HOPES OF ESCAPE
Ta-Ling had ceased to struggle; his eyes protruded in ghastly fashion,
while through his open mouth his tongue showed blue and swollen. Phil
was terrified at the sight, believing he had killed the Chinaman, but
upon opening his coat he felt his heart beating faintly.
With a sigh of great relief he rose to his feet and, taking the lantern
in his hand, he scanned his prostrate victim.
“You must put on his clothes and release Langdon,” Sydney whispered,
holding the keys out toward Phil.
Without a word, but with fingers trembling with excitement, the lad
stooped down, stripping the robes from the inanimate form; the baggy
trousers, the silken hose and satin shoes and the long flowing robe
with the mandarin square of the scholar embroidered in gold on its
front.
Discarding his naval uniform he hastily put on his enemy’s garments.
When completely clothed he turned to Sydney, who gasped with
astonishment at the altered appearance of his friend. The hat with its
horsetail plume and pink button concealed his long front hair which in
a Chinaman is always missing, being shaved close to his scalp.
Sydney immediately followed his comrade’s example and was soon arrayed
in the costume of the Chinese jailer.
Phil pointed to their discarded irons and in a few moments they had
snapped feet and hand manacles over the helpless limbs of Ta-Ling. Then
they both turned impatiently toward the door. Phil hesitated for an
instant.
“They may come to before we can make our escape,” he said. “We must gag
them.”
Stripping their prisoners of their undergarments, these as gags were
tied firmly over their mouths.
“I hope he doesn’t smother,” Phil whispered in some alarm; “he seems to
be hardly breathing.”
“We can’t take any chances now,” Sydney returned calmly; “it’s their
life or ours. If we are caught now nothing can save us.”
To make more sure of their prisoners, the arms of each were bound to
their sides, so that upon regaining consciousness they could not work
their gags off their mouths and give the alarm to the yamen.
“I hope they’ll be found before they starve to death,” Phil said
anxiously. “I fear the jailer will feel that we are ungrateful for his
aid. I don’t dare liberate him; he may in fear betray us into the hands
of the guard.”
“They’ll surely be found in the morning,” Sydney assured him. “Our
friends the prisoners will clamor when their breakfast doesn’t appear,
and then a search will be made for him and for us too. If we are not
found before,” he ended grimly.
“What’s this!” Phil exclaimed, drawing from the inside pocket of his
Chinese coat a number of papers and examining them in the light of the
lantern. “A telegram!” he cried, “and addressed to Commander Hughes!”
Both lads gazed at the sealed envelope as if they would like to bore
through the outer covering and read the message within.
“Dare we open it?” Phil asked. “If it is in the ordinary cipher I know
the key word. It may be something important, and as well for us to know
the contents if we lose the telegram. And here is a letter addressed
to the captain,” he continued excitedly. “This is surely the one which
Ta-Ling tempted Langdon to take. But come,” he added hastily, “we must
not allow him to be a minute longer in his chains.”
Taking the keys from Sydney’s hand, he opened the cell door and led
the way to the door of Langdon’s prison. There was no sound in the
enclosure except an occasional shrill cry from the prisoners at the
far corner. As they waited in the silent courtyard to make sure all
was well before entering, Langdon’s heavy breathing came distinctly to
their ears.
After a few seconds Phil selected the right key and the next moment the
door swung open, while the lad whispered softly:
“Langdon!”
But there was no answer; then the dim light shed its fitful rays about
the dungeon and the lad gave a smothered cry of concern, for the sight
which met his gaze was indeed appalling: Langdon, bound tightly, was
triced up to a beam overhead by his feet and the iron ring about his
neck, and he was by degrees strangling to death.
The anxious lads quickly cut the ropes and lowered the insensible man
to the floor. Then removing the irons they worked over him anxiously
while the time passed on winged feet. Finally the pilot opened his eyes
and stared at the lads with angry, sullen eyes, making a futile attempt
to speak.
“You miserable coward,” he finally managed to say in a thick whisper.
“I hope some day you’ll be treated as you’ve treated me.”
The midshipmen were at first so taken aback that they were silent. Then
the comical part of the tragedy appealed to them and in that instant
Langdon recognized his rescuers.
“We’ve got him now in almost the same condition that you were in,” Phil
whispered.
The pilot gazed in wonder at the midshipmen. Raising a trembling hand
he passed it over his eyes uncertainly, as if he would sweep away the
delusion.
“What does it mean?” he asked weakly.
“It means that we are for the time free,” Phil answered; “but come,
we must start. If we delay Ta-Ling may be missed and a search for him
would spoil all. Can you walk?” he asked solicitously.
“In a minute,” the pilot replied. “Help me to my feet. I’d have been
gone in a half hour more,” he added, feeling his sore and swollen
throat.
The lads helped him to his feet and he stood unsteadily, leaning his
great weight on their shoulders.
“It was partly our fault,” Sydney said apologetically; “he no doubt
intended coming back and lowering you; but we couldn’t allow him to
leave our cell.”
After a few minutes more to permit Langdon to regain his strength and
give the blood a chance to circulate into his cramped limbs, Phil made
the motion to follow, and all three noiselessly filed out into the
courtyard and entered the cell where the Chinamen were lying.
The interpreter’s breathing showed that he would soon regain his
senses. Langdon glared triumphantly down upon the villain who would
gladly kill all the foreigners within the Chinese Empire.
“He’s not half gagged,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. Then he
untied the gag which the lads had made and jammed the mandarin’s mouth
full of his own clothing, binding it in with a tight bandage. After
rearranging the jailer’s gag, he arose and gloated over the fallen
favorite of the viceroy.
Phil had torn open the telegram and in the dim light scanned it
anxiously. Then he drew from his pocket a pencil and in silence wrote
the key word above the words of the message. Sydney regarded him in a
fever of excitement. Finally Phil’s pencil was still and he looked up
with a white, anxious face.
“I’d like to destroy it, but I don’t dare,” he said. Then he read in a
voice trembling with emotion:
“Department condemns your actions in entering To-Yan Lake and attacking
Chinese soldiers. Proceed immediately back to Ku-Ling and offer ample
apology to viceroy. Consider yourself relieved of your command.”
If a shell had exploded in their midst the eager listeners could not
have been more surprised.
“Burn it up,” Langdon exclaimed indignantly. “That’s the way things are
run from a distance of ten thousand miles.” Then his glance encountered
the wide-open eyes of Ta-Ling and he snorted with rage as he roughly
jerked the bound Chinaman to his feet.
“Did you hear it?” he cried.
The mandarin’s eyes burned balefully as he nodded his head in assent.
Langdon released the Chinaman, and but for Phil’s steadying hand he
would have fallen to the floor. Then the pilot raised the long braided
cue of the interpreter and with a swift cut of his jack-knife severed
it close up to the Chinaman’s head; the next second, holding it out to
Phil, he cried gleefully:
“Put this on under your cap; it’s all you need to complete your costume.
“You won’t be so keen to show yourself in public hereafter,” he
continued spitefully to the mandarin.
Ta-Ling was beside himself with rage, but he could only grow red and
utter inarticulate sounds, while Langdon sat on the wooden bench
laughing scornfully at the disgraced official.
“If he doesn’t commit suicide in twenty-four hours, it’s because
he’s chicken-hearted.” Langdon laughed in a low tone, mainly for the
Chinaman’s ear. The pilot knew he held the secret of the cablegram.
Apparently he had guessed at the contents and was going to send it
together with the letter for the American captain. If the viceroy
knew the stand that was being taken by the American government, every
missionary in the valley of the Yangtse would be unsafe. The mandarin
officials in the towns of the provinces were as yet guarding the
foreigners against attack until they could be sure of the outcome at
Ku-Ling. Once the viceroy had humbled the foreign pride then the rabble
would be free to indulge its aroused hatred.
Phil cut short the pilot’s mirth by taking him by the arm and leading
him silently to the door. Once outside the cell the lad showed him the
sketch plan of the yamen with the path they must take to reach the room
where clothes would be found.
“If we only knew where the sailors are,” Sydney whispered.
Phil shook his head. It might only defeat them, and the sailors would
be no better off.
Langdon for the first time realized that he was not in the plot and
would have asked many questions, but Phil and Sydney grasped him firmly
on each side as if he were their prisoner and marched openly down the
stone pavement of the courtyard. The place indicated on the sketch was
easily found and Phil, leaving his companions, pushed the door quietly
open. The room was lighted by a single swinging lamp, while in one
corner sat a Chinaman reckoning laboriously on his abacus, a counting
device used by the Oriental races; the click of the small wooden balls
as he moved them along their wires sounded distinctly in the quiet of
the room.
As Phil closed the door softly behind him the Chinaman glanced up
casually, speaking a few words in his guttural tongue. The lad made
no reply, but glanced about hastily to make sure those near could not
discover what was about to happen. His heart was beating fast. He saw
a door beyond the victim which he knew must lead directly into the
viceroy’s own apartments; voices, almost inaudible, came to his ears
from the rooms on the other side of that slender partition. He saw
that he must work quickly and silently. Any moment the door might open
and he would be discovered, for his disguise would be useless under
the direct gaze of a Chinese mandarin. The treasurer had seen him but
indistinctly and had taken for granted that he was Ta-Ling.
[Illustration: _HE MEASURED THE STRENGTH OF HIS ANTAGONIST_]
Moving silently to the side of the absorbed Chinaman, Phil stood for
the fraction of a second looking down on his work. His eyes sought out
the curve of the neck in its enveloping robe while he measured the
strength of his antagonist. Raising his hands in readiness, he poised
them aloft ready to grasp the slender neck within his muscular fingers.
As if by premonition of the danger threatening him, the Chinaman
dropped his hands from the abacus and glanced swiftly up into Phil’s
face. The next second the midshipman’s hands had encircled his neck
and the terrified outcry which the lad saw in his frightened eyes was
stifled.
“Hurry, Langdon!” Phil whispered over his shoulder, as the pilot
noiselessly entered to dress himself in one of the many robes hanging
about the room.
While Phil slowly reduced the treasurer to a harmless state, the pilot
made a hasty change, and as the lads had done, rolled his own clothes
in a bundle, concealing them under his flowing robe.
With articles of clothing the Americans silently bound and gagged the
treasurer and laid his body away, hidden from the view of the casual
observer entering the room; then the three proceeded to carry out the
last and most trying stage of their perilous adventure.
Phil leading, they arrived in sight of the outer gate. So far no
guards had been met, but now with sinking heart Phil saw a large crowd
gathered on the outside of the open gateway. Soldiers, their muskets
in hand, stood stolidly on guard, while others sat on the ground,
chattering volubly. Was this but the usual crowd always seen at the
gates of a Chinese yamen--the poor awaiting crumbs from the rich man’s
table? Overhead several oil lanterns shed their meagre light upon the
assemblage. The score or more of Chinese would surely penetrate their
disguise! He saw Langdon raise his hand with its flowing sleeve to his
face, and quickly imitated the movement, nudging Sydney to do likewise.
A hoarse cry rang out from the guard at the gate as they approached,
which sent chills of terror down the lad’s spine. His first inclination
was to turn and flee back into the yamen and he stopped so abruptly
that Sydney trod on his heels. What were the men at the gate calling to
each other?