Part 4

Mah Su was now very ill, and the wretched doctor remained as long in her presence as he possibly could, fearing further encouragement at the hands of the distracted husband. At length a peremptory order from Lao caused the doctor to painfully grovel out of the room to the mandarin’s presence. Here the unfortunate Hao made another _faux pas_, for, being ignorant of the fate of the learned Wing Fung, and hoping to gain a respite and ease his battered body, he requested an advance of twenty taels to enable him to consult the stars. Lao’s face showed nothing of the anger boiling within him as he ordered the attendants to remove the doctor and send the executioner in. The executioner, however, could not be found. It appeared that after exercising his professional skill on Wing Fung, he had gone off to the widow to present his bill and collect the money in person for services rendered to the deceased shortly prior to and during the latter’s last moments. The executioner’s demands having met with more success than he had expected, he was led away by the exuberance of his spirits to rather over-indulge in samshu, so that on his return very late to the Yamen, his condition was such that it was hopeless to expect him to exercise his office until he had slept off his libations. This circumstance proved considerably fortunate for Hao Suey, as during the night the beautiful and high-born Mah Su died.

Lao was thunderstruck at this awful catastrophe. He took no further interest in his affairs or the affairs of his country, and after the first numbness at his loss had worn off, he decided to write to the “Son of Heaven,” petitioning permission to retire from office.

However, before even the ink had been rubbed upon the stone or the rabbit-hair brush dipped in the dead-black, sweet-smelling liquid known to barbarians as “Indian ink,” other events happened to prevent Lao from inditing his petition to the ruler of the Middle Kingdom. In this wise: The news of the death of the peerless Mah Su had instantly spread through Sung Ying Fu, and had furthermore been noised through the surrounding districts by itinerant merchants and travellers. As a result of this, before Lao had had any time to indulge his grief, he found dozens of poor but sympathetic relations arriving at his house with children, coolies, luggage, mules, and much wailing and lamentation. Lao, as befitted his station, suitably entertained and housed all, with their servants and cattle. Aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, cousins many times removed, all came with their servants and hangers-on. Lao was a rich man, and his house was large, but it soon became necessary to hire other extra apartments for his guests. In addition to this, the house was rendered doubly uncomfortable by the presence of numerous professional mourners. All day and night the house was filled with the squeaking of fiddles, crying of mourners, howling of relations’ babies, wrangling of relations’ coolies in the courtyards, and squealing of relations’ ponies and mules. Between looking after his unbidden guests, arranging for suitable funeral ceremonies, and indulging his own genuine grief at his bereavement, Lao naturally neglected his duties to the State.

At last the heavy lacquered coffin was built, and all seemed ready for the interment when the question of a suitable site for the grave arose. Soothsayers were called in to assist in the decision. The wisest soothsayers that Sung Ying Fu and district could supply were requisitioned. They consulted the stars, ate eagerly of everything in the house, but still failed to come to any decision. As soon as one would find a suitable hillside, another would learn by the stars that that particular site possessed a certain malign influence on all of the house of Lao. These procrastinations and disappointments were admirably borne by the aunts, cousins, cousins many times removed, and other relations of Lao. With true Oriental self-sacrifice they all said they were quite indifferent as to how long they stayed with the honourable Lao, provided everything connected with the funeral was done properly and in order. The hired mourners, soothsayers, and others who were paid by the day, also showed an admirable fortitude under the circumstances, the universal opinion being that no risks should be taken, but that all should be done in order and according to the decision that would eventually be arrived at by a due and careful study of the heavenly omens.

These continued searchings for celestial guidance in the choice of a burial-place, and other duties in the matter of his unbidden guests, so occupied the distracted Lao’s mind, that many evil persons found opportunities of practising their nefarious callings in the district without let or hindrance from the magistrate. The tao-tai’s district surrounding the city of Sung Ying became more and more lawless, until the numerous bands of robbers that roamed unchecked throughout the land became a positive scandal.

At last, to the tao-tai’s unbounded relief, a decision was arrived at by the experts, who had eventually settled on the propitious spot for the interment of the all-too-soon deceased Mah Su. The funeral preparations were, therefore, hurried forward, and everything was prepared on the most lavish and expensive scale. The relations of all degrees of remoteness ordered the most expensive robes at Lao’s expense, and it really seemed as if Lao’s troubles were about to end. The blue sky, however, still held a bolt for the unfortunate tao-tai. Just as everything was complete, one of the most learned of the soothsayers discovered that a propitious day for the ceremony had not yet been decided on. This terrible oversight struck everyone, except possibly Lao, with astonishing force. The aunts, uncles, cousins, etc., were unanimous in their praises of the astute savant who had saved them from making what might have proved an irremediable _faux pas_. Again everyone was resigned to waiting until the all-knowing stars should reveal their decision.

The next crushing blow came, not from heaven, but from the Viceroy, in the form of a letter to the tao-tai. This admirably worded screed set forth that it having come to the ears of the most exalted Viceroy that the country on which the honourable Lao Ng Tau held jurisdiction was in a very disturbed state owing to the presence of certain lawless bands, which bands plundered the subjects of the Son of Heaven, the honourable Lao Ng Tau was herewith ordered to suppress the same and send the heads of their leaders to Peking _pour encourager les autres_. The order concluded with a mild suggestion that the tao-tai’s own head might possibly adorn a spike in the Imperial city should the rebels not be suppressed within the month.

With so much to worry him in his private affairs, Lao was nearly distracted by this order, but as an officer of the State he realised that private grief must give way to Imperial demands. So he hastened to equip a military force to engage and subdue the bands of robbers which now formed such a menace to the peace of Sung Ying Fu.

Starting with a gay band of troops, armed with banners, umbrellas, matchlocks, singing birds in cages, and other deadly weapons affected by the Chinese soldier, Lao proceeded against the rebels. At the first brush with the enemy the tao-tai’s glittering rabble deserted to a man to the opposing force. Lao, after a gallant resistance, was himself overpowered and taken prisoner and carried by his captors to the hills.

He learnt from his captors that during his absence on this punitive expedition his relations had held high revels in his house, and were entertaining continuously on a lavish scale, and that the would-be star-gazers were so continually in a state of intoxication that the discovery of a lucky day on which to bury Mah Su was likely to be indefinitely postponed.

The news of Lao’s capture soon reached the Viceroy, who at once informed the Government, with the result that the vermilion pencil issued an edict that Lao Ng Tau, late tao-tai of Sung Ying Fu, was to be beheaded, his head to be forwarded to Peking, his property confiscated, his house razed to the ground, and the land on which it stood to be ploughed up to a depth of two feet, and that should his schoolmaster be still alive, that that miserable individual should receive one hundred blows with a bamboo. The worst punishment of all, however, was the final one, namely, that Lao’s great-grandfather, dead some sixty years, should be degraded from the rank of mandarin of the first to mandarin of the third class.

On receipt of this news Lao’s anger was awful, and the chief of the robbers, choosing this opportunity to request him to become their chief and war on Society, was at once met with a hearty acceptance.

The news of Lao’s joining the robber band was soon brought to the Viceroy’s ears, and the latter in a short time fitted out an expedition, headed by himself, to destroy this recalcitrant tao-tai. In the first, second, and third engagement Lao’s rabble defeated the Viceroy’s troops at every turn. Then the authorities at Peking adopted different tactics. They offered Lao supreme command of Imperial troops, buttons, yellow jackets, two-eyed peacocks’ feathers—all were offered him if he would only come into the service of the Supreme Ruler of the Middle Kingdom.

But Lao had his own special vendetta to occupy his mind. He mistrusted the Government after the way they had treated him, and preferred to be an outlaw. The cousins, aunts, and very distant relations, not to mention the soothsayers, who had so long lived at Lao’s expense, now began to get frightened. Mah Su’s body was interred forthwith, and a magnificent memorial archway was erected by the relations to her memory.

But unfortunately Lao still remains an outcast. He has killed nearly all his relations and most of the soothsayers in the neighbourhood of Sung Ying, but in spite of frequent offers from the Son of Heaven at Peking making him General of the Imperial troops, Lao Ng Tau still remains a bandit, because certain of his cousins yet remain alive, and moreover there is more than one soothsayer still living in the vicinity of Sung Ying Fu.

THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG

THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG

HONG, the massive, burly gate-keeper of the British Consulate, was a very familiar figure to all in the settlement. In his wide, baggy, white pantaloons, thick felt-soled shoes, white wide-sleeved jacket with a red crown on each arm, and white round hat with a red silk fringe spreading over its conical crown, he made a not unimposing figure.

His large healthy-looking face was generally impassive, but he showed no cringing servility in his honest gaze, and one might occasionally catch a glimpse of humour in his always polite but generally inscrutable countenance. There were times when the humorous eyes took on a more pronounced twinkle, and when the big honest face assumed the kind, protecting mien of some faithful dog—this was when he had children to talk to and pester him. None knew him better than the white children of the settlement, and of these Jack, the eight-year-old son of the Consul, and Dorothy, the five-yeared daughter, were treated by the gigantic Hong with a reverence and love almost amounting to worship.

Dorothy, with her yellow curls and wide blue eyes, was loved by everyone, and Jack, with his brave boy’s ways, could not fail to attract the notice of any passing stranger. Passengers alighting from the steamers always asked their friends, “Whose are those beautiful children?”

To Jack, Hong always seemed to possess some romantic mystery, and he pictured him as having been a pirate, or, perhaps, one of the redoubtable Tai Pings. In the gate-house he always kept a large sword, a weapon made either for theatrical or processional purposes, but round this weapon Master Jack had woven volumes of romance, so much so that he regarded the weapon as something that it would be indelicate or inquisitive for him to demand of Hong the history.

Both Jack and Dorothy understood and spoke the local dialect, but Hong was very particular to make his morning salutations in pidgin-English, and then, if any story were forthcoming, it was told in the vernacular, which, for the sake of our readers, we will translate.

Thus Master Jack: “Morning, Hong; blong velly hot, my tink.”

“Morning, Master Jack; morning, Missis Dolothy. My tink plenty hot bymby. This time no blong too hot.”

“Hong, you ever cachee torture? Cachee bamboo beating, or so fashion thing?” says Jack.

Hong’s face is almost lit up with a smile, but with imperturbable gravity he replies that he was once sentenced to a painful death, and that part of the sentence was carried out.

“Tell us at once,” says Jack; but Dorothy pouts and says, “Hong, baby no wanchee hollible stoly; s’pose you speakee hollible ting, baby go away.”

Hong’s face became at once serious as he says, “No, Missis, Hong no speakee hollible stoly; s’pose like hear he tell stoly of old time custom. No blong hollible.”

The wide-eyed Dorothy being reassured, she and Jack sit on the bench by the gate, while Hong relates as follows:—

“Many years ago, before either of your honourable selves was born, this person lived in Chin Wen Fu in Foh Kien. The honourable Hop Li was tao-tai, and many gentle and pleasant amusements could be enjoyed in Chin Wen. The person who tells this was very fond of visiting the theatres, and, being a big strong youth, would occasionally take part in trials of strength in public places, and had, on occasion, appeared on the public stage in processions and such spectacles where a big man was needed to represent an emperor, a general, or some other person of importance.

“Now it happened that at one time a travelling company of actors came to our town, and while the stage was being erected one of their company fell sick and died. They were going to perform a very popular and amusing drama, in which much depended on the performance of one character, who, as tao-tai, becomes very drunk, thus causing numerous complications. After some considerable haggling it was at last decided that this person should play the part—my figure and deportment were suitable, and as the spoken words were not very numerous, I was fit to take the part by the time the performance was opened.

“Our tao-tai, Hop Li, was a short man, but by putting cushions under my coat, and a false moustache on my lip, I made myself resemble him to the life. My first appearance proved a great success, my drunken scene evoking much merriment from the audience, and the next night the house was crammed. That night the audience made me repeat the drunken scene, and the next night they wanted it three times. I began to get a little conceited, and suggested to the manager that I should be paid for my performance or I would not play, and he, knowing that the success of the play now entirely depended upon me, and that my performances were bringing him crowded houses every night, assented. The audiences became more and more enthusiastic over my drunken scene, and I began to introduce innovations. I had a horse brought on the stage and mounted it in a fashion not unlike our tao-tai, who was no rider and very nervous. This brought the house down, and things got to such a pitch that the manager offered me many taels to make my particular business last for three hours. It was hard work, but I did it. For three hours every night I acted that I was drunk. I mounted horses, I gave ridiculous judgments in the courts, I fought, I dined—in fact, I did everything I could to please. The fame of this performance was so noised about that it came to the ears of our own tao-tai, and he decided to see the play himself—an unfortunate thing for me.

“I think on the night of the tao-tai’s visit to the theatre I surpassed myself. I was more amusing than usual. I ordered new horses, new witnesses, new prisoners. I was three and three-quarter hours getting drunk, and all the time the tao-tai watched me. That night, I think, I had taken especial care of my make-up, for I was a life-like representation of Hop Li, and the audience were like people possessed.

“Missis Dolly, the next morning was tellible.

“The congratulations of my friends had kept me up most of the night, and, when in a very deep sleep, the next morning I was roughly pulled off the ‘kang’ on which I lay by two of the runners from the tao-tai’s Yamen.

“I was not brought before the magistrate, but was taken to a small room in the Yamen and carefully guarded. I could learn nothing from my gaolers except that the tao-tai was very angry, and that all theatrical performances had been stopped. For seven days I was kept closely guarded in that room, and during the whole time I was well and liberally fed; at the end of the period I was brought before the tao-tai. In many long-winded and high-sounding phrases he pointed out what a disgustingly despicable and mean person I was, that the mere attempt to hold up to ridicule any of the servants of the Son of Heaven was a crime that could not be too severely dealt with, that although I had signally failed in this my attempt to ridicule a tao-tai, still, as an example to others, my punishment should be a severe one,—that I should be trodden to death by countless feet.

“I was then taken back to my prison, and, as before, continued to be well fed. The same day the news came to me that the tao-tai had ordered a theatre of extreme magnificence to be built of bamboo and matting, all the previous actors were commanded to perform, an order was issued that every able-bodied man, woman, and child was to attend the performance, which would take place on the seventh of the seventh moon, and, finally, that their magistrate, the tao-tai himself, would perform the part in which I had previously scored such a success. A further order was issued the same evening that bare feet or soft shoes were _de rigueur_ for all who attended the performance. I failed to see how these matters could interest me, and even when my gaolers told me that the tao-tai was word perfect in his part, and had introduced lots of new ‘business,’ I failed to show more than a polite interest.

“As soon, however, as the day of the performance dawned, I saw that the affair was one of the deepest importance to me. At daybreak my gaolers led me out to the hard sandy plain on which the theatre stood. The building itself was of enormous proportions, with two fine dragons fighting for a bright red sun on the roof. The matting forming the front was brightly painted, representing famous heroes of the past; all round were booths with hot rice, soups, pea-nuts, samshu, jellies, and sweetmeats for sale.

“The unusual feature of this theatre was that it had but one entrance, which was approached by such a narrow passage that it allowed of only one person passing at a time. It was not long before I discovered the reason for this. My guards took me to the middle of this narrow passage, where there were four stakes driven into the earth, and then, making me lie on my back, they lashed my ankles and wrists flat on the ground. The play was to commence at seven in the morning and continue until nine at night, and soon after I had been securely bound in position the would-be spectators began to arrive. Their surprise was great on finding that there was no means of entering the theatre except by walking on me, but they all made suitable apologies, and I, in my turn, begged them not to mention it, so that the first few hundred passed over me fairly comfortably; but as the time for the performance drew near they came more thickly, apologies were dispensed with, and I thought that I should be surely killed. The majority of them, it is true, tried to tread on my chest, but some were old and blind, and these trod on my face or anywhere, and the suffocating dust nearly stifled me. I was afraid to breathe, as if I relaxed my chest I feared that my ribs would be crushed in, and during the last four minutes before the play began some twelve hundred people rushed over my body. So exhausted was I that I feared I should die, but soon the guards came and revived me with tea and rice. After that for some hours I was entirely alone, and by the continued laughter from the theatre, I judged that the tao-tai was acquitting himself well.

“As the sun mounted higher in the heavens I had dozed off, but was suddenly aroused by the honourable Hop Li himself. He seemed annoyed that I was still alive, and after delivering me a neat and carefully-worded oration on my disgraceful insubordination in still living after the punishment I had undergone, he proceeded to the booths outside where food of all kinds could be purchased. He there bought everything eatable and returned to the theatre, where he announced from the stage that there would be an interval of seven minutes, during which time free meals would be served at the stalls outside, and at the resumption of the performance he would repeat his drunken scene, undertaking to make it last four hours, and that in that time he would get genuinely drunk as a special compliment to the audience.

“The sympathies of the audience were undoubtedly with me, but the prospect of a free meal and the spectacle of their tao-tai intoxicated were so alluring that the finer feelings of my fellow-townsmen were for the moment blunted. Out they came helter-skelter. It was no time for apologies, food was at the other end, so over my poor body rushed the entire audience. It seemed only a few seconds since the last feet pounded my unfortunate body, when a gong sounded, and back rushed everyone, their mouths stuffed with roast duck, stewed pork, rice, melon seeds, fish, ginger, prunes, hardbake, macaroni—in fact, every eatable imaginable.

“I fainted. When I recovered it was getting dusk, the theatre was still full, but I ceased to take much interest. My guards again gave me food, and at the conclusion of the performance again the people passed over my bruised body, but on this occasion they did it quietly and without much discomfort to the miserable being pegged down in their pathway.

“Then came the tao-tai. He wished to walk on me himself, but he was so drunk that he was unable to do so, and I was taken back to my prison in the Yamen bruised and exhausted. I slept till late the next day, and the tao-tai, who had made himself a martyr to art in order to personate a drunken man to perfection, slept late too.

“He woke about noon feeling very ill, but still burning with rage against my insignificant self. His first act was to issue an order that everyone should attend the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, and the proclamation also stated that the most honourable and universally-loved tao-tai would occupy the stage for four hours, that, in addition to mounting horses, he would attempt to bestride a camel after drinking sixteen bottles of samshu, besides many diverting attempts to enter a sedan-chair and a Pekin cart. In addition to this he ordered a deep pit to be dug in the narrow passage leading to the theatre, free drinks to be dispensed during the performance, and two of his most lusty Yamen runners were stationed by the pit with whips to assist the nervous in jumping it. This miserable person was then led out, and again pegged down just beyond the pit, so that all who jumped across must of necessity land on some portion of his miserable body.