IGNACIO SHOWS HIS HAND
As the drawbridge clanked upward, and the soldiers disappeared hastily
behind the closing gates, Commander Ignacio, glancing nervously at
Langdon, brought his party to a stop.
“You know the customs of these people; what shall we do?” he exclaimed
anxiously, betraying that with all his vain boasting before his
confrères he depended upon the American pilot to give him courage to
act.
“They have raised the drawbridge until the viceroy can be notified,”
Langdon answered calmly; “I don’t consider we are in much danger; of
course the Chinese never do what might be expected of them. If they
opened fire now we couldn’t escape,” he added, casting a swift glance
of disdain at the nervous officer and giving the midshipmen a covert
wink; “so we might as well put on a bold front.” Suiting his action
to his words, he threw himself down on the ground, as if he intended
to be comfortable while the viceroy indulged himself in his Oriental
diplomacy of wearing out the patience of those who wished to treat with
him.
Over an hour passed anxiously for the foreigners; conversation was
fragmentary and pointless. Under the eyes and within close range of a
semi-civilized enemy, who might refuse to recognize a flag of truce,
their position was not calculated to inspire confidence. Then the
drawbridge creaked slowly down, and a gorgeously dressed official
advanced through the opened gate, preceded by a white flag and followed
by an armed guard of soldiers.
Commander Ignacio and his party rose hastily to meet them.
After the elaborate Chinese ceremony of greeting had been concluded,
the mandarin turned to Commander Ignacio, and inquired his mission.
“We have come to see the viceroy,” Ignacio replied in English, for
the Chinaman was no other than the interpreter, whom Phil had seen so
discomfited the day before.
With a nod of approval, the mandarin beckoned that all should follow,
and led the way across the drawbridge and into the ill-smelling city.
The emissaries and their guards passed at a rapid pace through the
narrow and dirty streets; the curious inmates of the walled city kept
at a respectful distance, their faces expressing wonder rather than
hatred.
Phil, noticing the change in their demeanor from the day before, called
it to Langdon’s attention.
“Yes,” the pilot assured him, “it’s a good sign; the will of the
mandarins is always reflected in the faces of the lower classes. They
hate us just as much as ever, but the brisk work at Lien-Chow has shown
them that we are able to carry out our threats.”
Upon their arrival at the yamen, the viceroy received the foreigners
at the second door, one door nearer the entrance than where he had
received Commander Hughes. This did not fail to impress the visitors.
After all, was Chang-Li-Hun prepared to make terms?
The viceroy was accompanied by the same mandarins whom Phil had seen
the day before, and in contrast to their master’s sphinx-like face
their features betrayed the apprehension which they doubtless felt.
Chang-Li-Hun seated himself at the head of the table, motioning
Commander Ignacio to a chair on his left.
After all were seated, refreshments were brought, and silence was
preserved until the viceroy signed that the table be cleared; then
turning to Langdon he inquired courteously in Chinese the wishes of the
flag of truce.
The pilot, after a motion of consent had been received from the leader,
informed the mandarin of Commander Hughes’ terms. Phil watched his
friend’s face closely, glancing occasionally at the dignified old
Chinaman, whom nothing apparently could move.
“There is a hostile movement against the foreigners in your provinces,”
Langdon commenced in the mandarin’s language, using all the flowery
and diplomatic terms which these astute diplomats clung to so closely.
“This movement can exist only through your tolerance. We do not claim
that your Excellency is giving it active support, but you are taking
no steps to smother it. That being the case, the allied powers have
taken the law in their own hands. Having discovered that an army of
rebels were concentrating at Lien-Chow, only seven miles from your
Excellency’s city, with the avowed intention of attacking the American
mission and massacring the inmates, the allies have but a few hours ago
attacked them in their stronghold and dispersed them with many killed,
while not a foreigner has been hurt. These rebels were permitted
to collect despite the fact that you have seven thousand soldiers
under your orders capable of suppressing these outlaws. Commander
Hughes has directed us to say that if your Excellency will give his
honorable word upon the spirit of his father that no further outrages
will be permitted, and that he will protect with his soldiers the
American mission, and also cause to be issued and posted throughout
the provinces orders to desist from attacks on Christian converts and
their teachers, then the foreign sailors will be at once withdrawn from
China’s soil.”
Chang-Li-Hun’s face was barren of expression while the pilot was
delivering himself of this long speech.
“I am not the general of the soldiers,” he craftily replied; “suppose
I, a civilian, should give the soldiers orders to protect foreigners,
how may I be assured that they will obey?”
Langdon fearlessly gazed at the aged mandarin, whom he knew was trying,
as the Chinese say, “to throw dust in his eyes.”
“Is not the Tartar general under the orders of the viceroy?” he asked
uncompromisingly.
“I may give an order,” the viceroy answered evasively, “but I am not a
soldier; then how shall I risk the displeasure of my father’s spirit,
when I would not know if it were being enforced?”
By the viceroy’s words his treachery was unmasked. Langdon had been
told in the strictest confidence by Emmons that General Hang-Ki
had embraced secretly the Christian belief; not suspecting this,
the viceroy had put his foot into a trap by insinuating that the
general could not be depended upon to carry out orders to protect the
foreigners and the thousands of Christian Chinese, who were alike
called foreigners by the fanatical anti-Christians.
“Where can the general be found?” Langdon inquired finally.
“His residence is in the forts,” the viceroy answered.
“Then our mission is with him,” the pilot declared, rising from his
chair; “your Excellency then will agree to give the order and I shall
endeavor to obtain his promise to conscientiously carry it out. My
captain’s one desire is to spare the misguided people of the city from
the further vengeance of the foreign powers.”
“What do you mean?” the viceroy asked, for a second dropping his mask
and gazing at the pilot through worried eyes.
“I mean,” Langdon answered, raising his voice to be heard throughout
the room, “that if the Chinese soldiers and these outlaws, calling
themselves patriots, insist upon massacring the inoffensive foreigners
and their followers, such a fire of shot and shell will be thrown into
this city by the allied fleet that all property will be destroyed.”
The aged mandarin started perceptibly at hearing these menacing words;
then he seemed to arrive at some conclusion, for his parchment-like
face betrayed a faint smile as he motioned the pilot to be again seated.
“How will the fleet bombard Ku-Ling?” he inquired; “your ships cannot
again pass the forts if I order them to fire upon you.”
“Your Excellency,” Langdon answered boldly, “has forgotten that two
American monitors are now on their way to join the allied fleet. With
the addition of these vessels, our ships do not fear the fire of your
forts; besides you will know that if the American commander orders it
our sailors can take the forts with ease by storm. Our captain is in
earnest,” he urged, believing from the viceroy’s attitude that he was
weakening. “If the mission on the hill which is under your protection
is harmed he will at once put into effect his plans to reduce the forts
and destroy your city.”
“I shall send for the general,” the viceroy finally announced. “He
may be some hours in arriving, and meanwhile you may rest after your
journey.”
The party arose, following the interpreter, and shortly found
themselves in a plainly-furnished room, where he left them abruptly.
Langdon immediately explained his conversation with the viceroy, and
expressed himself as certain that the flag of truce would be successful.
Phil had not as yet been addressed by Commander Ignacio, and naturally
felt disinclined to join in the conversation. He had surprised many
furtive glances from the foreign captain, and was sure they were not
of good omen; however, now he smiled pleasantly at the two midshipmen,
without a trace of the ill nature with which Phil felt he regarded him.
“This was my idea from the start,” Commander Ignacio exclaimed
boastfully; “that fire-eating captain of yours came near getting us in
a nice muddle, but I believe I shall straighten it all out.”
Phil’s anger flared into his eyes at hearing this direct slur
upon Commander Hughes’ actions, but his training had taught him
subordination, and he controlled the words of censure that came readily
to his lips.
Langdon however was not so diplomatic.
“I beg to differ, Commander Ignacio,” he exclaimed hotly; “Commander
Hughes’ acts have made this truce possible. Until he showed that he was
in earnest by attacking and capturing Lien-Chow the viceroy would not
have received us at all.” The foreigner’s expression changed suddenly,
and as he saw the midshipmen unconsciously nod in approval of the
pilot’s words, a scowl of bitter hatred appeared on his swarthy face.
“You Americans are an insolent race,” he cried angrily. “What do you
know about such matters?” he continued violently, turning scornfully on
Langdon; “you are merely a hired pilot.”
Phil’s greatest fear seemed on the point of being realized; this
braggart might spoil all through his self-conceit. Until now all had
gone smoothly; the viceroy had as much as shown that he was ready and
willing to make terms, and now this incompetent coward had shown his
ugly hand.
“Don’t answer him, Langdon,” Phil whispered, laying a restraining hand
on the pilot’s arm; “nothing that he can say will affect our confidence
in you.”
The anger died on Langdon’s face as he realized the logic in the lad’s
words, and then the strained situation was relieved by the arrival of
the interpreter.
“His Excellency, the general, was fortunately in the city,” he
explained, “and was readily found; he now waits in the viceroy’s
audience-chamber.”
The foreigners were presently again before the high mandarin.
Phil gazed admiringly at the stranger, whom he knew must be the Tartar
general. The Manchu stood over six feet in height, his skin bronzed by
exposure, in striking contrast to the almost effeminate appearance of
the Chinese mandarins about him. The fierceness of his Tartar ancestors
looked from his dark almond-shaped eyes; he seemed to the lad an
embodiment of those of his race who had many centuries before under the
great Ghenkis Khan overrun the whole of Asia, carrying their victorious
banners even into Europe; here was the soldier leader whose ancestors
had followed no other calling.
The conference was again opened by the viceroy’s thin voice.
“Upon investigation I find that the general was not informed of the
presence at Lien-Chow of these outlaws. I myself knew nothing of it.
The mission was safe in my keeping, but when your commander lands an
armed force on the soil of China, he must take the consequences; I dare
not interfere as long as there is a single foreign sailor on our shore.
Before I can treat with you, every armed man must be first withdrawn
and the ships again anchored in the Yangtse River; the To-Yan Lake is
by royal decree forbidden water, and I must demand that the war-ships
leave there immediately.”
Langdon gazed in surprise at the old diplomat. Could reliance be
placed in his implied willingness to make terms after the sailors were
withdrawn from China’s soil and the ships anchored again in the river?
“That is quite impossible,” Langdon answered promptly. “Commander
Hughes will not withdraw from China’s soil until he has received your
promise given on the sacred spirit of your father.”
“When your commander has anchored his fleet at Ku-Ling and then comes
to me apologizing for entering the forbidden lake, then I will give
my decision, but not until then,” the viceroy cried angrily. “I have
washed my hands of your mission; by putting sailors there your captain
has taken it from my protection.”
Langdon was so intent upon his conversation with the viceroy that he
failed to notice that Commander Ignacio had changed his seat to one
beside the interpreter, and that in low tones the latter had given the
foreigner the details of the conversation upon which so much depended.
The pilot now turned to apprise this officer of the latest demand of
the arch villain, but to his consternation the foreign commander had
risen to his feet, his black eyes snapping with importance, and waved
the American to silence, then turning to the interpreter at his elbow
exclaimed in English:
“I consider that the viceroy’s demands are just. I was from the first
against this ill-judged action. Tell his Excellency as senior member
of this flag of truce, I shall agree to these terms, and am sure my
colleagues, with the exception of this American, will uphold me.”
A smile of triumph played about the corners of the viceroy’s cruel
mouth while the interpreter gave him the meaning of Commander Ignacio’s
rash words.
“So,” he thought, “the foreigners are not of one mind.” The clever
diplomat believed that he had at last found a way to pierce the armor
of the despised foreigner.