Gubbins might be described as “young.” China had till the last few weeks been nothing to him but a name. Still, here he was, clerk in the firm of Sardine and Butterworth, and full of that home energy so often lacking in the old China hand.
Gubbins with his hearty manners and youthful enthusiasm at once won his way into the hearts of society in Ping Tu, and Shelford, in default of a better jockey (everyone having refused to ride the now famous Kwa Niu), engaged Gubbins to ride for him in the Ping Tu Derby.
About a fortnight before the race-meeting the number of corpses that floated down the river became burdensome. Many of the men and officers in the merchant ships lying in the stream were attacked with typhoid, and from all accounts there was a severe epidemic raging in Whang Chai, a town some six miles higher up the river. Something had to be done, as the matter was becoming serious, and Shelford, from his intimate knowledge of the language and ideas of thought of the natives, was despatched in a steam launch to Whang Chai to discover the state of affairs, and if possible to suggest some means of arresting the ravages of the disease. Shelford arrived at the highly insanitary little town, and without further delay interviewed the head official, one To Phat, an indolent and superstitious civil mandarin. The chief military officer, a man with Western ideas and well educated, was at the time absent from Whang Chai. Shelford found the people dying by hundreds in the dirty little town, and as far as he could see there was every prospect of their continuing to do so until they appreciated the fact that drinking-water need not necessarily be drawn from the main sewers.
To Phat, comfortably seated in his yamen, admitted the fact of the enormous death-rate then registered in Whang Chai, but to all Shelford’s suggestions of its cause or prevention he turned the deaf ear of pompous ignorance. He—To Phat—could put his finger at once on the cause of the dreadful mortality. The disease was perfectly natural and only to be expected; in fact, the whole matter had been satisfactorily explained to him by a certain Ching. Ching was therefore sent for that he might explain to the dull-witted foreign devil why this fatal epidemic harassed the peace-loving citizens of Whang Chai. Shelford at once recognised in Ching the typical bully of a yamen runner, the promoter of disturbances, the paid spy and informer. However, Shelford listened with polite attention to the lying scoundrel.
Ching explained that, although perhaps unknown to the honourable stranger, still it was a matter of universal knowledge in Whang Chai that the gentle slope on which the town had the felicity to be built was occupied by a dragon. This benign animal had for centuries caused innumerable blessings to fall on the happy inhabitants, but that recently certain grave indignities had been offered him. Firstly, foreigners, preachers of strange doctrines, had built a house on the dragon’s head: this had resulted in the loss of several vessels trading from Whang Chai; but the crowning insult had been the building of a school-house on their benefactor’s stomach. This final indignity had been visited on the erring town by pestilence, and what the end would be no one could foresee.
Shelford eyed Ching during this recital, and the bully appreciated the fact that Shelford read his coward heart like a book; but the flabby To Phat sat in greasy self-satisfaction, and was politely relieved when Shelford withdrew from the audience.
Shelford then visited the mission-house. On his walk through the town he saw many signs that made his face grave. The pastor welcomed him effusively, and was delighted to talk with a fellow white man. He admitted with sorrow the frightful ravages of the epidemic, but was evidently quite unaware that any danger threatened himself or his, and spoke cheerfully of the progress that Christianity ought to make in Whang Chai in the future. Shelford also found out that Ching, the yamen runner, had been one of the earliest of their converts, but had sadly fallen away from grace, and after repeated petty thefts had been dismissed with disgrace for blackmailing the girl converts who attended the mission school.
On leaving the mission to return to the inn at which he proposed to sleep, Shelford had further cause for anxiety. He had already observed that he was being everywhere followed, but now he saw placards freshly posted about the town. These cunningly worded notices urged calmness and abstinence from violence against foreigners; they further alluded to the present prevailing epidemic, and besought the people by piety and prayer to discover the cause of the present disasters and the means to be adopted for restoring health to the community.
The notices were all unsigned, but in the present state of feeling of the populace they amounted to nothing more nor less than an incitement to murder the missionaries. Shelford decided not to send his steam launch back to Ping Tu for assistance, as that would cut off his and the missionaries’ only hope of escape. Then, again, any appearance of fear or running away would probably precipitate matters, and a riot would ensue. He therefore unconcernedly strolled to his inn and ordered supper. Before, during, and after the meal he talked with large numbers of the townsfolk who came out of curiosity and nearly crushed Shelford against the wall in their eagerness to speak with the foreign devil. The foreign devil good-naturedly endured their importunities, although disagreeably conscious the whole time of the strong anti-foreign feeling that existed. So early in the evening he feigned sleepiness, and politely saying good-night to his unbidden guests, requested the landlord to show him his sleeping-room. The room to which the obsequious landlord conducted him was as bare as one would expect, and the kang, or raised oven, on which the guest must sleep was directly in front of the door, in which were numerous holes and cracks.
Shelford quickly retired to bed, and blew out the miserable oil-wick which served as a lamp. Then noticing that all was quiet in the inn, he cautiously got up, put on his clothes in the dark, arranged the blankets on the kang to look as if a man were sleeping there, and sat in a corner of the room with his revolver ready, awaiting events.