Over the walls could be seen the strange, gracefully arched red and yellow roofs of the several large and the few small buildings of the yamen.
Under the gray walls, on the outside, crouched a few mangy-looking beggars. Men and women of this type always loiter outside of every yamen, trusting to the occasional generosity of the high official who resides within, for in China every mandarin, governor and other high official must always be a good deal of an alms-giver.
Not even the sight of the heavily armed little American column stirred these beggars beyond the most ordinary exhibition of curiosity.
“Put the column to the right oblique, and go over to that gate,” directed Dave, pointing with his drawn sword.
A moment later the command, “Halt!” rang out. From the ramparts above three Chinese soldiers gazed down stolidly.
Striding forward to the gong that hung before the gate, Ensign Darrin struck it loudly three times.
A minute passed without answer. Dave sounded thrice again. Another minute passed.
“Confound those fellows inside,” muttered Dave to his chum. “I’ve heard, before this, that the Chinese official tries to show his contempt for western barbarians by making them await his pleasure.”
Glancing down his line, Darrin noted a sailor who was well known for his physical powers.
“Henshaw!” summoned Dave crisply.