The Stone Dragon

by Peter Watt

  ‘My Irish blood understands what you are saying,’ John said, fighting the pain that talking caused him.

  ‘I must visit other people,’ Liza said, rising to her feet and brushing down her long skirt.

  ‘You will return before I die?’ John asked cheekily, eliciting a smile from the young woman.

  ‘You will not die in this hospital, Mr Wong,’ she replied, leaving John with a gentle smile and swish of her dress as she walked away from him.

  John turned his head to see that the American woman had also left the Cossack, to attend to other duties. Now he was alone at the end of the makeshift ward with only the dying soldier and many flies buzzing in the hot air around his head.

  John’s next visitor was Andrew, who approached his father fighting back tears he hoped would be concealed in the dim light of the approaching evening.

  ‘Mr Mumford came over to the Fu to inform me that you had been wounded,’ he said, kneeling by his father. ‘I came as soon as he told me.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ John reassured his son who was feebly wiping his face to hide both his concern and his relief.

  ‘You should have had me at your side,’ Andrew chided.

  ‘You have other concerns in your life now,’ John replied, taking his son’s hand in a strong grip of reassurance. ‘Where is Liling?’

  ‘She is at the Fu helping with the refugees,’ Andrew answered. ‘She is a marvellous woman.’

  ‘I know,’ John said with a sigh. ‘She reminds me of your mother in many ways.’

  ‘I also met with Kai who said that you were on a mission to find Naomi when you were shot.’

  ‘That was the idea – except for getting shot,’ John replied. ‘All I have to do now is get out of here and try again.’

  ‘Maybe we should wait for the relief force to arrive before we do so,’ Andrew said. ‘Mr Mumford is pretty sure they will come.’

  ‘It may be too late for your sister,’ John countered. He did not add if she is still alive because he refused to entertain that option. He was his beloved daughter’s father and of all the men in the world it was his supreme duty to protect her. ‘I am sure I will find a way to go back out.’

  ‘If you do then I will be coming with you,’ Andrew said firmly.

  ‘No, I can’t afford to lose you if anything happens,’ John said, equally as firmly.

  ‘Mr Wong,’ a voice came from nearby.

  ‘Ah, Liza, you have returned to see if I am still alive,’ John said with a grin, recognising the young woman. ‘I believe that you have already met Miss Gurevich,’ John added, when Andrew stood up to greet the new arrival in the ward.

  ‘We have met,’ Andrew said, smiling at the young woman holding a porcelain bowl filled with rice and cooked bully beef.

  ‘I have come to feed your father,’ Liza said. ‘Or would you rather do that?’

  Andrew glanced at his father and saw the expression of disapproval shadow his face. You old dog, Andrew thought with a start. It was obvious that his father preferred the Russian woman to tend to his needs. He had not thought of his father in that way before and it came as a shock after the many years he had known his father to shun the company of women for the sake of his mother’s memory.

  ‘I, ah, think that you would be best to look after my father,’ Andrew said tactfully, ‘as I must return to the Fu to look after the people there. I will visit again tomorrow morning,’ he added in parting, leaving his father alone with the Russian woman.

  ‘Your son is a fine young man,’ Liza said, kneeling beside John to spoon him the meal. ‘I believe he is training to be a doctor.’

  ‘He is,’ John replied when Liza had helped him into a sitting position against the wall. The pain had shot through his body at the movement but he only winced, gritting his teeth at the same time.

  Liza noticed his unspoken agony. ‘Are you well enough to sit?’ she asked in a concerned voice and John nodded.

  ‘I was able to obtain the meat and rice from Miss Condit Smith,’ Liza said, spooning some of the food into John’s mouth. ‘She has the task of making up the American soldiers’ meals for them and she ensured that I had a bowl for you, as you are an Australian. Polly seems to have a great liking for Australians because of your Dr Morrison. I think that she is just a bit in love with the doctor.’

  ‘Well, not hard to see why,’ John said, savouring the hot meal. ‘He’s tall, mysterious, handsome and a doctor on top of all that.’

  ‘What is it that you do, Mr Wong?’ Liza asked.

  ‘Normally I import and export goods from the East,’ he answered. ‘I also have a cattle property and a few good racehorses back in Queensland.’

  ‘Then you are a fortunate man,’ Liza said, scooping another spoonful of food.

  ‘A fortunate man is one who is able to live to see his children have their own children,’ John answered. ‘At the moment that is not looking so clear.’

  ‘You will get well and your life will get better,’ Liza attempted to console the wounded man. ‘I am sure that you will find your daughter and, God willing, we will all be able to leave this terrible place alive.’

  ‘Tell me about you,’ John said, turning the conversation. ‘How is it that a beautiful young woman ends up in the middle of China. One who was born in Russia and lived most of her life in America.’

  ‘There is not much to tell,’ Liza answered with the hint of a blush. ‘As for being beautiful, Mr Wong, that is in the eye of the beholder.’

  ‘You are beautiful,’ John said.

  ‘I have come to learn that when men are helpless and in the care of a woman they seem to view that woman as beautiful so I will not take your words seriously.’

  ‘I would say the same thing if we met for the first time on Legation Street – or in Townsville for that matter.’

  Liza realised that she had finished feeding John and placed the bowl on the floor. ‘We may be able to find you a bed tomorrow, Mr Wong,’ she said. ‘It will be a lot more comfortable.’

  ‘I intend leaving here tomorrow,’ John replied. ‘I have a place at the British legation to recover.’

  ‘I doubt that you will be well enough to do that,’ Liza replied, but she realised from the look in the Eurasian’s dark eyes that he was a man who did what he said.

  There was something very interesting about Mr John Wong, she had to admit to herself. She guessed he was probably around ten to fifteen years older than her but he had the muscled body of a man half his age and the dark good looks that could only be inherited when East met West. From what she had come to learn about John from speaking with Lieutenant Mumford he was a man with a colourful past. Liza had to admit to herself that she could be seduced by the man’s charm and animal magnetism. She had sensed that from the moment she had first looked into his dark eyes and his obvious attraction to her was more than flattering, although she would never allow herself to admit that to him.

  ‘Miss Gurevich! We need a hand with two more casualties being brought in,’ a male voice called from the end of the ward. ‘Could you please spare us some of your time?’

  ‘I have to help the doctors,’ Liza said.

  ‘I hope you will be here before ten in the morning,’ John called after her. ‘Because that is when I intend to be leaving here.’

  Liza turned to acknowledge John’s statement then hurried into the dimming light.

  When John awoke in the early morning hours he turned his head to see that the young Cossack was dead. A blanket had been placed over the body until his comrades could come to fetch him. John sighed. He had a feeling that before much longer there would be many others lying with blankets covering their faces.

  Mid to Late June 1900

  The Besieged Legation

  From the north-eastern corner of the legation quarter manned by the Austrians, Robert could hear the rapid firing of a Maxim machine gun in the night.

  ‘Are they coming, sir?’ a young British soldier clutching his rifle asked Robert.


  ‘Not in our sector, private,’ Robert answered. ‘But keep a sharp lookout, it is only a matter of time before they probe our positions.’

  From his position on the stone-walled parapet in the British compound, Robert continued his inspection of the guard placed to give the alert of any night attack on them and fumed at the inadequate force he now commanded as duty officer. They were too thin on the ground and all the men under his temporary command were inexperienced.

  The probing attack did not eventuate and by morning Robert was relieved by a fellow officer.

  ‘Heard the damned Austrians fire off last night,’ the relieving officer said to Robert on the handover. He was a fellow lieutenant but from a wealthy family in England and his aristocratic good looks coupled with his money had made him popular with the single young ladies in the legation. ‘Buggers woke me from a good kip.’

  ‘Did they kill any of the Boxers?’ Robert asked, passing a completed roll book to his counterpart.

  ‘I heard from the Yanks that the Austrians are flat out hitting the telegraph poles,’ the lieutenant sniffed. ‘They haven’t learned to fire low at night and according to Simpson, over with the marines, not a body or drop of blood was spotted this morning. Bloody Austrians will make us the laughing stock of the Chinese, if you ask me. Better they hand over their Maxim to us so that we can show them how to fight a war.’

  The handover completed, tired and strung out from being on duty all night, Robert made his way back to the British quarters for a breakfast prepared by Sir Claude’s cooks. Then he would find time to take a short nap before resuming his military duties as a liaison officer. So far they had been lucky. The Chinese were simply probing the defences. But that was usually the prelude for an all-out assault and Robert wondered how long they would have to wait. It would not be long before he found out.

  Robert met with his counterpart in the United States marines, Lieutenant Harold Simpson, at the western end barricades thrown up across Legation Street, manned by a contingent of Russian soldiers and United States marines.

  ‘That goddamned German, von Ketteler, has been sniping from the top of the wall at Boxers drilling a couple of hundred yards away,’ Simpson growled. ‘If he is not careful he will agitate the rebels enough to launch a full-scale attack on us and we have nowhere near enough troops to hold them off.’

  Robert agreed that the German diplomat was acting foolishly. There was hope that the silence from Pekin’s legations would inspire a rescue mission from the combined forces of Europe and they had to avoid any full confrontation until those forces arrived.

  ‘I have just been on a tour up to the eastern barricades,’ Robert said as he stood beside the American, gazing over the hastily erected barricades at the mass of armed Boxers chanting their chilling war cry. ‘The Italians and French are on stand-by there. They appear to have enough ammunition to hold off a substantial assault for at least a day.’

  Simpson drew a long cigar from his pocket and lit up, watching the smoke curl slowly away on a slight breeze. At least the supply of cigars and champagne was not under threat of disappearing from the substantial stocks in the legation areas.

  Sweat trickled down both men’s faces as they shared a soldierly moment together watching their enemy watching them. ‘You seem to know what is going on with all those pencil pushers,’ he said. ‘Is the Empress and her gang going to help us?’

  ‘From what I have picked up over a cup of tea,’ Robert replied, accepting a cigar offered to him by his American counterpart, ‘the Empress decrees, and then counters her decrees about forcing the rebels out of the city. It seems that her chief adviser, Prince Tuan, is on the side of the damned Boxers and he carries a lot of weight with the old lady. So, at this stage I presume that our diplomats are doing their best to buy time until someone comes to our aid. Our fate is in political hands.’

  ‘I never put much stock in goddamned politicians,’ Simpson snorted. ‘When it all comes down to it the only language these blasted heathens understand is a gunboat sitting off their palaces. Wish those goddamned Chinks would do something and let my boys show them some good old Yankee lead.’

  ‘Your first action, old chap?’ Robert asked wryly, and Simpson looked just a little sheepish. The American officer was aware of his British counterpart’s substantial record of active service prior to his posting to China. ‘I would not be in any hurry to stand under the ragged remains of your stars and stripes. Glory does not help a man’s career if he is not around to enjoy it,’ Robert continued.

  ‘I missed our war with Spain a couple of years ago,’ Simpson said, puffing a blue smoke ring into the air. ‘My brother in the navy got himself promoted for his service against the Spanish in the Philippines action. Promotion is almost non-existent in our military forces given the way Congress regards us as little more than a police force. If the politicians fail then it is a chance for me to prove worthy of advancement.’

  ‘It is reassuring to see that our American cousins suffer the same frustrations with the promotional system,’ Robert chuckled. ‘But I feel that even if we are forced to fight – and even possibly prevail – this place will be easily forgotten and become no more than a backwater for both our countries.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Simpson reflected. ‘About time I went and did an inspection of our outer perimeter piquets,’ he said. ‘I will see you around the defences.’

  Robert watched as the American marine commanded a soldier to escort him on his tour of the men posted beyond the barricade on the fringes of the Chinese quarter. How long, Robert wondered, before the talking and skirmishing stopped and the war started? If only the promised reinforcements would arrive and deter the Boxers who were growing more and more confident with each passing day. Robert also wondered about Naomi. No word had been heard of her since the reported abduction weeks earlier. If only he could mount another mission into the city he might be able to find more information on her fate – one way or another.

  The chanting from the rebels only yards from the barricade continued as did the searing heat of the Chinese summer in Pekin.

  To leave or remain in the city became the central argument among the diplomats. The royal court had issued a decree stating that the foreigners could depart and a meeting was convened in the legation. The American representative argued that they should consider leaving but Sir Claude MacDonald pondered on this choice as he still had memories of the promise offered during the Sepoy rebellion in India at Cawnpore in 1857. ‘One has to suspect the sincerity of Oriental promises,’ he answered.

  The German diplomat, von Ketteler, agreed with his British counterpart but pressure was mounted against Sir Claude’s stance by his own diplomatic colleagues. In the early hours of the evening, Dr George Morrison emerged as the spokesman for the civilian population of those missionaries, bankers and engineers who also suspected the promises made by the royal court for their safe conduct out of Pekin.

  At a meeting of the various European powers in Pekin Morrison took the floor and in a clear statement said, ‘The death of every man, woman and child in this huge unprotected convoy will be upon your heads, and your names will go through history forever as the wickedest, weakest and most pusillanimous cowards who ever lived.’

  His words echoed around the room occupied by senior military representatives and diplomats.

  ‘I agree with Dr Morrison,’ came a voice from a senior British subject in the short silence following Morrison’s impassioned oratory.

  A Captain Poole also voiced his opinion. ‘How are we to protect all these women and children during a long and perilous journey to Tientsin? I fear that we may be facing a repeat of what we saw at Cawnpore. The Chinese will slaughter us as soon as we leave the safety of our walled compound.’

  For six hours until midnight the diplomats, soldiers and civilians argued the matter. Finally, a resolution was passed and a message sent to the royal court stating that they had agreed to leave but wished to point out that the twenty-four hours ultimatum for th
eir departure was far too short a time to organise an exodus.

  The meeting was reconvened at 9 am but there was no answer from the Chinese government. They waited hours in the meeting room until the volatile German minister rose to his feet and exploded that he was waiting no longer. He would go to the Chinese government buildings and wait all night if necessary.

  ‘It would be too dangerous,’ the French minister countered. ‘I say that we remain inside the legation, monsieur minister.’

  De Giers, the Russian representative, now rose to his feet. The Russians had no intention of being outdone by their German neighbours in seizing the initiative.

  ‘I say that we all go under an armed escort to the Chinese,’ he said.

  ‘Gott in himmel,’ von Ketteler sniffed. ‘Only yesterday I sent my secretary, Herr Cordes, to the Yamen to speak with their representatives. He returned unharmed to our legation.’ The Yamen was located in the vicinity of the Empress’s court and was the location of the local Chinese civil service offices.

  ‘If that is so,’ the Russian said, addressing von Ketteler, ‘we should send him again.’

  ‘I will,’ von Ketteler replied, sitting down satisfied that he had kept the initiative to show his European and American counterparts that Germany would remain in charge of the talks. At least he had said that he would send his secretary.

  But a short time later when the meeting had finally dispersed observers noticed two imposing sedan chairs, with red and green roofs denoting the occupants being people of great importance, leaving the German legation. The sedan chairs were escorted by finely dressed outriders and carried by Chinese servants. The diplomatic party moved through the silent streets now devoid of the usual throngs of noisy merchants, traders and street urchins. Inside one of the sedans, von Ketteler settled back with a book to read and a fine cigar to smoke in anticipation of the long wait he expected when he met with the Chinese bureaucrats at their headquarters in the city.