THE SECRET CHANNEL
After the Americans had departed, leaving Ta-Ling tightly bound and
gagged on the cell floor, the Chinaman remained quietly bemoaning his
cruel destiny. He knew from the silence throughout the yamen that it
would be futile for him to waste his strength in useless struggling at
the bonds that bound him. His Oriental mind counseled self-destruction.
There was no alternative to wipe out the dishonor of being defeated
and humiliated by his despised enemies. The loss of his sacred cue was
a bitter misfortune. How could he appear before his brother mandarins
with this necessary appendage missing? The more he revolved the
situation over in his mind, the calmer he became. His Western teaching,
with its more worldly and less devious ways of thought, came to his
aid, driving away all ideas of self-destruction, and he resolved that
he would fight according to the methods taught by his new learning so
long as life remained him.
It seemed to the helpless man that many hours must have passed while he
remained motionless on the damp earth. He had during this time thought
over and over again of all that had been said by the Americans. While
he lay to all appearances insensible, he had heard the wording of the
cipher message to the American commander. He had been upon the point of
sending the cablegrams to the American ship, but now they were in the
hands of the midshipmen and he had heard them say that they would not
give them to their captain. So much of the plan of his ally, Commander
Ignacio, was a failure.
The missing chart which he felt sure had been taken by Emmons caused
him the greatest anxiety. He had intended to block this channel with
sunken stone-laden junks, but with the usual roundabout methods of the
Chinese he had found the mandarin in charge of such work could not load
the junks for some days, so he had passed it by, believing that the
presence of such a channel would remain a secret. Hang-Ki, the Tartar
general, could be the only one of those in the secrets of the yamen
who would dare thwart him. Ta-Ling’s veins swelled with suppressed
anger as he blamed his ill-luck for not having succeeded in his attempt
on the general’s life. This man he felt sure was also in the daring
plot which had liberated the Americans and placed him, second only in
power to the viceroy, in chains, helpless, while his carefully-laid
scheme of forever ridding China of the foreign leeches was falling like
a house of cards about his head.
While his mind grappled with the intricate intrigues, there came a dull
boom of heavy cannon, shaking violently the yamen. Again and again
the earth was shaken and the deep tones of discharges of great guns
reverberated through the vast building.
What did it mean? Had the Americans then succeeded in escaping and were
the fort guns firing upon them? How could they escape by water when
every launch had been wrecked by his trusted soldiers?
The yamen now was no longer silent. Ta-Ling could hear shrill cries and
the hurried march of feet. Men were running wildly here and there, an
unknown fear in their hearts. The Chinaman’s hopes rose; the viceroy
would send for him to know the cause of the firing and he must before
long be discovered. He tugged desperately but fruitlessly at his bonds,
but Langdon had done his work well.
Exhausted and breathless, he at length resigned himself to fate. Then
he heard his own name cried by the viceroy’s crier, resounding loudly
throughout the yamen. After what seemed an eternity, the door of his
cell was thrown open and several guards entered the dark prison.
“Here they are,” he heard a soldier exclaim, and then he felt himself
grasped roughly and carried out into the courtyard.
The next moment a light was thrust in his face and then the guards
recoiled in mortal fear as they beheld the features of the Chinese
tyrant.
“We beg a million pardons, Excellency,” the leader cried, cringing
before the terrible eye of the viceroy’s secretary, while his
companions prostrated themselves before him.
Ta-Ling made a sign to remove his gag, his joy at deliverance fighting
with his outraged dignity at being so roughly handled.
“Take off these irons, you dogs,” he hissed when he could speak; “the
keys are on the floor of the cell.”
The keys were quickly brought from where Ta-Ling had seen them thrown
by the midshipmen, and soon he was free.
“Meet me at the yamen gate,” he ordered huskily, kicking a kneeling
figure savagely to punctuate his words; and then he hastened to his
quarters to replace the clothes of which his former captives had
deprived him.
Upon the threshold of his room he encountered the frail figure of the
aged mandarin, his features stamped with fear.
“You traitor,” he cried in a weak trembling voice, as he caught sight
of the disheveled Ta-Ling; “so this is the end of your vain boasting.
The foreign dogs are coming to destroy me.”
The secretary used all of his powers of persuasion to reassure his
master. He told the viceroy hurriedly of the escape of the Americans
and the loss of the chart, but protested that there was no immediate
danger from the guns of the fleet.
Leading the trembling old man back to his own room, he called loudly
for the treasurer, appreciating that in order to make true his words to
his master not a second must be wasted.
Receiving no answer to his call, he retraced his steps to his room, and
there he was not surprised to find the bound body of his friend in the
dark corner where Phil had thrown him.
After setting the man free, he gave him hasty instructions and sent him
to keep the viceroy company, while he feverishly threw on the garments
of a mandarin before joining his awaiting soldiers. Hastily writing an
order he took it to the viceroy for signature, then calling a waiting
messenger he directed it be taken at once to the Tartar general at the
forts.
Ten minutes later Ta-Ling, preceded by his guards, pressed through
the frightened throngs of Chinese in the narrow street outside of the
yamen. The gun fire had now ceased and the terrified natives were
slowly slinking back to their hovels.
Passing unhindered through the city gate, the secretary led the way
directly to the jetty. Here he was to have met his ally, Commander
Ignacio, earlier in the evening, but much to his surprise and
satisfaction, as he reached the landing, he saw a steam launch waiting.
“Can you take me to the ‘Albaque’?” he questioned the coxswain eagerly.
The sailor glanced up in surprise. Where was his captain? He had seen
him, as he supposed, with this Chinaman.
“I am waiting for the captain,” he replied, a shade of suspicion in his
voice. “Wasn’t he with you?”
It was Ta-Ling’s turn to be surprised.
“With me!” he exclaimed. “I was to have met him hours ago.”
The coxswain shook his head, mystified. Had he not seen his captain go
away with this man? Then he suddenly thought of the crowd of Chinese
who had boarded a launch below him and had then gone alongside of his
ship. His captain surely could not have been among those men. He gave
it up. It was too deep for his understanding, for that launch had then
gone down the river shortly before the fight between the forts and a
strange war-ship.
“All right; get in,” he said finally.
In several minutes Ta-Ling was greeted warmly by the officer of the
deck of the “Albaque.” The latter was glad to see the Chinaman again.
The quartermaster of the gunboat had persisted that the launch of the
Chinaman had not landed, but had gone down the river, and the young
officer had commenced to fear that he had been duped into giving up
both the captain’s correspondence and the Chinese refugee.
“May I see your captain?” Ta-Ling asked anxiously. “It’s of the utmost
importance.”
“My captain has not returned!” the officer exclaimed, alarm in his
voice.
“Where is he? quick, man! Everything depends upon my finding him at
once,” Ta-Ling cried in vexation.
“He was with you; the launch was waiting for him,” the officer
returned, catching his breath, his heart in his throat.
“I haven’t seen him since this morning,” the Chinaman declared
impatiently. “Does no one know of his whereabouts?”
The officer was rooted to the spot from fright. His throat was parched
with fear and his tongue unruly.
“You were here to-night asking for the papers of the captain,” he
managed to gasp, his worst fears realized.
“You’re dreaming, man,” Ta-Ling retorted almost angrily. “Come,
explain! What do you mean?”
The officer related to the anxious Chinaman how some one whom he could
have taken oath was he had come on board from a launch and he had given
him the copies of his captain’s letters to the viceroy, and also a
Chinese refugee who had escaped on board from the shore.
Ta-Ling groaned in anguish as the full significance of this news dawned
upon him. The Americans evidently had Emmons--and his chart. But had
they escaped? That was surely the cause of the firing.
“What was the firing?” Ta-Ling asked hurriedly.
“An American monitor and the forts,” the officer replied in a shaky
voice.
“What have I done?” he added questioningly, much terrified over the
results of his indiscretion.
“You’ve given your captain’s letters to his enemy, for one thing,” the
Chinaman answered in his cruel voice, “and besides you have liberated a
man----”
A shrill cry from the steam launch, which had, while waiting for the
Chinaman, hauled out to the lower boom to lie more securely in the
tideway, cut short Ta-Ling’s words and drew the two men to the rail.
“There’s a man tied hand and foot in this boat,” called out the
coxswain in alarm. “It’s the captain!” he exclaimed with many
imprecations upon those who had perpetrated the deed.
“Cut him loose, quick!” the officer cried excitedly.
Eager hands quickly cut the tight cords, and Commander Ignacio soon
stood on his quarter-deck.
“An hour ago I would have throttled you if you’d stood here before
me,” were his first words, spoken hoarsely and with difficulty to the
Chinaman, “but I see it all now. We’ve been unmercifully duped.”
[Illustration: “_THERE IS STILL A CHANCE_”]
With many bitter recriminations the whole plot and its disastrous
success was discussed. Commander Ignacio could barely control his rage
against the young officer who had innocently betrayed him.
“Come, we must act at once!” Ta-Ling finally exclaimed. “There is still
a chance.”
The foreign captain’s face brightened as he questioned eagerly the
excited secretary.
“The channel will be useless to the fleet if we can burn off the reed
grass,” Ta-Ling explained quickly. “The land itself is low and will
not hide the gunboats from the forts. But we must be quick. That
fire-eating American will start immediately he receives the information
of this channel.”
“Come to my cabin,” Ignacio ordered in a low voice, glancing
suspiciously at his abashed lieutenant.
“If I understand you,” he continued as the door closed behind them,
“you ask me to aid you in burning the vegetation on this island.”
“Certainly!” Ta-Ling cried impatiently. “Isn’t it to your interest that
this American does not succeed?”
“Softly,” cautioned the foreign captain; “we don’t want our talk to
be common property,” indicating by a motion of his hand the hatchway
leading to the sleeping quarters of his officers; “some one may be
awake down there.”
Ignacio pondered for a few seconds. To go in his own launch and set
fire to this island would betray his part in the intrigue with the
viceroy. His sailors could not be depended upon to keep such a secret.
“I see no alternative but to decline,” he continued decidedly. “You
must do this act yourself; my men could not be trusted with such a
secret.”
“I will furnish the men,” Ta-Ling cried, beside himself with
impatience. “You must furnish me a launch with some one to run it; but
hurry, man,” he urged excitedly. “The grass must be burned off before
the fleet arrives at the island, or else we are defeated.”
Commander Ignacio immediately awoke to action. The thought of the
lieutenant who had innocently betrayed him came happily to his mind; he
could run the engine and the sailors could remain on board ship. The
secret would be safe with this officer. No one could connect him with
the act of burning the island.
The lieutenant was called and was eager to regain his captain’s favor.
Ten minutes later the launch from the “Albaque,” manned by the Chinese
soldiers, with Commander Ignacio himself at the helm, had quietly left
the gunboat.
Reaching the northern point of the island, a landing was made and a
Chinaman landed, armed with instructions from the viceroy’s secretary
to set fire to the grass in as many places as possible and to return in
time to be picked up on the launch’s return.
The launch then steamed down stream, stopping at several points to land
the soldiers.
As yet, all was well. The launch had run the complete length of the
long island, landing the incendiary soldiers; the south end of the
island was only a few hundred yards ahead. Ta-Ling directed the foreign
captain to steer once more to the steep shore. There were no more
soldiers remaining; the ten men had all been landed and ten fires were
by now burning fiercely in as many places on the long island. Stepping
ashore, he was soon lost in the high grass towering over twenty
feet above him. Lighting a fire-brand, hastily made of dry reeds, he
carefully applied it, as he walked along, to the dying vegetation. Now
in an hour the island would be a blazing furnace. For the rest of the
night the channels would be lighted as bright as day. Even the monitors
would not dare to attempt to pass the forts until the following night,
and by that time he would have fully revenged himself on the Americans
and escaped to the interior. He smiled cruelly as his thoughts dwelt
upon his cunning ruse upon the viceroy; the mandarin, in his excited
fear, had signed the order to Hang-Ki to withdraw his soldiers from the
mission to protect the forts. Now the bloodthirsty rabble, armed and
organized by him (Ta-Ling), could with impunity hurl themselves upon
the mission.