Despite his reassurances that the Boxer unrest would soon dissipate, Sir Claude MacDonald travelled outside the city intending to return with his two young daughters in the first week of the northern summer. He had previously called on the Imperial Chinese officials to protest the murder of two missionaries but was met with a hostile and insolent reception. He was informed that an edict issued by the Empress dowager’s court had absolved the Boxer movement from any involvement in the current troubles and even went further to say that the troubles were caused by unruly elements in the Chinese Christian community. Even if Sir Claude had to grudgingly admit that they could expect no protection from the Imperial armed forces in the event the Boxers launched an all-out assault on the European legation compound, he still maintained an optimistic official stance that the Boxer movement was little more than an undisciplined rabble that did not pose a threat. He was supported in his dithering by the American representative to China, Edwin Conger, who refused to send a telegram to Washington urging for greater forces to be deployed to Pekin. Surely President McKinley would show the flag, thought many outside the bureaucratic offices of the American representative, to impress on the Chinese the military might of the United States of America.
Robert was not surprised to find that his report concerning the skirmish with the Boxers four nights before had been lost in the system. Sweating profusely, he sat on the edge of his single bed in his cramped quarters attached to the British compound, staring blankly at the stone wall opposite. Since his foray into the Chinese quarter and the report that he had submitted concluding that the Boxers appeared to be a looming threat, Sir Claude had released him back to his liaison duties. Now his chance to go in further search of Naomi was taken from him.
‘Bloody-minded idiots,’ he muttered to a lizard clinging to the wooden beam above his head. ‘A massacre is around the corner and the bloody fools will be caught sipping their gin and tonics while the Boxers hack them to death.’
Robert rose from the bed and slipped on his khaki uniform, adjusting the well-polished Sam Browne belt and attaching the holster of his service revolver. He had an appointment with his American counterpart at their legation and this time he was not going to be wearing his fancy dress uniform for the occasion. As far as Robert was concerned he was on a military footing, even if the British government in Pekin was not.
His foresight was soon to be confirmed to even the stubborn Sir Claude MacDonald.
• • •
The unrest in the streets of Pekin was becoming obvious even to Sir Claude MacDonald, who had hurried off a telegram to Vice Admiral Seymour of the British fleet standing off China requesting that a relief force be sent to their aid although only as a precaution. The Europeans had watched as a mass of armed Boxers streamed in from the countryside to swell the numbers of rebels already in the city.
In the second week of June a reply from the Vice Admiral assured Sir Claude that a force would be dispatched. Then the telegraph lines fell silent as the link was cut by the Boxers. This isolation from the rest of the world fell as an ominous pall over those in the European compound, heightening their awareness that they were truly trapped in a hostile sea of colourfully uniformed Chinese warriors.
Robert sat at his desk in his small office attached to the British government offices reading the intelligence report that had been compiled from the latest news. He had been scribbling notes on the Moslem Kansu fighters he had witnessed arriving in force from the north. The next item in a report on his desk caught his eye: the chancellor from the Japanese legation, Mr Sugiyama, had gone unarmed to the railway station and had been dragged from his pony cart to be disembowelled and shredded by Kansu troops who had accompanied the Empress back into Pekin. Dispassionately, Robert took note of the item and added to his report that from what he had seen of the Kansu fighters they were armed with the latest European rifles and should be considered a serious threat to the current forces in the legation compound.
A knock at his door was followed by the appearance of George Morrison.
‘Hello, Mr Mumford. How is the intelligence gathering going?’
Robert placed his pen on the desk, blotted the ink on the page and stood to welcome Morrison. ‘Have you heard about the attack on the Japanese chancellor?’ he asked, accepting Morrison’s extended hand.
‘I reported it, old boy,’ Morrison said, taking a seat in a wicker chair and crossing his legs with his hat in his lap. ‘No one dares go out to recover the body and I heard that the Kansu cut out the Oriental’s heart and sent it to a grateful Tung Fuhsiang as a gift. As we speak I have heard the local kids are in the street poking with sticks at what remains of Sugiyama.’
‘Tung Fuhsiang is one of the Empress’s generals,’ Robert said, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘The Chinese of the Imperial court have some nerve, considering what Chinese troops have done to the Japanese ambassador. Representatives of the Empress have actually gone to the Yankees to ask them not to send troops. At least the Yanks had the balls to dismiss the request. I notice that the Chinese merchants are closing up shop and leaving, along with what remains of the servants from the legation area.’
‘My staff are staying put,’ Morrison said. ‘They have a false sense that we will protect them.’
‘You don’t sound very optimistic, Dr Morrison,’ Robert said.
‘Look at what we have,’ Morrison replied. ‘A handful of inexperienced and outnumbered troops from all over Europe here to protect not only ourselves but the thousands of Chinese converts flooding into the city and into the legation. Not only do we have to defend them but we also have to feed them. So if push comes to shove who do you think we will be defending – not the Chinese. On top of that, we have the outlying missionary compounds in the city that need defending and that means deploying troops into vulnerable pockets of defence. It is looking bloody hopeless.’
Robert silently agreed. They had left their run too late.
Days had passed and Naomi found that she was regaining her strength. Strangely, Han and his men had left her alone to recover and only Meili’s company broke the boredom of her captivity. The Chinese girls who had been prisoner with them had been transferred to other Boxer outposts. Trembling, Naomi had stood up to Han and insisted that Meili remain with her. Surprisingly, Han had consented. Meili could cook for his men, he said.
Naomi was given a minor task of sorting through and translating into Chinese any papers written in English that had fallen into the Boxers’ hands. They were mostly personal letters taken from mission stations sacked and looted by the rebels and did not reveal anything that could be construed as important to the tactical situation of Han and his men, so Naomi was able to dismiss what she had read as being of no consequence. It amused her that she could have read state secrets and given the same answer and Han would not know if she were lying but, as it was, she had no reason to lie.
What Naomi did learn from reading the letters was that the situation was worsening for the European community around and in Pekin. Many of the letters had been written as if they would be the last words of the writer and dark bloodstains on one pile of letters written by a German missionary seemed to confirm her worst fears. Although she could not read German she suspected from the fine hand behind the pen that the letters must have been written by a woman.
‘What do they say?’ Han demanded from behind Naomi as she held the bloodstained letters.
‘I do not understand German,’ Naomi replied quietly, expecting a savage beating for her inability to translate the bloodied letters.
‘All foreign devils are the same,’ Han snorted. ‘You must know the words on the paper.’
‘It is like some Chinese speak Mandarin and others Cantonese,’ Naomi answered calmly. ‘I only speak the English language of the foreign devils.’
She dared turn her head to glance at Han, who stood in the small room that had once stored spices for the wealthy Chinese family who had previously owned the stone and timber house. As he glared back at her, pondering her answer, Naomi realised that despite his seemingly intelligent mind Han was ignorant of the world beyond China. In the days that had passed during her captivity she had time to observe him organising and commanding them. He appeared to be competent – and even fair – in his dealings with his men but her hatred for him had not abated and she was careful to hide her feelings. And as she had not been molested since the initial stage of her capture, Naomi was grudgingly grateful to Han for at least that mercy.
Naomi now lived for two things: to kill Han and escape from the house. Meili, however, simply lived from day to day and Naomi was surprised at how the young Chinese girl had capitulated to her current situation of captivity. It was as if the fire of resistance was gone from her.
‘You smell badly. You need to wash,’ Han suddenly said, catching Naomi off guard, deep in her thoughts as she was.
Naomi did not thank Han but simply bowed her head dutifully. The Chinese Boxer leader turned and left the stifling little room to return to his duties, leaving Naomi with the wonderful thought of being able to bathe for the first time since she lived with Mr Soo’s family.
Naomi found the tub located in a room where the Boxers slept at night and carried jugs of water to fill it. She was pleased to see that she had privacy and noted the Chinese pants and blouse set aside for her to change into. They were the clothes of a peasant but were clean and Naomi sighed with pleasure for the chance to recover some of her dignity. For now she found just a tiny beam of sunshine in her bleak world of despair. Being able to wash and put on clean clothes went a long way to mending the spirit.
Meili entered the room as Naomi slipped into the clothes. ‘Han has been ordered to go to the walls of the foreign legation,’ she whispered furtively. ‘I overheard a conversation he had with a man from the Imperial court. His mission is important.’
Naomi glanced around them to ensure they were not overheard. ‘Do you still wish to escape?’ she asked.
Meili shied away with an expression of fear in her face. ‘You have seen what they will do to us if we attempt to escape,’ she replied. ‘I do not have any desire to be killed in ways only these men can devise.’
Naomi accepted her friend’s fear. When she closed her eyes she could still see the unfortunate Boxer soldier screaming his life away as the boiling oil slowly cooked him alive. ‘I understand,’ she said, placing her hand reassuringly on Meili’s arm.
Meili slipped from the room to leave Naomi pondering as to why Han would be going to the walls of the European legation. What she could not imagine was that her captor was about to trigger the opening of the gates of hell for the Europeans trapped in the city.
• • •
Baron von Ketteler, the handsome, blue-eyed German minister to Pekin married to an American heiress, could not believe his eyes. And many others in Legation Street were similarly stunned. Sitting on the shaft of a small cart in direct view of all the Europeans was a brightly dressed Boxer casually sharpening a huge knife on his boot. The man was dressed with red ribbons around his wrists and ankles and a scarlet waist sash securing a white tunic. His hair was bound with a red scarf and the insolent expression on his pockmarked face spoke his contempt.
‘He challenges us with his insolence,’ von Ketteler snarled, rage turning his handsome face into a mask of fury. ‘I will teach him to respect his betters.’
Before he could be stopped by one of his staff, the enraged German strode out into the street, waving a stick he had scooped up from the road.
Han saw the German hurrying towards him and hesitated in the act of stroking the large knife along the side of his boot. He had not expected the cowardly barbarians to accept his challenge and, in his hesitation, had allowed the German diplomat to descend on him. Von Ketteler struck Han savagely about the head with the stick. Han did not understand the guttural curses raining on him but did glean that if he attempted to retaliate he might easily be killed by one of the armed Europeans watching the show. The blows were painful but not as much as Han’s sense of shame at losing face before the foreign devils. However, his instinct to live overcame his sense of shame and Han wisely fled to a nearby alleyway.
Von Ketteler might have followed but his attention was drawn to the interior of the cart where he saw a small, frightened boy huddling. The German diplomat hauled him by the scruff of his neck from the cart and began thrashing the terrified child with his stick.
As Han retreated he could hear the boy crying out his protests at the beating and the Boxer commander swore he would see the German dead.
Despite the protests of one of his staff, von Ketteler ordered that the boy be marched to the German quarters as a prisoner. ‘It might not be a wise idea, sir,’ an older and more China-wise civil servant warned. ‘The heathens are watching every move we make here.’
‘Nonsense,’ von Ketteler snorted, shaking off his anger. ‘They have had a demonstration that Germany does not tolerate insolence from mere savages.’
The civil servant nodded his obedience and escorted the battered and bruised boy away. But he had been right. Hell was unleashed by the spectacle. By late afternoon the exaggerated version of what had happened in Legation Street spread like wildfire to the Boxers throughout the city. Columns of smoke rose over the city marking a new outbreak of violence, and news came that even vaster numbers of armed Boxer reinforcements were streaming into the city. Any unguarded mission stations in the city were torched and any Chinese converts captured dealt with by the enraged Boxers. Any lucky captives were hacked to death but the unlucky ones were tortured in rebel camps and outposts before they died of their wounds.
Han was in a rage when he returned to his headquarters. The beating he had received from the European had been witnessed by many of his men watching from the open streets surrounding the European legation. He had never considered that his contemptuous bravado would be challenged. Rather, the barbarians were supposed to be terrified by his brazen act.
Naomi saw the blood splashes on his clothing and unfortunately caught his eye.
‘Your foreign devil friends will pay for this,’ he raged, his dark eyes bulging. ‘You will pay for this.’
Naomi felt a chill of fear as Han strode towards her, grabbed her by the throat and smashed his fist into her face, splitting her upper lip. She did not resist but felt the blows striking her around the head until he let go and she fell to her hands and knees. In her dazed horror she realised that he was behind her and forcing her legs apart. The rape that came was savage and especially degrading in front of his men. When it was over he left her with a brutal kick in the ribs.
Naomi lay for a short time in a pool of blood and shame.
‘You must get up and be somewhere Han cannot see you,’ Meili said in a furtive whisper. ‘If he returns he will see you and his anger is not yet spent.’
Hardly hearing the wise words, Naomi allowed Meili to assist her into the courtyard to a corner shaded by a large tree under the stares of Boxer warriors idling in the courtyard.
‘You have some cuts and your lip will bleed for some time,’ Meili said softly. ‘Do you feel pain inside your body?’
Naomi tried to focus on Meili’s words but felt the dark despair return, blotting all else out.
‘You must put this behind you,’ Meili whispered. ‘Do not live in the world of dark spirits that eat the soul.’
Meili’s words sounded hollow but her gentle touch meant a great deal. ‘I will get better,’ Naomi responded hoarsely, bringing the faintest glimmer of a smile to Meili’s face.
‘And when you are better you will one day kill Han,’ Meili said, causing Naomi to start.
‘How did you know?’ she asked.
‘It is in your eyes,’ Meili answered, applying a clean, damp rag to Naomi’s wounds. ‘I wish to live to see that occur.’
Naomi felt the rage returning. Yes, she would live to kill Han. For now that moment was not at hand but one day Han would drop his guard.
In the early evening Robert stood on the parapet overlooking the city and watched the myriad of dancing lights in the Chinese quarter. He knew they were torches and the now-common sound of ‘Sha, sha’ drifted to him on the smoke of the burning missionary buildings. Below he could see a contingent of slouch-hatted American marines, shepherding a few lucky survivors of the afternoon’s massacre into the safety of the walls of the legation.
Robert had seen enough. It was time to join the British troops and his fellow officers for a conference on the best way of defending the foreign legation. This was it, he thought as he walked down the stone steps to a large courtyard inside the walls. In the flickering shadows cast by the fires of the city he noticed Dr George Morrison. The correspondent looked tired and was covered in soot.
‘Have you been out there?’ Robert asked.
‘Yes, and thank God I am here now,’ Morrison replied wearily, wiping the grime from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I saw some terrible things today,’ he continued, staring bleakly into the flickering shadows. ‘I saw men and women trussed up like cooking fowls, their eyes gouged out and their noses and ears cut off. I saw others that had been roasted alive on spits and luckier ones who had died from having their throats slit. I tell you, old boy, we are going to have to fight to the death if we do not wish to share their horrible fate.’
‘It should never have come to this,’ Robert responded bitterly. ‘We saw it coming and those supposedly in charge left everything until too late.’
Morrison did not reply and both men stood silently for a moment, listening as the strangled screams for mercy from the continuing massacre of Chinese civilians drifted to them on the hot night air.
‘I have matters to attend to,’ Morrison finally said, breaking the silence. ‘With the help of Professor James from the Imperial University who acted as interpreter I was able to save a few Chinese converts and their families. Prince Su has agreed to my demands that they be given accommodation in his palace although he has chosen not to hang around.’
‘Good for you, Dr Morrison,’ Robert said. ‘I should also be away to help form a defence. I hope all continues to go well for you.’
Morrison grinned from beneath the soot. ‘How much worse could it get?’
‘They are neither Boxers nor Imperial soldiers,’ Tung hissed softly, crouching beside John, adjacent to an earth embankment. The campfire that the four heavily armed Chinese had built clearly silhouetted them as they sat together.
‘We have to get past them,’ John whispered.
‘That would mean losing many hours of night,’ Tung replied, carefully scanning the area beyond the light for any sign of others. ‘I think that they are preparing to sleep.’
‘Are you considering taking them on?’ John asked. ‘All we have is a single revolver between us.’
‘I have a knife,’ Tung responded. ‘And we have surprise on our side. I do not sense any others with them.’
‘A big gamble,’ John said, peering at the region under the embankment. ‘What if they have a sentry?’
‘I will look,’ Tung said. ‘If they do not have any sentry then we will strike when they sleep.’
Both men snaked on their bellies to where Andrew and Liling lay together in the long, desiccated grass.
‘Tung thinks the party ahead are bandits. They have one modern rifle between them while the others are armed with old muskets,’ John briefed Andrew. ‘Tung is going up the embankment to see if they have posted any lookouts.’
‘Is he planning to find a way of bypassing them?’ Andrew asked anxiously.
‘Not exactly,’ his father replied dryly. ‘It appears that we are going to take on the party ahead when they retire for the night.’ John did not see the shock in Andrew’s face at his explanation.
Within the half hour Tung joined them.
‘They do not have guards outside the camp,’ he said. ‘But they do have one man awake while the others retire to sleep away from the fire. They are not stupid and have made their beds in the dark. I have observed their locations and I think that we should strike in an hour.’
‘What do you suggest we each do?’ John asked.
‘I will circle and with my knife take care of the one who is furthest from the others. I will then move on to the next not far from him and then the third man. You will place yourself within easy range of the man sitting just outside the firelight and shoot him when you hear me call to you,’ Tung briefed them. ‘It is a simple plan and will work.’
‘I can help,’ Liling said quietly, producing a small but deadly looking knife.
The three men glanced at her in surprise.
‘It will not be necessary,’ Tung rejected. ‘You are a woman.’
‘I have heard that the Boxers have women warriors in their ranks,’ Liling said. ‘I am no less capable.’
‘Have you ever killed before?’ Tung asked.
‘No, but my village has fallen to bandits in my lifetime,’ Liling replied. ‘I have no love for such men and am prepared to kill them.’
Andrew was stunned by Liling’s declaration. ‘I think that you should stay out of this, Liling,’ he said. ‘Tung and my father can deal with such matters.’
Liling reluctantly slipped the knife back under her blouse.
‘It is time,’ Tung said, addressing Andrew. ‘You and Liling are to remain here while we are away. You will know when we are successful.’
Tung’s words caused Andrew a gripping fear. They were spoken so calmly that they did not hide the fact that things could go wrong. Andrew wanted to hug his father and tell him that he loved him, but to do so might imply they were embracing for the last time. Instead, Andrew reached over and touched his father on the arm. ‘Be careful, old man,’ he said with a forced smile.
‘Old man,’ John snorted. ‘I will show you that your old man has not lost any of his skills in these matters.’
And then his father and Tung were swallowed by the night as they advanced on the unsuspecting bandit camp, leaving Andrew and Liling virtually defenceless. Andrew turned to reassure Liling that they would be safe but Liling was nowhere to be seen!
John had very carefully wriggled into a position opposite the shadowy figure of a short, stocky man holding a musket in his lap. Disturbed by his presence, chirping crickets occasionally ceased their song, and John would freeze as the sentry stirred to stand and look around him then sit down again.
The man was alert, John thought, holding the French military revolver out in front of himself. He was aware that he had to be very close to ensure that his first bullet found its target. Preferably no further than ten feet away in the dark, he calculated, from past experience on similar operations.
When the crickets resumed their song John would crawl slowly forward on his stomach until he was satisfied that he was within range. Now it was only a matter of waiting and wondering how good the former Shaolin priest was. John suspected that Tung was very good, judging how easily he had ambushed the police officer and his Aboriginal tracker back in Queensland.
Something crawled over John’s hand and he was forced to stay his instinct to flick it off. He lay waiting, hoping that the heavy beating of his heart could not be heard by the sentry a stone’s throw away. Then, everything went wrong.
The sentry suddenly rose, turned to one side and levelled his musket. A voice called to him and a fifth bandit was approaching from the dark. John could not see him but could hear the soft swishing of the grass beneath the man’s feet and was suddenly aware the bandit would inadvertently step on him if he continued walking in the direction that he was. No signal had come from Tung and John had only seconds to decide what he should do.
He fired from his prone position, the sound exploding the still night air. The shot missed and the sentry swung in John’s direction, bringing his musket to the shoulder. Cursing, John fired but missed once again. The unseen approaching man was on him before he could get to his feet and from the corner of his eye John saw the flickering light shimmer off a sword blade. He attempted to roll and bring his pistol up to bear on the second man, now shouting warnings to his comrades in the camp. Suddenly, the swordsman jerked backwards. Liling! The young woman was standing behind the swordsman, whose warning cries had turned to a gurgling sound.
A musket ball threw up dirt in John’s face before he could leap to his feet. The bandit musketeer was also fighting for his life. It was not a long struggle, as Liling’s knife had ripped through his throat, almost severing the man’s head. The action had taken seconds but it felt like hours to John. The crickets were briefly silenced by the bloody hand-to-hand battle. John regained his feet and realised that his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He still held the pistol but realised that he would have had trouble aiming it if he had to.
‘Liling,’ he called. ‘Are you hurt?’
Liling emerged from the darkness, her clothing stained a dark colour. ‘I am unharmed,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘They are all dead,’ Tung said in a flat tone, joining them ‘We had the ancestors on our side.’
In one hand he held a modern bolt-action rifle and a bandolier of ammunition that he had taken from one of the dead bandits. He held it out to John. ‘You might be able to use this,’ he said. ‘It seems that you are not a very good shot with a pistol.’
John accepted the rifle. ‘It was dark,’ John defended himself, but he saw just a twinkle of mirth in the dark eyes of Tung.
‘And you need a woman to protect you as well,’ Tung continued, enjoying John’s discomfort at his failure to kill the sentry as they had planned.
‘Liling did well,’ John complimented the young woman as she stood silently staring at the flames of the campfire.
Tung nodded his agreement. ‘We must keep moving if we are to be near Pekin by dawn,’ Tung said and called to Andrew, who stumbled out of the dark to join them. His eyes first fixed on Liling and John could see his son’s great concern for her welfare but any anxiety was quickly replaced with astonishment when he saw the blood-soaked blouse she wore and the bloody knife in her hand.
‘What happened?’ he gasped, looking from his father to Tung.
‘Liling will tell you when she is ready,’ John said. He could see that the young woman was in a mild state of shock for what she had done only minutes before. ‘Here, take this,’ John continued, handing his son the revolver and spare rounds of ammunition. ‘You might have better luck with it than I did.’
Andrew accepted the pistol, still staring at Liling in the flickering half light cast by the campfire. Whatever she had done appeared to have gained respect from both his father and Tung. Their attitude to her was one of deference as they trekked away.
Just before dawn John called a halt. Their trek to Pekin had been slowed by the need to move cautiously in the dark, avoiding any parties of armed men. From time to time they had all smelled the stench of decomposing bodies wafting to them on the night air. And once they had stumbled over a group of bodies huddled together in death; a family, from what they could discern, that had died under the blades of swords.
‘We need to rest,’ John had said, although Tung did not appear to be tiring.
‘We will rest,’ Tung agreed without argument. ‘I will stand guard.’
John was grateful and under the dim light of the disappearing stars they moved to a copse of spindly trees to seek sleep, which came easily to each of them after the nightlong trek.
‘Wake up,’ a voice reached into John’s troubled dreams. ‘Dawn will be upon us very soon.’
John sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to peer at a broad orange glow appearing all along the horizon to the east. A small fire was burning and Tung had already warmed the clumps of sticky rice in a small pot they had taken from the bandits’ camp.
‘The city is closer than we thought,’ Tung said to John, handing him his share of the meagre meal. ‘All going well we will be able to reach the outer walls by noon.’
‘You realise that we will be crossing open plains in broad daylight,’ John cautioned. ‘I somehow think that we are going to stand out a bit.’
Tung gazed across the plains and reflected on the problem. In the distance they could see a small caravan of around fifty camels winding its way west. ‘How much money do you have?’ he asked.
‘Enough to keep us going,’ John replied.
‘I think we can intercept one of the caravans and negotiate to travel with them to the city,’ Tung said. ‘They are men from Mongolia and have no interest in our affairs but do understand the value of British currency. By travelling with them we can pose as guards with the arms you and Andrew carry.’
John thought about the scheme. He sensed that he was so close to his daughter now that the idea was worth the risk. ‘We will do it,’ he said.
‘We will wait here until one draws close and I will talk to them,’ Tung said.
John agreed and passed on the plan to Andrew and Liling, who sat side by side on the other side of the fire.
By mid-morning the caravan had wended its way towards their position under the trees. Tung approached the leader, a short stocky man with a flat, broad face darkened by many years of exposure to the weather. John had ensured they remained hidden and trained his rifle on the leader in case things went wrong. It was a tense period of uncertainty until Tung turned to walk back to them.
‘It is done,’ he said and the three rose from their hide. ‘They have agreed to allow us to travel with them into the city for ten English pounds. But keep a wary eye on all of them,’ Tung continued. ‘They are not to be trusted. The bandits we killed last night are of the same people as these.’
Warning in mind, they fell in with the caravan. By noon the mighty stone walls of Pekin loomed over the heat-baked plains. Above the walls columns of smoke could be seen rising to blot the pale blue skies.
‘Pekin,’ Andrew, walking beside Liling and his father, said with a touch of awe.
‘Impressive,’ John replied. ‘The city of the Empress and her court – and a lot of Boxers. Now, all we have to do is find your sister and go home.’ But even as John articulated the purpose of their hazardous mission, he knew that getting to the city was one thing and getting his beloved daughter home was another matter altogether. He brooded as they plodded towards the city that was already cut off from the rest of the world.
Despite Tung’s suspicions concerning the honesty of the men from the sweeping deserts of the Gobi, they were able to smuggle him and his travelling companions into Pekin safely. The leader accepted the payment of British coins and left the foreigners to make their own way to wherever they planned within the city.
John gripped his rifle with his finger not far from the trigger guard, gazing around at the almost deserted streets. A few brave merchants were continuing to ply their wares and there was some movement of wooden wheelbarrows being pushed by sinewy Chinese conveying their wares to the merchants’ stalls. The dust and stench was almost overpowering after being on the river and crossing the hills and plains.
Andrew stood in awe of their surroundings. He had read much about the Orient and Pekin seemed to epitomise all he had imagined with the different Asian faces he saw on the streets: men from Mongolia, the taller Chinese from the north and the paler-skinned Cantonese from the south. Every now and then Andrew recognised the slightest whiff of a familiar incense or herb from his father’s own store.
Liling also seemed to be in awe. She had only heard this city spoken of by more senior members of her fishing village who may at some time have visited Pekin.
‘I will leave you now,’ Tung said, cutting across their reflections on the mysterious city that held the forbidden palace of the Empress. ‘My mission will be complete when I return the money to my master. You will need to travel in the direction of the Forbidden City along this road and next to it you will find the European legations. I suspect that under the current conditions your daughter will have sought refuge there. I thank you for your friendship that has helped me complete my mission and I pray that the Son of Heaven also hears of how you helped me. People you meet will direct you to the legation but try to avoid any soldiers. I have a written pass for you,’ Tung continued, handing John a sheet of parchment. ‘Should you encounter any soldiers or Boxer warriors show their leader this.’
John stared at the sheet of paper upon which were written Chinese characters. ‘What does it say?’ John asked.
‘It states that you are under the protection of a general of the Empress and must be allowed safe passage. The general signed the paper for me but I have altered it to include your names as well.’
‘But why will it work?’ John asked.
‘Because the general named in the pass is most powerful and he is also my uncle,’ Tung replied with a faint smile at the surprise he saw in John’s face. ‘I doubt that any Imperial soldier or Boxer would dare take action without first ensuring the authenticity of the pass.’
John stared at Tung and wondered at this mysterious man. Who was he exactly? No matter who he was, his help had got them this far and now John was on the verge of finding his daughter. ‘Thank you, Tung,’ John said, holding out his hand in the Western tradition.
Tung accepted John’s extended hand. ‘It is I who should thank you,’ he replied. ‘Without probably knowing it, you have done a great service for my country. Soon, we will be a free and sovereign nation to rule ourselves and the rightful Emperor will usurp the court of the Empress, regaining his God-given role as head of our new nation.’
The words that rolled from Tung’s tongue were laden with the same conviction that was reflected in his eyes. The former Shaolin priest was a man of action and John could believe that what he said could come about with men such as he to fight for their cause. But at what cost? John had no doubt that Tung was a revolutionary and most probably a Boxer warrior.
‘I hope that we meet again,’ John said, releasing the grip. ‘In better times.’
‘So do I, old warrior,’ Tung replied with a grim smile. ‘You are a worthy man whose Chinese blood is strong.’
Tung turned to Andrew and Liling. ‘Andrew, remember all that I have spoken of,’ he said. ‘My country needs such men as you.’
Andrew nodded, stretching out his hand to his friend. ‘And you, sister,’ Tung said, addressing Liling. ‘You are a true daughter of this land. You have proved that many times.’
Liling was overwhelmed by his words and looked down shyly, but her face was radiant with the praise she received from this man whose spiritual aura was so strong.
Tung turned and walked alone along the street.
John carefully folded the paper pass and placed it into his pocket. He was puzzled by Tung’s comment to his son. When he had the opportunity he would ask Andrew what Tung meant. Hefting his rifle he turned to his son and Liling. ‘Time to go,’ he said and they commenced walking in the direction Tung had pointed out.
Very soon they would see the walls of the Forbidden City loom before them and they were fortunate that they were not accosted by the armed Boxers and soldiers they passed on their way to the compound. It was as if some of Tung’s aura had rubbed off on them.
‘What did Tung mean when he said China needed men like you?’ John finally asked his son as they walked towards the barricades manned by soldiers John recognised as British.
‘Nothing really,’ Andrew replied evasively. ‘Just an expression of his, I guess.’
Andrew’s answer did not satisfy John but he had no further chance to question him as a nervous British soldier raised his rifle and called in English for them to halt. John carefully placed his rifle on the street, and raised his hands, replying loudly, ‘Don’t shoot me, you Pommy bastards, I’m an Australian.’
His broad accent and appearance that seemed at odds with it almost felled the young British soldier.
A British officer manning the barricade turned to the soldier who had issued the challenge. ‘Don’t shoot him, soldier,’ he said in a commanding voice. ‘He is a damned colonial from his accent, but probably deserves shooting all the same, for being cheeky.’
‘Approach, old chap,’ the officer called back. ‘Just be careful where you point that rifle.’
John stooped to pick up the rifle and strode towards the barricade where the contingent of British soldiers gawked at the big broad-shouldered Chinese man who spoke English with a colonial accent striding confidently towards them.
‘John Wong out of Queensland,’ John said when he was allowed through the barricade and was standing before the British officer. ‘This is my son, Andrew, and the young lady who speaks no English is Liling. I am here to meet with my daughter, Miss Naomi Wong.’
John wondered at the stricken expression that suddenly appeared on the British officer’s face. Then unexpectedly the officer thrust out his hand. ‘I am Lieutenant Robert Mumford,’ he said. ‘And I have news of your daughter that I wish could be better. Please accompany me back to our legation.’
John accepted the handshake but frowned at the young British officer’s tone. A father’s worst nightmare could be contained in the way the words had been expressed by the officer.
‘My daughter?’ John asked, hoping that his voice would not crack. ‘What news do you have?’
‘I think that we should return to the legation, Mr Wong. It is best that we get you and your son a cup of tea before speaking of your daughter.’
Shaken, John and Andrew, with Liling in tow, followed Robert. Liling had not understood the conversation but from the expression on Andrew’s face she knew that something was terribly wrong.
Over the promised cup of tea Robert explained that Naomi was missing and told them what he knew of the circumstances behind her abduction. Considering the situation, he felt it wise not to add that he was in love with this fiercelooking man’s daughter.
‘Your daughter has spoken of your colourful past, Mr Wong,’ Robert said, sipping his tea. ‘Your added rifle and you will be a welcome addition to our defences. And your son’s skills in medicine will be of great help at our hospital. I am sure that Dr Morrison, a fellow countryman of yours, will appreciate his assistance.’
‘I am here to find my sister, Mr Mumford,’ Andrew said. ‘I doubt that my father and I will be remaining after we have found her.’
‘If you find Miss Wong,’ Robert replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, ‘I do not think that it would be wise to attempt to travel under the current circumstances. Granted, your appearance gives you an advantage but the Boxers do discriminate between Chinese people and I suspect that neither of you would be able to completely pass as people born in this country. It would be better that you remained with us until we are relieved by our British naval forces.’
‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Mumford,’ John said. ‘But we have already risked much just getting here and my only desire is to get my daughter out of this situation, as you call it.’
Robert put down his cup. He walked to the window of his quarters to gaze at the bedlam in the street. He had learned that around 4000 people now sought refuge within the walls of the legation compound. Of these, around 473 were civilians, an equal number were European or American soldiers, while the remainder were Chinese converts. Most of those from eighteen nations represented were crowded into the British legation quarter and shared the limited space with a flock of sheep, a cow and some Chinese ponies and mules. Trunks of clothes, mattresses and bedding spilled over into the crowded street while harried British civil servants pointed the way to a recently refurbished chapel which would provide shelter for refugees of every denomination. Robert wondered how they would feed the refugees but dismissed the thought when he reminded himself that he was a soldier whose duty was to defend those same people. Feeding was someone else’s problem.
‘You are welcome to share my Spartan quarters,’ Robert suddenly said, turning with his hands behind his back. ‘Feel free to use my name if you need anything and I can ask Dr Morrison to provide quarters for your Chinese girl.’
Both John and Andrew looked at each other in surprise. This total stranger had offered to share his quarters with them.
‘That is very generous, Mr Mumford,’ Andrew thanked. ‘But you hardly know us.’
‘Let us say that I was – am – very fond of Miss Wong,’ Robert struggled. ‘Her welfare is primary among my nonmilitary priorities. If there is any way I can assist you in finding her, be assured it will be done.’
John sensed that the British officer was struggling in relation to Naomi but he did not question the man immediately. Was it possible this man was courting his daughter? Strangely, Naomi had not mentioned his name in any of her letters home. ‘Is it that my daughter holds a special interest to you, Mr Mumford?’ he at length asked quietly.
Robert stared directly at John. ‘It could be said that I have a special interest in your daughter, sir,’ he replied. ‘I have already attempted to locate her, however without any success. But I will do so again when I am able.’
John did not press the matter. He suspected that his daughter’s beauty crossed all barriers of race. He even felt sympathy for the young British officer who fought to keep his true feelings to himself. ‘We will find her,’ John assured him. ‘I promise you that.’
‘You may be able to provide us with valuable information on what you saw and encountered on your journey here,’ Robert said, turning the conversation from the sensitive subject of Naomi. ‘As you can see, we are somewhat besieged and any news from beyond the legation walls is greatly appreciated.’
John provided a brief outline of their trek from the coast to Pekin, being careful to mention Liling’s invaluable role in assisting them with her family’s sampan. He did not, however, mention Tung or his role in their journey. After all, Tung was a wanted man in the colony of Queensland and John thought it wise to keep the former Shaolin priest out of any report of their affairs.
Robert listened with interest. ‘Tientsin appears to be cut off as well,’ he sighed heavily. ‘We were hoping to see a relief force come to our assistance by now.’
‘We didn’t see any signs of European troops,’ John said.
‘Well, I suppose that I should take you over to meet Dr Morrison,’ Robert concluded. ‘I am sure that your Chinese girl could do with some rest, as I suspect so could you.’
As much as John wanted to set out straightaway into the city in search of his daughter, he also realised just how exhausted they were from the arduous journey.
Dr George Morrison impressed Andrew from the very outset of their meeting and although dirt-stained and sweating, the tall, charismatic Australian carried the aura of a man in command.
‘So you are from Queensland,’ Morrison said, gripping Andrew’s hand firmly. ‘I have visited your colony.’
‘Ah, Mr Wong,’ Morrison said, turning to John. ‘Your exploits are not unknown to me.’
John also fell under the journalist’s spell and when he looked around him he could see a mass of Chinese men, women and children attempting to make a home for themselves in the cramped area.
Morrison noticed John’s interest in the people around them – many he had personally rescued from certain death at the hands of the Boxers. ‘Your linguistic skills will be invaluable to me here,’ he said. ‘At the moment my own grasp of the language is rudimentary at best. It appears, from what Mr Mumford has told me, you are fluent in Mandarin.’
‘Not me,’ John confessed. ‘My son, Andrew, is the linguist. I just get by.’
When Morrison turned his attention to Liling, Andrew could see that the handsome journalist was admiring her. He even introduced himself to Liling in passable Chinese, to which Liling reacted with pleasure. Just for a moment Andrew experienced a pang of jealousy towards this accomplished man but quickly let that feeling go when Morrison immediately returned his attention to Andrew and his father.
‘There has been some discussion that able-bodied civilian males will be armed and form a kind of militia to help boost the defences,’ Morrison said. ‘Knowing of your past I would expect you to join our little army, Mr Wong.’
Although John had not considered staying any longer than it took to find his daughter, under the gaze of Morrison he suddenly found it hard to say no. ‘I suppose I could do that,’ he replied.
‘And you, Mr Wong,’ Morrison said, addressing Andrew. ‘I believe that you are a student of my old alma mater in Edinburgh. How far have you advanced?’
‘Final year,’ Andrew replied.
‘Good, I will need assistance with the hospital when things warm up. Your skills will be invaluable. I hope that you can be of assistance. I can provide quarters for Miss Liling with my female servants as I believe Mr Mumford has provided you with accommodation.’
‘Thank you, and it would be an honour to work in the hospital,’ Andrew replied. ‘I am sure that Liling could be trained by me to assist.’
‘A good idea,’ Morrison said with a broad smile. ‘I am afraid my duties as a journalist will keep me away from any medical practices.’
Andrew was surprised that the Australian doctor should choose journalism over medicine when he considered how difficult it was to study and qualify in that field. But then this man had struck him as intriguing from the moment they had met.
‘Well, I must excuse myself to attend to administrative matters,’ Morrison said. ‘If you need to know anything you only have to ask Kai over there. He works for me.’
John and Andrew glanced across the busy yard crowded with refugees to see a wizened Chinese shouting orders at the confused and despondent men, women and children.
‘Kai!’ Morrison called. ‘Come over here and meet these people.’
Kai desisted from ordering people around and walked over to them. ‘You must look after these people,’ Morrison said. ‘And now I must bid you a good day but will meet with you both again very soon. We have a lot to talk about.’
As Morrison strode away Andrew introduced himself, his father and Liling in Chinese and the surly expression permanently set on Kai’s face appeared to crack for a brief moment.
‘You speak Mandarin with an accent,’ he said. ‘You are not from here.’
‘A place in another country called Queensland,’ Andrew replied.
‘Is that near Canton?’ Kai queried.
‘No, it is nearer where Dr Morrison once lived.’
‘Ah, the country of Victoria,’ Kai answered, delighted at being able to demonstrate his knowledge of international geography to the strangers.
Andrew smiled. His answer was close enough.
‘You have the same family name as the woman the lieutenant was searching for,’ Kai continued. ‘I was with him when we went into the city.’
At the mention of Robert’s search for Naomi, both John and Andrew expressed surprise.
‘Will you tell us about that?’ Andrew asked.
When Kai gave a detailed account of the night patrol into the city John’s perception of the English officer was greatly elevated. It was obvious that Robert Mumford had more than a passing interest in Naomi.
‘Could you tell us where Lieutenant Mumford thought that there might be a chance of finding the woman he sought?’ Andrew grilled.
‘I could,’ Kai replied. ‘But it would be too dangerous to go there now.’
John gestured to Andrew to desist from asking any more questions. What he had learned to date could be added to by Mumford himself. Already matters were falling into place.
John left his son and Liling at the legation’s hospital and returned to Robert’s quarters where he selected a relatively quiet corner to bed down on the stone floor. Like the absence of any wind before a sudden summer storm John drifted into a deep and troubled sleep.
The distant but constant crash of gunfire ripped John from his sleep and he grabbed for the rifle beside him. Staggering to his feet, groggy from having his rest interrupted, John glanced at a large ticking clock on the officer’s wall. It read 4 pm and he stumbled out of the room into the street.
A man wearing a white shirt and pants with a revolver strapped to his hip was running by the quarters. ‘What’s happening?’ John shouted
‘I don’t know but keep your head down,’ the man flung back over his shoulder.
John shrugged and returned to his temporary quarters.
He awoke the following morning before dawn, and went in search of something to eat and drink. He still had a good quantity of coins, as did Andrew, and expected that his money should be good.
On the street John saw a mass of confused people, mostly European but many Chinese refugees as well. He had decided to walk over to the area known as the Fu, which was designated for the Chinese converts, when he saw Morrison’s servant, Kai, head down, hurrying along the street. When John stopped him Kai informed him that he had left Andrew and Liling at the Fu. Kai provided directions and John strode out to visit the former Chinese palace now commandeered for quarters. As John walked along the street, he noticed soldiers and civilians hurriedly piling bricks and sandbags in open spaces between the buildings as fortification against attack. Considering what he had gleaned about the obvious threat from the Boxers leading up to the siege, John wondered why this had not been done before.
His path carried him onto the broad street where the Russian legation sat opposite its American counterpart, then across a bridge spanning a canal that took him between the Japanese, German and French legation compounds until he turned north to continue his walk towards the former palace.
Eventually he reached the Fu, a beautiful and spacious building with ornate gardens, where he saw Andrew and Liling distributing cooked rice to lines of refugees.
‘Hello, Father,’ Andrew greeted cheerily, seeing John striding towards him. ‘How did you sleep last night?’
‘Very well,’ John replied, propping his rifle against his hip. ‘You wouldn’t have a cup of tea and a bowl of rice for your old man, would you?’
Andrew spoke to Liling who produced a mug of hot green tea while Andrew filled a bowl with a meal of watery rice and meat.
John glanced at the food in his bowl. ‘I trust the meat is pork,’ he said.
‘Horse meat tomorrow,’ Andrew replied. ‘It seems that we are lucky that the spring races are over and the horses available for consumption.’
John glanced around and could see a few Europeans tending to the health care of the Chinese. They were predominantly European women doing the aid work and John could hear the languages of Italy, Germany and France besides English being used to people who, although they understand none of them, did understand what the speakers were attempting to do.
‘There appears to be no shortage of qualified medical staff here,’ Andrew said, ladling a meal into a bowl being held by an old woman who thanked him before hobbling aside to allow a young mother with a child on her hip to fill her bowl. ‘So, I have decided to join you in Dr Morrison’s militia.’
‘You don’t know anything about soldiering,’ John retorted. ‘Stay here with Liling and help the medical staff.’
‘I would rather be with you in case we get the opportunity to go into the city and find Naomi,’ Andrew said, reminding his father of their primary mission. John had to cede to that point and said nothing further. The occasional popping sound of gunfire suddenly became more than a distant noise when an empty clay jar exploded on the table only inches from where Andrew was serving the rice. Andrew leaped aside, dropping his ladle. ‘What the bloody hell was that?’ he yelped, looking around him.
‘That, son,’ John answered calmly, ‘is what a spent bullet can do. I suspect that the Boxers – or Imperial troops – are closing in on the Fu with sharpshooters.’
Andrew stared at his father who continued to sip his tea as if nothing had happened.
‘I think I will look for Lieutenant Mumford and ask him about his search for Naomi,’ John said, placing his mug back on the trestle and trailing his rifle. ‘I will learn all that he has to tell me about where he suspects she may have been held, and from there we will discuss our own search for your sister. I will also find Dr Morrison and sign up for his militia.’
‘Don’t forget to sign me up as well,’ Andrew said, picking up the ladle to resume his assigned duties. ‘If nothing else I can shoot as well as you.’
‘That’s your opinion,’ John grinned. ‘Besides, these targets shoot back.’
Andrew had not fully considered the implications of his decision to volunteer until his father reminded him and now he thought about Tung. Was it possible he could become one of the targets in the Boxers’ gunsights?
‘What are you going to do with Liling?’ John asked before he walked away.
‘Liling remains beside me,’ Andrew replied without any hesitation. ‘But she can reside here at night. She has already met a woman from Taku who knows her family. She will not be totally alone among strangers.’
‘Fair enough,’ John said. As he walked away a ricocheting bullet exploded a fine film of dust in front of him, but he ignored the wayward shot and continued on his way.
It was early evening before John could speak to Robert, as upon returning to the officer’s quarters he had found him fully clothed on his bed and in a deep sleep.
John decided to explore the grounds of the legation defences and familiarise himself with the layout. He gazed from the British legation grounds across the broad Imperial Carriage Park to the golden glitter of the tiles of the Imperial palace. It was strange, he thought. This country was so foreign to him although it had been the land of his father, and yet his own son was fascinated with all things Chinese. John turned away from the sight of the Imperial palace quarters to scan the area around the British buildings. Of solid stone, these looked more normal to him even if there was a hint of Oriental architecture in the structures.
The sporadic rifle shots echoing all around the legation did not cause him to flinch as it did those who had never come under fire before, but John was suddenly aware of another ominous sound in the hot, dry air of the city’s summer. It was not a familiar sound and he cowered when an artillery shell exploded some distance off in the legation grounds. Artillery! The Chinese were shelling them! The stakes had been raised considerably, the Queenslander thought as he saw the dirty, grey dust from the explosion rise above the tiled rooftops of outbuildings not far from where he stood.
The thump of the exploding artillery round awoke Robert who rolled instinctively from his bed onto the floor. He kneeled for a moment attempting to gather his thoughts and finally rose to his feet when he ascertained that he was intact. Robert knew about artillery bombardments from his days soldiering on the North-West Frontier, and had seen at first hand the terrible wounds shrapnel could cause to the body.
‘I see that you are awake, Mr Mumford,’ John said, leaning his rifle against the wall. ‘I need to discuss a matter with you.’
‘Speak, Mr Wong,’ Robert said, slipping his service pistol into the holster attached to his belt.
‘Do you have any long-term intentions towards my daughter?’ John asked, causing Robert to blink in his surprise at the man’s forwardness.
‘I have one regret, sir,’ Robert replied. ‘That I did not signal my love for your daughter before she was taken from us.’
John nodded. ‘Then I can presume that you would do anything within your power to find her – as I have come to learn that you attempted in the past,’ John said.
‘I would, Mr Wong,’ Robert answered. ‘That is an oath on my word as an officer of Her Majesty.’
‘I will hold you to your oath,’ John said.
‘Some weeks ago I was able to glean intelligence that Naomi may have been held in a house not far from here,’ Robert told him. ‘I made an attempt to storm the house but we were driven back by superior forces. Since then my duties have forced me to remain within the legation compound. But there is not a day that goes past that I don’t pray for the opportunity to attempt another search for her.’
John could hear the sincerity in the young man’s voice and did not doubt he would assist him find Naomi. Already a plan was forming in his mind how he would do that. It would require the assistance of Dr Morrison’s servant, Kai, and faith in the pass Tung had given him when they parted. But, above all, it would require a lot of luck. He well understood that finding his daughter in a city teeming with hostile forces would be like finding a needle in a haystack.
‘I would require information from you on where your intelligence suggests are the weakest points of the Boxers’ perimeter around the legation,’ John said. ‘Do you have that information?’
‘I will be coordinating such a plan,’ Robert said. ‘But, at the moment we are blind to what is happening beyond our defences. We do not have much idea of the enemy’s strength, arms or disposition at the moment. Worse still, we are not exactly sure if the Imperial army of the Empress has allied itself to the Boxer forces besieging us.’
‘I would suspect that the occasional artillery round passing overhead comes from the Imperial arsenal,’ John said with a wry smile. ‘And I don’t have to be a soldier to guess that.’
Robert returned the smile. ‘Had you chosen to be, I am sure you would have been a fine soldier. Your daughter proudly boasted to me of her father’s colonial exploits.’
John was warming to the young English officer and wondered why his daughter had not thought it worth mentioning him in her letters. Maybe she was not in love with him, John thought. Or was she afraid to tell her father she was in love with an English officer, fearing that her father would disapprove of a man whom he might perceive to be one who might desert her because of her race? But then, what male understood the vastly complex workings of the female mind – even that of a daughter.
‘Do you have something in mind?’ Robert asked.
‘I am hoping that by tomorrow morning you will be able to furnish me with enough information about the Boxer dispositions for me to plan a way into the city,’ John replied. ‘And as soon as the sun goes down I will attempt to make my way in with Dr Morrison’s man to guide me back to that house where you suspect my daughter is being held.’
‘My thoughts were a long shot, Mr Wong,’ Robert said. ‘And even if it had been where she was, I would guess that by now the Boxers might have moved themselves to somewhere else in the city. I think what you are planning is foolhardy. It would be better to wait until a relieving force arrives and then go in search of your daughter.’
‘You don’t even know if a relieving force is on its way,’ John countered. ‘If I don’t find my daughter very soon, rescuing her will be a moot point if I remain to be massacred along with the rest of you inside the legation.’
Robert silently agreed with the Queenslander’s summation of their position; cut off from the rest of the world, they had heard nothing of a relieving force coming to their aid. He was pragmatic enough to know it would only be a matter of time before they were eventually swamped by the sheer numbers of the enemy against them. It was not a thought he dared express openly but instead kept up an example of cheerful optimism in front of soldiers and civilians alike.
Robert rubbed his face with his hand. ‘I would be with you, Mr Wong,’ he said. ‘But my duties here prevent that. Believe me when I say I would not hinder you in your foolish plan if it meant the slightest hope of finding Naomi.’
‘I believe you, Mr Mumford,’ John said. ‘I am not even telling my son what I plan to do and ask that you don’t mention it to him either.’
‘You have my word,’ Robert replied. ‘I pray that you succeed and I will help to the best of my ability.’
‘If I don’t make it,’ John said quietly. ‘I expect you to do all in your power to save my daughter.’
In the morning he would go to Morrison and request the help of Kai then, after the sun went down, he would find the best way through the defensive perimeter into the city. He had the pass and would exchange his rifle with Andrew for the use of the revolver, which could easily be concealed. As the English officer had said, it was a long shot. But anything was better than sitting out each day agonising over the fate of his beloved Naomi.
• • •
The following morning John walked over to the Fu for a meal and to meet with Morrison. He had hardly stepped onto the bridge spanning the Jade River canal when he stepped back to avoid being run down by a stampeding mass of panicked soldiers. As they passed him John could see the uniforms of German, Italian, French, Austrian, Japanese, Russian and American riflemen. He grabbed an American by the sleeve. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘Word has come down the line from that Austrian commander that the defences have been overrun,’ he said, yanking away from John to continue his retreat towards the British compound.
John knew enough about the defences to realise that, if the Fu was being abandoned, they had just lost three-quarters of the area that they needed to hold the Boxers at bay. A cold chill swept over him. Andrew and Liling were in the Fu and if it had fallen then their lives were in great peril.
Pushing through the soldiers cramming the bridge, John forced his way onto a street leading to the former Chinese palace compound. His rifle was loaded and contained a full magazine of heavy rounds. He was running and came to a stop when he saw only civilians milling around the compound with expressions of confusion and concern.
With Liling at his side, Andrew saw his father and called to him.
‘What in bloody hell is going on?’ John gasped, fighting to catch his breath after the hard run from the bridge.
‘From what I can gather,’ Andrew growled, ‘that stupid Austrian naval captain, von Thomann, heard a rumour that the American legation had been abandoned and without checking ordered a retreat back to the British legation. But as you can see we are now without any defence for the converts. As a matter of fact we are now wide open to an all-out attack.’
The words were hardly out of Andrew’s mouth when their attention was drawn to the south-eastern horizon where a pillar of smoke was rising over the tops of the tiled roofs of the Fu.
‘That’s coming from the Italian area,’ John said, remembering that the Italian legation stood at the outer edges of the defensive perimeter. ‘It looks like the attack has started. Time you and Liling came back with me to the British compound.’
‘Under the circumstances, I cannot leave these people to the mercy of the Boxers,’ Andrew said, sweeping his hand to the crowd of frightened Chinese filling the open spaces of the former palace.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ John snapped. ‘You have to get out of here before the Boxers arrive. There is nothing you can do for these people.’
‘I have my pistol,’ Andrew said, touching the hand grip of the revolver in his belt. ‘You take Liling with you and I will be all right.’
‘You bloody fool,’ John snarled, his patience stretched by his son’s gallant but foolish gesture. ‘You are no good to anyone staying here if you are going to get yourself killed.’
A bullet smacked into a stone column only feet from where they stood, and a tiny chip of stone struck Andrew in the face, causing him to flinch although no harm had come apart from a slight swelling that would turn to a bruise.
John was seriously considering dragging his son from the compound when Liling gripped John’s arm.
‘Soldiers are coming!’ she shouted, pointing to the stream of armed men returning to defend the Fu.
‘Someone has shown some sense,’ John muttered, releasing his grip on the sleeve of his son’s shirt. ‘All we have to do is pray that the rebels haven’t realised that we have dropped our defences.’
John’s prayer was answered. For an unknown reason the Boxers had not pressed home an all-out attack on the fleeing soldiers.
‘We will burn the barbarians out.’
Tung listened to the closing words of the impassioned speech by the commander of the Boxer contingent assembled in a deserted warehouse well back from the besieged quarters of the European powers. Dust filtered down onto the colourfully dressed armed warriors from the rafters where doves cooed.
Yung Lo was an impressive man. He was in fact a general of the dowager Empress’s Imperial army, and a battle-scarred veteran of campaigns waged against warlords in the name of the Imperial court. His voice echoed in the spacious building that once housed goods destined for Europe.
The situation of the siege needed to be resolved quickly as Tung, like many of his comrades, was aware that even now a multinational relief force under the command of a British admiral was fighting its way towards Pekin. Despite the logic in the proposed scheme Tung worried about his friends inside the legation compounds.
‘Your commanders have been issued their orders and so you are dismissed to carry them out in the name of the divine Empress.’
Although Tung had been given command of his own contingent of Boxer warriors he had not as yet committed them to the fight against the Europeans. This would be his first action in Pekin for the cause. The cry of ‘Sha! Sha!’ that rose from the voices of the five hundred Boxers assembled following the Chinese general’s speech caused the doves to take flight and search for a more peaceful place to roost.
Commanders directed their men to assemble for the issuing of flammable materials to accomplish the task of setting the legation compounds ablaze and Tung prepared himself to issue his orders to his own men.
‘Tung,’ Yung Lo called out, walking with precise strides towards him. Tung turned to the military commander and waited obediently.
‘Orders have been issued, but there is one very special task I am assigning you and your men, which I have not informed the other commanders of for reasons I think you will understand. I have assigned to your men the task of setting the Hanlin alight,’ Yung Lo said, eyeing the former Shaolin priest square in the face.
‘The Hanlin!’ Tung replied, attempting to stifle his horror. ‘But it is our most precious place of learning, honourable general.’
The Hanlin, a beautifully painted pavilion, housed the most ancient Chinese texts and was as much a university for the Chinese as Oxford was for the English. Filled with silk-covered volumes of writings by China’s masters, its shelves contained the very heart and soul of China itself. The task given to Tung for his men to destroy such a place was almost beyond comprehension.
‘It is also adjoining the British legation,’ the general replied. ‘We are at war and the Hanlin represents our past. What we do now is for the present and future. We must not look backwards. Besides, its burning will bring a lot of the Europeans out into our lines of fire when they attempt to put out the fire. If nothing else they have a sentimental if foolish desire to see that we keep our past. I suspect that this desire is motivated by the idea we are a backward people steeped in the knowledge of past glories.’
‘Honourable general, I am as loyal to the cause as any man,’ Tung attempted to protest. ‘But will not the mandarins of the court themselves object to this task. After all, it is they who resist change to our old ways.’
The tough general glared icily at Tung, weighing up the young man’s commitment to total war. ‘Your uncle, General Tung, is a very old friend of mine,’ he said quietly. ‘We have shared many a campfire on the barren snow plains of this land fighting for the people. He has told me of your remarkable achievements in the recent past. But he and I suspect that you may be working for the imprisoned false emperor with his subversive ideas of progress. To complete this task will prove that you are totally committed to our revolution.’
Tung was trapped. It was true that he was committed to the cause of freeing China from the invaders, but it was also true that he was loyal to the rightful Emperor and his ideals of a nation freed by progressive ideas. Had not the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, predicted that this new European century would see the rise of China, to take its rightful place among the nations of the world. The general had set Tung a test of his loyalty. The burning of the Hanlin would not be popular with many of his own men.
‘I will do it,’ Tung finally ceded.
‘Good,’ the general said. He turned on his heel, leaving the odious task to a man he would rather have beheaded, if it were not for loyalty to his old comrade-in-arms, General Tung.
• • •
The evening air was muggy and the flickering candlelight cast shadows on the sketched disposition of the legation laid out on the table. Robert had used his revolver to hold down one end of the curled-up sheet of paper while the candle stand kept down the other end.
John leaned over the map Robert had drawn and scanned for a weak point in what the English officer guessed, at best, were the Boxers’ current siege lines.
‘Since the debacle today our lines of defence have shrunk somewhat,’ Robert said, pointing with the end of a long cigar at his map. ‘That could be a good thing. We have abandoned the Dutch and Belgian legations and only have seven legations to defend. The Austrians and Italians stupidly lost their grounds and according to my calculations we are now defending a rectangular area approximately 700 by 750 yards. However, in our sector we are most vulnerable to an attack at these points,’ Robert continued, pointing to the north of the British legation where the ancient Hanlin Academy connected with the legation. ‘And here,’ he indicated, shifting his cigar pointer to the south and west where lay the Imperial Carriage Park and the Mongol Market.
John examined the places on the map depicting the European legation compounds, and could see that the defended area included the American and Russian legations, overshadowed by the massive Tartar Wall at one end of Legation Street, while the French were at the opposite end. In the south lay the British legation and the continuation of the great Tartar Wall. At its centre were the German, Japanese and Spanish legations as well as the popular Hotel de Pekin and a mix of banks, shops and residential houses.
‘Where do you suspect the rebels are weakest?’ John asked, continuing to peer at the map under the flickering light.
‘Nowhere,’ Robert answered bluntly. ‘At least that is my guess. We don’t have enough intelligence to spot any breaks in their lines.’
John straightened his back and stood back from the table. ‘I have to go tonight,’ he said. ‘My daughter has been long enough in the hands of those bastards.’
‘Mr Wong, I would advise against any attempt to enter the city at this stage.’
‘The longer I wait the less chance my daughter will be alive – if this relieving force of yours ever arrives at all,’ John replied with a growl.
Robert sighed, smoke drifting on the humid evening air like a shroud around their heads. ‘If you insist, all I can suggest is that you use this part of our defences to enter the city,’ he said, pointing at a section of the defensive line. ‘Reports that I have received indicate the least amount of sharpshooting and enemy activity at this point.’
‘I will leave sometime after midnight,’ John said.
‘I will be at the barricade to ensure that you don’t get shot by one of our own,’ Robert offered. ‘I pray with all my heart that you find Naomi. Good luck and good hunting, Mr Wong,’ he said stiff ly, offering his hand. ‘I will still be on duty at the barricade when you return Naomi to us all.’
Robert picked up his revolver and holstered it to return to his post on the barricades, leaving John to snatch a little sleep before rising to fetch and brief Kai.
Together John and Kai made their way through the dark streets towards a burning lantern set at the barricades to provide illumination against any attempted sneak attack. Soldiers wearing the uniforms of many nations manned the improvised walls, some sleeping while others crouched awake behind the motley items used as sandbags.
Robert emerged from the shadows with a British NCO. ‘Sergeant Higgins will brief you on the best possible route out of here,’ Robert said, referring to the small but tough-looking British NCO beside him. John could see from the ribands on his uniform that the moustachioed sergeant was a veteran of many colonial campaigns.
‘Yer best bet is to use the shadows over there,’ the sergeant briefed, indicating a side of the street to their right. ‘From there yer could chance duckin’ into a ’ouse an makin’ yer way back through the laneways. Does yer heathen friend know the city?’ he asked, referring to Kai.
‘He does, sergeant,’ John replied.
‘Good thing then,’ the sergeant continued. ‘Cos all I could see today was that the only part of the street free of the heathens was where I said.’
‘Thank you, sergeant,’ John said.
‘Very good, sah,’ the British NCO answered and John could detect a slight note of contempt. No doubt he had observed John as being ‘not quite a white man’ and therefore not a gentleman that Mr Mumford should be assisting.
Without another word John moved away into the dark behind the barricades, followed by Kai and Robert. When they came to a small opening in the defences John and Kai pushed their way through into the vacant street beyond any illumination cast by the lanterns at the barrier. Only the vague silhouette of the buildings stood out against the starlit night.
Even with Kai very close by John suddenly felt very much alone. It was as if he had passed between the earth and the heavens but was in a place called limbo.
‘This way,’ Kai hissed, taking the lead as they encountered the first stone buildings on the street. ‘House got yard.’
In the darkness John could barely make out Kai’s back and his straining ears picked up the muffled sound of movement beyond the walls. Kai also heard the sound and froze. It seemed that they were only a wall width away from the enemy.
John was tempted to draw his revolver from under his shirt but knew his best chance, albeit a slim one, of breaking through the enemy lines was with Kai bluffing that they were sympathisers of the Boxer cause.
‘No good,’ Kai whispered in a frightened voice. ‘We go back.’
‘No,’ John said in a low but forceful tone. ‘We go on.’
Kai’s expression of fear turned to terror when a figure emerged unexpectedly from the dark nearby and cried out a warning that was followed by the sharp report of a rifle firing.
John felt himself being flung back as if he had been punched in the chest by a giant. He was vaguely aware that Kai had already disappeared into the darkness.
‘Shot,’ John mumbled to himself. He was fighting to stay on his feet and fumbled for his revolver. Loud voices only feet away joined the confusion around him and he was aware that a burning brand of fire was spiralling through the night sky, landing in the street in a scattered blaze of embers and lighting up where he stood.
Three Boxers armed with rifles were standing only yards away and a volley of shots from the barricades felled one of them, just missing John with the ominous crack around his head.
‘Run, old boy!’ a distant voice called to John, who was fighting a battle with the numbing pain in his chest.
John forgot about attempting to retrieve his pistol to fight it out with the now-disappearing Boxers falling back behind the buildings. Instead, he turned and stumbled towards the barricades.
Like a drunken man he staggered, fighting to keep his feet as he closed the distance between himself and the exposed faces of the defenders who were cheering him on to safety. While bullets whipped around him the defenders laid down fire to cover John’s retreat from the enemy. But he did not make it. Within reach of the improvised sandbag wall, John pitched forward into oblivion.
Strong hands dragging him … Nothing, then a lazy buzzing sound … Nothing. Hard to breathe and now a low moaning sound mingled with a soothing voice of a woman, as if crooning to a baby … Nothing again until the tickling but annoying sensation of very tiny feet on his face.
Thirst. John experienced a terrible thirst and croaked, ‘Water.’
‘Doctor,’ the now familiar woman’s voice called.
John opened his eyes to stare up at a fly-specked white ceiling. He was aware that he was lying on a stone floor and that flies buzzed around his head. The pain in his left side caught him when he attempted to sit up and he was restrained by a gentle hand of the woman kneeling beside him.
‘I am Miss Condit Smith,’ she said in an American accent. ‘And you should remain still until Dr Poole has a chance to examine your wound.’
John did not reply but turned his head to see a tall, well-built, bearded man lying beside him in a pool of blood. John recognised his blood-soaked uniform as that of a Russian Cossack. The young soldier’s face had a ghastly green tinge and his eyes were barely open.
‘Poor man,’ Polly said, observing John’s gaze. ‘He was shot through the chest yesterday and the staff do not expect him to live.’
‘A hospital?’ John whispered hoarsely.
‘You are in a hospital,’ Polly answered. ‘You were brought in last night from the barricades.’
‘Shot where?’ John asked, suspecting that he too had a chest wound.
‘The doctor will speak to you,’ Polly evaded, returning her attention to the young soldier.
The doctor, accompanied by a young lady wearing a long, flowing dress, squatted beside John and grasped his wrist to check his pulse. John hardly took any notice of the doctor’s examination but found himself staring into the beautiful, slightly sloping, green eyes of the young woman standing beside the doctor. She had a lustrous pile of chestnut hair framing a very pale face of flawless complexion and John guessed that she was in her early thirties.
‘I doubt if your wound will take you the same way as our Russian friend,’ the doctor said bluntly. ‘The bullet smashed a couple of ribs but exited. All we have to do is avoid septus and you will be up on your feet in no time. Miss Gurevich will keep an eye on you, Mr Wong. Your son has been assisting us with our work here and tells me that you have had worse in the past,’ he added with a smile.
‘You can allow him to drink now, Miss Gurevich,’ the doctor said, standing to speak to the young woman beside him. ‘I will be back to examine you and change the dressing in around a couple of hours from now,’ the doctor said in conclusion, leaving John in the company of two young ladies and the dying Cossack.
‘You must allow me to help you bend your head so that you may sip the water,’ the Russian woman said. ‘I am not a nurse, and this is new to me.’
John allowed the woman to place her hand under his head and help him half sit to swallow the warm, brackish water poured from a clay cup. The pain when he was moved caused John to wince, closing his eyes, but he did not cry out.
‘You speak very good English,’ John said through gritted teeth.
‘I am a governess,’ Miss Gurevich said, lowering John’s head to the floor. ‘My employers have always been Americans, Mr Wong. I have lived as long in America as I have in my own country.’
‘So you are a nurse now,’ John commented, attempting to ignore the racking pain in his chest.
‘For the moment,’ Miss Gurevich replied.
‘Will you be caring for me,’ John asked, ‘as Miss Condit Smith seems to be doing for your countryman there?’
John’s suggestion brought a scowl to the woman’s beautiful features. ‘He is a Cossack,’ she said, dismissing the dying man without much sympathy.
For a moment John was puzzled about her dismissal of the man but suddenly he understood.
‘You are a Jew,’ he said, remembering how much suffering the Cossacks had inflicted on Jewish villages in Russia in their pogroms. The woman looked at him with an expression of surprise.
‘How did you know that?’ she asked, her mouth slightly agape to reveal tiny but perfectly aligned teeth.
‘One of my best friends in Queensland is Jewish,’ John answered. ‘He and his wife have told me of the purges the Tsar has launched against your people in Russia. My own daughter has an old Jewish name. I had her christened Naomi.’
‘But you are not Jewish,’ the Russian woman stated.
‘How do you know that?’ John replied with a weak smile.
‘Because you had your daughter christened,’ the woman replied, with her own trace of a faint smile. ‘I think that you try to flirt with me, Mr Wong.’
‘I would like it that you called me John. It would be nice to hear my name spoken by a beautiful woman in this hellhole of a hospital,’ John said with a widening smile. ‘If it is not forward I would like to know your given name.’
‘It is Elizaveta,’ the young woman said. ‘My American friends call me Liza.’
‘Well, I am a Queenslander,’ John said with some pride. ‘And I think Liza sounds like a beautiful name.’
‘That is enough, Mr Wong, if you wish to have me remain to assist you in your recovery.’
‘John, please call me John.’
‘To do so would be forward of me,’ Liza replied. ‘I know nothing about you other than that you have a daughter called Naomi – and no doubt a wife.’
‘No wife,’ John replied with a note of sadness in his voice. ‘She is dead a long time but left me with a wonderful son and daughter. Both are here in the city. My son Andrew is helping out your doctors and my daughter has been taken by the Boxers. I am here to get her back.’
Liza registered her surprise. ‘I have met your son, Andrew, but he is Chinese … I am sorry, Mr Wong,’ she said. ‘I did not want you to think that I have a prejudice against Chinese people.’
‘My Irish blood understands what you are saying,’ John said, fighting the pain that talking caused him.
‘I must visit other people,’ Liza said, rising to her feet and brushing down her long skirt.
‘You will return before I die?’ John asked cheekily, eliciting a smile from the young woman.
‘You will not die in this hospital, Mr Wong,’ she replied, leaving John with a gentle smile and swish of her dress as she walked away from him.
John turned his head to see that the American woman had also left the Cossack, to attend to other duties. Now he was alone at the end of the makeshift ward with only the dying soldier and many flies buzzing in the hot air around his head.
John’s next visitor was Andrew, who approached his father fighting back tears he hoped would be concealed in the dim light of the approaching evening.
‘Mr Mumford came over to the Fu to inform me that you had been wounded,’ he said, kneeling by his father. ‘I came as soon as he told me.’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ John reassured his son who was feebly wiping his face to hide both his concern and his relief.
‘You should have had me at your side,’ Andrew chided.
‘You have other concerns in your life now,’ John replied, taking his son’s hand in a strong grip of reassurance. ‘Where is Liling?’
‘She is at the Fu helping with the refugees,’ Andrew answered. ‘She is a marvellous woman.’
‘I know,’ John said with a sigh. ‘She reminds me of your mother in many ways.’
‘I also met with Kai who said that you were on a mission to find Naomi when you were shot.’
‘That was the idea – except for getting shot,’ John replied. ‘All I have to do now is get out of here and try again.’
‘Maybe we should wait for the relief force to arrive before we do so,’ Andrew said. ‘Mr Mumford is pretty sure they will come.’
‘It may be too late for your sister,’ John countered. He did not add if she is still alive because he refused to entertain that option. He was his beloved daughter’s father and of all the men in the world it was his supreme duty to protect her. ‘I am sure I will find a way to go back out.’
‘If you do then I will be coming with you,’ Andrew said firmly.
‘No, I can’t afford to lose you if anything happens,’ John said, equally as firmly.
‘Mr Wong,’ a voice came from nearby.
‘Ah, Liza, you have returned to see if I am still alive,’ John said with a grin, recognising the young woman. ‘I believe that you have already met Miss Gurevich,’ John added, when Andrew stood up to greet the new arrival in the ward.
‘We have met,’ Andrew said, smiling at the young woman holding a porcelain bowl filled with rice and cooked bully beef.
‘I have come to feed your father,’ Liza said. ‘Or would you rather do that?’
Andrew glanced at his father and saw the expression of disapproval shadow his face. You old dog, Andrew thought with a start. It was obvious that his father preferred the Russian woman to tend to his needs. He had not thought of his father in that way before and it came as a shock after the many years he had known his father to shun the company of women for the sake of his mother’s memory.
‘I, ah, think that you would be best to look after my father,’ Andrew said tactfully, ‘as I must return to the Fu to look after the people there. I will visit again tomorrow morning,’ he added in parting, leaving his father alone with the Russian woman.
‘Your son is a fine young man,’ Liza said, kneeling beside John to spoon him the meal. ‘I believe he is training to be a doctor.’
‘He is,’ John replied when Liza had helped him into a sitting position against the wall. The pain had shot through his body at the movement but he only winced, gritting his teeth at the same time.
Liza noticed his unspoken agony. ‘Are you well enough to sit?’ she asked in a concerned voice and John nodded.
‘I was able to obtain the meat and rice from Miss Condit Smith,’ Liza said, spooning some of the food into John’s mouth. ‘She has the task of making up the American soldiers’ meals for them and she ensured that I had a bowl for you, as you are an Australian. Polly seems to have a great liking for Australians because of your Dr Morrison. I think that she is just a bit in love with the doctor.’
‘Well, not hard to see why,’ John said, savouring the hot meal. ‘He’s tall, mysterious, handsome and a doctor on top of all that.’
‘What is it that you do, Mr Wong?’ Liza asked.
‘Normally I import and export goods from the East,’ he answered. ‘I also have a cattle property and a few good racehorses back in Queensland.’
‘Then you are a fortunate man,’ Liza said, scooping another spoonful of food.
‘A fortunate man is one who is able to live to see his children have their own children,’ John answered. ‘At the moment that is not looking so clear.’
‘You will get well and your life will get better,’ Liza attempted to console the wounded man. ‘I am sure that you will find your daughter and, God willing, we will all be able to leave this terrible place alive.’
‘Tell me about you,’ John said, turning the conversation. ‘How is it that a beautiful young woman ends up in the middle of China. One who was born in Russia and lived most of her life in America.’
‘There is not much to tell,’ Liza answered with the hint of a blush. ‘As for being beautiful, Mr Wong, that is in the eye of the beholder.’
‘You are beautiful,’ John said.
‘I have come to learn that when men are helpless and in the care of a woman they seem to view that woman as beautiful so I will not take your words seriously.’
‘I would say the same thing if we met for the first time on Legation Street – or in Townsville for that matter.’
Liza realised that she had finished feeding John and placed the bowl on the floor. ‘We may be able to find you a bed tomorrow, Mr Wong,’ she said. ‘It will be a lot more comfortable.’
‘I intend leaving here tomorrow,’ John replied. ‘I have a place at the British legation to recover.’
‘I doubt that you will be well enough to do that,’ Liza replied, but she realised from the look in the Eurasian’s dark eyes that he was a man who did what he said.
There was something very interesting about Mr John Wong, she had to admit to herself. She guessed he was probably around ten to fifteen years older than her but he had the muscled body of a man half his age and the dark good looks that could only be inherited when East met West. From what she had come to learn about John from speaking with Lieutenant Mumford he was a man with a colourful past. Liza had to admit to herself that she could be seduced by the man’s charm and animal magnetism. She had sensed that from the moment she had first looked into his dark eyes and his obvious attraction to her was more than flattering, although she would never allow herself to admit that to him.
‘Miss Gurevich! We need a hand with two more casualties being brought in,’ a male voice called from the end of the ward. ‘Could you please spare us some of your time?’
‘I have to help the doctors,’ Liza said.
‘I hope you will be here before ten in the morning,’ John called after her. ‘Because that is when I intend to be leaving here.’
Liza turned to acknowledge John’s statement then hurried into the dimming light.
When John awoke in the early morning hours he turned his head to see that the young Cossack was dead. A blanket had been placed over the body until his comrades could come to fetch him. John sighed. He had a feeling that before much longer there would be many others lying with blankets covering their faces.