HOW THE BESIEGED WERE RELIEVED
“We are up for more fighting to-day, Pennington.”
The words came from Major Morris, who had just reached Gilbert’s side.
Both were tired out, yet urging the soldiers under them to move along
with all possible speed.
“It seems to me we are doing more walking than fighting,” answered the
acting captain of Company A, with a grim smile. “A pitched battle would
be something of a relief.”
“It’s a pity the attack has already started,” went on the major,
earnestly. “Those Japs and Russians are bound to get ahead, it seems.”
“What has become of the English troops, major? I’ve missed them for the
last half-hour.”
“They are somewhere on the road. They are bound to get ahead of us,
too, if they can. I believe they got word to move before we did.”
“And the French and the Germans?”
“Somewhere on the road, too, so I heard General Chaffee say. This
appears to be a sort of go-as-you-please campaign. Yet it is wonderful
to think that none of the Allies have had a falling out. Even the
French and Germans get along well together, and they are usually pretty
bitter.”
“Where are we to attack?”
“Somewhere along the south-east wall, so I understand. If we can get
through, we are to proceed straight for the legations. To my way of
thinking, we are going to have our worst fighting after we get into
Pekin,” concluded the major.
The companies were swinging along doggedly, keeping a sharp lookout for
the possible appearance of the enemy. Once a body of fifty Chinese did
appear, but they speedily proved themselves Christians and friends.
They had been sent back by the Germans for supplies.
“I don’t see how they can fight their own countrymen,” observed Gilbert
to the officer who was acting as his first lieutenant. “It seems
unnatural.”
“Well, the Chinese are not all of one race, you know,” was the answer.
“Some of them are as different as our people are from the Canadians or
Mexicans. They speak different languages, and all their social customs
are different. One old traveller was telling me that some Chinamen
don’t dare to travel in the districts inhabited by other Chinamen,
and such a thing as emigrating from one province to another is almost
unknown. You see, all that makes a big difference.”
As the troops neared Pekin, the booming of the artillery could be heard
distinctly; and Major Morris’s battalion was yet a mile away from the
great wall of the Chinese City, when there came the whining of a shell
overhead. The shell, however, burst far in their rear, doing no damage.
“Forward on the double-quick!” was the order issued; and, as tired
as they were, the troops started to obey. In the command was a young
bugler named Calvin Titus, an enthusiastic fellow who had served in the
Vermont volunteers during the war with Spain. Regardless of all danger,
he went on ahead, and, reaching the wall of the city, was the first to
gain the top and lower a rope for the assistance of his comrades.
“The British are just ahead of us!” was the cry which presently reached
Gilbert’s ears; and then came an order to Major Morris, directing
that the battalion be taken to the left, where a company of Chinese
sharpshooters, located in a watch tower on the wall, were trying to
pick off the troops’ officers.
“Forward, boys!” shouted the major, waving his sword. “Do your best for
the honor of Old Glory!”
“Forward!” repeated Gilbert, leading his company in the rush. “Give
it to ’em, and make every bullet tell! We can’t afford to lose our
ammunition.”
His last words were drowned out by the cracking of rifles, followed by
the roar of some artillery placed not far distant. Soon the air was
filled with smoke and dust. As the command got closer to the wall, they
heard plainly the yelling of the Chinese. Within the city the din was
terrific.
“Here is a way up,” came from Major Morris, who was close to Gilbert.
He had espied a breach in the wall, made by some artillery hours
before. The breach formed something of a series of steps; and up
these went the men of Company A, with Gilbert still leading them. The
sharpshooters in the tower saw them approaching, and turned a galling
fire in the direction, laying several low.
“The watch tower!” yelled Gilbert, in order to make himself heard above
the noise and confusion. “The watch tower, boys! We must root ’em out.”
“We will!” came in a wild cry. “Down with the Chinks! Come on! All
together!”
And away went what was left of the company, up to the very top of
the wall, and then around to the entrance of the watch tower. The
sharpshooters saw them come, and felt that they must soon be surrounded
and cut off from support. Down they dropped from floor to floor of the
tower with the agility of acrobats, and started to run down the slope
leading into the Chinese City.
“Company halt!” commanded Gilbert. “Take aim! Fire!” And a solid volley
was poured into the fleeing Celestials, bringing fully one-half of them
to earth. The others were speedily swallowed up in the street below.
From his commanding position on the top of the wall, Gilbert could
now see a sight the like of which he had never before witnessed, and
which, he felt, he should never see again. As far as eye could reach,
the streets below, crooked, narrow, and filthy, were filled with
Chinese soldiers and citizens, women and children, rushing hither and
thither, shouting, crying, and pushing each other out of the way. Many
men and women carried their household effects on their backs; and they
tramped heartlessly over those who had gone down, wounded or killed.
The discharge of artillery had set fire to scores of buildings, and the
swirling smoke and the crackling of the flames added to the horror of
the spectacle. Over by the Temple of Heaven some British cavalry and
Punjab infantry were scattering the crowds which had come there hoping
to find a place of safety, the cavalry literally riding over the masses
when they refused to move. Further on was another British detachment,
making for the water-gate opposite to the legations in the Tartar City.
But now was no time to view even such a fascinating sight; and, leaving
the wall, Gilbert ordered his company to rejoin the remainder of the
battalion, which was following the British troops through the gate.
Soon the grounds of the Temple of Heaven were gained; and the company
stopped for a brief rest, the Chinese having in the mean while fled in
all directions.
The English, followed by the Americans, were now making for the
central gate of the Tartar City, the gate nearest to the legations; for
from the wall here the Celestials could command both the legations and
the forces of the approaching Allies.
But this attack was anticipated by the Americans and the Russians
in the British compound; and a daring rush by the American marines,
followed by the soldiers of the Czar, speedily put the Chinese to
flight, with the loss of many men. Some of the flying Chinese were
confronted by Major Morris’s command, and another skirmish resulted;
but this was of short duration. As soon as the gate had fallen, two
field-pieces were brought in, and taken to the British compound. Other
field-pieces were taken to the grounds of the Temple of Heaven, which
afterward became a camping-spot for the British and for some of the
Americans.
Arriving at the Tartar wall opposite the legations, the American troops
were told to follow the British through the canal gate, and were soon
at the entrance to the compound. Here men, women, and children ran out
to greet them, some fairly embracing the soldiers who had suffered so
much in order to get to their relief.
“We have waited for you for fifty-six days,” exclaimed the Rev. Mr.
Wells. “God be thanked that you have come!”
“Americans, cheer your flag!” shouted Mr. Tewksbury, the missionary;
and then came a loud hurrah, in which not only the Americans, but
many others joined. Then came more cheering, for the English, French,
Germans, and others; and, as night drew on, camp-fires were lit in
honor of the occasion, and the missionaries and others gathered around
and sang the Doxology, and praised God that the long and perilous siege
was a thing of the past.
But the work for the troops was not yet over, and Gilbert was allowed
to remain at the compound only a short time. Yet he managed to hunt up
the Rev. Mr. Wells.
“Larry Russell wrote to me about you,” he said. “I am glad that you are
well.”
“I am thankful to have you come to our aid,” replied the missionary.
“It is a glorious victory. What are you going to do next?”
“We are ordered to the gate of the Imperial City. We shan’t stop until
we have gained the Forbidden City, and brought the Chinese thoroughly
to terms.”
“I see. Well, that is right, I presume; yet war is an awful thing.” The
missionary paused. “It was kind of Larry Russell to think of me. He is
a fine lad.”
“He is all right, and so are all of the Russells,” replied Gilbert.
Then he shook hands with Rev. Mr. Wells, and hurried off.
The artillery was already smashing the yellow roofs of the Imperial
City when he again reached the firing line; and this continued until
night closed down on the scene of carnage.
In the morning the attack was renewed with vigor, a battery of the
Fifth United States Artillery sending shell after shell into the south
gate of the Imperial City. A Gatling gun, also, did excellent work; and
by noon the Americans, including the Fourteenth Regiment and the Ninth
Mounted Infantry, had penetrated through four gates into the Forbidden
City, and were at the doors of the Purple Palace. The fighting was very
severe; and a number of Americans were killed, including Captain Reilly
of Battery F. By this onslaught the Chinese were utterly demoralized,
and fled in all directions, the guards of the inner palace throwing
themselves upon the mercy of their conquerors. Late in the afternoon
a conference of generals was held, at which it was decided that the
object of the mission had been accomplished, and the Chinese had been
punished enough; and then the Americans returned to their camp outside
of the Tartar City.