And Mr Hennessy K. Waldron was about right--a copper cash, in the coinage of China, having the approximate value of the fifth part of a farthing.
[CHAPTER VIII--AND HOW FRANK RESOLVED TO FOLLOW IT]
That same evening, Men-Ching, accompanied by another man, set forth upon his journey to the south. It was calculated that he could reach the river in five days, though to do so he would have to travel by night as well as day. The prisoners had little doubt that he would find a river-junk at Pinglo or at some other river-side village where the brigands had established outposts. With the help of the current and a favourable wind, he could reach Canton in a few days, and thence the last stage of the journey could be completed by steam-boat--ships leaving Canton for Hong-Kong at least twice a day.
There was, therefore, plenty of time--provided no mishap befell him--for Men-Ching to fulfil his mission. Cheong-Chau, who knew his business, had taken steps to convince the Governor that the plight of the judge was genuine. He had included in the envelope containing his own letter a gold signet ring, which he himself had taken from the finger of Sir Thomas.
When Men-Ching left the cave it was raining hard. He brought the two letters to the fireside, desiring in all probability to satisfy the prisoners that there was to be no mistake, that he was not going to take any risks. He took off his faded scarlet coat, ripped up the lining with a sharp knife, and sewed the letters inside. That done, he tied a sash around his waist, threw a straw raincoat across his shoulders, and put on a large straw hat such as the coolies wear when at work in the southern ricefields. Then he and his companion departed, Men-Ching carrying in his hand a long stick. They followed the narrow path that traversed that bare, desolate region, at one moment on the crest-line of a watershed, at another upon the very brink of a precipice.
The rain descended in torrents, shutting out completely the last rays of the setting sun. A great darkness descended upon the wilderness. The water in the gullies and ravines mounted with the rapidity of quicksilver; and presently the night was alive with savage, discordant sounds: the wind howling amongst the rocks, the roar of cataracts, turbulent streams plunging, as if demented, down the mountain-side. But in spite of the darkness and the rain, Men-Ching and his companion continued to move rapidly towards the south. He was an old man, as we know, but he was by no means inactive. Also, he knew every inch of the road. It was probably for that reason that Cheong-Chau had selected him to undertake the journey.
They did not halt to rest until many hours after daybreak, and then snatched only a few hours' sleep, after eating a handful of rice. The storm had cleared. Men-Ching took off his raincoat, and stretched it out upon the ground, in order that it might dry in the sun. Placing both his hands upon his faded scarlet coat, he expressed the greatest satisfaction to find that it was absolutely dry. The letters were safe; he could feel them inside the lining. There was no chance that the rain had washed out the ink. Indeed, in the whole world, there is probably no more efficient waterproof garment than the straw raincoat of the Far East.
In course of time Men-Ching gained the southern extremity of the Nan-ling Mountains, at a place not far from the town of Pinglo. The rich, fertile valley lay before him, extending as far as the eye could reach. He had left behind him China, the desolate, the barbarous, the unknown; before him lay China, the civilised, the prosperous, the land of ceaseless industry and untold wealth.
And there, for the time being, we may leave him, still travelling towards the south upon his robber's errand. We will leave him to his fate, to the mercy of the heathen gods he may or may not have worshipped. His destiny was already sealed, though little did Men-Ching dream that that was so.
In the cave, day followed day, so far as the captives were concerned, with the same dreary monotony; the same fears and half-foolish hopes. They could take no exercise, and they had no books to read. There was nothing for them to do but to talk, to discuss amongst themselves the tragedy of their position.