Chapter XIX Captain Kargopol Finds the Chunchuses
Grumbles—Pai-chi-kou—The Masterful Muscovite—A Midnight Council—The Inn—A Summons—Betrayal—Confirmation—Miss-fire—The Rounds—Ivan Ivanovitch
Captain Vassily Nikolaeitch Kargopol was not in the best of tempers. His pony, which had carried him all day over some of the worst mountain tracks in Manchuria, slipped at the frozen edge of a rut, and nearly rolled over. The rider, as a captain of Transbaikal Cossacks, was too good a horseman to be thrown; but he was severely jolted, and he brought the poor jaded beast up with a smart lash of his whip. This seemed to relieve his feelings; and further consideration, together with a comically reproachful look on the face of his companion, brought repentance. Leaning forward he patted the animal’s neck.
“You needn’t look at me like that, Borisoff,” he said. “I know it’s too bad of me to visit the sins of this accursed country on the beast. Never mind; he shall have an extra feed of buckwheat to-night, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“That’s more like you, Kargopol,” returned Lieutenant Casimir Andreitch Borisoff. The cloud had indeed cleared like magic from the captain’s round, jovial, somewhat rubicund face; evidently he was not a man on whom ill-temper sat long or heavily.
“The truth is, I am becoming a little uneasy. Isn’t there something in the Scriptures about hunting after a dead dog, after a flea? I confess I’d rather stick to our proper work, and smash Oyama instead of running after this Ah Lum and his Chunchuses.”
“Yes, confound the fellow! He’s as agile as the little unmentionable fellow you were beguiled into naming, though by all accounts he’s more like a live lion than a dead dog. That fight of his was a masterly piece of work.”
“I only wish we could get to grips with him. Here have I been for weeks—months—on the hunt, and haven’t so much as sighted a bandit. Hi there! Ivan Samsonitch, ask the Chinaman how far it is to this precious village.”
The trooper addressed, riding beside a burly Chinaman twenty paces ahead, translated the question into a barbarous mixture of Chinese and pidgin Russian. The Chinaman, whose legs as he bestrode his little pony almost touched the ground, bowed humbly upon the animal’s neck, and barked a reply.
“He says, little father,” said the sergeant, translating, “that Pai-chi-kou is about seven li farther; that is four versts; but there is a river to be forded.”
“Another river! That makes a round dozen since we started. And the water’s icy cold, confound it!”
The captain had drawn up to the sergeant; only to him and the Chinaman was his mild grumble audible. The sergeant was a man of responsibility with whom he could to a certain extent unbend; the men must hear no complaints. For nine hours the detachment of 150 Cossacks had marched up hill and down dale over tracks slippery with frost, wading streams that in another month would be deeply coated with ice. Their progress was hampered by the necessity of watching and assisting the heavily-laden pack-mules that formed the major part of the column. Their destination was the village of Pai-chi-kou, where they were to be joined by the larger force for which they were carrying ammunition and supplies. As verst succeeded verst, the captain thought, and said to Lieutenant Borisoff, hard things of the transport officer who had drawn out the itinerary. The want of good service maps was a terrible disadvantage. Once the detachment had lost its way altogether; and only after an hour had been spent in futile search was a countryman opportunely discovered and pressed into the service as guide. The man was very unwilling to act; he protested his wish to go in an entirely different direction, to a village where his grandfather awaited burial rites. But Captain Kargopol had had enough dealings with Chinamen to regard this grandfather as an oriental Mrs. Harris; he turned a deaf ear to the man’s protests, and was unmelted by his facile tears. Under his guidance the troops had trudged along, the men bearing the fatigues of the march with the fine cheerfulness of the Russian soldier, breaking out every now and then into song, their rich voices ringing out gloriously in the clear, frosty air.
The twelfth river was waded, only one of the mules losing its footing and submerging its load. Shortly afterwards, just as dusk was falling, the column arrived at a long, straggling village.
“This is Pai-chi-kou?” said the captain.
“Yes, little father,” replied the sergeant, after questioning the guide.
“H’m! It seems very populous. Where do they stow all the people? And what is the noise about?”
The street was crowded with Chinese men, women, and children, making a terrible din with gongs, drums, and crackers. The guide explained that a great number of people had come into the village to keep the annual Dragon-boat Festival; if the Russians had arrived a little earlier they would have seen the river covered with long, narrow, gaily-painted boats paddled by crews of twenty in fantastic costumes, the banks thronged with onlookers.
“A pity we missed it, Borisoff,” said the captain. “However, I’m glad we have arrived safely at last.”
If Captain Kargopol had known a little more about Chinese customs, he would certainly have asked why in this village the Festival—a summer festival held on the fifth day of the fifth moon—was being celebrated four months after the proper time. Moreover, it is only celebrated where the rivers are broad; on a hill stream the procession of boats must be a mere travesty. But the captain could hardly be expected to know that.
The captain rode up to the only inn, where the one habitable room was crammed with Chinamen. After a short colloquy with the innkeeper these natives were unceremoniously bundled out into the courtyard; the captain had declared his intention of occupying the room with Lieutenant Borisoff for the night. He then sent his sergeant to find quarters for the troopers in the village. The man reported that every house was full up.
“Then we must empty them,” said the captain, who was tired and grumpy. “Make the Chinese turn out. The men have more need of rest than they.”
This was unanswerable, if illogical. The sergeant went to do his bidding, and soon the street was noisier than ever, the dispossessed Chinamen in scattered knots cackling away in their high-pitched voices, some of them weeping, and crowding to suffocation the few houses that were not required by these masterful foreign devils.
With military punctiliousness Captain Kargopol set a strong guard at each end of the village, arranged for the single street to be patrolled, and the inn to be watched by a sentry; then threw himself on the k’ang with a weary sigh, and prepared to eat, if not digest, the meal which the innkeeper soon had ready for his guests. It was quite clear that, though the Chinamen had all been turned out, some had ventured to creep back into the passage and a sort of shanty adjoining the room. The innkeeper kow-towed and apologized; he hoped the honourable officer would not object to the men occupying this shelter for the night; they had paid their scot in advance, and if he did not give them house-room he would have to refund the money and pay compensation in addition.
“Poor wretches!” said the captain to Borisoff. “We’re pretty hard on them at the best. They won’t interfere with us, I suppose, unless they snore; and even then, I fancy I’m so dead beat I could sleep through anything.”
When the officers had finished their supper, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and lay, Captain Kargopol on the k’ang, the lieutenant on the floor. Though the inn was now quiet, and the troopers were no doubt sleeping as soundly as their superiors, it was evident from the sounds proceeding from the houses that the Chinese were wakeful, possibly through the excitement of their festival.
Towards midnight, under the shelter of a low shed not far from the inn, where they crouched for protection from a biting north wind, two Chinamen were talking in low tones. One was the guide who had so reluctantly accompanied the Russians; the other a much younger man. All at once, out of the darkness crept a short Chinese boy, looking fatter than he was by reason of his thickly wadded clothes. He came to the younger of the two men, and addressed him in an excited whisper. To anyone who overheard him it would have been clear that he had been hiding, according to instructions, in the inn. He said that he had overheard a conversation between Hu Hang and C’hu Tan, who were among the Chinamen in the shanty. He had seemingly heard more than was expected. The ex-constable and Ah Lum’s ex-lieutenant were going to seize and gag the innkeeper, and then to waken the Russian officers and give them an important piece of information. The howl of a dog outside the village was to be the signal for carrying this plan into effect. They had said that between the first howl and the second there would be plenty of time for what they meant to do.
“Hai-yah!” growled the larger of the two listeners, following up the exclamation with an oath. The other made no comment on the news he had just heard, but, turning to the boy, he said rapidly:
“Run and tell Pai Ting there are to be two howls, not three. What was to have been the first will now be the second. The signal will be given as soon as the moon goes down behind yonder clump of trees. You understand?”
The boy nodded, and without a word crept away, wriggling down a narrow passage between the shed and the next house towards the outskirts of the village.
As soon as he had gone, the two men rose quietly and went into the street. Dodging the patrol, they hurried to the inn, passed to the rear, and cautiously made their way into the shanty or lean-to. There were several Chinamen in the stuffy den, to all seeming fast asleep; but a close observer might have noticed that the entrance of the new-comers was at once remarked, and that, as they passed by or actually stepped over the recumbent forms, they were the object of a keen scrutiny. The inspection appeared to satisfy the men, for they at once resumed their attitude of complete repose.
To any but ears keenly alert the progress of the two men would have been inaudible; for there was a constant noise from the courtyard and a large open space behind the inn, where the greater number of the ponies of the convoy were picketed under a Cossack guard. A Cossack was also doing sentry-go in front of the inn, but approaching from the back the two Chinamen had avoided him.
When they came in sight of the main room they exercised the extremest caution. The door was but half-closed, and through the opening came the faint yellow light of a small oil-lamp. Coming to a spot whence they could see the greater part of the interior, they halted, and peeped within. Near the door they could just make out the forms of three Chinamen huddled on the floor—doubtless the innkeeper, and the two men whose little plot the boy had overheard and reported. The Russian officers had apparently been too much fatigued to resent this invasion of their privacy.
Waiting merely to get a mental photograph of the position in the room, the younger of the two Chinamen moved gently backward, and, touching one of the dormant figures on the shoulder, beckoned him towards the back door. Then he whispered an instruction. The man was to enter the room, boldly but not aggressively, and summon the innkeeper to join Wang Shih at the house of the village headman. This was but a move in the game shortly to be played out. The two conspirators would doubtless be relieved to find themselves—by a lucky accident, they would suppose—free from the presence of the innkeeper; it would no longer be necessary to dispose of him; at the same time they would be reassured as to the whereabouts of Wang Shih. The man crept in as directed. His entrance caused the captain to stir.
“What is it?” he growled.
The innkeeper explained as well as he could that he was called away.
“Out with you, then, and tell the sentry to allow no one else in. I want to sleep.”
He then turned over, and was instantly oblivious. The innkeeper, coming out, was surprised to find Wang Shih at the door, but was warned by that burly man’s younger companion not to open his lips.
He had scarcely left the room before one of the two Chinamen lying within the room began to wriggle towards the officers. The other man, none other than Hu Hang, once a constable, now a disappointed Chunchuse, bent forward, intent upon his companion’s progress. At a hint from the younger of the two watchers, the elder, Wang Shih himself, slipped into the room and stood silent and unnoticed behind Hu Hang.
The creeping Chinaman came first to Lieutenant Borisoff, stretched on the floor. He nudged him; the Russian grunted. A second gentle nudge provoked another grunt. Then the officer awoke with a start, and seeing by the dim light a Chinaman bending over him, he instinctively felt for and grasped the revolver beneath the cloak that formed his pillow. The Chinaman held up his hands to show that he wras unarmed.
“What do you want, confound you?” asked Borisoff in pidgin Russian.
“Ss-s-h!” was the answer. “Listen quietly, honourable nobility. There is danger.”
“What is it?” asked the lieutenant, raising himself on his elbow. “Tell me quickly, and be sure you tell me the truth, or——”
There was an ominous movement of the revolver. He touched Captain Kargopol’s foot, and that officer, awake in an instant, sat up on the k’ang and looked about him.
“This village is not Pai-chi-kou, honourable nobility. It is Ta-kang-tzü. The Chinamen here are all Chunchuses. Very soon honourable master will hear the howl of a dog. It will not be the voice of a dog, but of a man. It is a signal. Ah Lum’s men are outside. At the signal they will surround the village.”
Both officers were now on their feet, gripping their revolvers.
“Afterwards another howl,” continued the informer. “The Chunchuses in the village will seize rifles and pistols hidden in the gardens and pig-sties. Afterwards a third signal; every house with Russians in it will be attacked, every honourable soldier captured or killed.”
The captain rapped out an oath. The Chinaman, still on his knees, lifted up his hands and spoke earnestly.
“I can show the honourable nobility how to cheat them; honourable master will reward his humble slave. Is it not so?”
The captain, none too quick-witted, nodded to the man to proceed. The Chinaman stood erect.
“At the first howl, master will cut a hole in the window—quickly, so that the men in the passage hear nothing; they are all Chunchuses. He will whisper to the sentry outside; the soldier will warn the patrol, and they will in haste make the round of the houses where soldiers are. Before the second signal is given, honourable master’s men will be ready; they can shoot down the Chunchuses in the village, and Ah Lum will have to retreat, for honourable nobility’s countrymen are only ten miles away.”
For a moment the captain gazed doubtfully at the man.
“Do you think it a trap?” he asked Borisoff.
The long-drawn howl of a dog as if baying the moon rose and died away at some distance from the village. The officers started.
“Trap or not, we can’t go far wrong in doing what he says. Even if he is lying we are no worse off.”
“Honourable nobility’s servant asks fifty ounces of silver for——”
“By and by, by and by. Your story must be proved. It sounds likely enough——”
“You are quite right, your nobility,” said another voice in good Russian. “It is more than likely; it is literally true.”
As the figure of a young Chinaman advanced from a dark part of the room, the startled officers backed and cocked their revolvers; the informer, turning a sickly green under his yellow skin, stared mouth agape at the speaker; while, from the corner where the man’s fellow-conspirator had been waiting, the sound of a choking gurgle showed that Wang Shih was busy with his old friend the constable.
The scene in the dimly-lit room was one not likely to be soon forgotten by the actors in the drama.
While the two officers stood fingering their weapons in amazed irresolution, and the wretched traitor leant for support against the k’ang, the new-comer continued:
“What this man says, gentlemen, is perfectly true, so far as he knows. But he doesn’t know all. Before you do anything rash allow me to explain. The howl you have just heard was the second, not the first signal. Ah Lum’s men have already surrounded the village, and eighty men inside are prepared to rush the quarters occupied by your troops. The inn is watched; the slightest commotion here will be the third signal.”
The news was in itself sufficient to provoke the deepest wrath, but the coolness with which the explanation was given enraged the captain beyond all bounds. Springing forward with an oath he cried, “I will risk it!” and snapped his revolver within a foot of the Chinaman’s head.
There was no report.
“It is fortunate for you, sir, that we drew the charges while you slept. But for that, your fate and that of your men would have been sealed. If you will give me your word of honour not to make a sound, I will give you ocular proof of what I have said. Believe me, it is only to save your detachment from annihilation. But you shall judge.”
The officer, pale and quivering with rage and chagrin rather than fear, threw a glance at Lieutenant Borisoff, who nodded.
“Agreed,” said Kargopol fiercely.
Going to the door, the Chinaman said a few words to those outside. They rose and stood, fully armed, in the passage.
“They are Chunchuses, you observe, sir; not peaceful countrymen, as you believed, but the men you are hunting. We will pass outside. Be careful not to alarm your Cossacks.”
They passed by the row of silent Chinamen out into the street. The officers were saluted by the sentry, who supposed them to be making the rounds. They came to the largest house in the village. In front, on the street, nothing was to be seen. But at the back, and in a dark passage-way at the side, were at least twenty dim figures, armed at all points with rifle, pistol, and dagger. The silent group passed to another house, and to yet another; at each, cunningly placed out of sight of the patrol, Chunchuses lurked, awaiting the signal for the terrible work of the night.
“We have but a few minutes, gentlemen, before the signal. Are you satisfied? Nothing stands between your men and extermination, save yourselves. What is your decision?”
The captain bit his moustache.
“Let things take their course,” said Borisoff quietly. “We had better die fighting than be tortured to death after surrender.”
“I can promise you and your men good treatment as prisoners of war—always supposing your general is willing to exchange you for our men, and does not hang any more of ours in the meantime. You need not fear torture.”
The Russians laughed grimly.
“What are your assurances worth—you, a Chunchuse?”
“A Chunchuse—yes, Captain, but in this case also an Englishman.”
“An Englishman!” cried Kargopol with a start of surprise. Borisoff stepped nearer to Jack and peered into his face.
“An Englishman, sir.”
“And a Chunchuse?”
“A Chunchuse, by compulsion of your countrymen. But, gentlemen, we waste precious time. In a few seconds the matter will be beyond your discretion—or mine.”
The captain stopped and faced the speaker. Borisoff’s face wore a look of perplexity.
“You give me your word?” said Kargopol after a moment.
“Yes.”
“As an Englishman?”
“As an Englishman.”
“Then I surrender.”
“Believe me, sir, it is the wisest, the most humane course.”
“Your name is Brown?” said Borisoff suddenly.
“Ivan Ivanovitch Brown, Lieutenant Borisoff.”
“Batiushki! I was puzzled by something familiar in your voice. What in the world——”
“Pardon me, the situation is still full of danger, a spark may fire the train. I will explain everything afterwards.”
Peering into the dark, Jack in a moment beckoned to a small figure crouching under the shelter of a wall. Hi Lo came bounding up, and to him Jack gave a rapid order. The boy sped away at full speed.
“I have told him that the third signal is not to be given. I hope he may be in time.”