Part 3

Hing Fai remained for some minutes deep in thought and oblivious of the beggar; then he ordered his servants to take the man away and feed him. Wang’s appearance as he left the presence still bore the mark of abject humility, but inwardly he exulted: he had sown the seeds of distrust, which he hoped would eventually lead to the sacking of the Mission Station and a fair share of loot to himself. Hing Fai sank into a deep reverie after the departure of the beggar. He thought of the foreign devils and of the religion they preached, of which he had taken the trouble to make some inquiries. He knew that the foreign devils had a house near his compound, and that the meanest and worst characters occasionally attended their worship; but that these people could possibly menace his prosperity came to him as an astounding idea, and one scarcely to be credited.

Hing Fai and the Rev. Arthur Jones were both good men in their way—both honest, and both hardworking; but one was a Christian Welsh missionary and the other a Chinese Buddhist merchant. The Rev. Jones was small, near-sighted, and very hardworking, and his wife resembled him in these three particulars. For some two years they had conducted their mission and school near the house of Hing Fai, and once the foreign devils had become a familiar sight the heads of the wealthier Chinese concerned themselves little with the doings of the missionaries.

The Rev. Jones was now about to accomplish one of his pet ambitions, namely, to build a real church. So far, divine worship had been conducted in the school-house attached to the mission, but the pastor’s honest work had at last been recognised by the authorities at home, and a small corrugated iron chapel had been sent him in sections. This chapel was now in course of construction, and the devilish mind of Wang, the beggar, had seized on its building as a chance to better himself; and by him the first seeds of distrust had been sown in the mind of Hing Fai. All day Hing Fai remained deep in thought, and even the blandishments of the beautiful Mah Su, his wife, did little to rouse him from his state of mental depression.

The next day, Hing Fai, when going to his business house in the town, observed the grey iron building of the foreign devil. As the horrid Wang had implied, the structure was growing to an inordinate height. It began to rear a sharp-pointed tower above the house of Hing Fai—that is to say, far higher than the roof of Hing Fai’s residence, and so lofty that its pointed spire intervened between Hing Fai’s residence and the hills at the back of the town.

Hing Fai certainly thought his good fortune was likely to be seriously affected by this building; but being a just man, he was not anxious to hastily jump at a conclusion and lay the blame of his recent losses on the Mission Station. However, that veiled hint of the beggar’s still stuck in his mind, and on reaching his office he found that one of his most trusted clerks had absconded with some nine hundred taels. The amount of money lost was not excessive, but still it had an effect on Hing Fai, considering his losses of the previous day. Business was carried on as usual for some days, and Hing Fai was still undecided as to whether the foreign joss-house was working him evil or not. Still the corrugated iron edifice grew under the Rev. Jones’ direction, and the despicable Wang had for days lain hidden from view, advancing no further theories. By everyone in the town it was understood that the missionaries had come for their own good. No one was such a fool as to think that these people worked for nothing; but as workers they were entitled to whatever they earned—that was only justice. Now it occurred to Hing Fai that possibly the foreigners were seeking to get influence on their side; but how could it possibly benefit them to injure his trade? Hing Fai possessed the ordinary amount of contempt for foreigners that all Chinese have, but he decided to visit the Rev. Jones and in a Chinese roundabout way try to find out if he really intended to do injury to his business. It would never occur to a Chinaman to say, “Why do you build so high a house? Do you intend by so doing to overwhelm my house, and so cause my downfall?” No, a Chinaman would act differently.

Thus he called at the house of the Rev. Jones and the proper salutations were gone through. Hing Fai kindly made inquiries as to the Rev. Jones’ reverend father, his grandfather, their health, their ages, the age of the Rev. Jones, his health, his business, and the prospects of the rice crops. The Rev. Jones had a good knowledge of the vernacular, but he was completely mystified as to the reason for this visit. Hing Fai then talked of towns, of dwellings and houses, and after much circumlocution touched on the new building of the mission.

“Why do you build this tall grey metal building?” said Hing Fai, “and for what purpose?”

“It is for a house of worship—in fact, a small temple,” replied the Rev. Jones.

“And you are building a sharp-pointed tower?”

“Yes; it is a spire,” replied the missionary.

“Do you store valuables there, or is it a place of refuge?” inquired the Chinaman.

“No,” replied the missionary, “we use it for no purpose.”

“But it costs money to build,” interjected Hing Fai.

“Yes, but then it points to heaven and leads men’s minds in that direction.”

Hing Fai was astonished. Here, thought he, he had found a most complete liar. A man who built a watch-tower (for some purpose unknown), spent money on it, and then said it was simply to point to heaven. He could hardly restrain himself, but to all appearances calm, he replied: “Points to heaven! So does a man when he walks, so does a tree, so does every blade of grass, so do the hills, and so does nearly everything on earth except worms and snakes.” Hing Fai then left, more deeply suspicious of the Christians than ever. So these two parted, and each worked in his own way. Now a period of distress fell on the province of Fo Kien; crops failed, continual drought prevented the young rice growing, and then, when the rains did come, and the young rice was some six inches in height, floods came and washed rice and fields and everything away. Hing Fai’s business grew worse and worse; the Rev. Jones’ spire continued to grow; and the hard times drove many a starving coolie to embrace Christianity so as to procure some dole of rice for himself and family. To Hing Fai it seemed that his own gradual ruin was but keeping step with the growing popularity of the mission-house. With the famine came the pestilence, and the district, in addition to being impoverished, was attacked by cholera. The river was now filled with blackened and swollen corpses. The people were too poor to buy coffins, so the dead were wrapped in matting and thrown into the river; sometimes three or four corpses were made up into a bundle, rolled in a mat, and thrown into the stream at one time for the sake of economy. Rich as well as poor were attacked, and the wife of Hing Fai succumbed to the disease. Hing Fai’s sorrow was great: his business losses seemed as nothing beside the loss of his beloved wife; and while in this state of anger against fate came to him the evil Wang.

Hing Fai was willing to accept his fate as such, but Wang, the beggar, for his own ends, wished to arouse Hing Fai’s anger against the missionaries. The beggar approached in the most abjectly humble manner, and having been bidden to speak, began thus: “Of the recent severe loss of the honourable Hing Fai this contemptible person will not speak, but what of the foreign devils who have built a tower to overlook this graceful residence? Know! O honourable Hing Fai, their wicked actions increase. They have begun to compass your ruin, and now they compass the ruin of the whole neighbourhood. Both of them suffer from bad eyes and find spectacles a necessity, and now, behold! they are buying our children, and for what purpose? Why, to take their eyes out and heal their own diseased vision by the application of certain medicines cruelly concocted from the eyes of our own innocents.”

Hing Fai signified that he did not credit the suspicions of Wang, and curtly dismissed him.

The truth was that the Rev. Jones in this season of famine found that the poor starving mothers were willing to sell him their children to save them from starvation. The missionary bought them, intending to bring them up in the Christian faith. Unfortunately most of the children when bought were moribund, and the Rev. Jones soon found that he was continually employed as grave-digger for the purpose of disposing of the pitiful corpses of his tiny converts.

Owing to the famine, Hing Fai’s business went from bad to worse, his pecuniary losses were considerable, and he took to brooding over his misfortunes, so that the evil words of Wang soon took such a hold of his mind that he began to imagine that the Christians had bewitched him by the erection of their spire. Soon his hatred grew and grew, he took stimulants to assuage his troubles and promote sleep, but soon the idea that the missionaries had exerted an evil influence on the whole of his life became paramount in his mind. Suspicion now grew in the minds of all the neighbours of the mission. The Rev. Jones’ compound had become full of graves; he continued to purchase infants, and had found it necessary to bury the baby corpses outside his grounds. The accursed Wang took on himself one night to dig up one of the newly-buried babes. The eyeballs had fallen in in the ordinary course of decomposition, and this the beggar showed to all and pointed out as proof against the foreign devils. It was obvious to all that the missionary and his wife had bad eyes, as they wore spectacles, and here was an explanation of their purchase of babies, to take their healthy eyes to make medicine to cure their own diseased vision. The feeling became acute in the district,—such inhuman monsters must perish. The poor people, being already rendered desperate by hunger, were ready for any excess. Moreover, Wang, in an impassioned speech, said that their misfortunes, the famine even, were all produced by the workings of the foreign devils and the evil influence of their tower. The people were frenzied, mad, and made clamorous for blood by this speech.

“We will go to the honourable Hing Fai,” said Wang, “and get him to lead us against our common enemy.”

The whole crowd, lusting and thirsting for blood, surged to the house of Hing Fai, calling on him as their deliverer. Hing Fai was partly drunk, and in a state of recklessness born of his misfortunes. The clamour of the rabble had its effect, and, arming himself with a sword, he led the rabble against the mission-house with shouts and the glare of many torches. The gates of the mission compound were closed, as the noise of the crowd had already penetrated the mission, and they feared the intrusion of disorderly persons, imagining that some drunken carousals had taken place in the neighbourhood. The gate was soon broken down by Hing Fai’s orders, and someone slew the aged gate-keeper. The sight of blood roused the lust of killing in the famished and misery-stricken crowd; headed by Hing Fai they rushed through the compound, hacking and maiming the terror-stricken Chinese servants, straight to the missionaries’ house. The Rev. Jones stood in the lighted doorway, his arms upheld as though commanding silence; but Hing Fai, blind with rage, rushed forward and cut at his head with his sword. The missionary fell, and was kicked and clubbed into a shapeless mass of flesh. Lamps were overturned, doors dashed open, and upstairs was found Mrs. Jones praying wildly and screaming with fear; twenty knives were plunged into her as she knelt, and the now frenzied rabble hacked, smashed, and kicked everything in the house, spreading a ghastly ruin over all. Then arose a quick alarm of fire. An overturned lamp in the hall had set the wooden house in a blaze; the stairs were already ignited, and the rush of the rabble to descend caused them to fall. A frightful scene now ensued: the house was well alight, the stairs were gone, and a leap from the upper landing meant leaping into hell. Hither and thither the murderers rushed, trying to find some means of escape. Wang, the beggar, had already rushed down the stair before it was destroyed by the flames, but Hing Fai remained above in an atmosphere already becoming intolerable; he rushed to a window, cutting down two or three in the way with his sword, and leapt out. Others remained and suffered an awful death in the blazing house.

Hing Fai writhed and groaned in the lurid light of the burning mission, and was soon found by the beggar Wang. He had broken a leg, and was carried on the back of the evil-smelling Wang to his own residence. The home authorities were justly indignant, and demanded full reparation from the Chinese Government, and the Viceroy of the province was ordered to investigate and punish the guilty parties.

The unfortunate Hing Fai with a broken leg was painfully dragged to the execution ground and there decapitated. A brand new mission with a particularly fine stone church and spire was built at the expense of the already overtaxed and famine-stricken community, and there reside a yellow-haired Scotch missionary named McTaggart with his wife.

They possess a zealous convert and most efficient colporteur named Ah Wang. His well-shaved head is covered with scars, and the people say that formerly he was a beggar, and used to secure the sympathies of the benevolent by beating his head on a stone.

The pleasant residence of the late Hing Fai is now in ruins, it being considered unfortunate to reside in any house overshadowed by the lofty spire erected by the foreign devils.

THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO

THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO

NOW Lao Ng Tau was a civil mandarin of the second grade, of a noble ancestry, considerable learning, and in addition he was tao-tai of Sung Ying Fu and the surrounding district—which means that he possessed, or held the power of acquiring to himself, no inconsiderable wealth. He was a travelled man, moreover, and one possessing a broad mind, and not over hide-bound with conservative Chinese prejudice. On one of his visits to the great capital, Peking, he had contracted a marriage with the beautiful Mah Su. Of the magnificent and costly presents he had presented to her honourable parents we will not speak, nor of the superb gifts that he had also received, or of the completely perfect manner in which the etiquette of their marriage ceremony had been conducted. Poems were written by seventy-eight poets, many of whom were held in considerable honour in the capital. Many of these poems can possibly be purchased in Peking to this day, so it is not necessary for us to enter into details of the rejoicings on this auspicious occasion. Eighteen artists of undoubted skill and pre-eminence had been engaged to portray the dazzling brilliance of the marriage cortège, but they all declared that the sun-like effulgence of the scene had completely blinded their ill-conditioned and degenerate eyes to such an extent that they were quite unable to depict any portion of the picture with the degraded and low-class pigments at their disposal. When justice and due reward had been meted out to the poets, painters, and musicians with bowstring, hot oil, and bamboo rods, according as their several productions merited; the honourable Lao Ng Tau journeyed with befitting escort to Sung Ying Fu with the beautiful Mah Su as his wife.

Mah Su was a Manchu lady, and in addition to considerable beauty of face possessed a remarkable vivacity and cheerfulness, and had not had her feet bound in her childhood. Lao Ng Tau loved his wife dearly, was charmed with her wit and accomplishments; and she was no less pleased with her husband, and the presents of pearls, gold, and jade that he lavished upon her. So for two years these two lived in the greatest serenity at Sung Ying Fu. Mah Su’s lips were the reddest and her teeth the whitest in the world, and these latter were shown to remarkable advantage when biting some sweetmeat or fruit at the same time as she chattered and laughed with her husband. She possessed a very marked penchant for nectarines, and having eaten about half a coolie-load of these one day, she was taken ill towards nightfall with severe pains near the lower edge of her embroidered jacket. Her husband was distracted at the sight of his incomparable wife rolling from side to side on her honourable bed, and occasionally assuming distressingly inelegant attitudes when a more excruciating twinge caused her for an instant to forget the refined deportment so necessary in the wife of a mandarin of Lao Ng Tau’s importance. The greatly and properly distressed husband saw at once the necessity of consulting a doctor, but his honourable mind was undecided whether to summon the foreign missionary doctor or the wise and justly reverenced Wing Fung.

In earlier days Lao Ng Tau had resided in Hankow, and there had made great friends with an Englishman, of whose education and knowledge of the world he held a very high opinion. When the question of foreign missionaries arose in Lao’s mind, he would always recall the words of his old friend that “missionaries frequently did as much good as harm.” This thought rather inclined his acute mind towards the seeking of advice from the missionary doctor in Sung Ying Fu, but then, what of the renowned Wing Fung? When the cholera attacked the city of Sung Ying, was it not Wing Fung who lit small fires on the stomachs of those affected, had he not even done so to the meanest and most degraded of his patients, even supplying the firewood from his own store in some cases? Then, again, had he not cured the honourable Ah Wong of a most distressing and undignified skin disease by administering pills cunningly concocted of crabs’ eyes? Had not the noble Phat Cheong been relieved of an aggravating sprained ankle by rest and the occasional swallowing of live lob-worms soaked in honey? Again, had not the honourable wife of Sung Yee Hoy been restored to health after a careful diet of the thumb nails of the bald-faced monkey? Taking all things into consideration, Lao decided on employing the renowned and careful Wing Fung on this soul-moving and entirely discomposing occasion. Herein he was ill-advised, for had he consulted the missionary doctor he would at the least have secured a correct diagnosis, for the beautiful Mah Su lay in great agony, a high fever, and in an inelegant attitude, with her right leg drawn up. To be accurate, the peerless Mah Su suffered from an acute attack of that, to Western ideas, fashionable complaint, appendicitis.

Thus the erudite Wing Fung, he entered with many befitting and seemly obeisances. He remarked that it ill became his own vile person to profane the presence of the exalted wife of Lao Ng Tau, and that such meagre knowledge of the healing art as he possessed was almost rendered void by the august impressions created on his dull intellect by the evidences of supreme culture with which he found himself surrounded.

Lao listened to the doctor with impatience, and having paid a compliment to the doctor’s knowledge of the classics with which his speech had been liberally sprinkled, begged him to see his wife and prescribe whatever might alleviate her pain.

The doctor, having adjusted a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles which magnified about three hundred diameters, entered the room occupied by Mah Su. Having made a lengthy examination, he returned to Lao, and explained that there were two treatments possible. One consisted of rushing the patient up and down the room until she broke into a violent perspiration and then throwing ice-cold water over her, and the other consisted in maintaining absolute quietude while the soles of her feet were burnt with glowing charcoal. Wing Fung explained that no true decision could be arrived at until he had carefully consulted the stars, that this occupation would entail his own careful study during the night, and that the cost would amount to at least six taels. Lao handed over the six taels, and Wing Fung departed, leaving the never-to-be-replaced Mah Su still in agony and Lao not less distressed mentally.

The following morning Wing Fung reappeared. He stated that he had consulted the stars, and that from their reading he had learnt that the most honourable Mah Su had been invaded by a most pestilential rat, that even now the rat was gnawing at her vitals, and that an additional ten taels would enable him so to study the stars that he would discover by what means the rat might be driven from its hiding-place in the stomach of the most honourable wife of the gracious Lao Ng Tau.

Wing Fung received the ten taels and again departed, reappearing the next day somewhat dishevelled. We must understand that the learned doctor had now been some forty-eight hours without sleep—his walk was jagged and uncertain, his speech thick, and he had an unfortunate habit of chuckling, and hiccoughs somewhat marred his demands for fifteen more taels to carry out his researches among the stars.

Now Lao got angry. He said that Wing Fung should conduct his researches among the stars right there on the roof, and he also ordered a coolie to see that the renowned Wing Fung did not doze, the coolie being supplied with a heavy and useful bamboo rod.

Throughout the day Wing Fung was kept awake with difficulty and the bamboo; but when the night came and the stars became visible, he almost fell asleep in spite of the repeated blows rained on his back by the attendant. At last Wing Fung begged to see the honourable Lao. He then explained that he was an outside doctor, that he knew all about things that one could see, but of the internal arrangements of humanity he was ignorant. He begged Lao to send for a renowned doctor named Hao Suey, who understood all such things; and having given directions as to where Hao Suey might be found, he begged leave to go to sleep.

Lao replied that he was quite willing that Wing Fung should sleep; and having signed to the executioner, Wing Fung slept—with his fathers.

Then Lao sent post haste for the renowned Hao Suey. So much in earnest was he, that Hao Suey was given twenty-four blows on the feet and brought post haste to the house of Lao in a sedan-chair carried by four coolies.

On his arrival Hao Suey produced a bad impression by being unable to walk, and Lao’s displeasure was evinced by ordering Hao to receive twenty-four blows on such portion of his body that, in addition to being unable to stand, he was now rendered unable to sit. After this encouragement, the renowned doctor entered the presence of the distressed Mah Su in a most reverent manner on his hands and knees, that being the only method of locomotion of which he was capable.