The Stone Dragon

by Peter Watt

  Tung was indeed retracing his path south to Cairns. His leg throbbed with pain and Tung feared that it might send him lame. He had made a walking stick from a tree branch and plodded through thickets of giant, green trees that bordered the meandering trail that he followed. He knew that he was going against all his training as a warrior to follow a road but his injury forced him to make up ground this way.

  Tung knew that he must rest and check the bandage he had improvised from a torn piece of his shirt. He slumped to the earth beside the trail and carefully peeled back the blood-soaked bandage. The wound had stopped bleeding but the area around the puncture was swelling an angry red.

  Tung took a deep breath to focus his thoughts. He gazed at the landscape around him and wondered at its beauty. Butterflies and birds filled the air while beautiful flowers he had never seen before added a dash of colour to the forest. For a moment he thought about his life. He did not like the killing but from his youth he had proved very capable of taking another’s life. Denied the tender touch of a woman, his energy had been funnelled into countless hours of martial arts training and philosophical studies to achieve his role as a Shaolin priest. His mother had been forced to give him up when her husband had died in an accident and it had been her brother, a young Moslem soldier in the pay of the Imperial court, who had opted to place his nephew in the care of priests at a Shaolin temple. The young boy stood out from his contemporaries and found himself selected for the most rigorous of academic and martial learning. Tung had also learned the English language and this had opened a door to the knowledge of the Europeans who arrogantly occupied his country. It had been his choice to leave the priesthood to seek service with the Emperor.

  But now the Emperor was a helpless prisoner of his ruthless aunt, the Empress, and the opportunity of modernising the nation and uniting it as one country had died with the Emperor’s imprisonment. That had left Tung with only one other choice in his lifelong crusade to free China and the money he carried assured a supply of weapons to match the European powers in the coming rebellion. Tung was acutely aware that the very future of China lay in the canvas bag strapped to his body. No matter what it cost him personally, he knew that he must get the money back to China by any means his fertile mind could envisage.

  A huge, blue-winged butterfly settled on a flower not far from where Tung rested. He wondered on the inane nature of mankind; why did famine, pestilence and war have to exist alongside such beauty in his own country?

  With the help of his walking stick, Tung rose painfully to his feet. It was then that he heard the distant but distinct sound of horses’ hooves. As he had not met anyone on his journey to the bark hut – nor on his way back – he could only conclude one thing: the enemies that were hunting him were closing in.

  ‘Not far from here,’ Billy said, peering at the earth.

  Ogden shifted in his saddle and gazed into the shadows of the rainforest along the winding track. ‘He bin sit down here and use walking stick,’ Billy continued. ‘He go that way,’ the tracker said, pointing south.

  ‘Better arm yourself,’ Ogden said, slipping the carbine from its bucket by the saddle. Billy slipped the police issue revolver that Ogden had allowed him to continue carrying from his belt. With Ogden astride his horse and Billy on foot leading his horse, they continued to track the man. Suddenly Billy stopped and for a brief moment glanced either side of the track in confusion. Ogden was quick to notice the puzzlement on his trusted tracker’s face.

  ‘What, Billy?’ he whispered. Billy’s expression suddenly changed from puzzlement to alarm. He was about to tell his boss that the man they hunted had doubled back on them.

  Tung sprang his ambush, leaping from a heavy branch just off the side of the track and falling on the mounted policeman, dragging him out of his saddle. They both fell heavily to the ground but Tung was on his feet before Ogden could recover from the shock of the unexpected attack.

  Billy had brought the barrel of his pistol up and snapped off an un-aimed shot but Tung had suddenly disappeared from the line of fire in a blurring movement, to land on his feet beside the carbine. Billy swore and swivelled to snap off another shot.

  ‘Do not shoot,’ the Chinese man cried out, and Billy was aware that he had the rifle up to his shoulder pointed at him. The Aboriginal tracker froze, knowing the result of a heavy carbine bullet wound. ‘Put your gun down,’ Tung commanded.

  Ogden clumsily rose to his feet, having realised that the commands were in English. Billy carefully placed the pistol on the ground.

  ‘You heathen bastard,’ Ogden swore. ‘You will swing for this.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Tung said. ‘Do what I say and I will not kill either of you. You will take the chains you have and chain yourself to a tree.’

  ‘What!’ Ogden exclaimed. ‘You don’t give me orders.’

  ‘Chain yourself and the black man to the tree here,’ Tung reiterated.

  Ogden could see in the Chinese man’s dark eyes a menace that backed his words. The policeman retrieved the shackles from his saddlebag and under the threat of the carbine secured himself, and Billy, opposite each other, around the trunk of a tree at the side of the track.

  Tung went through the saddlebags and, satisfied that there was nothing to threaten him, dropped the bags by the policeman glaring up at him. ‘There is food and water and I will tell someone where you are,’ Tung said, hurling the rifle into the trees nearby. ‘You will not come to harm.’

  With that, Tung retrieved his walking stick and hobbled away, leaving the police mounts to graze contentedly by the chained men.

  Ogden stared at the back of the man who had so easily ambushed him and then back at Billy sitting forlornly opposite. A mere Chinee had bettered him, a member of a superior race. ‘You tell anyone how the Celestial bushwhacked us, and I will feed you to the crocs myself,’ he growled.

  Billy knew that he meant it.

  All had been put in order with Wong & Co. John had secured passage for himself and his son on a cargo ship steaming for Hong Kong and then on to China. Meanwhile Andrew had put together a good supply of medical equipment. Although he was not yet a qualified doctor he had learned enough to be able to apply what knowledge and skills he had in emergencies.

  They were scheduled to leave from Trinity Bay on the morning tide and spent the evening at the depot sharing a meal of corned meat with cabbage and boiled potatoes. Between them was a bottle of John’s finest rum and Andrew hoped that a few tots of the fiery liquor might relax his father. The tension had been building over the days with his father’s impatience to travel to China after reading the newspaper reports coming out of the troubled country.

  They ate in relative silence, each man engrossed in his own private thoughts. Suddenly John pushed himself away from the table, reaching for the Colt revolver that lay a few paces away on his camp stretcher. Startled, Andrew froze between mouthfuls of his meal, to stare at his father who gestured him to remain silent.

  ‘Come on out,’ John ordered, pointing the pistol into the dark shadows.

  A figure emerged, hobbling on a stick. John lowered the pistol and Andrew sprang to his feet. ‘Tung!’ he exclaimed. ‘What in the hell are you doing here?’

  As Tung hobbled forward on the stick, both men could see pain etched in his face. When he reached them he tried to raise a smile but it turned into a grimace.

  Andrew saw the bloody bandage around Tung’s leg, just beneath the knee. ‘Sit down and let me have a look at that,’ he said, still holding his knife and fork.

  Tung obeyed and John put his pistol back on the camp stretcher. ‘Thought you might have been someone up to no good,’ he grunted. ‘But, come to think of it, your appearance here bodes no good anyway.’

  Andrew unwrapped the improvised bandage to reveal a swollen wound festering with infection. His medical kit would now be used on his first unofficial patient.

  ‘We have to take him with us,’ Andrew pleaded as Tung slept fitfully a short distance away. ‘He
has all the money back and from what he has told us, he is a dead man if he falls into Ogden’s hands.’

  John slumped into his chair at the table and rubbed his face in his exasperation. ‘Son, to do so is to put us on the wrong side of the law,’ he said. ‘No doubt, the first place Ogden will come looking for Tung will be here. I know Ogden has informants in the Chinese community. They are frightened of him and will betray Tung for nothing more than to get rid of the police.’

  ‘All the more reason that we smuggle Tung with us,’ Andrew said, sitting down opposite his father and leaning forward on the table.

  ‘Smuggle?’ John asked. ‘How in hell do we smuggle a fully grown man aboard a ship?’

  Andrew glanced over at the sleeping Tung. ‘We could make a false bottom in my medical supply chest!’ he exclaimed. ‘We fit Tung in and take him aboard.’

  John frowned but saw the merit of his son’s plan. He wanted nothing to do with the man, whom he sensed was trouble, but he also knew that his son had taken on some kind of responsibility for him. To disagree with Andrew would only cause his son to go ahead with a plan that might put him in Ogden’s hands, John considered. He would feel better if he could keep control of the situation.

  ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘We get to work on your Trojan horse right away.’

  An expression of happiness flared in his son’s face. ‘Thank you, Father,’ Andrew said, rising to his feet with an impulse to hug the broad-shouldered man. But such an expression of love was not befitting a young man, and he simply thrust out his hand to grasp that of his father.

  The following day a horse-drawn dray carried their baggage to the wharf. Tung lay hidden, curled up under a tray of medical supplies. It had been a tight fit but he had displayed a remarkable gymnastic ability to squeeze into the small space provided. As soon as they were out of Queensland waters and safe from the law John planned to pay for Tung. He would travel as a fellow passenger with them the rest of the way to China.

  Late May – Early June 1900

  Pekin and the

  Western Hills

  Naomi’s room above the Pekin office of Wong & Co was not as spacious as her home in Townsville. But it did offer a view of the busy, narrow street below and privacy in a crowded city. Behind the office in a sprawling residence with a small courtyard lived Mr Soo Chow and his large family. Off the courtyard in a tiny room lived Raj, who also doubled as the security guard over the valuable goods stored in the shop.

  At first, Naomi had found the smells, sounds and sights of the older quarter as alien to her as living on the moon. She had often regretted her decision to travel to China but after a couple of months the city became as familiar to her as her previous home. Her Chinese had improved considerably and because of that fluency she found herself very much at home haggling with traders and gossiping with the Chinese families living either side of the shop. Her links with Australia had allowed her an introduction into the European world of the legations only a half mile from where she lived and so she had been able to visit with the friends she had made in the British quarter to remind her of her roots in a European-settled country. Naomi was content to live between two worlds but had to admit to herself that she missed her father very much. There had been times when she considered taking passage back to Queensland just to feel his strong arms around her and smell the scent of tobacco that seemed always to surround him. She would remind herself that to give in to such yearnings might be interpreted by her father as her being a weak woman and so she was determined to wait one more year before returning.

  Then there was Lieutenant Robert Mumford. Naomi lay on her bed and found her thoughts drifting to him. She knew that he would be in Tientsin by now and wished that she had gone with him. If she had made an excuse to visit Tientsin, Robert would not have objected to her accompanying him. Her consolation was that he would soon be returning and Naomi was determined to allow her deeper feelings to then show themselves. At the same time she was frightened. What if he did not feel the same way?

  So attuned had the young woman become to her adopted environment that she was shaken from her thoughts about Robert by a subtle shift in the noise coming from the street below her window. Naomi rose from the bed, straightened her dress and went to the window. It was mid-afternoon and she was surprised to see how few people jostled each other for space. In fact, the street was almost deserted of the usual vendors and rickshaws.

  Behind her she could hear the sound of footsteps on the wooden staircase to her room. ‘Miss Wong!’ the voice called from behind her closed door. ‘Miss Wong!’

  Naomi recognised the voice of her father’s Pekin agent, Soo Chow, and also heard the breathless urgency in his voice.

  Naomi left the window to open the door to the baldheaded man in his early forties. He wore a pair of cotton pants and a shirt covered in sweat and he puffed with the exertion of running up the narrow stairs.

  ‘Mr Soo,’ Naomi said. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  Soo Chow stood in the doorway, not attempting to enter. ‘You must go with Raj to the British in the legation,’ he gasped, regaining his breath. ‘There is big trouble in the city. The Boxers are killing Christians. I think that they may have targeted you.’

  ‘Why would I be a target?’ Naomi frowned. ‘I am a British citizen. They would not dare harm a British citizen.’

  ‘I do not think they care if you are British,’ Soo answered. ‘I think that they are killing all foreigners and they may kill me and my family too. We have been identified as collaborating with foreigners.’

  It was then that Naomi heard the sudden change in the noises outside on the street and felt fear. The eerie silence was replaced by a chanting that was growing ever louder. Worst of all she recognised the words being chanted. ‘Sha! Sha!’

  Her fear turned to terror. It was as if the voice of a giant was calling for her death and those of the family she lived with. But even in her panic she was quickly formulating a plan. ‘Fetch Raj,’ she said. ‘Tell him to arm himself and we will make our way out the back and through the neighbouring houses. You gather your family together. Leave everything. We must move quickly.’

  Soo nodded and fled down the staircase to herd his wife and five children together. His children ranged in age from a babe in arms to the eldest son, aged eight.

  Naomi had hardly turned her back on the door when the giant Sikh bodyguard bounded up the stairs, passing Soo on the way down, and met her at the door. He had also heard the chanting and his years of living with danger as a soldier on the North-West Frontier caused him to spring into action.

  He gripped Naomi’s arm and yanked her from the room. ‘Leave everything, Miss Wong,’ he commanded. ‘There is not time if we are to get away from here.’

  Naomi felt some of the fear evaporate in the presence of her bodyguard. In his hand he held a big revolver and at his side swung his sword. He was a fearsome sight and Naomi knew it would take a brave or foolish man to attempt to impede their flight.

  Following Raj downstairs they were met by Soo and his frightened family, all staring wide-eyed at them. Naomi could see the plea in Soo’s eyes for her protection and she was suddenly aware of her responsibility as John Wong’s daughter to protect his employees. The children clung to their parents, confused by the fear they could sense in the adults.

  ‘Through the back,’ Raj urged and the family fell into a single file following him. They passed through a wooden gate that separated the house behind from theirs and passed through its small garden. The next exit was similar and before long Raj led them to a lane that was deserted. On either side of the lane, doors were closed, the occupants inside no doubt praying that the trouble sweeping through the streets and lanes of the old city would pass them by.

  Naomi breathed more easily when she could see that their escape towards the foreign legation quarter was unimpeded. All going well, they would be inside the safety of the legation’s formidable stone walls within minutes. But her relief suddenly turned to the gut-w
renching terror. A dozen uniformed Boxers wearing red sashes spilled into the narrow roadway from a side street to block their escape. Raj stopped to confront the men wielding swords, spears and muskets.

  He only had six shots and there were more than six enemy ahead. He raised his pistol and at the same time drew his old army sabre.

  Naomi glanced over her shoulder, seeking another avenue of escape. She felt ill. Boxers were spilling into the lane behind them. They were hopelessly trapped.

  As the Boxers broke into a sprint towards the trapped party Raj fired. He knew the Boxers believed that they were impervious to bullets but it must have been a couple whose faith was weak that fell to his pistol. Undeterred by his gunfire, the remaining rebels fell on Raj, slashing with swords and jabbing with spears. He parried as best he could, taking a step to the rear to back up against a wall in the alley. Sweat streamed down his face as he roared his defiance at the overwhelming odds stacked against him.

  Naomi turned to see a second group advancing at a sprint at them. Before she could shout a warning the redjacketed Boxers fell on her. The last thing she was aware of was seeing Mr Soo and his family being hacked to death. Their pitiful screams echoed in her consciousness before her world went dark after experiencing an explosive pain in her head from the shaft of a spear-wielding rebel. As she drifted into oblivion Naomi felt a great anguish for the fate of the Soo family yet, had she known what was to befall her, at that moment she would have chosen to follow them in death.

  A lead musket ball from one of the few ancient guns carried by the Boxers struck Raj in the face, shattering bones and mincing flesh. He cried out as a spear point took him in the throat.

  The courageous bodyguard died ringed by the bodies of the men he had felled with his sword. But his death had been in vain for the woman whom he had sworn to protect and the family she felt responsible for.

  The last thing Naomi remembered was that she and Mr Soo’s family had been attempting to flee to the safety of the legation compound. Her eyes were open and as she was conscious of her surroundings she became aware that her head throbbed and that her hands were bound behind her. First, she was assailed by the stench of decomposition and then the hum of voices. The hum became a quiet sobbing and Naomi struggled to sit up. Focusing on her surroundings she realised that she was in the enclosed yard of a wealthy Chinese family’s home. But now the family members all lay around her as bloated bodies rotting under a searing summer sun. The crying she heard came from five other very young Chinese girls similarly bound to herself and, to Naomi’s horror, they were naked and bearing the marks of brutal treatment.