Part 8
The love-sick Hoo’s directions to On Yick had been somewhat indefinite, and the latter, through an insufficient knowledge of the topographical specialities of the village of Tai Kok and the rapidly falling darkness, took a wrong direction, which resulted in a breaking of the lover’s tryst. There were only three houses in Tai Kok which stood on the sea-shore. Having passed these the wayfarer either passed inland to other houses of the village, or continued his way along a stone-flagged causeway which ran along the coast. Inshore this causeway was lined by a hedge of screw-pines, and inside this again was a narrow pathway, and then swamp between it and the remainder of the village. Hoo’s intention was to meet On Yick on the pathway between the swamp and the hedge of screw-pines, but On Yick continued along the causeway to seaward, which misunderstanding led to disaster. The screw-pine from a distance is a picturesque addition to any landscape, but a too close acquaintance with this form of vegetation is trying. If the Infernal Regions possess any forms of vegetation, the screw-pine probably figures amongst the flora of that region. For instance, it will grow in a swamp or on waterless sand; it seems indifferent whether the water that laves its roots is born of fever-laden mud swamps or of the pure salt sea. Its stem is of a gnarled and twisted hardness, but useless as timber; its pretty green leaves are furnished with spikes that hold like fish-hooks, and hurt the flesh of human beings like hot needles. No animal will eat its leaves, and if burnt by fire it grows again as if nothing had injured it; and to crown all, it possesses a fruit which, to the ordinary observer, differs little from the luscious and juicy pine-apple, but which possesses no usefulness whatever, it being about as nourishing and juicy as a lump of mahogany. To prevent the inroads of cattle or the advance of an enemy the screw-pine ranks high amongst nature’s impassable obstacles. But enough of this digression into matters which are more suitable for a work on Botany or Forestry.
At sundown, true to her appointment, the love-sick Hoo proceeded slowly along the mud path by the swamp, and the no less impetuous On Yick arrived at the third house of the village, and with a masterful stride proceeded along the stone causeway to meet the object of his adoration in the rapidly forming dusk.
Hoo nervously ran along the mud path, and at last heard footsteps approaching. The felt-soled boots of On Yick made but little noise on the stone causeway, and consequently in the dark Hoo imagined that he approached her along the mud path.
“Is it my lord who approaches his slave?” softly cried Hoo.
“I come, pearl worth a thousand taels, dove with golden wings, little fawn with horns of jade!” replied On Yick in his most loving tones.
“But your humble handmaid sees not the light of her life, the stream that satisfies her soul’s thirst. Where art thou? Come to me, or I faint from desire.”
On Yick heard these most soul-moving expressions of maidenly love, and made a wild rush from the causeway in the direction of his adored one’s voice. The result was most regrettable. On Yick fell headlong into the impenetrable barrier of screw-pines, his silk jacket and overalls were torn beyond hope of repair, he lost his new velvet-topped white-soled shoes, and, moreover, sustained many nasty wounds on his legs, arms, and face from the sharp spines in the hedge. Hoo, of course, did the wrong thing. Instead of rushing to her lover’s assistance and aiding him in his dilemma, she burst into uncontrollable merriment and ran home, the miserable On Yick being allowed to extricate himself from the prickly hedge alone, whence he proceeded in the dark—muddy and bleeding—to his house, his raiment torn and his new velvet shoes lost forever in the sticky mud into which he had fallen.
Tak Wo returned to his house at dusk expecting a warm meal and afterwards a comfortable sleep on the pleasantly warmed kang. He was greatly incensed, however, at finding his daughter absent and no rice and pork prepared, and on the appearance of Hoo shortly after his return, he flew into such an ungovernable rage, that he gave her a severe beating and retired to bed in a very ill temper. Hoo also retired to bed supperless, but in sullen ill humour. She passed a sleepless night, bent upon revenging herself upon her father, who had so suddenly brought her down from her heights of romantic love-dreams.
The unfortunate incidents of the previous night were obliterated from the memory of the healthy-minded On Yick after a night’s sleep, so with a good heart he arrayed himself next morning in order to present himself to Tak Wo to make the final arrangements for his marriage with Hoo.
Tak was feeling very evil-minded, but he received the suitor for his daughter’s hand with becoming formality. Anything would be better than having this awful daughter in his house, and On Yick found all his proposals most willingly acquiesced in by his prospective father-in-law. Hoo had disappeared without partaking of or preparing any morning meal, and the two men talked and talked, and smoked innumerable pipes of tobacco. The conversation between these two continued in the politest manner possible, and every detail of etiquette was observed by each party. Tak Wo was occupied in delivering a most erudite and polite discourse on the duties of a son-in-law to his wife’s father when On Yick became conscious of a strong smell of burning in the house. Soon he saw a thin snake of flame creep along one of the beams overhead, but still politeness held him silent. It was not for such an insignificant person as himself to interrupt the discourse of Tak Wo and inform him that his honourable house was on fire.
The admirable precepts of Tak Wo, however, were suddenly cut short by a burning spark falling on his shaven pate. Forgetful of his dignity he jumped up and rushed from the house, followed by On Yick. The disgraceful sight that met their gaze once outside the door will ever be a reproach to the descendants of Tak Wo. Two large stacks of dry grass were ablaze, as well as the roof of the house, and the crowning horror was Hoo, now evidently possessed of hundreds of devils, dancing with a burning brand in her hand, and shouting most unseemly remarks disparaging her father and all his ancestors. On her father’s appearance Hoo betook herself to the hills, and the efforts of the people of Tai Kok being at once turned on extinguishing the conflagration, her escape was easy.
The fire resulted in the loss of two stacks of grass and the house, but most of Tak Wo’s property was in silver, buried some three feet beneath the mud floor of his house, consequently his pecuniary loss was not great; but the disgraceful behaviour of his daughter had caused him such a serious “loss of face” that he decided on having recourse to severe measures.
The junk of Man Yuen was lying in the harbour of Tai Kok. Man Yuen carried much of the village’s produce to the larger towns, and in addition was probably, if occasion offered, a pirate. Tak Wo went to the honourable Man Yuen and explained (with the aid of fifteen taels) that he (Man Yuen) was welcome to carry off Hoo and sell her as a slave to whoever would buy her, that Man Yuen could take the purchase money, provided he captured and removed Hoo, who undoubtedly was possessed of devils.
Man Yuen’s crew were successful in their search, and Hoo departed from Tai Kok for ever. On Yick possesses now a wife who has never dreamt of frogs or of throwing them at young men, and his mill prospers as his family increases.
Also there is a Mrs. Jones, living in Heatherbell Villas, Deepdeen Road, Peckham Rye. This good lady regales her visitors with extracts from her daughter’s letters, the daughter being in China. The latest extract from Mrs. Jones’ daughter reads as follows:—
“It is so difficult to understand the Chinese, but dear George is so hopeful. So far we have made no converts, but the captain of a junk, who seems to wish to learn ‘The Truth,’ has supplied me with such a nice young Chinese girl as a servant, and we already have great hopes of leading her from darkness. Her Chinese ideas are very funny. She has mended my stockings with patches of orange-peel and has sewn black boot buttons all round the bottoms of George’s white duck trousers. Her wages are small, and we pay them monthly to Man Yuen, her uncle. Her name is ‘Hoo,’ and although her carelessness has nearly caused the mission-house to be burnt down on three separate occasions, we can’t help loving her, and George will receive her into the ‘Church’ as soon as she shows a desire for true knowledge.”
KWA NIU’S DERBY
KWA NIU’S DERBY
YOU know Shelford? What! Don’t know Shelford of the Customs? Then you’ve never heard how he won the Ping Tu Derby. Shelford, as I said, was in the Customs, and fate made him spend many years in the port of Ping Tu. You probably won’t find Ping Tu on the map, but, then, maps of China are often inaccurate, and the varieties of European spelling adopted by cartographers have led to confusion. Anyway Ping Tu is a not unimportant town. The river is navigable above it for some fifty miles, and Shelford was the head representative in that community of the Imperial Chinese Maritime Customs. In addition to this he probably knew more about the Chinese than any other European in the neighbourhood, and was moreover an all-round sportsman.
There were many sportsmen in Ping Tu, or, rather, everyone of the small community was entitled to style himself so. They possessed a club on the river bank where cocktails and whiskies and sodas were consumed, billiards and bowls could be indulged in, and, moreover, where ladies could entertain and be entertained on the verandah between the hours of three and seven in the afternoon.
Ping Tu, in addition, possessed a golf-links and a racecourse, and of the racecourse and Kwa Niu’s memorable Derby I will tell.
The Ping Tu race-meeting took place annually in February, and everyone who could afford to do so entered a horse. Horse, I say—I mean a China pony. And of course the great event of the meeting was the Derby. The ponies came from up North, and were drawn for by the subscribers as one draws in a sweepstake. Having drawn your pony, the next thing was to train it, and for many weeks the performances of these unattractive animals formed the sole topic of conversation at the Club bar, in verandahs, on the bund, and in ladies’ boudoirs.
Shelford drew a most unpromising brute of a flea-bitten Mongol pony. It was a pale yellow colour, had a head much too heavy for its forelegs, and a nose like a Roman senator. In addition to its unattractive appearance it possessed a violent dislike of white men, and in the first week bit the biceps out of a “ma foo” and the knee-cap off a grass-cutter. Shelford might have condoned these offences had the brute shown any promise, but the wretched animal proved to be exceptionally slow in its trials, so he named it “Kwa Niu” (The Snail).
The training proceeded, excitement in view of the forthcoming races in Ping Tu grew intense, and moreover a new Englishman had arrived in the port. He was a lank callow youth, fresh from Ireland, and burdened with the name of Gubbins.
Gubbins might be described as “young.” China had till the last few weeks been nothing to him but a name. Still, here he was, clerk in the firm of Sardine and Butterworth, and full of that home energy so often lacking in the old China hand.
Gubbins with his hearty manners and youthful enthusiasm at once won his way into the hearts of society in Ping Tu, and Shelford, in default of a better jockey (everyone having refused to ride the now famous Kwa Niu), engaged Gubbins to ride for him in the Ping Tu Derby.
About a fortnight before the race-meeting the number of corpses that floated down the river became burdensome. Many of the men and officers in the merchant ships lying in the stream were attacked with typhoid, and from all accounts there was a severe epidemic raging in Whang Chai, a town some six miles higher up the river. Something had to be done, as the matter was becoming serious, and Shelford, from his intimate knowledge of the language and ideas of thought of the natives, was despatched in a steam launch to Whang Chai to discover the state of affairs, and if possible to suggest some means of arresting the ravages of the disease. Shelford arrived at the highly insanitary little town, and without further delay interviewed the head official, one To Phat, an indolent and superstitious civil mandarin. The chief military officer, a man with Western ideas and well educated, was at the time absent from Whang Chai. Shelford found the people dying by hundreds in the dirty little town, and as far as he could see there was every prospect of their continuing to do so until they appreciated the fact that drinking-water need not necessarily be drawn from the main sewers.
To Phat, comfortably seated in his yamen, admitted the fact of the enormous death-rate then registered in Whang Chai, but to all Shelford’s suggestions of its cause or prevention he turned the deaf ear of pompous ignorance. He—To Phat—could put his finger at once on the cause of the dreadful mortality. The disease was perfectly natural and only to be expected; in fact, the whole matter had been satisfactorily explained to him by a certain Ching. Ching was therefore sent for that he might explain to the dull-witted foreign devil why this fatal epidemic harassed the peace-loving citizens of Whang Chai. Shelford at once recognised in Ching the typical bully of a yamen runner, the promoter of disturbances, the paid spy and informer. However, Shelford listened with polite attention to the lying scoundrel.
Ching explained that, although perhaps unknown to the honourable stranger, still it was a matter of universal knowledge in Whang Chai that the gentle slope on which the town had the felicity to be built was occupied by a dragon. This benign animal had for centuries caused innumerable blessings to fall on the happy inhabitants, but that recently certain grave indignities had been offered him. Firstly, foreigners, preachers of strange doctrines, had built a house on the dragon’s head: this had resulted in the loss of several vessels trading from Whang Chai; but the crowning insult had been the building of a school-house on their benefactor’s stomach. This final indignity had been visited on the erring town by pestilence, and what the end would be no one could foresee.
Shelford eyed Ching during this recital, and the bully appreciated the fact that Shelford read his coward heart like a book; but the flabby To Phat sat in greasy self-satisfaction, and was politely relieved when Shelford withdrew from the audience.
Shelford then visited the mission-house. On his walk through the town he saw many signs that made his face grave. The pastor welcomed him effusively, and was delighted to talk with a fellow white man. He admitted with sorrow the frightful ravages of the epidemic, but was evidently quite unaware that any danger threatened himself or his, and spoke cheerfully of the progress that Christianity ought to make in Whang Chai in the future. Shelford also found out that Ching, the yamen runner, had been one of the earliest of their converts, but had sadly fallen away from grace, and after repeated petty thefts had been dismissed with disgrace for blackmailing the girl converts who attended the mission school.
On leaving the mission to return to the inn at which he proposed to sleep, Shelford had further cause for anxiety. He had already observed that he was being everywhere followed, but now he saw placards freshly posted about the town. These cunningly worded notices urged calmness and abstinence from violence against foreigners; they further alluded to the present prevailing epidemic, and besought the people by piety and prayer to discover the cause of the present disasters and the means to be adopted for restoring health to the community.
The notices were all unsigned, but in the present state of feeling of the populace they amounted to nothing more nor less than an incitement to murder the missionaries. Shelford decided not to send his steam launch back to Ping Tu for assistance, as that would cut off his and the missionaries’ only hope of escape. Then, again, any appearance of fear or running away would probably precipitate matters, and a riot would ensue. He therefore unconcernedly strolled to his inn and ordered supper. Before, during, and after the meal he talked with large numbers of the townsfolk who came out of curiosity and nearly crushed Shelford against the wall in their eagerness to speak with the foreign devil. The foreign devil good-naturedly endured their importunities, although disagreeably conscious the whole time of the strong anti-foreign feeling that existed. So early in the evening he feigned sleepiness, and politely saying good-night to his unbidden guests, requested the landlord to show him his sleeping-room. The room to which the obsequious landlord conducted him was as bare as one would expect, and the kang, or raised oven, on which the guest must sleep was directly in front of the door, in which were numerous holes and cracks.
Shelford quickly retired to bed, and blew out the miserable oil-wick which served as a lamp. Then noticing that all was quiet in the inn, he cautiously got up, put on his clothes in the dark, arranged the blankets on the kang to look as if a man were sleeping there, and sat in a corner of the room with his revolver ready, awaiting events.
He waited for quite two hours before anything occurred, and then faint footsteps could be heard approaching the door, and a glimmer of light appeared through its chinks. There was some whispering. The light rays through the chinks grew brighter, and at last a brilliant ray of light was directed through a hole in the door on the apparently sleeping figure on the kang. The light steadied on the recumbent figure, and then pistol shots rang out with a deafening noise in the small room, filling it with smoke and causing Shelford to grip his pistol and jump to his feet ready to sell his life dearly. Then a conversation occurred outside the door in which Shelford easily recognised the voice of the bully Ching, who asserted that the man was dead. Another voice urged him to go in and assure himself of the fact that the man on the kang was really dead. Ching argued that the sleeping figure had not moved after the explosion of their pistols, and that consequently he could not be asleep but must have been killed. Everyone outside the door seemed to show reluctance to enter the room, and after further whispered conversation the would-be murderers departed, but not before Shelford had heard Ching say—
“Now we have slain this devil we can quietly kill the missionaries to-morrow night and loot their house. The men in the glass boat (steam launch) have been bribed, so will tell nothing.”
After this they retired. Shelford left his strained position in the corner, and with his revolver ready to his hand slept on the comfortably warmed kang until daylight.
When he appeared next morning the innkeeper would have fled from fear, had not his desire to “save face” at all cost made him bear an outwardly calm demeanour. Shelford didn’t fail to notice the impression that he created on everyone who saw him in the inn, but he felt that no further attempt on his life would be made during daylight; so having taken breakfast, he told the innkeeper that he should again sleep at the inn that night, and that the previous night he had been so comfortable and had slept so deeply that he thought there must be some beneficial essence in the air of Whang Chai that induced refreshing slumbers.
To go again to the mission-house would arouse suspicion, so Shelford wandered about the town all the forenoon in the hope of accidentally meeting someone from the mission. As time went on he became more and more anxious. That he was being closely watched he knew, and at last he dared no longer wander about apparently aimlessly, so he once more returned to the inn and ate. If only by good providence the missionaries would send a message to him! Two more hours were wasted, Shelford sitting and smoking in apparent calmness in the chief room of the inn, holding conversations with all who addressed him, but inwardly chafing and cursing his forced inaction.
There was now only an hour of daylight left; something had to be done. He called the innkeeper and begged him to send on board the steam launch for a change of clothes and some necessaries, and to order the skiff to wait by the bank till he should arrive and give some further orders for being ready to proceed to Ping Tu at ten o’clock the next morning. After which Shelford, almost bursting with anxiety, left the inn, and again walked through the town praying for the sight of someone from the mission. The people, though offering no molestations, evinced a thinly veiled hostility, and he knew that if he continued to wander about after dark his life would be in danger, but a direct attempt on his part to enter the mission-house might lead to a siege of the place and the massacre of all the inmates.
At last, some fifteen minutes before dark, he met his missionary friend of the day before. Shelford met him calmly and shook hands. He then said in his most matter-of-fact tone: “Don’t show any surprise at what I am going to say; we are now closely watched. Go home at once, put on Chinese clothes, and bring all your people as soon as possible and get to the river, where you’ll find a small white boat. If I’m not there take the boat at once and push off to the launch and make the sailors take you to Ping Tu. You may get through safely, but don’t attempt to bring anything away with you. The next half-hour will, I think, prove rather exciting. Good night!”