A DARING PLAN
Ta-Ling threw down the coat impatiently and glanced disdainfully at
the other articles of apparel. He then took up Phil’s muddy trousers
gingerly as if fearful of soiling his esthetic hands. The lad’s heart
was in his throat while he watched the Chinaman guardedly, striving to
appear unconcerned, and cudgeling his brain for something to say in
order to turn the man’s attention from a search of the guilty garment.
“Why are you so bitter against my people?” Phil asked hoarsely. “Were
you not educated in America?”
Ta-Ling dropped the tattered garment, glancing up quickly, a scowl on
his yellow face.
“Why am I bitter against you?” he answered. “I despise everything
American. Was I not put in a pen in San Francisco along with such
cattle as coolies from Japan, Corea and my own country? Your stupid
officials claimed not to be able to distinguish between us. I heard
one say ‘All Chinks look alike to me.’ After the first experience,
when I was washed and my clothes fumigated as if I had been a pauper
immigrant, I got letters from college friends, but armed even with
these I suffered indignities at the hands of these ignorant officials.
When I left America with my graduation diploma in my pocket I took
oath to my father’s spirit that I would consecrate my life to making
foreigners respect the persons of the high class Chinese, and in
starting this crusade I saw it was first necessary to drive all
foreigners out of our sacred country.”
Both midshipmen were astonished at the earnestness in Ta-Ling’s voice.
If the situation had been reversed, would they have acted differently?
Had not this man ample reason to hate all foreigners?
“Even if some of our stupidly ignorant and irresponsible officials
could not distinguish between ranks in your society,” Phil urged, “why
should you revenge yourself against us? We are innocent of all blame.
We came into your city under the sacred protection of a flag of truce,
and in committing a crime against us you will only confirm foreigners
in their belief that a Chinaman is not worthy of considerate treatment.
Your cause will not be benefited, and your people will suffer; the
allied fleet will avenge our deaths as was done in Peking.”
“What do I care how many of these low-caste dogs die?” Ta-Ling retorted
scornfully; “there are over four hundred million of such animals. Your
deaths will force the foreign governments to wage war on China, and
once this war is begun, our people will rise up from one end of the
empire to the other to drive the foreigner from the soil of China.”
“But the missionaries, who have at heart only the enlightenment of your
people,” Phil urged, catching his clothes stealthily from the ground at
Ta-Ling’s feet.
“They, of all the foreigners who come to China,” the Chinaman returned
somewhat shamefacedly, “are working unselfishly, but they must suffer
with the others; all foreigners must go for China’s good.
“I tell you these things,” he ended, turning to leave the midshipmen
with their jailer, “because your death-warrants have already been
signed by the viceroy. At the first hostile shot fired by the allies
your heads will pay the forfeit and we shall attack the mission,
guarded now by your sailors, and kill every foreigner within.”
As Ta-Ling left them, the jailer seized the lads roughly and dragged
them toward their cell. As the door closed behind them Phil shuddered
at the demoniacal laughs of derision from their fellow prisoners.
“Our cause has a bitter enemy in Ta-Ling,” Phil whispered, after the
lads had been sitting on their hard wooden bench for several minutes
and the noise from their prison mates had subsided; “but I believe
he’ll fail. When Commander Hughes commences to throw his shells
into the city, he’ll be one of the first, with all his vain show of
patriotism, to cry enough and seek safety.”
Sydney did not reply; his thoughts were upon the coming night, when the
two midshipmen were to make their dash for freedom.
After a few minutes he confided his fears to his friend.
“If Ta-Ling finds that we have talked with the Tartar general we’re as
good as dead men,” he said in an awed whisper.
This terrible thought sent a shiver through Phil.
“Did you notice the look on the jailer’s face when Ta-Ling was talking
to him?” he continued in an anxious voice; “it was one of cringing
fear. If Ta-Ling even suspects that we had been out of our cell and
questions that man he will tell all. The jailer probably is keen enough
to know that Hang-Ki and Ta-Ling are enemies, and of the two he fears
the latter most.”
“Well, the die is cast,” Phil answered, smiling with a great effort;
“there’s no use crying over it. We are either going to escape to-night
or we are going to have our heads chopped off out there in the
courtyard. Nothing that we can do can alter our fate, so we might just
as well look cheerful, even though we don’t feel that way,” and suiting
his actions to his words he began to whistle the class march.
Sydney sat mournfully listening, while the Chinese criminals crowded
around them, jabbering noisily.
The hours dragged wearily along. As the light through the barred door
became dimmer, foretelling the end of the tedious day, the midshipmen’s
hopes rose; so far Ta-Ling could not have learned of their visit to his
enemy.
The midshipmen were taken out into the courtyard as usual for their
evening meal and after the meagre fare had been eaten with great effort
by the anxious and impatient lads, the jailer removed their irons and
washed carefully the aching sore on Sydney’s wrist.
Phil was delighted to see that the man had recovered from his fear of
a few hours ago, and that he lingered a much longer time than seemed
necessary, for Sydney’s wrist had been securely bound with Phil’s
handkerchief and appeared to be healing, auguring well for the success
of the coming night.
It was quite dark when the jailer had finished his solicitous
attentions, and replaced the irons on their feet and hands. Motioning
the midshipmen to follow him, he led them along the stone flagging
of the courtyard, cautioning silence by raising his hand and shaking
his head jerkily. Loaded down as they were with heavy chains, to move
quietly was not an easy task, and was one calculated to fatigue the
lads to an alarming extent after their two days of cruel torture in
these steel bonds.
After traversing nearly half the length of the courtyard, the jailer
suddenly threw open a door, and forcefully pushed them through it into
darkness. The door closed quietly behind his retreating figure.
Their hearts beating fast, Phil and Sydney strained their ears to catch
the first sound of alarm. Heavy footfalls approaching on the stone
pavement soon told them the reason of the jailer’s haste and his sudden
departure.
Holding their breath tightly, they heard the newcomer stop hesitatingly
before the door of their cell, then after a second he moved farther
along, and finally the opening and shutting of a door told them he had
entered a room near or even next to the one in which the two midshipmen
had been so suddenly thrust.
Sounds of a low-pitched voice came distinctly to their ears through
the frail partition; the lads listened eagerly. Then the bold tones of
Langdon’s voice sounded distinctly.
“For a man who was educated among white men,” he was saying in a
scornful voice, “you seem to have a queer idea of our honesty. If you
liberate all, I’ll take the letter to our captain, but I shall not tell
him I believe the viceroy will play fair, for I don’t believe he will.
I don’t trust him, nor you. Send the letter by one of your own people,
and see what answer he’ll send back. The threat that at the first gun
fired by the allies our heads will be chopped off will not affect his
plans. What are two midshipmen, four sailors, and a pilot to a country
like ours?”
“Commander Ignacio and two of the allied gunboats have accepted the
viceroy’s word and are back at their old anchorage,” Ta-Ling’s voice
urged. “That shows the viceroy’s good faith.”
“Don’t talk to me of that traitor,” Langdon exclaimed; “he isn’t white
anyway; his skin is as yellow as yours.”
“Then you refuse your life?” Ta-Ling’s voice asked.
“You Chinese are a soft-brained lot,” Langdon said, ignoring the
question; “your intrigue is as plain as children’s play. Men like
Ignacio might be fooled. I don’t know what promises you’ve made to
him. Probably offered to give his countrymen the railroad concession
to Peking, which your viceroy has cheated the Americans out of by
his underhand dealings; but you ought to know after four years at an
American college that we are not that kind. Commander Hughes is in this
river to see that Americans are left unmolested, in accordance with the
treaties made between the two countries.”
“I suppose you know that when I was in your America I personally
investigated nearly a score of murders of Chinese in what you call the
West. Each case was as brutal and flagrant as any that has occurred in
China,” Ta-Ling’s voice broke in triumphantly. “How then can you boast
of the honesty of your people?--for in not a single instance were the
murderers punished.”
“That’s because you Chinese are a weak race, and haven’t the back-bone
to stand up for your rights,” Langdon replied, “while we are men enough
to insist on fair treatment for our citizens abroad. That’s where you
are lacking in national character.”
A rattle of chains and harsh cries of rage and pain followed the
sally of Langdon, causing the listeners to hold themselves rigid with
suppressed excitement.
“That beast!” Phil whispered. “I wish I had let him drown.”
“I’ll go to your midshipmen friends,” Ta-Ling said sullenly. “I believe
they are frightened enough to be bought by the price you refuse.
Remember, I’ve given you the last chance you’ll get.”
Langdon was apparently too angry to speak. The lads could hear
distinctly his heavy breathing, caused by some torture administered by
this cruel Chinaman.
“You’re trying to hedge, is that it?” the thick voice of the pilot was
heard to say; “or do you count upon catching the gunboats unawares as
they steam by the forts flying flags of truce?”
The Chinaman administered a vicious kick in answer, and the lads held
their breath in almost a panic as they heard the door of Langdon’s cell
close and Ta-Ling’s footsteps die slowly away down the courtyard.
“It’s all up with us,” Sydney breathed hopelessly. “He’ll soon find
we are not in our prison, and then----” he ended with a shiver as his
thoughts dwelt upon the terrible death by decapitation.
A loud clank made the overwrought midshipmen start terrified; then Phil
fairly gasped with surprise and joy; his arm manacles had fallen to the
ground.
In the darkness he quickly reached out and grasped Sydney’s hand,
fingering nervously the cruel iron bracelets. The metal rings were
clamped but unlocked, and he readily removed the irons from his
companion’s hands. In but a moment more they both stood free of their
retaining bonds.
“Ta-Ling and the jailer,” Phil whispered as a sound of approaching
footsteps became audible. “If they enter here we must overpower them.
It’s our one chance now.”
Sydney moved closer to Phil, taking his hand in silence, and pressing
it in sign of his readiness to follow his friend’s lead.
“They must make no outcry,” Phil continued. “I’ll take the one nearest
me.”
The Chinamen stopped at the cell door, and the voice of Ta-Ling was
raised angrily, storming in Chinese at the jailer, apparently for
daring to remove the prisoners from their former cell.
The midshipmen retreated until their backs touched the wall of the
narrow cell, having replaced their hand irons to appear to be still in
chains.
A dim light shone into their cell as the door swung loudly open, and
the scowling face of Ta-Ling appeared, with the jailer behind him,
timidly holding up an oil lantern.
“So you didn’t like to be kept with the rest of the cattle?” Ta-Ling’s
cruel voice began. Then he stopped suddenly, and threw up his head with
a wicked laugh. “You’ve heard Langdon’s answer, then?” he continued,
signing to the terrified and trembling jailer to put down the lantern
on the solitary wooden bench. The man entered the cell to obey, leaving
the door open.
Phil saw the time had come for action. He sought Sydney’s eye, then
stealthily moved his foot, quietly throwing the door off its balance,
allowing it to swing slowly closed. He had purposely moved so that
Ta-Ling in addressing him must turn his back upon Sydney and the
jailer. Burning with excitement he watched Sydney grasp his hand irons
firmly. The great bulk of the jailer loomed almost grotesquely in
the light of the flickering lantern. Fearing that Ta-Ling might be
attracted by the eagerness which he was powerless to hide, Phil lowered
his gaze, but out of the tail of his eye he was conscious that the iron
flashed in the lamplight as the click of the shutting door caused the
interpreter to glance toward it suspiciously.
Then a rattle of chain and a dull sound behind him made Ta-Ling swing
suddenly around. Phil’s opportunity had arrived. With fingers itching
for this cruel Chinaman’s throat he sprang upon him, smothering the
cry that was ready to give the alarm to the yamen guard, and bore him
heavily to the ground. In the flickering light he saw the man’s face
turn livid, then purple, while his muscles relaxed. Glancing up, he saw
Sydney removing a great bunch of keys from the prostrate body of the
jailer.