TO THE RESCUE OF THE MISSION
The ominous sound of strife sent shivers up and down Phil’s spine; the
mission was surrounded by a force far in excess of the handful guarding
the helpless ones inside its wall; but the droning sound of the Colt
gun was reassuring; it showed that Lieutenant Wilson had been on the
alert, and he knew that officer well enough to believe that he would
sacrifice himself and every man with him before the women and children
were allowed to fall into the hands of the cruel Chinese mob.
These thoughts flashed through Phil’s mind while the sailors quickened
their pace in obedience to Commander Hughes’ orders.
Reaching the crest of the hill, Phil gazed with his companions through
the darkness down upon the valley between the mission hill and the one
on which they were standing.
“Don’t deploy yet,” Langdon cautioned in a whisper to the American
commander, who, he observed, was on the point of forming for the
attack; “we must cross the bridge over that irrigation ditch in the
middle of the valley; you can see the shadow of willows along it from
here. Once across that, all will be clear ground between us and the
mission.”
They pressed forward until the pilot raised his hand warningly and
Commander Hughes signaled a halt. Langdon, motioning Phil to accompany
him, left the column and advanced cautiously along the road toward the
bridge, concealed from their view by a group of willow trees. Reaching
the bridge, the pilot examined carefully the bamboo structure, then he
gingerly placed his heavy foot on the wooden planking, testing it with
his great weight of over two hundred pounds. Motioning Phil to remain
where he was, he then walked cautiously across the bridge to test the
fastenings on the other side of the deep ditch. The midshipmen saw his
huge bulk dissolve in the darkness, but in a few moments he returned
and his discovery was calculated to bring despair to the stoutest
heart. They quickly joined the main body, waiting impatiently to push
forward to the rescue of their comrades.
“Many of the lashings are cut on the far side, sir,” Langdon exclaimed
in a low, excited voice; “one or two men at a time can probably cross
in safety, but no more. There is no other bridge for five miles, and
that may be in a similar condition.”
Here indeed was an effective stop to the eager sailors in sight of the
battle between their comrades and the bloodthirsty enemy. The volume of
musketry fire directed upon the mission had increased alarmingly, and
at frequent intervals came the roar of artillery.
“Breaching the wall or shelling the gate,” Phil whispered in an awed
voice as his eyes caught the flash of a heavy explosion at the base
of the wall. His gaze, accustomed to the darkness, traveled over the
ground across the ditch; it was strewn with high mounds, graves of
forgotten Chinamen, and the lad saw that the natural protection offered
excellent cover for the sailors when once across the shaky bridge
structure; but, and a great fear rose in his mind, it would also aid
the enemy in its endeavor to prevent the rescuers from crossing the
nearly destroyed structure. Were those mounds even now concealing a
large force of Chinese soldiers, who, when the unwary foreigners had
rushed upon the tottering bridge, and many had fallen to the bottom
of the deep culvert fifty feet below, would open fire upon their
demoralized comrades, cut off from further attempts to succor those
inside the mission compound?
The sailors advanced in silence to the edge of the ditch, and then
Commander Hughes, grasping Langdon’s arm, stepped boldly upon the
treacherous planking, whispering to the midshipman hurriedly:
“Stay on this side and send the men over two at a time.”
As soon as the midshipman saw that his captain and the pilot were
safely on the other side, he and Sydney silently selected two sailors
to follow; then in turn two more to cross the intervening space. Slowly
those on the wrong side of the bridge decreased; Phil could see that
Commander Hughes had deployed his men to protect the bridge in case of
a sudden attack, while he and Langdon at the far side of the bridge
were receiving and instructing the men after they had crossed the
swaying structure. Then without warning, a flash of flame shot out into
the night from the direction of the Chinese graves, and the screech of
hostile bullets sounded loudly about the foreigners. Phil, from his
position, saw the figures beyond the bridge seek refuge behind a high
mound, and then the reverberation of the sailors’ rifles told him that
Commander Hughes was returning the fire in the hopes of protecting from
the hot fire of the enemy those still to cross the ditch.
The bridge was already swept by a hail of lead; a groan from a man at
his side told him that unless they crossed quickly, there would be but
few remaining at all to cross the tottering bamboo. He sent five men at
a time, watching fearfully until he saw them disappear in the gloom;
then six followed; the bridge stood the weight, but swayed and seemed
on the point of falling. There were now but four remaining, Sydney and
two men, one of whom lay sorely wounded on the ground at his feet.
“Go, Syd!” the lad exclaimed to his brother midshipman. The lad shook
his head, forcing the remaining sailor before him; then by mutual
consent he and Phil lifted tenderly the wounded man.
Carefully they picked their way across the bullet-swept, swaying
structure. With their burden, they reached the middle in safety; Phil
shuddered as his eyes took one fleeting glance at the fall below him.
Amid the noise of strife, the tearing of the thongs, holding the bridge
on the far side, gave the two officers no warning, and not until the
floor tilted to an unnerving angle did they see that they must hasten
if they would not be precipitated to the bottom of the ditch. The
wounded man was a dead weight on their hands; Phil, when he had felt
the bridge sinking under him, ran his hand nervously over the face of
the wounded sailor; the drooping jaw told him that he had passed beyond
mortal aid.
“He’s dead; save yourself!” he cried loudly to his companion as he let
fall his burden and sprang forward.
By almost superhuman effort, side by side, the whistle of the enemy’s
bullets in their ears, they threw themselves at the rising earth as
their platform with increasing speed sank beneath them.
Clutching at the crumbling earth, digging their fingers deep into the
rank grass, while the bridge behind them fell with a great crash into
the stagnant and noisome water fifty feet below, the two lads drew
themselves up, breathless but safe.
Phil quickly found Commander Hughes, who had sought cover behind a
mound and was waiting until his men became steadied before giving the
order to advance.
Langdon threw his great arms about the lads as they reached the
protecting earth mound, while the captain’s voice struck encouragingly
upon their ears.
“Splendid!” he exclaimed.
“He was dead, sir,” Phil said sorrowfully. “We couldn’t have saved his
body and ourselves too.”
Silence lasted for several minutes, each reverencing the visit of death.
“We must win now!” Commander Hughes exclaimed grimly. “And we must
repair that bridge before we can return. But come; we must leave our
cover and drive these Chinamen from our path.”
Suiting his action to his words, he blew a shrill blast from his
whistle, the signal on the skirmish line for “attention.”
“Forward,” he commanded in a voice that sounded loudly above the din of
musketry.
The sailors sprang forward with enthusiasm; the long wait under the
fire of an unseen enemy had bottled up their energy. Each sailor’s
foremost desire was to come to close quarters with the treacherous
Chinamen. The long, slender line moved upward toward the mission crest;
the men taking cover as they found it, and shooting when their keen
eyes discerned a shadowy form skulking away before their advance into
the darker shadows.
The sharp rattle of the Colt guns told the advancing men that the
mission was stubbornly resisting.
Phil moved incessantly along the advancing skirmish line, carrying
orders from his captain to the flank companies; the alarming song of
the bullets ever in his ears.
“Press forward, keeping the guide on the center!” had been Commander
Hughes’ simple instructions, and faithfully were they being carried out
by the determined men. The mission loomed through the darkness scarce
five hundred yards distant; the tongues of flame from its wall answered
by cries of rage and defiance from the enemy’s position inspired the
rescuing sailors to renewed exertions to reach the protecting compound.
The Chinese who had opened fire upon the Americans during the passage
across the ill-fated bridge had stolen away toward the shadowy flanks;
between the advancing sailors and their objective there were now no
answering shots. Then suddenly the battery which had been hurling shell
at the stone wall of the mission turned its fierce attention upon the
unprotected rescuers.
“Seek cover!” Commander Hughes ordered; and the men huddled together
in groups, thankful for the homes of the dead, which furnished such
perfect protection from the well-directed fire of grape and canister
from the Chinese artillery, now giving its undivided attention to the
approaching reënforcements.
Commander Hughes saw that a new danger confronted the success of his
undertaking; those in the mission as yet could not know of the close
proximity of their friends, and might they not in their vigorous
defense turn the muzzles of their Colt guns against them? The thought
was fearful to contemplate.
“Mr. Perry,” he ordered in a strained voice, “those guns,” pointing
to the hill on the right from which long tongues of flame darted
momentarily, “must be silenced. We dare not advance further under their
murderous fire. Take a hundred men and flank them.”
Phil gasped at the suddenness of the order, thanking his captain in his
heart for his confidence in his ability to do what seemed to the lad
impossible.
“Langdon will show you the way,” Commander Hughes ordered quickly;
“don’t expose your men to our own fire. I shall endeavor to get word to
the mission. Mr. Monroe will remain with me.”
As silently as possible Phil selected those to go with him, among them
being his old friend O’Neil, leading them on a run back toward the
ditch which had been crossed scarcely a quarter of an hour before;
then he gathered the men about him to explain the dangerous work for
which they had been chosen.
“We shall get on the flank of the artillery, and when the order is
given to advance we must gain a position from which we can charge
directly upon the battery. The lives of all depend upon our success.”
The men in silence accepted the conditions, and in another minute
Langdon was leading the small band along the deep ditch in the shadow
of the bordering trees. After traversing a few hundred yards the pilot
paused at a road crossing the one they were on.
“This is the road we took the other night,” Langdon whispered; “we
shall follow it for a short distance and then we shall be on the flank
and a little in rear of the Chinese position.”
The command moved cautiously forward until the pilot stopped and
the midshipman knew that the position desired had been reached.
Deploying his men quietly, he bade them advance silently toward the
pandemonium of the Chinese attackers ahead of them. While he moved
forward up the gentle rise of the land he could see distinctly the
bright flashes from the enemy’s guns, but his own men were as yet
undiscovered and protected by the intervening crest of the low hill up
which they were doggedly marching. He glanced fearfully to his left
to see how Commander Hughes and his men were faring; that part of the
battle-ground was in darkness; the Chinese seemed now too much absorbed
in their desire to destroy the mission to give thought to the handful
of sailors known to have crossed the bridge before it collapsed into
the ditch below.
Steadily the flanking party advanced toward the coveted position over
the uneven ground, the men casting apprehensive glances to left and
right, their rifles held ready for instant conflict.
While Phil’s attention was absorbed by the stirring sight ahead of him,
against which he would in but a few minutes launch his hundred men in
what seemed a forlorn hope, to take and silence the formidable battery
now exerting itself to the utmost to breach the wall of the compound,
a terrifying danger loomed before him. The sailors in the compound
were delivering a murderous fire from their Colt guns, directed at the
troublesome artillery, but many of the bullets were falling alarmingly
close to the flanking force. The midshipman realized that he must go no
farther; with the battery scarce three hundred yards in his front and
his men as yet undiscovered he must call a halt and remain without that
awful zone of fire until their friends on the mission wall had been
apprised of his intentions by Commander Hughes.
The word was passed quietly by word of mouth along the line, and the
sailors, keyed to the highest pitch of excitement, threw themselves
face downward on the ground, while less than a hundred yards ahead of
them a storm of bullets swept every inch of the soil.
“It looks black,” Langdon breathed in the grass close to Phil’s ear as
they both were racked by ominous foreboding while watching the sweep
of the devastating stream of bullets; “they haven’t got word to the
mission yet that we are here; if those guns are pointed ten degrees
further this way, it will be all up with us. See,” he added pointing
in the direction of the active artillery, “those guns are behind
intrenchments, for otherwise the Chinese could not have stood such a
murderous fire for a minute. It’s withering,” he gasped with a shudder,
while the singing of bullets redoubled, seeming to be slowly drawing
their deadly zone nearer to encompass the crouching sailors.
Phil cast his anxious eyes often on the dark slope of the mission hill
where he had left the main force under Commander Hughes, but the night
was too dark for him to discover what was going forward. There was
nothing for him to do save wait with what patience he could muster. To
rush ahead could mean but annihilation at the hands of his own guns. He
must not open fire upon the battery, so close that the smell of burning
powder was rank in his nostrils; to do so might draw the fire of the
Colt guns, for how could the mission know that help was so near at hand?
After what seemed an eternity to the anxious men, the fire of the Colt
guns suddenly ceased, while from the Chinese position, believing no
doubt that their enemy was weakening, a great volume of musketry fire
added its roar to that of the big guns. Phil felt the moment had come;
the cessation of the rhythmical discharges of the Colt guns must be the
result of communication between Commander Hughes and those defending
the compound. He glanced anxiously through the night toward the hidden
enemy, while he was at that moment framing the words which would send
his hundred men in a mad dash against an intrenched foe, counting their
numbers by the thousands.