SMILING AT DEATH.
I advanced with a respectful bow and found myself looking squarely into
the eyes of the injured man. Then I gave a start of surprise, for a
young man—almost a boy, he seemed—was smiling at me from the pillows as
cheerily as if greeting an old friend who had come to take part in a
jubilation.
In my recollections of him I have never thought of Prince Kai Lun Pu as
a Chinaman. His features bore certain characteristics of his race,
assuredly; but he was so thoroughly Europeanized, so cultured, frank and
agreeable in demeanor, that no one could possibly think of him otherwise
than as a royal good fellow whom it was a privilege to know. With his
poor maimed body covered by the counterpane, the pleasant—almost
merry—expression of his boyish face made one doubt that he had been
injured at all, and I thought he looked as little like a dying man as
anyone could.
“You are young Mr. Steele,” said he in perfect English, “and I am well
pleased to see you, sir; for you have rendered me a rare service and
have earned my lasting gratitude.”
“It was a simple duty,” I responded, with an answering smile; “but I am
glad I was able to serve so important a personage, Prince.”
“Important?” said he, arching his eyebrows; “ah, perhaps you might find
me so, were we together in my own province of Kwang-Kai-Nong.” A shadow
passed over his face, and he sighed; but next moment, with renewed
cheerfulness, he added, “but we are not in China, Mr. Steele, and aboard
your noble ship the humble passenger must defer to your own more
powerful individuality.” He cast an amused glance at the Death’s-Head
and said:
“Defer, Mai Lo, to the noble American; defer for us both, since I am
helpless!”
The attendant, outwardly unmoved and unresponsive, prostrated himself
before me, and then resumed his former position. I could not resist a
light laugh at the ridiculousness of the performance, and the Prince
joined in the merriment. Then, suddenly recollecting myself, I became
grave and asked:
“Are you suffering, Prince? Do you think you are badly hurt?”
The bright eyes regarded me intently for an instant, after which he
turned to the Death’s-Head.
“Leave me, Mai Lo; I would converse with my host,” said he.
The attendant again prostrated himself, this time to his Prince, and
retired without a word of protest. But almost immediately the Doctor
came hurrying in, and there was protest in both his words and demeanor.
“Look you, Prince Kai,” he said, “this is no time for reckless folly. I
gave you morphine to quiet your pain and enable you to sleep, and you
positively must not excite yourself and neutralize the effect of the
medicine.”
The young man gave him a look half whimsical, half sympathetic.
“My dear Gaylord,” said he, “you have, in your wisdom, numbered the
hours remaining to me, and I accept the decree as final. But why should
I sleep during those brief hours, when rest eternal will soon be mine?”
The Doctor flushed and cast down his eyes. He was a good-hearted man,
and not yet calloused in the presence of death. The Prince smiled upon
him in kindly fashion and asked:
“Is there an ample supply of morphine?”
“There is ample, my Prince.”
“Then listen to my wish. I do not care to sleep, nor do I want to suffer
in the brief time you have allotted me. Let me secure all the pleasure I
am able to until the Earth Dragon completes his vengeance upon me. That
will be kind, dear Doctor, and your reward shall be provided for.”
The old surgeon took the Chinaman’s hand and pressed it warmly.
“Never mind the reward, my Prince,” said he. “I’m out of a job just now,
and am glad to experiment upon you, so I shan’t get rusty. Your wish
shall be respected.”
“Then leave me with Mr. Steele awhile,” was the reply, “and see that Mai
Lo doesn’t disturb us.”
The Doctor bowed with deference and withdrew.
“Prince,” said I, “they call me Sam aboard this ship, and I’ll be glad
to have you do the same. I’m not much used to a handle to my name, and
if we’re to be friends——”
“We’re to be friends, Sam,” he rejoined, quickly; “so just squat upon
that stool and let us have a good chat together.”
I was really charmed with my new acquaintance, he was so animated, so
frank in admitting me to his friendship and so evidently grateful to me
for the slight service I had rendered him. His brightness made me forget
the pitiful fact that he had but a short time to live, until he himself
reminded me of it.
I can imagine no more delightful a companion than Prince Kai Lun Pu must
have been before his terrible accident. He began by telling me much of
his history, in a whimsical, half facetious way that deprived the
relation of any affectation or egotism.
A prince of the royal blood and related to the reigning Manchu family,
Kai had been early singled out for an important position in the empire
and sent to England to be educated. He had graduated from Oxford a year
before, and after a brief visit to his own country, where he held a long
consultation with the Emperor and that terrible old woman, Tsi An, the
Dowager Empress, he had toured Europe, Egypt and India, and afterward
visited the principal cities of the United States. This had enabled him
to study other nations and to note their manners and customs, and he was
returning to China as a Viceroy and a member of the Imperial Cabinet, to
which post he had already been appointed, when he met with the terrible
accident which was to cut short his brilliant career.
So much this royal prince confided to me in our first interview; but he
cared less to talk of himself than to be amused, and soon he began to
question me as to my own history and adventures.
Being willing to amuse the poor fellow, and having no duties that
required my attention, I passed the afternoon in relating the adventures
of my brief life. These seemed to astonish him greatly, and he
questioned me closely in regard to Alaska and Panama, where I had
voyaged with my father and Uncle Naboth, but which he had never visited.
I also told him some queer adventures of mine in Egypt, but he was more
familiar with that country.
I feared to weary the young Prince with my long stories, but he would
not let me go. Twice during the afternoon Dr. Gaylord came in and
administered to his patient hypodermic injections of morphine, and these
must have kept him free from pain, for he made no complaints and
retained his bright cheerfulness until I finally insisted on leaving
him.
Outside his door was the unemotional Mai Lo, standing as stiffly as a
statue. The attendant saluted me with great respect and immediately
entered his master’s room.
Dr. Gaylord was in the saloon smoking a cigar, and he nodded as I
approached and said;
“Queer fellow, Prince Kai, isn’t he?”
“A very charming fellow, I think, Doctor.”
“Yes; and richer than Rothschild—or your Rockefeller,” he added. “You
should have seen him arrayed in his native costume on board the
_Karamata Maru_, and surrounded by his four devoted followers. He was a
picture, I assure you, and dignified and gracious enough to warrant his
royal blood. Everyone liked him, heathen though he is.”
“Heathen!” I echoed, surprised.
“Of course he’s a heathen. But I admit he makes you forget that, for in
London and at Oxford he acquired the polish of an English gentleman. It
was only when I noted the rascals surrounding him that I realized he was
a Chinaman.”
“But they were faithful,” I suggested.
“To the death,” said he, with a slight shudder. “They even tried to
oppose their frail bodies between him and the ship’s splintering
timbers. Sir, it would have made you cringe to see their mangled
remains——as I did. But the sacrifice did no good at all.”
“You are sure he will die?” I asked.
“I am positive. Surgical skill can do nothing to save him. If only old
Death’s-Head had perished with him,” he added, with a glance toward the
state cabin, “I should feel more reconciled. But Mai Lo happened to be
in a safe place, and escaped.”
“Is he old?” I asked musingly.
“You never can tell a Chinaman’s age from his looks,” said the Doctor.
“Yet I would wager that Mai Lo is sixty, if he’s a day. I’m told that at
home he’s the governor of Prince Kai’s native province, and a person of
consequence.”
“I don’t like him,” said I, frankly.
“No one likes him, not even his young master,” returned the Doctor. “By
the way, how old should you judge Kai Lun Pu to be?”
“Perhaps the Prince is eighteen—or nineteen,” I hazarded.
“He is seven-and-twenty. These Chinese seem to age very slowly, unless
they’re addicted to opium, like the coolies. Have a cigar, sir?”
I shook my head and went on deck, where Archie and Joe at once collared
me with a demand to know what “His Royal Muchness, the Chink” had been
talking about all the afternoon. I was quite full of the subject and
told them as much as I knew about our injured passenger, adding that I
was sincerely sorry the poor fellow must die.