We digested this news while Kazu finished the last of his 1000 sheep. We all cast anxious glances into the sky. Soviet planes at Canton meant that they could be here also, and Buddha, squatting in a glare of light in the midst of Hankow, was a sitting duck for a bombing attack.
As soon as the main part of the formalities were over, Baker managed to get Kazu's attention, and informed him of the situation. Kazu's reaction was immediate and to the point.
"We do not await attack. We go north to free our brothers, and to instruct our errant General Mao in Buddha's truth."
By the time we were packed and in our travelling box, the time was eight-thirty. Reference to our map showed the airline distance from Hankow to Peking to be about 630 miles, and Buddha, greatly refreshed by the food and rest, promised to reach the capital by eleven.
To make walking easier, Baker plotted a route which avoided the lowlands, particularly the valley of the Yellow River, in favor of a slightly longer course through the mountains to the east. We started northwest, splashing through the swamps and lakes around Hankow at first, and presently reached firmer ground in the Hawiyang Shan. We followed the ridge of these mountains for a time, and then dropped to the hilly country of Honan Province. At first the night was very dark, but presently the light of a waning moon made an occasional fix possible, although navigation was confusing and uncertain at best.
We splashed across the Yellow River at ten o'clock, somewhere east of Kaifeng, and for a time were greatly slowed by what appeared to be thick gumbo.
Our speed improved once we got up into the rugged Taihang Mountains. Here also we felt safer from air observation or attack, although Kazu was soon panting from the exertion of crossing an endless succession of fifteen to thirty foot ridges. This was indeed rough country, terrain which had protected the lush plains of China for centuries against the Mongols. Here the great wall had been built, and presently, in the moonlight, we saw its trace, winding serpentlike over the mountains.
We followed the Wall for almost two hundred miles—all the way, in fact, to the latitude of Peking—before we swung east again for the final lap to Mao's capital.
DURING the last hour we trailed an antenna and listened in on the world of radio. The news was not good. The Shanghai garrison had sprung a trap on their disorganized attackers, and were marching on Nanking. Mao's armies were closing the southern half of a great pincers on Wu's troops, and only awaited the dawn to launch the final assault. Worst of all, there had been reports of increasing Soviet air activity over the area; a major air strike also apparently would come with daylight.