Adrift in Pacific and Other Great Adventures – 17 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
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whom this mute put beside himself, approached this speechless group of men around the Tai-ping, and, crossing his arms, said to him,—
“For what price, then, will you sell me that letter?”
“For no sum whatever,” the Tai-ping finally answered. “You offended Buddha in scorning the life he gave you, and Buddha will be avenged. Not till you face death will you know the value of the privilege of being in the world,—a privilege so long unacknowledged by you.”
And having said this, in a tone which admitted of no reply, Lao-Shen beckoned to his men; and Kin-Fo, who was seized before he could defend himself, was garroted and carried off. A few moments later he was shut up in a kind of cage, which was hermetically closed, and was intended to take the place of a palanquin.
Soun, the unfortunate Soun, in spite of his cries and entreaties, had to submit to the same treatment.
“This means death,” said Kin-Fo to himself. “Well, so be it! One who has despised life deserves to die.”
But his death, although it appeared inevitable, was not so near as he thought. He could not imagine what horrible torment this cruel Tai-ping was reserving for him.
Hours passed; and Kin-Fo, still imprisoned in his cage, felt himself lifted, and then carried along in some sort of vehicle. The jolts, and the noise of the horses’ hoofs, with the rattling of his escorts’ weapons, left him no doubt on this subject. They were carrying him far away. But where? It would be useless for him to try to discover.
Seven or eight hours after he started, Kin-Fo felt that the chair had stopped, and that the box in which he was shut up was being lifted in men’s arms; and soon a quieter motion succeeded the joltings on the road.
“Am I on a ship?” he wondered.
Very decided motions of rolling and pitching, and a revolving kind of motion, confirmed him in the idea that he was on a steamer.
“Death in the waves!” he thought. “So be it! They spare me tortures which might be worse. Thanks, Lao-Shen!”
But twice twenty-four hours again passed by; and twice each day a little food was put into his cage through a small sliding trap, though the prisoner could not see the hand that brought it, or receive an answer to his questions.
Ah! Kin-Fo, before leaving this life which heaven made so beautiful to him, had sought emotions. He did not wish his heart to cease to beat without once being thrilled. Well, his wishes were granted, and far beyond his expectations.
However, although he had sacrificed his life, he wished to die in the light of heaven. The thought that this cage might any moment be cast into the sea was horrible. To die without having seen the light of day again, nor poor Le-ou, who filled his every thought, was too hard.
Finally, after a lapse of time which he could not reckon, it seemed to him that his long sail suddenly came to an end.
The revolving motion suddenly ceased. The ship which bore his prison stopped, and Kin-Fo felt that his cage was lifted again.
Now was his last hour; and the condemned man could hope for nothing, but that his sins might be forgiven.
A few moments elapsed, then years, then centuries, when, to his great astonishment, Kin-Fo felt sure that his cage rested on solid ground once more.
All at once his prison opened, and he was seized by the arms of some one, who immediately placed a large bandage over his eyes, and pulled him out; and then, firmly held by his guards, he walked a few steps, and was then told to halt.
“If I must die at last!” he cried, “I will not ask you to spare a life that I have not known how to use wisely, but allow me at least to die in the light, since I am not afraid to look death in the face.”
“Granted,” said a grave voice. “Let it be as the prisoner wishes.” And the bandage which covered his eyes was removed.
Kin-Fo then looked eagerly around him.
Was he the victim of a dream? There was a table, sumptuously served, and before it sat five guests, smiling, and appearing to await his presence before beginning their repast. Two vacant places seemed to be left for two guests.
“Is it you? you? My friends! my dear friends! Is it really you whom I see here?” cried Kin-Fo, in accents it would be impossible to render.
But, no! he was not mistaken. It was Wang the philosopher, and Yin-Pang, Houal, Pao-Shen, and Tim, his Canton friends,—the very ones he entertained two months before on the flower-boat on the River of Pearls, the companions of his youth, the witnesses of his farewell to bachelor-life.
Kin-Fo could not believe his eyes. He was at home in the dining-room in his yamen at Shanghai.
“If it is you,” he cried, addressing Wang, “if it is not your shadow, speak to me!”
“It is I, my friend,” answered the philosopher. “Will you forgive your old master the last and somewhat rude lesson in philosophy which he felt it necessary to give you?”
“What!” cried Kin-Fo, “was it you, you, Wang?”
“It was I,” answered Wang, “I, who only took upon myself the mission of depriving you of life to prevent another from doing it. I, who knew before you did that you were not ruined, and that the time would come when you would no longer wish to die. My former companion, Lao-Shen, who has become submissive, and who will henceforth be the strongest support of the government, desired to aid me in teaching you the worth of life by bringing you face to face with death. If I forsook you in the midst of your terrible anguish,—and, what is worse, made you run round the country, as was almost inhuman to do,—although it made my heart bleed, it was because I was sure that you were pursuing happiness, and would find it on the way.”
Kin-Fo threw himself into Wang’s arms, who pressed him warmly to his heart.
“My poor Wang!” he said, very much moved, “if I had been the only one to run about the country! What trouble have I not caused you? How much you have had to run about yourself! and what a bath I made you take from the bridge at Palikao!”
“Ah, yes, that bath!” answered Wang, laughing. “It made me fear for my fifty-five years and my philosophy; for I was very warm, and the water was very cold. But, bah! I came out of it all right; and one never runs nor swims so well as when for others.”
“For others!” said Kin-Fo gravely. “Yes, it is for others one must learn to do every thing; for there lies the secret of happiness.”
Soun now entered, pale as a man can only be when seasickness has tortured him for forty-eight mortal hours: for the unfortunate valet, as well as his master, had been obliged to make that voyage from Fou-Ning to Shang-hai again; and under what conditions, one could judge by the looks of his face.
Kin-Fo, after releasing himself from Wang’s embrace, clasped the hands of his friends.
“Really, I like this so much better!” he said. “I have been a fool till now.”
“And you may become a sage,” answered the philosopher.
“I will try,” said Kin-Fo; “and I must begin at once, and see about putting my affairs in order. A little piece of paper has been running round the world that has been the cause of too much trouble to allow me to be indifferent about it. What has become of the cursed letter I gave you, my dear Wang? Did it really go out of your hands? I should be glad to see it; for what if it should get lost again? If Lao-Shen still keeps it, he cannot attach importance to a mere scrip of paper; and I should be sorry to have it fall into hands that would be—less considerate.”
At this every one began to laugh.
“My friends,” said Wang, “Kin-Fo has really profited by his adventures, and is no longer our former indifferent friend; for he reasons like a methodical man of business.”