MR. MIDSHIPMAN GLOVER, R.N. (continued 6)

"Well, that was what I did, sir," he continued, with a half-anxious, half-humorous expression, "and I climbed and I climbed till, blow me! I simply fell over them sandbags, and not a savidge anywhere could I see. So I jest lights my pipe and stops there, knowing the Commander would be along in no time. But you see, sir, I've rayther done 'im out of 'is show, and my mates are rayther furious about it too.

"I wish I'd 'ung on to the party, an' then there wouldn't 'ave been none of this 'ere trouble."

He munched his cake solemnly and then added slyly: "That 'sentry-go' business, sir, that's what riled 'em. That was just for effect, I don't mind telling you, sir."

"That's all right, Bolton," I told him. "You won't hear any more about it from the Commander, I'm sure of that."

"Well, I 'opes you're right, sir; an' if you'll look arter this 'ere rifle of mine I'll jest see if there ain't a little o' that 'ot cocoa left."

He crawled away, scraped a little out of the big mess-tins, warmed it over the fire in his own tin cup, and brought it back to me.

It was jolly refreshing, I can tell you, and warm and oily.

He took his rifle from me and watched me drink.

"You'll put in a good word for me, sir, when we gets aboard the Laird; now, won't you, sir?"

I promised that I would do so, but could not help smiling.

"You see that 'ere Chinaman?" he said presently, jerking his thumb towards a motionless blue heap which lay about a hundred yards away along the crest—one of those who had bolted away from Captain Hunter. "I shot 'im, sir; knocked 'im all of a 'eap. Caught 'im in the upper works I did, sir, an' 'e jest toppled over an' over an' never moved a 'air, though there I was all waiting, with another cartridge jammed in, in case 'e did.

"Never moved a 'air," he kept repeating softly to himself, evidently vastly contented with his marksmanship, "an' with that 'ere rifle too," and he kept patting its breech.

"Eh! look at that, sir!" he said, pointing down to the harbour, just after the Krupp gun had fired again, and jumped to his feet, waving his rifle over his head and cheering loudly, as did the others, for the shell had landed, fair and square, in the cruiser's stern, and seemed to have practically wrecked her.

Every man on top of the hill roared himself hoarse.

However, they sank down behind the sand-bags again, for they had drawn a rapid fire from "Bush Hill" and the field-guns.

I watched the great clouds of black smoke rolling up from the cruiser.

"If that ain't pluck, call me a coal-shovelling stoker!" cried Bolton, as the big fo'c'stle gun fired again before our Krupp had time to reload, and the shell burst just below the crest.

We ducked our heads behind the sand-bags, and the fragments tore up the ground.

"There's a Englishman a-running that show, sir; none o' your spotted Dagos, I'll be bound."

He was just a little too talkative for me, so I went away, Sergeant Haig smiling grimly as I left. "Haven't had much to do this side yet, sir."

I ran across to the rear of the big gun just as it fired again.

That shot was short, and whilst they were reloading her the cruiser fired two more rounds; but our next shell struck her farther forward, bringing down her funnel and foremast and crumpling her up like match-wood.

We could see them taking to their boats and pulling ashore, and the men yelled again with delight, for although her shells had done very little mischief, and had only wounded one man—a marine behind the "Log Redoubt"—the noise of their bursting shells was intensely unpleasant and disconcerting.

The big Krupp was now turned on the cruisers lying to the right of the town, but these were so much closer in and right down under the land that it was still more difficult to drop shell anywhere near them.

Of course we could not see anything of them from the gun itself, and had to chance more or less the direction and also the powder charge, trying first three bags of powder, which sent the shell almost over the back of the forts at the entrance, and then two bags, which did not send it far enough, but made it go ricocheting down the side of the hill before it burst near the bottom. We tried elevating the sights a little, and gradually began to drop our shells with some amount of precision.

The Hong Lu was, of course, the ship we were most anxious to hit, because she was the only ship which was really good for any serious fighting.

I was watching the men working like demons inside the gun-pit, hauling the big shell and the bags of powder from the magazines, and training her with the clumsy tackles, when presently Dr. Richardson called me.

He had found a little hollow in the side of the hill overlooking the sea, and there he had brought all the wounded men and was busy among them still, with monkey-jacket off and sleeves rolled up.

He was bandaging a marine who had just been struck by a shrapnel bullet.

It had struck him a slanting blow on the back of his head, and he sat there gazing stupidly in front of him, supporting himself mechanically with his hands as he swayed unsteadily.

When he had finished the bandage, Dr. Richardson lowered him on his back in the grass, and injected something into his arm with a syringe which the sick-berth steward handed him.

He shoved the needle right through the skin, and I thought that the man would surely yell, but he only opened his eyes for a second and then closed them again.

"Now, Glover, if you have nothing to do, try and get some cocoa for these fellows."

I was only too jolly glad to do anything for them—there were nearly twenty of them huddled in a sheltered corner, most of them apparently asleep, and one or two groaning terribly.

I stepped across to Sergeant Haig, and the stern old man got hold of some cocoa and some water out of a breaker, and I hunted up some fairly dry wood for the fire, and in time we got it hot. I had to carry it back myself, as he would not leave his men. When I had done this, and everyone who was not unconscious had had some of the cocoa, Dr. Richardson sent me to get blankets and any oil-skins I could collect. The blankets were not difficult to find, for they were all under that big tarpaulin, but very few men had their oil-skins, and those that had them were not any too willing to part with them.

But I managed to bring back half a dozen, and we covered up all the wounded we could.

Mr. Pattison looked simply awful. He had lost a tremendous lot of blood, and his head was covered with bandages; but his face was a horrid purple colour, and he was puffing out his cheeks and blowing through his lips every time he breathed.

"Hasn't come round yet," Dr. Richardson told me.

"Will he die?" I asked anxiously, for everybody had been awfully sorry for him ever since he had lost destroyer "No. 1", and I, of course, knew too that he was frightfully gone on Milly, and wanted to see him get back his luck.

"Can't tell, Glover; hope not;" and Dr. Richardson sat down wearily and tried to light his pipe.

"Haven't we done splendidly so far, sir," I said, opening my jacket to shield him from the wind as he struck his damp matches.

"Ask Pattison," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Captain Hunter came down just then to see how the wounded were getting on, so I slipped away, and, to tell the truth, was not at all sorry.

And, also, being near so many men who had been hit made me feel rather frightened.

* * * * *

I had better explain to you now exactly how we were situated at this time. All told, one hundred and fourteen men and ten officers had been landed. Of these seven had been killed and eighteen wounded, including Mr. Pattison, but not including Captain Williams (nor indeed Captain Hunter and Mr. Saunderson, who both had skin wounds, and several of the men as well).

This left us thirty seamen and fifty-four marines, one of the wounded blue-jackets and three of the wounded marines being still able to handle their rifles whilst lying on the ground behind the sand-bags.

The marines were manning the breast-works and the blue-jackets the Krupp gun and the two Maxims, Mr. Gibbins being in command of the big gun, and Collins the Sub in command of the Maxims.

The sand-bag breast-works we had made in the morning were now vastly improved, and were much more substantial, because the men, when not firing, had dug away the earth behind them and strengthened them in front with the earth thrown out. Each man, in fact, had vied with his neighbour in digging himself farther into the ground, so that actually there was now a trench behind the breast-works.

The rain, too, had soaked into the bags and made them more heavy and bullet-proof.

Captain Williams's Log Redoubt ran right across the side facing Bush Hill, and was so high that it kept off a great many of the bullets from there, and made it almost safe to walk about the top of the hill, if you only stooped down.

The Maxim redoubt, too, at the harbour end of this breast-work, was quite strong and nearly four feet high, and Mr. Collins and his men added to it whenever firing was slack.

The town itself was hidden from us by the line of smoke from the smouldering bushes about fifty yards down the slope of the hill. Hardly a shot came from that direction. None either came towards Sergeant Haig's redoubt or from the sea at our rear.

It was nearly mid-day, and the field-guns were still shelling us, but I think that the noise of their shells was the worst part of them so long as we kept under cover. Although several had burst right in the centre of the plateau during the last hour, nobody had been touched during that time. These were all common shell,[#] for they appeared to have run short of shrapnel, or found that they could not rely on the fuses bursting properly.

[#] Thin-walled shell with a large bursting charge. Shrapnel shell have a small bursting charge and scatter round bullets when they burst.

The men had become so used to these shells, that if one burst they hardly turned to look at it. Sometimes you would see a man screw himself down more firmly into the ground; but most of them took no notice at all, and joked amongst themselves or jeered at the unfortunate signalman, or one of the Maxims' crews, who happened to be in the open and had to throw himself on the ground to escape the flying splinters.

The Commander did once try to reach those guns with a Maxim, but the range must have been well over two thousand yards. We could not see where the bullets were going, and certainly they had no effect on the people working them.

Once or twice, though, when the firing from the bushes became brisk, we soon made them ease down by letting off fifty or sixty rounds into Bush Hill, and Collins kept both the crews very much on the alert, with belts of cartridges ready to pump out bullets in case the enemy tried to make another rush.

We had a fair amount of ammunition left, a fair amount of water, and plenty of provisions, and so, all things considered, we were pretty comfortable.

The rain too had ceased, the wind also began to lose force, and every now and again the sun came out, though not for long enough to dry our dripping clothes.

Captain Hunter and the Commander had been all this time walking up and down the plateau as if it were the Laird's quarter-deck, or standing on the edge and watching to see where our big shells were falling. They and Mr. Gibbins, who had to climb up to the sighting-platform each time the gun fired, were the only people much exposed to danger. The Commander did not take shelter, I am sure, because the Captain did not, and to give the men confidence; Captain Hunter because he thoroughly enjoyed the excitement.

Down below us we could see little "No. 3" a mile out to sea, the Sylvia not far from her. Both were having a very bad time of it, half smothered in spray and both rolling heavily—the Sylvia because she had very little of her cargo of coal left and was very high in the water, and "No. 3" because she always did so.

Right away across the island, beyond the entrance, the Laird and the Strong Arm were steaming backwards and forwards, and they too were making pretty heavy weather of it. I wondered whether they could see us at all, and thought how Mellins and Toddles must wish that they were up here with me.

"No. 2", half buried in the heavy seas off the corner of the island near the forts, was doing her best to keep up communication between the big ships and the Sylvia and "No. 3".

Mr. Lang always seemed to have the rotten jobs to do; but I have heard that this was because he was something like Mr. Pattison, and never thought of anything except getting close to the enemy, and Captain Helston had never forgotten the loss of "No. 1".

The big Krupp was now beginning to drop her shells quite close to where the cruisers, torpedo-boats, and the remaining (Patagonian) destroyers were lying. One had fallen almost aboard the Hong Lu, but we could not rely upon any shot with the least degree of accuracy. However, all of them had started to get up steam, clouds of black smoke coming up through their funnels, and the Commander thought immediately that they might try and escape, so Captain Hunter sent me with Gordon the signalman to try and report this to Captain Helston.

The signalman had previously found a little open spot on the hill with a good background, against which his flags could be seen from the sea, and he began waving them vigorously from side to side, whilst I watched through my glasses to tell him directly the signalman on board the Sylvia or "No. 3" spotted him. "No. 3" it was who first ran up the answering pendant.

"Them Sylvia's don't think of nothing but sleepin' an' eatin'," growled the signalman, and commenced slowly semaphoring "Captain Hunter to flag-ship.—Am dropping shells into harbour, and ships are rapidly getting up steam. All quiet up here."

I saw that "No. 3" had taken in the message, and she hauled down the answering pendant and began to steam towards "No. 2" till it was possible to pass it on to her.

Presently "No. 2" had also received it, and hoisted flags to call the Laird's attention. Her signalmen must have been very much on the alert, for almost immediately her answering flag went crawling up—a tiny little patch in her rigging—to her mast-head, and I could see "No. 2's" signalman perched on the unsteady bridge, half smothered with spray and semaphoring with his flags.

Down came the flag aboard the Laird, and I could imagine the signal midshipman already tearing down the bridge ladder to take the message to Captain Helston.

"That'll cheer 'em up, sir, out there in the wet," said the signalman, as I climbed up again to report to Captain Hunter that I had managed to pass it through to the flag-ship.

I was sent down to wait for any reply, and found the signalman watching the Laird through his telescope. "She's just going to make a signal from her mast-head semaphore, sir," he said. So I stood by to write it down as he spelt out the letters.

[The mast-head semaphore consists of two large black-and-white arms, which can be worked from the bridge below.]

"I.F—E.N.E.M.Y—L.E.A.V.E—H.A.R.B.O.U.R," I wrote down as he sung out the letters, and the message continued, "Endeavour to support me with your gun. 'No. 3' and 'No. 2' are to rejoin the squadron, and Sylvia to act independently."

I was just rushing up hill with this when the signalman sung out, "They've started again, sir," and spelt out, "Officers and men, Laird and Strong Arm, congratulate you all on success. Repeat signal to 'No. 3' and Sylvia."

I left him obeying the last order, and took the signal to Captain Hunter.

He and the Commander smiled grimly.

"Those torpedo-boats and destroyers will never dare to go out in this weather," I heard the Commander say. "The Hong Lu might possibly run away, though she certainly couldn't fight in this weather, and those other two old tubs could not even run away." He was right, too, for though they all did weigh anchor directly afterwards, they never attempted to leave the harbour; but, whilst the big ships began slowly steaming round it, merely keeping steerage-way on, the destroyers and torpedo-boats moved in so close to the land that it was impossible for the big Krupp to touch them.

I felt quite sad to signal, "Cruisers not attempting to leave harbour—steaming slowly to avoid shell", and knew how dreadfully disappointed they all would be.

"If only this gale would blow itself out, we might tempt them out, even now," I heard the Commander say.

For the next half-hour we tried our utmost to hit the Hong Lu, but as she was constantly on the move, and the clumsy gun could not even train steadily, but went groaning round its roughly-made turn-table in a succession of jerks, it was evidently impossible to do so.

Then we tried another scheme to lay the gun for a certain spot on the cliff opposite us, with a very small charge of powder behind the shell. A man at the edge signalled whenever the Hong Lu in her circling came towards it. Mr. Gibbins stood by with the firing lanyard and fired directly he could see the top of her fore-mast in line with that spot on the cliff—the top of her fore-mast being the only thing he could see from the sighting-platform, and then only when she happened to be right on the far side of the harbour.

Well, we never did hit her, nor any of the others either. They never gave us a chance; tumbled to our plan directly and stopped their engines. Then, when the blue-jackets had struggled with the gun and trained her in a different direction, the Hong Lu would be out of it again. They evidently had people signalling the movements of the gun from the cliff above them.

If we could only have made certain of our powder charge it would have been more easy; but even with, say, only one bag and a half of powder, the shells would never drop in the same place twice running, though, whether it was due to the powder being old and bad, or the gun too worn-out, I do not know.

It was frightfully disappointing, and even the Commander showed signs of irritation. Mr. Gibbins and his sweating gun's crew were simply furious.

The poor old gun was by this time simply white with bullet splashes, and looked quite helpless as it wobbled from side to side and puffed out its erratic shells.

The marines, too, had constantly to be shifting away from Mr. Saunderson's breast-works so that it could fire over them, and this annoyed them.

* * * * *

Now that the rain had ceased, the bushes began to burn quite furiously, fanned by the wind, and the cloud of smoke stretched right across our front, rolling down towards the town. The fire had left a clear space of blackened twigs and half-burnt grass for nearly sixty yards in front of Mr. Saunderson's breast-works, and it was lucky enough for us that it had done so.

There had been a complete lull of firing, and I had gone across to yarn with Mr. Collins, to whom I had not yet spoken.

He was in the Maxim redoubt at the corner, strengthening it with sods of turf, and he winked at me as I came near him. "Having a good time, Glover?"

"Ra-ther," I said. "Wouldn't Mr. Parker like to be here too?"

"He's a splendid chap," said Mr. Collins. "Never thinks of himself, and sent me up here without my asking. Do you know, he had every mortal thing ready—except the oil-drums, of course. The men even had their leather gear on, and water-bottles filled, before he got the Commander's signal. He thought he might want reinforcements."

"I rather expected to see Jones come ashore," I said.

"Poor old Jones is on his beam-ends, groaning in his hammock, pretty bad with rheumatism or something like it. That day on the ledge in the rain was too much for him. You're a pretty lucky chap to get ashore—the only midshipman of the whole crowd," he continued. "How did you manage it?"

"Well," I said, rather sadly, for I had at one time been conceited enough to imagine that I'd been chosen for ability, "the Commander knows a cousin of mine, and she asked him to look after me."

Mr. Collins smiled somewhat sarcastically. "If I hadn't had an aunt who knew an admiral, who'd known Helston years ago, I shouldn't have been here either."

"He seems rather down on me now, though," I said. "Whenever I go near him he sends me away."

"Can't you guess why, you fool?" Mr. Collins asked, hammering down a big load of earth his men had brought him.

"No; I thought I'd done something wrong."

"Silly young ass! Why, he and the Captain are simply being potted at from those bushes beyond us, and he doesn't want you to be bowled over. He won't take cover either; he can't, I suppose, while the Captain struts about enjoying himself. It may be jolly plucky, and Hunter is as grand a man as ever lived, and I'd follow him, and we'd all follow him anywhere, but he's simply playing the fool."

"Oh!" was the only thing I could say.

We were interrupted by one of the Maxim gun's crew pointing down the slope of the hill just beyond the line of smoking bushes.

"Beg pardon, sir, but I think there's a heap of natives down among them there bushes."

"Go back and tell the Captain, Glover," Mr. Collins told me, stepping inside the redoubt and calling his men back to the Maxim.

"Go quietly."

I had hardly left him before the most frightful yells came from below and from Bush Hill; out from the cloud of smoke burst hundreds and hundreds of screaming Chinamen, and from Bush Hill a most awful fire was opened. I could hear the rattling of a Maxim, and a fearful hail-storm of bullets swept across the level top of the hill.

I had never heard anything like this before, and bent down and ran.

CHAPTER XXII

The Final Attack on the Hill

We Defend the Gun—Hunter to the Rescue—Hopkins Again—A Confession—Hopkins's Will—Hopkins Makes a Request—Back to the "Laird"—Helston Acts—I am Sent Below

Mr. Midshipman Glover's Narrative continued

As I ran I heard both our Maxims pumping out lead with their horrid noises, and Mr. Saunderson's voice steadying his marines as they fired point-blank down the hill. Sergeant Haig's men slewed round to their left and fired sideways into the howling mob, and Captain Williams behind me was trying to stop the Chinamen's Maxim. The noise was awful—the noise of Martinis, Mausers, Maxims, and the screaming Chinese.

"Tell Mr. Gibbins to keep his men inside the gun-pit till they are wanted," roared Captain Hunter, as he looked at his revolver to see that it was loaded, and "Stay there till he leaves it," added the Commander quite fiercely.

Hardly had I given the message to Mr. Gibbins, whose men had already seized their rifles, before the marines began rising on their knees, some of them fixing their bayonets. I knew what that meant, and must confess that I was horribly frightened, and felt jolly thankful to get to the lee side of that big gun and behind the parapet. With my head over the sand-bags, I could see all that was going on.

Mr. Saunderson fell forward, but scrambled to his knees again, looking very white in the face. A marine near the Commander sprang right in the air with an unearthly yell and collapsed in a heap. A second later hundreds of pale, tawny faces, with little pig eyes, showed up over the crest, and one or two of the marines came crawling back to the gun-pit for shelter. I saw Captain Hunter lift the second off the ground and almost throw him back to his place.

They were all on their feet now, firing without putting rifle to shoulder. Chinese went down like nine-pins, but hundreds took their places; a crowd of them were right up to the breast-work, just to the right of the centre Maxim, hitting out with rifles, prodding with bayonets, and slashing with old naval cutlasses. The marines clubbed their rifles, fighting like tigers, man after man dropped down, and a howling mass broke through, pushing Saunderson's marines on one side by sheer weight of numbers, and came streaming across towards the gun.

I saw the dapper little Subaltern from the Strong Arm rushing across with his men from the breast-work overlooking the sea, but they were thrown back like corks in front of a wave, and now the yelling mob was right up to the sand-bag parapet. I had drawn my revolver unconsciously as they came rushing across, and I seemed to become quite cool.

"Now's your time, boys," shouted Mr. Gibbins to the twenty blue-jackets he had inside the gun-pit. "Fire downwards or you'll hit our own men." He leaped on top of the parapet, and, as the first Chinaman tried to scramble over, struck him a blow on the head which knocked him headlong, and then began coolly and deliberately firing his revolver into the seething mass below him.

The whole top of the hill seemed covered with Chinamen, a seething, struggling, yelling mass, with a fringe of marines at the edge, the butt-ends of their rifles, swinging round and round, coming down with sickening thuds on those shaven heads.

Here and there among them, two or three marines, back to back, were clearing a circle round them, and across to the left I could see Captain Hunter cleaving them in front of him.

They were all round us now, clambering over the parapet or pulling down the sand-bags, and though they fell, shot at the muzzles of the blue-jackets' rifles or bayoneted through the body, more filled their places, and tore the sand-bags down like wild cats.

One had half wriggled himself over in front of me—my pistol went off, and he sank down out of sight. Another climbed over him, and I found myself on top of the parapet, though I cannot remember getting there. I fired again, and he too fell, clinging to my legs. I staggered forward, and should have been dragged down among them, but a blue-jacket on my left ran him through with his bayonet, and with a gurgle he let go my legs and slid down.

"Keep farther back, sir," the blue-jacket muttered hoarsely, and jumped across to drive back three more who were nearly over. With a terrible kick of his iron-shod boot he caught one full in the face, but another gripped his leg, the third his rifle, and, before anyone could move, had hauled him headlong to the ground. As he disappeared among them they closed round him with a yell.

I felt a burning red feeling in my head and eyes, and, like a fool, jumped after him, fired my last four cartridges right into them, and began hitting out with my fist and the empty revolver.

Somebody caught me by the wrist, but I wrenched myself free; somehow or other the pressure in front of me became less. I found myself standing over the blue-jacket, with my back to the parapet, with only three or four Chinese in front of me, prodding at me with boarding-pikes and old cutlasses; but, strangely enough, it struck me even then that they were not trying to kill me. I discovered that I had an axe in my hand—how it got there I don't know—and was waving it round and round. The Maxims—our Maxims, by the noise they made—started again, and men were cheering all round me. Chinese came sweeping back past the sides of the gun-pit and brushing against me, and those in front seemed to melt away. It was just like a wave that had swept up a sea-shore, surged against a rock, flung itself all round it, and then, with its force spent, slid back to the sea.

Suddenly I was seized by the collar from behind and swung off the ground. I struggled, I bit, I hit out with what strength I had, but the axe was torn from my hand, my feet were swept from beneath me, and before I could even yell for help I was rushed across the plateau, over the breast-works, and down the side of the hill in the midst of the Chinese.

Just as we got below the edge, one of the men who had hold of me fell with a shriek.

I kicked myself free (he was dead), but two more pounced on me, threw me to the ground, lifted me up, struggling like a cat, and bore me down again.

I was half choked with the smoke of the burning bushes as they rushed through them, and a hundred yards below they stopped, threw me face downwards on the grass, forced my hands together behind my back, tied them there, and then two of the hulking cowards sat on me.

I didn't think—I didn't feel any pain; my brain seemed absolutely frozen, for, just as that brute had fallen and I had kicked myself free, I saw something which I shall never forget for the rest of my life.

Captain Hunter had seen me and, head and shoulders above the retreating Chinamen, had plunged down through them, roaring to his men to follow.

From the bushes below the great black-bearded man suddenly rose up. With curses and blows he rallied his men, and they turned and faced upwards. Down came Captain Hunter through a mob of them, cutting his way to me. He had a long-handled axe in his hand. Circling it round and round his head, striking to left and right, he was carving a way through them, and they gave way and fled helter-skelter, to leave him confronted by the huge European. I saw Captain Hunter's face light up with a fierce joy, and he raised his axe for a mighty stroke; but the European fired his revolver point-blank, the axe dropped from his hand, his arms sank to his side, he stared stupidly in front of him, the revolver cracked again, and, with a sob, I saw Captain Hunter disappear beneath a howling mass of Chinamen, who turned again with a yell of triumph. But by this time his marines had poured over the breast-work and flung themselves in front of his body, and that was the last I saw of that awful hilltop—the little knot of marines fighting slowly backwards towards their breast-work, and carrying Captain Hunter with them. I cared for nothing then. I did not even mind those brutes sitting on me.

Chinese came flying past, some shrieking with fright, others screaming with pain. One or two, when they saw me, tried to spring at me; but the two men drove them off, then lifted me up like a doll and carried me farther away, covering me with a Chinaman's tunic to prevent me from being recognized. They stripped it from a native lying wounded and dying in the bushes.

The noise of firing recommenced above me, and some bullets came crackling through the bushes (our bullets), and I almost wished that one would kill me.

Chinese yells burst out again in the direction of the Bush Hill. They were answered by defiant cheers, one of our Maxims began to rattle, then a burst of Mauser firing drowned every other sound, the noise of fighting dwindled away, a solitary shout, a piercing scream, the Maxim ceased, and all was still once more. I could not tell whether that attack had been repulsed or whether it had swept across the hill, and felt that I only wanted to die.

My captors—three great lusty sailors—hurried me downhill, and presently they came to the cultivated plots above the town, and across these they went at a run, avoiding parties of coolies hurrying up the hill and armed with strange, old-fashioned weapons.

I saw that they were making for a small, white-painted bungalow under some trees, and presently they reached it and flung me down in an out-house among a lot of firewood and coal, tied my legs together and slammed the door, bolted it from the outside, and left me in darkness.

How long I remained there I do not know, but now I felt a stabbing pain in my chest whenever I tried to wriggle into a less painful position, and another in my leg close to where I had been wounded before.

I began to wonder what they were going to do with me, and whether I should be tortured—for we had all dreaded falling alive into their hands—but I don't think that I really cared what happened.

The door flew open, two of the sailors came in, caught me up, and carried me out across a garden and through a verandah with long cane chairs under it. Here a native servant led them inside the bungalow, a bamboo curtain was pushed aside, and they sat me down on a mat on the floor.

Lying on a little trestle-bed in one corner was a man groaning in his sleep. The native servant bent over the bed, touched him on the shoulder, and he woke with a start and raised his head.

It was Hopkins, his eyes glittering strangely, and his face all drawn with pain.

"Thank God! you are safe, Glover," he cried, and made them unfasten my legs and arms. When I was free once more he ordered the men out of the room, but they refused to go, talking excitedly.

"Guess they want their re-ward," he drawled, and asked me to open a heavy cash-box at his side. He fumbled at his neck and found the key.

"Tally up a couple of hundred dollars' worth of bills," he asked me, "and sling them at those scoundrels."

It was a funny thing for me to be counting out the sum to be paid for my own capture and handing it over to those brutes, but I did it automatically. I really did not feel, or hear, or see anything quite as if I were awake; and when I read over what I have written, it seems so jerky and disconnected, that I have often tried to make it read more smoothly, but then I don't think it would give you quite the impression it still gives me. Incidents just seemed to happen; they did not seem to have any connection, but went on, one after another, till I woke up standing over Hopkins's cash-box and paying those ugly brutes.

I ought to have hated and loathed Hopkins, but somehow or other I didn't—none of us did, I fancy—and remembering, as if it were in a dream I had just wakened from, the gallant way he had led that charge, I felt awfully sorry for him, and forgot that, but for him and his partners, Captain Hunter would not be lying dead on that hill above me, nor many others—how many, I dare not think.

"Captain Hunter is killed. That brute with the black beard shot him," I blurted out; and it may seem funny to you, but I knew that he would be just as sorry as I was. His face twitched. "That is Schmidt," he said.

"He died trying to rescue me," I said, and something seemed to stick in my throat. I could not keep it back, and threw myself on the floor and sobbed and sobbed till tears came.

Even now I don't feel in the least ashamed of myself, and I know that I was absolutely too played out to mind then.

"I'm sorry, Glover, I'm mighty sorry, but it would have been up against you if he had hauled you back."

He said it so seriously, that a faint idea of what he meant flashed through my mind, and I remembered the second attack which I had listened to whilst I was being carried down the hill, and the endless stream of coolies pouring up the hill.

"Why?" I gasped.

"Come here," he said, stretching out his hand and drawing me gently to him. "Guess there ain't no blood on it 'cept my own," he added bitterly, as I half drew back. "You and your chum, young Foote, were the last to shake that hand, youngster, and you wouldn't have seen me again an' been still jumping around but for that and one thing besides." I remembered then that Toddles and I had shaken hands with him when he had been exchanged for Ping Sang.

"I reckon that if somebody hadn't just sloshed around and coralled a few of these heathen, and sent 'em up to bring you down at a hundred-dollar bill a head, you'd be getting about stiff by now. If that whole outfit up top there ain't wiped out by sundown, we've got a couple o' thousand who'll eat what's left after dark."

He was so earnest, and so evidently believed what he said, that his words made me feel cold with horror.

He saw my dismay and said: "I reckon, though, that this combine is just about busted. We shall just have to quit.

"Those rotten ships ain't no more use for fighting than—than—than I am," he finished, and caught his breath as some pain seemed to grip him. He went on in a minute.

"See here, youngster, I'm shot clean through the stomach. I reckon I might pull through if it had been a slate-pencil of a Mauser bullet, but it was a Martini bullet, and I've got just two more rounds of the sun and then I pass in my checks. I had seen you on top of that hill sticking to little Cummins like a 'possum, and when I got downed I guessed that I'd fish you out to do something particular for me."

"The Commander wouldn't let me stick to him if he could help it," I said. "He was afraid of my being shot, for he knew that he was being fired at."

Hopkins smiled. "Guess he didn't calculate that I stopped 'em potting at him when you were in his vicinity. I'll show you why."

He put his arm under his pillow and drew out a photograph, looking at it with strange eyes, and handed it to me. "Guess that's the reason."

It was a photograph of Milly, and just like the one Mr. Pattison had.

"How did you know Milly?" I cried, tremendously surprised.

"Helston introduced me one day in London. I met her several times, put the old man" (the Admiral) "on to a good thing in oil shares, got an invite to his place at Fareham for a couple of days, and—and—and—well, Glover, your cousin simply knocked me over, and" (the colour rising under his tanned face) "I asked her to be my wife."

"You did?" I asked, simply astounded. (Fancy old Milly marrying a pirate!)

"Yes, I reckon I did," he answered quietly, his face twitching again; "and I reckon I meant it, and meant it for all time."

"Did she——?" I began.

"She did not say 'No'," he replied, speaking reverently. "She said that she would give me my answer when I came back."

"But how could you——?" I began, and could have bitten my tongue off.

He knew well enough what I meant, and his face paled and became fearfully hard and rigid.

"If she had promised to be my wife, Glover, I would have thrown up this cursed job, though I reckon they might have hunted me down in time and got a knife into me later. As it was, I had to go through with the show. I had sworn to back up my pals, but calculated my job might about end when I'd delayed Helston and brought out those beastly destroyers.

"Youngster, we three—Hamilton, Schmidt, and myself—have looked death face to face together a hundred times, and, wife or no wife, a white man could not throw up the cards and back out of the game when his chums were cornered.

"I could have quitted any night this last fortnight, skedaddled out in a junk, but, well, I didn't, and here I am now, with a hole in my stomach, waiting to be planted."

I had dropped his hand, but took hold of it again.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

He pulled a packet from under his pillow, wrapped round in Korean oiled cloth. "That's my will, Glover. I want to sign it. You'll find a pen and ink on that table over there. Get it."

I brought pen and ink and unwrapped the package. I found a few legal-looking papers, and a sheet of the Laird's mess note-paper dropped out, with "H.I.M.S. Laird" printed on it. As I picked up this I saw written on it, "My Last Will and Testament".

"We shall want another witness," he said, "to do those lawyers out of a haul;" and he beat on the wall with a split bamboo.

His butler or head boy came hurriedly in with a scared face. Hopkins could not sit up in bed, so I held the paper against a book whilst he signed his name, "Reginald S. Hopkins, late U.S.N.", and then I added my own name and the head boy his, first in Chinese characters and then in a rough school-boy hand in English, "Hi Ling".

"Promise me, Glover, to hand that to the Admiral."

"To the Admiral?" I said. "To Milly's father?"

"Yes, youngster; I've left her all I possess, and it's a tidy big lump," he added.

"But!" I gasped. Milly could not take his money—a pirate's money, I thought.

He guessed my thoughts and winced, but added with a grim smile:

"Every cent is as clean as it ever is on the New York Exchange. My guv'nor made it in oil, and that's what's left of it. The Admiral won't smell nothing worse than oil, I reckon, in those greenbacks, for I've never had fingers on them."

"How can I take it to Milly?" I asked. "Are you going to send me back to the Commander?"

"Guess not," he smiled faintly. "Those docu-ments won't be dispatched that way, I reckon. They're hurrying up with spades to bury that little lot right away. Back you go to the Laird as fast as I can send you. I've got a destroyer waiting for you, with her boilers near bursting, and two thousand dollars I've promised those wretched cowards aboard her when they bring back a receipt for you from Helston. The weather is pretty bad, but she'll stand it, and I'll die more easy when I know you're safe aboard that packet. And you'll take Hi Ling too, in case there's any legal rumpus concerning that signature.

"Will you do this for me, youngster?"

I hated going back to the ship without the Commander and his men, but if he would not send me back to them there was no help for it; and, besides, I wanted to do what I could for him.

"If you won't send me back to the Commander, I'll take them aboard and promise to hand them to the Admiral," I said.

Hi Ling had gone away, but now returned with two of the sailors who had captured me. They brought a great blue cotton cloth and began to wrap me in it, whilst Hi Ling talked excitedly to Hopkins, evidently in great distress.

"He doesn't want to leave me," Hopkins said. "I've nobody else to look after me."

"But you can't be left alone," I said; "they might kill you."

"Not till I've got that receipt from Helston," he answered grimly, pulling a revolver from under the bedclothes.

The blue-jackets prepared to lift me on their shoulders, and I hurriedly shook hands with Hopkins, not daring to look at his face.

They lifted me up and took me out of the room, but I heard him call out, and they put me down. He called me, and I went back.

His face was rigid with pain and sorrow. "Glover, youngster," and he clenched my hand, "tell her I loved her; tell her I love her now; tell her that I died fighting. I led that charge well? I did, did I not? Tell her that."

I felt a sob coming up at the back of my throat, and darted out again.

He called me back, and said in half a whisper, with a catch in his throat; "She may think I died fighting—on—your—side. Don't let her know."

I squeezed his two hands. I could not say a word, for my lips were quivering. I left him there.

The sailors seized me roughly, covered me from head to foot in the blue cloth, and began running. I could hear Hi Ling panting at my side.

In a little while they stopped, I felt the breeze and the smell of the sea, and they jolted me into a boat and began pulling from the shore.

They unwound the cloth which still covered me, and I saw that we were making straight for one of the Patagonian destroyers. We bumped alongside, and I scrambled painfully up. The Chinamen on deck gesticulated savagely, and one or two spat at me; but I was so utterly miserable, that I did not seem to care what happened, or even to be frightened.

They cast off almost immediately, keeping close inshore till they came near the entrance, and then had to shoot out into the harbour.

The destroyer must then have come into view from One Gun Hill, for a huge shell fell with a splash in the water a hundred yards astern, ricocheted against the cliffs, and burst with a roar, the frightened crew throwing themselves flat on the deck or rushing down below.

I jumped to my feet and yelled with delight. It was our 12-inch Krupp, and the Commander and his men were still holding out on the top of the hill. Oh, the relief and the joy of it!

I looked upwards, but could not see the top of the hill on account of the smoke from the gun and from the still burning bushes.

We were now slipping past the ledge on which the Commander, Jones, and I had lain two days ago, and the cruiser at the foot of it was burning furiously quite close to where we had sunk the dinghy.

"Mista Hamilton belong all same dead man." I turned round. It was Hi Ling, rubbing his thin hands sadly and then pointing to the wreck. "Shell he come and makee blow up—vely blave man—plenty numbly one fightee man. All belong vely bad joss," he added mournfully.

"The lame Englishman dead?" I asked.

The Chinaman nodded his head.

Then we ran past the place where we had knocked over the two sentries, passed between the landing-stages, and between the two forts, lined with men gaping down at us, twisted round a corner, and dashed into the full force of the gale and the huge seas on our starboard beam. No wonder that the crew would not take me out under two thousand dollars.

I could see the Laird right ahead, five miles out to sea, and the Chinamen hoisted a great white flag at the masthead, which flew as stiff as mill-board to leeward, and made straight for her.

They had to ease down immediately, as seas were coming right over us, and we were hardly clear of the rocks near the entrance before Mr. Lang in "No. 2" sighted us, and came racing along to cut us off, tumbling and lurching through the following seas.

One of the crew came running aft, jabbered to Hi Ling, and pointed to me.

"Captain he wantchee you go topsides all same blidge," said Hi Ling.

Up I went, and they made me understand that I had to make myself conspicuous, so that Mr. Lang could see me.

I waved my handkerchief—I don't know what had become of my cap—and shouted in my excitement, though, of course, that was silly; and then a wave flopped on the bridge and drenched me from head to foot, and as the salt water soaked through my clothes, those places on my chest and leg began to smart again.

Mr. Lang had seen our white flag, and came staggering up with a signal flying at the yard-arm—"Heave to" and "Send a boat".

A boat could not live for a moment in that sea—at any rate, no boat that we had—so I jammed myself against the bridge rails and semaphored with my arms, "Midshipman Glover on board—a prisoner—being taken back to Laird".

I could see the stir this signal made, everybody trying to see me. Then Mr. Lang spotted me and waved his arms. His signalman semaphored, "Remain where you are; will communicate with Laird".

I explained to Hi Ling, and he to the captain—a great, gaunt, honest-looking Tartar—who grunted a reply.

Off went Mr. Lang to the Laird, and in twenty minutes back he came and semaphored, "Will follow you to lee of island and send a boat".

I told Hi Ling, but the captain shook his head decisively after chattering to some of the others. "No can do," said Hi Ling, "Mista Hopkins he wantchee leceipt flom numbly one ship," and he pointed to the Laird. "No can do," and he pointed to "No. 2".

I signalled across, "Have orders to transfer me to Laird—refuse to put me aboard you—no fear of treachery—have no torpedoes in tubes" (I had noticed this previously). Mr. Lang waved his hand, and "No. 2" thrashed back to the Laird.

We had already drifted half a mile past the entrance, and presently saw the Laird steaming away towards the north of the island, and we followed her, even before Mr. Lang could get back or make a signal, and soon began to get shelter in the lee of the land.

The Laird came grandly down, her masts swaying in a stately, deliberate manner as she rolled from side to side, till she, too, ran into smoother water and lowered a cutter.

Five minutes later it came alongside, with Toddles in command. I jumped in, followed by the captain and Hi Ling, and we shoved off back to the Laird. She gave us a lee, and I caught a rope and scrambled up, followed by the captain, as agile as a monkey, though Hi Ling could not face it, and remained terror-struck in the boat as she went up and down, and the crew kept her from stoving in her side against the ship.

It was Captain Helston who hauled me through the gangway, and I hurriedly explained that the big Chinaman wanted a receipt for my safe return. He was given it, swung himself down the side without deigning a word or a look, and the boat took him back to the destroyer, after we had hauled Hi Ling on board with a bow-line under his arm-pits.

"What news, Glover? Quick!" said Captain Helston.

I told him all I knew. It was a painful story and a long one, and I finished it in his cabin. He was fearfully agitated, and paced backwards and forwards, clutching his empty sleeve.

Dr. Fox, too, who was standing over me, was scarcely less alarmed. I had never seen him show the least feeling before.

"What are we to do, Fox? What are we to do?" Captain Helston kept saying. "It is impossible to land another man, even if I could spare one, and we've only three hours of daylight left. They'll all be murdered."

A midshipman—it was Dumpling—came down. "They've fired that gun again, sir," he said, grinned at me, and disappeared.

"They are still holding out, Doc. What can we do?"

"This is a matter of life or death, not only of strategy and tactics," said Dr. Fox suddenly. "One thing must be done—done at once, too—and you know what that is."

"Yes, yes. I must draw off their attention from Cummins by attacking those forts; a terrible risk, but it must be taken." His face became quite calm and happy again, and he rang the sentry bell.

"Send the First Lieutenant to me."

The First Lieutenant came running down.

"I am going to attack those forts at once. Signal to the Strong Arm to support me, and to Parker and Lang to close and await orders."

"Very good, sir," said the First Lieutenant and vanished with a joyful smile.

Picking up his telescope, the Captain went on deck, and Dr. Fox began taking off what was left of my monkey-jacket and examining my body. I heard the buglers sounding out for General Quarters, and heard the stamping of the men as they rushed cheering to their stations.

"Look at yourself, boy," said Dr. Fox, standing me on a chair, and I saw myself in the sideboard glass. I had no cap, my face was scratched all over, my flannel shirt was all covered with blood and was almost torn in half, one trouser leg had a great tear in it, and there was more blood on that, but the sea on board the destroyer had washed most of it away. I was sopping wet, and one boot had gone too.

"You don't look worth much; hardly worth sending you back, was it?"

I snatched at my torn monkey-jacket and pulled out the package.

"Mr. Hopkins is dying, sir. That is his will, and he wanted to know it was safe aboard here. He has left everything to Milly."

"To Milly!" said Dr. Fox, astounded. "I knew that he did meet her two or three times. Was he too in love with her?"

"Yes, sir; I think she half promised to marry him. Aren't you awfully sorry for him, sir?"

Dr. Fox smiled that cynical smile that made you want to kick him.

"I can't stop here all day," he growled. "I'm short-handed with Richardson away, and must look after my job. You have had enough fighting to last you till doomsday, so just you go down to the ammunition passages and wait there till I come."

"Can't I stay on deck, sir?"

"Do what I tell you!" he snarled, and, to see that I obeyed him, he took me down below himself.

CHAPTER XXIII

The Attack on the Forts

Below the Armoured Deck—We Engage the Forts—We Silence the Forts—My Wounds are Dressed

Mr. Midshipman Glover's Narrative continued

The men were hurriedly closing water-tight doors and lowering the water-tight hatchway covers. Dr. Fox and I must have been nearly the last to go below, for the men had to stop lowering the big armoured hatchway cover aft, in order that we might scramble through it and climb down the steep iron ladder to the magazine flats.

The heavy iron armour fell into place with a thud. I heard the men above screwing down the clamps which secured it, and for the first time in my life realized that we were shut in below the armoured deck, and wondered how we were going to escape if anything happened.

Of course I had often been there before during drills, but this was the real thing, and I felt like a rat in a trap.

The big space we were now in was called the "cross passage", and ran right across the ship, with the sloping dome of the armoured deck above it. The magazines opened into it at the after end, and on each side the ammunition passages ran for'ard. These were two tunnels just broad enough for two men to squeeze past, and just high enough for them to stand erect. They ran along each side of the ship, under the curved edge of the armoured deck, to open into another cross passage for'ard, where were more magazines, and from the top of them rose the ammunition hoists—great armoured tubes, five on each side—leading up to the main and upper deck 6-inch guns.

From the for'ard cross passage a huge armoured tube ran up to the fo'c'stle to feed the fo'c'stle 8-inch gun, and there was a similar one running up from the after cross passage to the quarter-deck gun.

Standing underneath and looking up through this one, I could just catch a glimpse of the sky; but of course no daylight came down, and though there were electric lights here and there on the bulk-heads, it was very gloomy.

Men were in the whitewashed magazines, with felt slippers on their feet, handing out 6-inch shell and cartridge-cases. Others, rushing out from the darker ammunition passages, seized them, shoved them into little canvas bags bound with rope, and dashed back again to feed their own especial ammunition hoist. Hooking the bags to a rope which ran up the tube, passed over a pulley-wheel at the top and led down again, they hauled the shell and cartridges up to the 6-inch gun above them.

I crouched in a corner to be out of the way, and as it grew hotter and hotter, and the stifling air became full of dust, the electric lights themselves began to blur indistinctly; and the men, leaping along the passages, jostling each other as they passed, muttering as they barked their shins or dropped a projectile, clothed in nothing but boots, duck trousers and flannels, their faces and necks streaming with perspiration, looked like demons.

A stoker near me, one of two who stood by with a fire-hose, muttered to his mate, "Blow me, Bill, if it ain't as 'ot as 'ot."

"You've 'it it to a shovelful; it's wurs'n what them stoke'olds are," I heard Bill reply, as he cut off some tobacco and stuffed it into his cheek.

"So long as we don't get no blooming fire down 'ere, I'm a-comfortable enough a-standin' 'ere a-watching of them others a-workin'. But what breaks me 'eart every time," he continued, "we don't seem to never get no 'ead o' water through this 'ere hose-pipe. I don't 'old with them new-fangled pumps they've got aboard this 'ere junk."

"The same 'ere," answered his mate, and they settled themselves comfortably on the coiled-up fire-hose to enjoy their quids of tobacco.

Dr. Fox, the three Paymasters, the Chaplain, and the sick-bay people were trying to get a clear corner, and were laying out bandages, tourniquets, and surgical dressings, the mere sight of which made me feel horribly uncomfortable, and more like a rat in a trap than ever.

It was bad enough whilst the men were rushing to and fro, and in that thick, stuffy atmosphere you could smell nothing but sweating men; but presently they had brought out as much ammunition as they could heap round the bottom of the hoists, and there was nothing more for them to do yet. The ammunition parties grouped silently below their own special hoists, and the magazine parties had time to pass their arms across their eyes and wipe the stinging sweat away.

It was a time of terrible suspense, for not a sound could be heard from above, where we knew the guns' crews were standing round their guns, and from below nothing but the regular rhythm of the big engines, the rapid throbbing of the dynamo-engines and the pumps behind the bulk-heads, and every now and again the harsh rumbling of the steering-engine aft.

Added to all this we were rolling very heavily.

Presently a man came scrambling down one of the hoists—sliding down the rope—and there was a sudden stir as men eagerly questioned him.

"Are we getting close inshore?" "Have the forts opened fire yet?" "Is that big gun still firing?" "Where's the Strong Arm?"

Then there was silence again—all but the noises of the engines drumming and thudding on the other side of the white bulk-heads.

The First Lieutenant, trying to appear calm, walked round and round, first along the port side, then down the starboard passage, seeing that everything was ready and everybody in his place, speaking a word here and there to a petty officer, and followed closely by his midshipman messenger, a very junior chap we called "Daisy".

Then the little bell at our end of the conning-tower voice-pipe tinkled loudly. The man stationed there sang out for the First Lieutenant, and he came running up. Captain Helston was giving him an order from the conning tower.

"Very good, sir," he shouted back.

"Stand by on the port side, men; we are just going to commence."

Oh, wasn't it exciting! and didn't I wish that I was up above that armoured deck with the sky overhead, instead of lying down there so stiff and sore that I could barely move!

The men were fidgeting nervously from one foot to the other, and then the silence was broken by the banging of the guns in the port battery overhead. A second later the quarter-deck 8-inch went off, and we could feel the ship quiver; another quiver came from the fo'c'stle big gun for'ard. Two minutes of this and then men shouted hoarsely down the hoists for more ammunition, the voice-pipe bells tinkled, and the order came down to pass up only common shell (shell with thin walls and a large bursting charge).

Men flew backwards and forwards, the dust thickened again, the heat and the mugginess were horrid, and every now and again some of the powder smoke would be blown down the hoists and make those stifling ammunition passages darker still.

The First Lieutenant walked steadily backwards and forwards along the port side, singing out, "Steady, men; don't hurry—don't crowd," and the two stokers near me tucked their feet out of the way and went on chewing their quids of tobacco.

Then a man slid down one of the starboard hoists and crawled aft to Dr. Fox. He had a great gash in one leg, with some spun yarn tied tightly about it.

"They're firing furious," he gasped, "and a splinter from the first cutter caught me."

Then the port guns ceased firing, and we heard the steering-engine rumbling "hard over".

"We are turning now, boys, and going past again. Stand by for the starboard guns," sang out the First Lieutenant.

The quarter-deck gun ceased firing. Now we were almost round again, and could faintly hear the boom of the Strong Arm's guns coming down the hoists.

There was a crash and a roar above us, something came clattering down one of the port upper-deck hoists, a man jumped and picked it up—a fragment of shell—and he dropped it again precious quickly with burnt fingers. I remember that the men all laughed at him.

"Want the doctor!" someone shouted down.

In a moment Dr. Fox was there with a bag over his shoulder. They made a bight in the rope hoist, he placed his foot in it, and grasped the rope over his head.

"Haul handsomely, men," he growled, and they hauled him up the hoist. He was down again in a minute or two, sliding down the rope.

"Too late!" I heard him mutter as he landed, his hands and sleeves covered with blood.

"Who was it, sir?" somebody asked him, but he took no notice.

Then the starboard guns and the quarter-deck 8-inch commenced, and we had begun to go past those two forts for the second run.

I pictured our shells bursting against the rocks and among the guns I had seen there, and wondered whether the European in charge was sober or not, and whether the Commander was still holding out round his Krupp gun. If only I hadn't been such a fool as to jump down off that parapet of sand-bags, I might have been with him still.

We were coming to the end of the second run now, and the First Lieutenant had just said as he wiped his forehead: "They can't stand much more of this if we're making anything like decent shooting," when they commenced cheering on deck, and somebody shouted down that the forts had hoisted a white flag. The men below cheered from one end of the passages to the other, and the guns above ceased firing.

Dr. Fox and a sick-berth steward climbed up a hoist to look after some more wounded on deck, and in a few minutes the main engines began to slow down and presently stopped altogether.

On deck we heard the bos'n's mate pipe, "Away, second cutter!" a voice yelled down the hoist, "Any second cutters down below there?" A couple of men belonging to that boat scrambled hastily up, there was silence again, and we could do nothing but wait and wonder what was happening.

"If we sit here much longer I'm blowed if we sha'n't miss our first dog-watch," said one of the stokers cheerfully, and unbending his cramped legs.

"'Tis a hill wind that don't blow nobody no good," added the other reflectively, and they both spat into a dark corner behind the fire-hose.

"Put those two men in the Commander's report," said the First Lieutenant, who had just come over from the opposite side and saw them spit.

Daisy, his midshipman, got out his pocket-book and took their names.

"What about yer hill wind now?" said the first one who had spoken, as Daisy went away, and they sat down again. "That will blooming well stop yer chawnce of going ashore and picking up a bit o' loot."

Old Mellins scrambled down to see me, and jolly glad I was. He is such a thoughtful chap, and had brought me some grub—a pot of pâté de foie gras and some bread and butter. Till I saw it I never realized how terribly hungry I was; and you should have seen me eating it, with Mellins standing over me, spreading great chunks of the pâté on thick slices of bread and butter, and telling me all that had happened.

"Our first run past those forts simply knocked the stuffing out of them. You couldn't see them for dust and the smoke of the shells, and when we turned round and went for them again they hardly fired a gun. We could see them tumbling over each other in their hurry to scramble out of the forts, and after we'd ceased firing someone hauled down their colours and hoisted a white flag as big as a sheet. It was simply ripping."

"How about the Commander?" I asked.

"He's going strong, and firing that big gun into the harbour every four or five minutes. 'No. 2' and 'No. 3' are right in under the forts, and Toddles has taken the Captain inshore to take possession of them, or what is left of them."

"Anybody killed?" I asked.

"We have one, poor Joe Connolly, the coxswain of my picket-boat," said Mellins sadly, "and the Strong Arm has three killed and nearly twenty pretty badly wounded. A 6-inch shell burst on her upper deck—in the battery."

Dr. Fox and his sick-berth steward came along then, and Mellins was sent away to get me some more clothes, as the ones I had on were torn and blood-stained. It wasn't all my blood, I think, for when Dr. Fox had ripped off my shirt he only found a clean cut along my ribs, and the wound in my leg was a nasty stab made, I expect, by one of those horrid boarding-pikes the Chinese were prodding me with.

This wound was much the more uncomfortable, and Dr. Fox took quite a long time probing and syringing it till it was quite clean.

It was very painful and smarted a good deal; and wasn't I jolly glad when he had finished and left me alone again, and Mellins had helped me into my clean things!

CHAPTER XXIV

The Capture of the Island

A Crisis—Inside the Pirate Island—A Feeble Resistance—Doctors Wanted—An Awful Night—Schmidt Escapes

Whilst the Laird and the Strong Arm steamed past the forts for the first time, at a range of between four and five thousand yards, the forts had replied furiously and struck the Laird repeatedly.

Hardly had she fired the first gun before a shell passed through her foremost funnel, making a large rent in it, but, fortunately, not bursting. A second struck the first cutter, completely wrecking it and wounding one or two men with the splinters which flew in all directions. Another shell struck the armoured belt at the water-line and burst, doing no damage, and leaving only a dent in the hard steel. A fourth had passed through the ward-room and burst in the Gunnery Lieutenant's cabin, setting it on fire, whilst the last struck one of the upper-deck 6-inch gun-shields, forced it back on top of the gun and burst, killing Connolly, the captain of the gun, and wounding three of his men badly.

The Strong Arm had not been struck till the ships began to turn, but then she was hit by several shells in quick succession, and lost three killed and seventeen wounded.

But the fire of the two ships had been so terrific, that even as they steadied on their course, and edged in to within three thousand yards for their second run, the signalman up aloft in the fore-top saw the Chinamen already leaving their guns, and before they had completed this second run the enemy had hauled down their flag and presently hoisted a white one.

Captain Helston immediately ceased fire, and ordered Lang and Parker to go close inshore with their destroyers and reconnoitre.

Mr. Lang signalled from "No. 2" that the forts had been evacuated, and Helston called away the second cutter and went himself to make certain that such was the case.

There was no doubt about it—the forts were completely deserted—and he signalled to the Laird and ordered her to land fifty men and occupy them at once, pushing on himself through the entrance-channel till he came abreast of the deserted landing-stages. Not a Chinaman could be seen.

Here he made the men lie on their oars, and now he could see the whole of the harbour, the smoking wreck of the cruiser at the foot of the cliffs on his right, the little town on the other side of the harbour, and the cruisers beyond it, hugging the shore and mixed up in confusion with the anchored merchant ships.

The cruisers were evidently not showing fight, that was as plain as a "pike-staff", but the sharp bursts of rifle firing that the wind brought down from One Gun Hill told him that Cummins was still being severely pressed.

He knew from Midshipman Glover's hurried report that the little party was much reduced in numbers and must be running short of ammunition, and, as far as he could judge, the attack on the forts had not reduced the danger of the Commander's position. In fact, the inference was that he might have driven out the garrison of those forts only to reinforce the crowds of infuriated Chinese, who would now make one more determined effort to overwhelm the gallant little cluster of men who had so desperately held on to that hilltop since daylight.

Fortunately the sudden necessity for immediate action, the prompt resolve to bombard the forts as the only means of relieving the pressure on the Commander's party, and the celerity with which the reduction of those forts had been carried out, bore him along on a wave of fortune which seemed to sweep away his recent indecision and vacillation.

He abruptly determined to take a step still more decisive.

The risks of the project almost appalled him; but the necessity for instant action was so vividly apparent, that though he momentarily hesitated before irrevocably committing his little squadron, the continuous rattle of musketry from the hill above decided him upon one final resolution.

There might be more guns hidden on the high land all round him. The cruisers might still oppose him valiantly, and there was but one hour of daylight remaining, yet he determined to make this last effort for entire success.

"Get back to the Laird as fast as you can," he said to Toddles, the midshipman of the boat, who had been looking with wonder at the change which had come over him.

"Back starboard; give way port. Pull, men, for your lives;" and with bending oars they drove the boat out to sea again, out between the destroyers, and splashed through the heavy seas.

With their boat half-full of water, they pulled under the lee of the Laird, hooked on their boat's falls, and were hoisted up with a run.

"Belay those fifty men," Captain Helston told the First Lieutenant, who hurried up to receive him as he scrambled down on deck, "and go to quarters again. I'm going to take the whole squadron inside."

"Oh!" whistled the First Lieutenant, and rushed off.

The bugles blared; signals flew to the Strong Arm; men passed the word to the guns' crews that they were going right inside; men bellowed the news down the ammunition hoists, down the engine-room and stokehold gratings, and on deck and down below from the bowels of the ship cheer after cheer burst forth.

Now the Strong Arm had the news, and her men too began to cheer as the two ships gathered way and made straight for the entrance.

As they passed between the two weather-beaten little destroyers, rolling gunwale under, with their funnels white with salt, the crews of the destroyers sprang to "attention" and then broke into cheers. The Laird was right in the entrance now, her boats, swung out at the davits, almost grazed, to port and starboard, the rocky ledges in which the abandoned guns were mounted.

Grandly she answered her helm, swung round the bend in the channel, and steadied as she majestically moved past the deserted landing-stages. The Strong Arm, carefully handled by the First Lieutenant, followed her. "No. 2" and "No. 3" dashed in after them, and the whole of the squadron except the Sylvia was inside the island harbour.

* * * * *

The sudden approach of these two ships to the attack had found the forts totally unprepared to make any effective resistance.

For the last three weeks the squadron had shown such an evident disinclination to come to close quarters, that Hopkins, Hamilton, and Schmidt had been lulled into a sense of false security, and, imagining that no attack would be made from that quarter, had withdrawn a considerable number of the artillerymen from the forts, all trained and disciplined men, to strengthen the attack on One Gun Hill.

The seizure of the Krupp gun had taken them completely by surprise, and the necessity for its recapture was imperative.

Unable to rely upon their coolies, they had hastily denuded the ships and gathered sufficient blue-jackets to make the first rush. Though nearly successful it had ended disastrously, Hopkins being mortally wounded and such a number of men being killed, that the remainder could only with difficulty be again induced to advance from cover.

The unsuccessful attempt to cut off the small party with the oil-drums, the destruction of the cruiser, and the death of Hamilton, the lame Englishman on board her, made it evident to Schmidt that he must, once for all, overwhelm Cummins and his men before the weather abated and allowed further reinforcements to land. He had, therefore, brought up every coolie he could find, armed them with every weapon he could lay his hands on, and stiffened their wavering ranks with the disciplined men from the forts and what blue-jackets he could muster.

Inciting them to fury with tales of what their fate would be if they were captured, he had plied them with drink, and gathering them behind the smoke from the burning bushes, had hurled them at the top of the hill.

It was with this wild, fanatical mob, mad with unaccustomed drink, that Hopkins had sent the small body of blue-jackets to endeavour to rescue Glover, and though in this he had been successful, the assault itself had been finally repulsed.

Only a few men were left in the forts themselves, and the European in charge, who had been drinking heavily during the last ten days, was in no fit state to utilize even those that remained to him, and when Schmidt first awoke to the fact that the squadron had at last ventured to attack, he left his beaten men to continue to harass the top of the hill with rifle fire, and rushed down towards the forts.

Before he could reach them he met the terror-stricken mob of men flying from them, and almost immediately afterwards saw the top-masts of the Laird and the Strong Arm appearing behind the harbour entrance.

These frightened fugitives, scared out of their very lives, had splashed hurriedly past the destroyers lying huddled inshore, and spread the panic among their crews, who, not even waiting till the Laird appeared inside the harbour, took to their boats or jumped overboard and made for the shore.

Schmidt knew well enough that there was nothing now to stop Helston's squadron, knew that the greater part of his blue-jackets were already on top of the hill—many of them dead—knew that one of his partners had been blown to pieces on the opposite side of the harbour, and that the other lay dying; but with a gambler's trust in the last throw of the dice, he jumped into a dinghy, pulled himself across to the Hong Lu, and tried to rally his cowed and dispirited men.

* * * * *

It was from the sides of the Hong Lu that suddenly, as the Laird and the Strong Arm steered into the harbour, flames shot out and shells came wildly past them. The two remaining cruisers joined in, and for perhaps five minutes the water round the two ships was lashed into foam, and the cliffs behind them were struck time after time by the Chinese shells.

But every gun that could bear upon the unhappy cruisers crowded under the land poured in a fire so concentrated, so coolly aimed, and so accurate, that their already demoralized crews could not stand to their guns, and running their ships ashore, swarmed over the bows and left them to their fate.

The Hong Lu did indeed make one desperate and gallant attempt. Extricating herself from the other ships, she commenced steaming towards the Laird and the Strong Arm, and came down at great speed with the intention of either ramming one or other of them, or of forcing her way past and escaping to sea.

The Laird and the Strong Arm, opening out a little in the broader part of the harbour, poured in a very hail of 6-inch shells. The Hong Lu's thin, low plates were rent open in a dozen places, water poured in, and she began visibly to sink by the head. An 8-inch shell burst at the foot of her foremast under the bridge, her bows were smothered in flame and smoke, she fell off to port, and then she too ran with a crash up the shore, and her crew began jumping overboard.

The Strong Arm steamed towards her to complete the destruction, if necessary, and saw one huge solitary figure on her quarter-deck. This was Schmidt, who quickly dived into the sea, swam with powerful strokes to the land, and disappeared in the dense cover.

With the Hong Lu abandoned all opposition ceased, and from the top of One Gun Hill the faint sound of cheering could be heard. Looking through their telescopes they could see the gallant little party clustered behind the breast-works they had defended so long, standing up on the sand-bags and waving their helmets as they cheered.

They, too, were safe.

The light was already beginning to fade, and heavy squalls of rain made signalling difficult, but Cummins managed to get one semaphore signal through to the Laird: "Enemy disappearing; am short of ammunition, and require medical assistance. Richardson is killed."

Helston sent for Dr. Fox and handed him the signal.

"I'll go myself," said the Doctor.

"I thought you would," replied Helston. "I'll give you fifty men, and you must get up there as fast as you can, and I'll turn my search-lights on the top of the hill as soon as it is dark. I don't expect that you'll find the Chinese have any more fight left in them, but if you do I will help you."

"No. 3" was sent out to bring the Sylvia into the harbour, parties of men were sent aboard the ships, destroyers, and torpedo-boats to remove the breech-blocks of their guns, and a strong body of men was sent down to the forts to do the same there. They found five bodies in the batteries, but very little material damage done—very little compared to the apparent destruction as seen from the ships. Two of the smaller guns had been dismounted and one of the 6-inch had been disabled, but nothing more, though masses of the rock behind them had been blasted with the shells and lay between the guns in heaps.

Another party tried unsuccessfully to extinguish the fire aboard the Hong Lu, but had to leave her to her fate, for the flames had taken firm hold of her and were spreading rapidly towards the magazines.

It was quite dark before these precautions were complete, and meanwhile Dr. Fox, with his escort of fifty men, was hurrying to the top of the hill, bearing more ammunition and the urgently-needed surgical dressings.

He had landed far from the town, and, giving it a wide berth—for already the sounds of rioting and tumult rose from it—had struck the zigzag path just as daylight failed.

But few natives had been met, and these had fled precipitately.

Dr. Fox pressed on up the hill, aided by the Laird's search-light, which lighted up the path ahead of him, made still more slippery and treacherous by the heavy rain now falling. Urged to his utmost exertions by the knowledge that he and his men were urgently wanted, he scrambled on, stumbling every now and then over the bodies of dead Chinamen and over rifles which had been thrown away in their flight, and now lay scattered in great numbers on the path.

At last he came out into the open in front of the breastworks, and feeble cheers greeted him from the remnants of the defenders. The search-lights of the ships lighted up the whole of that charred open space below the crest, and hundreds of prostrate bodies dotted it, thickly piled, literally in heaps, where the Maxims had swept them down in their last mad rush, their yellow faces horrible in the beams of the light. Right up to the sand-bags they lay, giving proof of the fierceness of their charge, whilst the dark eyes and haggard, drawn faces of the marines and bluejackets behind the breast-work showed only too plainly the terrible struggle they had made to defend it.

Cummins came forward with blanched, anxious face, his left arm bound across his chest.

"Thank God! you're come. Poor Richardson was killed three hours ago, and we have thirty men wanting you."

The worn-out defenders had roused themselves for a minute or two to welcome their comrades, but then lay down exhausted, and, with all danger past, fell asleep immediately, drenched though they were by the bitter cold rain which swept moaning across the plateau.

Nobody on that bleak hilltop will ever forget the night which followed.

The men were too utterly wearied to carry down the wounded, even if this had been possible. No one thought of leaving the dead unguarded, so the fifty men whom Dr. Fox had brought hastily pulled down the Log Redoubt which Captain Williams had maintained so stoutly, and with the timber made two bonfires under the lee of the gun-pit parapet. By their light and that of the search-light Dr. Fox dressed the wounded who hobbled stiffly over from where they had fallen, or were carried to him.

The dead, too, were collected, reverently laid together, and covered with the big tarpaulin from the Krupp gun—Captain Hunter, Dr. Richardson, eleven marines, the signalman who had been the first to fall, the sick-berth steward who had been killed with Dr. Richardson during that fight round the gun, whilst trying to protect the wounded, and five blue-jackets.

The Commander resolutely refused aid till the last, and when his turn came Dr. Fox found that he had a terrible gash on the left shoulder—from a cutlass—cutting clean down to the collar-bone and shoulder-blade, and his arm was quite helpless. "Another inch, and you would have bled to death," said Dr. Fox grimly. "The bones saved you."

"I dodged my head in time, or it would have caught me there," said Cummins, raising a feeble chuckle; but then he fainted through loss of blood and sheer exhaustion.

Saunderson had a bullet through his chest, and lay very still, wrapped tightly round with a bandage, and too worn-out and numbed with cold to worry about his condition.

"You'll be all right," Dr. Fox told him, and covered him with a blanket; "only don't move till morning."

* * * * *

Down below every corner of the harbour was being searched by the lights of the ships, for Schmidt was still at large, and there was no knowing what devilry he might devise.

The Hong Lu, burning fiercely, threw a red glare over the hills and turned the harbour to a blood colour, and from time to time tremendous explosions on board her quenched the flames momentarily, but they leapt out again more furiously than ever.

From the town itself came the angry buzz of shouting and yelling; rifle shots rang out in a jerky, spasmodic crackling, and it was evident that the natives, emboldened by hunger, by the desire to save their own possessions, or by the lust of looting, had gradually crept back and were now fighting among themselves.

Presently the horrors of the night were intensified by flames springing from the go-downs and warehouses near the water's edge. In half an hour they were well alight, burning fiercely, and, fanned by the wind, the flames spread to the bamboo-matting huts, leaping from one to another with their fiery tongues till the whole lower part of the town was one roaring furnace. The flames and the black smoke blowing across the lurid harbour almost hid the search-lights of the ships.

It was a weird and frightful spectacle, fit end to an awful day.

* * * * *

Far from exulting in its success, Helston's squadron that night was sunk in gloom darker than the acrid clouds of black smoke sweeping through its rigging, for the names of the killed and wounded had been signalled with flash-lamps from the hill, and posted up on each lower deck was the grim list, the roll of killed beginning with Captain Hunter, idolized by officers and men alike, and ending with Gunner Bolton, the corner man in the Laird's Nigger Minstrel Troupe. His mess-mates would chaff him no more "that he had done them out of a show".

Even Ping Sang was not happy, and wrung his hands as he saw the flames devour the warehouses, crammed, as he guessed only too accurately, with his own merchandise, and implored—at times almost commanded—Helston to endeavour to save them.

But Helston was obdurate—not another man would he risk; and though he did send two steam-boats to haul off a big steamer lying alongside the pier under the town, and they succeeded in towing her away before the flames reached her, he resolutely refused to land another man either to quell the riot or subdue the fire.

Even now he was anxious about Cummins and Dr. Fox, and "stood by" all night with a couple of hundred men, to go himself to their assistance if the hill were again assailed.

In the intervals of smoke he could see the flickering bonfires they had lighted on top of the hill, and round which they were huddled waiting for the morning. One incident broke the strain of that terrible night. It was when the clouds of smoke were densest that suddenly a man aboard "No. 2", which was lying farthest out from shore, sang out that he had seen a sail show black above the low land near the narrow outlet.

He lost sight of it behind the driving smoke, and when the view had cleared again and a search-light had swept towards it, a junk could plainly be seen bending and staggering under the fierce gusts of wind which whirled down on her as she cleared the island. A rain squall shut her out, and when it had passed no further trace of her could be seen.

Mr. Lang thought rightly that Schmidt himself was aboard her, and made a signal asking permission to endeavour to cut her off to leeward of the island, but Helston refused to allow him to venture out—the risks were too great—and doubted not that the helpless, clumsy junk could well be left to the short shrift of that howling gale outside.

Even his own ships must have been dispersed that night, and he gave fervent thanks, where thanks were due, that success had been granted him, and that his squadron lay in safety inside the harbour.

Schmidt it indeed was who, with some of his boldest men, had seized the junk under cover of the smoke, cut her grass hawser, towed her silently with a dinghy till she had reached the outlet, hoisted her bamboo-matting sails till he had cleared the land, and then let her run before the raging gale under bare poles.

How he at last reached land, gathered more men round him, and spread terror through the island waters of the Chusan Archipelago, must be told another day.

CHAPTER XXV

The Fruits of Victory

Oh, the Pity of It!—We Find Hopkins—Helston has Suspicions—Helston's Speech—A "Stand Easy"—Ping Sang Departs—We Hand Over our Ships—Homeward Bound—The Admiral Speaks his Mind

Dr. Fox concludes his experiences

If I had only known that I should have to spend the whole night on top of that hill, I should never have been such a fool as to volunteer.

The young Surgeon of the Strong Arm was every whit as capable of doing the work as I was, and his youth would have carried him through the night's exposure without harm. As it was, I always date the commencement of my rheumatism from that horrible night, and never cease regretting that at the moment when Helston showed me the signal from One Gun Hill, and I read of the death of my Surgeon, Richardson, and of the wounded lying there without anyone to look after them for the last three hours, my common sense should have failed me momentarily.

Ugh! How it rained and blew! That zigzag path was a miniature torrent, and my feet slipped backwards in the squelching mud at every pace. The idiot, too, who was training the Laird's search-light thought, I have no doubt, he was lighting my way; but he kept his beam fixed on me and the men who went with me, with the result that I was nearly blinded. The shadows were made still more intense, and it was more difficult than ever to avoid stumbling over the bodies of the dead Chinamen which littered the path.

Two hours' hard work it was before the wounded were patched up and made fairly ship-shape.

The Mauser bullet wounds did not bother me much, but quite a number of men had deep flesh wounds inflicted by cutlasses, swords, or bayonets during the hand-to-hand fighting, and it does not require much imagination to understand the difficulty—the impossibility, in fact—of making a good job of these, dressing them by the unsteady light of the Laird's search-light, with the rain pouring in torrents and driving almost horizontally across the top of the hill before the gale.

As each case was finished, and the poor fellow, blue with cold (the skin of their hands and faces was wrinkled like a washerwoman's hands), was laid down somewhere in the lee of the dripping sand-bags, I injected morphia to ease his pain, and could only hope that he would be sufficiently alive in the morning for us to get him safely down to the ships, where he might have a chance of being properly looked after.

Little Cummins had about the worst wound of the lot, and even if he managed to pull through, I had little hope that his left arm would be of much use to him.

However, he tried to be cheery, especially when I told him that young Glover was safe and sound aboard the Laird, and gave one or two of his irritating chuckles before he fainted. He then lay quiet for the rest of the night. There was no need to give him any morphia, for he was absolutely "played out".

Saunderson, with a bullet through his right lung, did not worry me much, because so long as he kept still and was tightly bandaged, nothing more could be done for him, and his grand physique would carry him safely through the night's exposure.

Things were made more comfortable when the men who had come with me pulled some logs across from one of the breast-works and made a fire close to the Krupp gun parapet, and probably more lives were saved by this means than by anything I did.

The men who had defended the hill all day were now fast asleep, most of them absolutely unprotected from the cold rain, so I made my fellows bring them nearer to the fire. Many were so exhausted that they were carried across without being awakened. In fact, it was so difficult to distinguish the dead from the living, that they actually carried over two dead men and laid them down round the fire, nor was their mistake discovered till morning.

At last I finished, and had time to crouch down behind some sand-bags and managed to light a pipe, shivering with cold and cursing myself for a fool for ever having been induced to join Helston in his mad enterprise.