“I hope you’re not expecting me to play.”
“You can give out the prizes.”
“You’ll need to roll the courts a bit after this dancing,” he remarked.
“Of course. Though given our standard of tennis, it may not really matter.”
“When I was in India,” he said, “we went up to the hill stations in the hot season.”
“It’s the same here. People go into the mountains. Not as nice as the Indian hill stations, but quite picturesque. Some of the mountain houses used to be temples. Those are very quaint. If you stay, I promise you shall visit some.”
“You think it’ll be all right, with the Boxers and all that?”
“The French minister has just told me that we’re all going to be massacred,” she said easily. “But we can’t have the French knowing better than we do, can we?”
* * *
—
The next morning Emily counted another thirty converts seeking refuge in the mission. All the beds in the dormitories were now taken. She started piling up blankets that could be laid on the floor. At noon Mrs. Reid, the wife of one of the British doctors, arrived and told her that several British families had found their servants gone. Warned off. Then Henry went over to the legation and returned with confusing news.
“There’s been a skirmish between a party of Boxers and some imperial troops. The Boxers won. It doesn’t look as if Cixi’s in control of the Boxers.”
Henry didn’t say anything more just then. But the following evening, when they were alone, he returned to the subject. “You know,” he said, “whether Cixi controls the Boxers or she doesn’t, the fact is that the Boxers could cut us off in Peking. Any day.” He paused and looked at her bleakly. “We shouldn’t keep Tom here anymore. Or your father. They’d better go down to the coast while they still can, and your father should take Tom to England.”
“If you think so.” She sighed. “I shall miss them both so much. But I’ve had Tom longer than most mothers do. He’s nearly eleven.” She smiled affectionately at her husband. “It’ll just be the two of us, then.”
Henry was silent for a moment. Then he said: “I think you should go, too.”
“Me?” She looked horrified. “You’re not getting rid of me.” She watched him. He was shaking his head. “When we married, Henry, you warned me about the dangers. I signed up for the duration: richer, poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. I’m not leaving you now.”
“Perhaps I should order you, then. When we married, you also took an oath to love, honor—and obey.” He was looking at her with great affection, but she knew he wasn’t joking.
“In any case, Henry,” she went on, “if you really believe things could get so bad, there is another solution: You should come, too. Hardly anyone’s served here as long as you.”
“I can’t desert the converts.” He shook his head. “I’m responsible for converting them. I can’t abandon them now. So if, God forbid, the worst were to happen, let’s not leave our children without either parent.”
“I’m just as responsible for the converts as you, Henry,” she replied. “You know it’s true. As for the children, both our girls are married. My brothers would always look after the boys. They’d have a home at Drumlomond. Once Tom goes to school, he’s not going to see us for years anyway—just the same as hundreds of children with parents serving all over the British Empire, who spend the holidays with relations in England and probably never see their parents until after they’ve finished school. Perhaps not even then.”
“We’ll wait a day or two,” he said, “and see.”
He was over at the legation all the following morning and came back soon after noon. “Word is that the Boxers have sworn allegiance to Cixi,” he reported. “They’ve been going through some kind of martial arts drill inside the Imperial City. I don’t know what it means,” he confessed, “and nor does anyone at the legation. How’s your father?”
“Oh,” she said, “Father’s being an absolute brick. He’s keeping Tom occupied.”
“What are they doing?”
“Playing cricket.”
* * *
—
Trader was quite enjoying himself. His grandson wasn’t complicated. Young Tom was just anxious not to make a fool of himself when he got to England.
“The other fellows will have been at school for three or four years already,” he explained. “I don’t know why my parents held me back so long. So I want to make sure I’m good at something that matters, like cricket, so that I don’t look like a duffer. One thing’ll do for a start, I hope. What do you think, Grandfather?”
“Do one thing well. That’s all you need at school. All you need in life, really.”
“I’ve got a cricket bat. And a cricket ball. Could you bowl at me?”
“Net practice without a net, eh? All right.” Trader didn’t like to think how long it was since he’d held a cricket ball in his hand, but they took over one end of the mission’s yard and started. He didn’t try to bowl overarm, but by throwing the ball with a short arm he could be pretty accurate. He could also put all kinds of spin on the ball. “Keep your bat straight,” he’d call. “Step forward and block those ones…” He hadn’t been in his school first eleven, but he’d been a useful all-rounder and he knew enough to coach young Tom quite effectively. When he grew tired of this net practice, he was quite happy to play catch with his grandson for half an hour, in front of the curious converts, until Emily rescued him.
“You’re a very good grandfather,” she told him.
“Enjoyed it, actually.”
“Can we play again tomorrow?” Tom asked.
“Of course we can,” said Trader.
“Can I ask you something, Grandfather?”
“I should think so.”
“At school, will they all wear white flannels for cricket? Father says I can perfectly well play in the grey flannels I have.”
“Well, of course your father’s quite right.” And also on a missionary’s salary, Trader thought. “I daresay we’ll sort all that out when the time comes,” he went on blandly. “It’ll be nearly a year before the next cricket season begins. You’ll be taller by then.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Emily as soon as Tom had trotted off. Trader smiled. The boy would have white flannels, the same as everybody else. He’d see to that.
Inside, she brought him lemonade and a glass for herself, too. “Father,” she resumed finally, “Henry and I are worried about Tom.”
“He seems all right to me.”
“It’s the Boxers. We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we think he ought to go to England at once. Just in case.”
“I see. What about you and Henry? Shouldn’t you get out, too?”
“Henry won’t desert the converts. And I won’t desert Henry.”
“I understand. But I don’t agree about you. You must think of your children.”
“Please don’t you start. Henry’s already…” She trailed off. “I’d love to see you for longer. It’s been so wonderful. But will you please take Tom home?”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Or the next day at latest.”
“You know,” he said, “I came all the way out here to see you, spend a bit of time with you before it’s too late. But I was a bit concerned about these Boxers. So I’d thought, if things look bad, I’ll try to get you all to come back to England. Might be the last important thing I could do for the family.”
“So you came across half the world for us.”
“Not as if I didn’t know the way.”
“Well, Henry’s trying to force me, but he won’t succeed. And nor will you. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to take Tom. He’ll be very pleased. You’re his hero.”
“The boy doesn’t really need me
on the boat, you know. Just put him on board. The captain will keep an eye on him. Give instructions for where he’s to be sent at the other end. He can go to Drumlomond. Easy enough with the trains.”
“Like a parcel with a label?”
“That’s how children are being sent about, all over the British Empire.”
“If Tom goes to England, where are you going to go?”
“If you leave, I shall leave with you and Tom. But if you stay, I’d rather stay with you. If you don’t mind, that is.” He smiled. “It was really you I came to see.”
“You’d be putting your life at risk.”
“Not much life to risk when you’re nearly ninety.”
“You’d stand there, sword in hand?”
“I used to be rather good with a sword, you know.”
“Oh, Father.” She got up and kissed him. “Will you get Tom on a ship, at least?”
He nodded. “All right.”
* * *
—
The feathery clouds in the east were gleaming red the following morning, and she wondered if it meant a storm. But by the time that Tom and his grandfather went out into the yard with bat and ball after breakfast, the sky overhead was clear.
She hadn’t told Tom he was leaving yet. Now he was out of the house, she was busy packing his trunk. By midmorning she closed the lid. That’s it then, she thought. From now on, Tom’s childhood would be closed to her. Closed like the padlocked trunk. He’d wave goodbye, and quite possibly, they’d never see each other again. She mightn’t even be alive herself by the time he reached England.
She sat down on the trunk. Faint sounds came from the yard outside. She suddenly wanted to open the trunk again, put something inside for Tom to remember her by. But what? People used to have miniature portraits painted for their loved ones to carry. Those miniatures were mostly photographs now. Such an easy thing to do.
Yet she never had. Not in all these years. Somehow there always seemed to be too much of God’s work each day for her to attend to such a thing. And now she had nothing to give her son. She searched her mind. A little prayer book perhaps, except that he had one already. There must be something. Her mind was a blank. She felt so helpless, such a failure. She started to cry. And she was still sitting in a state of desolation on the trunk when she heard the door of the house open.
A moment later Henry hurried in. “The Boxers have started tearing up railway lines. They’ve set a station on fire. Everyone’s summoning troops from the coastal garrisons. The French and Russians already have. The Americans, too.”
“Is the line to Peking open? Will the troops be able to get to us?”
“We’ll have to wait and see. Either way, your father and Tom can’t travel today.”
“Oh,” she said. And against all common sense and concern for Tom’s safety, she felt glad. Perhaps in that time she’d at least find a keepsake to give him.
All the next day they waited. The Boxers paraded in the streets. Was the court controlling them? Would they suddenly strike and burn the mission down? That night she and Henry heard the Boxers singing war songs by their campfires.
* * *
—
The messenger arrived at the mission soon after dawn. He brought a note from MacDonald. They were to evacuate, discreetly, and make their way to the legation. They could bring their converts. But they must be out of the mission that day, the British minister urged, because he could not guarantee their safety.
Henry called the family together. “The converts are all Chinese. Tell them to remove any crucifixes,” he instructed, “any sign that they might be Christian. Then they should filter out a few at a time, vanish into the crowds, and make their way by different routes across to the Legation Quarter. Tell them to take their time. It’s only a mile or so. We must get them out first.”
There were plenty of people about in the street. Fortunately the Boxers, who were all openly wearing their red turbans and sashes, didn’t seem to be hanging around the mission just then. They were too busy parading about elsewhere. So it was easy enough for the converts to slip out in small groups. By late morning they were all gone.
“What can we do about you?” Henry asked Emily. “I don’t think you can try to pass as a Han Chinese townswoman, because your feet aren’t bound.”
“Do you remember when Dr. Smith’s wife and I went as Manchu women to that fancy dress party at the legation?” said Emily. “I’ve still got the costumes. They were real Manchu dresses, actually.”
“Perfect. You and Tom can use them. The Boxers insist they’re supporting the regime, so they shouldn’t give you any trouble.”
Tom started to protest at putting on women’s clothes, but his grandfather told him firmly to do as he was asked. “And you’d better make a decent job of it,” he added. “You don’t want to put your mother’s life in danger.”
While Emily and Tom were busy getting dressed indoors, Henry and the three most trusted mission servants started loading an open donkey cart with clothes, blankets, and provisions—everything that they thought could be of use in the legation.
“You’re far too tall to disguise as any kind of Chinese man,” Henry said. “I suppose the best thing might be for you to lie down in the cart and we’ll cover you with blankets.” Trader didn’t much like the idea, but he didn’t say anything.
The last item they loaded was Henry’s telescope and tripod. “I suppose it might come in useful if we’re under attack,” Henry said. “The truth is, I don’t want to part with it.” But by the time both the telescope and tripod were installed, there was no room to conceal his father-in-law.
“I’ve got it,” Trader said suddenly. “Set the tripod up in the cart and mount the telescope on it. That’s it. Emily,” he called, “I need a white sheet and a few minutes of your time with a needle and thread.”
And sure enough, ten minutes later, his tall figure appeared in the yard again, completely draped in a long white cloak that reached down to his feet. When he got up and stood in the cart beside the tripod, holding the telescope in his hand and swiveling it to point this way and that, he looked like a figure of death or a magician at a ghost festival, to which his tall, thin frame and his black eye patch lent an effect that was truly terrifying. “That should frighten ’em off,” he remarked with satisfaction.
“You certainly frighten me,” said Henry.
It was agreed that first the cart, driven by a servant and guarded by Trader and his magic telescope, should drive out into the street and make its way eastwards, past the Tiananmen Gate. While all eyes were on the cart, the two Manchu women could slip out with two servants and cross the city towards Legation Street.
“But what do you plan to do yourself, Henry?” Emily asked him.
“Stay here until nightfall to stow away whatever I can and to deal with any converts who come this way. After that, when everything’s quieter at dusk, I’ll lock up, make my way across the city, and rejoin you.”
So Emily did as asked. After she and Tom had been in the street a few moments, she saw a ruffian try to climb onto the cart. But when her father swung the telescope and pointed it right into his face, the man fell off the cart in terror and disappeared.
Not long afterwards, crossing in front of the huge Tiananmen Gate, she saw her father’s cart again, in the distance this time, like a small sailing ship plowing through the sea of people. She caught her breath when she noticed a party of Boxers with red turbans only a hundred yards away from him. But they kept their distance, seemingly uncertain whether they could rely upon the power of their spirit warriors against the magic weapon of the tall white one-eyed wizard.
* * *
—
What troubled Trader most, all that summer, was a simple concern: how to make himself useful. Otherwise, what was he? An old man getting in the way. A mouth to feed when food supplies were dwi
ndling. A danger to others, even. He had to contribute something. But what?
Only a couple of hours after his own arrival, the advance troops from the coast had also reached the legation. They’d all come together in the train, and everyone was happy to see them. But they warned that the Boxers were giving all kinds of trouble down the line, so that it might be a little while before the main military body could clear them away and march up to the capital.
Trader watched the troops with interest. There were between three and four hundred men—British troops, Americans, French, German, Russian, Japanese. The Americans looked the most seasoned. The British boys looked awfully young and raw. But at least their arrival would show that the foreign powers meant business, and he assumed that their arms would be superior to any Chinese weapons.
When, to Emily’s great relief, Henry arrived that evening, Trader asked him about the Chinese arms.
“It’s quite odd, actually,” Henry told him. “The Boxers don’t only rely on their swords and magic spirits. Some of them have guns. The imperial troops quite often have modern rifles, and a few Krupp field guns, too. But then you’ll still suddenly come upon a troop armed with bows and arrows. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered.”
* * *
—
The Legation Quarter was big, nearly half a mile square. From north to south down the middle ran a waterway called the Imperial Jade Canal—though in the dry season it was hardly more than a big ditch—before it disappeared under the city wall through a water gate.
One thoroughfare, Legation Street, crossed the lower part of the enclave from west to east, just a few hundred feet above the southern wall. Between Legation Street and the looming city wall lay the Dutch, American, and German compounds, together with the Hong Kong Bank and the offices of Jardine Matheson. On the northern side of the street were the compounds of the Russians, Japanese, French, and Italians.
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