“It’s Chinese war—_real_ Chinese war!” roared Danny Grin in his chum’s
ear, as he pointed down at the packed throng in the open beyond the
compound. “The heathen are beating gongs, ringing cowbells, shooting
off firecrackers and yelling like wild-cats—just as the Chinese did in
battle a thousand years ago. They’re trying to scare us to death with
their racket.”
“It’s awful to turn a machine gun loose on a tightly packed crowd like
that,” shivered Dave, “but you’ve got to do it. Turn it loose, Dan, and
keep it going. I leave you in charge at this point.”
Dave ran around the rampart to the western side. As he hastened he
grinned at the Chinese idea that noise can play any big part in winning
a battle. Yet even Darrin admitted that the din was abominable enough
to shake the strongest nerves.
At the western wall he gave his orders, then rushed onward to the north
wall, which included the main gate.
As he ran, he noted again a low, stone building which he had several
times passed in the compound. The roof was not high, and suggested that
it covered merely a cellar underneath.
Dan believed that, if the fanaticism of the approaching multitudes were
to last a few minutes longer, the rabble would be able, despite the
most desperate resistance by the Americans, to sweep up over the walls
and massacre every white man and woman in the yamen.
“Why didn’t I think of that before?” Darrin asked himself, looking down
at the low-arched stone building. “That must be the governor’s
magazine. I wonder if it holds any ammunition?”
Descending at a run, Dave strode over to a place where, under a
separate fringe of lighted lanterns, sat the governor of Nu-ping. At
one side, eyes downcast, Sin Foo and “Burnt-face” sat.
“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave began, “that is a magazine over there, isn’t it?”
Not glancing up, the under secretary addressed the governor in humble
tones.
“Yes, it is a magazine,” answered the under secretary, at last.
“Is there any powder stored there?”
Again Sin Foo addressed the governor.
“His excellency is not certain whether there is powder there or not,”
replied the interpreter.
“Hand me the key,” commanded Dave. “I will look for myself.”
At this there was more prolonged conversation between Sin Foo and his
august though at present dejected chief.
“Hand me the key,” Ensign Darrin insisted brusquely, “or I shall take
other measures.”
Only a few words passed in Chinese this time. Even that had to be
shouted, for the clamor beyond the walls was indescribable, and the
roar of machine guns and the rattle of navy rifles was all but
deafening. Sin Foo, fumbling under his own long robes, produced a
massive bronze key.
“Good enough,” said Dave, “provided this be the right key.” Then,
turning to one of the sailors, who had come down into the compound on
an errand Dave asked:
“You have an electric searchlight with you, haven’t you?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Then come with me, on the jump.”
Both hastened over to the low building that Dave had imagined to be the
magazine. The key fitted, the lock yielded easily. Officer and man
stepped inside.
“Powder!” gasped the sailorman. “Looks like two hundred kegs of it
here, sir.”
“Hand me the light and force open one of the barrels,” Dave directed.
In a few moments the head of one of the barrels had been sprung. Taking
a handful of powder outside, Dave placed it on a sheet of paper from
one of his pockets, and touched a lighted match to one corner of the
paper. When the traveling flame reached the powder there was a bright
flash, accompanied by a puff of smoke.
“That powder is excellent,” remarked Darrin.
“Aye, aye, sir,” assented the seaman. “Are you thinking, sir, of using
any of this stuff to plant among the heathen outside?”
“Only in case they succeed in getting into the compound,” the young
ensign replied, coolly. “I am going to ask the ladies if they prefer to
group themselves around this building. Then, at the last moment, if all
our forces are driven away from the ramparts, we can fall back on this
magazine. When we see that the Chinese are bound to overwhelm us, a
match dropped in a powder train here will save all of the women from
Chinese torture. What do you think of the idea, Sampson?”
“All in the day’s work for men of the Navy, and the best thing, I
reckon, sir, for the ladies under the circumstances,” answered the
seaman.
“I believe that will be the general opinion,” answered Dave. “Sampson,
you know how to stack this thing so that a flash of light in a powder
train will set off the whole magazine?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“May I leave you here and depend upon you to fix the mine so that it
will go up in the air at my order?”
“You may, sir.”
“Thank you, Sampson,” replied Dave Darrin, gripping the sailor’s hand
hard. “You’re the right shade of blue, and a real man of the Navy.”
“The same to yourself, sir, thank you,” rejoined Sampson, taking back
his electric lamp and going inside the magazine.
Dave ran over to the spot where the women had gathered.
“Ladies,” he announced, gazing straight at each in turn, “I have an
unpleasant announcement to make. From the look of things our men are
presently going to be driven back from the ramparts. Then the yellow
hordes will swarm over into this compound. If we are vanquished, have
you any idea of the horrors of Chinese torture that will be inflicted
upon you by the yellow fiends?”
Some of the older missionary women shuddered, turning their eyes
heavenward, as though in agitated prayer.
“My wife is among you,” Dave went on, speaking as softly as he could
and make himself heard above the din of combat. “What I am going to
offer you is the best, under the circumstances, that I can wish for
her. That is—at the instant when hope must be finally abandoned—instant
death. In the magazine there is a heavy stock of powder. One of my men
is now laying a powder train which, when touched off, will explode the
magazine. In my opinion, when all hope has gone, the wisest thing for
all of you is to be near enough to die in the big upheaval of the
exploding magazine. Do you agree with me that this will be the best
step to take when there is no other hope of escaping from the Chinese
furies?”
“Under such circumstances I will trust you to know what is best to be
done,” said Belle Darrin, resting a hand on her young husband’s arm.
“Come, then,” begged Dave. He led the way. By twos and threes the other
women followed, though some of them faltered. The few men
non-combatants removed the wounded to places near the magazine.
“Now,” commanded Dave, turning to the marine who had just brought up
the quaking Pembroke, “leave your prisoner here, and you and Sampson go
and bring the governor and his attendants here.”
When the governor and his little suite were brought to the magazine
their faces betrayed unspeakable terror.
“May I ask what insane project is now being considered?” quaked Sin
Foo.
“Certainly,” Dave answered blithely in his ear. “When all other hope is
gone, my fighting men will fall back to this spot. When we are all
together, and your countrymen are about to conquer, we intend touching
off the train of powder that shall blow us all free from Chinese
vengeance.”
Sin Foo turned several shades of frightened green, one after the other.
“Then you must liberate his excellency and his suite at once,” cried
the under secretary, falling forward upon his knees. “You cannot, you
have no right to risk the governor of Nu-ping in such a fearful
tragedy. Order your men to turn us free at once, that we may pass out
through the gate!”
“Oh, no!” Ensign Dave Darrin retorted, with ironical cheeriness. “Your
governor and his advisers are wholly responsible for the awful position
in which we found our countrymen. For that reason His Excellency the
August Governor of Nu-ping shall have the post of honor. He shall sit
on top of the magazine, his suite with him!”
At a sign from Dave the governor was swiftly seized and boosted up on
to the top of the arching stone roof. It was the first time that his
excellency had been handled with anything like roughness. After his
excellency Sin Foo and “Burnt-face” were almost tossed up after him.
[Illustration: The Governor Was Swiftly Seized.]
“Let us down!” screamed Sin Foo piteously. “This is inhuman. Kill
yourselves if you will, but you have no right to destroy us with you.”
“If we go up in the air on the wave of a powder explosion, then your
crowd goes, too,” Dave roared back at him. “You shall have ample taste
of the cake you have stirred for us all!”
Though his excellency, the governor understood no English, he appeared
to have only too clear an idea of what was now going on. Howling, and
nearly collapsing with terror, he endeavored to slip down from the roof
of the magazine, but ready American hands thrust him back.
Sin Foo, too, made desperate efforts to slip down. As for “Burnt-face,”
that yellow scoundrel had fainted, and now lay prone on the roof.
“This outrage shall not be!” screamed Sin Foo.
“You’ll soon know all about that,” retorted Sampson gruffly, hurling
the under secretary on his back on top of the magazine.
From the south rampart now came furious sounds of hand-to-hand
conflict. Looking up, Dave Darrin saw that his own fighting men were
all but surrounded by yellow fiends who had gained the rampart by means
of ladders.
Pausing only a second to kiss his wife, Dave darted toward the nearest
steps to that rampart, bounding up, sword in one hand, revolver in the
other.
In the fleeting instant of turning after kissing his wife farewell,
Darrin had shouted to Seaman Sampson:
“My man, I trust to your sand and judgment. Don’t wait for my order,
but fire the magazine trail the instant you think it is the only course
left.”
And after Dave had floated the sailor’s cool, resolute:
“Aye, aye, sir.”