“They are more kind than their masters,” Sydney said, after the midshipmen had gathered their scattered wits.
“Poor fellows, they seem as happy as if they were only doing penance for small sins,” Phil replied, gazing compassionately at his motley companions. “Yet they are all condemned to be executed. Do you see the large ring each wears about his neck, with a brass tag attached? That’s the mark of a felon to be beheaded, or worse.”
“Where do you suppose they’ve taken Langdon?” Sydney asked anxiously. “It’s certainly terrible to be helpless in the power of these cruel Chinese. They may even now have beheaded him. The viceroy was angry enough to revenge himself.”
“I hope it’s not so bad as that,” Phil answered, trying hard to be reassuring, not feeling, however, a particle more secure than the condemned men about him. “Langdon said,” he added grimly, “if our hands were lifted up high behind our backs and they hurried us out of the cell, our heads would probably be cut off in the large outer court. Until they do that, I suppose we may be sure that we are not in any immediate danger of death.”
Sydney shuddered at the unpleasant thought. And this was the China that they had been so eager to visit.
Toward evening a great tub filled with millet was brought in by the keepers and this the prisoners devoured ravenously. Luckily for the lads, they had satisfied their appetite from the viceroy’s table, for they would have stood but scant chance among that hungry rabble.
The cell was now entirely dark, save for a swinging light which streamed through the barred doors. The midshipmen scarcely closed their eyes during the long hours of the night, and when the first streaks of day shone into their foul cell, they were sitting open-eyed on their bench.
A jailer brought a basin of water to the door of the cell and then entering, took off their irons and led them out into the courtyard. The lads’ hopes rose, but they soon saw that it was to be only a preparation for more imprisonment. A bowl of rice apiece was given them, which was quickly eaten, and then each received a steaming cup of tea. This reassuring meal put new life into the lads and they felt more cheerful than at any time since their imprisonment.
“What’s he doing?” Sydney cried out in alarm, as the jailer began to rub his neck with a damp rag, while another rubbed his wrists and ankles. Phil was afterward given the same treatment, and then the hateful irons were again put on, but in addition there were put about their necks the dreaded rings, with the dangling brass tags that jingled ominously.
The midshipmen were stunned. Like the others of their cell-mates they were now wearing the badge of death. They also had been condemned by the viceroy and would be held in this loathsome prison until their numbers were called by the “Board of Punishments,” the Chinese high court of justice.