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

CHAPTER VI – HECKLING HIS EXCELLENCY

“Jupiter!” gasped Dan, as he reached Dave’s side.

Boom! bang! Two shots were fired almost together from the “Castoga’s” forward guns.

“The rebels are returning from the suburbs,” Dave exclaimed, “and even the near-by houses are emptying themselves of hundreds of other armed men.”

“There must be a million of them, in all,” said Danny Grin briefly, “but I reckon we can thrash ’em all.”

“We’ll have to, or go under,” was Dave’s brief retort. “There cannot be a doubt that the armed multitude intends to attack the yamen.”

In the meantime Signalman Ross was sending the message that Dave had given him. Now a signalman on the gunboat wig-wagged back:

“Do not attempt to leave yamen with your party until you receive orders so to do.”

“I’m glad of that command,” Dave muttered to his subordinate. “I wouldn’t care to risk any of our American women by trying to take them through such a rabble as I see advancing.”

Again some of the “Castoga’s” guns spoke. The shell fire was doing some execution in the ranks of the oncoming rebels, though not enough to halt their march.

“I am going down into the compound to send up men and rapid-fire guns,” Dave announced to his chum. “Post the men, and station one rapid-fire gun on each of the four sides of the compound.”

“What are you going to do with the Chinese soldiers?” Dan asked.

Dave frowned.

“I don’t know,” he said. “This is the governor’s yamen, and these are his troops. I don’t believe we can trust them, but, on the other hand, have we any right to drive the soldiers out? And would they go peaceably, or would they open fire and put the women in danger?”

“Ask the Captain, by signal,” Dan advised.

“Ask him yourself, signing my name, Dan. Whatever we do, the rapid-fire guns can’t be placed on these walls a moment too soon.”

Hustling below, Dave ordered up the sailors and all but four of the marines. Each man, as he went, carried up a case of one thousand cartridges, either for the rapid-fire guns or for the infantry rifles.

“You men in charge of the stores,” Dave ordered, “keep the Chinese away from our property. Don’t let any of the yellow men touch the stores. Shoot before you permit that, and shoot promptly and to kill!”

Then Darrin turned his attention to the missionary party. Of the thirty-two men who carried rifles, he sent twenty to the ramparts, while he directed the other twelve to stand guard over the women.

Having made these dispositions of his command, Ensign Darrin again raced up to the top of the wall.

“There’s the answer just coming from the gunboat,” Dan informed him. So Dave, shading his eyes with one hand, picked up this message from the “Castoga”:

“Ensign Darrin: You will need to exercise great caution as to what you do in the yamen, as only the presence of imperilled missionary party justifies presence of your command there at all. Better consult with the governor.”

“That’s just what I’ll do,” Dave uttered grimly. “That governor chap has been keeping himself mighty well out of sight. Now it’s time for me to see him, and he must show up and take some little hand in affairs that are going on in his city and province.”

“Shall I allow more Chinese soldiers up here on the wall?” asked Ensign Dalzell. “Here they come.”

That was, indeed, only too true. Very quietly, under their own officers, some hundred and sixty of the governor’s troops had formed in four detachments, going to the walls at the four sides of the compound and starting up the steps.

“I don’t know whether we can stop them, and I don’t know that they won’t be willing to fight with us and for us,” returned Darrin, perplexedly. “I’ll follow the commander’s orders and see the governor at once.”

Running down, and darting across the compound, Dave halted before the principal door of the main building, the door Sin Foo had used.

Knocking lustily with the hilt of his sword, Dave did not wait more than thirty seconds. Then reports from two more of the gunboat’s guns decided him. He seized the latch, trying to force the door, but only to find that barrier locked.

“Open!” ordered Dave, in his loudest quarterdeck voice. “Open!”

He waited another thirty seconds, but no one inside obeyed.

“Open,” he shouted, “or I shall order my men to batter the door down!”

Inside, instantly, he heard the murmur of voices.

“Well,” demanded the irate young officer, “will you open, or do you wish the door battered down?”

Preceded by a rattling of bolt chains, the great door was thrown open. Into the doorway breach stepped Sin Foo, calmly disdainful. Behind him stood fully a score of Chinese soldiers, each with rifle leveled ready to shoot.

“Why this unseemly disturbance before the official residence of the governor?” demanded Sin Foo.

“I must see the governor immediately,” Dave replied.

“It will be impossible to see his excellency, except upon appointment,” replied the secretary. “His excellency’s presence is sacred, and is not to be invaded at will by a hasty caller with sword in hand. If you will wait here, I will ascertain if his excellency will be pleased to see you in an hour.”

“If he keeps me waiting two minutes,” Ensign Dave retorted, “I shall search this building for him.”

“At your first step inside,” Sin Foo proclaimed, “these soldiers will fire upon you. That will be the signal for all our troops to fire on your men, who are no better than unlawful invaders.”

“Ensign Dalzell!” shouted Dave, over his shoulder.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Rush six men here, with the machine gun from the river side of the wall!”

“Very good, sir!” came in Dan’s delighted voice.

No sooner did he comprehend than Sin Foo uttered something in Chinese. Through the squad of soldiers darted half a dozen yellow servants who instantly sought to close the door.

“Back with you!” ordered Darrin, whipping out his revolver and menacing the frightened servants.

“If the word to start killing is given it will really come from you, Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave warned the secretary sternly, “and you will be one of the first men to drop dead.”

Dave’s foot was now posted where it would obstruct the closing of the door, even if attempted.

“Here we are, sir,” panted a sailor, darting up with a machine gun and its crew.

“Train your gun to cover this corridor,” Dave ordered, tersely.

The gun captain posted the machine gun so that its nose pointed at the squad of Chinese.

“Withdraw those soldiers, Mr. Sin Foo!” briefly commanded Ensign Darrin.

“What?” gasped the thunderstruck under secretary. “You presume to give orders in the governor’s very residence?”

“I don’t intend to argue,” Dave retorted, as another of the “Castoga’s” guns spoke from the river. “If you don’t run your soldiers out of this corridor, then the janitor will have them to sweep out, for I’m going to order the machine gun into action mighty soon!”

Sin Foo looked puzzled, but soon he spoke to the soldiers, who, scowling, wheeled and marched back down the stone-flagged corridor, vanishing around an angle of the wall.

“The governor will not see you, sir,” Sin Foo insisted.

“You’re wrong there, too,” Dave crisped out. “It was my wish to be courteous. But now I have the honor to tell you that the governor will come to the doorway to speak with me, and he’ll come very promptly, or else I shall march a force of men into the house and find him. It will be much pleasanter for his excellency if he promptly decides to come here. Mr. Sin Foo, you have my permission to go and tell him just what I have said.”

For perhaps thirty seconds the under secretary stood gazing at the ensign. On his face was a look of absolute horror. During the pause Dave eyed him sternly.

“I mean business, Mr. Sin Foo!”

“Ensign Darrin, though it be at the cost of my head, which I can ill afford to spare,” murmured Sin Foo brokenly, “I shall undertake to bear to his excellency’s shocked ears your most outrageous message.”

Turning to his sailors, who were grinning discreetly, Dave Darrin observed softly:

“I think that will put motion into the governor’s feet, if anything will.”

Looking frequently at his watch, Ensign Dave waited a full two minutes.

“Come on, men,” he ordered, “we’ll start through the premises. This isn’t the time even to wait for governors.”

Some ten yards down the corridor Darrin had led his handful of men when Sin Foo’s shocked voice rang out:

“Halt! Stop! Outraged as his excellency feels, he is coming to listen for himself to your impertinence.”

“Halt!” ordered Dave, in a low tone. Again the machine gun was set up. But this time no delay was attempted. The same score of soldiers marched around the angle, halted and formed on either side of the corridor. Next came Ah Sin Foo, with tablet, ink and writing brush, while a servant carried a small table.

Behind them came five more officials, then one whom, from his elaborate Chinese costume, Darrin took to be the governor. After that personage came several other men.

Suddenly Dave Darrin started perceptibly. Among the governor’s followers, richly dressed, was none other than Mr. “Burnt-face,” lately of Manila!

“Now, what the mischief can ‘Burnt-face’ be doing here?” Darrin gasped inwardly. “And, by the same token, what was he really doing in Manila?”

“Step out and get two or three of the missionaries who understand Chinese,” Dave ordered in a low voice to the sailor nearest him.

Striking his hands together for silence, the Chinese governor sank down upon a richly carved chair which a yamen servant placed for him. Then he addressed Sin Foo in Chinese.

“His excellency demands to know the meaning of this extraordinary conduct,” translated the under secretary.

“Ask his excellency if he is aware that the city is now alive with rioters?” requested Dave.

There was some conversation in Chinese, after which Sin Foo replied:

“His excellency says that his troops are upon the walls of the yamen ramparts.”

“Does his excellency believe that his troops are going to be able to defeat the thousands of rioters who are marching here rapidly?” Dave asked.

After more conversation in Chinese Sin Foo explained:

“His excellency says he will guarantee the safety of all within the yamen precincts.”

“Even if the rebels attack resolutely?” Dave insisted.

“In spite of any attack,” Sin Foo assured him.

The missionaries who had been sent for were entering, but ahead of them darted a sailor who saluted the young officer and cried:

“Ensign Dalzell reports, sir, that the ramparts are being fired upon from the streets beyond. Ensign Dalzell believes, sir, that a general attack upon the yamen is about to begin.”

“Tell Ensign Dalzell,” Dave answered, “that he is to open fire as soon and as heavily as he deems best.”

Then, to the astounded under secretary Darrin added:

“I must beg his excellency to go with me to the ramparts.”

“He cannot – will not,” protested Sin Foo.

“He must!” declared Dave Darrin firmly.

CHAPTER VII – BELLE HAS SOME “TIPS”

Whatever Sin Foo said, it was spoken in an undertone.

Near his excellency there was movement among the members of his retinue. In another instant the governor had vanished around the angle in the wall.

“Grab that ‘Burnt-face’ chap!” whispered Dave, to two of his sailors. “Hurry him along to the ramparts, but don’t be rough with him unless you have to be.”

Then up to Sin Foo, in the same twinkling, stepped Ensign Darrin.

“Sir, I am sorry, but I haven’t time to waste on formal speech. Since your governor has run away, you must go with me to the ramparts.”

“But I – I am not a fighting man,” protested Sin Foo, turning to a greenish hue, which in a Mongol, is equivalent to turning pale.

“I believe you,” assented Darrin. “And you won’t be very much of any sort of man, unless you make up your mind to do instantly what I wish of you. Come!”

Nodding to a sailor to escort the under secretary, Dave and two of his men brought up the rear and rushed out into the open.

Left alone without command, the governor’s score of soldiers, lined up against the walls, after a bewildered pause shuffled off in the wake of their departed chief.

Cr-r-rack! On the rampart at the west of the compound a squad of sailors had opened fire on a party of Chinese who were firing from the shelter of the nearest houses. Dan ran over to them, and stood behind his marksmen before Darrin succeeded in reaching the top of the steps nearest to the firing party.

At the outer edge of the rampart was a low wall of stone some two feet in thickness. On the flat floor behind this the sailors had thrown themselves, aiming their rifles over the parapet. Behind them Danny Grin, sword in hand, took position, pointing out some of the places of concealment of yellow snipers.

“They’ve opened fire, sir,” reported Dalzell, saluting as his chum came up.

“So I see,” nodded Ensign Dave. “Men, don’t shoot too hastily. Try to plant every bullet where it will be most effective.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” came the hearty chorus. Cr-r-r-rack!

Half a dozen of the missionaries who had joined the sailors on this part of the rampart, were proving their manhood by doing careful, deliberate work with their rifles. While under other circumstances these men of the cloth would have preferred not to take a hand in such an affair as this, the danger that threatened a score of American women completely changed their viewpoint.

“These mission men and the other American residents are going to make as good fighting material as you can get out of untrained men,” Dave remarked to Dan, in a low voice.

Suddenly the “Castoga” took a lively hand in the affair again, her guns belching forth shells.

“Why, they’re landing shells in the ruins of the mission settlement,” declared Danny Grin. “What on earth can that be for?”

“I can’t guess,” answered Dave training his glass on the mission ruins. “Look! there are Chinamen, with shovels, running away. Have they been trying to intrench there?”

“Digging,” answered a quiet voice behind the young officers, and Dave, turning, beheld the white hair and venerable face of Bishop Whitlock. “They are seeking the treasure, or were, until the gunboat shelled them out of our old compound.”

“What treasure, sir?” Dave asked.

“Some Chinaman, either a simpleton or a mischief-maker, started the story that we missionaries had robbed a famous and very ancient temple at Sian-ho-Kung of a hidden treasure there, amounting to several million dollars’ worth of gold and jewels, and that we had hidden the treasure by burying it in our own compound.”

“There was no truth in that, sir?” asked Ensign Darrin incredulously.

“Not a bit, of course,” replied the Bishop, smiling wearily. “Our entire treasure, in wealth, consisted of about seven hundred dollars in gold, belonging to our mission treasury. That gold is now hidden on the persons of men in my party.”

Right over the top of his head Ensign Darrin felt something click. Then, conscious that something had happened, he turned, to see his cap, shot from his head, sailing down into the compound. A marine below picked it up and ran up the steps to hand it to his commander.

Belle Darrin saw the hat shot away, for in the compound below, she had stood watching her husband closely. She gave a slight start, but showed no other sign of fear.

A moment later a number of bullets swept over the rampart top. Dave, Dan and the Bishop were the only ones standing there. As for Sin Foo and “Burnt-face,” they were grovelling on the rampart floor.

“Sir, I beg you to go below,” Ensign Darrin urged the Bishop. “Or else lie flat. You are in too great danger here. I believe that the fire will soon be ten times more brisk, and considerably more deadly.”

“I am not afraid,” replied Bishop Whitlock calmly. “If my eyes were younger and keener I would handle a rifle, but I fear that I would waste too many cartridges.”

“Won’t you go below, sir, that we may all feel easier?” Dave begged.

“If I am making you uneasy, then I shall go down at once,” answered the missionary simply. “My friend, may you be fortunate and successful here to-day!”

He held out a hand which Ensign Darrin grasped. Then the old man started below.

“The Chinese are starting firing from the river side,” Dave announced, as a heavy volley of shots rang out from a new point. “Dan, you had better go over and direct our reply to the fire from the river side. Don’t let any of the yellow rascals get close to the compound.”

Dave turned just in time to see Sin Foo crawling down the steps, while “Burnt-face” looked on with evident interest.

“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave rasped out sharply, “come back! If you make another attempt to leave this rampart you will be fired upon without challenge. Any of my men who see you make the attempt will shoot you without further orders.”

His fright showing to a ghastly degree, Sin Foo slowly crawled back. He was not in the slightest danger so long as he did not raise his head above the parapet, but the under secretary plainly had no military blood in his veins.

As for the Chinese soldiers on the ramparts, none of them displayed curiosity, nor had they shown any intention of attacking the Americans. It looked as though these yellow fighting men of the governor’s did not regard it as being in any way their fight. Several of them were smoking pipes that gave off villainous odors.

Leaving a petty officer in charge, with general instructions, Dave went over to Dan’s side of the compound.

“Your husband is showing magnificent courage,” remarked Bishop Whitlock to Mrs. Darrin.

“My husband has been trained in the greatest fighting school in the world,” Belle answered, “and I am certain that he is conducting himself according to the best traditions of his training and service.”

A sailor came nimbly down with a message from Dave to the marines to open some of the food supplies and to start the preparation of a meal. In case the ladies were ready to eat, the marines were instructed to serve them first.

“How long since you Navy men have eaten?” Belle asked the sailor.

“Supper-time, last night, ma’am,” replied the sailor, grinning.

“Then we women cannot think of eating until you men are taken care of,” Belle replied, with emphasis.

“Not one of our men would eat until the ladies have eaten, ma’am,” replied the sailor respectfully. “Ask that sea-going soldier there.”

“When there are ladies with our parties, ma’am, they always have to be looked after first, ma’am,” said the marine, straightening up.

“There are enough women here to serve every one at the same time,” replied Belle Darrin. “Ladies, come here and help, if you please.”

There were only crude implements with which to prepare food, but a supply of wood was brought and preparations for a meal went rapidly forward.

With only sixty-eight riflemen to guard all four sides of the yamen, and twenty of these civilians, Dave’s task of defense was not an easy one.

At times spurts of rifle fire swept the ramparts, though so far none of the rebels had attempted to rush the yamen.

“Remember, men,” Dave urged, as he passed along behind the firing parties, “your great task is to keep the heathen from rushing us. Make every cartridge count, but don’t expose yourselves unnecessarily so long as the enemy are content to keep close to cover. Unless they succeed in making numerous hits, I don’t believe they will try to rush us in daylight.”

“But to-night, sir?” spoke up one of the petty officers.

“I hope that we shall have a chance to get out of here before nightfall,” Ensign Darrin answered.

“It will be a miracle, if we do get out of here safely before nightfall,” muttered the same petty officer, as Dave passed on to another part of the defenses.

After a while the firing died down. Dave ordered strict watch kept, but directed that there be no unnecessary firing until the Chinese beyond opened up heavily again.

Then, in the lull, he descended to the compound, to see to the care of the women, and afterwards of the men.

Standing aside, talking with a group of women, was Pembroke. That young man had made no effort to secure a rifle; he had not even offered his services toward the defense.

At the first opportunity Darrin walked aside with his wife.

“Mr. Pembroke came up from Manila with you?” he asked.

“On the same ship, yes,” replied Belle.

“And came up on the same river boat with you?”

“Yes.”

“Did Pembroke go to the mission to live?”

“He was there a part of the time,” replied Belle. “He also lived elsewhere in Nu-ping some of the time. One day, I remember, I saw him on the street with a Chinaman who had a peculiar purple mark on his face under the right eye.”

“Did you know that that same Chinaman, with the purple mark, is here at the yamen now?” Dave asked.

“Why, yes; after we were shut up in the building at the back of the compound, this morning, Mr. Pembroke went outside for a while, and afterwards I saw him talking with that same Chinaman with the purple mark on his face. Why are you asking all these questions, Dave?”

“Because I am puzzled about Pembroke,” Dave replied. “At Manila I had an intimation that Pembroke is far from being a gentleman. At Manila, too, ‘Burnt-face’ was in evidence; if he were in Manila now he would be arrested, charged with the murder of another Chinaman. I have been doing some hard thinking, Belle. Suppose Pembroke knew that trouble with rebels was about to break out here at Nu-ping? He did know that the ‘Castoga’ was the gunboat in eastern waters best fitted for ascending the Nung-kiang River and that she was going there. Pembroke tried hard to make my acquaintance and to force himself upon me. Did he figure on being able to use me to advantage when the ‘Castoga’ was ordered to duty at this port, where he may have known that the rebellion was about to be sprung? To go further, were and are Pembroke and ‘Burnt-face’ pals and comrades, working together for some sinister purpose?”

Belle looked puzzled as she replied slowly:

“Bishop Whitlock attributes the present trouble to the spreading of a foolish story that in the mission grounds were buried millions of dollars’ worth of treasure, looted from an ancient Chinese temple. What connection could Pembroke and his Chinese friend, away down in Manila, possibly have with such a stupid fable as that?”

“They may have believed the story,” Dave answered, “and so may the governor of this province, who is skulking in yonder building. The governor and his followers may have secretly fomented this rebellion, in order to have a chance to loot the mission and secure, as they thought, the buried treasure which we know doesn’t exist. And the governor, knowing how quick Uncle Sam would be to send a gunboat here, may have sent ‘Burnt-face’ to Manila to find some white rascal who could get acquainted on board the ‘Castoga,’ and perhaps thwart our plans. Pembroke may be here, even now, for the purpose of springing some treachery.”

“That is an awful thought, Dave!” cried his wife.

“But it may be pretty close to the correct guess,” Ensign Darrin rejoined. “At any rate, I shall have a pretty close watch kept on the movements of Mr. Pembroke!”