Boxer fellers.’
He held out his hand. ‘But good to have you here, just in case, Fonthill. You could well be damned useful if we do have a spot of bother. So I hope you will stay a day or two, what?’
‘Of course, sir.’ They shook hands.
The minister walked him to the door and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘By the way, I have just heard some good news from home. Mafeking has been relieved.’
Fonthill stared back bleakly. ‘Mafeking? What … where … is that?’
‘Good Lord, don’t you know? Ah, but of course. You have been travelling. The war in South Africa, this trouble with the Boers. You must know that they have been besieging Mafeking, this town in the Transvaal, for ages. Well, we’ve relieved the siege at last. It’s been a source of great rejoicing back home.’
‘Yes, of course. I know that Mafeking. But … do you mean that the war in South Africa is still on?’
‘Oh yes.’ Sir Claude gave a wry smile. ‘My dear chap, you really must have been out of touch. These Boers gave us a terrible hiding in the first few weeks. They brought off three major victories, but the tide has turned, as we always knew it would. The matter should be brought to a close very soon now, I would think. But it was touch and go for a time.’
Simon frowned. ‘Yes. I always thought that the Boer farmer was the best light-cavalryman in the world.’ And then, almost to himself, ‘I should have been there, dammit. I should have been there.’ He looked up at the Scotsman and smiled. ‘Ah well, can’t be helped. Let’s hope it’s over soon. And this affair, too.’
‘Quite so. I am sure it will be. I don’t really anticipate trouble, you know. We should all be quite safe within the Legation Quarter and I trust Her Celestial Highness to sort out the Boxers if and when they get here.’ He gave a paternal smile. ‘Now go and get some rest, my dear chap. You’ve had quite a day of it.’
‘Thank you, sir. Goodbye.’
Fonthill walked out into the hot sun and looked around him. Unlike the teeming streets outside, the Quarter seemed somnolent. A cluster of cream-suited Europeans wearing solar topees walked by and, despite the heat, several tight-waisted ladies, with smart straw hats tied under their chins by coloured scarves, sauntered past, holding parasols above their heads. Simon doffed his hat and they smiled back. It was all so civilised. Then he remembered the hundreds – the thousands – of Chinese on the other side of those high walls and he heard again the cries of ‘ Sha! Sha! ’
He strode away, a troubled frown on his face.
C HAPTER T HREE
The next evening the detachment from Tientsin, mainly sailors, arrived. They marched through the streets of Peking into the Legation Quarter with bayonets fixed, a fine sight. Yet their journey had not been uneventful. They had to be transported from their ships in the bay by lighters and other shallow-draught vessels past the Chinese forts guarding the River Pei Ho to the small river port of Tangku, from which they were able to entrain for Tientsin and travel on, via the now repaired railway, to the line terminal at Machiapu, just outside the walls of Peking. There, however, six thousand Muslim soldiers from the northern province of Kansu had been concentrated by the Chinese authorities to await the arrival of the foreign force.
Throughout that day, Fonthill and his companions had grown increasingly aware that the residents within the enclave did not share Sir Claude MacDonald’s sanguine view of events. Crowds could beheard in the streets outside the Legation walls chanting and shouting. It was said that many of the missionaries in their compounds out in the Chinese City had donned native dress, twisted their long hair into pigtails and prepared for flight.
It was a huge relief, then, when, at the last minute, the Kansu troops were withdrawn and the polyglot contingent was allowed to pass unmolested through to the Yung Ting Men, the main, gated entrance
He held out his hand. ‘But good to have you here, just in case, Fonthill. You could well be damned useful if we do have a spot of bother. So I hope you will stay a day or two, what?’
‘Of course, sir.’ They shook hands.
The minister walked him to the door and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘By the way, I have just heard some good news from home. Mafeking has been relieved.’
Fonthill stared back bleakly. ‘Mafeking? What … where … is that?’
‘Good Lord, don’t you know? Ah, but of course. You have been travelling. The war in South Africa, this trouble with the Boers. You must know that they have been besieging Mafeking, this town in the Transvaal, for ages. Well, we’ve relieved the siege at last. It’s been a source of great rejoicing back home.’
‘Yes, of course. I know that Mafeking. But … do you mean that the war in South Africa is still on?’
‘Oh yes.’ Sir Claude gave a wry smile. ‘My dear chap, you really must have been out of touch. These Boers gave us a terrible hiding in the first few weeks. They brought off three major victories, but the tide has turned, as we always knew it would. The matter should be brought to a close very soon now, I would think. But it was touch and go for a time.’
Simon frowned. ‘Yes. I always thought that the Boer farmer was the best light-cavalryman in the world.’ And then, almost to himself, ‘I should have been there, dammit. I should have been there.’ He looked up at the Scotsman and smiled. ‘Ah well, can’t be helped. Let’s hope it’s over soon. And this affair, too.’
‘Quite so. I am sure it will be. I don’t really anticipate trouble, you know. We should all be quite safe within the Legation Quarter and I trust Her Celestial Highness to sort out the Boxers if and when they get here.’ He gave a paternal smile. ‘Now go and get some rest, my dear chap. You’ve had quite a day of it.’
‘Thank you, sir. Goodbye.’
Fonthill walked out into the hot sun and looked around him. Unlike the teeming streets outside, the Quarter seemed somnolent. A cluster of cream-suited Europeans wearing solar topees walked by and, despite the heat, several tight-waisted ladies, with smart straw hats tied under their chins by coloured scarves, sauntered past, holding parasols above their heads. Simon doffed his hat and they smiled back. It was all so civilised. Then he remembered the hundreds – the thousands – of Chinese on the other side of those high walls and he heard again the cries of ‘ Sha! Sha! ’
He strode away, a troubled frown on his face.
C HAPTER T HREE
The next evening the detachment from Tientsin, mainly sailors, arrived. They marched through the streets of Peking into the Legation Quarter with bayonets fixed, a fine sight. Yet their journey had not been uneventful. They had to be transported from their ships in the bay by lighters and other shallow-draught vessels past the Chinese forts guarding the River Pei Ho to the small river port of Tangku, from which they were able to entrain for Tientsin and travel on, via the now repaired railway, to the line terminal at Machiapu, just outside the walls of Peking. There, however, six thousand Muslim soldiers from the northern province of Kansu had been concentrated by the Chinese authorities to await the arrival of the foreign force.
Throughout that day, Fonthill and his companions had grown increasingly aware that the residents within the enclave did not share Sir Claude MacDonald’s sanguine view of events. Crowds could beheard in the streets outside the Legation walls chanting and shouting. It was said that many of the missionaries in their compounds out in the Chinese City had donned native dress, twisted their long hair into pigtails and prepared for flight.
It was a huge relief, then, when, at the last minute, the Kansu troops were withdrawn and the polyglot contingent was allowed to pass unmolested through to the Yung Ting Men, the main, gated entrance
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