Chapter Thirty Two.
On the Road to Pekin.
As we got further up the countryside, we saw numbers of gardens full of peach trees, the fruit of which was plentiful enough, with an occasional poplar grove, the usual decoration of a cemetery; while the villages became more frequent, too, and more populous, one meeting us almost at every mile.
The people that we met, however, received us in a very puzzling fashion, coming round our cages to look at us, as if we were so many wild animals, and roaring with laughter at our appearance; even the very babies crowing with merriment on our being pointed out to them by their fond parents, much to Ned’s disgust, although I joined in with their hilarity, it was really so hearty and catching!
That night we all slept together in one of the inns along the road, where, although the bed-place was fixed, it had plenty of moving tenants before our arrival; and, I’m sorry to say, we carried off a few of them when we went away in the morning, and suffered in consequence.
But beyond this little personal matter, which is a mere detail to anyone travelling in China, and the staring of the inhabitants, we did not suffer much inconvenience during our journey, the old fellow in charge of us giving us the best food he could get, in the shape of rice and eggs, the latter of which were sometimes in such a state of perfection that they deserved to have been promoted to the rank of poultry; and, on the third day after leaving Tientsin, although the distance between the two places must be eighty or ninety miles, we saw the walls of Pekin in front of us.
So our guide, the old chap, told us, at least; but, although the sight of this celestial city is asserted by the Chinese to “strike awe” into the beholder on first sighting it, we should not have known we were gazing on such an imposing object as the capital of China undoubtedly is!
On closing up with the town, we passed a collection of tombs with stone tortoises carrying memorial tablets on their backs, and other signs of mourning, and a josshouse; and we soon after this entered Pekin by a granite causeway over a tumble-down bridge, passing for some distance along, the massive walls, which were some fifty feet in height and of equal thickness.
“Yellow hat” was evidently anxious to keep us as private as possible; for, he hurried the bearers through the streets, which, though dirty, were wide, and the buildings on either side, with their roofs of glazed yellow tiles and fronts all carved and gilded, looked showy enough in the sunshine.
It was like a panorama, being thus carried through these strange streets, with the people stopping to look at us, but not behaving at all rudely, although our army must have been known to be marching on the capital; and Ned and I absolutely enjoyed it, noting as we sailed past the temples and curio shops and pagodas and all, the constant stream of umbrella-bearing passers-by and the fact that nearly all the old men held birds in their hands tied on to sticks, looking just like those wooden monkeys which pedlars hawk about at home for the delectation of rustic juveniles.
“Yellow hat” told us subsequently, with reference to this curious picture of their domestic life, that it was the custom of the country so to take out their pet canaries and other little songsters for an airing, instead of lapdogs.
These they reserve for their pies and other choice dishes.
Ned and I seemed to pass through miles of real nightmares as we went along, the people and their surroundings having an air of unreality.
The only things about Pekin we thought genuine were the smells, which were something awful; as we learnt from bitter experience during our four weeks’ captivity here, locked up in a cell with all the common criminals, and, I believe, all the vermin of the city.
Somehow or other, the old man had mysteriously disappeared after leaving us at a quiet inn in the Tartar quarter, where, as well as we could understand him, we were to remain until he had a chance of communicating with the approaching English force to have us ransomed.
“Chin, chin!” he said to Ned as he left us. “Mi go one piecee and yo waittee; Fanqui comee one piecee by by.”
The next day, instead of his coming back again, a file of rough Tartars belonging to Prince Sankoliu-sin’s army rushed into the room where we were, and throwing us roughly on the floor, proceeded to strip us of everything we had about us, leaving us only our shirts, which were rather ragged by this time and not in a condition to do our laundress credit!
We were, after this, cruelly tied with ropes that cut our wrists and ankles, and then dragged to prison, where we remained until one day we heard the booming of guns in the distance.
“Good heavens, Jack!” cried poor Ned, who was by this time the wreck of his former self, and whom nobody on board the ship certainly would have recognised, “Those must be Armstrongs! I know the sound of them too well. Thank God, our comrades now are near at last to release us or revenge us!”
Later on, the same day, some Chinese soldiers entered, instead of the usual Tartar guard which we had seen since we had been in this hole; and these, putting chains round our necks, marched us off, as we thought, to execution.
“Good-bye, Ned, old fellow, if they separate us,” said I. “Should you escape, please tell my old Dad about me, and the people at home.”
“Nonsense, Jack,” he replied, trying to laugh it off. “If we die, we’ll die together. But, I should like to pay out old ‘yellow hat’ first. By Jove, I should like to see him now!”
Talk of—angels!
At that every moment, as we were passing through a narrow stone passage beneath the walls of the city, as we judged from their height, the very individual of whom Ned had been speaking the instant before appeared on the scene; and, all I can say is, that if we had thought him the reverse of an angel previous to his coming, we were, on the contrary, inclined to believe him to be the genuine article as soon as he told us his errand!
It was to release us, and take my poor emaciated and ragged comrade and myself to the English camp.
Then it was that we heard the news that had happened since our imprisonment.
Sir Hope Grant, with the French troops under Montauban, had fought their way up to Yuen-ming-Yuen, the Summer Palace of the emperor.
This place, I may mention, was subsequently burnt to the ground by the English, after the French had looted it and carried off more than a million’s worth of plunder, leaving only the husks of the spoil for our gallant men, who had done all the hard work of the campaign!
The Summer Palace was burnt, I should explain, as a punishment for the cruel murder by the Chinese of a number of our officers and men, as well as poor Mr Boulby, the special correspondent of the Times, all of whom had been taken prisoners and tortured to death, though at the time they were under the protection of a flag of truce!
Our troops had pretty well paid out the Chinese before this, however; their infantry being annihilated and the Tartar cavalry of Prince Sanko-liu-sin “doubled up” by our dragoons.
This news “yellow hat” told us on our way to the English camp opposite to the Anting gate to the north of the city, explaining that the reason we had not seen him before was that he had gone away trying to open communications with our friends, and that he had made arrangements that no harm should befall us in his absence.
“It didn’t look much like it, though, half-an-hour ago!” said I, on Ned’s translating this to me, his knowledge of Chinese, originally pretty good, having increased considerably during our long detention amongst our criminal companions of the prison. “That ugly beggar next me seemed just about to slice off your head like a carrot when he turned up.”
“Better late than never, old chap,” said Ned, with a grin. “He mightn’t have turned up at all!”
The next moment, we passed a couple of men of the Royals who were doing out-post duty; and, ere we could realise the fact almost, we were amongst friends and comrades once more!
This was on the 10th October, on which day Sir Hope Grant sent a demand to the Chinese authorities that unless the Anting gate was surrendered by the 13th, or in three days’ time, the city would be bombarded.
The morning of the 13th came, but the Chinese were still unyielding; so, the guns in front of the fortifications were sponged out and run back ready for loading, with the gunners standing by awaiting the order to fire.
Every heart beat high with expectation, and it looked as if we were going to have a last fight of it; when, just on the minute of the hour fixed for the ultimatum to expire, the gates were thrown open and the defences of the city surrendered to the English army.
Another minute, and the Union Jack was floating over the walls of Pekin.
The rest is a matter of history.