Ching led us farther and farther away from the riverside, and past enclosures at whose gates stood truculent-looking, showily-dressed men, who carried swords hung from a kind of baldrick, and scowled at us from beneath their flat, conical lacquered hats. And I noticed that our guide always hurried us past these gateways, peeps through which were wonderfully attractive, showing as they did glimpses of gardens which looked like glorified, highly-coloured representations of our old friends the willow-pattern plates.
One in particular was so open that Smith stopped short, heedless of the presence of three fierce-looking Chinamen, with showy robes and long pendent moustachios.
“Look here, boys,” he cried. “What a game! Here’s the old bridge over the water, and the cannon-ball tree, and the gold-fish pond, and—”
“Come ’long,” whispered Ching hurriedly; and he caught our comrade by the arm, forcing him onward as the guards scowled at us fiercely.
“Here, what are you up to?” cried Smith, resenting the interference.
“Take velly much care of Englis’ offlicers. Big mandalin live there. Men sword velly sharp—cut off head.”
“Bosh!” said Smith shortly; “they’d better.”
“Oh no, they hadn’t,” cried Barkins. “We don’t want to take you on board without any head.”
“But they daren’t hurt us,” cried Smith bumptiously. “We’re Englishmen, and our gunboat is in the river. I’m not afraid. Why, there’d be a war if one of these men interfered with us. Our people would land and burn up the place.”
“No,” said Ching quietly. “Send letter to mandalin. Why you men cut off little offlicer head?”