When on deck, protected from the glare of the sun by the bamboo covering, she clapped her hands ecstatically, and ran about the boat, peering out first on one side and then on the other. From the room within, it had all worn a misty look, as if it were some panorama passing before her, but now the full reality and intensity of it burst upon her, and she straightway forgot that she was Tuen, forgot the little details, the hopes, fears, sorrows, and memories that were part of her own existence alone, and only felt that she was one of this vast multitude, and her identity seemed to merge into and be lost in the mass of humanity that surrounded her. And once having done this, she forgot to grieve.
Some children in a tankia close to her smiled at her gravely, while the father hung paper prayers upon the prow, and the mother, with strong, even strokes, guided the boat toward the shallows. The clamor of shrill voices, so intermingled that hardly a word was distinguishable, formed a not unpleasing medley of sounds, and it rang into Tuen's ears until she was fairly deafened.
"Is there no danger that where there are so many crafts some may be run into and sunk?" she finally asked, as the boats thickened and there seemed not an inch of water left.
"The rowers are skilful. I have heard that accidents do not often happen," Wang said, but scarce had she finished speaking, when a war-junk that was coming in an opposite direction, bore down upon them. Threatening cannons peered from the port-holes, and on its gaudy red and yellow sides were shields upon which were painted fierce tigers, more terrible to look at than any god to whom she had ever prayed. She caught her breath quickly, and clung to Wang.
"We shall be killed!" she cried, and Wang was so terror-stricken that she could not answer. The sailors on Tuen's boat uttered loud, warning shouts, and pulled away lustily, and the men on the war-junk, seeing that the barge was directly in their path, rowed valiantly. But the water was so crowded that there was very little room to turn, and for an instant, there seemed no chance of escape. Just when destruction appeared certain, and Wang covered her face to shut out the awful sight, the cumbrous vessel veered to one side, and they were left unharmed.
"It was a narrow escape," the man at the helm of Tuen's boat said, nodding toward the junk that now lay on their left. "I thought we should all be killed," and the rowers hurled loud imprecations at the junk, and Ta-ta shook her fist at them, and while engaged in this, also thanked the gods for her safety.
"It is time for rice," Wang said, after they had watched the junk well on its way. "Let us go in now."
Tuen was very glad to follow her, for her heart was still beating quickly, and her cheeks were pale. The danger through which they had passed had, for a time at least, robbed river-life of its fascination for her.
That night she dreamed of boats, boats, boats, as she heard the innumerable stream of them go gliding by, and the great, round eyes on the prows of all seemed to be watching her angrily through the darkness. She drew a long sigh of relief when she awoke and found that they had at last stopped, and as she listened, afraid to go to sleep again, the incessant noise gradually hushed, and all became as still as in the yâmen of the Viceroy.