Boom! The “Castoga” took a further hand, by dropping one shrapnel shell, and then a second, among the seething, yellow rebels revealed by the searchlight.
Within two minutes the great open space had been cleared, save for the bodies of several hundred killed and wounded.
“The searchlight is sending a signal, sir,” spoke up one of the men.
There on the rampart, Dave read these words as they were signaled in the code:
“Good work, Darrin and all hands!”
“Give our commanding officer three times three, and do it with a will!” shouted Ensign Dave. “Our shipmates will hear it.”
And hear it they must have, for, no sooner had the cheering on the rampart ended when a distant, yet distinct sound of cheering drifted in from the river.
“How many have you on your casualty list?” was signaled by the searchlight.
“Seven of my men and three missionaries,” answered the signal man, as he stood wigwagging, using a Chinese lantern hastily appropriated for that purpose. “None killed. All women safe.”
Fast as he was with his wig-wagging, the signalman was glad when he had finished his work, for such a storm of bullets sang by him that none could understand how he escaped with his life.