He was on perfectly familiar ground. Cautiously he approached a roadway leading to one of the northern gates. It was his intention to board, if possible, one of the passenger-carts plying between the northern and southern limits of the city, and by mixing himself among city folks to mask his identity. He had already thrown away his staff the night before. Now he rolled up the blue bundle which had contained his food and dropped it. Then he took the few small silver coins he had and hid them in a crevice in the city wall, which he marked carefully so that he could one day recover his property—if he survived.
He had one small string of holed copper coins left—just enough for a purchase or two and for his fare on the passenger-cart. Now having done everything which his fertile brain could suggest he hastened on, swinging his arms carelessly.
The fact that his tongue moistened his lips continually was the only sign of excitement he disclosed. His eyes, which were blood-shot from over-exposure in the sun, betrayed nothing at all. They were alert but not over-anxious. They looked out of his strong ugly face firmly and full of resolution, as if the world were an easy place to conquer.
Half-a-mile farther on he met a tattered fellow with a small basket under his arm who was selling miserable-looking plums. He bought some more for the sake of the companionship and for the conversation which he might have than for anything else. But the man knew very little save that it was dangerous everywhere in the city, and that poverty was the only sure buckler. There had been very heavy firing the day before: the foreign devils were still alive and shooting back he asserted. He also declared that there was a church full of them not more than a mile or so away who had had the audacity to blow up a whole camp of soldiers it, was said.
"It is more and more dangerous," grumbled the man. "As for your finding a seat in any passenger-cart, that is not to be thought of. None with money dare to move. How should carts ply for the moneyless!"
"Then I must walk," said the boy, "I go to find my relatives near the Hata gate."
He moved on—very deliberately.
A few shops of the poorer variety had now taken down their shutters. He noticed that the coffin-shops were open. But there were few people about, and even the main streets had a solemn and deserted appearance. Fortunately there were no soldiers—the plum-seller had said that they were being all drawn out of the city to meet some coming attack.
At length he passed under the shadow of the great Drum Tower which is right in the middle of the city and stands at the four cross roads. Here were soldiers. There were many of them aloft in this ancient work, standing in a line and gazing towards the south.
He hastened on, not daring to linger or to inquire what it might be.