The excitement grows apace, and the same
wanton cries of "Fank-wae. Fankwae!" that followed me through
Kan-tchou-foo are here repeated with wild whoops and exultant cries. One
would sometimes think that all the devils of Dante's "Inferno" had gotten
into the crowd and set them wild with the spirit of mischief.
By this time the yameni-runners are quaking with fear; he of the paper
parasol and jade-stone pipe walks beside me, convulsively clutching my
arm, and with whiningly anxious voice shouts out orders to his
subordinate. In response to these orders the advance-guard now and then
hurries forward and peeps around certain corners, as though expecting
some hidden assailants.
Thus far, although the symptoms of trouble have been gradually assuming
more and more alarming proportions, there has been nothing worse than
demoniacal howls. The chief reason of this, however, it now appears, has
been the absence of loose stones, for no sooner do we enter an inferior
quarter where loose stones and bricks are scattered about, than they come
whistling about our ears. The poor yameni-runners shout deprecatingly at
the mob; in return the mob loudly announce their intention of working
destruction upon my unoffending head. Fortunately for me that head is
pretty thoroughly hidden beneath the thick pith thatch-work of my Indian
solar topee, otherwise I should have succumbed to the first fusillade of
stones at the instance of a cracked pate.
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