The Filipino girl’s face blanched, while the boy ran cowering to his sister’s side. The danger to them seemed almost supernatural. The girl’s lips moved, and Phil saw that she was praying. For a moment a fear seized him. The thought of their danger was certainly unnerving. A single shell exploding near them would send them all to eternity. The fish weirs were now abreast the ship and the “Negros’” bow was being guided into the narrow, tortuous channel of the delta. The Filipino pilot on the bridge spun his steering wheel from side to side, following the twisting channel. The quadrant with its rusty chain, connecting the wheel and the rudder, clanked loudly at Phil’s feet. Now was the time to put his daring plan in operation. He saw that the four guards had taken refuge behind the boats, from which they peered out with frightened eyes at the oncoming cruiser, dodging out of sight at each screech of a shell. They had apparently forgotten the prisoners whom they were guarding, for their rifles and belts were resting on the hatch several yards away. “When I give the word, you jump for those rifles and belts,” Phil said in a low, intense voice, glancing covertly at the terrified girl at his side. “I am going to jam the steering quadrant. When you get the guns,” he continued, “take cover behind the boats. It may cost us our lives, but anything is better than imprisonment among these people.” O’Neil and Sydney breathed a gasping assent to the bold plan. Phil watched carefully the quadrant; he saw it move slowly over until it was hard astarboard. He reached down, grasping the boy’s block of wood under his foot, then slid it slowly, amid the terrific noise of a passing shell, toward the quadrant. He knew the wedge would hold the rudder over and the “Negros,” unable to steer, would ground on the edge of the channel, thus leaving her helpless to be captured by the cruiser. He opened his mouth to give the signal for his companions to act, when a shrill warning cry sounded in his ears and he was roughly drawn back into his chair and the wedge dropped from his hands a foot from its goal. CHAPTER III A LEAK OF MILITARY INFORMATION Brigadier-General Wilson sat at his desk in the headquarters building at Palilo. In the spacious corridors outside orderlies hurried to and fro, carrying messages from the several officers of the staff whose offices joined that of the general. Before him was a chart of his military district, and while he pondered he juggled a score or more of different colored pins with little tags attached to them. Those pins with blue heads represented soldiers of his command in the field against the enemy while the ones with the green heads were the ladrones or insurrectos, whom he had been fighting without success for nearly six months.