by Anthology
In the ward-room, converted into a temporary sickbay, the boyish assistant surgeon toiled steadily, vainly endeavouring to keep pace with the stream of wounded constantly pouring in. The gun-deck was slippery with blood and more than one weapon had to be served slackly for lack of shellmen and loaders. At No. 3 gun in the starboard battery, half the crew were heaped about the mount, mowed down by a single bursting shell. The gun captain, a young Southerner, paused a moment to wipe the sweat and blood from his eyes. A splinter of that same shell that struck down his crew had ploughed a ghastly gash in his cheek. But without heeding the welling crimson flood, he sighted swiftly. "An' I reckon that'll do for you! "The gun barked and slid back with the recoil, and up in the pilot-house the Lieutenant gave a hoarse cry of joy. Without the urging drive of her propellers, the Chinaman lost headway and a current of air drew her slowly across the Ariadne's bows.
"Prepare to ram!"
A tempest of shell swept the flagship as she began to forge rapidly ahead. The Chinese captain knew that his one chance lay in crippling the Federation dirigible before she could reach him and he trusted that his heavy guns would make that chance a certainty. Hooker, every nerve drawn taut, eagerly watched the diminishing distance between the two ships. He saw the risk he ran — saw, too, that that risk must be taken. Suddenly the windows of the pilot-house were illumined by a blinding flash. Warm rain spattered in the Lieutenant's face and when he could collect his senses again, his cadet lay dead at his feet. For an instant he covered his eyes with his hand. Then he quickly pushed the boy's body aside and sprang to the wheel.
A ripping, rending crash as the Ariadne's sharp ram tore through the Chinaman's yellow gas-bag — a shock that hurled the Lieutenant to the pilot-house floor and piled the gun crews, who had thrown themselves flat to await the concussion, in tangled masses of men. Screams of hate and despair 'arose above the noise of the collision from the shattered ship beneath. And the Ariadne wrenched herself free and passed onward, while her enemy plunged down to the earth lying far below.
The Lieutenant picked himself up and heedless of stray shots, slid back the starboard steel shutter and leaning out, looked astern. The Daphne had easily disposed of her smaller opponent and now her semaphore began to wave as she signalled to the flagship.
"Steering-gear and both propellers shot away," she reported. "Want three hours to make repairs."
"Tell the Daphne to get to work," said Hooker briefly to his quartermaster; "and rejoin the fleet as soon as she can. We'll go back and see if the others need any help. When you've signalled that, quartermaster, get another man and take this — take Mr. Leroy down to his cabin."
He turned again to the wheel and spinning it rapidly, rang up the engine-room. But though the Ariadne moved ahead obediently, she refused to alter her course and the furious Lieutenant had the engines reversed to check her headway, and then stopped. At that moment the pilot-house door opened and the chief engineer appeared with a very grave face.
"Lieutenant Hooker," he said, "we're all on fire aft the engine-room — shell burst in No. 6 compartment and started the oil and supplies in the storeroom. I've had all my force fighting it for the last fifteen minutes and I ordered the crew to fire quarters as I came up."
"How does it look?"
"Bad, sir. It's just hell down there now and the extinguishers can't stop it."
Hooker's brows contracted. An airship on fire is lost. She has not, as a vessel on the high seas has, the alternative of flooding the blazing compartments and drowning out the conflagration even at the risk of becoming water-logged. If the fire cannot be checked by extinguishers before it is well started, still more, if it has not broken out at a safe distance from the battery compartment and gas storage tanks, there is no hope for her.
The engineer glanced quickly through the open shutter.
"Better signal the Daphne to stand by, sir, and take us off. We haven't any time to lose."
"She can't, Powell — she's disabled — and our steering-gear's out of commission, too. We'll have to drop for it. Tell the men."
The chief saluted and hurried below as the Lieutenant tugged at the emergency valve that, when wide open, could empty the big gas-bag in five minutes. More and more rapidly the long hull sank. Shriller and shriller the eager gas hissed into the quivering air. Leaning from the pilot-house, Hooker watched the ground flying upward to meet them and swiftly calculated the probable impact when they should alight. Then, struck by a sudden thought, he stooped and whipping out his knife, cut a heavy strand of glossy black hair from the head of the dead officer.
"His mother'll want that," murmured the Lieutenant, his hand again on the valve. "Wish I could save Mabs' picture, too, but there isn't time."
Fanned by the breeze of the rapid descent, the fire gained fiercely and the thin-walled hull became one roaring furnace. Those of the crew who had survived the battle, fled forward and crowded in the bow, though even there the steel plates burned the bare flesh. God pity the wounded caught in that infernal fire-trap! A few — but oh, how few! — had been dragged out by their comrades and the blood from their open wounds hissed on the steel deck. With set lips, the Lieutenant prayed that the imminent explosion might destroy the others before they were roasted alive. A last glance over the side, and his firm fingers screwed the emergency valve tightly home in its seat and started the gas pumps. There was a jarring shock as the keel grounded. The clinging crew were torn from their holds and slammed on the hard-packed earth. Hooker was thrown to the floor with such force that blood gushed from his nostrils, but he sprang up again in an instant and dashed to the pilot-house door. He tore at the knob, but the shock had jammed the door, and with a quick breath, he turned and raced for the open shutter on the starboard side.
Then the Ariadne lifted, as a shattering explosion ripped up her vitals. The Lieutenant was vaguely conscious that the steel-walled pilot-house had opened out like a wet cardboard box and an irresistible force drove him forth. Jagged things, flying in the air, slashed his uniform and gashed his flesh. The sky was blackened by heavy, stifling smoke and cutting through the dull, overpowering roar of the holocaust, the sharp reports of the shells rang out as the fire raged in the magazine. It seemed to Hooker that for many ages he drifted in space amid the raining debris of his ship. Then countless brilliant lights flickered before his bewildered eyes and the world went out.
When he awoke again, he discovered that he was lying on a blanket placed on the hard ground. Another blanket covered him, and at his side a canvas wall sloped upward sharply and disappeared in the dim shadows which the single lantern cast. His head pained severely and raising a feeble hand, he was astonished to find that his fingers touched the fabric of a bandage. But the effort hurt him so much that he uttered a groan and lay still.
At the sound, the shadows seemed to rush together and a bearded face appeared before his eyes while the lantern light grew so strong as to almost dazzle him. He regarded the phenomenon with grave surprise, which gradually began to give place to intense irritation. He wished very much that they would let him lie there in peace. He was quite comfortable and contented, if only his head wouldn't throb so and if — It suddenly occurred to him that this exasperating apparition might be in some way connected with the means of satisfying his burning desire. At all events, the desire was too insistent to be disregarded. How provoking it was that even his own self had to disturb his rest! He felt that it would take a tiresome amount of effort to articulate and suddenly, greatly to his surprise, he found that his hips were moving.
"Water!" he said.
The face vanished abruptly and presently something blurred before his eyes and he sensed a cool touch on his hot lips. He was glad he had made the effort. After all, it was more important to moisten his burning throat. When he had attended to that, he could be quiet again. As he drank, the haziness that dimmed his vision seemed to clear somewhat and the shadowy face bending over him took definite shape and form. He drained the cup dry gratefully and let his head
sink back on the blanket once more.
"Gardiner," he said clearly.
The Captain started and the stooping closer, laid a cool, steady hand on his hot wrist.
"How — how in hell am I?"
Leslie shook his head dubiously. "'Fraid you're broken up pretty badly, old man — and you got a wipe on the head that'd ha' done for any other man right on the spot."
The Lieutenant considered this information gravely.
"I'm going to cash in?"
The Captain did not answer.
"Oh, it's all right," said Hooker calmly. "It really doesn't matter very much, you know — only I'd sort a' liked to have gone when the Ariadne did — poor old tub! Say, Gardiner, how about the others — Aphrodite, you know — and —"
"They did their work in good shape, old man. We smashed the Chinese centre two hours after the ships let their first bombs go, and to-morrow we'll clean the remnants out of the native city and go on to Peking."
"To-morrow —" Hooker struggled weakly to raise himself on one elbow, but suddenly allowed his broken body to fall back again. "Oh, hell," he said with a grim smile curving his dry lips; "what's the good of my thinking about to-morrow? By to-morrow I'll be dead."
"Perhaps not, Tommy — the doc says there's just a chance —"
"Might be if I was in a New York hospital — not here in the field — I know."
He was silent for several moments and Leslie began to be afraid that he had lapsed into unconsciousness again, he lay so still; but all at once he spoke in a clear, strong voice.
"Gardiner, I — I wish you'd promise me to go back home when the war's over. I know it's — it's a damn' mean thing to do — a dyin' man like me, I mean, to ask such a thing — so much harder to refuse — but I'd feel a blasted sight easier if you would."
"God, Tommy," cried the troubled Captain; "I — you don't realise —"
"Of course if you can't — anyhow it was hardly a fair thing to ask."
"But isn't there something I can do for you?" asked the army man eagerly. "Don't you want to send some message to Mabel — or —"
Hooker's eyes darkened for an instant and the muscles stood out in ridges on his strong jaw, but he made a negative movement with his bandaged head.
"No," he said aloud, "it'd only trouble her if she knew that — that I cared. Better to leave things the way they are — better the way they are."
He moved his hand restlessly, picking at the blanket that covered him as if seeking for something. Leslie bent forward enquiringly.
"I had it just a moment ago," said the Lieutenant fretfully. "You shouldn't take things out of my cabin, Leroy — you've no business in there, anyhow — he's a good boy, Mabs, but he will take things too seriously — never live to wear an admiral's stars — told him so months ago — not like you, dear — but you might have left me the picture until I died — I wouldn't have asked you to do more — some younger man with more polish to him — just a rough sailor — couldn't stand my manners — no, son, keep her away a bit more — we've got to ram, I tell you! — done for if we don't — damn you! are you all asleep below there? — only I can't save it, Mabs, dear — there isn't time and the poor boy bleeds so fast — a little too serious-minded, but I was fond of him — but he shouldn't have stolen the picture — just a moment ago—"
The hands felt about anxiously and, struck by a sudden idea, Leslie took up from the small folding table near him a thin, square, canvas-bound book, on the cover of which were stencilled the words "North China Field Force — Medical Department," and placed it in the Lieutenant's hands. Hooker's fingers curved happily around the rough fabric.
"I was afraid I'd lost it," he said quite naturally, and smiling contentedly, went quietly to sleep.
Chapter XVI
Peking
THE twenty-second of July saw Rear Admiral Scott's little army outside of Peking. The progress of the raid had been somewhat slower than was expected, for the Tientsin garrison, driven from their fortifications with heavy loss, nevertheless fell back on the capital in good order and paused twice to give battle to the pursuing force, the first time at Pei-tsang, where they held the Federation troops in check for five hours, and again at Yang-tsun. These delays, when rapid movement was essential to success and every hour precious, made the commander anxious and determined him to press forward rapidly in spite of the fearful heat, so that by the time the expedition came within sight of the city wall, counting out the men who had fallen by the way from exhaustion and those left to guard the lines of communication from wandering bands of the enemy, it numbered scarcely 10,000. However, Peking was practically unfortified, the Chinese depending on the excellent works at Taku and Tientsin, and the enemy was so badly demoralised by successive defeats that Admiral Scott entertained little doubt that he would be able to force his way into the city.
Early on the morning of the twenty-third, the American artillery commenced battering at the hastily-barricaded Chi-ho gate in the Tartar wall, while two battalions of Americans, with a battery, were despatched to the Tung-pien gate of the Chinese city to effect an independent entrance if possible while the enemy were occupied with the main attack. The Tung-pien gate was quickly breached by a few well-directed shots and though swept by heavy rifle fire, the Americans gamely fought their way to the top of the Tartar wall and advanced towards the Hata gate, driving the Chinese along the wall before them. At the same time, loud cheers from the main body announced that the Chi-ho gate had fallen and, thoroughly disheartened, many of the Chinese soldiery threw down their weapons and took to their heels while others, more courageous or more desperate, sought refuge in the houses, whence they fired on Scott's men as long as a cartridge was left to them.
Meanwhile, where was Leslie? Long before the guns at the Chi-ho gate had fired their first shot, he had collected his little detachment of fifty volunteers from the horse marines and ridden rapidly around the northern end of the city to where, near the Si-chih gate, the Tartar wall had been breached six years before for the electric railway line to the Ming tombs. At the outbreak of the war the Chinese had torn up the track and thrown a barricade of heavy planks, sheathed with iron, across the inner portal of the forty-foot tunnel; but a single blasting cartridge shattered' the slight defensive works and the volunteers poured swiftly through the brick-faced archway into the Tartar City. At a fast trot the small band of horsemen rode eastward, the terrified inhabitants scurrying away like rats in front of them. Now and then the crack of a rifle rang out as a hidden sniper took a hasty shot at the close-packed troop and once a volunteer clapped his hands to his head and pitched sideways from the saddle of his pony. But there was no time for reprisals. A comrade pulled up, dismounted, and careless of the bullets that dusted about him, threw the body across his saddle and galloped after his fellows. Once one of the rearmost troopers swore vehemently and his right arm dropped to his side, smashed by a soft-nosed bullet. But a corporal checked the spurting blood with a rude tourniquet and the man rode on.
When they reached the wide thoroughfare leading to the Shun-chih gate in the south wall, Leslie pulled his pony to the right and drew rein before the high stone front of the new government military college. His men threw themselves into the little park surrounding the building, drawing a strong cordon about the walls, and with half-a-dozen eager marines at his back, the Captain dashed up the broad steps and hammered on the big, iron-bound door. Whipping his pistol from its holster, he emptied the magazine into the lock and a marine, pushing forward, roughly elbowed his commander aside, and with hoarse breaths, swung aloft a heavy sledge. Crowbars and axes appeared. In five minutes the door crashed inwards and the panting attackers flung into the dim entrance hall. Here Leslie collected his men and bidding them fill their magazines, began a systematic search of the huge building. Room after room they hunted through. Doors flew in splinters under pounding rifle-butts. Dark turns and corners were fearlessly ransacked, and frightened clerks and underlings fled in swarms, or with trembling knees chattered stam
mering denials to the questions fiercely shouted at them.
At length the little party were halted by a steel door which barred a vaulted passageway under the foundations. Leslie with difficulty forced his troopers back into the low-roofed chamber from which they had come and a black-bearded French lieutenant knelt before the barrier with a pointed brass cartridge in his hand. But ere he could adjust the innocent-looking destruction which he held, the door swung backwards and the astonished marines gazed into a large stone apartment, around the sides of which were ranged polished wooden benches filled with councillors in silken robes, while at the far end, behind a raised table, sat a dignified old mandarin, who looked up gravely as the Federation men crowded into the room. For a few moments there was silence. Leslie swept the motionless throng with his keen glance for the one face he most ardently desired to see — the one figure which to him spelt the success or failure of the entire expedition, and the marines, somewhat awed by this calm and unterrified reception, shuffled their feet nervously and thudded subdued rifle-butts on the concrete floor.
"What do you wish with us?" enquired the aged president at length, in excellent English and without a tremor in his even tones.
"I represent the International Federation," returned Leslie quietly, impressed in spite of himself by the demeanour of his captives; "and in the name of the Federation, I make you all my prisoners."
