neither they nor you will acknowledge it.”
So it was settled; I was for the high jump again, and not a damned thing to be done about it. He went over it all a second time, impressing on me the delicacy of the task, how H.M.G. must be in no way compromised, that every week of delay would be a godsend – but the main thing was to convince this crew of homicidal madmen that, whoever they killed next, it shouldn’t be done at Shanghai.
“Well, sir,” says I, all noble and put-upon, “I’ll be honest; I’ll try, but I don’t think there’s a hope of success.”
“Another man might say that out of reluctance to go, for his safety’s sake,” says he solemnly. “I know that with you, the thought of danger has not crossed your mind.” He was right there; it had stayed rooted. “God bless you, Sir Harry.” And with the angels choiring above us, we shook hands, and I marched out, and bolted for the lavatory.
I had my Adams in my armpit, a Colt in my valise, a hundred rounds, a knife in my boot, and a bulky notebook containing every known fact about the Taipings, courtesy of Messrs Fat and Lin, when I boarded the Yangtse on the following evening. It was a good two-day run to Nanking, in ideal conditions; at present, it might take a week. I was too sick and scared and furious to pay much heed to my surroundings, and as I remember the Yangtse was like any other river steamboat – half a dozen cabins aft for the Quality, of whom I was one, a couple of saloons below for those who couldn’t afford a bunk, and forward a great open steerage for the coolies and the like. Her skipper was one Witherspoon, of Greenock, a lean pessimist with a cast in his eye and a voice like coals being delivered. I’ve no doubt I spent the time before we cast off brooding fearfully, but I don’t recall, because as I leaned on the rail looking down on the quay and the oily water, I saw about the only thing that could have provided any distraction just then.
The steerage gangway was swarming with coolies, and poorer Chinese, and a few white riff-raff – Shanghai was well stocked with poor whites and shabby-genteel half-castes and scourings from half the countries on earth, even in those days. There was lascars, of course, and Dagoes of various descriptions, Filippinos, Greeks, Malay Arabs, and every variety of slant-eye. Some of ’em were half-naked; others carried valises and bundles; the half-dozen Sikh riflemen who acted as boat-guards shepherded ’em aboard none too gently under the great flickering slush-lamps which cast weird shadows on the dockside and the steerage deck.
I was watching with half my mind when I noticed a figure stepping from quay to gangway – and even in that motley assembly it was a figure to take the eye – not only for the outlandish cut of attire, but for style and carriage and … animal quality’s the only phrase.
I like tall women, of course. Susie Willinck comes to mind, and Cleonie of the willowy height, and the superb Mrs Lade by name and nature, and Cassy, and that German wench in the Haymarket, and even such Gorgons as Narreeman and Queen Ranavalona. Mind you, there’s much to be said for the little ’uns, too – such as the Silk One, Ko Dali’s daughter, and the little blonde Valla, and Mrs Mandeville the Mad Dwarf, and Whampoa’s playmates, and Takes-Away-Clouds-Woman, and that voluptuous half-pint, Yehonala (but we’ll come to her presently). On the whole, though, I ain’t sure I don’t prefer the happy medium – like Elspeth, and Lola, and Irma, and Josette, and Fetnab, and … Elspeth.
It is no disrespect to any of these ladies, all of whom I loved dearly, to say that when it came to taking the eye, the female coming up the steerage gangplank was the equal of any and all. For one thing, she was six feet six if she was an inch, with the erect carriage of a guardsman, and light on her feet as a leopard. She was Chinese, beyond a doubt, perhaps with a touch of something from the Islands; when she laughed, as she did now, to the squat fellow behind her, it was with a deep, clear ring, and a flash of teeth in a lean, lovely face; not Chinese style, at all. She had a handkerchief bound tight round her head, and for the rest her clothing consisted of a blouse, cotton breeches ending at the knee, and heavy sandals. But round her neck she had a deep tight collar that seemed to be made of steel links, and her arms, bare to the shoulder, were heavy with bangles. As to the lines of her figure, Rubens would have bitten his brush in two.
With the plank crowded ahead of her, she had to wait, holding the side-rail in one hand and lolling back at full stretch, carelessly, laughing and talking to her companion. She chanced to look up, and met my eye; she said something to the man, and looked at me again, laughing still, and then she was up the plank like a huge cat and out of sight.
I’m not the most impressionable of men, but I found I was gripping the rail with both hands, and clenching my jaw in stern resolve. By gum, I couldn’t let that go unattended to. Built like a Dahomey Amazon, but far taller and incomparably more graceful. And possibly the strongest female I’d ever seen, which would be an interesting experience. No common woman, either; how best to coax her up to the cabin? Probably not money, nor a high hand. Well, the first thing was to get a closer look at her.
I waited till we had cast off, and the screw was churning the water, with the lights on Tsungming Island glittering in the dark distance far ahead. Then I asked the steward where the ladder was to the steerage; he pointed down the companion, and said I would find the mate by the saloon door, he’d show me. Sure enough, a fellow in a pilot cap came out of the saloon and started up the ladder as I started down. He glanced up, smiling, starting to bid me good evening, and then his jaw dropped, and my hand shot under my jacket to the butt of the Adams.
It was Mr Frederick Townsend Ward.
a About £160 at that time.
For perhaps five seconds we just stared at each other, and then he laughed, in the pleasantest tone imaginable.
“Well, damn me!” says he. “It’s the Colonel! How are you, sir?”
“Keep your hands in front of you – sir,” says I. “Now come up, slowly.” I stepped back to the cabin deck, and he followed, still grinning, glancing at my hidden hand.
“Say, what’s the matter? Look, if that’s a piece under your coat – this is a law-abiding boat, you know –”
“You mean she isn’t running guns to the Taipings?”
He laughed heartily at this, and shook his head. “I gave that up! Say, and you took a shot at me – two shots! What did you do that for? You weren’t going to come to any harm, you know. I’d ha’ taken you back to Macao when we’d delivered the goods!” He sounded almost aggrieved.
“Oh, forgive me! No one told me that, you see. It must have slipped everyone’s mind, along with the trivial fact that you were carrying guns, not opium.”
“Listen, Carpenter said the less you knew the better,” says he earnestly. “Those were his orders. The damned dummy,” he added irritably. “If he’d ha’ given me a real Chink pilot, we’d never ha’ seen that Limey patrol-boat. Hey, how did you come out of that, though?”
“Perhaps I didn’t.” I said it on the spur of the moment, and his eyes widened.
“You don’t mean they broke you?” He whistled. “Gee, I’m sorry about that! I sure am, though.” Absolutely, he sounded shocked. “Over a passel o’ guns. Well, I’ll be!” He shook his head, and smiled, a mite sheepish. “Say, colonel … why don’t you let that hog-leg alone, and come on in my berth for a drink? See here, I’m sorry as hell – but t’wasn’t my
