It was the last day of the five. On an opposing hill which they had captured two days before, the French camp was plainly to be seen. Early in the morning the movement of troops began. A column moved off the open plateau and disappeared in the fog which hung in the valley, as if to attack the Chinese right. Before long heavy firing was heard in that direction, and Chinese troops were moved across from the left to strengthen the right under the American.
Unexpectedly rifle firing broke out under the curtain of mist in the valley directly in front. The French mountain guns on the opposite hill began to search the Chinese left. In an interval of the firing the order "Baïonnettcs au canon! En avant!" floated up to where Sinclair stood with some Chinese officers on the crest. The loud "Hourras!" of the French soldiers mingled with the shrill yells of the Chinese, and the crackling of rifles. The French were charging the first line of entrenchments with the bayonet.
It was taken, and they pressed their retreating foes on to the second. It too was captured, and in the same way the third. All the while their progress could be judged only by the sounds which came up through the canopy of fog.
Now the helmets of the Europeans began to appear through the veil of mist. They were at the foot of the last steep ascent, with its bamboo palisade at the top. The Chinese defenders poured on them a perfect hail of bullets. The ascent was so steep, the storm of lead so terrible, that even those seasoned troops shrank from it. The foremost, a company of the Bataillon d'Afrique, swung off to the left in search of an easier ascent and less deadly fire. Another company of the same regiment dashed straight at the steep hill-side. But the deadly fire of the Chinese mowed the foremost of them down. A company in a different uniform, which had been held in reserve, two hundred strong, was ordered to their support. On they came with a rush, cheering each other in a perfect babel of tongues. The "En avant" of their officers was echoed in almost every language of Europe. It was a company of the famous Légion Étrangère, the Foreign Legion.
Their polyglot cries mingled with the French of the Bataillon d'Afrique, as in regimental rivalry they struggled up that terrible ascent. Bamboo scaling ladders were placed, only to be thrown down. Men climbed them, only to be crushed by the rocks which the Chinese hurled upon them in savage hand-to-hand warfare. But the assailants did not draw back. French, Austrians, Germans, Italians, Corsicans, Poles, men of Alsace-Lorraine, exiles from every land of Europe, they struggled desperately up. They fought their way to the palisade, hewed gaps in it, and formed on top.
The Chinese irregulars, driven in on their regular troops, threw the latter into confusion. In spite of the gallant efforts is of their young commander, most of them broke and fled. Not so their leader. Rallying a hundred or so of his broken army, he led them in a bayonet charge against their foes. A volley decimated their ranks. When the smoke cleared away, the young officer was seen leading those who remained to the attack. Another volley rang out, leaving him only a handful of men. But once more the gallant Chinese gathered the little group around him, and dashed at the invaders. When the smoke of a third volley cleared away there were none left to charge. The brave young pioneer of the new China which is to be, had died on the field he was determined to hold.
The American general, Leatherbottom, realized when it was too late that the French had deceived him by a false attack on the right, while their real objective was the weakened left, commanded by the young Chinese. He explained to Sinclair afterwards,
"'Thet's whar these 'ar Europeans get the start on me. When it comes t' fightin', I kin fight. Don't yew make enny mistake about thet. But when it's a question of military evolyewtions an' tictacs, thet's whar they've got me beat by a mile."
And certain it was that when the Chinese left position was captured, and the right was forced to retreat, the French were kept from coming to close quarters by the deadly shooting of one rifle in the Chinese rearguard. And that rifle was in the hands of the general of the retreating force, the long, slab-sided Vermonter, Silas Z. Leatherbottom.
Meanwhile Dr. Sinclair, realizing that the day was lost to the Chinese, was forwarding the wounded with all possible speed, down into the valley towards a place of safety. As the Chinese left was broken, he had come down with a long line of stretchers, bearing wounded who had been picked up under fire.