CHAPTER XX
Noon found him asleep in the fields of kaoliang, that giant millet growing twelve feet high which is so dense that one may become lost in its golden tangle. Utterly worn out, he had crept into this safe hiding-place, and amidst the drone of the countless insects he had dropped on his back, and lost consciousness—a small, unobserved creature on the face of a troubled earth.
Yet in spite of his fatigue his sleep was disturbed. Uneasy dreams made him thrash around and babble confused talk. He again lived through all his experiences of the night before and found no comfort in the success which had crowned his efforts. To escape from the great city in the manner he had done was a feat which should have brought him peace. Nevertheless as he slept he constantly heard his master's voice chiding him for not showing more haste. The voice was so clear that he understood perfectly everything that was said; and—strangest of all—the three mysterious words which every one had spoken at the last fateful interview, when he had been committed to this enterprise, sounded unendingly in his ears in a great undertone.
Perhaps it was the harsh grinding of the cicadas which brought back the message so insistently as he lay semi-conscious; for the cicadas were singing with all the might which is theirs in the summer months. Well—he had travelled far and braved many risks—was that not enough? No—for now his master stood immediately over him, a huge figure full of awe. His red beard bristled as he spoke with the force of his superior judgment; and as the boy watched thunderstruck, the red beard came nearer and nearer in a menacing way until at length he could feel the bristles sticking into his face....
With a startled cry he awoke and threw off some millet stalks which had fallen across him. Now he yawned and shook himself like a dog. He was fully awake but still a little frightened. The vividness of the apparition slowly disappeared like clouds driven along the skies by a high wind. As he sat up and tightened his belt he was suddenly overwhelmed by the great emptiness which oppressed his stomach.
"I haven't eaten for a whole day,—that is apart from the melon," he grumbled, looking down at his thin body, and scratching his arms and hands morosely. "It is possible to die of starvation even with food growing around you."
Now he jumped up, and went rustling through the grain. In a land of poverty—where the struggle for existence is bitter and keen—not to eat is a confession of failure.
There were acres and acres of the same field; and as he threaded his way forward he cursed the owners for their greed in tilling so much land. But at length the great field ceased; and he came out suddenly on to a rutted roadway and saw in the distance a tumble-down little red building. It was a country shrine. He studied it critically for a long while, and then remembered, from the manner in which three trees grew beside it, having seen it before. It was about twenty li—seven miles counted in English—to the southeast of the capital. He had come twenty li since he had left the last city gate.
Reassured, he went up to the closed doors without further hesitation.
"Lao-ho-shang (old harmonious and esteemed one)," he loudly called, hammering with his fists on the rotting woodwork, "a foodless man is at your gateway. Distribute your goodness. Lao-ho-shang, lao-ho-shang, come to your door!"
He repeated his call more and more vigorously; and presently there was the sound of slow footsteps and the gate was cautiously unbarred. But it was only opened an inch or so by a priest who was neither old nor young, and who was clad in a garment of faded saffron edged with black.
The priest eyed him suspiciously for a long time and at last commenced this interrogatory:
"How far have you journeyed?"
"Many miles from the South, many miles indeed."
"And what is your purpose in journeying when all is unsettled?"
"I seek my relatives because my father is dead."
"Where are your relatives?"
"And what is your name?"
The boy without hesitation continued to lie calmly in the way all his countrymen readily do—that is when they are pressed.
"I am called Liu—I am the second in the family—Liu Erh—I have walked a hundred miles to find my relatives. Food is what I need to soothe my hunger. A little hot food."
"Um,"—said the priest, "I, too, am short of food. For a fortnight I have received no alms, not one copper coin has been vouchsafed me. With trouble abroad how dare I venture out? And should I give away from my small store when I may shortly be in need myself?"
Wang the Ninth, because of his hunger, was becoming angry at this long discussion. Already he had measured his man: he knew him to be a coward and covetous as well. With a swift movement he thrust his foot in between the gate-post and the door so that the priest could not possibly close it again,—that is unless he threw him back and broke his foot. Now very roughly he used what was instantly effective—intimidation, based on a half-truth.
"Look here," he said, "I have waited patiently and answered all your questions and am very hungry. I have just passed soldiers. If you do not give me freely I shall go and find them and declare that you have silver buried in the Temple."
There was brief hesitation which may have lasted two seconds, but no more. Then the door swung wide open.
"Come in," said the priest sullenly. Asia is like that. By audacity a child may work his will over old and young alike. That is one of the unappreciated morals of the Bible.
Wang the Ninth, again victorious, loafed in with an expression of suppressed amusement on his face which would have done credit to an actor. Behind him the priest shut the door securely; then turned round and looked at him; muttered something under his breath; and finally led him to a room where his store of food was secreted under a broken bench. Together, in this companionship, neither speaking much, they prepared a meal of boiled millet, a little salted vegetable, a cup of tea.
Presently having eaten his fill, the marauder became loquacious.
"Your stock of food is indeed low," he remarked, examining everything and looking into the grain-bin several times. "When you first spoke about shortage I doubted your story. If you wait a little I will fetch you something as repayment and prepare a bite for myself for later on."
Without further ado, he marched out through the gateway and down the roadway to where his sharp eyes half an hour before had noticed a patch of Indian corn. Calmly, as if it were his own property, he pulled off a great mass of corn cobs, only taking of the best. Then he stripped off his short cotton coat, loaded it up with the loot, and marched back with this fat bundle to the keeper of Buddha's shrine.
"Here," he said, "I have taken from an abundance that is neglected. If there is suspicion or accusation I bear the blame. Now I prepare my share."
With deft fingers he stripped off the husk from a dozen cobs, threw them into a pot of water, and boiled them over the small charcoal fire until beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. When he had satisfied himself that they were well-cooked, he heaved a sigh of relief and desisted. He had a couple of days' supply of food to the good, no matter what happened; for Indian corn is a good and strength-giving food.
"I can journey in peace," he remarked, "when the sun is a little lower and there is coolness in the air. Not soon will I commit the fault of journeying with no provision belt. A hundred miles is far to travel for the poor."
The priest talked a little but without much gusto. He was irritated by everything that had occurred since he had unbarred his doors; and after the manner of his race he was absorbed thinking about the way he could redress the balance in his favour. With his arms behind his back, master of the situation, Wang the Ninth began sauntering round the narrow courtyard of the little Temple, and lifting the heavy reed curtain over the doorway of the shrine he peered in.
"Who is your honourable Saint?" he inquired politely, looking at the square, clumsy, gilt figure. Then almost before he had finished asking the question he burst into a short laugh. His quick eyes had noticed something. "Lao-ho-shang, have you noticed that an ear has dropped off?" He pointed to the left ear of Buddha's disciple which was indeed missing.
The priest became more nettled than ever.
"What would you?" he said. "This locality is poor—and very miserly as well. Only on harvest-days do I receive alms in sufficiency for my welfare. As for renovation where shall I find funds? All the shrines for many miles lack repair, and some are even deserted by their keepers."
The devil in the boy leaped to the surface. With a rapid gesture his hand travelled to his belt, and with a flash he threw a bright silver coin on the matted floor as an offering.
"There," he said, "I have contributed."
The priest stood staring.
"Silver!" he exclaimed as if that had been the name of his God. "You carry silver!" Now he bent down and picked up the coin which he examined carefully.
"Yes, silver," assented Wang the Ninth, "an undoubted piece of silver."
"How is it that you who lack food have money?" said the priest. His manner was full of suspicion.
The boy laughed easily.
"It is this way. Many in our locality were employed in the city before the trouble commenced and they have all fled back. They had money in their belts, and two who had known my father gave me small contributions to help me on my way. Had it not been for this friendly help I would indeed have fared badly."
"Um," said the priest, "and how many such coins have you with you?"
Wang the Ninth took several steps backwards so that if needs be he could run for it. There was a note in the priest's voice that he did not like. He was quite capable of trying to rob him. Already he regretted his indiscretion.
"How many coins? Ho—ho, I am a bad hand at calculating." He took a few more steps backward. "Are you discontented with my generosity?—well, I cannot help it." With a swift movement he bent down and picked up the bundle of corn which he had made. "The day is waning, I cannot waste more time. Lao-hoshang, I am about to leave you." And with this lightly and quickly he sprang away and then through the narrow door on to the roadway.
The priest followed him. On his face there was a sharp struggle. Had he been able to do so, he would have rushed at him. But the chances of success were poor having in view his feebleness and the boy's agility. So sullenly he watched Wang the Ninth walk away looking over his shoulder as he went, and beginning the song, "Every priest is only a thief with a shaven pate," which is known to every urchin in the land.
CHAPTER XXI
In the cool of the evening he walked on steadily hour after hour thinking of the priest, and sometimes wondering why he met no soldiers. He began to believe that things would not be so hard as he had pictured them. Here at least was no trace of battle or tumult.
The long July day faded slowly away and still he walked. Now that the capital was far behind him, occasionally there were village people to be seen tending their fields: yet it was plain that they watched the roads and feared every movement on them. Still the mere presence of people reassured him. Immediate danger there could be none: otherwise not a human being would he have seen. Even the lack of travellers could be easily explained. How could people travel when there were no conveyances for hire? Every mule or horse was certainly hidden away as a measure of precaution, soldiers always seizing these first.
Still, in spite of his growing confidence, whenever he saw a village marked out like an island in the midst of the cultivation by the dense groves of trees,—he wasted many minutes walking far around so as to avoid all danger. He greatly feared to go into them, and see the red cloth and the mystic signs on the lintels which proclaimed adhesion to the dread cult. Once, when he was thinking of these things, he came right upon a man lying half-asleep on a grassy bank—which so startled him that he ran into the fields and hid for many minutes before he dared resume his journey. What he feared most was detention—being seized and held indefinitely for his working-value if for no other reason. Knowing his own people to the bottom of their hearts, he realized how easily such enslavements could be carried out—particularly in troubled times. A week's time lost might spell ruination. At all costs he must avoid being made a slave.
Meanwhile he travelled on. Guided by the marvellous sense of direction which the Chinese possess in common with savage races, he bore steadily towards the southeast where his goal lay. No twists or turns confused him; after the longest detour he recovered the exact direction as if a compass were set before him, never faltering or pausing an instant, but always hastening on at the same quick gait.
At last it was so dark that he could no longer see and reluctantly he stopped. Sitting cross-legged he opened his bundle of Indian corn and with a sigh of relief commenced munching the golden grain. He ate half his store before his hunger was appeased; and then he drew out from his tunic two peaches that he had stolen from an orchard on the way. As for drink, an hour before he had taken the precaution to draw water from an irrigating-well in a cabbage patch and he had drunk so deeply that he was no longer troubled by thirst.
Now he sat in the night, feeling satisfied by his frugal repast, and listening to the sounds. Far in the distance village-dogs were barking monotonously after their wont, and he idly tried to calculate how distant they might be. Were they barking at some person or merely baying an evening salute? He could not guess and soon he listened to them no more.
Presently some birds on a tree near by attracted his attention and he turned. They were fluttering uneasily as if something were disturbing them. Without a sound he stole under the tree and listened like a trapper. His keen eyes and his animal knowledge presently told him what had taken place; and he gave a grunt of disdain. It was a very usual occurrence—a bat trying to invade a crows' preserve where there was rotting food stored. With a sudden screech the invader was even now flying away, beaten off by the fear of sharp bills and sharper claws.
Once again he seated himself on the grassy bank. He half-regretted now that he had not ventured into the village where the dogs were barking. It was, however, too late to move—he would have to pass the night where he was—all alone where the fire-devils might trouble him. There were sure to be fire-devils abroad; for although the nearest habitations were a mile away, the square of pine-trees, whose tops he could just make out against the horizon, meant a family burial-ground and the fire-devils would chase backwards and forwards between them and the village.
As he thought of that he hummed to himself quite loudly to keep the spirits off. He would not have minded the solitude so much if it had not been for them; he really detested the fire-devils. There was an old man he knew who was so bothered by them that he dare not walk abroad after dark. It is true that they belonged to a harmless breed and were very different from malignant spirits. They only bothered people by trying to open doors and windows at night so as to bring in fire. Perhaps they would not molest him in the open. Lying down flat on his back mechanically he thrashed around with a stout branch he had picked up to show that he was on the alert. But, presently being tired from his long exertions, the branch moved more and more slowly, and finally slipped to the ground where it lay forgotten. The child-man slept!
Later he awoke with a start. The waning moon had crept into the sky and was already creeping out of it again. With his empirical knowledge of lunar movements he knew that dawn was still far off: yet he sat up uneasily and took a cast at the eastern horizon, picking up the guiding stars like a sailor. Then he looked at the tops of the pine-trees. He could sleep in peace. There was no possibility of light for a long while. As he was in unknown country, it was quite useless starting in the dark; for he might blunder into danger at the first turn.
Now he yawned, and as he lay down he began calculating how far he had travelled. He added and subtracted in his head by a peculiar method until he finally produced a total which he was convinced was correct. He was at least sixty li—twenty miles—from the capital, which was one quarter of the journey, always supposing he must travel the whole distance. One quarter of the distance, that was good. Idly, as he sat up, he struck at a buzzing insect and sniffed the smell of dampness; but he was still tired and soon he sank back again on to the broad earth's hard bosom.
The next time when he awoke it was broad daylight. Full of consternation he jumped up. The sun was well over the horizon line, and hot beams were striking him on the face. Hastily he kicked on his shoes, picked up his bundle and his branch, and started off.
The village of barking dogs grew up on his left, and as he saw a long country-cart draw out of it he was sorely tempted to go into it and buy a cup of tea. But with admirable resolution he resisted the temptation, and trudged steadily on licking his parched lips. At all costs he must not be stopped here—when he had covered just one quarter of the way.
Presently providence willed that he should come to a little stream. He lay on his stomach and drank deep gulps of the refreshing water with thankfulness in his heart. Then, when his thirst was satisfied, he ducked his face in it two or three times, leaving it to dry in the warm air as he walked quickly on.
Twice during the morning he robbed orchards of their fruit, once having to run hard because he was chased by women and boys who cursed him bitterly. But by midday all his Indian corn was gone and he was hungry again. A little disconsolately he lay down to rest, taking off his shoes and his cloth socks, and examining his feet which were chafed, in spite of their hardness, by his steady march.
Now he calculated anew. He was sure he had added forty-five li to the sum total; that made a hundred and five in all. By night he should pass the half-way point if he hastened. Then with luck two days more should see his journey over. Very seriously, he picked up a tiny twig and felt in his ear to see if the message was still packed tight. Yes.
At three o'clock in spite of the sun's heat he started again. Soon his face was streaming with perspiration and though he stripped off his tunic and walked naked to the waist the water ran down his little brown body in streams. It was so hot that he looked suspiciously at the skies, picking out the signs with a frown; for this was a complication he had not reckoned with. There would be a thunderous downpour within a few hours—a downpour such as only tropical lands know, which puts the water on the roads many feet deep....
In his anxiety he broke suddenly into a jog-trot: it would be quite impossible for him to pass the night in the open in such circumstances. He must somehow seek a safe place.
The sun was sinking fast and the black cloud-masses were piling thick when to his surprise to the west, with the sun throwing it into bold relief—a long earth embankment grew up.
"T'u ch'eng(a walled city)," he exclaimed, wondering where he had got to. Very slowly and suspiciously he went on, watching for people and trying to make out some indication of a gateway. But there was no one about, and no gateway to be discerned. Moreover, the long earth embankment was covered with grass.
As he came right under it, he paused to listen like a hunter in the desert. Not a sound. He stopped and picked up pebbles at which he looked with amazement. All the ground under the rampart was littered with them. What did this mean? Very carefully he scrambled up the incline and peered over with his mouth open. There were fields on the other side just as there were fields on this side. Then a pile of half-burnt timber struck his eyes, and he burst into a laugh at his foolishness.
"The railway!" he exclaimed.
It was even so—he had swerved farther to the North than he had allowed for. This was the destroyed railway—along which the foreign army had advanced. It had been completely destroyed so that there could be no possibility of its ever being used again.
This evidence of the ruthless war which had come and gone made him stand there mute. He was so absorbed that for a number of minutes he did not move, searching with his eyes in every direction for friend or foe. A terrific peal of thunder brought him to, however; and since there was nothing for it, he broke into a jog-trot along the embankment.
A big drop of rain smote him in the face and he went still faster. It would not take long now before the rain came in streams. Vivid blinding flashes of lightning now lit up the piling clouds, and the thunder commenced. There would be ropes of water soon—enough to drown a man.
The embankment was rough under his feet and covered with debris, but he feared to leave it. One foot was bleeding from a sharp piece of iron that had gone clean through his cloth shoe; but he scarcely felt the pain and soon the rain washed it clean. On he ran, bedraggled and beginning to feel cold, but with his indomitable pluck still strong in him. Through the mist of water he saw a thing rise up: it was a tiny brick-house. He was too ignorant of railways to know that it was a linesman's house—or all that remained of.... For him it represented a haven of refuge—if the roof were still intact. He ran on falling several times in his haste and almost blinded by the rain which came down in sheets of water, and deafened by the roar of thunder which was now unending....
At last!
He tumbled through the doorway exhausted and panting. Here was a roof to shelter him. Two men who had taken refuge there, called loudly in their alarm at his sudden apparition. But all he could do was to gasp that he, too, had been surprised by the storm and had come for refuge. Then he flung himself on the ground and lay like an exhausted dog, panting as if his heart would break.
CHAPTER XXII
Presently he felt better and began to take stock of the two other intruders. Though he was as bedraggled and as tired as if he had been ducked in a stream, his wits did not desert him, nor was his caution relaxed.
So far as he could see, they were mere villagers surprised by the storm. He looked keenly to see some trace of the red girdle, or any of the dread insignia which had brought convulsions to the land—but there was nothing more menacing in each man's belt than a sickle.
"Ai-ya," he exclaimed, purposely pretending to shiver from the cold and wet, and screwing up his ugly intelligent face as he studied them. "Certainly it is a piece of ill-luck to be caught by such weather. What an amount of water! If I had only shown caution I should have stopped an hour ago. Still fortune favoured me when I caught sight of this roof. Without it, it would be hard to say what would have happened."
The two men grunted but made no other audible response.
Conversation was indeed difficult. Peals of thunder rang out incessantly and the blinding lightning only served to show the torrential downpour which was fast converting the country into a lake. In the oncoming darkness the narrow brick hut seemed gloomy and uninviting; and the sullenness of the two men, crouching as far from the gaping doorway as possible, added to the disheartening nature of the hour.
"I am on my way to rejoin my uncle," resumed the boy still plucky as ever, and determined to profit by this opportunity to acquire information. "I have travelled nearly a hundred li but I lost my way when the storm came on. What is the nearest village?"
"Langfang," said one of the two abruptly.
"Langfang," he echoed, starting up in his excitement in spite of his fatigue. Then, fearful that he had acted his part badly by betraying unaccountable emotion, he sank back again in his semi-recumbent position against the wall.
Langfang....
He had reached the very spot where the foreign army had been a month before—where a great battle had taken place. His master had described to him how urgent messages had come from here—four in the space of two days—declaring that the army was advancing as fast as possible—fighting as it advanced and repairing the railway which was being attacked and destroyed by countless levies. But after those messages, there had been a great silence which had lasted so long that a consuming fear had come. Had all been massacred? No one knew, no one had been able to discover the slightest hint as to what had happened. That was why he was here; that was why he had been sent out as a folorn hope.
As he thought these thoughts he stole nearer the gaping doorway in spite of the splashing rain which blew in in great gusts. Now he pretended to be closely studying the prospect. He must find out something further.
"It is lifting a bit to the west," he exclaimed, pointing with a hand to a spot where the inky blackness was indeed giving way to light. "If the wind comes there will be a chance of its ceasing. I estimate the worst is over—the lightning and thunder are certainly less."—He turned. "Tell me: was there not fighting here last month? It was so rumoured in our locality?"
The man nearest him answered. He seemed to speak reluctantly as of matters which he wished to forget.
"It is so. The foreign devils came along the railway as far as the station which is six li from here. For two days in our village we heard the firing which continued without ceasing even during the night. Some of our people saw the foreign soldiers on this embankment extending many li, with big guns on the trains. It was said that they were sailors from ships. But great numbers of our regiments surrounded them, and in the end all were killed."
"All were killed—none were left?" cried the boy.
"Who knows!" rejoined the man sullenly as if this talk was increasingly distasteful to him. "So we were told. It was not our business. Some, who ventured near afterwards, picked up weapons in the fields and many cartridges. There were cartridges scattered for many li,—baskets and baskets of them were gathered."
"But the dead—what of the dead?"
The man made an angry gesture.
"How could we know? Men armed with swords were camped everywhere and we were afraid. There were men without number. They destroyed the railway; and in the end every piece of iron and timber was carried away so that it could never be restored."
The boy's eyes never moved from the man's face. It was difficult to say whether he believed him or not.
"And now—where is the fighting now—have all the devils been driven into the sea?"
"We have no knowledge," rejoined the other gloomily. "Only we know that everywhere there is still danger. Men in our village were taken forcibly to drive wagons for our soldiers. At any moment it is said the soldiers may return."
The boy pretended to whimper:
"Ai-ya," he exclaimed again. "I must travel sixty li further to find my uncle. It is doubly dangerous for me since I do not even know the road to Yangtsun." (He named a point twenty miles farther on.)
"Yangtsun—that was safe yesterday. Two of our men returned, having made their escape from the transport service. They declared that all the soldiers had gone."
"But where—in what direction?"
"It is not known," said the man curtly because the question revived his fears. "It was enough for our fellows to be set free—they did not stop to inquire what their captors might be doing."
The boy suddenly sat down with his knees drawn up against his chest in a characteristic attitude which signified excitement which he wished to conceal. He was not as cold as he had been because he was so greatly excited. His cotton clothing was indeed beginning to dry from the heat of his body; and as he now stripped off his shoes and cloth socks he felt almost comfortable in spite of his hunger.
"These are frightening days," he exclaimed sententiously. "Truly one hears enough every hour to make one fear to live."
Now he sorted all he had heard out on a system based on an intimate knowledge of his fellow-countrymen's methods in the face of clamant danger. Probably these men, after their kind, had fled far from their village into the back country on the first inkling of trouble—they had certainly disappeared as soon as the first shots had been fired in the battle they had described. What they had related was mere hearsay which had become greatly exaggerated with the passage of time. It was certain, of course, that the foreign army had retreated; otherwise the railway would never have been so completely destroyed. But he did not believe that all had been killed. That would mean that he would only find emptiness at the end of his journey. It had been rumoured that all foreign ships had been sunk or set fire to so as to remove all possibility of flight and to secure the death of all foreign men and women. Still he did not believe that any of these things had really happened. They had been tried perhaps. That was it—tried. Experience had taught him that the foreigners were far-seeing. They would never have allowed themselves to be trapped like that.
A sudden movement roused him from this brown study. In his fatigue he had nearly dozed off. Both the men had risen and were now standing at the doorway, calculating aloud their chances of getting home. The rain had certainly greatly slackened, and although it was still coming down heavily the worst was manifestly over. But in half-an-hour it would be completely dark: it was now or never for these two.
They suddenly made up their minds. Stripping themselves naked to the waist and rolling up their loose trousers to their thighs, they stepped out with a gruff word of farewell.
Once more the boy was left to his own devices.
The moment they were gone he peered into the corner where they had been sitting. Yes—they had been grass-cutting. Two large bundles of grass were stacked in the corner. Without compunction, he tore off the sweet-potato vine which bound the bundles; distributed the grass comfortably on the ground and then plunged luxuriously into it. He knew that they would not return until the morrow and by that time he would be far away. The steady fall of the rain and the warmth of the grass soon lulled him to sleep, and in spite of his hunger, he slept with that deepness which only comes to those who toil.
When he finally awoke, the stillness and clearness of the night made him creep to the doorway and look out. It had entirely stopped raining, and every cloud had vanished. The waning moon, lower than ever in the horizon, shed a pale light over the water-logged country out of which peered the tall kaoliang in ominous black patches. As far as the eye could see it was like that; and as he stood and looked he knew that had it not been for the embankment he would have been as good as lost. It might be days before it was dry enough to travel more than short distances at a time on the roads. The sunken roads had become mere water-courses; and as for the mud in the fields that would be enough to defy the stoutest resolution.
He drew a deep breath. Certainly this was an undertaking such as he had never dreamed of. Yet he was not disheartened. He tightened his belt to lessen the gnawings of hunger and poked his fingers into his ribs which were sticking out of his thin body in a queer way. For the second time since he had started he had gone for nearly a day without food. Yet with the curious eastern passivity, which can bear anything so long as it is a mere question of patience, he waited tranquilly until the first ray of dawn before he moved.
It came at last, at about four in the morning. Grasping his staff and his little bundle he started stumblingly along the embankment which ran as straight as an arrow to the sea. He knew that he must meet people very soon; for this being the only possible road, men from the villages would inevitably gravitate towards it.
It was hardly full daylight when he reached what remained of the nearest station. This was Langfang. The buildings had been burnt, and here and there were great gaps in the walls as from shell-fire. But it was not that which set him running: it was a long spiral of grey smoke rising from a lean-to of matting and boards which had been put up against one of the brick walls. Somebody was cooking—food was in sight....
He loosened a string of cash in his belt as he ran, forgetting everything in the immense desire to eat which overcame him. A woman appeared at the door of the lean-to. She was of the poorest class, with dishevelled hair and of slatternly appearance; but behind her was a man with a bowl in his hand.
"Ta-ko (elder brother)!" he exclaimed in the manner of the people. "I have not eaten since I lost my way yesterday morning. I have yet money for a meal. Give me to eat."
He handed over his diminutive holed coins as though they were all he had in the world. The woman took them and counted them carefully before she was satisfied. Then a bowl of little millet and a trifle of salted cabbage was set before him; and he ate as though he had never eaten before.
"I will have another," he said instantly, tendering the emptied bowl.
"What," cried the woman, "you would eat all our store for one small tiao of money?"
Disdainfully he took more of the small coins from his belt and placed them in her hand.
"Give me as much as I can eat and I will pay at the rate demanded."
This time two rough flour-cakes were added to the bowl of millet for the price; and when he had finished he was given a cup of poor tea.
"The money is exhausted," said the woman when he tried to get more. But now his spirits had risen and his defiant manner had returned.
"See here," he exclaimed, taking out and ringing on a stone one of the small silver coins which the master had given him to show that it was not base metal. "I have a good coin and as I must reach Yangtsun this evening to find my uncle I will purchase enough to carry me there."
"Silver!" exclaimed the woman in the same covetous tones the priest had used. "You carry silver!"
The coin passed from the hand of the man to the hand of the woman and then back again twice before a bargain was struck. But finally it was agreed that for the price he could take the sixteen small and very rough flour-cakes that were ready.
He ate four of them as he stood there, and stowed away the others, talking to the couple with his mouth full all the while. And when the woman's back was turned he nearly emptied the coarse earthen tea-pot which she had prepared for the delectation of her man, feeling now that matters had been equalized. Then he scrambled up the embankment and hastened on.
The sun rose and he sweated just as the night before he had shivered. Presently he overtook a party of men with heavy saddlebags on their shoulders who said that they were bound for Yangtsun. His heart leaped within him as he heard that and without further ado he attached himself to them. They were all timid and frightened, but they said that there was nothing for it but to push on since their business demanded it. Also they were too much concerned about themselves and the dangers they might encounter to ask him a single question—excepting the inevitable one as to whether he had seen soldiers.
"It is said all of them have left Yangtsun," they repeated again and again to him, apparently to reassure themselves. "Otherwise we should have never started. For ten days we have been waiting in a village and now that the rains have closed the roads we decided to risk the journey along the railway. Several have done it safely already."
"You were wise, you were wise," agreed the boy, "I, too, have been forced to travel owing to death in our family. I go to find my uncle who is employed in a wine factory."
"So small and yet not alarmed," commented one wonderingly.
"What would you," rejoined the boy, "when a house is on fire even the timid must act."
This sententious remark, which he had often heard his seniors use, and which his ready memory had stored for use, so favourably impressed the three that presently when they rested they invited him to share their food. His prodigious appetite amused them—he ate everything that was offered down to the last crumb. But when one produced a leather bottle and a little pewter wine-cup and offered him a drink, his caution returned. He knew well from experience that drowsiness would rapidly come if he indulged himself.
"I am unable to use wine," he said in the set phrase of the native teetotaller.
"We trust that your uncle will reward you," they remarked approvingly.
"I am only a clumsy fellow unable to read and entirely untrained," he answered in the way which modesty and good manners demanded.
It was late afternoon before they saw the town of Yangtsun loom up in front of them. It was easy to make out, as a long low city wall flanked it. Several others had joined the party and the conversation was general, each trying to pick up something from his fellows which would reassure him.
"It is said that our soldiers are massed, less than twenty li from here, and that there is the remnants of a foreign army who have taken refuge in an arsenal opposed to them," said the latest arrival.
"Is that supposition true, do you think?" asked the boy in an undertone of the three men with the saddlebags.
"We fear so," they said in the same undertone, "for the seaport is closed to all. Our business is there and many bales of our wool are involved. Our plan is to remain in hiding in Yangtsun until it is possible to move. One way or another the fighting is sure to go. Then, by some path, we may be able to reach the seaport which we must do to save our interests from ruin."
The boy nodded.
"The soldiers are the only problem. If we avoid them all is well. There may be a way known in this town."
Now he determined to remain attached to this trio—for the time being at least—telling them when necessary that he was unable to find his uncle because he had fled.
CHAPTER XXIII
He worked ceaselessly in his head at a plan of action as they cautiously approached the township, which had once been a place of importance but had now fallen into the greatest decay. He wished to be fully provided with subterfuges against all possible contingencies. He had a deep feeling of excitement—the conviction that the great test of his ability was slowly coming nearer. For now there were but twenty miles of the journey left, and at any moment it might become imperative for him to risk everything in a quick forward rush. His intelligent eyes were here, there, and everywhere.
The others were likewise very much on the qui vive. They talked incessantly of all possible perils, commiserating with one another at being abroad in such times as these. Each step forward seemed to be taken more reluctantly than the last. Now that they were face to face with real danger, they had every wish to turn back.
A few hundred yards from the broken mud wall of the township the whole party halted as by a common impulse, wondering aloud what they should do. Then, very deliberately, they approached some country folks who had stood watching them from the distance, half-hidden behind some trees. With friendly calls and waving hands they marched up, hoping that they would hear something reassuring.
Nevertheless these people could tell them very little. They declared, however, that the reports that all the soldiers had gone for good were not quite true. Small detachments were constantly arriving and disappearing, every man in the provincial militia being mustered out to fight the foreign invader. Only that morning a body of infantry had passed this way, but whether they were still in the township they had not heard. As for the foreign devils, they had not been driven into the sea. On the contrary they had become stronger. They held all the country round the seaport, and it was said that many thousands more were pouring in. In any case fighting would continue for a long time. The foreign army was determined to march on the capital. It was not known whether the provincial troops could entirely stop them. There were disagreements among the commanders already; and shots had been exchanged.
This news was so surprising to the three wool-dealers, that they sat down on a fallen tree-trunk and began talking to one another in deep undertones. The boy muttered angrily to himself at the stupidity of these peasants. He suspected that the wool-dealers were concerting a new plan whereby they might slip away round the contending armies and reach their destination by a totally new route. Their one and only interest was their stock of wool. They had already mentioned the feasibility of making a great detour to the south to gain the coast. Then, by embarking on a junk a hundred miles or so away, they could safely reach the harbour without seeing a single soldier. This would be no doubt wise for them, but for him it would mean a delay of many days—a disastrous delay. The boy cursed them under his breath for their cowardice and wondered whether he should not leave them at once. On the other hand, if he went on alone he would be stripped of protection. Masked by their presence, no one could suspect him of being a secret messenger.
"And is there security here?" inquired one of the dealers at last terminating this confidential discussion.
The peasants shook their heads.
"How is it possible to talk of security, when we fear at any moment the resumption of fighting? As it is, until the kaoliang is cut there will be no protection from the robber-bands who lurk in the tall grain far and wide, following close on the heels of the soldiers."
"Robber bands!" cried the wool-dealers despairingly, starting up with fear.
"Yes," chorussed the peasants. "Here the bands have made so much in ransoms that they can afford to rest a while from their labours—everything has been taken from us, all our poor savings. But the country to the southeast is not yet clear. We have just heard of a man at Ko-chuan who has been carried off and held for a big sum, the ransom even including firearms. Such is the audacity of these brigands that they force their victims to send their families into the towns to buy their weapons. We ourselves were watching your honourable selves approaching, fearing some wile or stratagem; for often does it happen that these men ply their trade in the guise of innocent travellers."
The oldest of the three wool-dealers, who had grey hair and a face mottled from over-indulgence in wine, gave voice to his fears openly and unashamedly. But Wang the Ninth smiled to himself, greatly relieved. Now he knew that these three would never dare to go to the southeast to reach the coast.
"This is indeed a country without administration! The people are oppressed by dangers from within and without and it is impossible to know where to flee for safety. And the Sword Society, have we them also to expect?" Although the old wool-dealer ended the phrase indignantly, he used a polite term for fear that there might be adherents listening.
"They are those also inside the walls—" rejoined one of the countrymen, pointing to the township. "But at the beginning of the trouble the soldiers fired on them for failing to make good their promise that they were invulnerable and could instantly defeat the foreign devils. They are not highly valued here."
"We are saved from one ceremony," rejoined the dealer irately. "Six times have I kowtowed in the dust since the Sword Society was established."
"The day is not early," interrupted Wang the Ninth, anxious to make retreat impossible. "We have learnt all there is to learn. Those who intend to proceed had better delay no longer since night will soon fall."
He had been squatting motionless on his buttocks—tracing designs in the mud with his staff whilst his quick eyes looked slily from one speaker to another. Now he rose and picked his way forward through the morass which lay ahead of them, plunging and sliding in the mud and often pausing to take breath. The heavy rain had reduced this low-lying ground to a veritable quagmire, making progress very difficult even for one as unburdened as he was. As for the unfortunate wool-dealers, laden with their heavy saddlebags, they had not gone far before their cries of distress became hearty and real. They were so badly mired that it was necessary for the others to lend a hand in dragging them out.
At last they gained the tumble-down gate of the township, splashed to the shoulders and panting and sweating. Errant dogs barked at them; but the shuttered and miserable aspect of the main street showed that the place had been totally deserted by the inhabitants.
The eldest wool-dealer was now quite exhausted and raised his voice in loud, piteous complaints.
"I should have never undertaken this journey," he exclaimed, stopping short to wipe the perspiration from his lined face. "From early morning have I had great misgivings which have oppressed me. Ruin is better than such travels."
"Tso—let us proceed," said Wang the Ninth stoutly, aiming a blow at a barking cur which ran off yelping. "We shall find a sleeping-place somehow. In any case it is too late to turn back, for whither should we go?"
He walked on briskly, peering keenly in every direction, and not at all alarmed, for he knew that no one would hurt a boy when there were men with saddlebags accompanying him.
The township had indeed been picked clean by looters—that was amply clear from the ruined appearance of every shop front. The robbers had vied with the soldiers, and what was left had been rejected by both. But at last they reached a big caravansary that in times of peace catered to the cart-trade; and there sitting at a broken table in the central yard was a single servant eating his evening meal as if nothing had happened. The man declared that he had been left by his master with the promise of a great reward if he saved the premises from fire; but as for food or lodging there was nothing to be had.
A great parleying ensued; and finally in return for hard cash hidden food was produced. When Wang the Ninth had eaten his share he felt extraordinarily drowsy. Going into the first rough room he could find, he stretched himself on the raised brick k'ang and fell instantly asleep.
The talk about robbers, however, made him dream bad dreams and he saw whole hosts of evil men who conspired to torture him. Yet through it all—in spite of his alarm—he always seemed to see his master, and to hear the same strange foreign words which had urged him forward before. Once in the night he awoke with a cry, fearing for his life, and peered out. Then he saw through the broken paper windows the three wool-dealers still sitting in the courtyard drinking wine from their leather bottles and babbling their fears. The shadows from the waning moon made them look queer and strange; they were like men submerged. Half their bodies was hidden in darkness, and only when they lifted their arms to drink could he trace them clearly. The inn-servant, who had been included in this jollification, was asleep with his head on the table. His loud breathing was punctuated by groans as though the wine he had drunk was torturing him. Silently the boy crept back to his rough couch and slept once more.
When morning came he went out down the street to see whatever there was to see; but he met no one or saw no signs of life, excepting a miserable beggar who disappeared at once and whom he had no wish to follow. On returning to the inn he waited until the wool-dealers were awake; and then gave them a long account of his observations.
"It's a bad business. Everything has been taken, not a mule, not an animal, not a pig, not a chicken is to be found. There's a few beggars—that is all. My uncle, whom I came to find, has fled with the rest and all my journeying has proved fruitless."
"Then what will you do?" they inquired.
"I have no plan," he rejoined, making his face look very glum. "I must take things as I find them."
But soon afterwards, when he found the eldest wool-dealer alone, he made this proposition to him:
"My money is exhausted, so only for my food will I travel with you, finding the road and giving you early warning of danger. It will be well for you to have such a one as me, since I am fleet off foot and not timid by nature."
"We shall see, we shall see," rejoined the old man testily. "The cost is unimportant, but first must we wait here to discover the nature of the road ahead of us."
All that day was spent in fitful debate. The inn-servant, who declared he was of this district, for a handsome bribe undertook to find out from villagers the state of the road towards the next township which was ten miles off. But Wang the Ninth, who followed him stealthily, found that he went nowhere, only sitting down for a long time on a block of stone in a back street where he was well hidden; and finally returning to say that there was no trace of soldiers and that all was quiet within a great radius. Wang the Ninth began to suspect that he was in league with the robbers, and that was why he dared to remain in a place where there were hardly a dozen souls. But these suspicions he kept to himself for he was forming his plan.
That night he explained it privately to the eldest wool-dealer, drawing lines on the ground to show his meaning. He said:
"I have discovered that the river to the sea is only a few li distant from here, and that all the country is so badly flooded that if we cross the stream we can go by boat through the marshes for a long way. Then we can reach a point only a few li distant from the harbour. There will be no soldiers about, for what would soldiers be doing in marshes? As for the inn-servant he is a rascal. It would be well to leave here before he attempts some dangerous game."
The wool-dealer was so impressed by this common-sense that he called the others, and after much discussion it was finally settled that the next day they would make the attempt.
At dawn they started, creeping out of the inn very carefully so as to give no hint of their departure to the inn-servant who lay soundly asleep. They were out of the township very soon, seeing only two people who ran and hid the moment they caught sight of them. Now hastening due south they made for the river.
The sandy roads had greatly dried during the time they had delayed in the town; and now it was possible to keep to the paths which led from village to village. A couple of hours from the township they fell in with some men who were travelling in the same direction; and after these had heard where they had passed two nights they congratulated them on their escape.
"It is known that all the people in that district are in league with the brigands," explained one stout fellow who carried a staff tipped with iron and who had a big roll of bedding on his shoulder. "It can only be that the inn-drawer was waiting for his band to return before killing and robbing you."
It was Wang the Ninth's hour of triumph.
"Is not that what I declared?" he cried. "Lucky have we been to escape. From the manner in which the fellow answered my questions I knew suspicion attached to him."
"This tu-ti(apprentice) is worthy of his wage," said the eldest wool-dealer approvingly. "Certain it is that his abilities are not small."
On they went discussing their plans with the newcomers and picking up what news there was. Long before noon they caught sight of a sail, which was quite unexpected since the river was entirely hidden. Wang the Ninth ran on fleetly ahead. But when he caught sight of the bright red and blue tunics and the black turbans on the boat, he ran into the tall grain and signed violently with his hands to the others to hide. They, too, dropped out of sight like marionettes.
From out of the kaoliang the boy now peered, his brown face hardly distinguishable from the soil. Now he worked his way forward like a scout.
The boat sailed on and presently there was a sharp crack from a rifle. Gaining in courage he crept into the reeds on the very edge of the river so that he could see.
The soldiers were firing violently now one after the other. The boy's quick mind instantly jumped to the right conclusion. Being powerless to navigate a boat properly, they were pursuing and shooting at the boatmen who had fled.
Suddenly the vessel grounded a few hundred yards away. Wang the Ninth saw the soldiers, furious with rage, leap one by one from the boat and scramble on shore. The sound of firing became fainter, showing that the pursuit was leading them far away.
It was now or never. Fairly crazy with excitement he ran back to the wool-dealers who lay tremblingly awaiting the upshot.
"Now is the time for us," he cried. "There is not a soul left. Let us seize the boat and cross to the south bank. Then we are safe."
He did not wait for a reply: he ran on ahead. The wool-dealers and the two men they had met followed cautiously a good many yards behind, doubting his words yet hoping that they were true. But when they saw him reach the boat and signal that all was clear, they ran too; and in a hurried clumsy manner got on board and by their united efforts pushed the boat off, towards the south shore.
CHAPTER XXIV
The river was less than a hundred yards wide here, and the five men and the boy had enough skill to get the boat across with rapidity. The big man with the iron-pronged stick, seizing an oar, rowed frantically. One of the wool-dealers aided him by poling with desperation until the water became too deep. And as a little breeze filled the hoisted sail, they swung on to the opposite shore at a point far lower down than they had embarked.
It was this circumstance which saved their lives. For Wang the Ninth, sitting astride of the tiller, and turning back constantly to look suddenly gave a great leap and was out of the boat before there was time to realize what he was doing.
"Lai-la, lai-la (they have come)!" he screamed as he tumbled across the mud with the agility of a frog. He had seen a glint of red in the reeds on the opposite shore—just a glint—but that was enough.
The others, being less nimble, crawled out using the sail as a screen. Then, trembling violently, all of them disappeared quickly enough into the reeds which grew rank and high. Distant voices shouting curses were audible as they went; but the rifles they feared did not speak. The soldiers were running along the opposite bank fairly mad with rage; it was evident that they knew the country and were holding their fire until they could be certain of their quarry.
The fugitives had not gone twenty yards before they discovered that the great clumps of reeds were no real protection; for the ground was so marshy that the only safe road was the tracking-path beside the river. Already they were surrounded by mud and water. The soldiers counted on their certain reappearance when they would begin their shooting.
It was the big fellow with the iron-pronged stick who explained this to them all in a guttural whisper, when they reached the end of the solid ground and stood in an irresolute group. Some wild-fowl rising almost from under their feet with a screech startled them all so badly that they turned deadly pale.
"A pretty dilemma!" exclaimed one of the wool-merchants in a hoarse whisper. "We cannot advance; we dare not retreat. And if we remain here too long, in the end the soldiers will find another boat to carry them across and exact vengeance, or perhaps fire chance shots, hoping to bring us down. Far better had we never moved."
But Wang the Ninth was not idle. He had stripped off his shoes and his trousers and had commenced wading in a new direction. Soon he was lost to sight, even his splashing becoming inaudible. But after a long wait he reappeared, forcing his way through the reeds from a different direction.
"I have found a bank of dry land. How far it extends I have not learnt, but if all follow it may be that we can reach safety."
There was nothing to do but to imitate his example, and soon all were splashing through the mud and water to where he awaited them. A half-submerged bank of earth, which may have been a forgotten dyke, stretched away through the reeds, and although it soon narrowed down to a path just broad enough to walk on, it led them far away from the river—straight to the south.
Their spirits rose so rapidly as they progressed that now they began to talk almost gaily.
"It is a reed-cutters' path, that is absolutely certain," asserted Wang the Ninth. "Soon we must reach a village, for this is an important trade and I know well how this business is carried on."
"This boy is right," agreed the man with the iron-pronged stick. "Certainly he is right: there is already smoke from some chimney."
It was even as he said. Soon from out of the dense reeds they heard the sound of cries and a scurrying of feet.
"Shui—(who is that)?" a voice called threateningly.
"We are travellers—we require to be shown the road," they called, one after the other, keeping up a perpetual chorus for fear of what would happen if they remained silent.
Rounding the last clump of reeds they saw a village of mud huts. In front of a small open space, on which were piled masses of dried reeds, stood a big fellow stripped to the waist with a formidable jingal in his hand; and at his side were some barking dogs. He was evidently prepared for the worst.
His expression slowly changed as they came in view. The appearance of the wool-dealers, heavily laden with their saddlebags and greatly exhausted by their efforts, was certainly eminently peaceful; and now as their chorus of explanations redoubled, a new-found courage displayed itself in his roughness.
"What talk of seeking a road is this!" he exclaimed angrily. "This is a small poor village surrounded by water, where we risk starvation from year to year and where there is nothing for others."
They answered him in a storm of talk speaking so much of soldiers that fear returned to him.
"If they pursue you it is best for you to proceed quickly," he rejoined, not listening to them. "Here are women and children who cannot be imperilled."
"But the road, the road," they cried. "We cannot fail to pay you your stipulated price."
At the mention of money the reed-cutter rubbed his face with one horny hand.
"Those who ask aid must make it worth while," he declared ambiguously. "I was left here by our folk to protect the households. If I go who is there to insure safety?"
A long and animated argument commenced; and as it progressed, slowly and cautiously the denizens of the village approached—slatternly women in torn blue clothing with babies in their arms, and half-grown girls, and small boys, all the offspring of a mating carried on as in primeval forests, and now stricken with fear.
At length the price was settled, and the reed-cutter led them to where a small flat-bottomed boat was concealed in the reeds. This it was necessary to carry a considerable distance; but finally it was launched where there was a clear water-passage. It was just big enough to embark them all; and with the reed-cutter poling them, they slowly travelled away from the scene of the day's adventure.
The sun was already low when the man stopped and pointed to a spot a few hundred yards away.
"There will I take you," he said. "Farther I cannot go. From there a good road leads to the seaport which is distant some eighty li."
"Eighty li," they cried in alarm. "This morning when we started we were but sixty li off."
"But you have travelled far to the southeast. This is the southeastern road. In any case it is eighty li."
They paid the price agreed upon and started off without further discussion. Although Wang the Ninth had chattered all the way in the boat now he had nothing to say.
He was thinking—thinking of what the villagers had said two days ago about the country to the southeast. This was the robber country. He did not dare to give voice to his suspicions because that might bring the whole party to a halt.
A mile or two further on a small green snake slid across the road and disappeared into the undergrowth.
"A snake crosses the road," he cried. "There will be heavy weather soon."
A few hundred yards farther on a second snake crossed the road going so rapidly and viciously that it was almost impossible to follow with the eyes.
The boy opened his mouth but closed it without speaking. Two snakes—what did two snakes mean? It was something unlucky he had once heard; but he never thought that it might simply come from the undergrowth being disturbed by hidden feet. He was trying to think of the explanation—he knew there was an explanation—when the warning was made clear. A half-a-dozen men, with hideous painted masks over their faces, leaped out of the growing grain and fired from their hips. Crack, crack, crack went the shots. Wang the Ninth, stricken with alarm, threw himself instinctively on the ground, and wriggled into the kaoliang amidst the cries and groans of the others who never left the road.
He was alone once more—in the growing grain—perhaps twenty miles from his destination.