A CHINESE PRISON
The arrival of the Americans in the jail was heralded with delight
by their scantily-clad fellows; they one and all crowded about the
lads examining their uniforms and putting very dirty hands on their
white skins. Many had never seen a foreigner at such close range.
The midshipmen were so tightly bound that they could not escape this
unpleasant, although apparently friendly, treatment.
Finally Phil could bear it no longer; the sickening odor from their
unwashed bodies became more than his endurance could stand. Managing
to rise to his feet, he painfully crossed the damp floor to a wooden
bench, the only article of furniture in the cell; reaching this he sat
down upon it, gently but forcefully pushing the prisoners seated beside
him until he had the bench entirely to himself. The Chinese stood close
by in silent surprise, showing no anger at this treatment.
“Come here, Sydney,” he called. “We’ll take the bench and keep these
ruffians away. They’ll smother us with their heathen curiosity.”
Sydney crawled through the delighted crowd, the prisoners moving aside
readily for him, and as he reached the bench and raised himself off the
reeking floor to a seat beside Phil, the gaping Chinamen chattered like
children, quite absorbed in the infrequent spectacle of foreign devils
in their jail.
A number of the more bold among the prisoners squatted on the floor
close to the bench, examining the stout boots and leggins of the
midshipmen, but these Phil motioned away, emphasizing his meaning by a
shove from his manacled feet. The Chinamen arose at once, their faces
expressing only astonishment.
The lads were soon left alone; their fellow prisoners had formed a
circle around them with an intervening space of over a yard, while one
or two of their number assumed the rôle of protectors and faithfully
kept their comrades from infringing upon this forbidden ground.
“They are more kind than their masters,” Sydney said, after the
midshipmen had gathered their scattered wits.
“Poor fellows, they seem as happy as if they were only doing penance
for small sins,” Phil replied, gazing compassionately at his motley
companions. “Yet they are all condemned to be executed. Do you see the
large ring each wears about his neck, with a brass tag attached? That’s
the mark of a felon to be beheaded, or worse.”
“Where do you suppose they’ve taken Langdon?” Sydney asked anxiously.
“It’s certainly terrible to be helpless in the power of these cruel
Chinese. They may even now have beheaded him. The viceroy was angry
enough to revenge himself.”
“I hope it’s not so bad as that,” Phil answered, trying hard to be
reassuring, not feeling, however, a particle more secure than the
condemned men about him. “Langdon said,” he added grimly, “if our hands
were lifted up high behind our backs and they hurried us out of the
cell, our heads would probably be cut off in the large outer court.
Until they do that, I suppose we may be sure that we are not in any
immediate danger of death.”
Sydney shuddered at the unpleasant thought. And this was the China that
they had been so eager to visit.
Toward evening a great tub filled with millet was brought in by the
keepers and this the prisoners devoured ravenously. Luckily for the
lads, they had satisfied their appetite from the viceroy’s table, for
they would have stood but scant chance among that hungry rabble.
The cell was now entirely dark, save for a swinging light which
streamed through the barred doors. The midshipmen scarcely closed their
eyes during the long hours of the night, and when the first streaks of
day shone into their foul cell, they were sitting open-eyed on their
bench.
A jailer brought a basin of water to the door of the cell and then
entering, took off their irons and led them out into the courtyard.
The lads’ hopes rose, but they soon saw that it was to be only a
preparation for more imprisonment. A bowl of rice apiece was given
them, which was quickly eaten, and then each received a steaming cup of
tea. This reassuring meal put new life into the lads and they felt more
cheerful than at any time since their imprisonment.
“What’s he doing?” Sydney cried out in alarm, as the jailer began to
rub his neck with a damp rag, while another rubbed his wrists and
ankles. Phil was afterward given the same treatment, and then the
hateful irons were again put on, but in addition there were put about
their necks the dreaded rings, with the dangling brass tags that
jingled ominously.
The midshipmen were stunned. Like the others of their cell-mates they
were now wearing the badge of death. They also had been condemned by
the viceroy and would be held in this loathsome prison until their
numbers were called by the “Board of Punishments,” the Chinese high
court of justice.
Once more in their cell the lads sat dejectedly on their bench. They
had small desire for conversation; each felt his doom pressing upon
him, and strange to say with this weight of trouble their thoughts
turned to Langdon.
“If we are to be executed,” Phil said sorrowfully, “poor Langdon must
have already met his death.”
Sydney had not the heart to reply. He nodded his head sorrowfully. Then
a thought struck him, and he raised hopeful eyes to his companion’s
face.
“He must be near us, Phil,” he exclaimed. “Can’t we find some means of
communicating? If we could only talk their language we might ask our
jailer; he appears friendly and probably knows.”
Phil was silent for a few moments, then he suddenly began to whistle
loudly the stirring music of their class song. The tune brought tears
to Sydney’s eyes. It took him back to the day the brigade of midshipmen
marched by the reviewing stand for the last time with his class as
seniors. Two hours afterward, with his diploma in his hand, he had
shaken hands as a graduate with the secretary of the navy. What a
terrible contrast! Then a sudden fear took possession of him. Had Phil
lost his mind? Was the knowledge of their terrible end too much for
his nerves and had his strong mind succumbed? While these disquieting
thoughts were coursing through his brain, Phil ceased whistling and
listened eagerly. From a distance a high-pitched treble of a whistle
came indistinctly to their ears amid the noises of their cell.
The Chinese crowded about Phil in evident delight, while a number of
jailers stood outside the half-closed door peering inside, smiles on
their ignorant faces.
“They seem to enjoy my music,” Phil said in a perfectly rational voice;
“but thank goodness, Langdon is still alive!”
“Maybe it was from one of the sailors,” Sydney suggested.
Phil continued his whistling for many minutes until his listeners had
become thoroughly accustomed, then he put forth his strategy.
“Langdon knows our signal code,” he said quietly, “and I’m going to try
to whistle him a message, if we can only get these fellows quiet. At
least we’ll find out who it is that is confined near us.”
Then by single and double whistles, covered up ingeniously with
snatches of tunes, he spelled out:
“Who are you?”
The lads waited breathlessly for several minutes, which seemed to them
as many hours. Then the answer came distinctly:
“Langdon. If the interpreter comes to you show him the ring. It may be
your last chance.”
Phil acknowledged this, and then to allay the suspicions of the
jailers, he whistled several lively tunes.
The long day dragged slowly by. In their cramped surroundings they
leaned back against the wall and dozed off, only to be awakened by the
pains in their tightly-bound limbs. The irons galled terribly.
At last the jailer brought them their evening meal, a bowl of rice
apiece, and before leaving them for the night, examined their shackles.
While examining Sydney’s swollen wrists he “hi-yaw’d” loudly, calling
the midshipmen’s attention to where the tender skin had been chafed
through, the red flesh showing clearly.
“Of course; what does he expect?” Sydney exclaimed angrily. “These
irons are not lined with velvet!”
The jailer took Phil by the shoulder and led him to a corner of the
cell, where a Chinaman was lying, his pale face showing that the poor
fellow’s death was but a matter of hours.
Stooping down, the jailer lifted one of the sick man’s arms. The sight
that met the lad’s gaze was heartrending. The wrist where his iron had
been was a festering sore. The diseased flesh had slowly spread until
his forearm to the elbow was infected and the man was dying of blood
poison. Phil at once understood the terrible danger to his friend. He
had heard of the maggot which is said to infest all Chinese prisons.
The earth beneath his feet at a depth of a few inches was swarming with
these deadly parasites, and their instinct leads them directly to a
fresh wound. Once this insect enters the flesh of a victim, his death
by a fearful, agonizing and lingering illness is assured.
Pointing to Sydney’s irons Phil demanded by signs that they be
immediately removed, but the jailer shook his head in dissent, his
expressive face portraying a fear for himself if he did, while he
struck his own neck with his hand as if to say, “That’s what would
happen to me if I took his irons off.”
Phil’s solicitude for his friend was great. How could he hide this
wound from the searching little worm? He thought of his pocket
handkerchief in his blouse pocket; reaching inside his coat with his
manacled hands, he dragged it slowly out, with the intention of using
it as a bandage about Sydney’s wrist, but to his consternation as he
pulled a bright spark of metal flashed before his eyes and the precious
jade ring fell loudly to the floor at the jailer’s feet.
The Chinaman pounced upon it with avidity, hastily concealing it in his
loose clothes. Phil attempted to hold him, but he roughly pushed him
aside, shutting the barred door in his face with a loud slam.
Their last hope had flown. The Chinaman would doubtless conceal the
ring and say he knew nothing in case he was questioned.
The keen disappointment at the loss of the talisman made Phil fear even
more for the terrible predicament of his companion. A few more days in
this noisome hole might mean his death. Ill fed, with no opportunity to
wash away the accumulated dirt from their unclean surroundings, he must
surely fall a victim of the insidious insect.
Another night passed in torture, relieved only by an occasional
exchange of signals between Phil and Langdon. He had fared no
worse than the midshipmen. Phil told him of the loss of the ring
and afterward there was a long silence, as if the news were too
disappointing to find an answer.
Finally after several hours, the midshipmen were awakened from their
painful slumber to hear the signal from the pilot.
“The viceroy has received some word from the allies. He asked me many
questions to-day,” and then abruptly the whistle ceased.
The lads were eager to hear more, but Langdon was silent, and soon a
jailer entered and threatened by signs to gag the midshipmen if they
continued; so, much against their inclinations, they stopped signaling.
Early the next morning the lads were awakened from an uneasy sleep by
loud cries in the courtyard outside of their cell door. The jailer
hurried in, unlocking their chains and signed them to follow him. The
midshipmen upon staggering to their feet would have fallen, if it had
not been for the prompt support of their fellow prisoners, who having
risen from their earth beds were gazing curiously through the open door.
Emerging into the sunlight Phil at first could see nothing, but the
jailer, taking each by a hand, led them staggeringly across the sandy
courtyard. Then suddenly, pushing on their shoulders, the jailer forced
the midshipmen on their knees before two mandarins.
Phil raised his eyes and saw the kindly face of the Tartar general,
while from the lips of the other, a stranger, came in perfect English
as he raised the almost fainting lads to their feet:
“Come with us; we are your friends.”
Jubilantly they followed the Tartar general’s military figure, and soon
found themselves within a large room where a small table was set, and
the tempting odor of food struck pleasantly upon their hungry senses.
[Illustration: “_WE ARE YOUR FRIENDS_”]
The lads were told to be seated, the mandarins taking chairs opposite
each.
Phil was fairly bursting with suppressed excitement. Were they to be
liberated?