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 Against Ecological Romanticism

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 Against Ecological
Romanticism
Verrier Elwin and the Making of
an Anti-Modern Tribal Identity

Archana Prasad
~

Three Essays
C 0 L L I C T I Y I

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j (u_J_
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31 First Edition
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All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, dectronic
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 For the activists who are battling
the twin threats of liberalisation and Hindutva
•
in the hope of a better future.

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 Ortglr..al from
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Contents

Preface
Ecological Romanticism and Environmental History:
The Contemporary Relevance of Verrier Elwin xiii
One
Adivasis as Swadeshis: Unpacking the Myth of the
"Original Inhabitant" in Gondwana 1

Two
The Baiga and its Eco-Logic Reinterpreting Verrier Elwin's
Cultural Ecology in Central India 35

Three
Paving the Way for Hindutva: The Tragic Tale of the
'Ii'ansformation of Elwin's Romanticism 73

Afterword
Looking Beyond Ecological Romanticism 107

Select Bibliography 111

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 Ortglr..al from
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 Acknowledgements

The essays in this book have been written over a period of six or seven
years; the first of them was written in 1995 as part of an effort to revise my
Ph.D. thesis. Their final form, however, emerges from my long conceptual
journey, which has been a result of the contributions of many colleagues
and comrades. The perspective promoted by this book is a result of the
co-operation of many movements, and the people I met, during repeated
field visits in Central India, all of whom are impossible to acknowledge
here. In particular, I would like to thank Neeladri Bhattacharya and Shereen
Ratnagar, who have continuously commented on and discussed this work
since its inception. Alot of this work is a result of the generous encourage-
ment of Ramachandra Guba, who has also been kind enough to give
references to important sources on which some of these essays are based.
Bela Malik, Mahesh Rangarajan, Nandini Sundar, K. Sivaramakrishnan,
William Storey, Dhirendra Dangwal, the late Shailendra Shaily, and Rohan
D'Souza have either commented on or discussed this work and made
important contributions to it over the years. I also thank Asha Mishra,
Gautam Bandopadhyay, Sunil bhai, lllina Sen and Lakhan Singh for making
fieldwork both comfortable and a learning experience.
These essays would not have been revised in this form had Asad
Zaidi and Nalini Taneja not introduced me to this series and prodded me
to finally put them together as a book. Finally, I would like to thank Dinesh
Abrol for his continuous support, encouragement and significant intellec-
tual contribution to this venture.

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 Citations

The first essay, ''.6.divasis as Swadeshis" draws large part of its content from
an already published essay "Military Conflicts and Forests in Gondwana",
Environment and History, Volume 5, Number3, 1999, Cambridge. It also
draws from unpublished material and sources.
The second essay, "The Baiga and its Eco-Logic" is a revised version
of an article that was earlier published in Studies in History. The reference
for that article is 'The Baiga: Survival Strategies and Local Economy in
Colonial Central Provinces', Studies in History, December 1998, Delhi.
The third essay,"Paving the Way for Hindutva" is an enlarged version
of the essay,'Communalism and Tribal Welfare in Madhya Pradesh', Alpjan,
Volume I, Number I, October-December 2000. However, large parts of its
material are drawn from additional research done by me on this theme
during post-doctoral work.

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 Preface
Ecological Romanticism and
Environmental History
The Contemporary Relevance of Verrier Elwin

Most of all Elwin must be distinguished from other

primitivists, he actually lived with the communities
whose culture he vigorously celebrated... There is a
poignant and heroic logic that distinguishes Elwin's
brand of activist anthropology with academic
anthropology.
Ramachandra Guha, 1999.

Between the 1930s and mid-1940s Verrier Elwin emerged as an

influential voice in the debate on the tribal question within which
he made a scathing critique of the modernist view of tribal
development. His critique of civilisation and celebration of cultural
primitivism was in fact a response to his milieu that had started
seeing the long term negative impact of modern capitalism and its
consequent spill over into the Imperialist policies of the Western
European regimes.As Guha states,"with the long shadow of Nazism
cast over the warring nations of Europe, the primitivist view could
effectively challenge a view of human progress in which savages
of the forest were placed at the bottom of the hierarchy and modern
civilised society was at its apex." 1 Essentially speaking, Elwin's

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
XIV .., AGA INS T ECO l.. Ol~ I CAL ROMANTIC !5M

celebration of tribal culture was grounded in ecological

romanticism that had its roots in the English opposition to the
industrial revolution. Indeed, English romantics like William
Wordsworth, John Ruskin or Edward Carpenter lamented the loss
of nature as a result of the industrial revolution, but the romanticism
of Elwin, his contemporaries and followers was different. 2 It was
grounded in the defence of custom and tradition and saw these as
alternatives to a modern way oflife. More importantly, it also formed
the basis of an environmental ideology that became dominant
amongst Gandhian movements of the twentieth century. Like the
ecological romantics of the early twentieth century they too made
valuable critiques of modern capitalist development and upheld
the traditional way of life as viable alternatives.
The anti-modern critique of the industrial mode of
production in tribal and environmental studies has argued that
tribal people had been living in harmony with nature since the
ancient times. This meant that they were the original inhabitants
of their lands, and their practices were regulated by institutions
that gave their society a certain social coherence and stability.
Following from this was the assumption that tribal practices were
ecologically friendly in character and that this was also reflected
in the cultural and social life of tribal societies. The resultant tribal
cultural ecology's emphasis was on proving that cultural practices
have corresponded to ecological roles. For example, Elwin wrote:

The life of a true aboriginal is simple and happy, enriched by

natural pleasures. For all their poverty, their days are spent in
the beauty of the hills. A woman carrying a load to the hill-
top pauses a moment to see the scene below her. It is the 'sweet
forest',the 'forest of joy and sandal' in which they live.l

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 Prefocc oa xv

The 'forest of joy' was Elwin's dreamland - a place where people

tended the dead, were devoted to the soil, staged magnificent and
colourful tribal festivals, and were infused with the spirit of sharing.
For Elwin these were 'things of value in tribal life'.• This picture in
fact supported the idea that ethnic tribal identities reflected a
cultural distinctiveness, and celebrated the moral superiority of
the values that were reflected in the tribal past Elaborating this
point with specific reference to Elwin's writings, his biography states
that the espousal of "cultural primitivism was not wholly an
invention. For one thing the Gond, the Baiga and the Agaria all
believed that the past had been better than th!! present, that there
had truly once been a Golden Age when their Kings ruled..:•s This
naive and somewhat unquestioning belief in people's knowledge
and oral traditions was the main cornerstone of the romantic
challenge to modernity. This was aptly highlighted in Elwin's own
advocacy of tribal rights where he said:

Until modern life is itself reformed, until civilisation is itself

civilised, until war is vanished from Europe and
untouchability from India, there is no point in trying to change
the aboriginals. Far better let them be for the time being -
not forever of course; that would be absurd. Perhaps in twenty,
fifty or hundred years a race of men may arise who are qualified
to assimilate these fine people in their society without doing
them harm. Such men do not exist today.6

This philosophy was accompanied by his support for the

protectionist policies of the Imperialist government under the Act
of 1935. He advocated a policy of"partial isolation" of tribal people
from the non-tribal society in order to prevent their exploitation.
In the specific case of the Baiga and the Gonds he said that land

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Xl'I _, A G A I N~T l' COLl) (; ICA I. ROMA NT ICI S M

alienation and loss of culture were their most immediate problems,

and therefore the British should establish a "National Park, in which
not only the Baiga, but the thousands of simple Gonds in their
neighbourhood may take refuge". 7 Because of this position Elwin
was termed a 'revivalist' and a 'no changer' by his critics, most noted
of whom was the famous sociologist, G.S. Ghurye.8
But change Elwin did, for by the time his pro-exclusion
stances were being criticised, Elwin had himself begun to review
the relationship between tribals and Hinduism. By the mid- l 940s
one essential element of Elwin's romanticism had undergone a
significant change. In the wake of Christian missionary activities
in the Central Provinces, Elwin's argument that the tribes were
culturally different from caste Hindus and outside the fold of the
'varna system underwent a change. At the threshold of
independence, Elwin thus wrote:

In particular I urge all Hindu organisations interested in this

problem to pass resolutions accepting the major aboriginal
communities as Kshatriyas which is what they are and what
they claim to be.. .! appeal therefore to the great Hindu
Community of India, who have executed the wonder and
administration of men in every part of the civilised world to
awaken and rouse yourselves. 9 •

This call for mobilisation of Hindu organisations was accompanied

by a demand that the Christian missionary activity be banned in
the tribal areas. The significance of this statement lay in the fact
\
that Elwin began to look towards right-wing nationalists to push
out Christian Missions from tribal areas. As a defender of tribal
interests he probably thought that Hinduism would provide more
space for the survival of tribal cultures than Christianity which
espoused values that were essentially western in their nature and

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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 In the act of bawling an order forward, Ensign Dave Darrin felt
his tongue hit the roof of his mouth. For, at this instant, the pursuing
canoe ranged up alongside the first.
There was a dim flash of something, accompanied by a yell of
unearthly terror.
“Light!” shouted Dave Darrin huskily.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
In a twinkling, the narrow, dazzling beam of one of the forward
searchlights shot over the water.
Within three seconds it had picked up the smaller of the canoes.
To the watchers from the deck of the gunboat this canoe appeared
to be empty.
Then the light shifted enough to pick up the second, larger
canoe, now darting shoreward under the impetus of two powerful
paddlers.
“Ahoy, there, shorebound boat!” yelled Ensign Darrin lustily. “Lay
to and give an account of yourselves!”
The challenged canoe moved on so rapidly as to call for the
constant shifting of the searchlight’s beam.
“Lay to, there, or we fire!” bellowed Ensign Darrin over the
rippling waters of Manila Bay.
But the canoe made no sign of halting.
“Sentry!”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Take aim and hold it!”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Then again Dave challenged.
“Shorebound boat, third challenge! Lay to, instantly!”
No attention being paid by the two paddlers, Ensign Darrin now
gave the sharp order:
“Fire!”
That bullet must have whistled uncomfortably close to the fleeing
craft, for on the instant both paddlers rose in the canoe.
“Fire!” commanded Ensign Dave, the second time.
At the sound of the marine’s shot both poised figures sprang
overboard from the canoe.
 “Shall I fire again, sir?” asked the marine, as the beam of the
searchlight continued to play upon the waters where the divers had
vanished.
“Not unless you see those men that jumped overboard from that
canoe,” replied Ensign Darrin.
Though the searchlight continued to flash further across the
water, nothing was seen of the men from the canoe. Indeed, at the
distance, the rippling waves might easily conceal a swimmer.
“Pass the word for the boatswain’s mate!” Darrin ordered.
As that petty officer appeared, Darrin ordered him to turn out a
boat crew and put one of the boats over the side.
“First investigate the nearer canoe, then the second. Bring them
both in alongside. If you see any swimmers in the water, pursue and
pick them up.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Still the searchlight continued to play over the waters. The
“Castoga’s” small boat ranged alongside the smaller outrigger canoe,
and soon had it in tow with a line astern. A minute or two after the
second canoe was picked up. A short search was made for
swimmers, after which, on signal, the boatswain’s mate turned and
headed for the gunboat.
“Ship’s boat ahoy!” Dave called, as the boat and its tows came
near.
“Ahoy the deck, sir!”
“Are both canoes empty?” Darrin inquired.
“The first one isn’t, sir,” replied the boatswain’s mate. “There’s a
dead Chinaman in it. Head almost cut off; sword work, I should say,
sir.”
“Bring both tows alongside,” Dave ordered, with a shiver. “I will
communicate with the police.”
After ordering a wireless operator turned out, Ensign Darrin went
over the side, down a sea-ladder, to the smaller of the outrigger
canoes.
Huddled in a heap in the canoe, was a Chinaman who did not
seem to be more than thirty years of age. His head, nearly severed
from his body, had fallen forward until it hung close to the dead
man’s chest. It was only by turning the head that Ensign Darrin was
able to see the face, on which there still lingered a look of terror.
“A Chinese tong-fight or a gang murder,” Dave told himself, in
keen disgust.
Then climbing up over the side he sent an orderly to summon the
executive officer.
Less than three minutes later Lieutenant Warden, fully dressed,
and wearing his sword, walked briskly out upon the quarter-deck.
The executive officer listened intently while Ensign Darrin made
his report with conciseness.
“I’ll take a look at the body,” said Mr. Warden, and went down
over the side. He came up again, horror written in every line of his
face.
“A cowardly killing, Ensign Darrin,” declared the executive officer.
“Notify the Manila police by wireless.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Call me again, if I am needed.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The instant Darrin had saluted and Mr. Warden had turned on his
heel, Dave, under a light just inside the superstructure, wrote a few
words which he signed in his official capacity as officer of the deck.
This was sent forward to the waiting wireless operator, who sent the
message to a military station on shore, whence the message was
telephoned to police headquarters.
Within three minutes the wireless operator, ran aft, saluting, and
reported:
“A police launch will put off immediately, and come out, sir.”
Fifteen minutes later a motor launch, flying the police ensign,
ranged up alongside the “Castoga.” An American official,
accompanied by four Filipino policemen, came on board.
Dave at once narrated what had happened, after which the
American police official inspected both canoes and looked at the
huddled yellow body.
“This will require investigation, sir,” declared the police official. “I
shall tow both canoes ashore, and then the force will get busy.”
 “Don’t you wish to send a wireless ashore, urging the police to
look out for two swimmers who are likely to attempt to land?”
suggested Dave.
“An excellent idea,” replied the police official, and wrote out a
despatch which Ensign Darrin sent to the wireless operator forward.
After that the launch chugged away with the two canoes in tow.
Twenty minutes later a wireless message was received aboard
the “Castoga,” and immediately the operator brought it aft.
“Native Policeman Rafeta,” Ensign Darrin read, “reports that a
Chinese swimmer was observed, by him, to land. The Chinaman
reported that his skiff had upset. Native policeman, not being
suspicious, reports that he allowed swimmer to proceed on his way.
Swimmer is to be identified by a fire-mark on the right cheek under
eye.”
“Burnt-face!” gasped Ensign Dave, recoiling slightly. “Then it
seems that I was not quit of that fellow when I turned my back on
him on the Escolta this afternoon. In what fiendish business can
‘Burnt-face’ be engaged?”
 CHAPTER III—MR. PEMBROKE BREAKS IN
On the next day the Manilla police had little of interest to add to the
account of the night tragedy on Manilla Bay.
Searching the city, and especially the Chinese quarters, the police
had been unable to find any yellow man answering to the
description of “Burnt-face.”
Very likely many of the Chinese residents of the city knew the
man who was sought, but Chinamen habitually mind their own
business, even to the extent of withholding important information
from the police. So within two or three days the chase was all but
forgotten. The Chinese “tongs” are secret societies that commit
killings in all parts of the globe where their people are to be found,
and the death of an unknown Chinaman does not provoke the police
anywhere to any great zeal in finding the slayer.
Then the “Castoga,” which, for reasons known only to the higher
naval authorities, had been anchored half a mile from the mouth of
the Pasig, was ordered to new anchorage off the naval station at
Cavite.
On board, the officers had ceased to speak of the strange
Chinese tragedy of the night; Dave and Dan had well-nigh ceased to
think about it.
One afternoon the French gunboat “Revanche” received visitors.
Ensigns Darrin, Dalzell and Hale were requested to represent the
“Castoga” and did so, going over in the launch.
On board the French boat they found a sprinkling of English and
Japanese naval officers. There were also a few officers from the
United States Army.
Our American friends were introduced to all present whom they
had not previously known. Half an hour later Darrin was inspecting
the “Revanche’s” lifeboat equipment under the escort of Lieutenant
Brun, of the French Navy, when a superior officer appeared on deck.
It was the same officer who had appeared, on shore, to exhibit such
marked disapproval of Mr. Pembroke.
“There’s an officer over there to whom I wish you would
introduce me,” Dave said to the lieutenant.
“With great pleasure,” replied Brun, “as soon as our turn comes.
That is Commander Bertrand, commanding the ‘Revanche.’ All the
gentlemen present will be introduced to him now.”
“If you don’t mind,” Dave added, quickly, in French, “I shall be
glad to wait until the last, as I should like to have a few words with
your commander.”
A group had gathered around Commander Bertrand, who, all
smiles and good will, played the host to perfection.
At last Lieutenant Brun led Dave over to be introduced. The
introduction accomplished, Brun moved away a short distance.
After the first few polite exchanges had been made on both
sides, Dave asked:
“Would you object, sir, to telling me whether you know a Mr.
Pembroke, an Englishman?”
“I know that it is a well-known English name,” replied
Commander Bertrand, “but personally I know no Englishman of that
name.”
“Do you remember seeing Mr. Dalzell and myself with a man in
front of the office of the Captain of the Port a few days ago?”
“I recall having passed you,” replied the Frenchman readily.
“That was Mr. Pembroke with whom we were talking.”
“Was it?” inquired the Frenchman politely, as he raised his
eyebrows. “Then perhaps I was in error. I felt that I had seen the
man before, but at that time his name was Rogers.”
“May I inquire, sir, if you know this man Rogers?”
Commander Bertrand shrugged his shoulders slightly as he
asked:
“Is he a friend of yours, Monsieur Darrin?”
“No; but he had presented himself to Mr. Dalzell and me, and
then had offered to do us a service.”
“I do not believe that I would trust him,” replied the Frenchman.
“I cannot say, positively, that Monsieur Rogers and Monsieur
Pembroke are one and the same man, but this I can assure you—
that Monsieur Rogers is far from being an honest man.”
Further than that the French officer seemed disinclined to discuss
the subject. After a brief chat on other topics Dave thanked the
French Commander courteously and moved away. In less than two
minutes, however, Dave found a chance to impart this information
briefly to Danny Grin.
“Pembroke looks like a good one to dodge,” declared Ensign
Dalzell.
“I don’t know,” returned Dave Darrin. “It all hinges on whether
he is really the chap who once called himself Rogers. Commander
Bertrand declined to be positive that they are one and the same,
though for himself, he seems to believe it. However, we are not likely
to see Pembroke again. He has made no effort to force himself upon
us.”
Not long after that the launch called, and the “Castoga’s” visiting
officers started to return to their own craft.
“There is some one waving to us,” declared Dave, staring across
the water at the occupants of a small motor boat.
“Why, it looks like Captain Chapin,” returned Dalzell.
“It is Chapin, and that is his sister with him,” returned Dave.
“See, she is standing up in the bow to wave her handkerchief to us.”
“Chapin ought not to allow her to stand up in the bow of such a
narrow craft,” said Danny Grin. “It’s a risky pose for any one but a
veteran sailor. It’s dangerous. She—”
“By Jove!” burst from Darrin. “There she goes—overboard!”
For a rolling wave, catching the small motor boat under the bow,
had rocked the little craft.
Miss Chapin was seen to stagger wildly and then plunge
overboard.
“They’ve stopped!” cried Dan. “She doesn’t come up, either!”
“Boatswain’s mate!” rang out Ensign Darrin’s voice sharply to the
naval launch alongside. “Put over there at once. Run astern of the
motor boat’s position.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” and the naval launch swung briskly around.
 “I beg your pardon, Hale, for forgetting that you are ranking
officer here,” Dave apologized, keeping his gaze out over the water.
“There’s no apology needed,” returned Ensign Hale. “Our only
need is to reach the spot as quickly as possible.”
The motor boat had stopped. Captain Chapin at the first
realization of the incident, had leaped up, and now stood scanning
the water for the first glimpse of his sister when she would rise to
the surface.
So great was the excitement on the naval launch that neither
Dave nor Dan really noticed it when another man aboard the motor
boat rose more slowly, showing his head for the first time above the
gunwale.
As the motor boat put about on her course both Captain Chapin
and this other man dived overboard.
“I wonder if they see Miss Chapin yet?” muttered Dave, as the
naval launch raced to the scene.
It was speedily apparent that Miss Chapin had not yet been
found, for both hatless swimmers swam about uncertainly, going
down head first, from time to time, as though to explore the water
near the surface.
Then the naval launch plunged into the scene. From it dived
three ensigns and two sailors aboard who were not engaged with
the handling of the craft.
With seven expert swimmers now in the water, Miss Lucy Chapin
stood an excellent chance of being found.
Hardly had the Navy men dived when Captain Chapin’s male
companion swam with long overhand strokes away from the rest.
“I see her!” shouted this swimmer, and dived.
“He has her!” panted Dalzell. “Hooray!”
Instantly six swimmers turned and swam toward the rescuer,
who now appeared on the surface supporting a woman’s head on his
shoulder.
“Good work! Fine!” cheered Dave.
Captain Chapin was the first to reach his sister’s rescuer.
“Is Lucy dead?” cried Chapin anxiously, when he beheld his
sister’s white face.
 “Stunned,” replied the rescuer. “I think she must have been
struck on the head by the boat as it passed her.”
Silently the other swimmers turned in behind the young woman,
her rescuer and brother.
“Better bring Miss Chapin to the ‘Castoga’s’ boat, Captain,” Dave
called. “It’s larger. We’ll take her directly to the gunboat and have
the surgeon attend her.”
The boatswain’s mate ran the naval launch up within easy
distance, and Miss Chapin was lifted aboard.
On one of the cushions Miss Chapin was laid, while all gathered
about her anxiously.
“Make the ‘Castoga’ with all speed,” ordered Ensign Hale. “The
young lady must have prompt attention.”
On the way to the “Castoga” Captain Chapin did everything he
could think of to revive his sister. The others stood about, ready to
help.
Then it was that Dave happened, for the first time, to face the
rescuer.
“Pembroke!” he called in astonishment.
“Howdy do?” asked the Englishman, with a smile holding out his
hand.
Though Dave felt himself chilling with suspicion of the pleasant
stranger, he could not withhold his hand.
“I was on my way out to visit your ship,” smiled Pembroke, as he
released Dave’s hand after a warm grip. “Captain Chapin was good
enough to say that he would present me on board.”
“And glad indeed I am that I undertook to do so,” exclaimed
Chapin. “If it hadn’t been for you, Pembroke, I am afraid my sister
would have been lost.”
Pembroke was now engaged in shaking hands with Dalzell, who
felt obliged to present him to Ensign Hale.
“A splendid rescue, that,” said Hale warmly.
The gunboat’s launch was now speedily alongside the “Castoga,”
the motor boat, a small craft that carried passengers on the bay for
hire, following at slower speed.
 “We’ve a half-drowned young lady on board, who needs the
surgeon’s attention,” called Hale, between his hands, just before the
launch ran alongside.
Miss Chapin was immediately taken on board, and carried to the
quarters of the executive officer, where she was laid in a bunk. Only
her brother and the surgeon remained with her.
Dave felt obliged to introduce Pembroke to his brother officers.
The Englishman proceeded to make their acquaintance with evident
delight.
Five minutes later the executive officer recovered his presence of
mind sufficiently to send ashore to Cavite for dry garments of a size
suitable for Miss Chapin’s use. In an hour or two that young lady,
revived and attired in dry clothing, was brought on deck on her
brother’s arm. She was weak, but out of danger.
“We came out in order to make a call aboard,” Captain Chapin
explained to the officers under the quarter-deck awning, “but we
had no idea we were going to make such a sensational visit.”
“I fancy that women are always nuisances aboard naval craft,”
smiled Miss Chapin, whereupon the assembled officers promptly
assured her that women were nothing of the sort.
In the meantime the three officers who had leaped over into the
bay had had time to change their clothing. It became a merry party
on deck.
Up to Mr. Warden stepped a messenger, saluting.
“The Lieutenant Commander’s compliments, sir, and will the
executive officer report to the Lieutenant Commander at once?”
“Immediately,” replied Lieutenant Warden, returning the salute,
taking his brief adieu by merely raising his uniform cap before he left
the party.
Ten minutes later Lieutenant Warden stepped briskly on deck. He
paused long enough to say something in an undertone to the officer
of the deck, who smartly passed the word for a messenger.
“I am sorry to announce,” said the executive officer, approaching
the group of officers who surrounded Miss Chapin, “that our
pleasant days in Manila are ended for the present.”
 “I should say so,” cried Captain Chapin. “There goes your recall
flag to the mast-head.”
“Right!” replied Mr. Warden crisply. “Our sailing orders have just
been wirelessed from shore. We sail at seven this evening, if our few
men on shore leave can be recalled in that time. Mr. Hale, you are to
take the launch and go ashore after the leave men.”
“Very good, sir,” replied that ensign, saluting, next raising his cap
to Miss Chapin and hastening away.
“Leaving, are you?” asked Pembroke, in a tone of regret. “And
what is your destination?”
“China,” rejoined Lieutenant Warden tersely.
The Englishman’s face changed expression.
“Not—” he stammered. “Not the—”
“For the Nung-kiang River,” replied the executive officer.
Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell were the only ones present who
caught the strange, fleeting look that passed over the face of
Pembroke.
“Why can this Englishman object to our going to the Nung-kiang
River?” Ensign Darrin wondered. “What interest can he take in any
mission of ours there?”
 CHAPTER IV—THE LANDING PARTY AT NU-PING
“That ought to hold the pirates for a little while,” declared Danny
Grin, his good-natured face looking unusually grim.
“I think it will,” replied Dave, halting before his cabin door. “Dan
Dalzell, if my face is as dirty as yours I shouldn’t care to walk up
Main Street in my native town.”
“Go in and look at yourself,” scoffed Dalzell.
“It’s fully as dirty,” called Dave, from the interior of his cabin,
surveying himself in the glass.
But it was as honorable dirt as any man may have on his face—
the grime of powder-smoke as it blew back when the gunboat’s five-
inch guns had been swung open at the breech.
For the “Castoga,” intercepted by wireless on the way to the
Nung-kiang, had been sent to Hong Kong by an official order from
Washington. The threatened troubles along the Nung-kiang had
quieted down to such an extent that cautious officials in Washington
dreaded lest Chinese sensibilities should be wounded by the sending
of a gunboat up the river.
So, day after day, the “Castoga” had lain in the mountain-
bordered harbor at Hong Kong.
Then came the word one day that the Chinese rebels in the
district around the city of Nu-ping, on the Nung-kiang River, had
again become troublesome, and that the American mission buildings
at Nu-ping were threatened. The “Castoga” had been ordered to
proceed at full speed, she being the nearest craft of a draft light
enough to ascend the river.
During the last hours of darkness the gunboat had steamed up
the river, all eyes on board turned toward the sinister red glow that
lighted the sky above the Chinese city, capital of a province.
Just before daylight the gunboat dropped anchor with every man
and officer at quarters.
 From shore came the sound of rifle shots, a wild pandemonium
of yells, as thousands of raging Chinese surged upon the mission
buildings, to which fire had already been set, and from which the
American missionaries and their families, aided by the white
residents of Nu-ping, were making the only resistance that lay within
their power.
The first note of cheer that came to the missionaries and their
friends was the whistle of the gunboat, sounding clearly when still
two miles distant. Then the lights of the fighting craft came into
sight.
For a few minutes after coming to anchor, the commander of the
“Castoga” was forced to wait for sufficient daylight to enable him to
distinguish accurately between friend and foe.
At the side of the gunboat a launch and four cutters waited, to
carry a landing party, if the sending ashore of men should prove to
be necessary. Anxiously, using his night glasses every minute, the
American commander paced the deck and listened.
Then, when there was barely enough light, word was telephoned
to the division officers to begin action.
Boom! spoke the first gun from the gunboat. Other shots
followed rapidly.
In the compound before the burning mission buildings was a
mass of yellow fiends, crowding, yelling and shooting. From the
windows of such portions of the burning buildings as were still
tenable American rifle fire was poured into the mob.
That first shell, landing among the yellow fiends, killed more than
twenty Mongols, wounded others, and drove the attackers out of the
compound.
Boom! Bang! Other shells flew through the air, clearing away the
rabble further back.
From the mission buildings, a quarter of a mile away, went up a
wild cheer of hope.
But the attacking rabble, despite the first shell fire, came back,
inviting further punishment.
Again the gunboat’s five-inch guns roared out. There was now
sufficient light to enable the American gunners to make out the
locations of the mob.
At least thirty shells were fired ere the rebels beat a retreat
beyond the confines of Nu-ping.
It was time to stop firing, for some of the American shells had set
fire to Chinese dwellings and business buildings.
On a low hill, a quarter of a mile away from the burning mission
buildings, flew the Chinese flag, flanked by the flag of the governor
of the province.
Watching this yamen, or palace, the American officers saw a
body of not more than a hundred soldiers issue suddenly from
behind the walls. Straight to the mission hurried these tardy fighting
men. Though late in acting, the Chinese governor was sending an
invitation to the endangered missionaries and their friends to share
the hospitality and protection of his yamen.
“He might have done that before,” muttered Dan Dalzell.
“If he has so few Chinese soldiers,” Dave explained, “he never
could have driven back the thousands of rebels. Our friend, the
governor, is cautious, surely, but plainly he is no fool.”
Once the bombardment had stopped, the various officers, except
one division officer, had been ordered to their quarters to clean up
and put on fresh uniforms, for the work of the day was by no means
finished.
So back to their quarters hurried the released division officers.
Dave Darrin quickly divested himself of his dungaree working
clothes, then stripped entirely, going under a shower bath. From this
he emerged and rubbed down, drew on fresh underclothing, a clean
shirt, and hastily completed his toilet.
At that instant there came a summons at the door, with an order
for Ensign Darrin to attire himself in khaki uniform. The same order
was delivered to Dan.
“Landing party work,” was the thought that leaped instantly into
the minds of both.
Nor were they disappointed. Into the launch, with several other
boats alongside, tumbled forty sailors and twelve marines, armed,
and with rapid-fire guns and ammunition. In one of the other boats
were additional cases of ammunition; in others were commissary
supplies.
Dave received his orders from Executive Officer Warden.
“You will go ashore, Ensign Darrin, and at all hazards reach our
fellow Americans. What you shall do on reaching them will depend
upon circumstances and upon instructions signaled to you from this
ship. Ensign Dalzell will accompany you as next in command. On
board we shall keep vigilant watch, and you may rely upon such
backing as our guns can give you in any emergency that may come
up.”
Dave saluted, with a hearty “Very good, sir,” but asked no
questions. None were necessary.
In another moment the landing party had been reinforced by a
petty officer and three men who were to bring the boats back to the
“Castoga.”
Casting off, the launch headed shoreward, towing the boats
astern.
Within three minutes, landing had been made at one of the
smaller docks.
“I don’t see any reception committee here to welcome us,”
muttered Ensign Dalzell.
“Probably all of the natives, who are curious by nature, are
watching the burning of the buildings that our shells set on fire,”
returned Ensign Darrin. “But I’m glad there’s no reception party
here, for undoubtedly it would be an armed committee.”
As soon as landing had been effected, however, a petty officer,
who was sent forward with three men, succeeded in routing out a
number of sturdy, sullen coolies, who had been hiding in a near-by
warehouse. These yellow men the petty officer marched back briskly,
the coolies being forced to pick up and carry the ammunition and
food supplies.
“See to it that these Chinese don’t try to run away with the stuff,”
Dave ordered tersely. “Keep them under close guard.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
At the word from Darrin, Dalzell ordered the sailors to fall in and
lead the way in double file, the marines marching at the rear of the
little baggage train.
“Straight to the yamen!” commanded Darrin, as he gave Dan the
forward order, then fell back to keep an eye over the conduct of the
porters.
For the first block of the march through the narrow, foul-smelling
streets, the natives contented themselves with glancing sullenly out
at the handful of daring invaders. But a turn in the street brought
the American naval men in sight of an angry-looking crowd of nearly
a thousand Chinese—all men.
“Are they going to block our way?” whispered Dan, marching
quietly on when Dave hastened to his side.
“They are not,” Darrin answered bluntly, “though they may try to.
No one is going to block us to-day until we have used all our
ammunition.”
“That has the good old Yankee sound,” grinned Dalzell.
Seeing that the sullen crowd was massing, Ensign Darrin went
forward, hastening in advance of his little column.
“Is there any one here who speaks English?” Dave called
pleasantly, above the dead hush of that stolid Chinese crowd.
There was no answer.
“All right then,” smiled Ensign Darrin, “I shall have to talk to you
by sign language. Make way, please!”
Drawing his sword, he signed to the Chinese to make way for his
command to pass. Still no response.
Ensign Dan, marching his men on, came up to Dave’s side.
“Column halt!” Ensign Darrin called promptly. “Order arms. Draw
bayonets. Fix bayonets!”
With a rattling of steel, accompanied by many grins, sailors and
marines alike obeyed.
“Once more, I call upon you to make way!” called Dave, striding
forward and endeavoring to wave the crowd aside by gestures with
his sword. Still nobody moved.
“Ensign Dalzell,” rapped out the sharp order, “form two platoons
extending across the street in close order. Give promptly the order to
charge.”
 As he gave this command Darrin stepped back, placing himself at
the extreme right of the first short platoon.
“Charge bayonets!” ordered Dan.
Dave led the men forward, Dalzell remaining behind with the
remainder of the little command.
Finding the points of the bayonets at their breasts, the Chinese
gave utterance to cries of fright. There was a backward surge.
“Halt!” cried Dave, just in time to prevent some of the Chinese
from feeling cold American steel. “Steady! Forward march! Hep, hep,
hep!”
Emphasizing the speed of the step with his “hep, hep,” Dave now
continued his squad at a brisk walk, giving the yellow natives time to
make their retreat without trampling one another.
At the next corner the Chinese surged off at right angles in two
directions.
“I guess we’ll find the rest of the way clear enough,” smiled
Ensign Dave, again forming his men in double file and falling back to
Dan’s side. “The Mongols had me scared. I was afraid I’d have to
order the men to load and fire.”
“Would you have done that?” asked Dalzell.
“Why not?” asked Dave, with a shrug of his shoulders. “There are
American women up at the yamen, and they are still in peril. My
orders are to reach the yamen, and I propose to do it if it be
possible. If any yellow men try to block our way they will do so at
their own risk. I’ll charge or fire into any crowd or force that blocks
our way.”
“Good!” chuckled Ensign Dan. “I like the sound of that talk!”
Down by the river front, save for the warehouses, the buildings
were of the meanest—flimsy affairs of bamboo, with cheaply
lacquered facings, windows of oiled paper and floors of earth. Now,
however, the little naval column began to pass through a better part
of the city. Here the houses were of wood, substantially built, and of
pagoda or tent patterns. Not a few of these dwellings were
surrounded by compounds, or yards, enclosed by high stone walls.
And then, at last, in the heart of the city, the column came out
upon the low hillside on which was the great square surrounding the
governor’s yamen.
None in front opposed Darrin’s command, but a crowd that must
have numbered two thousand followed close at the heels of the
detachment.
“Going to halt in the center of the square?” Dan inquired in a low
tone.
“No,” rejoined Ensign Dave. “I shall march up to the main gate in
the compound wall.”
“And then—?” inquired Dalzell.
“I shall demand to be admitted to the American refugees.”
“And if you are refused?” pressed Dan.
“That will be the governor’s worry,” replied Dave quietly.
 CHAPTER V—SIN FOO HAS HIS DOUBTS
It was a gray stone wall, some twelve feet high, that surrounded the
compound of the yamen. Sentries in the uniform of Chinese soldiery
were pacing the top of this formidable rampart.
Over the walls could be seen the strange, gracefully arched red
and yellow roofs of the several large and the few small buildings of
the yamen.
Under the gray walls, on the outside, crouched a few mangy-
looking beggars. Men and women of this type always loiter outside
of every yamen, trusting to the occasional generosity of the high
official who resides within, for in China every mandarin, governor
and other high official must always be a good deal of an alms-giver.
Not even the sight of the heavily armed little American column
stirred these beggars beyond the most ordinary exhibition of
curiosity.
“Put the column to the right oblique, and go over to that gate,”
directed Dave, pointing with his drawn sword.
A moment later the command, “Halt!” rang out. From the
ramparts above three Chinese soldiers gazed down stolidly.
Striding forward to the gong that hung before the gate, Ensign
Darrin struck it loudly three times.
A minute passed without answer. Dave sounded thrice again.
Another minute passed.
“Confound those fellows inside,” muttered Dave to his chum.
“I’ve heard, before this, that the Chinese official tries to show his
contempt for western barbarians by making them await his
pleasure.”
Glancing down his line, Darrin noted a sailor who was well known
for his physical powers.
“Henshaw!” summoned Dave crisply.
 Leaving the ranks, Seaman Henshaw stepped briskly forward,
saluting respectfully.
“Henshaw, do you think you could play a loud tune on this
gong?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“How long do you think you could keep that tune going?”
“An hour, anyway, sir.”
“Can you play that gong like a bass-drum?”
“Like a whole drum-corps, sir,” answered Seaman Henshaw, with
just the suspicion of a grin.
“Then fall to, Henshaw.”
Picking up the fancifully carved stick, Seaman Henshaw faced the
three-foot gong.
Bang! crash! zim! zoum! smash! It was a lusty tattoo that
Seaman Henshaw beat upon that resounding metal. The noise could
have been heard a mile away. Dave afterwards learned that every
sound was distinctly heard on board the gunboat.
 It Could Have Been Heard a Mile Away.

Bim! bam! whang! After a full minute of it Seaman Henshaw

looked as if he were still enjoying his task. Several of the men in the
waiting column had grounded their rifle butts that they might hold at
least one hand to an ear to shut out the din.
On the wall overhead the Chinese sentries moved uneasily away
from close quarters.
Crash! zam! bing! That gong rang forth as, it is safe to say, it had
not done before in centuries, for Henshaw was a young giant and
proud of his muscle and endurance.
Zim! zim! zam! The racket was more than ears could endure for a
long stretch.
 At about the end of the third minute the double gates were
thrown suddenly open. In the open gateway stood at least a score of
armed soldiers, at their head a young Chinaman, tall, well-dressed
and of rather commanding appearance.
Instantly Ensign Darrin pressed Henshaw’s unemployed arm.
With a final crash the pounding of the gong died out.
“His excellency, the governor, demands to know why this din is
being made at this gate,” declared the tall young Chinaman, in a
haughty voice, but in excellent English.
“It is my way of announcing my call,” Dave replied.
“Who are you?”
“Ensign Darrin, United States Navy, very much at your service,
sir,” Dave replied. “And now, sir, I have the honor to request that
you, also, announce your name and position here.”
“Since I serve his excellency, the governor, that is enough for you
to know,” replied the Chinaman. “However, I will state that my name
is Sin Foo. I am under secretary to his excellency, and, as such, I
have come to bring word to you that it is his excellency’s pleasure
that you depart from this neighborhood and return to your vessel.”
“I am very sorry, Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave responded, “but it is
impossible for me to make my call on a proxy. I must see his
excellency in person.”
“I am very sorry,” replied the secretary, speaking in a tone of cold
contempt, “but his excellency cannot see you so early in the day.
Later—”
“Attention,” called Ensign Dave, in a low voice. “Column, forward
march!”
Instantly the naval line moved forward. Shocked and indignant,
the secretary spoke in Chinese to some of the soldiers. The big gate
began to move as though it would shut.
“At the double quick! Charge!” shouted Dave Darrin, leaping
forward, brandishing his sword.
In a twinkling the first dozen seamen, headed by two officers,
had rushed into the compound.
At one side stood two Chinese soldiers, working a cumbersome
wheel, attached to a windlass and rope that moved the double gate.
Henshaw leaped at this pair, knocking both down.
“I must warn you, Ensign Darrin,” shouted Sin Foo, his face
purple with rage, “that this conduct of yours is contrary to the
usages of respect that must be observed between the
representatives of two great countries. Your conduct, sir, is an
outrage!”
“And the governor’s conduct also is an outrage,” Darrin retorted
sternly, “in allowing mobs to burn the mission buildings and all but
take the lives of the American missionaries and their families.”
“All the mission Americans are safe at this yamen,” retorted Sin
Foo. “There is no need to fear for your fellow Americans. They are
safe and under the immediate protection of his excellency, the
governor.”
“That is what I have come to see about,” Dave declared. “Mr. Sin
Foo, I have no wish to be lacking in courtesy, and I shall display as
much as I can, under the circumstances. But my men are now inside
the compound, and here they will remain until my orders are
changed by my commanding officer.”
Though the Chinese soldiers had withdrawn to varying distances
before the harmless bayonet rush, Sin Foo remained and faced
Ensign Darrin with every sign of indignant disapproval in his almond-
shaped eyes.
The impressed Chinese porters had been driven into the
compound, where they dropped their burdens. Dan quietly paid
them off with silver coins. The instant they found themselves
permitted to leave, these sullen coolies fairly flew out through the
still open gate.
“Sir,” began Sin Foo again, speaking with great haughtiness, “if
these supplies are intended for the American missionaries, I will
undertake to receive them on behalf of your countrymen, but I must
once more, and for the last time, insist that you withdraw your men
from this compound. If you do not instantly withdraw, it will provoke
grave trouble between your country and mine.”
“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave replied, speaking pleasantly, and smiling, “I
wish to treat you, and all other Chinese officials with every mark of
courtesy. I must make it plain, however, that I shall not leave this
yamen until I have been so ordered by my commanding officer.
Moreover, I am under strict orders to see the American mission party
at once, and I must very respectfully insist upon no more delay. I
demand, sir, to see Bishop Whitlock first of all.”
“Ensign Darrin, your language is insolent!” cried Sin Foo angrily.
“My talk will quickly change to acts, if my requests are not at
once granted,” replied Dave, firmly.
“‘Acts’? What do you mean by that word?” demanded Sin Foo.
“I mean that if Bishop Whitlock and his friends are not at once
produced, I shall be under the necessity of searching the yamen for
them,” Ensign Darrin rejoined.
“Search the yamen?” gasped Sin Foo incredulously. “Would you
dare profane the sovereignty of China?”
“I’ll do it in just five minutes, if my request is not heeded,”
retorted Ensign Dave drawing out his watch.
By this time at least one hundred and fifty armed Chinese
soldiers had appeared, on the ramparts, in the compound, in the
doorways and windows of the buildings. Darrin’s force was much
inferior numerically. Sudden treachery on the part of the Chinese
might cut the American naval force in two, but Danny Grin was
keeping alert watch on all Chinese in sight.
“You are making a grave mis—” began Sin Foo loftily.
“And you have already lost forty-five seconds of that five
minutes,” Ensign Dave suggested, still standing, watch in hand. “If
you use up the time in conversation, Mr. Sin Foo, I shall not grant a
grace of even five seconds.”
“Your insolence, sir, overwhelms me,” replied the under secretary.
“Shudderingly, I shall take it into the presence of his excellency.”
“And impress upon his excellency, if you please, that I am not
going to lose time,” answered Dave, again glancing at his watch.
Turning on his heel, Sin Foo disappeared through a near-by door
of one of the buildings.
Several minutes slipped by. Dave glanced frequently at the hands
of his watch.
“The time is nearly up, Dan,” he announced, at last. “You remain
in command of the marines and guard our ammunition and other
stores. At the second of five minutes I shall form the sailormen and
march through this yamen until I find the missionary party.”
Danny Grin nodded gravely.
“Seamen fall in!” called Ensign Darrin, replacing his watch in his
pocket. “Forward, guard left, mar—”
“Stop!” cried a ringing voice. Out of the doorway through which
he had vanished appeared Sin Foo, running and waving his arms.
“The governor’s answer?” Dave curtly demanded, turning upon
his heel.
“I will take you to the missionary party,” conceded Sin Foo.
“Very well; step with me, then, and lead the way.”
“But you must not take an armed party with you,” protested Sin
Foo, looking very much aghast.
“My men go with me,” Dave replied firmly. “Sir, we cannot have
any more nonsense. I am convinced that my countrymen must be
prisoners, else they would have come out to greet me before this.
Lead the way and I will march my men behind you.”
Looking as though he would very much like to say a good deal,
Sin Foo led the way around the buildings to the left, thence to the
farthest building of all at the rear of the compound. Scattered
around the outside of this building were nearly a score of Chinese
soldiers carrying their rifles at shoulder arms.
“You have kept the Americans as prisoners, just as I suspected,”
charged Ensign Darrin, turning accusingly upon the under secretary.
“And you forget, Ensign Darrin,” retorted Sin Foo, “that his
excellency the governor commands here.”
“We’ll let it go at that,” answered the young ensign, “provided
your governor doesn’t attempt to put any crimps in the safety or
liberty of my countrymen. Right now, be good enough to order your
soldiers away so that there may be no clash between them and my
men.”
Through the windows of the one-story building Dave Darrin could
see several faces of men and women looking eagerly out.
Sullenly, Sin Foo spoke to the Chinese soldiers, who, saluting,
withdrew to a distance, though they did not leave the scene. Then a
door was flung open, and American citizens began to pour out.
 Darting through the foremost of the throng was one handsome
young American woman, who, holding her arms outstretched, while
eager tears of gladness glistened in her eyes, cried:
“Dave!”
It was Belle Darrin, once Belle Meade, Dave’s schoolgirl
sweetheart then, and now his wife.
“You, Belle?” he exclaimed, almost incredulously, as he embraced
her. “I thought you were in Manila, awaiting word when and where
to join me.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer to join you, so I came up in the last
steamer from Manila, and transferred to a river boat at the foot of
the river. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Glad, indeed!” Dave embraced her again. But he was on duty,
and most urgent duty at that. Even further conversation with his
beloved wife must wait until he had rightful leisure.
Then his eye fell upon another in the little throng.
“You here, Mr. Pembroke?” Ensign Darrin inquired.
“Yes,” confessed the Englishman. “I’m a bit of a rover, you know.
Never know where I shall be next.”
“And Mr. Pembroke has been extremely kind in helping me on the
journey,” Belle added brightly. “Mr. Pembroke told me that he had
met you in Manila.”
Though Dave bowed courteously he couldn’t help feeling dislike
of this smooth-talking Pembroke. The latter was an Englishman;
then, unless he was serving his country in this part of the world, why
wasn’t the fellow at home, doing his bit of military service for
Britain? He was young enough, and able-bodied, and England was
calling all her younger men to the colors. To Darrin’s mind it was a
sheer confession of disgrace for Pembroke to admit that he was
merely touring the world at a time when England was demanding
service on the battle field from every young Briton who was not
otherwise engaged in serving his country.
“When you have time, Mr. Darrin, I’ll claim just a word of
greeting,” said a soft voice, and a gloved hand was held out to Dave.
“So you came through also, Miss Chapin?” Dave inquired, as he
took Lucy Chapin’s hand.
 “I’m glad to see you, but sorry you’re here,” rejoined Dave.
“Why sorry to see me here?” inquired Miss Chapin. “Aren’t we
now under the protection of the American Navy?”
“Every sailorman on the ‘Castoga’ will die willingly in defense of
this party,” Darrin told her, “but the trouble may easily assume such
proportions that our little force will prove wholly inadequate.”
Then, glancing swiftly over the missionary party, the young naval
officer added:
“Will some one kindly introduce me to Bishop Whitlock?”
As Dave had expected, it was one of the three white-haired men
of the party who now pressed forward. Mrs. Darrin introduced her
husband to the bishop.
“You reached us not a bit too early,” the bishop assured Dave.
“You were practically prisoners in the yamen, sir?” Dave asked.
“Almost, I fear, though we refused to give up our arms. Even now
seven of our men are inside keeping guard over our weapons.”
“How many rifles do you have?” Dave asked.
“Thirty-two,” answered the bishop promptly. “The American
residents of the city flocked to our defense.”
“From what I saw from the ship’s deck,” rejoined Darrin, “all I
can say is that you presented a magnificent front with only thirty-
two rifles. As I have but fifty-two naval rifles with me, that makes up
a total force of only eighty-four rifles.”
“Can’t we get through to the water-front?” inquired Belle. “For
you are going to take us to the ‘Castoga,’ are you not?”
“If we can safely get there,” Dave replied. “And now I must drop
everything else until I have communicated with the gunboat. Bishop,
did you lose any of your party?”
“None of the white members,” replied the missionary. “Our
sixteen Chinese converts at the mission insisted on taking care of
themselves. Whether any of them has been killed, I do not know.”
“I must get a signalman up on the walls,” Dave continued.
“Bishop, will you kindly see, sir, that your party follows my men? I
am going to the other side of the compound.”
As soon as Belle Darrin caught sight of her old school friend,
Danny Grin, she hurried forward to greet him.
 Out of the main building of the yamen came Sin Foo, with sullen,
offended face and stately tread.
“Sir,” called Dave, “I must put a signalman up on the ramparts.”
“Since you take everything into your own hands,” replied the
secretary coldly, “you do not need his excellency’s permission. Yet I
am charged to say that all you do here is against the protest of his
excellency, and complaint will be made to your government.”
“I am sorry, sir, to seem to show discourtesy,” Ensign Dave
replied, “but all that I do here is under general instructions from the
highest representative of my government in these waters.”
With that Dave called a signalman to him, gave him a message,
and directed six other sailors to climb, with the signalman, the inside
steps that led to the rampart.
No sooner had the signalman, in the lead, gained the rampart,
than a five-inch gun on the “Castoga” boomed out.
“Ensign Darrin, sir,” bawled down the signalman lustily, “I think
you will be glad to be up here, to see what is going on.”
Dropping Belle’s hand, which he had just taken, Ensign Dave
darted up the steps, uttering, on reaching the top of the stone wall,
an exclamation of dismay.
“Ensign Dalzell!” he shouted, beckoning the summons to his
brother officer.
 CHAPTER VI—HECKLING HIS EXCELLENCY
“Jupiter!” gasped Dan, as he reached Dave’s side.
Boom! bang! Two shots were fired almost together from the
“Castoga’s” forward guns.
“The rebels are returning from the suburbs,” Dave exclaimed,
“and even the near-by houses are emptying themselves of hundreds
of other armed men.”
“There must be a million of them, in all,” said Danny Grin briefly,
“but I reckon we can thrash ’em all.”
“We’ll have to, or go under,” was Dave’s brief retort. “There
cannot be a doubt that the armed multitude intends to attack the
yamen.”
In the meantime Signalman Ross was sending the message that
Dave had given him. Now a signalman on the gunboat wig-wagged
back:
“Do not attempt to leave yamen with your party until you receive
orders so to do.”
“I’m glad of that command,” Dave muttered to his subordinate. “I
wouldn’t care to risk any of our American women by trying to take
them through such a rabble as I see advancing.”
Again some of the “Castoga’s” guns spoke. The shell fire was
doing some execution in the ranks of the oncoming rebels, though
not enough to halt their march.
“I am going down into the compound to send up men and rapid-
fire guns,” Dave announced to his chum. “Post the men, and station
one rapid-fire gun on each of the four sides of the compound.”
“What are you going to do with the Chinese soldiers?” Dan
asked.
Dave frowned.
“I don’t know,” he said. “This is the governor’s yamen, and these
are his troops. I don’t believe we can trust them, but, on the other
hand, have we any right to drive the soldiers out? And would they
go peaceably, or would they open fire and put the women in
danger?”
“Ask the Captain, by signal,” Dan advised.
“Ask him yourself, signing my name, Dan. Whatever we do, the
rapid-fire guns can’t be placed on these walls a moment too soon.”
Hustling below, Dave ordered up the sailors and all but four of
the marines. Each man, as he went, carried up a case of one
thousand cartridges, either for the rapid-fire guns or for the infantry
rifles.
“You men in charge of the stores,” Dave ordered, “keep the
Chinese away from our property. Don’t let any of the yellow men
touch the stores. Shoot before you permit that, and shoot promptly
and to kill!”
Then Darrin turned his attention to the missionary party. Of the
thirty-two men who carried rifles, he sent twenty to the ramparts,
while he directed the other twelve to stand guard over the women.
Having made these dispositions of his command, Ensign Darrin
again raced up to the top of the wall.
“There’s the answer just coming from the gunboat,” Dan
informed him. So Dave, shading his eyes with one hand, picked up
this message from the “Castoga”:
“Ensign Darrin: You will need to exercise great caution as to what
you do in the yamen, as only the presence of imperilled missionary
party justifies presence of your command there at all. Better consult
with the governor.”
“That’s just what I’ll do,” Dave uttered grimly. “That governor
chap has been keeping himself mighty well out of sight. Now it’s
time for me to see him, and he must show up and take some little
hand in affairs that are going on in his city and province.”
“Shall I allow more Chinese soldiers up here on the wall?” asked
Ensign Dalzell. “Here they come.”
That was, indeed, only too true. Very quietly, under their own
officers, some hundred and sixty of the governor’s troops had
formed in four detachments, going to the walls at the four sides of
the compound and starting up the steps.
 “I don’t know whether we can stop them, and I don’t know that
they won’t be willing to fight with us and for us,” returned Darrin,
perplexedly. “I’ll follow the commander’s orders and see the
governor at once.”
Running down, and darting across the compound, Dave halted
before the principal door of the main building, the door Sin Foo had
used.
Knocking lustily with the hilt of his sword, Dave did not wait more
than thirty seconds. Then reports from two more of the gunboat’s
guns decided him. He seized the latch, trying to force the door, but
only to find that barrier locked.
“Open!” ordered Dave, in his loudest quarterdeck voice. “Open!”
He waited another thirty seconds, but no one inside obeyed.
“Open,” he shouted, “or I shall order my men to batter the door
down!”
Inside, instantly, he heard the murmur of voices.
“Well,” demanded the irate young officer, “will you open, or do
you wish the door battered down?”
Preceded by a rattling of bolt chains, the great door was thrown
open. Into the doorway breach stepped Sin Foo, calmly disdainful.
Behind him stood fully a score of Chinese soldiers, each with rifle
leveled ready to shoot.
“Why this unseemly disturbance before the official residence of
the governor?” demanded Sin Foo.
“I must see the governor immediately,” Dave replied.
“It will be impossible to see his excellency, except upon
appointment,” replied the secretary. “His excellency’s presence is
sacred, and is not to be invaded at will by a hasty caller with sword
in hand. If you will wait here, I will ascertain if his excellency will be
pleased to see you in an hour.”
“If he keeps me waiting two minutes,” Ensign Dave retorted, “I
shall search this building for him.”
“At your first step inside,” Sin Foo proclaimed, “these soldiers will
fire upon you. That will be the signal for all our troops to fire on your
men, who are no better than unlawful invaders.”
“Ensign Dalzell!” shouted Dave, over his shoulder.
 “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Rush six men here, with the machine gun from the river side of
the wall!”
“Very good, sir!” came in Dan’s delighted voice.
No sooner did he comprehend than Sin Foo uttered something in
Chinese. Through the squad of soldiers darted half a dozen yellow
servants who instantly sought to close the door.
“Back with you!” ordered Darrin, whipping out his revolver and
menacing the frightened servants.
“If the word to start killing is given it will really come from you,
Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave warned the secretary sternly, “and you will be one
of the first men to drop dead.”
Dave’s foot was now posted where it would obstruct the closing
of the door, even if attempted.
“Here we are, sir,” panted a sailor, darting up with a machine gun
and its crew.
“Train your gun to cover this corridor,” Dave ordered, tersely.
The gun captain posted the machine gun so that its nose pointed
at the squad of Chinese.
“Withdraw those soldiers, Mr. Sin Foo!” briefly commanded
Ensign Darrin.
“What?” gasped the thunderstruck under secretary. “You
presume to give orders in the governor’s very residence?”
“I don’t intend to argue,” Dave retorted, as another of the
“Castoga’s” guns spoke from the river. “If you don’t run your soldiers
out of this corridor, then the janitor will have them to sweep out, for
I’m going to order the machine gun into action mighty soon!”
Sin Foo looked puzzled, but soon he spoke to the soldiers, who,
scowling, wheeled and marched back down the stone-flagged
corridor, vanishing around an angle of the wall.
“The governor will not see you, sir,” Sin Foo insisted.
“You’re wrong there, too,” Dave crisped out. “It was my wish to
be courteous. But now I have the honor to tell you that the governor
will come to the doorway to speak with me, and he’ll come very
promptly, or else I shall march a force of men into the house and
find him. It will be much pleasanter for his excellency if he promptly
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