In the Yellow Sea
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I was very much annoyed by this departure, and began to grumble at the skipper; he only laughed at first, and then got angry in his turn, until the mate came aft and dragged me below, where we supped in amity.
"Take no notice of anything," said my new friend; "but, 'tween you and me, there's going to be trouble about this. For one of these chaps has been induced by the other to clear out of Victoria and to go to Shanghai. I can understand some of the lingo, and it's plain to me that the man named Oh Sing, or Kim, – I can't quite catch it, – is rather frightened of the boss, whose name is Lung. The Lung man won't let him out of his sight, and if a chance comes I suspect Mr. Lung will punish the other fellow."
"What's his object, then?" I asked.
"Can't say. Eagan is suspicious, too, of these Coreans. One fellow is evidently nervous, and keeps his Japanese servant near him all the time. The captain don't want any fuss on board this ship, you understand."
"Well, I shall say nothing. We shan't be long in reaching Shanghai, and there I can quit, eh?"
"Certainly – why yes, of course. Now, when you're finished, we shall go on deck. The captain will want to go down then, and you shall watch with me if you like. Keep your eyes skinned."
"You scent danger then?"
"In two ways. The glass is falling; that, after such a jumpy time as we've had, means tempest. You know that?"
I nodded, and he proceeded.
"Then, again, we must never leave these passengers to themselves, unless the weather's very bad, because there'll be trouble. If the weather's bad they'll all be sick, and near dead anyway. So let us pray for typhoon, mister."
"I shall not," was my reply. "When you see the barometer waltzing down to twenty-eight degrees or so you'll pray for something more interesting to yourself! Keep an eye upon the Coreans by all means, but watch the glass whatever you do."
We were strolling up and down the weather-side of the deck. The wind was off shore, and a bit abaft the beam. As we cleared the Channel we spun along the ripples, sending the "phosphorus" flying around the stern, and light-up the forepart to the chains. The sky was perfectly clear, and the mate hoped to reach Formosa quickly with such a breeze.
We were still strolling at four bells, ten o'clock, and then I felt inclined to turn in somewhere.
"Take my bunk in the inner cabin. If you hear anything, just let me or the skipper know. Those fellows have a game on if I am not mistaken; but no 'revenge' in this ship, I say."
He nodded at me significantly in the soft light by the binnacle. The steersman was a Lascar. The crew was composed of a variety of natives; but in the cold weather of the northern sea the Lascars were as dead – and died too.
"Good-night," I said. "I'll find my way."
I stepped softly down the stairs, and passed through the "saloon" or eating-cabin. I found the berth close by, and tumbled in by the dim light of a swinging candle-lamp of the spring-up pattern, as we used to call it. The company in the saloon had dispersed; the captain had quitted it some time before, and the two Coreans and the Japanese servant, who stuck to Oh Sing, parted. The man Lung, I fancied, disposed himself in the saloon. The other came and looked at me, and perceiving that I did not stir, he, after a pause, crawled out, hands and knees, on the floor, and vanished in the darkness outside the berth.
The wind was rising, the sea was following suit. I slept lightly as usual, when I was awakened by a breathing close to my face. I opened my eyes quickly, and started up.
A knife flashed in my face. I seized it, and shouted, "Help!"
At the moment I cried out I sprang up. Someone at the same time extinguished the already expiring lamp, and as I leaped upon the deck-floor I distinctly heard something retiring. I called again, and the captain came down into the dark and silent saloon.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Is that you, Mr. Julius? Had a bad dream, I reckon, eh? What are you doing here, anyway?"
He turned a ship's lantern upon my scared countenance as he was speaking.
"No; someone came into the berth and flashed a knife in my eyes. If I had not called out I would have been stabbed."
"Nonsense, nonsense," said the captain, who still blinked the light upon my alarmed looks. "There are no murderers here, lad. But tell me how you came in here; this berth belongs to the passengers."
"The mate told me I would find a bunk in his berth."
"Likely; but this isn't his. This belongs to one of my passengers – to Mr. Oh Sing."
"To him!" I exclaimed, recalling the hints of the mate. "Then perhaps somebody intended to stab him!"
The skipper looked at me steadily for quite half a minute, without speaking. Then he replied —
"Better come on deck, sonny; you'll see no knives there, and may bear a hand for me. I think, somehow, a storm is coming up. Look slippy now," he said, as he went to examine the other "rooms" astern.
I looked as slippy as possible, but "look sleepy" was just then the more correct expression, as I ascended the stairs to the deck. The breezy, somewhat cool, night soon dissipated the feelings of sloth which remained in my eyes, and I was able to grasp the aspects of the surroundings, which were, after all, pleasanter than the revealed dangers of the cabin.
The mate was forward, and I took up my position by the wheel so as to look well ahead and around. There was a low grating astern, on that I stood and cast my eyes over the sails.
The schooner was slipping away north-east, the wind still just a little abaft the beam, and filling all our sails. The Harada was a topsail schooner – that is, she carried small square sails aloft on the foremast, and as I reflected, with a fast-beating heart, upon the very narrow escape I had had below, my glance was fixed upon the topsail, which seemed pulling hard at intervals. Then the wind would slacken again, the cloths would remain at their former tension, and all well.
The sky was beautifully blue-black and clear, and I calculated that we should reach Shanghai in about six days, supposing no bad weather intervened. I felt very happy and comfortable there, in command, nominally, of the vessel, though I wondered why the skipper remained below.
After a while I became convinced that the breeze was increasing, and more than that, in a jerky, uncertain manner which I did not like. We had plenty of sail on the vessel, jib, stayforesail, topsail, fore and aft foresail, and mainsail. I fancied we ought to furl the topsail at anyrate, and I called the captain through the skylight.
Eagan came up smartly, and after a comprehensive look around, said —
"Mr. Julius, just call the hands, will you? Watch will reduce sail," he cried. "Be smart, lads!"
The watch, who had been resting in the "shade" of the bulwarks, at once arose at the summons, and I ran forward to call all hands, but the mate anticipated me and turned the men up.
"Come, Mr. Julius, will you lead the men aloft for me? I must get the mainsail stowed and the jib down."
"Aloft, boys!" I exclaimed, and was in a moment leading the hands up the rigging. "Crikey," it did blow up there then! All of a sudden, as it seemed, the wind increased, and when we attempted to secure the sail it flapped and banged us about so that it was with great difficulty we even commenced to secure it. But the six skilful hands managed it, and by holding on "by our eyelids" and "legs and necks" we got the square topsail secured to the yard in fair style. Luckily the true tempest had not then broken, and we got the yard down.
Then came the struggle. Sail after sail was reduced as fast as possible, and came down rapidly, racing the mercury in the tube which was leaping lower and lower. All hands were on deck except the passengers, and the sea came drifting in foam and spray across the ship. The Harada dashed into the short seas, which rose landward, as if ejected by big hands underneath with no roller-force; but the wind made noise enough in the shrouds and cordage to deafen us, and even the boats slapped and almost danced adrift from the davits, and filled with rain-water.
I thought we would escape easily, but Eagan roared in my ear that this was the beginning. He was right. The furious blast seized the sturdy little ship at one moment, and snapping some ropes like whipcord, sent them flying around our heads and beyond. The schooner dipped and dipped, lower and lower; strake after strake disappeared, until the planks seemed to become lost, and the vessel to be settling beam under. The passengers set up a horrible scream, they were too greatly alarmed to fight, no doubt; and even the best of us thought of the great and solemn inevitable end.
All this time the sea was most terrible, the wind and darkness were awful, the foam simply a white mist around us. The vessel suddenly rose up again, was again depressed, again lifted as the squall subsided; and after four such experiences, each one bringing our masts down to the waves, and the last one smashing the mizzen-topmast short at the cap, we floated more steadily. The wind changed, smote us again on the starboard quarter, after blowing in a circle for a couple of hours, and we rested on a trembling sea, drenched with spray and rain, and dishevelled.
Most fortunately our masts stood the strain, and our ballast did not shift. Had the latter given way we must have been swamped, or we must have cut away the masts. However, we pulled through the cyclone, or "typhoon" as they call it out there, and in seven days we ran into the river at Shanghai not much the worse after all, though with a jury topmast and spliced rigging.
CHAPTER VI
SHANGHAI: ITS IMPRESSIONS – MURDER! – A RESCUE, AND A HAPPY ENCOUNTER
The steamer had proceeded up the coast, threading the Chinese Archipelago in the direction of the southern entrance to the Yang-Tse-Chiang, as English people mis-name it. The Chinese name it Kiang, or Ta Kiang, the former being the "river," the latter the "great river" (Kiang-tsi being the province). The Kiang runs for three thousand miles through North and Southern China, and is available for steamers for a long distance inland. The contrast between the blue ocean and the mud-tinged waters of the river is observable far from land.
To approach Shanghai we were compelled to proceed carefully in our little ship, because the Woosung River, on which the settlement is so well situated, is narrow and shallow in comparison with the Kiang. But when the last corner is turned and the concession comes into view, with its wharfs, brewery, cathedral, trees, fine houses, quays and streets, well supplied with water, gas, electric light, post-offices, telegraphs, and pillar-boxes; police of sorts, from the British "blue-bottle" to the Chinese "copper" in knickerbockers and gaiters, supplemented by the Sikh or Indian guardian of the peace in a blazing turban, who would more quickly disperse any youthful gathering in England by his mere appearance at the corner than the "bobby" of British aspect at home, the visitor is astonished.
The schooner anchored in the stream, and I was greatly surprised by the evidences of wealth which the beautiful houses and the esplanade, the wharfs and shipping, denoted. All these are so different from the ideas which the average and untravelled Britisher has conceived of China, that if he do not visit Hong Kong on the way out, nor stay in San Francisco on the way round, he will be fairly astonished at Shanghai, when he first views the settlements, and its prosperity.
Three concessions line the river, namely, the English, the American, and the French. The two former are united in their Government, and separated by creeks and bridges. The English and American settlements are well kept, clean, and well looked after. The French, which lies by the Chinese outside-settlement, was rather badly kept, and even a British "ricksha" was not permitted to cross the French line. A roadway lined by trees, like a boulevard, runs between the houses and the river, which is embanked, like the Thames in London. The Chinese city of Shanghai is walled and separated from the "foreign devils'" location, it is most truly Chinese, which means a great deal. Woosung is the port.
I was pondering upon my intended movements, when Eagan came amidships to where I was gazing at the crowded river, and asked me what I proposed to do.
"Suppose you'll go ashore and have a spree?" he said.
"Can't I stay where I am?" I asked. "I have not much money, and am ignorant of the place, though I hear there are boarding-houses for sailors."
"Hum – yes," he said doubtfully. "We're going into dock, and I think you'd better go to the hotel. My passengers are landing, and are going to the Japanese hotel in the American section, now. They won't mind you anyhow. The place is cheap and good, I hear. If you stay there to-night you may find the Consulate in the morning, and get a wire perhaps, or letters, or any news possible."
I thought Mr. Eagan wished me away, and I consented to his suggestion at once. He seemed relieved by my assent.
"See, now," he proceeded, "here's cash for you, never mind paying. We're bound to refit, and you'll have twice the fun ashore than you'd have with me in the 'muss.' You've never been up here? Laws! Then go ashore with my passengers. Never mind the want of baggage, it's aboard your ship," he said, winking, "but I'll lend you a change, and a few things till to-morrow."
Under the circumstances I considered that Eagan's plan was best, and besides he did not want me any more than the four passengers, and I did not press the matter further. The skipper gave me some dollars and a quantity of cash, and passed me amid the crowd of chattering coolies who scented passengers and a job. After a struggle, in which Eagan had upset several of the most unfortunate of the coolies, the valise he had filled for me was hoisted by the chosen one of the mob, and borne by him to the Japanese hotel in Honkiew, the "American" settlement, which, with the British and French settlements, are entirely separated from the Chinese city, though the rich Chinese prefer the foreign quarter.
The foreign concession is surrounded by streams and ditch from the rest, and is virtually an island isolated. The river bounds one side, and brooks the others; one crossed bridges and ditches, and finds change and decay! There is an Anglo-Chinese settlement, but all the foreign side is clean, well lighted by lamps and electricity, with fine houses, warehouses, and public buildings. Shanghai is no longer China in the settlements.
In the American settlement my friend Eagan, whom I suspected was an American bred, had indicated the hotel on the Broadway. To this I repaired, and was quickly furnished with a room which in itself was not lavishly supplied in this manner. However, it was clean, and proved comfortable, and I slept, rocked, in imagination, by the heaving sea.
I awoke late, and was engaged in various "extension motions" ere preparing to dress, when my calisthenics were suddenly brought to a conclusion by the sound of a pistol shot. Was this imagination? I hastily attired myself in pyjamas again, but before I had quite finished, another, and another shot rang out in the corridor!
I dashed out, but seeing no one, though inhaling the smoke of the discharges, I ran to the head of the stairs. Three or four others came on the scene immediately, and a number of persons came rushing up from below. I pushed on, and stared in horror at the sight. A dead and bleeding body lay before me!
It was that of Oh Sing, or Kim, the smaller of the two Coreans who had sailed in the Harada.
I started back. Then Lung had been revenged! I began to appreciate the danger I had escaped on board the schooner. Here was the victim, shot dead in the "Japanese" hotel! Truly I had had a most marvellous escape. Lung had evidently intended to assassinate his companion in the berth which I had unwittingly occupied. What had been the object of the murderer? These reflections hurried through my mind like lightning, and the spectators began to compare notes concerning the incident even while carrying the dead man back to his room. As we thus retraced our steps, we managed to put the facts together, and when the doctor arrived he asked me what I had witnessed. My testimony was brief but important, and the Consul's representative arrived during the interview.
The unfortunate Oh Sing had been shot by three bullets, so all the discharges had taken effect. He had been shot through the cheek – the left – and again through the stomach – wounds which tended to prove that the man must have been lying down when attacked, and that the assassin had entered the bedroom. The left cheek being perforated tended to the assumption that the poor victim had been lying on his right side, away from the door, when attacked. He must then have turned, half rising up, and received another bullet in front, and then he had fled. The third ball had penetrated below the shoulder, and had found its billet in a vital part, for the man had died at the end of the corridor, by the stairs down which the man Lung had escaped.
This was a most unfortunate occurrence for the hotel people, and I fancied I knew then why Eagan had been so anxious to get the passengers, including myself, ashore; and why he had kept the Coreans apart when on board. He knew something – and guessed the rest.
Having given my name to the Consul, and been advised to remain in Shanghai for a while, I had breakfast, for which I had little appetite, and sauntered out. My first visit was to the docks to acquaint Eagan with the news, but I ascertained that the Harada had sailed at daybreak, "leaving no address," so I was compelled to retrace my steps.
I was now in a quandary. If the Fêng Shui did not come up soon I might be arrested as an accomplice in the murder, and all day I strolled about within the settlements listening to the strong expressions of disgust for the deed. The murderer must be hanged – that was only justice. The feeling against the Japanese was in a measure increasing, and one knows how racial dislikes are fomented in the Far East. I began to look around me cautiously. I had been already in the witness-box, and some fanatic might think it proper to whet his knife upon my ribs. This opportunity I did not desire to afford him.
But for all my care I, of all people, was drawn into a dispute, and concerning an arrest – or perhaps I should say an attempted arrest. I was strolling up the road which turns aside from the Bund – a street in which European wares are displayed – when I perceived two rather peculiar Chinamen following a third Chinese, and evidently "shadowing" him. Perhaps I might not have remarked them had not the "shadowed" man halted beside me as I was looking at photographs displayed in a well-known shop. I turned sharply to look at the man. He struck me as different from the ordinary Chinaman, not a coolie, yet not a mandarin certainly. A "middle-class" I may say; a trader, perhaps, but surely not a native of South China.
To my astonishment he addressed me in excellent English.
"Can you permit me to accompany you, sir? Please be cautious."
I stared at the fellow; then thinking that trouble might arise, I made no reply. He spoke again. The men stood watching us.
"Do not turn away. I am in danger in these clothes. Can you assist me? I am a Japanese officer."
"A Jap!" I exclaimed. "Why this disguise, then? What are you doing here?"
"I have been travelling in China. The Chinese suspect me in consequence of the murder here. Can I accompany you a while?"
I paused a moment, and at length consented. We proceeded to the Consulate, and were seated upon the bench there, when my new acquaintance replied to my request for information by saying —
"I am a sailor – a Japanese junior officer. Those men intended to kill me. I am searching for news. They are arming against us."
"Yes," I replied; "I hear as much. How can I protect you then, supposing you are a Japanese officer? How can I tell that?"
"I can produce my authority, sir," he said gently but firmly.
"Will you disclose your identity to the Consul, then?"
"I would prefer not."
"How, then, can I protect you? I have no proof of your mission."
"If you permit me to remain with you until evening, I can then meet protection."
"Why not address some other Englishman – a merchant or shipper? There are many officers and sailors better than I."
"The merchant would not credit a 'Chinese.' The natives do not mix with the foreigners except in business-talk – 'pidgin,' you know. If they betrayed me I might be killed. I intended to leave here sooner, but have found no vessel in which I can yet sail. The Japanese steamer will arrive to-night. Let me remain with you. You will be sorry if you do not, I daresay."
"You speak English very well," I said. "You have been in London?"
"Yes," he answered; "I was attached to the Japanese Embassy a while – at least, I was a student in London, and met with much kindness. My brother, who is in our army, was also in England at one time."
"Can you tell me the names of any people in England who knew you?"
"Oh, certainly," he said, smiling at me as if I had asked an awkward question. Then he mentioned several people well known, and at least one family with whom my people were acquainted, their residence, and friends. I was almost convinced.
"Very well," I said after a pause, "I will take you to the hotel; but you must talk bad English, and attend me to the various places I want to see."
"Can do," he replied promptly.
"What do you mean?" I asked, in surprise.
"Can do; makee talk chop-chop. Alle same Melican-man."
"Pelican? What do you mean? Are you sensible? What's Pelican? Food?"
"No," he replied, smiling broadly, "Melican-man is an American in the pidgin. Melican."
"Oh, I thought you said pelican first, not pigeon." He smiled.
"I was chattering coolie-pidgin. 'Can do' means 'can,' simply. I implied that I would attend you, that's all. Please be careful."
"Of you, or of myself?" I asked, smiling in return. "All right, let us go to the hotel. You can remain there a while, then we will take a stroll, and perhaps by the time we have returned we may find your ship in the stream. I am also expecting a vessel."
"Which vessel? British?"
"Yes, British built, – a steamer, Fêng Shui. Heard of it?"
"Not a steamer. Fêng Shui is Chinese – superstition. The men are leaving us, see! But they will return. Shall we move?"
We rose, and looked round us. I felt rather nervous. Suddenly my young Japanese cried —
"There she is! Kyodo Maya. My ship for Japan."
"A merchant steamer!" I exclaimed. "Not a warship."
"Yes, 'Union Steam.' I go home. You have saved my life. Let me wait until the boat comes ashore. I join my ship at Chemulpo."
I was quite puzzled. Was this man true or false? If false, what could he gain by selling me? He appeared honest, and certainly two men were watching us still. He had laid himself open to suspicion, at least.
"Come with me, sir," he said. "If you will come on board the steamer you will understand this. I assure you I am true, and thankful for your society."
"I am also awaiting my ship. Perhaps your vessel may not wait to put me ashore again, and" —
"I am an officer," he interrupted. "The captain has instructions for me."
"But not for me. See, the men are approaching again. A boat is being launched. Shall we go to the wharf now?"
We hastened down. The sun was setting, and the Japanese had certainly had an escape. Even then the bandits looked ugly and revengeful. The "officer" was full of thankfulness and gratitude to me.
"Remember," he said, "if ever we meet I am your debtor. My name is Tomi Taijiro. My relatives are in the navy and in the mercantile service. My elder brother is in the army. You will remember you have saved my life."
"I am pleased to think so," said I. "If so, I am truly glad. I hope we shall meet again. If so, once more, I shall claim your promise. I believe you."
He bowed deeply, lowly fashion, and I wondered for the moment. But his costume warranted the obeisance, and the boat came near. The two men approached us through the throng, and Tomi whispered —