Cover art
Herr Schwab under Fire
Brown of Moukden
A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
BY
HERBERT STRANG
AUTHOR OF "KOBO: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR"
"TOM BURNABY" "BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE" ETC.
Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1906
"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
—Tennyson's Ulysses.
My dear Raymond,
Last year I wove a romance about the early incidents of the great war now happily at an end; this year I have chosen its later incidents as the background for my hero's adventures. But while in "Kobo" the struggle was viewed from the Japanese stand-point, in "Brown of Moukden" (which is in no sense a sequel) you will find yourself among the Russians, looking at the other side of the shield. It is not the romancer's business to be a partisan; and we British people were at first, perhaps, a little blind to the fact that the bravery, the endurance, the heroism, have not been all on the one side.
As a boy preparing for the Navy, you would have liked, I dare say, to see Jack Brown in the thick of the great naval battle at Tsushima. But I had three reasons for giving no space to that famous victory. First, Jack could not possibly have seen it. Secondly, sea-fights had a very good turn in "Kobo". Thirdly, I hope some day to give you sea-dogs a whole book to yourselves—but that, as Mr. Kipling somewhere says, will be another story. Meanwhile, if you get half as much fun in reading this book as I have had in writing it, I shall count myself very lucky indeed.
Yours sincerely,
HERBERT STRANG.
September, 1905.
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
[CAPTAIN KARGOPOL FINDS THE CHUNCHUSES]
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
[LIEUTENANT POTUGIN IN PURSUIT]
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
List of Illustrations
Plate I
[HERR SCHWAB UNDER FIRE] . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
Plate II
Plate III
Plate IV
Plate V
Plate VI
Maps and Plans
[Manchuria and part of Siberia]
[The Siberian Railway from Mao-shan to Han-ta-ho-tzü]
CHAPTER I
Ivan Ivanovitch Brown
Scenes in Moukden—Beyond the Walls—Lieutenant Borisoff—The Cangue—Anton Sowinski—Criminal Procedure—Mr. Brown Senior—Schlagintwert's Representative—The Automatic Principle
The midsummer sun had spent its force, and as it reddened towards its setting Moukden began to breathe again. The gildings on palace, temple, and pagoda shone with a ruddy glow, but the eye was no longer dazzled; garish in full sunlight, the city was now merely brilliant, the reds and greens, blues and yellows, of its house-fronts toned to a rich and charming beauty. The shops—almost every house is a shop—were open, displaying here poultry, dried fish, and articles of common use; there piles of Oriental merchandise: silks and embroideries, parasols and screens, ornaments of silver and copper, priceless porcelain and lacquered ware. Monsters with vermilioned faces grinned from the poles—hung with branches and surmounted by peacocks with spread tail—that bore the signs and legends of the merchants and shopkeepers before whose doors they were erected: all different, yet all alike in gorgeousness of colouring and fantasy of design.
Two main thoroughfares traverse Moukden at right angles. Along these flowed in each direction a full tide of people, gathering up cross currents at every side street and alley. It was a picturesque throng, the light costumes showing in brilliant relief against the darker colours of the houses and the brown dust of the roadway. There were folk of many nations: Manchus, Mongols, Tartars, Greeks and Montenegrins, soldiers Chinese and Russian, here and there a European war-correspondent escaping from the boredom of his inn. Pedestrians and horsemen jostled vehicles of all descriptions. Workmen staggered along under enormous loads; labourers of both sexes trudged homewards from the fields, their implements on their shoulders. A drove of fat pigs in charge of a blue-coated swineherd scampered and squealed beneath the wheels of a Russian transport wagon. Here was a rickshaw drawn with shrill cries by its human steeds; there a rough springless two-wheeled mule-cart, painted in yellow ochre, hauled by three mules tandem, and jolting over the ruts with its load of passengers, some on the backs of the mules, some on the shafts, some packed beneath the low tilt of blue cotton. Not far behind, a trolley, pushed by perspiring coolies and carrying seven men standing in unstable equilibrium, had halted to make way for a magnificent blue sedan chair, wadded with fur and silk, borne by four stalwart servants. Through the trellised window of the chair the curious might catch a glimpse of a bespectacled mandarin, his mushroom hat decked with the button indicative of his rank. With shouts and blows a detachment of Chinese soldiers, red-jacketed infantry, carrying halberts, javelins, and sickles swathed to poles, forced a passage for his excellency through the crowd.
The heavy air quivered with noise: the mingled cries of street merchants and children, the clatter of hoofs, the din of gongs at the doors of the theatres, weird strains of song accompanied by the twanging of inharmonious guitars, and, dominating all, the insistent strident squeak of a huge wheelbarrow, trundled by a grave old Chinaman, unconscious of the pain his greaseless wheels inflicted on untutored sensibilities. A Russian lady passing in a droshky grimaced and put her fingers to her ears, and a wayfarer near her smiled and addressed a word to the torturer, who looked at him aslant out of his little eyes and went on his way placid and unabashed.
The pedestrian who had spoken was one by himself in all that vast throng. That he was European was shown by his garments; a western observer, however little travelled, would have known him at a glance as an English lad. His garb was light, fitting a slim, tall figure; a broad-brimmed cotton hat was slanted over his nose to keep the glowing rays from his eyes; he walked with the springy tread and free swinging gait never acquired by an Oriental. He wormed his way through the jostling crowd, passed through the bastioned gate of the lofty inner ramparts, crossed the suburbs, where the gardens were in gorgeous bloom, and, leaving the external wall of mud behind him, came into the brown, rough, dusty road, lined on both sides with booths, leading to the railway-station. Rich fields of maize and beans and millet covered the vast plain beyond, and upon the sky-line lay a range of wooded hills.
By and by the walker came to the new street that had sprung up beside the railway-station since the Russian occupation: a settlement tenanted by traders—Greek, Caucasian, and Hebrew—dealing in every product of the two civilizations, eastern and western, here so incongruously in contact. Nothing that could be sold or bartered came amiss to these polyglot traders; they kept everything from champagne to saké (the rice beer of Japan), from boots to smoked fish. Hurrying through this oven of odours, he passed the line of ugly brick cottages run up for the Russian officials, and arrived at the station. It was quiet at the moment; there was a pause in the stream of traffic which had for some time been steadily flowing southward. Save for the railway servants, the riflemen who guard the line, and a few officers desperately bored in their effort to kill time, the platform was deserted. The Russian lieutenant on duty accosted the new-comer.
"Well, Ivan Ivanovitch, what can we do for you to-day?"
"The same old thing," replied the lad slowly in Russian. "Can you send a wire to Vladivostok for my father?"
"Very sorry; it is impossible to-day as it was yesterday. None but military messages are going through."
"Well, I just came up on the chance."
"When are you leaving? We shall miss you."
"Thanks! In a few days, I hope. Father has just about settled up everything. In fact, that consignment of flour is the only thing left to trouble about now. I hope it will get through safely, but the Japanese appear to be scouting the seas pretty thoroughly. As soon as we hear from our agent at Vladivostok we shall be off."
"Come and have a glass of tea in the buffet. It may be the last time."
Jack Brown—known to his Russian friends as Ivan Ivanovitch, "John the son of John"—accepted the invitation. After a chat and a glass of tea from the large steaming samovar, always a conspicuous object in a Russian buffet, he left the station as the dusk was falling and a haze spread over the ground, covering up the many unlovely evidences of the Russian occupation. For variety's sake he changed his course and took a path to the left that skirted the native graveyard, intending to enter the city by one of the northern gates. A line of heavy native carts, with their long teams of mules and ponies, was slowly wending northwards; women, their hair decorated with flowers, were taking their children for an airing before the sun set and the gates were closed; a beggar stood by the roadside cleverly imitating a bird's cry by blowing through a curled-up leaf. Jack came to the great mandarin road and turned towards the city; such evening scenes were now a matter of course to him. But he was still at some distance from the outer wall when he came upon a sight which, common as it was in Moukden, he never beheld without pity and indignation. A big muscular Chinaman of some thirty to forty years was seated on the ground, his neck locked in the square wooden collar known as the cangue, an oriental variant of the old English pillory. So devised that the head and the upper part of the body are held rigid, the cangue as an instrument of punishment is worthy of Chinese ingenuity. The victim, as Jack knew, must have sat throughout the long sweltering day tortured by innumerable insects which his fixed hands were powerless to beat off. At nightfall a constable would come and release him, conveying him to the gaol attached to a yamen within the city, where he would be locked up until the morning. Then the cangue would be replaced and the criminal taken back to the same spot on the wayside.
Jack hurried his step as he approached, eager to leave the unpleasant sight behind him. But on drawing nearer he was surprised to find that he knew the man,—surprised, because he was one of the last who could have been expected to fall into such a plight. The recognition was mutual; and as Jack came up, the parched lips of the victim uttered a woeful exclamation of greeting.
"How came you here, Mr. Wang?" asked Jack in Chinese.
The crime was indicated on the upper board of the cangue, but Jack, though he had more than a smattering of colloquial Chinese, knew almost nothing of the written language. The poor wretch could hardly articulate; but with difficulty he at length managed, in the short high-pitched monosyllables of his native tongue, to explain. He had been accused of fraud; the charge was totally without foundation; but at the trial before the magistrates witness after witness had appeared against him: it is easy to suborn evidence in a Chinese court: and he had been condemned to the cangue, a first step in the system of torture by which a prisoner, innocent or guilty, is forced to confess.
To one who knew the Chinese as Jack did, there was nothing surprising in this explanation, except the fact that Wang Shih was the victim. He was a respectable man, the son of an old farmer some fifteen miles east of Moukden, and practically the owner of the farm, his father being past work. Hard-working and honest, he was the last man to be suspected of trickery or base dealing. Mr. Brown had done much business with him, and only recently had had a proof of his good faith. The Chinaman had contracted to supply him with a large quantity of fodder. A few days before the date of delivery he had been visited by a business rival of Mr. Brown's, a Pole, who had come to Moukden some four or five years before, and from small beginnings had worked up a considerable business. Almost from the first he had come into competition with Mr. Brown. The methods of the two men were diametrically opposed,—the Pole relying on bribery, the corruption of the official class with which he had to deal; the Englishman sternly resolute to lend himself to no transaction in Manchuria of which he would be ashamed at home. Anton Sowinski, as the Pole was called, offered Wang Shih the strongest inducements to break his contract with Mr. Brown; but finding his native honesty proof against temptation, he had lost his temper, abused him, and finally struck him with his whip. The Chinaman was a peaceable fellow; but beneath his stolidity slumbered the fierce temper of his race. Under the Pole's provocation and assault his self-restraint gave way. He seized Sowinski with the grip of a giant, rapped his head soundly against the fence, and then threw him bodily into the road. The contract with Mr. Brown had been duly fulfilled; and it was, to say the least, unlikely that a man who had thus kept faith to his own disadvantage should have descended to vulgar fraud.
"Who was your accuser?" asked Jack.
"Loo Sen."
"He's a neighbour of yours, isn't he?"
"Yes, and has long borne us ill-will. But it was not he really. As I left the yamen where I was tried, a friend whispered me that Loo Sen was in the pay of Sowinski."
"Ah! that throws a light on it. Sowinski is having his revenge. It is a bad business, Mr. Wang."
Jack knew the ways of Moukden magistrates too well to hope that the conviction and sentence could be quashed. On the contrary, if the cangue proved ineffectual in extorting a confession, there were various grades of torture that could be applied in turn. But prisoners often escaped; their friends, it is true, afterwards suffered. Wang Shih was so big and strong that he might easily have overpowered his gaoler some night when the cangue was removed; it was, perhaps, only consideration for his family that had restrained him. Jack questioned him on this point.
"Yes. That is the reason. The constable—wah! I could kill him easily; but what then? I could not remain in Moukden; I am too well known. And my father would not be safe. They would behead him, and rob my family of all they possess."
"Yes, I understand. I wish I could do something for you; but I see no way. My father might have done something at one time—possibly through the Russians, although they are unwilling to mix themselves up in Chinese quarrels; but in any case his influence is gone since the war began."
"You can do one thing for me, sir, if you will; that is, send a message to my father. Tell him to gather all his things together and leave the district. I will never confess to a crime which I did not commit, and there will be time for him, before I am beheaded, to get away."
"I will do that. I would do anything I could to help you, but——"
"Here comes the constable, sir."
Jack looked along the road and saw, slouching up, a typical specimen of the Chinese constable. In China the constable is universally and deservedly detested. Sheltered by the mandarins of the yamen, he preys upon the rich and oppresses the poor. The prisoner in his keeping is starved, beaten, tortured until he yields his last copper cash; if he escapes, the constable pounces upon his unhappy relatives, and their fate is the same. This man scowled fiercely upon Jack, and the latter, seeing that no good could come of remaining longer, spoke a final word of sympathy to Wang Shih, and went on amid the thinning stream of people to the city.
"Well, Jack," said his father, as the lad entered the neat one-story house which served both as dwelling and office; "any news?"
"None, Father. The wires are still monopolized."
"That's a nuisance. You'll have to pack off to Vladivostok yourself, I'm afraid. Ten chances to one, Captain Fraser will not get through safely; still, one can never tell. I heard a rumour to-day that the Russian fleet has made a raid from Vladivostok; and if it keeps the Japanese employed, Fraser may make a safe run. You've been a long time."
"Yes. I had a chat with Lieutenant Borisoff; but I was detained on the way back. What do you think? Sowinski has got Loo Sen to bring a charge against Wang Shih, and the poor fellow is in the cangue."
"Whew! That's bad. It means decapitation in the end."
"I suppose you can do nothing for him?"
"Nothing, I fear. I'm sorry for the poor chap, especially as I'm afraid it's partly through his holding to his bargain with me. But I've no influence now, and even if I had, it would be useless to interfere in a purely Chinese matter. We could never prove that Sowinski had a hand in it."
Mr. Brown reflected for some moments, Jack studying his features.
"No," he said at last, "there's absolutely nothing we can do. This only proves that I am right in winding things up and cutting sticks. That fellow Sowinski is a blackguard; if I stayed here he'd find some means of doing me an injury next."
"But, Father, the Chinese are good friends of ours, and you've never been on bad terms with the Russians."
"Not till lately, it is true. But this war has brought a new set of men here, and you know perfectly well that I've offended some of them; General Bekovitch, for one, has a grudge against me. They don't understand a man who won't bribe or be bribed; I really think they believe there must be something fishy about him! However, we'll be off as soon as you get back from Vladivostok, and leave the field to Sowinski. I wish the Russians joy of him."
"When shall I go to Vladivostok?"
"The day after to-morrow; that gives Orloff another chance. And I've several little things still to settle up. By the way, here's a queer letter I got just now; it was brought by a Chinese runner from Newchang."
He handed the letter to Jack, who read:
"Respected Sir,—The undersigned does himself the honour to introduce himself to your esteemed notice, as per instructions received per American Cable Company from my principals, Messrs. Schlagintwert Co. of Düsseldorf, namely, 'Apply assistance Brown of Moukden'. I presume from aforesaid cable my Co. may already have had relations with your esteemed Firma. My arrival in Moukden may be expected within a few days of receipt. Believe me, with high esteem and compliments,
"Your obedient servant,
"HlLDEBRAND SCHWAB.
"Postscriptum.—Also representative of the Illustrirte Vaterland u. Colonien."
"Tear it up, Jack. No doubt we shall be away when he comes."
"Who are Schlagintwert, Father?"
"You remember those automatic couplings we tried on the Harbin section three or four years ago——"
"The ones that took two men to fasten and four to release?" said Jack, laughing.
"Exactly. Well, they were Schlagintwert's."
At this moment the clang of a gong, followed by the thud of a drum, sounded through the streets.
"They're closing the gates," said Jack. "I think I'll go to bed, Father; I'm pretty tired."
"Good-night, then! I shan't be long after you. I've a little more writing to do. Send Hi Lo in with some lemonade."
CHAPTER II
Mr. Wang and a Constable
The Flowing Tide—Backsheesh—At the Window—Hu Hang—Quis Custodiet?—Mr. Wang's Grip
Mr. Brown, like many another active and enterprising Englishman, had left home as a young man and done business in many parts of the globe. He was a struggling merchant in Shanghai when Jack, his elder son, was born. Nine years later he seized a promising opening in Vladivostok, and removed thither with his family, now increased by another boy and a girl. When Jack was eleven he was sent to school in England, being shortly afterwards followed home by his mother, sister, and brother. Then, at the age of fifteen, he was recalled by his father, who wished for his assistance in a new business he was starting in Moukden. Jack was nothing loth; he had a great admiration for his father, and an adventurous spirit of his own. He had done fairly well at school; never a "swot", still less a "smug", he had carried off a prize or two for modern languages, and counted a prize bat and a silver cup among his trophies. Everybody liked him; he always "played the game".
Mr. Brown had at first prospered exceedingly in Moukden. His business had been originally that of a produce broker; but when the Russians extended their railway and began to develop Port Arthur, he added branch after branch, and soon had many irons in the fire. He supplied the Russian authorities with innumerable things, from corn to building stones; he had large contracts with them in connection with their great engineering feat, the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway, and in this part of his business Jack had taken a special interest, picking up thus a considerable knowledge of railway plant, locomotives, and other details. Being a man of absolute integrity, respected and trusted by the natives, Mr. Brown before long won the confidence of the officials with whom he came in contact. But he was a shrewd student of affairs as well as a man of business. He had foreseen the outbreak of war, and viewed with amazement the careless assurance of the Russian attitude towards the "yellow monkeys", deemed so insignificant. Making many friends among the Russians, he saw much to admire in them: their kindliness and abounding hospitality, their perseverance in face of obstacles, their vital faith in their country's destiny. With the Japanese his personal relations had not been so intimate; but he had watched their progress from afar with the keenness of a clear-eyed observer, and he knew that when the trial came, the Russians would find the little men of Nippon no mean foes.
Events proved the accuracy of his forecast. The Russian fleet was bottled up, the Yalu crossed, Port Arthur was already beleaguered, and Stackelberg's attempt to relieve it had failed. Mr. Brown talked with some of the wounded who had been sent back from the Yalu to Moukden, and were now in hospital in a Buddhist monastery near the outer wall. They were not downcast: they spoke of being outnumbered and unprepared; when General Kuropatkin's army was complete the tide would turn, and then—— But he got them to talk of their actual experiences in battle. Some of them had been within arm's-length of their enemies in a bayonet charge; and what he learnt of the eager joy, the buoyant audacity, displayed by the Japanese, strengthened his belief that, given equal generalship, equal numbers, equal equipment, such a spirit could scarcely be matched, and was bound to lead them to victory.
Prudent but not alarmist, Mr. Brown considered how the war would affect him. The Japanese were pressing northward; should Port Arthur fall, the besieging army would be able to strengthen Marshal Oyama's forces in the field. If the Russians were compelled to withdraw from Manchuria, Mr. Brown could hardly hope to save his business, and it behoved him to set his house in order. Another consideration weighed with him. The development of the railway and the imminence of war had brought new men on the scene. The Russian officers whom he knew so well were withdrawn, and replaced by men of another stamp—men who were not all so clean-handed as their predecessors. He soon became aware that he was expected to grease their palms, and his uncompromising resistance to corruption in every shape and form made him disliked. Several contracts were given over his head; he found that in many cases the new-comer, Sowinski, of whose antecedents nothing was known, was favoured at his expense; and it was clear that these circumstances, together with the general Russian distrust of England and all things English, boded ill for his business. He was turned fifty years of age, and had amassed a comfortable fortune. It appeared the part of discretion to wind up his affairs before it was too late, and return to England, where a man of his wealth and energy might find occupation for his maturer years. When he had once made up his mind, Mr. Brown wasted no time. He proceeded to put his design into effect, and now expected in a few days to leave Moukden for home.
It was past midnight before he had finished sorting his papers. That done, he smoked a final cigarette at the door, then shot the bolt, turned out the lamp, and went to bed in the room next to Jack's.
Jack had found it somewhat difficult to get to sleep. He could not put Wang Shih's plight from his thoughts. He had seen something of Chinese methods; there came before his mind the vision of a poor wretch he had once met on his way to execution, emaciated to a skeleton, one of his legs blackened and withered, almost fleshless, and wanting its foot, which had dropped off as the result of his being chained by the ankle to a ring in his prison wall. Such evidence of inhumanity was horrible; it made him shudder to think of Wang Shih, so good a fellow, so fine a specimen of manhood, suffering and dying thus. And he admired the Chinaman's fortitude, his loyalty to his family, his refusal to avail himself of means of escape lest his people should suffer. Could not something even yet be done for him? Jack did not wish to complicate matters; but, after all, they were on the eve of departure, and he knew his father well enough to be sure that he would not refuse to lend a helping hand if required. But puzzle as he might, he could see no way of saving both Wang Shih and his family, and the problem was still unsolved when he at length fell into a troubled sleep.
Suddenly he awoke. The night was very close, and at the first moment he thought his waking was due to the heat. But then he heard a slight scratching at his left. He raised himself on his elbow to listen; he had never seen or heard mice in the house. The scratching continued; it was very close at hand. Surely at that time of night it could not be anyone scratching at the paper window? He got out of bed; it was too dark to see anything; he put his ear against the thin paper. The noise was certainly caused by the moving of a finger-nail.
"Who is there?" he asked softly in Chinese.
"Wang Shih, sir."
"Mr. Wang! You've escaped, then. All right! I'll come to the door."
On the way he went into his father's room, and touched him on the elbow.
"Hey! Who's that? What's the matter, Jack?"
"Wang Shih is outside, Father."
"By Jove! What does he want?"
"I don't know. He has evidently escaped."
"Send him about his business. I can't be mixed up in this sort of thing."
"You might see him, Father. He wouldn't have come unless he saw some way of getting off without harming anyone."
"Well, well! Light the lamp, and let him in. I'll slip on my dressing-gown and follow you."
Jack went to the door, opened it, and was confronted, not by one big form, as he expected, but by two.
"Who is with you, Mr. Wang?"
"Mr. Hu."
"Who is Mr. Hu? Come inside both of you, and let me lock the door."
The two Chinamen entered, blinking in the light of the little oil lamp Jack had lit.
"Now, Mr. Wang, explain. Who is Mr. Hu?"
"He is Hu Hang, the constable, sir."
"The constable!" exclaimed Jack, now recognizing the low brow and shifty eyes.
"Yes; I had to bring him."
"What's this, what's this?" said Mr. Brown, coming from his bedroom. "What you two piecee man makee this-side?"
Like almost all English merchants, he had found Chinese too much for him, and in his intercourse with the natives made use of pidgin English, the lingua franca of the Chinese coast.
There was a world of humility and apology in Wang Shih's kowtow.
"My lun wailo," he said. "My no wantchee catchee killum. Muchee bobbely yamen-side. Allo piecee fightey-man bimeby look-see Wang Shih; no can wailo outside that-time."
His exceptional size was certainly against him. It was clear that without some disguise the man could not hope to escape from the city.
"Yes, that's all very well," said Mr. Brown reflectively. Then turning suddenly to the second man: "But what this piecee man makee this-side?"
"He Hu Hang; muchee bad policeyman, galaw!"
"Policeyman! Yes, but what-for policeyman he come this-side too?"
"Hu Hang he my policeyman. He watchee my. My hittee Hu Hang velly muchee plenty hard, hai-yah! Hu Hang plenty silly top-side; my tinkee lun wailo chop-chop. 'Stoppee, stoppee!' say Hu Hang; 'what-for you makee leavee my this-side?' Ch'hoy! My tinkee Hu Hang belongey muchee leason. Hu Hang lun wailo all-same."
Mr. Brown still looked puzzled.
"Don't you see, Father," broke in Jack, "Mr. Wang couldn't leave the poor wretch to bear the brunt of his escape. They would have cut his head off as sure as a gun."
"Not much loss to his fellow-citizens, by the look of him," said Mr. Brown, glancing critically at the scowling, sullen countenance of the truant constable. "Still, it was uncommonly decent of Mr. Wang. We must really do what we can to get him away. What you tinkee makee, Mr. Wang?"
The man turned to Jack and addressed him in Chinese with much movement of the hands and frequent glances at Hu Hang.
"He says that after I left him," explained Jack, "he heard that the yamen runners were already ill-treating his people. That means, of course, that they'll be stripped of all they have. His only chance was to get away and join the Chunchuses. If he can only join Ah Lum, no mandarin will be rash enough to interfere with them. Even the Viceroy of Moukden is afraid of the brigands. Mr. Wang's only difficulty is to get out of the city."
"A rather serious one. No doubt by this time they're keeping a pretty sharp look-out for him, and"—glancing at the man's huge bulk and muscular development—"he's not the kind of man to pass in a crowd."
The Chinaman, though unable to follow Mr. Brown's English, had gathered the gist of what he said. He spoke again to Jack.
"If only we can lend him a cart, he says, and a new tunic and pantaloons, he hasn't much doubt of being able to get through. We can surely manage that, Father."
"Well, it's risky; but I can't see the man come to grief if it can be helped."
That Wang Shih understood this was clear, for his face beamed, and he kowtowed with every mark of gratitude.
"But what about the constable?" said Mr. Brown to Jack. "Suppose he cuts up rough?" Turning to Wang Shih, he said: "Supposey policeyman makee bobbely; what you do that-time?"
Mr. Wang grinned. He took the constable by the scruff of the neck and held him half-throttled at arm's-length.
"Ch'hoy! My keepee Mr. Hu allo-time long-side: he plenty muchee 'flaid, savvy my belongey plenty stlong, galaw!"
He gave the gasping wretch a final shake. Mr. Brown was satisfied. The demonstration was complete.
CHAPTER III
Deported
Mesalliance—An Outing—Bonbons—"Mr. Blown"—A Northern Frontier—Bandit and Patriot—Hi Lo—Arrested—Monsieur Brin offers Condolences—Old Scores—General Bekovitch—Short Notice—The General loses Patience
"Ah! I disturb you, Mr. Brown. I always disturb somebody. I disturb myself! Therefore I go; another time, another time."
"Not a bit of it, Monsieur. Sit down; I shall be through with these papers in five minutes. What will you drink? We have a fair selection."
"Lemonade, my dear Mr. Brown, nothing but lemonade. It is the cool drink."
"Hi Lo, wailo fetchee lemonade for Monsieur."
"Allo lightee, sah," said a little fellow of some thirteen years, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, a smiling Chinese boy.
Monsieur Anatole Brin, correspondent of the Soleil, sat down in a cane chair and wiped his perspiring bald pate with a yellow silk handkerchief. Mr. Brown continued to sort his papers. It was not possible for Monsieur Brin to sit speechless.
"Ah! Mr. Brown, you have things to do. You do not suffer, as we others, from nostalgia—the home-sickness, you understand? I sigh for Paris, for the boulevards, the cafés, the Opera, for anything, anything, but this Moukden. It is five weeks that I am here; I have my paper, my pencils, my authorization; I have presented to the Viceroy my letter of credit, my photograph, as it is ordained. I have the red band on my arm; you see it: the letters B.K., correspondent of war; also Chinese arabesques, one says they mean 'Him who spies out the military things!' and here I am still in Moukden. I spy out no military things; I broil myself with sun, choke myself with dust; it is not possible to go to the south, where the war is made; no, it is permitted to do anything but what I am sent for; I become meagre with disappointment."
"Cheer up! Yours is a hard lot, no doubt. The modern general has no liking for you correspondents. But you will get your chance, no doubt, in time. The Japanese are coming north. There has been a fight at Wa-fang-ho, I hear."
"What!" cried the Frenchman, starting up. "A battle and I not there! I hear of no battle. Colonel Pestitch hear of none. I ask him just now. Does he tell me lie—prevaricate?"
"He probably knows nothing about it. I knew it through a Chinaman yesterday. The natives outdo the telegraph, Monsieur, especially the telegraph with a censor at one end. But, in fact, I have more than once heard the result of an engagement before even the military authorities."
Monsieur Brin walked up and down the little office impatiently twisting his moustache.
"Ah! It is abominable—but yes, abominable. Of what good that France is the ally of Russia? I might be Japanese, or Englishman, with no alliance at all. Why did I quit Paris? To put on this odious red badge, like a convict. For what? To promenade myself about Moukden, from day to day, from week to week, in prey to hundred Chinese diseases, subject to thousand Chinese odours! Ah, quelle malaise, quel désappointement, quel spleen!"
"You're in low spirits to-day, Monsieur. Why don't you go about the country and see the sights?"
"The sights! I have seen them. I have seen the tombs. They do not equal the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame. Pouah! My throat fills itself with dust, or my feet stick fast in the mud. For the rest, if I go farther I fall into the hands of the Koungouzes, the brigands; they have asperity; I have respect for my skin."
"Look here, Monsieur, this won't do. You'll make yourself ill if you take things so hardly. What do you say to this, now? My boy is going some fifteen miles out to a farm, to see some friends of ours—Chinese, you understand. Why not go with him and see something of the Chinese at home? Our friend Mr. Wang has an interesting family; you'll enjoy it, and get material for one article at least for the Soleil."
"Ah! it is an idea. We go—how?"
"On ponies. They will put you up for the night. You can return in the cool to-morrow morning."
"It is an idea. It please me. There is no risk?"
"None, I should think. You can take a revolver, but Jack is pretty well known. Hi Lo, tell Mr. Jack I want him."
In a few seconds Jack entered. He shook hands cordially with Monsieur Brin, whom he had seen once or twice since his arrival with a letter of introduction to Mr. Brown.
"Jack, Monsieur Brin is making himself ill for want of something to do. Take him with you and introduce him to Wang Shih's people. I think he'll like them."
"I'll be glad, I'm sure. Will you come, Monsieur?"
"With pleasure, to pass the time."
"I am starting immediately. Hi Lo, saddle a pony for Monsieur, quick."
The little fellow, son of Mr. Brown's compradore, ran off, and returned in five minutes.
"Pony allo lightee, sah."
"Good boy! Now, Monsieur, shall we start?"
"Hope you'll have a pleasant day, Monsieur," said Mr. Brown. "Look me up in the morning, and tell me how you got on."
"Good-bye! Thanks! I have not disturb you—busy man like you?"
"Not a bit. Good-bye!"
Mounted on neat little ponies, Monsieur Brin and Jack set off through the city. To the Frenchman's surprise, Jack did not choose the main thoroughfare direct to one of the eastern gates, but turned first into one side street, then into another. They were dusty, dirty, crowded with people, pigs, and poultry, and Monsieur Brin held his nose and began to expostulate.
"Wait a little, Monsieur," said Jack. "We are coming to my street. I never miss it when I come in this direction."
They came by and by to a street differing in no wise from the rest, except that in one of the paper-windowed houses a school was held. No sooner had Jack appeared at the end of the street than the sing-song of children at lessons ceased as by magic, and out of the school flocked a score of little ones, who rushed towards him with loud and happy cries of greeting, scattering the fowls and pigs and kicking up clouds of dust as they ran.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Monsieur Brin, reining up his pony to avoid trampling them.
"Don't be alarmed," said Jack, laughing. "They are my little pensioners."
The biggest of the children were already swarming round the pony. Jack put his hand into his pocket. Instantly there was a yell of delight. Then suddenly a shower of sweetmeats fell on the outskirts of the crowd, among the smallest of the children. There was a merry scramble; before the first handful was picked up a second was scattered in the opposite direction, and soon every child was on all-fours, hunting for treasure in the thick brown dust. Meanwhile every door in the street had become blocked with smiling elders,—toothless old grandames, brawny workmen, women, girls, all enjoying the scene, chattering among themselves, some of them giving pleasant salutation to Jack. His pockets at last were empty; his pony was becoming impatient; and, laughingly threatening to run the youngsters down, he moved on amid high-pitched cries of "Come again soon, Mr. Blown!"
Monsieur Brin was vastly entertained. The children's antics were very droll, and Monsieur was a man of sentiment.
"My word!" he said. "Here is something at last for the readers of the Soleil. I have no victories of war to write; I write of a victory of peace; how a young Englishman has won the hearts of all a street of Chinese; how to them he is no longer foreign devil but sweet-stuff saint. Eh? How became you so great a friend?"
"Oh, it is very simple. I took a fancy one day to a little toddler; picked him up out of the way of a boisterous pig, and gave him a sweet to comfort him. Other children were looking on; next time I came this way a group of them stood with their fingers in their mouths and their eyes on my pockets. I flung them a sweet or two; they picked them up and scampered away as though half-scared; but they were on the watch for me after that, and now, as you see, it has become an institution. They have very easy-going schoolmasters here; as soon as my nose is seen at the street end the word is given and out they troop, and the elders know the sounds and come to see the fun. They are all very good friends of mine."
Leaving the narrow streets, they came at length to the outer gate, guarded jointly by several sleepy Chinese soldiers and a Russian sentry. Jack was well known, and the two riders passed through without difficulty.
Having a little business to settle with Mr. Wang senior, Jack had offered, before Wang Shih left Mr. Brown's house in the small hours of that morning, to ride out and inform the family of his escape. A ride of some fifteen miles brought the two within sight of the farm. It was a brick building of one story, like all Manchurian houses, with cow-byres, pig-sties, and poultry-houses clinging to the wall. The farmstead was surrounded by lofty wooden palings, and Monsieur Brin's attention was attracted by two fantastic warlike figures roughly daubed in red and green on either side of the great gate.
"Oh!" said Jack, in reply to his question, "they're supposed to scare away evil spirits."
"Hé! Are not the dogs enough?"
The appearance of the two strangers was hailed by a rush of dogs, large and small, yelping and barking fiercely, but without malice. The noise brought the inmates to the door: an old Chinaman and his wife, and two girls of eighteen or thereabouts, whose regular features, soft brown eyes, and delicately ruddy complexion made an instant impression upon the Frenchman. He doffed his hat with the most elegant and graceful ease, and was not disconcerted when this unaccustomed mode of salutation set the girls giggling. The mistress led the visitors into the best room, lofty, airy, clean, with paper windows; along one side a broad platform some thirty inches from the floor. This was the k'ang, a hollow structure containing a flue warmed by the smoke and hot air from the kitchen-fire; it served as a table by day and a bed by night. A little graven image occupied a tinselled niche; and, the kitchen-fire not being required in hot weather, a kettle stood on a small brazier, boiling water for the indispensable tea.
The old people were greatly distressed at the disgrace that had befallen their only son; still more at his approaching fate, for to die without a male child to honour one's ashes is the worst of ills to a Chinaman. They were not aware of his escape; but when Jack told them that he was now at large, and had gone to join the great Chunchuse chief Ah Lum, they all, parents and girls, clapped their hands, feeling now secure against ill-treatment by the Chinese officials. The chief would send word from his head-quarters to his agent in Moukden that Wang Shih was under his protection, and the terror in which the brigand was held was so great that the farmer's family would remain unmolested.
Jack asked where was the encampment of the Chunchuse band. It varied, said the old man. To avoid capture by the Russians, the chief frequently shifted his quarters. His band was constantly on the move between Kirin and the Shan-yan-alin mountains, going so swiftly and secretly that no one knew where it would turn up next. One day it would be on the Hun-ho; a detachment of Cossacks would be sent to cut it off, only to find that it had disappeared. Two or three days later it might be heard of several hundred li away, on the Sungari.
"Yes," said the old man. "Ah Lum is a great leader, and a great hater of the Russians; but he hates the Japanese nearly as much. He would drive all foreigners out of the country. I am glad my son is with him, though I fear he will not be able to return home until the war is over."
Jack and Monsieur Brin spent some time in rambling about the farm, the latter smoking innumerable cigarettes, making copious notes, and every now and then breaking forth into enthusiastic praise of the eldest daughter, who he declared reminded him of his fiancée in the boulevard Raspail. He watched with absorbed interest the Chinese way of making tea: the green leaves placed in a broad saucer and covered with boiling water; another saucer inverted over the first, and pushed back a little way after the tea had "drawn", the beverage being sipped through the interstice. The old farmer insisted on his guests going to see his coffin, a very handsome box thoughtfully provided by his son and kept in an outhouse, where Mr. Wang frequently spent an hour in meditation on mortality. Afterwards Brin was initiated into the complexities of fan-tan—a guessing game that was prolonged far into the night. They slept comfortably on the k'ang, and left about eight next morning very well pleased with their visit.
The sun was already hot, and they rode at a walking pace, partly to avoid the clouds of choking dust which trotting would have raised. They were still several miles from the city when Jack saw a small Chinese boy hastening in their direction.
"That's young Hi Lo," he said, as the figure came more clearly into view. "I wonder what he is coming this way for! Surely Wang Shih has not been caught after all?"
The boy had broken into a run, and when he met them Jack saw at once by his face that he bore grave news. But he was not prepared for what the little fellow told him in breathless gasps. Soon after daybreak a squad of Siberian infantry had appeared at Mr. Brown's house, put the merchant under arrest, ransacked his papers, and carried him off a prisoner. Hi Lo's father, the compradore, happened to be at a window of the front room as the soldiers came up; and suspecting, with Chinese shrewdness and dislike of the soldiers, that something was amiss, he had run to the inner sanctum and removed the most valuable papers from the safe before the Russians entered. But knowing that he was likely to be searched, he had handed the papers to Hi Lo, hoping that the boy would escape the visitors' attentions. Mr. Brown made a vigorous protest against the Russians' action, and demanded by what authority they arrested him and the crime with which he was charged; but the officer in command refused to give him any information. Before he was marched off, he was allowed a few words with his compradore, a servant of many years' standing. Learning that the papers were for the present secure, he had managed, without making his meaning clear to the Russian officer, to direct that they should be handed to Jack. They were for the most part vouchers from the Russian authorities for goods supplied; if not concealed, they would certainly be seized, and Mr. Brown knew how impossible it was to make a Russian official disgorge plunder. The whole thing was probably a mistake, at the worst a plot which could no doubt be shown up. The first necessity was to put the securities out of harm's way; then Jack could take whatever steps might be called for to obtain his father's release, if he were still detained after he had met the charge against him.
The boy told his story rapidly in pidgin English; not that Jack did not understand Chinese, but because, like all Chinese servants, Hi Lo made it a point of pride to use his master's language. Monsieur Brin could make nothing of the narrative.
"What is the matter with you, my friend?" he asked, seeing the look of concern on Jack's face.
"An annoying mistake, Monsieur. My father has been arrested by the Russians."
"Oho! What has he been doing?"
"Nothing, of course. Some official has been too zealous, I suppose. I must ride on, Monsieur."
"But may not you be arrested, too?"
"I don't think so. If they intended it, they would already have sent a detachment after me. You may be sure their spies know very well where I have been. No, I'm in no danger; but anyhow I must find out what it all means, so if you don't mind, Monsieur, we'll hurry on and chance the dust."
"Certainly, my friend. My word! this is an unfortunate end to our pleasant little picnic."
"You have the papers, Hi Lo?"
The boy produced them from some pouch in his wadded cotton garments. Jack looked them over. They represented a considerable sum of money. He did not care to have them about him, in case he should be searched. What could he do with them? For a moment he thought of giving them into the care of Monsieur Brin, but on reflection he hesitated to involve the correspondent in his difficulties. Hi Lo was a clever little fellow, devoted to him; probably he would be the best custodian for the present. He gave the papers back to the boy.
"Keep them carefully, Hi Lo. Don't come near our house till I send for you."
Then he put his pony to a canter, and with Brin by his side hastened on to the city. At the moment, as Jack knew, there were few Russian soldiers in Moukden. General Kuropatkin was at the front, somewhere south of Liao-yang; Admiral Alexeieff was at Harbin. The arrest must have been made in their absence, and probably unknown to them, by the local military authorities. But, knowing his father's innocence, Jack expected to find that he had already been released.
On entering the city he said good-bye to Monsieur Brin, who was full of condolence.
"If I can do anything, tell me," he said. "Unhappily I cannot telegraph; the soldiers have monopoly of the wires; and, besides, there is the terrible censor. But if I can do anything——"
"Don't worry, Monsieur. It will be all right. My father is a British subject; and though the Russians don't love us just now, they won't do anything very dreadful, I imagine. Many thanks! I will let you know how things stand."
He rode straight home, and, finding that the house was shut and locked, sought the compradore at his cottage at the rear of the compound behind. Learning from him further details of the arrest, he at once set off for the military head-quarters near the railway-station. He knew several of the Russian officers, but those to whom he spoke had heard nothing of the singular occurrence. One of them offered to make enquiries. He returned by and by with the information that the order for Mr. Brown's arrest had been given by General Bekovitch. This was not cheering, for General Bekovitch, as Jack knew, was an officer who under a surface polish and refinement was thoroughly unscrupulous, and one indeed whose enmity Mr. Brown had incurred by his uncompromising attitude towards the official methods of corruption. Some time before this, when Bekovitch was a colonel, he had transferred to the Pole, Sowinski, a contract which had been placed in Mr. Brown's hands. The latter protested, and Bekovitch's superior disallowed his action and gave him metaphorically a rap on the knuckles. The colonel was deeply chagrined, both at the reprimand and at the loss of the secret commission arranged with Sowinski. He was now promoted major-general; his superior was gone; and Jack could hardly doubt that he had seized the opportunity to pay off his grudge against the English merchant. Jack shrank somewhat from a meeting with the general, but his indignation outweighed every other feeling, and, plucking up his courage, he made his way to the luxurious railway-carriage which served Bekovitch for quarters.
He had to wait some time before he gained admittance to the general's presence. When at last he was invited to enter, he found Bekovitch lolling on a divan smoking a cigarette, a champagne bottle at his elbow. He was a tall fair man, inclining to stoutness, with a long moustache and carefully-trimmed beard, and looked in his white uniform a very dignified representative of the military bureaucracy.
Jack's residence as a boy in Vladivostok had given him a good colloquial knowledge of Russian, so that he had no difficulty in addressing the general in his own language.
"I have recently heard, sir, of my father's arrest," he said, "and I have come to ask if you will be good enough to tell me where he is and what he is charged with."
"You are Mr. Brown's son? How do you do?" said the general suavely. "I am sorry for you. It is a bad business altogether. I should be quite justified in refusing to give you information, but I am, of course, willing to stretch a point in a case like this—father and son, you know. Well, I regret to say that I had to arrest your father for giving military information to the Japanese."
"But, sir, that is ridiculous. My father never did such a thing. He has had no connection, not even a business one, with the Japanese; he doesn't like them. Besides, he would never think of doing anything underhand. No one who knows him could even imagine it."
If Bekovitch felt the personal application, he did not show it.
"Very creditable, very creditable indeed. A loyal son; excellent. I should be the last to undeceive you; therefore we will say no more about it. Let me offer you a cigarette."
"No, thank you, sir. Really the matter cannot end thus. What evidence have you against my father?"
The general shrugged.
"Well, if you will—— We had our suspicions; your father is an Englishman, you know; we examined his papers and found proof of our suspicions—full, conclusive. There is no doubt at all about it."
"But you will allow my father to clear himself. I am sure he can do so."
"We have no time for long-winded processes," replied the general, throwing away the end of his cigarette and lighting another. "Moukden, as you must be aware, young man, is under martial law."
"Then what has become of my father, sir? Where is he?"
"We might have shot him, you know." The general's manner was suaver than ever. "But we are a merciful people. Your father has merely been—deported."
At this Jack felt that either there was a hole in the net woven around his father, or the Russians had feared to proceed to extremities owing to his British nationality.
"Well, sir," he said, "I shall, of course, appeal to our government."
"Certainly, my young friend, certainly! But on what ground? See, I recognize your anxiety; it is perfectly natural; for that reason I am patient with you. But we must be the judges as to who shall stay in Manchuria, who shall leave. Your father is now on his way to—to the frontier. You will follow without loss of time. I give you twelve hours to quit the city. A pass shall be made out for you; you will go by to-night's train to Harbin."
General Bekovitch's manner was as urbane and polite as ever, but there was in his tone a something that warned the boy that further protest would be useless. Still, he must make one more effort to discover his father's whereabouts.
"Has my father gone to Harbin?" he asked.