The breath of the dragon

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. —An Escape and a Meeting . i

II. — Tricked ..... 9

Chapter I An Escape And A Meeting

The house-boat drew near a large village and stopped. On the deck of the boat three people were leisurely taking afternoon tea. Before them stretched the silent, creeping Pei-ho, sinuous as a serpent, poisonous as its fangs.

Upon the opposite bank rose graves, hundreds upon hundreds of them, cone-shaped like potatomounds on an Indiana farm. Overhead gleamed the blue bowl of the Eastern sky. The elderly gentleman, whose interest in afternoon tea was less than perfunctory, stared at the cone-shaped graves. “Don't think much of the view," he said to the girl by his side, and turned his chair to face the village. The next moment he was on his feet gazing intently on the scene before him. The girl put her cup down suddenly and stared also. A tall Chinese was racing through the village, at his heels a score or more of soldiers. Before they could seize him, he dashed into one of the huddled galleried houses lining the street. His pursuers battered violently upon the barred door. The Americans on the boat could hear the loud cracking of the wooden panels. A few minutes later they saw the entrance forced and the soldiers rush into the house.

Almost at the same moment a foreigner appeared from the rear of the dwelling and sauntered down the street toward the landing.

There was a sense of suppressed excitement in the girl’s attitude which was shared by the man beside her.

“Mr. Day!” she exclaimed, “did you see him drop from the balcony behind that house?”

“Yes,” he replied.

A babble of voices came echoing down the street. The soldiers ran from the house again, shouting angrily. They were joined by a crowd of villagers attracted to the scene by the uproar. The foreigner, apparently indifferent to the commotion behind him, continued his leisurely walk toward the landing. Betty Danford with difficulty controlled her excitement. “Why doesn’t he hurry!” she exclaimed and moved by an irresistible impulse she called to him : ‘ ‘ Run ! Run ! ”

The you^ig man glanced up. He saw a slender girl leaning over the boat railing, her pretty face, with anxiously parted lips, framed in a large rosetrimmed hat. Then he turned and scanned the street behind him.

An Escape and a Meeting

The soldiers had separated into groups of four. Some were examining the neighbouring houses; others were racing down the street. One group was headed for the landing.

As the young man approached the boat he lifted his hat. “I beg pardon,” he said, addressing Mr. Day. “May I ask if you have passed a house-boat floating our flag?” He pointed with a pleasant smile on his lean, brown face to the Stars and Stripes over the cabin roof. “My boat was to call for me here,” he explained; “it has failed to turn up.”

“We have not passed a house-boat,” replied Mr. Day, throwing a swift comprehensive glance at the young man’s attire. It was distinctly untidy. His appearance was that of a man who had dressed in extraordinary haste; his well-fitting coat was buttoned high to hide the absence of a vest; he was collarless; and his shoes though tied were not laced.

The soldiers had reached the rickety wooden pier. “Come aboard,” said Mr. Day with sharp abruptness.

“Thank you,” returned the young man politely; “I will wait here a few minutes,” and he seated himself on the side c r the pier.

The crew were squatting in the stern of the boat absorbed in gambling for their supper. When they heard the shouts of the soldiers speeding down the pier, they leaped to their feet to watch them curiously.

Betty Danford stood motionless beside her companions, her heart throbbing violently. She felt afraid for the young man. He however was bending down whittling a bit of wood unconcernedly. The soldiers passed him ; to them he was only an uninteresting foreigner. They questioned the crew in loud shrill tones, and were answered indifferently. They scrutinized the face and appearance of each man. Not satisfied with this inspection, they determined to search the boat. The Chinese captain protested vigorously. Betty saw the young man on the pier suddenly stop whittling and half rise, from his seat, then sink back again, his eyes, under his bent head, fixed with keen, alert look on the soldiers. The captain was pointing to the flag fluttering over the cabin. His voice was threatening and indignant; the crew endorsed his remarks vociferously. But when the soldiers pushed impudently past them the young man sprang up and vaulting the low railing confronted them on the deck. Mr. Day strode toward the soldiers. “Get out of this!” he said angrily. His gestures not his words were understood. One of the crew seized a huge oar to emphasize the command. It failed of its mark and descended with force on Mr. Day’s raised arm, which fell limply to his side. Filled with consternation at what he unwittingly had done and fearing the wrath of the captain who shrieked imprecations at him, the man leaped into the river and with swift strokes made for the opposite

An Escape and a Meeting shore. Whereupon the soldiers became convinced that the fleeing man was the one they were seeking. They rushed back to the pier to procure a row-boat in which to pursue him.

The young man sprang to Mr. Day’s side. “ Is your arm badly hurt?” he asked.

“ Broken,” returned the older man laconically, while his wife and Betty hovered anxiously and helplessly about him. The young stranger, with a certain awkward skill, set the injured man’s arm, applied splints procured from a wicker basket standing on deck, and bound it with strips of tablecloth Betty brought from the cabin. As he was occupied with this task, Mr. Day said abruptly, “Young man, it was you those soldiers were after.”

The remark was received composedly by the stranger, nor did he attempt to deny the assertion. “It is lucky for me they were not as keen observers as you,” he replied smiling quietly. Then he introduced himself. “My name is John Follingsbee. The soldiers you saw are encampd beyond the village. They are taking condemned prisoners to Tientsin for execution. I heard it rumoured that a — that someone for whom I had an important message was among the prisoners. I went to the camp, but was refused admittance and got in by strategy. Unfortunately I was detected coming out. The soldiers pursued me to the village where I eluded them by running into a friend’s house, docking my Chinese clothes, and escaping by the rear balcony while they were forcing an entrance.” He spoke slowly as if giving careful thought to his words.

Betty’s eyes shone. “Did you succeed in delivering the message?” she asked.

“Message?” he queried, then added quickly — “No — not yet.” A reply which might have prompted further questionings had not Mr. Day swayed unsteadily forward. Follingsbee caught him and half led, half carried him to the cabin lounge where he soon dropped asleep, exhausted. His wife kept watch beside him.

Out on the deck Betty explained to Follingsbee, a little shyly, that she was the daughter of Mr. Danford, the newly appointed Minister to China. Her father had preceded her to the capital, leaving her to follow more leisurely with their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Day, who after visiting the legation intended returning home by way of Japan.

As they sat and talked together a house-boat rounded a bend; it was coming downstream toward them. “That’s my boat!” exclaimed Follingsbee hailing it.

A note of regret was perceptible in his voice when, turning again to the girl, he said: “The parting of our ways has come. You and your friends go to Peking — I go to Tientsin.”

But Betty’s friends did not go to Peking. Mrs. Day, anxious that her husband should have medical attendance as soon as possible, determined to return to Tientsin and later sail for home. The

An Escape and a Meeting 7

decision, though undoubtedly wise for the Days, was at best an awkward one for Betty. This was duly recognized by her troubled chaperone. It was Follingsbee who solved their difficulty. “There is a small mission station three miles inland on the opposite shore. It may be that the missionaries there will be glad of an opportunity to visit their confreres in Peking and will accompany Miss Danford. In that event my house-boat is of course entirely at Mr. Day’s service,” and he volunteered to walk to the station and interview the missionaries. His offer was gratefully accepted. The boats crossed the river and were tied to the bank. Follingsbee, with long, swinging strides went crosscountry to the mission station. On his return he reported the successful result of his visit. The missionary and his wife had consented to accompany Betty and would arrive within an hour or two.

In the meanwhile the Days and their baggage were transferred to Follingsbee’s boat, and the injured man made comfortable in his new cabin. When the missionaries arrived and Betty had bidden her friends good-bye, she, turned to Follingsbee and said with sweet formality: “Whenever you come to Peking, father will be glad to see you.”

It was an erroneous statement though she did not know it.

“And you?” he asked before he could check himself.

“Yes, ” she returned smiling. When Betty smiled two charming dimples appeared in her soft cheeks. Follingsbee was thinking of them as his boat sailed down the Pei-ho, a phantom ship in the white moonlight.

Chapter II

Betty’s boat remained tied to the bank that night. An old man had hastened after the missionaries with the information that two of their flock — the old man’s son and grandson — had been dragged to prison. They were falsely accused of having assisted Fen-Sha, the young Chinese reformer under sentence of death in Tientsin, to organize in their Village one of his many “Young China Clubs” whose purposes were the promulgation of progressive ideas obnoxious to the Imperial Government.

The old man besought the missionaries to delay their departure for another day and intervene with the District Magistrate in behalf of his sons. The plea could not be refused. The matter was explained to Betty. It was decided that the missionaries should leave the boat at daybreak and return before the sun was three hours high.

Betty was sleeping when they left. Her Englishspeaking amah was not. She watched the missionaries till they passed from sight. Then she sought the captain and informed him that her 9 io The Breath of the Dragon

young mistress commanded him to proceed immediately on their journey. The woman had her own reasons for wishing to avoid further delay. A fair breeze was blowing; the sails were set and the house-boat made good speed.

When Betty wakened from her slumbers late that morning, the boat was well on its way up the river. The amah did not wait for Betty to discover the absence of the missionaries, but told her, smiling blandly, that they had sent word they would be unable to accompany her to Peking as their presence, for the next five days, was necessary at the trial of their converts. And Betty, believing her, was as gay and trustful as if her father were waiting for her around the next bend of the river. The wind sank as the day advanced and the crew took to the great oars. They chanted the familiar refrain :

“ Ay-ly-chy-ly A-ha-a-ah.”

Frequently the refrain was echoed from passing junks plying up and down the river. The Pei-ho represented the great highway connecting Tientsin with the capital, for the Peking railroad was as yet only a tentative suggestion.

While Betty watched her crew dextrously rowing with long clumsy oars, she suddenly became aware of a Chinese man and woman on the near bank. They were standing beside a cart. The man was waving his arms towards the boat and n shouting. The amah emerged quickly from the cabin and with a little squeal, meant to convey surprise, toddled to the railing. She also shouted something in shrill falsetto. Then she turned a long face to her young mistress. “Belongy two piecee cousin — hab ride chop-chop tellee me someting plenty bad. More better my talkee boatcoolies not makee boat walk for likki (a little) time, till two piecee cousin talkee my” (talk with me).

The order was given and the amah hurried ashore. In a few minutes she returned accompanied by the young woman and explained volubly to Betty that her mother, who lived in the neighbourhood, was sick unto death and had sent for her and that her cousin, who was an excellent maid, had volunteered to travel to Peking in her place. Betty’s protests were unavailing. The woman declared she must go to her mother. The new amah stepped forward and waited silently with downcast eyes. She was a girl of Betty’s own age, very handsome and with a certain indefinable air which somehow did not accord with her humble attire or attitude. Betty had never seen a Chinese girl like this before; she felt attracted towards her and was relieved that this was so, for it was apparent that she had no choice but to take her. The matter being settled, the house-boat again sailed up the river. But Betty returned to the cabin and with crinkled brow stared out of the window. Was the amah's sudden departure a trick? Had she deliberately planned to leave her in this manner? If so, what had been her object? She turned abruptly, determined to question the cousin. She saw her swiftly raise the maid’s mattress, lying on the floor, and thrust under it a small bundle, which till now had not left her hands. The amah appeared for the fraction of a moment disconcerted. But Betty was too intent on her own thoughts to notice her confusion. She plied her with questions, receiving no more satisfactory reply than a gentle shake of the head. The new amah knew no English! To hide her consternation Betty returned to the deck and resumed her contemplation of the landscape. She gazed at the sordid little mud villages squatting on the muddy banks and the flat plains stretching off interminably, punctuated with countless graves. She shivered. An indefinable oppression seized her. She seemed suddenly terribly alone. She thought the furtive-eyed boatmen were looking queerly at her. With a gasp which was half a sob she realized that she was frightened.

It may be the amah divined something of her thoughts, for that night in the cabin she touched her gently on the arm and looked at her with an expression so kindly and reassuring, Betty felt her confidence return. A certain sympathetic understanding seemed to spring up between them and Betty found that although the new amah was ignorant of every duty pertaining to a maid, her presence was a pleasure to her. The amah steadily refused to appear on deck, but in the cabin she did her utmost to entertain her mistress. Once she sang in a soft hushed voice :

tl A tortoise I see on a lotus flower resting,

A bird mid the reeds and the rushes is resting;

A light skiff propelled by some boatman’s fair daughter.

Whose song dies away o’er the fast-flowing water. ”

Betty could not understand the words but she liked the rippling melody of the song. She did not know that this strangely attractive maid of hers was singing a lyric written by the poet Li Po of the eighth century, unknown to any but the cultured few.

On the third day the aspect of the country changed ; there were wide cultivated fields around thriving hamlets and groves of handsome trees sheltering the tombs of the rich. Finally they reached Tung-chow where canal-boats were substituted for the commodious river house-boats. The Grand Canal has four levels; at each level the traveller has to change boats, mules, and drivers. Betty’s amah now developed a belated but valuable efficiency and this in spite of a toothache from which she appeared to be suffering, for she had swathed her face in bandages so large her features were barely discernible. She engaged the boats and superintended the removal of Betty’s baggage. Her own small bundle she held carefully clutched under her arm. A good-natured coolie attempted to take it. She turned upon him with blazing eyes and a peremptory command to be gone. At the fourth level when Betty had changed boats for the last stage of her journey and was watching the men transfer the baggage, which from this point was carried to Peking by carts, the amah threw a furtive glance around, then, unobserved, swiftly scooped up a handful of dust and dropped it in her handkerchief which she carefully tied and slipped into her bundle.

It was an hour later that she suddenly touched Betty’s arm and in a low tense voice exclaimed: “Peking! Peking!” Betty looked. Before her loomed a dark mass, a sombre length of unbroken masonry. Nothing indicated the presence of a great city beyond. No domes, or minarets, no monuments or towers rose above the imprisoning wall, its gloomy aspect heightened by tall battlements guarding every gateway.

A wide stretch of desolate, sandy road followed the length of the wall.

Near the entrance of the great gates alone were tokens of the busy life of the hidden city; clumsy, blue-topped carts rumbled in and out; men with empty baskets slung on poles across their shoulders stepped briskly along, deftly dodging the hoofs of galloping ponies, whose riders proclaimed themselves Mongols by their high fur caps and reckless but magnificent horsemanship

As the boat neared the city, Betty, with an expectant smile, watched for the sight of a familiar figure, but the amah disappeared in the little cabin. When the boat was tied to the bank, Betty ran ashore.

She watched eagerly the approach of a sedanchair, carried by two panting men; she thought she recognized the outline of her father’s tall, slim figure behind the silk curtains ; the bearers hurried past and a yellow-visaged Chinese peered out. Only then the thought flashed through her that the telegram might have been missent and that her father might not know of her arrival. Her daintiness shrank as she realized the necessity of riding in one of the dirty, shabby carts standing near. She eyed the garlic-reeking drivers with extreme disgust. “No doubt they are smallpoxy too,” she shuddered, then turned to tell her amah, in the pantomime language they had come to know so well, to engage the services of the cleanest one. She was not in sight. Betty went hurriedly on board the boat again and looked in the cabin. It was empty. The coolies, squatting on the deck smoking, stared at her curiously. Betty suddenly felt a disinclination to linger there a moment longer and hastened ashore. A beggar-woman, with dust-covered, dishevelled hair and horrid rags, was hobbling off towards the gates. The minutes passed and still the amah did not come. Betty watched some boys on the opposite bank playing a curious game of shuttlecock with their feet. A child ran past her flying a kite made of a live cricket fastened to the end of a string. The struggling little insect flopped against her cheek in its enforced flight. Betty started, and once more resumed her eager watch.

As the minutes lengthened to a quarter of an hour, then half an hour, and still no amah came, her confidence forsook her. Worn as she was with the travels of the day, and afflicted now with a sense of isolation, she had a struggle to keep back the tears. Unable to direct the cart-man as to her destination — even had she the courage to trust herself to him — she stood motionless, a sickening sense of impotence upon her. The day was declining. The whole western horizon was throwing forth flames of light, staining the white radiance of the clouds with crimson, gold, and purple.

Suddenly she became aware of an increased commotion near the gates. Everyone was hastening towards the city ; even the child with the living kite, who had returned to stare at her, dropped his cricket and rushed away with all the speed of his little yellow legs. Then she remembered that the great gates of the Chinese capital were closed soon after sundown. She was dimly conscious that she too must hasten towards the city, if she did not wish to pass the night beyond the outer walls of Peking. Already the stream of ingoing carts and men had ceased. She ran swiftly down the sandy road and slipped through the ponderous doors as they closed behind her with an ominous clang.

Pressing closely against the side of the deep stone-paved archway, Betty waited in the semiobscurity of the place to regain her breath and quiet the tumult of her throbbing thoughts. The wide thoroughfare before her presented a curious scene of noise and confusion. The centre of the street, raised sorile two feet above the sides, was thronged with men; they were trundling wheelbarrows and driving carts; they were astride of tiny donkeys, or swaying on the backs of gaunt, meek-eyed camels, laden with coal from Tartary; they were on rugged ponies and on stately mules, and<all were threading their way through the crowded space with marvellous dexterity. On the sides of the street, pedlars were bawling out their wares — barbers were plying their trade or twanging a species of jew’s-harp to attract customers, — beggars were beating their clap dishes before gaudily painted shops, where goods were still exposed for sale. There was laughing and wrangling among groups of idle men and fighting and snarling among mangy dogs.

Through this mixed multitude Betty knew she would never summon courage to pass. With a beating heart she left her hiding-place, hoping to find on the right or left of the archway a street less crowded than this broad avenue. She had no alternative but to wander forth in the forlorn hope of stumbling on a foreigner who would conduct her in safety to the legation. When she stepped from under the protecting arch, a ragged urchin, yellow-faced and impish, noticing her frightened looks and shrewdly divining her lost condition, shouted with delighted malice, “Quatsi, quatsi ” (foreign devil, foreign devil), and by his cries attracted other boys, who surrounded her, taking up the derisive yell. Several men, drawn by idle curiosity, joined the group. They were amazed to find the quatsi not a man, but a young woman, alone and on foot, and their voices soon swelled the shrill chorus of jeers.

Ere long a large crowd gathered about her. There was loud laughing and talking, scoffing and joking; a few men, boldly insolent, stooped to peer with leering eyes into her white face; others, with more curiosity than intended effrontery, examined her dress, her hat and gloves, for the clothing of a feminine quatsi excited their interest in proportion to the rarity of the opportunity afforded them for inspecting it.

Betty, pale with terror, looked wildly around for a passing Chinese of the upper class, who, seeing her thus harassed by the rude crowd, would, she thought, protect her. Two members of the literati — their classical calling indicated by large round spectacles — were driving by in handsome carts, their mafoos, or outriders, brandishing whips and shouting “ chichkuang nina" (Lend me your eyes) as they cleared the road before them. Betty’s pleading cry challenged the attention of the carts’ occupants. Their aristocratic serenity was not disturbed by troublesome curiosity. With undisguised apathy — a forcible contrast to the lively interest displayed by the rabble about her — they passed on.

Fatigue and fright had now exhausted Betty; she sank half fainting against the stone facing of the archway. In this dazed state she failed to notice a man, tall, with a suggestion of muscular strength, push his way through the crowd. His deep round tones in expostulation rang out above the shrill falsetto of the other voices. A shrinking backward of those near her told of some sudden change.

She saw the tall Chinese hastening towards her, stopping only once to plant a vigorous blow on the dirty, shaven pate of a yelling priest of Buddha whose frightened squeals as he ducked to avoid another knock vastly amused the crowd. Betty watched the man approach with mingled feelings of fear and hope. Would he be friend or foe? But when she heard him say in perfect English: “Keep close behind me while I clear the road of these beggars; I have a cart here,” her overwrought nerves like the tension of a too tightly drawn violin string gave way and hot tears of relief and weariness chased each other down her cheeks. He steered her safely through the crowd and with muscular arms lifted her bodily into the cart, then springing on the seat across the shafts, drove rapidly from the avenue into one of the numerous quiet side streets of the city, keeping the while an alert watch to the rear. Neither he nor Betty had spoken. Now he turned to her. “You are quite safe from further annoyance, Miss Danford.”

With the mention of her name, Betty flashed a quick look at him, then gave a sob of unutterable relief. “Mr. Follingsbee! Oh! I am so glad! So glad! How did you reach Peking? I didn’t think to find you here!”

“You didn’t find me — I found you. Priority of discovery entitles me to question you first.”

Betty smiled through her tears as he intended she should.

Then he asked where her companions were and why she was alone and on foot in the streets of Peking. As Betty related the concatenation of circumstances which placed her at the mercy of a street rabble the first hour of her arrival in the capital, his face grew hard and his mouth shut grimly. When she concluded her story, he said: “That amah of yours deserved hanging. She lied about the message; the missionary — I know the type — would not have sent it. She also lied about her mother — it is usually the grandmother’s funeral that serves the purpose. You say the second amah disappeared after you arrived?”

“Yes, and I feel so worried about her. What could have happened to her, Mr. Follingsbee?”

“Nothing; don’t waste your sympathies on her, Miss Danford. She was no doubt a Pekingese woman and anxious to return here. You furnished her with an opportunity of so doing free of expense; she is now probably engaged in explaining her tactics to an admiring homecircle. M

“The wicked little heathen!” exclaimed the girl wrathfully. The next minute, however, she shook her head and said: “No, I cannot believe she would do that. She was so sweet, so altogether lovely to look upon,” she added inconsequently.

“Did you see her leave the boat?”

“No, and there was not a woman in sight while I waited, except a horrid, dirty, beggar-woman.”

Follingsbee gave a violent start. For a moment he did not speak, then he asked carelessly: “The amah — the one who disappeared I mean— knew English, of course?”

His face indicated nothing of the tenseness with which he waited for her reply.

“She didn’t know a word of English. We used the pantomime language. You have no idea how graceful and clever she was.”

“We’re going into another rut. Watch out!” he warned as the cart gave a violent lurch sideways, then righted itself with a jerk. “Good! you will soon learn to balance yourself in these fifteenthcentury vehicles. You said the beggar-woman was young?”

Betty stared in perplexed surprise. “Beggar? What beggar?”

“The one you saw after leaving the boat.”

“Oh! that woman, I don’t know whether she was young or centuries old. I wasn’t interested in her, I was too miserable myself.”

“Of course/’ he said gently, and let his dark eyes rest a moment upon her pretty face — it had a drawn, tired look from the ordeal she had been through. “You will soon be home now. That gate is the Ha-ta-man it leads into the Tartar city where the legations are.”

“How strange it all seems! Are you sure you are not Kublai Khan and this isn’t the thirteenth century, and I really am Betty Danford of Sipuaw, Illinois?”

“I can satisfy you on the first point; the second I never feel quite sure of myself; the third I am more than half inclined to believe is a dream. I am not Kublai Khan and to prove it we will shake hands. Kublai Khan never did that you know.”

He gravely extended his hand and Betty, dimpling, let her own rest a fleeting instant within it.

“You haven’t told me yet how you got to Peking before I did,” she reminded him.

“An hour after I reached Tientsin with your friends — who by the way were just in time to catch the Japan steamer — I received news which compelled me to return immediately to Peking. I was lucky enough to fall in with the Customs mailcarrier — a Chinese friend of mine — and rode with him. The mail travels overland from Tientsin. The land route, though it is much worse than the river route, is also much shorter.”

“Do you always dress like — a— like that in Peking?” she asked.

“Not always,” he said smiling, “and never when I expect to meet young ladies from Sipuaw, Illinois.”

Mr. Danford was both amazed and delighted to see his daughter. As he had supposed her in the safe custody of the Days, the absence of specific news of their arrival — the telegram reached him the following day, the Chinese operator having missent it — had caused him no uneasiness.