CHAPTER XIII—ALL ABOUT A CERTAIN BAD MAN

Like a long-drawn-out snail the procession crept through the yamen gates. The pace was set by the men most severely wounded.

Was it safe to leave the yamen while multitudes were yet abroad in the city, and those multitudes angry over the shedding of Chinese blood?

How many Chinese had fallen in the fight Darrin had no means of estimating. He had seen many fall, but dead and wounded alike had been promptly carried away by their own countrymen.

That the city of Nu-ping was in a ferment of anger there could be no doubt. Yet the governor, who had professed that morning to be unable to stem the revolution, had, by a few words, sent the fighting throngs back in the dead of night.

Last of all in the line walked Dave, in as uncomfortable a frame of mind as he had ever known. If his little party should be attacked and overwhelmed, and the women killed, he had made up his mind that he would make no effort to outlive the disaster. Death would be preferable.

There was still one other who knew less of comfort than any in the procession. That one was His Excellency, the Governor of Nu-ping.

In the sedan chair had been placed six kegs of powder, one of them opened. On top of the kegs, without as much as a cushion to soften the hardness of the seat, was his excellency, squatting, terror-stricken.

On either side marched a sailor with a loaded rifle. Also beside the sedan marched Sailorman Sampson, with a package of loose powder and a piece of slow-match found at the yamen. Seaman Sampson had his orders, with a considerable amount of discretionary power added, all of which was known to the governor with the greenish-yellow face.

As the line swung into the street on the way to the river, Danny Grin and two seamen trod softly ahead, alert for any surprises that might be met, particularly at street corners.

Not a sound was heard from natives, however, save for the occasional groans of the greenish-yellow governor, who, at that moment, was more fully posted on the feeling of absolute terror than was any other man in China.

No move was made on the part of the natives to stop the progress of the Americans. The party soon reached the wharf at the river front.

Now, with the women out on the wharf, Dalzell hastily drew up new lines of defense, pointing cityward, while Dave, with flashlight and whistle, managed to attract attention from the deck of the “Castoga” and to flash the signal to the watch officer.

It seemed but the work of a minute to get the launch and two ship’s boats under way. The launch chugged busily shoreward. No time was wasted on explanations. The women and wounded were hurried into the boats and taken out to the gunboat.

On the next trip the rest of the party was speedily embarked.

As the last act, Sampson relaxed his watch over his excellency. Signs were made to the governor’s chair bearers to take their lord back to the yamen. Nor did the departure of the governor take any time at all.

“Well done, Darrin! Fine, Dalzell!” boomed the hearty voice of Lieutenant-Commander Tuthill as the two young officers stepped on the deck of the gunboat. “Every man under your command has behaved like an American!”

Then, as his eye roved to Pembroke, standing under marine guard, he asked:

“How came Mr. Pembroke to be in trouble?”

“Attempted treachery,” Darrin responded. “I caught him trying to open the yamen gate to the Chinese rebels.”

Tuthill’s brow darkened.

“Pembroke, I did not think that of you, sir. You have a heavy burden of guilt! You will be taken down to the brig and locked up until I can decide what is to be done in your case, sir.”

After Pembroke had been marched below, to go behind bars, the commander of the gunboat continued, in a low tone to Darrin:

“I am afraid not much of anything can be done with him. He is a British subject, I suppose, and guilty of an offense committed on Chinese soil. The most that I can do will be to keep him locked up until to-morrow, and then turn him loose. Perhaps the Chinese will take care of him. The ladies are waiting in the wardroom to thank Dalzell and yourself. You had both better go inside.”

“I’d rather face the Chinese again,” laughed Dan, “than have to stand and be thanked by a lot of women.”

An hour later the ladies were established for the night, several of the officers’ quarters having been given over to them. The American missionaries and civilians, like the sailors, were obliged to sleep in hammocks.

Just as Dave was seeking a mattress on the floor of the wardroom Surgeon Oliver hurried in. “Darrin,” began the medical man, “did you know that Pembroke was badly hurt?”

“By the blow I gave him on the head?” queried the young ensign, wheeling.

“No, though that was quite bad enough. A stray bullet hit the fellow in the side, and he bound it up as best he could. He tells me that the shot hit him before you struck him down—perhaps an hour earlier.”

“If I had known that,” murmured Darrin, “he would have had somewhat softer handling.”

“Pembroke is really in a bad way,” continued the surgeon. “I have had him removed from the brig to the sick-bay, and have put a hospital attendant on watch over him to-night.”

“Is he going to die?” asked Ensign Darrin.

“Can’t say; I think not. But what brought me here is the fact that Pembroke asked if he might see you.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly.”

Dave was tired out. Danny Grin was already sound asleep on a mattress on the floor. Darrin had been yawning heavily, but now the call of humanity appealed to him.

“I’ll go with you, Doctor,” Dave added, and followed the surgeon.

In a bunk down in the sick bay Pembroke tossed uneasily, his face a bright red.

“Here is Mr. Darrin, Pembroke,” announced the medical officer.

“You’ll think I had a jolly large amount of nerve to send for you,” murmured the stricken man, holding out a hand. Under the circumstances Darrin did not hesitate to take the hand.

“Sit down, won’t you?” begged Pembroke, and Dave occupied a stool alongside.

“I felt that I ought to see you,” Pembroke went on. “Sawbones tells me I have plenty of chance to pull through, but I’m not so sure about that. If my carcass is to be heaved over in canvas, with a solid shot for weight, I want to go as clean as I can. So I want to tell you a few things about myself, Mr. Darrin. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I shall be glad to hear whatever you have to say to me,” Dave replied.

“You look jolly well tired out,” observed the stricken man, “so I won’t detain you long. To-night you accused me of being a scoundrel, and you had the goods on me. There can be no doubt about my being crooked, and I may as well admit it.”

“Then you are really Rogers, instead of Pembroke?” Dave asked.

“I’ve used both names, but neither belongs to me. I have had so many names in my day that I barely remember my right one, which I’m not going to tell you, anyway. I came of decent people, and some of them are left. I’m not going to disgrace them. Darrin, I expect that I’m going to die, and I’m going to try to do it like a man—the first manly thing I’ve done in years. If I wanted to live at all now, it would be that I might stand and take my punishment for my connection with this Nu-ping affair.”

“I don’t believe that you could be punished for that by Americans,” Dave went on. “You are a British subject, and your offense was committed on Chinese soil.”

“I’m about as English as you are,” returned Pembroke. “If I were a Britisher, and any good I’d been serving my country, right now, in France. I was born on the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. Out of decency I’m not going to name my birth state. At times, when it suited better, I’ve been an Englishman as a matter of convenience. But what I want to tell you about, especially, Darrin, is my connection with this Nu-ping business.”

“Did that connection begin back in Manila?” Darrin asked.

“In Nu-ping first, but there was a Manila end. It won’t take long to tell the story. I—”

In an instant a deadly pallor appeared in the stricken man’s face. Then he lay silent.

“Doctor, I think Pembroke has gone,” said Dave quietly, as he stepped over to the surgeon who was bent over another cot.