In Hazard (17 page)

Up in the mountains he had been wallowing for six months in the life of the spirit, in communion. But now the illusion of the Red-Dust was on him again: once more the visible world existed. He became again clearly conscious of the familiar country round him: the tree-capped crags, the little verdant valleys. The smoke rising from the grey villages. The comfortable country-houses, black and white timber-and-plaster beneath their curly eaves. The deeply-lowing, reddish cattle. A pathetic donkey with a weight tied to its tail, so that it might not lift it—and being unable to lift it, might not bray.

The Red Army was God-knows-where—certainly it had not passed that way. He could rejoin it later. The first thing for Ao Ling to do, a communist and a deserter from Ho Chien's army, was to get out of the Province of Hunan.

As if he were aware of the stranger's thoughts, the abbot laid down his zither and remarked placidly:

“When a tiger is expected in the path, it is foolish to remain and tickle its nostrils with a straw.”

“I wash my ears, Old Immortal, and listen with reverence,” Ao Ling replied—forgetting, for the moment, his anti-clericalism.

The sun showed him which was the south; and so at a steady trot, in spite of his stubbed toe, he set out for the borders of Kwangtung. It took him five days to reach an escarpment from which he could see, below, the Pei river running through the tufted pinnacles of rock which line its bed. On the Pei river he took passage, unknown, in a boat for Canton.

But Canton, even, was no place for a known Communist: the proscription still raged. It was impossible to rejoin the Red Army—for its whereabouts were too uncertain. So Ao Ling put himself at the disposal of the Party: and the Party provided him with a set of genuine-looking seaman's papers. With their aid he was signed on the “Archimedes,” then lying at Hongkong.

It was no part of the contract, when the Party by a stroke of the pen converted Ao Ling into a Fireman of three years' standing, that he should spread communism among the crew of the “Archimedes.” The time for action of that kind was not ripe: there was little to gain by a few abortive mutinies. They had enough on their hands already, with the forces of the Kuomintang to resist, without exasperating the Powers into giving those forces more aid than they were giving already.

Ao Ling did not even carry with him any Marxist texts, for private devotion: the risk of discovery was too great. Consequently he was able to give the whole force of his new-found powers of learning to his old passion for machinery. There would be need, he knew very well, some day in the New China of men who could tend machines with skill. The raw material of engineers is rarer than the raw material of political martyrs.

And yet, at this moment, he was tempted very sorely. He knew that though these seamen were now sitting harmlessly listening to the story-teller, it would not be difficult to turn their minds to serious things. Being by nature stubbornly slaves, they would under ordinary conditions have been hard to rouse against the Imperialists: but this was a special moment, which would pass, and perhaps not return. Their heavy minds were now light with hunger and terror: easily swayed.

He felt a sudden conviction of power, surging into his finger-tips. He could stand up and speak: make these men follow him. They could over-power the officers, seize the ship. You can see that the temptation would be terrific, to a man who had never before been able to do anything effective on his own. At the thought of this God-the-Father of a Captain, reduced to an ordinary man—naked, but for his clothes—Ao Ling felt his muscles tremble, and a momentary flash of red light seemed to come out of the lantern.

Yes, he could do it.

But he had not the right. To act on his own, contrary to the express orders of the Party, was to be the worst sort of traitor. Duty utterly forbade it.

But was it only duty which made him open his fist, as it were, and let the opportunity slip through it? Or was it an older compulsion? At least, the feeling of collapse, as the erectile power in him ebbed and seemed to run out through the soles of his feet, was itself no new sensation to Ao Ling.

Henry Tung was telling them how he had dined once with some Taoists. As it grew dark, they had no lantern: so the eldest priest cut a moon out of white paper, and pinned it on the wall: where it hung, and flooded the whole room with light. It was certainly the real moon: for if you looked carefully you could see Hêng O herself, the Moon-Fairy, sitting there among the cinnamon-groves; her jade-white hare at her side. Presently the whole party stepped up into the moon—Henry and all, he said—to take a drink with the lady. But it was too cold, in those frozen horizons, to stop there long.

“I can cap that!” said Ao Ling suddenly: and burst forth into the most extraordinary story of a thing that had happened, he said, at the country inn at which he once worked. Two travellers had been sitting late over their supper, when they saw a girl's head poking through the wall and laughing at them. One of the travellers jumped up: but the head withdrew, leaving the wall as before. This happened several times. So he grew angry: and drawing a knife, crept on hands and knees to the foot of the wall, and waited. Presently the head popped through again, and he slashed up at the white throat with all his might. He cut the head clean off: it rolled on the floor all bloody:

“Loud cries! The landlord rushed in. There was the knife. The bleeding head still blinked its eyes. But wonder! There was no hole in the wall! No mark upon it! No body!—The men were arrested: but no body was ever found....”

“
All man listen my talkee!
” said a startling, clear voice.

Every eye turned towards where the pin-point of an electric torch was aimed at them. Behind it, they could just see the Captain: and with him, Mr. Soutar and Mr. Watchett. He stepped forward into the lantern-light, an officer at each shoulder. Mr. Soutar was making signs: trying to point out Henry Tung to him.

“Sea too much bobbery? No can catchee chow-chow, heh?” he began, and took their silence for agreement. Then he went on to point the moral: “I makee my pidgin, you makee your pidgin, good Joss! Ship can reach port! All man work hard can catchee cumshaw!”

“Cumshaw” means “bonus.” Instantly before each brightening inward eye silver dollars danced on a wooden desk.

He paused for a moment, before advancing the second side of his argument, and put his hand into his pocket.

“—Suppose you makee trouble? My got irons. You no forget my got
this
piecee!” He brought his hand out suddenly, with a revolver in it. “My no wantchee bobbery!”

He paused again, to let the position sink in: for it had better, before he came to the third phase of the matter. Then suddenly he burst out in a trumpeting sternness:

“My plenty savvy have got this place one piecee bad man! No belong sailorman, belong pilate man!
Velly
bad man! Velly bad joss!”

Suddenly he spun round, pointing his revolver at Ao Ling.

“Arrest that man, Mr. Watchett,” he said.

Dick sprang forward with alacrity—with far too much, being unused to making an arrest: and almost tumbled on top of Ao Ling. All the faces of the crew were turned towards them, like surprised moons, and Mr. Soutar spluttered, “But ... but ...”

Dick seized one wrist; fumbled with the handcuffs, and dropped them. Ao Ling, terrified, put up his other hand to shield his face. Dick, surprised at the sinewy strength of the wrist he held, and thinking the other meant a blow, clenched his fist and drove hard at Ao Ling's cheek. The sinewy wrist relaxed, limp as a girl's: Ao Ling fell back, and Dick handcuffed him as he lay.

“I've known about this man for a long time, Mr. Soutar,” the Captain said in an aside: “He came on board at Hongkong with forged papers. I got a wireless from the Hongkong police, asking me to arrest him. He's a well-known bandit, by what they say.”

“You've known it a long time, Sir?”

“Yes; but I had not meant to make the arrest till we got to port. But now you come and tell me trouble is brewing: seemed a good chance. You saw for yourself he was the real ring-leader, he was haranguing them nineteen to the dozen. I don't think there will be any trouble after this—your Master Henry will pipe down.”

He turned again to the Chinese.

“That man belong plenty bad man! You have look-see what fashion my makee with bad man: my catchee him takee lock-up.
You
good man, you no fear. Makee your pidgin, obey order chop-chop, good joss! Bymeby can come port pay plenty cumshaw: pay all man two dollar!”

Most of his hearers smiled. They were not much concerned about Ao Ling: what they were concerned about was getting justice for themselves. Well, they were to have it: a cumshaw (bonus) was justice. Two dollars a cataclysm: that was ample justice.

Captain Edwardes's conscience, however, was not too comfortable. His behaviour he felt, had not been as scrupulous as he liked it to be towards Chinese. And yet, if Mr. Soutar was right, surely the coup was justified. As for young Watchett's bungling and violence, Captain Edwardes felt deeply to blame for it.

Ao Ling was handcuffed now: but he was still knocked out. They could not wait for him to revive: too much of an anti-climax. So Dick, blushing rather ashamedly at the unnecessary force he had used, bent to pick the man up.

He was astonished at the softness, now, of the limp body in his arms: the smoothness of the skin: and his shame grew. Ao Ling hanging limp like that in his arms, was almost as light as Sukie had been.

Mr. Soutar helping him, he carried Ao Ling to the Hospital (as a convenient cell for the moment): laid him more gently on the bed than a policeman should: and locked him in.

[1]
The government made a practice of referring to the Communist forces as “bandits.” But the word has not quite the same connotation as in English. The Chinese bandit does not operate solely for gain: the game, for that alone, would not be worth the candle. He is often moved by a strong moral principle as well. Banditry (before the appearance of Communism in China) used to absorb what in Europe would have become revolutionary elements. But it is characteristic that where the European revolutionary is out to overthrow the social system, the Chinese bandit only repairs it: for economically, he serves the useful purpose of keeping wealth circulating. When caught he is, of course, executed.

It seemed Captain Edwardes was a good judge of “Joss”: or else he had looked at the barometer. Anyhow, the barometer had already risen at the time he arrested Ao Ling, and it continued to rise all the night, and with dawn the wind noticeably slackened. By nine o'clock it was certain and plain, that the sucking of the storm had relaxed its hold on them: that they were at last spewed out. I do not mean that the storm was over, it continued on its course with equal fury: but the “Archimedes” was no longer in it. She had fallen out of the back.

The wind was no more, now, than a strong breeze—a yachtsman's gale. The ship lay with her nose generally north-east, and what wind there was varied from south-west to west—was almost directly aft.

Everybody knows that a boat under sail does not roll as badly as a motor-boat. The wind holds on to the sail; and steadies her, whatever the waves may be up to. But should a sudden calm drop, while the sea is still rough, she will roll till your teeth rattle. Something of the same sort happened now. While the hurricane lasted the “Archimedes” had been pinned down almost as if her slab sides were working-canvas: the seas could not do with her altogether according to their whim. But now that the steadying hurricane was relaxed, there was nothing to restrain her motion: she danced like a frenzied cork, she rolled as she had never rolled since the weather began. What little on board of her had not smashed before, smashed now. The few remaining life-boats kicked out their chocks, and with broken backs somersaulted in their falls: the saloon table, bolted to the deck, snapped off its own legs. There was an unmusical clanging everywhere like abominable bells. Wire guys parted; or, with a small remnant of their object weighting the loose end, cracked like whips. Looked on as a pandemonium, the ship was worse than she had ever been.

Moreover the seas were coming up astern, pooping her. No one could have done any oiling now in the after latrines, they were spouting like geysers. The bulkheads of the after-castle were being stove in, one after another: water was pouring over the steering engine. The seas began to come clean over the after-castle, their weight levering the forward end of the ship sometimes right out of the water. When they did that, of course, much of the water went down the gap in No. 6 hatch: reducing that perilous margin very fast.

Dick Watchett could hardly believe his senses, when he found that the wind had dropped, and the risen barometer proved that this was no “centre” again, but at last the storm's periphery. He hurried to the Bridge—to get the good news confirmed. He found the Captain and Mr. Buxton in the chartroom, both holding on to the built-in chart-roller.

“Is it true, Sir?” he burst out: “Are we really out of the storm?”

Captain Edwardes nodded. And then, looking at the Captain's face, Dick saw an astonishing thing. Captain Edwardes was, for the first time in that storm, afraid.

Dick looked back at the ship beneath him: and saw why. He saw the poop disappear in a shifting tumble of foam that raced forward right to the very centre-castle. She winced under it; her bows, even viewed from the height of the Bridge, mounting almost to the horizon. It passed; but her stern did not very greatly rise. Without doubt she was now down by the stern.

Just at that moment Sparks appeared on the Bridge, to report his emergency set was once more working.

“Send a call to all ships,” said Captain Edwardes: “
Estimated position so-and-so, require immediate assistance!
And keep on sending.”

Sparks, with blanched face, departed on his ominous duty.