WHEN DOANE had gone Brachey called John and ordered a mule litter for eight n the morning. John found ont of the soldiers among the lounging group by the gate. The soldier slipped out.
Brachey busied himself until midnight in packing his bags. He felt that he couldn't sleep; most of the later night was spent in alternately walking the floor and trying to read. Before dawn the lamp burned out; and he lay down in his clothes and for a few hours dreamed wildly.
At eight the spike-studded gates swung open and an Oriental cavalcade filed into the court. There was the litter, like a sedan chair but much larger, swung on poles between two mules; the sides covered with red cloth, the small swinging doors in blue; bells jingling about the necks of the mules. There were five or six other mules and asses, each hearing a wooden pack-saddle. There was a shaggy Manchurian pony for Brachey to ride in clear weather. Three muleteers, two men and a boy, marched beside the animals; hardy ragged fellows, already, or perhaps always, caked with dirt.
At once the usual confusion and noise began. Men of the inn crowded about to help pack the boxes and bags of food and water and clothing on the saddles. The mules plunged and kicked. A rope broke and had to be elaborately repaired. The four soldiers brought out their white ponies, saddled them, slung their carbines over their shoulders; they were handsome men, not so ragged, in faded blue uniforms of baggy Chinese cut, blue half-leggings, blue turbans. Into the litter went Brachey's mattress and pillow. He tossed in after them camera, note-book, and The Bible in Spain; then mounted his savage little pony, which for a moment plunged about among the pack animals, starting the confusion anew.
The cook mounted one of the pack-saddles, perching himself high on a bale, his feet on the neck of the mule. John was about to mount another, when the leading soldier handed him a letter which he brought at once to his master.
Brachey with bounding pulse looked at the envelope. But the address, “Mister J. Brachey, Esquire,” was not in Betty's brisk little hand.
He tore it open, and read as follows:
“My Dear Sir—Taking Time touch and go by the forelock it becomes privileged duty to advise you to wit:
“So-called Lookers and Western soldiers of that ilk have attacked mission college Hung Chan with crop up outcome that these unpleasant fellow's go the limit in violence. By telegraph officer of devotion to His Excellency this morning very early passes the tip that that mission college stands longer not a whit upon earth.
“Looker soldiers acting under thumb of man mentioned during our little chin-chin of yesterday forenoon plan within twenty-four hours advance on T'ain-an-fu cutting off city from Eastern access and then resting on oars, jolly well taking their time to destroy mission here and secondary Christians, making clean job of it.
“Officer of devotion reports further of old reprobate plan that larger army has become nearly ready to march full tilt and devil take the hindmost on Ping Yang engineer compound fort and lay axe to root of it. Railroad and bridges and all works of white hands will go way of wrack and ruin except telegraph, that being offspring of Imperial Government.
“And now, my dear sir, as Ping Yang is place of some strength and come on if you dare, I would respectfully recommend that you engage at once in forlorn hope and make journey post haste to Ping Yang, as we sit on kegs of gun powder with ground slipping out from under us as hour-glass runs.
“Regretting in great heaviness and sadness of heart that civilization sees no longer light of day in Hansi Province, I beg to remain, my Dear Sir,
“Yours most respectfully,
“Po Sui-an.
“P. S. In my busy as bee excitement I have neglected to kill two birds with one stone, and inform you that Rev. Doane of this city met death bravely at 3 a.m. to-day at Hung Chan Northern Gate.
“Po.”
The cavalcade was ready now in line. At the head two soldiers sat their ponies. The gay litter came next, bells jingling as the mules stirred. Behind the litter stood the pack animals, with John and the cook mounted precariously on the first two. The other two soldiers brought up the rear. The muleteers stood lazily by, waiting.... Brachey slipped Mr. Po's letter into a pocket and gazed up at the smoke that curled lazily from the chimney of the innkeeper's house. The pony, restless to be off, plunged a little; Brachey quieted him without so much as looking down.... After a brief time he lowered his eyes. A little girl with normal feet was trudging round and round the millstones, laboriously grinding out a double handful of flour; a skinny old woman, in trousers, her feet mere stumps, hobbled across the court with a stew pan, not so much as looking up at the caravan or at the haughty white stranger; ragged men moved about among the animals behind the manger. The huge gates had been swung open by coolies, who stood against them; outside was the narrow, deep-rutted roadway, with shops beyond.... Finally, brows knit as if he were at once hurt and puzzled, face white, Brachey took in the caravan—the calmly waiting soldiers, the muleteers, the grotesquely mounted cook and interpreter, the large, boxlike vehicle suspended in its richly dingy colors between two mules—and then, with tightly compressed lips and a settling frown, he rode out into the street ahead of the soldiers.
With a lively jingle of bells and creakings from the litter as it swayed into motion, the others followed. One of the soldiers promptly came up alongside Brachey; their two ponies nearly filled the street, crowding passers-by into doorways.
Brachey led the way out through the Northern Gate to the mission compound. Here he dismounted, handed his reins to a muleteer, and entered the gate house.
0247
2
Old Sun Shao-i hurried from his chair and barred the inner door. Regarding this white man he had orders from Mrs. Boatwright. Brachey, however, brushed him carelessly aside and went on into the court.
It was the sort of thing, this walking coolly in, where he was not wanted, that he did well. He really cared nothing what they thought. He distrusted profoundly Mrs. Boatwright's judgment, and did not even consider sending in his name or a note. The hour had come for meeting her face to fare and by force of will defeating her. There was no time now for indulgence in personal eccentricities on the part of any of these few white persons set off in a vast, threatening world of yellow folk.
Within the spacious courtyard the sunlight lay in glowing patches on the red tile. Through open windows came the fresh school-room voices of girls. At the steps of a small building at his right stood or lounged a group of Chinese men and old women and children—Brachey had learned that only by occasional chance is a personable young or even middle-aged.
He led the way out through the northern gate aged woman visible to masculine eyes in China—each apparently with some ailment; one man had eczema; one boy a goitre that puffed out upon his breast, others with traces of the diseases that rage over China unchecked except to a tiny degree here and there in the immediate neighborhood of a medical mission.... It was a scene of peace and apparent security. The mission organization was functioning normally. Clearly they hadn't the news.
A thin thoughtful woman came out of a school building, and confronted him.
“I am Mr. Brachey,” said he coldly; “Jonathan Brachey.”
The woman drew herself up stiffly.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
She was stern; hostile.... How little it mattered!
“I must see you all together, at once,” he said in the same coldly direct manner—“Mr. and Mrs. Boatwright, if you please, and any others.”
“Can't you say what you have to say to me now? I am Miss Hemphill, the head teacher.”
“No,” he replied, not a muscle of his face relaxing. “May I ask why not?”
“It is not a matter of individual judgment.”
“But Mrs. Boatwright will refuse to see you.”
“I am sony, but Mrs. Boatwright will have to see me and at once. And not alone, if you please. I don't care to allow her to dismiss what I have to say without consideration.”
Miss Hemphill considered; finally went up into the dispensary, past the waiting unfortunates on the steps. Brachev stood erect, motionless, like a military man. After a moment, Miss Hemphill came out, followed by another woman.
“This is Dr. Cassin,” she said; adding with a slight hesitation as if she found the word unpalatable—“Mr. Brachey.”
The physician at once took the matter in hand.
“You will please tell us what you have to say, Mr. Brachey. It will be better not to trouble Mrs. Boatwright.”
Brachey made no reply to this speech; merely stood as if thinking the matter over. Then his eye caught' a glimpse of something pink and white that fluttered past an up-stairs window. Then, still without a word, he went on to the residence, mounted the steps and rang the bell.
The two women promptly followed.
“You will please not enter this house,” said Dr. Cassin severely.
A Chinese servant opened the door.
“I wish to see Mr. and Mrs. Boatwright at once,” said Brachey; then, as the servant was about to close the door, stepped within.
The two women pressed in after him.
“You are acting in a very high-handed manner,” remarked Dr. Cassin with heat—“an insolent manner.”
“I regret that it is necessary.”
“It is not necessary!” This from Miss Hemphill.
He merely looked at her, then away; stood waiting.
Mrs. Boatwright appeared in a doorway.
“What does this mean?” was all she seemed able to say at the moment.
“Will you kindly send for the others”—thus Brachey—“Mr. Boatwright, any other whites who may be here, and—Miss Doane.”
“Certainly not.”
“It is necessary.”
“It is not. Why are you here?”
“It is not a matter for you to decide. I must have everybody present.”
There was a rustle from the stairs. Betty, very pale, her slim young person clad in a lacy nÉgligÉe gown of Japanese workmanship, very quick and light and nervously alert, came down.
“Will you please go back to your room?” cried Mrs. Boatwright.
But the girl, coming on as far as the newel post, stopped there and replied, regretfully, even gently, but firmly:
“No, Mrs. Boatwright.”
“Will you at least do us the courtesy to dress yourself properly?”
This, Betty, her eyes straining anxiously toward Brachey, ignored.
3
Dr. Casein then abruptly, speaking in Chinese, sent the servant for Mr. Boatwright, and deliberately led the way into the front room. The others followed, without a word, and stood about silently until the appearance of Mr. Boatwright, who came in rather breathless, mopping his small features.
“How do you do?” he said to Brachey; and for an instant seemed to be considering extending his hand; but after a brief survey of the grimly silent figures in the room, catching the general depression in the social atmosphere, he let the hand fall by his side.
“Now, Mr. Braehey,” remarked Dr. Cassin, with an air of professional briskness, “every one is present. We are ready for the business that brought you here.” Brachey looked about the room; his eyes rested longest on the physician. To her he handed the letter, saying simply:
“This was written within the hour, by Po Sui-an, secretary to His Excellency Pao Ting Chuan. Will you please read it aloud, Dr. Cassin?”
Then, as if through with the others, he went straight over to Betty, who stood by the windows. Quickly and softly he said:
“Brace up, little girl! It is bad news.”
“Oh!” she breathed, “is it—is it—father?”
He bowed. She saw his tightened lips and the shine in his eyes; then she wavered, fought for breath, caught at his hand.
Mrs. Boatwright was calling out, apparently to Betty, something about taking a chair on the farther side of the room. There was a stir of confusion; but above it Brachey's voice rose sharply:
“Read, please, Dr. Cassin!”
Soberly they listened. After beginning the postscript, Dr. Cassin stopped short; then, slowly, with considerable effort, read the announcement of Griggsby Duane's death.
Then the room was still.
Mrs. Boatwright was the first to speak; gently for her, and unsteadily, though the strong will that never failed this vigorous woman carried her along without a sign of hesitation.
“Mary,” she said, addressing Miss Hemphill, “you had better go up-stairs with Betty.”
Dr. Cassin, ignoring this, or perhaps only half-hearing it (her eyes were brimming) broke in with:
“Mr. Brachey, you must have come here with some definite plan or purpose. Will you please tell us what it is?”
“No!” cried Mrs. Boatwright—“no! If you please, Mary, this man must not stay here. Betty!... Betty, dear!”
Betty did not even turn. She was staring out the window into the peaceful sunflecked courtyard, the tears running unheeded down her cheeks, her hand twisted tightly in Brachey's. He spoke now, in the cold voice, very stiff and constrained, that masked his feelings.
“The death of Mr. Doane makes it clear that there is no safety here. There is a chance, to-day, for us all to get safely away. I have, at the gate, a litter and one riding horse, also a few pack animals. Most of my goods can be thrown aside—clothing, all that. The food I have, used sparingly, would serve for a number of us. We should be able to pick up a few carts. I suggest that we do so at once, and that we get away within an hour, if possible. We must keep together, of course. I suggest further, that any differences between us be set aside for the present.”
They looked at one another. Miss Hemphill pursed her lips and knit her brows, as if unable to think with the speed required. Dr. Cassin, sad of face, soberly thinking, moved absently over to the silent girl by the window; gently put an arm about her shoulders. Mr. Boatwright, sunk deeply in his chair, was pulling with limp aimless fingers at the fringe on the chair-arm; once he glanced up at his wife.
“This may not be true,” said Mrs. Boatwright abruptly.
“It is from Pao's yamen,” said Miss Hemphill.
“But it may be no more than a rumor. Our first duty is to telegraph Mrs. Nacy at Hung Chan and ask for full particulars.”
“Is”—this was Mr. Boatwright; he cleared his throat—“is there time?”
Mrs. Boatwright's mouth had clamped shut. No one had ever succeeded in stampeding or even hurrying her mind. She had, for the moment, dismissed the special problem of Betty and this man Brachey from that mind and was considering the general problem. That settled, she would again take up the Brachey matter.
“There is time,” she said, after a moment. “There must be. Mr. Doane left positive instructions that we were to await his return. He will be here to-night or to-morrow morning, if he is alive.”
“But—my dear”—it was her husband again—“Po is careful to explain that by to-morrow escape will be cut off.”
“That,” replied his wife, still intently thinking, “is only a rumor, after all. China is always full of rumors. Even if it is true, these soldiers are not likely to act so promptly, whatever Po may think. If they should, we shall be no safer on the highway than here in our own compound.... And how about our natives? How about our girls—all of them? Shall we leave them?... No!” She was thinking, tanking. “No, I shall not go. I am going to stay here. I shall keep my word to Mr. Doane.”
Then she rose and approached the little group by the window. Her eyes, resting on the firmly clasped hands of the lovers, snapped fire. Her face, again, was granite. To Dr. Cassiri, very quietly, she remarked, “Take Betty up-stairs, please.”
The physician, obeying, made a gentle effort to draw the girl away; but met with no success.
Mrs. Boatwright addressed herself to Brachey: “Will you please leave this compound at once!”
He said nothing. Betty's fingers were twisting within his.
“I can hardly make use of force,” continued Mrs. Boatwright, “but I ask you to leave us. And we do not wish to see you again.”
Brachey drew in a slow long breath: looked about the room, from one to another. Miss Hemphill and Boatwright had risen; both were watching him; the little man seemed to have found his courage, for his chin was up now.
And Brachey felt, knew, that they were a unit against him. The fellow-feeling, the community of faith and habit that had drawn them together through long, lonely years of service, was stronger now than any mere threat of danger, even of death. They felt with the indomitable woman who had grown into the leadership, and would stay with her.
Brachey surveyed them. These were the missionaries he had despised as weak, narrow little souls. Narrow they might be, but hardly weak. No, not weak. Even this curious little Boatwright; something that looked like strength had come to life in him. He wouldn't desert. He would stay. To certain and horrible death, apparently. The very certainty of the danger seemed to be clearing that wavering little mind of his. A thought that made it all the more puzzling was that these people knew, so much better, so much more deeply, than he, all that had happened in 1900. Their own friends and pupils—white and yellow—had been slaughtered. The heart-breaking task of reconstruction had been theirs.
And at the same time, seeming like a thought-strand in his brain, was the heart-breaking pressure of that soft, honest little hand in his.... Very likely it was the end for all of them.
“Very well,” he said icily. “I am sorry I can't be of use. However, if any of you care to go I shall esteem it a privilege to share my caravan with you.”
No one spoke, or moved. The iron face of Mrs. Boatwright confronted his.
Very gently, fighting his deepest desire, fighting, it seemed, life itself, he tried to disentangle his fingers from Betty's.
But hers gripped the more tightly. There was a silence.
Then Betty whispered—faintly, yet not caring who might hear:
“I can't let you go.”
“You must, dear.”
“Then I can't stay here. Will you take me with you?”
He found this impossible to answer.
“It won't take me long. Just a few things in a bag.” And she started away.
Mrs. Boatwright made an effort to block her, but Betty, without another sound, slipped by and out of the room and ran up the stairs.
Then Mrs. Boatwright turned on the man.
“You will do this?” she said, in firm stinging tunes. “You will take this girl away?”
He looked at her out of an expressionless face. Behind that mask, his mind was swiftly surveying the situation from every angle. He knew that he couldn't, as it stood, leave Betty here. And they wouldn't let him stay. He must at least try to save her. Nothing else mattered.
“Yes,” he replied.
Mrs. Boatwright turned away. Brachey moved out into the hall and stood there. To her “At least you will step outside this house?” he replied, simply, “No.” Dr. Cassin, with a remark about the waiting queue at the dispensary, went quietly back to her routine work, as if there were no danger in the world. Mr Boatwright had turned to his wife's desk, and was making a show of looking over some papers there. Miss Hemphill sank into a chair and stared at the wall with the memory of horror in her eyes. Mrs. Boatwright stood within the doorway, waiting.
A little time passed. Then Betty came running down the stairs, in traveling suit, carrying a hand-bag.
Mrs. Boatwright stepped forward.
“You really mean to tell me that you will go—alone—with this man?”
Betty's lips slowlyy formed the word, “Yes.”
“Then never come again to me. I can not help you. You are simply bad.”
Betty turned to Brachey; gave him her bag.
Outside the gate house the little caravan waited.
The mules were brought to their knees. Betty stepped, without a word, into the litter. Brachey closed the side door, and mounted his pony. The mules were kicked and flogged to their feet. The two soldiers in the lead set off around the city wall to the corner by the eastern gate, whence the main highway mounted slowly into the hills toward Ping Yang. As they turned eastward, a fourth muleteer, ragged and dirty, bearing a small pack, as the others, joined the party; a fact not observed by the white man, who rode close beside the litter.
But when they had passed the last houses and were out where the road began to sink below the terraced grain-fields, the new muleteer stepped forward. For a little space he walked beside the white man's pony.
Brachey, at last aware of him, glanced down at the ragged figure.
“It's a deuce of a note,” said the new muleteer, looking up and smiling, “that your courtesy should return like confounded boomerang on your head. I make thousands of apologies.”
Brachey started; then said, merely:
“Oh!... You!”
“Indeed I have in my own canoe take French leave. That it is funny as the devil and intruding presumption I know full well. But I have thought to be of service and pay my shot if you offer second helping of courtesy and glad hand.”
Brachey nodded. “Come along,” said he.
