The Flying Boat Part 9

"I don't know," said Burroughs. "He is so touchy, you know; can't bear to be advised. We shall have to go very carefully to work. But there's a hope in what has happened lately. He can't really bear me a serious grudge, because he took the trouble to recover my flying boat and send it back to me."

"Hai! How was that?"

Burroughs told of the theft of the vessel, and of what had happened since. Mr. Ting listened attentively, and then related a curious story.

On his way up the river he had met the captain of a junk whom he occasionally employed, and in conversation with him learnt of a strange experience that had befallen him not far above Sui-Fu. He had been sailing down in his junk, and called at a riverside village to take on some goods. Having stowed his cargo, and wishing that the junk should reach Sui-Fu before night, for fear of the river pirates, he sent her on under charge of his mate, while he remained to negotiate a certain business transaction with an up-country merchant whose arrival at the village had been delayed.

On the completion of his business, just before sunset, he started in a sampan manned by two men, expecting to overtake the junk before she anch.o.r.ed for the night. Much to his alarm, when only three or four miles above the port, he discovered that a boat was d.o.g.g.i.ng him. He did not know whether the crew were pirates or police: it was now too dark to distinguish; but as a matter of precaution he ordered his men to pull into the bank, and wait until the boat pa.s.sed.

When he got within the shadow of some trees overhanging the stream, he was more alarmed than ever: the pursuers were also making for the bank.

He was quaking in his shoes; but the boat, instead of coming directly towards him, pa.s.sed by at a distance of some thirty yards, and disappeared.

He waited until it had had time to get out of earshot, and resumed his journey. But he had hardly gone a quarter-mile down stream, when he heard a low hail, and then the sound of several voices. Steering again into the bank, he looked down the river, upon which a crescent moon was throwing a pale light. And then he saw the boat re-appear, towing what looked like a launch into mid-stream. At the same moment he heard the throbbing of a motor vessel, and from round a bend in the river there came a large launch, which hove to as it reached the boat.

In a few minutes the motor launch was again under way, and as it pa.s.sed rapidly up stream, the captain of the junk, being well acquainted with all the motor vessels on the river, recognized it at once as that belonging to Reinhardt. But it was not alone. It had in tow the smaller craft which had been drawn out from the bank. This smaller vessel would perhaps not have attracted the captain's attention had it not been somewhat curious in shape, owing, as he supposed, to a full cargo which was concealed under matting.

"There's not much doubt it was my boat," said Burroughs, when Mr. Ting had ended his story. His face had gone pale, and there was a twitching of his nostrils; but his tone of voice was perhaps even more equable than usual. Mr. Ting noted how he differed from Errington in that respect.

"It looks as if Mr. Reinhardt wanted to pick a quarrel," he added.

"Velly culious," said Mr. Ting, reflectively. "What you call a plactical joke, plaps."

"A kind of joke I don't appreciate," said Burroughs shortly. "I think Pidge must have understood that. He's thick with Reinhardt, who probably told him of the trick, and learnt that he had gone a trifle too far. Are you going up to Chia-ling Fu to-day, sir?"

"If you will come with me. A word of advice, if I may. Say nothing to Leinhadt about the matter until you know. One egg is better than ten cackles."

Burroughs discussed a few business matters with his comprador; his boy Chin Tai meanwhile packed his bag; and in an hour he was ready to accompany the merchant to his launch. They had crossed the gang-way, and were waiting for the skipper to cast off, when they saw an old steam launch coming swiftly down from the direction of Chia-ling Fu.

"Do you mind holding on a few minutes?" said Burroughs. "She may have a letter from Pidge on board."

"Velly well," said Mr. Ting, putting on his spectacles. "Lot of pa.s.sengers, you see: velly culious."

The deck of the launch did, indeed, present an unusual appearance.

Instead of the one or two white pa.s.sengers who might have been expected at this hour--for the vessel must have left Chia-ling Fu very early in the morning--there was a considerable crowd of men, women and children.

Every inch of standing room appeared to be occupied. And as the launch drew nearer, it was plain that the pa.s.sengers were of all nationalities--German, English and j.a.panese traders with their families, English and French missionaries conspicuous among the rest by their Chinese garments.

"Looks like a general exodus," said Burroughs, his eyes narrowing.

"Something is wrong."

"Yes," said Mr. Ting: "velly much long."

He recrossed the gangway to the quay. Burroughs, shading his eyes against the sunlight, remained on the boat, searching the crowd for the familiar tall form of Errington.

The launch drew in, and the merchants on board, recognizing Mr. Ting, began to shout to him; but all speaking together in their respective languages, it was impossible to make out what any of them said. As soon as they had landed, however, Burroughs, who had now returned to the quay, was singled out by his agent, and told of the exciting events which had happened at Chia-ling Fu.

For several days the European community had been in a state of nervous tension owing to reports of the successes of the rebels further north.

Despite all the efforts of the ill-armed, ill-disciplined rabble that so frequently masquerades as an army in the interior of China, the insurgents had made great headway. They had captured Cheng Tu, and an attempt to retake the place had been defeated, with considerable loss to the so-called regular troops. The success of the rebels had brought, as is always the case, large accessions to their numbers. All the restless and turbulent elements of the province for two hundred miles round had flocked to the captured city. There were no Europeans there except a few French missionaries who were reported to be held prisoners, but to have suffered no ill-usage.

This news put every one at Chia-ling Fu on the alert. Arrangements were made to move down river at short notice. The Europeans recognized that, whatever might be the treatment of the missionary prisoners, the lives of any white men captured by the insurgents must always be in jeopardy.

Even where their leaders desired, from policy, to protect their prisoners, the blood-thirstiness and anti-foreign prejudices of their ignorant following were always likely to force their hand.

It had been expected at Chia-ling Fu, however, that news of any southward movement of the rebels would be reported by native spies in time to enable the Europeans to make their escape. But just before dawn on this morning, they had been wakened by the sound of shots and a great hubbub. They sprang up, pulled on their clothes hurriedly, seized their arms, and sallied out to see what was afoot. They found the city already in the hands of the insurgents. Making a wide circuit by night, an immense force had crept upon the place from the landward side, and at the same time a large fleet of vessels of all descriptions, including two or three steamers captured at Cheng Tu, had come down the river and anch.o.r.ed at some little distance above the city. The sleepy sentinels at all the gates had been surprised and overpowered, the rabble poured in, and the place fell without striking a blow.

All these details were not known until afterwards: the confusion at dawn had been so great that the Europeans knew nothing except the bare fact that the city was captured, and that they were prisoners. To their great surprise, in a few hours they were all released, told to collect their belongings, and conveyed to the steamer which had just brought them down the river. Clearly the leaders of the insurgents intended to show that the rising was a purely domestic one; they did not wish to provoke action by the foreign Powers.

All the time that Burroughs was listening to the story told him by his agent, he kept his eyes on the gangway, hoping to see Errington step off. He recognized several acquaintances among the pa.s.sengers, but his old friend did not appear.

"Where's Mr. Errington?" he asked his agent.

"Upon my word, Mr. Burroughs, I don't know. I never thought of him. I suppose----"

"Mr. Stevens, was Errington on the boat?" asked Burroughs, stepping towards the gangway and taking the merchant by the sleeve.

"Errington! Of course he was. That is, I suppose so. We are all here; but such a crowd of us that we were very much mixed up. Hamilton, did you see Errington?"

"Surely: but no, now I come to think of it, I didn't. Isn't he here?"

Answers of the same kind came from all the pa.s.sengers who were interrogated. In the confusion and excitement, in their preoccupation with themselves and their families, they hardly knew who had been among them, and who not. It was very soon certain, however, that Errington was not among those who left the vessel.

"What can have happened to him?" Burroughs said to Mr. Ting anxiously.

"He's such a hot-headed chap that it would be just like him to show fight."

Mr. Ting looked more troubled than Burroughs had ever before seen him.

"I hope he is safe," he said. "Plaps he escaped in a sampan, and will come by and by. We must wait and see."

But though several vessels came down in the course of the day, bringing native merchants who had fled from the city, Errington was not in any of them, nor did his boy appear. Mr. Ting's journey up-stream was necessarily abandoned. With the rebels in possession of the river no one would be safe. It was with very anxious hearts that Burroughs and the Chinaman awaited the dawn of another day.

CHAPTER X

LO SAN'S PILGRIMAGE

Startled from sleep by the mingled din of shots and yells, Errington sprang from his bed, and seizing his revolver, rushed to the door of his little bungalow and unlocked it. It was thrown back in his face, and before he could recover himself, the weapon was knocked from his hand, and he found himself on the floor, with a dozen villainous-looking, ragged and dirty Chinamen on top of him, screeching at the pitch of their voices. He understood not a word of what they said; none of them could speak even pidgin-English: had he known Chinese he would have learnt that the "foreign devil" was destined to be carried to the arch-leader of the insurrection. Su Fing had an old grudge to pay off against him. The brigand had taken particular trouble to ascertain the dwelling of the young Englishman to whom he owed a deep scar on his learned brow, and a period of imprisonment which, though short, had left a rankling sore in his aspiring soul.

Errington made his captors understand by signs that he preferred not to face the world in his pyjamas, and was allowed to dress himself in their presence, amid a battery of remarks more or less offensive, but luckily incomprehensible to him. His hands were then tied behind him, and he was hurried down to the quay, placed on board a gunboat, and carried up the river.

His captors, squatting about him with their spears held upright in their hands, may perhaps have been surprised at the smile upon the young Englishman's face. Errington was, in fact, amused at his situation--rather relieved than dismayed. This was the very day on which he had promised to pay his debt to Reinhardt--the end of the week of grace. He had gone to bed feeling that next day he would be ruined and shamed; to find himself the prisoner of Chinese rebels, who were carrying him he knew not where, but certainly out of Reinhardt's reach, struck him as a comical trick of fate. At that moment he felt almost affectionate towards the ugly ruffians who were squinting at him.

Meanwhile some of the rebel band were making themselves very free with his belongings. They ransacked his wardrobe, appropriated his rifle, his silver cups and other trophies of athletic prowess, tossed about his papers and a pack of cards they discovered in a drawer, and gathered up into bundles all that they deemed worth looting. One of them, pa.s.sing into the out-buildings at the back, caught Lo San by the pigtail, and soundly thrashed him for being so evil-disposed as to serve a European master. The cook and the other domestics had already seen the error of their ways and left without notice.

It would perhaps have surprised any one who had seen Lo San only on the occasion of the adventure in the swamp, to find that he alone of Errington's household had not fled at this climax of his master's misfortunes. But Lo San was made of good stuff. He might tremble before a pirate, but his soul was staunch to the master who had been kind to him and paid him well. The devotion of his native servant is a gift which many an Englishman in the East has learnt to prize.

Lo San hung about the house, having received his thrashing meekly, until the looters had stripped it bare. When they had gone away, he wandered disconsolately through the disordered rooms; nothing of value was left, but he collected the scattered papers and the pack of cards: "Ma.s.sa velly muchee likee he," he murmured.

Then he sat down to think. He was very sore, in body and mind; and very poor, for his castigator had s.n.a.t.c.hed away the little bag, hung at his waist, in which he kept his store of cash. "Ma.s.sa Ellington" was gone, and it seemed to Lo San that he would know no peace of mind until he at least discovered his master's fate. "Supposey he come back sometime,"