YOU know Shelford? What! Don’t know Shelford of the Customs? Then you’ve
never heard how he won the Ping Tu Derby. Shelford, as I said, was in
the Customs, and fate made him spend many years in the port of Ping Tu.
You probably won’t find Ping Tu on the map, but, then, maps of China are
often inaccurate, and the varieties of European spelling adopted by
cartographers have led to confusion. Anyway Ping Tu is a not unimportant
town. The river is navigable above it for some fifty miles, and Shelford
was the head representative in that community of the Imperial Chinese
Maritime Customs. In addition to this he probably knew more about the
Chinese than any other European in the neighbourhood, and was moreover
an all-round sportsman.
There were many sportsmen in Ping Tu, or, rather, everyone of the small
community was entitled to style himself so. They possessed a club on the
river bank where cocktails and whiskies and sodas were consumed,
billiards and bowls could be indulged in, and, moreover, where ladies
could entertain and be entertained on the verandah between the hours of
three and seven in the afternoon.
Ping Tu, in addition, possessed a golf-links and a racecourse, and of
the racecourse and Kwa Niu’s memorable Derby I will tell.
The Ping Tu race-meeting took place annually in February, and everyone
who could afford to do so entered a horse. Horse, I say—I mean a China
pony. And of course the great event of the meeting was the Derby. The
ponies came from up North, and were drawn for by the subscribers as one
draws in a sweepstake. Having drawn your pony, the next thing was to
train it, and for many weeks the performances of these unattractive
animals formed the sole topic of conversation at the Club bar, in
verandahs, on the bund, and in ladies’ boudoirs.
Shelford drew a most unpromising brute of a flea-bitten Mongol pony. It
was a pale yellow colour, had a head much too heavy for its forelegs,
and a nose like a Roman senator. In addition to its unattractive
appearance it possessed a violent dislike of white men, and in the first
week bit the biceps out of a “ma foo” and the knee-cap off a
grass-cutter. Shelford might have condoned these offences had the brute
shown any promise, but the wretched animal proved to be exceptionally
slow in its trials, so he named it “Kwa Niu” (The Snail).
The training proceeded, excitement in view of the forthcoming races in
Ping Tu grew intense, and moreover a new Englishman had arrived in the
port. He was a lank callow youth, fresh from Ireland, and burdened with
the name of Gubbins.
Gubbins might be described as “young.” China had till the last few weeks
been nothing to him but a name. Still, here he was, clerk in the firm of
Sardine and Butterworth, and full of that home energy so often lacking
in the old China hand.
Gubbins with his hearty manners and youthful enthusiasm at once won his
way into the hearts of society in Ping Tu, and Shelford, in default of a
better jockey (everyone having refused to ride the now famous Kwa Niu),
engaged Gubbins to ride for him in the Ping Tu Derby.
About a fortnight before the race-meeting the number of corpses that
floated down the river became burdensome. Many of the men and officers
in the merchant ships lying in the stream were attacked with typhoid,
and from all accounts there was a severe epidemic raging in Whang Chai,
a town some six miles higher up the river. Something had to be done, as
the matter was becoming serious, and Shelford, from his intimate
knowledge of the language and ideas of thought of the natives, was
despatched in a steam launch to Whang Chai to discover the state of
affairs, and if possible to suggest some means of arresting the ravages
of the disease. Shelford arrived at the highly insanitary little town,
and without further delay interviewed the head official, one To Phat, an
indolent and superstitious civil mandarin. The chief military officer, a
man with Western ideas and well educated, was at the time absent from
Whang Chai. Shelford found the people dying by hundreds in the dirty
little town, and as far as he could see there was every prospect of
their continuing to do so until they appreciated the fact that
drinking-water need not necessarily be drawn from the main sewers.
To Phat, comfortably seated in his yamen, admitted the fact of the
enormous death-rate then registered in Whang Chai, but to all Shelford’s
suggestions of its cause or prevention he turned the deaf ear of pompous
ignorance. He—To Phat—could put his finger at once on the cause of the
dreadful mortality. The disease was perfectly natural and only to be
expected; in fact, the whole matter had been satisfactorily explained to
him by a certain Ching. Ching was therefore sent for that he might
explain to the dull-witted foreign devil why this fatal epidemic
harassed the peace-loving citizens of Whang Chai. Shelford at once
recognised in Ching the typical bully of a yamen runner, the promoter of
disturbances, the paid spy and informer. However, Shelford listened with
polite attention to the lying scoundrel.
Ching explained that, although perhaps unknown to the honourable
stranger, still it was a matter of universal knowledge in Whang Chai
that the gentle slope on which the town had the felicity to be built was
occupied by a dragon. This benign animal had for centuries caused
innumerable blessings to fall on the happy inhabitants, but that
recently certain grave indignities had been offered him. Firstly,
foreigners, preachers of strange doctrines, had built a house on the
dragon’s head: this had resulted in the loss of several vessels trading
from Whang Chai; but the crowning insult had been the building of a
school-house on their benefactor’s stomach. This final indignity had
been visited on the erring town by pestilence, and what the end would be
no one could foresee.
Shelford eyed Ching during this recital, and the bully appreciated the
fact that Shelford read his coward heart like a book; but the flabby To
Phat sat in greasy self-satisfaction, and was politely relieved when
Shelford withdrew from the audience.
Shelford then visited the mission-house. On his walk through the town he
saw many signs that made his face grave. The pastor welcomed him
effusively, and was delighted to talk with a fellow white man. He
admitted with sorrow the frightful ravages of the epidemic, but was
evidently quite unaware that any danger threatened himself or his, and
spoke cheerfully of the progress that Christianity ought to make in
Whang Chai in the future. Shelford also found out that Ching, the yamen
runner, had been one of the earliest of their converts, but had sadly
fallen away from grace, and after repeated petty thefts had been
dismissed with disgrace for blackmailing the girl converts who attended
the mission school.
On leaving the mission to return to the inn at which he proposed to
sleep, Shelford had further cause for anxiety. He had already observed
that he was being everywhere followed, but now he saw placards freshly
posted about the town. These cunningly worded notices urged calmness and
abstinence from violence against foreigners; they further alluded to the
present prevailing epidemic, and besought the people by piety and prayer
to discover the cause of the present disasters and the means to be
adopted for restoring health to the community.
The notices were all unsigned, but in the present state of feeling of
the populace they amounted to nothing more nor less than an incitement
to murder the missionaries. Shelford decided not to send his steam
launch back to Ping Tu for assistance, as that would cut off his and the
missionaries’ only hope of escape. Then, again, any appearance of fear
or running away would probably precipitate matters, and a riot would
ensue. He therefore unconcernedly strolled to his inn and ordered
supper. Before, during, and after the meal he talked with large numbers
of the townsfolk who came out of curiosity and nearly crushed Shelford
against the wall in their eagerness to speak with the foreign devil. The
foreign devil good-naturedly endured their importunities, although
disagreeably conscious the whole time of the strong anti-foreign feeling
that existed. So early in the evening he feigned sleepiness, and
politely saying good-night to his unbidden guests, requested the
landlord to show him his sleeping-room. The room to which the obsequious
landlord conducted him was as bare as one would expect, and the kang, or
raised oven, on which the guest must sleep was directly in front of the
door, in which were numerous holes and cracks.
Shelford quickly retired to bed, and blew out the miserable oil-wick
which served as a lamp. Then noticing that all was quiet in the inn, he
cautiously got up, put on his clothes in the dark, arranged the blankets
on the kang to look as if a man were sleeping there, and sat in a corner
of the room with his revolver ready, awaiting events.
He waited for quite two hours before anything occurred, and then faint
footsteps could be heard approaching the door, and a glimmer of light
appeared through its chinks. There was some whispering. The light rays
through the chinks grew brighter, and at last a brilliant ray of light
was directed through a hole in the door on the apparently sleeping
figure on the kang. The light steadied on the recumbent figure, and then
pistol shots rang out with a deafening noise in the small room, filling
it with smoke and causing Shelford to grip his pistol and jump to his
feet ready to sell his life dearly. Then a conversation occurred outside
the door in which Shelford easily recognised the voice of the bully
Ching, who asserted that the man was dead. Another voice urged him to go
in and assure himself of the fact that the man on the kang was really
dead. Ching argued that the sleeping figure had not moved after the
explosion of their pistols, and that consequently he could not be asleep
but must have been killed. Everyone outside the door seemed to show
reluctance to enter the room, and after further whispered conversation
the would-be murderers departed, but not before Shelford had heard Ching
say—
“Now we have slain this devil we can quietly kill the missionaries
to-morrow night and loot their house. The men in the glass boat (steam
launch) have been bribed, so will tell nothing.”
After this they retired. Shelford left his strained position in the
corner, and with his revolver ready to his hand slept on the comfortably
warmed kang until daylight.
When he appeared next morning the innkeeper would have fled from fear,
had not his desire to “save face” at all cost made him bear an outwardly
calm demeanour. Shelford didn’t fail to notice the impression that he
created on everyone who saw him in the inn, but he felt that no further
attempt on his life would be made during daylight; so having taken
breakfast, he told the innkeeper that he should again sleep at the inn
that night, and that the previous night he had been so comfortable and
had slept so deeply that he thought there must be some beneficial
essence in the air of Whang Chai that induced refreshing slumbers.
To go again to the mission-house would arouse suspicion, so Shelford
wandered about the town all the forenoon in the hope of accidentally
meeting someone from the mission. As time went on he became more and
more anxious. That he was being closely watched he knew, and at last he
dared no longer wander about apparently aimlessly, so he once more
returned to the inn and ate. If only by good providence the missionaries
would send a message to him! Two more hours were wasted, Shelford
sitting and smoking in apparent calmness in the chief room of the inn,
holding conversations with all who addressed him, but inwardly chafing
and cursing his forced inaction.
There was now only an hour of daylight left; something had to be done.
He called the innkeeper and begged him to send on board the steam launch
for a change of clothes and some necessaries, and to order the skiff to
wait by the bank till he should arrive and give some further orders for
being ready to proceed to Ping Tu at ten o’clock the next morning. After
which Shelford, almost bursting with anxiety, left the inn, and again
walked through the town praying for the sight of someone from the
mission. The people, though offering no molestations, evinced a thinly
veiled hostility, and he knew that if he continued to wander about after
dark his life would be in danger, but a direct attempt on his part to
enter the mission-house might lead to a siege of the place and the
massacre of all the inmates.
At last, some fifteen minutes before dark, he met his missionary friend
of the day before. Shelford met him calmly and shook hands. He then said
in his most matter-of-fact tone: “Don’t show any surprise at what I am
going to say; we are now closely watched. Go home at once, put on
Chinese clothes, and bring all your people as soon as possible and get
to the river, where you’ll find a small white boat. If I’m not there
take the boat at once and push off to the launch and make the sailors
take you to Ping Tu. You may get through safely, but don’t attempt to
bring anything away with you. The next half-hour will, I think, prove
rather exciting. Good night!”
The missionary fortunately was a clever man and a bit of an actor—he saw
that this was no jest on Shelford’s part but deadly earnest. It was now
nearly dark, and the bully Ching’s agents followed close on Shelford’s
heels as he proceeded to the inn. On pretext of speaking to the
innkeeper, Shelford left the common room and walked towards his host’s
private apartments which he knew opened on to a small courtyard, from
which there might have been no means of escape, but that it was
necessary to risk. He drew the innkeeper into the room, the spies
watching them both. Shelford continued in conversation and pushed the
door-to with his foot. His host, instantly suspicious, made a movement
to reopen it, but Shelford, quick as thought, dealt him a violent blow
on the temple with his pistol, and catching the Chinaman as he was
falling in a heap, so as to avoid any noise being heard by the spies in
the outer room, he laid the unconscious man noiselessly on the floor,
still keeping up his conversation in Chinese to deceive the watchers.
Then, still talking, he edged towards the courtyard. A hasty glance in
the now almost complete darkness showed him that the wall could be
easily scaled. Quick as thought he was over and speeding through the
empty streets to the water’s edge. As he ran towards the river he was
followed by three Chinamen. Should he shoot? His revolver was ready, one
of his pursuers tripped and fell, the boat was close at hand, and
Shelford was about to turn and fire on his pursuers when—thank God!—he
heard an exclamation in English. They were the missionaries, but now
others came running with lights. His escape had been noticed! The four
of them tumbled into the boat and, falling on the oars, attempted to
push off with all their might. The Chinaman in the boat hurled himself
on Shelford and shouted to the rapidly approaching Chinese. Wrenching
himself free, Shelford struck the man a crushing blow between the eyes
and flung him overboard, then, jumping into the stream, with a mighty
effort he pushed the boat into deep water just as Ching’s hirelings
reached the water’s edge. The boat seemed to be alongside the launch in
a few seconds, but already a howling mob with flickering lanterns were
lining the bank. Shelford pushed his companions on board and quickly
jumped up himself, leaving the small boat to drift down-stream.
“Go forward and get up the anchor at once,” he gasped to the
missionaries, who obeyed him with alacrity. Shelford ran to the wheel
and found a strange Chinaman standing near it. Quick as thought he took
him by the throat, saying, “Cry out and I strangle you!” The man
struggled to free himself, but Shelford forced him towards the wire rail
of the launch and, bending him backwards over it, gave a side kick to
his ankles and tipped him into the river; then running back to the
wheel, he rang down to the engine-room.
“Getting up anchor! Stand by to go ahead! The foreign devils are all
killed and we must go up-stream, beach the launch, and loot her.”
The Chinaman in the engine-room, thinking one of his fellows was
speaking, carried out his orders, and in a few moments the anchor was up
and the steam launch moving down-stream towards Ping Tu.
Shelford felt fairly confident now, but there still remained one danger,
that of a pursuit in boats; and in the event of their running aground in
the dark they would then be captured and——
Slowly the launch crept down the river with Shelford at the wheel, the
missionaries sitting near in cowed silence, and everyone longing for the
daylight and the passing of the weary night.