VII
THE BACKWARD TRAIL OF THE SAXON
Out at the gate of the compound, last night, a barytone voice lifted a pæan of praise to the very stars. We were to leave that wretched enclosure next day, the Three Guardsmen said, and that night the White Slaves listened to the barking of dogs, the droning chorus of school-children chanting Chinese classics and the medley of small noises in streets and compound, and sank to sleep for the last time in Haicheng. As usual, the raucous cries of Dean Prior and Burleigh ushered in the dawn, and the usual awakening and bustle of servants and masters followed. For the last time Little Wong, Cup-bearer and Page-in-Waiting, with his hand at his forehead, clicked his heels before each of us in turn, stirred his master, the Irishman, from slumber deep, and, with a radiant smile and flashing teeth, fired volleys of Tansan right and left. Within half an hour we were gathered under Yokoyama's tent for our last breakfast. For the last time Big Reggie, the Frenchman, marched past us, and for the last time we made him keep step to a ringing Marseillaise. Half an hour later, the compound was full of squealing horses, and soon carts, coolies, the White Slaves of Haicheng, and the Three Guardsmen wound out of the gate, through the narrow streets and under the city wall—on the way to see a battle at last. Two hours we marched, climbed then a little hill, left our horses on the hither side, crawled over the top to where that battle was raging—some ten miles away. Up in the mountains somebody was evidently letting loose giant puffs of cigarette-smoke high in the air. No sound was perceptible, but they were shells, a Guardsman said.
"Whose shells?"
"I don't know," said the Guardsman. As a matter of fact, those shells were so far away that we could not tell whether they were Russian or Japanese, whether they were coming toward us or going away. But we could count them, and, of course, that was great profit and fun. So, while that battle raged, we fearlessly strolled around the hill-side or sat in groups and told stories, and one daredevil of a correspondent, made reckless by the perils we had passed, deliberately turned his back to the fight and calmly read a newspaper.
The Three Guardsmen were justly pained by such a neglect of such an opportunity to study strategy and tactics in a great war, and they did not look happy. Thus for two hours did we not see the battle of Anshantien.
Toward noon the shell-smoke waned and we moved on to another compound, where we were to spend the night. At dusk a Guardsman came in radiant and filled our hearts with fatuous cheer. We were to see another fierce engagement next morning. But we must rise early and travel fast or we should be too late, as the attack would be made before dawn. The Three Guardsmen would come themselves to awaken us at three o'clock so that there could be no mistake. He was so earnest and so sure that we went to bed greatly excited, and nobody slept except the Irishman, who lifted his head from sound slumber, however, when one vagrant beer-bottle was popped to decide a wager, at midnight.
"Don't you think I don't hear you," he said.
"I win the bet," said Brill.