“We are hemmed in,” said Captain Banner. “Unless we get out under cover of night, it will go hard with us.”
Gilbert did not answer, for he was tying up a flesh wound in Dan Casey’s arm. The brave Irishman was suffering intense pain, and the young lieutenant pitied him from the bottom of his heart.
As the afternoon wore on, the fire of the Chinese became hotter; for they feared a night attack, and wished to make the Allies retreat before that time should come. The native city was on fire in half a dozen places, and inside it was as if pandemonium had broken loose.
At last night settled down, and then Gilbert’s battalion began slowly to shift its position. The loss of Colonel Liscum had cast a gloom over all the Americans. He had been a sturdy fighter, and beloved by all who knew him.
The situation was reported to General Dorward, and an effort was made to combine the American forces and those fighting under the Union Jack. By midnight this juncture was made; and then Americans, English, French, and Germans pressed for the great south gate, and, following the Japanese, entered the native city at four o’clock in the morning of July 14, 1900. This was the first substantial victory for the American, in conjunction with other flags, on Chinese soil.
On entering the native town, a scene was presented which baffles description. The shots and shells from the Allies had done frightful execution; and dead Chinese lay at every hand, in some places two and three deep. Houses were smashed to kindling wood, and the very streets showed holes four and five feet deep. In one place a powder magazine had gone up, leaving nothing behind it but a burnt and blackened space with a fringe of battered buildings and dismembered human victims.
The sights made Gilbert sick at heart; and he was glad enough to go back to the wall with his command and stand such guard as was necessary, which was not saying much, since all of the Chinese were fleeing for their lives. I have said all. That is not so, strictly speaking; for some few remained, proclaiming themselves Christians and friends, while a considerable number of others committed suicide. To commit suicide in the Chinese army is not uncommon. For the Celestial soldier believes that, if he is captured, he will be subjected to some awful torture; and he, consequently, much prefers to end his own life.
With one-half of Company A, Gilbert found himself the next day half a mile from the great south gate, where the American flag was flying at half-mast, out of respect for the dead colonel of the Ninth Infantry. Gilbert’s duty was to keep watch over several squares of the city, for the looters were now out in force. Close at hand was a Chinese joss house, filled with idols of iron, silver, and gold. Over this an elderly Buddhist priest was presiding, fearful that some of the soldiers would carry off the idols. Those of the war god of the Chinese were already missing, the Celestial troops having carried them off themselves.
Gilbert was eating his dinner when there came to him a message from the Buddhist priest, asking him to come to the joss house at once, and alone.
“What does the priest want of me?” asked the young lieutenant, curiously.