CHAPTER XXIX
JO HEAPS COALS OF FIRE
Turner, crack shot of the American marines and one of the best men inthe corps, was buried. Rob laid a wreath of flowers, twined by AnnabelLorimer, on his coffin, and then went back to the wall, where he was onguard duty at the eastern barricade. A drizzle of rain had fallen sinceearly morning. The Fourth of July of 1900, as celebrated by Americans inPekin, had not been a particularly happy or enjoyable day.
When Rob relieved the man who had taken poor Turner's place on guard,the latter said:
"There's some chap down below there in the southern city who hasbothered me a good deal. He keeps calling out, 'I-ho!' or something ofthat kind, every few minutes, and has been at it for more than an hour;but I can't get a sight of him or even locate him."
"Like this?" asked Rob, at the same time leaning over the parapet anduttering clear and loud the Hatton Academy call.
"Yes, that's exactly it," answered the marine. "How did you know? Therehe goes now--"
The answer had been prompt, but still no one likely to have given itcould be discovered. While they watched and speculated a Chinese arrowcame flying up from some unseen bow, and fell on the wall just withinthe barricades.
"It was only a trick to get a pot shot at us!" exclaimed the marine,disgustedly; but Rob picked up the arrow, wrapped around which he founda sheet of thin paper. It was, as he had hoped, a note from Jo, thatread as follows:
"DEAR ROB,--Don't worry. Everything will come out right side. You have plenty friend in Pekin, among them Prince Ching, who tells that the spirits of air are protect you, and orders them fired at. I have fire-gun at Ha-ta tower, but only blank cartridge. Make plenty noise, and all body is please. Many big gun cannot be use, for fear shoot over and kill Chinese on other side. Now say can starve you out. If you want send letter Tien-Tsin, drop it over wall same place to-morrow, sun dark, and I take it."
From the foregoing it will be seen that Jo's ability to write Englishwas not equal to his conversational fluency in that same tongue; but hisletter was readily understood, and gave great satisfaction to the fewpersons in authority among the defenders, who shortly afterwards weremade acquainted with its contents.
Repeated efforts had been made to get news of their situation to theoutside world, but thus far all the messengers had been captured orturned back. Now, with renewed hope a despatch, descriptive of thesituation in Pekin, and imploring speedy relief, was prepared and givento Rob Hinckley for transmission.
At sunset he again stood at the appointed place on the parapet, and withthe first gathering of dusk a low but distinct call of "Hi-ho!" came upto him from the dark shadows at the foot of the lofty wall. His tinymessage, folded in oiled silk and weighted with a bit of brick, alreadywas attached to a thread, by which it was promptly lowered. Then came aslight jerk on the thread, and he pulled up the broken end to satisfyhimself that the little packet really had been taken.
After this incident the siege dragged wearily on, with frequentskirmishes and constant firing on both sides, but with no decisiveadvantage to either. The death-list received almost daily additions,and the hospitals became filled to overflowing. To the heats of thesummer season were added flooding rains that necessitated a constantrepairing of washed-down defences. Thus weary days lengthened intotedious weeks, and the weeks formed themselves into an unbroken monthof siege, before anything hopeful happened. Then came a white flag fromthe Tsung Li Yamen, with a note signed "Prince Ching and others," askingfor a cessation of firing that negotiations for the departure of theforeigners might be renewed.
This proposition being accepted, active hostilities on both sides weresuspended for a period of three weeks. During this interval the inmatesof the legations were as closely confined to their lines as ever, andhardly a day passed without more or less rifle-firing.
In all this time there was no word from Jo, nor any proof that theprecious message intrusted to him ever had been delivered. There wererumors, filtering through Chinese sources, that Tien-Tsin had beencaptured, and that a great foreign army was marching towards Pekin; butthese rumors could not be verified, and as firing on the legations,especially at night, was again begun, the situation appeared morehopeless than ever.
Shortly before daylight, on the 10th of August, a furious fire wasdirected against the legations, beginning at the southwest, or Russiancorner, and rapidly extending around the entire circle. While it was inprogress, Rob Hinckley, who again was stationed on the wall, thought heheard the signal cry of Hatton Academy coming from the direction of theHa-ta watch-tower. The noise of the cannonade and the rattle of musketrywere so tremendous that he could not be sure, but he ventured ananswering cry, and then breathlessly listened. Yes, there it was again,not loud, but distinct, and apparently close at hand. Rifle-bullets fromthe Ha-ta tower were sweeping the wall and thudding against the toughbricks of the shelter behind which crouched the Americans.
"Don't shoot, men! I am going out!" cried our lad. As he spoke he leapedthe low barricade and ran to the outer parapet, from which the call hadseemed to come.
"Jo!" he shouted. "Jo! where are you?"
"Here I am, Rob," came in feeble tone, and in another moment the youngAmerican had found his friend crawling weakly in the partial shelter ofthe parapet, but at the very end of his strength.
Somehow Rob got him behind the barricade, where he lay panting.
"What is it, old man?" cried his friend, bending anxiously over theexhausted and pitiably emaciated figure. "Are you sick, or wounded, orwhat? Did you get through to Tien-Tsin? Are troops on the way?"
Jo's eyes were closed, and he barely breathed; but his lips moved, andRob caught the whispered words:
"Army most here. Look, leg bandage, Rob, dear friend--"
That was all, and Chinese Jo never spoke again. The last great,self-imposed duty of his life had splendidly been performed, but at whatexpense of suffering never can be known, for in the turmoil of the daysimmediately following his heroic death he was forgotten. AfterwardsGeneral Gasalee, commanding the relieving army, could only say that hehad given several despatches to as many messengers, with the hope thatat least one of them might be got through. The one borne by Jo was foundhidden in a blood-stained cloth bound around one of his legs. It was abrief note from the commanding general, stating that an allied forceof twenty thousand men, British, American, Japanese, and Russian, werefighting their way towards Pekin, and making such steady progress thatthey expected to be at Tung Chou, only twelve miles away, on the 12th,and to reach the capital by the 13th or 14th.
This, the first reliable news received from the relieving army, washailed with extravagant joy by the long-imprisoned inmates of theBritish Legation, and for hours the bulletin-board on which it wasposted was surrounded by a dense throng of all nationalities, many ofwhom could not read English, while some could not read at all, but allanxious to see the blessed words that promised them speedy safety.
The story of Chinese Jo's bravery was told from mouth to mouth until allknew it; and when, that evening, his poor, emaciated body, covered withmute evidences of his sufferings in the form of livid scars and unhealedwounds, was laid to rest in the legation grounds, his funeral was themost largely attended of any during the siege. Although it was not amilitary funeral, the guns of his own countrymen, firing upon those hehad given his life to save, thundered a requiem alike for him and forthe dying era of Chinese national life that was about to close.
Again Rob Hinckley and Annabel Lorimer stood together at an open grave,and as they turned away at the conclusion of the simple but solemnlyimpressive ceremony of committal, the latter said, with tear-chokedvoice:
"I think he was the bravest boy I ever knew."
"He certainly was," replied Rob, "and also he was the best friend I everhad."
When Sir Claude Macdonald first read the welcome despatch from GeneralGasalee, and at the same time heard that its bearer was dead, heexclaimed: "What a pity he could not have lived to take
back a plan ofthe city walls, showing the best place of entrance!"
A little later this regret became generally expressed, but it did notreach Rob Hinckley's ears until the day after Jo's funeral. Immediatelyupon hearing it, he went to the American minister and offered hisown services as a messenger to convey any desired information to theapproaching army.
At first the minister refused his consent. "The southern city, aswell as the country between here and Tung Chou, is crowded with theenemy," he said, "and for a foreigner, or even for a native messenger,to attempt a passage through them would be to court an almost certaindeath."
"My friend gave his life for us," replied Rob, simply, "and he wasa Chinese who had been badly treated by Americans. What he did anyAmerican ought to be willing to do. Besides, I believe I can getthrough. He taught me how to travel in China as a Chinese, and now, ifever, is my chance to profit by his lessons. Please let me go, sir.If I am killed, it will only be one life lost; if I get through, theinformation I can give about the water-gate may save thousands of lives."
That night a Chinese beggar, apparently old and on the verge ofstarvation, clad in the filthiest of rags, and with a scanty, unkemptqueue coiled in slovenly manner about his half-shaven head, hobbled, byaid of a stick, towards the low water-gate, under the Tartar City wall,that carried off the surplus water of the imperial canal. This gatenominally was closed by iron bars, and in times of flood was impassable;but now there was little water flowing through it, and it was onlychoked with black mud. Above it was that section of the city wall heldby American marines.
Fumbling in the darkness of this almost-forgotten water-gate, the beggarfound a bar so rusted and worn by age that he could force a way through.When he emerged on the other side of the wall he was covered with black,vile-smelling mud. It rendered him so disgusting an object that even aChinese could not tolerate his presence, and, whenever he approached onewith a whining plea for alms, he was driven away with blows and curses.Thus he wandered on from group to group, through many streets, until hecame to a gate in the eastern wall of the southern city that was guardedby a troop of Chinese cavalry. These amused themselves by teasing him,until, at length, one of them, tired of the sport, said:
"Oh! Put him outside, and let the old bag of bones go to the foreigndevils. They will stuff him full of bullets and make him fat."
So the gate was opened a little way, and the beggar was thrust throughit at the points of a dozen spears, some of which pricked him cruelly.Thus driven from the city, he continued his way, walking more stronglynow than he had before, over the great stone road leading to Tung Chou.
With sunrise there was borne to his ears the startling sounds of heavyfiring in the east, the boom of field-artillery, the rat-tat-tat ofmachine-guns, and the sharp, volleying crash of musketry. Then came theroar of a heavy explosion, and he felt the earth tremble as though froma distant earthquake. Fugitive Chinese soldiers, many of them wounded,began to appear and hurry past him. A little later, as they threatenedto throng the highway, he withdrew to a cluster of ruined mud-hutsmarking the site of an abandoned village. Here, desperately weary, heflung himself on the ground, and almost instantly fell asleep. An houror two afterwards he awoke and cautiously peered from his shelter. Thehighway was deserted, and, regaining it, he again pressed on towardsTung Chou.
At length, the city wall was so close at hand that he could hearbugle-calls sounding beyond it. As he eagerly listened to the familiarnotes, a rifle-shot came, without warning, from a ruined village similarto that in which he had rested. The beggar was spun half-way round, andfelt a stinging sensation in his right shoulder. A moment later halfa dozen Japanese soldiers, forming a scouting party, sprang from theruins and ran towards him, laughing at the sorry figure he cut. One ofthem drew a pistol and was about to put him out of the misery indicatedby his appearance, when, to their amazement, he shouted to them in alanguage that they knew to be English:
"I am American! Take me to General Chaffee!"
After a parley he managed to make them understand, and shortlyafterwards he stood in the presence of the stern-featured, keen-eyedAmerican commander.
"Well, sir! Who are you? What do you want?" demanded the general.
"I have just come from Pekin with this plan of the walls, sent by theAmerican minister, and my name is Robert Hinckley," was the reply.
The words were hardly uttered when an officer, who had been writingin another part of the room, sprang to his feet and confronted thedisguised lad with incredulous eyes.
CHAPTER XXX
THE CAPTURE OF PEKIN
Captain John Astley, of Z Battery, Light Artillery, U.S.A., had thoughtoften of the lad who had crossed the Pacific with him, and when hereceived the order to proceed with his battery to China he wonderedif, by any chance, he should again meet his young friend. In the rushof events that followed Rob was quite forgotten, until a strangecoincidence brought his name so prominently to the front that it wasmentioned almost daily. Captain Astley even hoped to find the lad inPekin, and had anticipated the joyful recognition that would accompanytheir meeting. Now, therefore, as he sat writing in General Chaffee'stemporary headquarters, near the Tung Chou gateway, blown up by theJapanese that very morning, the name uttered by the Chinese beggar underexamination instantly attracted his attention.
"I beg your pardon, general," he said, "but this person has justmentioned a name well known to me. Have I your permission to questionhim?"
"Yes; question all you please," replied General Chaffee, who already wasabsorbed in the plan of Pekin walls and the accompanying description oftheir weak points that had so opportunely come to him.
"Can you possibly be the Rob Hinckley who crossed the Pacific to Manilain the transport _Logan_ last March?" asked the artillery officer,eagerly, of the wretched-looking figure that, trembling with weakness,stood before him.
"I am, sir; and you are Captain John Astley, of Battery Z," was thereply.
"Good Heavens, Rob! It seems impossible; and it is absolutely incrediblethat any human being could be so completely disguised and so utterlychanged. How in the name of--? But I won't ask a question, though I amnearly choked by a thousand that are clamorous for utterance. There is adear friend of yours somewhere outside, and I must bring him in, so thatall of us may hear your story together. General--"
Here the speaker said a few words to the commander in so low a tone thatRob could not catch them, and hastily left the room.
In less than a minute he returned, accompanied by an excited butpuzzled-looking gentleman, clad in semi-military uniform, who, hastilysaluting the general, turned immediately to where Rob still was standing.
"Here he is, my boy!" cried Captain Astley, exultingly. "Your own daddy!We found him in Shanghai fretting his life out over his lost family, andbrought him along as battery surgeon. But, hello! What's the matter? Whydon't you rush into each other's arms? Do you need an introduction?"
Father and son were staring curiously at each other.
"Is it possible that you are my own little Rob?" gasped the former.
"Are you really my father?" interrogated Rob, gazing doubtfully at thewhite-headed man who now was said to be the same young, dark-hairedparent that had bidden him farewell in America years before.
"If you are Rob," continued Dr. Hinckley, huskily, "tell me what hasbecome of my wife--your mother. Is she alive or dead?"
"She is alive and safe in Cheng-Ting-Fu."
"Thank God! Thank God!" cried the overjoyed man, with tears rolling downhis cheeks. "But, Rob--Good Heavens!"
With this he sprang forward and caught the lad, who was totteringand evidently about to fall. Loss of blood from his wound, strain,excitement, and exhaustion--all had done their work--and everything swambefore his failing sight as his surgeon-father gently laid him down.
The next day, when the relieving army, which had fought its way mile bymile from the distant sea, made its final dash for Pekin, Rob Hinckleyfollowed it in an ambulance, tossing and muttering incoherently in theunconsciou
sness of a high fever.
Within the city the excitement on that memorable 13th of August wasintense. Foreign guns thundered against its massive walls and stoutgates from noon until dark, while from the lofty battlements swarms ofChinese sharp-shooters replied with so furious a rifle-fire that nonedared cross the death-swept zone.
Inside the walls the bombardment of the legation defences was continuousall that day and all through the night that followed. Nor were thebesieged foreigners silent; but through the long hours the baying oftheir Nordenfeldt gun, the vicious barking of their Colt's automatic,the growl of "Old Betsy," the Chinese six-pounder that they hadfound and converted to their own use, and the sharp yelping of theirrifle-fire were heard unceasingly.
During the morning of the 14th the bombardment of the city wascontinued, the Japanese being held at bay outside a stoutly defendedeastern gate, which they only succeeded in blowing up and carryingafter dark that night. At the same time the Russians were caught ina death-trap at the next gateway on the south, where they easily hadforced the outer gate, but could make no impression upon the inner. Heretheir chief of staff was killed, and many of their men, before theyextricated themselves and retired to a safe distance.
After that the Americans tried the same entrance, stormed it, scaled thelofty wall, charged down the inner ramp, gained possession, opened thegate, and found themselves inside the southern city. From this pointthey fought their way through a net-work of alleys and streets, swarmingwith Chinese riflemen, to the water-gate beneath the Tartar wall,concerning which Rob Hinckley had furnished them with information.
In the mean time the British column, assigned to a gate still farthersouth, had the marvellous good-fortune to find it undefended. So theysimply marched in, traversed the southern city, taking possession of theTemple of Heaven _en route_, made their way to Rob's water-gate, wadedthrough its mud, and, to their own amazement as well as that of everyone else, found themselves not only in the heart of Pekin almost withouthaving fired a shot, but within the lines of legation defence as well.
The first officer of the relieving army to pass through the water-gatewas Major Scott, of the 1st Sikhs, and with him were four of his men.Then came General Gasalee and his staff, followed by the Sikh regiment,the 1st Bengal Lancers, a detachment of Welsh fusileers, a fieldbattery, the Hong-Kong regiment, and a detachment of Royal marines.
A few minutes later came the Americans, cheering their flag and theirweary comrades, who for two months had held the wall. They also camethrough the famous water-gate that Chinese blindness had failed toobstruct. General Chaffee led the way, and he was followed by fivehundred marines, the 14th and 9th regiments of infantry, two Hotchkissguns, and Battery Z.
The siege of the legations was ended, the relieving army was inpossession of Pekin, the Empress Dowager, together with the Emperorand the whole imperial court had fled, and the ill-advised, savagelybrutal, but long-continued effort to drive foreigners from Chinesesoil had come to an ignominious ending. Had China been united, thestruggle might have been prolonged for years, though it never couldhave succeeded; but China was "a house divided against itself." Out ofthe eighteen provinces only three took part in the movement, the othersbeing either opposed to it or indifferent as to its outcome.
The Empress Dowager, who hated the very idea of reforms based uponforeign models, was opposed by the Emperor, who desired them. Theprime-minister, Prince Tuan, bitterly anti-foreign, found his schemesopposed by Prince Ching and the ever-politic Li Hung Chang. Thebloody Kwang-su general, Tung-Fu-Hsang, who thirsted for the blood offoreigners, was thwarted in his plans for their destruction by the morewary General Jung Lu, who ordered his troops not to kill any more thanthey could help.
So Pekin fell, almost without a struggle, and for a year afterwards thecity was misruled and looted by foreign soldiers, who destroyed many ofits most beautiful structures and carried away its most precious worksof art. From it also they ravaged the surrounding country, sending outpunishment expeditions to kill, burn, and destroy in every direction.
In the mean time the American troops had been followed into the city bya train of the biggest army wagons ever seen in China, each drawn bysix huge mules, and by a number of four-mule ambulances, one of whichbrought Rob Hinckley. From it he was transferred to a hospital, wherehe lay for weeks with no knowledge of his surroundings or of what washappening about him. Then one day he opened his eyes and looked into theface of his mother.
Of course he knew that this was a dream, for all things were but dreamswith him now, so he wearily closed his unreliable eyes and went tosleep. The next time he opened them he again saw his mother's face,bending lovingly, but oh! so anxiously, over him. This time the dreamlasted until she gently kissed his forehead, and he heard her say:"Please, dear God, don't take him from us!" Then he knew that he wasawake and must make haste to get up, because it troubled his mother tohave him lie there. Besides, it was very silly not to be able to raisehis hands. A little later it occurred to him to wonder if he were inCheng-Ting-Fu, or, if not, how it happened that his mother had come awayfrom so safe a place into one so full of danger as Pekin.
By-and-by they told him all about the expedition that, accompanied byhis father, had been sent down the road from Pekin, how terribly it hadpunished Pao-Ting-Fu for its murder of missionaries, and how it had goneon to Cheng-Ting-Fu to find all the foreigners who had taken refugebehind its brave walls safe and unharmed. He learned of his parents'joyful reunion, and how they had hastened back to Pekin and his bedside.Gradually, too, he was told the thrilling story of his father's escapefrom the dreadful city of Tai-Yuan, of his perilous wanderings throughShan-Si and Ho-nan, until finally he found himself on a branch of theHan River, down which he floated for many nights in a skiff to Hankow.From there he was taken on a United States gun-boat to Shanghai, wherehe met Mr. Bishop, the engineer, and learned that his boy had plungedinto the very heart of the storm of wrath then centring about Pekin.
During his days of convalescence, while Rob was learning of all thesethings, he saw much of the Lorimers, who had refused to leave Pekinuntil assured that the lad, to whom they felt they were so largelyindebted for their own safety, was himself out of danger.
Then the two families left the city in which they had suffered andendured so much, and travelled together over the reconstructed railwayto Tien-Tsin, where they took steamer for Shanghai. There Rob foundhis trunk, together with the money due him for services rendered, thathad been forwarded from Canton by Mr. Bishop. He also found severalletters from the engineer, who had learned so highly to appreciate thelad's pluck, manliness, and ready resource during the long journey theyhad taken together that he now offered him a permanent and well-paidposition on the proposed American railway.
About this same time Mr. Lorimer, who was president of a great Americanlife insurance company, offered Dr. Hinckley the post of chief medicalexaminer in China for his company, which was about to extend itsoperations into that country.
It is almost needless to say that both these offers were promptlyaccepted, and before the Lorimers took steamer for America and the laststage of their eventful journey around the world, Dr. and Mrs. Hinckleywere already settled in the Shanghai house that was to be their futurehome.
Rob left them there when he went to Canton to assume his new duties; buthe rejoins them in July of each year, when father, mother, and son gotogether to Japan for a happy month among its life-giving mountains.
The strong friendship cemented between Annabel and Rob during thoseterrible Pekin days has since been maintained by means of frequentletters, and both await with eager anticipations the autumn of 1904,when the Hinckleys are to revisit their own country and join theLorimers on a trip to the World's Fair at St. Louis.
In talking it all over, Mrs. Hinckley often exclaims: "How wonderful arethe ways of Providence!" and whenever Rob hears her speak thus, he adds:
"Yes, mother, and how splendidly were the designs of Providence carriedout by Chinese Jo!"
THE END
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