“Those junks are getting pretty near,” said Roger. “Hullo. What’s that?”
“Wind coming,” said John.
“Not that,” said Roger. “Listen! There it goes again. That’s the second.”
“Boom.” The sound of a gong came from far away. “Boom … Boom …”
“The Taicoon Council,” said Miss Lee. “Chang is taking my place … No Miss Lee … No counsellor … Chang … a ten gong Taicoon.”
“Your men won’t like that, will they?” said Nancy. “It was always twenty-two for you. …”
“Boom … Boom … Boom …” The gong strokes sounded far away in Dragon Town where until that morning Miss Lee had ruled like her father before her.
“Boom … Boom … Boom …”
“Ten gong Taicoon,” said Miss Lee scornfully.
And then there was another “Boom” and then another, and another.
“Thirteen,” said Roger, “Fourteen … fifteen … sixteen …”
The old amah burst into tears again. Miss Lee listened as if she could not believe her own ears. The old counsellor watched her and combed his beard. Miss Lee stared far away inland, up the Dead Water, past the anchorage, over the low swamps to the place where the flagstaff showed above the trees. There, when the salute was ended, Miss Lee’s black flag with its golden dragon would climb into the sky.
Roger was still counting the booming of the gong. “Nineteen … twenty … twenty-one … twenty-two …”
Miss Lee gasped. As the gong sounded for the last time, Titty, watching through the telescope, saw a flag climbing up above the trees. It was not black and gold. There was green on it and orange. It was the tiger flag of the Taicoon Chang.
THE SHINING MOON
“He has told them I am dead,” said Miss Lee quietly.
There was a sudden distant sputter of rifle-shots. The old counsellor did not change the expression of his face, but his eyes looked for Miss Lee’s.
“Fighting in Dlagon Town,” she murmured. She gripped her Horace as if the book were a pistol holster and she were about to pull a pistol from it.
The old counsellor began talking, very quietly, looking far away, up the Dead Water, where, far away, they could see the tower over the gateway of the yamen, and, through the telescope, the tiger flag above the trees.
Miss Lee spoke, as quietly as the counsellor. “He thinks that is Wu and Chang fighting over who shall be chief … or Dragon men fighting both of them. … He says that means the end of Thlee Islands … fighting with each other … evellything my father stopped. … He says my father turns in his glave. He says that Chang and Wu cannot hold the islands together … only I, Miss Lee, my father’s daughter …”
The wind had reached the junks astern before it swelled the sails of the Shining Moon. They were coming up fast before the little junk had begun to leave a wake astern of her.
“Bang!”
A puff of smoke covered the nearest junk and something crashed into the water near enough to shower a spray over the poop of the Shining Moon.
“They’ll get us next time,” said John. “We’ll have to take to the boats again.”
Miss Lee, moving like quicksilver, had left the poop. She came out of the cabin with a black bundle.
“Let them fire on that,” she said.
Nancy was at the flag halyards in a moment, and just as a second cannon ball lobbed overhead, Miss Lee’s dragon flag of black and gold blew out from the Shining Moon’s masthead.
“Gosh, look at their steering!” said Roger.
Two of the big junks, one gybing, the other turning into the wind, very nearly rammed each other. The steersman of the other two had left their tillers. On all four people seemed to be running in all directions. Suddenly, on one of the junks, a man began beating a bell, then on another. Then on all four junks the bells were going. It was impossible to count the bellstrokes because they had not all begun at the same moment, but Nancy guessed what it was.
“Twenty-two gong Taicoon,” she said, turning to Miss Lee. “That’s for you.” But Miss Lee had gone again. She came out of the cabin with her pistol belt. She had a little difficulty with the buckle as she fastened on a bandolier of cartridges.
“I am going back,” she said. “He has told them I am dead. We will see …”
“Oh, look here,” said Captain Flint. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Quite all light,” said Miss Lee. “And Chang all long. Chang, a ten-gong Taicoon, sitting in my father’s chair.”
“But what about Cambridge?” said Titty.
“No more Camblidge,” said Miss Lee.
“Your books?” said Captain Flint.
“I shall not want them again,” said Miss Lee. “You will go on with your Latin on the voyage home.”
The old amah was laughing and crying at the same time. The counsellor had come slowly down from the poop. Running his fingers through his beard, he was saying something that sounded like a charm.
“What’s he saying?” asked Roger.
Miss Lee hesitated a moment. “Vir pietate glavis,” she said. “He quotes Confucius. He speaks of duty to a father. He is light. My place is here.”
The amah and the counsellor clambered down into the sampan.
“Good-bye, Loger. Good-bye, Tittee. Good-bye, Su-san. Good-bye, Peggee. Good-bye, Captain John. Good-bye, Nansee.” They all said “Good-bye” and Miss Lee went down into the sampan.
“Will you kill Chang?” asked Roger.
“No,” said Miss Lee. “Chang is a useful man. Good ten-gong Taicoon. But twenty-two gong Taicoon? No.”
“Put him in a cage like Captain Flint,” said Nancy.
“But let him have his canaries,” said Titty.
“All light,” said Miss Lee. “Put him in a cage with cana’ies. Let him out by and by. Good-bye, my velly good students.”
The sampan was moving off towards the biggest of the junks. The Shining Moon’s mainsail flopped overhead as she swung slowly round into the wind.
“Gosh!” said Captain Flint leaping for the poop. “Who’s at the tiller? We’re as bad as those chaps aboard the junks. Haul the foresail aback, John, and you Nancy, come and lend a hand in getting the main in. We’ll heave to and see what comes.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Roger.
“There’s a good wind,” said Susan.
“Stick where we are,” said Captain Flint. “We can’t do much, but I don’t quite like going on till we see she’s all right. That Chang might put up a scrap, though I don’t think he will. His own folk won’t let him. You saw what his junks did when she showed her flag … Tell you what. We’ll just hang about till she gets home. We’ll keep within sight of that flagstaff …”
Up on the poop of the Shining Moon, hove to, rising and falling in the gentle swell, they watched Miss Lee, with the counsellor, the amah and the signaller, go aboard the largest of the junks. They saw the sails trimmed, heard orders shouted, and watched the junks turn all together and sail off towards the entrance to the Dead Water where more junks, now the wind had come, were beating out to the attack.
“Why that way?” said John.
“No current once they get inside. Quickest way to put Miss Lee ashore. And she wants to stop the other fellows coming out.”
“Poor Miss Lee,” said Titty.
“Don’t know about that,” said Captain Flint. “She’s got a rum job, but she knows how to do it, and to have a job and know how to do it is one of the best things in this life. And if only she stops hankering after Cambridge …”
“I say,” said Roger. “Did you see Gibber? I knew he’d do it if he had a chance. Jolly lucky the counsellor didn’t see him. Look at him now.” And they all laughed as they saw the monkey, sitting on a coil of rope, solemnly combing with his long fingers the beard he had not got.
They watched the junks sail in and drive slowly up between the swamps. They saw the junks that were coming out turn and go in with them. They saw the sails nearer and nearer to th
e town. Suddenly there was a sound of guns.
“Fighting?” said Nancy. “Gosh, I hope she wins.”
“Doesn’t sound like fighting,” said Captain Flint. “Too regular.”
“It’s twenty-two guns they’re firing,” said Roger.
“Clever girl,” said Captain Flint. “Chang won’t have a man to help him by the time she steps ashore. That’s it, Titty. You keep an eye on that flagstaff.”
Half an hour later Titty, holding the telescope in one hand, waved the other. The tiger flag was tumbling down into the trees. The black and gold dragon climbed in its place. And then, “Boom … Boom … Boom …” They heard the faraway gong sounding in the yamen.
“She’s done it,” said Captain Flint. “Miss Lee, twenty-two gong Taicoon, is back in her own place. I wouldn’t much like to be Chang at this minute. That cage is none too comfortable. It’s that miserable perch instead of a seat … Well, well. Bring the foresail across, Captain Nancy. Ease out the main, Captain John, and let draw. We’ll be getting on our way …”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Arthur Ransome was born in Leeds in 1884 and went to school at Rugby. He was in Russia in 1917, and witnessed the Revolution, which he reported for the Manchester Guardian. After escaping to Scandinavia, he settled in the Lake District with his Russian wife where, in 1929, he wrote Swallows and Amazons. And so began a writing career which has produced some of the real children’s treasures of all time. In 1936 he won the first ever Carnegie Medal for his book, Pigeon Post.
Also by Arthur Ransome
Swallows and Amazons
Peter Duck
Swallowdale
Winter Holiday
Coot Club
Pigeon Post
We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea
Secret Water
The Big Six
Great Northern?
The Picts and the Martyrs
THE ARTHUR RANSOME SOCIETY
The Arthur Ransome Society (‘TARS’) was formed in 1990 with the aim of celebrating Ransome’s life and works, and of encouraging both children and adults to take part in outdoor pursuits – especially sailing and camping. It also seeks to sponsor research, to spread Ransome’s ideas in the wider community and to bring together all those who share the values and the spirit that he fostered in his storytelling.
The Society is based at the Abbot Hall Museum of Lakeland Life and Industry in Kendal, where Ransome’s desk, favourite books and some of his personal possessions are kept. There are also close links with the Ruskin Museum at Coniston, where the original Amazon is now kept. The Society keeps in touch with its members through its journal, Mixed Moss, and its newsletter, Signals.
Regional branches of the Society have been formed by members in various parts of the country, including Scotland, the Lake District and North, East Anglia, the Midlands, the South and South West Coast, and contacts are maintained with overseas groups in America, Australia and Japan. Membership fees are modest, and fall into four groups – for those under 18, for single adults and for whole families, and for those over 65. If you are interested in knowing more about the Society or would like to join it please write for a membership leaflet to The Secretary, The Arthur Ransome Society Ltd, The Abbot Hall Gallery, Kendal, Cumbria LA9 5AL, or email to [email protected].
THE ARTHUR RANSOME TRUST
“I seem to have lived not one life, but snatches from a dozen different lives.”
Arthur Ransome wrote twelve adventures about the Swallows and Amazons and their friends. He also wrote many other books and articles. He had a lot to write about, because in “real” life he was not only an author, but also a sailor, journalist, critic, story teller, illustrator, fisherman, editor, bohemian, and war reporter, who played chess with Lenin, married Trotsky’s secretary, helped Estonia gain independence and aroused the interest of both MI6 and MI5.
The Arthur Ransome Trust (ART) is a charity (no: 1136565) dedicated to helping everybody discover more about Arthur Ransome’s fascinating life and writings. Our main goal is to develop an “Arthur Ransome Centre” in the Lake District. If you want to know more about Arthur Ransome, or about ART’s projects, or think you would like to help us to put Ransome on the map, you can visit us at:
www.arthur-ransome-trust.org.uk
[email protected]
MISSEE LEE
AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 47891 2
Published in Great Britain by RHCB Digital,
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
A Random House Group Company
This ebook edition published 2011
Copyright © Arthur Ransome, 1941
First Published in Great Britain 1941 by Jonathan Cape
The right of Arthur Ransome to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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Missee Lee: The Swallows and Amazons in the China Seas Page 30