GILBERT’S NARROW ESCAPE
When Gilbert regained his senses, he found himself bound hands and
feet, and lying upon a pallet of straw. The place was a stone cell, and
in a niche of the wall a dim lantern was burning.
He wondered how he had come there, and at last concluded that the old
priest had had him made a prisoner and carried hither. His head hurt
him not a little, and there was a painful sore on his left elbow.
“I suppose I am worse off than I was before,” was his dismal
conclusion. “That priest will never let me go, now that I have shot one
of his followers.”
As weak as he was, he endeavored to release himself from his bonds; but
the effort proved a failure. His captors had done their work well, and
he merely succeeded in cutting his wrists and ankles until the blood
came.
His movements created some noise; and presently a door to the cell
opened, and the man who had tackled him and who had escaped the second
shot came in. He grinned savagely when he saw that Gilbert’s eyes were
open, and addressed the prisoner in Chinese.
Not understanding a word, Gilbert made no reply, at which the
Boxer--for such the fellow was--gave a growl, and kicked the prostrate
officer in the side.
[Illustration: THE BOXER KICKED THE PROSTRATE OFFICER IN THE SIDE.]
“You’re a cheerful brute!” gasped Gilbert, as soon as he could get back
the wind of which he had been deprived. “I thought some of our soldiers
were unnecessarily cruel; but I reckon you fellows deserve all you are
getting, and more.”
The Boxer did not understand, but he guessed that the young lieutenant
was finding fault; and he kicked Gilbert again. Then, with another
growl, he took down the lantern and went out, leaving his prisoner in
darkness.
If the young lieutenant had felt downhearted before, he was now even
more discouraged. He was alone, and it was doubtful if any but his
enemies were aware of his situation.
“If the boys knew of this, they would come to the rescue,” he reasoned.
“But they don’t know, and it’s likely they won’t find out. For once I
have put my head into the lion’s mouth.”
Gilbert wondered how long he had been unconscious, but had no means of
finding out. His weapons were gone, also the money he had had in his
pocket. The latter had been taken by the priest’s follower, not by the
Buddhist himself.
An hour went by, and the young lieutenant realized that he was both
hungry and thirsty. Then came a noise which was far from welcome.
A number of rats had discovered his presence, and they came out of a
hole in the wall to sniff at his hands and legs. He hissed them off,
and they scampered out of sight. But soon they came back, re-enforced
by others; and, when he hissed again, they merely retreated to the side
of the cell, evidently realizing that he could not come after them.
At last one old rat, probably the father of the colony, advanced, and
proceeded to sample the flesh of one of Gilbert’s lower limbs.
The yell the young lieutenant gave echoed and re-echoed throughout
the cell; and for the minute every rat disappeared, but only for the
minute. Then they came back, in greater numbers than ever, and ran all
over Gilbert’s body.
Try his best, the young officer could not fight off the rodents; and
he was just beginning to think that he might be eaten up alive, when
the cell door opened, and the Buddhist priest appeared, along with
his follower. The pair saw at once the cause of the disturbance, and
quickly chased the rats out of sight, slaying none of them; for to the
Buddhists animal life is sacred.
The rats having been disposed of, a short talk followed between the
priest and his man; and then the latter caught Gilbert up in his arms,
and threw the lieutenant over his shoulder as if he were a bag of
flour. Leaving the cell, they ascended a long flight of stone steps,
and soon reached the floor of the joss house.
The scene that greeted Gilbert surprised him greatly. In one corner
of the gloomy building was a large idol, having one arm up and
another down and three eyes, the third being set in the middle of the
forehead. In front of this idol rested seven burning joss sticks and
three platters of cornmeal, all in a semicircle. In the centre of the
semicircle rested a square block of wood, and beside this an axe.
The edge of the axe and the top of the block were besmeared with what
looked like human blood; and, as he gazed at these implements of the
Chinese executioner’s trade, he could not help but shiver. At this the
priest’s follower laughed softly; but, turning, the Buddhist struck the
man on the mouth, upon which he relapsed into immediate silence.
Reaching the block, the priest motioned his helper to put Gilbert down;
and at the same time the holy man began a low chant, which at the
opening sounded like a hive of bees when about to swarm. Gradually,
the chanting became louder; and the priest then walked around the idol
a dozen times or more, hitting it in various places and pounding his
forehead and his hips repeatedly. At the end of the chant he threw
himself flat, and remained in this position for fully five minutes.
The whole ceremony was so curious that Gilbert would have been deeply
interested had he not felt that it was but the forerunner of some
attack upon himself.
On rising, the Buddhist priest motioned to his helper to take up the
axe; and he himself came forward to feel if the edge of the implement
was sharp enough for the work at hand. Satisfied on this point, the
holy man caught Gilbert around the body, and raised him to his feet.
The young lieutenant now felt that he must either do or die, and he
resolved to put up the best fight possible. “I’d rather die fighting
than be beheaded,” he muttered; and, exerting all his strength, he hit
the old Buddhist in the stomach with his elbow, and knocked the priest
flat.
At once the follower, who had the axe, leaped forward; and for the
moment it looked as if Gilbert would be slain where he stood. But, as
the blade descended, the young Southerner sprang to one side, and the
axe struck the stone flooring. At the same moment came a call from
outside.
“Help! help!” cried Gilbert, at the top of his voice. “I am in the joss
house! Help!”
“Sto--stop him!” gasped the old priest, as he sat up, out of wind.
“Stop him!” And he continued to call out in Chinese.
But now came a crash on one of the windows of the joss house, followed
by a rapid succession of blows; and two of the boards were sent flying
over one of the idols. Then a soldier appeared in the opening. A gun
was levelled, and a report followed. The man with the axe dropped the
weapon, and sank down, fatally shot through the chest.
“Dan Casey!” burst out Gilbert. “Quick, cover the priest!”
“Is it indade you?” came from Dan Casey. “Sure, an’ phwat were the
haythins up to now, tell me that?”
“They were going to behead me! The priest--quick, Dan!”
Gilbert broke off short; for the Buddhist had leaped upon him, and now
had him by the throat. The turn of affairs had rendered the holy man
frantic; and he was foaming at the mouth, while his eyes shone like
twin stars.
The lights around the idol lit up the scene well, and Dan Casey did not
hesitate over what to do. Again his rifle came up; and, as it spoke
out, the old Buddhist tottered back, shot through the hip. Once he got
up again, but Gilbert easily leaped from his reach. Then he rolled over
to the foot of the idol, and lay still.
By this time Casey was coming through the window. Making a leap, he
landed on the shoulder of the nearest idol, and from there reached the
floor. He was followed by two other soldiers of Gilbert’s company, and
all three ran forward to their commander’s assistance.
“Oh, how thankful I am that you have come!” murmured Gilbert, when
released from his bonds. “A little longer, and it would have been all
up with me.”
“Sure, an’ we have been huntin’ fer ye fer the best part av six hours,”
answered Dan Casey. “How in the worruld did ye git here, I don’t know.”
“I received a message, and very foolishly came alone. But how did you
happen to come to the joss house?”
“I met an English marine, who said he had seen an American lieutenant
go into the back dure wid one av thim haythins; an’ I put it down for
you. Are any more of the Chinks around?”
“No. There were three, but I put one of them out of the fight some time
ago. How long is it since I left our headquarters? I have lost track of
time.”
“Ye left at noon yesterday. It’s now tin o’clock in the marnin’.”
“Then I was overcome all night by a tumble I took through a trap-door.
Casey, I owe you a good deal for this--and you other men, too,” added
the young Southerner.
“That’s all right, lieutenant,” said one of the men. “We are glad we
reached you as we did. The troops ought to take possession of this
place after this.”
“They shall, Netwood,--and keep a strict guard for underhanded work,
too. That old priest--Gracious! What is he up to now?”
Gilbert took a step forward, and so did the others. Then all came to a
stop, fascinated by the scene being enacted before them.
Wounded as he was, the old Buddhist had struggled to his feet, and
tottered to another idol, one holding a bird and a dog in its hand.
Before this idol the priest was waving his hands, and chanting in the
same monotonous tone he had before employed. In his right fingers he
clutched a dagger, with which he was making circles before the idol’s
face.
“Looks as if he was going to carve the idol up,” whispered Netwood.
“Hush!” replied Gilbert. “Look at him! Isn’t it enough to make one’s
blood run cold?”
“Hadn’t we better make him a prisoner?” put in the third soldier of
the party. “He may become very dangerous when he’s worked up. His
eyes--”
The soldier stopped short. The Buddhist priest had turned to look at
the Americans. Now he made a horrible face,--like that of a snarling
wolf,--and spat at them. Then, turning swiftly, he placed his dagger
to his breast, and, looking up at the idol, let himself fall upon the
point of the blade.
“He has killed himself!” burst out Gilbert, and leaped forward,
followed by his men. But he was too late. When they turned the old
priest over, he was stone-dead. Rather than become a prisoner of the
enemy, he had taken his own life.
As they gathered around the old man, they noted that the wolf-like
expression of the face was gone, and something like a smile had taken
its place. Nobody could speak for several seconds, and Gilbert felt a
curious lump rise in his throat.
“He’s dead!” he murmured hoarsely. “He wanted to take my life, but I
don’t bear him any grudge. He thought he was in the right, and he lived
according to his light. I wish this war was over.”
And just then every man who heard those words wished the same.