A United States Midshipman in China
Date: 2022-02-23T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: United States. Navy -- Juvenile fiction; China -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: A United States Midshipman in China

Author: Yates Stirling

Illustrator: Ralph L. Boyer

Release date: February 23, 2022 [eBook #67478]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Penn Publishing Company

Credits: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by Cornell University Digital Collections)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A UNITED STATES MIDSHIPMAN IN CHINA ***

IT WAS ROUGHLY SEIZED
FROM HIS HAND

A
UNITED STATES
MIDSHIPMAN
IN CHINA
by
Lt. Com. Yates Stirling Jr. U.S.N.
Author of
“A U.S. Midshipman Afloat”

Illustrated by Ralph L. Boyer

THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
MCMIX

COPYRIGHT
1909 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY

Introduction

Those who have read “A United States Midshipman Afloat” will recall that Philip Perry and his friend, Sydney Monroe, recent graduates of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, had been but a short time in the regular naval service when the battle-ship “Connecticut,” to which they had been assigned, was ordered to a South American port. Here they found a revolution in progress, and it became the duty of the young men to prevent the delivery of certain machine guns and other war material which had been shipped from America to the insurgents. In this they were successful after some stirring adventure on land and sea.

The present book shows the same young officers on a United States gunboat in the Yangtse River at a time when the lives of foreigners in China are in peril. A further account of their experiences in Eastern waters will be found in “A United States Midshipman in the Philippines.” In all of these books the endeavor has been to portray some of the bold enterprises which are all in the day’s work for a naval officer, and to show how our modern navy accomplishes big things in a quiet way.

Contents

I. | An Incident of the River | 9
II. | An Unpleasant Encounter | 21
III. | The Peril at the Mission Gate | 32
IV. | The Embassy to the Viceroy | 44
V. | The Viceroy’s Treachery | 59
VI. | Diplomacy Fails | 72
VII. | Dissensions | 86
VIII. | Ignacio Shows His Hand | 108
IX. | Held as Hostages | 122
X. | A Chinese Prison | 139
XI. | Friends in Need | 152
XII. | A Daring Plan | 167
XIII. | Hopes of Escape | 181
XIV. | The Escape | 194
XV. | An Enemy Silenced | 208
XVI. | Reënforcements | 234
XVII. | Aboard the “Phœnix” | 245
XVIII. | The Start for Ku-Ling | 259
XIX. | The Secret Channel | 274
XX. | Running the Batteries | 288
XXI. | To the Rescue of the Mission | 299
XXII. | The Last Charge | 314
XXIII. | The Forts Surrender | 332
XXIV. | Phil Explains | 345

Illustrations

PAGE
It was Roughly Seized From His Hand | Frontispiece
A Pistol Shot Rang Out | 71
“We Are Your Friends” | 150
He Measured the Strength of His Antagonist | 191
“The Monitors are Actually Here!” | 256
“There is Still a Chance” | 283
The Americans were Struck Dumb | 342

A United States
Midshipman in China

CHAPTER I
AN INCIDENT OF THE RIVER

The United States gunboat “Phœnix” lay at anchor in the swift current of the Yangtse River opposite the Chinese city of Ku-Ling. The surface of the water seemed tranquil, but a closer look over the side of the ship showed to the observer the strength of the muddy flood that swept for thousands of miles through the length of the Chinese Empire, from the far-away snows of the mountains of Tibet onward to the waters of the Pacific Ocean.

Two young midshipmen were standing at the gunboat’s rail in eager conversation. Their eyes were intent upon the scenes on the shore scarce a hundred yards away.

“Oh, there’s Langdon!” exclaimed Philip Perry, the taller of the two lads, as the form of the government pilot, Joseph Langdon, was seen coming from the ward-room companion ladder. “Langdon, have you ever seen this much talked about Chang-Li-Hun?”

“Seen him?” Langdon echoed, approaching the speaker. “I’ve talked with him many a time, and you can take my word for it, there isn’t a man in all China whom I wouldn’t sooner have for my enemy. He’s a past craftsman in oriental subtlety and diplomacy. He rules his own people with a rod of iron, and if an official displeases him, off goes his head in the most approved Chinese fashion.”

Both midshipmen suppressed an unconscious shiver as the American pilot of the Yangtse River illustrated the death of the disgraced official by chopping at his own thick neck with a great sun-tanned, muscular hand.

“Everything looks peaceful enough ashore there now, doesn’t it?” Sydney Monroe, Phil’s friend and classmate, said in a tone of inquiry. “It doesn’t seem as if the foreigners were much in fear of the dangers of Chinese violence. Look!” he exclaimed; “there are European women and even children walking along the streets.”

“That’s the danger in China,” Langdon returned in a troubled voice. “Living in this country is like being on top of a presumably extinct volcano. No one knows when it will break out. Sometimes it comes without the usual rumblings.”

“There must have been some rumblings,” Philip Perry exclaimed, pointing suggestively at the half score of foreign gunboats representing all the European navies.

“Yes,” Langdon answered, “there have been many signs which have greatly alarmed those who have made a study of the Chinese situation. This viceroy has within the last few weeks allowed many insults by his people to foreigners to go unpunished, and will not listen to the appeals of the foreign consuls. The missionaries all over the provinces are in fear of some terrible calamity, and it is through their urgent demands that these war-ships are here.”

“What do the foreigners fear?” Sydney asked, interestedly.

“Fear!” Langdon exclaimed. “Why, almost every kind of torture and death. When once the Chinese are allowed to avenge themselves upon the foreigner there’s no limit to their cruelty.”

“Why can’t we appeal to the Chinese government at Peking to protect foreigners?” Phil asked gravely. “Haven’t we a treaty with China for protection of United States citizens here?”

Langdon gave the lad a withering look, as he replied:

“This viceroy is not letting Peking know what is happening in his provinces. If he succeeds in making the country over which he rules dangerous and unprofitable to foreigners without doing more than kill a few missionaries and ruining foreign trade, Peking will apologize for the deaths and pay an indemnity to the families of those killed and then to sustain him in the eyes of his people decorate him with the Order of the Dragon. But if he goes too far, then Peking, in order to save herself from an invasion of foreign soldiers, will disgrace the viceroy in one of the many ways known best to the Chinese.”

“Here comes the captain now,” Sydney exclaimed as a small white canopied steam launch shoved off from the jetty and stood toward the “Phœnix.”

All three walked toward the gangway to meet Commander Hughes, the captain of the gunboat, who had been ashore to visit his consul and gather the latest news of the much feared uprising among the fanatical natives.

“Well, Webster,” Commander Hughes exclaimed in hearty tones to the executive officer, as he put his foot on the quarter-deck, returning in a precise manner the salutes of the officers standing near. “Keep your guard for the mission ready to land at a moment’s notice. I saw that half-breed Emmons, the oracle of the river. He is non-committal, but I can see he fears trouble. He promised to warn me in plenty of time. Emmons says that the Tartar general, commanding all the soldiers under the viceroy, is not in sympathy with this movement, and if he can urge the viceroy to take steps to suppress it, our presence here may yet be unnecessary.”

After the captain had entered his cabin the two midshipmen turned eagerly upon the pilot.

“Who is this half-breed Emmons the captain speaks of?” Phil demanded.

“Do you see all those launches over there?” the pilot inquired, pointing to the near-by docks where many small vessels were unloading.

“Well, they belong to Emmons,” he added, “and he’s very rich. His mother was a native woman and his father an American merchant skipper. Emmons wears Chinese clothes and to meet him on the street you’d take him for a native. We’re lucky to have Emmons with us, but if the viceroy suspects that he is, he’d enjoy nothing better than to confiscate his property and expel him from the provinces, even if he doesn’t have him executed.”

“Where’s this mission?” Sydney asked gazing searchingly out over the green sloped hills of the country.

Langdon held a pointing finger steadily out to the right of the walled Chinese city.

“About five miles from here,” he said. “It’s built in the middle of an ancient Chinese graveyard and is a thorn in the side of the Chinese. It was erected three years ago, and by order of this same viceroy. No other site could be used. He knew that the Chinese would never rest until they tore the building down. It took nearly two years to build; all the work was done by Christian converts. I don’t blame the captain for feeling uneasy, for in my opinion that mission will be the first point of attack.”

Phil and Sydney were soon after below in their rooms finishing their unpacking; for they had but recently arrived on the station and had joined the gunboat just previous to her leaving Shanghai on her four-hundred mile cruise up the great Chinese river. So interested were they during the day, viewing the shifting scenery, and at night so much of their time had been occupied in standing watch on the gunboat’s bridge, that they had quite forgotten their trunks as yet unpacked in the ward-room passages.

After dinner that evening, while the midshipmen were enjoying the bracing fall air on the quarter-deck, Phil was suddenly summoned to report immediately to the captain.

Receiving Commander Hughes’ instructions to take the steam launch and board each of the foreign gunboats, the midshipman left the cabin to carry out his orders, much elated at the exalted rôle he was playing in the affairs of nations. About an hour later, having visited each of the foreign gunboats and given to their commanding officers his captain’s letters, the launch breasted the swift current of the river on her return to the ship. The coxswain of the launch was steering his boat close to the hulls of the junks moored to the jetty, in order to avoid the strength of the current. The river was silent; no sound could be heard save the whir of the tiny engine and the rush of the tide against the sides of the launch.

As the boat passed within the shadow of a high-sided junk, such as are used by the wealthy Chinese as house-boats, a piercing cry rang out over the quiet water from her deck, directly above Phil’s head; then he heard the sound of a scuffle, followed by the splash of a heavy body in the dark waters astern of the launch. The lad was on his feet in an instant; throwing off his coat, he sprang out on the launch’s rail, ready to go to the assistance of the unfortunate one who had been swallowed up in the treacherous waters. The coxswain had by signal stopped the headway of the launch and all eyes were searching the waters astern: the ripples that closed over the body were visible, while some yards down stream an object floated, all but submerged, rapidly borne away by the hurrying flood.

The lad stood irresolute for the fraction of a second, fear of the treacherous flood tugging at his heart; then overcoming this momentary weakness, he turned to the coxswain beside him:

“Go down to leeward and pick me up,” he ordered, gathering himself together and springing far out into the dark river.

As he struck out boldly sinister stories of the enchanted water surged back to him. He had heard how the suction from the muddy bottom was known to drag to their death even the strongest swimmers: men who had missed their footing while stepping into boats alongside their own ships had disappeared beneath the yellow surface never to rise again. The Chinese superstition was that a dragon lived in the river and that all persons who fell into his home were drawn to the bottom and devoured by the monster.

Phil struggled manfully against these weird fancies, yet he was conscious of the force acting to suck his body down while he exerted all his strength to keep his head above the engulfing waters. The high-sided junks flashed by him as he swam with the current toward the victim struggling despairingly in the embrace of the river dragon. In a few moments his strong strokes had brought him alongside the drowning man. He grasped the man’s clothing and drew him closer, seeking a firmer hold. Avoiding the waving arms, Phil’s hand worked its way along the body until it reached his head, and there his fingers closed about the long braided cue; twisting this around his hand, the lad swam out toward the middle of the river. The Chinaman struggled violently, striving to grasp Phil’s hand. The boy saw with terror that if the Chinaman succeeded they would both drown.

“Be still or I’ll let you go!” he commanded, forgetting in his anxiety that he was talking to a Chinaman, but nevertheless the man quieted down and Phil’s hopes rose.

With the stinging water in his eyes, he gazed about him for the launch; he could scarcely see; the oppressive darkness seemed to be closing in about him. Then out of the night there loomed the sides of many junks, massed in tiers, directly in the path of the current carrying him. This new and terrible danger filled him with despair: even the strongest swimmer could not expect to survive if he were drawn under that wooden wall of vessels; if he were not crushed between their huge hulls he would be forced beneath the surface for so long a time that life would be extinct before he rose again. His one chance was to breast the tide, swimming out from shore in the hope that thus he might clear the outside junk.

The hulls seemed ever closer and the lad’s efforts weaker. The Chinaman was a dead weight upon him; if he abandoned the man he could save himself. Would it not be just? He could not hope to save both himself and the Chinaman, therefore, was he not obeying the first law of nature by abandoning the unfortunate man to his fate? But Phil, even with death staring him in the face, dismissed these unnerving thoughts from his mind. He would save the man or drown in the attempt! As he swam manfully ahead, supporting the fully conscious but terrified Chinaman, and casting anxious glances behind him at the fast approaching menace, his heart was gladdened at the sight of the launch standing in boldly between him and the junks, now but a few dozen yards away. Then he saw the boat turn slowly, painfully, toward him in the grasp of the cruel, relentless current which seemed to sweep her down under the yawning whirlpool. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight. If the launch failed to turn inside the distance she would be swept under the mass of shipping and be capsized; then the brave men who had fearlessly taken this risk to save him would all find a watery grave in the river.

“She can’t make it!” he gasped despairingly.

CHAPTER II
AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER

Phil had ceased to struggle; his doom was too close upon him to hope to escape it. His one chance was the launch. A low cry of joy burst from him as he saw her turn safely under the overhanging bows of the junks and steam swiftly toward him. Yet he knew that all danger had not passed; the current was still sweeping him down while the boat must keep her headway else she would be carried back under the shipping. The launch loomed above him; he saw her anxious crew gathered in the bow ready to grasp the struggling men as they were swept by on the crest of the flood.

He was conscious of strong arms about him, and the next moment he and the rescued Chinaman were safely on board the launch, while she was steaming at full speed for safety away from the treacherous shore.

After the rescued Chinaman had been resuscitated, and Phil had recovered from his terrible exertions, he ordered the coxswain to land at the foreign concession. The Chinaman lay on the deck of the launch, fully alive but not showing by word or sign his gratitude to the midshipman who had saved his life at the risk of his own.

As the boat stopped at the stone steps of the jetty, the Chinaman arose unsteadily to his feet, grasping the boy’s hand in both of his, then without a word stepped quickly out of the launch and was lost in the night.

Phil was so astonished at the man’s action that it was some moments before he realized that a ring had been left in his hand. He examined it eagerly in the dim light of an oil lantern; what was his surprise to find that it was of massive carved gold, set with a green jade stone.

As the launch was secured alongside of the “Phœnix’s” gangway, Phil stepped to the coxswain’s side and took the sailor’s rough hand in his own, much to the embarrassment of the latter.

“Blake,” the lad said earnestly, “you saved my life, and you did it as coolly as if you had been only making a landing alongside the ship.”

“It was nothing, sir,” the coxswain answered quickly, his face beaming; “but to think of your jumping into this river to save a Chink,” he added admiringly.

“My act was upon impulse,” Phil declared earnestly, “and took no real nerve, while you deliberately measured your chances and saw that the odds were dead against you; one slip, one spoke too little helm, one revolution too few with the engines, and you and your crew would have been swept underneath that mass of junks, and knowing this you took the chance and had the nerve and grit to steer your boat cleverly to safety and me with her. My act is insignificant beside yours.”

Leaving the coxswain still wondering at his words of praise, Phil reported his return and went at once to his room for dry clothes. Although the hour was early, and there were many things over which he would have liked to talk with Sydney and their new friend Langdon, when once in dry, warm clothes he found his exertions of the past hour had sapped his strength, and he was soon fast asleep. Nor did he awake until the sun was streaming in through his port-hole.

Turning out promptly, and making a hasty toilet, he was soon in the mess-room, where he found the full mess at breakfast, and all discussing the seriousness of the present crisis.

As he put his hands on the table the brightness of the ring the Chinaman had given him startled him; the deep green of the stone stood out clearly against the white tablecloth. Langdon, sitting beside him, espied it immediately and grasped the boy’s hand, examining the ring closely.

“Royal jade!” the pilot exclaimed. “Where did you get it? That’s one of the finest stones I’ve seen in years.”

Phil felt abashed, not wishing to relate his experience before the mess.

“I’ll tell you later,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand before the attention of the rest of the mess could be attracted. Then turning to the executive officer, presiding at the head of the mess-table, he asked anxiously:

“Is there any news, sir, about sending the guard to the legation? If it is going I should like to be allowed to go in the detail.”

Sydney hastened to add his plea to go along also, and Mr. Webster’s face broadened in an amused smile as he watched the eager faces of the midshipmen.

“I can tell you,” he replied heartily, “that you are both in the detail, so you may rest easy. I for one hope there will be no necessity for the expedition. China is a dangerous country when once aroused.” Then, turning to Phil, whose joy showed plainly in his face, while his pulses beat faster, he added:

“What’s this we hear about your rescuing a Chinaman from drowning last night? It’s all about the ship forward, yet aft here we’re the last to hear of it.”

Phil colored painfully while he outlined the episode of the river; he said but little of his part, but praised unstintingly the coolness and courage of the coxswain of the launch.

“Coxswain Blake belittles his own part as much as you praise it,” Mr. Webster remarked kindly, as the officers rose from the breakfast table.

In Phil’s room after breakfast, Langdon examined the ring closely in hopes of discovering a clew to the identity of the owner.

“There’s nothing here to tell,” the pilot announced after careful scrutiny, handing the ring back to the midshipman; “it’s of great value among the Chinese; undoubtedly the man was rich and he left with you the only article of value he was then wearing. The Chinese are a queer lot; their superstitions will not allow them to save a fellow-being from drowning, but when they themselves are saved by a foreigner they will at once put aside the obligation by giving their rescuer a costly gift. Your Chinaman doubtless considers his debt is paid.”

After breakfast was over the midshipmen asked and received permission to visit the foreign concession.

“You must go in uniform,” Lieutenant Webster replied to their request, “and the captain’s positive orders are not to enter the Chinese city.”

The lads quickly agreed to keep to this rule, and a half hour later the “Phœnix’s” steam launch landed them on the stone jetty abreast the ship.

Here they were immediately surrounded by a score of Chinese ricksha coolies, each one anxious to enlist their patronage in engaging a jinricksha, which is the customary conveyance of the far Eastern countries. The lads were soon seated each in one of these miniature carriages; and the coolies in the shafts darted off at a lively pace down the smooth macadamized roadbed of the Bund.

“Where shall we go first?” Sydney questioned, raising his voice so as to be heard above the rattle of the wheels.

Phil shook his head in sign of perfect indifference. The sensation of riding in one of these novel carriages for the first time was distinctly pleasant. He felt half exhilarated and half ridiculous. However, before they had traveled a block, he lost his feeling that every one was looking at him, a grown man riding in a baby carriage, and began to thoroughly enjoy the situation. The throngs on the streets interested him, and the color scheme pleased his eye; the gayly dressed natives sprinkled here and there with the more sombre garb of the Europeans or Americans.

“I don’t care,” he answered as Sydney repeated his question. “Let them take us wherever they will. Later, though, I want to go to the bank and buy a draft to send home.

“Here we are,” he added suddenly, making energetic efforts to stop his own ricksha in its mad career, as he espied the sign on a great stone building: “Hongkong Bank.”

The lads alighting, bidding by sign their rickshas to wait, entered the wide doorway of the bank.

Here they met scores of Chinamen pouring continually in and out, depositing or drawing out great sacks of Mexican dollars, the token currency of China. Behind the counters, although the bank was owned by an English corporation, Phil saw only Chinese. Millions of dollars daily passed through their hands.

Leaving Sydney gazing interestedly at the scenes of activity, Phil moved over to a desk upon which were paper and ink laid out for the bank customers. As he drew near, he took casual note of a foreigner standing with his back toward the door, engaged apparently in writing. At the man’s feet he saw a neatly folded paper lying. Apparently it had just been dropped from the foreigner’s pocket. Stooping down, Phil picked it up, hastily glancing over it to see if it was of sufficient consequence to ask the stranger if it were his. He had barely time to note that the writing was in English when it was roughly seized from his hand, and looking up in surprise, he found himself confronted by an angry, excited face, whose dark, piercing eyes snapped with uncontrolled passion. The stranger thrust the letter into his pocket with one hand, while the other was closely clenched as if he were about to strike down the innocent offender.

“What do you mean by trying to read my letter?” the foreigner cried in a voice full of wrath.

The blood mounted to Phil’s forehead as he returned unflinchingly the stranger’s wild look. He was about to answer an apology when the foreigner’s cutting voice stayed him.

“Just like you officious Americans,” the stranger exclaimed, surveying the neat blue uniform of the American midshipman; “always meddling in some one else’s affairs.”

“What’s the trouble, Phil?” Sydney asked in alarm, hastening to his friend’s side, upon seeing the look on Phil’s face and the menacing attitude of the other.

By an effort Phil controlled himself. His first thought was then and there to settle accounts with this infuriated man; but wiser counsel prevailed.

“I did not read your letter,” he retorted in a dignified voice. “I wished only to see if it was of any consequence in order to restore it to its owner.” Then realizing that his conciliating answer had not changed the attitude of the stranger, he added in a voice of self-contained anger:

“If you got what you deserved, it would be a sound thrashing for your slanderous tongue.”

The foreigner, hearing the lad’s just rebuke, and seeing by his muscular frame that he was capable of carrying his implied threat into execution, shrugged his shoulders eloquently, pocketed his papers and walked sullenly toward the door of the bank.

Phil stood his ground, his eyes defiantly following the stranger until the swinging doors closed behind him.

Sydney was told of the cause of the unexpected dispute and was eager to follow the foreigner and demand an apology, but Phil only laughed.

“I got in the last word; that’s something,” he said, as he quietly wrote out his order for the draft. “I wonder who he is. By his accent I should say he was of a Latin race. He spoke to me in good English, though.”

“Do you suppose he is a naval officer from a foreign gunboat?” Sydney asked by way of an answer.

“No; he’s probably some beach-comber,” Phil answered testily, taking his paper to the cashier’s desk. “And as far as I am concerned I don’t care who he is. He’s not of sufficient importance to give him any more attention,” he added, shutting his firm jaws with a snap in dismissing the unpleasant incident.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s forget him. There are lots of things here more amusing.”

CHAPTER III
THE PERIL AT THE MISSION GATE

Upon their return on board the “Phœnix,” the midshipmen found all was activity. A message had been received from Emmons which had decided Commander Hughes to wait no longer before sending the guard to protect the defenseless mission on the hill some miles from the town. Persistent rumors were current that the Chinese outlaws would very soon make an effort to efface this heathen blot of stone from their sacred soil.

In the course of a half hour all was in readiness to embark the guard. Tents, rations, Colt gun and rifles were carried into the waiting boats, and in a few minutes more the small party of officers and men found themselves on the stone jetty, immediately in front of the Chinese city. Under the eyes of a quickly-gathered, curious crowd of Chinese, the sailors formed and marched along the road skirting the fortified wall of the city. After some miles had been covered, the great buildings of the mission came in sight, and soon after they were admitted within the walled compound by the anxious missionaries, whose dread of Chinese cruelty had been acquired through long residence among these fanatical people. Many of their number they had seen sacrificed by the lawless element of a superstitious and conservative race, whom they had come thousands of miles to civilize according to their Western standards.

The sailor sentinels were quickly stationed at the four corners of the walled compound, and the peaceful mission was soon transformed into a warlike fortress.

“What do you think of all this?” inquired Phil of the pilot after the lads had finished their duties of preparing for the defense.

“I think,” answered Langdon, a grim smile on his face, “that these missionaries are wise to build their houses inside of a stone fort. The only way to succeed in civilizing the Chinese is to make sure that they don’t kill you before you’ve had a chance to show them the benefits of our methods.”

“But I mean,” urged Phil, “do you believe that there’s going to be trouble?”

“I’ve seen a great number of these threatened uprisings,” replied Langdon thoughtfully, “come to nothing for the want of a leader with energy enough to keep alive the spark of fanaticism; I hope this one will follow in their footsteps, for if the Chinese ever awaken to the knowledge of their power, our small force of ships and men could never stem the rising flood.

“Do you see the forts over yonder?” he continued, pointing to the numerous heavy gun emplacements on the heights below the city; “those batteries command the anchorage occupied by the allied fleet, and their garrisons are now wavering between their loyalty to the government at Peking, and their families and friends taking an active part in the intrigues against the lives of the foreigners. If those guns were turned against us, our position here would indeed be a serious one.”

The two midshipmen, listening to the words of one who had lived ten years among the Chinese, felt their hearts beat faster: secretly they were glad that their cruise in the Orient was likely to be fraught with grave dangers.

The missionaries and their numerous Chinese converts inside the walled mission were once more at ease; they believed that all danger was past: the Chinese had never attacked a mission so strongly defended by the rifles of the hated but much feared foreign sailors.

The hot day came to an end, and the night wind from the distant mountains brought to the anxious ones a desire for sleep which they had not felt for days.

Phil and Sydney lay awake long after the mission was wrapt in slumber. They had talked over the situation very thoroughly, the views of Langdon having made a deep impression on their minds. There certainly was a danger! Could the Chinese troops be depended upon to withstand the bribes of the lawless ones?

Sydney’s even breathing, at last, showing that he had fallen off to sleep, cut short further conversation between them; while Phil, casting an annoyed glance at the unconcerned sleeper on the adjoining cot, arose and silently left the tent; he was far from asleep and, being the officer of the guard for the night, determined to make an inspection of the sentries.

The night was dark save for the dim light shed by the crescent moon low in the western sky. Ascending the mission stairs, he stepped out on the broad top of the high barrier of brick and mortar and walked down the wall. A sentry was posted at the near corner of the quadrangle.

“Is everything all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, sir, but I seen a bunch of Chinese up there near the gate a few minutes before you come,” the sailor made answer. “I hollered at ’em, and they ain’t stopped runnin’ yet.”

“What can I do if they don’t run?” he added, questioningly.

“Nothing; just call the sergeant of the guard,” replied Phil quickly. “On your life don’t shoot without orders.”

“If a Chink shoots at me, sir, can’t I fire back?” the sailor asked, casting an apprehensive glance into the darkness outside of the compound.

Lieutenant Wilson had instructed the midshipmen to make certain that the sentries did not fire first: the viceroy of the province was believed to be striving to hold the malcontents in check, but an untimely shot might precipitate hostilities.

“If you are fired upon,” Phil ordered, “fire your piece and arouse the garrison, but don’t shoot unnecessarily.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the sailor answered, as the midshipman drew away up the wall to visit the next sentry.

While Phil was crossing the stone archway over the heavily-barred iron gate, the main entrance into the mission, he was attracted by a dark object on the ground below him, close up to the metal doors.

A closer look filled the boy’s thoughts with an unknown dread. The object appeared harmless enough, and yet why was it there against the gate of the mission? Phil saw now that it was a large box, outlined dimly in the shadow of the archway.

He peered about him uncertainly. He could see the two lookouts at the wall’s corners; they were alert and yet in ignorance of the danger at the mission gate. The midshipman’s thoughts dwelt on the information given by the sentry with whom he had just spoken: there had been some Chinamen at the gate but a few moments ago! Was this box harmless or did its presence there foretell a warlike design against the hundreds of non-combatants, women and children, now under the protection of the American sailors?

His startled gaze traveled over the gloomy expanse of surrounding country outside of the high wall: the shadowy mounds, graves of departed Chinese, dotting the grassy slopes about the compound might be now concealing an armed force of attacking fanatics; beyond the graves it rested for a moment on the low mud walls of abandoned houses, believed by their owners to be forever polluted by the close presence of the despised foreigners. Down on a lower level the high walled city lay sleeping; the closely packed roofs resembling a continuous floor, upon which fell the dim light of the waning moon; then again it descended to the silent waters of the river, the towering pagodas along its banks standing like guardian sentinels, with the anchored ships a phantom fleet upon its dark surface.

A spark-like glint below him caught his eye, and its ominous message sent the blood from his heart. With every faculty alert Phil threw himself at full length on the wall and peered anxiously below into the deeper shadow of the gateway: a sputtering spark but a few feet away from the box told only too plainly its terrible mission: there was an explosive against the gates, and the crawling point of fire was the live end of the slow-match, surely and deliberately burning its way toward the captive force that would, in a fraction of a minute, hurl the powerful gates asunder, thus letting in the ambushing Chinese, doubtless watching and waiting, concealed in the misty shadows.

The lad’s heart stood still as it flashed upon him what his duty demanded of him. If he were a second too late he would be blown to pieces and yet the gates would be shattered and useless to protect the mission. His mind was made up quickly: he must first warn the garrison and then quench the fatal spark twenty feet below him.

“Turn out the guard!” he cried loudly; then as he heard the startled sentries repeat his words, he dropped silently to the ground on the outside of the compound and grasped the lighted end of the fuse between his fingers, but a few inches from its awful goal.

He heard the startled cries of his companions awakened from their sleep by the alarming summons; the rattle of rifles and accoutrements as the sailors hastened to their stations on the wall. The reaction had now set in; the boy’s limbs seemed about to fail him. Almost unstrung he clung to the box while he collected his scattered thoughts. If the box remained there the enemy might yet succeed in exploding its contents against the gate.

With his body pressed close to the torpedo, and in its deeper shadow, his ear detected a sound near him in the grass at the edge of the road. Suddenly a figure darted forward across the archway and stopped on the other side of the box, fumbling with its top, as if to relight the fuse. Phil held his breath as he reached forth his hand and clutched the wrist of the intruder. Drawing the surprised man, with all his force, across the box, he threw him to the ground. A cry escaped the captive as he felt the strong arms of the midshipman enfold him, smothering him to the earth.

The two bodies heaved and strained; the efforts of the Chinaman became visibly weaker, and finally Phil cast the insensible form from him.

“Who goes there?” in excited tones from above him showed him that aid was near. A sailor peered over the wall immediately above the lad’s head, his menacing rifle covering the exhausted boy.

“It’s Midshipman Perry, the officer of the guard,” he whispered hoarsely; “heave me a line, quick! Keep the gate closed! The place is full of Chinese!”

A rope dangled down from a corner of the archway and Phil, grasping its end, quickly made it fast around the box, giving the signal to hoist.

“Be careful, that’s powder,” he cautioned; “send the end back for me. Hurry,” he added, casting a fearsome look into the shadows behind him.

With the end of the rope in his hand he stooped down to tie it about the body of his captive; when, without a moment’s warning, he felt a stinging blow in the face, that sent him reeling to the wall. He clutched wildly at the offender, now on his feet and struggling madly to free himself from the terrifying embrace of the midshipman. The fully recovered celestial fought with the strength of despair, uttering piercing shrieks which seemed to be answered from the surrounding darkness.

Suddenly Phil was wrenched nearly off his feet, and then fell backward against the wall, the torn coat of the man in his hands, while the escaping prisoner melted into the night.

Hand over hand, up the rope, it was but the work of a second to the top of the wall, and there he found an anxious group of officers and men who had watched, with bated breath, the struggle below them.

Phil explained the circumstances at once to Lieutenant Wilson.

“I feel sure they’re concealed all about here,” he ended excitedly. “I heard answers to the man’s cries.”

Lieutenant Wilson turned to Langdon, who had been an eager listener.

“Is it an attack, Langdon?” he asked anxiously.

Langdon shook his head, much mystified, then the garment in Phil’s hand caught his eye. He took it from the lad in silence and carried it down from the wall, entering the small gate-house inside the compound.

“Keep a strict watch, Mr. Monroe,” the lieutenant ordered, motioning Phil to follow him, and together they entered the room where Langdon was carefully examining the garment.

It was a blue tunic, plain save for a white border and a number of Chinese written characters on its back. It was this lettering that Langdon was studying.

“Viceroy Chang-Li-Hun,” he read slowly aloud. Then he glanced up, a worried expression on his usually calm face.

“Mr. Wilson,” he said, “it’s serious; we’ve the viceroy’s soldiers against us.”

CHAPTER IV
THE EMBASSY TO THE VICEROY

If the man with whom Phil had fought was a soldier of the viceroy, it was indeed convincing evidence that the outlaws were receiving aid of the official class. Lieutenant Wilson at once saw the seriousness of the situation for all foreigners living within the provinces under the jurisdiction of Viceroy Chang-Li-Hun. The American naval man knew that his duty required him to place this information in the hands of his commanding officer on board the “Phœnix” immediately, in order that all the foreign powers represented might know that the threatened uprising was no longer one of unorganized, misguided coolies or working men, but was at the instigation of the powerful mandarins, receiving their instructions, no doubt, directly from the viceroy himself. Did he dare take the risk of sending messengers out of the mission at this time when the enemy were doubtless gathered about the walls of the compound, perhaps even now making up their minds to attack the defending garrison? Yet in the morning affairs might have grown even worse: the morrow’s sun might see the mission besieged, and every outlet barred.

“Langdon,” Lieutenant Wilson questioned, after an impressive silence, while his companions waited, looking to him to give the orders which each felt the terrible development demanded, “are you sure that you have read these characters correctly? We must not alarm the foreigners unnecessarily. Might not this garment have been worn by a discharged soldier? Are we safe in assuming that the viceroy is back of this attempt on the gate because one of the culprits wears his uniform?”

“It is possible, sir,” Langdon answered thoughtfully, “but I believe improbable. This plan is not one that could be conceived by a stupidly ignorant coolie mob; you can see for yourself it must have been devised by those who have some knowledge of the use of explosives; and knowing as they must that the mission is being guarded by American sailors, it was intended as an affront to the nation that they represent.”

“I believe you are right, Langdon,” the lieutenant agreed promptly. “I shall act upon your judgment; your knowledge of the Chinese should make your reasoning sound.” Then he turned to the expectant midshipmen: “Mr. Perry, this news must be taken to Captain Hughes to-night; I offer you the chance to go; your right to be chosen can’t be disputed: your discovery of the viceroy’s treachery and your heroic conduct in frustrating his design has won you the privilege.”

Phil flushed with pleasure at his senior’s words of praise, while he stammered out his readiness to undertake the hazardous enterprise. Asking that Sydney accompany him he received a ready assent.

“Can you spare me, too, sir?” Langdon asked earnestly. “I know every foot of the land about here; I’ve shot pheasant all over these hills, and understanding the language, may be a help to Mr. Perry if he should be stopped by the natives.”

“Yes, certainly,” the lieutenant replied quickly, his face showing his appreciation of the pilot’s offer. “I couldn’t order you, but your desire to go speaks highly of your courage. It is our duty, as naval men, to expose ourselves to danger.”

“It’s bred in me, too, sir,” Langdon answered. “I served with the flag during my boyhood, and am ever ready to sacrifice all I have for it.”

“I shall not encumber you with useless messages,” Lieutenant Wilson said finally to Phil as he turned to leave the gate-house and return to the wall; “you know the situation and can explain our fears to Captain Hughes.”

The midshipmen and the pilot went to prepare themselves for their journey, while their senior ascended the wall to dispose his small force in order to guard all approaches and prevent a surprise. There would be few eyes closed in sleep that night; the gravity of the situation was fully impressed on even the sailors accustomed as they were to danger.

Hastily arming themselves with a pair of revolvers each and with plenty of ammunition, the three volunteers again ascended the wall.

The moon had set and the land about the mission was veiled in darkness. The men moved slowly along the wall of the compound, while Langdon’s keen eyes peered into the night to discover the best location to leave the mission. They had traversed nearly half of the wall and were at the far end of the compound before the pilot seemed satisfied that the way was clear. He put out his hand and touched Phil on the shoulder.

“We’ll leave from here,” he whispered; “the Chinese, if they are about, are all in the front. See; the land is clearer; there are not so many graves as in the front to conceal an enemy.”

Throwing themselves down on top of the wall they grasped its edge, and lowered themselves silently to the ground. Langdon led the way directly from the mission, and further into the country. The land here was but slightly cultivated, the ground firm and for the most part clear, so our travelers swung along at a lively pace.

Having covered about a mile, Langdon stopped to allow his companions to join him.

“This is the main road leading into the city,” the pilot informed them as they arrived at the narrow path in which the speaker was standing. “We’ll follow this right into the foreign concession; it’s late, past ten o’clock, and there’ll be no natives on the road. It’s our safest course.”

Phil nodded in sign of assent, his eyes on the Chinese road.

“A road, did you say, Langdon?” the boy asked; “it’s more like a bridle-path.”

“It’s the only kind of road you’ll find in the Chinese Empire,” the pilot replied as they moved swiftly over its uneven surface; “the natives don’t use carriages and coaches for passengers, nor wagons to carry their freight, but transport their merchandise in wheelbarrows or on the backs of the small Tartar donkeys. In the north the Manchus have a rickety cart drawn by man power or by pony and there the highways are wider, but are even less smooth, for the natives never repair their roads.”

They had traveled another mile when Langdon called a halt and cautioning silence pointed to a grove of trees ahead of them.

“A village,” he answered the questioning looks of his companions; “we’ll leave the road and circle it. The wind is from the river, so I hope the dogs which inhabit these small towns will not smell us. These Chinese curs have a keen nose for a foreigner and if our enemy is about they might warn him of our presence.”

As they skirted the village Sydney glanced with interest down into the mean and ill-smelling collection of mud-walled hovels, situated below the level of the surrounding country. He had heard that this location was chosen to protect its occupants from the blasts of the winter gales, and in consequence during the wet season the floods from the heavy and prolonged rains swept down upon them, carrying off bodily their insecure buildings and frequently drowning many of the unfortunate inhabitants.

“Will the Chinese ever learn to build their villages in a common-sense way?” he asked the pilot.

“They’ve done the same thing for twenty centuries,” Langdon answered, following Sydney’s gaze; “what was good enough for their ancestors is good enough for them, is their motto, and nothing that we can say will ever move them. After you’ve been here for a few years, Mr. Monroe, you’ll cease wondering at anything you see the Chinese do.”

Suddenly the lads felt themselves grasped by the strong hands of Langdon and drawn down into the thick grass. The silence was broken by a faint sound of voices that seemed to come from directly below them. Langdon motioned the boys to remain where they were, and crawled noiselessly forward to the edge of the embankment surrounding the village. Phil could now hear a high-pitched nasal voice, raised excitedly after the Chinese fashion, with many loud and piercing notes. He could see Langdon ahead of him partly hidden in the grass, and his curiosity was aroused to know what this midnight meeting might foretell. Then the voices ceased and the noise of tramping feet came clearly to his ears. From out of the shadows, but a few yards from where Langdon was lying, a squad of Chinese soldiers moved off into the night, over the road they were traveling, toward Ku-Ling.

After a few minutes had elapsed, the soldiers’ footfalls dying away in the distance, Langdon rose to his feet and joined the impatient midshipmen.

“They were soldiers!” Sydney exclaimed. “We distinctly saw their uniforms as they entered the road.”

“What were they saying? Could you hear?” Phil questioned eagerly.

“One of them was the man you fought with at the gate,” Langdon answered; “it’s just as I supposed: there was a movement on foot to attack the mission if that party was successful in destroying the gateway. The one doing all the loud talking was ‘saving his face,’ as the Chinese say; he was explaining that a monster, half man and half bird flew down from the wall and put out the fuse as fast as he could light it, and that he had mortally wounded the ‘devil,’ but fear having entered his heart, he had run away as fast as he could, followed by his companions. He says that the ‘foreign devils’ can change into these monsters whenever they wish, and that their breath is like fire.”

Phil gasped in astonishment at the ludicrous account of his battle with the soldier.

“But his companions will not believe any such tale as that,” he cried; “surely they’ll know it is made up out of whole cloth?”

“On the contrary,” Langdon answered, “they’ll believe it, and what’s more he believes it himself by this time. Doubtless he was so frightened that he remembers little that happened, and their imagination is so vivid that a Chinaman will generally believe his own words as they fall from his lips.”

“What would have happened if they had been successful?” Phil questioned. “That small body of men could not have intended attacking us.”

“No, but after the gate had been blown in it would be an easy matter for a few thousand Chinese to gather. There are tens of thousands of Chinamen in these small towns within a mile of the mission. All they need is a match to start them, and that was the intention of these soldiers.”

“It looks as if it were serious,” Sydney said in an awed whisper as they cautiously regained the road. The soldiers were not in sight, so the Americans proceeded, cautiously watching for the first signs of their enemy on the highway ahead of them.

Finally they reached the limits of the foreign concession, and it was after midnight before they arrived on board the “Phœnix”; but Commander Hughes was awake and directed that they be shown down to his cabin immediately.

The situation was quickly explained to the naval officer by the messengers.

The captain sat in silence for some minutes after they had finished, his face showing strongly the strain he was under: all the Americans on the river were in mortal danger, and he and his small force were all that stood between them and a fate far worse than death. Phil and Langdon anxiously watched the captain’s face as if to read the next move on the international chess-board, which Commander Hughes, as the senior among the foreign captains, was called upon to make.

“Gentlemen, the news you bring me is so terrible in its possibilities,” the captain finally began, “that I am quite at a loss how to act. Our force is too small to resist an attack; we must resort to diplomacy with this rascally viceroy. And yet we don’t know how far-reaching the movement may be. If we sit idly by the natives will gain confidence, mistaking forbearance for cowardice, and can readily drive all foreigners off the river.

“Mr. Perry,” the captain added, rising and ringing for his orderly, “I want you to take the steam launch at once and go to each of the foreign gunboats; request that their commanding officers come on board here to a meeting in a half-hour’s time. Explain to them the gravity of the situation.” Then turning to the waiting marine, “My compliments to the officer on duty, and tell him to have the steamer ready for Mr. Perry immediately.”

Phil soon delivered his captain’s messages to the officer of the deck of each of the foreign gunboats and upon his return was detailed by Commander Hughes for the duty of secretary to the international council.

Slightly nervous in the presence of so many seniors, the midshipman sat near his captain, pencil in hand, ready to take notes of the proceedings of the council.

“Commander Ignacio of the ‘Albaque’ is ill,” a young foreign lieutenant announced as the American captain glanced at him inquiringly, “and begs you will receive me as his representative.”

Commander Hughes bowed politely in agreement and then in a few words described the incident at the mission.

“Before it is too late,” he added, “I believe that it is our duty to lay our difficulties before the viceroy, and demand that he take steps at once to quell this uprising. Meanwhile we should warn all foreigners living in the foreign concession at Ku-Ling that if our diplomacy fails they must be ready to take refuge on board the gunboats. We must deal with the situation fearlessly, for only in that way can we expect success. Chang-Li-Hun must be made to see the seriousness of his inactivity.”

To this clear proposal all agreed and Commander Hughes was chosen by acclamation to lead the embassy on the morrow to the viceroy’s yamen. Two other commanders were selected, and then with many expressions for success the council adjourned.

“I have my doubts of the utility of a conference with the viceroy,” Langdon told the lads the next morning at the breakfast table. “He’s a tricky Chinaman and generally has his own way.

“Well, we shall soon see,” he ended as an orderly appeared to summon him and Phil to be ready within fifteen minutes to accompany their captain on the mission to the high Chinese mandarin.

A half hour later a bright array of uniformed officers landed on the jetty; there were three of the gunboat captains and their aides, all in full dress uniform, which is prescribed for an official visit upon a viceroy.

A line of green sedan chairs, the color portraying to the curious throngs that their occupants were of the first rank in official parlance, wended its way in single file through the guarded gates into the stench of the crowded, walled city. Each chair was carried on the muscular shoulders of four coolies, and at almost a dog’s trot, they bore their burdens over the narrow, crooked streets.

Phil gazed excitedly upon the thousands of inquisitive natives, crowding so near the foreigners that the pungent odor of their bodies came distinctly to his nostrils; their ignorant faces at such close range appalled him. The chair coolies cried out hoarsely, jostling the multitude to prevent being trodden under foot by the persistent rabble.

The embassy had covered but half the distance to the yamen when it was wedged tightly against a heaving mass of excited yellow bodies. Phil saw the faces of the crowd darken with a superstitious loathing; he seemed to read in their cruel eyes an awakening to the knowledge of their power, and the helpless plight of the despised “foreign devils”. The multitude pressed ever closer; reaching out their claw-like talons to touch the gold-embroidered uniforms of the naval officers. The lad cast a swift glance at Langdon next him; he felt confident he would read in his face the extent of the danger threatening them. The pilot was shouting unintelligible words to his chair coolies; the while his face was black with passion.

The coolies refused stolidly to budge, and by sign threatened to put down the chairs upon the ground; all the while jabbering and gesticulating wildly to each other and to the mob, which appeared on the point of engulfing the foreigners in its noisome embrace.

CHAPTER V
THE VICEROY’S TREACHERY

The gaping crowd pressed ever closer. Phil could feel the fetid breath of those nearest him; he saw a big Chinaman emerge from the dense throng and push his way to Langdon’s chair; the lad would have cried out a warning, but all happened with such lightning-like swiftness that he had not found his voice before the bold Chinaman had released his hold upon the pilot’s coat, and had fallen back into the arms of his countrymen nearest him, a deep red stain upon his closely shaved head, while Langdon waved menacingly his Colt revolver, the blunt butt of which had successfully cowed the would-be leader.

Fortunately for the foreigners, a troop of mounted soldiers arrived on the scene at this juncture and brutally cleared the way, trampling under their horses’ feet the nearest of the mob, chained as they were by the mass of humanity behind them. Presently the chairs were again in motion; the soldiers now keeping the crowd in check, and in a few minutes more the embassy arrived in front of the yamen, the official residence of the viceroy. The heavy, grotesquely painted doors were quickly opened, and closed sharply in the faces of the unruly crowd.

The naval men alighted from their chairs, well satisfied to have escaped so easily from a disagreeable situation; but the pilot was not so well pleased.

“We’re in for it, I fear,” he confided to Phil; “that was another insult. The viceroy knew we were coming and he doubtless planned that we should be mobbed, holding his soldiers back to give us a few unpleasant minutes.”

“What would that Chinaman have done to you?” Phil asked gravely.

“It was an act of bravado,” Langdon answered smilingly, the picture of the discomfited man in his mind; “but if he had succeeded in pulling me from the chair it would have been serious; a leader is all these people need.”

“Pretty tight squeak, eh, Langdon?” Commander Hughes asked while they waited for the summons to approach the audience-chamber.

“It looked bad for a time, sir,” the pilot replied; “if some one had thrown a stone, we’d have been mobbed then and there, and the soldiers would have been powerless to save us. Not in my ten years among these people have I seen such a menacing mob. We must deal boldly with the viceroy, sir, or else we’ll not get out of the city alive.”

“Is it really as bad as that?” the captain asked anxiously.

“Yes, sir,” Langdon answered earnestly, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by any save the captain; “they were in an ugly mood, and if I am not mistaken they were acting under orders from the yamen; otherwise the rabble wouldn’t have dared molest us. If we don’t keep our feet on their necks, they’ll make short work of every foreigner in the Yangtse Valley.”

After a few minutes more of waiting the inner doors were thrown open and the naval men were ushered into the second courtyard, and then through more doors to the council-chamber of the viceroy. Here they found Chang-Li-Hun and his advisers ready to receive them.

Commander Hughes advanced toward the viceroy and bowed ceremoniously; the ancient Chinaman clasped his hands in front of him and murmured a few monosyllables in his own language, after which all were seated. Phil found his place between Langdon and a Chinaman, while Commander Hughes sat at the viceroy’s left, the seat of honor in the dragon kingdom.

The silence was undisturbed for several minutes, during which time the lad gazed covertly about him. He noticed the sphinx-like face of the high mandarin, whose power was as far-reaching as even the empress dowager’s, to whom he acknowledged allegiance but gave it grudgingly. This wizened old man had the power of life and death over nearly twenty million human beings. If he so willed, he could order any of his subjects to be brought to the execution grounds and chop their heads off with as little feeling as one would have in beheading a chicken. The midshipman’s eyes traveled in turn over each face of the viceroy’s advisers, men of great promise in the empire; they represented the enlightened few governing with iron rods a people who are yet stifled in the superstitions and customs of medieval times. Through the open door, the lad caught a glimpse of Chinese guards; their blue tunics similar to the one he had stripped from the back of the Chinaman at the mission gate.

Finally the silence was broken by the high-pitched voice of the aged viceroy in his own staccato language. Phil believed he could read both anger and contempt in the tones of the mandarin’s voice.

After he had spoken there was a moment’s silence, then a voice was raised in perfect English. Phil gasped in surprise as he beheld the speaker; a Chinaman seated on the right hand of the viceroy. There was not a trace of the accent which he had believed was habitual with every Chinaman who learns the English tongue.

“His Excellency, Chang-Li-Hun, thanks the high naval commanders for the honor of this visit and desires to hear their requests,” the interpreting Chinaman announced.

“Give our compliments to his Excellency,” replied Commander Hughes without a second’s hesitation, “and say that the time has long passed for requests. We come now to demand that our countrymen be protected, in accordance with the sacred word of China given by treaty.”

The interpreter’s face was a study; the American’s words were evidently unexpected; he glanced uneasily at the viceroy as if fearing the storm which he knew would break forth when the sharp words were translated into his guttural tongue. After a few moments of thought, during which time the old mandarin blinked his watery eyes expectantly the interpreter spoke, hesitatingly and as one who is not sure of his ground; but instead of the burst of rage which Phil felt was inevitable, the old statesman nodded his head in assent.

The lad saw Langdon rise to his feet and speak in an undertone to Commander Hughes; then the Chinese mandarins grasped the arms of their heavily carved chairs with indignation and horror while the pilot’s voice in their own tongue rang out loudly, in direct address to the viceroy. Then he turned to his captain and explained his action.

“The interpreter did not give the viceroy your words, sir,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion. “I thought it best that he should know.”

The parchment-like features of the aged mandarin were stamped with hatred as he snapped out his reply to his attentive interpreter.

“His Excellency is much disappointed at the unfriendly attitude of the foreigners,” the Chinaman announced after the viceroy had ceased speaking, “and is grieved to hear their harsh language.”

Again Langdon’s voice was raised above the silence which followed the placid words of the interpreter: but this time in English.

“Those were not the viceroy’s words,” he exclaimed turning toward Commander Hughes but glowering at the discomfited interpreter; “his answer was a threat against our lives.”

Commander Hughes was on his feet instantly, his face pale with anger.

“Langdon,” he cried, “tell the viceroy that our meeting is ended; that we came to demand punishment for those of his countrymen who attempted to injure our mission on the hill back of the city, but as he refuses to keep to his country’s treaty, we shall be forced to resort to arms to protect our own people.”

Langdon promptly translated Commander Hughes’ words to the viceroy, sitting craftily observing the incensed foreigners.

Chang-Li-Hun was too clever a diplomat to show his hand was against the foreigners; he must appear to aid them in their endeavors to protect their countrymen, and by the art understood best by the Oriental he would make these naval men “lose face” in the Chinese eyes, and thereby show his people that the vainglorious boasting foreigners were but human, and could suffer and die as easily as those of their own race.

A few guttural words escaped from the lips of the aged mandarin, which Langdon translated at once, not waiting for the unreliable interpreter.

“The viceroy begs you will again be seated; he says he knows nothing of the acts against the mission.”

“Tell him, then, Langdon,” the American captain ordered, while the members of the embassy reluctantly took their seats; “and give it to him as strong as you can,” he continued his wrath but slightly mollified.

This was all too pleasant a task for the pilot, whose knowledge of Chinese officialdom had not left him with much respect for their roundabout methods. He went straight to the point, addressing the viceroy directly, while the latter appeared to listen eagerly.

After the pilot had stopped speaking and had reseated himself at Commander Hughes’ side, the viceroy drew his interpreter aside, and in a voice so low pitched that Langdon could not hear a word, conversed with him earnestly for many minutes; then the interpreter arose and hurriedly left the council-chamber.

The embassy sat in silence, wondering what would be the next move of this adroit diplomat. Phil’s nerves were atingle with expectancy; the dangers of their position within a hostile city, and in the grasp of an avowed enemy, gave his young and untamed spirit high hopes for excitement. How he wished for Sydney that he might share whatever was in store for the embassy before it again reached the safety of its steel broadsides!

The naval men had not long to wait before the inner gates of the yamen were thrown open and a battalion of soldiers filed into the courtyard, outside the audience-chamber. Another moment, and the light screens forming the sides of the council-chamber were removed and the embassy looked fairly out upon this martial display.

The soldiers were quickly formed into a hollow square between the embassy and the outer gates, which then were likewise opened and a seething mob of excited, riotous Chinamen poured through, filling up the courtyard beyond.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the American commander exclaimed in sudden alarm; but before Langdon could disclaim his knowledge of what was about to happen, a part of the square opened and a number of tightly-bound prisoners were dragged to the middle of the courtyard directly in front of the viceroy. As they approached, Phil unconsciously turned away his head to shut out the pitiful spectacle; the prisoners were cruelly shackled together in a manner practiced only by the Chinese.

After the lad had gained control of his feelings and once more glanced toward the prisoners, the viceroy was speaking, while the pilot listened intently; the mob beyond was silent, gazing with evident enjoyment at the terror-stricken prisoners before the viceroy.

“His Excellency says that he has just discovered that these men were arrested last night by his guards with contraband concealed upon their persons, and when tortured confessed to having attempted to blow in the gates of the American mission, and that he will punish them in our presence as a warning to his people,” Langdon announced loudly, then lowering his voice, he whispered hurriedly to Commander Hughes: “I don’t like the looks of it, sir; a moment ago he knew nothing of it, and now he claims to have the culprits; it seems strange.”

“Hold!” cried Commander Hughes, starting to his feet; “we must have proof that these are the right men; we want no useless executions.” For he knew only too well that this form of punishment was the one dear to the Chinese heart, and he could read upon the faces of the crowd that it was waiting joyfully to see these human heads severed from their bodies and doubtless had been promised this stirring sport.

Langdon translated his captain’s wish hastily to the viceroy, but the mandarin turned a deaf ear, raising his thin, veined hand with its claw-like nails as a sign to proceed with the gruesome work.

A muscular Chinaman, naked save for a loin cloth, stepped from the ranks of the soldiers brandishing a sharp curved sword, and moved quickly to the side of the kneeling prisoners. Commander Hughes and his colleagues started precipitately toward him as if to prevent him from carrying out his murderous intentions.

Phil saw the bright blade circle above the head of a terrified prisoner and then descend. He closed his eyes in horror to shut out the appalling sight.

A report of a pistol shot rang out deafeningly, and he opened his eyes to a view of Langdon with a smoking revolver in his hand, while the executioner lay on the sand beside his victim.

A PISTOL SHOT RANG OUT

CHAPTER VI
DIPLOMACY FAILS

“I guessed as much!” the pilot cried out, striding forward; the guards timidly giving way before his menacing revolver. “These men are Christian converts; it’s but a trick to make us lose face before this rabble.”

He reached the side of the prisoners and raised one to his feet. Phil watched with fascinated gaze as Langdon dragged forward excitedly the chained and terrified men who had been plucked from death by the timely and unerring shot of the American; there was something strangely familiar in the ashen features of one of them.

“This man is a mess attendant from the ‘Phœnix!’” Langdon exclaimed, pointing to the nearer of the two prisoners; “the trick was to execute them before our eyes before we could interfere.”

Both Commander Hughes and Phil saw at once that the pilot was right; there was the ward-room servant who had been missing since the day of the gunboat’s arrival; he was a Chinaman from a distant province and unable to speak the local dialect, and in consequence had been singled out as a victim by the scheming officials.

The midshipman feared that all was lost; he could see no avenue of escape; the viceroy’s attitude was certainly hostile, and how could they, a mere handful of officers armed with only their revolvers, hope to cope with the soldiers of the yamen, to say nothing of the hundreds of thousands of fanatics inside the walled city? A single wave of that treacherous hand would condemn them to a fate from which his soul revolted; he had heard of the terrible deaths meted out to foreigners by these semi-barbarians. The lad glanced anxiously at his companions; he saw in their faces that they were determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, but the unequal struggle could have but one ending.

The naval men were standing together near the table; every eye was upon the aged mandarin, sitting calmly, and to outward appearances, no more concerned than if he were witnessing a play on the yamen stage; Langdon remained beside the prisoners, and not far from the soldiers stolidly waiting orders from their high chief.

The situation was impressive and one to unnerve the stoutest heart; a false move, an ill-judged word, and those hundreds of modern rifles might be turned against the defenseless officers. Phil knew that nearly two thousand sailors were under arms on board the war-ships, ready to be landed if the embassy had not returned to the jetty by eleven o’clock; it was now ten-thirty by the great clock in the council-chamber; but before the half hour had passed all would be decided and the landing force would not be necessary. The midshipman knew that Commander Hughes would not retract a single word uttered in the conference, and that he would presently give out his ultimatum to the viceroy, which would either be accepted or else more foreign blood would be laid at the door of this cruel official, Chang-Li-Hun.

“Be careful, Langdon,” Commander Hughes said in a low voice, in which no emotion was evident, although Phil could see the involuntary twitching of his lips; “don’t throw a match into the magazine. Tell him quietly that we have seen through his treachery and wish safe conduct through his city back to our vessels; and insist that these prisoners accompany us.”

Phil shook with excitement as the pilot steadied himself to give his captain’s words to the viceroy; he understood thoroughly that this was the only course open to the American commander if he wished to save the hundreds of foreigners in the province from the insults and scorn of the Chinese expulsionists, even though the result to him and his colleagues was death. The lad’s mind dwelt for the fraction of a second upon the terrible revenge that would be visited upon those responsible for the killing of the members of the embassy; he thought of Canton and Peking, and how the despised foreign soldiers had, with fire and sword, brought home to the defilers of the sacred rights of ambassadors the terrible consequences of their guilt; yet there was scant encouragement for him in such recollections.

Langdon had given his captain’s ultimatum in a calm voice from which all passion had been expunged, and now all waited with breath abated for the words of the wizened old man, in whose hands the fate of so many lives rested.

The viceroy at length stirred uneasily in his chair and turning to one of his ministers uttered a few low gutturals. The spell was broken; a harsh command rang out, and instantly the soldiers faced about, forcing with set bayonets the disappointed populace through the outer gates, which swung shut with a loud rattle behind them. Then the military, gathering up the two lifeless bodies, sacrifices to the humor of a viceroy, melted away in all directions, leaving the embassy once more alone with the yamen officials.

The viceroy raised his teacup to his lips, a signal that the visit was at an end, and then rising slowly, he bowed coldly, and attended by his ministers withdrew from the room. In a few minutes the chairs were brought and the embassy were only too glad to be gone from this nerve-racking and fruitless council.

Langdon, with his usual energy, saw the liberated prisoners seated in chairs in the midst of those of the foreigners and near his own, and then stepped to the captain’s side to report that all was ready to proceed.

“I don’t think we shall be molested,” he said hopefully; “it seems plain that the viceroy will do nothing to stop the uprising, but it appears he is afraid to openly defy you.” Then he raised his voice admiringly: “Do you know, captain, that you’re the very first foreigner to make Chang-Li-Hun lose face, and before a crowd of his own people whom he had deliberately collected to witness your own discomfiture. You gave us all a close call in doing it, sir; I could hardly believe my ears when I heard you tell me to shoot the executioner, but there wasn’t time to allow you to repeat it.”

The return to the jetty was well and safely guarded by hundreds of well-armed soldiers and the crowds were handled so easily that the foreigners could readily see that the episode of the morning was prepared for them by the yamen officials. Commander Hughes realized that the visit to the viceroy had given ample proof that whatever injury was done to foreigners by the natives of the province could be charged to the stand taken by the viceroy; and with this official backing the hostile movement would spread to insurmountable proportions.

“Why the viceroy permitted us to take those Chinese prisoners I can’t understand,” the pilot exclaimed to Phil, a half hour having passed since the return of the embassy.

Phil was silent, but intensely interested. He had just seen the foreign captains file into the cabin, unsummoned, eager to hear the result of the mission to the viceroy.

“The two prisoners came to me immediately we got back to the ship,” Langdon continued excitedly, “and told me of an attack to be made to-night on the Inland Mission. They claim to have secured this information from the Chinaman who was beheaded before our eyes; he was a northern Chinaman, but could speak the local dialect. The soldiers, knowing these men were to die, did not take the trouble to conceal their plans. It seems that an army of outlaws have taken Lien-Chow for their headquarters; it is a small town about seven miles from here on the To-Yan Lake, and they intend to move in a body upon the mission. These malcontents have been guaranteed aid from the viceroy, and if the mission is captured, they hope to gather enough reënforcement to allow them to march against the forts, and the result would be their capture, for the soldiers there would not fire a shot against their own countrymen. The guns of the forts will then be turned upon us and our escape down the river will be cut off, for these vessels cannot face heavy ordnance.”

“But why,” exclaimed Phil, after the pilot had finished, “should they attack a guarded mission when there are so many others scattered over the country undefended?”

“It seems to show,” returned Langdon, “that the viceroy is directing the movement. To attack and massacre the inmates of an unguarded mission could readily be attributed to an uncontrolled mob and would be a subject for conference and indemnity; but an attack on a defended mission, and by soldiers in uniform, will show the Chinese that the war is between the representatives of the foreign governments and their own, and being successful will stir the whole population of this part of China to rise and drive out all foreigners. I believe to-night will be one of blood for foreigners in China, if those away from the protection of our river gunboats have not already paid the penalty of their trusting natures.”

“We must not delay an instant in taking this information to the captain,” Phil declared excitedly, the contemplated movement of the expulsionists with its possible results flashing through his mind.

The foreign gunboat captains were gathered about the cabin table when Langdon and Phil were announced by the orderly, and all listened intently while the pilot gave hurriedly the story brought by the two Chinese refugees.

A buzz of eager conversation and questions ensued as Langdon finished. Each of the captains had his own plans to advance, but Commander Hughes, as the senior, was the first to be heard. He arose, his face grave, and at once the room was hushed; all recognized and respected his understanding and fertility of resource.

“We must acknowledge a failure in our diplomatic mission to the viceroy,” he began, weighing each word carefully; “the cable being in the hands of the Chinese officials, we are for the present cut off from instructions from our respective governments. We have here every available vessel on the river, except those necessary for the protection of the missions farther up the country; the state of the river at present will not admit of the battle-ships coming to our aid, and the two monitors of my government are by last accounts as yet in the Philippines. We must act here and now; there is no time for calm and deliberate judgment; our decision must be made quickly, and our act must be as prompt, if we are to be in time to prevent a general massacre of foreigners.”

The speaker stopped and glanced earnestly at the faces of his colleagues; each recognized full well the delicacy of the position. Would their respective governments sanction their acts, or would they find themselves disgraced and relieved of their commands, for not having followed a course of procedure decided upon by their sovereigns at a great distance from the scene of disturbance and in the light of events which had not as yet transpired?

“My government,” Commander Hughes resumed, “is one of the most conservative of those represented here; it has ever been against striking the first blow. But there has now come a time when humanity calls for other and more drastic measures. You have just heard from the lips of one who knows these people far better than we that these fanatics aided by the viceroy intend attacking a mission guarded by American sailors.”

Commander Hughes as he spoke spread out a chart upon the table before him, beckoning Langdon at the same time to his side.

“If we remain anchored here the guns of the forts, if hostile, will soon drive us from the city,” he began again, his eyes on the chart. “Before we strike a blow we must first embark all foreigners from the concession and change our anchorage to one beyond the range of the forts. With this startling news from the Chinese prisoners, coupled with the attempt last night to blow up the gates of the mission, the intention of the Chinese is no longer a matter of conjecture. We have now to face a condition. This mission, guarded by sailors from my own ship, is in imminent peril and must be relieved at once. Every moment is precious. The means only should now be considered by us. I have two plans in mind: the first one is to move farther up the river to a point abreast the mission,” placing his finger on the chart; “from the river it is but three miles to the mission, and we can easily land a force after dark and march across to its relief.”

As the captain finished he glanced inquiringly at the pilot.

“That would be very difficult, sir,” Langdon said quickly, reading the question in his captain’s eyes. “True, from there the distance is short, but we shall have to cross a wide and deep irrigation ditch. This canal is nearly fifty feet in depth and its sides are perpendicular.”

“Are there no bridges?” inquired a foreign officer anxiously.

“There are several bamboo bridges,” Langdon answered, “but they are narrow and frail. Probably even now they have been destroyed.”

“Then we must adopt my second plan,” the American commander declared stoutly. “We have but two thousand men available for landing, which depletes our ships to an alarming extent, anchored as they are under the guns of the batteries; if we wait until the mission is attacked and then land to the rescue, we might find ourselves at a great disadvantage against the many thousands of well-armed enemies; besides, in our absence it might prove too great a temptation for the men of the forts to open fire on our ships, thus cutting us off from our own vessels. Lien-Chow, where the Chinese fanatics are massing, is from here seven miles by land and sixteen by water; the rebels will not leave the cover of their city before dark.

“My recommendation is therefore to get under way at once from this anchorage, taking with us all foreigners who wish to leave the foreign concession, and then steam by the forts and into the To-Yan Lake. Immediately upon our arrival off Lien-Chow I propose to land and fearlessly attack the rebels in their headquarters. In routing them we shall either break the back of the uprising, or else make it incumbent upon the mandarins, the real offenders, to devise other plans for encouraging this movement against the lives of the Europeans.

“Are you with me, gentlemen?”

CHAPTER VII
DISSENSIONS

Commander Hughes’ plans were agreed upon, though not until after much opposition by the other members of the council, and word was at once despatched to the foreign merchants and consuls ashore to close their stores and houses and seek protection on board the gunboats of their respective nationalities.

Inside of three hours all preparations were completed and the international fleet weighed anchor and, in column, the “Phœnix” leading, steamed boldly down the river.

Langdon had gone to the gunboat’s bridge to pilot the fleet through the narrow and dangerous channel leading into the shallow waters of the To-Yan Lake, leaving Phil and Sydney at their guns, aft on the quarter-deck of the vessel; for all the gunboats had cleared for action to be prepared in case the Chinese should precipitate hostilities. While the fleet was getting its anchors up from the bottom of the muddy river, they gazed with rising pulse at the unusual activity inside the Chinese batteries; they could see groups of blue-clad soldiers surrounding the big guns in their rocky emplacements. Would the forts open fire upon the allied fleet as it steamed past?

The midshipmen knew that if one shot was fired from that impregnable fortress at the miniature battle-ships the sound would travel around the world. It would mean war! The forts belonged to the Chinese government and were manned by her soldiers; no idle excuse would be accepted by the nations insulted.

“These ships wouldn’t stand a ghost of a chance against those guns,” Sydney exclaimed nervously as he joined Phil on his side of the deck. The sailors stood silently at their batteries, each gun loaded with high explosive shell and ready to hurl its charge at the enemy at close range if it should suddenly declare war.

“It’s pretty short range,” Phil declared, “and our gun pointers could send every shell through those rock gun ports. A fleet of our gunboats would drive the Chinese gunners from their guns.”

“One Chinese shell, though, would sink us,” Sydney returned, intent upon gaining his point. “However, let them go ahead. Those rascals will find the ‘Phœnix’ will give them a surprise-party.”

“The monitors are what we need,” Phil exclaimed, “but they are over a thousand miles away, broiling in the heat of Manila. With the monitors here the forts could be silenced and captured by the fleet.”

The long column of moving gunboats was now stretched along the river from Ku-Ling to the southward. The leader had now safely passed the forts and its bow was directed down the river for the entrance of the To-Yan Lake, a good six miles distant.

It was with a feeling of relief that the midshipmen saw the last gunboat in column, following the “Phœnix’s” lead, pass out of range of the fort’s guns. It showed that China, as a nation, had not as yet openly challenged the world to battle; but if those in the forts had known of the avowed intentions of the fleet might they not have acted differently?

Under the skilful direction of Langdon, the Yangtse River pilot, the allied fleet steamed to the southward, leaving on its starboard hand the high bluff point of land below the city, upon which, fortunately, the Chinese had not as yet mounted protecting batteries, and then entered the shallow waters of the forbidden lake. From this point the channel led away from the course of the river and to the westward behind the city of Ku-Ling.

“Do you see Commander Hughes’ plan?” Phil exclaimed excitedly. He took a piece of paper from his pocket, and drew a hasty map of their surroundings. “Here’s the river, and here,” he said, “is the lake, which we are entering. Lien-Chow, you see, is ahead of us,” and he pointed to a dull color of blue that raised itself slowly from the muddy waters of the lake. “It’s in the rear of the fort guns, you notice, and our ships will be safely anchored while we are relieving those in the mission, which lies over there.”

“Yes,” answered Sydney; “but if we succeed in repulsing the rebels at Lien-Chow and rescuing the mission,” he went on doubtfully, “what shall we do next? We shall be cut off from Ku-Ling. The forts will never let us pass freely again.”

Phil put his sketch in his pocket. He wanted to complete it later and send it home in his next letter. “Well,” he declared, “we can’t worry over that now. The rescue of those in the mission, you see, is our most important duty. The future must take care of itself.”

It was shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon, when the long line of vessels dropped anchor off the town of Lien-Chow; and almost immediately the gunboats had lowered their small boats and were embarking their sailors. Phil found himself in the steam launch with Commander Hughes and Langdon; the former had been chosen to command the expedition, and the lad thanked his good fortune for his assignment as aid.

The long line of boats, laden with armed bluejackets, rowed swiftly toward the not distant shore of the bay, while two of the gunboats, remaining under way when the fleet anchored, took up their stations where they could shell the enemy if the landing was opposed.

PHIL’S COMPLETED MAP

The midshipman stood beside Commander Hughes, whose keen eyes were directed toward the Chinese town, in which direction the launch was heading. Phil could not discern even a trace of nervousness in his captain’s face, yet upon the success of this bold attempt to coerce the Chinese mandarins his future career in the navy rested. Langdon’s eyes were searching the approaching shore-line for signs of the enemy. He hastily took the spyglass from Phil’s hand and leveled it in the direction of a grove of trees to the right of the middle of the town.

“It’s a piece of artillery,” the pilot exclaimed, pointing with his glass toward the grove.

Commander Hughes leveled his field-glass and gazed for a few seconds in the direction indicated.

He had framed an answer, but it remained unspoken. A puff of brown smoke darted from a bright flash amidst the trees, and the screech of a shell came loudly to the ears of the advancing foreigners, while a column of water rose suddenly in the air scarce fifty yards short of the line of boats.

The two watchful gunboats, from the flanks, opened fire with their broadsides, and in a second the grove was blotted from sight by scores of explosions.

“That relieves us of the stigma of firing the first shot,” Commander Hughes exclaimed gladly; “but I had hoped not to have to fire at all. My prayer was that the rebels would disperse at this show of force.”

The boats had not covered another hundred yards when the town broke forth, in its entire length, with a hail of rifle shots; the distance was too great to see the flashes and hear distinctly the discharges, but the water in front and around the boats was cut to foam by the hissing missiles. As the boats drew nearer, the rattle of musketry came sharply to Phil’s ears, while he heard again the wailing bullets speeding by him. The attacking sailors were silent, but the flank gunboats poured a storm of shell into the town.

Phil glanced admiringly at his captain; the latter was strikingly cool in face of the stubborn resistance with which he had not reckoned; he had believed that the rebels were but an unorganized mob and could easily be intimidated by the allied forces; but instead he now saw that the enemy was in force and well intrenched, while the screech of shell and explosion of shrapnel above the sailors’ heads bore witness that these Chinese outlaws were well supplied with modern ordnance.

A few boats in the long line wavered and held back, but the majority kept steadily on, followed in but a few seconds by those less brave.

“When we ground,” Commander Hughes commanded, “you go to the right, Perry, and you, Langdon, to the left: tell the officers to advance at double time straight upon the intrenchments. We dare not stop now; given the slightest encouragement, the Chinese could repulse us.”

Phil felt the launch tremble, and then a grating sound told him the boat had reached as near the shore as its draft would allow. Without hesitation, he jumped waist-deep into the water and waded to the shore, a scant hundred yards away. He saw his two companions follow his lead, then he started away at top speed up the beach amidst a perfect storm of bullets, giving to the leader of each detachment as he passed the commands of his captain.

“Form a skirmish line and advance on the double,” he shouted to boat after boat as their keels grated on the sandy shore; then reaching the last boat, he quickly turned and raced back to join his captain.

Running to seaward of the advancing sailors, he had covered but a short distance when he found himself among a company of demoralized foreigners; their swarthy faces were ashen from terror. The midshipman at once saw the danger in this panic; already had it begun to spread to left and right; the companies nearest the one in disorder had halted and the sailors were glancing back uncertainly and with increasing uneasiness. A general stampede was not far distant. The leader of this shameless company appeared to be wild-eyed with terror. He seemed powerless to stop the threatened rush for the boats. The lad stood transfixed with horror. If the infection spread a panic would be the natural consequence, bringing certain defeat to the allied arms and leaving the mission helpless to the mercy of the cruel enemy. Without a second’s hesitation Phil raced up to the fleeing officer. Whirling him about to face the enemy, the lad cried out in sudden astonishment and misgiving, as he came face to face with the man who had so grossly insulted him in the bank at Ku-Ling.

Phil was conscious of a look of bitter hatred on the stranger’s swarthy face, but there was no time to consider aught save the danger of a panic and the defeat to his captain’s plans.

“Would you have us all massacred? Don’t you see that these Chinese will run from you if you will only turn and charge as you were told?” the lad cried desperately, menacingly emphasizing his words with his loaded revolver. Then lowering his voice, he added in flinty tones for only the officer’s ear: “Now run straight as you’re heading; if you turn back I’ll blow a hole through you!”

The foreign officer felt the muzzle of Phil’s revolver prodding between his shoulder-blades, close to his heart, and read the determination in the American’s voice.

“Encourage your men to follow us,” the midshipman cried as the officer moved forward uncertainly.

“Forward! Charge!” the officer ordered in a voice becoming bolder with excitement as he saw there was nothing left him but to obey.

The startled sailors recoiled in surprise, muttering incoherently to themselves, and then seeing their officer advance on a trot toward the enemy’s trenches, they turned, at first fearfully, then gaining courage, impetuously, and charged straight toward the source of the leaden stream.

A quarter of an hour later, Phil stood beside Commander Hughes in the trenches of the enemy, while the victorious sailors were following doggedly the retreating rebels. Langdon stood close by guarding a prisoner; within the pilot’s huge fist was clutched the Chinaman’s snake-like cue, while he eagerly questioned the terrified man in Chinese. The others waited impatiently to hear what intelligence could be extracted from the much frightened Oriental.

“I impressed upon him that if he did not tell me the truth that I would kill him,” the pilot exclaimed hurriedly; “he sticks to his story that to-night they are going to attack the big mission on the graveyard hills.”

“We’ve but half succeeded,” Commander Hughes exclaimed, the lines in his face growing deeper from anxiety. “We’ve scattered the outlaws here with heavy loss,” the dead bodies almost filling the deep trenches speaking eloquently that fact, “but we must push forward at once to relieve our mission. I cannot sleep another night until those innocent non-combatants have been rescued. My men are even secondary,” he added forcefully; “it is their duty and privilege to die in the cause of humanity.”

“We cannot hope to succeed without opposition,” Langdon said; “but before the news of our fight here arouses the viceroy to action against us, we should relieve the mission, bringing everybody here where we can protect them. It is but a two-hour march and is but the natural sequence to the attack we have made.”

“Quite so,” Commander Hughes agreed hopefully. “Langdon,” he added in a sad voice, “you don’t know what it is to rule a dozen different nationalities. It is a wonder we can accomplish anything.” Then he turned to Phil, who had listened eagerly, his young face full of concern. “Recall the sailors,” he ordered.

After the men had been ordered back from their excited pursuit of the fleeing Chinese and had fallen into military order in rear of the captured trenches, the American commander gathered the senior officers of each nationality about him to urge upon them the necessity of prompt action to relieve the threatened mission.

Phil started, the hot blood suffusing his face, as he saw with sinking heart the rank of the foreigner whom he had humiliated before his own men. Three heavy gold stripes on the officer’s sleeve told him the rank was that of commander, equal to that of his own captain. This cowardly officer was then in command of one of the foreign gunboats, but why had he not seen him before at the councils of the allies on board the “Phœnix”? Was this Captain Ignacio of the “Albaque,” who had each time pleaded sickness and sent a young officer to represent him?

Further speculation upon this perplexing situation was cut short by Commander Hughes’ forceful talk to the allies. All listened intently; the well-modulated, clear voice of the American held his listeners spellbound with attention, but many of the foreigners showed in their faces only too plainly that they already feared the displeasure of their governments for having followed the lead of this strenuous American commander. Was it not an American mission, guarded by American sailors? Then why should not the Americans rescue their own people? The officer who had felt the cold chill of Phil’s revolver was loudest in his condemnation of further attacks; his arguments were so cleverly worded that he soon won over to his side the timid ones. The British captain alone stood by the American in his endeavors to persuade his brother captains that their one chance of helping the missionaries was to vigorously pursue the advantage already gained.

“We’ve not forgotten Tatnall’s ‘Blood is thicker than water,’” the British commander exclaimed as Commander Hughes wrung his hand warmly, in eloquent silence.

“We must abide by the decision of the majority,” Commander Hughes said sorrowfully. “I dare not think what will happen to those within the mission if my men cannot withstand the attack.” Then he turned flashing eyes upon the group of hesitating foreigners.

“What do you propose?” he questioned, controlling the anger and humiliation in his voice with some difficulty.

Phil saw the officer whom he had recently humbled before his men cast a knowing look at several of his co-conspirators, and then heard him boldly voice his plan.

“My compatriots,” he began, “believe that this useless killing of Chinese is harming our country’s interests. We have decided that we should send a flag of truce to the viceroy to request him to use his own soldiers to fight these Chinese rebels.”

“A flag of truce!” cried Commander Hughes, in eloquent disdain. “How will the viceroy answer us? Probably by throwing the lifeless carcasses of our emissaries on the sand for the dogs to feed upon.”

Commander Ignacio flinched before the menacing disgust in the American’s face, but he held stolidly to his point, while all of the allies, with the single exception of Commander Buresford, echoed the foreigner’s proposal.

“The Inland Mission containing over a hundred innocent men, women and children, is still in danger from these rebels,” Commander Hughes exclaimed anxiously, making a last stand for what he considered was vital to his cause. “Although we have scattered their forces, they can, as we know, quickly regather. By concerted action, even without danger to ourselves and possibly without bloodshed, we can march this force of two thousand sailors over the seven miles of intervening country. By daylight we can return here with these refugees and then we shall be in a far better position to again open negotiations with the viceroy. If he should refuse to treat with us now—by to-morrow these outlaws will have recovered from their repulse. I beg that my brother officers will agree with me on this point,” he ended in entreaty.

Commander Ignacio craftily refused to allow the point to be discussed; he feared the persuasive powers of the earnest and loyal American.

“We have decided that question,” he replied quickly, an ugly leer on his face. “Now our business is to select those to go to the viceroy.”

Commander Hughes was about to suggest that this foolhardy foreigner should be chosen, and was on the point of refusing to risk the lives of his own officers in such a dangerous undertaking, when to his surprise the name of Ignacio was voiced by the combined council.

Phil glanced closely at the foreigner. The lad had heard his captain’s views of the possible fate of the flag of truce. Would Commander Ignacio accept the dangerous post?

It seemed plain from Commander Ignacio’s face that the detail was not to his liking, but in his successful attempts to overrule the plans of the American, he had become the avowed leader of those in opposition to the Anglo-Saxon policy of quick action. Phil was eager to accompany the flag of truce, but to serve under Ignacio was indeed disquieting. The midshipman could see that his captain was taken unawares by the acceptance of Ignacio to lead the dangerous mission. Knowing the Chinese as he did, he honestly believed they would go to their death.

The selection of the other members of the embassy was unanimously left to the decision of their leader, Commander Hughes.

“As my country is the most interested,” the American declared, “I shall select my own officers.” Then turning to the midshipmen standing near, Sydney having left his company of sailors to satisfy his eager curiosity, “Mr. Perry,” the American commander said in a low voice, “you have shown yourself worthy of this trust. I shall send you, Mr. Monroe and Langdon. I hope and pray that no harm will come to you.”

Phil could scarcely believe his ears. He, a midshipman, selected for such an important duty!

Commander Hughes then again addressed the foreign commanders.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a firm voice, “I do not count on the success of this flag of truce. If it fails we shall be forced to attack the forts with our unarmored vessels. However, the decision is final. My orders are that the embassy be sent without a moment’s delay. We shall remain here until our friends return.”

Then, dismissing the allies, he took Langdon’s arm and walked toward the American sailors.

“If I only had five hundred American sailors,” he declared hotly, “I would throw over these half-hearted allies and march to the relief of the mission. But with this mere handful, failure would be assured.” Then he beckoned the midshipmen to him. “Langdon, you and these young men must uphold the dignity of our country. You, Langdon, must speak directly to the viceroy. Impress upon him that I am in deadly earnest. If he harms the American mission I shall not rest until his city is laid in ashes. I shall destroy his arsenals and foundries. The forts will not be able to resist the attack of the American monitors, which should soon arrive.”

“The monitors!” Langdon exclaimed. “Are they coming?”

“I wish I could believe it,” Commander Hughes replied sorrowfully. “But we must make the viceroy believe that we are hourly expecting them. He fears an American monitor, and the thought that they are coming may act in our favor.”

Preparations went forward rapidly, and inside of half an hour, Commander Ignacio led his small party out of the allied camp.

Carrying a large white flag conspicuously displayed, the four emissaries, with an escort of eight sailors, four from the “Phœnix” and four from the foreigner’s own gunboat, gained the road leading toward the city of Ku-Ling. Unencumbered with all save their firearms, which were carried for protection against the marauding bands of outlaws, the seven miles were quickly covered, and in less than two hours the city gate loomed before them.

Approaching the city wall, Phil saw that there was great commotion at the gate; soldiers ran hither and thither, and before the flag of truce had arrived near the stagnant water of the moat, there was a noisy clanking of rusty chain, the drawbridge was suddenly raised, and the ponderous gates tightly shut.

The midshipmen, in spite of the precariousness of their position, could scarcely suppress a smile of gratification: this act alone spoke volumes; what must these Asiatics think of the prowess of the foreigners if they feared an attack from a dozen men?

CHAPTER VIII
IGNACIO SHOWS HIS HAND

As the drawbridge clanked upward, and the soldiers disappeared hastily behind the closing gates, Commander Ignacio, glancing nervously at Langdon, brought his party to a stop.

“You know the customs of these people; what shall we do?” he exclaimed anxiously, betraying that with all his vain boasting before his confrères he depended upon the American pilot to give him courage to act.

“They have raised the drawbridge until the viceroy can be notified,” Langdon answered calmly; “I don’t consider we are in much danger; of course the Chinese never do what might be expected of them. If they opened fire now we couldn’t escape,” he added, casting a swift glance of disdain at the nervous officer and giving the midshipmen a covert wink; “so we might as well put on a bold front.” Suiting his action to his words, he threw himself down on the ground, as if he intended to be comfortable while the viceroy indulged himself in his Oriental diplomacy of wearing out the patience of those who wished to treat with him.

Over an hour passed anxiously for the foreigners; conversation was fragmentary and pointless. Under the eyes and within close range of a semi-civilized enemy, who might refuse to recognize a flag of truce, their position was not calculated to inspire confidence. Then the drawbridge creaked slowly down, and a gorgeously dressed official advanced through the opened gate, preceded by a white flag and followed by an armed guard of soldiers.

Commander Ignacio and his party rose hastily to meet them.

After the elaborate Chinese ceremony of greeting had been concluded, the mandarin turned to Commander Ignacio, and inquired his mission.

“We have come to see the viceroy,” Ignacio replied in English, for the Chinaman was no other than the interpreter, whom Phil had seen so discomfited the day before.

With a nod of approval, the mandarin beckoned that all should follow, and led the way across the drawbridge and into the ill-smelling city.

The emissaries and their guards passed at a rapid pace through the narrow and dirty streets; the curious inmates of the walled city kept at a respectful distance, their faces expressing wonder rather than hatred.

Phil, noticing the change in their demeanor from the day before, called it to Langdon’s attention.

“Yes,” the pilot assured him, “it’s a good sign; the will of the mandarins is always reflected in the faces of the lower classes. They hate us just as much as ever, but the brisk work at Lien-Chow has shown them that we are able to carry out our threats.”

Upon their arrival at the yamen, the viceroy received the foreigners at the second door, one door nearer the entrance than where he had received Commander Hughes. This did not fail to impress the visitors. After all, was Chang-Li-Hun prepared to make terms?

The viceroy was accompanied by the same mandarins whom Phil had seen the day before, and in contrast to their master’s sphinx-like face their features betrayed the apprehension which they doubtless felt.

Chang-Li-Hun seated himself at the head of the table, motioning Commander Ignacio to a chair on his left.

After all were seated, refreshments were brought, and silence was preserved until the viceroy signed that the table be cleared; then turning to Langdon he inquired courteously in Chinese the wishes of the flag of truce.

The pilot, after a motion of consent had been received from the leader, informed the mandarin of Commander Hughes’ terms. Phil watched his friend’s face closely, glancing occasionally at the dignified old Chinaman, whom nothing apparently could move.

“There is a hostile movement against the foreigners in your provinces,” Langdon commenced in the mandarin’s language, using all the flowery and diplomatic terms which these astute diplomats clung to so closely. “This movement can exist only through your tolerance. We do not claim that your Excellency is giving it active support, but you are taking no steps to smother it. That being the case, the allied powers have taken the law in their own hands. Having discovered that an army of rebels were concentrating at Lien-Chow, only seven miles from your Excellency’s city, with the avowed intention of attacking the American mission and massacring the inmates, the allies have but a few hours ago attacked them in their stronghold and dispersed them with many killed, while not a foreigner has been hurt. These rebels were permitted to collect despite the fact that you have seven thousand soldiers under your orders capable of suppressing these outlaws. Commander Hughes has directed us to say that if your Excellency will give his honorable word upon the spirit of his father that no further outrages will be permitted, and that he will protect with his soldiers the American mission, and also cause to be issued and posted throughout the provinces orders to desist from attacks on Christian converts and their teachers, then the foreign sailors will be at once withdrawn from China’s soil.”

Chang-Li-Hun’s face was barren of expression while the pilot was delivering himself of this long speech.

“I am not the general of the soldiers,” he craftily replied; “suppose I, a civilian, should give the soldiers orders to protect foreigners, how may I be assured that they will obey?”

Langdon fearlessly gazed at the aged mandarin, whom he knew was trying, as the Chinese say, “to throw dust in his eyes.”

“Is not the Tartar general under the orders of the viceroy?” he asked uncompromisingly.

“I may give an order,” the viceroy answered evasively, “but I am not a soldier; then how shall I risk the displeasure of my father’s spirit, when I would not know if it were being enforced?”

By the viceroy’s words his treachery was unmasked. Langdon had been told in the strictest confidence by Emmons that General Hang-Ki had embraced secretly the Christian belief; not suspecting this, the viceroy had put his foot into a trap by insinuating that the general could not be depended upon to carry out orders to protect the foreigners and the thousands of Christian Chinese, who were alike called foreigners by the fanatical anti-Christians.

“Where can the general be found?” Langdon inquired finally.

“His residence is in the forts,” the viceroy answered.

“Then our mission is with him,” the pilot declared, rising from his chair; “your Excellency then will agree to give the order and I shall endeavor to obtain his promise to conscientiously carry it out. My captain’s one desire is to spare the misguided people of the city from the further vengeance of the foreign powers.”

“What do you mean?” the viceroy asked, for a second dropping his mask and gazing at the pilot through worried eyes.

“I mean,” Langdon answered, raising his voice to be heard throughout the room, “that if the Chinese soldiers and these outlaws, calling themselves patriots, insist upon massacring the inoffensive foreigners and their followers, such a fire of shot and shell will be thrown into this city by the allied fleet that all property will be destroyed.”

The aged mandarin started perceptibly at hearing these menacing words; then he seemed to arrive at some conclusion, for his parchment-like face betrayed a faint smile as he motioned the pilot to be again seated.

“How will the fleet bombard Ku-Ling?” he inquired; “your ships cannot again pass the forts if I order them to fire upon you.”

“Your Excellency,” Langdon answered boldly, “has forgotten that two American monitors are now on their way to join the allied fleet. With the addition of these vessels, our ships do not fear the fire of your forts; besides you will know that if the American commander orders it our sailors can take the forts with ease by storm. Our captain is in earnest,” he urged, believing from the viceroy’s attitude that he was weakening. “If the mission on the hill which is under your protection is harmed he will at once put into effect his plans to reduce the forts and destroy your city.”

“I shall send for the general,” the viceroy finally announced. “He may be some hours in arriving, and meanwhile you may rest after your journey.”

The party arose, following the interpreter, and shortly found themselves in a plainly-furnished room, where he left them abruptly.

Langdon immediately explained his conversation with the viceroy, and expressed himself as certain that the flag of truce would be successful.

Phil had not as yet been addressed by Commander Ignacio, and naturally felt disinclined to join in the conversation. He had surprised many furtive glances from the foreign captain, and was sure they were not of good omen; however, now he smiled pleasantly at the two midshipmen, without a trace of the ill nature with which Phil felt he regarded him.

“This was my idea from the start,” Commander Ignacio exclaimed boastfully; “that fire-eating captain of yours came near getting us in a nice muddle, but I believe I shall straighten it all out.”

Phil’s anger flared into his eyes at hearing this direct slur upon Commander Hughes’ actions, but his training had taught him subordination, and he controlled the words of censure that came readily to his lips.

Langdon however was not so diplomatic.

“I beg to differ, Commander Ignacio,” he exclaimed hotly; “Commander Hughes’ acts have made this truce possible. Until he showed that he was in earnest by attacking and capturing Lien-Chow the viceroy would not have received us at all.” The foreigner’s expression changed suddenly, and as he saw the midshipmen unconsciously nod in approval of the pilot’s words, a scowl of bitter hatred appeared on his swarthy face.

“You Americans are an insolent race,” he cried angrily. “What do you know about such matters?” he continued violently, turning scornfully on Langdon; “you are merely a hired pilot.”

Phil’s greatest fear seemed on the point of being realized; this braggart might spoil all through his self-conceit. Until now all had gone smoothly; the viceroy had as much as shown that he was ready and willing to make terms, and now this incompetent coward had shown his ugly hand.

“Don’t answer him, Langdon,” Phil whispered, laying a restraining hand on the pilot’s arm; “nothing that he can say will affect our confidence in you.”

The anger died on Langdon’s face as he realized the logic in the lad’s words, and then the strained situation was relieved by the arrival of the interpreter.

“His Excellency, the general, was fortunately in the city,” he explained, “and was readily found; he now waits in the viceroy’s audience-chamber.”

The foreigners were presently again before the high mandarin.

Phil gazed admiringly at the stranger, whom he knew must be the Tartar general. The Manchu stood over six feet in height, his skin bronzed by exposure, in striking contrast to the almost effeminate appearance of the Chinese mandarins about him. The fierceness of his Tartar ancestors looked from his dark almond-shaped eyes; he seemed to the lad an embodiment of those of his race who had many centuries before under the great Ghenkis Khan overrun the whole of Asia, carrying their victorious banners even into Europe; here was the soldier leader whose ancestors had followed no other calling.

The conference was again opened by the viceroy’s thin voice.

“Upon investigation I find that the general was not informed of the presence at Lien-Chow of these outlaws. I myself knew nothing of it. The mission was safe in my keeping, but when your commander lands an armed force on the soil of China, he must take the consequences; I dare not interfere as long as there is a single foreign sailor on our shore. Before I can treat with you, every armed man must be first withdrawn and the ships again anchored in the Yangtse River; the To-Yan Lake is by royal decree forbidden water, and I must demand that the war-ships leave there immediately.”

Langdon gazed in surprise at the old diplomat. Could reliance be placed in his implied willingness to make terms after the sailors were withdrawn from China’s soil and the ships anchored again in the river?

“That is quite impossible,” Langdon answered promptly. “Commander Hughes will not withdraw from China’s soil until he has received your promise given on the sacred spirit of your father.”

“When your commander has anchored his fleet at Ku-Ling and then comes to me apologizing for entering the forbidden lake, then I will give my decision, but not until then,” the viceroy cried angrily. “I have washed my hands of your mission; by putting sailors there your captain has taken it from my protection.”

Langdon was so intent upon his conversation with the viceroy that he failed to notice that Commander Ignacio had changed his seat to one beside the interpreter, and that in low tones the latter had given the foreigner the details of the conversation upon which so much depended. The pilot now turned to apprise this officer of the latest demand of the arch villain, but to his consternation the foreign commander had risen to his feet, his black eyes snapping with importance, and waved the American to silence, then turning to the interpreter at his elbow exclaimed in English:

“I consider that the viceroy’s demands are just. I was from the first against this ill-judged action. Tell his Excellency as senior member of this flag of truce, I shall agree to these terms, and am sure my colleagues, with the exception of this American, will uphold me.”

A smile of triumph played about the corners of the viceroy’s cruel mouth while the interpreter gave him the meaning of Commander Ignacio’s rash words.

“So,” he thought, “the foreigners are not of one mind.” The clever diplomat believed that he had at last found a way to pierce the armor of the despised foreigner.

CHAPTER IX
HELD AS HOSTAGES

The Americans were speechless with amazement. Phil was confident that he read triumph in the spiteful face of the foreign commander. Langdon gazed with unfeigned disgust at the officer who had brought defeat to the allies. This wily Chinaman would now refuse to interfere with the unlawful acts of his subjects; trusting to the dissensions of the allies to bring their punitive efforts to naught. All realized that now even their own lives were in peril, and they were powerless to interfere. Commander Ignacio was the appointed head of the embassy and his decision was authoritative.

The Americans quickly learned the ill effects of the traitor’s words, for the viceroy at once disregarded the pilot’s presence and in the most insulting tone turned to his interpreter.

“His Excellency,” that Chinaman said upon the completion of the viceroy’s ultimatum, “sees that the ranking officer has more intelligence than his low-caste companions, and that as he has given his promise that an apology will be made, his Excellency will at once set him at liberty to return to his people. And his Excellency further warns his compatriots that if the sailors are not withdrawn within twenty-four hours to their ships, and if the fleet does not leave the To-Yan Lake, that the lives of those held as hostages will pay the penalty.”

Phil, throwing discretion to the winds, was upon his feet before the interpreter had finished his threatening sentences.

“Commander Ignacio,” he exclaimed, beside himself with anger and mortification, “can you not see what you have done? The viceroy offers you your freedom; you must at once insist that we are under the sacred protection of a flag of truce and that he has not the right to detain us.”

“Are you then so anxious about your precious skin?” the foreigner answered, an expression of intense dislike on his swarthy face.

The viceroy had risen, taking the arm of an assistant. He bowed formally, and moved away toward his own apartments.

Langdon heard his parting instructions to his interpreter.

“Hold these American dogs and send the others back to their own people. Let their commander tell them that when their sailors have ceased to pollute Chinese soil then I shall treat with them. And to show my displeasure at the attack of the foreigners upon our innocent people, I shall hold these dogs as hostages.”

Realizing his helplessness, the pilot was silent, and he and the midshipmen allowed themselves to be led away by the waiting guards.

Commander Ignacio gave Phil a look of triumph as he passed him, which glance the lad returned proudly. Doubtless this despicable man believed he had won a signal victory over the midshipman who had accused him of cowardice before his own men.

The Americans were conducted to a room outside of the council-chamber of the yamen. All were too crestfallen and disappointed with the turn affairs had taken to care what their fate might be. Through the windows of the room they saw the traitor and his four sailors pass along the courtyard on the way back to the camp of the allies, and a few moments afterward, their own sailors were brought and shoved roughly into the room where their officers were held captive.

“If that villain,” Langdon exclaimed angrily, “had only kept quiet, we should all have been returning by now. He played right into the viceroy’s hands.”

“It is all my own doing,” Phil moaned. “Why didn’t I tell our captain the kind of man he was?”

“What do you mean?” Sydney and Langdon asked in a breath.

Phil told of the attack on Lien-Chow and of the cowardly part Commander Ignacio had played.

“Well, if that isn’t the queerest!” the pilot exclaimed after the midshipman had finished; “Commander Hughes in my hearing complimented him upon the fearless attack of his men; they were the first in the enemy’s trenches after the Americans and English. And it was you that put wings to their leader’s feet.”

The pilot’s laugh sounded so incongruous that the Chinese guards glanced suspiciously inside, fearing that the handful of foreigners might be planning some daring escape.

“I feel that it is my fault,” Phil repeated penitently. “I alone am responsible for our captivity.”

“Cheer up, lad!” Langdon exclaimed. “It might be worse. The viceroy will soon find that Commander Ignacio will not be supported. He will not dare to hold us long.”

But the pilot, with his wide knowledge of the Chinese, did not know the capacity for cruelty of this aged mandarin.

Even as the pilot spoke, the room filled with soldiers, who disarmed the Americans, binding their hands behind them and attaching heavy chains to their ankles. Langdon began to caution the sailors to submit without resistance, but before he could give the advice a stalwart sailor had picked up a heavy chair and floored the nearest of the Chinese soldiers.

The sailors were quickly taken away, and after their work was completed the guards withdrew, leaving the midshipmen and the pilot bound upon the hard floor. The tight cords on their wrists cut cruelly into the flesh.

Phil gave himself over to despair; he could see no way out of their terrible predicament. Langdon, breathing heavily beside him, was silent, while Sydney was speechless with anger and mortification.

After several minutes the interpreter entered their prison; his sallow face betrayed not a spark of sympathy as he told Langdon to be prepared to receive the sentence of punishment at the hands of the viceroy.

The pilot growled an answer in Chinese which caused the interpreter’s face to show a shade of annoyance; then he answered in English, glancing fiercely at his captives.

“We respect a flag of truce, but those who land on friendly soil and attack innocent villagers are not entitled to its protection.”

Phil would have denied the Chinaman’s assertions, but the next second he was roughly dragged to his feet, and with his companions, led into the private apartments of the viceroy.

There the mandarin was seated comfortably in his chair of state, enjoying hugely the discomfiture of the foreigners. One by one the Americans were forced down upon their knees before the viceroy; the guards zealously pulling the hair of the helpless ones as a caution to obey quietly.

While Chang-Li-Hun spoke to Langdon in a low voice, the midshipmen were held down on their knees, their heads bent forward, and as each moved to ease his cramped limbs, the cruel hands of the soldiers would inflict some new and painful torture to keep them motionless. The strain was well-nigh unbearable; the body bending forward brought a heavy and increasing strain on the wrist bindings.

“Your two companions being officers of a foreign navy under arms on China’s soil, I have the right to hold them for punishment and execution, if I so desire. You being but a civilian, if you will apologize publicly I will set you free at once,” the viceroy said in a conciliatory voice.

The pilot stoutly refused to accept his clemency.

“Would your commander really dare attempt to bombard my city?” the mandarin continued curiously.

The severe pain at his wrists spurred Langdon on to picture blackly the doom awaiting the self-satisfied and treacherous official.

“If you hold these officers captive, the American commander will not rest until he has set them at liberty. If you harm a hair of their heads he will raze your city to the ground and every shell will be directed at this yamen. The inside of the wall will be as desolate as that of your great city of Nanking after the Taiping rebels had sacked it.”

The viceroy turned livid with uncontrolled rage. He spurned the bound prisoner with his foot, while the soldiers, seeing the anger in their master’s face, pulled the hair and beard of the helpless man.

Langdon was now beside himself. By a mighty effort, he bore back upon the soldiers, his great strength scattering them with ease, and then he raised his head and gazed full into the face of the viceroy.

“By holding us as hostages you are but signing your own death-warrant. Our mission here was for your own good. Your people will suffer, but the mandarins are those whom Commander Hughes desires to punish. You know that if your city is destroyed by the foreign fleet you must either commit suicide or falsify the reports to Peking which in time will be discovered. If you liberate us at once and give your promise that foreigners will be protected, even now you can redeem your action.”

Chang-Li-Hun could hardly believe his ears. He had never been talked to so plainly in all his life. His mandarins stood near him, the scowls on their outraged faces betokening evil for the helpless Americans.

Langdon was, at a motion from the viceroy, quickly restrained, and struggling violently in the hands of numerous soldiers was borne out of the council-chamber. The midshipmen’s guards were severe as they dragged the unresisting lads from the presence of the viceroy.

“I fear I’ve made a worse muddle of it,” the pilot exclaimed dolefully, after they were again alone in the room which for the present served as their prison. Then he recounted to his companions what had passed between him and the powerful mandarin.

“We can hope for no immediate relief from our people,” Phil declared dejectedly. “Even though the allies condemn Ignacio’s actions and are willing to aid in our release, they cannot storm the city by land from Lien-Chow. First the fleet must pass through the fire of the forts.”

“There is one other chance,” Langdon replied hopefully. “The viceroy is certainly acting without or perhaps even contrary to orders from Peking. I could tell that by the anger in his face when I accused him of it. His government is being kept in the dark. It knows nothing of the conditions within his provinces. If the foreign ambassadors in Peking have back-bone enough to insist upon knowing the state of affairs, the throne will ask for reports, and Chang-Li-Hun, as powerful as he is, must disclose his treachery. If these reports are not satisfactory to the ambassadors and at the same time if sufficient fear can be put into the emperor’s heart by intimidating him with the threat of another sack of the capital by the foreign soldiers, then he will send one of his trusted Manchu generals with an army at his back, from a neighboring province. When once these soldiers have arrived in front of the viceroy’s yamen then Chang-Li-Hun must acknowledge himself beaten.”

“Meanwhile what is going to happen to us?” Sydney asked.

“Come, brace up, Syd,” cried Phil, trying hard to appear cheerful. “We’ve been in as bad a place before. If our time has come, nothing that we can say or do will stop it.”

“It isn’t that I am afraid of what’s going to happen,” Sydney exclaimed in a hurt voice. “If they’d given us a show it wouldn’t have mattered; but to violate a truce! That’s what makes me feel like tearing these shackles off and throttling every Chinaman in sight, and to feel I can’t makes me wish to use all the bad words that I know.”

Phil could barely suppress a laugh; Sydney had described his own feeling more accurately than he could himself.

“We may just as well keep our tempers,” Phil replied philosophically. “It only wastes one’s strength to get angry, and we’ll probably need all the endurance we have before we are again with our own people.”

“Did the captain send any telegrams to the admiral or Washington about the state of affairs?” Langdon asked suddenly.

“Yes, he sent one yesterday and one was given to the Chinese operator in the concession this morning,” Phil replied. “The last one was a long one and outlined what he intended doing, with his reasons. They were all in cipher. I helped him prepare them.”

“They haven’t gone further than the viceroy’s waste paper basket,” Langdon returned. “He will guard every outlet for news. Doubtless his version of the actions of the foreigners will be wired, unless he sees fit to remain silent.”

“How can he remain silent?” Sydney inquired. “The gunboats came here believing that there was going to be trouble. Surely if the foreign governments do not hear from their representatives they will be suspicious.”

“It’s too deep for me this time,” Langdon declared. “The viceroy knows what he’s doing; that I can assure you. History usually repeats itself in these Chinese troubles, and he is probably banking on the timidity of the foreign governments. If the plain unvarnished facts of the attack on Lien-Chow got to Washington with no word from Commander Hughes, what would happen? That is what Chang-Li-Hun is counting on.”

“The president would wire for particulars,” Phil answered.

“Yes, and he wouldn’t get them,” Langdon returned; “and then what would happen?”

“I don’t know, but the viceroy believes he does and he hopes that Washington will act in such a way as to give the victory to Chang-Li-Hun.”

As the pilot’s voice died away, the predicament of himself and companions came home forcibly to Phil. His arms and legs were swollen, causing him great pain, and the thought of the further cruelty of those who held them captives was not pleasant.

“Is there no way to escape?” the lad asked, glancing about the insecure looking prison.

“We might succeed in getting out of the yamen,” Langdon answered discouragingly, “but we could never expect to get out of the city. There are but two gates, and both are heavily guarded at all times. Once we are missed from here the news would travel with the speed of wireless telegraphy throughout the city. No, we are as secure as if we were on a desert island.”

“Can’t we bribe the guards?” Sydney asked, casting a contemptuous glance at the ragged soldier at the door.

“What have we to bribe with?” Langdon asked mournfully. “I haven’t a cent about me.”

“The green jade ring my grateful Chinaman gave me!” Phil exclaimed.

The Americans took heart at the thought of this priceless possession.

“Guard it carefully,” Langdon cautioned; “it may save us.”

“Does Commander Ignacio really believe,” Sydney asked suddenly, “that Commander Hughes will apologize to the viceroy?”

“That traitor Ignacio knows that he will not!” Phil exclaimed angrily at the thought of his treachery. “There’s more in this than we understand. It’s a plot to defeat our captain, and he with only his small force is powerless if the other nations side with this villain. Our only hope is that the other foreigners will not stand for Ignacio’s cowardly agreement.”

“Those in the mission,” Langdon said with alarm in his voice, “are in a worse plight than ever. Unless Commander Hughes finds himself strong enough to relieve the mission it will sooner or later be attacked; our fifty sailors cannot withstand a long siege against the Chinese regular troops.”

The more Phil speculated upon the situation the more perplexing it seemed. Numbers of helpless foreign missionaries were scattered among the cities of the provinces. Even now many might have been killed by the lawless element. In the past many missionaries had been killed by mobs stirred to violence by printed circulars sent out openly by the mandarins. Would the firm stand of the foreigners deter the mandarins from giving license to their people to destroy? Phil knew that this was his captain’s hope.

Langdon’s voice interrupted the lad’s musings.

“We shall be separated,” he said dejectedly. “Please don’t be rash. Remember the cruelty of these people. They might kill in a fit of anger, even though your death was against their interests. Don’t expect kind treatment. You will probably be liberated when our captain has shown the viceroy that he is equal to his threats, but I am not an officer and I know too much to suit that scheming interpreter.”

That the pilot despaired of his life was indeed disquieting news to the midshipmen, but their solicitations were quickly cut short by the sound of tramping feet in the hallway outside their prison door.

A number of armed soldiers entered the room and dragged the captives roughly to their aching feet, hurrying them along the stone pavement up the courtyard.

Phil saw ahead of him the unresisting Langdon, brutally kicked and struck by his captors as he shuffled painfully along, then his own guards turned down a corridor, dragging him after them.

Wondering what was about to happen Phil saw a soldier knock loudly upon a door; a most unearthly yell from within was the only answer, then the door opened inwards and he found himself shoved into the midst of a crowd of half-naked Chinamen. His heart sank within him as he realized that he was to be imprisoned along with the lowest of the criminals of the viceroy’s provinces. But a moment later he could have cried out for joy at the sight of Sydney thrown roughly almost into his arms. At least he would have his friend to share his tortures; that was something for which to be thankful.

CHAPTER X
A CHINESE PRISON

The arrival of the Americans in the jail was heralded with delight by their scantily-clad fellows; they one and all crowded about the lads examining their uniforms and putting very dirty hands on their white skins. Many had never seen a foreigner at such close range. The midshipmen were so tightly bound that they could not escape this unpleasant, although apparently friendly, treatment.

Finally Phil could bear it no longer; the sickening odor from their unwashed bodies became more than his endurance could stand. Managing to rise to his feet, he painfully crossed the damp floor to a wooden bench, the only article of furniture in the cell; reaching this he sat down upon it, gently but forcefully pushing the prisoners seated beside him until he had the bench entirely to himself. The Chinese stood close by in silent surprise, showing no anger at this treatment.

“Come here, Sydney,” he called. “We’ll take the bench and keep these ruffians away. They’ll smother us with their heathen curiosity.”

Sydney crawled through the delighted crowd, the prisoners moving aside readily for him, and as he reached the bench and raised himself off the reeking floor to a seat beside Phil, the gaping Chinamen chattered like children, quite absorbed in the infrequent spectacle of foreign devils in their jail.

A number of the more bold among the prisoners squatted on the floor close to the bench, examining the stout boots and leggins of the midshipmen, but these Phil motioned away, emphasizing his meaning by a shove from his manacled feet. The Chinamen arose at once, their faces expressing only astonishment.

The lads were soon left alone; their fellow prisoners had formed a circle around them with an intervening space of over a yard, while one or two of their number assumed the rôle of protectors and faithfully kept their comrades from infringing upon this forbidden ground.

“They are more kind than their masters,” Sydney said, after the midshipmen had gathered their scattered wits.

“Poor fellows, they seem as happy as if they were only doing penance for small sins,” Phil replied, gazing compassionately at his motley companions. “Yet they are all condemned to be executed. Do you see the large ring each wears about his neck, with a brass tag attached? That’s the mark of a felon to be beheaded, or worse.”

“Where do you suppose they’ve taken Langdon?” Sydney asked anxiously. “It’s certainly terrible to be helpless in the power of these cruel Chinese. They may even now have beheaded him. The viceroy was angry enough to revenge himself.”

“I hope it’s not so bad as that,” Phil answered, trying hard to be reassuring, not feeling, however, a particle more secure than the condemned men about him. “Langdon said,” he added grimly, “if our hands were lifted up high behind our backs and they hurried us out of the cell, our heads would probably be cut off in the large outer court. Until they do that, I suppose we may be sure that we are not in any immediate danger of death.”

Sydney shuddered at the unpleasant thought. And this was the China that they had been so eager to visit.

Toward evening a great tub filled with millet was brought in by the keepers and this the prisoners devoured ravenously. Luckily for the lads, they had satisfied their appetite from the viceroy’s table, for they would have stood but scant chance among that hungry rabble.

The cell was now entirely dark, save for a swinging light which streamed through the barred doors. The midshipmen scarcely closed their eyes during the long hours of the night, and when the first streaks of day shone into their foul cell, they were sitting open-eyed on their bench.

A jailer brought a basin of water to the door of the cell and then entering, took off their irons and led them out into the courtyard. The lads’ hopes rose, but they soon saw that it was to be only a preparation for more imprisonment. A bowl of rice apiece was given them, which was quickly eaten, and then each received a steaming cup of tea. This reassuring meal put new life into the lads and they felt more cheerful than at any time since their imprisonment.

“What’s he doing?” Sydney cried out in alarm, as the jailer began to rub his neck with a damp rag, while another rubbed his wrists and ankles. Phil was afterward given the same treatment, and then the hateful irons were again put on, but in addition there were put about their necks the dreaded rings, with the dangling brass tags that jingled ominously.

The midshipmen were stunned. Like the others of their cell-mates they were now wearing the badge of death. They also had been condemned by the viceroy and would be held in this loathsome prison until their numbers were called by the “Board of Punishments,” the Chinese high court of justice.

Once more in their cell the lads sat dejectedly on their bench. They had small desire for conversation; each felt his doom pressing upon him, and strange to say with this weight of trouble their thoughts turned to Langdon.

“If we are to be executed,” Phil said sorrowfully, “poor Langdon must have already met his death.”

Sydney had not the heart to reply. He nodded his head sorrowfully. Then a thought struck him, and he raised hopeful eyes to his companion’s face.

“He must be near us, Phil,” he exclaimed. “Can’t we find some means of communicating? If we could only talk their language we might ask our jailer; he appears friendly and probably knows.”

Phil was silent for a few moments, then he suddenly began to whistle loudly the stirring music of their class song. The tune brought tears to Sydney’s eyes. It took him back to the day the brigade of midshipmen marched by the reviewing stand for the last time with his class as seniors. Two hours afterward, with his diploma in his hand, he had shaken hands as a graduate with the secretary of the navy. What a terrible contrast! Then a sudden fear took possession of him. Had Phil lost his mind? Was the knowledge of their terrible end too much for his nerves and had his strong mind succumbed? While these disquieting thoughts were coursing through his brain, Phil ceased whistling and listened eagerly. From a distance a high-pitched treble of a whistle came indistinctly to their ears amid the noises of their cell.

The Chinese crowded about Phil in evident delight, while a number of jailers stood outside the half-closed door peering inside, smiles on their ignorant faces.

“They seem to enjoy my music,” Phil said in a perfectly rational voice; “but thank goodness, Langdon is still alive!”

“Maybe it was from one of the sailors,” Sydney suggested.

Phil continued his whistling for many minutes until his listeners had become thoroughly accustomed, then he put forth his strategy.

“Langdon knows our signal code,” he said quietly, “and I’m going to try to whistle him a message, if we can only get these fellows quiet. At least we’ll find out who it is that is confined near us.”

Then by single and double whistles, covered up ingeniously with snatches of tunes, he spelled out:

“Who are you?”

The lads waited breathlessly for several minutes, which seemed to them as many hours. Then the answer came distinctly:

“Langdon. If the interpreter comes to you show him the ring. It may be your last chance.”

Phil acknowledged this, and then to allay the suspicions of the jailers, he whistled several lively tunes.

The long day dragged slowly by. In their cramped surroundings they leaned back against the wall and dozed off, only to be awakened by the pains in their tightly-bound limbs. The irons galled terribly.

At last the jailer brought them their evening meal, a bowl of rice apiece, and before leaving them for the night, examined their shackles. While examining Sydney’s swollen wrists he “hi-yaw’d” loudly, calling the midshipmen’s attention to where the tender skin had been chafed through, the red flesh showing clearly.

“Of course; what does he expect?” Sydney exclaimed angrily. “These irons are not lined with velvet!”

The jailer took Phil by the shoulder and led him to a corner of the cell, where a Chinaman was lying, his pale face showing that the poor fellow’s death was but a matter of hours.

Stooping down, the jailer lifted one of the sick man’s arms. The sight that met the lad’s gaze was heartrending. The wrist where his iron had been was a festering sore. The diseased flesh had slowly spread until his forearm to the elbow was infected and the man was dying of blood poison. Phil at once understood the terrible danger to his friend. He had heard of the maggot which is said to infest all Chinese prisons. The earth beneath his feet at a depth of a few inches was swarming with these deadly parasites, and their instinct leads them directly to a fresh wound. Once this insect enters the flesh of a victim, his death by a fearful, agonizing and lingering illness is assured.

Pointing to Sydney’s irons Phil demanded by signs that they be immediately removed, but the jailer shook his head in dissent, his expressive face portraying a fear for himself if he did, while he struck his own neck with his hand as if to say, “That’s what would happen to me if I took his irons off.”

Phil’s solicitude for his friend was great. How could he hide this wound from the searching little worm? He thought of his pocket handkerchief in his blouse pocket; reaching inside his coat with his manacled hands, he dragged it slowly out, with the intention of using it as a bandage about Sydney’s wrist, but to his consternation as he pulled a bright spark of metal flashed before his eyes and the precious jade ring fell loudly to the floor at the jailer’s feet.

The Chinaman pounced upon it with avidity, hastily concealing it in his loose clothes. Phil attempted to hold him, but he roughly pushed him aside, shutting the barred door in his face with a loud slam.

Their last hope had flown. The Chinaman would doubtless conceal the ring and say he knew nothing in case he was questioned.

The keen disappointment at the loss of the talisman made Phil fear even more for the terrible predicament of his companion. A few more days in this noisome hole might mean his death. Ill fed, with no opportunity to wash away the accumulated dirt from their unclean surroundings, he must surely fall a victim of the insidious insect.

Another night passed in torture, relieved only by an occasional exchange of signals between Phil and Langdon. He had fared no worse than the midshipmen. Phil told him of the loss of the ring and afterward there was a long silence, as if the news were too disappointing to find an answer.

Finally after several hours, the midshipmen were awakened from their painful slumber to hear the signal from the pilot.

“The viceroy has received some word from the allies. He asked me many questions to-day,” and then abruptly the whistle ceased.

The lads were eager to hear more, but Langdon was silent, and soon a jailer entered and threatened by signs to gag the midshipmen if they continued; so, much against their inclinations, they stopped signaling.

Early the next morning the lads were awakened from an uneasy sleep by loud cries in the courtyard outside of their cell door. The jailer hurried in, unlocking their chains and signed them to follow him. The midshipmen upon staggering to their feet would have fallen, if it had not been for the prompt support of their fellow prisoners, who having risen from their earth beds were gazing curiously through the open door.

Emerging into the sunlight Phil at first could see nothing, but the jailer, taking each by a hand, led them staggeringly across the sandy courtyard. Then suddenly, pushing on their shoulders, the jailer forced the midshipmen on their knees before two mandarins.

Phil raised his eyes and saw the kindly face of the Tartar general, while from the lips of the other, a stranger, came in perfect English as he raised the almost fainting lads to their feet:

“Come with us; we are your friends.”

Jubilantly they followed the Tartar general’s military figure, and soon found themselves within a large room where a small table was set, and the tempting odor of food struck pleasantly upon their hungry senses.

“WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS”

The lads were told to be seated, the mandarins taking chairs opposite each.

Phil was fairly bursting with suppressed excitement. Were they to be liberated?

CHAPTER XI
FRIENDS IN NEED

The midshipmen saw that something had occurred to bring about this change in the behavior of the mandarins, but for their lives they could not guess its import or the effect it would have upon their condition. Both lads had come to understand something of Chinese perfidy, and determined to school themselves to bear any disappointment.

Very deliberately the two mandarins finished their meal, the midshipmen, even under their tension of impatience, doing full justice themselves to the savory dishes, and then the servants removed the remnants of the repast. Meanwhile all four men sat in silence, the mandarins in their silken robes in great contrast to the forlorn appearance of the Americans in their dirt-covered uniforms.

At length the silence was broken by the unmusical voice of Hang-Ki, the Tartar general. While he talked, making many gestures with his hands to illustrate his meaning, the lads racked their brains for a solution to this unexpected treatment. Finally the general finished, glancing interestedly at the midshipmen, anticipating no doubt the effect his words would have on the faces of the youths.

Phil drummed calmly with his finger nail a signal to Sydney.

“Show no feeling,” the latter read from the clear clicks upon the hardwood table, and he nodded guardedly in assent.

The second Chinaman was now interpreting the general’s words, and the midshipmen listened eagerly.

“His Excellency, General Hang-Ki, was given this ring by a soldier who said it was found by one of the jailers on the person of one of the American officers. He wishes to know from where it came.”

To Phil’s delight the Chinaman held up the jade ring, which he had believed was irrecoverably lost.

Phil saw no reason for concealment, so he at once told the story of his rescue of the Chinaman from the river.

Then it was the midshipmen’s turn to watch the general’s face as Phil’s words were given him in his own language, but to their disappointment, his features did not betray the slightest signs of aught save interest.

Finally the interpreting mandarin turned to the expectant lads, a smile on his intelligent face. They had been wondering unsuccessfully who this Chinaman might be, using the English language as readily as his own. He spoke a few words to the general, and receiving an affirmative nod, he again addressed the Americans.

“I see you do not know me. My name is Emmons. So far I have been powerless to aid you. The viceroy is not my friend, and if it were not for the confidence shown me by the general, I should before now have shared the fate which you have so narrowly escaped. Even now all danger is not over. This ring, you say,” addressing Phil, “was given you by the man you saved from the river?”

Phil nodded silently.

“That part we cannot explain. The ring is a gift from the emperor to Ta-Ling, the viceroy’s official secretary and interpreter. The stone is the most priceless jade. Fortunately for you the jailer, fearing to keep it in his possession during the night, gave it to the captain of the yamen guard, who brought it at once to the general. If it had gone to the viceroy, before now you both would have been executed.”

“What do you mean?” Phil exclaimed. “Did I commit such a serious offense by saving this man from drowning?”

Emmons smiled grimly as he answered:

“By saving Ta-Ling’s life you committed a serious offense against the foreigners in China. That it was he you saved there can be but little doubt, and he is the bitterest enemy the foreigners have among the viceroy’s advisers. He is a graduate of an American college, and because of his harsh treatment at San Francisco each time he returned to college from his yearly visits to China, he has sworn to avenge himself upon all Americans, and of course all foreigners will suffer, because the Chinese people cannot discriminate between an American and one of another nationality. Because of my American blood I have gained his enmity, and while once I enjoyed the viceroy’s confidence, now he has openly shown me his displeasure. This uprising was started by the wide circulation of handbills, printed in the yamen and distributed at Ta-Ling’s direction throughout the provinces, calling upon all patriotic Chinamen to exterminate the foreigners. General Hang-Ki is the only friend that the foreigners have; he commanded an army corps against the allies at Peking in 1900, and knows the terrible consequences awaiting those who dare resort to such barbarous and uncivilized methods. Unfortunately Ta-Ling has the entire confidence of the viceroy, and has poisoned his ear against the wiser counsel of the general.”

“Is the mission still unharmed?” Phil interrupted anxiously.

“Yes,” Emmons answered promptly, “the viceroy has given the general orders that it be guarded from attack, although Ta-Ling has been making desperate efforts to gather together the rebels, who were dispersed by the foreign sailors at Lien-Chow. If he should succeed in having the general’s soldiers withdrawn from their camp near the mission, he may yet succeed in his cherished wish.”

“But Ta-Ling himself has enemies,” Phil exclaimed. “It must have been these who attempted to drown him in the river.”

“The one who attempted to drown him in the river is sitting opposite you in the person of General Hang-Ki,” Emmons answered, smiling at the lads’ astonished faces. “Knowing that the general would not lend himself to the intrigues against the lives of foreigners, Ta-Ling decided to put the general out of the way. The night you saved the secretary from the river and, as you supposed, received this priceless royal jade ring as a reward, his Excellency was spending the night with me on my house-boat. The general, if possible, always sleeps in the open air, and this aided the would-be murderer in his design. I had been asleep for some hours when I was aroused by cries, and hurrying to where I had left the general sleeping, I saw him hurl the body of a man overboard; but the assassin had nearly accomplished his purpose as the knife thrust over the general’s heart will show.” Emmons turned his tongue to the Chinese language, and the general baring his chest, the lads gazed in horror at the terrible wound.

“We believed,” continued Emmons, “that the man was only a robber, until we saw this ring and heard your story, but now there can be no doubt that the would-be assassin was the viceroy’s interpreter, Ta-Ling himself.”

“Is it likely,” Phil asked incredulously, “that if the man was Ta-Ling, he would give me this ring?”

“He didn’t give you the ring, you can be sure of that,” Emmons replied decidedly; “it slipped off his finger when he thanked you. Afterward when he missed it, he doubtless thought he had lost it in the river.”

“Do you suppose he has recognized me as the one who pulled him out of the river?” Phil asked suddenly, grasping at the hope that the Chinaman might befriend him; but Emmons quickly dashed this hope to the ground.

“The night was dark, and besides, after his experience in the river, for he cannot swim, I doubt if he remembers much of what happened. According to the old law of China he would not dare for his soul’s peace to take your life if he knew you had saved him, but Ta-Ling is a progressive Chinaman, and considers his self-preservation in this world of more importance than the peace of his spirit hereafter. If this attempt on the life of a trusted general of the emperor were known, Ta-Ling could not be saved by even the viceroy. The penalty is death by a terrible torture.”

“Will the general report this occurrence to the viceroy?” Phil asked excitedly, his hopes again rising that the interpreter might be disposed of and Langdon and the rest of the hostages liberated to return to the safety of their ships.

“The general believes that the time has not come to expose him,” Emmons answered, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. “Ta-Ling is now the master of the viceroy’s yamen and if we failed to break his authority he would make certain of your destruction, reporting to the viceroy that you all had committed suicide for shame at your misdeeds.”

Both midshipmen’s faces broke into smiles in spite of the serious situation. Emmons, seeing the merriment caused by his words, hastened to explain.

“I know that such an idea is entirely foreign to the American mind, but not so with the Chinese. If a man knows he has committed some deed which his fellows condemn, he is ashamed, or as we say in China, ‘loses face,’ and he is very likely to commit suicide to regain his good name. And again, a Chinaman held prisoner may take his own life for revenge against his captors.”

“They needn’t fear that from us,” Phil replied. “We’ll cling to life as long as we are able.”

“That’s what the general and I have come to help you in,” Emmons said in sympathy; “the jailer has already been cautioned to say nothing of the ring, and the soldier who brought it to the general is no friend of Ta-Ling; but even with this doubt removed your lives are in danger so long as you are held by the viceroy. An ultimatum was received from the American commander last night that the allies have refused to approve the commander of the flag of truce’s promises and if the hostages are not liberated before noon to-morrow, the allied fleet would bombard the city. This has thrown the viceroy into a fever of fear, for he owns much valuable property in and about the city. He has given the general orders to open fire on the fleet if it again moves to an anchorage off the city.”

“Will he obey the order?” Phil asked eagerly.

“He must,” Emmons replied. “He dare not refuse a direct order from the viceroy, but he has demanded this order in writing, so as to protect himself when the day of reckoning comes. General Hang-Ki has sent a memorial to the viceroy protesting against this action; he realizes that these gunboats stand for many great battle-ships that would be sent against his forts as soon as the spring floods bring rising water in the Yangtse River.”

The midshipmen were silent, while Emmons spoke to the general. The conversation lasted for several minutes, when finally the former again spoke in his father’s language.

“The viceroy is ignorant of our presence here and we must soon leave you. If Ta-Ling should discover that we had talked with you, all hope for you would be over.”

The midshipmen were cast down into the depths of despair. Then they were not to be liberated at all, and would again go back to their prison and be in the cruel clutches of that fiend Ta-Ling.

“The general has done his best to arrange an escape,” were the cheering words from Emmons. “To-night you will be put in a cell away from the Chinese prisoners. The door of the cell will be unlocked. Here is a plan of the yamen, and I have marked your route to the gate and safety. I shall have chairs waiting you at the gate. Success depends upon yourselves; we dare not help you farther. In this room marked in pencil you will find mandarin robes, which you must put on. The guards throughout the yamen will be removed until midnight, so you must succeed before that time. The room in which you will find disguises is occupied by the viceroy’s treasurer. He is a close friend of Ta-Ling and cannot be bought. If you are discovered the general will be powerless to save you.”

“And Langdon?” Phil asked earnestly, his heart beating high with hope. “We cannot go a step without him and our four sailors.”

“That is more difficult,” Emmons replied with annoyance. “He is being constantly visited by Ta-Ling. To attempt his escape may defeat all. The four sailors are in another part of the yamen and except for cruel treatment are safe for the present. The general is grateful to you for revealing this plot against his own life, but his real intention is to give your captain information as to what will happen if he attempts to run by the forts. There is, however, a channel, known to only the Chinese, leading behind and close to the long narrow island on the opposite side of the river. This island is now covered with tall reed grass which will conceal the hulls of the gunboats from the rays of the search-lights of the fort. Here is a sketch plan of this channel. If your commander will start at night and use the channel I suggest, it may be that he can take his entire fleet past the forts undiscovered. I dare not take this message myself, for my movements are closely watched. I fear even now Ta-Ling may have discovered our purpose.”

“Can we depend upon this information?” Sydney whispered to Phil, as Emmons and the general rose to their feet. “Might it not be a trick to blow the gunboats up by mines in this narrow channel?”

Phil put the question to Emmons, but the latter assured them of the honesty of the general.

“The general believes he is serving his country in giving this information,” he added; “he knows his people will suffer through the viceroy’s treachery. If the fleet can pass without being discovered, he cannot be held guilty of disobeying the order of the viceroy. So you see it is important that this message should reach your captain in time to prevent him from carrying out his threat of running the batteries.”

Reluctantly the midshipmen agreed to leave Langdon and the four sailors behind and make the attempt to escape in order to carry the information of the secret channel to Commander Hughes. Each felt that in doing so they might be sacrificing their friend to the revenge of Ta-Ling when he had discovered the absence of the midshipmen, but the good of the cause demanded it be so.

In but a few moments the jailer led the lads back to their distasteful prison.

Passing a great tub of clear water, both lads looked longingly at it and then at their soiled hands. To their delight the Chinaman smiled and motioned that they might indulge in a bath.

Delightedly the lads stripped their unclean clothes from their bodies and bathed in the soothing water. Forgetful of their surroundings, with the complacent jailer sitting close by an amused spectator, they talked gayly of their hoped-for deliverance. Then the bright smiles on their faces were suddenly frozen by the sound of a voice which they had learned to dread.

“You seem very cheerful for men who are soon to be executed,” Ta-Ling said in his perfect English. “What has put my good friends in such excellent spirits?”

Both midshipmen were speechless with astonishment. How long had this eavesdropper been listening? Had he discovered the intrigue of the Tartar general? These were the questions that passed through their minds. They waited in cruel suspense for the next words of their enemy to answer these fateful questions.

Ta-Ling turned upon the trembling jailer, berating him soundly, punctuating his words with kicks and blows which the cringing man received without a sign of resentment.

“I have told him that if I saw you laughing again,” he cried angrily, “he would have his head chopped off. Your treatment here has been too kind.”

Then as an afterthought the mandarin picked up Phil’s uniform blouse from the ground at his feet and searched through the pockets carefully. Phil was terrified; the plan of the yamen was in his trousers pocket on the ground at the Chinaman’s feet. If he searched through his trousers, all hope of escape would be ended.

CHAPTER XII
A DARING PLAN

Ta-Ling threw down the coat impatiently and glanced disdainfully at the other articles of apparel. He then took up Phil’s muddy trousers gingerly as if fearful of soiling his esthetic hands. The lad’s heart was in his throat while he watched the Chinaman guardedly, striving to appear unconcerned, and cudgeling his brain for something to say in order to turn the man’s attention from a search of the guilty garment.

“Why are you so bitter against my people?” Phil asked hoarsely. “Were you not educated in America?”

Ta-Ling dropped the tattered garment, glancing up quickly, a scowl on his yellow face.

“Why am I bitter against you?” he answered. “I despise everything American. Was I not put in a pen in San Francisco along with such cattle as coolies from Japan, Corea and my own country? Your stupid officials claimed not to be able to distinguish between us. I heard one say ‘All Chinks look alike to me.’ After the first experience, when I was washed and my clothes fumigated as if I had been a pauper immigrant, I got letters from college friends, but armed even with these I suffered indignities at the hands of these ignorant officials. When I left America with my graduation diploma in my pocket I took oath to my father’s spirit that I would consecrate my life to making foreigners respect the persons of the high class Chinese, and in starting this crusade I saw it was first necessary to drive all foreigners out of our sacred country.”

Both midshipmen were astonished at the earnestness in Ta-Ling’s voice. If the situation had been reversed, would they have acted differently? Had not this man ample reason to hate all foreigners?

“Even if some of our stupidly ignorant and irresponsible officials could not distinguish between ranks in your society,” Phil urged, “why should you revenge yourself against us? We are innocent of all blame. We came into your city under the sacred protection of a flag of truce, and in committing a crime against us you will only confirm foreigners in their belief that a Chinaman is not worthy of considerate treatment. Your cause will not be benefited, and your people will suffer; the allied fleet will avenge our deaths as was done in Peking.”

“What do I care how many of these low-caste dogs die?” Ta-Ling retorted scornfully; “there are over four hundred million of such animals. Your deaths will force the foreign governments to wage war on China, and once this war is begun, our people will rise up from one end of the empire to the other to drive the foreigner from the soil of China.”

“But the missionaries, who have at heart only the enlightenment of your people,” Phil urged, catching his clothes stealthily from the ground at Ta-Ling’s feet.

“They, of all the foreigners who come to China,” the Chinaman returned somewhat shamefacedly, “are working unselfishly, but they must suffer with the others; all foreigners must go for China’s good.

“I tell you these things,” he ended, turning to leave the midshipmen with their jailer, “because your death-warrants have already been signed by the viceroy. At the first hostile shot fired by the allies your heads will pay the forfeit and we shall attack the mission, guarded now by your sailors, and kill every foreigner within.”

As Ta-Ling left them, the jailer seized the lads roughly and dragged them toward their cell. As the door closed behind them Phil shuddered at the demoniacal laughs of derision from their fellow prisoners.

“Our cause has a bitter enemy in Ta-Ling,” Phil whispered, after the lads had been sitting on their hard wooden bench for several minutes and the noise from their prison mates had subsided; “but I believe he’ll fail. When Commander Hughes commences to throw his shells into the city, he’ll be one of the first, with all his vain show of patriotism, to cry enough and seek safety.”

Sydney did not reply; his thoughts were upon the coming night, when the two midshipmen were to make their dash for freedom.

After a few minutes he confided his fears to his friend.

“If Ta-Ling finds that we have talked with the Tartar general we’re as good as dead men,” he said in an awed whisper.

This terrible thought sent a shiver through Phil.

“Did you notice the look on the jailer’s face when Ta-Ling was talking to him?” he continued in an anxious voice; “it was one of cringing fear. If Ta-Ling even suspects that we had been out of our cell and questions that man he will tell all. The jailer probably is keen enough to know that Hang-Ki and Ta-Ling are enemies, and of the two he fears the latter most.”

“Well, the die is cast,” Phil answered, smiling with a great effort; “there’s no use crying over it. We are either going to escape to-night or we are going to have our heads chopped off out there in the courtyard. Nothing that we can do can alter our fate, so we might just as well look cheerful, even though we don’t feel that way,” and suiting his actions to his words he began to whistle the class march.

Sydney sat mournfully listening, while the Chinese criminals crowded around them, jabbering noisily.

The hours dragged wearily along. As the light through the barred door became dimmer, foretelling the end of the tedious day, the midshipmen’s hopes rose; so far Ta-Ling could not have learned of their visit to his enemy.

The midshipmen were taken out into the courtyard as usual for their evening meal and after the meagre fare had been eaten with great effort by the anxious and impatient lads, the jailer removed their irons and washed carefully the aching sore on Sydney’s wrist.

Phil was delighted to see that the man had recovered from his fear of a few hours ago, and that he lingered a much longer time than seemed necessary, for Sydney’s wrist had been securely bound with Phil’s handkerchief and appeared to be healing, auguring well for the success of the coming night.

It was quite dark when the jailer had finished his solicitous attentions, and replaced the irons on their feet and hands. Motioning the midshipmen to follow him, he led them along the stone flagging of the courtyard, cautioning silence by raising his hand and shaking his head jerkily. Loaded down as they were with heavy chains, to move quietly was not an easy task, and was one calculated to fatigue the lads to an alarming extent after their two days of cruel torture in these steel bonds.

After traversing nearly half the length of the courtyard, the jailer suddenly threw open a door, and forcefully pushed them through it into darkness. The door closed quietly behind his retreating figure.

Their hearts beating fast, Phil and Sydney strained their ears to catch the first sound of alarm. Heavy footfalls approaching on the stone pavement soon told them the reason of the jailer’s haste and his sudden departure.

Holding their breath tightly, they heard the newcomer stop hesitatingly before the door of their cell, then after a second he moved farther along, and finally the opening and shutting of a door told them he had entered a room near or even next to the one in which the two midshipmen had been so suddenly thrust.

Sounds of a low-pitched voice came distinctly to their ears through the frail partition; the lads listened eagerly. Then the bold tones of Langdon’s voice sounded distinctly.

“For a man who was educated among white men,” he was saying in a scornful voice, “you seem to have a queer idea of our honesty. If you liberate all, I’ll take the letter to our captain, but I shall not tell him I believe the viceroy will play fair, for I don’t believe he will. I don’t trust him, nor you. Send the letter by one of your own people, and see what answer he’ll send back. The threat that at the first gun fired by the allies our heads will be chopped off will not affect his plans. What are two midshipmen, four sailors, and a pilot to a country like ours?”

“Commander Ignacio and two of the allied gunboats have accepted the viceroy’s word and are back at their old anchorage,” Ta-Ling’s voice urged. “That shows the viceroy’s good faith.”

“Don’t talk to me of that traitor,” Langdon exclaimed; “he isn’t white anyway; his skin is as yellow as yours.”

“Then you refuse your life?” Ta-Ling’s voice asked.

“You Chinese are a soft-brained lot,” Langdon said, ignoring the question; “your intrigue is as plain as children’s play. Men like Ignacio might be fooled. I don’t know what promises you’ve made to him. Probably offered to give his countrymen the railroad concession to Peking, which your viceroy has cheated the Americans out of by his underhand dealings; but you ought to know after four years at an American college that we are not that kind. Commander Hughes is in this river to see that Americans are left unmolested, in accordance with the treaties made between the two countries.”

“I suppose you know that when I was in your America I personally investigated nearly a score of murders of Chinese in what you call the West. Each case was as brutal and flagrant as any that has occurred in China,” Ta-Ling’s voice broke in triumphantly. “How then can you boast of the honesty of your people?—for in not a single instance were the murderers punished.”

“That’s because you Chinese are a weak race, and haven’t the back-bone to stand up for your rights,” Langdon replied, “while we are men enough to insist on fair treatment for our citizens abroad. That’s where you are lacking in national character.”

A rattle of chains and harsh cries of rage and pain followed the sally of Langdon, causing the listeners to hold themselves rigid with suppressed excitement.

“That beast!” Phil whispered. “I wish I had let him drown.”

“I’ll go to your midshipmen friends,” Ta-Ling said sullenly. “I believe they are frightened enough to be bought by the price you refuse. Remember, I’ve given you the last chance you’ll get.”

Langdon was apparently too angry to speak. The lads could hear distinctly his heavy breathing, caused by some torture administered by this cruel Chinaman.

“You’re trying to hedge, is that it?” the thick voice of the pilot was heard to say; “or do you count upon catching the gunboats unawares as they steam by the forts flying flags of truce?”

The Chinaman administered a vicious kick in answer, and the lads held their breath in almost a panic as they heard the door of Langdon’s cell close and Ta-Ling’s footsteps die slowly away down the courtyard.

“It’s all up with us,” Sydney breathed hopelessly. “He’ll soon find we are not in our prison, and then——” he ended with a shiver as his thoughts dwelt upon the terrible death by decapitation.

A loud clank made the overwrought midshipmen start terrified; then Phil fairly gasped with surprise and joy; his arm manacles had fallen to the ground.

In the darkness he quickly reached out and grasped Sydney’s hand, fingering nervously the cruel iron bracelets. The metal rings were clamped but unlocked, and he readily removed the irons from his companion’s hands. In but a moment more they both stood free of their retaining bonds.

“Ta-Ling and the jailer,” Phil whispered as a sound of approaching footsteps became audible. “If they enter here we must overpower them. It’s our one chance now.”

Sydney moved closer to Phil, taking his hand in silence, and pressing it in sign of his readiness to follow his friend’s lead.

“They must make no outcry,” Phil continued. “I’ll take the one nearest me.”

The Chinamen stopped at the cell door, and the voice of Ta-Ling was raised angrily, storming in Chinese at the jailer, apparently for daring to remove the prisoners from their former cell.

The midshipmen retreated until their backs touched the wall of the narrow cell, having replaced their hand irons to appear to be still in chains.

A dim light shone into their cell as the door swung loudly open, and the scowling face of Ta-Ling appeared, with the jailer behind him, timidly holding up an oil lantern.

“So you didn’t like to be kept with the rest of the cattle?” Ta-Ling’s cruel voice began. Then he stopped suddenly, and threw up his head with a wicked laugh. “You’ve heard Langdon’s answer, then?” he continued, signing to the terrified and trembling jailer to put down the lantern on the solitary wooden bench. The man entered the cell to obey, leaving the door open.

Phil saw the time had come for action. He sought Sydney’s eye, then stealthily moved his foot, quietly throwing the door off its balance, allowing it to swing slowly closed. He had purposely moved so that Ta-Ling in addressing him must turn his back upon Sydney and the jailer. Burning with excitement he watched Sydney grasp his hand irons firmly. The great bulk of the jailer loomed almost grotesquely in the light of the flickering lantern. Fearing that Ta-Ling might be attracted by the eagerness which he was powerless to hide, Phil lowered his gaze, but out of the tail of his eye he was conscious that the iron flashed in the lamplight as the click of the shutting door caused the interpreter to glance toward it suspiciously.

Then a rattle of chain and a dull sound behind him made Ta-Ling swing suddenly around. Phil’s opportunity had arrived. With fingers itching for this cruel Chinaman’s throat he sprang upon him, smothering the cry that was ready to give the alarm to the yamen guard, and bore him heavily to the ground. In the flickering light he saw the man’s face turn livid, then purple, while his muscles relaxed. Glancing up, he saw Sydney removing a great bunch of keys from the prostrate body of the jailer.

CHAPTER XIII
HOPES OF ESCAPE

Ta-Ling had ceased to struggle; his eyes protruded in ghastly fashion, while through his open mouth his tongue showed blue and swollen. Phil was terrified at the sight, believing he had killed the Chinaman, but upon opening his coat he felt his heart beating faintly.

With a sigh of great relief he rose to his feet and, taking the lantern in his hand, he scanned his prostrate victim.

“You must put on his clothes and release Langdon,” Sydney whispered, holding the keys out toward Phil.

Without a word, but with fingers trembling with excitement, the lad stooped down, stripping the robes from the inanimate form; the baggy trousers, the silken hose and satin shoes and the long flowing robe with the mandarin square of the scholar embroidered in gold on its front.

Discarding his naval uniform he hastily put on his enemy’s garments. When completely clothed he turned to Sydney, who gasped with astonishment at the altered appearance of his friend. The hat with its horsetail plume and pink button concealed his long front hair which in a Chinaman is always missing, being shaved close to his scalp.

Sydney immediately followed his comrade’s example and was soon arrayed in the costume of the Chinese jailer.

Phil pointed to their discarded irons and in a few moments they had snapped feet and hand manacles over the helpless limbs of Ta-Ling. Then they both turned impatiently toward the door. Phil hesitated for an instant.

“They may come to before we can make our escape,” he said. “We must gag them.”

Stripping their prisoners of their undergarments, these as gags were tied firmly over their mouths.

“I hope he doesn’t smother,” Phil whispered in some alarm; “he seems to be hardly breathing.”

“We can’t take any chances now,” Sydney returned calmly; “it’s their life or ours. If we are caught now nothing can save us.”

To make more sure of their prisoners, the arms of each were bound to their sides, so that upon regaining consciousness they could not work their gags off their mouths and give the alarm to the yamen.

“I hope they’ll be found before they starve to death,” Phil said anxiously. “I fear the jailer will feel that we are ungrateful for his aid. I don’t dare liberate him; he may in fear betray us into the hands of the guard.”

“They’ll surely be found in the morning,” Sydney assured him. “Our friends the prisoners will clamor when their breakfast doesn’t appear, and then a search will be made for him and for us too. If we are not found before,” he ended grimly.

“What’s this!” Phil exclaimed, drawing from the inside pocket of his Chinese coat a number of papers and examining them in the light of the lantern. “A telegram!” he cried, “and addressed to Commander Hughes!”

Both lads gazed at the sealed envelope as if they would like to bore through the outer covering and read the message within.

“Dare we open it?” Phil asked. “If it is in the ordinary cipher I know the key word. It may be something important, and as well for us to know the contents if we lose the telegram. And here is a letter addressed to the captain,” he continued excitedly. “This is surely the one which Ta-Ling tempted Langdon to take. But come,” he added hastily, “we must not allow him to be a minute longer in his chains.”

Taking the keys from Sydney’s hand, he opened the cell door and led the way to the door of Langdon’s prison. There was no sound in the enclosure except an occasional shrill cry from the prisoners at the far corner. As they waited in the silent courtyard to make sure all was well before entering, Langdon’s heavy breathing came distinctly to their ears.

After a few seconds Phil selected the right key and the next moment the door swung open, while the lad whispered softly:

“Langdon!”

But there was no answer; then the dim light shed its fitful rays about the dungeon and the lad gave a smothered cry of concern, for the sight which met his gaze was indeed appalling: Langdon, bound tightly, was triced up to a beam overhead by his feet and the iron ring about his neck, and he was by degrees strangling to death.

The anxious lads quickly cut the ropes and lowered the insensible man to the floor. Then removing the irons they worked over him anxiously while the time passed on winged feet. Finally the pilot opened his eyes and stared at the lads with angry, sullen eyes, making a futile attempt to speak.

“You miserable coward,” he finally managed to say in a thick whisper. “I hope some day you’ll be treated as you’ve treated me.”

The midshipmen were at first so taken aback that they were silent. Then the comical part of the tragedy appealed to them and in that instant Langdon recognized his rescuers.

“We’ve got him now in almost the same condition that you were in,” Phil whispered.

The pilot gazed in wonder at the midshipmen. Raising a trembling hand he passed it over his eyes uncertainly, as if he would sweep away the delusion.

“What does it mean?” he asked weakly.

“It means that we are for the time free,” Phil answered; “but come, we must start. If we delay Ta-Ling may be missed and a search for him would spoil all. Can you walk?” he asked solicitously.

“In a minute,” the pilot replied. “Help me to my feet. I’d have been gone in a half hour more,” he added, feeling his sore and swollen throat.

The lads helped him to his feet and he stood unsteadily, leaning his great weight on their shoulders.

“It was partly our fault,” Sydney said apologetically; “he no doubt intended coming back and lowering you; but we couldn’t allow him to leave our cell.”

After a few minutes more to permit Langdon to regain his strength and give the blood a chance to circulate into his cramped limbs, Phil made the motion to follow, and all three noiselessly filed out into the courtyard and entered the cell where the Chinamen were lying.

The interpreter’s breathing showed that he would soon regain his senses. Langdon glared triumphantly down upon the villain who would gladly kill all the foreigners within the Chinese Empire.

“He’s not half gagged,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Then he untied the gag which the lads had made and jammed the mandarin’s mouth full of his own clothing, binding it in with a tight bandage. After rearranging the jailer’s gag, he arose and gloated over the fallen favorite of the viceroy.

Phil had torn open the telegram and in the dim light scanned it anxiously. Then he drew from his pocket a pencil and in silence wrote the key word above the words of the message. Sydney regarded him in a fever of excitement. Finally Phil’s pencil was still and he looked up with a white, anxious face.

“I’d like to destroy it, but I don’t dare,” he said. Then he read in a voice trembling with emotion:

“Department condemns your actions in entering To-Yan Lake and attacking Chinese soldiers. Proceed immediately back to Ku-Ling and offer ample apology to viceroy. Consider yourself relieved of your command.”

If a shell had exploded in their midst the eager listeners could not have been more surprised.

“Burn it up,” Langdon exclaimed indignantly. “That’s the way things are run from a distance of ten thousand miles.” Then his glance encountered the wide-open eyes of Ta-Ling and he snorted with rage as he roughly jerked the bound Chinaman to his feet.

“Did you hear it?” he cried.

The mandarin’s eyes burned balefully as he nodded his head in assent. Langdon released the Chinaman, and but for Phil’s steadying hand he would have fallen to the floor. Then the pilot raised the long braided cue of the interpreter and with a swift cut of his jack-knife severed it close up to the Chinaman’s head; the next second, holding it out to Phil, he cried gleefully:

“Put this on under your cap; it’s all you need to complete your costume.

“You won’t be so keen to show yourself in public hereafter,” he continued spitefully to the mandarin.

Ta-Ling was beside himself with rage, but he could only grow red and utter inarticulate sounds, while Langdon sat on the wooden bench laughing scornfully at the disgraced official.

“If he doesn’t commit suicide in twenty-four hours, it’s because he’s chicken-hearted.” Langdon laughed in a low tone, mainly for the Chinaman’s ear. The pilot knew he held the secret of the cablegram. Apparently he had guessed at the contents and was going to send it together with the letter for the American captain. If the viceroy knew the stand that was being taken by the American government, every missionary in the valley of the Yangtse would be unsafe. The mandarin officials in the towns of the provinces were as yet guarding the foreigners against attack until they could be sure of the outcome at Ku-Ling. Once the viceroy had humbled the foreign pride then the rabble would be free to indulge its aroused hatred.

Phil cut short the pilot’s mirth by taking him by the arm and leading him silently to the door. Once outside the cell the lad showed him the sketch plan of the yamen with the path they must take to reach the room where clothes would be found.

“If we only knew where the sailors are,” Sydney whispered.

Phil shook his head. It might only defeat them, and the sailors would be no better off.

Langdon for the first time realized that he was not in the plot and would have asked many questions, but Phil and Sydney grasped him firmly on each side as if he were their prisoner and marched openly down the stone pavement of the courtyard. The place indicated on the sketch was easily found and Phil, leaving his companions, pushed the door quietly open. The room was lighted by a single swinging lamp, while in one corner sat a Chinaman reckoning laboriously on his abacus, a counting device used by the Oriental races; the click of the small wooden balls as he moved them along their wires sounded distinctly in the quiet of the room.

As Phil closed the door softly behind him the Chinaman glanced up casually, speaking a few words in his guttural tongue. The lad made no reply, but glanced about hastily to make sure those near could not discover what was about to happen. His heart was beating fast. He saw a door beyond the victim which he knew must lead directly into the viceroy’s own apartments; voices, almost inaudible, came to his ears from the rooms on the other side of that slender partition. He saw that he must work quickly and silently. Any moment the door might open and he would be discovered, for his disguise would be useless under the direct gaze of a Chinese mandarin. The treasurer had seen him but indistinctly and had taken for granted that he was Ta-Ling.

HE MEASURED THE STRENGTH
OF HIS ANTAGONIST

Moving silently to the side of the absorbed Chinaman, Phil stood for the fraction of a second looking down on his work. His eyes sought out the curve of the neck in its enveloping robe while he measured the strength of his antagonist. Raising his hands in readiness, he poised them aloft ready to grasp the slender neck within his muscular fingers.

As if by premonition of the danger threatening him, the Chinaman dropped his hands from the abacus and glanced swiftly up into Phil’s face. The next second the midshipman’s hands had encircled his neck and the terrified outcry which the lad saw in his frightened eyes was stifled.

“Hurry, Langdon!” Phil whispered over his shoulder, as the pilot noiselessly entered to dress himself in one of the many robes hanging about the room.

While Phil slowly reduced the treasurer to a harmless state, the pilot made a hasty change, and as the lads had done, rolled his own clothes in a bundle, concealing them under his flowing robe.

With articles of clothing the Americans silently bound and gagged the treasurer and laid his body away, hidden from the view of the casual observer entering the room; then the three proceeded to carry out the last and most trying stage of their perilous adventure.

Phil leading, they arrived in sight of the outer gate. So far no guards had been met, but now with sinking heart Phil saw a large crowd gathered on the outside of the open gateway. Soldiers, their muskets in hand, stood stolidly on guard, while others sat on the ground, chattering volubly. Was this but the usual crowd always seen at the gates of a Chinese yamen—the poor awaiting crumbs from the rich man’s table? Overhead several oil lanterns shed their meagre light upon the assemblage. The score or more of Chinese would surely penetrate their disguise! He saw Langdon raise his hand with its flowing sleeve to his face, and quickly imitated the movement, nudging Sydney to do likewise.

A hoarse cry rang out from the guard at the gate as they approached, which sent chills of terror down the lad’s spine. His first inclination was to turn and flee back into the yamen and he stopped so abruptly that Sydney trod on his heels. What were the men at the gate calling to each other?

CHAPTER XIV
THE ESCAPE

For the moment the midshipmen were sure that they had been discovered. Then Langdon’s low voice reassured them:

“Come, it’s all right. They take us for mandarins, and are calling the guard to ‘attention.’ Keep your sleeves over your faces and don’t look up as we pass.”

Again the Americans were in motion toward the lighted gateway. With hearts beating high, in a terrible suspense, their feet mechanically carried them slowly toward the spot where they would be under the fire of a scrutiny of scores of people whose nationality the Americans were endeavoring to counterfeit. Would not the Chinese see through their flimsy disguise? As the escaping men passed the first guard, he raised his rifle smartly to the “present” in salute, but the quick motion struck terror to Phil’s heart, making him jump aside involuntarily as if he were dodging an expected blow. Shamefacedly the lad recovered himself by a great effort. In a moment more the gateway was passed and the Americans found themselves on the edge of the inquisitive crowd.

Langdon raised his hand, and immediately three chairs were brought by coolies from the edge of the narrow street and placed obediently on the ground before them. Phil longed to be within the shadow of the chair canopies. How could these Chinamen be so easily deceived! As he fairly dived into the friendly darkness of the nearest chair he cast a swift, uneasy glance at the crowd. The reason of their immunity was plain. The eyes of the crowd were directed upon the ground for fear in the presence of their all-powerful rulers.

Langdon gave a brief order in Chinese. With high hopes for success Phil felt his chair borne upward to the muscular shoulders of the coolie carriers and then with loud shouts of warning to the crowd to make way, they started off in a long, swinging walk. Phil drew his curtains tightly shut and lay back with a great sigh of relief in his cushioned seat.

They were out of the yamen at last, but the city gate must yet be passed. If their absence were discovered while they were yet within the walled city their recapture was assured.

Although the coolies traveled at a lively pace, it seemed to the anxious Americans that they were but crawling through the deserted streets; the Chinese on account of the lateness of the hour were all within their hovel-like houses. An occasional soldier, clanking a chain loudly to frighten away demons, and calling out in his harsh language that all was well, brought a sudden shock to Phil’s high-strung nerves.

At last the gate of the city was reached and the chairs stopped. Through his bamboo screen Phil saw that the guards were hesitating about opening the gate. Once a gate was closed an order from the viceroy alone could open it between the setting and rising of the sun.

An officer came forward, peering inside the protecting hoods. Phil believed that all was lost as he felt, even in the gloom of his chair, the scrutinizing gaze upon him. The officer spoke a few words, and the lad realized by the rising inflection in the man’s voice that he was asking a question. The midshipman nodded and raising his hand pointed haughtily to the gate.

Then to his joy the officer withdrew his head as if satisfied and gave an order in a loud voice. Immediately the gate swung open and with a rattle of rusty chain the drawbridge was lowered.

Quickly the Americans were carried through the gate and across the moat. They had left the terrors of the walled city and were now upon the neutral ground of the foreign concession. As they passed over the wide streets, in great contrast to the ill-kept, narrow ones of the Chinese city, the pungent odors of the docks struck pleasantly upon their nostrils.

Phil’s chair was still in the lead, and the Chinese carriers, as if acting under instructions, trudged steadily onward to the “Bund,” the street paralleling the water front. Finally the coolies halted, putting the chairs down for the occupants to alight. Phil disentangled himself from the enshrouding curtains and stood on the broad street, joyfully inhaling the fresh air of the river, while Langdon waved the coolies to be gone.

Once alone the Americans were at liberty to talk. Phil told in as few words as possible of their visit to Emmons and the Tartar general.

“Where is Emmons?” Langdon exclaimed irritably. “We’re in as much danger as ever here. The foreigners have all fled. The concession is deserted, and doubtless the streets are full of robbers who would very cheerfully pitch us into the river for the sake of a few Mexican dollars.”

Phil was about to disclaim any knowledge of the whereabouts of the half-breed, when Sydney’s exclamation of surprise drew his attention to three small gunboats anchored in the river but a short distance away, and the bright lights of a steam launch approaching the jetty from one of their dark hulls.

Phil’s heart was filled with joy. Here at last was safety!

The three men hastened gladly to the landing at which the launch had arrived, while Phil stepped forward to accost an officer who had hastily left the launch and was approaching up the ladder from the landing float below.

“You are late,” the newcomer said irritably. “I’ve been watching the landing for over an hour.”

Phil was about to reply, but something which he could not explain held his tongue, for he recognized instantly the voice of Ignacio.

“Where are your chairs?” Commander Ignacio continued; “you can hardly expect me to walk through the dirty streets of your ill-smelling city, even for the pleasure of seeing that young braggart tortured in true Chinese fashion. You see I am not entirely confident of you and your viceroy, so I have brought along a few companions;” he pointed toward the float, where eight or ten sailors had disembarked from the launch, rifles in hand.

Phil’s tongue clove to the top of his mouth at the suddenness of their dilemma. What should he do? Ignacio had said too much now to cover his tracks, and his sailors would undoubtedly obey his orders, even to killing three innocent Americans in cold blood.

“Come, what are we waiting for?” the foreigner added, grasping Phil’s arm, and turning him away from the river. “I don’t want to lose all my sleep; it’s nearly ten o’clock now.”

Phil’s companions stood by speechless. Even Langdon with all his sang froid was at a loss what to do. To reveal their true character to their enemy would mean that at the least he would take them forcibly back to the viceroy. Phil at the Naval Academy had been declared a fine mimic and in the class minstrel shows he had to the delight of the brigade caricatured and impersonated each of the officers on duty at the school. Could he impersonate Ta-Ling? Was it possible to imitate his voice and the peculiar pronunciation of the English words? It was their only hope. Even if he failed, they could be no worse off.

By a great effort he stilled the rapid heartbeats and brought his trembling voice under control.

“I was detained by his Excellency the viceroy,” he began in a voice that startled even himself and made Langdon and Sydney fairly jump with surprise and glance hastily around for the owner of that despised voice; “but if you are now ready we can start. The chairs are up the street only a short distance.”

Commander Ignacio voiced his willingness and the two men in the lead, followed by Sydney and the pilot, retraced their steps toward the gate of the walled city.

“Send your men back to the ship,” Phil, stopping suddenly, said in the voice of Ta-Ling. “You know me well enough to know that I have no wish to harm you.”

Commander Ignacio hesitated. Doubtless he felt safer with a few trusty sailors between himself and the treacherous Chinese.

“Did you send my telegrams?” he asked quickly; “and have any come from Washington for that American pig?”

“Yours were sent,” Phil answered promptly, “but the American captain has received none.”

“Well, it will come, I’m sure, and then after he is disgraced, I shall be chosen as the leader of the allies,” the foreign captain said boastfully; “but you must keep your part of the contract and hold your people in check until I can get the credit of quelling the disturbance. Say a month before you kill these flat-chested missionaries.”

“That was our agreement,” Phil replied; “now show that you have confidence in me and send your men aboard.”

Commander Ignacio reluctantly left Phil’s side and walked back to the landing float to give his orders.

“Don’t open your mouths!” Phil whispered in a tense voice. “When his men are once out of sight I’ll lead him to where he thinks the chairs are waiting. When I raise my hand, jump on him like a ton of brick. The chairs we got were waiting for Ta-Ling and they may now be waiting for him near here, so we must be quiet about it. I noticed the coolies were surprised when Langdon motioned them to go.”

Phil had barely finished his instructions before Commander Ignacio rejoined him.

“I’ve sent them back,” he said in a voice that showed plainly his dislike at so doing, “and ordered the launch to return and wait for me. Have you the viceroy’s promise for the railroad concession?” he ended covetously; “it means fifty thousand[1] Mexican to you when the deed is signed.”

“Yes, that’s all fixed,” Phil replied, now laughing inwardly at the success of his strategy, as he saw the steam launch with the sailors leave the float and head back to their ship.

“Remember your promise to make way with those three Americans. Their government will do nothing except demand satisfaction,” the foreigner urged earnestly. “That means a little money squeezed from the viceroy’s hoarded savings and half a dozen cut-throats beheaded in the presence of the American representatives.”

“But you only asked that one of them be executed,” Phil returned, aghast at his joke on such a gruesome topic.

“Well, I might have said only one,” Ignacio made answer; “he is the darker of the two midshipmen; the one that dared rebuke me at the council before the viceroy; but the others know too much to go free.”

By this time the party had left the docks and were walking slowly up the street leading to the city gate. The street was in darkness. The few lanterns had not been lighted since the exodus of the foreigners, and as they passed the large buildings, it was plainly seen that the foreign concession had been given over to pillage; the steps and pavement in front were littered with articles which could not easily be carried away by the avaricious Chinamen.

“Have you a revolver?” Phil asked. “I am not armed, and sometimes these robbers are dangerous if they think they can get money.”

Phil wanted to know if Ignacio was armed. He feared that in the struggle which was soon to come a pistol might be accidentally discharged, which would not only arouse the Chinese guards at the gate scarcely a few hundred yards away, but might bring a party of sailors from Commander Ignacio’s ship.

“Yes, two; one in each pocket,” the foreigner answered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his naval tunic. “I always carry them, and I can shoot through my coat from the hip and hit every time.”

“Good,” Phil thought; “they’ll come in very handy for us before the night is over.”

They were nearing a part of the street which to the lad seemed the very place to carry out his design to render harmless the companion walking so confidently beside him.

“Our chairs should be near here,” he said, leading the way down a narrow alley behind a great white building, the English Bank, which Phil recognized as the scene of his first encounter with Commander Ignacio. What spot could be more fitting for this last encounter? Then he continued: “What makes you think a telegram will come from Washington disgracing the American captain?”

“The telegram you sent me this morning was from my friend, the naval attaché in Washington; he says it is already published in the American paper,” Commander Ignacio answered. “Everything is printed in the newspapers in America, you know. They do not understand there the military value of secrecy, which is the fundamental basis of diplomacy.”

Phil ground his teeth in rage and mortification. He could have struck the man down for talking of his country and countrymen so slurringly. Yet he could only acknowledge that the man was but repeating what had often been said in Europe.

“Where are the chairs?” Commander Ignacio asked in some alarm, as they reached the end of the alley and it was apparent that the square, court-like space was empty. Phil appeared to search the deeper shadows with his eyes, at the same time making the guttural call which he had heard used by Chinamen calling to them a chair and coolies. Ignacio still had one hand in his pocket and Phil felt sure his nervous finger was on a trigger. The lad racked his brain to devise some scheme to get him off his guard. Even now his suspicions might have been aroused.

Langdon and Sydney were close behind their victim, doubtless watching eagerly for the sign from Phil. Ignacio stood close to a door, his right hand, which was no doubt encircling the butt of a revolver, nearest the knob.

“Try that door,” Phil said in as careless tones as he could command. “It’s rather damp outside and they might have gone inside to sleep.”

It apparently did not occur to the foreigner that the great bulky chairs would not be taken inside, and if the coolies were there the chairs would have been plainly in evidence in the court, for he unguardedly took his right hand from his pocket and raised it to the doorknob.

Phil waited not a second, but raised his hand quickly above his head. He saw the bodies of Sydney and Langdon hurl themselves upon the unguarded victim. Then the door flew open inward and his heart stopped beating with terror and dismay, while the silence was broken by the loud report of a pistol shot, accompanied by the most unearthly yells he had ever heard.

CHAPTER XV
AN ENEMY SILENCED

Langdon and Sydney had so forcibly driven their enemy to the ground that one of the revolvers, which was cocked, had gone off, the noise of the discharge reverberating through the bare building in a most startling way. Intent upon their work, the pilot had seized the wrists of the foreign captain in an iron grip, while Sydney quickly disarmed him.

Phil’s heart stopped beating at the sight which presented itself as the door swung wide open. By the light of three or four dripping candles, he saw a dozen Chinamen seated about the floor of the room.

As the lad forced his way boldly into the midst of the startled Chinamen, holding before him a revolver taken from Sydney’s hand in passing, the surprised Orientals threw themselves face downward upon the floor, whining piteously for mercy.

Leaving the disarmed foreigner to Sydney, Langdon quickly joined the other midshipman, surrounded as he was by the cringing and terror-stricken natives.

“Canton Chinamen,” he whispered; “these must be Emmons’ launch crews; but what are they doing here?”

Langdon raised his voice, addressing the terrified men. At the sound of their own tongue a Chinaman raised himself tremblingly from the floor, his fear giving place to joy as he recognized the familiar voice of the pilot, whom he had so frequently seen piloting ships on the great river.

After a few minutes’ conversation with the native Langdon turned to Phil, drawing the lad out of ear-shot of their helpless enemy lying upon the floor with Sydney’s muscular weight upon his chest.

“It looks bad for us!” he exclaimed. “This man, Nam-Sing, is one of Emmons’ head men, and these men are his crew. A mob this afternoon looted the foreign concession and destroyed all of Emmons’ launches, butchering the Canton Chinese crews in cold blood. The foreign gunboats, he says, looked on and would not interfere. Emmons, he thinks, was killed. These men took refuge in the secret vaults of the bank, known by Nam-Sing because he was for some years employed here. Believing that all was quiet, they were trying to muster up courage to escape down the river.”

Phil could have wept with disappointment. On the threshold of safety, they found their escape cut off. His mind sought for a way to overcome the difficulties. Ignacio’s launch was at the landing. Why could they not overpower the crew and escape in it? But he soon saw that this plan would be worse than foolhardy. They could not expect to pass the alert gunboat, and once alongside, the strategy would be discovered. But what else could be done? A junk was out of the question, for the wind was contrary, blowing up the river, and before they could hope to pass the forts, daylight would reveal them and the Chinese guns would soon make them return and surrender or else they would be sunk. The longer the Americans remained on shore the smaller were the chances for escape; it was but a matter of time before their absence from the yamen would be known. While the lad pondered wildly on a method of escape he saw the Chinaman Nam-Sing attract Langdon’s attention and then fairly explode in a volley of excited words.

“He says that one of the launches is not so badly damaged,” the pilot whispered to Phil. “It’s a steam launch, but under the stern-boards is a small gasoline engine, and he thinks the mob did not destroy that, for it is hidden from view.”

“Come on!” Phil exclaimed eagerly. Then he cast an uncertain look at the captive whom Sydney had bound hand and foot, securing a gag in his mouth and muffling his ears so that he could hear only the loudest tones.

“We must leave him behind,” Langdon insisted immediately, interpreting the glance. “He must take his chances.”

“I don’t dare leave him there,” Phil exclaimed. “He might be killed by the Chinese. No, the consequences would be too serious.”

“Then what are we to do?” the pilot asked impatiently. “He would as soon stick a knife in you if you were in his power.”

“I know,” Phil declared stoutly, “but I am going to get him on board his own ship.”

“But how on earth can you?” Langdon exclaimed in disgust at Phil’s leniency. If the pilot could have had his way he would have wrung his neck then and there, which punishment the foreigner doubtless deserved.

Phil did not reply immediately. A bold plan had flashed through his mind, and he was rapidly revolving it in his thoughts to discover if it was feasible.

“Tell the Chinese to carry the prisoner,” he said finally, his mind fully made up to attempt the one scheme which seemed to give the foreign commander a chance for his life. If he left him in the foreign concession his life would not be worth a copper cash when the robbers from the city came back to complete their ghoulish work.

Langdon trusted Phil’s judgment too thoroughly to demur, so he quietly gave Nam-Sing his orders, and then the three Americans started, cautiously leading the way down the alley and out upon the street running toward the river.

Reaching the “Bund,” Nam-Sing pointed out the direction of the launch, which appeared to be their last chance for safety. Passing the waiting launch of Commander Ignacio, Phil glanced uneasily at the sailors; but they appeared to give them but passing notice.

The midshipman saw Nam-Sing step aboard a black launch some hundred yards down the “Bund” from where their prisoner’s launch was lying. Phil directed that the bound foreigner be laid on the deck forward, then he watched impatiently the crew of the launch, under the guidance of the Chinese leading man, go to work with the usual Oriental industry. The lad saw at a glance that the engine and boiler were beyond patching; the machinery was a mass of twisted steel, while the boiler tubes were bent and wrenched from their sockets.

Quickly uncoupling the useless engine from the propeller shaft, Nam-Sing directed the removal of the boards covering from view the small compact gas engine. With familiarity he tested out the spark circuit and examined the gear wheels, making sure all was right. After a delay of not more than ten minutes, although it seemed much more to the ever-increasing anxiety of the Americans, the Chinaman seized the crank lever, exerting his power to start the engine. The machine wheezed and sputtered. Again and again came the wheezing cough and when Phil was about to give up hope, it coughed volubly, then the smooth chug of the rapidly rotating engine struck joyfully on his ears.

Langdon took his place at the wheel, while Phil motioned that all lines be cast off from the shore, and presently the launch moved slowly away from the dock out into the swift current of the river.

“Head her for the starboard gangway of the ‘Albaque,’” Phil ordered in a calm voice, although his pulses were throbbing wildly.

Langdon fairly jumped with surprise.

“Why, man alive! What are you doing?” he exclaimed.

In the gloom Phil almost smiled as he realized how odd his plan, without explanation, must seem to his companions.

He spoke quietly, his manner calm, but decided.

“We shall find a small boat in the water made fast to the lower swinging boom forward of the gangway. When we get alongside, I’ll go on board and give a message from their captain. While I’m on board you and Sydney move the launch ahead sufficiently to be able to drop the prisoner over the bow into the boat. Do it carefully and make no noise. He is securely bound and will lie there until the morning. By that time we shall, I hope, be safely out of his reach.”

Langdon and Sydney could hardly control an expression of their enthusiasm at the conception of such a daring plan. Its very recklessness with Phil’s knack of mimicry would carry it safely through.

A gruff hail in a foreign tongue came startlingly from the black hull of the gunboat, which the launch was slowly approaching.

Phil waited a second for breath and then in the voice of the Chinese interpreter called across the water:

“On the service of the viceroy.”

As the launch stopped at the gangway of the war-ship Phil boldly ascended the ladder to the deck. There he found an officer awaiting him.

“Commander Ignacio has sent me for a copy of the letter written by him yesterday to the viceroy. This letter has been lost in transit and he wishes to give his Excellency the copy.”

Phil pronounced his words slowly, making his accent even broader than that used by the real Ta-Ling.

“Will you wait?” the officer asked politely. “Commander Ignacio keeps his own papers. I shall endeavor to find it.”

Phil bowed his willingness, and the foreign officer beckoning the quartermaster to follow with his lantern, the two disappeared within the cabin.

The disguised midshipman saw the launch crawl slowly ahead, and a moment afterward his straining ear caught the indistinct sound of a body being lowered into the whale-boat tied at the boom of the gunboat. Then as the launch drifted almost imperceptibly back to its place at the ladder, the gleam of the lantern told him that the ship’s officers were returning.

“Here is a package of letters marked for the viceroy,” the officer said as he emerged from the cabin; “but have you no written message from my captain?”

Phil feared he had gone too far. He would like to hold the proofs of Commander Ignacio’s perfidy, but not at the risk of detection.

“No, your captain gave me no letter,” he answered carelessly; “he supposed that Ta-Ling, the viceroy’s secretary, was well enough known; I am Ta-Ling, the viceroy’s secretary; but if you do not wish to trust me I shall return and get a letter from him. It will, however, displease both your commander and the viceroy.”

The officer gave Phil a searching look, but apparently seeing nothing suspicious in his appearance, handed him the package.

Phil was about to descend the ladder, when the officer, as if wishing to make amends for doubting the honesty of the Chinaman, stopped him by a motion of the hand.

“There’s a Chinaman on board who came over in a sanpan, shortly after our captain left the ship. He had escaped from a mob ashore and asked our protection.”

Phil held himself well in hand, fearing by undue interest he would jeopardize his cause.

“Would you care to see him?” the officer continued.

The midshipman nodded indifferently.

“I must hurry,” he said; “my viceroy becomes very impatient if he is kept waiting.”

An order was given to a sailor standing near and Phil saw the man go rapidly forward. The lad’s hopes ran high. Was it Emmons?

A moment afterward Emmons was brought aft by the sailor messenger. The lantern was raised above the sailor’s head, shedding its light on the startled face of the half-breed. Phil regarded him with well-feigned loathing.

“This man is an enemy of the viceroy,” Phil declared, in well simulated anger. “His escape would be a very serious matter. I can take him with me now if you will agree to trust him in my hands.”

The officer did not exactly relish the turn of affairs. If he had made a mistake in delivering his captain’s letters and then the fugitive into the wrong hands, he knew he would suffer severely.

“I dare not do that,” he said. “By my government’s regulations asylum must be given to all asking protection. To-morrow after my captain returns he will, if he sees fit, deliver him to the viceroy. I shall lock him up for safety and you can be sure he will not escape.”

“But I have been searching for this man,” Phil declared, his voice now really earnest. He must get Emmons from his perilous position. “It is all-important that he be taken to the viceroy to-night. I can assure you that if your captain were here he would deliver him up to Ta-Ling.”

All suspicion had disappeared from the officer’s mind upon hearing this earnest appeal. After all, he was but a Chinaman, and he knew his captain was very friendly with the viceroy and his powerful secretary Ta-Ling.

“All right,” he said. “I will take your word that in delivering the man to you I shall be acting as my captain would wish.”

“He should be bound,” Phil said almost gleefully. “Can you get me a rope?”

The officer, leaving Phil’s side, crossed the deck to a chest; opening it, he searched through its contents. The midshipman, greatly fearing an outbreak from Emmons, stepped cautiously to his side and whispered for him to make no outcry.

“I knew you immediately,” Emmons breathed.

At the sound of muttering voices, the officer looked up quickly; the light of the lantern on his face told Phil that his suspicions had been aroused. Quicker than thought the midshipman drew back his fist, then he shot it forward, striking with force the startled half-breed squarely under the chin. Emmons lay where he fell, moaning audibly, while Phil quietly explained his act to the officer.

“He had the temerity to revile me,” he said; “but give me the rope. We should be on our way back to the city.”

Emmons was quickly bound, hand and foot; then Phil bowed ceremoniously and, lifting the stunned man on his broad shoulders, walked steadily down the ladder and into the launch, where he deposited the body with a great show of force for the benefit of those above. A few seconds later the launch had left the war-ship and was headed down the river as if she would again land in her berth at the dock.

As soon as the gunboat had disappeared in the darkness, Phil and Sydney cut the ropes binding the prisoner and raised him to a seat on the deck house. He was but stunned by the blow and presently opened his eyes, gazing about him in bewilderment.

“What happened?” Emmons asked, recognizing in the thin light of a screened lantern Phil’s anxious face bending over him. The lad quickly explained the reason for his apparently unfriendly act.

Emmons, with a genuine show of deep gratitude, thanked the midshipman for his unlooked-for deliverance; then he plied the lads with eager questions, and Phil gave him the unvarnished history of the night’s experiences; of the triumph over Ta-Ling, and then the ruse they had played upon Commander Ignacio and the officer on board the “Albaque.”

“I have, I think, papers which will reveal all that villain’s secrets,” he ended, patting the papers in the pocket of his long Chinese robe. “And the plan of the secret channel—I have that safe here also,” he added. “We owe a great deal to you.”

“Yes,” replied Emmons, “but it has cost me all that I have accumulated in ten years of business. I got warning this afternoon from the Tartar general that an order had been signed by the viceroy for my execution. I succeeded in hiding in an abandoned house in the foreign concession while the soldiers of Ta-Ling searched for me. After dark I tried to find Nam-Sing and the launch which I was holding in readiness to aid your escape, but when I reached the docks I found all my launches deserted, and their machinery wrecked. Knowing that I could not remain another day ashore without capture, I secured a sanpan and sculled to the nearest gunboat, believing I was then safe; but it seems that I had put myself in the hands of an enemy.”

“The blood of every foreigner killed should be laid to Ignacio’s account,” Phil declared angrily; “but we have now the means of exposing his treachery.

“Tell us about the mission,” he exclaimed anxiously. “Is it yet unharmed?”

“It is still under the general’s protection,” Emmons replied, “and he will not permit an attack. I have expected every day to hear that the soldiers had been removed. Ta-Ling’s outlaws are encamped within a mile of the soldiers, apparently waiting an order from their leader.”

“How many are there of these rebels?” Sydney asked in alarm.

“I have not seen them, but my men tell me there are thousands,” Emmons answered.

“There must be some reason for the delay,” Emmons declared. “Have you read the viceroy’s letter to your captain?” he asked quickly. “Maybe there we shall find the cause of it.”

With trembling fingers Phil drew the letter from his pocket and without hesitation broke the formidable looking seal of the viceroy. The writing was in English and the penmanship seemed strangely familiar.

“It’s the same writing as that in the letter I picked up in the bank!” he exclaimed in surprise, then in the lantern’s dim light his eager eyes traveled rapidly over the words before him.

Sydney and Emmons waited impatiently until Phil began to read excitedly:

“His Excellency, Chang-Li-Hun, is deeply grieved at the lawless actions of the foreign gunboats, which have banded together under the leadership of the American commander to defy the authority of the laws of China. Commander Ignacio and two of his brother commanders have accepted his Excellency’s leniency and after voluntarily offering their apology have anchored at Ku-Ling. To show that China has kept faith, his Excellency has caused a strong guard of his soldiers to encamp on the hills near the American mission.

“If by ten o’clock to-morrow morning the foreign gunboats will steam to Ku-Ling flying white flags of truce, the viceroy will still give them clemency. The viceroy has held the hostages to show his displeasure at the foreigners for entering To-Yan Lake, waters forbidden them by the government of China.

“His Excellency will be powerless to protect either the hostages or the mission if a single hostile shot is fired. Enclosed is a telegram for the American commander.”

“If this letter and the telegram had gone to Commander Hughes,” Phil exclaimed as he folded the letter and returned it in his pocket, “Ta-Ling and Ignacio would have won. Without the strong personality of our captain the allies would have weakened and accepted the terms offered.”

“Now when Ta-Ling is liberated,” Sydney cried alarmingly, “the soldiers will be removed and the rebels allowed to attack the mission.” Then he stopped suddenly, while a lump rose in his throat. “Does Ta-Ling suspect the secret of the channel is ours?” he asked fearfully.

Emmons shook his head thoughtfully.

“The chart was procured by Hang-Ki from the viceroy’s papers through bribing a lesser official,” he answered. “Ta-Ling may have discovered its absence and suspected that I would carry it to your captain. That would explain his sudden desire to have me captured and executed.”

“To-night is the turning-point in this intrigue,” Phil exclaimed, while his heart beat faster at the thought. “We must use this channel to-night, and after we have run the forts and anchored in safety above Ku-Ling, we must start at once to the rescue of those in the mission. I hope Lieutenant Wilson can withstand the assault until aid arrives.

“Our poor sailors in the yamen,” he added sorrowfully, “I fear are no better than dead men.”

“You are right,” Emmons declared in no uncertain voice. “To-morrow Ta-Ling will cause the high reed grass on the island to be set on fire. It is dry and will burn like tinder. Then the island will offer no protection, the search-light on the fort will disclose the presence of the gunboats and the secret channel is well within the range of the fort guns.”

While the midshipmen were absorbed in their conversation with the half-breed, the launch, under the skilful guidance of the pilot, steamed rapidly down the swift current of the river. The junks moored at the docks flashed by unheeded. The high frowning cliffs, on top of which were the gun emplacements, appeared dimly from the darkness ahead. Then the launch’s bow was turned sharply to port, steering across the river, to put as great a distance as possible between it and the menacing batteries.

The midshipmen and Emmons had now joined Langdon at his post at the wheel.

“To-night Hang-Ki has relieved many of the lookouts in the forts,” Emmons whispered, “and if we can keep close under the shadow of the island we may pass undiscovered.”

Phil was in a fever of anxiety. He glanced fearfully at the frowning forts, looming oppressively close in the darkness to starboard. The island on the other side of which was the secret channel slowly took shape, and as the launch approached became ever more distinct. Now he imagined he could see the tops of the high reeds, tall enough to conceal the hull of a gunboat, waving menacingly in the fitful breeze, and in the stillness, broken only by the muffled chug of the gas engine, he could now hear the dry rustle telling him only too plainly that this rank vegetation was ripe for Ta-Ling’s torch.

The night was dark and cloudy, and the deeper gloom of the island toward which Langdon was steering would make it almost impossible to locate the small launch.

Even under the trying circumstances, expecting momentarily to hear the loud discharge of hostile cannon, Phil’s mind dwelt anxiously on the possibilities before the coming day. Fully realizing that the lives of those in the mission depended upon the ability of the allies to pass the forts before morning, would they find the fleet prepared to start immediately? Without mishaps two hours must elapse before the launch could reach Lien-Chow, and then scarcely five hours of the night would remain.

With all lights save that at the compass carefully screened, the launch sped quietly onward. The forts had faded slowly into the darkness as the island shore had been approached. Langdon spun his wheel from side to side seeking the deepest channel, while a Chinaman with a long bamboo pole measured the depth of the water continuously, calling out in a sing-song whisper his soundings.

“Go on this side of the island,” Phil ordered, hastily measuring with his eye the distance by the chart. “Time’s precious. We must run the risk.”

“Aye, aye,” the pilot answered quickly, bringing the bow of the launch smartly about to parallel the island shore. “They can’t hit us anyway,” he added contemptuously.

Minute after minute dragged by. The Americans were on the point of congratulating themselves upon having passed the forts in safety, when a flash of flame sprang from the darkness of the hill forts and the screech of a shell sounded menacingly in their ears.

With the anxiety of one who is being fired upon without the opportunity to return the fire, those on the launch stuck manfully at their posts. Sydney’s blood raced rapidly through his veins, and his hopes seemed on the point of being cast to the very depths of despair.

Flash followed flash on the fortifications and the reverberations of the heavy artillery shook the valley. It seemed to the midshipmen that hundreds of guns must be hurling tons of steel at their small inoffensive black launch as it bravely steamed down the river.

With intense excitement and fearful dread as to the outcome, all gazed fascinated upon the myriads of flashes of flame from the forts. The moans and screeches of the shells were loud in their ears while the steel bolts lashed the water to foam about them.

Suddenly a bright shaft of light bored through the night and then swung spasmodically over the water. Fearfully the midshipmen watched the search-light ray in its attempt to concentrate upon the rapidly moving launch. When once they were held in its beam, they would furnish as clear a target for their enemy’s guns as if it were day.

As Phil watched, fascinated, the wavering light, it stopped uncertainly short of the launch but truly in line, then the light raised suddenly and the lad was fairly blinded by the bright flash as it clung tenaciously to the discovered hull. The fort guns now renewed their vociferous cannonade and the screech of shells was sufficient to unnerve the stoutest heart.

“One hit and we’ll be counted out,” Phil exclaimed wildly, clutching Sydney in his excitement, as he dodged involuntarily the hot breath of the speeding projectiles.

“Take that sounding pole!” Langdon shouted hoarsely, as the terrified Chinaman dropped it on deck and dived for safety below decks.

Sydney quickly grasped the pole as it clattered from the man’s hand, and plunged it over the side. It struck bottom, showing the water had suddenly become dangerously shallow.

“Keep her off,” he cried loudly, above the roar of the hissing shells.

Blinded by the bright glare of the search-light, Langdon had nearly run the launch ashore on the island, but by quick action, he now threw the bow out into the river. A low grating sound made Phil’s heart stop beating, but the next second the launch darted clear of the treacherous shoal. Then to the joy of the anxious men the search-light beam died suddenly away.

The fire from the forts immediately slackened, and in a few seconds had ceased altogether. An occasional boom and the screech of a passing shell, however, showed the Americans that the enemy was waiting impatiently to begin its fusillade as soon as the now extinguished search-light could again pick up the helpless target.

A startled cry from Emmons drew the Americans’ attention. Looking anxiously in the direction indicated by the half-breed, Phil saw the white and colored lights of a steamer standing up the river, in the middle of the main channel. Those in the forts seemed also to have made the discovery. The entire crest of the hill forts burst into sudden flame and the distant screech of shell told the lad that this time the launch was not the target.

“What can it be?” he exclaimed in a fever of excitement. “The allies know better than to carry lights. It must be a stranger.”

Then as he gazed spellbound upon the spectacle before him, the search-light of the fort once more cut its narrow path of flame through the inky blackness. It swept spasmodically over the intruder and then to the Americans’ delighted eyes was revealed the outline of a monitor, the light of the search-light beam reflected brightly from her glistening, pointed hull.

“The ‘Monterey’!” Phil cried, joyfully hugging Sydney. “And Jack O’Neil is on board her.” But a second later his joy was changed to apprehension. Would the monitor appreciate the situation and be prepared to return this fire? A fear took possession of his thoughts that the sailors, not knowing of the existence of hostilities, might have been standing unprotected upon the deck and before they could have sought the shelter of armor many might have already been killed by the shells of the enemy.

CHAPTER XVI
REËNFORCEMENTS

All eyes were now intent on the American war-ship. The guns in the forts had become silent, as if startled at the sudden appearance of an enemy worthy of their metal. The monitor, apparently unconscious of the danger into which it had run, steamed proudly onward. The search-light of the fort lighted up every detail of the formidable vessel; the heavy turret guns were lowered, pointing inoffensively away from the inquisitive search-light.

“They won’t dare fire again at her!” Sydney exclaimed. “See, she has shown her colors!”

As the midshipman spoke a large American flag rose proudly aloft to the truck of the “Monterey,” where it fluttered defiantly, as if to say: “Now if you fire, knowing who I am, you declare war on the country which I represent.”

Then the Chinese threw down the gauntlet; a flash of flame darted from the dark fort, licking the heels of a great shell, and a high splash of foam sprang up in the glare of the search-light not more than a half hundred yards from the bow of the silent monitor.

Again, like huge fireflies on a summer night, the hill forts flashed fire, while still the monitor steamed boldly onward, closer and closer to the hostile guns.

“Why doesn’t she return it?” Sydney exclaimed excitedly. “A few shots from her guns will startle the soldiers in those forts.”

As the lads watched the one-sided contest, two shafts of light darted from the monitor; the search-light from the fort from its size and greater illuminating power concealed the commencement of the war-ship’s less powerful lights, but upon the forts two round white spots traveled slowly along, and where they rested the midshipmen could see distinctly the gun emplacements and the great gun tubes protruding from the protecting rock and earth.

In a terrible suspense those on the launch held their breath, while the heavy turrets, plainly visible in the light from the forts, swung around slowly; then the gun muzzles were raised and pointed steadily at the two white spots, the end of the search-light rays. After a terrible suspense, two great tongues of flame leaped far out over the river and a dull boom shook the air.

“Fine shots!” Phil exclaimed joyfully as he saw the earth on two of the emplacements rise in the air as if a magazine had exploded underneath it.

Again the monitor spoke angrily with her great twelve-inch guns, and again within the illumination the eager watchers saw masses of earth fly high in the air as the half ton shells exploded on the very parapets of the Chinese forts.

“She’s turning!” Sydney exclaimed.

Sure enough, the “Monterey” was swinging her bow away from the enemy. Not understanding the meaning of this treatment, the war-ship was circling to return down the river, out of range of the formidable forts.

The search-light of the fort held steadily upon the retreating war-ship, but those of the “Monterey” had been extinguished. The fort guns, for the time silenced by the straight shooting of their enemy, now reopened with renewed energy. But the monitor, as if unconscious of the rain of shell about her, turned in silence, her flag waving proudly at the mast-head, and started down river.

“Head over for her!” Phil ordered.

With relief and satisfaction, the Americans saw that now after the monitor had turned, the Chinese gunners were shooting wildly. All the shots were falling aimlessly short of the retreating war-ship. But still the search-light ray clung tenaciously, as if it feared the monitor once out of the vision of its bright eye would take wings and fly away.

Suddenly from the monitor’s after turret belched forth a single flash. Those on the launch watched in excited admiration to see the burst of flame on the ramparts of the fort, but instead, high above the guns, above even the search-light mounted at the very top of the hill, a jet of flame, a living ball of fire, cleft the darkness; a second later and the monitor had faded from sight.

“Shrapnel,” Phil exclaimed intensely, as the sound of the explosion reached his ears; “that search-light is out of business for the present.” Then he realized that the launch and the “Monterey” were rapidly approaching each other on converging courses.

“Light the side lights,” he cried to Emmons, at his side, spellbound and silent. “We can’t take the risk of having her shoot at us. She might hit us.”

Emmons obeyed the order by giving a few harsh commands to his reassured Chinese boatmen and soon the red and green lights were burning on the launch’s sides. The forts were now silent, their target having dissolved into the night, but Langdon had taken her bearing and the launch’s bow was held in the direction which he knew would bring them close to the monitor.

After many long minutes of anxious search a dark smudge appeared almost directly in the path of the launch. Then suddenly a flash sprang from the dark smudge, and a shell shrieked across the bow of the approaching boat.

“Stop her!” Phil cried in alarm, while he ran quickly forward. Standing at the bow of the launch, he cleared his voice and raised his hands to his mouth, ready to answer the hail from the war-ship.

“Boat ahoy!” came distinctly across the water. “Stop where you are, or we’ll sink you.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Phil hailed back. “We’re friends—American naval officers.”

“All right, don’t come any closer and we’ll send a boat,” came the answer in clear, decided tones.

Those on the launch noted the creak of blocks as a boat shot down from its davits into the water, and a few minutes afterward they heard the regular dip of the oars and their rhythmical thud in their sockets. Then a long, slim whale-boat, propelled by six stalwart sailors, shot out of the gloom and came quietly alongside the motionless launch.

An officer scrambled nimbly on board.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he exclaimed in astonishment. For in the ray of the solitary lantern held in the hands of a Chinese boatman, he saw that he was in the presence of Chinamen. He stopped precipitously, sliding his hand cautiously to his revolver holster while he eyed suspiciously the men before him.

Phil was about to answer the officer’s question, never realizing the cause of the speaker’s abrupt silence, when his eye caught sight of a familiar face peering in over the launch’s rail. Forgetful of all else, the lad hastened excitedly forward. Reaching down he grasped the owner of the face in a strong grip.

“O’Neil!” he exclaimed delightedly. “Well, if this isn’t luck!”

While Sydney in his turn shook hands warmly with their old friend the boatswain’s mate, who had served with them through many a difficult position during a South American revolution, when they were together on the battle-ship “Connecticut,” Phil explained the situation to the mystified officer.

The lad for the moment had not fully appreciated the dumbfounded astonishment of the naval man, Lieutenant Washburn of the “Monterey,” upon finding himself among Chinamen, after he had heard the answer from the “Monterey’s” hail that American naval officers were on board the launch.

“We’ve just escaped from prison,” Phil explained, “and your ship arrived in time to save us from those guns. Their shots were beginning to come pretty near, I can tell you.”

“Escaped from prison,” Lieutenant Washburn exclaimed, still mystified. “Where then is the ‘Phœnix’? She hasn’t been sunk, I hope,” he added hastily in sudden alarm.

Phil quickly set his mind at rest on that point. “She’s at Lien-Chow, in the To-Yan Lake, and we are on our way there now.

“Commander Hughes will be mighty relieved to see the ‘Monterey’!” he exclaimed joyfully. “With her the forts have no perils—she can run by whenever she wishes.”

“I am sorry for him,” Lieutenant Washburn answered, his voice betraying a note of bitterness, “for I am a great admirer of your captain. He’s the kind of man we need in command of our ships. There’s a rumor afloat that he’s in disgrace and will be put under arrest. I hope it’s not true, but the rumor was persistent in the fleet when we left. If it’s true I suppose our captain has the order.”

Phil pretended to be greatly surprised and unconsciously raised his hand to make sure the telegram was safe in his pocket.

“The ‘Monadnock’ is on her way up the river. She’s slower than we are, and as our captain is senior he pressed ahead.

“Nice surprise they gave us,” he added laughingly, pointing to the now quiet forts. “We thought they were only having target practice and supposed of course they’d stop to let us pass. But when they opened on us, although our captain had sounded to ‘general quarters’ as a precaution, you could have knocked us all down with a feather.”

“I am happy to say their target practice upon us was not good,” Phil returned in high humor; “but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll shed these gay clothes. Mine are pretty seedy after three days in a Chinese prison, but I’d appear to better advantage when we go aboard the ‘Monterey.’”

The war-ship, by signal-lights, informed her lieutenant that she was about to anchor, directing the launch to follow and then come alongside.

Before the rattle of chain announced that the anchor was holding the steel fortress stationary against the swift current, the midshipmen recited to Lieutenant Washburn the story of their adventures. O’Neil listened eagerly, grunting with glee when they told of the triumph over Ta-Ling and Commander Ignacio.

After a short delay the launch was steered alongside the anchored war-ship, and the Americans, now in their own clothes, quickly scrambled over the low side.

Commander Barnes, the monitor’s captain, ranking junior to Commander Hughes, immediately summoned the midshipmen and Langdon to his cabin.

Phil as spokesman gave the surprised captain a detailed account of the happenings since the attempt to blow in the gates of the American mission. Commander Barnes’ eyes opened wider and wider in astonishment as the lad proceeded.

“It’s all very terrible,” he exclaimed after Phil had finished. “The admiral knows nothing of this. Why has not Hughes wired the situation?”

“He has sent telegrams,” Phil declared, “but the viceroy will not forward them.”

“That’s strange,” the captain said in a low voice. “The admiral led me to suppose that I would be in command of the three ships, and that Hughes would be relieved of his command. Yet I have no orders to that effect.”

Phil trembled with joy at overhearing these words, not intended for his ears. The “Monterey” brought no orders. He held the only order in his pocket, and the fatal telegram would remain there until Commander Hughes had won his fight and relieved the situation.

But time was pressing. The fleet must run the batteries to-night. The arrival of the monitors would make the passage of the secret channel even more secure by hotly engaging the forts if necessary. In order to make success sure the midshipman knew that they should proceed at once upon the remainder of their journey.

CHAPTER XVII
ABOARD THE “PHŒNIX”

Commander Barnes consulted his watch and then called for his orderly. The ring of the bell had scarcely sounded before a marine stood obediently before him.

“It’s eleven now,” the captain mused, then, turning to the orderly:

“My compliments to the executive officer. Tell him to secure and pipe down. We shall remain here for the present.”

Forgetting in his anxiety the vast gulf in rank between them, Phil raised his hand impatiently.

“Captain!” he exclaimed, intensely in earnest. “We must go to Commander Hughes immediately. The mission must be relieved to-night. It is probably now surrounded by the outlaws. To-morrow the difficulties will increase. The secret channel may be impossible, besides there are four American sailors in prison in the yamen. By to-morrow they will have been executed.”

Over Commander Barnes’ face flitted for a second the suspicion of a frown, while the orderly waited with indecision in his manner.

“By the morning we shall have two monitors,” the captain answered; “I think we can rely on their guns to escort the fleet past the forts without harm. However, you may go on your launch and give your news to Commander Hughes. I have orders forbidding me to enter To-Yan Lake.

“I do not see how the allied fleet can possibly embark its sailors and be here before daylight,” he added, after a few moments’ thought, “so I see no reason to keep my officers and men up all night in waiting.”

“Commander Hughes will be here inside of three hours,” Phil urgently exclaimed. “I am sure, sir, that he will not lose a moment. He does not wish to risk fighting the forts. If he can bring Ku-Ling under his guns without a fight, he will win his point and save the foreigners.

“If I may suggest, sir,” the midshipman added in a respectful voice, “it would be best to keep all ready to get under way. It is but ten miles to the allied fleet. We shall be there in an hour and in two more the gunboats will be here on their way to enter this secret channel.”

Commander Barnes smiled indulgently at the lad’s earnestness as he waved a dismissal to the orderly.

“Tell the executive officer,” he said, “to be ready to get under way in three hours and notify the officer of the deck to keep a sharp lookout for the ‘Monadnock.’ Signal her when sighted to anchor near us.

“Your captain has a convincing advocate in you, Mr. Perry,” he continued, after the orderly had departed with his message. “I shall wait his coming and be ready to join him.”

Phil was elated with the success of his appeal, and in a short time he had gathered his party together ready to again embark in Emmons’ launch.

Before leaving the captain’s cabin the midshipmen had asked that boatswain’s mate O’Neil be allowed to go, to steer the launch, which request Commander Barnes readily granted.

“The telegram is the only order relieving our captain of his command,” Phil exclaimed to Sydney while the launch sped toward the distant lights of the allied fleet. “What would happen if I gave him the cable?” he asked quickly.

“He would have but to obey it,” Sydney answered. “It’s a direct order from the navy department. Commander Barnes as senior officer of the American ships would be bound to send a flag of truce and offer his apologies for Commander Hughes’ actions.”

“And that would mean a victory for the viceroy and Ta-Ling!” Phil exclaimed. “If I lose my commission for it that telegram is going to remain secret until the allied fleet have exacted an humble apology and restitution from those guilty of wishing to murder innocent foreigners.”

In the light of a solitary lantern Phil opened the envelope and glanced excitedly over their enemy’s correspondence with the viceroy. It was in English and written in a clear and legible hand.

Paper after paper was read in silence by the two midshipmen, revealing the most bare-faced treachery.

“Do you remember that day at the bank?” Phil exclaimed suddenly after he had finished reading a letter which he held open before him, his face in the thin light betraying intense wrath and indignation. “I have wondered so often over that incident. I have never until now been able to discover why Ignacio was so angry at me for picking up his letter from the ground. Do you remember how he snatched it from my hand? I thought he would strike me. Well, that innocent sheet of paper was a letter from Ta-Ling. If I could have held it another minute much of our trouble would never have occurred. This is Ignacio’s answer:

“‘I will do all in my power to thwart the aim of these Americans. I despise them as much as you do. I have just drawn on the company which I represent for the sum you named, and it will be deposited in the bank at Shanghai. When you have obtained the viceroy’s signature, giving my company the railroad rights from here to Peking, I shall at once transfer this sum to your credit.

“‘Your letter was picked up from the bank floor, where I had carelessly dropped it, by a young American officer. I do not think he had enough knowledge or time to divine its meaning.’”

The two midshipmen looked sheepishly at each other for a second and then both laughed.

“We are innocents, aren’t we, Phil?” Sydney laughed. “Now it’s all clear. Ignacio attempted to throw the allies into a panic at Lien-Chow. He worked himself into being selected as the senior officer for the flag of truce, and he concealed his eagerness so cleverly that we thought he was afraid. Then he played his game beautifully before the viceroy. But by to-morrow morning Ignacio’s dreams will be smashed. Ku-Ling will awake to find the fleet at anchor with its guns trained on the viceroy’s palace.”

“What’s this new mischief you’re hatching?” inquired Langdon, approaching the midshipmen, after having conned the launch over the treacherous shoals at the entrance to the lake. “We’ll be at the fleet in a short time now,” he added, pointing to the lights fast appearing ahead.

Phil arose, throwing a swift glance at the lights of the gunboats, growing ever brighter as the launch sped swiftly onward. Then he returned to his seat on the deck house and told the pilot of the discovery.

“Why did you never tell me of this meeting with Ignacio in the bank?” Langdon asked, in a hurt voice. “I might have put two and two together and saved us a great deal of trouble.”

“Oh! pipe down, Joe Langdon!” Phil exclaimed, in good humor. “You wouldn’t have found it out any sooner than we did. It’s all plain enough now after you know.”

“I can’t help worrying about our four sailors,” Sydney said sadly, and immediately the mirth died on Phil’s face. “After Ta-Ling is released, he will be mad enough to have them summarily executed.”

His companions made no reply. Each felt that the chances for the four captive Americans were small.

While the launch was approaching the line of anchored ships, Phil left his two companions and stood close beside O’Neil, while the sailor steered for the lights which had been pointed out to him as being on board the “Phœnix.”

The lads were delighted to have this fine American sailor-man again with them. Phil recounted again all the exciting adventures through which they had just passed and O’Neil in his turn told of the monotonous life on board a monitor in Manila Bay.

“It’s worse than going to sea in a submarine, Mr. Perry,” the sailor exclaimed. “She’s so low in the water and rolls so quickly that we was awash all the way up the China coast. We couldn’t use them big guns at sea; one second they are pointing in the water and the next they are looking at the moon; but here in the river it’s different. We can cut our name on those forts if they’ll give us a chance.

“That captain of yours, Mr. Perry, is a fire-eater. There ain’t nothing he is afraid of. I am glad,” he added, lowering his voice, although there was no one but a Chinese crew man within ear-shot, “to hear you tell me that our skipper ain’t going to lead this expedition. He’s all right when he gets good and mad, like he did when the fort fired at him to-night, but he ain’t got the initiative. Now, ‘Bucko’ Hughes, that’s his name on the foc’s’le, is different; he always likes to hit first.” Then he continued in a moralizing tone while he spun his wheel to steer the course to bring the ship’s lights on a proper bearing:

“The longer I live, Mr. Perry, the more I believe that’s the best tactics for a fighting man. If you hit first and hit hard enough maybe the other fellow’ll drop his fists and say he’s had enough.”

Phil slapped the sailor on the back in sign of agreement with his views, while O’Neil brought the “Phœnix’s” lights, now close aboard, broad on his beam in order to round to for a landing at the gangway, and in answer to a hoarse challenge from the gunboat, he sang out in his clear voice:

“Aye! Aye!”

“We’re still midshipmen,” Phil corrected; “you should have answered ‘No! No!’”[2]

“That’s all right, sir,” the sailor returned with a grin. “It ain’t who you are; it’s the news you bring. If I’d said, ‘No! No!’ they might not have waked ‘Bucko,’ and I know he’d want to see you as soon as you put foot on board.”

A few minutes later Phil led the way up the gangway ladder and soon found himself in the enthusiastic embrace of the officer of the deck. Although it was after twelve o’clock many of the officers were awake and a glance about the ship told the midshipman that careful preparations were being made to protect the vital parts of the gunboat from the shells of the enemy.

They were told that Commander Hughes was in the cabin and as yet in ignorance of the return of the hostages.

“I sent down word just now by the orderly,” the officer of the deck said with a smile, “that some commissioned officers were coming alongside in a launch, so I suppose he’s awake, for it’s not often that we receive callers this time of night.”

The three Americans and Emmons went hastily to the captain’s cabin, where they found the orderly awaiting them, while Commander Hughes was seated at his desk. Phil was shocked at the change in his captain’s face. His buoyant expression had been displaced by a haggard look and as he turned his eyes toward the door, the lad noticed, with a twinge of pity, that their expression was one of worry, while the dark circles below them told only too plainly the story of sleepless nights.

It was not until Phil had advanced almost to his side that Commander Hughes realized who his visitors were. Then the mask dropped from his face and he sprang eagerly to his feet with a glad cry.

“I was just thinking,” he exclaimed joyfully as he embraced one after another of the men returning to him as if from the grave, “that for a glimpse of you safe on board here again I’d give ten years of my life.”

After the first joyful shock of meeting was over Commander Hughes made the midshipmen and their companions be seated, and each in turn told the thrilling details of his experiences since leaving Lien-Chow with the flag of truce. The story of Commander Ignacio’s duplicity, much to the lads’ surprise, brought forth but little comment.

“I have suspected him,” their captain answered, almost sadly, “since his return without you.”

When the part in their ventures taken by Emmons was told him, Commander Hughes arose from his chair and, much to the embarrassment of the half-breed, took his hand in both of his, thanking him eloquently for his self-sacrificing acts. Then Phil’s heart leaped with delight as his captain cast from him all signs of sentiment; the old fire had returned to his eyes.

The midshipmen were so intent upon their own experiences that the mention of the arrival of the monitors came only at the end of their narrative.

Commander Hughes could hardly believe his ears.

“The monitors are actually here!” he exclaimed, doubting the welcome news. It was too good to be true.

“THE MONITORS ARE ACTUALLY
HERE!”

“The ‘Monterey’ is at anchor at the entrance of the lake,” Phil assured him. “The ‘Monadnock’ should have arrived by now. Commander Barnes has kept up steam awaiting your arrival. I told him you would go up the river to-night,” he added hastily.

Commander Hughes’ joy showed plainly in his strong face.

“How glad I should be that I have not yielded to the persistent counsels of the other captains!” he cried. “No one knows what these last few days of suspense and uncertainty have been. When Ignacio left us it required the combined effort of Buresford and myself to prevent the rest from following like a flock of sheep. I had wrung a reluctant promise from those remaining to attempt to run the batteries to-morrow night unless the viceroy agreed to our demands. My letter to him sent by one of the renegades has not been answered.”

Phil gasped. The viceroy’s answer was in the pocket of his blouse, but he must not deliver it. To do so would betray the fact of a telegram.

“But now,” the captain continued, “we cannot wait for his answer. The lives of those in the mission depend upon immediate action on our part. I feel sure that the news of the arrival of the monitors and this chart of a safe channel will bolster up our allies’ waning courage.

“I fear for the sailors in the yamen,” he added, a note of grave anxiety in his voice; “but if a hair of their heads is injured I shall not rest until those guilty of the outrage are punished. The viceroy himself shall not escape the penalty of this crime.”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE START FOR KU-LING

The midshipmen, after leaving the captain’s cabin, hastened to their rooms to bathe and don fresh clothes. Phil eyed his bunk longingly; he had not had a comfortable sleep for many nights, but he withstood the temptation and soon found the duty of helping to prepare the ship for battle far more interesting.

Commander Hughes had signaled at once for the gunboat captains, and each had left the “Phœnix,” enthusiastic at the lucky turn affairs had taken, and cordially willing to coöperate.

“I am in doubt,” Commander Hughes confided to Phil on the quarter-deck, where the lad had been directing the work of the men of his division, “what to do with our non-combatants. Each gunboat is carrying a dozen or more of their own nationality, former residents of the foreign concession at Ku-Ling. These gunboats will offer no protection to the women and children if we are discovered and fired upon by the forts. One large shell might even, if it hit in a vital spot, sink this vessel.”

“Why not put all on board the monitors?” Phil suggested; “they would be perfectly safe there behind armor.”

“A good idea,” the captain replied gladly. “I shall signal at once to have the refugees ready to disembark.

“How many can Emmons’ launch carry?” he questioned.

“It’s a good-sized boat, sir,” Phil replied. “I should say certainly fifty persons.”

“That’s very well,” the former said. Then Phil, recognizing a change of tone in his superior’s voice, drew himself to attention as the captain added slowly:

“We shall be ready to get under way at one o’clock at the latest. You will follow in the launch and when the ‘Phœnix,’ which of course will lead the column, reaches the monitors, you will begin at once to transfer all refugees from the gunboats, dividing them equally between the two monitors. I shall write out immediately orders for the commanding officers of the ‘Monterey’ and ‘Monadnock,’ which I shall hand you for delivery before you shove off. They will be unable to follow us through the secret channel, as their draft is too great, so I have directed that they remain beyond the range of fire of the forts, unless by chance we are menaced by the enemy’s guns.

“I sincerely hope,” he continued in a less official voice, “that nothing happens to either of the monitors with such precious freight. Do you know, Mr. Perry,” he added feelingly, “out in these countries where lives are so cheap, we Americans would sacrifice a whole shipload of men for the single life of a mother or a child.”

Phil inclined his head in mute token of agreement to his captain’s humane sentiment. Then suddenly a thought seemed to strike the latter, and he drew the lad farther away from the sailors engaged in making a protecting screen of hammocks about the after-gun positions, for greater safety against the possibility of infantry fire from the island, close to which the channel was shown to lead.

“What is your theory, Mr. Perry,” he asked earnestly, “of the actions of Commander Ignacio? Is it merely a hostile dislike for me and our countrymen, or does it come from a deeper and more subtle reason?”

Phil hesitated; could he give his honest views, or more correctly speaking, his knowledge of the reasons for Ignacio’s actions, without endangering the asking of a question from his captain, to answer which he might have to descend to subterfuge and even deceit? The fatal telegram lay snugly in his pocket; he could almost imagine that Commander Hughes’ piercing eyes could read, through the cloth of his blouse, the words which seemed engraved in bold letters on the lad’s brain. Phil had purposely cautioned his companions to say nothing of the captured letters which had passed between Ignacio and the viceroy’s secretary, for fear that the many allusions to the hope of accomplishing the disgrace of the American leader might awaken suspicion. These letters, the boy had decided, could not be of benefit now to Commander Hughes, but would be of vital importance in justifying the suppression of the cablegram taken from the person of Ta-Ling.

“I think, sir,” Phil answered after several moments of silence, “that Commander Ignacio’s motive lies much deeper than personal enmity. There must surely be some important objective toward which he has been striving. Possibly,” he hinted vaguely in an endeavor to have his captain broach the real reason, of which the lad knew only too well, “he believes that he can secure better commercial benefits for his own countrymen and to the hurt of American interests. They say that the viceroy has been openly antagonistic for months to all American investments in his provinces.”

“How stupid of me!” Commander Hughes exclaimed. “The railroad to Peking and through the interior provinces! I have been so much engrossed with my own troubles that I have not given the motive of this hostile action the attention which it deserves. I heard in Shanghai before we sailed that the American corporation having the railroad concession rights was having great trouble in getting permission to break ground, and a great mass of material is lying idle in steamers awaiting permission of the viceroy to land. Of course, that must be at the bottom of all this!

“It is this commercial rivalry which will forever keep the Chinese from looking upon foreigners as desirable residents of their country,” he continued thoughtfully. “We are ever at each other’s throats in our commercial dealings. There are grave consequences to be feared in the opening of this vast and rich territory, and if we are not strictly honest in our dealings with each other, the consequences may well warrant the building of a great navy.”

Commander Hughes, as he finished speaking, gazed out over the water to the anchored ships of the allied fleet and then, nodding a dismissal to the midshipmen, he walked toward the companion ladder leading to his cabin.

“The signal is two white lights when ready,” he said to the officer of the deck. “Notify me when all the ships have shown the signal, and keep the launch ready for Mr. Perry.” Then to Phil, as he descended the companionway, “Langdon must of course stay with us. We shall need him to help us over the shoals at the entrance to the lake.”

Phil saluted and then glanced at the clock on the cabin bulkhead. He saw its hands pointed to twenty minutes of one. In but a few hours all would be decided. Either Commander Hughes would win and his act of suppressing the cablegram be condoned, or else the gunboats would be utterly defeated, maybe destroyed by the fire of the forts and his hated enemy Ignacio raised to power as the leader of the dissenters. The possibilities were so terrifying that he looked about him for some object upon which to concentrate his mind. He wished to keep himself from brooding on the future of the night’s venture. Gazing out into the darkness, he could see black smoke and sparks belching from the smoke-stacks of the “Phœnix’s” consorts. The shrill whistles of the boatswain’s mates and the creaking of tackles came distinctly across the still water, showing their hurried preparations to be ready.

He saw that two white lights burned at the yard-arm of his own ship; she then was ready to lead the fleet on its perilous undertaking; to run by, well inside of the range of the forts’ guns, with but a screen of high grass to protect the unarmored ships from the heavy shells of their enemy. While the lad watched silently, his pulses beating fast, the signal of readiness flashed out from gunboat after gunboat, until the entire fleet had mutely informed the “Phœnix” that it was ready and eager to follow the lead of its intrepid commander.

A moment later he heard a step at his side, and the captain’s voice saying:

“Here are the orders for the monitors. You understand what you are to do. I shall give you further orders later.”

Phil took the two envelopes and put them carefully in his pocket; then seeing his captain’s hand still extended, he grasped it warmly.

“We little realize how much depends upon our success to-night,” Commander Hughes said in an earnest voice. Then casting from him the air of depression, he added lightly, “Our star is still in the ascendent. We shall not consider failure.”

Phil gazed almost worshipfully at his captain as the latter left him, going forward toward the gunboat’s bridge to make the signal which would launch the fleet upon its perilous mission; then he was conscious that Sydney stood by him and the officer of the deck appeared anxious to have the big launch shove off. Together the lads descended the ladder, followed by Emmons as an interpreter for the Chinese crew men, for Langdon had been detailed to remain to pilot the fleet.

Quietly the fleet got under way, forming in column of vessels with the American gunboat leading. Then as if by signal, commencing with the leader, each of the gunboats dissolved into the night. To the lads it appeared as if a cloak had been thrown over each vessel.

“Their lights are all screened!” Sydney exclaimed. “Look! you can barely see the vessel following the ‘Phœnix.’”

Phil allowed his eyes to travel over the scene where a moment before many lights pierced the darkness; now all that was visible was the shadowy form of the American vessel scarce a hundred yards away and a dark smudge of the next following; all others had vanished from view.

In the long, tedious hour necessary to arrive at the anchored monitors, the midshipmen stood by O’Neil and Emmons at the launch’s wheel. Their pulses beat high in semi-dread at what the night would bring forth. They had seen enough of the marksmanship of the forts to know that their gunners were not to be despised. The island, behind which the gunboats were to find refuge in passing the forts, was low, but being covered with a dense growth of giant reeds, would conceal all but the lofty spars of the vessels, which for greater security had been lowered to the decks.

“Is there any doubt of the existence of this channel?” Sydney questioned Emmons, a sudden fear of treachery coming into his mind, for if it were not there the gunboats endeavoring to find its entrance would ground upon the shifting shoals of the river and when day dawned be under fire at close range of the enemy’s guns.

“I have navigated my launches on the river for six years,” Emmons replied, “and never until the Tartar general gave me this chart did I suspect that the channel existed. There is a legend among the Chinese sailors that it was used by war junks a half century ago in escaping from British men-of-war.”

After arriving at the anchorage of the monitors, for the “Monadnock” now lay near her consort, Phil directed the launch be steered alongside the farthest gunboat. Refugees, men, women and children, carrying in their hands but the necessary clothes for one night, quickly embarked and were carried expeditiously to the monitors, where Phil gave Commander Hughes’ verbal instructions and the written orders.

This duty completed, the launch once more drew up alongside of the “Phœnix’s” gangway ladder.

“Mr. Perry!” called a voice from the bridge, which Phil recognized as that of his captain. “Remain in the launch and start ahead of us. If you find less water than our draft, signal us at once.”

Phil acknowledged the order and gave the word to proceed. He had taken the precaution to make a rough sketch of the chart; now laying the sheet of paper on the deck house under the ray of a bull’s-eye lantern he judged the course to steer. O’Neil swung the launch’s bow in the compass direction, while the Chinese leadsman stood ready to test the depth of water with his bamboo pole.

Silently they sped onward; the low island across the river slowly took shape and the lad directed the boatswain’s mate to steer for the end of the black line barely discernible above the water.

“We are now within the arc of fire of the forts,” Phil whispered to Sydney; “from here to the island the gunboats will be unprotected if discovered by the sentries at the guns. However, it’s long range, and fortunately the night is dark.”

Silently and regularly the leadsman thrust downward his pole until twelve feet, three feet greater than the maximum draft of the gunboats, was buried beneath the surface.

All on board the launch were silently anxious. The deep channel of the river had been left behind and, under the train of the fort guns, they were traveling over water that on the charts issued by the home government showed barely enough water to float a row-boat, and yet the leadsman untiringly plunged his bamboo to a distance of twelve feet without touching the sandy bottom. Hope rose in Phil’s heart.

“Emmons’ chart is true!” Sydney exclaimed in a low, joyful voice. “See, we’re nearly abreast of the point. In a few minutes more the island will be between us and the guns.”

Phil’s eyes traveled excitedly over the scene; the forts, some thousands of yards away, were enshrouded in darkness; the island appeared ever more distinct, the deep shadow of its high vegetation rising ghastly from the water.

“Round the point close,” Phil directed O’Neil, “and keep in to the shore-line.”

Boldly the launch neared the dark land, now so near at hand that it seemed possible in the darkness to reach out and touch the long, overhanging reeds. The dry rustle of the wind among the rank growth seemed in the silence almost as loud as the footsteps of an army marching.

So far all seemed to be progressing happily for the allies. The channel was an established fact and the midshipmen saw with relief that once behind the island the gunboats could not be seen by the soldiers in the forts. The island was narrow, but so long that when the vessels emerged from its protection above the city of Ku-Ling, they would be in the dead angle of the heavy batteries and well beyond the range of the lighter guns.

The launch chugged steadily onward, the intention being to discover if possible any shoaling of the water in the channel, but the leadsman’s bamboo pole betrayed no change.

“What’s that ahead, sir?” O’Neil exclaimed suddenly; “It’s a launch, I’m sure.”

The lads strained their eyes in the direction indicated, but could see nothing; then a light shot into the air, followed by a shower of sparks and a bright flame, and again all was darkness.

“What does it mean?” Phil gasped in sudden alarm. “It’s a launch, that’s sure. She’s carrying no lights, and the flame from her smoke-stack shows she has seen us and is making haste to escape.”

“She’s going faster than we are, too,” O’Neil exclaimed, his keen eyes detecting what the midshipmen had failed to see.

“Do you smell smoke?” Sydney questioned anxiously.

A moment later there was no longer doubt of the presence of smoke; a light breeze from the direction of the island carried the pungent odor of burning brush down the wind to the nostrils of the surprised Americans.

“There’s a fire on the island!” O’Neil suddenly exclaimed.

CHAPTER XIX
THE SECRET CHANNEL

After the Americans had departed, leaving Ta-Ling tightly bound and gagged on the cell floor, the Chinaman remained quietly bemoaning his cruel destiny. He knew from the silence throughout the yamen that it would be futile for him to waste his strength in useless struggling at the bonds that bound him. His Oriental mind counseled self-destruction. There was no alternative to wipe out the dishonor of being defeated and humiliated by his despised enemies. The loss of his sacred cue was a bitter misfortune. How could he appear before his brother mandarins with this necessary appendage missing? The more he revolved the situation over in his mind, the calmer he became. His Western teaching, with its more worldly and less devious ways of thought, came to his aid, driving away all ideas of self-destruction, and he resolved that he would fight according to the methods taught by his new learning so long as life remained him.

It seemed to the helpless man that many hours must have passed while he remained motionless on the damp earth. He had during this time thought over and over again of all that had been said by the Americans. While he lay to all appearances insensible, he had heard the wording of the cipher message to the American commander. He had been upon the point of sending the cablegrams to the American ship, but now they were in the hands of the midshipmen and he had heard them say that they would not give them to their captain. So much of the plan of his ally, Commander Ignacio, was a failure.

The missing chart which he felt sure had been taken by Emmons caused him the greatest anxiety. He had intended to block this channel with sunken stone-laden junks, but with the usual roundabout methods of the Chinese he had found the mandarin in charge of such work could not load the junks for some days, so he had passed it by, believing that the presence of such a channel would remain a secret. Hang-Ki, the Tartar general, could be the only one of those in the secrets of the yamen who would dare thwart him. Ta-Ling’s veins swelled with suppressed anger as he blamed his ill-luck for not having succeeded in his attempt on the general’s life. This man he felt sure was also in the daring plot which had liberated the Americans and placed him, second only in power to the viceroy, in chains, helpless, while his carefully-laid scheme of forever ridding China of the foreign leeches was falling like a house of cards about his head.

While his mind grappled with the intricate intrigues, there came a dull boom of heavy cannon, shaking violently the yamen. Again and again the earth was shaken and the deep tones of discharges of great guns reverberated through the vast building.

What did it mean? Had the Americans then succeeded in escaping and were the fort guns firing upon them? How could they escape by water when every launch had been wrecked by his trusted soldiers?

The yamen now was no longer silent. Ta-Ling could hear shrill cries and the hurried march of feet. Men were running wildly here and there, an unknown fear in their hearts. The Chinaman’s hopes rose; the viceroy would send for him to know the cause of the firing and he must before long be discovered. He tugged desperately but fruitlessly at his bonds, but Langdon had done his work well.

Exhausted and breathless, he at length resigned himself to fate. Then he heard his own name cried by the viceroy’s crier, resounding loudly throughout the yamen. After what seemed an eternity, the door of his cell was thrown open and several guards entered the dark prison.

“Here they are,” he heard a soldier exclaim, and then he felt himself grasped roughly and carried out into the courtyard.

The next moment a light was thrust in his face and then the guards recoiled in mortal fear as they beheld the features of the Chinese tyrant.

“We beg a million pardons, Excellency,” the leader cried, cringing before the terrible eye of the viceroy’s secretary, while his companions prostrated themselves before him.

Ta-Ling made a sign to remove his gag, his joy at deliverance fighting with his outraged dignity at being so roughly handled.

“Take off these irons, you dogs,” he hissed when he could speak; “the keys are on the floor of the cell.”

The keys were quickly brought from where Ta-Ling had seen them thrown by the midshipmen, and soon he was free.

“Meet me at the yamen gate,” he ordered huskily, kicking a kneeling figure savagely to punctuate his words; and then he hastened to his quarters to replace the clothes of which his former captives had deprived him.

Upon the threshold of his room he encountered the frail figure of the aged mandarin, his features stamped with fear.

“You traitor,” he cried in a weak trembling voice, as he caught sight of the disheveled Ta-Ling; “so this is the end of your vain boasting. The foreign dogs are coming to destroy me.”

The secretary used all of his powers of persuasion to reassure his master. He told the viceroy hurriedly of the escape of the Americans and the loss of the chart, but protested that there was no immediate danger from the guns of the fleet.

Leading the trembling old man back to his own room, he called loudly for the treasurer, appreciating that in order to make true his words to his master not a second must be wasted.

Receiving no answer to his call, he retraced his steps to his room, and there he was not surprised to find the bound body of his friend in the dark corner where Phil had thrown him.

After setting the man free, he gave him hasty instructions and sent him to keep the viceroy company, while he feverishly threw on the garments of a mandarin before joining his awaiting soldiers. Hastily writing an order he took it to the viceroy for signature, then calling a waiting messenger he directed it be taken at once to the Tartar general at the forts.

Ten minutes later Ta-Ling, preceded by his guards, pressed through the frightened throngs of Chinese in the narrow street outside of the yamen. The gun fire had now ceased and the terrified natives were slowly slinking back to their hovels.

Passing unhindered through the city gate, the secretary led the way directly to the jetty. Here he was to have met his ally, Commander Ignacio, earlier in the evening, but much to his surprise and satisfaction, as he reached the landing, he saw a steam launch waiting.

“Can you take me to the ‘Albaque’?” he questioned the coxswain eagerly.

The sailor glanced up in surprise. Where was his captain? He had seen him, as he supposed, with this Chinaman.

“I am waiting for the captain,” he replied, a shade of suspicion in his voice. “Wasn’t he with you?”

It was Ta-Ling’s turn to be surprised.

“With me!” he exclaimed. “I was to have met him hours ago.”

The coxswain shook his head, mystified. Had he not seen his captain go away with this man? Then he suddenly thought of the crowd of Chinese who had boarded a launch below him and had then gone alongside of his ship. His captain surely could not have been among those men. He gave it up. It was too deep for his understanding, for that launch had then gone down the river shortly before the fight between the forts and a strange war-ship.

“All right; get in,” he said finally.

In several minutes Ta-Ling was greeted warmly by the officer of the deck of the “Albaque.” The latter was glad to see the Chinaman again. The quartermaster of the gunboat had persisted that the launch of the Chinaman had not landed, but had gone down the river, and the young officer had commenced to fear that he had been duped into giving up both the captain’s correspondence and the Chinese refugee.

“May I see your captain?” Ta-Ling asked anxiously. “It’s of the utmost importance.”

“My captain has not returned!” the officer exclaimed, alarm in his voice.

“Where is he? quick, man! Everything depends upon my finding him at once,” Ta-Ling cried in vexation.

“He was with you; the launch was waiting for him,” the officer returned, catching his breath, his heart in his throat.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning,” the Chinaman declared impatiently. “Does no one know of his whereabouts?”

The officer was rooted to the spot from fright. His throat was parched with fear and his tongue unruly.

“You were here to-night asking for the papers of the captain,” he managed to gasp, his worst fears realized.

“You’re dreaming, man,” Ta-Ling retorted almost angrily. “Come, explain! What do you mean?”

The officer related to the anxious Chinaman how some one whom he could have taken oath was he had come on board from a launch and he had given him the copies of his captain’s letters to the viceroy, and also a Chinese refugee who had escaped on board from the shore.

Ta-Ling groaned in anguish as the full significance of this news dawned upon him. The Americans evidently had Emmons—and his chart. But had they escaped? That was surely the cause of the firing.

“What was the firing?” Ta-Ling asked hurriedly.

“An American monitor and the forts,” the officer replied in a shaky voice.

“What have I done?” he added questioningly, much terrified over the results of his indiscretion.

“You’ve given your captain’s letters to his enemy, for one thing,” the Chinaman answered in his cruel voice, “and besides you have liberated a man——”

A shrill cry from the steam launch, which had, while waiting for the Chinaman, hauled out to the lower boom to lie more securely in the tideway, cut short Ta-Ling’s words and drew the two men to the rail.

“There’s a man tied hand and foot in this boat,” called out the coxswain in alarm. “It’s the captain!” he exclaimed with many imprecations upon those who had perpetrated the deed.

“Cut him loose, quick!” the officer cried excitedly.

Eager hands quickly cut the tight cords, and Commander Ignacio soon stood on his quarter-deck.

“An hour ago I would have throttled you if you’d stood here before me,” were his first words, spoken hoarsely and with difficulty to the Chinaman, “but I see it all now. We’ve been unmercifully duped.”

“THERE IS STILL A CHANCE”

With many bitter recriminations the whole plot and its disastrous success was discussed. Commander Ignacio could barely control his rage against the young officer who had innocently betrayed him.

“Come, we must act at once!” Ta-Ling finally exclaimed. “There is still a chance.”

The foreign captain’s face brightened as he questioned eagerly the excited secretary.

“The channel will be useless to the fleet if we can burn off the reed grass,” Ta-Ling explained quickly. “The land itself is low and will not hide the gunboats from the forts. But we must be quick. That fire-eating American will start immediately he receives the information of this channel.”

“Come to my cabin,” Ignacio ordered in a low voice, glancing suspiciously at his abashed lieutenant.

“If I understand you,” he continued as the door closed behind them, “you ask me to aid you in burning the vegetation on this island.”

“Certainly!” Ta-Ling cried impatiently. “Isn’t it to your interest that this American does not succeed?”

“Softly,” cautioned the foreign captain; “we don’t want our talk to be common property,” indicating by a motion of his hand the hatchway leading to the sleeping quarters of his officers; “some one may be awake down there.”

Ignacio pondered for a few seconds. To go in his own launch and set fire to this island would betray his part in the intrigue with the viceroy. His sailors could not be depended upon to keep such a secret.

“I see no alternative but to decline,” he continued decidedly. “You must do this act yourself; my men could not be trusted with such a secret.”

“I will furnish the men,” Ta-Ling cried, beside himself with impatience. “You must furnish me a launch with some one to run it; but hurry, man,” he urged excitedly. “The grass must be burned off before the fleet arrives at the island, or else we are defeated.”

Commander Ignacio immediately awoke to action. The thought of the lieutenant who had innocently betrayed him came happily to his mind; he could run the engine and the sailors could remain on board ship. The secret would be safe with this officer. No one could connect him with the act of burning the island.

The lieutenant was called and was eager to regain his captain’s favor. Ten minutes later the launch from the “Albaque,” manned by the Chinese soldiers, with Commander Ignacio himself at the helm, had quietly left the gunboat.

Reaching the northern point of the island, a landing was made and a Chinaman landed, armed with instructions from the viceroy’s secretary to set fire to the grass in as many places as possible and to return in time to be picked up on the launch’s return.

The launch then steamed down stream, stopping at several points to land the soldiers.

As yet, all was well. The launch had run the complete length of the long island, landing the incendiary soldiers; the south end of the island was only a few hundred yards ahead. Ta-Ling directed the foreign captain to steer once more to the steep shore. There were no more soldiers remaining; the ten men had all been landed and ten fires were by now burning fiercely in as many places on the long island. Stepping ashore, he was soon lost in the high grass towering over twenty feet above him. Lighting a fire-brand, hastily made of dry reeds, he carefully applied it, as he walked along, to the dying vegetation. Now in an hour the island would be a blazing furnace. For the rest of the night the channels would be lighted as bright as day. Even the monitors would not dare to attempt to pass the forts until the following night, and by that time he would have fully revenged himself on the Americans and escaped to the interior. He smiled cruelly as his thoughts dwelt upon his cunning ruse upon the viceroy; the mandarin, in his excited fear, had signed the order to Hang-Ki to withdraw his soldiers from the mission to protect the forts. Now the bloodthirsty rabble, armed and organized by him (Ta-Ling), could with impunity hurl themselves upon the mission.

CHAPTER XX
RUNNING THE BATTERIES

The midshipmen gazed fearfully toward the island. What could it mean? Had the grass on the island been fired, and if so, would the fire reach dangerous proportions before the fleet had safely passed its shelter? What was the meaning of the launch ahead of their own?

Suddenly from a point on the far end of the island a single flame of fire shot in the air; the breeze caught it, helping it forward on its career of destruction. Quickly at intermediate points fires appeared to spring to life out of the very ground. Then, as if to complete the picture of failure in Phil’s mind, a heavy reverberation shook the dry air and the noise of a screeching shell came to his ears.

“It’s the end,” gasped Phil as the search-light from the fort appeared suddenly, as if the monstrous guns had been awakened from a sound sleep and opened this one bright, piercing eye.

The midshipmen were spellbound with fear as they saw the beam of light sweep slowly along the island, penetrating the thick grass. For an instant, as the bright ray swept by, the launch ahead stood out in bold outline.

“Ignacio’s launch!” Sydney exclaimed, aghast. Then the enemy dissolved into the night. The light moved over their own launch and then step by step approached the southern end of the island where, the lads knew, was the column of advancing gunboats.

An exclamation of relief escaped Phil as he saw the beam of light stop and then sweep back along the island. As yet, the gunboats were undiscovered.

A terrible anxiety filled the lad’s mind. By now Commander Hughes would know the meaning of the numerous fires. Would he turn back, believing the attempt to run the forts would be a useless sacrifice? Here was a situation from which there could be no protection. The channel ran close to the island; the grass was dry and burned like a prairie fire. After the great bonfire had once gained its head no living thing could remain in the channel. In a half hour the fire would have devoured the protecting screen and the gunboats would be in the direct view of the fort guns.

After the first alarm gun the forts had become silent, but the lads watched the search-light swing back toward the allied fleet. Then Phil’s heart seemed to stop beating, then beat faster for joy as the hull of the “Phœnix” appeared, standing out ghastly in the glow of the conflagration, steaming boldly onward; the white surge under the bow showed the effort Commander Hughes was making to take his fleet as soon as possible through the waters of the dangerous channel. Then the lads saw the terrible light sweep along the length of the following column; deliberately it moved, revealing one after another of the unprotected gunboats.

Then the sound of the fire so close at hand was drowned by a sullen roar as the guns of the forts hurled their great shells toward the daring gunboats, hastening forward silently to put the flames of the burning island between them and this irresistible menace.

“If they can get behind the fire before it gets too hot they’ll be safe,” Phil cried clutching Sydney’s arm in his excitement. “They can’t see through the fire; even the search-light will be useless.”

“How many guns have you?” O’Neil asked suddenly. The boatswain’s mate had in silence steered after the launch ahead, urging Emmons time and again to encourage his men to speed the gasoline engine up to its limit. “We can’t be no use to them gunboats,” he added in explanation; “our job is to catch the fellows that set this here island on fire.”

Phil withdrew his attention with difficulty from the terrible one-sided battle raging astern of them, to answer the sailor’s question.

“There are two stacks[3] and a thousand rounds of ammunition. Can we catch them?” he questioned eagerly.

“If we can’t, we can stop ’em with twelve rifles,” O’Neil replied grimly.

“I don’t dare fire on the launch,” Phil cried. “If we can overhaul them, that’s another matter.”

The spectacle now revealed to those on the launch was awe inspiring. The forts had developed into a blaze of fire, while all about the advancing gunboats shells struck incessantly. The sides of the small vessels had burst into flame as they fired their small guns at the distant enemy. The high vegetation on the island near them burned with ever-increasing rapidity, the flames mounting high in the air and lighting the surroundings as bright as dawn.

The “Phœnix” now had entered the channel, and with her battery silent cut swiftly through the brightly lighted water. The air was shaken by the noise of shell and the shock of explosions.

The flame of fire from the burning island formed a fiery veil, through which the eye could not penetrate, but by the increased roar of explosions and discharges, the lads felt confident that the monitors were now engaging the forts.

Another and even greater danger suddenly confronted the allies. The breeze, which had been light, now had increased and was blowing the suffocating smoke toward the channel. In a short while as the fire gained headway the channel would be enshrouded in thick smoke through which it would be well-nigh impossible to see. If by a fatal chance a gunboat mistook the channel it would remain hard and fast aground and in the morning would be destroyed by the forts.

The “Phœnix” was now close aboard, a wave under her forefoot showing her burst of speed. The air every minute became hotter and more stifling and those on the launch without protection would soon suffer from the scorching heat of the flames.

A line whistled over the launch, while Commander Hughes’ cool voice directed:

“Make it fast, and keep under our lee. We’ll protect you from the heat.”

Quickly the tow-line was secured in the bow of the launch and those on board the smaller vessel were almost thrown from their feet as the launch was dragged forward by the tautening of the tow-rope.

Thicker and thicker, and more stifling, became the smoke. The Americans wet their handkerchiefs, putting them over their mouths to enable them to breathe.

Phil wondered how the following gunboats were faring. The screech of shell was no longer heard near them, but the reverberations of discharges still smote upon their ears.

Then after what seemed hours of anxious waiting they emerged into the clear night. Filling their lungs with the pure air the lads gazed about them. The island, a mass of soaring flame, was behind them, and far away on the port quarter they could see the stirring spectacle of the monitors hotly engaging the forts. The city of Ku-Ling had been passed; the lights of the three anchored gunboats were indistinctly visible in the darkness.

“Where’s the launch?” Sydney exclaimed, gazing searchingly about him.

“She’s back to the ‘Albaque’ by this time,” Phil replied disappointedly. “If we could have only caught them red handed. That means that Ta-Ling and Ignacio have both been set free, for only they would set fire to the island.”

Inside of ten minutes, Captain Hughes’ voice hailed them:

“Let go the line. We are going to anchor.”

The line was quickly cast off and a moment later, the lads were on the deck of the gunboat, warmly congratulating their captain upon his well-earned success.

“Signal the monitors to join us and be ready to land their sailors,” the captain ordered the signal officer, then turning to Langdon, “We must take the chance from this side. Perhaps we shall find the bridge intact.”

The allied gunboats one after another dropped their anchors near the “Phœnix.” As they passed the American vessel the crews manned the rails with lusty cheers, which the “Phœnix’s” crew returned with a will.

“Here they come,” Sydney exclaimed in admiration as the two victorious and unharmed monitors steamed swiftly toward their flagship and anchored one on each quarter.

“This is to be only an American expedition,” Commander Hughes declared to the eager midshipmen. “Four hundred men all told from the three ships.”

Quietly and without confusion the American war-ships lowered their boats and embarked their sailors. And inside of twenty minutes after anchoring the strong force had started for the shore to push forward to the relief of the mission.

Phil and Sydney remained with Commander Hughes, who had elected to lead the force in person.

As the boats grounded upon the sandy shore the sailors noiselessly fell in ranks under their officers. The American captain, with Langdon as guide, took the lead, followed closely by the two midshipmen with O’Neil and a dozen men. The main force came along a hundred yards behind them.

As yet all was silent. The forts had ceased their fire, and no sound came from the direction of the mission.

The force moved at a lively pace over the rough ground. The sailors had been cautioned to move noiselessly, and all loose metal had been carefully muffled; everything depended upon the possibility of surprise, or else upon gaining admittance to the compound of the mission before the enemy had gathered to the attack.

Phil marched by Langdon’s side; his blood warmed for adventure, and he hoped that this time he would be able to see and enjoy the fighting. During the few minutes in the attack on Lien-Chow, he had been so much occupied in forcing Commander Ignacio to charge the enemy that he had failed to take note of all save the sound of the bullets as they had whistled past him. He rejoiced in the coolness and tact shown on all occasions by his friend Langdon; his duty was not to fight, yet he was ever eager to risk his life wherever Commander Hughes suggested.

The Americans moved steadily onward, Langdon time and again leaving the narrow road to circle a small hamlet with its shading willow trees in an endeavor to avoid the discovering bark of the always-present Chinese dog. Fortunately the countryside was deserted; there were no travelers on the road to flee and give warning of the approaching band of hostiles.

As the distance to the mission diminished, the sailors grasped their rifles more firmly, ever expecting to hear the discharges and see the flashes of the guns of an ambushing enemy.

While the expedition was ascending a small hill covered with the graves of centuries of China’s dead, Langdon turned quietly to his captain and pointed to an indistinct mass coming in sight beyond the ridge ahead of them.

“The mission,” he whispered; then he stopped in his tracks, while those behind pressed forward eagerly to know the cause. The metallic bark of a Colt gun rang out distantly on the quiet evening air, accompanied by the duller rattle of musketry. The mission was already being attacked.

CHAPTER XXI
TO THE RESCUE OF THE MISSION

The ominous sound of strife sent shivers up and down Phil’s spine; the mission was surrounded by a force far in excess of the handful guarding the helpless ones inside its wall; but the droning sound of the Colt gun was reassuring; it showed that Lieutenant Wilson had been on the alert, and he knew that officer well enough to believe that he would sacrifice himself and every man with him before the women and children were allowed to fall into the hands of the cruel Chinese mob.

These thoughts flashed through Phil’s mind while the sailors quickened their pace in obedience to Commander Hughes’ orders.

Reaching the crest of the hill, Phil gazed with his companions through the darkness down upon the valley between the mission hill and the one on which they were standing.

“Don’t deploy yet,” Langdon cautioned in a whisper to the American commander, who, he observed, was on the point of forming for the attack; “we must cross the bridge over that irrigation ditch in the middle of the valley; you can see the shadow of willows along it from here. Once across that, all will be clear ground between us and the mission.”

They pressed forward until the pilot raised his hand warningly and Commander Hughes signaled a halt. Langdon, motioning Phil to accompany him, left the column and advanced cautiously along the road toward the bridge, concealed from their view by a group of willow trees. Reaching the bridge, the pilot examined carefully the bamboo structure, then he gingerly placed his heavy foot on the wooden planking, testing it with his great weight of over two hundred pounds. Motioning Phil to remain where he was, he then walked cautiously across the bridge to test the fastenings on the other side of the deep ditch. The midshipmen saw his huge bulk dissolve in the darkness, but in a few moments he returned and his discovery was calculated to bring despair to the stoutest heart. They quickly joined the main body, waiting impatiently to push forward to the rescue of their comrades.

“Many of the lashings are cut on the far side, sir,” Langdon exclaimed in a low, excited voice; “one or two men at a time can probably cross in safety, but no more. There is no other bridge for five miles, and that may be in a similar condition.”

Here indeed was an effective stop to the eager sailors in sight of the battle between their comrades and the bloodthirsty enemy. The volume of musketry fire directed upon the mission had increased alarmingly, and at frequent intervals came the roar of artillery.

“Breaching the wall or shelling the gate,” Phil whispered in an awed voice as his eyes caught the flash of a heavy explosion at the base of the wall. His gaze, accustomed to the darkness, traveled over the ground across the ditch; it was strewn with high mounds, graves of forgotten Chinamen, and the lad saw that the natural protection offered excellent cover for the sailors when once across the shaky bridge structure; but, and a great fear rose in his mind, it would also aid the enemy in its endeavor to prevent the rescuers from crossing the nearly destroyed structure. Were those mounds even now concealing a large force of Chinese soldiers, who, when the unwary foreigners had rushed upon the tottering bridge, and many had fallen to the bottom of the deep culvert fifty feet below, would open fire upon their demoralized comrades, cut off from further attempts to succor those inside the mission compound?

The sailors advanced in silence to the edge of the ditch, and then Commander Hughes, grasping Langdon’s arm, stepped boldly upon the treacherous planking, whispering to the midshipman hurriedly:

“Stay on this side and send the men over two at a time.”

As soon as the midshipman saw that his captain and the pilot were safely on the other side, he and Sydney silently selected two sailors to follow; then in turn two more to cross the intervening space. Slowly those on the wrong side of the bridge decreased; Phil could see that Commander Hughes had deployed his men to protect the bridge in case of a sudden attack, while he and Langdon at the far side of the bridge were receiving and instructing the men after they had crossed the swaying structure. Then without warning, a flash of flame shot out into the night from the direction of the Chinese graves, and the screech of hostile bullets sounded loudly about the foreigners. Phil, from his position, saw the figures beyond the bridge seek refuge behind a high mound, and then the reverberation of the sailors’ rifles told him that Commander Hughes was returning the fire in the hopes of protecting from the hot fire of the enemy those still to cross the ditch.

The bridge was already swept by a hail of lead; a groan from a man at his side told him that unless they crossed quickly, there would be but few remaining at all to cross the tottering bamboo. He sent five men at a time, watching fearfully until he saw them disappear in the gloom; then six followed; the bridge stood the weight, but swayed and seemed on the point of falling. There were now but four remaining, Sydney and two men, one of whom lay sorely wounded on the ground at his feet.

“Go, Syd!” the lad exclaimed to his brother midshipman. The lad shook his head, forcing the remaining sailor before him; then by mutual consent he and Phil lifted tenderly the wounded man.

Carefully they picked their way across the bullet-swept, swaying structure. With their burden, they reached the middle in safety; Phil shuddered as his eyes took one fleeting glance at the fall below him. Amid the noise of strife, the tearing of the thongs, holding the bridge on the far side, gave the two officers no warning, and not until the floor tilted to an unnerving angle did they see that they must hasten if they would not be precipitated to the bottom of the ditch. The wounded man was a dead weight on their hands; Phil, when he had felt the bridge sinking under him, ran his hand nervously over the face of the wounded sailor; the drooping jaw told him that he had passed beyond mortal aid.

“He’s dead; save yourself!” he cried loudly to his companion as he let fall his burden and sprang forward.

By almost superhuman effort, side by side, the whistle of the enemy’s bullets in their ears, they threw themselves at the rising earth as their platform with increasing speed sank beneath them.

Clutching at the crumbling earth, digging their fingers deep into the rank grass, while the bridge behind them fell with a great crash into the stagnant and noisome water fifty feet below, the two lads drew themselves up, breathless but safe.

Phil quickly found Commander Hughes, who had sought cover behind a mound and was waiting until his men became steadied before giving the order to advance.

Langdon threw his great arms about the lads as they reached the protecting earth mound, while the captain’s voice struck encouragingly upon their ears.

“Splendid!” he exclaimed.

“He was dead, sir,” Phil said sorrowfully. “We couldn’t have saved his body and ourselves too.”

Silence lasted for several minutes, each reverencing the visit of death.

“We must win now!” Commander Hughes exclaimed grimly. “And we must repair that bridge before we can return. But come; we must leave our cover and drive these Chinamen from our path.”

Suiting his action to his words, he blew a shrill blast from his whistle, the signal on the skirmish line for “attention.”

“Forward,” he commanded in a voice that sounded loudly above the din of musketry.

The sailors sprang forward with enthusiasm; the long wait under the fire of an unseen enemy had bottled up their energy. Each sailor’s foremost desire was to come to close quarters with the treacherous Chinamen. The long, slender line moved upward toward the mission crest; the men taking cover as they found it, and shooting when their keen eyes discerned a shadowy form skulking away before their advance into the darker shadows.

The sharp rattle of the Colt guns told the advancing men that the mission was stubbornly resisting.

Phil moved incessantly along the advancing skirmish line, carrying orders from his captain to the flank companies; the alarming song of the bullets ever in his ears.

“Press forward, keeping the guide on the center!” had been Commander Hughes’ simple instructions, and faithfully were they being carried out by the determined men. The mission loomed through the darkness scarce five hundred yards distant; the tongues of flame from its wall answered by cries of rage and defiance from the enemy’s position inspired the rescuing sailors to renewed exertions to reach the protecting compound. The Chinese who had opened fire upon the Americans during the passage across the ill-fated bridge had stolen away toward the shadowy flanks; between the advancing sailors and their objective there were now no answering shots. Then suddenly the battery which had been hurling shell at the stone wall of the mission turned its fierce attention upon the unprotected rescuers.

“Seek cover!” Commander Hughes ordered; and the men huddled together in groups, thankful for the homes of the dead, which furnished such perfect protection from the well-directed fire of grape and canister from the Chinese artillery, now giving its undivided attention to the approaching reënforcements.

Commander Hughes saw that a new danger confronted the success of his undertaking; those in the mission as yet could not know of the close proximity of their friends, and might they not in their vigorous defense turn the muzzles of their Colt guns against them? The thought was fearful to contemplate.

“Mr. Perry,” he ordered in a strained voice, “those guns,” pointing to the hill on the right from which long tongues of flame darted momentarily, “must be silenced. We dare not advance further under their murderous fire. Take a hundred men and flank them.”

Phil gasped at the suddenness of the order, thanking his captain in his heart for his confidence in his ability to do what seemed to the lad impossible.

“Langdon will show you the way,” Commander Hughes ordered quickly; “don’t expose your men to our own fire. I shall endeavor to get word to the mission. Mr. Monroe will remain with me.”

As silently as possible Phil selected those to go with him, among them being his old friend O’Neil, leading them on a run back toward the ditch which had been crossed scarcely a quarter of an hour before; then he gathered the men about him to explain the dangerous work for which they had been chosen.

“We shall get on the flank of the artillery, and when the order is given to advance we must gain a position from which we can charge directly upon the battery. The lives of all depend upon our success.”

The men in silence accepted the conditions, and in another minute Langdon was leading the small band along the deep ditch in the shadow of the bordering trees. After traversing a few hundred yards the pilot paused at a road crossing the one they were on.

“This is the road we took the other night,” Langdon whispered; “we shall follow it for a short distance and then we shall be on the flank and a little in rear of the Chinese position.”

The command moved cautiously forward until the pilot stopped and the midshipman knew that the position desired had been reached. Deploying his men quietly, he bade them advance silently toward the pandemonium of the Chinese attackers ahead of them. While he moved forward up the gentle rise of the land he could see distinctly the bright flashes from the enemy’s guns, but his own men were as yet undiscovered and protected by the intervening crest of the low hill up which they were doggedly marching. He glanced fearfully to his left to see how Commander Hughes and his men were faring; that part of the battle-ground was in darkness; the Chinese seemed now too much absorbed in their desire to destroy the mission to give thought to the handful of sailors known to have crossed the bridge before it collapsed into the ditch below.

Steadily the flanking party advanced toward the coveted position over the uneven ground, the men casting apprehensive glances to left and right, their rifles held ready for instant conflict.

While Phil’s attention was absorbed by the stirring sight ahead of him, against which he would in but a few minutes launch his hundred men in what seemed a forlorn hope, to take and silence the formidable battery now exerting itself to the utmost to breach the wall of the compound, a terrifying danger loomed before him. The sailors in the compound were delivering a murderous fire from their Colt guns, directed at the troublesome artillery, but many of the bullets were falling alarmingly close to the flanking force. The midshipman realized that he must go no farther; with the battery scarce three hundred yards in his front and his men as yet undiscovered he must call a halt and remain without that awful zone of fire until their friends on the mission wall had been apprised of his intentions by Commander Hughes.

The word was passed quietly by word of mouth along the line, and the sailors, keyed to the highest pitch of excitement, threw themselves face downward on the ground, while less than a hundred yards ahead of them a storm of bullets swept every inch of the soil.

“It looks black,” Langdon breathed in the grass close to Phil’s ear as they both were racked by ominous foreboding while watching the sweep of the devastating stream of bullets; “they haven’t got word to the mission yet that we are here; if those guns are pointed ten degrees further this way, it will be all up with us. See,” he added pointing in the direction of the active artillery, “those guns are behind intrenchments, for otherwise the Chinese could not have stood such a murderous fire for a minute. It’s withering,” he gasped with a shudder, while the singing of bullets redoubled, seeming to be slowly drawing their deadly zone nearer to encompass the crouching sailors.

Phil cast his anxious eyes often on the dark slope of the mission hill where he had left the main force under Commander Hughes, but the night was too dark for him to discover what was going forward. There was nothing for him to do save wait with what patience he could muster. To rush ahead could mean but annihilation at the hands of his own guns. He must not open fire upon the battery, so close that the smell of burning powder was rank in his nostrils; to do so might draw the fire of the Colt guns, for how could the mission know that help was so near at hand?

After what seemed an eternity to the anxious men, the fire of the Colt guns suddenly ceased, while from the Chinese position, believing no doubt that their enemy was weakening, a great volume of musketry fire added its roar to that of the big guns. Phil felt the moment had come; the cessation of the rhythmical discharges of the Colt guns must be the result of communication between Commander Hughes and those defending the compound. He glanced anxiously through the night toward the hidden enemy, while he was at that moment framing the words which would send his hundred men in a mad dash against an intrenched foe, counting their numbers by the thousands.

CHAPTER XXII
THE LAST CHARGE

With the order to charge trembling on his lips, Phil hesitated. What did the silence of the mission tell him? Had Commander Hughes succeeded in gaining an entrance, and had the mission ceased its fire by his order to allow the midshipman’s party to flank the battery so intent upon breaching the wall through which the savage horde would surge into the enclosure, butchering every Christian found there?

He turned to O’Neil, lying quietly beside him in the high grass. Through many adventures the lad had become thoroughly convinced of the sailor’s good and calm judgment. He turned to him now, a grave fear in his mind that precious moments were slipping away, yet if he made a mistake and that withering fire should again be loosened, all would indeed be lost.

“Are they waiting to allow us to advance?” he whispered, half rising to his feet.

“Wait,” O’Neil cautioned; “if they know we’re here they’ll signal. See!” he added, his eyes fixed upon the mission.

Even as he spoke, a bright light flamed suddenly above the wall, its appearance awakening the enemy to renewed action.

Each of the hundred sailors turned his eyes expectantly toward the mission. The light burned brightly and then flickered regularly and evenly for a few seconds, again burning steadily.

“You’re right; signal!” Phil exclaimed, straining his eyes to read the message which he knew would be spelled out by that flashing light.

Slowly, painfully the bright point of light appeared and disappeared; all who knew the navy code were reading, with muscles tense and breath held tight, the encouraging words flashing to them from across the intervening darkness:

“We are holding our fire.”

There was small need to give the order to charge; every sailor in that impatient line in but a moment knew that those in the mission were waiting and trusting to them for deliverance from the murderous fire of the Chinese artillery.

The lad rose to his feet, grasping his revolver firmly, and as one man the sailors swept forward. Three hundred yards ahead four pieces of modern artillery were battering away at the concrete wall of the mission, while dusky figures, believing their foe had been silenced, swarmed boldly over the grassy slopes behind and on either side of the guns. So noiselessly did Phil’s men advance that the enemy were even now ignorant of the presence of a foe so near at hand.

“When we charge,” Langdon whispered breathlessly, “order the men to yell; the Chinese are as much afraid of noise as they are of bullets.”

Phil had always trained his men in their drills to charge cheering. Now the time had arrived; in the next hundred yards the men would surely be exposed to the view and fire of their enemy; concealment then would not be an advantage; the Chinese should see and hear the danger in order to have it strike terror to their hearts.

Raising his whistle to his lips, Phil blew a shrill blast.

“Open fire!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “and charge, men, cheering!” he added, raising his voice in an excited shout as he sprang forward, leading the way toward the now startled enemy.

The sailor line, an advancing sheet of flame, charged straight for the crest of the hill in front. The Chinese, occupied in their attack on the mission, had never dreamed that the small body of men believed to have crossed the bridge would dare attack a position as impregnable as theirs. Then out of the night, without warning, what seemed to their superstitious minds a thousand yelling demons came as lightning towards them. If these were the foreigners that had crossed the bridge a miracle had been wrought and their number increased a hundredfold; their simple minds were ready to believe that the despised foreign devils had taken wings and flown across the unbridged ditch. An unreasonable terror seized the surprised Orientals; some threw down their guns and deserted precipitously, while others showed their military training in turning gallantly and firing fiercely at the rapidly approaching attackers; some even made a vain effort to turn the artillery in the direction of the unlooked-for attack, but the charging Americans were amongst them before a single gun could be moved.

His revolver tightly gripped, Phil fired blindly at the shadowy forms now but a few yards from him; the bright flashes of his shots revealing the terror in his victims’ faces as they gave way before him, and then screaming with pain and an unconquerable fear, melted into the night. Deafeningly in his ears rang the discharges of both the pilot’s and O’Neil’s revolvers, unerringly mowing down those who dared stand in their path, while on either side he saw his men fire volley after volley into the mass of totally demoralized Asiatics. Without leaders to stay them, their wild terror had put wings to their feet, and in but a few minutes the Americans found themselves in undisputed possession of the fortified position held so recently by their enemy.

Phil could hardly believe his eyes; he glanced joyfully about him at the four guns and his exultant men crowding into the enemy’s deserted trenches. O’Neil’s cool voice soon brought him to a realization of his duty; his thoughts had been full of his easily-won victory against such a formidable foe.

“We must hold this hill,” the sailor exclaimed; “if the Chinese find out how few men we have they’ll try to retake it.”

“You’re right, O’Neil,” he answered quickly; “but I must send word to Commander Hughes. I’ll stay here while you, Langdon, take a dozen men and give the captain the news; he may have some new move in mind.”

Langdon readily agreed, and after a hand-clasp with the midshipman, the pilot led his handful of men back toward the main American force.

After his friend had gone, Phil, with his boatswain’s mate, looked carefully over the situation. He saw with joy that the enemy had left a great store of ammunition for the artillery pieces, and that the guns were similar to those his men used for drill on board ship. He started his men to work with a will and in a few minutes they had turned the guns’ muzzles away from the mission and directed them toward the line of the enemy’s flight.

“This is the very thing, sir,” O’Neil cried, showing the midshipman a shell which he recognized at once as canister; “they can’t do much against us if we can find plenty of that kind.”

Phil immediately ordered a search, with the result that nearly half of all the ammunition boxes were found to contain these deadly cartridges.

Scarcely had the survey been completed when the Americans found themselves suddenly subjected to a heavy musketry fire from the direction taken by the fleeing enemy; the lad could see distinctly shadowy forms darting here and there from behind the mound-like graves, and each moment the figures drew closer and seemed bolder; Phil realized that their enemy had been rallied in its precipitous retreat by a trusted leader and now the reassured Chinese were advancing intent upon recapturing the guns which they had abandoned in their demoralized stampede. A few of his men had already opened fire upon the misty forms, but the lad saw at once that the battery could not be saved by the weak fire of less than a hundred rifles.

“Cease firing!” he shouted above the increasing din of battle. “To the guns, men; load with canister!”

Obediently the sailors dropped their rifles and took their stations at the four guns, the leading men, petty officers, instructing those under them as coolly as if they were but drilling recruits on board ship. Phil heard the metallic rasping of the shells as they were loaded into the breeches of the guns and the silvery ring of the breech plugs thrown quickly shut. The guns’ crews stood silently ready, waiting for the word from their young leader.

Controlling his excitement, the lad delayed the expectant word to open fire; the Chinese, in their eagerness to discredit the bravery of their enemy, mistook the silence to mean that the foreigners had retreated and came boldly on, shouting their fanatical war-songs and exposing their numbers to the view of the Americans waiting to open upon them with their own artillery. The sailors trained their artillery pieces in silence, keeping the muzzles pointed in the direction of the reckless horde of delirious Chinamen.

Then swiftly at a word from the midshipman the four guns in unison roared out a challenge, leaving death and destruction in the path of the hundreds of bullets fired at once from the bores of the guns. Again the reverberation shook the hilltop and again the leaden hail poured into the now disordered ranks of the advancing fanatics. As rapidly as if the guns’ crews were at target practice, the four guns spoke, each time cutting deep gaps in the enemy’s line. After a feeble attempt to rally the disordered legions, the Chinese leaders turned and fled, followed by the already stampeded soldiers.

Having assured himself that this time the enemy would not be likely to return, Phil gave the order to cease firing and then turned his eyes expectantly toward the mission, realizing that its inmates had seen the attack and were doubtless anxious of the final outcome. However, in but a few minutes the signal-light appeared and flashed out a message which showed the boy that his captain had understood that he had gallantly repulsed the sudden attack:

“Am coming to join you.”

Ten minutes later Commander Hughes, with a hundred more men at his back, stood beside Phil in the enemy’s trenches; his captain was unstinting in his praises, while Sydney, who had accompanied him, hugged his chum delightedly; Langdon stood by an amused and pleased spectator.

“You’ve taught the enemy a lesson which they will not soon forget,” the American captain exclaimed, “and they will not be likely to wish to try conclusions with us again to-night, but at the same time we cannot afford to treat the Chinese with too much scorn.”

Phil quickly explained the find of canister, and the captain, much to O’Neil’s embarrassment, called him up before the assembled sailors and complimented him upon his ready resource.

“It’s men like you, O’Neil,” he said warmly, “that make an expedition of this kind possible.”

O’Neil even in the darkness grinned sheepishly, as if he had been discovered doing something for which he ought to have been ashamed.

Great was the rejoicing in the mission at the unlooked-for deliverance, and upon Commander Hughes’ order the relieved non-combatants quietly packed up their most treasured belongings, ready to be conveyed through the enemy’s country to the protection of the war-ships.

It being found impossible to save the captured guns, Phil, with O’Neil’s aid, deftly dismantled the breech mechanisms and, securing a heavy axe from the mission, rendered quite useless the delicately fitting parts, giving the sailors the damaged pieces to carry to the ditch where they would be thrown into the stagnant water at the bottom.

The missionaries, with tears in their eyes, bid farewell to their home, expecting that after the sailors had gone, the Chinese would return and send up in smoke that spacious monument to their earnest labors in China. The party was obliged to make a wide detour to reach a bridge some miles from the one crossed earlier in the night.

Dawn was breaking when the commander led his victorious men with the rescued missionaries safely to the bank of the river, where small boats were waiting to transport them to the protection of the American war-ships. As the last of the refugees disembarked at the gangway of the “Phœnix,” the sun peeped out from behind the distant hills.

Phil and Sydney longed for a few hours’ sleep, but they well knew that if they succumbed to this desire they might miss altogether what they felt would be the closing scenes in the drama.

By signal, Commander Hughes at once ordered that all non-combatants be sent on board the gunboats, and that the monitors hold themselves in readiness to get under way within the hour.

Phil’s hopes ran high as he and Sydney made themselves presentable after their strenuous night’s experience.

After a hasty breakfast the lads appeared on deck. There they found their captain before them, gazing closely through his binoculars at the distant forts.

At the gangway three cutters were lying, and the landing force of the “Phœnix,” rifles in hand, were standing in ranks ready to embark.

“March the men into the boats, Wilson,” Commander Hughes ordered suddenly, putting his binoculars in their leather case. Then as he turned to go below to his cabin, “Mr. Perry, you and Mr. Monroe report to Mr. Wilson.”

“Where are we going?” Phil asked excitedly as he saluted the lieutenant.

“To the ‘Monterey,’” Lieutenant Wilson answered, “but that’s as far as I know. The captain must expect hot work; each of my men is ordered to take two hundred rounds of ammunition.”

“We’re going to storm the walled city,” Sydney exclaimed. “There’s no sign of submission on either the forts or the viceroy’s yamen. The captain means to rescue the four sailors and carry out his threats upon Ku-Ling.”

Phil’s pulses beat faster at the thought. Now war had been declared, and his captain believed in striking promptly before his enemy had time to gather his forces!

Quickly the sailors were embarked in the waiting boats, and as Commander Hughes, accompanied by Langdon, took his place in the stern of the leading cutter, the oars were thrust out through the rowlocks and the boats pulled with swift strokes alongside the monitor, anchored only a few hundred yards down the river from the “Phœnix.”

“Get under way, Barnes,” Commander Hughes ordered as he stepped on board the “Monterey,” “and signal the ‘Monadnock’ to follow us. Bend on the signal to her to ‘clear ship for action’; the gunboats will remain here out of range of the fort guns.”

The stirring call of the bugles sounded with its nerve-tingling ring throughout the ship, repeated in a few minutes by the “Monadnock,” and with a cheer of delight the crews disappeared below decks to their stations for battle.

Inside of fifteen minutes all was in readiness, and the heavy anchors were lifted from the bottom of the river.

With all the men not at gun stations behind the thick armor of the small river battle-ships, the “Monterey” gracefully turned around close to the fleet of anchored gunboats. Phil’s nerves were atingle as he heard the admiring cheers of the allies float to them across the water. Then the “Monterey,” her huge turret guns loaded and ready to open the battle, and followed closely by her consort, steamed swiftly toward the hostile forts.

“Break the battle flags,” Commander Hughes ordered in his calm voice, standing on the bridge beside the captain of the “Monterey,” while Phil, Sydney and Langdon, in the lee of the conning-tower, gazed, consumed with excitement, upon the forts, toward which the two big twelve-inch guns were pointing. Phil saw on the flagstaff at the top of the emplacement the proud yellow banner of China, with its monster dragon endeavoring to swallow a red ball, just beyond the reach of its fiery nostrils.

“O’Neil is in the turret,” Sydney exclaimed to Phil at his side. “He will fire one of the guns. I wonder if he can still shoot the way he did at our record target practice when you had the after turret.”

“He’s as steady as a rock,” Phil replied enthusiastically. “I’ll wager that every one of his shots will go true. He was the best gun-pointer on the ‘Connecticut.’”

“What’s the range?” Commander Hughes inquired, a shade of excitement creeping into his voice.

“Three thousand yards, sir,” the officer at the range-finder called out hoarsely.

“Fire one shot at the nearest gun emplacement,” the American commander ordered the “Monterey’s” captain, “and signal the ‘Monadnock’ to sheer up abreast us and when the fort replies swing around and open with her broadside.”

Phil saw the alert signalmen swiftly signal with their small hand flags the message to their consort, and then immediately afterward the “Monadnock,” which had been steaming in the “Monterey’s” wake, swung her bow in toward the city of Ku-Ling, which the two vessels were rapidly passing. The high wall was thronged with Chinamen; their curiosity having overcome their fear of the terrible foreign war-ships.

The next second a heavy roar filled the air and the forts disappeared completely from view in the brownish vapor from the turret gun.

Grasping the rail tightly in his excitement, his heart beating like a trip-hammer, Phil gazed through the quickly dissolving smoke. The sonorous screech of the shell in his ears, he strained his eyes to pick up the huge projectile, travelling nearly a half a mile a second toward the hostile fort.

Grasping the binoculars from Langdon’s hand, he raised them swiftly to his eyes. A black dot appeared, upon which the lad focused his attention, as if to lose it might mean a miss. He saw the bird-like bolt rise high above the white stone emplacements, and knew on the instant, from his long experience watching just such shells at the peaceful drill of target practice, that the messenger of destruction, filled with an explosive that would scatter death and consternation in its path, would go true to its aim.

“Right on top of the emplacement!” he shouted excitedly a half second before a liquid fire flashed on the parapet of the forts, while tons of earth and rock were scattered in every direction.

CHAPTER XXIII
THE FORTS SURRENDER

While Phil had been gazing spellbound at the half ton shell, fired by O’Neil with such startling effect, Sydney was watching excitedly a small squad of Chinese soldiers toiling painfully upward from the gun emplacements.

When the roar of discharge shook the air he had seen these small black figures throw themselves behind the jutting rocks, and after the missile had exploded upon the parapets of the forts, hurling by its tremendous force a large gun backward from its substantial mountings, these persistent dots of men again appeared to view, creeping steadily upward. What did it mean? Were these men deserting their guns?

Sydney heard his captain give the order to reload, and knew that within the minute another shell would be speeding toward the enemy. The foremost Chinaman had now reached the foot of the great flagstaff, and the next second, to the lad’s delight, he saw the yellow banner flutter slowly to the ground.

“They are striking their colors,” he cried excitedly.

All eyes turned in glad surprise toward the flagstaff to the right of and above the gun emplacements.

“A white flag!” Phil gasped, a tinge of disappointment in his voice, as he saw the banner of submission mount the flagpole quickly. Now all was over, and he had seen but one shot fired.

“Cease firing!” Commander Hughes hastily ordered, fearing that the next shot might, with the white flag displayed on the forts, cause the Chinese to think that the monitor had intentionally disregarded the sanctity of the emblem, thus precipitating an engagement with the forts which the American officer was only too glad to avoid.

The bugles sounded the retreat from firing, and disappointed faces soon appeared from the turrets, to gaze out upon the unwelcome white flag flaunting in the light morning breeze.

“Follow us,” had been the signal to the “Monadnock,” and the two victorious vessels, in column, made a graceful turn and then steamed up stream toward the renegade gunboats anchored off Ku-Ling.

“What does it mean?” Phil breathed excitedly to Langdon.

“Something has happened,” Langdon exclaimed, shaking his head in mystery.

“The viceroy’s now going to send a flag of truce to us,” Sydney suggested; “and I hope Ta-Ling comes with it. I’d certainly like to see Phil hand him back the pigtail he borrowed.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation all laughed at the thought of the discomfited Chinaman without his cue.

The ships were now passing close to the “Albaque”; the sailors of that gunboat watched the American monitors in sullen silence. The midshipmen looked in vain for Commander Ignacio; he was not on deck.

“She’s ready to get under way,” Phil exclaimed, pointing to that vessel. “See! her anchor gear is rove off and her steam launch has been hoisted inboard.” Sure signs indeed that the gunboat was ready to move.

The “Monterey” slowly steamed by the renegades until the gate of the city came in view from the river; then a rattle of chain announced that the war-ship had anchored.

The “Monadnock” had by order stopped astern and upon signal dropped her anchor, so that in case of treachery that monitor’s big guns could be readily trained on the forts.

“Now, Barnes,” Commander Hughes said with energy, “call away the landing force and set them ashore.” Then he drew Lieutenant Wilson aside, talking earnestly with him for some minutes.

Inside of another ten minutes the midshipmen found themselves on the jetty of the foreign concession, while in ranks along the water front, their rifles at the shoulder, stood three hundred stalwart sailors from the three American ships.

Phil glanced uneasily toward the high city wall. The gate he could not see, but he knew it was closed and the drawbridge raised. Probably the Chinamen he had seen on the wall when the monitors steamed down the river were now peering out through the hundreds of loopholes, their rifles ready to defend their city from the foreign invader, for the lad knew that Lieutenant Wilson’s orders had been to rescue the sailors in the yamen.

“How shall we cross the moat?” he faltered to Langdon at his side.

The question remained unanswered, for the next moment a heavy discharge rent the still air, followed by an explosion near the city wall. Again came the shock of firing and Phil saw that the “Monterey’s” big guns had been fired at the main gateway of the city.

Shell after shell sped quickly toward the gateway, scarcely five hundred yards from the monitor’s guns.

The lads gazed about them in bewilderment. How could this aid them? Then the firing ceased and a flag waved rapidly from the war-ship.

“Fours right,” Lieutenant Wilson cried excitedly, hastily leading the column to the cross street up which the monitor had fired. Arriving there, Phil gasped with admiration at the havoc wrought by the big shells. The drawbridge was down across the moat and the great gate of wood and iron had been literally torn from its huge hinges and thrown bodily fifty feet within the city.

In silence the sailors were led across the drawbridge, Phil noticing the severed chains which had allowed the bridge to fall in place, and then they were inside the city.

No signs of life were visible, and the open doors and windows of the houses showed plainly that the Chinese had departed suddenly, fearing the shells of the foreigners.

“To the yamen, Langdon,” Lieutenant Wilson cried eagerly. Then as the pilot pointed out the direction: “Fix bayonets!” The rasping of the three hundred bayonets as they were adjusted on the rifles lasted for half a minute and then Lieutenant Wilson added sharply, “Forward, double time.”

At a run the rescuing column swept along the narrow street.

Phil and Sydney eagerly raced ahead, followed closely by the lieutenant and Langdon. After but a few minutes the midshipmen reached the gateway of the yamen.

An exclamation of grave concern from Sydney caused his companions to cast anxious glances toward the expansive parade grounds in front of the yamen gate. The sight that met their eyes was indeed disconcerting. They had expected no more than feeble resistance, but there before them, drawn up as if on parade, was a vast army of Chinese soldiers.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Lieutenant Wilson asked falteringly, coming to a sudden stop, while his men gazed in wonder at the thousands of well-armed soldiers, apparently in battle array, awaiting the word to begin the fight.

“It means that viceroy Chang-Li-Hun has overshot his bolt,” Langdon returned joyfully; “these men are of another province. Do you see their yellow plumes? The viceroy’s soldiers wear red.

“Sent by Peking,” he added. “It means the viceroy is to be brought to account by his government.”

While Langdon was speaking, a horseman rode rapidly toward the Americans. Langdon walked out quickly to meet him when he drew rein at the edge of the roadway, and immediately addressed him in his own language.

Then, after a few moments’ rapid talk, he turned to the lieutenant, a broad smile on his face.

“Just as I supposed. They are here to suppress outlaws. His general has gone to the forts to confer with Hang-Ki. He says the viceroy has refused to receive him.”

“Tell him,” Lieutenant Wilson said hurriedly, “that four of our sailors are held prisoners in the yamen, and that I am going to enter by force if they refuse to open the gate.”

“He says his men will not interfere,” the pilot returned, after a few hurried words with the Chinese officer. “In fact, I believe they’d gladly help us. This viceroy is not popular with the Manchus.”

Without more ado Lieutenant Wilson knocked loudly on the gate with the butt of his revolver. There followed a whispered consultation from beyond the gate and then a small slit slid back suddenly, revealing a pair of almond eyes, peering out suspiciously.

Before Langdon could speak, the Chinese officer had dismounted from his Tartar pony, and held the owner of the eyes in earnest conversation. A moment later the slit was closed sharply, and the officer recoiled angrily, muttering invectives at the rudeness of his rebuff.

“He says, break in the gate,” the pilot laughed in amusement.

Anticipating this move, Sydney had led a party of men to where a telegraph pole was lying on the ground, ready to replace a pole apparently condemned.

“It couldn’t have been handier,” he exclaimed, as the men lifting it moved it in position to batter in the gateway.

A few forceful blows, and the American sailors poured through the shattered gates.

Another gateway barred further progress, and this was soon sent flying to pieces and the foreigners found themselves within the main courtyard of the viceroy’s palace. Never before had foreign sailors entered these sacred precincts with hostile intent.

“Mr. Perry, you and Mr. Monroe press ahead,” Lieutenant Wilson ordered. “You know something of the yamen,” he added, a faint smile on his earnest face. “Don’t be rash,” he warned. “I’ll be on hand if you need aid, but it looks as if the yamen were deserted.”

Quickly selecting a dozen men, among whom was O’Neil, who had pressed forward to the midshipmen’s side upon entering the building, Phil led the way toward the viceroy’s private apartments.

The door through which they had entered the night before was bolted from within, but by the united weight of Langdon and O’Neil it soon opened obediently. They found this room empty, but the door to the viceroy’s bedroom was open slightly.

“Careful, Mr. Perry,” O’Neil cried, catching the lad’s arm and drawing him back from the open door.

The boatswain’s mate was just in the nick of time. A rifle muzzle had suddenly been thrust through the opening and discharged, filling the room with the noise of thunder. Phil recoiled in terror, his face burning painfully from the heat of the discharge, while his ears were deafened.

“Do you see, sir?” O’Neil observed huskily, as he wrenched the rifle from the Chinaman’s hand and clubbed him into insensibility before he could run. “Always approach an open door with caution and from the side.”

Crowding into the viceroy’s bedchamber, the Americans were struck dumb by the sadness of the spectacle before them.

There in the great canopied bed lay the form of the aged viceroy; his eyes were closed, while upon his parchment-like face had spread the pallor of death. The room was empty save for a single figure standing beside the bed, a look of mortal fear in his eyes.

“Dead!” Phil whispered in awe at the sight, while he reverently removed his cap. The sailors stood in silence, their heads uncovered, thrilled by the scene. Chang-Li-Hun’s face, even in death, had not lost its cruel expression. He lay there, silent, unconquered. The will of Peking held no terrors for him now.

THE AMERICANS WERE
STRUCK DUMB

Langdon motioned to the Chinaman at the dead man’s bedside that no harm would come to him, and after gaining courage, but eyeing fearfully the insensible body of the last remaining guard, he came slowly to the pilot’s side.

“He says Ta-Ling has not returned,” Langdon breathed in a subdued voice after a minute’s talk with the frightened man. “He’s the treasurer you choked in the next room,” he continued hurriedly to Phil, “and he will lead us to the cell where the sailors were confined.”

The lad’s hopes ran high. If Ta-Ling had not returned, it might be possible that the men were as yet alive.

As the Americans hastened after the Chinaman, they passed Lieutenant Wilson and his waiting sailors in the courtyard.

“The viceroy is dead!” Phil exclaimed hurriedly as he passed him.

The treasurer led the way past the cell in which the midshipmen had spent so many horrible hours of torture, but to Phil’s alarm it was now empty.

“The prisoners are gone,” the lad faltered, pointing to the deserted prison. “Ask him the meaning, Langdon.”

“He says he knows nothing,” the pilot replied after stopping suddenly and questioning the distracted Chinaman. “He has been with the viceroy all night. Upon hearing of the arrival of the troops sent by Peking, the viceroy swallowed poison, a deadly Chinese drug, which he always carried with him.”

Moving rapidly onward the Chinaman stopped suddenly in front of a cell door.

Phil’s heart was as lead as he pushed the door open. The cell was empty.

“Ta-Ling did return,” he cried in despair.

CHAPTER XXIV
PHIL EXPLAINS

O’Neil, with his characteristic energy, wasted no time upon the cell, which he had made up his mind long since would be found empty, but with three or four sailors at his back had pressed forward to the end of the narrow corridor.

He heard Phil’s cry of disappointment as he found himself on the edge of a smaller courtyard, and was just in time to discover a fleeing band of Chinamen disappearing through a narrow alley at the far end.

Calling loudly for the others to follow, the boatswain’s mate ran hurriedly forward across the stone-paved court.

Reaching the entrance to the alley, the sharp discharges of rifles from the other end caused him to stop abruptly, but before he could gain a place of safety, a stinging pain in his shoulder made him cry out sharply.

Then his anger overcame his training in discretion and with his men beside him, while the heavy footfalls of the midshipmen advancing on a run across the courtyard told him of the approach of reënforcements, he boldly raced between the bordering walls of brick and mortar now swept by the enemy’s bullets.

As he again emerged into the sunlight, he was barely in time to see the persistent enemy scattering like a covey of partridges through numerous passages at the far end of a third courtyard, while from that direction a hot fire was directed upon him and his handful of men.

What should he do? He could advance no further in the face of that rifle fire. Glancing anxiously behind him, he saw the midshipmen and their men were nowhere in view, and yet they had been only a half hundred paces behind when he had charged down the alley. The sailors were returning the furious fire of the Chinese, but O’Neil saw that the enemy was hidden and the spatter of their bullets against the wall behind the Americans showed him only too plainly that even the poor shots of the Chinese might accidentally make a hit. Reluctantly he ordered a retreat back through the arched passageway.

As O’Neil and his men again reached the second courtyard, across which he had chased the fleeing Chinamen, he saw the midshipmen and their party surrounding several objects upon the ground, which had been covered over with a large piece of canvas.

“They are safe,” Sydney’s voice hailed as he caught sight of the returning sailors. “You ran right over them.”

The prisoners were quickly freed from their manacles, and, supported by their comrades, the party hastened to rejoin Lieutenant Wilson.

The four sailors had had a narrow escape. Ta-Ling, determined upon revenge, had been upon the point of beheading them when O’Neil and his men had caused him to desist. Then covering them hurriedly with a large piece of canvas, he hoped to conceal their presence until the Americans had given up their search, when he would return and finish his diabolical work. But the curiosity of an American had defeated his plan; for raising the corner of the canvas the sailor had seen the blue-clad legs of a bound and gagged shipmate.

Arriving in the main courtyard, Phil’s eye caught the bright color of a Chinese mandarin’s clothes, their wearer standing at Lieutenant Wilson’s side.

“Hang-Ki!” he exclaimed joyfully as he recognized the Tartar general’s erect form.

The two midshipmen hastened to the Manchu’s side and shook hands with him warmly.

Hang-Ki had been patiently waiting for Langdon’s return to interpret his words to the American lieutenant. Another mandarin stood by Hang-Ki’s side, his rugged frame indicating clearly that he also was of Tartar blood, from which race the military leaders of China are taken.

The midshipmen waited impatiently to hear what Hang-Ki had to tell, while Lieutenant Wilson congratulated all hands upon the success of the rescue, and shook hands as all had done with the rescued men.

“His Excellency says the viceroy killed himself early this morning; the captain of the yamen guards brought him the news, but it did not arrive in time to hoist the white flag before the monitor had fired her shell. He says many men were hurt during the night engagement and asks how many Americans were killed.”

“Tell him we’ve lost only one man in all the fighting,” Lieutenant Wilson replied.

Hang-Ki, after Langdon had given him Lieutenant Wilson’s words, shook his head as though mystified.

The two generals expressed a wish to visit the American commander, and make China’s peace for the hostile acts of the dead viceroy.

The sailors were assembled and marched directly to the landing.

As the river and the anchored ships came into view, Phil grasped Sydney’s arm excitedly, pointing to a white yacht lying gracefully at anchor between the monitors and the “Phœnix”; the latter having left the allies at the upper anchorage and steamed down the river while they were inside the Chinese city.

“The ‘Alacrity’!” he exclaimed, “and the admiral’s on board; there’s his flag at the main,” pointing to a large blue flag, with two white stars in the field. Then the joy died in his face. The letter of the viceroy and the telegram, as yet undelivered, came to his mind.

“Where’s the ‘Albaque’?” Sydney asked suddenly, searching the river for Ignacio’s ship.

“There she goes,” Langdon cried, pointing down stream, where a trail of smoke from a fast disappearing steamer hung low over the muddy water of the river.

Upon reaching the “Phœnix,” there was Commander Hughes on deck, anxiously waiting to hear the results of the expedition. His face was wreathed in smiles as he heard of their unlooked-for success. Then, motioning Langdon to follow, he led the two Chinese officers to his cabin.

Phil had not dared, with his guilt written plainly on his face, to look his captain in the eye while that officer showered praises upon the two midshipmen, and he was much relieved to be able to escape to his own room, there to map out a course of action.

“Our best plan, Syd,” Phil declared, “is to take all these papers to the captain and make a clean breast of it.”

Sydney agreed wholly with his friend’s plan and all that remained was to muster up courage to go to the captain. Both midshipmen would much rather have faced a hundred Chinese rifles than confess to their captain that a telegram and directed to him from the navy department had been purposely hidden.

A rap on the door caused Phil’s pulses to beat quicker and his heart rise to his mouth.

“The captain would like to see Mr. Perry and Mr. Monroe,” the orderly announced, peering in through the curtain at the startled lads.

“Come on, Phil,” Sydney urged; “we’d better get it over with.”

In silence they walked into the cabin. Phil’s head swam as his old friend Admiral Taylor shook his hand and spoke solid words of praise for his valuable services.

Hang-Ki had risen to go upon the entrance of the midshipmen, and after bowing to the admiral and captain he stepped quickly to Phil’s side, pressing into his hand the jade ring.

“He says,” Langdon interpreted, “that he has evidence enough without it if he is lucky enough to capture Ta-Ling.”

“I am delighted, Hughes,” the admiral said as Commander Hughes returned with the midshipmen, after having escorted the Chinese soldiers to the gangway, “at the successful end gained by your clear-headed policy. Washington, hearing nothing from you and at the same time receiving news of your doings from a foreign government, was quite justified, in view of your known impetuosity, in being anxious. It was current in Shanghai that you had been relieved of your command, yet I received no word up to the time of sailing, two days ago.”

Phil saw his opportunity had come to bare his secret, and drawing the viceroy’s letter, the telegram and the correspondence of Ignacio all from his pocket, he laid them in silence on the table between the two officers.

The lads waited in a fever of dread while the officers glanced in surprise at the papers before them. Phil saw that the admiral held the cipher telegram, with the translation underneath the cipher words.

“What does this mean?” the admiral cried sternly, reading aloud the translation of the cablegram.

Phil boldly told where and when he had found the telegram, and his reasons for not delivering it until now.

The admiral regarded the lad severely.

“Knowing this was from the department in Washington, you concealed it,” he exclaimed. “Explain yourself, sir.”

Phil swallowed hard and then pointed a trembling finger to the other papers.

“After you have read those, sir,” he said huskily, “I shall be ready to stand guilty or not guilty in your eyes.”

Both officers eagerly read the letters from Ignacio to the viceroy’s secretary.

After the admiral had finished reading, he regarded Phil in silence, his expression fathomless to the anxious midshipman. Commander Hughes’ eyes gave him no encouragement; they were directed to his brightly polished shoes. It was a question between the senior midshipman and his commander-in-chief. Technically a great breach of naval discipline had been committed.

The minutes ticked away slowly by the cabin clock while the lad waited for the wording of his doom.

“Mr. Perry,” the admiral at length began in his usual calm voice, “this is the second time that you have placed me in a most embarrassing position, but I want to say right here,” and his eyes snapped, “if I had a son, and he had committed this breach of naval discipline in order to save the situation, I would be mighty proud of him.” As he finished he put out his hand to the surprised but happy midshipman, who grasped it joyfully.

Phil was so surprised that he could not find voice to utter a single word. He stared dumbly at the admiral, his tear-dimmed eyes eloquently speaking the words he could not utter.

Commander Hughes jumped up and grasped the midshipman by the hand, showing in his face the keen pleasure the admiral’s decision had given him.

“This correspondence I shall keep in my safe,” the admiral said, a twinkle in his eyes, “in case I have trouble in explaining our young friend’s crime. It may also serve us in the future with this foreign Judas Iscariot.

“And now, young man,” he added, his kind face beaming with good nature, “I think after a few months I shall have to deprive your captain of your services. I am going to put in commission a number of small gunboats for duty against the Philippine insurgents, and I have decided to give Mr. Perry command of one of them with Mr. Monroe as his executive officer, and I suppose,” he suggested with a smile, “that you will want O’Neil as the chief boatswain’s mate.”

Phil could hardly believe his ears. Instead of censure, here was the admiral offering him a ship of his own.

As one in a dream he thanked the admiral and accompanied by Sydney, withdrew from the cabin.

By order of Peking Hang-Ki was made viceroy and he at once took steps to safeguard all foreigners throughout the provinces.

The allied gunboats within the hour anchored off Ku-Ling, and before the day was over the foreign concession had taken up the thread of business where it had been so rudely interrupted. Commander Hughes detailed a force of mechanics from the American war-ships to repair the damaged launches of the faithful Emmons, and before a week had passed the launch trade was flourishing as of old.

The concession to build the railroad to Peking was made more secure to the American company, and before the “Phœnix” sailed for Shanghai the lads saw the material, which had long waited for permission to be landed, safely stored in go-downs and the work on the road started.

Ta-Ling made good his escape, and it was believed that he had gone to the mountains, there to remain in hiding until another opportunity might present itself to avenge himself on the despised foreigner.

O’Neil’s wound was found by the doctors to be not dangerous and, with his arm in a sling for several days, he was gazed at admiringly by his less fortunate shipmates.

Langdon received the personal thanks of the admiral, and Commander Hughes stoutly declares that he is as good a pilot ashore as he is on the river.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Mexican dollars.

[2] There is a prescribed rule for hailing a boat at night. A ship, seeing a boat approaching, hails, “Boat ahoy!” If enlisted men are in the boat the proper answer is “Hello!” If midshipmen are in the boat the answer is “No! No!” if commissioned officers, “Aye! Aye!” If a captain is in the boat the answer is the name of his ship, and an admiral’s proper answer is “Flag”—meaning that the boat carries an admiral’s flag.

[3] Twelve rifles.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

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Table of Contents

- A UNITED STATES MIDSHIPMAN IN CHINA
- Introduction
- Contents
- Illustrations
- CHAPTER I AN INCIDENT OF THE RIVER
- CHAPTER II AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER
- CHAPTER III THE PERIL AT THE MISSION GATE
- CHAPTER IV THE EMBASSY TO THE VICEROY
- CHAPTER V THE VICEROY’S TREACHERY
- CHAPTER VI DIPLOMACY FAILS
- CHAPTER VII DISSENSIONS
- CHAPTER VIII IGNACIO SHOWS HIS HAND
- CHAPTER IX HELD AS HOSTAGES
- CHAPTER X A CHINESE PRISON
- CHAPTER XI FRIENDS IN NEED
- CHAPTER XII A DARING PLAN
- CHAPTER XIII HOPES OF ESCAPE
- CHAPTER XIV THE ESCAPE
- CHAPTER XV AN ENEMY SILENCED
- CHAPTER XVI REËNFORCEMENTS
- CHAPTER XVII ABOARD THE “PHŒNIX”
- CHAPTER XVIII THE START FOR KU-LING
- CHAPTER XIX THE SECRET CHANNEL
- CHAPTER XX RUNNING THE BATTERIES
- CHAPTER XXI TO THE RESCUE OF THE MISSION
- CHAPTER XXII THE LAST CHARGE
- CHAPTER XXIII THE FORTS SURRENDER
- CHAPTER XXIV PHIL EXPLAINS
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE