“About twenty-eight miles. But I understand we have still the worst end of the road to travel.”
“To move ahead in this heat is well-nigh impossible,” went on Gilbert, as he stroked the perspiration from his brow with the side of his finger. “Poor Kelson is knocked out, and Ramsey says his head feels as if it had fireworks inside of it.”
“Then Ramsey had better go to the rear, or he’ll be knocked out, too. That will leave us with but seventy-nine men. I must say I feel rather queer myself,” continued Captain Banner. “My stomach is very weak.”
“You had better take it easy yourself, captain,” was Gilbert’s sober comment. “I must say you look as if you were fixing for a fever.” And in this surmise Gilbert was correct; for Captain Banner was struck with tropical fever on the arrival of the troops at Ho-Si-Wu, and had to be sent back to the hospital at Taku by boat.
This left Gilbert in command of Company A,—a position he was proud to assume, although regretting exceedingly that his fellow-officer was not to participate in the assault on the Chinese capital. The young lieutenant took command in his own quiet way, which at once won the respect of all under him.
“Sure, an’ ye desarve the position,” said Dan Casey. “None of the b’ys has fought harder nor you.”
“I think you have done your share of fighting, Dan,” replied Gilbert. “If you keep on, you’ll come out a sergeant at least, and perhaps a lieutenant.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind being a sergeant, captain; but, as fer a lieutenancy in the rigulars, I’m afraid it’s beyant me. If it was the volunteers, it might be different. I’m not from West P’int, ye know.”
“And neither am I, Dan. And there is always room at the top,” concluded the acting captain of Company A.
Ho-Si-Wu having been occupied without serious opposition, the Allies marched straight for Matow, and from that unimportant town through Ching-Chia-Wan to the walled city of Tung-Chow, popularly known as the gateway to Pekin.