When the man was within twenty yards of the fugitives, he caught sight
of their knives, and, stopping suddenly, exclaimed in pidgin English:
'What for knives? my plenty good Clistian man. My no knives, no shootee
gun, no nothin'.'
As he spoke, he held up his hands to show that he was unarmed, and, with
perfect confidence in their honour, advanced in that fashion.
'Who are you?' Charlie asked, as the thin, wizened, but lively little
Chinaman stood before them.
'Number One cook. Welly good cook for missionally man.'
'What for wantee catchee us?' Fred inquired.
'Englisheeman takee to missionally.'
'How you savvy we Englisheeman?'
'Englisheeman pigtail plenty good,' Number One cook explained, but added
the unflattering information that 'Englisheeman no can hide welly much
funny nose, welly much funny eyes, welly much funny mouth.'
Ping Wang, having recovered his breath, took up the conversation,
Charlie and Fred meanwhile keeping a sharp look-out for Boxers. When
they had walked quickly about a quarter of a mile, Ping Wang brought his
conversation in Chinese to a close.
'This man says,' he informed the Pages, 'that he is employed at the
mission station for which we are bound. He had been sent up-country by
the missionaries on business, and was returning through Kwang-ngan when
he saw the anti-foreign placard. He did the same thing as we
did--hurried to the gates--but did not reach them until after they were
closed. Being hungry, he went back to get some food, and on his way to
the shop he met a sleepy Boxer, who had apparently just come from an
opium den. Number One said to himself, "I will have that head-cloth,"
and he took it, giving the Boxer his own hat instead. Then, after a
while, he made his way to the gates, arriving there just as the Boxers
were marching out. He declares that he knew that both of you were
Englishmen the moment he saw you. He kept his eyes on us, and decided to
join us.'
'Does he think that the rising will spread?' Charlie asked.
'He is sure it will, and he means to urge Barton and his friends to
leave the country as quickly as possible.'
Being now about half a mile ahead of the Boxers, the two Englishmen and
the two Chinamen made their way back to the track, and, after walking
quickly for another hour, arrived at the gates of Su-ching, which they
had hoped not to re-enter until they brought with them Ping Wang's
treasure. The gates were open, but the soldiers who guarded the entrance
to the town had thrown off their usual air of apathy, and were
questioning eagerly every man who came from the direction of
Kwang-ngan. On seeing four Boxers approaching, they hurried forward to
meet them.
'Are the Boxers coming quickly to kill the foreigners?' they asked,
excitedly.
'They are,' Ping Wang answered. 'Listen and you will hear them
shouting.'
The noise of the advancing mob reached them as a faint, buzzing sound,
but loud enough to convince the soldiers that the Boxers were really
coming. They were anxious to ask Ping Wang and his companions more
questions, but Ping Wang cut short their questions.
'We bear a message,' he declared, 'and we must deliver it at once. We
have run quickly, for we did not carry rifles. But now that we have
finished running, give us rifles, in case we meet any foreigners.'
To the soldiers this request appeared to be a perfectly reasonable one,
and, knowing that the mandarin and other town officials sympathised with
the Boxers, they took from the armoury, which was close by, four Snider
rifles, and handed them out to Ping Wang, with ammunition.
Feeling safe once more, Ping Wang and his friends hurried off in the
direction of the mandarin's house; but, as soon as they got out of sight
of the soldiers, Number One exclaimed, 'This way welly much more quick,'
and turned up a narrow side-street. The Pages and Ping Wang followed
him, and in about three minutes they arrived at the wall of the mission
station, which they saw was already placarded with anti-foreign
manifestoes. They rang the bell, but some minutes passed, and the gate
was not opened. They rang again, loudly, and a minute later they heard
Barton inquire, in Chinese, who they were.
'Missionalies,' Number One answered, quite convinced that Charlie and
Fred were missionaries.
'Where from?' Barton asked, for one of his native servants had already
turned traitor, and he was now very cautious.
'It's all right, Mr. Barton!' Charlie sang out. 'We are the Pages, Ping
Wang, and your Number One cook.'
'That's splendid!' Barton declared, and, although they could not see
him, they knew by his voice that their arrival was welcome. 'Wait a
moment,' he continued; 'the gate is barricaded, but I will lower a
ladder to you. Here you are!' he called down a minute later, and on
looking up they saw him lowering from the top of the wall a long bamboo
ladder. When it touched the ground they planted it firmly.
'You go first, Number One,' Charlie said, in a tone that showed he meant
to be obeyed.
'Welly good,' Number One replied, and went up the ladder as nimbly as if
it were his usual way of entering the mission station.
Fred followed Number One, and Charlie asked to be the last, but Ping
Wang objected.
'Hurry up!' Barton sang out, and Ping Wang, seeing that Charlie was
determined to be the last man up, climbed the ladder. Just as he reached
the top, and as Charlie planted his foot on the lowest rung, three men,
with knives in their hands, came running up, and Charlie was unaware of
his danger; but Fred saw the scoundrels, and slipping a cartridge into
the breach of his rifle he took aim, fired, and shot the foremost man.
The other two, who had not expected any danger, turned about and fled in
terror.
'Fred,' Charlie said, when he had climbed over the wall, 'you saved my
life.' Then he turned to Barton. 'I see that you are prepared for the
Boxers,' he said. 'We were afraid that we shouldn't get here in time to
warn you of their approach.'
'Are they on their way, then?'
'They will be here in ten minutes at the latest.'
Barton sighed. 'I had been hoping,' he said, 'that the Empress-Dowager
would have had the Boxers suppressed before they would be able to reach
here. I am afraid, however, that she is secretly encouraging them. It is
a great sorrow to my colleagues and myself to find ourselves arming
against the people among whom we have lived on friendly terms for some
years. However, we must protect our women and children. Since you left
us, eight men, five women, and four children have joined us. Some of
them have suffered terribly in their flight from the Boxers. Their own
mission stations have been destroyed, and many of their
fellow-missionaries were murdered. Consequently we may have to fight.'
'How many European men have you, and what weapons?' Fred asked.
'Thirteen, counting you and your brother, and we have eight rifles and
five revolvers. That is not including your Sniders.'
'But what about provisions?' Charlie asked.
'I have got a good stock, and I think we can stand a month's siege. Of
course it won't last quite so long now you are here.'
The other missionaries now joined them, in answer to Barton's summons.
The majority were young men, but two were middle-aged, and one a
grey-bearded old gentleman. Each had his rifle or revolver, and,
although they did not wish to be forced to fight, they had the
determined looks of men who knew that their cause was a good one, and
were prepared to die in its defence. Their positions at the wall had
been settled some hours before, but the arrival of the Pages, Ping Wang,
and Number One made a fresh arrangement necessary.
'I will post you above the gate, with Ping Wang, and Number One, as you
call him,' Barton said to Fred, adding, 'I will make Charlie my
lieutenant.'
'That won't do,' Charlie declared. 'I know nothing about military
matters, but Fred does. He's a Volunteer, and a jolly good shot into the
bargain. Make him your lieutenant.'
'Very well. Then you go over the gate.'
Charlie took up his position on a platform built over the gateway, on
the inner side of the wall. Ping Wang was on his right, and Number One
on his left.
'I came to the conclusion,' Barton said, as he showed Fred the defences,
'that it would be risky to make loopholes in the wall, in case, after a
time, we should be unable to place a man at each. Therefore we built
those platforms.'
The platforms were built at intervals around the wall, each having room
for six or seven men. The defenders would have to shoot over the top of
the wall, but cover had been provided for them by sandbags fixed
securely along the ridge.
'Our women workers made those sandbags,' Barton remarked. 'They used
table-cloths, rugs, curtains, and even some of their own dresses. They
have been a great help to us.'
'By-the-bye, do your colleagues know how to handle their rifles?' Fred
inquired.
'Mr. Wilkins, that old gentleman with the grey beard, was a good shot
forty years ago; but from the time he first left England, until
yesterday, he hadn't touched a rifle. However, he was practising
yesterday and to-day, and I have no doubt that he will do well. My other
colleagues had never handled a rifle in their lives until this morning,
when I gave them a little instruction. I was a member of the Oxford
University Corps.'
'We ought to make a good defence then,' said Fred. 'But we must keep a
sharp eye on the ammunition, and see that it isn't wasted.'
'That reminds me that my man got a fine Lee-Metford and a large box of
ammunition. They were sold to him at a low price by a boatman who, I
suspect, had stolen them at one of the treaty ports. As the rifle was
strange to me I held it back until I had time to learn how to fill the
magazine. Would you like to have it?'
'I should, very much.'
They hurried to the verandah of the house where the Lee-Metford and
ammunition lay. Fred picked up the rifle and, after examining it
closely, recognised it as the very one which he had used with good
effect against the river pirates. He was about to tell Barton of his
discovery when loud shouts from the town made known to them that the
Boxers had arrived. Fred pulled off his skull-cap, filled it with
cartridges, and followed Barton down the steps and up on to the
platform, where Charlie, Ping Wang, and Number One were stationed.
(_Continued on page 386._)
TOYS FROM THE STREETS.
Who does not know the Street Toy-man? 'All made to work! Here you are,
sir, a real motor-car for a penny! The wonderful jumping frog!'
Cheapside and Ludgate Hill, and many less busy parts of London, ring
with such cries for a month before Christmas. All the year round the
hawkers are standing patiently on the curbstone with their wonderful
penn'orths; but it is at Christmas-time that they do most business. Some
children are fortunate enough to be taken by their parents to see the
streets at Christmas-time, and sometimes they are allowed to buy some of
the pretty things for themselves. But there are many others not so
fortunate, who can only look on wistfully, and others again who are not
rich enough or, perhaps, too ill even to go and look at the sights. Poor
men and women, who cannot really afford even a penny, find in the
hawkers' wares the cheapest market, and many a bare, cold home is
brightened at Christmas by one or two of the little toys that cost so
little, but bring so much happiness.
[Illustration: Toys from the Streets.]
These toys have a wonderful history of their own. Do you know that when
you have one of them in your hand, you may be holding what has come
thousands of miles over sea and land from the hands of other children in
distant countries? Whole families make a living by manufacturing these
toys. The material--wood, paper, tinsel, wire, or what not--is given out
at the factory, and the worker takes it home. There every one is busy;
one cutting out pieces of paper of a given shape, one whittling pieces
of wood to fit together, one gumming up the various parts, till the
whole toy is finished and added to a growing pile. Nearly every
civilised country has such workers--Austria, Germany, France, America,
Japan, and England; and the toys in the end travel mile after mile in
great ships and trains, to be sold in the streets for such a little sum!
Now think how some of these are made. Most of those which require
gumming or fitting together are the work of man's hands alone. The
birdcage and dog musical-box in the illustration are of this kind. In
the inside of the box under the dog is a little cogged wheel, which,
when the handle is turned, rubs against pieces of metal and produces the
musical sounds. The bird's song, or rather, croak, is caused by air
rushing through a sort of parchment tissue when the floor of the cage is
compressed. The train, carman, cart, and trailer are made almost
entirely by means of moulds, though some parts have to be fitted
together by hand. First of all, a model is made in wax or clay, or some
other substance, then a cast is taken of it in plaster of Paris, then a
double mould (in two pieces) is made from the plaster cast, and into
these moulds liquid metal--an alloy mainly composed of lead--is run, and
left to cool. All these five toys have wheels that move. They are
electro-gilt--that is, the gilding is fixed on them by means of a bath
through which an electric current passes.
The other toys in the illustration are made mainly by hand, though parts
have to be cast in moulds or cut by machinery. The monkey bicyclist is
hand-made; his body is composed of wool and wire. The weight hanging
down under the string keeps him perfectly balanced, and as the string is
raised or lowered he runs up and down more easily than a good many human
bicyclists.
(_Continued on page 389._)
[Illustration: Chinese Laundrymen.]
THE CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN.
The differences in general appearance of the men of various races are
most striking. No one could mistake a Chinaman for a North American
Indian, or a Negro for a Malay or a Maori. Not only are these men of
various races different in outward appearance, but they have also minds
of different characters, and seem naturally fitted for different kinds
of work.
The Chinaman has his own special fields of labour. He is a great trader
with the countries near home, and sends out many junks to the East
Indies, the Malay Islands, and the South Sea Islands, to collect edible
birds' nests, trepang, ornamental woods, pearls, pearl-shells,
tortoise-shell, and the skins of birds of paradise. At Singapore, there
are hundreds of Chinese shopkeepers, who sell all kinds of miscellaneous
articles, such as penknives, cotton thread, writing-paper, gunpowder,
and corkscrews, often at a price which would be considered cheap even in
England.
But it is when the Chinaman settles in some American or Australian town
that his special abilities are best seen. He is surrounded and
outnumbered by Englishmen and Americans, and is entirely under their
government; and yet there are some kinds of work which he can do so well
and so cheaply that no European can compete with him. He is an excellent
gardener in a small way, and if he can obtain only a very little plot of
ground, he will cultivate it so constantly and so carefully that he will
be able to maintain himself in comfort with the money which he obtains
from the sale of his vegetables and fruits. Many gardens belonging to
Chinamen are to be seen on the outskirts of the cities of Australia and
New Zealand, and early in the morning the Chinamen hawk their products
through the streets.
The Chinaman is equally good as a laundryman, and in some cities the
Chinese colonists do the whole of the laundry-work. In San Francisco,
where there are thousands of Chinese, all the washing is performed by
them. They work in the open air, just as the English and Scotch women
used to do in their public washing-grounds, standing in the water
rubbing and wringing their clothes. They have a curious practice in
ironing, of spraying the linen with water through their mouths. They do
the work very thoroughly, and at the same time cheaply. A Chinaman will
live very comfortably on forty pounds a year, and, as he is an almost
incessant worker, he can make sufficient money for his needs by work
which is very poorly paid from an Englishman's point of view.
A BUSY WORLD.
What a busy world is this!
Everything I view
Has some task it must not miss--
Something it must do;
There is nothing idle stands,
All things work with head or hands.
All day long the busy Sun
Runneth through the skies,
And its work is never done
Till the stars arise:
Then it goes to other lands,
Nor one moment idle stands.
In this world where all things work,
I must busy be;
There are tasks I must not shirk,
Duties set for me;
And since nothing idle stands,
I must work with head or hands.
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
True Tales of the Year 1805.
VII.--REPTON, THE CONVICT.
It was the last day of the Winter Assize, in the year 1805, and a long
row of prisoners stood in the dock of the court to receive the sentence
of death.
Sixteen men to be hanged! It seems quite incredible now, but a hundred
years ago the death sentence was given indiscriminately for offences of
all sorts, some so trivial as hardly to deserve the name. For instance,
the man of sixty, who stood first in the dock, had snatched a ham from a
shop-door, to take to some starving children at home; and the country
lad of some eighteen years or less, at the other end of the row, had set
fire to a rick--it was an accident, it is true, but a quantity of hay
had been burnt; the jury found him 'guilty,' and he was to be hanged
with the rest.
Poor lad! The judge's words fell on his ear like strokes of a heavy
hammer. Surely they could not be meant for him! It was but a few days
ago that he had been a happy, careless lad, shouting and laughing over a
bonfire in which he and some friends were to roast potatoes. A high wind
got up suddenly, and some sparks from their fire were carried to a
hay-rick at some little distance, and at once there was a blaze!
The other lads slunk away, terrified at the mishap, but this lad, Repton
by name, ran up, and tried to stamp out the flames, and so was taken
'red-handed,' as the angry farmer expressed it, and was there and then
lodged in the county jail.
And now he was to die! He sat in a corner of the dark underground room,
dazed and miserable, whilst the men round him, sentenced like himself,
were talking and laughing, and trying by these means to put away the
thought of their fate. But Repton was stupefied with anguish, till at
last merciful sleep overcame him.
He was roused next morning by the jailor, who said, roughly enough,
'You've escaped the gallows this time, lad. A reprieve has come for
you.'
'Am I free? Can I go home?' asked the lad eagerly, not understanding the
man's words.
The jailor burst out laughing. 'Free! What are you thinking of? Folks
can't burn ricks, and be free. You are to be transported to Botany Bay
for ten years, and then you will be free.'
* * * * *
The six months which Repton had to pass on the hulks at Sheerness among
scenes of wickedness and brutality seemed afterwards like a bad dream,
and the lad prayed--oh, so earnestly!--to be kept from the evil which
surrounded him. Then came the day when, chained two and two, he and his
companions were marched through the streets and shipped on board the
_Neptune_, as unseaworthy a craft as ever sailed the ocean, but thought
good enough for convicts.
However, the _Neptune_ did not sink; but she took nearly a year to reach
her destination, and the convicts, stowed together in the hold, suffered
torments from heat and thirst in the tropics. Then small-pox broke out
amongst them, and many died; the rest were more like skeletons than
living men, when the _Neptune_ at last cast anchor in Botany Bay. Here
the men had to work on Government buildings, and at night were locked up
in barracks, hardly more roomy or airy than the hold of the old
_Neptune_.
Most of the convicts did as little work, and gave as much trouble as
they dared, and nothing but fear of the overseer kept them from open
mutiny. At last, finding the overseer alone one day, and for once
unarmed, two or three of the worst convicts set upon him, and would have
murdered him, if Repton had not stood by him and helped him till
assistance came to overpower the mutineers.
The overseer did not forget this act of Repton's, and next time one of
the merchants came to the barracks to choose a servant from among the
convicts (as was then the custom), he recommended the lad for the
coveted post.
Now, indeed, Repton felt almost happy for the first time since his
conviction. He was still a convict, it is true, and might be flogged at
his master's will, or be sent back to the convict barracks, if he
misconducted himself in any way. But, for the moment, he was actually
free; he lived in a little shed of his own next the stable, and groomed
the horses as a free man; and the relief of no longer being herded with
wicked men, day and night, was too great for words.
Repton loved horses, too, and took such care of his master's beautiful
mare, and the little girl's pony, that there never was any fault to be
found with him. As the months went on, he was trusted more and more by
both master and mistress, and treated more like a humble friend than a
despised convict.
Those were lawless days in the Colony; convicts were constantly escaping
into the bush, where they lived as they could--often venturing out to
rob houses, or attacking and plundering, sometimes even murdering,
solitary travellers.
Mr. Edmonds, Repton's master, had a house in a somewhat lonely position,
half-a-mile or more from any neighbour. He was, however, a man prepared
for all emergencies, and, as he was known to be well provided with
fire-arms, and not afraid to use them, his house had hitherto been left
unmolested.
One night, however--a dark, stormy night--Repton was roused by the sound
of steel grating against something. Listening more intently, he heard
whispers, and finally came to the conclusion that men were trying to
force open the house-door. Then it suddenly flashed into Repton's mind
that Mr. Edmonds had been summoned hastily away that very evening by a
message from a sick friend on the other side of the town, and there was
no one in the house but a young nursemaid to protect the mistress and
her little girl.
Hastily flinging on his clothes, he crept up in the darkness, and,
getting behind the two men, who had by this time almost forced the door,
he felled one of them to the ground with a well-aimed blow. The other,
however, turned savagely on Repton, and the two were soon locked in
fight. The burglar was, however, the heavier man of the two, and things
were going badly for Repton, whose strength was all but exhausted, when
the welcome sound of horses' hoofs was heard, and Mr. Edmonds came
galloping up.
'Help, help, master!' cried Repton. 'Here, I cannot hold him much
longer!'
Mr. Edmonds sprang from his horse, and came to him, and, with the lad's
help, both burglars were bound hand and foot, and left in an outhouse
till the police could fetch them away.
Then Repton's turn came, and his master shook him by the hand, convict
though he was, and thanked him for his bravery, and he was taken
indoors, where Mrs. Repton with her own hands brought some soothing
lotion to bathe his wounds.
Nor was this the end. Mr. Edmonds, who had great influence with the
Governor, obtained in time a free pardon for Repton, and set him up in
business, and now some of the most respected families in Australia are
the descendants of Repton the Convict.
[Illustration: "The two were soon locked in fight."]
[Illustration: "Soon all three were scooping up handfuls of
cartridges."]
AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.
A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.
(_Continued from page 379._)