Jules Verne (28 page)

"What!" said Popof. "The manager of the company who so courageously
drove off the bandits and killed their chief Ki-Tsang with his own
hand?"

Then I entered on the scene.

"The major is not mistaken. It was Faruskiar who laid this fine trap
for us."

And amid the general stupefaction I told them what I knew, and what
good fortune had enabled me to ascertain. I told them how I had
overheard the plan of Faruskiar and his Mongols, when it was too late
to stop it, but I was silent regarding the intervention of Kinko. The
moment had not come, and I would do him justice in due time.

To my words there succeeded a chorus of maledictions and menaces.

What! This seigneur Faruskiar, this superb Mongol, this functionary we
had seen at work! No! It was impossible.

But they had to give in to the evidence. I had seen; I had heard; I
affirmed that Faruskiar was the author of this catastrophe in which all
our train might have perished, was the most consummate bandit who had
ever disgraced Central Asia!

"You see, Monsieur Bombarnac," said Major Noltitz, "that I was not
mistaken in my first suspicion."

"It is only too true," I replied, without any false modesty, "that I
was taken in by the grand manners of the abominable rascal."

"Monsieur Claudius," said Caterna, "put that into a romance, and see if
anybody believes it likely."

Caterna was right; but unlikely as it may seem, it was. And, besides, I
alone knew Kinko's secret. It certainly did seem as though it was
miraculous for the locomotive to explode just on the verge of the abyss.

Now that all danger had disappeared we must take immediate measures for
running back the cars on to the Pekin line.

"The best thing to do is for one of us to volunteer—"

"I will do that," said Caterna.

"What is he to do?" I asked.

"Go to the nearest station, that of Fuen Choo, and telegraph to
Tai-Youan for them to send on a relief engine."

"How far is it to Fuen Choo?" asked Ephrinell.

"About six kilometres to Nanking junction, and about five kilometres
beyond that."

"Eleven kilometres," said the major; "that is a matter of an hour and a
half for good walkers. Before three o'clock the engine from Tai-Youan
ought to be here. I am ready to start."

"So am I," said Popof! "I think several of us ought to go. Who knows if
we may not meet Faruskiar and his Mongols on the road?"

"You are right, Popof," said Major Noltitz, "and we should be armed."

This was only prudent, for the bandits who ought to be on their way to
the Tjon viaduct could not be very far off. Of course, as soon as they
found that their attempt had failed, they would hasten to get away. How
would they dare—six strong—to attack a hundred passengers, including
the Chinese guard?

Twelve of us, including Pan-Chao, Caterna, and myself, volunteered to
accompany Major Noltitz. But by common accord we advised Popof not to
abandon the train, assuring him that we would do all that was necessary
at Fuen Choo.

Then, armed with daggers and revolvers—it was one o'clock in the
morning—we went along the line to the junction, walking as fast as the
very dark night permitted.

In less than two hours we arrived at Fuen Choo station without
adventure. Evidently Faruskiar had cleared off. The Chinese police
would have to deal with the bandit and his accomplices. Would they
catch him? I hoped so, but I doubted.

At the station Pan-Chao explained matters to the stationmaster, who
telegraphed for an engine to be sent from Tai-Youan to the Nanking line.

At three o'clock, just at daybreak, we returned to wait for the engine
at the junction. Three-quarters of an hour afterwards its whistle
announced its approach, and it stopped at the bifurcation of the lines.
We climbed up on to the tender, and half an hour later had rejoined the
train.

The dawn had come on sufficiently for us to be able to see over a
considerable distance. Without saying anything to anybody, I went in
search of the body of my poor Kinko. And I could not find it among the
wreck.

As the engine could not reach the front of the train, owing to their
being only a single line, and no turning-table, it was decided to
couple it on in the rear and run backwards to the junction. In this way
the box, alas! without the Roumanian in it, was in the last carriage.

We started, and in half an hour we were on the main line again.

Fortunately it was not necessary for us to return to Tai-Youan, and we
thus saved a delay of an hour and a half. At the junction the engine
was detached and run for a few yards towards Pekin, then the vans and
cars, one by one, were pushed on to the main line, and then the engine
backed and the train proceeded, made up as before the accident. By five
o'clock we were on our way across Petchili as if nothing had happened.

I have nothing to say regarding this latter half of the journey, during
which the Chinese driver—to do him justice—in no way endeavored to
make up for lost time. But if a few hours more or less were of no
importance to us, it was otherwise with Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer, who
wanted to catch the Yokohama boat at Tien Tsin.

When we arrived there at noon the steamer had been gone for
three-quarters of an hour; and when the German globe-trotter, the rival
of Bly and Bisland, rushed on to the platform, it was to learn that the
said steamer was then going out of the mouths of the Pei-Ho into the
open sea.

Unfortunate traveler! We were not astonished when, as Gaterna said, the
baron "let go both broadsides" of Teutonic maledictions. And really he
had cause to curse in his native tongue.

We remained but a quarter of an hour at Tien Tsin. My readers must
pardon me for not having visited this city of five hundred thousand
inhabitants, the Chinese town with its temples, the European quarter in
which the trade is concentrated, the Pei-Ho quays where hundreds of
junks load and unload. It was all Faruskiar's fault, and were it only
for having wrecked my reportorial endeavors he ought to be hanged by
the most fantastic executioner in China.

Nothing happened for the rest of our run. I was very sorry at the
thought that I was not bringing Kinko along with me, and that his box
was empty. And he had asked me to accompany him to Mademoiselle Zinca
Klork! How could I tell this unfortunate girl that her sweetheart would
never reach Pekin station?

Everything ends in this world below, even a voyage of six thousand
kilometres on the Grand Transasiatic; and after a run of thirteen days,
hour after hour, our train stopped at the gates of the capital of the
Celestial Empire.

"Pekin!" shouted Popof. "All change here."

And Caterna replied with truly Parisian unction:

"I believe you, my boy!"

And we all changed.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon. For people fatigued with three
hundred and twelve hours of traveling, it was no time for running about
the town—what do I say?—the four towns inclosed one within the other.
Besides, I had plenty of time. I was going to stop some weeks in this
capital.

The important thing was to find a hotel in which one could live
passably. From information received I was led to believe that the hotel
of
Ten Thousand Dreams
, near the railway station, might be
sufficiently in accord with Western notions.

As to Mademoiselle Klork, I will postpone my visit till to-morrow. I
will call on her before the box arrives, and even then I shall be too
soon, for I shall take her the news of Kinko's death.

Major Noltitz will remain in the same hotel as I do. I have not to bid
him farewell, nor have I to part with the Caternas, who are going to
stay a fortnight before starting for Shanghai. As to Pan-Chao and Dr.
Tio-King, a carriage is waiting to take them to the yamen in which the
young Chinaman's family live. But we shall see each other again.
Friends do not separate at a simple good-by, and the grip of the hand I
gave him as he left the car will not be the last.

Mr. and Mrs. Ephrinell lose no time in leaving the station on business,
which obliges them to find a hotel in the commercial quarter of the
Chinese town. But they do not leave without receiving my compliments.
Major Noltitz and I go up to this amiable couple, and the conventional
politenesses are reciprocally exchanged.

"At last," said I to Ephrinell, "the forty-two packages of Strong,
Bulbul & Co. have come into port. But it is a wonder the explosion of
our engine did not smash your artificial teeth."

"Just so," said the American, "my teeth had a narrow escape. What
adventures they have had since we left Tiflis? Decidedly this journey
has been less monotonous than I expected."

"And," added the major, "you were married on the way—unless I am
mistaken!"

"Wait a bit!" replied the Yankee in a peculiar tone. "Excuse me; we are
in a hurry."

"We will not keep you, Mr. Ephrinell," I replied, "and to Mrs.
Ephrinell and yourself allow us to say au revoir!"

"Au revoir!" replied the Americanized lady, rather more dryly at her
arrival than at her departure.

Then, turning, she said:

"I have no time to wait, Mr. Ephrinell."

"Nor have I, Mrs. Ephrinell," replied the Yankee.

Mr.! Mrs.! And not so long ago they were calling each other Fulk and
Horatia.

And then, without taking each other's arm, they walked out of the
station. I believe he turned to the right and she to the left; but that
is their affair.

There remains my No. 8, Sir Francis Trevellyan, the silent personage,
who has not said a word all through the piece—I mean all through the
journey. I wanted to hear his voice, if it was only for one second.

Eh! If I am not mistaken, here is the opportunity at last.

There is the phlegmatic gentleman contemptuously looking up and down
the cars. He has just taken a cigar from his yellow morocco case, but
when he looks at his match-box he finds it empty.

My cigar—a particularly good one—is alight, and I am smoking it with
the blessed satisfaction of one who enjoys it, and regretting that
there is not a man in all China who has its equal.

Sir Francis Trevellyan has seen the light burning at the end of my
cigar, and he comes towards me.

I think he is going to ask me for a light. He stretches out his hand,
and I present him with my cigar.

He takes it between his thumb and forefinger, knocks off the white ash,
lights up, and then, if I had not heard him ask for a light, I at least
expected him to say, "Thank you, sir!"

Not at all! Sir Francis Trevellyan takes a few puffs at his own cigar,
and then nonchalantly throws mine on to the platform. And then without
even a bow, he walks leisurely off out of the railway station.

Did you say nothing? No, I remained astounded. He gave me neither a
word nor a gesture. I was completely dumfounded at this ultra-Britannic
rudeness, while Major Noltitz could not restrain a loud outburst of
laughter.

Ah! If I should see this gentleman again. But never did I see again Sir
Francis Trevellyan of Trevellyan Hall, Trevellyanshire.

Half an hour afterwards we are installed at the Hotel of
Ten Thousand
Dreams
. There we are served with a dinner in Chinese style. The repast
being over—towards the second watch—we lay ourselves on beds that are
too narrow in rooms with little comfort, and sleep not the sleep of the
just, but the sleep of the exhausted—and that is just as good.

I did not wake before ten o'clock, and I might have slept all the
morning if the thought had not occurred to me that I had a duty to
fulfil. And what a duty! To call in the Avenue Cha Coua before the
delivery of the unhappy case to Mademoiselle Zinca Klork.

I arise. Ah! If Kinko had not succumbed, I should have returned to the
railway station—I should have assisted, as I had promised, in the
unloading of the precious package. I would have watched it on to the
cart, and I would have accompanied it to the Avenue Cha Coua, I would
even have helped in carrying him up to Mademoiselle Zinca Klork! And
what a double explosion of joy there would have been when Kinko jumped
through the panel to fall into the arms of the fair Roumanian!

But no! When the box arrives it will be empty—empty as a heart from
which all the blood has escaped.

I leave the Hotel of
Ten Thousand Dreams
about eleven o'clock, I call
one of those Chinese carriages, which look like palanquins on wheels, I
give the address of Mademoiselle Klork, and I am on the way.

You know, that among the eighteen provinces of China Petchili occupies
the most northerly position. Formed of nine departments, it has for its
capital Pekin, otherwise known as Chim-Kin-Fo, an appellation which
means a "town of the first order, obedient to Heaven."

I do not know if this town is really obedient to Heaven, but it is
obedient to the laws of rectilineal geometry. There are four towns,
square or rectangular, one within the other. The Chinese town, which
contains the Tartar town, which contains the yellow town, or Houng
Tching, which contains the Red Town, or Tsen-Kai-Tching, that is to
say, "the forbidden town." And within this symmetrical circuit of six
leagues there are more than two millions of those inhabitants, Tartars
or Chinese, who are called the Germans of the East, without mentioning
several thousands of Mongols and Tibetans. That there is much bustle in
the streets, I can see by the obstacles my vehicle encounters at every
step, itinerating peddlers, carts heavily laden, mandarins and their
noisy following. I say nothing of those abominable wandering dogs, half
jackals, half wolves, hairless and mangy, with deceitful eyes,
threatening jaws, and having no other food than the filthy rubbish
which foreigners detest. Fortunately I am not on foot, and I have no
business in the Red Town, admittance to which is denied, nor in the
yellow town nor even in the Tartar town.