Wang the Ninth: The Story of a Chinese Boy

by B. L. Putnam Weale

Several times he became so drowsy that he heeled over, waking himself up completely with the shock of falling to the ground. But he was determined to remain awake cost what it might to his resolution. There would be a bare few minutes when dawn came to carry out his plan: if he missed the first coming of daylight it would be too late and the camels would be gone.

Calculating by the moon, at three o'clock he began to creep forward on his hands and knees. He might be mistaken for a dog, he thought, if any one were watching. He managed it so well that in the gentle night breeze he smelt the camels long before he could make out a single one of them. Then listening carefully as he approached, he could hear the murmur of the camel-drivers' voices. Already they were awake since it was their habit to start in the dark. But now they would not move until clear daylight for fear of the soldiers.

Dawn at last and from near the rings of kneeling camels wreaths of smoke. The drivers were evidently boiling tea for themselves, purposely delaying their departure until it was safe.

Now clear daylight. The boy by working along under the city wall was only fifty yards away, sheltered by a high bank of sand. He sat down with his back to the brickwork watching for the start.

The well-remembered snarling commenced. Jerking roughly at the nose-rings the drivers were raising the camels to their feet. Now they stood in a great shaggy herd and with their clumsy bells clanking, they started off. Quickly yet quietly he raced after them until he was near the last string: for it is the custom of the country to tie seven to a group which is led by one man. He gave a swift glance up at the empty baskets, and saw some sweet-potato vine hanging down. They were fruits-camels, he was sure. He knew the road they would take out of the city. It was just right for him.

Round the great belly of brick—the curtain of the city gate—the camels progressed. There was the stone bridge right in front of them; and on it were gaudy soldiers' flags. The caravan had come to a dead halt. The boy peering round the camels' hairy legs could see that there was an altercation with some guards. One camel-driver was down on his knees kowtowing humbly. There was a long pause during which the boy's heart was in his mouth. Would they be allowed to proceed? At last, the long train commenced swaying forward once more: they had been given the right to leave the city.

The leading files were already passing across the stone bridge when the boy saw that the soldiers stopped and interrogated each man leading his string of seven animals. If they did that to the men what would they not do to him?

In a flash he made up his mind to a desperate move. There was some long green creeper, in which the fruit had been packed, still hanging to the empty baskets on the last camel's back. The boy plucked it rapidly down, edged up to the last camel's head and rapidly pushed it into the camel's mouth. The camel grunted its pleasure and commenced mashing the acid creeper. The boy gave it more. Having quieted it, he grasped the cord hanging from the baskets, and with a desperate leap managed to pull himself half-way up. Then holding on like grim death to the fur of the animal, with a swift wriggle he did an old trick: he threw himself upside down and got a foot round a hump. Hanging head down, and clawing at the animal's furry hide, he jerked his light weight completely up. Exhausted and deathly pale from the exertion, he lay at last safe between the humps.

The moment of ordeal had arrived.

He knew that there was nothing to fear from the driver of the last string. He was at least twenty yards ahead with seven swaying animals in between; and with his heart certainly quaking from fear of the soldiers. It was only these he had to fear. With his eyes feigning sleep he squinted out beneath his eyelashes rocking himself to and fro. Here they were in numbers, in their parti-coloured tunics and their rifles held menacingly, ready for any sort of violence, delighting in violence. The boy thought of the white-bearded beggar lying dead on the sands with the ants beginning already to crawl over him, and closed his eyes completely, as if he were really sleeping.