It was Queen Victoria’s eighty-first birthday and in true colonial style, an occasion for a grand celebration. As Britain’s minister to China, Sir Claude MacDonald, the distinguished former soldier and tall, aristocratic Scot, was pleased to leave the organising of the dinner party to his wife, Lady Ethel MacDonald. Such things required a woman’s touch and none were disappointed when the theatre in the British legation was transformed into a dining room. The lavish affair was attended by the who’s who of British colonial society in Pekin.
Lady MacDonald, a dignified woman in her early forties, shone when she entered the dining room with the handsome Australian journalist George Morrison on one arm and Sir Robert Hart, the elderly inspector general of the Maritime Customs, on the other. When the dinner places had been cleared members of the other foreign delegations attended to share the free-flowing wine and some very good music. The latter was supplied by Sir Robert Hart’s own band as they played on the edge of the tennis courts, bathed in the soft glow of Chinese lanterns that had been provided for the dancers, the ladies in neck to ankle dresses and the men in dinner suits or colourful military uniforms.
Lieutenant Robert Mumford also attended the affair, as was his duty as a liaison officer. He had received orders that the next day he was to travel down to Tientsin on the railway. He stood to one side of the improvised dance floor with a flute of champagne in one hand, gazing at the dancers swirling to the popular tunes of the day. Laughter, music and good wine combined to provide a festive air that Robert wished he could share with Naomi.
‘Alone, old chap?’
Robert turned to see a tall, athletic, handsome figure whom he recognised as the London Times correspondent in China.
‘Dr Morrison, how are you?’
George Morrison was an unusual man. Trained as a medical doctor, he chose instead to be a journalist and his colourful past well prepared him for life in China. As a younger man he had walked from one end of Australia to the other, he had been speared by natives in New Guinea on one exploration of that savage and wild country, and along the way found himself reporting for the prestigious newspaper. An intelligent and courageous young man, and single, he caught the eye of every young woman wherever he went.
Morrison stepped forward from the shadows. ‘So, what do you think of the situation?’ he asked the British officer.
‘By that I presume you mean the Boxer troubles,’ Robert replied.
‘You are a man with his ear to the ground,’ Morrison said, swirling the wine in his glass to catch the light. ‘I seem to be getting mixed opinions from many of the distinguished guests here tonight.’
Robert liked the tall Australian. Had he not been a journalist or medical practitioner, Robert knew he could have also been a brilliant soldier. But then, Dr Morrison was capable of being anything he wanted – such was the character of the man. ‘Are you asking on the record?’ Robert asked guardedly.
‘Not on the occasion of our Queen’s birthday, God bless her,’ the Australian said, raising his glass as a salute.
Robert raised his glass and echoed, ‘God bless her and her heirs. Off the record, I think that there is trouble coming,’ he continued, sipping his champagne.
‘I have to agree with you,’ Morrison commented gloomily. ‘I have seen the Boxers drilling in the grounds of the Imperial barracks and yet many say that the Empress will not allow them to be unleashed on us. I have my suspicions that she says one thing but secretly hopes those dogs from hell will do her dirty work and drive us all from China.’
‘I tend to agree,’ Robert responded. ‘My sources in the old city have passed on intelligence that the servants have been warned to leave our employment or risk death if they continue. Sadly, it seems that a lot of highly positioned people around here have their heads up their bums on any threat.’
‘By your sources would you mean the beautiful young lady, Miss Naomi Wong?’ Morrison asked with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Er, yes, she and others,’ Robert replied blushing. ‘We tend to be a little cut off from the rank and file of the Chinese within the walls of the legations whereas Miss Wong is living out among those people.’
‘So, old chap,’ Morrison said, ‘the question really is, would we be capable of defending ourselves if the worst comes to the worst?’
Robert glanced around at the guests at the party before replying. ‘If we had sufficient warning then we may be able to bring in reinforcements to beat off any Boxer assault, but at the moment, I do not think that we would have a hope in hell of surviving a concerted attack.’
‘Maybe we should ask our Yankee cousins their opinion of the situation,’ Morrison said, noticing an American marine officer in his smart dress uniform escorting a matron from the dance floor.
‘Harry, old chap, come and join us,’ the Australian journalist shouted, catching the attention of Lieutenant Harold Simpson, United States Marine Corps. Sweat streamed down the American officer’s face as he approached.
‘Dr Morrison, Mr Mumford,’ the straight-backed, steely-eyed young marine officer greeted, taking a flute of champagne from a passing Chinese waiter. ‘What are you Limeys up to?’
‘Only one Limey here,’ Morrison replied. ‘I’m an Australian, but will accept the term on Her Majesty’s birthday. How is it that you were not here earlier?’
‘God-damned matter of business at our offices held me up,’ Simpson said, taking a long swig. ‘Damned funny thing, a half-dead Chinese coolie turned up to see our minister, Mr Conger. He said that he was from one of our missionary stations where a massacre had occurred some days ago but we haven’t had any confirmation on the matter as yet. Said he had posed as a Boxer and almost died in the process of getting here. All he had was a fossil rock and a letter he said was from the mission station. Mr Conger was busy and I got the job of sorting the matter out. I tried to read the letter but it had become drenched with water and the writing was unintelligible. By the time I sent the coolie off for a feed I missed a lift to your party. I had to wait around and now have a lot of catching up to do.’
‘Why do you think that one of your missionaries would go to all the trouble of sending a fossil to you when he was in most dire peril?’ Morrison asked, his journalist’s curiosity piqued by the rock and its hazardous journey to Pekin.
‘God-damnedest reason that I would know of,’ Lieutenant Simpson snorted. ‘I’ve seen these rocks with fossils in them before and you can buy them in the Chinee markets as paperweights. Maybe the rock has some gold or something in it besides the stone dragon – though it looks more like a stone salamander to me. I should think about sending it to Tientsin to one of our mining engineers, Mr Herbert Hoover, who has pulled back his team saying that he fears for their safety out in the countryside. Maybe I can make arrangements to get the rock to him and see what all the fuss is about.’
‘I am travelling by train to Tientsin tomorrow,’ Robert said. ‘I could do you Yankee Marines a favour and take it with me in my baggage.’
The American soldier glanced at Robert. ‘All you have to do is get me a receipt from Hoover when you see him and I will buy you a bottle of the best Kentucky I know. It would save me a lot of trouble not having to go through our system. As the missionary was a good friend of Mr Conger’s I know that he would probably insist that I provide a military escort. We don’t consider you Limeys to be any real threat to our country right now, so I am sure my boss will approve of you conveying the rock to Tientsin.’
‘Consider it done,’ Robert said, extending his hand. ‘A favour on behalf of Her Majesty’s government to former rebels.’
Simpson smiled. It was only seventy-five years since Britain and the USA had exchanged angry shots in war.
The following morning, Robert reported to the United States legation and took possession of the stone dragon. On the train travelling to Tientsin he examined the rock, with its fossil bones clearly to be seen. Robert shook his head. Simpson had been right. There was nothing remarkable about either the rock or the fossil and it would no doubt end up in some museum or simply be used as an interesting paperweight. Why would a man facing probable death go to such drastic measures to have the sample sent to Pekin? He mused on the question as the steam train rattled its way east towards the Chinese coast. The stone dragon was an apt name, Robert thought. This was China: a land where such spiritual creatures ruled the minds of the people. He once heard someone say that China itself was a sleeping dragon – and the way things were shaping up with the Boxers he prayed that the dragon would remain asleep.
Robert slipped the rock back into its cloth bag and placed it on the seat next to him. His mind was on other things – and foremost in his thoughts was Naomi Wong. The situation was growing worse by the day and he wished that he could be with her at this very moment, rather than travelling to Tientsin. At least he had the assurance that he would be returning to Pekin as soon as his mission was over.