument is thoroughly Chinese and would be entirely rational
provided the painted eyes upon the bows of a Chinese ship were of the
slightest practical use.
All that day they sailed down-stream towards the centre of the great
valley of the West River. Every mile the country became more and more
thickly populated. They passed many villages situated upon both banks
of the river, the houses in the majority of cases overhanging the water,
supported by heavy wooden piles. The country was exceedingly fertile,
being given over almost exclusively to the cultivation of rice. There
were few trees and few hills except far in the distance, towards the
north, where the foothills of the great Nan-ling Mountains stood forth
upon the horizon like a wall.
Late the following afternoon the river joined a wider stream flowing
towards the south-east. This Frank at first believed to be the West
River itself, but he was informed by the captain of the junk that the
Si-kiang was still fifty _li_ to the south.
It was midnight when they turned into the main stream, and soon
afterwards they saw before them the bright lights of the city of
Sanshui, which is situated about twenty-five miles due west of Canton.
At this place, Frank was in two minds what to do. He might go straight
on to Canton and thence down the river to Hong-Kong, at both of which
places he would be able to get in touch with his friends. On the other
hand, he had every reason to suppose that Men-Ching was at that very
moment in the city of Sanshui. The junk had made good headway down the
river, and the boy knew that the boat on which Cheong-Chau's messenger
had come south was to call at Sanshui to take on a cargo.
Now there is no doubt that Frank Armitage would have been wise had he
first considered his own safety. He was already practically out of
danger; there was no vital necessity for him to put his head
deliberately into the lion's mouth. If his determination appears to be
rash, it may be supposed that he was guided by some natural instinct
that warned him that, in this case, the most dangerous course was the
only means by which his uncle and Mr Waldron could be saved.
Be that as it may, he argued thus: from the very moment he escaped from
the cave his journey had been extraordinarily uneventful; he saw no
reason why it should not continue to be so. If Cheong-Chau's men were
in pursuit he had seen nothing of them; he had apparently left them
miles behind. He had every reason to be satisfied with his disguise; he
was fairly confident that even if he found Men-Ching he would not be
recognised, since he knew the old man to be extremely short-sighted.
Throughout his journey, he had experienced no difficulty in passing
himself off as a Chinese. The barber, the proprietor of the opium den,
the fisherman and the captain of the junk--all had taken him to be a
native of the country. The boy was sanguine of success; he never dreamt
for a moment of failure. He saw no reason why he should not succeed in
finding Men-Ching, in tracking the old rascal all the way to Hong-Kong
and there having him arrested by the British police authorities. He
even considered the possibility of completing the remainder of his
journey actually in the company of Men-Ching and his companion.
He therefore asked the captain of the junk to set him ashore. He paid
the man according to his agreement, and found himself, at about one
o'clock in the morning, in the centre of a very dilapidated and
evil-smelling city.
Since he had slept a good deal on board the junk--there being nothing
else for him to do--he decided to remain awake until daybreak, keeping a
close watch upon the _bund_, alongside which the junks and river-boats
were moored. He felt sure, from what he had overheard in the opium den,
that one of the many _wupans_ that lay alongside the wharves was that
upon which Men-Ching had come down the river. His object was first to
discover the _wupan_. He would then have no difficulty in finding
Men-Ching himself.
The boy seated himself upon the end of a jetty whence he could obtain a
good view of the harbour. A watery moon was low in the heavens, and
this, together with the stars, illumined the river with an iridescent,
ghostly light, by which it was possible to see for a considerable
distance.
The hour was as yet too early for the riverside workmen to begin work.
The _bund_ was deserted save for a number of rats, which were to be seen
quite clearly continually crossing the open space that separated the
houses from the ships.
Though the night was warm the air was somewhat damp, and Frank, fearing
that he would contract malarial fever, rose to his feet and strolled
casually down the jetty. At the corner of a narrow street he came quite
suddenly face to face with a most alarming personage.
The expression "face to face" cannot be taken literally, for the man was
a giant, and Frank's face was scarcely on a level with his chest. In the
shadowy slums of a poverty-stricken Chinese town, at such a ghostly hour
as two o'clock in the morning, to find oneself unexpectedly confronted
by an individual of the stature of a Goliath and with the countenance of
a demon, is an experience well calculated to give a jolt to the nervous
system of anyone. To put the truth in a word, Frank Armitage was
frightened out of his wits, and these fears were by no means dissipated
when the Herculean stranger, without the least warning, grasped him by
the collar of his coat and lifted him bodily from off his feet.
"Ha!" the man roared, in the Cantonese of the educated classes. "A
river-side thief! A junk rat! A prowler by night! Tell me, friend
weasel, have you stolen rice from on board a Canton junk, or a
night-watchman's supper?"
"I pray you, sir," cried Frank, "put me down upon my feet again. I am
no thief, I assure you, but a peaceable citizen of Wu-chau, who goes
upon a visit to his grandfather."
"A peaceable citizen!" roared the man, bursting into laughter. "That's
good, indeed. I would have you to know that all citizens are peaceful
when they fall into the hands of the mighty Ling."
So if Frank were none the wiser, the reader at any rate is better
informed. Frank Armitage had never in his life, to the best of his
knowledge, heard of the mighty Ling. The reader, however, has made that
extraordinary man's acquaintance. He knows that Ling was not by any
means one who could be trifled with, and he has been given some kind of
a notion of the character and reputation of this same unmitigated
villain who was wont to call himself "the mighty Ling."
The giant set down the boy upon his feet, planting him immediately in
front of him.
"I have need of you," said he. "It is possible you may be able to
render me some assistance. You doubtless have not failed to observe
that the gods have made me too big to hide myself without considerable
inconvenience. It is in this regard that you can help me. If you do so
faithfully I shall reward you. If you attempt to play the fool with me,
you go into the river with a twisted neck. And now, follow, my junk
rat! Follow me!"
At that, he grasped the boy by a wrist and, taking such tremendous
strides that Frank was obliged almost to run, dragged him along the
wharf.
CHAPTER XII--HOW MEN-CHING ESCAPED
Ling led the way to one of the many warehouses which were situated along
the wharf--which in China are called "go-downs." On attempting to open
the door and finding it locked, with one wrench the Chinaman tore the
hinges from the jamb and, casting the door aside, dragged Frank into a
great darkened chamber that smelt of grease or some kind of oil. There
he struck a match.
One of the first objects that attracted his attention was a candle stuck
in the neck of a bottle, and this he at once lighted so that the place
was dimly illumined.
The "go-down" was filled with all manner of packing-cases, casks,
barrels and bales. Picking these up, one after another, as though each
weighed but a few pounds, the great Honanese--who might have been in a
towering rage--threw them right and left, breaking many open, and
creating such a disturbance that Frank was surprised that the whole town
was not awakened.
After a while, by means of such brutal violence, he had make a way for
himself to the farther end of the warehouse. Thither he ordered Frank
to bring the candle, and then proceeded to ascend a step-ladder that led
through a trap-door, such as one usually finds over stables, to an upper
story.
The boy, following his captor, found himself in a kind of loft,
containing all manner of things--rope, sails, fishing-nets, straw and
sacks of millet. Here Ling, holding the candle well above his head,
carefully examined the roof.
He very soon found what he was looking for, and, laughing aloud, ordered
Frank to come to him. Laying one of his enormous hands upon the boy's
shoulder, he suddenly burst forth into the following eulogy upon his own
abilities and prowess.
"The mighty Ling," he declared, "is the favoured child of the gods;
swift as the kite, wise as the tortoise, strong as the tigers of Amoy.
There are few things within the attainment of mortal man that Ling
cannot accomplish. Scholar, poet, robber, soldier, merchant,
mandarin--all these am I, and more. But there is one thing, I declare
to you, that is beyond me. Guess, my little junk rat, what it is?"
Fortunately Ling did not appear to expect an answer, for he ran on,
without giving the boy time to reply:
"Do you see that man-hole in the roof?" he asked, pointing upward.
"Well, the sages themselves could not devise a method by which the
mighty Ling could pass through there. But you can, my monkey, and
thither you go, whether you want to or not."
"What am I to do when I get there?" asked Frank, who could think of no
way of escaping from this truculent, swaggering monster.
"Know you nothing," roared Ling, "of the sayings of the seers? How it
is written truly that 'Patience filleth the stomach, whereas he that
hurries to the feast falleth by the way'? Hearken unto me and ask no
questions."
He placed the candle upon the ground and seated himself straddle-legged
across a sack, with his great legs sprawled out before him. Frank
regarded the man's face in the candlelight, and thought that he had
never seen anyone of appearance more formidable and sinister.
His huge countenance was like a mask of some weird and evil Eastern god.
There were deep lines scored about his forehead, mouth and eyes--lines
of wrath; so that even in moments of rest he appeared to be in the
throes of an uncontrollable passion. And this expression of fierceness
and of anger was intensified by his black, glittering eyes, which seemed
to pierce whatsoever he regarded. In addition to this, Frank was
impressed by the gigantic proportions of the Honanese: his great sinewy
hands, the muscles in his neck, his thighs, each as thick as the waist
of a smaller man.
"Listen," said he. "Listen to the description of the man who goes by
the name of Men-Ching, who is a fool who believed in his blindness that
he and his cur-dog friends could cheat the mighty Ling."
It was as if Frank Armitage had been struck. He was so astonished at
the sudden mention of Men-Ching's name that he caught his breath in a
kind of gasp. Fortunately Ling was not looking at him at the moment.
The man had drawn a long knife of Malay design from his belt, and was
examining it fondly, feeling the sharpness of the blade with his thumb.
"This man," said Ling, "is over sixty years of age--old in crime, but a
babe in matters of intelligence. He has a long thin beard upon his chin
and his grey queue is no larger than the tail of a rat. He wears a
faded scarlet coat, and limps with his left foot when he walks. Also, he
rubs his hands together as if he were always pleased. Pleased!" roared
Ling. "When he sets eyes upon me, the pleasure will go out of him as a
candle is blown out in the draught. But, tell me, you have listened and
will remember?"
Frank answered that he had paid strict attention. He did not think it
incumbent upon him to advise the "mighty Ling" that he already knew
Men-Ching perfectly well. He was both amazed by the coincidence and
utterly bewildered as regards the business which these two could have in
common. He did not dream for a moment that Ling was as dangerous to
himself as the redoubtable Cheong-Chau: that he now found himself in the
presence of the man who would soon hold in his great hands the trump
cards in this colossal game of Death.
Ling picked up the candle, and rose to his full height.
"If I lift you up by the feet," said he, "you should be able to reach
that rafter. Thence, without difficulty, you should be able to gain the
man-hole, and so to the roof. From the roof you will obtain an
excellent view of the harbour. The moonlight should be sufficient to
enable you to see anyone who approaches. Keep your eyes open, and the
moment you see the man whom I have described let me know. I will remain
here."
Frank had no alternative but to obey the instructions of this
extraordinary ruffian. Indeed, he was powerless as a mouse in the jaws
of a cat. He was ordered to straighten himself, to remain in a position
perfectly upright and rigid, and then he was lifted high above the man's
head until he was within easy reach of one of the rafters. Swinging
himself on to this, he gained the man-hole which had been pointed out to
him, and a moment after he found himself upon the roof.
Thence--as Ling had predicted--he was able to look down upon the
numerous wharves and jetties along the bank of the river. The moon was
sinking low, but it was so magnified by refraction on account of the
moisture in the atmosphere that the boy was able to see quite clearly,
not only the various junks, _wupans_ and _sampans_ that lay anchored
along the shore, but also the whole extent of the _bund_ itself.
A party of coolies was already at work, and in several places there were
signs of life on board the ships. Frank, looking down through the
man-hole through which he had passed, could see the mighty Ling, who had
taken a book from his pocket and was reading aloud by means of the
candlelight. He was reading the _Analects of Confucius_, a volume that
is admitted to contain some of the purest ethical reasoning in the
world. The man read aloud in a deep voice that sounded to Frank like a
roll of far distant thunder. He was obviously fully conscious of the
literary and philosophic beauty of the famous maxims.
As for Frank, his thoughts were purely material. He could not think why
this singular and terrible man should be so anxious to find Men-Ching.
He knew, however, that it was essential that he himself should get into
touch with Cheong-Chau's second-in-command. Personally, he was not in
the least inclined to render assistance to Ling. But he could not deny
the fact, even to himself, that he feared the man more than he had ever
feared anyone before--even the giants and ogres of which, as a child, he
had been wont to dream. He knew that his life was at stake, that Ling
would not hesitate to kill him if, through any fault of his, Men-Ching
managed to escape.
There could be no doubt that Men-Ching was at that moment in the town,
probably in one of the numerous opium dens which are to be found in
every Chinese city. Frank had gleaned that information, and somehow or
other Ling was equally well informed. It was also certain that some
time that morning Men-Ching would embark and proceed upon his journey to
Canton. Frank, therefore, kept a sharp look-out for the man, but it was
only fear of Ling that impelled him to do so.
About half-an-hour before sunrise, when the first signs of daybreak were
visible in the east, Men-Ching and his companion were among the first
people to arrive upon the wharf. They went straight to a _wupan_ that
was moored at a distance of about two hundred yards from the door which
Ling had broken from its hinges. There Men-Ching called out in a loud
voice in order to awaken the owner of the boat, who was asleep under the
awning. Frank had no doubt that he had found the right man, for he
recognised his voice, and besides the light was sufficient to enable him
to identify the old man's scarlet coat.
The boy looked down through the man-hole into the great loft below. Ling
was still reading, though the candle had almost burned out.
"He is on the wharf," cried Frank. "He is about to go on board. The
fisherman is preparing to hoist his sail."
On the instant, Ling closed his book and, springing to his feet,
hastened to the head of the step-ladder that led to the room below. He
did not trouble himself in the least about Frank, who was left upon the
roof. By no means content to remain an inactive spectator of what was
to follow, the boy descended rapidly to the rafter, and thence dropped
to the floor, stinging his feet severely. A few seconds later he was
swarming down the ladder, hastening after Ling, who had already gained
the _bund_.
Men-Ching had just boarded the boat, when for the first time he caught
sight of the mighty Ling, who charged down upon him like an infuriated
tiger. Frank was in time to see the expression of absolute horror and
dismay which was stamped upon every feature of the old man's face. At
the sight of Ling, Men-Ching's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide, and
seemed in danger of springing from his head.
"Make haste!" he shrieked. "If I fall into that man's hands, everything
is lost!"
With feverish hands the old man uncoiled the rope that secured the bows
of the _wupan_ to a wooden bollard. He succeeded in doing this in the
nick of time, for when he was in the very act of pushing the boat clear
of the wharf by means of a long boathook, Ling gained the shore and
snatched the boathook from his hand.
[Illustration: "LING SNATCHED THE BOATHOOK FROM HIS HAND."]
In the meantime Men-Ching's companion, who had accompanied him
throughout his journey from the cave, had seized an oar, with which he
propelled the boat clear of the clustered shipping. By that time the
fisherman who owned the _wupan_ had hoisted his sail, which, filling
immediately with the strong west wind, carried the boat down-stream at a
considerable velocity.
Ling was like a raging beast. Stamping with his feet, he filled the air
with the most terrible Chinese oaths--and there is no language in the
world richer in expletives than the dialect of Southern China. The
man's rage lasted no more than a moment. Determined not to allow
Men-Ching to get out of sight, he looked about him for some method of
following in pursuit. His eyes fell immediately upon a small sailing
_sampan_, with a long oar fastened to the stern which did duty as a
rudder.
"That will serve my purpose," he exclaimed, and then, lifting his great
voice to the full extent of his lungs, he shouted after the _wupan_.
"Men-Ching," he cried, "you can never hope to evade me. Go north to
beyond the Great Wall, or south to Singapore, and the mighty Ling shall
follow."
Then, turning, he beheld Frank Armitage at his elbow.
"And you shall come with me," he roared. "There must be two of us to
manage the boat."
He bundled the boy, neck and crop, into the _sampan_, and a few minutes
later they were flying down-stream in pursuit of the _wupan_, upon the
broad waters of the great West River that flows through the mammoth city
of Canton.
CHAPTER XIII--HOW FRANK WAS CAUGHT IN THE TOILS
Throughout the greater part of the morning the pursuit continued without
the _sampan_ gaining upon the larger boat. Indeed, when they had sailed
a few miles towards the east it became apparent to Ling that they were
losing ground, that the distance between the two boats was gradually
becoming greater.
The man was infuriated. He stood at his great height in the bows of the
_sampan_ from time to time, shaking his fist at the scarlet coat of
Men-Ching, who was plainly visible upon the deck of the river-junk.
After a time, however, Ling's wrath subsided; and seating himself, he
confined his attention to the management of the sail. Frank, who was in
the stern of the boat, had received orders to steer.
Ling shrugged his great shoulders and came out with a kind of grunt.
"He shall not escape me," said he, talking aloud to himself. "The old
fool would be wiser to haul down the sail of the _wupan_ and throw
himself upon my mercy."
Frank, summoning to his aid all his moral courage, decided to question
the man outright, taking the bull by the horns.
"Why do you want this man Men-Ching?" he asked.
Ling looked up, lifting his black eyebrows, and then chuckled.
"Men-Ching carries upon his person certain letters," said he. "I would
have you to know that those letters are worth thousands of dollars."
Frank Armitage was so much astonished that it was some moments before he
could recover his presence of mind. How was this man, of all people, in
possession of such information? Ling was certainly not a member of
Cheong-Chau's brigand band. It was only a week before that Men-Ching
had been entrusted with the letters--indeed, he had not been given
possession of them until immediately after they were written. The whole
thing was a mystery that Frank was in no position to solve.
Sitting amidships in the boat, the man continued to chuckle.
"I will find him in Canton," said he. "He is certain to go to the house
of Ah Wu. There I will find him. I will take possession of those
letters. A score of men could not prevent me. If Men-Ching hands them
over quietly all will be well. If he resists, I cannot say what will
happen." And Ling shrugged his shoulders.
Frank was dismayed. It took him some time to realise the extreme
gravity of the situation. There was something in the aspect of the
boisterous Honanese giant, seated immediately before him, that made the
boy feel quite sure that Ling seldom failed in any enterprise he
undertook. The man was at once clever, strong and unscrupulous. He
meant to obtain those letters, and Frank felt quite sure that he would
not fail to do so.
That brought the boy face to face with the fact that the lives of his
uncle and Mr Waldron were in the greatest danger. Ling no doubt
intended to appropriate the ransom, thus foiling Cheong-Chau. In these
circumstances, there could be but little doubt that the brigand chief,
robbed of what he already regarded as his own property, would put both
his captives to death out of sheer fiendish spite.
Frank could not for the life of him think what course he should take.
His brain was in a whirl. In the end he decided that at any cost he
must escape from Ling the moment they arrived at Canton, where he hoped
to gain an interview with the British consul.
Throughout the remainder of the journey the boy's thoughts ran
continuously upon the mystery in which he found himself enveloped. He
could not explain it, and after a time he gave up attempting to do so.
He neither knew who Ling was nor how the man had such intimate knowledge
of Cheong-Chau's affairs. He regretted bitterly that he had rendered
Ling such valuable assistance. He was, however, determined never to do
so again, and during the pursuit down the river he even went so far as
to hold the _sampan_ back by means of the oar with which he was supposed
to be steering. All the time he was doing so his heart was beating
rapidly, since he dared not think what would happen to him if Ling
discovered his deception.
When they reached the great city of Canton it was still early in the
morning. Ling hauled down the sail and himself took charge of the stern
oar, by means of which he propelled the boat into the narrow creek that
separates the main part of the city from the island of Shamien. Running
into the bank alongside a sea-going junk, he ordered Frank to step
ashore. The boy did so, determined to avail himself of his first chance
to escape. In such narrow, close-packed streets as those of the great
southern city, he thought he would have many opportunities of giving
Ling the slip. He did not expect any difficulty in getting away, since
he had no reason to believe that Ling required his services any longer.
Frank--as the saying goes--had counted his chickens before they were
hatched. They had not progressed thirty yards along one of the main
streets of the city before Frank dived down a side street, brushed past
a party of coolies, and then turned into a still smaller street to the
right. There he found a ricksha. Jumping into this, he ordered the
ricksha coolie to go ahead as fast as he could. The man had picked up
the shafts, and was about to set forward, when Frank was seized by the
scruff of the neck and lifted bodily from the seat. He was then thrown
so violently to the ground that one of his knees was cut and his elbows
badly bruised.
Gathering himself together, he looked up, and found himself at the feet
of Ling.
"Do you take me for a fool?" roared the man. "Why have you run away?"
"I did not think," answered the boy, somewhat weakly, "that you needed
me any longer."
"No more I do," said Ling. "But you know too much about me. When I
have run Men-Ching to ground, and emptied the old rascal's pockets, then
you are free to go where you like. For the present you remain with me."
He bent down, and seizing the boy by a wrist, dragged him to his feet.
Then he set off walking briskly through the narrow streets, dragging the
boy after him like a dog on a leash and roughly thrusting aside everyone
who got in his way.
In about ten minutes they found themselves in the neighbourhood of the
Mohammedan Mosque. Having crossed the main street that runs parallel to
the river, Ling turned into a by-street, and thence into the blind
alley, at the termination of which was Ah Wu's opium den.
He kicked open the door with his foot and thrust the boy inside. Frank
found himself standing before the embroidered curtains that were
suspended across the entrance of the smoking-room. Ling lifted his
great voice in a kind of shout, mingling his words with triumphant
laughter.
"Ah Wu," he cried, "give welcome to a visitor who loves you. There is
one here whom it will rejoice your heart to see. Come forth, old fox,
and greet the mighty Ling!"
Having delivered himself thus dramatically, he flung the curtains aside,
and stepped into the opium den, dragging Frank with him.
Ah Wu, as fat and crafty-looking as ever, stood in the centre of the
lower room in front of the stairs that led to the balcony above.
He was holding in his hand a blue china bowl filled with _samshu_. And
so dismayed was he when he set eyes upon his gigantic guest that the
bowl fell from his hand and smashed to atoms on the floor.
"Ling!" he gasped.
"The same," roared Ling. "And this time I come not to debate and argue,
to exchange words with liars. I come for Men-Ching. I have reason to
believe that he is here."
Ah Wu strove to pretend he was delighted to welcome Ling. He smiled
from ear to ear, his little eyes almost disappearing in the fat of his
face. He bowed, folding his hands in the prescribed Chinese fashion. He
even took a few steps forward, so that he was almost within reach of the
long arms of the Honanese.
"Men-Ching," said he, still smiling, "is not here."
And no sooner had the words left his lips than he was given a practical
and somewhat painful demonstration of the violent character of the man
with whom he had to deal. Upon the right of the entrance, adorned by
the embroidered curtains, was a lacquer table, upon which stood a heavy
china vase. Without a word of warning, Ling seized this vase by the
neck, and hurled it with all his force at the proprietor of the opium
den. The ornament must have weighed several pounds, and it struck Ah Wu
fair in the chest, with the result that he went over backwards and lay,
stretched at his full length, at the foot of the staircase. Almost a
minute elapsed before he struggled to his feet. Ling had not moved.
"And now," he roared, "lie to me again."
In the meantime, in spite of such extraordinary happenings, Frank had
taken in his surroundings. Ah Wu's opium den has been already
described--except that we saw it before at night, when the place was
crowded. On this occasion there was only one man asleep upon a couch in
the lower room. It was about twelve o'clock in the morning, and at this
hour, as a general rule, Chinese opium dens are empty, the smokers of
the previous evening having departed and the day's customers not having
arrived.
Strangely enough, the vase had not broken, but in falling to the floor
it had made a considerable noise, and this was sufficient to awaken the
sleeper, who evidently suffered from a guilty conscience. The man
sprang to his feet, and rushed to the entrance, as if he intended to
escape. There, of course, he found his way barred by Ling, who lifted
one of his huge fists as if to strike the fellow. The man jumped
backward like a cat that finds itself face to face with a dog. And it
was then, once again, that Ling burst into one of his boisterous fits of
laughter.
"And here's the flunkey!" he cried. "Here's the Hong-Kong cur-dog! Have
you also a mind to lie to me, or do you set a value on your life? I tell
you truly, I am not here to exchange words. I know what I want, and I
am come to get it. Hands up!" he shouted, seeing the man move one of
his hands to his waistbelt, under his coat, where he might have carried
a firearm. "Hands up, or I wring your neck like a duck!"
In fear and trembling the man lifted both hands above his head. Frank
regarded him then for the first time. And it was as if the boy's heart
had suddenly ceased to beat when he recognised Yung How, his uncle's
servant.
CHAPTER XIV--HOW LING SNUFFED THE CANDLE
Frank had every reason to suppose that he would be recognised in spite
of his disguise. To deceive Men-Ching was one thing, but Yung How had
known the boy for years. More than ever he desired to escape. It was
clear that both Yung How and even Ah Wu himself were equally anxious to
get away from the room. All three of them, however, were caught like
rats in a trap, for Ling guarded the entrance, and it was as much as the
life of any one of them was worth to attempt to pass, either by force or
stealth.
Ling approached Yung How, lifted the man's coat and drew a large
nickel-plated revolver from his belt.
"I thought so," said he. "I draw the jackal's teeth."
So saying, he thrust the revolver into his pocket.
"And now, Ah Wu," he cried, "is Men-Ching here or not?"
Some seconds elapsed before Ah Wu could summon sufficient courage to
answer.
"Yes," said he at last. "He is."
"Where?" asked Ling.
"In the little room--asleep."
"Asleep! He could not have arrived more than an hour ago!"
"He was very frightened," said Ah Wu, who was now certainly speaking the
truth. "His nerves were shaken. He knew you were in pursuit. He
smoked opium to calm himself, and now he sleeps."
"Lead the way," said Ling. "And you too," he added, addressing himself
to Yung How. "I drive you before me like a herd of pigs."
This was indeed a very accurate description of the proceeding, for Ling
was determined that neither of the Chinese nor Frank should for a moment
get out of his sight. It was remarkable that one man should have so
much power--by which we mean will-power as well as physical force. But
undoubtedly, the most extraordinary thing about him was the unbounded
confidence he seemed to have in himself. And it was this
self-confidence, even more than his courage and great physical strength,
that made this man a master over others.
Into the little room under the staircase he hustled the three of them.
There he locked the door and pocketed the key. Upon the only couch in
the room lay Men-Ching in his faded scarlet coat--sound asleep.
Ling bent down and placed both hands upon the sleeper's chest. Then he
smiled, and turning slowly round, looked Ah Wu straight in the face.
"They are here," said he. "It is the custom of the gods to reward those
who deserve to prosper."
"What do you seek?" asked Ah Wu, upon the features of whose face was
stamped an expression of the most profound dismay.
"The letters," said Ling. "The letters for which I have searched for
fourteen days."
"Fourteen days ago," retorted Ah Wu, "they were not written."
"Of that," answered the other, "I confess I know nothing, and care less.
It is sufficient for me--and for you, too--that I have found that for
which I sought."
There was a pause. And then Yung How asked a question.
"How did you know about these letters?" said he.
Ling smiled again. "Do you think," he asked, "that when I found you
three rascals with heads together in this very room--do you think I did
not know that something was afoot, something into which it might be
worth my while to inquire? Do you suppose for a moment I believed your
lies? No. I watched. And I sent a spy here to smoke opium and to
pretend to sleep--a spy who listened to all you had to say, who told me
that Cheong-Chau had sent a messenger with the news that the fish had
been landed high and dry, and a promise that both Ah Wu and yourself
would have your share of the ransom as soon as it was paid. I had but
to watch the river. And when I was told that one of Cheong-Chau's men
had been seen in Sanshui, and the description of that man agreed with
Men-Ching, I should be little short of a fool if I did not guess that
Men-Ching carried with him letters demanding a ransom. And now," he
concluded, "these same letters are mine."
He bent down, and very gently unbuttoned Men-Ching's coat. Then,
without waking the sleeper, who appeared to be heavily drugged with
opium, he tore open the lining and drew out the two letters: that of
Cheong-Chau, written in Chinese, and Sir Thomas Armitage's letter,
written in English.
Neither of these was in an envelope, but both were sealed in the Chinese
fashion. Without a moment's hesitation Ling broke the seals, and Sir
Thomas's gold signet ring fell to the floor. He stooped and picked it
up, and then read both letters to himself. And as he read his smile
broadened, displaying his fang-like yellow teeth.
"It is fortunate," said he, "that I can read English. It is of
advantage in this life to be a scholar. The ignorant man works in the
paddy-field wading knee-deep in the mud, but the wise man eats the
rice." Then he remained silent for some minutes, still reading to
himself.
"I see," he remarked, "this matter has been well arranged. Cheong-Chau
threatens to take the lives of the foreigners if he does not receive a
ransom of twenty thousand dollars before the new moon. It interests me
to learn that the money must be hidden before that date in the Glade of
Children's Tears, upon the banks of the Sang River. I know the place
well. I even remember the red stone--though I admit I did not know
there was a vault beneath that stone. Certainly the matter has been
well arranged."
During this soliloquy--for Ling had to all intents and purposes been
speaking to himself--Frank could not help regarding the countenances of
Ah Wu and Yung How. The expression upon the face of each was suggestive
of the most complete disgust. Disappointment and infinite distress were
conveyed in every feature. Ling looked at them and burst into laughter.
"Two fools!" he cried. "Had you been wise men you had taken me into
your confidence and allowed me a share of the plunder. As it is, you
may see not a cent of it. It will be very simple for me to deliver
these letters and to keep watch upon the Glade of Children's Tears."
His laughter had disturbed the sleeper, for Men-Ching turned over upon
his back and mumbled a few incoherent words in his sleep. Then, still
sleeping, he moved a hand to the breast of his coat, to the place where
he had carried the letters.
Almost at once he sat bolt upright--wide awake.
"Stolen!" he cried, his hands still clutching at his coat. "Stolen," he
repeated.
Then he set eyes upon Ling.
Upon his face an expression of dismay turned, as in a flash, to one of
uncontrollable anger. He sprang to his feet, at the same time drawing
from his belt a long curved knife. Though he stood upon the couch
itself, he was little taller than Ling. With a savage oath he raised
the knife above his head. And then he struck downward, straight for the
heart of the gigantic Honanese.
The tragedy that now took place was the work of a few seconds.
Men-Ching's wrist was caught. He let out a shriek of pain as that grip
of steel tightened under such steady, inevitable pressure that the very
wrist-bone was in danger of breaking like a piece of rotted wood. Then
he was caught by the throat. He was jerked forward. Something snapped.
And then he was thrown down upon the floor--dead. It was all over in an
instant.
Frank Armitage was horror-stricken. He had never seen anything so
terrible in all his life. And this was murder. And the man who had
committed the crime merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Take warning," said he. "Behold the fool who tried to kill me. He who
lives by violence comes to a violent end. I had no wish to kill him; he
attempted to stab me. I have dealt with him in the same way as I would
snuff a tallow candle."
Here Ah Wu fell into a kind of hysterical panic. Wringing his hands
together, he worked himself up to such a pitch of emotion that the tears
streamed from his eyes.
"What is to become of me?" he cried. "This thing has happened in my
house. If the _tao-tai_ hears of it I shall be led to my execution in a
potter's yard. Woe is me that such a crime should be committed under my
roof!"
Ling laughed.
"You make a great fuss about nothing," said he. "Put him away till
darkness falls. Then set him up in a ricksha, place a lighted cigarette
between his lips, run him down to the river, and throw him in. Such
things have happened before in this city of Canton. You make much of
nothing. What was the old scoundrel worth? Not a snap of the finger.
And in any case he had but a few years to live."
Ah Wu seated himself upon the couch, immediately above the body of the
murdered man. Placing his elbows upon his knees and his head between
his hands, he rocked himself from side to side. As for Frank, the whole
thing seemed to him like some terrible nightmare. He had lived in China
all his life, but he had lived in a different China--a land of comfort
and civilisation. This was a world of devilry and crime. And all this
time Yung How stood by, motionless, speechless, his face pale with
terror.
Ling stooped down and thrust the body under the couch.
"What is death?" he asked. "A sleep--no more. A long sleep in
which--for aught we know--the divine spirit roams the eternal heavens.
Sweeter by far the adventures of the soul than the dreams that come from
opium. A moment since he slept upon the couch, and now he sleeps
beneath it. Why grieve, old fool? Why weep? Men-Ching is already with
the spirits of his fathers."
Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door.
"Come," said he. "We will hold converse together; there are many things
that I wish to discuss. See that the outer door is locked, that no one
is allowed to enter the house. We four will be alone."
CHAPTER XV--OF CHEONG-CHAU'S MESSENGER
To the reader who is unacquainted with China, the conduct of Ling may
appear to be highly improbable. In any other country in the world such
a crime might be committed, but in no other country would the criminal
not be seized with alarm. He would know that there was direct evidence
against him and, in consequence, he would be obliged either to fly for
his life or else stand his trial on a charge of murder or manslaughter,
as the case might be.
In this regard China is unique--a country without police, in which
evidence is extremely hard to obtain, no man presuming to testify
against his neighbour. Under the old imperial regime there were no real
courts of justice beyond the summary jurisdiction exercised by the local
government official--the prefect, the _tao-tai_ or the viceroy. And so
far as we are aware, these very necessary reforms have not yet been
instituted in the modern republican China of the twentieth century.
Ling had little or nothing to fear. Men-Ching had no relations who
might carry the tale to the viceroy's _yamen_. Both Ah Wu and Yung How
had been frightened out of their lives, and the Honanese had no
apprehensions in regard to the unfortunate boy whom he had kidnapped in
Sanshui.
In less than a minute after this deed of violence had been accomplished,
Ling was sprawled at his great length upon one of the couches in the
outer room. There, puffing complacently at a pipe of opium, he appeared
to have dismissed the incident from his mind. He was busy making plans
for the future. Ah Wu had now sufficiently recovered his composure to
attend to the wants of his unwelcome guest. He brought Ling opium; he
lighted the spirit-lamp; he rolled opium pills in his fat little
fingers.
To all intents and purposes, Ling had taken complete possession of the
opium den. He himself might have been the proprietor. He offered Yung
How a pipe of opium, which Yung How accepted. He ordered Frank to be
seated, and the boy had no option but to obey. Then he delivered
himself as follows, addressing himself to Ah Wu.
"Ah Wu," said he, "I desire that you will be so good as to make a
complete confession. There are certain details connected with this
affair concerning which I am completely in the dark. For instance, who
was to go for the treasure to the Glade of Children's Tears?"
"I was," said Ah Wu.
"Alone?"
"No. Yung How was to accompany me." And Ah Wu indicated his Hong-Kong
friend by a motion of the hand. "We were to hire a junk in which to
take away the money. We were to be assisted by Men-Ching and another
man."
Ling looked across at Yung How and nodded pleasantly.
"And so, my tame cat, your name is Yung How. A fit name for one who
washes plates and brushes a foreigner's clothes."
"I do not wash plates," said Yung How; "that is coolies' work."
"I beg your pardon," said Ling. "Since it is beneath your dignity to
wash plates I am sorry for you, for presently I propose to eat at Ah
Wu's expense. And you shall wash the plates which it shall be my
pleasure to use."
Yung How made a wry face, and dropped his eyes to the ground. Frank
observed that the man muttered to himself.
The boy was astonished that Yung How had not yet recognised him. Was it
possible that he would fail to do so? The thought seemed too good to be
true. On the other hand, it was possible that Frank had already been
recognised, that Yung How knew who he was, and had managed to conceal
his surprise. The average Chinese is quite capable of such
extraordinary self-control. The boy's train of thought was interrupted
by Ling, who took up the thread of his cross-examination.
"And so," said he, "you, Ah Wu, and Yung How, were to go together to the
Glade of Children's Tears, having first ascertained that the
neighbourhood was safe, that the foreigners in Hong-Kong had not thought
fit to send armed men to capture you?"
"That is so," said Ah Wu.
"And the money was to be brought here by river?"
Ah Wu nodded. "To Canton," said he.
"Where Cheong-Chau would come by night, giving you your share and taking
the rest back with him to Pinglo, to divide amongst his gang?"
Ah Wu nodded again.
"A simple business," said Ling. "A well-laid plot that has come to
grief. Well, I am generous. My soul is of honey. I am soft of heart.
You will find me a better master than Cheong-Chau. I can be generous to
those who help me, as I know how to deal with those who declare
themselves my enemies." And he jerked a finger in the direction of the
little room beneath the stairs.
"Do you mean," asked Yung How, "that you propose to buy our silence?"
The man rose upon his couch like a bearded lion.
"I mean nothing of the sort," he cried. "Go to the viceroy if you will
and tell him that you saw Ling take the life of Men-Ching in the opium
den of Ah Wu--say I murdered the man. It will be a lie, I tell you. He
attempted to stab me and I killed him in self-defence. Still you are
free to go to the _yamen_ with any tale you like, and when you have
fulfilled your errand, I tell you frankly, upon the word of a man who
holds the truth as sacred, that you shall not live for forty-eight
hours. That is the manner of man I am, and that is the way in which I
buy your silence."
Yung How did not move a muscle of his face.
"Then I fail to understand you," said he.
"I will make my meaning plainer," said the other. "This afternoon I
send these letters to Hong-Kong by post, by the night boat. They will
arrive to-morrow morning. In two--or at the most three--days, the
ransom will be paid: twenty thousand dollars will be conveyed by some
means from Hong-Kong to the Glade of Children's Tears. I think no
soldiers will be sent because the Englishman in his letter has expressly
stated that such a course would not be wise."
At that moment there came a loud, persistent rapping on the outer door,
which Ah Wu had already locked. Ling at once ceased talking, but it is
a singular fact that he was the only one of the four of them who showed
no signs of being alarmed. They sat in silence, listening for several
minutes, during which time the knocking upon the door continued. It was
Ling who was the first to speak.
"Who is there?" he asked, addressing himself to Ah Wu.
"I have no idea," replied Ah Wu.
Ling got to his feet, strolled across the room, and drawing the
curtains, unbolted the door. On opening it he beheld, standing before
him upon the threshold, a man dressed in the scarlet coat of
Cheong-Chau's brigand band.
"What do you want?" asked Ling.
"Men-Ching," said the man.
"And who, may I ask, is Men-Ching?"
"He is a friend of mine."
"He is not here," said Ling. "You can come in, if you like, and see for
yourself."
The man entered the opium den, advancing down the centre of the room.
Frank recognised him at once: he was the man who had accompanied
Men-Ching upon his journey from the mountains. He went straight up to
Ah Wu, to whom he bowed, folding his hands in accordance with the custom
of his nation.
"You, I believe, are Ah Wu?" he asked. "You are the landlord of this
establishment?"
"I am," said Ah Wu.
"I come for a friend of mine, Men-Ching by name. I think you know him.
He told me he would be here."
"He is not here," said Ah Wu, who, palpably nervous, from time to time
glanced in the direction of Ling.
"That is strange," said the man. "He certainly told me that I should
find him here. Can you tell me where he is?"
Ah Wu shook his head. "I cannot say," said he.
The man looked perplexed. He stood for a moment stroking his chin, as
if he was undecided what to do. Then Ling laid one of his great hands
upon the man's shoulder.
"I will tell you where he is," said he. "He left here in great
haste--and unexpectedly. He has gone upon a journey--a long journey. He
did not say where he was going, for two reasons: firstly, he had no time
to tell us; secondly, I do not believe he knew. And so, my friend, we
can give you no information likely to be of value. Who are we, that we
should know all things, that we should be able to solve the riddles of
the universe? We are poor mortals, with little wisdom and great hopes.
We arrange our lives in accordance with our own ideas, and those ideas
are but guess-work, the product of imagination. We know nothing. We
live in the dark. The printed page of the book of mysteries lies open
before us, but we are blind and unable to read. Could I soar higher than
an eagle, traversing the eternal plains of space, I might be able to
tell you something of Men-Ching. As it is, I cannot." And Ling, with a
shrug of the shoulders, turned away.
The man regarded his broad back in amazement. He could make neither
head nor tail of what he had been told. And at the same time he was in
a dilemma: he could do nothing without Men-Ching; in a great city like
Canton--with which he was not well acquainted--he had no idea where to
look for him.
"It is of the greatest importance," said he, "that I find Men-Ching
without delay. I have news for him."
Ling whipped round at once.
"News," he exclaimed. "I tell you, my good man, you may be perfectly
frank with us. We are in the secret."
"You are!" cried the man.
"All four of us," said Ling, whose capacity for falsehood appeared to be
in proportion to his other faculties.
The man looked in surprise from Ling to Ah Wu, from Yung How to Frank.
"I see you doubt me," continued Ling. "Permit me to enlighten you. You
are one of Cheong-Chau's band--that is evident from your coat. You came
south with Men-Ching in order to convey certain letters to Hong-Kong.
Cheong-Chau demands a ransom of twenty thousand dollars as the price of
the lives of three European prisoners whom he holds in his hands. This
sum of money is to be conveyed by junk, before the new moon, to the
Glade of Children's Tears. It has already been arranged between my very
good friend, Cheong-Chau, and Men-Ching, that we four, accompanied by
Men-Ching himself, proceed to the Glade of Children's Tears in order to
take possession of the money. I am surprised that Men-Ching did not
inform you of all this. I presume you no longer doubt me?"
"I cannot doubt you," said the man. "You know more of the matter than
myself. I was aware that Cheong-Chau had agents in Canton, but I was
never informed who they were. Perhaps you will be so good as to advise
me what to do."
Ling stroked his black moustache. He appeared to be deep in thought.
"If I were you," said he, "I should leave the matter in Men-Ching's
hands. He cannot be far away. If I were you I should return at once to
Cheong-Chau."
"That is not necessary," said the man.
Ling looked up quickly, lifting his eyebrows. For a moment his eyes
flashed, suggesting something of the fierce sudden intelligence of a
beast of prey that scents its quarry.
"How do you mean?" he rapped out.
"It is not necessary," said the man, "that I return to Cheong-Chau, for
the simple reason that Cheong-Chau himself has come to me."
Ling closed his mouth with a snap.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "So Cheong-Chau is--in Canton?"
"He approaches Canton," said the man. "That is the information that I
desired to give to Men-Ching."
"He approaches Canton," repeated Ling. "This is indeed interesting! And
can you tell me why Cheong-Chau approaches Canton?"
"Yes," said the man. "One of his prisoners has escaped."
At the word Frank Armitage caught his breath. With a great effort of
will he managed to control himself. He stared hard at the opium bowl,
filled with the sticky, treacle-like substance, that was immediately in
front of him.
The boy felt like a helpless bird, imprisoned in a cage of poisonous
snakes. He could not be blind to the peril in which he stood. Hardly a
minute passed when it was not made evident to him that his life hung
upon a thread. At any moment he might be discovered, and then, in the
hands of such a man as Ling, he could hope for little mercy.
"What you tell me interests me vastly," said Ling, still addressing
himself to the brigand. "You have no idea how annoyed I am. And so one
of the prisoners has escaped! I think you had best return to
Cheong-Chau, taking with you a written message from my friend, Ah Wu."
Ah Wu looked up at Ling in something like despair. The fat proprietor
of the opium den, at that moment, bitterly regretted that he had ever
had anything to do with the business. He feared Cheong-Chau, but he was
terrified of Ling. He now found himself between the hammer and the
anvil.
"What do you wish me to do?" he asked, in a weak voice. "What sort of a
message am I to send to Cheong-Chau?"
"Tell him the truth," said Ling. "Tell him that Men-Ching called here
this morning, and soon afterwards departed unexpectedly, in a great
hurry. Say that you presume he has gone to Hong-Kong. He told you, I
believe, that the letters were safe."
And even as Ling said these words he placed one of his hands upon the
pocket of his coat--and they all heard the crinkling sound of the stiff
rice paper upon which the letters had been written. Both Yung How and
Frank regarded Ling in astonishment. The man was beyond doubt an
accomplished and unmitigated villain. He was never at a loss. As for
Ah Wu, very meekly he crossed the room to the writing-desk where he kept
his accounts. There he wrote a letter, handling with skill the long
Chinese ink-brush. And as he wrote Ling strolled up to him, glanced
over his shoulder, and strolled away. Then Ah Wu folded the letter and
sealed it and gave it to Cheong-Chau's man, who a few moments afterwards
left the opium den.
No sooner was he gone than Ling bolted the door and came back quickly
into the room.
"This," said he, "is going to be a touch-and-go affair. It will be an
open question now who gets to the Glade first: Cheong-Chau or I. You
three shall help me. I take it, you prefer to be on the winning side. I
shall need the assistance of every one of you. You will have your fair
share of the plunder, more than you would have got from Cheong-Chau--I
promise you that. But I have warned you once, and I warn you again:
play me false, and I deal with you as I dealt with Men-Ching. It is
already late in the afternoon. There is much to be done to-night. Ah
Wu, you must keep the place closed; you must put up a notice outside
saying that no customers will be admitted. Tell me, is there a back
entrance?"
Ah Wu nodded his head.
"Good!" exclaimed Ling. "You and I must get the body of that fool out
of the way. We shall be able to do that as soon as it is dark. As for
these two, they can remain here till we return. I care not how many men
Cheong-Chau has brought with him. I know how to settle him. The man is
an opium fiend, and by opium he shall fall. Now then, Ah Wu, are we to
be friends or foes?"
"Friends," said Ah Wu.
"Then swear friendship."
And Ah Wu swore, with a hand uplifted, by the Five Sacred Books.
And then Yung How swore fidelity to Ling, who rounded upon Frank.
"And you, my little smooth-faced infant, whom I have truly taken to my
heart, you have not told me yet your name?"
"Ah Li," said Frank, who for some time had been prepared for such a
question.
"And you also swear?"
And Frank swore, following the example of Ah Wu and Yung How, and using
the same words to be faithful to the mighty Ling. And as he made the
declaration he satisfied his conscience that he attached no more
importance to the words than did Ling to the life of the man whom he had
killed.
CHAPTER XVI--OF THE REPENTANCE OF YUNG HOW
Thus it was that they became the unwilling servants of Ling. They had
no option but to obey him. By reason of his gigantic strength, Ling was
the master of the situation.
Ah Wu was as crafty as a fox. All his life he had been connected with
the opium business; and an opium den is a place where a Chinese may gain
a very intimate knowledge of his fellow-men. He learns much in
connection with human character. Whatever may have been the feelings of
Frank Armitage and Yung How, the proprietor of the opium den had not the
least doubt that in agreeing to follow Ling they had taken the wisest
course.
During the few hours that elapsed between the departure of the brigand
and sunset, they were given a further opportunity of observing the
singular abilities of this inhuman monster. There is no doubt that the
man might have succeeded in almost any walk of life. His plans were not
only elaborate, and so carefully laid that they allowed for almost every
possible contingency, but they were made rapidly without a moment's
hesitation.
In the course of the afternoon Ah Wu's three attendants arrived, gaining
entrance into the opium den by means of the back door. These were sent
upon various errands, from which they could not possibly return until
after dark. As soon as Ling himself had conveyed the mortal remains of
the unfortunate Men-Ching from the opium den, the place was to be open,
customers were to be admitted. These customers were to be entertained
by Yung How until Ah Wu himself returned. The establishment was to
remain open, day and night, throughout the next few days. Ling made no
secret of his intention to decoy Cheong-Chau to the opium den, where he
was to be drugged, whilst Ling gained possession of the ransom, which by
that time should have arrived from Hong-Kong.
About the middle of the afternoon Ling went out, and was absent about
twenty minutes. This in itself is sufficient proof of the
self-confidence of the man. It was within the power of Ah Wu, Yung How,
or the youth who had called himself "Ah Li," to betray him. These three
were left alone in the opium den with the horrid evidence of Ling's
guilt.
During his absence, Ling posted his letters. The night boat left Canton
at eight o'clock, and Ling himself took the letters on board. He
returned to the opium den, and was admitted at the back door by Ah Wu
himself. He did not seem in the least curious as to whether they had
been discussing him whilst he was away.
Soon after nightfall, Ling and Ah Wu departed on their gruesome errand,
taking with them the body of Men-Ching. This they secreted under the
hood of a double ricksha, and Ah Wu, much to his dismay, was made to
seat himself beside a lifeless companion. As for Ling, he stripped
himself to the waist, coiled his pigtail round the top of his head,
after the manner of a coolie, and himself drew the ricksha through the
dark, narrow streets of the great city. Frank and Yung How stood at the
small back door of the opium den when Ling took his departure. They
heard the wheels rattling over the cobble-stones of the streets, and
then the ricksha disappeared in the darkness, and with it that which had
formerly been Men-Ching, Cheong-Chau's second-in-command.
Yung How and Frank returned to the main room, where they lighted the
lamps, and shortly afterwards the three attendants returned. The
establishment was then opened, and it was not long before customers
began to arrive. Most of these were regular patrons of Ah Wu's, who
knew how to look after themselves. Having ordered what they wanted,
they disposed themselves on couches in the lower room. There they
smoked opium, drank _samshu_, and nodded off to sleep.
Frank regarded Yung How. The man lay upon a couch; his arms were
folded; he was staring blankly in front of him, thinking possibly of
Ling and how that villain had placed himself between Yung How and a
fortune. For there could be little doubt that, under the original
arrangement, Yung How was to be treated handsomely, and the man attached
little or no value to Ling's promise. It does not necessarily follow
that one rogue will trust another.
Frank, as he looked at the man, was busy with his thoughts. Two things
were evident to him: first, that Yung How had not recognised him and
that he was now scarcely likely to do so; second, that he might be
persuaded to operate against Ling--provided he could do so without great
personal risk.
Now in order not to overestimate the boldness of the step which Frank
Armitage then and there proposed to take, it is necessary to realise
that the boy could see no other way out of his difficulties, to remember
that not only his own life but the lives of Mr Waldron and his uncle
depended upon his success, and to remember also that he stood in no fear
of Yung How, whom he had known since he was a child.
It was above all things necessary for Frank to communicate with
Hong-Kong if he could not go there himself. The moment Ling left the
opium den it occurred to Frank that he might write a letter. He could
not, however, do this without being observed by Yung How, who had
received strict orders from Ling not to allow the boy out of his sight
for a single moment. Frank therefore decided to play a bold card; but
he would never have taken a step so hazardous had he not had something
more than an inkling that he was likely to meet with success. He
crossed the room to the couch upon which Yung How was lying, and asked
the man if he would be so good as to accompany him to the balcony at the
head of the stairs.
"I have something of the greatest importance to say to you," said he.
"It may be to your advantage as well as mine."
Yung How looked at him in surprise, then got to his feet, and walked
slowly up the stairs, followed by Frank.
They seated themselves, side by side, upon a couch in a darkened corner.
Now that Frank found himself confronted by the greatest crisis in all
his strange adventures, he hesitated to begin. Several minutes elapsed
before he could speak, and he did not do so then without a word of
encouragement.
"Well?" asked Yung How.
"I am surprised, Yung How," said Frank, "that you have not recognised
me."
Yung How knitted his brows, and drawing away from the boy, turned and
stared at him. Frank Armitage did not move.
"I should have thought," he added, "you would have known me."
Yung How's voice came in a kind of gasp.
"Master Frank!" he exclaimed.
The boy smiled. It was as much as he could do, but he managed it
somehow, knowing full well that everything depended upon his presence of
mind. He had learned something from Ling.
"Are you blind, Yung How?" he asked.
"I did not know you," said the man, who had not yet recovered from his
astonishment. "The shaven head! The pigtail! Your clothes! Besides,
you are the last person I expected to see. I thought you hundreds of
miles away."
"So I was," said Frank. "I escaped."
"Ah! It was you who escaped! I did not think of that." Then he
lowered his voice. "But why have you told me?"
"Because, Yung How, though you have behaved like a rascal, I cannot
believe you to be such a villain that you would allow my uncle, who has
been a good master to you for years, to be murdered."
Yung How was silent for more than a minute.
"That is true," said he; "that is very true."
"I suppose you realise," Frank went on, "that if I remain here, Ling may
gain possession of the ransom, and in that case both my uncle and Mr
Waldron will be killed. You
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/39254