So great had become the reliance which by this time I habitually reposed in these men, that I never sought to oppose their pronouncements (such a course being not only useless but undignified), and we therefore together reached the place which the one by my side had described as a station.
From the outside the building was in no way imposing, but upon reaching an inner dungeon it at once became plain that no matter with what crime a person might be charged, even the most stubborn resistance would be unavailing. Before a fiercely-burning fire were arranged metal pincers, massive skewers, ornamental branding irons, and the usual accessories of the grill, one tool being already thrust into the heart of the flame to indicate the nature of its use, and its immediate readiness for the purpose. Pegs from which the accused could be hung by the thumbs with weights attached to the feet, covered an entire wall; chains, shackling-irons, fetters, steel rings for compressing the throat, and belts for tightening the chest, all had their appointed places, while the Chair, the Boot, the Heavy Hat, and many other appliances quite unknown to our system of administering justice were scattered about.
Without pausing to select any of these, the one who led me approached a raised desk at which was seated a less warlike official, whose sympathetic appearance inspired confidence. “Kong Ho,” exclaimed to himself the person who is inscribing these words, “here is an individual into whose discriminating ear it would be well to pour the exact happening without evasion. Then even if the accusation against you be that of resembling another or trafficking with unlawful Forces, he will doubtless arrange the matter so that the expiation shall be as light and inexpensive as possible.”
By this time certain other officials had drawn near. “What is it?” I heard one demand, and another replied, “Brooklyn Ben and Jimmie the Butterman again. Ah, they aren’t artful, are they!” but at this moment the two into whose power I had chiefly fallen having conversed together, I was commanded to advance towards them and reveal my name.
“Kong,” I replied freely; and I had formed a design to explain somewhat of the many illustrious ancestors of the House, when the one at the desk, pausing to inscribe my answer in a book, spoke out.
“Kong?” he said. “Is that the christian or surname?”
“Sir-name?” replied this person between two thoughts. “Undoubtedly the one before you is entitled by public examination to the degree ‘Recognised Talent,’ which may, as a meritorious distinction, be held equal to your title of a warrior clad in armour. Yet, if it is so held, that would rightly be this person’s official name of Paik.”
“Oh, it would, would it?” said the one seated upon the high chair. “That’s quite clear. Are there any other names as well?”
“Assuredly,” I explained, pained inwardly that one of official rank should so slightly esteem my appearance as to judge that I was so meagrely endowed. “The milk name of Ho; Tsin upon entering the Classes; as a Great Name Cheng; another style in Quank; the official title already expressed, and T’chun, Li, Yuen and Nung as the various emergencies of life arise.”
“Thank you,” said the high-chair official courteously. “Now, just the name in full, please, without any velvet trimmings.”