Читать книгу Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China - Fenn George Manville - Страница 3

Stan had been long enough in the great port to know something of the habits of the people, and he was in nowise surprised to find that not one of the employees had put in an appearance that morning; nor yet that Pi Sin, the general man-of-all-work of the household, who slept in the house, was nowhere to be found, for the simple reason that he had dropped from one of the windows and made off at the first alarm.

The lad was balked, then, at the offset, and had to return to his uncle for instructions.

“Gone – eh?” said Uncle Jeff. “Of course he would go. It doesn’t take much to scare one of his kind. You’ll have to fetch the barber for me, Stan. Know where he lives?”

“No,” said Stan.

“Keep along the wharf-side till you come to the big pagoda half and mile along the river, and then go down the narrow lane under the pagoda walls till you come to his place, just opposite the gate. You’ll see his shop. Tell him to come at once.”

“Can he speak English?”

“After a fashion; and half-a-dozen other languages too. Tell him he must come back with you. He’ll say he can’t leave home, but you say the one word ‘Dollar’ and he’ll come at once.”

“I understand, uncle,” was the reply; and the boy started off, feeling as if all the previous night’s experience had been a dream, and as if he were still only half-awake.

He was glad to escape from the dwelling over the offices, with their black, dismantled look, where all was charred wood, wet with the little deluge of water that had been poured thereon.

The lad sniffed two or three times involuntarily as he made his way out to pass through a crowd of staring idlers of all sorts and sizes, dressed in blue cotton jackets and trousers, save those whose costume half-way down was a pigtail only, the other half to the ground consisting of a pair of baggy, much-washed cotton trousers, tight at the ankles, and tucked into clumsy shoes with thick white soles. They were all staring vacantly at the damaged office and shattered windows; while the broken ladder, propped up in two pieces, was placed against the front of the house, and formed the greatest attraction of all, till Stan appeared, when about two hundred and fifty pairs of beady, piggish eyes were turned upon him, and there was a quiver of pigtails of all lengths, from a few inches to those of the finest growth, which tapped against the owners’ heels as they walked.

“I suppose I shall get to know one face from another in time,” thought Stan as the crowd made way for him, “but at present they all seem to be alike. My word! I do feel glad to get out. The place smelt like a school bonfire put out for fear of risk, or as the kitchen did when the cook upset part of the soup into the fire and made the rest taste just the same as this smells. – Oh, do get out of the way, some of you!” he said aloud impatiently. “Can’t you see that I’m in a hurry?”

“You wantee Sin?” said a high-pitched voice close behind; and Stan stopped short to face a particularly meek-looking, full-moon-countenanced Chinaman in the cleanest of cotton clothes, and without a wrinkle of trouble in his placid face.

“Wantee you? Yes,” said Stan angrily, for wakefulness, over-exertion, and hunger combined had put his nerves in a state of compound irritation. The sight of the man, too, brought up ideas of breakfast, as well as bitter annoyance against him for his desertion of them in their time of peril. “Why did you run away last night?”

“Lun away? Sin no lun away. Dlop down flat and clawl away so lobbee man not see.”

“Well, it’s all the same,” cried Stan. “Oh, you were a coward to desert us like that!”

The Chinaman smiled feebly, and there was a look of apology in his eyes as he said meekly:

“Plentee bad man makee Sin all aflaid. One man enough one man fight. One man can’tee fight gleat many. Only one Sin takee big knife and chop off head.”

“But you went away instead,” growled Stan sourly. “Look here, sir, I’ve a good mind to kick you.”

“What good? Stan-lee kick Sin, Sin go ’way and cly. No good cookee bleakfast.”

“Then I won’t kick you,” said the boy, who felt mollified by the suggestion of hot tea and cake contained in the man’s speech. “Here! run off and fetch the barber. Bring here.”

“No come. Shavee many man.”

“You say ‘Dollar,’ and bring him along.”

The Chinaman grinned and nodded.

“Come now,” he said, and turned to go, but stopped short directly to look curiously at his young master.

“Well,” said Stan, “why don’t you go?”

“Wantee go? Stan-lee wan tee man to shave him?”

“To shave me? Nonsense! To shave my uncle.”

“What good shave uncle? Uncle killee. All loasted ’way in big fi’.”

“Nonsense! He wasn’t hurt.”

“Not killee?”

“No.”

“Not Mistee Lynn killee?”

“What! My father?”

The man nodded quickly.

“No; we fought the enemy and beat them off.”

“Sin velly glad,” said the man, smiling. “All say Mistee Jefflee and Mistee Lynn allee kill dead and loast black. Velly good job fo’ Sin. No go find new mastee. Sin lun fas’ now.”

He set off at a very slow dog-trot, and the lad looked after him for a few moments before walking back through the staring crowd, who had caught from Sin the refutation of their news, and were chattering eagerly, and, as it seemed to Stan, looking disappointed at the fact that neither of the English merchants had been killed. In fact, the information just received had reduced a serious catastrophe into nothing better than a pitiful fire and the breaking of a few windows; but the crowd stopped and stared all the same, just as persistently as a London gathering would round a house where something or another had happened.

“You’ve been pretty quick, Stan,” said his father as the lad entered the room where the brothers were discussing the night’s proceedings, with their loaded revolvers lying upon the table.

Uncle Jeff turned sharply and stared.

“You haven’t been?” he said as he passed his hand slowly over his singed face.

Stan told of his meeting with their Chinese cook and general man.

“The cowardly ruffian!” cried Uncle Jeff angrily. “Did he say anything about leaving us in the lurch last night?”

Stan told him.

“Of course. Velly much aflaid. Just like a Chinaman; but they’re brave enough when they’re fifty to one, as they were last night. He ought to have stood by us, Stan. We’ve behaved well to him.”

“He’s a very good servant, Jeff,” said Stan’s father, “and works well for us. Don’t bully the man for what he cannot help.”

“I’m not going to, Oliver. I know, and I’ll forgive him if he’ll only make haste back, bring that precious barber, and get us some breakfast. I’m starving.”

As it happened, the unhappily named man came hurrying back with the razor-wielder; and soon after the latter had performed his task, turning Uncle Jeff into a bluff-looking middle-aged man with closely cut hair, smooth chin, and a short, fierce moustache, Sin made his appearance at the door, to smilingly announce that “bleakfast” was “leady,” and then stood fast, wide-open of eyes, extended of lips, and shaking gently.

“You scoundrel!” cried Uncle Jeff. “If you dare to laugh at my misfortunes I’ll kick you downstairs.”

“Pi Sin no laugh at Mistee Jeff’s misfoltunes,” said the man piteously. “Him laugh see mast’ look so ’live and well when Sin tink um dead and bellied. Gleat pity didn’t make shave all head and weah long tail.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Uncle Jeff, who was mollified by the man’s words, “Well, what’s for breakfast?”

“Coffee, hot cake – ”

“What!” cried Uncle Jeff. “You’ve had no time to make hot cakes.”

“Pi Sin buy um all leady at bakee when he go fetch shave-man.”

“Oh, that’s how you managed – eh?” said Uncle Jeff Sin smiled.

“Make poke-pie yes’day. Nice cold.”

“That’ll about do – eh, Stan?” said Uncle Jeff.

“Capitally, uncle.”

“Got any appetite after your fighting?”

“Oh yes, uncle; it has made me terribly hungry.”

“Then come along.”

“Hah!” said Uncle Jeff, about a quarter of an hour later, as he wiped his lips with a paper napkin. “Who’d ever have thought we should be having such a breakfast as this in the old place – eh, Oliver?”

“I for one fully expected that we should be buried in its ashes,” said Stan’s father.

“Humph!” said Uncle Jeff; “then next time you think such dolorous things keep them to yourself, and don’t say them to spoil your son’s breakfast.”

“They don’t spoil my breakfast a bit, Uncle Jeff. More pie, please.”

“You’re right, Stan. Sin is a good cook, even if he is no use as a fighting-man.”

“Splendid, uncle.”

“And we’ll forgive him – eh?”

“Certainly, uncle.”

Five minutes later the object of these remarks appeared, to say that a party of gentlemen had arrived.

It was a deputation from the foreign merchants of the port, to offer condolences and help to their brethren; and on finding how little the Lynns had suffered, they did not hesitate to tell them that they might have expected the fate that befell them, which was like a judgment upon them for erecting their warehouse and stores so far away from their brother-merchants, and prophesied more evil to them if they failed now to remove to a safer position.

“Likely!” said Uncle Jeff. “Who’s going to pull a great place like this down and build another?”

This after their friends had gone.

“It is impossible, of course, Jeff,” said Stan’s father sadly. “We must content ourselves with strengthening this a little more, and hope to escape by being more ready for an attack.”

By this time clerks and warehousemen – the latter Chinese – were busy at work over their daily avocations, just as if nothing had happened, though the remarks among themselves were many. The native craftsmen, too – carpenters, painters, and glaziers – were busy repairing damages, just as if, Stan thought, it was a town in old England, instead of in the far east of Asia, when a Chinese messenger arrived, a round-faced, carefully dressed, middle-aged man, who had come in charge of a consignment of silk from the collecting hong of Lynn Brothers’ house down south on the Mour River; and one of the passages in the letter the man brought from their manager was the cause of a good deal of perplexity at such a time.

Stan entered the room after a quiet inspection of the messenger, who smiled at him blandly and then began to carefully trim and polish the nails of his forefingers, each of which was long and sharp and kept in a thimble-like sheath of silver; while, to indicate his higher position in life than the cook, the new arrival’s dark-blue frock was of silk.

“It’s very, very awkward,” said Stan’s father.

“Very,” said his brother. “Quite impossible for me to go now.”

“It is not so much help he asks for as a companion,” said Stan’s father.

“Some one trustworthy whom he can leave in charge for a short time while he is away buying or visiting at one or other of the hongs up the river.”

“Yes, that is the sort of man; but how are we to get such a person without sending to England?”

“But he wants him now, by return boat,” said Uncle Jeff testily. “The fellow must be mad. Here, I have it,” he whispered, leaning across the table.

“You are busy, father. Shall I go?” said Stan, who noticed the movement.

“No,” cried Uncle Jeff sharply, answering for his brother. “Sit down a bit. Perhaps we shall want you. – Here, Oliver,” he whispered; “why not send Stan?”

“What! Oh, he’s too young and inexperienced.”

“Not a bit too young, and the experience will come.”

“But it’s so far away, and there may be risks.”

“Risks? Do you think it’s going to be half so risky as staying here? Because if you do, I don’t.”

“There is something in that,” said his brother.

“Of course there is; and we can’t slave Blunt to death. I meant to have stayed with him a couple of months to lighten his work; but, as we have said, it is quite impossible. Stan would be the very fellow.”

The lad’s father tapped the table with the tips of his fingers and frowned.

“Very well,” he said suddenly. “He proved that he could play the man last night. – Here, Stan.”

“Yes, father.”

“Your uncle and I want you to go south to the Mour River – to our branch collecting-house there, under the charge of our Mr Blunt.”

“Very well, father,” said the lad, the news coming like a shock after the events of the past night.

“You’ll find Blunt rather rough – such a man as ought to be named Blunt – but a good fellow at bottom,” said Uncle Jeff.

“I’m afraid you’ll find it rather solitary, my boy,” said Stan’s father; “but it will be a fine lesson in business, and you’ll learn a great deal.”

“Very well, father,” said the lad again coldly.

“Hullo, young man!” cried his uncle. “What’s the meaning of this? You ought to be jumping for joy at the thought of going to a new place, and you look as if you don’t want to go,” said Uncle Jeff.

“I don’t, uncle,” said the lad.

“And pray why?” said his father.

“Because you are going to send me away, father, as you don’t think it is safe for me here; and I don’t want to leave you both in trouble.”

There was a dead silence, and the brothers exchanged glances, the eyes of both looking dark, before the senior spoke, holding out his hand to grasp that of his son.

“On my word of honour, no, Stan,” he said in a voice slightly affected by the emotion he felt. “Indeed, it is because we are – your uncle and I – in a difficulty about responding to our Mour manager’s demand. Your uncle was to go, but after last night’s attack it would be impossible for him to leave me here alone.”

Stan gazed sharply from his father to his uncle and back again, with doubt shining out of his eyes; then he said in an eager, excited way:

“Then it isn’t because I seemed cowardly last night, father?”

“Cowardly!” cried the brothers in a breath.

“And because you want to send me where I shall be safe?”

“No, my dear boy – no,” cried his father warmly.

“Not a bit of it, Stan, old chap,” cried Uncle Jeff. “Why, we’d give anything to keep such a proved soldier with us. It’s because we can’t help ourselves that we want to send you.”

“Yes, Stan; your uncle is speaking the simple truth. But we will not press you if you feel that you would rather stay here with us.”

“Yes, father,” said the boy. “I know it is dangerous, but I would rather stay here with you.”

“Hark at the bloodthirsty young ruffian!” cried Uncle Jeff, with something like a tremble in his voice. “He wants to stop here and shoot down pirates by the score.”

“I don’t, uncle!” cried the boy angrily. – “I want to be of use to you now, father, and not to think only of myself. I’m going to this place on that river, wherever it is, but I’m afraid I shan’t be of so much use as you expect. I haven’t learnt to be business-like at school, and I don’t think classics and mathematics will do much good where you want me to go.”

“Don’t you be too sure of that, my lad,” said Uncle Jeff. “Your school studies have made you more business-like than you think, boy, and a chap who is good at mathematics can’t help being good and exact over a merchant’s books. Then you mean to go for us, sir?”

“Of course, uncle. When does the boat start?”

“Just hark at him!” cried Uncle Jeff. “He’s ready to be off at once.”

“But he isn’t going so soon as that,” said Stan’s father, wringing the boy’s hand warmly, and seeming loath to let it go. – “I dare say you’ll not start for three or four days. There are plenty of vessels sailing, but it isn’t every one that touches at the port from which you must go up the river in a trading-junk. But Wing will see to all that, and get you both passages in the first steamer that suits. Wing is a very good man for arrangements of that kind. In the meantime you must pack a portmanteau with just the necessaries you require – the simpler the better.”

“And before you go, my young pepper-pod, we’ll try if we can arrange for another piratical display with fireworks on the same scale as last night’s. Will that do you?”

“Now you’re beginning to laugh at me again, uncle,” said Stan in a reproachful tone.

“No, no, no, my dear boy,” cried Uncle Jeff warmly; “if I talk lightly it is only to hide what I feel. I’d been looking forward to all kinds of expeditions up-country with you, whenever your father would let two such idlers go out for a run; but now we must wait till you come back with one of our boatloads of silk and tea and dyewoods. – Here, Oliver, we’re in luck to have such a representative. – But I say, Stan, don’t take any notice of my face being so bare, but set to work and grow a respectable beard of your own.”

“I shan’t do that for years yet, uncle,” replied Stan, laughing.

“What! You don’t know, boy. It’s a wonderful climate out here for making your hair grow. Look at the Chinamen’s tails!”

“Oh, but a lot of that’s false, isn’t it?”

“In some cases, my boy, but generally it is all real; and if it were unplaited it would be longer. But don’t you imitate John Chinaman. You don’t want a long tail. You turn the hair-current from the back of your head on to your chin and let it grow there, so as to make you look big and fierce, ready for dealing with the Chinese merchants.”

“But I shall seem boyish for years to come, I’m afraid,” said Stan sadly. “I look very young.”

“And a splendid thing, too,” said Uncle Jeff. “Who wouldn’t be you, to look young and feel young? – Eh, Oliver? – Oh, you young masculine geese who are always wishing that you were men, if you only knew what you are treating with contempt, how much better it would be for you! Why, I’d give – That’ll do; I’ve done. Here, I’m coming with you to your room to go over your togs and odds and ends with you. I think I can give you a bit of advice as to what to take and what to leave behind. Perhaps, too, I can give you two or three useful things. Haven’t got a revolver of your own, I suppose?”

“No, uncle.”

“Then I’ll give you that one – mine. It hits anything, to a dead certainty, if you hold it straight. Got any fishing-tackle?”

“Yes, uncle; hooks and lines with leads.”

“That’s right. You may like to catch a few fish to make a change in your diet when it grows too regular. Wing cooks a little, but nothing like so well as Sin. – I suppose we can’t spare him to go with Stan here, can we, Oliver?”

“No; it would not be possible,” said the latter, smiling; but his voice had a suggestion of sternness in its tones as he added, “And I’m sure that Stan will be quite content to rough it for a while with Mr Blunt, and as long as he gets plain, wholesome food, will not worry himself about the cook.”

“Hear him, Stan?” cried Uncle Jeff. “That’s the way your father snubs me because I like nice things, and refuse to insult my inside by giving it any kind of hugger-mugger mess that is put before me. – Well, I confess I do like a good dinner, Oliver, and I don’t see much harm in it. Well, of course Stan will do his best for us. The Lynns always try to do their best – they can’t help it. There I come along and let’s see to your kit.”

“Don’t be in a hurry, Jeff,” said Stan’s father. “Let’s have in Wing and ask him about the return boat. He’s a very methodical fellow, and I dare say his plans are already made.”

“To be sure; let’s have him,” replied Uncle Jeff, who rose, went to the door, and called to one of the clerks to send the Chinaman in. “I dare say that he has something up his sleeve about starting. Plenty of room there for any amount of plans – eh, Stan?” he added; with the result that when the man entered, bowing and smiling in his apologetic way, Stan’s eyes immediately sought and searched the long, soft, blue silk appendages which hung well over the hands, revealing just the tips of the fingers, while from one hung out the corner of a pocket-handkerchief, and from the other the end of a fan.

A little conversation ensued, in which the Chinaman announced that he had arranged for two berths in the steamer on its return journey – either on its first, which would be in three days’ time, or, if Stan were not able to go then, on the second, which would be in a month – allowing for its sailing to the Mour River, loading up, and returning again.

“It is a very short time,” said Stan’s father, with a sigh; “but he must not wait for a month, Jeff.”

“Certainly not,” was the reply, followed by an echo of the brother’s sigh. – “You’ll have to be off, Stan, short as the time is. – As for you, Wing, your people say they hate us foreign devils, as they call us.”

“Wing no fool, Mistee Jefflee,” said the Chinaman coolly.

“I know that, Wing. You are more of a rogue than fool, as the old saying goes. But what do you mean?”

“Wing no fool ’nuff call good mastee foleign devil. That what fool say.”

“That’s true, Wing. We have always behaved well to you and paid you honestly.”

“Why Wing stay. Mastee Olivey, Mastee Jefflee good man. Topside mastee. Wing stop long time. You wantee Wing takee plop’ ca’e young Lynn?”

“Yes; help him, and fight for him if it is necessary,” said Stan’s father.

“Light. Wing bling him back some day. Mind nobody bleak him.”

“There, Stan!” cried Uncle Jeff bluffly, as he roared with laughter. “Wing’s going to take as much care of you as if you were a piece of choice china.”

“Yes; takee gleat ca’e young Lynn, young mastee. Bling him back some day.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff; “but mind this, my fine fellow: if you come back some day without him, and say you couldn’t bring him because you’ve got him broken, why, then – ”

He stopped short as if to think out what punishment he would award, while the Chinaman’s face expanded in a broad grin.

“Wing not fool, Mastee Jefflee,” he said. “No come back no young Lynn, fo’ mastee killee Wing.” Then, turning very serious: “Young Lynn bloken, Wing bloken allee same. Young Lynn killee, bad man killee Wing too.”

“I see what you mean, my man,” said Stan’s father gravely. “You will fight for my son to the end.”

“No,” said the Chinaman, shaking his head and frowning; “Wing can’tee fightee. Wing tly helpee young Lynn lun away. Pl’aps bad man killee both. Plentee bad man on Mou’ Livah. Wing takee gleat ca’e young Lynn.”

“Yes; that’s all right, Wing. We always trust you.”

The Chinaman nodded, smiled, and then approached Stan, taking his hand, bending down, and holding the back against his forehead.

“There, Stan,” said his father; “you will find Wing a faithful servant, and you can trust him to help you out of difficulties, for his knowledge of his fellow-countrymen will enable him to give you warning of things which would be hidden from you. – Do you fully understand, Wing, what I am saying to my son?”

The Chinaman bowed, and was soon afterwards dismissed.

The next three days were pretty well taken up in watching the repairs of the lower part of the great warehouse, and in making the final preparations for the start to Mour River; and during that time Stan had the satisfaction of learning that the principal merchants of Hai-Hai had joined in asking for better protection of their property in the great port – a demand which was responded to by those in authority arranging for a section of the military police force being stationed nightly within easy reach of the hitherto unprotected up-river part where the Lynns’ warehouse was situated. And this was talked over on the morning when Stan and his Chinese attendant and guide stood on the deck of the steamer talking to the brothers Lynn, Uncle Jeff telling the lad that he was to take care of himself and not fidget about them, for they would be safe enough now, a pistol-shot out of a window being warning enough to bring armed assistance in a very few minutes.

“We shall be all right, Stan,” said Uncle Jeff heartily; “it is we who will have to fidget about you.”

“Yes, he is quite right, Stan, my boy,” said the lad’s father, grasping his hand warmly. “Send us a line as often as a boat loads up at the hong.”

“And you will write to me, father?” said Stan, whose heart was sinking now that the time of parting was so near.

“Of course – regularly, my boy.”

“And you too, Uncle Jeff?”

“I mean to keep a journal, Stan, and post it up regularly like a day-book, all for your benefit. There! the time will soon slip by, and you’ll be coming home again. Ah! there goes the last bell.”

“So soon?” said Stan excitedly.

His words were almost rendered inaudible by the shouts of “All for the shore!”

It was a hurried scene of confusion then for a few minutes, with repeated warm pressures of the hand in silence, and then Stan’s eyes were being strained after a boat that had suddenly seemed to glide away when the steamer quivered and throbbed and threw up a chaos of foaming water astern. In that boat the brothers Lynn were standing up waving their hats, and the little craft seemed to go faster and faster though the two rowers had not yet lowered their oars.

Stan leant over the rail of the steamer, waving his hat in return, while the boat grew less and less, his father’s features blurred and indistinct, and the great wharf seemed to be flying now while the steamer stood still. Then the boats that had taken people to the shore were all mixed up together in one patch, and the lad felt that his hat-wavings were all in vain, and that it was impossible for them to be seen.

There was something like a solid sigh in Stan’s throat, but he choked it down as he turned his head and looked inboard, to find that Wing the Chinaman, dressed now in blue cotton, was squatted down on the deck close behind him; and apparently he had been watching his actions all the time, for he nodded now and smiled compassionately in his young master’s face.

“Young Lynn velly solly go ’way?” he said.

“Of course I don’t like it – at first,” said Stan hurriedly, and feeling ready to resent the compassion of the man who was to be his servant.

“Wing not likee leave him fadee, modee, one time long time off. Don’tee mind now. Young Lynn, Wing mastee, not mind soon. You likee eatee dlinkee?”

“Not now,” said Stan shortly.

“No?” said the Chinaman, as the steamer began to rise and fall steadily. “Young Lynn go velly sickee? You likee lie down? Wing fetch bundle put undee head.”

“No, no,” said Stan quickly. “I’m not going to be ill if it keeps like this. I don’t think I should be bad if it were to come on rough.”

“No?” said Wing. “Young Lynn velly good sailor. Good like Wing. Wing velly glad. Not nicee be velly sick when steamship go up, and velly much baddee when steamship go down. Wait see.”

Wing did “wait see,” and as the steamer passed well out of the estuary, and began to run down the coast, they had a little of the vile Chinese weather that takes the form of a gale which piles the water well up and hurls it in cascades over a vessel’s bows, making her quiver through and through, and putting her officers’ seamanship well to the test. But even at the very worst, during the following day, Stan displayed no disposition to keep below, but went about the deck, holding on, and rather enjoying the grandeur of the scene; while Wing was always close at hand watching him, ready to smile in his face from time to time, and more than once gave vent to his satisfaction by saying:

“Young Lynn velly fine sailoh; ’most good as Wing. You feel leady to go down eatee big dinnee?”

“Yes,” said Stan eagerly; “this cool wind gives me a good appetite;” and he made for the cabin stairs, closely followed by his attendant, who had seen a little, careful procession going on from the galley, a sign that the midday meal was ready for such of the passengers as were ready for it.