Peking Picnic

by Bridge, Ann;

  They were, of course, still in considerable anxiety about Lilah. She would not be able to ask her way, and with the hills swarming with T’ao-pings she might easily get into trouble of a sort that the mind shuddered to contemplate. Laura, however carefully she listened, could not pick up the bandits’ intentions, and had no idea whether they were still hunting for Lilah, or had finally accepted Hubbard as a substitute. Hubbard had produced some crochet from her handbag, and sat at a respectful distance diligently at work on a lace nightdress top. The Number One and the Soviet had gone off somewhere, and the rest of the gang left them for the time being entirely to their own devices.

  They amused themselves as well as they could. Derek suggested a song from Judith, an idea which she repudiated with a wide stare of contempt, and the words ‘Maniac! Do you realise that I’ve had no food for nine hours?’ – a reply which entertained Vinstead highly, and furnished Mrs Leroy with further illumination as to her niece’s state. Three days ago Judith would not have called Derek ‘maniac’ in general company. Vinstead, still with that curious sense of some interior abandonment breathing from him, tackled Miss Hande on the subject of her feelings for America – he wished to compare them with the feelings of Europeans for their countries. ‘I know about its being God’s Own Country, and all that; but does your throat contract when you think of special bits of it, and do you laugh with tears just behind your eyes if someone quotes some very typically countrified, old-fashioned bit of speech from New England or somewhere?’

  Miss Hande was puzzled, a little. ‘I guess Boston people are very fond of Boston,’ she said at length. ‘And Southerners make a great to-do about the South.’

  ‘Well, do you have poems about it which simply fetch everyone when they read or hear them?’ the Professor pursued.

  Could he give her some English examples of what he meant? Miss Hande asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ he rummaged through his Housman. ‘No, the best ones are in the other book, and I haven’t got it. Can’t you say something?’ he said, turning to Laura. ‘I never can remember poetry well enough to repeat it.’

  ‘Specially Housman?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, anything – well, yes, that if you can.’

  She began:

  ’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock Town,

  The golden broom should blow –

  The beauty of her speaking voice, which had struck Derek afresh only the day before, was even more noticeable when she spoke verse. Actually, the nostalgia of that particular poem always ‘fetched’ Laura herself almost unbearably, and it was only with an effort that she kept her voice level through the last verse:

  Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge

  Gold that I never see!

  Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge

  That will not shower on me.

  ‘Why, it nearly makes me cry, the way you say that!’ exclaimed the novelist, at the end.

  That, Vinstead explained, was what he meant by being ‘fetched’. ‘It almost makes her cry to say it – doesn’t it, out here?’ he said, turning to Laura. There was a curious softening of his voice on the last words, and Laura noticed the ‘her’. She made no answer, but lit another of Hubbard’s collection of cigarettes. She was faintly bothered to find how much she liked having Vinstead speak to her in that tone, even while it embarrassed her. He was forced by her silence to return to his cross-examination of Miss Hande.

  This was presently interrupted, at about 6.30, by the advent of the Soviet, and some little bowls of tea. It was the true Chinese tea, milkless and sugarless, the colour of white wine, strong and yet delicate, and very stimulating. Over this the Number One and the Soviet reopened the question of a ransom. Mrs Leroy contrived to occupy an immense amount of time by promoting a long discussion on the ethics of kidnapping in general, and the practice in Mei-kuo (America) and other countries, as compared with that of China. The bandits, being Chinese bandits, entered into this with hearty enjoyment, instead of sending her rudely to the right about – and when she told them a funny story about Chicago they laughed delightedly. When at last they got back to the point at issue, Laura further delayed matters by a thousand irrelevant inquiries as to the T’ao-pings’ ages, and families; where they came from, how the war was doing, and so on; and though she did not in every case get direct answers, her inquiries, being thoroughly polite according to the Chinese code, were met with a corresponding politeness. At last, however, the matter of the actual ransom could no longer be postponed. The T’ao-pings made searching inquiries as to the precise status of each of their six prisoners, and after some further discussion among themselves expressed the desire to keep only three – Mrs Leroy herself, the Commander-in-Chief, Vinstead, and Miss Hande, because she was an American. Miss Hande’s indignation on hearing this knew no bounds. ‘Yes, but they know how rich Americans are,’ Derek told her consolingly. ‘They see the Rockefeller Institute, and all your Chinese Missions and Endowments, with marble halls and money to burn, and of course they consider you all absolute plums to hold to ransom.’

  ‘Well, of all the nerve!’ was Miss Hande’s final indignant comment.

  They discussed it a little. Laura was inclined to recommend their all sticking together, even if the rescuers failed them, because a party of six prisoners would be easier to trace, and unwieldy and embarrassing to the bandits themselves – harder to feed, slower to move, in every way more tiresome. However, she felt they must have their choice, and left it to them. Hubbard, immediately and roundly, declared that she wouldn’t go, but would continue to supervise ‘my mistress’. Derek, Laura could see, rather liked the idea of getting Judith into safety, out of it all, there and then, but clearly felt that he ought to stay himself – and Judith, her usual appetite for the sensational undimmed by hunger and danger, light-heartedly plumped for ‘seeing it out.’ So Laura presently informed the Number One that their suggestion was refused – it must be all or none.

  The reply was unwelcome, they could see. Scowling, the Soviet once again ‘went into Committee’, as Derek called it, retiring along the entryway out of earshot. Laura and Derek simultaneously looked at their watches. It was 7.30 – they had contrived to spin out the negotiations for a whole hour. If the relief party really arrived to time there was only another hour to go.

  If! The suspense grew keener, as the time approached. The sun had set, and the wonderful glittering brilliance which the sky had held all day was ebbing away, leaving a tender soft colour, inexpressibly peaceful. Laura sat looking at it. From their enclosed courtyard they could see little but walls, and the angle of a roof on which a series of small tile-ware dogs and dragons sat, black against the pale sky, mounting guard over the little clay hen who sits at the lowest corner, with the Pong, the most nefarious of China’s evil spirits, bound to her back. But Laura was not looking at the Pong. Staring at the sky, she thought of all the prisoners of all time, whose one freedom had lain in that sight. A sentence of Richard Jefferies’ came into her mind, ‘The unattainable blue flower of the sky’ – and she remembered that he went on to say that ‘pure colour is rest of heart’. Marvellous phrase! But for her, she found, it was not then, rest of heart. Her anxiety was too urgent. Would they come? She was almost appalled at the intensity of her longing that they should. She looked again at her watch; 7.45 – another quarter of an hour had gone.

  Voices and the shuffle of feet roused her. She turned. The Soviet had come back, and the Number One, with a menacing look of determination on his ugly pockmarked visage, stood before her. He brought the gang’s decision. Very well – if all wished to go, all should go – and now! The soldiers were collecting their effects and slinging their rifles on their backs in preparation for departure; the Soviet roughly motioned the prisoners to their feet. They were to start at once.

  It was ten minutes to eight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THIS LAST BLOW was almost unbearably sharp. To have their chance of rescue snatched from them by a margin of forty miserable m
inutes was too wretched. They stared at one another in helpless despair. The bitter thought darted into Laura’s mind, as she watched Hubbard collectedly stuffing her crochet into her bag, with a good-tempered, ‘All right! All right! Time for all things, I suppose,’ to the soldier who pulled at her arm, that in vain now had been the maid’s intelligent promptitude, in vain Lilah’s wonderful climb and escape. And with the thought of Lilah’s escape came a sudden idea; she remembered the excuse her niece had given for going off – to hide her jewellery. The Professor saw Mrs Leroy’s face tighten with a sudden resolution. Wriggling herself free of the soldier who held her by the arm, she darted towards the inner pavilion. The soldier ran after her and pulled her back. With an admirable appearance of breathless agitation, Mrs Leroy struggled from him, calling out something in Chinese over and over again. Drawn by the fuss, the soldiers turned to watch – the Number One came up; the Soviet came up. Mrs Leroy poured out a flood of Chinese to them, pointing towards the pavilion; then to the astonishment and dismay of the others, she was marched into the inner courtyard. The rest, staring, followed. There, she began to feel in the cracks among the moss-grown brickwork of the wall, looking into hole after hole, as if in search of something.

  An amazing scene followed. The T’ao-pings joined in the search for whatever it was, swarming about and fumbling in the cracks, for all the world like grey apes hunting for fleas. As the search went on they grew more frenzied in their efforts; they poked, peered, and pulled in all directions, levering out loose bricks with their bayonets, and pulling down whole stretches of the wall in their mad haste. Mrs Leroy continued to seek with them, lamenting loudly in Chinese all the time. Vinstead, watching with the rest in a sort of dismal astonishment, really began to think that the strain of the day had been too much for her reason, till he heard Fitzmaurice break into a delighted chuckle beside him. ‘By Jove! She’s put them on to hunt for Lilah’s necklaces and things.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Time, of course. They’ll pull that place to bits before they give up.’

  Vinstead glanced furtively at his watch. Yes, it was already ten past eight, and still the search went on. ‘What will they do to her if they don’t find them?’ he asked presently, rather anxiously. ‘Miss Milne might have taken them with her.’

  ‘Probably did,’ said Derek. ‘But it’s no good crossing bridges before you come to them. She’s gaining time, at any rate. I wonder where they mean to take us at this hour of night, anyhow.’

  Vinstead wondered this too. ‘What do you imagine?’ he asked.

  ‘They generally shift on a bit from the place where they pinch you, I believe,’ said Derek. ‘And this is pretty close to home for them. But where, Heaven knows.’

  In the failing light the search, growing always more violent and desperate, went on for a few more minutes. Then there was an interruption. Two or three soldiers, running fast and silently on slippered feet, their rapid breathing the only sound they made, dashed into the inner courtyard, panting out some message. Instantly confusion reigned. With sullen fury the T’ao-pings abandoned their search – orders were called out – the words, ‘Foreign soldiers! Foreign devils!’ ran from mouth to mouth. ‘What is it?’ ‘What’s happening?’ Judith and Miss Hande asked of Laura as she came back to them, wiping her hands, which were green and stained with moss.

  ‘They’ve come!’ she said. ‘They’re at the lower gate now.’

  ‘Why, how marvellous! Then we’re rescued!’ exclaimed Miss Hande. ‘Isn’t that just—’

  The rest of her words were lost. The bandits had no intention of allowing their captives to be rescued. With clumsy haste the prisoners’ hands were once more tied behind their backs, and they were led swiftly out of the corner courtyard, down the flight of steps, and along the terrace where they had first met the T’ao-pings. ‘Where are they taking us?’ Judith asked Laura in a whisper as they marched along. To Mrs Leroy and Derek it was only too plain where they were being taken. While their rescuers battered at the main gateway, and searched the endless courts and pavilions, the bandits were going to get them out of the temple by that same upper gate through which they had themselves hoped to escape – out into the hills and the tangled wild country, where rescue would be difficult, if not hopeless. As they stumbled along in the dusk, hustled, cursed, and prodded with rifle butts, till they reached the upper gate and were marched out through it, they savoured the bitter irony of the fact that it had become for them a gateway, not to freedom, but into a further imprisonment. It was, indeed, very bitter. Something like despair fell on Laura.

  Outside the gate the path, still paved, passed under oaks and thujas. Here, in the deep dusk, it was almost dark. They pushed up it, not in any particular order, but in the usual go-as-you-please draggle-tailed fashion of Chinese troops on the march – bandits ahead, bandits behind, the prisoners strung out along the line with more bandits beside them. Miss Hande, bereft of her lorgnette, really found it hard to see, and stumbled more than once, only to be brutally cuffed by the soldier nearest her. Laura, with her hands tied, could do nothing to help, but she cursed the soldier sharply and told him to lead Miss Hande by the arm – which surprisingly, he did. Otherwise they walked in silence.

  Presently they entered a patch of deeper darkness still, where the track passed for a hundred yards or so between high banks. When the straggling file was well into it, a voice ahead cried, ‘Chan-choh!’ (Stop!) with startling suddenness.

  The head of the column recoiled in astonishment, throwing the already disorderly mass behind into confusion. The voice, loud and rough, proceeded in coolie Chinese of the richest description to inquire of the T’ao-pings who they were, and where they were going. From the darkness figures emerged shadowily, descending the banks before them, behind them, all round them; bayonets gleamed in the dusk. ‘Oh, what is it now?’ came from Judith in a little gasping moan. But Mrs Leroy, straining her eyes, had seen that the dim figures had buttons which shone, and she broke into the nervous laughter of relief. ‘It’s Jamieson!’ she said, ‘the Constable! Do listen to him!’ None of this conveyed anything to Vinstead, least of all the Legation Constable’s vigorous Chinese periods – he and Miss Hande stood completely mystified till an English voice called out, ‘Here they are, sir! One of ’em, anyhow.’ ‘Ah, would you? Hands off, there!’ ‘And here’s another,’ and then they heard a familiar voice, Touchy’s voice, calling, ‘Laura? Derek? Are you all there?’

  ‘Yes, all here but Lilah,’ Derek called back.

  ‘Lilah’s all right. Miss Judith? Miss Hande? Vinstead?’

  ‘Yes, all here – and Hubbard,’ Laura answered.

  ‘And all OK?’

  ‘More or less – if we could get our hands untied.’

  Professor Vinstead called the book which he subsequently published on China, The Psychology of Anticlimax. And to the end of his life he declared that he first got an insight into the key quality of that strangest of races on the occasion of his rescue from the bandits at T’an Chüeh Ssu. Anything more unemphatic, undramatic, and generally speaking flat than the scene which followed it would be hard to imagine. While some of the Tommies untied the prisoners’ hands, and others tried to hem in such T’ao-pings as began unobtrusively to melt away, with an occasional firm ‘Now, Daniels, come off it!’ Jamieson, the Constable, continued to harangue the gang on ‘Whatever do you think you’ve been up to?’ lines, regardless of everyone else. He asked for the Number One, but the Number One had faded out. Such bandits as remained, seeing men with bayonets, and hearing the voice of authority scolding them, assumed the sheepish and abject attitude of small boys caught stealing apples. There was no attempt at resistance, no violence, no sensation of any sort; those who could, quietly wriggled away – those who were forced to stay, stayed, grinning foolishly.

  A prolonged discussion then took place between Jamieson, La Touche and Derek as to what should be done with them. Three members of the Soviet, whom Derek had identified by the wavering ligh
t of the Sergeant’s torch, were held firmly by as many Tommies. Jamieson was all for taking these back to Peking and handing them over to the Chinese authorities for justice; Derek agreed. La Touche, however, had doubts. He pointed out that no member of the party had suffered serious physical injury, that no property had been stolen; and if, as was very possible in these circumstances, the Chinese did nothing, the Legation would lose face. Mrs Leroy here took a hand in the discussion, in support of La Touche’s views; mindful of Henry’s probable feelings, her one desire was to have the unlucky episode terminate with as little publicity as possible. Why not disarm them, she contended, and let them go? Exhausted, strained, she wanted the matter done with. Her words had nearly turned the scale when a new voice was uplifted.

  ‘Why, for gracious sake!’ exclaimed Miss Hande suddenly, ‘do you mean to tell me that you’re all proposing to let these bandits go scot free? After we saw them murder that poor harmless bonze? I call it monstrous. Surely you’ll have some of them punished?’

  The murder of the bonze was news to La Touche and Jamieson. Since murder had been committed, and under the eyes of witnesses, there was nothing for it but to hand over some of the gang, they agreed. It was accordingly arranged that Jamieson and the Sergeant should disarm such brigands as remained, and take the three members of the Soviet back to Peking with the rest of the troops. Jamieson conveyed this decision to the now diminished gang. There were some protests then, but he flashed the light of the torch on two wicked little cylinders, which stood on iron legs on the paved pathway – the Lewis guns; and the protests died. Some thirty rifles and bandoliers were removed, Jamieson all the while pointing out to the disarmed bandits how great was their folly and wickedness in attempting to kidnap Ying-kuo-jen. Had not the Ying-kuo-ping men, as they saw, at every place, ready to strike-shoot? How could they hope to succeed? How great was their good fortune, and undeserved, merely to lose their lai-fus (rifles) and not their lives. And so on in the same strain, till he gave them leave to go, and they shuffled off, grey ape-like shapes melting into the darkness of the trees.