It was a gray stone wall, some twelve feet high, that surrounded the
compound of the yamen. Sentries in the uniform of Chinese soldiery were
pacing the top of this formidable rampart.
Over the walls could be seen the strange, gracefully arched red and
yellow roofs of the several large and the few small buildings of the
yamen.
Under the gray walls, on the outside, crouched a few mangy-looking
beggars. Men and women of this type always loiter outside of every
yamen, trusting to the occasional generosity of the high official who
resides within, for in China every mandarin, governor and other high
official must always be a good deal of an alms-giver.
Not even the sight of the heavily armed little American column stirred
these beggars beyond the most ordinary exhibition of curiosity.
“Put the column to the right oblique, and go over to that gate,”
directed Dave, pointing with his drawn sword.
A moment later the command, “Halt!” rang out. From the ramparts above
three Chinese soldiers gazed down stolidly.
Striding forward to the gong that hung before the gate, Ensign Darrin
struck it loudly three times.
A minute passed without answer. Dave sounded thrice again. Another
minute passed.
“Confound those fellows inside,” muttered Dave to his chum. “I’ve
heard, before this, that the Chinese official tries to show his
contempt for western barbarians by making them await his pleasure.”
Glancing down his line, Darrin noted a sailor who was well known for
his physical powers.
“Henshaw!” summoned Dave crisply.
Leaving the ranks, Seaman Henshaw stepped briskly forward, saluting
respectfully.
“Henshaw, do you think you could play a loud tune on this gong?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“How long do you think you could keep that tune going?”
“An hour, anyway, sir.”
“Can you play that gong like a bass-drum?”
“Like a whole drum-corps, sir,” answered Seaman Henshaw, with just the
suspicion of a grin.
“Then fall to, Henshaw.”
Picking up the fancifully carved stick, Seaman Henshaw faced the
three-foot gong.
Bang! crash! zim! zoum! smash! It was a lusty tattoo that Seaman
Henshaw beat upon that resounding metal. _The noise could have been
heard a mile away._ Dave afterwards learned that every sound was
distinctly heard on board the gunboat.
[Illustration: It Could Have Been Heard a Mile Away.]
Bim! bam! whang! After a full minute of it Seaman Henshaw looked as if
he were still enjoying his task. Several of the men in the waiting
column had grounded their rifle butts that they might hold at least one
hand to an ear to shut out the din.
On the wall overhead the Chinese sentries moved uneasily away from
close quarters.
Crash! zam! bing! That gong rang forth as, it is safe to say, it had
not done before in centuries, for Henshaw was a young giant and proud
of his muscle and endurance.
Zim! zim! zam! The racket was more than ears could endure for a long
stretch.
At about the end of the third minute the double gates were thrown
suddenly open. In the open gateway stood at least a score of armed
soldiers, at their head a young Chinaman, tall, well-dressed and of
rather commanding appearance.
Instantly Ensign Darrin pressed Henshaw’s unemployed arm. With a final
crash the pounding of the gong died out.
“His excellency, the governor, demands to know why this din is being
made at this gate,” declared the tall young Chinaman, in a haughty
voice, but in excellent English.
“It is my way of announcing my call,” Dave replied.
“Who are you?”
“Ensign Darrin, United States Navy, very much at your service, sir,”
Dave replied. “And now, sir, I have the honor to request that you,
also, announce your name and position here.”
“Since I serve his excellency, the governor, that is enough for you to
know,” replied the Chinaman. “However, I will state that my name is Sin
Foo. I am under secretary to his excellency, and, as such, I have come
to bring word to you that it is his excellency’s pleasure that you
depart from this neighborhood and return to your vessel.”
“I am very sorry, Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave responded, “but it is impossible
for me to make my call on a proxy. I must see his excellency in
person.”
“I am very sorry,” replied the secretary, speaking in a tone of cold
contempt, “but his excellency cannot see you so early in the day.
Later—”
“Attention,” called Ensign Dave, in a low voice. “Column, forward
march!”
Instantly the naval line moved forward. Shocked and indignant, the
secretary spoke in Chinese to some of the soldiers. The big gate began
to move as though it would shut.
“At the double quick! Charge!” shouted Dave Darrin, leaping forward,
brandishing his sword.
In a twinkling the first dozen seamen, headed by two officers, had
rushed into the compound.
At one side stood two Chinese soldiers, working a cumbersome wheel,
attached to a windlass and rope that moved the double gate. Henshaw
leaped at this pair, knocking both down.
“I must warn you, Ensign Darrin,” shouted Sin Foo, his face purple with
rage, “that this conduct of yours is contrary to the usages of respect
that must be observed between the representatives of two great
countries. Your conduct, sir, is an outrage!”
“And the governor’s conduct also is an outrage,” Darrin retorted
sternly, “in allowing mobs to burn the mission buildings and all but
take the lives of the American missionaries and their families.”
“All the mission Americans are safe at this yamen,” retorted Sin Foo.
“There is no need to fear for your fellow Americans. They are safe and
under the immediate protection of his excellency, the governor.”
“That is what I have come to see about,” Dave declared. “Mr. Sin Foo, I
have no wish to be lacking in courtesy, and I shall display as much as
I can, under the circumstances. But my men are now inside the compound,
and here they will remain until my orders are changed by my commanding
officer.”
Though the Chinese soldiers had withdrawn to varying distances before
the harmless bayonet rush, Sin Foo remained and faced Ensign Darrin
with every sign of indignant disapproval in his almond-shaped eyes.
The impressed Chinese porters had been driven into the compound, where
they dropped their burdens. Dan quietly paid them off with silver
coins. The instant they found themselves permitted to leave, these
sullen coolies fairly flew out through the still open gate.
“Sir,” began Sin Foo again, speaking with great haughtiness, “if these
supplies are intended for the American missionaries, I will undertake
to receive them on behalf of your countrymen, but I must once more, and
for the last time, insist that you withdraw your men from this
compound. If you do not instantly withdraw, it will provoke grave
trouble between your country and mine.”
“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave replied, speaking pleasantly, and smiling, “I wish
to treat you, and all other Chinese officials with every mark of
courtesy. I must make it plain, however, that I shall not leave this
yamen until I have been so ordered by my commanding officer. Moreover,
I am under strict orders to see the American mission party at once, and
I must very respectfully insist upon no more delay. I demand, sir, to
see Bishop Whitlock first of all.”
“Ensign Darrin, your language is insolent!” cried Sin Foo angrily.
“My talk will quickly change to acts, if my requests are not at once
granted,” replied Dave, firmly.
“‘Acts’? What do you mean by that word?” demanded Sin Foo.
“I mean that if Bishop Whitlock and his friends are not at once
produced, I shall be under the necessity of searching the yamen for
them,” Ensign Darrin rejoined.
“Search the yamen?” gasped Sin Foo incredulously. “Would you dare
profane the sovereignty of China?”
“I’ll do it in just five minutes, if my request is not heeded,”
retorted Ensign Dave drawing out his watch.
By this time at least one hundred and fifty armed Chinese soldiers had
appeared, on the ramparts, in the compound, in the doorways and windows
of the buildings. Darrin’s force was much inferior numerically. Sudden
treachery on the part of the Chinese might cut the American naval force
in two, but Danny Grin was keeping alert watch on all Chinese in sight.
“You are making a grave mis—” began Sin Foo loftily.
“And you have already lost forty-five seconds of that five minutes,”
Ensign Dave suggested, still standing, watch in hand. “If you use up
the time in conversation, Mr. Sin Foo, I shall not grant a grace of
even five seconds.”
“Your insolence, sir, overwhelms me,” replied the under secretary.
“Shudderingly, I shall take it into the presence of his excellency.”
“And impress upon his excellency, if you please, that I am not going to
lose time,” answered Dave, again glancing at his watch.
Turning on his heel, Sin Foo disappeared through a near-by door of one
of the buildings.
Several minutes slipped by. Dave glanced frequently at the hands of his
watch.
“The time is nearly up, Dan,” he announced, at last. “You remain in
command of the marines and guard our ammunition and other stores. At
the second of five minutes I shall form the sailormen and march through
this yamen until I find the missionary party.”
Danny Grin nodded gravely.
“Seamen fall in!” called Ensign Darrin, replacing his watch in his
pocket. “Forward, guard left, mar—”
“Stop!” cried a ringing voice. Out of the doorway through which he had
vanished appeared Sin Foo, running and waving his arms.
“The governor’s answer?” Dave curtly demanded, turning upon his heel.
“I will take you to the missionary party,” conceded Sin Foo.
“Very well; step with me, then, and lead the way.”
“But you must not take an armed party with you,” protested Sin Foo,
looking very much aghast.
“My men go with me,” Dave replied firmly. “Sir, we cannot have any more
nonsense. I am convinced that my countrymen must be prisoners, else
they would have come out to greet me before this. Lead the way and I
will march my men behind you.”
Looking as though he would very much like to say a good deal, Sin Foo
led the way around the buildings to the left, thence to the farthest
building of all at the rear of the compound. Scattered around the
outside of this building were nearly a score of Chinese soldiers
carrying their rifles at shoulder arms.
“You have kept the Americans as prisoners, just as I suspected,”
charged Ensign Darrin, turning accusingly upon the under secretary.
“And you forget, Ensign Darrin,” retorted Sin Foo, “that his excellency
the governor commands here.”
“We’ll let it go at that,” answered the young ensign, “provided your
governor doesn’t attempt to put any crimps in the safety or liberty of
my countrymen. Right now, be good enough to order your soldiers away so
that there may be no clash between them and my men.”
Through the windows of the one-story building Dave Darrin could see
several faces of men and women looking eagerly out.
Sullenly, Sin Foo spoke to the Chinese soldiers, who, saluting,
withdrew to a distance, though they did not leave the scene. Then a
door was flung open, and American citizens began to pour out.
Darting through the foremost of the throng was one handsome young
American woman, who, holding her arms outstretched, while eager tears
of gladness glistened in her eyes, cried:
“Dave!”
It was Belle Darrin, once Belle Meade, Dave’s schoolgirl sweetheart
then, and now his wife.
“You, Belle?” he exclaimed, almost incredulously, as he embraced her.
“I thought you were in Manila, awaiting word when and where to join
me.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer to join you, so I came up in the last
steamer from Manila, and transferred to a river boat at the foot of the
river. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Glad, indeed!” Dave embraced her again. But he was on duty, and most
urgent duty at that. Even further conversation with his beloved wife
must wait until he had rightful leisure.
Then his eye fell upon another in the little throng.
“You here, Mr. Pembroke?” Ensign Darrin inquired.
“Yes,” confessed the Englishman. “I’m a bit of a rover, you know. Never
know where I shall be next.”
“And Mr. Pembroke has been extremely kind in helping me on the
journey,” Belle added brightly. “Mr. Pembroke told me that he had met
you in Manila.”
Though Dave bowed courteously he couldn’t help feeling dislike of this
smooth-talking Pembroke. The latter was an Englishman; then, unless he
was serving his country in this part of the world, why wasn’t the
fellow at home, doing his bit of military service for Britain? He was
young enough, and able-bodied, and England was calling all her younger
men to the colors. To Darrin’s mind it was a sheer confession of
disgrace for Pembroke to admit that he was merely touring the world at
a time when England was demanding service on the battle field from
every young Briton who was not otherwise engaged in serving his
country.
“When you have time, Mr. Darrin, I’ll claim just a word of greeting,”
said a soft voice, and a gloved hand was held out to Dave.
“So you came through also, Miss Chapin?” Dave inquired, as he took Lucy
Chapin’s hand.
“I’m glad to see you, but sorry you’re here,” rejoined Dave.
“Why sorry to see me here?” inquired Miss Chapin. “Aren’t we now under
the protection of the American Navy?”
“Every sailorman on the ‘Castoga’ will die willingly in defense of this
party,” Darrin told her, “but the trouble may easily assume such
proportions that our little force will prove wholly inadequate.”
Then, glancing swiftly over the missionary party, the young naval
officer added:
“Will some one kindly introduce me to Bishop Whitlock?”
As Dave had expected, it was one of the three white-haired men of the
party who now pressed forward. Mrs. Darrin introduced her husband to
the bishop.
“You reached us not a bit too early,” the bishop assured Dave.
“You were practically prisoners in the yamen, sir?” Dave asked.
“Almost, I fear, though we refused to give up our arms. Even now seven
of our men are inside keeping guard over our weapons.”
“How many rifles do you have?” Dave asked.
“Thirty-two,” answered the bishop promptly. “The American residents of
the city flocked to our defense.”
“From what I saw from the ship’s deck,” rejoined Darrin, “all I can say
is that you presented a magnificent front with only thirty-two rifles.
As I have but fifty-two naval rifles with me, that makes up a total
force of only eighty-four rifles.”
“Can’t we get through to the water-front?” inquired Belle. “For you are
going to take us to the ‘Castoga,’ are you not?”
“If we can safely get there,” Dave replied. “And now I must drop
everything else until I have communicated with the gunboat. Bishop, did
you lose any of your party?”
“None of the white members,” replied the missionary. “Our sixteen
Chinese converts at the mission insisted on taking care of themselves.
Whether any of them has been killed, I do not know.”
“I must get a signalman up on the walls,” Dave continued. “Bishop, will
you kindly see, sir, that your party follows my men? I am going to the
other side of the compound.”
As soon as Belle Darrin caught sight of her old school friend, Danny
Grin, she hurried forward to greet him.
Out of the main building of the yamen came Sin Foo, with sullen,
offended face and stately tread.
“Sir,” called Dave, “I must put a signalman up on the ramparts.”
“Since you take everything into your own hands,” replied the secretary
coldly, “you do not need his excellency’s permission. Yet I am charged
to say that all you do here is against the protest of his excellency,
and complaint will be made to your government.”
“I am sorry, sir, to seem to show discourtesy,” Ensign Dave replied,
“but all that I do here is under general instructions from the highest
representative of my government in these waters.”
With that Dave called a signalman to him, gave him a message, and
directed six other sailors to climb, with the signalman, the inside
steps that led to the rampart.
No sooner had the signalman, in the lead, gained the rampart, than a
five-inch gun on the “Castoga” boomed out.
“Ensign Darrin, sir,” bawled down the signalman lustily, “I think you
will be glad to be up here, to see what is going on.”
Dropping Belle’s hand, which he had just taken, Ensign Dave darted up
the steps, uttering, on reaching the top of the stone wall, an
exclamation of dismay.
“Ensign Dalzell!” he shouted, beckoning the summons to his brother
officer.