Dave Darrin on the Asiatic Station. Or, Winning Lieutenants' Commissions on the Admiral's Flagship. Hancock Harrie Irving

Englishman’s face changed expression.

      “Not – ” he stammered. “Not the – ”

      “For the Nung-kiang River,” replied the executive officer.

      Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell were the only ones present who caught the strange, fleeting look that passed over the face of Pembroke.

      “Why can this Englishman object to our going to the Nung-kiang River?” Ensign Darrin wondered. “What interest can he take in any mission of ours there?”

      CHAPTER IV – THE LANDING PARTY AT NU-PING

      “That ought to hold the pirates for a little while,” declared Danny Grin, his good-natured face looking unusually grim.

      “I think it will,” replied Dave, halting before his cabin door. “Dan Dalzell, if my face is as dirty as yours I shouldn’t care to walk up Main Street in my native town.”

      “Go in and look at yourself,” scoffed Dalzell.

      “It’s fully as dirty,” called Dave, from the interior of his cabin, surveying himself in the glass.

      But it was as honorable dirt as any man may have on his face – the grime of powder-smoke as it blew back when the gunboat’s five-inch guns had been swung open at the breech.

      For the “Castoga,” intercepted by wireless on the way to the Nung-kiang, had been sent to Hong Kong by an official order from Washington. The threatened troubles along the Nung-kiang had quieted down to such an extent that cautious officials in Washington dreaded lest Chinese sensibilities should be wounded by the sending of a gunboat up the river.

      So, day after day, the “Castoga” had lain in the mountain-bordered harbor at Hong Kong.

      Then came the word one day that the Chinese rebels in the district around the city of Nu-ping, on the Nung-kiang River, had again become troublesome, and that the American mission buildings at Nu-ping were threatened. The “Castoga” had been ordered to proceed at full speed, she being the nearest craft of a draft light enough to ascend the river.

      During the last hours of darkness the gunboat had steamed up the river, all eyes on board turned toward the sinister red glow that lighted the sky above the Chinese city, capital of a province.

      Just before daylight the gunboat dropped anchor with every man and officer at quarters.

      From shore came the sound of rifle shots, a wild pandemonium of yells, as thousands of raging Chinese surged upon the mission buildings, to which fire had already been set, and from which the American missionaries and their families, aided by the white residents of Nu-ping, were making the only resistance that lay within their power.

      The first note of cheer that came to the missionaries and their friends was the whistle of the gunboat, sounding clearly when still two miles distant. Then the lights of the fighting craft came into sight.

      For a few minutes after coming to anchor, the commander of the “Castoga” was forced to wait for sufficient daylight to enable him to distinguish accurately between friend and foe.

      At the side of the gunboat a launch and four cutters waited, to carry a landing party, if the sending ashore of men should prove to be necessary. Anxiously, using his night glasses every minute, the American commander paced the deck and listened.

      Then, when there was barely enough light, word was telephoned to the division officers to begin action.

      Boom! spoke the first gun from the gunboat. Other shots followed rapidly.

      In the compound before the burning mission buildings was a mass of yellow fiends, crowding, yelling and shooting. From the windows of such portions of the burning buildings as were still tenable American rifle fire was poured into the mob.

      That first shell, landing among the yellow fiends, killed more than twenty Mongols, wounded others, and drove the attackers out of the compound.

      Boom! Bang! Other shells flew through the air, clearing away the rabble further back.

      From the mission buildings, a quarter of a mile away, went up a wild cheer of hope.

      But the attacking rabble, despite the first shell fire, came back, inviting further punishment.

      Again the gunboat’s five-inch guns roared out. There was now sufficient light to enable the American gunners to make out the locations of the mob.

      At least thirty shells were fired ere the rebels beat a retreat beyond the confines of Nu-ping.

      It was time to stop firing, for some of the American shells had set fire to Chinese dwellings and business buildings.