The cell was now entirely dark, save for a swinging light which streamed through the barred doors. The midshipmen scarcely closed their eyes during the long hours of the night, and when the first streaks of day shone into their foul cell, they were sitting open-eyed on their bench. A jailer brought a basin of water to the door of the cell and then entering, took off their irons and led them out into the courtyard. The lads’ hopes rose, but they soon saw that it was to be only a preparation for more imprisonment. A bowl of rice apiece was given them, which was quickly eaten, and then each received a steaming cup of tea. This reassuring meal put new life into the lads and they felt more cheerful than at any time since their imprisonment. “What’s he doing?” Sydney cried out in alarm, as the jailer began to rub his neck with a damp rag, while another rubbed his wrists and ankles. Phil was afterward given the same treatment, and then the hateful irons were again put on, but in addition there were put about their necks the dreaded rings, with the dangling brass tags that jingled ominously. The midshipmen were stunned. Like the others of their cell-mates they were now wearing the badge of death. They also had been condemned by the viceroy and would be held in this loathsome prison until their numbers were called by the “Board of Punishments,” the Chinese high court of justice. Once more in their cell the lads sat dejectedly on their bench. They had small desire for conversation; each felt his doom pressing upon him, and strange to say with this weight of trouble their thoughts turned to Langdon. “If we are to be executed,” Phil said sorrowfully, “poor Langdon must have already met his death.” Sydney had not the heart to reply. He nodded his head sorrowfully. Then a thought struck him, and he raised hopeful eyes to his companion’s face. “He must be near us, Phil,” he exclaimed. “Can’t we find some means of communicating? If we could only talk their language we might ask our jailer; he appears friendly and probably knows.” Phil was silent for a few moments, then he suddenly began to whistle loudly the stirring music of their class song. The tune brought tears to Sydney’s eyes. It took him back to the day the brigade of midshipmen marched by the reviewing stand for the last time with his class as seniors. Two hours afterward, with his diploma in his hand, he had shaken hands as a graduate with the secretary of the navy. What a terrible contrast! Then a sudden fear took possession of him. Had Phil lost his mind? Was the knowledge of their terrible end too much for his nerves and had his strong mind succumbed? While these disquieting thoughts were coursing through his brain, Phil ceased whistling and listened eagerly. From a distance a high-pitched treble of a whistle came indistinctly to their ears amid the noises of their cell.