O’Neil was summoned and told to make up a party of five good men to accompany them and then the midshipmen sat down to dinner; but neither had an appetite for food.
Phil told Sydney of the outcome of his visit to the general and the latter was cast down with gloom.
“I shan’t stay without you,” he asserted. “Can’t something be done? Is there no way to make this man Tillotson back down?”
Phil shook his head. “I shan’t try. I’ll just take my medicine. It’s bitter, but every one who was there knows that he was in the wrong.”
Nine o’clock saw the small party at the northeast corner of the Plaza. The city seemed deserted. There was no one on the streets. Suddenly the clanking of a sword was heard and the sailors slunk quietly out of sight into the shadow of a near-by doorway.
“It’s Lieutenant Tillotson,” Phil whispered, “inspecting sentries; he’s officer of the guard to-night.”
After the officer had passed, the party waited anxiously for several minutes and then a native appeared walking slowly toward them from a cross street. He stopped fifty yards away and beckoned; then turned quickly and walked away.
Phil and Sydney leading, they followed the vanishing figure ahead of them. He guided them through street after street, leading farther and farther away from the occupied part of the city. Suddenly the native stopped, beckoned with his hand, and entered a doorway of a pretentious Filipino dwelling.
“Your men must wait here, señor; it is the señorita’s order,” the native told the lads. “The officers are to come with me.” He raised his finger to his lips to caution silence. “If we are discovered it will mean death, señor.”
“What’s the game, sir?” O’Neil asked eagerly, not having heard the whispered words of the native.