Part 13

"I certainly do. For one thing, I have never seen nor heard of among any other people anything like the ability of the Chinese to bear pain. I was compelled to perform without anaesthetics operations so painful that most Europeans or Americans would rather have died than have endured them. Yet the Chinese bore them with little more than an occasional groan or a suppressed 'ai-yah.'"

"Why, then, is it that they have made such a poor showing when opposed to European troops? I have always been informed that it was the lack of physical courage."

"It is not because of the lack of courage. It is the lack of training and the lack of leadership. Going into battle vain, self-confident, and contemptuous towards the foreigners, they have suddenly found themselves exposed by incompetent commanders, mowed down by the foreign weapons, disconcerted by well-ordered movements of trained men, and helpless to meet foreign strategy. The inevitable panic followed, and they ran."

"But we have been told again and again by the experts that it is impossible to drill the Chinese; that they will never be anything else than a mob."

"Then I wish those experts could have seen Sergeant Gorman and his ambulance corps. He was given some of the toughest material in Liu Ming-chuan's army. In a month's time they moved like clock-work. As the American general they have over there said, I'd just like to see Gorman 'lickin' a regiment into fightin' shape.' General Gordon proved what could be done with a Chinese army during the Tai-ping rebellion. If China only had a few native General Gordons, the world would soon receive notice that China was to be left alone."

"Is that not just where the difficulty lies, the lack of able, patriotic leadership? The authorities tell us that there is no patriotism in China. They say that every man is for himself, or at most for his own city or province, but he cares nothing for the country as a whole."

"That may have been true in the past, and doubtless still is true of the mass of the people. But it is no longer true of many of the younger and better educated men. There are young officers in the army who are just as patriotically Chinese, whether they come from the North or Centre or South, as we are British, whether we be from Britain or Canada or Australia. They are learning more from defeats than they would from victories. Some day before very long China will produce a man whom his countrymen will follow. Then it will say 'Hands off!' to the world."

"What do you think is the country's greatest need at the present moment? The missionaries say, Christianity. Hart, the Inspector General of Customs, who has lived half a lifetime in China, and the American Minister at Pekin endorse the missionaries' opinions. The special correspondents and the experts say political reform. What do you think?"

"Christianity, most emphatically. The political reforms will follow. When the new China appears in the world its leaders will be Christians."

Mrs. MacAllister, who had been listening with ill-concealed impatience, threw back her head and sniffed.

"Dr. Sinclair," she said, "do you really think that it makes any difference with these Chinese whether they call themselves Christians or heathens?"

"I am quite sure of it, Mrs. MacAllister."

"Well, I don't believe that a Christian Chinese is one bit different from a heathen Chinese. They are both just dirty Chinese."

"If you could see the difference between Dr. MacKay's students, who were with me as nurses and hospital assistants, and their heathen neighbours," replied Sinclair, "you would not say that. I have never seen nurses or medical students in a hospital at home more cleanly, faithful or efficient, or more apt to learn. Their people were just common, ignorant Chinese peasants. I know of no explanation of the difference between these boys and others of their class, except that these were Christians and the others were not."

"I see that you quite agree with my husband in this. But I do not. When we were at home it seemed romantic to hear about foreign missions. But when I came out here, and saw those ignorant natives, and heard some of them called Christians, it quite disgusted me. And Dr. MacKay actually asked us to go to the native church and sit at the Lord's Table with them. I was so surprised at him that I did not know what answer to make. I do not believe that they are real Christians at all. What was it Mr. Carteret called them? Oh, yes! Rice Christians! He said that they were 'rice Christians.' That means that they were in it for what they could get out of it. Mr. Carteret said that he had never known a real Christian among them."

Sinclair had intended to allow the subject to drop when he saw that for some reason his hostess held very pronounced views on it, different from his own. But her quoting Carteret as an authority on the sincerity or reality of religious beliefs touched him to the quick. He answered very quietly but firmly:

"All over the south of Scotland, from the Atlantic to the North Sea, in churchyard or hillside or lonely moor, are to be found flat slabs or tall monuments, marking the spots where the Covenanters of two hundred years ago were slain or where their bodies were laid to rest. Some of them were gentlemen of birth. Some were cultured ministers. But the great majority were plain people, sometimes ignorant people; just ordinary hard-working, unlearned Scottish peasants. Yet the places where they died are sacred to-day. Monuments are erected to them. Books are written about them. They are held up before us as the martyrs and heroes of our Church. Why? Because they died rather than deny their faith.

"Less than a month ago and less than twenty miles from here, some plain people--merchants, farmers, artisans--were asked to deny their faith. They refused. They were beaten. They were tortured. They were hanged by the hair of the head. Two of them were drowned. Their religion was the same as that of the Scottish Covenanters. They died for it just as willingly as the Covenanters did. They were Chinese. If we say that the Scottish sufferers were martyrs and heroes, I do not know how we can refuse to say the same of the Chinese."

He had spoken quietly, in a low tone of voice. But the very quietness of his manner had deepened the impression of tense feeling, of emotion kept under firm control. His words had grown eloquent in spite of himself.

When he ceased there was perfect silence for some minutes. Miss MacAllister was looking wonderingly at him. He had always seemed so good-humoured, so easy-going that she had sometimes asked herself if he was really capable of deep, passionate feeling. At an unexpected moment she had got her answer. There was no mistaking the passion of admiration for a heroic deed which possessed him, the indignant protest against an injustice. It was all the more impressive because it was so restrained. For reasons which perhaps she could not explain to herself she felt a thrill of pleasure at recognizing this note of passion in his voice.

Mrs. MacAllister also sat silent for a time. Then she said in a very different tone from that which she had used before:

"Perhaps you are right, Dr. Sinclair. I had not looked at it in that light."

"It is not easy for any one of us to be entirely just to peoples so unlike us as are the Chinese," said her husband. "Yet, when we get down to the mainsprings of their conduct, we find that they are pretty much the same as our own."

*XXI*

*THE LANGUAGE OF SONG*

When dinner was over, Sinclair asked Miss MacAllister if she would play and sing for them. "I have not heard a song," he said, "nor the sound of a civilized instrument since the evening at the consulate, just after we landed."

For a moment her eyes danced mischievously. A question about that Indian song of his trembled upon her lips. But she thought better of it, deciding not to say anything which might mar the evening by any misunderstanding. So she replied:

"I am afraid that you will hardly call this piano a civilized instrument after you have heard it. It has almost ceased to be an instrument at all. Its age, the climate, and the lack of a tuner have combined to make it a mere caricature of a piano. But, if you'll try to imagine that the weird sounds it produces are music, I shall do my best."

"Your voice will more than compensate for any deficiencies in the instrument," he said as he conducted her to the piano.

"Dr. Sinclair, I am surprised at you. I didn't think that you would flatter."

"I am not flattering. I mean it."

She bent over the music; but he could see the warm colour flow up the side of her neck and face. He wondered if he had been too bold. Had he displeased her? She kept her head bent down and slowly turned the leaves of a song folio which rested on the keys. He could see little of her face. Had he by his rashness annoyed her and brought discord into that delightful evening?

Presently she seemed to have made a choice. She gave him one quick, shy glance, and he saw her face. The blush still lingered there, but there was no trace of displeasure.

"Would you like me to sing this?"

She laid the folio open on the piano. Sinclair's heart gave a leap. She had chosen a love song. It was not indeed a maiden's tale of love, but the love of a man for a maid. Nevertheless, it was a woman's song, and a woman's tenderness breathed through both words and melody of immortal "Annie Laurie."

"You could not have chosen anything I should have liked better. 'Annie Laurie' will never grow old."

She sang the first verse alone. Then she said:

"I thought that you were going to sing with me. Will you not put in a bass?" And a little mischievously: "It will at least help to drown the discords of this old instrument."

"I was enjoying your voice so much," he replied, "that I did not wish to spoil the pleasure by adding mine. But, if you wish it, I'll join you."

Other songs, mostly old Scotch favourites, followed. Sinclair noted that she did not choose war-songs as when she sang at the consulate. Her mood was different, and she chose those into which the singers of her race had poured all their pathos and their tenderness.

As they talked in the intervals, and sometimes prolonged the selection of a song, the hesitation and mutual reserve wore off and soon they found themselves conversing with the quiet confidence of those who had long been friends. There seemed to be no room for misunderstandings.

Again and again Sinclair caught himself wondering if this were the same girl who had badgered him so unmercifully a few weeks before. Or was this present situation only a bright dream, from which he would awaken to find himself still the object of her badinage and laughter? "Well," he thought to himself, "dream or no dream, I'll enjoy it while it lasts and hope that I may be long in waking up."

But there were a few things which reminded him that it was not a dream. Mrs. MacAllister did not enter quite so heartily into sympathy with her daughter's mood as did Dr. Sinclair. Perhaps it was not to be expected. More than once she endeavoured to interject her disapproval of their choice of songs.

"What are you going to sing next, Jessie?" she asked when three love songs had followed one another without a break.

"'Robin Adair.'"

Mrs. MacAllister sniffed audibly.

"I do not think much of your choice," she said tartly.

"You like it, father, do you not?"

"Oh, yes, Jessie! It suits me very well. Sing it."

When it was sung Mrs. MacAllister returned to the attack:

"Why do you not sing something lively instead of those lonesome pieces? It gives me a creepy feeling. Dr. Sinclair is just back from the war. Can you not sing him some fighting song, such as 'Bonnie Dundee' or 'Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled'?"

"Mother, I do not feel like singing fighting songs this evening. We are likely to have fighting enough soon. But if Dr. Sinclair has become so bloodthirsty as a result of his service at the front, I'll try to satisfy him. Must you give vent to your feelings in a war-song, Dr. Sinclair?" A gleam of fun shot through the mock anxiety of her face.

"Not at all, Miss MacAllister. I saw enough of glorious war to do me for a little while. The glory of it is mostly in the songs. There is little glory in the actuality. Anyway, I am enjoying myself too much as it is to take the chance of spoiling it by a change."

Miss MacAllister answered by a warning shake of the head, the severity of which was disarmed by the accompanying smile. But her mother set her lips close together, elevated her nose, and sniffed very audibly.

All unheeding, the young people chose another Scottish song, "Bonnie Charlie's Noo Awa." As the plaintive words and the wailing notes rang out,

"Mony a heart will break in twa Should you ne'er come back again,"

Mr. MacAllister slipped out of the room into the verandah which looked over the river to the tall dark peak beyond.

Then the lament of the chorus rose into a cry and died away in a sob:

"Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be. Will ye no come back again?

Mrs. MacAllister rose and hurriedly followed her husband.

A late moon was rising over the great bulk of the Taitoon range, shedding its pale light on the brimming river, save where the houses of the town and the clustered junks cast long, dark shadows. Out in mid-stream the _Locust_ swam on the mirror-like surface. The call of a night bird rang plaintively across the water. Within, the voices of the singers rose again in the last stanza:

"Sweet's the lav'rock's note and lang; Liltin' wildly up the glen; But aye to me he sings ae sang, Will ye no come back again?"

In the dark shadow of the deep verandah a man and woman, both middle-aged, pressed close to each other. His arm was around her waist. Her head was on his shoulder. As he caressed and soothed her his tears fell on her face and mingled with her own. It was not of a long-dead prince they were thinking. It was of a lost son of whom they did not know whether he was living or dead.

The silver tones of the gunboat's bell rang out on the sweet night air, striking six times. Sinclair pulled out his watch with a look of incredulity:

"Eleven o'clock! Miss MacAllister, I am ashamed of myself. I had no idea it was so late. I have been enjoying myself so much that this evening has passed like a dream."

"I am glad that you have enjoyed it. The time has passed very quickly to me, too."

"You do not know what pleasure it gives me to hear you say so. It has been to me the pleasantest evening of my life."

She blushed at the implication, gave him the reward of a smile, and rose hurriedly from the piano:

"Where are father and mother? I must find them to bid you good-bye."

*XXII*

*HALCYON DAYS*

The next three days were to Dr. Sinclair a continuation of that evening's dream. They were full of incident. But what made them still more pleasant and memorable was the fact that he often met Miss MacAllister, and that she was uniformly kind and seemed to enjoy his company. It is true that after Saturday evening they did not again meet alone. But no matter how gay the company might be, nor how much chaffing and repartee was passing among them, she never reverted to the attitude she had adopted during the first week of their acquaintance. She did not try to make him feel uncomfortable, nor did she cause a laugh at his expense.

On Sunday morning at nine o'clock there was a service in the little native church, a few rods from the hong of MacAllister, Munro Co. In addition to the local Christians there were many refugees present who had fled from their homes in the inland villages, having lost everything but their lives.

The Communion of the Lord's Supper was observed, Dr. MacKay presiding, assisted by his missionary colleague and some of the oldest native preachers. Mr. MacAllister and his daughter, Dr. Sinclair, an engineer and a petty officer from the _Locust_, and one member of the customs staff sat with the wives of the missionaries and the native converts. The service was conducted in Chinese. Consequently the words were unintelligible to most of the foreigners present. Yet they were conscious of the tense feeling, the close and reverent attention, the spirit of prayer of the native worshippers.

Once only did the officiating missionary use the English language. He was administering the wine, and spoke the words of a formula in Chinese. The audience had been silent and reverent before. Now the silence could be felt. He repeated it in English:

"'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is shed for many for the remission of sins: Drink ye all of it. It may be that many of you will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day when you drink it new in the Kingdom of God.'"

When the service was over Sinclair walked slowly along the narrow street with Miss MacAllister and her father. For a time they were silent, as if each were letting the impression of it sink into the mind. Miss MacAllister was the first to speak.

"I have never thought myself religious," she said. "I am afraid that I have been like so many others, a member of a church because it is customary and respectable. But if the spirit and atmosphere which were in that little Chinese church this morning prevailed in our big churches at home, I think I could be religious."

"I am afraid that you are underestimating your own interest in religion," replied her father. "And perhaps you are mixing, just a little, reverent feelings and actually living as a Christian. They are very different things. But it is true that the spirit of worship I have found in many of those native churches has made the services of a considerable proportion of our home churches appear mere barren, lifeless formalism in comparison. The West may have again to learn from the East the devotion and self-forgetfulness of Christianity."

They had reached a point in the narrow, crooked street which commanded a view of the harbour and of the sea beyond. An exclamation from Sinclair directed their attention seaward.

A small merchant steamer was seen coming towards the harbour. As she drew near a puff of smoke streamed out from the _Vipere_, and after an interval the heavy boom of a cannon floated along the water. The little merchantman promptly reversed. A boat from the Frenchman ran alongside. After half an hour's delay the boat pulled away again, and the _Fokien_ steamed slowly in, picking up a pilot as she came. Her captain had satisfied the search party that she had no contraband of war on board.

In the afternoon Sinclair and Miss MacAllister met at a service conducted in English in the little mission college for the benefit of the foreign community. The missionaries, the consul and his wife and daughter, the officers and a detachment of men from the _Locust_, and the MacAllisters attended. Very few of the other foreign residents took advantage of it. Most of them had shed their church-going habits and their interest in religion of any kind as soon as they came to the Far East.

Even Carteret's desire to stand well with the MacAllisters could not overcome his rooted aversion to attending a Christian service of any kind. Mrs. MacAllister was much surprised at his absence in view of the readiness with which he had expressed his opinions on the sincerity of the Chinese converts and his apparent interest in matters spiritual. She thought that he must be weary from his duties during the week and must feel the need of resting on the Sabbath. Otherwise she was sure that he would have been present, as he was so much interested in religion.

It might have been a revelation to her to have known how the pious young man was at that moment engaged. In company with Clark, the tea-buyer, and two other kindred spirits, he was enjoying a game of baccarat, while sundry bottles of various brands decorated the table. Before that Sabbath day reached the midnight hour, Clark and his two companions were to subside in more or less restful positions on the floor, there to lie in stertorous, swinish slumber till well on in the morrow. But Carteret, who was banker in the game, though his pale face was flushed and his eyes were glassy, was able to reach his room with comparatively steady step; was able to feel with satisfaction that in his pockets rested securely the spare cash of his three comrades, together with various I.O.U.'s. He was a pious young man, much interested in religion, and greatly distressed by the insincerity of the native converts.

Meanwhile, most of those who had been at the service had accepted the consul's invitation to ascend to the top of the old Dutch fort, and from that lofty point of vantage survey the scenery and watch any movements on board the French warships.

"What is that away to the northwest, just north of where the sun will set?" said Sinclair. "Is that an evening cloud or is it a trail of smoke from a steamer?"

Commander Gardenier's glass was on it in an instant:

"It is the smoke of a steamer, and she is coming directly this way. Looks as if she were from Foochow."

They watched her while she came over the rim of the horizon and drew rapidly nearer. Now the Frenchmen could see her, and there was a movement on board. But she evidently did not see them against the background of the coast.

"Up goes her flag. She sees the Frenchman and is letting them know who she is. She is British. What do you make of her, Boville?" handing him the glass. "You know most of the boats along the Coast."

"She's a long way off; but she looks like the _Waverly_, a tramp. If it is, she is almost sure to have contraband on board. By Jove! she's putting about!"

A long jet of smoke spirted out from the _Vipere_. The report went volleying off among the hills.

"A blank!" exclaimed Gardenier. "I believe that fool captain is going to run for it. He's stoking for all he's worth and heading straight across the channel. He must be crazy. He hasn't a chance in the world."

"No, I fancy he has no chance on that smooth sea," replied Boville. "But if there was a gale blowing or better still, a typhoon, Archie Scott would drive that old tub of his through at full speed where Monsieur of the _Vipere_ would have to heave to."

But there was no prospect of a storm that calm evening and the warship was tearing through the water. Another jet of flame and smoke streamed out from her. A little plume of spray rose close to the bow of the fleeing steamer.

"It's all up with Archie this time," laughed Gardenier. "The Frenchman is too fast for him. That shot brought him to his senses."

The daring little merchantman was boarded, and just as the sun set she was seen steaming back towards Foochow, while the _Vipere_ returned to her place of guard.

"This is quite exciting," said Miss MacAllister. "I had little idea when we sailed from Amoy that I was going to get so near to actual war."

"I only hope that you may not get any nearer," replied the consul, a little grimly.

"Why, Mr. Beauchamp? Do you think that there is much prospect of there being fighting right here?"

"I really can't say. I don't know what is in the minds of those Frenchmen. But I do not like the way they are acting. It is pretty much the way they manoeuvred before they bombarded Keelung."

"Wouldn't that be great? To be in the midst of a bombardment!"

"It's not so romantic as it is to read about it in the papers," said the consul. "What do you think, Sinclair? Hallo! What's this? Look here, doctor, I'll have you arrested for alienating the affections of my daughter."