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.