AMERICA'S UNFRIENDLY WELCOME
In spite of Jo's weariness of the night before, and the sound sleep
that followed, he was out of bed by sunrise and gazing curiously from
his chamber window. The air was sweet and cool, the arching elms stood
motionless, as though not yet awake, and between them he caught a
silvery gleam of the Connecticut. Beyond it rose soft, swelling hills,
and he imagined their green slopes to be thickly strewn with graves,
as always is the case in China; on them, too, he could see occasional
groves of trees, each of which he supposed must shelter a white-walled
temple or sacred shrine, this being the prime object of groves in his
native land.
He wondered at not seeing any tall-sailed junks or guard-boats on the
river, and at the utter absence of the useless but picturesque pagoda
towers that add so much to the beauty of every Chinese landscape.
Then, remembering that America is a very new country in comparison
with his own, he concluded that its people had not yet found time to
build pagodas, or, perhaps, were too poor. Of course, he could trace no
resemblance between the broad, well-shaded avenue below him, with its
rows of neat, white houses, and the narrow, crowded, shadeless streets
to which he was accustomed. At the same time, the green country on
which he gazed looked so very like a bit of Chinese river valley that
he longed to explore it, with a hope of finding thatched farm-houses,
curve-roofed temples, or other homelike features that should recall his
own beloved valley of the Si-Kiang. He listened with pleasure to the
singing of birds, which were infinitely more numerous than in China, and
to the tinkle of cow-bells, a sound he never before had heard. He wished
he might go down to the street and begin at once his study of the many
strange things it was certain to contain, and he wondered how soon a
servant would appear in his room with the bowl of tea that would be the
signal for rising.
While he thus was cogitating, he heard a door below him open and close,
and then he saw his newly made friend, Rob Hinckley, go whistling down
the street, swinging in one hand a bright tin milk-can. If he only had
known that Rob was up and going out, he might have gone, too. Perhaps
even now he might overtake him and have a walk in his company. He was
dressed, and the only thing about him not thoroughly presentable was his
queue, which, not yet cared for that morning, looked rough and unkempt.
At home some one always had combed and braided it for him, first his
mother, and afterwards a servant. Since coming away, one of his Chinese
companions and he had braided each other's queues every morning. Now
Jo wondered who was to perform this service, but supposed that sooner
or later some servant would come to his assistance. He wished the lazy
fellow had appeared, and that this most important feature of his toilet
had been attended to, for in China no gentleman will present himself on
the street or in company unless his queue is carefully braided smooth
and glossy. Exposed to public view in any other condition, it is a sign
that its owner is in such deep affliction that he takes no interest even
in the most important affairs of life.
Having been carefully instructed in this branch of Chinese etiquette,
Jo was puzzled as to what he should do. He longed to join Rob on his
walk, but hesitated to offend his friend by appearing before him with a
disordered queue. He could not put it in order himself, and no one was
at hand to assist him. Of course, he might conceal the fact that it was
frowzy by coiling it about his head and hiding it beneath his cap; but
even this plan had its drawback, for in the Flowery Kingdom it is an
almost unpardonable offence for any man to appear in the presence of his
superiors with queue coiled about his head or in any other way hidden.
Still, the only superiors recognized at present by Jo were the senior
Hinckleys, and by going down-stairs very quietly he might slip out of
the house without attracting their notice, and so avoid giving offence.
Thus thinking, the lad hastily coiled his cherished but at that moment
rather disreputable-looking queue closely about his head, pulled his
cap over it, and, softly opening his room door, stole forth with the
noiseless tread of a sneak-thief. He got safely as far as the front
door, but there he made so much noise fumbling with the unfamiliar latch
as to attract the attention of Mr. Hinckley, who was dressing, and he
called down, "Who's there?"
Not understanding the question, and as dismayed at the prospect of
being discovered with his queue disrespectfully coiled as an American
boy would be if caught stealing jam, Jo made no reply, but redoubled
his efforts at the door. Suddenly, as he was pulling it with all his
strength, the latch turned and the door flew open, sending him to the
floor with a crash. Mrs. Hinckley screamed, and her husband, shouting
"Stop thief!" started down-stairs. He failed, however, to reach the
bottom in time to discover the author of the disturbance, for Jo,
thoroughly, frightened by the untoward result of his efforts to enact
the part of a Chinese gentleman, had hastily scrambled to his feet and
fled through the now wide-open door. Although the minister did not
see him, Mrs. Hinckley, peeping between the half-closed slats of the
window-blinds, did, and exclaimed:
"My good gracious, William! If it isn't that China boy!"
"Nonsense," replied Mr. Hinckley, as, realizing the futility of a chase
under existing conditions, he hastened back to the room.
"I tell you it is, for I just saw him with my own eyes, blue dress and
all, go flying down the street as though the constable was after him.
I've no doubt he ought to be, too, for the boy's run away--that's what
he's done--and probably taken every mite of silver in the house with
him."
"Nonsense!" again ejaculated Mr. Hinckley, as he slipped on a pair of
trousers.
"You may say 'nonsense' as much as you like," retorted his wife, "but
you'll think something else when you find out that every word I'm
speaking is solemn truth. I always did mistrust the Chinese, and so
would you if you'd heard all the stories I have about their dreadful
wickedness down at the society."
"Didn't know any of them belonged to the society," interposed Mr.
Hinckley, unable even at this critical moment to resist a sly joke at
his wife's expense.
"You know what I mean, William Hinckley, just as well as I do," was the
reply; "and I do think this is a pretty time to be poking fun at your
poor wife, when a pig-tailed 'yellow peril,' as he is truly called, is
running off with every mite of her own mother's family silver. It's no
wonder we are trying to exclude them, and I only wish we'd succeeded
before this one ever came to Hatton. They do say down at the society
that the Chinese are about to overrun the world; and, from what I've
just seen, I've no doubt it's true."
"Of course, it must be so if _they_ say so, my dear," answered
the minister, as he fastened his shirt-collar; "but I'll try some
overrunning myself after this first 'yellow peril' who has ever tried
to overrun Hatton. As he is too conspicuous an object to run far without
attracting attention, I expect to catch up with him very shortly, and
to return with him inside of half an hour. Then I hope breakfast will
be ready, for both of us are certain to be extremely hungry after our
exercise."
"Perhaps it will, if he's left a bit of food in the house to cook or
a thing to cook with, which I doubt," retorted Mrs. Hinckley, as her
husband, now wholly dressed, again started towards the street. In the
mean time, Chinese Jo, quite unaware of the turmoil he had left behind
him, and only anxious to overtake Rob, whom he just could see far down
the street, had, as Mrs. Hinckley declared, set forth on a run in that
direction. Also, as Mr. Hinckley had predicted, he was too strangely
conspicuous to run far without attracting attention. At first the few
people on the street at this early hour only stared at him, but after a
little they began to call and point at him, and boys began to pursue him
with joyous shouts of anticipated fun.
All at once Jo discovered that Rob no longer was in sight, and also that
a number of small boys, all yelling at the top of their voices, were
running on both sides of him. Fearing lest he might pass the place where
he had last seen his friend, and puzzled to account for his present
escort, the Chinese lad stopped and looked about him. He had reached the
village common, on which half a dozen disreputable young ragamuffins
were playing an early game of toss-penny. These, discerning in his
presence a more exciting interest, promptly abandoned their game and ran
whooping towards him.
Now, for the first time, Jo began to feel nervous and wish that he had
not ventured out among these barbarians unprotected. All the terrible
stories he had heard concerning the cruel treatment of his countrymen
by Americans surged into his memory and filled him with dismay. Never
before had he believed them, but now it seemed probable that some of
them might be true.
No Chinese is a fighter, either by nature or education, and Jo was not
an exception to this rule. Thus he would have fled from his present
unhappy position had flight been possible, but it was not. He was
completely encircled by his merciless tormentors, who, as they realized
his utter helplessness, became more and more bold in their attacks. At
first they only hooted, jeered, and called him names. Then they began
to hustle and push him. At length one of them snatched off his cap and
flung it to the ground, where it was trampled underfoot and kicked from
one to another. With the loss of his cap Jo's queue was uncoiled from
about his head and dropped down his back. In this position it was caught
and jerked by one and another of the yelling mob until its wretched
owner was half crazed by pain and fright. Thus he was shoved and pulled,
spun giddily round and round, pelted with mud, and repeatedly struck
with sticks or clinched fists. His blue gown was torn in many places,
and his face was bleeding. Finally he slipped, failed in a convulsive
effort to save himself, and fell, carrying to earth with him one of the
young miscreants at whom he had clutched as he went down.
Jo's fall was greeted by yells of delight from the imps who had caused
it, but directly their jubilations were exchanged for howls of dismay
and pain. At the critical moment an avenger had appeared among them, and
he was dealing furious blows at their unguarded bodies with a terrible,
flashing weapon, that scattered them as chaff is scattered by a fierce
wind.