Captain Jinks, Hero by Ernest Howard Crosby (story read aloud txt) 📕

“Let’s go in and pay them a call,” said Cleary.

They entered, and passing into a back room found a woman nursing a man who had evidently been recently shot in the side. She shrank from them with terror as they entered, and made no answer to their request for information. As they passed out they met a young native coming in, and they asked him what it meant.

“Some Frank soldiers shot him because he could not give them money. It had all been stolen already,” said the lad in pigeon English.

“But the placard says they are loyal people,” said Cleary.

“What difference does that make to them?” was the reply.

Farther on in a lonely part of the town they heard cries issuing from the upper window of a house. They were the cries of women, mingled with oaths of men in the Frank language. Suddenly two women jumped out of the window, one after the other, and fell in a bruised mass in the street. Sam and Cleary approached them and saw that they had received a mortal hurt. They were ladies, handsomely dressed. The first impulse of Sam and Cleary was to take charge of them, but seeing two natives approach, they called their attention to the case and walked away.

“I suppose it’s best not to get mixed up with the affairs of the other armies,” said Sam.

The quarter assigned to the Tutonians they were surprised to find quite deserted by the inhabitants.

“I tell you, those Tutonians know their business,” said Sam. “They won’t stand any fooling. Just see how they have established peace! We have a lot to learn from them.”

They saw a crowd collected in one place.

“What is it?” asked Sam of a soldier.

“They’re going to shoot thirty of these damned coolies for jostling soldiers in the street,” he answered.

Sam regretted that they had no time to wait and see the execution.

As they reentered their own quarter they saw a number of carts loaded down with all sorts of valuable household effects driven along. They asked one of the native drivers what they were doing, and he replied in pigeon English that they were collecting loot for the Rev. Dr. Amen. Farther on some of their own soldiers were conducting an auction of handsome vases and carved ornaments. Sam watched the sale for a few minutes, and bought in one or two beautiful objects for a song for Marian.

“Where did they get all this stuff?” he asked of a lieutenant.

“Oh, anywhere. Some of it from the houses of foreign residents even. But we don’t understand the game as well as old Amen. He’s a corker. He’s grabbed the house of one of his old native enemies here, an awfully rich chap, and sold him out, and now he’s got his converts cleaning out a whole ward. He’s collected a big fine for every convert killed and so much extra for every dollar stolen, and he’s going to use it all for the propagation of the Gospel. He’s as good as a Tutonian, he is.”

“I’m glad we have such a man to represent our faith,” said Sam.

“He’s pretty hard on General Taffy, though,” said the lieutenant. “He says we ought to have the Tutonian mailed fist. Taffy is much too soft, he thinks.”

Sam bit his lips. He could not criticize his superior officer before a subaltern, but he was tempted to.

On reaching headquarters Sam found that he was to take charge of a punitive expedition in the North, whose chief object was to be the destruction of native temples, for the purpose of giving the inhabitants a lesson. He was to have command of his own regiment, two companies of cavalry, and a field-battery. They were to set out in two days. He spent the intermediate time in completing the preparations, which had been well under way before his arrival, and in studying the map. No one knew how much opposition he might expect.

It was early in the morning on a hot summer day that the expedition left the Capital. Sam was mounted on a fine bay stallion, and felt that he was entirely in his element.

“What camp is that over there on the left?” he asked his orderly.

“That’s the Anglian camp, sir.”

“Are you sure. I can’t see their colors. They must have moved their camp.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure. I passed near there last night and I saw half-a-dozen of the men blacking their officers’ boots and singing, ‘Britons, Britons, never will be slaves!’ It must be a tough job too, sir, for everybody’s boots are covered with blood. The gutters are running with it.”

“I wish we had them with us today,” said Sam. “They have done such a lot of burning in South Africa that they could show us the best way.”

“Yes, sir. But then temple-burning is finer work than burning farmhouses, sir.”

“That is true,” said Sam.

Before night they had visited three deserted towns and burned down the temple in each with its accompanying pagoda. There is something in the hearts of men that responds to great conflagrations, and the whole force soon got into the spirit of it and burned everything they came across. Sam enjoyed himself to the full. His only regret was that there was no enemy to overcome. They camped out at night and continued the same work for several days, all the natives fleeing as soon as they came in sight. At last they reached the famous white temple of Pu-Sing, which was the chief object of religious devotion in the whole province. This was to be absolutely destroyed, notwithstanding its great artistic beauty, and then they were to return to the city in triumph. As they drew near to the building two or three shots were fired from it, and one soldier was wounded in the arm. The usual cursing began, and the men were restive to get at the Porsslanese garrison. Sam ordered the infantry to fire a volley, and