THE LAST CHARGE
With the order to charge trembling on his lips, Phil hesitated. What
did the silence of the mission tell him? Had Commander Hughes succeeded
in gaining an entrance, and had the mission ceased its fire by his
order to allow the midshipman’s party to flank the battery so intent
upon breaching the wall through which the savage horde would surge into
the enclosure, butchering every Christian found there?
He turned to O’Neil, lying quietly beside him in the high grass.
Through many adventures the lad had become thoroughly convinced of the
sailor’s good and calm judgment. He turned to him now, a grave fear
in his mind that precious moments were slipping away, yet if he made
a mistake and that withering fire should again be loosened, all would
indeed be lost.
“Are they waiting to allow us to advance?” he whispered, half rising to
his feet.
“Wait,” O’Neil cautioned; “if they know we’re here they’ll signal.
See!” he added, his eyes fixed upon the mission.
Even as he spoke, a bright light flamed suddenly above the wall, its
appearance awakening the enemy to renewed action.
Each of the hundred sailors turned his eyes expectantly toward the
mission. The light burned brightly and then flickered regularly and
evenly for a few seconds, again burning steadily.
“You’re right; signal!” Phil exclaimed, straining his eyes to read the
message which he knew would be spelled out by that flashing light.
Slowly, painfully the bright point of light appeared and disappeared;
all who knew the navy code were reading, with muscles tense and breath
held tight, the encouraging words flashing to them from across the
intervening darkness:
“We are holding our fire.”
There was small need to give the order to charge; every sailor in that
impatient line in but a moment knew that those in the mission were
waiting and trusting to them for deliverance from the murderous fire of
the Chinese artillery.
The lad rose to his feet, grasping his revolver firmly, and as one
man the sailors swept forward. Three hundred yards ahead four pieces
of modern artillery were battering away at the concrete wall of the
mission, while dusky figures, believing their foe had been silenced,
swarmed boldly over the grassy slopes behind and on either side of the
guns. So noiselessly did Phil’s men advance that the enemy were even
now ignorant of the presence of a foe so near at hand.
“When we charge,” Langdon whispered breathlessly, “order the men to
yell; the Chinese are as much afraid of noise as they are of bullets.”
Phil had always trained his men in their drills to charge cheering. Now
the time had arrived; in the next hundred yards the men would surely be
exposed to the view and fire of their enemy; concealment then would not
be an advantage; the Chinese should see and hear the danger in order
to have it strike terror to their hearts.
Raising his whistle to his lips, Phil blew a shrill blast.
“Open fire!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “and charge, men,
cheering!” he added, raising his voice in an excited shout as he sprang
forward, leading the way toward the now startled enemy.
The sailor line, an advancing sheet of flame, charged straight for
the crest of the hill in front. The Chinese, occupied in their
attack on the mission, had never dreamed that the small body of men
believed to have crossed the bridge would dare attack a position as
impregnable as theirs. Then out of the night, without warning, what
seemed to their superstitious minds a thousand yelling demons came as
lightning towards them. If these were the foreigners that had crossed
the bridge a miracle had been wrought and their number increased a
hundredfold; their simple minds were ready to believe that the despised
foreign devils had taken wings and flown across the unbridged ditch.
An unreasonable terror seized the surprised Orientals; some threw
down their guns and deserted precipitously, while others showed their
military training in turning gallantly and firing fiercely at the
rapidly approaching attackers; some even made a vain effort to turn the
artillery in the direction of the unlooked-for attack, but the charging
Americans were amongst them before a single gun could be moved.
His revolver tightly gripped, Phil fired blindly at the shadowy forms
now but a few yards from him; the bright flashes of his shots revealing
the terror in his victims’ faces as they gave way before him, and
then screaming with pain and an unconquerable fear, melted into the
night. Deafeningly in his ears rang the discharges of both the pilot’s
and O’Neil’s revolvers, unerringly mowing down those who dared stand
in their path, while on either side he saw his men fire volley after
volley into the mass of totally demoralized Asiatics. Without leaders
to stay them, their wild terror had put wings to their feet, and in but
a few minutes the Americans found themselves in undisputed possession
of the fortified position held so recently by their enemy.
Phil could hardly believe his eyes; he glanced joyfully about him at
the four guns and his exultant men crowding into the enemy’s deserted
trenches. O’Neil’s cool voice soon brought him to a realization of his
duty; his thoughts had been full of his easily-won victory against such
a formidable foe.
“We must hold this hill,” the sailor exclaimed; “if the Chinese find
out how few men we have they’ll try to retake it.”
“You’re right, O’Neil,” he answered quickly; “but I must send word to
Commander Hughes. I’ll stay here while you, Langdon, take a dozen men
and give the captain the news; he may have some new move in mind.”
Langdon readily agreed, and after a hand-clasp with the midshipman, the
pilot led his handful of men back toward the main American force.
After his friend had gone, Phil, with his boatswain’s mate, looked
carefully over the situation. He saw with joy that the enemy had left a
great store of ammunition for the artillery pieces, and that the guns
were similar to those his men used for drill on board ship. He started
his men to work with a will and in a few minutes they had turned the
guns’ muzzles away from the mission and directed them toward the line
of the enemy’s flight.
“This is the very thing, sir,” O’Neil cried, showing the midshipman
a shell which he recognized at once as canister; “they can’t do much
against us if we can find plenty of that kind.”
Phil immediately ordered a search, with the result that nearly half of
all the ammunition boxes were found to contain these deadly cartridges.
Scarcely had the survey been completed when the Americans found
themselves suddenly subjected to a heavy musketry fire from the
direction taken by the fleeing enemy; the lad could see distinctly
shadowy forms darting here and there from behind the mound-like graves,
and each moment the figures drew closer and seemed bolder; Phil
realized that their enemy had been rallied in its precipitous retreat
by a trusted leader and now the reassured Chinese were advancing
intent upon recapturing the guns which they had abandoned in their
demoralized stampede. A few of his men had already opened fire upon
the misty forms, but the lad saw at once that the battery could not be
saved by the weak fire of less than a hundred rifles.
“Cease firing!” he shouted above the increasing din of battle. “To the
guns, men; load with canister!”
Obediently the sailors dropped their rifles and took their stations
at the four guns, the leading men, petty officers, instructing those
under them as coolly as if they were but drilling recruits on board
ship. Phil heard the metallic rasping of the shells as they were loaded
into the breeches of the guns and the silvery ring of the breech plugs
thrown quickly shut. The guns’ crews stood silently ready, waiting for
the word from their young leader.
Controlling his excitement, the lad delayed the expectant word to open
fire; the Chinese, in their eagerness to discredit the bravery of their
enemy, mistook the silence to mean that the foreigners had retreated
and came boldly on, shouting their fanatical war-songs and exposing
their numbers to the view of the Americans waiting to open upon them
with their own artillery. The sailors trained their artillery pieces in
silence, keeping the muzzles pointed in the direction of the reckless
horde of delirious Chinamen.
Then swiftly at a word from the midshipman the four guns in unison
roared out a challenge, leaving death and destruction in the path of
the hundreds of bullets fired at once from the bores of the guns. Again
the reverberation shook the hilltop and again the leaden hail poured
into the now disordered ranks of the advancing fanatics. As rapidly as
if the guns’ crews were at target practice, the four guns spoke, each
time cutting deep gaps in the enemy’s line. After a feeble attempt to
rally the disordered legions, the Chinese leaders turned and fled,
followed by the already stampeded soldiers.
Having assured himself that this time the enemy would not be likely to
return, Phil gave the order to cease firing and then turned his eyes
expectantly toward the mission, realizing that its inmates had seen the
attack and were doubtless anxious of the final outcome. However, in
but a few minutes the signal-light appeared and flashed out a message
which showed the boy that his captain had understood that he had
gallantly repulsed the sudden attack:
“Am coming to join you.”
Ten minutes later Commander Hughes, with a hundred more men at his
back, stood beside Phil in the enemy’s trenches; his captain was
unstinting in his praises, while Sydney, who had accompanied him,
hugged his chum delightedly; Langdon stood by an amused and pleased
spectator.
“You’ve taught the enemy a lesson which they will not soon forget,” the
American captain exclaimed, “and they will not be likely to wish to
try conclusions with us again to-night, but at the same time we cannot
afford to treat the Chinese with too much scorn.”
Phil quickly explained the find of canister, and the captain, much to
O’Neil’s embarrassment, called him up before the assembled sailors and
complimented him upon his ready resource.
“It’s men like you, O’Neil,” he said warmly, “that make an expedition
of this kind possible.”
O’Neil even in the darkness grinned sheepishly, as if he had been
discovered doing something for which he ought to have been ashamed.
Great was the rejoicing in the mission at the unlooked-for deliverance,
and upon Commander Hughes’ order the relieved non-combatants quietly
packed up their most treasured belongings, ready to be conveyed through
the enemy’s country to the protection of the war-ships.
It being found impossible to save the captured guns, Phil, with
O’Neil’s aid, deftly dismantled the breech mechanisms and, securing
a heavy axe from the mission, rendered quite useless the delicately
fitting parts, giving the sailors the damaged pieces to carry to the
ditch where they would be thrown into the stagnant water at the bottom.
The missionaries, with tears in their eyes, bid farewell to their home,
expecting that after the sailors had gone, the Chinese would return
and send up in smoke that spacious monument to their earnest labors in
China. The party was obliged to make a wide detour to reach a bridge
some miles from the one crossed earlier in the night.
Dawn was breaking when the commander led his victorious men with the
rescued missionaries safely to the bank of the river, where small
boats were waiting to transport them to the protection of the American
war-ships. As the last of the refugees disembarked at the gangway of
the “Phœnix,” the sun peeped out from behind the distant hills.
Phil and Sydney longed for a few hours’ sleep, but they well knew that
if they succumbed to this desire they might miss altogether what they
felt would be the closing scenes in the drama.
By signal, Commander Hughes at once ordered that all non-combatants be
sent on board the gunboats, and that the monitors hold themselves in
readiness to get under way within the hour.
Phil’s hopes ran high as he and Sydney made themselves presentable
after their strenuous night’s experience.
After a hasty breakfast the lads appeared on deck. There they found
their captain before them, gazing closely through his binoculars at
the distant forts.
At the gangway three cutters were lying, and the landing force of the
“Phœnix,” rifles in hand, were standing in ranks ready to embark.
“March the men into the boats, Wilson,” Commander Hughes ordered
suddenly, putting his binoculars in their leather case. Then as he
turned to go below to his cabin, “Mr. Perry, you and Mr. Monroe report
to Mr. Wilson.”
“Where are we going?” Phil asked excitedly as he saluted the lieutenant.
“To the ‘Monterey,’” Lieutenant Wilson answered, “but that’s as far as
I know. The captain must expect hot work; each of my men is ordered to
take two hundred rounds of ammunition.”
“We’re going to storm the walled city,” Sydney exclaimed. “There’s no
sign of submission on either the forts or the viceroy’s yamen. The
captain means to rescue the four sailors and carry out his threats upon
Ku-Ling.”
Phil’s pulses beat faster at the thought. Now war had been declared,
and his captain believed in striking promptly before his enemy had time
to gather his forces!
Quickly the sailors were embarked in the waiting boats, and as
Commander Hughes, accompanied by Langdon, took his place in the stern
of the leading cutter, the oars were thrust out through the rowlocks
and the boats pulled with swift strokes alongside the monitor, anchored
only a few hundred yards down the river from the “Phœnix.”
“Get under way, Barnes,” Commander Hughes ordered as he stepped on
board the “Monterey,” “and signal the ‘Monadnock’ to follow us. Bend on
the signal to her to ‘clear ship for action’; the gunboats will remain
here out of range of the fort guns.”
The stirring call of the bugles sounded with its nerve-tingling ring
throughout the ship, repeated in a few minutes by the “Monadnock,” and
with a cheer of delight the crews disappeared below decks to their
stations for battle.
Inside of fifteen minutes all was in readiness, and the heavy anchors
were lifted from the bottom of the river.
With all the men not at gun stations behind the thick armor of the
small river battle-ships, the “Monterey” gracefully turned around close
to the fleet of anchored gunboats. Phil’s nerves were atingle as he
heard the admiring cheers of the allies float to them across the water.
Then the “Monterey,” her huge turret guns loaded and ready to open the
battle, and followed closely by her consort, steamed swiftly toward the
hostile forts.
“Break the battle flags,” Commander Hughes ordered in his calm voice,
standing on the bridge beside the captain of the “Monterey,” while
Phil, Sydney and Langdon, in the lee of the conning-tower, gazed,
consumed with excitement, upon the forts, toward which the two big
twelve-inch guns were pointing. Phil saw on the flagstaff at the top
of the emplacement the proud yellow banner of China, with its monster
dragon endeavoring to swallow a red ball, just beyond the reach of its
fiery nostrils.
“O’Neil is in the turret,” Sydney exclaimed to Phil at his side. “He
will fire one of the guns. I wonder if he can still shoot the way he
did at our record target practice when you had the after turret.”
“He’s as steady as a rock,” Phil replied enthusiastically. “I’ll wager
that every one of his shots will go true. He was the best gun-pointer
on the ‘Connecticut.’”
“What’s the range?” Commander Hughes inquired, a shade of excitement
creeping into his voice.
“Three thousand yards, sir,” the officer at the range-finder called out
hoarsely.
“Fire one shot at the nearest gun emplacement,” the American commander
ordered the “Monterey’s” captain, “and signal the ‘Monadnock’ to sheer
up abreast us and when the fort replies swing around and open with her
broadside.”
Phil saw the alert signalmen swiftly signal with their small hand
flags the message to their consort, and then immediately afterward
the “Monadnock,” which had been steaming in the “Monterey’s” wake,
swung her bow in toward the city of Ku-Ling, which the two vessels
were rapidly passing. The high wall was thronged with Chinamen; their
curiosity having overcome their fear of the terrible foreign war-ships.
The next second a heavy roar filled the air and the forts disappeared
completely from view in the brownish vapor from the turret gun.
Grasping the rail tightly in his excitement, his heart beating like
a trip-hammer, Phil gazed through the quickly dissolving smoke. The
sonorous screech of the shell in his ears, he strained his eyes to pick
up the huge projectile, travelling nearly a half a mile a second toward
the hostile fort.
Grasping the binoculars from Langdon’s hand, he raised them swiftly
to his eyes. A black dot appeared, upon which the lad focused his
attention, as if to lose it might mean a miss. He saw the bird-like
bolt rise high above the white stone emplacements, and knew on the
instant, from his long experience watching just such shells at the
peaceful drill of target practice, that the messenger of destruction,
filled with an explosive that would scatter death and consternation in
its path, would go true to its aim.
“Right on top of the emplacement!” he shouted excitedly a half second
before a liquid fire flashed on the parapet of the forts, while tons of
earth and rock were scattered in every direction.