Like a long-drawn-out snail the procession crept through the yamen
gates. The pace was set by the men most severely wounded.
Was it safe to leave the yamen while multitudes were yet abroad in the
city, and those multitudes angry over the shedding of Chinese blood?
How many Chinese had fallen in the fight Darrin had no means of
estimating. He had seen many fall, but dead and wounded alike had been
promptly carried away by their own countrymen.
That the city of Nu-ping was in a ferment of anger there could be no
doubt. Yet the governor, who had professed that morning to be unable to
stem the revolution, had, by a few words, sent the fighting throngs
back in the dead of night.
Last of all in the line walked Dave, in as uncomfortable a frame of
mind as he had ever known. If his little party should be attacked and
overwhelmed, and the women killed, he had made up his mind that he
would make no effort to outlive the disaster. Death would be
preferable.
There was still one other who knew less of comfort than any in the
procession. That one was His Excellency, the Governor of Nu-ping.
In the sedan chair had been placed six kegs of powder, one of them
opened. On top of the kegs, without as much as a cushion to soften the
hardness of the seat, was his excellency, squatting, terror-stricken.
On either side marched a sailor with a loaded rifle. Also beside the
sedan marched Sailorman Sampson, with a package of loose powder and a
piece of slow-match found at the yamen. Seaman Sampson had his orders,
with a considerable amount of discretionary power added, all of which
was known to the governor with the greenish-yellow face.
As the line swung into the street on the way to the river, Danny Grin
and two seamen trod softly ahead, alert for any surprises that might be
met, particularly at street corners.
Not a sound was heard from natives, however, save for the occasional
groans of the greenish-yellow governor, who, at that moment, was more
fully posted on the feeling of absolute terror than was any other man
in China.
No move was made on the part of the natives to stop the progress of the
Americans. The party soon reached the wharf at the river front.
Now, with the women out on the wharf, Dalzell hastily drew up new lines
of defense, pointing cityward, while Dave, with flashlight and whistle,
managed to attract attention from the deck of the “Castoga” and to
flash the signal to the watch officer.
It seemed but the work of a minute to get the launch and two ship’s
boats under way. The launch chugged busily shoreward. No time was
wasted on explanations. The women and wounded were hurried into the
boats and taken out to the gunboat.
On the next trip the rest of the party was speedily embarked.
As the last act, Sampson relaxed his watch over his excellency. Signs
were made to the governor’s chair bearers to take their lord back to
the yamen. Nor did the departure of the governor take any time at all.
“Well done, Darrin! Fine, Dalzell!” boomed the hearty voice of
Lieutenant-Commander Tuthill as the two young officers stepped on the
deck of the gunboat. “Every man under your command has behaved like an
American!”
Then, as his eye roved to Pembroke, standing under marine guard, he
asked:
“How came Mr. Pembroke to be in trouble?”
“Attempted treachery,” Darrin responded. “I caught him trying to open
the yamen gate to the Chinese rebels.”
Tuthill’s brow darkened.
“Pembroke, I did not think that of you, sir. You have a heavy burden of
guilt! You will be taken down to the brig and locked up until I can
decide what is to be done in your case, sir.”
After Pembroke had been marched below, to go behind bars, the commander
of the gunboat continued, in a low tone to Darrin:
“I am afraid not much of anything can be done with him. He is a British
subject, I suppose, and guilty of an offense committed on Chinese soil.
The most that I can do will be to keep him locked up until to-morrow,
and then turn him loose. Perhaps the Chinese will take care of him. The
ladies are waiting in the wardroom to thank Dalzell and yourself. You
had both better go inside.”
“I’d rather face the Chinese again,” laughed Dan, “than have to stand
and be thanked by a lot of women.”
An hour later the ladies were established for the night, several of the
officers’ quarters having been given over to them. The American
missionaries and civilians, like the sailors, were obliged to sleep in
hammocks.
Just as Dave was seeking a mattress on the floor of the wardroom
Surgeon Oliver hurried in. “Darrin,” began the medical man, “did you
know that Pembroke was badly hurt?”
“By the blow I gave him on the head?” queried the young ensign,
wheeling.
“No, though that was quite bad enough. A stray bullet hit the fellow in
the side, and he bound it up as best he could. He tells me that the
shot hit him before you struck him down—perhaps an hour earlier.”
“If I had known that,” murmured Darrin, “he would have had somewhat
softer handling.”
“Pembroke is really in a bad way,” continued the surgeon. “I have had
him removed from the brig to the sick-bay, and have put a hospital
attendant on watch over him to-night.”
“Is he going to die?” asked Ensign Darrin.
“Can’t say; I think not. But what brought me here is the fact that
Pembroke asked if he might see you.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly.”
Dave was tired out. Danny Grin was already sound asleep on a mattress
on the floor. Darrin had been yawning heavily, but now the call of
humanity appealed to him.
“I’ll go with you, Doctor,” Dave added, and followed the surgeon.
In a bunk down in the sick bay Pembroke tossed uneasily, his face a
bright red.
“Here is Mr. Darrin, Pembroke,” announced the medical officer.
“You’ll think I had a jolly large amount of nerve to send for you,”
murmured the stricken man, holding out a hand. Under the circumstances
Darrin did not hesitate to take the hand.
“Sit down, won’t you?” begged Pembroke, and Dave occupied a stool
alongside.
“I felt that I ought to see you,” Pembroke went on. “Sawbones tells me
I have plenty of chance to pull through, but I’m not so sure about
that. If my carcass is to be heaved over in canvas, with a solid shot
for weight, I want to go as clean as I can. So I want to tell you a few
things about myself, Mr. Darrin. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I shall be glad to hear whatever you have to say to me,” Dave replied.
“You look jolly well tired out,” observed the stricken man, “so I won’t
detain you long. To-night you accused me of being a scoundrel, and you
had the goods on me. There can be no doubt about my being crooked, and
I may as well admit it.”
“Then you are really Rogers, instead of Pembroke?” Dave asked.
“I’ve used both names, but neither belongs to me. I have had so many
names in my day that I barely remember my right one, which I’m not
going to tell you, anyway. I came of decent people, and some of them
are left. I’m not going to disgrace them. Darrin, I expect that I’m
going to die, and I’m going to try to do it like a man—the first manly
thing I’ve done in years. If I wanted to live at all now, it would be
that I might stand and take my punishment for my connection with this
Nu-ping affair.”
“I don’t believe that you could be punished for that by Americans,”
Dave went on. “You are a British subject, and your offense was
committed on Chinese soil.”
“I’m about as English as you are,” returned Pembroke. “If I were a
Britisher, and any good I’d been serving my country, right now, in
France. I was born on the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. Out
of decency I’m not going to name my birth state. At times, when it
suited better, I’ve been an Englishman as a matter of convenience. But
what I want to tell you about, especially, Darrin, is my connection
with this Nu-ping business.”
“Did that connection begin back in Manila?” Darrin asked.
“In Nu-ping first, but there was a Manila end. It won’t take long to
tell the story. I—”
In an instant a deadly pallor appeared in the stricken man’s face. Then
he lay silent.
“Doctor, I think Pembroke has gone,” said Dave quietly, as he stepped
over to the surgeon who was bent over another cot.