Tuen went about as one in a dream after her interview with the Viceroy,
but she uttered no complaint. She had decided to go willingly, even
cheerfully, on account of the many favors she had received from her
benefactor, since she knew that he wished her to go, and day by day she
nerved herself to the ordeal. Knowing that she was helpless, she
accepted her fate in silence, and gradually she became more resigned.
Girls in China are not allowed to have a voice in such matters,--that
she knew, and after all she had always been most fortunate. Then she had
heard that the faithful Wang would accompany her, and that Ta-ta, whom
she loved dearly, would go as her maid, and she was pleased with this
arrangement. She had learned, too, that she was to go in great state. A
barge was even now being fitted up for her convenience, and she would
have not only Wang and Ta-ta, but other servants to wait upon her, and
the blind old story-teller, Szu, would be sent along that he might
beguile the weariness of the journey, which would last three months. The
entire trip would be made by water, first through unimportant streams,
then into the Yang-tse-kiang, and on through the Grand Canal.
The time that intervened before her departure was filled with bustle and
confusion, and she hardly had a moment to think about the future, even
if she had wanted to. There were many things to be arranged when one
went on such a long trip, and Tuen must also be provided with handsome
costumes, suitable to be worn at court. She could not repress
exclamations of delight when she saw all the beautiful things that were
designed for her, and she commenced to feel that she had not been very
badly treated by the gods.
The morning appointed for her to set out dawned fair and pleasant, but
all night she had lain awake and thought about her journey, for she had
been too excited to sleep. When she was ready to leave and there was no
excuse for longer delaying, all the servants of the yâmen pressed around
her to say goodbye, and the Viceroy and his wife looked very sad, for in
their way they were quite fond of their pretty adopted daughter. Tuen
was as one stunned by a sudden blow. She neither wept nor said a word,
but when the last adieus were over and she was safely ensconced in her
little apartment on the barge, she covered her head with the silken
cover of her couch and wailed aloud. But one cannot cry always, and
after the first paroxysm of grief had passed she wiped her eyes, that
were now red and swollen, and looked curiously about her. There was
nothing interesting in the narrow room, with its cot and bamboo
pillow,--the only other furniture a low stool and many cushions,--but
from without came noises of every description, forming an indescribable
din. Rising from the floor where she had thrown herself, she pressed her
face against the tiny window of painted gauze, and gazed with eager
interest at the scene on the busy water. What a great, hurrying world it
was! And how full of struggling, shouting people! She even experienced a
thrill of enjoyment of her novel surroundings. Barges, junks,
pleasure-boats, passage-boats, floating homes, freight-boats, sculls and
river crafts of every description passed each other in an endless
procession. Women in flowing blue robes, their hair adorned with
flowers and glittering pins, rowed many of the heavy boats, their
armlets and anklets clinking musically with every motion. Now a tankia
glided by, with only a bamboo canopy as protection from rain and sun and
cold, the mother at the helm, while around her clustered happy children
who had never known any other home than this little "egg house." For so
great is the population of China that many families live in boats upon
the rivers, and have but little knowledge of mother earth, as they but
seldom feel the ground beneath their feet. Tuen looked with delight at
the many phases of life that surged around her as unceasingly as the
ripples of the water, and then passed away. Now she shuddered as a
clumsy lighter, used for loading and unloading coal, bore down upon her
on its way to the distant ocean, and again she laughed to see the dainty
flower-boat with its intricate wood-carving, bright lanterns, flags and
strips of gay-colored paper floating from the side, dart past her. When
Wang entered she turned to her with her eyes shining with excitement.
"Did you ever dream there were so many boats and so many people in the
world, Wang?" she cried.
Wang smiled and shook her head.
"You had better come outside with me, where you can see it all," she
said, and to this Tuen gladly assented.
When on deck, protected from the glare of the sun by the bamboo
covering, she clapped her hands ecstatically, and ran about the boat,
peering out first on one side and then on the other. From the room
within, it had all worn a misty look, as if it were some panorama
passing before her, but now the full reality and intensity of it burst
upon her, and she straightway forgot that she was Tuen, forgot the
little details, the hopes, fears, sorrows, and memories that were part
of her own existence alone, and only felt that she was one of this vast
multitude, and her identity seemed to merge into and be lost in the mass
of humanity that surrounded her. And once having done this, she forgot
to grieve.
Some children in a tankia close to her smiled at her gravely, while the
father hung paper prayers upon the prow, and the mother, with strong,
even strokes, guided the boat toward the shallows. The clamor of shrill
voices, so intermingled that hardly a word was distinguishable, formed a
not unpleasing medley of sounds, and it rang into Tuen's ears until she
was fairly deafened.
"Is there no danger that where there are so many crafts some may be run
into and sunk?" she finally asked, as the boats thickened and there
seemed not an inch of water left.
"The rowers are skilful. I have heard that accidents do not often
happen," Wang said, but scarce had she finished speaking, when a
war-junk that was coming in an opposite direction, bore down upon them.
Threatening cannons peered from the port-holes, and on its gaudy red and
yellow sides were shields upon which were painted fierce tigers, more
terrible to look at than any god to whom she had ever prayed. She caught
her breath quickly, and clung to Wang.
"We shall be killed!" she cried, and Wang was so terror-stricken that
she could not answer. The sailors on Tuen's boat uttered loud, warning
shouts, and pulled away lustily, and the men on the war-junk, seeing
that the barge was directly in their path, rowed valiantly. But the
water was so crowded that there was very little room to turn, and for an
instant, there seemed no chance of escape. Just when destruction
appeared certain, and Wang covered her face to shut out the awful sight,
the cumbrous vessel veered to one side, and they were left unharmed.
"It was a narrow escape," the man at the helm of Tuen's boat said,
nodding toward the junk that now lay on their left. "I thought we should
all be killed," and the rowers hurled loud imprecations at the junk, and
Ta-ta shook her fist at them, and while engaged in this, also thanked
the gods for her safety.
"It is time for rice," Wang said, after they had watched the junk well
on its way. "Let us go in now."
Tuen was very glad to follow her, for her heart was still beating
quickly, and her cheeks were pale. The danger through which they had
passed had, for a time at least, robbed river-life of its fascination
for her.
That night she dreamed of boats, boats, boats, as she heard the
innumerable stream of them go gliding by, and the great, round eyes on
the prows of all seemed to be watching her angrily through the
darkness. She drew a long sigh of relief when she awoke and found that
they had at last stopped, and as she listened, afraid to go to sleep
again, the incessant noise gradually hushed, and all became as still as
in the yâmen of the Viceroy.