The Stone Dragon

by Peter Watt

  ‘She has no choice,’ Tung said bluntly. ‘She is a woman and does what she is told.’

  As the exchange between Tung and John was in English, Liling had not understood. But when Andrew explained in her own language that she would be required to continue upriver and be paid extra she did not mind. This was a grand adventure in the company of a young man she felt herself attracted to although she was realistic enough to understand the gulf that divided them. Liling thrust the pole into the muddy riverbed to propel them past Tientsin and deeper into the heart of China.

  The tall stands of reeds at the water’s edge were as still as the air around them and a fine mist hovered over the oily surface. The previous evening they had come ashore in a place Tung remembered was relatively scarce of people and set up camp. A small fire had been lit and a meal of boiled rice flavoured with fish was consumed.

  John was dreaming about a large and juicy steak served up on a plate with fried eggs and potatoes. Despite his Asian ancestry he had never really acquired a taste for rice and fish and he missed the aroma of meat sizzling over a fire.

  ‘Father,’ a voice called and reluctantly John left his dreams behind and emerged into reality.

  ‘Father,’ Andrew said, shaking his father’s shoulder. ‘Tung has gone.’

  John was now wide awake, silently cursing himself for being less vigilant. There was a time when his fine-honed instincts would have warned him but he knew he was getting older and less alert to the world around him.

  ‘You sure?’ he asked his son, rubbing sleep from his eyes to see a red ball creeping over the horizon of deserted paddy fields. ‘He has not gone for a call of nature?’

  ‘I have been awake for the last ten minutes and have seen no sign of him,’ Andrew replied, squatting by the embers of the dead fire. ‘Nor has Liling. It seems that Tung also took my money with him,’ Andrew added gloomily.

  John was on his feet, scanning the surrounding countryside. All he could see in the far distance was what appeared to be a farmer leading an emaciated water buffalo along a dusty, well-trod track. Overhead, the cloudless sky was a pale blue promising another searing day of heat. Only the sluggishly flowing river nearby held any promise of coolness in the drought-racked land.

  ‘I would not have picked him for a thief. Maybe he has gone to join his comrades,’ John said, squatting to poke at the grey embers of the campfire with a stick. ‘Whatever he has done we will not be waiting for him. We eat and move on.’

  Using their fingers they ate a breakfast of cold, gluey rice from bowls. Liling excused herself for a call of nature. When she was out of sight John turned to his son. ‘You appear to be very captivated by the young lady,’ he said. ‘Just something an old man observes.’

  Andrew ducked his head, avoiding his father’s stare. ‘She is very attractive but I know we are worlds apart,’ he replied.

  ‘You realise that when we find your sister we will be returning to Queensland and you will be going back to your medical studies.’

  Andrew nodded. He had not thought about Liling in any light other than a young man’s desire to explore the forbidden with a beautiful young woman.

  When Liling rejoined them they cast off and John took over rowing the sampan upriver. Silence prevailed as the sampan glided past riverbanks devoid of the usual signs of habitation and industry. Now and then another sampan or river junk would pass them going downstream but they avoided contact.

  Around mid-morning, when the sun was a blazing ball overhead, Andrew’s attention was drawn to a tiny figure gesticulating to them from the shore some fifty yards away.

  ‘Father,’ Andrew called from the bow to John at the stern. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing through the heat haze shimmering along the riverbank.

  John looked in the direction his son had indicated and could see the figure waving his arms over his head. He shaded his eyes and peered as well as he could. ‘Tung!’ he exclaimed. ‘What in hell is he up to?’

  ‘Over here,’ faintly drifted to the boat. ‘Over here!’

  ‘It is Tung,’ Andrew confirmed. ‘He seems to be calling to us.’

  ‘I know,’ John snorted, wiping his sweating brow with the back of his sleeve. ‘I wonder what the thieving bastard wants? Maybe we should leave him.’

  ‘I think we should pull ashore and see what he is up to,’ Andrew replied. ‘I am sure that he has a reasonable explanation for taking the money.’

  Andrew’s comment convinced John to pole ashore as he too had wondered why a man carrying a fortune would need to steal from them.

  Upon reaching the shore Tung did not wait for them to beach the boat but leaped in, carrying a small bundle wrapped in dirty cotton cloth.

  ‘Hope you have come back to return the money you took,’ John snapped.

  ‘No, but I used it to buy this for you,’ Tung replied, opening the bundle to reveal a revolver and spare rounds of ammunition. ‘I am surprised that you did not trust me. If I had intended to harm you I would have done so when we camped downriver with the Boxers.’

  ‘You could have told me what you were up to,’ John said, gazing at the revolver he recognised as a French army issue Chamelot Delvigne from his days as a soldier of fortune in French-controlled Cochin China. He had liked the gun; they had a good feel in the hand.

  ‘You were all asleep and it was not far to a house I knew of,’ Tung replied, handing the gun and ammunition to John. ‘I thought I would be back before you had eaten. Your lack of trust in me causes me great shame.’

  ‘I apologise for not trusting you,’ John said gruffly. ‘I appreciate the effort you must have gone to.’

  ‘It once belonged to a French missionary,’ Tung said. ‘It was stolen and fell into the hands of a man I know here who deals in such expensive merchandise. Needless to say it did not come cheap. The gun is a necessity in these bandit lands.’

  John slipped the chamber sideways and checked the load. It was good to be once again armed in this dangerous territory. ‘Time we kept moving,’ he said, placing the spare rounds of ammunition back in the cloth and securing it inside his trousers. At the same time he noticed a look of reproval from Andrew, whose sympathies seemed increasingly to be with Tung.

  Fires lit the night sky over Tungchow city.

  ‘It is the same everywhere,’ John said, balancing himself on the deck of the sampan to gaze at the horizon. ‘It does not bode well for Pekin, considering the city is only about ten miles to the west.’

  ‘We will have to make our way across land from here,’ Tung said. ‘It will be dangerous. We no longer require the woman’s services so she can be paid off to return to her family.’

  ‘I wonder if that would be wise,’ Andrew spoke up, ‘considering the distance she has to travel back through areas we know are now under the guns of either the Imperial army or the rebels. I think that she should remain with us until the situation calms down a bit.’

  Both Tung and John looked to Andrew, who was sitting near the stern with Liling.

  ‘We don’t need an extra person with us,’ his father said. ‘It is going to be dangerous enough for the three of us getting from Tungchow to Pekin. Liling would be better off taking her chances travelling home.’

  Andrew rose. ‘I disagree,’ he said. ‘I think that we owe her for getting us out of that trouble with the Chinese army. I think she should come with us.’

  John could hear the determined edge in his son’s voice. His son’s attraction to Liling was clearly a big factor in Andrew’s concern for her safety. But he also had to admit the girl was intelligent and had travelled with them without complaining of the dangers.

  ‘The girl returns to her family,’ Tung said bluntly. ‘That was the contract I made with her father.’

  ‘Maybe we should let the girl decide,’ John said, turning to Liling and breaking into his bad Chinese to ask her what she would decide.

  Liling looked to Andrew, then back to John. ‘I would like to go with you to Pekin,’ she said. ‘I would feel
safer.’

  ‘Stupid woman,’ Tung muttered. ‘She does not know the dangers ahead.’

  ‘It has all been dangerous,’ Andrew said defensively. ‘And she has proved her worth.’

  Tung shrugged and turned his back to gaze across the river at the burning city. The girl was of no consequence to him and was free to die with them if she chose so. They would go ashore at night and attempt to bypass the city to reach the other side. Then, by following the main road out of the burning city, they would be guided into Pekin and his mission to deliver the money would be over.

  ‘We should put ashore and use the night to avoid any rebels or Imperial troops,’ Tung said.

  John agreed. The sampan was guided to the riverbank and all the supplies that they would need taken from the boat. John felt elated knowing that he was probably only a night’s forced march from his daughter and by morning he hoped to see the city walls of the ancient Chinese capital.

  Early to Mid June 1900

  Pekin

  Despite his reassurances that the Boxer unrest would soon dissipate, Sir Claude MacDonald travelled outside the city intending to return with his two young daughters in the first week of the northern summer. He had previously called on the Imperial Chinese officials to protest the murder of two missionaries but was met with a hostile and insolent reception. He was informed that an edict issued by the Empress dowager’s court had absolved the Boxer movement from any involvement in the current troubles and even went further to say that the troubles were caused by unruly elements in the Chinese Christian community. Even if Sir Claude had to grudgingly admit that they could expect no protection from the Imperial armed forces in the event the Boxers launched an all-out assault on the European legation compound, he still maintained an optimistic official stance that the Boxer movement was little more than an undisciplined rabble that did not pose a threat. He was supported in his dithering by the American representative to China, Edwin Conger, who refused to send a telegram to Washington urging for greater forces to be deployed to Pekin. Surely President McKinley would show the flag, thought many outside the bureaucratic offices of the American representative, to impress on the Chinese the military might of the United States of America.

  Robert was not surprised to find that his report concerning the skirmish with the Boxers four nights before had been lost in the system. Sweating profusely, he sat on the edge of his single bed in his cramped quarters attached to the British compound, staring blankly at the stone wall opposite. Since his foray into the Chinese quarter and the report that he had submitted concluding that the Boxers appeared to be a looming threat, Sir Claude had released him back to his liaison duties. Now his chance to go in further search of Naomi was taken from him.

  ‘Bloody-minded idiots,’ he muttered to a lizard clinging to the wooden beam above his head. ‘A massacre is around the corner and the bloody fools will be caught sipping their gin and tonics while the Boxers hack them to death.’

  Robert rose from the bed and slipped on his khaki uniform, adjusting the well-polished Sam Browne belt and attaching the holster of his service revolver. He had an appointment with his American counterpart at their legation and this time he was not going to be wearing his fancy dress uniform for the occasion. As far as Robert was concerned he was on a military footing, even if the British government in Pekin was not.

  His foresight was soon to be confirmed to even the stubborn Sir Claude MacDonald.

  • • •

  The unrest in the streets of Pekin was becoming obvious even to Sir Claude MacDonald, who had hurried off a telegram to Vice Admiral Seymour of the British fleet standing off China requesting that a relief force be sent to their aid although only as a precaution. The Europeans had watched as a mass of armed Boxers streamed in from the countryside to swell the numbers of rebels already in the city.

  In the second week of June a reply from the Vice Admiral assured Sir Claude that a force would be dispatched. Then the telegraph lines fell silent as the link was cut by the Boxers. This isolation from the rest of the world fell as an ominous pall over those in the European compound, heightening their awareness that they were truly trapped in a hostile sea of colourfully uniformed Chinese warriors.

  Robert sat at his desk in his small office attached to the British government offices reading the intelligence report that had been compiled from the latest news. He had been scribbling notes on the Moslem Kansu fighters he had witnessed arriving in force from the north. The next item in a report on his desk caught his eye: the chancellor from the Japanese legation, Mr Sugiyama, had gone unarmed to the railway station and had been dragged from his pony cart to be disembowelled and shredded by Kansu troops who had accompanied the Empress back into Pekin. Dispassionately, Robert took note of the item and added to his report that from what he had seen of the Kansu fighters they were armed with the latest European rifles and should be considered a serious threat to the current forces in the legation compound.

  A knock at his door was followed by the appearance of George Morrison.

  ‘Hello, Mr Mumford. How is the intelligence gathering going?’

  Robert placed his pen on the desk, blotted the ink on the page and stood to welcome Morrison. ‘Have you heard about the attack on the Japanese chancellor?’ he asked, accepting Morrison’s extended hand.

  ‘I reported it, old boy,’ Morrison said, taking a seat in a wicker chair and crossing his legs with his hat in his lap. ‘No one dares go out to recover the body and I heard that the Kansu cut out the Oriental’s heart and sent it to a grateful Tung Fuhsiang as a gift. As we speak I have heard the local kids are in the street poking with sticks at what remains of Sugiyama.’

  ‘Tung Fuhsiang is one of the Empress’s generals,’ Robert said, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘The Chinese of the Imperial court have some nerve, considering what Chinese troops have done to the Japanese ambassador. Representatives of the Empress have actually gone to the Yankees to ask them not to send troops. At least the Yanks had the balls to dismiss the request. I notice that the Chinese merchants are closing up shop and leaving, along with what remains of the servants from the legation area.’

  ‘My staff are staying put,’ Morrison said. ‘They have a false sense that we will protect them.’

  ‘You don’t sound very optimistic, Dr Morrison,’ Robert said.

  ‘Look at what we have,’ Morrison replied. ‘A handful of inexperienced and outnumbered troops from all over Europe here to protect not only ourselves but the thousands of Chinese converts flooding into the city and into the legation. Not only do we have to defend them but we also have to feed them. So if push comes to shove who do you think we will be defending – not the Chinese. On top of that, we have the outlying missionary compounds in the city that need defending and that means deploying troops into vulnerable pockets of defence. It is looking bloody hopeless.’

  Robert silently agreed. They had left their run too late.

  Days had passed and Naomi found that she was regaining her strength. Strangely, Han and his men had left her alone to recover and only Meili’s company broke the boredom of her captivity. The Chinese girls who had been prisoner with them had been transferred to other Boxer outposts. Trembling, Naomi had stood up to Han and insisted that Meili remain with her. Surprisingly, Han had consented. Meili could cook for his men, he said.

  Naomi was given a minor task of sorting through and translating into Chinese any papers written in English that had fallen into the Boxers’ hands. They were mostly personal letters taken from mission stations sacked and looted by the rebels and did not reveal anything that could be construed as important to the tactical situation of Han and his men, so Naomi was able to dismiss what she had read as being of no consequence. It amused her that she could have read state secrets and given the same answer and Han would not know if she were lying but, as it was, she had no reason to lie.

  What Naomi did learn from reading the letters was that the situation was worsening for the European community a
round and in Pekin. Many of the letters had been written as if they would be the last words of the writer and dark bloodstains on one pile of letters written by a German missionary seemed to confirm her worst fears. Although she could not read German she suspected from the fine hand behind the pen that the letters must have been written by a woman.

  ‘What do they say?’ Han demanded from behind Naomi as she held the bloodstained letters.

  ‘I do not understand German,’ Naomi replied quietly, expecting a savage beating for her inability to translate the bloodied letters.

  ‘All foreign devils are the same,’ Han snorted. ‘You must know the words on the paper.’

  ‘It is like some Chinese speak Mandarin and others Cantonese,’ Naomi answered calmly. ‘I only speak the English language of the foreign devils.’

  She dared turn her head to glance at Han, who stood in the small room that had once stored spices for the wealthy Chinese family who had previously owned the stone and timber house. As he glared back at her, pondering her answer, Naomi realised that despite his seemingly intelligent mind Han was ignorant of the world beyond China. In the days that had passed during her captivity she had time to observe him organising and commanding them. He appeared to be competent – and even fair – in his dealings with his men but her hatred for him had not abated and she was careful to hide her feelings. And as she had not been molested since the initial stage of her capture, Naomi was grudgingly grateful to Han for at least that mercy.

  Naomi now lived for two things: to kill Han and escape from the house. Meili, however, simply lived from day to day and Naomi was surprised at how the young Chinese girl had capitulated to her current situation of captivity. It was as if the fire of resistance was gone from her.

  ‘You smell badly. You need to wash,’ Han suddenly said, catching Naomi off guard, deep in her thoughts as she was.

  Naomi did not thank Han but simply bowed her head dutifully. The Chinese Boxer leader turned and left the stifling little room to return to his duties, leaving Naomi with the wonderful thought of being able to bathe for the first time since she lived with Mr Soo’s family.