“You may, sir.”
“Thank you, Sampson,” replied Dave Darrin, gripping the sailor’s hand hard. “You’re the right shade of blue, and a real man of the Navy.”
“The same to yourself, sir, thank you,” rejoined Sampson, taking back his electric lamp and going inside the magazine.
Dave ran over to the spot where the women had gathered.
“Ladies,” he announced, gazing straight at each in turn, “I have an unpleasant announcement to make. From the look of things our men are presently going to be driven back from the ramparts. Then the yellow hordes will swarm over into this compound. If we are vanquished, have you any idea of the horrors of Chinese torture that will be inflicted upon you by the yellow fiends?”
Some of the older missionary women shuddered, turning their eyes heavenward, as though in agitated prayer.
“My wife is among you,” Dave went on, speaking as softly as he could and make himself heard above the din of combat. “What I am going to offer you is the best, under the circumstances, that I can wish for her. That is—at the instant when hope must be finally abandoned—instant death. In the magazine there is a heavy stock of powder. One of my men is now laying a powder train which, when touched off, will explode the magazine. In my opinion, when all hope has gone, the wisest thing for all of you is to be near enough to die in the big upheaval of the exploding magazine. Do you agree with me that this will be the best step to take when there is no other hope of escaping from the Chinese furies?”
“Under such circumstances I will trust you to know what is best to be done,” said Belle Darrin, resting a hand on her young husband’s arm.
“Come, then,” begged Dave. He led the way. By twos and threes the other women followed, though some of them faltered. The few men non-combatants removed the wounded to places near the magazine.
“Now,” commanded Dave, turning to the marine who had just brought up the quaking Pembroke, “leave your prisoner here, and you and Sampson go and bring the governor and his attendants here.”