*CHAPTER I*
*Ivan Ivanovitch Brown*
Scenes in Moukden--Beyond the Walls--Lieutenant Borisoff--TheCangue--Anton Sowinski--Criminal Procedure--Mr. BrownSenior--Schlagintwert's Representative--The Automatic Principle
The midsummer sun had spent its force, and as it reddened towards itssetting Moukden began to breathe again. The gildings on palace, temple,and pagoda shone with a ruddy glow, but the eye was no longer dazzled;garish in full sunlight, the city was now merely brilliant, the reds andgreens, blues and yellows, of its house-fronts toned to a rich andcharming beauty. The shops--almost every house is a shop--were open,displaying here poultry, dried fish, and articles of common use; therepiles of Oriental merchandise: silks and embroideries, parasols andscreens, ornaments of silver and copper, priceless porcelain andlacquered ware. Monsters with vermilioned faces grinned from thepoles--hung with branches and surmounted by peacocks with spreadtail--that bore the signs and legends of the merchants and shopkeepersbefore whose doors they were erected: all different, yet all alike ingorgeousness of colouring and fantasy of design.
Two main thoroughfares traverse Moukden at right angles. Along theseflowed in each direction a full tide of people, gathering up crosscurrents at every side street and alley. It was a picturesque throng,the light costumes showing in brilliant relief against the darkercolours of the houses and the brown dust of the roadway. There werefolk of many nations: Manchus, Mongols, Tartars, Greeks andMontenegrins, soldiers Chinese and Russian, here and there a Europeanwar-correspondent escaping from the boredom of his inn. Pedestrians andhorsemen jostled vehicles of all descriptions. Workmen staggered alongunder enormous loads; labourers of both sexes trudged homewards from thefields, their implements on their shoulders. A drove of fat pigs incharge of a blue-coated swineherd scampered and squealed beneath thewheels of a Russian transport wagon. Here was a rickshaw drawn withshrill cries by its human steeds; there a rough springless two-wheeledmule-cart, painted in yellow ochre, hauled by three mules tandem, andjolting over the ruts with its load of passengers, some on the backs ofthe mules, some on the shafts, some packed beneath the low tilt of bluecotton. Not far behind, a trolley, pushed by perspiring coolies andcarrying seven men standing in unstable equilibrium, had halted to makeway for a magnificent blue sedan chair, wadded with fur and silk, borneby four stalwart servants. Through the trellised window of the chairthe curious might catch a glimpse of a bespectacled mandarin, hismushroom hat decked with the button indicative of his rank. With shoutsand blows a detachment of Chinese soldiers, red-jacketed infantry,carrying halberts, javelins, and sickles swathed to poles, forced apassage for his excellency through the crowd.
The heavy air quivered with noise: the mingled cries of street merchantsand children, the clatter of hoofs, the din of gongs at the doors of thetheatres, weird strains of song accompanied by the twanging ofinharmonious guitars, and, dominating all, the insistent strident squeakof a huge wheelbarrow, trundled by a grave old Chinaman, unconscious ofthe pain his greaseless wheels inflicted on untutored sensibilities. ARussian lady passing in a droshky grimaced and put her fingers to herears, and a wayfarer near her smiled and addressed a word to thetorturer, who looked at him aslant out of his little eyes and went onhis way placid and unabashed.
The pedestrian who had spoken was one by himself in all that vastthrong. That he was European was shown by his garments; a westernobserver, however little travelled, would have known him at a glance asan English lad. His garb was light, fitting a slim, tall figure; abroad-brimmed cotton hat was slanted over his nose to keep the glowingrays from his eyes; he walked with the springy tread and free swinginggait never acquired by an Oriental. He wormed his way through thejostling crowd, passed through the bastioned gate of the lofty innerramparts, crossed the suburbs, where the gardens were in gorgeous bloom,and, leaving the external wall of mud behind him, came into the brown,rough, dusty road, lined on both sides with booths, leading to therailway-station. Rich fields of maize and beans and millet covered thevast plain beyond, and upon the sky-line lay a range of wooded hills.
By and by the walker came to the new street that had sprung up besidethe railway-station since the Russian occupation: a settlement tenantedby traders--Greek, Caucasian, and Hebrew--dealing in every product ofthe two civilizations, eastern and western, here so incongruously incontact. Nothing that could be sold or bartered came amiss to thesepolyglot traders; they kept everything from champagne to sake (the ricebeer of Japan), from boots to smoked fish. Hurrying through this ovenof odours, he passed the line of ugly brick cottages run up for theRussian officials, and arrived at the station. It was quiet at themoment; there was a pause in the stream of traffic which had for sometime been steadily flowing southward. Save for the railway servants, theriflemen who guard the line, and a few officers desperately bored intheir effort to kill time, the platform was deserted. The Russianlieutenant on duty accosted the new-comer.
"Well, Ivan Ivanovitch, what can we do for you to-day?"
"The same old thing," replied the lad slowly in Russian. "Can you send awire to Vladivostok for my father?"
"Very sorry; it is impossible to-day as it was yesterday. None butmilitary messages are going through."
"Well, I just came up on the chance."
"When are you leaving? We shall miss you."
"Thanks! In a few days, I hope. Father has just about settled upeverything. In fact, that consignment of flour is the only thing leftto trouble about now. I hope it will get through safely, but theJapanese appear to be scouting the seas pretty thoroughly. As soon aswe hear from our agent at Vladivostok we shall be off."
"Come and have a glass of tea in the buffet. It may be the last time."
Jack Brown--known to his Russian friends as Ivan Ivanovitch, "John theson of John"--accepted the invitation. After a chat and a glass of teafrom the large steaming samovar, always a conspicuous object in aRussian buffet, he left the station as the dusk was falling and a hazespread over the ground, covering up the many unlovely evidences of theRussian occupation. For variety's sake he changed his course and took apath to the left that skirted the native graveyard, intending to enterthe city by one of the northern gates. A line of heavy native carts,with their long teams of mules and ponies, was slowly wendingnorthwards; women, their hair decorated with flowers, were taking theirchildren for an airing before the sun set and the gates were closed; abeggar stood by the roadside cleverly imitating a bird's cry by blowingthrough a curled-up leaf. Jack came to the great mandarin road andturned towards the city; such evening scenes were now a matter of courseto him. But he was still at some distance from the outer wall when hecame upon a sight which, common as it was in Moukden, he never beheldwithout pity and indignation. A big muscular Chinaman of some thirty toforty years was seated on the ground, his neck locked in the squarewooden collar known as the cangue, an oriental variant of the oldEnglish pillory. So devised that the head and the upper part of thebody are held rigid, the cangue as an instrument of punishment is worthyof Chinese ingenuity. The victim, as Jack knew, must have satthroughout the long sweltering day tortured by innumerable insects whichhis fixed hands were powerless to beat off. At nightfall a constablewould come and release him, conveying him to the gaol attached to ayamen within the city, where he would be locked up until the morning.Then the cangue would be replaced and the criminal taken back to thesame spot on the wayside.
Jack hurried his step as he approached, eager to leave the unpleasantsight behind him. But on drawing nearer he was surprised to find thathe knew the man,--surprised, because he was one of the last who couldhave been expected to fall into such a plight. The recognition wasmutual; and as Jack came up, the parched lips of the victim uttered awoeful exclamation of greeting.
"How came you here, Mr. Wang?" asked Jack in Chinese.
The crime was indicated on the upper board of the cangue, but Jack,though he had more than a smattering of colloquial Chinese, kn
ew almostnothing of the written language. The poor wretch could hardlyarticulate; but with difficulty he at length managed, in the shorthigh-pitched monosyllables of his native tongue, to explain. He had beenaccused of fraud; the charge was totally without foundation; but at thetrial before the magistrates witness after witness had appeared againsthim: it is easy to suborn evidence in a Chinese court: and he had beencondemned to the cangue, a first step in the system of torture by whicha prisoner, innocent or guilty, is forced to confess.
To one who knew the Chinese as Jack did, there was nothing surprising inthis explanation, except the fact that Wang Shih was the victim. He wasa respectable man, the son of an old farmer some fifteen miles east ofMoukden, and practically the owner of the farm, his father being pastwork. Hard-working and honest, he was the last man to be suspected oftrickery or base dealing. Mr. Brown had done much business with him, andonly recently had had a proof of his good faith. The Chinaman hadcontracted to supply him with a large quantity of fodder. A few daysbefore the date of delivery he had been visited by a business rival ofMr. Brown's, a Pole, who had come to Moukden some four or five yearsbefore, and from small beginnings had worked up a considerable business.Almost from the first he had come into competition with Mr. Brown. Themethods of the two men were diametrically opposed,--the Pole relying onbribery, the corruption of the official class with which he had to deal;the Englishman sternly resolute to lend himself to no transaction inManchuria of which he would be ashamed at home. Anton Sowinski, as thePole was called, offered Wang Shih the strongest inducements to breakhis contract with Mr. Brown; but finding his native honesty proofagainst temptation, he had lost his temper, abused him, and finallystruck him with his whip. The Chinaman was a peaceable fellow; butbeneath his stolidity slumbered the fierce temper of his race. Underthe Pole's provocation and assault his self-restraint gave way. Heseized Sowinski with the grip of a giant, rapped his head soundlyagainst the fence, and then threw him bodily into the road. Thecontract with Mr. Brown had been duly fulfilled; and it was, to say theleast, unlikely that a man who had thus kept faith to his owndisadvantage should have descended to vulgar fraud.
"Who was your accuser?" asked Jack.
"Loo Sen."
"He's a neighbour of yours, isn't he?"
"Yes, and has long borne us ill-will. But it was not he really. As Ileft the yamen where I was tried, a friend whispered me that Loo Sen wasin the pay of Sowinski."
"Ah! that throws a light on it. Sowinski is having his revenge. It isa bad business, Mr. Wang."
Jack knew the ways of Moukden magistrates too well to hope that theconviction and sentence could be quashed. On the contrary, if the cangueproved ineffectual in extorting a confession, there were various gradesof torture that could be applied in turn. But prisoners often escaped;their friends, it is true, afterwards suffered. Wang Shih was so bigand strong that he might easily have overpowered his gaoler some nightwhen the cangue was removed; it was, perhaps, only consideration for hisfamily that had restrained him. Jack questioned him on this point.
"Yes. That is the reason. The constable--wah! I could kill himeasily; but what then? I could not remain in Moukden; I am too wellknown. And my father would not be safe. They would behead him, and robmy family of all they possess."
"Yes, I understand. I wish I could do something for you; but I see noway. My father might have done something at one time--possibly throughthe Russians, although they are unwilling to mix themselves up inChinese quarrels; but in any case his influence is gone since the warbegan."
"You can do one thing for me, sir, if you will; that is, send a messageto my father. Tell him to gather all his things together and leave thedistrict. I will never confess to a crime which I did not commit, andthere will be time for him, before I am beheaded, to get away."
"I will do that. I would do anything I could to help you, but----"
"Here comes the constable, sir."
Jack looked along the road and saw, slouching up, a typical specimen ofthe Chinese constable. In China the constable is universally anddeservedly detested. Sheltered by the mandarins of the yamen, he preysupon the rich and oppresses the poor. The prisoner in his keeping isstarved, beaten, tortured until he yields his last copper cash; if heescapes, the constable pounces upon his unhappy relatives, and theirfate is the same. This man scowled fiercely upon Jack, and the latter,seeing that no good could come of remaining longer, spoke a final wordof sympathy to Wang Shih, and went on amid the thinning stream of peopleto the city.
"Well, Jack," said his father, as the lad entered the neat one-storyhouse which served both as dwelling and office; "any news?"
"None, Father. The wires are still monopolized."
"That's a nuisance. You'll have to pack off to Vladivostok yourself,I'm afraid. Ten chances to one, Captain Fraser will not get throughsafely; still, one can never tell. I heard a rumour to-day that theRussian fleet has made a raid from Vladivostok; and if it keeps theJapanese employed, Fraser may make a safe run. You've been a longtime."
"Yes. I had a chat with Lieutenant Borisoff; but I was detained on theway back. What do you think? Sowinski has got Loo Sen to bring a chargeagainst Wang Shih, and the poor fellow is in the cangue."
"Whew! That's bad. It means decapitation in the end."
"I suppose you can do nothing for him?"
"Nothing, I fear. I'm sorry for the poor chap, especially as I'm afraidit's partly through his holding to his bargain with me. But I've noinfluence now, and even if I had, it would be useless to interfere in apurely Chinese matter. We could never prove that Sowinski had a hand init."
Mr. Brown reflected for some moments, Jack studying his features.
"No," he said at last, "there's absolutely nothing we can do. This onlyproves that I am right in winding things up and cutting sticks. Thatfellow Sowinski is a blackguard; if I stayed here he'd find some meansof doing me an injury next."
"But, Father, the Chinese are good friends of ours, and you've neverbeen on bad terms with the Russians."
"Not till lately, it is true. But this war has brought a new set of menhere, and you know perfectly well that I've offended some of them;General Bekovitch, for one, has a grudge against me. They don'tunderstand a man who won't bribe or be bribed; I really think theybelieve there must be something fishy about him! However, we'll be offas soon as you get back from Vladivostok, and leave the field toSowinski. I wish the Russians joy of him."
"When shall I go to Vladivostok?"
"The day after to-morrow; that gives Orloff another chance. And I'veseveral little things still to settle up. By the way, here's a queerletter I got just now; it was brought by a Chinese runner fromNewchang."
He handed the letter to Jack, who read:
"Respected Sir,--The undersigned does himself the honour to introducehimself to your esteemed notice, as per instructions received perAmerican Cable Company from my principals, Messrs. Schlagintwert Co. ofDuesseldorf, namely, 'Apply assistance Brown of Moukden'. I presumefrom aforesaid cable my Co. may already have had relations with youresteemed Firma. My arrival in Moukden may be expected within a few daysof receipt. Believe me, with high esteem and compliments,
"Your obedient servant, "HlLDEBRAND SCHWAB.
_"Postscriptum_.--Also representative of the _Illustrirte Vaterland u.Colonien_."
"Tear it up, Jack. No doubt we shall be away when he comes."
"Who are Schlagintwert, Father?"
"You remember those automatic couplings we tried on the Harbin sectionthree or four years ago----"
"The ones that took two men to fasten and four to release?" said Jack,laughing.
"Exactly. Well, they were Schlagintwert's."
At this moment the clang of a gong, followed by the thud of a drum,sounded through the streets.
"They're closing the gates," said Jack. "I think I'll go to bed,Father; I'm pretty tired."
"Good-night, then! I shan't be long after you. I've a little morewriting to do. Sen
d Hi Lo in with some lemonade."