The Americans were conducted to a room outside of the council-chamber of the yamen. All were too crestfallen and disappointed with the turn affairs had taken to care what their fate might be. Through the windows of the room they saw the traitor and his four sailors pass along the courtyard on the way back to the camp of the allies, and a few moments afterward, their own sailors were brought and shoved roughly into the room where their officers were held captive.
“If that villain,” Langdon exclaimed angrily, “had only kept quiet, we should all have been returning by now. He played right into the viceroy’s hands.”
“It is all my own doing,” Phil moaned. “Why didn’t I tell our captain the kind of man he was?”
“What do you mean?” Sydney and Langdon asked in a breath.
Phil told of the attack on Lien-Chow and of the cowardly part Commander Ignacio had played.
“Well, if that isn’t the queerest!” the pilot exclaimed after the midshipman had finished; “Commander Hughes in my hearing complimented him upon the fearless attack of his men; they were the first in the enemy’s trenches after the Americans and English. And it was you that put wings to their leader’s feet.”
The pilot’s laugh sounded so incongruous that the Chinese guards glanced suspiciously inside, fearing that the handful of foreigners might be planning some daring escape.
“I feel that it is my fault,” Phil repeated penitently. “I alone am responsible for our captivity.”
“Cheer up, lad!” Langdon exclaimed. “It might be worse. The viceroy will soon find that Commander Ignacio will not be supported. He will not dare to hold us long.”
But the pilot, with his wide knowledge of the Chinese, did not know the capacity for cruelty of this aged mandarin.