Chapter XIX Cummins Captures One Gun Hill
Cummins will Take the Risk—A Landing-Party—Glover Lands as A.D.C.—A Night Landing—Climbing Up-hill—We Rush the Hilltop—The First Mistake—Preparations for Defence—We are Discovered
When the dinghy with Commander Cummins, Glover, and the petty officer Jones had disappeared into the gloom, “No. 3” went back to her usual position for the night.
As dawn was breaking Mr. Parker brought her back opposite the forts, and waited with steam raised for full speed, in order to dash off out of range directly the Commander returned from spying out the forts. As the shadowy, indistinct outlines of the island became clearer, and the low-lying rocks at the entrance gradually took on a definite shape, he and Collins looked anxiously for the return of the dinghy, but could see no sign of it whatever.
He still maintained his position in the hope that the Commander was lurking behind some rock, and therefore was invisible from the destroyer, until the light gradually became so strong that he was himself able to localize the positions of most of the guns, and almost immediately afterwards knew by the running to and fro, and the shouting of men in the batteries, that “No. 3” had been observed from the two forts.
With his hand on the engine-room telegraph, Parker waited in the most keen suspense, and it was not till the forts opened fire and twice nearly struck “No. 3” that he recognized the uselessness of remaining where he was, and the imminent risk of being sunk, rang for “full speed ahead”, and darted out of danger.
It was these shots which the Commander and Glover had heard from the rocky ledge inside the harbour.
To remain anywhere near the entrance was impossible, and Parker knew that the dinghy itself dare not put off from land in daylight, so, trusting that the Commander would find means of concealing himself during the day and of escaping next night, he had steamed to the rendezvous and reported the events of the night to Captain Helston.
Helston’s discomfiture was great, and his mind all the more perturbed, because on Cummins he now undisguisedly relied for the successful termination of his schemes, and, in his absence, was unable to suggest any course of immediate action.
Nothing was done, though the squadron, as may be imagined, kept anxious eyes on the entrance to the harbour during the whole day, and vainly hoped to see the little black dinghy shoot out from the land, standing by, with guns trained on the forts, to open fire and cover its escape.
With feelings of the greatest anxiety, anxiety shared by every officer and man in the squadron, the bigger ships drew off again at night and left the two destroyers to return inshore, with extra injunctions to keep a good look-out.
The relief next morning when “No. 3” joined the rendezvous, towing the two pirate boats and signalling that she had the Commander’s party on board uninjured, was therefore very great, and when the Commander steamed alongside the Laird in the captured steam-boat, her crew, scenting some extraordinary adventure, broke into cheers as the little man complacently climbed the accommodation-ladder and reported himself to Captain Helston, who was nervously awaiting him on the quarterdeck.
They went down below immediately, whilst officers and men crowded round the after gangway and along the side to get a view of the steam-boat—the first trophy they had won from the pirates—and to ask rapid questions from the blue-jackets of “No. 3”, who now formed her crew.
“We don’t know nothing about it,” said the temporary coxswain. “We sees a flare, they having thrown oil on the fires, and turns our search-light on ’em, and in a few minutes alongside she comes as cool as you please—the Commander working the engines ’imself, Mr. Glover adoing stoker, an’ Pat Jones a-steering of ’er, with a boat be’ind ’em chock-full o’ ’arf-dead Chinamen.”
“What has become of the dinghy?” somebody asked.
“It ain’t come back, that’s all we knows, an’ ever since we’ve been bobbing about in this ’ere craft on our lonesome.”
Meanwhile, down in the Captain’s cabin, Cummins was giving an account of all that had happened since he had left the Laird. Helston’s face dropped when he mentioned the 12-inch gun mounted on the hilltop, but the Commander with a decisive gesture and a glitter in his eyes said: “That is the key of the whole island, sir, and I’m going to capture it to-morrow morning if you will let me. After getting back to ‘No. 3’ I took a short rest, and, an hour before sunrise this morning, put a crew into the steam-boat, saw that they had plenty of coal and water, left them in charge of the other boat we had captured, and went round in ‘No. 3’ to the south of the island, to the foot of the hill. The sea was quite calm, and I went inshore in a Berthon boat, discovered a place where I can land, waited till there was enough light for me to make certain that it was possible to scale the hill-slopes, and then came away again, without, as far as I know, being seen. I steamed back, picked up the steam-boat and joined you. That is the reason why I am rather late at the rendezvous. If you give me fifty men, sir, I will scramble up and capture that gun without firing a shot.
“Risk, sir!” he continued as he saw indecision and doubt in Helston’s face; “there are no risks. At the worst I can but destroy the gun and come back. At the best I can maintain myself there till you can reinforce me, and then we have the whole island at our mercy. These Chinese are not soldiers, sir, they are mere coolies, and will never face us. The men on board the ships are probably not much better.”
Cummins with all his skill had made two mistakes. The gun, as you will learn later, did not effectively command the whole harbour, and the coolies were not by any means to be despised.
The Commander had all his plans cut and dried. Fifty men, with two days’ rations in their haversacks, were to go aboard “No. 3” at sunset. Two hours before sunrise next morning he would land them at the foot of the hill, scramble up, and rush the gun. During this time “No. 2” was to demonstrate in front of the entrance, play her search-light on the forts, fire her guns, and distract their attention.
At daybreak the Sylvia was to be close in under the foot of the hill and be prepared to land another fifty men from the Strong Arm, with the Sylvia’s two Maxim guns, plenty of ammunition, water, and provisions.
If the first party did not succeed in capturing the gun, or, after having captured it, could not maintain their ground, Cummins would fall back under cover of the guns of the Sylvia and “No. 3”, destroying the big Chinese gun, if possible, before he left.
If, however, he found himself able to maintain his position on the top of the hill, he would signal for the Strong Arm’s party to land.
“Once get that gun to bear on their ships and we shall drive them out to you, sir,” he concluded, “and I have no fear of the result then.”
“With a hundred men away,” answered Helston doubtfully, “it may not be so easy.”
“I shall take the marines, sir; none of the big guns are manned by them, either on board here or on board the Strong Arm. You know they have complained often enough about that; but I have always had this eventuality in my mind, and they will, therefore, not be so much missed in a general action.”
Helston paced nervously up and down his cabin. “What will happen if the weather breaks?”
“It all depends on the weather, sir, I allow that, but such a risk one must face, and personally I am prepared to face it. Remember that you have but a month to capture this island.”
“I know it, Cummins, I know it,” replied Helston; and then turning suddenly with some of his old fire and animation said, “I tell you what, I’ll go myself.”
This was the last thing in the world that Cummins wanted.
“There’ll be a lot of climbing, sir, and with your disabled arm you will be extremely handicapped; and when I drive these fellows out to sea your place will be aboard your ship in command of your squadron.”
“Yes, yes, you are right; you always are, for the matter of that,” he added bitterly, and his voice rising as the excitement of coming action elated him. “We shall both get our promotion. I promise you that if I get mine you shall have yours.”
Lowering his voice he added, “You said the other day, Cummins, that there was not much chance of winning a wife here. I don’t talk about these things, but my promotion would win me a wife.”
“I think mine would also, sir—I pray it would,” answered Cummins in a grave voice. Both men shook hands for a moment—dropped them—Cummins stuffed his into his pockets—both looked foolish.
“By the way, sir,” stammered the Commander confusedly, “I never told you that one of these prisoners was dead when we took him out of the boat last night. It was the man Jones caught around the neck. I rather fancy young Glover, in gagging him, stuffed grass down his throat. We dropped him overboard. Glover does not know the real cause.”
“Better not tell him,” said Helston.
Jenkins interrupted further conversation by announcing breakfast.
The news that a party was to be landed quickly spread through the squadron, and there was intense excitement on the lower deck and the most extraordinary rumours. The yarn spread that the Commander, Glover, and Jones had cut their way through the whole of the pirates, disabled the guns in the forts, killed any number of men (sometimes as few as ten were mentioned), and after running the most awful perils had captured the steam-boat from alongside the Hong Lu and brought her and a host of prisoners out under fire. When they knew that the Commander himself was going in charge of the party, every man and boy wanted to go with him, and every few minutes men would knock at his cabin door and say, scratching their heads and shuffling their feet uneasily, “Please, sir, begging your pardon, sir, but I’d be much obliged if you’d give me a chance ashore, sir.”
All day long the equipment of the party was being prepared, rations stowed, water-bottles and water-breakers filled, leather gear fitted, pouches filled with ammunition, and the thousand and one requirements of a landing-party carefully arranged.
During the forenoon the Commander, accompanied by A Tsi, had gone across to “No. 3” and interviewed the prisoner.
From the sentry whom he had knocked on the head (he had not throttled him as had Jones his man) he learnt that a broad path ran right along the crest of the hill and led straight towards the gun. As far as the man knew—and he seemed quite willing to tell all he knew—there were no earthworks round the gun, and no guard was left there at night.
Before he went back to the Laird he asked Glover if he would care to land with him as his “doggy”, as they call a commander’s A.D.C. in the navy.
“Ra—ther,” said Glover, dancing with joy, and went joyfully back with him to the Laird to make preparations, and only too delighted to be able to relate to his chums his adventures of the last twenty-four hours.
Later in the day he could be seen, surrounded by his admiring and envious mess-mates, wriggling from side to side to get glimpses of himself in the broken remnants of the looking-glass in his sea-chest cover.
He had his haversack, water-bottle, and field-glasses slung from one shoulder, a rolled-up blanket went round the other, a revolver holster hung from his cartridge-belt, and a carefully sharpened cutlass (in place of a dirk) was at his side.
Quite a formidable object he looked, and he admired what he could see of himself immensely.
Two things marred his perfect happiness. One was, that neither Mellins nor Toddles was going to land; the other was, that he had to leave behind the greater part of his home-made cake.
“An ill wind that blows nobody any good,” said Mellins gloomily, as he transferred the remainder to his own chest.
Directly it was dark the landing-party “fell in” on the quarter-deck. Helston made them a little speech, and then they were sent across to “No. 3”, the rest of the ship’s company crowding aft to see them over the side and wish them luck. Helston did not like the look of the weather, and said so; Cummins did not either, but kept that to himself, and only wanted to get away from the ship before orders were countermanded. For once he was as nervous as a woman. Directly, however, “No. 3” steamed away in the dark and had lost touch with the Flag-ship, all fear and anxiety left him, and he could have whooped for joy.
He called the men aft, said a few words to them, explained exactly what he wanted them to do, and finished by saying: “You have ten hours to get through aboard here. Sleep, boys, sleep all you can; you’ll want it before you’ve finished.”
But the marines were all young men—most of them Cockneys; not one had ever been under fire before, and the prospects of a fight at daybreak made sleep impossible for them. In little groups they lay down wherever they could find shelter from the cold night wind, smoking their pipes and talking with subdued excitement.
The officers lay on the ward-room deck and tried to sleep, but even they failed to do so.
Cummins himself was on deck practically the whole night, for the sun had set behind a very angry-looking bank of clouds, and the breeze showed signs of increasing and veering to the south.
A strong southerly breeze would make it almost impossible to land on the southern shore of the island, and it was this tendency of the wind to veer to the south’ard which gave him so much anxiety.
At two o’clock in the morning it was blowing quite fresh from the south-west. It was raining very heavily, with strong gusts of wind, and the outlook was most unpromising.
Parker, in dripping oil-skins, reported the barometer still falling, and for a while Cummins almost decided to abandon the enterprise.
Fortunately the wind, an hour later, went right round to the north-west, the stars came fitfully out, and a young moon, in the intervals of drifting clouds, gave light enough to see occasionally the outlines of the island.
“Carry on, Parker, the elements are with us,” chuckled the Commander.
“They won’t be for long, sir; the glass is still falling.”
The engine-room telegraph clanged down below, the sleepy artificer answered back, “No. 3” slowly forged ahead with two of the Laird’s cutters in tow, and the marines, starting to life with the movement of the engines, knew that their hour for action was approaching.
An hour later “No. 3” had steamed round to the south of the island and stopped her engines in the shadow of the big hill whose shoulder and flattened top loomed darkly above her, outlined against a faint moon.
A strong, cold breeze blew down its slopes, but the sea was only gently ruffled by it.
The first to land in the black shadows at its foot were the Commander, Glover, and two signalmen in one of the Berthon boats. With little danger or difficulty they reached the shore and jumped to land as the boat tore her bottom out against the rocky beach.
A few minutes were spent in hurriedly choosing a more suitable landing-place, and then the spot was marked by a signal lantern placed at the water’s edge behind a great rock, so that its light could not be seen from shore.
This was the signal for the rest of the party to land, and in a few minutes they heard the regular beat of oars, and the two cutters, appearing out of the dark, grated up the beach. The men with their rifles slung over their shoulders began hastily jumping ashore.
“Keep your feet dry, men, and don’t hurry,” said Cummins, as he saw them jumping into the water in their excitement to be the first ashore.
The boats were hauled out of the water and then the order was given to “fall in”. They “fell in” in three little detachments—twenty Royal Marine Light Infantry under their subaltern, a huge, jovial giant named Saunderson; ten blue-jackets under Pattison, the late skipper of destroyer “No. 1”, who to his great joy had been taken out of the Sylvia and given another chance; and twenty Royal Marine Artillery under their captain, Williams, a famous cricketer and Rugby player. These artillery or Blue Marines had to bring up the rear. The light infantry or Red Marines had to lead the party.
The blue-jackets consisted of six seamen gunners, two armourers with tools to disable or repair the 12-inch gun, and two torpedo men with explosives to destroy it if necessary. Besides these fifty men and their officers there were two signalmen, Richardson, the “young doctor” of the Laird, a sick-berth steward, Glover, and the Commander.
Half the men carried axes, half Wallace entrenching spades, and every six men had a nine-gallon water-breaker to carry up between them.
Cummins went slowly from one group to another as they stood at the foot of that hill casting hurried glances upwards, and told them that it was two hours before sunrise, that they had two hours to get to the top, that there was to be no hurry, and that not a word was to be spoken.
“You have to keep together, men. If any man loses touch with the rest, make uphill; he can’t go wrong.”
In single file, one after another, Cummins going first, Glover sticking to him like a leech, and the two signalmen close behind, they began to clamber up, hauling themselves hand over hand, forcing their way through bushes, and always keeping upward.
It was slow work, and Cummins halted, whenever a clear spot was reached, to enable stragglers to close up. At the first halt, a quarter of an hour after the start, the little party was silently mustered. All were present, fifty-three men and six officers.
There had been a great deal of noise of breaking bushes, falling stones, and muttered oaths, but the shrieking of the wind among the trees effectually drowned it.
Presently Cummins found himself faced by an almost perpendicular cliff and called another halt. Ten minutes—it seemed like hours—went by before he found a way up, and the little column, bending to the left, struggled on again.
Now the ground became more open, covered with coarse grass up to the knees and dotted with stunted trees. Progress was more rapid.
A pheasant disturbed from sleep flew off with a “whr! whr!” which made the men’s hearts leap to their mouths. Occasionally a frightened wood-pigeon darted from his roosting-place. Most scaring these noises were in the pitch darkness.
Faintly, at intervals, they could now hear the dull sound of distant firing, sometimes fast and furious, dropping again to a few single shots at long intervals, then recurring with renewed vigour. It was Lang in “No. 2” demonstrating outside the entrance and drawing the attention of the forts. These were replying savagely.
Not a sound came from above except the soughing of the cold wind.
At the next halt two marines were missing. One rejoined, bruised from a fall, but they could not wait for the second. “Who is he?” was whispered along the line. “Bolton, a Blue Marine,” was passed back from the rear.
At the end of the first hour he was the only man missing. Some of the water in the breakers had been spilt, a helmet or two knocked off and lost in the darkness—that was all.
Another half-hour of slowly pushing upwards—men were breathing hard and panting; another halt was called.
A blue-jacket had sprained his ankle, and after a hurried examination by Dr. Richardson, two men were told off to assist him. Rifle straps were eased, water-breakers changed hands, and leather gear adjusted.
Looking downwards towards the sea Cummins saw the first faint glimmer of approaching dawn—far away in the east. They must push on. Bending again to the left to keep in more open ground, they still steadily pressed upwards.
Another halt; and the wind, lashing more savagely through the trees, drowned any noise, and told them that now they were reaching the crest of the hill.
Cummins went cautiously forward to reconnoitre, and reappeared, Glover panting with excitement behind him. “I’ve found the path, Saunderson,” he chuckled, and the word was passed to move on again.
Four men were now missing besides Gunner Bolton, but there was no time to wait; already objects were becoming more visible, and daylight was fast approaching.
In another two minutes they were in the open, on a broad, well-beaten track, and a subdued “Oh! oh!” of excitement ran along the men.
The column pressed on rapidly, turning to the right uphill, and walking in the grass at the side of the path to make less noise. Every moment the men expected to be fired upon, and were already beginning to unsling their rifles as their excitement and nervousness increased.
As they turned a corner an angry gust of wind, blowing up from the harbour below, dashed cold rain in their faces—still not a sound in front except the weird noises of the wind as it swept through the trees.
Some of the youngsters were beginning to get “jumpy”, and one or two began loading their rifles without orders.
Cummins caught the sound of a breech-block closing (the rifles were Martinis, not Lee-Metfords), guessed what was happening, and knew that someone would let off a rifle and give the whole “show” away.
He halted at once, sent Glover back with orders for every man’s rifle to be examined, and for the name of every man, found with a cartridge in his rifle, to be taken.
This took time, but steadied the men, and whilst it was being done Cummins crept forward, followed by Glover, and a blurred, indistinct mass he had seen in front of him gradually shaped itself into a clump of trees. The path dropped slightly in front of him, ran across an open space, and then rose abruptly towards the trees.
“Our gun is up there,” whispered the Commander joyously, and lay down, coolly munching a stalk of grass, his supply of toothpicks having failed him, and tried to make out whether there was any sign of life under the trees.
As they lay there another gust of wind carried up from the harbour the clattering noise of beating gongs. “Eh, boy! that’s the second time we’ve heard that noise,” he chuckled. “Run back and bring up the men. We are not a hundred yards from the gun.”
As the men came up they were rapidly extended from left to right.
“Fix bayonets, men; not a sound—no cheering—no shooting,” the order went in whispers from man to man.
The subdued rattle of fixing bayonets ran along the line, and Glover afterwards said it gave him the “shivers” to hear it.
He was lying watching the Commander, and thought he would never give the order to charge.
He could see the indistinct outline of the gun among the trees covered with a huge tarpaulin, and just then somebody near him whispered, “There are people moving about there, sir,” and he could actually feel the men bracing themselves for a rush.
At last the Commander was “up”, and trotting down the slope with a bit of grass between his teeth. Glover followed, vainly trying to draw his cutlass. The men sprang after them, breasted the rise, swept over some level ground, and with a final rush leaped over a parapet of sand-bags, swarmed around the gun, and found—Gunner Bolton doing “sentry-go” backwards and forwards in rear of the gun! There was not a Chinaman to be seen.
Some of the men simply sat down and laughed, others, furious, cried out that “They’d been jolly well had,” and that “Gunner Bolton ’ad made fools of ’em all, ’e ’ad,” and that “They would jolly well knock ’is blooming ’ead off, that they would, next general-leave day.”
“Fall in, men,” sang out the Commander, with a twinkle in his eye. “You shall have plenty of fighting presently.”
Then he sent them back for the water-breakers and armourers’ stores which they had dropped when fixing bayonets, whilst he and Williams, the captain of marines, took a rapid survey of the position, and Pattison and his blue-jackets commenced to overhaul the gun.
The top of the hill was flattened out into a little plateau about a hundred yards long, sloping gently towards the harbour and then falling abruptly into the steep side of the hill with a quite well-defined edge. It had its back to the sea and was facing the harbour.
At the east end, the end nearest to the entrance channel, and in the corner overlooking the sea, was the gun, an obsolete 12-inch Krupp, mounted in a deep circular pit, and poking its muzzle over a wall of sand-bags ten or twelve feet thick and about six feet high.
A little cluster of stunted trees hid the gun from view out at sea. Their trunks had already been half sawn through in preparation for felling them, and a few more strokes of the axe would bring them down.
The first thing to be done was to ascertain whether the gun could be made ready for service, as otherwise it was useless to remain there.
Already Pattison and his men had hauled away the tarpaulin covering its massive breech, and were rapidly examining the mounting and training gear.
“Rough and clumsy, sir, but we shall be able to train her round all right,” he reported.
Magazines had been tunnelled out through the side of the gun-pit down into the ground, and the doors were closed with padlocks. These were wrenched off, and Pattison reported plenty of ammunition. In a corner he found boxes of friction-tubes and fuses.
His men also found the ropes and blocks to be used in training the gun. They were brought out, made fast to the great gun-carriage at one end and to huge steel rings sunk in the concrete foundations at the other, a dozen sturdy Blue Marines “clapped on” to the ropes, and with Cummins standing on the sighting-platform the ponderous mass was slowly, and with many jerks, trained across the harbour.
It was then that the Commander realized his first mistake.
From that sighting-platform he could look down towards the sea, but the other edge of the plateau shut out all view of the harbour. It was now light enough for him to make out “No. 3” below him, but, looking inland, the flat top of the hill prevented him from seeing anything except the high land on the opposite side of the island, across the harbour.
His calculations had been made from that ledge of rock on which he, Glover, and Jones had hidden all the previous day. He had forgotten that they were then sixty or more feet above the harbour level, and had not dreamt that from the water’s edge the gun itself was not visible.
To destroy the gun and get back to the Laird was his first thought, and he called for Pattison to jump up with him.
Pattison’s face dropped as he, too, saw that fifty yards of hilltop were in between him and the pirate ships he had hoped to sink.
Suddenly Cummins turned to him with a suggestion. “How about half-charges—eh? A pinch of powder will ‘flop’ them down there—eh?”
“We might try, sir.”
“They won’t be very accurate at first, Pattison, but we’ll improve—eh?”
“Right you are, sir, I’ll manage that.”
“We’ll ferret them out before the day is over,” he chuckled again, and looking down behind him he saw the Sylvia looming in towards the shore.
“For once Bannerman is up to time. We’ll have the Strong Arm’s up here in a couple of hours or so.”
He sent the signalmen down the hill to communicate with the Sylvia and to order the second party to land immediately, and then he and Williams made plans for placing the top of the hill in some state of defence.
“We shall have them round us like flies when once they find us sitting up here,” Cummins said.
Fortunately for them, the enemy had evidently intended to mount a second gun, had indeed already marked out the site for its gun-pit, and had prepared hundreds of sand-bags to defend it. These lay scattered in heaps on the plateau, and were now used for making breastworks.
Williams and Saunderson hurriedly marked out the positions in which they were to be built, and the marines, piling arms, and stacking their greatcoats and blankets in a heap, “set to” with a will to haul the sand-bags over to the edges.
“Safer to send some men out in the long field, I think, sir,” said Captain Williams, the cricketer, and ordered his taciturn sergeant-major—a martinet named Haig—to select two of the older men as sentries and place them, one along the path the column had just followed, and another down the face of the hill, on the zigzag path up which the Commander and Glover had seen the coolies carrying ammunition.
“‘Square leg’ and ’long on’—eh?” chuckled the Commander.
“Yes, sir, I think they will be enough for the present.”
The first breast-work was to be built at the narrow end of the plateau farthest from the gun-pit.
It commanded the crest of the hill over which the little party had made its final rush, and the path they had followed ran along this ridge, dipping down for two hundred yards, and then rising steeply to the bush-covered knoll, on top of which they had extended and fixed bayonets.
One of Sergeant Haig’s sentries (Williams’s “square leg” man) was already standing in the gap made by the path as it disappeared into the dense bushes, and it was evident that an attacking force could take splendid cover there, and could sweep the greater part of the plateau with rifle fire.
This breast-work was therefore built right across the narrow end of the plateau, sand-bag was piled on sandbag till it was nearly three feet high, and as the men had hauled some great logs of timber across from the gun-pit to strengthen it, they called it eventually the “Log Redoubt”, making loopholes in it for their rifles.
The bush-covered knoll in front of them they named “Bush Hill”, and few will ever forget it.
Some of the men dragged sand-bags to the edge of the plateau, overlooking the harbour, to form two low breast-works, one on each side of the zig-zag path, as it led up to the gun-pit.
For twenty yards in front of these two breast-works the steep hillside was bare, but below this the whole hill down to the pirate village, which they could see at the bottom gradually becoming distinct as daylight increased, was covered with small trees and dense brushwood, through which the zigzag path wound its way upwards.
Men lying behind these sand-bags were somewhat protected by the Log Redoubt from rifle fire from Bush Hill, so Williams contented himself with raising them only two sand-bags high.
These being roughly completed, more sand-bags were dragged to the opposite end of the plateau, and a little redoubt constructed fifty yards beyond the gun-pit. From here fire could be directed along the farther ridges, which were devoid of cover and sloped steadily downwards, and also down both the harbour and sea slopes of the hill.
Sergeant Haig and nine Blue Marines were given charge of this work, and so it was known as “Haig’s Redoubt”.
Saunderson and his twenty Red Marines were told off to man the harbour breast-works, and Williams and his remaining ten Marine Artillerymen were to hold the Log Redoubt.
Every man was told off to his own special loophole, and each man laid his rifle and greatcoat on the ground behind it, the precious water-breakers were taken into the gun-pit, and the men’s blankets, covered with the gun tarpaulin, were piled to form a little “zareba” in the middle of the plateau.
Meanwhile the signalmen had returned, bringing back two of the stragglers, and reported that the Strong Arm’s party were already landing from the Sylvia.
It was broad daylight now, and presently the remaining two stragglers came into camp, looking very much ashamed of themselves.
For an hour both officers and men had worked like horses, and all this time the cold wind swept up to them the noises of the waking town at their feet—the dull drumming of Chinese gongs and the clanging of the ships’ bells—but nothing else disturbed their work till suddenly the raucous shriek of a steam hooter startled them.
“That is the signal to start work. The coolies will be up here in half an hour,” chuckled the Commander.
“What are you going to do when they do come up?” asked Williams. “If we caught them and prevented them from carrying the news back it would be a good thing. Every few minutes is valuable.”
“All right, Williams, we’ll try.”
Then a signalman reported that the second party had already commenced the ascent, bringing with them the Sylvia’s two Maxim guns.
At the same moment the sentry on the zigzag path below came running up. “Please, sir, there are fifty or sixty natives coming up from the town.”
Cummins ordered everyone to conceal himself. “Don’t any of you move till I sound a whistle.”
Five minutes later they could hear the merry chatter of the coolies as they climbed up towards the gun, and the foremost of them appeared out of the trees in the open path below them. Something made them suspicious; they stopped and pointed upwards, jabbering rapidly. Then a young fool of a marine raised his head to look over the breast-work behind which he was lying, and, in a panic, they all took fright, threw down their tools, and scampered down hill as fast as their legs could carry them.
“Heaps of time,” said Cummins gently; “we’d better go to breakfast. ‘Place your field’ again, Williams,” he chuckled, “and we’d better have a couple of people at ’point’ and ’cover point’ as well—eh?”
Breakfast of ship’s biscuit and corned beef, washed down with a “pull” from the water-bottles, lasted ten minutes, and then everyone set to work again.
Williams suggested that they had better start lopping down the bushes below Saunderson’s two breast-works.
“It would give us a better chance if they tried to rush us, sir.”
“Now, lads,” sang out the Commander, “get your axes and knives and cut down the bushes in front of you—make a clear sweep of them.”
They started hacking and cutting, and in half an hour had cleared three or four yards along their front, when suddenly, bang! went a shell, bursting just below them, and the fragments went shrieking overhead.
Every man “ducked”, then ran back up the slope, seized his rifle, and lay down behind his own breast-work.
“Whew!” whistled the Commander, “that is their game, is it?”