Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "I have counted the cost."]
A TALE OF
RED PEKIN
BY
CONSTANCIA SERJEANT
AUTHOR OF
"A THREEFOLD MYSTERY," "THE YOUNG ACROBATS," ETC., ETC.
LONDON
MARSHALL BROTHERS
KESWICK HOUSE PATERNOSTER ROW E C
1902
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. Cecilia's Story
II. The Letter from Pekin
III. The Rising in the Village
IV. Cecilia continues her Story
V. A Terrible Walk
VI. Nina's Story
VII. A Painful Discovery
VIII. Taken Prisoner
IX. A Discovery
X. A Daring Attempt
XI. Mr. Li's Wonderful House
XII. They Wandered in Dens and Caves of the Earth
CHAPTER I.
CECILIA'S STORY.
I can remember quite well when we all came to China. It is four years
ago, and I was eight years old, and you can remember when you are three,
so father says. I am twelve now, and I feel quite grown up, that is
because I am older than any of the others. Most people call me prim and
old-fashioned, but mother says I am her right hand. Rachel is the next
to me, but she is in a different generation almost, only nine years old,
and quite a child. Then there is Jack, he is eight, and Jill, she is
seven. Jill is not her name really--they all have Bible names--but we
call her that because she and Jack are such friends, and always do
everything together. Then there is Tim, he is only five years old, and
little baby Anna. Baby Anna is so lovely, and the Chinese women are
very fond of her. She has dark eyes, and rings of dark hair all over
her head; but somehow she does not look like other children. She
smiles, and yet she has a solemn look: that rapt look that the cherubs
have, like pictures of the Blessed Lord Himself when He was a little
child. Father says so sometimes, but mother does not like it. I never
can think why, but she looks so sad, and once I saw her brushing some
tears away. I think really, though I have never told anyone else, that
mother is afraid baby Anna will not live. I heard the servants talking
one day, and nurse said she was sure the baby would never live to grow
up.
The Chinese women love her so much, they would like to bind her feet;
they think it spoils us all, having such large feet--at least, those who
are not Christians do, and even the others--well, it is just the very
hardest thing in the world for them to have the bandages taken off their
feet, but for the love of Christ they take them off at last, and then
they are baptized--father never will baptize them until the bandages are
taken off.
The Chinese are dreadfully, dreadfully cruel, and very cunning and
deceitful, but father says they make splendid Christians. You see it's
not a bit the same as it is in England--they have to go through such
dreadful persecution if they become Christians; they have to give up
everything for the sake of Christ's love, and you love a person far, far
more if you feel you can give up everything, even life itself, for their
sake.
When we first came to Cheng-si there was not a single Christian here,
and the people did not like us much, but father and mother were so kind,
and did so much for them when they were sick, that they got accustomed
to us, and now they come from all parts, for miles around, to be healed.
You see, father is not like an ordinary Missionary, he is a doctor, too;
he reminds me more of the Lord Jesus than anyone I have ever seen: he
goes about doing good and healing the sick--he has such a beautiful
expression. I have not seen many men, and I do not know exactly whether
he is what people call a handsome man, I rather think not, but it is
when he is healing the sick and speaking to them that there is that
light on his face which makes me think of what is said about St. Stephen
in the Acts: "They saw his face as it had been the face of an angel."
Uncle Lawrence is quite different: he is a soldier, every inch of him, a
good soldier of Jesus Christ too. I have heard mother say so many times,
and it is that which makes him such a good soldier of the Queen. She
says the best soldier is the Christian soldier, and that very few people
would contradict that now, because of Lord Roberts; and then there is
General Havelock, and Sir Henry Lawrence, and a host of others. But
Uncle does not look like father, and he does not speak much; you know
what he is by his life more than by what he says. He has only one
child, her name is Nina--Nina is three years older than I--she is my
bosom friend. I never in my life saw anyone so wonderful as Nina, or
anyone half so pretty; Nina is tall and dark, she has beautiful eyes,
not at all like baby's, but more like wells of water, where the sunbeams
lie; one can never be sad with Nina, she is so bright and sunshiny, like
her laughing eyes; she loves me, too, dearly, and calls me St. Cecilia
because I am so grave and old beyond my years.
Nina and Uncle Lawrence are always together, and she is the pet of the
regiment--yet she is not spoilt. I have not known her long, only since
the troubles began in China, and since they have been in Wei-hai-wei,
which is about one hundred miles from this place; but our love for each
other grew up mushroom-like in a few hours. She says she cares for me
more than for any other girl. We write such long letters to each other,
and when we meet she tells me stories about the officers, especially
one, Uncle Lawrence's greatest friend.
We do not get the news here very fast, as we are quite in the country,
but Nina wrote me a long letter yesterday from Pekin, where they are
now, and told me what dreadfully cruel things the Chinese had done. She
overheard a conversation between Uncle Lawrence and Colonel Taylor.
Uncle Lawrence was talking of the risk of being captured, and of the
awful peril which so many unprotected Europeans were in--it is far worse
than death, for they torture people for days before they kill them.
"They should never capture anyone who belonged to me," said the Colonel,
sternly, and he just touched his pistol with a meaning look.
Nina said her father went as white as death; she guessed what was
passing through his mind. How could he kill Nina? Would it be right if
it came to the worst, and to save her from a lingering death of agony?
I told father, and asked him what he thought; for all the Europeans, so
it seems, have resolved to kill their dearest and die, rather than fall
into the hands of the Chinese. But father--well, father has such a
strong, beautiful faith, he does not blame those who would do this, but
for himself and for us--I know how he loves us--there were tears in his
eyes as he spoke; still, he said he would not feel justified in doing
this--he must leave it all with God, and He will take care of His own.
I know what it cost father to say this, because I know what we are to
him; but I also know that nothing, nothing would ever make him do what
he would not think quite right: he does not blame others, but for
himself it is different.
He and mother walked up and down for hours last evening, and part of the
time I was with them, for they often take me into their confidence, and
that is why I am so old for my years, I expect--the eldest in a large
family generally is, they say; all father's thoughts were for mother.
"Oh, my dearest," he said--I think they had forgotten me--"I never loved
you so well, and yet I am full of regret when I think of that quiet
Rectory where you might have been now if it had not been for me. Do you
remember it, the first time I saw you? I can see it all again: the
Rectory garden, the old-fashioned grey stone house, shadows slanting
over the lawn, and underneath the trees you were standing, the only
young thing there, shading your eyes with your pretty hands; you were
very much like our St. Cecilia, and I saw in a moment, beyond the mere
beauty of your face, the Divine touch there, and I knew you were one of
the Lord's dear children, and my heart went out to you, and I claimed
you in my spirit then and there as my helpmeet, the woman whom God, in
His love, had chosen for me. But if I had known what a future I was
preparing for you, my beloved, I would never have spoken."
"A dear future," mother answered, gently clasping his arm with both her
hands. "Would I have had it any different?"
"Yes, but, my darling--well, this news has unnerved me--Boxers are like
devils possessed, and, if they should get hold of you and the
children----"
And I saw father shudder; I had never seen him like this before: his
faith had always been so strong, and now he seemed quite unnerved.
"They will not," said mother, calmly, and her eyes were soft with unshed
tears, and yet had that patient, steadfast look the martyrs have. "But
if there is trouble in store for us, oh! my dear husband, I would not
have had it any different. God has been so good to us: we have been so
happy, so happy together, there is nothing to regret; it was all ordered
by a Divine love which never makes any mistakes; and it will be all
ordered now," and she laughed a little to make him laugh, I think. "Oh!
Paul, fancy my turning comforter!"
"Yes, darling," he replied, hurriedly, "I am ashamed of myself, and,
more than all, ashamed of my lack of faith. What is our faith worth if
it cannot stand this test? His strength is small indeed who faints in
the day of adversity. God remains; He is over all, arranging every step
of the way, and I can leave even _you_ in peace now with this thought."
And then I heard father say, and his face, which had been so wan and
drawn before, was now radiant and bright: "'Thou wilt keep him in
perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee; because he trusteth in
Thee.'"
But I crept up to bed and thought what dreadful news that must be to
make father look and speak as he had done that evening.