“Is there any doubt of the existence of this channel?” Sydney questioned Emmons, a sudden fear of treachery coming into his mind, for if it were not there the gunboats endeavoring to find its entrance would ground upon the shifting shoals of the river and when day dawned be under fire at close range of the enemy’s guns. “I have navigated my launches on the river for six years,” Emmons replied, “and never until the Tartar general gave me this chart did I suspect that the channel existed. There is a legend among the Chinese sailors that it was used by war junks a half century ago in escaping from British men-of-war.” After arriving at the anchorage of the monitors, for the “Monadnock” now lay near her consort, Phil directed the launch be steered alongside the farthest gunboat. Refugees, men, women and children, carrying in their hands but the necessary clothes for one night, quickly embarked and were carried expeditiously to the monitors, where Phil gave Commander Hughes’ verbal instructions and the written orders. This duty completed, the launch once more drew up alongside of the “Phœnix’s” gangway ladder. “Mr. Perry!” called a voice from the bridge, which Phil recognized as that of his captain. “Remain in the launch and start ahead of us. If you find less water than our draft, signal us at once.” Phil acknowledged the order and gave the word to proceed. He had taken the precaution to make a rough sketch of the chart; now laying the sheet of paper on the deck house under the ray of a bull’s-eye lantern he judged the course to steer. O’Neil swung the launch’s bow in the compass direction, while the Chinese leadsman stood ready to test the depth of water with his bamboo pole. Silently they sped onward; the low island across the river slowly took shape and the lad directed the boatswain’s mate to steer for the end of the black line barely discernible above the water. “We are now within the arc of fire of the forts,” Phil whispered to Sydney; “from here to the island the gunboats will be unprotected if discovered by the sentries at the guns. However, it’s long range, and fortunately the night is dark.” Silently and regularly the leadsman thrust downward his pole until twelve feet, three feet greater than the maximum draft of the gunboats, was buried beneath the surface. All on board the launch were silently anxious. The deep channel of the river had been left behind and, under the train of the fort guns, they were traveling over water that on the charts issued by the home government showed barely enough water to float a row-boat, and yet the leadsman untiringly plunged his bamboo to a distance of twelve feet without touching the sandy bottom. Hope rose in Phil’s heart. “Emmons’ chart is true!” Sydney exclaimed in a low, joyful voice. “See, we’re nearly abreast of the point. In a few minutes more the island will be between us and the guns.”