Sydney sat mournfully listening, while the Chinese criminals crowded around them, jabbering noisily.
The hours dragged wearily along. As the light through the barred door became dimmer, foretelling the end of the tedious day, the midshipmen’s hopes rose; so far Ta-Ling could not have learned of their visit to his enemy.
The midshipmen were taken out into the courtyard as usual for their evening meal and after the meagre fare had been eaten with great effort by the anxious and impatient lads, the jailer removed their irons and washed carefully the aching sore on Sydney’s wrist.
Phil was delighted to see that the man had recovered from his fear of a few hours ago, and that he lingered a much longer time than seemed necessary, for Sydney’s wrist had been securely bound with Phil’s handkerchief and appeared to be healing, auguring well for the success of the coming night.
It was quite dark when the jailer had finished his solicitous attentions, and replaced the irons on their feet and hands. Motioning the midshipmen to follow him, he led them along the stone flagging of the courtyard, cautioning silence by raising his hand and shaking his head jerkily. Loaded down as they were with heavy chains, to move quietly was not an easy task, and was one calculated to fatigue the lads to an alarming extent after their two days of cruel torture in these steel bonds.
After traversing nearly half the length of the courtyard, the jailer suddenly threw open a door, and forcefully pushed them through it into darkness. The door closed quietly behind his retreating figure.
Their hearts beating fast, Phil and Sydney strained their ears to catch the first sound of alarm. Heavy footfalls approaching on the stone pavement soon told them the reason of the jailer’s haste and his sudden departure.
Holding their breath tightly, they heard the newcomer stop hesitatingly before the door of their cell, then after a second he moved farther along, and finally the opening and shutting of a door told them he had entered a room near or even next to the one in which the two midshipmen had been so suddenly thrust.
Sounds of a low-pitched voice came distinctly to their ears through the frail partition; the lads listened eagerly. Then the bold tones of Langdon’s voice sounded distinctly.
“For a man who was educated among white men,” he was saying in a scornful voice, “you seem to have a queer idea of our honesty. If you liberate all, I’ll take the letter to our captain, but I shall not tell him I believe the viceroy will play fair, for I don’t believe he will. I don’t trust him, nor you. Send the letter by one of your own people, and see what answer he’ll send back. The threat that at the first gun fired by the allies our heads will be chopped off will not affect his plans. What are two midshipmen, four sailors, and a pilot to a country like ours?”