The silence was undisturbed for several minutes, during which time the lad gazed covertly about him. He noticed the sphinx-like face of the high mandarin, whose power was as far-reaching as even the empress dowager’s, to whom he acknowledged allegiance but gave it grudgingly. This wizened old man had the power of life and death over nearly twenty million human beings. If he so willed, he could order any of his subjects to be brought to the execution grounds and chop their heads off with as little feeling as one would have in beheading a chicken. The midshipman’s eyes traveled in turn over each face of the viceroy’s advisers, men of great promise in the empire; they represented the enlightened few governing with iron rods a people who are yet stifled in the superstitions and customs of medieval times. Through the open door, the lad caught a glimpse of Chinese guards; their blue tunics similar to the one he had stripped from the back of the Chinaman at the mission gate.
Finally the silence was broken by the high-pitched voice of the aged viceroy in his own staccato language. Phil believed he could read both anger and contempt in the tones of the mandarin’s voice.
After he had spoken there was a moment’s silence, then a voice was raised in perfect English. Phil gasped in surprise as he beheld the speaker; a Chinaman seated on the right hand of the viceroy. There was not a trace of the accent which he had believed was habitual with every Chinaman who learns the English tongue.
“His Excellency, Chang-Li-Hun, thanks the high naval commanders for the honor of this visit and desires to hear their requests,” the interpreting Chinaman announced.
“Give our compliments to his Excellency,” replied Commander Hughes without a second’s hesitation, “and say that the time has long passed for requests. We come now to demand that our countrymen be protected, in accordance with the sacred word of China given by treaty.”
The interpreter’s face was a study; the American’s words were evidently unexpected; he glanced uneasily at the viceroy as if fearing the storm which he knew would break forth when the sharp words were translated into his guttural tongue. After a few moments of thought, during which time the old mandarin blinked his watery eyes expectantly the interpreter spoke, hesitatingly and as one who is not sure of his ground; but instead of the burst of rage which Phil felt was inevitable, the old statesman nodded his head in assent.
The lad saw Langdon rise to his feet and speak in an undertone to Commander Hughes; then the Chinese mandarins grasped the arms of their heavily carved chairs with indignation and horror while the pilot’s voice in their own tongue rang out loudly, in direct address to the viceroy. Then he turned to his captain and explained his action.
“The interpreter did not give the viceroy your words, sir,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion. “I thought it best that he should know.”
The parchment-like features of the aged mandarin were stamped with hatred as he snapped out his reply to his attentive interpreter.
“His Excellency is much disappointed at the unfriendly attitude of the foreigners,” the Chinaman announced after the viceroy had ceased speaking, “and is grieved to hear their harsh language.”