He spent a horrible night. Fear gained him completely, and he sobbed to himself for many hours as he wandered in the blackness of the fields.

He did not know whether his companions had been killed or whether they had been merely robbed and left on the roadside; but their despairing cries sounded in his ears unendingly, and he seemed to hear the vicious whistle of the bullets and to feel their wounds. A great compassion for the old wool-dealer who had been kind to him wrung his heart so acutely that several times he cried aloud. He sat down only to start up again—expecting to see phantom shapes, tormented with the fear that the wool-dealers' distressed spirits would for ever haunt him. Not until day was dawning did he care to lie down and even then he knew no sleep.

He tried to calculate how many days had passed since he had left the capital—was it six, seven or eight? And he was still wrestling with the problem, still attempting to thrust himself through obstacles which he did not understand. Sometimes he wondered why he had attempted this task. It was too big for a boy; yet he had been told that that was just the reason why he might succeed. He wondered why he did not give it up: he was not bound to go on. No one could possibly know what he did. Now he remembered how the inn-servant, when he was paid for a certain service, merely went and sat down in a lonely spot. Then, when he thought that thought anger gained him. His doggedness and his loyalty were aroused. He was not a mean fellow like that inn-servant. He would not turn back or surrender.

He must have dozed during these hours of dawn; for he awoke to find himself shivering under a fine rain which dripped through the grain and covered his face with dew. Rousing himself, he sat up and began munching some flour-cakes he still had with him. Now he made a vow that that very day he would push through and encounter his destiny cost what it might. Tightening his belt he started off.

As he scrambled through the fields he became gradually aware of a low thunder on the horizon. The sound puzzled him for the rain had stopped and the sun had come out from behind the clouds and it was fair weather and very hot. And yet as he walked this thunder increased—not slowly but very rapidly. At length he paused to listen.

"Shen-mo(what is it)," he exclaimed aloud in his perplexity, impelled to talk to relieve himself, and wondering whether the tiny paper wad in one ear was spoiling his hearing.

Then at last he struck his hands together and babbled madly in his excitement.

"Ta-p'ao(big guns)," he shouted. "They are coming, they are coming!"

He ran now until he was completely out of breath, changing his run to a fast walk and then back to a trot as soon as he could.

In this frantic way he covered several miles, his face beaded with perspiration. The air was shaking with the concussions now and his excitement was so great that he trembled from head to foot. He knew it was the foreign army exploding in wrath at finding its path barred: he pictured to himself the rival soldiery struggling together....

He ran on directly towards the growing sounds. He was on the main road now and the dry alkali soil, being unsuitable for any kind of cultivation, opened up in great vistas of space.

At length he saw the river again and on it boats, many boats, loaded with people, crossing from one bank to the other.

He made his way towards them pantingly. Almost before he knew it, he had met a crowd of men, women, children, all crying and talking together, driven in front of the rising storm like wild animals before a prairie-fire. The deserted countryside was giving up its victims: every hiding-place was being emptied by this approaching human storm.

He did not stop to ask questions: he ran on towards the river. The boats were going backwards and forwards steadily and quickly, the boatmen working like madmen to save the mass of women and children.

He waded into the water and jumped on one boat that was just pushing off to go back for more people, with a story about his mother who had been left behind; but the boatmen never so much as glanced at him. Once near the opposite shore he jumped knee-deep into the water, to avoid the oncoming rush of people, not caring what had happened as long as he got through.

In the village above the river there was not a soul—every living thing had fled. But the long deserted street seemed garlanded with coming events. The air was pulsating with sound. He could hear the rattle of musketry, very fast and hard. He clambered up a high bank and found that he overlooked a gaunt plain. It was alive with tiny little figures running in many directions. For long he waited to know who they were, but presently there was a big jet of smoke and flame and the sound of an angry explosion which floated across to him slowly and reluctantly. The foreign army was throwing shell on to the plain: the running men were his fellow-countrymen fleeing from the menace of their wrath.

But where was the foreign army—where?

He began running along towards the edge of the plain. Very soon he tumbled over two men in red and blue tunics, with dishevelled queues, who were splotched with blood, lying on the ground as if they were held down by an iron hand. As he ran he could hear their voices wailing "Chiu-ming, chiu-ming (save our lives)"; but he never paused.

Now he was well on to the plain. All the running men had disappeared. A few motionless dots showed where some others had fallen but apart from that all was bare. The hidden army must have eyes that could see; for the guns had ceased magically and the musketry rattle too. A great emptiness filled heaven and earth and his fear grew so that once again his knees shook.

He fell on his knees.

On his knees he waited and then he saw. Men on horses had suddenly appeared riding fast with long lances in their hands, streaming on to the plain in irregular streams. From a very great distance he saw that their faces were black, for their brown turbans showed that and also their hands and arms. The foreign army had devils in league with them—all the tales of his childhood came back to him.

And yet he did not move—he made no movement save to kowtow for mercy with his head. But when the black horsemen caught sight of him, they lowered their lances and rode at him playfully, accepting his surrender by reining in and doing him no hurt. Then it was that he was inspired and began repeating incessantly, with great explanatory waves of the hands back to where he had come from, "he will go," pronouncing the remembered words in the native way, Hei wei ko, which made them a strangely changed English.

The troopers, vastly puzzled, clustered round him, talking fast to one another in an unknown language. They suspected something of the truth but were not sure. India looked at China with inquiring eyes.

He stood up.

"Hei wei ko" he repeated more and more insistently, waving back with his hand to where he had come from and pointing at them insistently to show that he sought their aid. Then, with a swift movement, he took a thorn he had threaded unto his tunic out and sat again on the ground and picked at his ear, very carefully, slowly forcing out the tiny ball of tissue-paper.

The mob of horsemen watched him breathlessly. East watched East and wondered whether it was a miracle since miracles are known by word of mouth to all as well as found in books. But when he had the tiny ball of tissue-paper in the hollow of his hand, and spread it out and showed them the English writing on it, they gave a great shout of understanding. Almost before he knew it one horseman had spurred his horse alongside him and shifting his lance, had slung him up behind him with a single powerful swing. Now they called to him and told him with signs to hold on tightly. With the boy clasping him round the waist, the horseman began galloping back in a mad gallop.

Beyond the edge of the gaunt plain, through the growing grain, columns of the foreign army were marching—many men, white men as well as black men in such an array as the boy had never seen before. There were thick columns of them, raising choking dust as they marched. The horseman galloped on calling something as he passed and causing all eyes to turn. He made straight for a mounted group preceded by a man with a small flag. Wang the Ninth knew that they were important men for the oldest had white hair. There, reining in abruptly the trooper began his story, pointing to the boy who had slipped to the ground, and who was gazing at them all as if in a dream.

Then the oldest one, who had quite white hair, called to him and when he had received the tiny piece of paper, he read it and passed it to the others with much talk, finally putting his hand into his pocket and giving the boy a gold coin.

Wang the Ninth took it with an awe-struck expression. He had never seen gold before; he fingered it with eyes round with surprise. He had heard that it was worth twenty or thirty times the value of silver.

And before he had recovered from this, and while the others were passing the paper from hand to hand, a foreigner, who could speak his language appeared and commenced questioning him and writing down his answers. Every one listened as if they could not hear enough. All the adventures he had passed through he recounted, speaking quickly and volubly, the foreigner who spoke his language translating. Later he told him that it had been reported for many days that all the foreigners in the capital had been killed, and that therefore his message had lifted a great load from their hearts. For although they were now advancing as fast as possible a great army in a hostile country could only advance slowly.

Presently he was given food and water, and he walked alongside the horse of the great general into the village many eyes watching him, the news having passed far and wide that he was the messenger who had at last arrived, having done a great feat although he was but a small boy.