Held by Chinese Brigands

"Come with me," said the tea-grower. "Allow me to have the honour of conducting you to my hovel of a dwelling."

Together they followed the mule-track for about a quarter of a mile, and then the Chinese turned to the left, walking along a narrow bank that separated two flooded ricefields. Beyond they passed through a field of kiao-liang, in the midst of which the crickets were singing merrily, and then found themselves in an extensive tea-garden.

In the centre of the garden was a considerable house, built after the manner of all better-class houses in China-that is to say, a one-storied rambling building, together with several outhouses and a fair-sized yard, the whole surrounded by a mud wall about eight feet in height. The building was situated upon a gentle slope that faced due south, and from the outer gate it was possible to survey the greater part of the plantation.

Here the tea-grower entertained Frank Armitage. He gave him green tea to drink and a cup of alcoholic beverage-called samshu-which is made from fermented rice. And then came a dinner of about fourteen courses. There were various kinds of fish, sharks' fins, larks' tongues, birds'-nest soup, small pieces of meat on little skewers, rice, millet and edible seaweed from Japan. Frank devoured all these delicacies with a relish. It was not the first time that he had eaten a Chinese dinner. Although the tea-grower lived in the wilds of the province he was evidently a rich man. He had the true gift of hospitality, and with more sincerity than is usually the case in China he offered his guest everything that his house contained.

Now Frank might have refused this offer. In fact, the rules of ceremony decreed that he should do so. He had a mind, however, to disguise himself, and he therefore begged the tea-grower to be so good as to provide him with a suit of Chinese clothes.

The man did not hesitate. He supplied the boy with a long robe, a pair of white trousers and a pair of felt-soled shoes. Thus attired, Frank Armitage bade his host adieu and crossed the tea-garden late that night, when the moon, which had guided him throughout the past three or four days, was rising in the east.

The tea-grower seemed to have taken a fancy to the boy, for he accompanied Frank almost a mile upon his journey, putting him upon the road which led to the village in which the majority of his coolies, or workpeople, lived. In bidding good-bye to him, Frank thanked the man from his heart for all his hospitality and kindness. He shook hands with himself in the approved Chinese fashion, and bowed so low that his nose almost touched his knees. Then he was about to set forward alone when the tea-grower cried out to him, asking him if he had any money.

Frank replied that he was without a cent in the world, telling the truth-that he had been robbed of all he possessed in the mountains. Whereupon the tea-grower took from his neck a long string of copper cash. These he threw over the boy's head, at the same time quoting Confucius: "Be charitable to the stranger from a far country! so that, when thou thyself art a stranger, doors may be opened to thy knock."

CHAPTER X-HOW FRANK WAS IN LUCK'S WAY

Frank found the village without any difficulty. Although it was then almost midnight, there were lights in the majority of houses, and several shops were open. The Chinese are a singular race. One of the first things that strikes a visitor to that remarkable country is the fact that the inhabitants never appear to go to bed. No people in the world work harder by day, and no people in the world are more inclined to talk, laugh, quarrel and gamble throughout the night, into the small hours of the morning.

Frank marched boldly into a barber's shop, where he expressed a desire to have the forepart of his head shaven. The barber could scarce contain his astonishment when he observed that his patron had no pigtail. He was vastly curious with regard to the matter, asking several questions as he sharpened his big Chinese razor-which was something after the shape and about the size of the business-end of a Dutch hoe. Frank informed the man that he had been robbed, and no doubt the fellow presumed that the robbers had cut off their victim's queue.

The boy rightly supposed that he could talk quite frankly about his own affairs in a village which was populated almost exclusively by honest men who worked in the tea-gardens. But what most surprised him, and at the same time afforded him the greatest possible satisfaction, was that no one in the barber's shop appeared to notice the fact that he was a European.

Now a Chinaman can suffer no greater disgrace than the loss of his pigtail. Viewed historically, this is a strange circumstance. The mediæval Chinese did not wear pigtails. It was the Manchu race, who conquered the Chinese in the fifteenth century, who grew their hair long and plaited it in the well-known manner. The Manchus were horsemen of whom it might be said that they almost worshipped their horses, and the queue was originally grown in imitation of a horse's tail. For the same reason the Manchu warriors adopted those wide coat-sleeves, which even to this day are called "horseshoe sleeves." It was mainly by means of their excellent cavalry that the Tartar warriors were able to overcome the Chinese foot-soldiers.

A conquering race invariably enforces certain obligations and restrictions upon the vanquished, and one of the first Manchurian imperial edicts issued was to the effect that all Chinese should adopt the pigtail as a symbol of their submission to the dominant people. In the course of a few centuries what was originally a token of defeat became a source of national prejudice and pride. The Chinaman of the nineteenth century was as loth to part with his pigtail as his forefather had been to adopt it.

The barber sympathised with Frank. Moreover, his sympathy took a practical turn. He undertook for a few copper cash to supply the boy with a new pigtail, and also to attach it to his head in such a manner as would make it appear to be natural. All this, however, took time, and it was past one o'clock in the morning when Frank Armitage left the village and continued on his way, downhill, through tea-gardens and the ricefields, following the narrow path which, he had been told, would conduct him to the river.

What the name of the river was he had not been able to ascertain. Everybody he asked told him a different name. That is usually the case in China. One man will say a village is called the Village of the Wu family; another will say it is the Village of the Chin family; and a third will be equally certain that it is called One-Tree Village. And when you get there, you will find it is called Bad-Weather Village, or the Village of Starving Dogs. Knowing this, Frank did not bother himself about the name of the river. Provided he came to it, he would be satisfied, since the water of that river must eventually find its way into the main stream which flowed past Wu-chau to Canton, and thence to the great estuary, at the mouth of which was the island of Hong-Kong.

He reached the river at about midday. By then the heat in the valley was excessive, and the boy thoroughly exhausted. He had been travelling day and night for several days. With the exception of the almost regal banquet he had enjoyed at the house of the tea-grower, he had had insufficient nourishment. There had been few nights when he had had more than three or four hours' sleep. He felt quite unable to progress farther on foot.

He therefore hailed a fisherman whom he observed approaching down the stream in a small sampan, or river-boat. The man-so soon as he understood that a bargain was afoot-drew in to the bank and undertook for an exceedingly small sum of money to take Frank down-stream to a certain large town to which he himself was going. Frank got into the boat, and lying down beneath the matted awning that sheltered the stern part from the fierce rays of the sun, he was soon fast asleep. Whilst he slept, he covered several miles of his journey. The fisherman had hoisted a sail, and the wind being from the north, and the strength of the current great, the boat travelled at a considerable velocity.

When the boy awoke, refreshed from his sleep, he found to his surprise that the sun had set. Darkness was spreading rapidly, and a thick white mist clung to the river-valley. The atmosphere, however, was exceedingly close and humid, and the air was alive with myriads of mosquitoes and gnats.

Frank asked the fisherman where they were, and the man replied, with Oriental vagueness:

"We come soon to Kwang-Chin," said he. "That is the end of my journey!"

"And where is Kwang-Chin?" asked Frank.

"Very nice town," replied the man, evading the question. "Plenty cooked-dog shops. Little Kwang-Chin dogs are very good to eat, better than little Canton dogs."

Frank knew the uselessness of trying to get anything definite out of the fisherman. He therefore lay back in a comfortable attitude, and gave himself up to thoughts of the perilous situation in which he had left Mr Waldron and his uncle.

He wondered how far Men-Ching had progressed upon his journey to the coast. So far as he could guess, the rascal should be already in Canton. At the same time, though he did not know where the town of Kwang-Chin was, he believed that he himself could not be far from the great capital of Southern China. Canton was but a few hours by river steamboat from Hong-Kong. The boy had therefore completed the greater part of his journey.

They arrived at Kwang-Chin in the small hours of the morning, and Frank could not persuade the fisherman to take him any farther. He was therefore obliged to go ashore and attempt to find a lodging for what remained of the night.

This was no easy matter, for the town appeared to consist of nothing but opium dens. It was an old walled city, the ramparts and gateways of which must have been built centuries before, in the days when China was harassed and ravaged by continual internecine wars. Frank, who did not feel capable of travelling farther that night, decided to wait till morning, when he might be able to find another fisherman who would consent to take him down-stream, probably as far as the main river, if not to Canton itself. In the meantime, he realised that he could do nothing better than snatch a few hours' additional rest, recognising the fact that he would still be called upon to undergo considerable hardships and dangers.

He therefore plucked up courage, and entered the first opium den he came to, in the doorway of which he had observed a light. He found himself in an establishment similar in all respects to that which has already been described as nourishing in the slums of Canton under the proprietorship of Ah Wu. This place, however, was very much dirtier, and-with the exception of Cheong-Chau's brigands-Frank had never seen a more villainous collection of men than the habitués of the place, who were sprawled in all manner of attitudes upon the various couches. And then he was astounded, and at the same time considerably alarmed, to observe that several of these coolies were wearing scarlet coats, similar in all respects to those worn by the bandits. But, once inside, he could not very well beat a hasty retreat. He summoned to his aid all his presence of mind and addressed himself to the proprietor, a venerable-looking man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a white goat's-beard.

"I desire, for a few hours," said the boy, speaking in his best idiomatic Cantonese, "a couch upon which to sleep. I am a poor man," he added, "but I will pay you to the best of my ability."

"You will not smoke opium?" asked the host, opening his eyes in surprise.

"I have not the habit," said Frank.

The proprietor adjusted his spectacles upon the very tip of his nose and regarded the boy from over the top of the glasses.

"How very remarkable!" he observed. "Every man, however, can please himself. You may certainly sleep here. My charge is forty cash."

Now forty cash is the equivalent of two-pence, and this does not appear to the European mind to be an exorbitant charge for a night's lodging. But Frank Armitage knew the Chinese character. He had a part to act, and he knew how to act it. He remembered that a Chinaman loves a bargain.

"I will give you thirty cash," said he.

The old man pointed to the couch. "It is an excellent bed," said he. "The hangings are of silk, and I guarantee that the mattress is free from vermin. I will let you have it for thirty-eight cash."

"I offer you thirty-two," said Frank. "Remember, I require it for a few hours only."

"In that case," said the landlord, "we will say thirty-six."

"I will give you thirty-four."

"Good!" cried the landlord. "We will call it thirty-five and have done with the matter."

Thereupon Frank counted out thirty-five of the little copper coins which the tea-grower had given him and which he carried upon a string slung around his neck like a necklace. Indeed each cash has a little square hole in the middle of it for this purpose.

Having settled his account, the boy took off his coat, for the heat of the room was intense and the atmosphere foul with the mingled odour of paraffin oil, opium smoke and Chinese garlic He arranged the pillow, then stretched himself at full length upon the couch. A group of three or four men at the other end of the room were talking loudly, and it was the constant sound of their voices that made it difficult for the boy to fall asleep.

He was dozing off, and in that blissful state which lies midway between slumber and consciousness, when he was startled by a remark that came to his ears very distinctly from the other end of the room.

"They tell me that Cheong-Chau has returned to the mountains."

The answer was a chuckle.

"Cheong-Chau is never idle," came the reply. "Rumour has it that there are fine fish in his net. Do you know that Men-Ching passed through here late yesterday afternoon?"

"Indeed! And where was he going?"

"He did not say."

"Some secret business," said the other. "Men-Ching is no more than the coolie of Cheong-Chau. He does all the dirty work. He runs the errands."

It was here that the voice of a third man joined in the conversation.