Sydney nodded in ready understanding of the soundness of his friend’s reasoning.
The wireless apparatus of the Chinese ships, by Admiral Ting’s orders, had been completely dismantled to be sure that no accident could mar the midshipmen’s plans. Phil had feared that some enemy might exist among the ships who could during the watches of the night send out to the many listening stations bordering the China Sea, the much sought intelligence as to the location of the Chinese squadron.
The wireless of the “Sylvia” alone was in working order, and the two sailormen and the midshipmen took turns both by day and night in the little wireless room. Every message heard through the telephone receiver was written down and read.
From these mysterious messages grasped from the boundless air the lads heard of the consternation throughout the world. “Where is the Chinese squadron?” was on every lip. They learned that the Japanese fleet had arrived at Singapore, where the ships had coaled from their colliers, and after a few days of indecision had sailed again, steering to the northward.
The United States fleet had remained quietly at anchor in Manila Bay.
Takishima, during these long days of waiting, had been allowed his freedom, and as the days passed, the sadness slowly gave way to cheerfulness and amusement at the ludicrous situation. Impey, with all his villainy, had openly congratulated the midshipmen upon their masterful control of the situation.
“It’s worth losing to have witnessed it,” he exclaimed as he read the messages faithfully recorded by the sailormen in the wireless room. Over a week dragged slowly by, and the anxious wait told on the midshipmen.
The Chinese admiral came on board the yacht daily, and the more the lads came to know him the more they respected and liked him. He was the type of the Oriental that was fast being born out of that kingdom of antiquity, unfettered by the prejudices of conservatism. A new and enlightened China had been his purpose.
“Here’s what we’ve been waiting for,” O’Neil called out at last from the wireless room, his voice joyful and triumphant, while Phil met the boatswain’s mate in the salon waving a paper on which had been roughly penciled a message just intercepted.
“Manila was sending it to our admiral; he is somewhere in the southern islands of the Philippines,” the sailor exclaimed, handing Phil the paper. “He’s looking for us, I guess,” he added with a grin.