THE LANDING AT TONGKU
“Stummer has knocked his man out! My, but that was a dandy blow!”
“The Dutchman ought to go into the prize ring. He would make his
fortune at it.”
“He has finished his first man. Now let the second come on, if he
dares.”
So the cries continued; for there is nothing that so delights the heart
of a sailor or a soldier as a “scrap,” either on land or at sea. Among
sailors especially, boxing is a constant pastime; and the “best man” is
always considered something of a leader.
The crowd looked to Nuggy Polk to continue the fight; but that young
man had no desire to do so, for he could plainly see that his chum had
suffered heavy punishment.
“You have killed him!” he said in a shaking voice. “Somebody run for a
doctor.”
“Oh, he’ll come around all right,” put in one of the sailors. “Carl
rapped him a bit hard, that’s all. So you ain’t up against it, are
you?” he added dryly.
“He’s afraid,” came from a voice in the rear of the crowd. “He’s one of
the sports that fights with his mouth only.”
At this instant the crowd was compelled to part, as the
lieutenant-colonel of the regiment pushed his way to the front. His
quick eye turned from Nickerson to Carl, and he faced the German
soldier sternly.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“He called me a Dutch idiot, und he vos hit me here,” answered Carl, as
he saluted, and then pointed to his breast.
“It’s not so,” interposed Nuggy. “He started a quarrel, and he has
nearly killed my friend.”
“He vos hit me first,” insisted Carl.
“It’s false. He knocked Mr. Nickerson down before he said a word.”
“I vos slip on der steps, und I rolled into him,” explained Carl. “Den
he calls me names, und hits me so hard as he can. Of he vos act like a
chentlemans, I vos abologise for rollin’ into him. But he calls me an
idiot und a klown, und I vos no stand dot from anypody.” And the German
soldier shook his head determinedly.
“That’s the truth of it,” came from a corporal standing near. “I saw
and overheard the whole transaction, colonel.”
By this time Jerry was coming to his senses. He blinked his eyes, and,
sitting up, stared around him.
“Keep off!” he muttered. “Don’t hit me again!”
“You’re all right now,” said the lieutenant-colonel. “I am sorry to see
you having a row with one of our men, though.”
“He started the row,” answered Nickerson, bound to save himself from
trouble, if possible.
“It isn’t so,” came from several in the crowd. “He struck the first
blow, just as Stummer says.”
“But he knocked me down first, and he did it on purpose.”
“Dot ain’t so. I vos coming der stairs town, ven I slip, because der
poat vos so unsteady,” explained Carl; and then he went into the
details of the encounter from start to finish. Several times Jerry
Nickerson tried to interrupt him, but the lieutenant-colonel would not
allow it. Carl’s story was corroborated by several others besides the
corporal who had first spoken up.
“It seems you are to blame,” said the lieutenant-colonel, after
listening to Nickerson’s lame recital. “In the future I think you
had better leave our soldiers alone. And now I want this crowd to
disperse,” he concluded, with a wave of his hand.
The soldiers sauntered off, alone and in pairs; and Carl went with
them. Nickerson said nothing more, but his black looks bode the German
regular no good.
“He’ll down ye if he can,” said Dan Casey to Carl, on hearing of the
affair. “Ye want to be afther watchin’ him as a hen turkey watches a
hawk.”
“I vos keep mine eye skvare on him,” answered Carl.
But this was hardly necessary, at least for the next few days; for, as
the storm increased, both Nickerson and Nuggy Polk became violently
seasick, and had to keep to their state-room, both moaning and groaning
in a fashion that was truly pitiable. Nickerson laid his sickness to
the violent handling received from Stummer, but Nuggy had no such
excuse.
The sight that greeted our soldiers when the transport dropped anchor
off Taku was truly an inspiring one. At Nagasaki they had seen many
vessels of various nationalities; but never before had they witnessed
such a collection of noble-looking warships, each cleared for action
and each flying the flag of the nation to which it belonged as well
as its own naval ensign. Here were armored cruisers, battleships,
ironclads, torpedo boats, and despatch steamers innumerable; while
still closer to the various landings lay transports, coal, and supply
vessels, all busy loading or unloading, and many teeming with soldiers.
“What a collection!” said Gilbert, as he and Captain Banner surveyed
the scene through a field-glass. “Just look at those Japanese soldiers.
I don’t believe one of them is over five feet six inches in height.”
“No, but I understand they make good fighters,” answered the captain.
“The Frenchmen, unloading next to them, are not much larger.”
“There are some soldiers we have never seen before,” put in Major
Morris, who was also at the rail. “They are Sikhs from India, and
belong to the British contingent. How strong and sturdy they look!”
“There go a lot of camels,” went on Gilbert. “I suppose the East
Indians use those instead of horses.”
“Yes; and the Russians use them, too,” answered the major. “Yonder,
back of the dock, is a long string of oxen with carts. I guess anything
goes here, in the way of transportation. The main thing is to get
there, and as soon as possible.”
The transport was heading slowly for land, and, as the ship drew
closer, those on board could make out the outer forts of Taku,--those
forts which had been captured at the beginning of the trouble with
China. Gilbert had expected to see modern enclosures of heavy stone. He
was much disappointed to behold nothing but long, low-lying banks of
earth, with here and there an opening, the banks lying on either side
of the sluggish Pei-Ho, which looked as muddy and uninviting as any
stream he had ever seen. On all the sun blazed down with the fury of a
fiery furnace.
Suddenly Gilbert felt his arm grasped by Captain Banner. “No picnic
this, lieutenant,” came in a low voice. “We’re going to be thrown in
among all sorts; and we’ve got to take what comes, and say nothing.”
“What gets me is, how is an international army to be commanded, when we
can’t understand some of the foreigners’ talk and they can’t understand
ours?”
“That’s a problem for our superiors to solve. At the start, I guess
each nationality will have to move on its own hook. We are here to
rescue the Americans who are in danger in Pekin and elsewhere, and that
is what we must fight for until further orders from headquarters.”
It was not until early the next morning that Gilbert’s company went
ashore, at Tongku, the majority of the regiment landing at Taku. Some
supplies were arriving from Shanghai; and part of these were placed in
care of Captain Banner’s command, while the rest went on board of the
_Monocacy_, then lying at the Tongku dock.
“She’s an old boat,” said Captain Banner, referring to the _Monocacy_.
“Her guns date back to 1865, and I understand that she has been laid up
in Chinese waters for over fifteen years. Dewey wouldn’t take her to
Manila when he sailed to wipe out the Spanish fleet. But one of her
men told me that she makes a first-class hospital and relief ship.”
There was not much to do, excepting to watch where the supplies were
placed and to keep tab on them, so that some Italian soldiers in the
vicinity would not walk away with the things; and Gilbert took it easy
under a big shed built of logs and split bamboo. Presently, much to his
astonishment, a Chinaman appeared, wearing the uniform of a British
soldier.
“Please you slay where him Cap’n Wilbur land,” said the Chinaman, after
saluting in true military fashion.
“What’s that?” asked Gilbert, who found it hard to understand the
Celestial.
“Me lookee for him, Cap’n Wilbur,--Englees officer. You know where him
land?”
“The English are landing something down the stream a bit. You may find
him there.”
“Thlankee, lieutenant.” And the Chinaman saluted again.
“Hold on!” cried Gilbert, curiously. “Are you a British soldier?”
“Yees, lieutenant. Me ’list at Wei-Hai-Wei. Many Chinamen ’list lare.
Me Chlistian solyer.”
“And you are ready to fight your own countrymen?”
“Certee, lieutenant. Da no Chlistians--me Chlistian--me fight alle
samee, rescue Chlistians at legations in Pekin.” And with a merry nod
the Chinaman bobbed away. Gilbert could not help but gaze at him in
wonder.
“I don’t believe he’ll fight his own people, Christian or no
Christian,” he mused. But for once the young lieutenant was mistaken.
When it came to the test, the Chinese troops marching under the Union
Jack fought as well as any Celestials in the war.
When leaving the transport, Gilbert had lost sight of Nuggy Polk and
Jerry Nickerson; and he felt that it might be many a day before he
would again encounter the pair.
“Perhaps we shall never meet again,” he thought. “I’ve got a hard
campaign before me; and who knows but that I may lay down my life in
the struggle? Somebody is bound to die, and this trip it may be my
turn.”
From the soldiers who were coming and going Gilbert learned that
fighting in and around Tien-Tsin was of daily occurrence. “The Chinks
are not beaten yet,” said one old marine. “We hold Taku, Tongku, a part
of Tien-Tsin, and about fifteen miles of this Tongku-Pekin railway; and
that is all we do hold.”
“Is the railroad to Pekin in order still?”
“Bless you! no, lieutenant. The Boxers tore up the rails long ago, and
threw them into the river. And, worse than that, I’ve been told that
they have cut up the roads, too, so that, if we march on Pekin, we’ll
do lots of travelling through ditches filled with water and mud.”