“We’ve but half succeeded,” Commander Hughes exclaimed, the lines in his face growing deeper from anxiety. “We’ve scattered the outlaws here with heavy loss,” the dead bodies almost filling the deep trenches speaking eloquently that fact, “but we must push forward at once to relieve our mission. I cannot sleep another night until those innocent non-combatants have been rescued. My men are even secondary,” he added forcefully; “it is their duty and privilege to die in the cause of humanity.”
“We cannot hope to succeed without opposition,” Langdon said; “but before the news of our fight here arouses the viceroy to action against us, we should relieve the mission, bringing everybody here where we can protect them. It is but a two-hour march and is but the natural sequence to the attack we have made.”
“Quite so,” Commander Hughes agreed hopefully. “Langdon,” he added in a sad voice, “you don’t know what it is to rule a dozen different nationalities. It is a wonder we can accomplish anything.” Then he turned to Phil, who had listened eagerly, his young face full of concern. “Recall the sailors,” he ordered.
After the men had been ordered back from their excited pursuit of the fleeing Chinese and had fallen into military order in rear of the captured trenches, the American commander gathered the senior officers of each nationality about him to urge upon them the necessity of prompt action to relieve the threatened mission.
Phil started, the hot blood suffusing his face, as he saw with sinking heart the rank of the foreigner whom he had humiliated before his own men. Three heavy gold stripes on the officer’s sleeve told him the rank was that of commander, equal to that of his own captain. This cowardly officer was then in command of one of the foreign gunboats, but why had he not seen him before at the councils of the allies on board the “Phœnix”? Was this Captain Ignacio of the “Albaque,” who had each time pleaded sickness and sent a young officer to represent him?
Further speculation upon this perplexing situation was cut short by Commander Hughes’ forceful talk to the allies. All listened intently; the well-modulated, clear voice of the American held his listeners spellbound with attention, but many of the foreigners showed in their faces only too plainly that they already feared the displeasure of their governments for having followed the lead of this strenuous American commander. Was it not an American mission, guarded by American sailors? Then why should not the Americans rescue their own people? The officer who had felt the cold chill of Phil’s revolver was loudest in his condemnation of further attacks; his arguments were so cleverly worded that he soon won over to his side the timid ones. The British captain alone stood by the American in his endeavors to persuade his brother captains that their one chance of helping the missionaries was to vigorously pursue the advantage already gained.
“We’ve not forgotten Tatnall’s ‘Blood is thicker than water,’” the British commander exclaimed as Commander Hughes wrung his hand warmly, in eloquent silence.
“We must abide by the decision of the majority,” Commander Hughes said sorrowfully. “I dare not think what will happen to those within the mission if my men cannot withstand the attack.” Then he turned flashing eyes upon the group of hesitating foreigners.
“What do you propose?” he questioned, controlling the anger and humiliation in his voice with some difficulty.
Phil saw the officer whom he had recently humbled before his men cast a knowing look at several of his co-conspirators, and then heard him boldly voice his plan.