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

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.

CHAPTER X – THE CLIMAX OF THE ATTACK

As he ran in beyond the zone of light by the gate, Dave saw more clearly through the darkness. Good reason was there for that double barrier to swing open.

At the wheel and windlass of the gate stood Pembroke, both arms tugging hard and succeeding in slowly swinging the halves of the gate inward.

So intent was he upon his treacherous achievement that Pembroke neither saw nor heard the man dashing upon him.

Whack! A blow with the butt of Darrin’s revolver laid the scoundrel flat.

On to the gate dashed Dave, just as an exultant yell outside told him that the yellow multitude was about to rush in.

Slam up against the gate rushed Ensign Dave, the force of his body sending the two halves shut.

Outside the tumult increased, as scores of yellow shoulders were hurled against the barrier.

“Help! Here! Quick!” roared Darrin.

Above the tumult his voice carried hardly any distance.

The pressure of the Chinese outside must finally overcome his straining muscles as he struggled to keep the gate closed.

Just then a sailor passed at a trot, with a message. Hearing Dave yelling for assistance, he looked at the gate and made out the figure of his officer there, trying to hold off the multitude.

“All hands to the gate!” yelled the seaman, using his hands as a trumpet. Some of those within the circle of lanterns heard, and took up the alarm.

Jackies rushed to Darrin’s side, hurling themselves with all their strength against the gates. Their combined efforts seemed to be as nothing.

Three of the missionary party had hurried to the spot. There were now five men against the scores outside.

The mechanism of the gate had not been wholly opened, and that fact helped greatly.

Sailors and marines sprang up from many quarters. By this time, if the Chinese succeeded in getting through they would find themselves confronted by a platoon of rifles.

“Hold fast!” yelled Dave. “Ross, come with me!”

Officer and man rushed to the wheel that controlled the opening and closing of the gate. Seizing this, and throwing into it all their combined muscular force, they succeeded in driving the double barrier close.

“Here are the double bars!” shouted one of the marines at the gate. “Some one took them down.”

Up went the bars, which were now made fast in place, and once more the gate was securely closed.

Placing a whistle to his lips, Dave ran along the wall. Even above the Babel of voices the shrill note of the whistle was heard.

“Aye, aye, sir!” bawled down a petty officer overhead.

“Turn your marksmen loose on that rabble before the gate. Use the machine gun, too. Make it as deadly for the scoundrels as you know how. Up to the ramparts you men at the gate, and fire on the mob!”

Chinese yells of battle changed to groans of pain as the American firing rattled out more heavily than at any other time that day.

From the river came the broad white beam of the “Castoga’s” search light.

Boom! A shell dropped in the rear of the multitude and more houses were in flames, lighting up the scene.

“Hammer them as they run!” breathed Ensign Darrin fervently. “Keep it up as long as you can see any one to shoot at.”

Boom! The “Castoga” took a further hand, by dropping one shrapnel shell, and then a second, among the seething, yellow rebels revealed by the searchlight.

Within two minutes the great open space had been cleared, save for the bodies of several hundred killed and wounded.

“The searchlight is sending a signal, sir,” spoke up one of the men.

There on the rampart, Dave read these words as they were signaled in the code:

“Good work, Darrin and all hands!”

“Give our commanding officer three times three, and do it with a will!” shouted Ensign Dave. “Our shipmates will hear it.”

And hear it they must have, for, no sooner had the cheering on the rampart ended when a distant, yet distinct sound of cheering drifted in from the river.

“How many have you on your casualty list?” was signaled by the searchlight.

“Seven of my men and three missionaries,” answered the signal man, as he stood wigwagging, using a Chinese lantern hastily appropriated for that purpose. “None killed. All women safe.”

Fast as he was with his wig-wagging, the signalman was glad when he had finished his work, for such a storm of bullets sang by him that none could understand how he escaped with his life.

Not until now did Darrin have time to think of Pembroke.

“I must get that blackguard!” he muttered, running down into the compound.

At first Dave could not locate the fellow. At last, however, he sighted him, half-hiding against a part of the wall where the gloom was most pronounced.

“Well, sir?” demanded the young officer, striding up to the man who held a handkerchief against his injured scalp.

“Was it you who struck me down?” demanded Pembroke.

“It was.”

“Why did you do such a dastardly thing?”

“Das – ” gasped Dave, astounded. “See here, fellow, don’t you believe that I knew what you were up to?”

“I – I was trying to close the gate, which some of the scoundrels outside had partly succeeded in opening,” Pembroke asserted stoutly.

“You lie!” retorted Ensign Darrin, staring sternly into the Englishman’s eyes. “You were opening the gate. The direction in which you were swinging the wheel proved that. And I struck you down!”

“You are wronging me fearfully, Darrin!” Pembroke protested, with a strong attempt at injured dignity.

“Then I’m going to injure you still more outrageously,” Darrin retorted, “for I’m going to place you in arrest. Moreover, if I live to get to the ‘Castoga,’ you are going out there with me as a prisoner.”

“Darrin, you – you must be joking,” stammered the fellow.

“No; I am not – Rogers!”

Dave watched for the effect of that shot. At mention of the name Pembroke turned more pallid.

“What do you mean by using that name when addressing me?” he stammered.

“Because it’s your right name,” Dave retorted. “You used that name before you ever used the name of Pembroke. Rogers, you are under arrest. Walk on ahead of me, straight to the circle of the lanterns. Don’t attempt to trifle with me, for my patience was never so short as it is now. March!”

“Surely, you are not going to humiliate me before all the ladies,” protested the prisoner. Warned by the light in Ensign Dave’s eyes he started forward.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” snapped Darrin. “I’m going to expose you so fully that you’ll get no recognition save that of scorn.”

“Darrin, one of these days you’re going to pay a big penalty in regrets and apologies,” the prisoner warned him.

“Fiddlesticks!” uttered Dave disgustedly.

Marching the fellow up under the light of the lanterns, Dave found several women eyeing him strangely.

“Why, is Mr. Pembroke a prisoner?” cried Lucy Chapin.

“He is, Miss Chapin,” Dave assured her.

“But surely, he can have done noth – ”

“All he did, Miss Chapin, was to try to open the main gate of the compound wall and let in the Chinese rabble. I caught him in the act, but, beyond knocking him down, I did not have time to attend further to him just then. On the fellow’s head you will observe the cut made by the butt of my revolver when I struck him down.”

“It seems so impossible to believe!” murmured Miss Chapin.

“And Mr. Pembroke, ladies, is also the rogue who once went under the name of Rogers. Further, I am convinced that this Pembroke, or Rogers, has been in league with the governor of Nu-ping, and with the governor’s underlings. I am certain, in my own mind, that this fellow is largely responsible for the attack on the mission, and for all our troubles on this day and night.”

Dave’s plain words and his simple, straightforward manner carried conviction even to those who were, like Miss Chapin, reluctant to believe ill of the one who had called himself Pembroke.

“Marine, there!” called Dave, turning. The sea-soldier stepped over, saluting.

“You will take charge of this prisoner and be responsible for him. You will be prompt to shoot him if he tries to escape.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Dave Darrin turned to lift his cap to the ladies, but started, turned, gasped.

In an instant such a din had arisen as he would once have believed could come only from the infernal regions.

From all four sides at once came the angry yells of thousands of men, mingled with thousands of detonations. The crashing racket of numberless gongs made the night still more hideous. The storm of noise was ear-splitting, nerve-racking.

Believing the south wall to be the place most in danger, Dave rushed across the compound in that direction.

CHAPTER XI – A SURPRISE PARTY FOR THE GOVERNOR

“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.

“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.”

CHAPTER XII – RISKING ALL ON ONE THROW

Just before Dave gained the parapet some of his sturdiest Jackies, by seizing a score of the yellow scoundrels and hurling them bodily over the wall on the heads of their countrymen below, had succeeded in clearing some elbow room in which to fight.

The machine gun at this point had ceased sputtering, for its server had been forced back in the rush.

Dave’s sword flew in straight up and down cuts as he hurled himself among the furies who fought to drive him back. Thrice he parried spear thrusts that otherwise would have spitted him.

Rallying around him the strongest of his fighting men, Ensign Darrin drove the yellow men back for an instant.

“Tune up the machine gun,” Dave bellowed. “We must rake this multitude again if we would have a single chance to win.”

By signs, since he could not make himself heard many yards away, Darrin passed the word down the line for sailors and marines to fill the magazines of their rifles and fire into the Chinese, who were making an effort to raise new ladders against the wall.

But Ensign Dave glancing along his thin, exhausted line to see if many of them were hurt, muttered to himself:

“The next rush ought to sweep us down into the compound. Then for the magazine, and – the Big Noise!”

“Mr. Darrin,” bawled a missionary from below, “your sailor, Sampson, ordered me to come to you to say that the governor is nearly dead with terror over his position. Sin Foo promises that if the governor be brought up here, his excellency will order and persuade the rabble to cease fighting and withdraw.”

“Do you believe that, at this late stage, the governor could influence these thousands of mad men?” Dave demanded.

“It is more than possible,” replied the missionary.

“Tell Sampson, if you please, to bring his excellency up here. If the governor makes one false move, back he goes to the top of the magazine, without any further chance to redeem himself from going up with the rest of us in the Big Noise. Please tell Sampson to rush the governor here.”

“And shall I come back, that I may know just what his excellency says to the rabble?” suggested the missionary, who, like most of the others of his band, spoke the language of China.

“Be sure to come back, if you please,” Dave begged.

Again swarms of ladders were rushed to the walls. Pigtailed heads were mixed with short-haired Chinese heads, for, though the republic desired all Chinamen to lop off the pigtails of the monarchial days, only a portion of the Chinese men have done so.

At times the swarms coming up the ladders pressed so close that sailors and marines fought them with the butts of their rifles and with fists, even. The superior athletic physique of the Anglo-Saxon bore up before the rushes of the Chinamen with seemingly tireless energy. Had the top of the rampart been broader the Chinese must have carried all before them, but in the narrowness of the top of the wall the sailors had the advantage.

Once more ladders had been tipped over, the last of the yellow men hurled to the ground below, and again the machine guns and the infantry rifles poured their shots into the thousands below.

Now up came Sampson, carrying in his arms a collapsed form that was the Governor of Nu-ping.

“Stand up, confound you!” adjured Seaman Sampson, planting the governor on his feet and seizing him by the collar. “Stand up!”

The greenness of the governor’s yellow face was more ghastly than ever. He shivered as a few stray shots whistled uncomfortably close to his ears.

The rays of four pocket electric lights were turned upon him by as many sailors equipped with these articles. His excellency stood in the spot light, a very sorry-looking object.

Soldiers and civil officials are chosen from two different classes in China. Often these civil officials, when put to the test, prove to be timorous indeed.

“Tell him to secure silence and make his speech,” Dave requested of the missionary.

His excellency’s arms waved like a spectre’s as he made gestures appealing for silence. Within thirty seconds the signs of his success with his own people began to appear.

Gradually motion stopped in the multitude. Some of the more lowly among the Chinese fighters, out beyond the thick of the rabble, even fell upon their knees.

The peril seemingly passed, the governor became steadier. He was a ruler speaking to obedient masses – or at least so it appeared.

Then, in a voice husky at first, but gradually gaining in strength, his excellency began to speak to his subjects, for such they really were. As his speech continued his voice became louder and more authoritative.

Dave glanced inquiringly at the missionary, who nodded back as much as to say that the governor was making a speech along right lines. Indeed, the speech must have had signal effect, for low murmurs ran in all directions through the lately fighting rabble, and by degrees the last efforts at fighting died out on all sides of the compound.

“As soon as the right moment comes,” whispered Dave, “please tell him to order all the people a mile away from this part of the city.”