Chapter 2 | A Piece of China | Blue Jackets

Ching flourished his arms to right and left, forming a lane for us to pass along, and we followed him for the few dozen yards between the landing-place and his place of business; but it was like passing through so much human sand, which flowed in again behind us, and as soon as we were in the shelter of the lightly-built bamboo place, crowded round the door to stare in.

But Ching had regularly taken us under his protection, and, stepping into the doorway, he delivered himself of a furious harangue, which grew louder and louder, and ended by his banging to the door and fastening it; after which he turned to us with his little black eyes twinkling, and crying—

“Allee light. Ching light man light place.”

We all laughed, of course, and the Chinaman joined in. Then, growing serious directly, he looked from one to the other.

“You likee dlink?”

“No, no, not yet,” cried Barkins.

“No likee dlink?” said the Chinaman wonderingly; and then in a voice full of reproof, “Sailor boy likee dlink.”

“Oh yes, by and by,” cried Smith.

“Ah, you wantee buy fan, shawl, ivoly? Fancee shop.”

“No, no, we don’t want to buy anything now,” cried Barkins. “We’ll pay you—”

“Allee light,” cried the man, brightening up, for he had looked disappointed, and he held out both hands for the promised pay.

“Oh, come, wait a bit,” I said. “We want you to take us and show us the shops.”

“No, no. Shop no good. Bess shop—fancee shop, Ching.”

“Oh yes; but we want to see the others too, and the streets.”

“Stleet allee full dust—allee full mud. No good.”

“Never mind,” said Barkins; “we want to see them, and the temples and mandarins’ houses.”

“Pliest shut up temple. Want muchee money. Mandalin call soldier man muchee, put all in plison. No good.”

“They’d better,” cried Smith; “why, the captain would blow all the place down with his big guns.”

“No blow Ching fancee shop down. Englis’ spoken. Good fliend.”

“Look here, Ching. Shut up shop, and come and take us all round the town to see everything, and we’ll each give you a dollar.”

“Thlee dollar?” cried the man, holding his head on one side, and raising three fingers.

“Yes,” we cried, and once more his hand went out.

“What can’t you trust us?” cried Smith.

“No tlust. All pay leady money. Go ’board. Fo’get.”

“Oh no, we shan’t,” I cried. “And look here, Ching, after we’ve been round the town we want to go to the theatre.”

“’Top flee day to go to fleatre?” he said.

“Three days! no. We must be back on board at sundown.”

“No go fleatre—no time.”

“Never mind the theatre, then,” cried Barkins. “Now then, off we go. And I say, boys, let’s have something to eat first.”

“Wantee something eatee?” cried Ching, making for a canister upon a shelf.

“No, no,” cried Smith, “not that. We want a good dinner. Do you know what a restaurant is?”

“Lestaulant?”

The Chinaman shook his head.

“Wantee good din’: eat muchee soup, fis’, cakee?”

“Yes, that’s right; come along.”

The yellow-faced man went softly to the door and listened, while we glanced round at the collection of common Chinese curios, carvings, lanterns, sunshades, stuffed birds, bits of silk, and cane baskets which filled the place, till he came back to us with a cunning look, and his eyes twinkling, as Smith said, “like two currants in a penny bun.”

“Too muchee men all wait,” he whispered. “No talkee talkee;” and, making a gesture to us to be very silent, he led us through the back of his shop into a smaller room, closed and fastened the door, and then led us through another into a kind of yard full of boxes and old tea-chests, surrounded by a bamboo paling.

There was a gate at the end of this, and he led us through, fastened it, and, signing to us to follow, led us in and out behind houses, where we sometimes saw a woman or two, sometimes children at play, all of whom took refuge within till we had passed.

“Big clowd outside, wait long time,” said Ching, with a laugh; and directly after he led us along a narrow alley and out into a busy street, which was crowded enough, but with people going to and fro, evidently on business, and though all stopped to look, and some followed, it was not a waterside crowd of loafers, but of respectable people, moved by curiosity to watch the barbarian sailors passing along their street, but paying most heed to me with the heavy glass.

I’m getting an old man now, my lads—the old boy who is writing this log; but it all comes back as clear to my mind’s eye as if it were only yesterday: the narrow, busy street, with men shuffling along carrying packages, baskets of fruit and vegetables or fish, cages too containing birds, and all in the same way slung at the ends of a stout bamboo placed across the bearer’s shoulder, and swinging there as if the man were carrying curious-looking pairs of scales.

The shops were as bright and gay as paint and gilding laid on their quaint carvings could make them, while on their fronts hung curious lanterns, banners, and signs covered with Chinese characters, all of which I longed to decipher, and at which I was ready to stop and stare, till Ching bade me imperatively, “Come ’long.”

“Chinaman no fond love English sailor allee same Ching. Don’t know better. Come ’long.”

This drew my attention to the fact that among the faces full of curiosity there were plenty which greeted us with a heavy, dull scowl, and, recalling the fact that we were only “foreign devils,” according to their teachings, it seemed better to obey our guide, though we were all bitten by the same desire to stop and inspect the various shops and stores we passed.

Ching led us farther and farther away from the riverside, and past enclosures at whose gates stood truculent-looking, showily-dressed men, who carried swords hung from a kind of baldrick, and scowled at us from beneath their flat, conical lacquered hats. And I noticed that our guide always hurried us past these gateways, peeps through which were wonderfully attractive, showing as they did glimpses of gardens which looked like glorified, highly-coloured representations of our old friends the willow-pattern plates.

One in particular was so open that Smith stopped short, heedless of the presence of three fierce-looking Chinamen, with showy robes and long pendent moustachios.

“Look here, boys,” he cried. “What a game! Here’s the old bridge over the water, and the cannon-ball tree, and the gold-fish pond, and—”

“Come ’long,” whispered Ching hurriedly; and he caught our comrade by the arm, forcing him onward as the guards scowled at us fiercely.

“Here, what are you up to?” cried Smith, resenting the interference.

“Take velly much care of Englis’ offlicers. Big mandalin live there. Men sword velly sharp—cut off head.”

“Bosh!” said Smith shortly; “they’d better.”

“Oh no, they hadn’t,” cried Barkins. “We don’t want to take you on board without any head.”

“But they daren’t hurt us,” cried Smith bumptiously. “We’re Englishmen, and our gunboat is in the river. I’m not afraid. Why, there’d be a war if one of these men interfered with us. Our people would land and burn up the place.”

“No,” said Ching quietly. “Send letter to mandalin. Why you men cut off little offlicer head?”

“Here, who are you calling little officer, Pigtail?” cried Smith indignantly.

“Mean young offlicer,” cried Ching hastily. “Say, Why you men cut chop young offlicer head off? Mandalin say, Velly solly. He find out who blave was who chop young offlicer head, and give him lichi.”

“You mean toco?” said Barkins.

“No; lichi.”

“What’s lichi?” I said.

“Tie blave up along post, and man come velly sharp sword, cut him all in ’lit pieces while he live.”

“And do they do that?” I asked, in horror.

“Neve’ find out blave who chop off head,” said Ching, with a queer twinkle of the eyes. “No find blave, no can give him lichi.”

“Sounds pleasant, Poet, don’t it?” said Barkins.

“Horrid!” I cried, with a shudder.

“Moral: Don’t try to peep into mandarins’ gateways, Blacksmith,” continued Barkins.

“Bosh! it’s all gammon. I should like to see one of them try to cut my head off.”

“I shouldn’t,” I cried, laughing; “and he wouldn’t.”

“No,” said Ching perfectly seriously. “Velly bad have head chop off. Head velly useful.”

“Very,” said Barkins mockingly. “Well done, Chinese Wisdom. I say, Herrick, why is a mandarin like the Grand Panjandrum?”

“Because he plays at the game of catch, catch, can and can’t catch the man who cuts off the English fellow’s head,” said Smith.

“Wrong!” cried Barkins. “Now you, Poet.”

“Because he’s got a little round button on the top.”

“Good boy, go up one,” cried Barkins.

“Hallo! what place is this?”

“Velly good place, eatee drinkee. All velly nicee nicee.”

“Here, I say, Ching,” cried Smith, “gently; any one would think we were babies. Stow some of that nicee nicee.”

“Yes! Stow all along inside, like ship. Allee good. Come ’long.”

For we had reached a showy-looking open-sided building, standing a little way back in a well-kept garden, with rockeries and tiny fish-ponds, clipped trees and paved walks, while the large open house displayed tables and neat-looking waiters going to and fro, attending upon well-dressed Chinamen, whose occupation was so much in accordance with our desires, that we entered at once, and Ching led the way to a table; one of the waiters coming up smiling as soon as we were seated.

“Now then,” cried Barkins, who was full of memories of hard biscuit and tough salt beef, “what are we going to have to eat?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking round uneasily. “What have they got?”

“Here, let’s make Ching order the dinner,” cried Smith. “Look here, old chap. We can have a good dinner for a dollar apiece, can’t we?”

“Velly good dinner, dollar piecee,” he replied.

“That’s right,” said Barkins; “we don’t have a chance every day to spend a dollar upon our dinner. Go it, Ching. Tell the waiter fellow, and order for yourself too. But I say, boys, we must have birds’-nest soup.”

“Of course,” we chorussed, though Smith and I agreed afterwards that we rather shrank from trying the delicacy.

Ching lost no time in giving the orders, and in a very few minutes the man bustled up with saucers and basins, and we began tasting this and tasting that as well as we could with the implements furnished to us for the purpose, to wit chopsticks, each watching the apparently wonderful skill with which Ching transferred his food from the tiny saucers placed before him, and imitating his actions with more or less success—generally less.

We had some sweet stuff, and some bits of cucumber cut up small, and some thick sticky soap-like stuff, which rather put me in mind of melted blancmange with salt and pepper instead of sugar, and when this was ended came saucers of mincemeat.

“’Tain’t bad,” whispered Barkins, as we ate delicately. “Peg away, lads. We’re pretty safe so long as we eat what Pigtail does.”

I did not feel so sure; but I was hungry, and as the food did not seem to be, as Barkins said, bad, I kept on, though I could not help wondering what we were eating.

“I say, Ching,” said Smith suddenly, “when’s the birds’-nest soup coming? Oughtn’t we to have had that first?”

“Eat um all up lit’ bit go,” replied Ching.

“What, that sticky stuff?” I cried.

“Yes. No have velly bess flesh birds’-ness for dolla’; but all velly good. Nicee nicee, velly nicee.”

“Don’t!” cried Smith excitedly.

“Let him be, Blacksmith,” said Barkins; “it’s only his way. Ah, here’s something else!”

I looked at the little saucers placed before us, in which, neatly divided, were little appetising-looking brown heaps, covered with rich gravy, and smelling uncommonly nice.

“What’s this?” said Barkins, turning his over with the chopsticks.

“Velly good,” said Ching, smiling, and making a beginning.

“Yes; don’t smell bad,” said Smith. “I know: it’s quails. There’s lots of quail in China. ’Licious!”

I had a little bit of the white meat and brown gravy, which I had separated from a tiny bone with the chopsticks, and was congratulating myself on my cleverness, when it dropped back into my saucer, for Ching, with his mouth full, said quietly—

“No, not lit’ bird—lat.”

“What’s lat?” said Barkins suspiciously.

“No lat,” said Ching smiling; “lat.”

“Well, I said lat. What is lat?”

Smith put down his chopsticks. I had already laid down mine.

“What’s the matter?” said Barkins, who kept on suspiciously turning over the contents of his saucer.

“He means rat,” whispered Smith in an awful tone.

“What!” cried Barkins, pushing himself back with a comical look of disgust upon his face.

“Yes, lat,” said Ching. “Velly good fat lat.”

Our faces were a study. At least I know that my companions’ were; and we were perfectly silent while our guide kept on making a sound with his mouth as he supped up the rich gravy.

“Here, hold hard a minute,” said Smith. “I mean you, Ching.”

“Yes?” said the Chinaman, with a pleasant smile; and he crossed his chopsticks, and looked at our brother middy inquiringly.

“What was that we were eating a little while ago?”

“Clucumber; velly good.”

“No, no; before that.”

“Birds’-ness soup; velly cost much. Not all birds’-ness. Some shark-fis’ fin.”

“I don’t mean that, I tell you,” cried Smith in an exasperated tone of voice. “I mean that other brown meat cut up small into the brown sauce. It was rabbit, wasn’t it?”

“Oh no,” said Ching decisively; “no labbit. Lit’ mince-up pup-dog. Nicee nicee.”

Smith turned green, and his eyes rolled so that he actually squinted; while Barkins uttered a low sound-like gasp. As for me, I felt as I remember feeling after partaking meekly of what one of my aunts used to call prune tea—a decoction made by boiling so many French plums along with half an ounce of senna leaves.

“Oh gracious!” murmured Barkins; while Smith uttered a low groan.

“You both likee more?” said Ching blandly.

“No!” they cried so unanimously that it was like one voice; and in spite of my own disgust and unpleasant sensations I felt as if I must laugh at them.

“Oh, mawkish morsels!” muttered Barkins.

“You feel you have ’nuff?” said Ching, smiling. “Oh no. Loas’ suck-pig come soon. You eat velly much more.”

“Not if I know it,” whispered Smith to me. “I don’t believe it’ll be pig.”

“What then?” I whispered back.

“Kid.”

“Well, kid’s nice.”

“Get out! I meant baby.”

“Ugh! Don’t.”

“It’s too late to say don’t,” groaned Smith. “We’ve done it.”

“Hold up, old chap,” I whispered. “Everybody’s looking at you.”

“Let ’em,” he groaned. “Oh, I do feel so ill!”

“Nonsense! Look at Tanner.”

He turned his wild eyes upon Barkins, whose aspect was ludicrous enough to make him forget his own sensations, and he smiled a peculiarly saddened, pensive smile; for our messmate was leaning towards Ching.

“Don’t eat any more of that,” he said faintly.

“Eat um all up; velly good.”

“Can one get a drop of brandy here?”

“Dlop blandy? No. Velly nicee ’lack.”

“What’s ’lack?”

“No, no ’lack! lice spilit.”

“’Rack!” I said—“arrack?”

“Yes, allack,” said Ching, nodding.

“Let’s have some—a glass each,” said Barkins; “and look sharp.”

Ching summoned one of the smiling waiters, and the order was given. Then for the first time he noticed that we had not finished the contents of our little saucers.

“No eat lat?” he cried.

I shook my head.

“Velly good!”

“We’re not quite well,” said Smith.

“Been out in the sun too much,” added Barkins.

“Ah, sun too much bad! Lit’ dlop spilit make quite well. No eat lat?”

“No, no!” we cried in chorus.

“Velly good,” said our guide; and in alarm lest such a delicacy should be wasted, he drew first one and then the other saucer over to his side, and finished their contents.

Long before this, though, the attendant had brought us three tiny glasses of white spirit, which we tossed off eagerly, with the result that the qualmish sensations passed away; but no recommendations on the part of our guide could induce us to touch anything that followed, saving sundry preparations of rice and fruit, which were excellent.

The dinner over, Ching took us about the garden to inspect the lilies in pots, the gold and silver fish, fat and wonderfully shaped, which glided about in the tanks and ponds, and then led us into a kind of arbour, where, beneath a kind of wooden eave, an instrument was hanging from a peg. It was not a banjo, for it was too long; and it was not a guitar, for it was too thin, and had not enough strings; but it was something of the kind, and evidently kept there for the use of musically-disposed visitors.

“You likee music?” said Ching.

“Oh yes,” I replied dubiously, as I sat using the telescope, gazing right away over the lower part of the town at the winding river, with its crowds of craft.

“Why, he isn’t going to play, is he?” whispered Smith. “We don’t want to hear that. Let’s go out in the town.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” replied Barkins. “The sun’s too hot. I say, our dinner wasn’t such a very great success, was it?”

Smith shook his head, and just then Ching began to tune the instrument, screwing the pegs up and down, and producing the most lugubrious sounds, which somehow made me begin to think of home, and how strange it was to be sitting there in a place which seemed like part of a picture, listening to the Chinese guide.

I had forgotten the unpleasantry of the dinner in the beauty of the scene, for there were abundance of flowers, the sky was of a vivid blue, and the sun shone down brilliantly, and made the distant water of the river sparkle.

Close by there were the Chinese people coming and going in their strange costume; a busy hum came through the open windows; and I believe that in a few minutes I should have been asleep, if Ching had not awakened me by his vigorous onslaught upon the instrument, one of whose pegs refused to stay in exactly the right place as he kept on tuning.

Peng—feng—peng—pang—pacing—pang—peng—ping—pang—peng—paang.

Then a little more screwing up.

Peng, peng, pang—pong.

Ching stopped, nursed the instrument upon his knee as if it were a baby, pulled out the offending peg as if it were a tooth, moistened the hole, replaced the peg, and began again—screw, screw, screw.

Peng—peng—ping—pang—pong—pung—pungh—pungh—poonh—poingh—pank—peng—peng, peng, pang—pang—pang,—peng.

Just a quarter of a tone out still, and he tried again diligently, while my eyes half closed, and the Tanner and Blacksmith both nodded in the heat.

Ping—peng—peng—pung—pang—pang—paang—paang—paeng—paeng.

Right at last; and Ching threw himself back so that his mouth would open to the widest extent, struck a chord on the three strings, and burst forth with celestial accompaniment into what was in all probability a passionate serenade, full of allusions to nightingales, moonbeams, dew-wet roses, lattice-windows, and beautiful moon-faced maidens, but which sounded to me like—

“Ti ope I ow wow,

Ti ope I ow yow,

Ti ope I ow tow,

Ti ope I ligh.”

The words, I say, sounded like that: the music it would be impossible to give, for the whole blended together into so lamentable a howl, that both Barkins and Smith started up into wakefulness from a deep sleep, and the former looked wildly round, as confused and wondering he exclaimed—

“What’s matter?”

As for Smith, he seemed to be still half-asleep, and he sat up, staring blankly at the performer, who kept on howling—I can call it nothing else—in the most doleful of minor keys.

“I say,” whispered Barkins, “did you set him to do that?”

I shook my head.

“Because—oh, just look! here are all the people coming out to see what’s the matter.”

He was right as to the people coming, for in twos and threes, as they finished the refreshment of which they had been partaking, first one path was filled and then another, the people coming slowly up and stopping to listen, while Barkins stared at them in blank astonishment.

“Here Nat—Poet,” he whispered, “look at ’em.”

“I am looking,” I said. “Isn’t it just like a picture?”

“It’s like an old firescreen,” he said; “but I don’t mean that. Look! Hang me if the beggars don’t seem to like it. Can’t you stop him?”

“No, of course not.”

“But how long will it be before he has run down?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But look, aren’t those like some of the men we saw by the gates?”

I drew his attention to about half-a-dozen fierce-looking men in showy coats and lacquered hats, who came up to the garden, stared hard at us, and then walked in. Each of them, I noticed, wore a sword, and a kind of dagger stuck in his belt, and this made me at once recall their offensive looks and contemptuous manner towards us, and think of how far we were away from the ship, and unarmed, save for the ornamental dirks which hung from our belts, weapons that would have been, even if we had known how to use them, almost like short laths against the Chinamen’s heavy, broad-bladed, and probably sharp swords.

“I say, Gnat,” whispered Barkins, “those must be the chaps we saw at the mandarin’s gate. Never mind; we’ll ask them to have something as soon as old Ching has finished his howling.”

But that did not seem likely to be for some time, and I began to think, as I sat there noticing how the men were gradually closing in upon us, that our position was not very safe, right away from the landing-place, and that we had done wrong in stopping so long where we were. I knew that the Chinese were obsequious and humble enough so long as they were face to face with a stronger power, but if they had the upper hand, cruel and merciless to any one not of their own nation, and that it was wiser to give them a wide berth.

Then I began to think that the captain had been too ready to believe in our prestige in giving us leave to go, and that we should have been wiser if we had stayed on board. Finally, I had just come to the conclusion that we ought to stop Ching in his howling or singing, which grew more and more vehement as he saw that his audience was increasing, when Smith jogged my elbow.

“I say,” he whispered, “let’s get away from here.”

“Why?” I said, to get to know what he thought.

“Because I’m afraid those chaps with the swords mean mischief.”

“I say, lads,” said Barkins, leaning towards us, “aren’t those chaps crowding us up rather? What do they mean? Here, I’m senior, and the skipper said I was to take care of you youngsters. We’ll go back to the wharf at once.”

“What’s the good?” said Smith. “The boat won’t be there to fetch us off till sundown.”

“Never mind, let’s get away from here,” said Barkins decisively; “we don’t want to get in a row with the Chinese, and that’s what they want.”

“But they’re quiet enough,” I said, growing nervous all the while.

“Yes, they’re quiet enough now,” whispered Barkins; “but you look at that big fellow with the yellow belt, he keeps on making faces at us.”

“Let him; that will not hurt us.”

“I know that, little stupid,” he cried, “but what follows may. Look at him now.”

I looked up quickly, and saw the man turn away from looking at us, and say something to his fierce-looking companions, who glanced towards us and laughed.

“There,” said Barkins, “I’m not going to be laughed at by those jolly old pigtailed heathens. Here, Ching, old chap, we want to go.”

As he spoke he gave our guide a sharp nudge, which made him turn round and stare.

“Ti—ope—I—ow!”

“Do you hear? We want to go!”

“Ti—ope—I—ow!” howled Ching, beginning again.

“Yes, we want to go,” I said anxiously.

“Ti—ope—I—ow!” he howled again, but as he gave forth his peculiar sounds he suddenly struck—purposely—a false, jarring note, lowered the instrument, seized one of the pegs as if in a passion, and began talking to me in a low, earnest voice, to the accompaniment of the string he tuned.

“Ching see now,”—peng, peng, peng—“bad men with swords,”—pang, peng—“look velly closs,”—pang, pong—“wantee fightee,”—pang, pang—“you no wantee fightee,”—pung, pung.

“No,” I whispered anxiously; “let’s go at once.”

“No takee notice,”—pang, peng, peng. “All flee, walkee walkee round one sidee house,”—pang, pong—“Ching go long other sidee,”—peng, peng. “No make, hully—walkee velly slow over lit’ blidge,”—ping, ping, ping, ping, pang, pang.

The little bridge was just behind us, and I grasped all he said—that we were to go slowly over the bridge and walk round the back of the house, while he would go round the front and meet us on the other side.

Bang, jangle, pang, pang, ping, ping, peng, peng, went the instrument, as Ching strummed away with all his might.

“Wait, Ching come show way,” he whispered. And as I saw that the mandarin’s men were coming nearer and evidently meant mischief, Ching raised his instrument again, and, after a preliminary flourish, began once more, to the delight of the crowd. My messmates and I slowly left our places and walked round the summer-house towards the little bridge over one of the gold-fish tanks, moving as deliberately as we could, while Ching’s voice rang out, “Ti—ope—I—ow!” as if nothing were the matter.

The little crowd was between us and the mandarin’s retainers, but it was hard work to appear cool and unconcerned. Above all, it took almost a superhuman effort to keep from looking back.

Smith could not resist the desire, and gave a sharp glance round.

“They’re coming after us,” he whispered. “We shall have to cut and run.”

“No, no,” said Barkins hoarsely. “They’d overtake us directly. They’d come down like a pack of wolves. We must be cool, lads, and be ready to turn and draw at the last. The beggars are awful cowards after all.”

We went on over the bridge, and, in spite of my dread, I made believe to look down at the gold-fish, pointing below at them, but seizing the opportunity to look out for danger.

It was a quick glance, and it showed me that the crowd from the eating-house were taking no notice of us, but listening to Ching, who had left his seat, and, singing with all his might, was walking along one of the paths towards the front of the low building, while we were slowly making for the back, with the result of crowding the mandarin’s men back a little, for the whole of the company moved with our guide, carefully making room for him to play, and thus unconsciously they hampered the movements of our enemies.

The distance was not great, of course—fifty yards altogether, perhaps, along winding and doubling walks, for the Chinese are ingenious over making the most of a small garden, but it was long enough to keep us in an intense state of excitement, as from time to time we caught sight of the men following us.

Then we saw that they had stopped to watch which way we went, and directly after we knew that they were only waiting for us to be behind the house to go back and hurry round and meet us.

At last we had passed to the end of the maze-like walk, and were sheltered by the house from the little crowd and our enemies, with the result that all felt relieved.

“I say,” said Smith, “isn’t this only a scare?”

“Don’t know,” said Barkins. “P’raps so; but I shan’t be sorry to get on board again. They think nothing of cutting a fellow to pieces.”

“Let’s make haste, then,” I said; and, nothing loth, the others hurried on past the back of the house, where the kitchen seemed to be, and plenty of servants were hurrying to and fro, too busy to take any heed of us. Then we turned the corner, and found that we were opposite to a gateway opening upon a very narrow lane, which evidently went along by the backs of the neighbouring houses, parallel with the main street, which was, however, not such a great deal wider than this.

“Here’s a way for us to go down, at all events,” said Barkins, after we had listened for a few moments for Ching’s song, and the wiry notes of his instrument.

“Yes, let’s cut down at once,” said Smith.

“Where to?” I said excitedly. “We can’t find our way without Ching.”

“No; and those beggars would hunt us down there at once,” said Barkins. “Won’t do. I say, though, why don’t they give us better tools than these to wear?”

“Hark!” I said; “listen!”

We listened, but there was nothing but the murmur of voices in the house, and not a soul to be seen on our side, till all at once I caught sight of something moving among the shrubs, and made out that it was the gay coat of one of the men from whom we sought to escape.

“Come on!” said Smith excitedly, and he threw open the gate leading into the narrow lane, so that in another moment we should have been in full retreat, had not a door behind us in the side of the house been opened, and Ching appeared.

He did not speak, but made a sign for us to enter, and we were hardly inside and the door thrust to—all but a chink big enough for our guide to use for reconnoitring—when we heard the soft pat-pat of the men’s boots, then the rustle of their garments, and the tap given by one of their swords as they passed through the gateway and ran down the narrow lane.

“All gone along, catchee you,” whispered Ching. “Come ’long other way.”

He stepped out, made us follow, and then carefully closed the door.

“Now, come ’long this way,” he said, with his eyes twinkling. “No walkee fast. Allee boy lun after.”

We saw the wisdom of his proceedings, and followed him, as he took us by the way our enemies had come, straight out into the main street, down it a little way, and then up a turning, which he followed till we came to another important street parallel to the one by which we had come, and began to follow it downward toward the waterside.

“Muchee flighten?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” growled Barkins, who had the deepest voice of the three. “It was startling. Did they mean mischief?”

“Mean chop chop. Allee bad wick’ men. No catchee now. Ching velly much flighten.”

He did not look so, but chatted away with open, smiling face, as he pointed first on one side then on the other to some striking-looking shop or building, though he never paused for a moment, but kept on at a good rate without showing a sign of hurry or excitement.

“How are we to get on board when we get to the river?” I said, as we went on. “There’ll be no boat till sundown.”

“Ching get one piecee boat low all aboard ship.”

“Can’t you keep us in your place till our boat comes?”

The man shook his head. “Mandalin boy come burn um down, makee all lun out. So velly hot. No stay. Get boat, low away.”

“How far is it, do you think?” asked Smith.

“I don’t know,” said Barkins. “We seemed to be walking for hours in the hot sun coming up. How far is it, Ching?”

“Velly long way. No look at garden now.”

He pointed to one of the handsome gateways about which a party of armed retainers were hanging, and, whispering to us not to take any notice, he walked us steadily along.

But we were not to get by the place without notice, for the loungers saw us coming, and strode out in a swaggering way—three big sturdy fellows in blue and scarlet, and pretty well blocked the way as they stood scowling at us.

“Look out,” whispered Barkins, “ready with your toasting-forks, and then if it comes to it we must run.”

“You’ll stick by us, Gnat,” whispered Smith in a hasty whisper.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Keep velly close,” whispered Ching. “No takee notice. No talkee closs. Ching speakee.”

He said something in Chinese to the men, and led us in single file between the two most fierce-looking, our prompt action taking them somewhat by surprise, and, as we gave them no excuse for taking offence, they only turned to gaze after us.

There were plenty of people in the street ready to stand and look at us, and we met with no interruption from them, but I could not help seeing the anxiety in Ching’s face, and how from time to time he wiped his streaming brow. But as soon as he saw either of us looking at him he smiled as if there was nothing the matter whatever.

“No velly long now,” he said. “Lot bad men to-day. You come walkee walkee ’gain?”

“It’s not very tempting, Ching,” I said. “Why can’t they leave us alone?”

He tightened his lips and shook his head. Then, looking sharply before him, he hurried us along a little more.

“Wish got ten—twenty—piecee soldier man ’longside,” he whispered to me, and the next minute he grasped my arm with a spasmodic snatch.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

He did not speak, but looked sharply to right and left for a means of escape. For, in spite of the cleverness of our guide, the mandarin’s men had been as cunning. They had either divined or been told that we had made for the other street, and had contrived to reach the connecting lane along which we should have to pass. Here they had planted themselves, and just as we were breathing more freely, in the belief that before long we should reach the shore of the great river, we caught sight of them in company with about a dozen more.

We were all on the point of halting, as we saw them about fifty yards in front, but Ching spoke out sharply—

“No stoppee,” he said firmly. “Lun away, all come catchee and choppee off head. Go ’long stlaight and flighten ’em. Englis’ sailor foleign debil, ’flaid o’ nobody.”

“There’s something in that,” said Barkins. “Right. Show a bold front, lads. Let’s go straight by them, and if they attack, then out with your swords and let’s make a fight for it.”

I heard Smith say, “All right,” and my heart was beating very fast as I said the same.

Frightened? Of course I was. I don’t believe the boy ever lived who would not feel frightened at having to face death. For it was death we had to face then, and in the ugliest shape. But Smith’s words sent a thrill through us.

“I say, lads,” he said, “we’ve got to fight this time. If we begged for our lives they’d only serve us worse; so let ’em have it, and recollect that, if they kill us, the old Teasers’ll come and burn their town about their ears.”

“’Fraid, Ching?” I whispered; for he and I were in front.

“No ’flaid now,” he whispered back. “Plenty flighten by and by.”

He smiled as he spoke, and led us straight on to where the four mandarin’s men and the rough-looking fellows with them blocked the road, and if for a moment we had shown any hesitation, I believe they would have rushed at us like wolves. But Ching kept his head up as if proud of acting as guide to three British officers, and when we got close up he nodded smilingly at the men in the mandarin’s colours, and then, as if astounded at the little crowd standing fast, he burst out into a furious passion, shouting at them in a wild gabble of words, with the effect of making them give way at once, so that we passed through.

Then I heard him draw a panting breath, and saw that he was ghastly.

“Walkee walkee,” he whispered. “Not velly fast. ’Top I say lun, and lun fast alleegether.”

At that moment there was a loud shouting behind, then a yell, and, turning my head, I saw that the mandarin’s men had their great blades out, and were leading the men after us, shouting to excite themselves and the little mob.

“Now lun!” cried Ching. “I showee way.”

“No!” shouted Barkins. “Draw swords and retreat slowly.”

We whipped out our weapons and turned to face the enemy, knowing full well that they would sweep over us at the first rush, while a feeling of rage ran through me, as in my despairing fit I determined to make the big fellow opposite to me feel one dig of English steel before he cut me down.

Then they were upon us with a rush, and I saw Ching dart in front and cleverly snatch one of the clumsy swords from the nearest man. The next moment he had whirled it up with both hands, when—

Boom—Crash!

There was the report of a heavy gun, whose concussion made the wooden houses on each side jar and quiver as it literally ran up the narrow street, and, to our astonishment, we saw the little mob turn on the instant and begin to run, showing us, instead of their fierce savage faces, so many black pigtails; the mandarin’s men, though, last.

“Hooray!” we yelled after them, and they ran the faster.

“Now, velly quick,” panted Ching. “Come back again soon.”

We uttered another shout, and hurried along the lane to the principal street, turned at right angles, and began to hurry along pretty rapidly now, Ching marching beside us with the big sword over his shoulder.

But the scare was only temporary, the tremendous report was not repeated, and before a minute had elapsed, our guide, who kept glancing back, cried—

“Now, lun velly fast. Come along catchee catchee, and no big gun go shoot this time.”

He was quite right, and we took to our heels, with the yelling mob close at hand, and so many people in front, that we felt certain of being run down long before we could reach the waterside.

“And no chance for us when we do,” muttered Barkins from close behind me. “Oh, if a couple of dozen of our lads were only here! Why didn’t they send ’em?” he panted, “instead of firing as a signal for us to go back on board.”