AH SING'S VENGEANCE
Two days, whose monotony was varied only by occasional visits from one
or another of their jailers, passed in this way. Peter Gross's faint
hope that they might be able to escape by overpowering the Chinamen,
while the latter brought them their meals, faded; the jailers had
evidently been particularly cautioned against such an attempt and were
on their guard.
On the afternoon of the second day a commotion in the fore-court of the
temple, distinctly audible through the gratings, raised their curiosity
to fever heat. They listened intently and tried to distinguish voices
and words in the hubbub, but were unsuccessful. It was apparent,
however, that a large party had arrived. There were fully a hundred men
in it, Peter Gross guessed, possibly twice that number.
"What's this?" Paddy asked.
Peter Gross's face was set in hard, firm lines, and there was an
imperious note in his voice as he said:
"Come here, Paddy. I have a few words to say to you."
Paddy's face lost its familiar smile as he followed his chief to the
corner of their prison farthest from the door.
"I don't know what this means, but I rather suspect that Ah Sing has
arrived," Peter Gross said. He strove to speak calmly, but his voice
broke. "If that is the case, we will probably part. You will not see me
again. You may escape, but it is doubtful. If you see the slightest
chance to get away, take it. Being shot or krissed is a quicker death
than by torture."
In spite of his effort at self-control, Paddy's face blanched.
"By torture?" he asked in a low voice of amazement.
"That is what we may expect," Peter Gross declared curtly.
Paddy breathed hard a moment. Then he laid an impulsive hand on his
leader's arm.
"Let's rush 'em the minute the door opens, Mr. Gross."
Peter Gross shook his head in negation. "While there is life there is
hope," he said, smiling.
Paddy did not perceive that his chief was offering himself in the hope
that his death might appease the pirate's craving for vengeance.
They strolled about, their hearts too full for speech. Presently Paddy
lifted his head alertly and signaled for silence. He was standing near
the window and raised himself on tiptoe to catch the sounds coming
through. Peter Gross walked softly toward him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I thought I heard a white man speaking just now," Paddy whispered. "It
sounded like Van Slyck's voice--Hist!"
A low murmur of ironic laughter came through the gratings. Peter Gross's
face became black with anger. There was no doubting who it was that had
laughed.
A few minutes later they heard the scraping of the heavy bar as it was
lifted out of its socket, then the door opened. Several armed Chinamen,
giants of their race, sprang inside. Ah Sing entered behind them,
pointed at Peter Gross, and issued a harsh, guttural command.
The resident walked forward and passively submitted to the rough hands
placed upon him. Paddy tried to follow, but two of the guards thrust him
back so roughly that he fell. Furious with anger, he leaped to his feet
and sprang at one of them, but the Chinaman caught him, doubled his arm
with a jiu-jitsu trick, and then threw him down again. The other prodded
him with a spear. Inwardly raging, Paddy lay motionless until the guards
tired of their sport and left him.
In the meantime Peter Gross was half led, half dragged through the
fore-court of the temple into another chamber. Those behind him prodded
him with spear-points, those in front spit in his face. He stumbled, and
as he regained his balance four barbs entered his back and legs, but his
teeth were grimly set and he made no sound. Although he gazed about for
Van Slyck, he saw no signs of him; the captain had unquestionably deemed
it best to keep out of sight.
In the chamber, at Ah Sing's command, they bound him securely hand and
foot, with thongs of crocodile hide. Then the guards filed out and left
the pirate chief alone with his prisoner.
As the doors closed on them Ah Sing walked slowly toward the resident,
who was lying on his back on the tessellated pavement. Peter Gross
looked back calmly into the eyes that were fixed so gloatingly upon him.
In them he read no sign of mercy. They shone with a savage exultation
and fiendish cruelty. Ah Sing sighed a sigh of satisfaction.
"Why you don't speak, Mynheer Gross?" he asked, mimicking Van Schouten's
raspy voice.
Peter Gross made no reply, but continued staring tranquilly into the
face of his arch-enemy.
"Mebbe you comee Ah Sing's house for two-three men?" the pirate chief
suggested with a wicked grin.
"Mebbe you show Ah Sing one damn' fine ring Mauritius?" the pirate chief
mocked.
Peter Gross did not flick an eyelash. A spasm of passion flashed over Ah
Sing's face, and he kicked the resident violently.
"Speakee, Chlistian dog," he snarled.
Peter Gross's lips twitched with pain, but he did not utter a sound.
"I teachum you speakee Ah Sing," the pirate declared grimly. Whipping a
dagger from his girdle, he thrust it between Peter Gross's fourth and
fifth ribs next to his heart. The point entered the skin, but Peter
Gross made no sound. It penetrated a quarter-inch.
Ah Sing, smiling evilly, searched the face of his victim for an
expression of fear or pain. Three-eighths of an inch, half an
inch--Peter Gross suddenly lunged forward. An involuntary contraction of
his facial muscles betrayed him, and the Chinaman pulled the dagger away
before the resident could impale himself upon it. He stepped back, and a
look of admiration came upon his face--it was the tribute of one strong
man to another.
"Peter him muchee likee go _sangjang_ (hades)," he observed. "Ah Sing
sendee him to-mollow, piecee, piecee, plenty much talkee then." The
pirate indicated with strokes of his dagger that he would cut off Peter
Gross's toes, fingers, ears, nose, arms, and legs piecemeal at the
torture. Giving his victim another violent kick, he turned and passed
through the door. A few minutes later a native physician came in with
two armed guards and staunched the flow of blood, applying bandages with
dressings of herbs to subdue inflammation.
Night settled soon after. The darkness in the chamber was abysmal. Peter
Gross lay on one side and stared into the blackness, waiting for the
morning, the morning Ah Sing promised to make his last. Rats scurried
about the floor and stopped to sniff suspiciously at him. At times he
wished they were numerous enough to attack him. He knew full well the
savage ingenuity of the wretches into whose hands he had fallen for
devising tortures unspeakable, unendurable.
Dawn came at last. The first rays of the sun peeping through the
gratings found him asleep. Exhausted nature had demanded her toll, and
even the horror of his situation had failed to banish slumber from his
heavy lids. As the sun rose and gained strength the temperature sensibly
increased, but Peter Gross slept on.
He awoke naturally. Stretching himself to ease his stiffened limbs, he
felt a sharp twitch of pain that brought instant remembrance. He
struggled to a sitting posture. The position of the sun's rays on the
wall indicated that the morning was well advanced.
He listened for the camp sounds, wondering why his captors had not
appeared for him before now. There was no sound outside except the
soughing of the wind through the jungle and the lackadaisical chatter of
the pargams and lories.
"Strange!" he muttered to himself. "It can't be that they've left."
His shoulders were aching frightfully, and he tugged at his bonds to get
his hands free, but they were too firmly bound to be released by his
unaided efforts. His clothing, he noticed, was almost drenched, the
heavy night dew had clustered thickly upon it. So does man cling to the
minor comforts even in his extremity that he labored to bring himself
within the narrow park of the sun's rays to dry his clothing.
He was still enjoying his sun-bath when he heard the bar that fastened
the door of his chamber lifted from its sockets. His lips closed firmly.
A half-uttered prayer, "God give me strength," floated upward, then the
door opened. An armed guard, one of his jailers for the past two days,
peered inside.
Seeing his prisoner firmly bound, he ventured within with the customary
bowl of rice and pannikin of water. A slash of his kris cut the thongs
binding Peter Gross's hands, then the jailer backed to the door while
the resident slowly and dazedly unwound the thongs that had bound him.
Expecting nothing else than that he would be led to the torture,
persuaded that the door would be opened for no other purpose, Peter
Gross could not comprehend for a few moments what had happened. Then he
realized that a few hours of additional grace had been vouchsafed him,
and that Ah Sing and his crew must have left.
He wondered why food was offered him. In the imminent expectancy of
death, the very thought of eating had nauseated him the moment before.
Yet to have this shadow removed, if only for a few hours, brought him an
appetite. He ate with relish, the guard watching him in the meantime
with cat-like intentness and holding his spear in instant readiness. As
soon as the resident had finished he bore the dishes away, barring the
door carefully again.