EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS

DEFENDING HIS FLAG. Price $1.50.

Then Colonel Liscum fell to rise no more.

ON TO PEKIN

OR

Old Glory in China

BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
AUTHOR OF “UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN
CUBA,” “FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “UNDER OTIS IN THE
PHILIPPINES,” “THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE,” “SHIP
AND SHORE SERIES,” “BOUND TO SUCCEED SERIES,”
“BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1900, by Lee and Shepard.

All Rights Reserved.

On to Pekin.

PREFACE

“On to Pekin” relates the adventures of a young lieutenant of the regulars, who is sent from Manila to Taku, China, to participate in the campaign of the allied forces of the United States, England, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Russia, and Japan against the Chinese order of the Boxers and those government troops of the Province of Shantung who aided in the great rebellion against all foreigners.

In the story are related, first, the bombardment of the Taku forts and the capturing of Taku and Tongku; next the history of the ill-fated expedition under Vice-Admiral Seymour, R.N., to relieve Pekin, and the bombardment and capture of Tien-Tsin; and, lastly, that bold dash of the Internationals for Pekin and the relief of the consuls, missionaries, and other foreigners who had been besieged for fifty-six days.

It may be that some of my readers will think Gilbert Pennington an unusually clever officer, and one quite young to be occupying the position of lieutenant of the regulars. But it must be remembered that Gilbert had served in Cuba with the Rough Riders, and in the Philippines under General MacArthur and General Lawton, and that he took to army service as naturally as a duck takes to water. He was one of those soldiers of whom Grant declared, “They are born, those fellows, not made.”

The campaign in China has been as short as it was brilliant; and, with Earl Li Hung Chang and others empowered to treat for peace upon almost any terms, it is to be hoped that a permanent settlement will be made, which will insure both foreigners and China against all further trouble. War, at its best, is a terrible thing; and the less our country has of it, the better it will be for our people.

Once more thanking my young friends for the interest they have shown in my previous stories, I place this volume in their hands, trusting they will find its perusal both pleasurable and full of profit.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

Newark, N.J.,
Oct. 4, 1900.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ON TO PEKIN

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT

“I say, Lieutenant Pennington, have you heard the news?”

“That depends upon what the news is, major. Do you mean that we are ordered back to Manila?”

“I mean a good deal more than that, lieutenant. We are ordered to China.”

“China!” And Lieutenant Gilbert Pennington, formerly of the volunteers and now of the regulars stationed on the island of Luzon, leaped up from the camp stool upon which he had been sitting, and gazed at his old friend, Major Morris, as if he had not heard aright. “Who told you such a fairy tale as that?”

“It’s the truth, Pennington. I got it direct from the colonel. We are to proceed to Manila without delay, and there take the Logan or some other transport direct for China.”

“And what are we going to do in China? Has Uncle Sam declared war on the heathen?”

“Hardly that, I imagine. But you know the missionaries and other foreigners are having a lot of trouble with the Boxers, as they are called; and I reckon our government wants some soldiers on hand in case matters get worse.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about the Boxers, although I don’t exactly know what they are.”

“They call themselves a band of Patriots, but in reality they are a secret society having for its object the extermination of all foreigners in the Celestial Kingdom. They are the worst cut-throats in China, so I have been told.”

“Well, this is certainly news,” mused Gilbert Pennington. “I had an idea that my fighting days were about over for the present. I never dreamed I should be sent away from the Philippines excepting it would be back to the States.”

“I hope the prospect doesn’t displease you,” went on Major Morris, earnestly. “For myself I am thoroughly delighted. I am getting tired of hanging around Tarlac. We haven’t had a brush with the Filipino guerillas for three weeks, and that last engagement didn’t amount to anything.”

“Major, you are a fighting man through and through!” laughed the young lieutenant. “I believe you would rather fight than eat.”

“Hardly that, Pennington; but I must confess to a weakness for an occasional engagement.” The major of the first battalion twisted his mustache meditatively. “Between you and me, privately speaking, I think we have a long, hard campaign before us.”

“I can’t understand it. If the Chinese government isn’t in with the Boxers, why doesn’t it suppress the society, and protect our citizens and the citizens of other nations?”

“That’s the conundrum, lieutenant. I was talking to the colonel about it; and he says his opinion is that the Chinese government, instead of suppressing the Boxers, is secretly aiding them. The Chinese don’t want any foreigners in China, and this outbreak was bound to come sooner or later.”

“If they don’t want any foreigners, why did they allow them in the country in the first place?”

“I presume they didn’t imagine the foreigners would pour in so rapidly, or that they would advocate so many changes in business, religion, and other things. You see, the Chinaman sticks to ancient things, and wants to do just as his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather did.”

“Has there been any fighting there yet?”

“I can’t say as to that. But the other nations are hurrying troops to the scene; and, when we get there, we are to form part of an Allied Army, composed of English, German, French, Japanese, and other nations.”

“Then it will be China against the world.”

“That’s about the size of it. If we fight side by side with the other nations, it will be rather a new experience for our troops.”

“Right you are, major.” The young lieutenant gazed doubtfully at his dirty and ragged khaki uniform and the shoes which had been patched until there was hardly any of the original leather left. “But we ought to have new outfits before we go.”

“No doubt General MacArthur will see that we get them. He will want Uncle Sam’s boys to look as well as the soldiers of any other nation.”

“Are any of the volunteers going?”

“Not for the present. But there is no telling how many of the troops will have to go before the trouble in China is over,” concluded Major Morris, as he walked on, to spread the news among his other brother officers.

Gilbert Pennington was a young man of Southern blood who had drifted into the army more because of his intense patriotism than for any desire to become a fighter of men. He was from Richmond, Virginia; and, upon the death of his parents and several near relatives, he had wandered around from one place to another, made a trip to the West Indies, and then gone to New York to settle down in business as a book-keeper.

While in New York, the War with Spain broke out; and along with his intimate friend, Ben Russell, Gilbert joined the volunteer service, and served in Cuba as one of Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, as related in one of my previous books, entitled “A Young Volunteer in Cuba.”

Shortly after his return from Cuba the troubles in the Philippines broke out; and once again Gilbert enlisted, this time in the infantry, and, accompanied by Ben Russell and his brother Larry, journeyed to Luzon, there to serve under Generals Otis and MacArthur and the much-lamented General Lawton. Many of his adventures of those stirring times will be found set forth in “Under Otis in the Philippines” and later volumes of my “Old Glory Series.”

But the rebellion in the Philippines was now practically over, and all the soldiers had to do was to guard against the wandering bands of insurgents who carried on a sort of guerilla warfare whenever the opportunity offered. The season had been a very rainy one, and roads and fields were so covered with water and liquid mud that passage from one district to another was well-nigh impossible. The tiny mountain streams were swollen to rushing torrents, and in many places to bridge them over seemed impossible.

Gilbert had been mustered into the regular service several months before; and, for bravery performed in the capture of the Filipino leader, General Adoz, he had been promoted to the rank of first lieutenant of Company A, of the first battalion. Major Morris had come into the regulars at the same time, and now commanded the battalion, although really holding the rank of captain. To my young readers let me explain that this meant that, while he commanded as a major, he received as yet only the pay of a captain.

The news that his regiment was going to China filled Gilbert with interest, and for several reasons. In the first place, he was rather tired of the Philippines, and had thought more than once that he had made a mistake by joining the regulars instead of embarking for home, as many of his fellow-soldiers had done. He had campaigned in intense heat until ready to faint with exhaustion, and the heavy rains of the wet season had found the camp literally drowned out more than once. He had been shot, and had lain in the hospital for weeks, so it was small wonder that he occasionally sighed for a bit of ordinary life again. Following the flag is not all glory.

But now something new was promised. He was to visit a strange country, and perhaps fight side by side with soldiers from other parts of the world. More than this, he might have a chance to find Mr. Amos Bartlett.

Years previous to the opening of this story, Mr. Amos Bartlett had been in business with Jefferson Pennington, Gilbert’s father. The two had owned several extensive tobacco warehouses in Richmond, and later on had branched out into the tea and coffee trade. The business had grown to such proportions that it was formed into a stock concern called the Richmond Importing Company. At the time the company had been formed, Mr. Pennington had died; and shortly after this Mr. Amos Bartlett had gone to Tien-Tsin, China, to live, taking with him his wife and his little daughter, Jennie.

When it came to a settlement of Jefferson Pennington’s affairs, no satisfactory accounting could be obtained from the Richmond Importing Company, and a lawsuit instituted by Gilbert’s mother fell through for the lack of evidence. Amos Bartlett had been written to, but was down with the fever in Tien-Tsin, and could give no evidence. The men at the head of the newly formed company were sharpers from New Orleans; and in the end Mrs. Pennington had received only two thousand dollars in cash for her stock, while she was fully satisfied in her own mind that the amount due her husband’s estate had been twenty to thirty thousand dollars. She had no other money than that received from the company, and this was not enough to support her for long; and she died two years later, poor and broken-hearted, leaving Gilbert, then a lad of twelve, to the care of an aged aunt, with whom he lived for four years, when he left home to strike out for himself.

Gilbert had often thought to hunt up Mr. Amos Bartlett, and see if something could not be done toward getting the balance of the money due his father’s estate. But China was a long way off; and from some friends he learned that Mr. Bartlett had left Tien-Tsin, and gone into the interior, and that his present whereabouts was unknown. Moreover, the war in Cuba and in the Philippines had driven everything else out of his head, and he had taken matters as they had come.

“But, if I get the chance, I’m going to hunt him up,” said the young lieutenant to himself. “And, if I find him, I’ll make him tell me all about the doings of the Richmond Importing Company or else know the reason why. I’m bound to have that money, if there is any of it coming to me.”

CHAPTER II
CLOSE QUARTERS IN THE JUNGLE

“Boys, we leave to-day for Manila.”

It was Captain Banner of Gilbert’s company who spoke, addressing a dozen or more of his command, who were squatting around a camp-fire built near the shelter of an overhanging cliff. Close to the camp-fire were half a dozen rude shacks which the regulars had erected for comfort while stopping in the neighborhood, they preferring the rude huts to their own torn and dilapidated tents.

“Und how soon vos ve goin’ py China, captain?” asked Carl Stummer, a German volunteer who had enlisted in Company A soon after his old friend Gilbert had become lieutenant.

“Just as soon as orders come from headquarters, Stummer. Are you anxious to get on new fighting ground?”

“Vell, captain, I ton’t vos barticularly anxious for new fightin’ ground; but I vos anxious for ground vot ain’t vet a foot deep all der dime,” answered Stummer, with a broad grin. “Last night I dream me I vos in Noah’s ark, und der ark got sunk, und I vent overboard. Ven I vake up, I vos on mine pack in vater most a foot teep.”

“I hope you swam for your life, Carl,” put in Gilbert, while a laugh went up.

“He can’t swim, bedad,” added Dan Casey, an Irish soldier, who had been a friend to Stummer for years. “Don’t ye remimber how Captain Ben Russell—he was only a common sodger thin—hauled him out av the waters av New York Bay, an’ was arristed fer doin’ it, bekase the colonel thought he was afther tryin’ to desert whin he jumped overboard.”

“I vos learn me how to schwim since den,” replied Stummer, gravely. “Of I didn’t learn, I vos drown more as fifty dimes ofer here alretty.” And again a laugh went up.

Tents were to be struck at noon, sharp; and soon the camp was a busy place, as the soldier boys began to gather together their few belongings. Although it was raining lightly, guns had to be cleaned, swords polished, and uniforms brushed up as much as possible.

The news had travelled swiftly that the regiment was ordered to China; and many of the officers and men of other commands close by came in to verify the report, and to say good-by to their friends. Several came to see Gilbert and wish him the best of luck, for he had always been popular.

“I thrust we’ll be afther seein’ Captain Russell in Manila,” said Dan Casey to the young lieutenant. “I wouldn’t loike to go away widout sayin’ him farewell.” Casey and Stummer had both been members of Ben Russell’s company of volunteers before joining the regulars.

“Yes, I hope we do see him, and Larry, too,” answered Gilbert. “I would give a good deal to have the Russells go along.” But this was not to be, as the duty of the Russell boys lay elsewhere.

The colonel of the command was a stickler for military discipline; and promptly at twelve the regiment moved, or at least the two battalions which were located in that neighborhood. The third battalion had gone up in the mountains to the southward, and a special message had been sent to it to rejoin the main command at the earliest opportunity.

The light rain soon gave way to a steady downpour, which threatened to become a deluge before nightfall; and in many spots the soldiers had to leave the road and take to the paddy fields, the thin crust of ground and growth of the one being preferable to the oozy, sticky mud of the other. The caribao carts, piled high with the camping outfit, lumbered along with difficulty; and at every quarter of a mile one or another got stuck, and had to be helped out of its difficulty.

“This is hardly a march to victory, lieutenant,” observed Captain Banner, as he ranged alongside of his second in command.

“I don’t believe any of us will want a bath for a month after this rain stops,” returned Gilbert grimly, “at least, not from the knees up.”

“It is well you qualified your first remark,” said the captain, who was a West Point graduate, a well-read officer, and a first-rate fellow. “From my knees down I feel as if I had been wandering around in an ocean of filthy pitch. It seems to me the natives ought to be able to make bricks of this sticky mud without half trying.”

“We are going to have some fun when we reach the river a mile below here,” put in Major Morris, who had also come up. “Captain Anderson came over last night, and he said it was running at a fearful rate then.”

“And what about that new bridge we worked so hard to put up?” asked the young lieutenant.

“It’s completely swept away. The captain thought the storm had done it, but I think the guerillas helped matters along. They hate us worse than they hate poison.”

“I suppose they reckon we have kept them from a good deal of booty,” said Gilbert. “Well, we have, for a fact.”

The storm now became so violent that conversation could be carried on only with difficulty, and presently the party relapsed into silence. The route step had been ordered at the very start; and all of the regulars were marching to suit themselves, although keeping something of a semblance to a column of fours.

At last the river was gained, and a halt was ordered,—an unnecessary command, since none of the troops could go forward. The stream was running two feet deep over its ordinary banks, and swirling along with the rapidity of a mill-race. It was fully sixty feet wide, and just deep enough in the middle to be dangerous.

As the bridge was gone, it was determined to look for a suitable fording-place, and Gilbert was placed in command of a detachment to ascend the river-bank for that purpose. The course of the soldiers, six in number, lay over a series of rough rocks, and then through a small jungle opening upon an abandoned rice field.

“If the guerillas destroyed that bridge, we want to keep our eyes open,” was Gilbert’s comment to his men, as they scrambled over the rocks, in Indian file. “They don’t travel far in the rain, and they may be close at hand.”

“I dink I see me somepoddy chust ahead!” exclaimed Carl Stummer, in a low voice. He was in the lead of the privates, and carried his rifle, ready for use. “Look!” he cried suddenly.

Gilbert gazed in the direction, and made out several forms; but all disappeared before he could get a good view of them.

“Thim was th’ Dagoes!” cried Dan Casey, using the common soldier’s term for Filipinos. “I wisht I’d got a bead on ’em! I’d a-laid wan of thim low, I’ll bet me nixt wages!”

“To cover!” shouted Gilbert, and pointed to the nearest bit of jungle. The little party ran at once in the direction, but before the shelter of the brush was gained several shots rang out, the bullets clipping the branches of the nearest trees.

The attack came as a surprise; but the young lieutenant was not sorry that the volley had been fired, since it would notify his comrades in arms that something was wrong. Scarcely had the volley ended when Dan Casey fired in return; but, if he hit any one, the enemy gave no sign.

The jungle gained,—it was a small patch less than an acre in extent, facing the river,—Gilbert ordered his men to lie down and keep strict watch on all sides, while he himself moved close to the water’s edge. A sudden idea had popped into his head, and he wished to learn if his surmise was correct.

In order to obtain a clear view of the river, he had to wade into the water overrunning the bank to the depth of a foot and more, in the mean time breaking his way through vines and creepers, which formed a perfect network amid the tropical trees. He advanced as cautiously as he could, and, reaching an opening at last, peeped forth with care.

He had been right in his guess. The Filipino guerillas, some twenty in number, had encamped in another patch of jungle a hundred yards further up the river; and now several of the party were crossing the stream in two cascoes, as the native small boats are named. A rope was stretched from shore to shore, and a man in each casco was hauling his craft along this by hand.

“If only I had the whole company here!” thought the young lieutenant. He felt that, if this were so, he could readily “bag” every one of the insurgents.

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when two more rifle-shots rang out, followed by a cry from Stummer.

“Der repels vos running py der rifer!” came from the German soldier. “Shall ve go after dem, lieutenant?”

“No, wait!” ordered Gilbert. He turned to Dan Casey. “Go back as fast as you can, and report a body of twenty guerillas about to cross the river in two boats. We can round them up if we are re-enforced immediately.”

“I’ll run wid might an’ main,” answered the Irish soldier, and set off with leaps and bounds over the rocks in the direction whence he had come. The Filipinos saw him, and opened fire on him; but he got out of range uninjured.

As soon as Casey was gone, Gilbert called his detachment to his side, and pointed out the cascoes.

“Those men must not be allowed to reach the other river-bank,” he said.

“And they won’t reach it, hear me!” cried one of the regulars, a tall Westerner; and, taking aim at the man at the rope in the leading boat, he fired. As the report rang out, the man fell, shot through the shoulder; and the casco began to drift rapidly down stream.

The other regulars also opened fire; and soon the ropeman of the second casco was likewise laid low, and that boat began to drift after the other. But the craft was still close to shore; and, as soon as their leader was shot down, the other two occupants leaped into the water and mud, and struck out for the jungle which now concealed the rest of the guerillas, who had lost no time in disappearing after the first volley from the Americans.

Left to its own devices, the first boat came down the river rapidly, sometimes swinging to one side and then to the other, and once turning around completely in the strong current. It held two uninjured rebels, who for the time being seemed to be bewildered by the turn of affairs.

As the casco approached the spot where Gilbert stood, a sudden turn of the river current forced it to shore. It swept under some overhanging trees; and one of the insurgents immediately grasped some vines, and pulled the craft still further to land.

“Leap for your life, Garro!” shouted one of the pair, in Spanish; and an instant later both sprang out on the river-bank in water up to their knees, and directly in front of the young lieutenant. One held a gun in his hand, and the other a pistol; and in a trice both weapons were levelled at Gilbert’s head.

CHAPTER III
SOMETHING ABOUT THE PEOPLE OF CHINA

Gilbert Pennington had been in many close quarters before, and these had taught him the valuable lesson of being on his guard at all times.

Consequently, when the two rebels faced him, they found him with pistol drawn, and, before either of the enemy could fire, the young lieutenant blazed away. He shot to kill, knowing only too well that his life hung in the balance; and the rebel with the pistol went down, with a bullet in his breast, seriously, if not mortally, wounded. The Filipino’s weapon went off as he fell, but the bullet spent itself in the air above the little jungle.

Meanwhile, however, the second rebel was not idle; and, though Gilbert leaped to one side to avoid being made a target of, he received a ball from the gun in his shoulder,—a flesh wound, painful, but of not much consequence.

The shot in the magazine rifle was evidently the last one; for, having fired it, the Filipino closed in by aiming a blow at Gilbert’s head with the stock of his weapon. The blow did not land as intended; but it struck the young lieutenant’s arm, and his pistol was knocked skyward just as he was on the point of pulling the trigger a second time.

All of these movements had taken but a few seconds of time to execute; and none of Gilbert’s men knew what was occurring until they followed the sounds of the shots, and found the young lieutenant in a hand-to-hand encounter with the rebel over the possession of the Mauser rifle. The rebel was a powerful fellow, much older than Gilbert, and heavier; and he was rapidly getting the better of the encounter, when Carl Stummer came up on the run.

“Drop dot!” roared the German soldier; and, taking aim, he fired on the Filipino, hitting him in the knee. At once the man sank down, moaning with pain; and the gun came into Gilbert’s possession.

A moment later a shouting was heard from down the river; and two companies of the regulars came up the bank through the water and mud, and over the rocks, as speedily as the state of the situation permitted. They soon caught sight of the insurgents, and opened a well-directed fire, at which the enemy took to their heels with all possible speed.

“I owe you one for that, Stummer,” said Gilbert, as soon as he saw that the man before him was out of the contest for good. “You came up in the nick of time.”

“Dot’s all right,” answered the private, modestly. “But say! ton’t ve besser safe dot poat?”

“To be sure, we’ll save the boat,” cried Gilbert; and, leaping out into the stream, he secured it, and tied it fast to one of the trees.

The rain was now coming down harder than ever, and this rendered the pursuit of the rebels very difficult; yet it was felt that they must not be allowed to get away, and the whole of the first battalion were sent after them, leaving the second battalion to cross the stream in four cascoes which the insurgents had possessed.

Being wounded, Gilbert was not called upon to take part in the pursuit of the fleeing guerillas; for such they properly were, having no regular military organization. He walked around until he found the surgeon of the regiment, who bound up the wound, after washing and probing it.

“It was a narrow shave for you, lieutenant,” said Surgeon Gilson. “A little lower, and you would have been a dead man.”

“Well, they say a miss is as good as a mile,” responded Gilbert, with a faint smile. “But I am thankful to God that I escaped,” he added earnestly.

It was nightfall before the second battalion was landed over the river; and then the other regular companies came in, bringing with them nine prisoners, including two that were wounded. The battalion had had several men wounded, but none seriously.

“I fancy this is our last round-up in Luzon,” said Major Morris to Captain Banner and Gilbert. “If all goes well, we ought to reach Manila by to-morrow evening.”

The night was spent in the village of Giguenen, where there was a small garrison of American volunteers; and here the prisoners were lodged in the local jail, until the authorities at Manila should decide what was to be done with them.

The storm cleared away during the night; and travelling the next day was, consequently, a little better, although the roads were still almost impassable. In some spots the carts could not get through with their loads; and the men had to “ferry” the goods across, the turnouts coming over empty.

“I believe the Philippines want good roads more than anything else,” observed Gilbert. “In all the time I’ve been here I’ve hardly seen a decent highway outside of Manila.”

“We are bound for a country where the roads are still worse,” returned Captain Banner. “I’ve been reading up on China lately, and I’ve learned that there is hardly a respectable highway in the whole Celestial Kingdom. Even the streets of Pekin, the great capital, are out of repair, and have been for centuries.”

“And yet Chinese labor costs next to nothing. I can’t understand it.”

“The common people don’t want to pay out a single cash for public improvements, that’s the reason. Besides that, there comes up the old Chinese saying that ‘what was good enough for my father and grandfather is good enough for me.’”

“They must be a terribly backward nation.”

“Backward doesn’t express it, lieutenant. They are so out of date that they are actually musty. And the worst of it is, because their history dates back so much further than ours,—several thousand years before Christ,—they imagine they know it all and are really a superior people.”

“I am almost ashamed to confess it, but I am very backward on the geography of China,” went on Gilbert. “I know it’s a mighty big country and swarming with millions of people, and that is about all I do know.”

“Yes, it is a big country; for its area is about five millions of square miles, although its original eighteen provinces are only about two millions of square miles in extent,—some geographers say a million and a half. The population of the provinces is reckoned at a hundred and seventy-five million. But this is mere guess-work, for China has never taken a census.”

“With so many people, there ought to be many large cities.”

“No, the large cities are but few in number. The largest, of course, is Pekin, the capital, on the Pei-Ho, which contains probably a million and a half to two million inhabitants; and the next is Shanghai, the great sea-port town. Pekin cannot be reached by large boats; and its sea-port, so to speak, is Tien-Tsin, which is also on the Pei-Ho, not many miles from the Gulf of Pechili.”

“Then, if there are not many large cities, there must be a host of small ones.”

“China, so I have read, is a country of villages; and there are vast territories where these villages, each containing a hundred or two hundred inhabitants, are less than half a mile apart. You see the Chinese farmer doesn’t live on his farm excepting during the time he has to watch his crops, to keep them from being stolen. He lives in the village, along with all of his neighboring farmers; and all of them go out to work every morning, taking all their tools with them, and even the bucket and windlass for the well, and return at nightfall.”

“I think I should rather live on the farm. We always lived on our plantation in Virginia, before we moved to Richmond.”

“And so did my folks live on their farm in the Mohawk Valley, New York State, Pennington. But you must remember that, with so many people to feed, farming lands in China are valuable; and so they can’t afford land for farm-houses or out-buildings or even for fences. Many a farm is not over half an acre in extent, and that has to support a family of six or eight.”

“Phew! We had over two hundred acres in Virginia!”

“And we had a hundred and twenty at home; and father said he sometimes felt cramped up, because he didn’t own right to the top of the mountain. If it wasn’t that John Chinaman can live on next to nothing, he would starve to death.”

“But certainly all the people are not so poor.”

“There are some rich people in the cities, but the majority merely live from hand to mouth. The richest man of all is Earl Li Hung Chang, one of the viceroys, who visited the United States some years ago. He is a millionaire many times over, and a very powerful political leader in the bargain. They say he is the only viceroy who enjoys the confidence of the dowager empress and the young emperor.”

“It’s a wonder he doesn’t make a move to enlighten his people, and get them to take up Western ideas.”

“There is too much of religion and superstition in the way. The Chinamen all believe in geomancy, as it is called. According to that, no street in a village must be straight for fear the Evil Spirit may sweep through too easily, and no door in a house can be directly opposite to another for the same reason. The cities and towns are all laid out according to the rules of geomancy, as expounded by the so-styled learned men who make the mysterious art a life study. Even the grave of a rich man is not located until the geomancer has been well paid in order to locate a spot where wind and weather cannot disturb the spirit of the departed one.”

“Such superstition is almost beyond belief.”

“That is only the beginning of it. They believe in all sorts of signs and omens, and won’t even cook a meal at a fireplace unless the latter is located near a door or window, so that the evil spirits in the food can find an easy way out of doors.”

“Humph! I wonder what they would say to some of our up-to-date inventions,—the telephone, for instance?”

“I don’t know about the telephone; but they do say that in the interior the people believe the telegraph wires are bewitched, and they won’t walk under them excepting with their eyes closed and while holding their breath, or else while repeating some verse from Confucius. For many years they wouldn’t allow a railroad to go through, because such a road would disturb the graves that are scattered here, there, and everywhere instead of being in regular cemeteries, as in our own country.”

“I reckon the people in the interior are even more ignorant than those on the seacoast.”

“They are, if the books I have read are to be believed. One writer says that some Chinamen were surprised to learn that he, as a ‘foreign devil,’ did not have three legs and a horn, and that others thought he had a hole through his breast through which a pole could be thrust whenever he wanted to be carried from place to place. Another writer says he was also asked about the hole, and that the natives were surprised to learn that he could bend his knees, having heard that no ‘foreign devils’ could bend their knees to their gods. This writer had a camera with him, and came close to having his head cut off through trying to take some snap-shots in the village. He added that numerous Chinamen think that photographs must be made out of babies’ eyes; and, as very few of the poor natives of the interior have any use for a girl baby, they sometimes offer to sell such a baby to be sacrificed, so that the eyes can be made up into photographs!”

CHAPTER IV
CAPTAIN PONSBERRY HAS HIS SAY

“Hurrah! Here come the boys who are bound for China!”

“Good luck to you, boys! Wish I was going with you!”

“Don’t let the Chinks get the best of you! Stick up for Uncle Sam and Old Glory every time!”

Such were some of the cries as the command to which Gilbert was attached swung across the bridge which spanned the river Pasig, and marched through the streets of old Manila to the barracks assigned to them previous to their departure for China.

It was a warm, pleasant evening, and the thoroughfares were alive with people,—Americans, natives, Spaniards, Englishmen, and likewise a good sprinkling of Chinamen. But the latter had already heard of the sending of troops to their native land, and they took good care to keep in the background for fear of a riot in which they might come off second-best. All was gayety, with scarcely a thought of the terrible struggles which had occurred in that vicinity but a few months before.

The barracks were gained, and, while the band was playing one of the popular airs of the day, the companies were dismissed to seek their quarters and make themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted.

“Gilbert! I was hoping I should find you!”

The exclamation came from a tall, handsome young fellow wearing the uniform of a captain of volunteers; and, as the young lieutenant turned, he found his hand tightly clasped by his old chum, Ben Russell.

“Ben!” cried Gilbert. “I am ever so glad to meet you. I was afraid I should have to leave Luzon without seeing you. How have you been?”

“First-rate, Gilbert. And you?”

“Oh, I’m all right except for a slight wound in the shoulder. We had a final brush with the guerillas yesterday, and bagged nine of them. But what are you doing here?”

“I came down on a special mission for the general. Larry is with me, as a member of my company. Here he comes now.”

As Larry Russell came up, more hand-shaking followed; and then the Russells plied Gilbert with questions, all of which he answered as well as he could.

“I wish you were going with us,” said the young lieutenant. “We might have some fine times together.”

“That’s true,” put in Larry Russell. “But I guess we’ve got to stay here until we are mustered out.”

“Perhaps we’ll be sent to China later on,” said Ben Russell. Then he turned, as he felt a pluck at his sleeve. “Hullo, Stummer! And you, too, Casey! How are you getting along? It’s too bad that you left me to join the regulars, but I suppose it’s all for the best.”

“I dink you besser choin, too,” replied the German soldier. “Uncle Sam vill need you in China, sure.”

“Perhaps, Carl, but not now.”

“To lave you is the wan sorrow of me partin’ wid Manila,” said Casey. “Sure, an’ we was loike brothers, barrin’ ye was captain an’ I was a corporal. I hope we mate ag’in, so I do.” And his honest eyes looked suspiciously moist. He had served with Ben all through the Cuban and Philippine campaigns.

The conversation now became general; and presently Casey and Stummer went off, leaving Gilbert and the Russells to themselves. From one thing the talk drifted to another, and finally came around to Mr. Amos Bartlett and the fortune Jefferson Pennington had sunk in the Richmond Importing Company.

“The Richmond Importing Company!” cried Larry. “Why, I know a party who is now working for that concern.”

“You do!” exclaimed Gilbert. “And who is it?”

“Captain Ponsberry, of the three-masted schooner Columbia, the vessel I shipped in from Honolulu, with Luke Striker.”

“You mean the ship you were serving on at the time you went overboard and was picked up by Admiral Dewey’s flagship just before the battle of Manila?”

“The same. Captain Ponsberry wasn’t carrying for the Richmond Importing Company then, but he is now. He told me so himself yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Then his ship must be here.”

“She is.”

“I should like to see this Captain Ponsberry, to find out how the company stands at present.”

“Then you had better get around to-night or early to-morrow. He sails at noon.”

“I’ll go at once if you’ll show the way,” concluded Gilbert.

Larry was willing; and soon the three were on their way to new Manila, as it is designated, across the Pasig, and down to where the numerous wharves were lined with huge warehouses containing all sorts of merchandise from nearly every quarter of the globe.

The Columbia lay deep in the water opposite the wharf from which she had loaded, for she was laden with a cargo for China. At the wharf they found a small boat tied up, in charge of a sailor named Hobson, whom Larry Russell knew very well.

“Hullo, Larry, what brings you?” demanded Hobson, in surprise; for he had not expected to see the young soldier-sailor.

“My friend wishes to see Captain Ponsberry, Hobson. Is he ashore?”

“No, I’m waiting for Tom Grandon, the mate. The cap’n is on board.”

“Will you take us over?”

“Certainly. Jump in.”

The two entered the row-boat, and Gilbert was introduced to Hobson, who had been Larry’s messmate for several months. Soon the side of the schooner was gained, and Larry clambered to the deck with the agility of a monkey, leaving Gilbert to follow.

“Hullo, Larry! back again?” came from Captain Nat Ponsberry, a whole-souled skipper of the old New England school. “I had hardly expected to see you again afore I sailed.”

“My friend here wishes to have a talk with you, captain,” answered Larry. “He is Lieutenant Gilbert Pennington now of the regulars, but formerly of the volunteers. He served with my brother Ben.”

“Oh, yes! reckon as how I’ve heard tell of ye,” said Captain Ponsberry, as he extended a horny hand, as hard as it was honest. “Glad to know ye personally.”

“Perhaps you’ll think it strange I should come to you for information, captain,” said the young lieutenant. “But Larry tells me you are carrying for the Richmond Importing Company now.”

“Exactly.” And the skipper of the Columbia gazed questioningly at the speaker. “But this is my first trip; and I don’t know but that it may be my last, too.”

“And may I ask why you say it may be your last?”

“You may, since I’ve nothing to conceal on the p’int, lieutenant. Their price ain’t my price, thet’s all. I can make more money on my own hook.”

“The reason I have come to you is this: Years ago my father owned stock in the company. He died, and when my mother tried to get a settlement—well, they didn’t give her near as much as she expected.”

“I see.” Captain Ponsberry paused. “Well?”

“That was when I was only ten years old,—rather a long time ago. I’ve never had a chance to look into the claim, but I intend to do so now; and I want to know how the company stands, if you don’t mind telling me.”

“As I said afore, I have nothing to conceal. So far as I know, the standin’ of the concern is good, and it is wuth nigh on to two hundred thousand dollars.”

“And who is its head?”

“Mr. Ramsey Polk, a banker, who does business in Richmond and in New Orleans.”

“He must be the same Polk who took hold at the time my father died. I remember the name well.”

“More’n likely, lieutenant; an’, if he is, I’ll allow you have a tough customer to deal with,” added the skipper of the Columbia, with a peculiar smile.

“Then you found him hard to deal with?”

“I did.”

“Do you know if there is a Mr. Amos Bartlett still connected with the company?”

“Yes, there is; but I’ve got it putty straight that the Polks, father an’ son,—an’ the son, Nuggy, is wuss nor his dad,—are doin’ their best to squeeze him out of it.”

“And where is Mr. Bartlett, now?”

“In Tien-Tsin, China, or else at Shanghai.”

“And how are they going to squeeze him out?”

“If you’ll tell me, I’ll tell you,” laughed Captain Ponsberry. “I guess the Polks have a way all their own. But they’ll do it, for I’ve heard that they have squeezed out others. Nuggy Polk is on his way now to China, to see what he can do toward ousting Bartlett out of the concern. The Polks know they have a good thing, an’ I guess they want to keep it right in the family.”

“You say he is on his way to China. Is he here?”

“He was here a few days ago. I think he sailed for Hong Kong yesterday.”

“I wish I had seen him. Perhaps he could have given me some information.”

“Not he—if he thought you were after some money due your father,” returned Captain Ponsberry, with a sharp shake of his head. “The Polks are close-fisted to the last degree. You won’t get a cent from them unless you wring it by main force.”

“Then I’ll wring it by main force—if I find that some money is really due me,” answered Gilbert, with determination.

Captain Ponsberry now invited the pair to his cabin; and the three went below, and discussed the situation for the best part of an hour. During this talk, Gilbert learned that the affairs of the Importing Company were almost entirely in the hands of the Polks, who had forced out a man named Redmund and an old widow named Van Vechen, both of Richmond. Amos Bartlett was now the only outsider holding stock, and it was the captain’s opinion that Nuggy Polk’s sole reason for going to China was to get the old merchant to sell out his holding.

“An’, if he won’t sell out, he’ll be squeezed out,” added the captain. “But I guess the Polks will get him to sell out by showin’ him papers an’ statements to prove thet the company ain’t making any money an’ is in debt.”

“But you say they are doing well?”

“So they are, too. I had a search made afore I agreed to carry for ’em.”

“Then a statement to the contrary would be a fraud,” put in Larry.

“Exactly. But what could Bartlett prove if the hull thing was done in secret?”

“It won’t be done in secret—not if I can help it,” said Gilbert; and there the conversation came to an end.

CHAPTER V
GILBERT MEETS NUGGY POLK

The two transports which were to take the soldiers from Manila to China lay in the harbor off the Anda Monument; but several days were still to elapse before the first of them should set sail on her momentous voyage to Nagasaki, Japan, the first stopping-place. Where the transport was to go after that, none of the under officers or privates knew. The duty of the American soldier is to obey orders, and not ask questions.

There was much to do,—new uniforms and shoes to be fitted, guns to be inspected, ammunition to be dealt out, camping outfits to be cared for,—so that the hours flew by swiftly for Gilbert and all the others; and he had no time in which to ascertain whether or not Nuggy Polk—whose real first name was Nuglich—was still in Manila or if he had set sail for the Celestial Empire.

The transport was to sail on Tuesday; and by Monday night the preparations for departure—so far as they affected the young lieutenant—were complete. This being so, he asked for leave of absence for several hours, which was readily granted; and off he went to hunt up Nuggy Polk.

Captain Ponsberry had described the young man as tall and thin, with a short, stubby mustache and eyes which shifted continually. He was said to have stopped at the Hotel for American Gentlemen, as one of the native resorts had lately been pompously rechristened.

Gilbert found the hostelry without much difficulty, and on inquiry at the desk learned that Nuggy Polk had left the place that morning.

“He was not sure if he would be back,” said the clerk. “He wanted to visit the soldiers’ encampment up at the water-works. Perhaps you will find him there.”

The water-works are several miles to the eastward of Manila, at a spot where a few months before some severe fighting had taken place between the Americans and the insurgents. Gilbert decided to journey thither, and hired a pony for that purpose.

The young lieutenant had been over this ground before,—indeed, some of his first fighting in the Philippines had been done in that neighborhood; and he found his way, without difficulty, along a highway lined with palms and other tropical trees.

As he moved along, he kept his eyes open for anybody who might bear a resemblance to the young man he desired to interview. It was growing dark rapidly; yet the night promised to be clear, and he could still see without much difficulty.

The camping grounds of the soldiers at the water-works were almost gained, when, on reaching a turn of the road, the young lieutenant beheld coming toward him a high native fancy cart, drawn by two stout ponies. On the seat of the cart sat two young men; and, from the description which had been given to him, he recognized the driver of the turnout as Nuggy Polk.

As soon as he made his discovery that the man he was seeking was before him, Gilbert also learned something else, which was that both young men had been drinking far more than was good for them, and, if they were not intoxicated, they were pretty close to it. The driver was swaying from side to side, jerking the reins in a way to completely bewilder his steeds; and his companion was expostulating, and trying to get the lines in his own possession.

“I tell you, Nuggy, you ain’t in no condition to drive,” the second young man was saying. “Give me the lines, an’ I’ll show you how to make ’em trot.”

“Give you nothing!” retorted Nuggy Polk, savagely. “I can drive as well as anybody, Jerry Nickerson; and I want you to know it.”

“You’re steerin’ ’em into the rocks,” went on Jerry Nickerson. “You’ll smash us up in another minit!” And he clutched Polk’s arm to keep himself from rolling off the high seat to the ground.

“Lemme go!” screamed the would-be driver, and tried to shake his companion off; but Jerry Nickerson made another clutch for the reins, and a fierce struggle ensued, in the midst of which the ponies took fright, and began to tear down the highway at their best speed.

Gilbert could do nothing to stop the runaway team; and, as the high cart bounced past, he fully expected to see the two young men thrown out and killed. The reins fell upon the ponies’ heels, and then Jerry Nickerson clutched the seat for safety. Nuggy Polk was thrown over backward, into the rear of the cart, and came to the ground with a splash just as the turnout went through a mud puddle six inches deep.

“Help! save me!” roared the young man, bellowing like a bull. “Don’t let the hosses kick me to death!”

He continued to bellow and splash around in the mud until Gilbert, dismounting, went to his assistance. “You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up,” said the young lieutenant.

“You’ll be all right if you’ll only stand up.”

“All right? Do I want to be kicked to death?” demanded Nuggy Polk, as he sat up, and dug the mud from his eyes.

“You’ll not be kicked to death. You landed in a soft spot, so I reckon there are no bones broken.”

“But the hosses—”

“Your ponies and cart are half a mile from here by this time. They went off like a streak of lightning.”

“Humph!” Nuggy Polk arose to his feet with difficulty, and dragged himself to where Gilbert stood. “Where’s Jerry?” he demanded.

“Your companion was clinging to the cart seat the last I saw of him.”

“Humph! He’ll be killed as sure as you’re born. But it serves him right. He had no business to try to take the reins out of my hands. I know how to drive—used to drive the finest high-steppers in Richmond. He don’t know the first thing about hosses.”

“Well, I hope he isn’t killed.”

“Oh, he’ll be all right—you couldn’t kill Jerry Nickerson if you tried. Say, but I’m in a pickle, ain’t I?” And Nuggy Polk surveyed himself dismally. He was arrayed in a white linen suit, with a fancy silk dress shirt; and the outfit had suffered much from the contact with mud and water. “I can’t go back to Manila looking like this.”

Gilbert could offer nothing but his handkerchief; and this Polk accepted, and washed his face and hands at a near-by pool. He was very unsteady on his legs, and his speech was thick. He declared that he did not care what became of Jerry Nickerson.

“He’s my friend, but in a case of this kind he must take care of himself,” he muttered. “I suppose those ponies won’t run on forever.”

“If you got them from a stable in Manila, they will probably go straight home,” answered Gilbert. “By the way, do you belong in Manila?” he went on, determined to “pump” Polk without making himself known.

“Me belong to Manila?” cried the young man. “Not much. You couldn’t hire me to live in such a back-number town. No, I’m from Richmond, Virginia.”

“Then you are a good way from home. But I, too, come from Virginia,” continued Gilbert. “I was born in Powhatan Court House,” which was the exact truth.

“Is that so? Glad to know you. You’re a lieutenant, I reckon, by the uniform.”

“I am, Mr.—”

“Nuglich Polk is my handle. Generally called Nuggy by my friends. And you are?—”

“My name is Gilbert.”

“Proud to know you!” The young man tried to look sober for a second, then burst out into a fit of unreasonable laughter. “Say, but I cut a figure, didn’t I, when I went into the mud?”

“I didn’t see very clearly. I was watching your team.”

“Oh, don’t smooth it over, lieutenant. It’s all right! So we are both from Virginia? Good enough! Ever been to Richmond?”

“Yes, years ago.”

“I and my father run the Richmond Importing Company there. Perhaps you’ve heard of the concern. We ship goods all over the world,—China, Japan, South Africa, everywhere. Got a vessel here now, bound for China, the Columbia. Had to look after her, and that’s what brought me to the Philippines.”

“Then you are going back to the States soon?” went on Gilbert. “You’re lucky. Lots of the boys would like to go, too.”

“No, I’m booked straight through to China.” Nuggy Polk gave something closely resembling a hiccough, and then felt in a rear pocket of his trousers. “Have a drink?” he went on, producing a whiskey flask.

“Thanks, but I’m not a drinking man,” answered Gilbert.

“What! Don’t drink? Well, I never! I’ll drink for you. Here’s your health.”

The whiskey flask was elevated to Polk’s lips, and a long low gurgle followed. The action disgusted the young lieutenant; but he felt powerless to remonstrate, even had he felt so inclined.

“Ah! now I feel better!” said the young man, more unsteadily than ever; and then, finding the flask empty, he threw it to one side of the road. “Yes, I’m from Richmond; and I don’t care who knows it. We are the people! Ain’t that so?” And he tried to brace up proudly.

“We are certainly some of the people,” answered Gilbert; and he felt like adding that Polk was the most disgusting specimen he had yet encountered. “If you and your father run the Richmond Importing Company, you must be doing a large business.”

“Large doesn’t express it, lieutenant. It’s growing every day.”

“A stock concern, I reckon?”

“Humph! It’s our concern,—belongs to father and me. We used to have some outside people in it, but we froze ’em out,—had to do it, it was such a good thing, don’t you see?”

“That was rather hard on the other fellows, I should imagine.”

“Oh, we paid ’em to get out; but not too much, understand? We’re shrewd, me and father, when it comes to real business.” Nuggy Polk gave a lurch which landed him on the grass of the roadside. “Say, but that tumble made me weak in the legs!” he declared.

“Better rest here, and see if your friend comes back,” suggested Gilbert. “I’ll stay with you; and, if he doesn’t return, I’ll see to it that you get back to Manila in safety.”

“Will you? That’s mighty kind, lieutenant, and I’ll stay; and I’ll pay you for all you do for me.” And the young man pulled from his pocket a roll of bank bills. “I reckon bills go with you, even if the confounded natives won’t accept ’em.”

“I don’t want your money—”

“Don’t grow offended, lieutenant. I’m all right, and you’re all right. We understand each other, don’t we?”

“I hope we shall, if not now, then later on,” replied Gilbert, with an emphasis which was entirely lost on the befuddled young man to whom the words were addressed.

CHAPTER IV
OFF FOR CHINA

The young lieutenant felt utterly disgusted over the speech and actions of the young man before him; yet he did not feel inclined just yet to part company with Nuggy Polk. There is an old saying that, “when the wine is in, the wit is out”; and Gilbert felt certain that by judicious “pumping” he could learn a good deal concerning the Richmond Importing Company and the Polks’ peculiar method of transacting business.

Gilbert could readily see that Nuggy Polk was a “high-flyer,” or, in other words, a fast young man, and one who was inclined to spend his father’s money much faster than the parent had made it. Yet the young man did not look like a hard drinker; and his present condition, Gilbert concluded, was an unusual one.

“May I ask if you have been in Richmond lately?” said Gilbert, after a pause, during which Nuggy Polk had closed his eyes, as if on the point of going to sleep.