CHAPTER TEN.
"COWARDLY BRUTES!"
Stan had the stout old tea-farmer who owned the place to thank for therescue from his extremely awkward position. For, making tremendous useof his tongue, in words which, if interpreted, undoubtedly would haveproved to mean, "Let the lad get up, you brutes; can't you see that youare nearly stifling him?" the farmer supplemented his fierce verbalabuse with blows and thrusts which, in spite of being armed, theinvaders made no attempt to resist. They gave way good-humouredlyenough, evidently being quite satisfied with their capture; and aftertaking the precaution to station a spearman at each door and window,they allowed Stan to rise, and then bound him hand and foot to theframework of a cane chair, which they planted full in sight in themiddle of the room, before crowding to the well-spread table and makinga raid upon the food.
This evoked another torrent of abuse, in which the farmer was stoutlyaided by two sturdy young fellows--apparently his sons--his fat wife,and a couple of men.
The farmer seemed to be blessed with a grand vocabulary, and to be wellskilled in giving volleys of abuse; but he might have spared his breathfor all the effect his words had upon Stan's captors. They listenedcalmly enough, and as the boy looked on it seemed to him that all thebullying did was to give the rough party of soldiers an excellentappetite. In fact, the more the farmer raved the more they ate and gaveorders for the big teapot to be filled; while, when the farmer ceasedshouting, the visitors ceased eating and took out their pipes to a man.
A few minutes later the table had been cleared by the tea-farmer'speople, and a couple of the biggest soldiers rose at an order from theirleader, seized the chair by its two sides, and then heaved together,lifting it on high and dropping it upon the table, where Stan had themisery of finding himself the observed of all observers; being treatedas a newly captured foreign devil planted there for inspection, everyman staring hard after precisely the stupid, open-mouthed fashion ofsome of our own country louts.
Now and then a remark would be passed by some smoker which brought theangry blood to the lad's cheeks; for, though not to be exactlyinterpreted, its meaning was evidently derisive, and afforded amusementto the lookers-on at Stan's expense.
"Cowardly brutes!" he muttered; and that was the only satisfaction hecould get, save that of indulging in hopes that Wing was well on his wayto the big city, where he would be sure to get into communication withsome one or other of the principal traders, and from them obtain anaudience with the chief mandarin, who, as a Government official, wouldfeel himself bound to interfere on behalf of the young Englishman whohad been seized.
And so a couple of hours dragged slowly along, at the end of which timethe prisoner began to come to the conclusion that he had allowed Wingtime to get to the river city, and that when he had patiently waitedanother two hours Wing would have fulfilled his mission and be on hisway back with some of the mandarin's guards.
But, to his dismay, Stan found that he was not to wait there till Wingreturned; for all at once the man in command of the rough soldierygrowled out an order, which resulted in a clumsy tumbling together ofthe party and the production of two very large, thick bamboo poles.
These were laid right in front of the farmhouse, and then the chair wasseized and lifted down, to be carried out to where the bamboos lay,these being passed between the legs and there lashed.
"Am I to be turned into a Guy Fawkes?" muttered Stan angrily, as he gavehimself a wrench in his seat to try and loosen his bandages.
But the result was vile. The captain of the party uttered a furiousgrowl and made-believe to draw his sword, while a couple of his menseized the prisoner, holding him down fast, and a third dropped upon hisknees and proceeded to tighten the thongs with such savage violence thatthe pain turned the lad faint, making him hang back quite lax, with thegreat drops of perspiration gathering on his forehead.
It was while everything seemed to be sailing round him that he becameconscious of a peculiar, shaking motion which sharpened the pain hesuffered. But the sickening sensation passed off, and he became fullyconscious, to his great disgust, that he was being made the principalfigure--carried shoulder-high as he was--in a triumphal procession onits way, so far as he could judge, back towards the great gate, which hecould dimly see towering up in the distance.
They were right out in the country, with rice-fields and plantations inall directions, so that the inhabitants were scarce; but the people ofthe farm closed up as near as his captors would allow, and as theytramped slowly along, Stan from his elevated, swaying perch could seemen at a distance throwing down the tools with which they were working,and trotting along with their tails bobbing between their shoulders,some to overtake, others to meet, and all to join in the procession.
"Why, they treat it as if it were some show--the wretches!" said Stan tohimself. "Ugh! How I should like to give it to some of them! Grinningat me! Yes, actually grinning at me! Why, I believe they look upon meas a newly caught foreign devil, and they're following to see meexecuted, or--Oh, surely they won't do that!"
A sudden thought had flashed across his brain--an echo or reflection ofsomething he had read or seen in connection with some poor wretch beingkept as a captive by the Chinese and exhibited in a great bamboo cage.
The first effect of the thought was to send a shiver through him,chilling him to the bone; the following minute a sensation of heat madehim flush to the temples, and he ground his teeth.
"Yes," he said to himself, "they'd better! No, they daren't. They'repig-headed enough, but they must know that I'm an Englishman--well, anEnglish boy, then," he added correctively. "Oh, they daren't! I'm onlymy father's son--plain Stanley Lynn--but as soon as they knew atheadquarters they'd send a gunboat to demand me; and--of course--yes,it's a fine thing to be a British subject, for even if I am only a boy,our English Minister wouldn't have a hair of my head injured--if hecould help it."
Stan thought this addition to his musings in a very different spirit tothat which had preceded it. One minute he was proud and elated at theidea that he was an Englishman, with a general touch-me-if-you-dare sortof sensation making his eyes flash and sparkle and his cheeks glow; thenext he was fully awake to the fact that he was a tightly boundprisoner, having a most abominable ride to some cage, alone and helplessamong an inimical race of ignorant people who were delighted to see thepredicament he was in--so much alone that, failing Wing, not one wouldraise a hand in his behalf. He was quite right about Consul andMinister and the stupendous machinery that would be set in motion torescue his insignificant self, but there was the setting it in motion.All depended upon Wing.
"But where is Wing?" he said half-aloud, and he wrenched his head roundto look back along the procession, half-expecting to see the poor fellowaloft in another chair, a prisoner, bound as well.
There was a savage growl at his movement, which made the chair sway, and_bang_! one of the soldiers brought the spear he shouldered heavilyagainst the cane frame, making Stan start and then dart an angry glanceat the man.
_Bang_! came the shaft again, and Stan winced once more, but bit hislips with annoyance, for his captors yelled with laughter, and othersstruck at the chair.
They struck in vain now.
"Its to make me squirm--to make the foreign devil squirm," mutteredStan; "but I'm not going to now. I'd die first."
Whether Stan would have gone as far as he mentally asserted is open toquestion, but he was able to maintain sufficient control over himself tosit fast; not even flinching when, after several heavy blows had beengiven, without result, to the chair, one of the most facetious of theguards--a big, broad-faced, smooth-headed fellow--lowered his spear andgave the young prisoner a prog with it in the back.
It hurt, for Stan's white flannels were thin; but the poke was not givenwith sufficient force to go through the material, and furthermanifestations of the kind were put a stop to by a fierce shout from thecaptain, though the men all joined in a hearty laugh.
"Brutes!" muttered Stan; and he sa
t forward, sweeping the country beforehim, as he devoted himself to wondering what had become of Wing.
It was evident that he had not been made a prisoner, for he was nowhereto be seen; and now, as the chair went on, jig, jog--jig, jog, Stan'sbrain was agitated by the terrible thought that his poor attendant mighthave been struck down badly wounded, if not killed, in the sharpstruggle, for he had no reason to hope that he had escaped.
"If I could only ask!" thought Stan. But he could not. He had pickedup a few words and sentences since he had been in the country, but feltvery doubtful about making himself understood; while, when he did atlast make up his mind for the effort, and leant forward to venture aquestion to one of his bearers, all he elicited was a derisive burst oflaughter, interspersed with mocking imitations of his attempts at theChinese tongue.
"Brutes!" he muttered again; and he rode on in silence for some time,till his anxiety to know more of Wing's fate proved too much for him,and this time he appealed to the soldier who had used his spear.
But the only reply was a menacing gesture, accompanied by a scowl, forthe man had not forgiven him for being the cause of a sharp reproof fromthe captain, though it is doubtful whether Stan could have made himselfunderstood.
Fortunately for the prisoner, the pain he suffered from his blows andbonds grew more bearable as the procession jogged slowly on; for the sunwas hot, pauses had to be made from time to time to exchange bearers,and nobody seemed to be in the slightest hurry. The result was thatafter a couple of hours' tramp the great gate-tower seemed to be nearlyas far off as ever, and Stan had sunk into a gloomy state of thinking,in which he divided his time between determining to make the best ofthings and forcing himself to take as much notice as he could of thedevious track they followed through the rice-fields, whose beautiful,tender green seemed to refresh the poor fellow's weary eyes.
"Yes," he said to himself, "I may be able to escape, and I might doworse than make straight for the farmhouse. The people there arefriendly, and I could reckon upon their helping me to the river and someboat. Once in a boat with some provisions, I could float down to the_hong_ easily enough, even if it took days or a week or two because ofmy being forced to hide in the reeds by day and only go on by night.But why go to the farm first when, if I could get to the river from thetown, I could start on at once? I shall see," he muttered; "and therecan be no harm in noticing the country along here. It might be usefulto know. But I wonder what has become of poor old Wing."
He sat on all through the heat of the day, drooping as well aswondering, but growing more low-spirited as he swayed forward, jog, jog,jog, jog, in wearisome fashion, and having hard work at times to siterect. And but for a couple of halts that were made for the men to restand smoke as they lay about in the thick grass at the edge of somepaddy-field, he would have sunk forward as far as his bonds allowed andfallen into the stupor of exhaustion.
After the last halt, which was greatly prolonged, the way led along amuch more beaten road; and now the great gate seemed to have loomed upwith wonderful suddenness through the hot haze of the Asiatic afternoon.The sight of the huge building and the walls seemed to give theprisoner more energy, making him gaze excitedly at what he could see ofthe dwarf buildings beyond the encompassing walls, and wonder where theprison would be situated that was to be his halting-place.
He now recalled, too, the tramp through the darkness of the earlymorning with Wing, the way up to the sleeping guards from inside, andthe narrow escape from being taken when the great gate was approached.
It now seemed certain to the lad that they must, after all, have beenseen by some one of the guards, and quietly pursued and trapped at thefarm; and after settling this in his own mind, he turned once more as heswayed along on his bearers' shoulders to wonder where he would beimprisoned, questioning himself as to what sort of a place it would be--whether very strong, high up in a tower, or low down in a dungeon.Where?
"If poor old Wing were only here!" he groaned to himself as theyapproached and passed under the gate. "We could perhaps escapetogether. But he must have been killed.--Oh, if I only knew where theyare going to put me!"
His head was feverish from his hot and weary ride, which was fastbringing on a strange delirium which made him feel as if it were only adream after all.
Then it was no dream. Everything was wakeful and a fact, for he knewwhere he was to be imprisoned, the bearers halting and setting down hischair at the beetle-browed entrance of what proved to be the greatguard-room of the gateway tower.