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
mediaeval 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 habitues 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.
"I know where Men-Ching was going," said he. "I made it my business to
find out. He goes to Canton to the opium den of Ah Wu, which lies near
the Mohammedan Mosque. He did not leave this place till nearly ten
o'clock to-night, after having smoked several pipes of opium. He is a
great smoker, Men-Ching. He went down the river on a _wupan_ that was
taking a cargo of rice to Canton. The _wupan_ calls at Sanshui, to take
on board certain chests of tea."
The man who had spoken first laughed loudly.
"You know everything, Hsien-Lu," said he. "You are always prying into
other people's affairs. For myself, though I wear the scarlet coat, I
think it well to give Cheong-Chau as wide a berth as possible. He will
have his head cut off some day. That is beyond all doubt. And on that
occasion I should prefer not to accompany him. And now, good-night. I
desire to sleep. The opium has made me drowsy."
After that there was silence. Frank gave them about ten minutes in
which to prepare themselves for slumber. Then he got up from his couch,
put on his coat and, unobserved, left the opium den.
Outside he took in a deep breath of the fresh night air, then hurried in
the direction of the river. He realised that fortune had played in a
remarkable manner into his hands. Men-Ching was but a few hours in
front of him. He intended, if possible, to overtake the man and possess
himself of the letters. He might be able to do this by stealth if he
could not succeed by force. He could, at any rate, make sure that the
letters reached their destination, since the lives of both his uncle and
Mr Waldron depended upon their delivery into the hands of the Governor
of Hong-Kong.