Dave Darrin on the Asiatic Station. Or, Winning Lieutenants' Commissions on the Admiral's Flagship

CHAPTER IV – THE LANDING PARTY AT NU-PING

“That ought to hold the pirates for a little while,” declared Danny Grin, his good-natured face looking unusually grim.

“I think it will,” replied Dave, halting before his cabin door. “Dan Dalzell, if my face is as dirty as yours I shouldn’t care to walk up Main Street in my native town.”

“Go in and look at yourself,” scoffed Dalzell.

“It’s fully as dirty,” called Dave, from the interior of his cabin, surveying himself in the glass.

But it was as honorable dirt as any man may have on his face – the grime of powder-smoke as it blew back when the gunboat’s five-inch guns had been swung open at the breech.

For the “Castoga,” intercepted by wireless on the way to the Nung-kiang, had been sent to Hong Kong by an official order from Washington. The threatened troubles along the Nung-kiang had quieted down to such an extent that cautious officials in Washington dreaded lest Chinese sensibilities should be wounded by the sending of a gunboat up the river.

So, day after day, the “Castoga” had lain in the mountain-bordered harbor at Hong Kong.

Then came the word one day that the Chinese rebels in the district around the city of Nu-ping, on the Nung-kiang River, had again become troublesome, and that the American mission buildings at Nu-ping were threatened. The “Castoga” had been ordered to proceed at full speed, she being the nearest craft of a draft light enough to ascend the river.

During the last hours of darkness the gunboat had steamed up the river, all eyes on board turned toward the sinister red glow that lighted the sky above the Chinese city, capital of a province.

Just before daylight the gunboat dropped anchor with every man and officer at quarters.

From shore came the sound of rifle shots, a wild pandemonium of yells, as thousands of raging Chinese surged upon the mission buildings, to which fire had already been set, and from which the American missionaries and their families, aided by the white residents of Nu-ping, were making the only resistance that lay within their power.

The first note of cheer that came to the missionaries and their friends was the whistle of the gunboat, sounding clearly when still two miles distant. Then the lights of the fighting craft came into sight.

For a few minutes after coming to anchor, the commander of the “Castoga” was forced to wait for sufficient daylight to enable him to distinguish accurately between friend and foe.

At the side of the gunboat a launch and four cutters waited, to carry a landing party, if the sending ashore of men should prove to be necessary. Anxiously, using his night glasses every minute, the American commander paced the deck and listened.

Then, when there was barely enough light, word was telephoned to the division officers to begin action.

Boom! spoke the first gun from the gunboat. Other shots followed rapidly.

In the compound before the burning mission buildings was a mass of yellow fiends, crowding, yelling and shooting. From the windows of such portions of the burning buildings as were still tenable American rifle fire was poured into the mob.

That first shell, landing among the yellow fiends, killed more than twenty Mongols, wounded others, and drove the attackers out of the compound.

Boom! Bang! Other shells flew through the air, clearing away the rabble further back.

From the mission buildings, a quarter of a mile away, went up a wild cheer of hope.

But the attacking rabble, despite the first shell fire, came back, inviting further punishment.

Again the gunboat’s five-inch guns roared out. There was now sufficient light to enable the American gunners to make out the locations of the mob.

At least thirty shells were fired ere the rebels beat a retreat beyond the confines of Nu-ping.

It was time to stop firing, for some of the American shells had set fire to Chinese dwellings and business buildings.

On a low hill, a quarter of a mile away from the burning mission buildings, flew the Chinese flag, flanked by the flag of the governor of the province.

Watching this yamen, or palace, the American officers saw a body of not more than a hundred soldiers issue suddenly from behind the walls. Straight to the mission hurried these tardy fighting men. Though late in acting, the Chinese governor was sending an invitation to the endangered missionaries and their friends to share the hospitality and protection of his yamen.

“He might have done that before,” muttered Dan Dalzell.

“If he has so few Chinese soldiers,” Dave explained, “he never could have driven back the thousands of rebels. Our friend, the governor, is cautious, surely, but plainly he is no fool.”

Once the bombardment had stopped, the various officers, except one division officer, had been ordered to their quarters to clean up and put on fresh uniforms, for the work of the day was by no means finished.

So back to their quarters hurried the released division officers.

Dave Darrin quickly divested himself of his dungaree working clothes, then stripped entirely, going under a shower bath. From this he emerged and rubbed down, drew on fresh underclothing, a clean shirt, and hastily completed his toilet.

At that instant there came a summons at the door, with an order for Ensign Darrin to attire himself in khaki uniform. The same order was delivered to Dan.

“Landing party work,” was the thought that leaped instantly into the minds of both.

Nor were they disappointed. Into the launch, with several other boats alongside, tumbled forty sailors and twelve marines, armed, and with rapid-fire guns and ammunition. In one of the other boats were additional cases of ammunition; in others were commissary supplies.

Dave received his orders from Executive Officer Warden.

“You will go ashore, Ensign Darrin, and at all hazards reach our fellow Americans. What you shall do on reaching them will depend upon circumstances and upon instructions signaled to you from this ship. Ensign Dalzell will accompany you as next in command. On board we shall keep vigilant watch, and you may rely upon such backing as our guns can give you in any emergency that may come up.”

Dave saluted, with a hearty “Very good, sir,” but asked no questions. None were necessary.

In another moment the landing party had been reinforced by a petty officer and three men who were to bring the boats back to the “Castoga.”

Casting off, the launch headed shoreward, towing the boats astern.

Within three minutes, landing had been made at one of the smaller docks.

“I don’t see any reception committee here to welcome us,” muttered Ensign Dalzell.

“Probably all of the natives, who are curious by nature, are watching the burning of the buildings that our shells set on fire,” returned Ensign Darrin. “But I’m glad there’s no reception party here, for undoubtedly it would be an armed committee.”

As soon as landing had been effected, however, a petty officer, who was sent forward with three men, succeeded in routing out a number of sturdy, sullen coolies, who had been hiding in a near-by warehouse. These yellow men the petty officer marched back briskly, the coolies being forced to pick up and carry the ammunition and food supplies.

“See to it that these Chinese don’t try to run away with the stuff,” Dave ordered tersely. “Keep them under close guard.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

At the word from Darrin, Dalzell ordered the sailors to fall in and lead the way in double file, the marines marching at the rear of the little baggage train.

“Straight to the yamen!” commanded Darrin, as he gave Dan the forward order, then fell back to keep an eye over the conduct of the porters.

For the first block of the march through the narrow, foul-smelling streets, the natives contented themselves with glancing sullenly out at the handful of daring invaders. But a turn in the street brought the American naval men in sight of an angry-looking crowd of nearly a thousand Chinese – all men.

“Are they going to block our way?” whispered Dan, marching quietly on when Dave hastened to his side.

“They are not,” Darrin answered bluntly, “though they may try to. No one is going to block us to-day until we have used all our ammunition.”

“That has the good old Yankee sound,” grinned Dalzell.

Seeing that the sullen crowd was massing, Ensign Darrin went forward, hastening in advance of his little column.

“Is there any one here who speaks English?” Dave called pleasantly, above the dead hush of that stolid Chinese crowd.

There was no answer.

“All right then,” smiled Ensign Darrin, “I shall have to talk to you by sign language. Make way, please!”

Drawing his sword, he signed to the Chinese to make way for his command to pass. Still no response.

Ensign Dan, marching his men on, came up to Dave’s side.

“Column halt!” Ensign Darrin called promptly. “Order arms. Draw bayonets. Fix bayonets!”

With a rattling of steel, accompanied by many grins, sailors and marines alike obeyed.

“Once more, I call upon you to make way!” called Dave, striding forward and endeavoring to wave the crowd aside by gestures with his sword. Still nobody moved.

“Ensign Dalzell,” rapped out the sharp order, “form two platoons extending across the street in close order. Give promptly the order to charge.”

As he gave this command Darrin stepped back, placing himself at the extreme right of the first short platoon.

“Charge bayonets!” ordered Dan.

Dave led the men forward, Dalzell remaining behind with the remainder of the little command.

Finding the points of the bayonets at their breasts, the Chinese gave utterance to cries of fright. There was a backward surge.

“Halt!” cried Dave, just in time to prevent some of the Chinese from feeling cold American steel. “Steady! Forward march! Hep, hep, hep!”

Emphasizing the speed of the step with his “hep, hep,” Dave now continued his squad at a brisk walk, giving the yellow natives time to make their retreat without trampling one another.

At the next corner the Chinese surged off at right angles in two directions.

“I guess we’ll find the rest of the way clear enough,” smiled Ensign Dave, again forming his men in double file and falling back to Dan’s side. “The Mongols had me scared. I was afraid I’d have to order the men to load and fire.”

“Would you have done that?” asked Dalzell.

“Why not?” asked Dave, with a shrug of his shoulders. “There are American women up at the yamen, and they are still in peril. My orders are to reach the yamen, and I propose to do it if it be possible. If any yellow men try to block our way they will do so at their own risk. I’ll charge or fire into any crowd or force that blocks our way.”

“Good!” chuckled Ensign Dan. “I like the sound of that talk!”

Down by the river front, save for the warehouses, the buildings were of the meanest – flimsy affairs of bamboo, with cheaply lacquered facings, windows of oiled paper and floors of earth. Now, however, the little naval column began to pass through a better part of the city. Here the houses were of wood, substantially built, and of pagoda or tent patterns. Not a few of these dwellings were surrounded by compounds, or yards, enclosed by high stone walls.

And then, at last, in the heart of the city, the column came out upon the low hillside on which was the great square surrounding the governor’s yamen.

None in front opposed Darrin’s command, but a crowd that must have numbered two thousand followed close at the heels of the detachment.

“Going to halt in the center of the square?” Dan inquired in a low tone.

“No,” rejoined Ensign Dave. “I shall march up to the main gate in the compound wall.”

“And then – ?” inquired Dalzell.

“I shall demand to be admitted to the American refugees.”

“And if you are refused?” pressed Dan.

“That will be the governor’s worry,” replied Dave quietly.

CHAPTER V – SIN FOO HAS HIS DOUBTS

It was a gray stone wall, some twelve feet high, that surrounded the compound of the yamen. Sentries in the uniform of Chinese soldiery were pacing the top of this formidable rampart.

Over the walls could be seen the strange, gracefully arched red and yellow roofs of the several large and the few small buildings of the yamen.

Under the gray walls, on the outside, crouched a few mangy-looking beggars. Men and women of this type always loiter outside of every yamen, trusting to the occasional generosity of the high official who resides within, for in China every mandarin, governor and other high official must always be a good deal of an alms-giver.

Not even the sight of the heavily armed little American column stirred these beggars beyond the most ordinary exhibition of curiosity.

“Put the column to the right oblique, and go over to that gate,” directed Dave, pointing with his drawn sword.

A moment later the command, “Halt!” rang out. From the ramparts above three Chinese soldiers gazed down stolidly.

Striding forward to the gong that hung before the gate, Ensign Darrin struck it loudly three times.

A minute passed without answer. Dave sounded thrice again. Another minute passed.

“Confound those fellows inside,” muttered Dave to his chum. “I’ve heard, before this, that the Chinese official tries to show his contempt for western barbarians by making them await his pleasure.”

Glancing down his line, Darrin noted a sailor who was well known for his physical powers.

“Henshaw!” summoned Dave crisply.

Leaving the ranks, Seaman Henshaw stepped briskly forward, saluting respectfully.

“Henshaw, do you think you could play a loud tune on this gong?”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“How long do you think you could keep that tune going?”

“An hour, anyway, sir.”

“Can you play that gong like a bass-drum?”

“Like a whole drum-corps, sir,” answered Seaman Henshaw, with just the suspicion of a grin.

“Then fall to, Henshaw.”

Picking up the fancifully carved stick, Seaman Henshaw faced the three-foot gong.

Bang! crash! zim! zoum! smash! It was a lusty tattoo that Seaman Henshaw beat upon that resounding metal. The noise could have been heard a mile away. Dave afterwards learned that every sound was distinctly heard on board the gunboat.

Bim! bam! whang! After a full minute of it Seaman Henshaw looked as if he were still enjoying his task. Several of the men in the waiting column had grounded their rifle butts that they might hold at least one hand to an ear to shut out the din.

On the wall overhead the Chinese sentries moved uneasily away from close quarters.

Crash! zam! bing! That gong rang forth as, it is safe to say, it had not done before in centuries, for Henshaw was a young giant and proud of his muscle and endurance.

Zim! zim! zam! The racket was more than ears could endure for a long stretch.

At about the end of the third minute the double gates were thrown suddenly open. In the open gateway stood at least a score of armed soldiers, at their head a young Chinaman, tall, well-dressed and of rather commanding appearance.

Instantly Ensign Darrin pressed Henshaw’s unemployed arm. With a final crash the pounding of the gong died out.

“His excellency, the governor, demands to know why this din is being made at this gate,” declared the tall young Chinaman, in a haughty voice, but in excellent English.

“It is my way of announcing my call,” Dave replied.

“Who are you?”

“Ensign Darrin, United States Navy, very much at your service, sir,” Dave replied. “And now, sir, I have the honor to request that you, also, announce your name and position here.”

“Since I serve his excellency, the governor, that is enough for you to know,” replied the Chinaman. “However, I will state that my name is Sin Foo. I am under secretary to his excellency, and, as such, I have come to bring word to you that it is his excellency’s pleasure that you depart from this neighborhood and return to your vessel.”

“I am very sorry, Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave responded, “but it is impossible for me to make my call on a proxy. I must see his excellency in person.”

“I am very sorry,” replied the secretary, speaking in a tone of cold contempt, “but his excellency cannot see you so early in the day. Later – ”

“Attention,” called Ensign Dave, in a low voice. “Column, forward march!”

Instantly the naval line moved forward. Shocked and indignant, the secretary spoke in Chinese to some of the soldiers. The big gate began to move as though it would shut.

“At the double quick! Charge!” shouted Dave Darrin, leaping forward, brandishing his sword.

In a twinkling the first dozen seamen, headed by two officers, had rushed into the compound.

At one side stood two Chinese soldiers, working a cumbersome wheel, attached to a windlass and rope that moved the double gate. Henshaw leaped at this pair, knocking both down.

“I must warn you, Ensign Darrin,” shouted Sin Foo, his face purple with rage, “that this conduct of yours is contrary to the usages of respect that must be observed between the representatives of two great countries. Your conduct, sir, is an outrage!”

“And the governor’s conduct also is an outrage,” Darrin retorted sternly, “in allowing mobs to burn the mission buildings and all but take the lives of the American missionaries and their families.”

“All the mission Americans are safe at this yamen,” retorted Sin Foo. “There is no need to fear for your fellow Americans. They are safe and under the immediate protection of his excellency, the governor.”

“That is what I have come to see about,” Dave declared. “Mr. Sin Foo, I have no wish to be lacking in courtesy, and I shall display as much as I can, under the circumstances. But my men are now inside the compound, and here they will remain until my orders are changed by my commanding officer.”

Though the Chinese soldiers had withdrawn to varying distances before the harmless bayonet rush, Sin Foo remained and faced Ensign Darrin with every sign of indignant disapproval in his almond-shaped eyes.

The impressed Chinese porters had been driven into the compound, where they dropped their burdens. Dan quietly paid them off with silver coins. The instant they found themselves permitted to leave, these sullen coolies fairly flew out through the still open gate.

“Sir,” began Sin Foo again, speaking with great haughtiness, “if these supplies are intended for the American missionaries, I will undertake to receive them on behalf of your countrymen, but I must once more, and for the last time, insist that you withdraw your men from this compound. If you do not instantly withdraw, it will provoke grave trouble between your country and mine.”

“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave replied, speaking pleasantly, and smiling, “I wish to treat you, and all other Chinese officials with every mark of courtesy. I must make it plain, however, that I shall not leave this yamen until I have been so ordered by my commanding officer. Moreover, I am under strict orders to see the American mission party at once, and I must very respectfully insist upon no more delay. I demand, sir, to see Bishop Whitlock first of all.”

“Ensign Darrin, your language is insolent!” cried Sin Foo angrily.

“My talk will quickly change to acts, if my requests are not at once granted,” replied Dave, firmly.

“‘Acts’? What do you mean by that word?” demanded Sin Foo.

“I mean that if Bishop Whitlock and his friends are not at once produced, I shall be under the necessity of searching the yamen for them,” Ensign Darrin rejoined.

“Search the yamen?” gasped Sin Foo incredulously. “Would you dare profane the sovereignty of China?”

“I’ll do it in just five minutes, if my request is not heeded,” retorted Ensign Dave drawing out his watch.

By this time at least one hundred and fifty armed Chinese soldiers had appeared, on the ramparts, in the compound, in the doorways and windows of the buildings. Darrin’s force was much inferior numerically. Sudden treachery on the part of the Chinese might cut the American naval force in two, but Danny Grin was keeping alert watch on all Chinese in sight.

“You are making a grave mis – ” began Sin Foo loftily.

“And you have already lost forty-five seconds of that five minutes,” Ensign Dave suggested, still standing, watch in hand. “If you use up the time in conversation, Mr. Sin Foo, I shall not grant a grace of even five seconds.”

“Your insolence, sir, overwhelms me,” replied the under secretary. “Shudderingly, I shall take it into the presence of his excellency.”

“And impress upon his excellency, if you please, that I am not going to lose time,” answered Dave, again glancing at his watch.

Turning on his heel, Sin Foo disappeared through a near-by door of one of the buildings.

Several minutes slipped by. Dave glanced frequently at the hands of his watch.

“The time is nearly up, Dan,” he announced, at last. “You remain in command of the marines and guard our ammunition and other stores. At the second of five minutes I shall form the sailormen and march through this yamen until I find the missionary party.”

Danny Grin nodded gravely.

“Seamen fall in!” called Ensign Darrin, replacing his watch in his pocket. “Forward, guard left, mar – ”

“Stop!” cried a ringing voice. Out of the doorway through which he had vanished appeared Sin Foo, running and waving his arms.

“The governor’s answer?” Dave curtly demanded, turning upon his heel.

“I will take you to the missionary party,” conceded Sin Foo.

“Very well; step with me, then, and lead the way.”

“But you must not take an armed party with you,” protested Sin Foo, looking very much aghast.

“My men go with me,” Dave replied firmly. “Sir, we cannot have any more nonsense. I am convinced that my countrymen must be prisoners, else they would have come out to greet me before this. Lead the way and I will march my men behind you.”

Looking as though he would very much like to say a good deal, Sin Foo led the way around the buildings to the left, thence to the farthest building of all at the rear of the compound. Scattered around the outside of this building were nearly a score of Chinese soldiers carrying their rifles at shoulder arms.

“You have kept the Americans as prisoners, just as I suspected,” charged Ensign Darrin, turning accusingly upon the under secretary.

“And you forget, Ensign Darrin,” retorted Sin Foo, “that his excellency the governor commands here.”

“We’ll let it go at that,” answered the young ensign, “provided your governor doesn’t attempt to put any crimps in the safety or liberty of my countrymen. Right now, be good enough to order your soldiers away so that there may be no clash between them and my men.”

Through the windows of the one-story building Dave Darrin could see several faces of men and women looking eagerly out.

Sullenly, Sin Foo spoke to the Chinese soldiers, who, saluting, withdrew to a distance, though they did not leave the scene. Then a door was flung open, and American citizens began to pour out.

Darting through the foremost of the throng was one handsome young American woman, who, holding her arms outstretched, while eager tears of gladness glistened in her eyes, cried:

“Dave!”

It was Belle Darrin, once Belle Meade, Dave’s schoolgirl sweetheart then, and now his wife.

“You, Belle?” he exclaimed, almost incredulously, as he embraced her. “I thought you were in Manila, awaiting word when and where to join me.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer to join you, so I came up in the last steamer from Manila, and transferred to a river boat at the foot of the river. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Glad, indeed!” Dave embraced her again. But he was on duty, and most urgent duty at that. Even further conversation with his beloved wife must wait until he had rightful leisure.

Then his eye fell upon another in the little throng.

“You here, Mr. Pembroke?” Ensign Darrin inquired.

“Yes,” confessed the Englishman. “I’m a bit of a rover, you know. Never know where I shall be next.”

“And Mr. Pembroke has been extremely kind in helping me on the journey,” Belle added brightly. “Mr. Pembroke told me that he had met you in Manila.”

Though Dave bowed courteously he couldn’t help feeling dislike of this smooth-talking Pembroke. The latter was an Englishman; then, unless he was serving his country in this part of the world, why wasn’t the fellow at home, doing his bit of military service for Britain? He was young enough, and able-bodied, and England was calling all her younger men to the colors. To Darrin’s mind it was a sheer confession of disgrace for Pembroke to admit that he was merely touring the world at a time when England was demanding service on the battle field from every young Briton who was not otherwise engaged in serving his country.

“When you have time, Mr. Darrin, I’ll claim just a word of greeting,” said a soft voice, and a gloved hand was held out to Dave.

“So you came through also, Miss Chapin?” Dave inquired, as he took Lucy Chapin’s hand.

“I’m glad to see you, but sorry you’re here,” rejoined Dave.

“Why sorry to see me here?” inquired Miss Chapin. “Aren’t we now under the protection of the American Navy?”

“Every sailorman on the ‘Castoga’ will die willingly in defense of this party,” Darrin told her, “but the trouble may easily assume such proportions that our little force will prove wholly inadequate.”

Then, glancing swiftly over the missionary party, the young naval officer added:

“Will some one kindly introduce me to Bishop Whitlock?”

As Dave had expected, it was one of the three white-haired men of the party who now pressed forward. Mrs. Darrin introduced her husband to the bishop.

“You reached us not a bit too early,” the bishop assured Dave.

“You were practically prisoners in the yamen, sir?” Dave asked.

“Almost, I fear, though we refused to give up our arms. Even now seven of our men are inside keeping guard over our weapons.”

“How many rifles do you have?” Dave asked.

“Thirty-two,” answered the bishop promptly. “The American residents of the city flocked to our defense.”

“From what I saw from the ship’s deck,” rejoined Darrin, “all I can say is that you presented a magnificent front with only thirty-two rifles. As I have but fifty-two naval rifles with me, that makes up a total force of only eighty-four rifles.”

“Can’t we get through to the water-front?” inquired Belle. “For you are going to take us to the ‘Castoga,’ are you not?”

“If we can safely get there,” Dave replied. “And now I must drop everything else until I have communicated with the gunboat. Bishop, did you lose any of your party?”

“None of the white members,” replied the missionary. “Our sixteen Chinese converts at the mission insisted on taking care of themselves. Whether any of them has been killed, I do not know.”

“I must get a signalman up on the walls,” Dave continued. “Bishop, will you kindly see, sir, that your party follows my men? I am going to the other side of the compound.”

As soon as Belle Darrin caught sight of her old school friend, Danny Grin, she hurried forward to greet him.

Out of the main building of the yamen came Sin Foo, with sullen, offended face and stately tread.

“Sir,” called Dave, “I must put a signalman up on the ramparts.”

“Since you take everything into your own hands,” replied the secretary coldly, “you do not need his excellency’s permission. Yet I am charged to say that all you do here is against the protest of his excellency, and complaint will be made to your government.”

“I am sorry, sir, to seem to show discourtesy,” Ensign Dave replied, “but all that I do here is under general instructions from the highest representative of my government in these waters.”

With that Dave called a signalman to him, gave him a message, and directed six other sailors to climb, with the signalman, the inside steps that led to the rampart.

No sooner had the signalman, in the lead, gained the rampart, than a five-inch gun on the “Castoga” boomed out.

“Ensign Darrin, sir,” bawled down the signalman lustily, “I think you will be glad to be up here, to see what is going on.”

Dropping Belle’s hand, which he had just taken, Ensign Dave darted up the steps, uttering, on reaching the top of the stone wall, an exclamation of dismay.

“Ensign Dalzell!” he shouted, beckoning the summons to his brother officer.