“Light the side lights,” he cried to Emmons, at his side, spellbound and silent. “We can’t take the risk of having her shoot at us. She might hit us.” Emmons obeyed the order by giving a few harsh commands to his reassured Chinese boatmen and soon the red and green lights were burning on the launch’s sides. The forts were now silent, their target having dissolved into the night, but Langdon had taken her bearing and the launch’s bow was held in the direction which he knew would bring them close to the monitor. After many long minutes of anxious search a dark smudge appeared almost directly in the path of the launch. Then suddenly a flash sprang from the dark smudge, and a shell shrieked across the bow of the approaching boat. “Stop her!” Phil cried in alarm, while he ran quickly forward. Standing at the bow of the launch, he cleared his voice and raised his hands to his mouth, ready to answer the hail from the war-ship. “Boat ahoy!” came distinctly across the water. “Stop where you are, or we’ll sink you.” “Aye, aye, sir,” Phil hailed back. “We’re friends--American naval officers.” “All right, don’t come any closer and we’ll send a boat,” came the answer in clear, decided tones. Those on the launch noted the creak of blocks as a boat shot down from its davits into the water, and a few minutes afterward they heard the regular dip of the oars and their rhythmical thud in their sockets. Then a long, slim whale-boat, propelled by six stalwart sailors, shot out of the gloom and came quietly alongside the motionless launch. An officer scrambled nimbly on board. “What’s the meaning of this?” he exclaimed in astonishment. For in the ray of the solitary lantern held in the hands of a Chinese boatman, he saw that he was in the presence of Chinamen. He stopped precipitously, sliding his hand cautiously to his revolver holster while he eyed suspiciously the men before him. Phil was about to answer the officer’s question, never realizing the cause of the speaker’s abrupt silence, when his eye caught sight of a familiar face peering in over the launch’s rail. Forgetful of all else, the lad hastened excitedly forward. Reaching down he grasped the owner of the face in a strong grip. “O’Neil!” he exclaimed delightedly. “Well, if this isn’t luck!” While Sydney in his turn shook hands warmly with their old friend the boatswain’s mate, who had served with them through many a difficult position during a South American revolution, when they were together on the battle-ship “Connecticut,” Phil explained the situation to the mystified officer. The lad for the moment had not fully appreciated the dumbfounded astonishment of the naval man, Lieutenant Washburn of the “Monterey,” upon finding himself among Chinamen, after he had heard the answer from the “Monterey’s” hail that American naval officers were on board the launch.