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Show Adventurers' "Murder on Soocliow Creek" By FLOYD GIBSONS Famous Headline Hunter HERE'S a tale from China, where life is cheap. They'll kill you for your shoes in that desperate, over-crowded, half-starved country. Or they'll kill you for nothing at all. I've seen Chinese killed by the dozen over there for no reason, rea-son, as far as I could see, but just for the sake of killing. In no country in the world, except possibly revolutionary Spain, isjjieath spread with such a careless hand. yes, life is cheap over there in China. Many a man has been killed for something that wasn't worth a Chinese dollar. But our Distinguished Adventurer of the day Milton Weaver of New York City saw the time once when his life wasn't worth two cents. That was in February, 1932. Milt Weaver was in the United States Marine corps then, and the Marines were stationed in Shanghai Shang-hai protecting our nationals and the International Settlement during dur-ing the fighting that went on between the Chinese and the Japanese. Jap-anese. Along the Shores of Soochow Creek. Says Milt: "You probably remember the little dug-out we Marines built and all the warlike atmosphere that surrounded us along Soochow creek?" And Milt is right about that. I sure do. I spent a lot of time down there when the fighting was going on over in the Native City, and if I saw Milt I'd probably remember him, too, for I talked with a lot of those boys who garrisoned that dug-out and stood guard along the creek. Milt's adventure, though, is one thing I missed, and I'm glad Milt has given me a second chance at it a second chance to put in on the wire-and tell it to the world. It was a cold morning that one in February and Milt was patrolling his post along Soochow creek. Outside the walls of the International Set- 1 tlement a furious battle was going on between Japanese troops and Chinese Chi-nese soldiers. Refugees were seeking safety in the Settlement by the thousand, but they weren't allowed to enter at night. The patrols along the boundaries had strict orders not to let anyone enter before six a. m., ; but all night long terror-stricken Chinese refugees many of whom couldn't pass the inspection at the bridges kept trying to force their way through the patrols and get in behind Settlement walls. At the Mercy of the Chinese. It was about five in the morning when Milt saw a sampan, loaded with Chinese, making its way across the creek. Imme- i diately Milt shouted to them to go back, but on they came until the nose of the boat touched the shore. Then Milt saw he was in for an argument maybe even a little trouble. But if he'd known how much trouble it was going to be, he'd have sounded the alarm ; and called out the guard before he tried to do anything else about it. 4 As the boat touched shore Milt stepped aboard and began telling the coolie who ran it to turn around and go back. "I had to do this in sign lan-l lan-l guage," Milt says, "because the coolie, apparently, didn't understand English. The coolie appeared to be. doing what I told him. He was trying try-ing to swing the boat around when a small tugboat came along and .'. rammed into his sampan. At the same time it pushed the sampan out into the middle of the stream, making it impossible for me to jump ashore again." I And then, all of a sudden, the demeanor of the Chinese in the boat L changed. A few seconds before Milt had represented authority, with a i;; guard of soldiers at his call. Now, out there in the middle of the stream 1 j he was alone helpless and darned well those Chinese knew it. They y began swarming toward him, babbling, gesticulating, threatening. Milt saw what was coming saw that he had one chance to get away, and that was to jump aboard the tugboat. He turned toward it, and then a thing happened that put him completely at the mercy of the occupants of the sampan. ! As he turned toward the tug, a puff of smoke, full of fine bits of coal j flew straight in his eyes. He was blinded! J It was only for a few moments, but during those few moments of blindness Milt experienced the worst fear of his whole life. The natives, seeing him helpless, rushed him and a man that gets mobbed by a crowd of Chinese natives has darned little chance of getting out alive. Desperate Fight on the Sampan. "They came at me with bamboo sticks," says Milt, "trying to push me overboard into the filthy waters of the creek. I knew I was doomed if I let them get me into the water, for once I was in it they would push me under and hold me there until I drowned. I blew my whistle for help. I had a pistol in a holster at my hip, but I couldn't see to shoot it. But I also carried a baton like a policeman's nightstick and I began swinging it around my head as best I could." Milt says he doesn't know how he managed to stay on his feet all ; through the hullabaloo. He could feel bamboo poles poking at him, , and he could feel that his own stick was doing some damage, too, for every once in a while it came in contact with something that felt like a , coolie's head. But little by little he was being forced back toward the . edge of the sampan. Milt was getting desperate. Another step or two and he'd be over-. over-. board. He was thinking of drawing his pistol and firing blindly into the ' mob, when suddenly he heard English voices on the bank, mixed in with the native shouting and cursing. That stopped the coolies. A minute before, Milt had been a lone, hated foreign devil. Now he was backed by authority again. They put the boat back to shore, and Milt was helped ashore by English police-;: police-;: men and a few of his own pals, the American Marines. They gave Milt o,: first aid treatment for his eyes, and for the cuts and bruises he had re-t re-t ivcd, and Milt says he was mighty doggone glad to get his feet back on the ground of the International Settlement where good old American, British and French law and order were in force and life was worth more " than a couple of plugged Chinese pennies. ! WNU Service. i |
