Several military men followed the mayor with speeches of a fiery nature, and advocated stern measures to subdue the riotous elements. At these outbursts of martial ardor I could see Coleman's mouth tighten imperceptibly into lines of disapproval and determination. At last his growing impatience could be restrained no longer, and he interrupted a resplendent militia colonel who was in full flight of an oration calling for "action at once."
"I understand this subject," said Coleman with decision, "and you don't. This is a matter that should not be discussed too fully or too publicly. But since so much has been said, I will inform you, gentlemen, that you don't know the mine you are standing on. The safety or destruction of the city hangs on a pivot. There must be more spirit shown by the law-abiding elements, or the balance will turn toward destruction. There must be action, not talk. I do not want to accuse anybody of lethargy, but the fact is there are too many men who call for the suppression of disorder, and then go home and leave somebody else to attend to their protection. The men who most deserve protection are those who are ready to take arms in their hands to get it."
"Well, what course would you advise this meeting to take?" asked General McComb.
"Organize at once," said the chairman in vigorous tones. "Appoint a central committee–say of twenty-four. Then open rolls for men to sign, pledging their persons and their money to protect the wives, children and fortunes that are now at the mercy of the mob."
This inspiring counsel brought the assembly to its feet. In a tumult of enthusiasm it was agreed that the chairman should appoint the committee, and that the work of organization should begin at once. It was over in another ten minutes. Coleman named the committee without hesitation, and after it had held a brief session he announced that it had reported in favor of immediate organization, and added:
"You are invited to put your hands to this instrument:
"'We, the undersigned citizens of San Francisco, do hereby enroll ourselves as a General Committee of Safety, subject to the requirements of the Special Committee of Twenty-Four, of which William T. Coleman, Esq., is President, and we do hereby bind ourselves to act with the committee to preserve the peace and well-being of the city with our money and persons.'
"You will be given directions where to assemble, and what duties you are to perform. I hope no able-bodied citizen will fail to give us his services and support."
At a significant gesture from the president, these solid men of the city crowded about the secretary to sign their names, and the Committee of Safety was born.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE JUSTICE OF BIG SAM
"You seem to have done a good day's work," was Miss Kendrick's comment on my brief account of the commercial struggle, "and you'll make a business man yet if you keep on. I wish you could tell uncle about it, but he's still unconscious." And her lip trembled at the sudden remembrance of Wharton Kendrick's peril, until I thought for the moment that she was going to burst into tears. But she commanded herself, and continued in steady voice: "And now that you've done so well, I'll give one of those reward-of-merit cards you used to get in school. It came this afternoon, and I'm dying to know what's in it." And she brought out a letter addressed in fine Spencerian copperplate script to "Mr. Hampden, the Lawyer of Mr. Kendrick's House on Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco."
I read the address with some wonder, and Laura Kendrick continued:
"Moon Ying says that funny little sign up in the corner is Big Sam's seal; but he surely never wrote that remarkable address. I suppose it is by one of his clerks."
At this, I hastily opened the envelope, and found within a formal note:
Kwan Sam Suey requests the pleasure of Mr. Hampden's company, at his office in Waverly Place, this evening, at as early an hour as convenient.
I passed the note over to Miss Kendrick.
"It looks as though there was going to be a party," she said, "or a supper at the very least. I hope you won't overeat–or worse."
"Big Sam has never suggested such an idea as eating or drinking, though I don't put it beyond him. But he surely hasn't picked out this season of alarms to give a reception. So if you'll excuse me, I'll run down to his place. It may be something important."
"Of course you must go–and you must come back, too. I'm sure I can't sleep till I know what it's about. I shall be up most of the night, and so will Mercy; so you needn't have qualms about ringing the bell, even if you are later than late. There will be somebody to let you in."
"As I'd rather be here than anywhere else, I shan't miss the chance to come back," I said boldly.
She ignored my words, and evaded my devouring glances, and with a sage nod suggested that the sooner I was on my way, the sooner I should have a chance to come back.
As I went down the steps I was stricken with a jealous pang to see Mr. Baldwin coming up with the air of a conquering army. He gave me a cool "Good evening," and then asked, in his most superior manner, if I were on my way to stir my friends to further exertions.
"I have but one object in life," I returned in a confidential tone, "and that is to put your particular friend and client inside four stone walls where he can't do any more harm. And you can tell Mr. Bolton so with my compliments, too."
From his muttered response, I gathered that my reminder of his connection with Peter Bolton did not give him unalloyed pleasure, and pleased with the consciousness that I had given more than I had received in the way of irritation, I went my way to Chinatown.
There were abundant signs of unrest in both the white and the yellow city. Bands of hoodlums still ranged the streets, and fought runaway actions with the police. Householders seemed in fear, and windows that were customarily cheerful with lights now looked with darkened shades upon the streets.
Chinatown was as forbidding as on the night of my last visit, and such lights as were to be seen shone through closed shutters and barred doors. But despite the atmosphere of sullen hostility that lay like a fog upon the district, I made my way without interference to Waverly Place and rapped on Big Sam's door. My name secured prompt admittance. The door was unbarred for a moment for my entrance, and promptly barred once more, and I was led through a crowd of sullen, hostile-faced hatchet-men to Big Sam's reception-hall.
The King of Chinatown sat by his desk in his flowing robes of state, but rose and offered me his hand as I entered.
"I thank you for your prompt attention, Mr. Hampden," he said, motioning me courteously to a high-backed chair at his side. I thought I could detect a trace of worry in his eyes, but his face was as impassive as ever.
"I am flattered to receive your invitation."
"It is not an idle one."
"I should be slow to believe so–especially after the prompt fulfilment of your last prophecy."
"You have the eye of the reader of thoughts," said Big Sam with a faint smile. "You speak of the very point I wish to ask about. I note by the papers that you were attacked–or Mr. Kendrick, to be accurate."
"Oh, I was fortunate enough to share in it," I said nonchalantly.
"Hardly a matter for congratulation, Mr. Hampden. Kindly let me know what happened. Was it by my people, or–"
He paused, and I replied:
"We were attacked in front by the anti-Chinese mob, three hundred or more strong, and in the rear by a score or so of ruffians that I have reason to suppose were hired by your people."
"I should be obliged for your reasons."
"They are at your service." And I gave the accumulated facts from Little John's attempt to drag away the Chinese girl, to Danny Regan's identification by Moon Ying.
As I set forth my tale, a certain fire of rage kindled in Big Sam's face without disturbing the impassivity of his features. He seemed to grow larger, and I could understand how great monarchs cause men to tremble by something more than the physical forces at their command. Some subtle force irradiated from the man, and only a strong will could refuse to yield to the fear that he inspired.
As I ended my tale, he muttered, "The dogs–to violate their word–to cross my orders–to risk everything at this crisis!"
Then he clapped his hands, and two men appeared, and after a few words vanished.
"I hope you will not object if I detain you for a time," said Big Sam, relaxing something of his anger.
"Not at all, if I can be of service."
"You mean that you would not stay as a social diversion," he said with a faint smile. "Well, you can be of service, Mr. Hampden, and permit me in the interval to offer you the hospitalities that should pass between friends." He gave his hands another clap, and in a moment a servant entered bearing a tray with a teapot and cups, and placed it before Big Sam. My host poured the tea as I exclaimed at the beauty of the porcelain in the highly decorated pot and the thin cups.
"I presume you prefer sugar and milk," said Big Sam, hesitating.
If I had possessed an insatiable appetite for these luxuries, the note of scorn in his voice would have forbidden me to confess it. But I had been dealing with Chinese clients long enough, and had drunk tea enough in Chinese fashion, to make it a matter of indifference to me, and I gave him a cheerful negative.
"What an exquisite flavor!" I exclaimed, as I sipped from the dainty cups. "Where do you get such tea?"
"I have it brought over by a special agent. It is not such as you can buy in the stores. That you may realize that you do not see all of China in the externals we present in San Francisco, I will remind you that you consider that you get a very good tea when you pay two dollars a pound for it. It is a good tea. But this that you are drinking costs eighty dollars a pound in China. You see we have a few luxuries–possibly some that you would not recognize. This is the tea of the gods, and I am pleased to see that you do not profane its flavor." The servant had brought in another tray, and Big Sam pressed me to eat of some preserved fish, which he praised more highly than I thought it deserved, and a fowl deliciously cooked with strange seasonings, ending with Chinese sweetmeats and a dash of fine Chinese brandy. I ate without hesitation, for all my suspicion of Chinese dishes, for I could believe that the man who drank tea at eighty dollars a pound would have nothing below the best.
And as we ate, Big Sam questioned me with a devouring curiosity of my views on the relations of China and the United States, on the future of the Orient, on the possible waking of China, on the destiny of the races, on the results of the anti-Chinese agitation; and though he gave little expression to his own views, he let drop many statesmanlike observations that showed how deeply he had thought upon these problems. Then at a sound from without, he had the trays cleared away, and the look of stern anger came back to his face.
"Now, Mr. Hampden, is the time for your assistance," he said. "I did not, as you may assume, invite you here to talk politics. That pleasure might have waited till a less troubled time. Matters of more importance await us. With your kind permission, we shall hold a high court of justice."
I had ceased to be astonished at anything that might happen in Big Sam's apartments. I bowed assent, and at a sharp rap on the desk, a score or more of sullen-faced Chinese entered, and formed in line along the walls. Apparently they bore no arms, but I judged from their expression that they belonged to the notorious hatchet-men, and carried all the paraphernalia of war under their loose blouses. Then entered two men of stern aspect, who walked with an air of command, and after greeting Big Sam they were introduced to me as the presidents of the Sare Bo and the See Yung tongs and were given seats beside us. Then at a curt order from Big Sam, another door opened, and two men entered dragging a protesting prisoner between them.
It was Little John, and by the fear that gleamed in his eyes and set his chin a-tremble, his forecast of the judgment of the high court of justice was most grave. He dropped to his knees, as he was dragged in front of the desk and made to face us, and beat his forehead on the floor with exclamations of protest and appeals for mercy. At a word from Big Sam the guards brought him to his feet, and Big Sam spoke briefly in Chinese. Then he turned to me.
"Is this the man, Mr. Hampden?"
"I have no doubt it is," I responded.
"Please repeat your story to these men," and he indicated the two Chinese presidents who looked with stern, impassive faces upon the trembling wretch before us.
"You will understand that this is not evidence," I said. "It is nothing that could be received in court, as I speak for the most part by hearsay."
"Proceed," said Big Sam. "Our justice is not pinioned in the bonds of your rules of evidence." And I repeated the account of the first visit of Little John, of his attempt to capture Moon Ying, of the assault on the Kendrick house by Danny Regan's ruffians, and Regan's identification by Moon Ying as Little John's expressman. From time to time Big Sam acted as interpreter, though in the main the Chinese appeared to understand me well enough.
The prisoner shook as with an ague at my disclosures, and his coarse goatee fluttered in sympathy with his flying heart. A few questions were put to him, and after admitting that he had visited the Kendrick place, he turned to denial, and became glib in his own defense. Big Sam translated to me in an undertone, and I could feel the anger in his voice rising higher and higher at each prevarication. At last Big Sam sprang to his feet, and pointing at me, thundered a question at Little John.
Little John hesitated, stumbled in his speech, hastily denied his words, then stopped and looked about him with evident realization that he was lost; and with a scream of terror he would have fallen had not the guards caught him and brought him roughly to his feet.
"Mr. Hampden, what shall be done with this man?" asked Big Sam.
"I have a warrant out for his arrest for disturbing the peace. I'm afraid I haven't evidence enough to satisfy our courts on a higher charge."
"Well, this court is satisfied–you believe him guilty, Mr. Hampden?"
"He is certainly guilty of attempted abduction."
He apparently put the same question to the two stern-faced men beside us, and they gave assent in brief phrases.
"The court is unanimous," said Big Sam. "Guilty of attempted abduction, violation of the bargain between the tongs, sacrificing the interests of his race to the interest of his tong by challenging the white vengeance. What should the penalty be, Mr. Hampden?"
"I think in our court he would get two years for the attempted abduction, assuming that he was convicted."
"A mild punishment, Mr. Hampden. I do not wonder that crime flourishes in your country with justice so feeble. But we have no prisons at our command. Death or exile or fine–these are the punishments we can enforce."
I shuddered at his words and tone, but it seemed impossible that we were discussing more than a theoretical case.
"Do you mean to say that our judgment will be carried out?" I cried.
"Certainly. An example is necessary; an offense has been committed; the guilty is before us for sentence."
"I should be satisfied with exile," I said, as Big Sam's eye demanded my choice.
He spoke to the two stern-faced men beside us, and at their answer turned to me.
"All but you, Mr. Hampden, favor death. It is less costly, and more effective."
"But he has not committed a capital offense," I protested.
"It is a capital offense by the laws of his own land. And if he had succeeded in burning Mr. Kendrick's house and killing Mr. Kendrick's family, I understand that it would have been a capital offense, even by the emasculate laws of your country. Is he the less guilty that his accomplices failed in the parts he had arranged for them?"
"Our laws give a lower punishment to the attempt than to the completed offense," I objected.
"Thereby making the suffering of the innocent and not the wickedness of the criminal the measure of guilt," said Big Sam. "It is enough. Let the sentence stand." And with a few words to the men who held the hapless Little John between them, the prisoner was dragged protesting through one of the mysterious doors of Big Sam's apartment, and disappeared at a turn of the labyrinth. Then with ceremonious bows, the stern-faced presidents of the tongs took their leave, and lastly Big Sam's retainers filed out.
"Do you mean that this man is to be killed?" I cried, when the doors had closed behind the departing. "Why, he is not even the principal in the crime. You have told me yourself that he is the representative of the Hop Sing Tong."
"When we can not catch the shark, we catch the pilot-fish," said Big Sam.
"But this is murder."
"Mr. Hampden," said Big Sam calmly, "this has been a very unpleasant affair, but, believe me, necessary. Let us not discuss it further. I have put it from my mind. I advise you to do the same. Do you believe that the organization of the Committee of Safety will have any effect on the troubles in the city?"
"I have every confidence in the man at the head of it. I believe it will be of material assistance in suppressing disorder."
"The revolutionary elements are strong," said Big Sam. "I have information that there is to be an armed outbreak to-morrow night. Will the Committee of Safety have its organization completed in time to check it? After that, it may be too late."
I wondered whether this warning had come from Peter Bolton, but I saw the futility of asking such a question of the man before me. I could merely express the hope that the huge task of enrolling, arming and instructing the men who were flocking to the Committee's leadership would be far enough advanced to make it of service before a serious outbreak occurred.
"If the Committee is overpowered, I presume we shall be left to our own defense," said Big Sam. "Well, we shall try to be ready. Permit me to thank you again for the pleasure of your company; and good night."
The retainers who held Big Sam's store in force looked at me impassively from their slant-eyes as I went out, and they appeared undisturbed at the scene that so many of them had witnessed. But as the door was closed and barred behind me, their voices broke forth in a chatter of singsong tones that revealed the excitement they had repressed to the eye. Big Sam's justice had at least impressed his followers.
Once more in the streets, the scene in Big Sam's hall seemed impossible, far away, of another world. I studied my duties to the laws of my own land, as I made my way through the darkened thoroughfares. Should I interfere, and try to save the life of Little John–even supposing that it was possible to find him in the Chinese labyrinths? Why? Did he not deserve his fate? And as the picture of Laura Kendrick crushed in the burning ruins of her house rose before my mind's eye, I could not deny that the world would be better off without the man who had planned such a deed. And with the conclusion to leave Chinese justice to the Chinese, I made my way back to the Kendrick house.
As I came up the steps, I was struck by the coincidence of meeting Mr. Baldwin coming down, and wished him a polite "Good night." He halted in evident anger, as though my words had been a personal insult. Then with a muttered "Go to the devil!" he strode up the street.
These signs of perturbation upon the cold and unemotional Baldwin were a portent to wonder at, and I suspected that his visit had not been as happy as he considered to be his desert.
Inside the house, I discovered some reflection of the perturbation displayed by the retreating Baldwin. Miss Kendrick's face was flushed, and I thought I discovered traces of tears on her cheeks, and a tendency to hysteric laughter, very foreign to her nature. Miss Fillmore was embracing her with sympathetic attention as I entered.
"Men are such queer creatures," said Miss Kendrick sagely, "and they do make themselves ridiculous when–"
Then catching sight of me she uttered a cry of dismay, and said:
"Why, what is the matter? Is the house in danger again from those shocking hoodlums?" But she recalled herself as soon as she spoke, and said: "Oh, I remember now. I am Miss Scatterbrain to-night. What did Big Sam want?"
"He wished to assure me that there was no further danger from Little John," I returned, with prudent reserve.
She looked at me suspiciously, as though she detected something behind my words.
"Do you believe him?"
"I have no doubt of his good faith."
"Well, that's one relief. But just the same Moon Ying doesn't go outside this house till all the troubles are over."
"Is there any fighting to-night?" asked Mercy anxiously.
"Only a few hoodlums. I think we shall get through the night without serious trouble, and to-morrow the Vigilantes will be organized. Then the city can sleep in peace."
"Well, I hope so," said Laura, and Mercy breathed an assent. "I feel as though I hadn't slept for a week. And now you go and get some sleep yourself, for you're going to have a hard day to-morrow."
Between the recollections of business, of Big Sam's justice, and of Laura Kendrick, sleep was long in coming. Yet of all problems that kept my mind in ferment, the most disturbing was "What happened to Baldwin?" And after arguing myself to the pleasing conclusion that he had, in his most superior manner, put his fate to the test, and had fallen from the full height of his self-esteem to the bottomless pit of rejection, I fell into dreamless slumber.