Dave Darrin on the Asiatic Station. Or, Winning Lieutenants' Commissions on the Admiral's Flagship

“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.

CHAPTER VI – HECKLING HIS EXCELLENCY

“Jupiter!” gasped Dan, as he reached Dave’s side.

Boom! bang! Two shots were fired almost together from the “Castoga’s” forward guns.

“The rebels are returning from the suburbs,” Dave exclaimed, “and even the near-by houses are emptying themselves of hundreds of other armed men.”

“There must be a million of them, in all,” said Danny Grin briefly, “but I reckon we can thrash ’em all.”

“We’ll have to, or go under,” was Dave’s brief retort. “There cannot be a doubt that the armed multitude intends to attack the yamen.”

In the meantime Signalman Ross was sending the message that Dave had given him. Now a signalman on the gunboat wig-wagged back:

“Do not attempt to leave yamen with your party until you receive orders so to do.”

“I’m glad of that command,” Dave muttered to his subordinate. “I wouldn’t care to risk any of our American women by trying to take them through such a rabble as I see advancing.”

Again some of the “Castoga’s” guns spoke. The shell fire was doing some execution in the ranks of the oncoming rebels, though not enough to halt their march.

“I am going down into the compound to send up men and rapid-fire guns,” Dave announced to his chum. “Post the men, and station one rapid-fire gun on each of the four sides of the compound.”

“What are you going to do with the Chinese soldiers?” Dan asked.

Dave frowned.

“I don’t know,” he said. “This is the governor’s yamen, and these are his troops. I don’t believe we can trust them, but, on the other hand, have we any right to drive the soldiers out? And would they go peaceably, or would they open fire and put the women in danger?”

“Ask the Captain, by signal,” Dan advised.

“Ask him yourself, signing my name, Dan. Whatever we do, the rapid-fire guns can’t be placed on these walls a moment too soon.”

Hustling below, Dave ordered up the sailors and all but four of the marines. Each man, as he went, carried up a case of one thousand cartridges, either for the rapid-fire guns or for the infantry rifles.

“You men in charge of the stores,” Dave ordered, “keep the Chinese away from our property. Don’t let any of the yellow men touch the stores. Shoot before you permit that, and shoot promptly and to kill!”

Then Darrin turned his attention to the missionary party. Of the thirty-two men who carried rifles, he sent twenty to the ramparts, while he directed the other twelve to stand guard over the women.

Having made these dispositions of his command, Ensign Darrin again raced up to the top of the wall.

“There’s the answer just coming from the gunboat,” Dan informed him. So Dave, shading his eyes with one hand, picked up this message from the “Castoga”:

“Ensign Darrin: You will need to exercise great caution as to what you do in the yamen, as only the presence of imperilled missionary party justifies presence of your command there at all. Better consult with the governor.”

“That’s just what I’ll do,” Dave uttered grimly. “That governor chap has been keeping himself mighty well out of sight. Now it’s time for me to see him, and he must show up and take some little hand in affairs that are going on in his city and province.”

“Shall I allow more Chinese soldiers up here on the wall?” asked Ensign Dalzell. “Here they come.”

That was, indeed, only too true. Very quietly, under their own officers, some hundred and sixty of the governor’s troops had formed in four detachments, going to the walls at the four sides of the compound and starting up the steps.

“I don’t know whether we can stop them, and I don’t know that they won’t be willing to fight with us and for us,” returned Darrin, perplexedly. “I’ll follow the commander’s orders and see the governor at once.”

Running down, and darting across the compound, Dave halted before the principal door of the main building, the door Sin Foo had used.

Knocking lustily with the hilt of his sword, Dave did not wait more than thirty seconds. Then reports from two more of the gunboat’s guns decided him. He seized the latch, trying to force the door, but only to find that barrier locked.

“Open!” ordered Dave, in his loudest quarterdeck voice. “Open!”

He waited another thirty seconds, but no one inside obeyed.

“Open,” he shouted, “or I shall order my men to batter the door down!”

Inside, instantly, he heard the murmur of voices.

“Well,” demanded the irate young officer, “will you open, or do you wish the door battered down?”

Preceded by a rattling of bolt chains, the great door was thrown open. Into the doorway breach stepped Sin Foo, calmly disdainful. Behind him stood fully a score of Chinese soldiers, each with rifle leveled ready to shoot.

“Why this unseemly disturbance before the official residence of the governor?” demanded Sin Foo.

“I must see the governor immediately,” Dave replied.

“It will be impossible to see his excellency, except upon appointment,” replied the secretary. “His excellency’s presence is sacred, and is not to be invaded at will by a hasty caller with sword in hand. If you will wait here, I will ascertain if his excellency will be pleased to see you in an hour.”

“If he keeps me waiting two minutes,” Ensign Dave retorted, “I shall search this building for him.”

“At your first step inside,” Sin Foo proclaimed, “these soldiers will fire upon you. That will be the signal for all our troops to fire on your men, who are no better than unlawful invaders.”

“Ensign Dalzell!” shouted Dave, over his shoulder.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Rush six men here, with the machine gun from the river side of the wall!”

“Very good, sir!” came in Dan’s delighted voice.

No sooner did he comprehend than Sin Foo uttered something in Chinese. Through the squad of soldiers darted half a dozen yellow servants who instantly sought to close the door.

“Back with you!” ordered Darrin, whipping out his revolver and menacing the frightened servants.

“If the word to start killing is given it will really come from you, Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave warned the secretary sternly, “and you will be one of the first men to drop dead.”

Dave’s foot was now posted where it would obstruct the closing of the door, even if attempted.

“Here we are, sir,” panted a sailor, darting up with a machine gun and its crew.

“Train your gun to cover this corridor,” Dave ordered, tersely.

The gun captain posted the machine gun so that its nose pointed at the squad of Chinese.

“Withdraw those soldiers, Mr. Sin Foo!” briefly commanded Ensign Darrin.

“What?” gasped the thunderstruck under secretary. “You presume to give orders in the governor’s very residence?”

“I don’t intend to argue,” Dave retorted, as another of the “Castoga’s” guns spoke from the river. “If you don’t run your soldiers out of this corridor, then the janitor will have them to sweep out, for I’m going to order the machine gun into action mighty soon!”

Sin Foo looked puzzled, but soon he spoke to the soldiers, who, scowling, wheeled and marched back down the stone-flagged corridor, vanishing around an angle of the wall.

“The governor will not see you, sir,” Sin Foo insisted.

“You’re wrong there, too,” Dave crisped out. “It was my wish to be courteous. But now I have the honor to tell you that the governor will come to the doorway to speak with me, and he’ll come very promptly, or else I shall march a force of men into the house and find him. It will be much pleasanter for his excellency if he promptly decides to come here. Mr. Sin Foo, you have my permission to go and tell him just what I have said.”

For perhaps thirty seconds the under secretary stood gazing at the ensign. On his face was a look of absolute horror. During the pause Dave eyed him sternly.

“I mean business, Mr. Sin Foo!”

“Ensign Darrin, though it be at the cost of my head, which I can ill afford to spare,” murmured Sin Foo brokenly, “I shall undertake to bear to his excellency’s shocked ears your most outrageous message.”

Turning to his sailors, who were grinning discreetly, Dave Darrin observed softly:

“I think that will put motion into the governor’s feet, if anything will.”

Looking frequently at his watch, Ensign Dave waited a full two minutes.

“Come on, men,” he ordered, “we’ll start through the premises. This isn’t the time even to wait for governors.”

Some ten yards down the corridor Darrin had led his handful of men when Sin Foo’s shocked voice rang out:

“Halt! Stop! Outraged as his excellency feels, he is coming to listen for himself to your impertinence.”

“Halt!” ordered Dave, in a low tone. Again the machine gun was set up. But this time no delay was attempted. The same score of soldiers marched around the angle, halted and formed on either side of the corridor. Next came Ah Sin Foo, with tablet, ink and writing brush, while a servant carried a small table.

Behind them came five more officials, then one whom, from his elaborate Chinese costume, Darrin took to be the governor. After that personage came several other men.

Suddenly Dave Darrin started perceptibly. Among the governor’s followers, richly dressed, was none other than Mr. “Burnt-face,” lately of Manila!

“Now, what the mischief can ‘Burnt-face’ be doing here?” Darrin gasped inwardly. “And, by the same token, what was he really doing in Manila?”

“Step out and get two or three of the missionaries who understand Chinese,” Dave ordered in a low voice to the sailor nearest him.

Striking his hands together for silence, the Chinese governor sank down upon a richly carved chair which a yamen servant placed for him. Then he addressed Sin Foo in Chinese.

“His excellency demands to know the meaning of this extraordinary conduct,” translated the under secretary.

“Ask his excellency if he is aware that the city is now alive with rioters?” requested Dave.

There was some conversation in Chinese, after which Sin Foo replied:

“His excellency says that his troops are upon the walls of the yamen ramparts.”

“Does his excellency believe that his troops are going to be able to defeat the thousands of rioters who are marching here rapidly?” Dave asked.

After more conversation in Chinese Sin Foo explained:

“His excellency says he will guarantee the safety of all within the yamen precincts.”

“Even if the rebels attack resolutely?” Dave insisted.

“In spite of any attack,” Sin Foo assured him.

The missionaries who had been sent for were entering, but ahead of them darted a sailor who saluted the young officer and cried:

“Ensign Dalzell reports, sir, that the ramparts are being fired upon from the streets beyond. Ensign Dalzell believes, sir, that a general attack upon the yamen is about to begin.”

“Tell Ensign Dalzell,” Dave answered, “that he is to open fire as soon and as heavily as he deems best.”

Then, to the astounded under secretary Darrin added:

“I must beg his excellency to go with me to the ramparts.”

“He cannot – will not,” protested Sin Foo.

“He must!” declared Dave Darrin firmly.

CHAPTER VII – BELLE HAS SOME “TIPS”

Whatever Sin Foo said, it was spoken in an undertone.

Near his excellency there was movement among the members of his retinue. In another instant the governor had vanished around the angle in the wall.

“Grab that ‘Burnt-face’ chap!” whispered Dave, to two of his sailors. “Hurry him along to the ramparts, but don’t be rough with him unless you have to be.”

Then up to Sin Foo, in the same twinkling, stepped Ensign Darrin.

“Sir, I am sorry, but I haven’t time to waste on formal speech. Since your governor has run away, you must go with me to the ramparts.”

“But I – I am not a fighting man,” protested Sin Foo, turning to a greenish hue, which in a Mongol, is equivalent to turning pale.

“I believe you,” assented Darrin. “And you won’t be very much of any sort of man, unless you make up your mind to do instantly what I wish of you. Come!”

Nodding to a sailor to escort the under secretary, Dave and two of his men brought up the rear and rushed out into the open.

Left alone without command, the governor’s score of soldiers, lined up against the walls, after a bewildered pause shuffled off in the wake of their departed chief.

Cr-r-rack! On the rampart at the west of the compound a squad of sailors had opened fire on a party of Chinese who were firing from the shelter of the nearest houses. Dan ran over to them, and stood behind his marksmen before Darrin succeeded in reaching the top of the steps nearest to the firing party.

At the outer edge of the rampart was a low wall of stone some two feet in thickness. On the flat floor behind this the sailors had thrown themselves, aiming their rifles over the parapet. Behind them Danny Grin, sword in hand, took position, pointing out some of the places of concealment of yellow snipers.

“They’ve opened fire, sir,” reported Dalzell, saluting as his chum came up.

“So I see,” nodded Ensign Dave. “Men, don’t shoot too hastily. Try to plant every bullet where it will be most effective.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” came the hearty chorus. Cr-r-r-rack!

Half a dozen of the missionaries who had joined the sailors on this part of the rampart, were proving their manhood by doing careful, deliberate work with their rifles. While under other circumstances these men of the cloth would have preferred not to take a hand in such an affair as this, the danger that threatened a score of American women completely changed their viewpoint.

“These mission men and the other American residents are going to make as good fighting material as you can get out of untrained men,” Dave remarked to Dan, in a low voice.

Suddenly the “Castoga” took a lively hand in the affair again, her guns belching forth shells.

“Why, they’re landing shells in the ruins of the mission settlement,” declared Danny Grin. “What on earth can that be for?”

“I can’t guess,” answered Dave training his glass on the mission ruins. “Look! there are Chinamen, with shovels, running away. Have they been trying to intrench there?”

“Digging,” answered a quiet voice behind the young officers, and Dave, turning, beheld the white hair and venerable face of Bishop Whitlock. “They are seeking the treasure, or were, until the gunboat shelled them out of our old compound.”

“What treasure, sir?” Dave asked.

“Some Chinaman, either a simpleton or a mischief-maker, started the story that we missionaries had robbed a famous and very ancient temple at Sian-ho-Kung of a hidden treasure there, amounting to several million dollars’ worth of gold and jewels, and that we had hidden the treasure by burying it in our own compound.”

“There was no truth in that, sir?” asked Ensign Darrin incredulously.

“Not a bit, of course,” replied the Bishop, smiling wearily. “Our entire treasure, in wealth, consisted of about seven hundred dollars in gold, belonging to our mission treasury. That gold is now hidden on the persons of men in my party.”

Right over the top of his head Ensign Darrin felt something click. Then, conscious that something had happened, he turned, to see his cap, shot from his head, sailing down into the compound. A marine below picked it up and ran up the steps to hand it to his commander.

Belle Darrin saw the hat shot away, for in the compound below, she had stood watching her husband closely. She gave a slight start, but showed no other sign of fear.

A moment later a number of bullets swept over the rampart top. Dave, Dan and the Bishop were the only ones standing there. As for Sin Foo and “Burnt-face,” they were grovelling on the rampart floor.

“Sir, I beg you to go below,” Ensign Darrin urged the Bishop. “Or else lie flat. You are in too great danger here. I believe that the fire will soon be ten times more brisk, and considerably more deadly.”

“I am not afraid,” replied Bishop Whitlock calmly. “If my eyes were younger and keener I would handle a rifle, but I fear that I would waste too many cartridges.”

“Won’t you go below, sir, that we may all feel easier?” Dave begged.