Chapter 43

When the man was within twenty yards of the fugitives, he caught sight of their knives, and, stopping suddenly, exclaimed in pidgin English:

'What for knives? my plenty good Clistian man. My no knives, no shootee gun, no nothin'.'

As he spoke, he held up his hands to show that he was unarmed, and, with perfect confidence in their honour, advanced in that fashion.

'Who are you?' Charlie asked, as the thin, wizened, but lively little Chinaman stood before them.

'Number One cook. Welly good cook for missionally man.'

'What for wantee catchee us?' Fred inquired.

'Englisheeman takee to missionally.'

'How you savvy we Englisheeman?'

'Englisheeman pigtail plenty good,' Number One cook explained, but added the unflattering information that 'Englisheeman no can hide welly much funny nose, welly much funny eyes, welly much funny mouth.'

Ping Wang, having recovered his breath, took up the conversation, Charlie and Fred meanwhile keeping a sharp look-out for Boxers. When they had walked quickly about a quarter of a mile, Ping Wang brought his conversation in Chinese to a close.

'This man says,' he informed the Pages, 'that he is employed at the mission station for which we are bound. He had been sent up-country by the missionaries on business, and was returning through Kwang-ngan when he saw the anti-foreign placard. He did the same thing as we did--hurried to the gates--but did not reach them until after they were closed. Being hungry, he went back to get some food, and on his way to the shop he met a sleepy Boxer, who had apparently just come from an opium den. Number One said to himself, "I will have that head-cloth," and he took it, giving the Boxer his own hat instead. Then, after a while, he made his way to the gates, arriving there just as the Boxers were marching out. He declares that he knew that both of you were Englishmen the moment he saw you. He kept his eyes on us, and decided to join us.'

'Does he think that the rising will spread?' Charlie asked.

'He is sure it will, and he means to urge Barton and his friends to leave the country as quickly as possible.'

Being now about half a mile ahead of the Boxers, the two Englishmen and the two Chinamen made their way back to the track, and, after walking quickly for another hour, arrived at the gates of Su-ching, which they had hoped not to re-enter until they brought with them Ping Wang's treasure. The gates were open, but the soldiers who guarded the entrance to the town had thrown off their usual air of apathy, and were questioning eagerly every man who came from the direction of Kwang-ngan. On seeing four Boxers approaching, they hurried forward to meet them.

'Are the Boxers coming quickly to kill the foreigners?' they asked, excitedly.

'They are,' Ping Wang answered. 'Listen and you will hear them shouting.'

The noise of the advancing mob reached them as a faint, buzzing sound, but loud enough to convince the soldiers that the Boxers were really coming. They were anxious to ask Ping Wang and his companions more questions, but Ping Wang cut short their questions.

'We bear a message,' he declared, 'and we must deliver it at once. We have run quickly, for we did not carry rifles. But now that we have finished running, give us rifles, in case we meet any foreigners.'

To the soldiers this request appeared to be a perfectly reasonable one, and, knowing that the mandarin and other town officials sympathised with the Boxers, they took from the armoury, which was close by, four Snider rifles, and handed them out to Ping Wang, with ammunition.

Feeling safe once more, Ping Wang and his friends hurried off in the direction of the mandarin's house; but, as soon as they got out of sight of the soldiers, Number One exclaimed, 'This way welly much more quick,' and turned up a narrow side-street. The Pages and Ping Wang followed him, and in about three minutes they arrived at the wall of the mission station, which they saw was already placarded with anti-foreign manifestoes. They rang the bell, but some minutes passed, and the gate was not opened. They rang again, loudly, and a minute later they heard Barton inquire, in Chinese, who they were.

'Missionalies,' Number One answered, quite convinced that Charlie and Fred were missionaries.

'Where from?' Barton asked, for one of his native servants had already turned traitor, and he was now very cautious.

'It's all right, Mr. Barton!' Charlie sang out. 'We are the Pages, Ping Wang, and your Number One cook.'

'That's splendid!' Barton declared, and, although they could not see him, they knew by his voice that their arrival was welcome. 'Wait a moment,' he continued; 'the gate is barricaded, but I will lower a ladder to you. Here you are!' he called down a minute later, and on looking up they saw him lowering from the top of the wall a long bamboo ladder. When it touched the ground they planted it firmly.

'You go first, Number One,' Charlie said, in a tone that showed he meant to be obeyed.

'Welly good,' Number One replied, and went up the ladder as nimbly as if it were his usual way of entering the mission station.

Fred followed Number One, and Charlie asked to be the last, but Ping Wang objected.

'Hurry up!' Barton sang out, and Ping Wang, seeing that Charlie was determined to be the last man up, climbed the ladder. Just as he reached the top, and as Charlie planted his foot on the lowest rung, three men, with knives in their hands, came running up, and Charlie was unaware of his danger; but Fred saw the scoundrels, and slipping a cartridge into the breach of his rifle he took aim, fired, and shot the foremost man. The other two, who had not expected any danger, turned about and fled in terror.

'Fred,' Charlie said, when he had climbed over the wall, 'you saved my life.' Then he turned to Barton. 'I see that you are prepared for the Boxers,' he said. 'We were afraid that we shouldn't get here in time to warn you of their approach.'

'Are they on their way, then?'

'They will be here in ten minutes at the latest.'

Barton sighed. 'I had been hoping,' he said, 'that the Empress-Dowager would have had the Boxers suppressed before they would be able to reach here. I am afraid, however, that she is secretly encouraging them. It is a great sorrow to my colleagues and myself to find ourselves arming against the people among whom we have lived on friendly terms for some years. However, we must protect our women and children. Since you left us, eight men, five women, and four children have joined us. Some of them have suffered terribly in their flight from the Boxers. Their own mission stations have been destroyed, and many of their fellow-missionaries were murdered. Consequently we may have to fight.'

'How many European men have you, and what weapons?' Fred asked.

'Thirteen, counting you and your brother, and we have eight rifles and five revolvers. That is not including your Sniders.'

'But what about provisions?' Charlie asked.

'I have got a good stock, and I think we can stand a month's siege. Of course it won't last quite so long now you are here.'

The other missionaries now joined them, in answer to Barton's summons. The majority were young men, but two were middle-aged, and one a grey-bearded old gentleman. Each had his rifle or revolver, and, although they did not wish to be forced to fight, they had the determined looks of men who knew that their cause was a good one, and were prepared to die in its defence. Their positions at the wall had been settled some hours before, but the arrival of the Pages, Ping Wang, and Number One made a fresh arrangement necessary.

'I will post you above the gate, with Ping Wang, and Number One, as you call him,' Barton said to Fred, adding, 'I will make Charlie my lieutenant.'

'That won't do,' Charlie declared. 'I know nothing about military matters, but Fred does. He's a Volunteer, and a jolly good shot into the bargain. Make him your lieutenant.'

'Very well. Then you go over the gate.'

Charlie took up his position on a platform built over the gateway, on the inner side of the wall. Ping Wang was on his right, and Number One on his left.

'I came to the conclusion,' Barton said, as he showed Fred the defences, 'that it would be risky to make loopholes in the wall, in case, after a time, we should be unable to place a man at each. Therefore we built those platforms.'

The platforms were built at intervals around the wall, each having room for six or seven men. The defenders would have to shoot over the top of the wall, but cover had been provided for them by sandbags fixed securely along the ridge.

'Our women workers made those sandbags,' Barton remarked. 'They used table-cloths, rugs, curtains, and even some of their own dresses. They have been a great help to us.'

'By-the-bye, do your colleagues know how to handle their rifles?' Fred inquired.

'Mr. Wilkins, that old gentleman with the grey beard, was a good shot forty years ago; but from the time he first left England, until yesterday, he hadn't touched a rifle. However, he was practising yesterday and to-day, and I have no doubt that he will do well. My other colleagues had never handled a rifle in their lives until this morning, when I gave them a little instruction. I was a member of the Oxford University Corps.'

'We ought to make a good defence then,' said Fred. 'But we must keep a sharp eye on the ammunition, and see that it isn't wasted.'

'That reminds me that my man got a fine Lee-Metford and a large box of ammunition. They were sold to him at a low price by a boatman who, I suspect, had stolen them at one of the treaty ports. As the rifle was strange to me I held it back until I had time to learn how to fill the magazine. Would you like to have it?'

'I should, very much.'

They hurried to the verandah of the house where the Lee-Metford and ammunition lay. Fred picked up the rifle and, after examining it closely, recognised it as the very one which he had used with good effect against the river pirates. He was about to tell Barton of his discovery when loud shouts from the town made known to them that the Boxers had arrived. Fred pulled off his skull-cap, filled it with cartridges, and followed Barton down the steps and up on to the platform, where Charlie, Ping Wang, and Number One were stationed.

(_Continued on page 386._)

TOYS FROM THE STREETS.

Who does not know the Street Toy-man? 'All made to work! Here you are, sir, a real motor-car for a penny! The wonderful jumping frog!'

Cheapside and Ludgate Hill, and many less busy parts of London, ring with such cries for a month before Christmas. All the year round the hawkers are standing patiently on the curbstone with their wonderful penn'orths; but it is at Christmas-time that they do most business. Some children are fortunate enough to be taken by their parents to see the streets at Christmas-time, and sometimes they are allowed to buy some of the pretty things for themselves. But there are many others not so fortunate, who can only look on wistfully, and others again who are not rich enough or, perhaps, too ill even to go and look at the sights. Poor men and women, who cannot really afford even a penny, find in the hawkers' wares the cheapest market, and many a bare, cold home is brightened at Christmas by one or two of the little toys that cost so little, but bring so much happiness.

These toys have a wonderful history of their own. Do you know that when you have one of them in your hand, you may be holding what has come thousands of miles over sea and land from the hands of other children in distant countries? Whole families make a living by manufacturing these toys. The material--wood, paper, tinsel, wire, or what not--is given out at the factory, and the worker takes it home. There every one is busy; one cutting out pieces of paper of a given shape, one whittling pieces of wood to fit together, one gumming up the various parts, till the whole toy is finished and added to a growing pile. Nearly every civilised country has such workers--Austria, Germany, France, America, Japan, and England; and the toys in the end travel mile after mile in great ships and trains, to be sold in the streets for such a little sum!

Now think how some of these are made. Most of those which require gumming or fitting together are the work of man's hands alone. The birdcage and dog musical-box in the illustration are of this kind. In the inside of the box under the dog is a little cogged wheel, which, when the handle is turned, rubs against pieces of metal and produces the musical sounds. The bird's song, or rather, croak, is caused by air rushing through a sort of parchment tissue when the floor of the cage is compressed. The train, carman, cart, and trailer are made almost entirely by means of moulds, though some parts have to be fitted together by hand. First of all, a model is made in wax or clay, or some other substance, then a cast is taken of it in plaster of Paris, then a double mould (in two pieces) is made from the plaster cast, and into these moulds liquid metal--an alloy mainly composed of lead--is run, and left to cool. All these five toys have wheels that move. They are electro-gilt--that is, the gilding is fixed on them by means of a bath through which an electric current passes.

The other toys in the illustration are made mainly by hand, though parts have to be cast in moulds or cut by machinery. The monkey bicyclist is hand-made; his body is composed of wool and wire. The weight hanging down under the string keeps him perfectly balanced, and as the string is raised or lowered he runs up and down more easily than a good many human bicyclists.

(_Continued on page 389._)

THE CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN.

The differences in general appearance of the men of various races are most striking. No one could mistake a Chinaman for a North American Indian, or a Negro for a Malay or a Maori. Not only are these men of various races different in outward appearance, but they have also minds of different characters, and seem naturally fitted for different kinds of work.

The Chinaman has his own special fields of labour. He is a great trader with the countries near home, and sends out many junks to the East Indies, the Malay Islands, and the South Sea Islands, to collect edible birds' nests, trepang, ornamental woods, pearls, pearl-shells, tortoise-shell, and the skins of birds of paradise. At Singapore, there are hundreds of Chinese shopkeepers, who sell all kinds of miscellaneous articles, such as penknives, cotton thread, writing-paper, gunpowder, and corkscrews, often at a price which would be considered cheap even in England.

But it is when the Chinaman settles in some American or Australian town that his special abilities are best seen. He is surrounded and outnumbered by Englishmen and Americans, and is entirely under their government; and yet there are some kinds of work which he can do so well and so cheaply that no European can compete with him. He is an excellent gardener in a small way, and if he can obtain only a very little plot of ground, he will cultivate it so constantly and so carefully that he will be able to maintain himself in comfort with the money which he obtains from the sale of his vegetables and fruits. Many gardens belonging to Chinamen are to be seen on the outskirts of the cities of Australia and New Zealand, and early in the morning the Chinamen hawk their products through the streets.

The Chinaman is equally good as a laundryman, and in some cities the Chinese colonists do the whole of the laundry-work. In San Francisco, where there are thousands of Chinese, all the washing is performed by them. They work in the open air, just as the English and Scotch women used to do in their public washing-grounds, standing in the water rubbing and wringing their clothes. They have a curious practice in ironing, of spraying the linen with water through their mouths. They do the work very thoroughly, and at the same time cheaply. A Chinaman will live very comfortably on forty pounds a year, and, as he is an almost incessant worker, he can make sufficient money for his needs by work which is very poorly paid from an Englishman's point of view.

A BUSY WORLD.

What a busy world is this! Everything I view Has some task it must not miss-- Something it must do; There is nothing idle stands, All things work with head or hands.

All day long the busy Sun Runneth through the skies, And its work is never done Till the stars arise: Then it goes to other lands, Nor one moment idle stands.

In this world where all things work, I must busy be; There are tasks I must not shirk, Duties set for me; And since nothing idle stands, I must work with head or hands.

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1805.

VII.--REPTON, THE CONVICT.

It was the last day of the Winter Assize, in the year 1805, and a long row of prisoners stood in the dock of the court to receive the sentence of death.

Sixteen men to be hanged! It seems quite incredible now, but a hundred years ago the death sentence was given indiscriminately for offences of all sorts, some so trivial as hardly to deserve the name. For instance, the man of sixty, who stood first in the dock, had snatched a ham from a shop-door, to take to some starving children at home; and the country lad of some eighteen years or less, at the other end of the row, had set fire to a rick--it was an accident, it is true, but a quantity of hay had been burnt; the jury found him 'guilty,' and he was to be hanged with the rest.

Poor lad! The judge's words fell on his ear like strokes of a heavy hammer. Surely they could not be meant for him! It was but a few days ago that he had been a happy, careless lad, shouting and laughing over a bonfire in which he and some friends were to roast potatoes. A high wind got up suddenly, and some sparks from their fire were carried to a hay-rick at some little distance, and at once there was a blaze!

The other lads slunk away, terrified at the mishap, but this lad, Repton by name, ran up, and tried to stamp out the flames, and so was taken 'red-handed,' as the angry farmer expressed it, and was there and then lodged in the county jail.

And now he was to die! He sat in a corner of the dark underground room, dazed and miserable, whilst the men round him, sentenced like himself, were talking and laughing, and trying by these means to put away the thought of their fate. But Repton was stupefied with anguish, till at last merciful sleep overcame him.

He was roused next morning by the jailor, who said, roughly enough, 'You've escaped the gallows this time, lad. A reprieve has come for you.'

'Am I free? Can I go home?' asked the lad eagerly, not understanding the man's words.

The jailor burst out laughing. 'Free! What are you thinking of? Folks can't burn ricks, and be free. You are to be transported to Botany Bay for ten years, and then you will be free.'

* * * * *

The six months which Repton had to pass on the hulks at Sheerness among scenes of wickedness and brutality seemed afterwards like a bad dream, and the lad prayed--oh, so earnestly!--to be kept from the evil which surrounded him. Then came the day when, chained two and two, he and his companions were marched through the streets and shipped on board the _Neptune_, as unseaworthy a craft as ever sailed the ocean, but thought good enough for convicts.

However, the _Neptune_ did not sink; but she took nearly a year to reach her destination, and the convicts, stowed together in the hold, suffered torments from heat and thirst in the tropics. Then small-pox broke out amongst them, and many died; the rest were more like skeletons than living men, when the _Neptune_ at last cast anchor in Botany Bay. Here the men had to work on Government buildings, and at night were locked up in barracks, hardly more roomy or airy than the hold of the old _Neptune_.

Most of the convicts did as little work, and gave as much trouble as they dared, and nothing but fear of the overseer kept them from open mutiny. At last, finding the overseer alone one day, and for once unarmed, two or three of the worst convicts set upon him, and would have murdered him, if Repton had not stood by him and helped him till assistance came to overpower the mutineers.

The overseer did not forget this act of Repton's, and next time one of the merchants came to the barracks to choose a servant from among the convicts (as was then the custom), he recommended the lad for the coveted post.

Now, indeed, Repton felt almost happy for the first time since his conviction. He was still a convict, it is true, and might be flogged at his master's will, or be sent back to the convict barracks, if he misconducted himself in any way. But, for the moment, he was actually free; he lived in a little shed of his own next the stable, and groomed the horses as a free man; and the relief of no longer being herded with wicked men, day and night, was too great for words.

Repton loved horses, too, and took such care of his master's beautiful mare, and the little girl's pony, that there never was any fault to be found with him. As the months went on, he was trusted more and more by both master and mistress, and treated more like a humble friend than a despised convict.

Those were lawless days in the Colony; convicts were constantly escaping into the bush, where they lived as they could--often venturing out to rob houses, or attacking and plundering, sometimes even murdering, solitary travellers.

Mr. Edmonds, Repton's master, had a house in a somewhat lonely position, half-a-mile or more from any neighbour. He was, however, a man prepared for all emergencies, and, as he was known to be well provided with fire-arms, and not afraid to use them, his house had hitherto been left unmolested.

One night, however--a dark, stormy night--Repton was roused by the sound of steel grating against something. Listening more intently, he heard whispers, and finally came to the conclusion that men were trying to force open the house-door. Then it suddenly flashed into Repton's mind that Mr. Edmonds had been summoned hastily away that very evening by a message from a sick friend on the other side of the town, and there was no one in the house but a young nursemaid to protect the mistress and her little girl.

Hastily flinging on his clothes, he crept up in the darkness, and, getting behind the two men, who had by this time almost forced the door, he felled one of them to the ground with a well-aimed blow. The other, however, turned savagely on Repton, and the two were soon locked in fight. The burglar was, however, the heavier man of the two, and things were going badly for Repton, whose strength was all but exhausted, when the welcome sound of horses' hoofs was heard, and Mr. Edmonds came galloping up.

'Help, help, master!' cried Repton. 'Here, I cannot hold him much longer!'

Mr. Edmonds sprang from his horse, and came to him, and, with the lad's help, both burglars were bound hand and foot, and left in an outhouse till the police could fetch them away.

Then Repton's turn came, and his master shook him by the hand, convict though he was, and thanked him for his bravery, and he was taken indoors, where Mrs. Repton with her own hands brought some soothing lotion to bathe his wounds.

Nor was this the end. Mr. Edmonds, who had great influence with the Governor, obtained in time a free pardon for Repton, and set him up in business, and now some of the most respected families in Australia are the descendants of Repton the Convict.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(_Continued from page 379._)