How they ever came through the next fifteen minutes was afterwards a
mystery to Dave and Dan.
They were in the thick of that frantic, deadly scramble for possession
of the ramparts. As fast as Chinese assailants fell they were instantly
replaced by others.
When Dave’s revolver was not barking, his sword was in action, and his
arms fairly ached with the labor of pushing away ladder after ladder.
Hardly one of Dave’s men was less occupied. Many of the Chinese had
dropped the rifle for the long spear, or else for the keen, two-edged
sword. American blood flowed in that quarter of an hour.
Boom! Out of the darkness came a trail of fire. Bang! A shell from the
“Castoga” exploded among the nearest buildings on the river side beyond
the yamen compound. In another moment flames were leaping upward from a
flimsy house in which a shell had exploded.
Boom! Other shells began dropping about, on three sides of the
compound. Soon a score of native houses were in flames, the light
showing to the marksmen on the parapets just where to “find” their
yellow assailants.
But no shell was fired over the yamen. Plainly the “Castoga’s” gunners
feared that they might drop a shell into the compound itself.
On three sides the flames of the conflagration made the surroundings
nearly as bright as in daytime. The men on the ramparts could now see
excellently, and aim accordingly.
At the same time the attack by ladders ceased, for now the laddermen
were too plainly visible and could be killed with ease.
“Great work, that done by the shells!” chuckled Danny Grin.
“Yes,” nodded Dave, “but I wish we could have the same kind of
illumination to the southward. Withdraw enough men from the other three
sides, Dan, to strengthen the southern rampart sufficiently.”
The machine guns barking out anew, and with increased deadliness, the
thousands of fanatical Chinese, now finding themselves too much in the
spotlight, soon withdrew to a distance. From the darkness on the
farther sides of the fires, however, they still kept up a sniping fire.
“Watch from the south wall, Dan,” urged Ensign Darrin. “I’m going down
into the compound to see how it fares with our wounded.”
Throughout the deadly assault by the ladder men no American had been
killed, but several had been wounded.
Many were the “jackies” who, binding handkerchiefs over their wounds,
stubbornly remained at their posts.
In the circle of light under the paper lanterns, Dave found a medical
missionary, assisted by some of the women, attending to the wounded.
Five sailors, two marines and three missionaries comprised the list of
the more severely wounded. All were cheerful, however, and none seemed
in danger from his wounds.
Not until Dave had gone the rounds did Belle step forward.
“Have you a moment to tell us anything?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” smiled Dave, resting an arm on her shoulder. “We are going to
have quite a noisy night.”
“Are you going to be able to hold the yamen against the Chinese?”
“That’s exactly what we’re here to do,” answered Dave with a confident
smile.
“But are you going to be able to do it?”
“Yes,” the young ensign declared.
“You are not saying that solely to cheer us?” persisted Belle. “You are
sure that you can hold out?”
“If there’s any power in American fighting men, we can,” Dave asserted.
“But you have ten men here who are out of the fight. How many more such
losses can you stand?” Belle demanded calmly.
“If the ‘Castoga’ keeps on setting fires around us, I don’t believe we
shall have to stand many more losses,” Dave assured her, and glanced
past his wife at the other women who had gathered about them.
“Then,” pursued Miss Chapin, taking up the questioning, “you don’t
consider that there is any likelihood of our being overwhelmed?”
“It is possible, but I firmly believe that we are going to be able to
hold off the enemy all through the night,” said Darrin. “The Chinese
are attacking us in great numbers, and they are well armed and
desperate. But we are all Americans on the walls, and there is a
something in the morale and fighting fiber of an American that bears
down and overawes the Chinese. They have hurt ten of our men. I believe
that we have put at least a thousand of the yellow men out of the
fight. That is all I can say now. Is it enough to reassure you,
ladies?”
“It is enough,” spoke up another woman, “to make us thankful that we
have American men, instead of men of any other nation to defend us in
this night of terror.”
Bowing to the women, Dave kissed Belle, then passed on. She did not
seek to detain him; she was proud of her husband, confident of his
fighting qualities, and aware that he could, at present, devote little
time to her.
“The yellow men are creeping up again on this side, sir,” called down
the voice of a petty officer from the rampart that faced the river.
“When you think they’re close enough, let ’em have it, and let ’em have
it strong,” Darrin called back. “Use the machine gun, but don’t waste
ammunition.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Soon a pattering of shots on the north rampart announced that the
yellow men were once more attempting to come in close. Dave did not
rush at once to the top of the wall, for he knew, by the comparative
lightness of the fire of his own men, that the attack had not become
serious. The officers there were capable of handling the situation.
From the red glow against the sky. Ensign Darrin knew that some of the
Chinese dwellings were still burning, giving ample light to enable his
men to serve as sharpshooters.
“My heartfelt thanks are due for that bombardment by the ‘Castoga,’”
the young ensign told himself. “With light to shoot by we must score at
least five times as many hits as would be possible without it.”
Crossing to the southern side of the compound, Dave ascended nimbly to
the rampart. Dan came forward to meet him.
“Nothing but a little sniping going on at present,” reported Dalzell.
“The nearest approach to trouble appears to be at the north side,
facing the river. Shall I go back there?”
“I believe that this side will again witness the heaviest fighting,”
Ensign Dave rejoined. “You had better remain here.”
Again Dave went below. Listening for a moment to the sounds of firing,
he crossed the compound in no great haste. Past the circle of lighted
lanterns he went. Had he not taken a second quick look at the main gate
on the north side Darrin would not have noticed what was happening.
Starting violently, he looked again.
Yes, that big, double gate, moved by some unseen force, was swinging
open. In another instant it would admit into the compound, the vanguard
of a mob of frantic yellow men.
With a gasp of terror, when he thought of the defenceless women in the
yamen Ensign Dave Darrin rushed forward at a run, revolver in hand.