“Thlankee, lieutenant.” And the Chinaman saluted again.
“Hold on!” cried Gilbert, curiously. “Are you a British soldier?”
“Yees, lieutenant. Me ’list at Wei-Hai-Wei. Many Chinamen ’list lare. Me Chlistian solyer.”
“And you are ready to fight your own countrymen?”
“Certee, lieutenant. Da no Chlistians—me Chlistian—me fight alle samee, rescue Chlistians at legations in Pekin.” And with a merry nod the Chinaman bobbed away. Gilbert could not help but gaze at him in wonder.
“I don’t believe he’ll fight his own people, Christian or no Christian,” he mused. But for once the young lieutenant was mistaken. When it came to the test, the Chinese troops marching under the Union Jack fought as well as any Celestials in the war.
When leaving the transport, Gilbert had lost sight of Nuggy Polk and Jerry Nickerson; and he felt that it might be many a day before he would again encounter the pair.
“Perhaps we shall never meet again,” he thought. “I’ve got a hard campaign before me; and who knows but that I may lay down my life in the struggle? Somebody is bound to die, and this trip it may be my turn.”
From the soldiers who were coming and going Gilbert learned that fighting in and around Tien-Tsin was of daily occurrence. “The Chinks are not beaten yet,” said one old marine. “We hold Taku, Tongku, a part of Tien-Tsin, and about fifteen miles of this Tongku-Pekin railway; and that is all we do hold.”
“Is the railroad to Pekin in order still?”