China -- History -- Revolution, 1911-1912 -- Fiction; Love stories; River boats -- Fiction; Yangtze River (China) -- Fiction
All of the last day they sailed the wide and steadily widening estuary.
The lead-colored water was roughened by the following wind that drove
the junk rapidly on toward her journey's end. But toward sunset wind and
sea died down, and under sweeps, late in the evening-, the craft moved
into the Wusung River and moored for the night within sight of a line of
war-ships.
A feeling of companionship grew strongly among those fugitives, yellow
and white, as the evening advanced. They had passed together through
dangerous and dramatic scenes. Now that danger and drama were alike,
it seemed, over, with the peaceable shipping of all the world lying just
ahead up the narrow channel, with, in the morning to come, a fresh view
of the bund at Shanghai, where hotels, banks and European clubs elbowed
the great trading hongs, with motor-cars and Sikh police and the bright
flags of the home land so soon to be spread before their weary eyes,
they gathered on the after gallery to chat and watch the flashing signal
lights of the cruisers and the trains on the river bank, and dream each
his separate dream. Even Dixie Carmichael, though herself untouched by
sentiment, joined, for reasons of policy, the little party. Hui Fei
was there, between Doane and the moodily silent Rocky Kane. The Chinese
servants smilingly grouped themselves on the deck just above. And
finally--though it is custom among these Easterners to sleep during the
dark hours and rise with the morning light--his excellency appeared,
walking alone over the deck, smiling in the friendliest fashion and
greeting them with hands clasped before his breast.
Doane felt a little hand steal for a moment into his with a nervous
pressure. His own relief was great.
For this smiling gentleman could hardly be regarded as one about to die.
They placed him in the steamer chair of woven rushes from Canton. And
pleasantly, then, their last evening together passed in quiet talk.
His excellency was in reminiscent mood. He had been a young officer, it
transpired, in the T'aiping Rebellion, and had fought during the last
three years of that frightful thirteen-year struggle up and down the
great river, taking part in the final assault on Su-chau as a captain in
the “Ever Victorious” army of General Gordon. Regarding that brilliant
English officer he spoke freely; Doane translating a sentence, here and
there, for young Kane.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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