CHARGING UPON THE NATIVE QUARTER
“We are out for a fight to-day, lieutenant, and a hot one, if I know
anything about it.”
It was Captain Banner who spoke, on the day following Gilbert’s visit
to the Bartletts. The young lieutenant had succeeded in getting a guard
of one for the tea warehouse, but had been unable to learn anything
concerning the boats on the Pei-Ho. Troops were coming in rapidly; and
shipping arrangements were, consequently, much confused.
“All right. I am ready for the biggest engagement of the campaign,”
laughed Gilbert.
“An’ dot vos me,” put in Carl Stummer. “I ton’t vont to got rusty on
dot bicket line no more.”
The whole company were hard at work cleaning up their uniforms and
weapons, for the outward movement was to begin promptly at noon.
Soldiers were everywhere in evidence. The Russians and Germans were
encamped between the Chinese city and the river; while on the opposite
side of the native quarter were the French, English, Japanese, and
American, in the order named.
The opening movement was made by the Russians, and some Germans,
who swung to the northward to take the river forts and prevent, if
possible, any Celestial troops from coming across the Pei-Ho to
re-enforce those in the native city.
In the mean time the Japanese commander, General Fukushina, started for
the moat before the great south gate of the inner city. All the cannon
in that vicinity were to clear the way for the Japanese, who were then
to rush in, and blow up the gate with dynamite, so that the allied
infantry might enter.
The various movements were well planned, but hard to execute; for
all the Allies communicated with each other only with the greatest
difficulty. The Russians reached the first forts with ease; but then
the fire of the other forts was turned upon them, also a fire from
across the Pei-Ho, and they lost heavily.
Meanwhile the British and Japanese cannon-fire was directed toward the
great south gate; and the Japanese rushed forward, followed by the
English troops, with the American marines on the extreme left. The
Ninth United States Infantry were ordered to get in further down the
road, which meant in an open space not far from the mud wall.
As the Allies neared the south gate, they found that the bridge had
been destroyed, and the fields flooded with water. On they went,
however, through the liquid mud, almost up to the great gate. But the
aim of the Chinese was deadly, and scores of soldiers dropped in a very
few minutes. The Allies could not keep the ground they had gained, and
fell back to the intrenchments which had first given them shelter.
The sun was blazing down hotly; and, when that first rush was over,
Gilbert was almost ready to drop with exhaustion. But there was no rest
for anybody, for the various commanders realized that it was “now or
never”; for, if the native city was not taken, the Chinese troops on
the western plain would pour in on them, and they would be cut off from
all help.
Colonel Liscum of the Ninth United States Infantry was everywhere along
the line, cheering and encouraging his men. “We must win out,” he is
reported to have said. “They cannot stand up against us much longer.”
The ground was very uncertain, and the whistling of the bullets
incessant. The Americans were still in full view of the enemy, and
men were dropping on every side. Some distance from the mud wall were
a number of native houses; and from these came a galling cross-fire,
which presently laid the color-bearer low.
“The flag is down!” was the cry from several throats; but, in a moment,
Colonel Liscum ran forward and picked it up. Flag in hand, he started
to look for a suitable ford over the canal which ran through the
marshland.
“Better get down, or they’ll hit you!” shouted one of the under
officers.
“I guess not,” was the brave colonel’s answer; and at that instant a
Chinese bullet struck him in the abdomen.
“Are you hit?” asked an officer, who saw him stagger back.
“I’ve got it,” was the feeble reply; and then Colonel Liscum fell, to
rise no more. A score of soldiers rushed to his aid. But nothing could
be done for the sufferer; and with these words, “Don’t retreat, boys.
Keep on firing,” he breathed his last.
Several other officers were also shot down and many wounded, while the
dead privates lay everywhere. Yet the battle waged on, until the men
became almost too tired to move. All were thirsting for something to
drink; but the only water at hand was that of the marshes, salty and
filled with the corpses of the slain. The doctors could not attend to
the wounded, for they were shot as soon as they exposed themselves.
“This is certainly the worst yet,” was Gilbert’s comment to Captain
Banner. The young lieutenant was soaked to the skin, both with water
and with perspiration; and his face was covered with the grime of
battle. He had been in two advances, and there were bullet-holes
through his coat-sleeve and his leggins. “I never saw anything like it
in the Philippines.”
“Keep down,” cried the captain. “We can’t afford to lose any more
officers. Bruff is dead, over yonder.” And he pointed to a stretch of
grass where the second lieutenant lay, with wide-open eyes, staring up
at the blazing sky. Poor Bruff had been killed in the first advance.
Slowly the afternoon wore away. The air was heavy with smoke, yet the
battalion to which Gilbert was attached did not dare to shift its
position for fear of being cut to pieces. In the mean time the Japanese
had made a great breach in the south wall of the native city, and were
pouring in, unbeknown to any of the other commands.
“We are hemmed in,” said Captain Banner. “Unless we get out under cover
of night, it will go hard with us.”
Gilbert did not answer, for he was tying up a flesh wound in Dan
Casey’s arm. The brave Irishman was suffering intense pain, and the
young lieutenant pitied him from the bottom of his heart.
As the afternoon wore on, the fire of the Chinese became hotter; for
they feared a night attack, and wished to make the Allies retreat
before that time should come. The native city was on fire in half a
dozen places, and inside it was as if pandemonium had broken loose.
At last night settled down, and then Gilbert’s battalion began slowly
to shift its position. The loss of Colonel Liscum had cast a gloom over
all the Americans. He had been a sturdy fighter, and beloved by all who
knew him.
The situation was reported to General Dorward, and an effort was made
to combine the American forces and those fighting under the Union
Jack. By midnight this juncture was made; and then Americans, English,
French, and Germans pressed for the great south gate, and, following
the Japanese, entered the native city at four o’clock in the morning of
July 14, 1900. This was the first substantial victory for the American,
in conjunction with other flags, on Chinese soil.
On entering the native town, a scene was presented which baffles
description. The shots and shells from the Allies had done frightful
execution; and dead Chinese lay at every hand, in some places two and
three deep. Houses were smashed to kindling wood, and the very streets
showed holes four and five feet deep. In one place a powder magazine
had gone up, leaving nothing behind it but a burnt and blackened space
with a fringe of battered buildings and dismembered human victims.
The sights made Gilbert sick at heart; and he was glad enough to
go back to the wall with his command and stand such guard as was
necessary, which was not saying much, since all of the Chinese were
fleeing for their lives. I have said all. That is not so, strictly
speaking; for some few remained, proclaiming themselves Christians and
friends, while a considerable number of others committed suicide. To
commit suicide in the Chinese army is not uncommon. For the Celestial
soldier believes that, if he is captured, he will be subjected to some
awful torture; and he, consequently, much prefers to end his own life.
With one-half of Company A, Gilbert found himself the next day half a
mile from the great south gate, where the American flag was flying at
half-mast, out of respect for the dead colonel of the Ninth Infantry.
Gilbert’s duty was to keep watch over several squares of the city,
for the looters were now out in force. Close at hand was a Chinese
joss house, filled with idols of iron, silver, and gold. Over this
an elderly Buddhist priest was presiding, fearful that some of the
soldiers would carry off the idols. Those of the war god of the Chinese
were already missing, the Celestial troops having carried them off
themselves.
Gilbert was eating his dinner when there came to him a message from
the Buddhist priest, asking him to come to the joss house at once, and
alone.
“What does the priest want of me?” asked the young lieutenant,
curiously.
“He wants advice,” was the slow answer. “He is much troubled, and
wishes advice in secret.”
Thinking he would be safe with a man of such standing as a Buddhist
priest, Gilbert agreed to accompany the messenger, who at once led the
way to a lane behind the joss house. At the foot of the lane was a
small iron door entering into the house of worship. This was ajar, and
inside of an entry Gilbert saw some joss sticks burning over a round
table set with a platter of meat and another of rice.
“You will go inside, and the good Li Gow will speedily join you,” said
the messenger, and pointed the way. With some hesitation, Gilbert
pushed back the iron door, and entered the apartment where the joss
sticks were blazing.
On the instant the door was banged shut and bolted from the outside.
The sudden rush of air caused the joss sticks to go out, leaving the
young lieutenant in utter darkness. A shrill, mocking laugh reached his
ears; and then all became as silent as a tomb.