Chapter I: Part 1

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RICE PAPERS

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RICE PAPERS

BY

H. L. NORRIS

“EXERCISE YOUR FACULTIES OF SEEING, AND YOU
WILL GET GOOD THINGS TO EAT”
Chinese Proverb

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1905
All rights reserved

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TO
THE COMMODORE
AND OFFICERS
OF
H.M.S. “TAMAR”

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THESE stories possess the merit of not being true, nor are
they necessarily founded on fact; they were written during
three years’ service in China, and their conception served to
more or less pleasantly while away many hours. If they afford
the reader as many pleasant minutes, they will have well
fulfilled their purpose. To those whose ideas of a Chinaman
are gathered from the good-natured, doddering idiot as he is
so often represented on the stage, he is here shown in a
different form, however inadequate the portrayal may be.

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CONTENTS

TO EXPLAIN 1
I. THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN 19
II. FENG SHUEY 51
III. THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO 79
IV. THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG 107
V. BONE OF MY BONE 129
VI. THE MELANCHOLY MAGISTRATE OF FOH LIN 155
VII. THE HUNCHBACK’S PIETY 183
VIII. HOO, THE DAUGHTER OF TAK WO 209
IX. KWA NIU’S DERBY 235

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RICE PAPERS

TO EXPLAIN

THE sun had shone brilliantly and torridly all day over the mud-laden river, the surrounding paddy-fields, and the copper-coloured backs of the sweating Chinese boatmen as they laboured at their yuloes in sampen and junk. It had, indeed, been a hot day even for up-river, and the extreme humidity of the atmosphere after the rains made the heat felt in every pore of the skin, so that even the half-naked steersmen of the junks sweated at their rudders.

But now the sun is setting. On all sides can be heard the rattle of the winches and the creaking as the heavy mat sails slide down the mast of the junks, a splash as the stone-weighted wooden anchor drops over the bows, and each junk in time swings to its rattan-twisted cable in the pea-soup known as fresh water in Chinese rivers. The heavy damp air is suddenly rent by a bugle note which signals the fact that the flag which represents the sovereignty of King Edward the Seventh is being hauled down till eight a.m. the next day on board the gunboat lying in the muddy river.

A careful study of the illustrated weekly papers will give us a fair knowledge of the appearance of the average naval officer, and we shall also gather from this same source that when he’s not rushing about after niggers with a field-gun, he’s employed attending balls at various Government Houses, or talking to beautiful ladies on a huge electric-lighted quarter-deck, what time the moon calmly shines on some picturesque Mediterranean harbour.

Undoubtedly our friends have experienced all these social joys in their time, but at present they are far removed from such soothing influences. Still, we have to deal with a gunboat of some pretensions, one wherein a gossamer vest and white trousers are not considered _de rigueur_ for dinner. The wardroom is much as others in a “bug trap,” but it has one great adornment, a punkah, which is pulled during meal hours by a diminutive and quite expressionless “makee learn.” The lights are burning and the table laid for four, the “makee learn” is waiting by the pantry hatch ready to pull the punkah, and, on the entry of an officer, comes in and, sitting on a stool, begins to violently jerk the rope leading through a brass sheave to the small punkah which flaps away some large and well-fed bluebottles.

The officer is smoking a cigarette, and dressed in white duck trousers, a soft white shirt, and white mess-jacket, all of which goes to prove that we are in a smart ship. He strolls idly over to the thermometer hanging on the bulkhead and observes that the mercury stands at 84°. He idly places the burning end of his cigarette near the bulb of the thermometer and watches the mercury rise to 95°, while the “makee learn” violently agitates the punkah. Having performed this simple operation he sits in a cane chair, and another officer enters and flings himself on a settee without any remark.

“Good evening, Pill,” says the first officer. “Pretty hot to-night.”

“Don’t agree with you,” remarks the other. “But, anyway, I’m open to bet it isn’t ninety.”

“All right,” says the Chief, for such we will call the person who first entered the wardroom. “Bet you a sherry and bitters it is.”

The surgeon jumps up and looks at the thermometer, then leans over the table, rings the electric bell, and sings out, “Ah Hing, two sherries and bitters!”

The bitters are brought in and disposed of, and then another officer comes in.

“Nice and cool to-night, Pill,” he remarks.

“Don’t agree with you,” says the surgeon.

“But I think it’s much cooler,” remarks the navigator, for that is the rating of the new-comer.

“Well, I’ll bet you it’s over ninety,” says the surgeon.

“What’ll you bet?” says the navigator.

“Oh, a cocktail, to-morrow forenoon. Then look for yourself,” says the surgeon.

The navigator strolls over to the thermometer and says, “Eighty-eight.”

“Be blowed for a yarn!” says the surgeon. “Let’s look.” But on consulting the mercury column he finds it stands at eighty-eight, so muttering a curse that everybody and everything is against him to-day he sits down and shouts to Ah Hing to bring some chow-chop-chop.

“Hurry up, Ah Hing!” says “No. 1” as he comes in. “Hullo, my pippins! What cher! Well, Pill, fisherman’s luck, eh? Shot anything?”

“Yes,” says Pill; “darned sight too much!”

“Well, tell us all about it. You’ve been grubbin’ round the Chinese city I suppose, Chief, lookin’ for curios?”

“Yes,” remarks the engineer officer; “and got two bits of blue and white china and a confoundedly ancient-looking joss.”

Ah Hing brings in the soup, and “No. 1” says: “Well, doc, you might tell your adventures to the poor devil who’s had nothing to do but stop aboard the ship in this confounded stinking river.”

Thus appealed to the surgeon begins—

“A day like this is enough to break any man’s heart. I haven’t the pluck now to open a jackpot on four kings, feeling certain somebody’d hold four aces and the joker against me. As you know, we two went shooting, and left the Chief to grub about the native city for curios. When we landed we hired two coolies to carry the drinks and chow, which they slung on a pole between them, and off we went to the right among the paddy-fields. There wasn’t a thing in the paddy except frogs, snakes, and cockie-ollie birds, so we went up towards the hills. Nothing to be found there, but after passing a small village we got into some scrub and long grass, when up got a quail. It flew to my left rear, and I let him have one barrel. Then he passed right behind me, and I let him have the other barrel, the contents of which went smack into the lunch-basket and blew it to bits. In the excitement I’d never noticed that our coolies were only a few yards behind me. There was instantly no end of a hullabaloo, and one coolie lay on the ground kicking and rubbing himself furiously, what time both of them kept up a most damnable screaming. I ran up to see what was the matter, and saw that his chest was covered with blood; but all my efforts at getting a look at his wound were unavailing, as he would keep rubbing his hands over his chest. My own opinion is that he hadn’t got at most more than one pellet in him; but I had no further time to look after him, because we were in a few seconds surrounded by the men, women, children, lunatics, and incurably leprous of the neighbouring village. They got to hustling us, and things looked ugly. All of ’em were singing out something in Chinese, and when they started pulling me about I got nasty and let out at ’em. Then they took my gun away, and by this time we were nearly crushed by the crowds round us. It was no use to create international complications by letting ’em have a few charges of No. 6, so we concluded to go without resisting to their village and see the matter out. So the howling, stinking mob conducted us to their village, and led us through filthy pig-infested lanes to an open space near the centre of the village, in which stood a dismal banyan tree, under whose shade a baby or two and some half-dozen hens and scraggy pigs were grubbing. A very benevolent-looking, grey-bearded Chinaman approached, and from the increased yells of our conductors we concluded that he was a man of some importance. He calmly surveyed us for quite a while, and spoke to our furiously shouting accusers in a calm and passionless manner. The wounded coolie was brought forward amid more shouts and gesticulations, and our ancient friend spoke a few words to him in a rather off-hand manner.

“We were getting a bit tired of all this hoop-hooraying when suddenly our ancient friend turned to me and said, ‘Say, what you goin’ to do about it?’ We were both pretty surprised at hearing him speak English, but I was jolly glad to find someone could understand us. I explained that the whole thing was an accident, that the man wasn’t much hurt, and that now, as we understood each other, we might go back to the ship, as having lost our tiffin, we didn’t care to do any more shooting that day. Our genial friend smiled kindly on us, and said it would be very hard to make his poor uneducated fellow-villagers understand that the shooting had not been done on purpose. He explained that no Chinaman was such a fool as to suppose that anyone with sense would shoot at a bird flying, that a bird could by no possibility be shot unless sitting still, and that my firing into the luncheon-basket was only a pretext to kill both coolies when they least expected it. He remarked, moreover, ‘We’ve got your gun, and I guess it’s worth at least forty dollars gold, so you’d better pay up if you want to get back to your ship. We know that in time you’ll be rescued by a landing-party, but we think you’d prefer to pay up rather than spend a night or two in our flea-infested village and be laughed at by your messmates when you do return.’ I got pretty angry at this and said, ‘I wish I had a few blue-jackets and marines now, and we’d knock hell out of your old village!’

“The ancient Chinaman smiled and said, ‘In your country you have an Employers’ Liability Act by which you’d have to pay for this coolie’s injury.’ We found then that we had a man of education to deal with, so I said I’d pay within reason but that I was dead keen to get aboard, and didn’t care if I never went shooting again in China.

“Then we got on to the question of money; I had two silver dollars and a ten and five dollar Hong Kong note. My Chinese friend explained that paper money was of no use to villagers, that if I handed over the lot to him he’d pay the two silver dollars to the wounded man in compensation, that later on he might manage to negotiate the paper money (for the good of the village), and that if I’d give twenty more dollars on the morrow to his representative he’d return my gun. At the same time he added that if the navigator attempted to use his gun and resist that the villagers would eat us raw.

“So we had to climb down. We left the village escorted by a howling mob, and now I’ve got to pay twenty Mexican dollars to that smooth-tongued English-speaking Chinaman before I get my 12-bore back.

“Ah Hing, give me another whisky-and-soda.”

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Again the sun shines on the turbid pea-soup river, the steaming paddy-fields, and sunburnt backs of the sweating trackers as they painfully tow the junks up-stream. A continuous stream of junks drifts down the river, steered by clumsy rudders and big sweeps; now and then a Hakka boat passes laden with lime made by burning oyster-shells, and occasionally a steam launch, flying the Chinese flag, belonging to the Salt Commissioners or Imperial Chinese Customs. The sun is now mounting high in the heavens, when a sampan puts off from the shore and goes alongside the British gunboat. A grey-bearded man steps up the gangway and, handing a double-barrelled gun to the quarter-master, says, “Give that to the doctor, please, and tell him that there is someone waiting to see him.”

The quarter-master grunts, as much as to say, “Well, I’m damned!” He hands the gun to the surgeon in the wardroom and says, “Chinaman to see you, sir.”

“Show him down, quarter-master,” replies the surgeon, and the venerable Chinaman is conducted to the wardroom.

“Well,” says the surgeon, “what’s to prevent me, now I’ve got my gun back, from having you pushed over the side into your sampan and being told never to come near the ship again?”

The Chinaman smiles and says, “Nothing, except a foolish sense of honour which prevents you from getting out of a promise you’ve once made, even if you know you’ve been badly swindled. When I sent your gun down to you I knew you might have me thrown into the river, and with some justice on your side, but I also knew that, being a white man, you would stick to your promise and pay me the twenty dollars you agreed on yesterday. I don’t admire you for it, but I know your Western ways.”

“Look here,” says the surgeon, “you speak devilish good English; here’s your twenty dollars, and now we’re quits. Have a drink, and tell us something about yourself.”

“I will,” replies the Chinaman, “but whether you believe it or not matters little. I call myself Fung Wa Chun,” and the story of Fung Wa Chun as heard by the surgeon remains to be told.

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THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN

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THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN

AH HING brought the drinks. The surgeon pushed the cigarettes over to Fung Wa Chun, and waited for him to begin.

The Chinaman tasted his drink as one accustomed to European liquids, and began:—

“I think I was born in a sampan in Hong Kong harbour; of that I’m not certain; but anyway, my earliest recollections are of living in a boat which was managed entirely by my father and mother; and there we lived, cooked, fed, and slept. We used to also take foreigners off to their ships, and from their ships to the shore, but the best times were at night. At dusk my father would get a tough string net out of the sleeping-place amidships. Each mesh of this net was heavily weighted with leaden bullets, and he’d attach it in some clever manner to the inside of the bamboo shelter we carried in the stern sheets. Mother used to steer and work a yulo aft. Father pulled an oar and managed our one sail, and any passengers we had sat under the bamboo shelter in the stern sheets.

“At night time our passengers were generally drunk, and by a simple contrivance father could pull a string when we got some way out in the harbour. The weighted net would then fall on the semi-unconscious passenger, and father and mother with a few stabs finished him off. Then came the counting of his possessions, the stripping of the body, and the throwing over of the corpse, to be found or not, as fate decided.

“I remember once we got a fare well after dark. He was a huge, yellow-haired man, very drunk, and, I think, a Scotchman. Father and mother worked the sampan out in the harbour, and then father pulled the string. The net fell, and he made two good jabs into the writhing bundle with his knife. The man kicked and fought horribly. He tore the net, nearly broke the gunwale of the boat, and at last got hold of father’s ankle in his teeth just above the heel. Father jabbed away with his knife, and didn’t dare to howl, and mother had to drop the tiller and come and help with the meat chopper. She tore our net badly, but killed the man, and then father’s ankle was released from the dead man’s mouth, also with the chopper. We found less than a dollar on that Scotchman, and my parent was lame from the bite for the rest of his life.

“Although I was very young at that time, still some of the incidents, insignificant as they were, are impressed on my memory.

“We used to have a heavy iron bar with iron grapnels, with which we dragged for drowned bodies—and not without success, in those days; but they often had little more than the clothes on them, so we never became very prosperous.

“One night we had anchored just astern of a foreign devils’ warship, and some time after dark there was a big commotion on deck. It appeared that a man had fallen overboard, and about a minute after, our sampan gave a lurch, and a spluttering white man grabbed hold of our gunwale and tried to get on board. Mother was cooking the evening rice and fish at the time, and she made a cut at one of his hands with a big knife. She chopped off four fingers, and he gave a yell. Father jumped forward at once and gave him one blow over the head with an axe, and he sank like a stone. Two or three boats were lowered from the man-of-war. They heard the man scream, and one boat came alongside us, and an officer jumped aboard. He began talking away hard in English, and grabbed father by the queue. Of course we couldn’t understand him, but mother, who was always quick-witted, suddenly picked up the four human fingers, chucked them in the stew of rice, and stirred them up hurriedly. The officer could find no reason for suspecting us, so soon shoved off in his boat to search elsewhere for the missing man. We couldn’t afford to waste rice, so after mother had picked out the fingers we had our evening meal. Then we up anchor and started to dredge with our grapnels for the dead man. It was about slack water when father killed him, so we knew he couldn’t be far off; and some two hours after we hooked on to him and dragged him up. Then I learnt where your British sailors keep their money: in a belt of flannel they wear next their skin. We took eleven dollars from that man, besides a silver finger-ring and his clothes, and then we cast him adrift. Not a bad night, although our rice had been partly spoilt by his dirty fingers.

“But these happy days were soon to be ended. When I was between nine and ten years of age the small-pox came. Father got it first, and in his delirium jumped overboard and was drowned; mother had it at the same time, and she lay down in the sleeping-space amidships. She died there the next day, and I was alone and afraid in the sampan. However, I cooked some rice and dried fish, and the next day tried to get mother out of the hold and throw her overboard. But she’d got stiff by that time, and I couldn’t move her any way. For days I continued to cook rice and try to move mother, but it was no good. As I told you, I wasn’t yet ten years old, and couldn’t yet properly manage a sampan alone; so one day the police noticed something wrong with my boat and came alongside. Then they found an old woman dead in the hold and your humble servant, aged nine and a half, in command. Being unable to escape, I had to go along with the police; and I remained about two days with them when a Chinaman came to see me, said he was my uncle, my father’s brother, and that he would care for me as his own son. Myself and the sampan, which contained no inconsiderable quantity of dollars, were handed over to this man, and he conducted me to his establishment. I’m sorry to say that this uncle was a very bad man, very bad indeed; he treated me shamefully.”

“You surprise me,” remarked the surgeon; “after the lovable description you have given of your father, it seems impossible that his brother should not have been possessed of ten thousand virtues.”

The Chinaman took no notice of this remark but proceeded.

“My life in my uncle’s house was hard and unlovely, and I should certainly have run away had I been able. He kept a gambling and boarding-house, where a man, after losing all his money, could go further and lose his body. A man who had lost all might stake his liberty against a sum of money, perhaps five dollars or more; once he’d lost this he became the property of the winner and passed into ‘the mansion of supreme blessedness,’ or, in other words, my uncle’s boarding-house; there he was kept and fed, and on occasions would be sent to sea in whatever ship required. In other words, my uncle was a crimp and supplied sailors to the foreign ships that required them. He was well known to all the China traders, and could be relied on to fill up a ship with whatever number of hands they required; in fact, I’ve known him put dead men on board if it chanced that he had not the number in ‘the mansion of supreme blessedness’ that a captain required. He’d explain that the man was drunk, carry him on board at night, and put him in the fo’c’sle when the ship was sailing next morning at daylight. He kept careful records of all he shipped and the ships they sailed in, and when the unfortunate men returned to Hong Kong my uncle would be the first on board, would have them again conducted to ‘the mansion’ to be kept till again required, and would himself draw their pay from the Shipping Office. In this way you can imagine that my wicked relation soon grew rich. Me he kept as a sort of servant to wait on the unfortunates in ‘the mansion of supreme blessedness’; and for over two years I remained there, being beaten, overworked, and underfed, and had it not been for the healthy open-air life that I had previously led I might have succumbed to the hardships; still, foul air never chokes a Chinaman, and somehow I grew and increased in strength. The ‘mansion’ must have got unusually depopulated at one time, because without any previous warning I one day found myself put on board a steamer with the remainder of my uncle’s guests. The steamer was bound for London with tea, and my job was to cook rice, etc., for the firemen and stokers. This job necessitated my turning out in every watch. I was kicked and cuffed by all the engine-room hands, and was at their beck and call day and night. Sleep I got when I could, food what I could steal, wages none, and my continual unhappiness bred in me an ever-increasing hatred of and desire for revenge on my paternal uncle. Of the voyage to England I remember nothing, and I saw nothing of London except the docks, as my work never allowed of my going ashore. I managed, however, to pick up some English from the stevedores, and after an absence of about nine months I was once more back in Hong Kong. To show you how unpopular my uncle’s methods were with some of his ‘guests,’ I may tell you that the night before we entered Hong Kong harbour three of his protégés jumped overboard and were drowned, rather than partake of his further hospitality. As was to be expected, the much-respected father of the flock was the first on board, and all the Chinese were conducted as usual to his ‘boarding-house,’ while my uncle talked politely to the captain and arranged about drawing the pay next day.

“We Chinese are an easily governed race, and it never occurred to anyone of our crowd to break away or resist my uncle’s orders, so we all went ashore and walked quietly to the ‘mansion.’ There we found a meal composed of better food than usual, and I found that my place as servant had been taken by a small boy, so I could beat and curse him, as the others did me in former days. Our condition as ‘guests’ had also greatly improved. We occasionally had money with which we could gamble, and now and then musicians to play to us in the evening. By some means my uncle found out that I could speak a little English, and from that time he had me to attend at his office all day, in case my knowledge of English might be useful. I soon picked up considerably more of the language from the English ship-captains, and in time became quite indispensable to my uncle; but throughout the whole time I was waiting but to revenge myself on him for the hardships he had made me endure as a child. I soon learnt that my ‘Tai pan,’ or head of the business, as my uncle was, was never without a shining revolver, which he carried somewhere in his loose silk jacket. He also was surrounded by secret agents and spies, who reported any matters concerning his clients or subordinates that might be of use to him. In many ways I made myself useful to my uncle. I studied the written language and learnt to keep accounts, and was soon allowed considerable freedom after ‘office hours.’ I studied to make myself indispensable to my employer, and my success and discretion in all matters entrusted to me soon raised me high in his esteem, and the importance of my work enabled me to learn much of the inner workings of his business. My uncle, when in his office, invariably sat at a heavy black wood table which faced the door, and this door was approached by a narrow passage gained by a steep staircase from the street. The whole of this passage could be seen by anyone seated at the table, and the flight of stairs leading to the street was so steep that no one from the street could see anything that might happen in the passage. As I became more necessary to my employer I also began to receive more servile treatment from the other clerks, until it became the custom that when my uncle was abroad I would take his seat and arrange myself behind his table. This pleased me excessively, and on one occasion, while seated there, I began pulling knobs and drawer handles near my seat. To my great surprise, on pulling one of these handles, two iron-grated doors closed on the passage opposite my table, their closure having the effect of barring the exit or entrance of anyone who had mounted the stair and was on his way to enter the office. All the clerks were greatly surprised and I was considerably frightened, for if my employer returned and found these iron gates closed he would know that someone had been using his table without authority. However, on jerking the handle I had moved in an opposite direction, the iron gates disappeared into slots in the passage, and my uncle entering within a few minutes, any discussion that might have taken place among us was rendered impossible. Whether this incident occupied the minds of the other clerks I know not, but it kept me awake for nights, and I determined that, should occasion arise, I’d investigate the matter further. For some days no opportunity arose, but after about ten days my uncle was obliged to go to dinner in another part of the city with certain wealthy merchants, and he left me in charge. Now was my chance—the other clerks were only too glad to get away—so soon after dusk I was alone in the office, sitting at the big black table with only a small oil-wick to light the place. For a time I smoked quietly, and when all seemed quiet I turned the handle as before. Instantly the iron gates shut-to. I reversed the handle, and they opened. Then I tried other handles—some were simply fixed on locked drawers,—but after twisting one I heard a heavy mass fall in the passage. I went to the bars with the dim oil-lamp and gazed down into a dark chasm which would make even a Chinaman shudder. I quickly returned and reversed the handle, and on again looking through the iron bars by the light of the oil-wick, I saw that the passage was once more restored with an even floor. I then reversed the handle, which made the iron doors disappear from view, and further examination of this interesting table revealed only locked drawers, in one of which I knew my uncle kept his revolver, for when in the streets he was only in the habit of carrying a knife concealed in his sleeve. After this eventful evening of big discoveries I began to mature a plan of revenge. I had by this time accumulated a few dollars, and as I was allowed considerable liberty, I could go out in the city nearly every night. One night I went out with all my dollars and purchased a shining nickel-plated revolver. The shopman wanted me to buy some cartridges as well, but I was rather afraid of them, and said that I had plenty of cartridges at home. Carefully concealing the weapon, I returned with a feeling of some slight exultation to my business house. An opportunity of carrying out my revenge occurred the very next day, my employer again going out to dinner; and later I seated myself at his table with my pistol to patiently await his return. Then for the crowning moment of my life, when I should have the cringing villain howling to me for mercy. I thought of all the cutting speeches, the recital of my wrongs, and then of the horrible climax and devilish punishment that I would mete out to him. In this way the hours of waiting passed most pleasantly.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” says the surgeon quietly.

Fung Wa Chun lit another cigarette, sipped his drink, and with his face as expressionless as a bronze Buddha, continued:—

“At last I heard his footsteps on the stairs. My heart gave a jump. One step, two steps, three—would he never reach the landing? Then a pause and a faint chuckle. My revered relation was evidently slightly drunk. My hand trembled on the handle lest I should close the gates before he reached the landing. This staggering and halting was annoying, it made it difficult to count how many steps he had come up. He occasionally slipped back one, and I was getting into a fever of excitement, for the dim oil-wick I was using failed to illuminate the passage. Now he was standing on the stair and chuckling drunkenly to himself, curse him! Part of my revenge would be foiled by his having fuddled his wits with wine. I wanted him to feel all, every bit of it, and acutely too—now, perhaps, his sodden intellect might not appreciate all the refinement of horror I had stored up for him. After what seemed several minutes the sounds led me to suppose that he’d reached the top step, and there he stopped to cough and breathe hard. Then he staggered along the passage. My heart was thumping at my chest, I scarcely dared breathe. At last the moment had come. Turning the knob I heard the gates clang together, and seizing my pistol and the lamp I rushed to the grating. Inside I could see him, dazed and leaning against the wall, but no fear, no terror, only a silly drunken laugh as before. The dim light did not show his face. How was I to let him know in this his drunken state that it was I, the down-trodden servant, who was at last to hold him in this awful power?

“Gently I spoke to him, saying, ‘It is I, most honourable uncle, it is the despised and insignificant Fung Wa Chun, who presumes to address your august personage.’ ‘Let not the honourable Fung Wa Chun be afraid to disclose the gentle thoughts that are concealed in his honourable bosom,’ said a voice behind me. I turned in abject horror, my heart stopped beating, and there I saw my uncle, seated at his table, calmly pointing his shining pistol at my breast. ‘Oh, intellectual and far-seeing Fung Wa Chun,’ he murmured, ‘did you suppose that my secret agents served me so ill that I did not know that you had discovered the secret of the passage? Do you think that I was not aware of your purchase of that remarkably handsome revolver you hold in your somewhat shaky hands?’ I flung the thing from me, for I was angry, and perhaps showed unbecoming heat in my reply as I said, ‘Your deeply learned remarks are as lost on my degraded ears as the singing of the trimetrical classic would be unconvincing to the ears of a deaf monkey.’ My uncle smiled and said, ‘First I will release my honourable friend Su Wing, and then we will talk seriously.’ He pressed the button, and the inebriated Su Wing stumbled into the room, and falling into a chair, assumed an air of owlish content. My uncle then continued, ‘For one who has attempted violence on myself I seldom show mercy—the sliding floor of yonder passage could tell some curious tales. But, dear nephew, I’ve for some time observed you and your ways, and have been minded to adopt you as my son and make you my heir. I prefer to be served by fear rather than love; that you do not love me to-night’s business has proved, but that you fear me I now feel fairly certain. Therefore, I spare your life. Know, gentle nephew, that the few secrets you have discovered are nothing to what this house contains, but your future exalted position will make my spies doubly zealous in observing your every action, so to-morrow I shall publicly adopt you as my son, feeling confident that from fear you will prove a faithful if not loving descendant. Now go!’ I went to bed feeling as one who has been condemned to death and unexpectedly reprieved. That my uncle would kill me when I was discovered I had no doubt, and now finding myself released and free my sensations were more than I can describe. Bewildered, I stumbled to my bed, and almost at once fell into a deep sleep.

“What happened in the office no one knows, perhaps my uncle caroused with the bibulous Su Wing; at any rate, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a cry of fire, and found that our extensive premises were well in the power of the flames. All efforts to suppress the conflagration were vain; and next morning I, who had every prospect of being heir to a large estate, found myself homeless and penniless in Hong Kong. My uncle and the bibulous Su Wing were both presumably victims of the disaster, and I could lay no claim to a single cash saved from the ruins. For three days I nearly starved trying to find employment in Hong Kong as a clerk, and finally, to earn rice, I was obliged to take service in the police as a “lukong” or native policeman. The open-air life pleased me, but there was little money in the trade, and having no credentials, I could get nothing better, although my knowledge of English got me speedy advancement, such as it was. For some years I remained in the police, until an incident happened which made it possible for me to leave the service.

“The incident referred to happened in this way. Being on duty after midnight in the western part of the town, I heard a noise going on in a side street. I went cautiously (as our manner was) up the street, and found a well-dressed European being attacked by two chair-coolies. As soon as he saw me he shouted for help, and the two coolies ran away. I rushed up at once, and seeing the street was quite empty and that the European was nearly spent, I drew my sword and gave him a slash over the head. He dropped like a log, and I had sufficient experience in these matters to know that I’d killed him. A hasty examination of his pockets revealed a large wad of Hong Kong and Shanghai bank-notes, a gold watch and chain, and a large diamond ring on his right little finger. The notes and ring I took for myself, leaving some five dollars in loose cash in his pockets, also the watch, as I did not wish it to appear that he’d been robbed. As I removed the finger-ring I noticed that a white band remained on his little finger, as his hand was much tanned by the sun. Again my sword came in useful, and I chopped off his little finger, and threw it down a drain, at the same time blowing my whistle loudly. I was soon joined by another lukong and a European policeman. Having explained that I’d just found the man in this condition, we carried him off to the police-station. A great hue-and-cry was raised for his murderers, but they were never found. I was congratulated for my promptness in the affair by the authorities, and found that the notes amounted to two thousand dollars odd; and later I sold the ring for two hundred dollars. I remained some few months longer in the police, so as to allay any suspicion, and then resigned. With a capital of over two thousand dollars I next appeared as Ah Fung, messman to an American transport. The Americans have lordly ideas as to the cost of food, their officers are well paid, and they reckon everything in gold, so I easily made a small fortune after a few years. I take it that it’s not surprising that I know your language fairly well. With some of my savings I purchased from the local mandarin the position of chief constable in the village ashore. I am now diligently studying the classics, and at the next public examination I shall present myself as a candidate, and if successful will undoubtedly with my capital be able to obtain a position in the local government, when by strict attention to business I hope to rise to the rank of mandarin, possibly to Viceroy. Who knows!”

“I thank you,” said the surgeon. “I wish I could write stories, I should like to publish yours.”

Then Fung Wa Chun went back to his village to resume his studies of the classics.

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FENG SHUEY

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FENG SHUEY

Feng Shuey literally translated means wind-water, and is a general
term denoting the superstitious feeling with regard to the
topographical surroundings of cities or houses, the good fortune or
luck of a district being in proportion to its propitious relations
to mountains, rivers, etc.

HING FAI was angry and annoyed. Many things had happened to produce this condition of mind. To explain. Hing Fai lived in the province of Fo Kien or the “Consummation of Happiness,” and was a merchant of considerable respectability, his business being in hogs’ bristles and plaited rice straw.

Intelligent reader, you perhaps think that neither of these articles interest you, but you are wrong, they do; the insignificant tooth-brush which you use on your honourable molars is made of finest hogs’ bristles from China, and perchance the hat you wear during your summer holiday saw its birth as rice in the province of Fo Kien.

All the hot morning that persistent beggar Wang had moaned and groaned in the dusty road opposite the business-house of Hing Fai. For a long time Wang had been an annoyance to all decent merchants and wealthy persons, and to-day he had hit on an admirable plan for gathering “cash.” Early he had stationed himself opposite the office of Hing Fai, and had brought with him a large stone. The stone he had placed in the dusty road, and with great persistence continued to beat his inadequately shaved head on it. It was now well after noon. Wang’s groans had disturbed Hing Fai for the last four hours, and the stone and Wang’s head were both liberally spattered with blood. Wang continued to groan and beat his head on the stone, and there was every reason to suppose that if he continued this unpleasant occupation he would eventually fracture his skull and die in front of the honourable door of Hing Fai’s business-house.

A junk laden with bristles belonging to Hing Fai had sunk in the river this morning, and recently a go-down belonging to him had been burnt down with its contents of several tons of straw braid. These two misfortunes meant the loss of hundreds of taels, and now added to all these misfortunes were the groans and blood sprinklings of the despicable Wang. Hing Fai was justly angered. He threw his rabbit-hair pen across the room, closed his paper ledgers in anger, and strode to the door and out into the dusty road, where he bestowed three kicks and five cash on the despicable Wang, after which he was carried in his chair by three sweating coolies to his residence on the outside of the town.

The bestowal of the cash and the departure of Hing Fai had the effect of causing the despised Wang to cease his melancholy self-torture. He abandoned his stone, wiped the clotted blood from his head, and with the five cash proceeded to a cheap eating-house to regale himself on rice. Wang’s profession of beggar made him conversant with many of the affairs of his townsmen, so he was acquainted with the recent losses sustained by Hing Fai. Having eaten his fill of rice, he washed his head free of blood in the neighbouring stream and betook himself to the pleasant abode of Hing Fai, where he accosted the gate-keeper in suitable terms: “Most honourable keeper of the gate, this degraded and unspeakably insignificant person has matters of importance to reveal to the most exalted and charitable Hing Fai.”

The gate-keeper replied that the air of the immediate neighbourhood was already sufficiently tainted, but that the presence of the disgusting Wang rendered it almost unbearable. Wang replied that he was well aware that the unspeakable odours that emanated from his degraded self must necessarily be unpleasant to such an exalted and gently born person as the gate-keeper, but that should admission be refused him he would bring ten thousand more worse smelling beggars to the gate, and that they would remain there and clamour for admission for one hundred years. After a protracted conversation carried on in similar polite terms the truculent gate-keeper admitted the impecunious Wang to Hing Fai’s compound. Wang advanced towards the house, walking at the side of the path, and carefully avoiding any desecration of the honourable brick-laid pathway by his own low-born feet.

Arriving at the door of the house he did not presume to call one of the house-servants, but knelt on the pathway of narrow bricks and rhythmically beat his head on them, from time to time uttering almost inaudible groans. Two or three of Hing Fai’s servants idly observed these actions, and as the blood began to stream from the wretched Wang’s head one of the servants ventured to inform Hing Fai that there was a miserable person without who evidently begged an audience. Hing Fai had dined, he was now smoking a cigar and sipping sweet champagne, and felt more at peace with the world, so he signified his willingness to have speech with the beggar, for he argued that the man’s persistence in attracting attention might mean that he had something of importance to communicate. Wang’s obeisances having been deemed sufficiently servile, the honourable Hing Fai commanded him to speak, at the same time hinting that should the beggar’s communication be considered so unimportant as to not warrant his thrusting his objectionable presence on the honourable Hing Fai, one hundred blows on the bare feet would seem but a mild reproof. Wang humbly kneeling with his forehead on the floor spoke as follows:—

“It has come to the knowledge of this altogether insignificant person that recently certain severe pecuniary losses have happened to the honourable Hing Fai.” Any annoyance that Hing Fai may have felt at this speech he carefully concealed, and the beggar continued: “Has it never occurred to the far-seeing Hing Fai what may be the cause of this growing ill-luck? Is there in Fo Kien a more charming and beautiful residence than that the life-restoring air of which this entirely despicable person at present dares to breathe? Let the honourable Hing Fai look round, and his heaven-sent intellect will at once see wherein lies the secret of his misfortunes.”

Hing Fai was now really angry. Fixing a stern gaze on the loathsome Wang, he commanded him to speak more plainly, or—and Hing waved his arm suggestively.

Then Wang rose to his feet, pointed through the open door across the beautiful garden, and said—

“The foreign devil builds a high temple.”

Hing Fai remained for some minutes deep in thought and oblivious of the beggar; then he ordered his servants to take the man away and feed him. Wang’s appearance as he left the presence still bore the mark of abject humility, but inwardly he exulted: he had sown the seeds of distrust, which he hoped would eventually lead to the sacking of the Mission Station and a fair share of loot to himself. Hing Fai sank into a deep reverie after the departure of the beggar. He thought of the foreign devils and of the religion they preached, of which he had taken the trouble to make some inquiries. He knew that the foreign devils had a house near his compound, and that the meanest and worst characters occasionally attended their worship; but that these people could possibly menace his prosperity came to him as an astounding idea, and one scarcely to be credited.

Hing Fai and the Rev. Arthur Jones were both good men in their way—both honest, and both hardworking; but one was a Christian Welsh missionary and the other a Chinese Buddhist merchant. The Rev. Jones was small, near-sighted, and very hardworking, and his wife resembled him in these three particulars. For some two years they had conducted their mission and school near the house of Hing Fai, and once the foreign devils had become a familiar sight the heads of the wealthier Chinese concerned themselves little with the doings of the missionaries.

The Rev. Jones was now about to accomplish one of his pet ambitions, namely, to build a real church. So far, divine worship had been conducted in the school-house attached to the mission, but the pastor’s honest work had at last been recognised by the authorities at home, and a small corrugated iron chapel had been sent him in sections. This chapel was now in course of construction, and the devilish mind of Wang, the beggar, had seized on its building as a chance to better himself; and by him the first seeds of distrust had been sown in the mind of Hing Fai. All day Hing Fai remained deep in thought, and even the blandishments of the beautiful Mah Su, his wife, did little to rouse him from his state of mental depression.

The next day, Hing Fai, when going to his business house in the town, observed the grey iron building of the foreign devil. As the horrid Wang had implied, the structure was growing to an inordinate height. It began to rear a sharp-pointed tower above the house of Hing Fai—that is to say, far higher than the roof of Hing Fai’s residence, and so lofty that its pointed spire intervened between Hing Fai’s residence and the hills at the back of the town.

Hing Fai certainly thought his good fortune was likely to be seriously affected by this building; but being a just man, he was not anxious to hastily jump at a conclusion and lay the blame of his recent losses on the Mission Station. However, that veiled hint of the beggar’s still stuck in his mind, and on reaching his office he found that one of his most trusted clerks had absconded with some nine hundred taels. The amount of money lost was not excessive, but still it had an effect on Hing Fai, considering his losses of the previous day. Business was carried on as usual for some days, and Hing Fai was still undecided as to whether the foreign joss-house was working him evil or not. Still the corrugated iron edifice grew under the Rev. Jones’ direction, and the despicable Wang had for days lain hidden from view, advancing no further theories. By everyone in the town it was understood that the missionaries had come for their own good. No one was such a fool as to think that these people worked for nothing; but as workers they were entitled to whatever they earned—that was only justice. Now it occurred to Hing Fai that possibly the foreigners were seeking to get influence on their side; but how could it possibly benefit them to injure his trade? Hing Fai possessed the ordinary amount of contempt for foreigners that all Chinese have, but he decided to visit the Rev. Jones and in a Chinese roundabout way try to find out if he really intended to do injury to his business. It would never occur to a Chinaman to say, “Why do you build so high a house? Do you intend by so doing to overwhelm my house, and so cause my downfall?” No, a Chinaman would act differently.

Thus he called at the house of the Rev. Jones and the proper salutations were gone through. Hing Fai kindly made inquiries as to the Rev. Jones’ reverend father, his grandfather, their health, their ages, the age of the Rev. Jones, his health, his business, and the prospects of the rice crops. The Rev. Jones had a good knowledge of the vernacular, but he was completely mystified as to the reason for this visit. Hing Fai then talked of towns, of dwellings and houses, and after much circumlocution touched on the new building of the mission.

“Why do you build this tall grey metal building?” said Hing Fai, “and for what purpose?”

“It is for a house of worship—in fact, a small temple,” replied the Rev. Jones.

“And you are building a sharp-pointed tower?”

“Yes; it is a spire,” replied the missionary.

“Do you store valuables there, or is it a place of refuge?” inquired the Chinaman.

“No,” replied the missionary, “we use it for no purpose.”

“But it costs money to build,” interjected Hing Fai.

“Yes, but then it points to heaven and leads men’s minds in that direction.”