After the Americans had departed, leaving Ta-Ling tightly bound and gagged on the cell floor, the Chinaman remained quietly bemoaning his cruel destiny. He knew from the silence throughout the yamen that it would be futile for him to waste his strength in useless struggling at the bonds that bound him. His Oriental mind counseled self-destruction. There was no alternative to wipe out the dishonor of being defeated and humiliated by his despised enemies. The loss of his sacred cue was a bitter misfortune. How could he appear before his brother mandarins with this necessary appendage missing? The more he revolved the situation over in his mind, the calmer he became. His Western teaching, with its more worldly and less devious ways of thought, came to his aid, driving away all ideas of self-destruction, and he resolved that he would fight according to the methods taught by his new learning so long as life remained him. It seemed to the helpless man that many hours must have passed while he remained motionless on the damp earth. He had during this time thought over and over again of all that had been said by the Americans. While he lay to all appearances insensible, he had heard the wording of the cipher message to the American commander. He had been upon the point of sending the cablegrams to the American ship, but now they were in the hands of the midshipmen and he had heard them say that they would not give them to their captain. So much of the plan of his ally, Commander Ignacio, was a failure. The missing chart which he felt sure had been taken by Emmons caused him the greatest anxiety. He had intended to block this channel with sunken stone-laden junks, but with the usual roundabout methods of the Chinese he had found the mandarin in charge of such work could not load the junks for some days, so he had passed it by, believing that the presence of such a channel would remain a secret. Hang-Ki, the Tartar general, could be the only one of those in the secrets of the yamen who would dare thwart him. Ta-Ling’s veins swelled with suppressed anger as he blamed his ill-luck for not having succeeded in his attempt on the general’s life. This man he felt sure was also in the daring plot which had liberated the Americans and placed him, second only in power to the viceroy, in chains, helpless, while his carefully-laid scheme of forever ridding China of the foreign leeches was falling like a house of cards about his head. While his mind grappled with the intricate intrigues, there came a dull boom of heavy cannon, shaking violently the yamen. Again and again the earth was shaken and the deep tones of discharges of great guns reverberated through the vast building. What did it mean? Had the Americans then succeeded in escaping and were the fort guns firing upon them? How could they escape by water when every launch had been wrecked by his trusted soldiers?