“Yes, sir, but I seen a bunch of Chinese up there near the gate a few minutes before you come,” the sailor made answer. “I hollered at ’em, and they ain’t stopped runnin’ yet.”
“What can I do if they don’t run?” he added, questioningly.
“Nothing; just call the sergeant of the guard,” replied Phil quickly. “On your life don’t shoot without orders.”
“If a Chink shoots at me, sir, can’t I fire back?” the sailor asked, casting an apprehensive glance into the darkness outside of the compound.
Lieutenant Wilson had instructed the midshipmen to make certain that the sentries did not fire first: the viceroy of the province was believed to be striving to hold the malcontents in check, but an untimely shot might precipitate hostilities.
“If you are fired upon,” Phil ordered, “fire your piece and arouse the garrison, but don’t shoot unnecessarily.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the sailor answered, as the midshipman drew away up the wall to visit the next sentry.
While Phil was crossing the stone archway over the heavily-barred iron gate, the main entrance into the mission, he was attracted by a dark object on the ground below him, close up to the metal doors.
A closer look filled the boy’s thoughts with an unknown dread. The object appeared harmless enough, and yet why was it there against the gate of the mission? Phil saw now that it was a large box, outlined dimly in the shadow of the archway.
He peered about him uncertainly. He could see the two lookouts at the wall’s corners; they were alert and yet in ignorance of the danger at the mission gate. The midshipman’s thoughts dwelt on the information given by the sentry with whom he had just spoken: there had been some Chinamen at the gate but a few moments ago! Was this box harmless or did its presence there foretell a warlike design against the hundreds of non-combatants, women and children, now under the protection of the American sailors?