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CIVILIZATION
Tales of the Orient
by
ELLEN N. LA MOTTE
Author of "The Backwash of War," Etc
New York
George H. Doran Company
Copyright, 1919,
by George H. Doran Company
Printed in the United States of America
The stories "Under A Wineglass," "Homesick" and "The Yellow
Streak" are published by courtesy of the _Century Magazine_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I
THE YELLOW STREAK 11
II
ON THE HEIGHTS 33
III
HOMESICK 65
IV
CIVILIZATION 93
V
MISUNDERSTANDING 121
VI
PRISONERS 141
VII
CANTERBURY CHIMES 177
VIII
UNDER A WINEGLASS 217
IX
CHOLERA 235
X
COSMIC JUSTICE 247
THE YELLOW STREAK
I
THE YELLOW STREAK
He came out to Shanghai a generation ago, in those days when Shanghai
was not as respectable as it is now--whatever that says to you. It
was, of course, a great change from Home, and its crude pleasures and
crude companions gave him somewhat of a shock. For he was of decent
stock, with a certain sense of the fitness of things, and the
beach-combers, adventurers, rough traders and general riff-raff of the
China Coast, gathered in Shanghai, did not offer him the society he
desired. He was often obliged to associate with them, however, more or
less, in a business way, for his humble position as minor clerk in a
big corporation entailed certain responsibilities out of hours, and
this responsibility he could not shirk, for fear of losing his
position. Thus, by these acts of civility, more or less enforced, he
was often led into a loose sort of intimacy, into companionship with
people who were distasteful to his rather fastidious nature. But what
can you expect on the China Coast? He was rather an upright sort of
young man, delicate and abstemious, and the East being new to him,
shocked him. He took pleasure in walking along the Bund, marvelling at
the great river full of the ships of the world, marvelling at the
crowds from the four corners of the world who disembarked from these
ships and scattered along the broad and sunny thoroughfare, seeking
amusements of a primitive sort. But in these amusements he took no
part. For himself, a gentleman, they did not attract. Not for long.
The sing-song girls and the "American girls" were coarse, vulgar
creatures and he did not like them. It was no better in the back
streets--bars and saloons, gaming houses and opium divans, all the
coarse paraphernalia of pleasure, as the China Coast understood the
word, left him unmoved. These things had little influence upon him,
and the men who liked them overmuch, who chaffed him because of his
squeamishness and distaste of them, were not such friends as he needed
in his life. However, there were few alternatives. There was almost
nothing else for it. Companionship of this kind, or the absolute
loneliness of a hotel bedroom were the alternatives which confronted
him. He had very little money,--just a modest salary--therefore the
excitement of trading, of big, shady deals, said nothing to him. He
went to the races, a shy onlooker. He could not afford to risk his
little salary in betting. Above all things, he was cautious.
Consequently life did not offer him much outside of office hours, and
in office hours it offered him nothing at all. You will see from this
that he was a very limited person, incapable of expansion. Now as a
rule, life in the Far East does not have this effect upon young men.
It is generally stimulating and exciting, even to the most
unimaginative, while the novelty of it, the utter freedom and lack of
restraint and absence of conventional public opinion is such that
usually, within a very short time, one becomes unfitted to return to a
more formal society. In the old days of a generation ago, life on the
China Coast was probably much more exciting and inciting than it is
to-day, although to-day, in all conscience, the checks are off. But
our young man was rather fine, rather extraordinarily fastidious, and
moreover, he had a very healthy young appetite for the normal. The
offscourings of the world and of society rolled into Shanghai with the
inflow of each yellow tide of the Yangtzse, and somehow, he resented
that deposit. He resented it, because from that deposit he must pick
out his friends. Therefore instead of accepting the situation, instead
of drinking himself into acquiescence, or drugging himself into
acquiescence, he found himself quite resolved to remain firmly and
consciously outside of it. In consequence of which decision he
remained homesick and lonely, and his presence in the community was
soon forgotten or overlooked. Shy and priggish, he continued to lead
his lonely life. In his solitary walks along the Bund, there was no
one to take his arm and snigger suggestions into his ear, and lead him
into an open doorway where the suggestions could be carried out. He
had come out to the East for a long term of years, and the prospect of
these interminable years made his position worse. Not that it shook
his decision to remain aloof and detached from the call of the
East--his decision was not shaken in the slightest, which seemed
almost a pity.
Like all foreigners, of course, he had his own opinions of the
Chinese. They were an inferior, yellow race, and therefore despicable.
But having also a firm, unshakable opinion of his own race, especially
of those individuals of his race in which a yellow streak
predominated, he held the Chinese in no way inferior to these
yellow-streaked individuals. Which argues broadmindedness and
fairmindedness. Of the two, perhaps, he thought the Chinese
preferable--under certain circumstances. Yet he knew them to be
irritating in business dealings, corrupt, dishonest--on the whole he
felt profound scorn for them. But as they had been made to suit the
purposes of the ruling races of the world--such, for example, as
himself, untainted by a yellow streak--he had to that extent, at
least, succumbed to the current opinions of Shanghai. He resolved to
make use of them--of one, at least, in particular.
He wanted a home. Wanted it desperately. He wanted to indulge his
quiet, domestic tastes, to live in peace a normal, peaceful life, far
apart from the glittering trivialities of the back streets of the
town. He wanted a home of his own, a refuge to turn to at the end of
each long, monotonous day. You see, he was not an adventurer, a
gambler, a wastrel, and he wanted a quiet home with a companion to
greet him, to take care of him, to serve him in many ways. There was
no girl in England whom he wanted to come out to marry him. Had there
been such a girl, he would probably not have allowed her to come. He
was a decent young man, and the climate was such, here on the China
Coast, that few women could stand it without more of the comforts and
luxury than his small salary could have paid for. So finally, at the
end of a year or two, he got himself the home he wanted, in
partnership with a little Chinese girl who answered every purpose. He
was not in love with her, in any exalted sense, but she supplied
certain needs, and at the end of his long days, he had the refuge that
he craved. She kept him from going to the bad.
His few friends--friends, however, being hardly the word to apply to
his few casual acquaintances,--were greatly surprised at this. Such an
establishment seemed to them the last sort of thing a man of this
type would have gone in for. He had seemed such a decent sort, too.
Really, a few professed to be quite shocked--they said you never knew
how the East would affect a person, especially a decent person. For
themselves, they preferred looser bonds, with less responsibility.
They said this to each other between drinks, and there was then, as
now, much drinking in Shanghai. A few even said this to each other
quite seriously, as they lay in pairs on opium divans, smoking opium,
with little Chinese girls filling their pipes--girls who would
afterwards be as complaisant as was required. One man who had lost his
last cent at the gambling wheels, professed great astonishment at this
departure from the usual track, a departure quite unnecessary since
there were so many ways of amusing oneself out here in the East. Of
course such unions were common enough, heaven knows--there was nothing
unusual about it. But then such fastidious people did not as a rule go
in for them. It was not the ménage, it was the fact that this
particular young man had set up such, that caused the comment. The
comment, however, was short-lived. There was too much else to think
about.
Rogers liked his new life very much. Never for a moment did he think
of marrying the girl. That, of course, never dawned on him. Recollect,
he was in all things decent and correct, and such a step would have
been suicidal. Until the time came for him to go Home, she was merely
being made use of--and to be useful to the ruling races is the main
object in life for the Chinese. They exist for the profit and benefit
of the superior races, and this is the correct, standard opinion of
their value, and there are few on the China Coast, from Hongkong
upwards, who will disagree with it.
In time, a son was born to Rogers, and for a while it filled him with
dismay. It was a contingency he had not foreseen, a responsibility he
had not contemplated, had not even thought he could afford. But in
time he grew used to the boy, and, in a vague way, fond of him. He
disturbed him very little, and counted very little in his life, after
all. Later, as the years rolled by, he began to feel some
responsibility towards the child. He despised half-breeds,
naturally--every one does. They are worse than natives, having
inherited the weakness of both ancestries. He was sincerely glad to be
rid of the whole business, when, at the end of about fifteen years, he
was called home to England. It had all served his purpose, this
establishment of his, and thanks to it, he was still clean and
straight, undemoralised by the insidious, undermining influences of
the East. When he returned to his native land, he could find himself a
home upon orthodox lines and live happily ever afterwards. Before he
left Shanghai, he sent his little Chinese girl, a woman long ago, of
course, back to her native province in the interior, well supplied
with money and with the household furniture. For the boy he had
arranged everything. He was to be educated in some good, commercial
way, fitted to take care of himself in the future. Through his lawyer,
he set aside a certain sum for this purpose, to be expended annually
until the lad was old enough to earn his own living. In all ways
Rogers was thoughtful and decent, far-sighted and provident. No one
could accuse him of selfishness. He did not desert his woman, turn her
adrift unprovided for, as many another would have done. No, thank
heavens, he thought to himself as he leaned over the rail of the ship,
fast making its way down the yellow tide, he had still preserved his
sense of honour. So many men go to pieces out in the East, but he,
somehow, had managed to keep himself clear and clean.
Rogers drops out of the tale at this point, and as the ship slips out
of sight down the lower reaches of the Yangtzse, so does he disappear
from this story. It is to the boy that we must now turn our attention,
the half-caste boy who had received such a heritage of decency and
honour from one side of his house. In passing, let it be also said
that his mother, too, was a very decent little woman, in a humble,
Chinese way, and that his inheritance from this despised Chinese side
was not discreditable. His mother had gone obediently back to the
provinces, as had been arranged, the house passed into other hands,
and the half-caste boy was sent off to school somewhere, to finish his
education. Being young, he consoled himself after a time for the loss
of his home, its sudden and complete collapse. The memory of that
home, however, left deep traces upon him.
In the first place, he was inordinately proud of his white blood. He did
not know that it had cost his guardian considerable searching to find a
school where white blood was not objected to--when running in Chinese
veins. His schoolmates, of European blood, were less tolerant than the
school authorities. He therefore soon found his white blood to be a
curse. There is no need to go into this in detail. For every one who
knows the East, knows the contempt that is shown a half-breed, a
Eurasian. Neither fish, flesh nor fowl--an object of general distrust
and disgust. Oh, useful enough in business circles, since they can
usually speak both languages, which is, of course, an advantage. But
socially, impossible. In time, he passed into a banking house, where
certain of his qualities were appreciated, but outside of banking hours
he was confronted with a worse problem than that which had beset his
father. He felt himself too good for the Chinese. His mother's people
did not appeal to him, he did not like their manners and customs. Above
all things he wanted to be English, like his father, whom in his
imagination he had magnified into a sort of god. But his father's people
would have none of him. Even the clerks in the bank only spoke to him on
necessary business, during business hours, and cut him dead on the
street. As for the roysterers and beach-combers gathered in the bars of
the hotels, they made him feel, low as they were, that they were not yet
sunk low enough to enjoy such companionship as his. It was very
depressing and made him feel very sad. He did not at first feel any
resentment or bitterness towards his absent father, disappeared forever
from his horizon. But it gave him a profound sense of depression. True,
there were many other half-breeds for him to associate with--the China
Coast is full of such--but they, like himself, were ambitious for the
society of the white man. What he craved was the society of the white
man, to which, from one side of his house, he was so justly entitled. He
was not a very noticeable half-breed either, for his features were
regular, and he was not darker than is compatible with a good sunburn.
But just the same, it was unmistakable, this touch of the tar brush, to
the discriminating European eye. He seemed inordinately slow witted--it
took him a long time to realise his situation. He argued it out with
himself constantly, and could arrive at no logical explanation. If his
mother, pure Chinese, was good enough for his father, why was not he,
only half-Chinese, good enough for his father's people? Especially in
view of the fact that his father's history was by no means uncommon.
His father and his kind had left behind them a trail of
half-breeds--thousands of them. If his mother had been good enough for
his father---- His thoughts went round and round in a puzzled, enquiring
circle, and still the problem remained unsolved. For he was very young,
and not as yet experienced.
He was well educated. Why had his father seen to that? And he was well
provided for, and was now making money on his own account. He bought
very good clothes with his money, and went in the bar of one of the
big hotels, beautifully dressed, and took a drink at the bar and
looked round to see who would drink with him. He could never catch a
responsive eye, so was forced to drink alone. He hated drinking,
anyway. In many ways he was like his father. The petty clerks who
were at the office failed to see him at the race course. He hated the
races, anyway. In many respects he was like his father. But he was far
more lonely than his father had ever been. Thus he went about very
lonely, too proud to associate with the straight Chinese, his mother's
people, and humbled and snubbed by the people of his father's race.
He was twenty years old when the Great War upset Europe. Shanghai was
a mass of excitement. The newspapers were ablaze. Men were needed for
the army. One of the clerks in the office resigned his post and went
home to enlist. In the first rush of enthusiasm, many other young
Englishmen in many other offices resigned their positions and
enlisted, although not a large number of them did so. For it was
inconceivable that the war could last more than a few weeks--when the
first P. and O. boat reached London, it would doubtless all be over.
During the excitement of those early days, some of the office force so
far forgot themselves as to speak to him on the subject. They asked
his opinion, what he thought of it. They did not ask the shroff, the
Chinese accountant, what he thought of it. But they asked him. His
heart warmed! They were speaking to him at last as an equal, as one
who could understand, who knew things English, by reason of his
English blood.
So the Autumn came, and still the papers continued full of appeals for
men. No more of the office force enlisted, and their manner towards
him, of cold indifference, was resumed again after the one outburst of
friendliness occasioned by the first excitement. Still the papers
contained their appeals for men. But the men in the other offices
round town did not seem to enlist either. He marvelled a little.
Doubtless, however, England was so great and so invincible that she
did not need them. But why then these appeals? Soon he learned that
these young men could not be spared from their offices in the Far
East. They were indispensable to the trade of the mighty Empire.
Still, he remained puzzled. One day, in a fit of boldness, he ventured
to ask the young man at the next stool why he did not go. According to
the papers, England was clamouring loudly for her sons.
"Enlist!" exclaimed the young Englishman angrily, colouring red. "Why
don't you enlist yourself? You say you're an Englishman, I believe!"
The half-breed did not see the sneer. A great flood of light filled
his soul. He was English! One half of him was English! England was
calling for her own--and he was one of her own! He would answer the
call. A high, hot wave of exultation passed over him. His spirit was
uplifted, exalted. The glorious opportunity had come to prove
himself--to answer the call of the blood! Why had he never thought of
it before!
For days afterwards he went about in a dream of excitement, his soul
dwelling on lofty heights. He asked to be released from his position,
and his request was granted. The manager shook hands with him and
wished him luck. His brother clerks nodded to him, on the day of his
departure, and wished him a good voyage. They did not shake hands with
him, and were not enthusiastic, as he hoped they would be. His spirits
were a little dashed by their indifference. However, they had always
slighted him, so it was nothing unusual. It would be different after
he had proved himself--it would be all right after he had proved
himself, had proved to himself and to them, that English blood ran in
his veins, and that he was answering the call of the blood.
His adventures in the war do not concern us. They concern us no more
than the gap in the office, caused by his departure, concerned his
employer or his brother clerks. Within a few weeks, his place was
taken by another young Englishman, just out, and the office routine
went on as usual, and no one gave a thought to the young recruit who
had gone to the war. Just one comment was made. "Rather cheeky of him,
you know, fancying himself an Englishman." Then the matter dropped.
Gambling and polo and golf and cocktails claimed the attention of
those who remained, and life in Shanghai continued normal as usual.
In due course of time, his proving completed, he returned to his
native land. As the ship dropped anchor in the lower harbour, his
heart beat fast with a curious emotion. An unexpected emotion, Chinese
in its reactions. The sight of the yellow, muddy Yangtzse moved him
strangely. It was his river. It belonged, somehow, to him. He stood,
a lonely figure, on the deck, clad in ill-fitting, civilian clothes,
not nearly so jaunty as those he used to wear before he went away. His
clothes fell away from him strangely, for illness had wasted him, and
his collar stood out stiffly from his scrawny neck. One leg was gone,
shot away above the knee, and he hobbled painfully down the gangplank
and on to the tender, using his crutches very awkwardly.
The great, brown, muddy Yangtzse! His own river! The ships of the
world lay anchored in the harbour, the ships of all the world! The
tender made its way upward against the rushing tide, and great, clumsy
junks floated downstream. As they neared the dock, crowds of bobbing
sampans, with square, painted eyes--so that they might see where they
were going--came out and surrounded them. A miserable emotion overcame
him. They were his junks--he understood them. They were his sampans,
with their square, painted eyes--eyes that the foreigners pointed to
and laughed at! He understood them all--they were all his!
Presently he found himself upon the crowded Bund, surrounded by a
crowd of men and women, laughing, joyous foreigners, who had come to
meet their own from overseas. No one was there to meet him, but it was
not surprising. He had sent word to no one, because he had no one to
send word to. He was undecided where to go, and he hobbled along a
little, to get out of the crowd, and to plan a little what he should
do. As he stood there undecided, waiting a little, hanging upon his
crutches, two young men came along, sleek, well-fed, laughing. He
recognised them at once--two of his old colleagues in the office. They
glanced in his direction, looked down on his pinned-up trouser leg,
caught his eye, and then, without sign of recognition, passed on.
He was still a half-breed.
ON THE HEIGHTS
II
ON THE HEIGHTS
Rivers made his way to China many years ago. He was an adventurer, a
ne'er-do-weel, and China in those days was just about good enough for
him. Since he was English, it might have seemed more natural for him
to have gone to India, or the Straits Settlements, or one of the other
colonies of the mighty Empire, but for some reason, China drew him. He
was more likely to meet his own sort in China, where no questions
would be asked. And he did meet his own sort--people just like
himself, other adventurers and ne'er-do-weels, and their companionship
was no great benefit to him. So he drifted about all over China,
around the coast towns and back into the interior, to and fro,
searching for opportunities to make his fortune. But being the kind of
man he was, fortune seemed always to elude him. In course of time he
became rather well known on the China Coast--known as a beach-comber.
And even when he went into the remote, interior province of Szechuan,
where he lived a precarious, hand-to-mouth existence for several
years, he was also known as a beach-comber. Which shows that being two
thousand miles inland does not alter the characteristics associated
with that name.
Personally, he was not a bad sort. Men liked him, that is, men of his
own type. Some of them succeeded better than he did, and afterwards
referred to him as "poor old Rivers," although he was not really old
at that time. Neither was he really old either, when he died, several
years later. He was rather interesting too, in a way, since he had
experienced many adventures in the course of his wanderings in remote
parts of the country, which adventures were rather tellable. He even
knew a lot about China, too, which is more than most people do who
have lived in China many years. Had he been of that sort, he might
have written rather valuable books, containing his shrewd observations
and intimate, underhand knowledge of political and economic
conditions. But he was emphatically not of that sort, so continued to
lead his disreputable, roving life for a period of ten years. At the
end of which time he met a plaintive little Englishwoman, just out
from Home, and she, knowing nothing whatever of Rivers, but being
taken with his glib tongue and rather handsome person, married him.
As the wife of a confirmed beach-comber she had rather a hard time of
it. But for all that she was so plaintive and so supine, there was a
certain quality of force within her, and she insisted upon some
provision for the future. They were living in the interior at that
time, not too far in, and Rivers had come down to Shanghai to
negotiate some transactions for a certain firm. He could do things
like that well enough when he wanted to, as he had a certain ability,
and a knowledge of two or three Chinese dialects, and these things he
could put to account when he felt like it. Aided by his wife,
stimulated by her quiet, subtle insistence, he put through the
business entrusted to him, and the business promised success. Which
meant that the interior town in which they found themselves would soon
be opened to foreign trade. And as a new trade centre, however small,
Europeans would come to the town from time to time and require a
night's lodging. Here was where Mrs. Rivers saw her chance and took
it. In her simple, wholly supine way, she realised that there were
nothing but Chinese inns in the place, and therefore it would be a
good opportunity to open a hotel for foreigners. Numbers of foreigners
would soon be arriving, thanks to Rivers' efforts, and as he was now
out of employment (having gone on a prolonged spree to celebrate his
success and been discharged in consequence), there still remained an
opportunity for helping foreigners in another way. Personally, he
would have preferred to open a gambling house, but the risks were too
great. At that time the town was not yet fully civilized or
Europeanised, and he realised that he would encounter considerable
opposition to this scheme from the Chinese--and he was without
sufficient influence or protection to oppose them. His wife,
therefore, insisted upon the hotel, and he saw her point. She did not
make it in behalf of her own welfare, or the welfare of possible
future children. She merely made it as an opportunity that a man of
his parts ought not to miss. He had made a few hundred dollars out of
his deal, and fortunately, had not spent all of it on his grand
carouse. There was enough left for the new enterprise.
So they took a temple. Buddhism being in a decadent state in China,
and the temples being in a still further state of decay, it was an
easy matter to arrange things with the priests. The temple selected
was a large, rambling affair, with many compounds and many rooms,
situated in the heart of the city, and near the newly opened offices
of the newly established firm, the nucleus of this coming trade centre
of China. A hundred dollars Mex. rented it for a year, and Mrs. Rivers
spent many days sweeping and cleaning it, while Rivers himself helped
occasionally, and hired several coolies to assist in the work as well.
The monks' houses were washed and whitewashed; clean, new mats spread
on the floors, cheap European cots installed, with wash basins, jugs
and chairs, and other accessories such as are not found in native
inns. The main part of the temple still remained open for worship,
with the dusty gods on the altars and the dingy hangings in place as
usual. The faithful, such as there were, still had access to it, and
the priests lived in one of the compounds, but all the other compounds
were given over to Rivers for his new enterprise. Thus the prejudices
of the townspeople were not excited, the old priests cleared a hundred
dollars Mex., while the new tenants were at liberty to pursue their
venture to its most profitable limits. Mrs. Rivers managed the
housekeeping, assisted by a capable Chinese cook, and Rivers had a
sign painted, in English, bearing the words "Temple Hotel."
Fortunately it was summertime, so there were no expenses for
artificial heat, an item which would have taxed their small capital
beyond its limits.
Two weeks after the Temple Hotel swung out its sign, the first guest
arrived, the manager of the new company. He came to town reluctantly,
dreading the discomforts of a Chinese inn, and bringing with him his
food and bedding roll, intending to sleep in his cart in the
courtyard. Consequently he was greatly pleased and greatly surprised
to find a European hotel, and he stayed there ten days in perfect
comfort. Mrs. Rivers treated him royally--lost money on him, in fact,
but it was a good investment. At parting, the manager told Rivers
that his wife was a marvel, as indeed she was. Then he went down to
Shanghai and spread the news among his friends, and from that time on,
the success of the Temple Hotel was assured. True, Rivers still
continued to be a good fellow, that is, he continued to drink pretty
hard, but his guests overlooked it and his wife was used to it, and
the establishment continued to flourish. In a year or two the railroad
came along, and a period of great prosperity set in all round.
Like most foreigners, Rivers had a profound contempt for the Chinese.
They were inferior beings, made for servants and underlings, and to
serve the dominant race. He was at no pains to conceal this dislike,
and backed it up by blows and curses as occasion required. In this he
was not alone, however, nor in any way peculiar. Others of his race
feel the same contempt for the Chinese and manifest it by similar
demonstrations. Lying drunk under a walnut tree of the main courtyard,
Rivers had only to raise his eyes to his blue-coated, pig-tailed
coolies, to be immensely aware of his superiority. Kwong, his
number-one boy, used to survey him thus stretched upon the ground,
while Rivers, helpless, would explain to Kwong what deep and profound
contempt he felt for all those who had not his advantages--the great,
God-given advantage of a white skin. The lower down one is on the
social and moral plane, the more necessary to emphasize the
distinction between the races. Kwong used to listen, imperturbable,
thinking his own thoughts. When his master beat him, he submitted. His
impassive face expressed no emotion, neither assent nor dissent.
Except for incidents like these, of some frequency, things went on
very well with Rivers for three or four years, and then something
happened. He had barely time to bundle his wife and children aboard an
English ship lying in harbour and send them down river to Shanghai,
before the revolution broke out. He himself stayed behind to see it
through, living in the comparative security of his Consulate, for the
outbreak was not directed against foreigners and he was safe enough
outside the city, in the newly acquired concession. On this particular
day, when things had reached their climax and the rebels were sacking
and burning the town, Rivers leaned over the ramparts of the city
wall and watched them. The whole Tartar City was in flames, including
the Temple Hotel. He watched it burn with satisfaction. When things
quieted down, he would put in his claim for an indemnity. The Chinese
government, whichever or whatever it happened to be, should be made to
pay handsomely for his loss. Really, at this stage of his fortunes
nothing could have been more opportune. The Temple Hotel had reached
the limit of its capacity, and he had been obliged to turn away
guests. Moreover the priests, shrewd old sinners, had begun to clamour
for increased rental. They had detected signs of prosperity--as
indeed, who could not detect it--and for some time past they had been
urging that a hundred dollars Mex. a year was inadequate compensation.
Well, this revolution, whatever it was all about, would put a stop to
all that. Rivers would claim, and would undoubtedly receive, an ample
indemnity, with which money he would build himself a fine modern
hostelry, such as befitted this flourishing new trade centre, and as
befitted himself, shrewd and clever man of affairs. Altogether, this
revolution was a most timely and fortunate occurrence. He surveyed the
scene beneath him, but a good way off, be it said. Shrieks and yells,
firing and destruction, and the whole Tartar City in names and fast
crumbling into ashes.
The revolution settled itself in due time. The rebels either got what
they wanted, or didn't get what they wanted, or changed their minds
about wanting it after all, as sometimes happens with Chinese
uprisings. Whichever way it was, law and order were finally restored
and life resumed itself again on normal lines, although the Tartar
City, lying within the Chinese City, was a total wreck. What happened
in consequence to the despoiled and dispersed Manchu element is no
concern of ours.
Rivers put in his claim for an indemnity and got it. It was awarded
promptly, that is, with the delay of only a few months, and he at once
set out to build himself a fine hotel, in accordance with his highest
ambitions. The construction was entrusted to a native contractor, and
while the work progressed apace, he and his wife went down river to
Shanghai, and the children were sent north somewhere to a mission
school. During this enforced residence in Shanghai, in which city he
had been known some years ago as a pronounced beach-comber and
ne'er-do-weel, he was obliged to live practically without funds.
However, he was able to borrow on the strength of his indemnity, but
to do him justice, he limited his borrowings to the lowest terms, not
wishing to encroach upon his capital. In all this economy of living,
his wife assisted him greatly, for although supine and flexible there
was that quality of force about her which we have mentioned before.
As befitted a person who had lost his all in a Chinese uprising and
had been rewarded with a large sum of money in return, Rivers was
particularly bitter against the Chinese. His old contempt and hatred
flared up to large proportions, and he expressed his feelings openly
and freely, especially at those times when alcohol clouded his
judgment. Moreover, he was living in Shanghai now, where it was easy
to express his feelings in the classic way approved by foreigners, and
sanctioned by the customs and usages of the International Settlement.
He delighted to walk along the Bund, among crowds of burdened coolies
bending and panting under great sacks of rice, and to see them shrink
and swerve as he approached, fearing a blow of his stick. When he rode
in rickshaws, he habitually cheated the coolie of his proper fare,
secure in the knowledge that the Chinese had no redress, could appeal
to no one, and must accept a few coppers or none at all, at his
pleasure. If the coolie objected, Rivers still had the rights of it. A
crowd might collect, vociferating in their vile jargon, but it
mattered nothing. A word from Rivers to a passing European, to a
policeman, to any one whose word carries in the Settlement, was
sufficient. He had but to explain that one of these impertinent yellow
pigs had tried to extort three times the legal fare, and his case was
won. No coolie could successfully contradict the word of a foreigner,
no police court, should matters go as far as that, would take a
Chinaman's word against that of a white man. He was quite secure in
his bullying, in his dishonesty, in his brutality, and there is no
place on earth where the white man is more secure in his
whitemanishness than in this Settlement, administered by the ruling
races of the world. Rivers thoroughly enjoyed these street fracases,
in which he was the natural and logical victor. He enjoyed telling
about them afterward, for they served to illustrate his conception of
the Chinese character and of the Chinese race in general. It was but
natural for him to feel this way, seeing what losses he had suffered
through the revolution. As he told of his losses, it was not apparent
to an outsider that the hotel had not been utterly and entirely his
property, instead of an old Buddhist temple rented from the priests
for one hundred dollars Mex. a year.
Besides Rivers, others in the town in the interior had suffered
hardships. Among them was his number-one boy, Kwong, who had served
him faithfully for several years. Kwong had been rather hard hit by
the uprising. His wretched little hovel had been burned to the ground,
his wife had fallen victim to a bullet, while his two younger children
disappeared during the excitement and were never heard of again.
Killed, presumably. After the victorious rebels had had their way, all
that remained to Kwong was his son Liu, aged eighteen, and these two
decided to come down to Shanghai and earn their living amidst more
civilized surroundings. One of the strongest arguments in favour of
the International Settlement is that it affords safety and protection
to the Chinese. They flock to it in great numbers, preferring the just
and beneficent administration of the white man to the uncertainties of
native rule. So Kwong and his son made their way down the Yangtzse,
floating down river on a stately junk with ragged matting sails. It
was the tide, and a bamboo pole for pushing, rather than any
assistance derived from the ragged sails, which eventually landed them
in the safe harbour of Whangpoo Creek, and stranded them on the mud
flats below Garden Bridge.
Being illiterate people, father and son, unskilled labour was all that
presented itself, so they became rickshaw coolies, as so many country
people do. During a year, some two hundred thousand men, young and old
and mostly from up-country, take up the work of rickshaw runners. It
is not profitable employment, and the work is hard, and many of them
drop out--the come-and-go of rickshaw runners is enormous, a great,
unstable, floating population. Kwong and Liu hired a rickshaw between
them, for a dollar and ten cents a day, and their united exertions
barely covered the day's hire. Sometimes they had a few coppers over
and above the daily expenses, sometimes they fell below that sum and
had to make up the deficit on the morrow. On the occasions when they
were in debt to the proprietor, they were forced to forego the small
outlay required for food, and neither could afford a meagre bowl of
millet. Pulling a rickshaw on an empty stomach is not conducive to
health. Kwong, being an older man, found the strain very difficult,
and Liu, being but a fledgling and weak and undeveloped at that, also
found it difficult. They were always tired, nearly always hungry, and
part of the time ill. And what neither could understand was the
passengers' objection to paying the legal fare. Now and then, of
course, they had a windfall in the shape of a tourist or a drunken
sailor from a cruiser, but these exceptions were few and far between.
Necessarily so, considering the number of rickshaws, and that the tram
cars were strong competitors as well.
They were also surprised at the attitude of the Europeans. The first
time that Liu was struck over the head by a beautiful Malacca cane, he
was aghast with astonishment--and pain. Fortunately he knew enough not
to hit hack. Not understanding English, he did not know that he was
being directed to turn up the Peking Road, and accordingly had run
swiftly past the Peking Road until brought to his senses, so to speak,
by a silver knob above the ear, which made him dizzy with pain. As
time passed, however, he grew accustomed to this attitude of the
ruling race, and accepted the blows without remonstrance, knowing that
remonstrance was vain. His fellow coolies soon taught him that. He and
his kind were but dogs in the sight of the foreigners, and must accept
a dog's treatment in consequence. Once a lady leaned far forward in
the rickshaw and gave him a vicious kick. Up till then, he had not
realised that the women of the white race also had this same feeling
towards him. But what can one expect? If a man lowers himself to the
plane of an animal and gets between shafts, he must expect an animal's
treatment. In certain communities, however, there are societies to
protect animals.
Matters went along like this for some months, and Kwong and Liu barely
kept themselves going. However, they managed to keep out of debt for
the rickshaw hire, which was in itself an achievement. Rivers also
continued to live in Shanghai at this time, making up-river trips now
and then to inspect the progress of his new hotel, which was
favourable. As he landed at the Bund one day, returning from one of
these excursions, he chanced to step into the rickshaw pulled by his
old servitor, Kwong. Kwong made him a respectful salute, but Rivers,
preoccupied, failed to recognise his former servant in the old and
filthy coolie who stood between the shafts of an old and shabby
rickshaw. He always made it a point to select old rickshaws, pulled by
broken down men. They looked habitually underpaid, and were probably
used to it, and were therefore less likely to raise objections at the
end of the trip than one of the swift young runners who stood about
the European hotels. Remember, in extenuation, that Rivers was living
on credit at this time, on borrowed money, and he did not like to be
more extravagant than he had to.
The day was a piping hot one, and the distance Rivers travelled was
something under three miles, out on the edge of French Town. When he
alighted, he found but three copper cents in his pocket, all that was
left him after a considerable carouse on the river boat coming down.
He tendered this sum to the panting and sweating Kwong, who stood
exhausted but respectful, hoping in a friendly way that his old master
would recognise him. To do Rivers justice, he did not recognise his
former servant, nor did he have more than three copper cents in his
possession, although that fact was known to him when he stepped into
the rickshaw and directed the coolie to French Town, extreme limits.
Kwong indignantly rejected the copper cents, and Rivers flung them
into the dust and turned away. Kwong ran after him, expostulating,
catching him by the coat sleeve. Rivers turned savagely. The wide road
was deserted, and in a flash he brought his heavy blackwood stick
across Kwong's face with a terrific blow. The coolie fell sprawling in
the dust at his old master's feet, and Rivers, furious, kicked him
savagely in the stomach, again and again, until the man lay still and
ceased writhing. Blood gushed from his mouth, making a puddle in the
dust, a puddle which turned black and thick about the edges.
In an instant Rivers was sobered. He glanced swiftly up and down the
road, and to his dismay, saw a crowd of blue coated figures running in
his direction. He had barely time to stoop down and pick up the
tell-tale coppers before he was surrounded by a noisy and excited
group of Chinese, gesticulating furiously and rending the hot, blue
air with their outlandish cries. A policeman came in sight, and a
passing motor filled with foreigners stopped to see the trouble. He
had overdone things, surely. There was nothing for it but the police
station.
Now such accidents are not infrequent in Shanghai, the white man's
city built in China, administered by the white men to their own
advantage, and to the advantage of the Chinese who seek protection
under the white man's just and beneficent rule. However, human life is
very cheap in China, cheaper than most places in the Orient, although
that is not saying much. It would, therefore, have been very easy for
Rivers to have extricated himself from this scrape had he possessed
any money. Two hundred and fifty dollars, Mex. is the usual price for
a coolie's life when an affair of this kind happens. There is a well
established precedent to this effect. Unfortunately for Rivers, he did
not possess two hundred and fifty dollars, for as has been said, he
was at this time living on borrowed money. Nothing for it then but a
trial, and certain unpleasant publicity. Happily, there were no
witnesses to the occurrence, and Rivers' plea of self-defence would
naturally he accepted. It was an unpleasant business, however, but
there was no other way out of it, seeing that he was bankrupt.
The trial took place with due dignity. Evidence, produced after an
autopsy, proved that at the time of the accident Kwong was in a very
poor state of health. Every one knows that the work of a rickshaw
coolie is hard, the physical strain exceedingly severe. Four years, at
the outside, is the average life of a rickshaw runner, after which he
must change his occupation to something more suited to a physical
wreck. Much testimony was produced to show that Kwong had long ago
reached that point. He was courting death, defying death, every day.
It was his own fault. He had great varicose veins in his legs, which
were large and swollen. His heart, constantly overtaxed by running
with heavy weights, was enlarged and ready to burst any moment. His
spleen also was greatly dilated and ready to burst--in fact, it was
not at all clear whether after such a long run--three miles in such
heat--he would not have dropped dead anyway. Such cases were of daily
occurrence, too numerous to mention. The slight blow he had
received--a mere push as defendant had stated under oath--was probably
nothing more than a mere unfortunate coincidence.
Such being the evidence, and the courts being administered by
Europeans, and there being no doubt whatever of the quality of justice
administered by Europeans in their own behalf, it is not surprising
that Rivers was acquitted. The verdict returned was, Accidental death
due to rupture of the spleen, caused by over-exertion. Rivers was a
good deal shaken, however, when he stepped out of the courtroom, into
the hot, bright sunshine, and received the congratulations of his
friends. He had heard so many disgusting medical details of the havoc
caused by rickshaw pulling, that he resolved to be very careful in
future about hitting these impudent, good-for-nothing swine.
Amongst the crowd in the courtroom, but practically unnoticed, sat
Liu, son of the late Kwong. The proceedings being in English, he was
unable to follow them, but he knew enough to realise that the slayer
of his father was being tried. Presumably his life was at stake, as
was befitting under the circumstances. Therefore his surprise was
great when the outcome of the case was explained to him by a Chinese
friend who understood English, and his astonishment, if such it may be
called, was still more intense upon seeing Rivers walk out of the
courtroom receiving congratulatory handshakes as he passed. To the
ignorant mind of the young Chinese, Rivers was being felicitated for
having committed murder. He was unable to draw any fine distinctions,
or to understand that these congratulations were not intended for
Rivers personally, but because his acquittal strengthened established
precedents. Precedents that rendered unassailable the status of the
ruling race. Liu was therefore filled with an overmastering and bitter
hatred of Rivers, and had he realised what the acquittal stood for,
would probably have been filled with an equally intense hatred for the
dominant race in general. Not understanding that, however, he
concentrated his feelings upon Rivers, and resolved to bring him to
account in accord with simpler, less civilized standards.
Within two months, the Temple Hotel was finished and ready for use.
Much foreign furniture had been sent up from Shanghai, and Rivers and
his wife also removed themselves to the up-river town and set about
their business. Rivers was glad to leave Shanghai; he had had enough
of it, since his unlucky episode, and was glad to bury himself in the
comparative obscurity of the interior. Life resumed itself smoothly
once again, and he prospered exceedingly.