Chatterbox, 1906 Part 93

Alas! this open rebuke only added fuel to the fire, and Ping-Kwe's fellow-pa.s.sengers (who were bound for the town of Tsoung, across the water) at length grew thoroughly tired of his company.

'Who is that fellow?' whispered one of the occupants of the boat to another.

'Oh! it is Ping-Kwe,' was the reply, as though that answered everything.

'What! the manager of Kong-Yung's stores in the town yonder?'

'Yes.'

'How comes it that he is here, instead of attending to his work?' went on the questioner.

As there was no satisfactory answer to this query, the stranger, who was none other than Kong-Yung himself, said no more.

He had but lately come into his property, and so was not yet known to all his tenants; but in these few minutes he had learnt enough to know that Ping-Kwe was not the right sort of man to make a good manager.

Ping-Kwe, could he but have known it, would have given a year of his life rather than show himself thus in his worst colours before his wealthy employer. It was not the first time he had neglected his business, but now his sin had found him out.

Perhaps Kong-Yung might have pa.s.sed over this offence with a caution, for he was not a hard man, but such a display of ill-temper was unpardonable, and so it came to pa.s.s that early on the following morning, Ping-Kwe received a curt dismissal from his post.

Nothing he could say or do had any power to alter his employer's decision, and, before a month had elapsed, the hapless man found himself utterly without the means of providing for his wife and family.

Strange to say, it was in his adversity that the best part of his nature came to the fore.

For his wife and children's sake he would have cheerfully starved himself; but alas! hunger and dest.i.tution stared them _all_ in the face.

Days pa.s.sed on into weeks, and still the hapless Chinaman was workless.

Never would Ping-Kwe or his patient little wife forget the miseries of one terrible night. Overhead the stars were shining as though breathing hope to the forlorn family, who were now actually without a roof to cover them. The children were crying pitifully for food, and Ping-Kwe, in his despair, began to think that even death itself would be welcome.

And the stinging part of it all was that he had brought his troubles upon himself, for Kong-Yung had told him frankly the reason of his dismissal.

It was when matters were at their lowest ebb, that the English ladies, hearing of Ping-Kwe's sad plight, came to his aid.

With their own hands they tended to the necessities of the dest.i.tute family, and it was owing to their intervention that Ping-Kwe found employment again under his former master. It was humble work, it is true, but Ping-Kwe was now a humble man.

With mingled shame and grat.i.tude he accepted the kindly aid of the two ladies, and from that time forth never more was he heard to say a word against the English. Their influence by degrees wrought such a change in Ping-Kwe that his best friends would hardly have known him.

As to his diligence in business, there could be no doubt, and Kong-Yung never had reason to regret taking him into his service again. A few months later, he chanced to be once more in the same boat with his fellow-townsman, Chang.

'What has happened to that temper of yours, Ping-Kwe?' asked Ching, with a good-natured smile; 'I have not seen it lately.'

'No,' replied Ping-Kwe, 'I don't suppose you have. As a matter of fact I have taken the advice you gave me some time ago, and have thrown it overboard.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Throw your bad temper overboard.'"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'I say that he is a French spy!'"]

THE TRIALS OF LECKINSKI.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Leckinski was a young Polish soldier, who was chosen for a very dangerous mission when he was only eighteen years of age.

At that time Murat held military rule at Madrid. He desired to send important dispatches to Junot, then at Lisbon; but this was a matter of great difficulty, for all the roads to Lisbon were in the possession of Castagnos and his army of Spanish revolutionists. The dreaded guerillas also infested the way.

Murat, in his perplexity, confided in Baron Strogonoff, the Russian Amba.s.sador at Madrid. Russia at this time was not the direct ally of France, but distinctly the friend. Strogonoff--though it was a rash and illegal act--offered help. He proposed that a Polish lancer, dressed in the Russian uniform, should be sent with dispatches from _his_ Court to Admiral Siniavin, then at the port of Lisbon, and that the messenger should at the same time convey verbal messages from Murat to Junot. It was improbable, said the Baron, that the insurgent army of Castagnos would interfere with a messenger of Russia, whose goodwill, to the extent of neutrality, at least, they were desirous to obtain. But this opinion, as we shall see, proved a mistaken one.

Murat was delighted with the plan, and Krasinski, the Polish commander, was immediately applied to for a suitable person. Leckinski volunteered for the task.

Murat, himself a brave man, thought it right to point out to Leckinski the perils of his mission.

The young Pole smiled. 'I owe your Imperial Highness a thousand thanks,'

said he, 'for having so greatly honoured me as to entrust me with this duty. It shall be done to the best of my ability.'

Murat then gave him his secret instructions, and, dressed in the Russian uniform, and carrying the written dispatches for the Russian admiral, Leckinski started on his journey.

Just at first all went well, but on the third day Leckinski was surrounded and captured by a Spanish troop. His captors dragged him before their commanding officer, who chanced to be Castagnos himself.

Leckinski saw that if he were recognised as an emissary of the French, his doom would be sealed. He therefore instantly determined to feign complete ignorance of the French language, and to speak only Russian or German, languages which he knew thoroughly.

In his determination he was strengthened by the terrible threats which he heard from the Spaniards around him. He recalled, too, the horrible fate of General Rene, who, a few weeks before, while executing a mission similar to his own, had been cruelly tortured to death. Brave though he was, Leckinski shrank from such a fate as that.

Castagnos, who had been educated at Sorrize, spoke French well. 'Who are you?' he asked in that language.

The prisoner made no answer, according to his plan. One of the staff then interrogated him in German, and his replies were made sometimes in German, sometimes in Russian. A word of French, or even a French accent, would have cost Leckinski his life.

An unfortunate incident increased the ferocity of the Spaniards. An aide-de-camp who felt a.s.sured that Leckinski was a French spy, rushed into the room, dragging with him a man attired in brown cloth, and wearing the peasant's high conical hat, adorned with a red feather. The officer, forcing his way through the crowd, placed this man face to face with Leckinski.

'Look!' he said; 'is this fellow a Russian or a German? _I_ say that he is a French spy!'

The peasant gazed steadily at the young Pole. 'Yes!' he exclaimed, 'this is a Frenchman. A few weeks ago I was at Madrid with some cut straw which had been demanded from our village; and it was this man who received my portion of forage, and gave me the receipt.'

This identification was correct. Castagnos indeed may have thought so; but there was a possibility that the peasant was mistaken, and the Spanish commander was more generous and humane than his followers. He saw that the youth was not a Russian, but he was by no means sure that he was a Frenchman--as, in fact, he was not. Leckinski's handsome face and courageous behaviour told in his favour. Castagnos decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; but he had hard work to restrain his savage followers. A hundred threatening voices arose as the General announced his decision, and the word 'traitor' was even applied to himself.

'You desire, then,' said Castagnos, 'to risk a quarrel with Russia?'

'No,' answered his officers; 'but let us at least prove the fellow.'

'So be it.'

Leckinski knew enough Spanish to understand this brief conversation, which put him more than ever on his guard. Out of the chamber he was led, and thrown into a dungeon. When its door closed upon him he had been eighteen hours without food. Nearly fainting, he fell on the wretched bed which occupied a corner of the room. Here he had ample leisure to contemplate his terrible position. At length, however, being young and healthy, he fell into a sound sleep.

(_Concluded on page 319._)

THE LADYBIRD AND THE CATERPILLAR.