.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 44316
   :PG.Title: Kobo
   :PG.Released: 2013-11-30
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Strang
   :MARCREL.ill: William Rainey
   :DC.Title: Kobo
              A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1905
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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KOBO
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      Cover art

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   .. _`Koreans receiving Cavalry`:

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      :alt: Koreans receiving Cavalry

      Koreans receiving Cavalry

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      Kobo

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      A Story of the Russo-Japanese War

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      BY

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      HERBERT STRANG

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      AUTHOR OF "TOM BURNABY"

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      Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.

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      NEW YORK
      \G. \P. PUTNAM'S SONS
      27 AND 29 WEST 230 ST.
      1905

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      TO
      LILLIPUT
      WITH ALL DUE RESPECT TO
      BROBDINGNAG

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   |  "Oh! it is easy to cross the Yalu river."
   |                            —*Japanese War Song*.

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   *My dear Ralph,*

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*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.*

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*Yours very sincerely,*
    *HERBERT STRANG.*

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*Michaelmas Day, 1904.*

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   Contents

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*Chapter* I
   `A Mere Chinaman`_

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*Chapter* II
   `Rokuro Kobo San`_

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*Chapter* III
   `A Samurai's Home`_

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*Chapter* IV
   `Six to One`_

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*Chapter* V
   `A Fleet in Action`_

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*Chapter* VI
   `Helping-to-Decide`_

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*Chapter* VII
   `The Battle of the Destroyers`_

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*Chapter* VIII
   `Cut Off`_

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*Chapter* IX
   `Chased by Cossacks`_

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*Chapter* X
   `The One-Eared Man`_

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*Chapter* XI
   `Tried and Sentenced`_

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*Chapter* XII
   `At Midnight`_

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*Chapter* XIII
   `Ah-Sam`_

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*Chapter* XIV
   `Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle`_

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*Chapter* XV
   `Fortifying the Gully`_

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*Chapter* XVI
   `Hemmed In`_

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*Chapter* XVII
   `A Night Reconnaissance`_

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*Chapter* XVIII
   `Rushing a Cossack Camp`_

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*Chapter* XIX
   `Sound and Fury`_

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*Chapter* XX
   `Herr Schwab Gomblains`_

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*Chapter* XXI
   `The Battle of the Yalu River`_

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*Chapter* XXII
   `A Dumb Chinaman`_

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*Chapter* XXIII
   `The Tiger's Lair`_

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*Chapter* XXIV
   `In the Enemy's Gates`_

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*Chapter* XXV
   `Nemesis`_

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*Chapter* XXVI
   `Old Friends and New Prospects`_

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`*Glossary*`_

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   List of Illustrations

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*Plate* I
   `Koreans Receiving Cavalry`_ . . . . . . Frontispiece

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*Plate* II
   `Bob Rescues Yamaguchi`_

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*Plate* III
   `Bob Surprises his Jailer`_

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*Plate* IV
   `A Korean Knight-Errant`_

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*Plate* V
   `A Question of Seconds`_

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   Map and Plan

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`Map of Korea and part of Manchuria`_

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`Plan of the Battle of the Yalu River`_

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.. _`A mere Chinaman`:

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   CHAPTER I


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   A mere Chinaman

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Flotsam—A Commercial Correspondent—A Story of the Sea

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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!"





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.. _`Rokuro Kobo San`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   Rokuro Kobo San

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An Incident in Ueno Park—Japan at Play—Journalism
in Japan—A Japanese Gentleman

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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."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Samurai's Home`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center large bold

   A Samurai's Home

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

A Japanese Interior—An Oriental Menu—Tales of Old
Japan—The Quarrel with Russia—Chang-Wo—Raiding the
Raiders—Good-bye

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "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!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Six to One`:

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   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center large bold

   Six to One

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.. class:: noindent small

A Newspaper Paragraph—Scenes by the Way—Mistaken
Identity—A Warm Corner—A Modern Miracle—Yamaguchi

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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.

.. vspace:: 2

"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."

.. vspace:: 2

"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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Fleet in Action`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center large bold

   A Fleet in Action

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

War—Nearing Port Arthur—In the Night Watches—The
First Blow—A Battle of the Giants—In a
Box-battery—A Rescue

.. vspace:: 2

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`:

.. figure:: images/img-048.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Map of Korea and part of Manchuria

   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`:

.. figure:: images/img-059.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Bob rescues Yamaguchi

   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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Helping-to-Decide`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center large bold

   Helping-to-Decide

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

A Torpedo-destroyer—Sea Legs—At Chemulpo—A
Recognition—Stopping a Runaway—Mystification

.. vspace:: 2

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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Battle of the Destroyers`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center large bold

   The Battle of the Destroyers

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

A Chance for the Destroyers—Flotillas in
Action—Winged—Repairing Damages—To the Yalu

.. vspace:: 2

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.





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   CHAPTER VIII


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Secret Service—Yamaguchi Returns—A Quick Change—A
Bleak Ride—On the Trail

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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.





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   CHAPTER IX


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   Chased by Cossacks

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A View-Halloo—Cossacks at Fault—Bluff—Suspicious
Hospitality—On the Pekin Road—A Hill Tiger

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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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The One-Eared Man`:

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   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center large bold

   The One-Eared Man

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.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

"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.





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.. _`Tried and Sentenced`:

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   CHAPTER XI


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   Tried and Sentenced

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Under Escort—A Court-Martial—Leading Questions—The
Bear's Claw

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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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`At Midnight`:

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   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center large bold

   At Midnight

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

Waiting—A Russian Offer—A Farewell Letter—What
the Case Held—Kite-flying Extraordinary—Prison-breaking—Free

.. vspace:: 2

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`:

.. figure:: images/img-144.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Bob surprises his Jailer

   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.





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.. _`Ah-Sam`:

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   CHAPTER XIII


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   Ah-Sam

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A Silent Journey—An Old Friend—Circumstances Alter
Cases—Enter Ah-Sam—A Manchurian Inn—Held Up—Chinese
Receipts

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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!"





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.. _`Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle`:

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   CHAPTER XIV


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   Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle

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Fair Captives—Pidgin—Among the Chunchuses—Seeking
Cover—A Breathing Space—A Picnic

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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`:

.. figure:: images/img-164.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: A Korean Knight-errant

   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!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Fortifying the Gully`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center large bold

   Fortifying the Gully

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

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.

Bob had no difficulty in making the Chunchuse leader
understand by signs that he required the services of four
spademen.  These were at once forthcoming—four
strapping fellows, who soon showed by the way they handled
their implements that before they became brigands they
were husbandmen.  He set them to dig a trench between
the parallel lines he had drawn, placing one man at each
end, and the other two back to back in the centre, with
orders to work towards their comrades at the fastest rate
of which they were capable.  After five minutes he relieved
them by another squad, and while these were working it
struck him that if the Russians attacked suddenly, and the
diggers tried to scramble over the barrier, they would
come directly in the line of fire and either lose their lives
or cause the loss of precious time to the firing party.  He
therefore removed a small rock at each end, and when he
sent out the next relieving squad he gave them express
orders to make for the barrier, each man for the gap
nearest him, if the alarm were given.  The men worked
so energetically that in a short time a trench four feet
broad and two deep stretched across the entrance to the
gully.  The men were then withdrawn.  They joined their
comrades in disposing of the scanty rations at command.
All being now in readiness to meet an attack, the scouts
also were recalled, and Bob, feeling that he had done all
that he could, sat down to rest and await the event.

The time dragged slowly on.  The whole band
maintained almost absolute silence; no sound was to be
heard save the rush of the stream.  Waiting in the dark,
all his senses on the alert, Bob wondered whether the
enemy had drawn off.  It was unlike them so to do; the
Russians were implacable where Manchurian brigands not
on their side were concerned.  The existence of these
armed bands within their lines was at all times a serious
menace.  The whole population, save for parties of hired
desperadoes, was hostile to the Russian cause.  If in the
coming conflict with the hosts of Japan the Russians were
beaten, the news would rapidly spread through the country,
and each isolated band of Chunchuses would become the
nucleus to which thousands would flock, harassing the
retreating army, and threatening a catastrophe like that
which befell Napoleon's grand army in its retreat from
Moscow.  It was therefore most unlikely that the little
force of which Bob now found himself the virtual
commander would be left unmolested.  The Russian captain
had much to gain with his superiors by extirpating the
band.

Bob was turning things over in his mind, when suddenly
Ah-Sam made his reappearance.  This was somewhat
surprising.  The average Chinaman has no stomach for
a fight; he will die at his post if need be, but as a rule
he shows no dissatisfaction at being ordered to the rear.
Bob had expected that Ah-Sam would be more than glad
to have the opportunity of remaining in safety with the
ladies.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.  "I ordered
you to remain above."

"My savvy, massa.  My velly muchee aflaid largo piecee
woman.  She say my come back chop-chop bottom-side;
massa want gib orders allo piecee Chunchuses; no can do
supposey China-boy no this-side helpum talkee.  Littee
piecee missy say all-same; my no can stay topside no
longer, galaw!"

Bob already knew Mrs. Pottle well enough not to be
surprised at her taking a different view from his own.  The
fact that Ethel Charteris had acquiesced in her aunt's
command to Ah-Sam to return showed that she was in
no fear; and reassured on this score, Bob reflected that
certainly Ah-Sam would be very useful, even indispensable,
to him.

"Very well," he said, "keep close at hand, and we'll
see what sort of a fighting man you are when the time
comes."

Bob turned his back on the gully, and once more looked
earnestly into the darkness.  He therefore did not see the
look of gleeful satisfaction on the quaint face of his
henchman, nor hear the chuckle he uttered as he sat down to
wait beside his master.





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.. _`Hemmed In`:

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   CHAPTER XVI


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   Hemmed In

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The Deadly Breach—Yinkelis-fashion—Chang-Wo is
Surprised—Short Commons—Enfiladed—On the Ledge—The
Ammunition Question—Chang-Wo Disappears—Footsteps

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The minutes passed.  The air grew colder.  Only the
dim flickering of the stars threw a faint light over the
scene.  One or two of the men had fallen asleep; the
rest waited, some stolidly, some restlessly, for the
expected encounter.  Bob remained at the breastwork,
intently watching.

At length one of the men who had been out as scouts
whispered hurriedly to the leader; he had heard a slight
sound from the distance.  The sleepers were roused;
every man stood to arms; all were on the instant doubly
alert.  After the first rustle there was an extraordinary
stillness; the watchers seemed scarcely to breathe.  Bob
heard nothing, but in a moment the scout whispered
again.  The Russians were coming!  Through Ah-Sam
the message was passed from the chief to Bob.  Ten
minutes passed in tense and breathless expectancy, then
there came a sound which every man behind the barrier
heard.  It was the clash of wood against steel; one of
the enemy had stumbled and clumsily allowed his weapon
to strike that of a comrade.  No other sound followed.
The enemy were evidently advancing with extreme
caution, hoping, as Bob conjectured, either to surprise the
Chunchuses, or at any rate to approach sufficiently close
unseen to carry the defences with a rush.

In a whisper Bob bade Ah-Sam repeat a caution he
had already impressed upon the chief.  Not a man should
fire until the word was given.  The reserve were to
withhold their fire altogether until the enemy had reached the
wall, or until their comrades had reloaded.  Another period
of waiting, shorter; then the crisp footfalls of a body
of men creeping over the freezing ground were distinctly
heard.  Suddenly, about thirty yards away, a dark mass
of figures came into view; there was a low word of
command, and the whole body of Russians and Manchus
sprang forward with a yell in which every dialect was
represented from the Danube to the Yalu.

Would the obedience of the bandits be equal to the
strain of waiting for the word?  Bob had hardly time to
wonder, for the enemy had swept over the first twenty
yards dividing them from the rocky breastwork; behind
it, all was silent.  Then as if by magic the mass seemed
to melt away; the attacking party had, as Bob expected,
failed to see the shallow trench; the first line stepping
into it fell headlong, the second tripped over them, and
next moment the majority of the men were floundering
affrighted on the snow-covered ground.  Then Bob gave
the word.  The muskets roared, and bullets fell thick
into the midst of the struggling heap immediately under
the muzzles of the defenders' weapons.  An awful cry
ascended from the heaving mass.  It was impossible to
distinguish what was going on, for the men upon the
ground were a tangled medley, some trying to regain
their feet and flee from the spot, others writhing with
wounds, too badly hit to rise, a few pressing madly
forward to the breastwork, which they strove to scale.
Then the reserve opened fire; the clamour was redoubled,
and the survivors turned their backs, and, jumping or
scrambling over their fallen comrades, fled amazedly away
into the darkness.

Yells of exultation and defiance burst from the throats
of the defenders, now at last able to give vent to the
feelings pent up during hours of silent waiting.  The
leader was eager to spring across the breastwork and
slaughter the wounded wretches, whose groans were heard
as the tumult subsided.  Bob hauled him back by main
force, and ordered him to send out a few scouts to
discover whether the Cossacks were within striking distance.
Learning soon that the enemy had all retreated beyond
the hill, he posted five men at intervals about four
hundred yards out to keep watch, and proceeded to attend
to the wounded.  Among the defenders only one man
had been hurt by the bayonet of a gallant Russian, who
had come right up to the wall and fallen dead beneath
a Chunchuse bullet.  But in and around the trench there
were twenty-eight prone forms, and of these Bob soon
saw that eleven had keen killed outright.  They were
partly Russians, partly Manchus.  As Bob went along
the trench, carefully examining the survivors in turn,
he came upon one lying on his right side, and groaning.
He turned the man over, and started—even in the dim
light he fancied he recognized his features.  Thrilling
with expectancy he went to the man's other side and
stooped to him.  Yes, the right ear was gone; it was
without doubt the Manchu, Chang-Wo!  Bob rose, and
calling to Ah-Sam, bade him carry the wounded man
within the barricade; he himself followed, wondering at
the strange fate which had connected him with the
Manchu ever since his arrival in Japan.  He was perplexed
as to what could be done for the rest of the injured, whose
moans gave him many a pang.  He was in no position to
deal with them—he had no surgical appliances, no food;
yet he could not leave them to perish miserably.  What
could he do?  A thought struck him.  Why not deliver
them to their own friends?  It might be difficult; neither
party could trust the other; but he was determined that it
should be attempted, even though the Russians regarded
it as a trap.

With Ah-Sam's assistance he explained the matter to
the leader of the Chunchuses, whose name, he learnt,
was Sing-Cheng.  The man was wholly at a loss to
understand Bob's object.  He had acquiesced unwillingly
in the order not to butcher the wounded, partly because
he knew they would probably die of themselves if left.
But that they should actually be given up, living, to their
comrades, seemed to him a foolish proposal.  Why had
they been shot if the effects of the bullets were to be
disregarded?

It was no time to explain.  Bob, indeed, felt that it
might be a difficult task to reconcile such opposites in
a Chunchuse mind.  He merely asked Ah-Sam to say that
it was his wish, and that he had a good reason for it.
A colloquy ensued between Ah-Sam and Sing-Cheng.
Then the former turned to Bob and said:

"He say velly well, massa, but no can tinkey so-fashion.
He say massa plenty good fightee man.  Can makee place
velly stlong, shoot allo lightee.  He tinkey one piecee
Yinkelis topside man.  He no savvy what-for massa helpee
spoilum Roshians.  Ch'hoy!  He do what massa say this-time."

"Very well," said Bob.

It was necessary to send a message to the Cossack
commander.  He could not entrust a verbal message to
a Chunchuse; he could not dispense at present with
Ah-Sam.  He must write his proposal, and he had neither
paper nor pencil.

"No doubt Mrs. Pottle will have both," he said to
himself.

Leaving instructions with the Chunchuses to keep a
strict look-out, he hurried up the gully.  The ladies must
have been alarmed by the firing, and he could fulfil his
errand and reassure them at the same time.  He spoke
to them before he reached the inner barricade, and, when
he arrived, found them standing within the line of boulders,
ready to meet him.  Even Mrs. Pottle was subdued; the
terrors of the past half-hour had shaken her.  He noticed
that she grasped her umbrella.

"Oh, Mr. Fawcett!" she exclaimed; "what has happened?"

"We have beaten off the Russians—once," Bob replied
quietly.

"You are not hurt?" said Ethel, leaning towards him,
her face very pale.

"No; only one of our party is injured—very slightly.
Don't be alarmed.  I don't think we shall be troubled
any more to-night.  I came to borrow some writing
materials.  Some of the enemy are badly wounded, and
I want to send a message to their officer asking him to
carry them away."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you!  Auntie, a leaf from your
block-book.  Here is a pencil."

Mrs. Pottle tore a leaf from the book in which she had
noted down her impressions of travel in the East, and
gave it to Bob.

"Come back soon, Mr. Fawcett," she said.  "I am
very nervous.  That horrid shooting keeps throbbing in
my head."

Promising to return if possible, Bob hastened down to
the breastwork, and on a boulder, by the light of matches
struck for him by Ah-Sam, he wrote in French to the
Russian officer.  Explaining that he was unable to tend
the wounded, he suggested that six men at a time should
be sent unarmed to carry them off; he would guarantee
their safety.  Meanwhile he held one of the wounded men
as a hostage.

He despatched the note by a scout, who, venturing
about half-way to the Russian position, called aloud for
someone to come out and meet him.  After some delay
a Cossack cautiously approached and received the note.
Half an hour elapsed, during which his communication,
Bob surmised, had been discussed in the Russian camp;
then a Manchu came forward and told the messenger
in his own tongue that the terms were accepted.  If
treachery were practised, the Russians would hang every
man caught in the gully.  Bob smiled when Ah-Sam
translated the message.  He knew that, treachery or no
treachery, hanging or worse would be the fate of any
prisoner; there was no mercy for the Chunchuses.

It took more than an hour to remove the wounded,
whom Bob had had carefully carried to a distance of a
hundred yards from the breastwork, in order that his
defences might not be too closely inspected.  When the
last had disappeared, Bob went to the spot where his
wounded prisoner had been laid.  Chang-Wo had now
recovered consciousness.  He was suffering from a severe
scalp wound, which had already been roughly dressed.
At Bob's orders Ah-Sam struck a match and held it close
to the Manchu's face.  He blinked and scowled, then
stared at Bob for a moment with a very puzzled expression;
he was clearly trying to reconcile the features of
the man before him with the Korean dress.  Then he
glared; a look of rage and chagrin darkened his villainous
face.  Bob saw that he was recognized.  The Manchu
attempted to rise, but fell back and groaned.  Bob said
never a word to him, but giving orders that he should be
made as comfortable as possible, he arranged with the
chief to keep half the men on duty during the night, while
the others rested; and then with Ah-Sam he returned to
the ladies in the lonely refuge above.

Mrs. Pottle in his company soon regained her self-confidence,
and insisted on a full account of the fight below.
Bob told her as much as he thought she should know, and
all the time Ethel, like Desdemona, hung upon his words.

"You cannot hoodwink me," exclaimed Mrs. Pottle at
the conclusion of the story.  "It was you planned it all;
I know it was.  I have been six weeks with the Chunchuses,
and they've no brains.  If it had not been for your
quickness, Mr. Fawcett, we should have been bound to
the Russian cart-wheels by this time."

"Oh no!" returned Bob.  "But I must not conceal
from you that we are still in a difficult position,
Mrs. Pottle, and it is not too late for you still to escape all
danger by seeking safety with the Russians."

"I positively refuse; I will not hear of it.  I have had
enough of the Russians.  Besides, what could they do?
It appears to me that they've overreached themselves in
undertaking to conquer Japan.  And mercy me!  I don't
want to be sent back via Siberia!  No, Mr. Fawcett,
I'm nearer my country here, and here I shall stay—to the
bitter end!"

"But Miss Charteris—"

"She has no wish apart from mine, and of course where
I am she must be."

"Well, Mrs. Pottle, you know the position.  I will do
my best.  Now I think you should try to get some sleep.
You have had a most exhausting day, and will be quite
done up."

"Oh, I couldn't sleep a wink.  I should dream.  No,
I must get the China boy to boil some water; tea will
keep us awake.  Ethel, my love, you are not sleepy?"

"I think I am, auntie.  I think I could sleep now I
know that—that—"

"That what?  Well, well!  Ah-Sam, fetchee cloakees,
ruggies, anythingy, from the cartee; missy wantee go
sleepy."

But it was Bob who brought all the available wraps
from the cart, and made a comfortable couch on the rock
for the ladies.  After all, it was Mrs. Pottle that fell asleep
first.  She slept calmly through the night, though she
declared when Bob made his appearance that she had
scarcely shut her eyes.

The night had passed peacefully.  Bob himself had not
dared to slumber, for fear lest the attack should be
renewed.  When morning dawned, he saw the Russians in
their old position on the hillock.  An occasional shot
when one of the garrison exposed himself showed that
they were still on the alert, but hour after hour went by
and no attack in force was made.  Thinking over the
situation, Bob could not but conclude that the enemy were
either bent on starving him out, or had sent for reinforcements.
As nearly as he could judge, their original strength
had been some eighty Cossacks and sixty Manchus.  At
least thirty men must now be subtracted as dead or
incapacitated, and as it was likely that many who had
escaped after the night attack were more or less badly
hit, it was natural that they should hesitate before again
approaching the fatal gully.

With either of the two alternatives, Bob recognized that
the prospects of the garrison were anything but good.
The food question had confronted them the night before;
if the Russians persisted in a blockade they would soon
be face to face with starvation.  There were so many
mouths to feed—the ladies first of all, for whom the supply
of rice and millet in the cart might suffice for a few days.
There was almost nothing for the brigands, who, in fact,
had already skinned and cut up Ah-Sam's pony.  Ah-Sam
had only sufficient fodder in the cart to last his mules two
days, even at the most economical rate, and there was
not a vestige of herbage in the neighbourhood.

Bob kept as much as possible out of Mrs. Pottle's reach
during that day.  She had a most uncomfortable habit of
asking pressing questions that he found it impossible to
evade.  But at nightfall she had an opportunity of making
the enquiry on the matter that had troubled her all
day—this very matter of food.

"We have done very well," she said.  "Ah-Sam's rice
is excellent, and his millet cakes passable, though I can't
trust him to make the tea.  But what have you had,
Mr. Fawcett?  You have not shared in one of our meals
to-day."

"No, I shared with Ah-Sam."

"But what did he have?  He refused to take any rice
or millet."

"He shared with the Chunchuses."

"Yes, but that's what I don't understand.  They had
nothing left yesterday: where did they get food to-day?"

Bob hesitated, but knowing that the truth must come
out sooner or later, he at last said:

"We had a little beef—horse-beef, in fact; very like
the real thing."

Ethel shuddered.  Mrs. Pottle gasped, then cried
indignantly:

"I am ashamed of you, Mr. Fawcett.  I am not thinking
of the poor beast.  It is a shame to deceive me.  You
could have had rice: I would have boiled it for you myself."

"But, my dear Mrs. Pottle, we don't know how long
we may be cooped up here; and if I used your rice you
would be reduced to eating the mules."

Mrs. Pottle looked at him.  Her plump cheeks turned
a little green.  Then with a forced laugh she said:

"Well, by all accounts I've eaten worse.  I don't say
I relish mules, but if it comes to that—"

"Don't worry, auntie," interposed Ethel.  "There is
still some rice left.  Mr. Fawcett will find a way out of
this difficulty, I am sure."

Bob privately wished that he felt anything like the same
assurance.  Two days passed, during which his anxiety
did but deepen.  No movement was made by the Russians.
This fact only increased his uneasiness, for it was a proof
that the worst of the position had yet to be faced.  One
of the mules had been killed and cut up; Bob found,
indeed, that the Chunchuses were almost reckless in their
consumption of the flesh, and he had to impress upon
Sing-Cheng the necessity of putting them on fixed rations.
At best the fare was meagre; the animals were hardy and
muscular, but with no superfluous flesh; and what flesh
there was was not too wholesome without vegetable food.
The men ate their scanty rations without grumbling, but
they objected to the feeding of Chang-Wo; in him,
indeed, Sing-Cheng had recognized an enemy against
whom he bore an old-standing private grudge.  He was
for killing the Manchu out of hand; he reeled off to
Ah-Sam a long and passionate account of the evils he had
done.  But Bob insisted that the prisoner must be fed
exactly as themselves, and kept him bound hand and foot
to the cart.

On the third day, shortly after dawn, Bob was disconcerted
to find that the enemy had achieved what Sing-Cheng
had declared to be impossible.  Shots from a point
high up the cliff on his left told him that in some way,
probably by making a considerable detour, the Russians
had gained a position whence they could enfilade his
encampment behind the boulder.  The new danger to which
he was exposed was soon brought home to him.  The
enemy, themselves for the most part under cover, began
to pick off the Chunchuses, while their comrades on the
hill in front kept up a hot fire which showed that escape
in that direction was impossible.  The unfortunate garrison
were placed in a desperate plight.  If they shifted their
ground to avoid the flank attack they exposed themselves
to the enemy on the hill.  To neither could they make
any effective reply.  In the first place their arms were
ineffective at the range, and secondly, the Russians had
all the advantage of cover.  Bob himself, with his more
accurate rifle, managed to put *hors de combat* one or
two of the enemy who exposed themselves; though he
dared not shoot as often as opportunity offered, for his
stock of ammunition was small, and it was necessary to
husband it.

As his men dropped one by one he recognized at length
that the position was untenable.  He must withdraw them
behind the barricade above, which was protected by the
contour of the hill from the marksmen on the cliff.  But
this raised the question, what was he to do with the ladies?
There were two reasons against their remaining where
they were.  First, seventy Chunchuses huddled in the
small free space behind the barricade were scarcely fit
company for them; secondly, they themselves would be
in the way if the Russians pushed home an attack.  Both
Mrs. Pottle and Ethel had up to the present borne the
stress of the situation with good heart, and under
Ah-Sam's tuition had become adepts in the cooking of rice
and millet, which, with tea, brewed in diminishing strength
daily, was their only sustenance.  Bob did his best to
disguise from them the full gravity of the position, but felt
all the time that they must see the hollowness of his
assurances.

While he was wondering what to do for the best, his
eye lit on the fissure in the rock above which had attracted
his attention when he first came along the road.  Was it
deep enough, he wondered, to afford protection to the two
ladies?  At the mouth it was exposed to the enfilading
fire of the Russians, but if it extended for any considerable
distance into the rock, it might form a place of
refuge.  He resolved to explore it.  It could only be
approached by the shelf of rock that abutted on the
mountain stream, and this for the greater part of its
length was sheltered from the enemy.  But there was a
strip of some twenty yards lying in the interval between
two shelving rocks, and this was quite open.  It would
be a case of running the gauntlet.  He looked round in
final search of another way; there was none; he must
himself take the risk.

But it was necessary first to ensure the safety of his
little force during his absence.  He therefore withdrew
the greater part from the wall at the mouth of the gorge,
leaving only a dozen men, who were protected from the
fire of the Russians on the heights by a projecting spur
of the hill.  These being the best marksmen could probably
hold the enemy in check for a time, but Bob ordered them
to withdraw behind the upper barricade if the Russians,
realizing the weakness of the defending force, should at
last attempt a rush.  Meanwhile the men he had
withdrawn were set to construct with boulders a small fort
high up the gorge just under the waterfall; this would
form excellent vantage ground in case the Russians
occupied the lower portion of the gully.

These arrangements having been made, Bob left the
ladies in charge of Ah-Sam and started on his hazardous
expedition.  Knowing that the fissure, if of any considerable
depth, must be quite dark, he took with him a torch
improvised out of a piece of sacking smeared with mule
fat, and a box of matches.  He climbed over the
intervening rocks, turned a corner, reached the ledge, and
walked along until he came to the exposed portion, where
he halted for a moment.  Then, springing forward like a
sprinter, he dashed over the narrow shelf at the imminent
risk of stumbling and falling to the rocky bed of the
stream fifty feet below.  He was seen by the Russians
on the hill, and in the few seconds he took to complete
the passage he heard a patter of bullets on the rocks,
and one or two even followed him as he gained the
opening and plunged in.  But he had escaped unhurt,
and safe in the fissure he paused to take breath and to
light his torch, reflecting that he would run double danger
in coming out, for the Russians would doubtless be on the
watch for him.

Making his way into the cleft, he found that it was
broader than he had expected.  After about twenty yards
it took a sudden curve to the left, and then widened into
a jagged irregular passage some four yards in breadth,
and of varying height.  At one moment, torch in hand,
he had to stoop to avoid a sharp edge of rock; a little
later the passage was at least twenty feet high.  He had
penetrated as nearly as he could judge for about fifty yards,
when his steps were arrested by the faint sounds of firing
behind him, and he hurried back.  As he approached the
opening the sound became so loud and continuous that he
felt sure a stiff fight was in progress.  Keeping close to
the less-exposed wall of the cleft at its mouth, he saw from
his elevated position that the Russians were at last making
the long-expected attack.  From the hill a hot fire was
being brought to bear upon the mouth of the gully, while
a number of the enemy were just emerging from round the
hillside to the right, being protected from the fire of the
dozen Chunchuses by the boulders.  They were making
for the right extremity of the barrier, a point which it was
impossible to defend because of the direct and rapid firing
from the hill.

Clearly the twelve men gallantly holding their own at
the mouth of the gully were in danger of being cut off.
Bob only took a second or two to recognize the urgency of
the case; then, springing on to the ledge at the mouth of
the cleft, he rushed along it at breakneck speed, and owed
his safety to his quick movements, for before the Russians
caught sight of him, occupied as they were with keeping
down the fire from the barrier beneath, he had covered
several yards, and the snap shots they then took flew wide
of the mark.  Arriving at the corner, he shouted to Ah-Sam
below an order to recall the men from the breastwork.
The command was instantly given, and the brigands,
running like cats from rock to rock, scrambled up the
gully and flung themselves pell-mell through a small gap
left for them in the barricade above, one or two of them
being hit by Russian bullets.  The advancing enemy at
once occupied the far side of the abandoned breastwork,
and opened fire on the upper defences; but when a few
attempted to cross and move up the gully the fire of the
Chunchuses proved too hot for them, and they hastily
retreated.

Except that the defenders were now driven into a more
confined space, the general situation had from the Russian
point of view improved but little.  The Russians dared not
press forward up the gorge, for it had been so thoroughly
cleared of boulders for the construction of the barricades
that it was almost wholly devoid of cover for an attacking
force.  The double entrenchments above were even stronger
than the breastwork below, and could only be carried at a
terrible cost.

By this time Bob had clambered down among his men.
Unpleasant news was in waiting for him.  Through
Ah-Sam the brigand leader informed him that the men's
ammunition was running short; they had only an average
of five rounds a man remaining.  This was an irremediable
misfortune.  Only one course was possible.  All the
available ammunition was collected and distributed,
principally among the twenty best shots in the band.  Ten of
these men were stationed at the barricade by the carts,
and ten in the fort recently constructed higher up the
gully.  The remainder of the garrison were given one
round apiece, and this was only to be used on an
emergency.  They were to make no attempt to reply to the fire
of the Russians.  Bob stationed himself by the cart where
Chang-Wo was still bound, and fired a shot at intervals
whenever an incautious member of the attacking force
presumed on the general silence of the besieged and
emerged from cover.  More than once his shots took
effect, and as a result the enemy became more cautious,
keeping well behind the shelter of the rocks, and settling
themselves to establish a strict blockade.

Thus the day passed.  At the approach of night, Bob for
the first time informed Mrs. Pottle of the place of safety
he had found for her and her niece.  The strain of the
siege was beginning to tell on the elder lady, who quite
meekly accepted Bob's proposal, and prepared to climb
with him to the cleft.  He was as much pleased as
surprised to find that Ethel became cooler and more
self-possessed as her aunt grew more nervous.  When she
learnt of the new habitation in the heart of the rock she
was eager to visit it; clearly the romance of the situation
appealed to her more strongly than the danger.

Bob did not care to risk lighting his torch.  It was
therefore a task of no little difficulty for him and Ah-Sam
to conduct the ladies along the narrow ledge to the mouth
of the cleft.  But the passage was successfully made,
and Mrs. Pottle, panting for breath, heaved a sigh of relief
when she found herself seated on the sacks placed by
Ah-Sam within the entrance.  Then Bob lit his torch, and by
its light the ladies saw the rugged sides and roof of their
new abode.

"You must leave me the torch, Mr. Fawcett," said
Mrs. Pottle.  "I cannot be left in this gloomy place in the
dark."

"I will give you the materials for one," said Bob, "but
it will be unwise to keep a light constantly burning.  The
Russians would see it from their hill, and I don't want
them to frighten you by firing shots into the cleft."

"But in the morning," said Ethel, "we shall want to
communicate with you.  Will it not be dangerous for you
to come and see us if the opening is exposed to the
Russians' fire?"

"We will guard against that," said Bob.  "Ah-Sam
and I will pile up some boulders at the opening, and at
the edge of that shelf of rock, and then we shall be pretty
safe.  And for your own security here I have brought a
pistol; use it on the least provocation.  Either I or
Ah-Sam will be near at hand; when we are not on guard at
the barricade we shall get a little sleep in a recess round
the corner, just before the ledge begins; we shall hear you
if you call."

"Well, Mr. Fawcett," said Mrs. Pottle, "I guess
you're a real nice boy, and if we get out of this alive
I don't know how I shall be able to show my gratitude.
Anyhow, your name shall be known throughout the United
States, from Texas to Oregon.  Ethel, will you take the
pistol or shall I?"

"You have your umbrella, aunt," replied Ethel with a
sly look at Bob.

Leaving the ladies to settle the point between
themselves, he returned to the edge of the gully, and
succeeded in obtaining a few hours' sleep.  He was awakened
by the voice of Ah-Sam addressing him urgently.

"Topside piecee Manchu no belongey no more this-side,"
said the Chinaman.  "Hab gone wailo other-side, galaw!"

"Gone?"

"Lun wailo chop-chop, massa; my no can find he."

"How did that happen?  What was the sentry doing?"

"One piecee man gone dead."

Bob hurried to the cart, and found that it was indeed as
Ah-Sam had said: Chang-Wo had escaped.  The cords
that had bound him to the cart lay loose; they were uncut.
On the ground beside them lay the dead body of one of
the Chunchuses; he had been stabbed to the heart.  No
one could give any information of the escape.  The sentry
had been changed at intervals according to Bob's
instructions; no sound had been heard during the night; the
Manchu had somehow managed to free himself from his
bonds and stolen away in silence.  Bob was vexed, even
more at the slackness of the guard than at the disappearance
of Chang-Wo, and he did not fail to point the moral
in a serious talk with Sing-Cheng, who for his part was
almost beside himself with rage.  Nothing could be done,
the Manchu was gone.  Bob wondered whether their paths
would ever cross again.

That day also passed, and still the Russians had made
no sign.  Bob chafed at their inactivity.  Apparently
they were determined to starve the garrison out.  They
might have been waiting for reinforcements, and the fact
that none had arrived seemed a proof that the general
advance of the Japanese army towards the Yalu had given
the Russian staff other matters to think about.  How long
could the defenders hold out?  The pony and one mule
had already been eaten; there was no food for the other
two mules, and they must soon be killed to appease the
men's hunger.  For the ladies there still remained a
quantity of grain that might be eked out with great
economy for two or three days, but the supply of fuel was
failing.  Ah-Sam had hitherto found scattered billets of
wood in the shape of branches fallen from the trees high
up the cliff and inaccessible from below.  There was still
the cart, and it was evident that ere long that must be
broken up.

That night Bob took a spell of duty at the lower barricade,
leaving just before three o'clock in the morning to
snatch a rest before dawn.  He had just dropped off to
sleep when he was startled to wakefulness by the sound of
a shot.  His resting-place, as usual, was the end of the
ledge leading to the ladies' bower, as Ethel had called it,
and the sound seemed so close to him that he knew at
once it must have proceeded from Mrs. Pottle's pistol.
Hurrying along the ledge as quickly as possible in the
darkness, his footsteps were heard by the ladies, and
Mrs. Pottle cried out to him to come to their assistance.  The
mouth of the cleft was in pitch darkness, the night being
cloudy; but Bob struck a match, and saw Mrs. Pottle
standing with her face to the interior, holding the pistol
in her right hand, and with her left pushing Ethel behind
her ample form.

"What has happened?" asked Bob anxiously.

"I have shot something.  Take care; there may be
another, there may be hundreds.  I will fire again.
Listen! do you hear footsteps?"

All three held their breath.  There was not a sound.
Bob picked up and lit the torch, and advanced in front of
the ladies, throwing a faint illumination on the irregular
roof and walls.  Nothing was to be seen.

"Perhaps it was a bird," said Bob.

"Not at all, Mr. Fawcett.  It was a man, I know it
was.  I was lying awake, thinking, and listening to dear
Ethel's breathing, when I heard a footstep.  I jumped
up; I heard it distinctly; then a sort of grunt, like a
man clearing his throat; then I saw a pair of eyes
shining—"

"Oh, Aunt Jane, how could you in the dark?"

"My dear, I did; and to prove it, when I fired the
pistol the eyes disappeared, and you woke up, and you
yourself heard footsteps, several footsteps, going quickly
away into the interior."

"I did seem to hear footsteps," said Ethel, "but I was
so scared that—Oh, Mr. Fawcett, I don't like this dark
place.  We don't know who may be in it."

"But I went a good way through it before I brought
you here, and saw nothing."

"Depend upon it, there's another entrance," declared
Mrs. Pottle, "and the Russians were coming to attack us
this way.  If I had not been awake we should all have
been murdered.  I think I frightened them, I know I did;
but they will come back.  Mr. Fawcett, you must bring
up your men and drive the villains out at the other end."

"It is extraordinary.  I cannot think that is the
explanation.  Russians would not have run away at one
pistol-shot.  I must go into the interior and explore.
Ah-Sam, go and bring me another torch."

The Chinaman had followed in Bob's footsteps.  He
soon returned from the encampment with a torch, which
he lit at Bob's order.

"You will stay here with the torch till I return," said
Bob.

"No can do," declared Ah-Sam.  "My walkee behind-side
massa, look-see iniside.  Supposey massa catchee
Rosha man; ch'hoy! what for China-boy stop wailo?  One
piecee man catchee you, he killum—sartin."

"Nonsense.  You must guard the ladies.  Do not
follow me unless I call you.  I will be as quick as I can,"
he added to the ladies.

Then taking one torch in his left hand and a pistol in
his right, he advanced cautiously into the cleft, leaving the
ladies standing with joined hands.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Night Reconnaissance`:

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   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center large bold

   A Night Reconnaissance

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

A Council of War—Looking West—Light—The Face of
the Cliff—Scouting—A Question of Navigation

.. vspace:: 2

Bob had not walked many yards along the rough floor
when he heard a slight sound ahead.  Thrusting his torch
well forward, he advanced with great caution, feeling
some anxiety now he had the evidence of his own ears
that Mrs. Pottle had not been dreaming.  If by any
chance one of the enemy had found his way to the cleft,
Bob felt that he himself would be at a great disadvantage,
being seen while the other was unseen.  "But I am in for
it now," he reflected; "it would be as dangerous to retire
as to advance."  He was so intent upon watching the
space in front of him that he stumbled more than once
over the rocky, uneven floor of the cavern.  At every few
yards he stopped to peer more carefully, and to listen;
always he saw nothing, always heard the sound of a light
footfall ahead.  Fearing that his quarry would escape him
he hurried his pace; there was a corresponding acceleration
in front; he hurried still more, so did the other; until
Bob, his uneasiness now banished by set determination,
was pushing forward at the utmost speed the rough
ground permitted.

Now he heard the sound of heavy breathing, and a
scurrying noise as of more than one person in full flight.
Stumbling, falling, scrambling on, Bob dashed in pursuit;
he must know at all costs what this new peril might be.
At length, at a point where the roof shelved downwards,
he caught a glimpse of a dark form not many yards in
advance; it was immediately lost in shadow, then again it
was discovered by the torch.  He did not venture yet to
fire, but sprang forward to reduce the distance between
himself and the hurrying form.  He was gaining on it; its
pace appeared to be slackening; he called on it to stop, or
he would fire.  Suddenly the form disappeared, sinking as
if into the floor.  Bob took a couple of steps, and then
started back with a thrill of terror.  He felt wind upon his
cheek; the torch flared more brightly.  He had emerged
from the cleft; beneath him yawned a vast empty blackness.
He was on the brink of an abyss.  At that moment
he heard from below a heavy thud, and started back
from the edge with a sudden feeling of faintness.  Then
he became aware that his torch could be seen from far
around, and flinging it upon the ground he stamped out
the flame.

Recovering from his momentary vertigo, he crawled
cautiously to the brink of the precipice.  There was
nothing to be seen, save where a thin streak of still
unmelted snow in a crevice a few yards below made a
grayish patch on the black.  He rose, picked up the
torch, relit it when he had retraced his steps for several
yards into the cavern, and made his way back to the other
end.

"Well?" exclaimed both the ladies in a breath, as
they saw him in a circle of light some time before he
reached them.

"We have been so much alarmed about you."  added
Mrs. Pottle.  Ethel gave a sigh of relief.

"There was something, or somebody," said Bob quietly.

"A Russian?"

"I don't know.  Whoever he was, he is gone.  He fell
over a precipice at the far end."

"Oh, how dreadful!" exclaimed Ethel.  "Mr. Fawcett,
you are quite pale.  Did you—is there—"

"Don't be alarmed," said Bob.  "I have been right
through the cavern now.  It is open at the other end;
and to make sure that you are not startled again,
Ah-Sam and I will build a barricade across the cavern, so
that it will be impossible for anyone to reach you from the
rear.  When it is light I will explore again, and find out
who the intruder was."

"I hope you killed him outright," said Mrs. Pottle.

"I could not fire.  He was gone before I knew, and—"

"And you nearly followed him!  Oh!"  Ethel covered
her face with her hands.

"You are pale, Mr. Fawcett," said Mrs. Pottle.  "What
would I give for a little brandy!  I really cannot allow you
to risk your life any more.  I should never forgive myself
if I led you into any harm.  As soon as it is light, I will
give myself up to the Russians; I will indeed, I am quite
resolved; this cannot go on any longer.  I see how selfish
I was; but for us women you could have got away."

Mrs. Pottle's declaration had on Bob the effect of a
tonic.  He smiled as he saw the lady grasp her unfailing
stand-by—her umbrella.

"I don't think it would have been so easy," he said.
"I hope you will give me another chance.  We have got
on up to the present better than I dared to hope; we need
not talk of surrender just yet."

"Besides, auntie," said Ethel, "you wouldn't go when
Mr. Fawcett gave you the choice, and it isn't fair now
that—"

"There now, that'll do.  I am outvoted.  I will stay
as long as there is any tea, but when all the tea is gone
I shall take that as a warning from Providence, and then,
Mr. Fawcett, I shall give myself up, and plead with the
Russians for your life."

With Ah-Sam's assistance Bob collected the loose rocks
within the cleft and made a rough barrier across the
narrowest part of the cavern.  Then he returned to his post
and slept, leaving the Chinaman on guard.

After a distasteful breakfast of mule's flesh and tea, Bob
again made his way through the cavern.  Counting his
paces, he found that it was about one hundred and fifty
yards in length.  Just before the farther opening it
narrowed considerably, so that there was little more than
room for two men to pass through abreast.  At the
mouth it emerged on the side of a sheer hill-face nearly
two hundred feet above the ground.  Standing just within
the cleft, Bob was to a large extent sheltered from view
from the open by a jagged spur jutting out from the cliff,
a piece of rock that had apparently offered greater
resistance to denudation than the surrounding surface.  He
approached the edge of the precipice, and throwing
himself on his face, peered over.

The first object that caught his eye, wedged in between
two rocks near the foot of the precipice, was the body of
a large brown bear.  It was almost with a gasp of relief
that Bob realized that the object of his chase was not a
human being.  In a flash he remembered the bear which
he had seen squatting at the side of the gully when he
passed the entrance a few days before.

"What an ass I was not to remember it!" he thought.

Then he blamed himself for allowing the ladies to take
up their quarters in the cleft; before he had thoroughly
explored it.  The bear had evidently used it for his winter's
sleeping-place, and had been alarmed at the disturbance
of his domain.  He now lay stone dead, having fallen
sheer for about sixty feet and then rebounded from a slope
on to the rocks beneath.

Looking up, Bob saw that the weather-carved cliff
stretched for at least three hundred feet above him.  On
his left he observed that the hill-face bent round; beyond
its outline he saw an extent of undulating country bounded
by snow-capped hills.  He wondered what was round the
corner; the mouth of the gully must of course be in that
direction, and not far away.  He remembered that the
general trend of the cavern had been towards the left;
it must form one side of an irregular triangle, of which
the gully and the hill-face were the other sides.

What bearing would this discovery have on the situation
in which he and his strange allies found themselves?  He
had barely asked himself the question when he saw a
Cossack in the distance, riding at speed as if directly
towards him.  Coming from the west, he had probably
brought news or orders to the leader of the Russian
besiegers.  Bob watched the rider draw nearer and nearer,
and then pass from his sight to the left behind the jagged
rock.  Then he turned and retraced his steps through the
cavern, thinking deeply as he went.

Nothing happened to break the monotony of that weary
day.  The Chunchuses, pent up in their narrow quarters,
became restless and irritable, and Bob feared lest they
should quarrel among themselves.  They resented the
short rations on which they were kept, and looked hungrily
on the one remaining mule, which, poor beast, seemed so
wretched in its mute famished condition that Bob ordered
it to be shot.  More than once, as he pondered over things,
he wondered whether it might be possible for the garrison
to slip away through the passage he had discovered, but
always he had to reject the idea as impracticable.  Even
if they succeeded in descending the precipitous cliff in
safety, they could not hope to get clear away; for the
Russians would soon discover their absence from the
gully, they would be pursued, and the enemy, being
mounted, must infallibly run them down.  Nothing was
to be gained by such a hazardous attempt; there seemed
no alternative but to wait on.

The position was one of great strain and responsibility
for a youth whose powers of endurance and of organization
had never yet been put to so severe a test.  But it is
in circumstances of difficulty and danger that a man shows
of what stuff he is made, and the manner in which Bob
braced himself to his task won a good deal of admiration
from the ladies.  Though his sunken eyes and lined face
showed how severely he was being tried, he was always
cheery, always hopeful, keeping his anxieties to himself,
and ever ready with plausible reasons why his companions
should not despair.  Mrs. Pottle sang his praises all day
long to Ethel, and Ethel listened and said little.

Next morning Mrs. Pottle, who had taken charge of
Ah-Sam's stock of grain-food, reported that it was coming
to an end.  The tea would last perhaps for two days, she
said; but there was no fuel save what could be got by
breaking up Ah-Sam's cart.  Mrs. Pottle, in spite of
herself, was evidently hankering after something more
substantial than rice.  She began to drop hints.  Mules and
oxen were both four-footed, she said; there was a great
deal in custom; after all, one couldn't say unless one tried;
and so on.  Ethel only shuddered.  But one mule would
not last for ever.  What could be done?  It seemed to
Bob that they must all either starve or submit.  More
than once during the day he went through the cavern to
the farther end, and anxiously scanned the limited horizon—with
no defined purpose or expectation of help, for from
that direction help could only come to the Russians.  He
was surprised, indeed, that the enemy had not already
been reinforced.  The Cossack who had ridden up on the
morning of his discovery of the bear had no doubt carried
instructions from head-quarters.  The only conclusion to
be drawn was that the Russians were too fully occupied
with the Japanese on the farther bank of the Yalu to
spare troops for the purpose of wiping out a band of
Chunchuses.  The Cossack captain, however, had clearly
received orders to keep his quarry cornered, either until
he starved them out, or until a further force could be sent
to his assistance.  Such a force might arrive at any
moment.

Even while Bob had the possibility in his mind, he saw,
clearly defined on the sky-line on the farther side of the
valley, a small band of mounted men approaching at a
walking pace.  The group was too small to be of any
avail as a reinforcement, and Bob was wondering who
the new-comers could be, when, as they drew nearer, he
noticed among them one man on foot, walking with a
strangely awkward gait.  Intently watching him, he had
in a few moments the explanation of his awkwardness:
he had his arms tied behind him.  Evidently he was a
prisoner—some luckless Japanese scout or spy, perhaps,
who had fallen into the hands of a Russian patrol, and
was now being marched off for summary trial.  Bob
compared his own case with that of the Japanese, almost to
the advantage of the latter, and watched him with mixed
feelings until the edge of the hill hid him from sight.

Glancing down, he saw the dead bear still jammed
between the rocks; but there was a change in its
appearance.  Pieces of its fur had been torn away; apparently
it had been mauled by some prowling beast of prey.
Bob shuddered as he realized what a fate he had himself
escaped—when suddenly a thought came to him.  The
bear had fallen headlong down the precipice.  Was it
possible that he himself might make a safe and leisurely
descent, and, under cover of night, reconnoitre the Russian
position?  At the back of his mind there was a dim outline
of an idea that brought a flush to his cheeks and a light
into his eyes.  He turned sharp round, hurried through
the cavern, and, stopping only to answer a remark from
Mrs. Pottle, sought his faithful Chinaman, Ah-Sam.

During the next hour the two were busily engaged at a
secluded part of the gully, making the traces from the
mule-cart into a long knotted rope, with three loops at
intervals, formed of the collars of the animals.  There was
not enough to construct a ladder, but Bob hoped the rope
would prove long enough to let him down from the mouth
of the cavern on to the slope, whence the descent to level
ground would be easy.  When it was complete, he took
the only shaft of the cart which had not been demolished
for fuel, returned to the cavern, and, evading Mrs. Pottle's
eager questions, went quickly with Ah-Sam to the farther
end.  At the point where the cleft narrowed just before
opening out on the hill-face they placed the shaft across
from side to side, and then firmly attached the rope to it.

It was not safe to do anything more in the daylight.
During the afternoon Bob at last yielded to Mrs. Pottle's
entreaties, and related the story of his adventures up to
his meeting with her.

"It just beats anything!" exclaimed the lady at its
conclusion.  "Why, Ethel, what a story it would make!"

"I don't think of that, auntie."

"Well, why not?  My pen is rusting for want of work.
What do you think, then?"

"I think it is all very strange, and very wonderful," said
the girl with a blush.  "And very encouraging to us.
Mr. Fawcett has come through so much.  And I should just
love to see that Japanese gentleman,—Kobo, did you call him?"

At dusk Bob returned with Ah-Sam to the farther end of
the cavern and let the loose end of the rope dangle down
the cliff-side.  It fell short of the top of the slope, the spot
from which the hapless bear had rebounded, by a distance
of apparently some ten feet.  On to level ground the drop
would have been easy, but on to the slope it might prove
fatal to Bob as to the bear.  There being no more rope
available, only one thing could be done: the length of rope
in the cleft above, some four or five yards, must be
reduced.  Ah-Sam untied the end and reknotted it to the
shaft, using less of the rope; then, carefully examining
the fissure, Bob discovered that the shaft was just long
enough to be jammed vertically between a depression in
the floor and a projection in the roof, about a yard from
the mouth.  When this had been done, he found that the
lower end of the rope just touched the slope beneath.

"Allo velly good, massa," said Ah-Sam with an air of
satisfaction.

"Yes.  Now may it soon be dark.  I am going down;
you will remain here, and if you feel a tug on the rope, that
means that I am coming back."

"My savvy; my no wailo; no fear!"

Waiting until all was dark, Bob let himself over the
edge, and by aid of the loops, in which he was able to
stand upright, thus resting his arms at intervals, he
climbed easily down.  When he reached the slope he
found that the upper portion of it was steeper than it had
appeared above, and he was glad the rope was long
enough to enable him to steady his steps down the first
few feet.  Then he dropped to a sitting posture, and
moved cautiously on hands and heels to the bottom.  So
careful was he to avoid making a noise, by displacing a
loose stone or striking the rock too heavily with his boots,
that it was nearly ten minutes before the descent was
completed.

When at last he rose to his feet, he looked around to
take his bearings if possible.  Fortunately the clouds that
had obscured the sky for some nights past were gone;
there was no moon, but a faint radiance from the stars, by
which he saw that there was nothing to serve as a
landmark save the two upright rocks that framed the mangled
body of the bear.  Carefully noting the position of these
in relation to an irregular fissure in which there still lay
a drift of snow—all snow on the surrounding hillside
being now melted—he turned his back on the steep cliff
and skirted round the rugged spur that hid the mouth of
the cavern from observers below.  This spur, though only
a few yards wide at the summit, increased in width as it
approached the level until it measured fully fifty yards at
the base.

Groping his way slowly among the loose stones and
boulders that had fallen from the rocky face of the hill, he
struck somewhat to the right, away from the mouth of the
gully, knowing that there the enemy would be alert to
prevent the besieged from breaking through.  His object
was to gain the open ground and then to make a circuit of
the Russian position.

After a time the less frequency with which he encountered
boulders showed that he was passing into the
open valley.  Suddenly he became aware of a dull glow in
the distance on his left.  He was unable to see whence it
proceeded, but, as it was doubtless due to a camp fire, it
was necessary to take double precautions lest his figure
should be thrown up in relief against it and thus become
visible to the Russians on the hill, if any chanced to be
there.  Inclining still more to the right, he almost turned
his back to the faint light, and took a direction which he
calculated would bring him to the extreme left of the
hilltop position first held by the enemy.  This post, he
guessed, was probably left at nightfall and resumed at
dawn, but it would be unwise to run the risk of passing
between it and the glow he had noticed; he must make
his way round it.

Pausing a moment, he scanned the sky above him for
a bright star by which to set his course, then set off again,
counting his paces.  In daylight he had estimated that the
summit of the hill was nearly half a mile in a straight line
from the mouth of the gully; the distance would be
greater over the uneven ground, and still greater from his
starting-point.  Every now and then he stopped to listen
and look round.  When he had counted some three hundred
paces, the source of the glow at last became visible.
On his left there were two fires some distance apart, with
a few men moving about them, standing out for a moment
black against the glow, then appearing red as they passed
to the side, then vanishing altogether.  From the position
of the fires Bob guessed that they stood just under the
hillside on the far side of the gully.  There could be no
doubt that they marked the site of the enemy's camp; and
they were so near the barricade that if the besieged
ventured to make a sortie they would not only have to reckon
with the force on duty at the mouth of the gully, but also
with a flank attack from the main body encamped a few
yards away.

In the darkness it was impossible for Bob to tell when
he had reached the summit of the hill.  But he stopped at
intervals to look back, and when he found that first one
then the other fire gradually disappeared from sight, he
judged that between them and him the brow of the hill
intervened.  At this point it was necessary to take another
star as his guide.  Turning now to the left, almost at
right angles with his former course, he plodded warily on,
skirting the hill not far from the summit, the fires
appearing and disappearing with the inequalities of the crest.
Though he kept eyes and ears keenly alert for sound or
sight of the enemy, he neither heard nor saw any trace of
them except at the camp fires.  Continuing his course as
nearly straight as he could, he came at length opposite the
farthermost fire; then he turned again to the left, and
moving with still greater caution, he made straight
towards it.  He was now descending a gradual slope.  The
fire was burning low; backed by the slope he thought he
might venture still nearer; so, dropping on all-fours, he
crawled for some distance over the ground, sodden with
melted snow, until he stopped at length within some
eighty yards of the fire.  A little in front of him he heard
the gurgling of the stream from the gully running across
the face of the two camps.  In the dim glow he saw by
their dress that the occupants of the camp opposite him
were Cossacks; the other camp was clearly that of the
Manchus.  He threw a glance round the position; a little
in advance of him, to the right, he descried a number of
dark forms, which he soon concluded were the picketed
horses of the enemy.  Two sentries were on duty, walking
to and fro some forty yards from the outermost row of
tents, and meeting about the middle of the exposed face of
the camp.  Beyond, Bob caught a glimpse of the figure of
a Manchu patrolling in the same way opposite his camp.
The Manchus' horses were not at the moment in sight,
but a sudden replenishment of the fire caused a bright
flame to spring up, making Bob lie absolutely motionless
and almost hold his breath, at the same time throwing up
the figures of the horses tethered just under the hill.

He had now learnt all that was possible about the
enemy's position.  As soon as the fire had died down
again he might retrace his steps.  He lay still on his face,
waiting, letting his eyes range at random, when suddenly
he gave a violent start.  A little to the left of the horses,
beside a tall bare sapling, stood a man whom he perceived,
as he looked more closely, to be bound to the stem.  He
wore the dress of a Chinaman.  The fitful flame from the
Manchus' fire cast a lurid light upon the face of the
prisoner, and with a feeling of dismay Bob recognized
him: it was Kobo!

It flashed upon him at once: this was the prisoner he
had seen among the fresh band of Manchus that morning.
Kobo had been captured at last.  His doom was sealed—unless
he could be rescued.  Bob almost sprang up in his
excitement.  How could he make his presence known to
his friend?  By his bearing he saw that he was awake.
If he could communicate with him perhaps some means of
effecting his escape would offer.  Kobo had dared much
for him—to Kobo he owed his own escape from the spy's
fate; how eagerly would he do something in return for Kobo!

He lay watching, thinking, hoping that by some lucky
chance he might be enabled to approach the prisoner.  He
dared not move.  The minutes flew by, the fire was sinking;
in a few moments it would again be replenished, and his
position again be imperilled.  He saw not the shadow of
an opportunity of assisting Kobo.  For the present he must
give up the idea.  Crawling back slowly and stealthily he
reached a point where it would be safe to rise.  Then,
finding the star by which he had steered his course, he made
his way toilsomely, reluctantly, up the hill again.

This time he took a shorter circuit inside his first track,
and on the nearer slope of the hill, until he came to a spot
which he thought must be opposite the opening of the cleft.
But how could he make sure?  If he swerved too far to the
right and blundered upon the breastwork at the entrance to
the gully his life was not worth a moment's purchase, and
the safety of his party would be fatally jeopardized.  Pausing
in his incertitude, he bethought him of the fact that the
enemy's watch-fires might be used to determine his rightful
course.  So long as they were out of sight, obviously he would
be in no danger of coming upon the breastwork, though he
might find himself perilously near it if he happened to
hit the spur at the mouth of the gully.  Fetching a wider
circuit he abruptly altered his direction, looking anxiously
at the fires in the hope that they would by and by be
concealed from him by the prominent spur.  It was a long
time before either disappeared, and more than once he
feared lest, after all, he had turned too early to the right.
But at length first one, then the other, was hidden from his
view, and against the penumbra of their glow the spur
stood out dark upon his right.  He gave a sigh of relief,
and stopped for a moment to wipe the perspiration from
his brow.

He steered now towards a point somewhat to the left
of the bluff's jagged outline, until he came close beneath it.
Then he turned sharp to the left, to find the slope up
which he must climb to reach the fissure.  For some
minutes he stumbled about.  The night was darker than
ever, but he knew that his general direction was right, for
the ground became rougher and the loose stones more
numerous.  At last, close at hand, he recognized the tall
twin rocks imprisoning the bear.  Swarming up the steep
slope on hands and knees, he came to the top, and stretched
out his right hand, moving it from side to side to feel for
the dangling rope.  He touched it, caught it, gave it a
gentle tug.  He felt it tighten.  Ah-Sam had faithfully
remained at his post above.  Then with straining muscles
he scrambled up; he reached the fissure and Ah-Sam's
welcoming hands.

"My tinkey Roshians hab catchee," said the Chinaman.

"Not yet, Ah-Sam.  Pull up the rope, then follow me
back to the ladies."

Soon darkness and silence brooded upon the rugged
hillside.  The blinking stars saw nothing; no sound broke
the stillness save when at midnight a hungry wolf came
padding to the foot of the slope, and snarled as he fixed
his fangs in the carcase of the bear.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Rushing a Cossack Camp`:

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   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center large bold

   Rushing a Cossack Camp

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

Panic—To the Yalu—Hill Paths—Historic Ground—An
Introduction—A Man-Hunt—First Aid—Approaching
the Ford—Mrs. Pottle Decides

.. vspace:: 2

At dead of night, the eyes of a lynx, but none other, might
have seen a rope dangling heavily from the mouth of the
fissure high up the cliff.  If the animal had not been scared
away, it would have seen a dark form in cautious silence
climbing down the rope—a man, with a rifle slung upon
his back.  He reached the slope and waited.  A few
moments afterwards a second man followed, and, guided by
the first, arrived at the foot of the slope, interrupting the
supper of the half-gorged wolf.  The first man returned to
the summit, and met a third man descending, whom he
stationed half-way down the incline.  These movements
he repeated until he was able, without descending himself,
to pass each new-comer down from hand to hand.  When
fifty men had thus descended, and were assembled on the
level, the first man led them with the same silence and
caution among the fallen boulders until they came to
open ground.  Then he halted, and stationing his
companions some three paces apart one from another, took
from his pocket a long piece of thin twisted cotton and
passed it down the line, each man gripping it with his left
hand.

Taking the end of the cotton in his own hand, the leader
moved forward, followed by the rest, along a track
approximating as closely as possible to that which he had taken
some six hours before.  Every now and then he gave a
slight tug at the line; his followers at once stopped, while
he took stock of his surroundings.  He came to a spot
whence he expected to obtain a view of the enemy's camp.
It was almost invisible, for the fires were very low.  Skirting
the farther side of the hill-crest, the long queue of men
at length reached the utmost horn of the crescent track.  By
the leader the forms of the Russian sentries could be dimly
seen pacing to and fro.  Counting off ten men from the right
of the line, he left the remaining forty in position before the
Russian camp, and proceeded with the ten to a point under
the hill some distance farther on in their course.  Then
creeping forward, he waited till the nearest sentry's steps
began to recede, then stole on again, still holding the cord,
his men still following, until he came within a few yards of
the sentry's beat.  Just as he reached this spot his foot
struck against some obstacle; he staggered, recovered
himself with an effort, and stooped to discover what had
checked his progress.  It was a prostrate body.  Instantly
he clapped his hand upon the fallen man's mouth, lest he
should cry out.  Something in the touch suggested a
suspicion.  He placed his hand over the man's heart; it
had ceased to beat.

The next moment he himself was prone upon the ground,
and the ten men with him did as he did, and lay side by
side, motionless.  The sentry, suspecting nothing, tramped
back along his beat, came to the end, wheeled round, and
once more receded.  Bob rose to a stooping position, and,
followed closely by his ten, crept forward across the sentry's
track towards the tethered horses.  From one there was a
whinny, from another a snort as the men approached;
otherwise not a sound.  The silent ten passed round the animals,
coming between them and the hill.  Suddenly there sounded
a cry, the challenge of a sentry.  Instantly Bob fired his
pistol and dashed forward towards the smouldering fire,
which he stirred with a kick into a bright blaze.  A moment
later there was a shout, a clamour, a babel from the end
of the camp.  The firing of the pistol had been the
pre-arranged signal for a rush by the forty.  It was instantly
obeyed.  The Russians, half-awake, struggled to their
feet, to find one force between them and their horses, and
another, a larger shouting band, sweeping upon them in
front.  In wild confusion and affright they ran this way and
that; many made no attempt even to seize their rifles; they
broke towards the mouth of the gully, their flying forms
making admirable targets in the firelight.

Meanwhile Bob hurried towards the tree to which he
had seen Kobo bound, fearing lest some undesigned shot
should do him mischief.  To his amazement the prisoner
was gone.  There was no time to speculate upon his
disappearance.  Without a halt he dashed forward, his ten
men following with loud cries in his track across the low
shelter-tents, cooking utensils, abandoned rifles and lances,
and the various impedimenta of a small camp.  The raiders
met with almost no resistance, and the Russians, as they
fled in panic towards the barricade, swept through the
startled Manchu camp and carried its occupants with them.
The men stationed on the breastwork at the mouth of the
gully stood to arms, bewildered by the sudden outcries
and onrush; but when they were suddenly attacked from
the rear by the small force of Chunchuses Bob had left
in the gully, they also broke and fled with the rest
outwards across the low hills, pursued in the darkness by the
exultant brigands.  At Bob's orders Ah-Sam, the first of
his ten, shouted to the Chunchuses to return; nothing
was to be gained by pushing the pursuit farther.  But
the command was vain; only three or four answered to
the summons, the rest were intent upon paying off old scores.

Amid the rout the Manchus' horses had stampeded; but
the better-trained animals of the Cossacks remained, and
over these Bob set a guard.  Then he had the camp fires
replenished as beacons for his own men, and awaited their
return.  In twos and threes during the next half-hour they
straggled in.  They brought no prisoners; but through
Ah-Sam Bob learnt that many a Cossack and many a
Manchu lay between the camp and the hill.  Already Bob
had collected some ninety rifles abandoned by the fugitives,
and set men to gather what ammunition they could.
Scattered as the enemy now were over the face of the
country, most of them without arms, all probably without
horses, rushing blindly onward in the dark, he felt that
little was to be feared from them.  His principal danger
was lest a reinforcement should be on the way to join
them, or lest the news of the surprise or the appearance
of the stampeded horses should bring up in hot haste some
Russian force in the neighbourhood.

It was imperative that the victors should make good
their retreat as soon as possible.  They had captured
enough horses to mount the whole force, and in the camps
had been found a sufficient supply of food to last for
several days.  Ordering the men, through Ah-Sam, to
carry into the gully all that they could lay hands on, and
to lead the horses up through gaps in the barricade, Bob
went to find Sing-Cheng, to discuss the situation with him.

As he reached the breastwork there was brought to nim
a wounded Manchu, who had been discovered hiding
behind the rocks.  Bob at once set Ah-Sam to question him,
enquiring specially about the Chinaman whom he had seen
tied to the tree.  He learnt that, two days before,
Chang-Wo had come into the camp after escaping from the gully,
and had a long conversation with the Cossack captain.
He had then ridden away eastward.  During his absence
the Chinaman had been brought in, and as there was
reason to believe he was a Japanese spy, he had been tied
up until he could be conveyed to head-quarters.  The
Manchu was amazed to hear that the prisoner had escaped.
It was incomprehensible.

When Bob with some difficulty found Sing-Cheng, and
asked him what he advised, the man replied that he had
no fear of the Russians, but he did fear Chang-Wo.  He
was a very great man, very powerful, very cunning.  A
vast number of Manchus were at his beck and call; his
fastness lay only two days' march in the hills.  It was
surprising that he had not already brought his bandits in
overwhelming force to storm the gully.  Bob suggested
as a reason that a large Russian reinforcement was
expected.  There was little chance of booty if the
Chunchuses were overcome, and Chang-Wo would prefer that
the Russians should bear the brunt rather than risk losing
a considerable number of his own men.  The chief
admitted that this might be the reason; but he pointed out
that Chang-Wo, his own capture rankling in his mind,
would have a strong personal interest in the destruction
of the garrison of the gully.  If he had gone to his
headquarters to fetch more men, he might at any moment
arrive on the scene, with a force numbering anything from
three to five hundred.  Clearly no time must be lost in
getting beyond his reach.

Bob asked whether Sing-Cheng was ready to fulfil his
promise to escort the party across the Yalu.  The man
professed his eagerness to do so, if the honourable foreign
gentleman would lend him his continued assistance.  He
himself felt that he was in a dangerous predicament.  If
he went westward he would run the risk of falling in with
the Russians; if eastward, he would almost certainly meet
Chang-Wo.  Northward the way was blocked by high
hills.  The only possible course lay to the south, and that
led direct to the Russian positions on the Yalu.  But he
knew of a difficult and little-used path over the mountains
by which they might travel.  It would bring them out at
a point where the river might be forded, and where such
Russian troops as might be in the neighbourhood would
probably be merely small detached forces engaged in
watching the fords and passes.  Bob enquired whether
the man was sure of the way.  The man replied that he
knew every step of it.

"Then we will chance it," said Bob.  "Ah-Sam, tell
him to get his men in order, ready to start the moment
there is light enough to see the way.  I will go and
prepare the ladies."

Mrs. Pottle almost flung her arms round Bob's neck
when he appeared.

"My dear boy," she exclaimed, "we have been in a
terrible state of alarm about you.  What have you been
doing?"

Bob gave her a brief account of the rushing of the
enemy's camp—successful even beyond his highest hopes.

"Why, there!" said the lady at the conclusion of his
story.  "I told you, Ethel, that Mr. Fawcett would prove
equal to the occasion.  Mr. Fawcett, you are lost as an
engineer, you ought to be a soldier.  When we get within
reach of the telegraph, I shall wire a full account of you to
my paper, and I guess there'll be a competition for your
services in some capacity or other in my country."

"Auntie, Mr. Fawcett must be very tired," said Ethel.
"Is there any tea left?"

"Of course.  Dear me, how thoughtless!  Mr. Fawcett,
you shall have a cup of tea in five minutes."

"And you will explain to us what is to be done next,
won't you?" added Ethel.

At the first streak of dawn a long cavalcade stole out
of the gully.  The brigand chief led the way, mounted on
a strong Korean pony.  Behind him came half his men;
then the ladies, for whom side-saddles had been improvised;
after them the remainder of the force, all on horse-back.
Sufficient provisions had been found in the Russian
camp to give them all the good meal so much needed.
Bob rode at one time ahead with the chief, at another
with the ladies, who were in high spirits now that the
tension of the last few days was relaxed.  He was with
them as they rode past the scene of the midnight sally,
and endeavoured to distract their attention from the
terrible evidences of the fray.

Sing-Cheng led the party across the crest of the hill on
which the Russians had first posted themselves, and struck
off in a direction approximately south-west.  As they
rode, a chain of mountains came into view in the distance,
the foot-hills beginning about three miles off.  The
cavalcade made towards a dip in these hills, and after covering
several miles of rising ground, approached what appeared
to be an almost perpendicular wall of rock.  Not till they
came within a few yards of it did the strangers see a
possibility of penetrating the apparent obstruction.  Taking
his course unerringly, the chief led them in single file
along a narrow giddy footpath zigzagging up the face
of the cliff.  The horses had much ado to keep their
footing, but they were used to the mountains and carried the
whole party up without mishap.  At the worst of the road
Bob and Ah-Sam both dismounted and led the ladies'
horses; the former guessed from Mrs. Pottle's look of
terror as she rounded awkward corners and skirted sheer
precipices, that her passion for travel would be cooled for
many a day.

After half an hour's difficult climb the fugitives reached
a height whence they obtained a distant prospect of the
late battle-ground, spread like a map in the bright
sunlight behind them.  Then they turned a bend in the path,
and the scene was shut from their view.  The chief still
led on among rugged hills, with no sign of habitation.
At one time they were at the bottom of a ravine; an hour
later they were toilsomely scaling the steep face of a cliff,
which from the base appeared impossible to climb.  The
horses were fresh when they started, and plodded along
steadily.  Except for short intervals for food and rest the
march was continued uninterruptedly till dusk, and then
Bob and Sing-Cheng selected a strong position for
camping—a spot sheltered from the wind, that blew colder
towards night.  Sentries were placed around the camp,
but the hours of darkness passed without alarm.  There
was as yet no sign of pursuit.

Next morning the march was resumed, and continued
through similar inhospitable country until about three
o'clock in the afternoon.  Then, just as the riders were
climbing what appeared to be the highest peak they had
yet met with, the chief came to a sudden halt, sprang
from his horse, and made signs for the rest of the party
to follow his example.  He said a few words rapidly to
his men; then, beckoning Bob and Ah-Sam to accompany
him, went forward cautiously on foot towards the skyline
just above.

As they gained the crest, a fine panorama opened before
them.  At a distance which Bob roughly guessed at five
miles, they saw a broad river crossing the plain from east
to west, at one point broadening into the semblance of a
lake dotted with islands.  Hills of varying height shut off
stretches of the river at intervals.  On the other side the
chief pointed out a cluster of dwellings just discernible
amid a light ground haze.

"Wiju," he said.

Bob looked at the town with interest, remembering his
unpleasant associations with the place.  Below, to the
left, between the spectators and the river, which it shut
from their view, was a steep eminence which the chief
called Hushan.

"He callum Tiger Hill," explained Ah-Sam.

"What is that?" asked Bob, pointing to a smaller river
on their right, winding among the hills and disappearing
behind Tiger Hill in the direction of the Yalu.

"Ai-ho," said the chief.

Beyond the Ai-ho, between that river and the Yalu, was
a town which, though it appeared larger than Wiju, Bob
judged to be somewhat smaller in reality, for it lay much
nearer to his point of observation.

"Kiu-lien-cheng," explained the chief, in answer to
Bob's mute question.  Bob remembered that this place
had played an important part in the China war.  It was,
moreover, the scene of Kobo's exploit, when his company
had the honour of being first in the town.  Beyond
Kiu-lien-cheng on the river, but shut from sight by intervening
hills, lay Antung, a place of bitter memories to Bob.
Looking towards Wiju he could see small black moving
bodies, which were no doubt companies or regiments
moving about the town; and beyond it, he descried a long
line of carts filing towards it from the north.  He scanned
the whole landscape with interest and care.  The first
great operation in the Japanese land campaign must
obviously be the crossing of the Yalu; it would probably
take place within the next few weeks, with the beginning
of spring.  Where would the decisive action be fought?
If the Japanese army attempted to effect a crossing
anywhere in the country outspread beneath him, they would
have indeed a hard nut to crack.  The rugged country
to the north of the Yalu seemed to offer ideal conditions
for defence, and Bob was convinced that the Russian
engineers would have taken full advantage of the natural
features.

"A very strong position, Mr. Fawcett."

The words so exactly corresponded with his unspoken
thought that for a moment he was scarcely aware that
they had been uttered by another.  Then he turned with
a start, saw that Ah-Sam and the chief had their rifles
up and their fingers already at the triggers, and,
following their upward gaze, noticed the figure of a short,
sturdy Chinaman between two rocks above his head.
Even as he looked Ah-Sam dropped his rifle and said
something to Sing-Cheng, and with a second glance Bob
understood.  He went forward eagerly with outstretched hand.

"Kobo San!  You don't know how glad I am to see
you," he said warmly.  "Are you all right?  How in the
world did you escape?"

"I will tell you," replied Kobo.  "But, pardon me,
I am terribly hungry.  Have you a little rice to spare?"

"Ah-Sam," said Bob, "run back and ask Mrs. Pottle
to prepare a meal for a friend of mine.  You shall have
something in five minutes.  Upon my word, Kobo San,
I am glad to see you.  I hoped you had got away safely,
but the uncertainty—"

"You seem to know of my capture."

"Ah!  The tables are turned this time.  I am only
sorry you didn't give me the chance to rescue you.  But
come, let me take you to the ladies.  They will be
delighted to see you."

"Pardon me, did you say Mrs. Pottle?"

"Yes; do you know her?"

"She is at present the subject of diplomatic correspondence
between the United States and Japan," said Kobo,
with a smile.  "She is the widow of Mr. Isidore G. Pottle,
I presume; I knew him."

"How strange!  But come, you must be famished."

Kobo walked slowly down the incline.  Bob noticed
that he limped.

"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.

"A slight touch in one foot."

"A sprain, perhaps.  This is very rough walking."

"No, it was a Manchu bullet."

"Good heavens!  You must be in terrible pain.  Let
me help you."

"It is nothing—a scratch."

But Bob knew from the manner in which he set his foot
upon the ground that the hurt was not so insignificant
as Kobo would have him believe.  Fortunately a few
yards' walk brought them to the spot where the rest of
the party had halted.

"Mrs. Pottle, let me introduce a friend of mine—Rokuro
Kobo San."

Kobo bowed, and Mrs. Pottle, throwing a hasty glance
over his costume, jumped to a conclusion, and said cordially:

"Very muchee gladee meetee you, sir."

"I am indeed honoured, madam," returned Kobo, bowing
again ceremoniously with impassive face.  Bob and
Ethel had instinctively turned aside to conceal their
amusement; and Mrs. Pottle, with a surprised and startled
glance at the supposed Chinaman, began haltingly:

"I beg your pardon—but—"

"I am a Japanese, madam.  I think I once met your
esteemed husband, Mr. Isidore G. Pottle."

"Well!"

Mrs. Pottle was too much amazed for further words.
To cover her embarrassment; she ordered Ah-Sam with
a flourish of her umbrella to bring the food he had been
preparing, and Kobo fell to with avidity, explaining that
he had eaten nothing for nearly two days.  When he had
satisfied his hunger, explanations were exchanged.  Kobo's
story, told in his quiet unemotional way, made a strong
impression upon the ladies, Mrs. Pottle frequently
exclaiming, "It's wonderful!  It's wonderful!"

At Liao-yang, he explained, he had made a discovery
that promised to be of great importance to his
government.  It was worth risking something to convey the
news with all speed to General Kuroki, and he decided
to take the shortest cut, the main road through
Feng-huang-cheng, Kiu-lien-cheng, and Wiju, frequented though
it was, trusting in his disguise as a Chinese merchant to
escape detection.  To guard against accident, he had
sent his man Taru with an oral message by way of
Yongampo, hoping that in any case he would succeed
in crossing the Yalu near its mouth.

Provided with unexceptionable papers, he himself had
journeyed without interference until he had come some
distance beyond Feng-huang-cheng.  Then, however, he
was overtaken by a party of two Cossacks and three
Manchus, who stopped him and put him through a close
interrogation.  One of the Manchus caught him by the
pigtail, and, being, dissatisfied with his replies, gave that
ornament a vicious tug.  It came away in his hand.  The
Manchu's suspicions were redoubled, though it is not
unusual for a Chinaman whose locks are scanty to wear
a false pigtail.  Kobo was made prisoner, and carried
with the party, who struck off eastward from the
high-road into the hills.  From scraps of their conversation
he gathered that they had been sent to bring help to a
Russian force, he could not tell how large, which was
bent on routing out a band of Chunchuses entrenched
in a mountain fastness, but that they had been unsuccessful
in their errand, the Russians being unable to spare
troops for the purpose.  The men discussed among
themselves the result of their failure.  Clearly it would be
necessary for the chief of the Manchus to send for men
from his own head-quarters three marches away, a course
which for some reason or other they supposed he would
be reluctant to adopt.  But Chang-Wo, as they named
him, had sworn to exterminate this particular gang of
bandits; they had for long been a thorn in his side; and
he had now additional reasons for his venomous hatred
of them, for they had captured him and held him a
prisoner until he escaped by slipping his bonds and killing
a sentry.

Kobo was brought into the Russian and Manchu camp
and carried before the officer.  Chang-Wo happened to be
with them.  He instantly recognized the Japanese he had
so good reason for hating, and demanded that he should
be put to the torture.  But on being asked for his reasons,
he had shown by his own admissions, reluctant as they
were, that the prisoner was too important a man to be
summarily dealt with; his vindictive wishes had been
overruled by the Cossack captain, who resolved to carry the
Japanese to Feng-huang-cheng as soon as the Chunchuses
were disposed of.  In his eagerness to wreak vengeance
on his old enemy, Chang-Wo resolved to fetch reinforcements
from his stronghold and hasten the final discomfiture
of the Chunchuses, and set out the same day.

"But how did you escape?" asked Bob.  "I saw you
tied to a tree."

"We had an agent in the Manchu camp," replied Kobo
quietly.  "He cut my ropes after dark, and I slipped
away.  There was a commotion immediately afterwards;
but it was dark, no one could find me."

Bob remembered the dead Manchu whom he had stumbled
upon outside the Russian camp.  Evidently this was Kobo's
agent.  He had met his death through rescuing Kobo; and
Kobo spoke coldly of a commotion!

After his escape, Kobo had pushed on eastward during
the night, and at dawn was several miles from the scene.
He continued his journey until mid-day, and then had the
ill-luck to be sighted by a band of Manchus—the men
whom Chang-Wo himself was bringing towards the Russian
camp.  Instantly the whole band of four hundred were
at his heels.  For three hours they chased him among the
hills.  Being mounted, sometimes they had the advantage,
at others their horses were only an encumbrance.  But
Kobo was faint with hunger and fatigue.  They gained on
him slowly but surely.  The nature of the country did not
give him an opportunity of eluding them.  More than once
they could easily have shot him, and that they did not do
so indicated that Chang-Wo had ordered that he should be
taken alive, reserving for him, doubtless, a slower and more
horrible death.  At last he was almost run down;
Chang-Wo and half a dozen men were but a short distance
behind him, leading their horses up a rocky path too steep
and rugged for them to ride.  Kobo knew that as soon as
they were able to remount he must be overtaken; capture
seemed inevitable.  He looked round anxiously, almost
despairingly, for a means of escape.  On the far side of
the ravine he was skirting he saw a rocky ledge jutting
out, approaching within a short distance of the path he
was travelling, then receding again.  The sight was as a
ray of hope.  To leap across the chasm involved a terrible
risk; the descent between ledge and ledge was a sheer
hundred feet, and if he missed his footing he must be
dashed to pieces.  In a moment he took his resolution.
Collecting his remaining strength he jumped.  His feet
lighted on the projecting ledge.  For an instant he swayed,
and his life hung in the balance—an inch forward, an inch
backward, would mean life or death.  The crisis was but
momentary.  He stumbled forward, he was safe.

Meanwhile the pursuers were hastening up the opposite
path.  They came to the spot whence Kobo had made his
desperate leap; and though Chang-Wo stormed and cursed,
not one of them would face the risk.  To reach their quarry
in any other way would involve a long detour, meanwhile
he every moment increased his distance from them.  Then
Chang-Wo raised his rifle and fired.  His shot struck Kobo
in the foot.

At this point of the story Ethel rose quietly and slipped
away.

In spite of the wound, Kobo had tramped on until dusk.
He had had no food, he had travelled almost without rest
for a whole day and night, yet he could not afford to delay.
Until he reached the Japanese head-quarters he would be in
constant danger; and it was a matter of the most urgent
necessity that he should give to General Kuroki the
information he had gained.  He rested for a few hours, cold,
hungry, in increasing pain.  He bandaged his injured foot
as well as he could, then with morning light set off again.

"I count myself fortunate that I met you, Mr. Fawcett,"
he said.  "You can perhaps assist me with a horse.  I
must press on, there is so much risk that my servant
Taru will fail to get through."

There was no complaint—no further reference to his
wound.  He showed no curiosity as to how Bob had
known of his capture, nor as to the strange company in
which he found him.  His mind was entirely possessed by
anxiety lest the news should not reach his general.

Unnoticed by Bob, Ethel had now returned, carrying a
tin can belonging to Ah-Sam filled with water.  She said
a few words to Mrs. Pottle, and that lady at once came
forward.

"Now, sir, will you allow me to attend to your foot?
You cannot go on like that.  Kindly take off your shoe."

Mrs. Pottle's manner was not to be denied.  In a few
minutes she had deftly bandaged the wounded foot, winning
a very courtly speech of thanks.  Then Kobo was given
one of the led horses, and the whole party moved forward,
taking care to avoid the risk of being seen on the skyline.
As they rode, Bob gave Kobo an account of his experiences
since they had parted at the hut some ten days before, and
Mrs. Pottle found an opportunity not only to praise Bob's
skill and resourcefulness, but also to enquire into the
circumstances in which Kobo San had met her late husband,
Mr. Isidore G. Pottle.

The course of the party was now due east, parallel with
the Yalu.  Sing-Cheng was anxious to strike the river at
a ford known to him, several miles above Wiju.  It was
not likely to be held in strength by the Russians unless
the Japanese were close up to the river, which seemed
improbable.  It might be guarded by a small detachment;
in that case the whole party must be prepared to make a
rush and take their chance.  In the evening they met two
Manchu peasants, whom they eagerly questioned in the
hope of obtaining definite information; but nothing could
be got from them.  Kobo suggested that as a precaution
it would be advisable to keep these peasants with them.
Accordingly they were forced to accompany the party
during the rest of their march.

At dark they encamped in the hills within about two
miles of the ford.  No fire was lighted, and the utmost
silence was enjoined.  Bob did what he could for the
comfort of the ladies, who showed wonderful pluck and spirit
under the long strain they were enduring.  Double guards
were posted to provide against the chance of surprise
during the night.  The repose of the camp was undisturbed.
Nevertheless Bob was very anxious.  He walked restlessly
around the camp, listening, peering, reflecting.  Kobo
insisted on taking his share of duty, allowing Bob to snatch
a little sleep.  He too was restless, and appeared frequently
to strain his ears in the attitude of closest attention.
Mrs. Pottle and Ethel slept soundly through the night—for the
first time, they said, since their flight from Mukden.  The
knowledge that Korea was now so near at hand had given
them renewed hope of at length reaching safety, and, great
as was their confidence in Bob, they seemed to have gained
additional assurance from the presence of Kobo, whom
Ethel in particular looked at with admiration and awe.

During those hours of darkness, in a depression of the
hills little more than a mile away, lay Chang-Wo, with
four hundred of his Manchu braves.  Only the
accident of a convenient camping-ground had led him to
halt just in time to miss discovering the fugitives' camp.
Even now an incautious shout, a flicker of light, an
accidental shot sounding in the still air of these mountain
solitudes, would bring him down upon his quarry like a
beast of prey.  Neither Bob nor Kobo so much as suspected
the proximity of this ruthless foe; yet his presence was
reflected in their strange uneasiness.

In the dark hours before dawn, Bob and Kobo discussed
the situation with the brigand chief.  All were agreed that
if the ford was to be rushed it must be as soon as day
broke.  About an hour before sunrise, therefore, the camp
was roused in complete silence, and the party moved
cautiously towards the Yalu.  The same order of march
was observed as had held since their departure from the
gully, except that Bob and Ah-Sam now rode in front with
Sing-Cheng, leaving the ladies in Kobo's care.  For half
an hour they marched on; then Bob, whose anxiety
increased as they drew nearer to the river, suggested that
two or three should go forward on foot in advance of the
rest, to make sure that the coast was clear.  On second
thoughts he decided to go himself in company with
Ah-Sam and the chief.  He informed Kobo of his intention.
The Japanese at once assented, and said that he would
halt the party until Bob returned.

The three then stole forward.  The sky to their left was
just faintly alit with the dawn when they heard the rush
of water before them.  Following the track which the
chief knew well, they came at length to the river, at a
point about half a mile below the ford.  There was not
yet light enough to reconnoitre farther without danger;
they therefore took shelter behind a clump of bush and
waited for a few minutes.  Then they went forward again,
with still greater caution, all their faculties alert.

Almost immediately an alarming surprise broke upon
them.  A few yards beneath them they saw a Russian
outpost.  A little farther on, encamped near the bank of
the river, was a large Russian force, consisting chiefly of
cavalry, but including several infantry regiments, and a
still larger force occupied the farther bank.  Nothing but
the fact that the Russians feared no enemy behind them
had saved Bob's party from falling into their hands.  Even
now it was only too clear that the fugitives' case was
desperate.  It was hopeless to attempt the ford.  With
some thousands of Russians on each side of the river,
scouting parties would doubtless be out in all directions.
The presence of Russians in such force seemed to indicate
that they were being driven across the Yalu by the advance
of the Japanese, so that it would be impossible to get over
the river lower down.  On the high road through Wiju,
moreover, the main body of the Russian army was probably
in full retreat.  Russians would be swarming in all
directions.  What was to be done?  The chief looked at Bob
with dismay.  Had they come so far only to be captured
after all?

"Let us go back to the others," said Bob quietly.

Kobo received the bad news with the calmness that
characterized him.  He put a few sharp questions to
Sing-Cheng, then turning to Bob said:

"There is another ford, he says, higher up the river.
He knows the path to it.  It is difficult, more precipitous
even than the one by which we have come.  But we must
take the risk.  I advise, however, that the ladies should
go forward under escort, and claim the protection of the
Russians.  Among so large a force they would enjoy a
security that could not be expected in the case of the small
party with Chang-Wo's band."

Bob looked round.  The ladies were at a little distance.
Both showed signs of the hardships they had recently
endured.  Mrs. Pottle was thinner; her cheeks were lined
and careworn; the aggressiveness of her attitude had quite
disappeared.  Her niece was not so much altered; but
Bob had noticed with anxiety the growing paleness of her
fair cheeks, the strained look in her eyes.  He went up to
the two, and in a few words explained the difficulties of
the situation, concluding with the recommendation that
they should follow Kobo's advice.  For a few moments
Mrs. Pottle wavered; she looked at Ethel with a tremulousness
all the more pathetic because so foreign to her.

"Auntie," said Ethel, "I think we ought to remain
with Mr. Fawcett.  I am sure we shall get through.  We
are nearly there.  What a pity to give up at the last!"

"Yes," returned the elder lady emphatically, "you are
right.  It is good of you, Mr. Fawcett, but we cannot
hear of it.  We won't be bundled over to the Russians.
We are ready to go with you: when will you start?"





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.. _`Sound and Fury`:

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   CHAPTER XIX


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   Sound and Fury

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Across the Yalu—Kobo gives Counsel—A Monastery—A
Buddhist Settlement—Big Bobbely—An Attack at Dusk—A
Pyrrhic Victory—Boanerges—A Despatch—"A Terrible Curse"

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In a few minutes the whole party set off to retrace their
steps, riding for a short distance over their tracks, then
striking off in a new direction under the leadership of
Sing-Cheng.  But the difficulties of the march were even
greater than the man had indicated.  At almost every step
the party were confronted by a new danger.  The path
was so rugged that riding was impossible.  All had to
dismount and lead their horses.  A single false step might
carry horse and pedestrian over the edge of a precipice
and dash them to pieces hundreds of feet below.  Bob
thought his hair would have turned white with the anxiety
of watching over the ladies, guiding them at every turn,
diverting their attention whenever the path led over more
than usually dizzy eminences.  They struggled on with
heroic determination; and Bob spared them the knowledge
that before the day was out two of the Chunchuses in the
long line had missed their footing and fallen headlong to
their death.

Struggling on painfully, the party covered nearly twenty
miles that day, encamping at nightfall on the north bank
of the river.  The chief was eager to cross by the ford
at once, but Bob was unwilling to risk the dangers of a
crossing in the darkness, and without having assured
himself that the Russians were not here also.  Before it was
light he stole down with Sing-Cheng to reconnoitre.  There
was no sign of the enemy; and at daybreak the whole
party started with unutterable gladness to complete, as
they hoped, the last stage of their journey.

Before they reached the river one of the Manchu peasants
who had been captured, seizing a favourable moment, felled
the man in charge of him and scrambled down an almost
perpendicular declivity.  A dozen shots followed him
before Bob could interfere to stop the fusillade.  The sound
of the shots echoed and re-echoed over the hills; they
must be heard by any Russians who happened to be in
the neighbourhood, and if heard they would certainly
bring the enemy upon the track.  For several miles Bob
turned at intervals anxiously to look back; there was no
sign of pursuit.  But, unknown to him, ten minutes after
the unfortunate incident a Manchu had galloped up to the
spot where the firing had taken place, and there, hidden
behind a rock, had watched the disappearing tail of the
procession.  His fierce eyes lit up as he looked.  In a
few moments he was galloping back.  The Manchu was
Chang-Wo.

The cavalcade crossed the river.  It was a question of
the direction they should take.  There were probably
Russians between them and the Japanese lines, it would
therefore be well for them to strike south-east in order
to give the enemy as wide a berth as possible.  Bob
pointed out that this would probably cause the loss of a
day; but Kobo replied that he would rather lose one day,
or even two, than run the risk of his information never
reaching General Kuroki.  Bob noticed that the safety of
himself or of the party never entered into Kobo's
calculations.  With him it was merely a weighing of advantages,
with the sole consideration how best his news might be
delivered.

On the south side of the Yalu the fugitives saw on all
hands traces of the Russian occupation.  Almost every
village had been sacked and burned; the country was for
the most part deserted; the few Koreans who were seen
wandering in disconsolate helplessness about the sites of
their ruined homes scuttled away in terror when Bob's
cavalcade approached.  They were evidently afraid lest
the party should be a band of raiders come to capture and
destroy the little that the Russians had left.

No precaution was neglected to save the party from
coming upon the enemy unawares.  Pickets and supports
were thrown out in front and rear, and the pace was
regulated by the careful reconnoitring of the advance
guard.  The march continued for six or seven hours,
and then was interrupted by a short halt to rest and feed
the horses.  About one o'clock, shortly after they had
started again, one of the men in advance galloped back
with the news that he had seen a force of Cossacks crossing
the line of march from east to west about a mile ahead.
Word was at once given to halt again, in order to allow
this body time to pass out of sight.  Bob, accompanied by
Sing-Cheng and Ah-Sam, went forward, and, taking his
stand behind a rock so that he could not be seen, looked
out, and saw the troop of horsemen, plainly Cossacks by
their yellow facings, winding among the hills, apparently
striking across from Chen-seng, as the chief explained,
higher up the river, to Wiju.  In a quarter of an hour
they would have disappeared, and it would be safe for the
fugitives to continue their advance.

Bob was just returning with this good news to his party,
when he was met by a messenger hastening to tell him
that a large force of cavalry had been seen coming up
behind, and were at the present moment no more than
two miles away.  He put his horse to a gallop, debating
within himself, as he rode, what to do in face of this new
emergency.  For a moment he felt oppressed by a sense
of despair.  The events of the past fortnight had put a
great strain upon him, and the present dilemma, coming
at a time when he had hoped that all was safe, was almost
overmastering.  But collecting his thoughts he tried to
look the situation squarely in the face.  If he pressed on,
he ran the risk of bringing upon him the Cossacks whom
he had just seen out of harm's way.  If he hesitated, he
must assuredly be overtaken by the cavalry behind, which
in all likelihood would turn out to be Chang-Wo's band.
There was danger either way.  He had not made up his
mind how to choose between the two alternatives when he
reached the rest of his party.

"What are we to do, sir?" he asked Kobo, after telling
him of the direction in which the Cossacks had disappeared.

"I advise an immediate advance," replied the Japanese,
whose serenity always had a bracing effect upon Bob.
"If the Cossacks see us, they may mistake us for Manchu
allies of theirs.  We shall at any rate be a mile and a half
farther on our way before they discover us; while if we
wait and allow the horsemen behind to overtake us there
is bound to be firing, the shots will bring the Cossacks
down upon us, and we shall be hemmed in between the
two bands.  In any case we must make up our minds that
both parties may chase us, but the Cossacks at any rate
will not carry the pursuit far, knowing as they must do
that our army cannot be far away."

The soundness of Kobo's advice was self-evident.  The
word was at once given, the little party set off at a trot,
and in a few minutes had crossed the path of the Cossacks,
easily discovered by the trampled slush.  Some time
elapsed before they came in sight of the rear files of the
departing enemy.  These had their backs to them, and
the horses' hoofs making little sound in the soft earth, the
Cossacks rode on in ignorance of the riders behind them.
It was soon clear that no immediate danger need be feared
ahead.  If Bob's party could elude the horsemen in their
rear they might yet make good their escape.  Every step
increased their distance from the Cossacks, whose course
they had cut at right angles.  As soon as it appeared that
there was no risk of being heard, Bob gave the order to
gallop, in the hope that if they had not already been sighted
by the riders behind, they might either escape their notice
altogether or gain a sufficient lead to make pursuit vain.

But it was soon evident that the pursuit had already
begun.  Riding in the rear of his party, Bob looked back
at a point that promised a good view of the country, and
saw that the horsemen were urging their steeds at a pace
much more rapid than the horses of his own party were
capable of.  Half an hour later he judged that they were
only a mile away; in another half-hour they might
overtake him.  Already some of his party were beginning to
drop behind; he knew what their fate must be if they were
overtaken by the enemy, and he rode up beside Kobo to
consult him.

"We cannot go on much longer," he said.  "Our
horses are almost knocked up after their hard work.  It
seems to me that our only chance is to find some defensible
position and make a stand."

"I agree with you, Mr. Fawcett," said Kobo.  "To
find such a position in this country will not be easy.
There are no gullies or defiles, as you see.  I have already
asked the chief if he knows of any spot that we could
hold; he cannot help us.  But we won't give up hope."

"No.  And look, sir, I believe there is a chance after all."

He pointed eagerly to a rocky spur a little in front of
them, somewhat to the right.  Following his outstretched
forefinger, Kobo saw four white-clad figures standing
there, apparently watching the approaching bodies of horse.

"Monks!" he said.  "You are right; where there are
monks there will certainly be a monastery.  Let us hope
it is near at hand."

"There it is!" cried Bob; "farther up the hillside,
among the trees.  I see the roof.  We had better make
for it."

Kobo assented, and Bob instantly swung round to the
right, and began to lead the party down the steep slope
which separated the path from the still steeper slope on
which the monastery stood.  As soon as the monks saw
his intention, they turned tail and began to scamper up
towards the building.  Bob shouted to them, urging his
tired horse in advance of his party, scrambling as rapidly
as possible over rocks and tangled shrubs, and breasting
the opposite hill.  The more he shouted the faster ran the
monks.  If they reached the monastery before him they
might shut their outer gates.  Urging his horse still more
vehemently with whip and voice in an oblique direction to
the path taken by the monks, he came to a wall; the
gateway was open; he dashed through into the courtyard up
to the main door of the temple enclosure just in time to
thrust the handle of his whip between the post and the
door as the monks were shutting it against him.  Bringing
his horse sideways to the door, he made the animal
push it open, though the monks did all in their power to
keep it shut.  Other monks from within came to the assistance
of their fellows, but by this time Sing-Cheng with
some of his men had reached Bob's side; the monks were
overwhelmed; Bob pushed his way in, followed by the
rest of his party, and the last man had only just come
within the wall when the foremost ranks of the enemy
came surging up the hillside.

Bob shouted to Ah-Sam to conduct the ladies to a place
of safety, then ordered the men to dismount and line the
wall that stretched across the neck of the crag.
Immediately afterwards he gave the command to fire, and the
volley emptied several saddles among the assailants.  The
leading files halted indecisively, but the next moment a big
Manchu, whom Bob recognized even in the distance as
Chang-Wo, dashed up the slope on a fine white horse, and
with yells of fury called on his men to follow him.  They
responded with a shout, and galloped forward, discharging
their rifles.  But the wall was too high for them to
jump, approaching, as they did, up a slope, and the
movements of their horses on the rough ground spoilt their
aim.  Bob saw that if his garrison behaved with ordinary
steadiness he could defeat any attempt at direct storming,
and he knew that since their defence of the gully his men
had lost whatever dread they might formerly have had
of Chang-Wo and his band.  They fired again at the
word of command; Chang-Wo himself was powerless
to hold his men together; they had all the disadvantages
of the position, and turning their horses' heads the
survivors dashed down the slope at the imminent risk of
breaking their necks.  Seeing that nothing could be done,
Chang-Wo, raving with baffled rage, followed them,
narrowly escaping a bullet from Kobo's rifle.  The
Japanese, whose wounded foot prevented him from standing
with the rest, had dragged himself to the top of the
wall when the enemy surged up, and fired at them as
calmly as at target practice.  But he was so weak that
he could scarcely hold his rifle steady, and it was to this
physical weakness that Chang-Wo owed his escape.

Two or three minutes had been enough to decide the
fight.  The bodies of twenty of Chang-Wo's men and
several horses strewed the slope.  Except for two men
with slight flesh wounds Bob's party had suffered no hurt.
Looking at the retreating enemy, Bob thought it unlikely
that they would make another attempt on the position for
some hours to come.  It was now nearly dusk.  He left
a portion of his band at the wall to be on the watch
against the Manchus, who had now disappeared round
the base of the hill, then went to assist Kobo into the
monastery, and to find out what manner of place it was
into which he and his party had thus unceremoniously
intruded.

It had evidently been at one time a very extensive
settlement.  Besides the temple, a large rectangular
structure of wood, with a tiled double roof and curved eaves,
there were several smaller buildings, the dwelling-places
of the abbot and monks; but the majority of these were
much dilapidated, only two or three being kept in repair.
The temple itself was richly decorated, with an elaborate
altar ornamented with beautiful carvings and a lavish
display of gilt and colour, and several figures representing
various incarnations of Buddha.  Everything was spotlessly
clean, showing evidence of reverent care on the
part of the white-robed monks.

Mrs. Pottle and her niece had been taken to the abbot's
house, and when Bob came to them the former was
voluble in praise of the tidiness of her surroundings.  To
find a roof over her head once more was sufficient comfort
in itself; but the abbot, as soon as he learnt from Kobo
that he had nothing to fear from this strange intrusion,
had already shown great attention to his visitors.  Bob
learnt that the inmates of the monastery at present
numbered sixteen, six of whom, however, had gone to a
distant town to purchase stores.  They had been expected
back all day, and it was for them that the monks had been
looking when Bob caught sight of them so opportunely.
If they arrived now they would find themselves shut out;
and the abbot, when he learnt that the leader of the
besiegers was none other than Chang-Wo, wrung his
hands at the prospective fate of his monks, for the
Manchu was well known all over the country, and his
name struck terror into all who heard it.

Bob asked to be taken through the settlement.  He
was anxious to see what possibilities of defence it afforded.
Its size was a serious consideration.  The stone wall that
ran for about ninety yards across the neck of rocks was
loose and crumbling, in some places ruinous, having
clearly been used as a passage-way instead of the main
gate.  The spot was fortunately inaccessible from the
rear, which was protected by steep rocks; but in front,
except for the clear space up which the Manchus had
made their futile charge, the hill-face was on both sides
dotted with chestnuts, pines, and other trees, together
with a tangle of immense ferns and shrubs, affording
complete cover to the enemy if they mustered courage for a
planned attack.

In the course of his round, Bob learnt a very disconcerting
fact.  The well on the crag from which the monastery
had in old days been supplied with water had failed for
several years past.  The monks were too poor to dig a
new one; too characteristically indolent also, as Bob
surmised.  They were content to fetch their water as it was
required from a mountain stream that ran at the foot of
the hill.  At present, while their stock of provisions was
fairly large, they had only a few gallons of water in their
tanks.  This news reminded Bob of the horses, who in the
excitement of the recent fight had been overlooked.  After
their long march they were in urgent need of water, and
Bob saw that it was necessary to get a supply before
the investment became stricter.  Questioning the abbot
through Ah-Sam, he found that the stream could be
approached under cover of the trees, and there was just
a chance, if the enemy had retired to some distance round
the bend of the hill, that a quiet sortie for water might
pass unobserved.  He therefore, as a preliminary precaution,
sent three men down as scouts to discover what the
enemy were about.

While they were gone he returned to the abbot's house,
and found that Mrs. Pottle was making merry over the
discovery of a gramophone of immense size in one of the
apartments.  The abbot explained that the instrument had
been left in his charge some time before by a high Korean
official fleeing southwards before the Russian advance.
He knew nothing about its use; indeed, had left it
severely alone; it looked to him a good deal like an
instrument of war, and was entirely out of place among
his peaceful community.

"He tinkum makee velly big bobbely," explained Ah-Sam.

"No doubt," said Bob to Mrs. Pottle with a smile.
"He would probably feel somewhat alarmed if he heard
some of our popular music-hall songs coming from the
bell.  I think we might respect his feelings, don't you?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Fawcett.  He seems a nice old
gentleman, and it would be a pity to shock him.  But, my
dear boy, what is to become of us?  Shall we ever get
away from those horrid Manchus?  I blame myself now very
much for not following your advice and throwing myself
on the mercy of the Russians, for without us women
hampering you I am sure you could have got away in safety."

"Never fear, we shall get through in time," said Bob.
"We have Kobo San with us now, and he is a tower of
strength in himself."

"The very look of him gives me courage," added Ethel.
"What a brave man he must be!  He has never complained
once of his wounded foot, and I am sure it must
hurt him terribly."

"Yes; I am much interested in him," said Mrs. Pottle.
"He is so close, so silent; a strong man, if I am not
mistaken.  Where did you meet Mr. Kobo?"

"I will tell you all about it—but here come my scouts,"
replied Bob.  "What have they discovered?"

He learnt that they had seen nothing of the enemy, save
for half a dozen whom they had noticed riding away to the
south-west.

"Possibly to bring assistance," he thought, though on
reflection that seemed hardly the quarter in which help
could be obtained.  He sought out Kobo, who was resting
in one of the other houses, and asked his opinion.

"No doubt they have been sent by Chang-Wo to be on
the look-out against the approach of a Japanese force.  It
is clear to me that Chang-Wo will not retire without an
attempt to reduce the monastery, especially as he knows
that I am here."

"But you think it would be possible to fetch water?"

"Certainly, if it can be done very quietly."

Bob at once went off to make the necessary arrangements.
He first sent a number of the Chunchuses down
the hillside to a clump of trees on the right, some distance
below the wall, to cover the water-carriers and take the
Manchus in flank in the event of a sudden assault.  Then,
under guidance of one of the monks, he himself with
twenty men stole out to the left.  He stationed the men
at equal distances apart down the slope, then started six
buckets along the line.  As these were filled they were
passed up from hand to hand, and returned in the same
way when empty to be filled again.  Within the walls the
monks received the full buckets as they arrived, and
emptied them into a large tank behind the temple.  The
work was done as quickly and quietly as possible, but
every now and then one of the men as he moved up the
slope to the man above him struck the edge of his bucket
against a rock, causing a sound that could hardly escape
attentive ears.  Such accidents could not be avoided, but
at last they occurred so frequently as the men grew tired
that Bob thought it time to make good a retreat.  Just as
he was giving the order, there was an outburst of yells
from lower down the slope, and some hundreds of
Manchus on foot came surging upwards.  Seizing the muskets
that lay ready to their hands Bob's men made a break for
the wall, the enemy only a few yards behind them.  From
the Chunchuses in the clump of trees there was a sharp
discharge of musketry, but it was ineffectual to check the
rush, which had evidently been prepared with some skill,
or the movement could scarcely have been unobserved by
Bob's scouts.

It was now nearly dark, and as the men of Bob's party
scrambled in hot haste over the wall they were in
imminent danger of being shot down by the excited garrison in
mistake for Manchus.  Bob was glad that he had been
able to leave in command so cool and experienced a warrior
as Kobo.  As he vaulted over the low wall, pursued by
a Manchu, he heard Kobo's clear voice, incisive amid the
tumult, addressing the Chunchuses in their own tongue.
Not a man of them fired his piece: it was clear that Kobo
had ordered them to await his command.  At last, just as
Bob, unrecognized in the darkness, had followed the last
of his men across the wall, he heard Kobo give a sharp
order.  There was a rush of Chunchuses to the wall; they
had stood some paces back in order to allow their
comrades room to get across.  Muskets and rifles flashed all
along the line; and the cries of wounded men mingled
with shouts of rage and defiance as the whole mass of
the enemy swarmed up to the low breastwork.

There was no time for the defenders to reload; the
fading light barely allowed man to see man; snatching
up their long spears they stood resolute to meet their
foes.  Seventeen of the men who went out with Bob had
returned in safety.  For a few moments they were too
breathless after their scramble to take a hand in the fight;
but with Ah-Sam's help Bob collected them into a compact
body and held them as a reserve.  He succeeded but just
in time.  Scarcely thirty yards away a mass of yelling
figures, led by a tall man armed with a bayonet, swept
through a gap in the wall.  Others followed; the space
beyond was choked with advancing forms.  With the
instinct of seasoned warriors the Manchus felt that at this
point the defence was weak.  Pointing to the furious
crowd, Bob, having learnt the word from Ah-Sam, ordered
his men to fire.  There was a burst of flame; every shot
told in the dense throng; and while they were at a
momentary recoil Bob led his men headlong into the thick of the
mêlée.  He could never afterwards recall any details of
the ensuing fight.  He only remembered Kobo limping
at his side, the grunts of the combatants, the reek of
gunpowder, an occasional sigh or groan as a man dropped
to the ground, felled by the stock of a musket or
transfixed by a spear.  But it was his charge that turned the
scale in the quarter where the attack was fiercest.
Suddenly the pressure relaxed; a tremor of panic seemed to
pulse through the enemy's ranks; and a moment later the
space in front of the wall was clear of the enemy.

He was almost inclined to rub his eyes, so sudden was
the change.  He looked round for Kobo, but could not
see him.  His first feeling was one of relief for the sake
of the two ladies whose fortunes had been so strangely
linked with his own.  But he could scarcely hope even
now that all danger from Chang-Wo and his ruffians was
past.  The accounts he had had of that warrior gave him
little expectation that even a third or fourth rebuff would
turn him from his purpose of vengeance.  In the silence
that followed the repulse—a silence unbroken even by
cheers from the victors, for the men were exhausted—he
wondered whether another attack was immediately to be
feared.  He looked again for Kobo, but in vain.  Then
he called up the chief and Ah-Sam, and told them to place
pickets down the hill to watch the enemy.  The rest of
the men he bade to tend the wounded, among whom he
feared that Kobo would be found.  It was now quite dark,
but he hesitated to use torches, lest they should draw the
fire of the enemy and facilitate another assault.  After
some minutes an exclamation from Ah-Sam announced
that Kobo was found.  He was pinned to the ground
beneath a huge Manchu.  Bob had him carefully lifted
and carried to the abbot's house, where the ladies, who
had awaited the issue of the fight in nervous dread, were
only too glad to find relief for their emotions in active
tendance.  Kobo, unconscious from a blow on the head,
was placed in their hands.  Under their care he soon
came round, but found himself unable to rise.  The wound
in his foot had reopened through his recent exertions; it
was clear that he suffered great pain, but he was smiling
when he said to Mrs. Pottle:

"Thank you, dear madam.  I am a battered wreck,
I fear, put hopelessly out of action."

Kobo might still advise, but evidently the whole weight
of the active defence was now to fall on Bob.  He went
out to take stock of the situation.  He found that twelve
of his men had been killed outright, and twice as many
wounded.  Doubtless the Manchus had suffered far more
heavily, but their losses were unimportant, so greatly did
they outnumber the garrison.  Another assault, pressed
with anything like the determination of the last, must
drive the defenders from the wall into the temple and the
dwelling-houses, all flimsy wooden buildings useless as
fortresses against a greatly superior enemy.  Yet Bob
felt sure that another attack would be made.  Chang-Wo
could not afford to wait.  The Japanese advanced-guard
must be drawing ever nearer, and might come up at any
moment.  The assault might not be made during the
night—the Manchus had painful experience of the perils
of darkness—but it must certainly be expected at dawn.
With scarcely more than half his force left, Bob felt that
the wall must be abandoned.  Was it possible in morning
light to do anything that would materially strengthen his
position?

Perplexed and almost despondent, he went back to the
abbot's house to consult Kobo.  As he entered, it
happened that the light from a small oil-lamp was reflected
in his face from the polished brass of the gramophone.
With its wide bell-shaped mouth projecting upwards it
bore a certain resemblance to a mortar.  Bob was not
surprised that the abbot had mistaken it for a piece of
ordnance, and he caught himself idly wishing that it
were indeed a heavy gun of some kind.  Kobo saw his
look, and with a smile gave voice to Bob's unuttered
thought.

"Unfortunately, it only discharges words," he said.

Bob stood stock-still.  An idea had struck him—an
idea that, even as his intelligence seized on it, amused
him by its whimsicality.  Why not?  Before now, in the
history of the world, a speech had proved more effective
than the heaviest artillery.  Kobo and the ladies watched
with curiosity the changing expressions on his face.

"Where is the abbot?" he cried.

"My lun chop-chop find he," said Ah-Sam.  It was
some time before he returned; he had found the venerable
man prostrate before the high altar in the temple,
intoning with constant genuflection a formula of which
even he had no notion of the meaning—the mystic words
Na-mu-Ami Tabul, handed down through generations from
the time when Buddhism was a spiritual power.  Ah-Sam
had not dared to interrupt; he knew that the abbot would
not heed an interruption.  Only when his prayers were
finished did the old man rise and accompany Ah-Sam, and
Bob saw that his eyes still bore the rapt, far-away look of
devotion.  A few questions and answers passed; then
Bob sent for Sing-Cheng and several of his men, and
asked them whether they had ever seen an instrument
like the one before them.  They looked solemnly at the
gramophone.  Not one gave an affirmative answer.

"Do they think Chang-Wo or any of his men has seen
such a thing?" he asked.

"He say no ting likum belongey this-side no tim',"
interpreted Ah-Sam.

"Ask him whether one of his men has a fine loud voice
and can curse well."

"He say one piecee man hab got velly big loud sing-song;
he one tim' bonze, hab got sack cos he velly bad
bonze, makee plenty too much bobbely in joss-house.  He
can do swear first-chop: topside galaw!"

"The very man!" exclaimed Bob, unconscious of the
broad smile with which Kobo was now regarding him,
or of the look of mystification on the faces of the ladies.
He got the chief to send for the whilom Buddhist priest
who had been expelled from his monastery.  While
waiting for the man to appear he examined the gramophone;
saw that it was in order and ready for use; and found,
as the abbot's reply to his questions had led him to
expect, that there were several spare cylinders for taking
records.  As he moved about, too intent on his proceedings
to notice anything around him, a light dawned on Mrs. Pottle.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper.
"The boy's a right-down genius, Ethel; I told you so."

Ethel put her fingers to her lips, as the messenger
returned, accompanied by a bullet-headed scowling
individual whom Bob had already remarked as one of the
most determined of his fighters.  The man looked
somewhat suspicious of the company, still more when Ah-Sam
explained why he had been sent for.  He had never been
asked to curse professionally before.  But he brightened,
up when he at last understood that his powers of
denunciation were to be employed against the enemy.  He was
touched on a point of personal pride, and declared that
his curses had no match in all Manchuria.  Bob invited
him to curse the Manchus as loudly and venomously as
he was able, and the bonze was soon launched on a full
tide of invective which, though in a strange tongue, Bob
felt to be quite overpowering.  Ah-Sam explained to him
afterwards that every one of the enemy had been signalized
by a special curse, embracing not only himself but his
ancestors for a thousand years.  The man wound himself
up to such a pitch of frenzy that he was quite oblivious
of the fact that he was yelling, by Bob's careful manipulation,
full into the brazen mouth of the gramophone, whose
whirring was wholly smothered by his virulent bellow.
Kobo was silently laughing; the ladies tried not to look
shocked; Ah-Sam nodded his head and beamed approval,
though he was as ignorant as the man himself of the true
inwardness of the situation.  The capacity of the cylinder
was exhausted long before the unfrocked bonze; he was
streaming with perspiration when he at length drew his
lurid declamation to a close.  And he went away a happy
man when Bob thanked him fervently, assuring him that
such terrible cursing would no doubt avail where all else
had failed.

After an interval, Bob took the gramophone to the
remotest corner of the settlement, where, shutting himself
up in a disused house, he tested the instrument under a
covering of blankets.  Satisfying himself that the latest
record was effective, he got Ah-Sam to carry the machine
into the open space in front of the gate.  He formed a
connection between it and the abbot's house by leading a
thread of strong silk from it beneath small rocks into the
courtyard.  Having proved that the connection was
complete, he sat down to wait for the onslaught of the
Manchus, which he expected to take place as soon as
morning dawned.

No one thought of going to sleep that night.  Mrs. Pottle
wrote diligently in her note-book, and Bob, without
neglecting any precautions for the guarding of the camp,
found several opportunities of conversation with Ethel.
In a far corner of the large hall Kobo spent several hours
in writing alone.  By and by he folded the paper, and
beckoned Bob to his side.

"I hope much from your device, Mr. Fawcett," he said.
"It is a clever idea of yours—to turn the superstitions
of these people to account.  I think you will succeed.
But you must use your success without me.  I am so
useless that I should only be an encumbrance to you.
But my information must not be lost; I have therefore
written it down here, and I give you this paper, and
entreat you, when you get away, to deliver it as speedily
as possible to our general."

"But what will become of you?"

"I shall remain here.  Perhaps Chang-Wo will not
trouble about me after you are gone.  If he finds me—well,
I shall then kill myself, as many of my ancestors did;
but my life belongs to my country, and while there is any
chance of living to do service, I shall not take the extreme
step."

"But the Manchus will torture you if they catch you."

"That is likely enough.  It is the fortune of war."

"I cannot agree to it," said Bob flatly.  "I will not
take your despatch unless you make an effort to escape
with us.  In any case I cannot leave the rest of the
wounded to fall into Chang-Wo's hands, and you, Kobo
San—no, I certainly shall not go without you."

Kobo endeavoured to induce Bob to change his mind,
but finding him obdurate, he at length unwillingly
consented to share the fortunes of the rest of the party.  As
it was now drawing towards dawn, Bob had the horses
saddled in readiness to seize the moment when the
gramophone should have done its work, and one of the animals
was specially fitted up for Kobo, with a rest for the
wounded leg.  Then he went the round of the defences,
giving the men instructions how they were to act.

At the wall, as dawn stole over the sky, stood Bob
anxiously waiting.  It was still half dark when he saw
the enemy cautiously approach.  They had conceived too
great a respect for the defenders to attempt to take the
position at a rush; for they were unaware how much the
garrison had been reduced in the combat of the previous
night.  They took every advantage of cover, flitting in the
half light from tree to tree and clump to clump until they
had come within a few yards of the walls.  Then they
halted, puzzled apparently by the strange stillness and
the seeming desertion of the position.  Bob himself was
hidden by an angle of the wall; not a man of the garrison
was to be seen.  For all the Manchus knew, the defenders
might be crowding under shelter of the wall.  Bob saw a
man climb a tall birch from which the greater part of the
settlement could be seen.  Discovering from his perch no
sign of the Chunchuses, the Manchu shouted excitedly to
his comrades, and they rushed forward all along the line.
The central body at once came upon the gramophone,
which stood lifting its great brazen mouth towards the
rising sun.  From his secret nook Bob saw them recoil;
they evidently took it to be a gun of some kind.  Then,
finding that nothing happened, and no doubt reflecting
that a gun needs a man to fire it, some of the bolder
among them approached the instrument cautiously and
walked round it, keeping at a safe distance.  The rest
were now hidden by the wall, under which they crouched
until they should receive the command to burst into the
courtyard.

Bob felt that the moment had come.  He pulled the
silken cord, and saw the Manchus nearest the instrument
start and look round in apprehension.  They heard the
preliminary whirring.  Then, though the mouth was
pointing away from him, Bob could hear in the still
morning air the first few words of the bonze's speech.
The Manchus stood as if spellbound; one or two edged
towards the trees.  What was this incredible thing?
They looked in alarm at one another; no man but
themselves was in sight; it must be from the seeming gun that
this voice proceeded, calling down upon them and their
ancestors the most terrible defilements and atrocities.
This strange monster must be in league with the devils
against them.  The blatant voice from the gramophone
rose louder and louder; curse rolled upon curse, shaming
Ernulfus for ever; the passionate tones rose higher and
higher towards the peroration, till they became a shriek.
The Manchus did not wait for the end.  With one accord
they bolted under cover; anathema remorselessly pursued
them through the trees, over the rocks; and before the
bell emitted its final howl the scared enemy had rushed
pell-mell down the hill, round the bend, and out of sight.





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.. _`Herr Schwab Gomblains`:

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   CHAPTER XX


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   Herr Schwab Gomblains

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Heavy Odds—War and Commerce—Dead Sea Fruit—A
Handicap—Kuroki—Mrs. Pottle is Indiscreet—A Parting

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The moment the last of the Manchus disappeared round
the bend, Bob gave the order to mount.  He knew that
though for the moment scared out of their wits by the
mysterious voice, they would soon recover when they
found it was after all a voice and nothing more.  Further,
he was disturbed by the absence of Chang-Wo.  That
redoubtable warrior had not been among the discomfited
throng; he had not come within hearing of the anathema;
it was scarcely likely that he would relinquish his purpose
for an unknown cause.  Bob therefore got his little party
into order.  Mrs. Pottle with her niece and Ah-Sam led
the way down the hill, accompanied by half a dozen of the
best of the Chunchuses, all mounted on the fastest horses.
They went down on the opposite side from that taken by
the Manchus, and Bob gave orders to Ah-Sam to conduct
them with all possible speed in the direction of Ping-yang.
Mrs. Pottle pleaded to be allowed to ride with the main
body, but Bob explained that the presence of ladies would
prove a source of weakness to him, and that they might
do good service by pushing on and sending, if possible, a
Japanese force to the relief of the others.  Bob had wished
also to entrust Kobo's despatch to Ah-Sam for delivery to
the Japanese general, but Kobo replied that though the
Chinaman had proved a loyal and devoted servant, he
preferred that Bob himself should retain the message.

"It is to your courage, presence of mind, and resource
that the safety of the party is due," he said, "and I know
that if anyone can carry the message through, it will be
you.  One word only: if you should be wounded, pass the
despatch to someone else.  If that is not possible, destroy
it, for though I wrote in Japanese characters the Russians
would no doubt get someone to read them, and it is of
vital importance that they should know nothing of what I
have written.  I still hope to see the general myself and
give him my news; but I am very weak, and I fear that I
may not be able to keep up with you."

Scarcely three minutes after the ladies and their escort
had disappeared down the hill the main body followed.  A
dozen unwounded men rode in advance; then came the
wounded with Kobo; then a few men bringing up the rear
to give warning of pursuit.  Nothing was seen of the
enemy as the band moved downwards and struck off to
the south in the track of the ladies.  The necessity of
sparing the wounded caused the pace to be very slow,
scarcely more than four miles an hour; but as hour after
hour passed, and still no enemy appeared, Bob began to
think that the scare had been so effectual that the Manchus
had utterly lost heart.

Suddenly there reached his ears a shout of alarm,
followed by several rapid shots, and he saw his advanced
guard galloping back upon the main body.  A quarter
of a mile behind them, round the brow of the hill, came
Chang-Wo dashing along at the head of a hundred
yelling Manchus.  They must have made a circuit with the
intention of heading off the fugitives.  To evade them was
impossible; only one course was open, and the odds were
all in favour of the enemy.  Bob had scarcely forty men
left, but spurring his horse towards the Manchus, he
waved the spear he had caught up at the moment of
departure, and called on the chief and all the unwounded
men to follow him.  So great was the confidence with
which he had inspired them that they obeyed instantly.
Uttering strange guttural cries little resembling a British
cheer, they set their horses to the gallop.  There was no
attempt to secure a regular formation, but in this respect
the enemy had no advantage; they came, each man for
himself, a scattered group.  The ground was rough and
strewn with stones, but the riders on either side gave no
heed to the horses' footsteps; they had eyes only for each
other.  In a few seconds the two parties met in the shock
of battle.  Bob, slightly in advance of his men, rode
straight for Chang-Wo, whose head, he noticed, was
bandaged; he had been wounded in the fight at the
monastery.  The Manchu carried a long Chinese sword,
with which he parried the thrust of Bob's spear; but
before he in his turn could make an offensive stroke, Bob
was past him, and, shortening his weapon, had driven it
through the Manchu immediately behind.  At the same
moment he heard a great shouting in front of him, and
even as he wondered whether this portended a reinforcement
of the enemy, he felt a stinging blow upon the head,
staggered, lost grip of the reins, and, falling upon his
horse's neck, was thrown violently to the ground.

.. vspace:: 2

"It is an outrage!  I, Hildebrand Schwab, say it.  It vill
be a casus belli, sure as a gun, between Gairmany and
Japan.  Vizout doubt I vill send a telegram to our kaiser,
who is in Berlin.  I let you know I am a beaceable
Gairman sobjeck; notvithstanding vich I am arrested, my
liberty is in constraint, my dignity—the dignity of a
Gairman sobjeck—is alltopieces.  It is, I say it, monstrous; it
is onbearable; it is a zink zat I nefer, nefer oferlook!"

Bob was gradually aroused to full consciousness by
Herr Schwab's loud voice in bitter complaint.  A soft,
polite, bored Japanese voice replied:

"The hon'ble correspondent must know that hon'ble
correspondents are not allowed beyond Ping-yang.  It is
plainly written in the instructions issued by his excellency
the general for the guidance of hon'ble correspondents,
and I regret to say that the hon'ble correspondent has
only himself to blame."

"Instructions!  You say instructions!  Donnerwetter
noch einmal!  Vat are ze instructions?  Ze instructions
are to do nozink, see nozink, say nozink.  Vat is zat for
a kind of var gorresbondence?  I rebresent ze *Düsseldörfer
Tageblatt*.  I am instructed to agombany ze Japanese
field-army.  Zey are my instructions—nozink else!"

"I regret I cannot allow the hon'ble correspondent to
proceed."

"Vell zen, I brotest; I emphatically brotest.  All ze
same, I ask you to agombany me backwards to ze next
village.  Business are business.  Zere I make vun deal
viz a nice Korean gentleman vat give me order for
gomblete set *Brockhaus Encyglobaedia*.  But zere vas ozer
zinks: I ask you agombany me back till I gomblete my
business."

"I regret it is impossible.  I must return as rapidly as
possible to Chong-ju.  The hon'ble correspondent will
kindly excuse me."

The Japanese officer turned away, leaving Schwab to
retrace his steps in sullen and indignant rage.  Bob was
amused.  A moment later the Japanese came into the hut
where he was lying, and finding him awake and conscious,
asked how he felt.

"Pretty shaky.  I am glad to find myself in Japanese
hands.  Tell me, did Miss Charteris—did the ladies get in
safely?"

"Yes.  Two ladies rode into my camp this morning
with a Chinese attendant, and told me that an English
gentleman was hard pressed by a gang of Manchus.  I
sent the ladies on to Chong-ju, and rode out to assist you.
Fortunately I came up at the critical moment.  You had
apparently just been knocked off your horse.  The Manchus
did not wait to receive us.  You have had a very nasty
knock, hon'ble sir."

"And Kobo—"

"Kobo San!  What do you mean?"

"Did you not find him?"  Bob started up anxiously.
"He was with us.  He was wounded.  Surely you helped
him to escape?"

"I am very sorry, sir.  I heard that a wounded
Chinaman belonging to your party was missing—presumably
captured by the Manchus.  I had no idea that he was a
Japanese disguised, still less that he was Kobo San."

"The ladies said nothing of him?"

"Nothing.  They were exhausted with hard riding, and
much agitated.  They mentioned no name but your own."

Bob lay back in mute hopelessness.  Kobo had fallen
into the hands of his enemy!  Something must be done
to save him.  Bob dared not think of the nameless
tortures he might suffer at the cruel hands of Chang-Wo.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked.

"Six hours ago.  It is now five o'clock."

"Can't you do something to help him?  You know him—how
valuable he is to your country.  Surely something
can be done."

"I regret more than I can say.  I would do anything
possible for Kobo San, but I must obey orders.  I should
have pursued the fleeing Manchus had I not been instructed
not to advance beyond a certain line.  Kobo San will know
how to die for Japan."

Bob could say no more.  At that moment he almost
wished that he could exchange places with Kobo.  He
knew that Kobo himself would meet his fate with the
serenity that characterized his every thought and action;
but the knowledge that so brave and heroic a man, when
safety was in sight, should have fallen at the eleventh
hour into the clutches of his vindictive and merciless
enemy, was a bitter disappointment.

The two companies of Japanese infantry who had rescued
Bob and his party occupied a small adjacent village that
night.  Herr Schwab had to submit to the further
indignity of being kept under guard.  In the morning Bob,
who had recovered somewhat from his blow and subsequent
fall, asked to be taken to see the implacable correspondent.
He found Herr Schwab busily writing.

"No, it is not var gorresbondence," said the German,
without looking up, "it is business; so you, Mr. Japanese,
vill besokind as leave me in beace."

"And how *is* business, Mr. Schwab?" asked Bob.

"Vat!" said Schwab, turning with a start; "do I see
Mr. Fawcett?  It is vonderful, it is incredible!  I am glad
indeed to meet vat I may viz bermission call a friend.  My
heart is fery heafy.  It is years since I make a so disastrous
journey.  Vat hafe I done?  Nozink.  My egsbenses—vere
are zey?  I do not bay vun shilling in ze bound.  My
embloyers—zey regard me as colossal humbug.  I write
letters—yes, dree golumns ze day: 'Imbressions of Japan',
'Views in Korea', 'A Gairman at ze Front'; and zey vire
me, four shillings ze vord, 'Gife us var news'.  Var news!"

Herr Schwab laughed bitterly.

"Vat can ve know of var news?  Zat is vat I ask.  Zere
vas myself, Mr. Morton, and Monsieur Desjardang, viz
ozer gorresbondents—var gorresbondents!"—(Herr Schwab
again laughed bitterly)—"at Ping-yang, sixty miles away
from ze var.  Ze Japanese declare it is great concession
ve are allowed so glose—so glose!  And ze
regulations—potztausend! scarcely dare ve look towards ze nort.  It
vas heartbreaking—veek after veek pass by; our egsbenses
run on."

Bob looked as sympathetic as possible.

"It must have been very rough.  Still, you managed to
get away apparently."

"Yes, sir.  I egsblain to my friends it is onbearable.
For myself, if I do not gife ze Japanese ze slip I get ze
sack.  I offer my friends to agombany me; ve share
egsbenses.  But Mr. Morton he say somezink about 'blay
ze game'; Monsieur Desjardang he talk about ze vord of
a Frenchman; but I, Hildebrand Schwab, I retort 'business
are business'.  So I take off ze vite band vat Japanese
red-tape seal on my left arm, and ze same night I am on
my vay to ze Yalu.  I suffer much hardship, but do I
murmur?  No; I book seferal orders for Schlagintwert
Gombany.  But, sir, as you see, I am again in bondage.
Vile I am making deal viz Korean excellency, whom I
meet on tour of insbection, lo! ve are surbrise by Japanese.
Ze order for ze *Conversationslexicon*, I hafe it; but ze order
for ze bianola, zat is gombletely gone lost."

Herr Schwab's gloom was depicted in his features, when
suddenly an idea seemed to strike him.  Laying his hand
confidentially on Bob's arm, he said:

"Stay, all is not lost.  If you, Mr. Fawcett, can
conclude ze transaction, I shall hafe great bleasure to bay
you fipercent commission.  Ze gentleman is San-Po of ze
Imperial Korean Var-office: you vill find him vizout
difficulty.  Fipercent, Mr. Fawcett!"

Bob had started in surprise at hearing the name of his
friend Mr. Helping-to-decide.  At the same moment,
looking out of the hut, he saw a cavalcade passing the door.
At the head rode a high Korean official—a well-remembered
figure, with the regulation hat, topknot, and white
baggy garments.  Mounted on a diminutive pony, his feet
almost touched the ground, and his equilibrium was
maintained in the customary Korean manner by two sturdy
attendants, who supported him on either side.  No sooner
had Schwab's eyes lighted on this rider than he started
forward with an exclamation, saying to Bob:

"Vizout offence you vill permit me to vizdraw my
brobosition: egsguse me."

He rushed out in unwieldy haste, wresting from his
pocket a capacious note-book as he ran.  After him
darted a nimble Japanese sentry in full cry.  Bob chuckled
as he watched the scene.  Mr. Helping-to-decide, hearing
a guttural hail behind him, half turned upon his saddle
(on which Bob recognized the skin of the tiger he had
killed), and seeing that he was pursued did not stay to
decide why or by whom, but whipped up his pony in haste
to escape.  Swaying from side to side, he was held up
with difficulty by his two supporters, and unsteadily turned
a corner, followed within a couple of yards by the lolloping
form of Herr Schwab, who in his turn was, but a yard or
two ahead of the Japanese.

An hour or two later the whole detachment moved out
towards Chong-ju.  Bob was provided with a pony, from
whose back he saw Schwab trudging disconsolately along
in charge of two little Japanese infantrymen.  The white
band, with his name and the name of his paper in red
Japanese characters, was again bound to his left sleeve,
labelling him "war correspondent".

On arriving at Chong-ju, which was crowded with
Japanese troops, Bob enquired first for Mrs. Pottle and
her niece, and learnt that they had already departed under
escort for Anju.  His next question was for the headquarters
of General Kuroki.  Learning that these were at
Anju, he explained to the officer in command that he had
important information for the general, which he had been
instructed to deliver personally, and asked to be allowed
to proceed at once.  The colonel in charge suggested that
Bob might give him the information, which he would then
forward.  He thought Bob looked hardly fit to travel
farther on horseback, and there were no carts to spare.
But Bob was determined that he would confide Kobo's
paper to none but General Kuroki himself, hoping to be
able to induce the general to organize a rescue-party on
Kobo's behalf.  He accordingly rode on with a small
escort, and arrived at Anju on the Seoul road late at
night, and dead beat.

Fatigued as he was, he at once sent a message to the
general asking the favour of an interview.  Within half
an hour he was in the presence of the commander-in-chief.
He felt a little nervous as he looked at the great soldier.
General Kuroki was somewhat taller than the average
Japanese.  His face was deeply bronzed, his hair and
moustache gray and bristly.  The sternness of his features
was relieved by a humorous twinkle in his dark eyes as
he glanced at Bob, who felt that the general's undoubted
strength of character was combined with tenderness and
humanity.  He handed him Kobo's small folded paper,
and waited while he read it.

"I thank you, Mr. Fawcett," he said at length, refolding
the paper and handing it to an aide-de-camp.  "Kobo
San's intelligence is of the highest importance, and I am
greatly in your debt for having brought it to me at such
risk.  Kobo San does not say why he has not returned.
Do you know where he is?"

"I am very sorry to say, sir, that he is a prisoner.  He
was wounded in crossing the hills, and I very much fear
that he is now in the hands of Chang-Wo, the Manchu
brigand."

"Indeed!  That is deplorable.  Tell me, please, all
you know.  You were, I think, with Lieutenant
Yamaguchi in Seoul; I shall be glad to know of the
circumstances which have brought you here.  Sit down, you
look very tired.  Perhaps, indeed, you would rather wait
till the morning?"

"No, sir, I would rather tell you now."

He proceeded to relate as briefly as possible his
experiences from the time he last saw Yamaguchi to the final
escape from the Korean monastery.  General Kuroki
listened without remark, a faint smile crossing his face
when he heard of the novel use made of the gramophone.

"You have had a desperately hard time," he said at
the conclusion of the story.  "I had already heard part
of the circumstances from the American ladies who came
in some time ago.  I can quite understand their warm
praise of you.  And, let me say, you are to be
congratulated on your escape from the Manchu Chang-Wo; he is
a desperate villain—an old enemy of Kobo San, as perhaps
you know.  But now tell me; you came through the
mountains north of the Yalu; is the road practicable for
guns?"

"It might, I think, with some labour be made practicable
for guns for some miles up to the spot where we
first struck the Yalu; but I don't think the path we
subsequently followed could be so used."

"That path is marked, I think, tentatively on our maps.
Look at this; that is the path, is it not?"

"Yes," said Bob, after a glance at the map unrolled
before him.

"It would be of the greatest importance to us if it were
practicable.  Did any of the Chunchuses with whom you
have been acting come in with you?"

"Unfortunately no, sir.  I learnt that they slipped away
immediately after we were relieved by your cavalry."

"They are free lances, and probably thought if they
came in they would have to act under our orders, or more
probably be disbanded.  No doubt they are making their
way back by devious paths to their old haunts in
Manchuria.  It is a pity they have gone.  I should have
liked to employ some of them as guides."

"May I offer my services, sir?" said Bob instantly.  "I
couldn't find my way back from here to the hills, but
once there I think I could act as guide over the path in
question."

"Thank you.  I accept your offer at once.  I must, of
course, wire to Tokio for permission to employ you, as
otherwise your duty would be to rejoin the fleet.  I will
do that at once, and the answer will no doubt come early
in the morning.  Now, Mr. Fawcett, I will not keep you
longer.  You need a thorough rest after your trying
experiences: that knock on the head will trouble you for
some days, I fear; but I hope a good rest will set you
up again.  My aide-de-camp will provide you with
quarters—rough, but the best at my disposal.  I shall send for
you in the morning."

Only now that the strain was relaxed did Bob realize
how desperately tired and worn he was.  When he reached
the lodging allotted to him, he dropped on to the bed just
as he was, and fell fast asleep.  It was nearly noon when
he awoke.  Ah-Sam came to his side, carrying over his
arm a suit of clothes.

"My hab catchee tings for massa," he said.  "Aflaid
massa no can get iniside."

"Well, I can only try," said Bob with a smile.  "Get
me something to eat, Ah-Sam.  Stay, where are the
ladies?"

"He in house topside-pidgin man—velly nice.  He go
Seoul bimeby."

"Oh!  Just run and tell them I'm here—"

"Allo savvy.  My tellum allo 'bout massa long tim' ago."

"Ask them not to go until I have seen them, then get
my breakfast."

"Allo lightee, massa.  Littee missy wantchee look-see
what—"

"Don't stand talking.  Run at once, or they may gone."

"No fear!  My savvy littee missy no can wailo 'cept—"

"Go at once!" shouted Bob, and the Chinaman fled.

About an hour later Bob, clad in a Japanese uniform,
which left a good deal to be desired about the sleeves and
the trousers, was conducted by Ah-Sam to the missionary's
house in which the ladies had been hospitably lodged.

"My dear boy, how glad I am to see you!" exclaimed
Mrs. Pottle, coming forward with outstretched hands.
"We were afraid that you had not escaped from that
dreadful brigand.  If I had not had Ethel to take care of,
I should certainly have ridden back myself—even with
nothing but my umbrella that you make fun of."

Bob, from his knowledge of Mrs. Pottle, felt that the
fair American was quite equal to that or any other
hazardous adventure.

"I am glad indeed there was no occasion," he said.  "I
wouldn't have you come within fifty miles of that desperate
gang."

"That would have been no worse, not a bit, for I
haven't slept a wink worrying about you, neither has
Ethel; indeed, the dear child has lost all her colour, as
you see."

Bob looked at the younger lady, but found that her
cheeks were warm with a charming little blush, which
deepened as she avoided his glance.

"Oh, Aunt Jane," she said, "you really shouldn't
exaggerate—I—"

"There now!  I've done it again.  I am always putting
my foot in it.  But all's well that ends well.  You're here
safe—but dear me, poor boy, you've lost your colour.  We
shall have to take care of you, I can see that."

"Oh, it's nothing," said Bob; "a rap over the head,
that's all.  I shall be right in a day or two."

"But you will let us do what we can," said Ethel.
"We owe you so much, Mr. Fawcett, and there is so little
that we can do."

Bob looked, as he felt, rather uncomfortable.  Mrs. Pottle
noted the fact.

"Don't go, Mr. Fawcett," she said with a smile.
"There, I promise, you sha'n't hear another word of
thanks.  I knew it: you look quite relieved already."

Bob laughed, and the ladies joined him, while Ah-Sam
looked on gravely, in evident wonder at what had caused
the merriment.

"Can I do anything to help you on your way?" asked
Bob.  "I'm afraid I shall soon have to say good-bye."

The ladies looked at him in surprise.

"But are you not going to Seoul?" asked Mrs. Pottle.

"Not yet, I'm sorry to say.  I have something yet to do."

"We are not in a hurry.  We could quite well wait a
day or two."

"It is not a matter of days, unfortunately.  It may be
weeks or even months."

"You are not going back?" said Ethel, vainly endeavouring
to conceal her anxiety.  Bob afterwards remembered
that there was a tremor in her voice.

"Yes," he said, "I am going north again.  General
Kuroki thinks I can be of some use to him, and
afterwards—well, I have to find my friend Kobo."

"But, Mr. Fawcett, surely that is quixotic," said
Mrs. Pottle.  "You could not hope to find him.  Indeed, poor
man! if that villain Chang-Wo has captured him, his life
will not be worth a moment's purchase.  Think of the risk
you would run: it is terrible."

"Yes, indeed," added Ethel earnestly.  "Please do not
go.  Think of—of your friends."

"Believe me, I will run no needless risks, but I must do
what I can to find my friend or learn his fate.  Remember
what I owe to him."

"Yes, we ought not to forget that," said Ethel; "you
owe him—what we owe to you."

She turned away.  Mrs. Pottle put her arm about her
niece's waist.

"Is it to be good-bye, then?" she asked.

Before Bob could reply, Ah-Sam, who had left the room
for a few minutes, returned hurriedly.

"One piecee Japanee come fetchee ladies Seoulee side.
Hab got horses; wantchee lide wailo chop-chop: topside
fightee pidgin."

A few questions asked of Ah-Sam, and Bob explained to
Mrs. Pottle that an officer was about to start on military
business for Seoul, and the occasion had been seized to
provide the American ladies with an escort.  He would
arrive within a few minutes.  Bob despatched Ah-Sam
with an answer, then turned to Mrs. Pottle.

"Yes," he said, "it is good-bye."

"But not for long," she replied with forced cheerfulness.
"We shall stay, anyhow, two months at Yokohama,
and you must come right along as soon as you can."

"Good-bye, Mr. Fawcett," said Ethel, giving him her
hand.  "We shall pray for your success.  Good-bye!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Battle of the Yalu River`:

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   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center large bold

   The Battle of the Yalu River

.. vspace:: 2

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The Impossible—Stage Properties—Outwitted—The
Battle Opens—Russians at Bay—Yamaguchi's
Experiences

.. vspace:: 2

"It is clear, Mr. Fawcett, that you have the bump of
locality."

"I am not sure of that, sir.  What I remember of these
hills is due to the Manchu Chang-Wo.  We were continually
looking back, expecting to see him on our track."

"At any rate you seem to have brought away a remarkably
vivid impression of the country—fortunately for us.
This path, bad as it is, has saved us an immensity of
labour, and—what is more important—time."

General Inouye pulled up his horse as he spoke, and
looked back upon the long line of troops zigzagging
up the face of the mountain.  The blue uniforms of the
Japanese soldiers showed up clearly against the bare
ochreous rocks of the hillside, offering a conspicuous
mark to the enemy, had the enemy been there to see.  But
these rugged, precipitous hills had always been regarded
as impracticable for troops; the Russians had no fear of
attack from this quarter, and had made no attempt to
occupy them.

There was an unusually large prospect from the spur
overhanging the deep gully on which General Inouye and
Bob stood side by side.  Above them the road disappeared
abruptly round the face of the mountain; below, it wound
erratically down the boulder-strewn slope, here and there
plunging out of sight in a hollow, to emerge again, it
might be hundreds of yards lower down, as a narrow ledge
on the face of a perpendicular crag, on which the Japanese
troops seemed in the distance like an army of ants on the
march.

These were the hills through which Bob and his party
had made their perilous journey some weeks earlier.  They
lay on the left flank of the Russian army drawn up around
Kiu-lien-cheng, and on the banks of the Yalu, to hurl back
the Japanese when they attempted to set foot in Manchuria.
General Sassulitch fondly hoped that these hills would
afford a complete protection to his flank: as the event
was ordered, it was from them that he sustained his most
crushing blow.  The Twelfth Division, known to the
Japanese as the Sampo Shidan in consequence of its large
equipment of mountain-guns, was chosen to make the
hazardous passage, and to any troops of less endurance
than the Japanese, the task might well have proved
impossible; for they were not only required to cross a series
of steep mountain ridges, but to do so within a very limited
time, and to bring their guns with them.  Bob watched
the steady progress of the column with many a thrill of
admiration, and with pride that he was privileged to bear
a small part in this momentous movement.  Burdened
with its artillery, ammunition, and supplies, the column
moved steadily forward; now crawling with infinite pains
up almost perpendicular slopes, the willing little soldiers
pushing, hauling, at times almost carrying the wretched
horses and ponies groaning under guns, gun-carriages, or
boxes of shell; then with no less strain staggering,
slipping, sliding down the opposite face of the hill, to begin
another climb in this unending series of bluffs and chasms.

The march had begun early in the day; it was now late
in the afternoon, and Bob more than once saw General
Inouye looking anxiously westward.  They rounded the
shoulder of a steep hill; half a mile or more ahead a small
body of cavalry thrown out in advance had halted,
evidently in doubt as to their further course.

"To the left," said Bob, answering General Inouye's
unspoken question, "across that small spur, and straight
up the farther slope."

The general translated the instructions to an aide-de-camp,
who clattered down the hill at the imminent risk
of his neck.

"You say, Mr. Fawcett, that in another hour we should
open up the Ai-ho river?"

"Yes, sir.  As far as I remember we sighted the river
from the crest of yonder hill."  Bob pointed, as he spoke,
to a conical hill about two miles ahead, behind which the
sun was now setting in a blaze of glory.  Within the hour
General Inouye and his staff had gained the crest of the
hill, and were looking down on the noisy little river
hurrying through a narrow valley to join the Yalu some miles
below.  On the far side of the stream was another range
of hills, upon which, as General Inouye was aware, the
main Russian force was concentrated.  It was against
these hills that the Twelfth Division would hurl itself at
dawn on the following day.

Approaching the Ai-ho the hills became somewhat less
rugged, facilitating the deployment of General Inouye's
force along the left bank of the river.  The Twelfth
Division had arrived in good time at the appointed place;
with guns unlimbered for action, it waited only for the
word.

"Good-night, Mr. Fawcett," said General Inouye when
they separated; "good-night, and thank you.  You have
rendered us a most valuable service—how valuable the
events of to-morrow may show."

Bob spent the night in the bivouac of the staff.  Even
the prospect of the coming struggle failed to disturb his
sleep.  He had gone through too many experiences of
late not to take full advantage of any chance of rest.

The position of the two armies that lay facing each
other through the long summer night was in many
respects an extraordinary one.  The river Yalu is joined
nearly opposite Wiju by the Ai-ho; above and below the
confluence its channel is dotted with numerous large
islands, between which the stream threads a tortuous and
at times impetuous course.  At the angle formed by the
two rivers is Tiger Hill, a steep bluff jutting far out into
the channel.  Just below the hill runs the Mandarin road
from Seoul to Pekin, passing from Wiju on the south
bank, across two sandy islands connected by a ferry,
and thence to Kiu-lien-cheng, on the Manchurian side,
a short distance to the north of the river.

.. _`Plan of the Battle of the Yalu River`:

.. figure:: images/img-280.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: The Battle of the Yalu River Showing the flanking movement of the 12th Division

   The Battle of the Yalu River Showing the flanking movement of the 12th Division

The Russian front, before the development of General
Kuroki's attack, extended from a point opposite
Yongampo at the mouth of the Yalu to Sukuchin, some
thirty miles up the river, and above Wiju.  The main
body was massed around Kiu-lien-cheng, the left wing
having its outposts on Tiger Hill and the islands in the
river above that point, while the right had outposts on
the larger islands opposite Wiju.  A strong force was held
in reserve at Antung.

On his ride up from Wiju Bob had been greatly puzzled
by a series of huge screens of brushwood, matting,
and stalks placed along or across the roadway.  What
object, he wondered, could they serve?  It was not until
he reached the high ground near the Yalu that their
purpose became clear to him.  He saw then that the
heights on the Russian side of the river completely
overlooked the lower hills on the Korean bank; in ordinary
circumstances every movement could be observed from
the Russian lines; the numbers and dispositions of troops,
the construction of fortifications and batteries, could all
be noted with the aid of strong field-glasses.  From the
Japanese point of view this was a serious weakness of
the position.  Secrecy is so essential a condition of the
Japanese system of conducting warfare that General
Kuroki was led to adopt a novel and somewhat
extraordinary method of baffling the curiosity of the enemy.
Looking back from a point of vantage near the river, Bob
saw a force of blue-coated Japanese infantry marching to
the front along the Mandarin road.  Suddenly they
disappeared behind a leafy screen, and though he watched
carefully, expecting to see them emerge again farther along
the highway, he was unable to detect any further sign of
their presence.  The incident recalled a conjuring trick
of Mr. Maskelyne; and to the Russians beyond the river
it must have been both puzzling and irritating.  Thanks
to this system of screens they could neither form an
estimate of the strength of the Japanese opposed to them,
nor make any likely guess as to the probable point of
attack.  Their position was one of extreme strength; but
uncertainty regarding General Kuroki's movements largely
discounted the advantages they enjoyed as a defensive
force entrenched among rugged hills.  Here and there,
indeed, General Kuroki allowed them to obtain a hint
of his arrangements; they snapped at the bait—with
what result is now written in history.

It was nearly ten years since the Japanese Field-marshal
Yamagata had forced the passage of the Yalu
in the face of a Chinese army supposed to be impregnably
entrenched in the positions now held by the Russians.
The main crossing had been made opposite Wiju, but
the principal movement was greatly assisted by the
passage of a column higher up the river at Sukuchin.
General Sassulitch must anxiously have asked himself
whether the Japanese would or would not repeat this
operation.  Patriotic self-complacency probably suggested
the answer.  Was it likely that the Japanese would dare
to repeat against a trained and disciplined Russian army
the manoeuvre, necessarily hazardous, which they had
risked against raw Chinese levies?  Emphatically no.
And in arriving at this conclusion the Russian general was
assisted by an ingenious feint on the part of his opponent.
With an openness that should have inspired distrust,
General Kuroki collected a large amount of bridging
material on the Korean shore at Yongampo and higher
up the river opposite Antung, while a strong naval flotilla,
comprising torpedo-boats, destroyers, and gun-boats, fought
its way some distance up-stream, as though in support of
a projected crossing in the lower reaches.  To meet the
expected attack in this quarter the Russian general kept
a large body of troops elaborately entrenched in readiness
at Antung, and allowed his attention to be diverted from
the point thirty miles higher up, at which the first crossing
had been made ten years earlier.

General Kuroki had completely taken the measure of his
adversary.  Having persuaded General Sassulitch to
disperse his troops over an unnecessarily large front, he made
careful dispositions to ensure a successful passage of the
river at Sukuchin, and under cover of a flank attack from
this quarter he proposed to pass the main body of his
army across the island-strewn channel opposite Wiju.  The
Twelfth Division, entrusted with the flank movement, had
easily driven away a small Russian force stationed on the
right bank opposite Sukuchin, thrown a pontoon bridge
across the river, and established itself on the right bank
almost without opposition.  The Russians made no attempt
to correct their mistake, so convinced were they that the
real danger lay towards the mouth of the river.  Besides,
were they not sufficiently protected by the chain of
impassable ridges that stretched far inland between the Yalu
and the Ai-ho?  Yet it was across these impassable ridges
that the Twelfth Division had orders to make its way, and
establish itself on the left bank of the tributary stream in
readiness for a general attack on the Russian position.
This movement, as we have seen, was duly carried out.
It was the eve of May-day.

A fierce artillery duel had meanwhile been fought
between the Japanese batteries near Wiju and the Russian
positions around Kiu-lien-cheng.  In this battle of the
giants the Russians were completely outmatched—another
triumph of Japanese secrecy and prevision.  Unknown to
the enemy the Japanese had brought by sea to the Yalu a
large number of quick-firers and heavy guns, and, most
important of all, several howitzers.  To these the Russians
could only oppose a limited number of field-pieces.  A
movement of Japanese infantry towards the crest of the
hills on the Korean side drew the fire of the Russian
batteries and disclosed their position.  They were at once
answered by an appalling cannonade from the Japanese
batteries.  From the islands in the river, from the heights
north and south of Wiju, the Japanese rained a murderous
fire of shell and shrapnel upon the luckless Russian
gunners.  There was no escape, for they had not reckoned
with the howitzers cunningly placed in pits on the islets
beneath, and able to search the whole Russian position
with high-angle fire.  The hills seemed to wilt under the
storm; the earth was riddled, the very rocks were rent
with the hail of lead and steel scattered by the bursting
charges of the terrible Shimose powder.  A thick pall of
poisonous smoke hung over the devoted Russian batteries;
nothing could live under this shattering bombardment.
The Russians stuck to their guns like heroes; never
certainly did soldiers deserve better of their country.  But
gradually their fire slackened, then died away: the gunners
lay dead at their posts.

That night the Guards and the Second Division of the
Japanese army were passed by two bridges across the
river, and took up a position on the right bank, sheltered
under the bluffs or in the hollows in the sandy bed of the
stream.  The Second Division had crossed somewhat below
Wiju to an island on the far side of the channel, the
Guards immediately opposite Tiger Hill.  The Russians
were now threatened with a frontal attack by these two
divisions—the Second operating direct from the Yalu, the
Guards across the mouth of the Ai-ho—while the Twelfth
Division, higher up the Ai-ho, was ready to attack them
in flank.

Bob was tingling with excitement when he awoke on
the auspicious morning of May-day.  The air was crisp
and keen, but spring had come at last; spring, and with
it the dawn of a new era for Japan.  General Inouye's
camp was early astir; the sturdy little soldiers, in their
trim blue uniforms, went about their morning duties with
quiet cheerfulness, ready to launch themselves at the word
upon the grim hills opposite, where death, they knew,
awaited some; glory, they hoped, all.

Too late the Russian general had realized his fatal error
in allowing the Twelfth Division to march unopposed
across the hills.  Too late he had taken such feverish
steps as were now possible in the attempt to retrieve it.
He had withdrawn in haste a considerable force from
Antung to hold the bluffs on the right bank of the Ai-ho,
and hurriedly begun to throw up entrenchments.  General
Inouye smiled when he learnt of these tardy efforts to stay
him; plans carefully thought out for years were not likely
to be foiled by bustle at the eleventh hour.

Hardly had the sun risen when the battle was begun by
a general outburst of artillery fire along the whole of the
Japanese lines.  There was no response from the enemy;
it almost seemed as if the position were already deserted.
But soon the order was given to the Japanese infantry to
advance to the assault.  The three divisions moved
forward simultaneously.  Bob could not see what the other
two were doing, but he watched with tense eagerness as
the Twelfth Division dashed down the hillside to the bank
of the Ai-ho.  A murderous rifle-fire was opened upon
them from the Russian trenches.  But never a man faltered.
Springing on nimbly, some taking what cover the ground
afforded, others disdaining precaution, they reached the
stream.  They plunged in, holding their rifles and pouches
above their heads, and forcing their way against the rapid
current that swept along breast-high.  They had now
entered the zone of fire; the surface of the river boiled
under the hail of Russian bullets; the turbid waters were
red with Japan's best blood; but to Bob, watching intently
from the hill above, the sound of their war-song came
floating upon the morning breeze—

   |  "Oh! it is easy to cross the Yalu river!"

and, with sublime and happy indifference, they struggled on.

Look: they are gaining the farther bank.  At last—it
seems an eternity!—the river is crossed.  Up, up they
scramble, scaling the bluffs in grim silence now.  The
air rattles with the crack of rifles, throbs with the thud
of heavy guns.  Men are falling fast, but the survivors
are still pressing on, up the murderous heights, ever
drawing nearer to the enemy on the crest.  Bob, his
whole body a-tingle, can bear his inaction no longer.  He
turns to a senior officer of the staff:

"May I follow them up, sir?  I have nothing to do now."

"You had better stay with us," replied the officer with
a smile, lowering his field-glass; "still, if you wish—"

Bob does not wait for second thoughts.  He races down
the hill, wades the river, and springs up the bluff in time
to overtake the rear of the advancing line.  What impels
him he knows not; all he feels is that he must be
there—there, at the supreme moment of the conflict.  He gains
the crest and looks eagerly ahead.  Ah! the Russians
are falling back, and back, and back; not in rout, but
sullenly retreating to the next ridge, turning there at bay,
occupying every post of vantage, and pouring thence their
terrible fire.  They will not wait, then, for push of pike?
No; and when they have discharged their rifles they run
again.  Nothing stays the advance.  The Japanese swarm
up and over every new position, the enemy scurry like
rabbits before them, and now, as the pace quickens, and
the victors drive the fugitives up hill and down dale across
these rugged pathless hills, the retreat becomes a rout,
and the little soldiers raise a great shout of joy.

While the Twelfth Division had thus triumphantly
performed the great operation entrusted to them, their
comrades of the Second and Guards Divisions had pressed home
their attacks on the Russian front.  The whole of General
Sassulitch's army was in full flight on Homatan and
Feng-huang-cheng.  General Kuroki had only a small force
of cavalry to pursue the retreating enemy; he had to rely
largely on the speed and endurance of his infantry, and
they pressed on the heels of the Russians with a relentless
activity which, in this mountainous country, no cavalry
could have equalled.  The guns, even the mountain
batteries, specially equipped for speedy transit, were left
miles behind, and three of the leading Japanese
companies, having outstripped the rest of the pursuing
infantry, found themselves terribly outmatched when the
Russians at last turned at bay on the plateau of Homatan.
The three companies of Japanese were suddenly
confronted by a battalion of infantry and two battalions of
artillery, strongly posted on the plateau; but with
magnificent determination they stuck like bull-dogs to their
grip, and engaged the enemy, holding them in fierce fight
until reinforcements should come up.  The Japanese had
only their rifles to oppose to the combined artillery and
musketry fire of the Russians.  In the company to which
Bob had attached himself three out of every four men
were either killed or wounded, yet the gallant survivors
stuck to their posts.  Bob marvelled how he came
unscathed through the hail of shot and shell; it seemed that
the little force must be annihilated.  Still the gallant
remnant held on; and at length, when they were at their
last cartridge, help came.  Other companies of Japanese
infantry swarmed up to the plateau.  The Russian gunners,
seeing that all was lost, wrenched the breech-blocks from
the guns, hammered the sights, and broke the levers.
Then came a terrible three minutes' mêlée, in which the
bayonet did its murderous work.  Most of the Russians
died at their posts; three hundred were captured, together
with the guns of the two batteries.  It would be hard to
say whether the fight at Homatan was more glorious to
the victors or to the vanquished.

This was the last stand of the Russian army.  The
pursuit from this point was taken up by the small force of
Japanese cavalry, and the wearied infantry, after an action
almost unparalleled in military history, bivouacked on the
field.

The officers of the company extended to Bob a hearty
welcome to their mess; the menu consisted of the usual
rations of the rank and file: rice, dried fish and pickles,
washed down in water from a neighbouring mountain stream.

Bob was eating as heartily as the rest when he was
startled by a familiar voice behind him.

"How do, Bob?"

He sprang up, and almost choked himself in the
eagerness with which he welcomed no other than his friend
Yamaguchi.

"Well—I'm—blowed!" he ejaculated, shaking hands so
vigorously that Yamaguchi at length laughingly protested.
"How in the world do you come here?"

"You don't bear me a grudge, then?  I was very
sorry; but I had to leave you with those Cossacks, you
know."

"Don't mention it; I'm only too glad you got away
safely—though, in truth, your dastardly desertion of me
has landed me in a pretty pickle of fish.  But I'll forgive
you; I'd forgive anybody to-day.  Isn't this glorious, old
fellow?  Did you see the fight?"

"I had a little part in it.  We've been working in the
lower reaches of the river.  General Kuroki deluded the
Russians into the belief that our main crossing was to be
effected there.  Sassulitch swallowed it whole.  I had to
land some men yesterday on a small island above
Yongampo.  We were stormed by the enemy.  I withdrew
the survivors in boats, and unluckily my boat sank and
I was knocked over by a splinter from a Russian shell.
They picked me up and carried me off to Antung, and
then towards Feng-huang-cheng, but our cavalry came up
and released me, and here I am."

"Got a bad knock?" asked Bob, noticing that his left
arm was bound up.

"Oh no! a bit of the muscle torn away, that's all.
But come, I'm sure you've more to tell than I have.  I
want to know what you've been about since you deserted
the *Kasumi*."

Bob's story necessarily occupied a long time in the
telling, but Yamaguchi listened with growing excitement,
never interrupting until Bob came to the point where Kobo
had rescued him from the tower.

"Ah!" said the Japanese.  "You came across Kobo?
I put you off the scent, didn't I?  Of course it was he I
was in communication with on those night expeditions
from the *Kasumi*.  But go on; your story's quite a romance."

Bob proceeded with his narrative.  When he told how
Kobo had been captured almost within sight of safety,
Yamaguchi looked distressed.

"That's a national loss," he said.  "We can't spare
a man like Kobo San.  That monster Chang-Wo will
torture him—to wrench information out of him if he
can—of course he can't—in sheer devilry at any rate.  And
the worst of it is nothing can be done for him—nothing."

"I'm going to try," said Bob quietly.

"You!  You've had enough adventure, I should think,
to last you a lifetime.  You'll be made mincemeat of
yourself if Chang-Wo gets hold of you."

"Nevertheless, I'm going to try.  Kobo saved my life.
I should be an ungrateful beast if—Well, it won't bear
discussion.  I shall see General Kuroki as soon as I can,
and get his leave."

"You're a good fellow—upon my word, you are.  I
wish you luck.  If another than Kobo were concerned
I'd do my best to hold you back, but for him—I'd do it
myself if I could.  He's worth it.  But I have to be off
to Antung to-morrow, and then rejoin my ship.  Shall we
see you on board again?"

"I don't know.  Perhaps—if I find Kobo."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Dumb Chinaman`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center large bold

   A Dumb Chinaman

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

Sing-Cheng Vows Vengeance—At Head-quarters—Tracking
the "Mountain Tiger"—Deaf and Dumb—A Hill
Fastness—Tracked—Strategy—Chang-Wo's Way

.. vspace:: 2

General Kuroki's brilliant victory had been won at great
cost.  Such dash, such persistence, such fearless disregard
of death had not perhaps been seen on any battle-field
since the days when arms of precision were unknown, and
the rival combatants fought man to man at deadly grips.
The whole day after the battle was occupied in burying
the dead and helping the wounded, and Bob, assisting in
the sad work, saw many new signs of the invincible
stoicism of his country's allies.  Many a sturdy little soldier,
though maimed beyond repair, accepted his fate and bore
his pain without a murmur, his deepest hurt being in the
knowledge that for the rest of the campaign, perhaps for
the rest of his life, he would be unable to do further
service.

Towards evening, as Bob with Ah-Sam passed over an
outlying corner of the position, where there remained a
number of prostrate bodies still uncollected, he fancied he
heard a groan.  He stopped and listened.  In a moment
he heard the sound again, faint, but distinct, less a groan
of pain than the tired gasp of a man utterly spent.  Over
a comparatively small area lay some thirty bodies close
together, and Bob saw by their dress that they were not
Japanese, but Manchurian natives.  Picking his way
carefully through them towards the sound, he at length saw
a white-sleeved arm move, and when he bent down, he
found that, pinned beneath a cold body, lay a man still
alive.  The wounded man was soon released, and then
Bob saw that it was the chief of the Chunchuses,
Sing-Cheng, the man with whom he had spent his memorable
fortnight of peril and adventure.

He was somewhat seriously wounded.  Giving him a
drink of water from his flask, Bob searched carefully the
surrounding ground for any other man in whom life
still remained.  He found only one; the rest were dead.
With Ah-Sam's assistance he then carried the chief into
the Japanese camp, where his wounds were attended to,
afterwards sending a couple of men to bring in his still
more gravely wounded comrade.

Next morning Bob visited the chief, and was glad to see
that he was already giving promise of a quick recovery.
With Ah-Sam's aid he questioned the man, being curious
to know what had become of him after the last desperate
brush with Chang-Wo's Manchus.  He learnt that the
chief had struck due east with his band, marching through
the hills to avoid both Russians and Japanese, and had
forded the Yalu some fifty miles higher up.  They had
then made their way towards his village, intending to
recuperate there and await a favourable opportunity for
resuming their usual occupation of brigandage.  But on
arriving they found that Chang-Wo had been before them.
Furious at his recent rebuff, he had slain every man,
woman, and child in the place, including the chief's
family, not one escaping to tell the tale.  Without waiting
longer than to learn from the country-people, who gave
him the news, in what direction the Manchus had gone,
the chief started on their trail, but lost touch, and had not
found them until the afternoon of the day on which Bob
discovered him.  Chang-Wo had fallen upon him while he
lay there in hiding; his men had been taken by surprise,
and, as Bob saw, the band had been annihilated.

Bob was tempted to ask why the Chunchuses had been
in hiding at that spot—-a place obviously of some danger.
But he had a shrewd suspicion of their purpose.  He had
little doubt that both Sing-Cheng's band and Chang-Wo's
had been hovering like vultures about the field, waiting for
the fall of night to begin their work, when Chang-Wo had
discovered his enemy and swooped down upon him with
all the advantage of the first blow.

The chief's story had been many times interrupted by
frenzied outbursts against his enemy.  He himself would
recover, he was told; he would live for nothing but to
exact vengeance.  His family were killed, the graves of his
ancestors had been defiled, his band was exterminated; he
was alone.  But alone he would follow Chang-Wo to the
ends of the earth, and when he found him, he would take
such a terrible revenge that all Manchuria should shake
with the horror of it.

Sing-Cheng's threats, made with a set grimness of
determination, started Bob upon a train of thought.  He
himself had a strong motive for tracking down the Manchu
brigand.  It was Chang-Wo who had-captured Kobo;
where he was, there Kobo, if he were still alive, would
be found.  To save Kobo was the dearest wish of Bob's
heart; could he avail himself of the chief's thirst for
revenge, and enlist his aid?

"Ask him whether he knows where Chang-Wo's haunt
is," said Bob to Ah-Sam.

Years ago, the chief replied, he had himself been a
member of the brigand band, when the stronghold had
been in the hands of Chang-Wo's predecessor—an old
wise chief, a man of matchless cunning and resource.
This man had been treacherously assassinated by
Chang-Wo, who had made himself the master of the band.  For
a time Sing-Cheng served under Chang-Wo, but he had
left him, at the risk of his life, and pointing to a deep
scar upon his neck he mutely indicated the reason of his
leaving.  Since then he and Chang-Wo had been bitter
enemies, but Chang-Wo had always commanded the larger
band, and Sing-Cheng had been obliged to keep out of his
way.  Now, however, come what might, he would soon
or late take his enemy's life, though he lost his own.  He
knew his mountain stronghold; he would make his way
thither, and wait like a tiger until the moment came for
leaping on his prey.

"Where is this stronghold?" asked Bob.

It was three days' journey among the hills.  It lay
cunningly concealed in a wild region, accessible by only
one difficult path.

"Then it can be surrounded?"

No, for on the other side it was protected oy a deep
rocky gorge, through which ran a rapid torrent.  Ascent
from the gorge was impossible, because a wall of granite
rose sheer for several hundred feet, and at the top indeed
overhung the ravine, affording no foothold, even if it were
possible to cut steps in the rock.  On that side the fortress
was impregnable; and even on the other, access was so
difficult that any attempt to capture it must be hazardous
in the extreme.

Bob left the man and pondered on the information he
had obtained.  Valuable as Kobo was, he could not hope
that General Kuroki would send a force into hostile
country on the poor chance of saving him.  If Kobo was
to be saved, it must be by some private enterprise.  Bob
wondered whether he could raise a force of Manchus and
storm the place.  He reflected that even if such an
expedition proved successful, it might fail in the very object
with which it had been designed; for Chang-Wo, the
moment he felt himself in danger, would assuredly kill
Kobo, if till then he had kept him alive.  It was clear,
then, that to win success in its main object, the rescue
of Kobo, any expedition must be organized and carried
through with secrecy.

Several days passed before Sing-Cheng had recovered
sufficiently to move about freely.  During these days Bob
spent many anxious hours in thinking and thinking again.
He consulted nobody.  If Yamaguchi had been at hand,
Bob would have discussed every detail of the problem with
him; but he did not care to unbosom himself to strange
Japanese officers, and he hesitated to go to General
Kuroki himself until he could put before him a scheme
that was reasonable and likely to command his approval.
He put many questions to Ah-Sam and the chief—questions
which sometimes puzzled them, and to which he
obtained sometimes useless answers; but all the time he
was fitting together the bits of information he obtained,
and slowly outlining a plan.

At length one day he went to head-quarters and asked
for an interview with the general.

"Well, Mr. Fawcett," said Kuroki on seeing him,
"are you ready to rejoin the fleet?"

"Are there any orders for me, sir?" asked Bob
anxiously.  "I hope not."

"At present you remain with me—at my request.  But
why do you say you hope not?"

"Because I wished to be still at your orders, sir.  I
have been thinking about Kobo San.  You remember, sir,
he is presumed to have been captured by the Manchu
brigand Chang-Wo; is there any chance of a force being
sent to rescue him?"

"None at all.  I answer you quite frankly.  Useful as
Kobo San has been and might still be to us, he is now, if
Chang-Wo's prisoner, in a part of the country remote
from my line of advance, and an expedition on his behalf
is out of the question.  Besides, it would be labour and
time lost.  His life would not be worth a moment's
purchase if we made an attack in force on Chang-Wo."

"I had thought of that, sir.  But I wondered, that
being the case, whether you would allow me with my
Chinese boy and a Chunchuse chief to go secretly to
Chang-Wo's haunt, and discover if we can whether Kobo
San is there and still alive, and communicate with him if
possible."

"That would be a dangerous business, Mr. Fawcett."

"Possibly, sir; but I have been over the mountains
before, and the Chunchuse knows the district well, and was
in fact at one time a member of the same gang.  I should
like to make the attempt, for Kobo San has been a good
friend to me."

General Kuroki smiled.

"Kobo San's public services are likely to weigh more
with me, Mr. Fawcett.  Before I say more, have you any
definite plan?"

"My idea was for all three of us to go as Chinamen, with
a story that our farm has been burnt down by the
Russians, and that we are going to Gensan to find
employment with an uncle of my boy Ah-Sam—a master
stevedore there."

"But you don't speak Chinese?"

"No, sir; but I was a dumb Korean for a day or two,
and it won't be any more difficult to be dumb in Chinese."

"True," said the general, smiling.  "Well, you seem to
have concocted a sufficiently plausible scheme.  I will not
stand in your way.  You go at your own risk.  I shall
be very glad if you succeed; if you fail—"

General Kuroki gave him an expressive glance, which
seemed to say that sympathy would in any case be vain,
for failure would possibly involve death.  Bob thanked
the general and withdrew.

A day was spent in making preparations.  Bob was
carefully disguised as a Chinaman; the chief altered his
dress somewhat, and did what he could to hide his scar;
and both he and Ah-Sam got together a number of small
portable Chinese objects such as might have been saved
from the wreck of a farm.  Then early one morning the
party of three set off on foot.  They carried no arms,
except each a revolver concealed with a supply of
cartridges in a special pocket in their baggy trousers.  As
Chang-Wo's haunt did not lie in a straight line between
Kiu-lien-cheng, their starting-place, and Gensan, their
ostensible destination, they struck at first north-eastwards,
in order to approach the fortress from a direction that
would lend colour to their story.

For two days they tramped on.  Their account of
themselves found easy credence at the hamlets where they
stopped for rest and food, and Bob was secretly amused
to watch the cleverness with which Ah-Sam feigned a
sorrowful indignation to match that of the chief.  On the
evening of the second day they arrived at a village which,
as they entered it, Sing-Cheng explained was a little more
than ten miles from Chang-Wo's stronghold.  They made
their way to an inn, and Ah-Sam, who for safety's sake
was allowed to be spokesman on these occasions, once
more glibly repeated the story about the raided farm and
the purpose of finding shelter with his uncle in Gensan.
The landlord, an active little Chinaman, appeared to Bob
to give the travellers an anxious warning, and as they
continued in conversation, the other guests in the inn
formed a group and took a voluble part.  Bob sat upon
the k'ang, wishing with all his heart that he could
understand what was being said, but doing his best to keep up
the semblance of being deaf and dumb by munching away
at the food given him and letting his eyes rove round the
room with a half-vacant stare.

He learnt later from Ah-Sam what the matter of the
conversation had been.  The landlord, on hearing of the
travellers' destination, had expressly warned them against
approaching too near the fortress of the Manchu brigand.
His guests added their warning to his.  They were for the
most part peasants of the neighbourhood, and the manner
in which they spoke of Chang-Wo showed how terribly
they were afraid of him.  They did not even name him
directly, but referred to him in circumlocutions, calling
him variously the Mountain Tiger, the Wild Man of the
Hills, and the One-eared Devil.  For ten miles around his
haunt not a building was left standing.  No stranger who
penetrated within the zone came out alive.  If an intruder
was caught he was killed on the spot, and his corpse was
chained to a post as a warning to others.  The method
of execution was the slow torturing penalty common in
China; the victim was crucified.

There was special danger at the present time, for the
Mountain Tiger had returned to his lair a few days ago,
laden with booty obtained from the slain in a great battle
that had been fought down the river.  The Russians, the
hated barbarians from the west, had been victorious,
largely by the Wild Man's help; and as the landlord
repeated this story, industriously circulated by the
brigand's men, a deep groan was uttered by several of the
company.  Had he brought back any Japanese prisoners? asked
Ah-Sam.  There was none to bring, was the reply;
all the Japanese had been killed save those who fled.  But
one of the guests mentioned that nearly a month ago a
prisoner had been brought to the fortress—a small man
dressed in Chinese garb, but really a Japanese, an old
enemy of Chang-Wo's, and, it was whispered, a man of
consequence.  Woe to the enemy who fell into the
One-eared Devil's hands!

Ah-Sam at once asked whether the prisoner was still
alive, or had he suffered the penalty.  Only a few days
ago, was the reply, a man had come into the village from
the stronghold, released from his duties by the return of
his chief.  For a fortnight he had been on constant guard,
scarcely daring to sleep, for nameless tortures would have
been his fate if he had allowed the prisoner to escape, or
even if he had been found absent from his post.  He had
signalized his release from duty by getting drunk, and
drunk he had remained ever since.

Ah-Sam affected the greatest alarm at hearing all this.
With well-feigned nervousness he asked how the region of
danger could be avoided.  Where did it begin?  Was it
guarded?

Before these questions could be answered a new-comer
entered the inn and demanded food.  He was a tall
muscular Manchu, of most forbidding countenance, and as he
pushed his way through the group he gave a lowering
suspicious glance around, and allowed his eyes to rest on
the solitary figure seated on the k'ang.  The conversation
was stilled.  The new guest wore the leggings and carried
the fowling-piece of a Manchurian hunter.  Having
obtained his supply of food from the landlord he went to the
k'ang, where he arranged a comfortable place for himself,
and, squatting there, began to eat his meal in silence.

For a few moments the rest of the company conversed
in subdued tones, making no reference to the topic that
had engaged them when the new-comer entered.  Once or
twice this latter glanced round at Bob, who was within
a yard of him, still looking listlessly about, and idly
fingering a small metal image which was among the native
objects he had brought with him.  At length the man
addressed a few words to him.  Bob did not turn his head
or alter his movements.  The Manchu spoke to him
again in still louder tones.  Again Bob paid no heed; he
felt the necessity of being doubly on his guard; the man
for all he knew might be a spy in Chang-Wo's pay.  A
third time he was addressed, in still louder and more
impatient tones.  This time the landlord cried out that the
young man was deaf and dumb, and half an idiot to boot.
The Manchu gave a grunt, and shoved a huge mass of
rice into his mouth, emptying the copper vessel in which
it had been contained.  Feeling that the man's eyes were
off him, Bob watched him narrowly, wondering whether
he would be satisfied with the explanation, and keeping
a firm hold upon himself in case the man should suddenly
put him to a test.  His precaution was justified, for with
a sudden movement the Manchu tossed the pan upon the
floor, where it fell with a resounding clang, and at the
same time swung round and fixed his evil eyes on the
squatting figure not two yards away.  Bob did not even
start; he ceased fingering the idol and watched the pan
as it rolled across the floor and came to rest; then he
looked round with his empty stare, smiled vacuously, and
took up the idol once more.  The Manchu drank a heavy
draught of rice-beer, then threw himself backward and was
soon snoring.

Bob caught a look of approval in Ah-Sam's eyes.  The
stranger being asleep, the company resumed the conversation
at the point where his entrance had interrupted it.
Where did the dangerous region begin?  Some three miles
from that inn.  It was impossible to enter it without being
discovered; no one indeed wished to enter it; if some
incautious traveller did intrude within its borders, his only
wish, and that a vain one, was to make his way out.  The
reason of its being so carefully guarded was that once the
Mountain Tiger had narrowly escaped being surprised by
a sotnia of Cossacks, and he had determined never to be
caught napping again.  On the outer edge of the
prohibited district there were patrols by day and by night, and
surprise visits were paid to every hamlet in the neighbourhood.
Within, at a distance of about two miles from the
fortress, there was a series of posts about a quarter of a
mile apart, and the ground between them was studded
with innumerable and unexpected obstacles.  One only
path led to the stronghold, and upon this men were
constantly encamped.  These particulars had been learnt at
various times from members of the garrison when they
came out on brief spells of furlough, and neither the
landlord nor the man who had spoken most could vouch for
the truth of all the details they had thus picked up.

Ah-Sam enquired whether the obstacles mentioned
completely encircled the fort.  The question was answered by
an old man who had hitherto taken little part in the
conversation.  There was no need, he said, for artificial
obstacles on the farther side of the fort.  He had been in it
on one occasion many years ago, in the time of the old
chief, and he knew therefore more about it than anyone
present in that inn.  Had any other of the company ever
entered the stronghold?  No, none had but himself alone.
Sing-Cheng had just opened his mouth to contradict him
when Ah-Sam gave a loud sneeze, the snoring figure on
the k'ang stirred, and in the general rustle Ah-Sam
whispered to the impetuous chief to be more carefully upon his
guard.  The old man continued, speaking in low tones
and with a solemn air of mystery.  On the other side of
the fort, he said, was a ravine, so wide, so deep, so
precipitous, that no other defence was needed.  He
remembered that, when he was a young man, one of the inmates
of the fort had incautiously stepped too near the edge; he
had fallen, and his mangled body was washed and battered
by the foaming torrent until the vultures had picked his
bones clean.

The incident impressed the company.  There was a
moment's silence.  The snores of the prone figure on the
k'ang had ceased.  Then Ah-Sam asked again: Could the
fort be seen from that village?  No, it was too far away,
said the landlord; but it could be seen from a low hill
about nine miles to the south-east, the direction which he
advised the travellers to take.  But it was so distant that
it looked scarcely larger than a hut upon the hillside.
Ah-Sam said that he must get a glimpse of the stronghold
next day; he had never before heard of such a terrible
place, and he would like to be able to tell his uncle, when
he reached Gensan, that he had seen with his own eyes
the dread haunt of the Mountain Tiger.

The conversation dragged on for some time longer,
turning upon the great struggle then in progress between
Russia and Japan.  Bob was thoroughly tired when at
length the voices ceased, the evil-smelling lamps were put
out, and the guests sought their several couches.  He was
burning with eagerness to learn from Ah-Sam what he had
discovered; but it was too dangerous to attempt to talk to
him in the inn, and he had perforce to wait until the
morning.

Early next morning they purchased as large a stock of
provisions as they could carry in their wicker-baskets, and
set off towards the hill of which the landlord had spoken.
Bob felt that the eyes of the people in the inn were upon
them as they left.  The late-comer of the previous evening
stood at the door watching them with his furtive eyes.
Ah-Sam, in obedience to a cautious whisper of Bob's, had
made particular enquiries regarding the road to their
alleged destination.  The nearest village of any
consequence, he had learnt, was about twenty miles distant, on
the far slope of a range of high hills just visible against the
morning sky.  Towards this, then, the three took their
course, in a direction that would lead some four miles
outside the forbidden district of the Mountain Tiger.  The
country was rolling and sparsely wooded, becoming more
and more broken as it approached the hills that stretched
across the horizon from south-west to north-east.

When they were fairly away from the inn, Bob whispered
to Ah-Sam that on no account must he or the chief look
behind.  Presently the path led them through a clump of
trees, and Bob seized the opportunity to look back, from
behind a trunk, along the path towards the inn.  He was
just in time to see, about a third of a mile away, the figure
of a man scuttling along in their wake.  Even in the
distance Bob was almost sure that he recognized the
beetle-browed guest who had so persistently addressed him in
the inn.  Again impressing upon his two companions the
importance of not looking back, he set a steady but not
hurried pace, and now that he was well out of earshot, got
from Ah-Sam a full account of what he had learnt in the
inn.  They tramped on for two hours before resting on the
slope of a low hill, which from the Chinaman's general
description appeared to be the hill from whose summit
Chang-Wo's fort could be seen.  But, in order to avoid
the appearance of curiosity, Bob called a halt some
distance down the slope rather than at the top.  Then
pursuing their way after a short rest, still careful to show
no suspicion of being followed, they gained the crest of
the hill, and saw a wide expanse of country spread out
before them.  They did not pause now, but Bob, taking
his observations as he walked, noted in the far distance
to the left a bright spot against the dark background
of a hill.  It gradually defined itself as an extensive
building perched on a precipitous spur.  The intervening
country was bare; and at two or three spots upon it he
descried small moving patches, which he surmised to be
bodies of horsemen.  One of these patches, from its size
consisting of from twenty to thirty riders, was much nearer
than the others, and apparently heading in his direction.
It was still very far away, and since it was not coming
from the direction of the inn he hoped that the horsemen
were not concerned with him.  He would have liked to
hurry his pace, but recognized that he would thus awaken
the suspicion of the man behind, who, as he had perceived
by a hasty glance some time before, was still following.

The situation was clearly somewhat awkward.  If the
horsemen were indeed coming on the track of the party of
three, Bob suspected that they would not be satisfied with
explanations, but would arrest them and carry them to the
fortress for examination by Chang-Wo himself.  In that
case nothing could save them, for Bob at any rate must
be instantly recognized.  If they were not actually on his
track, they might be set upon it by the Manchu coming
up behind.  It was important, at any rate, to know
whether they were working in concert with that dogged
pursuer, and Bob decided that his best course was to
dodge the latter until this point could be cleared up.

What could be done?  There was no time for making
experiments; if the attempt at eluding the Manchu did not
succeed at once, it would fail miserably and entirely.  Bob
looked anxiously around.  For some distance the path had
led over loose, rocky ground, alternating with small copses
of hill trees where the rainfall had washed the soil into
hollows.  The copse nearest to the spot on which he now
stood was a ragged clump of stunted pines, which in the
late Manchurian spring had scarcely begun to show signs
of new growth.  In any case it would prove an insecure
place of hiding, for it would be instantly searched by his
pursuers.  But half a mile farther on he spied a narrow
watercourse zigzagging almost at right angles to the track.
It was a mountain stream which had been so swollen by
the frost and rains that it had cut a bed some feet deep
in the face of the hill.  Except where it crossed the path it
was concealed by the shelving bank.

As Bob's eyes fell upon it, a sudden idea struck him.
Hurrying his pace, he led the way towards it, and found
that on the other side was a stretch of damp, mossy
ground, leading up to an irregular group of rocks
somewhat to the left of the path.  These rocks were the lower
fringe of a vast extent of broken country—a country of
large boulders separated by narrow, tortuous fissures.
Without telling his companions what was in his mind, he
waded through the stream, the water of which was still
icy cold, and stepped on to the wet, oozing ground.  The
two Chinamen followed him; the footsteps of the three left
deep prints in the moss, filled instantly by water.  They
gained the rocks beyond; then Bob, instead of pursuing
the same course, which would have been among the inhospitable
boulders, turned sharp to the left, and describing
a rough semicircle came back to the stream.

His followers tramped along behind him, saying never a
word, wondering what his purpose was, and confident that
this doubling on their track was not without some
important end in view.  Along the bed of the stream, the
water rising almost to his knees, he made his way as
rapidly as possible, crossed his former path, and continued
his march for some hundred and fifty yards beyond, till he
came to a spot where the bank on the right was low,
scarcely above the level of the water.  There he left the
stream, and wading through a small swamp, bore
continually to the right until he arrived almost at the path
again, more than a hundred yards from the stream.  He
had thus made a complete circuit, and come to a point
where the hillside rose steeply above the path and was
strewn with several fallen trees uprooted or overthrown by
the previous autumn's storms.  Creeping forward with
great caution under cover of the prostrate trunks and of
the few standing trees which the elements had spared, the
little party came to a spot almost immediately over the
path, but completely screened from the sight of anyone
below.  There they lay in cold silence and waited.

Hardly more than two minutes passed when they heard
the rapid shuffle of footsteps upon the stony path, and the
hard breathing of a man.  Peering cautiously over, Bob
saw that it was their Manchu pursuer.  He was moving
with swiftness on his clogs, seeming uneasy at having lost
sight of the party.  He did not look up; indeed, he would
never have suspected the hiding-place above him, for no
one could have reached it directly from the path
without being seen by him.  Panting and perspiring, he had
only just passed the concealed party, when Bob heard the
clink of approaching hoofs, and a few moments later a
group of riders dashed over the crest of a hillock some
distance on the other side of the path and bore down
immediately on the Manchu, who stopped, wheeled round,
and stood waiting.

With a thrill of uneasiness Bob saw that the foremost
of the horsemen was Chang-Wo himself.  Sing-Cheng
also recognized his old enemy; Bob heard him pant, and
for a moment feared lest an incautious exclamation should
betray him.  But Ah-Sam was on the watch; he laid his
hand on the chief's arm, and the man restrained his pent-up rage.

Chang-Wo rode up to the Manchu and eagerly questioned
him.  Bob was, of course, unable to follow their
brief conversation, but from their gestures and demeanour—the
man pointing along the path ahead, his leader's face
gleaming with malignant satisfaction—he divined what its
purport was.  With a grunt of approval Chang-Wo rode
on; his troop followed him.  Bob counted sixteen horsemen.
Then the Manchu, his features relaxing in the relief of a
task accomplished, sat down contentedly beside the path,
untied his wallet, and brought out a handful of dried fish,
which he proceeded to devour.

The party in hiding waited on, cramped and chilled, not
daring yet to rise.  The man was only a few yards below
them; they could hear the working of his jaws, the
smacking of his lips, his grunts of appreciation; between the
mouthfuls any movement they might make would assuredly
be heard by him.  Half an hour passed slowly by; once or
twice Bob noticed that the man paused in his eating and
looked somewhat anxiously in the direction in which the
horsemen had disappeared; but hearing nothing, seeing
nothing, he returned to his fish until his appetite was
appeased.  He had just retied his wallet preparatory to rising,
when the sound of hoofs scattering the loose stones was
heard.  A few seconds later Chang-Wo dashed up,
followed at a little distance by fourteen out of his sixteen
men.  He almost rode down the Manchu, who, having
scrambled to his feet, stood in cowering alarm as the
brigand chief pulled up his horse with a jerk, and rained
down upon the man a shower of furious questions.  Vainly
the poor wretch tried to make reply; at the first word
Chang-Wo shortened the long spear he carried, and with
ungovernable rage drove it through him.  The man fell
without a groan.  Then Chang-Wo, riding his horse over
the prone body, roared an order to eight of his men, and
with the remaining six galloped away over the crest of
the hill.





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.. _`The Tiger's Lair`:

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   CHAPTER XXIII


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   The Tiger's Lair

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A Tramp by Night—A Distant View—Across the Ravine—The
Cleft in the Gully—Scouting—Light and Shadow—Baffled—An
Inspiration

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Bob and his men still crouched behind their fallen log.
Here indeed had been an expressive object-lesson in the
methods of the Mountain Tiger.  The sight of the dead
man gave Bob a sickening sense of horror.  Had his
friend Kobo suffered a similar, perhaps a worse fate?  Or
was he still alive, with a more awful fate in store?  As
these questions suggested themselves Bob felt his courage
renewed, his determination strengthened.  Be the issue
what it might, for Kobo he must and would dare all.

The eight men left by Chang-Wo had evidently been
ordered to continue the search.  They spread out fan-wise,
and began to ride slowly in the direction in which
the three fugitives had been last seen to be going.  Bob
watched them anxiously.  Fortunately they spread from
a point almost opposite to the hidden three.  It did not
occur to them that the fugitives had made a circuit, doubling
on their tracks.  They tried to find traces of footsteps
on the ground, and drew gradually farther away from the
hiding-place.  As soon as the last of them had
disappeared, Bob scrambled down to the path, followed by
his men.  He shuddered as he passed the dead Manchu;
Sing-Cheng with no compunction stooped and rifled his
clothes; then all three set off in the direction Chang-Wo
had taken: there would be less danger in following
him.  Thus, keeping a sharp look-out, they retraced
their steps for nearly two miles.  Then, noting a patch
of scrub on the left which offered a resting-place sufficiently
secure from observation, Bob plunged into it, found
it deeper than it had appeared, and decided to remain
there for the rest of the day.

Night fell; the sky was clear and starlit, and taking
the stars as their guide the party of three resumed
their journey, following a course due south.  All through
the night they marched, eyes and ears alert, but seeing
nothing save rocks and trees and their grim shadows,
hearing nothing but the faint calls of wild beasts.
At daybreak they were dead beat; their journey had
been arduous, and they knew not whither their path
would lead.  Even Sing-Cheng was unfamiliar with this
region.

At dawn they found themselves nearly at the top of
a range of hills, which the chief recognized as being near
the large village mentioned in the inn.  It was wild
desolate country; there were occasional patches of grass
among the hills; on sheltered slopes mountain trees grew
in clumps; but in those latitudes the signs of spring
appear late, and the prospect had all the bleak dreariness
of winter.  Choosing a spot defended from the cutting
morning wind by a wall of rock, they snatched a few
hours' sleep, taking it in turns to keep guard; then after
a meal they pressed on again, bearing to the east with the
object of coming upon the fort from the side of the ravine.
Bob hoped that Sing-Cheng could have led him direct to
this spot, but when Ah-Sam asked him the Chunchuse
said that he had never approached the place from this
quarter, and could only guess at its whereabouts.

By and by they came to a stream of some size, flowing
north and south.  Bob guessed that this must be the
stream that ran through the ravine; it gave him hope
that he was on the right track.  He looked along the
surface of the water for the roughness that would indicate
a ford.  At that spot they crossed, tying themselves
together with the straps of their baskets to prevent
themselves from being swept away by the rapid current.
Having crossed, they pushed on without a halt, up the
left bank, and arrived somewhat late in the afternoon at
an elevated spot, where they came suddenly in sight of
the fort, a mile or more below them.

Sing-Cheng's eyes gleamed as he saw the stronghold of
his enemy.  He stretched his right arm towards the place
and began to speak excitedly.  Bob pulled him behind a
rock.  It was not unlikely that Chang-Wo among his
many precautions had set a sentry to watch this part
of the surroundings of the fort, even though the ravine
rendered it unassailable from this direction.

Keeping well in cover, Bob himself took a long look
at the stronghold that was now more important to him
than anything else in the world.  What he saw was an
irregular fortress, probably a hundred yards in diameter,
built on the edge of the ravine, which appeared a black
strip in the distance.  There were five flanking towers,
two resting on the ravine, the other three disposed
somewhat irregularly on the outer wall; this was evidently of
considerable height.  In the whole enceinte there was,
so far as Bob could see, only one gateway, on the farther
side.  Allowing for his distance from it, and for the slight
slope of the intervening country, he estimated that the
ravine was wide; and from the general lie of the land,
and his own experiences of the lower course of the river,
he knew that it must be of great depth.  On the near side
of the ravine, almost exactly opposite the fort, he noticed
that the edge was broken by a narrow cleft running at
right angles to it.  Beyond the fort the country was bare
and rolling to the north, but to the west and south was
much broken up by knolls and plantations of fir.

The gray stone walls stood out in clear relief against
the background.  Within the enclosure scores of figures
were moving about between the low buildings; it was like
an ant-hill for activity; and on the rising ground beyond
the farther wall Bob descried more than one ragged
encampment, confirming what had been told in the inn about
the careful guard maintained on the only practicable line
of approach.

As he took in these details, Bob realized with a new
clearness how Chang-Wo had made himself a power and
terror in the land.  With such a fastness to fall back
upon, and supported by a numerous band of desperadoes,
he could defy Russian and Chinese alike; it was easy to
understand that neither had been eager to try conclusions
with him.  The fort was so situated and so massively
constructed that it might mock at any attempt at capture,
short of a regular siege enforced by heavy artillery.

Yet it might be in this solitary mountain stronghold,
the lair of the Mountain Tiger, that, dead or alive, Kobo
San lay.  As Bob let his eyes dwell on it with anxious
care, he felt his heart sink within him.  What had he
come for?  What could he do, with two helpers however
willing, however earnest, to rescue Kobo if Kobo was
indeed immured within those strong towers?  How could
he discover whether his friend was there?  The strength
of Samson could not tear down those massive walls; the
wiles of Ulysses could not avail to win entrance through
that single gateway; only an eagle could ascend from the
depth of the ravine, and even had he eagle's wings he
would ascend in vain.  Why had he come on this wild
enterprise?  Now that he had seen with his own eyes,
what remained to him but to acknowledge the hopelessness
of his quest, and quit this region of tyranny and death?

Long he mused, weighed down by a despair more bitter
than had burdened him when he lay under sentence of
death at Antung.  He felt a strange certainty that Kobo
was there a prisoner, and alive; humanity, gratitude,
affection combined to produce an intense longing to save
his friend, yet even his longing was clouded by a sense of
powerlessness, his activity seemed paralysed.

Ah-Sam had been watching him out of his slant expressionless
eyes.  For a time he stood by his master mutely,
noting every shade of feeling that flitted across his tired
face.  At last he touched him lightly on the arm.

"Massa no can do not'ing.  Allo wailo this-tim'."

Bob started as if stung.  The words were but the echo
of his own despair, yet they provoked him to almost
violent repudiation.

"Impossible!" he said.  "Nothing is impossible.  We
have ourselves done things people would have said
impossible.  At the gully—at the temple!  What has been
done can be done again.  I am going into the fort.  When
it begins to get dark I shall go and find out a way.
We haven't come all this distance to go back without
making an effort.  We'll have a try, Ah-Sam,—a try,
anyhow."

"Allo lightee, massa; tly, no fear."

In his cold unexcitable manner he told Sing-Cheng what
his master had said.  The man grunted approval; he saw
no way of accomplishing their purpose; he did not care for
that; the Englishman had scattered Chang-Wo's Manchus
with curses from a brazen bell, and he was ready to follow
the Englishman anywhere.

"That's right," said Bob heartily.  "Please God, we'll
find a way."

Till dusk he waited, thinking, puzzling.  The first move
must be to spy out the position—the surroundings of the
fort, especially the ravine.  He resolved that this was
a task for himself alone; the risk of being seen would
be trebled if he took his companions.  He wondered
whether the moon would give him light; without it he
could discover little or nothing, with it he might himself
be discovered.  The afternoon had been cloudy; a high
wind had swept dense cumulus across the sky; but the
cloud mass had been broken, not continuous, and the
fitful gleams he might expect if the moon rose would
serve his purpose better than a steady shine.

It was not yet dark when he started, but sufficiently
gloomy.

"Wait here till I return," he said to Ah-Sam.  "If you
are discovered, save yourselves as best you can."

He crept cautiously down the long slope.  Shrubs,
mounds, irregularities in the soil, gave him cover for a
considerable distance.  A belt of low trees apparently
fringed the ravine; if he could gain that, he thought he
would be safe.  He came to it, passed through, and found
that it did not extend quite to the edge of the ravine; a
space of a few yards had at some time been cleared, but
was now becoming overgrown with brushwood.  He
threw himself on his face, crawled behind a thick clump,
and found himself on the brink.  For a few moments
he waited, wondering whether, as' he moved, his
light-coloured garments had been descried from the fort.  He
heard the sound of many voices from the other side, the
whinny of a horse, the clink of metal; but there was
nothing to indicate any unusual circumstance, and
drawing himself a little forward, still keeping as much as
possible in the shadow of the bush, he peeped over.

The ravine was deep, deeper even than he had expected.
Even in the gloom he could see its opposite side and the
walls of the fort, but he could not see the bottom of the
ravine; he only heard the swirl of the water over the rocks
far below, and fancied he could just discern an
occasional dash of white foam.  Opposite rose the grim wall
of the fort.  Bob scanned it anxiously for the sign of a
sentry; there was none.  He realized that none was needed.
Below the fort the ground shelved rapidly for several yards
to the edge of the ravine, then bent inwards before it
became a perpendicular wall to the invisible bottom.  Bob
looked all along the space from left to right, and marked
one spot where the inward curve was broken by what
appeared to be a horizontal rocky platform, like those
large flat slabs sometimes encountered exceptionally
among jagged rocks on the sea-shore.  Beyond this
platform, up the shelving bank, he espied a narrow winding
path which was visible for a few yards, then disappeared
into the face of the cliff to the left of the fort.  In the
cliff-wall itself, just above the platform, he caught sight
of what appeared to be an iron staple, though this seemed
so unlikely that he thought his eyes might have deceived him.

"A sentry's post, I suppose," said Bob to himself,
"though it is evidently never required.  Only a bird
could cross the ravine.  I wonder what its width is."

It was difficult in the growing darkness to make a
guess; still, it could hardly be less than eighty feet
across.  The width varied a little to right and left of his
position, but only by a few feet at the most.  Bob saw
only too well that the fort was indeed, as his informants
had said, on this side inaccessible.  The question
suggested itself: Could it be reached from the bottom of the
ravine at some remote point to left or right?  At the spot
where he lay the descent on both sides was too
precipitous to be scaled even by an expert mountaineer;
but it was possible that at some distance the cliffs would
be lower as well as less steep.  In that case he could
descend on one side and ascend on the other.  But he
might need assistance in his climbing.  He remembered
that Alpine climbers roped themselves together for safety's
sake; it would be a reasonable precaution to return for
Ah-Sam and the chief, so that with their joined straps
they might help him in case of need.

It was now so nearly dark that the risk of being
discovered was much lessened.  Rising on hands and knees,
he prepared to make his way back up the hillside; but he
suddenly remembered the cleft he had noticed on this side
of the ravine, at right angles to it, and it occurred to him
that he ought to take a cursory look at this also.  Crawling
within the belt of trees, he rose to his feet and walked
rapidly as long as it was safe, then wriggled along from
bush to bush till he came to the edge of the opening, and
looking over found that it was in the shape of a long
wedge, like a slice cut out of a large cake.  The sides
of this also were precipitous, and the bottom was out of
sight.

He looked along the cleft from the narrow inner end
to the wider outer end, and there noticed a long dark
object lying transversely across it.  He thought at first
that it was possibly a sapling which had been uprooted
and fallen, but this idea was negatived on his approaching
the spot.  The object lay, not on top of the cliff on
either side, but a foot or two below.  Walking, still with
caution, close up to the place, he was surprised to find
that the two sides of the cleft were connected by a stout
bar of iron, the nearer end of which he felt was firmly
embedded in the rock, reminding him of similar poles
used at home to support unsteady arches or prop up
tottering houses.  Obviously no such purpose could have
been intended for this bar, and he vaguely wondered
why and when it had been placed in position.  It had
clearly been there a long time; it was much rusted, flakes
of rust coming off as he touched it.

Leaving the cleft, he returned as quickly as possible
to the spot where he had left Ah-Sam and the chief.
The former rose to meet him.

"Well," said Bob, "has all been quiet?"

"Yes, massa; no piecee man come this-side, no bobbely,
not'ing."

"I want you to come along with me.  Hide your baskets
under the shrubs, but bring the straps; we may require
them."

In a few moments he was leading the way in a direction
at an angle to the path he had taken, past the narrow end
of the cleft, and then on a line parallel with the edge of
the ravine.  He walked for nearly a mile, finding as he
proceeded that the ground, while undulating, was in
general on almost the same level as his starting-place.
Suddenly, however, it made a sharp dip, and going to
the edge of the ravine he saw that the cliffs on both sides
were less precipitous and less lofty.  The sky had for
some time been growing lighter, indicating the rising of
the moon; and peering over the edge he saw the water
of the torrent sweeping along in foamy current below.
The sides of the ravine were covered with stunted trees,
by means of which he saw that descent or ascent might
be facilitated.  Telling Ah-Sam to join the three straps
together, he took one end and climbed down the rocky
slope, carefully placing his feet, and stopping at intervals
to allow the men to make sure their footing behind him.
Having reached the brink of the stream, he bade his
followers remain hidden among the trees; then he waded
into the water, and began to ascend the opposite side,
carrying the strap with him to assist in his descent by
and by.

The moon, emerging now and then from among the
flying clouds, threw a fitful radiance over the scene as
Bob scrambled up the steep acclivity.  Stepping with
great care, pulling himself up by overhanging branches
after he had tested them, endeavouring not to displace
loose stones, he at last with one final heave gained the
top, where he sat down to recover breath and look around
him.  The white moonlight clothed the neighbourhood
with a ghostly glamour, throwing up in bold relief the
grim outlines of the fort far up the ravine.  No tree or
other obstacle interposed between it and him; the ground
for some distance from the edge had probably been kept
bare purposely.  But some hundred and fifty yards to his
left there stood a dark patch of firs, he could not tell of
what extent; to gain that would at any rate bring him a
little nearer to the fort.  Throwing himself on his face,
he crawled towards it, pausing every few moments to
listen.  It seemed a long time before he reached the
firs: it was really only a few minutes; but at last he
gained their shelter, and stood erect, stretching himself
in relief.

A light wind sighed in notes of gentle melancholy among
the branches, though above his head he saw between the
tree-tops the heavy clouds drifting rapidly across the sky.
He moved carefully among the firs, pausing now and then
to listen and to take his bearings, for he was anxious to
avoid the risk of losing his way as he returned.  The trees
at the edge of the clump were set far apart, and between
their trunks he saw three firs forming a group on the other
side of the ravine.  These he took as his landmark.  Then
he walked into the heart of the patch, where the trees
grew thicker, treading lightly on the deep compost of fir
cones, wondering whither his steps were leading him.

Suddenly he halted.  A faint sound had touched his
ears from a point ahead—a sound like the clink of steel.
He listened, his body bent forward resting on his right
foot, his left foot raised upon its toes.  The sound had
ceased; he now heard nothing but the rustle of the wind.
He went on again, but after a few steps he was again
arrested by the same sound, the same slight clink.  Again
he waited, for a longer time.  Hearing nothing, he took
a few more steps, and emerged almost unawares upon a
small clear space.  Instantly he darted on tiptoe behind
the nearest trunk.  In the centre of the clearing a figure
had caught his eye, a motionless form whose outlines in
the suddenness of its discovery he had had no time to
distinguish.  He waited, scarcely daring to breathe; his
heart thumped against his ribs, he heard its thuds.  But
there was no sound from before him—yes, he caught again
the clink-clink, louder, more prolonged.

He waited, then ventured to peep out from behind the
trunk.  The figure was still there, in the same spot, in
the same attitude, motionless.  Strain his eyes as he
might, Bob could detect, in the darkness of an
overshadowing cloud, no sign of movement.  A gust of wind
came sighing through the copse; yes, the figure does
move, and as it moves there comes again the clink-clink.
Then all is still again.  A nameless uneasiness seized upon
Bob; a cold, clammy perspiration broke from every pore;
he watched the figure as if fascinated.  Again a gust of
wind; again the slight swaying movement; again the soft
clink-clink; again the perfect stillness.

Bob could bear the suspense no longer.  Between himself
and the figure stood one slender sapling, an accident
of growth.  With heart wildly beating, he stole out and
tiptoed towards this fragile cover.  He reached it just as
a stronger gust swept through the plantation, and at the
same moment a sudden beam shot from beneath a cloud
and filtered wanly through the tree-tops.  The figure
swayed more violently; the clink-clink became the rattle
of chains; and in the moonlight Bob saw with horror,
but at the same time with unspeakable relief, that the
form was a human skeleton, chained upright to a post.

He remembered what Ah-Sam had learnt in the inn.
This no doubt was some hapless wretch who had been
caught wandering on the spot and chained there, with
who could tell what accompaniment of cruelty, to die of
starvation or exhaustion.  Grim reminder to Bob of what
his own fate would be if he fell into the hands of this
Wild Man of the Hills; of what perhaps Kobo's fate had
already been!  For a moment he paused, surveying the
grisly object.  "Poor wretch!" he murmured.  Then with
lips resolutely set he pursued his way.

Keeping as nearly as he could judge a course parallel
with the edge of the ravine, he crossed the clearing and
plunged into the firs on the other side.  In a few minutes
the copse thinned, then came to an end; there was nothing
but open country, rough, but clear of trees, between him
and the fort.  The ravine, he thought, must be about five
hundred yards on his right.  In that direction, where the
ground sloped down to the edge, he saw a low hut; a
similar building lay at almost equal distance on his left.
Were they the huts of sentries? he wondered.  He waited
at the edge of the copse.  From the hut on the right came
no sign, but on the left he saw in the moonlight a figure
emerge from behind the building and walk slowly towards
him.  Bob stood motionless.  Surely he had not been
seen?  No, the man approached but a few steps, then
returned and disappeared.

Bob's pulse had resumed its natural beat; he felt cold
and strangely tired, but the suspense, the uncertainty, the
eeriness of waiting for he knew not what, had gone.  All
his senses, all his intelligence, were bent towards the
fulfilment of his purpose.  He must go on, whatever the risk.
Waiting for the moon once more to ride behind a cloud,
he stole forward between the huts.  For a quarter of a
mile all was dark, then a gleam shot forth; he dropped
to the ground and lay still.  He waited long, turning on
his side to watch the black clouds scudding overhead.  At
last the moon was again obscured; again he stole forward,
and he had come within an arrow's flight of the fort, and
was hidden from the huts by a dip in the ground, before
the moon reappeared.

He could now take a leisurely view of this face of the
stronghold, bathed and blanched as it was by the
moonbeams.  Two figures were moving up and down upon the
wall, two others on the top of the flanking tower to his
left.  He saw the opening, black and ominous, of the
fort's only gateway.  Here and there around him the
grass was blackened as if by a temporary encampment.
If he moved, his light clothes would show against these
dark patches.  He wondered whether it would not almost
be safer if, avoiding them, he should continue his progress
only when the moon shone.

He still lay watching, vainly trying to imagine some
means of entering the fort, when he heard the clang of
arms, then a great creaking and groaning.  Hardly
daring to peer over the brim of the hollow in which he
lay, he saw the huge gate swung open outwards.  Even
as the thought struck him that this was surely an unusual
incident at such a time of night, a man on horseback came
out, set his horse to a fast trot, and clattered by within
a hundred yards of Bob's position.  He flattened himself
against the ground and held his breath; he felt the tremor
of the earth under the horses' hoofs; he heard his heart
beating.  But the horseman did not slacken his pace;
the clatter became fainter.  Again there was a groaning
and creaking, and the great gate clanged to.  All was
silent.

For a full hour Bob lay there, while the light of the
moon came and went, vainly endeavouring to think out
a means of accomplishing his ends.  It seemed to him
that he had come in truth on a wild-goose chase.  The
walls of the fort rose sheer from the ground to a height
of at least twenty feet, smooth, regular, with not a
foothold from base to crown.  He could not hope to scale
them.  Even if he could do so, what chance had he of
finding Kobo?  He must himself be instantly discovered.
The walls were out of the question.  What of the
gateway?  As he had just seen, the massive gate was shut at
night; no doubt it was closely guarded by day.  Supposing
an opportunity offered of slipping in in disguise,
how could he make use of it?  He knew nothing of
the language.  He would gain admittance only to be
detected, arrested, and despatched.

Thus all his puzzling was in vain.  At length, with
a feeling of despair, he rose during a temporary darkening
of the moon, and made his stealthy way back towards
the patch of firs.  He groped his way through, shuddering
as he heard the clinking of the chained figure, emerged
on the opposite side, and finding the three trees he had
chosen as his landmark, safely reached the edge of the
ravine.  There he waited.  The moon had sunk behind
the distant hills; in the darkness he would run the risk
of alarming his enemies if he attempted to descend, for
this side of the ravine was steep, as he knew, and he
could not get down without making some noise.  So,
crouched under the edge out of sight from above, he
waited, cold, tired, and heavy of heart, through the night
till the chill dawn.  Then with infinite care he let himself
down from tree to tree, passing the strap round a trunk
and holding firmly to it until his feet were secure below.
He reached the stream, waded through, and found his
two companions waiting with oriental patience where he
had left them.

"My say no can do not'ing," said Ah-Sam, glancing
at his master's drawn, pale features.

Bob was too tired to reply.  Under cover of the trees
the three threaded their way back to the spot where they
had left their provisions concealed, and there, making
sure that no alarm had been raised in the fort, they sat
down to their breakfast.  Bob had no appetite.  He
forced himself to eat, for he knew not what further trial
of endurance might be before him; then, feeling the
need of sleep, he lay down behind a spreading bush, and
bade the other two keep watch in turn.

The day passed alternately in sleeping and in discussing
the situation.  Neither Ah-Sam nor Sing-Cheng had any
suggestion to offer.  The former stolidly adhered to his
opinion that nothing was possible.  The latter said in
effect, "Don't ask me to plan.  Tell me what to do,
and I will do it."

Bob got neither help nor comfort from them.  The
stock of food was rapidly diminishing.  The two Chinamen
ate without sparing; and if only for this reason, either
something must be done at once or they must all return
on their tracks.  The sense of his powerlessness stung
Bob like a goad.  At one moment he was on the point
of giving up; then with the thought of Kobo in the power
of Chang-Wo came a fresh spurt of determination.  All
through the day fits of despair alternated with renewed
efforts to solve the difficulty, until his mood of nervous
irritability was almost past enduring.  Ah-Sam and the
chief talked constantly in low whispers, and with such
solemn looks of concern that Bob felt they would help
him if they could.  It occurred to him once to ask them
what point they were discussing so gravely, and he could
have knocked their heads together in sheer vexation when
Ah-Sam replied:

"My tellum Sing-Cheng littee pussy boilum stew, makee
numpa one topside chow-chow.  Hai yah!"

At last, thoroughly worn out with the strain, as
darkness sank over the hills Bob fell into an uneasy sleep.
It was crowded with dreams—of recent happenings, of
his school-days, of his childhood among the Cumbrian
dales.  He turned restlessly from side to side, sometimes
muttering, sometimes calling to his friends, giving his
two companions, as they in turn took watch, matter for
wonder and concern.  At last he found himself on his
back, with eyes wide open, staring up into the starlit
void, his pulse beating furiously, his nerves aquiver.  He
had awoke at a moment when in his dream a terrible
accident was on the point of happening.  The scene was
the school gymnasium.  He was swinging on one of the
ropes of the giant-stride, and seemed to have worked
up a velocity only to be obtained in dreamland.  On the
next rope before him swung his chum, and he felt that
some demon of speed was whirling him down upon the
boy, with such force that he must inevitably do him serious
hurt.  Only by his own agility and muscular strength
was the injury averted; and he woke trembling from the
nightmare—to a scene of absolute peace beneath the clear
cold stars.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright, uttering a low exclamation
that caught the ear of Ah-Sam, taking his turn of duty.

"I have it!  I have it!" he cried.  "Ah-Sam, wake
the chief.  There is a long journey before you."

Sing-Cheng was soon roused from his snoring slumbers.
Then Bob, his nerves still quivering with excitement, told
Ah-Sam what he must do.  With the chief he was to
set off at once for the large village of which they had
heard.  It lay probably about sixteen miles away over the
hills.  They were to enter the village and explain that their
master's mule-cart had broken down several miles away
through the snapping of the traces.  They required ten
yards of new rope.  When they had bought this they were
to say, as by an after-thought, that, rope being very dear
in their village far to the north, they would like to
purchase a larger quantity to have a stock always in reserve,
and to sell again to neighbouring farmers.  They were
to ask for at least one hundred yards.  Further, they
must procure more food, and return with their loads as
soon as possible.

The chief looked discontented when this errand was
explained to him.  He had evidently expected some
scheme for the instant conquest of the fort.  But Ah-Sam
reminded him of his promise to do anything he was bidden,
and he assented with a shrug.

The moon was up.

"If you start at once," said Bob, "you will cover
several miles before the moon sets.  When it is too dark
to see your way, rest.  On your return, don't come within
five miles of the fort by daylight.  Wait until dusk, then
hurry back to me with all speed.  Ah-Sam, I trust to you;
be careful, be quick."

The men took the money he gave them, and with the
customary low obeisance marched away.  At the same
time Bob stole down to the wedge-shaped cleft in the
side of the ravine, and, keeping under cover, spent some
time in looking up and down it, and across to the fort.
The moon was disappearing when he returned and threw
himself down again to rest and think.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`In the Enemy's Gates`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center large bold

   In the Enemy's Gates

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

A Long Rope—A Trial Trip—A Miss—As a Thief in the
Night—Chang-Wo Takes His Ease—Tantalus

.. vspace:: 2

The next day passed so slowly that it seemed as though it
would never end.  Bob was full of all kinds of apprehension
as to what had befallen Ah-Sam and the chief.  He
wished he had accompanied them; then saw how unwise
it would have been so to do; his presence would only have
been a source of danger, and, except in an actual fight, he
could be of no use.  He ate sparingly of the remaining
food; till the men returned he could not be sure of their
being able to procure a fresh supply.  If they proved
unsuccessful, all three would be on short commons indeed.

Dusk fell.  There had been time for them to go and
return.  Bob waited anxiously.  Hour after hour passed;
the moon rose, and climbed higher and higher into the
sky.  Where were the men?  He was anxious about their
fate; but he fretted also because, even if they returned in
safety, it was growing too late to do anything that night.
He walked up and down like a sentry, stopping at the end
of his beat to listen, how often he did not count.  At last,
when he judged it must be nearing midnight, he heard a
soft footfall, and in a moment saw a man's form approaching.
Holding his pistol ready, he waited until the man
came within a few yards of him, then called softly, "Who
are you?"

"My Ah-Sam, allo lightee," came the answer in a whisper.

Bob lowered the pistol, and the Chinaman stepped
forward panting, and dropped a heavy bundle at his feet.

"Where is Sing-Cheng?"

"He one piecee li wailo, he hidee.  Chang-Wo
look-see.  'Ch'hoy! two piecee man', he say; 'my catchum,
killum'; one piecee man no makee muchee bobbely; he
come this-side allo lightee; Chang-Wo no can look-see he."

"I see, you come one at a time; Sing-Cheng will give
you time to get here, then come himself.  A good idea of
yours, Ah-Sam.  Now tell me how you got on."

They had reached the village at early morning, said
Ah-Sam, and made their purchases with no difficulty.  On
leaving the place they had thought it advisable to make a
slight circuit, and had unluckily, after an hour's march,
come plump upon two of Chang-Wo's men on horseback.
One of the men had instantly recognized Sing-Cheng, and
attempted to lay hands on him, while the other made at
Ah-Sam with his spear.

"And how did you get away?" asked Bob.

"Killum, one, two," replied Ah-Sam simply.

"The horses?"

"He lun wailo chop-chop; my no can catchee."

"Towards the fort?"

"No, massa; lun far far wailo that-side."

He pointed in the opposite direction.  Bob gave a sigh
of relief.

"Did you see any more of the brigands as you came?"
he asked.

"Look-see one, two, t'lee; he makee my hidee; my
come this-side velly slow, galaw!"

In a few minutes the chief arrived, bearing his share of
the burden.  Both he and Ah-Sam were exhausted; in any
case it was too late to attempt anything that night; and
Bob told the men to eat and rest, for there would be work
for them on the morrow.

When, next day, dusk was deepening into night, a
sentry on the wall of the fort abutting on the ravine might
possibly have seen, if it had occurred to him to look, a
figure moving by almost imperceptible degrees along the
face of the cleft opposite.  The course followed was along
a narrow ledge some feet below the top, leading from
the inner end of the cleft to a spot immediately below the
stout iron girder whose presence and purpose had given
Bob so much food for conjecture.  Arriving at the girder,
the figure reached up, cautiously passed the looped
end of a long rope over it, and, threading the other end
through the loop, drew it tight over the girder and pushed
it gently with the stripped branch of a sapling towards the
centre.  Then he retraced his steps along the ledge, carrying
the loose end of the rope.  The slack, dangling in the
cleft, displaced a stone, which fell with a rattle to the
bottom.  The stealthy form hurried his pace to reduce
the length of the slack, fearing for a moment lest the fall
of the stone might have been heard in the fort.  But there
was little risk; stones must frequently drop down the sides
of the ravine; and in any case the rope, in the almost total
obscurity of the narrow cleft, was invisible from the farther
side.

At the nearer end of the ledge Bob rejoined Ah-Sam and
the chief, who were crouching by a couple of stout saplings
that overhung the deep gorge beneath.  Making fast to
one of the saplings the rope he carried, he sat down and
spoke in low tones to the Chinaman, explaining the scheme
which he had devised after hours of meditation.

The situation was a simple one, yet one that called for
nerve and unbounded courage.  Immediately opposite the
cleft, on the other side of the ravine, was the small rocky
platform, with a staple in the wall above.  The width of
the ravine, as Bob estimated, was some eighty feet, but it
was impossible to make any more accurate calculation; it
might be more than eighty, it might be less; and a few
feet one way or the other would make all the difference in
the plan he had conceived.  He had come to the conclusion
that the iron girder which had so much piqued his
curiosity had an intimate connection with the platform and
staple.  It had been there in the old chief's time; nobody
knew when or why it had been placed in position, but Bob
felt convinced that girder and platform had been intended
to serve as a means of ingress to or egress from the fort
if it should chance to be invested.  A besieging force,
relying on the apparent impossibility of scaling the side of
the ravine, would be unlikely to maintain a guard there.
But Bob's idea was that, suspended from a rope fastened
to the girder, an active man could swing across the
chasm, and, if the length of the rope were properly
adjusted, could land gently on the platform, make good his
footing by grasping the staple, and thereby prevent
himself from falling backward with the return swing of the
rope.  If the rope were too long, he would of course run
the risk of being dashed against the wall of the ravine
beneath the platform.  If it were too short, he would fail
to reach the staple and swing back into the cleft; and as
the return swing would obviously not carry him to his
starting-point, he would again swing across the ravine,
and so the pendulous movement would continue until he
came to rest perpendicularly beneath the girder.  He
would then either have to climb the eighty feet of rope
until he reached the iron bar, or drop the sheer two
hundred feet to the bottom of the cleft.  There was a
further danger.  On the return swing the man might,
owing to oscillation in the rope, fail to enter the cleft, and
be carried against its jagged edge, probably with sufficient
force to stun, disable, or even kill him.  Clearly the
attempt would be full of danger; but it was this hazardous
feat that Bob had resolved to attempt.

One necessary precaution could be taken in advance.  It
was to discover by experiment the length of rope needed.
Bob guessed that the ledge on which he stood, at the
narrow end of the cleft farthest from the ravine, must
always have formed the springing-ground; its position
therefore governed the length.  Having explained to his
two companions what he had in mind, he cut their
expostulations short by borrowing some of their upper
garments, which he made into a soft bundle.  He weighted
this with some heavy stones, tied it to the rope, and then,
as the moon threw a dim light on the opposite side of the
ravine, he placed the bundle in Ah-Sam's hands and made
his way to the neighbourhood of the girder.  Arriving
there, he lifted his hand as a signal to the Chinaman to
loose his hold on the bundle, and anxiously watched its
course.  It swept through the cleft, across the ravine,
came to rest apparently within a yard of the platform,
then swung back, making a giddy oscillation and narrowly
escaping the wall of the cleft, until as it approached
the ledge Ah-Sam caught it by means of a noose in
a shorter rope.  Its unsteady return journey gave Bob
some alarm, but he surmised that with the greater weight
of a man the rope would probably have risen higher and
taken a more direct backward swing.

The experiment was sufficiently satisfactory, and then
Bob explained to his amazed listeners what he proposed to
do.  He would himself risk the attempt.  If he got safely
across he would fix the rope to the staple and make a
preliminary investigation of the pathway leading upwards
from the platform.  Should he require assistance he would
return and loosen the rope, which would then swing back
to a position perpendicularly under the girder.  Ah-Sam
meanwhile was to crawl to the extreme end of the ledge
just below the bar; he was to obtain a hold of the rope as
it swung loose, return to the innermost end of the cleft,
and swing across the ravine as Bob had done.  On the
other hand, if Bob found that nothing could be done from
the platform, or if he were detected, Ah-Sam was to cover
his retreat with the revolver.

"What Sing-Cheng do allo tim'?" asked Ah-Sam when
he had grasped his own instructions.

"He will remain behind.  Tell him so."

When the chief understood this he was greatly indignant,
and began to protest in loud tones.  Bob checked
him peremptorily.  He felt that if he gained admittance to
the fort precious time would be wasted if he had to give
orders to Sing-Cheng through Ah-Sam, while if two men
were unable to effect their purpose it was unlikely that
three would succeed.  He did not consider it necessary to
argue with the chief, but pacified him by saying that, if
Ah-Sam crossed over, he was to take the Chinaman's
place at the end of the cleft and watch carefully lest it
proved necessary to cover the retreat of the two from the
other side.

All was now ready.  But Bob waited for nearly an hour
until the moonlight fell full upon the platform and the
staple above it.  Then he rose, placed his right foot in
the loop of rope from which he had removed the experimental
bundle, and stood on the ledge, grasping the rope
firmly with his right hand.  It was an anxious moment.
He felt a sudden shudder run through his body as he
hesitated on the brink, looking at the black gulf before him,
and realizing that he was in very truth taking his life into
his hands.  But his hesitation was but momentary.  With
a determination and a hope that were themselves prayer
he set his lips, pulled the rope taut, and dropped, his
companions holding their breath as they watched him.  There
was little jerk as he fell, but it seemed an eternity before
the swift motion through the air began to slacken on the
upward swing.  Suddenly, just as he felt that he was
coming to a stop, he saw the staple above him slightly to
his right.  He jerked himself up and sideways in the effort
to catch it with his unoccupied left hand; he touched it
with the tips of his fingers; then the sagging rope became
taut again; he fell swiftly downwards, felt a slight jerk at
the lowest point of the rope's course, twirled round and
round, and grazing the wall, it seemed by an inch, shot
upwards towards the ledge.  He had only time to wonder
whether Ah-Sam would catch him with the loop when he
again came to rest and began to fall downwards.  There
was a sudden constriction about his waist; he felt a sharp
pain; then, to his relief, though to his discomfort also, he
was steadily hauled in, and landed breathless, exhausted,
and dazed on the ledge beside Ah-Sam.

When he was again able to take stock of his surroundings,
he observed that Ah-Sam had fastened to one of the
saplings one end of the rope by which he had been landed.
But for this precaution the two men on the ledge could
scarcely have arrested his fall, but would probably have
been dragged themselves headlong into the cleft.

"That was well thought of," said Bob to Ah-Sam.
"Now, I must have another try."

"No, no," returned Ah-Sam.  "Massa too muchee
tired; Ah-Sam tly one tim'; massa no can do evelyting."

"Your turn by and by.  When I have rested a little I'll
drop again.  It can be done.  It will not be so strange
and breathless the second time."

He waited until he felt completely recovered from the
experience, which, though lasting only a few seconds, had
been a very trying one; then he rose for the second
attempt.  This time he placed his left foot in the loop
and grasped the rope with his left hand, leaving his right
free.  He sprang off with his right foot, down into the gulf.
He went through the same series of sensations as before,
except that he was more conscious of the motion and
more alert at the end of the swing.  There was the staple
again; again on his right side; he flung out his arm as
rapidly as he could, touched the iron, caught it, obtained
a good grip.  As he did so, the whole weight of his body
was thrown on his right hand; but the strain was only
momentary, for instinctively advancing the right leg he
reached the edge of the platform, and with a forward jerk
he stood safe but breathless on firm rock.

Waiting for a few moments to steady himself, he released
his left foot from the rope.  Then hitching the end
to the staple, he made his way cautiously up the path.
It was broader than it had seemed from the opposite side
of the ravine.  At the point where the path had appeared
to vanish into the cliff he now saw that it entered a low
tunnel.  Going into this, treading warily, he found that he
had come to a flight of narrow steps.  It was pitch dark.
With his hands lightly touching the wall on either side he
crept up, waiting after each step, anxious, suspicious, his
ears strained to catch every sound, his eyes peering for
any light above him.  Suddenly the steps ceased; he was
on level ground again; he stole forward on tiptoe for
what he thought must be between twenty and thirty yards.
From the direction of the tunnel he guessed that he must
now be near one of the flanking towers: the left-hand one
overhanging the ravine.  There was still no light, still
no sound; this was not surprising, for the whole garrison
save the sentries were probably asleep.  Yet, if he found
no light, his enterprise almost certainly must fail.  He
went on, groping, conscious of the musty atmosphere of
the passage.  He could see nothing: his hands were
outstretched, and he moved them now to the right, now to
the left, touching the walls on both sides.

All at once his right hand came upon an obstacle
immediately in front of him.  It was either the blind end of
the tunnel or a door.  His heart sank as the thought
crossed his mind that the tunnel, so long in disuse, might
have been bricked up.  But moving his hand over the
obstructing surface he felt that it was of wood, and in a
moment he touched something cold that projected an inch
or two towards him.  He pressed it gently, pushed it,
tried to lift it, then bore down upon it; it yielded suddenly,
and from the other side came the unmistakable click of
a latch.  He held his breath, waiting motionless for more
than a minute, fearful lest the sound should have been
heard by someone on the other side.  All was still as
death.  Keeping the latch depressed, he pushed the
door gently, then more firmly.  There was no yielding.
Again his heart sank; was the door bolted on the inside?
Had he come thus far only to be baulked at last?  But
doors might open outwards as well as inwards.  He
pulled gently at the catch, and stopped with a start, for he
heard the dreaded creak of a hinge.  The door had begun
to open towards him; through the inch-wide opening a
draught of cold air played upon his face.

Had the creak been heard?  He waited, listening.  The
silence was still unbroken.  Then he began to pull the
door towards him by almost infinitesimal degrees, and
with every least movement there was a faint creak that
sent a thrill through him.  Yet it was better to risk many
slight and interrupted sounds than one loud and
prolonged; and he continued, lessening the strain on the
hinges by giving an upward pressure upon the catch.

It seemed an age before the door was sufficiently open
to allow him to wriggle through.  He waited again; then
moved slowly and warily forward, to find within a few
paces that his foot was arrested by another step.  He had
come to a staircase.  This time the flight wound round
and round, and as he rose higher a glint of moonlight fell
through a narrow slit in the right-hand wall; he must be
on a winding stair within the tower.  He left the dim light
behind and came again into inky blackness; then, at
another turn, another slit gave entrance to the pale beam.
At last, after mounting until it seemed that his winding
course would never end, he came into open air and full
moonlight; he was on the roof of the tower.  Before
stepping out from the shelter of the stairway he glanced
eagerly to right and left.  The roof was vacant.  It was
hexagonal in shape.  He wondered whether it was
overlooked by other towers.  Dropping on his knees, he
crawled under cover of the wall that intercepted the
moonlight, and made his way thus to the parapet.  With
relief he saw that the other towers were no higher, but
apparently indeed a few feet lower.  Completing the
circuit of the roof, he came to another stairway immediately
opposite the one he had just left.  He entered cautiously,
and found that this also was a winding stair, differing from
the other only in the fact that there were no patches of light
from slits in the wall.  He went down step by step, quietly,
until at a turn he was brought to a sudden pause by the
sight of a small lamp burning in a niche opposite a
heavily-barred door.  For a minute he stood still; then
stepped silently down until he came to the door.  He
listened; he ventured to place his ear against the wood:
there was no sound.  Waiting for a brief space, he hovered
between advancing and retiring; then, with quickening
breath, he moved on past the door until he came to
the foot of the staircase.

He there perceived that he was in a narrow passage,
with matting underfoot.  It was dark, except at the farther
end, which was slightly illuminated by a dull glow,
evidently the reflection of a light from some point round the
corner.  Proceeding with cautious movements towards it,
he came to a spot where the passage made a sharp turn
to the right.  He dropped to the floor, and, after listening
to make sure that no one was approaching, ventured to
peep round.  At the end of the passage he saw a half-open
door, through which the light was streaming; and now
he heard the low hum of voices, and in the distance a faint
clatter as of cooking utensils.  On his left was a massive
door clamped with plates of iron.  It was shut.  Bob
guessed that he had been following a passage that led
round the inner wall of the tower, and that the iron door
was the principal entrance to the tower from the central
courtyard of the fort.  On the right hand, opposite this
door, he saw a broad corridor or entrance-hall, illuminated
by a large oil-lamp.  He rose and peeped round the
corner; the corridor ended with another door richly hung
with silk.

He waited for a moment.  If either door should be
suddenly thrown open he was lost.  He almost feared lest
someone should hear the beating of his heart, so madly
was it thumping.  It was touch and go.  The risk was
great, but he had a great purpose.  He stepped into the
corridor, and crept along towards the silk-hung door.

Lifting the curtain, he found that the door stood slightly
ajar.  He held his breath as he peeped round, and spied, in
the midst of a magnificently-furnished apartment, crowded
with the rich spoils of many a raid, the one-eared Manchu
Chang-Wo, reclining on a divan, and smoking.  He wore
a loose jacket of blue silk above his pantaloons, and a
skullcap.  His features had the same impassivity that always
characterized him; from his face one could never have
guessed whether he was happy or the reverse.  As Bob
looked, Chang-Wo raised his hand, and with the knuckles
struck a small gong that stood by his side.  Bob wondered
with no little alarm from what quarter the summons would
be answered, and gripped his revolver.  From a door on
the left of the apartment a burly Manchu entered.  To him
Chang-Wo addressed a few curt words; whereupon the
man kow-towed and disappeared through the doorway.
There was a sound of voices, then light footsteps in the
passage at the end of the corridor—a continuation of the
passage up which Bob himself had come.  He flattened
himself against the wall just as three figures crossed the
end of the corridor in front of the iron door, and went
along the passage towards the staircase by which he
had descended.  They were no doubt carrying out the
order Chang-Wo had just given.  What if, on their
return, they should take the nearest way to their chief's
room and come down the corridor instead of along the
passage and through the door leading, as Bob conjectured,
to the kitchen?  In that case they would certainly discover
him.  He could not risk discovery, so tiptoeing along the
corridor he followed the men, calculating his pace by the
sound of their shuffling footsteps ahead.

He came in a few moments to the foot of the staircase,
and knew by the hollow sounds coming down that the
three men had ascended.  Their mission apparently was
either to the roof or to the heavily-barred door he had
passed on his descent.  The passage led on past the
opening of the staircase, and as it was quite dark in that
direction Bob resolved to go on for a few steps and await
the men's return, trusting to the darkness to conceal him.
Listening near the foot of the stairs he heard the clatter
of the bolts as they were withdrawn at the door above,
then the creak of rusty hinges.  There was an interval;
then he heard the men returning, and as they came down,
with the sound of their voices was mingled the clank of
chains.

They descended slowly, and as with care.  They reached
the bottom; they entered the passage; and then in the dim
glow Bob saw that there were not three men now, but
four.  The fourth, a smaller man than the rest, was being
half pushed, half dragged along, and all the time his every
movement was accompanied by the clank-clank of metal.
Bob felt a rush of blood to his face; his fingers tingled as
though with galvanism.  He pressed on after the group.
They came, as he had done, to the great iron door.  As he
had done, they turned into the corridor opposite; and they
passed into Chang-Wo's hall by the draped door where
Bob himself had but a few minutes before been peeping.
Almost reckless of consequences he followed them.  They
left the door half open, and from the folds of a silken
hanging he beheld a piteous scene.

Between two of the Manchu guards Kobo was held up
before his enemy.  He was but the shadow of his former
self.  Bob could not see his face, but he saw his thin
manacled wrists, he saw the hollows in his neck, and
these, with the drooping helplessness of his attitude, were
evidence of something too terrible for words.

Chang-Wo was speaking.  He took the pipe from his
mouth and jerked a word at the third Manchu, who went
into the kitchen and returned with a metal can.  Then
Chang-Wo spoke to Kobo, snapping out the syllables in
a harsh staccato that matched well the cold cruelty of his
stony face.  It mattered little to Bob that he could not
understand what the Manchu said, or what Kobo replied
in a thin husky whisper, scarcely audible.  He heard a
mocking note in Chang-Wo's voice; he saw the cup held
before Kobo's face, but just beyond his reach; he saw
Kobo's head move slowly from side to side as if making
the gesture of refusal; and he guessed that this was the
extremity of torture to which his friend had been put:
that he had been kept without water, and that a brimming
cup was now being offered to him in the hope of tempting
him to betray his country.

For some minutes the scene continued—Chang-Wo's
cold metallic voice addressing the fainting Japanese; Kobo
murmuring his steadfast refusal; the Manchu offering the
cup.  Then suddenly it ceased; Chang-Wo, his expression
never changing, flung up his hand; the water was taken
away; the two guards wheeled Kobo round, and in the
moment before Bob turned to retreat he caught one
glimpse of his friend's face.

"God in heaven!" he muttered, and, white to the lips,
went silently over the matting to the foot of the staircase.





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.. _`Nemesis`:

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   CHAPTER XXV


.. class:: center large bold

   Nemesis

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

Gagged and Bound—Flight—Into the Depths—Too
Late—Last Wishes—Taru—At Rest

.. vspace:: 2

Bob went up the winding stair, past the door now
unbarred, until he came to a spot where, unseen, he could
see.  After him, at a slower pace, ascended the Manchus
with their haggard, tottering captive.  They hauled him
into the room, shut and barred the door upon him, and
descended to their quarters.  Bob waited till their
footsteps had died away, then he too descended again; if he
was to accomplish his purpose he must fix the positions
of the rooms so firmly in his mind that he could move
without error or stumble.  He stole once more along the
passage around the wall, down the corridor leading from
it to Chang-Wo's room, back to the passage and along
it farther until he came to a door opening to the
kitchen, from within which he heard the voices of the
servants.  Then he returned to the stairway, mounted to
the roof, went down the outer stair, and so through the
tunnel to the platform above the ravine.  He looked across
to see whether the moonlight would reveal the form of
Ah-Sam at his appointed post; but the Chinaman had
kept out of sight.  Bob himself could be seen; he loosened
the rope from the staple and sent it flying downwards.
It was caught as it swung under the iron girder.  A few
minutes passed, then he saw the form of a man swinging
across towards him.  Holding on to the staple, Bob caught
Ah-Sam at the end of the swing, once more secured the
rope, then retreating to the shelter of the tunnel he
explained in a whisper to the amazed and breathless
Chinaman what he had discovered and what he meant to do.

For some hours the two waited there in silence, until
Bob thought the occupants of the tower must be asleep.
Then he led Ah-Sam by the way he himself had traversed
until they reached the passage at the foot of the inner
stairs.  Bidding Ah-Sam remain there, he stole forward
to reconnoitre.  As he came down the stairs he had seen
that the lamp opposite Kobo's dungeon was still burning,
though dimly; he now saw that the lamp in the corridor
also was still alight.  Did Chang-Wo keep these lamps
constantly burning?  Was he, like all tyrants, fearful of
assassination?  The constant lights, the massive
iron-barred door in the passage, suggested that he did not
trust his followers; he himself was a usurper and an
assassin; might not the measure he had meted to others
be measured to him again?  He ruled by fear; when men
ceased to fear him his authority would vanish like a pricked
bubble.

Bob went along until he came to the door into the
kitchen.  It was half open, and peeping in, he was
concerned to see that the three men were immersed in a
game of "go"; two playing, the third looking on.  He
wished they were asleep.  Scarcely daring to breathe, he
stood in the passage for what seemed hours, ready to flee
or to fight as the moment might require.  The players
were absorbed in the game, exchanging only rare
monosyllables.  They were no doubt gambling, and to them
the stakes were important.

At last the looker-on, the man who had answered
Chang-Wo's summons, turned away, retreated to a
corner of the room near the door of his master's
apartment, and curled himself up for the night.  Bob gave
an inaudible gasp of relief.  The other two played on;
when would this long game be ended?  The minutes
lengthened themselves into at least an hour before one
of the men rose with a sudden exclamation of anger, and,
seizing his opponent, knocked his head smartly against the
floor.  Having taken this revenge for his losses, he went
to his corner, spread his couch, and prepared for sleep.
The victor, a much smaller man, bore the assault with
a patient shrug, and, rubbing his head, tied his paltry
winnings in a bag which he took from somewhere among
his clothes.  Then he too retired to rest, leaving the lamp
burning.

As soon as heavy breathing and snores in three different
tones told that all were asleep, Bob returned for Ah-Sam.
He whispered a few words to him, then both tiptoed
along the passage until they came to the kitchen door.
Ah-Sam entered alone.  A few minutes elapsed; he
returned to the passage, and handed Bob a soft pad of cloth
a few inches long and a strip of cord, himself retaining
a shorter piece.  Bob looked his approval of his
follower's quiet and successful search, and both went into
the room.

The big fellow lying nearest Chang-Wo's door was
clearly the toughest customer of the three, and Bob had
decided to tackle him first.  He was lying on his back,
and his mouth was wide open.  Bob crept to his head,
Ah-Sam stood at his feet.  With a sudden pounce Bob
slipped the pad of cloth between his jaws; at the same
moment Ah-Sam seized his feet and began to tie them
together, and Bob endeavoured to pinion his arms.  The
Manchu's position rendered this difficult; he wriggled over,
and his arm striking against the floor, roused one of his
companions, who half rose upon his elbow.  Seeing that
Ah-Sam had firmly bound the feet, Bob left him to
complete the trussing of the first man and rushed over to deal
with the second.  The half-dazed fellow had just sat up
and begun to look about him when Bob dropped upon
him, dealing him a blow that rendered him for the moment
harmless.  But before Bob could recover his balance, he
was himself pulled to the ground by the third man, who
had awakened in full possession of his senses.  Giving
a shout, he got his left hand upon his assailant's throat;
Bob was upon the floor, helpless to resist the horrid clutch.
He writhed, he was choking; he felt already that all was
over, when the pressure suddenly relaxed; the Manchu
fell, a huddled heap, to the ground.  Ah-Sam had
disobeyed orders.  He saw what was happening to his
master, and, finding the first man still wriggling, had
given him his quietus with the knife, and then darted
across the room, to deal in the same way with Bob's
opponent.

Bob sprang to his feet.  Chang-Wo must by this time
have been awakened by the commotion, and might escape
by the farther door.  There was no time to lose.  Pulling
the dead Manchu from before the door, Bob flung himself
against it.  The catch on the inside gave way; he burst
into the room; there was a blinding flash, and a bullet
crashed through the woodwork within a few inches of his
head.  In the middle of the room stood the Manchu chief,
with a pistol in his hand.  Bob made a dash for him,
but keeping his eyes on Chang-Wo he failed to notice
a pile of quilts on the floor.  He tripped.  The figure
of Ah-Sam coming in support was seen by Chang-Wo,
who waited no longer, but rushed to the door leading
into the corridor, and slamming it behind him, disappeared.

Bob was after him in a moment.  The door, he already
knew, had no fastening on the outside.  He pulled it open,
and, followed by Ah-Sam, dashed into the corridor after
the fugitive.  He heard the pad of rapid footsteps
ascending the stairway.  Springing up as fast as the narrow
winding steps allowed, he gained the roof just in time to
see, in the thin light of dawn, the gigantic Manchu
disappearing through the opening opposite.  Bob leapt across
the roof to follow.  Down the stairs he plunged, staggering,
recovering himself, gaining on the heavier man in
front of him.  So eagerly did he pursue that he forgot
the existence of the door at the foot of this staircase, until,
coming suddenly full tilt against it, he was brought up
with a painful shock that rendered him almost breathless.
He remembered that the door fastened on the other side;
had there been time for Chang-Wo to slip the bolt against
him?  He pressed it; it did not yield; he went back a few
steps and flung himself against it.  There was a creak,
a slight yielding; pray heaven the bolt is old!  Ah-Sam
is by his side.  Together they hurl themselves against the
door with all the force the confined space admits.  The
bolt is torn from the woodwork, the door flies open, and
the two dash through.

But with this interruption Bob bethought him of the
man he had felled in the kitchen.  He might, he would,
recover consciousness, and alarm the garrison.

"Back!" he cried to Ah-Sam, halting for an instant.
"Back, and secure that man.  Do not kill him."

The Chinaman, after a moment's hesitation, ran to do
his master's bidding.  Bob ran on, stumbling through the
tunnel, down the path, towards the platform.  Then he
saw that a rope-ladder hung from the staple.  Chang-Wo
must have kept it in readiness in the passage or on the
stairs, and snatched it up as he ran.  As Bob emerged
on to the narrow platform the bandit was facing about
to take the first step downwards.  But with the
quickness that had always served him, he saw in a flash
that, once upon the ladder, he would be at the mercy of
his pursuers, who could cut the rope and hurl him
infallibly to destruction.  One bound, and he caught at the
rope by which Bob had crossed, slipped the noose over
the staple, and, with a desperate courage that extorted
Bob's admiration, flung himself off the platform into the
abyss, just as Bob came within arm's length of him.
At the brink Bob stopped, watching as if spellbound the
hazardous course of the swinging figure.  It grazed the
angle of the cleft by a hair's breadth, spinning round and
round at the end of the rope; then as its speed decreased
on the upward flight, and it finally stopped, to begin the
backward swing, Bob caught sight of another figure, a
crouching form on the ledge below the girder—it was
Sing-Cheng, who, obedient to instructions, had spent the
livelong night watching in silent patience on the spot
where Ah-Sam formerly had been.  The sun was just
rising across the opposite hills, and Bob saw the face of
the Chunchuse chief, and noticed its expression of rage
and hatred as he peered over the precipice at the swinging
figure.  In his right hand he grasped his revolver.  Bob
had an impulse to call to him, and bid him spare the
wretch beneath; but even with the thought he recognized
its hopelessness.  Nothing could now intervene
between the hunter and his prey.  The drama must play
itself out.

.. _`A Question of Seconds`:

.. figure:: images/img-344.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: A Question of Seconds

   A Question of Seconds

Meanwhile beneath the girder the rope swung heavily
backwards and forwards for some time before it came
almost to rest.  Then, all unconscious of the fierce eyes
watching him from above, the Manchu began to climb
up the rope, slowly, painfully, carefully, for he knew the
cleft and its ragged bottom two hundred feet below.  Foot
by foot he ascends; he is more than half-way up; thirty
more feet and he is safe—when he suddenly catches sigh
of the stooping enemy on the ledge above.  He stops his
upward progress, twisting his legs round the rope to ease
his straining arms.  For a few seconds he remains thus;
Bob, watching with fascinated eyes, sees not a shade of
emotion on his face.  Above, the ruthless enemy; below,
the jagged rocks; both alternatives are fearful.  To drop
is certain death; to ascend is to meet an armed foe.
But a man may miss his aim; it is here a chance in a
million.  It is the only chance, and Chang-Wo takes it.

He climbs up a few more feet; his eyes are now fixed
unswervingly upon the waiting enemy.  Reading their
expression of vengeful hate, he stops again.  At that
instant a shot rings out, and from behind Bob a flight of
birds spring with clattering wings into the air, almost
smothering a scream of pain from the dangling figure.
He has loosed his hold with the right hand; the right
arm falls helpless to his side.  He swings round, still
clinging to the rope with the left hand, though he knows
full well that with one hand he can never raise himself.
For half a minute he hangs thus, swaying; the strain is
unendurable; he lets go his hold, and without a cry falls
into the gulf.

.. vspace:: 2

A moment afterwards there was a sharp report from the
wall of the fort above Bob, followed by a babel of shouts.
Bob, who had watched the scene before him in silent
horror, saw a puff of dust struck from the side of the cleft
just above the spot where Sing-Cheng lay peering gloatingly
down upon his lifeless enemy.  The chief instantly
rose to his feet, glared for an instant towards the fort,
then raised his hand and shouted a few words to the men
who, as Bob surmised, though he could not see them,
were now lining the wall.  Whatever the words signified,
they had an instantaneous effect.  The clamour ceased.
Then the chief raised himself to his full height, and began
to harangue the crowd, turning this way and that, pointing
with his finger, using many strange gestures to emphasize
the words that fell in a rapid staccato from his lips.  He
spoke long, and the crowd heard him in complete silence.
When his speech came to an end, he put the tips of his
fingers together, and made three dignified movements with
his head.  Then he stood waiting.

Immediately afterwards Bob heard a great bustle and
chatter from the unseen crowd.  All seemed to be talking
at once; the noise was like that of a hundred parrots
holding a parliament.  Again silence fell, and from the wall
a loud voice shouted what was apparently a brief question
to the stolid, immobile figure on the other side of the
ravine.  The answer came instantly, with a proud gesture,
and was received with a storm of approving shouts from
the crowd.

At this moment Ah-Sam came from the tunnel and stood
beside Bob, who turned to him and asked:

"Is all safe in the tower?"

"Yes, massa; one piecee man makee no bobbely; he
tied velly muchee tight, galaw!"

"Ask Sing-Cheng yonder what is happening."

Ah-Sam stepped forward and called across the ravine.
The chief replied in a few words.

"What does he say?" asked Bob.

"He say come this-side velly soon; he hab catchee allo
piecee man, now allo belongey he."

"Made friends with the enemy, has he?  How is he
coming here?"

"He go long down that side; come lound chop-chop.
He velly muchee topside man this-tim', galaw!"

"Tell him he will find me in the tower."

Bob did not understand what means of persuasion Sing-Cheng
had found, but he had complete faith in the man's
discretion.  As soon as the chief had disappeared up the
cleft, Bob went in haste with Ah-Sam back into the tower;
he felt with a deep sense of relief that there was now
nothing to prevent the release of Kobo.

They returned to the kitchen.  Bob suspected that the
keys of the dungeon would be found on the person of the
big Manchu who had slept by Chang-Wo's door, and told
Ah-Sam to search him.  In half a minute the keys were in
his possession, and with eager steps he hastened along the
corridor, up the staircase, until he came to the doorway.
The lamp had burnt itself out; the passage was so dark
that he had to feel for the keyhole.  Then he threw open
the door and entered the room.  It was in darkness, save
for the thin light filtering through a narrow slit high up in
the wall.  In the middle of the room lay, amid his chains,
the huddled figure of the Samurai.  Bob went up to him,
stooped, and touched him on the shoulder.  In a low,
husky whisper came an exclamation that he did not understand.

"Speak to him," murmured Bob to Ah-Sam; he feared
lest the sound of an English voice might prove disastrous
to the overwrought prisoner.  At Ah-Sam's first words the
prostrate man stirred and opened his eyes.  He tried to
lift his hand, but it fell back, and the chain clinked against
the stone floor.

"Mr. Fawcett!" he murmured.  "Water, water!"

Reproaching himself for forgetting, in the excitement of
the moment, the scene he had witnessed in Chang-Wo's
room, Bob sent Ah-Sam back to the kitchen, whence he
returned with a full cup.  Handing this to his master, he
knelt down and raised the prisoner's head.  Bob held the
cup to Kobo's lips, allowing him to take only one sip at a
time.  The Japanese gave a sigh of ineffable content; for
several minutes not a word was spoken by any of the
three; Bob's heart was too full for speech.  Presently
Kobo signified that he had drunk enough, and Bob placed
the cup beside him on the floor.

"Thank God I came in time to save you!" he said, laying
his hand on Kobo's.  He had a terrible sinking of the
heart as he felt the thin hand—it was mere skin and bone,
the hand of a skeleton; it was clammy to his touch.

"I thank you, Mr. Fawcett," said Kobo feebly.  "I
thank you, but it is too late.  I am dying."

"Don't say that," replied Bob.  "We'll take you out
of this horrible place.  In the fresh air and sunshine, with
good food, you will be yourself again."

"Tell me," went on the prisoner, in the same low,
difficult tones, "did you give my message to the general?"

"Yes; I remained with him, and was able to do something
to guide the Twelfth Division.  We are across the
Yalu, sir."

"Banzai!  Banzai!" exclaimed Kobo with sudden vigour.
"The Russians are beaten?"

"Thoroughly—driven from all their positions; we
captured forty of their guns."

"Banzai!  My country!  She will win.  I know it.  We
have crossed the Yalu: then we shall drive the enemy
before us—from Kiu-lien-cheng to Liao-yang, from
Liao-yang to Mukden, from Mukden to Harbin, from
Harbin—  Ah! why should we drive them farther?  Dai Nippon shall
come to her own."

"But yourself, sir; we must take you out of this.  You
will be more comfortable in Chang-Wo's room, and then,
when you have rested and eaten, we will take you slowly
into the Japanese lines, and you will live to see the triumph
you have done so much to secure."

Kobo shook his head.

"I cannot stand," he said.  "I shall die.  But what is
death?—Rest, peace, eternal quiet."

Bob felt a lump in his throat.

"Help me lift Kobo San," he said, turning to the Chinaman.

Tenderly they carried the slight figure between them
down the stairs into Chang-Wo's room, where they laid
him on the soft quilts that still bore the impress of his
enemy's form.  And then Bob saw that there was indeed
no hope.  Kobo was almost unrecognizable.  He was
haggard, emaciated to a shadow; but for his open eyes
he would have seemed a corpse.  At Bob's orders
Ah-Sam hurriedly prepared some food, but after one or two
mouthfuls Kobo refused to take any more.

"Rest," he said; "I want rest, that is all.  I thank you."

His eyes roved round the room as though in search of
something or someone.

"Your enemy will not trouble you again," said Bob.
"Chang-Wo is dead."

"He died first!  He has starved me, beaten me; he
kept me without water—how many days?  I do not know.
He tempted me, held a cup before me; I might drink if
I would do as he wished: betray my country.  We Japanese
do not fear death.—My servant!  Have you any news of
him?"

"No, I have not seen him since I left you."

"No matter.  Taru will know how to die.  If he should
survive, and you meet him, tell him to return to Nikko;
my wife will have need of him.  And my son, my boy
Takeo in England.  You will see him?  You will tell him?"

"Yes; I will go to him as soon as I can."

"I thank you.  Will you give me a little water?"

Kobo lay back on the padded quilts, and his eyes spoke
his thanks.  Bob was troubled, and watched him in silence.
Ah-Sam, with stolid countenance, was busy preparing a
meal for his master.  Suddenly through the walls of the
tower penetrated the sound of a multitudinous discharge
of firearms.  Bob rose to his feet, and leaving Kobo in
Ah-Sam's charge hurried to the top of the tower, his
mind filled with apprehension.  Was Kobo's end to be
disturbed?  From the roof he saw a strange sight.  The
inner wall of the fortress was thronged with the garrison,
who were shouting and gesticulating with excitement.
The huge gate stood wide open, and beyond, half a mile
across the green plain, a tall figure had just mounted a
beautiful horse, which had evidently been taken out to
meet him by three men from the garrison.  The horseman
rode up slowly, and as he approached, Bob saw that it
was his late companion, Sing-Cheng.

At the gate of the fortress the chief halted and made a
speech to the men, who responded with loud cries and
another discharge of their rifles.  Then he rode through
the gate into the courtyard.  Looking up, he caught sight
of the solitary figure on the roof of the tower.  Instantly
springing from his horse, he bowed himself low to the
ground, and ordered the surprised Manchus to do the
same.  The kow-towing over, he sent a man to knock
at the outer door of the tower.  Bob hurried down, and
bade Ah-Sam open the door.  Sing-Cheng entered, bowed
humbly to the Englishman, and followed him into Chang-Wo's
room.  He gave one glance to the figure prostrate
on the floor, looked a mute question at Ah-Sam, and then
explained what had happened.

As he stood at the edge of the cleft, looking towards the
wall, he had recognized among the crowd one who had
been his comrade when he himself had served the old chief.
Addressing him by name, he had reminded him of his own
former importance in the band before the chieftainship had
been usurped by Chang-Wo.  He explained that Chang-Wo
had met a terrible fate through his ill-considered
adhesion to the Russian side in the great struggle now
desolating the country.  Chang-Wo was dead; if he had
lived, the extermination of the whole band could only have
been a matter of time.  But now he, Sing-Cheng, the chief
of a rival band, had disposed of his old enemy and proved
himself a better man.  Let them accept him, therefore, as
their new chief.  He would lead them with more success;
under him let them relinquish the losing side and do
yeoman service for the conquering Japanese.  The alternative?
If they did not accept his leadership he would deliver them
into the hands of an army of Japanese whom he had guided
into the neighbourhood, and they would be slain to a man.
The strong tower of the fortress was already in the hands
of two powerful friends of his, who had crossed the ravine
by an unheard-of means, had faced the Mountain Tiger
in his lair, and driven him headlong to destruction.

The bold offer had been accepted.  Sing-Cheng had
demanded that an escort of three men, with a horse suited
to his dignity, should meet him at the distance of a li
from the fortress, and, as Bob had seen, he had ridden
in to receive the submission of the garrison.

The chief's story was hardly finished when one of the
garrison came running in with a message.  Sing-Cheng
instantly went out into the courtyard.

"He say Manchu hab catchee one piecee Japanee,"
explained Ah-Sam.

"Follow the chief, and bring me word what is happening,"
said Bob.

A few minutes passed.  Kobo was restless, his eyes wide
open with a look of strained eagerness, his breath coming
and going in quick feeble pants.  Bob sat by his side,
moistening his lips at intervals.  Presently the door opened,
and Ah-Sam first appeared, restraining a small gray-headed
man, who seemed to be in haste to enter.

"One piecee boy Kobo San," said Ah-Sam to his master.

The man came forward eagerly, and Bob saw that it was
Taru, his friend's servant.  The little Japanese flung
himself down at his master's feet, and muttered a few words
brokenly.  Kobo smiled.  Beckoning to Ah-Sam, Bob went
out of the room, leaving the two lifelong friends, master
and man, together.  Outside he learnt what had happened.
The rider whom he had seen leave the fortress on the
memorable night when he had reconnoitred the position
had returned, bringing with him the disguised Japanese
servant, who had been making his way by devious routes
to the haunt of his old enemy.  Taru had explained to
Ah-Sam that while in Yongampo he had heard that his
master had been captured by Chang-Wo, and had instantly
set out to track him; if possible to rescue him;
if not, to die with him.  He had come safely to within two
miles of the fortress, and then fallen into the hands of a
small party led by the Manchu courier.

For half an hour Bob remained in conversation with the
chief, discussing through Ah-Sam the measures that were
to be taken to consolidate his new authority, and to do
service to his new allies, the Japanese.  Then Taru came
hurriedly from the tower, and asked Bob to return with
him.  They found Kobo now raised to a sitting posture.
His eyes were closed, but he opened them as Bob entered.
He was pale with the pallor of death.

"I am going—to my fathers," he whispered.

Bob sat down by his side, and looked at him with dim
eyes.  He breathed painfully; Taru, on the other side,
gave him at intervals a spoonful of water.

"I rejoice to have—two faithful friends," said Kobo.
"Mr. Fawcett, Taru will—return to Nikko; you will
remember—Takeo, my son in England.  I shall rest."

He closed his eyes and remained silent.  Taru took one
hand and held it fast, Bob held the other.  He waited,
sad at heart, grieved that Japan was to lose one who
had served her so well.  He thought of the long hours of
agony this hero must have suffered; the tortures of hunger
and thirst, the fierce temptation that must have assailed
him.  Kobo had been reticent of details, but Bob understood
that he might have purchased his life by disclosing
the methods of the Japanese secret service.  How small
a thing, thought Bob, to meet death bravely in the heat of
battle! in a moment a man passes from full life to quietude.
But to endure such horrors as Kobo had faced without
flinching needed another kind of courage, a higher mind,
a greater soul.  Bob thrilled with sympathy and admiration,
and all the time felt an aching disappointment that
he had not been able to avert this tragic martyrdom.

Kobo's eyes slowly opened.  In tones almost inaudible
he said a few words in Japanese to his servant.  Taru bent
to the floor, and placed his master's hand upon his head.
Kobo looked at Bob, and attempted feebly to press his hand.

"It is good-bye," he said.  "I am going into the
dark—which is rest.  Good-bye."

Bob could not speak.  There was a moment of silence.
The dying man gasped painfully.

"Taru," he murmured.  "Taru—sayonara!"

His head sank.  Taru waited a few moments; then,
lifting Kobo's hand, he rose saying:

"Be at peace, dear master."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Old Friends and New Prospects`:

.. class:: center medium bold

   CHAPTER XXVI


.. class:: center large bold

   Old Friends and New Prospects

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

Compulsory Leave—Andrew B. Charteris—Looking
Ahead—The Busy Bee—Smuggling Ah-Sam—Schwab
Proposes—A Blessing

.. vspace:: 2

Kobo was buried in a glade among the trees near the fort.
Bob placed over the grave a stone from the ravine—a
flat slab washed smooth and white by the torrent; and
upon this Taru scratched a simple inscription in Japanese
characters.  The chief meanwhile had sent men to find
the body of Chang-Wo.  What indignities the already
mangled corpse might have suffered but for Bob's
presence need not be told; Bob insisted on a decent burial,
and made the chief promise that the grave should not be
desecrated.  The dead man's effects were thoroughly
examined, and a discovery was made which threw light
on a matter always puzzling to Bob—the presence of
Chang-Wo in Tokio.  Among his belongings were many
papers, charts, and maps of Japan and the surrounding
seas, plans of the Japanese ports, memoranda of military
details—all probably intended for Russian use in an
invasion of the islands, and kept by the Manchu until he
could depend on getting a good price for them.  These
Bob made into a bundle; then he prepared to return with
Taru and Ah-Sam to the Japanese head-quarters.

A few days later the services of one of the army doctors
with General Kuroki's force were required for a young
Englishman who had just been brought into camp by four
coolies, led by a Japanese and a Chinaman.  Sunstroke
had laid Bob low on the day after leaving the fort.  The
unusual exertions which he had undergone since his
adventure with the Cossacks had tried his constitution more
than he was aware, and the final excitement and strain of
Kobo's rescue had left him too weak to withstand the
effect of the sudden heat.  He was unconscious when he
reached General Kuroki's quarters, and the doctor who
examined him looked grave.

It was some days before he came fully to himself, and
then the doctor, though he foretold a complete recovery,
declared that it would be a matter of time and rest, and
emphatically forbade Bob to think of active service for
months to come.

"But I must get back to the fleet," protested Bob.
"I'm a kind of deserter, and though I couldn't help being
captured, and everything else has followed from that, I
sha'n't be able to help feeling guilty when I report myself
to Admiral Togo."

"You'll do nothing of the kind.  We're a long way
from the coast; in any case we can't spare a cruiser to
carry you to Port Arthur; and if we could, I shouldn't
allow you to go."

"What's to become of me, then?  I can't follow the
army; and I'm sure I don't want to be left behind in a
Manchurian village."

The doctor's reply was interrupted by the entrance of
General Kuroki himself.  After greeting Bob, the general
took the doctor aside, and for some minutes the two were
engaged in conversation.  They spoke in Japanese, and
Bob, with the impatience of an invalid, felt annoyed at
being the subject of a discussion which he could not
follow.  At length General Kuroki turned to him and said:

"I hear you want to rejoin the fleet, Mr. Fawcett.
That is an entirely creditable wish; but the doctor is quite
right, you must not think of it.  You need not be
disturbed about your quarters, however; we shall not leave
you to the tender mercies of the Manchus.  I'm going to
send you to Yokohama.  Stay," he added, as Bob began
to protest, "it is quite fixed; you will be escorted to
Chemulpo as soon as the doctor gives permission.  For
my part, I shall be glad to be rid of you."  The general
smiled.  "Don't take that personally; I have had the
pleasure of sending a report to the illustrious Emperor
detailing the services you have rendered us since you left
the fleet, and your adventurous expedition for the rescue
of Kobo San.  You have good friends, sir.  Ever since
you started on your quest I have been pestered by
telegrams from a lady, first from Seoul, then from Yokohama—a
Mrs. Pottle, who has been most energetic in enquiring
after your welfare.  Mrs. Pottle has given me more trouble
than all the press correspondents together, and that is
saying a good deal.  I wired to the lady when you were
brought in, telling her of your illness, and hoped that I
should hear no more from her.  But her telegram has now
become a daily event, and only this morning she wired:
'Send him right along, I will nurse him like a mother'.
So you see, Mr. Fawcett, that in getting rid of you I get
rid, as I hope, of Mrs. Pottle."

For all his disappointment, Bob could not help smiling.

"She is a most determined woman," he said; "quite
capable of leading your army, sir, with her umbrella.
Well, I'm in your hands, general; it's very kind of you to
be bothered with me at all.  I only wish I had a chance of
doing something; but I suppose that when I am quite
well again the war will be over."

"I hope so," said the general gravely.  "We have
hard work before us; many good lives will be lost; but we
shall persevere, and who knows—?"

.. vspace:: 2

Bob was welcomed by Mrs. Pottle at Yokohama literally
with open arms.  He had never been so much fussed over
in his life as he was during the next few days.  His health
had improved with the voyage; but he was still only the
shadow of his former self, and Mrs. Pottle showed that
she had undertaken in all earnestness the duties of nurse.
Bob found her energy rather trying, but he endured her
ministrations with patience, for they were alleviated by
the presence of Ethel Charteris, whose enthusiasm was
displayed in a quieter and more winning manner.
Mrs. Pottle was by no means short-sighted, and after a time
she began to leave Bob more and more in her niece's
hands, much to his contentment.

One day she returned from her usual morning expedition
through the town accompanied by a stranger—a tall
grizzled gentleman, sparse, keen, yet bearing an undefinable
resemblance to the lady.  Ethel was seated at Bob's
side on the veranda of the hotel when she saw the two
figures approaching.

"Good gracious!  It's poppa!" she exclaimed, and fled
to meet him.

Mrs. Pottle came up first, rustling in Japanese silk
under a chrysanthemum parasol.

"See what you're responsible for!" she exclaimed.
"Here's my brother, Andrew B. Charteris, come right
out to fetch us.  Says he couldn't make head or tale of
our letters, and couldn't size up the attractions of
Yokohama, and so he's left his business in a critical situation
to see what his sister and daughter are doing.  I hope
you and Andrew will get along, Mr. Fawcett.  He's a
silent man, but a real good hand at taking stock of things.
Here he is."

Mr. Andrew B. Charteris came up with Ethel clinging
to his arm.  The introductions were made.

"Heard a lot about you, sir," said Mr. Charteris.
"Real glad to meet you in the flesh."

"There, Andrew, you don't mean anything; but if you
had known Mr. Fawcett before, you wouldn't have said
just that.  Poor boy! he's little enough flesh on his bones
now."

"H'm!  Nature has wonderful recuperative powers,"
said Mr. Charteris, who after this profound remark walked
on into the hotel with his daughter.

A week passed—a time of quiet enjoyment to Bob, who
had still more of Ethel's company now that Mrs. Pottle
had her brother to pilot round, as she put it.  There was
only one drawback to his happiness.  One day he was
surprised by a visit from a high court functionary, who
had come to command his attendance at the palace in
Tokio at a certain hour next day.  Bob made a wry face
when the functionary was gone.  He guessed that this
unexpected honour was due to General Kuroki's report to
the Mikado, and was sufficiently boyish yet to hate all
fuss, as he told Ethel.

"I think you are quite wrong," she replied.  "You
have done splendidly, and it is only right that the Mikado
should thank you himself.  Why, I know young men in
San Francisco who'd give their eyes to be invited to see a
real live emperor."

He went to Tokio, and certainly did not look unhappy
when he returned.  Mrs. Pottle bombarded him with
questions about what had happened.

"Oh, it was all right," said Bob.  "He's a very good
sort; so's the Empress.  It wasn't the formal affair I
expected.  They had me in their private apartments and
gave me some tea, and the Emperor said uncommonly
nice things, and presented me with—this."

He held up a ribbon with a gold ornament attached.

"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Pottle, "what's that?"

"It's the insignia of the order of the Sacred Treasure."

"Mysakes!  Only think of that!  Well, I'll say this;
it's no more than you deserve.  There!"

"I'm so glad," said Ethel.

"What's it worth in cash?" drawled Mr. Charteris.

"Oh, poppa, you unromantic, practical, shocking old
man!  The idea!  It's perfectly priceless.  Mr. Fawcett
wouldn't part with it for anything, I'm sure."

"I sha'n't tempt him.  I don't cotton to fal-lals of that
sort.  A thumping cheque would have been more to the
point.  Say, Mr. Fawcett, you ain't a rich man?"

Bob flushed at the blunt question, and Ethel blushed in
sympathy.

"No offence!" added the old man, his eyes twinkling.
"It's just this way.  I've been thinking for a week,
Mr. Fawcett.  It ain't right for that tramp of yours across the
Manchurian hills to be thrown slick away.  How long do
you suppose this war will last out?"

"That's more than I can even imagine," replied Bob.
"I don't see how Port Arthur can hold out much longer;
they are closing in on it; and as to the land campaign,
the Japanese generals are driving the Russians from pillar
to post.  If the Russians are wise, the war will end with
the fall of Port Arthur."

"Ah! and then?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well, I suppose the Japs—"

"Poppa!" interrupted Ethel.  "Don't use that horrid
word—call them Japanese."

"Anything to please you, my love.  I was going to
say that I suppose the Japs—Japanese, I mean—are not
running this war for nothing.  They'll want to develop the
country—what?"

"No doubt."

"And they'll keep an 'open door', eh?  Well, what
I've been thinking is this.  When the war ends, it'll be
time for me to slip in with a syndicate to work out some
of the minerals—what!  And it seems to me, from what
I've heard and seen of you—especially what I've
seen—that you're the right sort to be of use.  You know the
country; say, you've had a practical training—not wasted
too much time on defunct languages, eh? and what's
most to the point, you've got a pretty level head, and I'll
go bail you ain't afraid of work.  So, if you're
agreeable, we'll strike a bargain.  What?"

"I accept your offer with pleasure, sir," said Bob, his
face flushed, his eyes shining.  "I've always wanted to
live an active life, and—"

"Shake!" said the American, relapsing into his usual
laconic mode of utterance.  Mrs. Pottle gleamed
benevolence through her eye-glasses, and Bob's eyes sought
Ethel's.

.. vspace:: 2

A few days later, one of the liners of the *Pacific Mail*
was steaming across the ocean from Yokohama towards
San Francisco.  On the deck sat a group of three—the
same three who had foregathered on the voyage out to
Nagasaki seven months before.  Morton and Desjardins,
finding that their chances of seeing anything of the
actual fighting were not improving, had asked to be
recalled, and were returning by way of New York.  Bob,
with sick-leave from the Japanese government, had
accepted an invitation to spend a few weeks with Mr. Charteris
in San Francisco.  The three were lolling on their
deck-chairs, when a fourth figure was seen slowly rising
from the companion-way.

"Well, Schwab, feel better?" shouted Morton.

"Zanks, Mr. Morton, I am vat you call fairly gumfortable.
Ze sea-illness attack me not zis time so bad.
Indeed," he added expansively, "I gommence to enjoy
myself."

"Ah! de beautiful sea, de beautiful sun!" exclaimed
Desjardins.  "I look up into de blue sky lovly above, and
it make me feel all de vorld is poetry."

"Bosh!" snorted Morton in his downright way.  "Excuse
me; no poetry in the world but what you put there.
I ain't built that way; no Englishman who can eat a
beefsteak is.  No!"

"But, monsieur, you do yourself, you do your nation,
im-mense injustice.  Par exemple! vat vas it I hear last
night ven I promenade myself beneas de so silent stars?
Assuredly it vas de sweet voice of Mademoiselle Charteris
who give a lesson to de boy Ah-Sam.  I listen; I am
charmed; it vas a little poem, so short, so simple, I learn
it by 'art at once:

   |  "''Ow doss de leetle beesy bee-e
   |    Impr-rove each shinin' hour-r,
   |  And gader 'oney all de day-e
   |    From every openin' flower-r-r!

So it begin, and—"

"I see Madame Bottle!" suddenly exclaimed Schwab,
rising clumsily from the deck-chair into which he had
subsided.  The others rose also and hastened along the deck
towards a group of two ladies and a gentleman coming in
their direction.  Schwab at once took possession of
Mrs. Pottle; the others manoeuvred for the place at Ethel's
left hand, the right being occupied by her father.
Desjardins lost his chance by waiting to make an elaborate
bow; Morton, for all his bluntness, was a bashful man;
so that Bob had no great difficulty in securing the position.
Morton consoled himself by arranging deck-chairs for the
ladies, and the company grouped themselves, Schwab
still next to Mrs. Pottle, and Bob retaining his place at
Ethel's left hand.

"We've been hearing of your English lessons to Ah-Sam,"
said Morton to Ethel.

"Have you?  Oh yes!  I don't like his pidgin English
at all.  It would be so much nicer if he could speak
properly, and the poor man is really so eager to learn."

"How does he get on?" asked Bob.

"I think he is improving, but it is very slow.  I read
in a magazine the other day that learning to recite poetry
is a great help, so I have been teaching him a very easy
little poem, explaining it as I go along in just the same
simple language I use to my Sunday-school class.  He is
so intelligent."

"There he is," said Bob.  "Let us see what he makes
of it" (with a glance at Desjardins).  "You don't mind,
Miss Charteris?"

"Not at all," replied Ethel, with a faint blush, "—if
you are not too severe an examiner."

"Here, Ah-Sam!" called Bob.

The Chinaman came up and bowed humbly.

"Miss Charteris has been teaching you about the little
busy bee.  We should like to hear you say it."

"My no can talkee missy so-fashion," said Ah-Sam,
looking troubled.

"Never mind that.  Say it your own way."

Ah-Sam looked at Ethel.

"Come, Ah-Sam," she said; "remember how I explained
it to you."

The Chinaman put his hands behind his back, hesitated,
then fixed his eyes on the nearest ventilator, and in his
odd sing-song chanted:

   |  "What-for one piecee littee pidgy bee
   |    Wantchee go workee allo bloomin' day-lo?
   |  He go 'long smellum evely littee tlee;
   |    Ch'hoy! catchee jam-jam; bimeby chop-chop wailo!"
   |

The colour of Ethel's cheeks had deepened from pink
to scarlet during this recitation.  Morton gave a titter at
the second line, then cougned and looked solemn.  At
the end they all glanced at one another and burst into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter.  Ah-Sam looked deprecatingly
at his young mistress, and began to make humble
obeisance with his hands.

"Thank you, Ah-Sam," she said.  "You said it very
nicely.  You may go now.—What a shame!" she added,
turning to the others when he had gone, "to hurt the poor
man's feelings so.  He did his best."

"And clearly showed that he had studied your commentary
more than the text, as is the way with students
of English," said Bob.  "Never mind, Miss Charteris;
Ah-Sam's a good fellow.  I am hardly yet reconciled to
his transference of allegiance from me to you."

"Nor I," said Mr. Charteris drily, with a grim look at
his sister.

"Now, Andrew, don't go into that again," said
Mrs. Pottle.  "There's no rule without an exception.  Our
legislators are mostly right, I allow; but when they make
a law that excludes all Chinamen from our shores—well,
they have to reckon with me.  I confess I smuggled
Ah-Sam on board; he's the exception, a most exceptional
China boy.  Ethel took a fancy to have him for a servant,
and I'll land him right down at San Francisco, laws or no
laws."

Mr. Charteris shrugged.

"Fawcett," he said, "come and take a turn with me.
We must talk over that prospectus—eh, what?"

"Yes, and I must write up my diary for the *Argonaut*,"
said Mrs. Pottle, rising, and sailing away towards a table
specially reserved for her beneath the awning.  Herr
Schwab looked glum on her departure; he took no part
in the conversation of the others, and when Ethel by and
by left the group and strolled away by herself, he too
got up, refilled his big pipe, and walked to a spot where,
leaning on the rail, he had Mrs. Pottle in full view.
Puffing solemnly, he watched her for a long time as she wrote
on and on in complete unconsciousness of his lingering
gaze.  At last, putting his pipe into his pocket without
knocking out the ashes, he went below.  Soon he
returned, laden with several bulky tomes, and staggered up
to Mrs. Pottle's sheltered corner, where he placed the
volumes in a pile beside her table, and heaved a sonorous
sigh.  Mrs. Pottle looked up, glanced from Schwab's face
to the books, then resumed her writing, just as the German
was bringing his right hand down on the crown of his
wideawake.  He wiped his gold-rimmed spectacles,
replaced them on his nose, and sighed again.

"Don't you feel well, Mr. Schwab?" said the lady,
preparing to pack up her papers.

"Quite vell, madame, I zank you—egzept in vun sbot,"
he said.  He had his hat off now, and as Mrs. Pottle
looked curiously at him he made her a profound obeisance,
and in a hurried, slightly anxious tone, said:

"I beg leaf, dear madame, to bresent you zese few
volumes *Brockhaus Encyglobaedia*—last edition, viz colour
blates."

"Really, Mr. Schwab, it is very good of you, but—no,
I couldn't think of it—I—"

"Ach, it is nozink; it is nozink.  Ze Gairman heart,
madame, ven it is touched, do not zink of egsbense; it
vibrate only viz sentiment.  Besides, I buy zem halfprice."

Mrs. Pottle had both hands on the table, and was gazing
through her eye-glasses at Schwab in speechless amazement.

"Allow me, dear Madame Bottle, to egsblain.  You,
no doubt, haf forgotten ze moment—vy should you
regollect?—ven you ar-rive on zis ship: ze moment ven—vat
shall I say?—ven you stickfast in ze too-narrow gangvay.
Oh! madame, zat vas ze obbortunity of my life; I vas
ready.  You, Madame Bottle, vas Andromeda; I, Hildebrand
Schwab, vas Berseus.  Madame, I bush you zrough....
And at zat moment—I—fall—in—lov!"

"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Pottle, half rising to escape.  But
she could not leave the corner she had so carefully chosen
without passing Schwab; his bulky form concealed her
from view; and feeling a prisoner she fell limply back into
her chair.

"Lov!" continued Schwab, as one declaiming an oration;
"lov! vat is it?  Madame, I seek it in *Brockhaus
Encyglobaedia*,
vol. eleven:—'Lov is a highly gomblex emotion
azzoziated viz ze value vun put upon a berson or a objeck.'  Vat,
I ask myself, is ze value I put upon zat beautiful
objeck—I should say berson?  Madame, I—I cannot gif
estimate—I, Hildebrand Schwab, vat gif estimate by ze
zousand.  Ergo, I am in lov: *quod erat demonstrandum*."

Mrs. Pottle said something, and again essayed to flee,
but Schwab spread himself and solemnly waved her down.

"Stay, madame.  It is not merely zat I am in lov; I am
also in business.  I haf ze honour to offer you double
bartnership.  My hand, madame, my heart—my Gairman
heart—I blace zem at your feet.  And viz zem go ze
rebresentation of ze solid house of Schlagintwert, ze
gorresbondence of ze *Düsseldörfer Tageblatt* vat circulate in
Werden, Kettwig, Mülheim, Odenkolin, and ozer blaces;
besides fery bromising agencies in Ruskin edition de luxe,
batent mangle, hair restorer, zentrifugal bomp, bianola—"

Schwab was so intent on his formula that he was not
prepared for a sudden convulsive movement on the part
of Mrs. Pottle, who seized her sunshade, and, sweeping
the bulky wooer from her path, fled below.  He stood for
a moment in solemn stillness; then he took out his pipe,
emptied it of ash, refilled and lit it, and, blowing great
guns, gathered the volumes into his arms and walked away.

Meanwhile Mrs. Pottle had almost fallen into the arms
of her brother, who was bringing from his cabin a paper
to show Bob on deck.

"Now, Jane, Jane," expostulated Mr. Charteris mildly
"you are too old to take flying leaps like that."

"Oh, Andrew, Andrew!" said Mrs. Pottle, with a burst
of laughter, "I am not too old to have an offer."

"What do you mean?"

"My!  I can hardly tell you for laughing.  I have had
a proposal of marriage—at my age!  Guess who from?"

"Not Bob Fawcett?" said Mr Charteris with a sudden
grim suspicion.

"Bob Fawcett!"  Mrs. Pottle almost shouted with
laughter.  "You are just an old goose, Andrew.  No;
from Mr. Schwab, Hildebrand Schwab, who tried to woo
me with a German encyclopaedia.  It just beats anything!"

Mr. Charteris grunted.

"Knows that Isidore left you a pile, I suppose."

"You're not complimentary, Andrew.  Mr. Schwab
called me a 'beautiful objeck', fell in love with me because
he had to help me up the gangway, 'bush me zrough!'
Oh!——"

The recollection was too much for Mrs. Pottle; her
portly double chin shook, and she was breathless with
laughter.

"I advise a visit to the stewardess, Jane," said
Mr. Charteris.  "Excitement is dangerous—at your age."

"Wait a moment, Andrew," said his sister as he made
to ascend the ladder.  "You thought Bob might have
fallen a victim to Isidore's pile?  You're as blind as a bat
to everything but business.  Let me tell you a secret, sir.
Bob is head over ears in love with Ethel."

"Eh?"

"And Ethel, though of course she won't admit it, is, his,
well——"

"What?"

"Yes!" said Mrs. Pottle inconsequently.  "Don't look
so fierce," she added, patting his arm.  "Bob's a good
fellow; you won't be disappointed in him."

"Well, Jane," said Mr. Charteris slowly, "I allow that
you surprise me.  I guess I'm pretty well pleased.  To
be sure, I never reckoned on Ethel marrying a Britisher;
she don't take no stock of 'em as a rule.  But I'll say
this: I don't care who the man is—Yankee, Britisher, or
Australian; but if he's a worker, a fellow who'll get on, a
good sort, and real fond of my gal—hang me, he shall have
her—if she's willing.  What!"

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center medium

   THE END

.. vspace:: 4

.. _`*Glossary*`:

.. class:: center large bold

   Glossary

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

C=Chinese, J=Japanese, P=Pidgin-English.  The Chinese
substitute *l* for *r*, and add the terminations *-ee*, *-um*,
and *—lo* to many words.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*allo* (P), all, every.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*banzai* (J), lit. "ten thousand years!", an exclamation in
salutation of the emperor, equivalent to *Vive le roi*!

.. class:: noindent 

*belongey* (P), often equivalent simply to the verb *to be*.

.. class:: noindent 

*bimeby* (P), by and by, afterwards.

.. class:: noindent 

*bobbely* (P), noise, uproar.

.. class:: noindent 

*bottom-side* (P), down, below.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*catchee* (P), to get, have.

.. class:: noindent 

*ch'hoy* (P), an exclamation.

.. class:: noindent 

*cham-tow* (C), to cut off the head, execute.

.. class:: noindent 

*chop-chop* (P), quickly.

.. class:: noindent 

*chow-chow* (P), food.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*daimio* (J), a feudal and military chief whose income
exceeded 10,000 *koku* of rice(*koku*\=5.13 bushels).

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*-ee*, a pidgin-English termination.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*first-chop* (P), best, excellently.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*galaw* (P), a common exclamation.

.. class:: noindent 

*geisha* (J), a dancing and singing girl.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*hai* (J), an exclamation used in answering.

.. class:: noindent 

*ha-loy* (P), come down.

.. class:: noindent 

*hara-kiri* (J), suicide by cutting open the abdomen.

.. class:: noindent 

*hayo* (J), early: *o hayo*, good-morning.

.. class:: noindent 

*he* (P), he, she, it, they, him, her.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*iniside* (P), within, in.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*joss* (P), god.

.. class:: noindent 

*joss-house* (P), temple.

.. class:: noindent 

*joss-pidgin-man* (P), priest.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*kimono* (J), long outer garment.

.. class:: noindent 

*komban* (J), good-evening.

.. class:: noindent 

*koto* (J), a kind of lyre.

.. class:: noindent 

*kow-tow* (P), to bow humbly.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*li* (C), a Chinese mile: 250 *li* make 1 degree.

.. class:: noindent 

*littee* (P), little.

.. class:: noindent 

*look-see* (P), look, examine.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*makura* (J), a rest for the head.

.. class:: noindent 

*meshi* (J), boiled rice.

.. class:: noindent 

*muchee* (P), very.

.. class:: noindent 

*musumé* (J), girl, young lady.

.. class:: noindent 

*my* (P), I, me, my, mine.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*no can do* (P), cannot.

.. class:: noindent 

*numpa* (P), number: *numpa one*, first-rate.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*o* (J), an honorific prefix used in
addressing or speaking respectfully of a person: *o hayo*,
good-morning.

.. class:: noindent 

*obe* (J), a long sash worn round the waist.

.. class:: noindent 

*one-tim'* (P), once.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*pan* (J), bread: *pan taberu daro*,
I want something to eat.

.. class:: noindent 

*pidgin* (P), business: *pidgin-English*, English as spoken
by Chinese at the ports.

.. class:: noindent 

*pidgy* (P), busy.

.. class:: noindent 

*piecee* (P), used with numerals:
*one piecee man*\=a or one man.

.. class:: noindent 

*plopa* (P), proper: *allo plopa*, all right.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*saké* (J), a fermented rice-beer.

.. class:: noindent 

*sampan* (C), a Chinese punt.

.. class:: noindent 

*samurai* (J), lit. one who serves
the emperor; a member of the
military class formerly privileged to wear two swords.

.. class:: noindent 

*san* (J), a title used with names.

.. class:: noindent 

*sassy* (P), saucy, proud.

.. class:: noindent 

*savvy* (P), know, understand.

.. class:: noindent 

*sayonara* (J), good-bye.

.. class:: noindent 

*shogun* (J), commander-in-chief;
the title of the ruler who for
several centuries supplanted the Mikado.

.. class:: noindent 

*side* (P), place, direction: *this-side*, here; *that-side*, there;
*what-side*, where.

.. class:: noindent 

*so-fashion* (P), in that way.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*tabemono* (J), a gift of food.

.. class:: noindent 

*taberu* (J), I shall eat.

.. class:: noindent 

*tadaima* (J), presently, at once.

.. class:: noindent 

*that-side* (P), there.

.. class:: noindent 

*that-tim'* (P), then.

.. class:: noindent 

*this-side* (P), here, hither.

.. class:: noindent 

*tim'* (P), time.

.. class:: noindent 

*topside* (P), above, superior.

.. class:: noindent 

*topside-pidgin-man* (P), missionary.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*uma* (J), horse.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*wa* (J), a particle.

.. class:: noindent 

*wailo* (P), away, to go away, run away.

.. class:: noindent 

*wantchee* (P), to want.

.. class:: noindent 

*what-for* (P), why.

.. class:: noindent 

*what-side* (P), where.

.. class:: noindent 

*what-tim'* (P), when.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent 

*yen* (J), dollar.

.. class:: noindent 

*yinkelis* (P), English.



.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 4

.. class:: center x-large bold

   The Light Brigade in Spain

.. class:: center medium bold

or

.. class:: center large bold

The Last Fight of Sir John Moore

.. class:: center large bold

By Herbert Strang

.. class:: center small

Author of "Tom Burnaby," etc.

.. class:: center small

With a Preface by Lieut.-Col. WILLOUGHBY VERNER.

.. class:: center medium

*Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.  12mo.  $1.50*

.. vspace:: 2

"In 'Boys of the Light Brigade' Mr. Strang draws upon the
resources of the Peninsular War, and succeeds in extracting much
freshness from well-worn themes, as Moore's retreat to Corunna and
the heroic defence of Saragossa.  The personal interest of the story
is kept at a high tension....  It is a book which no boy will
be able to put down when once started.  The volume is provided
with excellent maps and plans of the scenes in which the incidents
take place."—*The Standard*.

"This author has fairly earned the right to be accepted as the
legitimate successor of the late George A. Henty in furnishing
entertainment for youth.  Like Henty, Strang manages to galvanize
the dry bones of history into a close semblance of glorious life....
The present volume contains vivid and spirited descriptions
of campaign life in Spain ... with many rare and
interesting episodes....  This is good reading for young and
old."—*Chicago Post*.

"The author describes graphically with truth to history the last
fight of the British commander, Sir John Moore.  It is a stirring
military story in the manner of those written by the late George
A. Henty, but really with more authenticity."—*Philadelphia Press*.

"An interesting story, with extra good measure in its incidents
and character ... and with some pretty little love
passages."—*Cleveland Leader*.

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS

.. vspace:: 2

Historic Boys.  Their Endeavors, Their Achievements and
Their Times.  With 29 full-page illustrations.
8vo, pp. viii + 259.

.. vspace:: 1

Historic Girls.  Stories of Girls Who Have Influenced the
History of Their Times.  8vo, illustrated, pp. viii + 225.

.. vspace:: 1

Chivalric Days and Youthful Deeds.  Stirring Stories,
presenting faithful pictures of historic times.  Illustrated,
8vo.  $1.25

.. vspace:: 1

Heroic Happenings.  Told in Verse and Story.
Illustrated, 8vo.  $1.25

.. vspace:: 1

Great Men's Sons.  Stories of the Sons of Great Men from
Socrates to Napoleon.  Fully illustrated, 8vo.  $1.25

Including the Sons of Socrates, Alexander, Cicero, Marcus
Aurelius, Mahomet, Charlemagne, Alfred, William the
Conqueror, Saladin, Dante, Tamerlane, Columbus, Luther,
Shakespeare, Cromwell, Peter the Great, Napoleon.

.. vspace:: 1

The Long Walls.  An American Boy's Adventures in Greece.
A Story of Digging and Discovery, Temples and Treasures.
By E. S. Brooks and John Alden.  Illustrated by George
Foster Barnes.  8vo.   $1.25

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center x-large bold

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

ROYAL ROGUES

.. vspace:: 1

By ALBERTA BANCROFT.  With Illustrations by Louis
Betts.  12mo.  $1.25

There are few healthy-minded folk, whatever their
time of life, who will not confess to a fondness for fairy
tales of the right sort.  "Royal Rogues" has that
quality which makes a children's book win the hearts of
grown-ups.  The heroes are merry twin rogues, king's
sons of course, but with a strain of fairy blood in their
veins.  Wildly strange and delightful are their
explorations in the realms of fairyland.

"A charming story ... must be accounted
one of the prettiest and cleverest of modern fairy
stories."—*Worcester Spy*.

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

ON BOARD A WHALER

.. vspace:: 1

An Adventurous Cruise through Southern Seas.  By
THOMAS WEST HAMMOND.  With 16 full-page
illustrations by HARRY GEORGE BURGESS.  12mo.  $1.25

"Thrilling throughout....  In the name of
American youth, we thank Mr. Hammond for
resuscitating a memory that had slumbered so
long."—*Com. Advertiser*.

"The yarn he spins of that and other trips in search
of oil is one of the best I ever read.  It is indeed a
thrilling, exciting, dangerous story of the sea, a tale of
personal experience put into book form by as brave a
sailor as ever chased whales, and it is full of that local
color which makes a fellow's blood tingle as he turns
the pages.  The illustrations are excellent."—HENRY
HAYNIE in *The Boston Times*.

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large bold

Tales of the Heroic Ages.

.. vspace:: 1

By ZENAÏDE A. RAGOZIN, author of "Chaldea," "Vedic India," etc.

.. vspace:: 1

No. I.—Siegfried the Hero of the North, and Beowulf, the Hero
of the Anglo-Saxons.  Illustrated.  12mo.  $1.50

.. vspace:: 1

No. II.—Frithjof, the Viking of Norway, and Roland, the Paladin
of France.  Illustrated.  12mo.  $1.50

.. vspace:: 1

No. III.—Salammbô the Maid of Carthage.  Illustrated.  12mo.  $1.50

.. vspace:: 1

"The author is one who knows her subject as a scholar,
and has the skill and
imagination to construct her stories admirably.
Her style is terse and vivid, well
adapted to interest the young in these dignified
and thrilling tales."—*Dial*.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

Plutarch for Boys and Girls.

.. class:: center medium

Selected and Edited by JOHN S. WHITE.  Illustrated.  8vo.  $1.75

.. class:: center medium

Library edition.  2 vols.  16vo.  $2.50

.. vspace:: 1

"It is a pleasure to see in so beautiful and
elegant a form one of the great books
of the world.  The best Plutarch for young readers."—*Literary World*.

"Shows admirable scholarship and judgment."—Critic.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

Pliny for Boys and Girls.

.. class:: center medium

The Natural History of Pliny the Elder.

.. class:: center medium

Edited by JOHN S. WHITE.

.. class:: center medium

With 52 illustrations.  4to.  $2.00

.. vspace:: 1

"Mr. White's selections are admirably made.
He has gleaned in all directions
for his notes, and the result is one which reflects
on him great credit, and adds
another to the number of juvenile books which may be
commended without reservation."—*Independent*.

"For the libraries of the young—and every boy and
girl in the land should
collect a library of their own—these superb books
have a special adaptation; they
open the classics to them."—*Boston Journal of Education*.


.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center large bold

Herodotus for Boys and Girls.

.. class:: center medium

Edited by JOHN S. WHITE.  With 50 illustrations.  8vo.  $1.75

.. class:: center medium

Library edition.  2 vols.  16vo.  $2.50

.. vspace:: 1

"The book really contains those parts of Herodotus
which a judicious parent
would most likely have his boys and girls acquainted with,
and Mr. White has
succeeded in condensing these by omitting multitudes
of phrases inserted in the
Greek text.  The print is so large and clear that no
one need fear that it will
foster a tendency to near-sightedness on the
part of boy or girl.—*Nation*.


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The Travels of Marco Polo.

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Edited for Boys and Girls, with explanatory notes and comments, by
THOMAS W. KNOX.  With over 200 illustrations.  8vo.  $1.75

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"To the student of geography Marco Polo needs no
introduction.  He is
revered as the greatest of all travellers
in the Middle Ages, and by more than one
careful geographer his work is believed to
have led to the discovery of the New
World by the Hardy Mariner of Genoa....
The story of his travels was
received with incredulity, and he died while
Europe was gravely doubting its
truth.  It has remained for later generations
to establish the correctness of his
narrative and accord him the praise he so richly deserves."

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   \G. \P. PUTNAM'S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON

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