THE POT OF CAVIARE
It was the fourth day of the siege. Ammunition and provisions were bothnearing an end. When the Boxer insurrection had suddenly flamed up, androared, like a fire in dry grass, across Northern China, the fewscattered Europeans in the outlying provinces had huddled together atthe nearest defensible post and had held on for dear life until rescuecame—or until it did not. In the latter case, the less said about theirfate the better. In the former, they came back into the world of menwith that upon their faces which told that they had looked very closelyupon such an end as would ever haunt their dreams.
Ichau was only fifty miles from the coast, and there was a Europeansquadron in the Gulf of Liantong. Therefore the absurd little garrison,consisting of native Christians and railway men, with a German officerto command them and five civilian Europeans to support him, held onbravely with the conviction that help must soon come sweeping down tothem from the low hills to eastward. The sea was visible from thosehills, and on the sea were their armed countrymen. Surely, then, theycould not feel deserted. With brave hearts they manned the loopholes inthe crumbling brick walls outlining the tiny European quarter, and theyfired away briskly, if ineffectively, at the rapidly advancing sangarsof the Boxers. It was certain that in another day or so they would be atthe end of their resources, but then it was equally certain that inanother day or so they must be relieved. It might be a little sooner orit might be a little later, but there was no one who ever ventured tohint that the relief would not arrive in time to pluck them out of thefire. Up to Tuesday night there was no word of discouragement.
It was true that on the Wednesday their robust faith in what was goingforward behind those eastern hills had weakened a little. The greyslopes lay bare and unresponsive while the deadly sangars pushed evernearer, so near that the dreadful faces which shrieked imprecations atthem from time to time over the top could be seen in every hideousfeature. There was not so much of that now since young Ainslie, of theDiplomatic service, with his neat little .303 sporting rifle, hadsettled down in the squat church tower, and had devoted his days toabating the nuisance. But a silent sangar is an even more impressivething than a clamorous one, and steadily, irresistibly, inevitably, thelines of brick and rubble drew closer. Soon they would be so near thatone rush would assuredly carry the frantic swordsmen over the frailentrenchment. It all seemed very black upon the Wednesday evening.Colonel Dresler, the German ex-infantry soldier, went about with animperturbable face, but a heart of lead. Ralston, of the railway, was uphalf the night writing farewell letters. Professor Mercer, the oldentomologist, was even more silent and grimly thoughtful than ever.Ainslie had lost some of his flippancy. On the whole, the ladies—MissSinclair, the nurse of the Scotch Mission, Mrs. Patterson, and herpretty daughter Jessie, were the most composed of the party. FatherPierre of the French Mission, was also unaffected, as was natural to onewho regarded martyrdom as a glorious crown. The Boxers yelling for hisblood beyond the walls disturbed him less than his forced associationwith the sturdy Scotch Presbyterian presence of Mr. Patterson, with whomfor ten years he had wrangled over the souls of the natives. They passedeach other now in the corridors as dog passes cat, and each kept awatchful eye upon the other lest even in the trenches he might filchsome sheep from the rival fold, whispering heresy in his ear.
But the Wednesday night passed without a crisis, and on the Thursday allwas bright once more. It was Ainslie up in the clock tower who had firstheard the distant thud of a gun. Then Dresler heard it, and within halfan hour it was audible to all—that strong iron voice, calling to themfrom afar and bidding them to be of good cheer, since help was coming.It was clear that the landing party from the squadron was well on itsway. It would not arrive an hour too soon. The cartridges were nearlyfinished. Their half-rations of food would soon dwindle to an even morepitiful supply. But what need to worry about that now that relief wasassured? There would be no attack that day, as most of the Boxers couldbe seen streaming off in the direction of the distant firing, and thelong lines of sangars were silent and deserted. They were all able,therefore, to assemble at the lunch-table, a merry, talkative party,full of that joy of living which sparkles most brightly under theimminent shadow of death.
“The pot of caviare!” cried Ainslie. “Come, Professor, out with thepot of caviare!”
“Potz-tausend! yes,” grunted old Dresler. “It is certainly time thatwe had that famous pot.”
The ladies joined in, and from all parts of the long, ill-furnishedtable there came the demand for caviare.
It was a strange time to ask for such a delicacy, but the reason issoon told. Professor Mercer, the old Californian entomologist, hadreceived a jar of caviare in a hamper of goods from San Francisco,arriving a day or two before the outbreak. In the general pooling anddistribution of provisions this one dainty and three bottles of LachrymaChristi from the same hamper had been excepted and set aside. By commonconsent they were to be reserved for the final joyous meal when the endof their peril should be in sight. Even as they sat the thud-thud of therelieving guns came to their ears—more luxurious music to their lunchthan the most sybaritic restaurant of London could have supplied. Beforeevening the relief would certainly be there. Why, then, should theirstale bread not be glorified by the treasured caviare?
But the Professor shook his gnarled old head and smiled hisinscrutable smile.
“Better wait,” said he.
“Wait! Why wait?” cried the company.
“They have still far to come,” he answered.
“They will be here for supper at the latest,” said Ralston, of therailway—a keen, birdlike man, with bright eyes and long, projectingnose. “They cannot be more than ten miles from us now. If they only didtwo miles an hour it would make them due at seven.”
“There is a battle on the way,” remarked the Colonel. “You will granttwo hours or three hours for the battle.”
“Not half an hour,” cried Ainslie. “They will walk through them as ifthey were not there. What can these rascals with their matchlocks andswords do against modern weapons?”
“It depends on who leads the column of relief,” said Dresler. “If theyare fortunate enough to have a German officer——”
“An Englishman for my money!” cried Ralston.
“The French commodore is said to be an excellent strategist,” remarkedFather Pierre.
“I don’t see that it matters a toss,” cried the exuberant Ainslie. “Mr.Mauser and Mr. Maxim are the two men who will see us through, and withthem on our side no leader can go wrong. I tell you they will just brushthem aside and walk through them. So now, Professor, come on with thatpot of caviare!”
But the old scientist was unconvinced.
“We shall reserve it for supper,” said he.
“After all,” said Mr. Patterson, in his slow, precise Scottishintonation, “it will be a courtesy to our guests—the officers of therelief—if we have some palatable food to lay before them. I’m inagreement with the Professor that we reserve the caviare for supper.”
The argument appealed to their sense of hospitality. There was somethingpleasantly chivalrous, too, in the idea of keeping their one littledelicacy to give a savour to the meal of their preservers. There was nomore talk of the caviare.
“By the way, Professor,” said Mr. Patterson, “I’ve only heard to-daythat this is the second time that you have been besieged in this way.I’m sure we should all be very interested to hear some details of yourprevious experience.”
The old man’s face set very grimly.
“I was in Sung-tong, in South China, in ‘eighty-nine,” said he.
“It’s a very extraordinary coincidence that you should twice have beenin such a perilous situation,” said the missionary. “Tell us how youwere relieved at Sung-tong.”
The shadow deepened upon the weary face.
“We were not relieved,” said he.
“What! the place fell?”
“Yes, it fell.”
“
And you came through alive?”
“I am a doctor as well as an entomologist. They had many wounded; theyspared me.”
“And the rest?”
“Assez! assez!” cried the little French priest, raising his hand inprotest. He had been twenty years in China. The professor had saidnothing, but there was something, some lurking horror, in his dull, greyeyes which had turned the ladies pale.
“I am sorry,” said the missionary. “I can see that it is a painfulsubject. I should not have asked.”
“No,” the Professor answered, slowly. “It is wiser not to ask. It isbetter not to speak about such things at all. But surely those guns arevery much nearer?”
There could be no doubt of it. After a silence the thud-thud hadrecommenced with a lively ripple of rifle-fire playing all round thatdeep bass master-note. It must be just at the farther side of thenearest hill. They pushed back their chairs and ran out to the ramparts.The silent-footed native servants came in and cleared the scanty remainsfrom the table. But after they had left, the old Professor sat on there,his massive, grey-crowned head leaning upon his hands and the samepensive look of horror in his eyes. Some ghosts may be laid for years,but when they do rise it is not so easy to drive them back to theirslumbers. The guns had ceased outside, but he had not observed it, lostas he was in the one supreme and terrible memory of his life.
His thoughts were interrupted at last by the entrance of the Commandant.There was a complacent smile upon his broad German face.
“The Kaiser will be pleased,” said he, rubbing his hands. “Yes,certainly it should mean a decoration. ‘Defence of Ichau against theBoxers by Colonel Dresler, late Major of the 114th Hanoverian Infantry.Splendid resistance of small garrison against overwhelming odds.’ Itwill certainly appear in the Berlin papers.”
“Then you think we are saved?” said the old man, with neither emotionnor exultation in his voice.
The Colonel smiled.
“Why, Professor,” said he, “I have seen you more excited on the morningwhen you brought back _Lepidus Mercerensis_ in your collecting-box.”
“The fly was safe in my collecting-box first,” the entomologistanswered. “I have seen so many strange turns of Fate in my long lifethat I do not grieve nor do I rejoice until I know that I have cause.But tell me the news.”
“Well,” said the Colonel, lighting his long pipe, and stretching hisgaitered legs in the bamboo chair, “I’ll stake my military reputationthat all is well. They are advancing swiftly, the firing has died downto show that resistance is at an end, and within an hour we’ll see themover the brow. Ainslie is to fire his gun three times from the churchtower as a signal, and then we shall make a little sally on our ownaccount.”
“And you are waiting for this signal?”
“Yes, we are waiting for Ainslie’s shots. I thought I would spend thetime with you, for I had something to ask you.”
“What was it?”
“Well, you remember your talk about the other siege—the siege ofSung-tong. It interests me very much from a professional point of view.Now that the ladies and civilians are gone you will have no objection todiscussing it.”
“It is not a pleasant subject.”
“No, I dare say not. Mein Gott! it was indeed a tragedy. But you haveseen how I have conducted the defence here. Was it wise? Was it good?Was it worthy of the traditions of the German army?”
“I think you could have done no more.”
“Thank you. But this other place, was it as ably defended? To me acomparison of this sort is very interesting. Could it have been saved?”
“No; everything possible was done—save only one thing.”
“Ah! there was one omission. What was it?”
“No one—above all, no woman—should have been allowed to fall alive intothe hands of the Chinese.”
The Colonel held out his broad red hand and enfolded the long, white,nervous fingers of the Professor.
“You are right—a thousand times right. But do not think that this hasescaped my thoughts. For myself I would die fighting, so would Ralston,so would Ainslie. I have talked to them, and it is settled. But theothers, I have spoken with them, but what are you to do? There are thepriest, and the missionary, and the women.”
“Would they wish to be taken alive?”
“They would not promise to take steps to prevent it. They would not layhands on their own lives. Their consciences would not permit it. Ofcourse, it is all over now, and we need not speak of such dreadfulthings. But what would you have done in my place?”
“Kill them.”
“Mein Gott! You would murder them?”
“In mercy I would kill them. Man, I have been through it. I have seenthe death of the hot eggs; I have seen the death of the boiling kettle;I have seen the women—my God! I wonder that I have ever slept soundagain.” His usually impassive face was working and quivering with theagony of the remembrance. “I was strapped to a stake with thorns in myeyelids to keep them open, and my grief at their torture was a lessthing than my self-reproach when I thought that I could with one tube oftasteless tablets have snatched them at the last instant from the handsof their tormentors. Murder! I am ready to stand at the Divine bar andanswer for a thousand murders such as that! Sin! Why, it is such an actas might well cleanse the stain of real sin from the soul. But if,knowing what I do, I should have failed this second time to do it, then,by Heaven! there is no hell deep enough or hot enough to receive myguilty craven spirit.”
The Colonel rose, and again his hand clasped that of the Professor.
“You speak sense,” said he. “You are a brave, strong man, who know yourown mind. Yes, by the Lord! you would have been my great help had thingsgone the other way. I have often thought and wondered in the dark, earlyhours of the morning, but I did not know how to do it. But we shouldhave heard Ainslie’s shots before now; I will go and see.”
Again the old scientist sat alone with his thoughts. Finally, as neitherthe guns of the relieving force nor yet the signal of their approachsounded upon his ears, he rose, and was about to go himself upon theramparts to make inquiry when the door flew open, and Colonel Dreslerstaggered into the room. His face was of a ghastly yellow-white, and hischest heaved like that of a man exhausted with running. There was brandyon the side-table, and he gulped down a glassful. Then he droppedheavily into a chair.
“Well,” said the Professor, coldly, “they are not coming?”
“No, they cannot come.”
There was silence for a minute or more, the two men staring blankly ateach other.
“Do they all know?”
“No one knows but me.”
“How did you learn?”
“I was at the wall near the postern gate—the little wooden gate thatopens on the rose garden. I saw something crawling among the bushes.There was a knocking at the door. I opened it. It was a ChristianTartar, badly cut about with swords. He had come from the battle.Commodore Wyndham, the Englishman, had sent him. The relieving force hadbeen checked. They had shot away most of their ammunition. They hadentrenched themselves and sent back to the ships for more. Three daysmust pass before they could come. That was all. Mein Gott! it wasenough.”
The Professor bent his shaggy grey brows.
“Where is the man?” he asked.
“He is dead. He died of loss of blood. His body lies at the posterngate.”
“And no one saw him?”
“Not to speak to.”
“Oh! they did see him, then?”
“Ainslie must have seen him from the church tower. He must know that Ihave had tidings. He will want to know what they are. If I tell him theymust all know.”
“How long can we hold out?”
“An hour or two at the most.”
“Is that absolutely certain?”
“I pledge my credit as a soldier upon it.”
“Then we must fall?”
“Yes, we must fall.”
“There is no hope for us?”
“None.”
The door flew open and young Ainslie rushed in. Behind him crowdedRalston, Patterson, and a crowd of white men and of native Christians.
“You’ve had news, Colonel?”
Professor Mercer pushed to the front.
“Colonel Dresler has just been telling me. It is all right. They havehalted, but will be here in the early morning. There is no longer anydanger.”
A cheer broke from the group in the doorway. Everyone was laughing andshaking hands.
“But suppose they rush us before to-morrow morning?” cried Ralston, in apetulant voice. “What infernal fools these fellows are not to push on!Lazy devils, they should be court-martialled, every man of them.”
“It’s all safe,” said Ainslie. “These fellows have had a bad knock. Wecan see their wounded being carried by the hundred over the hill. Theymust have lost heavily. They won’t attack before morning.”
“No, no,” said the Colonel; “it is certain that they won’t attack beforemorning. None the less, get back to your posts. We must give no pointaway.” He left the room with the rest, but as he did so he looked back,and his eyes for an instant met those of the old Professor. “I leave itin your hands,” was the message which he flashed. A stern set smile washis answer.
* * * * *
The afternoon wore away without the Boxers making their last attack. ToColonel Dresler it was clear that the unwonted stillness meant only thatthey were reassembling their forces from their fight with the reliefcolumn, and were gathering themselves for the inevitable and final rush.To all the others it appeared that the siege was indeed over, and thatthe assailants had been crippled by the losses which they had alreadysustained. It was a joyous and noisy party, therefore, which met at thesupper-table, when the three bottles of Lachryma Christi were uncorkedand the famous port of caviare was finally opened. It was a large jar,and, though each had a tablespoonful of the delicacy, it was by no meansexhausted. Ralston, who was an epicure, had a double allowance. Hepecked away at it like a hungry bird. Ainslie, too, had a secondhelping. The Professor took a large spoonful himself, and ColonelDresler, watching him narrowly, did the same. The ladies ate freely,save only pretty Miss Patterson, who disliked the salty, pungent taste.In spite of the hospitable entreaties of the Professor, her portion layhardly touched at the side of her plate.
“You don’t like my little delicacy. It is a disappointment to me when Ihad kept it for your pleasure,” said the old man. “I beg that you willeat the caviare.”
“I have never tasted it before. No doubt I should like it in time.”
“Well, you must make a beginning. Why not start to educate your tastenow? Do, please!”
Pretty Jessie Patterson’s bright face shone with her sunny, boyishsmile.
“Why, how earnest you are!” she laughed. “I had no idea you were sopolite, Professor Mercer. Even if I do not eat it I am just asgrateful.”
“You are foolish not to eat it,” said the Professor, with such intensitythat the smile died from her face and her eyes reflected the earnestnessof his own. “I tell you it is foolish not to eat caviare to-night.”
“But why—why?” she asked.
“Because you have it on your plate. Because it is sinful to waste it.”
“There! there!” said stout Mrs. Patterson, leaning across. “Don’ttrouble her any more. I can see that she does not like it. But it shallnot be wasted.” She passed the blade of her knife under it, and scrapedit from Jessie’s plate on to her own. “Now it won’t be wasted. Your mindwill be at ease, Professor.”
But it did not seem at ease. On the contrary, his face was agitated likethat of a man who encounters an unexpected and formidable obstacle. Hewas lost in thought.
The conversation buzzed cheerily. Everyone was full of his future plans.
“No, no, there is no holiday for me,” said Father Pierre. “We priestsdon’t get holidays. Now that the mission and school are formed I am toleave it to Father Amiel, and to push westwards to found another.”
“You are leaving?” said Mr. Patterson. “You don’t mean that you aregoing away from Ichau?”
Father Pierre shook his venerable head in waggish reproof. “You must notlook so pleased, Mr. Patterson.”
“Well, well, our views are very different,” said the Presbyterian, “butthere is no personal feeling towards you, Father Pierre. At the sametime, how any reasonable educated man at this time of the world’shistory can teach these poor benighted heathen that——”
A general buzz of remonstrance silenced the theology.
“What will you do yourself, Mr. Patterson?” asked someone.
“Well, I’ll take three months in Edinburgh to attend the annual meeting.You’ll be glad to do some shopping in Princes Street, I’m thinking,Mary. And you, Jessie, you’ll see some folk your own age. Then we cancome back in the fall, when your nerves have had a rest.”
“Indeed, we shall all need it,” said Miss Sinclair, the mission nurse.“You know, this long strain takes me in the strangest way. At thepresent moment I can hear such a buzzing in my ears.”
“Well, that’s funny, for it’s just the same with me,” cried Ainslie. “Anabsurd up-and-down buzzing, as if a drunken bluebottle were tryingexperiments on his register. As you say, it must be due to nervousstrain. For my part I am going back to Peking, and I hope I may get somepromotion over this affair. I can get good polo here, and that’s as finea change of thought as I know. How about you, Ralston?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve hardly had time to think. I want to have a realgood sunny, bright holiday and forget it all. It was funny to see allthe letters in my room. It looked so black on Wednesday night that I hadsettled up my affairs and written to all my friends. I don’t quite knowhow they were to be delivered, but I trusted to luck. I think I willkeep those papers as a souvenir. They will always remind me of how closea shave we have had.”
“Yes, I would keep them,” said Dresler.
His voice was so deep and solemn that every eye was turned upon him.
“What is it, Colonel? You seem in the blues to-night.” It was Ainsliewho spoke.
“No, no; I am very contented.”
“Well, so you should be when you see success in sight. I am sure we areall indebted to you for your science and skill. I don’t think we couldhave held the place without you. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you todrink the health of Colonel Dresler, of the Imperial German army. Ersoll leben—hoch!”
They all stood up and raised their glasses to the soldier, with smilesand bows.
His pale face flushed with professional pride.
“I have always kept my books with me. I have forgotten nothing,” saidhe. “I do not think that more could be done. If things had gone wrongwith us and the place had fallen you would, I am sure, have freed mefrom any blame or responsibility.” He looked wistfully round him.
“I’m voicing the sentiments of this company, Colonel Dresler,” said theScotch minister, “when I say——but, Lord save us! what’s amiss with Mr.Ralston?”
He had dropped his face upon his folded arms and was placidly sleeping.
“Don’t mind him,” said the Professor, hurriedly. “We are all in thestage of reaction now. I have no doubt that we are all liable tocollapse. It is only to-night that we shall feel what we have gonethrough.”
“I’m sure I can fully sympathize with him,” said Mrs. Patterson. “Idon’t know when I have been more sleepy. I can hardly hold my own headup.” She cuddled back in her chair and shut her eyes.
“Well, I’ve never known Mary do that before,” cried her husband,laughing heartily. “Gone to sleep over her supper! What ever will shethink when we tell her of it afterwards? But the air does seem hot andheavy. I can certainly excuse any one who falls asleep to-night. I thinkthat I shall turn in early myself.”
Ainslie was in a talkative, excited mood. He was on his feet once morewith his glass in his ha
nd.
“I think that we ought to have one drink all together, and then sing‘Auld Lang Syne,’” said he, smiling round at the company. “For a week wehave all pulled in the same boat, and we’ve got to know each other aspeople never do in the quiet days of peace. We’ve learned to appreciateeach other, and we’ve learned to appreciate each other’s nations.There’s the Colonel here stands for Germany. And Father Pierre is forFrance. Then there’s the Professor for America. Ralston and I areBritishers. Then there’s the ladies, God bless ‘em! They have beenangels of mercy and compassion all through the siege. I think we shoulddrink the health of the ladies. Wonderful thing—the quiet courage, thepatience, the—what shall I say?—the fortitude, the—the—by George, lookat the Colonel! He’s gone to sleep, too—most infernal sleepy weather.”His glass crashed down upon the table, and he sank back, mumbling andmuttering, into his seat. Miss Sinclair, the pale mission nurse, haddropped off also. She lay like a broken lily across the arm of herchair. Mr. Patterson looked round him and sprang to his feet. He passedhis hand over his flushed forehead.
“This isn’t natural, Jessie,” he cried. “Why are they all asleep?There’s Father Pierre—he’s off too. Jessie, Jessie, your mother is cold.Is it sleep? Is it death? Open the windows! Help! help! help!” Hestaggered to his feet and rushed to the windows, but midway his headspun round, his knees sank under him, and he pitched forward upon hisface.
The young girl had also sprung to her feet. She looked round her withhorror-stricken eyes at her prostrate father and the silent ring offigures.
“Professor Mercer! What is it? What is it?” she cried. “Oh, my God, theyare dying! They are dead!”
The old man had raised himself by a supreme effort of his will, thoughthe darkness was already gathering thickly round him.
“My dear young lady,” he said, stuttering and stumbling over the words,“we would have spared you this. It would have been painless to mind andbody. It was cyanide. I had it in the caviare. But you would not haveit.”
“Great Heaven!” She shrank away from him with dilated eyes. “Oh, youmonster! You monster! You have poisoned them!”
“No, no! I saved them. You don’t know the Chinese. They are horrible. Inanother hour we should all have been in their hands. Take it now,child.” Even as he spoke, a burst of firing broke out under the verywindows of the room. “Hark! There they are! Quick, dear, quick, you maycheat them yet!” But his words fell upon deaf ears, for the girl hadsunk back senseless in her chair. The old man stood listening for aninstant to the firing outside. But what was that? Merciful Father, whatwas that? Was he going mad? Was it the effect of the drug? Surely it wasa European cheer? Yes, there were sharp orders in English. There was theshouting of sailors. He could no longer doubt it. By some miracle therelief had come after all. He threw his long arms upwards in hisdespair. “What _have_ I done? Oh, good Lord, what have I done?” hecried.
* * * * *
It was Commodore Wyndham himself who was the first, after his desperateand successful night attack, to burst into that terrible supper-room.Round the table sat the white and silent company. Only in the young girlwho moaned and faintly stirred was any sign of life to be seen. And yetthere was one in the circle who had the energy for a last supreme duty.The Commodore, standing stupefied at the door, saw a grey head slowlylifted from the table, and the tall form of the Professor staggered foran instant to its feet.
“Take care of the caviare! For God’s sake, don’t touch the caviare!” hecroaked.
Then he sank back once more and the circle of death was complete.
Round the Fire Stories Page 5