by John Harris
The sergeant was galloping at full speed towards the column now, but it was hopeless immediately because the column had broken in collision, so that the rescue party found themselves trying to defend a constantly shifting formation that was impossible to keep together. Many of the missionaries had panicked at once and the women began to snatch at the children. Several of them dropped to the badly aimed bullets from the Boxers and the charge came on, the battle cries mingling with the moans of the wounded, the screams of the women and the wailing of children. In no time it was bedlam. Women were running for the woods, but the Boxers had split up and were circling them, whirling their huge curved swords as they rounded them up like cattle. A woman with a child in her arms was caught by a huge Chinese stripped to the waist. The sword swung and Willie saw blood spurt. Zychov’s sergeant had managed to gather a few of the refugees round him and was trying hopelessly to defend them with the dozen men of the vanguard, but they were overwhelmed and, horrified, Willie saw them go down under the rush, and the huge swords rising and falling.
By this time there was no longer any order in the column, and men, women and children were scattering in all directions, followed by groups of red-sashed men yelling their hatred. The old man who had first argued with them stumbled away, his hands in the air, fleeing from a man with a gun, but he ran straight into another Boxer and, as the huge sword whirled, the old man’s hands leapt into the air from his arms.
Waiting for the girl, Willie had become separated from the rest of the column and it was obvious there was no hope of rejoining it. The Boxers were between them and were working their way through what was left of the missionaries.
Horrified, Willie looked round and found the girl standing there, as shocked as he was, petrified by what was happening, still holding her shoe in her hand.
A hundred yards away, Frisbee was working the bolt of his rifle furiously when he stopped dead, a look of surprise on his face. Willie watched, wondering what was wrong because he could see no wound, then suddenly blood gushed from Frisbee’s mouth. He turned slowly, his eyes bewildered, and stared at Willie almost as if he could see him and were accusing him, then he crumpled slowly to the ground.
Suddenly there seemed to be no sign of anyone still on their feet, just groups of maddened Chinese screaming their hatred and hacking and stabbing in the dust. The missionaries all seemed to have been cut down, and among the lunging, screaming Chinese Willie could see the two guides who had led them from Peking. His opinion had been dead right.
Swinging round again, he saw the girl still standing there, and, without thinking, he grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the trees.
‘My shoe!’
‘Bugger your shoe!’ he snapped.
Plunging into the undergrowth, gasping and shocked, he went on running until a root tripped him and flung him down. He was still holding the girl’s hand and she went down on top of him. They lay together, dazed and winded, alongside a bush, trying to get their breath. Then, recovering his senses, Willie scrambled under the bush and dragged her after him.
‘My shoe! My shoe!’
‘For Christ’s sake!’
Dragging her through the bush so that it tore at her clothes and scratched her face, he rose at the other side and plunged deeper into the trees. Starting to run again, indifferent to the twigs and branches that snatched and slapped at them, they pressed deeper into the wood until they finally realised it was dark and they were safe. In the distance they could hear the furious high screams of the Boxers, still hacking at the corpses of the refugees.
Stumbling through the trees, they fell into an unseen ditch and rolled together to the bottom, clutched in each other’s arms. For a long time, they lay still, their breath rasping in their throats, then Willie became aware of the girl lifting her head. In the last of the light he saw that the dust on her face was runnelled with tears.
‘They’re all dead,’ she whispered. ‘I knew them all.’
‘I knew a few of them,’ Willie said, thinking of Frisbee.
‘What shall we do?’
‘Not much we can do except keep our heads down.’
‘I’m frightened.’
‘So am I.’
‘I’m cold too.’
It had been hot all day so he assumed it was shock that had gripped her, and he put his arms round her and leaned back against the slope of the hollow, murmuring to her.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he kept saying.
‘It’ll be all right.’ It was only when he noticed her steady breathing that he realised she was fast asleep.
Five
It was growing daylight when Willie woke. Almost at once, as he blinked himself back to consciousness, he became aware of a weight against him and a tightness around his waist. Then he realised the weight was the girl’s and the tightness was because at some point during the night she had awakened and, terrified, had clutched at him for reassurance.
As he stirred, she opened her eyes. For a long time they stared at each other, neither of them sure what to say.
‘Are we all right?’ the girl asked eventually.
‘I think so,’ Willie said. ‘At least we’re alive and nobody’s here.’
She was silent for a second then her eyes filled with tears. ‘They’re all dead,’ she said again.
‘We’re not,’ Willie said stoutly, trying to appear confident beyond his years.
‘What are we going to do?’
Willie didn’t know. He had never been thrust into such a situation before. Even in Peking he had taken orders from other people who knew more about things than he did.
‘Will any of them be alive?’ The girl asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps we ought to see.’
Willie nodded. ‘I’ll go.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ Willie’s voice was harsh. Having seen at close quarters in Peking what happened when a man was caught by the Boxers, he had no wish for her to see it too. He had no wish to see it himself for that matter, but he felt he ought to try. ‘You stay here. I’ll go.’
‘Don’t leave me!’
‘I’ve got to go. Stay out of sight. Keep an eye on me. If anything happens make your way south.’
‘Which way’s south?’
He explained. ‘I think it’s safer going south. But keep away from the river and big towns.’
She didn’t argue, but he could see she was trembling. Sighing, he picked up the rifle and headed for the road. Eventually she began to follow, moving just behind him until he reached the road, where he signalled her to remain hidden.
As he left the trees, he knew he was wasting, his time. He could see the road littered with bodies, with more bodies scattered about on either side. Nervously he stepped from the trees. He preferred to remain out of sight, but somehow he felt he must find out what had happened to Frisbee and the rest of his party because, if he ever got back to Peking, somebody would be bound to ask.
There were a lot of crows and kitehawks about, big ungainly birds lurching about among the bloodstained bodies. The first person he came across was the old woman who had first fallen, a long way back from the others. But now her head was missing.
As he moved towards them, the birds lumbered into the sky like drunken undertakers and when he thought of what they had been doing, his stomach lurched. Among the bodies were their pathetic belongings, a bag containing a little food, a sack containing pots and pans, the ugly garments they all wore. Then he found Frisbee still lying on his back, staring at the sky, his big moustache clotted with blood. Moving further, he found Zychov’s sergeant surrounded by a few of his party, as if he’d rallied them for a last stand. They’d all been chopped and slashed, but the hatred seemed to have been chiefly reserved for the missionaries and the Chinese converts, whose bodies, even those of the children, had been hacked to pieces. His face drawn and white, his stomach heaving, he turned back, aware that he could do nothing and was unlikely to find anyone
alive. What hatred the missionaries had engendered! How stupid they’d been, to assume that, because they believed in kindness and love, people who’d been pagans for centuries would accept them, too.
Reaching the trees again, he saw the girl rise up out of the bushes. She seemed to sense his nausea and horror and she moved towards him and took his arm, guiding him back into the trees. For a long time he sat on a fallen log, unable to speak, unable to absorb the shock of the massacre, then the girl’s voice came to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I shouldn’t have suggested it.’
‘It’s all right.’ He held out his hand. ‘I found your shoe.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the shoe and slipped it on. ‘What are we going to do?’
Willie managed to rouse himself. ‘We ought to move on,’ he said. ‘Go south. Away from Peking. In case they send anybody to find out if they left anybody alive.’ He remembered Frisbee and the others, all braver men than he was, and the hacked bodies of men, women and children.
‘Why in the name of God,’ he burst out, ‘didn’t you come in before?’
She stared at him with large eyes full of tears. ‘They didn’t consult me. I just did what I was told.’
‘What?’
‘Teaching. Nursing. A bit of religion.’
‘But staying there! Thirty miles from safety! You could all have got in if you’d started in time. Others did.’
‘It was nothing to do with me,’ she said. ‘Besides, they kept waiting for others who were further out. They wanted to collect everybody and all move off together. By the time everybody came in it was too late.’
‘It was bloody crazy!’
‘It wasn’t my fault! I told you.’ She snapped the words at him, her face pink.
‘You’re all crazy!’ The thoughts that had occurred to him as he had stared down at the hacked bodies swept over him. ‘Thinking you could push your bloody silly religion down the throats of people who didn’t want it.’
‘Some did.’
‘Not many.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Not many.’
‘Then why did they do it?’
‘Because they felt they had to.’
‘Did you?’
‘I heard the call.’
‘Call?’ Willie’s laugh was slightly hysterical. ‘A call to die! A fat lot of good it did you all.’
Unexpectedly, she swung her arm back and delivered a flat-handed swipe at him. It caught his cheek with tremendous force and jerked his head back. Blinking the tears from his eyes, he saw her staring at him, horrified, then her eyes filled with moisture and she crouched in front of him, sobbing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that. Not after you saving my life and all. But you shouldn’t have gone on at me.’
He didn’t know how to excuse himself and she did it for him. ‘It was seeing all those bodies,’ she said. ‘That’s what did it. Oh, Lord Jesus, what shall we do?’
He knelt and put his arms round her, holding her close to him, allowing her to sob on his shoulder. Crooning encouragement, he stroked her hair until the sobs died. Then suddenly, abruptly, she sat up.
‘It’s no good staying here,’ she said.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It isn’t.’ He rose stiffly, like an old man, and held out his hand to pull her up. Standing alongside him, she stared at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
‘It’s me who ought to be sorry,’ he pointed out. ‘I shouldn’t have said those things.’
‘It’s understandable,’ she admitted. ‘A lot of people think those things. It seems silly to some people. It seemed silly sometimes even–’ she stopped dead, touched his hand and gestured towards the road. ‘I think we ought to go, don’t you?’
Willie shuddered. ‘Not that way,’ he said. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Frisbee and the old beheaded woman and the butchered children again. ‘Let’s go through the wood and see what happens on the other side.’
She nodded. ‘Shouldn’t we try to look like Chinese,’ she said. ‘You especially.’
What she said made sense. ‘I’ll go and find something,’ he said.
Forcing himself back to the road, he picked up one of the all-embracing garments that were lying about. Putting it over his arm, he picked up two of the conical straw hats, then, steeling himself, he moved towards Zychov’s sergeant and detached his revolver from the lanyard round his neck. It was a big Russian-made Nagant, similar to one he’d been using in Peking, and for a while he stared at the Russian words on the butt, then he loaded it with cartridges from the dead man’s pouch and thrust it into his belt. Filling his pockets with the ammunition scattered during the brief fight, he was just about to turn away when he saw a map case that Zychov must have thrown aside. Dragging out the maps, he stuffed them in his shirt, pulled a pair of binoculars over the Russian sergeant’s bloodied head and strung them round his own neck. It might help, he thought, to see other people before other people saw them.
He was pale and drawn when he returned to the girl, carrying over his back a sack containing his findings and a few scraps of food he’d discovered. She helped him into the long Chinese gown and watched him checking the things in the sack.
‘Shouldn’t we darken our faces?’ he said.
‘With what?’
‘Mud.’
‘There is no mud.’
‘I can soon make some,’ Willie said bluntly.
She turned away as he unbuttoned his trousers, then he stirred the dust with his foot and rubbed his hand into the dirt and spread it on his face. He saw her wince but she did the same. In their shabby, torn clothes, they might now just pass for Chinese peasants.
‘Ready?’
She nodded and, as he set off, she automatically took up a position behind him, as if that were her proper place, her head down, meek again as she had been before their argument.
They were soon through the wood, and began to head across the rolling plain, trying to keep to the valleys for safety. Occasionally, they saw peasants, once a man riding a horse who gave them a fright, until they realised he was heading away from them. On another occasion, they passed a boy leading an ox and then a man pushing a single-wheeled barrow on which two young women were sitting.
Neither Willie nor the girl spoke much and all the time the girl kept behind Willie, which was where a Chinese woman would walk with a man. Fear kept them moving and it was only towards evening that Willie realised how tired he was. He stopped and looked back. The girl was still walking, but her head was down and she was weaving from side to side. As she drew level she stumbled and almost fell. Catching her, he helped her to the side of the road where he sat her down on a rock.
‘I’m tired,’ she excused herself. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘My fault,’ Willie mumbled. ‘Didn’t realise. I think we ought to find somewhere to sleep.’
‘Can we eat first?’
In his anxiety to put as much distance as he could between them and the horror on the road near Shantu, he had forgotten about food. He nodded and indicated a small hill, covered with trees.
‘Up there.’
His legs were stiff with walking and the girl could barely move. He took her weight and helped her into the trees, then dragged from the sack a scrap of bread and cooked meat and handed it to her. Taking his own share he began to eat hurriedly. Neither of them spoke, but, as he finished his first mouthful, his eyes fell on the piece of meat he held in a dirty hand. It had been hastily cooked and was almost raw, and suddenly it reminded him of what he’d seen on the road. His stomach heaved and he had to jump up and move away to be sick. Returning, wiping his mouth, he apologised.
‘I understand,’ the girl said.
‘I’ll go to the stream,’ he said. ‘Douse my head. I’ll feel better then.’
Among the things he had salvaged was a tin cup and, returning with it full of water, he handed it to the girl. ‘Drink it,’ he s
aid. ‘I’ll fill it up again.’
‘I don’t need much,’ she said. After a few sips, she handed the cup back to him and he realised she had deliberately refrained from drinking too much, so he wouldn’t have to walk down the hill again.
The plain seemed totally empty so Willie searched the copse for a hollow out of the dry, dusty wind that was blowing. Throwing down the sack, he shuffled the things inside it until it made a pillow, then sat down with his back to it. The girl sat down alongside him. Without a word, Willie took her in his arms and lay back. She didn’t argue and simply crept close to him, her hand on his chest, her head against his shoulder. She was asleep within minutes.
When Willie woke, the girl was staring at him. Her features were good, he realised, under the streaky mud on her cheeks. Her nose was small and her mouth full and well shaped with a short upper lip. Her hair was black and straight and her eyes were dark brown, and long-lashed. Thank God she wasn’t blonde, like Emmeline, he thought.
She continued to stare at him, appraising him, taking in his features. For a moment she said nothing as she saw he was awake, then she lifted her eyes to his. ‘I don’t even know your name,’ she said.
‘It’s Willie,’ he said. ‘William really, but my Ma came from Glasgow and up there a lot of Williams are Willies. It’s not a name for a baby.’ He gestured. ‘It always seemed a bit soft to me.’
‘No.’ She cocked her head to one side, weighing the name, considering it. ‘I like Willie. It’s an honest name, a–’ she paused ‘–a comfortable name.’
It was the first time anyone had ever thought anything like that, so Willie didn’t argue.
‘It’s Willie Sarth,’ he said. ‘Ordinary sort of name for an ordinary sort of cove.’
‘You’re not ordinary,’ she said. ‘We’re only here because of you. What do you do?’