China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

low buildings with their tiled roofs were catching fire and collapsing in upon themselves. To the south, the positions on the city wall were just holding. To the north, the Chinese were trying to break into the British compound through the ruined library.

At four in the afternoon, the bell in the little tower where the message boards were began to ring wildly—the signal that the legations were under general attack on every side, and that everyone must defend themselves as best they could.

Despite Emily’s begging him not to, Henry had gone to the Fu. She and her father were standing with Tom in the hall of the MacDonald residence. Lady MacDonald and her daughters were in the back parlor inside. Trader had his Webley revolver in his hand. He glanced at Emily. She nodded and drew out the little pistol he’d got for her.

“You’ve got six shots. Use the first five of them,” he said quietly. He looked down at his grandson. “Don’t you worry, boy,” he said. “They won’t get this far, but if any of them do, we’ll deal with ’em.” Tom was pale, both frightened and excited by the look of it, but facing forward bravely. “Good lad,” said Trader approvingly. “Well done.”

And now they heard a new sound. A chant taken up by a thousand throats, seemingly all around them.

“Sha!” Kill. “Sha! Sha! Sha!”

There were roars of Krupp guns and small cannon, fusillades, screams. God knows how many men were fighting—hand to hand, by the sound of it. A German soldier rushed in, calling for MacDonald.

“Out by the bell tower,” shouted Trader, and the German disappeared.

The terrible racket continued. They could hear bullets banging and rattling on the roof above. The chanting seemed to be getting louder. Was it closer? Hard to tell.

MacDonald appeared.

“Did the German find you?” Trader called.

“Yes. The Russians are helping them. They’re holding the line.” He went down the passage to check on his family, then emerged again. “The Japanese in the Fu have a new line of defense. They’ve halted the Chinese advance for the moment.”

“My husband?” asked Emily.

“Don’t know. Can’t say. But there’s a new attack coming just south of the Fu. Through the French legation.”

He hurried out. Minutes passed.

Then came the thunderclap. The ground under their feet shook. And moments later, as though a tornado had just passed, objects began falling from the sky. Bits of masonry were crashing onto rooftops. Other things, softer things, were falling, too, with bangs and bumps and thuds. And as they rushed to the doorway they saw a thick, dirty cloud peppered with red cinders rising like some demonic spirit over the Fu and heard screams, terrible screams.

“It’s a mine,” said Trader. Was it under the Fu? Close to it? He couldn’t be sure. Was this the final moment? Were the Chinese about to come streaming in? “Back indoors,” he ordered Tom and Emily. God knew if Henry was still alive. “Back indoors.”

So they waited in the hallway. They waited and listened for the shouts of “Sha! Sha!” from the approaching Chinese troops.

But no shouts came. Indeed, as the minutes passed, the firing seemed to falter. And soon after that, to their astonishment, the figure of Henry appeared—his face sooty, his clothes covered with grime, but still recognizably Henry and very much alive.

“Did you hear the mine go off?” he asked them.

“Of course we did,” cried Emily. “I thought you were dead.”

“That’s why I came back. To let you know.”

“Are the Chinese coming?” Trader demanded.

“I don’t think so. They blew themselves to bits with their own mine. There’s a huge crater where the French legation was. The Chinese were advancing. I suppose they knew the mine was going off, but didn’t understand the power of the thing. It must have killed scores of them. Anyway, they’ve pulled back.”

“I bet that wasn’t the only mine,” said Trader. “They probably planned to let off several. Now they’re wondering what to do.”

As the hours passed, this seemed to be the case. MacDonald came in and confirmed: “Assault’s paused on all fronts.” Henry went back to comfort the converts in the Fu. Emily took Tom upstairs and put him to bed.

Trader poured himself a glass of brandy, went out onto the veranda that overlooked the garden, sat down in a wicker armchair, and gazed at the lawn bathed in the pale moonlight. Even the sniping had ceased. Only the faint crackling of fires from around the smoking crater broke the silence.

He’d been sitting there for a little while when he became aware of Emily, in a pale gown, coming towards him. She also had a glass of brandy. He rose and offered her his chair, but she shook her head.

“You sit in the chair, Father. I’d rather sit on the stool beside you. It’s quite comfortable.”

“Is Tom asleep?”

“Yes. I think all the excitement wore him out.”

“Henry’s not back?”

“No. Which makes it rather a good moment to talk to you.” She paused and he waited. “Do you remember,” she went on after a moment, “when we thought they were about to break in, you told me I had six rounds and to use five of them on the enemy?”

“I do.”

“That would have left me with one shot to use on myself.”

“I’d assumed that’s what you wanted the pistol for.”

“It was. But I realized this evening that I could only fire four shots at the enemy. I needed another two, you see.”

“Two?”

“One for Tom, one for me.” She looked up at him sadly. “What do you think they’d do to him? Bayonet him, at best. Isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to think about it.

“Well, I do. So I needed two bullets. But that’s the problem. I realized I couldn’t trust myself. I knew I should do it, but I didn’t think I could. I was just so afraid I’d hesitate, and then it might have been too late.”

“Well, thank God there was no need. It’s all over now.”

“What about the next time?”

“There won’t be a next