Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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of one of the abandoned bastions in the Great Wall.
CHAPTER XXII.
Which The Reader Might Have Written Himself, It Ends In So Surprising A Way.
The Great Wall—which is like a Chinese screen four hundred leagues long—was built in the third century by the Emperor Tisi-Chi-Houang-Ti, and extends from the Gulf of Leao-Tong, whose waters bathe its two wharves, to the Kan-Sou, where it is reduced to the proportions of a wall of ordinary size. It is an uninterrupted succession of double ramparts, defended by bastions and towers, fifty feet high and twenty feet broad, whose foundation is of granite and the upper part of brick, and which boldly follow the undulating outline of the mountains between Russia and China.
Where it approaches the Celestial Empire, the wall is in rather a poor condition, but presents a better appearance towards Mandshuria, and its battlements become magnificent stone ornaments. This long line of fortifications is not protected either by guards or cannon; and Russians, Tartars, and the Kirghis, as well as the Sons of Heaven, can freely pass through its gates. The screen no longer protects the Western frontier, not even from that fine Mongolian dust which the north wind sometimes brings to its capital.
It was under the postern of one of these deserted bastions that Kin-Fo and Soun, after a wretched night passed on the straw, disappeared the next morning, escorted by a dozen men, who could only belong to Lao-Shen’s band.
As for the guide, he had vanished. But it was no longer possible for Kin-Fo to deceive himself; for it was not chance that brought this traitor in his way, and the ex-patron of the Centenary had evidently been expected by the wretch. His hesitation to venture beyond the Great Wall was only a ruse to turn aside suspicion; for he probably belonged to the Tai-ping, and could only have acted by his orders.
Kin-Fo had no doubts on this subject after he questioned one of the men, who seemed to direct his escort.
“You are taking me, no doubt, to the camp of Lao-Shen, your chief?” he said.
“We shall be there in less than an hour,” replied the man.
But for what purpose had Wang’s pupil come here? To seek the philosopher’s substitute? Well, they would take him where he wished to go; and, whether he went of his own free will or by compulsion, he could have no cause to find fault. He must leave that to Soun, whose teeth were already chattering, and who felt as if his head were spinning on his shoulders.
Kin-Fo, who was always phlegmatic, had his own plans in regard to the adventure, and followed his escort; for at last he would have a chance to negotiate for his letter with Lao-Shen. That was his sole desire, and now every thing was progressing favorably.
After crossing the Great Wall, the little party followed, not only the main road to Mongolia, but the steep paths which enter the mountainous part of the province at the right. They walked on for an hour as fast as the ascent would permit. Kin-Fo and Soun were closely surrounded, and could not have escaped, and, moreover, did not once think of doing so.
In an hour and a half both guards and prisoners perceived the partial ruins of an edifice round the corner of a wall.
It was an ancient bonze temple, a curious monument of Buddhic architecture, erected on a brow of the mountain. But in this remote part of the Russian frontier of China, in the centre of this deserted country, one could but wonder what kind of worshippers ventured to frequent this temple; for it was very dangerous to pass through these defiles, which were favorable places for spies and ambuscades.
If the Tai-ping Lao-Shen established his camp in this mountainous part of the province, one must confess he chose a locality worthy of his exploits.
To Kin-Fo’s question, the chief escort answered that Lao-Shen really lived in this bonze temple.
“I wish to see him this very moment,” said Kin-Fo.
“You shall see him this very moment,” replied the chief.
Kin-Fo and Soun, whose arms had previously been taken from them, were led into a broad vestibule, which formed the atrium of the temple. There stood nearly twenty armed men, who looked very picturesque in their bandit costume, but whose ferocious countenances did not exactly inspire confidence.
Kin-Fo passed deliberately between this double row of Tai-pings. As for Soun, they had to push him forward by main force.
This vestibule, at the farther end, opened on a staircase in the thick wall, and the steps descended to quite a depth in the mountain.
This evidently indicated that a sort of crypt was hollowed out under the principal part of the bonze temple; and to one who did not hold the thread to these winding, underground passages, it would have been very difficult, not to say impossible, to reach them.
After descending about thirty steps, then going forward twenty, by the smoky light of their guides’ torches, the prisoners reached the centre of a vast hall, which was dimly lighted in the same way.
It was indeed a crypt. Massive pillars, ornamented by those hideous heads of monsters which belong to the grotesque fauna of Chinese mythology, support elliptic arches, whose mouldings were again united to the keystone of the heavy vaults.
A low murmur was heard in this subterranean hall on the arrival of the two prisoners; it was not deserted; for a crowd filled it to its darkest recesses, and this crowd was made up of the whole Tai-ping band, who had assembled there for some mysterious ceremony.
At the end of the crypt, on a broad stone platform, stood a very tall man, who appeared to be the president of a secret tribunal; and three or four of his companions, who stood motionless at his side, appeared to fill the place of assistants.
The tall man made a sign, and the crowd immediately moved aside, and made way for the prisoners.
“Lao-Shen!” was all that the chief escort said, as he pointed to the personage who was standing.
Kin-Fo went forward, and entered at once upon his business, like a man who is determined to bring it to an end.
“Lao-Shen,” said he, “you have a letter in your hands which was sent to you by your former companion, Wang. This letter is now useless, and I have come to ask you to return it to me.”
At these words, spoken in a firm voice, the Tai-ping did not even move his head, but seemed like a bronze statue.
“For what sum will you give up the letter?” resumed Kin-Fo.
He waited for an answer that did not come.
“Lao-Shen!” said Kin-Fo, “I will draw on whatever banker you please, and in whatever city you choose, an order that will be honorably paid, without giving any anxiety to the business-man whom you may send for it.”
The sombre Tai-ping preserved the same icy silence, which did not promise well.
Kin-Fo continued, emphasizing his words,—
“What sum shall I make this order? I offer you five thousand taels.”
There was no answer.
“Ten thousand taels.”
Lao-Shen and his companions were as mute as the statues in this strange bonze temple.
Kin-Fo could not help feeling angry and impatient; for his offers deserved some sort of answer.
“Do you not understand me?” he said, addressing the Tai-ping.
Lao-Shen, this time deigning to lower his head, gave him to understand that he thoroughly comprehended.
“Twenty thousand taels! Thirty thousand