More than once a Burmese farmer stared at them and when Sheng saw this he pointed to his wounded arm, as though he were in search of a doctor somewhere, and the farmer nodded and some looked at him with pity and so they went on. Only once were they stopped and this time by an old man with energy in his look and in his bright black eyes, and when he saw Sheng’s arm he shouted and pulled Sheng by his other hand and Sheng, not wishing to make a quarrel here, went with him into a village near by. There was but one street in that village and along it were open shops selling small things and a blacksmith shop or two and at the end of it a monastery. Through its gate the man led Sheng without delay and into a room where an old man sat, a venerable good old man in a robe, and the man pointed to him and said loudly to Sheng, “Pong yi — pong yi!”
But how could Sheng understand this word? He could only look stupid and so the man spoke quickly to the older one, and that old one lifted the torn sleeve from Sheng’s arm and stared into the wound and shook his head and sighed a few times as if to say it was very grave, and then he rose slowly and moved slowly away into another room and he came back with a little pot of white porcelain and in it was a smooth black ointment. This he dipped up with his long thin forefinger and he motioned to Sheng to hold out his arm and he smeared the ointment over the angry wound. At first Sheng thought he must cry out with pain for the ointment was like fire on the wound. But he held himself silent for decency’s sake and soon the fire changed to coolness and then his arm felt numb and then in a little while more there was no pain at all. How grateful was he for this, and he took out his purse from his girdle to pay the old man, but no, the old man would take nothing nor would he who had brought him here. That one led him back to the entrance of the village and though Sheng pressed him yet again, still that man would take nothing. And so Sheng went on his way, wondering that even here in this enemy country there was one to be found who could be kind and for nothing.
Now that the pain was stopped for awhile he could go with ease and this he did, and he bethought himself that the boy behind him must be hungry and indeed so was he and he said,
“The next time we see food we will stop and buy rather than eat the little we have with us.”
So they went on again awhile and now Sheng could look about him and see the country and indeed it was as rich and fertile a land as could be found anywhere, and he saw what he had never seen elsewhere, seed rice and rice harvest at the same time, for there was no winter and no summer here as in his own country, but the land was always green.
After while they met a man carrying a food stand and he sold fried rice balls, and they bought each four or five of these hot balls, and they sat down beside the road under a tree that had very fine leaves and flowers of a delicate purple so fragrant that all the air about its top was busy with insects and bees. Under this tree Sheng sat down and the lad at a little distance sat in respectful silence. Sheng thought to himself that he ought to ask the lad a question or two out of courtesy but indeed he could not. The fever in him made him drowsy and it was now the heat of afternoon and the sweetness of the flowering tree above him was heavy, and after he had eaten a little and yet less than he thought he was hungry for, he lay back and fell asleep.
He was wakened by the pain in his arm beginning to throb again and he stared about him, not knowing for a moment where he was, but his body was heavy as though his veins were full of hot lead. He struggled up and there the lad sat still.
“Have I slept long?” Sheng asked.
“Not very long,” the lad said, “but I was beginning to wonder if it were my duty to wake you.”
Sheng did not answer, but he pulled himself from the grass and rubbed his face and his head with his good arm and he took up the march again and the lad fell in behind him.
And of that day there is nothing more to be told except that at dark they came to the lake, now dried into a big pond, and they walked around the water upon its bottom of curling cakes of dried clay, and there on the other side they found their comrades waiting, not together so that men could see they were indeed an army, but a hundred here and a hundred there among the low trees. To his pleasure Sheng saw Charlie among them, and Charlie came forward and held out food to Sheng. Upon a green lotus leaf he had put hot rice and egg mixed with it and on the ground near by was a teapot full of hot tea and Sheng sank down with a great sigh that all so far was well. When he saw that teapot a mighty thirst fell upon him and he picked it up in his right hand and put the spout to his lips and drank as long as his breath held, and Charlie stood there watching him and waiting until he had drunk his fill.
When at last Sheng put the pot down Charlie said quietly: “Now I can tell you the news. You must make a forced march and it will not do to rest tonight. The white men will all be dead unless we reach them by another day and night. This I know and can swear by. Let us eat and be on our way.”
This Sheng heard but while he listened his arm began to throb again and he gave one grunt for answer.
But he sent word to his men that they were only to rest and not to sleep. When he had so sent his command he went alone to the side of the lake and he put his head into the muddy water to cool himself, and he dipped up water in his hands and over his garments for coolness. But so great was his fever that when in an hour it was time to march he was dried and hot again.
… All that night the division marched, stopping only to rest at the end of each two hours. Sheng had marched many times before this through day and night, and well he knew that the only way to keep the pace was to rest at given times, whether in day or night. They marched together through the darkness, but when dawn came they scattered again and chose the village where they must meet once more. There in the fields they would sleep for three hours before they made attack.
Now all went well enough, except that by noon the next day his wound began to ache beyond bearing. Whether the showers of rain which fell now and again had washed away the ointment or whether his constant sweat had washed it off, Sheng did not know, but the old throbbing agony came back and his head began to swim and he wished he could find another old man like that one who had given him the black ointment but how could he delay? There was nothing he could do except to go on and so he did.
And yet there was some good in that day, for the low hot jungles through which they traveled gave way at noon to great trees of teak forest and the leaves upon the ground made a carpet very comfortable for their tired feet. By now all had worn out their sandals and many were walking barefoot and so they were grateful for the new comfort. Yet there was this hardship in that great forest and it was that the paths were many and when Charlie had looked at the footprints on the worn earth he said, “These are the feet of elephants where they have been pulling out the trees and we must be careful for to be lost in one of these trails may mean days before we find its end.”
So they watched their compasses closely and they came to the end of that wood.
But since the night was near Sheng commanded them that they would take their long sleep here. And so they lay down where they could, upon their blankets or two sharing a blanket, and only Charlie did not sleep.
“Do you never sleep?” Sheng asked.
“I sleep upon my feet,” Charlie said with his grin as wide as ever. When all was quiet and he had eaten and drunk he said to Sheng, “Before you wake I will be back to tell you where the enemy is closing in and where the white men are.”