Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator

“Even our ‘high finance’ railroad wreckers in Wall Street wouldn’t go quite as far as that,” laughed Tom.

“No,” smiled the doctor, “they’d do it just as effectively, but in a different way.”

“And yet,” interposed Dick, “the Chinese don’t seem to me to be a stupid race. We had one or two in our College and they were just as bright as anyone there.”

“They’re not stupid by any means,” replied the doctor. “There was a time, thousands of years ago, when they were the very leaders of civilization. They had their inventors and their experimenters. Why, they found out all about gunpowder and printing and the mariner’s compass, when Europe was sunk in the lowest depths of ignorance. At that time, the intellect of the people was active and productive. But then they seem to have had a stroke of paralysis, and they’ve never gotten over it.”

“It always seemed to me,” said Bert, “that ‘Alice in Wonderland’ should really have been called ‘Alice in China-land.’ She and her mad hatter and the March hare and the Cheshire cat would certainly have felt at home here.”

“True enough,” rejoined the doctor. “It isn’t without reason that this has been called ‘Topsy-turvy’ land.”

“For instance,” he went on, “you could never get into a Chinaman’s head what Shakespeare meant when he said: ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ The roses in China have no fragrance.

“Take some other illustrations. When we give a banquet, the guest of honor is seated at the right of the host as a special mark of distinction. In China, he is placed at the left. If you meet a friend in the street, out goes your hand in greeting. The Chinaman shakes hands with himself. If an American or European is perplexed about anything he scratches his head. When the Chinaman is puzzled, he scratches his foot.”

The comicality of this idea was too much for the gravity of the boys – never very hard to upset at any time – and they roared with laughter. Their laugh was echoed more moderately by Captain Manning, who, relieved at last of the many duties attendant upon the first day in port, had come up behind them and now joined the group. The necessity of keeping up the strain and dignity of his official position had largely disappeared with the casting of the anchor, and it was more with the easy democracy and good fellowship of the ordinary passenger that he joined in the conversation.

“They have another queer custom in China that bears right on the doctor’s profession,” he said, with a sly twinkle in his eye. “Here they employ a doctor by the year, but they only pay him as long as the employer keeps well. The minute he gets sick, the doctor’s salary ceases, and he has to work like sixty to get him well in a hurry, so that his pay may be resumed.”

“Well,” retorted the doctor, “I don’t know but they have the better of us there. It is certainly an incentive to get the patient well at once, instead of spinning out the case for the sake of a bigger fee. I know a lot of fashionable doctors whose income would go down amazingly if that system were introduced in America.”

“You’ll find, too,” said the captain, “that the Chinaman’s idea of what is good to eat is almost as different from ours as their other conceptions. There’s just about one thing in which they agree with us, and that is on the question of pork. They are very fond of this, and you have all read, no doubt, the story told by Charles Lamb of the Chinese peasant whose cabin was burned, together with a pig who had shared it with the family. His despair at the loss of the pig was soon turned to rejoicing when he smelled the savory odor of roast pork and learned for the first time how good it was. But, outside of that, we don’t have much in common. They care very little for beef or mutton. To make up for this, however, they have made a good many discoveries in the culinary line that they regard as delicacies, but that you won’t find in any American cook book. Rats and mice and edible birds’ nests and shark fins are served in a great variety of ways, and those foreigners who have had the courage to wade through the whole Chinese bill of fare say it is surprising to find out how good it is. After all, you can get used to anything, and we Europeans and Americans are becoming broader in our tastes than we used to be. Horse meat is almost as common as beef in Berlin; dogs are not disdained in some parts of France, and only the other day I read of a banquet in Paris where they served stuffed angleworms and pronounced them good.”

“I imagine it will be a good while, however, before we get to the point where rats and mice are served in our restaurants,” said Tom, with a grimace.

“Yes,” rejoined the captain, “we’ll probably draw the line there and never step over it. But you’ll have a chance pretty soon to sample Chinese cooking, and if you ask no questions and eat what is set before you, you will probably find it surprisingly good. ‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over,’ you know. And when you come to the desserts, you will find that there are no finer sweetmeats in the world than those served at Chinese tables.”

“Another thing that seems queer to us Western people,” said the doctor, “is their idea of the seat of intellect. We regard it as the head. They place it in the stomach. If the Chinaman gets off what he thinks to be a witty thing, he pats his stomach in approval.”

“I suppose when his head is cut off, he still goes on thinking,” grinned Tom.

“That wouldn’t phase a Chinaman for a minute,” answered the doctor. “He’d retort by asking you if you’d go on thinking if they cut you in half.”

“Then, if you wanted to praise a Chinese author, I suppose, instead of alluding to his ‘bulging brow,’ it would be good form to refer to his ‘bulging stomach,’” laughed Ralph.

“Gee,” put in Tom, “if that were so, I’ve seen some fat people in the side shows at the circus that would have it all over Socrates.”

“There’s one thing,” went on the doctor, “where they set us an example that we well might follow, and that is in the tolerance they have for the religious views of other people. There isn’t any such thing as persecution or ostracism in China on the score of religious belief. There are three or four religions and all are viewed with approval and kindly toleration. A man, for instance, will meet several strangers in the course of business or of travel, and they will fall into conversation. It is etiquette to ask the religious belief of your new acquaintances, so our Chinaman asks the first of them: ‘Of what religion are you?’ ‘I practice the maxims of Confucius,’ is the response. ‘Very good, and you?’ turning to the second. ‘I am a follower of Lao-tze.’ The third answers that he is a Buddhist, and the first speaker winds up the conversation on this point by shaking hands – with himself – and genially remarking: ‘Ah, well, we are all brothers after all.’”

“They certainly have the edge on us there,” remarked Bert. “I wish we had a little of that spirit in our own country. We could stand a lot more of it than we have.”

“Outside of the question of religion, however,” went on the doctor, “we might think that they carry politeness too far to suit our mode of thinking. If you should meet a friend and ask after the health of his family, you would be expected to say something like this: ‘And how is your brilliant and distinguished son, the light of your eyes and future hope of your house, getting on?’ To this your friend would probably reply: ‘That low blackguard and detestable dog that for my sorrow is called my son is in good health, but does not deserve that your glorious highness should deign to ask about him.’”

“You will notice,” said the captain when the laugh had subsided, “that the doctor uses the son as an illustration. The poor daughter wouldn’t even be inquired about. She is regarded as her father’s secret sorrow, inflicted upon him by a malignant decree of fate. In a commercial sense, the boy is an asset; the girl is a liability. You hear it said sometimes, with more or less conviction, that the world we live in is a ‘man’s world.’ However that may be modified or denied elsewhere, it is the absolute truth as regards China. If the scale of a nation’s civilization is measured by the way it treats its women, – and I believe this to be true, – then the Celestial Kingdom ranks among the very lowest. From the time she comes, unwelcomed, into the world, until, unmourned, she leaves it, her life is not worth living. She is the slave of the household, and, in the field, she pulls the plough while the man holds the handles. In marriage, she is disposed of without the slightest reference to her own wishes, but wholly at the whim of her parents, and often sees the bridegroom’s face for the first time when he comes to take her to his own house. There she is as much a slave as before. Her husband can divorce her for the most flimsy reasons and she has no redress. No, it isn’t ‘peaches and cream’ to be a woman in China.”

“It doesn’t seem exactly a paradise of suffragettes,” murmured Ralph.

“No,” interjected Tom, “the Government here doesn’t have to concern itself about ‘hunger strikes’ or ‘forcible feeding.’”

“To atone to some extent for this hateful feature of family life,” said the doctor, “they have another that is altogether admirable, and that is the respect shown to parents. In no country of the world is filial reverence so fully displayed as here. A disobedient son is almost unthinkable, and a murderer would scarcely be regarded with more disapproval. From birth to old age, the son looks upon his father with humility and reverence, and worships him as a god after he is dead. There is nothing of the flippancy with which we are too familiar in our own country. With us the ‘child is father of the man,’ or, if he isn’t, he wants to be. Here the man always remains the father of the child.”

“Yes,” said Bert, “I remember in Bill Nye’s story of his early life he says that at the age of four ‘he took his parents by the hand and led them out to Colorado.’”

“And that’s no joke,” put in the captain. “All the foreigners that visit our country are struck by the independent attitude of children to their parents.”

“Another thing we have to place to the credit of this remarkable people,” he went on, “is their love for education. The scholar is held in universal esteem. The road to learning is also the road to the highest honors of the State. Every position is filled by competitive examinations, and the one who has the highest mark gets the place. Of course their idea of education is far removed from ours. There is no attempt to develop the power of original thinking, but simply to become familiar with the teaching and wisdom of the past. Still, with all its defects, it stands for the highest that the nation knows, and they crown with laurels the men who rise to the front rank. Of course they wouldn’t compare for a moment with the great scholars of the Western world. Still, you know, ‘in a nation of the blind, the one-eyed man is king,’ and their scholars stand out head and shoulders above the general level, and are reverenced accordingly.”

“I suppose that system of theirs explains why the civil service in our own country is slightingly referred to as the ‘Chinese’ civil service by disgruntled politicians,” said Ralph.

“Yes,” said the captain, “and speaking of politicians, our Chinese friends could give us cards and spades and beat us out at that game. They’re the smoothest and slickest set of grafters in the world. Why, the way they work it here would make our ward politicians turn green with envy. We’re only pikers compared with these fellows. Graft is universal all through China. It taints every phase of the national life. Justice is bought and sold like any commodity and with scarcely a trace of shame or concealment. The only concern the mandarin has with the case brought before him is as to which side will make him the richest present. It is a case of the longest purse and little else. Then after a man has been sent to prison, the jailer must be paid to make his punishment as light as possible. If he is condemned to death, the executioner must be paid to do his work as painlessly and quickly as he can. At every turn and corner the grafter stands with his palm held out, and unless you grease it well you might as well abandon your cause at the start. You’re certainly foredoomed to failure.”

“Well,” said Bert, “we’re badly enough off at home in the matter of graft, but at least we have some ‘chance for our white alley’ when we go into a court of justice.”

“Yes,” assented the doctor, “of course a long purse doesn’t hurt there, as everywhere else. But, in the main, our judges are beyond the coarse temptation of money bribes. We’ve advanced a good deal from the time of Sir Francis Bacon, that ‘brightest, wisest, meanest of mankind,’ who not only accepted presents from suitors in cases brought before him, but had the nerve to write a pamphlet justifying the practice and claiming that it didn’t affect his judgment.”

“What do you think of the present revolution in China, doctor?” asked Dick. “Will it bring the people more into sympathy with our way of looking at things?”

He shook his head skeptically.

“No,” he answered, “to be frank I don’t. Between us and the Chinese there is a great gulf fixed, and I don’t believe it will ever be bridged. The Caucasian and Mongolian races are wholly out of sympathy. We look at everything from opposite sides of the shield. We can no more mix than oil and water.

“The white races made a mistake,” he went on and the boys detected in his voice a strain of sombre foreboding, “when they drew China out of its shell and forced it to come in contact with the modern world. It was a hermit nation and wanted to remain so. All it asked was to be let alone. It was a sleeping giant. Why did we wake him up unless we wanted to tempt fate and court destruction?

“Not only that, but the giant had forgotten how to fight. We’re teaching him how just as fast as we can, and even sending European officers to train and lead his armies. The giant’s club was rotten and wormeaten. In its place, we’re giving him Gatling guns and rifled artillery, the finest in the world. We have forgotten that Mongol armies have already overrun the world and that they may do it again. We’re like the fisherman in the ‘Arabian Nights’ who found a bottle on the shore and learned that it held a powerful genii. As long as he kept the bottle corked he was safe. But he was foolish enough to take out the cork, and the genii, escaping, became as big as a mountain, and couldn’t be squeezed back into the bottle. We’ve pulled the cork that held the Chinese genii and we’ll never get him back again. Think of four hundred million people, a third of the population of the world, conscious of their strength, equipped with modern arms, trained in the latest tactics, able to live on practically nothing, moving over Europe like a swarm of devastating locusts! When some Chinese Napoleon – and he may be already born – finds such an army at his back – God help Europe!”

He spoke with feeling, and a silence fell upon them as they looked over the great city, and thought of the thousands of miles and countless millions of inhabitants that lay beyond. Did they hear in imagination the gathering of shadowy hosts, the tread of marching armies, and the distant thunder of artillery? Or did they dimly sense with that mysterious clairvoyance sometimes vouchsafed to men that in a few days they themselves would be at death grip with that invisible “yellow peril” and barely win out with their lives?

Dick shivered, though the night was warm.

“Come along, fellows,” he said, as the captain and doctor walked away. “Let’s go to bed.”

CHAPTER XV

The Dragon’s Claws

The next morning the boys were up bright and early, ready for their trip through the city.

“By George,” said Dick, “I have to pinch myself to realize that we’re really in China at last. Until a month ago I never dreamed of seeing it. As a matter of course I had hoped and expected to go to Europe and possibly take in Egypt. That seemed the regulation thing to do and it was the limit of my traveling ambition. But as regards Asia, I’ve never quite gotten over the feeling I had when I was a kid. Then I thought that if I dug a hole through the center of the earth I’d come to China, and, since they were on the under side of the world, I’d find the people walking around upside down.”

“Well,” laughed Bert, “they’re upside down, sure enough, mentally and morally, but physically they don’t seem to be having any rush of blood to the head.”

An electric launch was at hand, but they preferred to take one of the native sampans that darted in and out among the shipping looking for passengers. They hailed one and it came rapidly to the side.

“See those queer little eyes on each side of the bow,” said Tom. “I wonder what they’re for?”

“Why, so that the boat can see where it is going,” replied Dick. “You wouldn’t want it to go it blind and bump head first into the side, would you?”

“And this in a nation that invented the mariner’s compass,” groaned Tom. “How are the mighty fallen!”

“And even that points to the south in China, while everywhere else it points to the north. Can you beat it?” chimed in Ralph.

“Even their names are contradictions,” said Bert. “This place was originally called ‘Hiang-Kiang,’ ‘the place of sweet waters.’ But do you catch any whiff here that reminds you of ottar of roses or the perfume wafted from ‘Araby the blest?’”

“Well, not so you could notice it,” responded Ralph, as the awful smells of the waterside forced themselves on their unwilling nostrils.

They speedily reached the shore and handed double fare to the parchment-faced boatman, who chattered volubly.

“What do you suppose he’s saying?” asked Tom.

“Heaven knows,” returned Ralph; “thanking us, probably. And yet he may be cursing us as ‘foreign devils,’ and consigning us to perdition. That’s one of the advantages of speaking in the toughest language on earth for an outsider to master.”

“It is fierce, isn’t it?” assented Bert. “I’ve heard that it takes about seven years of the hardest kind of study to learn to speak or read it, and even then you can’t do it any too well. Some simply can’t learn it at all.”

“Well,” said Tom, “I can’t conceive of any worse punishment than to have to listen to it, let alone speak it. Good old United States for mine.”

At the outset they found themselves in the English quarter. It was a splendid section of the city, with handsome buildings and well-kept streets, and giving eloquent testimony to the colonizing genius of the British empire. Here England had entrenched herself firmly, and from this as a point of departure, her long arm stretched out to the farthest limits of the Celestial Kingdom. She had made the place a modern Gibraltar, dominating the waters of the East as its older prototype held sway over the Mediterranean. Everywhere there were evidences of the law and order and regulated liberty that always accompany the Union Jack, and that explains why a little island in the Western Ocean rules a larger part of the earth’s surface than any other power.

“We’ve certainly got to hand it to the English,” said Ralph. “They’re the worst hated nation in Europe, and yet as colonizers the whole world has to take off its hat to them. Look at Egypt and India and Canada and Australia and a score of smaller places. No wonder that Webster was impressed by it when he spoke of the ‘drum-beat that, following the sun and keeping pace with the hours, encircled the globe with the martial airs of England.’”

“It’s queer, too, why it is so,” mused Bert. “If they were specially genial and adaptable, you could understand it. But, as a rule, they’re cold and arrogant and distant, and they don’t even try to get in touch with the people they rule. Now the French are far more sympathetic and flexible, but, although they have done pretty well in Algiers and Tonquin and Madagascar, they don’t compare with the British as colonizers.”

“Well,” rejoined Ralph, “I suppose the real explanation lies in their tenacity and their sense of justice. They may be hard but they are just, and the people after a while realize that their right to life and property will be protected, and that in their courts the poor have almost an equal chance with the rich. But when all’s said and done, I guess we’ll simply have to say that they have the genius for colonizing and let it go at that.”

“Speaking of justice and fair play, though,” said Bert, “there’s one big blot on their record, and that is the way they have forced the opium traffic on China. The Chinese as a rule are a temperate race, but there seems to be some deadly attraction for them in opium that they can’t resist. It is to them what ‘firewater’ is to the Indian. The rulers of China realized how it was destroying the nation and tried to prohibit its importation. But England saw a great source of revenue threatened by this reform, as most of the opium comes from the poppy grown in India. So up she comes with her gunboats, this Christian nation, and fairly forces the reluctant rulers to let in the opium under threat of bombardment if they refused. To-day the habit has grown to enormous proportions. It is the curse of China, and the blame for the debauchery of a whole nation lies directly at the door of England and no one else.”

By this time they had passed through the British section and found themselves in the native quarter. Here at last they were face to face with the real China. They had practically been in Europe; a moment later and they were in Asia. A new world lay before them.

The streets were very narrow, sometimes not more than eight or ten feet in width. A man standing at a window on one side could leap into one directly opposite. They were winding as well as narrow, and crowded on both sides with tiny shops in which merchants sat beside their wares or artisans plied their trade. Before each shop was a little altar dedicated to the god of wealth, a frank admission that here, as in America, they all worshipped the “Almighty Dollar.” Flaunting signs, on which were traced dragons and other fearsome and impossible beasts, hung over the store entrances.

“My,” said Ralph, “this would be a bad place for a heavy drinker to find himself in suddenly. He’d think he ‘had ’em’ sure. Pink giraffes and blue elephants wouldn’t be a circumstance to some of these works of art.”

“Right you are,” assented Tom. “I’ll bet if the truth were known the Futurist and Cubist painters, that are making such a splurge in America just now, got their first tips from just such awful specimens as these.”

“Well, these narrow streets have one advantage over Fifth Avenue,” said Ralph. “No automobile can come along here and propel you into another world.”

“No,” laughed Bert, “if the ‘Gray Ghost’ tried to get through here, it would carry away part of the houses on each side of the street. The worst thing that can run over us here is a wheelbarrow.”

“Or a sedan chair,” added Tom, as one of these, bearing a passenger, carried by four stalwart coolies, brushed against him.

A constant din filled the air as customers bargained with the shop-keepers over the really beautiful wares displayed on every hand. Rare silks and ivories and lacquered objects were heaped in rich profusion in the front of the narrow stalls, and their evident value stood out in marked contrast to the squalid surroundings that served as a setting.

“No ‘one price’ here, I imagine,” said Ralph, as the boys watched the noisy disputes between buyer and seller.

“No,” said Bert. “To use a phrase that our financiers in America are fond of, they put on ‘all that the traffic will bear.’ I suppose if you actually gave them what they first asked they’d throw a fit or drop dead. I’d hate to take the chance.”

“It would be an awful loss, wouldn’t it?” asked Tom sarcastically, as he looked about at the immense crowd swarming like bees from a hive. “Where could they find anyone to take his place?”

“There are quite a few, aren’t there?” said Ralph. “The mystery is where they all live and sleep. There don’t seem to be enough houses in the town to take care of them all.”

“No,” remarked Bert, “but what the town lacks in the way of accommodations is supplied by the river. Millions of the Chinese live in the boats along the rivers, and at night you can see them pouring down to the waterside in droves. A white man needs a space six feet by two when he’s dead, but a Chinaman doesn’t need much more than that while he is alive. A sardine has nothing on him when it comes to saving space and packing close.”