A Dinner Party at Gin-Sin
[Illustration]
During the past months great events had taken place in the ancient
empire of Porsslania. Many years earlier the various churches had sent
missionaries to that benighted land to reclaim its inhabitants from
barbarism and heathenism. These emissaries were not received with the
enthusiastic gratitude which they deserved, and some of the Porsslanese
had the impudence to assert that they were a civilized people when
their new teachers had been naked savages. They proved their barbarism,
however, by indulging in the most unreasonable prejudices against a
foreign religion, and when cornered in argument they would say to the
missionaries, "How would you like us to convert your people to our
religion?" an answer so illogical that it demonstrates either their bad
faith or the low development of their intellects. The missionaries of
some of the sects, by the help of their governments, gradually obtained
a good deal of land and at the same time a certain degree of civil
jurisdiction. The foreign governments, wishing to bless the natives
with temporal as well as celestial advantages, followed up the
missionary pioneers with traders in cheap goods, rum, opium, and
fire-arms, and finally endeavored to introduce their own machinery and
factory system, which had already at home raised all the laboring
classes to affluence, put an end to poverty, and realized the dream of
the prophets of old. The Porsslanese resolutely resisted all these
benevolent enterprises and doggedly expressed their preference for
their ancient customs. In order to overcome this unreasonable
opposition and assure the welfare of the people, the various Powers
from time to time seized the great ports of the Empire. The fertile
diplomacy of the courts found sufficient grounds for this. Most
frequently the pretext was an attack upon a missionary or even a case
of cold-blooded murder, and it became a proverb among the Porsslanese
that it takes a province to bury a missionary. Finally, all the harbors
of the Empire were in the hands of foreigners, who used this
advantageous position to confer blessings thick and fast upon the
reluctant population, who richly deserved, as a punishment, to be left
to themselves. At last a revolutionary party sprang up among this
deluded people, claiming that their own Government was showing too much
favor to foreign religions and foreign machines. The Government did not
put down this revolt. Some said that it did not have the power and that
the provinces were practically independent of the central authority.
Others whispered that the Imperial Court secretly favored the rebels.
However this may be, the Fencers, as the rebels were called from their
skill with the native sword, succeeded without much difficulty in
getting possession of the imperial city and imprisoning the foreign
embassies and legations in the enclosure of the Anglian Embassy. The
Imperial Court meanwhile fled to a distant city and left the entire
control of the situation in the hands of the Fencers. The peril of the
legations was extreme. They were cut off completely from the coast,
which was many miles distant, and the foreign newspaper correspondents
amused themselves by sending detailed accounts of the manner in which
they had been tortured and murdered. The principal men among the
Porsslanese assured the Powers that the legations were safe, but they
were not believed. A great expedition was organized in which all the
great Powers took a part. The forts near the sea were stormed and
taken. The intermediate city of Gin-Sin was besieged and finally fell,
and the forces advanced to the gates of the Capital. Before long they
succeeded in taking possession of the great city. The Fencers fled in
confusion, and at least two-thirds of the population fled with them,
fearing the vengeance of the foreigners. The legations were saved,
after one ambassador had been shot by an assassin. The city was divided
into districts, each of which was turned over to the safe-keeping of
one of the foreign armies, and the object of the expedition had been
accomplished. In the mean time many foreign residents, including many
missionaries in various parts of the Empire, had been murdered, the
inhabitants not recognizing the obvious fact that they and their
countrymen were their best friends.
Affairs had reached this position when orders came to Havilla for
Colonel Jinks to proceed to join the army in Porsslania, where he would
be placed in command of a regiment. His fidus Achates, Cleary, had also
received permission from his journal to accompany him, and the two set
sail on a transport which carried details of troops. It is true that
these troops could ill be spared from the Cubapines, as the country
was still in the hands of the natives with the exception of here and
there a strip of the seacoast, and there was much illness among the
troops, many being down with fever and worse diseases. But it was
necessary for the Government to make as good a showing in Porsslania as
the other Powers, and the reenforcements had to go.
It was on a hot summer day that Sam and Cleary looked over the rail of
the transport as they watched the troops come on board. It was a
remarkable scene, for a crowd of native women were on the shore,
weeping and arguing with the men and preventing them from getting into
the boats.
"Who on earth are they?" asked Sam.
"It's a pretty mean practical joke," said Cleary. "That regiment has
been up in the interior, and they've all had wives up there. They buy
them for five dollars apiece. And the Governor of the province there, a
friendly native, has sent more than a hundred of the women down here,
to get rid of them, I suppose, and now the poor things want to come
along with their young men. Some of them have got babies, do you see?"
After a long and noisy delay the captain of the transport, assisted by
the officers of the regiment in question, persuaded the women to stay
behind, giving a few coppers to each and making the most reckless and
unabashed promises of return. The steamer then weighed anchor and was
soon passing the sunken Castalian fleet.
"The Court at Whoppington has just allowed prize-money to the officers
and men for sinking those ships," said Cleary. "They didn't get as much
as they wanted, but it's a good round sum."
"I'm glad they will get some remuneration for their hard work,"
said Sam.
"Do you see that native sloop over there?" said Cleary. "She's a pirate
boat we caught down in the archipelago. She had sunk a merchant vessel
loaded with opium or something of the kind, very valuable. They'd got
her in shallow water and had killed some of the crew, and the rest
swam ashore, and they were dividing up the swag when they were caught.
They would have had I don't know how many dollars apiece. They were
all hanged."
"Serves them right," said Sam. "We must put down piracy. Good-by,
Havilla," he added, waving his hat toward the capital. "It makes me
feel happy to think that I have actually ended the war by capturing
Gomaldo."
"Not much!" cried Cleary. "Didn't you hear the news this morning? The
Cubapinos are twice as active as ever. They're rising everywhere."
Not many days later, and after an uneventful voyage, the transport
sailed into the mouth of the Hai-Po River and came to anchor off the
ruins of the Porsslanese forts. Colonel Jinks had orders to proceed at
once to Gin-Sin, and he left with Cleary on a river steamer. They were
much struck by the utter desolation of the country. There were no signs
of life, but here and there the smoking ruins of a town showed where
human beings had been. They noticed something floating in the water
with a swarm of flies hovering over it.
"Good heavens! it's a corpse," said Cleary. "It's a native. That's a
handsome silk jacket, and it doesn't look like a soldier's either. Look
at that vulture. It's sweeping down on it."
The vulture circled round in the air, coming close to the body, but did
not touch it.
"It has had enough to eat already," said an Anglian passenger who was
standing near them. "Did you ever see such a fat bird? You'll see
plenty of bodies before long. Do you observe those vultures ahead
there? You'll find floating bodies wherever they are."
"I suppose they are the bodies of soldiers," said Sam.
"No, indeed, not all of them by any means. These Porsslanese must be
stamped out like vipers. I'm thankful to say most of the armies are
doing their duty. They don't give any quarter to native soldiers, and
they despatch the wounded too. That's the only way to treat them, and
they don't feel pain the way we do. In fact, they rather like it. The
Tutonians are setting a good example; they shoot their prisoners. I saw
them shoot about seventy. They tied them together four by four by their
pigtails and then shot them. It's best, tho, to avoid taking prisoners;
that's what most of them do."
"But you say these bodies are not all soldiers," said Cleary.
"No, of course not. You see the Mosconians kill any natives they
please. Then those who are out at night are killed as a matter of
course, and those who won't work for the soldiers naturally have to be
put out of the way. It's the only way to enforce discipline. Look at
these bodies now."
Corpses were now coming down the river one after another. Each had its
attendant swarm of flies, and vultures soared in flocks in the air. The
river was yellow with mud, and the air oppressively hot and heavy. Now
and then a whiff of putrid air was blown across the deck. The three men
watched the bodies drifting past, brainless skulls, eyeless sockets,
floating along many of them as if they were swimming on their backs.
"It is really a fine example of the power of civilization," said the
stranger. "I don't approve of everything that has been done, by any
means. Some of the armies have treated women rather badly, but no
English-speaking soldiers have done that. In fact, your army has hardly
been up to the average in effectiveness. You and the Japs have been
culpably lenient, if you will permit me to say so."
"We are only just starting out on our career as a military nation,"
said Sam. "You must not expect too much of us at first. We'll soon get
our hand in. As for the Japs, why they're heathen. They can hardly be
expected to behave like Christians. But we were afraid that the war was
over and that we should find nothing to do."
"The war over! What an absurdity! I have lived in Porsslania for over
thirty years and I ought to know something about it by now. There's an
army of at least forty thousand Fencers over there to the northwest
and another twenty-five thousand in the northeast. The Tutonians are
the only people who understand it. Their first regiments have just
arrived, and they are going to do something. They say the Emperor is
coming himself, and he will put an end to this state of affairs. He is
not a man to stand rebellion. All we can say is that we have made a
good beginning. We have laid the whole province waste, and it will be a
long time before they forget it."
The journey was hot and tedious; the desolated shore, the corpses and
vultures, and an occasional junk with square-rigged sails and high poop
were the only things upon which to fix the eye. When at last our
travelers arrived at the city of Gin-Sin, Sam learned that his regiment
had proceeded to the Capital and was in camp there, and it would be
impossible for him to leave until the following day. He stopped with
Cleary at the principal hotel. The city was in a semi-ruined condition,
but life was already beginning to assume its ordinary course. The
narrow streets, hung with banners and lanterns and cabalistic signs,
were full of people. Barbers and scribes were plying their trades in
the open air, and war was not always in sight. Sam's reputation had
preceded him, and he had scarcely gone to his room when he received an
invitation from a leading Anglian merchant to dine with him that
evening. Cleary was anxious to go too, and it so happened that he had
letters of introduction to the gentleman in question. He made his call
at once and was duly invited.
There were a dozen or more guests at dinner, all of them men. Indeed,
there were few white women left at Gin-Sin. With the exception of Sam
and Cleary all the guests were Anglians. There was the consul-general,
a little man with a gray beard, a tall, bald-headed, gray-mustached
major-general in command of the Anglian forces at Gin-Sin, two
distinguished missionaries of many years' experience, several junior
officers of the army, and a merchant or two. When dinner was announced
they all went in, each taking precedence according to his station. Sam
knew nothing of such matters, and was loath to advance until his host
forced him to. He found a card with his name on it at the second cover
on the right from his host. On his right was the card of a young
captain. The place on his left and immediately on the right of the host
bore no card, and the consul-general and the major-general both made
for it. The former got there first, but the military man, who was twice
his size, came into violent collision with him, pushed him away and
captured the seat, while the consul-general was obliged to retreat and
take the seat on the left of his host. The whole party pretended very
hard to have noticed nothing unusual.
"Rather odd performance, eh?" whispered the captain to Sam. "You see
how it is. Old Folsom says he takes precedence because he represents
the Crown, but the general says that's all rot, for the consul's only a
commercial agent and a K.C.Q.X. Now the general is a G.C.Q.X., and he
says that gives him precedence. Nobody can settle it, and so they have
to fight it out every time they meet."
"I see," said Sam. "I don't know anything about such things, but I
should think that the general was clearly in the right. He could hardly
afford to let the army be overridden."
"Quite so," said the captain. "I don't suppose you know these people,"
he added.
"Not one of them, except my friend, Mr. Cleary. We only arrived
to-day."
"The general is a good deal of a fellow," said the captain. "I was with
him in Egypt and afterward in South Africa."
"Were you, indeed?" cried Sam. "Do tell me all about those wars. They
were such great affairs."
"Yes, they were. Not much like this business here. Nothing could stop
us in the Sudan, and when we dug up the Mahdi and threw his body away
there was nothing left of the rebellion. I believe the best way to
settle things here would be to dig up somebody--Confusus, for instance.
If there's anything of that kind to be done our army could do it in
style."
"It must be a very effective means of subjugating people," said Sam.
"Yes, and would you believe it? the natives objected to it. They asked
us what we would think of it if they dug up our Queen. Just think of
it! The impudent niggers! As if there was any similarity in the two
cases."
"Outrageous," said Sam.
"And even at home and in Parliament, when our general was sitting in
the gallery hearing them discuss how much money they would give him,
some of the members protested against our digging the old fraud up. It
was a handsome thing for the general to go there and face them down."
"It showed great tact, and I may say--delicacy," said Sam.
"Yes, indeed," said the captain. "That's his strong point."
"But I suppose that the war in South Africa was even greater," said
Sam.
"Rather. Why we captured four thousand of those Boers with only forty
thousand men. No wonder all Anglia went wild over it. Lord Bobbets went
home and they gave him everything they could think of in the way of
honors. It was a fitting tribute."
"The war is quite over there now, isn't it?" asked Sam.
"Yes," answered the captain, somewhat drily. "And so is yours in the
Cubapines, I understand."
"Yes," said Sam. "I think the Cubapine war and the South African war
are about equally over."
"Do you see that lieutenant there between your friend and the parson?"
"Yes."
"He got the Victorious Cross in South Africa. He saved a sergeant's
life under fire. You see his cross?"
"How interesting!" said Sam. "He must be a hero."
"That chap with the mustache at the bottom of the table really did more
once. He saved three men from drowning in a shipwreck in the Yellow
Sea. He's got a medal for it."
[Illustration: WINNERS OF THE CROSS
"HE GOT THE VICTORIOUS CROSS IN SOUTH AFRICA"]
"Why doesn't he wear it, too?" asked Sam.
"Civilians never do," said the captain. "It would look rather odd,
wouldn't it, for him to wear a life-saving medal? You may be sure he
keeps it locked up somewhere and never talks about it."
"It is strange that civilians should be so far behind military men in
using their opportunities," said Sam.
"That old fellow with the long beard is Cope, the inventor of the Cope
gun. He's a wonder. He was out here in the employ of the Porsslanese
Government. Most of their artillery was designed by him. What a useful
man he has been to his country! First he invented a projectile that
could go through any steel plate then known, and all the navies had to
build new steel-clad ships on a new principle that he had invented to
prevent his projectiles from piercing them. Then what does he do, but
invent a new projectile that could go through that, and they had to
order new guns for it and build new ships to withstand it. He's done
that four times. And he's got a rifle now that will penetrate almost
anything. If you put two hundred Porsslanese of the same height in a
row it would go through all their heads at five hundred yards. I hope
they'll try the experiment before this affair is over."
The major-general had by this time exhausted all possible subjects of
conversation with his host and sat silent, and Sam felt obliged to turn
his attention to him, and was soon engaged in relating his experience
in the Cubapines. Meanwhile Cleary had been conversing with the brave
young lieutenant at his side and the reverend gentlemen beyond him.
They had been discussing the slaughter of the Porsslanese, the
lieutenant sitting back from the table while his neighbors talked
across him.
"I confess," said the Rev. Mr. Parker, "that I am not quite satisfied
with our position here. This wholesale killing of non-combatants is
revolting to me. Surely it can not be Christian."
"I have had some doubts about it too," said the young man. "I don't
mind hitting a man that hits back. I didn't object to the pig-sticking
in South Africa, and I believe that man-hunting is the best of all
sports; but this killing of people who don't resist, and even smile in
a sickly way while you do it and almost thank you--it really does go
against me."
"Yes," said Cleary, "perhaps there is something in that."
"Oh, my dear young friend!" cried the clergyman, turning toward the
lieutenant, "you don't know what joy it gives me to hear you say that.
I have spoken in this way again and again, and you are the first man I
have met who agrees with me. Won't you let your fellow officers know
what you think? It will come with so much more force from a military
man, and one of your standing as a V.C. Won't you now tell this company
that you think we are going too far?"
"Really, Doctor," said the young man, blushing, "really, I think you
exaggerate my importance. It wouldn't do any good. Perhaps I have said
a little more to you than I really meant. This champagne has gone to my
head a little."
"Just repeat what you said to us. I will get the attention of the
table."
"No, Doctor, for God's sake don't!" cried the lieutenant, laying his
right hand on the missionary's arm while he toyed with his cross with
the other. "To tell you the truth, I haven't the courage to say it.
They would think I was crazy. I would be put in Coventry. I have no
business to make suggestions when a general's present."
Mr. Parker sighed and did not return to the subject.
After dinner Sam was introduced to Canon Gleed, another missionary, who
seemed to be on very good terms with himself, and stood rubbing his
hands with a benignant smile.
"These are great days, Colonel Jinks," he said. "Great days, indeed,
for foreign missions. What would St. John have said on the island of
Patmos if he could have cabled for half-a-dozen armies and
half-a-dozen fleets, and got them too? He would have made short work of
his jailers. As he looks down upon us to-night, how his soul must
rejoice! The Master told us to go into all nations, and we are going to
go if it takes a million troops to send us and keep us there. You are
going on to the Capital to-morrow? You will meet a true saint of the
Lord there, your own fellow countryman, the Rev. Dr. Amen. He is a true
member of the Church Militant. Give him my regards when you see him."
"I see there is another clergyman here," said Sam, looking at Mr.
Parker.
"Yes, and I must say I am surprised to see him. Let me warn you,
Colonel. He is, I fear, altogether heterodox. I don't know what kind of
Christianity he teaches, but he has actually kept on good terms with
the Porsslanese near his mission throughout all these events. He is
disloyal to our flag, there can be no question of it, and he openly
criticizes the actions of our governments. He should not be received in
society. He ought to be sent home--but, hist! some one is going to
sing."
It was the young lieutenant who had seated himself at the piano and was
clearing his throat as he ran his hands over the keys. Then he began to
sing in a rather feeble voice:
"Let the Frenchy sip his cognac in his caffy,
Let the Cossack gulp his kvass and usquebaugh;
Let the Prussian grenadier
Swill his dinkle-doonkle beer,
And the Yankee suck his cocktail through a straw,
Through a straw,
And the Yankee suck his cocktail through a straw.
"Let the Ghoorka drink his pugaree and pukka,
Let the Hollander imbibe old schnapps galore.
Tommy Atkins is the chap
Who has broached a better tap,
For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.
Blood and gore,
For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.
"When at 'ome he may content himself with whisky,
But if once he lands upon a foreign shore--
On the Nile or Irrawady--
He forgets his native toddy,
And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.
Blood and gore,
And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.
"He's a connoisseur of every foreign vintage,
From the claret of the fat and juicy Boer
To the thicker nigger brand
That he spills upon the sand,
When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.
Blood and gore,
When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore."
"Fine, isn't it!" exclaimed Sam's neighbor, the captain, who was
standing by him, as they all joined in hearty applause. "I tell you
Bludyard Stripling ought to be our poet laureate. He's the laureate of
the Empire, at any rate. Why, a song like that binds a nation together.
You haven't any poet like that, have you?"
"No-o," answered Sam, thinking in shame of Shortfellow, Slowell, and
Pittier. "I'm afraid all our poets are old women and don't understand
us soldiers."
"Stripling understands everything," said the captain. "He never makes a
mistake. He is a universal genius."
"I don't think we ever drink cocktails with a straw," ventured Sam.
"Oh, yes, you must. He never makes a mistake. You may be sure that,
before he wrote that, he drank each one of those drinks, one after
another."
"Quite likely," whispered Cleary to Sam, as he came up on the other
side.
"I wish I could hear it sung in Lunnon," said the captain. "A chorus of
duchesses are singing it at one of the biggest music-halls every
evening, and then they pass round their coronets, lined with velvet,
you know, and take up a collection of I don't know how many thousand
pounds for the wounded in South Africa. It stirs my blood every time I
hear it sung."
The party broke up at a late hour, and Sam and Cleary walked back
together to the hotel.
"Interesting, wasn't it?" said Cleary.
"Yes," said Sam.
"Canon is a good title for that parson, isn't it? He's a fighter. They
ought to promote him. 'Bombshell Gleed' would sound better than 'Canon
Gleed,'" said Cleary.
"'M," said Sam.
"And that old general looked rather queer in that red and gilt
bob-tailed Eton jacket," said Cleary.
"Yes, rather."
"Convenient for spanking, I suppose."
"The captain next to me told me a lot about Bobbets," said Sam. "Wasn't
he nearly kidnaped in South Africa?"
"Yes; that comes of sending generals away from home who only weigh
ninety-five pounds. We hadn't any such trouble with Laughter. They'd
have had to kidnap him with a derrick."
"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps that's the real reason
they selected him. I shouldn't wonder."
"Of course it was," responded Cleary.
"What sort of a chap was the one with the V.C. next to you?" asked Sam.
"A fine fellow," said Cleary. "But it does seem queer, when you think
of it, to wear a cross like that, that says 'I'm a hero,' just as plain
as the beggar's placard says, 'I am blind.'"
"I don't see why," said Sam.
"On the whole I think that a placard would be better," said Cleary.
"Everybody would be sure to understand it. 'I performed such and such
an heroic action on such and such a day, signed John Smith.' Print it
in big letters and then stand around graciously so that people could
read it through when they wanted to. I'll get the idea patented when I
get home."
"It's a pity we don't give more attention to decorations at home," said
Sam. "But I don't quite like the placard idea."