Chapter II: Part 2

Hing Fai was astonished. Here, thought he, he had found a most complete liar. A man who built a watch-tower (for some purpose unknown), spent money on it, and then said it was simply to point to heaven. He could hardly restrain himself, but to all appearances calm, he replied: “Points to heaven! So does a man when he walks, so does a tree, so does every blade of grass, so do the hills, and so does nearly everything on earth except worms and snakes.” Hing Fai then left, more deeply suspicious of the Christians than ever. So these two parted, and each worked in his own way. Now a period of distress fell on the province of Fo Kien; crops failed, continual drought prevented the young rice growing, and then, when the rains did come, and the young rice was some six inches in height, floods came and washed rice and fields and everything away. Hing Fai’s business grew worse and worse; the Rev. Jones’ spire continued to grow; and the hard times drove many a starving coolie to embrace Christianity so as to procure some dole of rice for himself and family. To Hing Fai it seemed that his own gradual ruin was but keeping step with the growing popularity of the mission-house. With the famine came the pestilence, and the district, in addition to being impoverished, was attacked by cholera. The river was now filled with blackened and swollen corpses. The people were too poor to buy coffins, so the dead were wrapped in matting and thrown into the river; sometimes three or four corpses were made up into a bundle, rolled in a mat, and thrown into the stream at one time for the sake of economy. Rich as well as poor were attacked, and the wife of Hing Fai succumbed to the disease. Hing Fai’s sorrow was great: his business losses seemed as nothing beside the loss of his beloved wife; and while in this state of anger against fate came to him the evil Wang.

Hing Fai was willing to accept his fate as such, but Wang, the beggar, for his own ends, wished to arouse Hing Fai’s anger against the missionaries. The beggar approached in the most abjectly humble manner, and having been bidden to speak, began thus: “Of the recent severe loss of the honourable Hing Fai this contemptible person will not speak, but what of the foreign devils who have built a tower to overlook this graceful residence? Know! O honourable Hing Fai, their wicked actions increase. They have begun to compass your ruin, and now they compass the ruin of the whole neighbourhood. Both of them suffer from bad eyes and find spectacles a necessity, and now, behold! they are buying our children, and for what purpose? Why, to take their eyes out and heal their own diseased vision by the application of certain medicines cruelly concocted from the eyes of our own innocents.”

Hing Fai signified that he did not credit the suspicions of Wang, and curtly dismissed him.

The truth was that the Rev. Jones in this season of famine found that the poor starving mothers were willing to sell him their children to save them from starvation. The missionary bought them, intending to bring them up in the Christian faith. Unfortunately most of the children when bought were moribund, and the Rev. Jones soon found that he was continually employed as grave-digger for the purpose of disposing of the pitiful corpses of his tiny converts.

Owing to the famine, Hing Fai’s business went from bad to worse, his pecuniary losses were considerable, and he took to brooding over his misfortunes, so that the evil words of Wang soon took such a hold of his mind that he began to imagine that the Christians had bewitched him by the erection of their spire. Soon his hatred grew and grew, he took stimulants to assuage his troubles and promote sleep, but soon the idea that the missionaries had exerted an evil influence on the whole of his life became paramount in his mind. Suspicion now grew in the minds of all the neighbours of the mission. The Rev. Jones’ compound had become full of graves; he continued to purchase infants, and had found it necessary to bury the baby corpses outside his grounds. The accursed Wang took on himself one night to dig up one of the newly-buried babes. The eyeballs had fallen in in the ordinary course of decomposition, and this the beggar showed to all and pointed out as proof against the foreign devils. It was obvious to all that the missionary and his wife had bad eyes, as they wore spectacles, and here was an explanation of their purchase of babies, to take their healthy eyes to make medicine to cure their own diseased vision. The feeling became acute in the district,—such inhuman monsters must perish. The poor people, being already rendered desperate by hunger, were ready for any excess. Moreover, Wang, in an impassioned speech, said that their misfortunes, the famine even, were all produced by the workings of the foreign devils and the evil influence of their tower. The people were frenzied, mad, and made clamorous for blood by this speech.

“We will go to the honourable Hing Fai,” said Wang, “and get him to lead us against our common enemy.”

The whole crowd, lusting and thirsting for blood, surged to the house of Hing Fai, calling on him as their deliverer. Hing Fai was partly drunk, and in a state of recklessness born of his misfortunes. The clamour of the rabble had its effect, and, arming himself with a sword, he led the rabble against the mission-house with shouts and the glare of many torches. The gates of the mission compound were closed, as the noise of the crowd had already penetrated the mission, and they feared the intrusion of disorderly persons, imagining that some drunken carousals had taken place in the neighbourhood. The gate was soon broken down by Hing Fai’s orders, and someone slew the aged gate-keeper. The sight of blood roused the lust of killing in the famished and misery-stricken crowd; headed by Hing Fai they rushed through the compound, hacking and maiming the terror-stricken Chinese servants, straight to the missionaries’ house. The Rev. Jones stood in the lighted doorway, his arms upheld as though commanding silence; but Hing Fai, blind with rage, rushed forward and cut at his head with his sword. The missionary fell, and was kicked and clubbed into a shapeless mass of flesh. Lamps were overturned, doors dashed open, and upstairs was found Mrs. Jones praying wildly and screaming with fear; twenty knives were plunged into her as she knelt, and the now frenzied rabble hacked, smashed, and kicked everything in the house, spreading a ghastly ruin over all. Then arose a quick alarm of fire. An overturned lamp in the hall had set the wooden house in a blaze; the stairs were already ignited, and the rush of the rabble to descend caused them to fall. A frightful scene now ensued: the house was well alight, the stairs were gone, and a leap from the upper landing meant leaping into hell. Hither and thither the murderers rushed, trying to find some means of escape. Wang, the beggar, had already rushed down the stair before it was destroyed by the flames, but Hing Fai remained above in an atmosphere already becoming intolerable; he rushed to a window, cutting down two or three in the way with his sword, and leapt out. Others remained and suffered an awful death in the blazing house.

Hing Fai writhed and groaned in the lurid light of the burning mission, and was soon found by the beggar Wang. He had broken a leg, and was carried on the back of the evil-smelling Wang to his own residence. The home authorities were justly indignant, and demanded full reparation from the Chinese Government, and the Viceroy of the province was ordered to investigate and punish the guilty parties.

The unfortunate Hing Fai with a broken leg was painfully dragged to the execution ground and there decapitated. A brand new mission with a particularly fine stone church and spire was built at the expense of the already overtaxed and famine-stricken community, and there reside a yellow-haired Scotch missionary named McTaggart with his wife.

They possess a zealous convert and most efficient colporteur named Ah Wang. His well-shaved head is covered with scars, and the people say that formerly he was a beggar, and used to secure the sympathies of the benevolent by beating his head on a stone.

The pleasant residence of the late Hing Fai is now in ruins, it being considered unfortunate to reside in any house overshadowed by the lofty spire erected by the foreign devils.

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THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO

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THE BACKSLIDING OF LAO

NOW Lao Ng Tau was a civil mandarin of the second grade, of a noble ancestry, considerable learning, and in addition he was tao-tai of Sung Ying Fu and the surrounding district—which means that he possessed, or held the power of acquiring to himself, no inconsiderable wealth. He was a travelled man, moreover, and one possessing a broad mind, and not over hide-bound with conservative Chinese prejudice. On one of his visits to the great capital, Peking, he had contracted a marriage with the beautiful Mah Su. Of the magnificent and costly presents he had presented to her honourable parents we will not speak, nor of the superb gifts that he had also received, or of the completely perfect manner in which the etiquette of their marriage ceremony had been conducted. Poems were written by seventy-eight poets, many of whom were held in considerable honour in the capital. Many of these poems can possibly be purchased in Peking to this day, so it is not necessary for us to enter into details of the rejoicings on this auspicious occasion. Eighteen artists of undoubted skill and pre-eminence had been engaged to portray the dazzling brilliance of the marriage cortège, but they all declared that the sun-like effulgence of the scene had completely blinded their ill-conditioned and degenerate eyes to such an extent that they were quite unable to depict any portion of the picture with the degraded and low-class pigments at their disposal. When justice and due reward had been meted out to the poets, painters, and musicians with bowstring, hot oil, and bamboo rods, according as their several productions merited; the honourable Lao Ng Tau journeyed with befitting escort to Sung Ying Fu with the beautiful Mah Su as his wife.

Mah Su was a Manchu lady, and in addition to considerable beauty of face possessed a remarkable vivacity and cheerfulness, and had not had her feet bound in her childhood. Lao Ng Tau loved his wife dearly, was charmed with her wit and accomplishments; and she was no less pleased with her husband, and the presents of pearls, gold, and jade that he lavished upon her. So for two years these two lived in the greatest serenity at Sung Ying Fu. Mah Su’s lips were the reddest and her teeth the whitest in the world, and these latter were shown to remarkable advantage when biting some sweetmeat or fruit at the same time as she chattered and laughed with her husband. She possessed a very marked penchant for nectarines, and having eaten about half a coolie-load of these one day, she was taken ill towards nightfall with severe pains near the lower edge of her embroidered jacket. Her husband was distracted at the sight of his incomparable wife rolling from side to side on her honourable bed, and occasionally assuming distressingly inelegant attitudes when a more excruciating twinge caused her for an instant to forget the refined deportment so necessary in the wife of a mandarin of Lao Ng Tau’s importance. The greatly and properly distressed husband saw at once the necessity of consulting a doctor, but his honourable mind was undecided whether to summon the foreign missionary doctor or the wise and justly reverenced Wing Fung.

In earlier days Lao Ng Tau had resided in Hankow, and there had made great friends with an Englishman, of whose education and knowledge of the world he held a very high opinion. When the question of foreign missionaries arose in Lao’s mind, he would always recall the words of his old friend that “missionaries frequently did as much good as harm.” This thought rather inclined his acute mind towards the seeking of advice from the missionary doctor in Sung Ying Fu, but then, what of the renowned Wing Fung? When the cholera attacked the city of Sung Ying, was it not Wing Fung who lit small fires on the stomachs of those affected, had he not even done so to the meanest and most degraded of his patients, even supplying the firewood from his own store in some cases? Then, again, had he not cured the honourable Ah Wong of a most distressing and undignified skin disease by administering pills cunningly concocted of crabs’ eyes? Had not the noble Phat Cheong been relieved of an aggravating sprained ankle by rest and the occasional swallowing of live lob-worms soaked in honey? Again, had not the honourable wife of Sung Yee Hoy been restored to health after a careful diet of the thumb nails of the bald-faced monkey? Taking all things into consideration, Lao decided on employing the renowned and careful Wing Fung on this soul-moving and entirely discomposing occasion. Herein he was ill-advised, for had he consulted the missionary doctor he would at the least have secured a correct diagnosis, for the beautiful Mah Su lay in great agony, a high fever, and in an inelegant attitude, with her right leg drawn up. To be accurate, the peerless Mah Su suffered from an acute attack of that, to Western ideas, fashionable complaint, appendicitis.

Thus the erudite Wing Fung, he entered with many befitting and seemly obeisances. He remarked that it ill became his own vile person to profane the presence of the exalted wife of Lao Ng Tau, and that such meagre knowledge of the healing art as he possessed was almost rendered void by the august impressions created on his dull intellect by the evidences of supreme culture with which he found himself surrounded.

Lao listened to the doctor with impatience, and having paid a compliment to the doctor’s knowledge of the classics with which his speech had been liberally sprinkled, begged him to see his wife and prescribe whatever might alleviate her pain.

The doctor, having adjusted a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles which magnified about three hundred diameters, entered the room occupied by Mah Su. Having made a lengthy examination, he returned to Lao, and explained that there were two treatments possible. One consisted of rushing the patient up and down the room until she broke into a violent perspiration and then throwing ice-cold water over her, and the other consisted in maintaining absolute quietude while the soles of her feet were burnt with glowing charcoal. Wing Fung explained that no true decision could be arrived at until he had carefully consulted the stars, that this occupation would entail his own careful study during the night, and that the cost would amount to at least six taels. Lao handed over the six taels, and Wing Fung departed, leaving the never-to-be-replaced Mah Su still in agony and Lao not less distressed mentally.

The following morning Wing Fung reappeared. He stated that he had consulted the stars, and that from their reading he had learnt that the most honourable Mah Su had been invaded by a most pestilential rat, that even now the rat was gnawing at her vitals, and that an additional ten taels would enable him so to study the stars that he would discover by what means the rat might be driven from its hiding-place in the stomach of the most honourable wife of the gracious Lao Ng Tau.

Wing Fung received the ten taels and again departed, reappearing the next day somewhat dishevelled. We must understand that the learned doctor had now been some forty-eight hours without sleep—his walk was jagged and uncertain, his speech thick, and he had an unfortunate habit of chuckling, and hiccoughs somewhat marred his demands for fifteen more taels to carry out his researches among the stars.

Now Lao got angry. He said that Wing Fung should conduct his researches among the stars right there on the roof, and he also ordered a coolie to see that the renowned Wing Fung did not doze, the coolie being supplied with a heavy and useful bamboo rod.

Throughout the day Wing Fung was kept awake with difficulty and the bamboo; but when the night came and the stars became visible, he almost fell asleep in spite of the repeated blows rained on his back by the attendant. At last Wing Fung begged to see the honourable Lao. He then explained that he was an outside doctor, that he knew all about things that one could see, but of the internal arrangements of humanity he was ignorant. He begged Lao to send for a renowned doctor named Hao Suey, who understood all such things; and having given directions as to where Hao Suey might be found, he begged leave to go to sleep.

Lao replied that he was quite willing that Wing Fung should sleep; and having signed to the executioner, Wing Fung slept—with his fathers.

Then Lao sent post haste for the renowned Hao Suey. So much in earnest was he, that Hao Suey was given twenty-four blows on the feet and brought post haste to the house of Lao in a sedan-chair carried by four coolies.

On his arrival Hao Suey produced a bad impression by being unable to walk, and Lao’s displeasure was evinced by ordering Hao to receive twenty-four blows on such portion of his body that, in addition to being unable to stand, he was now rendered unable to sit. After this encouragement, the renowned doctor entered the presence of the distressed Mah Su in a most reverent manner on his hands and knees, that being the only method of locomotion of which he was capable.

Mah Su was now very ill, and the wretched doctor remained as long in her presence as he possibly could, fearing further encouragement at the hands of the distracted husband. At length a peremptory order from Lao caused the doctor to painfully grovel out of the room to the mandarin’s presence. Here the unfortunate Hao made another _faux pas_, for, being ignorant of the fate of the learned Wing Fung, and hoping to gain a respite and ease his battered body, he requested an advance of twenty taels to enable him to consult the stars. Lao’s face showed nothing of the anger boiling within him as he ordered the attendants to remove the doctor and send the executioner in. The executioner, however, could not be found. It appeared that after exercising his professional skill on Wing Fung, he had gone off to the widow to present his bill and collect the money in person for services rendered to the deceased shortly prior to and during the latter’s last moments. The executioner’s demands having met with more success than he had expected, he was led away by the exuberance of his spirits to rather over-indulge in samshu, so that on his return very late to the Yamen, his condition was such that it was hopeless to expect him to exercise his office until he had slept off his libations. This circumstance proved considerably fortunate for Hao Suey, as during the night the beautiful and high-born Mah Su died.

Lao was thunderstruck at this awful catastrophe. He took no further interest in his affairs or the affairs of his country, and after the first numbness at his loss had worn off, he decided to write to the “Son of Heaven,” petitioning permission to retire from office.

However, before even the ink had been rubbed upon the stone or the rabbit-hair brush dipped in the dead-black, sweet-smelling liquid known to barbarians as “Indian ink,” other events happened to prevent Lao from inditing his petition to the ruler of the Middle Kingdom. In this wise: The news of the death of the peerless Mah Su had instantly spread through Sung Ying Fu, and had furthermore been noised through the surrounding districts by itinerant merchants and travellers. As a result of this, before Lao had had any time to indulge his grief, he found dozens of poor but sympathetic relations arriving at his house with children, coolies, luggage, mules, and much wailing and lamentation. Lao, as befitted his station, suitably entertained and housed all, with their servants and cattle. Aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, cousins many times removed, all came with their servants and hangers-on. Lao was a rich man, and his house was large, but it soon became necessary to hire other extra apartments for his guests. In addition to this, the house was rendered doubly uncomfortable by the presence of numerous professional mourners. All day and night the house was filled with the squeaking of fiddles, crying of mourners, howling of relations’ babies, wrangling of relations’ coolies in the courtyards, and squealing of relations’ ponies and mules. Between looking after his unbidden guests, arranging for suitable funeral ceremonies, and indulging his own genuine grief at his bereavement, Lao naturally neglected his duties to the State.

At last the heavy lacquered coffin was built, and all seemed ready for the interment when the question of a suitable site for the grave arose. Soothsayers were called in to assist in the decision. The wisest soothsayers that Sung Ying Fu and district could supply were requisitioned. They consulted the stars, ate eagerly of everything in the house, but still failed to come to any decision. As soon as one would find a suitable hillside, another would learn by the stars that that particular site possessed a certain malign influence on all of the house of Lao. These procrastinations and disappointments were admirably borne by the aunts, cousins, cousins many times removed, and other relations of Lao. With true Oriental self-sacrifice they all said they were quite indifferent as to how long they stayed with the honourable Lao, provided everything connected with the funeral was done properly and in order. The hired mourners, soothsayers, and others who were paid by the day, also showed an admirable fortitude under the circumstances, the universal opinion being that no risks should be taken, but that all should be done in order and according to the decision that would eventually be arrived at by a due and careful study of the heavenly omens.

These continued searchings for celestial guidance in the choice of a burial-place, and other duties in the matter of his unbidden guests, so occupied the distracted Lao’s mind, that many evil persons found opportunities of practising their nefarious callings in the district without let or hindrance from the magistrate. The tao-tai’s district surrounding the city of Sung Ying became more and more lawless, until the numerous bands of robbers that roamed unchecked throughout the land became a positive scandal.

At last, to the tao-tai’s unbounded relief, a decision was arrived at by the experts, who had eventually settled on the propitious spot for the interment of the all-too-soon deceased Mah Su. The funeral preparations were, therefore, hurried forward, and everything was prepared on the most lavish and expensive scale. The relations of all degrees of remoteness ordered the most expensive robes at Lao’s expense, and it really seemed as if Lao’s troubles were about to end. The blue sky, however, still held a bolt for the unfortunate tao-tai. Just as everything was complete, one of the most learned of the soothsayers discovered that a propitious day for the ceremony had not yet been decided on. This terrible oversight struck everyone, except possibly Lao, with astonishing force. The aunts, uncles, cousins, etc., were unanimous in their praises of the astute savant who had saved them from making what might have proved an irremediable _faux pas_. Again everyone was resigned to waiting until the all-knowing stars should reveal their decision.

The next crushing blow came, not from heaven, but from the Viceroy, in the form of a letter to the tao-tai. This admirably worded screed set forth that it having come to the ears of the most exalted Viceroy that the country on which the honourable Lao Ng Tau held jurisdiction was in a very disturbed state owing to the presence of certain lawless bands, which bands plundered the subjects of the Son of Heaven, the honourable Lao Ng Tau was herewith ordered to suppress the same and send the heads of their leaders to Peking _pour encourager les autres_. The order concluded with a mild suggestion that the tao-tai’s own head might possibly adorn a spike in the Imperial city should the rebels not be suppressed within the month.

With so much to worry him in his private affairs, Lao was nearly distracted by this order, but as an officer of the State he realised that private grief must give way to Imperial demands. So he hastened to equip a military force to engage and subdue the bands of robbers which now formed such a menace to the peace of Sung Ying Fu.

Starting with a gay band of troops, armed with banners, umbrellas, matchlocks, singing birds in cages, and other deadly weapons affected by the Chinese soldier, Lao proceeded against the rebels. At the first brush with the enemy the tao-tai’s glittering rabble deserted to a man to the opposing force. Lao, after a gallant resistance, was himself overpowered and taken prisoner and carried by his captors to the hills.

He learnt from his captors that during his absence on this punitive expedition his relations had held high revels in his house, and were entertaining continuously on a lavish scale, and that the would-be star-gazers were so continually in a state of intoxication that the discovery of a lucky day on which to bury Mah Su was likely to be indefinitely postponed.

The news of Lao’s capture soon reached the Viceroy, who at once informed the Government, with the result that the vermilion pencil issued an edict that Lao Ng Tau, late tao-tai of Sung Ying Fu, was to be beheaded, his head to be forwarded to Peking, his property confiscated, his house razed to the ground, and the land on which it stood to be ploughed up to a depth of two feet, and that should his schoolmaster be still alive, that that miserable individual should receive one hundred blows with a bamboo. The worst punishment of all, however, was the final one, namely, that Lao’s great-grandfather, dead some sixty years, should be degraded from the rank of mandarin of the first to mandarin of the third class.

On receipt of this news Lao’s anger was awful, and the chief of the robbers, choosing this opportunity to request him to become their chief and war on Society, was at once met with a hearty acceptance.

The news of Lao’s joining the robber band was soon brought to the Viceroy’s ears, and the latter in a short time fitted out an expedition, headed by himself, to destroy this recalcitrant tao-tai. In the first, second, and third engagement Lao’s rabble defeated the Viceroy’s troops at every turn. Then the authorities at Peking adopted different tactics. They offered Lao supreme command of Imperial troops, buttons, yellow jackets, two-eyed peacocks’ feathers—all were offered him if he would only come into the service of the Supreme Ruler of the Middle Kingdom.

But Lao had his own special vendetta to occupy his mind. He mistrusted the Government after the way they had treated him, and preferred to be an outlaw. The cousins, aunts, and very distant relations, not to mention the soothsayers, who had so long lived at Lao’s expense, now began to get frightened. Mah Su’s body was interred forthwith, and a magnificent memorial archway was erected by the relations to her memory.

But unfortunately Lao still remains an outcast. He has killed nearly all his relations and most of the soothsayers in the neighbourhood of Sung Ying, but in spite of frequent offers from the Son of Heaven at Peking making him General of the Imperial troops, Lao Ng Tau still remains a bandit, because certain of his cousins yet remain alive, and moreover there is more than one soothsayer still living in the vicinity of Sung Ying Fu.

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THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG

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THE PUNISHMENT OF HONG

HONG, the massive, burly gate-keeper of the British Consulate, was a very familiar figure to all in the settlement. In his wide, baggy, white pantaloons, thick felt-soled shoes, white wide-sleeved jacket with a red crown on each arm, and white round hat with a red silk fringe spreading over its conical crown, he made a not unimposing figure.

His large healthy-looking face was generally impassive, but he showed no cringing servility in his honest gaze, and one might occasionally catch a glimpse of humour in his always polite but generally inscrutable countenance. There were times when the humorous eyes took on a more pronounced twinkle, and when the big honest face assumed the kind, protecting mien of some faithful dog—this was when he had children to talk to and pester him. None knew him better than the white children of the settlement, and of these Jack, the eight-year-old son of the Consul, and Dorothy, the five-yeared daughter, were treated by the gigantic Hong with a reverence and love almost amounting to worship.

Dorothy, with her yellow curls and wide blue eyes, was loved by everyone, and Jack, with his brave boy’s ways, could not fail to attract the notice of any passing stranger. Passengers alighting from the steamers always asked their friends, “Whose are those beautiful children?”

To Jack, Hong always seemed to possess some romantic mystery, and he pictured him as having been a pirate, or, perhaps, one of the redoubtable Tai Pings. In the gate-house he always kept a large sword, a weapon made either for theatrical or processional purposes, but round this weapon Master Jack had woven volumes of romance, so much so that he regarded the weapon as something that it would be indelicate or inquisitive for him to demand of Hong the history.

Both Jack and Dorothy understood and spoke the local dialect, but Hong was very particular to make his morning salutations in pidgin-English, and then, if any story were forthcoming, it was told in the vernacular, which, for the sake of our readers, we will translate.

Thus Master Jack: “Morning, Hong; blong velly hot, my tink.”

“Morning, Master Jack; morning, Missis Dolothy. My tink plenty hot bymby. This time no blong too hot.”

“Hong, you ever cachee torture? Cachee bamboo beating, or so fashion thing?” says Jack.

Hong’s face is almost lit up with a smile, but with imperturbable gravity he replies that he was once sentenced to a painful death, and that part of the sentence was carried out.

“Tell us at once,” says Jack; but Dorothy pouts and says, “Hong, baby no wanchee hollible stoly; s’pose you speakee hollible ting, baby go away.”

Hong’s face became at once serious as he says, “No, Missis, Hong no speakee hollible stoly; s’pose like hear he tell stoly of old time custom. No blong hollible.”

The wide-eyed Dorothy being reassured, she and Jack sit on the bench by the gate, while Hong relates as follows:—

“Many years ago, before either of your honourable selves was born, this person lived in Chin Wen Fu in Foh Kien. The honourable Hop Li was tao-tai, and many gentle and pleasant amusements could be enjoyed in Chin Wen. The person who tells this was very fond of visiting the theatres, and, being a big strong youth, would occasionally take part in trials of strength in public places, and had, on occasion, appeared on the public stage in processions and such spectacles where a big man was needed to represent an emperor, a general, or some other person of importance.

“Now it happened that at one time a travelling company of actors came to our town, and while the stage was being erected one of their company fell sick and died. They were going to perform a very popular and amusing drama, in which much depended on the performance of one character, who, as tao-tai, becomes very drunk, thus causing numerous complications. After some considerable haggling it was at last decided that this person should play the part—my figure and deportment were suitable, and as the spoken words were not very numerous, I was fit to take the part by the time the performance was opened.

“Our tao-tai, Hop Li, was a short man, but by putting cushions under my coat, and a false moustache on my lip, I made myself resemble him to the life. My first appearance proved a great success, my drunken scene evoking much merriment from the audience, and the next night the house was crammed. That night the audience made me repeat the drunken scene, and the next night they wanted it three times. I began to get a little conceited, and suggested to the manager that I should be paid for my performance or I would not play, and he, knowing that the success of the play now entirely depended upon me, and that my performances were bringing him crowded houses every night, assented. The audiences became more and more enthusiastic over my drunken scene, and I began to introduce innovations. I had a horse brought on the stage and mounted it in a fashion not unlike our tao-tai, who was no rider and very nervous. This brought the house down, and things got to such a pitch that the manager offered me many taels to make my particular business last for three hours. It was hard work, but I did it. For three hours every night I acted that I was drunk. I mounted horses, I gave ridiculous judgments in the courts, I fought, I dined—in fact, I did everything I could to please. The fame of this performance was so noised about that it came to the ears of our own tao-tai, and he decided to see the play himself—an unfortunate thing for me.

“I think on the night of the tao-tai’s visit to the theatre I surpassed myself. I was more amusing than usual. I ordered new horses, new witnesses, new prisoners. I was three and three-quarter hours getting drunk, and all the time the tao-tai watched me. That night, I think, I had taken especial care of my make-up, for I was a life-like representation of Hop Li, and the audience were like people possessed.

“Missis Dolly, the next morning was tellible.

“The congratulations of my friends had kept me up most of the night, and, when in a very deep sleep, the next morning I was roughly pulled off the ‘kang’ on which I lay by two of the runners from the tao-tai’s Yamen.

“I was not brought before the magistrate, but was taken to a small room in the Yamen and carefully guarded. I could learn nothing from my gaolers except that the tao-tai was very angry, and that all theatrical performances had been stopped. For seven days I was kept closely guarded in that room, and during the whole time I was well and liberally fed; at the end of the period I was brought before the tao-tai. In many long-winded and high-sounding phrases he pointed out what a disgustingly despicable and mean person I was, that the mere attempt to hold up to ridicule any of the servants of the Son of Heaven was a crime that could not be too severely dealt with, that although I had signally failed in this my attempt to ridicule a tao-tai, still, as an example to others, my punishment should be a severe one,—that I should be trodden to death by countless feet.

“I was then taken back to my prison, and, as before, continued to be well fed. The same day the news came to me that the tao-tai had ordered a theatre of extreme magnificence to be built of bamboo and matting, all the previous actors were commanded to perform, an order was issued that every able-bodied man, woman, and child was to attend the performance, which would take place on the seventh of the seventh moon, and, finally, that their magistrate, the tao-tai himself, would perform the part in which I had previously scored such a success. A further order was issued the same evening that bare feet or soft shoes were _de rigueur_ for all who attended the performance. I failed to see how these matters could interest me, and even when my gaolers told me that the tao-tai was word perfect in his part, and had introduced lots of new ‘business,’ I failed to show more than a polite interest.

“As soon, however, as the day of the performance dawned, I saw that the affair was one of the deepest importance to me. At daybreak my gaolers led me out to the hard sandy plain on which the theatre stood. The building itself was of enormous proportions, with two fine dragons fighting for a bright red sun on the roof. The matting forming the front was brightly painted, representing famous heroes of the past; all round were booths with hot rice, soups, pea-nuts, samshu, jellies, and sweetmeats for sale.

“The unusual feature of this theatre was that it had but one entrance, which was approached by such a narrow passage that it allowed of only one person passing at a time. It was not long before I discovered the reason for this. My guards took me to the middle of this narrow passage, where there were four stakes driven into the earth, and then, making me lie on my back, they lashed my ankles and wrists flat on the ground. The play was to commence at seven in the morning and continue until nine at night, and soon after I had been securely bound in position the would-be spectators began to arrive. Their surprise was great on finding that there was no means of entering the theatre except by walking on me, but they all made suitable apologies, and I, in my turn, begged them not to mention it, so that the first few hundred passed over me fairly comfortably; but as the time for the performance drew near they came more thickly, apologies were dispensed with, and I thought that I should be surely killed. The majority of them, it is true, tried to tread on my chest, but some were old and blind, and these trod on my face or anywhere, and the suffocating dust nearly stifled me. I was afraid to breathe, as if I relaxed my chest I feared that my ribs would be crushed in, and during the last four minutes before the play began some twelve hundred people rushed over my body. So exhausted was I that I feared I should die, but soon the guards came and revived me with tea and rice. After that for some hours I was entirely alone, and by the continued laughter from the theatre, I judged that the tao-tai was acquitting himself well.

“As the sun mounted higher in the heavens I had dozed off, but was suddenly aroused by the honourable Hop Li himself. He seemed annoyed that I was still alive, and after delivering me a neat and carefully-worded oration on my disgraceful insubordination in still living after the punishment I had undergone, he proceeded to the booths outside where food of all kinds could be purchased. He there bought everything eatable and returned to the theatre, where he announced from the stage that there would be an interval of seven minutes, during which time free meals would be served at the stalls outside, and at the resumption of the performance he would repeat his drunken scene, undertaking to make it last four hours, and that in that time he would get genuinely drunk as a special compliment to the audience.

“The sympathies of the audience were undoubtedly with me, but the prospect of a free meal and the spectacle of their tao-tai intoxicated were so alluring that the finer feelings of my fellow-townsmen were for the moment blunted. Out they came helter-skelter. It was no time for apologies, food was at the other end, so over my poor body rushed the entire audience. It seemed only a few seconds since the last feet pounded my unfortunate body, when a gong sounded, and back rushed everyone, their mouths stuffed with roast duck, stewed pork, rice, melon seeds, fish, ginger, prunes, hardbake, macaroni—in fact, every eatable imaginable.

“I fainted. When I recovered it was getting dusk, the theatre was still full, but I ceased to take much interest. My guards again gave me food, and at the conclusion of the performance again the people passed over my bruised body, but on this occasion they did it quietly and without much discomfort to the miserable being pegged down in their pathway.

“Then came the tao-tai. He wished to walk on me himself, but he was so drunk that he was unable to do so, and I was taken back to my prison in the Yamen bruised and exhausted. I slept till late the next day, and the tao-tai, who had made himself a martyr to art in order to personate a drunken man to perfection, slept late too.

“He woke about noon feeling very ill, but still burning with rage against my insignificant self. His first act was to issue an order that everyone should attend the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, and the proclamation also stated that the most honourable and universally-loved tao-tai would occupy the stage for four hours, that, in addition to mounting horses, he would attempt to bestride a camel after drinking sixteen bottles of samshu, besides many diverting attempts to enter a sedan-chair and a Pekin cart. In addition to this he ordered a deep pit to be dug in the narrow passage leading to the theatre, free drinks to be dispensed during the performance, and two of his most lusty Yamen runners were stationed by the pit with whips to assist the nervous in jumping it. This miserable person was then led out, and again pegged down just beyond the pit, so that all who jumped across must of necessity land on some portion of his miserable body.

“All was ready, the actors were waiting to appear, the audience stood on the far side of the pit, and I, poor miserable man, remained pegged down for all to jump on me. The runners had their whips ready to assist the nervous jumpers when the tao-tai appeared. As principal actor everything depended on him, but his hatred for me determined him to take one violent jump on my chest across the pit to encourage the others. He was by that time full of good wine, but he cautioned the lictors not to use their whips in his case, as he felt confident of clearing the pit, and landing on my chest without any stimulus. Waving back the common herd, he made a generous run but misjudged the distance, and taking a stupendous jump, he fell in the pit, where he lay unconscious.

“His attendants quickly dragged him out, and he was found to be unconscious and also with a broken leg. Everyone at once showed the deepest concern, and the tao-tai was carried in a chair to his Yamen. The consternation at this catastrophe was so great that some of my friends were able to release me, and so I left Chin Wen for ever.”

“I suppose you then became pylong?” said Master Jack.

Hong looked suggestively at the big hoop-iron sword in the gate-house, and Jack, feeling that he was treading on holy ground, was silent.

“My tankee you velly much,” said Dorothy; “that no belong hollible stoly, Hong.”

And Hong smiled inwardly.

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BONE OF MY BONE

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BONE OF MY BONE

THE amah had caught Dorothy and hauled her away to be washed, seeing which, Master Jack quickly made his escape from the verandah to the garden, and through the hot scent-laden evening air to the gate-house, where stood his chum Hong leaning at the door smoking a rank native cigarette rolled in an elongated cone of buff-coloured paper. Hong’s wife had just finished piously burning “joss papers,” and as she gazed at the last remaining sparks and light charred cinders that floated upwards in the still air, she stuck a few incense sticks in the crevices of the brick pavement before the door, and retired to the house to continue her unending household industries.

Hong’s placid face beamed at the approach of his master’s son, and setting a low bamboo stool he begged Jack to be seated.

“Tell us a story, Hong. Tell us what you did after you escaped. Did you then go and fight?”

“Not at once, Excellency,” replied Hong, squatting on his heels and knocking the ash off his cigarette. “After I ran away from Chin Wen Fu, having been released by my friends from the ropes and pegs that bound me down, I travelled fast without resting, in order to put as great a distance between my miserable, insignificant self and the far-reaching and all-powerful tao-tai as possible. I was, however, without money, and existed but badly on the charity of strangers, and it soon looked likely that I should die of hunger, when by great good chance I fell in with the theatrical company in which I had performed, they also having fled hot-foot from Chin Wen Fu and the tao-tai’s wrath. So I joined their company and became an actor.”

“I should think that was good fun. Father and mother acted here last winter—that was splendid.”

“I have seen your honourable parents act,” gravely replied Hong. “When the ignorant scoff I have reproved them. The actor’s life is a good one, although in my country we receive no honour, being accounted as the lowest of the low and not being allowed to compete in the examinations; but in your country your King even honours actors, ennobling their ancestors and giving them lands and titles. Is it not so?”

Jack replied that it undoubtedly was so, not knowing himself, but not wishing to throw any doubt on Hong’s knowledge.

“Such actions show merit in a king, and this insignificant person feels sure that the Son of Heaven would be pleased to hear of such pious acts being performed by rulers beyond the Middle Kingdom.”

Jack looked rather bored at this digression, so Hong hastened to continue.

“In this country the actor is never certain of making money for any length of time, and for quite a while my particular troupe suffered great privations. No one wanted stage plays just at that time, and we wandered about, earning a few cash here and there by juggling and reciting, and I spent much time in learning new parts.”

“I have read a story,” Jack interrupted, “in which a clown describes his sorrows at having to be funny on the stage while his wife was dying at home, so I think an actor’s life must often be a sad one.”

“No,” interposed Hong, “I think on the whole it is a merry one. The clown you speak of, if he were a true actor, forgot his sorrows while on the stage, infinitely more so than the merchant who has troubles at home. The true actor feels the part he is acting, whereas the merchant is always himself.”

“Yes: but when you play sad parts do you feel sad?”

“Undoubtedly while playing the part one could cry, but afterwards one can laugh, and there is always the feeling that one has done it well if at the time the sadness was really felt.”

“But what satisfaction does the man who plays the wicked part feel?”

“He feels that he has gained the dis-approbation of the audience. Their hisses are as food and drink to him, he is delighted, he has played his part, made himself out horrible and to be despised by the audience, and therefore feels proud in having interpreted the author’s meaning properly.”

“I see, I see,” replied Master Jack, who didn’t in the least understand Hong’s explanation, “but what about the fighting?”

“Oh, the fighting! Yes, I remember. Well, after travelling for many weeks and earning but little money, we at length reached the village of Three Bridges. So it was called. Really it possessed but one bridge, of which the inhabitants were inordinately proud—so proud, in fact, that they tried still further to impress strangers by naming their village Three Bridges, so that when the unknowing one had seen and admired the one he might be led to believe that two others equally fine existed. When we arrived we found that serious trouble existed between this village and the neighbouring village called Ten Li village, or Bad Roads. This other village being so called because in it were several inns, and whenever travellers arrived there and, wishing to pursue their journey, inquired how far it might be to the next town, the invariable answer of the townsfolk was that the nearest halting-place was ‘ten li’ distant, and if question was made of the roads leading thither, the answer would be invariably that they were bad—in fact, almost impassable. These two villages, Ten Li village and Three Bridges village, really depended a good deal on each other. Ten Li possessed valuable clay pits, and Three Bridges manufactured the clay into pottery and also sent it away in boats down the river; so really for their mutual good they should have been friendly. However, at this time war existed between them, and continuous fights were taking place, in which frequently people received grievous wounds, even to the death in some cases. The origin of the dispute had occurred more or less by accident. The clay for which Ten Li village was famous, and which Three Bridges village depended on for its pottery industry, was dug to a depth of some eighteen feet outside the village and near the main road. As the clay was excavated deep pits were formed, which eventually became deep pools of water. As the demand for clay increased, the road leading from Three Bridges to Ten Li became greatly encroached on by the excavators, and a climax was reached when, the road having become so narrowed by the clay-diggers, carts were unable to pass. This resulted in the precipitation of a cart from Three Bridges, laden with manufactured pottery, into a deep water hole. The spectators of Ten Li, far from helping the unfortunate merchant from Three Bridges, indulged in unseemly hilarity at his misfortune, which was serious enough to result in the drowning of one mule and the loss of a cart-load of pottery. The ill-feeling generated by this incident led to reprisals, until a state of warfare practically existed between the two villages.

“Our suggestion to the inhabitants of Three Bridges that we should give a dramatic performance was met by them with scorn and laughter. They said they were already impoverished by stagnation of trade and the necessity of carrying on warfare with the barbarians in Ten Li. They were willing to let our company fight on their side, but could offer us no hope of remuneration. Our case indeed looked bad. We could not proceed further on account of the local disturbances, there was no money to be made by going back, and it seemed that we should all starve, when unexpectedly some Heaven-sent intellects thought of arbitration. The wise old men from each village met, they discussed the loss of trade, money, and life that these troubles were occasioning, and at last decided that one more big fight should take place, and that the winners should have the honour of entertaining the surviving losers at a big theatrical performance, the performance to last three days, the expenses of erecting the theatre and supplying the guests with food being borne by the victors. On hearing this noble counsel we were naturally greatly rejoiced, and now preparations for war on a large scale were put in hand. All being completed in a day, the next morning the two villages entered into a most sanguinary battle, which lasted eight hours. One man was killed on each side, but the umpires declared Three Bridges the winner, because their man killed himself with a jingal, whereas the Ten Li village man was really killed by being thrust into a mud-hole by the enemy.

“After this, all was bustle and excitement. Land being valuable, our theatre was soon erected on piles in mid-stream, all our best dresses were taken out and aired, and a play to last three days was rehearsed day and night by us. For myself I played the part of a famous warrior. I wore gorgeous dresses of the Ming Dynasty, with soles to my boots four inches thick, whiskers eighteen inches long, that I could blow straight out in front of my face, and my face was painted vermilion to show my importance.