Tribulations of a Chinaman in China by Jules Verne

***Etext transcribed by "Teary Eyes" Anderson,
this etext is Dedicated to Marion Hwang,
Your friends will always care
no matter what the distance
apart from you, they are.***


Chapter 1
The First Watch Of The Night

"It must be admitted that life has some good in it," said one of the
guests, leaning his elbow on the arm of his marble-backed chair,
while he sat biting the root of a sugar water-lily.

"And some bad also," answered another, between fits of coughing,
occasioned by having swallowed the prickly part of the delicate fin of a
shark which had nearly choked him.

"Be philosophical," said an older man, who wore on his nose an
enormous pair of wooden spectacles with large glasses. "To-day, one
runs the risk of strangling, and tomorrow everything flows as smoothly
as the sweet draughts of this nectar-- such is life."

After saying these words, this easy-going epicure swallowed a glass
of warm wine, the steam of which slowly escaped from a metal
teapot.

"For my part," said a fourth guest, "life appears to be very acceptable
when one does nothing, and has the means to afford to do nothing."

"That is a mistake," answered the fifth. "Happiness is to be found in
study and work. To acquire the greatest amount of knowledge is the
way to be happy."

"And to learn at last that one knows nothing."

"Is not that the commencement of wisdom?"

"What, then, is the end?"

"Wisdom has no end," philosophically answered the man with the
spectacles. "To have common sense should be supreme
satisfaction."

It was then that the first guest directly addressed the host, who
occupied the upper end of the table-- that is the worst place-- as the
laws of politeness exacted. Indifferent and inattentive the latter
listened without saying anything during this discussion. "Come, let us
hear what our host has to say? Does he find existence good or bad?
Is he for or against it?"

The host carelessly cracked some melon seeds, and answered by
disdainfully moving his lips like a man who takes no interest in
anything. "Pooh!" said he.

This is the favorite word of indifferent people. It says everything, and
means nothing. It is in every language, and has a place in every
dictionary in the world. It is an articulated grimace.

The five guests who were entertained by this weary host pressed him
with arguments, each in favor of his own proposition. They wanted his
opinion. He tried to avoid answering, but replied by affirming that life
had no good or bad in it. In his view, "It was an invention, insignificant
enough, and having but little enjoyment in it."

"Ah, now our friend speaks; but why should he thus speak, since the
rustle of a rose has not even troubled his repose?"

"And he is young yet."

"Young and rich."

"Perhaps too rich."

These remarks flew about like rockets from fireworks, without bringing
a smile to the host's impassable physiognomy. He was satisfied to
shrug his shoulders slightly, like a man who had never wished to turn
over the leaves in the book of his life, and who had not even cut the
first pages.

And yet this indifferent man was at least thirty-one years of age; he
possessed a large fortune, enjoyed good health, was not without
culture, his intelligence was above the average, and he had
everything, which so many want, to make him one of the happiest
men in the world. And why was he not happy?

"Why?"

The grave voice of the philosopher was now heard, speaking like the
leader of a chorus. "Friend," he said, "if you are not happy here below
it is because your happiness thus far has been only negative. It is
with happiness as it is with health, to enjoy it one should sometimes
be deprived of it. Now, have you never been ill? I mean to ask, rather,
have you never been unfortunate? It is that which is wanting in your
life. Who can appreciate happiness if misfortune has never, even for a
moment, assailed him?"

And at this observation, full of wisdom, the philosopher, raising his
glass full of the best champagne, said, "I wish that the sun of our
host's life may be a little darkened, and that he may experience some
sorrows." After which he emptied his glass.

The host made a nod of assent, and lapsed into his habitual apathy.

Where did this conversation take place? Was it in a European dining-
room in Paris, London, Vienna, or St. Petersburg? Were these six
guests assembled together in a restaurant in the Old or the New
World? And who were they who, without having drunk to excess, were
discussing these questions in the midst of a feast? They were not
Frenchmen, you may rest assured, because they were not talking
politics.

These six guests were seated in a medium-sized dining-room
elegantly decorated. The last rays of the sun were streaming through
the net-work of blue and orange window-glass, and past the open
windows the breeze was full of the odor of natural flowers. A few
lanterns mingled their variegated light with the dying light of day.
Above the windows were sculptured and rich arabesques,
representing celestial and terrestrial beauty, and animals and
vegetables of a strange fauna and flora.

As to the servants, they were very prepossessing young girls, whose
hair was mingled with lilies and chrysanthemums, and whose arms
were coquettishly encircled with bracelets of gold. Smiling, they
served or removed the dishes with one hand, while with the other each
gracefully waved a large fan which restored the currents of the air.

The moment came at last when the young girls brought in, not,
according to European fashion, finger-bowls containing perfumed
water, but napkins saturated with warm water, which each of the
guests passed over his face with extreme satisfaction.

It was only an interlude of the repast-- an hour of luxurious rest, while
the music filled up the moments, for soon a troupe of singers and
musicians entered the room. The singers were young and pretty girls,
of modest appearance and behavior; but what music and method was
there-- it was a mewing and harsh noise, without measure or tune,
sometimes rising in sharp notes to the utmost limit of perception by
the auditory nerves.

The six guests then left their seats, but only to pass from one table to
another, which was done with great ceremony and compliments of all
sorts. On this second table each found a small cup having a lid
ornamented with a portrait of Bodhidharama, the celebrated Buddhist
monk, standing on his legendary raft. Each of the guests received a
pinch of tea, which he infused in the boiling water in his cup, without
any sugar, and he drank it immediately.

And what tea! It was not to be feared that the house of Gibb, Gibb and
Company, who supplied it, had adulterated it with a mixture of foreign
leaves; or that it had already been subjected to a first infusion, and
was only good to use in sweeping carpets; or that a dishonest
preparer had colored it yellow with curcuma, or green with Prussian
blue! It was imperial tea in all its purity, and its leaves were the first
gathering in the month of March-- those precious leaves which are like
the flower itself, for the loss of the leaves causes the death of the
plant. It was composed of those leaves which young children alone
are allowed to gather, with carefully gloved hands.

The cups were still full, and the host, with his eyes fixed on vacancy
and his elbow leaning on the table, expressed himself in these words:
"My friends, listen to me without laughing; the die is cast. I am going
to introduce into my life a new element, which may perhaps vary its
monotony. Will it be for good or for evil? The future only can tell. This
dinner to which I have invited you, is my farewell dinner to bachelor
life. In fifteen days I shall be married, and----"

"And you will be the happiest of men," cried the optimist. "See, all the
signs are in your favor."

Indeed, the lamps flickered, and cast a pale light around, the magpies
chattered on the arabesques of the windows, and the little tea leaves
floated perpendicularly in the cups. So many lucky omens could not
fail.

They all congratulated their host, who received their compliments with
the greatest coolness. But as he did not name the person destined to
fill the part of the "new element to his happiness," and whom he had
chosen, no one was indiscreet enough to interrogate him on the
subject.

Yet, the philosopher's voice was not heard among the general concert
of congratulations. With his arms crossed, his eyes partly closed,
and an ironical smile on his lips, he seemed to approve those who
paid the compliments no more than he did the one who was
complimented.

The latter rose, placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, and in a
voice that seemed less calm than usual, asked, "Am I then too old to
marry?"

"No!"

"Too young?"

"No; neither too young nor too old."

"Do you think I am acting wrong?"

"Probably so."

"But she, whom I have chosen, and whom you know, has everything
that is necessary to make me happy."

"I know it."

"Well, then?"

"But it is you who have not everything necessary to make you happy.
To be bored during single life is bad, but to be bored double is
worse."

"Am I, then, never to be happy?"

"No: not so long as you do not know what misfortune is."

"Misfortune cannot reach me."

"So much the worse; for then you are incurable."

"Ah! These philosophers," cried the youngest of the guests. "One
should not listen to them. They are theoretical; they manufacture all
kinds of theories which are impracticable. Get married, get married,
my friend. I should do the same, had I not made a vow never to do
anything. Get married; and, as the poets say, 'May the two phoenixes
always appear to you tenderly united.' My friends, I drink to the
success of our host."

"And I," answered the philosopher, "drink to the near interposition of
some protecting divinity, who, in order to make him happy, will require
him to pass through the trial of misfortune."

At this singular toast, the guests arose, brought their fists together as
they do at games before beginning the struggle; and having alternately
lowered and raised them while bowing their heads, took leave of each
other.

From the description of the dining-room where the entertainment was
given, and the strange bill of fare which composed it, as well as from
the dress and manner of the guests, and perhaps from the singularity
of the theories which they advanced, the reader has guessed that we
are speaking of the Chinese, not of those "Celestials" who look as if
they had been taken from some Chinese screen, or had escaped from
some piece of pottery, but of the modern inhabitants of the Celestial
Empire, already Europeanized by their studies, their voyages, and
their frequent communication with the civilization of the West.

Indeed, it was in the saloon of one of the flower boats on the River of
Pearls, at Canton, that the rich Kin-Fo, accompanied by the
inseparable Wang, the philosopher, had just given an entertainment to
four of the best friends of his youth. Pao-Shen, a mandarin of the
fourth class, and of the order of the blue button; Yin-Pang, a rich silk
merchant in Apothecary street; Tim, the high liver; and Houal, the
literary man.

And this entertainment took place on the 27th day of the 4th moon,
during the first of those five periods which so poetically divide the
hours of the Chinese night.



Chapter 2
Antecedents

If Kin-Fo gave his farewell dinner to his Canton friends, it was because
he had passed a part of his youth in the capital of the Province of
Kouang-Tong. Of the numerous companions a rich and generous
young man is sure to have, the four invited guests on the flower boat
were the only ones left him at this time. As to the others, they were
dispersed by the accidents of life; he would have looked in vain to
have brought them together.

Kin-Fo lived in Shang-Hai at this time, and for a change of air he was
spending a few days in Canton. This evening he intended to take the
steamer which stops at the principal points along the coast, and
return quietly home to his yamen.

Why Wang accompanied Kin-Fo was because the philosopher could
never leave his pupil, who did not want for lessons. To tell the truth he
paid no attention to them, they were so many maxims and wise
sentences lost. The "theory machine," according to Tim, the high
liver, was never weary of producing them.

Kin-Fo was a good type of the northern Chinamen who have never
joined with the Tartars. You might not meet his equal in the southern
provinces, where the high and low classes are more intimately
blended with the Mandshurian race. Kin-Fo neither from his father nor
his mother, whose ancestors kept secluded after the conquest, had a
drop of Tartar blood in his veins. He was tall, well-built, fair rather than
yellow, with straight eyebrows, and eyes following the horizontal, and
but slightly raised toward the temple; he had a straight nose, and a
face that was not flat. He would have been distinguished even among
the finest specimens of Western people.

Indeed if Kin-Fo appeared like a Chinaman, it was because of his
carefully shaven skull, his smooth, hairless brow and neck, and his
magnificent queue, which started from the occiput and rolled down
like a serpent of jet. Careful of his person, he wore a delicate
mustache which made a half circle over his upper lip, and an imperial
which was exactly like a rest seen in a piece of music. His nails were
more than a centimeter long, a proof that he belonged to that category
of lucky men who can live without work. Perhaps, too, his careless
manner and his haughty bearing added somewhat to his distinguished
appearance.

Besides, Kin-Fo was born at Pekin, an advantage of which the
Chinese are very proud. To any one who would have asked him where
he came from, he would have answered, "I come from above."

It was at Pekin that his father, Tchoung-Heou, lived when he was
born, and he was six years old when the former settled at Shang-Hai.
This worthy Chinaman, who came from an excellent family in the
northern part of the empire, possessed, like his countrymen, a
remarkable capacity for business. During the first years of his career,
he traded and sold everything that the rich and populous territory
produced: Such as paper goods from Swatow; silks from Sou-Tcheou;
sugar candy from Formosa; tea from Hankow and Foochow; iron from
Honan; and red and yellow copper from the province of Yunanne. All
were to him articles of trade and commerce. During the years
following his capital was doubled, owing to the creation of a new
commerce, which might be called "The Coolie trade of the New
World."

It is toward North America, and principally into the State of California,
that the surplus population of China is directed, but this has been
done in such great numbers that Congress has been obliged to take
restrictive measures against the invasion, rather impolitely called "The
yellow pest."

Rich companies undertake the transportation of these inexpensive
emigrants. Five had charge of the enlisting in the five provinces of the
Celestial Empire, and a sixth had quarters at San Francisco. The first
five shipped the merchandise, and the sixth received them. An
additional agency, called the Ting-Tong, was stationed where they
were reshipped.

This requires an explanation. The Chinese are very willing to
expatriate themselves to seek their fortunes with the "Melicans," as
they call the population of the United States, but on one condition,
that their bodies shall be faithfully brought back and buried in their
native land. This is one of the principal conditions of the contract a
sine qua non clause which is binding on these companies toward the
emigrant, and nothing can avoid it. So that the Ting-Tong, otherwise
called the "Agency of the Dead," which draws its funds from private
sources, is charged with freighting the "corpse-steamers," which leave
San Francisco fully loaded for Shang-Hai, Hong-Kong, or Tien-Tsin.

This new kind of business, and new source of profit, the able and
enterprising Tchoung-Heou soon saw. At the time of his death, in the
year 1866, he was a director in the Kouang-Than Company, in the
province of that name, and sub-director of the treasury for the dead in
San Francisco.

Kin-Fo having now no father or mother, was heir to a fortune valued at
four millions of francs, which was invested in stock in the Central
Bank of California, and he had the good sense to let it remain there.
At the time he lost his father, the young heir, who was nineteen years
old, would have been alone in the world, had it not been for Wang, the
inseparable Wang, who filled the place of mentor and friend.

But who was this Wang? For seventeen years he had lived in the
yamen at Shang-Hai, and he was the guest of the father before he
became that of the son. But where did he come from? What were his
antecedents? All these obscure questions Tchoung-Heou and Kin-Fo
alone could answer; and if they had considered proper to do so, which
was not probable, this is what they would have said:

Every one knows that China is the kingdom where insurrections last
many years, and carry off hundreds of thousands of men. Now, in the
seventeenth century, the celebrated dynasty of Ming, of Chinese
origin, reigned in China three hundred years; when, in the year 1644,
the chief, feeling unable to cope with the rebels who threatened the
capital, asked aid of a Tartar king. The king hastened to his aid
without being pressed to do so; he drove out the rebels, profited by
the situation to overthrow him who had asked his aid, and he
proclaimed his own son, Chun-Tche, emperor.

From this period, the Tartar authority was substituted for that of the
Chinese, and the throne was occupied by Manchurian emperors. By
degrees the two races, especially among the lower classes, came
together; but among the rich families of the north the separation
between the Chinese and the Tartars was maintained more strictly.
The type still retains its characteristics, particularly in the center of
the Western Provinces of the Empire. There are centered what are
called "the irreconcilables," who remain faithful to the fallen dynasty.

Kin-Fo's father belonged to the latter class, and he did not belie the
traditions of his family. A rising against the foreign power, even after a
reign of three hundred years, would have found him ready to join it.
His son, Kin-Fo, fully shared his political opinions.

In the year 1860, the Emperor S'Hiene-Fong declared war against
England and France-- a war ended by the treaty of Pekin, on the 25th
of October of the same year. Before that date, a formidable uprising
threatened the then reigning dynasty. The Tchang-Mao or the
Tai-ping, the "long-haired rebels," took possession of Nan-King in
1853, and Shang-Hai in 1855. S'Hiene-Fong being dead, his son had
great difficulty in repulsing the Tai-ping. Without the Viceroy Li and
Prince Kong, and especially the English colonel, Gordon, he perhaps
would not have been able to save his throne.

The Tai-ping, the declared enemies of the Tartars, having strongly
organized for rebellion, wished to replace the ancient dynasty of the
Ming. They formed four distinct bands; the first under a black banner,
appointed to kill; the second under a red banner, to set fire; the third
under a yellow banner, to pillage and rob; and the fourth, under a
white banner, were commissioned to provision the other three.

There were important military operations in Kiang-Sou and
Sou-Tcheou, and Kia-Hing, about five leagues distant from Shang-Hai,
fell into the power of the rebels, and were recovered, not without great
difficulty, by the imperial troops. Shang-Hai was menaced, and even
attacked, on the 18th of August, 1860, at the time that Generals
Grant and Montauban, commanding the Anglo-French army, were
cannonading the forts of Pei-Ho.

Now, at this time Tchoung-Heou, Kin-Fo's father, was living near
Shang-Hai, not far from the beautiful bridge which the Chinese
engineers had thrown across the river at Sou-Tcheou. This rebellion of
the Tai-ping he could not regard but with approval, since it was chiefly
directed against the Tartar dynasty. On the evening of the 18th of
August, after the rebels had been driven out of ShangHai, the door of
Tchoung-Heou's house suddenly opened.

A fugitive, who had escaped from his pursuers, threw himself at the
feet of Tchoung-Heou. This unfortunate man had no weapon with
which to defend himself, and if he was given up to the imperial
soldiers he was lost.

Kin-Fo's father was not the man to betray a Tai-ping who sought
refuge in his house, and he shut the door, and said, "I do not wish to
know, and I never shall know, who you are, what you have done, or
whence you come; you are my guest, and for that reason you are
safe at my house."

The fugitive wished to speak to express his acknowledgments, but he
was unable from weakness.

"Your name?" asked Tchoung-Heou.

"Wang." It was indeed Wang, who was saved by the generosity of
Tchoung-Heou-- a generosity which would have cost the latter his life,
if he was suspected of having given hospitality to a rebel.

A few years afterward the uprising of the rebels was forever repressed.
In the year 1864 the Tai-ping chief, who was besieged at Nan-King,
poisoned himself, to avoid falling into the hands of the imperials.
Wang, from that day forward, remained in the house of his benefactor.
He never referred to the past, and no one questioned him. The
atrocities committed by the rebels were said to be frightful, and under
what banner Wang had served-- the yellow, red, black, or white-- it
was better to remain in ignorance of, and to believe that he belonged
to the provisioning column.

Wang was pleased with his lot, and he continued to be the guest of
this hospitable house. After Tchoung-Heou's death, his son had no
desire to be separated from him, so much accustomed had he
become to the company of this amiable person.

Indeed, at the time of this story who would have ever recognized a
former Tai-ping, a murderer, a robber, or an incendiary from choice, in
this philosopher of fifty-five years, this moralist in spectacles.

With his long, modest robe, and the sash around his waist rising
toward his chest from growing obesity, with his head-dress regulated
according to the imperial decree, wearing a fur hat with the rim raised
around the crown, from whence fell tassels of red cord, did he not look
like a worthy professor of philosophy, and one of those learned men
who write fluently in the eighty thousand characters of Chinese
writing, and like a savant of superior dialect receiving the first prize in
the examination of doctors, with the right to pass under the gate of
Pekin reserved for the "Sons of Heaven?" Perhaps, after all, the rebel
had improved by contact with the honest Tchoung-Heou, and he had
gradually entered into the study of speculative philosophy.

On the evening when Kin-Fo and Wang, who never left each other,
were together at Canton, after the farewell dinner, they both went
along the wharves to seek the steamer to take them quickly to
Shang-Hai. Kin-Fo walked on in silence, and in a pensive mood.
Wang looked round to the right and to the left, philosophizing to the
moon and to the stars; passed smilingly under the gate of "Eternal
Purity," which he did not find too high for him, and under the gate of
"Eternal Joy," whose gates seemed to open on his own existence,
and finally saw the pagoda of the "Five Hundred Divinities" vanishing in
the distance.



Chapter 3
Kin-Fo At Home

A yamen is a number of buildings, variously constructed, ranged
according to a parallel line, which a second line of kiosks and
pavilions cut across perpendicularly. Ordinarily, the yamen serves as
a dwelling for mandarins of high rank, and belongs to the emperor; but
it is not forbidden to wealthy Celestials to have one. It was in one of
these sumptuous hotels that the wealthy Kin-Fo dwelt in Shang-Hai.

Wang and his pupil stopped at the principal gate opening on the vast
inclosure, which surrounded the various constructions of the yamen
and its garden and courtyards. If, instead of being the dwelling of a
private person, it had been that of a mandarin magistrate, a large
drum would have occupied the best place under the roof of the porch
over the door, and where in the night as well as the day those of his
deputies who might have to seek for justice would have knocked; but
instead of this "drum" large porcelain jars ornamented the entrance to
the yamen, which contained cold tea, and which were kept constantly
filled by his servants.

These jars were for the benefit of passers-by, which did honor to the
generosity of Kin-Fo. He was well and favorably regarded, as they
say, by his neighbors in the east and the west.

On the arrival of the master, the servants of the house ran to the door
to receive him. Valets-de-chambre, footmen, porters, chair-bearers,
waiters, coachmen, and cooks, all who compose a Chinese
household, formed into line under the orders of the steward. A dozen
of coolies, engaged by the month for the coarse work, stood a little in
the rear.

The steward welcomed the master to the house, who made a sign
with his hand and passed rapidly on.

"Soun," he merely said.

"Soun," answered Wang, smiling. "If Soun were here, it would not be
Soun."

"Where is he?" asked Kin-Fo.

The steward had to confess that neither he, nor any one, knew where
he was. Now Soun was no less a person than the first
valet-de-chambre, specially attached to Kin-Fo's person, and was one
whom he could by no means dispense with.

Was Soun, then a model servant? No, he could not possibly have
done his duty in a worse manner; he was absent-minded, awkward
with his hands and tongue, a great eater, and a great coward; but he
was a true Chinaman, faithful on the whole, and the only one
possessed of the gift of moving his master. Did Kin-Fo find a
necessity to get angry with Soun twenty times a day, yet if he only
corrected him ten times, there was just so much less to rouse him
from his habitual indolence, and put his bile in motion. It was evident
that he was a hygienic servant.

Soun, like the most of Chinese servants, came of himself to be
corrected when he deserved it. The blows of the rattan would be
poured on his shoulders, but he hardly cared for that. What caused
him to show more sensibility was the successive cuttings of his
braided pigtail, which Kin-Fo made him undergo when he had
committed any, grave fault.

Probably every one is aware how much the Chinaman values this
singular appendage. The loss of his queue, or pigtail, is the first
punishment applied to criminals. It is a dishonor for life, so that the
unfortunate valet dreaded nothing so much as to be condemned to
lose a piece of it. Four years before, when he entered Kin-Fo's
service, his braid was one of the finest in the Celestial Empire, and
measured over four feet, now it only measured two, so that Soun in
two years would be entirely bald.

Wang and Kin-Fo, followed respectfully by the servants of the house,
crossed the garden, where the trees, mostly set in porcelain vases,
and cut in a surprising style of art, assumed the form of fantastic
animals. Then they walked around the large basin containing the
fishes, in which the water was hidden from view under the pale red
flowers of the most beautiful of the native water-lilies in the Empire of
Flowers. All that Chinese fancy, with European comfort, might be
found in this luxurious dwelling.

Kin-Fo was a man of progress, and his tastes proved it. He was not
averse to the importation of every modern Western invention. He
belonged to that category of the Sons of Heaven, still too rare, who
are charmed by the physical and chemical sciences. He was not one
of those barbarians who cut the first telegraph wires which the house
of Reynolds wished to establish as far as Wousung, with the view of
ascertaining more quickly the arrival of English and American mails;
nor was he one of those backward mandarins who, in order not to let
the submarine cable from Shang-Hai to Hong-Kong be attached at
any point whatsoever of the territory, obliged the electricians to fasten
it on a boat in the open river.

Material progress was introduced into his house. Indeed, the
telephone gave communication between the different buildings in his
yamen, and electric bells connected the rooms in his house. During
the cold weather he was not ashamed to have a fire, and he was more
sensible in this respect than his fellow-citizens, who freeze under four
or five suits of clothes.

The pupil of the philosopher Wang had all that was necessary to
make him happy in his material, as well as his moral life. He had
Soun to rouse him from his daily apathy. Yet even Soun was not
sufficient to give him happiness.

It is true that, at the present moment, Soun, who was never where he
ought to be, did not show himself. He had some grave fault, no doubt,
to reproach himself with-- something which he had done wrong during
his master's absence; and he feared for his shoulders, habituated as
he was to the rattan. Perchance he even trembled for his pigtail.

"Soun!" said Kin-Fo, as he entered the hall into which the rooms
opened to the right and to the left, and his voice indicated an
ill-repressed impatience.

"Soun!" repeated Wang, whose good advice and reproaches were
always thrown away upon the incorrigible valet.

"Let some one find Soun, and have him brought to me," said Kin-Fo,
addressing the steward, who set every one to searching for the lost
one.

Wang and Kin-Fo were now alone. "Wisdom," said the philosopher,
"commands the traveler who returns to his fireside to take some
repose."

"Let us be wise," simply answered Wang's pupil, and after shaking
the philosopher's hand, he directed his steps toward his apartment,
while Wang sought his own chamber.

Kin-Fo, when alone, stretched himself on one of those soft lounges of
European manufacture which a Chinese upholsterer could never have
made so comfortable. In this position he began to meditate. Was it
about his marriage with the amiable and handsome woman he was to
make his companion for life? Yes; but that is not surprising, because
he was on the eve of visiting her. This charming person did not reside
in Shang-Hai, but in Pekin; and Kin-Fo considered that it would be
only proper to announce to her his return to Shang-Hai, and his
intention of soon visiting the capital of the Celestial Empire; and even
if he were to show a desire and some impatience to see her, he did
not think it would be out of place, for he had a true affection for her.
Wang had proved to him by indisputable rules of logic that he really
loved her, and this new element introduced into his life might perhaps
call forth the unknown -- that is, happiness. Kin-Fo was dreaming with
his eyes half closed, and he would have fallen asleep, if he had not
felt a sort of tickling in his right hand. Instinctively his fingers came
together and seized a knotty body of reasonable thickness which they
were undoubtedly accustomed to handle. He was not mistaken; it
was a rattan which had been slipped into his right hand, and he heard,
in a resigned tone of voice, the following words: "When master
wishes."

Kin-Fo rose up, and by a very natural movement he brandished the
correcting rattan. Soun stood before him presenting his shoulders in
the posture of a patient, and supporting himself on the floor by one
hand, he held a letter in the other.

"Well, here you are at last," cried Kin-Fo.

"Yes, yes," answered Soun; "I did not expect you until three o'clock;
but I am ready when you wish."

Kin-Fo threw the rattan on the carpet. Soun, although naturally very
yellow, had now become very pale. "If you offer your back, without any
other explanation, it proves that you deserve something more," said
the master. "What is the matter?"

"This letter."

"Well, what of it? Speak!" cried Kin-Fo, at the same time taking the
letter which Soun presented to him.

"I very stupidly forgot to give it to you before you left for Canton."

"A week behind time, you rogue."

"I did wrong, my master."

"Come here."

"I am like a poor crab," said Soun, "that has no claws, and cannot
walk-- yes! Yes!"

This last yes was one of despair. Kin-Fo seized Soun by his pigtail,
and with one clip of the scissors cut off the extreme end.

It is believed that claws grow instantaneously on the unhappy crab;
this one, having first snatched from the carpet the precious part of the
queue which had been cut off, scampered hastily away.

From twenty-four inches Soun's pigtail had become reduced to
twenty-three.

Kin-Fo had now resumed his usual calmness, and thrown himself on
the lounge once more, and was examining, like a man whom nothing
hurries, the letter which had arrived a week ago. He was only
displeased with Soun on account of his negligence, not on account of
the delay. What could there be in a letter that would interest him? It
would be interesting if it could only cause him an emotion. An
emotion for him! He looked at it vacantly. The envelope, made of
heavy linen paper, showed on the address and the reverse side
sundry postmarks of a chocolate and wine color, with the picture of a
man underneath the figure "2" and "six cents," which indicated that it
came from the United States of America.

"Good!" said Kin-Fo, shrugging his shoulders; "a letter from my
correspondent in San Francisco," and he threw the letter in the corner
of a divan.

Indeed, what could his correspondent have to tell him? That the title
deeds which composed almost all his fortune slept quietly in the
vaults of the Central Bank in California, or that his stock had risen
from fifteen to twenty per cent, or that the dividends to be distributed
would exceed those of the preceding year? A few millions of dollars,
more or less, was not sufficient to move him.

A few minutes later Kin-Fo took up the letter and mechanically tore
the envelope; but, instead of reading it, his eyes only sought for the
signature. "It is, indeed, from my correspondent," he said; "he can
have nothing to say but about business, and to-morrow I will attend to
business."

A second time Kin-Fo was about to throw the letter aside, when his
attention was called to a word underlined several times on the second
page. It was the word "indebtedness," to which the San Francisco
correspondent evidently wished to attract the attention of his client at
Shang-Hai.

Kin-Fo took up the letter again, and read it from the beginning to the
end, not without a certain feeling of curiosity, rather surprising on his
part. For a moment his eyebrows contracted, but a disdainful smile
settled on his lips when he finished reading it.

Kin-Fo rose, walked about twenty steps, and approached the acoustic
tube which placed him in direct communication with Wang; he was
about to carry the mouthpiece to his lips when he changed his mind,
let the rubber fall, and returning, threw himself on a divan. "Pooh!" said
he.

"And she," he murmured--"she is really more interested in all this than
I am."

He then approached a little table, on which stood a box of rare
carving; but as he was about to open it, he stopped. "What was it,
that her last letter said?" he murmured.

Instead of raising the box cover, he pressed a spring at one end, and
immediately a sweet voice was heard: "My little elder brother, am I no
longer to you like the flower 'Mei-houa' in the first moon, like the flower
of the apricot in the second, and the flower of the peach-tree in the
third? My dear precious jewel of a heart, a thousand, ten thousand
greetings to you." It was the voice of a young woman, whose tender
words were repeated by phonograph.

"Poor little younger sister," said Kin-Fo. Then opening the box, he
took out from the apparatus the paper on which were the indented
lines which had just reproduced the inflections of the absent voice,
and replaced it with another.

Kin-Fo spoke in it for about a minute. By his voice, which was always
calm and even, no one could recognize whether joy or sorrow
influenced his thoughts. Kin-Fo spoke three or four sentences only.
Having done this, the movement of the phonograph was suspended,
he drew out the special paper on which the needle acting upon the
membrane had traced oblique ridges, corresponding to the words
spoken; then placing this paper in an envelope which he sealed, he
wrote from right to left the following address:

"Madame Le-Ou,
Cha-Coua Avenue,
Pekin."

An electric bell soon brought a domestic. Orders were given to him to
take this letter immediately to the post-office.

An hour later Kin-Fo slept peacefully, pressing in his arms his--
"tchou-fou-jen" a kind of pillow of plaited bamboo, which maintains a
coolness, very much prized in warm latitudes.



Chapter 4
Unwelcome Tidings

"You have no letter for me yet?"

"No, madame."

"How long the time appears to me, mother."

Thus spoke the charming Le-ou for the tenth time that day, in the
boudoir of her house in Cha-Coua Avenue, Pekin. The old mother who
answered her, and to whom she gave this appellation, usually
bestowed in China on servants of a respectable age, was the
grumbling and disagreeable Miss Nan.

Le-ou had married, when she was eighteen years of age, a learned
man who had contributed to the famous work called
"Sse-Khou-Tsuane-Chou," which was begun in the year 1773, and
was to comprise 168,000 volumes, but up to the present time had
only reached the 78,738th volume.

This learned man was twice her age, and died three years after this
unequal union. The young widow was therefore left alone in the world
when she was only twenty-one years old. Kin-Fo met her on a voyage
which he made to Pekin about this time. Wang, who was acquainted
with this charming person, drew Kin-Fo's attention to her, who
gradually allowed himself to fall into the idea of changing his condition
in life by becoming the husband of the handsome young widow. Le-ou
was not insensible to the proposition made to her, and it was in this
way that the marriage was decided upon, which was to be celebrated
as soon as Kin-Fo had made the necessary arrangements at
Shang-Hai and Pekin.

It is not common in the Celestial Empire for widows to marry again,
not that they do not wish it as much as the others of their sex in
Western countries, but because the wish is not shared by the
opposite sex. If Kin-Fo was an exception to the rule, it was because
he was eccentric, we know.

Le-ou, if she married again, would no longer have the right to pass
under the commemorative arches which the emperor has sometimes
erected in honor of women who had been faithful to a deceased
husband-- such as the Widow Soung, who never would leave her
husband's tomb; of the Widow Koung-Kiang, who cut off an arm; and
of the Widow Yen-Tchiang, who disfigured herself as a sign of
conjugal grief. But Le-ou believed she could put her twenty years to
better use. She would again assume that life of obedience which
constitutes the whole role of a woman in the Chinese family; she
would renounce speaking of outside matters, and conform to the
precepts of the book "Li-nun" on domestic virtues, and the book
"Nei-tso-pien," on the duties of marriage, and she might again find
that consideration which the wife enjoys among the upper classes. So
Le-ou, who was intelligent and well educated, understanding what
place she would hold in the life of the rich man, tired of the world, and
feeling an affection for him, and a desire to prove to him that
happiness still exists here below, was resigned to her new lot.

The first husband had left this young widow, at the time of his death,
in easy but moderate circumstances. The house in Cha-Coua Avenue
was a modest one. The insupportable Nan was the only servant; but
Le-ou put up with her disagreeable manners, which is peculiar to the
servants of the Empire of Flowers.

It was in her dressing-room that the young lady passed the most of
her time, the furniture of which would have seemed very plain were it
not for the rich presents sent her for the past two months from
Shang-Hai. A few pictures hung on the walls, and, among others, a
valuable one by, the old painter, Huan-Tse-Nen.

This young Le-ou was a charming woman even to European eyes.
She was fair, and not yellow; she had sweet soft eyes, raised near
the temples; black hair, ornamented with peach-blossoms, fastened
by pins of green jade; small teeth; and eyebrows defined with a
delicate line of India ink. She used no honey or Spanish-white on her
cheeks, as the beauties in the Celestial Empire generally do. This
young widow had nothing to do with these artificial ingredients. She
seldom went out of her house at Cha-Coua, and for that reason
disdained to use the mask, common among Chinese women when
they go out.

As for her toilet, nothing could be more simple or elegant. A long
robe, with a white embroidered galloon at the hem, and underneath
this she wore a plaited skirt; at her waist a plastron, adorned with
braid in gold filigree; pantaloons attached to the belt and fastened over
hose of Nan-King silk; pretty slippers, ornamented with pearls,
completed her attire. It wanted nothing more to make the young
widow charming, unless we add that her hands were delicate, and
that she preserved her nails, that were long and rosy, in little silver
cases carved with exquisite art. Her feet? Well, her feet were small,
not on account of any deformity in consequence of that barbarous
custom among the Chinese which is happily being done away with,
but because nature had made them so.

"It cannot be possible that a letter has not come to-day," said Le-ou
again; "go and see, mother."

"I have been to see," replied Miss Nan, very disrespectfully, and left
the room, grumbling.

Le-ou tried to work to divert her mind, but she was thinking of Kin-Fo
all the time, since she was embroidering for him a pair of cloth socks,
whose manufacture is altogether confined to Chinese women, to
whatever class they may belong. But her work soon fell from her
hands. She rose, took two or three watermelon seeds from a box, and
cracked them between her pretty white teeth. She then opened a
book called "Nushun," a code of instructions intended to be read by
all good wives daily.

"As spring is the most favorable season for the farmer, so is the dawn
the most propitious moment of the day."

"Rise early, and do not yield to the wooing of sleep."

"Take care of the mulberry-tree and the hemp."

"Spin silk and cotton zealously."

"A woman's virtue is in being industrious and economical."

"Your neighbor will sing your praises."

This book was soon closed, for the fond Le-ou was not thinking of
what she was reading.

"Where is he?" she asked herself. "He must have gone to Canton.
Has he returned to Shang-Hai? When will he come to Pekin? Has the
sea been propitious to him? May the Goddess Koanine aid him!"

She wished a reaction to the anxiety which had taken possession of
her whole being. Her lute was there, her fingers ran over the chords,
while her lips murmured the first words of the song, "Hands United,"
but she could not continue. "His letters always came promptly," she
thought to herself; "and when I read them how they move my soul.
Now instead of letters addressed only to my, eyes, I hear his voice
itself."

Le-ou glanced at a phonograph which stood on a small table, and
which was exactly like the one that Kin-Fo used at Shang-Hai. They
could thus hear each other speak, in spite of the distance which
separated them. But to-day, as for several days, the phonograph was
silent, and said nothing of the thoughts of the absent one.

At this moment the old mother entered. "There is your letter," she
said.

Nan went out after handing to Le-ou a letter post-marked Shang-Hai.
A smile played on the lips of the young woman. Her eyes shone with
a brilliant light. She tore open the envelope rapidly, without taking time
to contemplate it, as was her custom.

It was not a letter which the envelope contained, but one of those
oblique indented plates which, when adjusted in the phonograph,
reproduce all the inflections of the human voice. "Ah! I like this even
better," Le-ou cried, joyously, "for I can hear him speak."

The paper was placed on the roller of the phonograph, which a
movement like clock-work turned, and Le-ou putting her ear to it,
heard a voice she well knew say:

"Little Younger Sister-- Ruin has carried away my riches, as the east
wind blows away the yellow leaves of autumn. I do not wish to make
another miserable by having her share my misery. Forget him on
whom ten thousand misfortunes have fallen."

"Yours in despair, Kin-Fo."

What a blow for the young woman! A life more bitter than the bitter
gentian awaited her now. Yes, the golden wind carried her last hopes
with the fortune of him she loved. The love which Kin-Fo had for her,
had it forever gone away? Did her lover only believe in the happiness
which riches gives? Ah, poor Le-ou! She now resembled a kite, when
the string to which it is attached is broken, slowly she sank to the
ground.



Chapter 5
"The Centenary"

The following day the disdain for the things of this world did not leave
Kin-Fo. With his usual pace, he left his home, crossed the river and
directed his steps toward a handsome house standing between the
Mission Church and the United States Consulate.

On the front of this house was a large copper plate, on which
appeared this inscription:

The Centenary Life Insurance Company, Guaranteed Capital,
$20,000,000. Principal Agent: William J. Bidulph.

Kin-Fo pushed open the door and found himself in an office divided
into two compartments by a simple railing as high as his elbow.
Several paper boxes, books with nickel clasps, an American safe with
secret drawers, two or three tables, where the agent's clerks were
working, and a secretary desk, which the Honorable William J.
Bidulph reserved for himself. This comprised the furniture of the office,
which looked more like the office in a Broadway store than one on the
shores of the Wousung.

William J. Bidulph was the principal agent in China of the fire and life
insurance company, whose headquarters were in Chicago. It was
called the "Centenary," a good sign to draw customers.

The Centenary was renowned in the United States, and had branches
in the five divisions of the world. It did an extensive business, which
was boldly and liberally carried on, and was thus able to take every
risk.

The Celestials were beginning to follow this modern current of ideas,
which filled the coffers of companies of this kind. A great number of
houses in the Central Empire were insured against fire, and the
insurance risks in case of death, with their combinations, did not want
Chinese signatures. The guarantee of the Centenary was already
posted on doors in Shang-Hai, and, among other places, on the pillars
of Kin-Fo's costly yamen. It was not, therefore, with the intention of
insuring against fire that Wang's pupil went to visit the Honorable
William J. Bidulph.

"Mr. Bidulph?" he asked, on entering. William J. Bidulph was there "in
person," like a photographer always at the disposition of the public.
He was correctly dressed in a black coat and white cravat, with a full
beard, and a peculiar American manner.

"To whom have I the honor of speaking?" asked William J. Bidulph.

"To Mr. Kin-Fo, of Shang-Hai."

"Mr. Kin-Fo, one of the clients of the Centenary-policy No. 27,200?"

"The same."

"Shall I have the pleasure, sir, of being able to render you any
service?"

"I would like to speak to you in private," answered Kin-Fo. The
conversation between these two persons could be easily carried on,
since William J. Bidulph spoke Chinese as well as Kin-Fo spoke
English.

The rich client was then introduced, with the respect which was due
him, into an inner office, hung with tapestry, and closed with double
doors, where one might have plotted the overthrow of the dynasty of
Tsing without fear of being heard by the most cunning tipaos in the
Celestial Empire.

"Sir," said Kin-Fo, as soon as he was seated in a rocking-chair before
a fireplace heated with gas, "I desire to negotiate with your company
for the insurance of my life."

"Sir," answered William J. Bidulph, "there is nothing more simple.
Two signatures, yours and mine, at the foot of a policy, and the
insurance is effected, after a few preliminary formalities. But, sir,
permit me to ask this question: Of course you desire to die at an
advanced age-- a very natural desire always?"

"Why?" asked Kin-Fo. "Ordinarily, life insurance indicates a fear of
approaching death."

"Oh, sir," answered William J. Bidulph, in the most serious way in the
world, "that fear is never entertained by the patrons of the Centenary.
Does not its name indicate this? To be insured with us, is to take a
long lease of life. I beg your pardon, but it is seldom that our insured
do not pass their hundredth year-- very rare, very rare. In their interest
we ought to deprive them of life. But we do a superb business. I
assure you, sir, that to be insured in the Centenary is a sure way to
become a centenarian."

"Ah!" said Kin-Fo, quietly, looking at William J. Bidulph with his cold
eye. The chief agent, as serious as a minister, had not the
appearance of joking.

"However that may be," replied Kin-Fo, "I wish to insure my life for
$200,000."

"We will say a policy for $200,000," answered William J. Bidulph, as
he wrote this figure on a memorandum. The magnitude of the amount
did not even cause him to raise his eyebrows.

"Against what risks do you intend to take an insurance, my dear
sir?"

"All."

"The risks of travel by sea and land, and those of a residence outside
of the limits of the Celestial Empire?"

"Yes."

"The risks of military service?"

"Yes."

"Then the premiums will be very high."

"I will pay what is necessary."

"It is agreed."

"But," added Kin-Fo, "there is another very important risk of which you
do not speak."

"What is it?"

"Suicide. I thought the policies of the Centenary allowed insurance
against suicide."

"Just so! Just so!" replied William J. Bidulph, rubbing his hands. "That
is also a source of profit to us. You can rest assured that our clients
are generally men who cling to life, and those who from excessive
prudence insure against suicide never kill themselves."

"For all that," answered Kin-Fo, "for personal reasons I wish to insure
against this risk also."

"Just as you wish, but the premium will be very high."

"I say, again, that I will pay whatever is necessary."

"I understand. We will therefore say," said William J. Bidulph,
continuing to write on his memorandum, "risks of traveling by sea and
land, and suicide."

"And on those conditions, what will the premiums to be paid amount
to?" asked Kin-Fo.

"My dear sir," answered the principal agent, "our premiums are based
on a mathematical precision which does honor to the Company. They
are no longer, as formerly, on Duvillar's tables. Are you acquainted
with Duvillar?"

"I never knew him."

"He was a remarkable statistician, but ancient, so ancient even that
he is dead. At the time that he established his famous tables, which
still serve as the scale for premiums in the most of the European
companies which are behind the times, the average duration of life
was less than it is at present, thanks to the general progress. We
make a basis on a higher medium, and consequently more favorable
to the insured, who pays less and lives longer."

"What will be the amount of my premium?" asked Kin-Fo, desirous of
stopping the wordy agent.

"Sir," answered William J. Bidulph, "may I take the liberty of asking
how old you are?"

"Thirty-one years."

"Well, at thirty-one, if it were only for ordinary risks, you would have to
pay other companies two eighty-three per cent., but in the Centenary
it would only be two seventy, which would annually make $5,400 on a
capital of $200,000."

"And on the terms that I desire," said Kin-Fo, "insuring against every
risk, even suicide-- suicide above everything?"

"Sir," answered William J. Bidulph, in an amiable tone, after having
consulted a printed table, "we cannot do this for you at less than
twenty-five per cent."

"Which will be?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

"And how do you wish the premium to be paid to you?"

"All at once, or in parts by the month, at the pleasure of the insured."

"Which would be for the first two months?"

"Eight thousand three hundred and thirty-two dollars, which, if paid
to-day, the 30th of April," answered William J. Bidulph, "would cover
you up to the 30th of June of the present year."

"Sir," answered Kin-Fo, "these conditions suit me-here is the
premium for the first two months;" and he placed on the table a thick
roll of bills which he drew from his pocket.

"Well, sir, very well," answered William J. Bidulph; "but, before
signing the policy, there is one formality to be gone through with."

"What is it?"

"You must receive a visit from the physician of the Company."

"What is the object of the visit?"

"In order to see if you are in sound health, and that you have no
organic complaint of a nature to shorten life-if, in short, you can give
us guarantees of a long life."

"For what reason, since I insure even against duel and suicide?"
observed Kin-Fo.

"Well, my dear sir," replied William J. Bidulph, still smiling, "a
malady, the germ of which you might have, and which would carry you
off in a few months, would cost us, in all, $200,000."

"My suicide would cost you that also, I suppose?" asked Kin-Fo.

"My dear sir," answered the principal agent, taking Kin-Fo's hand in
his, "I have already had the pleasure of telling you that many of our
clients insure against suicide, but they never commit suicide;
besides, we are not prevented from watching over them--, but with the
greatest discretion."

"Ah!" Said Kin-Fo.

"I will also add," said William J. Bidulph, "that all the clients of the
Centenary insured against the risk of suicide are the ones who pay
premiums the longest; but, between ourselves, why should the rich
Mr. Kin-Fo contemplate suicide?"

"And why should the rich Mr. Kin-Fo get insured?"

"Oh," answered William J. Bidulph, "to be certain of living to be very
old as a client of the Centenary." There was no use discussing with
the principal agent of the celebrated Company--he was so positive in
what he said.

"And now," he added, "for whose benefit is this insurance of $200,000
to be made?"

"There will be two beneficiaries," answered Kin-Fo, "one for $50,000
and the other for $150,000."

"We will say for the $50,000?"

"Mr. Wang."

"What! The philosopher Wang?"

"The same."

"And for the $150,000?"

"Madame Le-ou, of Pekin."

"Pekin," added William J. Bidulph, finishing his entry of the names of
the beneficiaries. Then he resumed:

"What is Madame Le-ou's age?"

"Twenty-one," answered Kin-Fo.

"Oh," said the agent, "a young lady who will be quite old when she
receives the amount of the policy."

"Why so, please?"

"Because you will live to be more than a hundred years of age, my
dear sir. And about the philosopher, Wang -what age is he?"

"He is fifty-five."

"Well, this amiable man is sure of never receiving anything."

"That is to be seen, sir," said Kin-Fo, directing his steps toward the
office door.

"Good-day," answered the Honorable William J. Bidulph, bowing to
the new client of the Centenary.

The following day the doctor of the Company made Kin-Fo the usual
visit. His report was: "A body of iron, muscles of steel, and lungs like
organ bellows."

There was now nothing to prevent the Company from dealing with a
man so solidly built. The policy was then signed. Neither Le-ou nor
Wang, unless through unforeseen circumstances, would ever know
what Kin-Fo had just done for them, until the day when the Centenary
should be called to pay them the policy, the last generous act of the
ex-millionaire.



Chapter 6
Preparing For Death

The $200,000 of the Centenary was in a very perilous condition,
notwithstanding what the Honorable William J. Bidulph might think
and say. Kin-Fo's scheme was not of that kind that on reflection one
postpones indefinitely.

Completely ruined, Wang's pupil formally determined to end his
existence, which, even in the time of his riches, brought him only
sadness and weariness. The letter delivered by Soun, eight days after
its arrival, had come from San Francisco. It gave notice of the
suspension of payment of the Central Bank of California. Now Kin-Fo's
fortune consisted almost entirely, as we know, of stock in this
celebrated bank; and improbable as the news might appear, it was
too true. The suspension of payment of the Central Bank of California
was confirmed by the newspapers at Shang-Hai. The failure had been
declared, and the fall in the stock had ruined Kin-Fo.

The sale of his house at Shang-Hai would not yield him a sufficient
income. The $8,000 premium paid to the Centenary, and some boat
stock of the Tien-Tsin Company, which, if sold that day would-hardly
amount to anything worth while, now comprised his whole fortune.

A Western man, a Frenchman, or an Englishman, would have taken
this new state of existence philosophically, and sought to have got up
in the world again, by labor; but a Celestial believes that he has the
right to think otherwise, and to act differently. It was voluntary death
that Kin-Fo, like a true Chinaman, was going to, with that typical
indifference characteristic of the yellow race.

The Chinaman has only a passive courage, but he possesses it in the
highest degree. His indifference to death is truly extraordinary. When
ill, he sees it approach with indifference. When condemned to death,
and already in the hands of the executioner, he shows no signs of
fear. The public executions, so frequent, the sight of horrible suffering,
which are part of the penal laws in the Celestial Empire, have early
made familiar to the Sons of Heaven the idea of abandoning without
regret the things of this world; besides, it is not to be wondered at,
since in all families this thought of death is a topic of conversation
almost daily, which has its influence over the most ordinary acts of
life. The worship of ancestors is found even among the poorest
people. There is not a rich dwelling where there is not reserved a sort
of domestic sanctuary, and there is not a miserable hut where may
not be found some corner religiously kept apart for the relics of
ancestors, in whose honor a day is celebrated in the second month.
That is why one finds in the same shop, where children's cradles and
wedding gifts are sold, a varied assortment of coffins, which form an
article of Chinese commerce.

The furniture would be incomplete if a coffin were wanting in the
mansion. The son considers it a duty to offer one to his father while
living, and it is considered a great proof of tenderness. This coffin is
placed in a special chamber. It is ornamented and taken care of; and
when it has received the mortal remains, it is kept for many years with
pious care. In short, respect for the dead is the basis of Chinese
religion, and contributes to bind the family ties more closely.

Kin-Fo, therefore, more than any other person, owing to his
temperament, looked with tranquility at the thought of putting an end
to his days. He had insured the fate of the two beings in whom all his
affection centered. What had he to regret now? Nothing. Suicide could
not cause him any remorse. What is a crime in Western civilized
countries, is nothing more than a lawful act, we might say, in the
midst of that strange civilization of Eastern Asia.

Kin-Fo had made up his mind, and no influence could change him
from putting it into execution, not even the influence of the philosopher
Wang. Besides, the latter was in absolute ignorance of his pupil's
designs. Soun was no wiser, and only observed one thing since his
master's return; that was, that Kin-Fo showed himself more patient
toward him, in not finding fault with his daily blunders.

Decidedly, Soun was arriving at the conclusion that he could not find
a better master, and his precious pigtail wriggled on his back with
security.

A Chinese proverb says:

"To be happy on earth, you must live at Canton, and die at
Liao-Tcheou."

It is at Canton that every luxury of life is found, and it is at
Liao-Tcheou that the best coffins are manufactured.

Kin-Fo did not fail to leave an order with the best house, that his last
bed of repose might arrive in time. To be properly laid out for his last
sleep is the constant thought of every Celestial who knows how to
live.

At the same time Kin-Fo bought a white cock, whose part is to
embody departing spirits, and seize in their flight one of the seven
elements of which a Chinese soul is composed.

We see that if the pupil of the philosopher Wang showed himself
indifferent to the details of life, he was much less so to those of death.
He had to arrange the program for his funeral, and on that very day a
beautiful sheet of paper, called rice paper, received Kin-Fo's last will.

After having bequeathed to the young widow his house at Shang-Hai,
and to Wang a portrait of the Emperor Tai-ping, which the philosopher
always regarded favorably. Kin-Fo wrote with a firm hand the order of
march of the persons who were to assist at his obsequies.

In default of relations, of which he had none, he wished a party of
friends, which he had, to appear at the head of the funeral procession,
dressed in white, which is the mourning color of the Celestial Empire.
Along the length of the streets as far as the tomb, which had been
erected some time ago in the suburbs of Shang-Hai, were to extend a
double row of servants charged with the burial. Then the hearse was
to appear. It was an enormous palanquin, hung in violet silk, and
embroidered with gold dragons, which fifty valets were to carry on their
shoulders in the middle of a double row of bonzes. The priests,
dressed in robes of gray, red, and yellow, reciting the last prayers,
alternated with the thunder of gongs, the playing of flutes, and the
noisy din of trumpets, six feet long, were to follow. At last the
mourners' carriages, draped in white, were to close this sumptuous
funeral procession, the expenses of which must exhaust the last
resources of the opulent defunct. This program was really nothing very
extraordinary: many funerals of this class pass through the streets of
Canton, Shang-Hai, or Pekin, and the Celestials see nothing more
than a natural homage given to the remains of him who is no more.

On the 20th of October a box, sent from Liao-Tcheou, arrived to the
address of Kin-Fo, at his dwelling in ShangHai. It contained the coffin
he had ordered, carefully packed. Neither Wang nor Soun, nor any of
the servants in the yamen were surprised; for, we repeat, that there is
not a Chinaman who is not anxious to possess in his lifetime the bed
on which he is to sleep for eternity.

A letter had arrived that day from the desolate Le-ou-the young widow
placed at the disposal of Kin-Fo the little that she possessed. Fortune
was nothing to her; she could do without it. She loved him, and what
did he want more? Could they not be happy in more modest
circumstances? This letter, full of sincere affection, did not alter
Kin-Fo's resolution. "My death alone can enrich her," he thought.

It only remained to decide in what way he should accomplish this last
supreme act. Kin-Fo felt a sort of pleasure in planning the details, for
he was in hopes that at the last moment an emotion, however fleeting
as it might be, would make his heart beat.

Within the inclosure of the yamen rose four pretty kiosks, ornamented
with all the fancy characteristic of Chinese decorations. They bore
significant names, such as the "Pavilion of Happiness," which Kin-Fo
never entered; the "Pavilion of Fortune," which he looked upon with
disdain; the "Pavilion of Pleasure," the doors of which were now
closed to him; the "Pavilion of Long Life," which he had resolved to
destroy.

It was this last one that instinct led him to choose. He resolved to
shut himself up in it at nightfall, and it was there, the following day,
they were to find him happy in death. This point decided, how was he
to die? Rip himself open like a Japanese? Strangle himself with a silk
cord like a mandarin? Open his veins in a perfumed bath like an
epicurean in ancient Rome? No. These proceedings had something
brutal in them, and would be painful to his friends and servants. One
or two grains of opium, mixed with some subtle poison, would be
sufficient to make him pass from this world into the other without his
being conscious of the change, carried in one of those dreams which
converts slumber into eternal sleep.

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon when Kin-Fo had
only a few hours to live. He wished to take a last promenade and see
the country once more around Shang-Hai, and the shores of the
Houang-Pou, on which he had so often walked away his weariness.
He left the yamen to return once more, and never leave it again.

The English territory, the little bridge over the creek, the French
Concession, were crossed in an indolent manner, as he saw no
necessity to hasten in this last hour. Passing along the wharf of the
native port, he wound around the wall of Shang-Hai as far as the
Roman Catholic Cathedral, whose cupola overlooks the southern
suburbs. He then turned to the right, and quietly ascended the road
which leads to the pagoda at Loung-Hao.

Kin-Fo was not a man who looked around him; so that two strangers
dressed like Europeans, who had followed him when he left the
yamen, did not even attract his attention. He did not see them,
although they never lost sight of him. They walked at some distance
behind him, walking when he walked, and stopping when he stopped.
It was plain they were there to watch him. They were of medium
height, and one would have said that they were like two pointer dogs
with sharp eyes and fleet limbs.

Kin-Fo, after walking about a league around the country, retraced his
steps. The two bloodhounds also retraced theirs.

Kin-Fo, on his return, saw two or three beggars, to whom he gave
alms. Farther on several Chinese Christians, trained in their devotions
by the French Sisters of Charity, crossed the road. Each was carrying
a basket on her back, in which were contained some abandoned
children. They have been appropriately called "the children's
rag-pickers." And these unfortunate children, what are they but rags
thrown in the gutter? Kin-Fo emptied his purse into the hands of these
charitable sisters. They were surprised at this act on the part of a
Celestial.

It was now evening, and Kin-Fo took the road by the wharf, to return to
his home at Shang-Hai. The floating population were still astir, and
singing and noise were heard everywhere. Kin-Fo listened; he was
anxious to hear the last words that would fall on his ears.

A young Tankadere, guiding her boat through the somber waters of
the Houang-Pou, sang thus:

"I deck my boat with a thousand flowers,
Counting the hours;
My prayers to the blue-god ever rise
Homeward to turn my lover's eyes;
My soul impassion'd ever cries,
Will he come to-morrow?"

"To-morrow!" thought Kin-Fo to himself; "Where shall I be
to-morrow?"

"I know not what land of cold or drought
His steps have sought;
Roaming beyond old China's wall
Heedless what perils may befall;
Ah! Could he hear my heart-sick call--
He would come to-morrow."

"To seek for wealth, O, why didst thou stay
Far, far away?
Why dost thou tarry! The months glide by,
Waiteth the priest the bands to tie,
Phoenix to phoenix ever nigh;
Come, O come to-morrow!"

The voice died away in the distance. Kin-Fo thought to himself, "Yes,
perhaps riches are not everything in this world; but life is not worth
living."

Half an hour afterward he entered his dwelling. The two strangers, who
were following him up to that time, had to stop.

Kin-Fo quietly walked to the kiosk of "Long Life," opened the door and
closed it again, and was alone in a little room lighted by a lantern
which shed a soft glow around. On a table, which was made of a
single piece of jade, stood a box containing a few grains of opium,
mixed with a deadly poison, which Kin-Fo always had on hand in
case of need. He took up two of these grains, placed them in one of
those red-clay pipes which opium-eaters use, and began to light it.

"Why, how is this," said he, "not even an emotion at the moment
when I am about to sleep never to rise again."

He hesitated a moment. "No," he cried, throwing the pipe away, which
broke on the inlaid floor, "I must have some emotion, even if it be
feeble. I must have it-- and I will have it."

And leaving the kiosk with a quicker step than ordinary, he walked
toward Wang's room.



Chapter 7
A Serious Contract Proposition

Wang had not yet gone to bed. He was lying on a divan; he was
reading the last issue of the Pekin Gazette. When his eyebrows
contracted, it was very certain that the paper paid some compliment
to the reigning dynasty of Tsing.

Kin-Fo opened the door, entered the room, threw himself in an
arm-chair, and said, "Wang, I have come to ask a favor of you."

"Ten thousand are at your service," answered the philosopher, letting
fall the paper. "Speak-- speak-- my son, speak, without fear, and
whatever it is, I will do it."

"The service which I require," said Kin-Fo, "is one of that kind that a
friend can render but once; after that I will excuse you from the nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine others; but I must add that
you are not to expect any thanks from me afterward."

"The most able interpreter of inexplicable things could not understand
you-- what is it?"

"Wang," said Kin-Fo, "I am ruined."

"Ah! Ah!" said the philosopher, with the tone of a man who has heard
good rather than bad news.

"The letter which I found here on our return from Canton," said Kin-Fo,
"has apprised me that the Central Bank of California has failed.
Outside of this yamen and a few thousand dollars, which may enable
me to live one or two months longer, I have nothing left."

"Then," said Wang, after looking at his pupil, "it is no longer the rich
Kin-Fo to whom I am speaking."

"It is the poor Kin-Fo, whom poverty has never frightened."

"Well answered, my son," said the philosopher, rising.

"I have not, therefore, lost my time in inculcating to you those lessons
of wisdom. Thus far you have only vegetated without passions or
struggles. You will live now. Confucius has said, and the Talmud after
him, 'That there are fewer misfortunes than one fears.' We shall now
earn our daily rice. The 'Nun-Schum' teaches us that 'In life there are
ups and downs.' The wheel of fortune is continually turning, and the
spring wind is variable. Rich or poor, try to do your duty. Let us go."

And Wang, like a true philosopher, was about to quit the sumptuous
habitation. Kin-Fo stopped him.

"I said," he resumed, "that poverty has never frightened me, but I will
add that I have decided not to endure it."

"Ah!" said Wang, "what do you intend?"

"To die."

"Not to die," quietly answered the philosopher. "A man who has
decided to end life says nothing to anybody."

"It would have been done already," replied Kin-Fo, with a calm equal
to that of the philosopher, "had I not wished that my death should
cause me at least one first and last emotion. Now, at the moment I
was about to swallow one of those grains of opium that you know
about, my heart beat so slow that I threw the poison away, and I have
come to find you."

"Do you then wish, my friend, that we should die together?" asked
Wang, smiling.

"No," said Kin-Fo; "I wish you to live."

"Why?"

"To kill me with your own hand."

At this unexpected proposition Wang did not even shudder, but
Kin-Fo, who looked at him steadily in the face, saw a light in his
eyes. The old Tai-ping was awakened in him; eighteen years had
passed over his head without stifling the sanguinary instincts of his
youth. To the son of him who had protected him he would not object
to putting him out of existence, if he desired it. Yes, he, Wang the
philosopher, would do this.

But this light in his eyes died out very soon. Wang assumed the
usual look of a worthy man, a little more serious perhaps, and settling
down again, he said, "And is this the favor that you ask of me?"

"Yes," replied Kin-Fo; "and the performance of this service will acquit
you from all you owe to Tchoung-Heou and his son."

"What do you want to do?" simply asked the philosopher.

"On the 25th of June, the 28th of the 6th moon, which will be my 31st
birthday, I wish to have ceased to live. I must fall by your hand, not
knowing where or how. In each of the eighty thousand minutes which
will remain to me of life, during the fifty-five days yet remaining, I must
be filled with the thought, the hope, and the fear that my life will
suddenly end. I must have before me those eighty thousand
emotions, so plain, that, when the seven elements of my soul
separate, I can cry out, 'At last I have lived!' "

Kin-Fo, contrary to his habit, had spoken with a certain animation,
and it will be noticed that he had fixed on the sixth day before the
expiration of his policy as the limit of his existence. This was acting
like a prudent man, for in default of the payment of a new premium, a
delay would cause his heirs to lose the insurance.

The philosopher listened gravely, casting a look at the portrait of the
Tai-ping which he was to inherit, although he was not aware of it.

"You will not decline to fulfill the obligation you have promised, to give
me the blow?" asked Kin-Fo.

Wang, with a gesture, indicated that he was ready. He had seen too
many killed while fighting under the banners of the Tai-pings, but he
added, "Do you thus renounce the chances that the True Master has
given you to reach extreme old age?"

"I renounce them."

"Without any regrets?"

"Without a regret," answered Kin-Fo. "What! To be old, and resemble
a piece of wood which can no longer be carved. If I do not desire to
live rich, I should desire it less poor."

"And the young widow at Pekin," said Wang. "Do you forget the old
proverb, 'Flowers with flowers; the willow with the willow; the union of
two hearts makes a hundred years of spring?'"

"Against three hundred years of autumn, summer, and winter," replied
Kin-Fo, shrugging his shoulders. "No; if Le-ou were poor, she would
be miserable with me. On the contrary, my death will assure her a
fortune."

"Have you done that?"

"Yes; and you, Wang, have $50,000 placed on my head."

"Ah!" simply replied the philosopher, "you answer every question."

"Yes, to every one, even to an objection which you have not yet
made."

"What is it?"

"The danger which may follow, after my death, of your being
suspected as my assassin."

"Oh," replied Wang; "it is only the blunderers and the cowards who
allow themselves to be taken; besides, where would the merit be of
rendering you this last service if I risked nothing?"

"None at all, Wang; but I prefer to give you security in that respect,
and no one will ever dream of disturbing you."

Saying this, Kin-Fo approached a table, took up a sheet of paper,
and, in clear handwriting, wrote the following lines:

"I have voluntarily killed myself through disgust and weariness of life.
Kin-Fo."

He gave the paper to Wang. The philosopher read it in a low voice at
first, then aloud; and, after doing this, he carefully folded it and placed
it in his memorandum-book. Another gleam came into his eyes.

"Is this all serious on your part?" said he, regarding his pupil fixedly.

"Yes, serious."

"It will be no less serious on my part, then."

"Then before the 25th of June, at the latest, I shall have ceased to
live."

"I do not know whether you will have ceased to live in the way that
you understand it," replied the philosopher, gravely; "but you can rest
assured you will be dead."

"Thank you, and good-by, Wang."

"Farewell, Kin-Fo."

And Kin-Fo quietly left the chamber of the philosopher.



Chapter 8
Suspense

"Well, Craig-Fry?" said the Hon. William J. Bidulph, the following day,
to the two agents whom he had commissioned to watch the
movements of the new client of the Centenary.

"Well," answered Craig, "we followed him yesterday during a long
walk----"

"And," added Fry, "he certainly has not the appearance of a man who
contemplates suicide. When night came we saw him to his own door,
but which, unfortunately, we could not enter."

"And this morning?" asked William J. Bidulph.

"We learned," answered Craig, "that he was as safe as the bridge of
Palikao."

The agents, Craig and Fry, were two pure-blooded Americans,
cousins, in the employ of the Centenary, who might be taken for
twins. They were so identified, that when one commenced a
sentence, the other usually finished it. They had the same brain, the
same thought, heart, stomach, and the same way of doing everything.
It was four hands, arms, and legs united in one body. In a word, they
were like the Siamese twins.

"Then," asked William J. Bidulph, "you have not yet been able to
penetrate into the house?"

"Not--" said Craig

"Yet," said Fry.

"It may be difficult," replied the principal agent; "but it must be done; it
is of importance that the Centenary not only earns the enormous
premium, but it is of greater importance to save $200,000. Therefore,
there are two months of watching, and perhaps more, if our new client
renews his policy."

"There is a servant--" said Craig.

"Whom we might bribe--" said Fry

"Ah," said Bidulph, "stick to the servant-- buy him. He must be
sensible to the sound of taels; and taels you shall not want, even
although you may have to exhaust the three thousand formalities of
civility which Chinese etiquette requires. You will not regret the pains
you have taken."

"It shall be--" said Craig.

"Done," replied Fry. And those were the reasons why Craig and Fry
wished to put themselves on a familiar footing with Soun. Now, Soun
was not a man to resist taels, with the courteous offer of several
glasses of American liquor.

Craig and Fry soon learned from Soun all that they wished to know for
their interest, which amounted to this: Had Kin-Fo changed his style
of living? No; except that he scolded his valet less, that the scissors
were not used so often to cut off his pigtail, and that the rattan was
used less on his shoulders. Had Kin-Fo any deadly weapon about
him? No; for he did not belong to that respectable category of
amateurs who use deadly weapons. What did he eat at his meals?
Some simple dishes. Did he rise early? At five o'clock. Did he go to
bed early? At ten o'clock, which was his custom since Soun had
known him. Was he sad, preoccupied, or wearied with life? He was
not a very cheerful man, indeed. Oh, no! Nevertheless, some days he
enjoyed the things of this life. Yes-- Soun found him less indifferent,
like a man who is waiting-- for what--? He could not tell.

Finally, did his master possess any poisonous substance which he
could use? He had none any longer, for that very morning they had
thrown by his orders into the Houang-Pou a dozen of little globules
which were poisonous.

In all this, there was nothing to alarm the principal agent of the
Centenary. No. The rich Kin-Fo, whose circumstances no one except
Wang was aware of, appeared to enjoy life. However this may be,
Craig and Fry were to continue to make inquiries about everything
their client did. Thus the two inseparables continued to question
Soun, who took pleasure in conversing with such amiable men.

It would be going too far to say that the hero of this story clung to life
more tenaciously since his resolution to get rid of it; but he did not
want for emotions. He had placed Damocles' sword over his head, and
this sword was sure to fall on him some day. Was it to be to-day, or
tomorrow? This morning, or this evening? On this point there was
some doubt, and hence a movement of the heart, new to him.
Besides, since the exchange of words between him and Wang, he
saw less of him. Either the philosopher left the house oftener than he
was accustomed, or he shut himself up in his room. Kin-Fo did not go
in search of him; that was not his place, and he was ignorant of how
Wang passed his time. Perhaps, in preparing some ambush for him.
An old Tai-ping must have a great many ways of dispatching a man.
From this Kin-Fo's curiosity was aroused; a new element of interest
was afforded him. However, the master and pupil met at the same
table; but there was no allusion made to their future position of
assassin and assassinated-- they talked about other things. Wang
was more serious than usual, often turned his eyes away, and
seemed to be more preoccupied. The man who was so
communicative had now become silent and sad. A great eater
formerly, like every philosopher who has a good stomach, the most
delicate dishes did not tempt him, and the wine no longer consoled
him.

Kin-Fo tried to put him at his ease. He tasted of every dish, and it
followed that he ate more than usual; hence a new sensation, and he
relished his dinners, which agreed with him; it could not be that Wang
intended to poison him. He afforded Wang every facility to accomplish
his deed. Kin-Fo left his chamber door open, that the philosopher
might enter and deal the fatal blow while he was awake or asleep; all
that Kin-Fo expected was, that his hand might be swift, and the blow
fatal. But his emotions were changing; and after the first few nights he
was so accustomed to expect the fatal blow, that he slept soundly
and awoke every morning fresh and bright. Things could not always
remain thus.

The thought often occurred to Kin-Fo, that Wang would hesitate
before killing him in the house where he had been so hospitably
entertained. He resolved to put him more at his ease on that point,
and we find him running about the country, seeking isolated roads,
staying out late in the worst places in Shang-Hai, where robbery and
murders were committed daily. He walked through the streets at all
hours of the night, jostled by drunken men of all nations, but he was
safe and sound. He did not see Craig and Fry, who followed him
everywhere, ready to give him help in case of need. If matters went on
in this way, Kin-Fo would get accustomed to this new mode of
existence, and perhaps weariness would return.

One day chance aroused a new sensation in him. He passed the door
of the philosopher's room. Wang was trying the point of a dagger, and
wetting it with some liquid in a blue glass bottle. As Kin-Fo glanced
into the room the philosopher brandished the dagger around, in order
to try it. Kin-Fo's face changed at the sight of this, and the blood
mounted to his eyes; he thought to himself, "this is the day in which
he is to perform the deed." He discreetly retired, without being seen or
heard. Kin-Fo did not leave his room the rest of the day, nor did the
philosopher make his appearance either. Kin-Fo went to bed as usual,
and rose next morning as a healthy man does.

Ten days had now elapsed, but Wang had two months still to perform
his promise. "I have given him more time than is necessary," said
Kin-Fo; and he feared that Wang had repented of his promise.

Kin-Fo observed, however, that the philosopher made more visits than
usual to the ancestor's room, where the coffin was stored, and he was
delighted to hear from Soun than Wang had ordered him to brush and
clean it, and keep it in readiness.

The 13th, 14th, and 15th of May passed. There was nothing new.

Did Wang intend to let the time pass, and only pay his debt when it
was due, as is the custom with merchants? In that case there would
be no emotion or surprise for Kin-Fo.

A significant occurrence came to the knowledge of Kin-Fo on the
morning of the 16th of May, about six o'clock. He had, had a bad
night, and, on waking, was still under the influence of a horrid dream.
Prince Ien, the sovereign judge of the Chinese hell, had condemned
him not to appear before him until the twelfth-hundreth moon should
rise above the horizon of the Celestial Empire. A century still to live--
a whole century!

Kin-Fo was therefore in bad humor, for he believed everything was
conspiring against him, and when Soun came to assist him to dress,
he accosted him angrily: "Go to the devil."

"No," answered Soun, "not before I have told you."

"What?"

"That Mr. Wang----"

"Wang--! What has Wang done?" said Kin-Fo, seizing Soun by his
pigtail. "What has he done?"

"My master," answered Soun, who wriggled like a worm, "he has
ordered us to carry your coffin into the 'Pavilion of Long Life,' and----"

"Has he done that?" cried Kin-Fo, whose face lighted up. "Go, Soun--
go, my friend! Stop; here are ten taels; and be careful to execute all
Wang's orders."

Thereupon Soun was astonished, and repeated to himself:

"Decidedly, master is crazy; but at least he is generous."

This time Kin-Fo did not doubt that the Tai-ping intended to give the
fatal blow in the "Pavilion of Long Life," where he himself had
determined to die. The catastrophe was now approaching. How long
the day appeared to Kin-Fo. Finally the sun disappeared, and the
shadows of night surrounded the yamen.

Kin-Fo went to the pavilion in the hope of never leaving it alive. He
extended himself on a soft divan, which seemed to be made for long
repose, and he waited. Then the recollections of his useless life
passed before his mind-- his weariness, his disgust, all that riches
could not conquer, and all that poverty might have increased.

One bright light illumined his life, which had no attraction during his
opulence: it was the affection which he felt for the young widow. This
sentiment moved his heart when it was about ceasing to beat. What!
Make poor Le-ou as miserable as himself-- never!

The fourth period, which precedes the dawn, passed, causing Kin-Fo,
the liveliest emotions. He listened anxiously. He tried to hear the least
noise, while his eyes looked into the darkness. More than once he
thought he heard the door open, pushed by some prudent hand. He
thought without doubt that Wang hoped to find him asleep, and would
strike him in his sleep. Then a reaction took place in him; he feared
and desired at the same time this visit of the Tai-ping. The dawn
appeared, and the day was slowly approaching. Suddenly the door
was opened; Kin-Fo arose, having lived in this last second more than
he had done in his whole lifetime.

Soun was before him, with a letter in his hand. "In great haste," Soun
simply said.

Kin-Fo took the letter, which bore the San Francisco postmark. He
opened the envelope, read it rapidly, and rushed out of the "Pavilion of
Long Life."

"Wang, Wang!" he cried. In an instant he flung open the door and was
in the philosopher's room.

Wang was not there. Wang had not slept in the house. The servants,
on hearing Kin-Fo's cries, ran to him; they searched the yamen, but it
was evident that Wang had disappeared without leaving any traces.



Chapter 9
Inverted Circumstances

"Yes, Mr. Bidulph, a simple stock-jobbing operation, in the American
style," said Kin-Fo to the principal agent of the insurance company.

The Honorable William J. Bidulph laughed with the aid of a
connoisseur, and observed: "It was indeed well played for everybody
was taken in."

"My own correspondent even," remarked Kin-Fo; "for eight days
afterward they paid with open doors; there was no failure, the news
was false, but the deed was done, and the stock, which had
depreciated eight per cent., was bought in by the Central Bank at the
lowest rate; and when the director was asked the cause of the failure,
he answered amiably, 'One hundred and seventy-five per cent.' This is
what my correspondent writes me in the letter I received this morning,
at the moment when I thought myself absolutely ruined."

"Did you have any idea of taking your own life?" cried William J.
Bidulph.

"No," answered Kin-Fo; "but I thought I might be assassinated."

"Assassinated?"

"By my written authority-- an assassination agreed upon, and which
would have cost you----"

"Two hundred thousand dollars," answered Mr. Bidulph, "since all
risks against death were taken. Ah, we should have regretted your
loss, my dear sir."

"On account of the amount?"

Mr. Bidulph took his client's hand and shook it cordially in the
American style. "But I do not understand you," he added.

"You will understand," replied Kin-Fo; and he told him of the
engagement entered into by him with a man in whom he had
confidence, and who guaranteed every immunity. The grave feature
was that the promise would be fulfilled; the pledge would be kept,
without the shadow of a doubt.

"Is this man a friend?" asked the agent.

"He is," answered Kin-Fo; "and my death is worth $50,000 to him."

"Fifty thousand dollars!" cried Mr. Bidulph. "Then it is Mr. Wang?"

"The same."

"A philosopher! He would never kill you."

Kin-Fo was about to say, "This philosopher is an old Tai-ping. During
the half of his life he has committed more murders than would ruin the
Centenary if they had been insured there. For the last eighteen years
his ferocious instincts have been restrained. Now the opportunity is
offered him, and he believes me to be ruined and determined to die,
and knowing that he will get a small fortune by my death, he will not
hesitate."

Kin-Fo said nothing of this, however, for it would compromise Wang,
whom, perhaps, William J. Bidulph would not have hesitated to
denounce to the governor of the province as a former Tai-ping. That
would have saved Kin-Fo, no doubt, but Wang would have been lost.

"Well," said the agent, "there is a simple thing to do."

"What is it?"

"You must tell Mr. Wang that the contract is broken, and get back the
compromising letter."

"That is easier said than done," answered Kin-Fo.

"Wang has disappeared since yesterday, and no one knows his
whereabouts."

"Ah!" said the agent, rather perplexed. "And now, my dear sir, you no
longer wish to die," he said, looking at Kin-Fo.

"No," he answered. "The stroke of the Central Bank in California has
doubled my fortune, and I am going to get married. But I must find
Wang first; the time agreed upon has not yet expired."

"When does it expire?"

"On the 25th of June. And during the interval the Centenary runs great
risk, and it should take measures in consequence."

"And find the philosopher," said the Honorable William J. Bidulph.

He promenaded up and down with his hands behind his back, then
said, "Well, we will find this man, even if he is hidden in the bowels of
the earth; and until then we shall prevent any attempt at
assassination, as we have prevented you from committing suicide."

"What do you mean?" asked Kin-Fo.

"This: that since the day the policy was signed, the 30th of April last,
two of my detectives have followed you and watched your
movements."

"I have not observed them."

"Ah, they are discreet men. I should like to introduce them to you,
now there is no necessity to hide their movements unless from Mr.
Wang."

"Certainly," answered Kin-Fo.

"Craig-Fry should be here since you are here," and William J. Bidulph
cried out, "Craig-Fry!"

Craig and Fry were indeed there behind the door of the private office.
They had tracked Kin-Fo to the Centenary office, and were waiting for
him.

Now, there were two courses, as the Honorable William J. Bidulph
observed. The detectives must remain carefully shut up in Kin-Fo's
house at Shang-Hai, so that Wang could not enter without their
knowledge, or else find Wang, who must be made to give up the
letter, which must be considered null and void.

"The first plan is of no use," said Kin-Fo. "Wang knows how to come
to me without being seen, since my house is his; he must be found at
any cost."

"You are right, sir," answered William J. Bidulph.

"The surest way is to find Wang-- and he must be found."

"Dead or--" said Craig.

"Alive," concluded Fry.

"No, living," cried Kin-Fo. "I do not intend that Wang shall be in
danger a moment through my fault."

"Craig and Fry," added William J. Bidulph, "you are responsible for
our client for seventy-seven days longer, and until the 30th of next
June he will be worth to us two hundred thousand dollars."

Thereupon the client and the principal agent of the Centenary took
leave of each other. Ten minutes later, Kin-Fo, escorted by his two
body-guards, who were not to leave him again, entered the yamen.

When Soun saw Craig and Fry officially installed in the house, he felt
some regret. There would be no more answers or taels; besides, his
master began to abuse him again. Unfortunate Soun! What would he
have said had he known what the future had in store for him?

The first care Kin-Fo took was to phonograph to Cha-Coua Avenue,
Pekin, the change of fortune which made him richer than before. The
young lady heard the voice again of him whom she believed to be lost
to her forever. He would see his little younger sister again. The
seventh moon would not pass before he would see her, never to leave
her again; having refused to make her miserable, he did not wish to
run the risk of making her a widow. Le-ou did not quite understand
what this last phrase meant. She only knew one thing; that was, that
her lover had returned, and that before two months he would be with
her. On that day there was not a happier woman than the young
widow in all the Celestial Empire.

A complete reaction had taken place in Kin-Fo's ideas-now become a
fourfold millionaire-- from the operations of the Central Bank in
California. He intended to live, and to live well. Twenty days of
emotions had changed him. Neither the Mandarin Pao-Shen, nor the
Merchant Yin-Pang, nor Tim the high liver, nor Houal the literary man
would have recognized in him the indifferent host who bade them
good-by on one of the flower--! Boats on the River of Pearls. Wang
would not have believed his eyes were he there, but he had
disappeared. He did not come back to the house at Shang-Hai.

Eight days later, on the 24th of May, no news was heard of the
philosopher; vainly did Kin-Fo, Craig, and Fry search the districts, the
shops, and the suburbs of Shang-Hai, and the most skillful detectives
of the police searched in vain for him about the country. The
philosopher could not be found.

Craig and Fry became more uneasy, and increased their precautions.
Neither by day nor by night did they lose sight of their client; they eat
at the same table with him, and slept in the same room. They tried to
persuade him to wear a steel breast-plate in case he was struck with
a dagger, and to eat only eggs in the shell to prevent him being
poisoned. Kin-Fo sent them away. Why not shut him up for two
months in the Centenary safe under the pretext that he was worth
$200,000?

Then William J. Bidulph, always practical, proposed to his client to
return him the premium and destroy the policy.

"I am sorry," said Kin-Fo, "but the thing is done, and you must take
the consequences."

"Well, let it be so," said the agent, who had to submit to what he
could not avoid. "You are right. You will never be better guarded than
by us."

"Nor for better value," replied Kin-Fo.



Chapter 10
Kin-Fo Becomes Celebrated

Still Wang could not be found.

This complication disturbed the calm of the agent of the Centenary. At
first he had thought that Wang would not fulfill his promise, but now
he began to believe that nothing was impossible in that strange
country which they call the Celestial Empire. He was soon of the
same opinion as Kin-Fo, that if they could not find Wang, the
philosopher would keep his word. His disappearance even indicated a
project of attacking his pupil when he least expected it, like a
thunderbolt, and striking him to the heart. After placing the letter on
the body of his victim, he would quietly present himself at the office of
the Centenary to claim his insurance.

Wang must, therefore, be notified. The Honorable William J. Bidulph
had to use some indirect means. In a few days notices were
forwarded to the different Chinese newspapers, and telegrams were
sent to the foreign journals in both worlds: "Mr. Wang, of Shang-Hai,
is requested to consider the agreement made between Mr. Kin-Fo and
himself, under date the 2nd of May last, as canceled; the said Mr.
Kin-Fo having but one desire, and that is to die a centenarian."

This strange advertisement was soon followed by another more
practical: "Two thousand dollars to whoever will make known to
William J. Bidulph, the principal agent of the Centenary at Shang-Hai,
the present residence of Mr. Wang, of said city."

That the philosopher was running around the world during the fifty-five
days given him to fulfill his promise, there was no reason to suppose.
It was more probable that he was concealed in the suburbs of
Shang-Hai; but the Honorable William J. Bidulph did not believe he
could use too many precautions.

Several days passed, and there was no change in the situation of
affairs. The advertisements were reproduced in profusion, under the
familiar American style: "Wang, Wang, Wang," on one side, and
"Kin-Fo, Kin-Fo, Kin-Fo," on the other. This had the effect of creating
general laughter.

As far as the remotest provinces of the Celestial Empire people cried
out in jest, "Where is Wang?" "Who has seen Wang?" "Where does
Wang live?" "What is Wang doing?"

"Wang! Wang! Wang!" cried the little Chinese children in the streets.

The advertisements were soon in the mouths of everybody, and
Kin-Fo, who wished to become a centenarian, who sought for
longevity, like the celebrated elephant whose twentieth lustrum was
about being accomplished in the palace of the stables of Pekin, could
not fail to be soon very much in the fashion.

Kin-Fo had to endure the inconveniences of this singular celebrity,
and they went so far as to sing songs about him to the tune of "The
Five Periods of the Centenarian." If Kin-Fo was annoyed at the noise
made over his name, William J. Bidulph, on the contrary, was
rejoiced; but Wang was, none the less, not to be found.

Things went so far that Kin-Fo was unable to endure the situation. Did
he go out-- a train of children of every age and sex followed him in the
streets, and along the wharves, and even as far as the suburbs. Did
he go home-- a rabble of the worst kind stood before the doors of the
yamen. Every morning he had to satisfy his people that he had not
slept in his coffin in the "Pavilion of Long Life." The papers published
an ironical bulletin of his health with comments, as if he belonged to
the reigning dynasty of the "Tsing," which made him appear
ridiculous.

It followed that one day, on the 21st of May, the annoyed Kin-Fo went
to find the Honorable William J. Bidulph, to notify him that he intended
to leave the place. He had, had enough of Shang-Hai, and the people
of Shang-Hai. The agent thereupon remarked to him, very justly, "You
may, be running greater risks."

"I care little for that," said Kin-Fo.

"But where are you going?"

"Straight before me."

"But where will you stop?"

"Nowhere."

"When will you come back?"

"Never."

"And if I should get some news of Wang?"

"Let Wang go to the devil! Oh, the foolish idea I had of giving him that
absurd letter!"

Kin-Fo still had a great desire to find the philosopher. That his life was
in the hands of another annoyed him, but to have to wait another
month in such a situation he was not resigned to. The lamb was
becoming enraged.

"Well, go then," said William J. Bidulph. "Craig and Fry will follow
you, wherever you go."

"As you like," said Kin-Fo; "But I give you notice that they will have to
run about."

Kin-Fo returned home and prepared to depart. Soun was to
accompany him, although he did not like moving about.

Fry and Craig, like true Americans, were always ready to go, even to
the end of the world, and they asked but one question: "Where, sir--"
said Craig.

"Are you going?" added Fry.

"To Nan-King first, and then to the devil."

The same smile appeared simultaneously on Craig and Fry's lips;
they were delighted. "To the devil!" nothing could please them better.
They took leave of the Honorable William J. Bidulph, and dressed
themselves in Chinese costume, in order to attract less attention
during the journey through the Celestial Empire. An hour afterward,
with their bags at their side, and their revolvers fastened around their
waist, they returned to the yamen.

At nightfall Kin-Fo and his companions took passage on the
steamboat which runs between Shang-Hai and Nan-King. In less than
twelve hours they ascended by the Blue River as far as the old capital
of Southern China. During the short passage, Craig and Fry took
precious care of Kin-Fo, staring at all the passengers to see if they
could recognize anybody, and particularly if they could see the
philosopher, whom they knew very well. They felt assured that he was
not on board. After taking this precaution, they paid particular
attention to Kin-Fo; they felt every support on which he might lean;
they drew him away from the boiler; they cautioned him not to expose
himself to the night air; they scolded Soun for his neglect, as he was
never near his master when he wanted him. They also slept at his
cabin door, ready to assist him if, by an explosion or collision, the
steamboat should sink.

But no accident occurred to prove Fry and Craig's devotion. The
steamboat rapidly descended the Wousung, touched at
Yang-Tse-Kiang, coasted along the island of Tsong-Ming, ascended
through the province of Kiang-Sou, and on the 22nd, in the morning,
landed her passengers safe and sound on the quay of the old imperial
city. Soun was indebted to the two body-guards that his pigtail had
not grown shorter during the voyage.

It was not without a motive that Kin-Fo stopped first at Nan-King. He
had an idea that he might find the philosopher there. Wang might be
attracted by past recollections to this unfortunate city, which was the
principal center of the rebellion of the Tachings. It was possible that
the philosopher, feeling homesick, had taken refuge in those places
so full of personal recollections, and from there, in a few hours, he
could return to Shang-Hai, ready to deal the blow.

Such was Kin-Fo's reason for stopping at Nan-King; should he meet
Wang, all would be explained, and the absurd situation would be
finished. If Wang was not there, he could continue his travels through
the Celestial Empire until the time expired when he would have
nothing to fear from his old teacher and friend.

"I am traveling under the assumed name of Ki-Nan," said Kin-Fo to his
companions, "and I do not wish my real name to be known, under any
pretext whatever."

"Ki--" said Craig.

"Nan," finished Fry.

"Ki-Nan," repeated Soun.

One can understand that Kin-Fo escaping the annoyances of his fame
at Shang-Hai, did not wish to meet them again on his journey.

The whole day was passed in visiting the different places and streets
in Nan-King. Kin-Fo walked quickly, talked little, and looked at
everything. No suspicious person appeared among the mass of
people which they met on the canals or in the streets. They saw no
one they knew around the yamen of the Catholic missionaries, nor in
the neighborhood of the arsenal. Kin-Fo, followed by his two
companions, left by the eastern gate, and ventured out into the
deserted country. They saw a small temple, and behind it was a hill.
Under its turf Rong-Ou, the bonze who had become an emperor, and
five centuries before had fought against the foreign power.

Might not the philosopher have come here again to look at the tomb
where rested the founder of the dynasty of Ming? But the temple was
abandoned. The only guardians were the colossal figures on the
marble.

On the door of the temple Kin-Fo saw, not without emotion, signs
which some hand had engraved there. He approached, and read these
three letters;

W., K. F.

Wang! Kin-Fo! There could be no doubt that the philosopher had
recently passed there.




Chapter 11
Travel Under Difficulties

Who is this traveler who is seen running over the principal road and up
the canals and rivers of the Celestial Empire? He is going on and on
all the time, not knowing in the evening where he will be to-morrow.
He crosses over cities without seeing them, he goes to hotels only to
sleep a few hours, and he stops at restaurants only to take a hasty
meal. He is prodigal with his money; he throws it about to hasten his
progress.

It is not a merchant engaged in business; it is not a mandarin to
whom the minister has given an important and pressing mission; it is
not an artist in search of the beauties of nature; it is not a savant who
is in search of ancient documents stored in the temples of old China;
it is not a student going to the pagoda to get his university degrees;
nor is it a priest of Buddha inspecting the altars; nor a pilgrim fulfilling
a vow at one of the five holy mountains of the Celestial Empire. It is
the pretended Ki-Nan, accompanied by Fry and Craig, followed by
Soun. It is Kin-Fo, in that singular state of mind which leads him to
search for the undiscoverable Wang.

The travelers had taken at Nan-King one of those rapid American
steamboats, those floating hotels which sail on the Blue River. Sixty
hours later, and they land at Ran-Keou. There, situated at the
confluence of the Blue River and its important tributary, the
Ran-Kiang, the wandering Kin-Fo stopped half a day.

If Craig and Fry had ever hoped that on this journey through China
they could get any idea of its customs, or learn anything of its cities,
they were soon undeceived. They had not even time to take notes,
and their impressions were reduced to the names of cities and
suburbs, and to the days of the month; but they were neither curious
nor talkative, they hardly ever spoke; for what good would it do? What
Craig thought, Fry thought also.

Kin-Fo was not the man to give up this style of traveling, which
pleased him. He expected to go to the point where the Ran-Kiang
would cease to be navigable, after that he would consider. Craig and
Fry would have liked that kind of navigation the whole course of the
journey, for it was easier to watch on board of a boat, and there was
less danger.

As for Soun, this life on board of a steamboat was agreeable to him.
He did not have to walk; he had nothing to do; and he left his master
to the good offices of Craig and Fry. He slept in the corner after
breakfast, dinner, and supper, and the cooking was good.

Whoever had followed Kin-Fo from province to province, from city to
city, in this fantastic journey, would have had much to do. At one time
he would travel in a carriage, but such a carriage-- it was nothing more
than a box, fastened by large iron nails to the axletree of two wheels,
drawn by two mules, and a linen covering which allowed the rays of
the sun and the rain to penetrate. At another time he might be seen
extended in a mule-chair, like a sentry-box hung between two poles,
and which pitched and tossed about like a ship at sea. Craig and Fry
followed on two asses which rolled and pitched more than the chair,
trotted along like two aids-de-camp.

As to Soun, on such occasions, when walking was necessarily rapid,
he went on foot grumbling and complaining, and comforting himself,
when the opportunity offered, with brandy. He also felt a peculiar
rolling motion, but it was due to other causes than the roughness of
the road over which he had to go.

It was on horseback, and poor horses they were, that Kin-Fo and his
companions made their entry into Si-Gnan-Fou, the ancient capital of
the Central Empire, the former residence of the emperors of the
dynasty of Tang. But to reach this far-off province of Chen-Si, and to
cross the plains, how much fatigue and danger they had to undergo.

As to the dangers, they were but too real in a country where the
police have an extraordinary dread of being stabbed by robbers.
Several times suspicious looking men stopped the travelers while they
were crossing narrow places, but on seeing Craig and Fry with their
revolvers in their belts, they were frightened away. Nevertheless, the
agents of the Centenary sometimes experienced great fear for the
living million of dollars they were escorting, if not for themselves. That
Kin-Fo should fall by Wang's poniard, or by a robber's dagger, would
make no difference; the result would be the same, and the Company's
money-chest would receive the blow.

Under those circumstances, Kin-Fo, who was armed, could defend
himself. His life he valued more than ever now, and, as Craig and Fry
remarked, "he would kill himself to preserve it."

At Tong-Kouan Kin-Fo intended to rest some days. He was looking for
a convenient hotel where he could find a good bed, and a good table,
which would have been agreeable to Fry and Craig, and more so to
Soun. But the latter had the imprudence to give the Custom-house
authorities the real name of his master, which cost him a partial loss
of his pigtail. This mistake made Kin-Fo leave the city at once in great
anger. The name had produced its effect. People wished to see the
celebrated Kin-Fo, this unique man, whose only desire was to
become a centenarian.

The disgusted traveler, with his two guards and his valet, had only
time to escape from the crowds of curious people who followed his
footsteps. He ascended the shores of the Yellow River on foot, and he
and his companions traveled until they were exhausted, when they
stopped at a little town, where, his being unknown, secured him some
hours of peace and quiet.

Soun was so absolutely discomfited, that he dared not say a word,
and, with the ridiculous little rat-tail that yet remained to him, he was
a comic sight. The boys ran after him, making fun of him and calling
him names, and he, too, was in a hurry to arrive at some place where
his master was unknown.

The little town had no horses, wagons, or chairs. There was no
alternative but to remain there or go on. This did not inspire the
philosopher Wang's pupil with good humor, and he showed very little
philosophy under the circumstances. He accused everybody, and had
only himself to blame. How he regretted the time when he had nothing
to do but live. "If to know happiness it is necessary to experience pain
and torments," as Wang said, "I know it now."

While thus going about, he met worthy fellows without a penny in their
pockets, who nevertheless were happy. He could not but see the
varied forms of happiness which work, cheerfully performed, gives.
Here were laborers bent over their plows, and there workmen who
sang while handling their tools. Was it not to the want of this labor
that Kin-Fo's lack of happiness might be attributed? Ah! The lesson
was complete; he believed so, at least.

Craig and Fry finished by discovering a vehicle, the only one, after
searching through the village, but they were unable to use it. It was a
wheelbarrow-- Pascal's wheelbarrow, and no doubt invented before the
time of the invention of powder, the art of writing, the compass, and
the kite.

In China, the wheel of this conveyance, which is large in diameter, is
placed, not at the extreme end of the shafts, but in the center, and
moves across the body of the wheelbarrow like the central wheel of
some steamboats. The body is divided into two parts, in one of which
the traveler can stretch himself out, and in the other his baggage is
carried.

The motor of this vehicle can be only one man, who pushes it before
him, and does not drag it after him. He is therefore placed behind the
traveler, and does not obstruct his view, as the English cab-driver
does. When the wind is favorable, the man adds to the natural force
by setting a mast in front of the vehicle and raising a sail; so that
when the breeze is strong, instead of pushing the wheelbarrow, it is
the wheelbarrow which draws the man along-- and sometimes faster
than he wishes to go.

This vehicle was brought, with all its accessories, and Kin-Fo entered
it. The wind was favorable, and the sail was hoisted. "Let us go,
Soun," said Kin-Fo.

Soun was preparing to stretch himself out in the baggage
compartment of the wheelbarrow. "Into the shafts!" cried Kin-Fo, in a
tone which admitted of no reply.

"But, master--" said Soun, whose legs shook like a foundered horse.

"To the shafts!" repeated Kin-Fo, looking suspiciously at Soun's
pigtail. "To the shafts! And look out that you do not shake me."

Soun passed the straps around his shoulders, and took hold of the
shafts with both hands. Fry and Craig took their position, one on each
side of the wheelbarrow, and the breeze assisting them, the little band
went off at a brisk trot. We cannot attempt to describe Soun's
powerless rage.

It was in this equipage that Kin-Fo entered into the northern provinces
of China; walking when he wanted to stretch his legs, and driven in a
wheelbarrow when he wished to rest himself.

On the 19th of June he reached Tong-Tcheou. Wang had yet six days
to complete his contract.



Chapter 12
Lament Of The Five Periods

"Gentlemen," said Kin-Fo to his two body-guards, when the
wheelbarrow stopped at the entrance to the suburbs of Tong-Tcheou,
"we have only forty miles to reach Pekin, and I intend to stay here
until the time of the agreement will have expired between Wang and
myself. In this city of four hundred thousand souls I can easily remain
without being known, if Soun will only remember that he is in the
service of Ki-Nan, a merchant of the province of Chen-Si."

Certainly, Soun would remember it; his blunder had cost him too
much-was he not filling the place of a horse for eight days; "and he
hoped that Kin-Fo----"

"Ki--" said Craig.

"Nan!" added Fry.

"Would not take him from his ordinary duties; and now, in the present
tired state which he was in, he had but one favor to ask of Kin-Fo----"

"Ki--" again said Craig.

"Nan!" repeated Fry.

"That was, to be allowed to sleep for forty-eight hours, without any
bridle or harness at all."

"For eight days, if you like," answered Kin-Fo, "for you cannot talk
while you are asleep."

Kin-Fo and his companions occupied themselves in looking for a
suitable hotel in Tong-Tcheou. That large city is only an immense
suburb of Pekin. The road which joins it to the capital is bordered with
villas, houses, tombs, and small pagodas. Kin-Fo was conducted to
Tae-Ouang-Miao, the temple of the sovereign princes. It is a temple,
transformed into a hotel where strangers can be comfortably lodged.

An hour afterward Kin-Fo and his two body-guards left their rooms,
after taking breakfast with a good appetite, and they asked
themselves what was to be done now? "It is necessary," echoed
Craig and Fry, "to read the Official Gazette, so that we may see if
there is anything there concerning ourselves."

"You are right," answered Kin-Fo. "Perhaps we may learn something
about Wang, too."

All three left the hotel. The two acolytes walked on each side of
Kin-Fo, looking at the passers-by, and allowing no one to approach
him. They went by the side streets, in this way, until they reached the
wharves, where they bought a copy of the Official Gazette, and read it
eagerly. There was nothing in it but the promise of the two thousand
dollars, or the thirteen hundred taels, to any one who would make
known to William J. Bidulph the present residence of Mr. Wang, of
Shang-Hai.

"So he has not turned up?" said Kin-Fo.

"He has not, therefore, read the advertisement about himself,"
remarked Craig.

"He therefore intends to fulfill the contract," added Fry.

"Without any doubt," answered Kin-Fo. "If Wang dogs not know the
change in the situation of my affairs, and that seems probable, he will
feel the necessity of keeping his promise. Therefore, in one, two, or
three days, I will be in greater danger than I am to-day; and in six
days I will be in greater danger than ever."

"But the time will pass."

"Then I shall have no more to fear."

"Well, sir," answered Craig and Fry, "there are but three ways of
getting rid of this danger for the next six days."

"What is the first?" asked Kin-Fo.

"It is to shut yourself up in the room of your hotel," said Craig, "and to
wait until the time has expired."

"And what is the second?"

"It is to have yourself arrested as a criminal," answered Fry, "and
placed in the prison of Tong-Tcheou."

"And what is the third?"

"It is to pass yourself off for a dead man," answered Fry and Craig,
"and not to rise again until you are sure there is no danger."

"You don't know Wang," cried Kin-Fo. "Wang would find means to get
into this hotel, into my prison, and even into my tomb. If he has not
already dealt the blow, it is because he has not wished to do so, and
he prefers to let me have the pleasure of enjoying the anxiety of
waiting. Who knows what his motive is? Anyway, I prefer to have my
liberty."

"Wait then!" said Craig.

"It appears to me----" added Fry.

"Gentlemen!" answered Kin-Fo, in a dry tone, "I will do as I please.
After all, if I die before the 25th of this month, what is your company
going to lose?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars," answered Fry and Craig. "Two
hundred thousand dollars which they will have to pay to your heirs."

"And I lose all my fortune, without saying anything about my life. I am
therefore more interested than you are in this matter."

"Certainly."

"Very true."

"Well, you may continue to watch over me as much as you please,
but I will do as I am inclined."

There was nothing to reply to this. Craig and Fry were obliged to
increase their precautions, and allow their client to act as he pleased.

Tong-Tcheou is one of the oldest cities in the Celestial Empire; it is
the center of business activity; its suburbs are very lively from the
ingress and egress of its inhabitants. Kin-Fo and his two companions
were struck with this active movement when they arrived on the wharf,
where the junks and other boats are anchored.

Craig and Fry, on thinking over the situation of affairs, arrived at the
conclusion that there was more safety in the midst of a crowd. The
death of their client could be only brought about by suicide; the letter
which would be found upon his person would leave no doubt in that
respect.

Wang would have no interest in striking him down, except on certain
conditions, which did not offer themselves in the crowded streets or in
the public places in a city. Consequently, Kin-Fo's guardians had no
fear of an immediate attack. There only remained now, to find out
whether the Tai-ping, by some means, had not been following them
since their departure from Shang-Hai, and they used their eyes in
staring at the people as they passed them by.

All of a sudden a name was heard spoken at which they pricked up
their ears.

"Kin-Fo, Kin-Fo!" cried some little Chinese children, clapping their
hands and jumping about in the midst of a crowd.

Was Kin-Fo known there, and had his name produced the
accustomed effect? Our hero stopped. Craig and Fry held themselves
in readiness, in case of an attack.

It was not for Kin-Fo that these cries were intended. No one appeared
to know him. He did not stir, but curious to know why his name was
called, he waited. A crowd of men, women, and children were
gathered around a strolling singer, who appeared to be very popular
with the people in the streets. The crowd clapped their hands and
applauded him in advance.

When the singer had a sufficiently large audience he drew out a
package of illustrated cards, beautifully colored, and then he cried, in
a loud voice:

"The Five Periods Of The Centenarian."

It was the famous lament which was going the rounds of the Celestial
Empire.

Craig and Fry wished to draw away their client, but this time Kin-Fo
insisted on remaining. No one knew him. He had never heard the
lament which related his ways and doings; he wanted to hear it. The
singer commenced thus:

"In the first period, when the moon shines on the roof of the house at
Shang-Hai, Kin-Fo is young; he is only twenty years old; he looks like
the willow whose first leaves show their little green tongue."

"In the second period, when the moon shines on the east side of the
rich yamen, Kin-Fo is forty years old, and his business has
succeeded to his liking, and his neighbors sing his praises."

The singer changed the expression of his face, and seemed to age at
every verse. He was loaded with applause. He continued:

"In the third period the moon lights the open space. Kin-Fo is sixty
years old. After the green leaves of summer, the yellow
chrysanthemums of autumn come."

"In the fourth period the moon has declined to the west. Kin-Fo is
eighty years old. His body is twisted like a prawn in hot water. He is
failing; he is sinking with the star of night."

"In the fifth period the cocks salute the birth of dawn. Kin-Fo is a
hundred years old. He dies; his greatest desire is accomplished, but
Prince Ien refuses to receive him. The prince does not want aged
people who go into second childhood in his court. Old Kin-Fo must
wander through all eternity, without being able to rest."

The crowd applauded, and the singer sold hundreds of his laments at
three sapeques a copy.

And why should not Kin-Fo buy one? He drew some money from his
pocket, and extending his arm, the money fell on the ground in the
midst of the crowd. There was a man standing opposite who fixed his
gaze on him.

"Ah!" said Kin-Fo. At the same time Fry and Craig came up to him,
thinking that he was recognized, threatened, or perhaps struck.

"Wang!" cried Kin-Fo.

"Wang!" repeated Craig and Fry.

It was indeed Wang. He saw his old pupil; but instead of embracing
him, repulsed him vigorously, and ran away as fast as he could.

Kin-Fo did not hesitate, but pursued Wang, escorted by Fry and
Craig. They also recognized the philosopher, who evidently no more
expected to see Kin-Fo than Kin-Fo expected to find him there. Why
did Wang fly away? It was a mystery, but he did run as if all the
police in the Celestial Empire were running after him. It was a mad
pursuit.

"I am not ruined, Wang! Wang, I am not ruined!" cried Kin-Fo.

"Rich!" cried Fry.

"Rich!" repeated Craig.

But Wang was too far ahead to hear these words, which were meant
to stop him. He ran along the wharf and the canal, and reached the
suburbs. The three pursuers ran after him, but did not gain. Half a
dozen Chinamen joined in the race, as well as two or three tipaos,
who mistook him for a criminal. It was a curious sight, this crowd
shouting and screaming, adding to their number as they went along.

The name Wang was sufficient. Wang was that enigmatical
personage whose discovery would be worth a large reward. Everybody
knew it; and while Kin-Fo ran after his eight hundred thousand dollars,
Craig and Fry ran after their two hundred thousand, and the others ran
after the two thousand, which was the amount of the reward offered for
the discovery of Wang.

"Wang! Wang! I am richer than ever!" repeatedly cried Kin-Fo, as
much as his speed would allow him.

"Not ruined?" cried Fry.

"Not ruined," repeated Craig.

"Stop, stop!" cried the pursuers, who made the dust fly. Wang heard
nothing. He was unwilling to allow the crowd to gain on him by turning
his head.

The suburbs were passed, and Wang made for the road along the
canal, where he had a free field. His speed increased, but his
pursuers increased their efforts, and this mad chase was kept up for
twenty minutes. No one knew what the result would be; but it was
evident that the fugitive was weakening. The distance between his
pursuers and himself was being shortened.

Wang, seeing this, ran behind some trees in front of a small pagoda
on the right of the road.

"Ten thousand taels to whoever stops him!" cried Kin-Fo.

"Ten thousand--" cried Craig.

"Taels," concluded Fry.

"Yes, yes," cried the crowd; and they crossed the road, and were
winding around the pagoda. Wang appeared again, and taking a direct
course along a canal to avoid his pursuers, found himself on a paved
road. He was now exhausted, and often turned his head around.

The end was approaching, it was only a question of a short time--
perhaps a few minutes at most.

Wang, Kin-Fo, and his companions had arrived at a place where the
road crossed a river, over the celebrated bridge of Palikao. It was now
no use attempting to stop Wang by words which he could not or
would not hear. It was necessary to catch him, and, if necessary, to
tie him. An explanation would follow.

Wang saw that he would be taken, and he seemed to wish to avoid
meeting his old pupil face to face, and he would have risked his life
rather than to see him. With one bound Wang jumped upon the railing
of the bridge and threw himself into the Pei-ho.

Kin-Fo stopped and cried out, "Wang, Wang!"

Then, taking a leap, he also sprang into the river, shouting, "I will take
him alive!"

"Craig," said Fry.

"Fry," said Craig.

"Two hundred thousand dollars in the water." They both jumped on the
railing and plunged into the water to aid the ruinous client of the
Centenary. Some few of the pursuers followed in their excitement.

Kin-Fo, Fry, and Craig searched for Wang, but he could not be found.
He must have been drawn down by the river, and drowned. Had he
deliberately sought death or only been striving to escape? No one
could tell.


******
Chapter 13
Pekin

The Pe-Tche-Li, the most western of the eighteen provinces of China,
is divided into nine departments. The capital of one of these is
Chun-Kin-Fo; that is, "the City of the First Order, Submissive to
Heaven," which city is Pekin. It comprises two distinct cities, which
are divided by a large boulevard and a fortified wall. One of them, the
Chinese City, is a rectangular parallelogram; and the other, the Tartar
City, is almost a perfect square; the latter incloses two other cities
named the "Yellow City" (Hoang-Tching), and the "Red City"
(Tsen-Kin-Tching).

The Chinese city is divided, north and south, by an important artery
called Grand Avenue. Transversely it is crossed by another artery,
much longer, which cuts the first at a right angle, and runs from the
Cha-Coua Gate at the east to the Couan-Tsu Gate at the west. It is
called Cha-Coua Avenue, and it was about a hundred paces from its
point of intersection with Grand Avenue that the future Madame
Kin-Fo lived.

The reader may remember that, a few days after she received the
letter announcing Kin-Fo's ruin, she received a second contradicting
the first, and saying that the seventh moon would not pass over before
her little younger brother would be near her.

It is useless to ask whether Le-ou counted the days and hours after
that date, the 17th of May; but Kin-Fo gave her no further news of
himself during that wild journey, the object of which he would not
make known to anybody under any pretext. Le-ou had written to
Shang-Hai. Her letters remained unanswered. We can well conceive
her anxiety when on the 19th of June no letter had been received by
her.

Le-ou was a Buddhist. The bonzes often observed her coming to the
temple of Koan-Ti-Miao, consecrated to the Goddess Koanine. There
she made prayers for her friend, and burned perfumed sticks, and
prostrated herself in the porch of the temple.

That day she thought she would implore the Goddess Koanine, for
she had a presentiment that some great danger threatened him whom
she expected with impatience. Le-ou therefore called the "old
mother," and told her to go and order a chair and carriers in the
square in Grand Avenue. Nan shrugged her shoulders, and went to
execute her message.

During this time the young widow was alone in her dressing-room,
looking sadly at the phonograph, which no longer enabled her to hear
the voice of her absent one. "Ah!" said she, "he must at least know
that I do not cease to think of him, and I wish that my voice may
repeat this to him when he returns." Le-ou pushed the spring which
puts the phonographic wheel in motion, and with a loud voice spoke
the sweet phrases her heart inspired.

Nan entered suddenly, and interrupted this tender monologue. The
chair-bearers were waiting for madame, "who might as well have
stayed at home."

Le-ou did not hear, but went out, leaving the old woman to scold as
she liked. She installed herself in the chair, after giving orders to carry
her to Koan-Ti-Miao.

The carriers had only to turn around Cha-Coua Avenue and ascend
Grand Avenue as far as the Gate of Tien. But they did not advance
without difficulties. Business was brisk at this hour, and there was
considerable delay in that quarter of the city, which is one of the most
populous in the capital. Here might be seen peddler's booths, open-air
orators, fortune-tellers, photographers; and there a wedding
procession, or perhaps a funeral-- all helping to block up the way. In
another place there might be seen a crowd before the yamen of a
magistrate. On the Leou-Ping rock there was a criminal kneeling, who
had received a beating. There was also a thief shut up in a wooden
box, with his head looking backward, who was left to public charity.
Others were seen wearing yokes like oxen.

Le-ou's chair went very slow, and the impediments became greater as
she approached the outer boulevard. She arrived there, however, and
stopped at the interior of the bastion, which defends the door near the
Temple of the Goddess Koanine.

Le-ou descended from her chair, entered the temple, and, after
kneeling, she prostrated herself before the statue of the goddess. She
then directed her steps to a religious machine, which is called the
"prayer mill." It is a sort of reel, with eight branches, on the ends of
which were little streamers ornamented with sacred texts. A bonze
stood gravely near the machine and awaited the worshiper, and
especially the price for the devotions. Le-ou gave the servant of
Buddha a few taels, which were to pay the expenses of religion, and
then with her right hand she seized the handle of the reel and
commenced to turn it slowly, after placing her left hand on her heart.

"Faster," said the bonze, with an encouraging gesture, and the young
woman began to turn faster. This lasted for a quarter of an hour, after
which the bonze assured her that her prayers would be granted. Le-ou
again bowed down before the Goddess Koanine, left the temple,
entered the chair, and was taken home.

As she reached Grand Avenue the carriers went faster; the stores
were being closed, and business was being suspended; a long
cortege filled a part of the avenue, and was noisily approaching.

It was the Emperor Koang-Sin, whose name means "Continuation of
Glory," who was returning to his good Tartar City, whose middle gate
was about to open to him. At the head were two body-guards,
followed by a platoon of soldiers; next came a group of officers of high
rank, who held a yellow parasol with ruffles, and ornamented with a
dragon, which is the emblem of the emperor, as the phoenix is that of
the empress.

The palanquin next appeared, and was carried by sixteen men with
red dresses covered with white rosettes, and closely fitting
embroidered silk waistcoats. Princes, dignitaries on horses
harnessed in yellow silk, as a sign of very high rank, escorted the
imperial carriage. In the palanquin reclined the Son of Heaven, cousin
of the Emperor Tong-Tche, and nephew of Prince Kong.

After the palanquin came relays of carriers and grooms. This cortege
entered the gates of Tien, to the satisfaction of promenaders,
merchants and others, who could now attend to their business.

Le-ou's chair continued on its way to her house, where she arrived
after being absent about two hours. But what a surprise the Goddess
Koanine had in store for the young woman!

When the chair stopped, a carriage drawn by two mules, and covered
with dust, drove up to the door, and Kin-Fo, followed by Craig, Fry,
and Soun, descended from it.

"Is it you? Is it you?" cried Le-ou, who could not believe what she
saw.

"Dear little younger sister!" answered Kin-Fo, "You certainly did not
doubt that I would return?"

Le-ou could not answer. She took her friend's hand, and drawing him
into her dressing-room before the little phonograph, the discreet
confidant of her troubles, she said, "I have not for a moment doubted
your return;" and adjusting the wheel of the phonograph, she pressed
the spring which set it in motion.

Kin-Fo then heard a sweet voice repeat what the loving Le-ou had
been saying to him a few hours before his arrival.

"Come back, well-beloved little brother-- come back to me! That our
hearts may be no longer separated, as are the two stars of Orpheus
and Lyra. I think only of your return."

The phonograph was silent for a few moments, when it cried out, in a
harsh voice: "Is it not sufficient to have a mistress, without having a
master in the house? May Prince Ien strangle them both!"

This second voice was easy to recognize-- it was Nan's. The
disagreeable old woman continued to speak after Le-ou left the room,
while the machine was in a condition to receive impressions; but she
did not know that her imprudent words were registered. Maid-servants
and valets, beware of phonographs!

That very day Nan was dismissed, without even waiting for the last
days of the seventh moon.



Chapter 14
Surprises

Every obstacle to Kin-Fo's marriage with Le-ou was now removed. It
was true that the time allowed for Wang to fulfill his pledge had not
yet expired; but the unfortunate philosopher had fallen a victim as the
result of his mysterious flight, and further danger was not to be feared
from him. The 25th of June, the very day on which at one time Kin-Fo
had wished to end his existence, was fixed for the wedding.

Le-ou had of course been informed of the various vicissitudes which
her lover had experienced since he had sent her his refusal either to
make her the participator of his poverty or to run the risk of leaving her
a widow, and she was well aware of the altered circumstances that
had led him once more to come and claim her as his bride. She could
not restrain her tears when she heard of Wang's death. She had
known the philosopher and esteemed him, and he had moreover been
her first confidant of her sentiments toward Kin-Fo. "Poor Wang," she
said, "we shall miss him at our wedding."

"Yes, poor Wang," repeated Kin-Fo; "but you must remember," he
added, "that he had sworn to kill me."

Le-ou shook her pretty little head. "No, no," she said, "he would never
have done that. I believe he drowned himself in the Pei-Ho, for the very
purpose of evading his promise."

Kin-Fo could not but own that her hypothesis was probable. He, too,
regretted the faithful companion of his youth; his memory would be
long in fading from either of their hearts.

It is almost needless to say that after the catastrophe on the bridge of
Palikao, Bidulph's sensational paragraphs in the newspapers were
discontinued, and the name of Kin-Fo sank into oblivion almost as
speedily as it had risen into notoriety. The services of Craig and Fry
were no longer in such urgent requisition. It is true that they were
bound to defend the interests of the Centenarian until the 30th, the
date of the expiration of the policy, but there was now no demand for
the same measure of unremitted vigilance. Fear of attack from Wang
had passed away, and there was no probability that Kin-Fo would lay
violent hands on himself; his desire now was to live as long as
possible.

But Kin-Fo did not care to give them an abrupt dismissal. If their
services had not been disinterested, they had at least been
conscientious, and he therefore begged them to stay over his
marriage festivities, an invitation which they were very pleased to
accept.

"Marriage is a kind of suicide," was Fry's jesting remark to Craig.

"It is a surrender of one's life, at all events," was Craig's reply.

Old Nan was soon replaced in Le-ou's household by a domestic of
more agreeable disposition. Loo-ta-loo, an aunt of Le-ou's, of mature
age, had come to stay with her, and act a mother's part at the time of
her marriage. She was the wife of a second-class mandarin of the
fourth rank, with the blue button, formerly an Imperial reader, and
member of the Academy of the Hanlin, apparently possessing every
quality for performing her office in a manner worthy of the occasion.

It was Kin-Fo's intention to leave Pekin immediately after his
marriage, as besides his objection to residing in the vicinity of the
Imperial Court, he felt anxious to see his young wife properly installed
as mistress of the sumptuous yamen at Shang-Hai. Meantime he
took temporary apartments in the Tien-Foo-Tang, or temple of
celestial happiness, a very comfortable hotel and restaurant near the
Tien-Men rampart, between the Chinese and Tartar towns. Craig and
Fry were lodged in the same quarters. Soun had returned to his
duties, but although he was always grumbling, he took care first of all
to assure himself that there was no phonograph at hand. The fate of
old mother Nan was a warning to him to be cautious.

Kin-Fo had the pleasure of meeting two of his Canton friends in
Pekin-- the merchant Yin-Pang, and Hooal, the literate. They of
course were invited to attend the approaching ceremony, as well as
several of the dignitaries and merchants with whom Kin-Fo was
acquainted in the capital.

Wang's apathetic, indifferent pupil seemed at last to have become
truly happy; two months' trouble and botheration seemed at last to
have made him appreciate his fortunate lot; the philosopher had been
right, and it was a matter for regret that he was not present to witness
the truth of the theory that he had advanced.

All the time that was at his disposal was spent by Kin-Fo with the
young widow. She was never so happy as when he was by her side.
She cared little for the presents which he lavished upon her from the
richest stores in the city. Her thoughts were of him and him alone,
and over and over again she would repeat to herself the wise maxims
of the famous Pan-Hoei-Pan:

"If a woman has a husband after her own heart, she has him for all her
life."

"A woman should have an unbounded respect for the man whose
name she bears."

"A woman should be like a shadow and an echo in the house."

"The husband is the wife's heaven."

Meantime the preparations for the wedding, which Kin-Fo wished to
be very handsome, were advancing rapidly. Already the thirty pairs of
embroidered slippers that are necessary for a Chinese lady's
trousseau had arrived at Le-ou's house, and her boudoir was crammed
with confectionery and dried fruits, all in confusion with rich silks,
jewels of wrought gold and precious stones, cases for the nails,
bodkins for the hair, and all the charming knickknacks that Pekin
jewelers so cunningly devise.

In this strange country, a young girl when she marries never has a
dowry. She is literally purchased either by the husband himself, or by
his relations. Although she may have no brothers, she cannot inherit
any portion of her paternal fortune, unless her father makes an
express declaration in her favor. Such arrangements are always
completed before the marriage, and are usually negotiated by agents
called "Mei-jin."

The young fiancee is next presented to her husband's parents. The
husband himself she never sees until the wedding-day, when she is
carried in a closed chair to his house. The key of the chair is handed
to the bridegroom, who opens the door, and if the lady within pleases
his taste, he holds out his hand to her; if not, he slams the door, and
the engagement is all at an end, the girl's parents having the right to
retain the purchase-money.

No preliminaries of this kind were necessary in Kin-Fo's case; he and
his future wife were both free agents, and had no one to consult
besides themselves. There were, however, other formalities which
might not be neglected. For three days before the wedding the inside
of Le-ou's house was kept brilliantly lighted throughout, and for three
whole nights Loo-ta-loo, as the representative of the bride's family,
had to abstain from sleep, to indicate the grief felt at parting from the
fiancee. Had Kin-Fo's parents been living, his house would have been
illuminated too, as a sign of mourning, for according to the
Hao-Khieou-Chooen, "the marriage of a son ought to be regarded as
an emblem of the death of the father."

There were moreover various astrological calculations not to be
overlooked. The horoscopes were taken with due form, and foretold a
perfect compatibility of temper between the affianced couple. The
season of the year and the age of the moon were alike favorable, and
it seemed as though no marriage could possibly take place under
more propitious auspices.

The appointed day arrived, and everything was ready for the great
event. In China there is no formal contract made in the presence of a
bonze or lama, nor even before a civil magistrate, and it was arranged
that the bride should be conducted with great pomp to the hotel of
Celestial Happiness at eight o'clock in the evening.

At seven o'clock Kin-Fo, attended by Craig and Fry, waited to receive
his friends at the door of his apartment. The invitations dispensed to
them had been inscribed in microscopic characters on red paper, and
ran thus:

"Kin-Fo of Shang-Hai presents his humble respects to ----, and
humbly begs him to assist at the humble ceremony of his marriage."

The guests thus invited all arrived. They had come to do honor to the
bridegroom, and to take part in the magnificent banquet prepared for
the men, while the ladies would feast apart at a table specially
reserved for them. Yin-Pang and Hooal the literate duly arrived among
the rest.

As soon as they arrived, Kin-Fo conducted them to the
reception-room, stopping twice on the way at doors which were
opened by servants in gorgeous livery, and begging his guests to
pass before him. His mode of addressing them was in the politest
strain. He called them by their "noble names," inquired after their
"noble health," and asked for information about their "noble families."
Not even the most scrupulous observer of etiquette could have found
the slightest flaw in his manners or deportment.

Craig and Fry watched his demeanor with surprise and admiration.
They watched him also for another reason. The same idea had
occurred to them both: namely, that Wang might not have perished,
as they imagined, in the river. Were there not yet several hours to
expire? Perhaps, even now, he might mingle with the wedding-guests
and strike the fatal blow. Improbable as this was, it was not
impossible, and Craig and Fry carefully scrutinized every one who
entered. But the face they sought did not appear.

The bride arrived. Kin-Fo stepped forward. The master of the
ceremonies handed him a key, with which he unlocked the door of the
palanquin. He held out his hand; Le-ou, trembling and beautiful,
descended lightly, and passed through the assembled visitors, who
saluted her respectfully by raising their hands to their breasts. As the
bride entered the hotel a signal was given, and instantly a number of
illuminated kites in the form of dragons, phoenixes, and other
emblems of marriage, rose into the air; flying pigeons, with a little
musical apparatus attached to their tails, filled the space overhead
with harmonious sounds, while hundreds of sky-rockets shot up and
descended in a golden shower.

Suddenly a distant noise was heard upon the ramparts. Mingled with
the murmur of voices were heard the tones of a trumpet's blast. The
noise ceased, then began again. This time the sounds were nearer; it
was evident they were approaching the very street where the bridal
cortege had arrived. Kin-Fo paused and listened; his friends stood
waiting to receive the bride. Gradually the commotion reached the
street; the trumpets were being blown more vigorously than ever.

"What can it be?" Kin-Fo exclaimed.

Le-ou turned pale; a presentiment of the cause of the uproar made her
heart beat fast. All at once the mob rushed down the street. In the
midst was a herald wearing the Imperial uniform, and escorted by a
detachment of ti-paos. Silence fell upon the multitude, as he
proclaimed in sonorous tones, "The Empress dowager is dead!"

"An interdiction! An interdiction!"

Kin-Fo uttered an exclamation of rage and disappointment. Only too
well he knew what an interdiction meant. It meant that during the
court-mourning, which commencing from that moment would last for a
period to be fixed by law, no subject would be allowed to have his
head shaved, no public festivities might be held, no theatrical
representations might be given, no courts of justice might be open,
and worst of all-- no marriages might be celebrated!

Le-ou, though downcast, was not disconcerted. Taking Kin-Fo's hand,
she pressed it gently, and in a voice that strove to conceal her
emotion, she said bravely, "We must wait a little longer!"

And so the palanquin departed, bearing the fair young bride back to
her home in the Cha-Coua Avenue. The festivities were suspended;
the tables cleared; the orchestra dismissed, and the guests, after
condolences with the disconsolate bridegroom, took their departure.

Kin-Fo, with only Craig and Fry, was left in the deserted apartment of
the hotel of Celestial Happiness, a name of bitter sarcasm to him
now. An evil fate seemed still to be pursuing him. He dared not run
the risk of infringing the Imperial edict, and the interdiction might be
prolonged at the Emperor's pleasure to an indefinite period. Here
indeed was an occasion when he had need of all the precepts of
philosophy instilled into him in his early days.

An hour later, a servant entered bearing a letter, which he said had
just been delivered by a messenger. Kin-Fo exclaimed with surprise.
He recognized the handwriting; it was Wang's own.

"My Dear Friend,
I am yet alive, but by the time you receive this I shall be dead. I die
because I have not courage to perform my contract; but be content, I
have provided for your wishes to be carried out. Lao-Shen, a Tai-ping,
and a former comrade of my own, has your letter. He has hands and
heart that will not flinch. He will do the deed. To him I have
bequeathed the sum of money which would fall to me at your death."

"Farewell, dear friend; my death will not long precede your own! Again
farewell!"

"Yours ever, Wang."



Chapter 15
Off Again

Here was a dilemna! It left Kin-Fo in a more critical position than ever.
Wang's courage, it was true, had failed him at the last, and nothing
was to be apprehended from him. But had he not deputed his
commission to an avowed Tai-ping who would murder him without the
least scruple? And was not that Tai-ping in possession of a document
that would protect him from punishment? Moreover, had he not 50,000
dollars to gain by the transaction?

Kin-Fo stamped his foot in vexation, and muttered, "Enough of this
business! It must be settled somehow!"

Handing Wang's letter to Craig and Fry, he asked them whether they
had anything to suggest.

They inquired whether the paper he had given to Wang specified the
25th as being the limit provided for the execution of the contract.

"No; I left Wang to fill up the document with the date at his discretion.
This rascal Lao-Shen is free to act just when he pleases; he has no
stipulation about time to bind him."

"But the policy," said Craig and Fry, "expires on the 30th. He is sure
to know enough to make him understand that he has nothing to gain if
he delays the act an hour beyond that. No; he will finish his business
before that day, or he will leave it alone."

There was not much to be said in answer to this, but Kin-Fo paced up
and down the room uneasily. "We must find this Lao-Shen; be he
where he may, we must get at him. The letter I gave Wang must be
redeemed; at all hazards, at any cost, it must be redeemed: even if I
pay the 50,000 dollars for it, I must have it."

"Of course, if you can," assented Craig.

"If I can? I must, I will!" cried Kin-Fo, getting more and more excited;
"Am I to suffer disappointment after disappointment?" And again he
paced the room rapidly.

"I am off again!" he said, after a few minutes.

"At your service, sir," replied the men.

"I am off! You, gentlemen, do as you please; but I start at once."

"We attend you, of course," answered both Craig and Fry with one
breath.

"As you like," Kin-Fo repeated.

"We should be failing entirely in our duty to our employers if we were
to permit you to travel alone."

"Well, then," said Kin-Fo, "no time to lose."

It was not very likely that it would prove at all a difficult matter to
discover Lao-Shen. He was a notorious character, and very few
inquiries were enough to elicit the information that after the
suppression of the rebellion in which he had taken an active part, he
had retired beyond the Great Wall to the north, into the district around
the gulf of Leao-Tong, an inlet of the gulf of Pe-Chi-Li. The government
had not made terms with him in the same way as it had with many
others of the insurgent leaders, but had winked at his retreating
beyond the Imperial frontier, when he found himself at liberty to adopt
the congenial profession of a highwayman. Altogether, he was a man
whose qualifications for the office for which Wang had engaged him
could not be disputed.

A little closer investigation soon brought it further to light that
Lao-Shen had quite recently been seen in the neighborhood of
Foo-Ning, a small port on the Gulf of Leao-Tong, and thither Kin-Fo
made up his mind to hasten without delay. At least he would be on
the track of the man he sought.

First of all, however, he must go to Le-ou and inform her of his
decision. Her grief was pitiable. With tears streaming from her eyes,
she besought him to keep far as possible out of the reach of a man
hired to be his assassin. Let him leave China altogether. Madness to
go near Lao-Shen; better go to the remotest corner of the earth.

As well as he could, Kin-Fo consoled her; he explained that there was
no quarter of the world where he could endure to feel that his life was
at the disposal of a mercenary rascal; it was his determination to
follow the fellow up, and to find him out; he was going to put a stop to
the bargain; he was going to get back that unlucky paper, and he
should succeed; he would soon be back again in Pekin; he would be
back before the day appointed for the Court mourning came to an end.
And he finished by exclaiming, "How fortunate for us that our marriage
has been delayed this little while! How dreadful for you, while my life
hangs thus in the balance, to be my wife!"

"No, no, indeed," answered Le-ou sadly; "if only I had been your wife,
I could have claimed the right of going with you in every hour of
danger."

"Far better otherwise," said Kin-Fo; "I had rather face a thousand
perils, and die a thousand deaths, than bring you into jeopardy."

Le-ou wept still more bitterly. A tear rose to the eye of Kin-Fo himself,
and saying "farewell," he tore himself from her embrace.

The same morning saw the party back again at Tong-Tcheou. Soun
repined very sorrowfully at being again disturbed in the rest he was
ever seeking; he thought himself the unluckiest of mortals. But there
was no help for it.

What now should be the line of action? This was the next question to
be decided. There was the choice of going by land or by water. To go
by land would take them through a country which under the
circumstances was especially perilous, although had they been going
no farther than the Great Wall, they would have been tempted to run
the risk. But the port of Foo-Ning, whither they were on their way, was
far to the east, and if only a vessel could be found to convey them,
they would really save time by going by sea. The passage ought only
to take a few days. Kin-Fo set about inquiring, and had the
satisfaction of learning that a ship on its way to Foo-Ning was at that
very time lying at the mouth of the Pei-Ho, and which, if he took one
of the fast river-boats down the stream, there was no doubt he would
be able to catch. He would be sure to find accommodation for his
party on board.

Craig and Fry begged for an hour's grace; they obtained the
permission, which was granted with some reluctance, and made use
of the time in purchasing a great variety of apparatus for saving life in
case of shipwreck; they bought old-fashioned life-belts, and unwilling
to let their charge incur the slightest risk that precaution could
anticipate, they bought the recently invented floating-costume of
Captain Boyton.

Every preparation was hurried on, and it was still quite early in the
afternoon of the 26th, when they all went on board the Pei-tang, one of
the little river steamers that ply along the Pei-Ho. The river winds so
much that the distance between Tong-Tcheou and the river-mouth is
as nearly as possible double the length of a straight line drawn from
point to point; its banks are artificial and the channel is consequently
deep enough to accommodate vessels of considerable burden.

Craig and his colleague made a point throughout the passage of never
stirring an inch from the place of duty. They felt a heavier
responsibility now brought upon them by the change of
circumstances. It was no longer from Wang, whom they knew well
enough to recognize at a glance, that they had to defend their charge;
it was from Lao-Shen, a desperate Tai-ping, a man they had never
seen, who might be in disguise among the passengers, ready at any
moment to perpetrate his murderous act. Could they be too vigilant?
They scarcely allowed themselves time to eat; when should they be
able to find time to sleep?

Soun was all in a flutter, but his disquietude arose from altogether a
different cause; the prospect of a sea-voyage thoroughly upset him,
and, although the water in the river was perfectly smooth, the nearer
the steamboat approached the gulf, the more livid did his countenance
become.

"Then you have never been on the sea?" asked Craig.

"Never," he replied.

"You don't seem to think you will like it," added Fry.

"I don't like it at all."

"You must keep your head up," said Craig.

"And your mouth shut," continued Fry.

The poor fellow looked as if he had not the least objection to keep his
mouth shut, but he cast one of those lugubrious glances at the
widening waters which often betray beforehand the dread of
seasickness. He made no reply, but found a place as near the middle
of the boat as he could.

Before sunrise the little steamer had reached Ta-koo. Here were the
ruins of the northern and southern forts that were taken in 1860 by the
allied army of England and France, when General Collineau on the
24th of August made his grand attack, the gunboats forcing the
entrance of the river. A narrow strip, now scarcely occupied at all, was
conceded to the French, and there may still be seen the monument
erected over the bodies of the officers and men who fell upon that
occasion.

Unable to cross the bar of the river, the Pei-tang had to land her
passengers at Ta-koo. It was a town of considerable importance, and
would be found capable of a large development, if only the mandarins
would permit a railway to be laid down.

The ship bound for Foo-Ning was to sail that day, so that no time
would be lost. The vessel was named the Sam-Yep; and Kin-Fo,
finding nothing to detain him on shore, hailed a sampan, and went on
board at once.



Chapter 16
On Board The Sam-Yep

A week previously an American ship, chartered by one of the
Chino-Californian companies, had cast anchor in the harbor of Ta-koo.
She was freighted at the expense of the Ting-Tong agency that had its
headquarters at the Laurel Hill Cemetery, San Francisco, where the
bodies of the celestials who had died in the United States awaited
their transit to their native land, where their religion ordains that they
shall be interred. The vessel, which was bound for Canton, conveyed
as many as two hundred and fifty coffins, seventy-five of which had
been disembarked at Takoo, and transferred that morning to the
vessel on which Kin-Fo and his party had taken passage, to be
despatched to the northern provinces. The voyage, it is true, at that
season of the year, would not last more than two or three days, and
no other vessel was at present going in the direction of Leao-Tong;
otherwise it was not exactly the one they would have been disposed
to select.

The Sam-Yep was a sea-junk of about three hundred tons burden.
Some junks of over one thousand tons draw only six feet of water,
enabling them to cross the bars of rivers. Too wide for their length,
their beam measuring a quarter of their keel, they sail badly unless
close to the wind, but have the advantage of being able to put about,
as it were on their own pivot, as easily as a top. Their enormous
helms are pierced with holes, a system very much applauded in
China, but the effect of which is open to controversy. Be that as it
may, however, these ponderous junks no doubt do brave the sea
around the mouths of rivers, and it has been recorded that one of
them, chartered by a Canton firm and commanded by an American,
conveyed a cargo of tea and porcelain to San Francisco, an instance
which proves that it is not impossible for them to stand the open sea.
It has also been asserted by competent judges that the Chinese
make excellent seamen.

The Sam-Yep was of modern construction, her hull being somewhat
after the European model. She was built entirely of bamboo sewn
together and calked with tow and resin from Cambodga, and was so
water-tight that it was considered unnecessary for her to carry a pump
in her hold. She floated as light as a cork; her anchor was made of
wood of a most durable character; her rigging was of palm-fiber, and
remarkably flexible; and she had two masts, a mainmast and
foremast, like a lugger. In every respect she seemed perfectly fitted
for short cruises.

In looking at her, no one would have imagined that she had
temporarily been converted into an enormous hearse, and that so
melancholy a cargo had replaced the ordinary chests of tea, bales of
silks, and packets of Chinese perfumery. She had laid aside none of
her usual decorations; fore and aft waved pennants and streamers; on
the prow was painted a great red eye, like that of some huge
seamonster; from the masthead floated the Chinese flag; and two
pieces of ordnance glittered brightly in the sunlight. The whole
appearance of the vessel was fresh and festive. After all, was she not
performing the pleasant duty of restoring to their native land the
corpses of those who had expressed their wish to lie there? To Kin-Fo
and Soun there was nothing repugnant in the idea of such a cargo.
The two Americans doubtless would have preferred something
different, but they had no alternative than to perform their office of
following Kin-Fo.

A captain and a crew of six men were all that were required to work
the junk. It has been said that the mariner's compass was invented in
China; whether that is true or not, the Chinese cruisers never use it;
and Captain Yin, the commander of the Sam-Yep, as he did not
expect to go out of sight of land, was no exception to the general rule.

Captain Yin was a bright, loquacious little man, nearly always smiling,
and a living illustration of the theory of perpetual motion. He was never
still: eyes, arms, and hands seemed here, there, and everywhere, and
moved as fast as his tongue. He rated and scolded his crew, but on
the whole he was a capital seaman, had his vessel perfectly under his
control, and was well acquainted with the coasts. The handsome sum
that Kin-Fo had paid as passage-money had by no means a tendency
to lower his spirits; a hundred and fifty taels for a trip of sixty hours
was a windfall that did not often fall to his lot.

Kin-Fo and his guardians found quarters, such as they were, in the
stern of the vessel. Soun was accommodated near the bow.

After a most careful scrutiny of both captain and crew, Craig and Fry
came to the conclusion that there was nothing at all suspicious in the
appearance of any of them. It was quite unlikely that they were in
collusion with Lao-Shen, as it was the merest chance that had
brought Kin-Fo upon the junk at all. Beyond the ordinary perils of a
sea voyage, there was no special danger pending over their charge,
and they felt justified in relaxing a little of their vigilance.

Kin-Fo felt the relief of being left more to himself. He retired to his
cabin, and began to "philosophize," as he expressed it. Here was he,
a man who when he was exempt from care amid the luxuries of his
yamen, never knew what happiness was. Trouble and anxiety had
wrought a transformation in his mind, and now, when once he should
gain possession of the fatal letter, he thought he should know true
happiness at last. That the letter would be restored to him he had no
doubt whatever. It was only a question of money with Lao-Shen; he
would as soon receive 50,000 dollars from Kin-Fo during his lifetime
as after his death; perhaps sooner, as it would save him the trouble of
going to Shang-Hai and presenting himself at the Centenarian Office,
a proceeding which, however great might be the clemency of the
Government, could not be without a certain amount of risk to a former
rebel. The difficulty was lest the Tai-ping should attack him unawares.
He knew nothing of Lao-Shen's movements, while Lao-Shen might be
perfectly conversant with his, and the danger would become even
more imminent when he landed in the very province where he resided.
Nevertheless, Kin-Fo was hopeful, and went on to make brilliant plans
for the future, in which of course the young widow at Pekin played no
unimportant part.

Soun's meditations, meantime, were of a very different nature. Lying
prostrate in his cabin, he was paying his tribute to the malevolent
deities of the Gulf of Pe-Chi-Li. He could scarcely collect his thoughts
sufficiently to curse his master, or Wang, or the robber Lao-Shen. Ai
ai ya! His heart was stupid, his brain was stupid, his ideas were
stupid! He could think no more about his tea nor his rice. Ai ai ya!
What a fool he had been to enter the service of a man who wanted to
come to sea! He would give up his pigtail, he would shave his head,
he would become a bonze, if only he could get back to dry land. A
yellow dog-- yes, a yellow dog-- was devouring his liver and his
stomach. Ai ai ya!

With a good south breeze, the Sam-Yep ran by the three or four miles
of sandy shore that here lay from east to west. This part of the gulf
was almost deserted; important shipping traffic did not extend beyond
a radius of twenty miles from the estuary of the Pei-Ho, and a few
merchant junks on short cruises, and about a dozen fishing-boats
were all that could be seen near the shore, while out to sea the line of
the horizon was quite unbroken.

Observing that all the fishing-boats, even those of only five or six tons'
burden, carried one or two small cannon, Craig and Fry asked Captain
Yin the reason, and were told that it was for protection against
pirates.

"Pirates!" exclaimed Craig. "Surely there are no pirates in the Gulf of
Pe-Chi-Li?"

"Why not in the Gulf of Pe-Chi-Li as much as in all the seas of
China?" rejoined the captain. And he gave a merry laugh that
displayed his two rows of fine white teeth.

"You don't seem to be much afraid of them," said Fry.

"Haven't I two guns to keep them at a distance?" said Yin.

"Are the guns loaded?" Craig inquired.

"Generally; not now."

"Why not now?" asked Fry.

"Because I have no powder on board," calmly responded the captain.

"Then what good will your guns do you?" the Americans exclaimed
simultaneously.

The captain laughed again. "If my junk were loaded to the hatchways
with opium or tea," he said, "then it would be worth defending; but
with its present cargo----"

He shrugged his shoulders with an expressive gesture.

"You gentlemen seem to have rather a dread of pirates," he said
presently, "and yet you have no property of any value on board."

Craig and Fry informed him that they had special reasons for wishing
to avoid an attack, and asked how the pirates could be aware
beforehand of the nature of his freight. Captain Yin pointed to a white
flag that was fluttering half-mast high above their heads.

"Pirates know what that means," he said; "they will not take the
trouble to rob a vessel laden with coffins."

"But perhaps," insisted Craig, "they may think the white flag is only a
ruse, and will come on board to see for themselves."

"Let them come, then," said Yin jauntily; "they will soon have to go
back the same way as they came."

Craig and Fry said no more, but they could not altogether share the
captain's equanimity. A junk of three hundred tons burden, even
though carrying nothing but ballast, would be no mean prize for
freebooters. They could, however, do no more than quietly await the
chapter of accidents, and hope for the best.

The captain, for his part, had neglected nothing that could insure a
favorable voyage. Before setting sail he had sacrificed a cock to the
presiding deities of the sea, and its feathers were still suspended from
the foremast; a few drops of its blood had been sprinkled on the deck,
and a small cup of wine thrown overboard had completed the
propitiatory offering.

But whether it was that the cock had not been sufficiently plump, or
the wine had not been of the choicest vintage, somehow or other the
capricious deities seemed not to have been satisfied. In the course of
the day, quite unexpectedly, for the weather was bright and clear, the
junk was overtaken by a tremendous gale, an event which the keenest
of mariners could not have foreseen. It was about eight o'clock in the
evening, and the Sam-Yep was preparing to double the promontory
beyond which the coastline extended in a northeasterly direction; that
done, she might run straight before the wind, and Captain Yin had
every reason to think that in less than twenty-four hours she would be
at Foo-Ning.

As the time for arriving drew near, Kin-Fo's impatience to gain
possession of the letter increased considerably. With Soun the
yearning to get on shore amounted almost to frenzy. Craig and Fry
remembered that in three days more their responsibilities concerning
the client of the Centenarian would be at an end; at midnight on the
30th of June his policy would expire, the premium had not been
renewed, and all anxiety would cease.

Just as the Sam-Yep reached the entrance of the Gulf of Leao-Tong
the wind veered suddenly to the northeast; it subsequently changed to
the north, and two hours later was blowing from the northwest. If
Captain Yin had, had a barometer on board, he would have noticed
that the mercury had made a sudden fall, a rapid rarefaction of the air
that betokened an approaching typhoon, the motion of which was
lightening the atmospheric strata. Had he been acquainted with the
observations of Paddington and Maury, forewarned, he would have
endeavored to alter his tack and steer to the northeast, in the hope of
getting beyond the attraction of the tempest.

But he did not understand the use of the barometer, and was ignorant
of the law of cyclones. He had sacrificed a cock, and therefore was he
not insured against every calamity? Nevertheless, superstitious
Chinaman though he was, he proved an excellent seaman on the
occasion, and his instinct seemed to serve him as well as the
science of a European captain.

The typhoon was not of a large extent, consequently its velocity was
very great, the rotatory motion being little less than sixty miles an
hour. Fortunately it carried the Sam-Yep to the east, otherwise she
would have been driven on to a coast where she must inevitably have
perished. At eleven o'clock the tempest reached its height. Captain
Yin was not laughing now, but he had lost none of his presence of
mind. With his hand constantly on the helm, he skillfully steered the
light vessel, which rose easily upon the waves, and in all his orders he
was ably seconded by his crew.

Kin-Fo had left his cabin, and, clinging to the bulwarks, was
contemplating the sea and sky. The clouds, torn to shreds by the
hurricane, were hurrying in masses over the surface of the water,
while the waves, all white in the blackness of the night, seemed to be
sucked up by the typhoon far above their ordinary level. He was
neither surprised nor alarmed. This storm was only one of the series
of misfortunes that his ill-luck had prepared for him. In this summer
season other people might have made a short passage of sixty hours
under favorable circumstances; but such luck was not to be his.

Craig and Fry were much more uneasy, not for themselves, but for the
interests of the Centenarian. Only let their lives be preserved until
midnight on the 30th of June, and the conscientious agents cared not
what became of themselves or their charge afterward.

As for Soun, to his mind the junk was in no greater danger now than
she had been ever since he came on board. Stormy or calm, it was all
alike to him. Ai ai ya! The passengers down in the hold had the best
of it; they felt neither rolling nor pitching; he wished he were among
them. Ai ai ya!

For the space of three hours the junk really was in a critical position.
A false turn of the helm, and she would have been lost, for the sea
would have dashed over her deck; and, although, like a pail, she could
not capsize, there was every chance that she might fill and founder.
Tossed as she was by the waves, it was impossible to keep her in
any constant direction, nor could any estimate be made as to the
course she was taking.

By some happy chance, however, she ultimately gained without
serious damage the center of the great atmospheric disturbance that
extended over an area of sixty miles. Here, like a placid lake in the
midst of an angry ocean, was a tract of smooth water, two or three
miles in area, where the wind was scarcely perceptible.

The junk, which had been driven thither under bare poles, was now in
safety. Toward three o'clock in the morning the fury of the cyclone
ceased almost as if by magic, and the angry waters round the little
lake subsided into calmness. But when daylight dawned, no land was
in sight. The Sam-Yep was the center of a barren waste of sea and
sky.



Chapter 17
The Cargo

"Where are we, Captain Yin?" Kin-Fo asked after the danger was all
over.

"I hardly know," replied the captain, who had quite recovered his jovial
looks.

"Are we in the Gulf of Pe-Chi-Li?"

"Not unlikely."

"Or do you think we have been driven into the Gulf of Leao-Tong?"

"Very probably."

"Where, then, are we going to land?"

"Just where the wind takes us."

"When?"

"That's more than I can tell you."

Kin-Fo was beginning to lose his temper. "A true Chinaman always
knows his whereabouts," he said, quoting a Chinese proverb.

"Ah! That means on land, not at sea!" answered the captain, grinning
from ear to ear.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," said Kin-Fo impatiently.

"Nor do I see anything to cry at," retorted Yin.

It might be true that there was nothing really alarming in the situation,
but it was quite obvious that the captain did not know where he was;
without a compass he had no means of judging in what direction his
ship had been driven by the tempest, during which the wind had been
blowing from such different quarters, and while, with her sails furled
and her helm useless, she had been the mere plaything of the
hurricane.

But whether the junk had been carried into one gulf or the other, there
could be no hesitation now about the necessity of putting her head to
the west; ultimately, land must be sighted in that direction. Had it
been in his power, the captain would forthwith have hoisted sail and
followed the sun, which was once more shining, though only faintly;
but there was not a breath of wind; the typhoon had been succeeded
by a dead calm; not a ripple played upon the smooth undulations that
just lifted up the vessel and allowed her to sink again without moving
her a foot forward. A heavy vapor hung over the sea, and the general
aspect was in striking contrast to the commotion of the previous
night. It was one of those calms locally known as "white calms."

"And how long is this going to last?" said Kin-Fo.

"No telling," replied the captain with perfect composure; "at this
season of the year calms sometimes continue for weeks."

"Weeks!" repeated Kin-Fo; "do you suppose I am to stay here for
weeks?"

"No help for it, my dear sir, unless by good luck we can manage to
get taken in tow."

"Confound the junk! What a fool I was to be caught coming on board!"

"Will you allow me to offer you two little bits of advice? Be like other
folks, and don't grumble at the weather which you can't alter; and,
secondly, do as I am going to do; go to bed and get some
comfortable sleep."

And with a philosophy that was worthy of Wang himself, the captain
retired to his cabin, leaving only a few men on deck.

For the next quarter of an hour Kin-Fo paced backward and forward,
drumming his fingers upon his folded arms; then, casting a glance at
the desolate scene around, he made up his mind to go to his cabin,
and left the deck without saying a word to Craig and Fry, who had
been lounging meanwhile against the taffrail, not speaking a word to
each other, but no doubt holding mutual intercourse by silent
sympathy. They had heard all that passed between Kin-Fo and the
captain, but to say the truth, they really were not concerned at the
delay which was giving so much annoyance to the young man; if they
were losing anything in time, they were gaining in security, for as long
as Kin-Fo was on board the Sam-Yep, was he not free from any
chance of being attacked by Lao-Shen? Moreover, the period of their
engagement and consequently of their responsibility was close at
hand; two days more and a whole band of Tai-pings might assail him,
and it would not be their duty to risk a hair of their heads to protect
him. Practical Yankees as they were, they were devoted to the client
of the Centenarian so long as he represented the sum of 200,000
dollars; they would be utterly indifferent when that interest lapsed.

Under these circumstances there was nothing to prevent them from
sitting down to their luncheon with a capital appetite. The food was
excellent; they partook of the same dishes, consumed the same
quantities of bread and the same number of slices of meat; they drank
Bidulph's health in the same number of glasses of wine, and afterward
smoked precisely the same number of cigarettes. If not by birth, they
were Siamese twins in taste and habit.

The day passed on without incident or accident; there was still the
"woolly" sky; still the smooth sea; and nothing to disturb the general
monotony.

Toward four o'clock in the afternoon, poor Soun made his appearance
on deck. He reeled, he staggered as if he were drunk, though
probably he had never in all his life been so abstemious before. His
complexion was blue and green, verging to yellow; probably when he
got on shore again it would be as usual, orange; when he was angry
he would flush into crimson, and thus in a very short period his
countenance would have exhibited all the colors of the rainbow.

Keeping his eyes half-closed, and not daring to look beyond the
bulwarks, he stumbled up to Craig and Fry, and said, "Are we nearly
there?"

"No," they answered.

"Not nearly?"

"No."

"Ai ai ya!" he moaned, and flung himself down at the foot of the mast,
wriggling as if in convulsions, which made his miserable little queue
shake like a puppy's tail.

Earlier in the day Captain Yin had given orders, very prudently, for the
hatchways to be opened that the sun might dry up the water that
during the typhoon had been shipped into the hold. Craig and Fry had
been promenading the deck, repeatedly pausing and looking down
through the middle hatchway, until at last, prompted by curiosity, they
agreed to go below.

Except just where the light was admitted from above, the hold was
very dark; but after a short time the eye grew accustomed to the
obscurity, and it was quite possible to distinguish the way in which
the singular cargo had been stowed. The hold was not divided, as in
most junks, into partitions, but was open from end to end, and the
whole of it appropriated to this strange consignment, the crew having
to find their berths forward. Piled up one upon another, and arrayed on
both sides, were the seventy-five coffins bound for Foo-Ning, all
fastened quite securely so as to prevent any oscillation that might
imperil the ship, a passage being left along the middle, the end of
which, remote from the hatchway, was sunk in gloom.

Craig and Fry walked silently and softly, as though they were treading
the floor of a mausoleum. There was something of awe mingling with
their curiosity. The coffins were of all sizes, a small proportion of them
being costly and elaborate, the generality perfectly plain. Of the
emigrants whom necessity drives across the Pacific, it is very few
that make a fortune or realize a competency in the diggings of
California, or in the mines of Nevada and Colorado; nearly all die as
impoverished as they went out; but all, whatever their wealth or
poverty, are without exception and with equal care brought back to
their native land.

About ten of the coffins were made of valuable wood adorned with all
the richness that Chinese fancy could devise; but the rest were
merely four planks with ends, put together in the roughest manner and
painted yellow; every one of them bore the name and address of its
tenant, and as Craig and Fry passed along they kept on reading such
names as Lien-Foo of Yun-Ping-Fu, Nan-Loon of Foo-Ning, and
remarked that there seemed no confusion; every corpse could be
conveyed to its destination to await in field, in orchard, or in plain, its
ultimate interment in Chinese soil.

"Well packed!" whispered Craig.

"Well packed!" whispered Fry.

They spoke calmly as they would about a consignment of ordinary
goods from San Francisco or New York.

Having proceeded to the farther end of the passage where it was most
gloomy, they turned and looked along the avenue of that temporary
cemetery toward the light; they were on the point of returning, when a
slight sound attracted their attention. "A rat!" they said.

"I should think a rat would prefer a cargo of rice," said Craig.

"Or of maize," added Fry.

The noise continued. It was like a scratching with nails or claws. It
was on the starboard side, and came from about the level of their
heads; consequently from the upper tier of coffins.

The men hissed as they would to scare away a rat. Still the
scratching went on. They listened with bated breath. Evidently the
sound came from inside one of the coffins.

"Some Chinaman buried before he was dead," said Craig.

"And just come to life again," continued Fry.

They went close up to the coffin, and laid their hands upon it; it did
not admit of a doubt that there was movement within. "This means
mischief!" they muttered.

The same idea had simultaneously occurred to them both, that a new
danger was threatening the client in their charge.

Raising their hands, they could feel that the lid of the coffin was being
gently lifted up. With the most perfect composure they waited to see
what would follow next. They did not make a movement. It was too
dark for them to distinguish anything plainly, but they were not
mistaken in thinking they saw a coffin lid slowly opening on the
larboard side.

A whisper was next heard. A whisper followed in reply.

"Is that you, Cono?"

"Is that you, Fa-Kien?"

"Is it to be to-night?"

"Yes, to-night."

"Before the moon rises?"

"Yes, in the second watch."

"Do the others know?"

"They have all been told."

"I shall be glad to get out of this."

"Ay, so shall we all."

"Thirty-six hours in a coffin is no joke!"

"You are right."

"But Lao-Shen ordered it."

"Hush, hush! What's that?"

The last exclamation was caused by Craig and Fry making an
involuntary movement at the mention of Lao-Shen; but they did not
speak nor move again.

There was a slight pause, after which the coffin-lids gently closed
themselves again, and there was complete silence.

Stealthily on hands and knees, Craig and Fry made their way back
through the hatchway on to the deck, and in a moment were locked in
their own cabin, where they could converse without risk of being
overheard.

"Dead men who talk--" began Craig.

"Are not dead yet," concluded Fry.

The mere mentioning of Lao-Shen's name under these somewhat
ghastly circumstances had been enough to reveal the whole truth. It
was evident that the Tai-ping had employed some agents who had
found their way on board, and it did not admit of much doubt that they
had only succeeded by the connivance of the captain. The coffins had
been disembarked from the American ships, and had, had to remain
for a day or two to await the arrival of the Sam-Yep, and during that
time a number of them had been broken open, the corpses removed,
and their places supplied by the confederates of Lao-Shen. How it had
transpired that Kin-Fo was among the passengers of the Sam-Yep
was a mystery they could not explain; but they recollected that they
had noticed suspicious characters on board from the time of
embarkation, and acknowledged that it would be a thing discreditable
to themselves if, after all, the office they represented should lose the
two hundred thousand dollars at stake.


They were not the men to lose their presence of mind; they were
facing a grave and unexpected emergency; there was not much time
in which to form their plans; the deed was to be done before the
second watch; there was not much scope for deliberation; there was
only one conclusion to be arrived at-- before the second watch Kin-Fo
must be away from the junk.

How the escape was to be made was a question more easy to ask
than to answer. The only boat belonging to the ship was a cumbrous
craft that it would take the whole crew to lower to the water, and if the
captain were an accomplice in the plot, the crew could not be enlisted
to lend a helping hand. The project of using the boat had to be
abandoned.

Seven o'clock, and the captain was still in his cabin. Was it not likely
he was only waiting in solitude until the appointed time had passed,
and the deed was done? The junk was floating adrift; there was no
watch, why should there be? A sailor, all alone, was slumbering in the
bows. If only the appliances were at hand, the opportunity for escape
was complete. Had they been anxious to get away from a fire-ship,
they scarcely could have been more excited. A thought struck them;
there was not a moment to spare to discuss it; it must be put into
execution now, at once.

Opening the door of Kin-Fo's cabin, they touched him gently; he was
fast asleep; they touched him again.

"What do you want with me?" he said.

They told him as concisely as they could all the facts; he did not
seem at all alarmed; he pondered a moment, and asked, "Why not
throw the rascals overboard?"

"That is quite out of the question," they replied. "There are too many
against us."

"Then are we to do nothing?" said Kin-Fo.

"Do as we tell you," answered Craig; "we have made our plans."

"Let me hear," said Kin-Fo, in some surprise.

"Take this dress; ask no questions; put it on, and be ready!"

The men opened a parcel they had brought with them. It contained
four sets of the swimming apparatus just invented by Captain Boyton.
They gave a set to Kin-Fo, saying, "We have more for ourselves, and
one for Soun."

"Go and fetch Soun," he bade them.

And Soun was brought in, looking as if he were suffering from an
attack of paralysis.

"You are to put this on," said his master.

But Soun was incapable of helping himself, and while he kept on
moaning, "Ai ai ya," the others contrived to drag him into the
waterproof attire.

Eight o'clock, and they were all equipped; they looked like four great
seals just going to plunge into the frozen waters, although it must be
owned that Soun was almost too flabby in his condition to be
compared to so lithe a creature.

The junk continued to float in absolute stillness upon the unruffled
sea; Craig and Fry opened one of the portholes of the cabin, and
quietly dropped Soun down without more ado. Kin-Fo cautiously
followed; Craig and Fry only stayed to make sure that they had
provided themselves with all the necessary appurtenances, and
plunged in after them.

So quiet were all their movements that no one on board was aware
that four of the passengers had quitted the Sam-Yep.



Chapter 18
Afloat

Captain Boyton's apparatus is a gutta-percha suit, consisting of
leggings, tunic, and cap. But though impervious to water, the material
would not be impervious to cold, were it not that the garments are
made with an outer and an inner layer between which may be
admitted a certain quantity of air. The air serves the double purpose of
maintaining the apparatus upon the surface of the water and
preventing the chill that would otherwise ensue from long exposure.

The joints of the separate pieces of the costume are perfectly
water-tight. The leggings terminate beneath the feet with heavy soles,
and are clasped at the waist with a metal belt, which is made wide
enough to allow free movement, to the body. The jacket is fixed into
the belt, and has a solid collar, to which in its turn is attached the
cap, which is drawn tightly over the forehead, cheeks and chin by
means of an elastic border, leaving only the eyes, mouth, and nose
exposed.

Several gutta-percha tubes are attached to the jacket to admit the air,
which can be regulated to any density, so that a traveler may float
upright with the water up to his neck or only to his waist, or may lie
horizontally upon its surface, all the time in perfect safety and with
complete liberty of action.

The practical utility of the apparatus has already been
proved in a way that does much credit to its inventor. To make it
complete there are several other appurtenances: a waterproof bag that
is slung over the shoulder, and contains various useful articles; a
small pole which can be attached to the foot by a socket, and carries
a small sail; and a light paddle, which may be used either as an oar
or a rudder, as circumstances may require.

Thus equipped, Kin-Fo, Craig, Fry, and Soun floated off, and a very
few strokes of their paddles carried them a considerable distance from
the junk. The night was very dark, and even if Captain Yin or any of
his men had been on deck, they would not have perceived the
fugitives, and no one could have the slightest suspicion that they were
escaping.

The second watch, the time mentioned by the pretended corpse,
would be about the middle of the night, consequently Kin-Fo and his
companions had several hours' grace during which they hoped to get
a safe distance from the Sam-Yep. A very slight breeze was
beginning to ruffle the surface of the water, but not enough to make
them depend on any other means except their paddles for their
progress.

In a very few minutes Kin-Fo, Craig, and Fry, grew accustomed to
their strange equipment, and were able to maneuver so well, that they
could, without a moment's hesitation, assume any attitude or make
any movement they desired. Soun for a time had to be taken in tow,
but he very quickly recovered his energies, and felt far more at his
ease than he had been on board the junk. All sensation of
seasickness had left him, and the relief of finding himself floating up to
his waist in the sea, instead of being subject to the pitching, tossing,
and heaving of a ship, was very great.

But although he was no longer ill, he was in considerable alarm.
Nothing possessed him but that he should be devoured by sharks,
and he was continually drawing up his legs, as though he felt them
already being snapped at. His fears, it must be owned, were not
altogether without foundation.

It was a strange vicissitude to which fortune had now called Kin-Fo
and his companions. On and on they went, lying almost flat upon their
backs to paddle, and rising to the perpendicular when they required a
rest. An hour after leaving the junk the party found themselves about
half a mile distant. They came to a standstill, resting on their paddles,
and began to hold a whispered consultation.

"That rascal of a captain!" said Craig, in order to broach the subject
that was of course uppermost in his mind.

"And that scoundrel Lao-Shen!" added Fry.

"Are you surprised?" said Kin-Fo; "I am never surprised at anything
now."

"I cannot understand how those fellows found out that you were going
to take passage on board that junk," replied Craig.

"Well, it doesn't matter much now that we are safe," said Kin-Fo
composedly.

"Safe!" exclaimed Craig; "We are not safe as long as the Sam-Yep is
in sight."

"What is to be done, then?" inquired Kin-Fo.

"We must take some refreshment and go on again, so that we may
be out of sight at daybreak."

Admitting a little more air into his apparatus, Fry allowed himself to
rise till the water was about level with his waist, and then opening his
bag, took out a bottle and a glass. He filled the glass with brandy, and
handed it to Kin-Fo, who, without requiring any pressing, drained it to
the bottom. Craig and Fry helped themselves, and Soun was not
forgotten.

"How are you now?" asked Craig, when Soun had emptied his glass.

"Much better, thank you," said Soun; "but I should like something to
eat."

"We will have our breakfast at daybreak, and then you shall have
some tea."

Soun made a wry face.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No; hot," said Craig.

Soun's countenance brightened.

"But how will you manage that?" he inquired.

"I shall make a fire."

"Then why wait till the morning?" urged Soun.

"Why, you stupid fellow, you don't want Captain Yin and his
accomplices to see our light, do you?"

"No, O no."

"Then have patience, and wait till the proper time."

The appearance of the party during this colloquy was irresistibly
comical; the slight undulation of the water kept them bobbing up and
down like so many corks, or like the hammers of a pianoforte when
the keys are touched. Kin-Fo presently remarked that the wind was
beginning to freshen.

"Let us set our sails, then," said Craig and Fry.

But just as they were preparing to erect their little masts, Soun
uttered a loud cry of terror.

"Be quiet, you fool!" angrily whispered his master, "do you want us to
be discovered?"

"I thought," muttered Soun, "I saw a monster-- a shark-- quite close to
me; I thought I felt it, too."

Craig carefully examined the surface of the water, and said that it was
quite a mistake on Soun's part; no shark was there at all.

Kin-Fo laid his hand on his servant's shoulder.

"Understand, Soun, that you are not to be a coward," he said. "You
are not to cry out, mind, even if your leg is snapped off."

"If you make any outcry," added Fry, "we will cut a slit in your jacket,
and send you to the bottom of the sea, where you may bellow to your
heart's content."

Thus adjured, the unfortunate Soun, though by no means consoled,
dared not utter another word. It seemed as though his troubles were
never to have an end, and he began to think that the miseries of
seasickness were scarcely worse than the tortures of terror.

Kin-Fo had been right when he said that the wind was freshening.
Even if it were only one of the slight breezes that subside at' sunrise,
it must be utilized to increase the distance between them and the
Sam-Yep. When Lao-Shen's people discovered that Kin-Fo was no
longer in his cabin, they would assuredly begin to look about for him,
and if any of them were in sight, the ship's boat would greatly facilitate
their capture; consequently it was of the utmost importance to be far
away before dawn.

The wind fortunately was blowing from the east. Whether they had
been carried by the hurricane into the Gulf of Leao-Tong, the Gulf of
Pe-Chi-Li, or even into the Yellow Sea, a westerly course must in any
case take them toward the coast, where they had every chance of
being picked up by some merchant vessel on its way to the mouth of
the Pei-Ho, or by one of the fishing-boats plying day and night about
the shore. If, on the contrary, the wind had come from the west, and
the Sam-Yep had been driven south of Corea, Kin-Fo and his
companions would have had no chance of rescue; they must either
have been borne away on to the open sea, or floated ultimately on to
the shores of Japan as lifeless corpses, which the dress they wore
would not allow to sink.

It was now about ten o'clock. The moon would rise shortly before
midnight, and there was no time to be lost. According to Craig and
Fry's directions, preparations were made for hoisting sail. The process
was very simple. Each gutta-percha suit had a socket attached to the
sole of the right foot, which was intended to hold the short pole that
served for a mast. The party first of all stretched themselves on their
backs, brought their foot within reach of their hands by bending the
knee, and fixed the mast in its place, having previously attached the
halyard of the little sail to its extremity. At a signal from Fry and
Craig, each man simultaneously pulled at his halyard, and hoisted the
upper corner of his triangular sail to the top of the mast. The halyards
were then made fast to the metal waistbands, the sheets were held in
the hand, and they all sailed off like a flotilla of "scaphanders," an
appellation to which they had more right than the submarine workmen
to whom it is often improperly applied.

In the course of ten minutes they were able to steer with perfect ease
and security; they kept equal pace with one another, and glided easily
along the water like so many seagulls with their wings extended to
the breeze. Their progress was greatly facilitated by the condition of
the sea; not a wave disturbed the long quiet undulation of its surface,
so that there was no splash or surf to inconvenience them.

Two or three times, Soun, forgetting Craig and Fry's instructions, was
foolish enough to turn his head, and in so doing swallowed several
mouthfuls of salt water. Experience, however, soon taught him better.
Still he could not overcome his dread of sharks. It was explained to
him that he ran less risk in a horizontal than in a vertical position,
since the formation of a shark's jaw obliges it to turn over on to its
back before seizing its prey, and consequently it is difficult for it to
grasp a floating object; it was furthermore pointed out to him that
these voracious brutes prefer inanimate bodies to those with any
power of motion. Soun accordingly made up his mind not to keep still
for a moment, and was all the happier for his efforts.

For about an hour the "scaphanders" sailed on. A shorter time would
not have sufficed to carry them out of reach of the junk, a longer would
have exhausted them; already their arms were getting weary with the
strain put upon them by the tension of the sails.

Craig and Fry gave the signal for stopping. Instantly the sheets were
loosened, and all, with the exception of Soun, who preferred remaining
on the cautious side, resumed a perpendicular position.

"Five minutes' rest, sir," said Craig to Kin-Fo.

"And another glass of brandy," said Fry.

Kin-Fo assented willingly to both propositions. A little stimulant was
all they required at present; having dined shortly before leaving the
junk, they could well afford to wait for food until the morning. Neither
did they suffer at all from cold; the layer of air between their bodies
and the water protected them from any chill, and their temperature
had not abated a degree since they made their start.

Was the Sam-Yep still in sight? Fry carefully swept the eastern
horizon with a night-glass that he drew from his bag, but no sign of
her was visible against the dim background of the sky. The night was
rather foggy; there were very few stars, and the planets looked almost
like nebulae in the firmament. The waning moon, however, would not
be long in rising, and would probably disperse the mist.

"The rascals are still asleep," said Fry.

"They haven't taken advantage of the breeze," said Craig.

Kin-Fo, tightening his sheet, and spreading his sail to the wind, now
professed himself ready to make another start, and accordingly they
all resumed their course, the wind being not quite so strong as before.

As they were proceeding toward the west, they would be unable to
observe the moon as she rose in the east; her light, however, would
necessarily illuminate the opposite horizon, of which it was important
for them to make a careful observation. If instead of a clearly defined
circle between sea and sky, the line should be broken and refract the
lunar rays, they might be certain that the shore was in sight; and as
the coast was everywhere open and unbeaten by surf, a landing could
be effected without danger in almost any part.

About twelve o'clock a faint light began to play upon the vapors
overhead, a sign that the moon was rising above the water. Neither
Kin-Fo nor his companions turned their heads. Again the breeze had
freshened, and while it helped to disperse the fog, was carrying them
along with considerable rapidity, so that quite a furrow of foam
followed in their wake. The atmosphere became clearer and clearer;
the constellations shone out more brightly, and the moon, changing
from a coppery red to a silvery white, soon illumined the whole of the
surrounding space.

All at once Craig uttered a loud oath.

"The junk!" he cried.

"Down with the sails!" exclaimed Fry.

In an instant the four sails were lowered, and the masts removed from
their sockets. All the party resumed an upright position, and looked
behind them. There, too truly, was the outline of the junk, with all sails
spread, about a mile away.

Captain Yin, they did not doubt, had become aware of Kin-Fo's
escape, and had at once set out in pursuit. Unless the fugitives could
contrive to avoid discovery on the bright surface of the water, in
another quarter of an hour they would be in the hands of the captain
and his accomplices.

"Heads down!" said Craig.

His order was understood. A little more air was ejected from the
apparatus, and all four men sank until only their heads emerged from
the waves. There they waited without a sound or a motion.

The junk was advancing rapidly, its upper sails casting great shadows
on the sea. In five minutes' time it was within half a mile of them, and
they could see the sailors moving to and fro, and the captain at the
helm. All at once a great shout was heard; a crowd of men had
rushed upon the deck, and were apparently attacking the crew. The
uproar was terrible; yells of rage and execration alternated with
shrieks of agony and despair. Then all was still; the clamor was
hushed; nothing was heard but a constant splash, splash, at the side
of the junk, indicating that bodies were being thrown overboard.

After all, then, Captain Yin and his crew had not been in league with
Lao-Shen and his troop; the poor fellows, on the contrary, had
themselves been the victims of the band of rascals who had smuggled
themselves on board with no other design than that of gaining
possession of the junk. The pirates had, had no idea that Kin-Fo was
a fellow-passenger, and were he discovered now, it was certain that
neither he nor any of his companions could expect to find mercy at
their hands.

The Sam-Yep continued her course. She was close upon them now,
but by the happiest chance she cast upon them the shadow of her
sails. For an instant they dived beneath the waves. When they rose
again, the junk had passed, and they were safe.

A corpse that was floating by they recognized as that of Captain Yin,
with a poignard in his side. For a time the ample folds of his garments
sustained him upon the surface of the water. Then he sank, never to
rise again.

Thus by a foul massacre had perished the genial, lighthearted
commander of the Sam-Yep.

Ten minutes later the junk had disappeared in the west, and Kin-Fo,
Craig, Fry, and Soun were all alone in the waste of water.



Chapter 19
A Tiger-Shark

In the course of three hours day began to break, and before it was
quite light the junk was out of sight. Though sailing in the same
direction, the "scaphanders" had of course been unable to keep pace
with her, and she was already nine or ten miles away.

All danger from that quarter was therefore at an end; nevertheless the
situation was not altogether satisfactory. Far as the eye could reach
there was no indication of land, nor was there a single vessel of any
kind in sight; whether they were in the Gulf of Pe-Chi-Li or in the
Yellow Sea was still uncertain.

The direction taken by the junk, however, demonstrated that sooner or
later land would be found toward the west, and, as a slight breeze still
ruffled the waters, it was advisable to continue sailing that way.

It was now necessary to satisfy the cravings of hunger, which, after a
ten hours' fast, were very keen.

"We will make a good breakfast," said Craig and Fry.

Kin-Fo gladly assented. Soun smacked his lips with delight, and for a
time quite forgot his fear of being devoured.

The waterproof bag was again in requisition. Fry produced some bread
and some excellent preserved meat, and the meal, though not as
elaborate in its menu as an ordinary Chinese repast, was
nevertheless most heartily enjoyed.

The bag contained provisions enough for one more day, by which time
Craig and Fry said they might all hope to be on shore. Kin-Fo asked
them what ground they had for such a hope? They replied that their
good luck seemed to be returning to them; they were free of the
dangerous junk, and never since they had, had the honor of attending
Kin-Fo had they been in so secure a position as now.

"All the Tai-pings in the world, sir, could not reach you here," said
Craig.

"And considering that you are equivalent to two hundred thousand
dollars, you float excellently well," said Fry.

Kin-Fo smiled.

"It is all owing to you, gentlemen," he said, "that I am afloat at all.
Had it not been for you, I should have had the fate of poor Captain
Yin."

"And so should I," echoed Soun, gulping down a huge mouthful of
bread.

"You will not be the losers for your attention," Kin-Fo continued; "I
shall never forget how much I owe you."

"You owe us nothing," said Craig; "we are the servants of the
Centenarian."

"And our great hope is," said Fry, "that the Centenarian will never owe
anything to you."

Whatever might be their motive, Kin-Fo could not be otherwise than
touched by their zealous devotion.

"We will talk about this again," said he, "when Lao-Shen has restored
that unfortunate letter."

Craig and Fry smiled significantly, but made no reply.

Presently, in fun, Kin-Fo asked Soun to bring him some tea.

"All right," said Fry, before Soun had time to reply to his master's
joke.

Again opening his bag, he produced a little appliance which may well
be reckoned an indispensable accompaniment to the Boyton
apparatus, and which serves the double purpose of a lamp and a
stove. It consisted simply of a tube five or six inches in length,
furnished with a tap-top and bottom, the whole being inserted into a
sheet of cork, like the floating thermometers used in public baths.

After placing it upon the surface of the water, Fry turned on the taps,
one with each hand, and in an instant a flame started from the
extremity of the funnel, sufficiently large to diffuse a perceptible heat.

"There's your stove," said Fry.

Soun could not believe his eyes.

"Why, you made fire out of water!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, he made it of water and phosphuret of calcium," said Craig.

The instrument, in fact, was constructed so as to utilize a singular
property of phosphuret of calcium, which in contact with water
produces phosphuretted hydrogen. The gas burns spontaneously, and
cannot be extinguished by either wind or rain. It is consequently
employed now for lighting all the improved life-buoys, which
immediately they touch the water, eject a long flame, by means of
which any one who has fallen overboard by night is at once able to
see the means thrown out for his rescue.

While the hydrogen was burning, Craig held over it a little saucepan,
containing some fresh water which he had drawn from a little keg,
also carried in the bag. As soon as the water was boiling, he poured it
into a teapot, in which a few pinches of tea had already been placed.
The whole party then partook of the decoction, and even Kin-Fo and
Soun, although it was not brewed in Chinese fashion, had no fault to
find with it. It formed, in fact, a most acceptable addition to the
breakfast. All that they required now was some knowledge of their
whereabouts. At no distant day a sextant and chronometer will
unquestionably be added to the Boyton apparatus, and then
shipwrecked mariners will no longer be at a loss to ascertain their
position upon the ocean.

Thus refreshed the little party once again set sail. For hours the wind
blew steadily, and they rarely had to use their paddles as rudders.
The gentle gliding movement in a horizontal position had a tendency
to make them sleepy; but under the circumstances sleep must not be
thought of, and in order to resist it, Craig and Fry smoked cigars, after
the fashion of dandies in a swimming bath.

Several times the "scaphanders" were startled by the gambols of
some marine animals that put Soun into a great state of alarm; these
were nothing more, however, than harmless porpoises, probably
astonished at the strange beings whom they now saw for the first time
invading their native element. In great herds, they darted along with
the speed of arrows, their huge slimy bodies glistening like emeralds
beneath the water; now and then leaping up some five or six feet into
the air, and turning a somersault that displayed the remarkable
suppleness of their muscles. So great was their speed, far surpassing
that of the fleetest ships, that Kin-Fo, in spite of the jerks and
plunges, would fain have been taken in tow by one of them.

Toward noon the wind lulled into short puffs, and finally dropped
altogether. The little sails fell idly against the masts; no longer was
there any tension upon the sheets, nor any furrow of foam left behind
in the wake.

"This is bad," said Craig.

"Very unfortunate," assented Fry.

They all came to a standstill. The masts were taken from the sockets,
the sails struck, and each member of the party, having placed himself
in an upright position, examined the horizon.

It was still deserted. Not a sail nor a trail of smoke was in sight. A
scorching sun had absorbed all vapor and rarefied the air. The water
would not have been cold for the travelers, even had they not been
protected by their double covering of gutta-percha.

Sanguine as Craig and Fry might be as to the final issue of events,
they could scarcely fail to be somewhat uneasy now. They had no
means of judging how far they had sailed in the course of the last
sixteen hours, and the nonappearance of any coast or passing vessel
became more and more inexplicable. Still, neither they nor Kin-Fo
were the men to despair as long as hope remained, and as they had
provisions enough for another day, and the weather showed
no symptoms of growing stormy, they determined to make good use
of their paddles, and to push on. The signal for starting was given, and
now on their backs, now on their faces, they persevered in their
westerly course.

Progress was far from rapid. To arms unaccustomed to the work, the
manipulation of the paddles was very fatiguing. Poor Soun was full of
complaints; and he lagged so much behind the others that they
frequently had to wait until he caught them up. His master scolded,
abused, and threatened him, but all in vain; Soun knew that his pigtail
was safe in his gutta-percha cap; still, the fear of being left behind
sufficed to prevent him from falling very far into the rear.

Toward two o'clock some sea-gulls were observed, and although
these birds are often seen far out at sea, their appearance could not
but be taken as an indication that land was most probably within an
accessible distance.

An hour later they all got entangled in a bed of seaweed, from which
they had considerable trouble to extricate themselves; they floundered
about like fish in a drag-net, and were obliged to use knives to set
themselves free. The result was a delay of about half an hour, and an
outlay of strength which could ill be spared.

At four o'clock, greatly exhausted, they made another halt. A fresh
breeze had sprung up, but unfortunately it was from the south. As
they could not trim their sails, they were afraid to use them at all, lest
they should be carried northward and lose the headway they had
made toward the west.

The halt was rather long, for, besides resting their weary limbs, they
were glad to recruit themselves again with their provisions; but the
dinner was not so festive a meal as the breakfast had been. Matters
did not look quite so promising now; night was coming on; the wind
was increasing from the south, and no one knew precisely what to do.

Kin-Fo leaned in gloomy silence upon his paddle, his brows knit, but
more with vexation than alarm. Soun kept on grumbling and whining,
and began to sneeze as though he were attacked with influenza.
Craig and Fry felt that something was expected of them, but were
puzzled how to act.

By a happy chance, a solution came to their bewilderment. About five
o'clock, pointing suddenly toward the south, they both exclaimed,

"A sail!"

Sure enough, about three miles to windward, a vessel was bearing
down toward them, and, if she held her present course, would
probably pass within a short distance of the spot where they were.
Not a moment was to be lost in making their way toward her. The
opportunity for deliverance must not be allowed to slip. Instantly the
paddles were brought into use, and nearer and nearer drew the vessel
in the freshening breeze. It was only a fishing-smack, but it indicated
that the land could not be very far distant, for the Chinese fishermen
rarely venture far out to sea.

Encouraging the others to follow, Kin-Fo paddled with all his might,
darting over the surface of the water like a skiff; and Soun, in his
eagerness not to be left behind, worked away so hard that he fairly
outstripped his master.

Half a mile more, and they would be within earshot of the boat, even if
they had not already been observed. The fear was, that the fishermen,
when they saw such strange creatures in the water, might take to
flight. Nevertheless the attempt to reach them must be made.

The distance to be accomplished was growing inconsiderable, when
Soun, who was still in advance, gave a startling cry of terror:

"A shark! A shark!"

And it was no false alarm. About twenty paces ahead could be seen
the fins of a tiger-shark, a voracious creature peculiar to these waters,
and truly worthy of its name.

"Out with your knives!" shouted Craig and Fry.

The weapons, such as they were, were quickly produced. Soun,
meantime, deeming prudence the better part of valor, had beat a
hasty retreat behind the rest. The shark was rapidly bearing down
upon them, and for an instant his huge body, all streaked and spotted
with green, rose above the waters. It was at least sixteen feet in
length, a truly hideous monster!

Turning half over on to its back, it was preparing to make a snap at
Kin-Fo, who, quite calm and collected, planted his paddle on its back,
and, with a vigorous thrust, sent himself flying far out of the way. Craig
and Fry drew close up, ready either for attack or defense.

The shark dived for a second, and returned to the charge, its huge
mouth bristling with four rows of cruel teeth. Kin-Fo attempted to
repeat his former maneuver, but this time the paddle came in contact
with the creature's jaw, and was snapped off short. Half lying on its
side, the shark was just rushing once more upon its prey, when the
water became blood-red. Craig and Fry, with the long blades of their
American knives, had succeeded in penetrating the tough skin of the
brute. The hideous jaw opened and closed again with a terrible snap.
The shark seemed in agonies, and began to lash the water with its
formidable tail, one stroke catching Fry on his side, and dashing him
ten feet away. Craig uttered a cry of pain, as if he had received the
blow himself. But Fry was not hurt; his gutta-percha covering had
protected him from injury, and he returned to the attack with
redoubled vigor.

The shark turned and turned again. Kin-Fo had contrived to lodge the
end of his broken paddle in the socket of its eye, and, at the risk of
being cut in two, managed to hold it firmly there, while Craig and Fry
endeavored to pierce the creature's heart. Their attempt was evidently
successful, for almost directly the shark, with one last struggle, sank
beneath the bloody waters.

"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Craig and Fry, brandishing their knives in
triumph.

"Thanks! Thanks!" was all Kin-Fo could say.

"No thanks to us," said Craig; "two hundred thousand dollars was too
good a mouthful for that brute!"

Fry cordially assented.

And where, meantime, was Soun? The coward, making off as fast as
his paddle would carry him, had got within three cables' length of the
fishing-boat; but his precaution was almost the means of his coming
to grief.

The fishermen, perceiving what they supposed to be a strange animal
in the water, prepared to catch it as they would a seal or a dolphin,
and a long rope with a hook attached was thrown overboard. The hook
caught Soun by the waist-belt, and slipping upward, made a rent in
his gutta-percha jacket the whole length of his back. Sustained now
only by his inflated leggings, he rolled right over with his head in the
water, and his heels in the air.

Kin-Fo, Craig, and Fry had by this time reached the spot, and were
calling out to the fishermen in good Chinese. Great was the alarm of
the men on finding themselves accosted by what they supposed to be
"talking seals." Their first impulse was to set sail and make off, but
Kin-Fo at last convinced them that he was a Chinaman like
themselves, and he and the two Americans were taken on board.

Soun was then turned the right way up by means of a boat-hook, and
one of the fishermen caught hold of his pigtail for the purpose of
hauling him on to the boat. The pigtail came off bodily in the man's
hand, and down went Soun again into the water. The fishermen, by
throwing a rope round his waist, succeeded, with considerable
difficulty, in getting him into the boat.

Almost before he could get rid of the quantities of salt water that he
had swallowed, Kin-Fo walked up to him, and said:

"Then that pigtail of yours was false, after all?"

"Ah, yes, sir," replied Soun, "knowing your ways, I should never have
ventured to enter your service with a real one."

The tone in which he spoke was so irresistibly comical, that Kin-Fo
burst into a fit of laughter, in which the others joined.

The fishermen were from Foo-Ning, and were now only about five
miles from the very port to which Kin-Fo wanted to go.

Toward eight o'clock that evening, they were safely landed at
Foo-Ning, and divesting themselves of their Boyton apparatus, once
more resumed their ordinary appearance.



Chapter 20
Resignation Of Office

"Now for the Tai-ping!" were Kin-Fo's first words on the following
morning, after he and his fellow-adventurers had passed a night of
well-earned repose. They were now upon Lao-Shen's field of action; it
was the 30th of June; matters were at a crisis. Would Kin-Fo come
out conqueror in the strife? Would he have the chance of negotiating
for the restoration of his letter, before Wang's ruthless agent should
deal the fatal stab into his bosom?

The Americans interchanged significant glances, and reechoed his
words, "Now for the Tai-ping!"

The arrival of the party on the previous evening in their singular
costume had caused a great commotion in the little port of Foo-Ning.
The objects of public curiosity, they had been followed by a crowd to
the door of the inn, where the money that Craig and Fry had taken the
precaution to put in their bag, procured them clothes adapted for the
present circumstances. Had they not been numerously surrounded,
they could hardly have failed to notice one Celestial in particular, who
never left their track. Their surprise would have been considerable had
they known that he was at watch all night at the inn-door, and that in
the morning he was still to be found on the same spot.

Consequently there were no suspicions in their mind, when the man
accosted them as they left the inn, and offered his services as a
guide. He was about thirty years of age, with nothing in his
appearance to indicate that he was otherwise than honest. Craig and
Fry, however, cautious to the last, inquired whither he wished to guide
them.

"To the Great Wall, of course," said he. "All visitors to Foo-Ning go to
see the Great Wall, and as I know the country well, I thought you
might accept my services to show you the way."

Kin-Fo interposed to inquire whether the country was safe for
traveling. The guide assured him that it was perfectly secure.

"Do you know anything of a certain Lao-Shen hereabouts?" inquired
Kin-Fo.

"O yes, Lao-Shen the Tai-ping," replied the guide, "but there is
nothing to fear from him this side of the Wall; he will not venture to set
foot on Imperial territory; he and his crew are only seen in the
Mongolian Provinces."

"Where was he seen last?" asked Kin-Fo.

"In the neighborhood of the Tchin-Tang-Ho, only a few lis from the
Wall."

"And how far is it from Foo-Ning to the Tchin-Tang-Ho?"

"About fifty lis."

"Very well; I engage you to conduct me to Lao-Shen's camp."

The man started.

"You shall be well paid," Kin-Fo added.

But the guide shook his head; he evidently did not care to pass the
frontier.

"To the Great Wall," he said, "no farther. It would be at the risk of my
life to go beyond."

Kin-Fo offered to pay him any sum that he pleased to demand, till at
last he wrung from the man a reluctant consent to undertake the
business.

Turning to the Americans, Kin-Fo told them that of course they were
free to go or not, as they liked.

"Wherever you go," said Craig.

"We go also," said Fry.

The client of the Centenarian had not yet ceased to be of the value of
200,000 dollars.

The agents appeared to be perfectly well satisfied as to the
trustworthiness of their guide, and to have no apprehension of the
danger which was likely to threaten beyond the great barrier that the
Chinese have erected to defend themselves from the incursions of the
Mongolian hordes. Soun was not consulted as to whether he wished
to accompany the party or not; go he must.

Five camels accordingly were purchased, together with the small
quantity of harness necessary for their equipment. A stock of
provisions and a supply of weapons were also procured, and the party
started under the direction of their guide.

The preparations had consumed so much time, that it was one
o'clock in the afternoon before they were fairly on their road. The
guide, however, made sure of reaching the Great Wall by midnight,
where they would make a temporary camp, and if Kin-Fo still
persisted in his determination, they would cross the frontier on the
morrow.

The country about Foo-Ning was undulated, and the road, upon which
the yellow dust rose in clouds, wound through richly cultivated fields,
a sign that the travelers had not yet quitted the productive territory of
the Chinese Empire.

The camels marched with a slow, measured tread, each carrying its
rider comfortably ensconced between its two great humps. Soun
greatly approved of this mode of traveling, and thought that in this way
he should not object to journey even to the world's end. The heat,
however, was very great, the hot air being refracted from the soil and
producing strange mirages, like vast seas, which vanished almost as
suddenly as they appeared, much to the satisfaction of Soun, to
whom the prospect of another sea voyage opened visions of
unmitigated horror.

No conversation was possible under the circumstances. The guide,
who seemed to be of a taciturn nature, always took the foremost
place, and although the dense masses of dust materially narrowed his
range of vision, he never hesitated which way to follow, even at
crossroads, where there was no sign-post. Craig and Fry, quite
satisfied as to his honesty, were free to direct all their attention to
Kin-Fo. Naturally, as the time grew shorter, their anxiety increased;
now or never was the time to bring them face to face with the foe they
dreaded.

Kin-Fo meanwhile was forgetting all the anxieties of the present and
future in making a retrospect of the past. The unintermitted evil fortune
of the last two months made him feel seriously depressed. From the
day that his correspondent at San Francisco sent him the news of the
loss of all his fortune, had he not passed through a period of ill-luck
that was truly extraordinary? What a contrast between his existence
of late, and the time when he possessed advantages which he had
not the sense to appreciate! Would misfortune terminate with his
regaining possession of the letter? Should he at last have the tender
care of the sweet Le-ou to compensate him for his troubles, and make
him forget the difficulties by which he had been beset? His thoughts
bewildered him, and Wang, the philosopher and friend of his youth,
was no longer present to comfort and advise him.

His reverie was suddenly interrupted by his camel coming so sharply
in contact with that of the guide, that he was nearly thrown to the
ground.

"What are you stopping for?" he asked.

"It is eight o'clock, sir," said the conductor, "and I propose that we
halt and have our supper; we can continue our journey afterward."

"But it will be dark, will it not?" objected Kin-Fo.

"There is no fear that I shall lose my way; the Great Wall is not more
than twenty lis ahead, and we had better give our animals some rest."

Kin-Fo assented to the proposal, and the whole party came to a halt.
There was a small deserted hut by the side of the road, and a little
stream where the camels might be watered. It was not dark, and
Kin-Fo and his companions could see to spread their meal, which
they afterward ate with an excellent appetite.

Conversation did not flow rapidly. Two or three times Kin-Fo tried to
get some information about Lao-Shen, but the guide generally shook
his head, evidently desiring to avoid the subject. He merely repeated
that Lao-Shen himself never came on this side of the Great Wall,
although he added that some of his band occasionally made their
appearance.

"Buddha protect us from the Tai-ping," he concluded.

While the guide was speaking, Craig and Fry were knitting their
brows, looking at their watches, and holding a whispered consultation.
"Why should we not wait here quietly until to-morrow morning?" they
asked presently aloud.

"In this hut!" exclaimed the guide. "Far better to be in the open
country; we shall run much less risk of being surprised."

"It was arranged that we were to be at the Great Wall to-night," said
Kin-Fo, "and at the Great Wall I mean to be."

His tone was such as to brook no contradiction, and the Americans
could not do otherwise than submit. Soun, though half paralyzed with
fear, dared not protest.

It was now nearly nine o'clock; the meal was over, and the guide gave
the signal to start. Kin-Fo prepared to mount his camel; Craig and Fry
followed him. "Are you quite determined, sir, to put yourself into
Lao-Shen's hands?"

"Quite determined," said Kin-Fo; "I will have my letter at any price."

"You are running a great risk," they pleaded, "in going to the
Tai-ping's camp."

"I have come too far to retreat now," said Kin-Fo, with decision; "as I
told you before, you may do as you please about following me."

The guide meantime had lighted a small pocket lantern. The
Americans drew near, and again looked at their watches. "It would be
much more prudent to wait till to-morrow," they again persisted.

"Nonsense!" said Kin-Fo. "Lao-Shen will be just as dangerous
to-morrow or the day after as he is to-day. My decision is unalterable.
Let us be off at once."

The guide had overheard the latter part of the conversation. Once or
twice previously, when Craig and Fry had been trying to dissuade
Kin-Fo from proceeding, an expression of dissatisfaction had passed
over his countenance, and now, when he found them persisting in
their remonstrance, he could not restrain a gesture of annoyance.

The motion did not escape Kin-Fo, and he was still further surprised
when the guide, as he was assisting him to mount his camel,
whispered in his ear, "Beware of those two men."

Kin-Fo was on the point of asking him to explain himself, but the man
put his finger on his lips, gave the signal for starting, and the little
caravan set off on its night journey across the country.

The guide's mysterious speech had aroused an uneasy suspicion in
Kin-Fo's mind; and yet he could not believe that, after two-months'
devoted attention, his two protectors were about to play him false. Yet
why had they tried to dissuade him from paying his visit to the
Tai-ping's camp? Was it not for that very purpose that they had left
Pekin? Was it not to their interest that Kin-Fo should regain
possession of the letter that compromised his life? Truly their conduct
was inexplicable.

Kin-Fo kept to himself all the perplexity which was agitating his mind.
He had taken up his position behind the guide; Craig and Fry followed
him closely, and for a couple of hours the journey was continued in
silence.

It was close upon midnight when the guide stopped and pointed to a
long black line in the north that stood out clearly against the lighter
background of the sky. Behind the line several hill-tops had already
caught the moonlight, although the moon herself was still below the
horizon.

"The Great Wall!" he said.

"Shall we get beyond it to-night?" inquired Kin-Fo.

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"By all means, yes!"

"I must first go and examine the passage," said the guide. "Wait here
till I come back." The camels were brought to a standstill, and the
guide disappeared.

Craig and Fry stepped up to Kin-Fo. "Have you been satisfied with our
services, sir, since we have been commissioned to attend you?" they
inquired in a breath.

"Quite satisfied."

"Then will you be kind enough to sign this paper as a testimonial to
our good conduct during the time you have been under our charge?"

Kin-Fo looked with some surprise at the leaf torn from a notebook that
Craig was holding out to him.

"It is a certificate which we hope to have the pleasure of exhibiting to
our principal," added Fry.

"Here is my back to serve you as a desk," said Craig, suiting the
action to the word, and stooping down.

"And here is a pen and ink with which to sign your name," added Fry.

Kin-Fo smiled, and did as he was requested. "But what is the
meaning of all this ceremony at this time of night?" he asked.

"Because in a very few minutes your interest in the Centenarian
Assurance Office will have expired," said Craig.

"And you may kill yourself, or allow yourself to be killed, just which
you please," said Fry.

Kin-Fo stared with astonishment; the Americans were talking in the
blandest of tones; but he did not at all comprehend their meaning.
Presently the moon began to rise above the eastern horizon.

"There's the moon!" exclaimed Fry.

"To-day, the 30th of June, she rises at midnight" said Craig.

"Your policy has not been renewed," said Fry.

"Therefore you are no longer the client of the Centenarian," added
Craig.

"Good-night, sir," said Fry politely.

"Good-night," echoed Craig, with equal courtesy.

And the two agents, turning their camels' heads in the opposite
direction, disappeared from view, leaving Kin-Fo in speechless
amazement.

The sound of their camels' hoofs had scarcely died away, when a
troop of men, led on by the guide, seized upon Kin-Fo, helpless to
defend himself, and captured Soun, who was rushing away in the
hope of making his escape.

An instant afterward, both master and man were dragged into the low
chamber of one of the deserted bastions of the Great Wall, the door of
which was at once fastened behind them.



Chapter 21
Back To Shang-Hai

The Great Wall of China, constructed by the Emperor
Tin-Chi-Hooang-Ti in the third century, is nearly 1,400 miles long and
extends from its two jetties in the Gulf of Leao-Tong to the province of
Kan-Sou, where it degenerates into very insignificant dimensions. It is
an uninterrupted succession of double ramparts, defended by
bastions fifty feet high and twenty wide; the lower part is of granite,
the upper of bricks, and it boldly follows the outline of the mountain
tops on the Russo-Chinese frontier. On the Chinese side the wall is
now in a very bad condition, but on the side facing Manchuria it is still
well preserved, and its battlements maintained in formidable array.

Neither army nor artillery defends this line of fortification; Russian,
Tartar, Kirghis, as much as the Chinaman, is free to pass its barrier;
and the wall, moreover, fails to protect the Empire from the visitation
of the fine Mongolian dust which the north wind brings down
sometimes as far as the capital.

After passing a miserable night on a heap of straw, Kin-Fo and Soun
were next morning forced to take their way beneath the postern of
these deserted bastions. They were escorted by a band of twelve
men, who no doubt were in Lao-Shen's service. The guide who had
hitherto conducted them had disappeared; it became more and more
plain that it had been design and not chance that had thrown him in
their way; the rascal's hesitation about venturing beyond the Great
Wall was a mere ruse to avert suspicion; and he too beyond a
question had been acting under the orders of the Tai-ping.

"Of course you are taking me to Lao-Shen's camp?" Kin-Fo said to
the leader of the escort.

"We shall be there in little more than an hour," answered the man.

It was a confirmation to Kin-Fo's conjecture, of which he did not stand
in much need; yet it satisfied him. After all, was he not being
conducted to the very place for which he had set out? And was he not
in the way to get the chance of recovering the paper that kept his life
in jeopardy? He maintained his composure perfectly, leaving all
outward exhibition of alarm to poor Soun, whose teeth were chattering
with the most abject fear.

Beyond the wall, the troop did not continue its journey along the great
Mongol road, but diverged at once into a steep pathway to the right
through the mountainous district of the province, the guard so
carefully surrounding their prisoners that any attempt to escape, even
had they been inclined to venture it, would have been out of the
question.

Their advance was as rapid as the steepness of the road would allow,
and in about an hour and a half, on turning the corner of a projecting
eminence, they came in sight of a building in a half-ruined condition; it
was an old bonze-house built upon the brow of a hill, and a curious
monument of Buddhist architecture. It did not seem at all likely that
any worshipers would now be found to frequent a temple in such a
deserted part of the frontier; but it was a situation not badly suited for
a highwayman, and if Lao-Shen had settled there, he had made a
judicious selection for himself.

In reply to a question of Kin-Fo, the leader of the escort told him that
it was Lao-Shen's residence.

"Take me to him at once," said Kin-Fo.

"We have brought you on purpose," answered the man.

Having been deprived of their fire-arms, Kin-Fo and Soun were brought
into a wide vestibule that had formed the atrium of the ancient temple.
Here were about twenty fierce-looking men, all armed and attired in
the picturesque costume of highwaymen. With the utmost calmness,
Kin-Fo passed through the double row they formed on his entrance;
Soun having to be pushed forcibly by his shoulders.

The farther end of the vestibule opened on to a staircase cut in the
solid wall, and leading into the heart of the mountain to a crypt
beneath the temple by windings so complicated that no one
unaccustomed to the place could have found his way.

Lighted by torches carried by the escort, the prisoners were
conducted down thirty steps, then for about a hundred yards along a
narrow passage, until they found themselves in a large hall, which the
additional glare of more torches still left very dim. Massive pillars
carved with grotesque heads of the monsters of Chinese mythology
supported the low arches of the roof, which sprang from their
keystones with spreading moldings.

A low murmur that ran through the hall made Kin-Fo aware that it was
not deserted; so far from that, its recesses were filled with men, as if
the entire confraternity of Tai-pings had been summoned to some
special ceremony.

At the extreme end of the crypt, on a wide stone platform, stood a
man of enormous stature; he bore all the appearance of a president of
some secret tribunal; three or four attendants stood close beside him,
as if acting the part of his assessors, and at a sign from him they
gave orders that the prisoners were to approach.

"Here is Lao-Shen," said the leader, pointing to the gigantic figure on
the platform.

Stepping forward with firm step, Kin-Fo in the most direct manner
entered upon the business that was uppermost in his mind.

"I am Kin-Fo," he began. "Wang has been your old comrade and
confederate. I gave Wang a certain paper with a certain contract.
Wang has transferred that paper to you. I come to tell you that, that
contract is not valid now, and I demand the paper at your hands."

The Tai-ping did not stir a muscle; had he been of bronze he could not
have been more rigid.

"You can demand your own price," continued Kin-Fo, and then waited
for an answer.

But no answer came.

Kin-Fo went on:

"I am ready to give you a draft on any bank you choose. I am
prepared to guarantee its payment to any messenger you send.
Name the sum for which you surrender the contract."

Still no answer.

Kin-Fo repeated his request more emphatically than before.

No answer.

"Five thousand taels, shall I offer?"

Still silence.

"Ten thousand?"

Lao-Shen and all around him were as mute as the statues.

Kin-Fo grew anxious and impatient.

"Do you not hear me?"

Lao-Shen bowed his head gravely.

"I will give you thirty thousand taels. I will give you all you would get
from the Centenarian. I must have the paper. Name, only name the
price."

The Tai-ping stood mute as before.

Wild with excitement Kin-Fo clenched his hands and dashed forward
to the platform.

"What price will you take?"

"Money will not buy that paper," at last said the Tai-ping sternly; "you
have offended Buddha by despising the life that Buddha gave you, and
Buddha will be avenged. Death alone can convince you of the worth of
the gift of life which you have esteemed so lightly."

The voice with which this sentence of decision was uttered prohibited
any reply; and even had Kin-Fo been anxious to say a word in his own
defense, the opportunity was not afforded him. A signal was given,
and he was forthwith seized, carried out, and thrust into a cage, the
door of which was immediately locked. In spite of the most pitiable
howlings, Soun was subjected to the same treatment.

"Ah, well!" said Kin-Fo to himself, when he was left to his solitude, "I
suppose those who despise life deserve to die!"

Yet death was not so near as he imagined. Hours passed on and
execution was delayed; he began to speculate what terrible torture
the Tai-ping might have in store for him. After a while he was
conscious that his cage was being moved, and he felt that it was
being placed upon some vehicle. Evidently he was to be conveyed to
a distance. For nearly eight hours there was the tramp of horses, and
the clatter of weapons carried by an escort, and he was tumbled and
jolted about most unmercifully. Then came a halt. Shortly afterward
the cage was removed to another conveyance; it was not long before
it began rolling and pitching; there was the noise, too, of a screw, and
the ill-fated tenant was aware that he was on board a steamer.

"Are they going to throw me overboard?" he wondered; "well, it will be
a mercy if they spare me any worse torture!"

Forty-eight hours elapsed. Twice a day a little food was introduced
into the cage by a trap-door, but he never could see the hand that
brought it, and never could get a reply to the question that he asked.

He had plenty of time to think now. He had been years and years and
felt no emotion; surely he was not destined to die without emotion; he
had, had enough and more than enough during the last few weeks; he
must die now, but he had the intensest longing to die in the light of
day; he shuddered at the prospect of being cast unawares into the
deep sea; oh, that he could live, if it were only to see once more his
beloved Le-ou! To see her no more; the thought was terrible!

The voyage came to an end; he was yet alive; but surely his last
moments must have come; here was the crisis; every minute was a
year--, a hundred years!

To his unbounded surprise, he felt his cage carried along and
deposited upon terra firma; he heard a commotion outside, and in a
few minutes the door was opened; he was seized, and a bandage
fastened tightly over his eyes, and he was pushed violently along.
Finding after a time that the steps of the men who were driving him
along began to hesitate, he concluded that they had arrived at the
scene of his execution, and shouted out--,

"Hear my last petition. I have but one request; unbandage my eyes;
let me see the daylight; let me die as a man that can face death!"

"Grant the criminal the boon he asks," said a solemn voice, severely,
in his ears; "let the bandage be untied."

The bandage was removed.

Kin-Fo quivered with amazement. Was he dreaming? What was the
meaning of all this?

Before him was a table sumptuously spread. Five guests were
smiling, as if they were expecting his arrival. Two seats were still
unoccupied.

"Friends, friends!" he cried in the bewilderment of his excitement; "tell
me, am I mad?"

A few moments restored him to composure, and he looked around;
there was no mistake; before his eyes were Wang and the four friends
of his early youth, Yin-Pang, Hooal, Pao-Shen, and Tim, with whom
just two months previously he had feasted in the cabin of the yacht on
the Pearl River at Canton. Here he was in the dining-room of his own
yamen at Shang-Hai.

"Speak, Wang, and tell me," he cried, "what means all this? Is it you
or your ghost?"

"It is Wang himself," replied the philosopher smiling.

Kin-Fo looked puzzled. Wang then went on, "You have come home
again after a rough lesson. You owe that lesson to me. It has been
my doing that you have had so much to bear. But it has been for your
good, and you must forgive me."

More perplexed than ever, Kin-Fo looked at him, but said nothing.

"All," proceeded Wang, "is soon explained. I undertook, at your
solicitation, the task of putting you to death, just in order that the
commission should not be given to other hands. I knew sooner than
even you did, that the report about your ruin and the loss of your
property was all false; and I knew, in consequence, that though you
then wanted to die, you would very soon want to live. I have made my
former comrade, Lao-Shen, my confidant. Lao-Shen is now one of the
most faithful of the friends of the government; he has long since
submitted to established rule; but in this affair he has cooperated with
me; and your own experience of the last few days tells you how: he
has brought you face to face with death, and thus has taught you the
lesson I determined you should learn of the value of life. My heart bled
for you at the trouble and the suffering you had to endure; it was a
hard and bitter thing to me to abandon you to what you would have to
undergo; but I knew there was no other, no easier way in which you
could be made successful in the pursuit of happiness."

Wang could say no more. Kin-Fo had caught him in his arms, and
was pressing him to his heart.

"Poor Wang!" he said, "what pain you have suffered on my account!
And besides, what risks you have run! I shall never forget that day at
the Bridge of Palikao."

The philosopher laughed, almost merrily.

"Yes; it was a cold bath for any one; but for a man of fifty-five, in a
burning sweat after a long chase, it was rather a trial both for his
years and for his philosophy. But never mind, no harm came of it. A
man never moves so quickly as when he is doing good for others."

"For others," repeated Kin-Fo; "yes, I do not doubt it; the true secret
of happiness is to be working for the good of others."

The conversation, which was becoming grave, was interrupted by the
introduction of Soun. The poor fellow was looking as miserable as
might be expected after a sea-voyage of nearly two days; it would be
difficult to describe exactly the hue of his complexion, but he
expressed himself unboundedly glad to find himself in his master's
home again.

After releasing Wang from his embrace, Kin-Fo went round and
affectionately shook hands with each one of the guests.

"What a fool I have been all my life!" he said.

"But you are going to be a perfect sage henceforth," replied Wang.

"My first act of wisdom, then," Kin-Fo began, "must be to set my
affairs in order. I shall not be content until I have that little document
again in my possession which has been the cause of all my
tribulations. If Lao-Shen is in possession of it, he must give it up, in
case it should fall into unscrupulous hands."

There was a general smile.

"Our friend's adventures," said Wang, "have most undoubtedly
wrought a change in his character; he is no longer the indifferent
mortal he was."

"But you do not tell me," persisted Kin-Fo, "where that written
contract is; nothing can satisfy me till I have seen it burnt, and its
ashes scattered to the winds."

"You seem in earnest," said Wang.

"Most seriously," replied Kin-Fo; but where is the paper? Has
Lao-Shen given it back?

"Lao-Shen never had it."

"Then you have it yourself; you will not refuse to restore it to me? I
suppose you do not want to retain it as a guarantee against a
repetition of my folly."

"Certainly not," said Wang; "but it is not in my possession; still more,
it is not at my disposal."

"What!" cried Kin-Fo; "you do not mean that you have been imprudent
enough to intrust it to other hands?"

"I confess I have parted with it,"Wang replied.

"How? Why? When? To whom?" exclaimed Kin-Fo in his impatience.

"I gave it up--" continued Wang calmly.

"To whom? Tell me," interrupted Kin-Fo.

"You do not give me time to tell you; I gave it up to one who is willing
to restore it to you?"

And almost before he had finished speaking, Le-ou stood in front of
him, holding the paper in her delicate fingers. Concealed behind a
curtain, she had heard all that passed, and delayed no longer to
come forward.

"Le-ou!" cried Kin-Fo, and was hastening to clasp her to his bosom.

But she drew back, as if she were going to retreat as mysteriously as
she had appeared.

"Patience, patience!" she said, "business before pleasure; does my
brother know and acknowledge his own handwriting?"

"Too well," he answered; "there is not the second fool in the world
who ever would have written it."

"Is that your real opinion?" she asked.

"My real opinion," said Kin-Fo.

"Then you may burn the paper," said Le-ou; "and therewith annihilate
the man who wrote it."

With the most beaming of smiles she handed him the paper which so
long had been the torture of his life; he held it to a candle, not
removing his eyes from it until it was consumed.

Then turning to his promised bride, he pressed her lovingly to his
bosom.

"And now," he said, "you will come and preside at our reunion here. I
feel as if I can do justice to the feast."

"And so do we," rejoined the guests.

A few days later and the term of the court-mourning had expired. With
even greater lavishness than before the ceremony was arranged, and
the marriage took place immediately.

The affection of the loving couple was unalterable; prosperity awaited
them throughout their future life; and only by a visit to the yamen in
Shang-Hai could the measure of their mutual happiness be realized.

The End