Excerpt: "The United States gunboat “Phœnix” lay at anchor in the swift current of the Yangtse River opposite the Chinese city of Ku-Ling. The surface of the water seemed tranquil, but a closer look over the side of the ship showed to the observer the strength of the muddy flood that swept for thousands of miles through the length of the Chinese Empire, from the far-away snows of the mountains of Tibet onward to the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Two young midshipmen were standing at the gunboat’s rail in eager conversation. Their eyes were intent upon the scenes on the shore scarce a hundred yards away. “Oh, there’s Langdon!” exclaimed Philip Perry, the taller of the two lads, as the form of the government pilot, Joseph Langdon, was seen coming from the ward-room companion ladder. “Langdon, have you ever seen this much talked about Chang-Li-Hun?” “Seen him?” Langdon echoed, approaching the speaker. “I’ve talked with him many a time, and you can take my word for it, there isn’t a man in all China whom I wouldn’t sooner have for my enemy. He’s a past craftsman in oriental subtlety and diplomacy. He rules his own people with a rod of iron, and if an official displeases him, off goes his head in the most approved Chinese fashion.” Both midshipmen suppressed an unconscious shiver as the American pilot of the Yangtse River illustrated the death of the disgraced official by chopping at his own thick neck with a great sun-tanned, muscular hand. “Everything looks peaceful enough ashore there now, doesn’t it?” Sydney Monroe, Phil’s friend and classmate, said in a tone of inquiry. “It doesn’t seem as if the foreigners were much in fear of the dangers of Chinese violence. Look!” he exclaimed; “there are European women and even children walking along the streets.” “That’s the danger in China,” Langdon returned in a troubled voice. “Living in this country is like being on top of a presumably extinct volcano. No one knows when it will break out. Sometimes it comes without the usual rumblings.”"
