He spent a horrible night. Fear gained him completely, and he sobbed to
himself for many hours as he wandered in the blackness of the fields.
He did not know whether his companions had been killed or whether they
had been merely robbed and left on the roadside; but their despairing
cries sounded in his ears unendingly, and he seemed to hear the vicious
whistle of the bullets and to feel their wounds. A great compassion for
the old wool-dealer who had been kind to him wrung his heart so acutely
that several times he cried aloud. He sat down only to start up
again--expecting to see phantom shapes, tormented with the fear that the
wool-dealers' distressed spirits would for ever haunt him. Not until day
was dawning did he care to lie down and even then he knew no sleep.
He tried to calculate how many days had passed since he had left the
capital--was it six, seven or eight? And he was still wrestling with the
problem, still attempting to thrust himself through obstacles which he
did not understand. Sometimes he wondered why he had attempted this
task. It was too big for a boy; yet he had been told that that was just
the reason why he might succeed. He wondered why he did not give it up:
he was not bound to go on. No one could possibly know what he did. Now
he remembered how the inn-servant, when he was paid for a certain
service, merely went and sat down in a lonely spot. Then, when he
thought that thought anger gained him. His doggedness and his loyalty
were aroused. He was not a mean fellow like that inn-servant. He would
not turn back or surrender.
He must have dozed during these hours of dawn; for he awoke to find
himself shivering under a fine rain which dripped through the grain and
covered his face with dew. Rousing himself, he sat up and began munching
some flour-cakes he still had with him. Now he made a vow that that very
day he would push through and encounter his destiny cost what it might.
Tightening his belt he started off.
As he scrambled through the fields he became gradually aware of a low
thunder on the horizon. The sound puzzled him for the rain had stopped
and the sun had come out from behind the clouds and it was fair weather
and very hot. And yet as he walked this thunder increased--not slowly
but very rapidly. At length he paused to listen.
"_Shen-mo_(what is it)," he exclaimed aloud in his perplexity, impelled
to talk to relieve himself, and wondering whether the tiny paper wad in
one ear was spoiling his hearing.
Then at last he struck his hands together and babbled madly in his
excitement.
"_Ta-p'ao_(big guns)," he shouted. "They are coming, they are coming!"
He ran now until he was completely out of breath, changing his run to a
fast walk and then back to a trot as soon as he could.
In this frantic way he covered several miles, his face beaded with
perspiration. The air was shaking with the concussions now and his
excitement was so great that he trembled from head to foot. He knew it
was the foreign army exploding in wrath at finding its path barred: he
pictured to himself the rival soldiery struggling together....
He ran on directly towards the growing sounds. He was on the main road
now and the dry alkali soil, being unsuitable for any kind of
cultivation, opened up in great vistas of space.
At length he saw the river again and on it boats, many boats, loaded
with people, crossing from one bank to the other.
He made his way towards them pantingly. Almost before he knew it, he had
met a crowd of men, women, children, all crying and talking together,
driven in front of the rising storm like wild animals before a
prairie-fire. The deserted countryside was giving up its victims: every
hiding-place was being emptied by this approaching human storm.
He did not stop to ask questions: he ran on towards the river. The boats
were going backwards and forwards steadily and quickly, the boatmen
working like madmen to save the mass of women and children.
He waded into the water and jumped on one boat that was just pushing off
to go back for more people, with a story about his mother who had been
left behind; but the boatmen never so much as glanced at him. Once near
the opposite shore he jumped knee-deep into the water, to avoid the
oncoming rush of people, not caring what had happened as long as he got
through.
In the village above the river there was not a soul--every living thing
had fled. But the long deserted street seemed garlanded with coming
events. The air was pulsating with sound. He could hear the rattle of
musketry, very fast and hard. He clambered up a high bank and found that
he overlooked a gaunt plain. It was alive with tiny little figures
running in many directions. For long he waited to know who they were,
but presently there was a big jet of smoke and flame and the sound of an
angry explosion which floated across to him slowly and reluctantly. The
foreign army was throwing shell on to the plain: the running men were
his fellow-countrymen fleeing from the menace of their wrath.
But where was the foreign army--where?
He began running along towards the edge of the plain. Very soon he
tumbled over two men in red and blue tunics, with dishevelled queues,
who were splotched with blood, lying on the ground as if they were held
down by an iron hand. As he ran he could hear their voices wailing
"_Chiu-ming, chiu-ming_ (save our lives)"; but he never paused.
Now he was well on to the plain. All the running men had disappeared. A
few motionless dots showed where some others had fallen but apart from
that all was bare. The hidden army must have eyes that could see; for
the guns had ceased magically and the musketry rattle too. A great
emptiness filled heaven and earth and his fear grew so that once again
his knees shook.
He fell on his knees.
On his knees he waited and then he saw. Men on horses had suddenly
appeared riding fast with long lances in their hands, streaming on to
the plain in irregular streams. From a very great distance he saw that
their faces were black, for their brown turbans showed that and also
their hands and arms. The foreign army had devils in league with
them--all the tales of his childhood came back to him.
And yet he did not move--he made no movement save to kowtow for mercy
with his head. But when the black horsemen caught sight of him, they
lowered their lances and rode at him playfully, accepting his surrender
by reining in and doing him no hurt. Then it was that he was inspired
and began repeating incessantly, with great explanatory waves of the
hands back to where he had come from, "he will go," pronouncing the
remembered words in the native way, _Hei wei ko_, which made them a
strangely changed English.
The troopers, vastly puzzled, clustered round him, talking fast to one
another in an unknown language. They suspected something of the truth
but were not sure. India looked at China with inquiring eyes.
He stood up.
"_Hei wei ko_" he repeated more and more insistently, waving back with
his hand to where he had come from and pointing at them insistently to
show that he sought their aid. Then, with a swift movement, he took a
thorn he had threaded unto his tunic out and sat again on the ground and
picked at his ear, very carefully, slowly forcing out the tiny ball of
tissue-paper.
The mob of horsemen watched him breathlessly. East watched East and
wondered whether it was a miracle since miracles are known by word of
mouth to all as well as found in books. But when he had the tiny ball of
tissue-paper in the hollow of his hand, and spread it out and showed
them the English writing on it, they gave a great shout of
understanding. Almost before he knew it one horseman had spurred his
horse alongside him and shifting his lance, had slung him up behind him
with a single powerful swing. Now they called to him and told him with
signs to hold on tightly. With the boy clasping him round the waist, the
horseman began galloping back in a mad gallop.
Beyond the edge of the gaunt plain, through the growing grain, columns
of the foreign army were marching--many men, white men as well as black
men in such an array as the boy had never seen before. There were thick
columns of them, raising choking dust as they marched. The horseman
galloped on calling something as he passed and causing all eyes to turn.
He made straight for a mounted group preceded by a man with a small
flag. Wang the Ninth knew that they were important men for the oldest
had white hair. There, reining in abruptly the trooper began his story,
pointing to the boy who had slipped to the ground, and who was gazing
at them all as if in a dream.
Then the oldest one, who had quite white hair, called to him and when he
had received the tiny piece of paper, he read it and passed it to the
others with much talk, finally putting his hand into his pocket and
giving the boy a gold coin.
Wang the Ninth took it with an awe-struck expression. He had never seen
gold before; he fingered it with eyes round with surprise. He had heard
that it was worth twenty or thirty times the value of silver.
And before he had recovered from this, and while the others were passing
the paper from hand to hand, a foreigner, who could speak his language
appeared and commenced questioning him and writing down his answers.
Every one listened as if they could not hear enough. All the adventures
he had passed through he recounted, speakly quickly and volubly, the
foreigner who spoke his language translating. Later he told him that it
had been reported for many days that all the foreigners in the capital
had been killed, and that therefore his message had lifted a great load
from their hearts. For although they were now advancing as fast as
possible a great army in a hostile country could only advance slowly.
Presently he was given food and water, and he walked alongside the horse
of the great general into the village many eyes watching him, the news
having passed far and wide that he was the messenger who had at last
arrived, having done a great feat although he was but a small boy.