by Peter Watt
‘I have succeeded in hiring a sampan and supplies,’ Tung said. Both John and Andrew peered curiously at the person who accompanied him. In the darkness they could make out a slim shape, shorter than Tung. ‘The girl with me is Liling,’ Tung added, sensing the two men’s curiosity. ‘She is the daughter of the head fisherman and part of the deal is that she will take us up as far as Tientsin. She knows how to handle a sampan in the river and knows the river itself.’
John nodded. It made sense.
Liling led them to a sampan big enough to carry them comfortably. The low-slung boat even had a shade cover, a sail as well as oars. Containers of water and dried fish were stowed inside. Before dawn they had launched the sampan and by first light Andrew was able to discern the young woman’s appearance as she rowed the boat upriver. She was about sixteen years old, slim under her billowing trousers and shirt, and had a beautiful serene face with large, dark eyes. Andrew sat at the bow to observe her more fully as the blazing sun rose over the horizon. Liling had not said a word since joining them and shyly avoided their frank appraisals. It was not as if she appeared to be frightened by the three strangers so much as wary. It had not been her idea to accompany the strangers but the sight of the money produced to her father had won over the terrified man, who directed his eldest daughter to go with Tung.
Liling was aware of her unimportance to her father. It was not that he did not show great affection but she was a girl and not as crucial to her father and mother’s future support as a son might be. At least by volunteering his daughter’s services to guide the strangers she was contributing to the family income in a time of great uncertainty. When she did glance coyly at the young Chinese man in the bow of her family’s sampan she noticed that he had a kind and handsome face. From his accent and the way he spoke in her language she realised that he was not from her part of the country. She knew Tung was, however, from the way he spoke and acted. Before long she had gleaned from listening to them that the older and younger of the two men were father and son. When she heard a foreign language spoken by them she realised that her suspicions were confirmed. The two men spoke in a language completely unintelligible to her. Now she wondered if she should be afraid of the situation she found herself in. But what she could see in the mysterious young man’s face was not threatening. It was more like admiration and this made her feel more secure.
Liling continued to row and when the river breeze picked up Tung helped her to raise a bamboo-slatted sail. They passed flatlands of rice paddies where they could occasionally see a mule and a woman together hauling a plough, guided by a man. Liling noticed that the young man took in all he saw with an expression of great interest as they passed villages made of adobe brick and straw along the riverbanks.
‘Liling,’ Andrew said to her. ‘That means “beautiful jade tinkle”.’
Startled at being addressed, Liling turned to look directly at the young man. ‘I do not know,’ she replied. ‘It is just a name.’
‘My name is Andrew,’ Andrew said gently. ‘My father is called John.’
‘I have never heard names like that before,’ Liling said, drawn into conversation by this strange man. ‘You do not live here.’
‘No,’ Andrew sighed. ‘But I feel as if I have come home.’
Shy at being engaged by the young man, Liling dropped her eyes under the broad conical hat she wore. Tung had produced the same kind of headwear for himself and his companions before the rising of the sun, which was now a blazing ball of fire. They were lucky for the occasional breeze off the river.
‘God almighty!’ John swore softly, drawing the other three’s attention to what had caused his blasphemy. From the shore a sampan filled with Imperial Chinese soldiers was being directed their way and it was apparent that the water patrol was going to intercept them, with the intention most likely of searching their boat. Since the arms and money they carried would mark them for special attention, as Tung had warned, they would be viewed as potential enemy.
‘What do we do?’ Andrew asked, staring at the approaching sampan with seven soldiers aboard, all armed with modern rifles. ‘They have us trapped.’
John’s mind was racing. They had surprise on their side and could either attempt to shoot it out or try to bluff their way upriver. The latter option did not seem to be much of a choice as the soldiers would no doubt want to search their boat. The former option was not much better because it would attract attention from the shore where John could see many other soldiers gazing with curiosity at the unfolding scene on the river. In desperation he cast about the terrain as he calculated the other boat was still about five minutes away before it intercepted them. At this stage it did not appear the soldiers were alert to any danger as no doubt they were carrying out a routine inspection and considered their boat as what it appeared – just another sampan going upriver.
But John also knew he had only seconds to make a decision if he were to commit them to a timely course of action. The soldiers in the sampan were drawing closer.
• • •
‘Dump the guns over the side,’ John hissed. ‘Tung will do all the talking.’
Surprised, Tung looked up at John. It was obvious that the tough bushman that he had come to learn about from Andrew was putting their lives in his hands. Turning away from the approaching boat, the three men slipped their revolvers into the river, their action unobserved by the soldiers on the patrol boat.
‘Stay calm and say nothing,’ Tung whispered as the sampan drew alongside.
‘You people,’ a soldier called. ‘Where are you from and what is your business here?’
‘We are poor fishermen from Taku,’ Tung replied, standing and bowing respectfully. ‘We are travelling to Tientsin to attend the funeral of an honourable uncle.’
The questioner was obviously in charge of the contingent in the army sampan. Tung thought that he noticed a frown on the man’s face at his answer.
‘We will come onto your boat,’ the soldier said and gestured to a couple of his men to scramble aboard.
John and Andrew sat still, avoiding eye contact as peasants should in the presence of their superiors. The soldiers ogled Liling, who attempted to make herself look insignifi-cant by looking down at the floor of the boat. At least their sampan smelled like a fishing boat.
Tung sat down while the two soldiers poked with the barrels of their rifles at their meagre stock of supplies. He was acutely aware that he had a fortune in banknotes in a leather purse tied to his waist under his shirt and that John and Andrew still had a substantial amount of gold and silver coins similarly concealed.
‘Honourable master,’ Liling suddenly said. ‘We carry dried fish that you may use.’ She pulled up a plank to reveal the strips of fish in a small hold. ‘It is not much, but a gift to the Empress and her servants.’
The officer glanced at her and nodded his head to his two men who reached into the hold to take the fish. Andrew caught Liling’s eye and she saw an expression of surprise mixed with respect. It pleased her.
‘Be careful going to Tientsin,’ the Chinese soldier said gruffly, addressing Liling as he eyed the welcome addition to his men’s meagre diet. ‘The countryside is full of Boxer rebels who would take you for their amusement, while the men they would take their time killing.’
Liling gave a short bow, her eyes downcast. The two soldiers scrambled aboard their own boat and it pulled away to return to the shore.
When it was a good way off John felt that he could breathe again. ‘Phew, a close call, but thanks to Liling we made it.’
Tung also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. ‘You did well, girl,’ he said to Liling.
‘All are hungry in the land,’ Liling dismissed. ‘Food is more important than money when you are starving, and I could see that the soldiers were hungry.’
‘Very observant,’ Andrew mused. ‘You may have saved our lives.’
Liling did not answer. The praise was more than she had ever had before from any man and it w
as almost overwhelming. After all, she might only be a woman but she knew hers was a mind as sharp as any man’s.
As they continued upriver towards Tientsin, John prayed that the remainder of their journey would be uneventful. They still had their money but with the loss of the revolvers they were now defenceless.
Early Summer, June 1900
Pekin
The guards were drinking and Naomi had hoped that they would forget their captives for a while but her hope was shattered when three Boxers staggered from the house adjoining the courtyard to drag two of the girls inside. When the courtyard was clear of guards, Meili pulled Naomi into the shadows, calculating that they might not be missed for the moment.
‘We go now,’ Meili whispered. ‘It is our only hope.’
Naomi stood, stretching her legs, stiff from being forced by their guard to sit all day. Darkness was their friend as Meili had predicted and they made their way along the stone wall to a small gateway apparently unguarded. Cautiously, Meili peered around the open gate to focus on the narrow deserted laneway. She was pleased to see that there was no sign of any Boxers and tugged Naomi’s torn dress sleeve. ‘Come,’ she said with quiet urgency. ‘We walk away now.’
Naomi followed and found herself walking beside Meili. Neither knew where they were in the city but Naomi prayed that they might stumble on a broader street she might recognise.
They had only gone a short distance from the place of their imprisonment when two figures loomed from the night. The men walking towards them were deep in conversation and Naomi felt her heart seemingly freeze in her breast when she recognised them as Boxers.
‘Keep walking,’ Meili hissed, taking Naomi by the elbow.
The distance between them and the Boxers was less than ten paces and at first the men appeared more interested in their own conversation.
‘Good evening,’ Meili bid the two men when they were within a couple of paces. The men stopped walking to focus on the two women who had loomed out of the dark.
‘Where are you women from?’ one of the men asked suspiciously.
‘We are from the house commanded by Han,’ Meili answered. ‘He has sent us out to fetch food for the men.’
‘Han has sent you?’ the man continued.
‘Yes, Han,’ Meili replied calmly while Naomi fought to control the tremor attempting to rack her body. ‘I am his number one woman.’
The questioner turned to his companion, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Well, be quick,’ he said, turning to Meili. ‘Pox Face is not a patient man.’
‘We will,’ Meili answered, tugging at Naomi’s sleeve.
With her parting words, Meili nudged Naomi down the laneway, leaving the two Boxers to continue on their walk.
‘They are bound to speak to Han,’ Meili said. ‘We must hurry.’
They picked up their pace but avoided the almost overwhelming desire to run. Neither did they dare look back lest the two men had watched them disappear down the laneway. Within a couple of minutes they emerged onto a broader street and even in the dark Naomi recognised where they were.
‘We are saved,’ she said. ‘This street is only a quartermile from the legation. If we turn right at the next street we will be able to seek sanctuary.’
Meili cast her companion a grateful look. She had chosen wisely to help this woman, she thought.
Picking up their pace they hurried along the eerily deserted street towards the intersection that would direct them to safety. They had only gone a few paces when Meili heard the noise. It was the sound of many sandalled feet slapping on the cobbled stones and it was coming in their direction.
‘Run!’ she shrieked.
Naomi hesitated, the food that she had consumed as a captive welling up in her throat to spill onto the roadway. The pain was crippling and she suddenly found that she had no strength to react to Meili’s urgent order. Before she could follow Meili she felt herself gripped by rough hands.
Groaning in her sickness and despair, Naomi did not attempt to resist her captors before she was overcome with another bout of nausea and vomiting.
‘You will pay for your resistance,’ a voice snarled in her face. Naomi recognised Han’s voice. ‘When I have finished with you – you will pray to your god for death.’
In her current state Naomi was already begging for eternal release. Between bouts of vomiting she whispered one word over and over again: ‘Father.’
• • •
She was dragged roughly back to the courtyard. The food poisoning gripped her and even her captors realised that they would have to stop to allow her to be sick or void her bowels. The way she felt she did not care if they killed her on the spot but Han seemed to want her alive, his threat echoing in Naomi’s mind.
Dumped in the courtyard, Naomi curled up on the cobblestones and wept piteously. She was alone, gravely ill and shamed. Her prayers were being ignored and she wondered if God cared. Then a gentle hand touched her on the brow and Naomi sensed an angel had been sent from God to comfort her.
‘Naomi, it is I, Meili,’ the voice said, soothing her shattered spirit.
‘Meili,’ Naomi mumbled. ‘Is it really you?’
‘I was not able to get away,’ Meili replied, stroking Naomi’s matted hair. ‘Han has promised to severely punish me for attempting to escape. Next time we must succeed – or die trying.’
Meili’s presence and her indomitable spirit were the only tiny bright rays in Naomi’s dark world. She was unaware that only a hundred yards from where she lay, Lieutenant Robert Mumford, accompanied by four heavily armed British marines and a Chinese interpreter, was even now searching for her.
Robert had chosen to sally out at night to begin his search. By day his presence in the Chinese quarter would have been more apparent, although his young and inexperienced soldiers were not keen on the idea of being out in the darkness, deep in territory that belonged to the Boxers. They had heard the stories of how the Boxers liked to torture those who fell into their hands and even the reassurances from their officers that the situation was under control did not help at the moment in the deserted streets and back alleys they patrolled.
Robert tacitly agreed with his men’s uneasy comments concerning the lurking enemy. He had concluded that they were in the eye of the storm and that the Boxer movement was far from being impressed with the European show of force. He knew it was only a matter of time before the full fury of the rebellion would be seen and when it was he did not hold out much hope for their survival within the walls of the European legation. At least he could use the lull before the coming fiery storm to search for any sign of Naomi.
‘This bad part,’ Kai said quietly. ‘Boxers have place here.’
‘How do you know?’ Robert queried the Chinese interpreter.
‘My brother got shop here,’ Kai replied. ‘He tell me before he go with family to country.’
‘Do you know anyone else around here?’ Robert asked.
‘Got cousin who live in house there,’ Kai said, pointing to an ominously dark and silent house at the end of the alley.
‘Then he would be in a good position to know what is going on,’ Robert said, unholstering his service issue revolver. ‘We will go in and speak to him.’
Kai appeared reluctant to carry out the task. The silence in the normally noisy streets was terrifying.
‘Well, men, keep a sharp lookout,’ Robert said, turning to the soldiers who were gripping their rifles and watching wide-eyed in every direction. ‘I am going into the house at the end of the street with our interpreter.’
Satisfied that his contingent had taken up sentry posts in doorways covering the narrow alley, Robert followed Kai into the house through a narrow opening that served as a front door.
Inside, it was pitch black and Robert trusted in Kai’s knowledge to lead them deeper into the house until they came to a small courtyard lit by a lantern slung from a rail on an overhanging verandah.
‘Kwan,’ Kai called softly. ‘Kwan, are you here
?’
A rustling from behind caused Robert to swing his pistol towards the source of the movement only to realise that it was a very large rat. When it squealed at the intruders, Robert realised how frightened he was and was glad that he had not fired, lest he frighten his highly strung troops outside and cause them to either flee or burst in shooting.
‘Is it you, cousin Kai?’ a voice whispered from behind a thick support post.
Both men turned in the direction of the voice. ‘It is I,’ Kai replied. Robert had not understood the exchange in Chinese. ‘Cousin Kwan,’ Kai said, turning to Robert. ‘He will talk to us.’
A figure emerged from behind the big pole and Robert could see a man not unlike his interpreter in appearance.
‘The British officer with me will not harm you,’ Kai said. ‘He merely seeks information.’
Kwan looked warily at Robert, who had lowered his pistol to appear less intimidating.
‘Ask your cousin if there are groups of Boxers in the area,’ Robert said.
Kai did so and replied, ‘Cousin Kwan says many Boxers in street next to this one. They have already taken everything he owned but spared him because one of the Boxers was from our village and knew our family.’
‘Ask him what the Boxers have been doing here in the city.’
A long conversation ensued and when it was over Kai turned to the British officer. ‘He says that at first they put up notices and then they attacked all Chinese known to be Christians but did not attack any foreigners. They spared the pretty Chinese girls for their own use but killed all the others. Kwan says they have captured girls in a house in the next street. He says that he does not know what the Boxers will do next but thinks that they will attack all foreigners at the legation.’
Robert nodded, satisfied that the Chinese cowering in the darkness of his house was confirming what he already strongly suspected. This was what Sir Claude had sent him out to ascertain but Robert wondered if his intelligence would be listened to. There was an arrogance among all in the foreign community that the Chinese rebels would not dare launch any attack on them. The death of a few European missionaries, however, was seen as almost routine; after all, was it not the role of a missionary to gain martyrdom in God’s crusade to save heathen souls?