Hills of Han 37

Hills of Han 37

Mr. Po did not at once reply to this; seemed to be considering it,

gazing out on the moonlit courtyard.

 

“It is no longer a case of cat and mouse,” Brachey pressed on.

“Something happened last night at the yamen. Am I right?”

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

Brachey waited. After a long pause Mr. Po shifted his position, laughed

a little, then spoke as follows:

 

“In afternoon yesterday old reprobate, Kang, sent to His Excellency

letter which passed between my hands as secretary. He said that in days

like these of great sorrow and humiliation agony of China it is best

that those of responsible care and devotion to her welfare should draw

together in friendship, and therefore he would in evening make call on

His Excellency to express friendship and speak of measures that might

lay dust of misunderstanding and what-not.”

 

“Hmm!” Thus Brachey. “And what did _that_ mean?”

 

“Oh, the devil to pay and all! It was insult of blackest nature.”

 

“I don’t quite see that.”

 

“Oh, yes. He should not have written in arrogant put-in-your-place way.

His Excellency most graciously gave orders to prepare ceremonial banquet

and presents of highest value, but in his calm eye flashed light of

battle to death. You see, sir, it was thought of Kang to show all

T’ainan and near-by province who was who, taking bull by horns.”

 

“Hmm! I don’t know as I... well, go on.”

 

“In particular His Excellency made prepare great bowl of sweet lotus

soup, for in past years Kang had great weakness for such soup made by

old cook of far-away Canton who attach to His Excellency a devil of a

while ago.”

 

“And so they had the banquet?”

 

“Oh, yes, and I was privileged to be in midst.”

 

“You were there?”

 

“Oh, yes. Banquet was of great dignity and courteous good fellowship.”

 

“I don’t altogether understand the good fellowship.”

 

“China custom habit differs no end from Western custom habit.”

 

“Naturally. Yes. But what was Kang really up to?”

 

“I’m driving at that. After banquet all attendant retinue mandarins

withdraw out of rooms except secretaries.”

 

“Why didn’t they go too?”

 

“Oh, well, it was felt by Kang that His Excellency might put it all

over him with knives of armed men. And His Excellency had not forgotten

tricky thought of Kang in eighteen-ninety-eight in Shantung when he asks

disagreement but very strong mandarins to banquet and then sends out

soldiers to remove heads in a wink while mandarins ride out to their

homes when all good nights are said.”

 

“You mean that Kang’s men beheaded all his dinner guests, because they

disagreed with him?”

 

“Oh, yes.” Here Mr. Po grew reflective. “Kang is very queer old son of a

gun--very tall, very thin, very old, with face all lines that come down

so”--he drew down his smooth young face in excellent mimicry of an old

man--“and he stoops so, and squints little sharp eyes like river rat,

so. A mighty smart man, the reprobate! Regular old devil!” Mr. Po

laughed a little. “My bosom friend Chih T’ang slipped himself in to

me and explained in whisper talk that yamen of His Excellency was

surrounded by Western soldiers of that old Manchu devil. And within

yamen, up to third gate itself, swarmed a hell of a crowd of Manchu

guard of Kang. It was no joke, by thunder!”

 

“I should say not,” observed Brachey dryly. “You were going to tell me

what Kang was really up to.”

 

“Oh, yes! I will tell that post haste. When all had gone except four--”

 

“That is, Kang, and His Excellency, and two secretaries?”

 

“Yes, of whom it was my honor to be absurdly small part. Then Kang

explained with utmost etiquette courtesy to His Excellency that letter

had but yesterday come to him of most hellish import and very front

rank. And his secretary handed cool as you please letter to me and I

to Kis Excellency. It was letter of Prince Tuan to old Kang giving him

power to have beheaded at once His Excellency.”

 

“To behead Pao?”

 

“Oh, yes! And Kang said in neat speech then that no one could imagine

his heartsick distress that one in power should wish great headless

injury to dear old friend of long years and association government. To

him he said it meant hell to pay. And he asked that His Excellency pass

over from own hand infamous letter to be destroyed on spot by own hand

of himself with firm resolve. But His Excellency smiled--a dam’ big

man!--and said for letter of Prince Tuan he felt only worshipful respect

and obedience spirit, and he gave letter to me, and I delivered it to

secretary of Kang, and secretary of Kang delivered it; to old Manchu

himself. Then Kang, with own hands tore letter to bits and dropped bits

in bowl, and his secretary asked me to have servant burn them, but I put

on courteous look of attention to slightest wish of His Excellency

and do not hear low word of secretary to old devil. And then Manchu

reprobate with great courtesy makes farewell ceremony and goes out to

his chair and altogether it’s a hell of a note.”

 

Bradley, in his deliberately reflective way, put the curious story

together in his mind.

 

“Kang, of course, sent to Peking for that letter.” he said.

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

“It was, in a way, fair warning to Pao that the time had come for action

and that Pao had better not try to meddle.”

 

“Oh, yes--all of that. When he had gone Pao was sad. For he knew now

that Kang had on his side heavy hand of Imperial Court at Peking. And

then, late in night we have word from yamen of Kang and other word from

observing officers of His Excellency that Western soldiers make attack

at Hung Chan and that Reverend Doane is killed at city gate. Old Kang

express great regret consideration and shed tears of many crocodiles,

but they don’t go.”

 

“And Pao found himself powerless to interfere.”

 

“Oh, yes! And so then I had audience of His Excellency and with

permission of his mouth sent letter to you. His Excellency formed

opinion right off the reel that it is not wise to send warning to

mission compound, and that if I ever send word to you my head would not

longer be of much use to me in T’ainan.”

 

“Need they know of it at Kang’s yamen?”

 

“There can not be secrets ‘n yamen of great mandarin from observation

eyes of other mandarin. Nothing doing!’’

 

“Oh, I see. Spying goes on all the time, of course.”

 

“Oh, yes! So I say farewell with tears to His Excellency, and in these

old clothes of great disrepute, I”--he chuckled--“I make my skiddoo.”

From within the rags about his body he drew a soiled roll of paper “It

has occurred to me that at Ping Yang time might roll around heavily on

your hands and then, if you don’t care what fool thing you do, you might

bring me great honor by reading this silly little thing. It is lecture

of which I spoke lightly once too often.”

 

Absently Brachey took it. “But why can’t old Kang see,” he asked--“and

Prince Tuan, for that matter--that if they are to start in again

slaughtering white people, they will simply be piling up fresh trouble

for China? Pao, I gather, does see it.”

 

“Oh. yes, His Excellency sees very far, but now he must sit on fence and

wait a bit. Kang, like Prince Tuan, is of the old.”

 

“Didn’t the outcome of the Boxer trouble teach these men anything?”

 

“Not these men. Old China mind is not same as Western progress mind--”

 

“I quite understand that, but...”

 

Mr. Po was slowly shaking his head. “No, old China minds dwell in

different proposition. It is hard to say.”

 

3

 

Toward morning, before his lamp burned out, Brachey read the lecture

to which Mr. Po was pinning such great hopes. It seemed rather hopeless.

There was humor, of course, in the curious arrangement of English words;

but this soon wore off.

 

Later, sitting in the dark, waiting for the first faint glow of dawn,

and partly as an exercise of will, he pondered the problems clustering

about the little, hopeful, always aggressive settlements of white in

Chinese Asia. Mr. Po’s phrases came repeatedly to mind. That one--“Old

China mind dwell in different proposition.” Mr. Po was touching there,

consciously or not, on the heart of the many-tinted race problems which

this bafflingly complex old world must one day either settle or give up.

The inertia of a numerous, really civilized and ancient race like the

Chinese was in itself a mighty force, one of the mightiest in the

world.... Men like Prince Tuan and this Kang despised the West, of

course. And with some reason, when you came down to it. For along

Legation Street the whites dwelt in a confusion of motives. They had

exhibited a firm purpose only when Legation Street itself was attacked.

By no means all the stray casualties among the whites in China were

avenged by their governments. In the present little crisis out here in

Hansi, it might be a long time--a very long time indeed--before the

lumbering machinery of government could be stirred to act in an

unaccustomed direction. At the present time there were not enough

American troops in China to make possible a military expedition to Ping

Yang; merely a company of marines at the legation. To penetrate so far

inland and maintain communication an army corps would be needed; troops

might even have to be assembled and trained in America. It might take a

year. And first the diplomats would have to investigate; then the State

Department would have to be brought by heavy and complicated public