Langdon and Sydney had so forcibly driven their enemy to the ground that one of the revolvers, which was cocked, had gone off, the noise of the discharge reverberating through the bare building in a most startling way. Intent upon their work, the pilot had seized the wrists of the foreign captain in an iron grip, while Sydney quickly disarmed him.
Phil’s heart stopped beating at the sight which presented itself as the door swung wide open. By the light of three or four dripping candles, he saw a dozen Chinamen seated about the floor of the room.
As the lad forced his way boldly into the midst of the startled Chinamen, holding before him a revolver taken from Sydney’s hand in passing, the surprised Orientals threw themselves face downward upon the floor, whining piteously for mercy.
Leaving the disarmed foreigner to Sydney, Langdon quickly joined the other midshipman, surrounded as he was by the cringing and terror-stricken natives.
“Canton Chinamen,” he whispered; “these must be Emmons’ launch crews; but what are they doing here?”
Langdon raised his voice, addressing the terrified men. At the sound of their own tongue a Chinaman raised himself tremblingly from the floor, his fear giving place to joy as he recognized the familiar voice of the pilot, whom he had so frequently seen piloting ships on the great river.
After a few minutes’ conversation with the native Langdon turned to Phil, drawing the lad out of ear-shot of their helpless enemy lying upon the floor with Sydney’s muscular weight upon his chest.
“It looks bad for us!” he exclaimed. “This man, Nam-Sing, is one of Emmons’ head men, and these men are his crew. A mob this afternoon looted the foreign concession and destroyed all of Emmons’ launches, butchering the Canton Chinese crews in cold blood. The foreign gunboats, he says, looked on and would not interfere. Emmons, he thinks, was killed. These men took refuge in the secret vaults of the bank, known by Nam-Sing because he was for some years employed here. Believing that all was quiet, they were trying to muster up courage to escape down the river.”
Phil could have wept with disappointment. On the threshold of safety, they found their escape cut off. His mind sought for a way to overcome the difficulties. Ignacio’s launch was at the landing. Why could they not overpower the crew and escape in it? But he soon saw that this plan would be worse than foolhardy. They could not expect to pass the alert gunboat, and once alongside, the strategy would be discovered. But what else could be done? A junk was out of the question, for the wind was contrary, blowing up the river, and before they could hope to pass the forts, daylight would reveal them and the Chinese guns would soon make them return and surrender or else they would be sunk. The longer the Americans remained on shore the smaller were the chances for escape; it was but a matter of time before their absence from the yamen would be known. While the lad pondered wildly on a method of escape he saw the Chinaman Nam-Sing attract Langdon’s attention and then fairly explode in a volley of excited words.
“He says that one of the launches is not so badly damaged,” the pilot whispered to Phil. “It’s a steam launch, but under the stern-boards is a small gasoline engine, and he thinks the mob did not destroy that, for it is hidden from view.”