CHAPTER IX
MR. MACGARVIN’S PTOMAINE POISONING
IN the evening the Mandarin held his reception.
When I stepped out of my door the whole courtyard was ablaze with torches and countless large Chinese lanterns. The guard presented arms, the drums beat and the musicians gave us some tunes—hardly pleasing except to Chinese ears. The Mandarin had even sent me his own palanquin.
I shall never forget that evening. I sat in a litter upholstered in blue silk, with curtained windows, which was carried by eight sturdy fellows. In front, on the sides and behind the palanquin, marched soldiers with fixed bayonets and dozens of runners with paper lanterns. The palanquin swayed gently to the tread of the bearers. Every ten minutes the man at the head gave a loud signal by rapping with his stick on the ground; the litter halted, the bearers moved the carrying poles to the other shoulder, and on we went like the wind.
After forty minutes we reached the Mandarin’s palace. Ear-splitting music, shouted orders and the light of many lanterns and torches greeted us. The centre doors of the gigantic portals flew open before me, and in front of the last one the Mandarin himself came forward to receive me.
Several high dignitaries and generals had already assembled, and after ceremonial greetings the ordinary green, thinnish tea was handed round as a sign of welcome. I took advantage of this to present to the Mandarin my Mauser pistol, plus ammunition, as a token of my gratitude. He was visibly pleased, and we sat down to our meal in high good humour. A huge, round table, covered with some fifty dishes, in which swam the daintiest Chinese delicacies, awaited our pleasure. As a specially honoured guest I was handed a knife and fork, and the feast began. I added up the courses, but lost count at the thirty-sixth! But what about the menu? From the delicate swallows’ nests to the finest sharks’ fins; from sugar-cane salad to the most perfect chicken stews—nothing had been forgotten. I had to sample everything, and the Mandarin was tireless in his attentions, and even sometimes lifted a particular titbit from his own plate to place it with his own fingers on mine! We drank bottled beer from Germany! And German Schnaps.
Mr. Morgan’s was the hardest task, for he had to interpret the conversation, which was not devoid of comic aspects.
The battles round Kiao-Chow, the losses of the Japanese and the English and the flying interested the Chinese most of all. Their questions never ran dry.
I took hearty and grateful leave of my Mandarin, and the next day I did the same of my amiable hosts.