Chihli Province

Northeast China
Late Spring, 1900

Sha! Sha! The chanting from hundreds of angry voices grew closer.
Dr Nathaniel Davies fought to control the terrible fear rising in his gullet. The American had been a Methodist missionary in China for a dozen years and his grasp of the Chinese language was excellent. Kill! Kill! The raised voices chanted as hundreds of native rebels surged through the streets and alleys of the village moving inexorably towards his mission station.
Thank the Lord that he had evacuated his wife and two children, he thought as he stared at the open doorway to his office. His wife, Clarisa, had tearfully protested his decision to stay but he had no choice. He had a congregation of Chinese converts to protect against the mysterious members of the secret society he knew as the Band of Righteous Harmony. To many of the Doctor’s colleagues’ the same society was better known as the Righteous Harmony Fists - or simply, Boxers – a term derived from the practice of martial arts by adherents carried out before audiences of village peasants to impress them with their fighting prowess.
Now a more ominous sound mingled with the chanting. It was the sound of men, women and children screaming in terror as the Boxers advanced on the mud-bricked mission station at the centre of the village.
Dr Davies groaned, “Please, God, spare my children.” Amid the sound of screaming was also that of death as broad-bladed swords hacked at those identified as Christian converts. It was only then that the brave missionary had any self doubts as to the wisdom of remaining behind, instead of fleeing to the relative safety of Pekin as it did not seem that he would be able to reason with the approaching rebels if they had now commenced slaughtering the helpless villagers. He sensed his own death was imminent and stared at the grapefruit-sized stone at the centre of his desk, lying next to a leather purse. If nothing else that he could do now for his congregation he could at least do one service for science and all mankind.
Dr Davies reached for the unimpressive-looking mostly rounded rock and turned it over in his hand to reveal the small but distinct fossil of an ancient dinosaur, many millions of years old. To even his experienced geologist’s eye the stone was like many others that were being hewn from the earth and hills of China. Ancient reminders that the Earth once lived under the shadow of giant dragons – as his uneducated congregation would have called them for their reptilian shape.
The villagers whom he ministered knew of his passion for rocks and stones. They might not understand that Dr Davies had studied geology – a love grown out of his youth spent finding Indian arrow heads on his father’s farm in Iowa. But they did understand that an unusual rock could please the mild-mannered American missionary who would immediately pore over the specimen with a magnifying glass muttering strange words.
This rock was different. The story of its discovery immediately piqued the geologist in Dr Davies. If his theory was correct the tiny stone dragon encased in the rock was one of the most important finds in the history of science. But the stone required further examination by those even more educated in mineral classification then him self. At the least it was an interesting record of a fossil. At best…
“Dr Davies,” a voice pleaded from the doorway. “You must flee now. They are almost upon us.”
The American glanced up at the young Chinese man standing in the doorway wringing his hands. “I will not go, Chin,” he replied in a calm voice. “It is too late. As a foreign devil I would not get far in the countryside. But you would – if you use that natural talent you have for cunning.”
The Chinese man was in his early twenties and in good health. He spoke reasonable English but always conversed with his friend, the American missionary, in Chinese.
“I have a red blouse,” Chin replied, lowering his eyes. “I could pass as one of the Boxers in this time of madness.”
“Good.” Dr Davies smiled grimly. “You must take this rock and the letter I have written to Pekin, and give it to the American consulate. It is important that you do this,” he continued, rising to his feet to stretch his tall, gaunt frame, attempting to prevent his assistant of the last five years to see how badly his hands trembled as he slipped the stone into the leather pouch and secured the knot passing the leather pouch to his assistant who concealed it under his shirt. Chin did not attempt to further persuade his American friend to come with him. He knew that to do so would only bring death to them both. At least he hoped to survive and take this seemingly worthless rock to the Americans in Pekin. In discussing the implications of what Dr Davies suspected of the rock Chin had not understand his philosophical ramblings in the Dr’s own language but he did know that the rock appeared as important to the missionary as the American’s own faith in Jesus.
“Go, my young friend, and may the Lord be with you in your journey,” Dr Davies said as the sound of a heavy wooden door shattering under the impact of heavy metal objects came to them. Both men knew that it was the gate to the mud bricked wall surrounding the mission estate. The howling outside was chilling in its animal intensity and to the Methodist missionary it was not many human voices, but one snarling beast out of a Christian hell.
Chin turned on his heel and slipped away to change quickly into his disguise. He even had an old sword to go with his uniform of red blouse and white trousers. He planned to mingle with the Boxers when they burst upon the office of the Methodist missionary.
Dr Davies opened a draw in his wooden desk and wrapped his hand around the butt of a .445 Webley revolver. For once Dr Davies had been a young man wearing the blue uniform of a Maine regiment at the second battle of Gettysburg and with calm courage he chose not to turn the other cheek, but go down fighting in a bid to distract the ever advancing Boxer warriors. His last stand would distract them and allow his young Chinese assistant to merge in the melee.
“Dear Lord,” the minister prayed quietly. “Forgive me my trespasses and forgive those…”
The snarling face of a Boxer appeared before him and the flash of a broad-bladed sword swirled through the air. Dr Davies fired, felling the first warrior who believed that he could not be killed by European firearms. A second stepped through the doorway taking his fallen comrade’s place and the Methodist missionary fired again. Davies kept firing until the hammer of the revolver clicked impotently. Then the swords hacked at him until he was a bloody, shredded mess. Dr Davies was not the first missionary to die in the Boxer rebellion. Nor would he be the last.
Chin heard the firing and slipped into the mass of running warriors streaming into the compound. So intoxicated were they with the rapture of their mission that the Boxers paid little attention to the man who joined their ranks.

Publication due October 2007