Part 20

Of their suspicions concerning him, the wounded man knew nothing. He indeed knew where he was and how he came to be there. He knew that he had been a prisoner in the Chinese camp. He knew that he had been cared for and his life saved by a Canadian missionary doctor and an Irish sergeant. He knew that instead of leaving him in the hands of the Chinese, they were taking him to the foreign settlement at Tamsui, until he should be strong enough to rejoin his regiment. But for any hint they gave or aught he suspected, he was nothing to them but Sergeant Alfred Melnotte, of the 3d Company, 4th Battalion of the Foreign Legion, reported by his company commander as "_disparu_," missing.

When he reached Tamsui and was installed in a large, airy room in Dr. MacKay's house, where the soft April winds blew in, where he lay and luxuriated in a great white bed, with its canopy of mosquito curtains, such luxury as he had not known for years, he wondered at the kindness of these strangers. But to them as to all the other residents of Tamsui, he was just "the French sergeant, Sergeant Melnotte."

*XXXVI*

*AN APPARITION*

In Hong-Kong the winter had passed in such a round of gaieties as the colony could afford. There were balls and dinner parties, state and private, afloat and ashore. There were cricket matches and military reviews in the city. There were races and golf, and more cricket matches and picnics at Happy Valley. A company of players of more or less excellence, going from Australia to England or America, from time to time came by way of Hong-Kong, and perhaps for a week drew astonishingly large houses, considering the smallness of the European population. There were excursions to Macao, and trips to Canton.

Mrs. MacAllister entered with the utmost zest into the social life of the great southern city. Although never at ease in society, always revealing to the practised eye that she had not been accustomed to it in her youth, the continual attendance at all manner of functions, the association with people supposed to be of social standing, had become her ideal of happiness. In the sumptuous apartments her husband had taken in the hotel, she entertained lavishly. Her wealth covered all defects of education and training. Perhaps the majority of those she met in the social life of the colony were not so much better bred than herself. And those who were, accepted her bountiful hospitality, and did not laugh at her till her back was turned.

Then she had far more compensating circumstances than most who have to depend on their wealth for admission into society. Her husband was keenly intelligent, well-informed, and perfectly at home anywhere. Her daughter was strikingly beautiful and accomplished. The accepted suitor for that daughter's hand was an earl. How could any colony be expected to resist such a combination as that? Hong-Kong simply surrendered at discretion.

It is true that Mr. MacAllister grew very weary of the inanities of the social round. He was becoming more and more anxious about his ill-success in getting any trace of his son. It is true also that many noted the fact that Miss MacAllister seemed to be very indifferent towards her titled suitor. But, as she once in confidence explained to McLeod, his acceptance by her mother saved her from being bored by any other of the aspiring young men she met.

Carteret had been in Hong-Kong on several occasions before and had been almost entirely ignored by colonial society. But society is not to be blamed for that. A younger son, on a small remittance, is a very different proposition, even if the heir has only one lung, from a real live earl, with the full income of his estates at his disposal. Society has a keen appreciation of the fitness of things. It regards not what a man is, but what he has.

Thus the winter passed away. But it was not without other incident. One day in January two young men were talking in the rotunda of the hotel. They were both officers of an English regiment then forming part of the garrison. One had just returned from leave, having arrived by the P. and O. liner the day before. The other had been in the city with his regiment.

"By Jove, Powell," said the former, "I got the biggest fright of my life yesterday."

"How's that?" said the other. "Didn't know that you ever got frightened."

"Well, I'll acknowledge that I'm not strong on getting scared, unless there's a woman in the case. Then I run every time."

"Perhaps! But that has not enlightened me as to what gave you the fright yesterday."

"It was this way. When we came to anchor we found ourselves right alongside of the French transport _Canton_, with troops for Formosa. She had a battalion of the Legion Etrangere. I had heard of them at Singapore, and knew that there was an old schoolmate of mine on board--Du Marais, captain commanding the first company. We chummed together when I was studying French and drill at Saint Cyr. So before coming ashore I went aboard the _Canton_ to look him up. Du Marais was there all right, brown, black rather, but fit as a fiddle after campaigns in Algiers. But it wasn't Du Marais who gave me the scare."

"What was it?"

"You remember MacAllister of the --th Dragoon Guards?"

"Who shot Standish after Tel-el-Kebir?"

"Yes."

"Of course I do. His father and mother and sister are in Hong-Kong now."

"Well, I could swear that he was on board the _Canton_ in Hong-Kong Harbour yesterday."

"But he was reported killed by Arabs on his way to Alexandria."

"I know. And that is what gave me the fright. As I was talking to Du Marais a big sergeant passed and, by the Lord, if Allister MacAllister is living that sergeant was he! If he's dead that was his ghost. Du Marais noticed me start and asked what was the matter. I told him. He said that the sergeant was not of his company and he did not know him, but that he would inquire. He came back in a little and said: 'You must be mistaken. That was Sergeant Melnotte of Lebigot's company. He is a Frenchman from Besancon.' But I was convinced that it was MacAllister or his ghost."

The two young officers strolled away. They did not notice a man sitting under a spreading tropical plant and hidden still more by the home newspaper he was reading. If they had noticed, they would have seen that the newspaper trembled like an aspen leaf in the palsied hands which held it. When they were gone, Mr. MacAllister rose from behind the plant. His face was pale as ashes, but his movements were quick and decided. He hurried to the harbour-master's office to ask about the _Canton_. She had sailed for Formosa the evening before.

He returned to the hotel to write letters to Consul Beauchamp, to Commander Gardenier, to Dr. Sinclair. Under the stringent rules of the blockade, those letters did not reach their destinations till their usefulness was past. He set himself to devise means to effect his own return to Formosa. It was not until April that it could be accomplished. Meanwhile he told neither his wife nor his daughter, lest their hopes should be disappointed, and the disappointment should be more than they could bear.

On the fourth of April the protocol was signed by the representatives of France and China. As soon as the news reached Hong-Kong the _Hailoong_ sailed for Tamsui. She had on board two white passengers for that port, Dr. MacKay and Mr. MacAllister.

The forces of nature and of man seemed determined to prevent her reaching there. When near her destination a terrific storm forced her to run back to the coast of China for shelter, as she had been compelled to do the previous August. When she again appeared off Tamsui a shot across her bows brought her to. The French commander had not heard that the blockade had been raised. Once more she had to put about and steam for the Pescadores to get authority from Admiral Courbet himself. From the Pescadores to Amoy, and again to Tamsui, she carried her impatient passengers before they were allowed to land.

*XXXVII*

*"MY SON! MY SON!"*

The day the _Hailoong_ first appeared off the harbour of Tamsui was one of deep anxiety to Sinclair. While the other foreign residents were almost delirious with joy at the prospect of the removal of the blockade, he was disturbed and anxious. He did not know who might be on board that boat. He had a presentiment so fixed that he could not shake himself free from it, that Mr. MacAllister was coming back again.

He dreaded the effect on his patient of the meeting between father and son. The wounded man was still weak. The doctor had not even hinted to him that he was known. Indeed, he had no absolute proof that this was Allister MacAllister. Yet he was convinced that this was he. He felt that he ought to tell him that he was known, and that his father was coming. Deep as was his own disappointment at the still further delay of word from Hong-Kong, it was nevertheless with a feeling akin to relief that he saw the _Hailoong_ forced to steam away without entering port. He resolved that his patient must be prepared for her return.

The two young men had grown deeply attached to each other. It was not strange. Sinclair had good reason to like the man he believed to be Jessie MacAllister's brother. Sergeant Melnotte had good reason to be grateful to the man who had saved his life.

But there was a deeper reason. It was the instinctive attraction of mutually complementary characters. Sinclair's invincible good-humour and cheerfulness were as life-giving sunshine to the wounded soldier, worn by hardship and suffering. Melnotte's patient, uncomplaining endurance of intense pain, his quiet but profound gratitude, appealed to Sinclair's admiration for all that was heroic and manly. The large, dark eyes followed his every movement with a look of devotion and thankfulness which was pathetic. It was the expression of dependence of one who had been strong, but was now brought down to the weakness of a child. In this gratitude Sinclair found his opportunity.

"Sergeant Melnotte," he said, "you are not French."

The invalid's face flushed a little, but he answered quietly:

"What makes you think so, doctor? Do I not speak French correctly?"

"Oh, yes! So far as I can see, you speak it perfectly; much better than I do. But you are not French."

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"When you were delirious you spoke Gaelic."

"Did I?" he asked quietly, as if holding himself in hand.

"Yes."

"Did you understand what I said?"

"No; but Sergeant Gorman did."

The man on the bed did not reply. His face assumed a strained, hunted look. Sinclair sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hand gently on his patient's.

"Sergeant Melnotte," he said in a low, kind tone, "you need be afraid of nothing from me. Are you not Allister MacAllister?"

The wounded man's hand gripped Sinclair's. A spasm of pain crossed his face. He closed his eyes and lay for a few moments very still. Then, without opening his eyes, he said in English:

"What do you know about Allister MacAllister?"

"I know his father, his mother, and his sister. I know that they are searching the world for him. I know that he disappeared and left no trace behind him, because he thought he had killed a man." The great, dark eyes were open now and looking in unbelieving wonder into Sinclair's frank, kindly blue ones. "But he didn't kill him."

"Dr. Sinclair, do you mean to say that Captain Philip Standish did not die?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. He is alive and well, and has been helping your father to search for you."

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!"

He covered his face with his hands. His lips moved as if in prayer. Sinclair did not stir, nor utter a word to disturb his thoughts and thankfulness. At length he uncovered his face and looked up.

"Dr. Sinclair," he said in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "where did you meet my people?"

"Here in Tamsui.... No," he continued, in answer to the eager, startled look, "they are not here now. But they are not far away. They are in Hong-Kong."

* * * * *

Four days later the _Hailoong_ was again seen standing in towards the harbour. After a very brief delay the French allowed her to proceed.

The whole foreign population except Sergeant Gorman and the patient, whom he remained to care for, were down at the dock. The native Christians were there in a body in the hopes that Dr. MacKay might be on board.

As the first boat with the first news from abroad for exactly six months zigzagged through the field of mines and obstructions with which the mouth of the harbour was blocked, every glass was focussed upon her.

"It's McLeod who is bringing her in," said Boville, who was using the long customs telescope. "Whiteley is not on the bridge. He is on deck with two passengers."

"That's MacKay next to him," said the consul. "I can tell him by his size and the long black whiskers against his white clothes."

"Who's the big man on MacKay's left?" asked Sinclair, who wanted some one to confirm his own impressions.

"It looks like MacAllister," replied Boville. "Yes, it is MacAllister. I can see him plainly now that she has swung to starboard. I wonder what is bringing him back to Formosa."

"Lord, what shall I do to entertain him? ... I haven't a thing to eat fit to offer a white man.... 'Pon my soul, I haven't!" spluttered De Vaux.

Sinclair and the consul glanced at each other understandingly, and the latter said:

"Make your mind easy about that, De Vaux. With your permission I shall be glad to entertain Mr. MacAllister. I have a little foreign chow left. My wife will probably have sent some more by this boat."

With tears of joy, shrill cries of welcome, and exclamations of thankfulness the natives received their pastor.

No less gladly, but hiding their feelings under jest and laughter, the Britons welcomed their countrymen. In the midst of the handshaking Beauchamp said:

"Mr. MacAllister, you will be my guest this time. Come away up to the consulate."

With a brief word or two in an undertone to Sinclair, the consul led his guest away. After a cheery laugh and an exchange of banter with McLeod, the doctor climbed the steep hill with MacKay and his converts to the former's house.

Twenty minutes later he looked from the verandah and saw the consul and Mr. MacAllister coming. The latter's face was pale as death. He was stooping forward and trembling as if with palsy. But he was covering the ground with such strides that the consul, in spite of his agility, was almost running to keep pace with him. As he drew near the verandah the father broke into a run, and his trembling hands caught Sinclair's:

"May I see him, doctor? May I see him?"

"Yes. He's expecting you."

"God bless you, Dr. Sinclair! God bless you!"

As the door of the room swung open the man on the bed raised himself on his elbow and uttered one word in Gaelic:

"Athair!" (Father).

"My son! My son, Allister! My son! My son!"

The father was on his knees beside the bed, holding the great worn frame of his boy in his arms. The son's arms were around the father's neck. They were kissing each other, were crooning to each other in the Gaelic. All the passion and the tenderness of the Celtic nature was being poured forth, unrestrained. The love of this man of business and his soldier son was like the love of a man for a woman, and of a woman for a man.

Half an hour later Sinclair and MacKay gently opened the door. They were anxious about the strength of the wounded man. The father was still on his knees by the bed. The son's arms were still around his neck. The father's voice was being lifted up to God in prayer, still in the language of his native hills. It was not a prayer of petition, but of thankfulness. And the words they heard were these:

"'For this my son was dead, and is alive again. He was lost and is found.'"

*XXXVIII*

*REJECTED*

MacKay and Sinclair were sitting in the former's study. It was the first moment they had found in which to discuss their own plans and prospects.

"Dr. Sinclair," said MacKay, "you remember my prophecy about the way the Church at home would treat me, because I ordained those two native preachers."

"Yes, I remember."

"Read that."

He handed Sinclair a letter. It was from an old official of the Church. In dry, formal words he recounted the misdemeanours and errors of which MacKay was guilty in that "you did arrogate unto yourself and usurp the functions of a Presbytery, and did, by the laying on of your hands, without the presence and without the authority of a Presbytery, ordain or pretend to ordain to the office of the holy ministry two native preachers: to wit, one A Hoa and one Tan He."

After having recounted the pains and penalties which the heinous offence might incur, the letter closed with the consolation that, in view of his past services and his zeal which had outrun his discretion, the General Assembly would be petitioned to condone his offence, and it might be pleased to grant the prayer of the petition, on condition that he would promise that it would never happen again. This promise, it was trusted, would be forthcoming by return mail.

When he finished reading Sinclair sat in silence for some moments, looking straight at MacKay. Then he burst out:

"The old fossil! Has he no imagination? Has he no knowledge of conditions here? Has he no common sense to apply to an uncommon situation?"

"It looks like that," replied MacKay. "But perhaps it is not all his fault. He has never seen any Christian work except that in a congregation of decent Ontario farmers, or in a city church composed of the hereditary good. He has never been any place where cut-and-dried Presbyterian rules could not be applied as easily as a straight edge to a plane surface."

"A mere animated edition of Rules and Forms of Procedure."

"Yes."

"But did you not explain to him the exceptional situation, demanding exceptional treatment?"

"Yes. I explained it very fully."

"And could the old dry-as-dust not understand? Could he not understand that at the time you did this you were likely to die within twelve hours? Could he not understand that, if you had died and you had left no one to take the lead, all this work, this Church you have builded, was likely to go to smash before they could get another man capable of carrying it on? Could he not understand that?"

"No, he could not understand. And if he could, the total destruction of the native Church would be nothing as compared with the calamity of having broken a rule framed for the Church in Canada, but not in China."

"A case of man's being made for the rules, and not the rules for man."

"Exactly."

"I suppose he can't help it. He has been reared in a groove. He lives in a groove. He will die in a groove. And if he gets to heaven it will be through a groove fenced in by rules and precedents."

"If you like to put it that way."

"But will you submit to it? Will you promise to be good and not to do this wicked thing any more?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I would."

"If I didn't, I'd be suspended and have to give up my work. I would submit to nearly anything rather than leave these people. They are my children in the Lord."

Sinclair made no reply. He was seeing more deeply than ever into the secret springs of the life of this stern prophet of North Formosa. He had not wondered at his bearing hardship, at his facing danger, at his seeming almost to court death. That was what was to be expected of one of his nature. But when he saw this fiery Celt meekly submit to the rebukes of small and ignorant men, in order that he might be permitted by their ill-grace to go on with his work, he began to fathom the depth of his love for the dark-skinned people of his island home.

Presently MacKay spoke:

"I have another letter which touches you more closely. It is the reply to my request that you should be appointed a medical missionary. Do you care to read it? Here it is."

Sinclair took it and read. It had evidently not been written until after the Church at home had received word of MacKay's recovery from his serious illness. It opened with some very conventional and perfunctory expressions of thanksgiving to the Almighty for having "spared the life of His devoted servant and restored him to such a large measure of health."

Then it proceeded to deal with the application for Sinclair's appointment as a missionary. It was "contrary to the usage of the Committee to appoint a man who had not put in his application in regular form. The Committee also preferred that the candidate for appointment should appear in person before it, that its members might be satisfied as to his fitness. Doubtless Dr. Sinclair was all that Dr. MacKay represented him to be. But the Committee felt that it would be unwise to rely on Dr. MacKay's judgment in the matter, especially in view of some recent regrettable occurrences....

"The Committee was very particular that its missionaries should be men of deep spirituality, spending much time in prayer, characterized by meekness and humility, filled with love for the natives, ready to make sacrifices and endure hardships in order that the Kingdom of God might be established on the earth. The Committee regretted that it could not accept without reserve Dr. MacKay's judgment of the candidate's fitness, especially in view of recent events.... If Dr. Sinclair really desired appointment, he must return to Canada and appear in person before the Committee...."

As he proceeded Sinclair's face was a study. When he had read a page or more of this epistle he stopped, glanced at MacKay, then turned to the last page, and looked at the signature:

"Your brother in the Lord, "THADDAEUS CORNELIUS McGUFFIN."

"Thaddaeeus Cornelius McGuffin," he repeated. "Who in the world is that? I thought that I knew most of the Church officials at home. But I never heard of him. Who is he?"

"A young clerk who has been appointed to help the convener of the Committee. A sort of office assistant."

"And does he dare to write to you like that?"

"You see for yourself."

"The gall of him! What does he know of the qualities needed in a missionary? Has he ever been in the foreign field?"

"Never been nearer to it than the suburbs of Toronto."

"He talks about sacrifice and enduring hardships. What has he sacrificed? What hardships has he borne?"

"To the best of my knowledge he has never sacrificed a meal of victuals or a night's rest. But these are the men who talk most glibly of self-sacrifice. As for hardships, I think the greatest he has ever known has been to ride down to the office in a Toronto street car."

"That's bad enough," laughed Sinclair, whose good-humour was returning as the absurdity of this office-hand's high and mighty attitude towards the veteran missionary grew upon him. "But tell me, Dr. MacKay," he continued, "what would they do with me if I did go home and appear before the Committee?"

"They would ask you a number of harmless questions about your disposition and temper, and your submissiveness to authority, your religious experience, devotional practices, and habits of study--the whole lasting perhaps fifteen minutes."

"And do they imagine that they would learn more of me by that than you could testify of me after having seen me among the natives for the last nine months?"

"Evidently! Especially as my judgment is not to be trusted since some recent events."

"And for that fifteen-minute interview they would expect me to travel ten thousand miles?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm not going. I shall not submit myself to the inquisition of Thaddaeus Cornelius McGuffin."

"I am very glad."

Sinclair looked at MacKay with surprise and question in his eyes.

"I am very glad that you will not go. You would not be appointed if you did."

"How do you know?"

"Read the rest of the letter."