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.
[Illustration: _A PISTOL SHOT RANG OUT_]