“See to it that these Chinese don’t try to run away with the stuff,” Dave ordered tersely. “Keep them under close guard.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
At the word from Darrin, Dalzell ordered the sailors to fall in and lead the way in double file, the marines marching at the rear of the little baggage train.
“Straight to the yamen!” commanded Darrin, as he gave Dan the forward order, then fell back to keep an eye over the conduct of the porters.
For the first block of the march through the narrow, foul-smelling streets, the natives contented themselves with glancing sullenly out at the handful of daring invaders. But a turn in the street brought the American naval men in sight of an angry-looking crowd of nearly a thousand Chinese—all men.
“Are they going to block our way?” whispered Dan, marching quietly on when Dave hastened to his side.
“They are not,” Darrin answered bluntly, “though they may try to. No one is going to block us to-day until we have used all our ammunition.”
“That has the good old Yankee sound,” grinned Dalzell.
Seeing that the sullen crowd was massing, Ensign Darrin went forward, hastening in advance of his little column.
“Is there any one here who speaks English?” Dave called pleasantly, above the dead hush of that stolid Chinese crowd.