into the harbour with boxes and bales of European merchandise of a
rather shoddy kind, intended for the markets of North China. And there
was much business in transferring these boxes and bales to the big
godowns, with their heavy iron doors and windows, in checking them up,
sorting them out--in short, all the sort of activity that goes with a
firm of importers, such as this one. Also there was much business in
distributing these boxes and bales, or rather the contents thereof, to
the railway station, for shipment to Peking and to remote provinces in
the north and west. In Peking, these shoddy goods were made into
smaller bales, and laden on camels, for some far off, remote
destination in the interior. This took Withers frequently to Peking,
leaving old Li in charge of the godowns in Tientsin. Withers always
took charge of this end of the business, because of the opportunity it
offered to get away from daily contact with his old compradore.
Somehow, he felt rather uneasy in the old man's presence. There was a
change in his manner, most marked. Again and again that remark
occurred to him, and again and again, in the compradore's presence,
Withers was conscious of a feeling of undefinable hostility. He holds
me responsible, he thought, absurd, but that's what it is. Because I
did not prevent him from going to America. Therefore Withers was very
glad to go to Peking from time to time, for he liked the excitement of
the barbaric capital, and besides, he thought it would be good for Li
to be quite on his own in charge of the godowns, and might distract
his thoughts from that obsession which was preying upon him.
One day, after an absence of two weeks, young Withers returned to his
Tientsin office, which wore a somewhat deserted air. The shroff was
clicking on his abacus, and left off snicking the beads up and down to
remark casually that the compradore had gone. The shroff was a young
Chinese who spoke excellent, mission-school English, and wore good
European clothes, and he shared Withers' astonishment that such a
thing had happened.
"Wanted to go home, he said. Had had enough business. Gone home ten
days ago, with his family. Said say good-bye to you."
Withers' first feeling was of relief. That's that, he thought to
himself, and just as well. He stood eyeing the young Chinese
accountant, and the shroff looked him back fairly in the eye, and the
same thought passed through both minds. A younger man would do just as
well as compradore, and here was the younger man at hand, waiting.
"Let's go down to the godowns," said Withers, and the two walked out
of the office together, in the direction of the quais. The shroff
should learn things from the beginning, and taking charge of the bales
and boxes in the warehouses, counting them, distributing their
contents, was part of the business.
On unlocking the great, heavy doors, the godowns presented a singular
aspect. Never, in all the years that young Withers had been associated
as junior partner in Withers, Ltd., and never in the few years since
he had become Withers, Ltd. himself, had the godowns presented such an
aspect. They were empty. Quite, stark, utterly empty. Not a bale, not
a box, not a yard of calico was to be found anywhere about. The
sunshine slanted in through the open door, and not a moat of dust
danced in the rays, for nothing had been disturbed for some time, and
the dust was settled. They went top-side, into the lofts. The same
thoroughness presented itself. Everything had been cleared out,
absolutely.
"Stolen!" exclaimed Withers.
"Clean-sweep!" said the shroff, in his mission-school English.
"Ruined!" added Withers to himself.
Together they hurried back to the office and examined things. It was
evident in a moment how it had been done. Withers had signed an order
for the removal of five boxes. The compradore had deftly added a
cipher and raised it to fifty. And so on. Done repeatedly, with
neatness and precision, over Withers' own signature. No wonder the
streets about the godowns had presented an air of activity at times.
"We must find him," said Withers, "catch him quickly, before he has
time to dispose of the money."
The old compradore had made no effort to hide his whereabouts. There
were a dozen people to whom he had said farewell, telling them that he
had now given up work and was retiring with his family to his home in
the Western Hills. Over Jehol way. Three weeks by cart. Aye, his cart
had come down from Peking to fetch him, a two days' journey. He was
not taking the train. He had started early one morning in his big,
blue-hooded cart, drawn by a gorgeous yellow mule, its harness inlaid
with jade stones. Not number-one jade, of course, but still jade, and
of value. Ten days ago he had gone.
Withers and the shroff caught the first train out for Peking, and
arriving in two hours, made hasty preparations for their journey. They
obtained a cart and a mule, bedding rolls and tinned food, and by
afternoon had set out through the West Gate of the Tartar City, over
the dusty plains towards the Western Hills. Over Jehol way, towards a
village beyond Jehol, up in the hills, where Li Yuan Chang had his
dwelling.
Travelling is slow in a Peking cart, and uncomfortable. The heavy,
springless vehicle lumbered along, bouncing over the deep, dried ruts,
at times sinking hub deep into the dry holes. There were times when
the road was below the level of the adjacent fields, so deep below
that even the hood of the cart was below them, worn as they were by
centuries of travel. At these times, the dust swept through the
narrow channel, blinding. Once or twice they ran into a dust storm
whirling down from the north, from the great Gobi Desert, beyond. Then
they drew down the curtains of the cart, suffocating inside, tossed
from side to side, up and down, by the hard jolting of the vehicle. By
night they rested at wayside inns, sometimes finding the compounds
filled with camels, great shaggy brutes that lay about at all angles,
over the courtyard, and snorted and nipped at the intruders. They
slept at night in their cart, wrapping up well in their bedding rolls,
shivering at times in the keen October wind. Their coolies shared the
k'ang within, with the camel drivers and other travellers, but Withers
and the shroff preferred the cart, for there were worse if smaller
animals than camels to be found in native hostelries. Toilsome, weary
days succeeded one another, broken by restless nights, yet ever they
pushed westward, slowly, laboriously.
The coolies brought them news of the wayside, gathering it each night
from the inns. A great mandarin had passed that way some days ago--a
great man surely, to judge by the length of the axles of his cart,
which stuck out a good foot beyond the hubs, marking him as a man of
importance. And a great yellow mule, with harness set with jade
stones, and the brasses polished,--oh, a very rich man, evidently! So
each night they heard accounts of the rich man who had gone ahead,
with his retinue, his family and servants and packmules. It was well
noised abroad, evidently, through the countryside. Travellers coming
from beyond Jehol had met him with his train, and the inns at which
they stopped always had news of his progress, outward bound. In a
hurry, too. And very fearful of the roadside dangers. Always in the
compounds before dusk, fearful of highwaymen.
To Withers, the suspense of the slow journey was well nigh unbearable.
He, too, was in a hurry, worn with fatigue and anxiety. At first, he
had been merely anxious to overtake the old man, to obtain
restitution. But with the wayside gossip prevailing, other fears
entered his mind. One day at noon time, they entered a village
apparently deserted. The heavy gates of the compounds were closed, not
a person visible in the long, straggling street. Every one had
withdrawn himself into his house, behind locked and bolted doors. At
the inn, they pounded repeatedly on the gates, asking admission.
Slowly, after a very long time, the gates were opened an inch, and it
could be seen that there was the pressure of many men on the inside,
ready to slam and bar them in an instant. Then, seeing they were but
travellers, they were hastily admitted into the courtyard, and the
gates closed and barred again. Bandits. A band of them was scouring
the country, thirty or more, down from Mongolia. Abject terror was on
every face. The whole village was under its spell.
"We must push on," said Withers, "we must hasten." The shroff was very
fearful, but as he was to be compradore now, to do the work of a
European, he could not show fear. But the mafu and the coolies were
too frightened to continue the journey, so they were left behind, and
Withers and the shroff went off by themselves. It was very foolhardy,
he told himself, it was sheer madness. But he was ruined anyhow, so it
did not much matter. Only, he must somehow reach the village three
days' journey beyond Jehol--if only he could arrive in time.
Very laborious was the travelling, and they walked in the wake of
fear. They now passed through many deserted villages, one after
another, locked and barred, that the murderous band from Mongolia had
ridden through. Only, they had gone ahead, the bandits--perhaps they
would not he riding back that way again. Perhaps they would be going
on, into the north again, after they had finished----
Finished? Yes, it was a very rich man they were after,--they had asked
for him all along the road. They were trailing him to his home,
following with great ease the description of the great mandarin, with
the great yellow mule with jade-set harness, who had gone by with his
retinue just before.
So Withers and the shroff continued their desolate journey, day by
day, across the plains, over such roads as are not, save in North
China. Passing through villages shut and empty, through fields in
which there were no workers, following in the train of terror that had
been spread over the land by the bandits from the north. And the
terror reached into Withers' heart, making it cold. They do not want
_us_, he said to himself, over and over. We are quite safe. But the
old man---- The little shroff, however, who was also filled with
terror, did not think they were safe at all. Only he must appear as
brave as a European, so he could only tremble inwardly. Besides all
that, the big mule was very difficult to manage, and they had to drag
the cart from the deep ruts many times a day, and each evening when
they were most tired, they had to calm the suspicions of those within,
and make long explanations before the inn gates, before they could be
admitted into the compounds.
They arrived at their destination at dusk one evening, after three
weeks' weary travel. Trembling fingers pointed out the house--trembling,
but in a manner, reassured. At the end of the long street they would
find the house, a very fine house indeed--formerly a mandarin's palace,
they explained, but purchased a few months ago by a rich man who had
come there with his family to live. The tired men and tired mule pushed
on through the long street, gazed upon curiously by clustering Chinese,
huddled in doorways. They came to a high wall topped with broken glass,
a high, strong wall, surrounding a large compound. Beyond, at the
entrance, stood two stone lions, such as mark the homes of the rich and
great. But the great stone guardian lions were guarding a broken door.
The high, red lacquered door was split into many pieces, the hinges
holding, but the doors themselves split, so that a man's body could
crawl through.
Withers led the way, the shroff following. Within, the compound was
deserted. They made their way to the doors of the main house, which
had been smashed in. The rooms inside were empty, stripped, their
treasures gone, cleaned out. Very much in appearance like the godowns
in Tientsin. They made their way through the silent compound into the
women's compound in the rear. It was the same--ransacked, despoiled.
But there were many compounds and many houses, so together they passed
through moon gates, over elaborate terraces, beside peony mountains,
and summer houses, across delicate rock bridges with marble
balustrades. Silent, deserted, bearing the evidence of thorough
looting.
Then, quite at the rear, a woman appeared, the number-one wife of Li
Yuan Chang. She peered round the edges of a moon gate, hiding her body
behind it. She recognised Withers and the shroff and came forward. She
was very apologetic, very embarrassed, for she was wearing coolie
clothes. Her own, she explained, had been taken from her by the
bandits. Timidly she approached them, but the timidity was
embarrassment. She was very embarrassed to be found in coolie clothes,
felt resentment at the humiliation, and apologised repeatedly for her
appearance. She could think of nothing else. Then she led the way
still further to the rear, to a compound quite behind all the other
compounds and other houses of the gorgeous mandarin's palace. The last
stand of the defenders. They were scattered about the courtyard in all
attitudes, in grotesque and uncouth positions, all dead. She pointed
to a figure lying face downward, a thin, elderly figure, in
blood-soaked black brocade, with a magnificent queu lying at right
angles to the dead body.
Once more she apologised for appearing before the gentlemen in coolie
clothes. She felt the disgrace keenly.
"My husband," she explained contemptuously, pointing to the old
compradore, "was unable to protect us. He was always such a delicate
old thing."
* * * * *
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