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

Illustrations

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.