Part 20 (1/2)

We presently reached a river which I learned was called Pilu (or Pihliu), and proceeded to a small village where we got some food, which I did not relish, but had to eat in order to keep up my character. We learned that the invaders were expected, and that it would be better for us to keep away to the north-west, else we might get into trouble.

We therefore a.s.sented, and pa.s.sed on for a while, intending to change our route as soon as possible, but fate had ordained otherwise. My companion had intended to proceed in the direction of Putsewo, and then strike westward again, marching by a compa.s.s and map which I had secured in my tunic, but when we took the advice of the well-meaning villagers we left our former direction, and when again essaying to recover our route we came to grief. For a long time we wandered amidst the hills and rough country seeking a track, but finding nothing promising, until almost suddenly we descended a hillside and found ourselves near a rather substantial village, from which there was no escape without questioning from the natives.

Hoko quickly gave me to understand that I was his brother, that we were South Chinamen seeking a s.h.i.+p at Port Arthur, and that we had been north and intended to return to Chefoo.[1] We had rehea.r.s.ed this little play before, and my South-China lingo was supposed sufficient to deceive the Mongolians. If necessary, my guide informed me, a little ”geomaney,” or ”wind and weather” fortune-telling, would keep suspicion at bay. So, primed with a few simple maxims, I braced myself for the encounter.

[1] Chefoo or Chifu.--H.F.

The natives were decidedly of the race of Didymus. They did not credit half our a.s.surance, and we--at least I--wished we had more of it.

Certainly the interpreter remained as cool as possible, and his calm method of lying would have discredited Ananias of old, and deceived St.

Peter himself. I give my impressions of the examination to which the interpreter was subjected.

”Your name?” demanded the chief of the villagers.

”Ho-wuh-Chang.”

”Where do you come from?”

”Panchw.a.n.g, in the province of Fuhkien.”

”Where have you been?”

”At Takushan.”

”Whither bound?

”Chefoo and Shanghai.”

”Who is this man?”

Here the interpreter made a pretence of great reverence and respect, as he answered--

”My all-enlightened brother of _Tau_.”

This reply drew attention to me, for Tau is the ”priest” of Chinese theosophy or magic art, and is accordingly respected, for every Chinaman fears Tau, the more so as he has no idea what it is, any more than its votary. Tau is ”The Right”: what one cannot see, nor hear, nor seize. It is a kind of ”_Feng Shui_” in its essence, and Tau is the true Reason for all things in the universe, the Great Primitive Cause in the world, not a religious dogma.

The Tauist, then, becomes by inheritance, or profession, a kind of priest, a miracle-man, supposed to be versed in ancient lore, able to tell fortunes, and decide social questions with authority as regards the work and operations of nature, and ”Feng Shui”--the effects of wind and weather. Superst.i.tious as the Chinese are, these attributes confer great authority upon the adherents and practice of the Tauists. Hence, if I was not found out, my companion concluded we should escape.

Unfortunately one of the villagers perceived the accent of the j.a.panese interpreter, and declared him a Corean! This at once gave cause of mischief, and my companion was searched, his small knapsack, or pack, was turned upside down, and all the while a rush of epithets a.s.sailed us both. I carried no pack, but had the compa.s.s and map and revolver in my possession. If the suspicious and antagonistic villagers had found those articles our fates would have been sealed, and a cruel death must have ensued.

While the natives were thus examining the j.a.panese, I was not molested, though several glances were directed at me, and some remarks made--which I did not notice. All the time I was endeavouring to discover some means whereby I could satisfy, if I could not alarm, the villagers, but for a while no idea appeared to my mind feasible. The pack had been examined, the j.a.p had been interrogated freely and rudely, and now my turn was approaching. Fortunately the villagers had been informed that I did not wish to be disturbed, but they had evident intentions of finding things out for themselves!

Luckily, I possessed one of the attributes of the Tauists, perhaps quite as sincere as theirs--the knowledge and antic.i.p.ation of the ordinary phases of weather. The morning had been misty and almost frosty, and a change of wind, I noticed, had been causing a fog to arise. Hitherto it had been almost imperceptible even in the hills, the vale was clear; but while looking about me I noticed the vapour gradually creeping down the slopes behind the men who barred our way.

My plan was quickly matured: the mist would serve us well. I remembered Fennimore Cooper, and the eclipse as adapted by Haggard in _Solomon's Mines_, and hoped for success.

I calmly approached my companion, and managed to give him a hint, in French, that he was to make me out a necromancer; thus I intended to play upon the fears of the natives, and he must back me up. Meantime, if we were attacked, I would shoot as many of the a.s.sailants as I could. My suggestions and gestures were understood, and when the natives advanced to search me, demanding some explanation, the interpreter motioned them to stand aside. He told them to be careful.

I was a necromancer--one who had the weather ”in the palm of his hand”; was related to the _genii_, and if I (and he) were interrupted further, and our peaceful progress barred, the immediate consequences would be serious, and the future disastrous for the village. Their graves would suffer, their families die; and I could change them themselves into stocks and stones, and cause them to disappear from the village. In fact, I could transform them! When once the j.a.panese Ananias had fully embarked upon the marvellous, his imagination carried him away more completely than ever the villagers could be. If we were properly treated, he added, money might be showered upon them!

While the interpreter was thus hoodwinking the villagers, one or two of whom seemed sceptical, I bethought me of a simple trick which I had practised in ”parlour magic” at home. If the fog did not serve my purpose I could convince the natives, so I beckoned to the chief sceptic, and taking a piece of money from my wallet, which contained little of value, I placed the coin in his palm, pressing it firmly into the hand and closing the fingers. He looked pleased, and retired, keeping his fingers closely shut as directed; my ”a.s.sistant” hinted if the man were unfriendly his coin would disappear, at which the villager called up a smile or grimace as a protest, evidently hypocritical, and his a.s.sociates also watched him.