C
hris and Amos lay belly down in a low clump of pine scrub at the top of a precipitous rocky pinnacle. Below them in the blistering noon lay the palace walls of the Lord of the Seven Seas, Descendant of the Sun and the Moon, Overlord of the Mountains and the Plains, Prince of all the Isles, Father of Plenty, and Brilliance-Before-Which-All-Cast-Down-Their-Eyes, the Emperor of China.
The two boys were uninterested in titles. Somewhere within that city-within-a-city, inside the enormous spread of the palace walls that were surrounded in their turn by the city of Peking, lay the goal they had come so far to seek, the Jewel Tree of the Princess of China. Now, like a general planning his campaign, Chris lay looking down at the high angular walls, thinking of how he would gain entry.
On regaining theMirabellein a boat made from the magic rope, Chris had reappeared among his friends, "recovered" from his fever. He had given much thought to what he considered would be the last dangerous section of the journey,and after listening to what his master said through the shell, was permitted to take Amos on this stage of the voyage. It was reasoned if something happened to Chris, Amos might be able to carry out their mission by himself.
The boys had come to Peking on camel-back, a camel made from the magic rope. As Amos had never seen a real camel, he thought the rope animal quite natural, and as remarkable a creature as a real one. Chris took care to make it or disentangle it out of Amos's sight, and so many were the strange and wonderful things to be seen, that Amos had no time to concern himself over the reality of a camel.
The arid countryside was blanched by the excessive heat. Flies droned over the dates and figs that the boys pulled from their pockets to eat. Amos wriggled with excitement as he pointed out details to Chris.
"Chris! Look at that procession going in the big gate! All those pigtailed gentlemen dressed in embroidered coats. I like that blue one with butterflies on it. No, I'd sooner have the black satin one with the dragon in red and yellow!" He looked again more closely. "Or the one with the peacock in green and purple. Which would you sooner have?"
Chris paid little attention to Amos's exclamations. Leaning on his elbows and looking at the scene below, his mind worked busily on these last vital problems. But Amos was not waiting for an answer. His mind was on the present moment and the present scene, forgetful of what lay ahead of them, a few hours away. He chattered on.
"I like their funny black hats and droopy mustaches. Why don't they look like us, Chris?" he asked. And then, "Who-all's in the curtained stretcher they're carrying?"
"It's a palanquin, Amos. They carry dignitaries in them."
"Hate to be a dignitary in all this heat," Amos said, unenviously. "What are they doing now?" he enquired, and both boys parted the prickly pine needles to look out and down.
The leader of the procession rapped three times on the great gate with a gold staff. Sentinels and guards came forward, walking on the broad gate top, and after talking with the members of the procession, turned to give an order.
Gaily dressed trumpeters with dragon masks on the visors of their helmets raised long brass trumpets. A prolonged throbbing "Wai! Wo!" shuddered out, and the great outer gates of the palace, studded with pronged spikes of carved metal, swung slowly outward. Sixteen men came into sight, eight on either side, pushing wide the gates.
"Gee! Imagine the weight of those doors!" Chris murmured, and taking out his spyglass looked through it. "Golly Moses!" he exclaimed. "Take a look, Amos. Those gates are made ofbronze, nearly three feet thick! And now they have the gates open, look at the depth of the walls. They're as deep through as a room!"
The waiting procession, the richly dressed courtiers and curtained palanquin, moved inside and the gates were slowly pulled close by lines of men dragging at ropes and chains to shut them. From within the main gate drifted out the sound, becoming fainter and fainter, of other trumpets sounding the order for the opening of other gates. Ten times, the boys counted, the trumpets blew, and the same "Wai! Wo!" throbbed against the sultry air.
"Lawsy me!" Amos sighed, when no more trumpets were to be heard. "Ten walls and ten gates—at the very least! 'Course we don't know—" He rolled his worried eyes toward Chris, "We don't know whether those folks got to the Emperor or not. Likely he's in behind a couple more walls, just to be on the safe side." He searched his friend's face. "How are we going past all that many guards and trumpets, Chris? Even if we could tie up a guard or two, how in the world we going to push open gates that heavy?"
Amos need not have been so concerned, for Chris had a good plan. But just at that moment the heat overcame Chris. Putting his head down on his arms, he slept.
Amos slept too, and it must have been several hours later that the rising sound of a crowd talking and laughing with excitement penetrated their sleep and brought them to consciousness. For a moment they both lay rubbing their eyes and peering out. Then they realized, by the growing crowd on either side of the palace gate and along the narrow street leading away from it, that someone of importance was about to come from the palace and parade through the streets of Peking.
"Wonder what goes on?" Chris muttered, as the crowds below swelled and grew. Boys climbed upon one another's shoulders, teakwood stools were brought for the richer people to stand on, and along the street that led away to the right around the palace walls, Chris and Amos could see embroidered silks hung from all the windows, and Chinese people in their best holiday clothes laughing excitedly. All were looking toward the gates, and at last, from far within, even more distantly than before, came the first sound of trumpets. These had a sweeter, clearer sound than those the boys had heard at noon.
"Never heard a sweeter note," Amos said. "Might be made of silver, 'way they sound."
The boys counted, and twelve times the low, lovely notes swung out on the air.
"Twelve gates!" Chris said to Amos, "And look, you were right, theyaresilver trumpets!"
The trumpeters atop the great outer gates were now differently dressed, and there were not two but a dozen lined along the deep palace walls. The trumpets, ten feet long, were curved, and of silver that in the sunlight dazzled the eye. As they were blown, the final gates were pushed aside.
A long procession emerged of such fantasy and variety of color that the two boys were spellbound. Elephants and camels, llamas and horses, all richly caparisoned in Eastern silks, passed along with their riders. Guards with curved swords and many-thonged whips formed a double hedge between those in the procession and the bystanders. Still others led leopards andblack panthers on chains as an added protection to those they guarded. Palanquin after palanquin passed by, but still the crowd seemed to be waiting for something.
Then, as the silver trumpets continued their sweet lingering notes, a murmur arose from the crowd. Four lines of youths preceded a palanquin more finely decked than the rest, and the murmur rose. After it came four lines of Chinese girls, fanning the air with peacock fans on long staves, fans of white egret feathers, and ostrich plumes dyed a yellow gold.
"Amos!" Chris breathed, "That color! Yellow is the royal color of China!"
He did not have to elaborate his thought, for the palanquin that finally came in sight showed by its richness that it could belong only to royalty, and by its beauty and grace, only to a woman. Made of silver and rock crystal, studded with diamonds and pearls, and hung about with sheer curtains of embroidered yellow silk, the palanquin belonged without doubt to a young girl of the royal house. As it appeared under thehigh arch of the outer gate, a roar of joy and greeting arose from the waiting crowd and with one accord every man bowed low, covering his eyes with the wide sleeve of his left arm. The women and girls in the crowd, and those leaning from the upper stories of the houses, threw down before the palanquin objects that flashed and twinkled in the sun.
Remembering in time, for he had been so much absorbed he had momentarily forgotten it, Chris whipped out his spyglass and looked at the curtains of the palanquin. The thin silk was transparent enough under the strong focus of the glass, and behind it Chris could perceive, leaning delicately against silk cushions, a Chinese girl as beautiful as a dream. Her slightly uptilted eyes were large and dark, her skin put a magnolia flower to shame, her mouth was lifted in a charming smile, and her long exquisite fingers held a spray of jeweled flowers. All about the palanquin rained a shower of jeweled buds and petals, for no doubt a real flower was thought too inferior for the only child of the Descendant of the Sun and the Moon, Prince of all the Isles, and Lord of the Seven Seas, the Princess of China.
C
hris put down his spyglass and the two boys, hidden on the piny knoll, watched the procession out of sight.
"I'm supposed to take something from her," Chris said with his eyes sparkling, "but I know now what I'm going to give her back in return. I feel sort of sorry for that girl," he added thoughtfully.
"What're we going to do, Chris?" Amos wanted to know. "What-all comes next, and have we some more of those dates?"
Chris passed him some. "We have to wait until dusk anyway," he said, his voice abstracted, "and by the look of the light that won't be long."
The piny knoll was steep and rocky and only two adventurous boys would ever have reached the top. Too precipitous on which to build houses, it rose far above the surrounding roofs of Peking. The green and scarlet of curved tiles spread under the boys' sight like a curling sea. Before them, stretched out in long angular wings to right and left, swept the palace walls.
Listening and watching, the boys gathered by the silver trumpet notes that the Princess and her retinue had re-entered the palace walls by another gate.
Thinking about it Chris mused: I wonder if that first palanquin held someone she's to marry? It could be. And if so, this may be her last appearance to the people of the city before leaving for a new domain. She would probably take the Jewel Tree with her. I can't imagine a woman leaving a thing like that behind. He paused, remembering. She held a spray of jeweled flowers in her hand, maybe off the Tree, and I never saw anything like it. Well, can't do a thing until dusk comes down.
The evening was not long in coming, and Chris, who had been sitting cross-legged under the little crooked pines, looked across with great concern to where Amos lay on his back, dozing.
I can't take him along, Chris thought, and I can't leave him alone, if I should get caught. What in the world do I do?
Then, remembering the bag of magic "odds and ends," Chris put his hand inside it and drew out a small folded piece of silk and netting. On it a piece of paper, like a label, showed Mr. Wicker's fine script. Chris looked closer and read: "Strike 3."
"Strike 3."
Chris held the folded object in his hand, and then glanced at Amos. Amos slept. Going softly out of the pine grove to a narrow ledge of rock where he was out of sight, Chris put the object down and said: "Strike three."
Nothing happened. The object remained an object. Then, suddenly understanding, Chris struck the stone ledge three times.
At once the folded object began to unfold itself and to puffitself up like a little mushroom. In a matter of seconds, Chris could see what it was becoming, and before he could wink ten times, a balloon with a basket hanging from it, quite big enough for two boys, hung swaying in the air. Chris examined it with pleasure and then struck the ground three times again. The balloon gently collapsed and refolded itself, basket and all, into its original neat shape.
"Now, if that isn't handy!" Chris exclaimed. Then, looking at the light fading from the sky, he picked up the folded balloon and went to waken Amos.
"Amos!" he said, shaking his friend's shoulder, "it's time for me to go. Are you awake?"
Amos blinked a few times and said he thought so.
"Then listen to me," Chris told him earnestly, "and listen hard!" Amos sat up more alertly.
"I have a handy thing here which is for you to use only—do you hear?onlyif I don't come back."
Amos's eyes began to get brighter and he swallowed.
"Don't comeback? Law! Chris, don't you leave me in this heathen country where nobody understands good English!" he cried. "Why, unless I'd steal, and Miss Becky told meneverto do that—but unless I did, how could I eat in these foreign parts?"
Chris sat back on his haunches. "Well, I don't know how you could, myself. But don't you cross any bridges until you come to them. Look." He held out the folded balloon. "If I'm not back by two sunups from now—I may have to hide all during tomorrow—if I'm not back by then, put this package out beyond the trees in the clearing. That's very important. You've got that?"
"I haven't got anything but a few old dried-up fruits," Amos pouted. "That's all."
"No, Amos!" Chris gave him another rousing shake. "I mean, do you understand that much?"
Amos brightened at once and broke into a broad grin.
"Oh yes, of course. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You said, put the package out in the clear. Where's that, on this tippy-top of a hill?" Amos asked, looking about.
"The ledge near where we climbed up. That's big enough," Chris reminded him.
"Oh yes," Amos said, looking wise.
"Well," Chris took up again, "you put the package on the ledge and strike the ground three times—"
"Like this?" And before Chris could stop him, Amos had struck the earth beside him twice before Chris seized his hand in mid-air.
"Amos!Not now! I saidonlyif you have to get away. If someone comes after you, or if I don't come back. Promise me not to strike threeat allexcept for either of those two reasons."
Amos raised his right hand looking very solemn. "I promise," he said. "Only," he added, looking bewildered and already somewhat forlorn, "what happens when I do hit three times?"
"Why, it's a mag—it's a special kind of balloon," Chris began, after correcting what had almost been a bad slip.
"A what?" Amos stuck his head forward, trying hard to understand.
"Aballoon. Oh."
Chris stopped and stared at Amos. Perhaps balloons had not yet been invented. How very confusing!
"It's something that will hold you up in the air. There's a basket for you to sit in—"
"Nosir!" Amos cried, wagging his head decisively from side to side. "Me in the air over the roofs and high up? Noindeedy, Chris! Not me."
Chris was becoming exasperated. He had important things to do.
"Look, Amos. If you have to use it, you'll be in such a bad fix that being up in the air will seem like the very best thing that could happen. Stop running. I'll be back—I hope."
He turned away toward the ledge and clearing.
"And now, wish me luck, and stay here and wait for me. Don't follow me now, or watch, or I might fail."
Amos jumped up from the pine-covered ground. "Oh,Chris!" he cried, his voice sharp with distress, "can't I go? You might get hurt. There's no telling what could happen if you're all alone!"
Chris was tempted to take his friend with him but someone must get the news back to theMirabelleif he should fail. If this happened, he did not doubt but that the magic balloon would carry Amos safely to the ship.
"No," he said after a long moment. "Better not. But I'd sure like to, Amos. Now don't lose that package. It's your escape. Wish me luck."
Amos clasped his hand, and then, rushing off, dashed back again.
"Here, Chris. Our fruits. Better not to eat strange food in this foreigny place. Good luck," he added.
Chris stuffed the dried fruit in his pocket. Amos turned back into the darkening pine knoll, and Chris pushed his way out to the narrow steep ledge, hanging high above the roofs of Peking.
Chris uncoiled the magic rope from around his waist, and standing as far out on the rock ledge as he dared, in order to have the greatest possible freedom of movement, he attempted for the first time to draw an eagle in the air with the rope. It was a complicated, fast maneuver. The rope twisted and whipped in the air, and the result was a molted-looking, droop-tailed buzzard. Its wings were not wide enough, its back very insecure to look at. In short, Chris knew, it was a total failure.
He tried again, racing against the oncoming darkness, and this time he succeeded, although, when he pulled it close and straddled the body of the magic bird, his heart was in histhroat that it might unfurl itself, become just a rope, and hurl him to his death far below.
But this second eagle seemed secure enough. Chris pressed his hands on the wings spread out on either side, with a jolt they flapped, and the boy's strange conveyance moved somewhat unsteadily through the air.
Chris, frightened but resolute, found that by touching the head of the bird in the direction he wanted to go, the magic eagle would turn, and after a few moments to test out his new method of travel, Chris coasted over the gaily tiled roofs as he hunted for something.
Peking at that time had many palaces. Wealthy Chinese and people of title and family owned beautiful houses set in terraced gardens surrounded by parks and ancient trees. Somewhere, Chris had heard of this and remembered it, and now in thedusk that was nearly night, the eagle carried him silently over the city as he looked for what he wanted to find.
At last the very fragrance, rising up toward him on the night air, guided him to a large palace set in gardens. Pools of water reflected the first stars among their lilypads. The shaded walks and lawns were deserted at that hour.
Swooping down and flying back and forth to make sure he would not be seen, Chris grounded the eagle, and holding fast to one wing tip in case he should have to take off in a hurry, he walked up and down, examining and searching.
T
he night was too clear to suit Chris for the dangerous work that lay ahead. The eagle bore him up again from the garden, and turning back, lifted high in the air as it neared the maze of walls of the Emperor's palace.
Chris longed to fly lower but he was afraid that one of the many guards might give the alarm. The eagle flying between the palace and the moon cast a quick-racing shadow over wall and ground. The one advantage on such a clear night, Chris thought, when he could be easily spotted, was in the silence of the magic bird. He bent over to peer down between the eagle's beaked head and widespread, beating wings.
Wall after wall, palace and garden within palace and garden, he saw. Windows were lit like fireflies far below him and the series of courtyards opened themselves in seemingly endless duplication. How, he wondered, could he ever find the inner garden—well hidden, certainly—where the Princess of China walked under trees and looked at her goldfish in long clear pools? Then he remembered with a start the folded paperseized so long ago in a ship anchored on the Potomac. A cabin under a smoking lamp, the strong scent of flowers, a monkey's form, came back into his memory and he felt in the leather pouch for Claggett Chew's plan.
His fingers touched it and brought out the creased, finger-marked scrap of paper. In the moonlight he unfolded it, sitting on the eagle's back high above the walls and palaces of the Emperor of China. He found that he could follow, from his height, and check with the map, building by building and one courtyard after another. Moving cautiously forward in the air, he looked at the heavy cross-mark made by Claggett Chew the night theMirabellehad set sail. Then, all at once beneath him, Chris made out walls ahead that seemed higher than the others. He flew over temples with gently rocking bells hung at their curled eaves, and over peaked rooftops of carved stone until, reaching a place apparently identical with the cross on the map, he dared to drop a little lower above a certain courtyard.
As he did so he saw that the guardhouses were set about on the top of the wall, which measured about ten feet from side to side. All faced outward away from the gardens they protected, hidden now in shadow.
Why—it's like a prison! Chris thought, except that the guards aren't allowed to look down at her. The poor kid! Imagine living here all your days! No wonder she was pleased at being in a procession yesterday!
No fragrance, except that of cool water, came up from the courtyard to Chris. Going higher into the air he hovered there on his eagle's back, watching the guardhouses. He timed the guards, counting. After an hour, he found there were twominutes between the time Guard Number Six reached his post and Guard Number Seven went back to replace him. Chris waited again, watching the guards and counting half aloud in case he missed that two-minute interval.
"One—there he goes across to Two. Two. There Two goes back again. Three—there Three marches along to Guardhouse Four. Four—there he goes to Five—"
Chris's breath came quickly and his heart began to pound in his ears. "Five—Five starts out toward Six. Six—and now they change swords or something, and here I go!"
Pressing on the back of the eagle the bird sank silently into the black well of the courtyard, past the guardhouse and down, just as Guard Number Seven emerged to walk back to replace Number Six.
The walls of the Princess's courtyard were indeed as high and forbidding as those of a dungeon. A shimmer of waterreflected the night sky, and looking down, Chris saw a dark, glistening mass beneath him. It seemed to be trees, but when his dangling legs touched them, sharp edges cut his legs and he quickly veered away. At last, coming down at the edge of the pool, his eyes became used to the gloom and he could see about him.
The garden ground crunched under his feet and glowed in the night, and bending to touch it, Chris's fingertip came away dusted with gold, "Golly Moses!" he breathed, and looked about.
The edge of the long rectangular pool was of silver; the walk around it of jasper and chalcedony, and as he lifted his eyes to look farther, he saw that the entire garden was made up of trees with jewel leaves.
No wonder the leaves cut my legs! Chris thought to himself. They're probably emeralds!
Towing the eagle by its beak, he wandered about. There was neither grass nor flowers; no true plants or trees. All bushes, borders, and shaded walks were of jewels. They gave out onto the air no scent of greenness and no welcoming scent of flowers.
Gee! Chris almost said aloud, Who'd want to play on ground-up gold? Why, except that it's yellow it might as well be gravel. And no trees—not real ones. Gee! She must be a pretty miserable girl! I wonder if birds like the jewel trees?
Looking into shrubs of coral, or jade, or amethyst, Chris found no nests, and shook his head. Guess I brought the right replacement after all, he decided. Now to work. Which shall I take?
He made a tour of the jewel gardens, and at the end of thepool, facing the carved jeweled doorway and windows of a pavilion set into the surrounding walls, Chris found a tree he thought right. Small and round, as if freshly trimmed, it answered Mr. Wicker's description of months ago.
"Leaves of emeralds, buds of diamonds, flowers of sapphires, and fruits of rubies studded thick with pearls."
Taking out his magic knife, in a second Chris had cut away a large circle of earth in a tub shape to shelter the roots, and carried his heavy burden to the eagle's back. There, he took off something which he planted where the Jewel Tree had been, and cupping his hands, watered it from the pool as best he could.
Just as he finished and was moving away, a movement in the black rectangle of the pavilion door at the far end of the garden caught his eye. He had only time enough to pull the eagle, the Jewel Tree, and himself into the cloaking shadow of a nearby avenue of emerald trees to avoid being seen.
The movement was pale and slight against the blackness of the open door, and the night was very still. As Chris held his breath, the dampened leaves and petals of the bush he had planted sent their green fragrance lifting and turning on the night air. As if that had been the signal it had long waited for, a dust-colored bird flew down to perch on a thorny stem.
It was a nightingale. Its song started slowly and softly at first, and then, as it forgot that it was alone, the lovely variations grew, pealing out where no birdsong had ever been heard before. Chris was not the only one who had never heard a nightingale. To the other occupant of the jeweled garden, it was newer and more beautiful than anything she had ever heard.
The Princess's tiny feet made no sound on the gold gravel as she edged nearer to the bush and the song. At last the nightingale flew away, and the scent of the roses, drifting toward a princess who had only been permitted flowers of stone, was overwhelming. She went up and broke off a flower as red as a ruby and as red as her mouth. As red, too, as her blood, for a thorn stabbed her and she nearly dropped the rose with a soft cry. But the wonder of it was stronger than the pain, and she buried her face in the freshness of the red rose, the first flower she had ever seen.
Behind her, rising gently and quietly out of sight, was a smiling boy and a tree of jewels she would never miss.
C
hris's thoughts were so taken up with the pleasure of the little Chinese Princess at her first rose that he had miscalculated. As a matter of fact he had forgotten about the guards in his excitement at holding the Jewel Tree and at getting away, and just as the eagle rose to the top of the wall, one of the guards saw him.
Had it been earlier, Chris could have risen quickly out of sight. But the Jewel Tree was heavy in itself; the earth holding its roots was an additional weight, so that the eagle only rose half as quickly as it had before.
The guard gave a shout, and a spear whistled past Chris's ear. Instantly the flames of bonfires spurted on all the walls, and to his terror Chris found himself in a glare of light as powerful as modern searchlights. He clutched the Jewel Tree, urging the magic bird up, but there are limits even to magic and the bird was moving at the peak of its ability. Black racing figures darted along the walls, the flames of the watchfires leapt higher in the air, and now arrows were singing theirkeening note of death about the boy lifting so slowly into the night.
Chris, crouching behind the Jewel Tree, was rocked and nearly unseated from the eagle when an arrow hit the earth around the Tree roots, imbedding itself deeply and quivering there at an angle. The shouts and confusion grew, but after a few terror-stricken moments Chris knew he was high enough to be out of danger. He gave a deep shuddering sigh of relief, and turned the head of the laboring eagle toward the city. His thoughts were on escape, but first he had a duty that as an honorable person he felt bound to perform.
He was naturally observant; he had also made a point of noticing landmarks, so that he found the garden from which he had taken the rosebush without too much trouble. What he was totally unprepared for was that the entire city of Peking, aroused by the watchfires on the palace walls, was awake and in alarm, and the light of flares and lanterns glowed from every house.
Nevertheless, to replace the rosebush was an honorable necessity, and in spite of wide canary-yellow blocks streaming from the windows of the lesser palace and falling in broad sections over the lawns and far into the gardens, Chris came down as much in the shadow of trees as he could, and breaking off a sprig of the Jewel Tree, stuck it in the ground where the rosebush had been. Then quickly regaining the eagle's back, he was lifted into the air and up over the roofs.
What was his consternation, however, on nearing the pine knoll, to see the whole group of scrubby trees aflame, and no sign of Amos! The pine needles and tree trunks thick with resin burnt fiercely. Chris did not dare to come too close. Notonly was the heat intense but the crowds collecting below looked upward to watch in a puzzled way, while others ran from near the palace gates to gaze and speculate.
Chris turned sadly away, large tears for Amos running down his cheeks, his heart constricted and his eyes half blinded, when from a great distance, he heard a trailing call.
"Oo-h Chris! You—Chris!"
Chris's heart leapt up, and wiping his eyes clear he looked in the direction of the sound. A balloon was moving rapidly away over the peaked curved roofs of Peking, careening slightly from side to side as it sailed on the night breeze. By the time Chris had caught up with Amos in the balloon, Peking lay far behind them.
Holding on to the edge of the basket, Chris blurted out: "What in the world goes on, Amos? I thought you were burned alive! I was never more scared in my life!"
Amos's eyes, wider than ever from the excitement of events, batted at Chris. "You'rescared! What do you thinkIam? Get me out of this—I never did want to be up in the air nohow, and I want outnow!"
"But what about the fire, Amos?" Chris persisted, holding to the Jewel Tree with one hand and the balloon basket with the other. "How did you get out?"
Amos sent a squeamish glance out of the corner of one eye at the moving ground beneath them, and then, realizing that they were on their way back to theMirabelle, swallowed and began to talk.
"I waited, like you said, an' I guess I fell asleep. All at once such a noise, and flames flashing, woke me up, and right away, seeing fires and commotion all over the palace walls, I supposedthey had spotted you somehow. I thought—should another fire break out somewhere else, it might pull the crowds away from the palace, or make them think something was goin' on up there. So I lit a fire with my flint, and then ran right quick with the package to the ledge, struck three times, and shut my eyes"—here Amos covered his eyes with one hand—"and got in. And this silly thing's been a-tippin' and a-teeterin' ever since."
Chris brought balloon and eagle down into a rice field, and the two boys transferred the Jewel Tree to the greater safety of the balloon basket. Amos, having the wonderful Jewel Tree to guard, forgot his fears and sat down beside it, where he soon fell asleep. Chris, tying the tail of the eagle to the side of the basket with his shirt, towed Amos and the Jewel Tree through the air all that night and all the next day. Theycame down at noon in a deserted part of the country so that Chris could sleep and rest, and Amos find fresh water for the leathern bottles they had strapped to their waists. Then they went on until they saw the sea and the wavering line of the coast below and ahead of them.
The eagle and balloon came gently down at dusk. The balloon was folded into its small size and put back in the pouch around Chris's neck. Out of sight of Amos, Chris transformed the eagle to a boat in which, in the dark of the night, the two boys reached the side of theMirabellewith their precious cargo. The sailors of theMirabellewere asleep, but Chris roused the Captain, who helped them secretly carry the Jewel Tree to a corner of his cabin.
All hands were then called on deck and everything was hurry and bustle. Before dawn had broken, theMirabellehad left the coast of China and was well out to sea.
I
t was not until Chris, relieved, proud and happy at the success of his mission, opened his sea chest and took out the shell that he had the faintest vibration of trouble or danger. Until then he had lived, breathed, and thought only of obtaining the Jewel Tree, and once that had been accomplished, he felt that his anxieties were over.
However, as he shut and locked the cabin door behind him, feeling with an increased zest the surge and rock of theMirabelleunder his feet as she plunged through the sea, something brought him up short and took the glow from his face. Slowly, and with a grave expression, Chris went to his sea chest and took the shell from it, but he almost knew before he heard it what Mr. Wicker would say.
Nevertheless, when through the whorls of the shell at his ear he heard the familiar voice, so far away and so long unheard, his eyes lit up again.
"You have done better than my fondest hopes, Christopher, my boy," came Mr. Wicker's voice. "I cannot commend youenough for the success of your difficult journey, and the manner in which with courage, quick wit, and fortitude you met every danger. Amos is much to be praised too. He is a loyal friend and I am proud of him as well as of you."
Chris, kneeling by the brass-studded chest with the shell held to his ear, could easily bring before his inner eye the cosy room in Georgetown, the crackling logs upon the hearth, and the voice of Becky Boozer raised in lusty song coming from the direction of the kitchen.
He missed it. Much as he loved theMirabelle, and much as he prized the friendship of all aboard her, still, Mr. Wicker and Becky held an especial place in his heart and he longed all at once, with almost intolerable sharpness, to be at home once more. That his mother was getting better he had never doubted, but kneeling there alone, he suddenly wanted to have done with adventure for a while.
"My boy—are you listening?" came Mr. Wicker's words, and Chris's thoughts brought him back with a jolt to the cabin of a ship sailing the China seas. "Christopher, my poor lad," Mr. Wicker said at his ear, "had you forgotten theVulture?
"No," he answered for the boy, "not altogether, but perhaps just a little. Yet make no mistake—the Captain of theVulturehas not forgottenyou. Nor is he under any misapprehension as to who it was who so skillfully crippled his ship so that he did not reach Peking before you."
Mr. Wicker's voice took on the edge it always held when he spoke of Claggett Chew.
"Claggett Chew waits for you beyond Shanghai in the East China Sea. Be wary, and be rested, Christopher, for you will have a battle such as you have never dreamed of, and even Icannot tell how it will end. It will depend on your quickness and ingenuity. And do not forget the leather pouch!"
The voice of his friend hesitated, and then said so faintly and from so far that it was all Chris could do to hear it: "I repeat, be wary, Christopher. He will do everything in his power—"
The voice faded away, and Chris with heavy gestures replaced the shell, shut the lid of his sea chest, and unlocking the door, went with dragging feet to tell Captain Blizzard of what awaited them.
The wind was only moderately fair so that theMirabelletook some time passing beyond the Yellow Sea. During those days Chris practised his magic with more concentration than ever before. He rested and slept, ate hugely, and exercised by climbing up the masts of theMirabelle, so that by the time along dark line was sighted on their starboard side on the Chinese coast and the approach to Shanghai, Chris was fit and well as he had never been before.
Warned by Chris in time, Captain Blizzard, on hearing of the dangers ahead, had determined to put into port at Shanghai, and there, with much haggling and bargaining, bought four cannons and ammunition. He also laid in a store of swords, daggers, and assorted weapons for all on board.
Believing that an ounce of prevention was better than a pound of cure, the worthy captain drilled all hands on theMirabelletwice a day thereafter. This, the weather being fair and the ship needing only the helmsman and a lookout to care for her, the sailors were quite willing to do. More especially when their captain, in whom they had unbounded faith, told them he had good reason to believe they would have a nasty,and perhaps disastrous, encounter with the pirate ship during which they bid fair to be bested if they did not bestir themselves and prepare for it.
The men entered into the training with gusto. They made dummies which were hung on ropes and maneuvered by their friends, braced in the rigging. The dummies were suddenly swung out and down in every direction, in imitation of pirates boarding the ship, and were fallen upon by the sailors of theMirabellewith roars of glee as if they were at that very moment being tackled by the pirate crew. Then they practised fast turning and tacking of the ship, and even in between the regular hours set aside by the Captain for what he termed "fighting time," several groups of men could always be seen on some part of the deck practising dueling with sword and dagger. In short, long before theMirabellereached the East China Sea, its crew had become proficient in all manner of hand-to-hand fighting.
TheMirabellewas level with the Ryukyu Islands on a gusty, glary day when the lookout's long-drawn-out cry floated down from the crow's-nest to those sailors who were engaged in a mock fight on deck.
"Sail—ho-oo!"
Instantly every man was at the ship's side, shading his eyes against the dazzle that made a brassy light over sea and sky. The Ryukyu Islands, off the port beam, were not visible in the metallic haze that grew as the sun arched higher. The fitful wind gave promise of stopping altogether and leaving both ships becalmed.
Chris, on the bridge beside the Captain, stood looking through his spyglass at the advancing sail. Captain Blizzard lowered his own glass to turn enquiringly to Chris.
"Yes," the boy said at last, "I'm sure now. I ought to know those sails. They're unmistakable. That is theVulture, sir."
Captain Blizzard wheeled about before the last word had left Chris's lips, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"All hands on deck!" he roared. "Man the guns! Bring out the ammunition, and every man to his place!"
The training the men had gone through instantly asserted itself. Although there was a great deal of running about, up and down the ladder to the hold, and of handing up the heavy ammunition, all was orderly, and not an extra word was spoken.
There was little enough time left over, however. TheVultureapproached rapidly and then crossed the bow of theMirabelleso narrowly that theMirabellehad to put hard about and Captain Blizzard roared orders to take in sail in order not to smash into the pirate vessel before it had been carried by the breeze beyond its prey.
This maneuver by Claggett Chew momentarily threw theMirabelle'screw into confusion and turned their attention to the hasty management of their ship. To Chris, working with the men at whatever was most urgent, it seemed only an instant before theVulturewas again alongside theMirabelle, and Claggett Chew stood on the gunwale hailing them.
"Heave-to, or you shall sink to the sharks!" he cried.
"Look to yourself, pirate!" Captain Blizzard thundered in reply, and giving the signal, the unsuspected guns of theMirabellebelched out their deadly charges.
Claggett Chew was knocked back to the deck of his ship, and Chris had time to see him shake off the hand of a sailor who would have helped him to safety. Chris also saw, peeking out from the doorway of Claggett Chew's cabin, the white horrified face of Osterbridge Hawsey, who "could notstandthe sight of blood—socommon!" The face withdrew, and Chris could imagine the dandy playing cards or reading as best he could in the din until the battle should be over.