Anthony Grey

by Peking- A Novel of China's Revolution- 1921-1978 (epub)

  In the early dawn light filtering in through glass windows set at ground level, the simple faces of most of the Chinese servants before him reflected their puzzlement and apprehension. They gazed at Jakob and one another with uncomprehending eyes, lifting their heads every so often to listen to the growing pandemonium outside the compound walls. Only Liang’s features were composed and intent as he tried to interpret the noises corning from the street. At his side, his two young sons, dark-skinned and alert like their father, struggled to reconcile the fear and excitement that warred inside them, sometimes biting their lips and sometimes giggling in mystification. Felicity sat a little apart from them on a kitchen chair, rocking herself gently from side to side and making soothing noises with her face bent close to the baby.

  Speaking in a quiet, steady voice, Jakob told them he believed the Communists would not harm ordinary Chinese people. He promised to do everything he could to ensure their safety, then asked them to bend their heads so that he could lead them in prayer. But almost as soon as he began to pray a thunderous hammering on the compound gate drowned his words. Without hurrying he finished the act of worship, although it went unheard, and beckoning to the gate man to follow him, he mounted the stone steps to the courtyard and motioned the Chinese forward to unbar the two heavy teak gates.

  The hullabaloo of shouting and banging died away completely for an instant as the gates swung open. The sight of a blond-bearded European standing alone, seemingly fearless and unarmed, inside the empty compound, clearly surprised the Chinese troops crowding the gateway, clutching rifles with bayonets fixed.

  “There are women and children inside,” called Jakob ringingly in Chinese. “I ask you not to harm them.”

  The sound of Jakob’s voice at once broke whatever spell had restrained the Red Army troops at the gate. On a shouted order from a tall, swarthy officer wielding a sword, a small group rushed forward into the compound and surrounded Jakob. Two men seized his arms, pinioning them behind him, while another bound his wrists with rope. The tall officer yelled further orders and two dozen or more men raced through the moon gate into the house.

  “The Red Army arrests you as an imperialist spy!” yelled the officer in Jakob’s face. “You have spied for Chiang Kai-shek. The penalty for spying is death!”

  The crowd of soldiers outside the gates surged into the compound, echoing the officer’s words, and pressed around Jakob and his captors. From the house behind him Jakob heard the sounds of splintering wood and breaking glass.

  “I am not a spy!” Jakob, struggling to keep his feet in the crush, had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the din. “I serve only Jesus Christ!”

  ‘‘You lie!’’

  The swarthy officer, whose coarse voice betrayed the distinctive peasant accents of Hunan, gesticulated toward the gate and shouted another order. The crowd parted and two young soldiers appeared, dragging the disheveled figure of the district magistrate between them. His torn and dirtied long-gown was bloodstained from a wound on the side of his head and his face was gray with fear.

  “District Magistrate Yao has already told my guards how you spy for the Nationalists,” yelled the Hunanese. Turning to Yao, he prodded him viciously with the tip of his sword. “And now he’ll tell us again!”

  Yao’s eyes rolled with terror and his jowled face quivered as he tried to summon words that wouldn’t come: then, after another prod from the sword of the Hunanese, who was clearly the commander of the guards, Yao began to gabble in a high-pitched tone. “This foreigner came to my yamen last night to report on the movements of what he called Red Army ‘bandit’ forces in a mountain village sixty li from here . I tried to ignore him but he said the ‘bandits’ had killed many government soldiers . He gave me the exact numbers of troops involved and the times of these events in the manner of an experienced spy . . . He said ‘Red Bandits’ had stolen many sacks of rice and carried them away on carts . . He urged me to take measures to counterattack the Red Army and drive it away from Chentai. . . But again I ignored him. .

  As Yao was speaking, the face of the Hunanese tightened slowly into a mask of loathing. Suddenly, without any warning, he held his left arm aloft in a silent signal. Two of his guards immediately lunged forward, their rifles held stiffly in front of them, and plunged their bayonets into the district magistrate’s chest and abdomen, forcing them to the hilt. Yao’s eyes bulged from his head but he did not cry out; his body sagged in the arms of his captors and he began to choke and retch. But even before he died, the Hunanese barked out another hoarse order and the guards dragged the body, jerking and twitching, out of the compound. Because the magistrate’s shoes had been torn off, his bare feet left parallel tracks in the dust and Jakob stood gazing down in horror at the heel marks leading away through the gate.

  “All enemies of the revolution should be executed like that, foreign spy!” The guard commander moved to stand directly in front of Jakob, his eyes bright with animosity. “But we are prepared to be lenient if your religious society pays a heavy fine. Come! You must write a letter for immediate dispatch.”

  The Hunanese turned and led the way through the moon gate into the house and Jakob’s guards frog-marched him rapidly in his wake. Some Red Army soldiers were already running down the steps with sacks of rice and vegetables slung over their shoulders; others had ripped sheets and blankets from the beds and were sitting on the front steps tearing the material into strips to make crude cloth sandals for themselves. In the middle of the inner courtyard a trooper was pouring oil over a big heap of Bibles, and a loud cheer rang out when he dropped a lighted match and the books ignited with a hollow thump.

  As he was hustled inside, Jakob caught sight of Felicity and the Chinese servants huddled fearfully in a corner of the central hall under the watchful eye of two armed guards. Felicity, who was clutching the baby convulsively in front of her, seemed to stare at him, round-eyed, without seeing him and he realized she must be close to hysteria. Several soldiers were ripping open the coolie loads of food and clothing that had been prepared for the journey to the central station and as Jakob entered, one of them thrust his sword into the oil painting of the first Christmas on the wall above and hacked it from its frame. Without even glancing at the picture, the soldier rolled up the big, practical piece of canvas and strapped it onto his pack for future use.

  The Hunanese commander stood staring at Felicity and the baby for a moment, then ordered the guards to seat Jakob before a table and free his wrists. He sent one of the soldiers to search for writing materials, and when he returned the commander pushed a sheet of paper in front of Jakob and put a pen in his hand.

  “Write a telegraph message to your headquarters!”

  Jakob looked into the face of the Hunanese: his complexion was a muddy brown and beneath jutting brows his dark, narrow eyes were implacably cold and hostile. “What do you want me to tell my headquarters?”

  “Tell them fines must be paid to compensate for your crimes of spying for the Nationalists!”

  “How much are the ‘fines’?”

  “Fifty thousand Chinese dollars for each of you!”

  Jakob glanced over his shoulder toward the corner where Felicity sat holding the baby, but she didn’t appear to have heard what was being said. “How much are you demanding altogether?” he asked the Hunanese in a low voice.

  “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

  Jakob drew a long breath and pushed the paper away. “My headquarters won’t pay such a sum. We don’t have that much money. And even if we did, I know it couldn’t be used to pay a ransom.”

  The Hunanese stepped up beside the table. Lifting his sword, he used the tip to draw the sheet of paper gently back in front of Jakob.

  “I command the Guards Battalion responsible for all prisoners,” he said in a menacing tone. “I’m authorized to tell you that if the fine is not paid soon, your wife and baby will be executed.”

  7

  The light was already fading and a s
teady drizzle had begun to fall by the time their Red Army captors forced Jakob and Felicity at gunpoint into the human river of marching soldiers that had begun flowing out of Chentai in the late afternoon. The whole column had rested in and around the walled town throughout the day, and during that time Jakob, Felicity, and the baby had been held prisoner in their own kitchen. Jakob’s hands had been bound tightly behind his back all day and his booted feet slipped and slithered constantly on the slime-covered stones of the track as he struggled up the steep mountainside above the town.

  His Communist guards in their straw sandals were more surefooted and they cursed him roundly whenever he faltered. His gaze, however, remained fixed anxiously ahead of him on the broken-down horse which Felicity was riding, clutching their infant daughter. A yelling soldier was dragging at the halter of the unwilling animal and it too stumbled frequently on the slippery track. Through the gathering gloom the white blob of Felicity’s frightened face became visible every few seconds as she turned in the saddle to look back at Jakob.

  Once he fell to his knees and the soldier following him jabbed his rifle muzzle into his back. “Heh pu chiao Yeh-su pang ni pa shan?” he yelled jeeringly. “Why don’t you ask Jesus to help you up this mountain?”

  A roar of derisive laughter rose from the guard’s comrades all around Jakob and he gritted his teeth in silence as he struggled back to his feet. In the gathering darkness the fertile green rice plain that lay below Chentai was becoming indistinguishable from the stony yellow mountainsides above and he realized then why the troops had torn down the long fence of split bamboo which had surrounded the mission vegetable garden. Each man carried a single stave and as the gloom thickened, these were being lit to make flaming torches.

  Climbing higher, Jakob gradually became aware of the massive size of the marching column he had joined. The moving wake of flickering lights did not stretch back only into Chentai — other straggling units that had rested in the mountains on the plain’s eastern edge were moving forward again to join up with the main body and the lights appeared to spill far across the broad floor of the valley beyond the town. On reaching the summit of the mountain, he found that the phalanx of flaming torches also extended far into the distance, zigzagging down into the next valley and flowing like a bright stream of lava up over the adjoining range of hills. The milling crowds of seemingly disorderly troops who had rampaged through Chentai during the day had merged themselves in an astonishingly short time into a well-disciplined column that was obviously tens of thousands strong.

  By the light of the torches Jakob could also see endless strings of horses and pack mules laden with heavy equipment and weapons. Sewing machines, printing presses, machinery, and crates of documents were strapped to the backs of the animals and a few were dragging wheeled anti-aircraft guns. Suddenly he was seized by a new feeling of apprehension and awe at finding himself a helpless prisoner among such an enormous migration of men and animals. But mixed with these emotions, he felt too, to his surprise, a deep throb of elation.

  Standing on that high mountain pass he found he could see neither the front of the column in the mountains ahead nor its end on the plains behind. Once again a fleeting memory of that thrill of childish excitement he had first felt listening to Matthew Barlow more than a dozen years ago in a Manchester church hail rushed back into his mind: he had always known that a great challenge and high adventure awaited him in China. Now he had become an isolated Christian captive of a truly mighty heathen force. The difficulties and frustrations of seeking converts day by day had been left behind. His faith would be put to the ultimate test — and he would not be found wanting. He had been selected, as he always hoped he would be, for great work and he relished the prospect of the ordeal. Above all it would enable him to bear witness to God’s greater glory.

  He stood staring out into the darkness for so long that his guard jabbed him viciously once more with the muzzle of his rifle; only then did his thoughts return to Felicity, who was already beginning to descend into the darkened valley below. With a stab of alarm he realized that the sight he had found so awe-inspiring must have struck her with equal force, intensifying her fears, and he lunged forward in her direction down the narrow mountain path. In his haste he shouldered aside the Chinese soldiers in his path, ignoring their angry shouts of surprise. His guards chased after him, yelling orders for him to halt, but he continued stumbling and sliding down the track until he came up panting beside Felicity’s horse.

  Her face was haggard from anxiety but the baby, cradled in her arms, seemed to be sleeping peacefully. When she turned and found Jakob unexpectedly at her side, the effort she had been making to conceal her fears faltered and her face began to crumple.

  “What will they do with us, Jakob?” she sobbed. “There are so many of them. Where are they taking us?”

  “Don’t be afraid,’ said Jakob firmly. “The shield of our faith will protect us.” He smiled encouragingly at her but his self-possession only seemed to unnerve her further.

  “How can you take it so calmly? Abigail is only a month old. She could die on a journey like this!” Felicity’s voice was frantic and she pressed the sleeping infant fearfully against her bosom.

  Jakob moved close against the horse’s shoulder, meaning to reassure her further, but at that moment his guards caught up with them and began yelling abuse at him for running on ahead. Again they jabbed their rifles into his ribs, causing him to wince, but he held himself determinedly erect.

  “Trust me — and trust in God, Felicity!” He spoke loudly in Chinese this time so that the guards could hear him. “We must seize this chance to introduce as many of these strangers as possible to the way of our Lord.”

  The guard commander let out an unintelligible shout of contempt and pushed Jakob roughly on down the track, signaling the young soldier leading Felicity’s horse to fall in behind. As they continued the descent, the troops carrying lighted torches began snuffing them out and Jakob heard urgent commands for silence passing down the line. From whispered conversations he learned that they were approaching a ridge above a village where a battalion of government troops was camped and an attempt was to be made to pass silently and unseen in the darkness.

  Without waiting for orders from their company commanders, the troops closed ranks, each man placing his hand on the shoulder of the man in front: this enabled them to continue shuffling slowly down the mountain in what had suddenly become pitch-blackness. His guard quickly threaded a rope through Jakob’s bound arms, and holding its free end, he ordered Jakob to walk on with his shoulder pressed against the horse’s flank. Soon the torches along the whole length of the column were extinguished. The river of light that moments before had been surging noisily across the nighttime hills and plains of Hunan became invisible, and the column continued shifting almost soundlessly westward in the darkness with only the muted scuff of rice-straw sandals to mark its passage.

  The drizzling rain began to fall more heavily and the stones of the track, polished smooth by the feet of coolies over many centuries, became more treacherous to negotiate. The ill-shod hooves of Felicity’s tiring mare slipped constantly as the gradient steepened, and the animal whinnied in its distress. Rounding a rock it stumbled, then reared up in panic when its inexperienced handler dragged too hard on the halter. Felicity clutched wildly at its mane with one hand to stop herself from falling, but although she managed to save herself, the violent movement woke the baby, who at once began to wail.

  The troops around them muttered angrily among themselves. Then, to Jakob’s horror, one of them called out urgently, “Pa na ko wa wa sha le!” — “Kill the baby!”

  Felicity began sobbing hysterically herself as her efforts to soothe the infant failed, and when the Hunanese guard commander appeared suddenly out of the rain, carrying a shaded hurricane lamp and an unsheathed sword, she tried to fling herself and the child bodily from the horse. But the Hunanese reached out and seized her by the arm.

  “Give me th
e child!”

  The Hunanese handed the hurricane lamp to the boy at the horse’s head and dragged Felicity to the ground. With his free hand he grabbed at the thick shawl wrapped around the baby — but Felicity twisted away from him, shrieking in desperation. Other troops crowded around, struggling to wrest the baby from her grasp, but before they succeeded, Jakob forced himself between his wife and the Hunanese.

  “Cut my bonds. I’ll quiet the child!”

  Jakob’s loud demand, made confidently in Chinese, silenced the commotion. Although the baby began whimpering again almost at once, the guard commander had checked his raised sword. Seizing on his moment of indecision, Jakob turned quickly and offered his bound wrists to the guard commander’s blade.

  “Be quick if you wish us to remain undiscovered!”

  After a moment’s hesitation the Hunanese sliced through the ropes binding Jakob’s wrists and watched him warily as he turned and took the baby from Felicity’s arms. Sinking to his knees Jakob cradled the child against his chest and bent his head over her. Felicity watched with an anguished expression distorting her features. She saw his lips move as he murmured consoling sounds; then, almost at once, the child quieted.

  Rising again, Jakob placed the baby gently in Felicity’s arms. He helped her remount the horse and took its halter himself. Without looking back at the commander or waiting for his arms to be bound again, he set off down the steep mountain track, testing the footing ahead of the horse carefully as he went.

  8

  Kneel, imperialist spy!”

  The Hunanese commander glared at Jakob and pointed to the earth floor at the foot of the tethering post. “Do as I say — kneel. Now!”