Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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surprise the latter had just manifested, that he no more expected to see Kin-Fo than Kin-Fo expected to see him.
Now, why was Wang running away? It was quite inexplicable; but yet he was running off as if all the police in the Celestial Empire were at his heels.
It was a mad pursuit.
“I am not ruined! Wang, Wang! not ruined!” cried Kin-Fo.
“Rich, rich!” repeated Fry-Craig.
But Wang kept at too great a distance to hear these words, which were intended to make him stop. He passed the wharf, the canal, and reached the entrance of the western suburb.
The three pursuers flew after him, but did not catch up with him: on the contrary, the fugitive threatened to out-distance them.
Half a dozen Chinamen, to say nothing of two or three couple of tipaos, joined Kin-Fo, concluding that a man who could make off so fast must be a malefactor.
It was a curious spectacle, this breathless, shouting, screaming group, adding on the way numerous volunteers to its number. Those around the singer had plainly heard Kin-Fo speak the name Wang. Fortunately the philosopher had not answered by that of his pupil; for all the city would have followed so celebrated a man. But Wang’s name sufficed,—Wang, that enigmatical person, whose discovery was worth an enormous reward. This was well known; so that if Kin-Fo ran after the eight hundred thousand dollars of his fortune, Craig-Fry after the two hundred thousand insurance, the others were running after the two thousand dollars reward; and it must be acknowledged it was enough to make them all take to their heels.
“Wang, Wang, I am richer than ever!” Kin-Fo kept saying, as well as his speed would permit.
“Not ruined, not ruined!” repeated Fry-Craig.
“Stop, stop!” cried the majority of the pursuers, increasing in number, and running faster and faster, and making the dust fly under their feet.
Wang heard nothing, but, with his elbows close to his chest, kept on, unwilling to exhaust himself by answering, or to lose any of his speed for the pleasure of turning his head.
They were now beyond the suburbs, and Wang hastened over the paved route along the canal. On this route, which was then almost deserted, the field was free. He still increased his speed; but, naturally, his pursuers also doubled their efforts, and this wild chase was kept up nearly twenty minutes, and nothing could foretell the result. However, the fugitive appeared to lose strength somewhat: the distance which he had maintained between his pursuers and himself up to this moment tended to diminish.
So Wang, perceiving this, doubled on himself, and disappeared behind the shrubbery in front of a small pagoda at the right of the road.
“Ten thousand taels to whoever will stop him!” cried Kin-Fo.
“Ten thousand taels!” repeated Craig-Fry.
“Ya, ya, ya!” screamed the group farthest ahead.
All had crossed the road, following the philosopher’s tracks, and were winding around the walls of the pagoda. Wang had come in sight again, and was following a narrow cross-path along a canal, where, in order to perplex his pursuers, he made a new turn, which placed him again on the paved road.
But, when there, it was apparent that he was becoming exhausted; for he turned his head round several times. Kin-Fo, Craig, and Fry, on their part, were as fresh as ever. They walked on, or rather flew; and not one of the rapid runners after taels succeeded in gaining upon them.
The dénoûment was now approaching. It was only a question of time, and a comparatively short time,—a few moments at most.
Wang, Kin-Fo, and his companions had all reached the place where the main road crossed the river over the celebrated bridge of Palikao.
Eighteen years before, on the 21st of September, 1860, they would not have had free passage over this point in the province of Pe-che-lee. The highway was then encumbered by fugitives of another kind. The army of Gen. San-Ko-Li-Tzin, an uncle of the emperor, being repulsed by French battalions, halted at Palikao on this bridge,—a magnificent work of art, with a white marble balustrade, and bordered by a double row of gigantic lions. It was there that the Mandshurian Tartars, so incomparably brave in their fatalism, were cut down by the balls from European cannon.
But the bridge, which still bears the marks of battle in its defaced statues, became free.
Wang, growing weaker, dashed across the road; and Kin-Fo and the rest, by a great effort, approached him. Soon twenty, then fifteen, then ten steps only, separated them.
It was of no use now to try to stop Wang by useless words, which he could not or would not hear. They must catch up with him, seize him, and bind him if necessary. They could explain afterwards.
Wang understood that he was about to be overtaken, and, as if from some inexplicable notion, seemed to dread finding himself face to face with his former pupil, and was going to risk his life to escape him.
Indeed, with one bound, Wang jumped upon the railing of the bridge, and flung himself into the Pei-ho.
Kin-Fo stopped a moment, and called,—
“Wang! Wang!”
Then making a sudden bound, he shouted,—
“I will have him alive!” and he sprang into the river.
“Craig,” said Fry.
“Fry,” said Craig.
“Two hundred thousand dollars in the water!” And both, leaping over the railing, plunged in to the succor of the ruinous patron of the Centenary.
A few of the volunteers followed them. They looked like so many clowns leaping bars.
But so much zeal was useless. Fry-Craig and the others, allured by the premium, searched the Pei-ho in vain. Wang could not be found. Drawn on by the current, no doubt, the unfortunate philosopher had floated away.
Had Wang only desired to escape pursuit by plunging into the river, or, for some mysterious reason, had he resolved to end his days? no one could tell.
Two hours later, Kin-Fo, Craig, and Fry, disappointed, but perfectly dry and refreshed, and Soun waked up out of the depths of his sleep, and swearing as was to be expected, were on their way to Pekin.
CHAPTER XIV.
In Which The Visitor, Without Fatigue, Can Travel Through Four Cities By Visiting Only One.
The Pe-che-lee, the most western of the eighteen provinces of China, is divided into nine departments, and one of them has for its capital Chun-Kin-Fo; that is, the City of the First Order Submissive to Heaven, which city is Pekin.
Let the reader imagine a Chinese tomahawk, with a surface of six thousand hectares, a circumference of eight leagues, whose irregular parts would exactly fill a rectangle, and he will have an idea of this mysterious Kambalu, which Marco Polo, towards the close of the thirteenth century, so curiously describes; for such is the capital of the Celestial Empire.
In fact, Pekin comprises two distinct cities, which are separated by a large boulevard and fortified wall. One of them, the Chinese city, is a rectangular parallelogram; the other, the Tartar city, an almost perfect square. The latter encloses two other cities,—the Yellow City (Hoang-Tching), and Tsen-Kin-Tching (the Red or Forbidden City).
Formerly these cities numbered more than two million inhabitants: but emigration, caused by extreme want, has reduced this number to a million in all, Tartars and Chinese; and, added to these, about ten thousand Mussulmans, besides a certain