Cover art
Koreans receiving Cavalry
Kobo
A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
BY
HERBERT STRANG
AUTHOR OF "TOM BURNABY"
Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
27 AND 29 WEST 230 ST.
1905
TO
LILLIPUT
WITH ALL DUE RESPECT TO
BROBDINGNAG
"Oh! it is easy to cross the Yalu river."
—Japanese War Song.
My dear Ralph,
Last year, I remember, you were a little reproachful because I sent "Tom Burnaby" to Jack at Harrow, and I made you a half promise that possibly at some future date you Taylorians should not be forgotten. I am better than my word. Here is a book—too late for your birthday, but in time for Christmas—which I hope will meet with your good favour.
It is now nearly ten years since, on one of the bridges in Osaka, I watched a battalion of the Imperial Guards marching to the China war. The Chinese had been driven across the Yalu and hustled through Manchuria; the Guards were to assist in carrying the war, if necessary, to the walls of Pekin. There was something in the bearing of those short, sturdy, alert little soldiers to arrest the attention and give food for thought. They had all the purposeful air of our own Gurkhas, with a look of keener intelligence, and a joyous eagerness that thrilled the observer.
In the China war the Japanese were for the first time measuring their strength. It was merely practice for the great struggle with the Colossus of the North which all knew to be inevitable, however long delayed. The humbling of China cost Japan little real effort, and we in this country hardly realized all that was at stake when European diplomacy robbed the victor of the fruits of victory. The part of Great Britain at that period was regarded, perhaps justly, by the Japanese as something less than that of the warm friend and well-wisher she was supposed to be. Yet, in common with other English visitors to their country, I never met with aught but perfect courtesy and smiling hospitality. The politeness and self-restraint of the people, and their extraordinary military promise, were among my strongest impressions of Japan. How completely they have been justified the history of the past ten years and of the present struggle has shown.
Yours very sincerely,
HERBERT STRANG.
Michaelmas Day, 1904.
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
[The Battle of the Destroyers]
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
[The Battle of the Yalu River]
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
[Old Friends and New Prospects]
List of Illustrations
Plate I
[Koreans Receiving Cavalry] . . . . . . Frontispiece
Plate II
Plate III
Plate IV
Plate V
Map and Plan
[Map of Korea and part of Manchuria]
[Plan of the Battle of the Yalu River]
CHAPTER I
A mere Chinaman
Flotsam—A Commercial Correspondent—A Story of the Sea
The P. and O. liner Sardinia was some twenty hours out of Shanghai, making a direct course for Nagasaki. Few passengers were on deck: it was drear and cold this January afternoon, the sky grey and sullen as with coming snow, the sea rolling heavily under a stiff north-easter that blew cuttingly through the Korea Strait. But beneath the bridge, somewhat sheltered from the wind, sat three figures in a group, talking earnestly. The eldest of the three, John Morton by name, a big shaggy Englishman of forty-five, sat enwrapped in a heavy ulster and a travelling rug, his legs propped on a deck-chair before him. Every few seconds a voluminous cloud of smoke issued from his lips, and floated away like a pale miniature copy of the vast black coil from the funnel above. John Morton was correspondent of the Daily Post. At his left sat a round little Frenchman, with fine-drawn moustache and neat imperial, a comforter about his neck, a cigarette in his mouth. Armand Desjardins was also a correspondent, representing the Nouveau Figaro. The third member of the group was much younger than his companions. He was a tall, slim young fellow, with bright hair and frank blue eyes, his cheeks tanned the healthy brown of outdoor life at home no less than by the winds of four weeks' sea travel. The collar of his long frieze ulster was turned up to his ears; a low cloth cap was perched on the back of his head. Nobody could have mistaken Bob Fawcett for anything but a Briton.
He had just answered, smilingly, a remark of the vivacious little Frenchman, when the attention of the group was attracted by the quarter-master clambering hurriedly up the ladder to the bridge, the ship's biggest telescope under his arm. He handed it to the captain, who, with the chief and third officers, was looking intently towards a spot a few points on the port bow. After gazing for a minute or two through the telescope, the captain handed it without remark to the chief officer, who looked in his turn and passed it also in silence to the third. The three men below rose to their feet and went to the port-rail, scanning the horizon for the object of the officers' curiosity. Nothing was to be seen save a limitless expanse of dark, green billows, heaving with the swell.
There was a short colloquy on the bridge, after which the third officer ran down the ladder on his way aft. He was intercepted by the little group, who raked him with a gatling-fire of questions.
"Only a raft, or wreckage, or sea-serpent, or something," he said in reply. "Perhaps sea-weed."
"But you vill examine?" said Desjardins. "De sea-serpent is a subject of im-mense interest to de savants of all nations."
The officer laughed.
"Well, monsieur," he said, "get a good glass and you'll have a chance of seeing for yourself; we shall pass it within a short mile."
By this time a speck was visible far ahead, which gradually disclosed itself, as the vessel drew nearer, as a half-submerged spar with a tangled mass of rigging. Bob Fawcett and his companions had ceased to take any interest in what appeared to be merely floating wreckage, when they were surprised at hearing the clang of the engine-room bell signalling successive orders. The steamer slowed down, then with helm hard a-starboard crept up to within a hundred yards of the object, and came to a stop. A boat was speedily lowered, and the passengers, drawn from below by the sudden stoppage on the high sea, crowded into the bows, and looked on with breathless curiosity as the third officer steered gingerly up to the spar. It was possible now to make out a human figure rising and falling with the heave of the sea, its outlines half-hidden by the surrounding cordage. The quarter-master was seen to open his huge clasp knife and cut several strands that apparently lashed the castaway to the mast, and the men who had supported the inert body while this was being done lifted it gently into the boat. The passengers heard the third officer's voice shout the order to give way, and in less than three minutes the boat was being swung in upon the davits, and the Sardinia was again forging ahead at full speed.
The castaway, an inert, sodden, unconscious figure, was lifted out of the boat and carried below, to be handed over to the ship's doctor.
"Is there any life in him?" asked Bob Fawcett, pressing forward to the third officer.
"As dead as mutton, sir, in my belief. But we'll do what we can for the poor beggar."
He passed on; and, catching a glimpse of the castaway as he was borne down the companion-way, Bob noticed that he had but one ear. In a few minutes the passengers had resumed the occupations and amusements which the incident had interrupted. The curiosity of the most of them finally evaporated when it became known that the figure saved from the sea was nothing more romantic than the body of a Chinaman. Bob Fawcett was not a sufficiently hardened traveller to take the matter so lightly. But learning on enquiry that the doctor had little hope of the man's recovery, and that in any case his resuscitation would take some time, he went back to his companions, and found that they had been joined by another passenger—a stranger to him. The new-comer was a stout, brown-bearded, spectacled man, with cheeks puffy and sallow. He leant heavily on a stick, and every now and then rammed his soft wide-awake down upon his head, evidently in apprehension of its being swept away by the breeze.
"Feel better?" Bob heard Morton say as he approached.
"Ach ja!" was the reply. "I do feel better, zairtainly, but not vell, not vell by no means."
"You'll be all right soon. Fawcett, let me introduce you to Herr Schwab; don't think you've met. He came on at Shanghai, and—well, hasn't been visible since. My friend Mr. Fawcett—Herr Schwab."
"Glad to meet you, sir," said Bob, lifting his cap. The German was a second or two behind in the salutation, not from lack of native courtesy, but because his hand had to skirt the limp brim of his wide-awake and come perpendicularly on to the crown, which he raised between finger and thumb.
"Most delighted," he said with guttural urbanity. "I lose much zrough my so unlucky disbosition to sea-illness; it keep me downstair all ze time since ve leave Shanghai. Ze loss of food, zat is nozink; it is ze gombany. Vy, I regollect, ven first I voyage to Zanzibar it lose me vun big order for bianofortes. At Massowa zere come on board a Somali sheik vat vas fery musical. I vas below—fery ill. Vat could I? Ze sheik, he buy concertina from ze rebresentative of concertina house. Now ze Somali, zey all blay concertina; zey might haf blayed biano!"
"And are you in pianos now, sir?" asked Bob, smiling.
"Vell, yes, but primarily I am in literature. I haf ze honour to rebresent ze Düsseldörfer Tageblatt, a journal of fery vide circulation in Werden, Kettwig, Mülheim, Odenkolin, Grevenbroich—zobsgribtion, twenty-zree mark fifty, payableinadvance."
He handed Bob a card with these particulars duly set forth, and paused as if for a reply.
"Unfortunately," said Bob with a smile, "my screw is payable in arrears; I'm afraid I shall have to wait a little."
"You say screw!" responded Herr Schwab instantly. "I haf also ze honour to rebresent ze solid house of Schlagintwert: ve can ship you best assorted screw f.o.b. Hamburg at truly staggering price."
He drew from the pocket of his ulster a sheaf of papers and looked them rapidly through.
"No," he murmured, "zis is botato spirit; zis is batent mangle; zis is edition de luxe Stones of Venice; ha! ve haf it: best Birmingham screw. Allow me, vid gombliments."
Bob caught Morton's eye as he pocketed the price list, and strenuously preserving his gravity, said:
"Thank you, sir; I shall know where to come. But I fear that with war in the air your journey may not be profitable."
"Ah! Zere you mistake, my friend. If it is peace, I sell botato-spirit Birmingham screw Ruskin edition de luxe batent mangle; if it is var—zen I rebresent ze Düsseldörfer Tageblatt; ve circulate in Werden, Kettwig, Mülheim, Odenkolin—"
"Magnifique!" exclaimed Desjardins. "You save de price of passage in all case. To compete vid you Germans, it is impossible."
Herr Schwab smiled indulgently.
"Business are business," he said. "In peace, ze Chinese, ze Japanese, ze Russian—zey are all vun to me. But in var, I am instructed by my house—ach! I should say, my journal—to agompany ze Japanese field-army."
"By all accounts," said Bob, "it'll be a case of the patent mangle and not the pen this time. A fellow in the smoking-room has just been saying that there's no earthly chance of war. He had it from a native merchant in Hong-Kong, and somehow or other they're always the first to scent out news."
"No var!" exclaimed Desjardins. "Vat den shall I do? Vat shall I write for de Figaro! I have no patent-mangle!"
"You'll have to write poetry," said Morton; "geishas, plum blossom, and that kind of thing. You'll be all right. But I'm helpless. Couldn't do it to save my life; if I could, Daily Post wouldn't take it. Fawcett will come off best of the lot."
"I'm afraid not. They wouldn't have sent for me to help with their range-finders unless they expected a rumpus, and soon. If there's no war, I shall get a month's notice and my passage home.—Hi, steward, how's the castaway?"
The steward came up in answer to Bob's hail.
"Doin' well, sir; most surprisin'. Doctor himself can't make it out nohow. Says the Chinee must have the constitootion of a elephant. Captain's with him this very minute, interviewin' of him; he can't speak English, but there's another Chinee in the steerage that's doin' the interpretin'. He's a big ruffian of a fellow, the castaway, a regular hooligan to look at—and only one ear and all. I've just sent some vittles for'ard for him, sir."
The steward passed on. A little later, when it became known that the interpreter had returned to his quarters, Bob announced that he was going to see the man, and was at once joined by Monsieur Desjardins and Herr Schwab, the former in eagerness to get material for a paragraph, the latter in obedience to his motto, "Business are business". Morton refused to budge.
"Saw plenty of Chinamen, dead and alive, in the war, ten years ago; all alike," he said.
Accordingly the other three made their way to the steerage, and, finding the Chinese interpreter, were soon assured of his willingness to tell all he knew for a consideration. It was Bob who paid.
The man who had so narrowly escaped drowning was, it appeared, a Manchu Tartar—a big muscular fellow nearly six feet high. When once he regained consciousness he had made a surprisingly rapid recovery from his long immersion, and had told his story with great readiness. He had been making the voyage from Chemulpo to Yokohama in a Korean junk, which had been capsized by a sudden squall, and had gone down, he feared, with all hands. Luckily he himself had managed to cling to a considerable portion of wreckage, and to hold on long enough to lash himself to the mast. He was sorry now that he had not waited for a steamer; it was only his strong family affection that had prompted him to sail in a crazy junk, and he would certainly never do so again. He had a brother in Tokio, the owner of a small curiosity shop. News had reached him in Chemulpo that his beloved brother was at the point of death, and without delay he had embarked on a rice-laden junk that happened to be sailing for Tokio, in the hope of reaching that town in time to see his brother before he died.
"'Plenty muchee velly good piecee man," concluded the interpreter approvingly.
"Extraordinaire!" exclaimed Desjardins in admiration. "Dat is sentiment; it is noble, it touch my 'art."
He laid his hand on that section of his rotundity which might be taken to conceal the organ in question, and sighed with enjoyment.
"Ach! it is not sentiment," said Schwab, "it is business. Ze brozer haf curiosity shop—vell, ze ozer brozer vish to inherit imme'ately, vizout drouble. He must be on ze spot."
"Come now, Herr Schwab, don't spoil our little romance," said Bob. "Poor fellow! he's had a rough time anyhow. I wonder how he lost his ear."
"Bad time indeed," said Desjardins. "Pauvre diable! Ve must make him a collection, and you, Monsieur Schwab, you are business man, you shall collect de moneys."
Herr Schwab, who had evidently foreseen that the Frenchman's sympathy might take this practical form, began to decline the proffered honour, but the chorus of amused assent left him no option. Then, finding that he had himself to pay the tax, with German thoroughness he devoted himself heartily to the task of seeing that no one else escaped, and by the time the vessel opened up the lights of Nagasaki quite a respectable sum had been gathered for the Chinaman's benefit.
Bob, being on official business, had instructions to proceed direct from Nagasaki to Tokio. Most of the passengers, however, among them his recent companions, were remaining on the Sardinia as far as Kobe, with the object of seeing the world-famed beauties of the inland sea. The last words Bob heard as he went down the side after the final farewells were a guttural protest from Herr Schwab, with whom his enforced contribution to the Chang-Wo fund was still rankling.
"Business, my dear sir, are business; sentiment is sentiment. Zey should nefer be mix. Damit basta!"
CHAPTER II
Rokuro Kobo San
An Incident in Ueno Park—Japan at Play—Journalism in Japan—A Japanese Gentleman
Shortly before dusk, one day in the week following the arrival of the Sardinia at Nagasaki, a stalwart figure in the coat, pantaloons, and clumsy clogs of a Chinaman slowly ascended the flight of steps leading to the Ueno Park in Tokio. The time of cherry-blossom was not yet; the trees stood bare skeletons against the gray sky; the ground was lightly touched with rime; it was not the beauties of nature that attracted the sauntering visitor. He seemed, indeed, to have no special object in view; but an observer might have noticed that wherever he saw a group of Japanese in conversation, he passed them with a very deliberate step, and always on the right-hand side, even when this necessitated some little squeezing. Only an observer of more than usual intentness would have connected this curious fancy with the fact that the Chinaman had lost his right ear.
He came by and by to a tea-house—not one of the large and well-appointed establishments which a Samurai would willingly have entered, but a structure little more than a shed, with tables ranged outside beneath the trees, and a few musumés sitting with folded hands and crossed feet on a long low bench covered with a crimson cloth. The Chinaman hesitated for a moment; it was cold, and hardly the evening for al-fresco refreshment. But something attracted him towards the shed. He sat down on one of the benches, and was soon contentedly sipping the weak almost colourless decoction supplied to him by the smiling girls as tea.
For half an hour he sat there, sipping, watching the passers with his yellow almond eyes, thinking Chinese thoughts, silent, almost motionless. Then he pulled his padded garments more closely around him as though for the first time feeling the cold, rose, bowed low in response to the still lower salutation of the attendants, and resumed his slow walk. There were fewer people about now; no talking groups; nothing apparently to attract the remaining ear; and Chang-Wo, shuffling along on his clogs, hurrying his step a little, passed beneath the bare oaks and gloomy pines towards the Buddhist temple near the gate.
Dark was beginning to fall; there were few rickshaws to be seen; the visitors to the famed Toshogu shrine had melted away. Only here and there a woman trudged homeward with her baby on her back and a bundle in her hand, or a shaven Buddhist priest sauntered amid the trees.
Turning from the path to shorten his way by crossing a secluded glade, the Manchu came all at once face to face with a small figure hastening in the opposite direction. He moved somewhat aside, to pass on, but with a suddenness that took his bulky form utterly aback, the shorter figure, that reached not much past his elbow, flung himself upon the Manchu with a cry like the snarl of a tiger, springing up at him, clutching at his throat, and hanging on with desperate fury. The shock was so unexpected, the assault so unprovoked, that the bigger man, his hands hampered by his capacious sleeves, was taken at a disadvantage, and gained nothing from his superior build. In a moment he was on the ground, and the Japanese was kneeling on his chest, retaining his grip on the prostrate man's throat, and striving with all his might to strangle him. But his advantage was short-lived: the Manchu regained command of his muscles, and exerting all the force of his arms thrust the assailant from him, wriggled over, and pinned the puny frame to the ground.
Scarcely a sound had been uttered, whether by Japanese or Manchu; but now, as the latter proceeded with vindictive and triumphant malice to retaliate upon his helpless victim, a half-choked cry, as of an animal at the shambles, broke the silence of the glade. Instantly, as though in answer, a tall great-coated form, the form of a European, came out from among the tree-stems. A glance apprised him of the position: a small man, black in the face, was being throttled by a man twice his size; and with a rush the new-comer hurled himself upon the Manchu, wrenched the Japanese from his grip, and saw that he was only just in time, if indeed not too late. For the small man lay inert, huddled in his kimono; and the Englishman placed his hand over his heart, fearing that he was already dead.
But his doubt was soon dispelled. In a few moments the little fellow moved, gasped, and sprang to his feet, his slanted eyes asquint with excess of rage. It seemed that he was about to fling himself on the young foreigner before him, so much was he blinded by passion; but recognizing in a moment his mistake, he looked round for the big Manchu, and found that he had disappeared. With a muttered word of thanks to his preserver, he rushed madly in the direction he supposed his enemy to have taken, and the Englishman was left to himself in the gathering darkness.
Bob Fawcett had a half-smile upon his face as he walked back through the park and the crowded streets to his hotel. It was his fourth day in Tokio, and he had already seen many strange things; nothing, perhaps, stranger than the deadly earnestness with which the little Japanese had sped after an enemy who could have crushed him with ease.
"I wonder what it was all about?" he thought. "Plucky little Hop o' my Thumb! I suppose he's the stuff of which the Japanese army is made."
He would have liked to know what had brought about the unequal fight, but speculation was vain; and besides, it was nearly dinner-time, and the meals at his hotel were punctually served. Punctuality was, in Bob's eyes, the only virtue the hotel possessed. He did not like the heavy carpets, the cumbrous four-poster in his bed-room, the general stuffiness that resembled only too closely the fusty musty atmosphere of certain hotels at home. He wished he could have put up at a Japanese place, lived in the Japanese way, eaten Japanese food, for he was of an enquiring turn of mind. But he had been strongly advised to put up at a house run on European lines, and for the present he could not but recognize that the advice was probably good.
On arriving in Tokio four days before, and reporting himself at the Japanese ministry of marine, he found that his services were not immediately required. He was asked to hold himself in readiness to assume his duties at a few hours' notice; meanwhile his time was his own. It was unlucky that his arrival in Japan was in the very middle of the New-year celebrations, for business being at almost a total stand-still for a fortnight on end, the two English merchants to whom he had brought letters of introduction had gone away with their families for a holiday, and among the two million people in Tokio there was not one that he knew. There was company at the hotel, to be sure, but it consisted chiefly of tourists and globe-trotters eager to "do" everything, and Bob had never had a taste for frantic sight-seeing. He accordingly chose his own course, and wandered about pretty much by himself, taking the keenest interest in the novel scenes that everywhere met his eyes.
A stranger could hardly have arrived in Tokio at a more interesting time. For ten days after the year has opened Japan is more characteristically Japanese, perhaps, than at any other period. It is one universal festival. Among the upper classes visits of ceremony are exchanged; the streets are crowded with rickshaws drawn by coolies in fantastic costume—mushroom hats and waterproofs of reeds. They worm their way through throngs of adults and children bouncing balls, playing at battledore and shuttlecock, flying kites, tumbling over each other in their happy frolicsomeness. Shopkeepers are to be seen carrying specimens of their wares to their customers; brightly-clad geishas add grace and picturesqueness to the scene. Every variety of costume is to be met with, from the correct frock-coats of the government officials to the strange mixture of billycock and kimono which lesser folk sometimes affect. Every house is decorated; here and there a juggler or a showman provides elementary entertainment at the price of three-farthings, and the unwary visitor, enticed into a booth by the promise of great marvels, finds that the magic is nothing more startling than an electric shock, or that the advertised fire-breathing dragon is no more than a moon-faced performing seal. At night paper lanterns dangle from every rickshaw shaft, making the streets a moving panorama of fairyland; and from the low one-storied houses proceeds the quaint barbarous music of the samisen—the native guitar twanged by smiling geishas entertaining their employers' guests with dance and song.
Bob spent many delightful hours in witnessing these things, and in strolling through the streets, looking into the curio shops, sometimes venturing a discreet purchase. But amid all the merriment there seemed to him to be a something in the air—an undercurrent of seriousness, which was the theme of incessant talk in the hotel smoking-room. Was it to be war? That was the question which was discussed from morning to night. Everybody knew that negotiations were proceeding between the foreign offices at Tokio and St. Petersburg: what was the result to be? Opinion veered this way and that. Russia apparently would not keep her pledges: would Japan fight? What were the rights of the case? Was Russia merely concerned with holding an ice-free port and developing her trade, or was she aiming at aggression and conquest? Was Japan strong enough to enforce unaided what the diplomacy of European powers had failed to accomplish? Would China come to the assistance of her conqueror? Would Britain be involved in the struggle? These and similar questions were canvassed to the point of weariness; and Bob all the time felt that it was talk in the air, for nobody knew. There was no excitement, no mouthings, no boastfulness. The little soldiers in their trim uniforms were not much to be seen in the streets; yet it was not long before Bob learnt that preparations were quietly, unostentatiously, being made to throw vast armies across the Korea Strait; and as to the navy, was not his presence there in itself a proof that the government was determined to have everything at the top of condition should the struggle which many deemed inevitable actually begin?
On the second morning after the adventure in the Ueno Park, Bob, having finished breakfast, went to the reading-room to glance at the papers preparatory to his usual stroll. There were illustrated European magazines in plenty with which he was familiar, and a five-weeks' old copy of the Times, which he looked through without much interest, the news being so obviously stale. There was the Japan Mail, a little more interesting, in which he was glad to find an account of the last match between the Australians and Warner's eleven, as well as news of the British doings in Tibet and Somaliland. But having brought himself up to date with those journals in his own tongue, he turned, as he usually did, to the native papers, and stared at them as earnestly as though only assiduous poring was needed to give him a thorough grasp of Japanese. He wished he could read the strange hieroglyphics—some shaped like gridirons, others like miniature barns, others like the little dancing imps drawn by school-boys with a few straight lines on the margins of their grammars. He wondered what meaning lay behind the strangely picturesque tantalizing characters, and sighed as he replaced one of the papers on the table.
"Not understand, sir?" said a passing Japanese waiter, with the smiling courtesy of all the hotel attendants.
"I don't, I confess," replied Bob, returning the smile. "What do you call this, for instance?"
"That, sir? That Ninkin Shimbun—very good paper. My uncle belong that paper one time—prison editor."
"Prison editor?" Bob looked puzzled.
"In Japan, sir, newspaper two editors one time. Number one editor he write War Minister bad man. Policeman he come say: 'Be so kind cease publish hon'ble paper; hon'ble publisher, hon'ble printer, hon'ble editor be so kind enter hon'ble prison'. Number two editor he go prison, number one editor he stay home."
"I suppose they pay number two well for that," remarked Bob laughing.
"No, sir; my uncle very poor man. His wages four yen a month; but no spend much, in prison every time."
"Poor fellow! He earns his four yen."
The little waiter's countenance took on a lugubrious expression.
"He prison editor not now no longer," he said. "Everything change in Nippon. These days number one editor go prison, number two he out of work. My poor uncle sell Ninkin Shimbun Shimbashi railway-station."
At this moment the hall-porter entered, and bowed to Bob with a deep Japanese obeisance.
"Japanese gentleman, sir, beg you be so kind give him interview."
"Oh! who is it?" said Bob, thinking that it must be the bearer of the expected summons from the minister.
"Japanese gentleman, sir; say you not know his name. But he very great man, he very noble Samurai." Then, looking with an air of imparting important information, he added: "His name, sir, Rokuro Kobo San."
Surprised that so important a personage should have been chosen to wait upon him, Bob rose and made his way across the corridor to the reception-room. The porter shut the door behind him, and as he advanced a slight figure stepped lightly across the room to meet him. Whatever dim picture of a Samurai Bob had formed in his mind was banished at the sight of a trim, exquisitely-dressed Japanese, wearing a frock-coat that would have done credit to Poole's, and carrying with practised ease a silk hat, which might have been twin-brother of Bob's unused Lincoln & Bennett. He was short, though perhaps rather above the average height of his nation. In feature he resembled the Japanese of better class whom Bob had seen at the government offices, but with an indefinable touch of added refinement, due partly, no doubt, to his Samurai blood, but partly also, as Bob surmised, to his evident familiarity with western civilization. He was sallow, like all his race; his jet-black hair was thick and strong, and a narrow moustache graced his upper lip. It is always difficult to judge the age of an alien in race, and Bob had little or no experience to guide him; but the impression made upon him by his visitor's general bearing was that he was in the prime of life.
"Good-morning, sir," said Bob pleasantly.
"Good-morning, sir," said the Japanese with perfect accent at almost the same moment, bowing with inimitable grace. Bob instinctively bowed in response, but felt that his salutation was awkward and stiff by contrast.
"I trust, sir, that you will pardon my intruding upon you at this hour. I feared lest I should not have the opportunity of thanking you in my own person for the very great service which you have rendered to me and to my house."
His mode of speech was measured, even, and perfectly correct, somewhat stilted perhaps, with an old-world flavour that belonged to a courtlier age than our own.
"You may remember, sir, two days ago, in our Ueno Park, you rescued one of my countrymen from the hands of a Chinaman, who I have every reason to think would have killed him but for your generous intervention. The Chinaman was a man of evil character, a desperate man, a villain; the Japanese, who owes his life to you, is—my servant. I thank you."
"Really, sir," said Bob, somewhat embarrassed, "it was a very small matter; I merely hauled the fellow off, and he bolted."
"To you, sir, it may have been a small matter. It is an instinct with your countrymen to help the man who is down. To you it is a mere nothing; but to me, it represents much, very much. The man you rescued is my servant; his forefathers have served mine these five hundred years."
"I am very glad, sir, that I happened to be passing just at the moment. May I congratulate you on your man? He tackled the big Chinaman with fine courage."
"He is a brave man indeed, but he grows old. Ten years ago he was with me in the China war; he was in his prime; there was not his equal in our army. The Manchu, as you saw, is a man of more than common strength, but in single fight with my servant at Feng-huang-cheng he escaped with difficulty, and the loss of an ear."
"The loss of an ear!" repeated Bob. "Surely he cannot be the man we picked up off Nagasaki?"
Kobo San's expression betrayed just a hint of enquiry, and Bob proceeded to give an account of the Chinaman's rescue. This was the beginning of a long conversation, which, starting with Kobo's previous relations with the Manchu, drifted away into a variety of subjects, giving Bob every now and again a suggestion of his visitor's extraordinary range and versatility. He was clearly a man of wide reading and many interests, had been a great traveller in his younger days, and spoke as though at home equally in all the great capitals of the west. So interested was Bob that he did not notice the increasing number of rickshaws halting at the entrance to the hotel, depositing guests laden with strange bundles, the spoils of long chaffering in the Naka-dori.
This influx was the sure indication of approaching tiffin, and when the Japanese rose to take his leave, Bob awakened to the fact, and with some diffidence begged the pleasure of his visitor's company. Kobo San, however, explained that he had but just time to keep an appointment with his excellency the minister of war, and while courteously expressing his regrets, extended to Bob an invitation to his own house on the following day. Bob accepted with genuine pleasure, and escorted his visitor to the street. The two shook hands almost with the cordiality of old friends.
As Bob turned to re-enter the hotel, he encountered the little waiter gazing after the retreating form with a mixture half of admiration half of awe.
"Rokuro Kobo San, he very great man," he said, confidentially. "He kindly send my poor uncle to hon'ble prison."
CHAPTER III
A Samurai's Home
A Japanese Interior—An Oriental Menu—Tales of Old Japan—The Quarrel with Russia—Chang-Wo—Raiding the Raiders—Good-bye
"Takaki ya ni
Noborite mireba—"
Bob rubbed his eyes, and became conscious of a crick in the neck. He thought for a moment he must be in a railway-train; the sensation was just the same that he had experienced on a night journey to London, when he had had a compartment to himself, and lay stretched on a seat with his head on the elbow cushion at the end. But no: he had never heard in England such a thin soft voice, singing in utter tunelessness such strange words—
"Kemuri tatsu;
Tami no kamado wa
Nigiwai ni kere".
He lifted his head from the low neck-rest, and remembered. The voice came through the wall of his room; but it was not a wall—only a slight paper partition. It was evidently time to get up. He flung off the wadded quilt, and sat up—not in bed, but on the stretch of straw matting that formed almost the only furniture of his room. The neck-rest fell down, making a slight noise; the voice in the next room ceased singing; he heard the swish of soft garments; a few moments later a sliding paper panel in the partition was pushed back and a form appeared—the form of a little Japanese carrying a bath and a pitcher of water.
"Morning, sir," said the little fellow with a smile and a bow. "Bath in morning, sir?"
"Thank you," said Bob, springing to his feet. "By the way, I don't think I have heard your name yet?"
"My name, sir, Taru. You sleep well, sir?"
"Oh yes, though I found the head-rest a little strange. Was it you singing just now, Taru?"
"No, sir; no sing at all. The little lady, hon'ble mistress, sir; O Toyo San."
"Indeed!"
Bob forbore to ask questions. He had only arrived the night before at Kobo San's country house near Nikko, tired and chilled after the uphill railway journey from Tokio, and quite ready to retire to his sleeping-chamber after a cup of warm saké. It was three days since his first meeting with the Japanese gentleman who had called upon him at the hotel. During those three days Kobo San had proved himself a most delightful companion. He had taken the young Englishman here, there, and everywhere about Tokio: to an entertainment at the Maple Club, where Bob had seen the prettiest geishas in Japan dance to the barbarous music of the samisen and the koto; to a wrestling match between two huge athletes; to a theatrical performance which, though tragic in intention, gave him considerable amusement, so strangely were the actors' faces painted, so ludicrous (to the European eye) were their gestures and grimaces. Bob was intensely interested in all that he saw, and sincerely grateful to his indefatigable guide; but his delight was increased tenfold when he received an invitation to spend a few days at Kobo San's country house; it was a unique opportunity of seeing for himself something of the domestic life of Japan.
Two things had struck him specially during those three days. The one was that Kobo San was a man of great note and influence; wherever he went he was treated with exceeding respect and deference. The second was that, though he himself knew almost nothing about Kobo, Kobo appeared to know a good deal about him. No confidences had been given, none asked; but Bob had the strange consciousness that his new friend was perfectly acquainted with the errand upon which he had come from the island empire of the West to the island empire of the East. When inviting him to Nikko, Kobo had said "My house is within easy reach of the telegraph", as though to reassure him that if the summons he was expecting should come suddenly, while he was there, nothing need hinder his prompt obedience to the call. Bob had never learnt how his host had discovered the whereabouts of the stranger who had rescued his man from the one-eared Manchu. The explanation was simple. The Japanese, finding his vengeful hunt for Chang-Wo fruitless, had next day made enquiries at all the European hotels, and learning that a young Englishman staying at one of them somewhat answered to the description he gave, had sat down on his heels at the gate for hours, and waited there until the man he was in search of passed by.
And now Bob was actually a guest in the house of a Japanese samurai. The house was really a sort of two-storied bungalow, standing on rising ground, and approached by a flight of stone steps. A mountain rose sheer into the sky behind it; a stream dashed over a cascade, filled a fish-pond in the neat garden, and plunged into the river below. There was no furniture to speak of; nothing but straw covered with finely-woven bamboo, spotlessly white, a pot or two of flowers, and a curious-shaped stand for a paper lantern, by which, as he learnt afterwards, Kobo San sometimes read at night. But his surprise was mingled with admiration. The walls were plastered with sand of varied hues, inlaid with fragments of shell and mica; the ceiling was of light polished wood crossed by bars of a darker colour, and supported on light posts. Near the ceiling ran a long strip of exquisitely-painted paper; along the bottom of the wall a narrow border of the same was fixed. On one wall, from floor to ceiling, there was a kakemono,—a painted panel, representing storks standing in water dotted with moss-grown rocks. In a corner was a sort of inlaid cabinet let into the wall, where the futon, the thickly-wadded quilts, were kept; for every room in a Japanese house is a bed-room in case of need. Let into the floor was a charcoal brazier, with which alone the room was heated. Everything was spotless; the harmony of colour was perfect; and Bob could not help contrasting this charming simplicity with the elaborate tasteless furniture of the conventional English home.
While he was still admiring, Kobo came in. But it was a different Kobo from the frock-coated gentleman he had known in Tokio. His host was clad in the costume of his country,—the flowing wide-sleeved kimono, his feet encased in the mitten-like tabi—socks with a separate pocket for the big toe. He bowed very low as he entered the room, and there was a slight smile on his face as he explained:
"When I am at home, as you see, Mr. Fawcett, I preserve the old customs—the old dress, the old manners. I work in the present, I take my recreation in the past. Did you sleep well?"
"Very well; though I woke once with the idea that I was falling out of bed."
"Ah, you will soon become accustomed to the makura. No doubt you are now hungry."
He called, without raising his voice, and from the distance came a long-drawn answering cry: "Hai-i-i, tadaima!" Presently there entered two ladies, followed by four maids bearing food on little lacquer trays. The ladies went down lightly on their knees and bent over till their heads touched the ground, murmuring "O hayo!" Bob was somewhat embarrassed, but Kobo said something in Japanese; the ladies rose, advanced, and said "Good morning!" with the prettiest accent imaginable. Kobo explained that they were his wife and daughter, O Kami San and O Toyo San. Bob would have taken them for sisters, so alike were they in the graceful kimonos of lilac-coloured silk, girt with rich brocaded obi. They knew but a few words of English, but Bob felt almost instantly at home, so simply and charmingly did they welcome him.
Soon all four were seated on cushions on the floor, while the four musumés knelt in front of them, offering the first course of Bob's first Japanese breakfast. It consisted of beautiful white cakes made of bean-flour and sugar, and little cups of weak tea. This was followed by a sort of fish broth in lacquer bowls, with a condiment made of shredded daikon—the Japanese radish—mingled with green herbs. Bob found that he had to pick morsels of fish from the broth with a pair of chop-sticks, dip them into the condiment, and poke them into his mouth; and his first clumsy attempts with these novel utensils did not call the shadow of a smile to the faces of his polite entertainers. Then came prawns in batter, fish cakes, rice in bowls of gold lacquer, preserved plums, crystallized walnuts, and other dishes, in many of which fish figured in some form or other: all in such midget quantities that Bob felt he would still be hungry if he swallowed the portions of all four. He felt as Gulliver might have felt at a state banquet in Lilliput. At his side throughout the meal stood a beautiful porcelain bottle filled with saké, a liquor tasting like weak beer and water. Bob did not like it, but he had accepted Kobo San's invitation, and he was resolved to endure without flinching all that Japanese hospitality might involve.
When the meal was finished the ladies withdrew, and Bob was asked by his host to accompany him in a drive. At the door the former found his boots, and the latter a pair of sandals, which he fastened by passing a thong between his big toe and the rest of his foot. Outside there waited two handsome rickshaws with their coolies, who set off down the hill towards the magnificent avenue of cryptomerias that stretches in one almost unbroken line for twenty miles.
That was the beginning of as pleasant a week as Bob had ever spent. He grew accustomed to the simple ways of the house: took off his boots instinctively on entering; learnt to squat more comfortably on the floor, and to enjoy the novel fare; even to tolerate the plunky-plunketing of the koto when O Toyo San played to him, and sang strange songs which she tried in her pretty broken English to translate. On some days Bob was left much to himself; Kobo received many letters and telegrams which kept him busy for long hours in his own room, and at such times Bob would chat with Taru, the servant, who gave him many precious bits of information about his master's family, always with infinite discretion. Kobo was the descendant of a long line of samurai, who had themselves been the vassals of a daimio or great baronial family illustrious in the history of Japan. Taru himself remembered the time when Kobo's family had fought in the great civil war from which dates the wonderful advance of modern Japan. Previous to that time, foreigners and all things foreign had been regarded with the intensest hatred by the Japanese; Kobo's father had been among those who fired on the foreign settlement at Hiogo in 1868, and had been condemned to hara-kiri by the Mikado. Bob learnt the terrible details of that mode of execution, when the condemned man, without a murmur or a sign of reluctance or fear, deliberately took his own life at the bidding of his lord. Kobo was a boy of nine when his father thus died; he had grown up under the new system; he had played a considerable part in the Japanese Diet, and had won great honour in the war with China; and he now enjoyed the peculiar confidence of the Mikado's government. Taru did not explain what position he held, and Bob, for all his curiosity, did not care to ask; it was evident that the man held the master in boundless veneration.
Interesting as these talks with Taru were, Bob was most of all pleased when his host, in the evenings, after being invisible all day, entertained him with stories of his country's history, and recounted the picturesque tales of old Japan. He learnt of the long tyranny of the Shoguns, who kept the titular sovereign, the Mikado, in strict seclusion and usurped all his powers until the great Revolution of 1868, when the restoration of the Mikado overthrew the Shogunate for ever. He learnt about the old class distinctions: the daimios, great feudal princes owing vassalage to the sovereign, holding their fiefs on condition of doing military service; the samurai, the warlike retainers of the daimios, themselves chieftains of large bands of warriors, and often more powerful than their lords; the priests of the two religions, Shinto and Buddhism, some of whose wonderful temples in Nikko Bob visited in company with his host; below all these the trading and farming classes, who were held of no account, however wealthy they might become. He learnt of Japan's strange awakening that followed the Mikado's final triumph over the Shogun: the abolition of the feudal system, the disarming of the samurai, the eagerness to learn western ways, the readiness to adopt western inventions. Besides all this, he heard some of the legendary stories of old Japan, and one evening saw Kobo dressed in the old armour of the samurai, a combination of chain-mail and armour-plate, with penthouse shoulder-pieces, nose-piece and gorget, helmet and greaves, a long spear, and two swords worn one above the other on the left hip. Bob was carried back to the days of chivalry in Europe, when knights in armour went out adventuring, soldiers of fortune selling their services to any potentate who would employ them; and he understood something of the fierce energy and enthusiasm which, withdrawn from mere warlike enterprises, had found an outlet in Japan's astonishing development in commerce and industry.
Most of all, Bob was struck by the glimpses he obtained of the samurai ideals. Kobo never talked about his honour; it was not a matter either to boast of or to prove; but from the stories he told, and his manner of telling, Bob recognized that his ideal of honour equalled, if it did not even transcend, the ideals of the preux chevaliers of Christendom. In the old days, the samurai's devotion to his feudal chief was the pole-star of his life. He allowed nothing, not the direst tortures, not death itself, to stand in the way of his duty as he conceived it. In the Sengakuji temple in Tokio Bob had seen the tombs of the Forty-seven Ronins, the national heroes of Japan, whose story as he heard it now from Kobos lips was an epic, an Iliad that was literally true. The Ronins, whose very name means "wave-tost", were samurai, and their lord having been compelled to put himself to death, they formed themselves into a league to avenge him against the man whose treachery had brought this woe upon him. Unfalteringly they pursued their aim, though they knew that the end must be to themselves also death. Against all difficulties and machinations they held on their course unswervingly; their lord's enemy was slain; and with serene cheerfulness they accepted the inevitable doom, and forty-seven, slew themselves in the manner prescribed.
Kobo's conversation was not merely about the past. He spoke of the difficulties at that moment facing his country—difficulties due in great measure to the interference of western powers. With an increasing population, a soil of which a large part was unfit for cultivation, and rapidly-growing industries, Japan needed outlets for her energies, and was determined not to be debarred from her legitimate markets in Manchuria and Korea by restrictions imposed upon her by Russia, which had stepped in and robbed her of the fruits of her victory over China. It was now no secret that a critical stage had been reached in the negotiations between the two empires. Russia promised but did not perform; Japan was biding her time. Would she fight? Bob could not refrain from asking the question. Kobo smiled.
"You saw that little quarrel between two rickshaw men in the narrow road yesterday. They could not pass; neither would yield to the other; they bowed and smiled and discoursed pleasantly for a long time. Then all at once, as you saw, the eyes of one shone, his features set themselves with grim purpose, and he secured the right of way by a heavy stroke that rendered his adversary helpless. Our diplomatists will be polite until the last word is said, and then—"
The information was not merely on Kobo's side. Bob felt that, while the purpose with which he had come to Japan was perfectly known to his host, some further account of his antecedents was due to him. One evening, therefore, he spoke of his parents, of his home in the hill-country near Penrith; of his school-days at Glenalmond, and the vigorous bracing system there; of his early taste for mechanics, and his subsequent years with a Glasgow engineering firm and at Glasgow University. He spoke modestly of his experience, enthusiastically of his work, and hopefully of his prospects; and Kobo, listening without any outward sign of sympathy, said a few simple words of encouragement, which Bob appreciated much more than if they had been extravagant and fulsome.
One day a chance reference to the Chinese war of 1894 prompted Bob to ask a question on a matter that had engaged his curiosity ever since his little adventure in the Ueno Park.
"Chang-Wo?" said Kobo with a smile. "Yes, I will tell you about him if you do not mind listening to a somewhat long story. It was in the autumn of '94. I was then a captain in the Eleventh regiment. Our general, Count Yamagata, had driven the Chinese across the Yalu, and we had made a dash on Feng-huang-cheng, only to find the place a heap of ruins. But we captured a vast quantity of stores, and it was while we were making arrangements for the disposal of these and for the advance of our main army from Kiu-lien-cheng that word was brought to General Tatsumi of a disaster that had befallen one of our transport trains. It was one of those tiresome little contretemps that cause loss and annoyance without affecting the general progress of a campaign."
"We had several affairs of that kind in our Boer war," remarked Bob. "But I interrupt you, sir."
"A half company of infantry escorting a large quantity of war material had been ambushed by a force of Manchus from the hills on our right. Nearly all our men had been killed; the remainder, with the wagons, were carried off into the mountains. The leader of these guerrilla warriors, or brigands as they would more properly be described, was a certain Chang-Wo, a notorious freebooter, who had collected a formidable band of outlaws, and was playing for his own hand. The news was brought to us by one of the wagon-drivers, who had cut the traces of his team and made good his escape. He told us that the brigands were very numerous, but owing to the suddenness of their onslaught he could not give us definite particulars. It was clear that the attack had been most skilfully planned, for the captain in charge of our column was an officer of great ability.
"The general could hardly allow such an attack to pass unpunished. He would have sent cavalry in pursuit of the brigands but that the hilly country was entirely unsuited to them. It happened that my infantry company had been the first to scale the defences of Kiu-lien-cheng, and General Tatsumi selected us to track the marauders down. But he gave us only twenty-four hours. If we did not overtake them in that time we were to return; he said he could not afford to waste a company on a wild-goose chase in the hills. Accordingly I set off at once with my men. The brigands had four hours' start of us, and unluckily we had no information as to their route. But the chances were that they would make with their booty for their stronghold, and we discovered that that lay some two or three marches distant among the hills. It was fifteen miles to the spot at which the ambush had been laid; that was four hours' march, so that the enemy were altogether eight hours ahead of us. We had only sixteen hours left of our twenty-four. Could we accomplish our task? The one point in our favour was that Chang-Wo was encumbered with booty. No doubt he had impressed natives to carry it: wagons would be useless in the hills; and laden coolies perforce go slowly.
"Just as we were starting, it occurred to me that we might make use of the river if boats could be procured. After a little searching we found enough flat-bottomed craft to embark all our men, and we punted down the river for some sixteen miles, saving our legs, and making excellent progress, for we were going with the stream. We kept a sharp look-out on its banks, and at last my man Taru, an excellent scout, declared that he saw traces of a recent fording of the river by a large force. We landed, following up the tracks, and prepared to march them down.
"We had not gone very far before we came upon a coolie dying by the wayside. He told us that he had been brutally maltreated by the Manchus because he had been unable to carry his load. From him we learnt that the brigands had passed seven hours ahead of us. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. My men were in grand condition, the boats having saved them a fatiguing march; and the Japanese infantryman—pardon my saying so—is hard to beat at forced marching. By dusk we had covered thirty miles over the hills. Then a few of my best men went ahead to see if they could more definitely track the enemy. The night was still young when they returned. They had found a large camp about six miles ahead; watch-fires were burning, but the bivouac was but loosely guarded. Chang-Wo evidently believed that he had outmarched any pursuing force. We at once pushed on.
"The brigands were engaged in high carousal when we came within ear-shot of their camp, which was pitched in a hollow of the hills. I sent a scout forward; he returned with the news that they appeared to be about to carry out an execution. I could not doubt that some of my unhappy countrymen who had fallen into the Manchus' hands were to be the victims, and I knew that their death would be neither speedy nor painless. Sending a score of my men to the further side of the hollow to cut off the brigands' retreat, I waited only long enough to give them time to take up their position; then in dead silence the rest of us charged down among the gang. The sentries were so much interested in what was proceeding in the camp that we took them quite unawares, and we were in the midst of the camp almost before the alarm was raised.
"It was a good fight, a capital fight, while it lasted; but my men had a score to pay off, and they were bent on teaching the brigands a lesson. My servant, a very tiger in battle, made direct for the big Manchu, Chang-Wo, and aimed a cut at his head. But the blow was warded off by a henchman of the chiefs, and it took only partial effect, slicing off the villain's right ear. Then they closed, Chang-Wo and Taru, and there was a desperate affray, both struggling on the ground, for though the Manchu is big and extraordinarily powerful, my man was a younger man in those days, and had no match as a wrestler in the whole Japanese army. Unluckily he was struck on the head by the same man as had warded off his blow from Chang-Wo, and before I could come to his assistance the Manchu scrambled to his feet and disappeared in the darkness. He was one of the few who got away. We wiped out almost his whole band. As I expected, he had been about to torture to death the half-dozen Japanese whom they had brought as prisoners from the ambush. We had two hours left out of our twenty-four."
"And what is Chang-Wo doing now in Tokio?"
"I do not know; though I could make a guess. I had heard little of him since the war. But he is still the chief of his band of brigands; and we have every reason to believe that he is in Russian pay. But he is no longer in Tokio. As soon as Taru told me of his meeting in the Park, I sent men on the Manchu's track. He had disappeared; and I think he will not again be seen in our towns: his absent ear would make him now too conspicuous."
One day, not long after Bob had thus learnt the story of Chang-Wo, Kobo was more than usually busy. Telegrams reached the house in quick succession, and the ladies, though they betrayed no anxiety, showed by little indications that might have escaped a less interested observer than Bob that an important moment had arrived. Few outward signs of affection passed between Kobo and his family, but it was easy to discern how thoroughly his wife and daughter were wrapt up in him, and how they all doted on his only son, a boy at school in England. It was Wednesday, February 3. Bob was seated with the ladies waiting for Kobo to appear at the mid-day meal. He came in at length. The ladies rose upon their knees and made him a profound obeisance. He was dressed in European costume; in his hand he held a telegram.
"For you, Mr. Fawcett," he said gravely.
Bob took the envelope, tore it open, and read:
"You are requested report yourself Admiral Togo at Sasebo."
It was signed by the secretary whom he had seen when he called at the government offices in Tokio.
"I am summoned," he said to Kobo.
"Yes. I will accompany you. Let us finish our meal."
Bob was so much excited that he found it hard to eat. The others were outwardly as calm as though nothing had happened. The many courses were brought in as usual by the smiling musumés. Bob made a pretence at partaking of them all, but he was glad when the meal was over, and his host announced that rickshaws would be at the door in half an hour. It seemed an age. The moment of parting came. Bob bade farewell to O Kami San and O Toyo San, thanking them with a full heart for the hospitality they had shown him, then mounted to his place. Kobo San followed him. There was no hand-clasp, no good-bye kiss; wife, daughter, the musumés bent to the ground in the lowliest of obeisances; and as the coolies started to run down the hill, Bob looked back and saw them all at the door, still with smiling faces, and heard in their pretty, unstressed accents the soft, long-drawn-out word of farewell:
"Sayonara! Sa—yo—na—ra!"
CHAPTER IV
Six to One
A Newspaper Paragraph—Scenes by the Way—Mistaken Identity—A Warm Corner—A Modern Miracle—Yamaguchi
The train rattled down to Tokio, cutting at intervals through the magnificent avenue of cryptomerias, at such a headlong pace that Bob feared every moment lest it should jump the rails and end his career before it had begun. But he reached Tokio whole in limb, and, taking leave of Kobo San at the station, hurried to his hotel. After making his preparations, he found that there was an hour or two to spare before the train left for the west, and went into the reading-room to look at the papers, which he had not seen during his absence. There he encountered a dejected group, comprising his ship-board acquaintances Mr. Morton, Herr Schwab, and Monsieur Desjardins, together with a few other Europeans and a couple of Americans, all evidently correspondents.
"Hullo!" shouted Morton. "Thought you were at Hong-Kong by now. I wish I were!"
Morton's loud voice, and the atmosphere of the hotel, struck Bob with a curious sense of incongruity after the quiet of his recent sojourn at Nikko.
"What! You don't like Japan?" he said with a smile.
"Humph!" grunted Morton. "Precious little of Japan we've seen, boxed up here, asking questions, getting no answers. Haven't sent the Post a decent stick of copy since I came. Everything leaks out in London before we get it here. That wretched legation in Knightsbridge don't give us a chance. We might as well be in Kamschatka. But what have you been doing?"
"I've been to Nikko!"
"What! Finding ranges?"
"Yes," said Bob; "mountain ranges."
"You say ranges," broke in Herr Schwab instantly. "I hafe new batent kitchen range, save 95 per cent fuel. I can quote you—"
He stopped in stolid wonder at a general chuckle from the group. Morton, evidently scenting information, followed up his clue.
"I suppose you're out of work like the rest of us. Jap motto: 'No foreigners need apply'. They've had shoals of applications."
Although Bob had not been definitely warned to keep his business secret, he felt that he was not entitled to make any premature disclosure.
"Well, anyhow it's a pleasant enough way of spending a holiday," he said. "There's plenty to be seen."
"My word! yes," said Desjardins. "I am in enchantment. De Japanese, dey are adorable. Deir politesse, it is exquisite; dey tell you everyting, but vis a charm—everyting, except vat you vant to know."
"You are right," said Mr. Jacob T. Vanzant, war commissioner of the New York Eagle. "I flattered myself I could raise a column of red-hot news out of a dumb waiter, but it would be easier to make the Egyptian sphinx talk than to draw one of these smiling, affable young slips at the foreign office. But it's war, gentlemen; there isn't a doubt about that. Listen to this."
He took up a fortnight-old copy of the San Francisco Argonaut lying at his elbow.
"Our fellow-citizens will learn with regret that since the fifteenth current the location of Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle and her niece has been involved in obscurity. When our esteemed contributor's usual letter failed to reach our offices, we cabled enquiries to the Russian commandant-general in Manchuria, and received in response the following communication: 'Mesdames priées de faire retour via Port Arthur; disparues il y a deux jours'. We have every hope that in spite of the unsettled state of Manchuria Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle's magnificent energy and determination, which have been strikingly evinced in the palpitating series of letters that have appeared in the Argonaut, will ultimately ensure her safe return to her native city."
"But I do not onderstand," said Herr Schwab, "vherefore ze egsentricity of your Mrs. Bottle shall be a cause of var."
Mr. Vanzant smiled, and proceeded to explain that if the Russian authorities had not had serious grounds for believing that hostilities were impending, they would have had no occasion to interrupt Mrs. Pottle's projected journey across Korea to Seoul, and thus curtail the programme she had set herself to perform when she left San Francisco on her trip round the world.
"Very ingenious," remarked Morton; "but if that's all you've got to go on, seems to me you're raising a skyscraper on a very slight foundation."
"I presume, sir," retorted the American, "you have not met Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle."
Desjardins immediately wanted to know all about the adventurous lady, and an animated conversation ensued, in which Bob took no part. Remembering the telegram screwed up in his pocket, he had felt a certain constraint while Mr. Vanzant had been giving his reasons. Conscious that he was not a diplomatist, and fearing lest in an unguarded moment he should let drop information the mere hint of which would be telegraphed to every part of the world, he took an early opportunity of slipping away.
"Zey are civilized? Ach! zey buy nozink. Ruskin, zey vill not read him; batent mangle, zey vill not look at it. Vy, ven I vas in ze Congo State viz Mr. Burnaby, ze blacks zey buy eferyzink: pins, lawn-mower, lexicon, hair-oil—" These were the last words Bob heard as he left the room, and the last he was destined to hear from Herr Schwab for a considerable time to come.
At ten o'clock that night he quietly left the hotel, and was drawn in a rickshaw, with his slender kit, to the Shimbashi railway-station, en route for Sasebo. He had a long journey before him, but he had no idea of how long it was actually to be. Many times during that night and the next day his train was shunted into sidings, to allow the passing of trains bearing troops to the western ports. During the hours of darkness he slept soundly, but with the morning light he awoke to the fact that things were happening. At the stations, where refreshments in neat little boxes were brought to the passengers, he saw crowds, sometimes melting away, sometimes gathering, with looks of intent eagerness on their faces. At one station, which was thronged, he saw the actual departure of a train overflowing with the trim little Japanese soldiers. He was struck by the air of joyous confidence that marked their bearing, and the look of pride with which the women and children on the platforms bade them farewell. There was none of the frenzied enthusiasm and the bitter grief which he had noticed in the crowds that sped the British soldiers on their way to South Africa five years before; there was no kissing or hand-shaking, no hanging on the necks of the departing warriors, no impeding of their movements as they entrained, no tearful last words. A few shouts of "Banzai! Banzai!" as the train moved off, and then the throng dispersed in perfect order and decorum, to hide their sorrow, perhaps, in the seclusion of their own homes. Bob was much impressed by the scene; it was like the departure of a band of Crusaders in the great days of old.
He was glad enough when, after a journey of some thirty hours, he at length reached Sasebo, the naval station where he understood the Japanese fleet was lying. Leaving his portmanteau at the railway-station, he enquired of the station-master the way to the harbour, and was courteously informed by him, in the few English phrases he had at command, that the distance was not great. Always desirous of seeing as much of the people as his opportunities allowed, Bob decided to make his way to the harbour on foot, and declined the offers of the rickshaw coolies who stood waiting to be hired in the station-yard. A regiment from Southern Kiushiu had recently detrained, and the crowd that had assembled to greet them was dispersing, as Bob passed out, with the same general orderliness that he had remarked at the stations on the line. But in this case a few among the patriots had been indulging somewhat too freely in saké, and once or twice Bob moved aside to give a wide berth to knots of roysterers who seemed inclined to claim the whole roadway. As he passed a group of half a dozen young men whom he took to be students, he heard the word "Orosha", which he remembered as the Japanese equivalent for "Russia". This was followed by a string of remarks which by their tone were clearly of no complimentary character, but which were as clearly aimed at him. In anticipation of his long, cold journey, Bob had put on his long frieze ulster that covered him from his heels to his ears, and a deer-stalker cap that was very comfortable if not very elegant. His tall figure thus costumed, his fair hair and blue eyes, were sufficient to give him the appearance of a Russian to half-drunken patriots, who in the circumstances of the time were not likely to be well-disposed towards their national enemies.
Bob did not look round; he smiled a little at the thought of being taken for a Muscovite. "Never knew I was a handsome fellow before," he thought. Walking more quickly and more directly than the noisy students, he expected to pass out of their sight in the course of a few minutes. But he was somewhat disconcerted to find that the party quickened their steps behind him; the abuse became louder and more continuous; and even the quiet, orderly portion of the crowd, now thinning in the dusk, began, as he could see, to regard him with some suspicion. He was aware that the less educated Japanese do not draw fine distinctions in the matter of foreigners, and remembering what he had learnt in Nikko from Kobo, and still more from his servant Taru, of the outrages which Europeans had suffered at the hands of infuriated Japanese not many years before, he felt some apprehension of what the end of the business might be. It was hopeless to attempt to conciliate the youths by announcing his British citizenship, for his whole stock of Japanese words consisted of the names of a few common things, and the mere attempt to address them might increase their irritation. Thinking to shake them off, he turned suddenly down a narrow side street, leading, as he supposed, in the direction of the harbour. The houses at the sides were little one-story affairs built of wood; their fronts, removed all day, had been replaced for the night; no lanterns hung at the entrances; the one street-lamp was not lit; and the whole thoroughfare was deserted, except for two Chinamen who were proceeding in the same direction as Bob, about two hundred yards ahead.
He had scarcely turned the corner when he felt that he had made an unwise move, a feeling confirmed in a few moments, for the group of students, gaining courage from the fact that the eyes of the more sober section of the crowd were no longer upon them, followed him into the narrow street with louder and more threatening cries. Bob was annoyed; he had nothing to gain by a street row; but while he instinctively quickened his pace he took a tight grip upon a knobbed stick of cherry-wood presented to him by Kobo at Nikko, preparing to turn instantly on his pursuers if they attempted to close in upon him. He began to recognize that sooner or later there would be a rush, and though he was pretty sure that by incontinently taking to his heels he could distance the little fellows with ease, and suspected that this would probably be the wisest course, he could not bring himself to run away from a mob of students whom he overtopped head and shoulders, especially as his flight must be witnessed by two Chinamen.
Within a minute his anticipations were fulfilled. There was a yell and a sudden rush behind him. Quick as thought he stepped sideways into an angle between the latticed entrance to a shop and a low palisade that stood out a couple of feet from the wall, enclosing some architectural ornament, and faced the angry students. There were six of them, all armed with sticks, and they made at the solitary foreigner in a body. Fortunately for Bob, they could not reach him from behind; his left was partially protected by the railing; and as they surged forward they impeded one another's movements. Had it not been so, Bob's experiences in the Far East would have been closed there and then, for the Japanese are the finest fencers in the world, and singlestick-play is with them a favourite pastime.
Raising his stick to defend his head, Bob received upon it the simultaneous strokes of the three foremost of his opponents, which almost beat down his guard. But he had a wrist of iron; he had not served an apprenticeship in an engineering shop for nothing; and he instantly retaliated with two rapid sledge-hammer blows with his left fist, which felled two of the Japanese to the ground. The rest were for the moment somewhat staggered; they knew single-stick, but were not prepared for this peculiarly British variation. With characteristic pluck, however, they recovered themselves almost before their comrades had reached the ground, and undeterred by the fate of their vanguard, the others, going to work a little more cautiously, closed in towards the tall, erect figure of the foreigner. Keeping out of arm's reach, they tried to rain their blows on Bob's head. Their sticks rattled upon his; one sturdy little Japanese got in a heavy blow on his left wrist that put one arm out of action, while another at the same moment dodged in under his guard and seized him by the throat. With a great muscular effort Bob, dropping his stick, now useless to him, shortened his arm and struck his assailant behind the ear, at the same time raising his wounded arm to protect his head and making a dash forward to break through the ring. The grip upon his throat relaxed; the Japanese, falling under Bob's weight, was borne to the ground, but as he fell he seized Bob by the foot, and with a violent jerk tripped him up. As he dropped he received two or three blows on the back and shoulders; then he was overwhelmed by the weight of the three remaining Japanese, all striving to get at him at the same time. He felt that he was in a desperately tight place; afterwards he remembered that his sensations strangely resembled those he had experienced at a critical moment in a certain memorable soccer match between his club and an eleven of Clydebank riveters.
But before the assailants could distinguish between Bob's form and that of the half-senseless Japanese entangled with him, an unlooked-for diversion occurred. There was the soft pad of felt soles, inaudible to Bob and his enemies; two or three resounding thwacks on the craniums of the panting Japanese, and in a twinkling Bob was on his feet, breathless, hatless, speechless, returning as best he could the courteous salutations of two grave, silent Chinamen. Four Japanese were limping down the street, two others still lay senseless on the ground. The Chinamen were the same two figures Bob had seen immediately in front of him as he entered the thoroughfare, which was still deserted, all the inhabitants having gone down to the harbour, save one old ship's carpenter who had tottered to his shop-front, attracted by the sound of the scuffle.
"It is very good of you," said Bob, gasping. "I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure."
The younger of the two Chinamen, apparently a merchant, shook his head and smiled deprecatingly, from which Bob gathered that he did not understand English. The other, evidently a servant, preserved an impassivity of countenance such as only a Chinaman can command. Bob was at a loss how to express his gratitude; but the dignified merchant, waving his hand to signify that the affair was a mere nothing, bowed ceremoniously and continued on his way.
Bob picked up his hat and stick, dusted his coat with his hand, and felt his wrist to make sure that no bones were broken. Then, thinking it wise to return to the principal street and proceed to the harbour as directed by the station-master, he retraced his steps.
"I wonder where I have seen those two Chinamen before," he said to himself as he walked on. "Was it at Hong-Kong, or Shanghai?"
Down the long street, strangely quiet. Bob wondered what had become of all the people. The secret was ere long disclosed. He came to the quays. There were people everywhere; men, women, children, soldiers, sailors, crowded together in picturesque disorder. Out on the waters of the harbour there was a throng of shipping scarcely less dense. Nearer the shore, sampans, junks, transport vessels of all descriptions, the smaller craft hurrying this way and that, loaded with goods, loaded with men. Farther out, many twinkling lights, making curious fairy-like patterns in the deepening gloom. There Bob got his first vague glimpse of the fleet.
He looked, and wondered, and thought. Those silent forms, lying so peacefully amid the reflections of their lights—how soon would they fulfil their destiny as deadly instruments of destruction? What an amazing object-lesson in the history of nations! Forty years before, Japan, socially and politically, was as remote from western civilization as the peoples of Europe in the middle ages. Now she possessed, and, as she had proved in the China war, could make the fullest use of, the most complex engines evolved by western science. Bob recalled the tales told him by Kobo of Japan during his own childhood, and was conscious of a transformation more marvellous than the most fantastic of fairy lore. The ships were amazing enough, but what of the men? Every vessel bore its complement of officers and engineers trained to the highest point of efficiency, with perfect command of the myriad delicate details of these marvels of mechanical invention. They were the sons of men who had swaggered about the streets of Yedo in strange attire with their double swords, the terror of the despised peaceful folk, or, clad in mediæval armour, had swelled the trains of great daimios who came in from their distant fiefs to pay an enforced annual visit to the capital. The crews! they sprang from peasants, artisans, and menials who for generations had been forbidden to wear arms, and were supposed fit for little else than to be hewers of wood and drawers of water for their proud lords and lordlings. Yet, as the China war had proved, now that the awakening had taken place, this despised and unconsidered class had shown a daring, a martial spirit, a capacity for heroism, no whit inferior to that of their officers, the descendants of daimios and samurai whose very life was war.
The blare of a bugle woke Bob from his reverie. From the crowd at the end of the quay rose a shout of "Banzai!" which was taken up by the throng all around, and swelled by the echo from the walls of the arsenal. The last boatload of soldiers had just left shore for one of the transports. It was time for Bob to go on board. Soon he was being punted along in a sampan, which threaded its way slowly among lighters, tugs, and innumerable small craft, clear of which it came at length to the war-ships. The Mikasa was easily singled out; there was a short parley with the officer of the watch, and Bob, mounting the side, was ere long conducted to the presence of the admiral in whom Japan's highest hopes were centred.
Keen eyes, a grizzled pointed beard, a quiet self-possessed manner, a low pleasant voice—it was these that gave Bob his first impressions of Admiral Togo as, enveloped in his thick greatcoat, he greeted the young Englishman. Many years had passed since he trod the deck of the Worcester as a cadet: years in which he had seen the building-up of the great navy that now lay obedient to his single word. He spoke excellent English, and in a few sentences acquainted Bob with the situation that had called for his services. The fleet was about to sail; war might break out at any moment; he needed someone at hand in case the range-finders, on which so much would depend, should require checking or adjusting.
"You are in an exceptional position, Mr. Fawcett," he said. "We are not enlisting the services of foreigners; but the mechanism of the range-finder being of a special character, it was thought well to have on the spot some one from its original makers. I should point out to you that your services may be required on any vessel of the fleet at a moment's notice, and your duties may lead you into very grave peril. We are at the beginning of new experiences in naval warfare; there may be terrible things in store for us. It is right to warn you, so that you may not go blindfold into danger. It is for you to say whether you accept the position."
"Thank you, sir," replied Bob. "I've been sent out to do a certain work, and I can only take things as they come. I'm delighted to have the chance of seeing service on your magnificent vessel."
Bob's manifest eagerness provoked a faint smile from the admiral.
"Very well, then, I'll send for your baggage and hand you over to Sub-lieutenant Yamaguchi; he has not long left Glasgow and knows English well, so that he will no doubt prove an acceptable mess-mate. He will see that you get a berth, and look after you generally."
In a few moments Bob was being convoyed by the sub-lieutenant, a little fellow of five feet two, to the wardroom, where he was introduced to several other officers. Some of these had more than a smattering of English, and their courtesy and air of good fellowship would have made a more self-conscious stranger than Bob Fawcett feel at home. He spent a delightful evening in their company, and went to his bunk with vague expectations of things to happen next day.
CHAPTER V
A Fleet in Action
War—Nearing Port Arthur—In the Night Watches—The First Blow—A Battle of the Giants—In a Box-battery—A Rescue
Next morning Bob, in Yamaguchi's company, made a round of the fighting admiral's flagship. The youngest of four sister vessels, the Mikasa, launched at Barrow only four years previously, had a displacement of some 15,000 tons, a tremendous armament, and armour-casing varying from four inches to more than a foot in thickness. Forward and aft were two pairs of 12-inch breech-loading guns, mounted in barbettes encased in fourteen inches of armour. On the main-deck were ten 6-inch quick-firers, mounted on the "box-battery" system in an armoured citadel, the latest device of the naval architect to afford protection at once to the ship and to the crews fighting the guns. Bob already had some knowledge of armour-clad vessels, having more than once been sent by his firm to install range-finders in British ships, but never before had he enjoyed the opportunity of examining a vessel of the Mikasa type, now being adopted in the British navy.
For an hour or two he was busy on the navigating-officer's bridge, examining the complicated apparatus of the range-finder. The difficulty of regulating this ingenious piece of mechanism is due to the unequal expansion of the metals of which it is made. Obviously it was impossible to test its accuracy until a shot could actually be fired at a given range, but Bob saw that all its adjustments were satisfactory, and had an interesting discussion with the navigating officer, whose duty it would be, when the vessel went into action, to call the ranges for the gunners below.
While this was going on, Bob was too much occupied to notice the signs of increasing activity in the harbour. The Mikasa was surrounded by the other vessels of the fleet—battle-ships and cruisers; torpedo-boats and torpedo-boat destroyers formed an outer circle of wide extent. In the inner harbour no fewer than seventy transports were lying at anchor, and since early morning many of these had been filling up with cheerful crowds of Japanese soldiers and immense bales of stores, carried on heavy-laden sampans and lighters from the quays. While Bob was walking round the vessel with Yamaguchi, he suddenly noticed the wireless-telegraphic operator make his way quietly to the bridge where Admiral Togo stood talking with the captain. The man saluted, and handed the admiral a paper. The latter moved a little aside to read it, then spoke a few rapid words to the captain. A few minutes afterwards a number of flags were flying from the masthead, answering signals were run up on the other vessels, and a general movement was visible throughout the fleet. On the Mikasa all was activity. Bob noted with admiration the precision with which every man on board, without hurry or bustle, went about his allotted duty. The captain on the armoured conning-tower, with bells, speaking-tubes, and telephones all round him, issued orders which were carried out as instantaneously as though he were touching the responsive keys of an instrument. On all the other vessels similar activity prevailed. The fleet was preparing to sail. Moving with the ease of living beings in their native element, the several vessels fell gradually into their settled place in the line, and then, the Mikasa leading, steamed slowly out towards the open sea.
It was a moment never to be forgotten. Bob did not know whither the fleet was bound, nor on what enterprise, but he was certain that its departure was the first step in a carefully-arranged scheme, and his heart throbbed with the excitement of knowing that, happen what might, he was to be there, a spectator of, if not a participant in, events that might change the destiny of the world.
Negotiations between Russia and Japan had been broken off. Every man on board knew that, and recognized that this was inevitably the prelude to war unless Russia should do what no one could imagine her doing—yield. The sudden order to sail indicated that Admiral Togo had received instructions to deliver, or at least to threaten, a blow at the enemy. More than this no one knew. A Russian squadron was lying at Chemulpo, the port of Seoul, in Korea; another, the strongest fleet Russia had in Eastern seas, was at Port Arthur; a third was at Vladivostock, far to the north. The Russians were known to be filled with vast contempt for the "dwarfs"; they would surely not allow their insignificant enemy's fleet to approach their much-prized harbours without first meeting them on the seas; and it was with the expectation of a terrible fight, ship against ship, that the Japanese went out fearlessly towards the unknown.
Out into the sea, due westward, sailed the fleet, the Mikasa and her sister ships proudly riding the waves, the smaller vessels driving their bows through the water and rising like dripping seals from each encounter. The battle-ships kept line behind the leader, each holding on her course with unerring accuracy; and as they moved majestically on amid the surrounding cruisers and torpedo craft, they seemed to Bob like ocean leviathans accompanied by a brood of young.
Map of Korea and part of Manchuria
In the dusk, soon after passing between Quelpart and the southern extremity of Korea, Bob noticed that part of the fleet had disappeared. He remarked on the fact to Sub-lieutenant Yamaguchi.
"Yes," he replied; "some of the vessels have gone off northwards, to Chemulpo probably."
"Where are we going, then?"
"I don't know, but I should guess to Port Arthur—the place the Russians robbed us of nine years ago."
"Well, I hope that if there is to be any fighting we shall have first shot. What are the chances?"
"Port Arthur is nearly a hundred miles farther away than Chemulpo. If the Russians come out from Chemulpo, Admiral Uriu is bound to open the ball. But you needn't envy him that. Port Arthur is the nut to crack; the Russians have been spending heaps of money on fortifications, and, of course, if we can get past their fleet we shall have to bombard. Then you'll see what our gunners can do: and you'll come in there with that range-finding instrument."
"But you'll have to fight the Russian fleet first. You can't expect what we call in England a walk-over, you know."
The Japanese smiled.
"Come and have a game of 'go' in the cabin," he said.
Bob had already been initiated into the intricacies of 'go', the Japanese equivalent of chess. He played, and took a beating with a sang-froid that the self-contained Japanese themselves could not excel.
Now the Mikasa altered her course and steamed N.N.E., passing outside the Mackau Islands, and thence across the Yellow Sea to the Shantung promontory. Early on the afternoon of the next day the fleet had come within six hours' easy steaming of Port Arthur. It was bitterly cold, but the sea was smooth and the air clear, and Bob, who had borrowed a telescope, often swept the horizon in eager search of any sign of Russians, expecting that they would be scouring the Yellow Sea to get the earliest possible intimation of a Japanese attack. No war-ship was to be seen; only a few Japanese junks were sighted beating up against a brisk south wind, making for Kiauchau or the Yang-tze ports.
Suddenly, at a signal from the flagship, the squadron slowed down until the vessels had only steering-way; and the order was given to clear for action. With wonderful celerity the men moved hither and thither, stowing away wooden bulk-heads, mess-tables, benches, and other inflammable articles of furniture, to avoid the risk of a conflagration on board as the result of bursting shells. The decks were drenched with water and sanded; some of the seamen filled the boats from their hoses; some stacked coal around the bases of the funnels; others hung canvas screens round the Maxims and the smaller quick-firers. Ammunition hoists were rigged, the guns were cast loose, and hammocks were heaped around the conning-tower to protect this vital centre from flying splinters. Below decks the torpedo crews were busily overhauling the tubes, while the gunnery staff were preparing fuses and seeing that shells were collected in readiness for hoisting.
Watching these preparations, careful not to get in the way, Bob wished with all his heart that he could have taken an active part instead of being a spectator merely. If, as seemed probable, a night attack was in question, there would be little scope for the range-finder, and in any case he himself would not be required unless the instrument failed, which from his examination he thought unlikely. But the circumstances in which he found himself were so novel, that even though he could do nothing, the anticipation of what he might see warmed his blood and filled him with excitement.
Dusk fell; once more the vessels went ahead, steaming at half-speed. "We shall be within fighting range of Port Arthur before midnight," said Yamaguchi confidentially to Bob. The orderly confusion of the preceding hours had now given place to a quietude which was even more impressive. The Mikasa seemed to be pervaded by a tense expectancy, officers and men stood in silent watchfulness, and when they spoke it was in low tones, and disconnectedly. Admiral Togo stood with Captain Igichi and the navigating officer on the conning-tower, whose top had been removed; and Bob felt that every man on board had unbounded confidence in his cause, his admiral, and himself.
The vessels showed no lights. In the growing moonlight they glided along like monstrous ghosts. Only the phosphorescent gleam of the huge waves thrown up by their bows gave indication that these were no unsubstantial fabrics, but huge bulks of metal forcing their way, by favour of the toil and sweat of self-sacrificing engineers and stokers far below decks, against the resistance of the mighty element.
As the fleet drew moment by moment nearer to the great port, the strain became intense. Conversation had entirely ceased; the deep silence was scarcely broken, it seemed, by the hollow throb of the engines. All eyes were strained to pierce the distance, to catch sight of the enemy that now, surely, could not be far away, and the first intimation of whose proximity might be the explosion of a torpedo hurling the vessel and every soul on board to destruction. Suddenly, on the port quarter, appeared the lights of four vessels steaming in the same direction as the fleet towards Port Arthur, the gleam from whose lighthouse had for some time been distinctly visible. A ruse was being practised on the Russians. The vessels were Japanese torpedo-boats, making direct for the harbour, in the expectation of being taken for scouting vessels of the Russian fleet. Would the trick succeed? The Mikasa glided on.
It was now past ten o'clock, and in the distance the heights above Port Arthur appeared a black ridge against the faintly moonlit sky, throwing deep shadows on the waters of the harbour. Between the Mikasa and the roadstead several small black spots could be seen dotting the surface of the sea. The four torpedo-boats crept gradually closer; they came unsuspected upon the outermost vessel of the Russian fleet. Suddenly the sounds of three muffled explosions, at intervals of a few seconds, vibrated through the air. Bob held his breath; this was the beginning of things: what had happened? In a moment, from the far distance, came the rattle of machine-guns, followed by the deeper boom of quick-firers, growing in volume until it seemed as if the whole armament of the Russian fleet was engaged. On board the Mikasa there was the clang of a bell. The vessel slowed down, then stopped; the other battle-ships followed her example; and as search-lights flashed from the Russian vessels and the forts, cutting brilliant white cones through the lesser radiance of the moon, Bob caught a glimpse for the fraction of a second of the low hull of a Japanese torpedo-boat speeding forward to discharge its deadly missile. Hard by was the vast bulk of a cruiser, and stretched in a long line in the roads lay a dozen other war-ships of varying sizes, from the huge Petropavlovsk, instantly recognizable by her monstrous form, to the few Russian torpedo-boats which alone seemed to be alert.
After a time the firing almost ceased; but the flashlights continued to make wild gyrations, and every now and then there was a renewed rattle of machine-guns from the Russian ships. Not a shot was fired from the Japanese fleet. In advance of the battle-ships the cruisers had steamed forward to support the torpedo-boats; but the general bombardment which Bob expected had not begun.
He was beginning to think that all was over, and wondering what had actually taken place, when a dull explosion broke the silence, followed by two other shocks. Immediately the Russian search-lights swept round towards the harbour, and the forms of the vessels were silhouetted against the illumination.
"They have got in behind them—under the shadow of the hills," said Yamaguchi in Bob's ear. The little Japanese was panting with excitement. "Caught napping, if ever enemy was! You see? They expected another attack from the open. Our boats have got between them and the harbour; if only it were morning light!"
It was as Yamaguchi said. Buried in the dense blackness cast by the frowning heights above the harbour, the Japanese torpedo flotilla had stealthily crept to the rear of the vessels lying outside. It was a stroke cunningly planned and boldly executed. On board the Mikasa men and officers waited eagerly to learn the result. They had not a doubt of its success. At length Admiral Togo received a wireless message from the admiral of the advanced squadron announcing that four Russian vessels had been struck by torpedoes, and as the news was circulated through the ship, the manner in which it was received impressed Bob with a sense of the confidence, and at the same time the self-restraint, of these allies of Britain. There was no excessive elation; not a cheer was raised; every man seemed to regard the event as inevitable. The fleet at once wheeled round and ran out to sea, so as to be at dawn out of range of the Russian batteries.
The sun rose very red over Korea; the south wind blew steadily, topping the swelling sea with snowy crests. On the far horizon could be descried three Japanese cruisers, and the lower hulls of several destroyers, stationed like watch-dogs on the skirts of the Russian fleet. Soon after eight the cruisers were seen to be approaching, and behind them appeared the funnels of several Russian vessels in chase. Admiral Togo immediately signalled his fleet to stand in to the support of the cruisers, and the crew of the Mikasa braced themselves in eagerness for the expected fray. A sigh of disappointment broke from them as they saw the Russians almost at once retire towards Port Arthur, and anchor under the protection of the batteries on the heights. Surely the enemy, whose every word and action hitherto had indicated supreme contempt of their opponent, would not lamely accept the previous night's attack without attempting a counterstroke. But it was not known on the Mikasa that Admiral Alexieff had devotedly informed his majesty the Tsar that two of his battle-ships, the Retvisan and the Tsarevitch, and the cruiser Pallada, had been so seriously damaged by the Japanese torpedoes that they now lay helpless in the channel, where in all probability they would remain ingloriously out of action for some time to come.
Bob wondered why the Russians seemed disinclined to run out and risk a fair and square fight in the open. Admiral Togo was not the man to wait for an invitation. Between ten and eleven the order to steam ahead was given, the fighting flag was hoisted, and the Mikasa, her collision mats on, led the way.
All hands were piped to dinner. Profiting by the experience gained when he commanded the Naniwa in the Chinese war, Admiral Togo wisely resolved to give his crew a good square meal before the action began. Bob went forward among the men, interested to see them dispose of their strange mixture of Japanese and European food, and to observe their cheerful demeanour. While he was with them a summons reached him to go to the gunnery officer on the bridge. He found that some slight adjustment was needed for the delicate mechanism of the range-finder, which occupied him but a few minutes. He remained by the officer's side, and looked eagerly through his powerful glasses in the direction of Port Arthur, which presently came into view, a long bent line on the horizon. The gunnery officer pointed out to him the entrance to the harbour, between a range of bluffs on the east and a low-lying peninsula running almost due north and south. He learnt the locality of the Huang-chin-shan fort and the Lao-mu-chu battery on the bluffs, and the approximate position of a series of fortifications on the island, commanding the entrance to the channel and the roadstead beyond.
Then, looking through the eye-pieces of the range-finder, he saw a line of Russian war-ships extended outside the harbour. The scale indicated that they were at least six miles distant. There were five battle-ships, six cruisers, a gun-boat, and seventeen smaller craft—destroyers and torpedo-boats. The mosquito flotilla was grouped close to the entrance of the navigable channel. Just beyond them Bob descried the funnels of three large vessels apparently aground. These were the victims of the night's operations—the vessels whose unhappy plight was soon to result in the removal of Admiral Stark from the command of the fleet his laxity had jeopardized.
It was a fine sunny day, there was a gentle swell on the surface of the sea, and the Mikasa, steaming eighteen knots, drew rapidly nearer to the great fortress. Bob, looking steadily through his glass, singled out the flagship, the Peresviet, on which he expected the Mikasa's attack would be directed. The gunnery officer's eyes were now riveted to the range-finder. At length, whispering "Three miles and a half" in Bob's ear, he touched an electric apparatus at his side. The clang of bells was soon afterwards heard, signal-flags were run up at the vessel's fore, and Bob distinguished a curious clinking sound from an invisible point below him.
"Twelve-inch breech swung open," said the gunnery officer quietly. "Keep your eye on the Peresviet."
Almost immediately afterwards there came to Bob's ears a strange hoarse cough; the vessel seemed to wince. A few seconds of suspense, then Bob saw a small puff of smoke beneath the bows of the Peresviet: a column of water rose high into the air, and as the wind separated its particles into spray, it appeared as if a shower of many-coloured glass were falling over the deck of the Russian vessel.
"Beautiful shot!" said the gunnery officer. "We must alter the range."
Before a second shot could be fired from the Mikasa, however, one of her consorts had followed her example, and Bob saw a patch of dirty smoke on one of the bluffs near the Lao-mu-chu battery.
"Hasn't got the range yet," said the gunnery officer. "Now for ours."
Again the coughing sound, again the staggering recoil, and the Shimose shell burst on the armour plating of the Peresviet, which was at once obscured by a cloud of dense black smoke. The bombardment had begun.
Only a few seconds after the Mikasa's second shot, Bob felt the air vibrate, and the sea around the vessel was churned white by shells fired from the Russian ships and the batteries on shore. Now also the other vessels of the Japanese fleet joined in the fray, manoeuvring with beautiful precision so as to present moving targets to the Russian gunners and baffle their aim. The din all around was appalling; guns of all sizes and species were making fierce practice against the enemy; Maxims rattling, quick-firers shrieking and wailing. A column of black smoke rose from the deck of the Peresviet, showing that she had been hit near the base of her forward funnel. Then, as the eager sailors learnt the success of the shot, Bob heard the first cheer of the day. Immediately afterwards a projectile whistled over his head, exploded in the air beyond the vessel, and threw a rain of iron into the sea, the splinters falling like stones cast by some giant's hand.
"Better go down out of harm's way, sir," said the Japanese officer.
Bob went down, not so much to be out of harm's way as to see the gunners at their work. He looked in at one of the box-batteries. The gun crew of six men were busy with the shells that came up from the magazines on the ammunition hoists; one was placed in the breech, behind his bullet-proof shield the gun-captain laid his vast weapon, the men flung themselves on their faces, and the shot sped away on its terrible mission. Then the breech was swung open, another shell was heaved into position, the sight was taken, and the vessel winced as the huge projectile flew on its way.
Hitherto the aim of the Russian gunners had been far from accurate; indeed, all through the fight their shells did little damage, telling only too clearly of insufficient practice at moving targets. But it was different with the gunners in the forts. As they got the range, shells hurtled around the Mikasa; and Admiral Togo at once signalled to the Hatsuse and the Asahi to turn their attention to the fort, and the concentrated fire of the three vessels was brought to bear upon it. So dense was the smoke now that Bob could not distinguish the effects of the shots. Indeed, he was almost dazed by the noise around him—the clang of bells, the crash of the guns, the din of the working engines. All the time the captain stood on the conning-tower calm and unmoved, telephoning his orders to the captains of the guns as though it was a case of target practice instead of deadly war.
Bob had seen nothing of Yamaguchi since early morning, and he wondered how the gallant little lieutenant was faring. So few shots from the Russians had actually struck the Mikasa that Bob had ceased to fear anything for his personal safety. He knew that Yamaguchi was captain of the crew of a gun in one of the starboard batteries, and stepping over a coil of hose placed in readiness for extinguishing any fire that might break out, he made his way along the deck to find his friend.
There he was, peering through his glass to watch the effect of the last shot from his gun. Bob stood unnoticed behind. A huge projectile had just come up on the hoist, and two men were steering it to its place above the breech. Suddenly, somewhere above his head, there was a whistle, a hiss, a sharp ringing noise, then a terrible crash, a blinding light, and volumes of yellow suffocating smoke. A shell had burst on the armour casing near the muzzle of the gun. Bob was flung heavily against the breech-block, which had been swung open to receive the shell. He was half stunned; there was a strange ringing in his ears; he gasped for breath, felt that he was choking, and believed that in a few moments he must lose consciousness. But it was not in his nature to give in without a struggle. Collecting himself with a desperate effort, he managed to grope his way, half-staggering, half-crawling, out of the battery, away from the terrible fumes that still filled the confined space, hanging a thick yellow mist over the guns and settling down like a blanket upon the deck. Away from the noisome stench he quickly recovered so far as to be able to think again. What, he instantly asked himself, had become of the gun's crew?—what had become of Yamaguchi? Men were now hurrying up from all parts of the ship, but before they could enter the battery Bob was ahead of them, peering through the smoke for signs of the luckless gunners. The mist eddied, caught by a gust of wind, and through a break he saw, prone on the deck, two of the gallant crew shattered beyond recognition. And there—yes, a little to the left of them, stretched on his face, to all appearances lifeless—there lay his friend Yamaguchi. One bound and he was at the lieutenant's side. He stooped to lift him, and though he husbanded his breath the deadly fumes lying low over the deck made him gasp and turn sick. He felt that his strength was again slipping from him, but exerting all the will-power of which he was capable he raised the inert body, stumbled with it across the battery, and fell with his burden into the willing arms of the sailors who were crowding to the rescue.
Bob rescues Yamaguchi
At the same moment there was a sudden cessation of the din. Admiral Togo had signalled the fleet to cease fire; the vessels wheeled round, and were soon running full steam ahead into the open sea. But signals, commands, movements, all escaped Bob Fawcett. Overcome by the deadly fumes from the exploded shell, he lay on the deck beside Yamaguchi, unconscious, ignorant that the first bombardment of Port Arthur was over.
CHAPTER VI
Helping-to-Decide
A Torpedo-destroyer—Sea Legs—At Chemulpo—A Recognition—Stopping a Runaway—Mystification
For nearly a week after his adventure in the box-battery Bob was laid up. The sickening fumes had upset his system, and the ship's doctor insisted on his remaining in his bunk until he was thoroughly recovered. His first question on regaining consciousness had been for Yamaguchi, and he was rejoiced to hear that the lieutenant, though slightly wounded by a splinter from the shell, had been rescued from the poison-filled battery just in time.
"He owes his life to your plucky action," said Captain Igichi warmly, when he visited him the day after the bombardment. "His wound alone would not have been serious, but another minute in the battery would have done for him."
Bob made light of the matter, and was embarrassed to find that he was regarded with even more warmth of friendliness than before. The Japanese officers did not overwhelm him with praise, courage was too much a matter of course with them for that; but though they said little, Bob felt that they now looked on him as one who had proved his right to their comradeship, and he knew that to a Japanese this meant a great deal.
He was no sooner fit for duty again than he was transferred to the Mikasa's sister ship the Hatsuse, whose range-finder was urgently needing attention. The standard on which the tube containing the telescope rested had been broken by the fragment of a shell, though fortunately the mechanism itself had been but slightly damaged. With the aid of the ship's clever artificers Bob was able to repair the injury in a very short time.
He remained on the Hatsuse for more than a fortnight, during which he witnessed the first plucky dash of the Japanese torpedo-destroyers on Port Arthur, the attempt by five stone-laden steamers to block the channel, and the second bombardment, in which the Japanese vessels received no damage. Then one morning he was unexpectedly transferred to a torpedo-destroyer which had been ordered to Chemulpo. He was there to place himself under the orders of Admiral Uriu, if that officer were still at the port.
There was a considerable swell on, but it was a calm, bright, cold day when Bob left the monster battle-ship, which scarcely felt the motion of the waves, for the tiny Kasumi, rolling and pitching beneath. A boat was lowered from the Hatsuse, and but for his experience in yachting on the lower reaches of the Clyde Bob might have had some qualms as to how he was to mount the rope-ladder let down over the side of the Kasumi. Though he failed to make the ascent with the nimbleness of a deep-sea pilot, he was on his mettle, and did not disgrace himself in the eyes of the crews of the Hatsuse and Kasumi, critically watching him from their respective vessels.
On reaching the deck of the destroyer he was as much surprised as pleased to meet Yamaguchi. He knew that the sub-lieutenant on his recovery had been promoted and appointed to a torpedo vessel, but until this moment he had been unaware to which. Their meeting was very cordial; Yamaguchi looked on Bob as his preserver, and Bob on his part was delighted to find that he was to make the passage to Chemulpo in company with one whom he already regarded as a friend.
Besides Yamaguchi, the officers on board were two sub-lieutenants, a doctor, and an engineer.
"We are fifty-five all told," added Yamaguchi, after introducing their new mess-mate.
"Where do you stow them all?" asked Bob in surprise.
"Come and see."
The lieutenant showed him first his own cabin, in the after part of the vessel—a room about ten feet square by seven high, with about as much accommodation as a small bathing-machine. Next to it was the ward-room, a trifle larger in area, in which Yamaguchi proposed that Bob should make his sleeping quarters on a small settee.
"It's half a mile too short for you," he said with a smile.
"I can lengthen it, or double myself up," replied Bob, who was indeed more than satisfied with his quarters when he saw the space allotted to the officers—four tiny cabins, each of which could have stood comfortably on an ordinary four-poster bedstead. Amidships were the engine-room and stoke-holds, shimmering with a white light from the furnaces, so intense that the stokers had to wear coloured glass goggles to preserve their eyes from blindness. The stokers, strong of arm and steady of nerve, looked like small demons from the Inferno as they kept cheerful watch on the gauges, cooped up as they were within the length of a man's body from the blazing mouths.
On the fo'c'sle forward were the conning-tower and the captain's bridge, with the Kasumi's single heavy gun—a twelve-pounder. Beneath, in a compartment about half as long again as a full-sized billiard-table, was the bed- and sitting-room of the crew; three rows of hammocks were slung along each side, one beneath another. In a heavy sea the whole deck, in spite of the steel breastwork on each side of the conning-tower was liable to be swept with water from end to end. Bob was not squeamish, but he shuddered as he imagined the conditions under which the crew spent their watch below. It was a lucky thing, he thought, that the Japanese require even less than the limited space indispensable to the British Jack-tar.
The Kasumi was rolling and pitching so inconsiderately when Bob boarded her, that in making his way along the deck in Yamaguchi's wake he had to cling to every available means of support. And yet the swell had only been sufficient to give a pleasant, slow, rocking movement to the Hatsuse he had just left. But it was not until the gallant craft began to drive her nose at speed into a head sea that Bob began to realize what life on a torpedo-destroyer really was. There was perhaps a little less roll, but the pitching was a revelation of what a boat can suffer without breaking her back. Bob clung to a stanchion, expecting every moment that the huge mass of water breaking over the fore-bridge and flooding the deck amidships would rend the vessel asunder. It seemed impossible that the hull, of merely egg-shell thickness, could survive the strain. The low bow slugged into a monstrous bank of green water. "Now she's done for!" thought Bob. But a moment later she was balanced giddily on the crest of the wave, and began to switchback into the abyss beneath. All the time the mighty heart of the vessel was throbbing strenuously; Bob caught himself counting the pulse with a kind of anxiety lest the engines should prove unequal to their task.
"How do you like this?" said Yamaguchi in Bob's ear.
"Pretty well; it's rather be-wild—"
He was choked by a shower of spray, which left him gasping.
"You'll soon get used to it," said Yamaguchi with a smile.
It was some hours, however, before Bob was sufficiently accustomed to the Kasumi's eccentricities to be able to move about with any freedom. He found meal-time in the little ward-room particularly trying. The food was served out in tins; the officers sat at the table with feet planted firmly on the floor, and managed to gulp their soup between the rolls of the vessel. But Bob was not sufficiently practised to time his movements properly. He would raise the tin to his lips, only to find that he opened his mouth on empty air, or that the soup made a premature sally and covered a considerable part of his face and clothes, a mere starvation portion entering at the proper gate.
There was an even more unpleasant experience in store for him when he turned in for the night. Do what he could he was unable to avoid being tossed off the settee, rolled under the table, and brought up with a jolt at the opposite side of the room. The most ingeniously-contrived breastwork of cushions proved of no avail; it might survive a roll and a pitch separately, but when the motions were combined it was incapable of the complicated resistance necessary, and Bob, just dropping off to sleep, found himself sprawling among his bastions and outworks beneath the table.
"Hang it!" he growled, groping upwards after one of these mishaps; "better stay where I'm chucked!"
He pulled his coverlets off, and making a bed beneath the settee and one leg of the table, managed to reduce the area of his gyrations by clutching the table leg whenever his equilibrium was in jeopardy.
It was a still, fair morning when, on awaking from his troubled sleep and going on deck, he saw before him the city of Chemulpo rising from the sea-front up a steep snow-clad hill. It looked very picturesque in the sunlight. The quay was crowded with Koreans in their strange black mitre-shaped caps and long tasselled coats; coolies trudging along under burdens pendent to yokes of forked sticks bound to their shoulders; greatcoated Japanese soldiers, just landed from the transports in the harbour, moving with a brisk purposeful alacrity. Brawny Korean boatmen were propelling heavy-laden sampans from the transports to the quay; children in blue padded garments were running about, watching everything with wide curious eyes, and getting in everybody's way.
But what attracted most attention and caused most excitement on the Kasumi was the sight of the wrecks of the Russian ships sunk after the action of February 8. In one case a part of the hull, in the other only the funnel and mast, stood up a little above the waterline in the harbour,—shattered remnants of the Korietz and Variag; and as the Kasumi steamed past, Bob had his first opportunity of seeing at close quarters something of the effects of modern weapons of destruction. But there was no sign of any Japanese war-ships; as Bob afterwards learnt, they had left harbour some time previously for an unknown destination.
Bob, in company with Yamaguchi, was punted to the quay in a sampan, and he could not but admire the dexterity with which the muscular boatman, standing in the bows, drove the tapering-prowed boat through the bewildering maze of small craft. There was no time to explore the town, for Yamaguchi at once made for the railway-station. He had told Bob that he was the bearer of a communication from Admiral Togo to General Kuroki at Seoul, and Bob, having nothing to do in Admiral Uriu's absence, was ready enough to accept his invitation to accompany him. Soon the train was bearing them over snow-covered flats, past rough huts, round the bases of the white hills, into the more open country, and finally over a broad ice-bound river to the terminus some distance from the walls of Seoul. There, instead of hiring a rickshaw as Bob expected, Yamaguchi hastened into the city through one of the arched and towered gateways, and passing up the crowded main street, boarded a small electric tram-car, in which the Korean passengers were as much at home as any European.
"Up to date, you see," said Yamaguchi.
"Yes; upon my word the Far East is going ahead. Fancy electric cars in Korea!"
"Japanese, my friend. Owned by a Japanese company; driver, conductor, all the employees are Japanese."
"A peaceful conquest of the country to begin with."
"Now I must leave you," said Yamaguchi, as they stepped out of the car. "You won't mind waiting for me for a few minutes?"
The few minutes lengthened themselves out to nearly an hour before the lieutenant returned, but Bob found the time short, so much did he see that interested him. He watched the people passing. Some of the men, he noticed, were hatless, and wore their hair long; others had short hair, and through their transparent flower-pot-shaped hats he could see a curious top-knot on their heads, the distinguishing mark, as he afterwards learnt, of the married men. One old man, as he passed, opened out a fan-shaped bundle of oil-paper which dangled from his belt, and tied it over his hat, which it served in the office of an umbrella against a light shower of snow then falling. Everybody wore huge padded trousers and a short bell-shaped coat with wide sleeves, and walked along on strange sandal-like shoes bound to the feet by many strands of paper cord. Scarcely any women were to be seen; the Korean ladies are kept secluded, and do not go out into the streets except at night. The few women whom Bob saw were almost hidden by their long green cloaks, with which they hastily covered their heads at the appearance of a stranger.
While waiting for Yamaguchi outside the pagoda-shaped house in which General Kuroki was staying, Bob saw a Chinaman come out, whom he instantly recognized as the younger of the two men who had so opportunely run to his assistance at Sasebo. On the impulse of the moment Bob stepped forward to speak to the man, but remembered suddenly that he knew no English. The Chinaman passed by without giving any sign of recognition. Soon afterwards Yamaguchi appeared, and, announcing that he found it necessary to remain in Seoul until the next morning, offered to show Bob some of the curiosities of the town. The rest of that day was spent in wandering through the broad streets and side alleys, blocked with wares encroaching from the shops, and crowded with noisy, dirty little children playing happily in the filthy gutters. Yamaguchi explained how greatly the city had been improved of recent years, chiefly through the energy of Mr. M'Leavy Brown, the brilliant Scotsman who had so long and so wisely held the administration of the Customs.
Next morning Yamaguchi again had an interview with General Kuroki. As he left the house with Bob, the Chinaman whom the latter had seen on the previous day came up in the opposite direction, and Bob thought he saw a faint sign of recognition pass between him and the Japanese.
"Who is he?" asked Bob, when the Chinaman had passed. "I saw him yesterday, and a month ago at Sasebo, and I can't help thinking I had seen him somewhere before that."
"All Chinamen are pretty much alike, don't you think?"
Bob saw that Yamaguchi had evaded his question and was not disposed to give any information. Such silence only piqued his curiosity, and as they went on he found himself speculating still more deeply on the identity of the Chinese merchant, and endeavouring to recall the circumstances of their first meeting, which had not been, he was sure, at Sasebo.
New transports had evidently just arrived, for the streets were filled with Japanese soldiers, guns, and baggage-trains, preparing to move up country. Bob noticed, at the entrance of a side street, a Korean gentleman of high rank, to judge by his rich dress, waiting on horseback for a troop of cavalry to pass. Beside him was a group of Koreans, apparently his servants, and among them a low palanquin, elaborately decorated, through the open side of which Bob caught a glimpse of a veiled lady. The bearers, two fine-looking coolies, in white robes and round hats, stood at the front and rear of the palanquin.
The cavalry trotted by, and Bob, as he walked after them, remarked with a smile to Yamaguchi that they were not very easy riders.
"That is true," replied Yamaguchi, "but in the mud and snow of Korea they'll prove more useful than your Life Guards."
They had barely gone a quarter of a mile up the street, when Bob noticed a sudden commotion among them. The horse of one of the rearmost troopers, startled by the sudden appearance at the end of an alley of a bull heavily laden with bundles of straw, began to prance and curvet, then wheeled round, bucked, and, throwing its rider, set off on a mad gallop down the street. Bob instinctively looked behind him to see what there was to check the animal's mad career. He saw that the Korean gentleman had resumed his journey, being propped up by a servant on each side lest he should topple over on his high saddle; with the palanquin and his servants, he took up almost the whole width of the street. By this time people were shouting, and the clatter of the horse's hoofs was coming ever nearer. With one consent the Korean's servants ran to the sides of the street, the palanquin bearers dropped their poles and left the conveyance in the middle of the road, while the gentleman himself struggled with his horse, which had been rendered restive by the ever-increasing clamour.
Nothing stood between the palanquin and the runaway steed but Bob and Yamaguchi. Clearly, unless the animal's progress was checked, in a few moments it would dash into the palanquin, and that, being constructed chiefly of bamboo and lacquer, was certain to be utterly wrecked, while its occupant would probably be killed, or at any rate seriously injured.
The danger of the situation was instantly manifest. Bob dashed forward a few yards to meet the advancing horse; then, having placed a sufficient distance between himself and the palanquin, he halted suddenly and stood full in the pathway of the runaway animal. It came straight down upon him at a mad gallop. As it passed Bob sprang slightly aside, and seizing its hanging bridle dragged on it with all his might. Fortunately it was a light horse, standing only some fourteen hands; but in spite of this Bob felt as though his arm were being wrenched from its socket as he clutched at the reins. He was dragged along and almost pulled off his feet; but Yamaguchi came to his assistance, and the frightened animal was brought to a stop within a yard of the palanquin. There it stood with heaving flanks and panting nostrils, quivering.
Bob retained the bridle, and was beginning to lead the the horse up the street towards his rider, who was more chagrined than hurt, when the Korean gentleman overtook him on foot. He was extremely agitated, and, making a low bow, began to pour out his thanks in the strange monotonous jerky language of the country. Yamaguchi, interrupting him, spoke a few words in the same tongue. The Korean stopped, made a still lower obeisance, and said slowly in a strange compound of colloquial English and journalese that tickled Bob's sense of humour:
"I thank you very much, hon'ble sir. You do me gigantic favour. You save my wife—better-half, by your daring courage. It was jolly close thing. Accept, hon'ble sir, my profound thanks."
Bob bowed his acknowledgments, but his embarrassment was rather increased when the polite Korean, untying one of several little bags of orange-coloured silk that hung at his waist-band and served him as pockets, produced a limp visiting-card, and handed it with another low bow to his benefactor. Bob thanked him, and looked in some perplexity at the incomprehensible hieroglyphics on the card.
"You do not understand?" said the Korean. "My name, hon'ble sir, is San-Po. I am—" He stopped and looked puzzled, evidently at a momentary loss for an English word. Then his brow cleared, and he added rapidly: "I am helping-to-decide in His Imperial Majesty's War Office. If, hon'ble sir, you do me honour of a visit in my house towards An-ju, I shall esteem it greatest hon'ble favour—jolly well pleased."
Yamaguchi was smiling, evidently enjoying the situation. He did not offer to help Bob out of his embarrassment.
"Thank you, sir," said Bob, "I am afraid I am not coming that way just now, but another time—perhaps—"
He finished the sentence with a bow, to which the Korean responded with a lavish acknowledgment of his condescension. As Bob turned to continue his journey with Yamaguchi, he became aware that Korean courtliness has its obverse. Though he did not understand the words, there was no mistaking the tenor of the vehement harangue which the gentleman was addressing to his absconding bearers, who had now slunk back to their poles.
"What in the world does he mean by helping-to-decide in the War Office?" asked Bob.
"Oh, the war minister, the Pan-Go, or decisive signature, has what you call under-secretaries, the Cham Pan, which means help to decide; and under them are the Cham Wi, which means help to discuss. Our polite friend is one of the Cham Pan. But it really doesn't matter, for the whole army is quite useless. It never fights."
"All shams together," said Bob with a smile.
"San-Po spent a year or two in England: entered at Lincoln's Inn, I believe: that explains his command of English."
"It's a fearful and wonderful mixture. Mr. Helping-to-decide is rather an oddity. I'd rather like to see him at home, though I don't suppose I should enjoy it so much as my visit to Nikko. I never had a better time than with one of your countrymen there, Kobo San."
"Kobo San!" ejaculated Yamaguchi, with an accent of surprise.
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"I've met him," replied the lieutenant shortly, with another change of tone. Bob looked at him, but his face was inscrutable.
CHAPTER VII
The Battle of the Destroyers
A Chance for the Destroyers—Flotillas in Action—Winged—Repairing Damages—To the Yalu
Yamaguchi's business in Seoul being completed, he lost no time in returning to Chemulpo. In default of other instructions, he decided to keep Bob with him, and half an hour after his arrival, the Kasumi steamed out of the harbour to rejoin the fleet. Its fringe came into sight some ninety miles south-east of the Liau-ti-shan promontory. Through his glass Bob saw a destroyer detach itself from the squadron and come rapidly towards the Kasumi.
"Coming to make sure who we are," remarked Yamaguchi.
When the identity of the new-comer had been satisfactorily established, the other boat ran up signals, from which Yamaguchi learnt the position of the main fleet. Two hours later the Kasumi, going at half-speed, sighted the cruiser squadron, and about five miles beyond them the forest of military tops belonging to the Japanese battle-ships. Running close up to the Mikasa, Yamaguchi went off in a boat to make his report to Admiral Togo, and returned in high feather at having been ordered to place himself at the disposal of Captain Asai, who was in command of three destroyers that formed the first division of the Japanese torpedo flotilla.
"What about me?" asked Bob.
"Not a word. The fact is, I forgot all about you. I didn't mention you, neither did the admiral."
"Out of sight out of mind," remarked Bob. "But I'm delighted to hear it, for now that I'm used to this cockle-shell's little eccentricities I'm perfectly at home. Is there any chance of your going into action?"
"Every chance, I should think. I fancy we're going to have another slap at the enemy."
"The whole fleet, you mean?"
"No I don't. I've an idea the admiral wants to see how we mosquitoes can sting. Feel jumpy?"
"Not in the slightest. There's nothing I'm more anxious to see."
"Well, it may be pluck, but I call it sheer ignorance. Here we are in mid-ocean, a mere egg-shell—you know that; but we've enough explosives in our magazines to send half London sky-high, and a single fortunate shot plumping into us would separate us all into our elementary atoms."
The desired order came sooner than was expected. Late in the afternoon of Wednesday, March 9, Admiral Togo signalled two divisions of destroyers to approach Port Arthur, the one division to watch the entrance while the other laid mines at various points along the coast. The former duty was allotted to Captain Asai's division. Darkness had fallen, and the sea was rolling high, when the two flotillas, followed at a considerable distance by a couple of cruisers, broke off from the rest of the fleet and steamed northwards towards Port Arthur. On the Kasumi there was none of the orderly bustle of clearing for action that Bob had observed on the Mikasa. A destroyer must always be ready. The ward-room and the warrant officer's mess were fitted up as hospitals for wounded; the trolley for bringing torpedoes from the magazine under the turtle-back deck to the tubes aft was tested along the rails; Yamaguchi had a short colloquy with the engineer; and then he went to his place on the fore-bridge, confident that all was right.
The flotilla opened up the lights of the port about midnight. The presence of the boats was soon discovered by Russian scouts, for at irregular intervals the guns of the forts tried long-range shots at them. Within a few miles of the port the divisions separated, the second steaming straight for the harbour, where it proceeded to lay mines from the mouth of the channel along the coast towards Dalny. Captain Asai's three vessels meanwhile cruised off the Liau-ti-shan promontory.
Bob remained all night with Yamaguchi on the bridge, finding it less chilly there than below. In spite of the blazing furnaces he had never felt cold so keenly as in the captain's cabin when he dived down the small circular hatchway to fetch Yamaguchi an extra jacket. At about three o'clock in the morning they began to run down the coast. There was a head sea, which broke in great masses over the fore-deck, the driving spray being carried high over the canvas screens surrounding the bridge. Dawn was just breaking when the look-out descried the low hulls of several destroyers far-off on the horizon. The intelligence was at once signalled to Captain Asai on the Akatsuki. From his bridge he soon discovered that the approaching vessels were six in number; obviously they could not belong to the Japanese squadron. The order was instantly given to attack. Everything was already prepared for immediate action; every man was at his post; and the three vessels, cutting at the rate of an express train through the heavy seas, bore straight down on the six Russian destroyers.
"It's long odds on the Russians," remarked Bob to Yamaguchi.
The Japanese shrugged. "They're not islanders," he said; "we're like you Britishers, sea-dogs from birth, and our seamanship is a trifle better than theirs, I fancy. Besides, we're probably better armed. A Russian destroyer only has three-pounder quick-firers besides its twelve-pounders. Their shots can pierce our egg-shell, of course, but our six-pounder shots will do far more damage to their interiors."
"Won't you use your torpedoes, then?"
"No. Dog doesn't eat dog: we keep our torpedoes for larger game."
"You are not using the conning-tower?" asked Bob, noticing that Yamaguchi showed no sign of leaving the bridge.
"No; it is better to take one's risk in the open. Those peep-holes are rather worrying when you want to have a good look at the enemy."
The three vessels were now in line ahead—steaming straight for the Russian flotilla, the Akatsuki leading, the Kasumi a quarter of a mile behind, and the Asashio making a good third at the same distance. Bob on the fore-bridge was tingling with exhilaration. All his faculties seemed to be braced up. He had no sense of danger, in spite of his knowledge that one lucky shot from the Russians might explode the magazine beneath him and destroy the ship and every soul on board. His strongest feeling was one of impatience. The vessel was bounding along at more than race-horse speed; yet it appeared to be going slowly, too slowly, and he felt he would have liked to cry "Hurry up! hurry up! faster! faster!"
Two minutes had passed since the order "Full speed ahead!" Then from the fore-bridge of the Akatsuki the six-pounder shrieked. From that moment Bob saw and heard nothing except what went on in his own vessel. Immediately after the Akatsuki had opened fire, Yamaguchi gave his first order. There was an ear-splitting report; the vessel seemed almost to pause momentarily in its career, like a racer pulled up on its haunches; and a second or two later Bob saw a cloud of smoke over the fore-deck of the leading Russian boat, which, travelling at thirty knots, instantly shook off the pall and emerged from it with one funnel completely shattered. Bob did not hear the explosion of the shell; the din from the Kasumi and the other Japanese vessels, and from the approaching Russians, was too great to allow individual sounds, except within a few feet, to be distinguished. Almost before he was aware of it, the two flotillas had met and passed; they were within a few yards of each other, so near that the faces of the Russian seamen were easily visible; but Bob afterwards remembered few details, for the actual time of transit could be measured by seconds. The vessels sped past at a combined speed of some sixty miles an hour.
As the Kasumi came abreast of the leading Russian boat, which had already received a battering from the Akatsuki, her twelve-pounder added a growling bass to the whining of the lighter guns, now firing at their maximum speed. At this moment a shot from a three-pounder struck the compass-box on the fore-bridge, just above the chart-room, and a few feet from where Bob was standing. A splinter from the bursting shell hit the gunner serving the six-pounder on the bridge; the man was killed in an instant; a comrade came imperturbably to take his place. Immediately afterwards a twelve-pounder shell carried away the ventilator of the aft stokehold, and a three-pounder, penetrating the hull as though it were of paper, exploded in the ward-room, severely injuring a man waiting there to receive the wounded. Then the rearmost vessels of the two squadrons passed, and the Kasumi's twelve-pounder astern got in a parting shell, which took effect apparently among the boilers of the Russian, for when the smoke from the bursting charge had cleared away, the vessel was seen to be enveloped in a vast cloud of steam. Bob was surprised at the small total effect of such vigorous firing on both sides, though he realized afterwards that at the rate at which the vessels were steaming it was still more surprising that the effect was so great as it was.
But the fight was not yet over. At a signal from the Akatsuki the Japanese vessels spun round almost within their own length, and started in pursuit of the enemy, now steaming at half-speed to cover the retreat of the damaged boat. The Russian flotilla was somewhat bunched; presumably the boats had been hard hit, and either their commander had no definite plan of action, or their mechanism had been so much damaged as to retard their movements. Two had turned, but three others were manoeuvring in a small space, hampering one another, while the sixth, the lame duck, was making the best of its solitary way in the direction of Port Arthur. Captain Asai was quick to seize his opportunity. Slightly altering his course so as to cut obliquely across the path of the Russians, he brought the whole of his port-side guns to bear upon the huddled enemy; then before the Russians had time to take advantage of the broad target offered to them, he reverted to the line-ahead formation, and bore straight down upon them.
This time the two flotillas passed at such close quarters that a man could have thrown a line from one ship to the deck of its opponent. They were moving at less speed than in the former encounter, and the effects of their mutual bombardment were correspondingly greater. For the first time Bob was conscious of a tremor, not of personal fear, but a reflex of the wild scene around. It seemed to him as if nothing could survive the hail of shells that screamed and whistled through the air, to burst with ear-splitting crash whenever one was fortunate enough to find its billet in the hull or upper works of the gallant Kasumi. One shell, apparently from a three-pounder, ricochetted off the turtle-back deck beneath the forebridge, and burst in the air about ten yards to starboard, the splinters breaking a hole in the aftermost funnel and knocking a corner off the compass-box that stood within a few feet of it.
"There goes our second compass. We have only the standard left," said Yamaguchi.
Almost at the same moment there was a crash just below the spot where Bob was standing. A twelve-pounder shell had passed clean through the chart-room without exploding.
"A narrow squeak!" said Bob.
"Yes; we'll give that fourth Russian a little pepper," replied Yamaguchi, his face lit with the joy of service.
He gave an order, and all the Kasumi's port six-pounders let fly at the Russian destroyer, several shells ploughing into her hull just above the water-line. Bob noticed the strained expression on the faces of the Russian seamen, and one vivid picture flashed upon his retina and was gone—the picture of a man, struck by a fragment of a Japanese shell, falling with outstretched arms across his gun. A few seconds more and the Kasumi again came abreast of the last vessel in the Russian line. She replied so feebly to Yamaguchi's skilfully-aimed broadside that it was evident she had already been severely handled by the Asashio, now leading. But as the vessels passed, a big Russian picked up a tin canister and hurled it with such good aim at the Kasumi that it fell on the platform of the fore-bridge between Yamaguchi and Bob. The latter instantly lifted it to throw into the sea, but Yamaguchi stayed his hand.
"There's no danger," he said; "it will not explode now. We'll keep it; I'll make you a present of it."
At that instant a three-pounder shell exploded in the aft stoke-hold, bursting a steam-pipe, and dangerously wounding one of the engineers.
"Poor Minamisawa!" said Yamaguchi, when he heard of it. "He was twice commended for gallantry during the attack on Port Arthur a month ago."
By this time the flotillas had again passed each other. But on turning once more to renew the fight, Captain Asai found that the enemy had had enough of it. They were steaming full speed ahead towards the harbour. The order was given to pursue; but the Russians had obtained too great a start to permit of their being overhauled before gaining the protection of their cruisers and shore batteries. The pursuit had necessarily to be abandoned, and the Japanese commanders turned their attention to making good the damage sustained during the action.
The full results of this spirited forty minutes' engagement were not known on board the Kasumi until some time afterwards. Near the entrance to the harbour two of the Russian destroyers were intercepted by the second Japanese flotilla. The Russians, battered as they had been, showed no lack of courage. There was a short, sharp fight, during which one of the boats slipped past the enemy and got away. The second, however, the Stereguschitshi, was not so fortunate. She fell a prey to a Japanese destroyer, and was taken in tow. But she was leaking badly; the tow-rope was snapped like a thread of cotton by a heavy sea, and, left to her fate, the Stereguschitshi went down.
Meanwhile the three vessels of Captain Asai's division lay for about an hour with only steering-way on, until the extent of their injuries should have been ascertained and as far as possible repaired. On the Kasumi two compass-boxes had been damaged, part of the fore-bridge carried away, one funnel breached, the chart-room almost entirely wrecked; but the most serious injury was the shattering of the steam-pipe, throwing one engine out of action. The other two vessels stood by while some repairs were being made; it was not safe to leave the Kasumi to face alone the risk of the appearance of the Russian cruiser squadron. The work was barely completed, indeed, when two cruisers, the Bayan and the Novik, the latter flying Admiral Makaroff's flag, steamed out of Port Arthur and ran down towards the three destroyers. But at the same moment a forest of military masts appeared on the horizon: the Japanese fleet was evidently coming up in support; and the two Russians, fearful of being cut off, retired, fighting at long range with the leading Japanese cruisers until they ran in under shelter of the forts.
"Another bombardment coming off?" said Bob to Yamaguchi, as the splendid battle-ships went by.
"Perhaps. The flagship is signalling us."
"What are the signals?"
"Nothing important; the admiral merely says he is satisfied with us."
The flush of pleasure was not on Yamaguchi's cheeks, but on Bob's. He remembered the historic "Well done, Condor!" and felt a sympathetic glow.
The battle-ships steamed past, and took up a position whence they could neither see the Russian vessels nor be seen by them. Depending on high-angle fire from their twelve-inch guns, they sent shell after shell into the town and harbour, the effect of their shots being signalled by wireless telegraphy from the cruiser squadron stationed round the point. The bombardment lasted for nearly four hours, during which several outbreaks of fire were seen in the town, and a distant explosion announced that a magazine had been blown up. There was but little reply from the Russians, and about two o'clock Admiral Togo, having accomplished his immediate purpose, retired, accompanied by the cruiser and destroyer squadrons.
Two hours later Yamaguchi was signalled to go aboard the flagship. It was blowing hard at the time, and seas were sweeping the deck of the Kasumi, tossing her about, and rendering the launching of her boat a matter of no little difficulty. By the time the little lieutenant reached the Mikasa he must have been drenched through and through.
"Well," said Bob, when he returned, "are you promoted again?"
"No; but you are."
"What do you mean?"
"The admiral has remembered you, that's all. This morning, being forgotten, you were at zero; you may be soon at boiling-point. I am to put you on board the Yoshino—if I can."
"Ugh! it won't be a dry passage. If you can, you say?"
"Yes; I am ordered to the mouth of the Yalu, and shall drop you on the way, if I can do so without losing time."
"In a hurry, then?"
But Yamaguchi made no reply. He was telephoning to the engine-room. In a few minutes the Kasumi was slugging through the sea, half-speed ahead, in a north-easterly direction. The wind increased to half a gale; huge seas broke continually with thud and swish over the vessel, and Bob did not relish the prospect of the swamping he must undergo if he were to reach the Yoshino's side. He was overjoyed when he saw that the distance between the destroyer and the cruiser squadron was increasing instead of diminishing. Yamaguchi had clearly given up the idea of putting him aboard the Yoshino. From his manner Bob had already guessed that the expedition on which he was now speeding was one of some importance, and when at length the lieutenant turned to him and said, laconically, "Can't waste time over you", his pulse leapt at the thought that he was still to remain on the Kasumi and share in whatever adventure there might be in store.
CHAPTER VIII
Cut Off
Secret Service—Yamaguchi Returns—A Quick Change—A Bleak Ride—On the Trail
For some time Yamaguchi was too intently occupied in navigating the vessel between the Elliott and the Blonde islands to concern himself with Bob. But when he was through the strait he left the bridge and went below to get something to eat. Then for the first time he told Bob what his mission was. He had been ordered to survey the coast-line of Korea Bay as far as the Yalu, to report on the state of the ice, and especially to examine the condition of things at the mouth of the river. If he could at the same time pick up any information as to the disposition of the Russian forces along the shore, so much the better; but though he might run any personal hazards, he was on no account to risk his vessel; in war time destroyers cannot easily be replaced.
"You're fixed up for ten days, you see," he said to Bob. "I'm to be back in that time, and you're bound to remain with me."
"You'll have to go ashore, I suppose," said Bob.
"Yes, if I can get through the ice. And I think I can. I've been this way before; I suppose that's why the admiral selected me for the job. Unless it's because one of our engines is out of action. The ice usually clings to the shore till some time after this, but just before we reach Taku-shan there's a spit of land where, by some movement of the currents, the ice is sometimes loosened; and if I'm lucky, there'll be passage-way for a boat, if not for the destroyer herself."
"I say, you'll let me go with you."
"Certainly not. I'm already one notch down through not being able to put you on the Yoshino, and I can't afford to report you gone for good."
"But why shouldn't I go where you go?"
"Well, for one thing, it's my job and not yours. The admiral has plenty of lieutenants, but only one Bob Fawcett! Besides, why take you into danger? If the Russians catch me, I'm shot. Well, that's part of my work; but you—you'd be shot too, and an Englishman is worth—how many of any other nation?"
"Too many to count," said Bob smiling.
"Anyhow, you're twice as heavy as me, and nearly twice as tall; and another thing, you'd find it hard to pass for a Chinaman."
"Oh! you're going in for disguises, then."
"Yes, I shall stick on a pigtail; I won't be caught if I can help it."
"D'you know, I've an idea. Your mention of a disguise makes me wonder if that Chinaman I saw in Seoul wasn't a Chinaman after all. I saw him before at Sasebo with another fellow; there was something about them I seemed to know. D'you think they were really Japanese I had caught sight of in Tokio?"
"It's possible, of course; but I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Their disguise must have been pretty feeble if you saw through it after only a casual glimpse in Tokio."
"Ah! I've a good memory for faces. But let us go on deck, it's so horribly cold down here."
By this time the vessel had left the Elliott Islands some ten knots on her port quarter. Looking out in that direction, Bob drew Yamaguchi's attention to the masts of several vessels that stood up among the islands. The lieutenant smiled, but said nothing. Bob, in spite of himself somewhat annoyed at his friend's reticence, formed his own conclusion: the ships were probably transports landing men or supplies on the islands, or preparing the way for a Japanese army-corps in anticipation of a siege of Port Arthur.
Keeping well out in the bay, the Kasumi thrashed her way through a head-sea on a course north-east by east. Darkness came on, and loth though he was to go below and shiver, Bob at length was so tired that he had to turn in. He spent a by no means comfortable night. It was like sleeping under a blanket of ice. During the hours of darkness, in order to save coal, the Kasumi went at less than half-speed, and it was nearing dawn when she arrived off Taku-shan. All that day Yamaguchi kept her far out, so that she should not be seen from the shore, which was fringed with ice. The wind had dropped, leaving only a long swell on the waters of the bay. At nightfall the Kasumi ran in, careful soundings being taken at various points; and Yamaguchi found, as he had hoped, that the current had kept open a narrow waterway between Takushan and the island of Talu. Announcing his decision to go ashore, he went to the ward-room, and soon returned, transformed into a very presentable young Chinaman, drooping moustache, skull-cap, pigtail, and all. A boat was lowered, and the lieutenant departed, saying that he would probably return by daylight.
That was the first of several short expeditions Yamaguchi made at night to the shore. Bob could never induce him to speak of what he did, but noticed that he always appeared abundantly satisfied. On all these occasions the same plan was followed: Yamaguchi was rowed in the darkness as near to the shore as the ice-fringe allowed; he finished the distance on the ice; and the boat returned to the Kasumi until just before dawn, when it again went shorewards and brought him off.
Four days thus passed away, and on the evening of the fourth, when the Kasumi had come opposite the mouth of the Yalu, Yamaguchi told Bob that he was now going on the last of these night journeys, and hoped, on his return, to rejoin the fleet and make his report to Admiral Togo.
"I may be away longer this time," he said.
"Can't I go? Every time you have been away I have been in a perfect stew lest you shouldn't come back, and I find it all precious slow."
"Very sorry, but it's impossible."
"How long do you expect to be away this time?"
"I can't say, but I have three days' rice stowed away in my pockets. I hope I shall not be so long as that. You had better amuse yourself by playing 'go'."
"But what if the Russian fleet comes up while you're away? For my part, I don't understand a commander leaving his vessel like this."
"You are not the admiral, you see. I don't think you need trouble about the Russians. The Port Arthur fleet daren't come, and the Vladivostock one probably can't. Good-bye."
Two days passed away, and by the end of the second Bob was almost tired of his life; he had played "go" till he went nearly mad. He wandered all over the vessel, examining for the tenth time every nook and cranny of it, until he felt that he could have drawn plans of its construction from memory. He got one of the gunners who knew something of English to teach him a little Japanese—common phrases like Nodo ga kawakimashita, "I am thirsty", which to a Japanese is "throat has dried"; and "I am hungry"—O naka ga sukimashita, "honourable inside has become empty"; and "it is horribly cold"—O samu gozaimasu, "honourably cold augustly is", until he wondered whether it would be correct Japanese to say "I'll augustly punch your honourable head". But even such amusement as this palled; and to his own restlessness was presently added anxiety about Yamaguchi, for whom he felt sincere affection. At sundown on both evenings the boat went off towards the shore in accordance with the captain's instructions, but on both occasions it returned without him. On the third evening, Bob decided to accompany the boat. The sky was clearer than it had been for many nights past; the moon was rising, and whatever danger there had previously been of the boat being seen from the shore was now more than doubled. Bob felt anxious, and, as he sat in the bows, peered through his glass towards the snow-covered flats and low hills that stretch on either side of the Yalu estuary.
The sailors pulled in to the verge of the ice, then lay on their oars. Many minutes passed. The crew waited in silence, and as the moon rose higher and its rays were reflected from the snow, it became almost as light as day. The sea heavily lapped the sides of the boat and swished against the jagged edges of the ice; otherwise there was no sound.
Suddenly, against the white background, a small dark form was seen, apparently rising from the other side of a hillock whose contour was indistinguishable in the universal white. The object soon defined itself as a small man running, and at headlong pace. Bob stood up in some excitement, wondering whether this was Yamaguchi at last. Immediately afterwards he saw other forms appear upon the crest, and he drew in his breath sharply as he recognized that these were men on horseback. They came rapidly over the hillock, and began to descend towards the sea after the running figure. Bob raised his glass to his eyes; yes, the runner was Yamaguchi, and the horsemen wore the fur caps and carried the long lances of Cossacks. It was a race for life!
The hillock was nearly half a mile away. Between it and the boat lay an almost level stretch of mud flats, covered for many inches by recently-fallen snow, and fifty yards of ice, now of course indistinguishable from the land. Could Yamaguchi reach the boat in time? He had the start of his pursuers, but they were mounted, and, as Bob now saw, there were eight of them. It was almost impossible that the runner could escape. Yet it seemed impossible to help him. The seamen in the boat had rifles, but now that pursuers and pursued had descended the declivity and come to the flat, a shot, however well aimed, might hit the man it was intended to assist.
In one tense moment Bob seemed to live a lifetime. Then, with a cry to the men to remain where they were—which, not knowing English, they understood rather by the tone than by the words—he sprang over the side of the boat on to the ridge of ice. It creaked and sank under him, but he leapt on towards the shore, intent on assisting the flagging footsteps of the Japanese, who was evidently near the end of his endurance. The ice crackled and groaned as Bob raced on. He reached the softer snow, and his pace was checked; he heard a shot from one of the pursuing Cossacks ring past his ear; he shouted a word of encouragement to the panting lieutenant, and then, leaping, floundering, staggering over the intervening yards, he caught Yamaguchi by the arm and turned to run with him towards the boat, feeling all the time that theirs was a hopeless case, for the foremost horseman, distancing his comrades, was now but a dozen yards away.
All at once a shot flashed from the boat. Bob heard a strange sobbing sigh behind him. A moment after he felt the impact of a heavy body, he was thrown violently on his face, and a riderless horse galloped madly on towards the sea.
Bob lay for a few moments dazed on the snow. The cold brought him to his senses. He heard several shots ring out, and lifting his head cautiously he saw four Cossacks galloping on to the ice, and three standing by the side of their horses, taking aim at the boat across their saddles. Then came the crack of ice beneath the horses' hoofs; loud cries of distress rose on the air as men and horses floundered in the water; and a fusillade continued between the dismounted Cossacks on the shore and the crew of the boat, which was now being rapidly pulled out to sea. Bob saw his opportunity; it might last but a moment, he had no time to lose. Rising to his feet, still dizzy from the blow, he saw a few feet behind him the outstretched body of the dead Cossack; his horse had returned and was now standing patiently by his side. He stooped down, quickly relieved the Cossack of his cap, cloak, and arms; then, going quietly to the animal, he sprang upon its back, saw at a side-glance that the surviving Cossacks were still occupied, and touching the horse with his heel, trotted away southward on a line parallel with the coast, towards a clump of trees looming black against the moonlit sky more than half a mile away.
Having arrived there, and being out of sight from the scene of his late adventure, he pulled up to consider his position. Yamaguchi, he hoped, was by this time well on his way to the Kasumi; if only he himself could remain in hiding until the morning, and the vessel were still lying off the mouth of the river, it might be possible then to get on board. All depended on whether the Cossacks who had survived the fray would notice his disappearance, and the fact that their dead comrade had been despoiled. That they would not do so was in both cases very unlikely. His only chance, therefore, would be to make his way southward, in the hope of coming upon the outposts of one of the Japanese forces which he knew had been landed in the country. That course would be attended with considerable danger. News of the recent incident was bound to bring a larger force of Cossacks upon the scene; parties of Russians would soon be scouring the country, not only to discover traces of the fugitive, but to keep an eye open for the torpedo boat destroyer. It was well-known on the Japanese fleet that Cossacks were employed to ride up and down the coast and signal the approach of hostile vessels, and these would scarcely fail to note and follow up the tracks of his horse in the snow.
"This is a precious fix to be in," he thought; and the more he reflected the more awkward his position appeared. The chance of getting in touch with the Kasumi was very remote, for if he emerged from hiding and went down to the shore he could scarcely hope to escape discovery by Russian patrols. On the other hand, if he hid during the day he would not be seen from the destroyer. Besides, the Kasumi was due to rejoin the fleet; and though he knew that Yamaguchi, if a free agent, would do anything to serve him, he knew also that, with a Japanese, duty came inexorably first, and it was vain to expect Yamaguchi to cruise about indefinitely on the chance of picking him up. Supposing he left hiding and rode towards the south, there seemed little likelihood of his reaching the Japanese lines. Their outposts were probably not less than a hundred miles away. Between them and him many detached parties of Russians were no doubt patrolling the country. Even if he escaped the Russians he might fall into the hands of the Koreans, and that would perhaps prove a case of out of the frying-pan into the fire. Much as the Koreans hated the Japanese, by all accounts they hated the Russians still more; and being mounted on a Cossack's horse, and wearing Cossack uniform, knowing, moreover, nothing of the Korean language, he would have short shrift if he stumbled among the natives. Yet another consideration. Both he and his horse must have food. A bundle of hay was tied to the latter, sufficient perhaps for one feed; and on rummaging in the saddle-bags he found a little black rye bread and a flask of vodka. But this was very precarious sustenance, and he would be forced under stress of hunger to enter a village within twenty-four hours at the latest.
Of all the dangers besetting him the prospect of being followed up by the Cossacks of Yongampo was the most immediate, and Bob shut his eyes to the other contingencies in order to provide against this. Obviously the farther he got from the scene of the fight the better. He rode carefully through the clump of bare trees southward, and, emerging into the open, set his horse at a sharp trot. The ground was covered with snow to a depth of several feet, and as the horse's feet sank into it slightly, he concluded that the frost was yielding. Guiding himself by the sound of the waves lapping against the ice on the shore, which creaked and groaned, and now and again broke with a sharp report, he struck along the coast in the direction, as he believed, of Seng-cheng. The Cossack's deep saddle was very comfortable, but he wished that the stirrups were lower: his knees were a good deal nearer his nose than he was accustomed to.
The moon was going down, but there was still sufficient light to show that, except for a few scattered clumps of wood, the country was very open, and he knew that in the daytime he could be seen for miles. As he rode, he therefore looked eagerly about in search of some hiding-place where he might spend the rest of the night in tolerable security. After some three or four miles he found that the country was becoming increasingly difficult. On his left the irregular hills rose more and more steeply, and he was forced more and more towards the ice. Warned by his recent experience of the Cossacks, he edged away until he reached at length the summit of a slope some distance above the sea. Great banks of cloud were looming up across the sea; the wind was rising, and the air had that incisive rawness that portends snow. To be caught in a snowstorm in this bleak latitude would be a calamity, and Bob looked more anxiously around for shelter.
Some distance above him he saw, outlined against a clear patch of sky not yet reached by the clouds, a large dark building, which from its size he thought must be a place of some importance. It was in shape unlike anything he had previously seen. As he looked towards it, he caught sight of the last horn of the moon apparently in the very centre of the building. Evidently the place was a ruin. Whatever hesitation Bob might have had in approaching an inhabited dwelling-house disappeared; he made his way towards it with some difficulty, the horse floundering through drifts which more than once threatened to engulf him. Arriving at the building, Bob found that it was the ruin of a large stone pagoda, probably at one time part of a monastery. The wind howled eerily through its dilapidated walls, but it provided shelter of a sort; and, what was more important, being situated on a slight eminence it would give him a good outlook in the morning, not only far across the sea, but also landward towards the mouth of the Yalu. In this lonely place, then, Bob determined to pass the remainder of the night.
His first care was to rub down his horse; then he gave it half the bundle of hay. Then he unstrapped one of the blankets from the saddle and proceeded to make himself as comfortable as possible. He swallowed a few mouthfuls of the bitter bread, took one sip (more than sufficient) of the burning vodka, and being tired out soon dropped into an uneasy sleep, from which, with the instinct of one accustomed to early rising, he awoke at the first pale glint of dawn. Rising stiffly to his feet, he again fed the horse, ate a little bread, and went outside to look round.
Northwards, in the direction from which he had come the previous night, he could see with the naked eye for several miles across the snow; and through his glass, which he had luckily brought with him, he descried what was evidently a small town—no doubt Yongampo. Over the whole white stretch intervening there was no sign of life. Looking then seaward, he saw a leaden sky, white-crested waves lashed by the high wind and breaking in angry foam on the ice—nothing more. There was not a speck on the sea. The Kasumi had left him to his fate.
"And I dare say Yamaguchi is even more sorry than I am," he thought.
Then he turned again to the land and swept the horizon with his glass. What is that? In the far distance, towards Yongampo, he discerns two dark specks. He gazes intently, his hands so numbed with cold that he can scarcely hold the glass steadily. The specks are growing larger. Both are approaching him, one coming southward in a straight line, the other making a trend somewhat to his right. For some minutes he gazes at them; the specks become masses, and gradually define themselves as bodies of horsemen. Doubtless they are Cossacks; it is time to be up and away.
CHAPTER IX
Chased by Cossacks
A View-Halloo—Cossacks at Fault—Bluff—Suspicious Hospitality—On the Pekin Road—A Hill Tiger
The situation was desperate. One band of Cossacks was evidently following the tracks of his horse, the other taking a short cut to head him off. The Mandarin road from Pekin to Seoul could not be far away; the Russians had probably assumed that he would ride in that direction, and acquainted as they no doubt were with the neighbourhood, they would have a great advantage over him. His only hope lay in his horse, which was fortunately a good one, and in the pink of condition. He must ride, and ride, and ride.
Returning to the pagoda, he found that the horse had eaten the last wisp of hay. He led it out, down the slope on the side farthest from the pursuers, through a dip between two low hills; then coasting round a somewhat steeper hill which hid the pagoda from sight, he judged it safe to mount, and was soon cantering over the snow-covered ground. It was rolling country; at one minute he was as it were on the crest of a wave, the next he would be in a trough. The snow was soft, and the horse's hoofs left deep pits in the yielding surface by which the course of his flight could be easily tracked. Soon he lost sight of the sea, and had nothing by which to take his bearings; the sky all around was one unbroken lead-gray. As he rode on, he saw with misgiving that the hills were becoming lower and lower; he would be in full sight of the Cossacks when they reached the heights he had just left. There was no alternative but to push on. Of refuge there was none; the whole country seemed to be desert, with no marks of human habitation except here and there a native hut perched on the edge of a clump of trees, the abandoned home of some wood-cutter.
Every now and then he reined up his horse and turned in the saddle to see if his pursuers were in sight. Struggling up a long slope, and halting at the top to breathe the animal, he saw before him an almost level stretch, and behind him—yes, there they were at last, a band of at least twenty, who had probably dodged round some of the hills which he had laboriously climbed. He looked eagerly round; there was no way of eluding the pursuers. Should he set his steed at the gallop and try to distance them? That was a vain hope; it would exhaust his panting horse, and the Cossacks would wear him down, following untiringly upon his track like wolves. He must on again, and husband the animal's strength as much as possible.
Down the slope, then, he rode, the horse's breath leaving a trail of vapour in the cold air. The sky was growing blacker, the wind, which had been blowing in gusts, dropped; there was no sound but the soft glugging of the hoofs as they plunged into the snow. Suddenly Bob heard a faint shout behind him. He knew well what it meant; the Cossacks had reached the crest of the hill and seen him cantering before them. He looked over his shoulder; they were no more than a mile distant. In half an hour they would close in upon him; perhaps the second band had already come round upon his flank and was now ahead of him; for all he knew, he might have been riding in a circle. Still he must ride on. He quickened his horse's pace; some ten minutes later he heard the distant crack of shots, but as no ping of the bullets followed he guessed that they had flown wide. But the fact that the Cossacks were firing was ominous. They were accustomed to take flying shots from the backs of their steeds; at any moment a luckily-aimed bullet might hit him. He lay upon the horse's neck and called upon the beast to gallop. More shots, more shouts pursued him, but the sounds were fainter. The gap between him and the Cossacks must be widening; could the advantage be maintained?
He spoke encouragingly to the animal, which galloped along with wonderful sure-footedness. Suddenly Bob felt a damp, cold dab upon his brow, then another; he lifted his head, and gave a quick gasp of relief when he saw that snow was falling. The lowering sky had opened at last; in a few moments the rider was making his way through a dense shower of whirling snowflakes, which filled eyes and ears and shut out all objects beyond a hundred yards. By favour of this white screen he might yet escape.
To the left he saw a small dark clump of trees stretching up the hillside. Pushing on until he came level with the furthermost edge he wheeled round, struck through the fringe of the clump where the trees were thin, and ascended the hill at right angles to his former course, in hope that his pursuers, losing him from sight, might overshoot the spot where he diverged before they discovered their mistake. The blinding fall of snow must now be fast obliterating his tracks; to distinguish them the Russians would have to slacken speed; and the few minutes he thus gained might enable him to escape them altogether. But he dared not wait; the Cossacks, finding that they failed to overtake him, would soon cast back and probably scatter in the direction they would guess him to have taken, and how could he expect to elude them all? Walking his horse for a few minutes to allow it to recover breath, he again urged it on, hoping that his luck would yet serve.
The air was still thick with the falling snow; to follow a certain course was impossible. He rode on. Suddenly he heard a dull thud not far to his right; could it be the sound of the Cossacks returning already? Quick as thought he reined up behind a large tree, and peering round the trunk saw, through the whirling flakes, a number of shadowy forms flit past in the opposite direction to that in which he had been going. Mingled with the thudding hoofs came the muffled sound of voices. He could not distinguish the riders, yet he felt sure that they were his pursuers. Waiting till all sounds were quenched, he cantered slowly ahead, knowing now that could he but keep a straight course the Cossacks would be unable, while the snowfall lasted, to find his trail. But for an accident he was safe.
Safe, indeed, from the pursuers; but there were still dire perils to face. He had been riding hard for three hours; the horse had for some time been showing signs of fatigue; he had no food either for it or for himself, and he was himself ravenously hungry. He was in a wild, desolate, sparsely-populated region; should he encounter natives he would be taken for a Russian; he could not speak their language; even if his horse's strength held out until he reached an advanced Japanese outpost, he might be shot before he could make himself understood. Yet, unless he fell in with someone who would give him shelter and food, he and his horse alike must succumb to fatigue and cold, and he would have escaped the Scylla of Russian hands only to meet death from the Charybdis of the elements. Chilled, tired, hungry as he was, for a brief moment his mind was crossed by the shadow of despair; but he pulled himself together, shook the reins, straightened himself, and once more rode on.
It seemed to him that he was wandering on a vast white Sahara, or adrift on a wide sea without chart or compass. All at once, on his left hand, a hut such as he had previously seen from the sea-shore loomed up, like an excrescence from the white plain. He pulled up, dismounted, and led his horse towards the building. It was partially ruined. The doorway was too low to admit the animal, but going round to the back he found a large gap in the rough mud wall just wide enough to allow the horse to pass. Here at least there was temporary shelter for both man and beast. True, there was some risk of the Cossacks appearing even yet; but the horse could go no farther; while it was resting the snow-storm might cease, and with a lifting sky he might be able to take his bearings and strike out a definite course. Leading the animal into the hovel, he scraped the snow from its body, rubbed it as dry as possible with the cloths he unrolled from the saddle, and sat down on a billet of wood, cold, hungry, and depressed.
Thinking, dreaming, he at length fell into a doze. When he awoke, he noticed that the snow had ceased, and the sky was clearing. It was four o'clock. Rising stiff with cold, he went outside the hut and observed a streak of dull red on the horizon.
"That must be the setting sun," he said to himself. "I wonder if, guiding myself by that, I could by and by reach a village and get food. Poor old horse! I hope you are not feeling as hungry and miserable as I am."
He led the beast out and mounted. It was now freezing hard; the snow gave a metallic crunch under the hoofs as he rode away. Westward, towards the setting sun, must lie the sea; in that direction there was nothing to hope for. Northward were the Russians, southward the Japanese, but how far away? His course must be eastward, for sooner or later he must strike the high-road, and when once on the high-road he must in time reach a village. There would always be the risk of meeting Russians, but he could only chance that. Eastward, therefore, he set his horse. His advent in a Korean village would not be without danger; but one peril balanced another, and his plight could scarcely be more desperate.
He had ridden, as he guessed, some three miles farther across the valley, when suddenly, in the dusk before him, he descried a cluster of huts. "At last!" he said to himself with a sigh of relief. Here at any rate were people; where people were, there must be food—and food, both for himself and his horse, must be obtained, whatever the risk. The hamlet might harbour a Cossack patrol; but at this stage Bob felt that it was no worse to fall into Russian hands than to die of famine on the snow-clad hills. On the other hand, if there were no Cossacks in the hamlet, his own appearance in Russian guise would be sufficient to procure him supplies. The Korean as a fighting man was not, Yamaguchi had told him, very formidable, so that even if the villagers proved hostile he felt that he could manage to hold his own.
Taking the Cossack's pistol from the holster, Bob rode on boldly into the hamlet. To assure himself that it sheltered no Russians, he cantered right through the narrow street, then turned his horse and made his way to what appeared to be the principal house. Like all Korean villages of the poorer sort, this one was dirty and cramped, consisting of a few one-story houses of mud with thatched roofs. The street was now deserted; the few people who had been in it when he cantered through had scattered into their houses when they saw him turn, regarding him no doubt as the pioneer of a body of Cossacks. He dismounted at the closed door of the hut, and knocked. There was no reply; save for the bark of a dog the whole village was shrouded in silence. He knocked again, and a third time, still without effect; the fourth time he battered insistently on the door with his pistol. Then he heard a sound within; the door opened, and by the dim light of a foul-smelling oil-lamp he saw a very fat elderly Korean spreading himself across the entrance.
Bob knew no Korean, no Russian, no Chinese, and only a few words of Japanese. These he had perforce to rely on.
"Komban wa!" he said politely, giving the evening greeting.
The man snapped out something in gruff tones.
"Tabe-mono!" added Bob, taking a few Japanese coins out of his pocket. "Uma! Pan taberu daro!"
The Korean shook his head and began to jabber words incomprehensible to Bob. His meaning, however, was obvious; he was not inclined to supply the food for horse and man for which his visitor had asked. Bob was in no mood to brook reluctance or even dilatoriness. Raising his pistol and pointing it full at the man's head, he poured out a torrent of the first abuse that came to him, which happened to be phrases he had heard addressed to the referee at football matches in the Celtic Park. No Korean, as he had expected, could stand up against this. In a short time a feed of corn was brought for his horse; he tied the beast up at the door, and returning to the room sat down on the stone floor, awaiting food for himself, and wishing that the furnace in the cellar beneath were not quite so hot. The air inside the hovel was foul and suffocating, but a man can put up with a good deal of discomfort when he is starving, and Bob did not turn up his nose at the evil-smelling mixture by and by set before him. It was a dish of which the poorer Koreans are fond—a compound of raw fish, pepper, vinegar, and slabs of fat pork, and the odour was like mingled collodion and decaying sea-weed. He tasted it, tried to swallow a mouthful, found it impossible, and then, in a burst of scarcely feigned rage, demanded meshi or boiled rice, which he had reason to suppose would be at once more palatable and more trustworthy. This was in due course forthcoming, and with the aid of a spoon, the only one the house contained, he succeeded in disposing of a quantity of food which would have astonished anyone but a Korean. His host had now become cringingly polite. Bob questioned him, partly by signs, partly by means of his few words of Japanese, regarding the direction of Seng-cheng and the Pekin road. The former, he learnt, was 70 li (about 21 miles) over the hills, the latter 10 li due east. Thinking over the situation, he resolved to make boldly for the road, which he knew led direct to Ping-yang, and on reaching it to travel by night and rest in hiding during the day. Having made a hearty meal, with a moderate potation of a thin rice beer which he found very refreshing, he rose to leave, and offered the Korean a yen, which, as prices go in the country, was probably four times the value of what he and his horse had consumed. The man, with many bows and protestations, refused to accept payment. Bob insisted, the Korean resisted, and, pointing to a wooden pillow-block on the floor and a quilt hanging on a peg, tried to persuade his visitor to stay the night. This invitation was politely declined, whereupon the Korean in his turn became insistent, so that Bob grew suspicious. The man's refusal to accept money was no doubt an attempt to ingratiate himself with the Cossack patrol to which he supposed Bob belonged; his pressing invitation was capable of a less amicable explanation. Bob in his guise as a Cossack would never think of spending the night alone in a Korean village; if he fell asleep he might never awaken. Shaking his head resolutely, he made signs that he wished the remains of his meal to be put up for him in one of the lacquer boxes he saw in the room. This having been done with manifest reluctance by his host, he moved forward his horse, the Korean following him still with pressing entreaty. All the time that Bob was bundling up a supply of fodder for his horse the man stood jabbering at his side, but he withstood these persevering efforts to detain him, and was just about to mount his horse, when he saw dimly in the dusk, at the end of the street by which he had entered the village, a body of men whom even in the distance he recognized by their quaint caps and baggy clothes as Korean infantry.
Instantly he vaulted into the saddle. At the same moment he heard the bang-bang of rifles and a volley of shouts. His fat host flung himself flat on his face, and Bob galloped up the street, smiling at the ineffectiveness of the Koreans' aim, and wondering how long it would take them to reload. At a turn of the street, even more to their surprise than to his own, he came plump upon another body of Koreans marching in no great order in the opposite direction. Evidently a clumsy attempt had been made to surround him. There was no alternative. He dashed straight at this new body; they scurried like rabbits to the sides of the road, yelling with fright, and by the time they had recovered sufficiently to remember that they were soldiers of the emperor, Bob was out of sight.
Only a few minutes after Bob had thus routed a Korean detachment, two Chinamen rode in at the other end of the village. They were shorter than the average Chinaman; yet, mounted as they were on the high saddles usual in Korea, their feet nearly touched the ground at the sides of their diminutive and sorry-looking ponies. They dismounted at the door of the house that Bob had lately left, and then it could be seen that the younger of the two was dressed like a respectable Chinese merchant, the other being evidently his servant.
The merchant enquired of the Korean at the door what was the meaning of the sounds of firing he had heard.
"The soldiers were honourably shooting at a Russian," replied the man.
"Did he have his lance?" asked the Chinaman instantly.
"No; but a pistol."
"You are sure he was not a Japanese dressed in Russian clothes?"
"Yes; he was tall, his cheeks were red, his eyes were blue, his hair the colour of ripe corn; there is no doubt at all that he was a red-haired barbarian."
The merchant spoke a few words to his servant; then both remounted, and set off as fast as their Lilliputian steeds could carry them after the departed Cossack.
Bob meanwhile had been hastening on. During the day his horse had had nearly five hours' rest, and after its good meal was again comparatively fresh. Scrambling over the hills, in no little danger of coming to grief in the darkness, he at length struck the beaten track over the snow that alone marked the course of the high-road. It rang hard under the horse's hoofs; much heavy sled traffic must have passed over it—no doubt supplies for the Russian cavalry, scattered over the whole of Northern Korea. All the way as he rode, Bob was alert to catch any sound of approaching troops, but the highway was deserted; he met neither man nor beast. After covering about ten miles he thought it best to leave the road and strike off into the hills on his left, with the object of skirting round Seng-cheng, which he felt sure was occupied by a Russian force, large or small. Choosing a spot where the highway edged a clump of wood, he rode some yards among the trunks, dismounted, and then carefully smoothed over his horse's tracks on the snow, leaving no track himself by retreating in the hoof-marks. Then he plunged deeper into the wood, in a direction at right angles to the road, leading his horse in order to avoid collision with the trees, and hoping by and by to reach some woodman's hut where he might safely pass the rest of the night. A faint moonlight began to shine through the leafless skeletons, assisting his progress. After half an hour he came suddenly upon a somewhat extensive clearing, in the midst of which he saw a small cluster of huts similar to those he had left behind. He was about to turn sharply off to avoid them, when something in their appearance struck him as unusual. Leaving his horse, he advanced cautiously, and found that the huts were deserted and in ruins; the blackened thatch and mud told a tale of burning, and Bob surmised that here was evidence of a Cossack raid. After a little search he found a hovel that had suffered less than the rest. He easily broke a way through its wall for the horse, returned and led the animal in, barricaded the opening with debris from the other huts, and made himself as comfortable as he could by means of the cloak and horsecloths rolled up before and behind the saddle. Then, being by this time dead beat, he soon fell asleep.
Just as dawn was breaking, he was startled from his heaviness by the loud snorting of his horse. Springing up on his elbow, he saw in the wan light the animal, its ears thrown back, its eyes protruding, tugging at the reins by which Bob had secured it to one of the beams supporting the roof. It was panting, trembling, frantic with fear. Wide awake in an instant, Bob reached for the case containing his rifle, which he had worn slung over his shoulder and removed on lying down. Even as he did so the faint light filtering through the loosely-barricaded doorway was obscured. There was a thump and the crash of falling woodwork, and a heavy body, in the suddenness of its onset looking even larger than it was, sprang between him and the horse. A shrill scream of fright, followed instantly by a dull thud, then a deep growl, and Bob, though he had never heard it before, was in no doubt what the sound implied: it was the warning growl of a tiger after a kill. Stretched upon the inanimate horse, he saw in the uncertain light a huge tawny form. Its back was towards him; its tail was lashing the ground within a few feet of where he had lain; in a moment it must scent him. To gain the door, even had there been any prospect of safety in flight, he would have to pass immediately behind the brute, which at the sound would turn in far less time than he would take to rush past. The beast was still growling and lashing the floor. Bob remained still as death, in the reclining posture in which the tiger's entrance had surprised him. In a flash he saw that his only chance lay in one shot so well aimed as to kill or maim the brute; if he missed, nothing could save him; yet the slightest click or rustle would not escape its sensitive ears. Even as he raised the rifle to his shoulder with all his care, the tiger heard the movement and half-turned its head. But its head was still too much covered by the length of its body for Bob to risk a shot at its brain, and he knew that in the sudden volte-face that was now bound to come the movement would be so rapid that he might very easily miss. Instantly leaning forward, he brought the muzzle of the rifle within a foot of the animal's body at the region of the heart, and fired. There was a scream of rage, a convulsive twist of the huge body, a leap, and Bob was on the floor, beneath the tiger, unconscious.
CHAPTER X
The One-Eared Man
Mr. Helping-to-decide on Tour—Watched—The Tragedy of the Topknot—A Vampire—Mr. Helping-to-decide at Home—An Unholy Alliance—Cross-Examined
"How do you do, sir? I trust you enjoy excellent health and spirits."
These were the first words Bob heard when he came to himself. He was surrounded by a group of Korean soldiers, about whom there was nothing martial but the blood-red band in their hats. In the centre, just alighted from a palanquin, was a Korean in long white cloak and a hat like an inverted flower-pot; he was bowing and smiling with a mingled expression of amiability and concern. Bob recognized him in a moment; it was Mr. Helping-to-decide.
"Thank you, I'm rather shaky," said Bob looking round. "What has become of that brute?"
"Outside, sir. You stop horses; you stop tigers too. You kill him stone dead, sir."
"Did I really? The last I remember is an uneasy idea that the tiger was going to kill me. D'you mind giving me your hand. I feel rather giddy and battered."
With Mr. Helping-to-decide's eager assistance he rose to his feet and staggered out of the hut. There lay the tiger, a fine animal nearly twelve feet long. Beside it was the horse, whose skull had been broken by a single blow from the tiger's massive paw.
"I wonder I escaped," said Bob.
"A good, a famous shot, sir," said the Korean; "but you have a scratch, an abrasion, on your nob just where your hair begins."
"Have I? I am lucky it is no worse. But how is it I have the pleasure of seeing you here, sir?"
Then Mr. Helping-to-decide explained that he was on the way to his country house some fifteen miles distant. He had been sent by his government to watch the Russians at Seng-cheng, and had gone into the town with the full determination to let nothing escape his attention. But the Russians objected to being watched. They peremptorily ordered him out of their lines, and compelled him to disband his troops, allowing him to retain only the small escort which Bob saw with him. He was following his wife and family, who had preceded him along the road, when the sound of a shot had arrested his progress, and on searching he had found the tiger in the throes of death, and underneath it the inanimate form of the man to whom he owed eternal gratitude. If only he had been a little earlier he might have killed the tiger before it made its spring, and so have saved his honourable benefactor the bruises he was sure he bore on his body and the cut he saw on his head. Still, he hoped that he might some day have an opportunity of doing something in return for the Englishman's condescending kindness.
It was now several years since Mr. Helping-to-decide had eaten his dinners at Lincoln's Inn, but he spoke with extreme volubility, and was seldom at a loss for a word. Law lecturers, London landladies, leader-writers and cabmen had all assisted to form his style.
"Many thanks," said Bob. "Really you are too kind. I am very glad to have met you, as, knowing the country, you may be able to assist me to escape."
"Certainly, sir, with the greatest pleasure. If you will come with me, no wild beasts will dare to molest you."
"I wasn't thinking of wild beasts," said Bob with a smile. "I was thinking of Russians. The Cossacks are after me."
An instantaneous change took place in the expression of Mr. Helping-to-decide's features. He glanced round with a quick movement like that of a startled hare, and peered among the trees as though expecting to find a Cossack behind every one of them.
"I don't think they are here just now," added Bob, repressing a smile. He proceeded to give an account of the circumstances that had brought him to that spot, the Korean listening with gathering apprehension.
"This is a most astounding fix," he said. "The Russians are very hostile, very unkind. They are on all sides" (he made a wide sweep with his arm); "they will find you, and then, hon'ble sir, what in the name of goodness will you do? You are more than a match for a horse, you have considerable facility with tigers, but with a Russian—ah! that is ultra vires. Why, would you believe it?—they treat me, who help to decide in the War Department of his Imperial Majesty—they treat even me as if I were a dog! It is a jolly astounding fix!"
The little man looked so sincerely perturbed that Bob made an effort to keep a grave face.
"It is very kind of you," he said, "to feel so much anxiety on my account. After a short rest I shall be well enough to push on. I shall have to do so on foot, unless one of your men will sell me his horse. I could give him a bill on Yokohama."
"On no account whatever, hon'ble sir. I am still head over ears in your debt. Do I not owe to you preservation of my better half? Yes, by gum! Now, sir, if you will do me the honour to ride in my insignificant conveyance, I will have you transported to my humble roof, where the weary are at rest, and we can there enjoy sweet converse about via media in these awkward circs."
Bob did not much relish the idea of proceeding over the roads cooped up in the narrow space of a palanquin carried by coolies, but the Korean's anxiety that he should keep out of sight was so evident that he decided to accept the offer. He returned to the hut to fetch the Cossack's cap, cloak, and rifle, and his own glass, but when he reappeared with them, Mr. Helping-to-decide again looked startled and begged him to leave them behind. Bob yielded, except as to the glass. A Korean cap was found among the official's belongings, and with this perched on his head Bob crept into the palanquin, prepared to endure an uncomfortable journey.
Just as the party was about to move off, one of the escort approached Mr. Helping-to-decide, and, first humbly kow-towing, said something in a tone of supplication. The functionary explained. The men would like the horse; would he allow them to cut up the animal? Bob declared that he had no objection whatever; whereupon Mr. Helping-to-decide told the men that they might have the horse if they first skinned the tiger. A dozen men at once set to work, and in half an hour the double operation was performed; the dismembered horse was distributed among the escort, the tiger's skin was entrusted to the head coolie, and after this long delay the party resumed their northward journey.
As they left the group of huts, no one noticed two Chinamen crouching in a ruined cabin, within a few feet of Bob and Mr. Helping-to-decide. They had seen and heard all that passed since the arrival of the Koreans. When the party had finally departed, the Chinamen left their place of concealment, struck through the trees in a north-westerly direction, and presently reappearing on their little ponies, made off towards the Ping-yang road.
Mr. Helping-to-decide rode by the side of the palanquin, the top of which was lifted up, and showed himself anxious to keep up his guest's spirits by a never-ceasing flow of conversation, to which Bob listened with a fearful joy. He explained that the Koreans were deeply interested in the result of the war, for it appeared inevitable that the country must come under the dominating influence either of Russia or of Japan. They would rather have neither, but if it must be one or the other, they preferred Japan to Russia. But there was one particular grudge they had against Japan. It was due to Japanese influence that the Emperor of Korea, some years before, had decreed the abolition of the topknot and plunged the whole nation into despair.
"Dear me!" said Bob. "I should have thought it the other way about. The cultivation of the topknot must give you a good deal of trouble."
"Ah! You are a barbarian—excuse me, a foreigner; you do not understand. How should you? In your country what do they do to a man when he is grown up and becomes married?"
"I don't know that they do anything—except send in tax-papers, and that sort of thing."
"Well, in my country we wear cranial ornament—topknot to wit. In Korea the topknot is a sine qua non; without it a Korean has no locus standi: he is a vulgar fraction—of no importance. Let me inform you, hon'ble sir, a gray-beard, though of respectable antiquity, if minus a topknot, is to all intents and purposes a baby-in-arms. That is our Korean custom. Now, hon'ble sir, can you imagine our unutterable consternation, perturbation of spirit, nervous prostration, when an Imperial decree issues—every conjugal Korean's topknot shall be abbreviated, cut off instanter! There is dire tribulation, sore perplexity. All Korea plumps into the depths of despair. Besides, it is the height of absurdity. How, hon'ble sir, shall distinction henceforth be drawn between celibate irresponsible and self-respecting citizen with hostages to fortune? That is what we ask ourselves, and echo answers, how? I pause for a reply."
Bob, chuckling inwardly at Mr. Helping-to-decide's wonderful command of the English tongue, looked sympathetic, and said:
"It was very awkward certainly. But what happened?"
"At promulgation of decree I was residing at my eligible country house. By gum, I think, such humiliating necessity cannot embrace the Cham-Wi—hon'ble helping-to-discuss in his Majesty's War Office. Perish the thought! But, hon'ble sir, stern duty calls me to metropolitan city. I arrive at the outer gate. Lo! I am arrested, I the Cham-Wi, by guardian of the peace—copper, who stands outside with huge shears ferociously brandished. I make myself scarce—bunk. Alas! vain hope: a brawny arm seizes me from behind; one, two, the deed is done; my topknot—where is it? It is beyond recall. I am dishonoured. Behold me on my beam ends!"
The recollection moved Mr. Helping-to-decide almost to tears. Having recovered, he went on to explain that a domestic revolution soon afterwards removed the emperor from the influence of his evil advisers. The decree was abrogated; and since then the Koreans had cultivated topknots anew, and had again become honourable men.
In spite of this bad business of the topknot, Mr. Helping-to-decide was quite emphatic in his preference of the Japanese to the Russians, and he was glad to know of the successes of the former at Port Arthur. He was able to give Bob some information about the progress they were making in Korea. Their armies now stretched in a long front of some fifty miles, and were only waiting for the break-up of the ice to press forward to the Yalu. Between their present position and Wiju there were five rivers in all, which would require to be bridged, but this would give little trouble to the Japanese engineers, who were exceedingly quick and capable. They had also exact information of the Russian dispositions. Many Japanese, disguised as Chinese or Koreans, were constantly moving in and out among the Russians, carrying their lives in their hands. Several had been caught and shot, but more had escaped detection and brought valuable information to their generals. The Russians were doubly incensed at this because they were unable to play the same game. While the Japanese were perfectly at home in the country, and were moreover very skilful in disguising themselves, no Russian could easily pass for a Chinaman or a Korean, for even if his physique were not against him, his ignorance of the languages would prove a serious drawback.
"That makes me wonder what I am to do," said Bob. "I want to reach the Japanese lines, and the disadvantages of the Russian are disadvantages in my case also."
"You must come to my house; we will disguise you,—make you look quite the lady. Then you can ride in a palanquin to the south, and I will send trusty men to guide you and bring you o.k. to the Japanese."
Bob was not enamoured of the suggestion, and hoped that some other means would offer. Meanwhile, having no alternative to suggest, he said nothing.
Twelve miles of the journey had been accomplished, at a terribly slow pace, and three more remained to be covered, when an old and weather-beaten Korean riding a pony appeared rounding the shoulder of a hill not far ahead. He quickened his pace when he saw the cavalcade, and on meeting Mr. Helping-to-decide entered into grave conversation with him. Bob, watching the functionary's face, saw its expression become more and more agitated and alarmed. He came at length to the palanquin, and explained that the rider was the sergeant in charge of the village they were approaching, and had come to report that during the past few days a notorious Manchu brigand, in Russian pay, had been raiding within ten miles of the village under pretence of reconnoitring. He was a man whom the people had long had reason to dread. During the war in 1894 he had committed terrible atrocities in Northern Korea, and had since infested the upper reaches of the Yalu with a band of desperadoes, terrorizing a district several hundred square miles in extent. His head-quarters were supposed to be in a mountain fastness some distance beyond the Yalu. Before the outbreak of the present war the Russians had more than once attempted to extirpate his gang, but he had always proved too clever for them. They had now come to terms with him, and were utilizing his great knowledge of the country and his undoubted genius for leadership. He was a most accomplished linguist, speaking every dialect of the Korean-Manchurian borderland, besides having a good knowledge of Japanese, a smattering of Russian, and a certain command of pidgin English. In his early youth he had been a trader on the Chinese coast, but it having been discovered that he was in league with pirates, he had suddenly disappeared, being next heard of as ringleader of his desperate band of brigands. He was utterly unscrupulous, and the fact that he was now acting with the Russians only increased the gravity of the news that he was in the neighbourhood of Mr. Helping-to-decide's home.
The Korean was much depressed during the remainder of the journey, and spoke but little. He cheered up, however, when the village at length came in sight. It was evening; only women were to be seen in the street, for it is the Korean custom for the men to remain indoors after nightfall, and leave the streets free for their women folk. Mr. Helping-to-decide rode through the village till he came to the only house of stones and tiles which it contained, where, dismounting, he politely invited the honourable sir to deign to enter his contemptible abode. Bob was very glad to stretch his limbs after many hours in the palanquin, and, slipping off his boots at the door, found himself for the first time an inmate of a Korean house of the better sort.
He could not help comparing it unfavourably with the Japanese interior he had found so pleasant at Nikko. There was a striking lack of the simple grace of Kobo's house. The room to which his host led him was small and bare. The tiled roof was supported on a thick beam running the whole length of the house. In place of the spotless mats of Kobo's rooms there was a dirty leopard-skin and an expanse of yellowish oil-paper covering the whole floor. The walls were of mud and plaster, with sliding lattices covered with tissue-paper that also appeared to have been well oiled. One or two jars and a lacquer box completed the furniture.
He saw nothing of Mrs. Helping-to-decide. The evening meal was shared by himself and his host alone. The food brought in by the female servants was sufficient for a much larger company. It consisted first of all of some questionable sweetmeats; these were followed by raw fish, underdone pork chops, rice in various forms, radishes of gigantic size, and fruit, including dried apples and very tough and indigestible persimmons. Bob knew that he would be regarded as impolite if he refused to partake of all these dishes. He did his best, but found it difficult to swallow anything but the rice, in the cooking of which the Korean excels. His poor trencher-work was, however, put to shame by Mr. Helping-to-decide himself, who disposed of course after course with a gusto which would have amazed his visitor had he not heard extraordinary stories of the capacity of the Koreans in this respect. When the meal was over, Bob was not surprised to see his host fall asleep, and being thus left to his own resources, he rolled himself up in his cloak and a silk coverlet provided by one of the maids, and made himself as comfortable as possible on the floor.
He passed a most uneasy night. He had not been long asleep when he half woke with the feeling that his right side was scorching. He turned over sleepily, only to find by and by that the left side was even hotter than the right had been. Whatever position he chose, he could not escape this totally unnecessary heat, which, combined with the unpleasant odour from the oiled-paper carpet, made him wish he could go back to the cold ruined hut in which he had spent the previous night. The explanation was, that beneath the floor was a cellar in which a fire had been lit, and the coolie had piled on enough fuel to last through the night. This was a simple means of heating the house, but Bob could not help wondering whether a refrigerator would not perhaps form a more satisfactory bed-chamber than an oven.
He was glad when morning came, and Mr. Helping-to-decide, awaking from his heavy sleep, had sufficiently regained his senses to discuss ways and means. It soon appeared that the trusty Korean servant who was to have assisted Bob towards the Japanese lines was absent, having gone to keep a watch on the Manchu brigands. Mr. Helping-to-decide accordingly proposed that Bob should remain with him until the man returned, and impressed upon him the advisability of keeping within doors in order not to attract attention. Bob was by no means pleased at the prospect of spending even one day within these close walls, but seeing no help for it he submitted with a good grace.
It was a dreary time. During the morning he was left to himself, and to while away the hours he found nothing better to do than to look out, through a slit in one of the tissued lattices, at what went on in the street. But after the mid-day meal, Mr. Helping-to-decide proposed a game of "go", which Bob knew from previous experience might be spun out to any length. They were in the midst of the game, when there was a great shouting and hurry-scurry in the street; then the clatter of galloping horses. Mr. Helping-to-decide sprang up in agitation, and Bob, going to his slit, saw a troop of Cossacks headed by a tall Manchu galloping up the street, followed by a band of riders, whom from their features and habiliments he concluded to be Manchu bandits. Mr. Helping-to-decide stood in quivering helplessness. The horsemen reined up before his house; some of them went round it in both directions, and the terrified owner turned his white face to Bob and groaned.
When the house was surrounded, the commander of the Cossacks shouted something which neither Bob nor the Korean understood. But the cry was immediately repeated in the vernacular by the tall Manchu; he had dismounted and was approaching the house with the apparent intention of forcing an entrance through the sliding lattice.
"What does he say?" asked Bob.
"He says, hon'ble sir, 'Bring out the spy'," faltered Mr. Helping-to-decide. "This is indeed a critical moment. I am at a loss—flabbergasted. I am driven to conclusion it is all u.p."
The Manchu had now come to the wall of the house, and bellowed what was evidently a threatening message.
"'If the spy is not brought out instanter,'" translated Mr. Helping-to-decide, "'he will conflagrate this residence and adjacent village, with incidental murder of inhabitants.'"
Mr. Helping-to-decide wrung his hands in impotent despair.
"I shall give myself up," said Bob.
His host's agitation at once gave place to polite admiration and a show of confidence at which Bob almost laughed. He recognized that it was no laughing matter. The ruined state of the hamlet in which he had met the tiger was clear evidence that the invader's threat was no empty one, and the tales he had heard of the Cossacks' brutality did not promise a pleasant experience to any prisoner who fell into their power. But Bob felt that he had no alternative. There was just a hope that as a British subject he would come off with a whole skin, but in any case it was impossible to let the whole village suffer through any weakness of his. He therefore pulled aside the lattice, stepped out, and with a bold bearing that ill-matched his inward quaking, delivered himself up to the enemy.
The Cossack captain sat his horse side by side with the Manchu a few paces in advance of his troop. As Bob approached, amid perfect silence, he noticed that the Manchu leant quickly forward and peered at him with an interest greater than the circumstances seemed to warrant. Something in the man's face was familiar to Bob, who, as the Manchu turned half round to speak to the Russian officer, saw that he had only one ear. He remembered him clearly now. He was the man who had been saved from drowning by the Sardinia,—the man from whom Bob himself had saved Kobo's half-throttled servant Taru in the Ueno Park. It was Kobo's old enemy, the Manchu Tartar, Chang-Wo. The discovery did not tend to reassure Bob, but for all his tremors at the dangerous possibilities of the situation, he knew that his only chance was to maintain an air of utter fearlessness, and no one could have guessed from his undaunted attitude that he felt he was in a very tight place.
The Cossack captain looked hard at him for a moment, then gruffly addressed him, presumably in Russian.
Bob shook his head, saying, in the best French he could command, that he was sorry he was not familiar with the Russian tongue. To his surprise, the Cossack did not understand him. Bob had believed that every educated Russian knew French, and such ignorance seemed to prove this officer a boor.
"So much the worse for me," thought Bob.
The Cossack said a few words to the Manchu, who bent over and began a catechism in pidgin English, interpreting each answer as he received it to the Russian. Bob was surprised: on board the Sardinia the man had professed to know no English. He had some difficulty at first in understanding the strange idiom, but the general purport of Chang-Wo's questions was clear.
"What-side belongey?"
"I am a British subject."
"What you pidgin?"
"I am in the Japanese service."
"What-for you Japan-side?"
Bob hesitated. It was not likely that the Manchu would know what a range-finder was. He made an attempt to explain, but the circumlocutions he had to use aroused the Manchu's suspicion, and he interrupted impatiently:
"What you hab catchee in Korea?"
"I was left behind."
"What pidgin makee you hab got behind-side?"
"It was my bad luck—an accident."
"What-tim' you hab catchee accident?"
"Three days ago."
"What-side?"
"Near Yongampo."
"Supposey you tellum allo 'bout it?"
"Well, I got mixed up in a fight between Cossacks and Japanese, and I was bowled over."
"Bowled over! What that say?"
"Hit, tumbled on the ground: savvy?"
"How hab got wailo?"
"On a horse."
"How horso belongey you?"
"Caught it."
"What-side horso this-tim'?"
"Dead."
"You come this-side sampan?"
"In a ship."
"What callum ship?'
"That I can't tell you."
"No savvy?"
"Oh yes, I know; but I can't say."
"What-for no tellum?"
"Because I'm in the Japanese service."
"What namee Japanese that-tim' Yongampo?"
"What do you mean?"
"Japanese belongey you come Yongampo. He namee—what?"
"I can't tell you that."
"What-for no tellum?"
"For the same reason as before."
"Muss tellum—velly soon."
"Very sorry; it's quite impossible."
"You belongey too muchee sassy. You no tellum, my hab got whip."
Bob gave him a look, but said nothing. The Manchu raised his whip and dealt him a sharp blow with the stock, which struck his shoulder, only escaping his head because he swerved suddenly aside as he saw it coming. The next moment the Manchu lay sprawling on the ground. Bob had sprung at him and hit him so heavily and unexpectedly beneath the jaw that he lost his balance and fell backwards over his horse's haunches. He picked himself up, and drawing his sword rushed at Bob, who stood with flaming eyes and clenched fists ready to defend himself. But the Cossack officer moved his horse a pace or two forward and interposed. He spoke a few rapid words to the Manchu, saying in effect that the prisoner was too valuable to be killed in a fit of temper; information could no doubt be got out of him in course of time; and meanwhile he should have a foretaste of the discipline awaiting him.
The Manchu gave way with a sullen scowl, and remounted his horse. Then the captain gave an order; a trooper dismounted, and came towards Bob with a narrow leather thong in his hand. Bob instantly guessed what was to be done, and seeing the utter vanity of resistance, he submitted quietly, while the thong was firmly bound about his right wrist and then knotted to the near stirrup of the captain's horse. Another order was then given; the whole troop set off at a trot down the deserted street, and as Bob was dragged by the side of the horse, the last object he remembered seeing was the pale, terror-stricken face of Mr. Helping-to-decide peeping through the broken lattice of his house.
CHAPTER XI
Tried and Sentenced
Under Escort—A Court-Martial—Leading Questions—The Bear's Claw
Bob's sensations were by no means agreeable as he kept pace perforce with the Cossack's horse. The trot, fortunately, soon slackened to a quick amble, or he must soon have been utterly exhausted. In spite of the cold, the exertion of walking fast, heavily clothed as he was, made him uncomfortably hot, and his physical temperature was matched by his mental condition. He was in a rage; not at being made a prisoner: that was only to have been expected: but at being tied up like a dog, reminding him of the curs he had seen chained to bakers' carts in French villages. Anger, however, was a mere waste of energy, as he soon saw; at present he could only make the best of a bad case,—keep up his courage and his pace without reminders from the evil-looking knout he saw ready to the Cossack's hand.
As he trudged along, two reflections were uppermost in his mind. One was that, having been captured and treated with indignity, he was justified in regarding himself now as a combatant; this gave him a little consolation. The other was, that in Chang-Wo, the Manchu, he had an enemy of a particularly dangerous kind. He remembered Kobo's story of him; and the knowledge that this same man was doing desperate work for the Russians in Korea was not reassuring. The Manchu had evidently recognized him as the stranger who had saved the little Japanese from his vengeance in the Ueno Park, and clearly bore him no good-will on that account.
The road was a difficult one, leading over the rugged hills. Darkness fell, and still the troop pushed on. At length, when Bob felt on the point of collapsing, they rode into a town or village of fair size, which, as he afterwards learnt, was Yong-cheng, on the Pekin high-road. He expected that now at least he would be allowed rest and food, but as soon as the Cossacks arrived at the place they took him before a Russian officer of some rank, apparently a lieutenant-colonel. When preliminary explanations had been given, the colonel ordered the prisoner to stand before him, and in peremptory tones began to question him in French. Bob's French was not very fluent, but he answered as well as he could, repeating the replies he had previously given. He refused to say who had been in his company before he made off on the Cossack's horse, and assured the Russian that he knew absolutely nothing of any communications that may have passed between this person and spies on shore. His persistence made the officer more and more angry, until at last the latter shouted:
"You're a liar! Tell me the truth, or I'll hang you on the spot."
"I have already told you the truth," said Bob quietly. "I don't know whom my friend may have met at Yongampo, and if I did, I could not tell you—surely you must see that?"
"You're an insolent puppy. A means will be found to loosen your tongue. I'll give you a night to come to your senses.—Take him away."
Bob, almost fainting with fatigue and hunger, was led away to a close and dirty hovel, where he was given a hunk of coarse bread and a fat sausage to eat, and there he remained in the custody of two Cossacks through the night. At sunrise, feeling stiff and dispirited, he was again taken before the officer, and again put through an interrogatory, a trooper standing at his elbow holding a knout ostentatiously in his view. But the colonel was again baffled; he received no more information than before; and at length, with a curse of impatience, he roared an order to his men. Bob expected the knout to be immediately applied to his back, but to his surprise he was led out into the open, and after a period of suspense he was ordered to mount a horse that was brought up. A few minutes later he was riding out of the village, a Cossack with cocked pistol on each side of him, and the Manchu in the rear.
The explanation of this change in his destiny was that the Russian colonel had not given up hope of obtaining information, and was sending him to General Sassulitch at Wiju, where perhaps he would be brought to reason. The Cossacks were ordered to guard him carefully, but not to ill-use him, and Bob was somewhat surprised, after what he had heard of the brutality of these reckless soldiers, to find that he was treated with some consideration. The whole of that day was occupied in the journey to Wiju. The country was hilly and rugged, and Bob realized, from the slow rate of progress of himself and his escort, that the transport of a whole army would take much time, especially in this winter weather.
At various points along the road parties of Russian soldiers were met with, but it was not until the three riders came within a few miles of Wiju that Bob had striking evidence of the Russian occupation. To the south of that frontier town large gangs of coolies were at work throwing up entrenchments under the direction of Russian officers. Bob was led close to a numerous party near the high-road, employed in excavating a shelter trench. Their sullen looks and reluctant movements indicated that they were forced labourers, and in the hands of several of the Russians Bob noticed ominous-looking whips. He was not surprised, for if they trusted to the efficacy of the knout in their own army and navy, it was unlikely that they would spare it in the case of Korean peasants.
Like almost all Korean towns, Wiju stands on a hill; on one side it overlooks a plain, on the other the river Yalu. Bob was glad enough when, entering its walls and passing up the long straggling street, filled with Russian soldiers, he was halted and dismounted at a house over which a flag was flying. He was prepared by this time for the worst. Several times on the way explanations on his account had passed between his escort and enquiring soldiers, and he inferred from their smiles and gestures that he must look for short shrift. He expected now to be placed on trial as a spy, or perhaps summarily disposed of without trial, probably after another attempt to extort information from him. But after an hour's detention in the house, during which he was given a scanty allowance of food, he saw the Manchu Chang-Wo enter and deliver a message to the officer in charge. He was immediately ordered out and made to remount; his weary journey was evidently not yet ended. His Cossack escort grunted their displeasure, and scowled at him with dark looks, while the Manchu, who again accompanied them, urged them to hasten their pace and complete their unwelcome task.
They rode smartly down the hill. Presently Bob saw in the dark the waters of what was no doubt the Yalu before him, banked by rugged bluffs on the other side. This, then, was the famous boundary river dividing Korea from Manchuria. On the Korean side the channel was still frozen over; but the current was deeper and swifter under the Manchurian bank, where it was hemmed in by a large island occupying a considerable part of what must be in time of flood the bed of the river. In this part of the river large blocks of ice were floating down with the stream. Bob had forborne to put any questions to the Manchu; he would have liked to ask now what was to be done with him, but on second thoughts he decided still to hold his tongue. But in the course of the long wearisome ride he distinguished the name Sassulitch more than once in a grumbling conversation between his escort and the Manchu, though he was not then aware that the owner of the name was a general of division.
It was late at night when they at length reached Antung, a low-lying town on the river-side; dark as it was, Bob could see that the place was substantially built. He was taken to a large go-down which had been transformed into a barracks, and locked up in a room by himself. He was very tired, and threw himself wearily down on the straw mattress spread on the floor, hoping that for a few hours at least he would not be interfered with. But he had barely fallen asleep when he was roused by a heavy touch upon his arm. Sitting up, he saw an armed Cossack holding a lighted taper. The man motioned to him to get up, and feeling more dead than alive he followed his guide out of the room, where he was joined by a squad with fixed bayonets, then through the streets, until he arrived at a large house more freely illuminated than any other, and guarded by a sentry. In a few moments he found himself in a lofty room, standing before a table on the other side of which sat a number of Russian officers. On the table were placed a few flaring tallow candles set in clumsy candlesticks, and a couple of circular oil-lamps resembling those of English railway-carriages. At each end stood a Russian foot-soldier with fixed bayonet. In conversation with one of the officers Bob saw the big Manchu, the one-eared Chang-Wo.
For some moments he stood there, the object of keen scrutiny to the officers, who stared at him with various degrees of curiosity, and with varying expressions on their faces. Then the officer who was evidently of the highest rank among them,—it was General Sassulitch himself,—motioned the Manchu aside and said a few words in Russian to the younger officer at his right. The latter at once addressed Bob, speaking in excellent English, with but faint foreign accent.
"Prisoner, you are charged with being a Japanese spy. You are English by nationality, it appears; what have you to say to the charge?"
"I am an Englishman, it is true, sir," replied Bob. "As to the rest, I am certainly not a spy."
"You had better give an account of yourself."
"My name is Robert Fawcett, and I am an engineer. I was sent out a few months ago by my firm, at the request of the Japanese government, to be at hand in case the range-finders on their ships required attention. The vessel on which I was happened to come to the mouth of the Yalu, and I had just landed when I was unlucky enough to be knocked over by a Cossack's horse, and when I recovered I thought the simplest way out of the difficulty was to make my escape on the animal; its master was dead. The horse was killed by a tiger. Since then I have been wandering about until I gave myself up to a troop of your men. I have nothing more to say."
This reply was interpreted to the other officers, whose manner of receiving it betokened for the most part blank incredulity. A few words were exchanged among them, then the interpreter spoke again.
"You shot the Cossack whose horse you stole?"
"No."
"Who did?"
"I don't know. He was shot from the boat."
"You were armed?"
"No; I had nothing but my field-glass."
"You are not a soldier?"
"No; I am an engineer."
"A naval engineer?"
"Not specially. I've no naval experience except what I have picked up."
"In what ships have you been?"
Bob hesitated for a moment. Then he reflected that there could be no possible harm in mentioning the names of the vessels in which he had served.
"In the Mikasa and Hatsuse."
"But neither of these brought you to Yongampo."
"No."
"What was the name of the vessel that did?"
Bob again hesitated. The Kasumi was engaged in secret service. It was impossible for him to know what might be the ultimate effect of betraying her identity. In so doing he would in any case associate her commander with the expedition to Yongampo. He made his decision.
"That, if you don't mind, I'd rather not say."
When this was explained to the officers they began to talk with some excitement, and one of them thumped the table. The interpreter continued:
"The general insists on knowing the name of the vessel."
"I am sorry, sir, but I can't tell you that."
"You know the consequence of refusing?"
"I'm not sure that I do," said Bob with a faint smile; "but in any case I can't tell."
A short consultation took place at the table, then the officer resumed his questioning.
"You had just landed from the boat, you say. Had you not been to Yongampo?"
"No."
"Who had?"
"I cannot say."
"Why did you land?"
"To help a friend of mine who was hard pressed by the Cossacks."
"Had he been to Yongampo?"
"I cannot say."
"Who was he?"
"I really cannot tell you any more about him."
"Whom had he been to see?"
"I do not know."
"Was he also an Englishman?"
"I really cannot answer that question."
"Do you speak Japanese?"
"No."
"Chinese?"
"No."
"What language did you speak in Yongampo?"
"I have never been in Yongampo."
"How long have you been in the country?"
"In Manchuria?"
"Don't prevaricate. How long have you been in these parts—Manchuria or Korea?"
"A few days."
"How came you to be on friendly terms with the native in whose house you were captured?"
"Excuse me, I gave myself up. As to your question, I happened to do a little service, quite accidentally, to the Korean gentleman, and he was more grateful than the circumstances really called for."
"When did you do him this service?"
"A week or two ago."
"Where?"
"In Seoul."
"What were you doing in Seoul?"
"Nothing—merely visiting the place."
Bob felt as soon as he had spoken that this, the literal truth, would certainly be scouted by his judges as wildly improbable. For some time, indeed, the officers had been showing signs of impatience. Worn out as he was, Bob held himself erect before them; he had replied to all his interrogator's questions in the same self-possessed and courteous manner; and while one or two of the Russians seemed impressed by his bearing, the majority were growing more and more angry as they saw how barren was the examination. They now formed a group about General Sassulitch, and discussed the matter in excited tones. Then the Manchu was called up and questioned, and from his gestures Bob guessed that he was making very positive assertions. The discussion continued for some time; then the Manchu was again dismissed, the group separated, and the young officer standing beside General Sassulitch said:
"Prisoner, the officers of His Majesty the Tsar here assembled cannot accept your denials. You were found within our lines; you were undoubtedly associated with a Japanese who landed from some vessel to enter into communications with a spy in Yongampo; we have a witness here who declares that he saw you in Tokio, then in Seoul, and recently in Yongampo—"
"Pardon my interrupting, sir, but that is false."
"Denial is useless. Our evidence is positive. By your own confession you were concerned in the serious loss inflicted upon a troop of Cossacks during the pursuit of the fugitive, who in all probability was yourself; you confess to have made your escape on the horse of a Cossack killed at that time; and you were captured at the house of a Korean who is suspected on good grounds of sympathy with the Japanese. There is no doubt in the mind of the court that you are a spy; your claim to British citizenship cannot be accepted as any palliation of your crime; the court condemns you to the penalty of a spy: you will be shot."
Bob flushed slightly. There was a silence, then at a sign from the officer the two soldiers at the end of the room approached him. He gave a quick glance along the table; noticed one officer leaning forward on his arms, his handsome face wearing a quizzical smile; another lolling back in his chair with an air of boredom; a third rolling a cigarette as though the matter were of complete indifference to him; the general, stern and inscrutable, in the midst. Then, between his two guards with fixed bayonets, he was marched to his prison.
It was a longer walk this time. He was not taken back to the go-down where he had expected to pass the night, but to a tower or keep built on the wall by the riverbank. It was now too dark to see anything clearly; but as he was led into the building one of his guards struck a light, and as he mounted the narrow stairway to the fourth story he noticed several padlocked doors, showing that here were other prisoners besides himself. He was taken into a small room at the top of the building, a thick rug was thrown in after him, the door was slammed, bolted, and padlocked, and he was left to his meditations.
CHAPTER XII
At Midnight
Waiting—A Russian Offer—A Farewell Letter—What the Case Held—Kite-flying Extraordinary—Prison-breaking—Free
Bob was so exhausted that he fell asleep at once, notwithstanding the gravity of his position. When he awoke some hours after daylight, he found some black bread and a plate of preserved beef and a jug of vodka by his side.
"To keep up my courage," he said to himself. He was hungry, and the bread and meat soon disappeared; but he found the vodka too fiery for his palate, and wondered if he would be allowed some water. He was to be shot, of course; when would that be? Shot! For the first time the reality of last night's scene forced itself on his mind. He had been so tired, and so strung-up in the determination to say nothing that would betray Yamaguchi, that the matter as it affected himself had not troubled him. But now—the thought of death struck him for the first time. It was a strange idea. He was well and strong; rather stiff and cramped, indeed, but that could easily be cured. Yet in a short time he was to be dead. He could not realize it; on board the Japanese vessels, in the poisonous box-battery on the Mikasa, on the Kasumi's shot-pelted deck, the idea of death had never been present to his mind. The oddness of it struck him most of all. It seemed absurd that he should die, and for what reason? His explanations had been too simple to be believed! He thought over the past days; there was nothing in his actions he could have altered, even if he had known that death was to come so soon. "Well, it can't be helped," he concluded. "I only hope I sha'n't funk it at the end."
Life was so vigorous in him at present, that he looked round his narrow room in an instinctive quest for some means of escape. It was about twelve feet square. The outer wall was of stone, some eighteen inches thick, pierced by a single unglazed splay window, narrowing from twenty inches broad on the inside to seven on the outside. The bottom of the window was about three feet above the floor, and it extended upwards for about an equal distance. Below it, embedded in the wall, projected a narrow platform about a foot high, which, Bob guessed, was intended to accommodate a watchman or possibly a marksman, for the tower had evidently been built as a watch-tower. Clambering up into the window-recess, Bob looked through the open slit, and saw that it commanded a view across the river, which flowed past at a depth of some eighty feet. The water-course was obstructed by ice; to plunge into it was impossible.
Returning to the floor, Bob noticed that the inner walls were of brick, comparatively new in contrast with the mouldering stonework of the outer wall. He concluded that at one time the whole story had formed a single chamber, and that it had been partitioned off recently, though in all probability before the advent of the Russians. The door was of massive make, and hung on ponderous iron clamps; it opened inwards, and there was no keyhole on the inner side.
"Things look black," thought Bob, as he convinced himself that there was no means of escaping from his dungeon. He tramped up and down with bent head, idly speculating on the scenes the old tower must have witnessed. How often in bygone days, he wondered, had Chinese, Korean, or Japanese flotillas passed under its walls up and down the Yalu? What romances might be woven about the spot, going back into ages long anterior to ironclads and machine-guns! He wished he knew something of the history of these far Eastern countries, and was resolving to look it up on the first opportunity when he suddenly remembered that he was to die, and the remembrance brought him to a stand-still and gave his imagination pause.
Looking again through the narrow opening, he saw in the distance a troop of Cossacks picking their way across the hills. He watched them with idle interest as they gained the summit and disappeared at a trot over the crest. He followed them in fancy; they were soldiers going perhaps to their death; and he wished that he too might meet with death in some active, heroic way, instead of tamely as the target of a firing-party. He was drawn from his reverie by the entrance of a soldier with a plate and jug. The man set the food down on the stone platform and left without a word.
Alternately pacing the room, sitting on the platform, or listlessly looking out upon the river, Bob passed the rest of the day. He saw no ray of hope. The room was bare; it contained nothing but his rug; everything had been taken from him; he had not even a penknife with which to while away the hours, as many a prisoner had done before him, in scratching initials or diagrams upon the walls.
"I wish they'd hurry up," he said to himself restlessly.
But the long day passed, and he was not summoned to his doom. At night he was given another meal. He was standing when it was brought him, and he moved towards the open door, without any hope of escaping. Outside, by the dim light of the lamp carried by the man inside, he saw another soldier armed with a rifle. The way was effectually guarded. He spoke to the man, asking when his execution was to take place. The man shook his head, evidently understanding not a word. The door was shut, bolted, and padlocked, and he was again left alone with his thoughts.
Next morning the soldier who brought him his food was accompanied by the officer who had acted as interpreter at his summary trial two nights before.
"Is my time up?" asked Bob almost eagerly.
"Not yet. The general will allow you another chance. Tell me what you know of the Japanese spies in Yongampo and of the Japanese with whom you landed, and the general will spare your life and keep you as a prisoner of war until peace is signed in Tokio."
Bob looked at the officer in silence.
"Come, why be obstinate? It isn't much to ask of you, and if you're an Englishman and a non-combatant the Japanese are nothing to you."
"You think I'll adopt that plea?" said Bob, with a touch of scorn. "No thank you. You've treated me as a combatant; very well, I've told you all I mean to tell you."
"You'll think better of it by and by. You've a day to think it over."
"I've thought it over."
"Well, think it over again. You'll come round, never fear."
The officer smiled as he went out. Bob spent the rest of the day in tramping his cell, which was very cold, looking out of the window, and wishing that they would not prolong his suspense. He expected to receive another visit from the officer before night, but saw no more of him until breakfast-time next morning.
"Well," said the Russian as he entered, "have you taken my advice?"
"No."
"Still obstinate! Your execution is fixed for to-morrow morning—the general gives you a long rope first, you see."
"That's a pleasant jest."
"Well, it's a pity for a young fellow like you to be so absurdly obstinate. You've only to mention a couple of names and give us a few particulars about men who can't possibly be of any interest to you, and—"
"Excuse me; I am in the Japanese service."
"Nonsense, you're an Englishman. What have you in common with the race of venomous conceited dwarfs who have dared to measure themselves against the might of an empire like ours?"
Bob stood with his hands in his pockets looking at his tempter.
"They may be all that you say, though, as far as the war has gone, it scarcely becomes a Russian to say it; but you, sir, ought to know perfectly well that, whatever they may be, it is impossible for me to betray them. I can't say any more; and I'd really be obliged to you if you'd drop the subject. Your general has decided that I'm a spy. I'm not a spy, but I can say nothing more to convince him. He has made up his mind, and so have I. You said to-morrow morning?"
The officer looked at Bob with mingled annoyance and admiration.
"What folly!" he exclaimed. "I can't but admire your constancy, but I'm sorry for you. Yes, to-morrow morning, at dawn. You needn't imagine you'll be let off, the general is determined."
"Very well."
"You can tell the man who brings you food if you change your mind."
"I will—if I do!"
The officer turned away. As he was going out at the door, Bob took a step forward, and spoke, with a little hesitation, and in a different tone.
"One moment. Could you do me a favour?"
"What is that?" asked the Russian quickly.
"Send me pencil and paper and an envelope. I have some friends at home—my father and mother—I should like—"
"I understand. You shall have the writing materials."
"And you will see that the letter is sent off?"
"Yes, yes; but it will not be necessary. Think over it." And he hurried away.
It was some time before Bob touched the food that had been brought to him. He was tired of waiting for the end. He longed for life; yet if he was to die, he wished it over and done with; the attempt to overcome his determination, the appeal to his self-interest against his honour, wearied and troubled him. For a time he tramped restlessly up and down, thinking gravely; then, catching sight of the food, on the stone slab, he reflected that he could meet his fate better fed than fasting, and he set-to with a will upon the ample supply of beef and black bread and tea, which he had asked for instead of vodka. After a while, however, he again fell into a fit of abstraction; he ate mechanically, musing on many things. Breaking one of the hard-crusted loaves, he saw a glitter like that of a golden coin buried in the bread. For a moment his curiosity overcame the gloom into which his long pondering had thrown him. He picked the bread away from the strange intruder, and discovered that what he had taken for a coin was the end of an empty cartridge-case.
"How did it get there?" he wondered, holding the case before him. He remembered how puzzled King George had been to account for the presence of the apple in the dumpling, and laughed aloud.
"No doubt about the bakery this bread came from," he thought. "Well, better a cartridge-case than a beetle."
He was seated on his rug by the wall opposite the window, where he was farthest away from the cutting wind that had been blowing in all the morning. Raising his arm, he shied the cartridge-case at the narrow opening; it struck the wall at the side of the recess, fell on the sill, and rolled down the slight inward slope on to the floor.
"Wretched bad shot!" remarked Bob to himself and the four walls. Then with a sudden start he remembered what was to happen on the morrow. He shuddered involuntarily, and dreaded the possibility of flinching when he stood actually face to face with death. Yet why should he flinch? He remembered the fearless manner with which the Japanese went open-eyed into mortal peril. He thought of Kobo's serene, unperturbed manner. Was it for him, an Englishman and a Christian, to show any more fear? The question answered itself, and he fell into a quiet reverie.
Thus passed some hours; how many he could not tell, for his watch had been removed. He was roused by the entrance of a man with writing materials. Receiving them silently, he sat and pondered. What could he say to the old folks at home? He wrote a full account of all that had happened since his last letter, then tore it up. His letter might be opened by the Russians; he must not give them any information. At last, with a full heart, he penned a few words intended for his parents' eyes alone. Then he sealed the letter, and placed it in his pocket to give to the officer at the last moment.
He felt now cramped and chilled, and, rising, began to pace the floor, walking from door to window and back from window to door. As he did so, his eye lighted on the cartridge-case. At first he merely glanced at it and passed on; then, spying it again, he looked a little longer; the third time he began to feel some curiosity and interest; the fourth time he stooped and picked it up, wondering again what strange chance had brought it into so unlikely a resting-place. To whom had it belonged? Whose rifle had fired it? How had it come into the bakery? What careless fingers had worked it into the dough? What a strange irony of fate, that a case once filled with an instrument of death, should now be choked with bread, an instrument of life!
"A bad match!" he thought. "Out with you!"
He felt for his penknife to scrape out the bread from the case, then remembered that his jailer had removed it. What was he to do? Feeling by force of habit in his waistcoat pocket, he came upon a little hole in the lining, and pushing his finger through, he touched a single lucifer match that had found its way down. He enlarged the hole, took out the match, and began to prise the caked flour bit by bit from the cartridge-case. He was, glad of any little activity that would enable him to kill time. Soon a little heap of crumbs lay on the sill of the window-recess. Then, drawing the match once more from the case, he saw that this time it had impaled, not a crumb, but a piece of some white fluffy substance.
"What is this?" he thought, and with growing curiosity inserted the match again. More fluff came out; it appeared to be cotton wool.
"Very odd!" he mused. He wetted the end of the match and inserted it again. A little more of the wool adhered, but the next time the match came out bare. He pushed it in again; but though he held it with the extreme tips of his fingers, it touched nothing.
"Empty at last, I suppose. Yet it didn't touch the bottom of the case. I wonder if it is empty."
He turned his back on the window and held the case up so that the light fell into it. But it was too narrow for him to see anything, supposing anything were there. He held it vertically, and shook it. Something fell from it, and rolled across the floor of the room. It was like a pea. Bob stooped and picked it up. It was a pea—no, it was a small pellet of paper!
Quick as thought Bob slipped it into his pocket, glancing instinctively towards the door and then to the opening in the wall. There was no one to see him. He smiled and took the pellet from his pocket. Unrolling it with infinite care, he found that it was a slip of very thin rice-paper, and on it—yes, in small letters, faintly traced in Indian ink, he saw the words:
"Be at window above river at dusk to-night."
That was all; there was no address, no signature. Yet, looking again at the writing, Bob felt that he had seen it somewhere before. Where? He could not remember, and as he stood trying to recall, he heard the heavy tread of his jailer in the passage outside. Instantly he slipped the paper into his pocket, flung the cartridge-case far out into the river, and was walking up and down when the soldier threw open the door and entered with his second meal.
That afternoon seemed to Bob interminable. He paced up and down like a caged lion, waiting for the dark. He wondered who the writer of the message was, what it implied, what possible plan of deliverance was in contemplation—for surely it must mean that someone was planning on his behalf. Many times he gazed out of the window, searching the whole vista from the horizon to the river below, knowing all the time that during the daylight nothing would be done, yet looking and looking again. The hours passed slowly, lingeringly. As night began to shadow the hills he ceased his restless walk and remained fixed at the recess in the wall. The sky darkened, his outlook shortened; he lost sight of the hills, at length he could not see the opposite bank. He leant forward in the recess, till his head touched the sides of the outer opening. The wind was fresh and cold, but he heeded nothing. His eyes tried to penetrate the dark until he felt that they were almost projecting from his head. Thus he waited, waited, and shivered, looking, listening, seeing nothing, hearing only the slow gurgle of the river as it rolled down between its frozen borders, and the creaking and grinding of the ice as the floating masses met, and parted, and met again.
So the hours passed, and Bob began to lose heart. Was the message a Russian trap? Yet what could it gain? Was it genuine, but his unknown correspondent had been prevented in some way from keeping the implied appointment? A bugle-call struck his ear; and when its echoes had died away the world relapsed into the same silence, save for the occasional bark of a dog, the dull noises of the ice-laden stream, and the sighing of the wind over the snowy wastes beyond. It became colder; the wind blew more and more keen; and at length, his limbs cramped, his fingers numbed, Bob had perforce to move, and lift his rug from the floor and wrap it round him.
What was that? His hearing was now so acute that he fancied he could have heard the world roll round. What was it? A rustle in the dark; a faint rustle outside the window, like the scraping of a bird's wing against the wall. He strained his eyes; stars were glimmering cold and clear, but there was no moon, and he saw nothing. Again, the same rustle. He tried to grope near enough to the opening to thrust forth his head, and his shoulders stuck; it was impossible, unless—yes, by turning on his side he could wriggle himself to the slit, and he put his head out sideways. Something touched his face, with the cold, filmy touch of a spider's web. He put out his hand; it was gone. Would it return? He waited. Again the same insubstantial contact; and now he seemed to see, against the starlit sky, a gossamer thread. He clutched at it, but it eluded his fingers and disappeared. He waited again, how long he knew not, but it seemed an hour; then the thin line scraped along the outside of the wall until it reached him. He grasped at it, almost fearing to touch it lest it broke and floated away. He held it, and drew it towards him. It was a thin silken cord!
He wriggled back slowly through the recess into the room, holding the cord with gentle firmness. As he pulled it, he felt that only the upper part yielded; the lower part was fixed or held below. He drew the upper string towards him, feeling as if he were playing a fish. For a few moments it came unresisting, then there was a sharp tug, as though the captured object, whatever it was, was making an effort to escape. Suddenly the resistance ceased; even in the darkness the opening in the wall was darkened, and with a somewhat disconcerting scrape against the wall Bob hauled in a large triangle of paper stretched on a light bamboo frame. It stuck in the opening. He had once more to crawl into the recess, and with some difficulty he coaxed the pliant framework through the narrow aperture. It was done. The bent rods sprang back to their former shape, and Bob at last understood what had been puzzling him. It was a kite!
All was now plain; the rustle, the elusive string, the reluctant captive. He remembered how interested he had been at Tokio, in watching the dexterous kite-flying of boys and men; in Japan, as in China, it is more than a pastime: it is an art. The string was attached to a kite, and the person flying it was below. He tugged gently at the cord as a signal that the kite had reached him, and instantly he felt that the line was loose. His pulse beat high. Cautiously he hauled in the slack; foot after foot it came through his hands; would the end of it never come? Yes, here it was; the silken cord was tied to a stretch of twine, and this—how long it was!—to a thicker rope. With eager care Bob drew this last up hand over hand; it was knotted at intervals, and as he pulled he felt the weight increase. At length it resisted his pull, yet gave slightly when he pulled again. Crawling again to the aperture, never letting go his hold, he found that the entrance was barred by a bundle, apparently of cotton waste. By turning this longways he found he could draw it through. No precaution, he perceived, had been neglected; the soft wrapping had deadened any sound.
Hastily untying the bundle, he found by the touch, for it was too dark to see, a chisel, a crowbar, and a hammer faced with flannel. He needed no prompting. It was impossible to loosen the stones in the time he had at his disposal. He knew not, indeed, what the time was; but it must be late, and if he did not escape before daybreak his doom was sealed. The stones of the wall were large blocks firmly cemented, and though the cement at its surface showed signs of crumbling, it was no doubt strong inside. All that he could do was to chip away a few inches on each side of the window, so as to enlarge the space sufficiently to admit of the passage of his shoulders. At the edges the stone was greatly weathered, at the farther end of the recess it was already peeling off. If he could widen the opening by some five inches, he thought it would be possible for him to squeeze through.
This had flashed through his mind in a moment. He started work instantly. Beginning at the outer right edge of the aperture, he applied the chisel to the stonework, and was delighted to find that by the mere pressure of his arm it came away in flakes, which fell to the ground eighty feet below. Working quickly, he had soon scratched away an inch of rotted stone for a distance of two feet along each edge of the opening. But as he went on, he found that the stone was becoming harder; it was necessary to exert more force. It would take long to chip the stone away as he had seen masons do. How could he shorten the labour? Cautiously working with the chisel, he slowly bored a hole two inches deep in the wall, at about the same distance from the outer edge. Then inserting the crowbar, he pressed upon it in an outward direction with all the strength he could exert in his cramped position. To his joy the stonework gave way, and pieces fell with a sharp clatter upon the ground. He waited anxiously, wondering whether any of his guards would have heard the sound. All was silent. Feeling with his hand, he found that the stone had broken irregularly, leaving a jagged surface, and this he proceeded to trim with the chisel. He went through the same double process on each side of the opening.
At last, after hours of work, when muscles of hand and arm ached unendurably, and his whole body felt bruised from lying so long on the hard stone, he thought that the opening must be large enough. Tying one end of the rope to the crowbar, he paid the other out. A slight tug below told him that it had been received: his unknown helper was still in waiting. Then he tied his rug to the twine, and let it gently down. This, too, being caught, he placed the crowbar horizontally across the window on the inner wall, turned on his side, and began to wriggle out of the opening feet foremost, always holding firmly to the rope. Had his work been successful? The question forced itself upon him as he moved painfully towards the outer air. Alas! half-way through he stuck; his jacket and vest were riding up into a ridge; it would increase the more he struggled; he must return to the room.
It was more difficult to get back than it had been to wriggle out. With a great effort he worked his way along the recess, and had just reached the floor of the room when his foot kicked the chisel, and it sped with a clatter across the floor. Immediately afterwards he heard a step in the passage. His jailer must have detected the noise, and would certainly come to discover its cause. It would be impossible to strip off jacket and waistcoat and wriggle out before the man entered, discovered his flight, and gave the alarm or perhaps cut the rope. With a sinking of the heart Bob listened. Was he to fail at the last moment? Perhaps the man would not come in after all. But no; the steps halt at the door; there is a light in the crack below. Bob hears the man fumbling for his keys; a key is inserted in the padlock; the bolt is drawn. By this time Bob, with lightning decision, is behind the door. It opens heavily on its rusty hinges, and half the room is lit up by the dim lantern carried by a Siberian infantryman, who peers into the room, and seeing nothing to his left, advances a few paces to light up the other half. At this moment Bob springs at him like a tiger. One crushing blow beneath the jaw, and the Russian falls backward like a log, his lantern clattering to the floor and being instantly extinguished.
Two seconds passed, seconds crowded with the most rapid thinking hard-pressed prisoner ever accomplished. The noise would draw the man's comrades from below. They must be kept out at all costs. But even if they were excluded, the soldier might be only stunned, or perhaps dazed, and would recover in time to cut the rope. There was nothing at hand with which to tie him up, no time to cut a piece off the rope and retie it to the crowbar. He might kill the man, but the thought was banished the same instant that it occurred to him. Two seconds; then, even as he heard the shouts of men and the trampling of heavy footsteps far below, Bob stooped, lifted the ponderous figure, and, with a strength of which he would not have believed himself capable, hurled him out into the corridor across the head of the staircase.
Bob surprises his Jailer
Then back into the room. He slams the door, picks up the chisel, and drives it with the hammer between the heavy oak and the floor. Off with his jacket, off with his vest; he rolls them up and forces them through the window. Everything must be dared now! Then feet foremost into the window-recess; out, out, grasping the rope; his legs are through, his body follows. Is the gap wide enough? He jerks himself on; it is a tight fit; his shoulders are through; he is dangling in the air, his arms almost forced from their sockets. Down he goes, hand over hand; his feet find the rope; he hears the clamour of blows on the door above. Down, down, faster and faster, the strain upon his muscles increasing with every foot of distance; down into what seems an immeasurable gulf. His feet touch the projecting sill of a window; he finds a momentary relief; then down again into space; there can be no delay, even for a moment. At last, panting for breath, his hands sore and bleeding, Bob feels a pair of arms supporting him; he loosens his grip of the rope, and falls half-insensible to the ground. But only for an instant. He sees as in a mist the outlines of two men, who drag him to his feet. The next moment, as though impelled by some higher will, he is racing down the frozen bank between the two shorter figures, over the creaking ice, towards the middle of the stream. Shouts pursue him, reflections of lights dance before his dazzled eyes, a shot is fired, there is a babel along the walls. Hauled up on the ice lies a small sampan. One of his supporters half pushes, half hurls Bob into it, then both urge it over the sagging ice into the stream. The edge gives way, the sampan slides with a glug into deep water, the two men leap on board with the agility of panthers, and the light craft bounds forward on its way to the sea.
CHAPTER XIII
Ah-Sam
A Silent Journey—An Old Friend—Circumstances Alter Cases—Enter Ah-Sam—A Manchurian Inn—Held Up—Chinese Receipts
Not a word was said as the sampan floated down the river. For some minutes Bob was too much amazed to take in anything beyond the mere fact that he had escaped from his prison; his brain was in a whirl; the events of the last few hours seemed a dream. He crouched in the boat, covered by the cloak thrown over him by one of his rescuers: his outer garments had been left at the foot of the tower. But collecting himself by degrees, he noticed that one of the men stood in the bow with a long pole fending off the spars of ice that jutted out into the stream, while the other lay almost horizontal in the boat. Both were Chinamen, as he judged from their pigtails. There was floating ice on all sides, and the progress of the sampan was a succession of bumps. Sometimes it came to a stop, and the curved bow was pushed on to a large floe by the pressure of ice behind. But the man with the pole knew his work. A touch here, a push there, or a vigorous shove sent the light craft on its way again; and all the time the second Chinaman lay motionless, saying never a word.
Meanwhile the noise of alarm and pursuit from Antung struck Bob's ears, and his thoughts were divided between wonder concerning the identity of his preservers, the strangeness of their intervention, and anxiety lest it should after all prove vain. He heard a deep bell booming, the blare of bugles, the shouts of men: by and by from the right came the sound of galloping horses. At this moment the man in the bow dropped silently into the boat beside his comrade, and the vessel was left to take its course. It was scarcely more than level with the surface of the water, and must have been invisible in the dark night at the distance of a few yards. Even if it were seen from the bank, the horsemen dared not approach the waterway owing to the rotten state of the ice: all that they could do was to fire at it, with no certainty of aim. Gradually the sounds from the shore diminished, and at last died away; the Chinaman resumed his work with the pole, and floating, jolting, stopping, jerking forward again, the sampan went safely on its way.
Still not a word had been spoken. Bob wished that one of the two figures would say something, no matter in what language. He had a strange longing for the sound of a friendly voice. But even when, two hours after their flight from Antung, the second Chinaman at last raised himself from his prone position, he gave the first an order by signs, not by words. With a combined push the two men drove the sampan with a swish and creak upon the ice on the right bank, where it remained stationary. They leapt overboard. At a sign from the second man Bob followed them; both then pushed the boat back into the stream, watched it for a moment as it circled irresolutely in the current, and then, as it gained its head and bounded more buoyantly on its way, they set off rapidly in a direction at right angles to the river, the second man now leading, and Bob making the best of his way with his companion.
Every now and then the leader paused to get his bearings, and altered his direction to right or left with little hesitation. At one point, when they came to a beaten track, he motioned to the others to remain where they were, and went ahead alone. In a few minutes he returned, and the silent march was resumed. The course led from the river-bed over country that became more and more hilly, and Bob was almost dropping with fatigue when, after walking rapidly for some eight or nine miles as he guessed, they came almost suddenly upon a high wall. Skirting the wall, they reached a gate, giving access to a courtyard. The gate was locked; the two Chinamen assisted Bob to climb it; a dog barked, but was instantly silenced by a sharp exclamation from one of the men mounting immediately behind Bob. Before them stood a low farmhouse, with still lower structures adjoining, which Bob found later were pig-styes and cow-byres not very different from similar appurtenances of farms at home. One of the Chinamen tapped twice at a window-frame latticed and filled with paper; there was no reply; he rapped again, twice, but slightly louder. In a moment a glimmer appeared within; a movement was heard; the frame was drawn aside, and against the dim light of a small bowl-lamp the form of a Chinaman was outlined. The moment he distinguished the features of the man who had tapped, he closed his fists, pressed them together against his chest, and bowed almost to the ground.
The three entered; the movable window-frame was replaced. Then one of the Chinamen turned suddenly to Bob, held out his hand, and with a smile and a bow said in careful clear-cut tones:
"I am glad to meet you again, Mr. Fawcett."
Bob stared at him in amazement. He recognized him now as the younger of the two Chinamen who had rescued him from the drunken students in Sasebo, who knew no English, and whom subsequently he had seen in the streets of Seoul. But though this was what he saw, the voice, the accent, the manner, reminded him of another person, not a Chinaman, but the Samurai who had been his host in Nikko. Grasping the outstretched hand, he said, with a gasp of amazement:
"Kobo!"
"Rokuro Kobo San," corrected the voice of Taru.
"Pardon me, sir; you will understand that I am—"
"A little taken aback, Mr. Fawcett? Yes, I understand. But you must be very tired and very hungry. You will permit my friend here to give you some food, and provide you with a jacket, then we can talk more at our ease."
In a few moments Bob, clad in a new silk jacket, was resting his weary limbs on a wadded quilt unrolled on the floor, eating with a good appetite and without enquiry the dishes placed before him. Kobo shared his meal, at the same time entering into explanations.
"You have no doubt guessed," he said, "that both myself and my servant Taru are on secret service. Our Japanese system is very elaborate. It has been most carefully organized since the Chinese war. No quarter of Manchuria has not been surveyed by our agents; many of the inhabitants are in sympathy with us, many of them are in our pay."
Bob glanced at their host.
"No," said Kobo, smiling, "he is not a Chinaman; he is a Japanese, like myself."
"But he has a pigtail!"
"So have I! Mine, however, was assumed a few weeks ago, its hold is precarious; our host's is natural, it was grown for the purpose. We have seen this war coming for ten years; and two or three suffice for the growth of a pigtail, if one sets about cultivating it in earnest. Our friend, with hundreds more, was sent over to settle in this country; some have cultivated the pigtail and become good Chinamen, others with equal success have devoted themselves to the topknot and are passable Koreans."
"Your motto is 'thorough'," said Bob admiringly.
"Yes, even to the loss of our heads. You see now why I was unable to recognize you in Sasebo and Seoul, though I half believed that in Seoul at any rate you recognized me. I could say nothing. There are Russian spies also in all parts of the country, and a single incautious sign might have compromised me and led to my discovery and suicide."
"Suicide!"
"Of course. Any Japanese would kill himself rather than do harm to his country's cause."
"Evidently one might never know when one is meeting a Japanese. May I ask—is Mr. Helping-to-decide a Japanese?"
"No, no," returned Kobo, laughing outright. "He is a real Korean; he means to help, but he never can decide. Now I want you to tell me how you met him; indeed, to give me a full account of what has happened to you. I have a reason for asking."
Bob rapidly sketched an outline of his adventures since he left Japan.
"Yes," said Kobo, when his story was ended. "Of course I learnt from Yamaguchi in Yongampo that you were with him. I heard of the fight on the shore; I did not know you had so thoughtfully come to Yamaguchi's assistance; in fact, I followed you as a Cossack despatch-rider until you killed your first tiger—"
"You knew that!" exclaimed Bob in surprise. He had said nothing about that incident.
"Yes, I came in at the death; that is to say, I was present when Mr. Helping-to-decide came upon the scene, and having satisfied myself that the man I had been following was not a Russian, I resumed my journey northward. I was proceeding to Feng-huang-cheng when I heard that you had fallen into the hands of Chang-Wo—an old enemy of mine, as you know—and had been sentenced to death. I came back at once to Antung. Fortunately the baker who contracts for the Russians' ammunition-bread in Antung is a Japanese agent. He discovered the place of your imprisonment, and bribed one of the Siberian guards—an easy matter, I assure you—to see that a special loaf was delivered to you. The rest you know; and let me say, you did your part much more rapidly than I had supposed possible."
"It was really extremely good of you to—"
"Not at all, not at all," interrupted Kobo; "it was my duty—in the circumstances."
"In what circumstances?"
"They had sentenced you to death. You will understand my position. If I had been perfectly sure that, with the prospect of death before you, you would have acted as you did—refused to give them any information,—it would have been my duty to go straight to my destination."
"I should have been shot?"
"Undoubtedly. Personal considerations are immaterial. Only reasons of state can override reasons of state. Another time—let us hope it will never occur—I need not trouble; I can go on my way—now that I know you are to be trusted."
This gave Bob something to think about. It was a view that had not struck him till then. He could not but recognize that it was strictly logical. One life was of no account compared with the vast national issues at stake. Kobo could allow nothing to delay him but the public service. Logical as it was, however, Bob had somewhat of a shock when it was brought so nearly home to him that Japan, if not the world at large, was governed by logic; and though he had a passing pang at the thought that Kobo, after a few days' knowledge of him, was not convinced of his trustworthiness, his soreness was a good deal relieved when he remembered that but for Kobo's caution he would now be lying in a Russian grave.
"Now, Mr. Fawcett," said Kobo after a pause, "you no doubt feel the need of a good sleep. But I will ask you to wait a little longer, while we discuss your future movements. It will soon be daylight, and I must then be gone; I must continue the journey you have twice unwittingly interrupted. You cannot, of course, accompany me. I do not wish to carry you into danger, nor can I endanger my mission by being encumbered with you. On the other hand, you cannot remain here, for Chinese houses, as you see, are not built for secrecy, and you would certainly be discovered ere long by the Russians. It will be best for you to make another attempt to reach our lines. You must go alone; I would willingly lend you my servant Taru, but that I myself require him. But our host here has a Chinese servant who is familiar with the country; he will act as your guide."
"Does he speak English?" asked Bob.
"Yes, pidgin English; indeed, he considers himself an accomplished linguist. As to your route, it will be dangerous to attempt to cross the Yalu anywhere between Antung and the sea. The Russians will naturally be on the alert, the more so because of the recent appearance of destroyers off the coast. All the fords between Antung and Wiju will be narrowly watched. When they discover the sampan they will probably connect it with your escape, and suspect that you have taken the shortest way to our lines. Your best course will be to go northward and make a circuit as soon as it is safe to do so."
"But will there not be a danger of meeting Russians northward also? I can't pass for a native, unluckily."
"Not as you now appear, but we can alter that. I think your guide had better travel as a carter; you will go as his man. Our host will dye your hair and stain your face and dress you as a Korean."
"But I shall never be able to manage the topknot."
"True, but that will not be necessary. Being unmarried, I presume—"
"Certainly."
"You will not require a topknot, which is the monopoly of the married men. Your hair is sufficiently long for you to pass as a bachelor, which, you will take care to remember, is an inferior and ignominious condition. As a further precaution, you had better pretend to be dumb whenever you encounter people. Your guide should, I think, set off with his cart in the morning towards Tang-shan until he finds an opportunity of crossing the main road. In order not to attract attention you follow at night, and do not join the cart until it has crossed. If a strange Korean were seen leaving this house it might arouse suspicion, and the fact might be reported by spies to the Russians. Your further course must be determined as circumstances dictate, and may safely be left to your guide. I think all is arranged, then; it only remains to introduce the Chinese boy to you."
Kobo said a few words to their host, who called in a loud tone. In a few moments a stout little Chinaman appeared, salaaming as he entered the room. His round hairless face was impassive, his slanting eyes looked intelligent, and he kow-towed profoundly when Kobo briefly introduced him.
"This, Mr. Fawcett, is Ah-Sam. Ah-Sam, Mr. Fawcett is an Englishman; he does not speak Chinese; you will be able to turn your knowledge of his language to account."
"My speakee Yinkelis first-chop so-fashion," said the Chinaman, giving Bob some qualms as to the possibility of using this dialect of English as a means of communication.
Kobo then proceeded to explain to Ah-Sam in his own language the scheme of action he had arranged. The Chinese listened gravely, nodding his head from time to time. When his instructions were concluded, he went off silently to prepare for his journey. Kobo then gave Bob detailed particulars of the road he was to follow on the next evening, and finally bade him farewell.
"I hope I shall see you again," said Bob after warmly thanking him once more for his rescue.
"I hope so. We cannot tell. Good-bye!"
Bob slept for many hours. When he awoke he had to undergo a long process of disguising at the hands of his host, from which he emerged completely transformed in complexion, appearance, and dress. His hair from light-brown had become black, his cheeks sallow. He wore the Korean national costume—huge cotton trousers padded with cotton wool, tied round his waist with a long tasselled ribbon; a short bell-shaped coat, also padded, with long sleeves; padded socks, in which the ends of the trousers were tucked; and paper shoes, fastened to the feet like sandals. These last were much more durable than they appeared. He wore no hat, but as it was cold, and there was a prospect of snow, he was provided with a large umbrella on a bamboo frame that fitted the head, so that in case of need he might carry some means of protection.
At nightfall he left the house with his host, who offered to accompany him until he overtook the cart. Both were mounted on small Korean ponies. After three or four hours' riding over snow-covered hills they struck the high-road, and leaving this at an angle in a north-easterly direction, they ascended into another low chain of hills, and in about two hours reached a small village. Here, as the Japanese host had anticipated, they found Ah-Sam awaiting them in an inn. The Japanese then took his leave, and Bob was left to his new guide.
The aspect of the inn was not very inviting. Bob's nose as he entered was assailed by the strong smell of pork and vegetables stewing in two huge cauldrons, one on each side of the door. The place consisted of one room, about forty feet long, with a low platform called a k'ang running the whole length of the wall, covered with dirty matting, sheep-skin coats, pedlars' packs, and miscellaneous frippery, with a score of rough labourers and carters lolling on them, eating, drinking, and smoking a very pungent tobacco. The k'ang, Bob found, covered the heating apparatus of the place, and was, in fact, a kind of flue. The middle of the room was occupied by what appeared to be a rough altar, but which turned out to be a kitchen-range—an oblong brick structure about three feet high, hollow in the centre, with an arched covering pierced with holes, above which various cooking pots were placed during the evening.
As Bob entered, Ah-Sam came from his perch at the end of the k'ang nearest the door, putting his finger to his lips. Bob suddenly remembered that he was to feign dumbness. He therefore made no reply to the remarks addressed to him, presumably in Korean, by the boy, but submissively accepted a bowl of soup, the mere odour of which was nauseating. He went through the forms of eating, but soon gave it up, and making a virtue of necessity, settled himself to sleep at the cleanest part of the k'ang, picked out for him by Ah-Sam.
At daybreak next morning they set off, and Bob had his first experience of riding on a Manchurian cart. It was rather more unpleasant than jolting in a four-wheeler over the cobbles of the Glasgow streets. The framework of the cart, about fifteen feet long by four wide, rested on a huge axle-tree between two wooden wheels whose iron tyres were more than an inch thick. There were no springs. On each side ran a low wooden rail, intended to support so much of the load as overlapped from the body of the cart. There was a small pony in the shafts, and in front of it six mules three abreast, attached by long hempen ropes to iron hooks in the framework. The mules had neither bit nor bridle; they were guided wholly by the driver's voice and whip, the latter twelve feet long in the handle, with a thong of equal length, and so heavy that both hands were required to wield it. Ah-Sam sat on the front of the cart, and gave Bob a place behind, where he helped to balance the vehicle on its two wheels. The cart was but lightly loaded; it contained a few empty sacks, some fodder for the animals, a supply of food, and a couple of spades. Beneath the framework, cunningly hidden between the wheels, there were two rifles and a good stock of ammunition.
Bob had had no little difficulty in remembering that he was dumb. After their meal in the inn that morning Ah-Sam had roughly ordered him to make himself useful and help to harness the mules, pouring out upon him a torrent of Chinese which Bob judged from its tone to be highly abusive. He went submissively enough to work, but being new to the job fumbled a good deal, and was several times on the point of asking how this or that was to be done. But he always caught himself up in time, turning what he intended to say into such inarticulate grunts as even a dumb man can utter. When, however, the inn and the village were left behind, and no human being was in sight, he thought it safe to throw off his restraint, and ventured to address a question to Ah-Sam in the front of the cart. He found the Chinaman's pidgin English at first rather difficult to understand, but after half an hour's conversation had gained sufficient familiarity with the idiom to get a fair idea of the man's meaning. He learnt that the talk in the inn had been of two matters: first, the great entrenchments which the Russians were making around Antung and Kiu-lien-cheng; and secondly, the annihilation of a Cossack detachment by a band of Chunchuses, the bandits of the country, some distance away in the hills.
"Russians belongey allo muchee mad," said Ah-Sam. "He say catchee killum allo piecee Chunchuses, galaw!"
Bob was about to ask for particulars of the Chunchuses, when, from round a corner, appeared a native driving a laden ox. Ah-Sam instantly put his finger to his lips, reminding Bob of his dumbness. When the native appeared, Ah-Sam stopped for a talk. This occupied some time; then the teamsters parted and went on their several ways. The route followed by Ah-Sam was rather a foot-path than a cart-track; and but for the snow, which filled the ruts and formed a fairly hard and even roadway, it would have been impassable for wheeled traffic. As it was, the progress of the cart was very slow and toilsome.
About mid-day they came to a dip in the hills where Ah-Sam decided to halt, take a meal, and feed his team. This done he remounted to his place, Bob sprang on to the tail of the cart, and the slow journey was resumed. But they had barely begun the ascent of the upward slope when from the left, across the snowy waste, a troop of horsemen were seen galloping rapidly towards them. The riders soon defined themselves by the bright yellow of their uniforms as a sotnia of Cossacks. Ah-Sam at first affected not to notice them, stolidly driving on; but turning his head at length in response to their loud shouts, he drew rein, muttered a warning to Bob and an order to run to the head of the team, and sprang from his perch in time to make half a dozen rapid kow-tows before the Cossacks reached him. He continued his obeisances as the captain of the troop roughly addressed him in Chinese, but suddenly stood erect and began to expostulate in voluble yet obsequious tones when, in response to an order, two of the Cossacks dismounted and approached the cart with drawn swords, evidently with the intention of cutting the traces. Bob, holding the head of one of the mules which was plunging excitedly, of course understood not a word of the colloquy; if he had known Chinese he would have heard the captain curtly inform Ah-Sam that the mules were required for the Russian service, and Ah-Sam's protest that they were already engaged in that service. He had just delivered, he said, a load of millet and forage stuffs to the honourable contractor to the honourable governor of Antung, and was on his way back to a farm at Kuan-tien to fetch another load. If the honourable captain took his mules, he would be unable to fulfil his commission. The roads, as the honourable captain saw, were so bad that with his team, small enough as it was, he was already behind time. He needed more mules, not less; he had begged the honourable contractor to give him three more, but none were to be found. His strong and capable assistant had been taken away to work in the Russian trenches, and he had been forced to hire at the last moment a big, loutish, dumb fool of a Korean, who could do nothing but eat, and who at this moment, as the honourable captain saw, was an absolutely useless, incapable, soft-muscled—
He was interrupted by a general hullabaloo among the mules, which, unused to the handling of a European, were kicking and plunging and threatening to involve the whole team in an inextricable tangle. Stretching his arm, Ah-Sam flicked two or three of the mules with his long whip, roundly abused Bob, and, apparently in ungovernable rage, struck him also with the lash, which cut through the wadding of his trousers and caused him to utter a smothered growl, at which the Cossacks laughed with enjoyment.
The mules having been reduced to order, Ah-Sam returned to face the captain, kow-towed again, and repeated his story. The Russian had already countermanded the order to his men, and was clearly hesitating. He was a good-tempered-looking fellow, thought Bob,—a young clean-limbed captain, picturesque in his long silver-ornamented coat and astrakhan cap. Interrupting Ah-Sam's shrill sing-song of protest, he demanded to see the receipts which the muleteer doubtless possessed if his story was true. The Chinaman instantly produced a number of papers from a bag tied beneath his coat, and handed them to the captain, who examined them carefully. They were unmistakably receipts, in proper Chinese form, and recognizing that he might get into hot water with the authorities if he delayed the procuring of the supplies so urgently needed, he at length said that he would be satisfied with three of the mules, and when these had been unyoked, gave the Chinaman permission to proceed.
Before he rode off, however, he asked, as by an afterthought, a question which appeared to be incomprehensible to Ah-Sam, who looked puzzled, then asked a question in return. The captain smiled as he explained to his lieutenant what the Chinaman had said; both laughed heartily; then the word was given, and the troop rode off in the opposite direction to that from which they had come.
Bob had been waiting for an opportunity to tackle Ah-Sam on the matter of the whip. While it was well, no doubt, to keep up their character as master and man, he had a suspicion that the Chinaman had laid on with unnecessary vigour, perhaps to experiment on the quality of the foreigner he was escorting. When, therefore, the Cossacks were safely out of earshot, Bob went forward and sat beside Ah-Sam.
"What was the Russian laughing at?" he said.
"Ch'hoy! He say, hab my see one piecee Yinkelis man what lun wailo? My say, what likee Yinkelis man my savvy tiger, bear, monkey, hairy Ainu; Yinkelis man belongey likum he?"
"Oh! And I suppose you hit me with the whip to make it quite clear that I was not an Englishman. You hit me like this, you know."
Bob suddenly rose, took the Chinaman's whip, and gave him a smart cut. Ah-Sam yelled.
"He hurtee velly muchee," he said, rubbing the place.
"Yes, I know. If we meet any more Russians, perhaps you can prove I am not the runaway Englishman without using your whip."
"My no hit massa no mo'e; my member plenty too muchee, no fear!"
CHAPTER XIV
Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle
Fair Captives—Pidgin—Among the Chunchuses—Seeking Cover—A Breathing Space—A Picnic
The travellers pursued their journey without incident through the rest of the day. Occasionally they met a native with whom Ah-Sam exchanged a few words, and in these conversations he learnt that the Russians were in great strength between them and the river, and had impressed hundreds of Manchurians to work on the fortifications. This forced labour was by no means to their taste, and many of the inhabitants were therefore in hiding, so that the travellers need not be surprised at the comparatively deserted condition of the country through which they passed. From this information it was clear that to turn southwards would be dangerous as yet. Ah-Sam accordingly drove on in an easterly direction, making long detours to avoid climbing the hills, which became higher and higher as they advanced. They spent the night in a solitary inn, smaller than the first, and fortunately less crowded. Early on the following morning they pushed on again. Ah-Sam told Bob that they were now passing beyond the region which he knew intimately. He had only a general knowledge of the country, and must trust to passing wayfarers to keep him in the right way.
So that day passed. On the next, Ah-Sam thought that they had probably by this time turned the Russian positions on the Yalu, and might safely take a southerly course. The country was very wild; the hills were higher and more precipitous than those in the district already traversed. But there were signs of spring. The snow was thawing in the valleys and the less exposed parts of the hills, and the ice of the streams they crossed was rotten, the cart often crashing through. But these being shallow hill rivulets, no harm was done; the only inconveniences were the having sometimes to cut a way to the opposite bank, and the strain on the mules in drawing the heavy cart over the rocky beds and up the rugged slopes. It was easier to make progress at early morning or late at night, for then the snow was still crisp and the ice still solid.
About mid-day they were slowly following the valley of a stream somewhat broader than those hitherto encountered, hoping that it would bring them out some distance up the Yalu about the neighbourhood of Sukuchen. As they proceeded, they came almost unawares upon a remarkable cleft in the hills to their right—a wild and rocky gorge, strewn with irregular masses of rock small and large, and narrowing as it led upwards to a sparse clump of trees at the top. Even in broad daylight it formed a dark forbidding gully, the hills rising sheer precipices on either side, showing masses of granite too steep even to give lodgment to the snow. From a point high up, a thin waterfall plunged over the crags and wormed its way down among the boulders. The travellers stopped for a few moments to observe the scene. Suddenly Ah-Sam pointed upwards: on a ledge of rock almost at the summit, near a narrow fissure, he had descried the form of a bear motionless on its haunches. Following the Chinaman's outstretched finger, Bob at last made out the distant form. For a moment the instinct of the British sportsman prompted him to attempt to stalk the animal, but even as he looked it suddenly disappeared, and he remembered then that as a menial Korean he would have cut an absurd and outrageous figure in pursuit of a bear.
He was still regretting the impossibility of obtaining the skin, when he was startled by the sound of a high-pitched voice coming from some spot ahead of them. The valley here rounded a prominent bluff; no human form was to be seen. Before he had quite collected himself he heard the voice again; it was a woman's voice, speaking in accents of distress, or at least excited remonstrance, and he fancied that it had a very British ring. Springing from the cart, and bidding Ah-Sam follow him quickly, he hurried on ahead, turned the bend, and saw before him, hastening up the slope, five persons, two of them little more than a hundred yards away, the other three at a somewhat greater distance. He was amazed to see that two of the five were ladies, in European costume. The nearer was a young lady, tall, in a costume of grey tweed; her right wrist was in the grasp of a native. The farther was a lady of maturer years, equally tall, very stout, wearing a heavy sealskin jacket, her bonnet awry, her arms pinioned by two natives who were urging her along. The captors were obviously Manchus; they wore the pigtails, the wide-brimmed hats, cotton blouses and loose pantaloons common to the country.
It was from the elder lady that the cries had proceeded and were still proceeding. They were not cries of fear or appeals for mercy, but rather outpourings of wrath and indignation. Her head was being shaken vigorously from side to side, threatening to dislodge her already disordered head-gear. She was evidently not merely protesting, but resisting with all her might, and as she dwarfed the men in both height and breadth, she was giving them no little trouble. The younger lady was causing no such commotion. She was walking quietly by her captor's side, unresisting, saying nothing, accepting the situation resignedly.
Bob took in these details in a few seconds. Then, without counting the odds, he rushed forward, fumbling in the slit of his wadded pantaloons for the pistol he carried there. In the soft snow his footfall made no sound that was not smothered by the unceasing denunciation of the stout lady, and the Manchus were too much occupied with their captives to be alive to the presence of strangers. Bob noticed that the man leading the younger lady held in his right hand a musket or rifle. Making rapidly up on him, Bob stooped just as the Manchu at last heard his tread and was turning, snatched the weapon from his grasp, thrust it between his legs and tripped him up. Then without waiting he dashed on, came within a few feet of the Manchus by the time they had contrived to face round, the lady still struggling between them, and pointing his pistol full at the head of one of them, shouted in English:
"Hands up!"
A Korean Knight-errant
The very sight of a Korean with a pistol in his hand was enough to throw a Manchu bandit off his balance. The Koreans are a soft, inert, unwarlike race; even their soldiers are never known to fight; and yet here was a Korean, without a topknot and therefore of no social account, actually pointing a pistol and uttering a menace which sounded all the fiercer because it was in a language never heard in these parts from Korean lips before. Bob did not give the bandits time to recover from their amazement. Rushing up to them he sent one spinning over with a right-hander, and wrested the weapon from the other. The large and indignant lady being now released, struck this man smartly over the head with her umbrella, and then, marched down the hill to meet the younger lady, who was coming rapidly towards her with an air of mingled astonishment and relief. Behind came Ah-Sam, who had left his team at the foot of the slope, and was driving before him, in cowed amazement, the Manchu who had held the girl. For a moment it seemed as if the three Manchus, trusting in their numerical superiority, were inclined to retaliate, but there was something in Bob's manner that warned them in time, and they slunk away, muttering curses Manchurian but unmistakable. As they did so, the elder lady stood watching them with menace in her mien, her left hand clasping the hand of the girl now by her side, her right retaining a determined grip of her umbrella. Bob meanwhile walked slowly down the hill towards her. He was a little out of breath, and a great deal astonished. His lips twitched with amusement at the sight of the elder lady, so large, and so unconscious of her disarray, like a ruffled hen in her attitude. The girl seemed partly to share his feeling, for he detected a slight twinkle in her dark eyes as they met his. When the Manchus were out of sight, the elder lady's features relaxed, and becoming aware that the stranger to whose intervention she owed her release was within arm's length, she turned to him and said quickly:
"You speakee English?"
"Yes, madam."
Before Bob could explain himself further, the lady, with a capacious sigh of relief, said:
"That's a comfort, Ethel. Now I guess we shall find a track out of this horrid country." Then, in the pidgin English of literature, she added, addressing Bob: "You plenty muchee goodee Chinee boy. Me givee you heapee thankee—plenty muchee cashee. You belongee this country?"
"No, madam——"
Again his explanation was forestalled.
"Me wantee go Seoulee. You savvy Seoulee?"
"Yes, madam. I—"
"You takee us rightee there—can do?"
During this interrupted monologue the younger lady had shown signs of increasing embarrassment. With flushed checks she half interposed between her companion and Bob, touched the lady's arm, and said quickly:
"Auntie, don't you see?—you are making a mistake; this gentleman is not a—"
"Is not what?" said the lady, putting up her eye-glass, and adding with some asperity: "Then what is he?"
"Let me introduce myself," said Bob, bowing. "My name is Fawcett—an Englishman, at your service."
The lady put up her eyeglass and stared with unfeigned amazement, exclaiming under her breath:
"A Britisher! Well, of all the extraordinary—You will excuse my surprise, Mr.—Fawcett, I think you said? The circumstances are so remarkable. I fear I owe you an apology, but really—" she turned to her companion and began to tie her bonnet-strings—"it just beats anything."
Here Ah-Sam, who had been hovering restlessly in the background, came up and said:
"No tim' belongey this-side, massa. Plenty Chunchu man come this-side chop-chop, makee big bobbely, supposey catchee, he killum allo piecee massa, two-piecee girley, Ah-Sam all-same."
"What does the man say?" asked the lady, staring at the Chinaman as at some strange animal.
"He says that we must not remain here. The men, Chunchuses apparently, threatened to return, and if they do—well, we shall all be in a very awkward fix. Perhaps if you would let me know who these people are—"
"Why certainly. My niece and I are doing Asia. We got as far as Mukden, and there the Russians tried to stop us—said it would not be safe, war was expected. I told them it was all nonsense. They insisted; I persisted. They set a guard over us—free citizens of the United States. Intolerable! We slipped away; naturally;—bribery, of course; very disgusting, but the only way. We struck east for Gensan; got among the hills. Our Chinese guide lost his way, or pretended to, and we were snapped up by a party of brigands, who figured that we spelt dollars, and have kept us with them ever since."
"Then you are Mrs.—Mrs. Isidore—?"
Bob hesitated, endeavouring to recall a name that for the moment eluded him.
"I guess you're on the right track," replied the lady with a look of surprise. "Pottle—Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle; though it beats me how you happened on my name."
Bob then explained that he had learnt of Mrs. Pottle's disappearance from the columns of a San Francisco paper at Tokio. But he cut explanations short, looking anxiously in the direction in which the brigands had disappeared, and parried the questions which he saw Mrs. Pottle was eager to put, by asking for information as to the strength and position of the band. The three men he had seen belonged to a gang of some sixty or seventy, whose last camp was about a mile distant from that spot. Mrs. Pottle was uncertain of the exact number, for it differed from day to day, and that morning the whole band had ridden away with the exception of the three in whose hands Bob had found the ladies, and a few left to guard the camp. Such absences were common. They lasted sometimes only a few hours, sometimes for several days. The brigands were all mounted, and when the camp was changed the ladies were always sent on foot in advance, since nothing on earth would induce Mrs. Pottle to ride pillion on a wild horse behind a wild man. The brigands had done them no harm; they were well fed with atrocious food. Mrs. Pottle said she thought there could be nothing worse than a Russian hotel till she met the Chunchuses. Their Chinese guide had decamped with everything they possessed, including Mrs. Pottle's purse, though she still had her cheque-book, note-book, and umbrella.
"I am not alarmed for myself," said Mrs. Pottle in conclusion; "I am an old traveller, tough, seasoned. But dear Ethel—this is her first tour, and though the poor child bears up well, I am terribly afraid these hardships will ruin her constitution, and then I shall not be able to look her poppa in the face."
"Auntie, I am quite well," said the younger lady, who indeed looked, as Bob thought, the picture of health, with her fresh cheeks and bright eyes. "I am only afraid that your nerves will break down."
"Nerves! I never had any. But Mr.—Fawcett, I think?—what are we to do?—Well, of all the—a Britisher, and in Korean dress!..."
Bob asked the ladies to walk down the hill while he took a look round. He really wanted a few minutes to think over the situation alone. He was beset by perplexities. Difficult as his own position was, it was doubly difficult now that he had someone else to think of. It was most embarrassing—to have to act as squire of dames in such a clumsy, ridiculous costume. Mrs. Pottle's state of mind, he could see, was unmixed amazement; but her niece evidently had a sense of humour. "If she wasn't so confoundedly pretty!—", and then Bob caught himself up, and bent his mind to the problem before him. If the brigands returned in force, he could hardly hope to escape them. If he did, it might be only to fall among another gang: brigandage is an organized profession in Manchuria. Supposing he escaped all danger on that side, he might encounter Russians, and though he himself might pass unmolested as a dumb Korean in company with a Chinese carter, the presence of two ladies in European dress would awake suspicion and provoke the most dangerous enquiries.
Yet he could not leave the ladies: that was out of the question. He secretly suspected that the portly and strong-minded Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle was capable of brow-beating and scaring any number of Manchus or Russians, but her niece!—He looked again at the trim figure.
"That white tam o' shanter makes her—h'm! ... What in the world are we to do, Ah-Sam?" he asked of the Chinaman, who had remained at his side.
"My no can tinkee. One piecee velly largo woman; he makee plenty bobbely; one piecee littee girley, he too muchee fliten, evelyting makee cly-cly, galaw! Supposey you hab larn fightee pidgin, you no can cham-tow allo velly bad tief-man, all-same."
This speech fell on deaf ears, for in the middle of it Bob caught sight of several horsemen in single file far up the hillside in front. Noticing that his eyes were fixed on some distant object, Ah-Sam turned in that direction also, looked hard for a moment, and then exclaimed:
"Chunchuses! Bimeby allo come this-side. What can do? Catchee killum one-tim'."
Now that danger was actually upon him, Bob prepared instantly to meet it. In a flash he remembered the gully he had passed recently with Ah-Sam, and recognized that it was the nearest, indeed the only, defensible position within reach. It was so narrow that, near its summit, it might be held, he thought, by a few against a host. He at once ordered Ah-Sam to turn the cart and drive it as quickly as possible back to the spot where the waterfall emptied itself into the stream, and then up the steep, rocky gorge. In a few minutes the team was plunging through the broken ice at a great pace. Nothing but a Manchurian cart could have stood the strain. It was flung about at all angles; it cannoned against rocks, now one wheel, now the other disappearing in mud or snow; but it survived every shock, and drawn by its four sturdy beasts with Ah-Sam at their head, it groaned and creaked on its upward course until it reached an abrupt twist in the gorge about three hundred yards from its lower extremity.
Meanwhile Bob had led the two ladies diagonally across the hillside by a shorter route than that taken by the cart. Mrs. Pottle bravely panted along, making tremendous exertions under her thick sealskin jacket to keep pace with Bob, who assisted her with his arm. Her niece stepped along as lightly as a doe, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her wavy black hair escaping in disorder below her white tam o' shanter.
Gaining a point above the bend at which the cart had just arrived, Bob saw that the stream flowed around a huge granite boulder which had slipped, apparently at no very distant date, from the almost perpendicular cliffs above, blocking up the greater part of the already narrow defile. Here Bob shouted to Ah-Sam to stop and wedge the cart between the boulder and the opposite wall of the ravine. Looking round, he saw, some fifty feet above, to the left of the stream, the cleft near which the bear had been seated. It was visible now as a fault in the rock, a few yards across. The fissure narrowed towards its base, and from it a shelf of rock ran horizontally outwards, meeting the stream at an acute angle about a hundred yards from where Bob stood. Beyond this junction the gorge rapidly narrowed, and became extremely steep. Leaving the ladies to rest, Bob climbed up the rocky bed to explore, and found that after a time further progress was blocked by a perpendicular wall that rose sheer two hundred feet.
Returning, he reassured the ladies with a word, and then took Ah-Sam with him down the gully. The mouth, some thirty yards wide, was jagged and strewn with rocks, and formed so eminently defensible a position that Bob hesitated whether to attempt to hold it or to retire at once to the still more difficult post behind the cart. It would be a hazardous matter to turn his position; before this could be effected he could inflict severe loss on his assailants. But in a few moments he gave up the idea of holding the lower ground. To begin with, he had no desire to come to blows if a fight could be avoided, for, apart from the risk of being overpowered by the Chunchuses, there was the likelihood that the sound of shots would bring the Russians on the scene. They must be in great force no more than twenty or thirty miles away, engaged on the Yalu entrenchments, and firing in the hills would almost certainly be heard by scouting parties. If the Russians came up, the Chunchuses could disperse with their accustomed celerity, but Bob would be unable to save himself unless he were prepared to abandon the ladies who had so strangely fallen under his care. They would no doubt be well treated if entrusted to an officer of rank; but if the Russians happened to be an ordinary troop of Cossacks, Bob doubted whether he might not as well leave the ladies to the Chunchuses as to them. First of all, at any rate, he had the Chunchuses to deal with. He hoped that when they saw how strongly he was posted behind the cart and the boulder they would draw off. In any case, Ah-Sam's forethought had stocked the cart with enough provisions to last through a siege of some days, and in view of that contingency it was wise to do what he could to strengthen his position still further.
The distant specks on the mountain-side had disappeared. Slowly scanning every portion of the horizon, neither Bob nor Ah-Sam saw any sign of life. They retraced their steps towards the boulder, halting now and then to roll down the steep slope such loose rocks as might give cover to an attacking force. The ladies met them as they reached the cart.
"Well, Mr. Fawcett," said Mrs. Pottle, "did you see anything way down there?"
"Nothing. But if those were your friends the brigands, we shall have them upon us in half an hour."
"Oh! what shall we do, then? You had some plan in bringing us here?"
"Yes. Ah-Sam and I are going to fortify ourselves; it is our only chance."
"Good gracious! They have guns, and I've only my umbrella!"
"We have our pistols and a couple of rifles."
"Against a hundred, perhaps. Still, two determined men, behind rocks—could you spare a pistol for me?"
"If necessary, but I hope we sha'n't have to fight. They will probably tire of besieging us here."
"A siege! But, my dear boy, we can't stand a siege without food, and I confess, Mr. Fawcett, I am hungry. Really, I must eat, and I will say this for the brigands: they did give us food, of a sort."
"Ah-Sam has plenty of food—of a sort," said Bob, smiling. "And perhaps, Mrs. Pottle, while we are doing what we can to strengthen the position, you won't mind preparing a meal."
"Of course not. If only I could get a cup of tea!"
"Ah-Sam has tea, and rice, and millet, and a few other things."
"The dear man! But a kettle?"
"He has a pot, and an oil-lamp, anu plenty of matches."
"A treasure! Let us have the things, and I will turn up my sleeves and set to work. There is water in the stream. Ethel, my love, we shall have a cup of tea for the first time in six weeks. Come and help me."
Bob admired Mrs. Pottle's spirit. Leaving the ladies to themselves, he assisted Ah-Sam to unyoke the team and drag them higher up the ravine, where they tethered the animals to the trunks of some overhanging trees, and supplied them with fodder from the cart. Then, with some difficulty, they pushed and rolled some of the smaller boulders in front of the vehicle, arranging them in such a way that loopholes were left between them covering every part of the approach. The position was now such that the little party was effectually concealed from the road below; but Bob knew that their presence could not remain undiscovered, for the cart and the animals had left very distinct traces in the snow and mud.
Everything possible having now been done, Bob went once more to the mouth of the gully to reconnoitre. There was as yet no sign of the brigands. He was still looking out across the hills when Ah-Sam came up, carrying a pot of rice.
"Chow-chow allo leady, massa," he said. "My fetchee chow-chow this-side; ch'hoy! women boilum tings, spoilum tea; China boy no can dlink it; too muchee stlong for China side; no allo plopa; Yinkelis man hab got numpa one tummy; can dlink anyting."
"I'm afraid we do make it too strong. But I'll explain to the ladies; you shall have some made specially weak for you. Stay here and keep watch while I get something to eat, and come back at once if you see any sign of the Chunchuses."
"Allo lightee, massa. My hab catchee plenty chow-chow. No fear!"
Bob returned to the ladies.
"Come, Mr. Fawcett," cried Mrs. Pottle. "I've just finished my fourth cup. Capital tea, even without cream and sugar. But I don't understand your man. I thought Chinamen liked tea, and I gave Ah-Sam a particularly strong cup. He was positively rude—used most sinful language, and actually threw it away. You must be thirsty; now do drink this, and here is some rice—chow, your man called it; I thought that was the Chinese for dog?"
"Yes," said Bob with a twinkle, "or any other form of food."
"Disgusting!" exclaimed Ethel. "Surely it is not true?"
"I'm afraid it is. Fido is quite a standing dish in China."
Mrs. Pottle looked horrified.
"I wonder," she said reflectively, "what that stew was they gave us yesterday?..."
Her speculations were broken in upon by the sight of Ah-Sam running up the gully.
"Massa," he cried, "my look-see plenty piecee Chunchu come this-side chop-chop, galaw!"
CHAPTER XV
Fortifying the Gully
Stopping a Rush—The Trappers Trapped—Allies—A Manchu Marksman—A Sighting Shot—Building a Barrier—Velly Good Fighty Man—Ah-Sam at the Front
Mrs. Pottle grasped her umbrella as Bob sprang up, leapt over the boulders, and hurried to the mouth of the ravine. In the distance, to the right, he saw a band of mounted men, about sixty in number, easily recognizable by their nondescript dress and long lances as the redoubtable bandits of Manchuria. They disappeared in the bend of the valley. Again they emerged into view, now only a quarter of a mile away, heading straight for the gully over the trail of the cart. Bob hurried back to his place behind the boulders, and took the rifle handed him by Ah-Sam, who retained the other.
"You won't kill them if you can help it, will you?" said Ethel, whose cheeks had become a little pale.
"Nonsense, Ethel," interrupted Mrs. Pottle; "don't be sentimental. I don't wish them any harm, but—"
She did not finish the sentence, for at this moment the horsemen arrived at the mouth of the gully, and halted, evidently in some hesitation, as though fearing a trap. Their leaders spoke together for a few moments; then the whole band dismounted, and, leaving their horses in charge of some of their number, began to climb up the gorge. Bob felt that it was high time to check them.
"Call, Ah-Sam," he said, "and tell them that if they move another step forward I fire."
"Hai yah!" shouted the Chinaman. The little man had a shrill piercing voice, and his exclamation brought the bandits to a sudden halt two hundred yards beneath. He then gave them in Chinese Bob's message, and as he spoke, they strained their eyes upward as if to pierce the barricade. There was a short consultation among them, and then one of them advanced a step and shouted a reply.
"What does he say?" asked Bob.
"One piecee Chunchu say-lo, 'Come this-side, ha-loy! he no killum China-boy, two piecee girley; massa fightee man, he catchee ling-ch'ih'."
"What's that?" asked Bob.
Ah-Sam looked puzzled; his vocabulary was evidently for the moment at a loss. Then he said:
"Ling-ch'ih he killum velly velly slow; he cuttee slicee allo littee piecee: velly long-tim' die-lo galaw!—velly annoying!"
Mrs. Pottle gathered the gist of what Ah-Sam said, and burst forth in great indignation.
"The fiends! I will not allow it. They are arrant cowards. Drive them off. They were frightened of my umbrella. You shall not fall into their power through us. Drive them off!"
Bob considered for a moment. If by delivering himself up he could have ensured a safe-conduct for the two ladies he might have taken the risk; but he was not at all sure that his surrender would satisfy the bandits, incensed at the loss of the prisoners, for whom they expected a good ransom, and at the rough treatment dealt out to the three men. On the other hand, by putting a bold face on it he might scare them off, especially in view of the presence of Russians in the neighbourhood.
"Tell them," he said, "that we refuse to surrender. If they move forward, I fire."
Ah-Sam translated the message. There was another short consultation; then with a shout the bandits rushed up the steep gully straight at the barricade. Mrs. Pottle still grasped her umbrella and walked to and fro in high indignation; Ethel sat with clasped hands, her lips firmly pressed together, her eyes fixed upon Bob.
"Don't fire!" said Bob to Ah-Sam. Resting his own rifle between two boulders, he took careful aim at the foremost of the attacking party, who presented an easy mark as he came directly towards the barricade. He did not wish to kill the man, being anxious not to drive the brigands to extremities; yet it was necessary to teach them a lesson. Seizing a moment when the man's pace was checked by an awkward rock, Bob fired. It was a well-aimed shot, at about a hundred yards' range, and took effect where he intended, in the lower part of the man's leg. A howl of pain announced that the shot had told. Mrs. Pottle exclaimed "There!" with a note of satisfaction; her niece gave a little gasp; neither could see that the man had fallen like a log.
"One piecee hab catchee hot!" muttered Ah-Sam.
The wounded man howled and howled again, and as the others halted in hesitation, Bob thrust the barrel of his rifle conspicuously through the loophole. Next moment the whole band turned tail, and bolted down the slope, leaving their injured comrade behind them, and not pausing until they were out of sight round the corner of the gully.
"Allo lun wailo chop-chop," said Ah-Sam.
"But the poor wounded man!" exclaimed Ethel, starting up. "He must be in terrible pain."
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Pottle. "He is not killed if he can howl like that."
Ethel got up and looked through an interstice between the boulders, while Mrs. Pottle proceeded to give Bob her views on the situation. Minute after minute passed; there was no sign of a renewed attack by the Chunchuses. Mrs. Pottle brewed more tea and talked on; Ethel moved restlessly about, starting up whenever a groan was heard from the wounded man, and looking more and more concerned as she saw him more than once make a futile attempt to reach his friends. They did not come to his assistance. He tried to crawl down the rocky slope, but each time fell back with a groan, and at last lay perfectly still. Bob had watched Ethel's movements, and saw, though she said nothing, that she was becoming uneasy about the wounded Manchu. He would undoubtedly bleed to death if something were not done for him; his friends were unwilling to face the marksman up the slope. Bob wondered whether he ought to run the risk of going down. Between his boulder and the man there were many rocks which would afford cover for the greater part of the way. If he reached the man, the Chunchuses would probably hesitate to fire lest they hit their comrade; and it had become apparent to Bob that one reason, probably the strongest, why they had not developed their attack was that they feared to bring their enemies, the Russians, upon the scene. At last, unable any longer to resist Ethel's mute plea, he rose, bade Ah-Sam cover him with his rifle, and, crossing the barricade, made his way as quickly as possible down the gully, dodging from rock to rock.
The last dozen yards were open ground, fully exposed to the attack of the Chunchuses. He ran across them, and stooped to the wounded man. At the foot of the gully several of the Chunchuses now showed themselves and watched his proceedings. He first tied his handkerchief round the injured limb, then lifted the man and turned to make his way back. He took two steps, then staggered; the man was heavy, and the necessity of carrying him in a horizontal position, in order to check the flow of blood to his wounded leg, made him a cumbrous burden on so steep an ascent. Bob was doubting whether he would be able unaided to bring the man into safety, when Ah-Sam appeared. He had marked the difficulty, and, seeing that an attack from below was for the time improbable, had run to his master's assistance. Together then they carried the Chunchuse up the gully, and carefully lifted him over the barricade, and Bob was rewarded by a grateful glance and a murmured word of thanks from Ethel, who at once bent down to assist the man. Mrs. Pottle, for all her outward truculence, had a kind heart. Protesting all the time that it was ridiculous to waste sympathy on a brigand, she lent her niece willing aid, and soon the limb was well bandaged, and the man was supplied with food and tea.
By this time the Chunchuses had congregated about the mouth of the gully, where they stood discussing the situation with some excitement. Bob guessed that the appearance of a Korean capable of fighting, in company with a Chinaman of courage and assurance, had somewhat astonished them; and though it was impossible for Ah-Sam to hear what they were saying, it was not difficult to guess that they were divided in opinion, some being inclined to renew the attack, others to seek a compromise. It was Bob's policy to wait. Suddenly the colloquy below was interrupted; there was a sound of galloping horses, and immediately the Chunchuses were scattering, seeking cover behind boulders at the mouth of the ravine. Behind them came one or two of the men they had left in the road in charge of the horses. For a few moments there was wild confusion, a clamour of mingled shouts, the clash of arms, the stampeding of horses. A shot rang out, the babel ceased, and a man was seen hurrying up the gully, holding a piece of torn and dirty rag upon his musket.
"Tell him to stop," said Bob to Ah-Sam when the Chunchuse had come within fifty yards of the barricade.
"What is happening now?" asked Mrs. Pottle, endeavouring to peep over a boulder.
"Please go back, Mrs. Pottle," said Bob earnestly. "I don't know what may happen yet. It appears to be a flag of truce."
"I decline to have any parley with the brigands," said Mrs. Pottle decisively; "I firmly decline. They are outlaws, and—"
"Auntie, Mr. Fawcett wishes to speak to the man," interposed Ethel mildly.
The emissary had stopped at Ah-Sam's bidding, and was now speaking rapidly in answer to the Chinaman's questions. His features wore an anxious look. From Ah-Sam's translation of his speech, Bob learnt that the commotion he had recently witnessed was due to the sudden appearance of a mixed force of Russians and Manchus, who had ridden up in two parties, one from each side of the valley, and closed in upon the Chunchuses at the gully's mouth. Sheltered by the large scattered rocks, the brigands were able for the moment to keep the Russians at bay; but at any moment their position might be rushed. They knew that they could expect no mercy from the Russians, and they were now in a terrible dilemma: on the one side the Cossacks, on the other the armed men, they did not know how many in number, behind the barricade. Between two fires they would be utterly annihilated. As a counsel of desperation the flag-bearer had come to beg the leader of the party more favourably posted to admit the Chunchuses behind his entrenchments, where they might make common cause against the Russians.
This was a critical moment which Bob had not foreseen. Obviously there was little time for deliberation. Though no more shots had been fired, he had no doubt that the Russians were only awaiting a favourable opportunity for swooping on the band of Chunchuses, and after they had been disposed of it would not be long before he too, with his companions, must fall into their hands. The ladies might be safe with them, of course; but he himself durst not appear; they were hunting him for his life. It was thus impossible for him to remain neutral. Recent events had in fact made him a natural ally of the Chunchuses. They might be brigands, but they were at the same time patriots, fighting on their own soil against an alien invader. Their methods were not perhaps commendable from a western stand-point, but the Russians themselves, as he himself had seen during his wanderings in Korea, were not always too scrupulous. There was only one consideration that made him hesitate, and that was, would the sudden friendliness of the Chunchuses last after the pressing danger was past?
Bob was not long in making up his mind.
"Tell them," he said to Ah-Sam, "that I will help them if they will help us in return. If they succeed in beating off the Russians, they must afterwards help us to cross the Yalu and come safely within the Japanese lines. Will they do that?"
"My talkee, massa."
Ah-Sam put the case to the man, who stood impatiently awaiting Bob's decision. The answer was voluble, and accompanied by gestures which to Bob were very mysterious. Ah-Sam explained that the Chunchuse had at once accepted the offered terms, and had emphasized his promise by swearing by the graves of his ancestors that he would make his words good.
"Is he to be trusted?" asked Bob.
"Oh yes. He one piecee head man; he talkee velly good; he velly muchee aflaid joss angly, spoilum allo piecee Chunchuses this-tim', supposey no do what he hab say do. He allo lightee, massa."
"Very well. Tell him I will see what can be done."
"What are you going to do, Mr. Fawcett?" asked Mrs. Pottle. "I strongly object to have any dealings with the brigands, and I declare—"
"Auntie," interposed Ethel gently, "don't you think we had better trust to Mr. Fawcett to do what he thinks best?"
"Well, I wash my hands of the whole business. China boy, fetchee more water from the streamee; we wantee makee more tea."
Thanking the girl with a glance, Bob sprang over the barricade, and, with a parting order to Ah-Sam to remain with the ladies, set off to join his late enemy. At the mouth of the gully he found that the Chunchuses had taken up positions behind every available rock. They were somewhat tightly packed, and as some of them moved from their places to meet their returning leader, and for a moment left cover, the Russians began to take snap shots at them from the crest of a hillock about six or seven hundred yards away. One man was hit just as Bob reached the band. There was a reply from several of the Chunchuses; but it was clear that they were hopelessly outranged. Their muskets did indeed carry the distance of the Russian position, but with no accuracy, and as the Russians were careful to present no considerable target, they were unlikely to suffer any loss.
Peering cautiously round the edge of a boulder, Bob looked across the valley in the direction pointed out to him. At first he could see nothing; then, on the crest of the hillock, he saw one or two moving objects which by and by resolved themselves into the caps of men on the other side. He wondered why the Russians, armed as they were with good weapons, did not advance boldly to the attack; but the explanation soon suggested itself. The horses of the Chunchuses having been stampeded, escape for the latter was impossible. The Cossacks recognized that they had them in a trap, but were disinclined to throw away lives by coming to close quarters in broad daylight with a strongly entrenched enemy. At nightfall, however, the odds would be all in their favour. They outnumbered the Chunchuses by at least two to one; under cover of night they could easily rush the position through the wide gaps between the boulders; and in a hand-to-hand fight their superior numbers were bound to tell. Bob had no doubt that they would defer their attack until night, and that was a serious danger to be provided against.
He was still watching the hillock, wondering how many men were encamped on the farther slope, when he noticed a dark shape rise upon the crest. Its outlines were clearly visible in contrast with the snow-covered ground, and in a moment Bob recognized the form as the head and shoulders of a Manchu. The man had apparently just spread his cloak before him, for he bent down face forwards, until only his head was visible, a dark motionless patch at the summit of the hill. A minute or two passed, then Bob saw a faint puff of smoke just below the crouching Manchu, and immediately afterwards a metallic "splat" was heard on the rock close to Bob's elbow. The man had evidently posted himself with the object of taking pot-shots at any of the Chunchuses who incautiously afforded him a target. His rifle was a good one, and that he was a good marksman was soon proved, for a second puff of smoke was followed, not by the sound of a bullet striking the rock, but by a howl of pain from one of the defenders, whose arm, overlapping the edge of the rock behind which he stood, had been pierced by the Manchu's shot. Only half a minute later, a third shot was even more accurate; a man's head showed above a rock, and with a suddenness that startled everyone he fell back, dead.
The movements which had exposed the defenders to the aim of the Manchu marksman were partly due to the impatient rage of the Chunchuses at their inability to retaliate. Bob saw that a succession of such incidents would destroy their nerve and demoralize them. He was himself a good marksman; at eight hundred yards he had more than once scored a possible on the butts at Darnley; and the sight of the dead man by his side banished his last feeling of compunction at taking an active part. Removing his cloak and cap to reduce his height and bulk as much as possible, he cautiously made his way to the boulder at which the Chunchuses were least huddled. As he ran across a few yards of exposed space, bullets pattered all around him; a man at the edge of the boulder for which he was making raised his hand to his cheek, and withdrew it covered with blood; a splinter of lead or rock had inflicted a slight jagged wound. The man looked at his hand with stolid indifference, and wiped it on his coat. It was evident that there were other marksmen on the crest of the hill, though only the Manchu was in sight. This incident had the curious effect of steadying Bob's nerve, and when he reached the boulder he was able to take a quiet look round.
A few feet to the right there lay an isolated rock much lower than the one whose shelter he had gained. Throwing himself flat on the ground, he crawled slowly forward, and noticed when he came to the smaller boulder that, still farther to the right, and a little in advance, there was a yet smaller rock, the lateral interval between the two being so narrow that he thought it unlikely he could be seen by the Russians if he used it as a peep-hole. It turned out as he surmised. He found that, while himself invisible, he commanded a view of about one-sixth of the space occupied by the Russians. As he looked, he saw that the Manchu who had been so troublesome had disappeared; the line of the hill-crest was unbroken. Bob feared that the man had escaped him, but in a moment he caught sight of his head and shoulders again, at a point somewhat to the left of his former position. He lowered himself as before, and bent forward on his elbow, waiting a favourable opportunity to test his marksmanship. The moment came; some incautious Chunchuse had no doubt exposed himself, for Bob saw the Manchu lift his rifle in the attitude of taking aim. He was destined never to pull the trigger. From his first movement Bob had covered him; while he was still aiming, the crack of a rifle was heard in the gully, and the Manchu's head fell forward, his rifle forming a dark streak on the snow. So instantaneous had been the effect of his shot that Bob was for the moment doubtful; but it was impossible to mistake the attitude of the inert form on the hillside. The man was dead.
The fact came home to Bob with a sort of shock. A soldier in the heat of battle has no time to reflect; his duty is to shoot straight and keep his nerve. But this single shot had not been fired in the rush of fight; it had scarcely caused his nerves to tingle more than in a keenly-contested musketry competition at home. For the moment he felt guilty as though he had committed a crime, and, rifle in hand, stared spell-bound at the prostrate figure. Then he was startled from his reverie by the sound of a hail of bullets whistling through the air and pattering on the rocks, and around him the discharge of a dozen antiquated pieces within the space of a few yards filled the air with the pungent smell of war.
After some minutes the din ceased. For an hour afterwards the firing was merely spasmodic. Bob was confirmed in his conclusion that the Russians were only putting in time until nightfall. Knowing that it would be impossible to hold the wide gaps at the mouth of the gully against a rush of superior forces, he saw that sooner or later the Chunchuses would have to take refuge higher up; but he was anxious to defer this movement, and cast about for some means of at least inflicting a temporary check upon the enemy. The Chunchuses themselves were making no preparations for the changed conditions that must arise, and being ignorant of their language, Bob was unable to consult with them. He therefore called Ah-Sam to his side, and through him asked the leader of the brigands what he proposed to do. The man replied that when night came he meant to retreat up the gorge behind the barricade; his men were too few to hold their present position; they would be overwhelmed at the first assault. Bob pointed out that it was bad policy to retire within their inmost defences except as a last resource. Cooped up in the narrow space, above, they would be in desperate straits if the enemy found a means of climbing the hills and taking them in the rear. The man at once answered that the hills were unscaleable. Nobody had ever been known to ascend them from this side. He was ready to make a stand at the mouth of the gully if it were possible, but the honourable stranger himself saw that it was out of the question.
Bob considered for a few moments. Dusk was creeping on, and if anything was to be done it must be done quickly.
"Tell him," he said at length to Ah-Sam, "that if he and his men will do what I ask them, we can make this position very strong. It will not take longer than about half an hour."
The Chunchuse at once agreed, and Bob proceeded to explain his plan. As soon as it was dark enough he proposed to send out ten of the best-armed and most skilful marksmen in skirmishing order to a distance of a hundred yards beyond the mouth of the gully, with orders to give instant warning of the enemy's approach. Twenty of the rest were to act as a reserve behind the boulders. There were some thirty men left; these he proposed to divide into squads of five, and they were to roll or drag towards the entrance of the ravine the loose boulders that lay scattered along the banks of the stream above. The reserve meanwhile would load the muskets of the whole body, and hold these in readiness for instant use at various points, to which the workers would hasten, each to his appointed spot, at the first alarm.
The suggestion was immediately approved by the leader, and received with eagerness by his men when it was explained to them. Since Bob had appeared on the scene, and especially since he had shot the Manchu on the hill, the brigands had regarded him with a good deal of respect. When the country had become sufficiently dark for their movements to escape the notice of the Russians, the plan was immediately put into operation. Bob himself superintended the work of the thirty. Under his directions they rolled and dragged the rocks downward, blocking up the gaps at the foot of the ravine. The task was arduous and unequal. Bob added a man to a squad at one point where the stone to be moved was unusually heavy, taking one from a neighbouring squad that happened to be less taxed. During the first quarter of an hour the work went on at a great rate. There was a good supply of manageable boulders near at hand, and the men were encouraged when they saw a continuous breastwork beginning to fill the gaps which had appeared to them indefensible. But as the nearest stones became used up, the task grew in difficulty, for higher up the ravine the boulders were larger and required much greater exertions to move them. It was becoming colder as the darkness increased, but the ground was as yet not sufficiently hardened to be slippery, and the huge masses of rock often sank into holes and were obstructed by irregularities in the ground, so that the half-hour had long been exceeded before the breastwork was finished. The task, however, was completed at last. The new barrier was rough and uneven, but promised to be quite adequate to its purpose.
There was still no sign of the enemy. No doubt they were waiting until they might suppose the defenders lulled to security; perhaps they were having a meal in preparation for their attack. As the idea struck Bob, he asked whether the Chunchuses had any provisions with them, and was alarmed to find that they were almost foodless, their supplies having been on their horses' backs. They carried in their wallets no more than one day's food. This was unfortunate; it might prove a calamity. The coming struggle was likely to be severe, and the brigands, however much inured to hardship they might be, could not fight well if they were hungry. Bob advised the men to husband their little stock as much as possible; he feared that nothing could be spared from what Ah-Sam had brought in the cart, and already foresaw the ultimate destiny of the little Chinaman's team.
Recalling seven of the scouts outside, leaving three still to keep a vigilant look-out for signs of the advancing enemy, he leant on the breastwork, and peered out into the darkness, wondering whether anything had been left undone. As he looked at the few yards of snow-covered ground still visible before him, an idea suddenly flashed across his mind. Calling up Ah-Sam, he sent him to bring his four spades from the cart. Removing a small boulder at one extremity of the barricade, he borrowed a spear, went outside to a distance of ten paces, and with the spear drew a line across the mouth of the gully parallel with the barrier. Four feet beyond this line he drew another parallel with it, then returned within the defences. In a few minutes Ah-Sam came back with the spades, and Bob was astonished to see that he was accompanied by Ethel.
"I have brought you some tea," she said; "it will refresh you. Auntie is very anxious to know what you are doing. I could hardly persuade her not to come and see."
"It is very good of you. Please go back, Miss—" He paused. Mrs. Pottle had omitted to mention her niece's surname. He saw a faint smile in Ethel's face.
"Auntie never stands much on ceremony," she said, "and she has taken you quite for granted. My father's name is Charteris."
"Do, please, go back. The Russians may be upon us at any moment, and you will be in danger. Tell Mrs. Pottle that we are doing our best. Ah-Sam, go back with Miss Charteris, and remain with the ladies."
"My no likee go that-side," protested Ah-Sam. "My velly good fighty man; my no tinkee—"
"Come, Ah-Sam!" said Ethel.
Ah-Sam looked from one to the other, then without another word, but with a very downcast countenance, he walked behind the girl up the hill.