[#] 10A.—A particular scale of punishment."I wonder you didn't shoot him," I said. And he snorted, "There's plenty as would 'ave," and gave the body a kick, "plenty as would 'ave, and waked the 'ole blooming camp."When he was eventually relieved, he dragged it back with him to show his pals, and kept the knife as a trophy. The fog began to clear away about six o'clock in the morning, and as it gradually became possible to see a few yards ahead, we shoved again. We had just got up to the hut and pigsty I told you about, and were chaffing Whitmore about the effect of his Maxim, when we heard, about a mile off, the report of a gun. The Skipper came swaggering up, his fierce old eyebrows covered with fog (all of us were as wet as drowned rats with it)—"What's that, Marshall? What d'you make of that? Field gun, eh?""Sounds like it, sir;" and we heard it fire again, and it went on regularly at about three or four minute intervals. We could hear volleys, too, all from the same direction, and felt pretty certain that good old Ching hadn't let them have it all their own way."It means that they're shelling that house. Umph! And that means that Ching has got inside it," the Skipper growled, rubbing his great hands in delight."Shove on! They've been waiting for us too long already;" and he came along with me, Blucher yawning behind him, and wondering, I suppose, when his job was coming on.Directly we had moved forward we stirred up some Chinamen in front of us; but they were not giving us much trouble, and we now felt a breeze in our faces, and saw the fog streaming across our front. Almost immediately afterwards we heard firing away to our left, where the other "landing party" ought to be, and were jolly pleased, and knew that the fog must have "lifted" over there as well."We shall have it clear in another quarter of an hour," the Skipper growled, and went back to hurry everyone forward, for that gun ahead of us was firing regularly, and made us all rather dread what was happening.We were getting on some high ground now, making fine progress, and almost before you could tell when it happened, or how long it took to clear, the fog had swept past us, and, quite suddenly, we saw frightened Chinamen flying in front of us, to take cover behind a bank somewhere about a quarter of a mile away. I couldn't help laughing to see them tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape, now that the fog had uncovered them. We bagged a good many before they got over that bank."Don't give 'em any time; after 'em, Marshall," I heard the Skipper shouting, and we simply did a record sprint, "Blucher" going on ahead of us, thinking that his show had come along at last, and barking loudly, like the useless, untrained, old brute he was. We were over that bank before they could fife half a dozen shots, and had bayoneted half a dozen before you could say "Jack Robinson". My men were so glad to get a sight of the fellows who'd been worrying them all night, and were so keen to pay them "out", that there was no stopping them. Those few shots, though, were quite enough for old "Blucher", who went yelping back to the Skipper, with his tail between his legs, more mystified than ever.The ground sloped upwards behind the bank, and we were after them like redshanks. I knew that Trevelyan with "B" company was somewhere on my right, and that "B.-T." was coming along in reserve, and that the Maxim kept chipping in occasionally; but I had all my work cut out to keep my marines in hand, and did not pay much attention to anything else. One or two of my chaps got bowled over before we got to the top of the slope; but we were up it and over it in a "jiffy", and saw the cowardly brutes running down the other side, dodging in between some native graves and some big boulders, and shooting up at us.I made my men halt and take cover to get their breath, and waited for the Skipper. He came grunting and puffing after me.After that beastly night, it was grand to be able to use one's eyes again, and see where we were and what we were doing. The ground sloped down from our feet to a little shallow valley of paddy fields, intersected by banks and small irrigation streams. It rose again on the opposite side to form a ridge about eight hundred yards away, a little tree-topped ridge, with the walled house, where Ching and Sally and all the rest of them were, at its right end, and a few huts on its left end.As the Skipper came up, I saw a cloud of white smoke burst out from behind those huts, and heard that gun fire again. I pointed it out to him."There's someone showing on top of that house, sir," Trevelyan sang out."Where's one of the signalmen?" the Skipper roared. "There you are—are you—wave something; get on top of that hut and wave your flags." (We were standing close to a small mud hut.)"He'll draw their fire all right," I chuckled to Trevelyan—there were a good many bullets flying past us—and when he did scramble up to the top and begin waving his semaphore flags, they left off firing at us, and paid all their attention to him, bullets whistling round him and smacking up against the side of the hut."A jolly good 'wheeze' that," and Trevelyan winked at me. "You must put that in your blessed drill book, eh, soldier?"The signalman stood there with his telescope between his knees, calmly trying to attract attention, whilst the Skipper stood below and cursed him, and "Blucher" went smelling up every time a bullet splodged against the mud wall, and then ran away, thinking people were throwing stones at him. He didn't know what to make of this picnic."There's someone waving on top of that house," several sang out; and we saw someone "wagging" a long stick."'E's only got one arm, whoever 'e is," the signalman muttered, "an' 'e don't know much about Morse.""It's Mr. Ford, sir," he sang out. "He says, 'All well so far—Mr. Ching here—gun doing damage'.""Splendid!" we all shouted; and just then the signalman came toppling down with a bullet through his leg, and sat there holding it and looking very white.Old Barclay was on him in a moment—terrible keen chap he was.When we looked again, young Ford had disappeared. I expect that he had found it a pretty warm corner up there.Old "B.-T.'s" little lot in the rear were having trouble now. They were below us, at the foot of the slope we had just climbed, and were lying down and shooting at a crowd of Chinese clustering round the huts near that pigsty."We must have got round 'em in the fog," Trevelyan chuckled."Where's that darned Maxim?" the Skipper roared. "Get it up here."Young Rawlings rushed away to hurry it, and it came rattling up, Langham, who was in charge of it, and his men panting and tugging for all they were worth.He was ordered to try and stop that gun firing, and then fat little Ponsonby was sent flying downhill to tell Travers to leave the Chinamen alone and come along after us.The Maxim gun began its "tut-tut-tut-tut", "B.-T." and his chaps came bounding up the hill, and we all roared with laughter as little Ponsonby came running after them, his eyes and mouth wide open with fright at being left behind. "B.-T." was sent down the slope in front of us, with his company, to clear out the chaps who were sniping us; and very prettily he and his two Mids, Jones and Withers, did the job, whilst Trevelyan looked after the brutes in our rear.They were simply swarming down there behind those huts, and there was not the least doubt that we had got round their main body in the fog. They did not dare to come out in the open, and were keeping up a very wild fire at us.Langham couldn't get near that gun, and just as it fired again, and someone had sung out that they could see stones and bits of wood flying from a corner of the house, we saw Chinamen streaming across the paddy fields on our left, running and turning, and firing backwards. We could hear heavy firing from somewhere out of sight, and the noise of another Maxim and the chip-chip of a Colt automatic gun.We all knew that it was the gunboat's brigade driving the Chinese in front of them."The other chaps will be there before 'Old Lest', if we don't get a move on. 'Old Lest' ain't going to be beaten by them," the Skipper grunted, and sent me and my marines flying down into the paddy fields below us, after Travers, who had halted and taken cover behind a bank on the other side of them, just before the ground began to rise gently up towards the walled house, and where the gun was a little farther to the left."Take ground to your left, and both of you 'go' for that confounded gun," the Skipper had roared after me. "I'm coming along after you."It's all jolly fine to tell one to charge along through paddy fields. Grainger was just behind me, and I felt sorry for him, because I kept on going in up to my knees in beautiful, rich, black mud, and knew that he had his eye on me and my second best pair of trousers. But we got up to old "B.-T." all right, and I shouted for him to come along and shove on for the gun, got my men extended well to the left, gave them a "breather" whilst he swung his men a little to the left as well (brought his right shoulder up, as they say in the drill book), and then off we went, howling and cheering, straight towards two little white huts behind which the gun was still firing.Whitmore appeared from somewhere and took charge (he was the senior), Rawlings and a bugler boy legging it after him for all they were worth.A good many bullets came whizzing past, and I saw chaps dodging about round those huts and under some trees. My men were coming along well, and old "B.-T." with his long legs was sprinting along in front of his chaps like a camel.Away to the left people began cheering—"Rah! Rah! Rah!"—and I knew that came from theOmaha'scrowd, and wasn't going to be beaten by them. Nor was more either; and though I knew that the "show" was not quite according to the "drill book", I wasn't going to let the "U.S.N." or our gunboats get there first.Young Wilkins, running just behind me, gave a cry and fell; I heard the old sergeant-major cursing and hurrying on the men; we got in among the trees, my chaps half a dozen paces behind me; a chap got in my way and fell down—I suppose I did it; two or three fellows rushed out from the side of a hut and came for me with swords; but the well-beloved Grainger wasn't going to let them damage my best "serge", if he could prevent it, and we got rid of them between us. "B.-T.'s" chaps and mine were now all mixed up. There were a few "bickerings" going on round the huts and among the trees, and then we saw the gun standing by its "lonesome", and went dashing across to it.One of "B.-T.'s" able seamen was the first to get to it, Whitmore and Rawlings close behind, and "B.-T." and I made a dead heat for fourth place."Don't 'hee-haw' like a jackass," Whitmore said, when he'd got his breath. "What's to be done now?"I'm hanged if I could help laughing at the sight of old "B.-T." legging it, with little Withers, only about half his height, trying to keep up with him."Give us a cigarette, and don't be an ass, soldier!" "B.-T." sang out. "Your legs are funnier looking than mine, any day.""Drill book, Whitmore, old chap! Drill book! When you've got 'em on the run, keep 'em on the run," I said, when I could stop laughing, and he agreed, and "B.-T." agreed, and we got our people together and followed them. As we left the gun we saw theOmaha'speople "doubling" up to it.We must have followed them for the best part of a mile, I should imagine, but they ran a jolly sight faster than we could. We were pretty well "winded", and when we'd driven them back to the outskirts of the town, they rallied there, and we had to pull up and go back again, carrying along three fellows who'd been knocked over in the last hundred yards. They began pressing along after us, and a lot of chaps—some of those who had run away from the other brigade—began worrying our flank, streaming across the paddy fields and firing at us. We managed to keep them back, alternate sections lying down and firing whilst the others ran back fifty yards and lay down in their turn, and covered the retreat of the first little lot. A nice little show it was too—all done according to the drill book—and when we'd got back to within a hundred yards of the walled house, and were passing through the remains of a lot of burnt huts, young Ponsonby came running up with orders from the Skipper to halt there and take up a position."He's pretty angry, sir," he told Whitmore; "he's been sounding the recall for the last half-hour."The fact was that the Chinese hadn't yet had a sufficient lesson, and didn't quite know what it was to run up against us in the daylight, and were now coming for us "hammer and tongs".Instead of going back to the walled house, and bending on one knee before Princess Sally as her gallant knight, who had lost a couple of eyeglasses, and spoiled serge frocks, two in number, and two pairs of embroidered overalls—bills not yet paid—in her service, and receiving her gracious thanks, I had jolly well to dodge beastly bullets for a couple of hours.The old Skipper often came round, with "Blucher", to see if things were going all right, and generally stopped to have a yarn with me.It was from him I learnt that poor old Hoffman had been killed."Jolly hard luck after all he's done for us, sir," I had said; but the Skipper only growled "Umph!" and for some reason or other didn't seem so sure.He had managed to get a signal through to theVigilant, and ordered her and the gunboats to shell the town and that six-inch gun which Whitmore had tried to destroy.From my position, looking across the Chinese town and the little creek crowded with junks, I could see them steaming slowly inshore, and presently they began firing very deliberately. (Of course they had only a few seaman ratings left on board to man the guns.)Their shells burst all over the town; but it takes a lot of shells to set fire to a house, and it was some time before they got a good fire going. A few shells which didn't burst ricochetted over our heads, and one or two fell pretty close to the house; but the Skipper didn't worry about them now. He had lowered little Sally down a shallow well, somewhere in the garden behind the house, and so long as she was safe, he didn't worry about anyone else.His idea was that if we set fire to the town, most of the people would go back there to try and extinguish the flames, and that then we would tramp back across the island to where we had landed last night.Certainly a good number of fellows did go back, and except from that hill on the other side of the paddy fields, from where we had seen Ford's signal, we were not much bothered with rifle fire.It was at the back of the house, where the ground fell steeply towards the creek, and was covered with scrubby bushes, that the Chinese seemed now to be trying to force their way in. The lower slopes were simply swarming with them, and more kept moving up the creek in boats to assist them.The Skipper came across to me. "Umph!" he growled. "You're a soldier, aren't you?" and when I had acknowledged the soft impeachment, "Umph! What would you do? I'm not a soldier. 'Old Lest's' not much good ashore except after 'birds'. How'd you get out of this mess! Ugh!" and he growled at me as if he would have liked to eat me, and so fiercely that old "Blucher" thought he was in for a row, and cleared off to have a yarn with his chums, the marines. He took me across, behind the house, to have a look at the state of affairs there.Don't think that he wanted advice. He only wanted someone to talk to, and everyone else was too busy. I wouldn't have suggested anything to him for "worlds".It was then that I saw Hobbs and Sally for the first time since they had been "burgled". They had fished her up from the well, and she had come across to the Skipper, looking like a ghost, her sad little face all pinched and careworn, hardly the princess I'd all my life been longing to rescue, and throw myself and all my unpaid bills at her feet. She was a most distressful little object, and when the Skipper put his great hand very gently on her shoulder, and told her we were going to start off almost directly, she began crying, and said she didn't want to go."She's gone daft about that man Evans," Hobbs whispered to me. He looked more like a monkey than ever.So that was it, was it? And our little princess didn't want to be rescued! Poor little princess! I just noticed that the front of the house had been pretty well battered in by the Chinese gun, and then caught sight of Ford and Rawlings looking like long-lost brothers. Ford was a pretty ludicrous spectacle, with one side of his face black and blue, one eye closed, and his left arm slung up inside his monkey jacket. This was the first time I had seen him since we had landed to destroy that gun, and he got very red; I remembered that he hadn't taken my jokes in very good part, so went across to make my peace with him."We all saw you signalling to us this morning, Ford, on the top of that roof. You must have been under a very hot fire, eh?"He wasn't quite certain whether he was going to make peace, but he couldn't stand out against a little delicate flattery, and we made friends again, and he went off with Rawlings, looking very conceited and happy.Fat little Rashleigh was there, too, buzzing about like a bumble bee, and offering everyone a drink from his flask, and patronizing Ching, and talking about the gun he had captured. I never realized what he meant till afterwards.Old Ching was pretty well played out, but looked proud and happy, and I gave him one of my last three cigarettes, and told him one or two yarns, though he didn't take much interest in them, and kept his eyes fixed on little Sally.The Skipper had given him the job of escorting her down to the coast, and jolly well he had earned it too.Parkinson, theOmaha'sskipper, had a yarn with me. "Guess I shall be a flag officer before I'm sixty. Reckon they'll have my picture in all the journals in the States, and maybe they'll remember John A. Parkinson is still alive and kicking, up at Washington. They seem to have forgotten him awhile." He was "talking sarcastic". He was a fine grim-looking chap, without an ounce of spare flesh on him, and as old as most of the rear-admirals in our navy, though only in command of a small gunboat.There was an old Scotchman who had helped Ford and the two men escape from the town to the walled house, and had been helping to defend it all night. He was a funny old bird, and didn't quite know where to "place" himself, and wasn't looking particularly happy. Old "B.-T." had recognized him as the chap who'd run the show at the other island, when "B.-T." was a prisoner, so he knew that we had sufficient evidence to hang him, and was only too jolly anxious to escape being killed by Chinamen in the meantime.He thought that our best plan would be to go back the way we had come. It was more open country, and, except for the first three-quarters of a mile, better "going" and more open than if we attempted to work round the outskirts of the town itself, where the ground was nothing but swamps.It was now about half-past one o'clock, and the Skipper thought that it was about time to be starting back.The great trouble was the number of wounded who would have to be carried. Of Ching's original fifty men only forty-two could walk, and the two landing parties now had six men too badly wounded to walk. Young Wilkins, my bugler, and a seaman belonging to theGoldfinchwere the only two Englishmen killed so far.These two, Hoffman, and five of Ching's people had been buried during the morning, under the trees in the garden, behind the house.The Skipper also wanted to go back the way he had come. He told me that I should have the first job—to seize the hill opposite us across the paddy fields and hold it whilst he, Trevelyan, and "B" company and Ching's bluejackets brought along Sally, her father, and the wounded.Parkinson, theOmaha'sskipper, was to stay behind with the gunboat's brigade and act as rearguard till the Skipper had got safely across to me, and then I was going to do "rearguard", whilst they all went on.He hoped to get in touch with theRingdoveandOmahaa mile from the shore and obtain some assistance from their guns, if he was much pressed by the Chinese. He was just going to give the order to "carry on", when we saw a little party of people approaching with a white flag waving over their heads. It was headed by a most respectable-looking old "josser" beautifully dressed in silks, with a mandarin button on his cap, and a most benign, fatherly expression on his face. He was brought along to the Skipper, and the old Scotchman acted as interpreter.He had come to offer to let us go back to our ships without being molested, if we would only leave off shelling the town, and was very surprised when the Skipper refused to do so. Then he called up a man who was standing behind him with a bundle in his hand, and made him empty it on the ground, looking at us and expecting to see us beam with delight. Ugh! I was nearly sick, for out rolled the head of a white man."It's Boss Evans!" I heard the Scotchman mutter under his breath.We all involuntarily stepped back in disgust, and the old gentleman opened his eyes in amazement when he saw that we were not pleased, and explained that it was the Boss Pirate himself, the chap who'd done everything he ought not to have done, and that now they had killed him, and that we had seen that he was really dead, and had got Hobbs and the girl, "it all makee end—all belong plenty too much bobberie—no can do—vely good—vely good", and he rubbed his hands together, and bowed and beamed at us again from behind his great horn-rimmed spectacles."Chuck him out!" the Skipper roared, and walked away.The poor dear old Chinee chap was almost in tears when he was led home again, and wasn't allowed to take the head with him either.We buried it alongside the other dead.Someone must have told my poor little princess, because she was now only too anxious to get away, and looked more mournful and heartbroken than ever.It was half-past two before this little business was concluded, and Whitmore and I were jolly anxious to start."The old man's wasting daylight with a vengeance," he said to me, but had hardly spoken before young Ponsonby came running up—"From the Captain, sir; you're to carry on."As I hurried past the Skipper, he sang out, "Drive those fellows off that hill!"—pointing with his big stick. "Travers will go with you, and I'll send a Maxim along after you, and am coming on directly.""Very good, sir," and I saluted and went off to tell my men what we had to do, and sang out to Travers, "Come along, old 'B.-T.', bring your people along."We started off.U.S.S. Omaha and H.M.S. Ringdove shelling Hector Island.U.S.S. Omaha and H.M.S. Ringdove shelling Hector Island.CHAPTER XVThe RetreatOld B.-T. Wins—A Hard Retreat—A Case of Speed—A Race against the Fog—Hand-to-hand Fighting—Captain Marshall is Wounded—The Captain's Life Attempted—Round the Fire—Ford is Indignant—On Board AgainWritten by Captain Marshall, Royal Marine Light InfantryOld "B.-T." and I extended our people, ran down towards the paddy fields, crawled and dodged across them, and prepared for the "do-or-die business" up the farther slope.It was a bit of a rush, and old "B.-T." looked "bored" when we met again at the top. The blighters had never given us a show, but had cleared out, pretty well most of them. A few had run into "B.-T.'s" little lot by accident, and been polished off, that was all.I don't suppose that they were expecting us to go at 'em so soon.The Maxim came along after us, and we helped Langham up with it, and spread ourselves out, to cover the retreat of the Skipper with the main body, which came along almost immediately in a long line, slowly trailing down the side of the hill from the house. We could see that they were carrying the wounded, and they had got halfway across the paddy fields before the Chinese seemed to "tumble" to the fact that we were clearing out, and began to pour back from the outskirts of the town and open fire at them."B.-T." and I managed to keep them in check, and the Skipper got across without any casualties, "Blucher" coming galloping up the hill, wagging his long whip of a tail when he spotted me.But by this time a number of Chinese had crept along behind the banks intersecting the paddy fields, and we couldn't get at them with rifle fire. They were right in between us and the walled house, cutting off Parkinson's retreat.We could hear that he was having trouble—he was firing very heavily—and directly the Skipper and his little lot had got across safely, we saw his people begin leaving the house and falling back down the slope. We saw them turning and firing back, and retiring by alternate companies, and natives were swarming round the house and among the trees at the top of the ridge. We knew that they must be having a pretty warm time of it.Those fellows who had crept round their rear began firing at them too; but one of their companies simply charged down at them, broke right through, and, opening out to left and right, swept them on one side. They were theOmaha'smen. We could tell that by the peculiar noise they made and by their uniform. Langham was able to let rip into the Chinese as they sprinted out of reach of the Yankee bayonets, and hurried them along "pretty considerable", as Parkinson told me afterwards, we were also able to stop the people swarming down that ridge after him, and gave him time to bring along his Maxim and Colt guns, and to extricate himself from rather an awkward position. He made a wide sweep, so as not to mask our fire, and came across; but I saw that he had to carry four or five men, who had been knocked over in the open, and they delayed him much.That is always the rotten part of a retreat, especially when fighting semi-barbarous natives. One dare not leave the wounded behind, and each one who cannot walk requires two able-bodied men to carry him.From where "B.-T." and I were standing, I should think that we could see at least seven hundred Chinamen, and away on the left, we could see any number more hurrying: from the town."Buck up, old chap! Don't look so blooming bored!" and I slapped him on the back. "We'll have our work cut out in the next half-hour, when we are doing rearguard.""Keep your beastly fists to yourself," he growled.Old "Blucher" had bounded back to the Captain directly our Maxim had begun firing."Old Lest" and his little lot were in the rear of our hill—at the bottom of it—waiting for Parkinson to go on past them, farther back. We saw Parkinson drop his wounded people and sweep past and away towards two small rising bits of ground, about four hundred yards in the rear, and the Skipper, picking up his wounded, followed slowly.Then came our turn as rearguard.My Christopher Columbus! we had about all we could do to keep the beggars back. The heathen Chinee was simply seeing "red", and came charging across the paddy fields, rushing up towards the slope in front of us, and getting round both our flanks. They thought that they'd got us in a hole, I expect, and they spared a couple of hundred fellows to sneak away to the right, behind some banks, hoping to catch the Skipper in the open. They would have done it too, and got right on top of him before he could have spotted them, had not "B.-T." taken half his company down the hill at a run, and posted himself behind a couple of broken-down huts and a bit of another bank, and given 'em "beans" as they went doubling along below him. It was really a race who should get to the bank first, and old "B.-T." won.They were now actually crawling up the hill in front of my chaps, dodging among the "scrub" and among the grave mounds, and they were getting round my left rear as well. There must have been four or five hundred of them, and they were taking cover so well, that it made it confoundedly difficult to hit them.Langham caught a few of them in the open with the Maxim; but it's such a jolly extravagant kind of weapon as regards ammunition, and puts a dozen cartridges into a chap before another can take his place, and get his own share.Young Withers was in command of the other half of "B.-T.'s" company of bluejackets on my left. I sent one of my chaps across to him to tell him to retire, and he began to fall back steadily. He was keeping his head, but looking very white. Langham's Maxim section began to haul their gun back, and everyone was a bit flurried. Two men got bowled over. One sprang straight up, with one hand clawing the air, and I knew that he was shot through the heart. I've seen a good many men do that in my time, and they all had been shot through the heart.I had a funny feeling in my right arm, too, and guessed that it had got in the way of a bullet, but could move it all right.I looked back to see whether the skipper had got safely across yet, and saw that he was just disappearing between the two little hills or ridges which Parkinson was holding; so it was time for me to be off, and we began to retire according to the laws and regulations of the dear old drill book. I sent the Maxim downhill with a run, and Withers and his half company with it, to get behind a bit of a bank two hundred yards in the rear, and held on with my marines, dropping a few Chinese who were brave enough to stand up and show themselves; but most of the skunks were simply wriggling along from one bush or grave mound to another, and I'm jiggered if you can hit a man who's crawling and dodging—that is, when you are excited, and your heart is trying to thump its way out of your chest, and you are expecting the order to retire and have one eye on the rear.They began to get round my right flank then, and I was beginning to think that "little James" was in a pretty tight corner, when old "B.-T." saw them and came back, just in time, cheering as if he was winning the battle of Waterloo and Trafalgar all rolled into one, and went careering right into them.This checked them for half a minute, and gave my people time to drag our wounded man—I had to leave the dead one—down the hill, and for the rest of us to fall back together halfway down the slope."B.-T." came along after us, and we faced round and walked backwards very slowly, and they didn't like the look of our bayonets and wouldn't charge down, though they were swarming up above us and yelling like stuck pigs. (If they had charged they would have swept clean over us.) We managed to bring along two more of my chaps who were hit and couldn't walk, and sent them on to the rear, and when we got to level ground again we opened out, and bolted for where the Maxim and "B.-T.'s" other half company were. They gave them blue blazes as they came screaming after us, and dropped dozens.I saw one of the bluejackets fall forward, his head striking the soft ground, and go slithering along. The Chinese were not twenty yards behind, so "B.-T." and two of his chaps stopped and tried to bring him with them. Old "B.-T." had to do a bit of work with his sword and revolver for a minute or two; but we'd got our breath behind the bank, came along to his rescue, and beat 'em back, Langham picking the fellow up like a sack of corn and carrying him to the rear."Look at that rotten thing," "B.-T." panted out, as he got behind the Maxim, holding out his arm and showing me where his sword had broken off, about twelve inches from the hilt."If youwilldo the V.C. act, old chap, with a rotten tailor-made sword, what can you expect?" I told him.The Chinese daren't face our fire in the open, and funked it, so that we were able to fall back again all serenely. It wasn't the fear of seeing any of our people getting killed that worried me then; it was the dread of seeing them wounded so badly that they had to be carried, because, as I told you before, each one so wounded meant two sound men to carry him away, and handicapped us so tremendously.We were behind Parkinson now, and gave our wounded to the Skipper's main body. I caught a glimpse of "Old Lest" standing, with his great feet wide apart, and of "Blucher" squatting between them. He was watching the Chinese through his glasses, and young Ford and Ponsonby were standing close to him, looking white and nervous. He shouted out, "Well done, rearguard!" and we hurried past and came to a group of Chinese bluejackets, standing shoulder to shoulder. In the middle of them, I knew, was my poor little princess and her miserable little father. You see, bullets were still coming past pretty thickly, and Ching was shielding her with his men's bodies.That old Chinese gun was there too, with some of theRingdove'speople to drag it, and a few yards farther along half a company of Trevelyan's men were sitting on the ground resting till they had to move on again.They gave us a cheer as we passed them, jumping to their feet and waving their caps, and off we went at the double for a low ridge about a quarter of a mile farther to the rear. We expected to be able to see the gunboats from there, and were ordered to try and attract their attention. They had been told to keep a lookout for us.This bit was only a case of speed, and we were all blowing like grampuses when we stopped, and the men flung themselves down and faced round, my little lot about a hundred yards from "B.-T.'s", with Langham and his Maxim between us.Some of his people had tied their silk handkerchiefs to their bayonets and were waving them to attract the gunboats. I heard "B.-T." yell something, and saw him pointing away towards the sea.It was there all right, but, buttered crumpets! a beastly fog-bank, like a solid wall of cotton wool, was creeping down from wind'ard. When I first looked I could see theOmaha'sone mast and tall funnel, but three minutes afterwards the fog had blotted her out of sight, and I could watch it creeping towards the shore. Great bluebottles! I didn't like it; another night like last night would about send me off my "crumpet".I was just thinking that it would have been better for me to have gone into the Church, as my old dad always had wished, when Withers came running across to ask if I could lend "B.-T." a cigarette."You might get your pater to give me one of his livings," I told him. "I'm going to be a parson if we ever get out of this.""He's very particular, sir," the cheeky young rascal grinned, and ran back with my last cigarette. Old "B.-T." would have borrowed my matchbox, but I sent Withers to tell him torub two sticks togetherand light it that way; it would be good exercise, and the cigarette would last longer.I saw him shake his fist at me when he got the message, and then walk down his line of men to try and borrow a match from one of them.The main body was coming past now; Whitmore and Rawlings, at the head of the little column, were just passing Langham's Maxim; then Trevelyan's right half company, a dozen Chinese bluejackets in a circle round Sally and Hobbs, with Ching and the old Scotchman walking behind them. Then there was a gap, a long string of Chinese bluejackets carrying their wounded, the rest of Trevelyan's chaps carrying ours, theRingdove'speople dragging the little Chinese field gun, and Trevelyan with a few men bringing up the rear.They came to a halt behind us, and laid down their wounded very gently."There's no one behind us, I think," "B.-T." shouted to Whitmore. "But just look at that fog! It's hidden theOmahasince we've been up here.""Where's the Skipper?" I asked him."Taking charge of the rearguard. This job isn't exciting enough for him. They'll have all their work cut out to get back to us, and I don't know what will happen if we get many more wounded."I had to go back to my men then, as I saw the rearguard already on its way, fat little Rashleigh toddling along in front of two companies from the left of the two little hills, and the Maxim section rushing their gun towards us. From the right the rest of the rearguard commenced their retreat, and I saw "Old Lest's" great broad shoulders swaggering back, with Parkinson, as thin as a lamp-post, striding along beside him, and "Blucher" slinking between them.Contrary to Whitmore's opinion, they had very little trouble in extricating themselves, because the ground was so flat on the other side of those two little hills, that the Chinese had not dared to come to close quarters, and they were more than halfway towards us before the enemy occupied the slopes they had just evacuated, and stayed there, contenting themselves with opening a very heavy but miserably directed fire. They made rotten shooting.I felt that we had now got over by far the worst part of the show, all except the beastly fog part, which had already hidden the line of the shore a mile away, with its advance guard of feathery mist quickly creeping along the ground towards us.The Skipper came along grunting and growling, lighting another cigar, and highly pleased with himself and everything else so far; but when he saw the fog he stormed and cursed."'Old Lest' won't worry about those chaps behind him. He'll march straight for the shore," he grunted, and sent Parkinson and the gunboat's brigade straight ahead, and ordered my marines and "B.-T.'s" bluejackets to remain in the rear. He took charge of the rearguard himself, but practically gave the job to me. I suppose that he knew that I had conducted many skilful retreats across the exercise ground at Forton Barracks, so would know all about it.Anyhow, it was a great compliment to me, and old Whitmore was as sick as a cat with a fish bone in its throat, only he tried not to show it.No one troubled us in front, and we marched along quite quickly—as quickly as it was possible to carry the wounded.It was really a race against the fog. Everyone knew that, and we got over the first half-mile without difficulty.The Chinese were not worrying the rearguard much; but of course they saw the fog almost as soon as we did, and many of them began streaming away to the left and right, and I knew that they would scoot round our flanks, try and get in between us and the sea, and hem us in as they had done during the night. I didn't like the idea of that—not a little bit.But with only another half-mile to do, the moist tongues of fog began drifting overhead, and in five minutes we couldn't see fifteen yards. We recognized the huts with the dead pig's near them, and some of my chaps had a brilliant idea, and brought them along on their bayonets. "Wat 'o! Bill, for a bit of the Gunnery Lootenant's sucking pigs when we gets aboard," I heard one of them sing out.The advance guard halted to let the main body get up to them, and threw back their flanks to overlap it, and as we came up we threw forward our flanks, and this meant that we practically formed a hollow square round the main body and the wounded. Like this we marched very slowly along, keeping in touch by shouting to each other. The Chinese were now beginning to draw up to our rear, and we could hear them yelling and firing rifles at us, the bullets seeming to make much more noise in the fog.They didn't venture close yet.In another five minutes the fog was so dense that I couldn't see the third man from me in the ranks. The skipper made a bugler with the main body in the centre sound two "G's" every half-minute, and that was a great help to us to keep in station. All round us I could hear the non-commissioned and petty officers singing out: "Not so fast on the right! Keep up on the left! Close towards the bugle, you on the flanks! Where's No. 1 section? Don't get ahead too far!"These cries, with the howling of dogs and the yells of Chinamen, who had got all round us now, were extremely discomposing. When presently they did leave off yelling, and we had no idea where they were gathering or where they did intend to attack us, I must admit that it was still more disconcerting. But we could hear the sea beating on the shore, and smelt the decaying seaweed, and knew we should reach it in a few minutes. The Skipper must have been a little nervous too, for his bugler sounded the "halt" and the "close", and everyone drew in towards the centre till our little square was as complete as we could make it in that horrid yellowish-grey fog.We were just preparing to move on, when there was a most hideous uproar on our right flank. People began firing; there was the noise of hundreds of feet rushing towards us through the fog, a fearful din of yelling, shrieks of pain, then the noise of bayonets at work, and I could feel that the right side of the square was giving ground and being pressed back, and could hear the strange, choking, grunting noise men make when they are fighting hand to hand, and being overcome by numbers.I had heard it once before with General McNeil's column in the Soudan, when our zareba had been rushed, and it was touch and go for a few moments whether we were entirely wiped out or not. I was only a newly caught subaltern in those days, and I shall never forget that rush.Old "B.-T." ought to have written about this one, not I. He would have done justice to it. I know that I can't.It all happened in a moment, and we had the yelling brutes all over us, pushing a thin fringe of struggling bluejackets in front of them. They looked huge as they rushed at us in the fog, but the first two or three who came my way must have been pretty sorry that I hadn't forgotten to load my revolver. It was a regular pandemonium for about sixty or seventy seconds, I should fancy. Ching's men were making a strange, squealing, hissing sound; the Yankees had a different row; and our people were grunting and cursing. I could hear the Skipper roar: "Close on the centre!" and his bugler kept on sounding the two "G's" to let us know where the centre was. I found myself near him. He had his coxswain, and a couple of signalmen, and the two mids—Ford and Ponsonby—close to him, and was laying about him with his big stick, and punching fellows in the face with his fist. His coxswain knocked over one brute who was coming for him at the back, and I helped him get rid of another and then lost touch with him, and came across the wounded trying to scramble up and defend themselves with their bayonets, Trevelyan's men standing over them, clubbing their rifles and making a grand fight of it. I saw that they were holding their own, and with a dozen of my own marines at my back, ran and forced my way into a lot of fellows who were trying to cut down Ching's men. I suppose they hated him and his jackets even more than they hated us.My Christopher Columbus! we did give 'em beans, and I'm precious glad that my sword was the best that could be bought (well, perhaps bought isn't the right word; so I will say obtained), for their heads were as tough as iron, and the wadded cotton coats they wore made it jolly hard to use the point. For all that, though, it tickled one or two of them considerably.Old Grainger clung to me like my shadow. He always seemed to be handy when I'd got two people to manage at the same time, and we always managed to scoop the pool.We eased off the pressure round my princess, especially when Parkinson's First Lieutenant, a man nearly forty, came along from the left with twenty or so of his people, shouting, "Rah!—Rah!—Rah!—O!—Ma!—Ha!" and burst in among them and began clubbing. Little Rashleigh suddenly shot into view with a broken sword in one hand and a revolver in the other. His scabbard got between his legs, and he fell sprawling, and would have been killed if Langham hadn't suddenly sprung out of the fog and run a chap through who was standing over him and just going to jab him with a bayonet.The three machine-gun carriages and the little Chinese field gun were all rallying places for our people, and I suppose I must have got into the "focus of disturbance", as they say about earthquakes, because, although the fog was so thick, I saw nearly all our officers at one time or another, and we got so jammed together—Chinese and marines and bluejackets—that we could hardly move.I nearly came to grief near that Chinese gun. A wretched chap thought he could prod people from beneath it in comparative comfort, and tried his hand on me, but wasn't quite quick enough. He got me a beastly rip in the leg just above the knee.Then "Old Lest" seemed to elbow his way along. If you'll believe me, he still had a cigar between his teeth (Whitmore saw it, and his coxswain swears that it was even then alight). He had broken his stick over the heads of two big ruffians, and they bungled against the gun carriage, and just as I thought that it was my turn to do something prompt, he caught them by their pigtails and "wanged" their heads together. That knocked them out of time, and his coxswain saw to it that they were dead.Well, that was my little show, and I felt dizzy, and Grainger lowered me on to that gun wheel. The old sergeant-major came up streaming with blood and loaded my revolver for me, and Grainger wiped a lot of blood stuff off my face, which was interrupting the view of the surrounding scenery. People seemed to be leaving off fighting; our fellows were cheering like mad, and the buglers began sounding the "fall in" and the "cease fire".I was all right in a second or two, and went back to my old place in the rear, and my people began limping back, calling each other and falling in, talking twenty to the dozen, and wiping their bayonets with tufts of grass.My sergeant-major got them into something like order again; there were only twenty-seven on their feet out of the thirty-nine who had landed, and only about four of these who had nothing in the way of cuts or stabs to show for it.Presently the bugler sounded the "still", and the coxswain piped, "Officers commanding companies report to the Captain," and I groped my way across the ground, simply littered with dead bodies, and found him and Parkinson. "Blucher" was sitting behind the Skipper, and looking extremely ashamed of himself.Gradually all the officers commanding companies came up, except "B.-T.", who had a bayonet wound through his thigh and couldn't walk, and theOmaha'sFirst Lieutenant, who had been killed just after I had seen him charging with his men.Young Jones reported "A" company, and that Withers was missing; but then someone came up to say that he'd been found with his head cut open, and quite dead. Poor little chap! he was one of the brightest and most gentlemanly youngsters on board, and I and my marines owed him a great deal for the way in which he covered our retreat to the barge two nights ago.The doctors were singing out to let people know where they were, and I ran up against old Barclay. He seemed to have had a bad time of it himself, but was busy dressing people and fixing them up. Old "B.-T." was sitting with his back to a Maxim carriage wheel, waiting his turn and holding on to his leg. He wanted to borrow another cigarette, but he'd had my last half an hour ago. I managed to get one for him, however, and then found Whitmore. He'd had one of his thigh bones smashed by a bullet, and was in great pain. The whole place was nothing but a shambles. TheSparrow'speople, who had borne the brunt of the first attack, had come off worst, and after them Ching's bluejackets; but you will see by the list at the end what the actual casualties were.Ching himself had a slash over the head, but looked as though he was treading on air, he was so proud and happy, and I knew that there was a good deal more than the love of fighting to account for that."How's the little lass?" the Skipper said, and I followed him across to the Chinese gun, and found my poor little princess bending over it with her head buried in her hands, and Hobbs sitting on the ground beside her.The Skipper took her up in his arms and carried her off to a place where there were not so many dead bodies. Then happened something which, though disgraceful, is true. He was stalking along with her in his arms, and had just made a long step across a body, when we were horrified to see the apparently dead Chinaman spring up and raise a sword above his head to strike the Skipper. He would have been killed for a certainty, because the sword was a very heavy one—an executioner's sword—had not young Ford, who luckily had his revolver in his hand, placed it against the man's back and shot him.
[#] 10A.—A particular scale of punishment.
"I wonder you didn't shoot him," I said. And he snorted, "There's plenty as would 'ave," and gave the body a kick, "plenty as would 'ave, and waked the 'ole blooming camp."
When he was eventually relieved, he dragged it back with him to show his pals, and kept the knife as a trophy. The fog began to clear away about six o'clock in the morning, and as it gradually became possible to see a few yards ahead, we shoved again. We had just got up to the hut and pigsty I told you about, and were chaffing Whitmore about the effect of his Maxim, when we heard, about a mile off, the report of a gun. The Skipper came swaggering up, his fierce old eyebrows covered with fog (all of us were as wet as drowned rats with it)—"What's that, Marshall? What d'you make of that? Field gun, eh?"
"Sounds like it, sir;" and we heard it fire again, and it went on regularly at about three or four minute intervals. We could hear volleys, too, all from the same direction, and felt pretty certain that good old Ching hadn't let them have it all their own way.
"It means that they're shelling that house. Umph! And that means that Ching has got inside it," the Skipper growled, rubbing his great hands in delight.
"Shove on! They've been waiting for us too long already;" and he came along with me, Blucher yawning behind him, and wondering, I suppose, when his job was coming on.
Directly we had moved forward we stirred up some Chinamen in front of us; but they were not giving us much trouble, and we now felt a breeze in our faces, and saw the fog streaming across our front. Almost immediately afterwards we heard firing away to our left, where the other "landing party" ought to be, and were jolly pleased, and knew that the fog must have "lifted" over there as well.
"We shall have it clear in another quarter of an hour," the Skipper growled, and went back to hurry everyone forward, for that gun ahead of us was firing regularly, and made us all rather dread what was happening.
We were getting on some high ground now, making fine progress, and almost before you could tell when it happened, or how long it took to clear, the fog had swept past us, and, quite suddenly, we saw frightened Chinamen flying in front of us, to take cover behind a bank somewhere about a quarter of a mile away. I couldn't help laughing to see them tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape, now that the fog had uncovered them. We bagged a good many before they got over that bank.
"Don't give 'em any time; after 'em, Marshall," I heard the Skipper shouting, and we simply did a record sprint, "Blucher" going on ahead of us, thinking that his show had come along at last, and barking loudly, like the useless, untrained, old brute he was. We were over that bank before they could fife half a dozen shots, and had bayoneted half a dozen before you could say "Jack Robinson". My men were so glad to get a sight of the fellows who'd been worrying them all night, and were so keen to pay them "out", that there was no stopping them. Those few shots, though, were quite enough for old "Blucher", who went yelping back to the Skipper, with his tail between his legs, more mystified than ever.
The ground sloped upwards behind the bank, and we were after them like redshanks. I knew that Trevelyan with "B" company was somewhere on my right, and that "B.-T." was coming along in reserve, and that the Maxim kept chipping in occasionally; but I had all my work cut out to keep my marines in hand, and did not pay much attention to anything else. One or two of my chaps got bowled over before we got to the top of the slope; but we were up it and over it in a "jiffy", and saw the cowardly brutes running down the other side, dodging in between some native graves and some big boulders, and shooting up at us.
I made my men halt and take cover to get their breath, and waited for the Skipper. He came grunting and puffing after me.
After that beastly night, it was grand to be able to use one's eyes again, and see where we were and what we were doing. The ground sloped down from our feet to a little shallow valley of paddy fields, intersected by banks and small irrigation streams. It rose again on the opposite side to form a ridge about eight hundred yards away, a little tree-topped ridge, with the walled house, where Ching and Sally and all the rest of them were, at its right end, and a few huts on its left end.
As the Skipper came up, I saw a cloud of white smoke burst out from behind those huts, and heard that gun fire again. I pointed it out to him.
"There's someone showing on top of that house, sir," Trevelyan sang out.
"Where's one of the signalmen?" the Skipper roared. "There you are—are you—wave something; get on top of that hut and wave your flags." (We were standing close to a small mud hut.)
"He'll draw their fire all right," I chuckled to Trevelyan—there were a good many bullets flying past us—and when he did scramble up to the top and begin waving his semaphore flags, they left off firing at us, and paid all their attention to him, bullets whistling round him and smacking up against the side of the hut.
"A jolly good 'wheeze' that," and Trevelyan winked at me. "You must put that in your blessed drill book, eh, soldier?"
The signalman stood there with his telescope between his knees, calmly trying to attract attention, whilst the Skipper stood below and cursed him, and "Blucher" went smelling up every time a bullet splodged against the mud wall, and then ran away, thinking people were throwing stones at him. He didn't know what to make of this picnic.
"There's someone waving on top of that house," several sang out; and we saw someone "wagging" a long stick.
"'E's only got one arm, whoever 'e is," the signalman muttered, "an' 'e don't know much about Morse."
"It's Mr. Ford, sir," he sang out. "He says, 'All well so far—Mr. Ching here—gun doing damage'."
"Splendid!" we all shouted; and just then the signalman came toppling down with a bullet through his leg, and sat there holding it and looking very white.
Old Barclay was on him in a moment—terrible keen chap he was.
When we looked again, young Ford had disappeared. I expect that he had found it a pretty warm corner up there.
Old "B.-T.'s" little lot in the rear were having trouble now. They were below us, at the foot of the slope we had just climbed, and were lying down and shooting at a crowd of Chinese clustering round the huts near that pigsty.
"We must have got round 'em in the fog," Trevelyan chuckled.
"Where's that darned Maxim?" the Skipper roared. "Get it up here."
Young Rawlings rushed away to hurry it, and it came rattling up, Langham, who was in charge of it, and his men panting and tugging for all they were worth.
He was ordered to try and stop that gun firing, and then fat little Ponsonby was sent flying downhill to tell Travers to leave the Chinamen alone and come along after us.
The Maxim gun began its "tut-tut-tut-tut", "B.-T." and his chaps came bounding up the hill, and we all roared with laughter as little Ponsonby came running after them, his eyes and mouth wide open with fright at being left behind. "B.-T." was sent down the slope in front of us, with his company, to clear out the chaps who were sniping us; and very prettily he and his two Mids, Jones and Withers, did the job, whilst Trevelyan looked after the brutes in our rear.
They were simply swarming down there behind those huts, and there was not the least doubt that we had got round their main body in the fog. They did not dare to come out in the open, and were keeping up a very wild fire at us.
Langham couldn't get near that gun, and just as it fired again, and someone had sung out that they could see stones and bits of wood flying from a corner of the house, we saw Chinamen streaming across the paddy fields on our left, running and turning, and firing backwards. We could hear heavy firing from somewhere out of sight, and the noise of another Maxim and the chip-chip of a Colt automatic gun.
We all knew that it was the gunboat's brigade driving the Chinese in front of them.
"The other chaps will be there before 'Old Lest', if we don't get a move on. 'Old Lest' ain't going to be beaten by them," the Skipper grunted, and sent me and my marines flying down into the paddy fields below us, after Travers, who had halted and taken cover behind a bank on the other side of them, just before the ground began to rise gently up towards the walled house, and where the gun was a little farther to the left.
"Take ground to your left, and both of you 'go' for that confounded gun," the Skipper had roared after me. "I'm coming along after you."
It's all jolly fine to tell one to charge along through paddy fields. Grainger was just behind me, and I felt sorry for him, because I kept on going in up to my knees in beautiful, rich, black mud, and knew that he had his eye on me and my second best pair of trousers. But we got up to old "B.-T." all right, and I shouted for him to come along and shove on for the gun, got my men extended well to the left, gave them a "breather" whilst he swung his men a little to the left as well (brought his right shoulder up, as they say in the drill book), and then off we went, howling and cheering, straight towards two little white huts behind which the gun was still firing.
Whitmore appeared from somewhere and took charge (he was the senior), Rawlings and a bugler boy legging it after him for all they were worth.
A good many bullets came whizzing past, and I saw chaps dodging about round those huts and under some trees. My men were coming along well, and old "B.-T." with his long legs was sprinting along in front of his chaps like a camel.
Away to the left people began cheering—"Rah! Rah! Rah!"—and I knew that came from theOmaha'scrowd, and wasn't going to be beaten by them. Nor was more either; and though I knew that the "show" was not quite according to the "drill book", I wasn't going to let the "U.S.N." or our gunboats get there first.
Young Wilkins, running just behind me, gave a cry and fell; I heard the old sergeant-major cursing and hurrying on the men; we got in among the trees, my chaps half a dozen paces behind me; a chap got in my way and fell down—I suppose I did it; two or three fellows rushed out from the side of a hut and came for me with swords; but the well-beloved Grainger wasn't going to let them damage my best "serge", if he could prevent it, and we got rid of them between us. "B.-T.'s" chaps and mine were now all mixed up. There were a few "bickerings" going on round the huts and among the trees, and then we saw the gun standing by its "lonesome", and went dashing across to it.
One of "B.-T.'s" able seamen was the first to get to it, Whitmore and Rawlings close behind, and "B.-T." and I made a dead heat for fourth place.
"Don't 'hee-haw' like a jackass," Whitmore said, when he'd got his breath. "What's to be done now?"
I'm hanged if I could help laughing at the sight of old "B.-T." legging it, with little Withers, only about half his height, trying to keep up with him.
"Give us a cigarette, and don't be an ass, soldier!" "B.-T." sang out. "Your legs are funnier looking than mine, any day."
"Drill book, Whitmore, old chap! Drill book! When you've got 'em on the run, keep 'em on the run," I said, when I could stop laughing, and he agreed, and "B.-T." agreed, and we got our people together and followed them. As we left the gun we saw theOmaha'speople "doubling" up to it.
We must have followed them for the best part of a mile, I should imagine, but they ran a jolly sight faster than we could. We were pretty well "winded", and when we'd driven them back to the outskirts of the town, they rallied there, and we had to pull up and go back again, carrying along three fellows who'd been knocked over in the last hundred yards. They began pressing along after us, and a lot of chaps—some of those who had run away from the other brigade—began worrying our flank, streaming across the paddy fields and firing at us. We managed to keep them back, alternate sections lying down and firing whilst the others ran back fifty yards and lay down in their turn, and covered the retreat of the first little lot. A nice little show it was too—all done according to the drill book—and when we'd got back to within a hundred yards of the walled house, and were passing through the remains of a lot of burnt huts, young Ponsonby came running up with orders from the Skipper to halt there and take up a position.
"He's pretty angry, sir," he told Whitmore; "he's been sounding the recall for the last half-hour."
The fact was that the Chinese hadn't yet had a sufficient lesson, and didn't quite know what it was to run up against us in the daylight, and were now coming for us "hammer and tongs".
Instead of going back to the walled house, and bending on one knee before Princess Sally as her gallant knight, who had lost a couple of eyeglasses, and spoiled serge frocks, two in number, and two pairs of embroidered overalls—bills not yet paid—in her service, and receiving her gracious thanks, I had jolly well to dodge beastly bullets for a couple of hours.
The old Skipper often came round, with "Blucher", to see if things were going all right, and generally stopped to have a yarn with me.
It was from him I learnt that poor old Hoffman had been killed.
"Jolly hard luck after all he's done for us, sir," I had said; but the Skipper only growled "Umph!" and for some reason or other didn't seem so sure.
He had managed to get a signal through to theVigilant, and ordered her and the gunboats to shell the town and that six-inch gun which Whitmore had tried to destroy.
From my position, looking across the Chinese town and the little creek crowded with junks, I could see them steaming slowly inshore, and presently they began firing very deliberately. (Of course they had only a few seaman ratings left on board to man the guns.)
Their shells burst all over the town; but it takes a lot of shells to set fire to a house, and it was some time before they got a good fire going. A few shells which didn't burst ricochetted over our heads, and one or two fell pretty close to the house; but the Skipper didn't worry about them now. He had lowered little Sally down a shallow well, somewhere in the garden behind the house, and so long as she was safe, he didn't worry about anyone else.
His idea was that if we set fire to the town, most of the people would go back there to try and extinguish the flames, and that then we would tramp back across the island to where we had landed last night.
Certainly a good number of fellows did go back, and except from that hill on the other side of the paddy fields, from where we had seen Ford's signal, we were not much bothered with rifle fire.
It was at the back of the house, where the ground fell steeply towards the creek, and was covered with scrubby bushes, that the Chinese seemed now to be trying to force their way in. The lower slopes were simply swarming with them, and more kept moving up the creek in boats to assist them.
The Skipper came across to me. "Umph!" he growled. "You're a soldier, aren't you?" and when I had acknowledged the soft impeachment, "Umph! What would you do? I'm not a soldier. 'Old Lest's' not much good ashore except after 'birds'. How'd you get out of this mess! Ugh!" and he growled at me as if he would have liked to eat me, and so fiercely that old "Blucher" thought he was in for a row, and cleared off to have a yarn with his chums, the marines. He took me across, behind the house, to have a look at the state of affairs there.
Don't think that he wanted advice. He only wanted someone to talk to, and everyone else was too busy. I wouldn't have suggested anything to him for "worlds".
It was then that I saw Hobbs and Sally for the first time since they had been "burgled". They had fished her up from the well, and she had come across to the Skipper, looking like a ghost, her sad little face all pinched and careworn, hardly the princess I'd all my life been longing to rescue, and throw myself and all my unpaid bills at her feet. She was a most distressful little object, and when the Skipper put his great hand very gently on her shoulder, and told her we were going to start off almost directly, she began crying, and said she didn't want to go.
"She's gone daft about that man Evans," Hobbs whispered to me. He looked more like a monkey than ever.
So that was it, was it? And our little princess didn't want to be rescued! Poor little princess! I just noticed that the front of the house had been pretty well battered in by the Chinese gun, and then caught sight of Ford and Rawlings looking like long-lost brothers. Ford was a pretty ludicrous spectacle, with one side of his face black and blue, one eye closed, and his left arm slung up inside his monkey jacket. This was the first time I had seen him since we had landed to destroy that gun, and he got very red; I remembered that he hadn't taken my jokes in very good part, so went across to make my peace with him.
"We all saw you signalling to us this morning, Ford, on the top of that roof. You must have been under a very hot fire, eh?"
He wasn't quite certain whether he was going to make peace, but he couldn't stand out against a little delicate flattery, and we made friends again, and he went off with Rawlings, looking very conceited and happy.
Fat little Rashleigh was there, too, buzzing about like a bumble bee, and offering everyone a drink from his flask, and patronizing Ching, and talking about the gun he had captured. I never realized what he meant till afterwards.
Old Ching was pretty well played out, but looked proud and happy, and I gave him one of my last three cigarettes, and told him one or two yarns, though he didn't take much interest in them, and kept his eyes fixed on little Sally.
The Skipper had given him the job of escorting her down to the coast, and jolly well he had earned it too.
Parkinson, theOmaha'sskipper, had a yarn with me. "Guess I shall be a flag officer before I'm sixty. Reckon they'll have my picture in all the journals in the States, and maybe they'll remember John A. Parkinson is still alive and kicking, up at Washington. They seem to have forgotten him awhile." He was "talking sarcastic". He was a fine grim-looking chap, without an ounce of spare flesh on him, and as old as most of the rear-admirals in our navy, though only in command of a small gunboat.
There was an old Scotchman who had helped Ford and the two men escape from the town to the walled house, and had been helping to defend it all night. He was a funny old bird, and didn't quite know where to "place" himself, and wasn't looking particularly happy. Old "B.-T." had recognized him as the chap who'd run the show at the other island, when "B.-T." was a prisoner, so he knew that we had sufficient evidence to hang him, and was only too jolly anxious to escape being killed by Chinamen in the meantime.
He thought that our best plan would be to go back the way we had come. It was more open country, and, except for the first three-quarters of a mile, better "going" and more open than if we attempted to work round the outskirts of the town itself, where the ground was nothing but swamps.
It was now about half-past one o'clock, and the Skipper thought that it was about time to be starting back.
The great trouble was the number of wounded who would have to be carried. Of Ching's original fifty men only forty-two could walk, and the two landing parties now had six men too badly wounded to walk. Young Wilkins, my bugler, and a seaman belonging to theGoldfinchwere the only two Englishmen killed so far.
These two, Hoffman, and five of Ching's people had been buried during the morning, under the trees in the garden, behind the house.
The Skipper also wanted to go back the way he had come. He told me that I should have the first job—to seize the hill opposite us across the paddy fields and hold it whilst he, Trevelyan, and "B" company and Ching's bluejackets brought along Sally, her father, and the wounded.
Parkinson, theOmaha'sskipper, was to stay behind with the gunboat's brigade and act as rearguard till the Skipper had got safely across to me, and then I was going to do "rearguard", whilst they all went on.
He hoped to get in touch with theRingdoveandOmahaa mile from the shore and obtain some assistance from their guns, if he was much pressed by the Chinese. He was just going to give the order to "carry on", when we saw a little party of people approaching with a white flag waving over their heads. It was headed by a most respectable-looking old "josser" beautifully dressed in silks, with a mandarin button on his cap, and a most benign, fatherly expression on his face. He was brought along to the Skipper, and the old Scotchman acted as interpreter.
He had come to offer to let us go back to our ships without being molested, if we would only leave off shelling the town, and was very surprised when the Skipper refused to do so. Then he called up a man who was standing behind him with a bundle in his hand, and made him empty it on the ground, looking at us and expecting to see us beam with delight. Ugh! I was nearly sick, for out rolled the head of a white man.
"It's Boss Evans!" I heard the Scotchman mutter under his breath.
We all involuntarily stepped back in disgust, and the old gentleman opened his eyes in amazement when he saw that we were not pleased, and explained that it was the Boss Pirate himself, the chap who'd done everything he ought not to have done, and that now they had killed him, and that we had seen that he was really dead, and had got Hobbs and the girl, "it all makee end—all belong plenty too much bobberie—no can do—vely good—vely good", and he rubbed his hands together, and bowed and beamed at us again from behind his great horn-rimmed spectacles.
"Chuck him out!" the Skipper roared, and walked away.
The poor dear old Chinee chap was almost in tears when he was led home again, and wasn't allowed to take the head with him either.
We buried it alongside the other dead.
Someone must have told my poor little princess, because she was now only too anxious to get away, and looked more mournful and heartbroken than ever.
It was half-past two before this little business was concluded, and Whitmore and I were jolly anxious to start.
"The old man's wasting daylight with a vengeance," he said to me, but had hardly spoken before young Ponsonby came running up—"From the Captain, sir; you're to carry on."
As I hurried past the Skipper, he sang out, "Drive those fellows off that hill!"—pointing with his big stick. "Travers will go with you, and I'll send a Maxim along after you, and am coming on directly."
"Very good, sir," and I saluted and went off to tell my men what we had to do, and sang out to Travers, "Come along, old 'B.-T.', bring your people along."
We started off.
U.S.S. Omaha and H.M.S. Ringdove shelling Hector Island.U.S.S. Omaha and H.M.S. Ringdove shelling Hector Island.
U.S.S. Omaha and H.M.S. Ringdove shelling Hector Island.
CHAPTER XV
The Retreat
Old B.-T. Wins—A Hard Retreat—A Case of Speed—A Race against the Fog—Hand-to-hand Fighting—Captain Marshall is Wounded—The Captain's Life Attempted—Round the Fire—Ford is Indignant—On Board Again
Old B.-T. Wins—A Hard Retreat—A Case of Speed—A Race against the Fog—Hand-to-hand Fighting—Captain Marshall is Wounded—The Captain's Life Attempted—Round the Fire—Ford is Indignant—On Board Again
Old B.-T. Wins—A Hard Retreat—A Case of Speed—A Race against the Fog—Hand-to-hand Fighting—Captain Marshall is Wounded—The Captain's Life Attempted—Round the Fire—Ford is Indignant—On Board Again
Written by Captain Marshall, Royal Marine Light Infantry
Old "B.-T." and I extended our people, ran down towards the paddy fields, crawled and dodged across them, and prepared for the "do-or-die business" up the farther slope.
It was a bit of a rush, and old "B.-T." looked "bored" when we met again at the top. The blighters had never given us a show, but had cleared out, pretty well most of them. A few had run into "B.-T.'s" little lot by accident, and been polished off, that was all.
I don't suppose that they were expecting us to go at 'em so soon.
The Maxim came along after us, and we helped Langham up with it, and spread ourselves out, to cover the retreat of the Skipper with the main body, which came along almost immediately in a long line, slowly trailing down the side of the hill from the house. We could see that they were carrying the wounded, and they had got halfway across the paddy fields before the Chinese seemed to "tumble" to the fact that we were clearing out, and began to pour back from the outskirts of the town and open fire at them.
"B.-T." and I managed to keep them in check, and the Skipper got across without any casualties, "Blucher" coming galloping up the hill, wagging his long whip of a tail when he spotted me.
But by this time a number of Chinese had crept along behind the banks intersecting the paddy fields, and we couldn't get at them with rifle fire. They were right in between us and the walled house, cutting off Parkinson's retreat.
We could hear that he was having trouble—he was firing very heavily—and directly the Skipper and his little lot had got across safely, we saw his people begin leaving the house and falling back down the slope. We saw them turning and firing back, and retiring by alternate companies, and natives were swarming round the house and among the trees at the top of the ridge. We knew that they must be having a pretty warm time of it.
Those fellows who had crept round their rear began firing at them too; but one of their companies simply charged down at them, broke right through, and, opening out to left and right, swept them on one side. They were theOmaha'smen. We could tell that by the peculiar noise they made and by their uniform. Langham was able to let rip into the Chinese as they sprinted out of reach of the Yankee bayonets, and hurried them along "pretty considerable", as Parkinson told me afterwards, we were also able to stop the people swarming down that ridge after him, and gave him time to bring along his Maxim and Colt guns, and to extricate himself from rather an awkward position. He made a wide sweep, so as not to mask our fire, and came across; but I saw that he had to carry four or five men, who had been knocked over in the open, and they delayed him much.
That is always the rotten part of a retreat, especially when fighting semi-barbarous natives. One dare not leave the wounded behind, and each one who cannot walk requires two able-bodied men to carry him.
From where "B.-T." and I were standing, I should think that we could see at least seven hundred Chinamen, and away on the left, we could see any number more hurrying: from the town.
"Buck up, old chap! Don't look so blooming bored!" and I slapped him on the back. "We'll have our work cut out in the next half-hour, when we are doing rearguard."
"Keep your beastly fists to yourself," he growled.
Old "Blucher" had bounded back to the Captain directly our Maxim had begun firing.
"Old Lest" and his little lot were in the rear of our hill—at the bottom of it—waiting for Parkinson to go on past them, farther back. We saw Parkinson drop his wounded people and sweep past and away towards two small rising bits of ground, about four hundred yards in the rear, and the Skipper, picking up his wounded, followed slowly.
Then came our turn as rearguard.
My Christopher Columbus! we had about all we could do to keep the beggars back. The heathen Chinee was simply seeing "red", and came charging across the paddy fields, rushing up towards the slope in front of us, and getting round both our flanks. They thought that they'd got us in a hole, I expect, and they spared a couple of hundred fellows to sneak away to the right, behind some banks, hoping to catch the Skipper in the open. They would have done it too, and got right on top of him before he could have spotted them, had not "B.-T." taken half his company down the hill at a run, and posted himself behind a couple of broken-down huts and a bit of another bank, and given 'em "beans" as they went doubling along below him. It was really a race who should get to the bank first, and old "B.-T." won.
They were now actually crawling up the hill in front of my chaps, dodging among the "scrub" and among the grave mounds, and they were getting round my left rear as well. There must have been four or five hundred of them, and they were taking cover so well, that it made it confoundedly difficult to hit them.
Langham caught a few of them in the open with the Maxim; but it's such a jolly extravagant kind of weapon as regards ammunition, and puts a dozen cartridges into a chap before another can take his place, and get his own share.
Young Withers was in command of the other half of "B.-T.'s" company of bluejackets on my left. I sent one of my chaps across to him to tell him to retire, and he began to fall back steadily. He was keeping his head, but looking very white. Langham's Maxim section began to haul their gun back, and everyone was a bit flurried. Two men got bowled over. One sprang straight up, with one hand clawing the air, and I knew that he was shot through the heart. I've seen a good many men do that in my time, and they all had been shot through the heart.
I had a funny feeling in my right arm, too, and guessed that it had got in the way of a bullet, but could move it all right.
I looked back to see whether the skipper had got safely across yet, and saw that he was just disappearing between the two little hills or ridges which Parkinson was holding; so it was time for me to be off, and we began to retire according to the laws and regulations of the dear old drill book. I sent the Maxim downhill with a run, and Withers and his half company with it, to get behind a bit of a bank two hundred yards in the rear, and held on with my marines, dropping a few Chinese who were brave enough to stand up and show themselves; but most of the skunks were simply wriggling along from one bush or grave mound to another, and I'm jiggered if you can hit a man who's crawling and dodging—that is, when you are excited, and your heart is trying to thump its way out of your chest, and you are expecting the order to retire and have one eye on the rear.
They began to get round my right flank then, and I was beginning to think that "little James" was in a pretty tight corner, when old "B.-T." saw them and came back, just in time, cheering as if he was winning the battle of Waterloo and Trafalgar all rolled into one, and went careering right into them.
This checked them for half a minute, and gave my people time to drag our wounded man—I had to leave the dead one—down the hill, and for the rest of us to fall back together halfway down the slope.
"B.-T." came along after us, and we faced round and walked backwards very slowly, and they didn't like the look of our bayonets and wouldn't charge down, though they were swarming up above us and yelling like stuck pigs. (If they had charged they would have swept clean over us.) We managed to bring along two more of my chaps who were hit and couldn't walk, and sent them on to the rear, and when we got to level ground again we opened out, and bolted for where the Maxim and "B.-T.'s" other half company were. They gave them blue blazes as they came screaming after us, and dropped dozens.
I saw one of the bluejackets fall forward, his head striking the soft ground, and go slithering along. The Chinese were not twenty yards behind, so "B.-T." and two of his chaps stopped and tried to bring him with them. Old "B.-T." had to do a bit of work with his sword and revolver for a minute or two; but we'd got our breath behind the bank, came along to his rescue, and beat 'em back, Langham picking the fellow up like a sack of corn and carrying him to the rear.
"Look at that rotten thing," "B.-T." panted out, as he got behind the Maxim, holding out his arm and showing me where his sword had broken off, about twelve inches from the hilt.
"If youwilldo the V.C. act, old chap, with a rotten tailor-made sword, what can you expect?" I told him.
The Chinese daren't face our fire in the open, and funked it, so that we were able to fall back again all serenely. It wasn't the fear of seeing any of our people getting killed that worried me then; it was the dread of seeing them wounded so badly that they had to be carried, because, as I told you before, each one so wounded meant two sound men to carry him away, and handicapped us so tremendously.
We were behind Parkinson now, and gave our wounded to the Skipper's main body. I caught a glimpse of "Old Lest" standing, with his great feet wide apart, and of "Blucher" squatting between them. He was watching the Chinese through his glasses, and young Ford and Ponsonby were standing close to him, looking white and nervous. He shouted out, "Well done, rearguard!" and we hurried past and came to a group of Chinese bluejackets, standing shoulder to shoulder. In the middle of them, I knew, was my poor little princess and her miserable little father. You see, bullets were still coming past pretty thickly, and Ching was shielding her with his men's bodies.
That old Chinese gun was there too, with some of theRingdove'speople to drag it, and a few yards farther along half a company of Trevelyan's men were sitting on the ground resting till they had to move on again.
They gave us a cheer as we passed them, jumping to their feet and waving their caps, and off we went at the double for a low ridge about a quarter of a mile farther to the rear. We expected to be able to see the gunboats from there, and were ordered to try and attract their attention. They had been told to keep a lookout for us.
This bit was only a case of speed, and we were all blowing like grampuses when we stopped, and the men flung themselves down and faced round, my little lot about a hundred yards from "B.-T.'s", with Langham and his Maxim between us.
Some of his people had tied their silk handkerchiefs to their bayonets and were waving them to attract the gunboats. I heard "B.-T." yell something, and saw him pointing away towards the sea.
It was there all right, but, buttered crumpets! a beastly fog-bank, like a solid wall of cotton wool, was creeping down from wind'ard. When I first looked I could see theOmaha'sone mast and tall funnel, but three minutes afterwards the fog had blotted her out of sight, and I could watch it creeping towards the shore. Great bluebottles! I didn't like it; another night like last night would about send me off my "crumpet".
I was just thinking that it would have been better for me to have gone into the Church, as my old dad always had wished, when Withers came running across to ask if I could lend "B.-T." a cigarette.
"You might get your pater to give me one of his livings," I told him. "I'm going to be a parson if we ever get out of this."
"He's very particular, sir," the cheeky young rascal grinned, and ran back with my last cigarette. Old "B.-T." would have borrowed my matchbox, but I sent Withers to tell him torub two sticks togetherand light it that way; it would be good exercise, and the cigarette would last longer.
I saw him shake his fist at me when he got the message, and then walk down his line of men to try and borrow a match from one of them.
The main body was coming past now; Whitmore and Rawlings, at the head of the little column, were just passing Langham's Maxim; then Trevelyan's right half company, a dozen Chinese bluejackets in a circle round Sally and Hobbs, with Ching and the old Scotchman walking behind them. Then there was a gap, a long string of Chinese bluejackets carrying their wounded, the rest of Trevelyan's chaps carrying ours, theRingdove'speople dragging the little Chinese field gun, and Trevelyan with a few men bringing up the rear.
They came to a halt behind us, and laid down their wounded very gently.
"There's no one behind us, I think," "B.-T." shouted to Whitmore. "But just look at that fog! It's hidden theOmahasince we've been up here."
"Where's the Skipper?" I asked him.
"Taking charge of the rearguard. This job isn't exciting enough for him. They'll have all their work cut out to get back to us, and I don't know what will happen if we get many more wounded."
I had to go back to my men then, as I saw the rearguard already on its way, fat little Rashleigh toddling along in front of two companies from the left of the two little hills, and the Maxim section rushing their gun towards us. From the right the rest of the rearguard commenced their retreat, and I saw "Old Lest's" great broad shoulders swaggering back, with Parkinson, as thin as a lamp-post, striding along beside him, and "Blucher" slinking between them.
Contrary to Whitmore's opinion, they had very little trouble in extricating themselves, because the ground was so flat on the other side of those two little hills, that the Chinese had not dared to come to close quarters, and they were more than halfway towards us before the enemy occupied the slopes they had just evacuated, and stayed there, contenting themselves with opening a very heavy but miserably directed fire. They made rotten shooting.
I felt that we had now got over by far the worst part of the show, all except the beastly fog part, which had already hidden the line of the shore a mile away, with its advance guard of feathery mist quickly creeping along the ground towards us.
The Skipper came along grunting and growling, lighting another cigar, and highly pleased with himself and everything else so far; but when he saw the fog he stormed and cursed.
"'Old Lest' won't worry about those chaps behind him. He'll march straight for the shore," he grunted, and sent Parkinson and the gunboat's brigade straight ahead, and ordered my marines and "B.-T.'s" bluejackets to remain in the rear. He took charge of the rearguard himself, but practically gave the job to me. I suppose that he knew that I had conducted many skilful retreats across the exercise ground at Forton Barracks, so would know all about it.
Anyhow, it was a great compliment to me, and old Whitmore was as sick as a cat with a fish bone in its throat, only he tried not to show it.
No one troubled us in front, and we marched along quite quickly—as quickly as it was possible to carry the wounded.
It was really a race against the fog. Everyone knew that, and we got over the first half-mile without difficulty.
The Chinese were not worrying the rearguard much; but of course they saw the fog almost as soon as we did, and many of them began streaming away to the left and right, and I knew that they would scoot round our flanks, try and get in between us and the sea, and hem us in as they had done during the night. I didn't like the idea of that—not a little bit.
But with only another half-mile to do, the moist tongues of fog began drifting overhead, and in five minutes we couldn't see fifteen yards. We recognized the huts with the dead pig's near them, and some of my chaps had a brilliant idea, and brought them along on their bayonets. "Wat 'o! Bill, for a bit of the Gunnery Lootenant's sucking pigs when we gets aboard," I heard one of them sing out.
The advance guard halted to let the main body get up to them, and threw back their flanks to overlap it, and as we came up we threw forward our flanks, and this meant that we practically formed a hollow square round the main body and the wounded. Like this we marched very slowly along, keeping in touch by shouting to each other. The Chinese were now beginning to draw up to our rear, and we could hear them yelling and firing rifles at us, the bullets seeming to make much more noise in the fog.
They didn't venture close yet.
In another five minutes the fog was so dense that I couldn't see the third man from me in the ranks. The skipper made a bugler with the main body in the centre sound two "G's" every half-minute, and that was a great help to us to keep in station. All round us I could hear the non-commissioned and petty officers singing out: "Not so fast on the right! Keep up on the left! Close towards the bugle, you on the flanks! Where's No. 1 section? Don't get ahead too far!"
These cries, with the howling of dogs and the yells of Chinamen, who had got all round us now, were extremely discomposing. When presently they did leave off yelling, and we had no idea where they were gathering or where they did intend to attack us, I must admit that it was still more disconcerting. But we could hear the sea beating on the shore, and smelt the decaying seaweed, and knew we should reach it in a few minutes. The Skipper must have been a little nervous too, for his bugler sounded the "halt" and the "close", and everyone drew in towards the centre till our little square was as complete as we could make it in that horrid yellowish-grey fog.
We were just preparing to move on, when there was a most hideous uproar on our right flank. People began firing; there was the noise of hundreds of feet rushing towards us through the fog, a fearful din of yelling, shrieks of pain, then the noise of bayonets at work, and I could feel that the right side of the square was giving ground and being pressed back, and could hear the strange, choking, grunting noise men make when they are fighting hand to hand, and being overcome by numbers.
I had heard it once before with General McNeil's column in the Soudan, when our zareba had been rushed, and it was touch and go for a few moments whether we were entirely wiped out or not. I was only a newly caught subaltern in those days, and I shall never forget that rush.
Old "B.-T." ought to have written about this one, not I. He would have done justice to it. I know that I can't.
It all happened in a moment, and we had the yelling brutes all over us, pushing a thin fringe of struggling bluejackets in front of them. They looked huge as they rushed at us in the fog, but the first two or three who came my way must have been pretty sorry that I hadn't forgotten to load my revolver. It was a regular pandemonium for about sixty or seventy seconds, I should fancy. Ching's men were making a strange, squealing, hissing sound; the Yankees had a different row; and our people were grunting and cursing. I could hear the Skipper roar: "Close on the centre!" and his bugler kept on sounding the two "G's" to let us know where the centre was. I found myself near him. He had his coxswain, and a couple of signalmen, and the two mids—Ford and Ponsonby—close to him, and was laying about him with his big stick, and punching fellows in the face with his fist. His coxswain knocked over one brute who was coming for him at the back, and I helped him get rid of another and then lost touch with him, and came across the wounded trying to scramble up and defend themselves with their bayonets, Trevelyan's men standing over them, clubbing their rifles and making a grand fight of it. I saw that they were holding their own, and with a dozen of my own marines at my back, ran and forced my way into a lot of fellows who were trying to cut down Ching's men. I suppose they hated him and his jackets even more than they hated us.
My Christopher Columbus! we did give 'em beans, and I'm precious glad that my sword was the best that could be bought (well, perhaps bought isn't the right word; so I will say obtained), for their heads were as tough as iron, and the wadded cotton coats they wore made it jolly hard to use the point. For all that, though, it tickled one or two of them considerably.
Old Grainger clung to me like my shadow. He always seemed to be handy when I'd got two people to manage at the same time, and we always managed to scoop the pool.
We eased off the pressure round my princess, especially when Parkinson's First Lieutenant, a man nearly forty, came along from the left with twenty or so of his people, shouting, "Rah!—Rah!—Rah!—O!—Ma!—Ha!" and burst in among them and began clubbing. Little Rashleigh suddenly shot into view with a broken sword in one hand and a revolver in the other. His scabbard got between his legs, and he fell sprawling, and would have been killed if Langham hadn't suddenly sprung out of the fog and run a chap through who was standing over him and just going to jab him with a bayonet.
The three machine-gun carriages and the little Chinese field gun were all rallying places for our people, and I suppose I must have got into the "focus of disturbance", as they say about earthquakes, because, although the fog was so thick, I saw nearly all our officers at one time or another, and we got so jammed together—Chinese and marines and bluejackets—that we could hardly move.
I nearly came to grief near that Chinese gun. A wretched chap thought he could prod people from beneath it in comparative comfort, and tried his hand on me, but wasn't quite quick enough. He got me a beastly rip in the leg just above the knee.
Then "Old Lest" seemed to elbow his way along. If you'll believe me, he still had a cigar between his teeth (Whitmore saw it, and his coxswain swears that it was even then alight). He had broken his stick over the heads of two big ruffians, and they bungled against the gun carriage, and just as I thought that it was my turn to do something prompt, he caught them by their pigtails and "wanged" their heads together. That knocked them out of time, and his coxswain saw to it that they were dead.
Well, that was my little show, and I felt dizzy, and Grainger lowered me on to that gun wheel. The old sergeant-major came up streaming with blood and loaded my revolver for me, and Grainger wiped a lot of blood stuff off my face, which was interrupting the view of the surrounding scenery. People seemed to be leaving off fighting; our fellows were cheering like mad, and the buglers began sounding the "fall in" and the "cease fire".
I was all right in a second or two, and went back to my old place in the rear, and my people began limping back, calling each other and falling in, talking twenty to the dozen, and wiping their bayonets with tufts of grass.
My sergeant-major got them into something like order again; there were only twenty-seven on their feet out of the thirty-nine who had landed, and only about four of these who had nothing in the way of cuts or stabs to show for it.
Presently the bugler sounded the "still", and the coxswain piped, "Officers commanding companies report to the Captain," and I groped my way across the ground, simply littered with dead bodies, and found him and Parkinson. "Blucher" was sitting behind the Skipper, and looking extremely ashamed of himself.
Gradually all the officers commanding companies came up, except "B.-T.", who had a bayonet wound through his thigh and couldn't walk, and theOmaha'sFirst Lieutenant, who had been killed just after I had seen him charging with his men.
Young Jones reported "A" company, and that Withers was missing; but then someone came up to say that he'd been found with his head cut open, and quite dead. Poor little chap! he was one of the brightest and most gentlemanly youngsters on board, and I and my marines owed him a great deal for the way in which he covered our retreat to the barge two nights ago.
The doctors were singing out to let people know where they were, and I ran up against old Barclay. He seemed to have had a bad time of it himself, but was busy dressing people and fixing them up. Old "B.-T." was sitting with his back to a Maxim carriage wheel, waiting his turn and holding on to his leg. He wanted to borrow another cigarette, but he'd had my last half an hour ago. I managed to get one for him, however, and then found Whitmore. He'd had one of his thigh bones smashed by a bullet, and was in great pain. The whole place was nothing but a shambles. TheSparrow'speople, who had borne the brunt of the first attack, had come off worst, and after them Ching's bluejackets; but you will see by the list at the end what the actual casualties were.
Ching himself had a slash over the head, but looked as though he was treading on air, he was so proud and happy, and I knew that there was a good deal more than the love of fighting to account for that.
"How's the little lass?" the Skipper said, and I followed him across to the Chinese gun, and found my poor little princess bending over it with her head buried in her hands, and Hobbs sitting on the ground beside her.
The Skipper took her up in his arms and carried her off to a place where there were not so many dead bodies. Then happened something which, though disgraceful, is true. He was stalking along with her in his arms, and had just made a long step across a body, when we were horrified to see the apparently dead Chinaman spring up and raise a sword above his head to strike the Skipper. He would have been killed for a certainty, because the sword was a very heavy one—an executioner's sword—had not young Ford, who luckily had his revolver in his hand, placed it against the man's back and shot him.