Chapter 10 LO SAN'S PILGRIMAGE

Startled from sleep by the mingled din of shots and yells, Errington sprang from his bed, and seizing his revolver, rushed to the door of his little bungalow and unlocked it. It was thrown back in his face, and before he could recover himself, the weapon was knocked from his hand, and he found himself on the floor, with a dozen villainous-looking, ragged and dirty Chinamen on top of him, screeching at the pitch of their voices.

He understood not a word of what they said; none of them could speak even pidgin-English: had he known Chinese he would have learnt that the "foreign devil" was destined to be carried to the arch-leader of the insurrection. Su Fing had an old grudge to pay off against him. The brigand had taken particular trouble to ascertain the dwelling of the young Englishman to whom he owed a deep scar on his learned brow, and a period of imprisonment which, though short, had left a rankling sore in his aspiring soul.

Errington made his captors understand by signs that he preferred not to face the world in his pyjamas, and was allowed to dress himself in their presence, amid a battery of remarks more or less offensive, but luckily incomprehensible to him. His hands were then tied behind him, and he was hurried down to the quay, placed on board a gunboat, and carried up the river.

His captors, squatting about him with their spears held upright in their hands, may perhaps have been surprised at the smile upon the young Englishman's face. Errington was, in fact, amused at his situation--rather relieved than dismayed. This was the very day on which he had promised to pay his debt to Reinhardt--the end of the week of grace. He had gone to bed feeling that next day he would be ruined and shamed; to find himself the prisoner of Chinese rebels, who were carrying him he knew not where, but certainly out of Reinhardt's reach, struck him as a comical trick of fate. At that moment he felt almost affectionate towards the ugly ruffians who were squinting at him.

Meanwhile some of the rebel band were making themselves very free with his belongings. They ransacked his wardrobe, appropriated his rifle, his silver cups and other trophies of athletic prowess, tossed about his papers and a pack of cards they discovered in a drawer, and gathered up into bundles all that they deemed worth looting. One of them, passing into the out-buildings at the back, caught Lo San by the pigtail, and soundly thrashed him for being so evil-disposed as to serve a European master. The cook and the other domestics had already seen the error of their ways and left without notice.

It would perhaps have surprised any one who had seen Lo San only on the occasion of the adventure in the swamp, to find that he alone of Errington's household had not fled at this climax of his master's misfortunes. But Lo San was made of good stuff. He might tremble before a pirate, but his soul was staunch to the master who had been kind to him and paid him well. The devotion of his native servant is a gift which many an Englishman in the East has learnt to prize.

Lo San hung about the house, having received his thrashing meekly, until the looters had stripped it bare. When they had gone away, he wandered disconsolately through the disordered rooms; nothing of value was left, but he collected the scattered papers and the pack of cards: "Massa velly muchee likee he," he murmured.

Then he sat down to think. He was very sore, in body and mind; and very poor, for his castigator had snatched away the little bag, hung at his waist, in which he kept his store of cash. "Massa Ellington" was gone, and it seemed to Lo San that he would know no peace of mind until he at least discovered his master's fate. "Supposey he come back sometime," he thought, "and look-see my belongey 'nother massa! My no catchee plopa pidgin[#] that time, galaw!" And after an hour's solemn meditation he got up, groaning as the movement reminded him of his stripes, and went out into the town.

[#] That won't be good business.

Outside a mean little eating-house he saw a group of insurgents eating a breakfast (for which they had not paid) of fat pork, rice and beans, washed down with tea. He looked at them hard; none of the looters of his master's bungalow were among them; and it occurred to him that, as he had probably a long journey before him, it was sound sense to fortify himself with a meal. But he had no money; and though he guessed, by the lugubrious countenance of the eating-house keeper in the background, that the eaters had none either, or at any rate would not part with any, he was shy of joining himself to them uninvited. All at once a happy thought struck him. He put on an engaging air of cheerful humility, and addressing the group in the terms of flowery compliment that come natural to a Chinaman, he offered to show them a little magic in return for food. Being as comfortable and content as men may be who have fed well at another's expense, they gave a glad assent, and Lo San, squatting before them, produced the pack of cards. He was a very watchful and observant person, and, silent and unnoticed in his master's room, had looked on sometimes when Errington amused his company with those tricks that seem to the uninitiated such marvels of thought-reading. He had picked up the secrets of one or two, and now for a good hour he amazed and mystified the rebels with simple tricks which he had to repeat over and over again.

Thus establishing himself in their good graces, he accepted with unctuous gratitude the food which they dealt out to him--somewhat meagrely, as a sea-beach audience rewards its entertainers; and then, praising their valour, generously buttering them, he led them on to talk of the doings of the day. It was not long before he had heard more than enough about the exceeding greatness of Su Fing, their august chief, whose Chinese virtues shone with the lustre of the sun: and with quick wit he jumped to the conclusion that his master had been captured by emissaries of Su Fing, who to be sure had reason to remember his only meeting with the Englishman. The prisoner had without doubt been carried to the rebel chief's headquarters at Meichow, higher up the river; and Lo San made up his mind that it was his plain duty to journey to Meichow and discover what his master's fate was to be.

Putting up the cards very carefully, for they had a new value for him, he kow-towed to his illustrious benefactors, as he called the sorry ruffians, and took his way to the riverside. The river was crowded with various craft of the insurgents, and some distance down stream the launch on which the Europeans had been placed was puffing towards Sui-Fu. Lo San, primed with information gleaned from his late hosts, found it now an easy matter to pass himself off as a rebel, especially as he contrived to get possession of a spear which had been incautiously laid down by its owner. Swaggering with a truculent air among the crowd, he soon discovered from their talk that the Europeans had been released, and supposed that his master was among them. But just as he was considering which of the sampans lying at the shore he should appropriate for a night journey to Sui-Fu, he was unlucky enough to catch the eye of a seller of wood, whom he had kicked from the house a day or two before for asking an absurd price. This man also had armed himself with a spear, and letting out a fierce "Hai yah!" he sprang towards Lo San to avenge himself for his kicking, at the same time acquainting people at large with the fact that the wretch was the impudent wind-inflated hireling of a foreign devil. The unhappy consequence was that Lo San was set upon by a dozen others besides the wood-seller, and soundly thrashed a second time for the same offence, an injustice that wounded his soul even more poignantly than the spear-butts his body.

But there was compensation even in this, for while his persecutors were belabouring him, they let their tongues wag freely with abuse and objurgation, and the wood-seller taunted him with the loss of his master, who would soon, he said, be "sliced" for the amusement of the august Su Fing. Lo San, when left to himself, reflected that but for this second beating he might have gone down uselessly to Sui-Fu, when his master had been carried in a quite contrary direction. "Even in the blackest thunderstorm there is a flash of lightning," he said to himself, resolving to journey up-stream as soon as he ached less.

His misfortunes, however, made him wary. If he purloined a sampan and paddled up the river, he would certainly meet many rebels; and with his self-confidence shaken he could not face the risk of another thrashing. So he resolved to perform the journey to Meichow on foot. He found a secluded nook where he might rest a while; then, still sore, and beginning to feel hungry again, he set off on his long tramp.

It is not necessary to describe his journey at length. There was no beaten road; he had to find his way over fields of mustard and beans, through woods, and across streams lined with bamboos. He passed the night, cold and hungry, perched in the lower branches of an oak, and started again as soon as it was light. When he came to a village, he procured food by exhibiting his magical skill with the cards; but he avoided the more populous places, and walked for hours together without seeing a human being. It was a very weary, tattered, woebegone object that at length stole into Meichow.

Here again he put the cards to profitable use at an eating-house. He learnt that Su Fing was absent, having gone westward with a large force to deal with the regular troops that were said to be marching from Tibet. Everybody knew that an English prisoner had been brought in the day before, and was now incarcerated in the yamen of the prefect, who had fled when Su Fing raided the town. It was a commodious mansion, standing in excellently laid-out grounds, with a large piece of ornamental water on which the prefect had been wont to paddle his pagoda-boat of an evening, feeding his swans. In Su Fing's absence, the place was occupied by his personal retainers.

Footsore and exceedingly depressed, Lo San dragged himself to the yamen, and stood like a humble mendicant at the gate, watching the stream of people that went in and out. If only he had had his bag of cash, he might have been able to convey a message to the prisoner within; door-keepers, and more important officials, in China will do much for money. But he had no money; even his pack of cards was useless now, and Lo San limped sorrowfully away.

Once more giving himself to meditation, his thoughts turned to "Massa Bullows." He knew of the rift between the friends; he knew its cause; there is little concerning his master that a Chinese "boy" does not know. He liked Burroughs; the only thing in his disfavour was that he employed a wretched creature named Chin Tai. It occurred to Lo San that "Massa Bullows" ought at least to know of "Massa Ellington's" whereabouts. So it happened that under cover of night the Chinaman loosed a sampan from its moorings, steered it into the river, and allowed himself to be carried down by the stream towards Chia-ling Fu and Sui-Fu beyond. There was not the same risk in going down the river as there would have been in coming up, and Lo San, paddling as soon as he was out of earshot, was soon speeding along at a rapid rate towards Sui-Fu.