CIVILIZATION 
 
 TALES OV THE ORIENT 
 ELLEN maMOTTB 
 

 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WASON 
 
 CHINESE 
 COLLECTION 
 

 Date Due 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 DEC] 
 
 1948 J J 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The original of tiiis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023246675 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 TALES OF THE ORIENT 
 ELLEN N. LA MOTTE 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 DS 721.L23 
 
 Civjiizatiori tales of the Orient by Elle 
 
 3 1924 023 246 675 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 TALES OF THE ORIENT 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLEN N. LA MOTTE 
 
 AXJTHOB OF "the BACKWASH OP WAR," ETC 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 , 1 la. rn 
 
Copyright, 1919, 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 vY'^^pi 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
The stories "Under A Wineglass," 
 "Homesick" and "The YeUow Streak" 
 are published by courte^ of the Century 
 Magazine. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 The Yellow Streak 11 
 
 n 
 
 On the Heights 33 
 
 m 
 
 Homesick 65 
 
 IV 
 
 Civilization 93 
 
 V 
 
 MiSTTNDEBSTANDINO 121 
 
 VI 
 
 Pbisonebs 141 
 
 VII 
 
 Cantebbubt Chimes 177 
 
 vra 
 
 Under a Wineglass 217 
 
 rx 
 
 Cholera 235 
 
 X 
 
 Cosmic Justice 247 
 
 [vii] 
 
THE YELLOW STREAK 
 
THE YELLOW STEEAK 
 
 He came out to Shanghai a generation ago, 
 in those days when Shanghai was not as re- 
 spectable as it is now — ^whatever that says to 
 you. It was, of course, a great change from 
 Home, and its crude pleasures and crude com- 
 panions gave him somewhat of a shock. For 
 he was of decent stock, with a certain sense of 
 the fitness of things, and the beach-combers, 
 adventurers, rough traders and general riff- 
 raff of the China Coast, gathered in Shanghai, 
 did not offer him the society he desired. He 
 was often obliged to associate with them, how- 
 ever, more or less, in a business way, for his 
 humble position as minor clerk in a big cor- 
 poration entailed certain responsibihties out 
 of hours, and this responsibility he could not 
 shirk, for fear of losing his position. Thus, 
 by these acts of civihty, more or less enforced, 
 he was often led into a loose sort of intimacy, 
 
 [11] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 into companionship with people who were dis- 
 |;asteful to his rather fastidious nature. But 
 what can you expect on the China Coast? He 
 was rather an upright sort of young man, deli- 
 cate and abstemious, and the East being new 
 to him, shocked him. He took pleasure in 
 walking along the Bund, marvelling at the 
 great river full of the ships of the world, mar- 
 velling at the crowds from the four corners of 
 the world who disembarked from these ships 
 and scattered along the broad and sunny thor- 
 oughfare, seeking amusements of a primitive 
 sort. But in these amusements he took no 
 part. For himself, a gentleman, they did not 
 attract. Not for long. The sing-song girls 
 and the "American girls" were coarse, vulgar 
 creatures and he did not like them. It was 
 no better in the back streets — bars and saloons, 
 gaming houses and opium divans, all the coarse 
 paraphernalia of pleasure, as the China Coast 
 understood the word, left him unmoved. 
 These things had little influence upon him, and 
 the men who liked them overmuch, who chaffed 
 him because of his squeamishness and distaste 
 of them, were not such friends as he needed in 
 his life. However, there were few alterna- 
 
 [12] 
 
THE YELLOW STREAK 
 
 tives. There was almost nothing else for it. 
 Companionship of this kind, or the ahsolute 
 loneliness of a hotel bedroom were the alterna- 
 tives which confronted him. He had very lit- 
 tle money, — ^just a modest salary — ^therefore 
 the excitement of trading, of big, shady deals, 
 said nothing to him. He went to the races, 
 a shy onlooker. He could not afford to risk 
 his little salary in betting. Above all things, 
 he was cautious. Consequently life did not 
 offer him much outside of office hours, and in 
 office hours it offered him nothing at all. You 
 will see from this that he was a very limited 
 person, incapable of expansion. Now as a 
 rule, life in the Far East does not have this 
 effect upon young men. It is generally stim- 
 ulating and exciting, even to the most unimag- 
 inative, while the novelty of it, the utter free- 
 dom and lack of restraint and absence of con- 
 ventional public opinion is such that usually, 
 within a very short time, one becomes unfitted 
 to return to a more formal society. In the 
 old days of a generation ago, life on the China 
 Coast was probably much more exciting and 
 inciting than it is to-day, although to-day, in 
 all conscience, the checks are off. But our 
 
 [13] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 young man was rather fine, rather extraordi- 
 narily fastidious, and moreover, he had a very 
 healthy young appetite for the normal. The 
 offscourings of the world and of society rolled 
 into Shanghai with the inflow of each yellow 
 tide of the Yangtzse, and somehow, he resented 
 that deposit. He resented it, hecause from 
 that deposit he must pick out his friends. 
 Therefore instead of accepting the situation, 
 instead of drinking himself into acquiescence, 
 or drugging himself into acquiescence, he 
 found himself quite resolved to remain firmly 
 and consciously outside of it. In consequence 
 of which decision he remained homesick and 
 lonely, and his presence in the community was 
 soon forgotten or overlooked. Shy and prig- 
 gish, he continued to lead his lonely life. In 
 his solitary walks along the Bund, there was 
 no one to take his arm and snigger suggestions 
 into his ear, and lead him into an open door- 
 way where the suggestions could be carried out. 
 He had come out to the East for a long term 
 of years, and the prospect of these interminable 
 years made his position worse. Not that it 
 shook his decision to remain aloof and de- 
 tached from the call of the East — ^his decision 
 
 [14] 
 
THE YELLOW STREAK 
 
 was not shaken in the slightest, which seemed 
 ahnost a pity. 
 
 Like all foreigners, of course, he had his own 
 opinions of the Chinese. They were an in- 
 ferior, yellow race, and therefore despicable. 
 But having also a firm, unshakable opinion of 
 his own race, especially of those individuals of 
 his race in which a yellow streak predominated, 
 he held the Chinese in no way inferior to these 
 yellow-streaked individuals. Which argues 
 broadmindedness and f airmindedness. Of the 
 two, perhaps, he thought the Chinese prefer- 
 able — under certain circumstances. Yet he 
 knew them to be irritating in business dealings, 
 corrupt, dishonest — on the whole he felt pro- 
 found scorn for them. But as they had been 
 made to suit the purposes of the ruling races 
 of the world — such, for example, as himself, 
 untainted by a yellow streak — ^he had to that 
 extent, at least, succumbed to the current opin- 
 ions of Shanghai. He resolved to make use 
 of them — of one, at least, in particular. 
 
 He wanted a home. Wanted it desperately. 
 He wanted to indulge his quiet, domestic 
 tastes, to live in peace a normal, peaceful life, 
 far apart from the glittering trivialities of the 
 
 [15] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 back streets of the town. He wanted a home 
 of his own, a refuge to turn to at the end of 
 each long, monotonous day. You see, he was 
 not an adventurer, a gambler, a wastrel, and 
 he wanted a quiet home with a companion to 
 greet him, to take care of him, to serve him in 
 many ways. There was no girl in England 
 whom he wanted to come out to marry him. 
 Had there been such a girl, he would probably 
 not have allowed her to come. He was a de- 
 cent young man, and the climate was such, here 
 on the China Coast, that few women could 
 stand it without more of the comforts and lux- 
 ury than his small salary could have paid for. 
 So finally, at the end of a year or two, he got 
 himself the home he wanted, in partnership 
 with a little Chinese girl who answered every 
 purpose. He was not in love with her, in any 
 exalted sense, but she supplied certain needs, 
 and at the end of his long days, he had the ref- 
 uge that he craved. She kept him from going 
 to the bad. 
 
 His few friends — friends, however, being 
 hardly the word to apply to his few casual ac- 
 quaintances, — ^were greatly surprised at this. 
 Such an establishment seemed to them the last 
 [16] 
 
THE YEIXOW STREAK 
 
 sort of thing a man of this type would have 
 gone in for. He had seemed such a decent 
 sort, too. Really, a few professed to be quite 
 shocked — ^they said you never knew how the 
 East would affect a person, especially a de- 
 cent person. For themselves, they preferred 
 looser bonds, with less responsibihty. They 
 said this to each other between drinks, and 
 there was then, as now, much drinking ini 
 Shanghai. A few even said this to each other 
 quite seriously, as they lay in pairs on opium 
 divans, smoking opium, with little Chinese 
 girls filling their pipes — girls who would after- 
 wards be as complaisant as was required. One 
 man who had lost his last cent at the gambling 
 wheels, professed great astonishment at this 
 departure from the usual track, a departure 
 quite unnecessary since there were so many 
 ways of amusing oneself out here in the East. 
 Of course such unions were common enough, 
 heaven knows — there was nothing unusual 
 about it. But then such fastidious people did 
 not as a rule go in for them. It was not the 
 menage, it was the fact that this particular 
 young man had set up such, that caused the 
 comment. The comment, however, was short- 
 
 [17] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 lived. There was too much else to think 
 about. 
 
 Rogers liked his new life very much. Never 
 for a moment did he think of marrying the girl. 
 That, of course, never dawned on him. Recol- 
 lect, he was ia aU things decent and correct, 
 and such a step would have been suicidal. Un- 
 til the time came for him to go Home, she was 
 merely being made use of — and to be useful 
 to the ruling races is the main object in life 
 for the Chinese. They exist for the profit and 
 benefit of the superior races, and this is the cor- 
 rect, standard opinion of their value, and there 
 are few on the China Coast, from Hongkong 
 upwards, who will disagree with it. 
 
 In time, a son was born to Rogers, and for 
 a while it filled him with dismay. It was a 
 contingency he had not foreseen, a responsi- 
 bility he had not contemplated, had not even 
 thought he could aif ord. But in time he grew 
 used to the boy, and, in a vague way, fond of 
 him. He disturbed him very little, and 
 counted very little in his life, after all. Later, 
 as the years rolled by, he began to feel some 
 responsibility towards the child. He despised 
 half-breeds, naturally — every one does. They 
 [18] 
 
THE YELLOW STREAK 
 
 are worse than natives, having inherited the 
 weakness of both ancestries. He was sin- 
 cerely glad to be rid of the whole business, 
 when, at the end of about fifteen years, he was; 
 called home to England. It had all served his; 
 purpose, this establishment of his, and thanks; 
 to it, he was still clean and straight, undemor- 
 alised by the insidious, undermining influences 
 of the East. When he returned to his native 
 land, he could find himself a home upon ortho- 
 dox lines and live happily ever afterwards. 
 Before he felt Shanghai, he sent his little Chi- 
 nese girl, a woman long ago, of course, back 
 to her native province in the interior, well sup- 
 phed with money and with the household fur- 
 niture. For the boy he had arranged every- 
 thing. He was to be educated in some good, 
 commercial way, fitted to take care of himself 
 in the future. Through his lawyer, he set 
 aside a certain sum for this purpose, to be ex- 
 pended annually until the lad was old enough 
 to earn his own living. In all ways Rogers 
 was thoughtful and decent, far-sighted and 
 provident. No one could accuse him of self- 
 ishness. He did not desert his woman, turn 
 her adrift unprovided for, as many another 
 
 [19] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 would have done. No, thank heavens, he 
 thought to himself as he leaned over the rail 
 of the ship, fast making its way down the yel- 
 low tide, he had still preserved his sense of hon- 
 our. So many men go to pieces out in the 
 East, but he, somehow, had managed to keep 
 himself clear and clean. 
 
 Rogers drops out of the tale at this point, 
 and as the ship slips out of sight down the 
 lower reaches of the Yangtzse, so does he dis- 
 appear from this story. It is to the boy that 
 we must now turn our attention, the half-caste 
 boy who had received such a heritage of de- 
 cency and honour from one side of his house. 
 In passing, let it be also said that his mother, 
 too, was a very decent little woman, in a hum- 
 ble, Chinese way, and that his inheritance from 
 this despised Chinese side was not discredit- 
 able. His mother had gone obediently back 
 to the provinces, as had been arranged, the 
 house passed into other hands, and the half- 
 caste boy was sent off to school somewhere, to 
 finish his education. Being young, he con- 
 soled himself after a time for the loss of his 
 home, its sudden and complete collapse. The 
 
 [20] 
 
THE YELLOW STKEAK 
 
 memory of that home, however, left deep .traces 
 upon him. 
 
 In the first place, he was inordinately proud 
 of his white blood. He did not know that it 
 had cost his guardian considerable searching 
 to find a school where white blood was not ob- 
 jected, to — when running in Chinese veins. 
 His schoolmates, of European blood, were less 
 tolerant than the school authorities. He there- 
 fore soon found his white blood to be a curse. 
 There is no need to go into this in detail. Foj^ 
 every one who knows the East, knows the con- 
 tempt that is shown a half-breed, a Eurasian. 
 Neither fish, flesh nor fowl — an object of gen- 
 eral distrust and disgust. Oh, useful enough 
 in business circles, since they can usually speat 
 both languages, which is, of com'se, an advan4 
 tage. But socially, impossible. In time, he! 
 passed into a banking house, where certain of' 
 his qualities were appreciated, but outside of 
 banking hours he was confronted with a worse 
 problem than that which had beset his father. 
 He felt himself too good for the Chinese. His 
 mother's people did not appeal to him, he did 
 not like their manners and customs. Above all 
 things he wanted to be English, like his father, 
 
 [21] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 whom in his imagination he had magnified into 
 a sort of god. But his father's people would 
 have none of him. Even the clerks in the bank 
 only spoke to him on necessary business, dur- 
 ing business hours, and cut him dead on the 
 street. As for the roysterers and beach-comb- 
 ers gathered in the bars of the hotels, they 
 made him feel, low as they were, that they were 
 not yet sunk low enough to enjoy such com- 
 panionship as his. It was very depressing 
 and made him feel very sad. He did not at 
 first feel any resentment or bitterness towards 
 his absent father, disappeared forever from his 
 * horizon. But it gave him a profound sense of 
 depression. True, there were many other 
 half-breeds for him to associate with — the 
 China Coast is full of such — but they, like him- 
 self, were ambitious for the society of the 
 white man. What he craved was the society 
 of the white man, to which, from one side of 
 his house, he was so justly entitled. He was 
 not a very noticeable half-breed either, for his 
 features were regular, and he was not darker 
 than is compatible with a good sunburn. But 
 just the same, it was unmistakable, this touch 
 of the tar brush, to the discriminating Euro- 
 [22] 
 
THE YELLOW STEEAK 
 
 pean eye. He seemed inordinately slow wit- 
 ted — it took him a long time to realise his sit- 
 uation. He argued it out with himself con- 
 stantly, and could arrive at no logical explana- 
 tion. If his mother, pure Chinese, was good 
 enough for his father, why was not he, only 
 half-Chinese, good enough for his father's peo- 
 ple? Especially in view of the fact that his 
 father's history was by no means uncommon. 
 His father and his kind had left behind them 
 a trail of half-breeds — thousands of them. If 
 his mother had been good enough for his 
 
 father His thoughts went round and 
 
 round in a puzzled, enquiring circle, and still 
 the problem remained unsolved. For he was 
 very young, and not as yet experienced. 
 
 He was well educated. Why had his father 
 seen to that? And he was well provided for, 
 and was now making money on his own ac- 
 count. He bought very good clothes with his 
 money, and went in the bar of one of the big 
 hotels, beautifully dressed, and took a drink at 
 the bar and looked round to see who would 
 drink with him. He could never catch a re- 
 sponsive eye, so was forced to drink alone. He 
 hated drinking, anyway. In many ways he 
 
 [23] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 was like his father. The petty clerks who 
 were at the office failed to see him at the race 
 course. He hated the races, anyway. In 
 many respects he was like his father. But he 
 was far more lonely than his father had ever 
 been. Thus he went about very lonely, too 
 proud to associate with the straight Chinese, 
 his mother's people, and humbled and snubbed 
 by the people of his father's race. 
 
 He was twenty years old when the Great 
 War upset Europe. Shanghai was a mass of 
 excitement. The newspapers were ablaze. 
 Men were needed for the army. One of the 
 clerks in the office resigned his post and went 
 home to enlist. In the first rush of enthusi- 
 asm, many other young Englishmen in many 
 other offices resigned their positions and en- 
 listed, although not a large number of them 
 did so. For it was inconceivable that the war 
 could last more than a few weeks — ^when the 
 first P. and O. boat reached London, it would 
 doubtless all be over. During the excitement 
 of those early days, some of the office force sq 
 far forgot themselves as to speak to him on 
 the subject. They asked his opinion, what he 
 thought of it. They did not ask the shroff, the 
 [24] 
 
THE YELLOW STREAK 
 
 Chinese accountant, what he thought of it. 
 But they asked him. His heart warmed! 
 They were speaking to him at last as an equal, 
 as one who could understand, who knew things 
 English, by reason of his English blood. 
 
 So the Autumn came, and still the papers 
 continued full of appeals for men. No more 
 of the office force enlisted, and their manner 
 towards him, of cold indifference, was resumed 
 again after the one outburst of friendliness oc- 
 casioned by the first excitement. Still the 
 papers contained their appeals for men. But 
 the men in the other offices round town did not 
 seem to enlist either. He marvelled a little. 
 Doubtless, however, England was so great and 
 so invincible that she did not need them. But 
 why then these appeals ? Soon he learned that 
 these young men could not be spared from 
 their offices in the Far East. They were in- 
 dispensable to the trade of the mighty Em- 
 pire. Still, he remained puzzled. One day, 
 in a fit of boldness, he ventured to ask the 
 young man at the next stool why he did not 
 go. Accordmg to the papers, England was 
 clamouring loudly for her sons. 
 
 "Enlist!" exclaimed the young Englishman 
 [25] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 angrily, colouring red. "Why don't you enlist 
 yourself? You say you're an Englishman, I 
 believe !" 
 
 The half-breed did not see the sneer. A 
 great flood of light filled his soul. He was 
 English! One half of him was English ! Eng- 
 land was calling for her own — and he was one 
 of her own! He would answer the call. A 
 high, hot wave of exultation passed over him. 
 His spirit was uplifted, exalted. The glori- 
 ous opportunity had come to prove himself — 
 to answer the call of the blood! Why had he 
 never thought of it before! 
 
 For days afterwards he went about in a 
 dream of excitement, his soul dwelling on lofty 
 heights. He asked to be released from his po- 
 sition, and his request was granted. The man- 
 ager shook hands with him and wished him 
 luck. His brother clerks nodded to him, on 
 the day of his departure, and wished him a 
 good voyage. They did not shake hands with 
 him, and were not enthusiastic, as he hoped 
 they would be. His spirits were a little 
 dashed by their indifference. However, they 
 had always slighted him, so it was nothing un- 
 usual. It would be different after he had 
 [26] 
 
THE YELLOW STEEAK 
 
 proved himself — ^it would be all right after he 
 had proved himself, had proved to himself and 
 to them, that English blood ran in his veins, 
 and that he was answering the call of the blood. 
 
 His adventures in the war do not concern 
 us. They concern us no more than the gap in 
 the office, caused by his departure, concerned 
 his employer or his brother clerks. Within a 
 few weeks, his place was taken by another 
 young Englishman, just out, and the office 
 routine went on as usual, and no one gave a 
 thought to the young recruit who had gone to 
 the war. Just one comment was made. 
 "Rather cheeky of him, you know, fancying 
 himself an Englishman." Then the matter 
 dropped. Gambling and polo and golf and 
 cocktails claimed the attention of those who re- 
 mained, and life in Shanghai continued normal 
 as usual. 
 
 In due course of time, his proving completed, 
 he returned to his native land. As the ship 
 dropped anchor in the lower harbour, his heart 
 beat fast with a curious emotion. An unex- 
 pected emotion, Chinese in its reactions. The 
 sight of the yellow, muddy Yangtzse moved 
 him strangely. It was his river. It belonged, 
 
 [27] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 somehow, to him. He stood, a lonely figure, 
 on the deck, clad in ill-fitting, civilian clothes, 
 not nearly so jaunty as those he used to wear 
 before he went away. His clothes fell away 
 from him strangely, for illness had wasted him, 
 and his collar stood out stiffly from his scrawny 
 neck. One leg was gone, shot away above the 
 knee, and he hobbled painfully down the gang- 
 plank and on to the tender, using his crutches 
 very awkwardly. 
 
 The great, brown, muddy Yangtzse! His 
 own river! The ships of the world lay an- 
 chored in the harbour, the ships of all the 
 world! The tender made its way upward 
 against the rushing tide, and great, clumsy 
 junks floated downstream. As they neared the 
 dock, crowds of bobbing sampans, \ ith square, 
 painted eyes — so that they might see where 
 they were going — came out and surrounded 
 them. A miserable emotion overcame him. 
 They were his junks — he understood them. 
 They were his sampans, with their square, 
 painted eyes — eyes that the foreigners pointed 
 to and laughed at! He understood them all — 
 they were all his ! 
 
 Presently he found himself upon the 
 [28] 
 
THE YEIXOW STREAK 
 
 crowded Bund, surrounded by a crowd of men 
 and women, laughing, joyous foreigners, who 
 had come to meet their own from overseas. 
 No one was there to meet him, but it was not 
 surprising. He had sent word to no one, be- 
 cause he had no one to send word to. He was 
 undecided where to go, and he hobbled along 
 a little, to get out of the crowd, and to plan a 
 little what he should do. As he stood there 
 undecided, waiting a little, hanging upon his 
 crutches, two young men came along, sleek, 
 well-fed, laughing. He recognised them at 
 once — two of his old colleagues in the office. 
 They glanced in his direction, looked down on 
 his pinned-up trouser leg, caught his eye, and 
 then, without sign of recognition, passed on. 
 He was still a half-breed. 
 
 [29] 
 
DN THE HEIGHTS 
 
II 
 
 ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 RiVEES made his way to China many years 
 ago. He was an adventurer, a ne'er-do-weel, 
 and China in those days was just about good 
 enough for him. Since he was English, it 
 might have seemed more natural for him to 
 have gone to India, or the Straits Settlements, 
 or one of the other colonies of the mighty Em- 
 pire, but for some reason, China drew him. 
 He was more likely to meet his own sort in 
 China, where no questions would be asked. 
 And he did meet his own sort — people just like 
 himself, other adventurers and ne'er-do-weels, 
 and their companionship was no great benefit 
 to him. So he drifted about all over China, 
 around the coast towns and back into the in- 
 terior, to and fro, searching for opportunities 
 to make his fortune. But being the kind of 
 man he was, fortune seemed always to elude 
 him. In course of time he became rather well 
 
 [33] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 known on the China Coast — ^known as a beach- 
 comber. And even when he went into the re- 
 mote, interior province of Szechuan, where he 
 lived a precarious, hand-to-mouth existence for 
 several years, he was also known as a beach- 
 comber. Which shows that being two thou- 
 sand miles inland does not alter the character- 
 istics associated with that name. 
 
 Personally, he was not a bad sort. Men 
 liked him, that is, men of his own type. Some 
 of them succeeded better than he did, and 
 afterwards referred to him as "poor old Riv- 
 ers," although he was not really old at that 
 time. Neither was he really old either, when 
 he died, several years later. He was rather 
 interesting too, in a way, since he had experi- 
 enced many adventures in the course of his 
 wanderings in remote parts of the country, 
 which adventures were rather tellable. He 
 even knew a lot about China, too, which is more 
 than most people do who have lived in China 
 many years. Had he been of that sort, he 
 might have written rather valuable books, con- 
 taining his shrewd observations and intimate, 
 underhand knowledge of political and eco- 
 nomic conditions. But he was emphatically 
 
 [34] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 not of that sort, so continued to lead his dis- 
 reputable, roving life for a period of ten years. 
 At the end of which time he met a plaintive 
 little Englishwoman, just out from Home, and 
 she, knowing nothing whatever of Rivers, but 
 being taken with his glib tongue and rather 
 handsome person, married him. 
 
 As the wife of a confirmed beach-comber she 
 had rather a hard time of it. But for aU that 
 she was so plaintive and so supine, there was a 
 certain quality of force within her, and she in- 
 sisted upon some provision for the future. 
 They were living in the interior at that time, 
 not too far in, and Rivers had come down to 
 Shanghai to negotiate some transactions for a 
 certain firm. He could do things like that well 
 enough when he wanted to, as he had a certain 
 ability, and a knowledge of two or three Chi- 
 nese dialects, and these things he could put to 
 account when he felt hke it. Aided by his 
 wife, stimulated by her quiet, subtle insistence, 
 he put through the business entrusted to him, 
 and the business promised success. Which 
 meant that the interior town in which they 
 found themselves would soon be opened to for- 
 eign trade. And as a new trade centre, how- 
 
 [35] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ever small, Europeans would come to the town 
 from time to time and require a night's lodg- 
 ing. Here was where Mrs. Rivers saw her 
 chance and took it. In her simple, wholly su- 
 pine way, she realised that there were nothing 
 but Chinese inns in the place, and therefore it 
 would be a good opportunity to open a hotel 
 for foreigners. Numbers of foreigners would 
 soon be arriving, thanks to Rivers' efforts, and 
 as he was now out of employment (having gone 
 on a prolonged spree to celebrate his success 
 and been discharged in consequence), there 
 still remained an opportunity for helping for- 
 eigners in another way. Personally, he would 
 have preferred to open a gambling house, but 
 the risks were too great. At that time the 
 town was not yet fully civilized or European- 
 ised, and he reahsed that he would encounter 
 considerable opposition to this scheme from the 
 Chinese — and he was without sufficient influ- 
 ence or protection to oppose them. His wife, 
 therefore, insisted upon the hotel, and he saw 
 her point. She did not make it m behalf of 
 her own welfare, or the welfare of possible fu- 
 ture children. She merely made it as an op- 
 portunity that a man of his parts ought not to 
 
 [36] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 miss. He had made a few hundred dollars out 
 of his deal, and fortunately, had not spent all 
 of it on his grand carouse. There was enough 
 left for the new enterprise. 
 
 So they took a temple. Buddhism being in 
 a decadent state in China, and the temples be- 
 ing in a still further state of decay, it was an 
 easy matter to arrange things with the priests. 
 The temple selected was a large, rambling af- 
 fair, with many compounds and many rooms, 
 situated in the heart of the city, and near the 
 newly opened offices of the newly established 
 firm, the nucleus of this coming trade centre 
 of China. A hundred dollars Mex. rented it 
 for a year, and Mrs. Rivers spent many days 
 sweeping and cleaning it, while Rivers himself 
 helped occasionally, and hired several coolies 
 to assist in the work as well. The monks' 
 houses were washed and whitewashed; clean, 
 new mats spread on the floors, cheap European 
 cots installed, with wash basins, jugs and 
 chairs, and other accessories such as are not 
 found in native inns. The main part of the 
 temple stiU remained open for worship, with 
 the dusty gods on the altars and the dingy 
 hangings in place as usual. The faithful, such 
 
 [37] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 as there were, still had access to it, and. the 
 priests lived in one of the compounds, but all 
 the other compounds were given over to Riv- 
 ers for his new enterprise. Thus the preju- 
 dices of the townspeople were not excited, the 
 old priests cleared a hundred dollars Mex., 
 while the new tenants were at liberty to pur- 
 sue their venture to its most profitable limits. 
 Mrs. Rivers managed the housekeeping, as- 
 sisted by a capable Chinese -cook, and Rivers 
 had a sign painted, in English, bearing the 
 words "Temple Hotel." Fortunately it was 
 summertime, so there were no expenses for ar- 
 tificial heat, an item which would have taxed 
 their small capital beyond its limits. 
 
 Two weeks after the Temple Hotel swung 
 out its sign, the first guest arrived, the man- 
 ager of the new company. He came to town 
 reluctantly, dreading the discomforts of a Chi- 
 nese inn, and bringing with him his food and 
 bedding roll, intending to sleep in his cart in 
 the courtyard. Consequently he was greatly 
 pleased and greatly surprised to find a Euro- 
 pean hotel, and he stayed there ten days in 
 perfect comfort. Mrs. Rivers treated him 
 royally — ^lost money on him, in fact, but it was 
 
 [38] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 a good investment. At parting, the manager 
 told Rivers that his wife was a marvel, as in-- 
 deed she was. Then he went down to Shang- 
 hai and spread the news among his friends, and 
 from that time on, the success of the Temple 
 Hotel was assured. True, Rivers still con- 
 tinued to be a good fellow, that is, he contin- 
 ued to drink pretty .hard, but his guests over- 
 looked it and his wife was used to it, and the 
 establishment continued to flourish. In a year 
 or two the raUroad came along, and a period 
 of great prosperity set in all round. 
 
 Like most foreigners. Rivers had a profound 
 contempt for the Chinese. They were inferior 
 beings, made for servants and underhngs, and 
 to serve the dominant race. He was at no 
 pains to conceal this dislike, and backed it up 
 by blows and curses as occasion required. In 
 this he was not alone, however, nor in any way 
 peculiar. Others of his race feel the same con- 
 tempt for the Chinese and manifest it by sim- 
 ilar demonstrations. Lying drunk under a 
 walnut tree of the main courtyard. Rivers had 
 only to raise his eyes to his blue-coated, pig- 
 tailed coolies, to be immensely aware of his 
 superiority. Kwong, his nimiber-one boy, 
 
 [39] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 used to survey him thus stretched upon the 
 ground, while Rivers, helpless, would explain 
 to Kwong what deep and profound contempt 
 he felt for all those who had not his advan- 
 tages — ^the great, God-given advantage of a 
 white skin. The lower down one is on the so- 
 cial and moral plaiie, the more necessary to 
 emphasize the distinction between the races. 
 Kwong used to listen, imperturbable, thinking 
 his own thoughts. When his master beat him, 
 he submitted. His impassive face expressed 
 no emotion, neither assent nor dissent. 
 
 Except for incidents like these, of some fre- 
 quency, things went on very well with Rivers 
 for three or four years, and then something 
 happened. He had barely time to bundle his 
 wife and children aboard an English ship ly- 
 ing in harbour and send them down river to 
 Shanghai, before the revolution broke out. 
 He himself stayed behind to see it through, liv- 
 ing in the comparative security of his Consul- 
 ate, for the outbreak was not directed against 
 foreigners and he was safe enough outside the 
 city, in the newly acquired concession. On 
 this particular day, when things had reached 
 their climax and the rebels were sacking and 
 
 [40] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 burning the town. Rivers leaned over the ram- 
 parts of the city wall and watched them. The 
 whole Tartar City was in flames, including the 
 Temple Hotel. He watched it burn with sat- 
 isfaction. When things quieted down, he 
 would put in his claim for an indemnity. The 
 Chinese government, whichever or whatever 
 it happened to be, should be made to pay hand- 
 somely for his loss. Really, at this stage of 
 his fortunes nothing could have been more op- 
 portune. The Temple Hotel had reached the 
 limit of its capacity, and he had been obliged 
 to turn away guests. Moreover the priests, 
 shrewd old sinners, had begun to clamour for 
 increased rental. They had detected signs of 
 prosperity — as indeed, who could not detect it 
 — and for some time past they had been urging 
 that a hundred dollars Mex. a year was inade- 
 quate compensation. Well, this revolution, 
 whatever it was all about, would put a stop to 
 all that. Rivers would claim, and would un- 
 doubtedly receive, an ample indemnity, with 
 which money he would build himself a fine 
 modern hostelry, such as befitted this flourish- 
 ing new trade centre, and as befitted himself, 
 shrewd and clever man of affairs. Altogether, 
 
 [41] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 this revolution was a most timely and fortu- 
 nate occurrence. He surveyed the scene be- 
 neath him, but a good way off, be it said. 
 Shrieks and yells, firing and destruction, and 
 the whole Tartar City in flames and fast crum- 
 bling into ashes. 
 
 The revolution settled itself in due time. 
 The rebels either got what they wanted, or 
 didn't get what they wanted, or changed their 
 minds about wanting it after all, as sometimes 
 happens with Chinese uprisings. Whichever 
 way it was, law and order were finally restored 
 and life resumed itself again on normal lines, 
 although the Tartar City, lying within the 
 Chinese City, was a total wreck. What hap- 
 pened in consequence to the despoiled and dis- 
 persed Manchu element is no concern of ours. 
 
 Rivers put in his claim for an indemnity and 
 got it. It was awarded promptly, that is, 
 with the delay of only a few months, and he 
 at once set out to build himself a fine hotel, 
 in accordance with his highest ambitions. The 
 construction was entrusted to a native con- 
 tractor, and while the work progressed apace, 
 he and his wife went down river to Shanghai, 
 and the children were sent north somewheire 
 
 [42] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 to a mission school. During this enforced 
 residence in Shanghai, in which city he had 
 been known some years ago as a pronounced 
 beach-comber and ne'er-do-weel, he was 
 obliged to live practically without funds. 
 However, he was able to borrow on the 
 strength of his indemnity, but to do him jus- 
 tice, he limited his borrowings to the lowest 
 terms, not wishing to encroach upon his cap- 
 ital. In all this economy of living, his wife 
 assisted him greatly, for although supine and 
 flexible there was that quality of force about 
 her which we have mentioned before. 
 
 As befitted a person who had lost his all in 
 a Chinese uprising and had been rewarded with 
 a large sum of money in return, Rivers was 
 particularly bitter against the Chinese. His 
 old contempt and hatred flared up to large 
 proportions, and he expressed his feelings 
 openly and freely, especially at those times 
 when alcohol clouded his judgment. More- 
 over, he was living in Shanghai now, where it 
 was easy to express his feelings in the classic 
 way approved by foreigners, and sanctioned 
 by the customs and usages of the International 
 Settlement. He delighted to walk along the 
 
 [43] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Bund, among crowds of burdened coolies 
 bending and panting under great sacks of 
 rice, and to see them shrink and swerve as he 
 approached, fearing a blow of his stick. When 
 he rode in rickshaws, he habitually cheated 
 the coolie of his proper fare, secure in the 
 knowledge that the Chinese had no redress, 
 could appeal to no one, and must accept a few 
 coppers or none at all, at his pleasure. If 
 the coolie objected, Rivers still had the rights 
 of it. A crowd might collect, vociferating in 
 their vile jargon, but it mattered nothing. A 
 word from Rivers to a passing European, to 
 a policeman, to any one whose word carries in 
 the Settlement, was sufficient. He had but to 
 explain that one of these impertinent yellow 
 pigs had tried to extort three times the legal 
 fare, and his case was won. No coolie could 
 successfully contradict the word of a foreigner, 
 no police court, should matters go as far as that, 
 would take a Chinaman's word against that of 
 a white man. He was quite secure in his bully- 
 ing, in his dishonesty, in his brutality, and there 
 is no place on earth where the white man is 
 more secure in his whitemanishness than in thi^ 
 Settlement, administered by the ruling races 
 [44] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 of the world. Rivers thoroughly enjoyed these 
 street fracases, in which he was the natural and 
 logical victor. He enjoyed telling about them 
 afterward, for they served to illustrate his con- 
 ception of the Chinese character and of the 
 Chinese race in general. It was but natural 
 for hi^i to feel this way, seeing what losses he 
 had suirered through the revolution. As he told 
 of his losses, it was not apparent to an out- 
 sider that the hotel had not been utterly and 
 entirely his property, instead of an old Bud- 
 dhist temple rented from the nriests for one 
 hundred dollars Mex. a year. 
 
 Besides Rivers, others in the town in the 
 interior had suif ered hardships. Among them 
 was his number-one boy, Kwong, who had 
 served him faithfully for several years. Kwong 
 had been rather hard hit by the uprising. His 
 wretched little hovel had been burned to the 
 ground, his wife had fallen victim to a bullet, 
 while his two younger children disappeared 
 during the excitement and were never heard of 
 again. Killed, presimiably. After the vic- 
 torious rebels had had their way, all that re- 
 mained to Kwong was his son Liu, aged eigh- 
 teen, and these two decided to come down to 
 
 [45] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Shanghai and earn their living amidst more 
 civilized surroundings. One of the strongest 
 arguments in favour of the International Set- 
 tlement is that it affords safety and protection 
 to the Chinese. They flock to it in great num-t 
 bers, preferring the just and beneficent ad- 
 ministration of the white man to the uncer- 
 tainties of native rule. So Kwong and his 
 son made their way down the Yangtzse, float- 
 ing down river on a stately junk with ragged 
 matting sails. It was the tide, and a bamboo 
 pole for pushing, rather than' any assistance de- 
 rived from the ragged sails, which eventually 
 landed them in the safe harbour of Whangpoo 
 Creek, and stranded them on the mud flats be- 
 low Garden Bridge. 
 
 Being illiterate people, father and son, un- 
 skilled labour was all that presented itself, so 
 they became rickshaw coolies, as so many 
 country people do. During a year, some two 
 hundred thousand men, young and old and 
 mostly from up-country, take up the work of 
 rickshaw runners. It is not profitable em- 
 ployment, and the work is hard, and many of 
 them drop out — the come-and-go of rickshaw 
 runners is enormous, a great, unstable, floating 
 
 [46] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 population. Kwong and Liu hired a rickshaw 
 between them, for a dollar and ten cents a day,^ 
 and their united exertions barely covered the 
 day's hire. Sometimes they had a few cop- 
 pers over and above the daily expenses, some- 
 times they f eU below that sum and had to make 
 up the deficit on the morrow. On the occasions 
 when they were in debt to the proprietor, they 
 were forced to forego the small outlay required 
 for food, and neither could afford a meagre 
 bowl of millet. Pulling a rickshaw on an 
 empty stomach is not conducive to health. 
 Kwong, being an older man, found the strain 
 very difficult, and Liu, being but a fledgling 
 and weak and undeveloped at that, also found 
 it difficult. They were always tired, nearly 
 always hungry, and part of the time ill. And 
 what neither could understand was the pas- 
 sengers' objection to paying the legal fare. 
 Now and then, of course, they had a windfall 
 in the shape of a tourist or a drunken sailor 
 from a cruiser, but these exceptions were few 
 and far between. Necessarily so, considering 
 the niunber of rickshaws, and that the tram 
 cars were strong competitors as well. 
 
 They were also surprised at the attitude of 
 [47] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 the Europeans. The first time that Liu was 
 struck over the head by a beautiful Malacca 
 cane, he was aghast with astonishment — and 
 pain. Fortunately he knew enough not to hit 
 back. Not understanding English, he did not 
 know that he was being directed to turn up the 
 Peking Road, and accordingly had run swiftly 
 past the Peking Road until brought to his 
 senses, so to speak, by a silver knob above the 
 ear, which made him dizzy with pain. As time 
 passed, however, he grew accustomed to this 
 attitude of the ruling race, and accepted the 
 blows without remonstrance, knowing that 
 remonstrance was vain. His fellow coolies 
 soon taught him that. He and his kind were 
 but dogs in the sight of the foreigners, and 
 must accept a dog's treatment in consequence. 
 Once a lady leaned far forward in the rick- 
 shaw and gave him a vicious kick. Up till then, 
 he had not realised that the women of the white 
 race also had this same feeling towards him. 
 But what can one expect? If a man lowers 
 himself to the plane of an animal and gets be- 
 tween shafts, he must expect an animal's treat- 
 ment. In certain communities, however, there 
 lare societies to protect animals. 
 
 [48] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 Matters went along like this for some 
 months, and Kwong and Liu barely kept them- 
 selves going. However, they managed to keep 
 out of debt for the rickshaw hire, which was 
 in itself an achievement. Rivers also continued 
 to live in Shanghai at this time, making up- 
 river trips now and then to inspect the progress 
 of his new hotel, which was favourable. As he 
 landed at the Bund one day, returning from 
 one of these excursions, he chanced to step into 
 the rickshaw pulled by his old servitor, Kwong. 
 Kwong made him a respectful salute, but 
 Rivers, preoccupied, failed to recognise his 
 former servant in the old and filthy coolie who 
 stood between the shafts of an old and shabby 
 rickshaw. He always made it a point to select 
 old rickshaws, pulled by broken down men. 
 They looked habitually underpaid, and were 
 probably used to it, and were therefore less 
 likely to raise objections at the end of the trip 
 than one of the swift young runners who stood 
 about the European hotels. Remember, in ex- 
 tenuation, that Rivers was living on credit at 
 this time, on borrowed money, and he did not 
 like to be more extravagant than he had to. 
 
 The day was a piping hot one, and the dis- 
 [49] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tance Rivers travelled was something under 
 three miles, out on the edge of French Town. 
 When he alighted, he found but three cop- 
 per cents in his pocket, all that was left him 
 after a considerable carouse on the river boat 
 coming down. He tendered this sum to the 
 panting and sweating Kwong, who stood ex- 
 hausted but respectful, hoping in a friendly 
 way that his old master would recognise him. 
 To do Rivers justice, he did not recognise his 
 former servant, nor did he have more than 
 three copper cents in his possession, although 
 that fact was known to him when he stepped 
 into the rickshaw and directed the coolie to 
 French Town, extreme limits. Kwong in- 
 dignantly rejected the copper cents, and Rivers 
 flung them into the dust and turned away. 
 Kwong ran after him, expostulating, catching 
 him by the coat sleeve. Rivers turned savagely. 
 The wide road was deserted, and in a flash he 
 brought his heavy blackwood stick across 
 Kwong's face with a terrific blow. The coolie 
 fell sprawling in the dust at his old master's 
 feet, and Rivers, furious, kicked him savagely 
 in the stomach, again and again, until the man 
 lay still and ceased writhing. Blood gushed 
 
 [50] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 from his mouth, making a puddle in the dust, a 
 puddle which turned black and thick about the 
 edges. 
 
 In an instant Rivers was sobered. He 
 glanced swiftly up and down the road, and to 
 his dismay, saw a crowd of blue coated figures 
 running in his direction. He had barely time 
 to stoop down and pick up the tell-tale cop- 
 pers before he was surrounded by a noisy and 
 excited group of Chinese, gesticulating furi- 
 ously and rending the hot, blue air with their 
 outlandish cries. A policeman came in sight, 
 and a passing motor filled with foreigners 
 stopped to see the trouble. He had overdone 
 things, surely. There was nothing for it but 
 the police station. 
 
 Now such accidents are not infrequent in 
 Shanghai, the white man's city built in China, 
 administered by the white men to their own 
 advantage, and to the advantage of the Chinese 
 who seek protection under the white man's 
 just and beneficent rule. However, human 
 life is very cheap in China, cheaper than most 
 places in the Orient, although that is not say- 
 ing much. It would, therefore, have been very 
 easy for Rivers to have extricated himself from 
 
 [51] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 this scrape had he possessed any money. Two 
 hundred and fifty dollars, Mex. is the usual 
 price for a coolie's life when an affair of this 
 kind happens. There is a well established 
 precedent to this effect. Unfortunately for 
 Rivers, he did not possess two hundred and 
 fifty dollars, for as has been said, he was at 
 this time living on borrowed money. Nothing 
 for it then but a trial, and certain unpleasant 
 publicity. Happily, there were no witnesses 
 to the occurrence, and Rivers' plea of self-de- 
 fence would naturally be accepted. It was an 
 unpleasant business, however, but there was no 
 other way out of it, seeing that he was bank- 
 rupt. 
 
 The trial took place with due dignity. Evi- 
 dence, produced after an autopsy, proved that 
 at the time of the accident Kwong was in a very 
 poor state of health. Every one knows that the 
 work of a rickshaw coolie is hard, the physical 
 strain exceedingly severe. Four years, at the 
 outside, is the average life of a rickshaw run- 
 ner, after which he must change his occupation 
 to something more suited to a physical wreck. 
 Much testimony was produced to show that 
 Kwong had long ago reached that point. He 
 [52] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 was courting death, defying death, every day. 
 It was his own fault. He had great varicose 
 veins in his legs, which were large and swollen. 
 His heart, constantly overtaxed by running 
 with heavy weights, was enlarged and ready to 
 burst any moment. His spleen also was greatly 
 dilated and ready to burst — ^in fact, it was not 
 at all clear whether after such a long run — 
 three miles in such heat — ^he would not have 
 dropped dead anyway. Such cases were of 
 daily occurrence, too numerous to mention. 
 The slight blow he had received — a mere push 
 as defendant had stated under oath — ^was prob- 
 ably nothing more than a mere unfortunate 
 coincidence. 
 
 Such being the evidence, and the courts be- 
 ing administered by Europeans, and there be- 
 ing no doubt whatever of the quality of jus- 
 tice administered by Europeans in their own 
 behalf, it is not surprising that Rivers was ac- 
 quitted. The verdict returned was. Accidental 
 death due to rupture of the spleen, caused by 
 over-exertion. Rivers was a good deal shaken, 
 however, when he stepped out of the court- 
 room, into the hot, bright sunshine, and re- 
 ceived the congratulations of his friends. He 
 
 [53] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 had heard so many disgusting medical details 
 of the havoc caused by rickshaw pulling, that 
 he resolved to be very careful in future about 
 hitting these impudent, good-for-nothing 
 swine. 
 
 Amongst the crowd in the courtroom, 
 but practically unnoticed, sat Liu, son of the 
 late Kwong. The proceedings being in English, 
 he was unable to follow them, but he knew 
 enough to realise that the slayer of his father 
 was being tried. Presumably his life was at 
 stake, as was befitting under the circumstances., 
 Therefore his surprise was great when the out- 
 come of the case was explained to him by a 
 Chinese friend who understood English, and 
 his astonishment, if such it may be called, was 
 still more intense upon seeing Rivers walk 
 out of the courtroom receiving congratulatory 
 handshakes as he passed. To the ignorant mind 
 of the young Chinese, Rivers was being felici- 
 tated for having committed murder. He was 
 unable to draw any fine distinctions, or to un- 
 derstand that these congratulations were not 
 intended for Rivers personally, but because 
 his acquittal strengthened established prece- 
 dents. Precedents that rendered unassailable 
 [54] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 the status of the ruling race. Liu was therefore 
 filled with an overmastering and bitter hatred 
 of Rivers, and had he realised what the acquit- 
 tal stood for, would probably have been filled 
 with an equally intense hatred for the dominant 
 race in general. Not understanding that, how- 
 ever, he concentrated his feelings upon Rivers, 
 and resolved to bring him to account in ac- 
 cord with simpler, less civilized standards. 
 
 Within two months, the Temple Hotel was 
 finished and ready for use. Much foreign fur- 
 niture had been sent up from Shanghai, and 
 Rivers and his wife also removed themselves to 
 the up-river town and set about their business. 
 Rivers was glad to leave Shanghai ; he had had 
 enough of it, since his unlucky episode, and 
 was glad to bury himself in the comparative 
 obscurity of the interior. Life resumed it- 
 self smoothly once again, and he prospered ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 His attitude towards the natives, however, 
 was more domineering than ever, now that he 
 had recovered from the unpleasant two weeks 
 that preceded his trial. These two weeks had 
 been more uncomfortable than he liked to 
 think about, but safely away from the scene of 
 
 [55]! 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 the disturbance, he became more abusive, more 
 brutal than ever in his attitude towards the 
 Chinese. His servants horribly feared him, yet 
 did his bidding with alacrity. The reputation 
 of a man who could kill when he chose, with 
 impunity, stood him in good stead. Liu, the 
 son of Kwong, followed him up-river and ob- 
 tained a place in his household as pidgeon-cook, 
 assistant to number-one cook. Rivers failed to 
 recognize his new servant, and at such times as 
 he encountered him, was delighted with the ser- 
 vile attitude of the youth, and called him "Son 
 of a Turtle" which is the worst insult in the 
 Chinese language. 
 
 Liu bided his time, for time is of no moment 
 in the Orient. His hatred grew from day to 
 day, but he continued to wait. He wished to 
 see Rivers thoroughly successful, at the heigh■^ 
 of his career, before calling him to accovmt. 
 Since he would have to pay for his revenge with 
 his life — not being a European — ^he determined 
 that a white man at the top of his pride would 
 be a more fitting victim than one who had not 
 yet climbed the ladder. Such was his simple 
 reasoning. Under his long blue coat there hung 
 
 [56] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 a long, thin knife, whetted to razor sharpness 
 on both edges. 
 
 Summer came again, and the blazing heat 
 of mid-China lay over the land. Mrs. Rivers 
 went north to join her children, and the num- 
 ber of guests in the hotel diminished to two or 
 three. Business and tourists came to a stand- 
 still during these scorching weeks, and Rivers 
 finally went down to Shanghai for a few days' 
 jollification. He left his aff'airs in the hands 
 of the shroif, the Chinese accountant, who 
 could be trusted to manage them for a short 
 time. 
 
 He returned unexpectedly one night about 
 eleven o'clock, quite drunk. The few guests 
 had retired and the hotel was closed. At the 
 gate, the watchman lay asleep beside his 
 lantern, and when Rivers let himself in with 
 his key, he found Liu in the lounge, also asleep. 
 He cursed Liu, but submitted to the steady, 
 supporting arm which the boy place around his 
 waist, and was led to bed without difiiculty. 
 Liu assisted his master to undress, folding 
 up the crumpled, white linen clothes with silver 
 buttons, and laying them neatly across a chair. 
 He was an excellent servant. Then he retired 
 
 [57] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 from the room, listening outside the door till 
 he heard sounds of heavy, stertorous breathing. 
 At that moment, the contempt of the Chinese 
 for the dominant race was even greater than 
 Rivers' contempt for the inferior one. 
 
 When the proprietor's breathing had as- 
 sumed reassuring proportions, Liu opened the 
 door cautiously, and stepped lightly into the 
 room. He. then locked it with equal caution, 
 slipped quietly across to the verandah, and 
 passed out through the long, wide-open win- 
 dows. The verandah was a dozen feet from the 
 ground, and the dark passage below, leading 
 to the gate, was deserted. At the other end 
 sat the watchman with his lantern, presumably 
 asleep. Liu had not heard his drum tap for 
 an hour. A shaft of moonlight penetrated the 
 room, and a light wind blowing in from out- 
 side gently stirred the mosquito curtains over 
 the bed. Liu tiptoed to the bed, and with 
 infinite care drew the netting aside and stood 
 surveying his victim. Rivers lay quite still 
 with arms outstretched, fat and bloated, 
 breathing with hoarse, blowing sounds, quite 
 repulsive. The moonlight was sufficient to 
 enable Liu to see the dark outline upon the 
 [58] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 bed, and to gauge where he would strike. He 
 hovered over his victim, exultant, prolonging 
 from minute to minute this strange, new feel- 
 ing of power and dominance. That was what 
 it meant to be a white man — ^to feel this feeling 
 always — always — all one's life, not merely for 
 a few brief, exhilarating moments ! And with 
 that feeling of power and dominance was the 
 ability to inflict pain, horrible, frightful pain. 
 That also was part of the white man's heritage, 
 this ability to inflict pain and suffering at will. 
 And after that, death. Liu also had the power 
 to inflict death. Leaning over the bed, with 
 the long, keen knife in his steady clutch, he was 
 for those glorious moments the equal of the 
 white man! He prolonged his sensations 
 breathlessly — this sense of superb power, this 
 superb ability to inflict htmiiliation, pain and 
 death. 
 
 A mosquito lit on Rivers' blotched cheek, 
 and he raised a heavy arm to brush it away. 
 Then he relaxed again with a snore. Liu 
 paused, waiting. The glorious exaltation was 
 mounting higher. It occurred to him to sharpen 
 these sensations, to heighten them. After all, 
 he was about to kill a drunken man in a 
 
 [59] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 drunken sleep. He wanted something better. 
 He wanted to feel his power over a conscious 
 man, a man conscious and aware of what was 
 to befall him. Even as his father had been 
 conscious and aware of what was befalling him, 
 even as thousands of his countrymen were 
 awake and aware, knowing what was being 
 done to them — ^by the dominant race. He 
 wished Rivers awake and aware. It involved 
 greater risk, but it was worth it. Therefore, 
 with the point of his sharp, keen knife, he 
 gently prodded the throat of the sleeper, lying 
 supine before him under the moon rays. Gently, 
 very gently, he prodded the exposed throat, 
 placed the point of his knife very gently upon 
 his heaving, corded larynx, which pulsed in- 
 ward and outward under the heaving, stertor- 
 ous breaths. Gently he stimulated the corded, 
 puffing throat, gently, with the point of his 
 sharp knife. 
 
 The result was as he wished. First Rivers 
 stirred, moved a restless arm, flopped an im- 
 potent, heavy arm that fell back upon the pil- 
 low, an arm that failed to reach its objective, 
 to quell the tickling, cold point prodded into 
 his throat. Then as he slowly grew conscious, 
 
 [60] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 the movements of the arm became more co- 
 ordinated. Into his drunken mind came the 
 fixed sensation of a disturbance at his throat. 
 He became conscious, opened a heavy eye, and 
 fixed it upon Liu, without at the same time 
 feehng the pressing point at his throat. Liu 
 saw his returning consciousness, and leaning 
 over him, pressed upon his throat, ever so 
 lightly, the point of his long knife. Thus for 
 a moment or two they regarded each other, 
 Liu having the advantage. But so it had al- 
 ways been. Having the advantage was one of 
 the attributes of the dominant race. Thus for 
 those few brief seconds, Liu experienced the 
 whole glory of it. And as little by little 
 Rivers emerged from the drunken to the con- 
 scious, to the abjectly, cravenly conscious, so 
 Liu mounted to the heights. 
 
 Then he saw that Rivers was about to cry 
 out. To let forth a roaring bellow, a howling 
 bellow. Enough. He had tasted the whole of 
 it. He had felt, for prolonged and glorious 
 moments, the feelings of the superior race. 
 Therefore he drove home, silently, his sharp, 
 keen knife, and stifled the mad bellow that was 
 about to be let forth. After which, he crept 
 
 [61] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 very cautiously to the balcony, and peered 
 anxiously up and down the dark alleyway be- 
 neath. He lowered himself with infinite cau- 
 tion over the railing. He had become once 
 more the cringing Oriental. 
 
 T62] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
Ill 
 
 HOMESICK 
 
 A Chinese gentleman, with his arms tucked 
 up inside the brocaded sleeves of his satin coat, 
 stood one day with one foot in China and the 
 other upon European soil. From time to time 
 he bore with alternate weight upon the right 
 foot, on Chinese soil, and then upon the lefl^ 
 foot, upon European soil, and his mental at- 
 titude shifted from right to left accordingly. 
 The foot upon Chinese soil reflected upward to 
 his brain the restriction of Chinese laws, the 
 breaking of which were accompanied by heavy 
 penalties. The foot upon European soil re- 
 assured him as to his ability to indulge him- 
 self, with no penalties whatsoever. Therefore, 
 after balancing himself for a few moments first 
 upon this foot, then upon that, he gave way to 
 his inclinations and resolved to indulge them. 
 In certain matters, Europeans were more 
 liberal than Chinese. 
 
 [65] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 From this you will see that he had been 
 standing with one foot in China, where opium 
 traffic was prohibited, where heavy fines were 
 attached to opium smokiag and to opium buy- 
 ing, where heavy jail sentences were imposed 
 upon those who smoked or bought opium, 
 while the other foot, planted upon the ground 
 of the Foreign Concession, assured him of hii^ 
 absolute freedom to buy opium in any quantity 
 he chose, and to smoke himself to a standstill 
 in an opium den licensed under European 
 auspices. In his saner moments, when not un- 
 der the influence of the drug, he resented the 
 European occupation of certain parts of 
 Chinese territory, but when his craving for 
 opium occurred — ^which it did with great fre- 
 quency — he was delighted to realise that there 
 were certain parts of China not under the au- 
 thority of the drastic laws of China, which laws 
 prohibited with such drastic and heavy penal- 
 ties the indulgences he craved. Therefore he 
 swayed himself backwards and forwards for a 
 space, first upon this foot, then upon that, and 
 finally withdrew both feet into the Foreign 
 Concession, and directed his steps to a shop 
 where opium was sold under European in- 
 
 [66] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 fluence. The shop was capacious but dark. 
 He stated his requirements , and they were 
 measured out to him — a large keg was with- 
 drawn from its place on a shelf, and a gentle 
 Chinese, clad, like himself, in satin brocade, 
 dug into the contents of the keg with a ladle 
 and withdrew from it a black, molasses-like 
 substance, which ran slowly and gummily 
 from the ladle into the small silver box which 
 the customer had produced. The box finally 
 filled, with some of the gummy, black contents 
 running over the edges, our gentleman with- 
 drew himself, having accomplished his purpose. 
 Tucked into the security of his belt, it was im- 
 possible to detect the contraband as he again 
 stepped over the boundary line which separated 
 Chinese from European soil. 
 
 Half an hour after our Chinese gentleman 
 had stepped across the boundary line into the 
 native city, with a large supply of opium 
 concealed in his belt, part of which he would 
 retail to certain friends who had not time 
 enough to run across into the European con- 
 cession to buy it for themselves, a young Eng- 
 lishman stood, by curious coincidence, upon the 
 same spot recently occupied by the Chinese. 
 
 [67] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 He also stood with one foot upon Chinese soil, 
 with the other upon the soil of the Foreign 
 Concession, and regretted, with considerable 
 vehemence, that at this dividing line his efforts 
 must cease. He had been pursuing, for per- 
 haps a mile, the proprietor of a certain gam- 
 bling den, whom he wished to apprehend. But 
 at the boundary line, which the Chinese had 
 reached before him, his prey had escaped. He 
 was off somewhere, safe in the devious lanes 
 and burrows of the native city. Therefore he 
 stood baffled, and finally made his way back 
 into the Settlement, along the quais, and 
 finally reached his rooms. He pondered some- 
 what over the situation. That which was per- 
 mitted on Chinese territory, was prohibited 
 in the foreign holdings — and the reverse. It 
 just depended whether you were on this side 
 the line or that, as to whether or not you were 
 a lawbreaker. Morality appeared arbitrary, 
 determined by geographical lines — a matter 
 of dollars and cents. Lawson walked slowly 
 along the Bund, turning the matter over in his 
 rather limited mind. Take the opium business, 
 he considered. The Chinese considered it harm- 
 ful, and wished to abolish it. Very good. Yet 
 
 [68] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 the Foreign Concessions made money out of 
 it and insisted upon selling it. 
 
 Take another example, he reflected — gam- 
 bling, his job. Or rather, his job was the sup- 
 pression of gambling — ^in the foreign holdings. 
 The Chinese considered it harmless, a matter 
 of individual inclination. Very good. But the 
 foreigners considered it a vice, and he, Lawson, 
 was appointed to run to earth Chinese fan-tan 
 houses, in the Concession, and suppress them. 
 Yet his own people, the foreigners, gambled 
 freely and uproariously in their own establish- 
 ments — at the races, and at certain houses 
 which they maintained for their pleasure. True, 
 these houses were not in the Concession — for 
 some reason the foreigners had set their face 
 against gambling in the Concession — yet they 
 maintained their establishments, their showy 
 and luxurious establishments, outside the Con- 
 cession and upon Chinese soil. They must pay 
 a handsome squeeze for the privilege. Yet it 
 was difficult to reconcile. What was right and 
 wrong, anyway? What was moral or im- 
 moral, anyway? Lawson, of very limited in- 
 telligence, walked along, sorely puzzled. Sauce 
 for the goose, sauce for the gander — ^well, two 
 
 [69] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 very different kinds of sauces, composed of 
 very different ingredients, as far as he could 
 see. Lawson, being a young man of limited 
 intelligence, was greatly puzzled. He had been 
 greatly bothered over this for a long time. It 
 began to look to him — very vaguely — as if 
 morality was not an abstract but a concrete 
 affair. 
 
 Just then he passed an opium shop, and con- 
 sidered again. That surely was a nasty game, 
 yet his Government encouraged it — and made 
 money from it. But the Chinese, on their side 
 of the boundary line, were doing their best to 
 suppress it. It was very difficult for them to 
 make headway, however, since opium shops 
 flourished and were encouraged by the foreign 
 concessions, over which the Chinese had no 
 control. Topsy turvy, anyway. No wonder 
 a person like Lawson was unable to under- 
 stand it. It all resolved itself into a question 
 of money, after all. For after all, money was 
 the main object of life, whether on the part of 
 an individual or of a government. And since 
 all governments were composed of individuals, 
 and reflected the ideas of individuals, there you 
 were! 
 
 [70] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 By this time, young Lawson had become 
 quite bored with life in the Far East. The 
 romance was gone and it offered so little 
 variety. One day was so like another, and 
 every day, winter and summer, it was the same 
 thing or the same sorts of things, and there was 
 an intense sameness about it all. By day he 
 did his work — that goes without saying — one 
 has to work in the Far East, that is what one 
 comes out to do. Otherwise, why come? Un- 
 less one is a tourist or a missionary, or a buyer 
 of Chinese antiques, or has had an over- 
 whelming desire to write a book upon interna- 
 tional politics, a desire springing from ^he 
 depths of gross ignorance. But after all, why 
 not such a book? It reaches, if it reaches at all, 
 a public still less informed, and misinformation 
 is as valuable as no information at all, when we 
 desire to interfere with the destiny of the 
 Chinese. In his leisure moments, Lawson had 
 tried his hand at such a book — until he sud- 
 denly realised that he had been in the Orient 
 too long to make it a success. He knew just a 
 trifle too much about affairs, and found himself 
 setting forth facts which would lead to his un- 
 doing, as a minor official in the International 
 
 [71] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Settlement — if he gave them publicity. He 
 could not aiford to lose his position. And he 
 was by no means sure that the deep, unerring 
 sense of justice, the innate instinct of the 
 masses, would rally to his support. He had 
 his own opinion of the ruling classes, but he 
 trusted the masses still less. 
 
 It was a biting cold night, with a high wind 
 from the north howling down the long streets 
 and whipping the waters of the harbour into 
 a fury. Junks strained at their anchors, tossed 
 and heaved, and now and then one broke loose 
 from its moorings and wandered about adrift, 
 spreading infinite terror amongst the owners 
 of other junks, who feared for their safety. A 
 cruiser or two lay in the roads, and the French 
 mail, and two or three Japanese cargo-boats, 
 and half a dozen tramp ships from the China 
 Coast, but none of these were unduly buffeted 
 by the gale, which only created havoc among the 
 junks and sampans. Lawson's lodgings over- 
 looked the harbour, and he laid down his pen 
 and moved from the table to the dark window, 
 trying in vain to see what was going on with- 
 out. Below, the long line of the quais was out- 
 lined by long rows of electric lights, swaying 
 
 [72] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 and tossing from their poles, and illuminating 
 the shining, wet asphalt of the Bund. He was 
 very, very tired of it all. So many years he 
 had been out, and the same monotonous round 
 must be gone through with, over and over 
 agaio, day after day — until he made money 
 enough to return home. And as a salaried 
 clerk, a court runner, whose duty it was to 
 enforce the laws against gambling in the Set- 
 tlement, that day seemed very far distant in- 
 deed. Whenever he heard of a fan-tan place — 
 and he heard of them every day — he must in- 
 vestigate, see that it was closed and the keepers, 
 if he was lucky enough to catch them, duly 
 punished. And the players as well. Now to 
 eradicate gambling from amongst the Chinese 
 is a difficult task, futile and ridiculous, a 
 good waste of time and money. He wondered 
 why his Government should attempt it. Fool- 
 ish thing for his Government to do — ^yet what 
 would become of Lawson if the undertaking 
 were abolished? Taste tea, probably— ap- 
 prentice himself to some tea merchant, and 
 learn all the nasty role of tea spitting. From 
 which you will see that Lawson was squeamish 
 about some things, and did not envy those of 
 
 [73] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 his friends who had become tea tasters, and 
 who moved all day up and down a long table, 
 filled with rows of stupid little cups, with an 
 attendant China boy forever shoving a cuspi- 
 dor from one advanced position to another. 
 And if not a tea taster, then some commercial 
 house would absorb his energies, which would 
 be worse still — close at his elbow a spectacled 
 Chinese clicking aU day upon a dirty little 
 abacus, — checking him uo, keeping tabs on 
 him. 
 
 No, the work he had was better. But he was 
 so tired of it. He leaned himself against the 
 dripping, cold pane, and regarded the lights 
 below, shining on the wet asphalt of the quais. 
 He was thirty years old and ten years in the 
 East had about done for him. The East does, 
 for many people. Yes, he reflected bitterly, it 
 had about done for him. It undermines peo- 
 ple, in some mysterious manner, and in Law- 
 son's case there had been so little to undermine. 
 He had little imagination, and could never 
 imagine the larger possibilities of life, and what 
 he had missed, therefore the undermining of 
 his character was of small account. He was 
 only conscious of an intense boredom, and to- 
 [74] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 night the boredom was accentuated, because 
 of the weather. He was too inert to splash 
 about in such a driving rain in quest of a friend 
 more weary than himself. 
 
 If he could just get out of it all! By which, 
 understand, he had not the adventiu-ous spirit 
 of the beach-comber, the adventurer who combs 
 pleasure and profits from the ports of the| 
 China Coast. He wasn't that sort. He had 
 no desire to take a sampan and row out to the 
 nearest cargo-boat and ship away to the 
 Southern Seas, and sink himself in romance 
 north or south of the Line. No, the mystery 
 of the East, the romance of foreign lands made 
 no appeal to him. And the everlasting mo- 
 notony of his daily work, of his daily associa- 
 tion with his few wearied friends, clerks and 
 suchlike, all minor and unimportant cogs of 
 the big machine overseas, offered him noth- 
 ing. Very decidedly he was homesick. But 
 his tired mind came upon a blank waU — ^he had 
 no home to be homesick for. Nothing com- 
 pelling, nothing to return to — all broken up 
 long ago, such as it was, long before he had 
 come out to the Orient. Yet he was longing 
 for the sight of his native land again. Yes, 
 
 [T5] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 that was it — just the familiar sight of it. It 
 offered him nothing in the way of tie or kin, 
 yet he was longing to see it again, just his own 
 native land. He was ejciled in China — and he 
 was exiled at Home, when you got down to it 
 — but to-night his home land drew him with 
 overwhelming insistence. 
 
 What can you do, I'd like to know, when you 
 are like this? Along the outskirts of the Set- 
 tlement stood big houses, cheerful with lights, 
 with home life, with all that the successful 
 ones had brought out from Home, to establish 
 Home in the Orient. But Lawson had noth- 
 ing to do with these, with all the pompous, SUC7 
 cessful ones, who ignored him completely and 
 were unaware of his existence. They were all 
 superior to him, with the superiority that new- 
 found money brings, and they looked down 
 upon him as a cheap court runner, told off to 
 round up the fan-tan playing Chinese. You 
 see, Lawson was common — ^he had sprung 
 from nothing and was nothing. But these 
 others, these successful ones, they too had 
 sprung from nothing, but out here in the 
 Orient they had become important. Through 
 the possession of certain qualities which Law- 
 
 [76] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 son did not possess, they had become large and 
 prominent in the community. They referred 
 to themselves, among each other, as "yo^^^S^^ 
 sons." Which left one to infer that they were 
 of distinguished lineage. But Lawson knew 
 better, and knew it with great bitterness. Like 
 himself, they were indeed "younger sons" — 
 of greengrocers. Therefore, for that reason 
 perhaps, they went home seldom, for at home 
 they were nobodies. Whereas out here — oh, 
 out here, by reason of certain qualities which 
 Lawson did not possess, they were important 
 and pompous, and lived in big houses, with 
 lights and guests and servants and motors. 
 Therefore Lawson resented them, because they 
 thought he was common. And he was com- 
 mon, he admitted bitterly, but so were they. 
 Only they were successful, by reason of certain 
 qualities which he did not possess. They ig- 
 nored him, and left him alone in the com- 
 munity, and it is never very good to be too' 
 much alone, especially in the Far East. True, 
 they provided him with his job — with his 
 wretchedly paid little Government job, which 
 they maintained for no altruistic or moral rea- 
 sons. To suppress gambling amongst the 
 
 [77] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Chinese? Perhaps. Incidentally, on the sur- 
 face, it looked well. Looked well, he con- 
 sidered, coming from those who never helped 
 the Chinese in anything else. Who exploited 
 them, in all possible ways, and undermined 
 them — undermined the Chinese who were 
 pretty well done for anyway, by nature, being 
 Chinese. No, he reflected savagely — he had 
 heard the story — one night some big personage 
 living in one of the big houses, to which he was 
 never invited — had given a big dinner, with 
 much wine and fine food and many guests and 
 all the rest of it — and what happened? No 
 servants, or rather many servants without 
 liveries or clothing of any kind, everything 
 having been pawned the evening before over 
 the fan-tan tables. Therefore he, Lawson, was 
 employed by Government to suppress these 
 gambling houses, to keep the servants from 
 stealing and pawning their liveries, making 
 embarrassment in the big, foreign-style houses, 
 making amusement and consternation and 
 scandal. He had happened along shortly after 
 this affair, and so obtained the appointment. 
 
 Lawson leaned his forehead against the cold 
 glass, down which the rain poured in sheets. 
 
 [78] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 The lights of the French mail glimmered in- 
 termittently through the darkness — to-mor-^ 
 row she would weigh anchor and be o£F for 
 Marseilles, for Home. Not that he had a 
 home, as we have said, but he longed for the 
 familiar look of things, for the crowds all 
 speaking his own tongue, for the places he 
 knew, the well known street signs, and the big 
 hoardings. And he couldn't go back. He had 
 not money enough to go back. Every penny 
 of his little salary went for living expenses and 
 living comes high in China. To say nothing 
 of the passage money and the money for after- 
 wards A gentle cough behind him made 
 
 him turn round in a hurry. His China-boy 
 stood expectantly in the doorway. 
 
 "What is it?" demanded Lawson sharply. 
 Ah Chang drew in his breath, not wishing to 
 breathe upon his superior. The indrawn, 
 hissing noise irritated Lawson immensely. He 
 had been out ten years, and in that time had 
 never learned that Ah Chang and the others 
 were showing him respect, deep proofs of 
 Oriental respect, when they sucked in their 
 breath with that hissing noise, to avoid breath- 
 ing upon a superior. To Lawson it was just 
 
 [79] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 another horrid trait, another horrid native char- 
 acteristic. 
 
 "Man come see Master," observed Ah 
 Chang, addressing space impersonally. "Heap 
 plenty important business. You see?" 
 
 Anything for a change this dreary evening. 
 "Very well," said Lawson, "I see." 
 
 In a moment or two, a tall Chinese shuffled 
 into the room, bowing repeatedly with hands 
 on knees. After which he passed his long slim 
 hands up into the sleeves of his satin coat, and 
 waited quietly till the boy withdrew. He gave 
 a swift look about the room, a glance so hur- 
 ried that it seemed impossible he could have 
 satisfied himself that they were alone, and then 
 began to speak. Lawson recognised him at 
 once as the keeper of a house he had raided the 
 week before, a big, crowded place, where the 
 police had captured a score of players and 
 much money. It was an important haul, a no- 
 torious den, that they had been after for a 
 long time. Only it changed its location so often, 
 moved from place to place each night, or so 
 it seemed, that Lawson had spent months try- 
 ing to find it. It is not easy finding such 
 places in the crowded, native streets of the 
 
 [80] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 Concession, and he had stumbled upon it by a 
 piece of sheer luck. And the proprietor had 
 been heavily fined and heavily warned, yet 
 here he stood to-night, silent, respectful, hands 
 up his sleeves, waiting. For once in his life, 
 Lawson's imagination worked. He foresaw 
 something portentous looming in the back- 
 ground of that impenetrable mind, revealed in 
 the steady, unblinking stare of those slanting 
 Chinese eyes, fixed steadily and fearlessly and 
 patiently upon his. 
 
 "Sit down," he commanded, with a sweep of 
 his hand towards an upright chair. 
 
 After his visitor had departed, Lawson stood 
 lost in thought. He was not angry, yet he 
 should have been, he realised. Assuredly he 
 should have been angry, assuredly he should 
 have kicked his visitor downstairs. But as it 
 was, he remained in deep thought, pondering 
 over a suggestion that had been made to him. 
 The suggestion, stripped of certain Oriental 
 qualities of flowery phraseology and translated 
 from pidgin-English into business English, 
 was the merest, most vague hint of an exchange 
 of favours. So slight was the hint, but so over- 
 
 [81] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 whelming the possibilities suggested, that, as 
 we have said, Lawson had not kicked his visitor 
 downstairs, but remained standing lost in 
 thought for several moments after his depar- 
 ture. As he had stood earlier in the day, with 
 one foot in the Foreign Concession, and the 
 other on Chinese soil, considering the different 
 standards that obtained in each, so he stood 
 now, figuratively, on the boundary line of an 
 ethical problem and swayed mentally first to- 
 wards one side and then the other. The irony 
 of it, the humour of it, appealed to him. It 
 seemed so insanely just — just what you might 
 expect. He had been asked — that was too 
 definite a word — to forego his activities for a 
 few brief weeks. And during those few brief 
 weeks he could repay himself, week by week, on 
 
 Friday nights 
 
 He had been merely asked — too strong a 
 word — the suggestion had been merely hinted 
 at — ^he balanced himself back and forth over 
 the problem. If his efforts during the next few 
 weeks should prove fruitless, possible enough, 
 considering the wily race he was dealing with 
 
 And in exchange, well, once a week on 
 
 Friday night, he could slip outside the bouni 
 
 [82] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 daries of the Concession to a large, foreign 
 gambling house kept by and for his own peo- 
 ple. By his own people, the Europeans, who 
 employed him to eradicate gambling from 
 amongst the Chinese. Do you wonder that he 
 shifted himself back and forth, morally, first 
 from this point of view, then to that? His 
 own people who objected to gaming, when it in- 
 volved the loss of their servants' liveries. But 
 they had no such scruples when it came to their 
 own pleasure. Therefore, for their own plea- 
 sure, careless of the inconsistency, they had 
 established a very fine place of their own just 
 outside the boundaries of the foreign Conces- 
 sion. Lawson had heard of the place before — 
 the most famous, the most notorious on the 
 China Coast. Kept by the son of a parson, so 
 he had been told, a University graduate. 
 Once, ten years ago, he had gone there and lost 
 a month's pay in an evening. But now it was 
 to be different. He could go there now, every 
 Friday night, and reap the reward of his in- 
 a,bility to discover Chinese dens within the Con- 
 cession. 
 
 For nearly an hour he remained undecided, 
 then determined to test the oflfer made him — 
 
 [83] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 but offer was too strong a word. And his 
 salary was so meagre, so abominably small. 
 And the people in the big houses would have 
 none of him, they never invited him, he was 
 left so alone, to himself. He was intensely 
 homesick. Therefore, still on the boundary 
 line, he went to the telephone and called up a 
 certain nimaber. In a confident manner he 
 asked for a limousine. After which he got 
 into his overcoat, muffled himself up well 
 around the ears and nose, for the air outside 
 was cold with a biting north wind, and the rain 
 still drove slantwise in torrents. In a few 
 moments Ah Chang announced that the cal- 
 liage had come. 
 
 Round the corner from his lodgings on a side 
 street and in darkness, stood a big car with 
 the motor puffing violently. It was a big, hand- 
 some car, very long, and on the front seat sat 
 two men in livery, one of whom jumped down 
 briskly to open the door. Lawson entered and 
 sank down into the soft cushions, for it was 
 very luxurious. Then the car moved on briskly, 
 without any directions from himself, and he 
 leaned back upon the cushions and took plea- 
 sure in the luxury of it, and of the two men in 
 [84] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 livery upon the front seat, and enjoyed the 
 pouring rain which dashed upon the glass, yet 
 left him so dry and comfortable within. "They 
 will only think it's inconsistent — that's all," he 
 said to himself, "if they ever find out — ^which 
 is unhkely." 
 
 Beyond the confines of the Settlement the 
 motor rapidly made its way, slipping noise- 
 lessly over the smooth, wet asphalt, and then 
 out along the bumpy roads beyond the city 
 limits. All was dark now, the street lamps hav- 
 ing been left behind with the ending of the 
 good roads, and the car jolted along slowly, 
 over deep ruts. A stretch of open country 
 intervened between the Settlement and a na- 
 tive village of clustering mud huts. Lawson, 
 having no imagination, was not impressed with 
 his position. People did all sorts of things in 
 China, just as elsewhere — only here, in China, 
 it was so much easier to get away with it. Hisi 
 coming to-night might be considered incon- 
 sistent, he repeated over and over to himself, 
 but nothing more. Every one did it, he reas- 
 sured himself. 
 
 The car stopped finally, before a pair of 
 high, very solid black gates, and the footman 
 
 [85] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 jumped off the box to open the door. He was 
 conscious of a small grill with a yellow face 
 peeping out, backed by flickering lantern light, 
 of a rainy, windswept compound, with a shaft 
 of light from an open door flooding the court- 
 yard. Then he was inside a warm, bright ante- 
 room, with an obsequious China-boy relieving 
 him of overcoat and muffler, and he became 
 aware of many big, fur-lined overcoats, hang- 
 ing on pegs on the wall. Beyond, in the ad- 
 joining room, were two long tables, the players 
 seated with their backs to him, absorbed. Only 
 a few people were present, for the night was 
 early. There was no one there he knew — even 
 had there been, he would not have cared. He 
 drew out a chair and seated himself confidently, 
 while a China-boy pushed a box of cigars to- 
 wards him, a very good brand. And behind 
 came another boy with a tray of whisky and 
 soda, while a third boy carried sandwiches. It 
 was all very well done, he thought absently. 
 The proprietor, being a parson's son and a 
 University graduate, did it very well. There 
 was no disorder, it was all beautifully done. 
 He wondered what amount of squeeze the 
 Chinese received, for allowing such a fine place 
 [86] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 to remain undisturbed on Chinese soil. A very 
 big squeeze, certainly. They would surely be 
 very grasping, considering the warfare waged 
 against them, upon their own establishments, 
 by the Europeans. It was all very interesting. 
 Lawson considered the matter critically, from 
 various angles, knowing what he knew. He 
 sorted his chips carefully. It must pay the 
 parson's son well, he concluded, to be able to 
 run such a fine place, in such style, with so 
 much to eat and drink and all, and with all 
 those motors to carry out the guests. AU this 
 in addition to the squeeze — ^it must really be an 
 enormous squeeze. And the people for whose 
 amusement this was established, were the peo- 
 ple who were employing him 
 
 For a brief, fleeting second his eye rested 
 upon the calm, unquestioning face of the 
 Chinese at the wheel, brother of the proprietor 
 of the fan-tan place he had raided a week ago. 
 The placid eye of the Oriental fixed his for the 
 fraction of a second, even as he called out the 
 winning numbers. There was no recognition 
 either way, yet Lawson felt himself flushing. 
 The wheel spun again and slowly stopped, and 
 he found himself gathering in thirty-five chips, 
 
 [87] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 raking them in with eager fingers over the 
 green cloth. It was all right then, after all! 
 
 Lawson was going home. Speaking aboul} 
 this, some said. Well enough — ^he has become 
 quite incompetent of late. Getting stale, prob- 
 ably. Unable to discover the obvious, losing 
 his keenness. Ten years in the Far East about 
 does for one. But with Lawson, the situation 
 was different. He had become so tired of 
 boundary lines, of perpetual swaying back and 
 forth from one side to the other, without con- 
 viction. Geographical and moral concessions, 
 wrong here, right there, had blurred his sense 
 of the abstract. All he was conscious of was 
 an overwhelming desire to leave it all and go 
 home. And now he was going home. He was 
 very glad. It hurt to be so glad. He was go- 
 ing away from China, forever. He was going 
 back to his own land, where he was born, where 
 he belonged, even though there was no one to 
 welcome his return. There was no roof to 
 receive him save an attic roof, rented for a few 
 shillings a week. For though he had plenty 
 of money now, he still thought in small sums. 
 He was glad to be going home — the joy was 
 
 [88] 
 
HOMESICK 
 
 painful. His chief praised him a little at part- 
 ing, and said he had done good work and hoped 
 his successor would do as well. Regretted his 
 departure at this moment, since that old fellow 
 who kept such a notorious den was breaking 
 loose again, more villainous, more elusive than 
 ever. Lawson heard this with astonishment, 
 with infinite regret. Wished he could have 
 stayed to see it ended. 
 
 He was going home. It hurt to be so glad. 
 In all these years he had been so utterly lonely, 
 so utterly miserable. His few companions came 
 down to the landing stage on the Bund to see' 
 him off, to wish him luck. They were rather 
 wistful, for they also knew loneliness. They 
 had tried to forget about this longing for home 
 in the many ways of forgetfulness that the 
 East oflfered, nevertheless they were wistful. 
 Lawson understood, he felt great pity for 
 them. He advised them to get away before 
 they were done for, for the East does for many 
 people in the long run. The launch, waiting 
 to take him down river where the steamer lay 
 anchored, grated against the steps of the land- 
 ing stage, as if eager to be off. 
 
 "I wish," said one of his friends, "that we 
 [89] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 had your luck — that we too were going home." 
 Lawson's heart ached for them. He had ex- 
 perience but no imagination. "Yes," he said 
 simply, "it is very good to be going Home." 
 
 [90] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
ly 
 
 fciynjzATioyr 
 
 Maubekt leaned against the counter in his 
 wine-shop, reading a paper that had just 
 come to him — an official looking paper, which 
 he held unsteadily, unwillingly, and which 
 trembled a httle between his big, thick fingers. 
 Behind the counter sat Madame Maubert, 
 knitting. Before her, ranged neatly on the 
 zinc covered shelf, was a row of inverted wine 
 glasses, three of them still dripping, having 
 been washed after the last customers by a hasty 
 dip into a bucket of cold water. 
 
 "Mobilised," said Maubert slowly. "I am 
 mobilised— at last." Madame Maubert looked 
 up from her knitting. For a year now they 
 had both been expecting this, for the war had 
 been going on for over a year, and Maubert, 
 while over age and below par in physical con- 
 dition, was still a man and as such likely to be 
 
 [93] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 called into the reserves. The two exchanged 
 glances. 
 
 "When?" asked Madame Maubert, resum- 
 ing her clicking. 
 
 "At once, imbecile," replied her husband 
 stolidly. "Naturally," he continued, "when 
 one is at last sent for, there can be no delay. 
 I must report at once." 
 
 "Oh, la la," said Madame Maubert, non- 
 committally, 
 
 Maubert glanced round his shop, his little 
 wine-shop, his lucrative little business that he 
 had made successful. Very well. His wife must 
 run it alone now, as best she could. As best 
 she could, that was evident. She could do many 
 things well. She must do it now while he went 
 forth into service of some kind — into a muni- 
 tion factory probably, or perhaps near the 
 front, as orderly to an oificer, or as sentinel, 
 perhaps, along some road in the First Zone of 
 the Armies. He would not be placed on active 
 service — ^he was too old for that. Nevertheless 
 it meant a horrid jarring out of his usual rou- 
 tine of life, consequently he was angry and re- 
 sentful, and there was no fine glow of pride oil 
 patriotism or such-like feeling in his breast. 
 
 [94] 
 
CITILIZATION 
 
 Bah! All that sort of thing had vanished from 
 men long and long ago, after the first few bit- 
 ter weeks of war and of reahsation of the mean- 
 ing of war. War was now an affair — a sordid, 
 ugly aflPair, and Maubert knew it as well as any 
 man. Living in his backwater of a village, 
 keeper of the principal wine-shop of the village, 
 his zinc counter rang every night under em- 
 phatic fists, emphasising emphatic remarks 
 about the war, and the remarks were true but 
 devoid of romance. They differed consider- 
 ably from the tone of the daily press. 
 
 From the kitchen beyond came the clatter- 
 ing of dishes, and some talking in immature, 
 childish voices, and the insistent, piping tones 
 of a quite young child. They were all in there, 
 all four of them, the eldest twelve, the young- 
 est four, and Maubert and his wife leaned 
 across the zinc counter and looked at each 
 other. 
 
 "It is your fault," he said slowly, with con- 
 viction. His eyes, deep set, ugly, sunken, 
 glared angrily into hers. "It is your fault 
 that I am mobilised." 
 
 She sat still, rather bewildered, gazing at 
 [95] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 him steadily. "You wished it !" he began again, 
 "You coward! You trembling coward!" 
 
 Still Madame Maubert made no sign, wait-* 
 ing further explanations. She laid down her 
 knitting and took her elbows in her hands, 
 and by gripping her elbows firmly, stopped the 
 trembling he spoke of. 
 
 "You don't understand, eh?" he went on 
 sneeringly. "Always thinking of yourself, of 
 your pretty figure, how to keep yourself al- 
 ways here at the bar, pretty and attractive, 
 ready to gossip with all comers. Nothing must 
 interrupt that. You'd done your share, all 
 that was necessary. And I — poor fool — I let 
 you! I didn't insist — I gave in " 
 
 "You wish to say ?" began Madame 
 
 Maubert at last, breaking her silence. 
 
 "Yes! To say just that!" burst out Mau- 
 bert. "Just that — ^you coward! When you 
 might have — when you might have — ^made this 
 out of the question for me." He shook his order 
 for mobilisation. Again there was a noise from 
 the kitchen, again the sound of many young 
 voices, and one voice that ended in a cry, an 
 irritated, angry, querulous howl. 
 
 "I see," said Madame Maubert slowly, "five 
 [96] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 instead of four — five would have made it safe 
 for you — eh? I didn't think of that — at the 
 time." 
 
 "Of your own self at the time — as always !" 
 ground out Maubert, very angry. He was a 
 very big man, of the bully type, with a red neck 
 that swelled under his anger, or on the occa- 
 sions when he had taken too much red wine — 
 which meant that it swelled very often and 
 made him a great brute, and his wife disliked 
 him, and tried to put the zinc counter between 
 them or anything else that gave shelter. 
 
 "You selfish coward!" he cried out again, 
 and slammed his fist down, and then raised it 
 again and shook it at her. "You could have 
 saved me from this — this — being mobilised 
 
 ! Five instead of four! Five instead of 
 
 four! Then I would have been exempt, no 
 matter what happened! You comtemptible 
 
 He struck at his wife, but missed her. The 
 doorway darkened and two soldiers entered, 
 limping. 
 
 "My husband is mobilised," exclaimed 
 Madame Maubert quickly. "His country 
 needs him — ^he is rather elevated in conse- 
 
 [97] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 quence! Doubtless he will be of the auxil- 
 iaries, where there is less danger. Discomfort, 
 perhaps, but less danger. Nevertheless he is 
 regretful," she concluded scornfully. The 
 simple soldiers, home on leave, laughed up- 
 roariously. They placed a few sous upon the 
 counter and asked for wine, and drank to 
 Maubert solicitously. Then they all drank to- 
 gether, to one another's good fortune, and to 
 La Patrie. 
 
 II 
 
 Maubert was at the Front. Near it, that is, 
 but in the First Zone of the Armies and shut 
 off from communication with the rear. He 
 was shut off from communication with his wife 
 and family, isolated in a little hut standing by 
 the roadside, his sentry box. A little box of 
 straw standing upright on the roadside, and 
 with just enough room for him inside, also 
 standing upright. No more. Whenever he 
 heard the whir of a motor coming down the 
 road, he opened his front door and stood square- 
 ly in the middle of the roadway, waving a red 
 flag by day or a lantern by night, and expect- 
 ing, both night and day, to be run down and 
 [98] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 killed by the onrushing motor. He flagged the 
 ambulances and got cursed for it. He flagged 
 the General's car and got cursed for it. Im- 
 possible pieces of paper were shoved out to 
 him to read, filled with unintelligible hierogly- 
 phics, which he could not read, which he made 
 a vain pretence of reading and then concluded 
 were all right. After which the car or the am- 
 bulance dashed on again, and he communed 
 with himself within his hut, wondering whether 
 the car was carrying a uniformed spy, or 
 whether the ambulance was carrying a spy hid- 
 den under its brown wings, beneath the seat 
 somewhere. It was all so perplexing and pre- 
 carious, this business of sentry duty. The pa- 
 pers issued by the D.E.S. were so illegible. 
 Sometimes they were blue, sometimes pink, and 
 the remarks written on them were such that no 
 one could understand or know what they were 
 about. People had the right to circulate by 
 this road or that — and when they were trying 
 to circulate by a route not specified in the blue 
 or pink paper, they always explained glibly 
 that it was because they had missed the way, 
 and made the wrong turning. It was all sq 
 perplexing. Whenever he stopped their cars, 
 
 [99] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 the General was always so furiously impatient, 
 and the ambulance drivers were always so furi- 
 ously impatient, and one asked you if you did 
 not respect the Army of France, and the other 
 if you did not respect the wounded of France, 
 if you had no pity for them, and must delay 
 them — altogether it was very perplexing. 
 Maubert always had the impression that if he 
 failed in his duties, if he let through a general 
 who wore stripes and medails galore, yet who 
 was a spy general, that he would be court- 
 martialed and shot. Or if he let through an 
 ambulance full of wounded — apparently — ^yet 
 with a spy concealed in the body — that he 
 would be courtmartialed and shot. Always he 
 had in his mind this fear of being court- 
 martialed and shaft, and it made him very 
 nervous, and he did not like to tell people that 
 he could barely read and write. Very barely 
 able to read and write, and totally unable to 
 read the hieroglyphics written on the pink and 
 blue papers issued down the road by Head- 
 quarters, at the D.E.S. He felt that some one 
 ought to know these facts about himself, these 
 extenuating circumstances, in case of trouble. 
 Yet he hesitated to give himself away. Bad as 
 [100] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 it was, there were worse jobs than sentry duty. 
 
 A little way down the road there was an es- 
 taminet, where he slept when he could, where 
 he spent his leisure hours, where he bought/ 
 as much wine as he could pay for. But his ' 
 sentry box always confronted him, which 
 leaked when it rained, and the wind blew 
 through it, and on certain days, when there was 
 much travel by the road, he hardly spent a 
 moment inside it but was always standing in 
 the mud and wind of the highway, waving his 
 flag, and stopping impatient, snorting motors. 
 And always pretending that he could read the 
 pink and blue papers, angrily thrust out for 
 his inspection. Too great a responsibility for 
 one who could barely read and write. 
 
 Came the time, eventually, for his leave. 
 Five days permission. One day to get to Paris. 
 One day from Paris to his province. One day 
 in his province at home with his wife. One day 
 back to Paris, one day to get back to his sentry 
 box in the First Zone of the Armies. Not 
 much time, all considered. He bought a bottle 
 of wine at the estaminet, and got aboard the 
 train for Paris. Somewhere along the route 
 came a long stop, and he bought another bot- 
 
 [101] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tie of wine — forty centimes. Another stop, and 
 another bottle of wine. He thought much of 
 his wife during these long hours of the journey 
 — ^thoughts augmented and made glowing by 
 three bottles of wine. She wasn't so bad, after 
 all. 
 
 The Gare Montparnasse was reached, and 
 he got off, dizzily, to change trains. He knew, 
 vaguely, that to get to his province in the in- 
 terior, he must first somehow get to the Gare 
 du Nord. There was a Metro entrance some- 
 where about the Gare Montparnasse and he 
 tried to find it. The Metro would take him to 
 the Gare du Nord. No good. Such crowds of 
 people all about, and they called him Mon 
 Vieux, and pulled him this way and that, 
 laughing with him, offering him cigarettes and 
 happy comments, received by a brain in which 
 three bottles of wine were already fermenting. 
 Thus it happened that he missed the Metro 
 ^entrance, and instead of finding a metro to 
 ■ take him to the Gare du Nord, he missed the 
 entrance, turned quite wrong, and walked up 
 the middle of the rue de la Gaiete. And be- 
 cause of the three bottles of wine within him 
 — entirely within his head — ^he walked light- 
 [102] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 heartedly up the rue de la Gaiete, with his 
 hehnet tossed backwards on his shaggy head, 
 his heavy kit swinging in disordered fashion 
 from his shoulders, his mouth open, shouting 
 meaningless things to the passers-by, and his 
 steps very short, jerky and unsteady. Thus it 
 happened, that many people, seeing him in thii^ 
 condition, shuddered, and asked what France 
 had come to, when she must place her faith in 
 such men as that. Other people, however, 
 laughed at him, and made way for him, or 
 closed in on him and squeezed his arm, and 
 whispered things into his ears. Back and forth 
 he ricochetted along the narrow street, singing 
 and swinging, mouth open, with strange, happy 
 cries coming from it. Some laughed and said 
 what a pity, and others laughed and said how 
 perfectly natural and what could you expect. 
 Presently down the street came a big, double 
 decked tramcar, and Maubert stood in front 
 of the tramcar, refusing to give way. It should 
 have presented a blue paper to him — or a pink 
 paper — anyway, there he stood in front of it, 
 asking for its permission to circulate, and as 
 it had no permission, it stopped within an inch 
 of running over him, while the conductor 
 
 [103] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 leaned forward shouting curses. Then it was 
 that a firm but gentle hand inserted itself with- 
 in Maubert's arm, while a firm but gentle voice 
 asked Maubert to be a good boy and come with 
 her. Maubert was very dazed, and also per- 
 plexed that he had not received a paper from 
 the big, double-decked tramcar, which ob- 
 viously had no right to circulate without such 
 permission, sanctioned by himself. He was 
 gently drawn off the tracks, by that unknown 
 arm, while the big tramcar proceeded on its 
 way without permission. It was all wrong, yet 
 Maubert felt himself drawn to one side of the 
 roadway, felt himself still propelled along by 
 that gentle but firm arm, and looked to see who 
 was leading him. He was quite satisfied by 
 what he saw. The three bottles of wine made 
 him very uncritical, but they also inflamed 
 certain other faculties. To these other facul- 
 ties his befogged mind gave quick response. To 
 Hell with the tramcar, papers or no papers, 
 pink or blue. Also, although not quite so 
 emphatically, he relinquished all thoughts of 
 arriving at the Gare du Nord, and of finding 
 a train to take him home to his province, where 
 his wife lived. The reasons that made him de- 
 [104] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 sire his wife, were quite satisfied with the gentle 
 pressure on his arm. Thus it happened that 
 big Maubert, shaggy and dirty and drunk, 
 reehng down the rue de la Gaiete, very sudden- 
 ly gave up all idea of finding his way to his 
 province in the interior. 
 
 Never mind about those three days in Paris. 
 Maubert was quite sober when he got on the 
 train again at Montparnasse. He did not re- 
 gret his larger vacation. He had had a very 
 good permission, take it all in all. 
 
 III. 
 
 At about the time that Maubert found him- 
 self mobilised and summoned into the reserves, 
 a further mobilisation of subjects of the 
 French Empire was taking place in certain 
 little known, outlying dominions of the "Em- 
 pire." I should have said Republic or even 
 Democracy. The result, however, is all the 
 same. In certain outlying portions of the 
 mighty Empire or Republic or Democracy, as 
 you will, further mobiHsation of French sub- 
 jects was taking place, although in these outly- 
 ing dominions the forces were not mobilised but 
 
 [105] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 volunteered. That is to say, the headsman or 
 chief of a certain village, lying somewhere be- 
 tween the Equator and ten degrees North lati- 
 tude, was requested by those in authority to fur- 
 nish so many volunteers. The word being thus 
 passed round, volunteers presented themselves, 
 voluntarily. Among them was Ouk. Ouk 
 knew, having been so informed by the heads- 
 man of his village, that failure to respond to 
 this opportunity meant a voluntary sojourn in 
 the jungle. Ouk hated the jungle. All his 
 life he had lived in terror of it, of the evil forces 
 of the jungle, strangling and venomous, there- 
 fore he did not wish to take refuge amongst 
 them, for he knew them well. Of the two al-^ 
 tematives, the risks of civilization seemed pref- 
 erable. Civilization was an unknown quantity, 
 whereas the jungle was familiar to himself and 
 his ancestors, and the fear transmitted by his 
 ancestors was firmly emplanted in his mind. 
 Therefore he had no special desire to sojourn 
 amongst the mighty forces of the forest, which 
 he knew to be overwhelming. At that time, he 
 did not know that the forces of civilization were 
 equally sinister, equally overwhelming. All 
 his belated brain knew, was that if he failed to 
 [106] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 answer the call of those in authority, he must 
 take refuge in the forests. Which was sure 
 death. It was sure death to wander defence- 
 less, unarmed, in the twilight gloom of noon 
 day, enveloped by dense overgrowth, avoiding 
 venomous serpents and vile stinging insects by 
 day, and crouching by night from man-eating 
 tigers. It presented therefore, no pleasant al- 
 ternative — ^no free wandering amidst beautiful, 
 tropical trees and vines heavy with luscious 
 fruits — there would be no drinking from run- 
 ning streams in pleasant, sunlit clearings. Ouk 
 knew the jungle, and as the alternative was 
 civilization, he chose civilization which he did 
 not yet know. Therefore he freely offered 
 himself one evening, coming from his native 
 village attired in a gay sarong, a peaked hat, 
 and nothing more. He entered a camp, where 
 he found himself in company with other volun- 
 teers, pressed into the service of civilization by 
 the same pressure that had so appealed to him- 
 self. There were several hundred of them in this 
 camp, all learning the ways of Europe, and 
 learning with difficulty and pain. The most 
 painful thing, perhaps, were the coarse leather 
 shoes they were obliged to wear. Ouk's feet 
 
 [107] 
 
CIVILIXATION 
 
 had been accustomed to being bare — clad, on 
 extreme occasions, with pliant straw sandals. 
 He garbed them now, according to instruc- 
 tions, in hard, coarse leather shoes, furnished 
 by those in authority, which they told him 
 would do much to protect his sensitive feet 
 against the cold of a French winter. Ouk had 
 no ideas as to the rigours of a French winter, 
 but the heavy shoes were exceedingly painful. 
 In exchange for his gay sarong, they gave him 
 a thick, ill fitting suit of khaki flannel, in which 
 he smothered, but this, they likewise explained 
 to him, would do much to protect him from 
 the inclemency of French weather. Thus 
 wound up and bound up, and suffering 
 mightily in the garb of European civilization, 
 Ouk gave himself up to learn hov.- to protect 
 it. The alternative to this decision, being as 
 we have said, an alternative that he could not 
 bring himself to face. 
 
 Three months of training being accom- 
 plished, Ouk and his companions were by that 
 time fitted to go forth for the protection of 
 great ideals. They were the humble defenders 
 of these ideals, and from time to time the news- 
 papers spoke in glowing terms, of their senti- 
 [108] 
 
CIYILIZATION 
 
 mental, clamorous wish to defend them. Even 
 in these remote, unknown regions, somewhere 
 between the Equator and ten degrees North 
 latitude, volunteers were pressing forward to 
 uphold the high traditions of their masters. 
 Ouk and his companions knew nothing of these 
 sonoroi ;, ringing phrases in the papers. They 
 knew only of the alternative, the jungle. Time 
 came and the day came when they were all 
 ushered forth from their training camp, packed 
 into a big junk, and released into the stormy 
 tossings of the harbour, there to await the ar- 
 rival of the French Mail, that was to convey 
 them to Europe. The sun beat down hot upon 
 them, in their unaccustomed shoes and khaki, 
 the harbour waves tossed violently, and the 
 French Mail was late. Eventually it arrived, 
 however, and they all scrambled aboard, pass- 
 ing along a narrow gangplank from which four 
 of them slipped and were drowned in the sea. 
 But four out of five hundred was a small mat- 
 ter, quite insignificant. 
 
 When the French Mail arrived at Saigon, 
 Ouk was able to replenish his supply of betel 
 nut and sirra leaves, buying them from coolies 
 in bobbing sampans, which sampans had been 
 
 [109] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 allowed to tie themselves to the other side of 
 the steamer. At Singapore also he bought 
 himself more betel nut and sirra leaves, but 
 after leaving Singapore he was unable to re- 
 plenish his stock, and consequently suffered. 
 Every one with him, in that great company of 
 volunteers, also suffered. It was an unexpected 
 deprivation. The ship ploughed along, how- 
 ever, the officers taking small notice of Ouk and 
 his kind — indeed, they only referred to Ouk 
 by number, for no one of those in authority 
 could possibly remember the outlandish names 
 of these heathen. Nor did their names greatly 
 matter- 
 Time passed, the long voyage was over, and 
 Ouk landed at Marseilles. In course of time 
 he found himself placed in a small town in one 
 of the provinces, the very town from which 
 Maubert had been released to go to the Front. 
 Thus it happened that there were as many 
 men in that town as had been taken away from 
 it, only the colour and the race of the men had 
 changed. The nationality of all of them, how- 
 ever, was the same — they were all subjects of 
 the mighty French Empire or Democracy, 
 and in France race prejudice is practically nil. 
 [110] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Therefore Ouk, who worked in a munition fac- 
 tory, found himself regarded with curiosity 
 and with interest, though not with prejudice. 
 Thus it happened that Madame Maubert 
 found herself gazing at Ouk one evening, 
 from behind the safe security of her zinc 
 covered bar. Curiosity and interest were in 
 her soul, but no particular sense of racial su- 
 periority. Ouk and some companions, speak- 
 ing together in heathen jargon, were seated 
 comfortably at one of the little yellow tables 
 of the cafe, learning to drink wine in place of 
 the betel nut of which they had been deprived. 
 All through the day they worked in one of the 
 big factories, but in the evenings they were 
 free, and able to mix with civilization and be- 
 come acquainted with it. And they became 
 acquainted with it in the bar of Madame Mau- 
 bert, who served them with yellow wine, and 
 who watched, from her safe place behind the 
 zinc covered counter, the effect of yellow wine 
 upon yellow bodies which presumably con- 
 tained yellow souls — ^if any. 
 
 AH this made its impression upon Ouk. All 
 this enforced labour and civihzation and unac- 
 customed wine. So it happened that one eve- 
 
 [111] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ning Ouk remained alone in the bar after his 
 companions had gone, and he came close up to 
 the zinc covered counter behind which was 
 seated Madame Maubert, and he regarded her 
 steadily. She too, regarded him steadily, and 
 beheld in his slim, upright figure something 
 which attracted her. And Ouk beheld in 
 Madame Maubert something which attracted 
 him. Seated upon her high stool on the other 
 side of the counter, she towered above him, but 
 he felt no awe of her, no sense of her superi- 
 ority. True, she looked somewhat older than 
 the girls in his village, but on the other hand, 
 she had a pink and white skin, and Ouk had 
 not yet come in contact with a pink and white 
 skin. Nor had Madame Maubert ever seen, 
 close to, the shining, beautiful skin of a young 
 Oriental. After all, were they not both sub- 
 jects of the same great nation, were they not 
 both living and sacrificing themselves for the 
 preservation of the same ideals? Madame 
 Maubert had given up her man. Ouk had 
 given up — heaven knows what — the jungle! 
 Anyway, such being the effect of yellow wine 
 upon Ouk, and such being the effect of Ouk 
 on Madame Maubert, they both leaned their 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 elbows upon opposite sides of the zinc counter 
 that evening and looked at each other. For a 
 whole year Madame Maubert's husband had 
 been away from her, and for nearly a whole 
 year Ouk had been away from the women of 
 his kind, and suddenly they realised, gazing at 
 each other from opposite sides of the zinc 
 covered bar, that Civilization claimed them. 
 Each had a duty to perform towards its fur- 
 therance and enhancement. 
 
 TVi 
 
 Let us now go back to Mauberf, standing 
 for long months within his straw covered hut, 
 or standing in the roadway in front of it, de- 
 manding passports. Every day, for many 
 months past, he remembered his misspent per- 
 mission and cursed the way he had passed it. 
 Passed it in so futile a manner. Things might 
 have been so different. His companions often 
 chaffed him about it, chaffed him rudely. For 
 he had never seen fit to tell them that he had 
 not gone down to his home in the provinces, 
 as they thought he had, but had been ensnared 
 by some woman in Paris who had pulled him 
 [113] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 away from a passing tram on the rue de la 
 Gaiete. One day the vaguemestre brought 
 him a letter. He was very dizzy when he read 
 it. Everything swam round. Rage and re- 
 lief combated together in his limited brain. 
 Rage and relief — ^rage and relief! He could 
 take his letter to the authorities and demand 
 his release — or 
 
 For now he had five children, had Maubert. 
 No one would question it. In his hand lay the 
 letter of his wife. Five children. The fifth 
 just born. That meant release from the serv- 
 ice of his country. She said she was sorry. 
 That she had done it for him. He would un- 
 derstand. But Maubert did not understand. 
 He remembered his misspent permission, and 
 the thought of it nauseated him. She, too. 
 The thought of it nauseated him. Certainly 
 he did not understand. 
 
 On the other hand, the authorities had on 
 their books the date of his permission. He 
 looked again at the letter of his wife. The 
 dates coincided admirably. He had but to go 
 to his superior officer and show him the let- 
 ter of his wife, announcing the birth of their" 
 fifth child. Then he would be free. Free 
 , [114] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 from the service of his country, the hated serv- 
 ice, the examining of passports presented by 
 a rushing General, by a rushing ambulance, 
 by some rushing motor that was perhaps car- 
 rying a spy. 
 
 He so hated it all. But now, more than 
 anything else, he hated his wife. He would 
 accept his release and go home and kill her. 
 He wouldn't be free any more if he did that, 
 however. He argued it out with himself. So 
 he couldn't kill her. He must accept it. If 
 he accepted his release from the service of his 
 country, he must accept it on her terms. He 
 spent a long day in the rain and the wind, 
 thinking it out. But he thought it out at last. 
 He would accept her terms, obtain his release, 
 go home and see — and then decide. 
 
 He told his Colonel about it, and his Colonel 
 chaffed him, and looked over some papers, and 
 finally set in motion the mechanism by which 
 he was finally set free from the service of his 
 country. It took some weeks before this was 
 accomphshed, but it was finally done. And 
 when he arrived in Paris, coming down from 
 his post in the First Zone of the Armies, he 
 was painfully sober. No more wine that day 
 [115] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 for him. No more wine, bought at the es- 
 taminet before he left, oi; bought during the 
 long journey down to Paris. No more zig- 
 zagging up the rue de la Gaiete. He found 
 the Metro entrance at the exit of the Gare 
 Montparnasse, took the train, and arrived, 
 shortly afterwards, at the Gare du Nord, very 
 sober. Very sober and angry. 
 
 And when he reached his home in the prov- 
 inces, he was stiU sober and still angry. Nor 
 did he know what he should do. He did not 
 know whether he should kill his wife or not. 
 If he did, he must go back to the Front. And 
 he hated the Front. He hated his duties, sen- 
 try duty, in the First Zone of the Armies. He 
 could not report to his Colonel again, and say, 
 "Give me back my sentry box — let me serve 
 my country — that fifth child is not mine!" He 
 was in a tight place, surely. But at his home, 
 his mood changed, his wife was very gentle. 
 She said she had been wrong. 
 
 "Ouk is dead," she said. "All those poor 
 little men who come from the Tropics die very 
 soon in our cold, damp weather. They cannot 
 stand it. The khaki flannels we give them do 
 not warm them. There is not much wool in 
 [116] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 them. The cold penetrates into their bones. 
 They catch cold and die, all of them, sooner or 
 later. It is an extravagance, importing 
 them." 
 
 Therefore he was moUified. "For your 
 sake," said his wife. Maubert looked down at 
 the fifth child lying in its cradle. The child 
 that brought him release from the service of 
 his country — release from sentry duty, from 
 looking at hastily shoved out, unintelligible 
 passports. 
 
 "For your sake," repeated his wife, slipping 
 her arm through his arm. "Very well," said 
 Maubert stifily. All the same, he thought to 
 himself, the child certainly looks like a Chi- 
 nese. 
 
 [117] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING; 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 They say out here, that one can never un- 
 derstand the native mind and its workings. So 
 primitive are they, these quiet, gentle, hrown- 
 skinned men and women, crouching over their 
 compound fires in the evening, lazily driving 
 the lumbering buffaloes in the rice fields, liv- 
 ing their facile life, here on the edge of the jun- 
 gle. So primitive are they, these gentle, sim- 
 ple forest people. 
 
 In the towns — oh, but they are not made 
 for the towns, they are so strangely out of 
 place in the towns which the foreigner has con- 
 trived for himself on the borders of their 
 brown, sluggish rivers, towns which he has cre- 
 ated by pushing backward for a little the jun- 
 gle, while he builds his pink and yellow bunga- 
 lows beneath the palm trees, and spaces them 
 between the banana trees, along straight 
 tracks which he calls roads. Wide, red roads, 
 which the natives have made under his direc- 
 [121] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tion, and deep, cool bungalows, which the na- 
 tives have made under his direction. Alto- 
 gether, they are his towns, the foreigners' 
 towns, and he has constructed them so that they 
 may remind him of his home, ten thousand 
 miles across the world. 
 
 It is not necessary to try to fancy the na- 
 tives in these foreign towns. They mean noth- 
 ing to him, and are far distant from his ten- 
 dencies and desires. His own villages are dif- 
 ferent — thatched huts, erected on bamboo 
 piles, roofed with palm leaves. They cluster 
 close together along the winding brown rivers, 
 on the edge of the jungle. Mounted very 
 high on their stilts of bamboo, crowding each 
 other very close together, compound touching 
 compound for the sake of companionship and 
 safety. Safety from the wild beasts of the 
 forests, those that cry by night, and howl and 
 prowl and kill ; safety from the serpents, whose 
 sting is death, shelter, protection, from all the 
 dark, lurking dangers of the jungle — the evil, 
 mighty forests, at whose edge, between it and 
 the winding yellow rivers, they build them- 
 selves their homes. Yes, but life is very easy 
 here, just the same. A little stirring of the 
 [122] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 rich earth in the clearings, and food springs 
 forth. A httle paddling up the stream or 
 down, in a pirogue or a sampan, a net strung 
 across the sluggish waters, and there is food 
 again. A little wading in shallow, sunlit 
 pools, a swift strike with a trident, and a fish 
 is caught. And fruit hangs heavy from the 
 trees. Life is very easy in these countries. 
 And with the coming of the sudden sunset of 
 the Tropics, the evening fires are hghted in the 
 compounds and there is gathering together, 
 with song and laughter, rest and ease. So as 
 life is very facile in the jungle, love of money 
 is unknown. Why money — ^what can it mean? 
 Why toil for something which one has no use 
 for, cannot spend? Just enough, perhaps, to 
 bargain with the Vhite man for some simple 
 need — to buy a water buffalo, maybe, for 
 ploughing in the rice fields. No more than, 
 that — ^it's not needed. And the very little 
 coins, the very, very little coins, two dozen of 
 them making up the white man's penny, just 
 enough of these left over to stick upon the lips 
 of Buddha, at the corners, with a Httle gum. 
 Thus a prayer to Buddha, and the offering of 
 a little coin, stuck with resin to the god's lips, 
 [123] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 as an offering. That is all. Life is very sim- 
 ple, living in one's skin. 
 
 I have said all this so that you might under- 
 stand. Only, remember, no one understands, 
 quite, the workings of the savage mind. And 
 these of whom I write are gentle savages, and 
 their way of life is simple, primitive and crude. 
 Only, upon contact with the white man, some 
 of this has been obliged to wear off a little. 
 They have had to become adaptive, to assume 
 a little polish, as it were. But at heart, after 
 these many years of contact, they are still sim- 
 ple. They are mindless, gentle, squatting 
 bare backed in the shade, chewing, spitting, 
 betel nut. Chewing as the ox chews, thinking 
 as the ox thinks. Gentle brown men and 
 women, touching the edge of the most refined 
 civilization of the western world. 
 
 The tale jerks here — ^why shouldn't it? The 
 Lieutenant told me this bit of it himself — he 
 lives in the foreigners' town, and keeps order 
 there. There was a revolt last year. But 
 that is too dignified a word, it assumes too 
 much, it assumes something that there never 
 was. For revolt signifies organisation, and 
 there wasn't any. It signifies a general un- 
 [124] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 derstanding, and there wasn't any. It signi- 
 fies great numbers involved, and there were 
 no great numbers. How could there have 
 been any of these things, said the Lieutenant, 
 among a scattered people, scattered through 
 the jungle, on the edges of the warm, mighty 
 forests, at the headwaters of the great wind- 
 ing rivers which penetrate inland for a thou- 
 sand miles. No, it was in no sense a revolt, 
 which is too strong a word. They had no or- 
 ganisation, they could not communicate with 
 each other, had they wished. Distances were 
 great, and they could not read or write. They 
 had never been molested — ^never schooled. It 
 was better so. Education is no good to a 
 squatter in the shade. No, it was rather an 
 uprising of a handful of them in the town of 
 the white man, the town of red earth streets, 
 with pink and yellow bungalows, cool and shel- 
 tered under spreading palms. The town where 
 many foreigners lived, who walked about list- 
 lessly in their white linen clothes, ghastly pale, 
 with dark rings beneath their eyes, who stifled 
 in the heat and thought of Home, ten thousand 
 miles away. It all happened suddenly, no 
 one knows how or why. But one morning, 
 [125] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 just after the sun rose in his red, burning 
 splendour, there crept into the town a few hun- 
 dred men. They came in by this red street, 
 with the statue of the Bishop at the top — ^the 
 bronze statue of the Bishop who had lived and 
 worked and died here years ago. They came 
 by the red street leading past the bazaar, the 
 model market, fashioned, with improvements, 
 like the one at home. They came by the red 
 street leading past the Botanical Garden, the 
 gardens where at the close of scorching days 
 the women of the white man, ghastly white, 
 used to drive before sunset, to breathe a little 
 after the stifling day. They came along the 
 quais, where the white man's ships found har- 
 bour. Altogether, creeping in on many roads, 
 coming in their fours and fives, they made 
 about three hundred. And they were in re- 
 volt, if you please, against the representatives 
 of the most refined civilization of the western 
 world! Just three hundred, no more. Not a 
 ripple of it, apparently, spread backwards to 
 the jungle, to the millions inland, in the for- 
 ests. 
 
 What happened? Oh, it was all over in an 
 hour! The Lieutenant heard them coming — 
 [126] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 his orderly ran in with the word — and he was 
 out in an instant with eight men. Eight sol- 
 diers armed with rifles. It was quite amusing. 
 And opposed to them, that mob, in their 
 peaked hats, in their loin cloths or their 
 sarongs, bare to waist as usual. Poor fools! 
 Fancy — not a gun among them! They 
 thought they were invisible! The geomancer 
 had told them that, and they believed him. 
 Carried at their head a flag, some outlandish, 
 homemade thing, with unknown characters 
 upon it. WeU, it was all over in a moment — 
 those eight men armed with guns saw to that. 
 Short work — thirty wounded, fourteen killed. 
 The rest scattered, but before the day was out 
 they had them — ^had them in two hours, for a 
 fact. All disarmed, and the Lieutenant had 
 their weapons. Come to see them at his 
 bungalow, if we'd time? Interesting lot of 
 trophies, most unique collection. Quite un- 
 equalled. Homemade spears, forged and 
 hammered, stuck on bamboo poles. Home- 
 made swords, good blades, too, for all their 
 crudeness. Must have taken months to make 
 them, fashioned slyly, on the quiet. Killing 
 weapons, meant to kill. Swords like the Cru- 
 [127] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 saders, only cased in bamboo scabbards. 
 Funny lot — come to see them if we'd time. 
 Nothing like it, a unique collection. And the 
 flag — ^red cotton flag, all blood stained, with 
 some device in corner, just barbaric. Poor 
 fools! Flag pathetic? Pathetic? Heavens, 
 no! 
 
 Well, they stamped it out very thoroughly, 
 at four o'clock that afternoon. It finished at 
 the race course, for there is always a race course 
 where the white man rules. Word went round, 
 as it always goes round in times like this, and 
 just before sunset the whole native population 
 was out to see the white man's method. No 
 one hindered them or feared them, for appar- 
 parently they had no hand in this uprising, 
 and moreover, were unarmed. They were full 
 of curiosity to see what they should see. Si- 
 lently they trooped out in hundreds through 
 the shady, palm bordered, red streets of the 
 town, padding barefoot past the sheltered 
 bungalows, past the bronze statue of the 
 Bishop, out to the edge of the town. All the 
 Tropics was there, moving silently, flowing 
 gently, in their hundreds, to the race course. 
 Dark skins, yellow skins, eyes straight, eyes 
 [128] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 slanting, black hair cut short, or worn in pig- 
 tails, or in top knots, or in chignons; bare 
 bodies, bare legs, or legs clothed in brilliant 
 sarongs or in flapping pyjamas — all the cos- 
 tumes of all the countries bordering the Seven 
 Seas streamed outward from the town, very 
 silent. And as the sun blazed low to his setting^ 
 all the Tropics waited to see what the white 
 man would do. 
 
 They did it very cleverly, the white men. 
 For they called upon the native troops to do it 
 for them, to see if they were loyal. There were 
 thirty-four prisoners all told, and they walked 
 along with hands bound behind them, looking 
 very stupid. Even as they walked along, at 
 that moment the wife of the Lieutenant was 
 showing their crude spears to friends — she 
 gave tea to her friends in the pink bungalow, 
 and exhibited the captured weapons, but the 
 Lieutenant was not there — ^he was at the race 
 course, supervising. 
 
 They led them forward in groups of six, and, 
 they were faced by six native soldiers armed 
 with rifles. And just behind the six native 
 soldiers stood six soldiers of the white troops, 
 also with rifles. And when the word was given 
 [129] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 to fire, if the native troops had not fired upon 
 their brothers, the white troops would have 
 fired upon both. It was cleverly managed, and 
 very well arranged. But there was no hitch. 
 Six times the native troops fiired upon batches 
 of naked, kneeling men, and six times the 
 white soldiers stood behind them vsdth raised 
 rifles, in case of hesitation. Only the crack of 
 the rifles broke the stillness. The dense crowd 
 of natives gathered close, standing by in 
 silence. Giving no sign, they watched the ret- 
 ribution of the white man. The sun beat 
 down upon them, in their wide hats, their semi- 
 nakedness, attired in their sombre or brilliant 
 cotton skirts. When it was over, they dis- 
 persed as quietly as they had gathered. The 
 silent crowds walked back from the race course, 
 the pleasure ground of the dominant race, and 
 drifted along the red streets of the town, back 
 again to the holes and burrows from which 
 they had come. 
 
 II 
 
 'A year later, nearly. The Lieutenant who 
 had quelled the uprising, with a handful of men 
 armed with rifles of the latest device, as against 
 [130] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 three hundred natives armed with spears, had 
 been decorated and was very proud. He also 
 continued to exhibit his unique collection of 
 arms to all comers, when the mail boats came 
 in. Nor did he see their pathos. And in the 
 jungles of the interior, where most of them 
 lived, the natives never knew of the existence 
 of the little red flag, and would not have un- 
 derstood if they had been told. Why? The 
 white men were kind and considerate. Easy 
 and indulgent masters who in no wise inter- 
 fered with life as hved in the jungle. But with 
 the native troops who had fired upon their 
 brothers it was different. 
 
 Thus it happened that the small coastwise 
 steamer, going her usual cruise among the is- 
 lands and along the coast of one of the Seven 
 Seas, carried unusual freight. Being a very 
 little boat, with a light cargo, she was some- 
 times severely buffeted by the northeast mon- 
 soon, which was blowing at that time of the 
 year. On these days, when the monsoon was 
 strongest, the few passengers she carried were 
 not comfortable. On other days, when she 
 found calm weather among the islands, it was 
 very pleasant. She dropped anchor from time 
 
 [131] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 to time in little bays bordered with cocoanut 
 tree, and from the bays emerged sampans with 
 vivid painted eyes on their prows, seeking out 
 the steamer and the bales of rice she carried, or 
 the mails. The mails, consisting of half a 
 dozen letters for each port, were tied up in big 
 canvas sacks, sealed with big government seals, 
 and the white men who lived on these remote, 
 desert islands, would come themselves to fetch 
 them. They paddled themselves to the steamer 
 in pirogues or in sampans, white faced, anaemic, 
 apathetic, devoid of vitality. The great, over- 
 whelming heat of the Tropics, the isolation of 
 life, in vmknown islands in the southern seas, 
 makes one like that. Yet they were "making 
 money" on their island plantations of rubber 
 or cocoanut, or expecting to make it. It takes 
 seven years of isolation in the tropic seas, after 
 one has started a plantation — and even then, 
 
 many things may happen 
 
 So the little steamer stopped here and there, 
 at little, unknown bays, at places not men- 
 tioned in the guide books, and from the beauti- 
 ful, desolate islands came out sampans and 
 junks, with the lonely figure of a white man 
 sitting despondent among the naked rowers, 
 [132] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 eager to get his letters from home. It was his 
 only eagerness, but very dull and listless at 
 that. At night, the islands loomed large and 
 mysterious in the darkness, whUe now and 
 then a single ray of hght from some light 
 house, gleaming from some lost, mysterious 
 island of the southern seas, beamed with a 
 curious constancy. There were dangerous 
 rocks, sunken reefs. And always the soft 
 wind blew, the soft, enervating wind of the 
 Tropics. 
 
 On the fore part of the little steamer, that 
 wound its way with infinite care, slowly, 
 among the sunken rocks, the shoals and sand- 
 bars, sat a company of fifty men. Natives, such 
 as you might see back there in the jungle, or 
 harnessed to the needs of civilization, bearing 
 the white man in rickshaws along the red 
 streets of the little town. These, however, were 
 native troops — ^the rickshaw runner used in 
 another way. They were handcuffed together, 
 sitting in pairs on the main deck. In the soft, 
 moist wind, they eat rice together, with their 
 free hands, out of the same bowl. Very dirty 
 little prisoners, clad in khaki, disarmed, 
 chained together in pairs. A canvas was 
 [133] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 stretched over that part of the deck, which 
 sheltered them from the glaring sun, and 
 prevented the odour of them from rising to the 
 bridge, a little way above, where stood the 
 Captain in yellow crepe pyjamas. For they 
 were dirty, handcuffed together like that, un- 
 exercised, unwashed. They would be put ashore 
 in three days, however, to work on the roads, 
 government roads. Notoriously good roads, 
 the colony has too. Their offense? Grave 
 enough. With the European world at war, 
 this colony, like those of all the other nations, 
 had called upon its native troops. The native 
 troops had been loyal, had responded, had 
 volunteered to go when told they must. Proof 
 of that? Forty thousand of them at the mo- 
 ment helping in this devastating war. It was 
 
 a good record — ^it spoke well 
 
 Only this handful had refused. Refused ab- 
 solutely, flagrantly defiant. Just this little 
 group, out of all the thousands. So they were 
 being sent off somewhere, handcuffed, to make 
 roads. Prisoners for three years to make roads, 
 useless roads that led nowhere. Good roads, 
 excellent, for traffic that never was. Some 
 said they were the soldiers who had been forced 
 [134] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 to kill their brothers a while back — after that 
 paltry revolution. One didn't know. They 
 are stupid, these natives. Chewing betel nut 
 all day, their mouths a red, bloody gash across 
 their faces. 
 
 The ship stopped finally in some bay. Then 
 a big, unwieldy junk put out from shore, and 
 tacked back and forth, for two hours, against 
 a strong head wind, coming to rest finally 
 against the steamer's side. Two big iron rods 
 were put out, with a padlock at each end, and 
 places for twenty-five feet to be locked in. 
 Then came European guards, with rifles, and 
 revolvers in big leather cases hanging at their 
 sides. The prisoners were very docile, but it 
 was well to take precautions. When all was 
 ready, the prisoners filed out slowly and with 
 difficulty, because of their chains, and de- 
 scended the gangway ladder to the imcouth 
 junk, with its painted, staring eyes. After 
 that, the junk slowly detached itself from the 
 ship, unrolled its ragged matting sails, and 
 made towards the mainland with the docile 
 cargo. 
 
 The third passenger leaned over the rail. 
 A sweet breeze blew in from the island, a 
 [135] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 scented breeze, laden with the heavy scents of 
 the Tropics. For three years, he said, they 
 would labour at the futile roads, the roads 
 that led nowhere. Really, commented the third 
 passenger, it was impossible to understand the 
 Oriental mind. They had chosen this — ^this 
 isolation, this cutting off from home and 
 friends, rather then go to Europe to serve the 
 race that had treated them so well. Afraid? 
 Oh, no — too ignorant to be afraid. Brave 
 enough when it came to that — just obstinate., 
 Just refused to serve, to do as they were told. 
 Refused to serve, to fight for the race that had 
 treated them so well, by and large, take it all 
 in all. That had built them towns and har- 
 bours, brought in ships and trade — ^had done 
 everything, according to best western stand- 
 ards. It was incomprehensible — ^truly it was 
 diflficult to fathom the Oriental mind! The 
 revolt a year ago? Oh, nothing! 
 
 The big junk with the staring eyes carried 
 them off, the supine, listless prisoners, hand- 
 cuffed together, foot-locked to an iron bar. 
 They must build roads for three years. Some- 
 where at the back of those slow minds was a 
 memory of the race course, of the brothers 
 [136] 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 they had slain. Perhaps. Who knows. But 
 the Occidental mind does not understand the 
 Oriental mind, and it was good to be rid of 
 them, dirty little creatures, who smelled so 
 bad under the awning of the main deck. 
 
 The anchor chain wound in, grating link on 
 link. The soft, sweet wind blew outward from 
 the cocoanut trees, from the scented earth of 
 the island. The third passenger watched the 
 junk disappear in the shadows of the warm 
 night, then he went below to get another drink. 
 
 [137] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
VI 
 
 PEISONEKS 
 
 MercieE was writing his report for the day. 
 He sat at a rattan table, covered with a disor- 
 derly array of papers, ledgers and note books 
 of various sorts, and from time to time made 
 calculations on the back of an old envelope. 
 He finally finished his work, and pushing back 
 his chair, lighted a cigarette. Unconsciously, 
 he measured time by cigarettes. One cigarette, 
 and he would begin work. One cigarette 
 and he would start on the first paragraph. One 
 cigarette, to rest after the first paragraph be- 
 fore beginning the second, and so on. It was 
 early in the morning, but not early for a morn- 
 ing in the Tropics. Already the sun was creep- 
 ing over the edge of the deep, palm-shaded 
 verandah, making its way slowly across the 
 wooden floor, till it would reach him, at his 
 table, in a very short time. And as it slowly 
 crept along, a brilliant line of light, so the heat 
 [141] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 increased, the moist, stagnant heat, from which 
 there was no escape. Outside some one was 
 pulhng the punkah rope, and the great leaves 
 of hnen, attached to heavy teak poles, swayed 
 back and forth over his head, stirring slightly 
 the dense, humid atmosphere. 
 
 Mercier was a young man, not over thirty. 
 He had come out to the East three years ago, 
 to a minor official post in the Penal Settlement, 
 glad of a soft position, of easy work, of an op-^ 
 portunity to see life in the Tropics. At a port 
 on the mainland, he transshipped from the liner 
 to a little steamer, which two days later 
 dropped anchor in the blue bay of his future 
 home. At that time, he was conscious of being 
 intensely pleased at the picture spread before 
 him. Long ago, in boyhood, he had cherished 
 romantic dreams of the Tropics, of islands in 
 southern seas, of unknown, mysterious life set 
 in gorgeous, remote setting. It had all ap- 
 pealed to his fancy, and then suddenly, after 
 many long years, sordid, difficult years, the op- 
 portunity had come for the realisation of his 
 dreams. He had obtained a post as minor of- 
 ficial in one of the colonies of his country — 
 over-seas in the Far East— and he gladly gave 
 [142] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 up his dull, routine life at home, and came out 
 to the adventures that awaited him. The is- 
 land, as he saw it for the first time, was beauti- 
 ful. Steep hiUs, rocky and mountainous, rose 
 precipitately out of the blue waters, and the 
 rising sun glinted upon the topmost peaks 
 of the hUls and threw their deep shadows down 
 upon the bay, and upon the group of yellow 
 stucco bungalows that clustered together upon 
 the edge of the water, upon the narrow strip 
 of land lying between the sea and the sheer 
 sides of the backing mountains. The bay was 
 a crescent, almost closed, and a coral reef ran 
 in an encircling sweep from the headland be- 
 yond, and the translucent, sparkling waters of 
 the harbour seemed beautiful beyond belief. 
 His heart beat wildly when for the first time 
 he beheld his new home — it exceeded in beauty 
 anything that he had ever dreamed of. What 
 mattered it whether or no it was a Penal Set- 
 tlement for one of the great, outlying colonies 
 of his mother coxuitry, two days' sail from the 
 nearest port on the mainland, the port itself 
 ten thousand miles from home. It was beauti- 
 ful to look upon — ^glorious to look upon, and 
 it was glorious to think that the next few years 
 [143] 
 
CIVILIJZATIOlSr 
 
 of his life would be spent amidst such sur- 
 roundings. The captain of the coasting steamer 
 told him it would be lonely — ^he laughed at the 
 idea. How could one be lonely amidst such 
 beauty as that ! His thirsty soul craved beauty, 
 and here it was before him, marvellous, com- 
 plete, the island a gem sparkling in the sun-, 
 light, veiled in the shadow of an early morning. 
 Lying somewhere, all this beauty, one degree 
 north or south of the Equator! 
 
 No, assuredly, he would not be lonely! Were 
 there not many families on the island, the of- 
 ficials and their families, a good ten or fifteen 
 of them? Besides, there was his work. He' 
 knew nothing of his work, of his duties. But 
 in connection with the prisoners, of course — 
 and there were fifteen hundred prisoners, they 
 told him, concentrated on those few square 
 miles of island, off somewhere in the Southern 
 Seas, a few miles north or south of the Equator. 
 He was anxious to see the prisoners, the unruly 
 ones of the colony. Strange types they would 
 appear to his conventional, sophisticated eyes. 
 He saw them in imagination — yellow skins, 
 brown skins, black skins, picturesque, daring, 
 desperate perhaps. The anchor splashed over- 
 [144] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 board into the shallow water, and the small| 
 steamer drifted on the end of the chain, wait- 
 ing for a boat to come out from shore. With 
 the cessation of the steamer's movement, he 
 felt the heat radiate round him, in an over- 
 powering wave, making him feel rather sick 
 and giddy. Yet it was only six o'clock in the 
 morning. Before the boat arrived from shore, 
 the sun had passed over the highest peak of 
 the mountains and was glaring down with full 
 power upon the cluster of hidden bungalows, 
 the edges and ends of which bungalows pro- 
 truded a little from the shelter of vines and 
 pahn trees. White clad men came down to 
 the beach, and a woman or two appeared on 
 the verandahs, and then disappeared back into 
 the verandahs, while the men came down to the 
 water's edge alone. The rowboat was puUed 
 ashore by strong rowers, dark skinned, brawny 
 men, and as the boat neared the beach, other 
 dark skinned brawny men took a carrying chair| 
 and splashed out to meet the boat, inviting him 
 by gestures to step into the chair and be car- 
 ried ashore. He forgot the heat in the novelty 
 of this new sensation — being carried ashore 
 in a chair, with the clear, transparent water be- 
 [145] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 neath him, and wavy sandsj shell studded, 
 over which the bearers walked slowly, with 
 precision. And then came his first hours on 
 shore. How calmly they had welcomed him, 
 those white faced, pale men, with the deep cir- 
 cles beneath their eyes. They looked at him 
 with envy, it seems, as a being newly come 
 from contact with civilization, and they looked 
 upon him with pity, as a being who had de- 
 liberately chosen to shut himself off from civili- 
 zation, for a period of many years. He was 
 taking the place of one who was going home — ■ 
 and the man was in a desperate hurry to get 
 away. He looked ill, withal he was so fat, 
 for he was very fat and flabby, extraordinarily 
 white, with circles beneath his puffy eyes 
 blacker and more marked than those on the 
 other faces. The departing official shook 
 hands hurriedly with Mercier, and kissed his 
 old companions good-bye hurriedly upon both 
 cheeks, and then hastened into the chair, to 
 get to the rowboat, to get to the steamer as 
 soon as possible. The other officials on the 
 beach commented volubly on his good fortune 
 — ah, but he had the chance! What chance! 
 What luck! What fortune! They themselves 
 [146] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 had no luck, they must remain here how long, 
 ah, who knew how long! They all stood there 
 upon the beach watching the departing one 
 until he reached the steamer, drifting idly at 
 the length of her anchor chain. 
 
 Then they remembered Mercier again, and 
 surrounded him, not eagerly, listlessly, and 
 asked him to the office of the Administrator, 
 to have a cup of champagne. A cup of cham- 
 pagne, at a little after six in the morning. As 
 they walked slowly up the beach, Mercier 
 spoke of the beauty of the place, the ex- 
 traordinary beauty of the island. They seemed 
 not to heed him. They smiled, and reminded 
 him that he was a newcomer, and that such was 
 the feehng of all newcomers and that it would 
 soon pass. And in a body, ten of them, they 
 conducted Mercier to the bureau of the Ad- 
 ministrator, a tired, middle aged men, who 
 shook hands without cordiality, and ordered a 
 boy to bring a tray with a bottle and glasses 
 and mouldy biscuits, and they all sat together 
 and drank without merriment. It was dark in 
 the Administrator's office, for the surround- 
 ing verandah was very wide and deep, and tall 
 bamboos grew close against the edges of the 
 [147] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 railing, and a little way behind the bamboos 
 grew banana trees and travellers' palms, all 
 reaching high into the air and making a thick 
 defence against the sunlight. The stone floor 
 had been freshly sprinkled with water, and the 
 ceiling was high, made of dark teak wood, and 
 it was very dark inside, and damp and rather 
 cool. There was a punkah hanging from the 
 ceiling, but it stood at rest. Its movement had 
 come to make the Administrator nervous. He' 
 was very nervous and restless, turning his head 
 from side to side in quick, sharp jerks, first 
 over one shoulder and then the other, and now 
 and then suddenly bending down to glance un- 
 der the table. Later on, some one explained 
 to Mercier that the Administrator had a pro- 
 found fear of insects, the fierce, crawling, sting- 
 ing things that lived outside under the bam- 
 boos, and that crept in sometimes across the 
 stone paved floor, and bit. Only last week, 
 one of the paroled convicts, working in the 
 settlement, had been bitten by some venomous 
 evil thing, and had died a few hours later. Such 
 accidents were common — one must always be 
 on guard. Most people became used to being 
 on guard, but with the Administrator, the 
 [148] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 thing had become a nightmare. He had been 
 out too long — his nerves were tortured. It was 
 the heat, of course — the stifling, enervating 
 heat. Few could stand it for very long, and 
 the authorities back home must have forgotten 
 to relieve the old man — ^he was such a good ex- 
 ecutive, perhaps they had forgotten on purpose. 
 The sub-officials were changed from time to 
 time, but the old man seemed to have been 
 forgotten. He could not stand it much longer. 
 — that was obvious. 
 
 Mercier went thoughtfully to the bunga- 
 low assigned to him, installed his few meagre 
 possessions, and entered without zest upon his 
 work. Somehow, the keenness had been taken 
 out of him by that hour's conversation in the 
 darkened bureau of the Chief. The weeks 
 passed slowly, but Mercier never regained his 
 enthusiasm. The physical atmosphere tools^ 
 all initiative away. His comrades were list- 
 less beings, always tired, dragging slowly to 
 their daily roimds, and finishing their work 
 early in the morning before the heat became in- 
 tolerable. Then for hours they rested — ^retired 
 to their bungalows or that of a comrade, and 
 rested, to escape the intense heat which never 
 [149] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 varied, winter or summer, although it was 
 a farce to speak of the seasons as winter oi^ 
 summer, except in memory of home. Mercier 
 soon fell in with their ways. He drank a great 
 deal, beginning very early in the morning, and 
 measured time by cigarettes, postponing his 
 duties, such that claimed him, till he had just 
 finished another cigarette. They were cheap 
 and bad, but there was a solace in them, and 
 they whiled away the time. The only joviality 
 about the place came in the evenings, after 
 many cigarettes, which made him nervous, and 
 after very many little glasses of brandy, which 
 unfitted him for work but which were neces- 
 sary to stimulate him for what work he had to 
 do. 
 
 Near the group of bungalows belonging to 
 the officials and to the prison guards, stood the 
 prison building itself, a large, rambling, on^ 
 storej^ed structure, with many windows fitted 
 with iron bars. Here the newcomers were 
 kept, about eight hundred of them, and near- 
 by, in an adjacent compound, were quarters 
 for about seven hundred prisoners out on pa- 
 role, by reason of good conduct. The confined 
 prisoners did not work, being merely confined, 
 [150] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 but those out on parole, on good conduct, and 
 whose terms would soon come to an end, were 
 trusted to work about the island in various 
 capacities. They made the roads — such few 
 as there were. The island was so small that 
 many roads were not required, and since there 
 was no traffic, but little labour was required to 
 keep the roads in repair. They also worked in 
 the rice fields, but, again, there were not many 
 rice fields. It was easier to bring rice from 
 the mainland. There was a herd of water buf- 
 faloes, used for ploughing during the season, 
 and the buffaloes needed some attention, but 
 not much. So the paroled convicts were em- 
 ployed in other ways about the island, in cook- 
 ing for the prisoners, in cleaning the various 
 buildings, and as servants in the households of 
 the officials. Only the most trusted, however,] 
 were given such posts as that. Yet it was 
 necessary to trust many of them, and each of- 
 ficial had a large retinue of servants, for there 
 was little settlement work to be done, and 
 something must be done with the men on, 
 parole, since the prison itself was too small to 
 hold fifteen hundred men under lock and key 
 at the same time. Moreover, these trusted 
 [151] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ones were rather necessary. In the Tropics, 
 work is always done in a small, half-hearted 
 way, by reason of the heat which so soon ex- 
 hausts the vitality, consequently many people 
 are required to perform the smallest task. 
 
 Mercier, therefore, was obliged to accept the 
 life as he found it, and he found it different 
 from the romantic conception which he had 
 formed at home. And he became very listless 
 and demoralised, and the lack of interests of 
 all sorts bored him intolerably. He was not 
 one to find solace in an intellectual life. The 
 bi-monthly call of the supply ship with its 
 stocks of provisions, the unloading of which 
 he must oversee, was the sole outside interestj 
 he had to look forward to. Old newspapers 
 and magazines came with the supply ship, and 
 these were eagerly read, and soon abandoned, 
 and nothing was left but cigarettes and brandy 
 to sustain hitn between whiles. 
 
 On a certain morning, when he had been at 
 the settlement for over a year, he finished his 
 daily report and strolled over to lay it upon 
 the desk in the office of the Administrator. The 
 supply ship was due in that day, and he wan- 
 dered down to the beach to look for her. There 
 [152] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 she was, just dropping anchor. His heart beat 
 a little faster, and he hastened his steps. It 
 was cattle day. Bullocks from the mainland, 
 several hundred miles away, which came once 
 a month for food. He took his boat and rowedj 
 out to the ship, and then directed the work 
 of removing the bullocks. 
 
 It was nasty work. The coolies did it badly. 
 The hatch was opened, and by means of a 
 block and puUey, each bullock was dragged 
 upward by a rope attached to its horns. Kick- 
 ing and struggling, they were swung upwards 
 over the side of the ship and lowered into the 
 lighter below. Sometimes they were swung 
 out too far and landed straddle on the side of 
 the lighter, straddling the rail, kicking and 
 roaring. And sometimes, when the loosely 
 moored lighter drifted away a little from the 
 ship's side, an animal would be lowered be- 
 tween the ship's side and the lighter, and 
 squeezed between the two — so crushed that 
 when it was finally hauled up and lowered 
 safely into the boat, it collapsed in a heap, with 
 blood flowing from its mouth. The coolies did 
 it all very badly — ^they had no system, and as 
 Mercier could not speak to them in their lan- 
 [153] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 guage, he could not direct them properly. Be- 
 sides, he was no organiser himself, and prob- 
 ably could not have directed them properly 
 had he been able to speak to them. All he 
 could do, therefore, was to look on, and let 
 them do it in their own way. Sometimes as 
 an animal was being raised, its horns would 
 break, and it would be lowered with a bleed- 
 ing head, while the coolies stood by and 
 grinned, and considered it a joke. Mercier 
 was still sensitive on some points, and while 
 long ago he had ceased to find any beauty in 
 the island, he was nevertheless disgusted with 
 needless suffering, with stupid, ugly acts. 
 
 There were only twenty cattle to be un- 
 loaded on this day, but it took two hours to 
 transfer them to the lighter, and at the end 
 of that time the tide had fallen so that they 
 must wait for another six or eight hours, in 
 the broiling sun, until the water was high 
 enough for the lighter to approach the land- 
 ing stage, where another block and pulley was 
 rigged. Which meant that later in the day — 
 possibly in the hottest part — Mercier would 
 be obliged to come down again to oversee the 
 work, and to see that it was finished. For the 
 [154] 
 
PEISONERS 
 
 cattle muts be ashore by evening — ^meat was 
 needed for the settlement, and some must be 
 killed for food that night. Mercier was thor- 
 oughly disgusted with his work, with his whole 
 wasted life. Ah, it was a dog's life ! Yet how 
 eagerly he had tried to obtain this post — ^how 
 eagerly he had begged for the chance, pleaded 
 for it, besought the few influential people he 
 knew to obtain it for him. 
 
 On the way back to his bungalow, he passed 
 along the palm grown road, on each side of 
 which were the red and white bungalows, resi- 
 dences of the dozen officials of the island. They 
 were screened by hedges of high growing 
 bushes, bearing brilliant, exotic flowers which 
 gave out a heavy, sweet perfume, and the per- 
 fume hung in clouds, invisible yet tangible, 
 pervading the soft, warm air. How he had 
 dreamed of such perfumes — long ago. Yet how 
 sickening in reality. And how dull they were, 
 the interiors of these sheltered bungalows, how 
 dull and stupid the monotonous life that went 
 on inside them — dejected, weary, useless little 
 rounds of household activity, that went along 
 languorously each day, and led nowhere. It 
 all led nowhere. Within each house was the 
 [155] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 wearied, stupid wife of some petty ofl&cial, and 
 sometimes there were stupid, pallid children 
 as well, tended by convicts on parole. No- 
 where could he turn to find intellectual refresh- 
 ment. The community offered nothing — ^there 
 was no society — ^just the dull daily greetings, 
 the dull, commonplace comments on island 
 doings or not doings, for all lay under the spell 
 of isolation, under the pall of the great, oppres- 
 sive, overwhelming heat. How deadly it all 
 was, the monotonous life, the isolation, the lack 
 of interests and occupation. As he passed 
 along, a frowzy woman in a Mother Hubbard 
 greeted him from a verandah and asked him 
 to enter. Years ago she had come out fresh 
 and blooming, and now she was prematurely 
 aged, fat and stupid — ^more stupid, perhaps, 
 than the rest. Yet somehow, because there was 
 nothing else to do, Mercier pushed open the 
 flimsy bamboo gate, walked up the gravelled 
 path, and flung himself dejectedly upon a 
 chaise longue which was at hand. And the 
 woman talked to him, asked him how many 
 cattle had come over that morning, whether 
 they were yet unloaded, when they would be 
 finally landed and led to the slaughter pens 
 [156] 
 
PRISONEES 
 
 a little way inland. It was all so gross, so ba- 
 nal, yet it was all there was of incident in the 
 day, and most days were still more barren, with 
 not even these paltry events to discuss. And 
 he felt that he was sinking to the level of these 
 people, he who had dreamed of high romance, 
 of the mystery of the Far Eastern Tropics! 
 And this was what it meant — what it had come 
 to! A fat woman in a Mother Hubbard ask- 
 ing him how many bullocks had come in that 
 day, and when they would be ready to kill and 
 eat! 
 
 She clapped together her small, fat hands, 
 and a servant entered, and she ordered grena- 
 dine and soda and liqueurs, and pushed to- 
 wards him a box of cheap cigarettes. Where 
 was her charm? Why had he married her, her 
 husband — who was at the moment in the Ad- 
 ministrator's bureau, compiling useless statis- 
 tics concerning the petty revenues of the prison 
 colony? But he was just like her, in his way. 
 All the men were run to seed, and all their 
 women too. And these were the only women 
 on the island, these worn, pale, bloated wives 
 who led an idle life in the blazing heat. Seven 
 such women, all told. He relapsed into silence, 
 [157] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 and she likewise fell silent, there being noth- 
 ing more to get nor give. They were all gone, 
 intellectually. They had no ideas, nothing ta 
 exchange. So he smoked on, lazily, in silence, 
 feeling the slight stir in his blood caused by 
 the Quinquina. He filled his glass again, and 
 looked forward to the next wave of relaxation. 
 Overhead, the punkah swung slowly, stirring 
 the scented air. These were the scents he had 
 dreamed of, the rich, heavy perfumes of the 
 Tropics. Only it was all so dull! 
 
 The door opened and a little girl entered 
 the verandah, a child of perhaps fourteen. A 
 doomed child. He looked at her languidly,' 
 and continued to look at her, thinking vague 
 thoughts. She was beautiful. Her cotton 
 frock, belted in by some strange arrangement 
 of seashells woven into a girdle, pressed tightly 
 over her young form, revealing clearly the out- 
 line of a childish figure soon ready to bloom 
 into full maturity under these hot rays of 
 vertical sunshine. She would develop soon, 
 even as the native women developed into ma- 
 turity very early. His tired glance rested 
 upon her face. That, too, bore promise of 
 great beauty. The features were fine and reg- 
 [158] 
 
PKISONERS 
 
 ular, singularly wteU fonne^, and the eyes 
 those of a gentle cow, unspeculative, unintelli- 
 gent. She was very white, with the deathlike 
 whiteness of the Tropics, and under the childish 
 eyes were deep, black rings, coming early. He 
 noticed her hands — slender, long, with beauti- 
 ful fingernails — such hands in Paris! And 
 again his roving glance fell lower, and rested 
 upon her bare legs, well formed, well de- 
 veloped, the legs of a young woman. He 
 stirred lightly in his chair. The feet matched 
 the hands — slender, long feet, with long, 
 slender toes. She was wearing native sandals, 
 clumsy wooden sandals, with knobs between 
 the first two toes. Only the knobs were of 
 silver, instead of the usual buttons of boncj 
 or wood. Some one had brought them to her 
 from the mainland, evidently. Well, here she 
 was, a doomed creature, uneducated, growing 
 older, growing into womanhood, with no out- 
 look ahead. Her only companions her duU, 
 stupid mother, and the worn-out wives of the 
 ofiicials — all years older than herself. Or 
 perhaps she depended for companionship 
 upon the children — ^there were a dozen such| 
 about the place, between the ages of two and 
 [159] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 six. And she stood between these two groups, 
 just blooming into womanhood, with her beau- 
 tiful young body, and her atrophied young 
 brain. Her eyes fell shyly under his pene- 
 trating, speculative glances, and a wave of 
 colour rose into her white cheeks. She felt, 
 then, hey? Felt what? 
 
 Mercier leaned forward, with something 
 curious pulsing in his breast. The sort of feel- 
 ing that he had long since forgotten, for there 
 was nothing for such feelings to feed upon, 
 here in his prison. Yet the sensation, vague as 
 it was, seemed to have been recognised, shared 
 for an instant by the young creature beside 
 him. It was rather uncanny. He had heard 
 that idiots or half-witted people were like that. 
 She rose uneasily, placing upon her long, 
 sprawling curls an old sun hat, very dirty, the 
 brim misshapen by frequent wettings of pipe- 
 clay. A servant appeared from behind the 
 far corner of the verandah, an old man, dark 
 skinned, emaciated, clad in a faded red sarong. 
 He was her personal servant, told off to at- 
 tend her. Something must be done for the 
 men on parole, some occupation given them to 
 test their fitness before returning them again 
 [160] 
 
PRISONEES 
 
 to society. As she passed from the verandah, 
 followed by the old black man in his red sa- 
 rong, Mercier felt a strange thrill. Where 
 were they going, those two? 
 
 He turned to the inattentive, vacuous 
 mother. "Your daughter," he began, "is fast 
 growing up. Soon she will be marrying." 
 
 The woman shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "With whom?" she answered. "Who will 
 take her? What dowry can we give her? We 
 cannot even send her to Singapore to be edu- 
 cated. Who will take her — ignorant, unedu- 
 cated — ^without a dot? Besides," she contin- 
 ued eagerly, warmed into a burst of confidence, 
 "you have heard — you have seen — the trouble 
 lies here," and she tapped her forehead sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 And with a sigh she concluded, "We are all 
 prisoners here, every one of us — ^like the rest." 
 
 Mercier rose from the chaise longue, still 
 thinking deeply, still stirred by the vague emo- 
 tion that had called forth an answer from the 
 immature, half-witted child. He had a report 
 to make to the Bureau, and he must be getting 
 on. Later, when the tide turned, and the 
 [161] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 lighter could come against the jetty, he must 
 attend to the cattle. 
 
 He did not linger in the office of the Ad- 
 ministrator, but sent in his report by a waiting 
 boy, and then strolled inland by the road that 
 led past the prison, into the interior of the is- 
 land. On his way he passed the graveyard. 
 It was a melancholy graveyard, containing a 
 few slanting shafts erected to the memory of 
 guards and of one or two officers who had been 
 killed from time to time by prisoners who had 
 run amok. Such uprisings occurred now and 
 then, but seldom. He entered the cemetery, 
 and looked about languidly, reading the names 
 on the stones. Killed, killed, killed. Then he 
 came upon a few who had died naturally. Or 
 was it natural to have died, at the age of thirty, 
 out here on the edge of the world? Yet it 
 was most natural, after all. He himself was 
 nearly ready for the grave, ready because of 
 pure boredom, through pure inertia, quite 
 ready to succumb to the devitalising effect of 
 this life. This hideous life on a desert island. 
 This hideous mockery of life, lived while he 
 was still so young and so vital, and which was 
 reducing him, not slowly but with great pac- 
 [162] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 ing strides, to an inertia to which he must soon 
 succumb. Why didn't the prisoners revolt 
 now, he wondered? He would gladly accept 
 such a way out — gladly offer himself to their 
 knives, or their clubs, or whatever it was they 
 had. Anything that would put an end to him, 
 and land him under a stone in this, forsaken 
 spot. Surely he was no more alive than the 
 dead under those stones. No more dead than 
 the dead. 
 
 He passed out of the gate, swinging on a 
 loose hinge, and in deep meditation walked 
 along the pahn bordered road back of the set- 
 tlement. Soon the last bungalow was left be- 
 hind, even though he walked slowly. Then 
 succeeded the paddy fields, poorly tilled and 
 badly irrigated. There were enough men on^ 
 the island to have done it properly — only what 
 was the use? Who cared — whether they 
 raised their own rice or brought it from the 
 mainland twice a month? It was not a mat- 
 ter to bother about. Water buffaloes, graz- 
 ing by the roadside, raised their heavy heads 
 and stared at him with unspeakable insolence. 
 They were for ploughing the rice fields, but 
 who had the heart to oversee the work? Bet- 
 [163] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ter leave the men squatting in content by the 
 roadside, under the straggly banana trees, than 
 urge them to work. It meant more effort on 
 the part of the officials and effort was so use- 
 less. All so futile and so hopeless. He 
 nodded in recognition of the salutes given him 
 by groups of paroled prisoners, chewing betel 
 nut under the trees. Let them be. 
 
 A bend in the road brought him to a halt. 
 Just beyond, lying at full length upon the 
 parched grass, was the little girl he had seen 
 that morning. She lay on her back, with bare 
 legs extended, asleep. Nearby, squatting on 
 his heels and lost in a meditative pipe, sat the 
 Kling, her body servant. The man rose to his 
 feet respectfully as Mercier passed, watching 
 his mistress and watching Mercier with a som- 
 bre eye. Mercier passed on slowly, with a 
 long glance at the child. She was not a child, 
 really. Her cotton dress clung round her 
 closely, and he gazed fascinated, at the young 
 figure, realising that it was mature. Mature 
 enough. A thought suddenly rose to his mind, 
 submerging everything else. He walked on 
 hurriedly, and at a turn of the road, looked 
 [164] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 back. The Kling was sitting down again im- 
 passively, refilling his pipe. 
 
 From t|iat time on, Mereier's days were 
 days of torment, and the nights as well. He 
 struggled violently against this new feeling, 
 this hideous obsession, and plunged into his 
 work violently, to escape it. But his work, 
 meagre and insufficient at best, was merely fin- 
 ished the sooner because of his energy, which 
 left him with more time on his hands. That 
 was all. Time in which to think and to strug- 
 gle. No, certainly, he did not wish to marry. 
 That thought was put aside immediately. 
 Marry a stupid little child like that, with a 
 brain as fat as her body! But not as beauti- 
 ful as her body. Besides, she was too young 
 to marry, even in the Tropics, where all things 
 mate yoimg. But there she was, forever com- 
 ing across his path at every turn. In his long 
 walks back into the interior, behind the set- 
 tlement, he came upon her daily, with her at- 
 tendant Kling. The Kling always squatting 
 on his heels, smoking, or else rolling himself 
 a bit of areca nut into a sirrah-leaf, and dab- 
 bing on a bit of pink lime from his worn, sil- 
 ver box. Mercier tried to talk to the child, 
 [165] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 to disillusion himself by conversations which 
 showed the paucity of ideas, her retarded men- 
 tality. But he always ended by looking at 
 the beautiful, slim hands, at the beautiful, slim 
 feet, at the cotton gown slightly pressed out- 
 ward by the maturing form within. 
 
 He was angry with himself, furious at the 
 obsession that possessed him. Once he en- 
 tered the gravelled path of the child's home, 
 and seriously discussed with her mother the 
 danger of letting her roam at large over the 
 island, accompanied only by the old Kling. 
 He explained vigorously that it was not safe. 
 There were hundreds of paroled prisoners at 
 large, engaged in the ricefields, on the plan- 
 tations, mending the roads — there was not a 
 native woman on the place. He explained 
 and expostulated volubly, surprised at his own 
 eloquence. The mother took it calmly. The 
 Kling, she replied, was trustworthy. He was 
 an old man, very trustworthy and very strong. 
 No harm could come to her daughter under, 
 his protection. And the long rambles abroad 
 were good for the child. Was she not accus- 
 tomed to convicts, as servants? She had a 
 houseful of them, and many years' experience. 
 [166] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 What did he know of them, a comparative new- 
 comer? For example, she had three pirates, 
 Malays from the coast of Siam. They were 
 quiet enough now. And one Camhodian, a 
 murderer, true enough, but gentle enough 
 now. Three house-hoys and a cook. As for 
 the old Kling, he was a marvel — ^he had been 
 a thief in his day, but now — well now, he was 
 body-servant for her daughter and a morej 
 faithful soul it would be hard to find. For 
 seven years she had lived upon the island, sur- 
 rounded by these men. She knew them well 
 enough. True, there was the graveyard back 
 of the prison compound, eloquent, mute testi- 
 mony of certain lapses from trustworthiness, 
 but she was not afraid. She had no imagina- 
 tion, and Mercier, failing to make her sense 
 danger, gave it up. It had been a great effort. 
 He had been pleading for protection against 
 himself. 
 
 Mercier awoke one morning very early. It 
 was early, but still dark, for never, in these 
 baleful Tropics, did the dawn precede the sun- 
 rise, and there was no slow, gradual greying 
 and rosying creeping of daylight, preceding 
 the dawn. It was early and dark, with a damp 
 [167] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 coolness in the air, and he reached down from 
 his cot for his slippers, and first clapped them 
 together before placing them upon his slim 
 feet. Then he arose, stepped out upon his 
 verandah, and thought awhile. Darkness 
 everjrwhere, and the noise of the surf beating 
 within the enclosed crescent of the harbour. 
 Over all, a great heat, tinged with a damp 
 coolness, a coolness which was sinister. And 
 standing upon his verandah, came rushing 
 over him the agony of his wasted life. His 
 prisoner life upon this lonely island in the 
 Southern Seas. Exchanged, this wasted life, 
 for his romantic dreams, and a salary of a few 
 hundred francs a year. That day he would 
 write and ask for his release — send in his res- 
 ignation — although it would be weeks or 
 months before he could be relieved. As he 
 stood there in agony, the dawn broke before 
 him suddenly, as Tropic dawns do break, all 
 of a sudden, with a rush. Before him rose the 
 high peaks of the binding mountains, high, im- 
 passable, black peaks, towering like a wall of 
 rock. It was the wall of the world, and he 
 could not scale it. Before him stretched the 
 curve of the southern sea, in a crescent, but 
 [168] 
 
PRISONEES 
 
 for all its fluidity, as impassable as the backing 
 waU of rock. Between the two he was 
 hemmed in, on a narrow strip of land, enclosed 
 between the mountain wall and the curving 
 reach of sea. He and all his futile interests 
 lay within that narrow strip of land, between 
 the mountain wall and the sea — and the strip 
 was very narrow and small. 
 
 He went forth from his bungalow, pulling 
 upon his feet clumsy native sandals of wood, 
 with a button between the toes. For under- 
 foot lay the things he dreaded, the heat things, 
 the things bred by this warm climate enclosed 
 between the high wall of the mountains and the 
 infitting curve of the sea. He tramped awk- 
 wardly along in his loose fitting sandals, fast 
 at the toe, clapping up and down at the heel. 
 The one street of the town through which he 
 passed was bordered by the houses of the offi- 
 cials, all sleeping. They were accustomed to 
 sleeping. Only he, Mercier, could not sleep. 
 He was not yet accustomed to being a pris- 
 oner. Perhaps — in time 
 
 He clapped along gently, though to him it 
 seemed very noisily, past the bungalows of 
 the officials, past the big prison, also sleep- 
 [169] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ing. Past the Administration buildings, past 
 the weed-grown, unused tennis courts, out 
 upon the red road leading to the mountains. 
 Turn upon turn of the red road he passed, and 
 then stopped, halted by a sight. A sight 
 which for weeks past he had worn in his heart, 
 but which he had never hoped to see fulfilled. 
 She was there, that child! That child so 
 young, so voluptuous in her development, so 
 immature in her mentality, and beside her, a 
 little way away, sat the Kling prisoner who 
 guarded her. The Kling squatted upon his 
 heels, chewing areca nut, and spitting long 
 distances before him. The child also squatted 
 upon the grass by the roadside, very listless. 
 The Kling did not move as Mercier ap- 
 proached, clapping in his sandals. But the 
 child moved and cast upon him a luminous, 
 frightened gaze, and then regarded him fix- 
 edly. Therefore Mercier sat down by the 
 child, and noted her. Noted her with a hun- 
 gry feeling, taking in every beautiful detail. 
 Her exquisite little hands, and her exquisite 
 little feet, shod in wooden sandals, with a butr 
 ton between the toes, such sandals as he was 
 wearing. He talked to her a little, and she 
 [170] 
 
PKISONEKS 
 
 answered in half-shy, frightened tones, but un- 
 derneath he detected a note of passion — such 
 as he felt for her. She was fourteen years 
 old, you see, and fully developed, partly be- 
 cause she was half-witted, and partly because 
 of these hot temperatures under the Equator. 
 Thus it befell that every morning Mercier 
 arose early, clad his feet in noisy, clapping san- 
 dals, and went out for a walk along the red 
 road underlying the mountain. And every 
 morning, almost by accident, he met the half- 
 witted child with her faithful Kling attendant. 
 And the Kling, squatting down upon his heels, 
 chewe'd-areca nut, and spat widely and indif- 
 ferently, while Mercier sat down beside the 
 little girl and wondered how long he could 
 stand it — before his control gave way. For 
 she was a little animal, you see, and yearned 
 for him in a sort of fourteen-year-old style, 
 fostered by the intense heat of the Tropics. 
 But Mercier, not yet very long from home, 
 held back — ^because of certain inhibitions. 
 Sometimes he thought he would ask for her in 
 marriage — ^which was ridiculous, and showed 
 that life in the Far East, especially in a prison 
 colony, aif ects the brain. At other times, he 
 [171] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 thought how very awkward it would be, in such 
 a little, circumscribed community as that, if 
 he did not ask her in marriage. Suppose she 
 babbled — as she might well do. There is no 
 accounting for the feeble-minded. But as the 
 days grew on, madder and wilder he became, 
 earlier and earlier he arose to meet her, to go 
 forth to find her on the red road beneath the 
 mountains. There she was always waiting for 
 hini, while the Kling, her attendant, squatted 
 chewing betel nut a little farther on. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 In time, he had enough. He had had quite 
 enough. She was a stupid fool, half-witted. 
 He grew quite satiated. Also he grew 
 alarmed. Very much alarmed. But always, 
 in the distance, with his back discreetly turned, 
 sat her Kling guardian, the paroled prisoner, 
 chewing betel nut. So his way out was easy. 
 One day, about eleven o'clock in the morning, 
 clad in very immaculate white clothes, he came 
 to call upon the child's parents, with a painful 
 duty to perform. He must report what he 
 had seen. When out taking his constitu- 
 tional, he had seen certain things in an isolated 
 spot of the red road, leading up to the moun- 
 [172] 
 
PRISONERS 
 
 tains. These paroled prisoners could not be 
 trusted — he had intimated as much weeks ago. 
 Therefore he made his report, his painful re- 
 port, as compelled by duty. In his pocket was 
 his release — the acceptance of his resignation. 
 His recall from his post. When the boat came 
 in 1 ixt iime — ^that day, in fact — ^he would go. 
 But he could not go, with a clear conscience, 
 till he had reported on what he had seen. The 
 Kling — the old, stupid, trusted Kling — stupid 
 to trust a child like that with a servant like 
 
 that 
 
 So the Kling was hanged next morning, and 
 Mercier sailed away that afternoon, when the 
 little steamer came in. The little colony on 
 the island of prisoners went on with its life as 
 usual. Ah, bah! There was no harm done! 
 She was so very immature! Mercier need not 
 have exacted the life of the Kling servant, 
 after all. He was supersensitive and over- 
 scrupulous. Life in a prison colony in the Far 
 East certainly affects one's judgment. 
 
 [173] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
yii 
 
 CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 The Colonial Bishop lay spread out on his 
 long, rattan chair, idly contemplating the view 
 of the harbour, as seen from his deep, cool ver- 
 andah. As he lay there, pleasant thoughts 
 crossed his mind, swam across his conscious- 
 ness in a continuous stream, although, properly 
 speaking, he was not thinking at all. The 
 thoughts condensed in patches, were mere ag- 
 glomerations of feelings and impressions, and 
 they strung themselves across his mind as beads 
 are strung along a string. His mental fingers, 
 however, slipped the beads along, and he de- 
 rived an impression of each bead as it passed 
 before his half closed eyes. The first that 
 appeared was a sense of physical well-being. 
 He liked the climate. This climate of the Far 
 Eastern Tropics, which so few people could 
 stand, much less enjoy. But he liked it; he 
 liked its enclosing sense of warmth and damp- 
 [1771 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 ness and heavy scented atmosphere. Never 
 before had he brought such an appetite to his 
 meals, or so enjoyed his exercise, or revelled in 
 perspiration after a hard bicycle ride, and so 
 enjoyed the cool wash and splash in the Java 
 jar afterwards. The climate suited him admir- 
 ably. It made one very fit, physically, and 
 was altogether delightful. From this you will 
 see that the Bishop was a young man, not over 
 forty-five. 
 
 Then the servants. Good boys he had, well 
 trained, obedient, anticipative, amusing, pic- 
 turesque in their Oriental dress. Rather try- 
 ing because of their laziness, but not too exas- 
 perating to be a real irritant. So many people 
 found native servants a downright source of 
 annoyance — even worse than jhe climate — 
 but for himself, he had never found them so. 
 They gave him no trouble at all, and he had 
 been out ten years, so ought to know. 
 
 The native life was charming too, so rich in 
 colour, in all its gay costtmies. Surely the first 
 Futurists must have been the Orientals. No 
 modern of the most ultra-modern school had 
 ever revelled in such gorgeous colour combina- 
 tions, in such daring contrasts and lurid ex- 
 [178] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 tremes, as did these dark hued people, in their 
 primitive simplicity. He liked them all, de- 
 cent and docile. He liked their earrings — 
 only that day he had counted a row of nine in 
 the ear of some wandering juggler. Nose 
 rings too — how pretty they were, nose rings. 
 Rubies too, and most of them real, doubtless. 
 How weU they looked in the nostril of a thin, 
 aquiline brown nose. It all went with the 
 country. Barbaric, perhaps, contrasted with 
 other standards, but beautiful — in its way. He 
 woidd not change it for the world. 
 
 And the perfumes ! A faint scent of garde- 
 nias was at that moment being wafted in from 
 his well-kept, rich gardens, where somehow his 
 boys managed to make flowers grow in the 
 brown, devitalised earth. For the soil was 
 devitalised, surely. It got no rest, year in, 
 year out. For centuries it had nourished, in 
 one long, eternal season, the great rich mass of 
 tropical vegetation. European flowers would 
 not grow in the red earth, or the black earth, 
 whichever it was — he had been accustomed to 
 think of red or black earth as being rich, but 
 out here in the Tropics, it was unable to pro- 
 duce, for more than a brief season, the flowers 
 [179] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 and shrubs that were native to his home land. 
 But gardenias and frangipanni 
 
 The next bead that slipped along was the 
 memory of an Arab street at dusk — ^the mer- 
 chants sitting at their shop fronts, the gloom 
 of the little, narrow shops, the glow of rich 
 stuffs and rich colours that lay in neat piles on 
 the shelves, and the scent of incense burning in 
 little earthenware braziers at the door of each 
 shop — how sweet was the warm air, laden with 
 this deeply sweet smell of burning, glowing 
 incense 
 
 A step sounded on the verandah, and the 
 Bishop concluded his revery abruptly. It was 
 not the nearly noiseless step of a bare foot, 
 such as his servants. It was the step of some- 
 one in European shoes, yet without the firm, 
 decided tramp of a European, Yet the tread 
 of a European shoe, muffled to the slithering, 
 soft effect of a native foot. A naked foot, 
 booted. This was the Bishop's hour of rest, 
 and his servants had instructions to admit no 
 one. Well, no one in a general sense, yet there 
 were always two or three recognised excep- 
 tions. But it was not one of these exceptions, 
 coming in noiselessly like that. The Bishop 
 [180] 
 
CANTEKBUEY CHIMES 
 
 sprang up, standing straddle of his long chair, 
 and looking fixedly in the direction of the ap- 
 proaching sound. He hated interruptions, 
 and was indignant to think that any one 
 should have slipped in, past the eyes of his 
 watchful servants. Just then a figure ap- 
 peared at the far end of the verandah, a white 
 clad figure rapidly advancing. A dark 
 skinned, slim figure, clad in white linen Euro- 
 pean clothes, even down to a pair of new, ill 
 fitting, white canvas shoes with rubber soles. 
 That accounted for the sound resembling bare 
 feet. Really, they could never wear shoes 
 properly, these natives, however much they 
 might try. 
 
 Still standing straddle across his chair, the 
 Bishop called out angrily to the intruder. 
 Since he was not a European, and obviously 
 not a native Prince — native princes never 
 slithered in like that, all the pomp of the East 
 heralded their coming — the Bishop could af- 
 ford to let his annoyance manifest itself in his 
 voice. Therefore he called out sharply, asking 
 the stranger's business. 
 
 A slim youth stepped forward, bare headed, 
 hollow chested, very dark in the gathering 
 [181] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 twilight, and his hands clasped together as if 
 in supplication, stood out blackly against the 
 whiteness of his tunic. The Bishop noticed 
 that they were trembling. Well they might, 
 for he had taken a great liberty, by this pre- 
 sumptuous, unannounced visit. It had a sort 
 of sneaking character about it. Coming to 
 steal, perhaps, and being surprised in the act, 
 had determined to brazen it out under the pre- 
 text of a visit. The young man, however, 
 walked boldly up to the Bishop's chair, and the 
 Bishop, rather taken aback, sat himself down 
 again and extended his legs on the rest, in 
 their usual comfortable position. 
 
 "I've come to see you. Sir," began the 
 stranger, using very good English though with 
 a marked native accent, "on a question of great 
 importance. On a matter of principle — of 
 high principle. I've never seen you before, 
 but you are known to me by reputation." 
 
 The Bishop snorted at this piece of impu- 
 dence, but the youth went on unabashed. 
 
 "A very noble reputation, if I may presume 
 
 to say so. But you know that, of course. 
 
 What you are, what you stand for. Therefore 
 
 I have dared to come to you for help. It is 
 
 [182] 
 
CANTEEBUKY CHIMES 
 
 not a matter of advice — that does not enter in 
 at all. But I want your great help — on our 
 side. To right a great, an immense, an im- 
 mensely growing wrong." 
 
 The youth hesitated and stopped, wringing 
 his dark, thin hands together in evident agita- 
 tion. The Bishop surveyed him coldly, with 
 curiosity, without sympathy, enjoying his em- 
 barrassment. So that was it — some griev- 
 ance, real or fancied. Fancied, most likely. 
 He felt a distinct sense of resentment that his 
 hour of repose should have been broken in 
 upon so rudely by this native — ^bringing him 
 wrongs to redress in this uncalled for manner. 
 There were plenty of people in the Bishop's 
 service expressly appointed for the purpose 
 of looking into complaints and attending to 
 them. To bring them up to headquarters, to 
 the Bishop himself, was an act of downright 
 impertinence. Very much as if a native should 
 bring his petty quarrels up to the Governor- 
 General. These thoughts passed through the 
 Bishop's mind as he regarded the intruder with 
 a fixed and most unfriendly eye. A few mo- 
 ments of hesitating silence followed, while the 
 Bishop watched the darting movements of a 
 [183] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 lizard on the wall, and waited for the stranger 
 to continue. 
 
 "I want your help," went on the youth in a 
 low voice. "You are so powerful — you can do 
 so much. Not as a man, but because of your 
 office. Perhaps as a man, too, for they say 
 you are a good and just man. But the com- 
 bination of a strong man in a high office " 
 
 Still no help from the Bishop. That he did 
 not clap his hands together and call for his 
 servants to have this intruder thrown out, 
 marked him, in his estimation, as the kind of 
 man that the youth had suggested. A just and 
 liberal man. Very well, he was ready to listen. 
 Now that he was caught, so to speak, and 
 obliged to listen against his will. 
 
 "It's about the opium traffic," explained the 
 young man, breathing hard with excitement, 
 and wringing his thin hands together in dis- 
 tress. 
 
 "Oh, that's it, is it?" exclaimed the Bishop, 
 breaking silence. "I thought it must be some 
 such thing. I mean, something that is no con- 
 cern of mine — ^nor yours either," he concluded 
 sharply. 
 
 "It is both my concern and your concern," 
 [184] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 replied the young man solemnly, "both yours 
 and mine. Your race, your country, is sinning 
 against my race and my country " 
 
 "Your country I" interrupted the Bishop dis- 
 dainfully. 
 
 "Yes, my country!" exclaimed the young 
 man proudly. "Mine still, for all that you 
 have conquered it, and civilized it and degraded 
 it!" 
 
 The Bishop sprang up from his chair an- 
 grily, and then sank back again, determined to 
 listen. He would let this fellow say all he had 
 to say, and then have him arrested afterwards. 
 He would let him condemn himself out of his 
 own mouth. How well they spoke English 
 too, these educated natives. 
 
 "What is this Colony, Sir," continued the 
 young man gaining control of himself, "but 
 a market for the opium your Government 
 sells? For you know. Sir, as well as I, that the 
 sale of opium is a monopoly of your Govern- 
 ment. And we are helpless, defenceless, power- 
 less to protect ourselves. And do you know 
 what your Government makes out of this 
 trade, Sir — the revenue it collects from selling 
 opiimi to my people? Three quarters of the 
 [185] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 revenue of this Colony are derived from opium. 
 Your Government runs this colony on our deg- 
 radation. You build your roads, your forts, 
 your schools, your public buildings, on this vice 
 that you have forced upon us. Before you 
 came, with your civilization, we were decent. 
 Very decent, on the whole. Now look at us — 
 what do you see? How many shops in this town 
 are licensed by your Government for the sale 
 of opium — and the license money pocketed as 
 revenue? How many opium divans, where we 
 may smoke, are licensed by your Government, 
 and the license money pocketed as part of the 
 revenue?" 
 
 "You needn't smoke unless you wish to," 
 remarked the Bishop drily. "We don't force 
 you to do it. We don't put the pipe between 
 your teeth and insist upon your drugging 
 yourselves. How many shops do you say 
 there are — ^how many smoking places? Sev- 
 eral hundred? We don't force you into them, 
 I take it. You go of your own choice, don't 
 you? We Europeans don't do it. It's as free 
 for us as it is for you. We have the same op- 
 portunities to kill ourselves — I suppose that's 
 [186] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 how you look at it — as you do. Yet somehow 
 we abstain. If you can't resist " 
 
 The Bishop shrugged his shoulders. Yet 
 he rather despised himself for the argument. 
 It sounded cheap and unworthy, somehow. 
 The youth, however, did not seem to resent it, 
 and went on sadly. 
 
 "It's true," he said, "we need not, I sup- 
 pose. Yet you know," he continued humbly, 
 "we are a very simple people. We are very 
 primitive, very — slowly. We didn't under- 
 stand at first, and now it's too late. We've 
 most of us got the habit, and the rest are get- 
 ting it. We're weak and ignorant. We want 
 you to protect us from ourselves. Just as you 
 protect your own people — at home. You don't 
 import it into your own country — ^you don't 
 want to corrupt your own people. But what 
 about the races you colonise and subject — ^who 
 can't protect themselves? It's not fair!" he 
 concluded passionately, "and besides, this year 
 you have sold us two millions more than last 
 year " 
 
 "Where did you get your figures?" broke 
 in the Bishop with rising indignation. This 
 [187] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 cowering, trembling boy seemed to have all 
 the arguments on his side. 
 
 "From your own reports, Sir. Government 
 reports. Compiled by your own officials." 
 
 "And how did you obtain a Government re- 
 port?" asked the Bishop angrily. "Spying, 
 eh?" 
 
 The young man ignored the insult, and went 
 on patiently. "Some are distributed free, oth- 
 ers may be bought at the book shops. There is 
 one lying on your table this moment. Sir." 
 
 "Well enough for me," remarked the 
 Bishop, "but how did you come by it?" The 
 sharp eyes had recognised the fat, blue volimie 
 buried under a miscellaneous litter of books 
 and pamphlets on a wicker table. A lean 
 finger pointed towards it, and the accusing 
 voice went on. 
 
 "There is more than opium in that Report, 
 Sir. Look at the schools. How little school- 
 ing do you give us, how little money do you 
 spend for them. We are almost illiterate — 
 yet you have ruled us for many years. How 
 little do you spend on schools, so that you may 
 keep us submissive and ignorant? You know 
 how freely you provide us with opium, so that 
 [188] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 we may be docile and easy to manage — easy to 
 manage and exploit." 
 
 The Bishop sprang up from his chair, mak- 
 ing a grasp for the white coat of his tormentor, 
 but the fellow nimbly avoided him, and darted 
 to the other side of the table. It was almost 
 completely dark by this time, and the Bishop 
 could not pursue his guest in the gloom, nor 
 could he reach the bell. 
 
 "Are you a Seditionist, Sir? How dare you 
 criticise the Government?" The answer was 
 immediate and unexpected. 
 
 "Yes, I criticise the Government — just as I 
 have been criticising it to you. But more in 
 sorrow than in anger. Although in time the 
 anger may come. Therefore that is why I 
 have come to you — for help, before our anger 
 comes. You are a strong man, a just, a liberal 
 man — so I'm told. You hold a high position 
 in the Church maintained by your Govern- 
 ment, just as the opium traffic is maintained 
 by your Government. Both are Government 
 monopolies." 
 
 In the distance the cathedral chimes rang 
 over the stiU air — the old, sweet Canterbury 
 chimes, pealing the full round, for it was the 
 [189] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 hour. Then the hour struck, and both men 
 counted it, mechanically. 
 
 "Your salary. Sir — as well as the salaries of 
 the other priests of your established church, 
 out here in this Colony — comes from the es- 
 tablished opium trade. Your Canterbury 
 chimes ring out, every fifteen minutes, over 
 the opium dens of the Crown!" 
 
 At this supreme insult the Bishop leaped at 
 his tormentor, striking a blow into space. The 
 youth bounded over the low rail of the veran- 
 dah and disappeared amongst the shrubbery in 
 the darkness. 
 
 To say that the Bishop was shaken by this 
 interview is to put it mildly. For he was a 
 good man in his way, and moreover, in a cer- 
 tain restricted sense, a religious one. But he 
 was lazy and not inclined to meddle in affairs 
 that did not concern him. And colonial poli- 
 tics and the management of colonial affairs 
 were certainly not his concern. Nevertheless, 
 the horrible grouping together of facts, as the 
 young Seditionist had grouped them for him, 
 their adroit placing together, with the hideous, 
 unavoidable connection between them, upset 
 him tremendously. He sat on in the darkness 
 [199] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 trying to think, trying to see his way clear, 
 trying to excuse or to justify. He had never 
 thought of these things before, yet he well 
 knew of their existence. All sorts of injustices 
 abounded in civilized states — ^it was perhaps 
 worse in the colonies. Yet even in the colonies, 
 little by little they were being weeded out, or 
 adjusted. Yet this particular evil, somehow, 
 seemed to flourish untouched. Not an effort 
 was made to uproot it. The only effort made, 
 apparently, was to increase and encourage it. 
 And with the acquiescence of men like himself. 
 All for what — for money? For Crown rev- 
 enues! Pretty poor business, come to think 
 of it. Surely, if the Colony could not exist by 
 honest and legitimate trade, it might better 
 not exist at all. To thrive upon the vices of a 
 subject people, to derive nearly the whole reve- 
 nue from those vices, really, somehow, it 
 seemed incompatible with — with — ^that nasty 
 fling about the Church! 
 
 He rang for his boy, and a lamp was brought 
 in and placed upon the table beside him, and 
 the Bishop reached over for the unheeded Re- 
 port, which had been lying on the table so long. 
 The columns of figures seemed rather formi- 
 
 [191] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 dable — ^he hated statistics, but he applied him- 
 self to the Report conscientiously. Yes, there 
 it was in all its simplicity of crude, bald state- 
 ments, just as the young man had said. 
 Glaring, horrible facts, disgraceful facts. For 
 an hour he sat absorbed in them, noting the 
 yearly increase in consumption as indicated by 
 the yearly increase in revenue. Three quarters 
 of the revenue from opium — one quarter from 
 other things. He wondered vaguely about his 
 salary; that painful allusion to it troubled him. 
 It was just possible that it came from the one 
 quarter derived from legitimate trade. Cer- 
 tainly, it was quite possible. But on the other 
 hand, there was an unquiet suspicion that per- 
 haps it didn't. 
 
 The Bishop moved into the dining room, 
 carrying the fat Blue Book under his arm, and 
 read it carefully during his solitary meal. 
 Those carefully compiled tables, somehow, did 
 not do credit to what he had heretofore been 
 pleased to consider the greatest colonising na- 
 tion in the world. Were all colonies like that — 
 run on these principles? Yet the Government, 
 apparently, had felt no hesitation in setting 
 forth these facts exphcitly. Presumably the 
 [192] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 Government felt justified. Yet it certainly 
 was not — the word honourable rose to his mind, 
 but he suppressed it at once — ^however, nothing 
 else suggested itself. Years ago, so many 
 years ago that he had lost count, the Bishop 
 had worked for a time in the East End. He 
 had had clubs and classes, and worked with 
 the young men. He used to know a good deal 
 
 about certain things, and to feel strongly 
 
 But since then he had become prosperous, and 
 a high dignitary in the Church. Something 
 stirred uneasily in the back of his mind, as he 
 dawdled over his dinner and turned the pages 
 
 of the Blue Book 
 
 Then he went back to the verandah again, 
 and subsided into his long chair. He sat in 
 darkness, for he disliked the night-flying in- 
 sects of the Tropics, and had a nervous horror 
 of them. Lamps made them worse — ^brought 
 them in thicker shoals. He gazed out at the 
 twinkling lights of the vessels at anchor in the 
 harbour. There were many ships in the road- 
 way to-night, a sight which would ordinarily 
 have pleased him, but his thoughts were in 
 sharp contrast now to his comfortable, con- 
 tented thoughts of a few hours ago. 
 [193] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 II 
 
 The Bishop spent rather a wakeful night, 
 that is, until about two in the morning, at 
 which hour he settled his problem and fell 
 asleep. It finally resolved itself in his mind 
 as a matter for him to let alone. He could 
 not better it, and had not the smallest intention 
 of making a martyr of himself, of resigning his 
 office, or of incurring any of the other disagree- 
 able experiences which beset the path of the 
 moral crusader. No, he could do nothing, for 
 at two o'clock, as we have said, he had arrived 
 at the conclusion that the evil — if such it could 
 be called, since there was considerable doubt 
 on the subject — ^had reached a magnitude 
 which no single individual could deal with. 
 Whereupon he wisely dismissed the matter 
 from his mind. Not having gone to sleep tUl 
 late he was considerably annoyed when his 
 China-boy arrived at six with his early tea. 
 This sense of irritation still clung to him when 
 an hour later he sat down on the verandah 
 facing the harbour and began his breakfast. 
 Even after ten years in the Tropics, the 
 Bishop still continued to enjoy bacon and eggs 
 [194] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 with Unabated relish, and these did something, 
 this morning, to mitigate his ill humour. A 
 fresh papaya, with a dozen seeds left in as 
 flavouring, also helped. Finally the boy came 
 in and laid letters by his plate. Home let- 
 ters, bearing the familiar postmarks, so dear 
 to dwellers in outlying parts of the world. A 
 small Malay kriss, with a handle of ivory and 
 silver and a blade of five waves served as letter 
 opener. The Bishop slit each envelope care- 
 fully, and laid the pile back on the table, to 
 be read slowly, with full enjoyment. One by 
 one he went through them, smiling a little, or 
 frowning, as it happened. The mail from 
 Home was early this week — evidently it had 
 come in last evening, although he had not seen 
 the steamer in the roads. All the better — ^all 
 the more of a surprise. 
 
 He stopped suddenly, anxiously, and an 
 open letter in his hand trembled violently. He 
 finished it hurriedly, went through it a second 
 time, and again once more before he could 
 acknowledge its meaning. 
 
 "My dear Brother" [it tiggan, with a for- 
 mality about the opening that boded trouble], 
 "I write to you in great distress, but sure that 
 
 [195] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 you will respond to the great demand I am 
 about to make upon you, upon all the kindness 
 which you have shown us for these many years. 
 Herbert, your namesake, is in deep trouble — 
 disgrace, I might better say. Never mind the 
 details. They are sufficiently serious, suffi- 
 ciently humiliating. We have managed to 
 cover it up, to conceal what we can, but for 
 the present at least, or until this blows over, it 
 is impossible for him to remain at home. It 
 has all come about so suddenly, so unexpect- 
 edly, that there has been no time to write to 
 you to obtain your consent. But he must 
 leave home at once, and there is no one to whom 
 we can send him except yourself. In his pres- 
 ent position, feeling the deep dishonour that 
 he has brought upon himself, upon all of us 
 in fact, we do not dare to send him forth into 
 the world alone. Therefore, without delay, 
 we are sending him to you, feeling sure of your 
 response. Under your guidance and care, 
 with the inestimable benefits that he will de- 
 rive through the association with such a man 
 as yourself, we hope that he will recover his 
 normal balance. Take him in, do what you 
 can for him for all our sakes. He has always 
 been devoted to you, although it was a lad's de- 
 votion — you have not seen him for several 
 years, and he is now twenty. Put him to 
 work, do whatever you think best for him; we 
 
 [196] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 give him entirely into your hands. We turn 
 to you in this hour of our distress, knowing 
 that you will not fail us. 
 
 "Such is the urgency, that he is going out 
 to you on the boat that carries this letter. Fail- 
 ing that, he will leave in any event on the boat 
 of the following week. We regret that there 
 has not been sufficient time to prepare you. 
 He wiU be no expense, being well provided 
 with funds, although in future I shall make 
 out his remittances in your name. In haste, 
 in grief, and with all love, 
 
 "Your affectionate brother, 
 
 "Allan." 
 
 The Bishop sat thunderstruck in his chair, 
 aghast at his predicament. Here was a pretty 
 situation! A scapegrace nephew, who had 
 done heavens knew what dishonourable thing 
 — the Bishop thought of a dozen things all at 
 once, all equally disgraceful and equally prob- 
 able, — ^was about to be quartered upon him, in 
 his peaceful, ordered, carefree life, for an in- 
 definite period! Really, it was intolerable. 
 What did he, the Bishop, know of young men 
 and their difficulties? Who was he to guide 
 the footsteps of an erring one? What prac- 
 tical experience had he in such matters — it was 
 [197] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 one thing to expound certain niceties of theo- 
 logical doctrine, which, after all, had little bear- 
 ing on daily life — and quite another to become 
 guardian and preceptor to a young scamp. 
 For he was a scamp, obviously. And of all 
 places in the world, to send a weak, undisci- 
 plined person out to the Colony — this rather 
 notorious Colony where even those of the high- 
 est principles had some difficulty in holding to 
 the path. It was obvious that the place for 
 this young man was in his home — in the home 
 of his father and mother, who while they had 
 doubtless spoiled him, must nevertheless re- 
 tain a certain influence. He needed all the 
 kindness and loving care that a home could 
 give. The Bishop sought refuge in platitudes, 
 for of such consisted his daily thoughts, run- 
 ning through his brain in certain well defined, 
 well worn brain paths. Then a wave of indig- 
 nation passed over him concerning his brother 
 — the selfishness of turning his son out, at this 
 time of all times! Of shirking responsibility 
 towards him, of turning that responsibility 
 over to another! To another whom he had 
 not even consulted! All his life his brother 
 had had what he wanted — ^riches, a beautiful 
 [198] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 home, an easy life. Yet at the first breath of 
 trouble he evaded his responsibilities and 
 dumped them upon another! 
 
 The Bishop worked himself up into a fine 
 fury, seeing his future plans upset, his easy- 
 going life diverted from its normal, flowing 
 course by the advent of this scapegrace 
 nephew. His eyes rested once more upon the 
 letter: "He is going out to you on the boat 
 that carries this letter." If so, then he must 
 have aleady landed and would appear at any 
 moment. For the mailboat must have come 
 in last night, and the passengers had either 
 been put ashore l^rSt evening, or had been put 
 ashore at sunrise, supposing the boat remained 
 discharging cargo all night. It was now eight 
 o'clock. The youth should have been here. 
 Apparently, then, he had failed to catch this 
 boat, and was coming the following week. 
 But the Bishop was troubled; he must go into 
 town and make sure. Since he was to be bur- 
 dened with the rascal for a week (but only for 
 a week, he would send him packing home by 
 the next boat, he promised himself) his sense 
 of duty prompted him to act at once. He 
 [199] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 raised his fine, thin hands and clapped them 
 together smartly. 
 
 "Rickshaw! Quickly!" he ordered the 
 China-boy who appeared in answer to his siun- 
 mons. A few minutes later he descended the 
 broad steps of the verandah and entered his 
 neat, black rickshaw, with highly polished 
 brasses, drawn by two boys in immaculate 
 white livery. The Bishop kept no carriage — 
 that would have seemed ostentatious — ^but his 
 smart, black rickshaw was to be seen all over 
 town, stopping before houses of high and low 
 degree, but mostly high. 
 
 He reached the quais after a sharp run, pass- 
 ing the godowns filled with rubber, which gave 
 forth its peculiar, permeating odour upon the 
 heavy, stagnant air of the harbourside. No, 
 the mailboat had gone on, had weighed anchor 
 early in the morning, at sunrise, they told him, 
 and had continued on her way up the coast. 
 No such passenger as he described had been 
 landed — no one by that name. The Bishop, 
 leaning upon the worn counter in the dingy 
 shipping office, scrutinised the passenger list 
 carefully. There was a name there, certainly, 
 that suggested his nephew's, but with two or 
 [200] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 three wrong letters. Not enough for a posi- 
 tive identification, but perhaps done purposely, 
 as a disguise. Could the youth have deliber- 
 ately done this? It was possible. When 
 pressed for a description, the Bishop was most 
 hazy. He could only say that he was search- 
 ing for a young man, about twenty. The 
 agent told him that twenty young men, about 
 twenty, had come ashore. The Bishop was 
 not quite satisfied, was vaguely uneasy, but 
 there was nothing to be done. However, 
 when the day passed and no nephew appeared, 
 he drew a long breath of relief. He was safe 
 for another week. Had a week before him in 
 which to formulate his plans. And he would 
 formulate them too, he promised himself, and 
 would put the responsibility of this irresponsi- 
 ble young creature back upon the shoulders 
 where it belonged. It was a great temptation 
 not to return to the shipping office again and 
 engage a berth on the next homeward bound 
 liner, but on second thought, he determined 
 not to do so. Above all things he prided him- 
 self on being just and liberal. He would give 
 his nephew a week's trial in the Colony, after 
 which the letter returning him to his father 
 [201] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 would bear the air of resigned but seasoned 
 judgment, rather than the unreasoning im- 
 pulse of a moment's irritation. A week's 
 guardianship, and — well, so it should be. 
 Nothing longer, no greater incursion into his 
 smooth, harmonious existence. 
 
 The week of anticipation passed slowly.- 
 After the first shock was over, after the first 
 sense of imposition had passed away, and he 
 found himself with a week for consideration, 
 he became more decided than ever on his course 
 of action. Mentally, he began many letters 
 to his brother, usually beginning, "I regret ex- 
 ceedingly," from which beginning he launched 
 out into well balanced, well phrased excuses, of 
 admirable logic, by means of which he proved 
 the imperative necessity of finding other 
 anchorage for this stray and apparently very 
 frail bark. Of necessity these letters were 
 vague, since he did not know what particular 
 form of frailty he had to contend with. Of 
 one thing, however, he was sure — the Colony 
 oiFered opportunities for the indulgence of 
 every form known to man, with none of those 
 nice restrictions which are thrown round such 
 opportunities in more civilized parts of the 
 [202] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 globe. He would explain all this at length, as 
 soon as he knew upon which points to concen- 
 trate his argument. But, take it by and large, 
 there were no safeguards of any sort, and only 
 the strongest and most upright could walk 
 uprightly amidst such perils. 
 
 The coming of the next liner was awaited 
 with much anxiety. The Bishop had gone so 
 far as to confide to a few friends that a young 
 nephew would arrive with her, for a week's 
 stay — on his way elsewhere. He remembered 
 the boy, his namesake. Rather a handsome 
 little chap as he recalled him — perhaps under 
 more auspicious circumstances it might have 
 been a pleasure to have had a visit from him. 
 But this suddenly becoming endowed with him 
 for weeks or months — it might be years, per- 
 haps — quite another matter. 
 
 (When the mailboat arrived one afternoon, 
 the Bishop's rickshaw stood at the jetty, while 
 the Bishop himself, in his immaculate gaiters, 
 with his sash blowing in the soft wind, stood at 
 the end of the jetty anxiously regarding the 
 tender making its way inshore. She was 
 crowded with a miscellaneous throng of pas- 
 sengers, among whom were many young.men, 
 [203] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 all strange, new, expectant young men com- 
 ing out for the first time, but among them he 
 saw no face that resembled the one he was 
 searching for. Which might possibly be, he 
 reflected, since the face, as he recalled it at the 
 time of their last meeting many years ago, was 
 very childish and immature. The tender made 
 fast to the steps, and amidst much luggage, 
 much scrambling of coolies and general dis- 
 order, the passengers came oif . The Bishop 
 standing on the steps scrutinised each one care- 
 fully. Not there. Nor was there a second 
 trip to the liner, since the tender had fetched 
 ashore all who were to disembark at that port. 
 The Bishop turned away with mingled feel- 
 ings, part relief, part indignation. Another 
 week of suspense to be gone through with, and 
 after that, another week before he could re- 
 lease himself of his burden. It was all exceed- 
 ingly trying and unreasonable — the feeling of 
 irritation against his brother mounted higher 
 — it was outrageous, keeping him upset this 
 way. 
 
 Then a thought suddenly came into his mind. 
 That name on the passenger list a week ago, 
 the name slightly different yet curiously alike 
 [204] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 — could it have been altered slightly on pur- 
 pose? Ashamed to face him, ashamed to come 
 to him? Bundled off in disgrace from home, 
 willy-nilly, and now here, — Chiding? 
 
 A wave of sick apprehension came over 
 the Bishop. Agonising fear. He must see 
 Walker at once. Walker, his old friend, who 
 would kr what to do, what to advise. If 
 only he y* ere in town. 
 
 Walker was in town as it happened, and the 
 Bishop found him at his hotel, and poured out 
 to him all his wretched anxieties, the whole 
 miserable business, not sparing himself in de- 
 scribing his attitude of unwelcome and unwill- 
 ingness to receive the boy, and concluding with 
 his sick fears concerning his safety. Walker 
 listened gravely and attentively, and was trou- 
 bled. It was very possible indeed — ^more than 
 possible. A search must be begun at once. 
 Fortunately, in that small community, it was 
 not easy for a foreigner to disappear, and a 
 stranger could not go inland, into the interior, 
 undetected. Therefore, if he was here at all, 
 he would soon be found — somewhere. He 
 would set in motion the machinery immedi- 
 ately. First the hotels ; that was easy. Then 
 [205] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 the other places. It would doubtless be neces- 
 sary to call in the police. 
 
 The Bishop begged for secrecy — no pub- 
 licity. Walker promised. That, too, would 
 be easy. Leave it to him. The Bishop might 
 rest easy on that score — no publicity. Walker 
 would do everything himself, as far as possi- 
 ble. Only, he might have to send for the 
 Bishop, if it became necessary, to identify 
 
 Two nights later, the Bishop was reclining 
 on the long chair on his verandah, while over- 
 head the heavy punkah fans swayed to and fro, 
 stirring the moist, warm air. Out in the har- 
 bour the lights gleamed fitfully, the lanterns on 
 the bobbing sampans contrasting with the 
 steadier beams of the big ships anchored in the 
 roadway. The ships of the Orient, congregated 
 from the Seven Seas, full of the mystery and 
 romance of the East. He had left it to Walk- 
 er — as he had been told. In the darkness, 
 with one hand clasped behind his head and the 
 other holding a glowing cigar, he contemplated 
 the scene, his favourite hour of the day. Each 
 moment another and another light flitted across 
 the heavy blackness, showing red or green, 
 while the lights on the moving sampans darted 
 [206] 
 
CANTEKBUBY CHIMES 
 
 back and forth in the darkness, restless and 
 alert. He had left it to Walker. He had 
 stopped thinking of his impending nephew for 
 a few moments, and his mind had relaxed, as 
 the mind relaxes when an evil has been post- 
 poned from time to tim6, and normal feeling 
 reasserts itself after the reprieve. There was a 
 quiet footfall on the verandah, and the Bishop 
 was aroused from his meditations. His Chi- 
 nese servant approached deferentially. "Man 
 want see Master," he explained laconically, 
 with the imperturbability of the East. 
 
 "What like man?" enquired the Bishop, in 
 pidgin English. "China man," came the re- 
 sponse. "Must see Master. All belong velly 
 important." 
 
 A quick foreboding possessed the Bishop, 
 even in this hour of his tranquillity. 
 
 "Show him here," he replied, after a second's 
 consideration. A tall figure appeared before 
 him, bowing. A lean, very dirty Chinese, who 
 bowed repeatedly. In spite of the Oriental 
 repression of feehng, it was plain that he was 
 troubled. He extended a lean, claw-like hand, 
 with a long and very dirty nail on the little 
 finger, and offered a soiled letter to the Bishop. 
 [207] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 "Velly important. All belong much tlou- 
 ble," he explained, and tucked his hands well 
 inside his long blue sleeves, and stood by im- 
 passively, while the Bishop received the letter, 
 crumpled and soiled, as if carried for a long 
 time in a pocket. He turned it over and 
 found it addressed to himself. There was no 
 stamp. The handwriting was Walker's. The 
 Bishop started erect in his long chair, and then 
 sprang up, straddling it as usual. 
 
 "Where get this?" he asked excitedly. The 
 impassive Chinese bowed once more. 
 
 "Say come quick. Letter velly important. 
 Letter belong you. No police. My savee 
 you want letter now." He backed away, still 
 bowing. With a sweep of his arm he indi-' 
 cated the dark night outside. 
 
 "You come quick," he repeated, "or call po- 
 lice." By the light of a lamp which his obse- 
 quious but curious Chinese servant carried in, 
 the Bishop tore open Walker's letter, read it, 
 then crushed it hurriedly into his pocket. 
 
 "Come quick," reiterated the unknown 
 
 Chinese, "I got lickshaw." The Bishop strode 
 
 forward across the verandah, snatching at his 
 
 hat as he went, and then hastened across the 
 
 [208] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 lawn with hurried steps, followed by the Chi- 
 nese pacing rapidly behind him. Two rick- 
 shaws were waiting under the street lamp, two 
 shabby rickshaws. Yet somehow, the Bishop 
 did not care for his own private conveyance at 
 this moment, did not wish the sharp, inquisi- 
 tive eyes of his runners to follow hka just then. 
 He mounted hastily, and the coolies started off 
 with a will, the Chinese leading the way. 
 Even in that moment of anxiety, the Bishop 
 was aware that the Chinese was leading the 
 way, was conscious that the place of honour 
 was not his — for the first time in his life, his 
 vehicle followed, second place, a rickshaw that 
 carried a Chinese. 
 
 The distance seemed interminable. Fortu- 
 nately, at that hour few of his acquaintances 
 were abroad, but in the anxiety which pos- 
 sessed him, he scarcely realised it. He was 
 conscious of passing through crowded streets, 
 the quarter of the Mohammedans, where in- 
 cense pots were ahght, scenting the warm air. 
 Then the vile-smelling bazaar, crowded with 
 buyers, bargaining and shouting under the 
 swaying torches. Then they passed the Euro- 
 pean section of the town, where the streets 
 [209] 
 
CITILIZATION 
 
 were wide, clean and deserted. They must 
 be going back of the quais now, for the air was 
 heavy with the acrid scent of rubber. Then 
 they turned into a narrow, wildly tumultuous 
 street full of Chinese, scattered all over the 
 road and sidewalk, shouting, calling, beating 
 drums, yelling wares for sale, the babel of the 
 Chinese quarter, only such as the Bishop Jiad 
 never seen it. The rickshaws turned many 
 times, up narrow lanes and alleys, across wider 
 thoroughfares, and finally halted before a 
 dingy house of many storeys, a foreign-style 
 house, converted to native uses. They stopped 
 before a red painted door, a double door, in 
 two halves, like a saloon door. Over the en- 
 trance hung a sign, black and white, in large, 
 sprawling Chinese characters. Subconscious- 
 ly, he was aware that he had passed such signs, 
 in such characters, many times before. A 
 curious and large crowd gathered before the 
 house parted at their approach, and the filthy 
 Chinese led the way, followed by the Bishop in 
 his immaculate garb. As they passed in and 
 the swing doors closed behind them, a throng 
 of yellow faces peered down and looked under 
 the door, which was hung high. And all the 
 [210] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 while, the low, insistent shuffling noises of the 
 crowd outside penetrated into the dark, dimly 
 lit room in which the Bishop and his compan- 
 ion found themselves. 
 
 Around three sides of this room, which was 
 narrow, ran a wide bench covered with dirty 
 matting. Lying at intervals in pairs all along 
 the bench, were two coolies in a little pen, with 
 a lamp between them, separated by a narrow 
 ridge from the pen adjoining, which held two 
 more ragged smokers. The Bishop beheld 
 rows of them, haggard, pallid rows. A horn 
 lantern was suspended from the ceiling, and 
 the air was unstirred by punkah, the heavy, 
 foul air reeking with the sickening, pungent 
 fumes of opium. As he passed, the smokers 
 raised themselves on their elbows and gazed at 
 him with glazed, dull eyes. The sight of a 
 Bishop in a low class opium den was unusual, 
 and the dimmed brains of the smokers dimly 
 recognised the distraction. Then, as he moved 
 on, they sank down again upon their wooden 
 pillows, and with slow, infinite pains, set them- 
 selves to roU their bits of opium, to cook it over 
 the dim lamps that dotted the murky atmos- 
 [211] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 phere with glints of light, and to resume their 
 occupations. 
 
 At the back of the room, the proprietor 
 paused before a part of the bench where the 
 pen was occupied by one smoker only, a for- 
 eigner. The foreigner lay stretched out in an 
 awkward attitude, knees drawn up, his head 
 sliding off the wooden block, most uncom- 
 fortable. A candle was thrust into the 
 Bishop's unsteady hand. 
 
 "Looksee," whispered a voice. The Bishop 
 looked. "All lite?" questioned the anxious 
 voice of the proprietor, "Die lil' while ago. 
 No can smoke like China boys. No can do." 
 
 The Bishop continued to look at the beauti- 
 ful, disdainful head of the young foreigner, 
 sliding limply off its wooden pillow. 
 
 "All lite?" continued the whining voice in- 
 sistently. "My got money. Have got watch. 
 No steal." A skinny hand with filthy finger- 
 nails crept forth and thrust itself into the 
 pockets of the limp waistcoat, crumpled so piti- 
 fully upon the thin, young figure, and pres- 
 ently a gold watch was drawn forth. The 
 watch was slowly waved before the Bishop's 
 eyes, and the case snapped open, so that he 
 [212] 
 
CANTERBURY CHIMES 
 
 could read the name engraved within. After 
 which the Bishop continued to gaze fixedly 
 upon the dead youth, lying disgraced upon a 
 bench in one of the lowest opium dives in the 
 Colony. 
 
 "Smoke here week," went on the insistent 
 voice of the proprietor, "all time smoke. No 
 go out. No eat. Smoke all same China-boy. 
 No same China-boy. No can do." 
 
 There was a slight movement at the back of 
 the room, and an object was passed from hand 
 to hand and finally held for inspection under 
 the Bishop's nose. In a grimy frame, pro- 
 tected by a square of fly-brown glass, was a 
 square, ofiicial-looking bit of paper. Of value 
 evidently, since much care had been taken to 
 preserve it. 
 
 "License," went on the explanatory voice. 
 "Gov'ment license. All samee Gov'ment li- 
 cense. Pay heap money. No can help if 
 man die. Plenty China-boy die too. This 
 velly lespectable place." 
 
 The Bishop recalled himself as from a 
 
 dream. During the few moments he had 
 
 spent looking down upon the huddled figure, 
 
 he seemed to have grown older, to have 
 
 [213] 
 
CITILIZATION 
 
 shrunken down, to have lost something of his 
 fine, arrogant bearing and conscious superi- 
 ority. 
 
 "All lite?" whined the voice insistently. "All 
 lite?" "Yes," said the Bishop shortly, "it's 
 all right." He strode rapidly through the 
 foul room, through the heavy, tainted, pun- 
 gent air. Outside, the dense crowd pressed 
 closely about the swinging doors scattered 
 widely as he approached. Two policemen 
 were coming down the street, attracted by the 
 excitement of the crowd. The Bishop got into 
 a rickshaw and drove homewards. A heavy 
 weight seemed to have been lifted from his 
 mind. Through the oppressive, hot night air 
 the Canterbury chimes pealed their mellow 
 notes. 
 
 "Thank God," said the Bishop fervently, 
 "it was not my nephew." 
 
 [214] 
 
UNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
|; 
 
VIII 
 
 XJNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 A LiTTiiE coasting steamer dropped anchor 
 at dawn at the mouth of Chanta-Boun creek, 
 and through the long, hot hours she lay there, 
 gently stirring with the sluggish tide, waiting 
 for the passage-junk to come down from 
 Chanta-Boun town, twelve miles further up 
 the river. It was stifling hot on the steamer, 
 and from side to side, whichever side one 
 walked to, came no breeze at all. Only the 
 warm, enveloping, moist heat closed down, 
 stifling. Very quiet it was, with no noises or 
 voices from the after deck, where under the 
 awning lay the languid deck passengers, sleep- 
 ing on their bedding rolls. Very quiet it was 
 ashore, so still and quiet that one could hear 
 the bubbling, sucking noises of the large land- 
 crabs, pattering over the black, oozy mud, or 
 the sound of a lean pig scratching himself 
 against the piles of a native hut, the clustered 
 [217] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 huts, mounted on stilts, of the village at the 
 mouth of the creek. 
 
 The Captain came down from the narrow 
 bridge into the narrow saloon. He was clad 
 in yellow pajamas, his bare feet in native san- 
 dals, and held a well pipeclayed topee in one 
 hand. Impatient he was at the delay of the 
 passage- junk coming down from up-river, 
 with her possible trifling cargo, and possible 
 trifling deck-passengers, of which the little 
 steamer already carried enough. 
 
 "This long wait — it is very annoying," he 
 commented, sitting upon the worn leather 
 cushions of the saloon bench. "And I had 
 wished for time enough to stop to see the lonely 
 man. I have made good time on this trip — all 
 things considered. With time to spare, to 
 make that call, out of our way. And now the 
 good hours go by, while we wait here, use- 
 lessly." 
 
 "The lonely man?" asked the passenger, who 
 was not a deck-passenger. He was the only 
 saloon passenger, and because of that, he slept 
 first in one, then in the other of the two small 
 cabins, alternating according to which side the 
 wind blew from. 
 
 [218] 
 
UNDEE A WINEGLASS 
 
 "You would not mind, perhaps," continued 
 the Captain, "if, after all — in spite of this 
 long delay — ^we still found time for the lonely 
 man? An unscheduled call, much out of our 
 way — oh, a day's sail from here, and we, as 
 you know, go slowly " 
 
 "Three days from now — four days from 
 now — it matters little to me when we reach 
 Bangkok," said the passenger largely, "but 
 tell me of this man." 
 
 Upon the sideboard, under an inverted 
 wineglass, sat a small gilt Buddha, placed 
 there by the China-boys. The Captain fixed 
 his eyes upon the Buddha. 
 
 "Like that. Immovable arid covered in 
 close, sitting still in a small space. Covered 
 in. Some one turned a wineglass over on him, 
 long ago, and now he sits, still and immovable 
 like that. It makes my heart ache." 
 
 "Tell me. While we are waiting." 
 
 "Three years ago," began the Captain 
 dreamily, still looking at the tiny gilt Buddha 
 in its inverted wineglass, "he came aboard. 
 Bound for nowhere in particular — ^to Bang- 
 kok, perhaps, since we were going that way. Or 
 to any other port he fancied along the coast, 
 [219] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 since we were stopping all along the coast. He 
 wanted to lose himself, he said. And, as you 
 have seen, we stop at many remote, lonely vil- 
 lages, such as this one. And we have seen 
 many lonely men, foreigners, isolated in vil- 
 lages such as this one, unknown, removed, for- 
 gotten. But none of them suited him. He 
 had been looking for the proper spot for many 
 years. Wandering up and down the coast, in 
 cargo-boats, in little coasting vessels, in sailing 
 vessels, sometimes in native junks, stopping 
 here and there, looking for a place where he 
 could go off and live by himself. He wanted 
 to be quite, absolutely, to himself. He said he 
 should know the place immediately, if he saw 
 it — recognise it at once. He said he could 
 find himself if he could get quite absolutely 
 away. Find himself, that is, recover him- 
 self — something, a part of him which he had 
 lost. Just temporarily lost. He was very 
 wistful and very eager, and said I must not 
 think him a fool, or demented. He said he 
 only wanted to be by himself, in the right spot, 
 to accomplish his purpose. He would accom- 
 plish his purpose and then return. 
 
 "Can you see him, the lonely man, obsessed, 
 [220] 
 
UNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 going up and down the China Coast, shipping 
 at distant ports, one after another, on fruit- 
 less quests, looking for a place to disembark. 
 The proper place to disembark, the place which 
 he should recognise, should know for his own 
 place, which would answer the longing in him 
 which had sent him searching round the world, 
 over the Seven Seas of the world. The spot 
 in which he could find himself again and regain 
 what he had lost. 
 
 "There are many islands hereabouts," went 
 on the Captain. "Hundreds. Desert. He 
 thought one would suit him. So I put him 
 down on one, going out of my way to find it 
 for him. He leaned over the rail of the bridge, 
 and said to me 'We are getting nearer'.' Then 
 he said that he saw it. So I stopped the ship 
 and put him down. He was very grateful. 
 He said he liked to be in the Gulf of Siam. 
 That the name had a picturesque sound, the 
 Pirate Islands. He would live all by himself 
 on one of the Pirate Islands, in the Gulf of 
 Siam. Isolated and remote, but over one way 
 was the coast of Indo-China, and over the 
 other way was the coast of Malay. Neigh- 
 bourly, but not too near. He should always 
 [221] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 feel that he could get away when he was ready, 
 what with so much traffic through the Gulf, 
 and the native boats now and then. He was 
 mistaken about the traffic, but I did not tell 
 him so. I knew where he was and could watch 
 him. I placed a cross on the chart, on his 
 island, so that I might know where I had left 
 him. And I promised myself to call upon 
 him, from time to time — to see when he should 
 be ready to face the world again." 
 
 The Captain spread a chart upon the table. 
 
 "Six degrees north latitude," he remarked, 
 "Ten thousand miles from " 
 
 "Greenwich," supplied the passenger, anx- 
 ious to show that he knew. 
 
 "From Her," corrected the Captain. 
 
 "He told me about her a little. I added the 
 rest, from what he omitted. It all happened 
 quite a long time ago, which was the bother of 
 it. And because it had taken place so long 
 ago, and had endured for so long a time, it 
 made it more difficult for him to recover him- 
 self again. Do you think people ever recover 
 themselves again? When the precious thing 
 in them, the spirit of them- has been overlaid 
 [222] 
 
TINDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 and overlaid, covered deep with artificial 
 
 layers ? 
 
 ."The marvel was that he wanted to regain 
 it — ^wanted to break through. Most don't. 
 The other thing is so easy. Money — of course. 
 She had it, and he loved her. He had none, 
 and she loved him. She had had money al- 
 ways, had lived with it, lived on it, it got into 
 her very bones. And he had not two shillings 
 to rub together, but he possessed the gift — 
 genius. But they met somewhere, and fell in 
 love with each other, and that ended him. She 
 took him, you see, and gave him aU she had. 
 It was marvellous to do it, for she loved him 
 so. Took him from his four shilling attic into 
 luxury. Out of his shabby, poor, worn clothes 
 into the best there were. From a penny 'bus 
 into superb motors. With all the rest of it 
 to match. And he accepted it all because he 
 loved her, and it was the easiest way. Besides, 
 just before she had come into his life, he had 
 written — ^well, whatever it was — ^however, they 
 all praised him, the critics and reviewers, and 
 called him the coming man, and he was very 
 happy about it, and she seemed to come into his 
 life right at the top of his happiness over his 
 [223] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 work. And sapped it. Didn't mean to, but 
 did. Cut his genius down at the root. Said his 
 beginning fame was quite enough — quite 
 enough for her, for her friends, for the society 
 into which she took him. They all praised him 
 without understanding how great he was, or 
 considering his future. They took him at her 
 valuation, which was great enough. But she 
 thought he had achieved the summit. Did not 
 know, you see, that there was anything more. 
 
 "He was so sure of himself, too, during those 
 first few years. Young and confident, con- 
 scious of his power. Drifting would not mat- 
 ter for a while. He could afford to drift. 
 His genius would ripen, he told himself, and 
 time was on his side. So he drifted, very 
 happy and content, ripening. And being over- 
 laid all the time, deeper and thicker, with this 
 intangible, transparent, strong wall, hemming 
 him in, shutting in the gold, just like that little 
 joss there under the wineglass. 
 
 "She lavished on him everything, without 
 measure. But she had no knowledge of him, 
 really. Just another toy he was, the best of 
 all, in her luxurious equipment. So he trav- 
 elled the world with her, and dined at the Em- 
 [224] 
 
UNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 bassies of the world, East and West, in all the 
 capitals of Europe and of Asia. Getting res- 
 tive finally, however, as the years wore on. 
 Feeling the wineglass, as it were, although he 
 could not see it. Looking through its clear 
 transparency, but feeling pressed, somehow, 
 conscious of the closeness. But he continued 
 to sit still, not much wishing to move, to 
 stretch himself. 
 
 "Then sounds from the other side began to 
 filter in, echoing largely in his restricted space, 
 making within it reverberations that carried 
 vague uneasiness, producing restlessness. He 
 shifted himself within his space, and grew con- 
 scious of limitations. From without came the 
 voices, insistent, asking what he was doing 
 now? Meaning, what thing was he writing 
 now, for a long time had passed since he had 
 written that which called forth the praise of 
 men. There came to him, within his wine- 
 glass, these demands from the outside. There- 
 fore he grew very uneasy, and tried to rise, 
 and just then it was that he began to feel how 
 close the crystal walls surrounded him. He 
 even wanted to break them, but a pang at 
 [225] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 heart told him that was ingratitude. For he 
 loved her, you see. Never forget that. 
 
 "Now you see how it all came about. He 
 was conscious of himself, of his power. And 
 while for the first years he had drifted, he was 
 always conscious of his power. Knew that he 
 had but to rise, to assume gigantic stature. 
 And then, just because he was very stiif, and 
 the pain of stiffness and stretching made him 
 imcouth, he grew angry. He resented his 
 captivity, chafed at his being limited like that, 
 did not understand how it had come about. It 
 had come about through love. Through sheer, 
 sheltering love. The equivalent of his for her. 
 She had placed a crystal cup above him, to 
 keep him safe. And he had sat safe beneath 
 it aU these years, fearing to stir, because she 
 liked him so. 
 
 "It came to a choice at last. His life of hap- 
 piness with her — or his work. Poor fool, to 
 have made the choice at that late day. So he 
 broke his wineglass, and his heart and her heart 
 too, and came away. And then he found that 
 he could not work, after all. Years of sitting 
 still had done it. 
 
 "At first he tried to recover himself by going 
 [226] 
 
UNDEE A WINEGLASS 
 
 over again the paths of his youth. A garret 
 in London, a studio off Montparnasse, shabby, 
 hungry — all no use. He was done for. 
 Futile. Done himself in for no purpose, for 
 he had lost her too. For you see he planned, 
 when he left her, to come back shortly, crowned 
 anew. To come back in trixmiph, for she was 
 all his life. Nothing else mattered. He just 
 wanted to lay something at her feet, in ex- 
 change for aU she had given him. Said he 
 would. So they parted, heart-broken, crushed, 
 neither one understanding. But he promised 
 to come back, with his laurels. 
 
 "That parting was long ago. He could not 
 regain himself. After his failure along the 
 paths of his youth, his garrets and studios, he 
 tried to recover his genius by visiting again 
 all the parts of the world he had visited with 
 her. Only this time, humbly. Standing on 
 the outside of palaces and Embassies, recol- 
 lecting the times when he had been a guest 
 within. Rubbing shoulders with the crowd 
 outside, shabby, poor, a derelict. Seeking 
 always to recover that lost thing. 
 
 "And getting so impatient to rejoin her. 
 Longing for her always. Coming to see that 
 [227] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 she meant more to him than all the world be- 
 side. Eating his heart out, craving her. 
 Longing to return, to reseat himself under his 
 bell. Only now he was no longer gilded. 
 He must gild himself anew, bright, just as 
 she had found him. Then he could go back. 
 
 "But it could not be done. He could not 
 work. Somewhere in the world, he told me, 
 was a spot where he could work. Where there 
 were no memories. Somewhere in the Seven 
 Seas lay the place. He should know it when 
 he saw it. After so many years' exclusion, he 
 was certain he should feel the atmosphere of 
 the place where he could work. And there he 
 would stay till he finished, till he produced the 
 big thing that was in him. Thus, regilded, he 
 would return to her again. One more effort, 
 once more to feel his power, once more to hear 
 the stimulating rush of praise, — then he would 
 give it up again, quite content to sit beneath 
 his wine-glass till the end. But this first. 
 
 "So I put him down where I have told you, 
 on a lonely island. Somewhat north of the 
 Equator, ten thousand miles away from Her. 
 Wistfully, he said it was quite the right spot. 
 He could feel it. So we helped him, the China- 
 [228] 
 
UNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 boys and I, to build a little hut, up on stilts, 
 thatched with palm leaves. Very desolate it 
 is. On all sides the burnished ocean, hot and 
 breathless. And the warm, moist heat, close 
 around, stiU and stifling. Like a blanket, * 
 dense, enveloping. But he said it was the 
 spot. I don't know. He has been there now 
 three years. He said he could do it there — if 
 ever. From time to time I stop there, if the 
 passengers are willing for a day or two's de- 
 lay. He looks very old now, and very thin, 
 but he always says it's all right. Soon, very 
 soon now, the manuscript will be ready. Next 
 time I stop, perhaps. Once I came upon him 
 sobbing. Landing early in the morning, 
 slipped ashore and found him sobbing. Head 
 in arms and shoulders shaking. It was early 
 in the morning and I think he'd sobbed all 
 night. Somehow, I think it was not for the 
 gift he'd lost — ^but for Her. 
 
 "But he says over and over again that it is 
 the right spot — the very right place in the 
 world for such as he. Told me that I must 
 not mind, seeing him so lonely, so apparently 
 depressed. That it was nothing. Just the 
 Tropics, and being so far away, and perhaps 
 [229] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 thinking a little too much of things that did not 
 concern his work. But the work would surely 
 come on. Moods came on him from time to 
 time, which he recognised were quite the right 
 moods in which to work, in which to produce 
 great things. His genius was surely ripe now 
 — ^he must just concentrate. Some day, very 
 shortly, there would be a great rush, he should 
 feel himself charged again with the old, fine 
 fire. He would produce the great work of his 
 life. He felt it coming on — ^it would be fin- 
 ished next time I called. 
 
 "This is the next time. Shall we go?" 
 asked the Captain. 
 
 Accordingly, within a day or two, the small 
 coastwise steamer dropped her anchor in a 
 shallow bay, oflf a desert island marked with a 
 cross on the Captain's chart, and immarked 
 upon all other charts of the same waters. All 
 around lay the tranquil spaces of a desolate 
 ocean, and on the island the thatched roof of 
 a solitary hut showed among the palms. The 
 Captain went ashore by himself, and presently, 
 after a little lapse of time, he returned. 
 
 "It is finished," he announced brieny, "the 
 great work is finished. I think it must have 
 [230] 
 
UNDER A WINEGLASS 
 
 been completed several weeks ago. He must 
 have died several weeks ago. Possibly soon 
 after my last call." 
 
 He held out a sheet of paper on which was 
 written one word, "Beloved." 
 
 [231] 
 
cholera: 
 
IX 
 
 CHOLERA 
 
 There is cholera in the land, and there is 
 fear of cholera in the land. Both are had, 
 though they are different. Those who get 
 cholera have no fear of it. They are simple 
 people and uneducated, fishermen and farm- 
 ers, and little tradesmen, and workers of many 
 kinds. Those who have fear of cholera have 
 more intelligence, and know what it means. 
 They have education, and their lives are bigger 
 lives — ^more imposing, as it were, and they 
 would safeguard them. Those who are afraid 
 are the foreigners and the officials, yes, even 
 the Emperor himself. Is he afraid, the Em- 
 peror? One can but guess. He has spent 
 many weeks of this hot summer, when cholera 
 was ravaging his country, in his summer palace 
 at Nikko. There he was safe. And cholera 
 spread itself throughout the land, in the sea- 
 ports, in the capital, across the rice-fields to 
 [235] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 the inland villages, taking its toU here and 
 there, of little petty lives. But dangerous to 
 the Emperor, these lives, afflicted or cut short, 
 whichever happens. So he is staying safe at 
 Nikko, in seclusion, waiting for the cool of 
 Autumn to come and purge his land. 
 
 Once he was to come back to Tokyo, to his 
 capital. For September waned and he was 
 due there, the Son of Heaven, due in his capi- 
 tal. Many of his subjects came to the station 
 at Nikko on the day appointed for his de- 
 parture, stepping with short steps in tJ^eir high 
 clogs, tinkling on the roadside in tl ir clogs, 
 scratching in their sandals. They came in 
 crowds to the station, at the hour when he was 
 due to enter the royal train. But when the 
 time came for his departure, he did not go. 
 He would tarry awhile longer at Nikko. So 
 the crowds were disappointed and did not un- 
 derstand. Rumour had it that cholera had de- 
 veloped in the royal household itself — the Pur- 
 veyor to the Palace, so it was stated, had con- 
 tracted the disease. A fish dealer, bringing 
 fish to the palace, had brought cholera with 
 him. So the Emperor tarries at Nikko, and 
 the highroad, behind the Imperial Palace in 
 [236] 
 
CHOLERA 
 
 Tokyo is closed to the public, lest any poor 
 coolL"!, strolling by, should become ill and 
 bring this dread thing near to the precincts of 
 the Son of Heaven. 
 
 The foreigners are very careful as to what 
 they eat. They avoid the fruits, the ripe, rich 
 Autumn figs, and the purple grapes, and the 
 hard, round, woody pears, and the sweet butter 
 and many other things. Oh, these days the 
 rich foreigners are very careful of themselves, 
 and meal times are not as pleasant as they 
 used to be. They discuss their food, and won- 
 der about it. And because there is cholera, 
 rife in the ports, and among the fishermen and 
 sailors, the authorities have closed the fish 
 market of Tokyo. The great Nihom-Bashi 
 market, down by the bridge, the vile, evil 
 smelling fish market, lying along the sluggish 
 canal, is closed. The canal is full of straw 
 thatched boats. It all smells very nasty in that 
 quarter, it smells like cholera. No wonder 
 there is cholera, with that smell. No wonder 
 the great market is closed. So the baskets of 
 bamboo are empty, turned upside down, for 
 there is no fish in them. The people, bare- 
 legged, nearly naked, stand idly about the 
 [237] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 empty fish market, and talk together of this 
 fear which is abroad, which has ruined their 
 trade. What is this fear? They cannot under- 
 stand. They do not know it. Only the Em- 
 peror cannot eat fish now, for some reason, 
 and their business is ruined because of his 
 caprice. 
 
 It is very hot. All summer has this great 
 heat continued, and it makes one nervous. 
 Day after day it lasts, unbroken, always the 
 same, unavoidable. There is no escape from 
 the stifling dampness of it — one cannot 
 breathe. Over all the land it is like this, this 
 heavy, svdtry heat. It is no cooler when it 
 rains, no dryer when the hot sun shines. It 
 is enveloping, engulfing. In the big hotel, the 
 leather shoes of the foreigners become mouldy 
 overnight, and the sweat runs in streams from 
 the brown bodies of the rickshaw boys. The 
 rickshaw boys of the big hotel wear clothes, 
 long legged, tight cotton trousers, and flap- 
 ping white coats. This is to save the feelings of 
 the foreigners and the missionaries, who be- 
 lieve that clothing should always be worn, even 
 in hot weather. So as the rickshaw boy runs 
 along, one can see his white coat grow damp 
 [238] 
 
CHOLERA 
 
 between the shoulder blades, then wet all 
 across the back, till it is all wet and sticks to 
 him tight. Yet it is more modest to wear 
 clothes, when doing the work of a horse. One 
 does not object to a man doing the work of a 
 horse, provided he dress like a man. But the 
 coolies toihng at the log carts, and the little 
 tradesmen in their shops, wear few clothes, 
 because they are independent of the foreigners. 
 Therefore they seem to suffer less with the 
 heat, or to suffer less obviously. Ah, but the 
 heat is intense, overwhelming! Day after day, 
 one cannot breathe. And in it, cholera goes 
 on. 
 
 They say a typhoon is coming. Word has 
 come from Formosa that a typhoon is rushing 
 up from the southern seas, from Hong Kong, 
 the Equator, wherever it is they come from. 
 It will reach us to-night. That will be better. 
 The heat will go then, blown from the land 
 by the gigantic blast of the typhoon, zig-zag- 
 ging up the coast from Formosa. Well, it is 
 late September — this unnatural heat, — ^why 
 will it not leave? Why must it linger till torn 
 like a blanket from the sweating earth, by this 
 hurricane from the Southern seas? 
 [239] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Only it did not come — the typhoon. They 
 said it would, but it failed. Has it gone shoot- 
 ing off into the Pacific, futile? So the damp, 
 stifling heat lingers, and the toll of cholera 
 rolls slowly upward day by day. 
 
 It is a long way from Nikko to Tokyo by 
 motor. A hundred miles, when one can cross 
 the bridge, but the bridge is washed away now, 
 so a detour of many more miles is necessary, 
 to ferry the motor across the Tonegawa on a 
 flat bottomed, frail boat. The motor sinks 
 nearly to the hubs in the blazing, glaring sands 
 of the dry river bed, and many naked coolies 
 are needed to push and pull it through the hot 
 sands, and work it into the boat. In the glar- 
 ing sun of noon, the broad river lies motionless, 
 like a sheet of glowing steel. Children bathe 
 in the river, and the sweating coolies dip their 
 brown bodies in it, and the sun beats down 
 pitiless. A junk gets loose from its moorings, 
 and drifts down stream, stern first, on the slow 
 current. Who cares? No one. It will beach 
 itself presently, on a mud flat, and can be re- 
 covered towards evening. The great heat lies 
 over aU the land, and cholera is in the slowly 
 flowing water, and the fishermen and the 
 [240] 
 
CHOLERA 
 
 coolies and the children live and work and play 
 by the river bank, and they have no fear of it, 
 because they are ignorant. 
 
 From Nikko to the capital, the road runs 
 through village after village, endlessly, mile 
 after mile. On each side of the village street 
 are straw thatched houses, and along the roads 
 coolies bend under great loads, carried on poles 
 across their shoulders. Black bulls drag giant 
 loads on two wheeled carts, their masters 
 straining beside them. The bulls' mouths are 
 open, their tongues hang out, and saliva drools 
 out in streams. It leaves a wet, irregular 
 wake, in the dust of the roadside, behind the 
 carts. By and by, the men will stop for food 
 and drink. They cannot choose what it shall 
 be. They cannot afford to choose. But the 
 food of the Emperor is carefully selected. 
 Physicians examine those who handle it, who 
 bring it to the Palace, to see that they are in 
 good health. They examine the food, disin- 
 fect it, see to its cooking. News of this is in 
 the papers each day, not to show that the Em- 
 peror is afraid, but to set an example to his 
 subjects. 
 
 In the houses along the roadside, little 
 [241] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tradesmen are at work, all naked in the heat. 
 Or else they are bathing. For all along the 
 high road from Nikko to the capital, following 
 its every bend and turning, runs a ditch or 
 channel filled with water. Sometimes the 
 water is clean and rushing, sometimes foul and 
 stagnant and evil smelling. And all the way 
 along the high road people are bathing in this 
 ditch or channel, in the foul or running water, 
 as it happens. They stand naked, knee deep, 
 men and children, whUe the women wash and 
 bathe also, but more modestly. Also, besides 
 their bodies, they wash much else in this long 
 ditch, — clothes, pots, what-not. Very dirty 
 seems this channel, sewer, bath tub, as you 
 please. And cholera is abroad in the land. 
 
 At the entrance to the temples sits the image 
 of Binzuru. Long ago, when history was new 
 and the gods were young, Binzuru, one of the 
 sixteen great disciples, broke his vow of chas- 
 tity by remarking on the beauty of a woman. 
 So he was put outside the temples. His image 
 no longer rests upon the altars, with those of 
 the calm, serene ones. He's disgraced, ex- 
 pelled, no longer fit to sit upon the altars, with 
 the cold, serene ones, in their colossal calm. 
 [242] 
 
CHOLEKA 
 
 He's SO human now, outside the temples. 
 Sitting on a chair for human beings to touch 
 him, now he's off the altar, he's in contact with 
 hmnanity. The devout ones rub his wooden 
 image — there is no bronze or gold in poor 
 Binzuru's makeup. So the people rub his 
 wooden image, rub his ears, his head, his fore- 
 head, rub his arms, his legs, his shoulders. 
 How they suffer, human beings! How their 
 bodies ache and suffer, judged by poor Bin- 
 zuru's body! For if you rub Binzuru on the 
 part which hurts you in your body, and then 
 rub your body with a hand fresh from Binzuru, 
 you will be cured. Your pain will go. That's 
 true. Binzuru is polished smooth and shining, 
 quite deformed with rubbing — ^his poor head's 
 a nubbin ! And in gratitude for what he's done 
 for people, he sits now on a pile of cushions, 
 one for each new cure. Bibs and caps adorn 
 h im too, votive offerings from the faithful 
 whom he's cured. 
 
 But he is no good for cholera, poor Binzuru. 
 You can't reach him quick enough to rub his 
 stomach, then your own. Cholera's too quick 
 for that. You can't reach him soon enough. 
 He can't help in this. 
 
 [243] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 Down the road a stretcher comes, swinging 
 from a bamboo pole, carried on the shoulders 
 of two men. Over it a mat is thrown, and 
 through the little open triangle at one end, you 
 see a pair of brown legs lying. Only legs, no 
 more. Drawn up stiffly, toes clinched. 
 
 Here in the hospital they lie in rows, very 
 quiet. Not an outcry, not a murmur. Every- 
 thing is swimming in carbolic. The nurses 
 wear masks across their mouths and noses. 
 They come and go in clogs, barefooted, and 
 splash through the carbolic on the floors. This 
 is cholera. These people, lying so quietly upon 
 their hard pillows, have cholera. It is not spec- 
 tacular. All are poor folk, fishermen, sailors, 
 farmers, shopkeepers, all the ignorant, the stu- 
 pid, who were not afraid. One is dying. Nose 
 pinched, gasping, bathed in sweat. The hot 
 air can't warm him. He is dying, cold. 
 
 So there is cholera in the land, and fear of 
 cholera. Those who were not afraid have 
 cholera. With them it is a matter of a few 
 days only, one way or the other. But those 
 who have fear of cholera have something which 
 lasts much longer, weeks and weeks. Till the 
 heat breaks. Till the typhoon comes. 
 [244] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
X 
 
 COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 Young Withers bought out his Tincle's firm 
 of Withers, Ltd., importers. He had been as- 
 sociated with his uncle for some years, as a 
 minor partner, and how he could manage to 
 take over the prosperous Withers, Ltd. with- 
 out capital, is one of the mysteries of finance 
 that do not concern us. Suffice it that he did, 
 everything included, the big godowns on the 
 quais, shipping rights, the goodwill, stock and 
 fixtures, and the old compradore, Li Yuan 
 Chang. Most particular was old Mr. Withers 
 that Li Yuan Chang should be included. 
 "You wiU never find a better compradore," 
 he had explained over and over, "in fact, the 
 business will go to pieces without him." Pre- 
 sumably old Mr. Withers knew what he was 
 talking about, for Li had been his interpreter, 
 his accountant, his man of affairs for years^ 
 So of course young Withers made no objec- 
 [247] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tion, and considered that he was very fortu- 
 nate in having Li stay with him, after the turn- 
 over. For old Li was rich enough to retire 
 by this time, no doubt, as compradores always 
 find means to put away something year by 
 year over and above their salaries. But he 
 was scrupulously honest — old Mr. Withers had 
 full and complete trust in him, and explained 
 to his nephew that he could leave Tientsin 
 from time to time, for as long a time as he 
 liked, in fact, and could be sure meanwhile 
 that old Li would look out for his interests. 
 
 "Just be careful of him," he explained. 
 "He's really invaluable. But be a little care- 
 ful of him — considerate, I mean — ^he's not very 
 strong " 
 
 "Chandoo?" asked young Withers suspi- 
 ciously, by which he meant, was Li addicted to 
 smoking that cheapest form of opium, the 
 refuse and scrapings, which was the only grade 
 that all but the richest could afford. 
 
 "Oh never," replied old Mr. Withers, 
 "never. In all the years I've had him. Never 
 touches a pipe. Temperate and austere in all 
 things, to a degree. But he is getting old now 
 and needs humouring — likes to feel his impor- 
 [248] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 tance, does not care to be overlooked in the 
 way young men may be inclined to overlook 
 him, — ^his work, I mean. Besides, he's not 
 very strong, rather delicate in fact, so you must 
 be easy with him. But you'll never get a bet- 
 ter compradore, and he's good for many years 
 yet — or until you learn the ropes," 
 
 After which old Mr. Withers concerned him- 
 self very earnestly in the preparations for his 
 departure, for he was leaving China for a bet- 
 ter land, — England, I mean. 
 
 Young Withers set about learning the busi- 
 ness under the direction of old Li. Which 
 greatly complimented old Li, who liked being 
 deferred to by a European. And young 
 Withers being very easy-going, and having 
 fallen into a business which required no up- 
 building, being already in its stride, most suc- 
 cessful, he left a good many of the details to 
 his compradore, and bragged about him a 
 good deal, saying that indeed he had inherited 
 from his uncle a most wonderful and compe- 
 tent man of affairs. Therefore he was greatly 
 astonished one day, about two years after his 
 accession, when Li asked for a vacation — a 
 long one. 
 
 [249] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 "Want go America," explained the Chi- 
 nese succinctly. Young Withers was dumb- 
 founded. 
 
 "But you can't go America!" he explained, 
 "no can go. What become of business here in 
 Tientsin if you go America? No can do." 
 
 Li had had his own way about many things 
 during a great number of years, and opposi- 
 tion, no matter from what motives, meant 
 nothing to him. He settled his big horn spec- 
 tacles more firmly on his nose, and flecked in- 
 visible dust from his rich black brocade coat. 
 
 "Want go America," he repeated without 
 emphasis. 
 
 "Whatever for?" asked young Withers, to 
 whom a desire to go to America was incom- 
 prehensible. He himself had never felt a de- 
 sire to go to America, and that his old com- 
 pradore should be so obsessed was past his un- 
 derstanding. Besides, he could imagine some- 
 what what would befall the old gentleman, 
 who after many years was only able to speak 
 pidgin-English, who never wore European 
 clothes, and who had managed to retain his 
 magnificent queu in spite of all the troubles 
 following the Boxer business. Old Withers 
 : [250] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 had managed to preserve Li's queu for him. 
 Took him into his compound and sheltered him, 
 and finally got a permit from the Legation 
 to allow him to wear it. Li was enormously, 
 proud of this queu, which was long and thick 
 and glossy, and its length enhanced by a black 
 silk cord, neatly plaited in towards the end — 
 altogether, it came nearly down to his heels, 
 the envy and admiration of many a Chinese 
 gentleman who had been abruptly shorn be- 
 fore help arrived. Yotmg Withers visualised 
 his dignified compradore the figure of fun to 
 irreverent American crowds. He sincerely 
 wished to preserve him from what he felt must 
 be an unpleasant experience. He was even 
 more anxious to protect his old friend from 
 what would probably be in store for him, than 
 through any selfish desire to retain his services. 
 "Come back again four month," observed 
 Li. "Not long time. Want to go." Young 
 Withers sighed. It was impossible to explain 
 to the old man. There were pitfalls and pit- 
 falls, he well knew. Yet he had never been to 
 America himself, so could not speak from ex- 
 perience. Only the evening before he had 
 been dining in company with a wise woman 
 [251] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 of sorts, a French lady who had lived in a cave 
 in Tibet for some years, pursuing reluctant 
 hermits into their mountain fastnesses in or- 
 der to obtain elucidation on certain Buddhist 
 books. She had told him frankly that she was 
 bound back again for her cave, or for the wilds 
 of Mongoha, but never, under any circum- 
 stances, could she trust herself to the risks of 
 American civilization. Young Withers tried 
 to explain something of this to the old man, 
 who was very patient and did not interrupt 
 him, but the seed was falling on barren ground. 
 If he could just understand English better, 
 thought Withers, I might be able to make him 
 see. So Withers' oratory was lost, to a large 
 degree, and when he came to a pause Li re- 
 peated, without emphasis, 
 
 "Want go America." 
 
 "But you're too old!" exclaimed the young 
 man, exasperated by such obstinacy. "Too — 
 you're too — ^you're not strong enough. You're 
 too — delicate " 
 
 "Want go America. Four month. Come 
 
 back then," said Li, and Withers gave it up. 
 
 Two weeks later Li was standing on the deck 
 
 of a small Japanese liner bound from Tientsin 
 
 [252] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 to Kobe, from which port he would transship 
 to a larger Japanese liner bound for San Fran- 
 cisco. He took with him many bundles of odd 
 sizes, wrapped in coarse blue cotton, seem- 
 ingly of no value. He waved a dignified fare- 
 well from the rail, and young Withers, on the 
 dock, watched the departure of his old com- 
 pradore with infinite misgivings. 
 
 Four months, including the passage both 
 ways, proved much too long a time in which to 
 see America. Li returned unexpectedly one 
 day, within half that time, a silent and broken 
 man. His blue bundles, whatever their mys- 
 tery, were gone, his rich brocade coat was 
 gone, and gone also was his confidence and 
 trust in himian kind. Only his thick, glossy, 
 long queu remained to him, — that, and a sin- 
 gular taciturnity. Whatever his experiences, 
 no word would he speak concerning them — 
 he preserved a rigid silence. Something had 
 been broken in the old man, there beyond the 
 seas, and whatever had befallen him was ab- 
 horrent and unspeakable. He seemed very 
 much older, very much more frail, and his thin, 
 fine hands were always trembling in a manner 
 unaccustomed. Young Withers was in dis- 
 [253] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 tress, for Li's distress was so obvious, his sin-: 
 gular reticence making him suffer still more. 
 
 "Those thugs in San Francisco must have 
 cleaned out the old fellow first day on shore," 
 he concluded, and then thought no more about 
 it. It was pitiful to see the old man, however, 
 pitiful to watch him going about his duties with 
 the recollection of his terrible days in the New 
 World undermining his spirits and vitality. 
 The secret, whatever it was that had befallen 
 him, was sapping his frail strength. Only on 
 one occasion, several months later, did he 
 bring up the subject. He appeared suddenly 
 before Withers' desk one day, and there was 
 an angry gleam in his spectacled eyes. 
 
 "Your uncle never let me go America. 
 Twenty years with your uncle. Very good 
 man. Never can go." He turned away 
 abruptly. 
 
 "By Jove," thought young Withers to him- 
 self, "the old chap's holding me responsible. 
 Blaming it all on me. I like that!" and he 
 laughed a little, uneasily. These Chinese were 
 queer ones. You never knew how they stood. 
 
 The firm of Withers, Ltd. was very busy. 
 Every week or so ships came into the harbour 
 [254] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 with boxes and bales of European mer- 
 chandise of a rather shoddy kind, intended for 
 the markets of North China. And there was 
 much business in transferring these boxes and 
 bales to the big godowns, with their heavy iron 
 doors and windows, in checking them up, sort- 
 ing them out — in short, all the sort of activity 
 that goes with a firm of importers, such as this 
 one. Also there was much business in dis- 
 tributing these boxes and bales, or rather the 
 contents thereof, to the railway station, for 
 shipment to Peldng and to remote provinces 
 in the north and west. In Peking, these 
 shoddy goods were made into smaller bales, 
 and laden on camels, for some far off, remote 
 destination in the interior. This took Withers 
 frequently to Peking, leaving old Li in charge 
 of the godowns in Tientsin. Withers always 
 took charge of this end of the business, be- 
 cause of the opportunity it oflFered to get away 
 from daily contact with his old compradore. 
 Somehow, he felt rather uneasy in the old 
 man's presence. There was a change in his 
 manner, most marked. Again and again 
 that remark occurred to him, and again and 
 again, in the compradore's presence, Withers 
 [255] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 was conscious of a feeling of undefinable hos- 
 tility. He holds me responsible, he thought, 
 absurd, but that's what it is. Because I did not 
 prevent him from going to America. Therefore 
 Withers was very glad to go to Peking from 
 time to time, for he liked the excitement of the 
 barbaric capital, and besides, he thought it 
 would be good for Li to be quite on his own in 
 charge of the godowns, and might distract his 
 thoughts from that obsession which was prey- 
 ing upon him. 
 
 One day, after an absence of two weeks, 
 young Withers returned to his Tientsin office, 
 which wore a somewhat deserted air. The 
 shroff was clicking on his abacus, and left off 
 snicking the beads up and down to remark cas- 
 ually that the compradore had gone. The 
 shroff was a young Chinese who spoke excel- 
 lent, mission-school English, and wore good 
 European clothes, and he shared Withers' as- 
 tonishment that such a thing had happened. 
 
 "Wanted to go home, he said. Had had 
 enough business. Gone home ten days ago, 
 with his family. Said say good-bye to you." 
 
 Withers' first feeling was of relief. That's 
 that, he thought to himself, and just as well. 
 [256] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 He stood eyeing the young Chinese account- 
 ant, and the shroff looked him back fairly in 
 the eye, and the same thought passed through 
 both minds. A younger man would do just 
 as weU as compradore, and here was the 
 younger man at hand, waiting. "Let's go 
 down to the godowns," said Withers, and the 
 two walked out of the office together, in the 
 direction of the quais. The shroff should 
 learn things from the beginning, and taking 
 charge of the bales and boxes in the ware- 
 houses, counting them, distributing their con- 
 tents, was part of the business. 
 
 On unlocking the great, heavy doors, the 
 godowns presented a singular aspect. Never, 
 in all the years that young Withers had been 
 associated as junior partner in Withers, Ltd., 
 and never in the few years since he had become 
 Withers, Ltd. himself, had the godowns pre- 
 sented such an aspect. They were empty. 
 Quite, stark, utterly empty. Not a bale, not 
 a box, not a yard of calico was to be found 
 anywhere about. The sunshine slanted in 
 through the open door, and not a moat of dust 
 danced in the rays, for nothing had been dis- 
 turbed for some time, and the dust was settled. 
 [257] 
 
CIVILIZATION 
 
 They went top-side, into the lofts. The same 
 thoroughness presented itseK. Everything 
 had been cleared out, absolutely. 
 
 "Stolen!" exclaimed Withers. 
 
 "Clean-sweep!" said the shroff, in his mis- 
 sion-school English. 
 
 "Ruined!" added Withers to himself. 
 
 Together they hurried back to the office and 
 examined things. It was evident in a moment 
 how it had been done. Withers had signed 
 an order for the removal of five boxes. The 
 compradore had deftly added a cipher and 
 raised it to fifty. And so on. Done repeat- 
 edly, with neatness and precision, over With- 
 ers' own signature. No wonder the streets 
 about the godowns had presented an air of ac- 
 tivity at times. 
 
 "We must find him," said Withers, "catch 
 him quickly, before he has time to dispose of 
 the money." 
 
 The old compradore had made no effort to 
 hide his whereabouts. There were a dozen peo- 
 ple to whom he had said farewell, telling them 
 that he had now given up work and was retir- 
 ing with his family to his home in the Western 
 Hills. Over Jehol way. Three weeks by 
 [258] 
 
COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 cart. Aye, his cart had come down from Pe- 
 king to fetch him, a two days' journey. He 
 was not taking the train. He had started 
 early one morning in his hig, blue-hooded cart, 
 drawn by a gorgeous yellow mule, its harness 
 inlaid with jade stones. Not number-one 
 jade, of course, but still jade, and of value. 
 Ten days ago he had gone. 
 
 Withers and the shroff caught the first train 
 out for Peking, and arriving in two hours, 
 made hasty preparations for their journey. 
 They obtained a cart and a mule, bedding rolls 
 and tinned food, and by afternoon had set out 
 through the West Gate of the Tartar City, 
 over the dusty plains towards the Western 
 Hills. Over Jehol way, towards a village be- 
 yond Jehol, up in the hills, where Li Yuan 
 Chang had his dwelling. 
 
 Travelhng is slow in a Peking cart, and un- 
 comfortable. The heavy, springless vehicle 
 lumbered along, bouncing over the deep, dried 
 ruts, at times sinking hub deep into the dry 
 holes. There were times when the road was 
 below the level of the adjacent fields, so deep 
 below that even the hood of the cart was be- 
 low them, worn as they were by centuries of 
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CIVILIZATION 
 
 travel. At these times, the dust swept 
 through the narrow channel, blinding. Once 
 or twice they ran into a dust storm whirling 
 down from the north, from the great Gobi 
 Desert, beyond. Then they drew down the 
 curtains of the cart, suffocating inside, tossed 
 from side to side, up and down, by the hard 
 jolting of the vehicle. By night they rested 
 at wayside inns, sometimes finding the com- 
 pounds filled with camels, great shaggy brutes 
 that lay about at all angles, over the courtyard, 
 and snorted and nipped at the intruders. They 
 slept at night in their cart, wrapping up well 
 in their bedding rolls, shivering at times in the 
 keen October wind. Their coolies shared the 
 k'ang within, with the camel drivers and other 
 travellers, but Withers and the shroff pre- 
 ferred the cart, for there were worse if smaller 
 animals than camels to be found in native hos- 
 telries. Toilsome, weary days succeeded one 
 another, broken by restless nights, yet ever 
 they pushed westward, slowly, laboriously. 
 
 The coolies brought them news of the way- 
 side, gathering it each night from the inns. 
 A great mandarin had passed that way some 
 days ago — a great man surely, to judge by the 
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COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 length of the axles of his cart, which stuck out 
 a good foot beyond the hubs, marking him as 
 a man of importance. And a great yellow 
 mule, with harness set with jade stones, and 
 the brasses pohshed, — oh, a very rich man, evi- 
 dently! So each night they heard accounts of 
 the rich man who had gone ahead, with his ret- 
 inue, his family and servants and packmules. 
 It was well noised abroad, evidently, through 
 the countryside. Travellers coming from be- 
 yond Jehol had met him with his train, and 
 the inns at which they stopped always had 
 news of his progress, outward bound. In a 
 hurry, too. And very fearful of the roadside 
 dangers. Always in the compounds before 
 dusk, fearful of highwaymen. 
 
 To Withers, the suspense of the slow jour- 
 ney was well nigh unbearable. He, too, was in 
 a hiu-ry, worn with fatigue and anxiety. At 
 first, he had been merely anxious to overtake 
 the old man, to obtain restitution. But with 
 the wayside gossip prevailing, other fears en- 
 tered his mind. One day at noon time, they 
 entered a village apparently deserted. The 
 heavy gates of the compounds were closed, not 
 a person visible in the long, straggling street. 
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CIVILIZATION 
 
 Every one had withdrawn himself into his 
 house, behind locked and bolted doors. At the 
 inn, they pounded repeatedly on the gates, 
 asking admission. Slowly, after a very long 
 time, the gates were opened an inch, and it 
 could be seen that there was the pressure of 
 many men on the inside, ready to slam and bar 
 them in an instant. Then, seeing they were 
 but travellers, they were hastily admitted into 
 the courtyard, and the gates closed and barred 
 again. Bandits. A band of them was scour- 
 ing the country, thirty or more, down from 
 Mongolia. Abject terror was on every face. 
 The whole village was under its spell. 
 
 "We must push on," said Withers, "we 
 must hasten." The shroff was very fearful, 
 but as he was to be compradore now, to do the 
 work of a European, he could not show fear. 
 But the mafu and the coolies were too fright- 
 ened to continue the journey, so they were 
 left behind, and Withers and the shroflf went 
 off by themselves. It was very foolhardy, he 
 told himself, it was sheer madness. But he 
 was ruined anyhow, so it did not much matter. 
 Only, he must somehow reach the village three 
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COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 days' journey beyond Jehol — if only he could 
 arrive in time. 
 
 Very laborious was the travelling, and they 
 walked in the wake of fear. They now passed 
 through many deserted villages, one after an- 
 other, locked and barred, that the murderous 
 band from Mongolia had ridden through. 
 Only, they had gone ahead, the bandits — per- 
 haps they would not be riding back that way 
 again. Perhaps they would be going on, into 
 the north again, after they had finished 
 
 Finished? Yes, it was a very rich man they 
 were after, — they had asked for him all along 
 the road. They were trailing him to his home, 
 following with great ease the description of 
 the great mandarin, with the great yellow mule 
 with jade-set harness, who had gone by with 
 his retinue just before. 
 
 So Withers and the shroff continued their 
 desolate journey, day by day, across the plains, 
 over such roads as are not, save in North 
 China. Passing through villages shut and 
 empty, through fields in which there were no 
 workers, following in the train of terror that 
 had been spread over the land by the bandits 
 from the north. And the terror reached into 
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CIVILIZATION 
 
 Withers' heart, making it cold. They do not 
 w^ant us, he said to himself, over and over. We 
 
 are quite safe. But the old man The 
 
 little shroff, however, who was also filled with 
 terror, did not think they were safe at all. 
 Only he must appear as brave as a European, 
 so he could only tremble inwardly. Besides 
 all that, the big mule was very difficult to man- 
 age, and they had to drag the cart from the 
 deep ruts many times a day, and each evening 
 when they were most tired, they had to calm 
 the suspicions of those within, and make long 
 explanations before the inn gates, before they 
 could be admitted into the compounds. 
 
 They arrived at their destination at dusk 
 one evening, after three weeks' weary travel. 
 Trembling fingers pointed out the house — • 
 trembling, but in a manner, reassured. At the 
 end of the long street they would find the 
 house, a very fine house indeed — formerly a 
 mandarin's palace, they explained, but pur- 
 chased a few months ago by a rich man who 
 had come there with his family to live. The 
 tired men and tired mule pushed on through 
 the long street, gazed upon curiously by clus- 
 tering Chinese, huddled in doorways. They 
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COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 came to a high wall topped with broken glass, 
 a high, strong wall, surrounding a large com- 
 pound. Beyond, at the entrance, stood two 
 stone lions, such as mark the homes of the rich 
 and great. But the great stone guardian lions 
 were guarding a broken door. The high, red 
 lacquered door was split into many pieces, the 
 hinges holding, but the doors themselves split, 
 so that a man's body could crawl through. 
 
 Withers led the way, the shroff following. 
 Within, the compound was deserted. They 
 made their way to the doors of the main house, 
 which had been smashed in. The rooms inside 
 were empty, stripped, their treasures gone, 
 cleaned out. Very much in appearance like 
 the godowns in Tientsin. They made their 
 way through the silent compound into the 
 women's compound in the rear. It was the! 
 same — ^ransacked, despoiled. But there were 
 many compounds and many houses, so together 
 they passed through moon gates, over elab- 
 orate terraces, beside peony mountains, and 
 summer houses, across delicate rock bridges 
 with marble balustrades. Silent, deserted, 
 bearing the evidence of thorough looting. 
 
 Then, quite at the rear, a woman appeared, 
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CIVILIZATION 
 
 the rmmber-one wife of Li Yuan Chang. She 
 peered round the edges of a moon gate, hiding 
 her body behind it. She recognised Withers 
 and the shroff and came forward. She was 
 very apologetic, very embarrassed, for she was 
 wearing coolie clothes. Her own, she ex- 
 plained, had been taken from her by the ban- 
 dits. Timidly she approached them, but the 
 timidity was embarrassment. She was very em- 
 barrassed to be found in coolie clothes, felt re- 
 sentment at the humiliation, and apologised 
 repeatedly for her appearance. She could 
 think of nothing else. Then she led the way 
 still further to the rear, to a compound quite 
 behind all the other compounds and other 
 houses of the gorgeous mandarin's palace. The 
 last stand of the defenders. They were scat- 
 tered about the courtyard in all attitudes, in 
 grotesque and uncouth positions, all dead. She 
 pointed to a figure lying face downward, a 
 thin, elderly figure, in blood-soaked black bro- 
 cade, with a magnificent queu lying at right 
 angles to the dead body. 
 
 Once more she apologised for appearing be- 
 fore the gentlemen in coolie clothes. She felt 
 the disgrace keenly. 
 
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COSMIC JUSTICE 
 
 "My husband," she explained contemptu- 
 ously, pointing to the old compradore, "was 
 unable to protect us. He was always such a 
 delicate old thing." 
 
 [267J