Flotsam--A Commercial Correspondent--A Story of the Sea

The P. and O. liner _Sardinia_ was some twenty hours out of Shanghai,

making a direct course for Nagasaki. Few passengers were on deck: it was

drear and cold this January afternoon, the sky grey and sullen as with

coming snow, the sea rolling heavily under a stiff north-easter that

blew cuttingly through the Korea Strait. But beneath the bridge,

somewhat sheltered from the wind, sat three figures in a group, talking

earnestly. The eldest of the three, John Morton by name, a big shaggy

Englishman of forty-five, sat enwrapped in a heavy ulster and a

travelling rug, his legs propped on a deck-chair before him. Every few

seconds a voluminous cloud of smoke issued from his lips, and floated

away like a pale miniature copy of the vast black coil from the funnel

above. John Morton was correspondent of the _Daily Post_. At his left

sat a round little Frenchman, with fine-drawn moustache and neat

imperial, a comforter about his neck, a cigarette in his mouth. Armand

Desjardins was also a correspondent, representing the _Nouveau Figaro_.

The third member of the group was much younger than his companions. He

was a tall, slim young fellow, with bright hair and frank blue eyes, his

cheeks tanned the healthy brown of outdoor life at home no less than by

the winds of four weeks' sea travel. The collar of his long frieze

ulster was turned up to his ears; a low cloth cap was perched on the

back of his head. Nobody could have mistaken Bob Fawcett for anything

but a Briton.

He had just answered, smilingly, a remark of the vivacious little

Frenchman, when the attention of the group was attracted by the

quarter-master clambering hurriedly up the ladder to the bridge, the

ship's biggest telescope under his arm. He handed it to the captain,

who, with the chief and third officers, was looking intently towards a

spot a few points on the port bow. After gazing for a minute or two

through the telescope, the captain handed it without remark to the chief

officer, who looked in his turn and passed it also in silence to the

third. The three men below rose to their feet and went to the

port-rail, scanning the horizon for the object of the officers'

curiosity. Nothing was to be seen save a limitless expanse of dark,

green billows, heaving with the swell.

There was a short colloquy on the bridge, after which the third officer

ran down the ladder on his way aft. He was intercepted by the little

group, who raked him with a gatling-fire of questions.

"Only a raft, or wreckage, or sea-serpent, or something," he said in

reply. "Perhaps sea-weed."

"But you vill examine?" said Desjardins. "De sea-serpent is a subject

of im-mense interest to de savants of all nations."

The officer laughed.

"Well, monsieur," he said, "get a good glass and you'll have a chance of

seeing for yourself; we shall pass it within a short mile."

By this time a speck was visible far ahead, which gradually disclosed

itself, as the vessel drew nearer, as a half-submerged spar with a

tangled mass of rigging. Bob Fawcett and his companions had ceased to

take any interest in what appeared to be merely floating wreckage, when

they were surprised at hearing the clang of the engine-room bell

signalling successive orders. The steamer slowed down, then with helm

hard a-starboard crept up to within a hundred yards of the object, and

came to a stop. A boat was speedily lowered, and the passengers, drawn

from below by the sudden stoppage on the high sea, crowded into the

bows, and looked on with breathless curiosity as the third officer

steered gingerly up to the spar. It was possible now to make out a

human figure rising and falling with the heave of the sea, its outlines

half-hidden by the surrounding cordage. The quarter-master was seen to

open his huge clasp knife and cut several strands that apparently lashed

the castaway to the mast, and the men who had supported the inert body

while this was being done lifted it gently into the boat. The

passengers heard the third officer's voice shout the order to give way,

and in less than three minutes the boat was being swung in upon the

davits, and the _Sardinia_ was again forging ahead at full speed.

The castaway, an inert, sodden, unconscious figure, was lifted out of

the boat and carried below, to be handed over to the ship's doctor.

"Is there any life in him?" asked Bob Fawcett, pressing forward to the

third officer.

"As dead as mutton, sir, in my belief. But we'll do what we can for the

poor beggar."

He passed on; and, catching a glimpse of the castaway as he was borne

down the companion-way, Bob noticed that he had but one ear. In a few

minutes the passengers had resumed the occupations and amusements which

the incident had interrupted. The curiosity of the most of them finally

evaporated when it became known that the figure saved from the sea was

nothing more romantic than the body of a Chinaman. Bob Fawcett was not

a sufficiently hardened traveller to take the matter so lightly. But

learning on enquiry that the doctor had little hope of the man's

recovery, and that in any case his resuscitation would take some time,

he went back to his companions, and found that they had been joined by

another passenger--a stranger to him. The new-comer was a stout,

brown-bearded, spectacled man, with cheeks puffy and sallow. He leant

heavily on a stick, and every now and then rammed his soft wide-awake

down upon his head, evidently in apprehension of its being swept away by

the breeze.

"Feel better?" Bob heard Morton say as he approached.

"Ach ja!" was the reply. "I do feel better, zairtainly, but not vell,

not vell by no means."

"You'll be all right soon. Fawcett, let me introduce you to Herr

Schwab; don't think you've met. He came on at Shanghai, and--well,

hasn't been visible since. My friend Mr. Fawcett--Herr Schwab."

"Glad to meet you, sir," said Bob, lifting his cap. The German was a

second or two behind in the salutation, not from lack of native

courtesy, but because his hand had to skirt the limp brim of his

wide-awake and come perpendicularly on to the crown, which he raised

between finger and thumb.

"Most delighted," he said with guttural urbanity. "I lose much zrough

my so unlucky disbosition to sea-illness; it keep me downstair all ze

time since ve leave Shanghai. Ze loss of food, zat is nozink; it is ze

gombany. Vy, I regollect, ven first I voyage to Zanzibar it lose me vun

big order for bianofortes. At Massowa zere come on board a Somali sheik

vat vas fery musical. I vas below--fery ill. Vat could I? Ze sheik,

he buy concertina from ze rebresentative of concertina house. Now ze

Somali, zey all blay concertina; zey might haf blayed biano!"

"And are you in pianos now, sir?" asked Bob, smiling.

"Vell, yes, but primarily I am in literature. I haf ze honour to

rebresent ze _Duesseldoerfer Tageblatt_, a journal of fery vide

circulation in Werden, Kettwig, Muelheim, 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 _Duesseldoerfer Tageblatt_; ve circulate in Werden,

Kettwig, Muelheim, Odenkolin--"

"Magnifique!" exclaimed Desjardins. "You save de price of passage in

all case. To compete vid you Germans, it is impossible."

Herr Schwab smiled indulgently.

"Business are business," he said. "In peace, ze Chinese, ze Japanese,

ze Russian--zey are all vun to me. But in var, I am instructed by my

house--ach! I should say, my journal--to agompany ze Japanese

field-army."

"By all accounts," said Bob, "it'll be a case of the patent mangle and

not the pen this time. A fellow in the smoking-room has just been

saying that there's no earthly chance of war. He had it from a native

merchant in Hong-Kong, and somehow or other they're always the first to

scent out news."

"No var!" exclaimed Desjardins. "Vat den shall I do? Vat shall I write

for de _Figaro_! I have no patent-mangle!"

"You'll have to write poetry," said Morton; "geishas, plum blossom, and

that kind of thing. You'll be all right. But I'm helpless. Couldn't do

it to save my life; if I could, _Daily Post_ wouldn't take it. Fawcett

will come off best of the lot."

"I'm afraid not. They wouldn't have sent for me to help with their

range-finders unless they expected a rumpus, and soon. If there's no

war, I shall get a month's notice and my passage home.--Hi, steward,

how's the castaway?"

The steward came up in answer to Bob's hail.

"Doin' well, sir; most surprisin'. Doctor himself can't make it out

nohow. Says the Chinee must have the constitootion of a elephant.

Captain's with him this very minute, interviewin' of him; he can't speak

English, but there's another Chinee in the steerage that's doin' the

interpretin'. He's a big ruffian of a fellow, the castaway, a regular

hooligan to look at--and only one ear and all. I've just sent some

vittles for'ard for him, sir."

The steward passed on. A little later, when it became known that the

interpreter had returned to his quarters, Bob announced that he was

going to see the man, and was at once joined by Monsieur Desjardins and

Herr Schwab, the former in eagerness to get material for a paragraph,

the latter in obedience to his motto, "Business are business". Morton

refused to budge.

"Saw plenty of Chinamen, dead and alive, in the war, ten years ago; all

alike," he said.

Accordingly the other three made their way to the steerage, and, finding

the Chinese interpreter, were soon assured of his willingness to tell

all he knew for a consideration. It was Bob who paid.

The man who had so narrowly escaped drowning was, it appeared, a Manchu

Tartar--a big muscular fellow nearly six feet high. When once he

regained consciousness he had made a surprisingly rapid recovery from

his long immersion, and had told his story with great readiness. He had

been making the voyage from Chemulpo to Yokohama in a Korean junk, which

had been capsized by a sudden squall, and had gone down, he feared, with

all hands. Luckily he himself had managed to cling to a considerable

portion of wreckage, and to hold on long enough to lash himself to the

mast. He was sorry now that he had not waited for a steamer; it was

only his strong family affection that had prompted him to sail in a

crazy junk, and he would certainly never do so again. He had a brother

in Tokio, the owner of a small curiosity shop. News had reached him in

Chemulpo that his beloved brother was at the point of death, and without

delay he had embarked on a rice-laden junk that happened to be sailing

for Tokio, in the hope of reaching that town in time to see his brother

before he died.

"'Plenty muchee velly good piecee man," concluded the interpreter

approvingly.

"Extraordinaire!" exclaimed Desjardins in admiration. "Dat is sentiment;

it is noble, it touch my 'art."

He laid his hand on that section of his rotundity which might be taken

to conceal the organ in question, and sighed with enjoyment.

"Ach! it is not sentiment," said Schwab, "it is business. Ze brozer haf

curiosity shop--vell, ze ozer brozer vish to inherit imme'ately, vizout

drouble. He must be on ze spot."

"Come now, Herr Schwab, don't spoil our little romance," said Bob.

"Poor fellow! he's had a rough time anyhow. I wonder how he lost his

ear."

"Bad time indeed," said Desjardins. "Pauvre diable! Ve must make him a

collection, and you, Monsieur Schwab, you are business man, you shall

collect de moneys."

Herr Schwab, who had evidently foreseen that the Frenchman's sympathy

might take this practical form, began to decline the proffered honour,

but the chorus of amused assent left him no option. Then, finding that

he had himself to pay the tax, with German thoroughness he devoted

himself heartily to the task of seeing that no one else escaped, and by

the time the vessel opened up the lights of Nagasaki quite a respectable

sum had been gathered for the Chinaman's benefit.

Bob, being on official business, had instructions to proceed direct from

Nagasaki to Tokio. Most of the passengers, however, among them his

recent companions, were remaining on the _Sardinia_ as far as Kobe, with

the object of seeing the world-famed beauties of the inland sea. The

last words Bob heard as he went down the side after the final farewells

were a guttural protest from Herr Schwab, with whom his enforced

contribution to the Chang-Wo fund was still rankling.

"Business, my dear sir, are business; sentiment is sentiment. Zey

should nefer be mix. Damit basta!"

*CHAPTER II*

*Rokuro Kobo San*

An Incident in Ueno Park--Japan at Play--Journalism in Japan--A Japanese

Gentleman

Shortly before dusk, one day in the week following the arrival of the

_Sardinia_ at Nagasaki, a stalwart figure in the coat, pantaloons, and

clumsy clogs of a Chinaman slowly ascended the flight of steps leading

to the Ueno Park in Tokio. The time of cherry-blossom was not yet; the

trees stood bare skeletons against the gray sky; the ground was lightly

touched with rime; it was not the beauties of nature that attracted the

sauntering visitor. He seemed, indeed, to have no special object in

view; but an observer might have noticed that wherever he saw a group of

Japanese in conversation, he passed them with a very deliberate step,

and always on the right-hand side, even when this necessitated some

little squeezing. Only an observer of more than usual intentness would

have connected this curious fancy with the fact that the Chinaman had

lost his right ear.

He came by and by to a tea-house--not one of the large and

well-appointed establishments which a Samurai would willingly have

entered, but a structure little more than a shed, with tables ranged

outside beneath the trees, and a few musumes sitting with folded hands

and crossed feet on a long low bench covered with a crimson cloth. The

Chinaman hesitated for a moment; it was cold, and hardly the evening for

al-fresco refreshment. But something attracted him towards the shed.

He sat down on one of the benches, and was soon contentedly sipping the

weak almost colourless decoction supplied to him by the smiling girls as

tea.

For half an hour he sat there, sipping, watching the passers with his

yellow almond eyes, thinking Chinese thoughts, silent, almost

motionless. Then he pulled his padded garments more closely around him

as though for the first time feeling the cold, rose, bowed low in

response to the still lower salutation of the attendants, and resumed

his slow walk. There were fewer people about now; no talking groups;

nothing apparently to attract the remaining ear; and Chang-Wo, shuffling

along on his clogs, hurrying his step a little, passed beneath the bare

oaks and gloomy pines towards the Buddhist temple near the gate.

Dark was beginning to fall; there were few rickshaws to be seen; the

visitors to the famed Toshogu shrine had melted away. Only here and

there a woman trudged homeward with her baby on her back and a bundle in

her hand, or a shaven Buddhist priest sauntered amid the trees.

Turning from the path to shorten his way by crossing a secluded glade,

the Manchu came all at once face to face with a small figure hastening

in the opposite direction. He moved somewhat aside, to pass on, but with

a suddenness that took his bulky form utterly aback, the shorter figure,

that reached not much past his elbow, flung himself upon the Manchu with

a cry like the snarl of a tiger, springing up at him, clutching at his

throat, and hanging on with desperate fury. The shock was so

unexpected, the assault so unprovoked, that the bigger man, his hands

hampered by his capacious sleeves, was taken at a disadvantage, and

gained nothing from his superior build. In a moment he was on the

ground, and the Japanese was kneeling on his chest, retaining his grip

on the prostrate man's throat, and striving with all his might to

strangle him. But his advantage was short-lived: the Manchu regained

command of his muscles, and exerting all the force of his arms thrust

the assailant from him, wriggled over, and pinned the puny frame to the

ground.

Scarcely a sound had been uttered, whether by Japanese or Manchu; but

now, as the latter proceeded with vindictive and triumphant malice to

retaliate upon his helpless victim, a half-choked cry, as of an animal

at the shambles, broke the silence of the glade. Instantly, as though

in answer, a tall great-coated form, the form of a European, came out

from among the tree-stems. A glance apprised him of the position: a

small man, black in the face, was being throttled by a man twice his

size; and with a rush the new-comer hurled himself upon the Manchu,

wrenched the Japanese from his grip, and saw that he was only just in

time, if indeed not too late. For the small man lay inert, huddled in

his kimono; and the Englishman placed his hand over his heart, fearing

that he was already dead.

But his doubt was soon dispelled. In a few moments the little fellow

moved, gasped, and sprang to his feet, his slanted eyes asquint with

excess of rage. It seemed that he was about to fling himself on the

young foreigner before him, so much was he blinded by passion; but

recognizing in a moment his mistake, he looked round for the big Manchu,

and found that he had disappeared. With a muttered word of thanks to

his preserver, he rushed madly in the direction he supposed his enemy to

have taken, and the Englishman was left to himself in the gathering

darkness.

Bob Fawcett had a half-smile upon his face as he walked back through the

park and the crowded streets to his hotel. It was his fourth day in

Tokio, and he had already seen many strange things; nothing, perhaps,

stranger than the deadly earnestness with which the little Japanese had

sped after an enemy who could have crushed him with ease.

"I wonder what it was all about?" he thought. "Plucky little Hop o' my

Thumb! I suppose he's the stuff of which the Japanese army is made."

He would have liked to know what had brought about the unequal fight,

but speculation was vain; and besides, it was nearly dinner-time, and

the meals at his hotel were punctually served. Punctuality was, in

Bob's eyes, the only virtue the hotel possessed. He did not like the

heavy carpets, the cumbrous four-poster in his bed-room, the general

stuffiness that resembled only too closely the fusty musty atmosphere of

certain hotels at home. He wished he could have put up at a Japanese

place, lived in the Japanese way, eaten Japanese food, for he was of an

enquiring turn of mind. But he had been strongly advised to put up at a

house run on European lines, and for the present he could not but

recognize that the advice was probably good.

On arriving in Tokio four days before, and reporting himself at the

Japanese ministry of marine, he found that his services were not

immediately required. He was asked to hold himself in readiness to

assume his duties at a few hours' notice; meanwhile his time was his

own. It was unlucky that his arrival in Japan was in the very middle of

the New-year celebrations, for business being at almost a total

stand-still for a fortnight on end, the two English merchants to whom he

had brought letters of introduction had gone away with their families

for a holiday, and among the two million people in Tokio there was not

one that he knew. There was company at the hotel, to be sure, but it

consisted chiefly of tourists and globe-trotters eager to "do"

everything, and Bob had never had a taste for frantic sight-seeing. He

accordingly chose his own course, and wandered about pretty much by

himself, taking the keenest interest in the novel scenes that everywhere

met his eyes.

A stranger could hardly have arrived in Tokio at a more interesting

time. For ten days after the year has opened Japan is more

characteristically Japanese, perhaps, than at any other period. It is

one universal festival. Among the upper classes visits of ceremony are

exchanged; the streets are crowded with rickshaws drawn by coolies in

fantastic costume--mushroom hats and waterproofs of reeds. They worm

their way through throngs of adults and children bouncing balls, playing

at battledore and shuttlecock, flying kites, tumbling over each other in

their happy frolicsomeness. Shopkeepers are to be seen carrying

specimens of their wares to their customers; brightly-clad geishas add

grace and picturesqueness to the scene. Every variety of costume is to

be met with, from the correct frock-coats of the government officials to

the strange mixture of billycock and kimono which lesser folk sometimes

affect. Every house is decorated; here and there a juggler or a showman

provides elementary entertainment at the price of three-farthings, and

the unwary visitor, enticed into a booth by the promise of great

marvels, finds that the magic is nothing more startling than an electric

shock, or that the advertised fire-breathing dragon is no more than a

moon-faced performing seal. At night paper lanterns dangle from every

rickshaw shaft, making the streets a moving panorama of fairyland; and

from the low one-storied houses proceeds the quaint barbarous music of

the samisen--the native guitar twanged by smiling geishas entertaining

their employers' guests with dance and song.

Bob spent many delightful hours in witnessing these things, and in

strolling through the streets, looking into the curio shops, sometimes

venturing a discreet purchase. But amid all the merriment there seemed

to him to be a something in the air--an undercurrent of seriousness,

which was the theme of incessant talk in the hotel smoking-room. Was it

to be war? That was the question which was discussed from morning to

night. Everybody knew that negotiations were proceeding between the

foreign offices at Tokio and St. Petersburg: what was the result to be?

Opinion veered this way and that. Russia apparently would not keep her

pledges: would Japan fight? What were the rights of the case? Was

Russia merely concerned with holding an ice-free port and developing her

trade, or was she aiming at aggression and conquest? Was Japan strong

enough to enforce unaided what the diplomacy of European powers had

failed to accomplish? Would China come to the assistance of her

conqueror? Would Britain be involved in the struggle? These and similar

questions were canvassed to the point of weariness; and Bob all the time

felt that it was talk in the air, for nobody knew. There was no

excitement, no mouthings, no boastfulness. The little soldiers in their

trim uniforms were not much to be seen in the streets; yet it was not

long before Bob learnt that preparations were quietly, unostentatiously,

being made to throw vast armies across the Korea Strait; and as to the

navy, was not his presence there in itself a proof that the government

was determined to have everything at the top of condition should the

struggle which many deemed inevitable actually begin?

On the second morning after the adventure in the Ueno Park, Bob, having

finished breakfast, went to the reading-room to glance at the papers

preparatory to his usual stroll. There were illustrated European

magazines in plenty with which he was familiar, and a five-weeks' old

copy of the _Times_, which he looked through without much interest, the

news being so obviously stale. There was the _Japan Mail_, a little

more interesting, in which he was glad to find an account of the last

match between the Australians and Warner's eleven, as well as news of

the British doings in Tibet and Somaliland. But having brought himself

up to date with those journals in his own tongue, he turned, as he

usually did, to the native papers, and stared at them as earnestly as

though only assiduous poring was needed to give him a thorough grasp of

Japanese. He wished he could read the strange hieroglyphics--some

shaped like gridirons, others like miniature barns, others like the

little dancing imps drawn by school-boys with a few straight lines on

the margins of their grammars. He wondered what meaning lay behind the

strangely picturesque tantalizing characters, and sighed as he replaced

one of the papers on the table.

"Not understand, sir?" said a passing Japanese waiter, with the smiling

courtesy of all the hotel attendants.

"I don't, I confess," replied Bob, returning the smile. "What do you

call this, for instance?"

"That, sir? That _Ninkin Shimbun_--very good paper. My uncle belong

that paper one time--prison editor."

"Prison editor?" Bob looked puzzled.

"In Japan, sir, newspaper two editors one time. Number one editor he

write War Minister bad man. Policeman he come say: 'Be so kind cease

publish hon'ble paper; hon'ble publisher, hon'ble printer, hon'ble

editor be so kind enter hon'ble prison'. Number two editor he go

prison, number one editor he stay home."

"I suppose they pay number two well for that," remarked Bob laughing.

"No, sir; my uncle very poor man. His wages four yen a month; but no

spend much, in prison every time."

"Poor fellow! He earns his four yen."

The little waiter's countenance took on a lugubrious expression.

"He prison editor not now no longer," he said. "Everything change in

Nippon. These days number one editor go prison, number two he out of

work. My poor uncle sell _Ninkin Shimbun_ Shimbashi railway-station."

At this moment the hall-porter entered, and bowed to Bob with a deep

Japanese obeisance.

"Japanese gentleman, sir, beg you be so kind give him interview."

"Oh! who is it?" said Bob, thinking that it must be the bearer of the

expected summons from the minister.

"Japanese gentleman, sir; say you not know his name. But he very great

man, he very noble Samurai." Then, looking with an air of imparting

important information, he added: "His name, sir, Rokuro Kobo San."

Surprised that so important a personage should have been chosen to wait

upon him, Bob rose and made his way across the corridor to the

reception-room. The porter shut the door behind him, and as he advanced

a slight figure stepped lightly across the room to meet him. Whatever

dim picture of a Samurai Bob had formed in his mind was banished at the

sight of a trim, exquisitely-dressed Japanese, wearing a frock-coat that

would have done credit to Poole's, and carrying with practised ease a

silk hat, which might have been twin-brother of Bob's unused Lincoln &

Bennett. He was short, though perhaps rather above the average height

of his nation. In feature he resembled the Japanese of better class

whom Bob had seen at the government offices, but with an indefinable

touch of added refinement, due partly, no doubt, to his Samurai blood,

but partly also, as Bob surmised, to his evident familiarity with

western civilization. He was sallow, like all his race; his jet-black

hair was thick and strong, and a narrow moustache graced his upper lip.

It is always difficult to judge the age of an alien in race, and Bob had

little or no experience to guide him; but the impression made upon him

by his visitor's general bearing was that he was in the prime of life.

"Good-morning, sir," said Bob pleasantly.

"Good-morning, sir," said the Japanese with perfect accent at almost the

same moment, bowing with inimitable grace. Bob instinctively bowed in

response, but felt that his salutation was awkward and stiff by

contrast.

"I trust, sir, that you will pardon my intruding upon you at this hour.

I feared lest I should not have the opportunity of thanking you in my

own person for the very great service which you have rendered to me and

to my house."

His mode of speech was measured, even, and perfectly correct, somewhat

stilted perhaps, with an old-world flavour that belonged to a courtlier

age than our own.

"You may remember, sir, two days ago, in our Ueno Park, you rescued one

of my countrymen from the hands of a Chinaman, who I have every reason

to think would have killed him but for your generous intervention. The

Chinaman was a man of evil character, a desperate man, a villain; the

Japanese, who owes his life to you, is--my servant. I thank you."

"Really, sir," said Bob, somewhat embarrassed, "it was a very small

matter; I merely hauled the fellow off, and he bolted."

"To you, sir, it may have been a small matter. It is an instinct with

your countrymen to help the man who is down. To you it is a mere

nothing; but to me, it represents much, very much. The man you rescued

is my servant; his forefathers have served mine these five hundred

years."

"I am very glad, sir, that I happened to be passing just at the moment.

May I congratulate you on your man? He tackled the big Chinaman with

fine courage."

"He is a brave man indeed, but he grows old. Ten years ago he was with

me in the China war; he was in his prime; there was not his equal in our

army. The Manchu, as you saw, is a man of more than common strength,

but in single fight with my servant at Feng-huang-cheng he escaped with

difficulty, and the loss of an ear."

"The loss of an ear!" repeated Bob. "Surely he cannot be the man we

picked up off Nagasaki?"

Kobo San's expression betrayed just a hint of enquiry, and Bob proceeded

to give an account of the Chinaman's rescue. This was the beginning of

a long conversation, which, starting with Kobo's previous relations with

the Manchu, drifted away into a variety of subjects, giving Bob every

now and again a suggestion of his visitor's extraordinary range and

versatility. He was clearly a man of wide reading and many interests,

had been a great traveller in his younger days, and spoke as though at

home equally in all the great capitals of the west. So interested was

Bob that he did not notice the increasing number of rickshaws halting at

the entrance to the hotel, depositing guests laden with strange bundles,

the spoils of long chaffering in the Naka-dori.

This influx was the sure indication of approaching tiffin, and when the

Japanese rose to take his leave, Bob awakened to the fact, and with some

diffidence begged the pleasure of his visitor's company. Kobo San,

however, explained that he had but just time to keep an appointment with

his excellency the minister of war, and while courteously expressing his

regrets, extended to Bob an invitation to his own house on the following

day. Bob accepted with genuine pleasure, and escorted his visitor to

the street. The two shook hands almost with the cordiality of old

friends.

As Bob turned to re-enter the hotel, he encountered the little waiter

gazing after the retreating form with a mixture half of admiration half

of awe.

"Rokuro Kobo San, he very great man," he said, confidentially. "He

kindly send my poor uncle to hon'ble prison."

*CHAPTER III*

*A Samurai's Home*

A Japanese Interior--An Oriental Menu--Tales of Old Japan--The Quarrel

with Russia--Chang-Wo--Raiding the Raiders--Good-bye

"Takaki ya ni

Noborite mireba--"

Bob rubbed his eyes, and became conscious of a crick in the neck. He

thought for a moment he must be in a railway-train; the sensation was

just the same that he had experienced on a night journey to London, when

he had had a compartment to himself, and lay stretched on a seat with

his head on the elbow cushion at the end. But no: he had never heard in

England such a thin soft voice, singing in utter tunelessness such

strange words--

"Kemuri tatsu;

Tami no kamado wa

Nigiwai ni kere".

He lifted his head from the low neck-rest, and remembered. The voice

came through the wall of his room; but it was not a wall--only a slight

paper partition. It was evidently time to get up. He flung off the

wadded quilt, and sat up--not in bed, but on the stretch of straw

matting that formed almost the only furniture of his room. The neck-rest

fell down, making a slight noise; the voice in the next room ceased

singing; he heard the swish of soft garments; a few moments later a

sliding paper panel in the partition was pushed back and a form

appeared--the form of a little Japanese carrying a bath and a pitcher of

water.

"Morning, sir," said the little fellow with a smile and a bow. "Bath in

morning, sir?"

"Thank you," said Bob, springing to his feet. "By the way, I don't

think I have heard your name yet?"

"My name, sir, Taru. You sleep well, sir?"

"Oh yes, though I found the head-rest a little strange. Was it you

singing just now, Taru?"

"No, sir; no sing at all. The little lady, hon'ble mistress, sir; O

Toyo San."

"Indeed!"

Bob forbore to ask questions. He had only arrived the night before at

Kobo San's country house near Nikko, tired and chilled after the uphill

railway journey from Tokio, and quite ready to retire to his

sleeping-chamber after a cup of warm sake. 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

musumes 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 sake, 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 musumes. 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 musumes

bent to the ground in the lowliest of obeisances; and as the coolies

started to run down the hill, Bob looked back and saw them all at the

door, still with smiling faces, and heard in their pretty, unstressed

accents the soft, long-drawn-out word of farewell:

"Sayonara! Sa--yo--na--ra!"

*CHAPTER IV*

*Six to One*

A Newspaper Paragraph--Scenes by the Way--Mistaken Identity--A Warm

Corner--A Modern Miracle--Yamaguchi

The train rattled down to Tokio, cutting at intervals through the

magnificent avenue of cryptomerias, at such a headlong pace that Bob

feared every moment lest it should jump the rails and end his career

before it had begun. But he reached Tokio whole in limb, and, taking

leave of Kobo San at the station, hurried to his hotel. After making his

preparations, he found that there was an hour or two to spare before the

train left for the west, and went into the reading-room to look at the

papers, which he had not seen during his absence. There he encountered

a dejected group, comprising his ship-board acquaintances Mr. Morton,

Herr Schwab, and Monsieur Desjardins, together with a few other

Europeans and a couple of Americans, all evidently correspondents.

"Hullo!" shouted Morton. "Thought you were at Hong-Kong by now. I wish

I were!"

Morton's loud voice, and the atmosphere of the hotel, struck Bob with a

curious sense of incongruity after the quiet of his recent sojourn at

Nikko.

"What! You don't like Japan?" he said with a smile.

"Humph!" grunted Morton. "Precious little of Japan we've seen, boxed up

here, asking questions, getting no answers. Haven't sent the _Post_ a

decent stick of copy since I came. Everything leaks out in London

before we get it here. That wretched legation in Knightsbridge don't

give us a chance. We might as well be in Kamschatka. But what have you

been doing?"

"I've been to Nikko!"

"What! Finding ranges?"

"Yes," said Bob; "mountain ranges."

"You say ranges," broke in Herr Schwab instantly. "I hafe new batent

kitchen range, save 95 per cent fuel. I can quote you--"

He stopped in stolid wonder at a general chuckle from the group.

Morton, evidently scenting information, followed up his clue.

"I suppose you're out of work like the rest of us. Jap motto: 'No

foreigners need apply'. They've had shoals of applications."

Although Bob had not been definitely warned to keep his business secret,

he felt that he was not entitled to make any premature disclosure.

"Well, anyhow it's a pleasant enough way of spending a holiday," he

said. "There's plenty to be seen."

"My word! yes," said Desjardins. "I am in enchantment. De Japanese, dey

are adorable. Deir politesse, it is exquisite; dey tell you everyting,

but vis a charm--everyting, except vat you vant to know."

"You are right," said Mr. Jacob T. Vanzant, war commissioner of the _New

York Eagle_. "I flattered myself I could raise a column of red-hot news

out of a dumb waiter, but it would be easier to make the Egyptian sphinx

talk than to draw one of these smiling, affable young slips at the

foreign office. But it's war, gentlemen; there isn't a doubt about

that. Listen to this."

He took up a fortnight-old copy of the _San Francisco Argonaut_ lying at

his elbow.

"Our fellow-citizens will learn with regret that since the fifteenth

current the location of Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle and her niece has been

involved in obscurity. When our esteemed contributor's usual letter

failed to reach our offices, we cabled enquiries to the Russian

commandant-general in Manchuria, and received in response the following

communication: 'Mesdames priees de faire retour via Port Arthur;

disparues il y a deux jours'. We have every hope that in spite of the

unsettled state of Manchuria Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle's magnificent energy

and determination, which have been strikingly evinced in the palpitating

series of letters that have appeared in the _Argonaut_, will ultimately

ensure her safe return to her native city."

"But I do not onderstand," said Herr Schwab, "vherefore ze egsentricity

of your Mrs. Bottle shall be a cause of var."

Mr. Vanzant smiled, and proceeded to explain that if the Russian

authorities had not had serious grounds for believing that hostilities

were impending, they would have had no occasion to interrupt Mrs.

Pottle's projected journey across Korea to Seoul, and thus curtail the

programme she had set herself to perform when she left San Francisco on

her trip round the world.

"Very ingenious," remarked Morton; "but if that's all you've got to go

on, seems to me you're raising a skyscraper on a very slight

foundation."

"I presume, sir," retorted the American, "you have not met Mrs. Isidore

G. Pottle."

Desjardins immediately wanted to know all about the adventurous lady,

and an animated conversation ensued, in which Bob took no part.

Remembering the telegram screwed up in his pocket, he had felt a certain

constraint while Mr. Vanzant had been giving his reasons. Conscious

that he was not a diplomatist, and fearing lest in an unguarded moment

he should let drop information the mere hint of which would be

telegraphed to every part of the world, he took an early opportunity of

slipping away.

"Zey are civilized? Ach! zey buy nozink. Ruskin, zey vill not read

him; batent mangle, zey vill not look at it. Vy, ven I vas in ze Congo

State viz Mr. Burnaby, ze blacks zey buy eferyzink: pins, lawn-mower,

lexicon, hair-oil--" These were the last words Bob heard as he left the

room, and the last he was destined to hear from Herr Schwab for a

considerable time to come.

At ten o'clock that night he quietly left the hotel, and was drawn in a

rickshaw, with his slender kit, to the Shimbashi railway-station, _en

route_ for Sasebo. He had a long journey before him, but he had no idea

of how long it was actually to be. Many times during that night and the

next day his train was shunted into sidings, to allow the passing of

trains bearing troops to the western ports. During the hours of

darkness he slept soundly, but with the morning light he awoke to the

fact that things were happening. At the stations, where refreshments in

neat little boxes were brought to the passengers, he saw crowds,

sometimes melting away, sometimes gathering, with looks of intent

eagerness on their faces. At one station, which was thronged, he saw the

actual departure of a train overflowing with the trim little Japanese

soldiers. He was struck by the air of joyous confidence that marked

their bearing, and the look of pride with which the women and children

on the platforms bade them farewell. There was none of the frenzied

enthusiasm and the bitter grief which he had noticed in the crowds that

sped the British soldiers on their way to South Africa five years

before; there was no kissing or hand-shaking, no hanging on the necks of

the departing warriors, no impeding of their movements as they

entrained, no tearful last words. A few shouts of "Banzai! Banzai!" as

the train moved off, and then the throng dispersed in perfect order and

decorum, to hide their sorrow, perhaps, in the seclusion of their own

homes. Bob was much impressed by the scene; it was like the departure

of a band of Crusaders in the great days of old.

He was glad enough when, after a journey of some thirty hours, he at

length reached Sasebo, the naval station where he understood the

Japanese fleet was lying. Leaving his portmanteau at the

railway-station, he enquired of the station-master the way to the

harbour, and was courteously informed by him, in the few English phrases

he had at command, that the distance was not great. Always desirous of

seeing as much of the people as his opportunities allowed, Bob decided

to make his way to the harbour on foot, and declined the offers of the

rickshaw coolies who stood waiting to be hired in the station-yard. A

regiment from Southern Kiushiu had recently detrained, and the crowd

that had assembled to greet them was dispersing, as Bob passed out, with

the same general orderliness that he had remarked at the stations on the

line. But in this case a few among the patriots had been indulging

somewhat too freely in sake, 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 mediaeval

armour, had swelled the trains of great daimios who came in from their

distant fiefs to pay an enforced annual visit to the capital. The

crews! they sprang from peasants, artisans, and menials who for

generations had been forbidden to wear arms, and were supposed fit for

little else than to be hewers of wood and drawers of water for their

proud lords and lordlings. Yet, as the China war had proved, now that

the awakening had taken place, this despised and unconsidered class had

shown a daring, a martial spirit, a capacity for heroism, no whit

inferior to that of their officers, the descendants of daimios and

samurai whose very life was war.

The blare of a bugle woke Bob from his reverie. From the crowd at the

end of the quay rose a shout of "Banzai!" which was taken up by the

throng all around, and swelled by the echo from the walls of the

arsenal. The last boatload of soldiers had just left shore for one of

the transports. It was time for Bob to go on board. Soon he was being

punted along in a sampan, which threaded its way slowly among lighters,

tugs, and innumerable small craft, clear of which it came at length to

the war-ships. The _Mikasa_ was easily singled out; there was a short

parley with the officer of the watch, and Bob, mounting the side, was

ere long conducted to the presence of the admiral in whom Japan's

highest hopes were centred.

Keen eyes, a grizzled pointed beard, a quiet self-possessed manner, a

low pleasant voice--it was these that gave Bob his first impressions of

Admiral Togo as, enveloped in his thick greatcoat, he greeted the young

Englishman. Many years had passed since he trod the deck of the

_Worcester_ as a cadet: years in which he had seen the building-up of

the great navy that now lay obedient to his single word. He spoke

excellent English, and in a few sentences acquainted Bob with the

situation that had called for his services. The fleet was about to

sail; war might break out at any moment; he needed someone at hand in

case the range-finders, on which so much would depend, should require

checking or adjusting.

"You are in an exceptional position, Mr. Fawcett," he said. "We are not

enlisting the services of foreigners; but the mechanism of the

range-finder being of a special character, it was thought well to have

on the spot some one from its original makers. I should point out to

you that your services may be required on any vessel of the fleet at a

moment's notice, and your duties may lead you into very grave peril. We

are at the beginning of new experiences in naval warfare; there may be

terrible things in store for us. It is right to warn you, so that you

may not go blindfold into danger. It is for you to say whether you

accept the position."

"Thank you, sir," replied Bob. "I've been sent out to do a certain

work, and I can only take things as they come. I'm delighted to have

the chance of seeing service on your magnificent vessel."

Bob's manifest eagerness provoked a faint smile from the admiral.

"Very well, then, I'll send for your baggage and hand you over to

Sub-lieutenant Yamaguchi; he has not long left Glasgow and knows English

well, so that he will no doubt prove an acceptable mess-mate. He will

see that you get a berth, and look after you generally."

In a few moments Bob was being convoyed by the sub-lieutenant, a little

fellow of five feet two, to the wardroom, where he was introduced to

several other officers. Some of these had more than a smattering of

English, and their courtesy and air of good fellowship would have made a

more self-conscious stranger than Bob Fawcett feel at home. He spent a

delightful evening in their company, and went to his bunk with vague

expectations of things to happen next day.

*CHAPTER V*

*A Fleet in Action*

War--Nearing Port Arthur--In the Night Watches--The First Blow--A Battle

of the Giants--In a Box-battery--A Rescue

Next morning Bob, in Yamaguchi's company, made a round of the fighting

admiral's flagship. The youngest of four sister vessels, the _Mikasa_,

launched at Barrow only four years previously, had a displacement of

some 15,000 tons, a tremendous armament, and armour-casing varying from

four inches to more than a foot in thickness. Forward and aft were two

pairs of 12-inch breech-loading guns, mounted in barbettes encased in

fourteen inches of armour. On the main-deck were ten 6-inch

quick-firers, mounted on the "box-battery" system in an armoured

citadel, the latest device of the naval architect to afford protection

at once to the ship and to the crews fighting the guns. Bob already had

some knowledge of armour-clad vessels, having more than once been sent

by his firm to install range-finders in British ships, but never before

had he enjoyed the opportunity of examining a vessel of the _Mikasa_

type, now being adopted in the British navy.

For an hour or two he was busy on the navigating-officer's bridge,

examining the complicated apparatus of the range-finder. The difficulty

of regulating this ingenious piece of mechanism is due to the unequal

expansion of the metals of which it is made. Obviously it was

impossible to test its accuracy until a shot could actually be fired at

a given range, but Bob saw that all its adjustments were satisfactory,

and had an interesting discussion with the navigating officer, whose

duty it would be, when the vessel went into action, to call the ranges

for the gunners below.

While this was going on, Bob was too much occupied to notice the signs

of increasing activity in the harbour. The _Mikasa_ was surrounded by

the other vessels of the fleet--battle-ships and cruisers; torpedo-boats

and torpedo-boat destroyers formed an outer circle of wide extent. In

the inner harbour no fewer than seventy transports were lying at anchor,

and since early morning many of these had been filling up with cheerful

crowds of Japanese soldiers and immense bales of stores, carried on

heavy-laden sampans and lighters from the quays. While Bob was walking

round the vessel with Yamaguchi, he suddenly noticed the

wireless-telegraphic operator make his way quietly to the bridge where

Admiral Togo stood talking with the captain. The man saluted, and

handed the admiral a paper. The latter moved a little aside to read it,

then spoke a few rapid words to the captain. A few minutes afterwards a

number of flags were flying from the masthead, answering signals were

run up on the other vessels, and a general movement was visible

throughout the fleet. On the _Mikasa_ all was activity. Bob noted with

admiration the precision with which every man on board, without hurry or

bustle, went about his allotted duty. The captain on the armoured

conning-tower, with bells, speaking-tubes, and telephones all round him,

issued orders which were carried out as instantaneously as though he

were touching the responsive keys of an instrument. On all the other

vessels similar activity prevailed. The fleet was preparing to sail.

Moving with the ease of living beings in their native element, the

several vessels fell gradually into their settled place in the line, and

then, the _Mikasa_ leading, steamed slowly out towards the open sea.

It was a moment never to be forgotten. Bob did not know whither the

fleet was bound, nor on what enterprise, but he was certain that its

departure was the first step in a carefully-arranged scheme, and his

heart throbbed with the excitement of knowing that, happen what might,

he was to be there, a spectator of, if not a participant in, events that

might change the destiny of the world.

Negotiations between Russia and Japan had been broken off. Every man on

board knew that, and recognized that this was inevitably the prelude to

war unless Russia should do what no one could imagine her doing--yield.

The sudden order to sail indicated that Admiral Togo had received

instructions to deliver, or at least to threaten, a blow at the enemy.

More than this no one knew. A Russian squadron was lying at Chemulpo,

the port of Seoul, in Korea; another, the strongest fleet Russia had in

Eastern seas, was at Port Arthur; a third was at Vladivostock, far to

the north. The Russians were known to be filled with vast contempt for

the "dwarfs"; they would surely not allow their insignificant enemy's

fleet to approach their much-prized harbours without first meeting them

on the seas; and it was with the expectation of a terrible fight, ship

against ship, that the Japanese went out fearlessly towards the unknown.

Out into the sea, due westward, sailed the fleet, the _Mikasa_ and her

sister ships proudly riding the waves, the smaller vessels driving their

bows through the water and rising like dripping seals from each

encounter. The battle-ships kept line behind the leader, each holding

on her course with unerring accuracy; and as they moved majestically on

amid the surrounding cruisers and torpedo craft, they seemed to Bob like

ocean leviathans accompanied by a brood of young.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: Bob rescues Yamaguchi]

At the same moment there was a sudden cessation of the din. Admiral

Togo had signalled the fleet to cease fire; the vessels wheeled round,

and were soon running full steam ahead into the open sea. But signals,

commands, movements, all escaped Bob Fawcett. Overcome by the deadly

fumes from the exploded shell, he lay on the deck beside Yamaguchi,

unconscious, ignorant that the first bombardment of Port Arthur was

over.

*CHAPTER VI*

*Helping-to-Decide*

A Torpedo-destroyer--Sea Legs--At Chemulpo--A Recognition--Stopping a

Runaway--Mystification

For nearly a week after his adventure in the box-battery Bob was laid

up. The sickening fumes had upset his system, and the ship's doctor

insisted on his remaining in his bunk until he was thoroughly recovered.

His first question on regaining consciousness had been for Yamaguchi,

and he was rejoiced to hear that the lieutenant, though slightly wounded

by a splinter from the shell, had been rescued from the poison-filled

battery just in time.

"He owes his life to your plucky action," said Captain Igichi warmly,

when he visited him the day after the bombardment. "His wound alone

would not have been serious, but another minute in the battery would

have done for him."

Bob made light of the matter, and was embarrassed to find that he was

regarded with even more warmth of friendliness than before. The

Japanese officers did not overwhelm him with praise, courage was too

much a matter of course with them for that; but though they said little,

Bob felt that they now looked on him as one who had proved his right to

their comradeship, and he knew that to a Japanese this meant a great

deal.

He was no sooner fit for duty again than he was transferred to the

_Mikasa's_ sister ship the _Hatsuse_, whose range-finder was urgently

needing attention. The standard on which the tube containing the

telescope rested had been broken by the fragment of a shell, though

fortunately the mechanism itself had been but slightly damaged. With

the aid of the ship's clever artificers Bob was able to repair the

injury in a very short time.

He remained on the _Hatsuse_ for more than a fortnight, during which he

witnessed the first plucky dash of the Japanese torpedo-destroyers on

Port Arthur, the attempt by five stone-laden steamers to block the

channel, and the second bombardment, in which the Japanese vessels

received no damage. Then one morning he was unexpectedly transferred to

a torpedo-destroyer which had been ordered to Chemulpo. He was there to

place himself under the orders of Admiral Uriu, if that officer were

still at the port.