The Dark Mill Stream

CHAPTER I.—THE TRADER FROM HOICHOW.AT eight and thirty years of age Chester Hardacre was a well set-up, good-looking man, with good features and large, fearless blue eyes. The general impression of his face, however, was not altogether a pleasant one, for it was hard and grim, giving the idea, and quite rightly, too, that he would be relentless and without any scruples whatsoever in getting all he wanted in any way and at all costs. There was certainly no appearance of sympathy or pity about him. Of strong personality, he was a well-known character in Hoichow, the chief seaport of Hainan Island, only a few miles distant from the mainland of China, where he had been a trader for fifteen years. He carried on quite a successful business in his large store and, indeed, would have been a rich man but that gambling was the ruling passion of his life. He had left many thousands of pounds on the racecourse of Hongkong, only a day and a night’s journey away, and he was reckless, too, in the amount of money he risked at cards. A man of most violent and uncontrollable temper, he was a master to be feared, and once, for some trifling offence, had so badly beaten up one of his house-boys that the latter had died two days afterwards. The Chinese population were furious and it had required all the influence of the white community on the island and the passing over of a considerable sum of money, to hush up the matter and stay the authorities from taking action. From a strictly moral point of view, Hardacre, too, was hardly what purists would have called a good man. He was unmarried, but his big bungalow above the harbour was never without its chatelaine. His male friends, when they were calling upon him accompanied by their wives or daughters, made it a matter of routine when approaching his bungalow to honk loudly upon the horns of their cars in order to give warning so that the ruling favourite might be discreetly spirited away into one of the back rooms. Many women, native, of course, had flitted across his life, for he was always changing them in a casual, off-hand way. Undoubtedly, however, of all who had ever taken his wayward fancy he had been most partial to Winna Mee, and that, probably, because as a new acquisition, contrary to the usual meekness of her race, she had furiously resisted his advances. A lovely Chinese girl, beautiful as a just-budding rose and dainty as a piece of rare porcelain, her small body was lithe and beautifully proportioned. She was sold to him somewhat late in her life, as she was nearly fifteen when he bought her from her parents for the equivalent of £20 English money. She was not disposed, however, to be so casually handed over to a stranger so many years older than herself, particularly as she already had a lover in her own village. So, when the £20 had been paid over and she had been deposited in the bungalow like a load of sugar-cane or a consignment of cotton, she had, at first, been as difficult to handle as a wild cat. Only amused, however, at her furious attempts to repulse him, the trader had quickly shown her who was master and, her nails closely clipped so that there should be no more scratching, in a few days she had seemingly become resigned to her fate. Still, it was a long while before Hardacre allowed her to prepare any of his food. He had no wish to wake up in the night in the dreadful agony of bamboo spines piercing through his intestines. However, he came to trust her at last, and that was after one night when he had caught her old lover prowling round the bungalow with a most business-like looking Gurkha dagger naked in his hand. The man was a sailor and, just returned from a long sea voyage, he had learnt only that day that his lady-love had been so callously disposed of. He was no weakling and for some dangerous and thrilling moments the trader had fought him with bare hands. In the end, however, he had succeeded in getting his dagger away and had then given him a severe thrashing, sending him off with a contemptuous kick and not deigning to hand him over to the police. Winna Mee had been an interested spectator of the struggle, trembling as to what would be the outcome, but when the trader returned victoriously into the bungalow her eyes glowed in her excitement and she looked at him as she had never done before. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately in the way he had taught her. A veritable child of the jungle, she had been won in the jungle fashion and would be faithful to him henceforth, without any reservation. After that night she was his devoted slave, all her coldness disappeared and she was ardent and ever ready with her caresses. For nearly two years she reigned in the bungalow and, such was her fascination for him, during that time Hardacre’s affections never wandered. Her flower-like beauty seemed to grow upon him and he thought he would never be tired of looking at her. His happiest hours were when he was with her. Then the great catastrophe occurred and at once all his obsession for her turned a complete somersault and he became most unjustifiably and unreasonably angry. She told him she was going to bear him a child. Now in the circles in which Hardacre moved, in the white man’s club and the general social life of Europeans on the island, it was of no account for a European to live with a native girl. Indeed, it was considered as quite the natural thing for an unmarried man to do. It became, however, a very different matter if the girl had a baby by him. Then it was regarded as letting down the whole white community and bringing discredit upon their class. So when the trader found what was going to happen, his fondness for Winna Mee vanished at once, and with no delay he prepared to bundle her out neck and crop, hoping the matter would not become generally known to his friends and acquaintances. At first, the girl was all tears and frenzied lamentations, but, upon learning that Hardacre was going to endow her with twice her purchase price, she speedily became in part consoled. Forty pounds was a tremendous sum to her and she would return to her village as a queen with the spoils of victory thick upon her. Not only was she going to bear a white man’s child, but, with the money she possessed, she would be able to acquire property which would go a long way towards keeping her in comfort for the rest of her life. Added to that, she knew her prestige would soon enable her to get a husband agreeable to her choice. So Winna Mee went out of Hardacre’s life, as he thought for ever, and in a few weeks another girl reigned in her place. The time passed on, and then, when Winna Mee had been gone for nearly years, happening to pass through the village from where she had come, in mild curiosity he made inquiries about her. To his intense horror, he learnt that, only a few months before, she had shown signs of leprosy, and was now an inmate of a leper settlement. His reaction to the news was, at first, only one of intense sympathy for the girl, and a great wave of tenderness surged through him as he recalled how lovely she had been in those first days when she had come to him. With a dreadful pang he thought of the ravages the hideous disease would in time make upon her beautiful young body. He had seen many lepers since he had come to live on Hainan Island, and some of them had been so loathsome to look at that for days afterwards they had haunted his dreams. Then, suddenly, a most terrifying possibility avalanched itself into his mind and his face went ashen-grey with fear. Why, for nearly two years he had been in actual contact with her day upon day, and night after night she had lain in his arms! God, the awful disease was infectious! She might have had it in its early stages when she had been living with him! She might have given it to him and, perhaps, for months and months the dread bacilli had been coursing through his arteries and veins! He almost choked in his consternation. It was common knowledge that one might contract the disease and yet show no sign of it for as long a period as seven years. Seven years, and it was only just two since he had sent her away! The next night at the club he got into conversation with a young doctor, and inquired, as casually as he could make out, about leprosy. The doctor had not been long in the East, but for all that he seemed to know a lot about the disease. “A damned nasty business,” he said, “and if I got it I think I’d shoot myself. Oh, yes, you can catch it by contact. You get the leprae bacilli from an infected person on your skin, and then, with the smallest scratch, the bugs get underneath and you’re booked. You can get it in another way, too, for the bugs can enter through the mucous membrane of the nose and throat.” Hardacre’s hands became cold and clammy, and he furtively wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. In the months which followed, the trader became intensely nervy and irritable. He lost weight, and his friends kept telling him he didn’t look well. And in time he began to feel anything but well. He was thoroughly out of sorts and had dreadful sleepless nights. He lost all pleasure in his food, but made up for it by drinking spirits by the bottle. He was always thinking about leprosy, and half a dozen times a day would strip himself and search for a white spot somewhere upon his skin. His temper became worse and worse, and he was always making out people were insulting him. His friends and acquaintances took to avoiding him as much as possible, and there were even whispers that he was going to be asked to resign from the club. A climax came there one evening when another member accused him of cheating at cards. Quick as a flash of lightning, Hardacre picked up a heavy decanter and struck his accuser straight in the face. The decanter broke and he jabbed at him with the broken stem, severing one of the big arteries in the neck. Notwithstanding that the man was obviously mortally wounded, Hardacre threw himself upon him and gripped him fiercely by the throat. It took all the efforts of four men to pull him away and, struggling violently, the trader had ultimately to be bound hand and foot to prevent him doing further mischief. The man he had attacked passed away during the struggle. Of course there was no chance of the matter being hushed up, for the dead man was an important official of a big trading concern, and so Hardacre was at once handed over to the authorities for trial and punishment. But while there was not the slightest sympathy for him and everyone would have liked to see him decapitated in the Chinese fashion, it was realized what a dreadful blow it would be to white prestige if that happened. So the two British doctors on the island, much to the trader’s fury, certified him as insane and recommended he be put away in an asylum. That, however, did not satisfy the authorities and they were adamant that he should stand his trial. Seeing that there was no help for it, certain members of his one-time friends then started to make arrangements for him to escape from custody and be smuggled out of the island. Under a power of attorney given by the trader, his business was sold for £2,000 and part of the money used in bribes to further his escape. One night the bars of his cell were filed through for him and the next morning found him well out to sea in a small fishing boat and heading for the coast of French Indo-China. He reached there without mishap and some weeks later had made his way round to Rangoon. From there it was not difficult to get to Calcutta and finally, travelling third class, he took ship by a P. & O. liner for England. The voyage undoubtedly unproved his health but, a most unusual thing for him, he found himself suffering a lot from headaches, and though there were certainly no outward signs of the dread disease upon him, he was still worried, thinking he was in its early stages.