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[Illustration: THEN COLONEL LISCUM FELL TO RISE NO MORE.]
ON TO PEKIN
OR
OLD GLORY IN CHINA
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
AUTHOR OF “UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN
CUBA,” “FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “UNDER OTIS IN THE
PHILIPPINES,” “THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE,” “SHIP
AND SHORE SERIES,” “BOUND TO SUCCEED SERIES,”
“BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE_
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY LEE AND SHEPARD.
_All Rights Reserved._
ON TO PEKIN.
PREFACE
“On to Pekin” relates the adventures of a young lieutenant of the
regulars, who is sent from Manila to Taku, China, to participate in the
campaign of the allied forces of the United States, England, France,
Germany, Austria, Italy, Russia, and Japan against the Chinese order of
the Boxers and those government troops of the Province of Shantung who
aided in the great rebellion against all foreigners.
In the story are related, first, the bombardment of the Taku forts and
the capturing of Taku and Tongku; next the history of the ill-fated
expedition under Vice-Admiral Seymour, R.N., to relieve Pekin, and
the bombardment and capture of Tien-Tsin; and, lastly, that bold
dash of the Internationals for Pekin and the relief of the consuls,
missionaries, and other foreigners who had been besieged for fifty-six
days.
It may be that some of my readers will think Gilbert Pennington an
unusually clever officer, and one quite young to be occupying the
position of lieutenant of the regulars. But it must be remembered
that Gilbert had served in Cuba with the Rough Riders, and in the
Philippines under General MacArthur and General Lawton, and that he
took to army service as naturally as a duck takes to water. He was
one of those soldiers of whom Grant declared, “They are born, those
fellows, not made.”
The campaign in China has been as short as it was brilliant; and,
with Earl Li Hung Chang and others empowered to treat for peace upon
almost any terms, it is to be hoped that a permanent settlement will be
made, which will insure both foreigners and China against all further
trouble. War, at its best, is a terrible thing; and the less our
country has of it, the better it will be for our people.
Once more thanking my young friends for the interest they have shown in
my previous stories, I place this volume in their hands, trusting they
will find its perusal both pleasurable and full of profit.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
NEWARK, N.J.,
OCT. 4, 1900.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCING THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT 1
II. CLOSE QUARTERS IN THE JUNGLE 10
III. SOMETHING ABOUT THE PEOPLE OF CHINA 20
IV. CAPTAIN PONSBERRY HAS HIS SAY 31
V. GILBERT MEETS NUGGY POLK 41
VI. OFF FOR CHINA 51
VII. WHAT CAUSED THE WAR 60
VIII. A DISCOVERY ON SHIPBOARD 70
IX. GILBERT REACHES A CONCLUSION 80
X. ABOUT AN IMPORTANT LETTER 92
XI. THE RELIEF OF ADMIRAL SEYMOUR’S PARTY 102
XII. A STORM AND A QUARREL 112
XIII. THE LANDING AT TONGKU 123
XIV. A FIRST BATTLE ON CHINESE SOIL 133
XV. FIGHTING ALONG THE PEI-HO 144
XVI. ENTERING TIEN-TSIN UNDER DIFFICULTIES 154
XVII. GILBERT MEETS AMOS BARTLETT 164
XVIII. THE SPY IN THE RIVER 174
XIX. SAVING THE MISSION HOUSE 187
XX. THE BOMBARDMENT OF TIEN-TSIN 198
XXI. CHARGING UPON THE NATIVE QUARTER 210
XXII. AN ADVENTURE IN A JOSS HOUSE 220
XXIII. GILBERT’S NARROW ESCAPE 229
XXIV. NUGGY POLK’S SET-BACK 239
XXV. “ON TO PEKIN!” 250
XXVI. THE BATTLE OF PEITSANG 260
XXVII. A RAINY MARCH TO TUNG-CHOW 269
XXVIII. THE FIGHT BEFORE PEKIN 279
XXIX. HOW THE BESIEGED WERE RELIEVED 286
XXX. THE BURNING OF THE PRISON 296
XXXI. GILBERT RETURNS GOOD FOR EVIL 305
XXXII. BACK TO TAKU--CONCLUSION 317
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Then Colonel Liscum fell to rise no more” _Frontispiece_
PAGE
“‘You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up’” 45
“Nuggy Polk was making off down the dim passageway” 98
“The yellow man was on the point of blazing away at
Gilbert’s ear” 145
“‘See anything unusual?’” he asked 180
“The Boxer kicked the prostrate officer in the side” 230
“It was now a hand-to-hand contest” 271
“‘I’ll save him anyway,’ he thought” 308
ON TO PEKIN
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT
“I say, Lieutenant Pennington, have you heard the news?”
“That depends upon what the news is, major. Do you mean that we are
ordered back to Manila?”
“I mean a good deal more than that, lieutenant. We are ordered to
China.”
“China!” And Lieutenant Gilbert Pennington, formerly of the volunteers
and now of the regulars stationed on the island of Luzon, leaped up
from the camp stool upon which he had been sitting, and gazed at his
old friend, Major Morris, as if he had not heard aright. “Who told you
such a fairy tale as that?”
“It’s the truth, Pennington. I got it direct from the colonel. We are
to proceed to Manila without delay, and there take the _Logan_ or some
other transport direct for China.”
“And what are we going to do in China? Has Uncle Sam declared war on
the heathen?”
“Hardly that, I imagine. But you know the missionaries and other
foreigners are having a lot of trouble with the Boxers, as they are
called; and I reckon our government wants some soldiers on hand in case
matters get worse.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about the Boxers, although I don’t exactly know what
they are.”
“They call themselves a band of Patriots, but in reality they are
a secret society having for its object the extermination of all
foreigners in the Celestial Kingdom. They are the worst cut-throats in
China, so I have been told.”
“Well, this is certainly news,” mused Gilbert Pennington. “I had an
idea that my fighting days were about over for the present. I never
dreamed I should be sent away from the Philippines excepting it would
be back to the States.”
“I hope the prospect doesn’t displease you,” went on Major Morris,
earnestly. “For myself I am thoroughly delighted. I am getting tired
of hanging around Tarlac. We haven’t had a brush with the Filipino
guerillas for three weeks, and that last engagement didn’t amount to
anything.”
“Major, you are a fighting man through and through!” laughed the young
lieutenant. “I believe you would rather fight than eat.”
“Hardly that, Pennington; but I must confess to a weakness for an
occasional engagement.” The major of the first battalion twisted his
mustache meditatively. “Between you and me, privately speaking, I think
we have a long, hard campaign before us.”
“I can’t understand it. If the Chinese government isn’t in with the
Boxers, why doesn’t it suppress the society, and protect our citizens
and the citizens of other nations?”
“That’s the conundrum, lieutenant. I was talking to the colonel about
it; and he says his opinion is that the Chinese government, instead of
suppressing the Boxers, is secretly aiding them. The Chinese don’t want
any foreigners in China, and this outbreak was bound to come sooner or
later.”
“If they don’t want any foreigners, why did they allow them in the
country in the first place?”
“I presume they didn’t imagine the foreigners would pour in so rapidly,
or that they would advocate so many changes in business, religion, and
other things. You see, the Chinaman sticks to ancient things, and wants
to do just as his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather
did.”
“Has there been any fighting there yet?”
“I can’t say as to that. But the other nations are hurrying troops to
the scene; and, when we get there, we are to form part of an Allied
Army, composed of English, German, French, Japanese, and other nations.”
“Then it will be China against the world.”
“That’s about the size of it. If we fight side by side with the other
nations, it will be rather a new experience for our troops.”
“Right you are, major.” The young lieutenant gazed doubtfully at his
dirty and ragged khaki uniform and the shoes which had been patched
until there was hardly any of the original leather left. “But we ought
to have new outfits before we go.”
“No doubt General MacArthur will see that we get them. He will want
Uncle Sam’s boys to look as well as the soldiers of any other nation.”
“Are any of the volunteers going?”
“Not for the present. But there is no telling how many of the troops
will have to go before the trouble in China is over,” concluded Major
Morris, as he walked on, to spread the news among his other brother
officers.
Gilbert Pennington was a young man of Southern blood who had drifted
into the army more because of his intense patriotism than for any
desire to become a fighter of men. He was from Richmond, Virginia;
and, upon the death of his parents and several near relatives, he had
wandered around from one place to another, made a trip to the West
Indies, and then gone to New York to settle down in business as a
book-keeper.
While in New York, the War with Spain broke out; and along with his
intimate friend, Ben Russell, Gilbert joined the volunteer service, and
served in Cuba as one of Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, as related in one of
my previous books, entitled “A Young Volunteer in Cuba.”
Shortly after his return from Cuba the troubles in the Philippines
broke out; and once again Gilbert enlisted, this time in the infantry,
and, accompanied by Ben Russell and his brother Larry, journeyed
to Luzon, there to serve under Generals Otis and MacArthur and the
much-lamented General Lawton. Many of his adventures of those stirring
times will be found set forth in “Under Otis in the Philippines” and
later volumes of my “Old Glory Series.”
But the rebellion in the Philippines was now practically over, and
all the soldiers had to do was to guard against the wandering bands
of insurgents who carried on a sort of guerilla warfare whenever the
opportunity offered. The season had been a very rainy one, and roads
and fields were so covered with water and liquid mud that passage from
one district to another was well-nigh impossible. The tiny mountain
streams were swollen to rushing torrents, and in many places to bridge
them over seemed impossible.
Gilbert had been mustered into the regular service several months
before; and, for bravery performed in the capture of the Filipino
leader, General Adoz, he had been promoted to the rank of first
lieutenant of Company A, of the first battalion. Major Morris had come
into the regulars at the same time, and now commanded the battalion,
although really holding the rank of captain. To my young readers let
me explain that this meant that, while he commanded as a major, he
received as yet only the pay of a captain.
The news that his regiment was going to China filled Gilbert with
interest, and for several reasons. In the first place, he was rather
tired of the Philippines, and had thought more than once that he had
made a mistake by joining the regulars instead of embarking for home,
as many of his fellow-soldiers had done. He had campaigned in intense
heat until ready to faint with exhaustion, and the heavy rains of the
wet season had found the camp literally drowned out more than once. He
had been shot, and had lain in the hospital for weeks, so it was small
wonder that he occasionally sighed for a bit of ordinary life again.
Following the flag is not all glory.
But now something new was promised. He was to visit a strange country,
and perhaps fight side by side with soldiers from other parts of
the world. More than this, he might have a chance to find Mr. Amos
Bartlett.
Years previous to the opening of this story, Mr. Amos Bartlett had been
in business with Jefferson Pennington, Gilbert’s father. The two had
owned several extensive tobacco warehouses in Richmond, and later on
had branched out into the tea and coffee trade. The business had grown
to such proportions that it was formed into a stock concern called the
Richmond Importing Company. At the time the company had been formed,
Mr. Pennington had died; and shortly after this Mr. Amos Bartlett had
gone to Tien-Tsin, China, to live, taking with him his wife and his
little daughter, Jennie.
When it came to a settlement of Jefferson Pennington’s affairs, no
satisfactory accounting could be obtained from the Richmond Importing
Company, and a lawsuit instituted by Gilbert’s mother fell through for
the lack of evidence. Amos Bartlett had been written to, but was down
with the fever in Tien-Tsin, and could give no evidence. The men at the
head of the newly formed company were sharpers from New Orleans; and
in the end Mrs. Pennington had received only two thousand dollars in
cash for her stock, while she was fully satisfied in her own mind that
the amount due her husband’s estate had been twenty to thirty thousand
dollars. She had no other money than that received from the company,
and this was not enough to support her for long; and she died two years
later, poor and broken-hearted, leaving Gilbert, then a lad of twelve,
to the care of an aged aunt, with whom he lived for four years, when he
left home to strike out for himself.
Gilbert had often thought to hunt up Mr. Amos Bartlett, and see if
something could not be done toward getting the balance of the money
due his father’s estate. But China was a long way off; and from some
friends he learned that Mr. Bartlett had left Tien-Tsin, and gone into
the interior, and that his present whereabouts was unknown. Moreover,
the war in Cuba and in the Philippines had driven everything else out
of his head, and he had taken matters as they had come.
“But, if I get the chance, I’m going to hunt him up,” said the young
lieutenant to himself. “And, if I find him, I’ll make him tell me all
about the doings of the Richmond Importing Company or else know the
reason why. I’m bound to have that money, if there is any of it coming
to me.”
CHAPTER II
CLOSE QUARTERS IN THE JUNGLE
“Boys, we leave to-day for Manila.”
It was Captain Banner of Gilbert’s company who spoke, addressing a
dozen or more of his command, who were squatting around a camp-fire
built near the shelter of an overhanging cliff. Close to the camp-fire
were half a dozen rude shacks which the regulars had erected for
comfort while stopping in the neighborhood, they preferring the rude
huts to their own torn and dilapidated tents.
“Und how soon vos ve goin’ py China, captain?” asked Carl Stummer,
a German volunteer who had enlisted in Company A soon after his old
friend Gilbert had become lieutenant.
“Just as soon as orders come from headquarters, Stummer. Are you
anxious to get on new fighting ground?”
“Vell, captain, I ton’t vos barticularly anxious for new fightin’
ground; but I vos anxious for ground vot ain’t vet a foot deep all der
dime,” answered Stummer, with a broad grin. “Last night I dream me I
vos in Noah’s ark, und der ark got sunk, und I vent overboard. Ven I
vake up, I vos on mine pack in vater most a foot teep.”
“I hope you swam for your life, Carl,” put in Gilbert, while a laugh
went up.
“He can’t swim, bedad,” added Dan Casey, an Irish soldier, who had
been a friend to Stummer for years. “Don’t ye remimber how Captain Ben
Russell--he was only a common sodger thin--hauled him out av the waters
av New York Bay, an’ was arristed fer doin’ it, bekase the colonel
thought he was afther tryin’ to desert whin he jumped overboard.”
“I vos learn me how to schwim since den,” replied Stummer, gravely. “Of
I didn’t learn, I vos drown more as fifty dimes ofer here alretty.” And
again a laugh went up.
Tents were to be struck at noon, sharp; and soon the camp was a
busy place, as the soldier boys began to gather together their few
belongings. Although it was raining lightly, guns had to be cleaned,
swords polished, and uniforms brushed up as much as possible.
The news had travelled swiftly that the regiment was ordered to China;
and many of the officers and men of other commands close by came in to
verify the report, and to say good-by to their friends. Several came
to see Gilbert and wish him the best of luck, for he had always been
popular.
“I thrust we’ll be afther seein’ Captain Russell in Manila,” said Dan
Casey to the young lieutenant. “I wouldn’t loike to go away widout
sayin’ him farewell.” Casey and Stummer had both been members of Ben
Russell’s company of volunteers before joining the regulars.
“Yes, I hope we do see him, and Larry, too,” answered Gilbert. “I would
give a good deal to have the Russells go along.” But this was not to
be, as the duty of the Russell boys lay elsewhere.
The colonel of the command was a stickler for military discipline; and
promptly at twelve the regiment moved, or at least the two battalions
which were located in that neighborhood. The third battalion had gone
up in the mountains to the southward, and a special message had been
sent to it to rejoin the main command at the earliest opportunity.
The light rain soon gave way to a steady downpour, which threatened to
become a deluge before nightfall; and in many spots the soldiers had to
leave the road and take to the paddy fields, the thin crust of ground
and growth of the one being preferable to the oozy, sticky mud of the
other. The caribao carts, piled high with the camping outfit, lumbered
along with difficulty; and at every quarter of a mile one or another
got stuck, and had to be helped out of its difficulty.
“This is hardly a march to victory, lieutenant,” observed Captain
Banner, as he ranged alongside of his second in command.
“I don’t believe any of us will want a bath for a month after this rain
stops,” returned Gilbert grimly, “at least, not from the knees up.”
“It is well you qualified your first remark,” said the captain, who was
a West Point graduate, a well-read officer, and a first-rate fellow.
“From my knees down I feel as if I had been wandering around in an
ocean of filthy pitch. It seems to me the natives ought to be able to
make bricks of this sticky mud without half trying.”
“We are going to have some fun when we reach the river a mile below
here,” put in Major Morris, who had also come up. “Captain Anderson
came over last night, and he said it was running at a fearful rate
then.”
“And what about that new bridge we worked so hard to put up?” asked the
young lieutenant.
“It’s completely swept away. The captain thought the storm had done it,
but I think the guerillas helped matters along. They hate us worse than
they hate poison.”
“I suppose they reckon we have kept them from a good deal of booty,”
said Gilbert. “Well, we have, for a fact.”
The storm now became so violent that conversation could be carried on
only with difficulty, and presently the party relapsed into silence.
The route step had been ordered at the very start; and all of the
regulars were marching to suit themselves, although keeping something
of a semblance to a column of fours.
At last the river was gained, and a halt was ordered,--an unnecessary
command, since none of the troops could go forward. The stream was
running two feet deep over its ordinary banks, and swirling along with
the rapidity of a mill-race. It was fully sixty feet wide, and just
deep enough in the middle to be dangerous.
As the bridge was gone, it was determined to look for a suitable
fording-place, and Gilbert was placed in command of a detachment to
ascend the river-bank for that purpose. The course of the soldiers, six
in number, lay over a series of rough rocks, and then through a small
jungle opening upon an abandoned rice field.
“If the guerillas destroyed that bridge, we want to keep our eyes
open,” was Gilbert’s comment to his men, as they scrambled over the
rocks, in Indian file. “They don’t travel far in the rain, and they may
be close at hand.”
“I dink I see me somepoddy chust ahead!” exclaimed Carl Stummer, in a
low voice. He was in the lead of the privates, and carried his rifle,
ready for use. “Look!” he cried suddenly.
Gilbert gazed in the direction, and made out several forms; but all
disappeared before he could get a good view of them.
“Thim was th’ Dagoes!” cried Dan Casey, using the common soldier’s term
for Filipinos. “I wisht I’d got a bead on ’em! I’d a-laid wan of thim
low, I’ll bet me nixt wages!”
“To cover!” shouted Gilbert, and pointed to the nearest bit of jungle.
The little party ran at once in the direction, but before the shelter
of the brush was gained several shots rang out, the bullets clipping
the branches of the nearest trees.
The attack came as a surprise; but the young lieutenant was not sorry
that the volley had been fired, since it would notify his comrades in
arms that something was wrong. Scarcely had the volley ended when Dan
Casey fired in return; but, if he hit any one, the enemy gave no sign.
The jungle gained,--it was a small patch less than an acre in extent,
facing the river,--Gilbert ordered his men to lie down and keep strict
watch on all sides, while he himself moved close to the water’s edge.
A sudden idea had popped into his head, and he wished to learn if his
surmise was correct.
In order to obtain a clear view of the river, he had to wade into the
water overrunning the bank to the depth of a foot and more, in the
mean time breaking his way through vines and creepers, which formed a
perfect network amid the tropical trees. He advanced as cautiously as
he could, and, reaching an opening at last, peeped forth with care.
He had been right in his guess. The Filipino guerillas, some twenty in
number, had encamped in another patch of jungle a hundred yards further
up the river; and now several of the party were crossing the stream
in two _cascoes_, as the native small boats are named. A rope was
stretched from shore to shore, and a man in each _casco_ was hauling
his craft along this by hand.
“If only I had the whole company here!” thought the young lieutenant.
He felt that, if this were so, he could readily “bag” every one of the
insurgents.
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when two more rifle-shots
rang out, followed by a cry from Stummer.
“Der repels vos running py der rifer!” came from the German soldier.
“Shall ve go after dem, lieutenant?”
“No, wait!” ordered Gilbert. He turned to Dan Casey. “Go back as fast
as you can, and report a body of twenty guerillas about to cross
the river in two boats. We can round them up if we are re-enforced
immediately.”
“I’ll run wid might an’ main,” answered the Irish soldier, and set off
with leaps and bounds over the rocks in the direction whence he had
come. The Filipinos saw him, and opened fire on him; but he got out of
range uninjured.
As soon as Casey was gone, Gilbert called his detachment to his side,
and pointed out the _cascoes_.
“Those men must not be allowed to reach the other river-bank,” he said.
“And they won’t reach it, hear me!” cried one of the regulars, a tall
Westerner; and, taking aim at the man at the rope in the leading boat,
he fired. As the report rang out, the man fell, shot through the
shoulder; and the _casco_ began to drift rapidly down stream.
The other regulars also opened fire; and soon the ropeman of the second
_casco_ was likewise laid low, and that boat began to drift after the
other. But the craft was still close to shore; and, as soon as their
leader was shot down, the other two occupants leaped into the water and
mud, and struck out for the jungle which now concealed the rest of the
guerillas, who had lost no time in disappearing after the first volley
from the Americans.
Left to its own devices, the first boat came down the river rapidly,
sometimes swinging to one side and then to the other, and once turning
around completely in the strong current. It held two uninjured rebels,
who for the time being seemed to be bewildered by the turn of affairs.
As the _casco_ approached the spot where Gilbert stood, a sudden
turn of the river current forced it to shore. It swept under some
overhanging trees; and one of the insurgents immediately grasped some
vines, and pulled the craft still further to land.
“Leap for your life, Garro!” shouted one of the pair, in Spanish; and
an instant later both sprang out on the river-bank in water up to their
knees, and directly in front of the young lieutenant. One held a gun
in his hand, and the other a pistol; and in a trice both weapons were
levelled at Gilbert’s head.
CHAPTER III
SOMETHING ABOUT THE PEOPLE OF CHINA
Gilbert Pennington had been in many close quarters before, and these
had taught him the valuable lesson of being on his guard at all times.
Consequently, when the two rebels faced him, they found him with pistol
drawn, and, before either of the enemy could fire, the young lieutenant
blazed away. He shot to kill, knowing only too well that his life hung
in the balance; and the rebel with the pistol went down, with a bullet
in his breast, seriously, if not mortally, wounded. The Filipino’s
weapon went off as he fell, but the bullet spent itself in the air
above the little jungle.
Meanwhile, however, the second rebel was not idle; and, though Gilbert
leaped to one side to avoid being made a target of, he received a ball
from the gun in his shoulder,--a flesh wound, painful, but of not much
consequence.
The shot in the magazine rifle was evidently the last one; for, having
fired it, the Filipino closed in by aiming a blow at Gilbert’s head
with the stock of his weapon. The blow did not land as intended; but it
struck the young lieutenant’s arm, and his pistol was knocked skyward
just as he was on the point of pulling the trigger a second time.
All of these movements had taken but a few seconds of time to
execute; and none of Gilbert’s men knew what was occurring until they
followed the sounds of the shots, and found the young lieutenant in a
hand-to-hand encounter with the rebel over the possession of the Mauser
rifle. The rebel was a powerful fellow, much older than Gilbert, and
heavier; and he was rapidly getting the better of the encounter, when
Carl Stummer came up on the run.
“Drop dot!” roared the German soldier; and, taking aim, he fired on the
Filipino, hitting him in the knee. At once the man sank down, moaning
with pain; and the gun came into Gilbert’s possession.
A moment later a shouting was heard from down the river; and two
companies of the regulars came up the bank through the water and
mud, and over the rocks, as speedily as the state of the situation
permitted. They soon caught sight of the insurgents, and opened a
well-directed fire, at which the enemy took to their heels with all
possible speed.
“I owe you one for that, Stummer,” said Gilbert, as soon as he saw that
the man before him was out of the contest for good. “You came up in the
nick of time.”
“Dot’s all right,” answered the private, modestly. “But say! ton’t ve
besser safe dot poat?”
“To be sure, we’ll save the boat,” cried Gilbert; and, leaping out into
the stream, he secured it, and tied it fast to one of the trees.
The rain was now coming down harder than ever, and this rendered the
pursuit of the rebels very difficult; yet it was felt that they must
not be allowed to get away, and the whole of the first battalion were
sent after them, leaving the second battalion to cross the stream in
four _cascoes_ which the insurgents had possessed.
Being wounded, Gilbert was not called upon to take part in the pursuit
of the fleeing guerillas; for such they properly were, having no
regular military organization. He walked around until he found the
surgeon of the regiment, who bound up the wound, after washing and
probing it.
“It was a narrow shave for you, lieutenant,” said Surgeon Gilson. “A
little lower, and you would have been a dead man.”
“Well, they say a miss is as good as a mile,” responded Gilbert, with
a faint smile. “But I am thankful to God that I escaped,” he added
earnestly.
It was nightfall before the second battalion was landed over the river;
and then the other regular companies came in, bringing with them nine
prisoners, including two that were wounded. The battalion had had
several men wounded, but none seriously.
“I fancy this is our last round-up in Luzon,” said Major Morris to
Captain Banner and Gilbert. “If all goes well, we ought to reach Manila
by to-morrow evening.”
The night was spent in the village of Giguenen, where there was a small
garrison of American volunteers; and here the prisoners were lodged in
the local jail, until the authorities at Manila should decide what was
to be done with them.
The storm cleared away during the night; and travelling the next day
was, consequently, a little better, although the roads were still
almost impassable. In some spots the carts could not get through with
their loads; and the men had to “ferry” the goods across, the turnouts
coming over empty.
“I believe the Philippines want good roads more than anything else,”
observed Gilbert. “In all the time I’ve been here I’ve hardly seen a
decent highway outside of Manila.”
“We are bound for a country where the roads are still worse,” returned
Captain Banner. “I’ve been reading up on China lately, and I’ve learned
that there is hardly a respectable highway in the whole Celestial
Kingdom. Even the streets of Pekin, the great capital, are out of
repair, and have been for centuries.”
“And yet Chinese labor costs next to nothing. I can’t understand it.”
“The common people don’t want to pay out a single cash for public
improvements, that’s the reason. Besides that, there comes up the old
Chinese saying that ‘what was good enough for my father and grandfather
is good enough for me.’”
“They must be a terribly backward nation.”
“Backward doesn’t express it, lieutenant. They are so out of date
that they are actually musty. And the worst of it is, because their
history dates back so much further than ours,--several thousand years
before Christ,--they imagine they know it all and are really a superior
people.”
“I am almost ashamed to confess it, but I am very backward on the
geography of China,” went on Gilbert. “I know it’s a mighty big country
and swarming with millions of people, and that is about all I do know.”
“Yes, it is a big country; for its area is about five millions of
square miles, although its original eighteen provinces are only about
two millions of square miles in extent,--some geographers say a million
and a half. The population of the provinces is reckoned at a hundred
and seventy-five million. But this is mere guess-work, for China has
never taken a census.”
“With so many people, there ought to be many large cities.”
“No, the large cities are but few in number. The largest, of course, is
Pekin, the capital, on the Pei-Ho, which contains probably a million
and a half to two million inhabitants; and the next is Shanghai, the
great sea-port town. Pekin cannot be reached by large boats; and its
sea-port, so to speak, is Tien-Tsin, which is also on the Pei-Ho, not
many miles from the Gulf of Pechili.”
“Then, if there are not many large cities, there must be a host of
small ones.”
“China, so I have read, is a country of villages; and there are vast
territories where these villages, each containing a hundred or two
hundred inhabitants, are less than half a mile apart. You see the
Chinese farmer doesn’t live on his farm excepting during the time he
has to watch his crops, to keep them from being stolen. He lives in the
village, along with all of his neighboring farmers; and all of them go
out to work every morning, taking all their tools with them, and even
the bucket and windlass for the well, and return at nightfall.”
“I think I should rather live on the farm. We always lived on our
plantation in Virginia, before we moved to Richmond.”
“And so did my folks live on their farm in the Mohawk Valley, New York
State, Pennington. But you must remember that, with so many people to
feed, farming lands in China are valuable; and so they can’t afford
land for farm-houses or out-buildings or even for fences. Many a farm
is not over half an acre in extent, and that has to support a family of
six or eight.”
“Phew! We had over two hundred acres in Virginia!”
“And we had a hundred and twenty at home; and father said he sometimes
felt cramped up, because he didn’t own right to the top of the
mountain. If it wasn’t that John Chinaman can live on next to nothing,
he would starve to death.”
“But certainly all the people are not so poor.”
“There are some rich people in the cities, but the majority merely live
from hand to mouth. The richest man of all is Earl Li Hung Chang, one
of the viceroys, who visited the United States some years ago. He is a
millionaire many times over, and a very powerful political leader in
the bargain. They say he is the only viceroy who enjoys the confidence
of the dowager empress and the young emperor.”
“It’s a wonder he doesn’t make a move to enlighten his people, and get
them to take up Western ideas.”
“There is too much of religion and superstition in the way. The
Chinamen all believe in geomancy, as it is called. According to that,
no street in a village must be straight for fear the Evil Spirit may
sweep through too easily, and no door in a house can be directly
opposite to another for the same reason. The cities and towns are
all laid out according to the rules of geomancy, as expounded by the
so-styled learned men who make the mysterious art a life study. Even
the grave of a rich man is not located until the geomancer has been
well paid in order to locate a spot where wind and weather cannot
disturb the spirit of the departed one.”
“Such superstition is almost beyond belief.”
“That is only the beginning of it. They believe in all sorts of signs
and omens, and won’t even cook a meal at a fireplace unless the latter
is located near a door or window, so that the evil spirits in the food
can find an easy way out of doors.”
“Humph! I wonder what they would say to some of our up-to-date
inventions,--the telephone, for instance?”
“I don’t know about the telephone; but they do say that in the interior
the people believe the telegraph wires are bewitched, and they won’t
walk under them excepting with their eyes closed and while holding
their breath, or else while repeating some verse from Confucius. For
many years they wouldn’t allow a railroad to go through, because
such a road would disturb the graves that are scattered here, there,
and everywhere instead of being in regular cemeteries, as in our own
country.”
“I reckon the people in the interior are even more ignorant than those
on the seacoast.”
“They are, if the books I have read are to be believed. One writer
says that some Chinamen were surprised to learn that he, as a ‘foreign
devil,’ did not have three legs and a horn, and that others thought
he had a hole through his breast through which a pole could be thrust
whenever he wanted to be carried from place to place. Another writer
says he was also asked about the hole, and that the natives were
surprised to learn that he could bend his knees, having heard that no
‘foreign devils’ could bend their knees to their gods. This writer had
a camera with him, and came close to having his head cut off through
trying to take some snap-shots in the village. He added that numerous
Chinamen think that photographs must be made out of babies’ eyes; and,
as very few of the poor natives of the interior have any use for a girl
baby, they sometimes offer to sell such a baby to be sacrificed, so
that the eyes can be made up into photographs!”
CHAPTER IV
CAPTAIN PONSBERRY HAS HIS SAY
“Hurrah! Here come the boys who are bound for China!”
“Good luck to you, boys! Wish I was going with you!”
“Don’t let the Chinks get the best of you! Stick up for Uncle Sam and
Old Glory every time!”
Such were some of the cries as the command to which Gilbert was
attached swung across the bridge which spanned the river Pasig, and
marched through the streets of old Manila to the barracks assigned to
them previous to their departure for China.
It was a warm, pleasant evening, and the thoroughfares were alive with
people,--Americans, natives, Spaniards, Englishmen, and likewise a good
sprinkling of Chinamen. But the latter had already heard of the sending
of troops to their native land, and they took good care to keep in the
background for fear of a riot in which they might come off second-best.
All was gayety, with scarcely a thought of the terrible struggles
which had occurred in that vicinity but a few months before.
The barracks were gained, and, while the band was playing one of the
popular airs of the day, the companies were dismissed to seek their
quarters and make themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
“Gilbert! I was hoping I should find you!”
The exclamation came from a tall, handsome young fellow wearing the
uniform of a captain of volunteers; and, as the young lieutenant
turned, he found his hand tightly clasped by his old chum, Ben Russell.
“Ben!” cried Gilbert. “I am ever so glad to meet you. I was afraid I
should have to leave Luzon without seeing you. How have you been?”
“First-rate, Gilbert. And you?”
“Oh, I’m all right except for a slight wound in the shoulder. We had a
final brush with the guerillas yesterday, and bagged nine of them. But
what are you doing here?”
“I came down on a special mission for the general. Larry is with me, as
a member of my company. Here he comes now.”
As Larry Russell came up, more hand-shaking followed; and then the
Russells plied Gilbert with questions, all of which he answered as well
as he could.
“I wish you were going with us,” said the young lieutenant. “We might
have some fine times together.”
“That’s true,” put in Larry Russell. “But I guess we’ve got to stay
here until we are mustered out.”
“Perhaps we’ll be sent to China later on,” said Ben Russell. Then he
turned, as he felt a pluck at his sleeve. “Hullo, Stummer! And you,
too, Casey! How are you getting along? It’s too bad that you left me to
join the regulars, but I suppose it’s all for the best.”
“I dink you besser choin, too,” replied the German soldier. “Uncle Sam
vill need you in China, sure.”
“Perhaps, Carl, but not now.”
“To lave you is the wan sorrow of me partin’ wid Manila,” said Casey.
“Sure, an’ we was loike brothers, barrin’ ye was captain an’ I was a
corporal. I hope we mate ag’in, so I do.” And his honest eyes looked
suspiciously moist. He had served with Ben all through the Cuban and
Philippine campaigns.
The conversation now became general; and presently Casey and Stummer
went off, leaving Gilbert and the Russells to themselves. From one
thing the talk drifted to another, and finally came around to Mr. Amos
Bartlett and the fortune Jefferson Pennington had sunk in the Richmond
Importing Company.
“The Richmond Importing Company!” cried Larry. “Why, I know a party who
is now working for that concern.”
“You do!” exclaimed Gilbert. “And who is it?”
“Captain Ponsberry, of the three-masted schooner _Columbia_, the vessel
I shipped in from Honolulu, with Luke Striker.”
“You mean the ship you were serving on at the time you went overboard
and was picked up by Admiral Dewey’s flagship just before the battle of
Manila?”
“The same. Captain Ponsberry wasn’t carrying for the Richmond Importing
Company then, but he is now. He told me so himself yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Then his ship must be here.”
“She is.”
“I should like to see this Captain Ponsberry, to find out how the
company stands at present.”
“Then you had better get around to-night or early to-morrow. He sails
at noon.”
“I’ll go at once if you’ll show the way,” concluded Gilbert.
Larry was willing; and soon the three were on their way to new Manila,
as it is designated, across the Pasig, and down to where the numerous
wharves were lined with huge warehouses containing all sorts of
merchandise from nearly every quarter of the globe.
The _Columbia_ lay deep in the water opposite the wharf from which she
had loaded, for she was laden with a cargo for China. At the wharf they
found a small boat tied up, in charge of a sailor named Hobson, whom
Larry Russell knew very well.
“Hullo, Larry, what brings you?” demanded Hobson, in surprise; for he
had not expected to see the young soldier-sailor.
“My friend wishes to see Captain Ponsberry, Hobson. Is he ashore?”
“No, I’m waiting for Tom Grandon, the mate. The cap’n is on board.”
“Will you take us over?”
“Certainly. Jump in.”
The two entered the row-boat, and Gilbert was introduced to Hobson,
who had been Larry’s messmate for several months. Soon the side of the
schooner was gained, and Larry clambered to the deck with the agility
of a monkey, leaving Gilbert to follow.
“Hullo, Larry! back again?” came from Captain Nat Ponsberry, a
whole-souled skipper of the old New England school. “I had hardly
expected to see you again afore I sailed.”
“My friend here wishes to have a talk with you, captain,” answered
Larry. “He is Lieutenant Gilbert Pennington now of the regulars, but
formerly of the volunteers. He served with my brother Ben.”
“Oh, yes! reckon as how I’ve heard tell of ye,” said Captain Ponsberry,
as he extended a horny hand, as hard as it was honest. “Glad to know ye
personally.”
“Perhaps you’ll think it strange I should come to you for information,
captain,” said the young lieutenant. “But Larry tells me you are
carrying for the Richmond Importing Company now.”
“Exactly.” And the skipper of the _Columbia_ gazed questioningly at the
speaker. “But this is my first trip; and I don’t know but that it may
be my last, too.”
“And may I ask why you say it may be your last?”
“You may, since I’ve nothing to conceal on the p’int, lieutenant. Their
price ain’t my price, thet’s all. I can make more money on my own hook.”
“The reason I have come to you is this: Years ago my father owned
stock in the company. He died, and when my mother tried to get a
settlement--well, they didn’t give her near as much as she expected.”
“I see.” Captain Ponsberry paused. “Well?”
“That was when I was only ten years old,--rather a long time ago. I’ve
never had a chance to look into the claim, but I intend to do so now;
and I want to know how the company stands, if you don’t mind telling
me.”
“As I said afore, I have nothing to conceal. So far as I know, the
standin’ of the concern is good, and it is wuth nigh on to two hundred
thousand dollars.”
“And who is its head?”
“Mr. Ramsey Polk, a banker, who does business in Richmond and in New
Orleans.”
“He must be the same Polk who took hold at the time my father died. I
remember the name well.”
“More’n likely, lieutenant; an’, if he is, I’ll allow you have a tough
customer to deal with,” added the skipper of the _Columbia_, with a
peculiar smile.
“Then you found him hard to deal with?”
“I did.”
“Do you know if there is a Mr. Amos Bartlett still connected with the
company?”
“Yes, there is; but I’ve got it putty straight that the Polks, father
an’ son,--an’ the son, Nuggy, is wuss nor his dad,--are doin’ their
best to squeeze him out of it.”
“And where is Mr. Bartlett, now?”
“In Tien-Tsin, China, or else at Shanghai.”
“And how are they going to squeeze him out?”
“If you’ll tell me, I’ll tell you,” laughed Captain Ponsberry. “I
guess the Polks have a way all their own. But they’ll do it, for I’ve
heard that they have squeezed out others. Nuggy Polk is on his way now
to China, to see what he can do toward ousting Bartlett out of the
concern. The Polks know they have a good thing, an’ I guess they want
to keep it right in the family.”
“You say he is on his way to China. Is he here?”
“He was here a few days ago. I think he sailed for Hong Kong yesterday.”
“I wish I had seen him. Perhaps he could have given me some
information.”
“Not he--if he thought you were after some money due your father,”
returned Captain Ponsberry, with a sharp shake of his head. “The Polks
are close-fisted to the last degree. You won’t get a cent from them
unless you wring it by main force.”
“Then I’ll wring it by main force--if I find that some money is really
due me,” answered Gilbert, with determination.
Captain Ponsberry now invited the pair to his cabin; and the three went
below, and discussed the situation for the best part of an hour. During
this talk, Gilbert learned that the affairs of the Importing Company
were almost entirely in the hands of the Polks, who had forced out a
man named Redmund and an old widow named Van Vechen, both of Richmond.
Amos Bartlett was now the only outsider holding stock, and it was the
captain’s opinion that Nuggy Polk’s sole reason for going to China was
to get the old merchant to sell out his holding.
“An’, if he won’t sell out, he’ll be squeezed out,” added the captain.
“But I guess the Polks will get him to sell out by showin’ him papers
an’ statements to prove thet the company ain’t making any money an’ is
in debt.”
“But you say they are doing well?”
“So they are, too. I had a search made afore I agreed to carry for ’em.”
“Then a statement to the contrary would be a fraud,” put in Larry.
“Exactly. But what could Bartlett prove if the hull thing was done in
secret?”
“It won’t be done in secret--not if I can help it,” said Gilbert; and
there the conversation came to an end.
CHAPTER V
GILBERT MEETS NUGGY POLK
The two transports which were to take the soldiers from Manila to China
lay in the harbor off the Anda Monument; but several days were still to
elapse before the first of them should set sail on her momentous voyage
to Nagasaki, Japan, the first stopping-place. Where the transport was
to go after that, none of the under officers or privates knew. The duty
of the American soldier is to obey orders, and not ask questions.
There was much to do,--new uniforms and shoes to be fitted, guns
to be inspected, ammunition to be dealt out, camping outfits to be
cared for,--so that the hours flew by swiftly for Gilbert and all the
others; and he had no time in which to ascertain whether or not Nuggy
Polk--whose real first name was Nuglich--was still in Manila or if he
had set sail for the Celestial Empire.
The transport was to sail on Tuesday; and by Monday night the
preparations for departure--so far as they affected the young
lieutenant--were complete. This being so, he asked for leave of absence
for several hours, which was readily granted; and off he went to hunt
up Nuggy Polk.
Captain Ponsberry had described the young man as tall and thin, with
a short, stubby mustache and eyes which shifted continually. He was
said to have stopped at the Hotel for American Gentlemen, as one of the
native resorts had lately been pompously rechristened.
Gilbert found the hostelry without much difficulty, and on inquiry at
the desk learned that Nuggy Polk had left the place that morning.
“He was not sure if he would be back,” said the clerk. “He wanted to
visit the soldiers’ encampment up at the water-works. Perhaps you will
find him there.”
The water-works are several miles to the eastward of Manila, at a spot
where a few months before some severe fighting had taken place between
the Americans and the insurgents. Gilbert decided to journey thither,
and hired a pony for that purpose.
The young lieutenant had been over this ground before,--indeed,
some of his first fighting in the Philippines had been done in that
neighborhood; and he found his way, without difficulty, along a highway
lined with palms and other tropical trees.
As he moved along, he kept his eyes open for anybody who might bear a
resemblance to the young man he desired to interview. It was growing
dark rapidly; yet the night promised to be clear, and he could still
see without much difficulty.
The camping grounds of the soldiers at the water-works were almost
gained, when, on reaching a turn of the road, the young lieutenant
beheld coming toward him a high native fancy cart, drawn by two stout
ponies. On the seat of the cart sat two young men; and, from the
description which had been given to him, he recognized the driver of
the turnout as Nuggy Polk.
As soon as he made his discovery that the man he was seeking was before
him, Gilbert also learned something else, which was that both young men
had been drinking far more than was good for them, and, if they were
not intoxicated, they were pretty close to it. The driver was swaying
from side to side, jerking the reins in a way to completely bewilder
his steeds; and his companion was expostulating, and trying to get the
lines in his own possession.
“I tell you, Nuggy, you ain’t in no condition to drive,” the second
young man was saying. “Give me the lines, an’ I’ll show you how to make
’em trot.”
“Give you nothing!” retorted Nuggy Polk, savagely. “I can drive as well
as anybody, Jerry Nickerson; and I want you to know it.”
“You’re steerin’ ’em into the rocks,” went on Jerry Nickerson. “You’ll
smash us up in another minit!” And he clutched Polk’s arm to keep
himself from rolling off the high seat to the ground.
“Lemme go!” screamed the would-be driver, and tried to shake his
companion off; but Jerry Nickerson made another clutch for the reins,
and a fierce struggle ensued, in the midst of which the ponies took
fright, and began to tear down the highway at their best speed.
Gilbert could do nothing to stop the runaway team; and, as the high
cart bounced past, he fully expected to see the two young men thrown
out and killed. The reins fell upon the ponies’ heels, and then Jerry
Nickerson clutched the seat for safety. Nuggy Polk was thrown over
backward, into the rear of the cart, and came to the ground with a
splash just as the turnout went through a mud puddle six inches deep.
“Help! save me!” roared the young man, bellowing like a bull. “Don’t
let the hosses kick me to death!”
He continued to bellow and splash around in the mud until Gilbert,
dismounting, went to his assistance. “You’ll be all right if you’ll
only stand up,” said the young lieutenant.
[Illustration: “YOU’LL BE ALL RIGHT IF YOU’LL ONLY STAND UP.”]
“All right? Do I want to be kicked to death?” demanded Nuggy Polk, as
he sat up, and dug the mud from his eyes.
“You’ll not be kicked to death. You landed in a soft spot, so I reckon
there are no bones broken.”
“But the hosses--”
“Your ponies and cart are half a mile from here by this time. They went
off like a streak of lightning.”
“Humph!” Nuggy Polk arose to his feet with difficulty, and dragged
himself to where Gilbert stood. “Where’s Jerry?” he demanded.
“Your companion was clinging to the cart seat the last I saw of him.”
“Humph! He’ll be killed as sure as you’re born. But it serves him
right. He had no business to try to take the reins out of my hands. I
know how to drive--used to drive the finest high-steppers in Richmond.
He don’t know the first thing about hosses.”
“Well, I hope he isn’t killed.”
“Oh, he’ll be all right--you couldn’t kill Jerry Nickerson if you
tried. Say, but I’m in a pickle, ain’t I?” And Nuggy Polk surveyed
himself dismally. He was arrayed in a white linen suit, with a fancy
silk dress shirt; and the outfit had suffered much from the contact
with mud and water. “I can’t go back to Manila looking like this.”
Gilbert could offer nothing but his handkerchief; and this Polk
accepted, and washed his face and hands at a near-by pool. He was very
unsteady on his legs, and his speech was thick. He declared that he did
not care what became of Jerry Nickerson.
“He’s my friend, but in a case of this kind he must take care of
himself,” he muttered. “I suppose those ponies won’t run on forever.”
“If you got them from a stable in Manila, they will probably go
straight home,” answered Gilbert. “By the way, do you belong in
Manila?” he went on, determined to “pump” Polk without making himself
known.
“Me belong to Manila?” cried the young man. “Not much. You couldn’t
hire me to live in such a back-number town. No, I’m from Richmond,
Virginia.”
“Then you are a good way from home. But I, too, come from Virginia,”
continued Gilbert. “I was born in Powhatan Court House,” which was the
exact truth.
“Is that so? Glad to know you. You’re a lieutenant, I reckon, by the
uniform.”
“I am, Mr.--”
“Nuglich Polk is my handle. Generally called Nuggy by my friends. And
you are?--”
“My name is Gilbert.”
“Proud to know you!” The young man tried to look sober for a second,
then burst out into a fit of unreasonable laughter. “Say, but I cut a
figure, didn’t I, when I went into the mud?”
“I didn’t see very clearly. I was watching your team.”
“Oh, don’t smooth it over, lieutenant. It’s all right! So we are both
from Virginia? Good enough! Ever been to Richmond?”
“Yes, years ago.”
“I and my father run the Richmond Importing Company there. Perhaps
you’ve heard of the concern. We ship goods all over the world,--China,
Japan, South Africa, everywhere. Got a vessel here now, bound for
China, the _Columbia_. Had to look after her, and that’s what brought
me to the Philippines.”
“Then you are going back to the States soon?” went on Gilbert. “You’re
lucky. Lots of the boys would like to go, too.”
“No, I’m booked straight through to China.” Nuggy Polk gave something
closely resembling a hiccough, and then felt in a rear pocket of his
trousers. “Have a drink?” he went on, producing a whiskey flask.
“Thanks, but I’m not a drinking man,” answered Gilbert.
“What! Don’t drink? Well, I never! I’ll drink for you. Here’s your
health.”
The whiskey flask was elevated to Polk’s lips, and a long low gurgle
followed. The action disgusted the young lieutenant; but he felt
powerless to remonstrate, even had he felt so inclined.
“Ah! now I feel better!” said the young man, more unsteadily than ever;
and then, finding the flask empty, he threw it to one side of the road.
“Yes, I’m from Richmond; and I don’t care who knows it. We are the
people! Ain’t that so?” And he tried to brace up proudly.
“We are certainly some of the people,” answered Gilbert; and he
felt like adding that Polk was the most disgusting specimen he had
yet encountered. “If you and your father run the Richmond Importing
Company, you must be doing a large business.”
“Large doesn’t express it, lieutenant. It’s growing every day.”
“A stock concern, I reckon?”
“Humph! It’s our concern,--belongs to father and me. We used to have
some outside people in it, but we froze ’em out,--had to do it, it was
such a good thing, don’t you see?”
“That was rather hard on the other fellows, I should imagine.”
“Oh, we paid ’em to get out; but not too much, understand? We’re
shrewd, me and father, when it comes to real business.” Nuggy Polk
gave a lurch which landed him on the grass of the roadside. “Say, but
that tumble made me weak in the legs!” he declared.
“Better rest here, and see if your friend comes back,” suggested
Gilbert. “I’ll stay with you; and, if he doesn’t return, I’ll see to it
that you get back to Manila in safety.”
“Will you? That’s mighty kind, lieutenant, and I’ll stay; and I’ll pay
you for all you do for me.” And the young man pulled from his pocket a
roll of bank bills. “I reckon bills go with you, even if the confounded
natives won’t accept ’em.”
“I don’t want your money--”
“Don’t grow offended, lieutenant. I’m all right, and you’re all right.
We understand each other, don’t we?”
“I hope we shall, if not now, then later on,” replied Gilbert, with an
emphasis which was entirely lost on the befuddled young man to whom the
words were addressed.
CHAPTER IV
OFF FOR CHINA
The young lieutenant felt utterly disgusted over the speech and actions
of the young man before him; yet he did not feel inclined just yet to
part company with Nuggy Polk. There is an old saying that, “when the
wine is in, the wit is out”; and Gilbert felt certain that by judicious
“pumping” he could learn a good deal concerning the Richmond Importing
Company and the Polks’ peculiar method of transacting business.
Gilbert could readily see that Nuggy Polk was a “high-flyer,” or,
in other words, a fast young man, and one who was inclined to spend
his father’s money much faster than the parent had made it. Yet the
young man did not look like a hard drinker; and his present condition,
Gilbert concluded, was an unusual one.
“May I ask if you have been in Richmond lately?” said Gilbert, after a
pause, during which Nuggy Polk had closed his eyes, as if on the point
of going to sleep.
“Came from Richmond to ’Frisco, an’ from ’Frisco here,” was the
unsteady answer. “’Bout four months ago--came on mail steamer. Going to
China--do the country in ’bout six weeks, and then go home again. This
don’t suit at all. Richmond is good enough for me.”
“I suppose you’ll have a good deal of work to do in China for your
company.”
“A little, lieutenant. You see, I don’t believe in killing myself with
labor.” Nuggy Polk tried to laugh, but the effort only ended in a
hiccough. “Main object is to find a man named Bartlett, a fellow who
owns a little block of stock in our concern.”
“Going to buy him out?”
“You’ve struck the head on the nail--I mean--er--the nail on the
nai--no, the nail on the--the head--yes, the head. Don’t want Bartlett
in the company any more. He’ll make too much money if he stays in.” And
Nuggy Polk gave a chuckle.
“Supposing this Bartlett won’t sell out?”
“He’s got to, or we’ll--er--we’ll squeeze him, same as we did the
others.”
“Bound to hold on to a good thing, I see,” commented Gilbert, speaking
as carelessly as possible. “I suppose you and your father organized the
company in the first place.”
“Not exactly, although it was father’s idea. There was a fellow named
Jefferson Pennington used to do quite a business in tobacco and cotton,
and some tea and coffee; and the company started out of his trade.”
“Oh! then this Pennington is at the top of the concern.”
“No, not a bit of it! He’s dead years ago.”
“And I suppose you scooped his share, too. You must be a smart set.”
“Thanks for the compliment, lieutenant. Reckon we are smart; but then,
you see, it runs in the blood. Both of my grandfathers were bankers and
brokers, and knew how to turn things to the best advantage.”
“It’s a wonder Pennington and these others didn’t kick at being
squeezed.”
“They did kick; but it didn’t do ’em no good, not a bit. We had the
whip hand, an’ we kept it. Pennington’s widow raised a big row, so
father has told me; but it ended in smoke.”
“You held the evidence and kept it.”
“You hit the nail on the head ag’in lieutenant. We are smart, and we
are the people.” Nuggy Polk gave a long, drunken yawn. “This looks as
if Jerry wasn’t coming back. Say, I’ve an idea.”
“Well?”
“Can’t you carry me back to Manila on your hoss?”
“I don’t believe the pony will carry the weight.”
“Lemme try him.”
Only with the greatest of difficulty did Nuggy Polk manage to rise to
his feet. Then he lurched up against Gilbert, took a plunge, and hit
the pony in the ribs. The animal turned, bumped roughly against the
young man, and Polk measured his length on the ground.
“Whoa, you rascal!” spluttered the fallen one. “Lieutenant, he’s worse
than the team. I can’t ride him nohow.”
At this juncture a rumble of cart wheels was heard, and soon a native
turnout hove in sight, drawn by a pair of caribaos. A sleepy Tagal sat
on the seat.
Stopping the cart, Gilbert inquired if the Tagal was bound for Manila.
“_Si, señor_,” answered the man, in Spanish.
“Take me along then,” put in Nuggy Polk. “I’ll pay you well.” And he
jingled some coin in his pocket.
The native assented, and, leaping to the ground, he assisted the young
man to a seat in the rear of the cart. Here there was some straw, upon
which rested several bunches of plantains; and on this straw Nuggy Polk
stretched himself, and in a moment more was sound asleep.
“You can take him to the Hotel for American Gentlemen,” said Gilbert.
“Do you know the place?”
“Yees, mistair. He has drank much, not so?”
“Yes. They know him at the hotel, though; and I reckon it will be all
right. I’ll ride behind.”
No more was said, and soon the cart was on its way to the capital.
Hardly a mile was covered when they came upon Jerry Nickerson, sitting
on the wreck of the fancy cart, the picture of misery and despair.
Broken bits of harness lay on the ground, and the ponies were nowhere
in sight. Nickerson had had his left hand cut, and had the member bound
up in his handkerchief.
“They tried to take a stone wall, hang ’em!” he explained to Gilbert.
“The cart’s a wreck, and so’m I. Where’s Nuggy?”
“Safe,” answered the young lieutenant. “If you don’t want to stay here
all night, you had better hop up behind.”
“But the busted cart--?”
“You had better attend to the cart and the ponies in the morning.”
Nickerson wished, in drunken style, to argue the matter; but the young
lieutenant was in no humor to listen to such a beast, and ordered the
Tagal to drive on. Seeing this, Nickerson scrambled up behind, threw
himself beside Nuggy Polk, and was soon snoring lustily.
The Hotel for American Gentlemen was reached without further incident;
and, having had the Tagal drive into the court-yard, Gilbert
interviewed the clerk, and had the two sleeping ones transferred to the
rooms they had previously occupied.
“Can you tell me who this Jerry Nickerson is?” asked the young
lieutenant of the clerk at the desk.
“I cannot, excepting that he seems to be a close friend to Mr. Polk,”
was the reply.
“How long have the pair been at the hotel?”
“About ten days.”
“And what vessel are they going to take for China?”
“The _Orient_. But she sails at nine o’clock to-morrow morning, and I
doubt if they awake in time to go on board,” concluded the clerk. As
far as he was concerned, he did not wish the two guests to catch the
steamship. They had paid well for their accommodations, and he felt
inclined to have them remain with him as long as possible.
Having seen to it that the Tagal owning the cart had been paid for
bringing the two young men to Manila, Gilbert took his pony back to
the livery stable, and then made his way to the barracks. He had not
learned a great deal concerning the Richmond Importing Company, yet he
had gathered sufficient information to set him to thinking deeply.
“Those Polks are rascals beyond a doubt,” he said to himself. “But
there is a big difference between knowing a thing and being able to
prove it. I hope, when I get to China, that I shall have a chance to
hunt up Mr. Bartlett and to watch what Nuggy Polk does.”
It was late when the young lieutenant turned in; and, as the pony ride
had made him tired, he slept soundly, and did not awaken until the roll
of the drum aroused him. Dressing hastily, he stepped out to the parade
ground in front of the barracks.
The scene was an animated one, for a crowd had gathered to see the
regulars off. As soon as the companies could be formed, they were
marched to the wharf at the Anda Monument; and here numerous _cascoes_
began to take men and equipments off to the _Logan_ and the other
transport which were to carry the soldiers on their journey up the
China and Yellow Seas.
“Off at last, eh!” cried a voice in Gilbert’s ear; and, turning, he saw
Ben Russell at his elbow. Ben had but a few minutes to spare, and a
short but lively conversation ensued. Then the old chums shook hands;
and Gilbert stepped into the _casco_ which was to take him to the
transport. The friends were destined not to see each other again for a
long, long time.
A band was playing on the Lunetta, the great pleasure ground of Manila,
as Gilbert went on board the transport. Many had preceded him, and
soon the boat was comfortably filled, although not crowded.
Besides the soldiers, there were a regimental band, a hospital
corps, a number of officers’ families, and half a dozen newspaper
correspondents. There were also others on board whose presence were to
surprise the young lieutenant greatly.
“Well, lieutenant, how do you feel?” asked Major Morris, as he met
Gilbert in one of the gangways.
“First-rate, major, but rather sorry to leave the Philippines, after
all.”
“Precisely my case. We had many a lively campaign there, didn’t we?”
So the talk ran on until night shut out a view of the city, leaving
only the electric and other lights to twinkle in the darkness. There
was but little sleep on board. At sunrise all were astir, and a little
while later the steamship turned her head for the entrance to Manila
Bay. Two hours sufficed to pass Corregidor Island; and then it could be
said that the voyage to China was fairly begun.