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CHAPTER VIII – THE SWARM OF NIGHT FURIES
Late in the afternoon another meal was prepared.
Though the yamen was surrounded on all sides, and “sniping” was engaged in from time to time, the Chinese besiegers made no attempt to rush the compound.
Toward the end of the afternoon Dave carried on some vigorous signal talk with his commanding officer aboard the “Castoga.”
“It does not look safe for you to risk bringing party through to river,” came the message from the gunboat. “Do you think you can hold the yamen through the night?”
“Think I can hold yamen through the night,” Dave signaled back, “if you sanction my using extreme measures at need. I may have to put the Chinese soldiers on the other side of the gate before dark comes on.”
“Do so, if absolutely necessary,” came the part approval. “If you wish, I will try to get thirty more men through to you. Cannot spare more without crippling ship.”
“I believe so small a force as thirty men would be massacred in the streets before reaching here,” Dave signaled back. “Would advise against your trying to send small reinforcements.”
“Am trying by wireless,” signaled the gunboat, “to pick up other naval vessel along the coast. If I establish such communication, will endeavor to have at least one hundred additional men sent up, even if they have to ascend river in motor launches. Think, if you can hold on until to-morrow, I can send substantial reinforcements.”
“Will hold out through the night, if we have to keep shooting every minute,” Darrin signaled his commanding officer.
“Have you plenty of ammunition?” came the query.
“Yes,” Dick signaled back. “Have been firing cautiously.”
Just before dark came on the gunboat signaled:
“Good luck through the night.”
“Thank you,” Ensign Dave caused to be signaled back.
After a conference with Dan and Bishop Whitlock, Dave decided upon bold measures. Toward every party of Chinese soldiers, on the ramparts or in the compound, went, all at once, small parties of sailors. In a twinkling, and almost without protest, the sailors seized the rifles of the yellow soldiery.
“Form the governor’s troops in the compound,” was the order that Darrin suddenly bawled forth.
“What are you about to do?” demanded Sin Foo, from the rampart.
“We are about to gag you, Mr. Sin Foo, if you open your mouth again,” came the young ensign’s stern answer.
Quickly the native troops were formed below. Dan, in the meantime, massed a strong force and two machine guns on the rampart over the main gate. At a signal the gates were thrown open. The blinking, unresponsive yellow soldiers were driven forth, and the gate shut fast on them. Dan’s precautions overhead had been taken in case the armed multitude beyond should attempt a rush when the gate was opened. But Dave put through the whole maneuver successfully.
Leaving a guard of only seven men on a side, and massing his fifty-six other fighting men, Dave marched up to the governor’s yamen.
“The move that I am going to take may bring down a torrent of official abuse upon my head,” thought the young ensign.
First he called out a summons to open the door of the governor’s dwelling. There being no answer, he directed several sailors, with a pole on their shoulders, as a battering ram, to smash in the door. Once the door was down, Dave led his party inside, and began searching from room to room.
At last he came upon the governor, surrounded by the same score of soldiers. In addition were “Burnt-face” and some dozen attendants.
“Disarm the soldiers,” came Darrin’s instant order, as he marched his command into the spacious, handsome, richly furnished room in which the governor had taken refuge. “Do it without fuss, if you can, but take the guns away.”
Three of the soldiers attempted to resist, and were promptly knocked down by the sailors; after that, all submitted to disarming.
“March these yellow soldiers outside and give them the gate,” smiled Ensign Dave. “Leave ‘Burnt-face’ and this servant with the governor, and put the rest of the attendants outside too. Forward, march!”
That audacious move was carried out without a hitch.
“Pass the word for Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave ordered. Then, when the indignant under secretary appeared, Dave went on:
“Mr. Sin Foo, kindly assure his excellency that we have acted in the only way possible, and that we mean no harm to him, unless he should make such action necessary. Tell the governor that we have put his people outside because we do not intend to have any nonsense here to-night.”
Sin Foo started to speak.
“Pardon me, Mr. Darrin,” interposed a missionary, “but the under secretary is not interpreting correctly. He is abusing you to the governor.”
“Look here, my friend,” warned Dave, placing a heavy hand on Sin Foo’s shoulder, “either you play fairly, or you will find yourself in more trouble than one poor under secretary can be expected to handle easily. Tell his excellency just what I said.”
Governor Tai-pu listened in silence. Nor did he offer any comment when Sin Foo had ceased speaking.
“Does his excellency understand?” Dave asked.
“He does,” replied Sin Foo.
“Yes,” nodded the missionary who had interposed.
“His excellency will be required to remain in the open with us to-night,” Darrin continued. “We must have him where we can easily keep both eyes on him.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Darrin,” said one of the missionaries, approaching. “Do you think it will be prudent to have lights in the compound to-night?”
“It will be much better to have them,” Dave replied, “provided that no glow from them is reflected toward the ramparts. Any light behind our men, that showed them more distinctly to the enemy, would imperil our safety. But lights in one point at least in the grounds would be advantageous, as such illumination would tend to make the women less afraid. It’s human nature, you know, sir, to be more afraid in the dark, and we must give every possible thought to the feelings of the women on such a trying night as I fear this is going to be.”
Thanking him, the missionary hurried away, beckoning to three other men to follow him. These soon returned, bearing armfuls of Chinese paper lanterns. Cords were tied from tree to tree in the center of the compound, and from these lighted paper lanterns were soon dangling. In and out of the lighted area passed the women and other non-combatants, strolling about.
“That looks like a glimpse out of a pretty picture,” said Dave, to his brother officer, as the two stood on the river side of the ramparts.
“Especially with the glow that the lanterns cast on a background of picturesque Chinese buildings,” Danny Grin agreed. Then he turned to gaze into the darkness beyond, adding:
“David, little giant, we shall have very little to do with pretty pictures to-night. The nightmares of war will claim the greater part of our attention.”
One group of women there was that did not appear. They comprised the women of the governor’s family, who, with the children of the yamen, had taken refuge in one of the larger buildings. They were not required to come out into the open.
“Sir, I think I see figures advancing,” whispered a sailor, gliding up to Ensign Darrin.
In an instant Dave threw up his night glass.
“You’re right,” he answered, in a low tone. “Pass the word to the men at the machine gun to be ready.”
Stepping quickly down the little line on the river side of the wall Dave gave whispered instructions to the men to lie low and to await the order to fire.
Then, motionless as a tree, Darrin stood for fully two minutes, with the glass at his eyes.
“Ready!” he called, at last, in a low, but penetrating voice. “Aim! Fire!”
As the volley crashed out, Danny Grin raced around to the west rampart, to look for signs of a Chinese advance against that side.
Hundreds of Mongols had stolen forward on the river side. Instead of checking these, the brisk American fire brought thousands of others swarming from the streets and buildings.
“Keep that machine gun going,” shouted Darrin in the ear of the machine gun captain. “Make it hot, my men! We want to get as many of the yellow fiends this time as possible. The more bloody they find this charge the more careful they will be through the rest of the night.”
To add to the din Danny Grin had ordered the machine gun on the west side to fire, directing also his riflemen to fire only as sharpshooters.
Rightly judging that the attack on two sides might be only a feint to draw attention away from the biggest movement of all on the southern side, Darrin darted around to that point, traveling on the rampart.
Nor had he been there two minutes before the howls of thousands of infuriated yellow men sounded on the open ground before the wall.
“Pump that machine gun,” Dave ordered sharply to the men at the gun. “Riflemen! Fire at will, and shoot as straight as you know how!”
This latter order he repeated as he darted along the line.
“Here, my friend, you get down! Lie behind the parapet; don’t expose yourself in that fashion,” Dave ordered, pushing down a sailor who had knelt on the parapet instead of lying behind it.
“I wanted to get a better aim, sir,” replied the young sailorman, upturning a face full of enthusiasm.
“And you want to show your sand, too,” nodded Dave appreciatively. “None doubts your courage, my man, but the fighting man who exposes himself needlessly draws just that much more fire toward comrades close to him. Remember that, and keep down.”
Plunk! plunk! Dave was just in time to see the tops of two ladders planted against the stone ramparts by yellow men under the walls.
“Look out, men!” he yelled. “The Chinks are trying to plant ladders and scale the walls! Beat ’em back, or we are gone!”
A yellow face appeared at the top of one of the ladders. Like a flash Ensign Darrin bounded forward, bringing down his sword on the left shoulder of the yellow man.
Then, without a moment’s further thought, Darrin seized the top of the ladder, giving it a mighty push that sent it toppling to the ground below. In a moment he had sent the second ladder, with three men on its rungs, after the first.
Drawing his revolver, and throwing himself across the parapet, Ensign Dave emptied ten shots into a mass of yellow humanity at the foot of the wall. Some of the sailors followed his example.
But now it seemed as though nothing would daunt the desperate, rat-like courage of the Mongols.
All along the four sides of the rampart, light bamboo ladders were set up. Hundreds of yellow assailants rushed up these ladders.
“Prepare to repel boarders!” lustily howled one sailorman, as he sprang forward, clubbing three Chinese in succession over the head.
But it looked as if the American force must be overwhelmed, for with fiendish fury the yellow swarms toiled up and fought at the edge of the parapets.
CHAPTER IX – THE TRAITOR OF THE YAMEN
How they ever came through the next fifteen minutes was afterwards a mystery to Dave and Dan.
They were in the thick of that frantic, deadly scramble for possession of the ramparts. As fast as Chinese assailants fell they were instantly replaced by others.
When Dave’s revolver was not barking, his sword was in action, and his arms fairly ached with the labor of pushing away ladder after ladder. Hardly one of Dave’s men was less occupied. Many of the Chinese had dropped the rifle for the long spear, or else for the keen, two-edged sword. American blood flowed in that quarter of an hour.
Boom! Out of the darkness came a trail of fire. Bang! A shell from the “Castoga” exploded among the nearest buildings on the river side beyond the yamen compound. In another moment flames were leaping upward from a flimsy house in which a shell had exploded.
Boom! Other shells began dropping about, on three sides of the compound. Soon a score of native houses were in flames, the light showing to the marksmen on the parapets just where to “find” their yellow assailants.
But no shell was fired over the yamen. Plainly the “Castoga’s” gunners feared that they might drop a shell into the compound itself.
On three sides the flames of the conflagration made the surroundings nearly as bright as in daytime. The men on the ramparts could now see excellently, and aim accordingly.
At the same time the attack by ladders ceased, for now the laddermen were too plainly visible and could be killed with ease.
“Great work, that done by the shells!” chuckled Danny Grin.
“Yes,” nodded Dave, “but I wish we could have the same kind of illumination to the southward. Withdraw enough men from the other three sides, Dan, to strengthen the southern rampart sufficiently.”
The machine guns barking out anew, and with increased deadliness, the thousands of fanatical Chinese, now finding themselves too much in the spotlight, soon withdrew to a distance. From the darkness on the farther sides of the fires, however, they still kept up a sniping fire.
“Watch from the south wall, Dan,” urged Ensign Darrin. “I’m going down into the compound to see how it fares with our wounded.”
Throughout the deadly assault by the ladder men no American had been killed, but several had been wounded.
Many were the “jackies” who, binding handkerchiefs over their wounds, stubbornly remained at their posts.
In the circle of light under the paper lanterns, Dave found a medical missionary, assisted by some of the women, attending to the wounded.
Five sailors, two marines and three missionaries comprised the list of the more severely wounded. All were cheerful, however, and none seemed in danger from his wounds.
Not until Dave had gone the rounds did Belle step forward.
“Have you a moment to tell us anything?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” smiled Dave, resting an arm on her shoulder. “We are going to have quite a noisy night.”
“Are you going to be able to hold the yamen against the Chinese?”
“That’s exactly what we’re here to do,” answered Dave with a confident smile.
“But are you going to be able to do it?”
“Yes,” the young ensign declared.
“You are not saying that solely to cheer us?” persisted Belle. “You are sure that you can hold out?”
“If there’s any power in American fighting men, we can,” Dave asserted.
“But you have ten men here who are out of the fight. How many more such losses can you stand?” Belle demanded calmly.
“If the ‘Castoga’ keeps on setting fires around us, I don’t believe we shall have to stand many more losses,” Dave assured her, and glanced past his wife at the other women who had gathered about them.
“Then,” pursued Miss Chapin, taking up the questioning, “you don’t consider that there is any likelihood of our being overwhelmed?”
“It is possible, but I firmly believe that we are going to be able to hold off the enemy all through the night,” said Darrin. “The Chinese are attacking us in great numbers, and they are well armed and desperate. But we are all Americans on the walls, and there is a something in the morale and fighting fiber of an American that bears down and overawes the Chinese. They have hurt ten of our men. I believe that we have put at least a thousand of the yellow men out of the fight. That is all I can say now. Is it enough to reassure you, ladies?”
“It is enough,” spoke up another woman, “to make us thankful that we have American men, instead of men of any other nation to defend us in this night of terror.”
Bowing to the women, Dave kissed Belle, then passed on. She did not seek to detain him; she was proud of her husband, confident of his fighting qualities, and aware that he could, at present, devote little time to her.
“The yellow men are creeping up again on this side, sir,” called down the voice of a petty officer from the rampart that faced the river.
“When you think they’re close enough, let ’em have it, and let ’em have it strong,” Darrin called back. “Use the machine gun, but don’t waste ammunition.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Soon a pattering of shots on the north rampart announced that the yellow men were once more attempting to come in close. Dave did not rush at once to the top of the wall, for he knew, by the comparative lightness of the fire of his own men, that the attack had not become serious. The officers there were capable of handling the situation.
From the red glow against the sky. Ensign Darrin knew that some of the Chinese dwellings were still burning, giving ample light to enable his men to serve as sharpshooters.
“My heartfelt thanks are due for that bombardment by the ‘Castoga,’” the young ensign told himself. “With light to shoot by we must score at least five times as many hits as would be possible without it.”
Crossing to the southern side of the compound, Dave ascended nimbly to the rampart. Dan came forward to meet him.
“Nothing but a little sniping going on at present,” reported Dalzell. “The nearest approach to trouble appears to be at the north side, facing the river. Shall I go back there?”
“I believe that this side will again witness the heaviest fighting,” Ensign Dave rejoined. “You had better remain here.”
Again Dave went below. Listening for a moment to the sounds of firing, he crossed the compound in no great haste. Past the circle of lighted lanterns he went. Had he not taken a second quick look at the main gate on the north side Darrin would not have noticed what was happening.
Starting violently, he looked again.
Yes, that big, double gate, moved by some unseen force, was swinging open. In another instant it would admit into the compound, the vanguard of a mob of frantic yellow men.
With a gasp of terror, when he thought of the defenceless women in the yamen Ensign Dave Darrin rushed forward at a run, revolver in hand.
CHAPTER X – THE CLIMAX OF THE ATTACK
As he ran in beyond the zone of light by the gate, Dave saw more clearly through the darkness. Good reason was there for that double barrier to swing open.
At the wheel and windlass of the gate stood Pembroke, both arms tugging hard and succeeding in slowly swinging the halves of the gate inward.
So intent was he upon his treacherous achievement that Pembroke neither saw nor heard the man dashing upon him.
Whack! A blow with the butt of Darrin’s revolver laid the scoundrel flat.
On to the gate dashed Dave, just as an exultant yell outside told him that the yellow multitude was about to rush in.
Slam up against the gate rushed Ensign Dave, the force of his body sending the two halves shut.
Outside the tumult increased, as scores of yellow shoulders were hurled against the barrier.
“Help! Here! Quick!” roared Darrin.
Above the tumult his voice carried hardly any distance.
The pressure of the Chinese outside must finally overcome his straining muscles as he struggled to keep the gate closed.
Just then a sailor passed at a trot, with a message. Hearing Dave yelling for assistance, he looked at the gate and made out the figure of his officer there, trying to hold off the multitude.
“All hands to the gate!” yelled the seaman, using his hands as a trumpet. Some of those within the circle of lanterns heard, and took up the alarm.
Jackies rushed to Darrin’s side, hurling themselves with all their strength against the gates. Their combined efforts seemed to be as nothing.
Three of the missionary party had hurried to the spot. There were now five men against the scores outside.
The mechanism of the gate had not been wholly opened, and that fact helped greatly.
Sailors and marines sprang up from many quarters. By this time, if the Chinese succeeded in getting through they would find themselves confronted by a platoon of rifles.
“Hold fast!” yelled Dave. “Ross, come with me!”
Officer and man rushed to the wheel that controlled the opening and closing of the gate. Seizing this, and throwing into it all their combined muscular force, they succeeded in driving the double barrier close.
“Here are the double bars!” shouted one of the marines at the gate. “Some one took them down.”
Up went the bars, which were now made fast in place, and once more the gate was securely closed.
Placing a whistle to his lips, Dave ran along the wall. Even above the Babel of voices the shrill note of the whistle was heard.
“Aye, aye, sir!” bawled down a petty officer overhead.
“Turn your marksmen loose on that rabble before the gate. Use the machine gun, too. Make it as deadly for the scoundrels as you know how. Up to the ramparts you men at the gate, and fire on the mob!”
Chinese yells of battle changed to groans of pain as the American firing rattled out more heavily than at any other time that day.
From the river came the broad white beam of the “Castoga’s” search light.
Boom! A shell dropped in the rear of the multitude and more houses were in flames, lighting up the scene.
“Hammer them as they run!” breathed Ensign Darrin fervently. “Keep it up as long as you can see any one to shoot at.”
Boom! The “Castoga” took a further hand, by dropping one shrapnel shell, and then a second, among the seething, yellow rebels revealed by the searchlight.
Within two minutes the great open space had been cleared, save for the bodies of several hundred killed and wounded.
“The searchlight is sending a signal, sir,” spoke up one of the men.
There on the rampart, Dave read these words as they were signaled in the code:
“Good work, Darrin and all hands!”
“Give our commanding officer three times three, and do it with a will!” shouted Ensign Dave. “Our shipmates will hear it.”
And hear it they must have, for, no sooner had the cheering on the rampart ended when a distant, yet distinct sound of cheering drifted in from the river.
“How many have you on your casualty list?” was signaled by the searchlight.
“Seven of my men and three missionaries,” answered the signal man, as he stood wigwagging, using a Chinese lantern hastily appropriated for that purpose. “None killed. All women safe.”
Fast as he was with his wig-wagging, the signalman was glad when he had finished his work, for such a storm of bullets sang by him that none could understand how he escaped with his life.
Not until now did Darrin have time to think of Pembroke.
“I must get that blackguard!” he muttered, running down into the compound.
At first Dave could not locate the fellow. At last, however, he sighted him, half-hiding against a part of the wall where the gloom was most pronounced.
“Well, sir?” demanded the young officer, striding up to the man who held a handkerchief against his injured scalp.
“Was it you who struck me down?” demanded Pembroke.
“It was.”
“Why did you do such a dastardly thing?”
“Das – ” gasped Dave, astounded. “See here, fellow, don’t you believe that I knew what you were up to?”
“I – I was trying to close the gate, which some of the scoundrels outside had partly succeeded in opening,” Pembroke asserted stoutly.
“You lie!” retorted Ensign Darrin, staring sternly into the Englishman’s eyes. “You were opening the gate. The direction in which you were swinging the wheel proved that. And I struck you down!”
“You are wronging me fearfully, Darrin!” Pembroke protested, with a strong attempt at injured dignity.
“Then I’m going to injure you still more outrageously,” Darrin retorted, “for I’m going to place you in arrest. Moreover, if I live to get to the ‘Castoga,’ you are going out there with me as a prisoner.”
“Darrin, you – you must be joking,” stammered the fellow.
“No; I am not – Rogers!”
Dave watched for the effect of that shot. At mention of the name Pembroke turned more pallid.
“What do you mean by using that name when addressing me?” he stammered.
“Because it’s your right name,” Dave retorted. “You used that name before you ever used the name of Pembroke. Rogers, you are under arrest. Walk on ahead of me, straight to the circle of the lanterns. Don’t attempt to trifle with me, for my patience was never so short as it is now. March!”
“Surely, you are not going to humiliate me before all the ladies,” protested the prisoner. Warned by the light in Ensign Dave’s eyes he started forward.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” snapped Darrin. “I’m going to expose you so fully that you’ll get no recognition save that of scorn.”
“Darrin, one of these days you’re going to pay a big penalty in regrets and apologies,” the prisoner warned him.
“Fiddlesticks!” uttered Dave disgustedly.
Marching the fellow up under the light of the lanterns, Dave found several women eyeing him strangely.
“Why, is Mr. Pembroke a prisoner?” cried Lucy Chapin.
“He is, Miss Chapin,” Dave assured her.
“But surely, he can have done noth – ”
“All he did, Miss Chapin, was to try to open the main gate of the compound wall and let in the Chinese rabble. I caught him in the act, but, beyond knocking him down, I did not have time to attend further to him just then. On the fellow’s head you will observe the cut made by the butt of my revolver when I struck him down.”
“It seems so impossible to believe!” murmured Miss Chapin.
“And Mr. Pembroke, ladies, is also the rogue who once went under the name of Rogers. Further, I am convinced that this Pembroke, or Rogers, has been in league with the governor of Nu-ping, and with the governor’s underlings. I am certain, in my own mind, that this fellow is largely responsible for the attack on the mission, and for all our troubles on this day and night.”
Dave’s plain words and his simple, straightforward manner carried conviction even to those who were, like Miss Chapin, reluctant to believe ill of the one who had called himself Pembroke.
“Marine, there!” called Dave, turning. The sea-soldier stepped over, saluting.
“You will take charge of this prisoner and be responsible for him. You will be prompt to shoot him if he tries to escape.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Dave Darrin turned to lift his cap to the ladies, but started, turned, gasped.
In an instant such a din had arisen as he would once have believed could come only from the infernal regions.
From all four sides at once came the angry yells of thousands of men, mingled with thousands of detonations. The crashing racket of numberless gongs made the night still more hideous. The storm of noise was ear-splitting, nerve-racking.
Believing the south wall to be the place most in danger, Dave rushed across the compound in that direction.
