Part 7

At long intervals a sedan-chair pressed its way through the throng, bearing a sick or wounded officer back to the capital. Wounded regulars in white or red or maroon tunics and straw hats limped along, adding a touch of colour to the writhing serpent. Irregular levies in the ordinary dark-blue cotton clothing of the Chinese coolies were hastening home, glad of the success of the French attack, so that they might get an opportunity to desert with their arms and all the loot they could lay their hands upon.

The flight had its comedies and its tragedies. But the comedies only played lightly over the surface of the general tragedy. A coolie jogged along with two huge baskets swinging from the ends of the bamboo carrying-pole. In one were a small pig and a number of live ducks and hens. Balancing these in the other basket were his two children.

Some farmers, making an effort to save their livestock, drove a number of pigs and a herd of water-buffaloes into the midst of the long line of refugees. But frightened by the yells and execrations, pounded with staffs and bamboo yokes, and jabbed by the knives, spears, and bayonets of the soldiers, they stampeded along the narrow way through the midst of the procession. The pigs, running between the feet of the weary plodders, upset many. But the buffaloes, with their huge bulk and enormous horns, flung them right and left and trampled some to death, till their mad rush turned off at an angle from the road being followed. Over all rose a continual clamour of shrill, high-pitched voices--talking, scolding, cursing, crying, screaming hysterically.

One old woman with white hair, hobbling painfully along with the aid of a staff, stopped again and again, saying that she could go no farther. Each time her son, who was laden with the most precious of his household goods, reasoned with her, pled with and adjured her to try again. He was backed by all the members of the family. After much shrill altercation, she would make another attempt and struggle along a short distance. At last she stopped, sat down by the wayside, and, in spite of all they could do, refused to budge an inch. Her poor little bound feet could carry her no farther. Seeing that persuasion was in vain, the son put down his load of valuables. He looked hesitatingly from his mother to his poor possessions, and from them back to his mother again. Filial piety prevailed, and crouching down he lifted his mother on his back and trudged on, leaving his chattels by the way. He had not gone a hundred feet when there was not an article left. But there were other old and feeble, other women and children, who had none to carry them. They were left beside the road to live or die.

A man dressed in a long gown of mauve silk, evidently a prosperous merchant, was trudging along, followed closely by his wife, a couple of young maidens, evidently daughters, and some younger children. One of the bandits who had been enrolled as soldiers and had deserted was hurrying past. Like a flash he snatched at a cord he saw around the merchant's neck, jerked a bag of money from within his clothes and with a tug which well-nigh strangled him wrenched it away. Recovering himself a little the merchant, with a scream of anger, struck the robber over the head with his staff. Instantly the ruffian levelled his gun and blew out his victim's brains, in the midst of the shrieking women of his household. Then, darting into the long grass and bamboos, he made his escape. There was none to avenge. There were none save the weeping women to care. Fear and the instinct of self-preservation made them all brutes. The throng pressed blindly on, trampling the still quivering body of the murdered man under their feet.

There were many more women and children in the flight than men. It was not merely because some of the men had willingly taken service against the enemy, and others had been impressed. In many cases it was because the husbands and fathers had fled first and left their wives and children to fare as best they could. Love plays so small a part in Chinese home life that there was little bond to bind husbands to wives. A wife is purchased in much the same way as any other domestic animal. When it came to a choice between his individual safety by unencumbered flight and incurring some risk by waiting to save his wife, many a Chinese husband unhesitatingly chose the former. The women of such families had to seek safety as best they could. Great numbers of them were among the fugitives.

These defenceless women were the special prey of the irregular levies, deserters, and banditti, who were everywhere searching for loot and committing deeds of violence. Taking advantage of the crowding and confusion caused by the passing of Sinclair's chair at a narrow part of the road, one scoundrel snatched some jewellery from several unprotected women, twisted bracelets from their arms, and even twitched earrings from their bleeding ears. It was right in front of Sergeant Gorman's chair. Then the robber sprang past the chair on the side next the mountain in his attempt to escape. He was not quick enough.

"Och, you dirty thavin' blackguard, take that!"

A fist shot out of the little opening in the side of the covered chair, and a blow like that of trip-hammer caught the Chinese on the jaw and dashed him against the steep hillside. Then, with a spring which knocked his forward chair-bearer off his feet, Gorman was out in the open ready for action.

He was none too soon. Supple as a cat, the Chinese had rolled over and, lying on the ground, was already taking aim. But Gorman was too quick. The rifle was dashed aside and discharged harmlessly along the mountain slope. In another instant it was wrenched out of the hands of the Chinese and flung across the path, down the bank into the river. Then, gripping his adversary by the neck-band of his short blue jacket, the Irishman, with one tremendous heave of hand and foot together, lifted the Chinese clear of the ground and pitched him headlong after his rifle. The last wild scream of rage and fear ended in the splash of the falling body. The swift dark water swept it out of sight.

"Begorra, an' ye'll not abuse definseless women anny more!"

At the first sound of Gorman's voice mingling with the shrill clamour of the Chinese, Sinclair had sprung from his chair with a big .44 revolver in his hand, ready for action. He did not know what had brought on the scrimmage. But a glance showed him that, while Gorman was quite able to cope with the present situation, there was a possibility of serious danger. A few long strides brought him to where the sergeant had just flung his opponent down the bank into the river.

The screams of terror of the women redoubled at the sight of the two foreigners. The size of Sinclair, the fierce vigour of Gorman, the fair complexions, the foreign dress and foreign weapons of both, brought to mind the stories they had heard from infancy of the great, green-eyed, red-faced, hairy barbarians who came from over the sea, who knew not the rules of good conduct, and who, whenever they got the chance, maltreated the sons and daughters of Han.

Cries of "Ang-mng! Ang-mng!" (Red-heads), "Hoan-a-kui!" (Foreign devils) rose above the inarticulate shrieks of fear.

Sergeant Gorman was equal to the occasion. Utterly unmindful of the wild disorder about him, he busied himself gathering up the articles of jewellery which the thief had dropped in the struggle. Then with his best Chinese and profound bows he returned these to the women from whom they had been torn.

For a moment the terrified women could not realize his meaning. When they did, their shrill cries of "Ang-mng!" and "Hoan-a-kui!" gave place to that of "Ho-sim! Ho-sim!" (Good heart).

At the same time the student guide, getting an opportunity to make his voice heard, was explaining that these were not Frenchmen, but Englishmen, that they were friends of the missionary, Kai Bok-su, and that they were doctors going to heal the Chinese who had been wounded in the battle with the French. Again the cry "Ho-sim!" (Good heart) rose from the fugitives. Only some of the rascally looters looked at them with evil eyes and sullen faces.

Sending their chairs back, Dr. Sinclair, Sergeant Gorman, and their Chinese companions proceeded on foot. Before long they turned off into a path leading in an easterly direction and soon touched the Chinese lines. The order from the governor's deputy gained them courteous treatment, and they were conducted to the general's headquarters at the village of Loan-Loan.

*XI*

*THE LIFE-HEALER IS COME*

Dr. MacKay had prepared the Chinese commander for their coming. Liu Ming-chuan lost no time in meaningless formalities. He read their passports, thanked them for coming, issued orders giving Dr. Sinclair a free hand in dealing with the sick and wounded, and in half an hour saw him beginning his work.

"I am glad you have come," said MacKay. "I was sure you would." The keen black eyes looked straight into Sinclair's blue ones. "I was sure you would," he repeated. "You want to do good to humanity. I never saw a time when it was more needed. God sent you here for this very time."

"I hope that may be true," replied Sinclair. "For the present we must get busy. Have many wounded been brought in?"

"More than a hundred. But I believe that there are many more in the various forts or on the open hillsides, lying where they fell. There has been no system about collecting the wounded."

"That will be for you to organize, sergeant--an ambulance corps."

"Bedad, sir, an' if they'll give me the men I ask for I'll train them till they can pick up a wounded man before he falls."

"That's what we want, sergeant. Meanwhile, Dr. MacKay, what accommodation can they give us? Just as we went into the governor's you spoke of a hospital. Have you succeeded in improvising one?"

"That's where we are going now. You can see for yourself. Here we are."

He turned into a narrow lane. As he did so the pungent odour of disinfectants reached their nostrils. Another sharp turn and he stopped at the door of a long, low, but well-built house of durable burned brick. They had approached it from the back. On the other side two long buildings extended from each end of the main structure, at right angles to it, with it forming three sides of a square and enclosing a large paved courtyard. The fourth side had been shut in by a high fence of interwoven bamboos. But this had been cleared away. Now the courtyard opened directly on a beautiful, swift-flowing stream, a branch of the Tamsui River. Mountains clothed with verdure from base to summit rose from the farther shore. A soft breeze blew up the river and, eddying in the courtyard, modified the intense heat. A clump of feathery bamboos nodded gracefully over the buildings.

On the earthen floor of the houses, on the cobblestones which paved the courtyard, on the ground outside, quicklime had been plentifully scattered. A strong odour of carbolic told that other precautions had been taken.

Sinclair passed through the building with long, swift strides, his eyes seeing everything. He paused when he reached the river bank and noted the means provided for the disposal of sewage. Then he turned to MacKay:

"Had any provision been made for this before you arrived?"

"None."

"Had the Chinese done nothing to care for their wounded?"

"Nothing."

"Did their doctors help you to get this hospital in shape?"

"No. They opposed me all they could."

"MacKay, you're a marvel."

"Do not praise me. You have not looked at the wounded yet. They are suffering. You must remember that I am not a qualified medical doctor. I am a preacher of the gospel. I know little of medicine, and almost nothing of surgery."

"The more wonder that you have accomplished so much!"

"It is my work. My Master not only healed the souls of men, but relieved the suffering of their bodies. To the best of my ability I try to do the same."

"You're right. That's what we're here for--to make life better for as many as we can. There are a lot here who need our help. Let us get busy."

They stepped again into the main building and stood in the narrow passage between the rows of bare trestle boards which served as beds. Wounded men were lying there as close together as was possible and yet leave room for a doctor to step in beside them. There was a hum of conversation, but very little moaning, and rarely a cry of pain. The Chinese, so noisy in their times of sorrow or of joy, so clamorous in their excitement, are strangely silent in pain and bear suffering stoically.

Dr. MacKay lifted his voice so that all could hear, speaking in Chinese.

"Friends," he said, "the physician of whom I told you has come. Listen to him. Submit to his treatment. Do what he tells you. He will heal you. He will give you your lives again."

At the sound of his voice all other voices were hushed. Thin brown forms turned painfully on the bare boards; rows of black heads were raised from the hard bolsters; black eyes looked out of bronze or ghastly yellow faces at the fair giant who towered above the black-bearded missionary; from lip to lip the word passed down the lines:

"I-seng lai![#] I-seng lai!" (The doctor is come. Literally, the life-healer is come.)

[#] Pronounced, Ee-see-ung li.

Without a word Sinclair threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. Sergeant Gorman and one of MacKay's students went first, preparing each case for treatment. Sinclair followed, with MacKay to assist and interpret and another student to carry basins of water.

The wounds were nearly all caused by shells or shrapnel. There were no clean wounds by rifle bullets. The range had been too great and the Chinese too well protected behind their fortifications. The mitrailleuses had accomplished little. They were noisy, terrifying, spectacular, but ineffective. Only once had a machine gun done much execution. A part of the fortifications on the east side of the harbour had been rendered untenable by the heavy shell-fire. A body of Chinese regulars were retreating to the new fort in too close formation. The marines working a mitrailleuse in the _Villars'_ tops, found their range perfectly and poured a stream of bullets into their midst, killing many and threatening the whole detachment with extermination. But just at the critical moment the quick-firer jammed, and all the oaths and efforts of the squad could not get it into working order again until the Chinese were under cover.

The sights were all the more ghastly, the suffering the more intense, the prospects of recovery the fewer because the death-dealing had been done by shell and shrapnel. There was nothing clean-cut about their work. A fragment of shell had shorn away a man's left shoulder, taking with it the joint, but missing the axillary artery and part of the great breast muscle, by which the arm still hung.

Sinclair glanced at MacKay. The latter understood:

"Better not have an amputation first thing. They are ignorant and suspicious."

"I thought so. Anyway, I do not want to take time to amputate now. We'll dress it and amputate later."

A shrapnel shell had exploded close to another's side. The hip, part of the pelvis, and much of the flesh had been shredded away, exposing the working of the organs of the abdomen. It was not good to see. From that ghastly rent blood-poisoning had already set in. There was nothing to be done. They made him as easy as possible on the hard boards of his cot, administered an opiate, and left him to sleep till the last sleep should fall upon him.

One had been struck just above the ear, and a chip of his skull three inches in diameter shot away, leaving his brain uncovered.

"He will die. We'll make him comfortable in the meantime."

A fragment had caught another on the cheek, and his lower jaw was gone.

"Better if he would die, too. It would be a mercy to let him out easy. But, no; if God gives him a chance, so must I. We'll patch him up."

More to himself than to any one else, he was speaking in a low tone. All the while the doctor's hands were busy dressing, soothing, trimming, mending, healing those poor, shattered bodies of ignorant Asiatic peasants, the weak atoms of humanity which a great European nation had sent her mighty engines of death to destroy--the pitiful trophies of glorious war. And not one of those brown or yellow men had the faintest glimmer of an idea what the war was about, or why his poor body had been maltreated so. The foreign devils had come to take his land and he had been set to defend it. That was all he knew.

Stranger still was what these other foreign devils were doing. They were trying to heal him. One set of foreign devils by their magic had knocked his fortifications to pieces, mangled his body, and brought him to the verge of death. And now another set of foreign devils, by some other magic, were patching his broken body together again and bringing it back to life. He could not understand.

But some way or another those last foreigners grew into his confidence. There was something in the words of that barbarian with the long black beard, who spoke their language more perfectly than they did themselves, which quieted him and gave him hope. There was something about the great, red-haired giant,[#] who did not seem to understand their language at all and yet seemed to understand at once what his sufferings were and how to heal them, which inspired him with confidence. It might be magic he was using, but it must be good magic. Before him men were writhing restlessly on their wooden beds, sometimes moaning, occasionally uttering an agonized "ai-yah," ever and anon asking plaintively for water or tea. Behind him they lay back peacefully and, with few exceptions, went to sleep.

[#] The Chinese do not distinguish between the different shades of fair hair. All that is not jet black, is called red.

So all down the rows of improvised cots heads were raised, yellow or brown faces were turned, and black eyes, some anxious, some curious, still more wistful, watched every movement of the foreign doctor. His size, the massive head with its crown of wavy, fair hair, his huge shoulders, his bare arms, powerful and white beside their skinny brown ones, all were noted. Why did he wash his hands so often? It was a part of his magic. What was he going to do with that knife? Was he going to cut the man's heart out? No, he used it on one farther down, and now the man was sitting up drinking tea. So they watched, and so confidence grew. And at every movement the doctor made from cot to cot, the word "I-seng lai" (the life-healer is coming) was passed from one to another of the patients.

The sun had sunk behind the hills and night was coming on. Smoky Chinese lamps and one good lantern belonging to MacKay were lighted. Still Sinclair worked on.

"You had better stop long enough to get something to eat," said MacKay.

"Thank you, MacKay; but I haven't time just now. Minutes mean lives to some of these men."

"Well, you must take a cup of tea. The boy will bring some to you here."

"Very well."

Standing at the foot of a cot studying a case, he hastily gulped down several tiny native cups of tea, without either sugar or milk. Then he was at work again.

The night was wearing on--the dark, close, hot night, with a temperature only a couple of degrees cooler than in the middle of the day. Still he worked swiftly, certainly, almost silently. What a transformation from the evening before, at the consul's dinner party! The lazy grace of the big, powerful frame, which had caught the consul's eye, was gone. Every line of the body, every play of muscles spoke of intense, forceful energy, and yet energy which was under perfect control. The physical strength which enabled him to lift a man like a child in his hands, or draw with apparent ease a dislocated hip-joint back into its place--the same self-controlled strength made his touch in another case as light as that of a delicate woman. The look of good-humoured interest with which he had studied the characteristics of his fellow-guests, or bandied repartee with Miss MacAllister, or amused the company with his songs, was gone. It was still a kindly face, a face which inspired confidence in even those ignorant Chinese soldiers over whom he bent. But no one who looked into that face would lightly trifle with the man in his present mood.

Every one present felt it. MacKay, something of an autocrat in his own sphere, read the face of the man beside him and never, except at his command to interpret for him or to give desired assistance, offered a suggestion. A group of Chinese officers came in, manifesting their usual supercilious air towards foreigners. Talking loudly and pushing inquisitively forward, they got in Sinclair's way.

"Tell these fellows to shut their mouths and keep out of my road."

MacKay interpreted it, more courteously perhaps, but forcibly. It was in silence and at a respectful distance that the Chinese officers continued to look on. Presently some more came in, louder spoken and more inquisitive than the first.

"Tell that last bunch to get out. The rest can stay if they want. Tell their senior officer to set a guard. I'll have no more in here except on business."

It was done.

The night wore on. Some of the hopeless cases found relief in death. From time to time others were brought in to take their places. Some of these had now been nearly forty-eight hours since being wounded, lying out in the long grass and brushwood of the hillsides or crawling slowly, painfully towards safety. Worse still, some had been through the hands of native quack doctors.

The brief, grey dawn, followed by the swift sunrise, took the place of the night. Still Sinclair worked on, for still the pleading, wistful eyes of suffering men were watching his movements and still he heard them say in words whose meaning he had come to understand:

"I-seng lai" (The life-healer comes).

As he straightened himself after bending over a patient, Sergeant Gorman saluted him:

"Excuse me, sir; but a bad case has just come in. If I am not mistaken, it is more in need of immediate treatment than any of the others I have seen."

The jocular manner, the excessive brogue, the constant tendency to bulls and repetitions had dropped from Sergeant Gorman like a cloak. His manner was serious; his accent hardly noticeable; his bearing that of a thoroughly capable and efficient officer on important duty.

"What is the injury, sergeant?"

"A hand shot off at the wrist. The poor devil tied a cord around it to stop the blood. Been that way for two days without dressing. It's badly swollen, gangrened, and fly-blown."

"Very well, sergeant. I guess we'll have to amputate at once. Where is the patient?"

"In the operating tent."

Swiftly, surely the work was done, and the man carried back to a cot of boards in the improvised hospital.

Sinclair was turning back to the wards to attend to other cases when an exclamation from MacKay arrested him:

"Lee Ban! Is it possible?"

A sampan had come down with the current and run its bow ashore at the hospital. A man was lifted out and deposited on the bank, up which he crawled painfully on hands and knees. His face was drawn and ghastly with suffering. His clothing, which had once been rich, was torn to ribbons.