Shen of the Sea: A Book for Children

by Arthur Bowie Chrisman

Sad to relate, Prince Chang’s merriment was to be of brief duration. A band of robbers sprang up from the roadside and surrounded him, pummeling him without mercy—all striking at one time. They took his stick and his clothing and the little bag of coins that hung from his neck. They left him in the road for dead. A sorry ending, that, to his journey. . . .

Shortly, another traveler chanced by, and he was a man of warm heart. He revived Prince Chang and took him on his shoulder, carrying him to a village. There he set out food and clothing and bade the prince ask for what more he desired. Chang was deeply thankful. “How can I ever repay you?” “Ya ya pei (Pish tush),” said the man. “It is nothing. What is a bit of food? And what is a gift of clothing? Besides, you must know that I am a tailor and will charge my next customer double. ‘A tailor—a rogue,’ says the proverb.” “I do not believe it,” exclaimed Chang, “and when I become King——” (There he forgot himself again.) “Ho. Ho. Ho,” roared the tailor. “When you become King. Ho. Ho. When you are King, you may reward me. You may make me a general in your army.” “It shall be done,” declared Chang. “What is your honorable name?” “Wang is my miserable name. Wang, the tailor. Farewell, and good luck be with you, my future King.” So they parted, merrily enough—each laughing at the excellent jest.

Prince Chang continued his journey. For three days he saw no man of flesh and bone, nor came upon a dwelling. At the end of the third day he was weak and unsteady from hunger. His stick broke beneath his weight and he lay beside the road, waiting for death to come. Instead of death, there came a shepherd with sheep and goats. The shepherd picked up Chang and saw that the boy was far spent. It was quite plain that hunger had used him evilly. Promptly the quick-witted fellow slung Chang on his shoulder and carried him off to a cave. Milk in bottles of leather hung on the cavern walls. Also, there were cheeses. Chang was made to drink of the milk—a little at first—only enough to moisten his throat. With the return of strength, he drank greedily, completely emptying a goatskin. And the emptier the bottle grew, the more he thanked the shepherd. “You have done me a great service,” said Chang. “If I had money I——” “Ya ya pei (Pish tush),” said the shepherd. “It is nothing. I fed you with no thought of reward.” “Nevertheless,” declared Chang, “when I am made King I——” The shepherd was like to strain his throat with guffawing. “Ho. Ho. Ho. When you are made King. What a merry chap you seem to be. Very well, when you are King you may reward me. Make me a general in your army. Ho. Ho. Ho.” “I shall. I shall.” The prince was emphatic. “What is your honorable name?” “My paltry name? Most folk call me Mang—Mang, the shepherd. And here, you must carry some food with you, for the nearest house is thirty li distant. Take this cheese—and may good luck be your companion, my King of the wandering road.”

Burdened as he was, Prince Chang made slow work of getting over the mountain. He had begun to think seriously of dropping the cheese when a troop of soldiers clattered up the road behind him. “How fortunate,” said Chang. “Here are my father’s soldiers. They will take me on their horses to the next village.” But the soldiers halted with a “Who are you, and what brings you here?” queried most fiercely and with scowls. The prince stammered that he was sometimes called Chun, a most unfortunate invention, for Chun was the name of a local bandit. The soldiers’ frowns turned to pleased smiles (there was a reward offered), and the captain said: “So you are Chun, and you have just robbed some poor person of a new suit and a cheese. Off with his head, my braves.” Chang now saw that he was indeed in a tangle. A bold face seemed the only escape. He put on a stern look, saying: “How dare you execute men without a trial? Do you not know that I am Prince Chang, son of your noble King?” The captain bowed in mock humility. “Your Highness seems large for such a tender age. I happen to know that King Yen Chi’s eldest son is only two years old. Let your swords drink, men.”

The terrible truth was made plain to Chang. He had wandered across the border of his father’s kingdom. He was in a neighboring and hostile country. . . .

The swords were lifted to strike, when—swish—came an arrow. After it, quickly, another, and another. Each found its mark. For each arrow a soldier crumpled. The others dug heels in their horses galloping pell-mell for their lives.

A stalwart youth stepped out from a pine. “You had better go quickly,” he said to Chang. “The border of our own country lies a full mile back.” “I thank you with all my heart,” declared Prince Chang, “and shall reward you fittingly when——” “When you are King?” finished the other. “I heard what you said to the soldiers, and wondered at your daring. Very well. Make me a general when you become King, and that will be ample reward.” “It shall be done,” vowed the prince. “What brave name do you bear?” “Name? Oh, you may call me Lang. Lang, the very indifferent archer. And now you must go, for more soldiers will come, and my arrows are few.”

Prince Chang was not long returned from his journey when the King passed away in an illness. Immediately the crown was placed on Chang’s brow, and all the people burned much incense of la ka wood, crying “Hail.” And almost with their next breath they shouted “Kou chou (The Enemy).” An enemy was marching upon Ku Hsueh. The new King had barely seated himself upon the heighty throne before he found it necessary to see about raising an army. There were two great troubles with the old army. It was dwarfish small and it boasted more generals than bowmen. Of course, the generals never fought. They did nothing but plan—usually what they’d have for dinner, and which sword they’d wear to the King’s next reception. Yet, King Chang added more generals to the army.

The first complaint raised against King Chang by his people was that he had added four more generals to the army. His new generals were named Tang, Wang, Mang, and Lang—though doubtless, such information is hardly necessary. They were old friends of the King. The four arrived at the capital in time to see a huge army of hostiles encamp on the far side of the river that bordered the city. By great good fortune, the river was past fording, so holding the enemy in check. The King and his generals gazed across the river. Said he: “It is easily seen that the enemy has twenty men for every one we muster. What are your plans?” Of all his generals, only Wang seemed to have so much as the shadow of a plan. Wang said, “Give me all the tailors in the city, and all the cloth stored in the royal go-downs.” “Take them,” said King Chang. “If you don’t, the enemy will.”

Throughout the night General Wang and his tailors slaved needle and thread. The click of thimbles made a continuous humming sound. The hostiles on the farther shore heard, and wondered what strange warlike engines King Chang might be preparing.