They were out of the yamen at last, but the city gate must yet be passed. If their absence were discovered while they were yet within the walled city their recapture was assured.
Although the coolies traveled at a lively pace, it seemed to the anxious Americans that they were but crawling through the deserted streets; the Chinese on account of the lateness of the hour were all within their hovel-like houses. An occasional soldier, clanking a chain loudly to frighten away demons, and calling out in his harsh language that all was well, brought a sudden shock to Phil’s high-strung nerves.
At last the gate of the city was reached and the chairs stopped. Through his bamboo screen Phil saw that the guards were hesitating about opening the gate. Once a gate was closed an order from the viceroy alone could open it between the setting and rising of the sun.
An officer came forward, peering inside the protecting hoods. Phil believed that all was lost as he felt, even in the gloom of his chair, the scrutinizing gaze upon him. The officer spoke a few words, and the lad realized by the rising inflection in the man’s voice that he was asking a question. The midshipman nodded and raising his hand pointed haughtily to the gate.
Then to his joy the officer withdrew his head as if satisfied and gave an order in a loud voice. Immediately the gate swung open and with a rattle of rusty chain the drawbridge was lowered.
Quickly the Americans were carried through the gate and across the moat. They had left the terrors of the walled city and were now upon the neutral ground of the foreign concession. As they passed over the wide streets, in great contrast to the ill-kept, narrow ones of the Chinese city, the pungent odors of the docks struck pleasantly upon their nostrils.
Phil’s chair was still in the lead, and the Chinese carriers, as if acting under instructions, trudged steadily onward to the “Bund,” the street paralleling the water front. Finally the coolies halted, putting the chairs down for the occupants to alight. Phil disentangled himself from the enshrouding curtains and stood on the broad street, joyfully inhaling the fresh air of the river, while Langdon waved the coolies to be gone.
Once alone the Americans were at liberty to talk. Phil told in as few words as possible of their visit to Emmons and the Tartar general.
“Where is Emmons?” Langdon exclaimed irritably. “We’re in as much danger as ever here. The foreigners have all fled. The concession is deserted, and doubtless the streets are full of robbers who would very cheerfully pitch us into the river for the sake of a few Mexican dollars.”
Phil was about to disclaim any knowledge of the whereabouts of the half-breed, when Sydney’s exclamation of surprise drew his attention to three small gunboats anchored in the river but a short distance away, and the bright lights of a steam launch approaching the jetty from one of their dark hulls.