They waited until nearly midnight, when Cheong-Chau and his ruffians
were sound asleep, and only the sentries awake. That day, both Sir
Thomas and Mr Waldron had eaten no food since the morning meal, so that
Frank might not set forth upon his journey unprovided. He would
certainly not be able to procure anything to eat in the desolate
mountain region, though with his intimate knowledge of the Chinese
language the boy should not experience any difficulty in procuring rice,
millet, or even fish, in the valley of the main river.
The most precarious part of the whole business, however, was to escape
unseen from the cave. In this, neither of the older men could render
the slightest assistance to the boy, who would have to rely solely upon
his own initiative. All three lay down upon their straw mattresses, and
pretended to sleep, breathing heavily and even snoring, in order to
arouse no suspicion on the part of the two sentries. They had purposely
allowed the fire to burn down quite low, so that there was only an
exceedingly dim and somewhat fitful light in the cave.
Choosing a moment about an hour after the sentries had been relieved,
Frank Armitage rose stealthily upon his hands and knees, and slowly
began to crawl towards the entrance to the cave. Neither his uncle nor
Mr Waldron moved. The latter continued to snore.
Frank approached the entrance from an angle, whence he peered cautiously
round the corner. He was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, by the
exceeding brightness of the night. The sky was wonderfully clear; a
full, round moon illumined the rugged mountain ridges, making them
appear so white that they might have been snow-clad, whereas the valleys
seemed by contrast to be buried in the deepest shadow. By reason of the
firelight in the cave, the brightness of the moon, attended by a
solitary and gorgeous planet, had not been noticeable from within.
The light, however, enabled Frank to take stock of the sentry who was on
the same side of the boulder as himself. He was able to observe the man
at his leisure, since he himself was in the shade.
The man was evidently wide awake, for he was moving his arms backwards
and forwards with a kind of rocking gesture. His back was turned. He
sat cross-legged upon the ground, upon a plaited mat of straw, surveying
the magnificent scene that extended before him. Perhaps, despite his
brutal features, and low, receding forehead, there was at least a spark
of sensibility, a small power to appreciate the beautiful in nature and
the most wonderful works of God, in the untutored mind of this Chinese
robber and cut-throat. At any rate, he seemed in a kind of ecstasy, for
he was talking softly to himself.
Frank silently crawled across the entrance. And there was the other
man, walking slowly to and fro, stamping his feet from time to time, as
if he suffered from the cold. Clearly, it would be madness to attempt
to escape until this fellow had settled down. He was far too wide
awake.
The boy lay flat upon his face, in a position not exposed to the
moonlight. Here he was sure he could not be seen, whereas he was well
able to observe the walking sentry.
Five minutes elapsed, ten, a quarter of an hour. Frank was becoming
anxious. Perhaps the man never would sit down; perhaps he did not
intend to relax his vigilance until another came to relieve him of his
duties.
Even as the thought crossed the boy's mind, the man stopped, yawned
loudly, and then, seating himself upon the ground with his back resting
against the great central rock, produced an opium pipe and proceeded to
roll a pill.
Frank's heart was in his mouth. He knew that the moment of his great
ordeal had come. The man had played into his hands; for not only was
the opium bound to make him drowsy, but he had planted himself in the
very situation that gave the boy his best opportunity. Frank intended
to climb over the central boulder, and had already satisfied himself
that the ascent would be a matter of no difficulty at all.
What lay beyond was another question. He had never had any means of
ascertaining whether or not he would be able to climb down the other
side of the rock, much less make the descent of the slope. He who is
over-cautious will, however, accomplish nothing. The traveller who
considers the pitfalls in his way and the many dangers that lurk upon
the highroad makes little or no progress, and as often as not fails to
arrive at his destination. He who would gain all must risk all; he who
will risk nothing gains nothing--or, at least, does not deserve to do
so.
Frank glanced back into the cave. By the dim light of the fire he was
able to see that both his uncle and Mr Waldron were stretched at full
length upon their mattresses, looking up. No doubt each was unable to
bear the continued suspense, the silence that had endured so long, but
must take one last look at him who carried with him the fortunes of all
three.
The boy glided into the shadow of the rock. There he paused a moment,
waiting breathlessly to learn whether or not he had been observed whilst
he was crossing the narrow strip of moonlight. A minute passed, and as
nothing happened Frank knew that he was still safe.
Then, very slowly, he began to climb. He had taken off his boots, and
these were suspended by means of the laces around his neck. He was
careful not to make the slightest sound; he was fearful almost to
breathe. He knew that the whole enterprise was in jeopardy, that at any
moment a loose stone might fall from the rock, thus attracting the
attention of the sentries.
He succeeded in gaining the top, and there lay flat upon his face.
Knowing that the utmost caution was of far more importance than haste,
he did not move for some time. Then, slowly lifting his head, he took
in his surroundings.
The sentry on the right had not shifted his position. He still rocked
his arms and sat staring straight at the moon. The man on the left was
invisible to Frank, being immediately under the rock. He had probably
smoked his pipe of opium, and was now in that semi-dazed, self-satisfied
condition that invariably follows an administration of the drug. The
boy wormed himself forward, until he had gained the furthermost edge of
the rock, which was flat-topped, like a table. Thence he was able to see
into the second cave, where Cheong-Chau and his men were fast asleep,
lying close as dogs around the dying embers of a great charcoal fire.
When Frank peered over the edge of the rock, in order to decide upon the
most suitable means of descent, his heart for a moment failed him. It
was as if he was gazing down into one of the uttermost pits of Hades.
The cliff appeared to be perpendicular, which the boy knew was not the
case. Moreover, it seemed to descend to eternity, to fade away into a
great expanse of darkness that was like the sea. It occurred to him
that if by any chance he slipped and fell, his body would be dashed to
atoms thousands of feet below.
Then fortunately he had the strength of mind to remember that
imagination makes cowards of us all. It was no affair of his what lay
at the bottom of the valley; his immediate business was to descend from
the top of the rock, and he had therefore best confine his attention to
the few square yards in front of him.
Immediately he did so he saw that he was confronted by a proposition by
no means difficult of solution. To descend was easy enough. In the
face of the rock was a narrow cleft down which it would be quite easy to
climb. Without hesitating an instant, he lowered himself, and in a few
seconds found himself at the base of the rock, where he again paused and
listened.
He was so close to the man whom he had seen light the opium pipe that he
could actually hear him breathing. Neither, however, could see the
other, since the sharp corner of the rock intervened. However, the
situation was so dangerous that Frank was resolved to have no more of it
than he need; and almost at once he began to descend on all fours the
steep face of the cliff.
He realised that in the first ten yards or so his greatest danger lay.
He could not tell for certain whether or not he was within sight of
either of the men. He could but take the only possible precaution.
Lying almost flat upon his face, he slid, very slowly indeed, at about
what seemed to him a snail's pace, down the smooth, rocky slope.
In three minutes he knew that he was out of immediate danger. He had
escaped. Moreover, no alarm had been given.
Two courses now lay open to him: he might continue to descend until he
eventually reached the bottom of the valley, or he might work his way
along the cliff, parallel to the bridle-path above, until, having gained
comparative safety, he could ascend to the higher level and then follow
the road to the south.
He wisely selected the latter alternative, since he knew not whether the
slope was accessible lower down. Besides, it might so happen that there
was neither path nor road in the valley.
Owing to the steepness of the slope, he could not stand upright, nor was
there any need to do so. He could progress, if not with comfort, at
least at a very tolerable pace, on all fours.
He had traversed in this way a distance that, was probably about a
quarter of a mile, when he deemed that it would be safe to ascend to the
path above by means of which he and his fellow-captives had been
conducted to the cave. This he gained without difficulty, it being
easier to mount the slope than to progress transversely across it.
Once upon the bridle-path he found the moonlight of the greatest
possible assistance; for having put on his boots he was able to set
forward running, knowing full well that every step lengthened the
distance between himself and those who he knew would certainly, sooner
or later, set forth in pursuit.
It would be wearisome to describe in detail Frank Armitage's adventurous
journey across the mountains. Sunrise found him still upon the road,
alternately walking and running, hurrying forward for life itself.
The fact that for three whole days he saw not a single soul speaks for
itself in regard to the desolation of this wilderness. On the morning
of the fourth day he found himself in the midst of the foot-hills, with
a clear view before him of the fertile valley of the West River. By
then he had consumed all the provisions he had brought with him from the
cave. He was, indeed, almost famishing, and felt tempted to take almost
any risk to procure something to eat. That afternoon he encountered
several peasants, who all regarded him with undisguised curiosity.
Knowing that Cheong-Chau was sure to have despatched a party in pursuit,
and realising the supreme importance of time, he considered that it
would be advisable to ask one of the inhabitants of the country the
shortest route to the nearest main tributary of the river.
He selected his man with care, and after a considerable amount of
hesitation, addressed himself to a little thin, prosperous-looking
Chinaman of the middle class whom he overtook upon the narrow mule-track
he had followed for several miles.
On being interrogated, the Chinaman was not a little surprised, though
he was far too well-bred and polite to say so. He was surprised at two
things: first, he had never expected to meet with a European in such an
out-of-the-way corner of the province; secondly, he was amazed that the
young Englishman should address him so fluently in his own language.
"You have travelled far?" he asked.
"From Hong-Kong," answered Frank.
"That is a long way."
"It is of the greatest importance," said Frank, "that I return without
delay."
"Many days' journey is before you," said the Chinese. "I should be
greatly honoured if you would deign to accept such hospitality as my
miserable self is in a position to offer. I am a tea-grower," he
continued. "My house is not far from here. I should be deeply
gratified if you would eat rice under my dilapidated roof."
It immediately occurred to Frank that the tea-grower might be able to
assist him in more ways than one. He readily accepted the man's offer
in the manner duly approved by Chinese etiquette and custom.
"Such a despicable, beggarly foreigner as myself," said he, "would be
inexpressibly delighted to partake, in your palatial residence, of such
nourishing and delicious provender as, I am sure, it is the custom of
yourself and your honoured family to consume."
The Chinaman smiled.
"You speak our language to perfection," he remarked. "Few foreigners
are able to do so. But what is even more extraordinary to me is that
you appear to be acquainted with our forms of ceremony. As a general
rule, the European cannot speak to you for five minutes without being
guilty of a dozen breaches of etiquette, defying every canon of good
behaviour."
"You see," said Frank, "I have lived in China for many years."
"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._"