“How many can Emmons’ launch carry?” he questioned.
“It’s a good-sized boat, sir,” Phil replied. “I should say certainly fifty persons.”
“That’s very well,” the former said. Then Phil, recognizing a change of tone in his superior’s voice, drew himself to attention as the captain added slowly:
“We shall be ready to get under way at one o’clock at the latest. You will follow in the launch and when the ‘Phœnix,’ which of course will lead the column, reaches the monitors, you will begin at once to transfer all refugees from the gunboats, dividing them equally between the two monitors. I shall write out immediately orders for the commanding officers of the ‘Monterey’ and ‘Monadnock,’ which I shall hand you for delivery before you shove off. They will be unable to follow us through the secret channel, as their draft is too great, so I have directed that they remain beyond the range of fire of the forts, unless by chance we are menaced by the enemy’s guns.
“I sincerely hope,” he continued in a less official voice, “that nothing happens to either of the monitors with such precious freight. Do you know, Mr. Perry,” he added feelingly, “out in these countries where lives are so cheap, we Americans would sacrifice a whole shipload of men for the single life of a mother or a child.”
Phil inclined his head in mute token of agreement to his captain’s humane sentiment. Then suddenly a thought seemed to strike the latter, and he drew the lad farther away from the sailors engaged in making a protecting screen of hammocks about the after-gun positions, for greater safety against the possibility of infantry fire from the island, close to which the channel was shown to lead.
“What is your theory, Mr. Perry,” he asked earnestly, “of the actions of Commander Ignacio? Is it merely a hostile dislike for me and our countrymen, or does it come from a deeper and more subtle reason?”
Phil hesitated; could he give his honest views, or more correctly speaking, his knowledge of the reasons for Ignacio’s actions, without endangering the asking of a question from his captain, to answer which he might have to descend to subterfuge and even deceit? The fatal telegram lay snugly in his pocket; he could almost imagine that Commander Hughes’ piercing eyes could read, through the cloth of his blouse, the words which seemed engraved in bold letters on the lad’s brain. Phil had purposely cautioned his companions to say nothing of the captured letters which had passed between Ignacio and the viceroy’s secretary, for fear that the many allusions to the hope of accomplishing the disgrace of the American leader might awaken suspicion. These letters, the boy had decided, could not be of benefit now to Commander Hughes, but would be of vital importance in justifying the suppression of the cablegram taken from the person of Ta-Ling.
“I think, sir,” Phil answered after several moments of silence, “that Commander Ignacio’s motive lies much deeper than personal enmity. There must surely be some important objective toward which he has been striving. Possibly,” he hinted vaguely in an endeavor to have his captain broach the real reason, of which the lad knew only too well, “he believes that he can secure better commercial benefits for his own countrymen and to the hurt of American interests. They say that the viceroy has been openly antagonistic for months to all American investments in his provinces.”
“How stupid of me!” Commander Hughes exclaimed. “The railroad to Peking and through the interior provinces! I have been so much engrossed with my own troubles that I have not given the motive of this hostile action the attention which it deserves. I heard in Shanghai before we sailed that the American corporation having the railroad concession rights was having great trouble in getting permission to break ground, and a great mass of material is lying idle in steamers awaiting permission of the viceroy to land. Of course, that must be at the bottom of all this!