Chapter Twelve.
“I wish you were a Dog.”
While one of the soldiers teased and brutally ill-used the monkey, which fought savagely with its aggressor, ending by getting hold of the spear-shaft with teeth and all four hands, and displaying an amount of strength that was wonderful in so small a creature, the other two looked on and laughed till their comrade was tired and merely held on to his spear. Then they condescended to turn their attention to their new prisoner, examining and giving him credit for the empty rice-pot; and after a glance at the other pot, which was half-full of water, one of them, watching for an opportunity, threw its contents all over the monkey, with the result that the poor brute uttered a shriek, loosened its hold of the spear-shaft, and contented itself with dodging the thrusts made at it by its aggressor.
He too now turned to Stan, and made a thrust at him with the spear-butt, and then stared with astonishment at the result.
For Stan’s temper boiled over at once.
“You insolent hound!” he roared, striking the bamboo aside, as he sprang at the man. “How dare you!”
Stan’s aspect was tragic, for, in spite of the disproportion between him and his enemy, the man started back, and the scene became a farce.
The great cowardly brute fell against one of his comrades, who responded by giving him a heavy thrust which sent him against the third, who raised his knee so suddenly that Stan’s assailant cannoned off and fell heavily against the cage-like partition.
“Hergh!” he growled savagely as he began to gather himself up slowly, glowering at Stan the while and muttering threats. But the next minute he uttered a yell and sprang to his feet, but only to fall back, with his head giving a heavy, resounding rap against the bamboo uprights, where Stan saw that it was held tightly, while his big, round face, turned towards the spectators of his trouble, was wrinkled up into distortions caused by fear and pain.
For the moment Stan was puzzled, and the more so at seeing the other two begin roaring with laughter as their companion continued to yell for help, while they stamped about the prison, thumping the butts of their spears upon the open floor.
“Why doesn’t he get up?” thought Stan.
A strange, snarling, growling noise gave the explanation. It was just such a sound as would be given out by a hound worrying a fox, and now it was that Stan grasped what had happened. For the enraged monkey had seen its opportunity when its tormentor had fallen and the back of his head struck the partition; it had darted its long, sinewy hand and arm through, and snatched them back, drawing soldier’s pigtail into the den. Then, with a snarl of triumph, a grab was made with the other hand and feet, the steel-trap-like jaws closed upon the thickest part of the plait, and holding on with bulldog-like tenacity, and more than double that animal’s strength, the fierce little creature growled and worried and tore away till Stan’s rage evaporated in something very much like enjoyment of the victim’s discomfiture.
“Well done, monkey!” he said to himself, and then waited to see the termination of the encounter.
One thing was very evident, and that was the impossibility of the man freeing himself, for at every struggle to draw the tail from the little animal’s grasp, and any increase of the distance between the imprisoned head and the bars, there was a fierce, worrying noise, and the monkey made a bound back which drew the head against the bars with a heavy thump, to the increase of the man’s agony, as it forced from him fresh yells for help and more laughter from his companions.
This went on and on, the sufferer running up and down a whole gamut of appeals, cries that were doubtless Chinese oaths hurled at his friends, threats of what he would do to the monkey, and orders to Stan—at least they seemed to be, for he stared furiously at the lad as he shouted, and at last so piteously in the midst of a savage worrying, which sounded as if the monkey was beginning to tear at the sufferer’s head, that Stan’s compassion was moved, and he went forward to try and get the man free.
But the others dashed at him at once, and holding their spears horizontally, thrust him back, growling out what evidently meant “No, no, no!” and completely debarring the lad from giving any aid.
At last, not from good fellowship, but from growing tired of the sport, the two soldiers began to lend an ear to their comrade’s appeals; and after a little banter from one, and a few shouts from the other to the monkey, which seemed to Stan to be incitements to the animal to go on worrying, a word or two passed between them, resulting in one picking up the water-pot, putting his spear in a corner, and stepping out into what seemed to be a passage.
Seeing this, a wild idea crossed Stan’s mind that now would be his time—that is, to seize the spear and make a dash for liberty.
But he made no attempt, for he felt that a better chance must come, and he waited, to see the man step back directly with the heavy pot brim full. This he bore towards the sufferer, who yelled at him savagely, words which Stan felt certain were a bullying, insulting order to make haste, for he saw the Chinese Aquarius exchange a malicious grin with his comrade, who stood leaning on his spear; and then the whole of the contents of the pot were discharged full at the partition, but with so mischievous an aim that the imprisoned head received a larger share than the monkey on the other side.
But the result was freedom.
Once more the monkey uttered a shriek at the unexpected bath, and darted away, while its victim scrambled up, feeling at his tail, which was ragged and torn frightfully about six inches or a foot from his head.
As the gallant warrior felt how terribly the noble appendage had been damaged, he burst forth into a piteous howl, and then literally blubbered with misery like a great, fat-headed booby of a boy.
“Oh, how-w!” he cried—“oh, how-w!” and once more his comrades stamped about and thumped the floor with their spear-ends in the exuberance of their delight.
“I wish I thoroughly understood Chinese,” said Stan to himself as, quite forgetting his own troubles, he listened to the crying soldier’s string of reproach poured out upon his comrades, till, after wiping the water from his head and clothes, and feeling his tail again from end to end, the pause he made over the gnawed and tattered portion was too much for him.
Uttering a howl of rage, he dashed at his spear, seized it from where it leaned, made for the partition, and thrust the sharp point through.
The monkey took this for a challenge, and uttered a chattering yell of defiance, while Stan saw it advance bravely to meet the fresh assault.
This could only have had one result, but the poor beast found an unexpected ally in Stan, who stepped forward just in time.
The spear was half its length through the bars, and on a level with the monkey’s broad breast, as the soldier made his thrust, one which must have spitted the little, dwarfish creature through had not Stan made a thrust at the same moment, diverting the man’s aim. The result was that the spear met with no opposition, and the fierce energy with which the stroke at the monkey was made carried the soldier crash against the partition and within reach of the animal’s hands, which passed through the bars, caught him by the ears, and held on for a moment or two—not more.
For the man threw himself back with a yell of dismay, escaped, and, now more enraged than ever, turned upon Stan with his spear.
It would have gone hard with the lad, for the soldier was furious, but his comrades interfered with angry word and action, dragged the spear from him, and bundled him out of the place, before refilling the water-pot and half-filling the other vessel with cold boiled rice.
While these proceedings were taking place Stan attacked the two soldiers verbally with the best Chinese he could command, assuring them that they had made a great mistake in arresting him, an Englishman, bidding them find out what had become of Wing, and ordering them to go straight to the merchant’s house at the other side of the town to tell him of what had happened, and then inform the mandarin of the city, so that the speaker might be released at once.
All of this the prisoner emphasised with great volubility. The two soldiers smiled and listened and nodded their heads, before going out and fastening the door after them, leaving poor Stan with the determination upon him to wait patiently until the messages were delivered, but all the time with his heart sinking and his common-sense telling him that his present jailers had not grasped a word he said.
“Oh dear!” he cried bitterly; “they didn’t understand a word. Oh, dear! why didn’t the Doctor teach me Chinese instead of all that Latin and Greek? They would have understood me then; while now I’m perfectly helpless, the brutes treating me just as if I were some newly discovered wild beast. Whatever shall I do?
“I know,” thought the lad at last: “wait till it’s dark. These bars are only bamboo, and it will be strange if I can’t get through as soon as I set to work. And what then? Why, the river! I must be able to find some boat or another. Pooh! I’m not going to despair.
“No,” he added gloomily after a few moments’ thought; “I can’t go alone, and leave poor old Wing in the lurch. He wouldn’t leave me, I know. I will make for the farm. Perhaps Wing is over there after all, and for aught I know he may be following me up, and is perhaps hunting for me even now. There, I’m not going to be heart-sick and despairing. I shall get away back to the hong after all.”
“Tchack!”
As Stan talked to himself he was gazing at the prison door, but this sound brought him round in the other direction, to see a pair of bright brown eyes watching him, and the fierce Chinese mountain monkey with its long, thin arm stretched through the bars.
“Hullo, savage!” cried Stan aloud. “I’d forgotten you. Nice game this, making me your companion. What do the contemptible brutes mean? To send us both to their wretched Zoological Gardens in Peking? I should like to catch them at it! Well, you’re not handsome, but, my word, you are a plucky little chap! Think of your tackling that great hulking John Chinaman as you did! I say, though, it was nearly all over with you with that spear.”
“Tchack!” said the monkey coolly.
“Say Jack, if that’s your name,” said Stan, smiling.
“Tchack!”
“Oh, very well! Tchack! I say, though, who’d ever think that there was so much strength in that skinny arm? What do you want? You can’t be hungry. Want to shake hands?”
“Tchack!” said the monkey quietly, and it strained out its fingers as far as it could, while its fellow-prisoner could see that it was clinging to the upright bar with the hand-like feet.
“Want to shake hands?” said Stan. “Now, I wonder whether monkeys have sense enough to know the difference between friends and enemies. Dogs do, of course, but you look a risky one. I’ve no tail for you to grab, but you might get hold of me and give me an uncomfortable grip. You might drag my hand through and bite and tear it horribly. Perhaps, though, I’m as strong as you are, if it came to a tussle. Yet I don’t know; you are wonderfully powerful for such a little chap.”
“Tchack!”
“Does that mean shake hands? Well, I’m just in the humour to risk it. Perhaps you do know I’m friendly, after all, for you don’t look so fierce as you did.”
Stan took a step or two nearer, bringing himself so close that he had only to raise his hand to take that of the fierce-looking little animal; while it was now light enough for him to see every twitch and wrinkling of its restless forehead as its eyes searched his keenly. Then he waited, occupying the time in calculating his chances.
“If I do let him grip my hand,” he said to himself, “and he tries to drag it between the bars, I have only to plant a foot against the bars and hold back. He can’t get at me to bite unless I let him drag my hand right through, and I’m not going to be such a coward as to shrink. I’ve been kind to the little brute, and fed him. All animals are ready to be friends with those who feed them, so here goes.”
But here did not go, for another thought struck the lad, and he gave utterance to it.
“What nonsense!” he said. “I’d better think of making my escape instead of trying experiments with monkeys. I might give him a little more to eat, though. Perhaps that’s what he wants after all.”
Stan stood blinking his eyes at the monkey, and the monkey blinked its eyes at him.
“Hungry?” he said aloud.
“Tchack!” was the reply.
“Not much of a conversationalist for a fellow-prisoner,” said Stan, laughing; and stooping quickly, he caught up the two chopsticks, dug a portion of the rice from the pot, and held it out. “Here you are,” he said.
The twitching of the animal’s face was wonderfully quick, and its eyes twinkled as it stared at its new companion, but for a few minutes it made no offer to take the rice.
“Aren’t you hungry?” cried Stan.
“Tchack!” was the reply, as the hand moved delicately, a couple of fingers pinching off a few grains, which were raised to the animal’s nostrils, snuffed at, and then crumbled so that they fell to the floor, while the hand remained outstretched.
“Not hungry? What does it mean, then—a trap?”
There was no reply, and after pitching back the chopsticks into the pot, Stan looked the animal full in the eyes, stood well on the alert, quite ready to plant his right foot against one of the bamboo bars, and then very slowly let his hand go down till it lay in the long, narrow, outstretched palm.
It was the crucial moment then, and hard work to keep from snatching it away, for the long, thin fingers closed over it gently but tightly. But that was all. The animal breathed heavily—it sounded like a sigh—but there was no sharp flashing of the keen brown eyes, only a softened look as they blinked gently; and the fierce little beast just held on as if it enjoyed having company and being talked to, for, perhaps oddly enough, the satisfied feeling began to be mutual, and in what followed the English lad seemed as if he were taking his fellow-prisoner into his confidence in an apologetic way.
“Seems stupid to make friends with a savage monkey,” he said slowly; and as he spoke he began to softly manipulate the long, thin fingers. “I don’t see why. A fellow would not be long in taking up with a strange dog if he were locked up alone as I am. He’d be precious glad of the chance, and you seem ever so much more intelligent than a dog. Like that?”
“That” was a gentle pressure of the hand; but there was no reply, so Stan went on talking gently:
“I wish you were a dog, old chap—our dog, so that I could write a note, tie it to your collar, and send you off with it to the hong. As a monkey, you must have more gumption than a dog; but if I did tear a leaf out of my pocket-book, write a message on it, and then tie it to your neck, do you know what you’d do?—No, you don’t.—Well, I’ll tell you. You’d take it and pick it all into little pieces, and perhaps chew them up. That’s about what you’d do; but I dare say I could teach you in time.
“Well,” continued Stan after a short pause, “I don’t believe you mean to bite. Let’s see if I can’t make you feel that you can trust me.”
It was venturesome, and Stan half-expected to see the hand snatched away, for he did see the eyes open more widely and begin to flash; but he went on with what he purposed doing, slowly and quietly raising his left hand, noticing that he was carefully watched, till it was just beneath the one he held. Then he supported it with his left hand, and began to stroke it gently with his right, smoothing the long, hairy fingers; and as this went on there was another soft, long-drawn sigh, and the animal’s eyes nearly closed.
“There!” said Stan suddenly; “that’s lesson the first. Now I’m going to see if there is a way out of this horrible dog-hole.”
He released the hand, and walked quickly away along the front bars, peering through into the yard, but seeing nothing but blank wall, and then crossed to the door, to stand listening.
But he had not been there many seconds before the monkey uttered an uneasy whine, bounded up the bars of the partition, sprang across to those at right angles, bounded back again higher up, and then, with wonderful activity, lowered itself down, clung fast, and thrust a hand through again.
“Oh, but I can’t keep on with that game!” said Stan cheerily. “Here, I’ll take hold again for a minute. Then I must sit down and think. No; I’ll try if I can eat some of that horrible rice.”
He went boldly up to the partition this time, and without hesitation took hold of the monkey’s hand, saw that it was supporting itself by clutching the bars with its feet, and the next moment two hands were thrust through, ready to be patted and held, a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction being uttered; and as Stan gazed in the intelligent brown eyes, he was ready to declare that the animal smiled.
“Well, it hasn’t taken long to get to be friends with you, old chap,” he said. “There! that will do. I’m going to have my breakfast now.”
Dropping the two hands, he stepped back to the two pots; and as soon as his fellow-prisoner was released it began to bound about the great cage with marvellous agility, snuffling, panting, and snorting, and ending by leaping at the partition, clutching the bars, and holding on, while it watched in perfect silence as Stan took a hearty draught of the water and then sat down with the rice-pot between his knees and began to eat the tasteless, unsatisfactory mess.
A few minutes later, when the prisoner looked up, his wild companion in adversity was out of sight—but not out of hearing, for from somewhere, apparently at the top, a peculiar tearing and crackling sound began. Sometimes it was a mere gnawing such as might have been made by a rat; then there would be a pause, followed by a sharp crack as a piece of cane was being ripped off. But Stan could see nothing, and coming to the conclusion that the monkey was amusing itself by tearing at some piece of board, he went on with his wretched breakfast, paying no heed till a couple of loud cracks came in succession, followed by quick footsteps and the unfastening of the door.
At the first sound of steps the noise ceased; and as the door was flung open and a couple of soldiers stepped hurriedly in, the prisoner looked up from his mess of rice to find that they were looking at him curiously, then round the place, till, apparently satisfied by seeing how peacefully their charge was employed, they drew back and shut the door, when silence once more reigned.