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“There’s just one other thing that I have to ask you, sir, and I shouldtake it as a kind return for all this explanation, if you could do itfor me. You remember that Testament that was picked up. I always carriedit in my inside pocket, and it must have come out in my fall. I value itvery highly, for it was the family book with my birth and my brother’smarked by my father in the beginning of it. I wish you would apply atthe proper place and have it sent to me. It can be of no possible valueto any one else. If you address it to X, Bassano’s Library, Broadway,New York, it is sure to come to hand.”
THE POT OF CAVIARE
It was the fourth day of the siege. Ammunition and provisions were bothnearing an end. When the Boxer insurrection had suddenly flamed up, androared, like a fire in dry grass, across Northern China, the fewscattered Europeans in the outlying provinces had huddled together atthe nearest defensible post and had held on for dear life until rescuecame—or until it did not. In the latter case, the less said about theirfate the better. In the former, they came back into the world of menwith that upon their faces which told that they had looked very closelyupon such an end as would ever haunt their dreams.
Ichau was only fifty miles from the coast, and there was a Europeansquadron in the Gulf of Liantong. Therefore the absurd little garrison,consisting of native Christians and railway men, with a German officerto command them and five civilian Europeans to support him, held onbravely with the conviction that help must soon come sweeping down tothem from the low hills to eastward. The sea was visible from thosehills, and on the sea were their armed countrymen. Surely, then, theycould not feel deserted. With brave hearts they manned the loopholes inthe crumbling brick walls outlining the tiny European quarter, and theyfired away briskly, if ineffectively, at the rapidly advancing sangarsof the Boxers. It was certain that in another day or so they would be atthe end of their resources, but then it was equally certain that inanother day or so they must be relieved. It might be a little sooner orit might be a little later, but there was no one who ever ventured tohint that the relief would not arrive in time to pluck them out of thefire. Up to Tuesday night there was no word of discouragement.
It was true that on the Wednesday their robust faith in what was goingforward behind those eastern hills had weakened a little. The greyslopes lay bare and unresponsive while the deadly sangars pushed evernearer, so near that the dreadful faces which shrieked imprecations atthem from time to time over the top could be seen in every hideousfeature. There was not so much of that now since young Ainslie, of theDiplomatic service, with his neat little .303 sporting rifle, hadsettled down in the squat church tower, and had devoted his days toabating the nuisance. But a silent sangar is an even more impressivething than a clamorous one, and steadily, irresistibly, inevitably, thelines of brick and rubble drew closer. Soon they would be so near thatone rush would assuredly carry the frantic swordsmen over the frailentrenchment. It all seemed very black upon the Wednesday evening.Colonel Dresler, the German ex-infantry soldier, went about with animperturbable face, but a heart of lead. Ralston, of the railway, was uphalf the night writing farewell letters. Professor Mercer, the oldentomologist, was even more silent and grimly thoughtful than ever.Ainslie had lost some of his flippancy. On the whole, the ladies—MissSinclair, the nurse of the Scotch Mission, Mrs. Patterson, and herpretty daughter Jessie, were the most composed of the party. FatherPierre of the French Mission, was also unaffected, as was natural to onewho regarded martyrdom as a glorious crown. The Boxers yelling for hisblood beyond the walls disturbed him less than his forced associationwith the sturdy Scotch Presbyterian presence of Mr. Patterson, with whomfor ten years he had wrangled over the souls of the natives. They passedeach other now in the corridors as dog passes cat, and each kept awatchful eye upon the other lest even in the trenches he might filchsome sheep from the rival fold, whispering heresy in his ear.
But the Wednesday night passed without a crisis, and on the Thursday allwas bright once more. It was Ainslie up in the clock tower who had firstheard the distant thud of a gun. Then Dresler heard it, and within halfan hour it was audible to all—that strong iron voice, calling to themfrom afar and bidding them to be of good cheer, since help was coming.It was clear that the landing party from the squadron was well on itsway. It would not arrive an hour too soon. The cartridges were nearlyfinished. Their half-rations of food would soon dwindle to an even morepitiful supply. But what need to worry about that now that relief wasassured? There would be no attack that day, as most of the Boxers couldbe seen streaming off in the direction of the distant firing, and thelong lines of sangars were silent and deserted. They were all able,therefore, to assemble at the lunch-table, a merry, talkative party,full of that joy of living which sparkles most brightly under theimminent shadow of death.
“The pot of caviare!” cried Ainslie. “Come, Professor, out with thepot of caviare!”
“Potz-tausend! yes,” grunted old Dresler. “It is certainly time thatwe had that famous pot.”
The ladies joined in, and from all parts of the long, ill-furnishedtable there came the demand for caviare.
It was a strange time to ask for such a delicacy, but the reason issoon told. Professor Mercer, the old Californian entomologist, hadreceived a jar of caviare in a hamper of goods from San Francisco,arriving a day or two before the outbreak. In the general pooling anddistribution of provisions this one dainty and three bottles of LachrymaChristi from the same hamper had been excepted and set aside. By commonconsent they were to be reserved for the final joyous meal when the endof their peril should be in sight. Even as they sat the thud-thud of therelieving guns came to their ears—more luxurious music to their lunchthan the most sybaritic restaurant of London could have supplied. Beforeevening the relief would certainly be there. Why, then, should theirstale bread not be glorified by the treasured caviare?
But the Professor shook his gnarled old head and smiled hisinscrutable smile.
“Better wait,” said he.
“Wait! Why wait?” cried the company.
“They have still far to come,” he answered.
“They will be here for supper at the latest,” said Ralston, of therailway—a keen, birdlike man, with bright eyes and long, projectingnose. “They cannot be more than ten miles from us now. If they only didtwo miles an hour it would make them due at seven.”
“There is a battle on the way,” remarked the Colonel. “You will granttwo hours or three hours for the battle.”
“Not half an hour,” cried Ainslie. “They will walk through them as ifthey were not there. What can these rascals with their matchlocks andswords do against modern weapons?”
“It depends on who leads the column of relief,” said Dresler. “If theyare fortunate enough to have a German officer——”
“An Englishman for my money!” cried Ralston.
“The French commodore is said to be an excellent strategist,” remarkedFather Pierre.
“I don’t see that it matters a toss,” cried the exuberant Ainslie. “Mr.Mauser and Mr. Maxim are the two men who will see us through, and withthem on our side no leader can go wrong. I tell you they will just brushthem aside and walk through them. So now, Professor, come on with thatpot of caviare!”
But the old scientist was unconvinced.
“We shall reserve it for supper,” said he.
“After all,” said Mr. Patterson, in his slow, precise Scottishintonation, “it will be a courtesy to our guests—the officers of therelief—if we have some palatable food to lay before them. I’m inagreement with the Professor that we reserve the caviare for supper.”
The argument appealed to their sense of hospitality. There was somethingpleasantly chivalrous, too, in the idea of keeping their one littledelicacy to give a savour to the meal of their preservers. There was nomore talk of the caviare.
“By the way, Professor,” said Mr. Patterson, “I’ve only heard to-daythat this is the second time that you have been besieged in this way.I’m sure we should all be very interested to hear some details of yourprevious experience.”
The old man’s face set very grimly.
“I was in Sung-tong, in South China, in ‘eighty-nine,” said he.
“It’s a very extraordinary coincidence that you should twice have beenin such a perilous situation,” said the missionary. “Tell us how youwere relieved at Sung-tong.”
The shadow deepened upon the weary face.
