While the midshipmen were absorbed in their conversation with the half-breed, the launch, under the skilful guidance of the pilot, steamed rapidly down the swift current of the river. The junks moored at the docks flashed by unheeded. The high frowning cliffs, on top of which were the gun emplacements, appeared dimly from the darkness ahead. Then the launch’s bow was turned sharply to port, steering across the river, to put as great a distance as possible between it and the menacing batteries. The midshipmen and Emmons had now joined Langdon at his post at the wheel. “To-night Hang-Ki has relieved many of the lookouts in the forts,” Emmons whispered, “and if we can keep close under the shadow of the island we may pass undiscovered.” Phil was in a fever of anxiety. He glanced fearfully at the frowning forts, looming oppressively close in the darkness to starboard. The island on the other side of which was the secret channel slowly took shape, and as the launch approached became ever more distinct. Now he imagined he could see the tops of the high reeds, tall enough to conceal the hull of a gunboat, waving menacingly in the fitful breeze, and in the stillness, broken only by the muffled chug of the gas engine, he could now hear the dry rustle telling him only too plainly that this rank vegetation was ripe for Ta-Ling’s torch. The night was dark and cloudy, and the deeper gloom of the island toward which Langdon was steering would make it almost impossible to locate the small launch. Even under the trying circumstances, expecting momentarily to hear the loud discharge of hostile cannon, Phil’s mind dwelt anxiously on the possibilities before the coming day. Fully realizing that the lives of those in the mission depended upon the ability of the allies to pass the forts before morning, would they find the fleet prepared to start immediately? Without mishaps two hours must elapse before the launch could reach Lien-Chow, and then scarcely five hours of the night would remain. With all lights save that at the compass carefully screened, the launch sped quietly onward. The forts had faded slowly into the darkness as the island shore had been approached. Langdon spun his wheel from side to side seeking the deepest channel, while a Chinaman with a long bamboo pole measured the depth of the water continuously, calling out in a sing-song whisper his soundings. “Go on this side of the island,” Phil ordered, hastily measuring with his eye the distance by the chart. “Time’s precious. We must run the risk.” “Aye, aye,” the pilot answered quickly, bringing the bow of the launch smartly about to parallel the island shore. “They can’t hit us anyway,” he added contemptuously. Minute after minute dragged by. The Americans were on the point of congratulating themselves upon having passed the forts in safety, when a flash of flame sprang from the darkness of the hill forts and the screech of a shell sounded menacingly in their ears.